talechallenge03 (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} talechallenge03) wrote,@ 2004-04-02 23:52:00 |
|
Caught Between a Hammer and an Anvil by BookHobbit
In the Mines of Moria...
Title: Caught Between a Hammer and an Anvil
Author: BookHobbit (LLJT1031@aol.com)
Rating: PG for violence
Category: Action-Adventure/Drama
Notes/Disclaimer: The characters, setting, etc., are not mine, they are Professor
Tolkien’s; I’m merely playing with them for a while and will put them back when I am
done. Gratitude goes also to Peter Jackson, Fran Walsh, etc., because this story is
movie-verse, and therefore at least a little knowledge of the movie would be beneficial to understand it fully. Enjoy, and remember that all feedback is greatly appreciated! :-)
“Where’s Frodo?” Merry gasped. With a disgusted grimace, he wiped his sword on the orc he had just felled.
“Wasn’t he there?” Pippin gestured behind him as he parried a thrust of an orc’s spear. The creature snarled at him, then looked down in surprise as Pippin’s blade sliced into its stomach. Pippin closed his eyes briefly in abhorrence and tried to recall all that Boromir had taught them.
“Two, one, five. Good; very good!”
“Move your feet,” Strider had commented.
Pippin opened his eyes again, spinning to block another orc. Was there no end to these beasts?
“Frodo had better not be over there,” Merry continued, chancing a quick glance over his shoulder. “That’s where the troll is.”
“Merry!” Pippin cried. Merry turned in time to see his cousin’s sword stab an orc that had been about to run Merry through.
“Thanks, Pip,” Merry said, face pale. Pippin was about to reply when they both heard a weak yell of “Aragorn!” “Frodo,” Merry whispered. He ran toward the sound, hardly noticing the lack of enemies, Pippin in close pursuit. They both ran to the edge of the ledge to see Frodo, mouth wide and gasping, being pierced in the side by an enormously long spear held by the troll.
The sound of the spear sticking into his older cousin’s side and Frodo’s moan of pain echoed in Pippin’s ears. The world suddenly stopped and started again, faster and more furious than before. He exchanged shocked, fierce looks with Merry and as one they bounded onto the troll’s broad back, wildly cutting with their short swords. The troll dropped his weapon with a bellow of rage; Pippin was vaguely aware of Frodo slumping to the floor, defeated. His mind revolved around the words: Frodo dead spear troll Frodo dead spear troll Frodo dead spear troll Frodo dead spear troll--
Suddenly Merry was not beside him anymore. Pippin frantically darted his gaze around the chamber only to find his cousin being swung about in the troll’s hand; even as Pippin saw him, the troll dropped him on his head and he crashed to the stone ground with a sickening thump. He jerked momentarily and then was still.
The mantra weaving itself through the youngest hobbit’s mind changed now: Frodo dead spear troll Merry dead floor troll Frodo dead spear troll Merry dead floor troll Frodo dead spear troll Merry dead floor troll...
Tears leaked from his eyes but Pippin neither realized nor cared; he crawled swiftly to the troll’s head and propelled his sword down as hard as he could. The troll snapped its head up and there was a soft whoosh! that caused the immense beast to touch its mouth with one hand. It then swayed; Pippin gripping its back as best as he could as it smashed to the ground. The small hobbit was sent flying over his own head and finally halted on his back in a painful jolt.
Pippin blinked at the ceiling, making no move to get up. What was the point? Frodo and Merry were dead - he himself felt that way, now. A pair of blue eyes moved into his blurry vision - impeded by tears and dizziness - and Pippin struggled to bring them into focus. Wait - he knew those eyes- that face - those light curls--
“Need a hand, cousin?” Merry asked, no hint of the normal teasing evident in his voice.
Pippin clutched the proffered hand and stood unsteadily. “You’re alive!” he managed after a minute of gaping.
“I am,” Merry said, putting heavy emphasis on the first word. He pulled Pippin into a strong, quick embrace; they then released each other and made their way to the rest of the Fellowship somberly. Merry attempted to peer over Gimli’s shoulders; Pippin could not summon the energy to try.
He started visibly when he heard Frodo’s voice: “I’m not hurt.”
Joy filled Pippin until he thought he might burst from it - they were alive, all of them! They might still make it away from this cursed place!
Suddenly Gandalf interrupted the conversation that Pippin had not been paying attention to. “To the bridge of Khazad-dûm!”
The Fellowship ran: out of the tomb of Balin and through the great, cavernous hall. Shrieks echoed throughout the area in an eerie cacophony. Pippin threw a glance behind him and nearly tripped in shock - orcs were running toward them, and others of their kind were pouring from the roof as if they were in a corrupt hourglass. What greeted him upon looking ahead was much the same. The others, apparently coming to the same conclusion, ceased their mad dash and grasped their assorted weapons. Everywhere were evil faces leering at him; Pippin gulped, edging closer to Merry, and prepared to make a final stand.
Abruptly a different sound chased through the ranks of the orcs; it sounded more like a wail of terror than a battle cry. Inconceivably, the orcs themselves ran - back to wherever they had been. Gimli, to Pippin’s amazement, roared with laughter, but the hobbits searched the way the Fellowship had come. They - and Legolas as well - could hear some strange noise - a roar and a scraping sound, as of rock on rock?
“What is this new devilry?” Boromir’s query disturbed the almost silence that seemed to hold the Fellowship immobile.
“A Balrog.” The name rolled off Gandalf’s tongue like a pronouncement of doom. “A demon of the ancient world. This foe is beyond any of you. Run!”
After a moment of surprised hesitation, the Nine Walkers sped to a door in the wall and were ushered through by the wizard. The next events Pippin could never quite get affixed in his mind - they happened too quickly and left mere flashes of memory.
He remembered Sam running into him and nearly causing him to fall into an unending gorge. He remembered Boromir scooping up himself and Merry and leaping over the chasm in the stairs. He remembered the reverberating thud the broken piece of stairs made as they collided with the stationary one he stood on, allowing Frodo and Aragorn a safe way to rejoin the Company. He then remembered turning to see Gandalf confront their pursuer, and all that followed was crystal clear in his recollection.
“You cannot pass!”
“Gandalf!” The cry seemed torn from Frodo’s throat.
The wizard, heedless, raised his staff, which glowed with an unnatural radiance.
“I am a servant of the Secret Fire, Wielder of the Flame of Anor.”
The Balrog, a monstrous beast that dwarfed his opponent, hoisted its whip. Fire sprang from it.
“The Dark Fire will not avail you, Flame of Udûn!”
The whip cracked, bursting the circle of light that had surrounded Gandalf with a shout of anger or pain from the wizard.
“Go back to the Shadow,” Gandalf grated, refusing to move aside. The Balrog stepped out farther onto the bridge. Gandalf lifted his sword and staff high, shouting in a voice that resonated from the walls, “You shall not pass!”
The Balrog attempted another pace and the bridge collapsed under its feet, plummeting it down into the abyss. Gandalf stood at the edge of the shattered bridge, watching his enemy until certain the danger was over, then made to walk back to the breathless Fellowship.
Without warning, the Balrog made a last desperate bid for revenge. Its whip snapped into view and clung to the wizard’s legs, pulling him to hang precariously by his fingers on the very tip of the ruined stone.
The hobbits, Frodo in the lead, tried to rush to his aid, but Boromir seized Frodo and blocked the other three bodily, yelling something and ignoring their angered uproar.
“Gandalf!” Frodo screamed again.
The wizard fixed them with a last, wrathful glare. “Fly, you fools!” and he was gone.
Pippin was stricken with terror, agony, and loss. He stumbled out of Moria in a daze and toppled to the sharp rocks unmindfully. He sobbed, curling into as small a ball as he could. His heart broke and his mind seemed to be falling down into a bottomless pit permeated by flames and overwhelming darkness.
~finis~
</lj-user>
In the Mines of Moria...
Title: Caught Between a Hammer and an Anvil
Author: BookHobbit (LLJT1031@aol.com)
Rating: PG for violence
Category: Action-Adventure/Drama
Notes/Disclaimer: The characters, setting, etc., are not mine, they are Professor
Tolkien’s; I’m merely playing with them for a while and will put them back when I am
done. Gratitude goes also to Peter Jackson, Fran Walsh, etc., because this story is
movie-verse, and therefore at least a little knowledge of the movie would be beneficial to understand it fully. Enjoy, and remember that all feedback is greatly appreciated! :-)
“Where’s Frodo?” Merry gasped. With a disgusted grimace, he wiped his sword on the orc he had just felled.
“Wasn’t he there?” Pippin gestured behind him as he parried a thrust of an orc’s spear. The creature snarled at him, then looked down in surprise as Pippin’s blade sliced into its stomach. Pippin closed his eyes briefly in abhorrence and tried to recall all that Boromir had taught them.
“Two, one, five. Good; very good!”
“Move your feet,” Strider had commented.
Pippin opened his eyes again, spinning to block another orc. Was there no end to these beasts?
“Frodo had better not be over there,” Merry continued, chancing a quick glance over his shoulder. “That’s where the troll is.”
“Merry!” Pippin cried. Merry turned in time to see his cousin’s sword stab an orc that had been about to run Merry through.
“Thanks, Pip,” Merry said, face pale. Pippin was about to reply when they both heard a weak yell of “Aragorn!” “Frodo,” Merry whispered. He ran toward the sound, hardly noticing the lack of enemies, Pippin in close pursuit. They both ran to the edge of the ledge to see Frodo, mouth wide and gasping, being pierced in the side by an enormously long spear held by the troll.
The sound of the spear sticking into his older cousin’s side and Frodo’s moan of pain echoed in Pippin’s ears. The world suddenly stopped and started again, faster and more furious than before. He exchanged shocked, fierce looks with Merry and as one they bounded onto the troll’s broad back, wildly cutting with their short swords. The troll dropped his weapon with a bellow of rage; Pippin was vaguely aware of Frodo slumping to the floor, defeated. His mind revolved around the words: Frodo dead spear troll Frodo dead spear troll Frodo dead spear troll Frodo dead spear troll--
Suddenly Merry was not beside him anymore. Pippin frantically darted his gaze around the chamber only to find his cousin being swung about in the troll’s hand; even as Pippin saw him, the troll dropped him on his head and he crashed to the stone ground with a sickening thump. He jerked momentarily and then was still.
The mantra weaving itself through the youngest hobbit’s mind changed now: Frodo dead spear troll Merry dead floor troll Frodo dead spear troll Merry dead floor troll Frodo dead spear troll Merry dead floor troll...
Tears leaked from his eyes but Pippin neither realized nor cared; he crawled swiftly to the troll’s head and propelled his sword down as hard as he could. The troll snapped its head up and there was a soft whoosh! that caused the immense beast to touch its mouth with one hand. It then swayed; Pippin gripping its back as best as he could as it smashed to the ground. The small hobbit was sent flying over his own head and finally halted on his back in a painful jolt.
Pippin blinked at the ceiling, making no move to get up. What was the point? Frodo and Merry were dead - he himself felt that way, now. A pair of blue eyes moved into his blurry vision - impeded by tears and dizziness - and Pippin struggled to bring them into focus. Wait - he knew those eyes- that face - those light curls--
“Need a hand, cousin?” Merry asked, no hint of the normal teasing evident in his voice.
Pippin clutched the proffered hand and stood unsteadily. “You’re alive!” he managed after a minute of gaping.
“I am,” Merry said, putting heavy emphasis on the first word. He pulled Pippin into a strong, quick embrace; they then released each other and made their way to the rest of the Fellowship somberly. Merry attempted to peer over Gimli’s shoulders; Pippin could not summon the energy to try.
He started visibly when he heard Frodo’s voice: “I’m not hurt.”
Joy filled Pippin until he thought he might burst from it - they were alive, all of them! They might still make it away from this cursed place!
Suddenly Gandalf interrupted the conversation that Pippin had not been paying attention to. “To the bridge of Khazad-dûm!”
The Fellowship ran: out of the tomb of Balin and through the great, cavernous hall. Shrieks echoed throughout the area in an eerie cacophony. Pippin threw a glance behind him and nearly tripped in shock - orcs were running toward them, and others of their kind were pouring from the roof as if they were in a corrupt hourglass. What greeted him upon looking ahead was much the same. The others, apparently coming to the same conclusion, ceased their mad dash and grasped their assorted weapons. Everywhere were evil faces leering at him; Pippin gulped, edging closer to Merry, and prepared to make a final stand.
Abruptly a different sound chased through the ranks of the orcs; it sounded more like a wail of terror than a battle cry. Inconceivably, the orcs themselves ran - back to wherever they had been. Gimli, to Pippin’s amazement, roared with laughter, but the hobbits searched the way the Fellowship had come. They - and Legolas as well - could hear some strange noise - a roar and a scraping sound, as of rock on rock?
“What is this new devilry?” Boromir’s query disturbed the almost silence that seemed to hold the Fellowship immobile.
“A Balrog.” The name rolled off Gandalf’s tongue like a pronouncement of doom. “A demon of the ancient world. This foe is beyond any of you. Run!”
After a moment of surprised hesitation, the Nine Walkers sped to a door in the wall and were ushered through by the wizard. The next events Pippin could never quite get affixed in his mind - they happened too quickly and left mere flashes of memory.
He remembered Sam running into him and nearly causing him to fall into an unending gorge. He remembered Boromir scooping up himself and Merry and leaping over the chasm in the stairs. He remembered the reverberating thud the broken piece of stairs made as they collided with the stationary one he stood on, allowing Frodo and Aragorn a safe way to rejoin the Company. He then remembered turning to see Gandalf confront their pursuer, and all that followed was crystal clear in his recollection.
“You cannot pass!”
“Gandalf!” The cry seemed torn from Frodo’s throat.
The wizard, heedless, raised his staff, which glowed with an unnatural radiance.
“I am a servant of the Secret Fire, Wielder of the Flame of Anor.”
The Balrog, a monstrous beast that dwarfed his opponent, hoisted its whip. Fire sprang from it.
“The Dark Fire will not avail you, Flame of Udûn!”
The whip cracked, bursting the circle of light that had surrounded Gandalf with a shout of anger or pain from the wizard.
“Go back to the Shadow,” Gandalf grated, refusing to move aside. The Balrog stepped out farther onto the bridge. Gandalf lifted his sword and staff high, shouting in a voice that resonated from the walls, “You shall not pass!”
The Balrog attempted another pace and the bridge collapsed under its feet, plummeting it down into the abyss. Gandalf stood at the edge of the shattered bridge, watching his enemy until certain the danger was over, then made to walk back to the breathless Fellowship.
Without warning, the Balrog made a last desperate bid for revenge. Its whip snapped into view and clung to the wizard’s legs, pulling him to hang precariously by his fingers on the very tip of the ruined stone.
The hobbits, Frodo in the lead, tried to rush to his aid, but Boromir seized Frodo and blocked the other three bodily, yelling something and ignoring their angered uproar.
“Gandalf!” Frodo screamed again.
The wizard fixed them with a last, wrathful glare. “Fly, you fools!” and he was gone.
Pippin was stricken with terror, agony, and loss. He stumbled out of Moria in a daze and toppled to the sharp rocks unmindfully. He sobbed, curling into as small a ball as he could. His heart broke and his mind seemed to be falling down into a bottomless pit permeated by flames and overwhelming darkness.
~finis~
</lj-user>
