There was, in Aiedale's mind, little point standing about in the dark cursing one's bad luck.

When one found oneself in such a terribly stupidly bad situation, she had decided long ago that it was best to first shed a little light on the problem. From a pocket, the Shadowhunter drew out her witchlight and lifted it high above her head so as to spread the clear light as far as possible. The light flickered on without her even needing to think about it and illuminated the once grand entrance hall turned tomb. There were many skeletons scattered about and the closest exit was quite effectively destroyed. Her life, it seemed, was just doomed to this sort of thing and, only at rare moments like this, did it make her feel this angry and abused by the world.

She was furious.

Forcing her mind to other things she examined the floor of the chamber. Any pools of blood had long since dried up and turned to thin, invisible flakes, but she knew, from past battles, how this place might have looked when the blood was still fresh, the corpses still warm and the sounds of weapons clanging against each other still rang through the air.

Blood and more blood.

It coated her hands and made her want to throw-up. She already had. The mundane that the blood came from was long since dead – thank the Angel. He was a Forsworn and, for the poor mundane, this was a better death then slowly dying from the burning pain of the runes. She was glad that he was face down; she didn't think she could stand to see his face…

"What is that?" asked Frodo as he looked at her brightly glowing hand. His voice jolted her back to the present.

"The best invention known to man-kind besides seraph blades and chocolate," she responded. Instead of telling him flat-out 'witchlight' which might have raised eyebrows and gotten people started on witches when they had no idea what a real witch was, she told him the French word for the stone and let him puzzle over it. From the expression on his little face she had done so quite effectively.

"What?" asked the hobbit. "What are seraph blades and chocolate? You aren't making any sense."

"I am making complete sense," she told him huffily. "Besides what does it matter?" With a grand gesture she swept her arm around at the destroyed entrance hall with its cobwebbed skeletal corpses. "We are all stuck in this place."

The comment drew dark looks from Boromir and Legolas, but she just ignored them. Aragorn, meanwhile, looked over the scene with a kind of calm look that seemed to say oh-how-flipping-great-I've-done-it-again. With a disgusted curl to her lips, Aiedale pulled an arrow from where it was stuck in the armor of a dwarven skeleton. Taking a few more she added them to her quiver to replace the ones lost in the battle with the squid-octopus-whatever-it-was. Legolas was doing the same and Gandalf, pulling something out from his voluminous robes, managed to get his staff to light up. All it showed was more skeletal corpses with tattered clothes, rusted armor and arrows.

Aiedale, automatically inspecting her surroundings, noticed numerous ledges and hidden shadows that spoke of doors, staircases and wide entrances. She felt herself grow even tenser as she realized this and the ease with which something could watch them without even her knowing of it. They could be surrounded by whatever had killed these dwarves and, the only warning she would have would be the sound of the creature's breaths.

Stepping quietly up to Aragorn she whispered in his ear, "We are vulnerable here." At his look she nodded with meaningful glances towards a few of the easy hiding places from which enemies could be looking.

"Do you hear anything?" he murmured back.

"Not yet," she said darkly. "But I am sure I will at some point."

"It is a three day journey," said the wizard to the gathered group of companions. "We have no choice now, but to face the dark of Moria. Go softly now! Let our passage be swift and silent lest we stir things better left undisturbed."

His eyes found Aiedale's and part of her half-wondered if he was trying to tell her something silently with his deep, old eyes. Was he trying to give her a warning? She didn't care right then – why should she? He had not seen fit to come to her with any warning and so she would not try to read silent looks and gestures that could have nothing to do with her. If something happened then he would have to take the blame for not being considerate and telling her – in clear words – why she was so important in this leg of the journey.

Resting a hand on Pippen's shoulder she whispered into his ear, "You can stay close to me if you like and share in my light."

The young hobbit couldn't find a smile but she saw gratitude and fear in his eyes. He reminded her, at moments like this, more of a child lost in a dark forest who needed someone to take his hand and show him the way. She did not know the way – Gandalf did – but she did have light and, in this place, light was something to be cherished.

"I would be glad to," he whispered and she saw Merry draw closer to. She smiled slightly at him and, as the Company slowly began to move forward, she allowed the two hobbits to draw even closer. Even Sam, usually only one or two steps behind Frodo, allowed his master to walk ahead while he dropped back to be closer to the witchlight which kept shining despite the suffocating shadows that pressed in on the small group.

"Will it ever die?" asked a soft elvish voice from behind Aiedale. Legolas walked directly behind her and the appeared even more ethereal with his natural glow combined with the witchlight. The elf had never looked more despondent to the young woman's eyes then he did right then.

"My light?" she asked without moving her eyes from the little bit of the path she could see. "No, it will never die unless it falls from my hand or I ask it to. It could be brighter but I don't think that wise."

"Could one of us use it?"

"I don't know," she said softly. "Mundanes cannot use them, but you are not mundane and neither is Gandalf." Catching Merry's arm as the hobbit stumbled on a bit of uneven stone she turned her attention back to listening, looking, hearing and straining herself to catch any slight disturbance that might tell her they were being followed.

With that she fell into silence and the Company continued their march. There was no sound but the sound of their own feet; the dull, grief filled tread of Gimli, the heavy, confident tread of Boromir, the light step of Legolas, the pitter-patter of hobbit-feet, the slow firm footfalls of Aragorn and Aiedale's quick, shadow light tread. However, in this silence that was broken only by a faint trickle and drip of unseen water, Aiedale began to feel something – began to hear something.

It was a quiet pitter patter of bare feet upon stone. It was a presence behind them. A sound that, when they halted, it would go on for a little while by itself and then grow still. Never loud enough or near enough for her to truly identify, but it was unsettling and she gripped the wood of her bow even more tightly. The thing – whatever it was – moved stealthily along behind them. It was just close enough for her to catch the occasional shift of a rock dislodged as it moved along or a wheezy breath but, even more importantly, close enough for her to feel its gaze. It did not seem openly hostile and she was certain that both Aragorn and Gandalf knew it was there. She did not want to act or create any sort of fuss if it could be avoided so, disliking it intensely, she left it to the Ranger and that confounding wizard to deal with.

As she examined the walls a memory flitted across her mind's eye…

She gave a breathy laugh, "Took you long enough, Peter."

"It isn't my fault that the blasted demons haven't bothered with a staircase," said Peter as he took her hand and helped her up from the chair she had been tied to. Her wrists were bloody and she felt unsteady on her feet – a sure sign that the blow she had taken to the head was more serious then she had thought.

"What now?"

"We get out," said Peter. "Back-up is coming but…"His arm around her waist tightened as she swayed a little on her feet. "Come on," said the young warrior. "Don't faint on me Darklighter."

"Never," she managed as they made their way out of the room and into the narrow, darkened corridor of the ruined house. Her vision seemed foggy at the edges and she inwardly cursed her lack of a) a stele and b) the time for rune. The stench of demon and blood was around them and, on the peeling wall paper, was evidence of gruesome things better left unknown. The dark of the hallway was oppressive, the shadows seeming to leap towards them despite the witchlight.

"That would be good," said her cousin flippantly. "I didn't come to rescue a damsel in distress."

She groaned in reply and elbowed her cousin sharply in the side. However, in all his gear he probably felt nothing. With one arm supporting her and that hand holding a naked knife and a witchlight, Peter guided her down the hallway. Softly into her hair, her cousin whispered, "James is practically frantic you know. He wanted to come something dreadful."

"Glad you didn't let him," she murmured. They were nearly at the end of the corridor and, to get down to the ground floor, they would have to either jump through the hole where a staircase had been or, if Peter had been thinking, shimmy down a rope. Somehow she doubted it – Peter was brilliant about everything but the small details.

"We've got to go," said Pethred as he let go of her and inspected the drop. "Don't know when they'll be back and the others are supposed to be here…dammit I don't suppose you feel much like jumping."

"How did you get up here, idiot?" she asked with a note of irritation.

"Don't call your handsome rescuer an idiot," he said as he inspected the rough edges of the broken boards. "And, when I came up here, I jumped."

"Nothing for it then," she said with a forced smile as she inwardly braced herself.

"I'll go first," said Peter with a brief worried look in her direction. "And then I'll catch you. Keep this," he pressed the blade into her hand and she slipped it into her belt as her cousin jumped. She heard the soft thump of his feet hitting the floor below and then, with a deep breath, she jumped down after him. Weightless for a brief moment, she felt her cousin's hands catch her around the waist and then they were off again.

They both knew they had to get out and soon.

This was as dangerous a situation as was possible to find…

Aiedale shook the memory away from her head. She had decided that, while dangerous, that situation had nothing on this one. As a Shadowhunter she had been in many dangerous, frightening situations but this one gave her the shivers – it made her suddenly glad she was not alone to face it by herself.

This one took the cake. It was, hands down, the stupidest and most ridiculous mess she had ever landed herself in.

It was impossible to know how long the companions had been walking. It was impossible to even know time it might be outside the mountain. They stopped occasionally but, for the most part, all were eager to continue on. When they did stop to eat or sleep, Aiedale found herself unable to relax and, for the most part, spent her time staring at the shadows around them as she tried to locate where exactly their mysterious pursuer was.

The maze under the mountain seemed endless, the shadows suffocating and death seemed two steps behind them. But still they kept going. Aiedale had long ago lost count of how many dark passages they'd passed by or how many times the path had forked. Only Gandalf seemed to know where they were going and the best way to take them. The path they followed was intricate and winding. It took them up and down. Through grand halls, up narrow staircases, past great columns carved from the mountain and over chasms whose bridges had long since disintegrated, they kept moving and the neither of the two lights faltered even once. And, no matter where they went, they saw the remnants of skeletons.

It chilled Aiedale to see those skeletons. They had died alone and long ago with no one knowing of their deaths. Moria was no holiday destination and these dead dwarves had vanished into the shadows of the Mine with no sign – dying alone and painfully with no one to remember them. Even Shadowhunters, no matter if their bodies were never found, were acknowledged, honored and remembered. No one, after a certain point, clung to the hope that their loved one was still alive such as Gimli and his people seemed to have clung to the idea that Moria was flourishing.

It made her wonder as she walked along with the hobbits crowding close around her and with the soft sounds of their pursuer behind, why they found her world so brutal. Was not their world of orcs, darkness and massacres that went undetected equally violent? In her world, at least, the deaths of these dwarves would not have gone decades with no one knowing about it. Shadowhunters would have descended upon this place, families would have been notified and the bodies collected so they could be honored as was right.

That was what would have happened.

That was what should have happened here.

Sidestepping one shattered collection of bones and armor, she wondered at the fragility of life. She had seen it again and again. There was the time she had stared at the grandfather clock hanging in her favorite parlor in the Institute and cried because, unlike the clock, a body could not be fixed so easily. Why could life not being like a clock ticking away? When you knew exactly what was wrong? It was like wanting to piece everything back together but, every time you went to do it, the pieces fell apart again.

Aiedale shook the thoughts from her head. They did nothing to improve her concentration on the shadows around their small group and she did not want, because of a stupid mistake, to have to crouch over a dying body of one of the Fellowship. Angel knew she had done it enough. She had held enough limp hands and watched enough eyes grow dull to know that no amount of fixing could always save a life. Aiedale Darklighter had, it sometimes seemed, seen it all and she was struggling to ignore those dark thoughts as they slowly made their way through the Mine.

At some point Gandalf called a halt. The wizard, it seemed, had finally lost his way and, while he tried to remember, the Fellowship was able some time and rest. So they tried their best despite the rubble around them, the seven open arches that led into shadow and the steep staircase they had climbed that lay on one side. Gandalf had led them well, but the Mines of Moria were vast and intricate beyond the imaginings of many of the Company. Even the wizard, aided by the far-off memories of a journey long before, had come to a place where he did not know the way. Gimli, silent in his pain, was of little help and for the most part walked along in silence. He did not even have the heart to speak of mithril, the great treasure of Moria, when Gandalf pointed out a thin thread of it in the wall beside them.

"I have no memory of this place at all," said Gandalf. The wizard was standing uncertainly under one of the arches, his face fixed in a deep frown of concentration. He held up his staff and studied the walls as if searching for some marks or inscription that might help his choice; but nothing of the kind was to be seen. "I am too weary to decide and I expect that you are all as weary as I am, or wearier. We can halt here and rest for a time."

"I wonder where Bill is," said Sam sadly as he sat down not far from Aiedale. "I hope those wolves haven't gotten him."

Frodo said something in reply and then rose to walk over to the wizard. The Shadowhunter turned her gaze away and ignored the faint murmur of the hobbit's conversation with the wizard. She could have listened in quite easily, but it seemed rude and she had not the heart right then. As she nibbled on a piece of dried meat and contemplated an intricately carved column that had been broken in the middle, she listened. There was that sound again! The sound of soft breaths and quiet sniffles made her uneasy as she sat there unable to see their mysterious follower.

"His name is Gollum," came a soft voice in her ear as Aragorn settled down beside her. "He means no harm…yet."

"Is that the creature spoken of at the Council?" She whispered the words and her eyes flicked around their small camp as she searched for any sign, no matter how slight, of where Gollum was hiding. During this brief rest period she had dosed her witchlight and, right then, the only light came from Gandalf's staff. Her eyes, usually so good in the dark, were having trouble making out anything more than the vaguest of shapes. The shadows in Moria it seemed were thicker then shadows normally were.

"Yes," said Aragorn. "I spent a great deal of time in his company when I brought him to Gandalf. He was driven mad by the Ring and he would do anything to get it back."

"You watch certain members of our Company quite closely," murmured the Shadowhunter without looking at the man.

"Some," replied the Ranger with a great deal of emphasis on the word, "must be more careful around such power. I am also included on that list."

"He is mundane," she said dismissively.

"So am I," replied the Ranger with a sharp look at her.

"Not the way he is. You see the world with a remarkably clear head – for the most part that is – and an even more remarkable pair of eyes," she slipped the last of her food away. "Such things make a difference when dealing with such power. It allows you to see beyond the lies."

"Perhaps," said the Ranger and she couldn't stop her eye roll. Not that, of course, in the dark he could see it.

"You still owe me an explanation of who you really are," she said as she drew out her water skin. "It is all tied to your ability not to act like another blind sheep."

"You will leave Gollum alone?" asked the Ranger without commenting on her words. Though, from the expression in his eyes, she knows he is thinking about them. She had spoken them to him that one night out in the Wild before they had reached Rivendell and she did not want him to forget that he still owed her an explanation.

"If he acts…" she let her voice trail off suggestively. "But if he keeps his distance then, yes, I will leave him be."

Silence descended upon the two once more and Aiedale half-heartedly listened to the low murmur of Gandalf and Frodo's voices. She could have concentrated and listened more closely, but she did not. Instead she focused her gaze on the shattered bit of elaborate stonework in front of her and listened to the soft, secretive sounds of Gollum as he watched them. She couldn't stop a slow smirk from spreading across her face. It always amused her when someone or something thought they were going unnoticed when, however, that was far from the case.

The wizard suddenly rose from his place and Frodo moved back to stand close to Aiedale who had picked up her witchlight at the wizard's sudden movement. Gandalf had gone up to one of the arches and he was peering into it as if somehow able to see through the thick shadows. Turning back to the waiting Fellowship he smiled and gestured with his staff towards the arch.

In a cheerful voice that was at odds with the dark, foul air around them he said, "This is the way."

Merry jumped up, "He remembered!"

Gandalf though just let out a great huff of amusement as the others readied themselves to leave once more, "I did not remember my dear hobbit. But the air is cleaner down here. If in doubt, always follow your nose. I do not like the feel of the middle way; and I do not like the smell of the ways to the left. Only the one on the far right takes us up and it is not so foul."

With those words, the old man set off down the left tunnel, leaving the others to hurry after him. Aiedale paused briefly at the entrance to the tunnel and glanced back. Skulking not far away were two large, lamp-like eyes that froze the second they felt the Shadowhunter's gaze. She gave a little wave and then vanished after the other members of the Fellowship, lighting her witchlight as she did if only for the hobbit's sake. For a long time after the little encounter she did not hear the sounds of their little follower. It seemed she had deterred him for a little while at least and that made her feel slightly better.

The tunnel went steadily upwards and seemed, if that was possible in this place, even darker then the ones they had traveled through before. The shadows pressed in on them from all sides, stifling the light provided by Gandalf's staff and Aiedale's stone. Down the dark path Aiedale crept along with the silence that only long years of training and moving in dark places could give you. Beside her, eyes focused on the treacherous ground, the hobbits moved closely beside her and her struggling witchlight. There were no openings to other galleries or tunnels and the walls were smooth, almost polished. The black stone reflected the light of Aiedale's witchlight and she almost fancied at a couple points that she saw faces in the stone that stared back at her with dark eyes.

But it was still silent. The entire Mine had an oppressive silence and, inwardly, Aiedale decided that she would never again complain about noise levels again when she got home. Heavy metal rock music was better than this suffocating silence that only made the dark more smothering. She did not care that they were advancing more quickly upon this path then they had before or that the soft patter of Gollum's following footsteps was not so close. The silence got to her in a way she had never felt before.

It was then that the tunnel suddenly opened up and, her gaze rising automatically, Aiedale gasped.

She looked up.

And kept looking up.

Her mouth formed a small 'o' as she realized just where they were.

The ceiling was so high that she couldn't make out the top in the dim light. At some point it hit the side of mountain and thin shafts of bright light cut through the gloom occasionally and sent down their brightness. Someone had arranged the skylights so that they formed a kind of crisscrossing pattern. Giant pillars reached up into the shadows – it was a forest of heavy pillars that were as big as a house and ornately carved from the stone of the mountain. There were doors and chambers branching off in a thousand directions and discrete stairways spiraled up columns and were masterfully hidden on the sides of the Hall. It had been shaped – this entire Hall – from the inside. Its black walls, polished and smooth as glass, flashed and glittered as the light of their two stones touched them. This was not the delicate beauty of Imladris or like anything she had seen back home on Earth. Never before had Aiedale seen such a Hall and she imagined she never would see one like this again. In it she felt small and, quite suddenly, she found herself able to appreciate the beauty of this place despite the silence and the shadows.

In this place she suddenly understood why Gimli's people had tried to retake this mountain. She was fairly certain that if one's home looked like this then even ever practical Shadowhunters would do all they could to reclaim it.

Once, long ago, this place must have been magnificent. When dwarves lived here without fear and this place had been lit by thousands of lanterns…yes then this must have been quite a sight. It still was but, for Aiedale, it was a sad one. A sight such as this should be open to travelers and not hidden because of darkness and fear. In the great hollow expanse of this Hall it seemed to her that the ghost of what this place had been was heavy on the air and she wondered at it all. Not even the darkest rumor had ever suggested the full scope and vastness of the halls and endlessly branching stairs and passages of Dwarrowdelf. What a terrible shame that orcs had taken this place over and that none of Gimli's people had been able to…

Her thoughts were broken by a sudden cry.

Gimli let out a single disbelieving cry and began to run towards a chamber. The sudden sound and their companion's open pain and grief snapped all from their stunned trance. Hurrying after the dwarf, Aiedale and the others found themselves in a burial chamber. The stone door was half closed, but swung back easily at a single thrust from the running dwarf. Inside, Aiedale saw more bodies, their skeletons coated with a thick layer of dust, littered the floor around a raised tomb in the center of the room. A single shaft of light fell upon the white marble tomb and Gimli, sobbing openly, was kneeling before it. The dwarf's head was bowed and the sight of him was so tragic – so utterly tragic – that Aiedale could not bear to look at him.

She knew what he must be feeling. She had been in his position before, but she had never worn her grief so openly in front of others. To see the dwarf grieving so openly and with such complete honesty, filled her with a kind of pity and almost admiration. There was a kind of courage in doing what Gimli was doing and just not caring what anyone thought.

Forcing her gaze away if only for safety's sake, she saw a large round hole like the mouth of a well not far from the tomb. Broken and rusty chains lay at the edge and trailed down into the black pit from which a cool air rose that made the Shadowhunter shiver. Fragments of stone lay near. Where the Fellowship stood, the impressions of their feet disturbed a deep dust upon the floor and, on the slab of white stone, there were runes. They had been carved into stone by an expert hand and Aiedale wondered what they said. Old, shattered wooden trunks lay scattered about the room.

"Here lies Balin," murmured Gandalf – answering her unspoken question. "King of Moria."

Frodo said quietly, "He is dead then. I feared it was so." The hobbit could not help but remember Balin's visit to the Shire long ago. In that dusty chamber in the mountains that visit seemed a thousand years ago and on the other side of the world. The hobbit wondered what he would tell his Uncle if he ever saw him again.

It was not the Shadowhunter who moved forward and gently rested a hand on Gimli's shaking shoulder. It was the young woman who had endured a great deal of pain in her short years and knew that, no matter what one did, some people could not be saved. There were no words that could be said to ease the pain and the only thing that one could do, slight as it was, was stay silent and offer nothing more than a simple gesture. So, as part of her examined their surroundings with methodical care, the other part gently squeezed the thick shoulder of the dwarf.

It was during her silent examination of the room that she realized two rather important and chilling things:

First: These skeletons were not as dust covered as the others which meant that they had been killed more recently then the ones at the entrance to Moria.

Second: This meant that they were getting closer to the enemy.

But she never got a chance to tell anyone this because Gandalf began to read. In her preoccupation with the skeletons, Gandalf had found the remains of a book that someone had stuffed into a shattered trunk. It had been stabbed, slashed and partly burned but the wizard seemed able to make out a little. Aiedale could see dried bloodstains on the cover but the words that Gandalf read chilled her even more, "Drums in the Deep…we cannot get out. They are coming."

The room was frozen. Gimli utterly silent and Aiedale, suddenly more on the fight then before, drew her hand away and readied her bow. They had to get out! That single thought screamed through her mind, making her muscles clench as she prepared to whatever it took to get away – to get out into the light once more. She could not help as her eyes scanned the dead skeletons and she opened her mouth to tell the wizard they must go, but imagine what it must have been like to be trapped deep underground knowing that one had no way out from the deadly trap that was these glorious halls.

Then a noise broke the silence and it was so sudden that Aiedale was not even able to force out a single word.

A soft plunk, very distant, but magnified and repeated in the hollow shaft of the well. Pippen, attracted to the deep dark well, had sent a loose stone tumbling over the edge of it. All of them whipped around and Aiedale nearly loosed her arrow which, if she had not caught herself, would have gone through the little hobbit's heart. She was so furious with the hobbit she did not know quite what to do with herself. WHY?! She wanted to scream at him – demand answers from him so that she understood what the hell he was thinking! But she didn't. One did not scream in situations like this.

"What's that?" cried Gandalf and then, as they all realized what had happened, he quickly grew as angry as Aiedale. "Fool of a Took!" he growled. "Throw yourself in next time, and then you will be no further nuisance."

And then came another sound.

A dull, repeating sound. A boom that seemed to come from depths far below their feet and made the stone tremble beneath their feet with the reverberations of the sound.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

No, thought Aiedale as she automatically looked to the dry, dusty book with its bloodstains and crumbling pages. No!

Drums.

Those were drums in the deep.

The sound was getting louder and faster. It was getting closer.

There came an echoing blast of a horn. Then there were answering horns and harsh cries, the hurrying sound of many feet. Aiedale felt her blood begin to pound and she quickly did a once over her weapons. She was as ready for a fight as she could be – all her weapons arranged just the way she liked them. The Shadowhunter would have done anything to avoid this fight, but it had come and so she had no choice in the matter.

"Frodo!" cried Sam and the black haired Hobbit drew his sword fearfully. The blade was glowing a bright blue that lit the room and sparkled off the white marble of the tomb.

"They are coming!" cried Legolas as he, Aragorn and Boromir hurried to the stone doors and did their best to close them.

Thud. The walls shook.

"Slam the doors and wedge them!" said Aragorn.

An arrow whistled past Boromir's nose and he stumbled back, before throwing his weight back against the door. He pressed his back against it, panting. "They have a cave troll," said the man in a voice that reminded Aiedale of Peter's when her cousin was at his most sarcastic.

As the three at the door fell back, weapons drawn, Gimli leapt onto his cousin's tomb with a furious roar that Aiedale felt was completely over-the-top considering the circumstances. Why waste time roaring? Why not just stay silent and allow ones rage to come through in ones movements? But whatever gave him the strength to fight, she supposed. Gathering the hobbits behind her, she lifted her bow and slowed her breath down until she was completely calm and ready. It didn't matter that this may as well be a losing fight with their backs against a wall. It did not matter that they just might share the same fate as the dead dwarves scattered around on the stone floor. She was completely focused and ready for whatever would come.

The doors gave a last shuddering creak before they burst inwards, no longer able to withstand the onslaught. Aiedale heard the sounds of hoarse laughter and orc battle cries as the creatures leapt towards the small group of fighters clustered around the tomb. Narrowing her eyes and sighting her gaze down the shaft of the arrow, she began to let them fly with practiced ease. To her right was Legolas, also firing fast, and to her left were Boromir and Aragorn. Behind her was the hobbits, clutching their weapons with frightened hands, and Gimli, still roaring, and waving his ax in great sweeping arcs as the orcs began flood into the burial chamber. There was also Gandalf, his sword Glamdring glowing brightly, and his staff raised so that its clear light blinded the orcs.

She wondered, in those few seconds before the rush of battle caught her up, when she had decided she didn't mind fighting with these people. Somewhere along this journey she had decided that she trusted them to look after her - watch her back just as she had done for her cousins. Where? She did not know and she did not care. In this fight she just hoped desperately that they would find a way out. Moria, she had decided in the first ten seconds of being in the place, was not anywhere she would want to die.

She would not die here. Anywhere else but not here.

As she abandoned her bow in favor of a kindjal, another part of her leapt with something almost like glee. She was a warrior. Aiedale Darklighter was a fighter born and trained to the highest of standards. She was unaware that her effortless fighting, her almost elegant way of killing, did not go unnoticed by the others. To her it came as easily as breathing, each movement and action smooth and effortless.

She knew when that had become easy – when the fight had become such a part of her she couldn't imagine doing anything else with her life. It had been when she first realized what she could fight for – die for – and it hadn't been any shining concept such as freedom that remained so out of reach. It hadn't been any of those lofty ideals placed on polished pedestals. She had almost grasped the concept when she saw her dead mother and father. That had been the day she had let her little brother cry into her dress but made sure that her face remained clear of any tears. But she hadn't really understood it until later on, when she saw warriors fall and knew that she couldn't be one of those electrifyingly inspirational people with selfless morals. She would be Aiedale and that would be enough.

As her blade flashed through the air and another orc met its end on the deadly sharpness of the kindjal, she couldn't help but laugh slightly at the orc's suddenly wary expressions as they faced her. It amused her to see it and to be reminded, as she always was whenever she fought, of just how good she was. It was times like this that she felt alive - that she was Aiedale.

A Shadowhunter.

Hope everyone had a lovely Christmas (if you celebrate) and that the winter holidays have given you all a chance to relax after the insanity of school, work and all the rest!

Mizzy9986: New chapter! Hope you enjoy :)

Ray: haha another cliffy! Don't worry :) next chapter will be even more exciting!

Shadow Pheonix: Yes...more fighting and a Balrog next chapter! Lots of fun I think :) thank you for the review and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Hanane El Mokkadem: I am glad you like her! She is quite fun to write and I think she fits in rather well for the most part...maybe a bit modern for our rather traditional Fellowship! Thank you for the review and I hope you have a lovely day!

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