[FM!!!111oneone!!! nice to have you back.]

Gimli took the stairs in an ultimately graceful fashion, stumbling and jolting the entire way down. Yet, perhaps from an entire ancestry of living underground, he managed to keep up. Huffing and puffing, he hurtled down the last couple steps and slammed into Sparrow who slammed into Will who slammed into Elizabeth who slammed into Sam and so on and so forth. In fact, the entire Fellowship would have gone over the edge all on the account of one unfortunate Dwarf, had Gimli not seized Sparrow's shirt and dragged the tallish man back. This noble act of self-sacrifice made him lose his balance and land on his rump, already bruised from an encounter with an Orcish club back in the Chamber of Mazarbul.

Gimli shook himself, climbed painfully to his feet, and stuck his head out to the side, peering ahead to see what the fuss was about. His mouth opened in an O. The gap was daunting. The Elf might make it, and even the Ranger if fortune favored. The Hobbits would have a hard time. So would the Dwarf. Anxiously he peered up at Aragorn. "Well? What now?"

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[heh, thanks LDM, s’awesome to see you again.]

Bringing up the rear of the panting party was Gandalf, weariness of a different nature than what the rest knew in his eyes. He had leaned against a wall for just a moment; battling with what he knew had to be done. Aragorn called his name, and he half-turned to the Ranger.

“Lead them on Aragorn! The bridge is near!”

For all his knowledge and skill with the blade, Aragorn could not help him do this. This he had to do alone. But the Ranger was confused. As if to show his recognition of the authority of Gandalf, he took a step towards him; but Gandalf roughly shoved him away. In the distance, another deafening roar shook the mine from the pursuing creature.

“Do as I say!” he ordered harshly, and then softened for a moment as a hurt glance stole across Aragorn’s features. “Swords are no more use here,” he said meaningly.

The mutual understanding between Gandalf and Aragorn was enough to at least partially clear the confusion. In that moment Gandalf had passed to him the responsibility and care of the rest. He knew Aragorn would not fail him.

Racing after the rest of them, he came staggering to a halt at the gap in the stairway. For the briefest of moments he stared into the dark abyss. Almost curiously.

[cue Legolas, the leaping wonder. ]

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"The piano is able to communicate the subtlest universal truths by means of wood, metal and vibrating air."

Without even the briefest of hesitations Legolas leapt across swiftly and lightly as a deer, turning even as his light boots met the stone to reach a hand up for the others. There was a light in his eyes that could almost have been called exhilaration but for his Elven calm when he reached up, offering a hand. Briefly his eyes met Gandalf's - and then there was a great sound of stone rending and cracks spiderwebbed through the vaulted ceiling, sending impossibly large blocks of stone thundering into the depths.

Elizabeth, standing with the hobbits, moved forward and, unlike Legolas, hesitated visibly. All it took was another groaning thunder of rock splitting and she jumped, reaching for his hand and finding it in midair. Her boots hit the rock solidly and Legolas extracted his hand from her iron grip with a patient air before reaching up again to beckon, this time in the wizard's direction. "Gandalf!"

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Another deafening roar shook the place, causing bits of the structure to crumble. Gandalf's eyes drew back to the gap, and Legolas on the other side. He needed no second bidding. Nimbly he leaped across, landing steadily on his feet; only to be greeted by orc arrows whizzing around him. The dense shadows concealed them, a cloak for their arrows to make a safe passage. Merry jumped as one struck near his feet.

"Merry! Pippin!" Boromir yelled. He gave them no time to respond, but grabbed each around the waist, and pulled them strongly against his sides. Just as he sprung, yet another piece of the stairs crumbled, and fell with a loud crash. Merry shuddered, and looked towards the rest on the other side in desperate confusion.

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"The piano is able to communicate the subtlest universal truths by means of wood, metal and vibrating air."

Barbossa quickly gauged the distance and leapt after Boromir, wavering slightly on the edge before steadying himself. His hat -which had miraculously not been lost yet- almost fell, but he easily righted it with one hand and moved out of the way for others to jump across.

Aragorn turned around to the first halfling he saw. "Sam," he said urgently, grabbing the hobbit firmly and hurling him across the gap into Boromir's waiting arms. He started to offer the same to Gimli, but the dwarf's expression made him pause.

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I can do it... But as soon as Gimli took one look over the precipice, he knew very well that he couldn't do it, couldn't jump over this yawning chasm that, even now, seemed to be inviting him to fall... So absorbed was he in self-reassurance that he didn't notice his own lips moving. "The elf can do it! Why can't I?" Dwarves don't jump, Master Gimli. They chop orcs. Oh, and they sprint. The Ranger can toss you - what else are Rangers good for? "I'm not a halfling! Not another word, Master Gimli, and I'll show these lads what I'm made of!"

I can do it... I can...He took a halting step and looked Aragorn straight in the eye. "Nobody tosses a dwarf." With a grunt that came all the way from his toes, he leaped. There was an instant of nothing but wind and heat and feeling the blood pound in his ears... then a sharp pain on his chin as he felt... "Not the beard!"

Gimli stumbled forward, barreling into Legolas who just as quickly danced aside, and plopped onto the stairway like a landed fish. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in... He furtively glanced around. Had anyone heard him talking to himself?

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Arrows clattered to the rocks, a few snagging in various cloaks. Legolas deftly stepped back, bow drawn, and took a moment to aim briefly - there. Orcs behind half-ruined columns far above, deformed faces drawn into snarls. He let fly with the slender bow, questioning for a moment whether it had the range to reach. When the first orc carcass plummeted into the yawning abyss, which was now lit with an unearthly flame-like light, he concluded that it did.

There were more orcs, but speed was of the essence now. Only Aragorn and Frodo remained on the other side of the gap. The elf stepped forward to hold out a hand only to jump back as fragments of the ruined stairs crumbled. His eyes flicked upwards, now holding vestiges of alarm. Heir of Isildur and Ringbearer, both on the other side of the gap.

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Aragorn had just fired another arrow toward their distant foes when he felt the staircase beneath him start to crumble. "Frodo!" he cried, grabbing the halfling and throwing him up higher on the steps as the rock Frodo had been standing on fell down into the abyss. Immediately after, the steps below Aragorn began to fall as well, and the ranger threw himself forward, barely managing to both hold onto his bow and pull himself up onto the steps. Swaying slightly on the edge, he steadied both himself and Frodo, staring across the now insurmountable gap between them and the rest of the Fellowship. To attempt to jump now would be nothing short of suicide, and yet they obviously could not simply stay there.

As though to emphasize that point, a loud roar came from the chamber behind them, and the rocks shook with such force that several large chunks broke free of the wall and ceiling. One such boulder came crashing down on part of the staircase above them, crumbling it and leaving both Aragorn and Frodo stranded on an island. Aragorn pulled the halfling closer to him as the now top-heavy column of stone began to crack nearer the base, causing their isolated flight of stairs to sway back and forth. "Hang on!" he shouted, shifting his weight this way and that in an attempt to maintain their balance. More rock broke free from the front of the support column, and Aragorn saw their chance. "Lean forward!" he ordered. As their collective weight shifted over the weaker part of the support, the entire staircase began to fall forward, into the flight of stairs below. Three...two...one....The two pieces of stone met, and both Aragorn and Frodo flung themselves forward, the former into Legolas's arms, and the latter into Boromir's. As the stairs behind them fell with a deafening crash, the Fellowship sprinted on, down the remaining flights of stairs and into yet another flame-engulfed chamber.

[I'll be gone till Thurs. guys. Try not to get too far ahead of me. I'm going to go ahead and make this Gandalf's last post, sorry it ended up so long.]

"Over the bridge! Fly!"

Gandalf's voice had reached an indisputable peak; not to mention the fact it was being reinforced by most disturbing noises from the Balrog. Rounding a corner, Gandalf ordered them onward, why he himself waited until they had all passed, and then shifted his gaze behind. The flames leapt higher, and from the midst of them rose a dark creature, seeming on fire himself. He breathed a wind of heat and fire, his eyes aglow with the darkest sort of evil.

Even though his hair blew back from it's foul breath, and the heat was overwhelming, Gandalf did not posess a look of fear, but of determination. He exchanged a brief glance with the creature, and then turned to run after the rest of the company. Pounding heavily on the decrepit structure came the being of darkness.

Like a slender thread of hope there was a narrow bridge. The company crossed over it single-file; too absorbed with getting across to safety to look back. But Gandalf had only partly crossed it when he stopped once more to face the creature. An all-consuming knowledge filled him, and a strength that surprised even him.

"You cannot pass!!" he cried fiercely, standing in between the Balrog and the company.

From somewhere distant, like another world, he heard Frodo scream his name. No. Aragorn. Aragorn would lead them.

Dark shadows like wings made of smoke rose up around this creature. It towered over him, suddenly bursting into pulsing flame.

Gandalf held his gaze. "I am the servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor…" he lifted his staff, and from it came pure light, illuminating everything in the dark passage. It held him in it's circle, like a guardian force.

"The dark fire will not avail you, Flame of Udûn!" The demon screeched and raised its arm up, a sword of fire appeared in its hand. It struck down at Gandalf who held his light high and without faltering. The fire met the pure light. The Balrog's sword of flame shattered. Enraged, the demon bellowed, a guttural noise of fearsome and passionate evil.

There was a confident authority in his voice, and with the last word it rose to a defying anger. From the other side, the fellowship and the pirates watched him breathlessly. Merry couldn't seem to tear his horrified gaze away.

The old wizard clenched his jaw, and raised a pair of regnant eyes. "Go back to the Shadow," he ordered. In the maw of the beast appeared another weapon; a whip of flame. It took an unsteady step forward onto the bridge, brandishing the whip menacingly at Gandalf.

It took a moment for him to summon the rest of his power; meaningly, and slowly, he raised sword and staff together in the air, in front of the demon.

"YOU SHALL NOT PASS!!!" The staff and sword struck the slender bridge before him, bearing the weight of his words. A flash of blue light went about from the stricken area, just as the demon lunged forward. There was a crack.

And then the whole section beneath the Balrog crumbled.

It plunged downward into the fire, bellowing in anger, whip still in it's hand. The thing was over. Done. Wearily, Gandalf turned, leaning on his staff heavily, as the demon plummeted towards it's destruction. Uncontained exhaustion showed in his grim features. But suddenly there was the whip again. Merry felt his pulse pound, and the blood rush over him. Gandalf was caught around the ankle.

With a cry, he was drug downward. His staff and sword fell from his grasp, as he clung desperately at the jagged edge of the bridge. The wizard scrabbled about desperately for a grip, the rock slipping beneath his fingers.

Out of the corner of his eye, Boromir saw Frodo surge forward, as if to help the wizard. He caught him, and held him back by compulsion, tightly gripping his chest. The hobbit let out a heart-wrenching cry, and even Boromir struggled to hold him as he tried to go forward.

Gandalf groaned in an effort to pull himself up, and then fell back. His eyes raised to the company; first they met Frodo's, then Aragorn's, and then strangely, Elizabeth's. His struggles had ceased.

"Fly you fools," he uttered in a low commanding voice.

And then he fell, into the abyss of fire, down into the darkness.

Once more compelled to hold back the struggling hobbit, Boromir picked Frodo up completely. Horror and anguish wrenched at his soul; he was tempted the join the hobbits in their grief-stricken sobs. But orc arrows flew about them again - they had to go on - they had to get out.

"Aragorn!" he screamed urgently, and began running through up a flight of stairs, Frodo still held tightly in his strong arms. Brusque tears stung at his eyes, unrelenting emotion hammered in his veins. In his peripheral vision he saw Merry and Pippin; too stunned to move. Another orc arrow narrowly missed him. There was no time to grieve.

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"The piano is able to communicate the subtlest universal truths by means of wood, metal and vibrating air."

[I'll be gone till Thurs. guys. Try not to get too far ahead of me. I'm going to go ahead and make this Gandalf's last post, sorry it ended up so long.]

"Over the bridge! Fly!"

Gandalf's voice had reached an indisputable peak; not to mention the fact it was being reinforced by most disturbing noises from the Balrog. Rounding a corner, Gandalf ordered them onward, why he himself waited until they had all passed, and then shifted his gaze behind. The flames leapt higher, and from the midst of them rose a dark creature, seeming on fire himself. He breathed a wind of heat and fire, his eyes aglow with the darkest sort of evil.

Even though his hair blew back from it's foul breath, and the heat was overwhelming, Gandalf did not posess a look of fear, but of determination. He exchanged a brief glance with the creature, and then turned to run after the rest of the company. Pounding heavily on the decrepit structure came the being of darkness.

Like a slender thread of hope there was a narrow bridge. The company crossed over it single-file; too absorbed with getting across to safety to look back. But Gandalf had only partly crossed it when he stopped once more to face the creature. An all-consuming knowledge filled him, and a strength that surprised even him.

"You cannot pass!!" he cried fiercely, standing in between the Balrog and the company.

From somewhere distant, like another world, he heard Frodo scream his name. No. Aragorn. Aragorn would lead them.

Dark shadows like wings made of smoke rose up around this creature. It towered over him, suddenly bursting into pulsing flame.

Gandalf held his gaze. "I am the servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor…" he lifted his staff, and from it came pure light, illuminating everything in the dark passage. It held him in it's circle, like a guardian force.

"The dark fire will not avail you, Flame of Udûn!" The demon screeched and raised its arm up, a sword of fire appeared in its hand. It struck down at Gandalf who held his light high and without faltering. The fire met the pure light. The Balrog's sword of flame shattered. Enraged, the demon bellowed, a guttural noise of fearsome and passionate evil.

There was a confident authority in his voice, and with the last word it rose to a defying anger. From the other side, the fellowship and the pirates watched him breathlessly. Merry couldn't seem to tear his horrified gaze away.

The old wizard clenched his jaw, and raised a pair of regnant eyes. "Go back to the Shadow," he ordered. In the maw of the beast appeared another weapon; a whip of flame. It took an unsteady step forward onto the bridge, brandishing the whip menacingly at Gandalf.

It took a moment for him to summon the rest of his power; meaningly, and slowly, he raised sword and staff together in the air, in front of the demon.

"YOU SHALL NOT PASS!!!" The staff and sword struck the slender bridge before him, bearing the weight of his words. A flash of blue light went about from the stricken area, just as the demon lunged forward. There was a crack.

And then the whole section beneath the Balrog crumbled.

It plunged downward into the fire, bellowing in anger, whip still in it's hand. The thing was over. Done. Wearily, Gandalf turned, leaning on his staff heavily, as the demon plummeted towards it's destruction. Uncontained exhaustion showed in his grim features. But suddenly there was the whip again. Merry felt his pulse pound, and the blood rush over him. Gandalf was caught around the ankle.

With a cry, he was drug downward. His staff and sword fell from his grasp, as he clung desperately at the jagged edge of the bridge. The wizard scrabbled about desperately for a grip, the rock slipping beneath his fingers.

Out of the corner of his eye, Boromir saw Frodo surge forward, as if to help the wizard. He caught him, and held him back by compulsion, tightly gripping his chest. The hobbit let out a heart-wrenching cry, and even Boromir struggled to hold him as he tried to go forward.

Gandalf groaned in an effort to pull himself up, and then fell back. His eyes raised to the company; first they met Frodo's, then Aragorn's, and then strangely, Elizabeth's. His struggles had ceased.

"Fly you fools," he uttered in a low commanding voice.

And then he fell, into the abyss of fire, down into the darkness.

Once more compelled to hold back the struggling hobbit, Boromir picked Frodo up completely. Horror and anguish wrenched at his soul; he was tempted the join the hobbits in their grief-stricken sobs. But orc arrows flew about them again - they had to go on - they had to get out.

"Aragorn!" he screamed urgently, and began running through up a flight of stairs, Frodo still held tightly in his strong arms. Brusque tears stung at his eyes, unrelenting emotion hammered in his veins. In his peripheral vision he saw Merry and Pippin; too stunned to move. Another orc arrow narrowly missed him. There was no time to grieve.

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"The piano is able to communicate the subtlest universal truths by means of wood, metal and vibrating air."

[I'll be gone till Thurs. guys. Try not to get too far ahead of me. I'm going to go ahead and make this Gandalf's last post, sorry it ended up so long.]

"Over the bridge! Fly!"

Gandalf's voice had reached an indisputable peak; not to mention the fact it was being reinforced by most disturbing noises from the Balrog. Rounding a corner, Gandalf ordered them onward, why he himself waited until they had all passed, and then shifted his gaze behind. The flames leapt higher, and from the midst of them rose a dark creature, seeming on fire himself. He breathed a wind of heat and fire, his eyes aglow with the darkest sort of evil.

Even though his hair blew back from it's foul breath, and the heat was overwhelming, Gandalf did not posess a look of fear, but of determination. He exchanged a brief glance with the creature, and then turned to run after the rest of the company. Pounding heavily on the decrepit structure came the being of darkness.

Like a slender thread of hope there was a narrow bridge. The company crossed over it single-file; too absorbed with getting across to safety to look back. But Gandalf had only partly crossed it when he stopped once more to face the creature. An all-consuming knowledge filled him, and a strength that surprised even him.

"You cannot pass!!" he cried fiercely, standing in between the Balrog and the company.

From somewhere distant, like another world, he heard Frodo scream his name. No. Aragorn. Aragorn would lead them.

Dark shadows like wings made of smoke rose up around this creature. It towered over him, suddenly bursting into pulsing flame.

Gandalf held his gaze. "I am the servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor…" he lifted his staff, and from it came pure light, illuminating everything in the dark passage. It held him in it's circle, like a guardian force.

"The dark fire will not avail you, Flame of Udûn!" The demon screeched and raised its arm up, a sword of fire appeared in its hand. It struck down at Gandalf who held his light high and without faltering. The fire met the pure light. The Balrog's sword of flame shattered. Enraged, the demon bellowed, a guttural noise of fearsome and passionate evil.

There was a confident authority in his voice, and with the last word it rose to a defying anger. From the other side, the fellowship and the pirates watched him breathlessly. Merry couldn't seem to tear his horrified gaze away.

The old wizard clenched his jaw, and raised a pair of regnant eyes. "Go back to the Shadow," he ordered. In the maw of the beast appeared another weapon; a whip of flame. It took an unsteady step forward onto the bridge, brandishing the whip menacingly at Gandalf.

It took a moment for him to summon the rest of his power; meaningly, and slowly, he raised sword and staff together in the air, in front of the demon.

"YOU SHALL NOT PASS!!!" The staff and sword struck the slender bridge before him, bearing the weight of his words. A flash of blue light went about from the stricken area, just as the demon lunged forward. There was a crack.

And then the whole section beneath the Balrog crumbled.

It plunged downward into the fire, bellowing in anger, whip still in it's hand. The thing was over. Done. Wearily, Gandalf turned, leaning on his staff heavily, as the demon plummeted towards it's destruction. Uncontained exhaustion showed in his grim features. But suddenly there was the whip again. Merry felt his pulse pound, and the blood rush over him. Gandalf was caught around the ankle.

With a cry, he was drug downward. His staff and sword fell from his grasp, as he clung desperately at the jagged edge of the bridge. The wizard scrabbled about desperately for a grip, the rock slipping beneath his fingers.

Out of the corner of his eye, Boromir saw Frodo surge forward, as if to help the wizard. He caught him, and held him back by compulsion, tightly gripping his chest. The hobbit let out a heart-wrenching cry, and even Boromir struggled to hold him as he tried to go forward.

Gandalf groaned in an effort to pull himself up, and then fell back. His eyes raised to the company; first they met Frodo's, then Aragorn's, and then strangely, Elizabeth's. His struggles had ceased.

"Fly you fools," he uttered in a low commanding voice.

And then he fell, into the abyss of fire, down into the darkness.

Once more compelled to hold back the struggling hobbit, Boromir picked Frodo up completely. Horror and anguish wrenched at his soul; he was tempted the join the hobbits in their grief-stricken sobs. But orc arrows flew about them again - they had to go on - they had to get out.

"Aragorn!" he screamed urgently, and began running through up a flight of stairs, Frodo still held tightly in his strong arms. Brusque tears stung at his eyes, unrelenting emotion hammered in his veins. In his peripheral vision he saw Merry and Pippin; too stunned to move. Another orc arrow narrowly missed him. There was no time to grieve.

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"The piano is able to communicate the subtlest universal truths by means of wood, metal and vibrating air."

Barbossa watched the events unfold with a sort of detached perplexity. Concretely, logically, he understood what had just happened. Gandalf had just given his life so that they could escape.

But, even still, he'd never had anyone sacrifice themself for him, nor had he ever had the slightest desire to do so himself. Why would he? It was foolish to throw oneself in harm's way for the sole purpose of prolonging the inevitable, especially when one was a leader. He'd faced many battle situations in which he had chosen to sacrifice a crewman to ensure his own survival. It was his job as captain to survive to lead his crew another day, and the same should have applied to Gandalf. Aragorn seemed capable enough, but it had been obvious from the start that the wizard was the leader of this quest. He should have survived. He should have...

Barbossa shook his head slightly, realizing that he was still standing on the stone ledge and presenting a pretty target for the goblin archers on the other side of the cavern. The wizard was gone now, not that he cared overmuch. If Gandalf had been true to his word, they were now not even a day's journey from Lorien, where they supposedly might have some light shed on their unique situation. Assuming this was true, then they would soon be returning to their own world, and Barbossa would be able to resume lifting the curse. His part with this 'Fellowship' was nearly over, and what they did after that could not have been less his concern.

"Aragorn," he called back behind him, noticing that the ranger still was not following. "Yer no good to us if ye go an' get yerself killed as well."

Aragorn couldn't -wouldn't- move from where he stood, his eyes still fixed on the spot where Gandalf had just been, half-expecting the wizard to reemerge from the abyss. He was only dimly aware of Boromir's cries and didn't seem to even notice Barbossa's words.

Lead them on, Aragorn.

The wizard's words echoed through his mind, the full weight of them only now becoming clear. Gandalf had known this was going to happen. Somehow, he always knew, and yet he let it occur anyway.

Aragorn became vaguely aware of the arrows striking the stone around him, felt his legs carrying him away. Finally wrenching his gaze away, he fled up the stairs behind Barbossa and Boromir.