The Fellowship walked on for an unknowable length of time, always resting for only a few short minutes, and sleeping just once more in the darkness of Moria.
On what Robb assumed to be their third day, they reached a giant hall, of which Robb could see neither walls nor ceiling when they entered it.
“Let me risk a little more light,” Gandalf whispered, tapping his staff on the floor.
For just a brief moment, a blazing light lit up the room before dimming a little.
Robb gasped—and he was not the only one. This sight was truly amazing.
Mighty pillars of stone upheld the ceiling, which was far, far above their heads. Before them lay a huge hall, empty save for the pillars, with black walls that were polished and smooth as glass. It stretched on farther than Robb could see, and he did not think the dark was to blame in this case.
When Gandalf spoke, his voice—though quiet—echoed throughout the room.
“Behold! The great realm and Dwarf-city of Dwarrowdelf.”
“Well, there’s an eye opener, and no mistake!” Sam exclaimed.
They made their way across the hall much more slowly than they had moved before, both cautious and admiring, until—
“NO!”
To their right was a set of doors, smashed in, with black arrows embedded in the timbers. Half-rotten corpses littered the doorway. Gimli had taken off to the room beyond; a chamber with a white block of stone in its middle, lit by a narrow shaft of sunlight coming from a small hole near the ceiling. Robb caught a glimpse of a well in the far left corner, and… more corpses. Dozens of them.
Gandalf called for Gimli to return to their group, but it was too late.
“No,” the Dwarf sobbed, falling to his knees in front of the slab of stone. “No, oh no!”
The Fellowship cautiously entered the chamber behind him, Gandalf walking up to stand by Gimli’s shoulder.
“Here lies Balin, son of Fundin,” he said quietly, and Robb realized he was reading out the runic inscriptions on the stone, “Lord of Moria.”
So it was a tomb. Robb closed his eyes.
“He is dead, then. It is as I feared.”
The company spread further around the room, silent in their sympathy for Gimli and, Robb was sure, in their own mourning. The Hobbits kept close to Grey Wind, as they had for the entirety of their time in Moria, and in doing so, kept close to Robb.
“We must move on,” Legolas whispered to Aragorn, and Robb silently agreed. Nobody could know where the Orcs had gone, how far away they were. “We cannot linger.”
Gandalf began to read aloud again. He had handed his hat and staff to Pippin, before crouching down and opening a book that rested in the skeletal hands of a dead Dwarf. A few pages fluttered to the ground.
“They have taken the bridge and the second hall,” Gandalf recited. “We have barred the gates, but cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes. Drums… drums in the deep.”
Robb closed his eyes, swallowed. Was this how Bran and Rickon had felt? They, and everyone else in Winterfell?
“We cannot get out. A shadow moves in the dark. We cannot get out. They are coming.”
A resounding crash rang through the room. Robb whipped around.
There was Pippin, standing beside the well, his eyes closed tightly and twitching at every clang. Next to him, an armoured skeleton was crumbling down the shaft of the well. It pulled a metal-fitted bucket and its chain down with it.
There was a beat of silence, before—
“Fool of a Took!” Gandalf cried, snatching his hat and staff back from the Hobbit. “Throw yourself in next time, and rid us of your stupidity!”
Pippin looked near crying and Robb almost wanted to pity him.
The dull thumping coming from the bottom of the well erased every emotion but horror. Everyone’s expression fell as they slowly turned their gazes towards the well.
The thumping continued, deep booms echoing through the emptiness of Moria. Suddenly, Robb knew what it was the writing had called ‘drums in the deep’. As did everyone else, he was sure.
Nearby, a horn blasted. It was answered by another.
Robb swallowed and wiped a hand over his face. “Oh, fuck.”
“Mister Frodo!” Sam exclaimed. “Your sword!”
When Frodo drew his sword, its blade was emanating a cold blue glow. Robb was stunned by the sight, but not enough so to ignore Legolas’ cry of “Orcs!”
Aragorn quickly herded the Hobbits to the back of the chamber, telling them to stay close to Gandalf.
Robb was already on his way to the doors. Barring them was all he could think of. Boromir and Aragorn, having had the same idea, followed on his heels. Boromir stuck his head out, trying to spy their enemies in the dark. He drew it back quickly as an arrow buried itself in the wood, a hair's breadth from his face.
Boromir turned to Aragorn. His eyes were wide, but his tone was the most annoyed and exasperated Robb had ever heard.
“They have a cave troll.”
Robb barely held back a hysterical giggle. Of course this world had trolls! After the thing in the lake, this should not surprise him anymore. Alas, it did. And it was not a happy surprise.
They worked quickly on closing and barricading the gate with the axes and spears of the dead Dwarves. Once the three of them had slotted the last spear into place—Robb hoped it would hold long enough—they drew back to the centre of the room, unsheathing their swords. Legolas and Aragorn nocked their arrows, drew back the strings of their bows.
Robb, from the corner of his eyes, saw Gimli leap onto the tomb, holding two axes aloft, and thought, good on him.
“Let them come!” he yelled. “There is one Dwarf yet in Moria who still draws breath!”
Grey Wind growled from behind them. Instinctively, Robb knew he was standing in front of the Hobbits, his lips drawn back to reveal sharp teeth, his tail raised.
The footfalls of what sounded like an entire army came ever closer to the doors, interspersed with squeaks and yells and grunts.
The first Orc hit the doors with a crash that made them shake. More and more weapons collided with the gate until, suddenly, there was a small hole. Legolas reacted immediately. With an accuracy that Robb found astounding, he shot his arrow through the gap in the wood and, going by the scream from the other side, took out one of the Orcs.
Aragorn followed suit, but before a third arrow could be fired, the doors splintered inwards.
A massive horde of Orcs spilled into the room.
Arrows whizzed past Robb’s head from seemingly all sides. Beside him, his companions threw themselves into battle.
Robb caught the first Orc’s blade above his head. He kicked the Orc in its chest and beheaded it.
The next, he hewed in the shoulder, slicing down through its ribcage. The one after that was bisected.
Within minutes, even more bodies than before littered the floor, their black blood seeping into the cracks of the stone.
Miraculously, none of the fellowship was hurt yet.
That, of course, was when the cave troll had to enter the equation. It smashed its way into the room, showering them in rocks, and roared.
Robb stumbled back a few steps. This was a troll? It looked more like a giant!
Legolas, once again thinking faster than all of them, shot it in the chest—to no effect.
The troll slammed its mace down. Sam barely evaded it, diving through the troll’s legs. It roared again, turned around.
Another Orc charged at them from behind, and Robb ran it through.
Aragorn nodded in thanks and let go of the chain to focus back on the Orcs.
The troll turned around, enraged, and swiped at them with its mace. Robb ducked, feeling the air move where the mace passed over his head.
He came back up to see Boromir being flung into the far wall.
Robb’s heart spiked. Father!
He took a step towards him—
The mace smashed into the floor where he had just been, sending small shards of stone flying and leaving a crater.
Robb whirled around. The troll stood before him, small eyes filled with animalistic anger, tearing its mace out of the floor.
Robb scrambled to get back. He raised his sword, gripping it tightly with both hands. A moment too late, he realized that closing in would have been the smarter move.
He dove to the side as the mace came crashing down again.
An axe sailed over his head and buried itself in the troll’s shoulder. The troll roared, swivelling to face Gimli. The Dwarf leapt off of the tomb to avoid the mace as it wrecked the slab of stone.
They were immediately swarmed by Orcs again.
Robb hacked and kicked and punched, all the while trying to dodge the troll.
Someone needed to take care of that damned beast!
He beheaded another Orc before looking around. Grey Wind was mauling Orcs left and right, his fur stained black from their blood. Aragorn and Boromir were protecting the Hobbits, Gandalf was surrounded by half a dozen Orcs and Gimli was moving ever closer towards the wizard.
Robb caught the eyes of Legolas, higher up on a ledge. He jutted his chin in the direction of the troll, and grinned at Legolas’ answering nod.
Legolas nocked two arrows on his bow, and shot them at the troll. They hit their mark at the troll’s jugular. The pain only agitated it more—but that was the intended effect.
Robb watched as it began to use its chain as a whip, trying to hit Legolas. As Robb had come to expect, the Elf dodged easily.
Before long, the chain wrapped itself around a pillar and refused to come undone.
Legolas saw his chance—and so did Robb.
While the Elf used the chain as a bridge to climb onto the troll’s back, Robb started to attack its legs.
The skin of the troll was thick and tough, but Robb did not let that discourage him. His goal was only to distract the troll so that it would not think to grab Legolas.
And it worked. Robb hacked at its ankles and the back of its knees, doing his best to injure the troll’s tendons, to cause pain. Legolas, meanwhile, fired several arrows from a close range into its head.
The troll stumbled.
Legolas jumped off its back, and Robb took that as a signal to get away as well.
His confidence was very quickly destroyed when he saw the troll pick up his mace and charge at the Hobbits. Somehow, the chain tying it to the pillar had snapped.
Robb saw Frodo dive behind another column, and the troll follow.
Suddenly, a heavy weight collided with Robb’s back and he tumbled to the ground. Robb rolled over on his back instinctively and lifted his sword.
The Orc standing over him snarled and kicked his hand, sending the sword flying.
Fuck, Robb thought, and scrambled back.
The Orc, only armed with a distinctly Dwarven-looking dagger, descended on him. Robb barely caught its wrist, and then it became a battle of strength in which Robb desperately tried to keep the blade away from his neck.
A hand closed around his throat. Robb froze, his eyes flying up to the Orc’s grinning, bloodstained face.
Dimly remembering a move Theon had taught him, one of Robb's hands left the Orc’s knife arm, settling on the one choking him instead. The dagger moved ever so slightly closer to his eye. Straining, Robb brought his right leg up under the Orc’s armpit, and threw the other one over the head of the Orc, so that it rested across its throat and his own ankles crossed behind the Orc's back.
And Robb pushed. There was a sickening crack followed by a squeal as the arm of the Orc broke under Robb's weight.
In its pain, the Orc let go of the dagger in the other hand, and it clattered to the floor. Robb, now half sitting on the Orc, picked the dagger up and struck it into the Orc’s eye.
The Orc squealed, twitched and, a few seconds later, fell still.
Robb exhaled, then looked up.
Across the room, Merry and Pippin had jumped the troll, the others pestering it from below. Grey Wind was hanging off its throat. The troll grabbed him and flung him to the side.
Sam was rushing towards Frodo, who lay collapsed on the ground.
Aragorn was nowhere to be seen.
Robb got up, stumbled, caught himself. He strode over to where he had dropped his sword and picked it up, switching the dagger to his left hand. He tasted blood in his mouth—a split lip, most likely.
Robb made his way over to his companions as quickly as possible, but before he could help in any way, Legolas shot an arrow into the troll’s mouth. It keeled over and crumpled to the floor, dead.
There was a frantic rush to Frodo’s position.
Robb didn’t know what had happened, but judging by everyone’s expressions, he feared the worst.
Lying on his front like that, unmoving, Frodo looked dead. Robb swallowed.
“Oh, Frodo,” Aragorn whispered. The man was battered, bleeding at the temple, which explained why he had not been fighting the troll with the others.
He turned Frodo over onto his back and—
Frodo groaned and opened his eyes.
A collective sigh of relief went through the room.
“He’s alive!” Sam dashed over to kneel by Frodo’s side, helping him sit up.
“I’m alright,” Frodo panted, clutching at his chest, where a hole marred his shirt. “I‘m not hurt.”
“You should be dead. That spear would have skewered a wild boar!” Aragorn exclaimed, hands checking Frodo over.
Robb tried to piece together what had happened. The troll had somehow acquired a spear—knocking Aragorn unconscious in the process?—and had attacked Frodo with it. The others, most likely thinking Frodo dead, had taken down the troll.
Though this did not explain how Frodo had survived.
“I think there’s more to this Hobbit than meets the eye,” Gandalf said.
Frodo opened his tunic, revealing a chainmail shirt of a silvery, almost white metal.
“Mithril,” Gimli gasped. Then he laughed. “You are full of surprises, Master Baggins.”
Outside, the howling and squeaking of Orcs began anew, breaking their good mood. Grey Wind growled.
Gandalf looked at the door, then back at the Fellowship.
“To the bridge of Khazad-dûm!”
Leading them out of the chamber through a side door, Gandalf hurried down several flights of stairs. They were narrow and steep, but had few paths breaking off from them, leaving only their front and back open to attacks.
The company made it to the next giant hall unperturbed—this one even larger than the other, Robb suspected. And crossing it was unavoidable.
That, of course, was where fate caught up with them. They were halfway through the hall when a skittering above their heads caught Robb’s attention.
He looked up and, in the dim light of Gandalf’s staff, saw hundreds of Orcs scuttling headfirst down the pillars. They reminded Robb of cockroaches in all the worst ways.
“This way!” Gandalf cried, herding them towards a doorway not far from them, to their left. But it was useless. Within minutes, they were surrounded. There was no way they would be able to fight all of these Orcs.
A deafening roar made everyone whirl around. Approaching through a far-off hallway came a fiery red light.
The Orcs screamed—in terror. They began backing away, and seconds later, they had disappeared into the darkness.
Boromir took a step back. “What is this new devilry?”
Gandalf looked… old, defeated, as the light came ever closer and another growl echoed through the hall. This did not fill Robb with confidence.
“A Balrog,” Gandalf whispered, closing his eyes. “A demon of the ancient world.”
Robb’s eyes widened. He heard Legolas whimper in a way he knew was uncharacteristic, and Robb understood, because oh, he had heard of Balrogs before. They had attacked the Elven city of Gondolin. Lord Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower had defeated one of these beasts—at the cost of his own life.
“This foe is beyond any of you—” and fuck, if Robb didn’t agree with Gandalf on that—
“RUN!”
They ran.
They left the hall through the passage on their left, rushing down another narrow pathway, another flight of stairs—
Boromir almost fell to his death when the path suddenly ended, leaving only thin air and an endless drop into the abyss.
Legolas drew him back from the edge, and they took a right turn instead, descending down another endless flight of stairs—these ones leading down into the dark depths.
“The bridge is near,” Robb heard Gandalf say from somewhere behind him and, oh, yes, there was a bridge, indeed.
It was incredibly narrow and had no railings, which in other circumstances Robb would have considered quite a serious safety violation—but right then? Robb could not have cared less. The monster approaching from behind was worse news than any bridge Robb had encountered so far.
A picture of the Twins sprung up in his mind and Robb would have snorted, had there not been a gap in the stairs to distract him.
Legolas jumped first, landed safely. Par for the course for an Elf, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Gimli said in Robb’s head.
Behind them, the walls began to crumble, the fiery light shining through the cracks as well as the doorway they had come through as the Balrog came closer.
Gandalf was the next to make the jump, steadied on the other side by Legolas.
An arrow almost embedded itself in Robb’s foot, and he recoiled. Looking to where it had come from, he thought he saw several Orcs at the edge of the chasm, at least fifty meters away.
Legolas and Aragorn retaliated immediately, laying cover fire for Boromir to grab Merry and Pippin and leap over the gap as well.
A chunk of the stairs broke away, almost taking Robb down with it. He scrambled back and cursed.
Now the gap was even larger and there were still two Hobbits and one Dwarf on this side. Not to mention Aragorn, Grey Wind, and Robb himself.
Aragorn, thinking quickly, lifted Sam and tossed him to the other side to be caught by Boromir. He turned to Gimli, who lifted a hand in exasperation.
“Nobody tosses a Dwarf!”
Gimli took a running leap and did indeed make it to the other side, but only barely. He keeled over backwards, wheeling his arms, and would have fallen had Legolas not grabbed his beard at the very last moment.
“Not the beard!” Gimli yelled, but didn’t complain further when Legolas hauled him back onto steady ground.
More and more of the stairs crumbled away, until Robb doubted if he himself could make the jump at all.
He was not the priority, however.
“Frodo,” he called. “Do you think you can hold onto Grey Wind when he leaps?”
Frodo seemed uncertain, but looking at the gap, he slowly nodded. “I think so!”
“Great!”
Robb lifted him on Grey Wind’s back, smiled in what he hoped was an encouraging way, and then told Grey Wind to go.
They both landed safely on the other side.
Robb turned to Aragorn. “Only you and me now, huh?”
Aragorn gave him a lopsided grin. There was another roar, closer than before, and the walls shook. A giant boulder came crashing down from above, ripping hole into the stairway behind them, as well.
Robb cursed again. Now they were standing on what was effectively a pillar—and one that was losing its structural integrity fast. It tilted to one side (Robb desperately tried to shift his weight in the opposite direction) and then to the other. He could feel the stone crumbling away somewhere below, and knew their death was not far if they didn’t jump very soon.
“Lean forward!” Aragorn cried,
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