The Folly of the Wise ~ Part Eight

Doom—Doom—Doom—Doom!

The sounds of the drum pounded in my ears in time with my heartbeat as the orcs began to break down the door. Their screeches and howls echoed through the chamber, seeming to bounce off the walls and multiply until it sounded as though all of Moria were filled with the creatures.

And who was to say that it was not so?

Among the Fellowship, there was a grim, deathly stillness; we all had our arms ready, and we stood tense and waiting. This was always the most difficult part of a battle: the waiting. Never have I shown my fear in battle, nor did I now, but if I looked composed outwardly, inwardly my thoughts were whirling. Long ago I had reconciled myself to the fact that one day, most likely in battle, I would die, and that did not trouble me. But always during those terrible, long moments before the battle, as you watch your enemy near, I felt a kind of chill—not of fear, but… a sort of uneasiness, I suppose—no soldier is comfortable during these dreadful moments.

The first orc hacked an opening through the door; Legolas’ eyes narrowed briefly as he aimed and then an arrow had driven the orc, shrieking in pain, back. But it was quickly replaced by another, and another gash appeared in the door. Aragorn and I glanced at one another briefly, and for a moment I felt no resentment or irritation towards him; we acknowledged each other as brother soldiers about to enter a battle.

Another orc chopped through the door, pulling off a bigger piece this time, and then fell back with one of Aragorn’s arrows embedded in its eye. On Aragorn’s opposite side, I heard Legolas’ bow twanging as he fired arrow after arrow at any target that showed itself. I wished I had the same skill with a bow my brother had; I had never enjoyed training with the bow, for I had not thought it as noble a weapon as the sword.

How wrong I was proven then!

Another screech told me that another of Aragorn’s arrows had hit its mark. The door was beginning to come apart now; it would not be long before the entire mass of them came flooding inside on us. Aragorn abandoned his bow, slinging it across his back, and unsheathed his sword with a metallic ring that seemed somehow to lighten our tension, a little.

Legolas’ arrows continued to zip past us, each one reaching its mark by the sound of it. But I could not look. I tightened my grip on my sword hilt, feeling a cold sweat pouring down my face and beneath my tunic, sending an involuntary shiver up my spine. My heart thudded in my ears, almost drowning out the orcs, but I was not afraid. The familiar, clear-headed but thoughtless battle instincts had taken effect, and everything seemed to slow as my fight at last commenced.

The door burst at last, and the orcs poured in.

As happens in battle, what came after was a blur, of which I remember little. Several things, however, stand out very clearly in my memory.

As the orcs flooded in—only the narrow width of the doorway kept them from completely overwhelming us, I think—I looked around for the cave troll but saw nothing of him. Concluding, hopefully, that he had withdrawn from the fight, I concentrated on parrying and dodging blows, and returning my own. I heard Gandalf join in the battle, and the hobbits come after him, and though I was unable to turn around and watch for them, I whispered a brief prayer for their safety to whatever Powers would listen.

It was shortly after the hobbits joined the battle that my first clear memory took place. Aragorn had drifted far apart from me during the fighting, and was now somewhere on the opposite side of the tomb, where I could no longer see him. But as I whirled around to dodge a blow from behind I caught sight of him briefly, just in time to see two orcs closing in on him at once and somehow dragging him down. I tried to fight my way over to his aid, but there were far too many orcs to make any headway.

Suddenly through the din of battle I heard Frodo cry out, "Aragorn!" and glimpsed his dark head ducking under the wild swing of an orcish scimitar, saw a flash of his glowing blue blade, the orc doubling over and disappearing, and then Frodo was out of sight, too.

Furiously I redoubled my efforts to reach the other side, and glanced as often as I could in the direction I had last seen Aragorn, where Frodo was headed.

It was probably only a minute or two later—though it seemed an eternity to me—when I heard Aragorn’s voice, cheerful as it rose above the noise, shouting, "One for the Shire! Your blade bites deep, Frodo!" Then I saw him spring up, mostly uninjured, it seemed, although there was a bit of blood on his face; Frodo was beside him a second later, the point of his sword black with orc blood.

Then the battle swept me away again, and once more all passed in a vague blur of action until a new threat joined the battle—the cave troll. Evidently it had not retreated as I had hoped; it smashed through the doorway, bellowing, a chain around its neck held by two orcs, a giant stone club in one claw-like hand. For a moment the battle paused, as we all turned to stare at this enormous new foe, but the orcs—who had been falling back slightly—rallied at the sight of the creature and I could not spare further thought for the creature.

Until a moment later.

I heard but did not see Legolas’ arrow embed itself in the troll’s chest, and its howl of rage and pain shook the walls. Then, all at once the beast was before me, swinging its giant stone club—which I noticed then was nearly twice my height, almost as thick as the pillars out in the Great Hall, and that if the weight of the stone did not crush you, the rocky spikes that adorned it would be certain to. I also noticed, then, that Sam was beside me, his small sword splashed with dark orc-blood as he fought and brought down an orc twice his size with all the courage of a seasoned warrior.

A small, wiry orc engaged me then, dodging more quickly than most of the others; for there was suddenly more room closeby me as everyone—friends and foes alike—had scattered and backed away from the cave troll. I heard Aragorn call out in warning and was able to glance sideways in time to see the cave troll’s great club being raised—directly over Sam. With a wordless cry of anger and determination I redoubled my efforts against the agile little goblin, which seemed to be grinning at me, if those vile creatures were capable of such a gesture. Helplessly I could only keep glancing at Sam, hoping that Aragorn—fighting nearby—would be able to intervene.

The troll’s club came whistling down, and with a shout of fear, Sam dove under the troll and crawled between its legs to emerge behind it in one piece. With a bellow, the cave troll turned toward the hobbit, who was trying to crawl a safe distance away. The stone club was raised again as Sam helplessly backed against the wall.

At last I was able to cut down my orc, and Aragorn and I reached the troll’s chain at the same time, quickly dispatching the two orcs holding it. Just as it began to bring down the club, the Ranger and I pulled back on the rough iron chain with all our strength, and succeeded in jerking it back a step or two.

Enraged, it roared and turned to face us. It swung the club wildly and we ducked. I could feel it whistle overhead, so close that it stirred my hair. Then it tore the chain free of our hands and swung it.

Before I could react the chain was wrapped tightly around my arm and I was hurled into the air like a rag doll, flung across the chamber and into the wall. I bounced off, rolled over several orcs before falling heavily to the stone floor. I was not knocked completely unconscious, but I was dazed enough to be unable to move, and a white-hot pain was shooting up my left shoulder. My sword had flown from my fingers when I hit the wall, and for a moment I was unable to rise.

Fortunately, the cave troll appeared to have had enough of me—it sounded as though it was now after Gimli—but blinking, trying to focus my eyes as I started to pull myself up, I saw an orc jump down from the ledge above me, a sharp, curved cutlass in its clawed fist.

I felt blood in my mouth and smeared across my face as I tried to rise or move quick enough to avoid the blow that came arching down at my head. I knew even as I tried that it was useless, but I would not die without trying to defend myself. I saw the cutlass come flashing down toward me, and did not flinch as I waited for the blow to hit.

It did not. A silver dagger suddenly whistled through the air and buried itself in the orc’s neck. Still dazed, I shook my head as I managed to get unsteadily to my feet, and looked up to see who my deliverer was.

Aragorn.

The Ranger stood still for a moment, and our eyes met. In his face was genuine concern—and for a moment I was too startled to respond. Then I gave a short nod, acknowledging his deed and thanking him, warrior-fashion. Relief replaced the concern in his eyes, and he returned the gesture before returning to the fight.

After leaning against the wall for a moment while I steadied myself, I saw the glimmer of my sword nearby and retrieved it. I hesitated a moment longer before rejoining the melee; my entire left side, now, ached fiercely, and I suspected that my shoulder had been, at best, bruised badly—at worst, I feared that it had been dislocated entirely. But I took a deep breath, and forcing my pain aside I gave a wordless shout and leapt back into the battle.

Again, the battle became a hazy blur, the agony in my shoulder adding to my feeling of lightheadedness. Each time I raised my shield to block a blow, a breath-taking wave of pain would fly up my left side. The orcs seemed to sense this weakness and my shield was getting battered as it never had before.

Behind me, I could hear the cave troll bellowing as it focussed on some new target; then I heard a derisive Elven shout and knew it to be Legolas the beast was after—although from the tone of Legolas’ voice, it seemed that our Elf Prince was getting the better of it.

My next clear memory began with another sharp stab of pain in my shoulder as the orc I was engaged with gave me a shove into the back on another orc. I nearly stumbled, but regained my balance and ran the orc through just as it raised its own blade. The orc I had been pushed into spun around and attacked me not a second after I defeated the first, and I barely had time to raise my sword and parry the swinging blow aimed at me.

This orc was heavily armored and each blow I gave seemed to glance off harmlessly, only denting the metal plates slightly. The orc began to press me backwards, towards the wall, and though I fought desperately for every inch I gave, I was unable to stop the orc from steadily forcing me backwards.

Suddenly the orc, parrying one of my blows, twisted its scimitar around and used the hilt to send me crashing into the wall. The agony in my shoulder was so great that for a moment it seemed as though stars were exploding before my eyes. As I bounced off, lost my balance and fell heavily, I felt my shoulder give a sickening twist—but abruptly the painful pressure that had been mounting on the injury was lifted, and I could not help but wince as I realized that my worst fear had been correct; I had dislocated my shoulder, but this second fall seemed to have moved it back into place.

My shoulder still hurt immensely, but it was more bearable now, and I scrambled to my feet with renewed confidence. Sparks flew as the orc’s blade and mine met. I was beginning to force the orc back, and it knew that its advantage had been lost, putting more strength into its blows than ever.

But it could see and hear as well as I that the battle was turning. The orcs were beginning to fall back, scattering and screeching in fear, and the cave troll’s bellows were more pained than angry now.

"Frodo!"

The cry chilled me for a second, then with one final thrust I dispatched my orc and looked wildly around for the Ringbearer. As before, everything seemed to slow, but this time the chill in my heart was not one of exhilaration and excitement; it was one of dread.

In a corner at the back of the chamber, I saw Aragorn lying apparently unconscious on some rocks beneath a ledge, and Frodo was beside him, sword in hand, trying to shake him awake. The cave troll had abandoned Legolas for the Ringbearer and injured Ranger, and was wrenching a spear out of its side and heading toward the two. I watched helplessly as Frodo ducked a blow of the spear that buried itself in the stone pillar barely above his head, and then whirled around, perhaps to distract the troll from Aragorn. The Ringbearer tried to dodge around the beast, but it swung the spear in front of him, blocking his way and throwing him into the corner. I found I was holding my breath as Frodo attempted again to rise and get away. The cave troll again swung the spear into the wall in front of him and flung him roughly into the stone corner, knocking the breath from him.

The troll freed the spear and drew it slowly back, delighting in the moment, and then it stabbed. Time seemed to stop as the spear hit home—straight into Frodo’s left side. I heard Sam’s agonized cry, saw Gandalf sway slightly where he stood, while I felt rooted to the floor in shock.

Frodo—the Ringbearer—dead!

I could not tear my eyes away as I saw Frodo draw in his breath in a ragged, choked gasp, sway, and then collapse onto the stone floor with the spear underneath him. Then I saw Merry and Pippin look at each other, their small faces twisted in horror, and together give a loud cry of grief and anger as they leapt onto the cave troll’s back, their swords flashing furiously as they stabbed into the creature’s thick skin again and again.

That seemed to be what spurred us all back into action, and I shook myself and echoed the battle shout given by the others as I rejoined the fight, grief redoubling my determination and adding renewed vigor to my blows.

The rest of the battle lasted only a few moments. The remaining orcs began to give way and finally retreated altogether, screeching with fear and anger. Then we turned our attention to the cave troll. Merry and Pippin miraculously still clung onto the beast’s back, and continued to drive their swords into its skin with all their strength. Legolas now sent one of his arrows into the troll’s arm to catch its attention, and with a bellow, it turned toward us.

Merry gave it an especially deep thrust in the back with his blade, and screeching, the cave troll reached behind and grabbed the hobbit by one leg, pulling him off his back. Merry gave a shout of terror and tried to reach the troll’s hand with his sword as he was whirled about.

After swinging him about a bit, the cave troll dropped him almost carelessly to floor, where he landed on his back and did not move. My heart gave a painful lurch; this battle was taking a heavy toll on the Shire-folk!

Legolas had been firing arrows repeatedly, trying to pierce the troll’s thick skin, but it was Pippin who provided Legolas with the opening he needed. With a fierce cry, the young hobbit buried his sword deep into the back of the troll’s neck. The beast threw up its head and gave almost a human scream of pain, and Legolas was able to send an arrow into the roof of its mouth.

The cave troll began to sway, dazedly putting one clawed hand to its mouth as if to pull out the arrow, then with a groan that was somehow almost pitiable, it fell forward onto the ground. Pippin was thrown off and landed beside Merry, but a moment later he sat up shaking his head and knew that he had only been stunned.

Everyone stood still for a moment, trying to get their breath back. I felt somehow numb; even my shoulder did not pain me then. Then everyone moved to the corner where Frodo was, slowly and fearfully. I glanced at Pippin and saw him supporting Merry, and I felt a swift burst of relief that was quickly stifled by my grief as I followed the others toward Aragorn and Frodo.

Just as we arrived, Aragorn was rolling over and sitting up, looking a little dizzy for a moment; then his eyes fell on Frodo and his face blanched. I stayed slightly behind the others, afraid, somehow, to watch; an image came to my mind, of Frodo smiling at me as he promised to keep my secret the night I had fallen asleep on watch. I could almost hear his voice, and my heart quivered as I thought of our journey without his quiet courage and determination, his ever-present hope and unfailing endurance. What would our Fellowship be without the valiant person who had brought us together in the first place?

I heard Aragorn’s whispered, "Oh no," and forced myself to step forward and look. I caught a glimpse of poor Sam’s agonized face and my heart quivered again.

Aragorn gently rolled Frodo over—and the hobbit drew in a gasping breath and began coughing, one hand pressed to his side; bruised, perhaps, but alive! Sam pushed forward, his brown eyes wide and shining with tears, and rushed to his master’s side. He helped Aragorn support Frodo in a sitting position, tearing his eyes and attention away only long enough to glance at Gandalf and announce through joyful tears, "He’s alive!"

I let out the breath I had been holding in a long, relieved sigh, which I heard echoed by everyone else. Pippin, beside me, gave a small breathless cheer, and I could not help a broad smile from spreading over my own face.

Aragorn still looked shocked and he exclaimed, "You should be dead! That spear would’ve skewered a wild boar!"

Frodo was still trying to regain his breath, supported by Sam and Aragorn’s arms as he coughed, and could not answer. So Gandalf, chuckling, did so for him: "I think there’s more to this hobbit than meets the eye!" he said cryptically.

Frodo looked up at him, his expression unreadable, and unbuttoned his shirt partway to display something that shimmered brightly. I could not see at first what it was, but then Pippin exclaimed, "Bilbo’s mithril-coat!"

I looked more closely at the silver corslet the worth of which was, according to Gandalf, "greater than the value of the Shire." Truly it was a magnificent garment, and, I freely admit, finer than any chain mail I have seen, even in Gondor.

Frodo was still speechless, and from the way he kept one hand pressed against his side I guessed that his ribs had been badly bruised, perhaps one or two broken—but a small price to pay for remaining alive, I am sure! Sam, with one arm still helping support his master, was stroking the mithril-rings wonderingly with his fingers, looking dazed. Merry stepped forward, grinning, and exclaimed, "Dear old Bilbo. Bless him! I love him more than ever—I hope we get a chance to tell him all this!"

Gimli had drawn in his breath sharply when the mithril-coat was revealed and now he rumbled, "You are full of surprises, Master Baggins."

Gandalf looked like he was about to say something, but suddenly the sound of distant screeching caught our ears. The orcs were returning! Gandalf sighed with something like irritation. "To the Bridge of Khazad-Dûm," he commanded. Sam and Aragorn quickly helped Frodo to his feet and the other hobbits clustered around him in case they were needed for support.

Then we raced out of the chamber and into the Great Hall, while the shrieks and howls behind us grew nearer. Glancing back, I saw with a quick shiver that the orcs seemed to be coming in from all around us—through cracks in the floor, holes in the great stone roof where they streamed like ants down the pillars. Soon they had completely surrounded us, bringing us to a halt. We faced them, back to back with each other, and I saw that there must have been thousands of orcs, at least, gathered round us.

The odds were entirely against us, and I myself held no hope of winning—but if I must fall, I would fall fighting! The orcs crowded around us, hissing and grinning—I was sure of it this time; those creatures were capable of grinning. They poked spears and scimitars at us, but only as though teasing us. None of them attacked, evidently enjoying drawing out their moment before falling on us.

Suddenly, from far down the Hall in the direction I was facing came a flash of red-gold light like a flame, and simultaneously a deep but distant growl shook the ground. The orcs looked at each other and screeched in consternation, and then to my astonishment they began to climb back up the pillars in retreat! Gimli, behind me, was laughing triumphantly, raising his axe at the fleeing orcs’ backs, while I kept my sword ready but relaxed slightly.

The orcs were gone in a few seconds and I turned my attention to the fiery glow that still lit the pillars at the far side of the Hall, and the growls that continued to rumble through the caverns. Gandalf beside me had gone deathly still, and keeping my eyes on the strange light, I asked him quietly, "What is this new devilry?" Anything that frightened away an orc must be a hundred times more fierce and deadly.

I glanced briefly back at Aragorn, and was astonished to see him looking from Gandalf to the light with eyes wide and his expression almost—afraid? That worried me more than I cared to show, and I hastily tightened the grip on my sword hilt to hide my trembling hands. Gandalf had his head bowed, and I did not think he would answer me at first. But after a long moment, he did, his voice slow and heavy. "A Balrog. A demon of the ancient world." I heard Legolas draw in his breath sharply and glancing at him, I saw him for the first time shaken out of his usual calm serenity. His eyes were wide and fixed on the distant glow, and his expression was tight with what could only have been dread as he slowly lowered his bow.

I swallowed convulsively and saw that although I gripped my sword so tightly that my hands ached, they shook still, now so hard that the blade wobbled. I lowered it.

"This foe is beyond any of you," said Gandalf grimly, as though pronouncing a sentence. Suddenly his head came up and he shouted, "Run!"

None of us argued, but followed him racing through the Hall and through a narrow doorway. We passed into a short tunnel, and I ran on ahead to make sure we were not ambushed by orcs. Coming out of the tunnel I found a flight of uneven stone steps and started down them—but quickly I came to a halt when I discovered that they were broken over a great, fiery chasm! With an involuntary shout of surprise, I tried to regain my balance, swaying alarmingly over the edge.

It was Legolas who saved me—with his typical Elven grace he rushed down the steps and wrapped his arms around my chest, pulling me back. But this action caused both of us—and I emphasize both—to over-balance and we fell back against the steps, me on top of him. Were the situation not so dire, I would probably have been heartily amused at seeing the Elf lose his equilibrium, even if it was in the act of rescuing me…

As it was, my fall reminded me rather forcefully of my injured shoulder and I could not suppress a groan as I got to my feet and offered Legolas my hand. He glanced at me briefly, his blue eyes unreadable, and then accepted my aid in getting up. Everyone was gathered outside the cave’s mouth now, staring wide-eyed at the seemingly endless chasm below the broken staircase.

I looked at Gandalf, who seemed to deliberate a moment, then come to a decision. "Lead them on, Aragorn," he commanded, gripping the Ranger’s shoulder. "The Bridge is near." Aragorn looked at him with an expression that I could not make out, and moved forward as if to refuse. Gandalf gave him a hard shove toward the narrow path that ran along a ledge beside the staircase. "Do as I say!" he said forcefully, shocking me as well as Aragorn, who looked at him in confusion a moment before obeying. "Swords are no more use here," the wizard finished, pushing the hobbits ahead of him as we fell in line behind Aragorn. He followed up at the rear.

We ran along the thin path as quickly as we dared. The ledge wound along the stone walls before stopping at a long, stone staircase that lead to the Bridge some distance below us.

Quickly we followed Aragorn down the narrow, uneven staircase until we reached a place where the stairs had broken. There was a large gap in the middle of the staircase. The Balrog’s growls had increased to a muffled roar from behind the stone walls, and as another one shook the stairs it also began to dislodge parts of the ceiling, which came crashing down behind us.

To make matters worse—although at the time I could not imagine that that was possible!—the orcs had returned. They stayed a safe distance away, up on higher ledges where they could shoot without being in danger of being shot—or so they thought; they had not reckoned on the skill of our Elven archer. Legolas glanced at them as an arrow struck the step directly beneath his feet, muttering something that sounded like a curse in his own tongue, and then he came to the front of the Company along with Gandalf.

The Elf Prince surveyed the gap for a moment before jumping nimbly over it and landing safely on the other side. Gandalf hesitated, and as he did so another roar dislodged more chunks of the stone ceiling behind us. "Gandalf!" Legolas called urgently.

Gandalf leapt across the gap and was caught by Legolas. Arrows thudded against the step where the wizard had stood a moment before, and in one fluid motion Legolas pulled the bow off his back, notched an arrow to the string, and let it fly. I heard a telltale shriek that assured me that his aim had been true.

Arrows continued to zip around us. My heart leapt into my throat as one passed so close over Pippin’s head that it took a lock of hair out. The next second another one thudded into the shield I raised only just in time. "You go next," Aragorn murmured to me, touching my shoulder. "And take two of the hobbits with you."

I glanced down and found Merry and Pippin to be nearest, and held out my arms. "Come!" I shouted, and as they stepped forward I took one under each arm and jumped over the gap, holding my breath. Legolas and Gandalf reached out to steady our landing and I let out my breath in a sigh of relief—we had made it alive! I made sure Merry and Pippin were unharmed before turning back to watch the others cross.

Aragorn turned around, lifted the nearest hobbit—Sam—and tossed him across the gap where he was caught in Legolas’ arms and set safely down beside the other two. Aragorn moved to take Gimli but the dwarf held up a hand. "Nobody tosses a dwarf!" he declared, and tried to leap the gap himself. He landed on the very edge of the stairs, and started to tip backwards but Legolas reached forward and grasped him by the beard. "Not the beard!" the dwarf bellowed, but Legolas ignored him and pulled him up.

The only ones left were Aragorn and… Frodo. How have we left the Ringbearer behind? I thought furiously. He came to stand beside Aragorn and I realized then that he had been purposely staying back, making sure that the other hobbits were safely across first, and in our haste to cross we had not had time to pay attention to which hobbit we sent or brought with us.

Just as Aragorn and Frodo were about to make the jump together, another roar from the Balrog sent more giant pieces of stone hurtling down on us—and this time they fell not behind us, but between us, smashing part of the staircase where Aragorn and Frodo stood. Aragorn pushed Frodo safely up the stairs before jumping up himself, barely pulling himself to safety as part of the staircase collapsed. When they get unsteadily to their feet I could see that they were unharmed—but stranded, for the falling stones had widened the gap greatly.

We could do nothing but stand by helplessly and watch! Aragorn turned to Frodo and seemed to ask or suggest something, though I could not hear the words for the rumbling of the Balrog. Frodo appeared to refuse something, shaking his head violently. Aragorn grew more desperate and put his hands on both of Frodo’s shoulders, but his words were interrupted by another dislodged stone crashing down. It smashed through the staircase behind them, this time, and to my horror I discovered that it had left them stranded on a small part of the staircase, cut off from both sides.

I could now see flames beginning to flicker behind them, and the entire cavern seemed to shake with the Balrog’s heavy footsteps. But my eyes were on the two stranded. Their small stone island began to crack at the base, and I could only watch helplessly as it rocked dangerously back and forth. Aragorn and Frodo almost lost their balance, but at the last second Aragorn regained his footing and steadied Frodo’s arm.

The Balrog’s roars did not sound so muffled now, and stones continued to fall from the ceiling, fortunately none hitting the small part where Aragorn and Frodo stood. Their staircase island started to tip sideways. Aragorn pulled Frodo close against him and I could catch his words. "Lean backward!"

Frodo obeyed, and the staircase shifted and began to slide backward. Once it had straightened, Aragorn shouted, "Lean forward!" and miraculously the staircase began to tip forward as they did so. The two leaned forward as far as they dared, and Aragorn helped them both keep their balance as the staircase slid steadily toward us.

"Come on!" Legolas encouraged, and I came up beside him to help him catch the two. Only a moment longer and then their staircase hit ours and they were thrown off. Legolas grabbed Aragorn and I caught Frodo, who gasped, "Thank you!" I pressed him close for a moment, making sure he was unharmed, and then let him down to rejoin the other hobbits who were pushing forward to see for themselves that he was still in one piece after such a near-death experience.

Once we are all gathered Gandalf wastes no time but urges us on, resuming command, and Aragorn once more joins me following up the rear. We fairly fly down the remaining stone steps and at last reach the Bridge, which is so narrow we must cross one at a time. With the Balrog behind us we dare not slacken our pace and run full speed, one by one, over the Bridge to gather at the other side.

We reach a doorway built into the wall that leads to another flight of stairs—and there is light at the top to prove that we have at last reached the far side of Moria! But Gandalf does not follow us and we all pause in the doorway and turn around to see him stepping out onto the Bridge—just as the Balrog finally steps into view.

The Balrog seems to be made of flame and shadow; its body is roughly man-shaped and black, but lit with fire both inside and out. In one hand is a fiery sword, and in the other a whip also made of fire, it seems. Two wing-like arks of fire seem to protrude from its back and fill the cavern behind it. It steps out towards the Bridge, and seeing Gandalf, it opens its mouth and roars, and flame shoots out of its mouth.

We are all motionless, as though rooted to the floor with shock as Gandalf and the Balrog approach each other on the Bridge. Behind me, Frodo gasps and cries, "Gandalf!"

If Gandalf hears him, he gives no sign. Suddenly the light from his staff intensifies so that it seems to form a shining white dome around him, and his sword glimmers. "You cannot pass!" he shouts, and even his voice seems to have changed—louder, echoing, and commanding.

The Balrog takes another step onto the Bridge. "I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor! Dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udûn!" The Balrog’s fiery sword comes down with a crack as it meets the dome of light surrounding Gandalf. "Go back to the Shadow," the wizard commands, his voice ringing.

The Balrog cracks its whip and tries again to pierce the white dome.

"YOU SHALL NOT PASS!" Gandalf’s voice fills the cavern like thunder as he brings his staff down on the stone bridge.

Nothing happens at first, but suddenly the Bridge begins to break, as glowing white cracks appear on it. The Balrog roars furiously and steps closer, and its weight causes the entire Bridge to collapse, bringing the Balrog down with it!

Gandalf is still for a moment as the bright glow fades from around him, and turns back towards us. He has won!

But suddenly the Balrog’s whip comes up and wraps around Gandalf’s ankle, pulling him down onto the Bridge until he only hangs on by his fingertips. Frodo rushes forward but I catch him and hold him tight as he struggles to get to Gandalf’s aid, desperately crying the wizard’s name. I know there is nothing we can do—we could not hope to pull Gandalf back and if we tried, we too would be lost—but it tortures me to stand by and watch!

Gandalf hangs on for only a moment more to give us one last command. "Fly, you fools!"

And then he is gone.

To be continued...