Nepenthe [Legolas]

7

They moved forward quickly, abandoning their post where Balin's tomb lay miraculously untouched, and ran forward, through the gap without doors and back into the space without walls or ceilings.

Past numerous pillars, they went. So fast and for so long that Viridis could not keep track of the rows so much if he even wished to.

On and on they ran, casting nervous glances across their shoulders as the sound of more Orcs gained on them.

They must have killed a hundred Orcs in their time in the tomb, but there were surely thousands getting closer now. Viridis could see them, behind him, in front of him, beside him. They came in quickly, too many, too fast to try to escape from. Gandalf skid to a halt, light coming to rest on the greedy faces of those that now opposed them.

Another moment, and they were trapped, enclosed from all sides with no means of escape.

The Orcs scowled at them, growling as they wielded their weapons, all pointed toward them.

Viridis barred his blades but he knew that, should they decide to move in, that he would be no match for the sheer numbers of the army around them now.

They were at a stalemate. One word, one motion, and they would be attacked.

And yet they did not.

Air did not come freely to Viridis as he looked, eyes dancing across the rows upon rows of Orcs, his ears sharp as he listened to something else join them then.

But this was no Cave Troll or Orc or Goblin.

This was something much darker, much stronger, something the parents would read aloud to their children in warnings. Never venture into the depths of these mines, they would say, never find yourself between the monsters and this entity.

The Orcs at once backed away, growing nervous as they too, picked up on the new dark presence.

Shouts of anger turned into cries of fear as they fled, in all directions but one. Viridis looked, heart hammering in his chest toward the source.

"What is this new devilry?" Boromir asked, panting as he tried to catch his breath and use it to speak of questions he did not want to hear the answer to.

All that was known of their new enemy was an ominous light. Brilliant and bright against the never-ending darkness that the endless rows of pillars initially provided.

Viridis would have turned to his bow for guidance, but something within him told him that neither bow nor blade was to benefit him in any way. Not this time.

Gandalf closed his eyes, clenching them shut as he muttered under his breath. He took a moment to respond, but when he did, its impact was instantaneous. "A Balrog." He said. "A demon of the ancient world. This foe is beyond any of you." He said, turning to look them all in the eye. "Run!"

Feet thundered against the ground as the fellowship fought to push forward, to reach the end of the endless room and disrepair down a slip of wall.

Stairs revealed themselves. Narrow in statue and tall in height. One wrong move, one slip of the foot, and Viridis would have been subjected to an endless fall into an abyss made only of a glowing fire.

The stairs were stone. The old kind that fractured under excessive pressure. They wound in jagged strips, toying with them, it seemed, as they tried to outrun almost certain death.

A gap then, a cruel one— broken and jagged— created a discontinuity in the middle of the next set of stairs.

Viridis jumped between it without hesitation, landing safely on the other side. His long legs made it easy for him to do so. For a Hobbit, the task would prove to be more challenging.