A sharp cry caused me to twist in my tracks, hand already placed on the hilt of my sword. My eyes widened catching sight of the water-like creature, drawing the Ringbearer to his mouth with a horrid tentacle. Abandoning my bag, I leapt into the water, slashing wildly in the air. The monster leered at me before reaching out to grasp me. I ducked its grip and hacked away. Arrows were soaring over my head, hitting the beast with sharp metal stings. It groaned and its clasp on the hobbit weakened. I took the opportunity and thrust my blade into its nearest arm. It dropped the Ringbearer who hit the glinting water with a cold shatter. I grabbed him and escaped from the water, dodging arrows singing around me. With one hand, I seized my bag and carried both into the deserted mines, fleeing the watcher that lay in the water. The Company followed, Legolas leaving one last arrow as a parting gift.
The doors were destroyed, as it broke the stone columns as toothpicks. We ran from the disaster stricken door and minding not the harsh thuds of stone collapsing as its foundations gave way. Reaching a point out of the demolition region, I dropped the Ringbearer and crumpled. Stupid sea-creature. I sighed and weakly sat up, ignoring the anxious looks I was receiving. I accepted the offered hand of the Lord Boromir and was assisted to stand. The Lord was eyeing me strangely as if I was a ghost. I placed my hands to my hips.
“That was not too dangerous! And, as you can so clearly see, I am alive! Master Frodo, are you harmed?” The hobbit leapt up cheerfully, completely recovered from his near death experience.
“To the same degree as you seemingly are. Most gracious thanks.” I shrugged. “It was more amusing than to sit outside the doors and wait for over an hour. I thought I would go mad if I had not something to do!” I beamed yet glanced at my soaked clothing. “Bless Valar, father is not here. He would have a nervous breakdown!”
“I believe he would,” Mithrandir spoke. I shrugged again. “He worries far too much.”
“Did you ever consider that one of the main causes of his concern is you?” “Perhaps it is. Perhaps it is not. Oh well. I shall go change now.” After several moments I returned and beamed. “And now, let us venture into the mines!”
“You wish to go into these mines?” Legolas asked incredulously. I nodded. “Long have I wondered about these caverns, yet being an elf I could never visit such a place. The conflict between these two races is ridiculous!” One dwarf and one elf stared at me, slightly annoyed. I rolled my eyes. “Childish beings…Legolas I am younger than you yet I still see that the conflict is…pathetic. Surely both dwarves and elves can see such. Surely they can!”
I leapt onto a ledge. “Simply elves prefer to be outside, and dwarves prefer to be inside. Yet such is a stereotype. A she-elf a warrior? It is purely because of my title that I am not forced to become a ‘proper’ elf-maiden. Ugh. What a nightmare…” Again the Lord Boromir laughed and I scowled. “You are one of the most infuriating humans I have ever met. I would be amused to see you, the Lord of the South, in a complicated gown, learning to sew and walk and dance. And how to arrange your hair and how to…” I cracked up at the idea of the annoying Lord in a dress, fiddling with a needle and satin slippers. I changed my expression to one of seriousness, a technique I had learnt to adopt at formal occasions. I smiled strangely and proceeded leaping from rock to rock, staring at all the dwarven artitecture. Yet I still could not shake the idea of burning stone, wreathed in flame…it had not left the mines. I could sense it.
*
“And what do you do at Rivendell?” I glanced up to respond to the hobbit.
“Hey Merry! That is my job. I ask the questions!”
“Yes, and you have questioned the Company quite enough. Now it is my turn.” “Stubborn hobbit,” I mumbled.
“Strange elf,” he answered.
I laughed. “So true. Ah, what do I do at Rivendell?” I blinked. “I spend most of my time at Lothlorien.”
“Then what do you do in Lothlorien?”
“Well, at an early age, my grandmother and I came to an agreement. I was permitted to fight and leave the elven city on missions to eliminate the enemy. Yet, on the other hand, I had to spend time singing, and dancing and other ‘proper’ elven-maiden chores.” I rolled my eyes. “So…tedious.”
The hobbit laughed.
“What? ‘Tis not fair that others expect she-elves to be all…strange,” I mumbled. “Ah, Mithrandir? Have you decided on what route to take yet?”
“Nay. Amuse yourself until I do.”
“You are a wizard! You are supposed to know everything!”
He frowned. “If all wizards are supposed to know everything, why are not all she-elves singing currently?”
I lowered my head, defeated. “‘Tis true. Unfortunately. I beg your pardon.” “Pardon given.”
I tapped my foot against the ground and looked about.
“What else do you do in either elven city?” I rolled my eyes and look up to Pippin. Questions… “Not much. I dance. I sing. I sword-fight. I attend ceremonies and banquets. I enjoy archery. I talk. Not much else.”
“You sing?”
“It is a general elven requirement.”
“Sing something.” I stare at Pippin in utter horror. “I think not!” “Why not?” “Ask…another elf. Like him.” I point to Legolas who, in turn, stares confusedly. “Him?” I nod. “Him.”
“Nope.”
I shrug. “Then no song.”
“Why?”
“Is this mission created solely for torturing me?”
Aragorn grins. “No, it comes in part of the Fellowship.”
“Great.”
“Oh, it’s that way!” I leap to my feet. “Thank Valar!” I beam and resume my soaring from stone to stone, chasing after the departing wizard. I can sense the flames, yet they evade my eyes. In spite of that, I know they shall come. And there shall be no escape. We travel down steps of equal size and build until we reach a large, open hall.
The design was magnificent and the towering columns of stone were carefully engraved. I stood in awe at the chamber. It would have been glorious, indescribable, to see it, when the dwarves were living there. I walked cautiously through the room, admiring everything, contrasting it with the ridiculous tales that I had been told about dwarves dwelling in rough hovels hacked into the ground. My light steps echoed through the empty room, abandoned. I drop my sight from the ceiling as I hear Mithrandir sharply call “Gimli!” I frowned but followed the dwarf.
I entered another room, but this was not magnificent. This one was clearly war torn and in ruins. Skeletons littered the room, struck down by the weapons of their enemy. The room was dark excluding a single shaft of white light entering through a window, hitting a stone mound in the centre. Gimli was in obvious distress, kneeling before it as if suddenly defeated, weeping. Mithrandir read the dwarven runes to those who could not understand such a language.
He spoke wearily. “He is dead then, it is as I feared.”
I placed a kindly hand on Gimli’s shoulder but spoke no word. I could think of none that seemed comforting as the room held a mood of terror. It seemed to be disturbed, as if we were intruding. I bit my lip and watched Greyhame carefully open a dusted book. From the last words etched onto it, we felt the panic and alarm that the dwarves felt and I could hear in the depths of my mind the dull drumming. A noise startled me and I glanced to the other side of the room. I winced hearing the smash of metal against rock.
A deathly silence encased the room and was interrupted by the blunt thud of Mithrandir closing the book. Pippin moved nervously and ashamed as Greyhame approached him with a deathly expression.
“Fool of a Took! Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity!”
I turned at the slight thumping that began in the distance. Shrieks arose from the lower mines. My face paled and I could hear the beating of my heart. Lord Boromir ran to the entrance of the chamber and dodged the arrows that hit near his face. War was about to begin. He slammed them shut and fastened them with the weapons of deceased dwarves.
Gimli leapt onto the grave and drew his axe. “Let them come! There is one dwarf left in Moria who still draws breath!”
I could understand his wrath, and pitied the orcs that would have to face such a warrior. As I pitied the Nazgul that I would challenge.
I blinked. ‘Twas no time to weep. Focus on the orcs…or drumbeats. Scrapings where heard from outside the closed gates. I readied an arrow and aimed directly for a crack in the entry. I released it and drew another and sent it flying. I then abandoned my arrows and went for my sword. No arrows would prevent the war that was about to break through that entrance. They rammed through and madness flew through the room. I stabbed, pierced and began slaying for all I was worth.
I ducked in front of the Ringbearer and caught sight of a cave troll, destroying all hope I had remaining. He entered, wielding his own chains as a lethal weapon. We were backed into a corner, dodging the fearsome whip that destroyed all it touched. I held my blade in defiance and hacked at its face. I could be destroyed, yet the hobbit could not. The monster’s face, gnarled and distorted in pain, leered at us fiercely before his powerful hand grabbed my arm, disregarding my weapon. I slashed fiercely at it, piercing the rough skin. The creature bellowed in anger as I was gripped carelessly then flung across the room. I hit the wall with a sharp crack. I heard a cry of dismay through a moan that escaped my lips. Deep red streams dripped from my eyelashes, rolling down my cheeks.
I saw my own blood before weakly dropping my head against my chest with a soft thud, grasping my sword hilt before my arm dulled.
*
I woke to intense pain and a swaying movement. Through blurred vision I caught sight of stone engulfed in flame. The nightmare had begun. The motion stopped as the figure that was carrying me halted. I strained to see Mithrandir challenge a demon of fire on a frail bridge. I winced at the blazing whip gripped tightly in the brute’s hand. I saw the strengthened wizard challenge the crimson blaze with a staff gleaming with bright radiance, harming my weakened eyes. I noticed that the wizard’s eyes were that of lethal steel, his face had hardened to be as the stone surrounding us.
I witness him utter those words of defiance and rage, “You! Shall! Not! PASS!” I unsteadily took a nervous breath. His voice shook the building as he clutched his staff thrust into the bridge. He stood stern as the support cracked, bringing the balrog to his doom. Gandalf turned, weakened. It was his downfall, as the whip curled around his ankle, dragging him to the edge of the rock. He vainly grasped at its edge before suspending.
My breath caught in my throat as he spoke his final words, “Fly you fools!’ His hands left the rock and he disappeared from all sight. I screamed, reaching out towards the chasm desperately and then falling back against the figure, defeated. I heard the Ringbearer cry out as one who has had an arrow pierce his very heart. My sight distorted once more, behind tears of hopelessness. My life was one of mourning and loss. Curse such. The motion begins once more as the carrier flees from the horror of the deserted mines. I hear the Lord cry out to Aragorn who is standing in hopeless shock, much the same as I.
We emerge from the mines of despair still eerily glowing with the colour of flame. I see the faint light but feel as if I am still remaining in the dark, alone and abandoned. A tear drips onto my forehead yet soon mingles with my own. I slump against the carrier, “A great light, has flickered out,” a feeble voice mumbled. I realised after several moments, that it was my own. All hope was lost. Our guide had fallen to his own destruction. The blind followers were now left, alone. Alone. I clench my fist, before submitting to the dim cloud of darkness that encircled me. The circle of pain. My life was cursed.
