Deliver Us From Evil

For a moment, all that could be heard in the darkness was the panting of our own breaths. I could feel a hand bump into my arm and then trace down my wrist to grasp my own hand. It was too large to be one of the hobbits and the skin was too rough to be an elf’s. A thumb brushed my knuckles and I wondered if the affection was for my purpose or his.

The top of Gandalf staff lit the room. “We now have one choice,” he said, “we must face the long dark of Moria.” He stepped forward to lead us. “Be on your guard; there are older and fouler things than the orcs in the deep places of the world.”

The owner of the hand had turned out to be Boromir. He looked at bit ashamed to be grasping on to me. I gave him a tight smile and squeezed his hand with mine before letting go. The Mines of Moria were intimidating and with the attack of the Kraken-like monster, physical contact made great therapy for the fear.

The Steward’s son and I brought up the rear of the group. I had glanced over Aragorn’s shoulder to see all of the hobbits walking together. The sight of an unharmed Frodo gave me a bit of peace. Aragorn briefly looked over his shoulder at us to make sure we were following. I nodded at him in reassurance of our safety.

“Quietly now,” Gandalf warned us. “It’s a four day journey to the other side. Let us hope that our presence will go unnoticed.” His words caused me to shiver, which pegged a look from Boromir that I could not decipher.

We were lead through narrow passages ways, some of which had deadly drops off the side. Aragorn had fashioned a torch and took charge of acting as our caboose.
We stopped when Gandalf touched a rock wall. “The wealth of Moria is not is gold,” he said as if he were our tour guide, “or jewels, but mithril.”

We stood on the edge of a gaping cavern that seemed to have no bottom. The sight was wondrous and reminded me of an underground Grand Canyon. The spectacle of my world, however, was much more red and brown in color and not gray. The gap inside of Moria had ladders and other contraptions built along its sides for mining.

“Bilbo had a set of mithril rings,” the wizard spoke of Frodo’s uncle, “that Thorin gave him.” He began to lead us once more.

Gimli gasped at this. “A kingly gift!”

“Yes, I never told him, but it’s worth is greater than that of the Shire.”

***

On the second day, we had made camp when we guessed it to be dark outside. I had had a sense of being watched for a while now, but the hobbits managed to distract me. Sam had been in the process of cooking our dinner when Pippin asked me about my world. I had a feeling that he had been wanting to know for the long time but wasn’t sure if to ask. Curiosity bubbled to the surface.

“Before I was a skinwalker, I was a Spanish teacher,” I told him.

“Spanish?”

“It’s a language,” I explained. “It comes from the country of Spain, but is spoken in many different countries.”

“And you speak it fluently?”

“Sí.” He gave me a confused look, at which I giggled. “It means ‘yes.’”

“There are many countries in your world, Miss Daisy?” Boromir, ever the politician, asked me.

I nodded to him. “More than I could possibly name. I’m from the United States, AKA America.”

“AKA?” Aragorn frowned in confusion.

“It stands for Also Known As. For future reference, if I say ‘ASAP,’ it means As Soon As Possible,” I said. “For some reason we like acronyms.”

“And after you were bitten? You speak as if you lived a different life then,” Pippin innocently asked.

I shifted a bit in my seat. My hand rubbed the fabric on my right forearm, over the scar. “Well, I decided to leave my old life behind. I permanently took to my other form. I wandered the streets for a couple weeks before I was picked up by the ASPCA.” Before they could ask, I said, “That’s the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. They’re a non-profit organization that rescues animals, heals them if needed, and finds them homes.”

“Wow!” remarked Pippin.

“I think we need something like that in Middle-Earth,” Merry added. He turned to his cousin. “Maybe after the quest is over, we can start one, Pip.”
We all smiled and a few chuckled as the feeling of elation spread through the group. Happiness was infectious when a pure soul wanted to devote its life to helping others.

***

On our fourth and final day, I wondered what was the point of stairs if they were so steep that you had to climb them on your hands and knees. Aragorn’s warning of traveling on two legs made far more sense now. Though part of me missed Bill, I was thankful he was not here.

Once at the top, Gandalf stopped and looked around. “I have no memory of this place.”

We were once again waiting for the grey wizard to figure things out, so we settled down. Several members of the group were smoking pipe weed, as they called it. Though this was not the first time they had done so on our journey, I wondered if it was the same thing as tobacco. Actually, there were many things I was curious about in Middle-Earth and how they related to my world. Judging from the accents and appearance of the humans, as well as the landscape, we appeared to be somewhere in Great Britain. I admitted, as an American, my knowledge on the British Isles in general were rough, but I knew that tobacco came from North America. So did tomatoes in fact, but that ate them as if they were very common and not imported.

“Do elves not smoke?” I asked Legolas, noting that he had not once even touched a pipe.

“It is not in their interest, Eirien*,” Aragorn answered for me. Him and Legolas had taken to calling me that but would not say its meaning.

I nodded and said, “More cultural differences, I suppose.” I narrowed my eyes at the pipe in his hand. “I’m sure they’re not the same as the ones my world, but you know they aren’t good for your health, Rey**.” Since he was going to call me an Elvish name, I was going to call him something in Spanish.

He paused and removed the pipe from his mouth. “What do you mean?”

Rather than answering, I turned to Legolas. “Do elves know the affects of smoking and just choose not to tell the other species, Rubio***?” Legolas got a nickname as well.

Before he could answer, Gandalf interrupted us. “Ah!” We all turned our heads to him. “It’s what way!”

“He’s remembered!” Merry chipped, standing up.

“No, but the air doesn't smell so foul down there.” He took us down a tunnel. “If in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose.

“Let me risk a little more light,” he spoke quietly when the tunnel opened into a larger space. The place was absolutely breathing taking. The ceiling was higher than imaginable and grand columns towered over us. “Behold! The great realm and dwarf city of Dwarrowdelf!”

“Well, there’s an eye opener, no mistake,” Sam commented.

As we walked along, I couldn’t help continuously turning my head around as I took in the sight. There was something special about the place and I knew that this place could not be replicated by the hands of my world, no matter what machine was used. However, the awe was short lived as we rounded a corner to see more skeletons.

“Gimli!” Gandalf called to him as the dwarf ran ahead of us.

He passed opened doors that revealed a room with light shining down upon a slab in the center. He keeled over in front of it and began to sob, the word “no” fresh on his lips. The rest of us followed at a slower pace and took in the room.

The wizard passed him and read the runes that were carved onto the stone block. “‘Here lies Balin, son of Fudin, Lord of Moria.’ He is dead, then.” He removed his tall, gray hat. “It’s as I had feared.”

Gandalf handed his hat and staff to Pippin and bent to remove a bound book from a corpse’s grasp. He opened it and attempted to blow and wipe away the dust that coated it.

“We must move on,” I heard Legolas whisper urgently to Aragorn, “we cannot linger.” Mentally, I agreed with him, but I also understood Gimli’s need to grieve in that moment.

“‘They have taken the bridge,’” Gandalf began to read, “and the second hall: we have barred the gates, but cannot hold them for long.” I noted Boromir touching Gimli’s other shoulder, but the dwarf had stopped his sobbing and listened to the book being read. “‘The ground shakes, drums in the deep, we cannot get out. A shadow moves in the dark. Will no one save us? They are coming.’” We all glanced one another and we mutually felt fear gripping our hearts at the last words.

A loud crash made me start in place and I took my hand away from Gimli. Attentions were brought to Pippin who stood by a well with a skeleton perched on the rim. He looked guilty and scared as the corpse fell in, pulling along a metal chain and bucket. The sounds were especially loud in the quiet mines. Echoes reverberated through all of Moria.

Everyone shared a similar expression, one that said “oh fuck.”

Gandalf closed the book and began to lecture the hobbit at fault. “Fool of a Took!” He put the book aside and snatched his things from Pippin. “Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity.”

Shame swam through his features, but only momentarily as it was replaced with fear when drums started to sound. They started out quietly and grew louder. “Orcs!” Legolas called.

Boromir ran to the door to look for the danger. All of a sudden, two small, black arrows were embedded in the wood of the door only inches from his face. The almost death of him scared me even worse than before.

“Get back!” Aragorn told hobbits and I. “Stay close to Gandalf!”

We were ushered to the back, but I stepped away. My dagger was not a good weapon to use in this situation, so I grabbed a sword from a dead dwarf. The weight of it almost took me down, but I regained my balance. Legolas gave me a look, but he was stopped from saying anything by Boromir.

The two Men had shut the door, but as the lighter haired one informed us, “They have a cave troll.” He sounded hopeless and though I didn’t really know what a cave troll was, I had an idea and it was frightening.

Legolas tossed them two axes and I was glad that I hadn’t been at the door for I was sure that I would have killed myself trying to catch it. The two Gondorians used the weapons to barricade the door. Gandalf unsheathed his sword, which the hobbits copied. I could see Frodo’s glowing a light blue. The doors shuddered as a force tried to get through. By now the drums were shaking me to the core and my bones vibrated.

Gimli held two axes in his hands and shouted from atop of Balin’s tomb, “Let them come! There is one dwarf yet in Moria who still draws breath!” I could see his time for tears had passed and he was ready for revenge.

Aragorn and Legolas had arrows notched while Boromir gripped his circular shield in one hand and held his sword in another. I copied his fighter’s stance and held onto the borrowed dwarf sword the best I could. We watched as the tips of spears began to pierce the wood.

“Daisy,” Aragorn started his warning in a strict tone, but I stopped him.

“I may not be able to wield a sword, but I can try. And there is one thing I have not told you about skinwalkers: we only have one weakness. So unless these orcs have silver weapons, I’ll survive.” I spoke stronger than I thought I was able to. The quality of my voice left no room for debate. The two archers shot arrows through the new holes, causing squealing to come from outside.

If anyone had interest in arguing, which I’m sure they did, they could not voice their opinions as the doors were broken down by one of the foulest creatures I had ever seen. Earth at least had physically appealing monsters, but Middle-Earth held a dark ugliness to it. You could tell who was evil and who was not by just their appearance it seemed.

Legolas and Aragorn shot down several, but that did not stop the force from flooding through the too small doorway. We were quickly surrounded by these gray-skinned babosas. I tried to fight with the sword but found it difficult. I was out of my depth, I quickly realized. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the hobbits enter the fight. I was cut and nicked, but the need to protect the others kept me going above all else.

Thundering footsteps caused me to look toward the door. A blade pierced my shoulder. I screamed in pain, but was drowned out by the doorway that was blown open, followed by a bellow that no humanoid creature could make. A large boulder of debris crushed the owner of the spear that was inside of me.

The cave troll was hideous in a way that couldn’t be compared to the orcs. Orcs were deformed in the human gaze, but trolls were monstrous. Legolas shot an arrow into its left breast, which only made it angry. It swung its hammer at one of the hobbits. Before I tell what his fate was, I was distracted by an orc trying to take a blow at me.

I moved backward to avoid the swing, but I wasn’t fast enough. The blade grazed my hands, causing me to release my sword in pain. He raised his own sword again, but in that time I had ripped out the spear that was still in my shoulder. It had been curved at the end, making the wound become larger than before. The pain was unbearable and my vision swam. Vertigo overcame me and I stumbled. My butt hit the ground and I would’ve been gravely injured (but not killed as the metal was not silver) if it wasn’t for the arrow that lodged in my opponent’s skull.

The thundering footsteps of the troll did not help me feel any better. In fact, I was almost certain I was going to puke. An orc charged at me. I raised my new spear in time for him to impale himself on it. I yanked the weapon out, wondering if I could die from blood loss. I was certainly feeling the affects of it. I was reminded of the first and last time I donated blood. I could feel a cold sweat coming on and I generally felt bad as my body tried to warn me that I was in danger. This was so much worse though; my wounds were leaking freely and I had no nurse to give me a cookie or some water to feel better.

The roars of the troll, the clashing of steel on steel, the breaking of stone, all of it gave me a horrible headache. But through it all I heard a voice that might have been Aragorn’s call for Frodo. This jolted me fully awake and I knew I needed to protect him. I gripped the spear as if it were a staff and used it to raise myself from the ground. I looked around, trying to find the dark haired hobbit, but he was not in sight.

My eyes went to the troll and I was shocked to find it standing before Frodo, who looked extremely small in comparison. He was backed into a corner and the closest person was Aragorn, who lay still and unmoving on the ground. I started to hobble my way to him, but I stopped when the troll stabbed the halfling with its spear. My blood turned icy and I completely froze. I felt useless as I watched Merry and Pippin launch themselves onto the back of the troll and stab it with their blades.

Adrenaline coursed through my veins and I surged forward. I was intercepted by orcs, but I slashed and sliced through them with newfound strength. I dispatched the last orc to see the troll sway on its feet after Legolas shot an arrow into its face. It collapsed with Pippin still on top. I rushed my way to Frodo just as a newly awaken Aragorn reached him as well. The ranger was on his hands and knees as he turned him over.

I found myself rooted to the floor again as Frodo groaned in pain. Sam went to his side quickly. “He’s alive,” he happily informed us. Relief warmed my stomach.

He rose to his knees. “I’m alright,” he panted. “I’m not hurt.” His hand was placed over his own heart. (Or perhaps the Ring, I thought to myself.)

“You should be dead,” Aragorn said. “That spear we’ve skewed a wild boar!”

“I think there’s more to this hobbit than meets the eye,” Gandalf said. Frodo opened the first few buttons of his shirt to reveal shiny, thin armor.

“Mithril,” Gimli gasped. “You are full of surprises, Master Baggins.”

Faint screeches could be heard, followed by drums. They instilled fear in my heart and I did not think I would ever find drumming the same way again.

“To the bridge of Khazad-dum!”