The Ranger Chronicles

I often portray myself as a Ranger, Aragorn's sister to be exact... So, I tried to write down some stuff about the movies/books from my point of view (traveling with the Fellowship). I haven't gotten to Helm's Deep yet, so enjoy some of this. (Note: if you haven't seen the movies, you might not want to read this)

Thanks!

I have but one thing to ask: You didn't think a Ranger's life could be all serious, did you? Shame!

The Year 3018

Two new people had just entered Bree. One of them appeared fair and delicate, while the other… dressed in mud-caked boots and cloak.
The innkeeper pointed in my direction, and I took it to mean Aragorn and Atashanay had arrived. I pretended to not have paid any mind and just continued smoking my pipe and drinking my ale.
Suddenly, a clap on the back with a mud-soaked hand jarred my concentration. My very muddy brother and rather clean niece sat down on either side of me.
Butterbur, the innkeeper, waddled over to our table with a tray laden with mugs and a letter. “This is yours,” he said to me, handing over the letter and a mug of ale. He handed a mug to Aragorn as well. Then he looked to Atashanay. “Not old enough to drink, lass?”
Atashanay, who was well over drinking age, opened her mouth to protest, but Aragorn said, “She doesn’t want any.”
So Atashanay, defeated, crossed her arms and took to looking about the room. Aragorn lit his pipe and tried intently to make a smoke ring. I, on the other hand, stared at the green-ink writing on my letter as Butterbur sidled away.
My letter was from the Woodelves of Mirkwood. Judging by the handwriting, it was King Thranduil himself. I tore open the envelope and unfolded the letter. I lay my pipe (which had gone out) on the table and read my letter. Then I crumpled it up and slumped down in my seat, laying my head on the table in disgust.
The Woodelves had captured Gollum, and it had driven him mad. He was uncontrollable. I should have known. I search for him for months, and Thranduil finds him in a week! The letter also explained that the orcs of Mordor had gotten to him first. He betrayed the whereabouts of Frodo and the Ring.
I lay for I don’t know how long until I heard the heavy oak door swing open. Four small Halflings had come into the Prancing Pony Inn. I recognized them as Frodo and Sam, just as Gandalf had explained, but the other two, I did not know.
I looked to Atashanay, who was trying her best to hear their conversation to the best of her ability; but even her Elf ears could not because of the noise in the room.
Aragorn leaned over to me, “It’s them.”
“Really?” I said, with a lot of sarcasm. I continued to sit there, gripping my sword hilt. I watched as the Hobbits got a room key and headed to the bar. The Hobbits knew we were there, because one of them kept looking in our direction. I heard him say, “That fellow’s done nothing but stare at you since we arrived.”
Frodo, the brown-headed Hobbit, looked at Aragorn, whose pipe had flared, illuminating his eyes for a brief moment. Aragorn returned the stare, and the Halfling turned away.
One of the Hobbits, Pippin as I later found out, had broken away from the group. His drunken voice could clearly be heard over everyone, “Baggins? Sure I know a Baggins. He’s over there.” He pointed at Frodo. “He’s my second cousin –“
“Pippin!” yelled Frodo. Pippin had clearly blown Frodo’s cover. Frodo got up, tripped and disappeared.
Aragorn looked annoyed and Atashanay was alert. Everyone else was muttering about how Frodo was a ghost.
He appeared next to Aragorn, who locked him in a choke-hold against the wall. “You draw far too much attention to yourself, Mr. Underhill,” he said. He then proceeded to drag Frodo up the stairs to my room.
Atashanay got up, finally able to have an ale. I continued to lie there, banging my head on the table.
A million thoughts were rushing through my mind at once. I looked up and saw Atashanay sitting with a group of Woodelves. They were drunk, I might add.
I could stand it no longer, so I got up and left the room, feeling rather annoyed.
I marched up the stairs to my room. Not to my surprise, I found Aragorn and the four Hobbits. I lay across my bed, watching the Halflings. Aragorn had used the ‘frighten-the-poor-Hobbits-to-death’ technique. I fell immediately to sleep.
I was awakened almost as immediately by Aragorn. “What is going on?” he barked. I ignored him and turned over. He shook me again. “What is going on?”
“Don’t you have something to do instead of bothering your sister?” I implied.
Aragorn looked surprised. “You heard our plan?” he hissed.
“No, I was too busy banging my head on the table, so leave me alone,” I growled.
“Where’s Atashanay?” he demanded.
“She’s fine,” I said sarcastically. “She’s with Prince Legolas of the Woodelves.”
The Hobbits were snickering. “Having family problems, eh?” I stared at them.
There was a knock at the door. Aragorn strode to open it. A little Hobbit stood there.
“Everything’s ready, Master Strider,” he said. “I even used a woolly mat for Mr. Frodo.”
“What did you do?” I asked after the Hobbit left.
Aragorn again looked annoyed. “Is it any of your concern?” he asked in Elvish.
“I’m taking them to Rivendell, too, Strider,” I answered, also in Elvish and using Aragorn’s alias. I stood up.
“We’re not leaving until tomorrow.”
“I only asked what your plan was.”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss it.”
“I knew it!” I exclaimed in the Common Speech. “You’re mad at me because I went to Rohan on my own!”
The Hobbits were rolling on the ground with laughter. Here we were: a sixty-six year old and a seventy year old, arguing like children. I drew my sword and they were immediately silent; finally.
“Calm down, Ennyjay,” Aragorn said.
“I will when you stop treating me like a child,” I answered. Another knock at the door further annoyed me. I opened it and stood face-to-face with a drunken Woodelf.
“Have you seen Prince Legolas?” he slurred.
I sighed. “No,” I said, slamming the door in his face.
“What was that all about?” asked one of the Hobbits, Meriadoc. “I thought you said Atashanay was with Legolas.”
“She was,” I answered. “If Legolas is lost, I’m sure Atashanay is too. And, they’re drunk,” I added.
Aragorn groaned, “Atashanay…” He sat on the end of my bed.
“Get some sleep,” I said. “But not on m bed!” I yelled as he started to lean back. I pointed to his bed.
“But the Hobbits are sleeping there!” he complained in Elvish.
“Well, you’re not sharing a bed with me unless you take a bath,” I answered in Elvish.
So Aragorn slept in an armchair.
I watched as the Hobbits, one by one, dropped off into sleep. I covered Aragorn with a blanket. Then I myself got into bed. It was about midnight. I had no sooner put my head on the pillow when the door burst open and in stumbled Atashanay. Aragorn lifted his head sleepily.
“Where’ve you been?” I asked.
“With Legolas,” she hiccupped.
I frowned. Aragorn sighed. “You didn’t—“ I began.
SCREECH!
Everyone in the room suddenly woke up. I covered my ringing ears, my shoulder blistering with white hot pain; I tried not to scream in agony. Aragorn sat up straight. Atashanay became sober. Frodo was asking about what kind of creatures made that noise, and Aragorn was trying to make it sink into Frodo’s tiny Hobbit mind that they were the Nazgul. They were after the Ring (not to mention Frodo).
So we all tried to go to sleep after the Ringwraith scare. I don’t think any of us did, except maybe Atashanay. Though I’ve no idea if she did, for Elves sleep with their eyes open.

*note, Atashanay is my niece, Aragorn's daughter... also played by drunk_nazgul

Early the next day, we left Bree and started out for Rivendell. By the thirtieth, we reached the Midgewater Marshes. That was one of the murkiest swamps I ever trudged through. It was full of flies and mosquitoes, but was called the Midgewater Marshes because of these little flies called midges which are all over the place.
I fell at least twenty times before we had escaped the marshes on the fifth. Atashanay didn’t fall once. Elves are so much lighter and coordinated.
As I said, by the fifth we had reached the Weather Hills, and on the sixth, we had reached Weathertop. Weathertop, Amon-sul, is like a ruined temple. Aragorn decided, with much debate from the Hobbits, that Weathertop was a safe place to stay.
So Atashanay, Aragorn, and I left the Hobbits to have a look around. We told them not to make too much noise or many sudden movements.
We returned an hour later and found Frodo and the other Hobbits had picked a fight with five Ringwraiths. Frodo had been stabbed, but remarkably didn’t hand the Ring over. Atashanay, Aragorn, and I tried to fight them off as best we could. Aragorn lifted Frodo, who was screaming, “Gandalf,” while he was unconscious.
All the rest of us followed Aragorn. Sam was yelling at him. Then he screamed at us like he thought it was our fault when we specifically warned the Hobbits to lay low until we got back.
We marched on through the Chetwood, hoping that the Ringwraiths had not picked up our trail. We saw three stone trolls ahead of us. Sam said they were Bilbo’s Trolls. Aragorn laid Frodo down, and he and Sam went to find some athelas to slow the poison. It brought back many memories.
Meanwhile, Pippin and Merry were pestering us about Frodo dying. Atashanay and I glanced at each other.
Then out of the bushes ran Sam. He was white as a ghost. Behind him trotted Aragorn and a beautiful Elf. Her name was Arwen, and she was Atashanay’s mother. She explained hurriedly that there were five Ringwraiths chasing us (I guessed they were the five we caught on fire, and they were seeking revenge).
Aragorn and Arwen were having a fight in Elvish while Aragorn was struggling to put all of Frodo’s belongings (and Frodo) on Arwen’s horse. The Hobbits looked stupefied and Atashanay and my remarks were being ignored.
Finally Aragorn let Arwen take Frodo to Rivendell and they rode off. Aragorn, Atashanay, and I were left to round up our gear, the pony, and the three remaining Hobbits. We headed on toward the Ford of Bruinen. Luckily we met Glorfindel. He helped get us across the ford.
We got there and discovered that the ford had flooded, so we had to stick our belongings on our already laden pony and carry the Hobbits across (that was the day I wished Hobbits could swim).
Finally, we had reached Imladris, the Hidden Valley of the Elves.
The first thing I noticed when I once again entered Rivendell was how clean everything was. I looked down at myself. My green tunic wasn’t so green anymore and my boots were turning brown like the bottom of my grey cloak. So, as soon as I found my room, I unpacked my bag, rummaged for some clean clothes, and set out to find a private spring where I could bathe.
After my glorious bath, I was marching up the path with my dirty clothes in one hand and now-clean boots in the other when I noticed Atashanay and her younger brother, Orlando. Atashanay was distressed, so she left Orlando who was shooting arrows at the closest tree. Atashanay ran down the path and didn’t and didn’t even notice me.
So I, dripping wet, continued walking up the path. I could feel the leaves under my toes. The day was setting. I saw that there were lights on in some of the windows.
gul...

gul? What?
HAHA! I love this story. =^^=

Fine, I'll put some more on...

What does gul mean?

Well, I pasted the story right in the middle of your name, and I forgot to delete the gul at the end...

On the twenty-fourth, Frodo made it back to the land of the living. Gandalf arrived too.
Atashanay ran into me as I was coming up the path. “I’m immortal!” she yelled.
“Do you have to announce it to all of Rivendell?” I inquired.
“Yes, this is a happy moment! And guess what else!”
“You’re pregnant,” I answered.
“How’d you know?”
“Lucky guess?” I wondered. I looked over her shoulder and saw three or four Woodelves galloping into Rivendell. “Here comes the happy father-to-be, but I wonder how happy yours will be when you tell him.”
I left Atashanay pondering this and headed for my room.
I had no sooner got there when I looked out off the balcony and saw a handsome stranger. He was a human, but little less fair than an Elf.
Glorfindel “happened” to be passing by at that moment. I stopped him and dragged him to my balcony.
“Who is that?” I asked, pointing at the stranger.
“It’s Lord Boromir, from Gondor, seeking counsel with Elrond,” he answered. “Why, do you know him?”
“I only grew up with him, Glorfindel!” I exclaimed. “Remember? I sent letters to you telling about him.”
“Oh, yes. And speaking of letters…” He reached into his pocket. “These are yours.” He handed me two envelopes. “Seems you’re in touch with a lot of people,” he said, walking away.
Both of the letters were from Rohan, judging by the horse seal. I thought they were from the same person: Eomer, third marshal of the Riddermark, and the captain of the Riders of Rohan. I met him when I took my trip to Rohan. I’d only been away a couple of months, and he was already sending me letters. I sat down at the small table (Which I practically had to beg for from Master Elrond) and opened the first one.
It was from Eomer, telling me that he missed me and wanted to hear my voice again (Isn’t that sweet? Now that’s what I like in a man: sweetness).
The second one was not from the same person. It was from King Théoden, saying leave his nephew alone; that he didn’t want a Ranger nosing Rohan affairs, and that Eomer was going to marry someone of noble blood. If he only knew.
I crumpled the letter up and threw it off my balcony. Then I proceeded to bang my head on the table (now you know why I got it don’t you?).
To my surprise, the wad of parchment flew back into my room, and landed next to me. By that time, I had lit my pipe, and had a humongous headache. I picked up the paper and walked outside. I then threw it again. As before it sailed back up and this time hit me in the face. I leaned over the balcony, looking down. “Who threw that? I’m trying to litter in peace!” I yelled, throwing the wad again.
“If you don’t quit littering Rivendell, I’m going to hurt you!” yelled a voice. Whoever it was stepped out from under balcony and threw the wad back at me.
I ducked. “Ha! You missed me, Orlando,” I said.
“How’d you know it was me, Aunt Ennyjay? I was in stealth-mode,” complained Orlando.
I shrugged. “You’re short?”
Early the next morning I was sitting with Aragorn in the chamber of Narsil. I was reading my letter from Eomer (yes, I had received another one). Aragorn was reading a book. I think he was frustrated about Atashanay and the Prince (which might explain why he wasn’t talking to me).
Anyway, Boromir wandered in, looking at paintings. He noticed us sitting there, but continued to look, not speaking to us. He discovered the broken sword and walked over to examine it. “The shards of Narsil,” he said. “The blade that cut the Ring.” He held it up. Then he ran his hand down the blade and cut himself. “Still sharp,” he gasped in pain. He saw Aragorn was staring at him. “No more than a broken heirloom,” Boromir said, slinging down the blade and exiting the room. I ran after him.
“Boromir!” I called.
He turned around. “I've seen you wandering about. Who are you? Why are you in Rivendell? For you are no Elf. Speak,” he demanded.
“You knew me once, though you might not remember me now. It’s been awhile since we last saw each other; many years' we were sixteen then,” I said, walking to the edge of the balcony and peering over. Legolas and Atashanay were talking. Off in the distance, Aragorn and Arwen were kissing.
“Ennyjay?” gasped Boromir.
Turning to face him, I said, “Yes.” I gazed into his green eyes; still the same proud eyes of a steward. “You’re bleeding,” I laughed.
“It’s nothing,” he replied.
“Boromir, it’s running down your arm. Come back to my room and I’ll clean it up.”
“It’s not that bad.” He looked down at his hand. Blood was pouring from a deep wound. He frowned. “Lead the way.”
I had no sooner wrapped his arm when the Council warning-bell rang.
“The council,” Boromir said.
“You’re going?” I asked.
“Yeah, you?”
“Yep.”
“Good,” he said. “You can show me the way.”

*Boromir was my best friend when we grew up in Gondor. See, Aragorn and I were separated after our mother died...

And he said...?

...? What?

We reached the council circle just as the last bell rang, beckoning late arrivals (*cough cough* Dwarves *cough cough*).
The council was long and boring. It was hard to pay attention in some parts because Elrond droned on and on. But I managed to write down some interesting stuff.
Elrond had a nice introduction: “Strangers from distant lands, friends of old: you have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor.
“Middle-earth stands upon the brink of destruction,” he continued. “None can escape it. Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom. You will unite or you will fall. Bring forth the Ring, Frodo.”
Frodo got out of his chair, put the Ring on the small table in the center of our council circle, and kindly took his seat. Almost immediately, mutters of fear and surprise filled the circle. Most everyone (almost twenty of us) had a look of sheer terror on their face.
Boromir whispered, “So it is true.” Aragorn looked at him like he thought he was crazy. “In a dream I saw the Eastern sky grow dark, but in the West, a pale light lingered. A voice was crying, ‘Isildur’s Bane in found.’ Isildur’s Bane…” Boromir stood up to touch the Ring, but Elrond stopped him. Suddenly Gandalf started chanting in the Black Speech. The council area grew dark. It felt as though we were just outside the epicenter of an earthquake. Boromir crept back to his seat, looking very surprised. Master Elrond continued to stand.
Gandalf ceased. He attempted to sit down, but Elrond said, “Never before has any voice uttered the words of that tongue here, in Imladris.”
“I ask no pardon, Master Elrond, for the Black Speech may yet be heard in every corner of the West,” said Gandalf, finally taking his seat. “The Ring is altogether evil.”
“It is a gift,” interrupted Boromir. “Why not use this Ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe. Give Gondor the Weapon of the Enemy. Let us use it against him.” Boromir continued standing after his “speech.”
“You cannot wield it,” broke in Aragorn. “None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other Master.”
“And what would a Ranger know of this matter?” implied Boromir angrily.
“This is no mere Ranger,” declared Prince Legolas, jumping to his feet. “He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance.”
“Aragorn?” Boromir stepped back in surprise. “This is Isildur’s Heir?”
“And heir to the throne of Gondor,” said Legolas.
I looked from Frodo, whose eyes were as big as saucers, to Atashanay, who was looking at Legolas lovingly. Aragorn told Legolas to sit down. As Legolas was trying to get back to his chair, Boromir said, “Gondor has no king. Gondor needs no king.” Then he himself took his seat.
I could feel his eyes on me, but I couldn’t bear to meet his gaze.
Gandalf broke the silence. “Aragorn is right; we cannot use it.”
“You have only one choice,” began Elrond. “The Ring must be destroyed.” Whispers filled the area…again.
“Then what are we waiting for?” a Dwarf called Gimli yelled. He picked up his father’s axe and swung at the Ring. The Ring, surprisingly, broke the axe-blade, and Gimli hit the ground.
Elrond spoke, “The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli son of Gloin, by any craft that we here possess. The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom; only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came. One of you must do this.”
There was a long silence. The Dwarves were trying to get Gimli back into his chair, which was a little too high for him.
Finally Boromir said, “One does not simply walk into Mordor. Its Black Gates are guarded by more than just orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. And the Great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland riddled with fire and ash and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly.”
The Prince once again jumped to his feet. “Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said? The Ring must be destroyed!”
“And I suppose you think you’re the one to do it!” cried Gimli (who had decided to stay in his seat).
“And if we fail what then? What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?” started Boromir, who had gotten to his feet.
“I-will-be-dead-before-I-see-the-Ring-in-the-hands-of-an-Elf!” yelled Gimli in one breath and turning red. “Never trust an Elf!”
An argument began with almost everyone in the circle. Aragorn, Frodo, Elrond, and I sat there. I did not want to get in the midst of a fight I didn’t belong in. I could hear Atashanay and a Dwarf fighting about how stupid Dwarves were. T was looking at the small table (which seemed so soothing) when the little Hobbit, Frodo stood up.
“I will take it!” he yelled, to no avail. “I will take it!” he tried again. The fighting slowed to a halt. “I will take the Ring to Mordor,” continued Frodo. Everyone was looking at him now. “Though I do not know the way.”
Gandalf hobbled over to Frodo, with the help of his stick. “I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, as long as it is yours to bear.”
Aragorn seemed touched. “If, by me life or death, I can protect you, I will; you have my sword.”
“You are a valiant heart Frodo. Gandalf has never led me astray, and I trust he won’t lead us astray. You have my sword,” I vowed. Aragorn looked annoyed, as if I had stolen all his glory.
“And you have my bow,” swore Legolas.
“And my bow,” agreed Atashanay.
“And my axe,” growled Gimli. He stood next to Legolas and they both looked embarrassed.
“You carry the fate of us all, little one. If this is indeed the will of the council, then Gondor will see it done,” said Boromir.
We were all crowding behind Frodo when Sam came charging through the bushes and into the council area. “Mr. Frodo’s not going anywhere without me,” he said.
“No, indeed it is hardly possible to separate you even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not,” laughed Elrond.
“Wait, we’re comin’ too!” yelled a voice. Merry and Pippin ran up to Frodo.
“You’ll have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us,” said Merry.
Master Elrond’s frown had almost swallowed his face. He glanced around, looking for anymore Hobbits waiting to pop out of the bushes.
“Anyway, you need people of intelligence on this sort of mission…quest…thing,” interrupted Pippin.
Merry whispered, “Well, that rules you out, Pip.”
“Eleven companions,” mumbled Elrond. Then he said in a much louder voice: “So be it. You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring.”
“Great,” announced Pippin. “Where’re we goin’?”

Two months later, Boromir and I were sitting in the Great Hall together. It was about dawn. I sensed something was troubling him. “What’s wrong?” I asked, looking up from the letter the Woodelves had personally delivered.
“Why didn’t you tell me he was your brother?” he inquired.
I was surprised to hear this since Boromir hadn’t brought it up since the council. ”You’re next in line for Steward. I didn’t want to take that away from you. If you’d known that my brother was the exiled king of Gondor—“ I said sadly.
Just then Legolas walked in. “Forgot my knives,” he explained.
Atashanay came in behind him. “Kinda crowded in here isn’t it?” she asked. There was only the four of us (so imagine how weird I thought that was).
So I walked outside and wasn’t surprised to see Aragorn was blocking the path.
“Move,” I said flatly.
“Having a bad day? Already?” he inquired.
“You are in my way,” I ignored his questions. “We’re going to be late getting down there.”
“It’s not even dawn yet, Ennyjay,” Aragorn complained.
“What’s going on, Father?” asked Atashanay.
“Your aunt,” he said.
Atashanay, Legolas, and Boromir had left the great hall. Aragorn wasn’t looking at Legolas or Atashanay. And we fell into step beside them, as they headed for the meeting ground.
When we arrived, I saw Sam, Merry, and Pippin were already there. Glorfindel was also there, packing the pony’s saddle bags. He walked up to me when he had finished. “This came for you this morning.” He handed me an envelope. “I do wish you’d quit getting mail, seeing as how I have to deliver it to you.”
“Well, you can send this to Rohan for me,” I said. I handed him an envelope (it was a letter for Eomer). I tore open the envelope Glorfindel had given me and read the letter. Legolas ripped it out of my hand.
“A not-so-secret admirer,” he said. Then he read the letter. “Ooh…”
“Let me read it,” commanded Boromir.
Atashanay, Legolas, and Boromir crowded together to read my letter. My letter!
I sat on the steps next to Orlando who had come to see us off. Aragorn sat next to me. “What’s going on, Aunt Ennyjay?” asked Orlando. I ignored him and buried my face in the warmth of Aragorn’s chest. He rubbed my back. “It’s okay, Ennyjay,” Aragorn whispered. “I’ll take care of it.” He stood up. “Atashanay Undomiel Elessar!” he said. Atashanay came over and handed me my letter.
“Tattle-tail,” she said to me.
So as soon as little Frodo and old Gandalf (not to mention Gimli) got out there, and we said our goodbyes to all of Rivendell, we left the Valley of the Elves, setting out to Mordor. I imagined we must’ve looked weird, all of us traveling in a group. There were four Hobbits, two Elves, two Rangers, a Man of Gondor, a Wizard, and a Dwarf.
As soon as we left Rivendell, I heard Sam complaining about no rope. How could you go on a long and perilous journey without bringing rope (I don’t feel bad because none of us brought rope either)?
Elrond’s words were echoing in my head. He had told us to go on as far as we wanted, but the further we went, the harder it would be to turn aside. I intended to make it at least to Rohan. If our luck held, I might’ve gone with Boromir and Aragorn to Gondor. We crossed the Ford of Bruinen and kept to the small paths which were rough and barren. Gandalf and Aragorn led the way while Legolas and Atashanay kept guard behind all of us. The rest of us were just along for the ride, I guess.
The wind was howling from the east. It was a chill wind, but no matter how many blankets or warm cloaks we had, we were still freezing. Even Gimli, with all his hair, couldn’t keep warm. We marched on every night nonetheless. And every morning at dawn we would huddle close and rest.
We finally made it to Hollin. The entrance was “guarded” by two ancient holly trees. The Elves had lived here, but sought the Havens of Valinor long before. Legolas told us that the Elves that lived here were a strange race to him.
We rested for a long while that day and did not plan on leaving until the next night. Aragorn was tense about something; something I too became nervous about. It was a silence that I knew wasn’t right for Hollin. Most of the others just continued their conversations. Gimli was telling Gandalf and Frodo about the mountains we now faced.
On the horizon stood Caradhras, Silvertine, and Cloudyhead. Under them lay Moria, kingdom of the Dwarves of Old. Over the mountains lay Nanduhirion, the Dimrill Dale. It was for the Dale we were making. We would climb Redhorn Gate, the pass of Caradhras, come down the Dimrill Stair, and reach the Silverlode’s icy waters.
We made our rest useful; we entertained each other by telling stories, Boromir taught the Hobbits to swordfight, and we actually had a warm breakfast/supper.
Gandalf and Aragorn finally ushered us all to sleep, but before we did, Legolas spotted a dark cloud moving towards us at top speed. “Crebain from Dunland!” he announced.
“Everybody hide!” commanded Aragorn. We all hid under overhanging rocks or holly bushes.
After the “cloud” flew over, Gandalf told us to rest, for he had decided to press on that night. Boromir and I sought shelter under an overhang where we lightly slept. I guessed the others were having the same trouble, except Gimli, whose snore could clearly be heard in the stillness.
After the sun set, Sam and Aragorn roused us. The full moon had begun to rise. Aragorn led us down a wide path to the Redhorn. We marched on in the freezing night air.
The moon was setting and it was about an hour before dawn when the whole Fellowship felt something pass over us. I looked to the stars, suppressing a moan, but saw only a hint of light; nothing more. I heard Frodo, Gandalf, and Aragorn talking about it. All I heard clearly, though, was Aragorn saying it was moving against the wind. He moved back to where I was. “Are you all right?” he asked. I nodded. Then he quickly strode up to the head of the line.
On the dawn of the third morning Caradhras now loomed before us. I now understood why someone had bothered to name it Redhorn Gate, for the mountain itself was the crimson color of blood. We halted here. I overheard Gandalf and Aragorn continuing a debate that had obviously started a while before.
“The weather may prove a more deadly enemy than any,” said Gandalf. “What do you think of your course now, Aragorn?”
Aragorn said something about not going through the Gap of Rohan because Saruman (The white Wizard) had now joined Sauron, and the Horse-lords; no one knew whom they served.
I wanted to say that the Rohirrim served no one but themselves, but something held me back. For one, I did not know if they did serve Sauron, and I did not want to see Aragorn’s face when he found out I had been listening in on his conversation.
Gandalf suggested going around Caradhras, but not by taking the road. But Aragorn looked almost afraid at the sound of Gandalf’s words, and he begged him not to speak of it again, unless it was clear there was no other way.
By the time we started marching again Gandalf and Aragorn had decided to stick to the road. Gandalf said that snow would come, and Boromir, having known something of these mountains, suggested that we should each carry some wood. With that, we set off up the steep slopes of the Redhorn.
Snow began falling, blinding me. I could hardly see Boromir, who was standing a couple paces ahead of me. We halted for a few moments, allowing everyone to catch up, and leaving enough time for Aragorn and Gandalf to talk about our course. Then we trudged on as far as we could go. The Halflings began lagging behind, Gimli was grumbling, and I was already up to my knees in snow. Suddenly we halted under an overhanging rock. We all huddled close together, trying to keep warm.

Frodo was trying to sleep. How could anyone sleep in the middle of a blizzard? Boromir began shaking him, trying to wake him up. “This will be the death of the Hobbits.”
Legolas got on top of the snow and started walking to a cliff edge. “There is a fell voice on the air,” he said.
“It’s Saruman!” Gandalf yelled. As soon as he said it, an avalanche fell from on top of the mountain, covering the whole Fellowship. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t see. I couldn’t even move. Blackness started to creep over me. Then there was light, an eerie orange fire glow in the distance. Aragorn was standing on a hill looking over a ruined city. He said, “The crownless again shall be king.” “What?” I asked. “I said, are you all right?” Aragorn replied. “You nearly smothered.” Light came flooding back to my eyes. Aragorn was holding me in his arms, wiping snow out of my hair.
“I-I…” I couldn’t say anything. I didn’t want to tell Aragorn what I had seen, for fear he would be upset. I sat up. We were under the little overhang. Gandalf was walking around, allowing each of us to have some warm substance given to him by Master Elrond. He called it miruvor. He also allowed us to light a fire, but it surpassed Ranger, Elven, and Dwarven skill to do so. Finally, he lit he flame himself. He said, “Naur an edraith ammen!” The wood he was holding burst into flame. But the wood burned fast, and still the snow fell. None of us were allowed to sleep.
Dawn soon approached. The snow grew slower until it stopped altogether; finally it dawned. But the snow drifts were taller than the Hobbits.
Boromir was talking to Gandalf, “We must get off the mountain, make for the Gap of Rohan, and take the West Road to my city.”
“The Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard,” contradicted Aragorn.
Gimli broke in, “If we cannot go over a mountain, let us pass under it. Let us go through the Mines of Moria.”
Now I knew what dark and secret way Aragorn and Gandalf had argued about. I had only been through Moria once in my life; T passed through long ago, Aragorn with me. We came in the West Gate traveling to Rivendell.
“Let the Ringbearer decide,” said Gandalf. “Frodo?”
Everyone looked at Frodo. He nervously looked from face to anxious face. “We will go through the Mines,” he answered.
“So be it,” implied Gandalf.
Now, the problem was getting to the Dwarrowdelf. As I have mentioned, the snowdrifts were almost as tall as we were. With our minds made up that we were retreating from Caradhras, Aragorn (the tallest of our company) and Boromir (stronger built) began forcing a path to the place where the snow first began blinding our path.
Legolas bounded away after them, but he, unlike the others, sprang about on top of the snow, for he was a very light person. He was also a very swift runner, passing Aragorn and Boromir quickly. An hour passed before Legolas came back with Boromir and Aragorn several paces behind him. Legolas explained that after the turn in the path, there was a huge snowdrift, greater than rest, blocking the path. But, happily, Aragorn and Boromir dug a way through it.
Boromir, Aragorn, and Legolas disappeared around the turn, taking with them Pippin and Merry. Atashanay and I started to follow their tracks. The path was wide, and soon we cam to the snow drift. It looked like someone had placed a wall in front of our path. The drift was more than twice the height of Boromir. I was surprised he and Aragorn even got through it. On the other side, true to Legolas’s words, the snow on the ground was little more than a few inches deep.
So we waited with Legolas, Merry, and Pippin for the others as Boromir and Aragorn went to fetch them. Finally, Boromir returned with Sam. After him followed Gandalf, leading Bill the pony, Gimli on top of the luggage. Last was Aragorn carrying Frodo. Aragorn had barely set Frodo down when a landslide rumbled down where we had just trodden. The spray of snow blinded all of us as we were crouched near a cliff. When the dust cleared, I noticed, along with the rest of the Fellowship, that the path behind us was blocked. On we continued; on down Caradhras. Soon we were stumbling down the last slope of the mountain.
It was decided we would rest before we went on, since the mountain had defeated us, and we were tired. Gandalf allowed us another mouthful of Elrond’s miruvor. Then he let us eat a little food and called a council. I heard little of it, for I was not paying attention and daydreaming about Eomer.
But I heard Gandalf say, “That is a road at any rate that the Enemy will least expect us to take.”
“We do not know we he expects,” said Boromir. “He may watch all roads, likely and unlikely. In that case to enter Moria would be to walk into a trap, hardly better than knocking at the gates of the Dark Tower itself. The name of Moria is black.
“You speak of what you do not know, when you liken Moria to the stronghold of Sauron,” replied Gandalf.
I began thinking again, hence I wasn’t listening. So if anything important was said, I missed it. Moria is dark and dank; but come on! Barad-dur! Moria’s not that bad. All of a sudden I heard Gimli say, “I will tread the path with you!”
“I too passed the Dimrill Gate,” said Aragorn, “but though also I came out again, the memory is evil. I do not wish to enter Moria a second time.”
“Nor do I,” I said quietly. “Moria seemed a cold and lonely place. I was scared to even venture there. I don’t wish to do it again.”
The others agreed.
Gandalf sighed. “Who will follow me when I lead you there?”
“I will,” Gimli answered enthusiastically.
“I will,” said Aragorn softly. “You followed my lead almost to disaster in the snow, and have said no word of blame. I will follow your lead now.”
There was silence. “I do not wish to go,” I said. “But you have never steered me wrong, Gandalf. So, I’m going where you lead me.”
“I will not go,” said Boromir, “not unless the vote of the company is against me. What do Legolas, Atashanay, and the little folk say?”
“I do not wish to go to Moria,” answered Legolas.
“Nor do I,” piped up Atashanay. “I’ve heard the stories of Moria.”
The Hobbits said nothing. Finally Frodo spoke: “I do not wish to go, but neither do I wish to refuse the advice of Gandalf. How the wind howls!” he said, changing subject.
“How the wind howls!” cried Aragorn. “It is howling with wolf-voices! The Wargs have come west of the Mountains!”
“Need we wait until morning then?” asked Gandalf. “Even if we live to see the dawn, who now will wish to journey south by night with wild wolves on his or her trail?”
“How far is Moria?” asked Boromir.
“Fifteen or twenty miles,” answered Gandalf. “The West Gate of Moria lies southwest of Caradhras; or it did.”
“We have no other choice,” I said.

For our defense, we spent the night on top of the small hill we had been taking refuge by. The top of the hill was crowned with boulders and old, twisted trees. In the middle of the circle of stones, we lit a fire, for there was no hope of secrecy. We sat around the fire; those of us sleeping did so fitfully. Our baggage pony was trembling where he stood (close to Sam). We could see the glowing eyes in the pitch black outside the circle.
The leader of the pack sat in a gap between two stones. He howled every so often, waking those asleep. Finally Gandalf stood. “Listen, Hound of Sauron!” he cried. “Gandalf is here. Fly is you value your foul skin! I will shrivel you from tail to snout, if you come within this ring.”
The Warg gave a thunderous growl and sprang forth. There was a twang, a yelp, and a thud. Legolas had loosed his bow; the arrow sank deep into the hound’s throat. The hunting packs fled into the darkness.
Near dawn, while Boromir and I stood guard, a storm of howls broke out in every direction. The Wargs had gathered in large ranks and were now attacking from all directions at once. I killed three huge wolves, almost as tall as the pipe weed in the Shire, with my sword. Atashanay was doing far better than me. The Hobbits had their fair share of killings. Aragorn and Boromir killed most of the leaders. Legolas was merciless. Gimli had a pile of bodies close to him. But Gandalf proved most powerful that night. He cried his spell and all the trees around us caught fire. It was as if the hill was wearing a fiery crown. Erubian, my sword, gleamed palely in the fire-light. There was a twang of Legolas’s bow and the fiery arrow struck the heart of the last Warg chieftain. The other wolves, leaderless, fled into the night.
When dawn came and the fire died down, we looked hopelessly for the bodies of the Wargs. There was nothing save Legolas and atashanay’s arrows, all of which were undamaged except for one, which only the tip remained.
“We must reach the doors before sunset,” said Gandalf, “or I fear we shall not reach them at all. It is not far, but the path may be winding, for here the Rangers cannot guide us; they have seldom walked in this country and only once have I been under the West Wall of Moria, and that was long ago. Let us go!”
“I do not know which to hope,” muttered Boromir to me, “that Gandalf finds what he seeks, or that coming to the cliff we shall find the Gates lost forever. All choices seem ill, and to be caught between wolves and the wall the likeliest chance.”
Atashanay caught up with me. “I thought you’ve been here before,” she whispered.
“I have,” I said. “But that was before you were even born. Who knows how much the land has changed?”
Gimli walked up front with Gandalf because he was eager, much unlike the rest of us. Gandalf was looking for some sign of a river called the Sirannon. The Sirannon used to flow noisily next to the road by the Mines. But where was it now? Gimli suddenly cried out. In front of him was the empty waterway of the Sirannon. Once a broad, mighty stream, all that remained was a slow trickle of water.
We were climbing up a rock face when Gandalf hailed Frodo. “Frodo, come and help an old man,” he said. Frodo moved on up to Gandalf. They were talking in low whispers, so I don’t know what they said.
Gimli ran up ahead. “The Walls of Moria,” he gasped. When we caught up with him, we now stood before a giant lake, and on the other side loomed a colossal cliff face.
I looked out at the vast lake. Neither the sky nor the setting sun was reflected on its dark, glassy surface. Gandalf, Frodo, and Gimli were huddled close together, deep in conversation, probably deciding how we were to get to the other side. We followed a small path. A little way on we discovered a small, slimy stream barring our path. Gimli established it was little more than ankle deep. The rocks were slippery and covered with green and white slime. So guess who slipped? That’s right: me. I got right in the middle of the stream when the rock I was standing on decided to shift. I fell backward, but thankfully, Atashanay caught me. Soon we were all across and at the cliff face.
Gandalf said, “I need to find these doors. While Gimli and Legolas help me look, will you prepare yourselves to enter the Mines? And I think it’s time we say bye to Bill the Pony.” The three of them scanned for the doors while Sam and Aragorn began unloading Bill.
“Dwarf doors are invisible when closed,” said Gimli.
“Yes, Gimli,” mentioned Gandalf. “Their own masters cannot find them if their secrets are forgotten.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” asked Legolas.
“Ithildin,” said Gandalf after a while. “It mirrors only starlight and moonlight.” The cloud that covered the moon shifted, and where Gandalf stood, an Elvish Door appeared. “It reads ‘The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter,’” announced Gandalf.
“What do you suppose that means?” asked Merry.
“Well it’s quite simple: if you are a friend, speak the password, and the doors will open,” replied Gandalf. He placed the end of his staff in the middle of the doors and commanded something in Elvish.
“Nothing’s happening,” said Pippin to Legolas.
Gandalf sighed. “I once knew every spell in all the tongues of Elves or Men or orcs.”
“What’re you going to do then?” asked Pippin.
“Knock your head against them, Peregrin Took. And if that does not shatter them, and I am allowed a little peace from foolish questions, I will try to find the opening words!” yelled Gandalf angrily.
With Gandalf occupied at the moment, I turned my attention to the others. Atashanay was leaning on the wall, close to Legolas, sleeping. Frodo was watching Gandalf, as was Gimli. Merry and Pippin were standing next to Legolas, who was talking to Boromir. Aragorn and Sam had just finished unloading Bill.
“Mines are no place for a pony,” Aragorn was saying. “Even one so brave as Bill.”
“Bye, Bill,” said Sam, sobbing.
“Don’t worry, Sam; he knows the way home.” Aragorn swatted Bill, and he took off at a slow trot.
Gandalf was still trying to open the doors. Gimli had lit his pipe, which didn’t seem like a bad idea. So I stood, smoking my pipe and gazing out at the lake. “I didn’t know you smoke,” said Boromir, coming up next to me.
“I do a lot of things you don’t know about,” I said, still watching the water.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I don’t remember a lake being here, and if there was, it wasn’t this dark,” I answered.
“Lands change,” said Boromir. “You said so yourself.”
“I know,” I admitted. “But I wasn’t expecting this drastic a change.
“The Gate Stream was a clear river, full of fish,” I went on. “It’s now murky and slimy.”
There were two splooshes beside me. For a moment I thought Boromir had jumped in. Then I noticed the sounds were on the other side of me. Merry and Pippin were throwing stones into the lake. Aragorn noticed this and grabbed one of the Halflings. “Do not disturb the water,” he commanded.
Meanwhile Gandalf and Frodo were talking. There was a slosh and a ripple in the lake. Everyone was scanning the lake for the reason of the ripple. Everyone, that is, except Frodo and Gandalf. They remained deep in concentration. The ripples drew nearer to the shore. I backed away toward wall.
Suddenly, Frodo said, “Gandalf, what’s the Elvish word for friend?”
“Mellon,” answered Gandalf. The Doors swung open and we gathered our gear. Tearing myself away from the lake, I went to rouse Atashanay, but she seemed to have roused herself. She yawned, picked up her stuff, and walked beside me through the doorway.

i love your story it's great! it's interesting with the new characters in it. kinda wish i were Atashanay, i love Legolas's character. and the addition of Orlando.... interesting.
good job!

Thanks!

Moria’s West Entrance Hall was dark.
I puffed my pipe, but that did nothing to light even a shadow. So, I put it out, decided upon saving some of my pipe weed.
“Soon Master and Mistress Elf, you will enjoy the fabled hospitality of the Dwarves. Roaring fires, malt beer, ripe meat off the bone. This, my friends, is the home of my cousin, Balin. And they call it a mine, a mine!” laughed Gimli merrily.
Gandalf’s staff was giving off a bright light, illuminating the hall. “This is no mine,” explained Boromir. “It’s a tomb.” And he was right. Dwarf bodies were lying here and there on the arrow strewn floor. I backed into Atashanay, who looked just as horrorstruck as the rest of us.
Gimli was screaming, “No!”
Legolas pulled an arrow from the nearest body. “Goblins,” he said, dropping the arrow and pulling out his bow. The rest of us drew our swords.
“We make for the Gap of Rohan,” said Boromir. “We should never have come here. Now get out of here, get out!”
I heard a yell and a splash. I turned to face the Halflings. Frodo was missing. And then, I saw where Frodo had gone.
A glowing tentacle had appeared out of the water and had Frodo by the ankle. It was trying to drag him into the lake. The Hobbits managed to cut off the tentacle and free Frodo. But the victory was bittersweet. Twenty more tentacles lashed out of the water, knocking Merry, Pippin, and Sam down and grabbing Frodo.
I ran to help the Hobbits as the others ran to cut Frodo down. Gandalf was restraining Gimli. Boromir and Aragorn ran knee-deep out in the water and were slashing at the creature’s tentacles. Legolas remained on shore, firing arrows. Atashanay flanked him, making sure nothing harmed her future-life-mate. The beast emerged. It was a horrible sight that still haunts my dreams. A tentacle lashed out of the water and it slung me against the wall. Boromir and Aragorn managed to cut Frodo down while Legolas and Atashanay shot arrows at the squid-thing.
“Into the Mines!” I heard someone say.
The Hobbits ran inside. Aragorn grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet. Then he tugged at my arm and we ran for the Door. Boromir, Aragorn, and I came in just as the watcher’s remaining luminous tentacles grabbed the doors and pulled with all its might.
The Doors caved in.
“Now we must face the long dark of Moria,” said Gandalf, relighting his staff. “Quietly now; it’s a three day journey to the other side. Let us hope our presence here may go unnoticed.”
We walked on for many hours, when Gandalf suddenly stopped at the top of a stairwell. Before us were three passages, all going in different directions. “I have no memory of this place,” he admitted.
I didn’t really remember much of Moria either. For the last time I passed through, Aragorn was taking me to Rivendell after we had escaped Barad-dur. I was ill most of the journey.
Gandalf decided to stay in the guard room that night. It was close to the three corridors, so Gandalf could find out which way to go while we rested. Frodo and Gandalf stayed awake for a long while. They talked about Gollum and how he was following us—scary isn’t it? And about the Ring. “I wish the Ring had never come to me. I wish none of this had happened,” Frodo implied.
“So do all who live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide,” said Gandalf. “All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.”
I guess I fell asleep there. My dreams were haunted by Barad-dur as I once again revisited Sauron’s stronghold. Aragorn was also in my dreams. So were the Nazgul. Not the Ringwraiths covered in black cloaks, no; the Ringwraiths that look like silvery, light mists floating along the dungeon corridor carrying chains.
Gandalf roused me some six hours later. He had kept watch that whole time. He asked me if I would help him rouse the others. When everyone was fully awake and had eaten something, Gandalf said, “It’s that way.” He pointed to the right-hand door.
“He’s remembered,” announced Merry merrily.
“No, but the air doesn’t smell so foul down there,” Gandalf explained. “If in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose.”
Again we marched on in silence until the air was no longer stuffy but cool on our faces. It seemed we were in a great room. “Let me risk a little more light,” muttered Gandalf. His staff sent out a great shaft of light, illuminating the room. “Behold the chamber of the great Realm and City of the Dwarrowdelf,” he announced.
“There’s an eye opener and no mistake,” said Sam.
The room was full of stone pillars at least fifty feet high. And it looked like it stretched on for a lifetime. On the far side was a door, but it seemed a lifetime away. Gandalf told us that there were windows, but it was dark and we couldn’t see anything. We spent the night in the hall.
I awoke to a dim light the next morning. Legolas and Atashanay were whispering quietly. The others were still sleeping.
One by one the others awoke until Frodo, the last one, was awake. We soon continued on our way to the other side of the hall. All of a sudden Gimli let out a sharp cry, and into the nearest chamber he sped. We, of course, followed him.
Inside, the dim light seemed dazzling to eyes that had been adjusted to the dark for two days. The room was full of what seemed to be records of the Dwarves that had once inhabited Moria. In the middle of the room stood a stone coffin with Dwarvish-runes reading: Here Lies Balin son of Fundin. “He is dead then,” muttered Gandalf. “It is as I feared.”
Gimli wailed, “Nooo!”
Gandalf meanwhile nosed around the chamber muttering something about Mazarbul. He found the charred remains of a book, and pored over that for a long while. The Hobbits, bored, took to looking about the room. Legolas and Aragorn were talking. “We cannot linger here,” Legolas was saying. Aragorn nodded. Atashanay and Boromir were looking over Gandalf’s shoulder, trying to decipher the Dwarf-runes. I rested my hand on Gimli’s shoulder. He was praying in his own tongue.
Gandalf read some from the book: “’We cannot get out. They are coming. We cannot get out. Drums, drums in the deep—‘“
There was a loud resounding clang which made everyone jump. The whole chamber was dead quiet as we held our breath. Pippin stood by a huge, stone well looking embarrassed. I noticed that the skeleton that was sitting on the edge of the well wasn’t there anymore.
As soon as we made sure no one had heard other than us and we started breathing again, Gandalf started to chew poor Peregrin out just because of his curiosity. “Fool of a Took! Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity!”
Then we heard it. Drums rolling from somewhere below us. “Mr. Frodo!” Sam cried. Frodo drew his sword. Sting, as I guessed, glittered blue around the edges, becoming brighter with every passing second. Aragorn threw down the torch he was carrying as he drew his sword.
“Stay close to Gandalf,” he commanded the Hobbits.
Boromir ran to the door and peered out. Arrows flew and struck the door. Boromir slammed it. Aragorn and Legolas helped him barricade it. “They have a cave troll,” he said.
We all positioned ourselves in front of the door. Legolas, Atashanay, and Aragorn stood between Boromir and me with raised bows and arrows fitted to the string. Boromir and I had our swords in our hands, Boromir his shield. Gimli was behind us on Balin’s coffin. Gandalf and the Hobbits were behind it, crowded together. Cries were heard in the hall outside; the harsh calls of the orcs. I gripped Erubian harder. The door fell, and in poured the orcs.
I slew many, but only those that the archer’s arrows did not claim. I didn’t dare see what was going on around me for fear I would be killed. An orc seized this opportunity to pin me to the ground. It would have cut my throat had Atashanay not come and cut its throat instead. As she turned, though, she slipped on the orc blood and cut her ear.
We had it just about under control when the troll came bursting in, dragging its chain. It reminded me a brief moment of watching the Ringwraiths floating down the corridors of Barad-dur with trolls haunting their footsteps. The troll snarled and swung its club at Gimli, crushing everything in its wake. Gimli jumped out of the way. Balin was not so fortunate. His tomb was smashed to pieces.
I decided to stay as far away from the troll as I could because of what had happened at the Gates. I still hadn’t gained back my agility yet. Aragorn and Boromir had a different tactic. They grabbed its chain and pulled it with all their might. It held the troll back for a second. But Aragorn let go of the chain because of an orc. Boromir suddenly found himself holding the chain. The troll slung the chain sideways, throwing Boromir into the wall. He rolled off the ledge and onto the ground. Aragorn, back form whatever he was doing, killed the orc that nearly slaughtered Boromir.
The troll, meanwhile, had occupied itself with terrorizing Merry, Frodo, and Pippin. The Hobbits were on the ledge above us. Frodo was cowering behind a pillar while Merry and Pippin watched him “play hide-and-seek” with the troll.

**Okay, Lothiriel (Prince Imrahil's sis, ya know, who married Eomer in the Appendices) is not in this story. My nickname is Lothiriel, and I am not related to Imrahil...

Aragorn grabbed a spear and thrust it at the cave troll. The troll “brushed” him aside like he was nothing, knocking Aragorn unconscious. Frodo tried to rouse Aragorn, but the troll grabbed the spear and drove it into Frodo’s chest. Frodo cried out and fell face down on the floor. I don’t know why, but we all fought harder.
It was Legolas who finally managed to kill the troll; he pierced its throat with an arrow. We crowded around Frodo, most of us bleeding somewhere or another, prepared for the worst. Aragorn, conscious now, turned Frodo over. Frodo, to everyone’s surprise, still drew breath. “He’s alive,” breathed Sam.
“I’m all right; I’m not hurt,” Frodo said.
“You should be dead,” implied Aragorn. “That spear would have skewered a wild boar!”
“I think there’s more to this Hobbit than meets the eye,” said Gandalf. Frodo unbuttoned the top few shirt buttons, revealing a glittering coat of mithril-mail. I remembered Gandalf had said that mithril was the reason the Dwarves wanted to come back to Moria.
“You are full of surprises, Master Baggins,” cried Gimli.
A shrill call was heard in the hall. “To the Bridge of Khazad-dum,” said Gandalf. Into the hall we ran, orcs at our heels. Midway to the door, we were surrounded. The whole hall was filled with orcs, screaming and laughing. Somewhere from behind us we heard the loudest bang ever. All the orcs grew quiet as the corridor where we had just come from turned crimson. There was a rumbling growl and the orcs scattered, clambering up the pillars to the holes above us. The chamber stood empty, save us and the fiery-red glowing walls.
“What is this new devilry?” asked Boromir as Legolas aimed high, then low, then lowered his bow hopelessly.
Aragorn looked to Gandalf questioningly. I stood frozen in my tracks. “A Balrog,” answered Gandalf. “This foe is beyond any of you. Run!” We made our way through the hall and into another chamber. Boromir was leading us with Legolas at his heels. Boromir descended a flight of stairs and nearly fell to a fiery death. Thank goodness for Legolas catching him. All of a sudden, Gandalf threw Aragorn into a nearby wall. “Do as I say!” he commanded. “Swords are no more use here!”
We went on led by Aragorn, Boromir, and Legolas. Soon we came to a crumbled stairwell. Legolas jumped across the gap first. Gandalf jumped next. Atashanay followed suit. Next came Gimli (with much chaos). Legolas caught him by the beard. Aragorn threw Sam across. By now, you’ve probably guessed that a lot more of the stair had crumbled. It’s true. I was so hesitant, Aragorn nearly had to throw me across. “Go!” he commanded. So I jumped, followed by Boromir who had Merry and Pippin. Aragorn and Frodo were the only one’s left; and there was a gaping hole between us. If either of them fell, they’d have been well on their way to oblivion.
Meanwhile the corridor above the stairs was steadily growing brighter and brighter. A chunk of the ceiling collapsed, breaking apart the stair behind Frodo and Aragorn. As the two scrambled upward, the piece of the stairwell they were on began to sway dangerously. Then Aragorn was struck with an idea. “Lean forward,” he instructed. Frodo did as he was told. The chunk of stair swung forward, hitting the rest of the stairs and allowing Legolas to catch Aragorn while Boromir caught Frodo. The stairs behind us crumbled as we headed for the Bridge.
The floor expanded around us. Behind us there was an open pit with fire spewing out. The Bridge was near. We started crossing it at a run. It was only three or four feet wide with no rails or anything to hold us from falling into the eternal blackness below us.
Gandalf was almost in the middle of the bridge when it came.
It was a huge, fiery winged demon. In one hand it held a whip of fire; in the other, a sword. “You cannot pass!” yelled Gandalf. The Balrog took a step closer. Gandalf stopped in his tracks, raising his sword just as the Balrog raised its. Gandalf continued: “I am a servant of the secret fire, wielder of the flam of Anor. The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udun.” Metal clashed with metal. “You shall not pass!” cried Gandalf, breaking his staff through the bridge. The Balrog took one step closer onto the Bridge, but the Bridge collapsed taking the Balrog with it. Half the Bridge remained. Gandalf turned, but just as he did, the Balrog’s mighty whip lashed itself from the cavern below and pulled Gandalf to the edge of the Bridge.
“Fly, you fools!” he yelled, letting go and plunging into nothingness. We fled upstairs and out the front gate where we sat on the rocks below, weeping for Gandalf. The Grey Pilgrim was gone, just like that.
Aragorn tried to get us up. “Give them a moment, for pity’s sake,” said Boromir.
“By nightfall these hills will be swarming with orcs!” yelled Aragorn. “Get them up!”
We all wiped our tears away and gathered our gear. Then we headed down toward the Dimrill Dale.
“Aragorn, where are we going?” I asked.
“Lothlorien,” he said. “To the Lady of the Woods.”
The day wore on and we finally reached the Forest of Lothlorien, where we were surrounded by Haldir and his forest-scouts. He took us to the heart of the forest, Cair Galadhon, the home of Galadriel and Celeborn. We sat, waiting to see Lady Galadriel, while Aragorn told Haldir about our journey. Gimli said something really nasty to Haldir in Dwarvish. I really don’t want to translate it.
Then Haldir told Frodo, “You bring great evil here.”
I watched Atashanay mend her cut ear while Boromir told Frodo not to lose hope. Elvish healing techniques are superb.
Finally we stood before the Lord and Lady of the Woods. Galadriel told me about how the Nazgul were on our tails and how, when they’ve caught us, they’d kill Frodo and throw the rest of us in the dungeon of Barad-dur…again. I have to hand it to her; she really knows how to get to you. She doesn’t say it out loud. She messes with your mind.
She told us all to rest and be merry. I don’t know how I could be merry when one of my closest friends had died.

I talked to Boromir extensively about Eomer. He told me to tell Aragorn about my love. So, on the fourteenth of February sometime after midnight, I sought for Aragorn. He was in the glade by the fountain under the Great Tree. At first I feared he was sleeping, but then he turned to me, and I saw he had a pen in his hand. “Yes?” he asked.
“I need to talk to you,” I said. I came to sit next to him. “It’s about this.” I produced the letter that I had received on the day we left Rivendell. Aragorn read the letter then looked up at me. “Betrothed?” he asked.
“You don’t want to ask me ‘Who is this Eomer?’” I said.
“Trust me, I know who he is; the nephew of the King of Rohan. Why do you want to marry him?”
“I love him.”
“No.”
“But—“
“No! Now out of my sight!”
I turned, tears streaming down my face, and saw Frodo standing there, gaping in awe. He ran down the path, avoiding my gaze. I threw a sideways glance at Aragorn and stalked off to bed. I ran into Celeborn halfway and kneeled, crying, at his feet. He was speaking with Haldir. “Ennyjay…” Celeborn looked down at me. “Go on to bed. There will be another day.” I looked up at him with gratitude and ran off toward my bed.
Boromir was sitting there when I arrived. “Where’ve you been?” he yawned.
“Talking to Aragorn about Eomer,” I answered, pulling my boots off.
“What’d he say?” asked Boromir.
“He said no and to get out of his sight.”
“So, he didn’t take it lightly.”
“No,” I sighed. “Then I met Celeborn by the well. He told me there would be another day.” An hour later, I found myself pouring out my deepest thoughts and memories to a man I hadn’t seen in fifty years. I left out that one important memory: the two weeks I was in Barad-dur. Finally I fell asleep.
That night I had a weird dream: A boat floated by me in the water while flashes of a forest blinded me. I looked in the boat and there laid the body of Boromir. The last flash was of him talking to Aragorn, lying on the ground with three arrows piercing his body.
That’s when I woke up. I got up and walked outside. Was my dream some sort of sign? I sat on one of the small benches next to me. It was then I saw Atashanay and Legolas back form a midnight escapade.
“What time is it?” I asked.
“Not yet dawn,” Atashanay answered. “Are you all right?”
"Weird…dream,” I said.
Legolas snickered. Atashanay slapped him. “If it’s that bad, go find Galadriel or Celeborn; they’ll know what to make of it,” she suggested.
I took Atashanay’s advice and sought out Galadriel. As I walked up the stairs around the Great Tree, I tried not to look over the edge at the ground at least a hundred feet below, two hundred, three hundred. Thank goodness Celeborn met me there; I couldn’t have gone much farther.
“She’s down there,” Celeborn said, taking my hand, and tugging me down the steps. By now the sun was rising and the forest was “waking up.” Woodelves started passing by, traveling up the tree. Finally, we reached the bottom. There stood Galadriel.
I needn’t tell you what she and Celeborn told me. Although I was told some important things, that comes later.
On the sixteenth we made ready to leave Lorien by way pf boat. We would sail down the Great River, Anduin, until we reached the Falls of Rauros. From there we would head on to the Emyn Muil and approach Mordor from the North.
We all received grey cloaks, but each received an individual gift. I myself got a pair of Elven gauntlets, something I’d needed for a long time. Atashanay got a Dunedan bow (where’d Galadriel get one of those?). Boromir wouldn’t tell me what he got.
Before we left, Galadriel pulled me aside.
“Be careful,” she warned. “Use your mind. Don’t forget this gift.” She touched my forehead. “Don’t be afraid to use it.”
“I have one ques—“ I began.
“The answer is yes,” she interrupted.
We left Lorien in four boats. One held Aragorn, Sam, and Frodo; one contained Gimli and Legolas; another—Boromir, Merry, and Pippin; last but not least, a boat holding me and Atashanay.
We left with heavy hearts, knowing that what lie ahead of us was surely the easiest part of the journey, but fearing the walk through the craggy wasteland. Had we only known?
The Fellowship made camp at Sarn Gebir. And unfortunately Legolas forgot to tell us about seasickness…Ugh!
Aragorn and Boromir had a fight that ended with Aragorn saying, “I would not take the Ring within a hundred leagues of your city!”
The Fellowship was falling apart. We were fighting amongst ourselves.
On the twenty-fifth we passed through the Argonath. The Argonath is two great carvings of Isildur and Anarion, kings of old.
We stopped at Parth Galen. After nightfall we were supposed to go across the shore and head down the Emyn Muil.
Aragorn was explaining this to the group when Gimli broke in: “A simple matter of finding our way through Emyn Muil? An impassable labyrinth of razor sharp rocks.” Atashanay stood behind him, mouthing what the Dwarf was saying. Legolas was laughing. “—festering, stinking marshland as far as the eye can see—“
“That is our road,” interrupted Aragorn.
“Where’s Frodo?” asked Merry suddenly.
“Where’s Boromir?” I asked.
Both were missing. We immediately went to find them. We searched, Atashanay and me, for the better part of an hour. Then we heard metal clashing on top of the hill. Uruk-hai bearing the white-hand of Saruman poured off the hill of Amon Hen. I hid behind a tree while Atashanay jumped to one of the higher branches and loosed her bow. Uruks dropped like flies as Atashanay and I shot them down. One grew smart and loosed his bow. He shot at me. It bounced off my right gauntlet. I wasn’t so lucky the next time. The arrow skinned my right shoulder. Atashanay slaughtered that Uruk. We ran to the hilltop. Atashanay raced through the trees while I stumbled on the ground below.
At the crown of the hill were Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas, and more Uruk-hai. Boromir and the Hobbits were no where to be seen. We fought hard. Then we heard a horn call rise up from out of the forest.

*Note, this story hasn't been edited as much as I'd hoped, but I am getting around to it... Some of these parts in the story may be left out for my final cut. BTW, don't even think this'll make it past my computer. I haven't even showed it to my mom. She'll think I have schizophrenia, or whatnot...

“The Horn of Gondor,” Legolas said.
“Boromir!” I cried, running down the hill, Aragorn at my heels. When we found Boromir, he was kneeling before an Uruk-hai greater than the rest. Three arrows had pierced him on the side and chest. The sight of him struggling to breathe brought tears to my eyes.
Aragorn picked a fight with the lone Uruk standing there. I ran to Boromir’s aid. The battle raged on around us as I helped Boromir to put his back against a tree. “Ennyjay,” he gasped.
“Don’t speak; there’s got to be something I can do,” I began. I wrapped my hand around one of the arrows; tears began pouring down my cheeks.
“Don’t.” He winced in pain.
“You can’t leave me. You’re like my brother, more than a brother; my best friend.”
“I can do something.” He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me closer. “Something I should have done long ago.” He kissed me. I could feel the warmth draining from his lips. I looked down at him after. His once-proud green eyes began to glass over and his cheeks were losing color.
By this time Aragorn had killed the big Uruk-hai and was by my side. “They took the little ones. Where is Frodo?” Boromir coughed.
“I let him go,” Aragorn answered.
I got up and turned away. Merry, Pippin, and Sam were gone to who knows where? Frodo went on to Mordor by himself. Boromir was dying, and I had no idea about the others. All of a sudden, Aragorn called me. I knelt beside him.
“Promise me you’ll go to Gondor,” Boromir said weakly.
“I will,” I sniffed.
“Take care of Faramir. Tell him…I’m sorry it had to be this way,” he whispered. He pushed something into my hand.
“Don’t leave,” I sobbed. I looked down at my hand. In it was the Elven brooch of Boromir’s cloak.
To Aragorn, he said, “I would have gone with you to the end, my brother, my captain, my king…”
“Be at peace, Son of Gondor,” Aragorn said.
That was the last I saw Boromir alive. I turned, seeing Atashanay, Legolas, and Gimli standing there in a sad silence, ran behind a tree, slid down the trunk, and fainted. Aragorn watched me fall. We put Boromir in a boat from Lorien, along with the weapons of his fallen enemies. My dream. Aragorn robbed him of his gauntlets. We sent the boat over the Falls of Rauros. Aragorn and Legolas sang a song for him.
Later, Legolas shoved a boat into the water. “Hurry, Frodo and Sam have reached the eastern shore,” he said. Aragorn looked at him sternly. “You mean not to follow them,” Legolas muttered sadly.
“The Fellowship has failed!” Gimli cried.
Aragorn turned around quickly. “Not while we hold true to one another!” he contradicted. “We will not abandon Merry and Pippin to torment and death; not while we still draw breath. Take only what you need. We travel light. Let us hunt some orc!”
“Yes!” yelled Gimli.
Atashanay and I hugged one another. “Yes!” she announced, slinging her bow over her back.
I wiped the tears from my eyes and stowed my knife in its little sheath.
We followed Aragorn up the bank and ran for all we were worth.
For three straight days we ran. No food, little water, and no rest. What’s worse, the Uruk-hai were the same way. In two ways I was glad we didn’t stop. One, we were gaining on the Uruks, which meant Merry and Pippin were closer. Two, no stopping left little time to lament the loss of Boromir.
Aragorn stopped to listen to the ground for footsteps. He and Legolas said something to one another. “Come Gimli, we are gaining on them!” cried Legolas. Gimli grumbled to himself as we ran all day. As the sun rose, Legolas said, “A red sun rises. Blood has been spilled this night.”
We ran on until we had entered Rohan, territory of the Horse-lords and Theoden, their king. Aragorn again bent to listen to the ground once more. “They’ve stopped.” The next morning, we were passed by the Rohirrim. We hid, letting them pass, but then: “Riders of Rohan, what news from the Mark?” Aragorn got up.
The leader turned and gave a command. Suddenly, we found ourselves surrounded by the Riders of Rohan. Spears were pointed at us. Aragorn put his hands up as a sign of surrender. The leader jumped off his horse. “What business do you have in the Riddermark?” he wanted to know. “Speak quickly.” I eyed him. It was Eomer. I turned away before he could see my face.
Gimli glared at him evilly. “Give me your name, horse-master, and I shall give ye mine.” Aragorn closed his eyes in disbelief. Atashanay groaned. Legolas remained quiet. I stood there, watching Gimli, not knowing what to expect.
Eomer angrily unsheathed his sword. “I would cut off your head, Dwarf, if it stood but a little higher from the ground,” he shot back.
Legolas grabbed his bow and fitted an arrow on the string. “You would be dead before your stroke fell!” The spears came down closer.
Aragorn stepped between Legolas and Eomer. “I am Aragorn son of Arathorn. This is Gimli son of Gloin, Legolas of the Woodland Realm, my daughter Atashanay, and my sister Ennyjay. We are friends of Rohan, and of Theoden, your king.”
Eomer said, “Theoden no longer recognizes friend from foe.” He pulled his helmet off. “Not even his own kin.” The Rider put their spears to…wherever you put a spear. “Saruman has poisoned the mind of the King and claimed Lordship over these lands. My company are those who remain loyal to Rohan. And for that, we are banished. The White Wizard is cunning. He walks here and there they say, as an old man hooded and cloaked. And everywhere his spies slip through our nets.”
Aragorn argued, “We are no spies. We track a band of Uruk-hai westward across the plain. They have taken two of our friends captive.”
Eomer looked at me and recognition flashed in his eyes. “The Uruks are dead. We slaughtered them during the night.”
Gimli looked desperate. “But there were two Hobbits. Did you see two Hobbits?”
“We left none alive. We piled the carcasses and burned them,” Eomer answered. I looked behind him. A couple of miles away, I could see a pile of burning, smoldering bodies.
Gimli looked mortified. “Dead?”
Eomer looked at him and nodded. “I am sorry.” He whistled. “Hasufel, Arod!” He called two horses to him. Their saddles were empty. “May these horses bear you to better fortune than their former masters.” While Aragorn was marveling at the horses, Eomer took me aside. He kissed me. Then he put his helmet on and whispered in my ear, “Come with us.” I hung my head. He understood. “I’ll try to write. I love you,” he said. He got on his horse and told the rest of our company, “Look for your friends, but do not trust to hope. It is forsaken in these lands. We ride on!” The Riders turned north and rode off, Eomer among them.