"Gollum, or Smeagol, as he was once called, is a creature Frodo's uncle once encountered in his travels," Gandalf clarified for Will's sake. "Bilbo outwitted Gollum in a game of riddles, and so Gollum was to show Bilbo the way out of a cave in which he had become lost. Gollum went back on his word, and Bilbo soon found himself in the perfect position to kill the wretch....But out of pity, Bilbo spared the miserable creature's life." The wizard's focus was now solely on Frodo. "Many that live deserve death. Some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them, Frodo?...Do not be too eager to deal out death and judgment. Even the very wise cannot see all ends. My heart tells me that Gollum has some part to play yet, for good or ill, before this is over...The pity of Bilbo may rule the fate of many."

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Gandalf sighed softly and looked down at Frodo. "So do all who live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide," he said slowly. "All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us." It truly was his deepest regret that fate had chosen the halfling for this task. Not even the most hardened warrior deserved the burden that Frodo bore, much less a Hobbit from the Shire, where one's greatest concern was seldom graver than what was being prepared for the next meal. And yet it was that simplicity, that innocence, that made Frodo better suited to withstand the burden than any warrior. Gandalf fully believed what he had said about the wise not knowing all ends, and he did not exclude himself from that statement. That he could not yet see fate's reason for choosing as it had did not mean that a reason did not exist.

"There are other forces at work in this world, Frodo, besides the will of evil. We were meant to encounter our new companions. Bilbo was meant to find the Ring. Therefore, you were also meant to have the Ring. And that is an encouraging thought."

He sat in silence for a moment more before something caught his attention. "Oh!" he exclaimed softly, looking up at the left door. "It's that way!"

Everyone looked up in surprise, then began quickly getting to their feet and preparing to follow.

"You've finally remembered, then?" Barbossa inquired mildly.

"No," Gandalf replied, making his way over to the door and pausing at the top of the steps to put on his hat. "But the air doesn't smell so foul down here. When in doubt, follow your nose."

Merry stood, still lamenting inwardly his lack of pipeweed, and shouldered his pack resignedly. Sam followed, jingling slightly from his array of cooking implements.

Upon carefully descending the uneven stairs, once precisely carved but now chipped and roughly broken, Gandalf's light proved not quite enough to stop stubbed toes and grumbles from the hobbits. After the first one Merry stopped muttering to Pippin about pipeweed and watched his feet, but Elizabeth was not quite so practical.

A loose rock shifted under her foot and she skidded down a good half dozen stairs, grasping at the rock in alarm. It would have been further but for a hand catching her arm in mid-skid and stopping her abruptly.

Expecting it to be Will, Elizabeth straightened gratefully with an apologetic grin up in his direction - but it wasn't.

Legolas let go his grip and nodded silently before continuing, a sort of silent caution to be careful next time. Elizabeth stared after him in bemusement before following more slowly. She could have sworn that was Will's hand.

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The Fellowship continued down the stairs until they came to a doorway. Beyond the doorway, the path flattened briefly, then turned down another short flight of stairs. At the bottom of the second flight, Gandalf paused. "Let me risk a little more light," he said softly, holding up his staff.

Light spilled out from the crystal atop the staff, revealing that they were no longer surrounded by mines, but were now in a great hall with a vast ceiling far above their heads, held up by numerous massive pillars. The sheer immensity of it rendered everyone in the company speechless as they gazed upon the hall's ancient beauty in awe. Even Barbossa could not fully conceal an expression of wonderment as he looked up at the many great arches, intricately carved with a precision possessed only by those with the deepest respect and love for the stone with which they worked. It was, indeed, a truly breathtaking sight.

"Behold," Gandalf said, beginning to move forward again slowly. "The great realm and Dwarf-city of Dwarrowdelf."

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Elizabeth instinctively thought differently. After all, in their clash with the many-tentacled beast at the door to Moria, Legolas had had arrows flying faster than lighting, a new one every second. What did they call him? An elf? His reflexes were no doubt quicker than hers, in any case. She shrugged off Will's comment and proceeded, looking about her in awe no less than the rest.

Legolas himself was ahead of the group, striding purposefully through the great cavern of stone with bow in hand. He would have almost forgotten the encounter with Elizabeth had she been one of the hobbits, or another of the Fellowship...but even her touch was alien, from a world he couldn't know, and he found himself curiously drawn and yet somewhat repelled by it. Besides, the protective one - Will? - was ever as her side in any case.

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((As soon as "Gimli" is back in town, she will no doubt post something to that effect. ))

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At first the towering columns, looming beyond the Wizard's pristine light to be lost in the darkness above, touched even Gimli's taciturn spirit. Tears, unseen in the inadequate light, glistened at the corners of his eyes. Tilting his head at the stolid glory around them, he felt his heart swell with pride for his ancestors. For one stunning, ephemeral moment, the deathly shadows upon Moria were forgotten.

Then he saw it. A glimmer of light - promise of hope or despair? The heart that had been uplifted only seconds ago now hammered in his ears as he broke from the Fellowship at a desperate run. Panting for breath - though not from physical exertion - he stumbled into the Chamber of Mazarbul.

The shaft of sunlight blinded him, blinded him to the truth of what lay within the stone tomb. Stricken, he could only stare in abject denial. Running footsteps behind him shattered the spell. "No! No!" He sank, sobbing his grief, beside the cold tomb.

He'd known. He'd known all these long days, from the moment he'd stepped into the promise of death that had once been the great realm of Khazad-dum. Yet all these long days, his head had obstinately denied what his heart had screamed.

Balin was dead. The dream was destroyed.

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"Gimli!" Gandalf immediately called out, but the Dwarf paid him no heed. Sighing heavily, Gandalf followed him into the smaller chamber, with the others close behind. There they found Gimli already kneeled before a sight Gandalf had been expecting to encounter since they'd first entered the Mines: the tomb of Balin. For the sake of the others -and to confirm his own fears- Gandalf translated the runes inscribed in the rock. "'Here lies Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria'....He is dead, then. It is as I feared."

Absently, he passed his hat and his staff to the nearest person, who just happened to be Peregrin Took. Kneeling, he slowly removed a large, battered book from the grasp of one of the corpses and cleared the cobwebs from its cover. Upon opening the massive tome, several pages immediately fell out, and Gandalf had to gently blow away the coating of dirt before he could decipher any of the writing. "'They have taken the bridge, and the second hall," he read slowly from the last few pages of the book. "We have barred the gates, but cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes. Drums, drums in the deep..."

Barbossa walked around the room, examining its contents absently as he waited for the others to leave again. Twenty years ago, such an abundance of death and destruction would have disturbed him greatly. Ten years ago, it might have left him slightly unnerved. But now he merely observed it all with a detached curiosity, occasionally pausing to reflect that these dwarves may have had the easier fate, being able to depart from their bodies before they fell into such a state of decay. At least they'd never had to see what they'd become, nor live with it every day. Shaking his head slightly, Barbossa dismissed the thought easily. He was not the sort to indulge in self-pity, nor waste time regretting that which could not be changed. An experimental pass of his hand through the beam confirmed that it was sunlight, not moonlight, that was coming through the high window at the far end of the chamber, thus giving him at least some vague idea what time it was. If he'd been more or less right about the time of day, then hopefully he'd been right about how many days it had been as well, meaning they didn't have much further to go.

"We cannot get out. A Shadow moves in the dark," Gandalf continued to read, his sense of foreboding growing with every word. "We cannot get out...." The last part was written in a trailing scrawl of elf-letters: "They are coming."