Edited on 9/8 with suggestions by reddit user u/cupcakes_please

The walk through the tunnels of Moria was oppressing and long. The stale air, eerie silence and utter feeling of dread pervading from the walls, floor and ceiling rendered every member quiet and alone in their thoughts. For miles the dead stillness swathed the fellowship like a blanket of steel until the path split into three directions. Gandalf is at the front. He encounters the intersection and pauses, his eyes flashing back and forth at the three darkened routes.

The rest of the fellowship slows their pace, before stopping behind the wizard. Elsa studied the three options- the left ascended and appeared to twist to the right; the middle contained a gradual decline; and the right was flat but dark. None appeal to the queen.

"I have no memory of this place." Mutters Gandalf.

And an hour later he still didn't have any clue on where to go.

"So are you sure we're not lost?" Pippin whispered to Merry, the two whom had acquired a small corner to themselves.

"Yes, Pippin, Gandalf's still thinking. Just be patient."

"Merry."

"What?"

"I'm hungry."

Merry rolls his eyes. Away from the fork, Legolas watches the path they once came, despite the nonexistent odds of attack; Sam has improbably discovered a spot of comfort to nap; Aragorn and Boromir stare into the nothingness as they smoke from their pipes, lost in thoughts unknown. Frodo and Elsa have joined Gandalf on his thinking rock.

Frodo gives their surroundings another glance when a shimmer catches his eye. Focusing on this, he pales as he discovers two large, grey-blue orbs with narrowing black irises staring straight back at him. He leans over to whisper to Gandalf,

"There's something over there."

As Gandalf looks up from his pipe, the two eyes vanish as quickly as they came, but not before the wizard notices.

"It's Gollum."

"Gollum!" "Gollum?" Frodo and Elsa react simultaneously, although Frodo responds in a rather scared pitch while Elsa's question sounds rather perplexed.

"He's been following us for three days."

Frodo's eyes widen and he turns his head back towards the space where he spotted the dilapidated creature, but only sees inky darkness that somehow is not illuminated by Gandalf and Elsa's combined light arrays.

"He escaped the dungeons of Barad-dur?"

"Escaped…or was set loose. And now the ring draws him here…he-"

"What? What do you mean 'the ring draws him here'? I made sure nobody could detect that blasted thing!"

With all eyes switching back and forth between the two sorcerers, Gandalf puffs on his pipe while giving a calm look to the frustrated ice mage beside him.

"I do not doubt your magic Elsa. However, I believe that Gollum, after centuries of contact with the ring, has formed an intrinsic connection that appears to supersede your barriers."

Elsa narrows her eyes at the wizard, peeved at his ever-present smile as he presents his theory. Her gaze flits over to Frodo, and the pouch that holds the ice cube. She glances at the spot Frodo and Gandalf had appeared to see this "Gollum", but finds nothing. She returns to looking back at Frodo, and holds out her arm.

"May I see the cube, please? I want to check if there's anything more I can do with it."

Frodo hesitates at her request, still nervous at the prospect of losing control over the ring after the incident at Caradhras, but a confident nod from Gandalf convinces the hobbit to relinquish control.

Elsa grasps her ice construct with a gentle grip, a frown marring her face, and begins to run her hands over the smooth surface in a methodic manner. Top, bottom, left, right; the manacles of silky skin pass over the small prison, the touch delicate to detect the slightest of faults. Elsa's frown relaxes into a content smirk as she determines that there appears to be little concern with her icy obstruction. Just as she is about to hand the ring back to Frodo, a nail catches on a snag on the middle of one of the sides. Flicking her eyes back to the ice, she holds her nail in place as she brings the cube as close to her face as possible. It is then she spots the first, and only, crack in her icy prison. Small and jagged, if it had two small indents above it would appear to be a face which taunts any who look at it.

Her frown returns, as Elsa is confused as to how this blemish escaped her notice.

Perhaps this ring is capable of more deceit than I give it credit for.

As quick as the frown has arrived, it is replaced by a mischievous grin. Glowing blue energy emanating from hands, Elsa levitates the cube into the air. With a short blast of ice, she coats it with an additional layer of hard, cold lattices.

However, the crack is still there.

Her grin gone, now biting her lip as she ponders over the apparent paradox before her. She knew the ice coated over the ring, yet she could not figure how this crack remained. Elsa creates a few more coats of ice, but to no avail. Her magic is unable to fill in the crack.

"Something wrong, Elsa?" Gandalf's voice brings her out of the zoned in stupor, which she just now noticed. Blinking a few times as she her eyes adjust to focusing on distant objects, she finds that the entire fellowship is watching her. She glances back to her cube, to Frodo, and to the cube again, before shaking her head.

It's just a small crack, no need to worry…yet.

"Nothing, for the moment. Frodo, the ring is still silent, yes?" She figured two people who could hear the voice but found it silent was better than one.

Frodo nods, and reaches his hand forward to grasp the cube. He performs his own examination, out of curiosity, but cannot discern what caused Elsa to pause. Verifying that the ring is still silent, he stashes it away in his pouch.

"So, who, or what, is this Gollum?"

"Smeagol, yes the creature known as Gollum was once a kind man known as Smeagol, similar to a hobbit in appearance, before encountering the ring, before it drove him mad. For centuries the ring warped his mind and body, giving him everlasting life but reducing to a being of the shadows. He hates the ring now, as much as he loves it."

"Like an addiction…" Elsa murmurs.

"Indeed. And it is this affliction for the ring that drives him to follow us."

"It's a pity Bilbo didn't kill him when he had the chance." Elsa's eyes widened.

"Pity? It was pity that stayed Bilbo's hand. Many who live deserve death, and many who die deserve life. Can you give that to them, Frodo?"

Frodo frowns and turns his head towards the ground. He grinds his teeth while lost in thought, before an idea pops into his head. "I may not be able to give life, but Elsa can."

Frodo and Gandalf look towards Elsa, who is confused for the moment at Frodo's statement.

"Oh, that. Well, sure, I can create life, in a manner of speaking. But I cannot give it to those who have lost it." Her small smile drops a little, "Which is why I find it difficult to pass such…judgment, over anybody; I do not wish to take what I cannot give back."

Frodo's smile falls.

"Even when your own life is theirs to take?" The gruff question shoots through the conversation. Elsa turns to find Boromir staring back at her, arms folded across his chest. She places a hand on her hip before responding,

"If there's a will, there's a-"

"Oh don't be naïve!I don't know how you've been this lucky, but one day you will encounter an enemy, and I guarantee this, that no amount of ice in all of Middle Earth could stop. Then what will you do?"

Elsa wears a blank look on her face. Eyes shift back and forth as her silence lengthens. She narrows her eyes and rises to full height to respond.

"We shall see. But until I encounter such an opponent, I will fight as I always have."

Gandalf interrupts to put their fight on hold.

"Ah, that's it, that way." He rises while putting his hat back on and moves to the center path.

"He's remembered!" Cries Merry with an excited look on his face, which infests Pippin soon after.

"No, but the air doesn't smell so foul down there. When in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose."

That sounds like something those trolls or Olaf, would say… Muses Elsa as she follows the wizard, giving one last glare to the soldier behind her.

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The fellowship had traversed down the pathway Gandalf choose for about a day, passing through forks and occasional large rooms and hallways before it opened up into a space so large that even the ice enhanced light could brighten it up in its entirety. From what Elsa could see, pillars upon pillars rising from the ground pocketed the landscape far into the darkness. A tap on her shoulder turns her to facing Gandlaf.

"If I could have your assistance, I wish to risk more light."

Elsa gives a curt nod. Her right hand glowing, she enlarges her ice orb to reflect the brighter light of Gandalf's staff. In an instant, the black shadows creeping at the edges of sight vanish as a subdued blue light penetrates the now vast hall that appears to still stretch on forever, even with more light.

"Behold! The great realm and Dwarf city of Dwarrowdelf!"

Elsa is enraptured of the sight before her. This underground city held more than enough space for both of her castles, . Each pillar supporting the ceiling is carved with unique intricate designs depicting ancient stories of a proud people in their beloved language, a practical library of granite. The walls, floor, and ceiling were smooth. A quick feel of this glossy surface convinces her that it might be better than even her ice! She overhears Sam saying something about this being an eye opener, and she found it impossible to disagree. Elsa could just imagine the warmth and merriment emanating from lit torches and hearths of great fire that could light the place as boisterous voices fill the area.s

However, that is all she can manage. Imagination. Despite the grandeur she finds herself in, the place is just as dead as the rest of Moria. Despair and oppression find their home here, squashing the initial looks of wonder with sadness. Elsa felt tempted to give a silent prayer for the fallen, but a now bustling Gimli, who is rushing off to two, large, wooden doors in the distance, interrupts her train of thought. A couple members call out his name, but to no avail.

As the fellowship approaches the doors, they find them to be smashed beyond decent repair, a couple of goblin skeletons cast askew across the frames, and numerous black arrows embedded into the wood. Gimli kept pushing on.

Elsa enters a gray room that also contains the feeling of death, but in a different manner, compared to Moria. Here, the pervasiveness of the ultimate finality felt…dignified. It was still a sad feeling, but one that an individual could eventually come to terms with. It reminded Elsa of the two stone markers for her parents. The slouched form of Gimli, who stands in front of a large stone coffin, breaks this sentiment of content. A beam of light shines on the smooth rock, his knees buckling as he silently reads the inscription before him. Gandalf walks up next to Gimli, and reads the writing aloud.

"'Here lies Balin, son of Fudin, lord of Moria.' He is dead, then. It's as I feared." The somber declaration matches the frown on the wizard's face, which in turns spreads similar looks on the rest of the fellowship. . Even Legolas, who had yet to speak anything remotely pleasant, or neutral for that matter, on dwarves, had a concerned look on his face.

However, the most telling grief was that of Gimli. Despite having stood silent in front on the coffin for minutes, not a sound had been uttered from his mouth. His eyes weren't red, his nose dry as stone, and his throat still, excluding the occasions to breathe, yet his eyes spoke of despair deeper than any mine dug by dwarves.

After moments of silence, Gimli saunters off to a corner of the room, still silent save for his heavy footsteps. Elsa, recalling the stubborn Dwarf that pushed her out of her own 'grief', follows. As he seats himself on a stone, Elsa notices a single tear fall from his face.

Hmmm, perhaps dwarves are different, and they've mastered the art of the single tear. I wonder…would it be appropriate to ask him to teach me? That could work wonders as a Queen.

Elsa gives Gimli his silence and space. Gandalf picks up an old and withered tome, having handed to Pippin his staff and hat beforehand, and blows the thick dust off the cover. It has multiple stab markings and a few indents. There is even dried blood in the form of a handprint. The pages creak with stiffness as he opens it. Legolas, currently situated at the entrance with Aragorn, is flashing his eyes and head between the tomb and the grand hall behind them.

"We must move on, we cannot linger." He whispers to Aragorn, who nods in agreement. Before they can voice their concerns, Gandalf begins reading from the journal,

"They have taken the bridge and the second hall: we have barred the gates…we cannot hold them for long…the ground shakes…drums in the deep…we cannot get out. A shadow moves in the dark. Will no one save us? They are coming." Gandalf looks up , calculating the amount of dwarven skeletons scattered across the room. Too many.

To Gimli, Gandalf's reading was mere nonsensical and unimportant ramblings. He found no use in the journals of a dead man's final throes. In fact, nothing truly mattered at the moment. Just him and his grief. Even Elsa's presence could not alleviate the pain.

"Pardon me, Gimli." She pauses, "I understand if now is not the best time, but I recall a certain Dwarf, a stubborn Dwarf, demanding a conversation when I was troubled not so long ago." Gimli gruffs, but remains silent. "I know this is different and, in a way, more personal, but when you're ready to talk, I'm here." Gimli lifts his head. While there was no change in expression, Elsa did detect a small twinkle in the Dwarf's eye.

"Aye." He lowers his head back to the floor.

A clattering breaks out through the tomb.

A sharp metal against stone clang rings out from the corner opposite Elsa. As if practiced, all heads whip towards the sound to see a frightened and sheepish Pippin standing next to a well with a skeleton swathed in cobwebs propped up on the ledge. A skeleton with no…head.

It falls down the well and makes an even louder racket. As though that was not enough, a chain and bucket soon follow.

The clatter that follows is nerve racking. Constant bangs, clangs, and kerangs ring out from the depths bellows, somehow getting louder the deeper it falls. The worst about it were the pauses between each sound. A small glimmer of hope shimmers in each of the fellowships' minds that all was over, before another crash occurs. There's another pause longer than the rest and Elsa is about to breathe a sigh of relief before the loudest clang of them all booms from the lowest depth. By now Pippin is squeezing his eyes shut.

But there is silence, and it continues. Moments later, still quietness. After more moments of silence, Boromir breathes out a large sigh of relief that appears to count for all of the held breaths in the room. Pippin manages to open his eyes, relieved that the worst appears to be over. That is before he locks gazes with Gandalf, and retracts that thought.

"Fool of a Took!" Gandalf slams the book close, a small bit of dust bursting away from the pages. He storms over to the hobbit, "Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity!" He grabs his items and marches away, mumbling angry words incoherently.

Elsa wanted to pity the poor hobbit. It would be a miracle if that racket went unnoticed by the occupants of Moria.

Course, they too could be long gone…

However, before she can further consider the status of anything living here...

Thum.

From the depths that the armored skeleton fell, comes a low beat.

Thum.

Another beat, louder.

Thum thum.

More beats, louder still.

THUM THUM THUM!

It is now a solid progression of drum strikes; each getting louder and closer per beat. In the unseen distance, a horn blasts its tune for battle. Numerous horns respond.

The drums continue.

High pitch shrills and shrieks start to fill the tomb. Whoops of excited beasts piercing the walls and sending shivers down Elsa's spine. Scurrying feet rasp against the smooth floor, some accompanied by the grating sound of a dragged weapon.

"Mr. Frodo!" Sam's cry causes the hobbits and a couple others to look towards the ring bearer. He pulls out his small sword, now glowing an ethyl blue.

"Orcs!" Legolas shouts as he draws his bow and arrow. Aragorn and Boromir rush off to the door. Gandalf and the hobbits also bring forth their weapons, the halflings ecstatic in anticipation of their first battle.

But then, a soft crackling sound crinkles in the air. It is Elsa. Her outfit is reshaping itself, the soft but comfortable travel attire morphing into armor. The chest plate is broad and sticks out five inches in front of her. Her arms and legs are coated with angular plating. Ice crawls up her neck, solidifying around her jaw and encasing her head into a three-inch thick helmet. A small chuck covers her mouth and nose leaving only her eyes vulnerable. Nary a speck of her skin below her head is uncovered, ice gauntlets protecting her hands, her feet surrounded by boots similar to what soldiers don during the summer festival tournament. With a flurry of her right hand, she attaches a large shield to her immovable left arm, covering the sling in its entirety.

As she finishes, Aragorn and Boromir slam the door shut and place wedges against the shoddy frame.

"They have a cave troll." A bemused Boromir announce. A roar confirms his statement. The two men back towards the rest of the group, swords held to the front. Aragorn barks an order to the hobbits,

"Get back! Stay close to Gandalf." The hobbits, in contrast to their current feisty attitude, give reluctant nods and huddle behind the wizard. Elsa is glancing around at her companions.

Surely they don't mean to fight without preparation? Another quick look confirms her suspicions. Oy vey…well, not if I have anything to say about it.

She walks to the front of the group, positioning herself in front of the door, ignoring cries for her to find a safer spot. "Stand back." . Raising her glowing blue hand, she summons a mighty rush of cold that bursts forth and slams into the doors. Ice covers the entire door and archway within a second. Elsa continues to pump more and more ice through her hand. Before the fellowship's very eyes, a wall of ice is growing out of the door towards them.

A resounding gong rings out as the ice reaches a foot thick.

That must be the cave troll. Quite a strong punch it has.

Elsa refuses to relent on her construction, summoning even more power into her arm.

At a thickness of two feet another gong sounds out but is much softer this time. Elsa smirks at the lack of any fractures of their defense. It fades soon after as she pours more and more ice onto the wall.

Three feet thick.

Four feet thick.

Elsa ceases her magic once the ice wall reaches five feet thick and now touches the ceiling, encompassing the entirety of the opening.

She turns to the rest of the fellowship, who share mixed looks, most confused. Gimli appears peeved, grumbling at his delayed opportunity to enact revenge for his cousin.

Right hand still glowing blue with energy, she shoots a quick blast at the floor. The familiar swirl of snow and ice rises into the air as another winter soldier forms from the icy ether of her powers. Its appearance is similar to the construct from the battle against the Night Riders, but of the same height of a tall human, and this snow warrior wields two swords. Elsa smirks at her creation, proud she can still create a formidable fighter with a single arm. A frown takes over the smirk as doubt enters her mind.

But will it be enough? Those orcs and goblins appeared numerous, but who knows how many there are. Biting her lip as she thinks, she glances down at her glowing hand, still pulsing with her powerful magic. I know I can do more, but…how much? They say it's best to know your limits, but what are my limits? She turns her hand over, contemplating over the draw of her power to be released. A resounding crack breaks her out of her stupor, as she turns her head toward the source of the sound.

It's her ice wall, and there is already a fracture forming. She clenches her fist.

Screw it.

Coursing more power into her hand, she releases consecutive sequences of short ice blasts at the floor, and within half a minute, seven more ice soldiers stand tall before her, blue eyes glowing with fervor, a mixture of weapons wielded in their frozen hands. Elsa's smirk has grown into a triumphant grin that blocks out another crack in the ice wall.

I guess I can worry later why creating eight life forms doesn't tire me at all.

Twirling round to face her splintered wall, she crystallizes out of the stale air her favorite ice sword to wield in her right hand. Elsa strides forward and plants her blade into the largest crack, a sinister plan forming in her mind. Channeling her magic through the sword, Elsa extends her control until the entire wall is under her grasp.

Now, let's see how these orcs handle thousands of ice shards flying straight towards them. They'll probably…be killed…won't…they…

Another crack pierces the ice, but she ignores it, along with Frodo's bleak, "Umm…Elsa? Are you okay?"

Of course they'll die, ice flying faster than they can react? But...my, my vow…

Once again, a large crack further weakens the ice. It could shatter at any given second. Only Elsa is aware that there is at least five minutes of stability left, and she isn't even paying attention, her focus pulled so far into her mind that she barely registers anything.

"Elsa! What are you doing?" Aragorn begins to approach the sorceress when his question is left unanswered, but is stopped by Gandalf's extended arm. Aragorn shoots a quizzical and worried look to the wizard, whose intent gaze never leaves Elsa.

I mean, what good can I promise my people if I can't even… Before her deflating thoughts can continue, a roar erupts from Gimli,

"Elsa! This is battle! Think! What good is honor if it turns you into a corpse?"

But, I've been able to always do it before, how is this any different? I can do this…I know…I…I…I can't just take their lives like that… Her head dips low, eyes clenched shut as tears begin to well in their corners. The lone good arm, still holding fast to her sword planted into the ice, quivers too fast for comfort. Her legs are about to collapse before one last question.

"Do you want to return to Anna in a casket?"

There is a beat of silence.

Elsa eyes fly open, her posture straightening in an instant, all signs of shaking in her limbs gone. Power returning to her hand, she shatters the entire wall into countless shards, yet holds them all in place. At the far end of her ice, Elsa can detect that the hammering of her foes had ceased, out of curiosity to this new development. Not wasting time to form an emotion on her face, she forces pulses of power into the ice.

First pulse.

The numerous shards begin vibrating with energy. Minuscule movements yes, but this is only the first one.

Second pulse.

The vibrations increase, and there is a quite hum in the air.

Third pulse.

The hum has increased into a steady buzz.

Fourth pulse.

The buzz is now equivalent to the sound of the beating wings of a thousand hummingbirds gathered in a small room. On the opposite side of the ice, only the cave troll, somehow, has the sense to start backing off to the side.

Fifth pulse.

The room has begun to shake from the radiating forces created by the ferocious energy emanating from the vibrating ice shards.

Sixth pulse.

A roar erupts as the apparent infinite ice shards rocket forward in an instant, the power of the strike ripping the air apart. Countless cries of orcs and goblins are silenced, crushed beneath the force of flying icy impalement. A trail of sharp frost traces on the ground after the flying winter needles of cold, a death sentence for unprotected soles that tread across. As the frozen dust settles, scores of bloody corpses litter the vicinity in front of the doorway, their allies lucky enough to avoid the blast gaping in awe.

Elsa strides over to the last position of the fellowships semi-circle, turning to ready herself for the second wave.

"All yours Gimli, show them the might of the dwarves."

Gimli is still holding his look of astonishment before a menacing grin curls onto his face,

"Let them come! There is one Dwarf yet in Moria who still draws breath!"

And thus the battle begins.

Adrenaline kicking into high gear, the battle is slow and yet over in a flash for Elsa. Not having the time to worry over vows, broken promises, ethics, and the like, the instinct to survive and to protect consumes all of Elsa's energy and focus. A stab here, a blast of magic there, bracing her shield from on an oncoming club; all actions meld into a blur of slashing and dashing. She winces only once at the fall of one of her ice warriors, forcing her mind and body to numb any pain from subsequent "deaths" of her creations. Elsa does not even have the time to focus on the improbability that her "training" in battles like these is holding up as well as she is, despite the lack true hardships she was forced to endure.

A part of Elsa is almost a mere witness to the battle, remembering more the actions of her companions then her own. Legolas' perfect aim, Gimli's axe chopping down foes like trees, Gandalf whirling and twirling his sword and staff with deadly precision, Aragorn and Boromir's sword strikes working in beautiful tandem, and even, to her great amusement, Sam taking down an orc with a powerful blow to the head with a cast iron skillet.

Didn't Anna mention of some foreign princess propagating that?

There was something else that delighted and frightened Elsa - she was enjoying this rush. Not the killing; but the fantastic adrenaline that coursed through her veins and gave her muscles such a lightened energy that she had never known before. She felt pure, as though she had found her place in battle, as though this was what her powers were made for, as though this was what she was born for.

These thoughts are quickly quashed as another orc swings its blade at her neck. Ducking down, she stabs her sword into the stone, and a large icicle rises from the ground and impales the orc straight through the chest. Before it even has a chance to utter its death gurgle, Elsa has already moved on.

The following scene halts her rush in an instant. She had failed to notice that the cave troll had arrived in the tomb. And now it appeared to be fervent in an attempt to skewer something.

It's Frodo.

Eyes bulging, skin taking a soft lilac hue, mouth gasping for breath, Elsa had seen the hobbit look better. Before she can charge at the gigantic, definitely not friendly version of a troll, a blow slams her from the right side. Staggering a few steps, she glances up just in time to find two maces slamming into her good shoulder, again. She tumbles to the ground, back cracking against a stone pillar, her sword clattering out of reach. Glancing up, two orcs have their maces arched above their heads, preparing a following powerful blow. Both are sent flying, struck by the wild and powerful swing of the rampaging troll, who can no longer tell friend from foe.

The troll heaves another teetered swing, demolishing a pillar and the final ice warrior. As it regains its balance, two ugly eyes notice a misshapen blue form sprawled on the ground. The troll raises the spear, strong muscles tensing in preparation of the downward strike.

Elsa acts on instinct.

Flinging her right arm forward with any type of winter magic she can muster, a blast of her pure power streaks from her hand and strikes the troll in the chest. In mere moments, the troll is encased in ice, not even a last breath escaping its lips.

With the last enemy vanquished, the fellowship rushes over to the fallen Frodo, who is limp on the ground. Aragorn is already there, cradling their tiny ring bearer, mutter "no" as he gives gentle shakes. Somberness falls over the group.

A cough. Followed by a splutter. Then gasping wheezes as Frodo is alive and kicking. Staring at the eighteen eyes focused on him, his mouth opens and closes as he struggles to find words. Sam is all too pleased to find his friend in good spirits.

"He's alive!"

"I'm alright. I'm not hurt."

"You should be dead. That spear would've skewered a wild boar!" Aragorn pats down the hobbit, his actions in disbelief of what his eyes tell him. In the back, a small smile grows on Gandalf's crinkled face.

"I think there's more to this hobbit than meets the eye."

Gazing at Gandalf for a moment, Frodo looks down as he slowly unbuttons his vest, revealing a pearl white chain mail, bereft of any mar.

"Mithril." Says Gimli, followed by a chuckle, "You are full of surprises, Master Baggins."

Frodo offers a weak smile, and as he's helped up by Aragorn,

THUM THUM THUM

"To the bridge of Khazad-dum!" Cries Gandalf as he sprints towards the doorway. Quick to follow his footsteps, Elsa storms her way to the exit, pausing briefly to offer a silent prayer to her fallen creations.

May Höðr watch you forever more in peace.

The fellowship dashes through the dark halls of Dwarrowdelf. The cacophony of drums, shrieks, horns, and screeches bombards their ears from all sides as they make their way to the salvation of Moria. Elsa has dissolved her ice sword and shield, figuring the nimbleness and blasts of magic to be far more effective.

Until she realizes they are surrounded on all sides.

Thousands of goblins and orcs have encompassed the group on the ground, weapons raised and aimed at each head of the fellowship. Countless more foes crawl upon the pillars, bodies lining up all the way to the darkness above. Despite no actual confirmation, Elsa would swear she saw movement on the ceiling itself.

Only one option presents itself to Elsa's mind as she considers the possibilities of escaping this predicament with her life, and she is revolted by even considering to think about it: a mini eternal winter.

But, what else can we do? What else can I do? This city is dead anyway…wow am I really that cold?

…

I really miss Anna right now.

A small swirl was moving through air, tingling the skins of all it touches; ready to disobey common sense and the laws of physics in order to plunge its surroundings into an unholy cold in a smatter of seconds. One goblin releases a small shriek at finding a snowflake on its arm.

Then, a roar.

A cry that seems to be against life itself rumbles through Moria. As though slats of hard metal burning with the fires of a demon rake across the dead mines. In the distance, Elsa spots a hallway glowing with hot reds and flaming oranges, the shimmering light shining from a source unseen. The goblins and orcs shift their gazes back and forth between the oncoming blaze and the fellowship, and then scatter.

Fast.

Within seconds, the only living things left in the halls of Dwarrowdelf is the ten individuals staring at the menacing glow that approaches. Heavy footsteps shaking the earth beneath. The small swirl that floated in the air mere moments ago is still, frozen in the same fear the captures its master.

"What is this new devilry?" Asks Boromir of Gandalf.

Gandalf remains silent as he bows is head. His lips are taught as the glow approaches. Raising his gaze to this new encounter, he speaks with a resigned voice.

"A balrog. A demon of the ancient world." He gives a wary glance to Elsa before continuing, "This foe is beyond any of you. RUN!"

The fellowship sprints off in the opposite direction, the balrog roaring the instant Gandalf shouted for them to run. They scramble through a short winding passage before Boromir skitters to a halt, arms waving as he prevents himself from tumbling over the edge. Legolas grabs hold of him as the rest of the group follows suit in stopping before the drop. Had the situation been less tense, Elsa would have giggled at the comical fashion the hobbits bumped into each other in quick succession.

After passing through another hallway, Gandalf grabs Aragorn's shoulder.

"Lead them on Aragorn. The bridge is near."

Aragorn spots the bridge of Khazad-dûm, a narrow walkway spanning a bottomless expanse. Elsa also locates the bridge, and is shocked by its miniscule size and lack of handrails…or ledges…or anything to prevent a crosser from falling.

That, is our salvation? One arrow to the knee on that thing and...I don't want to even think about it.

"Do as I say! Swords have no more use here." Aragorn rushes off after Gandalf's command, Elsa following the two, a small spark forming a dangerous plan in her head. Leaving her right arm loose, she begins to channel her power down to a centered point in her palm, focusing solely on one aspect of her magic - cold.

Twisting tunnels give way to narrow precipices that appear in the forms of staircases and bridges. The glow previously occupying a far off hallway has developed into an encompassing radiance that appeared everywhere and laid a swath of heat through the air and stone. Flames erupted from the ground, burning without fuel, growing larger the closer the group approached the bridge.

As they round another bend into the hallway that leads to the crossing, the flames began to dance above their heads creating a wall of fire that surrounds their three sides, leaving only the bridge unblocked. As Elsa passes the tallest wall of combustion, Gandalf stops and turns to face the blaze. Elsa also pauses. From behind the mighty plasma a giant creature leaped up from the flames, landing with a burst of shadow and fire.

Elsa found herself at a loss on how to describe this…beast. It appears to hide its true form in darkness and flames. While humanoid in stature, it reminisces of those depictions in religion of devils and demons she's read in the library. Horns curl around the head, large, bat-like wings cloaked in smoke, its back spine lit up by internal flames, and pupil-less eyes burning with the intensity of searing molten fire. Elsa would not be surprised if she learned the creature was a servant of Hell itself.

She turns heel and books it.

Adrenaline kicking into overdrive, her concentration of magic in her palm begins, against her will, to spread. As sweltering fire and chaotic flames follow the fellowship, a blizzard of the arctic forms in front. Biological forces coercing her body and mind into the flight or fight syndrome, Elsa finds it impossible to summon the love necessary to dissipate the danger her powers present to her companions. Ice begins to cover the surrounding walls, some thickening as she approaches, others succumbing soon after to the beast of flame. Unnoticed by all, is the ball of energy in her hand, as thick clouds of mist swirl around it while numerous drops of liquidized nitrogen drop to the ground, only to vaporize under the steps of the balrog.

Gandalf grimaces at the icy magic whirling before him. He needed to finish this. Fast.

The goblins and orcs, are now watching in awe of the spectacle before them. Their gaze is intense as they observe the mistress of winter crossing the fragile bridge, followed only by the mighty wizard. The clash of powers was a contrast that lit up the dead mine brighter than the days of its prime. The intense reds and orange flanking the gigantic beast of fire and shadows were in stark and beautiful contrast with the swirling blues, whites, and blacks of the tiny woman of magnificent power.

Gandalf halts in the middle of the bridge to turn and stare down his foe.

"Gandalf!" Both Frodo and Elsa cry out for the wizard situated on the precarious bridge. While Frodo shouts more in concern for his longtime friend, Elsa is more bewildered at the sight before her.

Is he insane? Sure, he can probably fight the thing, but on such a narrow space? He's just begging to be dragged down with it! And…and…and why is my hand so damn cold?

…

Waaaaait…cold?

Raising her hand to focus, her eyes widen at the swirling ball of icy magic hovering above her palm. The orb of energy is a deep blue, with lines of black rotating at a rapid pace around the core of the magic. Solidified gas streams down in thick vapors to the ground below, freezing the stone at instant of contact. A shout snaps her concentration.

"You cannot pass!" Gandalf appears to have engaged the balrog in a shouting match. The balrog returns the challenge lighting up its torso and limbs in a burst of flames, drawing a sword of fire from the air itself. The heated point pushing back at the residual winds of the storm across the chasm.

"I am the servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor."

Elsa cocks her head a slight inch. Preparing for the worst, she courses more and more energy into her sphere, dropping the temperature further still.

"The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udun!"

White light surrounds Gandalf as the balrog swings it sword down. With a burst of light, the clash blows away fire and snow, shattering the sword into sparks which rain over Gandalf's shield and down into the unseen depths. Undeterred, the Balrog roars at the wizard, but for a moment, its eyes flash towards Elsa.

"Go back to the shadow."

Gandalf raises his arms in a wide, defensive stance. The balrog stomps one foot forward, summoning a fiery whip from the shadows that flank its sides. With a flick of its wrist, the whip cracks the air, sparks reacting with chaotic violence against the cold winds. Gandalf brings his sword and staff together and raises his weapons high above his head.

"YOU! SHALL NOT! PASS!"

He slams his staff into the bridge, his last words echoing off the chamber walls. Another burst of white light emanating outwards.

As her eyes adjust to normal after the bright flash, Elsa is shocked to find that…almost nothing has happened. The bridge remains intact, the balrog unharmed, and Gandalf still planting his feet on the narrowest section of the bridge. Only one aspect is altered by Gandalf's shout, the air, raging with the chaotic energy of ice and fire, is calm. Stiller than the air of tombs.

The balrog snorts, but does not move. It continues to flick its gaze between the Istari and the mysterious wielder of winter. On a different day, a day later in Elsa's life, a day in which her battle experience gave her more rational lines of thinking in the face of battle, a day where she knew that all is not as it seems, Elsa would know best to wait for the next development.

This was not that day. Too much adrenaline made for one trigger-happy ice maiden.

Oh for the love of…if he's not going to do something I WILL!

With a shout, she launches her ball of magic forward, which is a few degrees above absolute zero, straight at the balrog's core. The streak of blue streams over the gorge and pounds into it with a force that sends it staggering it back. Shaking itself while stumbling forward, the balrog figures this ice sorceress is not as powerful as appeared. Then, it felt the cold.

A roar with the heat of infernal fire erupts from the balrog that booms throughout the entirety of Moria. Wobbling back and forth, its tendrils of flame and shadow lash out towards the walls and winds, whipping the cold and hot air into a frenzy. From within its depths, blobs of blue ice shine where there once was fire, before being quelled by nearby flames, only to rise up in another spot, and the internal battle restarts all over.

Gandalf whips around, eyes bulging at Elsa. After moments of nothing but the shrieks of pain emanating from the balrog, he moves to speak before a crumbling sound wracks through the bridge. The balrog, in its state of pain, had stepped forward, and thus Gandalf's magic had taken effect. Despite its wings, it falls with the rubble roaring in pain and anger, and makes one last move with its whip.

As Gandalf makes his way towards the fellowship, hot coils of fire wrap around his ankles. In a flash, he's ripped from the bridge and sent tumbling into the abyss.

A short lull passes. Frodo rushes forward.

"Gandalf!"

Before he can make further movement, Boromir holds him back just as an arrow strikes the ground in front of the hobbit. Undeterred, Frodo struggles against the warrior, releasing an extended "NO!" at the empty space before him. Elsa has remained placid in her position, her body numb from shock. A noise breaks her out of her stupor.

"Fly you fools!" The mangled cry rises up from the depths of the cave and brings clarity to Elsa's mind. She twirls and dashes towards their final exit.

"Run!" It's the first instance in which Elsa's utilizes her regal voice with the fellowship, and in the heat of the situation even Aragorn is unable to resist to her command. Snapping to attention, all follow the ice maiden as they scramble through the final tunnel.

Elsa runs out of the great eastern gate and bursts into the sunlight, experiencing near euphoria the instant its warm touch reaches her. Wanting more, she dissolves most of her armor back into her travel outfit, relishing in the rays as they kiss her skin. However, she has no time to bask in the glow. Aragorn shouts for the hobbits, who, with the exception of Frodo, had collapsed to the ground in grief, to get back up and keep running.

"Give them a moment…for pity's sake!" Cries Boromir.

"They can grieve when we find shelter, by nightfall these hills will be swarming with orcs and goblins. We must make for the wood of Lothlorien."

Giving reluctant nods, Boromir and Legolas force the hobbits up, giving small words of encouragement.

As the fellowship's movement slows and their adrenaline wears off, Elsa's thoughts and critical thinking returns.

Oh god, what have I done? I broke the promise, again!

Her gaze drops as her footsteps slacken, leaving her to be alone at the back.

But they would have killed me, no doubt about it. Is that the truth then, of this land, kill or be killed?

She glances at her remaining companions, taking note on how the warriors seem less perturbed, but not by much, over the death of Gandalf.

Perhaps, but surely it couldn't have been as easy as…wait, why was that easy? One of my arms can't even work for crying out loud! So why did my magic seem stronger than ever in battle?

She glances at her functioning hand, and wills some magic into her palm. To her surprise, the power flows quicker and more powerful than ever, and the most vibrant snowflake she has created thus far floats right before her. A creation she did not even concentrate on. Dismissing it out of shock, she bites her lip as she ponders over this new development.

So, a battle, a real battle, truly does make my powers stronger. And despite all of those strenuous events, why do I feel little fatigue?

…

Maybe I am a monster.