"The Fellowship of the Ring" Read-through: Week 9 Recap
We bring this to you on Easter—resurrection Sunday! I say, “we” because the brilliant
of is providing the weekly recap today. He’s become a dear friend in the Substack realm, and an invaluable member of our fellowship here in . Thank you, Blake, for your insight and perspective on these chapters! Without further ado:Chapter 5: The Bridge of Khazad-Dûm
What a chapter.
If Middle-earth were a symphony, this moment is a crashing crescendo of dread, valor, and profound loss. This chapter does not ask for your attention, it seizes it with burning whips, crumbling stone, and the echoing cry of “Fly, you fools!” This is Tolkien at his most cinematic, mythic, and heartbreakingly human.
Let’s run through the fire-lit corridors of this unforgettable chapter (pun intended).
Our story picks up in the heart of Moria, inside the Chamber of Mazarbul. Here, the Company discovers the tomb of Balin, son of Fundin and companion of Bilbo. And with him, the shattered hope of reclaiming the ancient dwarven realm. Frodo, standing beside that stone coffin, doesn’t just read the words carved into Balin’s tomb, he feels the weight of time and tragedy. Tolkien writes:
“Frodo thought of Bilbo and his long friendship with the dwarf, and of Balin’s visit to the Shire long ago. In that dusty chamber in the mountains it seemed a thousand years ago and on the other side of the world.”1
It’s a masterful moment of literary time travel. We see the gentle, pipe-smoking peace of the Shire juxtaposed with the grim, echoing death of a dwarf king beneath the earth. Frodo is waking up to the reality that the stories he loved as a child, Bilbo’s uncle’s grand adventures, were never fairy tales. They were history, soaked in blood and sorrow. He’s not just carrying a ring anymore; he’s carrying the gravity of a world teetering on the edge.
As Gandalf reads of the events that led to Balin’s demise in the scattered pages of Balin’s companions’ He comes to a chilling final line: “They are coming.”2
Gandalf speaks of this final stand, but then says something profoundly: “So ended the attempt to retake Moria! It was valiant but foolish. The time is not come yet.”3
Valor is no guarantee of victory. The dwarves were brave, heroic even, but still fell. It’s a hard lesson: courage alone cannot bend the times to your will. There is a right time, and for Balin and company, that time was not yet.
Then, out of the somber silence—doom, doom—the drums speak. A dirge and a warning. The Fellowship is discovered. What follows is a desperate fight and flight through stone corridors, choked stairways, and burning halls as orcs and a shadowed terror close in.
In the melee, something ignites in Frodo. A fury not of fear, but of love. When the cave troll crashes into the chamber and chaos reigns, Frodo surprises even himself: “Suddenly, and to his own surprise, Frodo felt a hot wrath blaze up in his heart. ‘The Shire!’ he cried, and springing beside Boromir, he stooped, and stabbed with Sting at the hideous foot.”4
It’s a beautiful echo of Bilbo’s defining moment in The Hobbit, when he risks his life to rescue his friends from the spiders. In both cases, the gentle-hearted hobbit is compelled to courageous action, not for glory, but for love. Frodo’s cry of “The Shire!” is a declaration that some things are worth fighting for: gardens, peace, friendship. Home.
And this leads to perhaps one of the most quietly profound moments of praise in the whole saga:
“Well,” said Aragorn, “I can only say that hobbits are made of a stuff so tough that I have never met the like of it” “You take after Bilbo,” said Gandalf. “There is more about you than meets the eye, as I said of him long ago.”5
Yes, Gandalf. We’re beginning to see it now.
Then it comes. The enemy that orcs flee from. The fear behind the fear. The Balrog. Ancient and fire-wreathed. A terror not born of the dark, but twisted from the light.
The Company races toward the slender stone bridge spanning the abyss. At the threshold of the world’s bowels, Gandalf turns, and in that moment, he becomes something more than a wizard. He becomes a barrier between death and hope.
“At that moment Gandalf lifted his staff, and crying aloud he smote the bridge before him… With a terrible cry the Balrog fell forward… But even as it fell it swung its whip… dragging him to the brink. He staggered and fell, grasped vainly at the stone, and slid into the abyss. ‘Fly, you fools!’ he cried, and was gone.”6
Here, Gandalf doesn’t just fight. He offers himself. Like Christ turning to face death so others may live, Gandalf bears the weight of evil alone. The Balrog falls, yes, but so does the guide, the protector, the light in the darkness. It doesn’t feel like triumph here, only sorrow.
It’s a sacrifice that Tolkien knew intimately. He fought in World War I, where many a “guide” was lost, leaving their companions stunned and leaderless. But the echoes of Christ-like deliverance can’t be missed. He descended, that others might escape. And like Christ, his story won’t end there either.
The Company escapes. But joy does not follow. They stumble into sunlight free, but broken.
“Grief at last wholly overcame them, and they wept long: some standing and silent, some cast upon the ground. Doom, doom. The drum-beats faded.”7
And so ends the chapter, not in triumph, but in mourning. Tolkien doesn’t rush this moment. Because real loss lingers. It changes you. The wizard is gone. Moria, reclaimed in Balin’s dreams, is lost again. And the road ahead is darker than ever.
This chapter reminds us that true courage is not flashy. It’s found in grief-stricken loyalty, sacrificial love, and hobbits with shaking hands still willing to stand and fight. It’s found in the choice to face evil not because you think you can win, but because others are depending on you.
“There is more about you than meets the eye.” There is more about all of us than we dare believe. And that’s what makes this story not just fantasy, but a mirror. The bridge may tremble, the darkness may howl, but the light of sacrifice still blazes behind us. And the journey must continue.
Chapter 6: Lothlórien
As the Company stumbles out of the black jaws of Moria, reeling from Gandalf’s fall, Aragorn gives perhaps his most stoic and sobering line yet:
“We must do without hope,” he said. “At least we may yet be avenged. Let us gird ourselves and weep no more! Come! We have a long road, and much to do.”8
This is the leadership of a man acquainted with sorrow. Aragorn doesn’t downplay the loss. He doesn’t offer hollow cheer. Instead, he accepts that grief has its place, but not forever. The road still calls. And isn’t that just like life? We don’t get to pause the mission when the world breaks our hearts. We gird up. We keep walking.
Before they leave the valley, Gimli lingers at the edge of Kheled-zâram—the Mirrormere. It’s a sacred moment. No orcs. No haste. Just a dwarf peering into water that remembers. “O Kheled-zâram fair and wonderful!” said Gimli. “There lies the Crown of Durin till he wakes. Farewell!”9
Durin’s Crown—reflected stars in the water—is a beautiful symbol of memory and hope. That even in the darkest realms of earth, there are reflections of heaven.
And when Pippin asks Sam what he saw, Sam is too deep in thought to speak. Something ancient stirred in him, too. Tolkien doesn’t need to explain the magic of that moment. The silence says enough.
As they journey on, it’s Frodo and Sam who begin to fall behind, and Aragorn suddenly remembers:
“I am sorry, Frodo! …So much has happened this day and we have such need of haste, that I have forgotten that you were hurt; and Sam too… We have done nothing to ease you, as we ought, though all the orcs of Moria were after us.”10
This scene aches with humanity. Even great leaders overlook the wounded. Even heroes forget to ask, “Are you alright?” Frodo says nothing. Sam says less. But when providing care for them, Aragorn peels back Frodo’s coat and sees the mithril coat beneath. “The silver corslet shimmered before his eyes like the light upon a rippling sea… the sound of the shaken rings was like the tinkle of rain in a pool.”11
The forgotten gift from Bilbo, has greatly come in handy and saved Frodo’s life. This isn’t just armor. It’s a profound picture of the importance of embracing and using the gracious gifts handed down to us across generations. Frodo was preserved not by his own strength, but by the love and foresight of another. We all wear gifts like that, often unknowingly. Gifts of wisdom, warnings, prayers whispered long before we ever knew we’d need them.
Then comes the moment we’ve been waiting for—Lothlórien.
“There lie the woods of Lothlórien!” said Legolas. “That is the fairest of all the dwellings of my people… For in the autumn their leaves fall not, but turn to gold.”12
Golden leaves that do not fall. Time, it seems, flows differently here. Lothlórien is not an escape from the world, but a glimpse of what the world was meant to be: holy, radiant, and unmarred by shadow. But like all holy places, it is also guarded.
Beside a silver stream, Legolas sings the song of Nimrodel. The moment is quiet and strange, a pause in the journey, but the music carries memory. The Elves here don’t build in stone or dig into rock. They dwell in trees, living things that sway and sing.
“They were called the Galadhrim, the Tree-people… The people of the woods did not delve in the ground like Dwarves, nor build strong places of stone before the Shadow came.”13
It’s a different way of being in the world. Rooted in song, not structure. Trusting in grace more than force.
Despite the peace and beauty of the place, the darkness enters into it. The orcs make there way into and through the forest looking for the Fellowship and a strange figure appears around Frodo and then flees on the arrival of Haldir.
Even the darkness of the ancient strife continues to linger in this place as tensions emerge. The Elves are wary of Gimli, the Dwarf. Centuries of distrust bubble up, but then Aragorn, shockingly, declares:
“Now let us cry: ‘A plague on the stiff necks of Elves!’ But the Company shall all fare alike. Come, bind our eyes, Haldir!”14
In a moment of division over the past, Aragorn chooses solidarity. He doesn’t protest the unfairness, he steps into it. All are blindfolded together. It’s a quiet act of unity that holds more weight than any speech.
As the fellowship is led through Lothlórien by Haldir, we are drawn into a beautiful dialogue with him and Merry, in which the elf-guardian says something indeed worth framing:
“The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater.”15
What a line. Love mingled with grief. Ty is one of Tolkien’s great themes. That beauty is not destroyed by sorrow, it’s deepened by it.
Finally, they reach Cerin Amroth, the heart of Lothlórien. And there, Aragorn is no longer just a ranger; he is a man in love, haunted by both beauty and destiny.
“Arwen vanimelda, namárië!” he said, and then he drew a breath, and returning out of his thought he looked at Frodo and smiled…Here is the heart of Elvendom on earth, and here my heart dwells ever, unless there be a light beyond the dark roads that we still must tread, you and I. Come with me.”16
It’s almost too much. A farewell, a prophecy, a gesture of friendship and shared fate. Frodo takes his hand. They leave the hill. And Tolkien tells us: “He came there never again as living man.” 17
Chills.
This chapter teaches us that there is healing in the world, even after loss. There is beauty to behold, even with blindfolded eyes. That the old songs still sing, and the old gifts still protect, and that in places thick with gold and green, grace lingers.
There is peril, yes. But there is still much that is fair.
That’s it for this week’s recap!
always delivers beautifully. Without question, these are chapters meant to be read and re-read (which I have done multiple times now). The journey continues…Tolkien, J.R.R. The Fellowship of the Ring. Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2004. 469.
Ibid., 471.
Ibid., 471.
Ibid., 474.
Ibid., 478.
Ibid., 483.
Ibid., 484.
Ibid., 486.
Ibid., 488.
Ibid., 489.
Ibid., 490.
Ibid., 492-493.
Ibid., 497.
Ibid., 507.
Ibid., 508.
Ibid., 513.
Ibid., 513.
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Geeze you're reading through this book at a break-neck speed and doing the finest write-ups online as always! Hahaha, and here I was eager to start up our podcasts but on the Hobbit, and you're speeding so fast ahead of me buddy!