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After a forgettable breakfast, they shouldered their packs and moved on, their feet quickening as they closed in on their destination.

Gimli's promises of food, beer, and beds urged the others on like nothing else. Even Frodo, a pale shade in clothes that hung loosely off his frame, perked up at the Dwarf's promises, something like anticipation lighting his weary, blue eyes.

"Just you wait, lass. There is nothing like a Dwarven welcome; malt beer, meat falling from the bone, sæt deig, errr…" He paused, noting Merrill's confusion, and continued, "They're like soft bread, sweetened with a mixture of goat's milk and honey and baked in svínakjöt until they're golden and crisp." (1)

Merrill nodded, but her heart wasn't in it. She was the only one who knew they were walking into Hell, complete with partially decomposed corpses, mass graves, wicked, demonic beings, and a giant, flaming, red devil. Gimli's imaginings would be extinguished in just a few hours more; he'd learn that his kin and many others had been cruelly slaughtered and left to rot, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

"…on a feather mattress!" Gimli elbowed her, grinning, and added, "Now if that don't beat all, eh?"

Merrill smiled feebly. "It sounds wonderful, Gimlet."

Gimli barreled on, requiring only the occasional grunt of agreement or smile, and Merrill, still numb from all that had occurred the previous night, did her best to humor him.

Merrill rubbed at her temples, doing her utmost to ignore the gentle humming she felt there. She knew what it was, now—she knew what it meant—and, knowing this, she knew there was nothing to be done but to pretend it didn't exist.

This, of course, would be simpler if it hurt her, but it was a warm, drowsing feeling. It was summer, and buzzing bees. It was mint tea, and daffodils, and the golden glow of the midafternoon sun. It was the warm embrace of a long-awaited friend at the airport, and hot chocolate in a snowstorm, because, even when hurt by her, even when upset with her, Legolas wished her nothing but happiness.

Gimli, having given her up as a bad job, sped his pace to regale the Hobbits with his tales of food and welcome, and the sounds of his excitement drifted back to her on the wind until she thought she might wither away and die on the spot from her guilt.

The wind, capricious as ever, carried with it, too, the scent of juniper. Legolas had taken the lead, walking before Gandalf and Aragorn as a scout and, occasionally, returning to report before fading back into the landscape.

He hadn't said a word to her since they'd parted the previous night. She should have felt relieved. She should have appreciated his respectful adherence to her wishes. She should have felt a lot of things, but she didn't. All Merrill knew was that she had never been more done with Middle Earth than she was now.

Gradually, the trees lessened, birds vanished from the skyline, and the road they tread became treacherous, large, black slabs of broken stone turned up in the dry, cracked earth like a collection of crooked teeth. Each slab had once been as long as a horse, and at least twice as wide from what Merrill could see, and the few that remained told her that those who had placed them there had known what they were doing.

A dried up riverbed ran beside the road, the barest trickle of water still sliding down its great length to destinations unknown. Gimli seemed disheartened at its appearance, and stood off to the side of the road for a moment, nudging a few rocks with his steel toed boots and scratching under his helm.

"This was once the Gate Stream," he said softly, clearly speaking to himself. "It lead to the Stair Falls of Moria, and the great thunder of its waters could be heard for miles 'round." Gimli peered down the road, but no noise could be heard except the moan of the wind through the skeletal trees and the soft plodding of the company's boots. "What treachery has befallen the halls of my kin?"

Aragorn placed his hand on the Dwarf's shoulder and squeezed, his gray eyes tired, but kind. "It may be nothing more than the cold winter in the Silvertines freezing its source, Gimli. Let us go on and see for ourselves."

Gimli nodded and caught up to the rest of the company, brassy brown eyes set dead ahead, and his chin firm, but Merrill knew that Aragorn was wrong. More importantly, Merrill felt it; the land was sick, something had poisoned it, and no living thing except themselves was foolish enough to traverse it.

Four, short hours later and Gimli cried, "The West Gate! Look, little ones." He gestured down the hill towards a massive, black cliff face. "The home of my kin! Its walls sparkle with the silver veins of Mithril, and the coolest, sweetest ale bubbles up in great fountains! Soon, we shall eat and rest to our heart's content."

Pippin squinted, getting up on tip toe, his brow wrinkled. "It doesn't look like much to me."

Merry groaned at Pippin's lack of tact, and Sam shook his head, hefting his pack further up his back.

Gimli bristled, but Radhrion intercepted him and said smoothly, "That's because you have yet to see inside, Pippin. The glories and comforts of Dwarven halls are too numerous to count. It must be experienced to be understood. In fact," Radhrion added, "you should tell him more of Moria, Gimli, so that he can fully appreciate it when we enter."

Gimli's chest puffed out a bit at that and he grumbled his assent, gesturing that Pippin should follow.

As they approached, Merrill noticed the great lake before the cliff face, as black and dull as the rock looming over it, but somehow more menacing. Its surface was still, despite the wind's best efforts, and the smell that emanated from it put her in mind of Biology class in school; it smelled of rot and formaldehyde.

Merrill stopped when they came before the cliff face, and the whole party craned their necks back to stare up into the rock.

"How do we get inside, Gimli?" Frodo asked tiredly, and the others, excepting Gandalf, all turned to face him.

Gimli shifted, his chin setting mulishly beneath the copper forest of his beard. "That is for Dwarves, and Dwarves alone, to know."

"Okay," Merrill said slowly, "so can you open it if we all turn around and promise not to peek?"

"No," Gimli huffed.

Boromir ground his teeth together. "Then how, pray, do you expect us to gain entry?"

Gimli turned bright red beneath his helm, and his fists clenched tightly around his belt, but he was saved from replying by Gandalf.

"We must wait until moonrise. If I guess correctly, these doors are marked with Ithildin, and the way forward will be revealed through moonlight." Gandalf sank down beside the door, already fishing in the sleeves of his robe for his pipe, but Boromir stepped out before him, storm clouds on his brow.

"Do you mean to tell me that we are trapped outside this miserable, festering wreck?"

Gandalf tapped his pipe, taking his time in lighting it, before replying, "I believe I was clear in my explanation; we will wait until moonrise for the way to be revealed." He raked his gaze over Boromir and added meaningfully, "I suggest you take this time to rest for, forgive me, you do not look at all well."

Boromir bristled but said no more. He nodded, his lips thin and tight over his teeth, and spun on his heel, striding away into the dark beneath the cliff face and flinging his things down beside him, and the others, after a few moments of standing about awkwardly, followed suit, scattering about the area in clumps and speaking quietly amongst themselves.

Merrill plopped down beside Radhrion and Aragorn, both of whom observed the water intently, and unfastened the bow at her back. It still shone silver and white against her arms, and she traced the ridges in the dragon's tooth that made up its spine thoughtfully.

Calavailë, Windsong, Elrond had called her; a bow whose aim was true as long as the heart of the one who wielded it was pure. Merrill grimaced; she was certain she didn't fit that description. But still, she wished she'd continued practicing with it while they'd travelled.

Getting to her feet, she strung the bow with no little amount of difficulty and attempted to draw it back; the muscles in her arms remembered the motion better than she did, though her fingers were stiff and clumsy, and it took a few minutes before she was able to draw the string without tangling herself in it.

"It has been many years since last I saw that ring," Radhrion said, gesturing to Aragorn's hand, and Merrill surreptitiously glanced at it from the corner of her eye. "I must admit that I am surprised to find you wearing it. From everything Elrond has told me, you do not often openly associate yourself with such symbols of the past."

Aragorn shifted, his eyes falling to examine his hand. "Elrond, himself, bestowed it upon me the day I came of age." His face closed off and he retrieved a dagger from his wrist guard, checking the edge and rubbing it clean with his tunic. "It was the same day I learned of the great infirmity of my bloodline; the same day I determined I should never lay claim to my heritage."

Radhrion's mobile brows quirked and Aragorn laughed humorlessly. "And yet I am here, you wish to say. Yes, I am, however there were… extenuating circumstances, circumstances you, yourself, could not fail to recognize."

"Ah." Radhrion nodded, face lighting with understanding. "I see. Elrond never mentioned… well, I suppose we had other things to be getting on with at the time. It must have escaped him."

Aragorn slipped the ring from his finger and offered it to Radhrion, the silver glinting in the dying sunlight. "Forgive me. Would you care to…?"

"No, no, no," Radhrion said, shaking his head, his hands raised before him. "Though I thank you for the offer, my boy." He closed Aragorn's hand around it, patting it warmly. "I know the story of your blood yet brings you grief, however I hope you will remember the one for whom this ring is named with pride, for he was worthy of that and more."

Aragorn bowed his head, replacing the ring with a respect that made Merrill smile. "Le fael, Radhrion." (2)

Radhrion waved him away, turning his sights on Merrill, who had long ago given up pretending not to listen and now sat quite close to where he stood, smiling up at him sheepishly, her bow forgotten in her lap.

"It would appear that you require some task with which to occupy yourself, little bird." He unsheathed his sword, ignoring her objections, and looked at her expectantly. "Well? We should use what time the gods have given us to better prepare ourselves for the trials ahead, do not you agree, Merrill, dear?"

Merrill, grumbling, brushed off her backside and fetched her sword from her pack; she wore it at her hip, but hardly remembered its existence until she tried to sit down.

The leather grip felt good against her palm; Merrill spun the sword in a circle, loosening her wrist up. She nodded to Radhrion when she was ready.

Without warning, he lunged, the silver flash of his sword whistling in the air as she ducked his blow and backed away, watching him warily.

He barked a laugh at her expression. "Block my strikes, little bird. Now—" he slashed at her open side and she was forced to dance away, nearly tripping in her surprise. "Tell me what so upset you last evening?"

A pit opened up in her stomach, but she shoved the sensation aside, raising her sword to block his strike, the clash of metal painful to her sensitive ears. "I don't really want to get into it, Ronners."

His sword came down heavy against her own and Merrill did her best to hold up against the flurry of his strikes, gritting her teeth, her feet sliding in the mud as he pushed on.

Radhrion pulled back after a few moments, allowing her the chance to recover, but he shook his head, clenching and unclenching the grip of his sword, his dark hair sliding against the deep green of his tunic. "I can guess the cause of your distraction." His cloud gray eyes landed on Legolas, whose own gaze was fixed on the black of the water. "He, too, appears to be… out of sorts."

Merrill shrugged. "Well, when the universe screws with your life and demands that you wish for something you can never have, it's only right to be upset."

Radhrion sheathed his sword and steered her a little away from the company, helping her to sit before joining her, his hand raking through his hair as he considered the water.

The silence stretched out around them, flexing its claws and yawning hugely. Radhrion allowed it, seemingly just as lost for words as she, herself, was.

"You told him." It was a statement without judgment, merely an acknowledgment of obvious fact, and the knot in Merrill's stomach loosened.

"Not everything," she whispered, licking her lips, "but he knows the important bits."

The wind shrieked through the fissures in the rocks around them, and Merrill shivered involuntarily at the noise, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up.

Radhrion rubbed hard at his ears and then glared darkly at the mass of black rock behind them. "Bloody, cursed, Dwarven…" he trailed off and sighed. "How are you?"

Merrill finally looked at him, and the wrinkles in his brow, and the frown upon his lips, warmed her heart. She pulled at the corners of his mouth to make him smile, and he frowned harder, just to be contrary. "You never stop worrying about me, do you?" she asked curiously, his face sandwiched between her palms.

He took her hands in his, his cloud gray eyes gentling. "You haven't given me any other option, my dear."

Merrill's heart swelled at his tone, and she wrapped him up in a hug, closing her eyes against the unexpected rush of affection she felt for him. "And you love every second."

Radhrion squeezed her tight, and then released her, clearing his throat. "You haven't a shred of proof, little bird, and I intend to thoroughly deny it."

"Merrill?" Gandalf called, and Merrill and Radhrion both turned to face him. "Might I have a moment?"

Merrill faced Radhrion once more, her lips twisting. "What d'you reckon that's about?"

Radhrion stood, taking her arm in his, and lead her to his pack. He stooped down and pulled a dented silver flask from his things, offering it to her with a smile. "I cannot begin to guess what Mithrandir wants with you, my dear. He is a complex being with more secrets than myself, which is saying something."

Merrill yanked the cork out and took a sip; berries and mandarin oranges, spiced honey, and a bright burst of lemon. She took another mouthful, reveling in the taste, before returning it, wiping her mouth off on her sleeve and exhaling happily. "I needed that," Merrill said dreamily, feeling the slow warmth spreading throughout her body, the light easing the headache she'd been working on since the previous night and releasing the knots that had kinked in her shoulders. "And what secrets?"

He winked at her. "The general kind, little bird. Nothing undignified, I assure you." Radhrion took a swig, his eyes closing and his whole body relaxing as the Miruvors' effects spread. "Thank the gods for that darling boy, and all his house! It is precisely what I needed after that dreadful mountain. Perhaps I should see if the others would like some?"

"You do that, and I'll go see what Gandalf wants with me." Merrill stood up on tip toe and kissed his cheek.

Radhrion waved her off, the faintest tinge of pink coloring his ears, and Merrill picked her way over the broken slabs to Gandalf, who sat between two, gnarled trees, his robes tucked neatly around his knees.

Gandalf patted the ground beside him, smiling pleasantly around his ever-present pipe.

Merrill sat gingerly, her mind racing; what was he going to say? Would he tell her of his impending death? Give her advice? Talk about her faux break-up with Legolas?

"We've not had many opportunities to speak together, you and I, have we?"

Merrill shook her head, tugging at the cuffs of her tunic. "I guess not, no."

Gandalf exhaled a plume of blue smoke and considered its ascent before thoughtfully taking another pull from his pipe. "Elrond tells me you have some foreknowledge of our quest." When Merrill merely nodded, he continued, "He also informed me of his request that you refrain from sharing such with any of the others. I only wished to ask that you continue in honoring your promise to him; any such divulgence of yours could very well destabilize our efforts and, quite possibly, aid our enemy." He scrutinized her, then, removing his pipe from his lips and meeting her eyes full on. Merrill did her best to meet it; she had nothing to feel guilty for, after all.

"I don't plan on saying anything to anyone about what I may, or may not, know about this quest."

The wizards' stare did not yield. "Under any circumstances?"

Merrill wavered. She couldn't make that promise. "Well, under most, at any rate."

"Hrrmph," he grunted, finally looking away, and Merrill almost collapsed with relief. "I would also ask that you refrain from using your abilities, particularly as we pass through the mines, though I caution you against using them altogether, at this point." When Merrill cocked her head at that, he added, "You have no need of them in your world, therefore it is hardly necessary that you develop them any further in the time that remains to you here in this one."

"Well that's—" Merrill began, her back snapping straight, a spark of defiance perched upon her lips. But then her brain caught up to her body and she squashed the feeling, the spark fizzling out and leaving an unpleasant, heaviness in its stead. She shook herself mentally and continued quietly, "Yeah… you're right, of course."

The wind screeched its way through the rocks again, and Merrill watched the others shift uncomfortably, eyeing the looming, black cliff face with no little degree of alarm. Sam huddled closer to Frodo, Boromir shuddered and slid his sword from its sheathe, balancing it across his knees as though to sharpen it, but he didn't retrieve his whetstone, and Aragorn spoke quietly to Legolas, who stared at something small he held in the palm of his hand.

"I wished to apologize, as well, for last night. If I had any other method of waking you from your dream, I would have taken it. However, as things stood, I chose to use your bond with Legolas to my advantage."

Merrill opened her mouth, then closed it; Gandalf knew about their bond? And what did "using" our bond mean, exactly? "What do you mean?" Merrill asked, scooting to face him fully.

The wizard blew a blue smoke ring over her head, his eyes tracking its movement as he replied, "Your bond with Legolas, though yet weak, allowed him to wake you." He exhaled contentedly and his eyes fell to her face, shrouded in the smoke blossoming from his pipe. "Though it was necessary, I regret what came afterwards. The path you have chosen will be a hard one—for Legolas, as well. I only hope you are certain."

Merrill slumped back against the rock and kicked the heel of her boot into the dirt a few times, frowning. "This whole thing is impossible. There are still days where I wake up and think this is all a dream. I try to wake myself up, or I try to re-write something that's happened that I don't like, but nothing ever changes. I'm still here, and the things I want to change in this dream don't take." She glanced up at him, his death on the tip of her tongue, but then thought better of it; let him think she was speaking of her predicament with Legolas.

"Some things cannot be stopped, cannot be changed; some people cannot be saved."

Merrill shivered at his words; he knew that he was going to die, and he wanted her to promise not to interfere. "I've never understood why reminding a person that they don't have control over the vast majority of the situations they encounter in their lives is supposed to be comforting," she groused, "and yet people will keep repeating it, all the same."

The clouds parted briefly and a shaft of moonlight fell onto the black stone beside them, causing Gandalf to leap to his feet and the others to cry out.

Silvery lines bloomed along the stone like water following troughs in the ground, completing intricate patterns the likes of which Merrill had never seen. They glinted and winked in the faint light, but steadily grew stronger as the moon rode higher in the sky until they glowed with a steady, silvery-blue light.

Two pillars supported an arch, upon which a curling, graceful script was inscribed. Beneath the arch, seven stars were carved in a triangular shape above a gleaming, silver crown and a simple hammer and anvil. On either side of the pillars, two, great Holly trees, quite similar to the ones that still stood beside the gate, were carved, their crescent shaped branches wrapping about the stone pillars, and between them a many pointed star glittered white against the black of the stone.

Radhrion drew up beside her, resting his arm around her shoulders. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" he whispered reverently.

Merrill nodded dumbly, unable to look away; it was truly as though someone had distilled pure starlight. The lines waxed and waned, dimmed and flared, just like the stars.

Gimli jostled into her in his haste, stumbling past, his mouth open wide, his face cast in the silver of the reflected light. "The symbols of Durin!" he exclaimed breathlessly. "The emblems of my kin."

Legolas stroked the silvery trees, murmuring Elvish praises beneath his breath. "And the trees of the High Elves."

Gandalf pushed the pair gently away, settling himself directly before it once more, and noted, "And the symbol of the House of Feanor. All wrought in Ithildin, precisely as I said it would be," he added archly, and Merrill could have sworn she saw Boromir roll his eyes.

"What does it say, Gandalf?" Frodo asked curiously, slipping past the others to the front. "Bilbo taught me Sindarin, but I find that I cannot make heads nor tails of this script. It is Elvish, isn't it?"

Gandalf beamed at Frodo. "It is, indeed, my dear Hobbit, but not a variation which you would recognize. It is written in the Elvish tongue of the Elder Days, a language which has been all but lost to the ravages of time. It says, 'The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter.' Beneath that, there is a maker's mark which reads: 'I, Narvi, made them. Celebrimbor of Hollin drew these signs.'" Gandalf patted the door fondly. "It was a happier time, when friendship yet existed between Dwarves and Elves."

Gimli crossed his arms across his broad chest and huffed, "It was through no fault of my kin that this friendship waned."

"And I have not heard it was the fault of mine," Legolas replied, flicking his hair over his shoulder and looking down his nose at the Dwarf.

"Yet I have heard both," Gandalf said, and Merrill snorted. "All I would ask of you, Legolas and Gimli, is that you set your differences aside and help me. Night has fallen, and Saruman's wolves will not be far behind."

Legolas and Gimli eyed each other suspiciously, but eventually nodded their grudging assent.

Gandalf clapped his hands together. "Gimli, am I right in thinking that these doors have no key?"

Gimli nodded cautiously. "Aye. It is recorded that they opened with a word, however that word is no longer remembered by my kin." He spoke this last to his boots, his cheeks heating.

Radhrion leaned down and whispered, "Much has been lost, Gimli Gloin-son. Yet your people still stand, still endure. There is no need for shame, here."

Gimli tried to speak, but ultimately chose to remain silent, nodding jerkily.

Merrill squeezed Gimli's arm before straightening; Gandalf was nose to nose with the wall, muttering Elvish beneath his breath.

Upon realizing nothing would be happening any time soon, the others dispersed, leaving Merrill, Radhrion, and Gimli watching Gandalf.

Gandalf took his staff in hand, pressing it hard against the star, and cried: "Annon edhellen, edro hi ammen! Fennas nogothrim, lasto beth lammen!"

The stone did not budge; the silver markings blinked in and out sedately. Gandalf's lips pursed and he pushed his blue hat off his forehead to scratch at his scalp, pulling it back down over his ears as he resettled his feet and tried again, speaking what sounded to Merrill like the same words, but with a different inflection.

The moon had climbed well into the middle of the night sky, and still Gandalf persevered, walking away before whirling on the spot and shouting a random Elvish word at the door, which remained stubbornly shut. Eventually, he gave up all pretense and charged, smacking the stone repeatedly with his staff while shouting: "Edro! Edro!"

When no discernible change could be seen, Gandalf flung his staff and hat to the ground and collapsed atop his pack, his chin in his hands.

Gimli sighed, shuffling back to his pack to prepare for sleep, and Radhrion jerked his head to indicate to Merrill that she should give the wizard some space.

Aragorn and the Hobbits nodded in silent greeting when Radhrion and Merrill approached, and Sam offered the pair jerky from the food stores.

Merrill took it gratefully, taking a bite and chewing while she eyed the black water. There was something wrong about it she couldn't quite put her finger on. Its black surface was like staring into the void; no light returned from it, no sound, and then Merrill realized—it held no reflections. She checked the sky and, sure enough, the stars were out in full force, but the pool showed not a one.

Without taking her eyes off it, Merrill tugged at Radhrion's sleeve. "Radhrion—" But she couldn't finish, for just then a cry broke through the clearing and interrupted her.

"I have it!" Gandalf exclaimed, causing half the company to jump. He raced back to the stone and proclaimed, "Mellon!"

The star upon the door pulsed bright, then faded, the doors swinging open silently to reveal the dim shapes of a staircase receding into the inky black of the tunnel beyond.

Gimli rushed forward, his pack secure against his back, his flushed face shining with excitement. "Let us go!"

Gandalf set his blue hat snug against his head and retrieved his staff. "Yes, let us go. Gather your things."

Merrill loped over to her pack, settling her bow against her back and sheathing her sword in her belt while Radhrion did the same.

"Make haste!" Gandalf called from the doorway.

"The water!" Sam cried. "There's something in the water!"

Before anyone could reply, a long, green, luminous tentacle exploded from the pool and wrapped around Frodo's ankle, ripping him from the ground and into the churning, black water.

Sam shouted, diving in after his friend armed with nothing but his belt knife, and Merry and Pippin joined him, quickly vanishing beneath the water and out of sight.

Merrill, uncertain, began to unbuckle her sword from her belt, making as though to move forward.

"Get to the mines!" Radhrion yelled, shoving her back before unsheathing his sword and wading into the fray, the gleam of his silver sword flashing in the moonlight.

And that's when it all went pear-shaped. Something wet and slimy climbed up her leg, and before she could so much as scream, it had yanked her into the depths.

Black water filled her nose, and a mass of dark bubbles obscured her sight. Merrill thrashed wildly, kicking and scrabbling at the dirt beneath her nails, her fingernails tearing on the rocks, but it was no use; the creature merely tossed her up only to slam her back into the earth below, knocking the wind from her lungs and causing Merrill to gasp, inhaling ungodly amounts of water as she did so.

Weakly, she scratched at the tentacle around her ankle, but the monster merely constricted it further. Her vision went dark around the edges, her heartbeat grew fainter and fainter in her temples, and the whole struggling business seemed, quite frankly, a waste of time and effort.

It was then that something bumped against her, and Merrill squinted, hard, at the blurry shape; it was Frodo!

His eyes were closed, his hand curled tight around his neckline, and, for a moment, Merrill thought he might be dead, but then his unoccupied hand fell to beat feebly at the tentacle entrapping him, and she knew she had to do something.

Merrill's numb fingers scrabbled at her wrist guard, managing to pull her dagger free before plunging it into the wriggling thing around her foot.

The water boiled as the creature screamed, and Merrill kicked off it, swimming hard until she broke the surface, coughing and retching until it felt as though a clog-wearing elephant had used her chest for trampoline practice.

"FRODO!" Boromir bellowed, and Merrill came back to herself; Frodo was still down there! She took a deep breath before the logical, survival-oriented part of her brain could object, and dove back beneath the churning waves, slashing blindly at everything that came within her reach.

The water rolled, knocking her aside, the waves buffeted her every time she drew close to the unconscious Hobbit, jerking her in one direction only to hurl her in the other, but still she persisted, pumping her legs hard until she was before Frodo.

Quickly assessing the situation, Merrill realized there was nothing for it; there was a chance she'd hit Frodo as she tried to cut the tentacles away from his body, but it was the only shot she had.

Silently, she sent up a plea to whomever was listening, gripped the dagger tight, and hacked and sliced at every tentacle she could see, the water filling with streams of black blood that stung her eyes, but she forced them open and continued her assault until, finally, the creature screeched and Frodo was free.

Merrill took a handful of the hobbit's tunic and kicked hard against the water, her free hand working frantically, her lungs burning in her chest, her vision dimming.

It wasn't like she'd make it. Why did she try? The Hobbit was probably already dead, anyway. And all because of her incompetence. She was pathetic. A fool—

Merrill ground her teeth together and moved her hand away from the ring, which, oddly, was the only thing she could still see with any clarity. It thrummed and glowed gold in the murky, green light of the water, calling to the dark things of the world in a language she did not know, demanding her death. And yet, even knowing that, something in it called to her to take it for her own.

With one, final kick of her powerful legs, Merrill erupted from the water and clawed her way to the bank, dragging Frodo with her.

She collapsed into the mud, gasping for breath, her limbs trembling from exertion. Frodo lay motionless beside her, his face abnormally pale, his chest still.

Merrill willed her body to move, clambering over the small Hobbit and lacing her fingers together over his heart.

Merrill began to push down on his chest, keeping to the beat of "Stayin' Alive" and singing it aloud as she did so, unaware of anything else besides the still, cold Hobbit beneath her hands. He looked so much like a child, then—a sodden, discarded doll, his limbs lifeless, his skin dull—and the image sent chills down her spine.

She leant down and pressed her lips to his, breathing air into his lungs, but there was no response. Frustrated, Merrill started another round, feeling the odd, heated sensation of her healing spring to her fingertips. She directed it into his chest and willed the water out. The image of water evaporating in the sun on a hot day filled her, and she focused on that with everything in her, trying to picture his lungs in her mind.

Frodo's blue eyes flew open and he rolled over onto his side, coughing up water and heaving uncontrollably.

Merrill thumped him on the back until he lay flat once more, breathing heavily, and then crumpled to her knees, thoroughly exhausted.

"MERRILL!" Without warning, Radhrion bundled her into his arms, Aragorn taking charge of Frodo, and the pair sprinted into the mines, the sounds of absolute chaos hot on their heels.

A horrible, groaning, grinding noise, a crash, and then the world shook.

The monster from the lake roared from without, but its voice was muted and, eventually, it grew quiet.

Merrill trembled in Radhrion's arms, her hair plastered to her face and neck. It was pitch black. She could hear nothing but the shaky breaths of the others and the soft whimpers of the Hobbits. Then something cold touched her face.

Were you injured? Were you hurt? Are you well?

Merrill shook her head, and then, realizing it was too dark to see, rasped, "I'm fine."

Relief flooded their strange link at this, and Merrill turned her face further into Radhrion's tunic and closed her eyes resolutely.

"Make some noise to indicate your presence when I call your name," Gandalf ordered from somewhere in front of her.

"Frodo?"

A cough, and then Frodo croaked, "Here."

"Aragorn?"

"I am here, and so, too, are Radhrion and Merrill."

"Excellent, but we must speak later, Merrill."

Merrill nodded stiffly into Radhrion's shoulder, and the latter replied, "Not now, Gandalf."

The wizard harrumphed. "Samwise? Meriadoc? Peregrin?"

Three squeaks were all he got by way of reply, but Gandalf didn't appear to require more, for he continued, "And Boromir and Gimli were beside me as I entered, and Legolas right behind. So it would seem we have all managed a rather fortunate escape."

"Not the word I would have chosen," Boromir muttered sourly.

A faint light hummed to life in Gandalf's staff, and the company all visibly relaxed upon seeing evidence of one anothers continued existence, Merrill included.

Gandalf turned and extended his staff towards the stairs before them; they stretched up, and up, and up indefinitely into darkness. He turned back to examine whence they came, and the whole party followed his gaze. The entrance was blocked with great, jagged hunks of stone; there was no escaping through there.

"The passage is blocked. There now remains to us but one way; we must brave the long dark of Moria."

Gimli shuffled forward, his helm in his hands, his eyes scanning the area. "I had hoped we would be welcomed by my kin, but here there are no torches lit, no guards at the gate, and the dust lays thick on the stone."

Gandalf frowned, placing his hand upon Gimli's shoulder. "That was my hope, as well. But an ill-founded one, Gimli, Gloin-son. I fear you must prepare yourself for far worse." He met each of their eyes at this, and added quietly, "As must you all."

Gimli's eyes widened at the wizards words, but Gandalf moved away, taking with him his light, and Merrill could make out no more.

"But what was that, Gandalf?" Frodo asked, his voice hoarse.

Gandalf shook his head. "I do not know, Mr. Baggins. It might be a creature stirred up from the deep, dark depths of the world, or one sent by our enemies. However, its purpose was clear." He looked pointedly at Frodo's chest, and Frodo unthinkingly stroked the ring beneath his tunic.

The mood shifted as they all considered this knowledge; Moria, it seemed, would be no better than Caradhras, and might, in fact, be considerably worse. Merrill only wished she could tell them just how right they were.

"Take a few moments to collect yourselves; we must be on our way in a quarter of an hour."

Radhrion set Merrill gently down upon the stone before pulling his tunic over his head and popping it over her own, leaving him in nothing but his thin undershirt.

"Shh," he admonished lightly when Merrill tried to protest. "I won't hear a word, little bird. Look here." He gestured to his lap and Merrill heaved a sigh of relief upon recognizing her bow and healer's kit. "I rescued many of your things, however I was unable to find the pack with your personal belongings."

"Oh," Merrill replied numbly; everything she had from home had been in that pack—her clothes, her shoes, even her cell. The last bits of evidence to prove that she had not always been in Middle Earth were gone. It left her cold.

Radhrion brought her hands to his face, blowing warm air onto her fingers and rubbing the circulation back into her arms vigorously, murmuring soothing, nonsensical words.

When she didn't respond, he left and returned with his Miruvor, which he pressed to her lips until she took a sip.

That woke her up; Merrill shook her head slowly, as though waking from a nightmare, and blinked at the harsh light of her surroundings. It was cold, and damp, and dusty, just as Gimli had mentioned, but she didn't see any dead bodies strewn across the floor.

Weren't there a bunch of dead Dwarves in the movie? She wondered. Am I misremembering? No, she thought. I'm not. Because that stupid monster was in the movies, too, and it's definitely real. Merrill rested her head against Radhrion's shoulder and made an attempt to smile at Frodo, who sat across from her, Sam stalwart at his side and pressing jerky on him, much as Radhrion had done to her with the Miruvor. I really need to sit down the next time we have a break and try to remember the damn movies. No matter what I thought before, it's time I started to believe. If I continue as I have and refuse to take any of this seriously, I might very well end up dead. Avoidance only works if you're alive to use it, Merrill. She shut her eyes to the dark and took a steadying breath; the scent of fresh, crisp pines allowed her to believe she was safe, if only for that moment.

"Radhrion."

Merrill peeked from between her lashes at the voice; Legolas stood before them, a bundle of grass green fabric held in his hands.

Radhrion's chest rumbled beneath her ear. "I thank you, but it is hardly—"

Legolas knelt and placed two tunics atop Radhrion's pack before standing, twisting his hand over his heart, and returning to Aragorn's side without another word.

Radhrion sighed, taking one of the tunics in hand and rubbing the material between his fingers. "Fine wool and an incomparable weave," he murmured, and then, flipping it over, continued in surprise, "… and the royal crest of his house, too... I see."

Merrill knocked her head against Radhrion's shoulder. "Just put it on, Ronners. It's a nice gesture."

"Well, yes. It was thoughtful, to be sure, and I suppose it would be churlish to…" he trailed off at her smug expression, and then tugged the material over his head, his eyes narrowing at her smile. "Are you quite satisfied?"

Merrill glanced over at Legolas, and, when their eyes met, mouthed, "Thank you."

He nodded infinitesimally, quickly returning his attention to Aragorn, who considered the pair with an expression of abstract wistfulness, his hand drifting up to his neck and brushing against something that lay there.

Gandalf stood and what meager conversation had existed died. He settled his blue hat carefully upon his head and shook out his robes. "It is time."

Wordlessly, the company got to their feet and gathered what few things remained to them, each lost in the dark of their own thoughts, before taking their customary places.

Radhrion and Aragorn, however, had decided to take up the rear, and Merrill, still a sodden, shivering, numb mess, went before them, but behind the Hobbits, too nervous to stray far from Radhrion's side.

"Gimli, if you would?" Gandalf gestured to his side. "I am in great need of a Dwarf's instincts in this vast dark."

Gimli grunted his acceptance, his boots heavy against the stone as he made his way to the front, his eyes trained on the floor.

When all were ready, Gandalf whispered to his staff and the light crept across the cracked stone, stopping two feet from the wizard's body in every direction and illuminating a section of the staircase in sickly, green light.

Merrill, who stood too far behind him to benefit, sidled a little closer to Radhrion, whose hand took hers, squeezing three times.

"It would appear that our presence has gone unnoticed. In that we have been fortunate. However, I do not expect that this shall continue to be so, and I ask that you take care! There are older and fouler things in the deep than the creature of the lake."

"Watch your steps; test the ground beneath your feet if it seems unsound," Aragorn added, his mouth a thin, grim line.

"And no idle chatter, I'm afraid." Radhrion said this for all, but looked directly at Merrill, and then at Pippin, to make his point, but Merrill was still too shaken to make any sort of quip; it was as though the dark were a creature with hundreds of eyes woven into the blanket of itself, the very air its musty breath, and she didn't have the capacity to notice much else.

Gandalf straightened resolutely, gripped the strap of his bag, and began to climb, calling over his shoulder, "Follow my staff!"

A/N:

(1) Sweet Dough; pork fat (Icelandic)

(2)Thank you/You are generous (reverential, Sindarin).

(Also, though unnoted, the Elvish Gandalf hurls at the door is directly from the book, and I paraphrased Gimli and Legolas's reactions to seeing the Ithildin, too).

As I am typing this, it has been a year since I released Nightingale, and, being a creature of habit, and one who enjoys to mark such occasions, I decided I would touch up this chapter and post it now to celebrate.

Thank you all so much! To those who have been with me since the very beginning, I cannot tell you how much your constant support has meant to me. If not for your steady stream of encouragement, I would very likely have given up posting. So thank you, sincerely.

And to those of you who have joined me along the way, I thank you for your enthusiastic comments and fresh perspectives. They teach me to see my characters in a different light. So thank you, as well.

Kaikitty165, convalla91, Binnils, totomax, JcRxo, SarahELupin, MariaJane716, d'elfe, Lilisnia, blasttyrant, Julsathil, TheRadiantFire, Zipppppp, GaaraSandNiN, Jemstone6259, PatPatpat, little-red-wolf-5793, Erinnichole1560, ArwenUndmiel, tadah2, mycarnation, Laurel1234, CaptainJadeSparrow, AmberRose, NothingNooneZero, WeirdoMayMay, Lee-All-The-Way, Usedtobehere, Vienna22, selina18annamaria, Alalaes, PrincessKara12, pineapple-pancakes, various guests, and Lemontea-addict - your comments are deeply appreciated!

Specifically, Jemstone6259-your comments were a delight to read; I am glad you seem to enjoy my references, and thank you for commenting on each individual chapter! There's nothing like knowing someone is reading, and enjoying, your work to keep you motivated.

Lilisnia-Thank you for your love of Radhrion! Though I can neither confirm, nor deny, your fears as to his continued existence, I am grateful for your comments. But I have to ask-how did you find me on A03? I don't have an account/post there. If you could drop me a link so I could check it out and see if anyone is plagiarizing my work, I'd be super grateful.

And Laurel1234- Thanks, as always, for your comments! I haven't read your own wonderful story since I posted Nightingale because I didn't want to be unconsciously influenced by your fabulous style (I've been avoiding this whole fandom, lol), but I hope to catch up, soon, now that I've grown fairly confident in my own style. Everyone go read their story! If you like mine, you'll LOVE theirs! :)

The next chapter is ALL Moria, so be prepared for lots of synonyms for the word "dark", lol.

Oh, and no spoilers in the comments, please! If you want to run your theories past me, please drop me a message! I promise, I don't bite. ;)

Until next time, be safe~

Catali7