୨⎯ Chapter 6⎯୧
"Bloody Orcs"

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THE FELLOWSHIP followed Gandalf's lead through the corridors of Moria, our footsteps echoing softly against the ancient stone. As we reached a crossroads, Gandalf paused, his gaze shifting between three dark archways.

"I have no memory of this place," he muttered, his brow furrowed in concentration.

We settled in to wait as Gandalf pondered our path. Pippin's stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, the sound echoing off the stone walls.

I couldn't help but chuckle. "Seems like someone's eager for dinner," I quipped, offering Pippin a sympathetic smile.

Merry, ever the optimist, patted Pippin's shoulder. "Don't worry, Pip. I'm sure Gandalf will remember soon."

As time stretched on, Gimli's patience began to wear thin. His grumbles echoed off the walls, filling the air with a palpable sense of frustration.

"Bah! At this rate, we'll grow old and die in these mines before our wizard friend makes up his mind!" he groused.

Legolas, as always, remained a picture of serenity. "Patience, Gimli," he said softly. "Gandalf's wisdom has never led us astray."

I couldn't resist joining in. "Come now, Gimli," I teased, a mischievous glint in my eye. "Where's your sense of adventure? Surely a dwarf of your stature isn't afraid of a little darkness?"

Gimli harrumphed, though I caught the hint of a smile beneath his beard. "Afraid? Bah! I'd just prefer to face our enemies in the open, where I can swing my axe freely!"

Suddenly, Gandalf straightened, his eyes lighting up with recognition. "Ah!" he exclaimed. "It's that way."

Merry's face lit up with relief. "He's remembered!"

I couldn't help but sigh dramatically. "Thank the Valar. I don't know how much longer I could wait." I caught Legolas's amused glance and felt a small flutter in my chest.

As we approached a vast open space, Gandalf raised his staff. "Let me risk a little more light," he murmured. The crystal atop his staff flared, illuminating a breathtaking sight.

Massive stone pillars stretched upwards, disappearing into the darkness above. Intricate carvings adorned the arched ceilings, telling silent stories of dwarven craftsmanship.

"Behold," Gandalf proclaimed, his voice filled with reverence, "the great realm and dwarf city of Dwarrowdelf."

Sam's awe-filled whisper broke the reverent silence. "Now there's an eye-opener and no mistake."

As we marveled at Dwarrowdelf, Gimli's cry of anguish pierced the air. He rushed towards a chamber bathed in a ray of sunlight, ignoring Gandalf's warnings. We followed, finding ourselves in the Chamber of Mazarbul.

Gimli knelt before a stone tomb, his shoulders shaking with grief. Boromir placed a comforting hand on the dwarf's shoulder. "He fought bravely," he murmured, his voice heavy with empathy.

Without thinking, I reached out and touched his arm gently, offering what comfort I could.

Gandalf approached the tomb, brushing away the dust to read the inscription aloud. "Here lies Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria." His voice was heavy with sorrow. "He is dead then. It's as I feared."

As Gandalf handed his staff and hat to Pippin, I couldn't help but notice the young hobbit's nervous gulp. Meanwhile, the wizard retrieved a battered book from the hands of a fallen dwarf, its pages crumbling with age.

Legolas's urgent whisper cut through the solemn atmosphere. "We must move on. We cannot linger."

Gandalf began to read from the book. "They have taken the bridge and the second hall. We have barred the gates, but cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes. Drums, drums in the deep. We cannot get out. A Shadow moves in the dark. We cannot get out... They are coming."

A shiver ran down my spine at the words. But before I could say anything, a loud crash shattered the silence. We all whirled to see Pippin standing guiltily beside a well, a look of terror on his face as the sound of a falling corpse echoed through the mines.

For a heart-stopping moment, we held our breath, waiting for some response to the noise. When nothing happened, a collective sigh of relief passed through our group.

Gandalf's voice boomed through the chamber, his frustration evident. "Fool of a Took! Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity!"

I couldn't help but quip, "Pippin, always finding new ways to keep us on our toes." My words earned a small chuckle from Boromir and a wry smile from Aragorn, but Gandalf's stern glare quickly silenced any further laughter.

Our relief was short-lived. From the depths of the mines came a new sound - a steady, rhythmic beating that sent shivers of fear through us all. Drums. Drums in the deep.

"Frodo!" Sam's voice trembled as he pointed to Sting, now glowing blue with an eerie light.

"Orcs!" Legolas's keen eyes narrowed as he nocked an arrow, his body tense and ready for battle.

Boromir rushed to the door, narrowly avoiding arrows that thudded into the wood where his head had been moments before. "Get back!" Aragorn shouted, herding the hobbits away from danger.

As Aragorn and Boromir barricaded the door with old axes and spears, Gimli leaped atop Balin's tomb, his axe gleaming in the dim light. "Let them come!" he roared, a fierce light in his eyes. "There is one dwarf yet in Moria who still draws breath!"

The battle that followed was chaos incarnate. Orcs poured through the shattered door, their shrieks filling the air. And then, with a thunderous crash that shook the very foundations of the chamber, a cave troll smashed its way into the room.

I found myself face to face with a towering orc, its foul breath hot against my skin as it swung its crude weapon in a vicious arc. With a swift gesture, I summoned vines to capture its legs, causing it to stumble and falter in its advance. As the orc struggled against its leafy restraints, I seized the opportunity to strike, my hands crackling with elemental energy as I unleashed a powerful blast of wind, sending the orc tumbling backward with a startled cry.

But my victory was short-lived as more orcs closed in around me, their snarls and shouts drowning out the sounds of battle. With no time to spare, I focused my energy, summoning roots from the earth to entangle each of the orcs.

Just then, a blur of movement caught my eye as Legolas leaped into action, his bow singing as he picked off orc after orc with deadly precision. With a swift motion, he dispatched the remaining enemies surrounding me, his arrow finding its mark with unerring accuracy.

Breathless and battered, I looked up at Legolas with gratitude, my eyes shining with newfound respect for the elven warrior. "Thank you," I breathed heavily.

Our eyes met for a brief moment, and I felt a surge of... something. Before I could dwell on it, we were both pulled back into action.

The battle raged on, with each member of the Fellowship fighting for their lives. Sam wielded his frying pan with surprising effectiveness, while Merry and Pippin darted between the legs of their foes, causing confusion amongst the orcs.

The cave troll managed to break free from my vines, and swung its massive chain through the air.

Suddenly the troll seized Frodo, dragging him towards a precipice. Aragorn charged forward with a spear, striking with all his might, but was knocked aside by the troll's immense strength. Just when all seemed lost, Frodo plunged Sting into the troll's chest with a cry.

The troll staggered, its roars of pain echoing through the chamber. Legolas loosed an arrow that found its mark in the creature's mouth. The troll swayed, then collapsed with a thunderous crash that shook the very foundations of Moria.

As the dust settled and the remaining orcs fled, we rushed to Frodo's side, fearing the worst. Aragorn gently turned him over, and to our immense relief, Frodo groaned and opened his eyes.

"He's alive!" Sam exclaimed, tears of joy streaming down his face.

Frodo managed a weak smile, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm all right. I'm not hurt."

Aragorn shook his head in disbelief, his voice filled with wonder. "You should be dead. That spear would have skewered a wild boar."

Gandalf leaned heavily on his staff, his eyes twinkling with a knowing light. "I think there's more to this hobbit than meets the eye."

As Frodo pulled aside his shirt to reveal the shimmering Mithril coat beneath. "Mithril," I whispered, awed by the beautiful craftsmanship and the life it had preserved.

Gimli's eyes widened in recognition. "You are full of surprises, Master Baggins," he said, a note of respect in his gruff voice.

But soon the distant echoes of approaching orcs spurred us into action once more.

"To the bridge of Khazad-dum!" Gandalf commanded, his voice ringing with authority and urgency.

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