Chapter 22 - Fire and shadow

"Pippin! Pippin!" Merry screamed out his cousin's name as the small bundle rolled almost to the edge of the chasm. His heart seized in his chest - this nightmare had now crossed the bounds of bearable fear.

The Balrog had reached the bridge. The beast's wings were stretched out to their fullest extent, and blasts of choking air rushed at them as the great spans of darkness swept back and forth. Pippin was almost clouded by the darkness, although Merry could just make out the Hobbit's pale frightened face on the brink of the chasm.

All fear for himself had dissipated, and now there was only a burning ache in Merry's chest that told him over and over that he had failed to protect Pippin. Finally he was spurred into motion - he would try to save Pippin, and if he could not . . . He sprang forwards, determined, but he had only gone a few steps when a slender arm grasped him around the waist and drew him back. The arm was so strong he had no hope of escaping from it. He struggled in vain, sobbing with frustration and guilt.

"Be still Merry! There is nothing you can do!" The Elven voice was strangely comforting, yet Merry did not want to be comforted.

"Let me go, Legolas. Please let me go!" Merry's cries were no use, and the Elf was not going to let him run to his death, but neither were Aragorn and Faramir willing to watch Pippin go to his. The two men were arguing half way down the slope. Aragorn moved towards the pit and Faramir blocked his path. Merry may not have known much, but he was not blind to Strider's history. There was a higher purpose to his existence than protecting the life of single Hobbit, and from the torn look on the Ranger's face, he knew it too.

Pippin seemed to be having similar thoughts, and Merry saw his cousin rise shakily to his feet and begin to stagger towards them. He felt a sudden rush of hope fill him at his cousin's bravery, but it fled just as quickly when Pippin again collapsed.

That seemed to be the decisive moment. In an uncharacteristic show of violence, Faramir shoved Aragorn back. Merry held his breath as the two men regarded each other for a moment.

"Lead them on, Aragorn! Lead them on!" The man turned his back and skidded down the slope towards Pippin. Aragorn's anguish when he turned back to face them that spurred Merry's fear - did this mean that there was no hope?

Aragorn was just in time to prevent Frodo from doing exactly what Merry himself had tried to do. Realising he could loose two friends, Frodo had run back down to try to help. Aragorn grabbed the Hobbit before the Ring bearer could put more than only himself in danger with his concern. Then they could only wait.

Merry had ceased struggling in the Elf's hold, and noticed Frodo had done the same. Merry could see the reason his elder cousin, as the ring bearer, should not be put in danger, but himself? What did it matter if he got himself killed protecting his cousin? But then his eyes met with Aragorn's, and he saw the guilt that would result from loosing Pippin. And resolved that he would only lay that guilt upon another if there was no other way.

Faramir had almost reached Pippin, and from the fiery form of the Balrog above came a rumbling sound, like deep knowing laughter. The man grabbed Pippin by the shoulders and together they began to make their way up the slope away from the bridge and the Balrog.

The beast of fire and shadow was not idly named Durin's Bane. It was not going to let its enemies escape so easily. Another step onto the bridge, and it raised its whip above its horned head. Merry held his breath and felt tears slide out of his eyes.

The thongs of fire cracked into the stone of the ramp with such a noise that Merry flinched and shut his eyes. A great wall of fire leaped up where the whip had struck and for a moment Pippin and Faramir were hidden from view. There were cries of dismay from around him, and Merry felt Legolas' hold on his arms loosen slightly as the Elf cursed under his breath.

The blazing wall of fire had separated the fellowship and drawn a line trapping two of them within the fiery tomb of the Balrog. There was no hope.

Merry let out a sob he had been holding inside, and with a surprising burst of strength, tore himself from the Elf's grasp. He heard his friends calling for him but he did not stop. He tore down the slope at a great pace, unafraid of the orange wall that barred his way.

He reached it in another moment, and cried afresh because he had not the strength of will to test fate by plunging through it. He could see his friends within, illuminated now by the bright flames. Gandalf's sword lay beside them, as Faramir had carried it down from the upper halls. Small tongues of flame littered the ground, and the corner of Pippin's cloak was ablaze. They might have been dead, but Merry could not let himself believe it. He called out to them by name, as if his voice could call them from the shadow. The Balrog seemed to have the same thought, it approached with a rush of choking air that sent Merry sprawling backwards. The wall of flame seemed to die a little with the dark air that pushed from the creature, and Merry could see over it. He thought, though he was certain to have been imagining it, that there was a sign of life. The smallest movement of Faramir's hand, a flicker of Pippin's tear stained eyes. He must have been imagining it. He turned away, hiding the bodies from his blurry eyes.

A roar and a rush of sparks and bits of debris hit him full in the back. He was knocked to his knees, and when he could bear to turn back, expecting to see the destruction of his friends' bodies, he saw two ghosts rising from the dead.

Faramir was on his knees, with Pippin, alive, rising beside him! Merry's eyes fixed on  the the object in Faramir's hand - that which he had carried all along since they lost Gandalf. Then the piece of Gandalf's staff was flying, and the Balrog was shrieking backwards away from the instrument of power. It was going to miss! Merry just knew it! The throw had been true, but the Balrog had realised too early. It was going to miss. And it did.

The staff fell short and struck the Bridge of Kazad-dum with a blinding flash of white light. The Balrog shrieked again, and Merry heard a pounding of feet behind him. Legolas and Gimli had followed him, but they would come too late.

A grinding, cracking sound echoed through the cave, and the Balrog, seemingly angry beyond reasonable thought, forged onward. The stone cracked, split, and fell away, drawing the fire and shadow with it.

The Balrog fell out of Merry's sight, but liquid fire flashed upwards. The whip curled through the air towards them and Merry cried aloud as it smashed downwards, latching onto the legs and waists if his friends on the ground.

Merry ran forwards through the diminished wall of flame, not caring that the hot coals burnt his skin. Pippin called out to him in terror as he was dragged closer to the edge, the burning rope curled about his ankles.

Merry did not know what possessed him to do it, but he seized Glamdring from where it had fallen, and raised the mightily sword as far as his strength would let him. The white blade sliced through the orange thongs of the Balrog's whip, freeing his friends and throwing Merry off balance. He toppled backwards, striking his back and head against a piece of rough stone behind. Pippin was calling his name but Merry couldn't see. Everything was dim and in another moment, feeling himself lifted from the ground by strong arms, he fell into darkness.