This chapter is dedicated to Melissa.
Aiër- Chapter Seven Part 2
The hours stretched on as the fellowship endeavored in what was to be their last full march through the mines. One last full day, and then a few hours rest, and then they would have only hours left of walking and they would be out. Shëanon savored this thought, repeating the words again and again in her mind as they trekked through the pitch black, lit only by the faint rays of Gandalf's staff. She had not truly believed that they could make it through, and as the company took a very brief stop at what Gandalf assured them was noon-time, Shëanon realized that in less than a day's time she would once again be in the fresh air, under the sun, out from under the miles and miles of crushing stone.
The company walked in the same lines as before, and so Shëanon was beside Legolas for many hours. She found that she could not look at him, for she was still unsure of what to make of the night before. She supposed that she should be thankful that he had gotten her the sleep she had needed, but at the same time, she felt like she had been tricked and in a way that left a very unpleasant feeling in her chest and in the pit of her stomach. She also did not like the way she had so easily fallen under his influence, and she tried to reason with herself that she had been very tired to start with and that she was after all very young still. If Legolas was aware of her tumultuous feelings, he gave no indication of it, his intense gaze ever on the deep places of darkness around them while she tried desperately to erase the smell of his flaxen hair and warm skin from her memory. From now on she would not pass the night by his side; Aragorn could not cast spells on her and Aragorn would not trick her and so she would make the ranger sleep between them if it was the last thing she did.
Why then did she not really want that at all?
It was many hours later when their road became a mere ledge that was wide enough for only a single file line; the fellowship had to walk with their sides hugging the hewn rock wall to their left. A misstep would mean falling to a very painful death; such was the narrowness of the path. Shëanon's elven blood provided her with nearly impeccable balance, but even so she was wary of the sudden and fatal drop to her right. The hobbits were very nervous indeed, their large feet not well suited to the narrow pathway, and she could hear Aragorn and Boromir making reassuring comments to Sam every few minutes.
On and on the path wound, around very sharp bends. The ground was not entirely even, so progress was slow for the company. Shëanon hoped that this pace would not last for long, so eager was she to be gone from Moria. Legolas walked in front of her, and she took to stepping where he stepped. Her mind was so occupied that she did not feel the crippling paranoia that she had been subject to for the first two days under the mountains, and the occasional conversation behind and in front of her helped keep her at ease.
According to Gandalf, it was dusk. The company, he said, would soon reach the heart of the dwarf kingdom, and from the city it would not be long to the eastern gate. Shëanon was relieved to learn that the precarious road and dark trenches would not last much longer, for she did not at all care for the vast deepness of the abyss to her right. It was while she was listening to Merry and Pippin voice similar opinions that a sudden, powerful wave of uneasiness washed over her, and she almost faltered in her steps.
'Something is wrong,' she thought apprehensively. A chill ran down her spine, and she focused her senses urgently on her surroundings, but she could not find any cause for the sudden feeling of foreboding. Her head was pounding at her temples, and she was finding it suddenly difficult to pay attention to her footing, to the voices of her companions, and the uneasiness grew until suddenly she was falling…
A single shaft of light. Rubble. Stone. Pounding from all around her, distant but approaching.
Screams. Shrieking, unnatural sounds. She was running, fleeing. There was fire everywhere, fire and yet darkness, and the fire seemed to take shape, to be alive—
Frodo was screaming; she was screaming. Her entire being was screaming, and then light, blue and dazzling—
Pippin and Merry were sobbing, and Aragorn's face flashed before her, and Gimli's face which was anguished, and her chest was full of fire—
Shëanon opened her eyes; she was on her knees on the path, the hard, jagged rock cutting into her flesh. One of her palms was braced against the ground to break her fall, but there was something clenched in her right fist. She blinked, panting and covered in a cold sweat, as she realized that it was Legolas's cloak that she held.
"Shëanon?"
She looked up, still disoriented, to see Legolas crouched down before her. Behind her, she could hear the sounds of the rest of the group shuffling to a stop and she knew that she must only have lost awareness for a few seconds. Had she grabbed at Legolas as she had fallen? She must have. She threw a quick glance over the edge of the path and felt her blood run cold; she could have taken them both over the ledge, and this horrifying idea blurred into the terrible things she had just seen.
"Are you well, aiër?"
"Shea?"
"What's happened?"
"I am fine," Shëanon quickly insisted, shaking off Legolas's hands as he tried to help her to her feet. She stood on her own, although her legs trembled and she felt a sudden wave of nausea. "I'm alright. I just—tripped."
Legolas, who had gripped her elbows as she swayed a little on her feet, brought his gaze to her face and was looking at her with an odd expression on his usually impassive face.
"You tripped?" he asked flatly, and Shëanon felt her face heat up as his piercing eyes roved over her. She heard the hobbits muttering behind her.
"Why did we stop?"
"Shëanon tripped."
"Tripped?"
"Yes, Pip."
"I didn't think elves tripped."
"Well that's what she said."
She blushed harder at these words, but maintained what she hoped was a calm expression and nodded.
"Yes, I wasn't paying attention to where I was stepping," she insisted in a shaking voice. "I—I'm sorry I grabbed you, it was a reflex…" Her voice trailed off awkwardly, but she resolutely held Legolas's gaze as he scrutinized her, his grip still firm at her arms.
"Is she alright?" she heard Aragorn call in a hushed voice from the back of the procession, and she grit her teeth, not at all liking the attention on her when she was feeling so shaken and trying to lie. Legolas was still assessing her, and he took a slight step back to inspect the rest of her, apparently to check for any injuries, but Shëanon was anxious and running out of patience.
"I am fine!" she called behind her, exasperation hiding the urgency and slight panic she was beginning to feel, and the company's murmuring ceased at her quiet outburst. She drew in a deep breath and looked back at the elf in front of her. "Really," she said more firmly, this time managing to keep the strain from her voice. "It was nothing. We should continue on."
Legolas was still holding her, his brows furrowed, his keen gaze burning her so that she wondered if he too could see the flames in her mind.
"Legolas?" she asked nervously. He didn't believe her; she could tell. She bit her lip, fearing he would press the issue, when finally he let go of her and stepped back.
"Walk in front of me," was all he said, still with that intense expression on his face as he pressed back against the rock to let her pass. He took her by the wrist so as to gently draw her around him, and she made no protest as his hand came to the small of her back, for the path was narrow and she was still shaking and she was relieved that he was dropping the subject. For a moment they were almost face to face, and with a pang of nerves that had nothing to do with the vision she had just had, she looked away from his eyes and down at her feet until finally they had shuffled around each other and she was standing between him and Gimli.
"Take care, lassie," the dwarf said gruffly, but Shëanon's attention had flitted apprehensively to Gandalf. He too was looking at her intensely, his ancient eyes seeming to see right through her, but then she blinked and the expression was gone and his eyes were twinkling once more.
"Come," the wizard called to the group. "We do not have far to go before we stop and take our final rest. Tomorrow we will cross through Dwarrowdelf and find ourselves on the east side of the Misty Mountains."
The place they stopped that night was not a chamber, but rather a very wide section of the road that was completely out in the open and bordered on either side by gaping mine shafts. Shëanon sat with her knees drawn to her chest, the images of her vision running through her mind again and again. She had spent the previous several hours lost in thought, tense and weary. Such visions were supposed to come to the mind when one was relaxed or asleep, and later sought out by will, but with Shëanon this was lately not the case and she was unused to having her mind ripped out of her control. Her first thought when she had seen the fire was that Sauron had once again gained entrance to her thoughts, but afterwards it had been clear that it was not so. This was surely foresight, a vision from the Valar, but she could not make sense of it. The only thing that she felt vaguely aware of was that what she had seen had been a warning. Something tugged at the very corners of her mind, and she had the notion that there was something she should have understood, but the images had flashed so quickly that they were a blur to her.
When she finally lowered herself to the ground, Aragorn crouched before her. Shëanon sighed and slowly extended her leg out in front of her; the gash she'd had stitched a few weeks ago had been bashed open again when she fell and had been burning as she'd walked, but she'd made no mention of it. She watched Aragorn's eyes drop to the cut but she dismissed his offer before he asked. Under ordinary circumstances, she had the feeling that he would have coaxed her into letting him look at it; she could see it in the crease of his brow and the glint in his eyes, but just then her knee was neither her priority nor his. He knew, of course, what ailed her, but she did not know if she was comforted by this fact or not. For some reason, she could not bring herself to tell him what she had seen even though the images had disturbed her greatly. She had answered his inquiring gaze with a shake of her head. She was afraid, but found she could not speak of it. Gandalf, too, had asked if she wanted to tell him anything, but she had avoided his eyes and shook her head; for what was she to have said? That she saw fire and screaming and other things that she couldn't even decipher? That she thought something bad might happen? The company was aware of the danger already, and she did not wish to alarm the others when she truly had no idea what her vision was about. No, she would keep this one, as unsettling as it had been, to herself.
Eventually Aragorn drew her down beside him, saying gently that she should sleep, and she cooperated because her mind was racing and she didn't want to see the disapproval and worry on his face when she refused, and also because her head had been pounding all day and she had felt slightly sick; she lay beside him with her eyes wide open, staring into the blackness, wondering if she might find sleep of her own volition this time.
It did not take long for her to realize that sleep would elude her still. Although her aching head made her want to close her eyes, the eerie caverns all around her seemed more threatening than ever before as she saw the images again and again. When she heard that Aragorn's breathing had grown even and deep, she sat back up and drew herself into a ball.
Fire. Screaming. But where? And why? What were the Valar trying to tell her? This time had felt so different from the others.
Shëanon felt the weight of Moria then more heavily than she had since their entrance. Their location on the road left her feeling both horribly exposed but also incredibly claustrophobic, caged in and trapped like a wild animal. Every shadow seemed sinister. Every whisper of air seemed like a threat and Gandalf's staff did nothing to lessen this effect, for she felt for the first time that their light was revealing them, that every evil thing in Moria was watching their every move in the dim light that the wizard provided, and Gandalf himself seemed to be watching her, but she could not tell if it was her imagination or not.
More desperately than ever, she wished she was back in Imladris. She wanted nothing more than to be safe in her bed, or safe with her father. If her father had been there, she would have confided in him; he understood. He knew what it was like.
"Aiër? Are you well?"
Shëanon blinked her burning eyes and turned to look down at Legolas, who had been lying at her other side. He was half sitting up, propped on one elbow, and looking knowingly into her face.
"If you seek to trick me again, don't waste your time," she whispered accusatorily and anxiously, so many emotions colliding in her head. She was almost certain that she would have a nightmare about what she had seen, and this idea made her feel sick. "I do not think anything could get me to sleep right now, whether I willed it or not."
Legolas frowned and sat up.
"I did not trick you, Shëanon," he said firmly, calmly, but he seemed very displeased to her.
Shëanon scoffed. Not trick her? What then had he done? He had known she wished to stay awake, to stay alert. Much as she did not like to admit it, she feared the darkness of Moria, and she knew that Legolas knew it.
"I did not," he repeated. "Already you were falling asleep. I did not do much, and you needed the rest badly," he explained in what struck her as a very gentle voice.
"You could have asked me first," she muttered bitterly. Legolas raised his eyebrows at this.
"You would have refused my help."
"If you knew that, then you should not have done it," she snapped at him, furious, although she still managed to keep her voice low. The mental strain she had suffered in the day had left her feeling edgy and contentious, and her feelings from the night before came flooding back to her until she was practically reeling. How could she convey to him how—betrayed she had felt? Betrayed and foolish, for some unfamiliar part deep inside her had trusted him and he had taken her hand and was touching in her in such a way that burned her and it was nothing more than a distraction so that he could put her under. Had he known how the gesture would affect her? Had he had any idea the way her cheeks would burn scarlet, or how her heart would pound? If he had, she did not see how she could ever look at him the same way again. It was not only a matter of how he had ignored her wishes, but also of how he had done it, of how he had taken advantage of feelings she could not control and did not like or understand. She had dwelled on these thoughts throughout the day, before her vision, and now in the dark when she already felt so raw and confused, it all bubbled back to the surface, more powerful than before. Disgusted, with herself and with him, she turned her face away.
"And if we had been attacked today and you been half-dead with exhaustion?" Legolas asked, his voice almost imperceptibly hard. Shëanon said nothing. "Do not think I acted on a whim, Shëanon. My unease has been growing with every passing hour, and I know that yours has as well. When choosing between your life and your good graces, I will choose your life every time."
"I do not care what promises you made to my father," she whispered. "I am not your concern."
There was a long silence during which Shëanon clenched her fists and bit her lip. Finally, Legolas spoke.
"If I care what becomes of you, are you my concern then?" he asked quietly. Shëanon did not answer; this conversation was not going at all as she might have imagined, and she swallowed nervously. "I would still have acted as I did had I not given my word to Lord Elrond."
Finally Shëanon looked back at him. He was leaning with his elbows on his drawn knees, much as she was, but his back was straighter and his eyes fiercer and Shëanon couldn't keep her thoughts straight.
"You asked me if I trusted you," she whispered eventually, and suddenly their conversation felt much too private and she did not know where her words were coming from.
Legolas's eyes darkened as he looked at her, like steel in the knight.
"Do you not still?"
Shëanon didn't know what to say. Did she trust him? Yes, she did, but for some reason it was almost like she could not trust herself when she was around him, and she was wary of him because of it.
"I took away your fear long enough for you to sleep, aiër, and that is all. I will not do it again if you do not wish it. You have my word," he said solemnly, searching her face. Shea considered this in silence, surprised. What did he mean, he took away her fear? She was confused, and the fire and screams were still ever echoing in the recesses of her mind, but she found that she believed his promise.
"Thank you," she said softly. She looked down at her hands. "And… Thank you for… your consideration last night. You were right; I needed the sleep, even if I did not like the manner by which I came by it," she whispered, for once reluctantly laying aside her pride. She truly could not have imagined what state she would have been in just then, after her vision and with a tormented mind, if she had not gotten any rest the night before.
"You are welcome," he said, and she was thankful that his voice was not smug. They sat like that for several moments. Shëanon risked a glance at Gandalf, and hoped—probably foolishly—that he had not heard them. To her relief, he did not seem to be paying them any attention. A shudder ran through her.
"You did not trip today."
Shëanon sighed and shook her head, staring intently at the ground. She wanted nothing more than to go back in time to before the fellowship, before the One Ring had been found, before all of it as her thoughts returned once more to what she had seen. She could not tell how much Legolas knew, how much he had guessed, but she would not readily explain. She was emotionally and mentally exhausted, and although the company was only a few hours away from freedom, she could not shake the feeling that they would not escape.
"I just… I think something terrible is in store for us, but I cannot tell what," she said despairingly, and her entire consciousness was full of fire and darkness and Aragorn's grieved face and Gollum's eyes and dwarven corpses and tentacled monsters and that voice…
Shëanon curled herself into a tighter ball and rested her head on her knees. Legolas gave no reply for a long moment, and Shëanon dug her fingernails into her palms, her teeth biting into her chapped lip, pieces of hair come loose from her disheveled braid falling across her face. He had said himself that he was uneasy, that he felt something approaching; she too could feel it in her heart, in her blood, and the vision weighing on her, and the black evil of the mines, and the ever-present fear that Sauron would gain entry to her thoughts… She felt like she could hardly breathe in that moment, and then suddenly she felt arms around her, for Legolas was pulling her against his chest and whispering against her hair.
"It is easy to lose faith in this place, aiër. Do not despair. Tomorrow we will be free of the Mines and we will take refuge in Lothlórien. Do not forget the reasons for which you joined this fellowship. We will prevail only if we do not lose hope," he breathed, so quietly that the sound gave her chills.
Shëanon was completely still. She could feel the warmth of his body all around her; she was used to this kind of touch from Aragorn, but not from him. She felt that she should pull away; she almost wanted to, but she found she could not move a muscle. She scrambled for something to say, her brain foggy and tired yet somehow racing at the same time, and her nerves were on fire. Just as she was about to speak, there came a sudden sound from just behind her and Shëanon jumped, pulling away from Legolas and whirling to see Aragorn roll over in his sleep, the sheath of his sword dragging against the rock with his movement.
Her mouth gone dry and her fingers shaking, Shëanon looked back at her companion; her gaze fixed on his shoulder rather than his face, for she found it suddenly unspeakably difficult to look Legolas in the eye.
"We both should rest," she whispered softly, and wildly she almost wished that Aragorn had woken up, if only to distract from the sudden awkwardness in the air.
"Something tells me that neither of us will be sleeping tonight, young one," Legolas murmured, and Shëanon felt a shiver run along her spine. She shrugged as a response, although indeed she knew that her chaotic thoughts would not have allowed her any rest.
Seeming to have come to an unspoken agreement, the two straightened around and sat side by side for what was rest of the company's break, neither speaking—both peering into the darkness. Shëanon was hardly keeping watch, however, for she could scarcely focus on her surroundings as the many strange events of the day wreaked havoc on her mind and when finally it was time to march again and the others were rising and Aragorn was frowning at her, she was even more confused and worried than before.
As they walked, the company found that the road became wider and wider, the mineshafts becoming smaller and more distant and infrequent. Before long, they had crossed into what clearly was the furthermost point of the city; the jagged rock giving way to smooth, shaped stone, the shadows taking the form of long-empty dwellings. It was an eerie, empty place, but it was better than the dangerous tunnels and passes of the mines. Finally, some hours after they had awoken, the company turned a corner and the road was gone and they found themselves standing in what Shëanon could see was an enormous, vaulted space. Their breaths and footsteps seemed to penetrate a silence that stretched high and wide.
"Let us risk a little more light," Gandalf murmured from in front of her as he led them into the chamber. Shëanon experienced a moment of curiosity and slight apprehension as she watched him lift his staff higher, and then slowly the darkness around them was broken and rows and rows of towering columns were illuminated, stretching farther than the wizard's light could reach. "Behold the great realm of the dwarf city of Dwarrowdelf."
Shëanon looked around in wonder; it was the first time that she had been able to forget that they were underground. The rays of light did not quite reach all the way to the distant ceiling, but still Shëanon could see the shadowy arches slanted high above. None of the stone around them was in any place round or curved; at the bases of the columns were intricate designs of hard angles and sharp edges, but still every line was smooth and deliberate and her eyes could find no flaws. The pillars were magnificent and towering and made her feel very small, and she realized then with a pang of guilt that she had not expected to find anything of beauty in a city once inhabited by dwarves.
"There's an eye-opener, and no mistake," she heard Sam say from behind her, and she found his words startling accurate and profound. The sight was an eye-opener, and as the group continued passed the columns, she found herself looking towards Gimli; she felt like she should say something to him. It was suddenly important to her, after the days of horrid blackness and despair, here where his kin dwelled no longer, that he know how affected she was by what she saw. She was just about to speak when the dwarf seemed to freeze, and then a moment later go sprinting off into the shadows.
"Gimli!" Gandalf called after him, and the fellowship hurried after their companion with their footsteps echoing in the dark behind them, magnified under the high ceiling.
"No. No. No!"
They followed Gimli into a room set off of the main chamber, and, alarmed to hear the anguished cries of the hardy dwarf, Shea quickened her pace until she crossed the threshold and found Gimli on his knees before a sarcophagus of stone. She skidded to a stop. The first thing that struck her was the miracle that was the natural light spilling into the room through a narrow fissure high on the wall opposite them, falling onto the tomb and throwing Gimli into relief. However, before she could think on the scene before her, she felt her entire body tense as she realized that she had seen the room before. The sarcophagus, the shaft of light, the bodies strewn about the chamber—all had flashed across her mind the day before as she had fallen to her knees on the crumbling ledge in the mines.
"Here lies Balin, son of Hundin, Lord of Moria," Gandalf read to the others as he approached the grave. Gimli wailed and a dull clunk echoed through the room as he bowed his head in his grief, his metal helmet coming to rest against the stone before him. "He is dead then. It is as I feared."
Shëanon realized that she was panting. Around her, her companions stood in silence as Gimli mourned and Gandalf lifted a heavy tome from the decomposed hands of a corpse near the coffin. Frantically, she tried to analyze the situation. The fire that she had seen, had it been in this room? She could not remember; none of it had been clear and yet she felt certain that they were in danger. Trying very hard not to panic, she whirled around in search of Aragorn, who stood solemnly and silently with Legolas just inside the room. She made a beeline for the ranger, the instinct to take down her bow almost too strong to ignore.
"We must move on. We cannot linger," she heard Legolas whisper as she reached Aragorn's side; and she became almost sick with anxiety as she understood the seriousness of the elf's voice, the darkness in his eyes as he looked into the shadows at the edges of the room.
"They have taken the bridge, and the second hall. We have barred the gates, but cannot hold them for long..."
Shëanon's skin erupted with goosebumps as Gandalf read from the bloodstained, dusty pages of the book. The obvious indications of battle and bloodshed in the room turned her stomach as she grabbed Aragorn's arm.
"Aragorn, we must go now," she whispered desperately. Her panic was greater than any she had ever known. Aragorn met her eyes as her fingers tightened around his forearm, and watched his brows draw together. He looked over at Gandalf.
"…We cannot get out. A shadow moves in the dark. We cannot get out. They are coming."
"Please, Aragorn," Shëanon pleaded, almost begging now. The vision, whether she understood it or not, had been a message of evil tidings. She looked beseechingly at Aragorn, who nodded when suddenly from behind her there came a resounding, echoing crash.
With a gasp, Shëanon whipped around; she could see that everyone else had also started. Pippin stood before a stone well with an expression of utter horror on his face while what Shea could only presume had been something he'd knocked over pulled a length of chain and a metal bucket into the dark hole, slamming against the stone sides several times and creating such a sound in the silence that Shëanon was sure it could be heard even back at the western doors. The well seemed to be bottomless, the banging and clanking going on and on, until finally there was a faint splash, and all was silent once more.
Shëanon stood absolutely still, trying to listen despite the pounding of her heart in her ears, her hand still clutching at Aragorn's sleeve. She risked a glance at his face, but he had closed his eyes, his jaw tense. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath, frozen mid-wince, but after several long, tense seconds, nothing had happened.
"Fool of a Took!" Gandalf snapped, furiously closing the book and seizing his staff and hat from the hobbit. "Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity!"
There was barely time enough for a breath of relief, for Gandalf had hardly turned his back on Pippin when they heard it; from somewhere in the deep of the mines, so loudly that it could be heard echoing even where they stood, came the pounding of drums. Once, twice, three times, and then more drums joined, and screams—drums of war and cries for blood. Shëanon felt an icy wave of shock and dread role over her.
"Orcs!" Legolas spat, the first of the group to recover from the initial icy fear that seemed to have affected them all. This word jarred the rest of the company, and there was chaos as everyone sprang into action.
"Get back!" Aragorn shouted at the four hobbits, whose faces were white with fear. "Stay close to Gandalf!" He grabbed Shëanon by the arm and shoved her towards a pile of debris and bodies, and as he and Boromir ran to the door, she understood and began searching for spears or axes to be used as bolts. The sound of arrows piercing wood hit her ears and she jerked around to see Boromir close the doors and give a grim look over his shoulder.
"They have a cave troll…" he said ruefully, and Shëanon, now nauseous with fear, sought desperately for something sturdy enough to bar the door. Legolas had joined her, and so she began passing him wooden shafts and long hatchets which he tossed to the men. Aragorn and Boromir barricaded the entrance as best they could, and then they all retreated into the middle of the chamber. Gandalf stood back with Frodo and the others, but a blue glow shone in her peripheral vision and Shëanon knew that he had drawn his sword; Gimli had clambered onto the sarcophagus, axes in hand, and looked positively ferocious.
"Let them come," he snarled as the shrieking grew louder and louder. "There is one dwarf yet in Moria who still draws breath."
Shëanon tried to breathe deeply; her veins were coursing with adrenaline now and everything seemed sharper, every sound louder. She had taken down her bow, the wood blissfully familiar and right in her hand. She knocked an arrow; on either side of her, Aragorn and Legolas had done the same. She could hear the metallic hiss of Boromir's sword as he took it from its sheath, and everyone's ragged breath, but she kept her eyes fixed on the door as the screaming approached until finally the unmistakable thunk of blades on wood filled the room and their barricade bowed under the force of many bodies trying to break down the door. Her muscles burned from the strain of keeping her bowstring drawn taught, but Shëanon hardly noticed. She was waiting, her nerves screaming; the door splintered as the orcs hacked at it, and a hole was made through which she saw the flash of a terrible, yellow eyes. She did not waste an arrow firing, for she knew Legolas would hit the mark first, and sure enough not a second later there was a silver-fletched arrow where the eye had been and a shriek of pain, and Shëanon waited until she didn't think she could bear it.
An unprecedented feeling of what she thought must be bloodlust coursed suddenly through her blood, every part of her demanding that she kill as many of these creatures as she could, and, completely ruled now by instinct and the fear of what might take place if she should fail, she finally had an opening and took it. Her bowstring sang as she loosed the first arrow, but already she was replacing it and loosing another; she brought her third arrow to the string as the door crashed open. It was Shëanon's first sight of an orc, but she did not even take the time to feel disgust; she was moving more quickly than she had ever before, taking down as many creatures as she could as they spilled into the chamber. She aimed for their throats and between their unnatural eyes, aware that every orc she killed in this first defense was one less orc that could assail the hobbits. She waited as long as possible, the last orc being feet in front of her when her arrow pierced its neck, and then battle was breaking out in full all around her and she hastily restored her bow with one hand and with the other she drew her blade. The contrast between this and the combat she had known struck her deeply; she was not sparring with Elrohir or Elladan now. She meant to draw blood; she meant to kill.
The company was fighting in earnest. Aragorn was beside her; they had always fought well together, for he had been her teacher for many years and so they often knew what the other would do before they did it; it was for this reason that Shëanon knew to duck, and a moment later the head of the orc that had come up on her right had fallen to the ground before her as Aragorn had cloven it from the vile thing's shoulders. Shëanon was in her element, but as the battle grew fiercer, she found herself alone in the sea of orcs. The troll had come into the chamber; she could hear it wailing somewhere behind her, but she was too busy to turn and look. The orcs seemed to be particularly drawn to her; she felt that many of them were making beelines to her, and she found she needed to fight with more tenacity and blind anger than she had ever before. Gandalf was suddenly near her, wielding both his sword and staff at once, and Shëanon might have been frightened of him if she had not known him her entire life.
She heard Sam screaming for Frodo, and she whirled around to see what had happened; she felt as though a bucket of ice water had been thrown at her as she eyes found the hobbit in the far corner of the chamber, the troll before him and a spear piercing his body. Everyone seemed to have frozen in shock and in horror, and then with a newfound fury the battle began again. Hot, black blood splashed against her face as she drove her blade through orc after orc, fighting a desperate struggle to get to the other side of the room. Merry and Pippin had latched onto the troll's shoulders and were stabbing at its back while Gimli's axe sliced at the thick hide near its ankles. When most of the orcs lay slaughtered, Shëanon joined them, stabbing into the backs of its knees, trying to get it to fall. It released a howl of pain, rearing back and dislodging Merry, who fell right towards her and she fell backwards as she caught him, tripping over a pile of rubble. The wind knocked out of both of them, they sat up. The troll was swaying on its feet, wailing—a mournful sound of agony that stirred a strange note of pity in Shëanon—and then with a force that shook the chamber, it fell dead at Legolas's feet, who was holding his bow and looking simultaneously satisfied and sorrowful. Pippin went skidding into the dust and gravel. There was an instant of silence. Everyone stared at the troll, half-expecting it to pull itself up and begin fighting anew, but its chained, scarred body lay lifeless and so everyone spun, seeking new danger, but the orcs were all conquered as well. Then, as one, the fellowship turned to Frodo.
Shëanon noticed immediately that he was not moving, and her stomach was roiling as Aragorn crawled to his side and turned him over. They had all set out on this quest to protect Frodo, and yet out of the entire company, he was the one they had failed to protect?! The irony was not lost on her, but she felt too much despair to think on it.
Frodo suddenly coughed and made to sit up, life still in his pale face, and Aragorn was visibly startled.
"He's alive," Sam all but wept with relief, as the rest of the fellowship looked on in wonder. Shëanon's jaw had dropped; she had seen Frodo impaled against the wall and would have sworn he had been killed.
"I'm alright," Frodo rasped over the company's gasps of surprise. "I'm not hurt."
Aragorn helped him to lean against the wall, his eyes shining as though he hardly dared believe what he saw.
"You should be dead!" he exclaimed. "That spear would have skewered a wild boar!"
"I think there's more to this hobbit than meets the eye," Gandalf smiled wisely, and Shëanon's eyebrows went up as Frodo pulled aside the collar of his shirt to reveal shining mail underneath. It was mithril, she knew, but still the shock of thinking him dead and then finding him living was so great that she could almost not make sense of the metal shirt.
"You are full of surprises, Master Baggins," Gimli said, but even as he spoke, the sounds of thundering feet and drums could be heard once more and everyone was once again on their guard.
"To the Bridge of Khazad-dûm," Gandalf commanded, and Aragorn lifted Frodo to his feet. "Quickly!"
No one needed to be told twice. As the roar of the orcs grew louder in their ears, the company ran with all haste back into the hall of pillars, racing around the columns in the direction that Gandalf led. Orcs were crawling out of the ceiling like insects, scaling the pillars and hopping to the ground all around the company until they were surrounded and could run no further. Shëanon pulled an arrow from her quiver, but she could see as she took aim that it was useless. They were greatly outnumbered, and even as they stood with orcs all around them, more still were coming. From every direction the shining yellow eyes leered at her, and she felt bile rise in her throat. She looked at Aragorn beside her, and saw that his expression was grim.
For one tense moment in which she was certain that they were all going to die, the fellowship stood in a tight circle, weapons aloft, backs to each other and blades to their foes, waiting for the moment when the masses would be upon them. It did not come, however, for a new sound filled the cavern, loud enough to drown out completely the sounds of the screaming orcs with their grinding arms. It was almost a growl, but deeper, and somehow… older? The ground and columns seemed to vibrate because of it… or with it. Shëanon had not yet turned, but the orcs' faces turned quickly from ones of savage delight to ones of pure terror, and they retreated like craven dogs, shoving one another aside in their attempts to flee back up the pillars and into the shadows. Panting and shaken, Shëanon slowly turned towards the source of the sound. At the far end of the room, in the direction from whence they had come, the arched doorway was full of light—the flickering, menacing light of flames. The growl came again, and nobody dared move, but Shëanon felt a sob fall from her own lips as she finally understood.
"What is this new devilry?" Boromir asked Gandalf, looking from Shëanon's horrified face to the glowing door in the distance. Gandalf had closed his eyes, and Shëanon was trying desperately to pull herself together.
"A balrog, a demon of the ancient world," the wizard explained in a deadly tone. Shea watched Legolas lower his bow at these words and meet her eyes; she wondered if he saw the panic that she felt. The elf's face had gone pale, but his expression flashed like fire. A heartbeat's time had passed, everyone absorbing what was happening, when finally Gandalf opened his eyes. "This foe is beyond any of you. Run!"
The running this time was different, at least for Shëanon. Gandalf had not demonstrated such fear even when they had been encircled by hundreds of orcs, and that fact made her feet fly. They sped the remaining length of the great room and across a short corridor; Boromir had taken the lead, and she looked over her shoulder and saw Gandalf and Aragorn linger behind to keep pace with the hobbits' and Gimli's short legs. Shea hung back as the others spun around a corner and onto stairs of stone; she was waiting for Aragorn, but as the hobbits passed her and he reached her, he snarled and grabbed her by the strap of her quiver, where it ran over her shoulder.
"Keep pace with Legolas!" he barked at her, shoving her after the others. Shëanon would have argued with him, but the raw anger on his face stayed her tongue and on trembling legs she raced down the stairs after the hobbits, glancing behind her as she did to make sure that Aragorn and Gandalf followed.
The stairs were steep and perilous, hardly wide enough for three of them to stand across and turning and twisting sharply down over a black abyss. The company was taking the stairs two and three at a time, cutting corners and breathing hard; Gandalf kept shouting at them to run faster, step quicker. They were going so fast that Shëanon was hardly able to stop as they came to a gap in the crumbling, ancient staircase. About eight steps seemed to be missing, and the flickering light all around them indicated that they were being pursued. She looked at Legolas, who stood beside her, and at his nod, she swallowed the scream that was waiting in her throat and leapt the distance, her feet landing soundly on the other side. Legolas had jumped with her, but the others still waited on the other side. Shëanon looked at Aragorn, at the very back of the group, and felt like weeping.
"Gandalf!" Legolas called, beckoning for him to jump across, and Shëanon watched with her heart in her throat as the wizard spanned the gap. A roar rumbled in the stone from somewhere behind them just as the whistle of an arrow flew past her ear and clattered against the stone at Boromir's feet.
"Get the hobbits!" Shëanon yelled as arrows began raining down on them. She could taste blood in her mouth. "Get Frodo across!"
Legolas had started shooting down the orcs that were firing upon them, and Shëanon did the same, picking out their skulking forms in doorways and shadows above and around them. Arrow after arrow she landed in their skulls and chests, but then her hand found no more arrows and she cursed, her quiver empty. A deafening crash met her ears, and she spun around to see about five more steps crumble away from the staircase; Boromir, Gimli, and three hobbits had come across, but Aragorn and Frodo were stranded across a gaping hole more than fifteen feet wide.
"Aragorn!" She cried, looking around helplessly, but there was nothing she could do. Legolas had stopped loosing arrows as well, and she could see that his were also spent. No one knew what to do, and none were willing to leave any of the others behind.
Everyone jumped as, with a sound like an explosion, something burst through a doorway above. Slabs of heavy stone fell over them and Shëanon had to seize Sam and duck as one crashed over their heads. She glanced up as a ruined piece the size of a horse hit the staircase behind Aragorn and Frodo, so that the two had no way forward and no way to retreat, and her panic grew as she realized that the stairs on which they stood were now swaying, the aged foundation not sturdy enough to support the stairs that remained.
"Lean forward!" Aragorn shouted as the steps moved precariously under their feet. Shëanon couldn't breathe, could hardly bear to watch as slowly, slowly the stone came forward. If their angle was not right, they would fall to their deaths.
"Come on!" Legolas screamed from beside her, waiting to catch Aragorn, and then just when she thought that the end had come, they leapt from the stairs and crashed into Legolas and Boromir's outstretched arms.
"Go! Go!" Gandalf shouted; the staircase had fallen after Aragorn and Frodo had jumped, tipping over and knocking over more flights of steps, so that dust and rubble was falling on the company and more archers had appeared in the eves.
Knowing that Aragorn and Frodo were safe, everyone turned and bolted down the last several flights. At the bottom of the stairs, everything was burning. Fire shone in every doorway, burned around every corner, and it was just like in Shëanon's vision. There was a long stretch of empty ground ahead of them, but it ended suddenly, falling away to a bottomless pit which could be crossed only by a narrow strip of rock that spanned the startling distance to the other side.
"Over the bridge!" Gandalf cried as they crossed through the last doorway and took the remaining distance at a sprint. "Fly!"
The light behind them seemed to burn brighter and hotter; Shëanon could practically feel the flames licking the back of her neck. She heard what could only be described as a bellow, a roar that reverberated off the stone all around; she felt the force of it stir her hair, and as she realized that the wind that struck her was breath, she skidded to a stop and turned.
Out of the blazing fire, and yet a part of it—wreathed in the flames itself, the demon stepped. It was huge, with a terrible horned face and a whip of fire in its hand, and it was bearing down upon them. Boromir and Gimli had gone on ahead with the hobbits, but Shëanon could not see Aragorn or Gandalf through the fire all around. Legolas emerged from the inferno at a run, and he did not stop as he reached her but instead grabbed her wrist and pulled her along with him.
"Ias Aragorn?" She screamed, choking a bit on the burning air. It was scorching her skin and making her eyes water; there was smoke everywhere but she couldn't see what could be burning.
"Hon tôl! Noro!"
Legolas hauled her in front of him when they reached the bridge; Sam had just reached the other side. Shëanon looked back and finally saw that Aragorn and Gandalf were on their heels, and so when Legolas pushed her forward she did as he'd said and ran. She did not have time to worry over the narrowness of the bridge or the nothingness across which it stretched. She did not consider the consequences of a misstep; she ran hard across the stone and did not stop until she reached the other side. There was nowhere to go but up a staircase that wound out of sight. Was that the exit? She sobbed to think it might be, and was halfway up the stairs after Gimli when she heard Gandalf's voice.
"You cannot pass!"
Shëanon came to a dead stop, feeling the breath leave her chest. Gandalf had stopped halfway across the bridge and turned to face their pursuer. He held his staff up high in front of him, and the light that shone from it now was brighter even than the fire that burned in the balrog's chest and eyes. In his other hand he held Glamdring, and the power in him was so clear that it was frightening. The balrog cracked its whip.
"I am a servant of the sacred fire, wielder of the flame of Anor! The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udûn! Go back to the shadow!" He commanded while the company watched in dumbstruck horror.
"YOU SHALL NOT PASS!" With a fury and strength that struck Shëanon to her core, Gandalf brought his staff and blade together down upon the bridge at his feet; they struck with a force so great that the entire mountain seemed to shake with it, and a flash of light blinded her suddenly and she had to shield her eyes as the demon roared its challenged and stepped forward with its whip at the ready. Shëanon was sure she was about to see Gandalf struck down when the bridge gave away under the balrog's clawed foot and it fell with a scorching scream and the crash of severed rock and the fellowship stood stunned on the stair. Gandalf watched his opponent fall and turned. He was at the same time mighty and weary, grim and bent in his victory.
The company had barely a moment of gladness before it happened, for suddenly Gandalf was down and falling; Shëanon could hardly make sense of what she was seeing. The balrog's whip was around the wizard's ankle and he was clutching at the jagged stone as he was dragged down, but his fingers could find no purchase. His body hung over the blackness, his arms shaking with the exertion of hanging on. The hobbits all screamed, sounds of agonized terror, but Shëanon was numb. He was there; he was right there; they had to help him! Why was no one running? They had to get there or he would fall!
Even as she turned, he spoke.
"Fly you fools!" he shouted, and let go. Shëanon's mouth fell open, but no sound came out. Everywhere there was screaming. Frodo and the others, but more orcs had come and they were screaming too. Shëanon could not move; her limbs did not seem to be working and her brain could not make sense of anything that was happening. Mithrandir could not have fallen. Gandalf could not be gone. He had been there just moments ago—in their reach, right there before them. Gandalf, with his wise eyes and kind smile and blind fury, their unerring guide and her beloved friend could not be gone, and then suddenly the truth of it hit her with such a force that she staggered because she had known and this was her fault because she kept silent and Gandalf was falling still and again and again…
"Shëanon!"
"Get her out."
Hands had seized her arms and were pulling her up the stairs, and she let herself be towed up the steps, staggering and tripping and staring down at the bridge all the while, at the broken stone and the black void; arrows were clattering near her feet but she didn't care because what had she done? She resisted for a moment the hands that led her, with half a mind to run back to the bridge because Gandalf couldn't really have fallen and surely it wasn't too late, or maybe she meant to throw herself over too because, by the Valar, it should have been her, but Legolas all but lifted her from the ground and then the next thing she knew was blinding sunlight.
Translations:
"Ias Aragorn?" Where is Aragorn?
"Hon tôl! Noro!" He is coming/ He comes! Run!"
A/N: Aaaaaand here it is. Well. 37 single-spaced pages on Moria. I need to calm down apparently lol. It's always tough writing the more canonical scenes because I don't want to bore you guys with details you already know, but hopefully it wasn't too bad? Let me know what you think. Thank you so much to those of you who reviewed on Part 1; they were seriously the best reviews I've gotten thus far and I can't even explain how happy they made me :')
And next Lothlorien! I'll try to get it up very soon; I don't intend to spend 37 pages describing the mallorn trees so don't worry!