He couldn't believe it.

As he stared at his hands he remembered slim fingers sliding through them, a pale face vanishing into the darkness of an endless drop. He remembered that face smiling and frowning and clouded with thought, but the last memory he would have of it was it streaked with red and black blood, eyes wide with surprised fear as it vanished into shadow. Her hair had shone like red lanterns in the fading light of the falling Balrog. Her quick, bewitching features grey with weariness, pain and fear.

In a few moments there had been a chance of saving her, but he had missed it. He had tried to grab her, tried to save her, but he had been too slow and she had been gone so quickly, falling to her death along with Gandalf. Aragorn son of Arathorn had lost many comrades and many dear friends, but he had never watched a young woman plummet to her death after one the Ranger's most trusted confidants. He had lost two that day, the wizard who he had known since he was a young child and Aiedale…

"Do you fear death?"

"No," she said with a smirk and an amused laugh as if the question was so silly she couldn't bear to answer it seriously. "Do you know something? All my ancestors died messily. I suppose I'll just carry on a tradition."

Around him the Company had fallen to their knees, hands raised to faces wet with tears, eyes only slits against the bright, happy sunlight that only made their loss hurt all the more. All of them, from Frodo to Legolas, wrapped in misery, disbelief and despair. Two of their number were gone in the blackness of Khazadum and their absence left a hole that could not be filled or forgotten. She could not be forgotten.

Gone. One moment flying in green sunlight, then sky suddenly grey and dark. Out like a candle. Here, then gone.

But they had to keep going.

They were still alive. The burden still resting on their shoulders.

Gandalf would have wanted them to keep going. Aiedale would have been furious if they didn't. She would have glared at him and then snarled something in another language that was clearly an insult before going and doing everything without even looking back once to see if they were following. That would have been what she would have done and what she expected them all to do.

So Aragorn remained standing and, though he did not weep, his eyes were forlorn and his mouth was set in a straight line. He would see the Company to Lothlorien and beyond. He would honor the memory of their two companions in the only way he could: by finishing the job. By not letting everything fall to pieces like a castle made of cards. He would never give Aiedale the answer to her long standing question of 'Who are you?' and he would never share a pipe with Gandalf again. But he would remember them, especially Aiedale, and hope that, if he ever got the chance, that he could pass on word of her brave deeds to those who loved her the most.

What would he tell her brother? Would he even have a chance?

The thoughts were so painful, the reality so impossible to comprehend so soon after it had occurred, that he could not continue to think about it. They had to go and he had to focus himself on something else. There would be time later – somewhere else – to think about her and Gandalf. To mourn the fallen and remember them as they should be remembered: Gandalf with his pipe and fireworks; Aiedale in an elvish dress twirling on the dance floor in the arms of Elladan or Elrohir or even Glorfindel as if she had no cares and was as timeless and free as a fair elvish princess. Gandalf with a book in one hand and his eyebrows rose at a question or Aiedale spinning a knife with casual ease as she told him to stop being so impossibly slow as they dueled on the practice fields of Imladris. He would remember her as the slow smile, the dusky evening, the smooth sound of a knife been drawn, a fresh new letter on a creamy white page.

"We cannot stay here any longer," said the Ranger as he forced himself to speak and encourage them to move. Merry looked at him despairingly and Frodo could not even raise his head. But they did as he asked. As they stood, they all turned back to gaze at the Mountains of Moria, and they saw Caradhras farther north. The bright light and blue sky did not refresh them. Placing a hand over his heart Aragorn called back the phrase Aiedale had taught him. She had told him it was the Shadowhunter way of honoring the fallen and he could think of nothing else to say or do. "Hail and Farewell Gandalf the Grey and Aiedale Darklighter of the Nephilim!"

In a bitter voice Boromir said, "What hope is there?"

"There is always hope," said Aragorn firmly as he turned to stare at the Man for a long moment. "And I, for one, would not tarnish the memory of their sacrifice but giving up now. Gandalf and Aiedale did not die in vain."

Boromir let out a long sigh and looked away but the shadow was still in his eyes and it was a shadow of more than grief. "You are right," he said after a long moment. "She was fair and I wish I could have known her better than I did…" his voice trailed off with open regret.

"Come," said Legolas as the elf turned his face away from the mountains. The elf looked haunted, his blue eyes clouded and his face streaked with orc blood. "Aragorn is right. Farewell Aiedale! Farewell Gandalf!"

"Why did they have to fall?" asked Pippen quietly as he rose to his feet and stared up into Aragorn's face. "Why?"

The man had to choke back his tears and, instead, he rested one hand on the little hobbit's shoulder before saying softly, "Come Pippen. Do not dwell in the past when it can save no lives but only destroy the future we must seek."

The Fellowship turned their backs to the mountains and began to walk as swiftly as they could. As they marched on they passed Mirormere. The water of the lake reflected the mountains back in its dark blue depths. It was a perfect reflection. The mountains it reflected back looked ordinary and not as if, in their depths, a Balrog of Morgoth had claimed the lives not only Gandalf the Grey but a Shadowhunter of another world. They seemed to shine in the sunlight, their snowy peaks glittering and their steep sides gently forested.

But still they marched on.

They stopped only to tend to Frodo and Sam's minor injuries. The Ring bearer, it turned out, had more surprises about him then Aragorn had thought: a mirthril corselet of make so fine that Gimli was awestruck at the sight of it. It was, reflected the Ranger as they set off again after tending the bruises and Sam's nasty head wound, quite remarkable really. A mirthril corselet of glossy rings hidden beneath a hobbit's old jacket and worn tunic. He would never say hobbits were boring again. But Aragorn would wish such a fair and rare thing on no one else but Frodo Baggins. The hobbit would need all the protection he could find in the coming trials and the mithril corselet had already saved him.

Despite the all the things he tried to distract himself with from assisting the hobbits to covering their tracks to leading them onwards, she still haunted his thoughts. Gandalf had known what awaited them in Moria, had spoken of it to the Ranger before. His death, while painful and tragic, was not nearly as painful as Aiedale's fall. She had been within his grasp and he had let her go. Gandalf had been gone long before the Ranger got close. But Aiedale? She had been reachable.

Forever stuck in the climb. A young woman just entering the full bloom of her beauty and vitality. Another life snipped far too short. She had been remarkable, a person he had never truly come to know and never would now.

Why couldn't he have caught her?

She had never been in need of rescuing. Had never asked for anything from him, but he had felt some sort of responsibility for her. She had had an air about her that seemed to ask for something – anyone – to trust and rely on. Perhaps it was because she was used to having a brother, cousins and comrades who watched her back without her needing to ask and, in the time Aragorn had known her, he had found himself unconsciously striving to be that. And he had failed – miserably – in his attempt at being there for her when she needed it, at the one moment when she had needed someone to save her after facing all the worst horrors Middle Earth had to offer from a cave troll to a Balrog.

At last, as the night began to catch up with them, they came to the shadow of Lothlorien. In the gentle wind that had risen up around them, the leaves rustled and seemed to welcome their weary group onward.

"Lothlorien!" cried Legolas with a smile that, while it faded quickly, made his fair face light up a little. "We have come to the eaves of the Golden Wood!"

"Lothlorien," echoed Aragorn as he gazed up into the trees. He had been here before – had met Arwen here – and it would always be a place of fond memory for him. Long had it been since he had last tread beneath the golden trees and never with such a heavy heart. One hand, unconsciously, rose to the silver Evenstar pendant. He could not summon a smile to his face but he felt more alive – stronger – to see this place again. "A little further now and we shall be at the Gates. I fear what peril comes from behind."

And so he led them on despite Boromir's misgivings. The man had not wished to enter a wood that the people of Gondor and Rohan thought cursed. The Ranger would have liked to have told him sharply that he was a fool to think that way and, from the dark frown on Legolas's face, the elf felt similarly. But he held his tongue, the man of Gondor would realize that, while great power lingered in this wood, it was not evil.

Dangerous. Deadly. Ancient and wise. Wielded by someone even older than his foster father, Elrond of Imladris, and strong enough that not even Sauron dared challenge it – yet. No, there was power and Aragorn felt it the second he stepped inside the shadow of the gently swaying trees. It surrounded him, beckoned him onwards and reminded him of years long past when he was young and full of love. He saw from the expression on Frodo's grief darkened face that the hobbit felt it to. The Ranger hoped that the wielder would welcome them – at least for a time – despite the danger of the Ring.

But he pushed those thoughts away and led his companions onwards. He kept walking on and urging them forwards despite the ache in his heart that refused to lessen as the hours between the events that had occurred in Moria passed.

At last, as the moon rose high in the star scattered sky above them, they were able to rest safely on Lorien talans after a fierce argument over Gimili and the Ring with the Marchwarden of Lorien and his kinsmen who watched the borders of Lorien. And still, despite the soft blanket and the clear night sky above him, he found himself unable to find rest. He saw her face in the stars, remembered the glitter of her seraph blade and the sliding motion of her hands through his as she fell. No amount of thinking about the coming meeting with the Lady and Lord of Lorien or the journey that stretched out before them once they left the golden forest, would distract him. Not even the memory of Gandalf. The swirling power in the air, the gentle murmuring of the leaves and the gently gurgling of the Nimrodel, did nothing to ease his mind either though they tried.

Finally, unable to stand it anymore, he rose and walked to very edge of the talan. Frodo and the other hobbits were on another one of the raised platforms along with Haldir and a few of his warriors. Boromir and Gimli were lost in an uneasy sleep a few meters away, but Legolas was not. Aragorn felt a soft elf hand land on his shoulder as his old friend came to stand beside him. The elf had lost the shadow of Moria as he stepped across the swiftly flowing Nimrodel and now he stood tall and fair in the moonlight.

"You are thinking of her," said the elf softly in Sindarin.

"Are you?" replied the Ranger in the swift, musical language. He did not look up at the stars but out into the darkened canopy of the trees. Many years he had known the elf beside him and he counted Legolas as one of his dearest comrades and this made him more open about he was feeling then he could be with the others. They looked to him now, even reluctant Boromir, and he count not afford to appear weak.

"Yes," said the elf with an elegant half-shrug of his shoulder. "And I think of Gandalf but my heart is lighter than it was…to be here in Lorien among the mellyrn has made me feel light once more."

"Of what do you speak?" came a new voice from behind them. The two companions turned to see Haldir walking on silent feet towards them. The grey hooded elf was looking at them with a faint glint of concern in his deep blue eyes. His elegant armor was covered by a grey cloak of Lorien make that some said was imbued with magic that made its wearer all but invisible. "You seem troubled by shadow, Aragorn son of Arathorn, as do you, Prince Legolas of Mirkwood."

"We told you of our loss in Moria," said the Ranger as he turned his gaze away from the tall warrior. He knew Haldir and his two brothers, Rumil and Orophin. They were fierce warriors and longtime wardens of the Golden Wood, another time Aragorn would have been glad to see them again but not right then. "Against the dark evil that resides there, they both fell." But he had no wish to utter her name or try to explain to the elf just who she had been. He was weary but unable to sleep.

"The loss of Gandalf will be felt by all," said the warden and the sadness in his voice was clear. "But I do not know your other companion."

"She was a warrior chosen by Elrond and Gandalf to accompany us," replied Legolas and the elf rested a hand on a thick branch as if seeking comfort from the tree. "And into shadow both she and Mithrandir fell."

"A woman?" asked the elf with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes," replied Aragorn with a faint note of sharpness that he could not hold back. "And had I been quicker perhaps she would still be with us." He looked down at his hands that, while he had washed them free of the worst of the grime, were flecked with scars. "But I could not catch her in time and so she fell after Gandalf."

Haldir could see the pain in the man's eyes and so he said nothing more and left them alone soon after. But Aragorn and Legolas could not do anything but remember. They stood quietly beside each other and remembered in silence of the wood. Their thoughts were far away and distant from this place on the edge of the Golden Wood. They flew over a mountain and into the shadows of a chasm, through a dark forest of ancient trees and over a wild northern kingdom.

Around them the power swirled through the air. It was a gentle touch that watched them and guarded them and warded away the evil that had stalked their steps. It felt their sorrow and shared it.

She had been invited to the Restaurant le Dali in Paris for afternoon tea. When she arrived, her host was already seated in the tea lounge, two lightly steaming, tulip-shaped glasses with matching saucers resting upon the tile table. Dressed in a pale blue dress, her jeweled colored Hermes scarf neatly looped around her neck. Lainie, as always, was looking coolly elegant despite the curious glances thrown her way by other patrons.

When she saw Aiedale, the young woman rose from her chair and greeted Aiedale warmly. The two spoke for a few minutes about Lainie's journey from Greece, the city and the hotel, including the sweeping height of the room they sat in.

"It's like being back in Alicante," Lainie remarked, looking up at the domes that line the ceiling. "Like my old home there. We have the highest ceilings in that house…"

"You haven't been back in far too long," says Aiedale as she studies her old friend and notes the faint shadows that make-up cannot hide underneath her eyes. "You should go back for a time."

"Soon," Lainie looks away from the other young woman as if suddenly worried what the other might see in her face. "I am worried what might call me back there."

"What is it?" asked Aiedale. "You did not come all this way just for a cup of tea and for Clave meetings you could have found a reason to avoid."

"No," said the other girl. "I did not come all this way just to listen to more Councils when I get enough of those in Athens. Truthfully, I am here to speak with you. Things are happening out there, Aiedale."

"They are and always have been. But why?"

"My sister was killed," Lainie says and her face darkens with grief but her voice is steady and the pain passes from her face in an instant as she regains control over herself.

Aiedale's grip on her tea glass tightened as she responds but not in French. Instead her words are in Latin, "I did not know that Padva had died."

Laine dropped her gaze to the delicate bit of porcelain, "The demons are going somewhere and they fight viciously to get there. Someone – something – is calling them. The world has changed, Aiedale, and you know who is doing the changing."

"The Clave has admitted he is alive," said Aiedale quietly. "But I have no explanation for what he wants or why he is gathering the enemy. I assume he wants to destroy us, but I know not how or why."

"I loved my sister dearly and I always will, but I fear there will be more deaths like hers. There are already too many."

"You are here to warn me?"

"Yes," said Lainie. "I suppose I am. I fear what is coming, Aiedale. I fear what will call me back to Alicante. We have known each other for what?"

"Over ten years."

"We are going to war," said Lainie. "I can feel it. Valentine wants us destroyed."

"We have always been at war," replies Aiedale as she turns her head to look out the tall windows. "This will just be a different kind of fight."

Lainie just sighed and raised her glass to her lips but instead of sipping her tea, she opened her fingers, releasing her grip.

Aiedale, in a single fluid motion, caught the glass before it came near the ground. So fluid is the movement that none of the tea spills. No one in the busy room notices. They continue their conversations and, a moment later, a smartly dressed waiter silently swoops down on them to refill their tea cups. The near disaster with the tea and the delicate china cup going unnoticed.

Fingering the edge of her delicate saucer Aiedale asked, "Why did you drop it?"

Lainie fiddled with a signet ring on her left hand. It is too heavy for her slim hands, a giant thing that she normally never wears unless she is on official business - like now. "A tea cup is far easier to repair then a person," says the young woman and one finger gently traces the edge of the thin china. "Others have made the mistake of asking the wrong things of the wrong people. It is not a mistake I plan on repeating."

Hazel eyes meet green and hold for a long silent moment as the two friends consider each other.

"That is why you're here."

"That is why I am here," said Lainie. "Because you play many games Aiedale and I worry for you. I hope you know that I am here to and that we are stronger when we unite. If you ever need anything from me, I would like you to ask." The young woman rose from her place at the table. Her green dress, beautifully tailored, swishes around her and she readjusts her scarf. "You could have let the tea cup break."

"I could have," replied Aiedale and she rose. Her dress was a pale green that slowly became darker and darker until, at the bottom, it was the rich dark color of a forest canopy. "But I didn't and nor will I let other, more important things, break."

The memory changes…

Her dress was a soft pinkish red delicately covered with black velvet fretwork, like wrought iron in long scrolling lines and curves. It was heavy and the skirt belled out around her, ending at her knees. Black high heels give her a few vital inches and her hair, chopped short in a bob, curled around her face without any weight to hold it down. She hadn't been sure of this dress when her cousin first forced her to try it on but now, in the High Warlock of Paris's elegant formal parlor, she is glad of its grand feel and look.

She had not meant to come.

But she had and, despite the shock of her arrival, Thiesian had greeted her warmly and swept her into his old fashioned parlor with a glass of champagne in her hand before she could barely manage to say her apologies for her unexpected presence. He would never, she felt, embrace a modern home though, from what she heard, he was quite adept with moving in the twenty first century.

Aiedale feels out of place in this gathering of Downworlders. She may know many of them, but she was still a Shadowhunter and so maintained some distance. But then, out of thin air, a man appeared by her left shoulder. It takes all her self-control to coolly smile at him and say, "Mr. Barris."

"The lovely Aiedale," said the warlock with a charming smile. "You look positively radiant tonight."

"You should have been an actor," replied the young warrior and she sips at the cool drink in her hand. None would have guessed, had they seen her standing there, that she was a warrior unless they knew who she was before. That night she was the very picture of lady-like elegance and refinement.

"I know," he replies with a glint of amusement in his cat like eyes. "Such a shame that I missed my true calling. However, I cannot pretend not be surprised to see you - of all people - at this gathering."

"I am here," was the quiet reply. "And I was admiring this remarkable collection of books but then you arrived, Monsieur, and distracted me."

"It is remarkable," replied the warlock with a note of boredom in his voice. "A fine Shadowhunter you are, but you must loosen up if you intend to be any kind of interesting dinner company." He smirked, "We don't need to you killing the guests."

"I expected the loosening up would occur after dinner," replied the Shadowhunter with another sip of champagne and she waved her glass slightly to emphasize her point. The drink was pleasant; she had always been fond of champagne. The last time she had enjoyed it was on her sixteenth birthday.

The warlock laughed at her, "You are much more interesting than I ever thought you were."

"The finest pleasures are always the unexpected ones."

Mr. Barris laughed again and took her by the arm in a grand gesture of gentlemanly manners. "I cannot believe my good fortune in meeting you here. You must let me introduce you to some of the others. Company such yourself is a delight to all."

She merely smiled at him and allowed herself to enjoy a small flare of victory as she was swept away and into the crowd.

Was this not the purpose of this evening?

Dreams…memories…they claimed her in a never ending stream of images, feelings and thoughts. She was not sure why - should she not be dreaming if she was dead?

A face appeared before her. James was looking at her, eyebrows raised and face focused on her. "You aren't planning on dying?"

"I wasn't," she said as she met his gaze. "But I think I am. How could I not be?"

"But what if you wake up?" Her beloved not-so-little brother seemed to be laughing at her. She must be dreaming or imaging things. Could one imagine people when they were dead? Or was everyone dead at once and they were nothing more than ghosts?

"Then I wake up," she said.

"I would hurry-up if I were you," said James as he turned away from her. "The sooner you wake-up, Aiedale, the sooner you can come home."

"But…" her voice rose with exasperation and confusion. "James – be serious for a moment…"

"Wake up Aiedale," said her brother as he began to walk away and his voice faded away in the blackness. "Wake up…"

She woke on a narrow stone ledge.

On one side she could feel her arm dangling out into open space and could feel faint, conflicting drafts that wafted up from the chasm. The air was cool upon her hot face, almost soothing. On the other side she felt cold, rough stone and it was the same beneath her. Her body ached, her muscles shrieking in protest when she shifted and her mind desperately trying to make sense of the situation.

Am I dead? I should be dead, she thought as she stared up into pitch blackness. But why do I feel alive? How can I still be alive?

Her heart was beating. She could feel it pounding and even hear it in the total silence of this blackness. Her lungs still pulled oxygen in and pushed carbon dioxide out despite her badly bruised rib cage. Her fingers could feel the rough stone and she could feel pain. There was a great deal of pain. She was still, miraculously, alive. Somehow she was still alive. Aiedale did not think she should be alive. How could she still be alive after tumbling through the air? What were the chances of landing on a tiny little ledge?

They were a thousand in one. A trillion in one and the amount of luck involved made her feel sick.

The only way she could still be alive was because – while she was still breakable – it took more to kill her then it took to kill a normal mundane. She was stronger and her runes protected her against a great deal. There were limits to what she could endure, but she could still endure far more than any mundane. Sometimes, like right then, she just wished it would be easier. Mundanes seemed to have the easier side of it all. They lived on and died all the same in their sheep-like innocence and knew nothing of the fights, the deaths and the grim reality of the world.

An amusing thought floated through her mind as she lay there, her thoughts drifting as she lay unmoving on the stone. Perhaps as she tumbled through the air, some Angel had pushed her towards this little ledge and saved her. Aiedale did not know. She may very well never know how it happened that she ended up still alive, trapped, on this little ledge. Perhaps there really was an Angel watching over her, cursing her as she ended up in another life threatening situation. Mundanes liked to call them 'guardian angels.' The thought was so ridiculous that it made her smile faintly. She might just be losing her mind. It wouldn't surprise her after all the knocking about she had taken.

How long had she been here? Had she been unconscious for hours or days?

Aiedale had no way of knowing.

She turned her head and her fingers searched her gear for the handle of her stele. The slight movement hurt and she had to bite her lip to stop herself from sobbing. There was no point in sobbing and she did not want to make a sound. The silence around her was so complete and strangely comforting. She was utterly alone. There was something nice about that – she didn't have to look after anyone but herself. There was no Ring bearer or wizard or comrade in arms to watch out for.

Finding the cool metal of the stele, she pulled it out and slowly maneuvered it so she could draw the line across the rune and complete it. Each movement hurt and she had to remind herself again and again that only through moving could she rid herself of the pain. She might just want to lye still for the next Age but she could not. Shadowhunters did not just give up because of pain or just stay on narrow little ledges until they died. That was not an option. It had never been an option for her. No Shadowhunter would do such thing.

I wish James was here, thought Aiedale as she waited for the rune to relieve her of the pain that clouded her gaze with red and bright white shooting stars. I wish Peter was here and Eleanor and Lainia or anyone else. I wish I was back with them. Why did I have to come here? Why!

With ruthless determination she shut those thoughts away. They would get her nowhere and they would only make her feel even more miserable and alone. She had little energy to spare and it could not – would not – go towards self-pity and pointless wishing. By the Angel! She was a Shadowhunter and Aiedale clung to that knowledge like a drowning sailor. It was sustaining for her when the world grew dark and dismal around her – when hope seemed far and her heart did not feel strong enough to endure whatever mess she had landed herself in.

Her stomach growled with hunger. But she ignored that to.

Once the rune had taken effect, she slowly pushed herself up and winced. Her palms had been burned by her seraph blade and the burns could not be healed by a simple rune. She healed fast and already the burns were far less severe than they had been but it would still take more time. Pulling back a little from the edge of the small ledge, she drew another rune on the inside of her arm. It was for energy and, while it could not replace a true night's sleep or a few days of quiet recuperation, it would sustain her for a few more hours at least. Even with her heightened vision and senses, Aiedale could make out very little in the darkness of this chasm.

On one side was the endless drop into darkness that she had been spared from. She did not even want to think of Gandalf. Somehow she doubted he had also ended up on a narrow little ledge like she had. Besides, she had no way of checking and so she did not bother with continuing along that line of thought. She wasn't sure how she felt about the wizard. Whether she should mourn him or hate him. She felt a spark of anger bloom within her as she recalled how he had not even tried to hang onto her but had let go. And it grew as she remembered how he had not even bothered to tell her that there was a freaking Greater Demon in this mine she had to be prepared for.

No, her feelings for the wizard were definitely leaning towards the negative side even as a small part of her argued that he had sacrificed himself to save them and not intended for her to fall after him. With a shake of her head, she decided it was too confusing for her right then and her focus could only be on one thing: getting out.

Out. Get out and get as far away from this place as she could.

On her other side was the wall of the chasm. It was rough and she might have been able to climb it, but her hands weren't healed enough and she had nothing to bind them with. Her gloves had vanished at some point during this journey and she had no bandages. But she might just have no choice. Who knew how long she had fallen for and how long this climb would be. However, it was her only way out and she was, by the Angel, not going to die on this little ledge. She had been spared whatever lay at the bottom of the chasm and she would not insult whatever had stepped in to save her by being so pathetic.

She owed it to herself to find a way out. She owed it to the Fellowship and her family.

Pushing herself a little straighter, Aiedale began to feel along the wall as she prepared herself to climb despite the burns. As her fingers searched for their first handhold, she felt a faint groove. Her fingers paused. The groove continued up and then down in the shape of a clear tall arch. In the darkness she could only make out a faint runes inscribed a few inches above her head, but she had to strain to make out that much. Pulling out her witchlight and risking a little light, she found herself staring at what had to be a cleverly disguised door.

Some dwarf, long ago, must have used this narrow ledge as a watch station? Perhaps there used to be a way of dropping to the next level without bothering with stairs? Had there once been a way of crossing the chasm from this ledge to another on the other side? Aiedale didn't know and she didn't really care. The amount of luck she was using up that day or night or whatever blasted time it was made her almost feel sick. Luck normally didn't come in this big of a slice and she was going to enjoy every single moment of it and just hope it didn't run out until after she made it out of this place.

The door wouldn't move – of course – but she was a Shadowhunter with a stele and had more than a little experience opening doors that wouldn't budge. A quick rune and a shove of her shoulder was all it took for Aiedale to get the door wide enough for her to slip through and away from the chasm. And she would get away and she would find the Company. She would leave the memory of falling and the Balrog and Gandalf and she would live.

Bloody hell.

SHE WOULD LIVE even if the entire would was against it.

That was the thought that was running through her head as she found herself in a pitch black tunnel with such a low ceiling she had to crouch down. With her witchlight showing her the path and a blade clutched tightly in her battered right hand, Aiedale moved on. She didn't know if she was going deeper into the mine again or walking straight towards a trap but she kept walking despite it all. Sometimes she ran on silent feet and other times she stopped and forced herself to calm her frazzled nerves lest she be too worked up to sense danger. She did not want to make a stupid mistake now of all times.

Occasionally she would come to doorways and crossroads, but she did her best to ignore the doors and, if she had to change her path, she tried to choose the path that seemed to go up and not down. There were many wonders she passed, for she was deep in the heart of the mountain and it was here that a great deal of time had been lavished upon carving the stone into feats of sculptural magnificence. Many of the places she passed through were so grand and awe-inspiring that one would have thought even a Shadowhunter would pause to admire them.

But she had no eyes for any of this.

She was finished with this place. Aiedale hated it with every fiber of her body and her eyes had no time to admire or wonder at the places she did her best to navigate through. She was weary, sore and it made her temper practically snap with irritation.

Aiedale ignored the beauty, the grandeur and she did her best to ignore the deep sense of sadness and bitterness that clung to the underground city that she moved through. For it was a city. This part of Moria was a warren of chambers and halls and corridors and open places that, despite the many centuries of disuse, clung to memory of their former grandeur. But she had little time for imaging these places bustling with dwarves and glittering with mithril, jewels and gold. Everything had been stripped bare until it was nothing but stone, dust covered marble and shattered remnants. Aiedale's soft footsteps did not echo, muffled by the centuries of dust and memories that had gathered in the old city of Moria. The Shadowhunter ignored the skeletons, the long dried up pools of blood and the forgotten weapons. She was shadow-like in her movements and sounds. A flitting shadow with a softly glowing star in one hand that did not linger but moved swiftly and surely.

Aiedale's senses were wide, her heart thrumming and her hand gripping the softly glowing witch light, as she journeyed through the mine. She had no time for sightseeing and she did not want to linger in this place any longer then she had to. What unsettled her most was the clear signs of orcs but no signs of the creatures themselves. She felt as if she should have run into a few by now, especially as she was so deep in the mine, but the entire place felt deserted. As if she was the only living creature inside the place. She felt like Theseus must have when he was navigating the Minotaur's labyrinth.

But then, as she began despair of ever finding her way out, she heard something.

A shrieking jumble of voices that echoed down the small tunnel she had found herself traveling down.

Orcs.

She crept forward on silent feet and found herself on a dark ledge that overlooked a large cavern with heavy pillars supporting the ceiling. The floor was polished dark stone and the walls threaded with faint lines of mithril that sparkled in the light of the orcs many torches. The fire that they burned seemed evil to Aiedale's eyes as she scanned the gathering of a hundred or so of the foul creatures along with a few cave trolls. The orc fire reminded her of the Balrog's flames and that made her shiver.

From what Aiedale could tell (and that was only be inference and not real understanding) the orcs were quite furious about the Fellowship's escape. In fact, they seemed furious enough about it that they were probably planning on tracking them down. At least that was what she assumed they were discussing with a great deal of waving around of weapons and screeching. Orcs are difficult to understand at the best of times and this group of them was so angry that it made it even more difficult.

But Aiedale had spent enough time around demons (some of them very similar to orcs) and she was able to get the general theme of what was occurring before her. It made her quite worried (like it would anyone) because, if they were planning on tracking the Fellowship down, then they might just catch up with the company. They might show her the way out of this place, but what if the Fellowship was found by this disorganized mob of furious orcs? It didn't bear thinking about. She did not want to try and think of all the consequences or the benefits – she was too tired and too fed-up with the world.

However, seeing this gathered group of orcs left her scrambling to bring together a plan. She needed to find the way out but before these orcs got there. Perhaps, if she got there before they did, she could seal the door and buy a little more time for the Fellowship to journey onwards. She was sure there were many doors out of this mountain but if she locked one then they would have to find another and that time could be vital. Because, even if the Fellowship was far away, she needed to think of how she would get away from the mountain safely to. Aiedale didn't know where her companions were and she didn't even know where she was, but she did know how precarious her own situation was. It was all very good and fine to worry about others, but she was the one kneeling on a small ledge above a hundred or so very angry orcs. She was the one who was on her own when it came to making her way away from Moria and after her companions. It would be her alone who would encounter any roaming hordes of orcs and she was in shape to go to battle by herself when the odds were stacked against her.

She wasn't good for anything dead. She'd already escaped death once and she didn't want to try to manage it again.

Turning away from the screeching gathering of orcs, Aiedale crept back the way she had come and choose a tunnel to the right. It went up a steep set of stairs and then levelled out in a wide room that, from what she could see, had once been a sort of library with one side completely open. It overlooked the Hall in which orcs were still screeching and clanging their weapons. There were shelves carved out of the rock and many ancient, crumbling books lay scattered all over the place. They were covered in a thick layer of dust and Aiedale stepped through the room carefully. It felt wrong to be there. Moria seemed to be haunted by too many ghosts and memories that disliked being disturbed by someone like her. This library was no different.

She found herself descending another set of stairs on the opposite side of the room and she paused at the entrance to the stairs to look out into a very wide tunnel. It was high ceilinged and wide as if it had once been a sort of road. It led straight into the large Hall with all the orcs and Aiedale swiftly and silently headed the opposite way without bothering to go closer to the orcs. She ran down the tunnel, her witchlight nothing more than a faint glow in her one hand as she hurried along. With any luck the orcs were so busy venting their anger they hadn't noticed her.

Aiedale paused once when she came to a large stone door to close it as quietly as she could (which wasn't that quietly for the hinges protested loudly) and then hurriedly locked it with a rune at the top and another at the bottom. Then she was off again. Her senses told her that she was going down but this road-like tunnel did not branch and, while there were many doors and arches on either side of her, she felt no reason to turn away and explore where they might lead. This tunnel seemed to go someplace and it didn't seem haunted by the ghosts of those who had once lived in this place like the other ones she had traveled through. It was wide and clearly used a great deal by orcs for there was no dust upon the polished floor and the place was rank with their stench.

At last the tunnel started going up and she found herself hurrying forward with desperate eagerness. Perhaps, at long last, she had found a way out of this mountain and its deadly traps. After a few more minutes of steady rising, she found herself standing, very suddenly, not far from a very familiar place. The tunnel had opened up into a wide chamber and there was a deep, dark chasm on one side. Scorch marks and collapsed columns were on the opposite side from where she was.

She was back where Gandalf and the Balrog had fallen – where she herself had fallen into Moria.

It sent a chill through her to see it again. She could imagine the Balrog, see Gandalf standing with his sword and staff raised…the Shadowhunter firmly shook her head and blocked the memories. Why remember? She had no use for remembering right then and her burned hands hurt sharply as if recalling the flaming seraph blade.

Aiedale left the entrance of the tunnel and moved forward a few feet. Somehow she had managed to make her way up from the depths of the mine and get herself back to this place. But, before she could continue, an instinct made Aiedale stop and retreat into the shadow of the arch that led to the tunnel she had taken. It was a niggling feeling and she listened to it – wisely on her part. For, while feeling almost stupid with her weariness, she was not so far gone to ignore her deeply ingrained instincts.

As she hid in the dark shadow of the arch she saw a group of heavily armored orcs making their way towards the door that led outside from another wide arch. They bore torches and dragged more cave trolls along with them. Had she kept moving forward, they surely would have seen her. But Aiedale was not thinking of that, she was wondering how in the bloody world she was supposed to get around those foul things and to the door in time to shut it against them. She did not want that pack of angry, revenge seeking creatures to be loosed on the world to hunt down her companions. Nor did she want one of them coming any closer and sensing her.

One hand moved back to her battered quiver from which she pulled another exploding arrow.

Her plan was quite simple: distract and confuse the orcs by blowing up one of the giant columns not far from where they had stopped to organize themselves. In the confusion she would run and get to the door before getting out and rune-locking it behind her. It was a terribly risky plan and she didn't want to think about the odds of it succeeding, but she was weary and grasping at straws.

Perhaps it was lucky then that she never got the chance to put it in action.

A sound came from a tunnel directly beside the one she was hiding in. A very worrying sound that made her shrink back even further into the shadows.

As she crouched in the shadow of the arch, she heard the sound of many distant but coming closer at a steady rate were heavy footsteps and jeering voices. She shrank back further into the shadows of the tunnel and watched with mounting horror as another group of a hundred or so orcs emerged. They were so close that she could make out the individual rusted buckles of their armor and the smell was nearly overpowering. The group which was already there did not seem at all pleased to see this new collection of orcs. In fact they were definitely not pleased.

Aiedale decided that the language of orcs had to consist of a lot of screeching and battering around of weapons. For that was what these two large groups of orcs did. They appeared on the verge of a war – each one not going to give any ground and quite prepared to fight for more. The group that had come up from tunnel close to Aiedale was composed of orcs in black armor. They were bigger than the others but not as heavily armed or as vicious in their yells. Perhaps they were arguing about who fell first: the Balrog or Gandalf or her. She found that thought ridiculously amusing.

As the Shadowhunter observed the rapidly deteriorating situation before her, she realized two things:

First: If fighting did break out it would be a wonderful excuse to slip around and to the Gate out into the world beyond Moria. A quick, silent move that would (with some luck) go unnoticed by all of the squabbling orcs.

Second: If she was found out then they would have a common enemy – her. They would no longer be interested in killing each other. They would be completely focused on killing her. She might just have to jump back into the chasm.

Aiedale cursed softly under her breath. It was a really fantastic bit of mess she had landed herself in – a really special combo of all the worst things that could happen and go wrong. She might be the luckiest person alive, but she didn't feel like it as she watched the orcs move swiftly towards combat. As the screeches grew louder and the sounds of weapons being drawn reached her ears, Aiedale closed her eyes. She didn't often prey – it wasn't something Shadowhunters did – but she couldn't stop herself from whispering in her mind a quick plea to the Angel. She might have made it this far - that was remarkable in itself - but she needed to make it a little further.

When the sounds of metal clanging on metal along with battle cries erupted from the conflict before her, Aiedale made her move. All but blind without any light to guide her way and stubbing her toes on the uneven stairs, she made her move towards the Gate. She crept through the shadows as silent and unobtrusively as she could. In one hand was her stele and she was frantically hoping that, if worst came to worst, that she could somehow create a portal. Her attempts had all failed miserably in Imladris but maybe…well maybe if she tried one now it would work or if she tried one to a place in Middle Earth. That was her last ditch plan – her final try at surviving and she hoped it wouldn't come to that. Portals were tricky things in the best of times and she was not, most definitely, at her best.

Aiedale was so close.

She was, actually, only a few meters away from the Gate out into the world beyond Moria. Was it not then that everything had to go wrong? It seemed to the Shadowhunter that that was usually what happened in life. Nearly there, almost won, and then 'BANG!' it all goes up in a mushroom cloud of black smoke and you are left either dead (usually happens to Shadowhunters) or looking like an idiot (usually happens to mundanes) or cursed (usually happens to Downworlders). How can you lose so much in one fell swoop? Aiedale knew only too well.

It was then that some stupid excuse for an orc with a cauliflower for a nose – why that one? – had the nerve to look up and see her right at the Gate. It was that orc who screamed something in orc-ish and got everyone else focused on their new enemy. It was that orc who pointed his scimitar at her and made all the other orcs forget about killing each other.

Why did it have to be her?

Aiedale moved fast. She moved faster then she thought even a Shadowhunter could move.

As all those orcs – those blood thirsty orcs – came running at her with weapons raised and screaming bloody murder….well it would inspire even a slow-witted mundane to move quickly. She yanked the massive Gate out just enough to slip through and then she shut it just as quickly. She ignored the pain that forcing that heavy stone door sent through her bruised body and she ignored what lay beyond the door. One rune and then another and then another were carved into the stone before she had even taken time to draw another breath.

And then another locking rune for good measure along with a few more that would discourage anything evil to even touch the stone. The lines glowed slightly before they faded and remained, etched deeply, in the stone.

They had better last.

She didn't want some blasted cave troll breaking it down until she was good and far away from this place.

Aiedale could have sworn that, even though a good meter or more of solid stone separated them, she heard the sounds of orcs thumping against the solid door as they tried to break it down. She couldn't have been a second later. If she had been a second later then there might not be much left of her.

Feeling utterly drained and spent, Aiedale turned around and found herself standing in clear moonlight. Around her was a scattering of small boulders and then, stretching out in a gentle slope, was the faint outline of a road that led straight away from the mountains. In the distance her far-seeing eyes could make out a hazy line of what might have been trees. She glanced around but she could only make out faint outline of where her companions may have paused. The signs of their passage were faint and subtle hints that her well trained eyes found. A faint footprint here or a stand of elven gold hair caught on the rough edge of a stone and a thread from someone's cloak that had snagged on a ragged looking bush. At least they had made it this far.

She sank down on one of the rocks and let herself enjoy the cool breeze that teased at her blood crusted hair and the moonlight that washed over her face. Aiedale had never felt this relieved to be outside, to be able to see the horizon and breathe fresh air. She hadn't expected to ever feel this again when she was tumbling through the darkness of the chasm. Drawing in the clean, sweet air, she tried to rid herself of the mine. She had never felt this dirty either and she hated it almost as much as she hated Moria.

A sob tore free of her throat as she rubbed one of her hands across her eyes. She felt worn, beaten down and battered in a way she had never felt before. But she gathered herself together and forced herself to stand. She needed to get going and be far from this place when those orcs found a way out. It wouldn't do to escape them once only to be caught up with a few short miles away. Crying never helped anyone and she wouldn't break down now - not after surviving so much.

Another energy rune and healing iratze later, and she was on the move once more despite her exhaustion and protesting muscles. It was clear that the Fellowship had taken the road and, as it was the easiest way away from this place, she took it to. Aiedale never looked back, never even bothered with it. Any feelings of sympathy or fondness for the wizard had dissipated as she journeyed through the mine these past hours and she had no wish to ever see that mountain again. She had seen enough of it and it would haunt her darker memories.

The Shadowhunter paused at the lake that was fed by a clear stream which flowed out of the mountain range she had journeyed under. It was there that she paused long enough to drink a little and wash away the worst of the blood and grime. She longed for a hot bath, but the cold mountain water was refreshing and it numbed her aching bruises though it did not ease the hunger that made her stomach ache. Her burned hands were looking a little better and she hoped they would be healed by the time morning came around. She had no wish to deal with burns if it she had to fight and, at the rate things were going, she just might have to. This had been a situation after situation after situation.

So Aiedale set off.

She set off after doing a bit of confusing running about to confuse enemies and after destroying any signs of her pause by the lake. She had no wish to be tracked after all that had occurred. While she couldn't detect anybody following her, she wasn't going to take a single bloody chance. She wasn't a trusted member of the Clave for nothing and her skills, even in exhaustion, were so instinctive that she barely needed to think about it.

But she was off.

She didn't know where her companions were or how they were dealing with her presumed death and Gandalf's fall with the Balrog. She didn't know what lay at the end of this road. She didn't even know how long it had been since they had first set foot in Moria. She knew she couldn't go far that night in her exhausted state but she would go as far as she could.

But she didn't care.

In typical Shadowhunter fashion she had decided none of that mattered in the great scheme of things.

Promises and loyalty and genuine fondness that had grown slowly over time bound her to the Fellowship. And one never gave up on friends or comrades no matter where they were. Gandalf, as much as she might have distrusted him, had been right. They needed her and she needed them if she ever wanted out of this world and back to her own. Aiedale knew how quickly things could change and how dangerous the world was. She had lost comrades in the blink of an eye and felt her heart break just as quickly. Falling through Moria that day or yesterday or whatever it was had only reinforced that.

Glancing up at the breathtaking star studded sky, she felt as if she was being watched by something far away but close enough to see her. Pausing on the gentle rise of a small grassy hill, she stretched her arms to the side and looked up. She was alive. She was alive and she would find them again. Letting out a soft laugh and breathing in the sweet air, Aiedale whispered to the sky:

"J'ai promis…"

So you see? I didn't kill her! I didn't!

Review Replies:

vampirediarieslover123: I am glad you like it :) yes I think that was my favorite part to! Thank you for reviewing!

Ray: 'Hardy' was one of Nelson's close friends and, when Nelson was dying after been fatally wounded, he asked his friend to make his death quick. So yeah...that is who Hardy is! ;) have a good one and thank you for reviewing!

Motoko The Red Queen: I know...that was pretty intense! Oh Aiedale is on it - she isn't in the mood for sitting still and doing nothing. I am glad you like my version of Gandalf...I never liked him for some reason and it comes through in my writing. haha Aragorn and Legolas and a beat-up Shadowhunter...that makes me giggle! Happy New Year to you to :) thank you for reviewing!

King Of Roanapur: I have to keep you on your toes! No boring chapters! ;)

nagozualdean: I am glad you like it :) and she will be meeting Galadriel soon...thank you for reviewing!

Hanane El Mokkadem: haha I am glad they got Legolas right in the movie...I really must go see it now! I will check out that song :) I love Ed Sheeran...and I am glad you liked the last chapter. Hope you like this one to!

silverhawk88: Hope you like this! and thank you for reviewing and commenting all the way along...