A/N: Oyes- I am back in business! :D NaNoWriMo was awesome/exhausting and I WON! xD (Well, the young adult version of it, anyways- 25,000 words in a month! :D) Since THAT is over, I've got some free time, so le updating schedule should be back to normal- about a chapter a week, if I can stay on top of things (which has been a lot easier lately; there shouldn't be much of a problem.)

Muchos gracias to BuBuWinter for the review! :D Thanks for mentioning the grammar, amiga- I will go back and look that over as soon as I get a chance to :3

Chapter 12: The Enemy

When Glorfindel finally announced that they were stopping for the night, Mora all but fell off her horse's back. Her relief was short lived, however- the Elf had his sword in hand and was waiting impatiently for her. Arwen passed her curved Elvish blade to Mora, who reluctantly dragged herself to the area that Glorfindel had marked.

"Recite everything you need to remember," the Elf warrior instructed her. Mora rolled her eyes but complied.

"Keep your sword up. Stay on both feet unless absolutely necessary. Watch your opponent's hips and shoulders for clues about their next movements. Pay attention to your surroundings and keep your sword up. Why do I have to say that last one twice?"

"Because you always forget to; your biggest flaw is that you always lower your guard and back up when I attack."

"Maybe it's because you're coming at me with a gigantic freaking sword!" the Guardian snapped, glaring at him. Glorfindel chuckled.

"Mora, you do know that an orc isn't going to politely warn you, do you not? An orc, a goblin, a warg, any of those will simply run towards you and attack. They will not hold back to prevent from harming you, as I will."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, but-"

"Hide!" Arwen shouted suddenly, tossing her pack under a large rock. The elleth called something in Sindarin to the horses, who galloped off. Sam looked around for a moment, completely flustered, before Arwen tugged him under a clump of bushes. Radagast shrugged before stepping behind a boulder, which left only Glorfindel and Mora. The two quickly joined Arwen in hiding.

"What do you see?" Glorfindel asked.

"Crebain- filth of Isengard. They have been alerted to guard this pass more heavily … something disturbed them," the elleth whispered back. The Anti-Fellowship waited in silence as the flock of crebain flew over them. When the mountainside was quiet once again, they emerged from their hiding places and gathered their things.

"It will not be safe to continue on our current path, Lady Mora," Glorfindel informed her as he sheathed his sword. "We are heading far too close to Isengard; you mentioned Lothlórien as a destination. There are two possible routes: one will take us through the Mines of Moria, and the other, over the Caradhras." The Elf warrior pointed towards the snow-capped mountains in the distance. "The Mines would be the safer route-"

"No." The Guardian shook her head. "We can't go through Moria. Besides, Saruman won't be bothered with five people struggling over the Caradhras; he has other things to deal with, such as the real Fellowship. Getting the One Ring back is his main focus, even with Nimril's meddling."

"Lady Mora, you are not dressed for a trip over the mountains."

"I'm not stupid; I brought a coat with me," she retorted, tapping the side of her "Mary Poppins" bag. Glorfindel shrugged and began checking what supplies he had in his pack.

"Don't think that the interruption cancelled our lesson, Lady Mora," the Elf called over his shoulder, grinning at Mora's sour expression.

"Er- oh, that's right! I almost forgot- I've got a very important message to send real quick. I'll be right back!" She hurried away on her own, nearly crashing into Radagast in her haste to escape. Arwen and Glorfindel looked at each other and immediately burst out laughing.

-V-

Nimril sat gracefully on a large boulder, toying with a lock of hair while Gandalf tried to force open the gates of Moria. She glanced over her shoulder to where Merry was trying to goad Pippin into entering the murky lake.

"Psst. Hey, Sue. I need to talk to you," Mora's voice hissed in her ear. Nimril looked around at the other members of the Fellowship. They were otherwise occupied; none of the men would bother her if she went for a short walk. The elleth rose and hurried away, taking shelter behind a second rock.

"What is it, Lady Mara?" There was a faint hiss of annoyance, but the Guardian continued with her message in an equally level, albeit slightly strained tone.

"You're in Moria, right?"

"Very nearly. Gandalf must first open the doors, and then we will enter the mine."

"Okay. Great; I've got a few days to work with, then. Towards the end of Moria, something really awful is going to happen- trust me, you'll know it when it happens. You can't interfere, got it? You can't stop what's going to happen, and if you so much as lift a finger the wrong way, Sue, I will knock you unconscious to keep you from screwing something up. This is a major turning point in the Original Tale, and I can't afford to let you ruin it." She paused for a moment, and Nimril considered her words.

"What kind of tragedy do you speak of?" The Guardian hesitated another moment.

"If I say it, you'd better swear you won't mention it to anyone, especially not the Fellowship."

"Very well. I will not say a word of your secret to anyone."

"There's a Balrog near the Bridge of Khazad-dûm; Gandalf is going to die fighting it." Mora waited for the gasp of shock- which didn't come, surprisingly enough.

"And this … this is a good thing?" Nimril asked tentatively. "How is the death of an Ithron good?"

"I've told you too much as it is, Sue. Just remember what I told you," the Guardian replied grumpily. "Get back to your … Fellowship. I've got work to do." She didn't sound excited at the prospect of this 'work' of her's, but Nimril didn't question Mora. The elleth was starting to learn that questioning a Guardian was a very bad idea …

-V-

Mora knew exactly how long it would take the "real" Fellowship to reach the Balrog, but she had to be sure that Nimril wouldn't interfere. After all, her good, sweet, kindly heart probably couldn't resist saving Gandalf. She rolled her eyes. Secretly, the Guardian was surprised at Nimril's success thus far; Mora's expectations hadn't been high (they still weren't) and the Sue would probably fail at her quest, but if Nimril could de-Sue-ify herself, that could save Mora a great deal of trouble. Until that happened (if it happened) she would need to be watched closely.

The Guardian pulled her bag closer and stuck her hand in, picturing the item she needed. From the bag, she removed what, at first glance, looked like an ordinary composition notebook. Mora ran a finger along the cover, flipped it open and read the words that began to appear on the page …

Nimril watched in horror as Gandalf turned to face the Balrog, raising his staff and shouting uncharacteristic obscenities at it. Perhaps the other Maia had insulted the wizard at a family gathering. Mora rolled her eyes. Of course the notebook had her own sarcastic humor. Why wouldn't it? After all, it had been created to help the Guardian record events as they happened without having to experience them. The elleth stood on the Bridge, unmoving. Realization dawned on her that this was it- this was the end of Gandalf the Grey. Pathetic, cheesy … not at all something Mora would write. She frowned.

"Gandalf!" Frodo cried as the wizard was dragged to the edge of the cliff, barely hanging on to the rock face. This was it. The Guardian prepared to say a Word if it was necessary. Nimril clenched her fists, and summoning every ounce of strength in her body, she turned her back on the Ithron. One foot in front of the other, Nimril, she thought, but as she lifted her foot to take a step- something made her stop. The elleth found herself turning back to face the cliff, and as hard as she tried, she could not stop. Her feet were moving all on their own, as if possessed. Nimril's steps were slow, almost forced, but she could not even stop, let alone go the other way.

Something clicked in Mora's brain. She knew exactly what was going on, and it was not good. Her job had just gotten fifty times harder. The Guardian grabbed the ever-present pencil tucked behind her ear and began writing furiously, attempting to overtake the words in her notebook.

Nimril stopped walking- she stopped walking, knowing that she could not save Gandalf, no matter how much she wanted. The Sue thought back on Mora's words and remembered that she needed to stop walking. Stop walking!

It wasn't working; Nimril was still approaching the edge of the cliff. Mora swore loudly, threw down the pencil and notebook, pictured Nimril's face and spoke her chosen Word:

Daro.

Stop. Nimril froze in place, unable to move, but Mora was unable to view her success. The Guardian was convulsing in pain as her stomach all but turned itself inside out. It will be over soon, she told herself, digging her fingers into the cold soil. For once, the pain barely registered in Mora's brain, which was working overtime despite the effects of the Word. She now knew exactly what was going on, and why this was going to be a much harder task than any Sue she had ever faced. Now the Suethor was involved.