Of Dwarves and Men {Boromir/LOTR}

Chapter 7: Get ready for the waterworks

Chapter 7:

Get ready for the waterworks

From the door of intended death, both now and years hence, the Fellowship of the Ring flees into the depths of the Dwarrowdelf Chamber. It is a chance at an escape, an exasperated one at that, with the drums pounding closer in each increment of time. Orcs can run, that much is sure, and we are paying the price for our short legs. And though it is our intention to escape imminent death, fleeing from the chamber of Fundin's tomb may be our death sentence...or his.

"This way!" Gandalf commands, though we are all eagerly awaiting his every direction in a sense of desperation. Our conjoined masses of multiple races sprint toward a distant door, only our best hearing the scuttling of goblins upon interior pillars. It isn't until they move closer that the others see the horrid creatures of Sauron's creation, begging for a battle and much like a dwarf. But that all ceases to exist with a single, mighty roar.

It echos through the caverns of various creation, most notably, the one in which we stand. From deeper in the hallways, an eery light trickles around the corners of the room, reminiscent of fire. This creature, one I never desired to see, has such control over the shadows that the goblins cringe back in fear, finally sprinting away. And just like that, the goblins are gone, leaving us with a new, and worse enemy. We are now stuck between a rock, the goblin armies, and a hard place, the Balrog.

"What is this new devilry?" Boromir exclaims angrily, as if expecting the monster to answer his question. And though I make to respond wittly to said comment, the intended shadow falls over me, quivering the ground upon which we stand. This is no ordinary earthquake, but one of evil intentions...at each footfall of the mighty beast.

"I so called it!" Frerin brags, looking to the others in excitement and in search of their accolades. This is a common occurrence for my brother: acts immature when the greatest foes are upon us. And though I warned the others of this creature as well, I take no heed in my bragging, addressing my brother in criticism.

"Now is not the time for bragging, Frerin!" I respond with increased volume so as to be heard over the growling and stomping of the underworld's spawn. Taking note of the others, Boromir stands to my side, Frerin on the other. The hobbits quiver around Gandalf, though Cashel stands near them. Ruelin, Legolas, and Gimli are near the wizard as well, and Aragorn stands dissociated with the change of scene.

"A Balrog..a demon of the ancient world! This foe is beyond any of you!" Gandalf exclaims, though he is incorrect in his statement. Sure, the battle with said creature would be long and tiresome, seeing as both Balrogs and Phoenicians are firebenders. But as I am immortal and the monster is not, I'd win in the end, if only given the chance. But at that, Gandalf yells: "Run! Quickly!"

We run...and run...and run...and run. This isn't just some elementary obstacle course set up by Dwalin in warrior training. No, we run under falling pillars, duck to avoid flinging rock, and jump to escape falls into an abyss. Out of the Dwarrowdelf Chamber and into the adjacent hallways, we sprint in hurried breathing. At the lead, I run ahead of the others, not too far, but in protection of Frodo's personage. And it ultimately puts my life in risk, stopping a bit too late as I come upon a teetering step, overlooking the pit. As I make to tumble into the depths, a hand of well-known origin, grabs my forearms and pulls me into safety...and his chest. I cling to Boromir's arms, looking into his eyes with fear before he simply pats my head and turns away. I may have been able to escape the fall, given my ability to fly, but I have never encountered death in such a way. It's horrifying.