Tears of Mirrormere RPG

[piosenniel]

From the quill of loremaster Drok . . .

Here in lies the tale of the realm of Khazad-dûm, and the dwarves, who with Balin, son of Fundin, set out on a quest to drive the Orcs out of their ancient colony in hopes of restoring the colony to its former glory. Before it became a place of dread and the Eldar renamed it Moria: The Black Chasm. The tale that you are about to read is about the final days of Balin's glorious re-conquering of Khazad-dûm and of the brave Dwarves who travelled with him. Among these most notable of dwarves were Oin, brother of Gloin, and Ori, the scribe of the company and Balin’s good friend. Many years before Oin and Ori had travelled with Balin on Thorin Oakenshield’s quest for Erebor. The bold quest has also been answered by the call of many warriors: Loni and Nali, brothers, who were also joined by Frar and Floi, fabled for their skill with the axe and bow. The mightiest of those to answer the call was Tror, lieutenant to Balin on the quest. Many other followers came with Balin, but there number is too numerable to be listed here with due respect, and the heart could not bear the pain to recant what has become of them, but let us not be getting ahead of ourselves.

Let me start at the beginning. My name is Drok, a lore master and once scribe of King Dain. I have been charged with telling you this tale to preserve the memory of my kinsman. This tale took place many decades ago when I was young, a mere scribe in the service of the king. It was many years ago that Balin called together the high council of Erebor, he would not reveal the intent of the meeting but insisted that the it was of the highest importance and that the King call for one to convene at the earliest time possible. So it was late at night, deep under the roof of the mountain that Balin revealed a plan of magnanimous proportions: to conquer, nay, take back the city of Khazad-dûm that Men call Dwarrowdelf and the Elves, Moria. King Dain met Balin’s plan with dismay and pronounced that it cannot be, though the entire council was against him. Through many arguments and rash words Dain reasoned with the nobles and won most of them back on his side, but when the King saw that Balin's will was still adamant, he pleaded with his friend to forget the futile idea. It is worth noting at this moment that it was he, Dain II Ironfoot, who long ago had fought in the great battle of Azanulbizar on the very threshold of Khazad-dûm, and dared to look past the gate into the ancient realm. King Dain had long ago prophesized that another power, greater than the dwarves, would have to come before Durin’s Folk could again settle in the halls of their fathers. However, Balin was unmoved by the king’s words and insisted that it could be done and the threat that had loomed there before had long been gone. Such passion was aroused in the in some of the nobles that Dain dared not hinder them lest the gap between them grow wider. Thus it was that Balin set out from Erebor with a mighty company of dwarves all bound for Khazad-dûm, but without King Dain’s blessing. The king grieved for the departure of his friend, knowing that the quest could not meet any other destiny but ruin.

It was after many days and nights of traveling they came within sight of the hallowed mountains, in ages long past their ancestors had called home. Thus it was that the host came to the Eastern gate, surprised and slew the Orc garrison gathered there. The dwarves rushed into their new home with hopes and anger running high. They swarmed over The Bridge of Khazad-dûm before the Orcs could gather in sufficient numbers to repel them and fought their way, through the First and Second Halls, to the Twenty-First Hall where a great melee ensued. Floi fell in the battle, but so great was the fury and might of the dwarves at his death that no Orc opposed them for long. It was lastly the Goblin Chief sprang from his lair in a desperate attempt to drive Balin out or kill him in the attempt, but Balin proved the better fighter, he was on sacred ground and nothing would drive him from it. So it was that Balin slew the great Goblin Chieftain and a great rout began to take place as the Orcs tried to scatter, no Orc ever dared enter Khazad-dûm again for five years.

It was after this victory that Balin found the Axe and Helm of Durin cast aside in some heap of rubble, discarded by the Orcs in fear of its memory. The relics were handled with the greatest of reverence, steel of the helm was undimmed and the blades of the axe were still sharp, and Balin claimed these for his own. A throne was erected in the Chamber of Mazarbul and it was with the greatest joy that the dwarves proclaimed Balin their King, Uzbad Khazaddûmu, lord of Khazad-dûm!

Balin’s people went to work in the following years repairing the evil wrought by the Orcs. Many chambers and halls were explored and the mines were once again being worked in. The halls of Khazad-dûm shone again with a brilliant light and the grander of days long past had been restored. There it was that delver mined and the mason built, weapons were made and gems were uncovered; but of the greatest of all these delights was the true substance for which Khazad-dûm was known for: Mithril, true silver was once again uncovered.

For years there was great prosperity, the miner worked with joy, the graver renewed the faded words and symbols upon the pillars and gates, and the smith made many weapons of great quality. Many expeditions were sent to explore farther and the dwarves mined in deep shafts that were long forgotten. Thus it was that Oin, son of Groin, made plans with Balin to set out from the Twenty- First hall in search of the armories of the Third Deep. It was not until many weeks later that Oin returned with new that he had driven the last remaining remnant of the Orcs from Khazad-dûm, and he returned with scores of weapons and armour from the armouries of the Third Deep.

It was on November the 10th, in the year 2994 of the Third Age that Balin ushered forth from Khazad-dûm, accompanied by his closest companions, to look upon Kheled-zâram, that Men call Mirrormere, a lake at the mouth of Azanulbizar, the Dimrill Dale. It was at this lake that Durin the Deathless the Father of Durin’s People, looked into the water of Kheled-zâram and saw a crown of stars above his head, and it was he who founded the great city of Khazad-dûm.

It had been nearly five years since the dwarves drove the Orcs out of the halls. Everything was as it was in the days of Durin, but it would be short lived. The Orcs of the Misty Mountains had been stirred by rumors of wealth that the dwarves had accumulated during their stay; an army had been mustered and was marching on the Eastern gate that very day. Yet something far more fearful had been aroused in the depths of Khazad-dûm’s mines, Durin’s Bane was aroused and his anger was great.

May it please you gentle reader to hear now the recounting of Balin, son of Fundin, and the brave dwarves who accompanied him. Draw closer to my fire and harken to the tale of my kinsman and how they gave their last full measure of courage in the halls of Khazad-dûm.

~ Groin Redbeard

[Thinlómien]

It was Durin's Day and the sun was slowly descending in the sky. Its light was almost as cold as the ascending moon's, and neither of them could light the surface of the waters of Lake Mirrormere. It remained as dark as always, absorbing all light to its unknown depths.

There was no wind, but still a shiver ran through Ori, and he draped his cloak, grey as ever, more tightly around himself.

”Better to go soon, my friend,” he said to the white-bearded dwarf beside him.

The other man nodded, but the usual warmth in his eyes had been replaced by a slight uncertainity. Then he took a deep breath and closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, the fire had returned and his companions could recall that it was indeed the Lord of Khazad-dûm that was standing in front of them.

”I will go now, and I will go alone,” Balin said, raising his hand to silence the protests of his young second-in-command, Trór. ”For long I have known it is today that I have to look into the depths of Mirrormere and I also know I am to do it alone. And I have already explained that to you. You, my friends, may stay here and guard my back, if it pleases you.”

He added a small, comforting smile to the few trusted ones he had allowed to accompany him this far. Their faces remained serious, only Ori who had shared innumerable perils with Balin was able to return even a shadow of a smile.

Then Balin nodded, turned and started ascending the remains of what had once been one of the most beautiful streets in the realm of Dwarrowdelf. His friends watched as his figure grew smaller, but he was still close enough to be seen well even if he hadn't been wearing his majestic red cloak. They saw him reach Durin's stone, halt by the ever-loved Kheled-zâram and admire its beauty. Ori held his breath as Balin lowered himself nearer to the unmoving surface and looked in the dark water.

He seemed to stay there, still as a stone, for ages. Only the fact that the sun and the moon had not moved betrayed that only some moments had passed.

Out of the still air a light wind emerged. The grass swayed in a hypnotic dance and the always so unruffled surface of Kheled-zâram seemed to break in a small wave or two. Ori moved his weight from one leg to another. He grasped his left wrist with his right hand and moved his fingers nervously. Now, come back Balin, you've seen it... His old friend lifted his head reluctantly, as if he had heard Ori's thoughts, but did not look away from the depths.

Even there, higher up the slope, the dwarves could hear the sharp whisper of the bow and the whistle of the arrow. Balin fell without a cry. He lied unmoving on the grass beside Mirrormere, the ugly black-feathered shaft of an orc-arrow sticking from his back.

“Attack! Kill him!” Trór boomed, his voice almost breaking with grief and rage. Dwarves around Ori were clasping their weapons, crying in sorrow and fury and hurrying down to the lake. But Ori stood unmoving, numb, staring the body of his old friend and the Lord of Khazad-dûm. In the twinkling of an eye, a laugh and a wisdom forever lost, a great ambition and a shared dream shattered, the first drumrolls of doom and destruction echoing loudly in the cold autumn air...

[Lilly]

‘A drumroll, please!!!!!!’

Tíva’s hands made a quick pitter-patter of beats on her thighs as her brother’s voice rang out. Tív, for his part, marched into the room a small cloth flag waving from the broom pole he held before him. Once round the room that served as his family’s kitchen he tromped, grinning from ear to ear. At the end of his circuit his sister joined him and with a flourish and a bow to each other, they secured the makeshift pennant in the middle of their mother’s barrel of dried beans.

‘What’s this?’ asked Lys as she wiped her hands on her apron and drew near the duo. The little banner was dark blue, a piece of that old raggedy wool blanket she’d consigned just a few days ago to the rag basket. And there in the middle of it was sewn a sort of round, sort of greyish circle. Another rag she recalled – Vitr’s old, torn tunic, the one he’d stained so badly on the front with oil and grit. Along the right rim of the circle was a thin sliver of sparkly crystal dust running from top to bottom, affixed with the glue from her leather-glue pot, she had no doubt.

‘Oh, mami! You know what it is!!’ Tív’s eyes danced with excitement.

‘Yes, mami! You remembered....didn’t you?’ Tíva glanced about the kitchen, a hopeful look in her eyes.

‘Remembered?’ Lys stood for a moment, her brow furrowed as if she could not fathom what the twins were going on about. Seeing their faces begin to cloud up as they considered the possibility she had indeed forgotten, she cocked a brow at them and broke into laughter. ‘Of course I did, my little....no, make that my big beetle-bugs.’ Lys gave them each a quick kiss on the cheek.

‘It’s Durin’s Day!’ Lys pronounced, making her way back to toward the cupboards just above the long marble counter. Tív and Tíva narrowed their eyes at her, looks of expectation still on their faces.

‘And........?’ they prompted.

‘And.....’ Lys continued, opening one of the cupboard doors and removing a small platter covered with a rough-spun napkin. ‘Why it’s a very important day, now isn’t it?’ She turned round to her two children and whisked off the cloth, revealing a heaping pile of honey cookies studded with nuts and bits of dried fruits. ‘It’s your birthday!!!!!! Seven years!!!’

She meant to admonish them that they should wait ‘til their father returned from his workshop. That then they would celebrate. But who was she to say “no” to the birthday girl and boy.

‘Right, then, one each.’ She nodded at Tív. ‘And ladies first, please.

[Arry]

‘Ah, last one . . . for this day, at least!’ Vitr ran his hand over the top face of the granite block, nodding his head in approval at the smooth surface that flowed beneath his fingers. It would be but one of many of the blocks which were to line one of the cavern chambers he and the other masons had begun working on. Wiped clean of dust, polished a bit, it would reflect the lights from the filigree lamps which were to hang from the tall ceilings of the room and it would glimmer softly in the reflected light from the gems and crystals to be fitted here and there about the chamber. Tomorrow, he and others working on this project would load up the blocks they’d finished and transport them to the area in the wall where they were needed.

But for now, he was finished with his work and his thoughts turned toward home and family. The twins had no doubt been pestering their mother all this day. He was surprised, in fact, that she had not sent them to see him just to get them out of her hair. Or perhaps she had. It was not beyond them simply to take themselves off somewhere to ‘have a bit of fun’. As he dusted off his breeches and brushed off his tunic in preparation to leave he wondered from whom he might be hearing a tale of how one or the other, or more likely both, of the children had pulled some prank or misbehaved in some manner.

‘If it please you, Mahal,’ he spoke softly as he walked away from his workplace. ‘Let me not hear that they have caused some trouble somewhere.’ He chuckled a little to himself. ‘Or if they have indeed gotten into some mischief, the please let the beset upon recall the little follies of their own younger days and take it all in kind.’

Vitr entered his snug little home with a quiet step. He set the leather bag he’d brought with him on the seat of the wide oak rocker and made his way to the kitchen. ‘Smells good!’ he said appreciatively stepping into the room. The welcoming aroma of one of Lys' savory stews made his mouth water; the accompanying scent of fresh baked oat loaves set his stomach to grumbling. ‘Done soon, I hope!’ he added, giving his wife a quick peck on the cheek as she stirred the pot.

‘And what’s this? Sweets before supper?’ he rumbled in a pseudo-gruff manner as he spied Tív and Tíva munching cookies. His eyes took in the nearly empty platter on the table. ‘And more than one, eh?’

‘Oh, Papi! You know mami made more than these. She always does.’ Tív picked up the platter and held it out to his father. ‘Have one! They’re great!’ he added. Tíva came round to where Vitr stood and leaned against him. ‘It’s our birthday, you know,’ she said smiling up at him.

‘Is that so?’ Vitr said, gathering her up in his arms. ‘Well, then, there should be presents, shouldn’t there?’ he said grinning at her. He put her back down on the ground.

‘So, who wants to fetch the leather sack I left sitting on the rocker?’ He had barely finished his question when the two went streaking toward the kitchen door and were through it in a quick blur of pumping arms and legs.

[Dimturiel]

“There!” Bain exclaimed on a very pleased tone. “That’s done to!”

With that, the dwarf impatiently brushed his long hair out of his eyes to have a better look at his handiwork. His new creation was a helm on which he had been working for quite a long time. It would have taken him much less, of course, if he had not wanted to make it full of intricate patterns. Some would have said that was a useless feat, but he of course did not think so. “If you have beautiful things in your mind and if you can do beautiful things with your hands, then it would be wrong not to do them.” he would always say to any who cared to listen to him. And anyway, was he not in Moria to make beautiful things for the colony? That was the reason why he had agreed to come with Lord Balin.

“I think he’ll be very pleased when he sees this.” he muttered, holding the new-made helm lovingly in his hands. “He’ll know he had been right when asking me to come.” And to have finished it exactly on Durin’s Day too! That was surely a sign, proof of good things and prosperity coming to Moria. Oh, Lord Balin would indeed be very pleased when he found out the helm had been finished on such a day. He could not wait to tell him.

And that night, of course, he was going to celebrate with any who wished to join him. He was in a good mood, as it usually happened when he finished something. Now all he had to do what to decide what to make next. He had received orders from those of the colony, of course, but he also wanted to do something for himself, that he would make just for the sake of seeing it take shape before his eyes. Perhaps he should start working on a chain. Yes, that would be pleasant. But that could wait. Now the only thing he looked forward to was to announce that he had finished the helm he had been working for so long. He could hardly wait to see the pleased look on Lord Balin’s face when he heard that.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

"Oh, what a master piece of craft," a voice resounded from behind Bain. Like all too often, Onli appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Standing in the doorway, wrapped in his green cloak and with this large golden belt buckle which was just impossible to overlook, he must have been watching Bain for a while now. Now he moved forth, his big brown boots making a clunking noise, and without much constraints he started to examine the newly finished helmet closely.

"Oh, what a master piece of craft," he repeated, not caring at all whether Bain approves his presence or not. "Such a be-au-ti-ful decorating! And look at this tiny... err... ha, I forgot it, memory does not serve as well as it used to. I know what it is called," he added, as if to prove that he can understand well a smith's work and thus is the right person to evaluate it. He smiled widely, showing the white teeth shining amidst the bush of his short red-colored beard. "Anyway, you sure put much effort into it. Say, perhaps it won't be bad, as soon as you have finished all the other tasks you currently have, to start making these in larger numbers?" he added in a hopeful tone. Then he set on a more educated face and started to speak fast in a mentor-like voice; like an old master talking to a young apprentice - despite he was only some fourty years older than Bain, and definitely not his mentor.

"You must imagine that once this city is fully re-occupied, there will be too many smiths to make competition for your craft. But now you are just one of the few, and this," before Bain could react in any way, he knocked on the helmet, "is going to be a very valuable piece of art in the future. An artifact from the early days of the reoccupation of Khazad-Dûm! But it will be foolish to leave it just like that. One helmet is nice, but why not make more? Since you can do it, and I can see well you can! And if we want to show King Dáin and the folk under the Mountain our progress, such a piece of craft would serve all too well for it! And just imagine how interested many of our kind will be to purchase such a thing..." Onli's eyes gleamed. "A perfect chance for a young craftsman like you to show his worth."

A loud banging sound from a nearby corridor interrupted Onli's dreams of helmet-business (which he would help to organise and distribute). He stopped, raising his wide eyebrows and shaking his head fast so that he resembled a startled red-furred squirrel. But he immediately knew what happened: it was Vriti once again sneaking around in the corners, looking for something to eat or to play with, or who knows what was it that she was doing. Onli smiled. Despite his mind was on business just a moment ago, and you could say that was the only thing that might interest him, he completely forgot about it now. Just for a short moment, though. But Vriti was his only real friend, or that was what Onli would have told you had you asked him. He knew he should go to catch her and feed her, for he was sure she did not find much to eat in the empty corridors of Dwarrowdelf.

Onli turned back to Bain. "Think about it, my good friend," he said, giving the young Dwarf an encouraging look and walked away, as if he did not even expect Bain to reply.

[Groin Redbeard]

As Balin ascended the slope the band of nobles began to look about uneasily. Although Tror was accustomed to fighting and to travel in the open it was not a prospect that thrilled him, he would rather get back to the safety of the great halls of the Dwarrowdelf. Ori was looking uneasy; Nali was gazing on with interest at the sky for the sun and moon would soon cross each other’s path, casting a cold shadow across the earth. Tror looked back to the eastern gate from which they ushered forth longing to get his lord back into the safety of its walls, why was Balin taking so long?

The dull twang of the bow string was heard, and it sent a shot of terror up Tor’s spine. Without thinking he grabbed his spear and was at that instant horror stricken as he beheld the body of his lord slump to the ground. Silence mastered the nobles for a moment, Ori stood for as stone at the fall of his friend, but only a moment for Tror felt a fit of rage coming on.

“Attack, Kill him!” he yelled in a voice that almost cracked.

With his spear ready he sprang ahead of the group, intending to reach the archer first. They ran swiftly between the boulders and obstacles that time created, already Tror could see a number of orcs swarming down the slope to retrieve the fallen king. The orcs saw the hasty approach of the dwarves and some sent their arrows whizzing at the band, Tror felt a dull thud as an arrow tested his hauberk of steel rings, but glanced off his shoulder. The dwarves quickly cut off the orcs, (who Tror now believed were a small raiding party) who did not number more than fifteen, from Balin’s body.

“Hold your ground, defend the king!” yelled out Tror as he skewered the first orc on the end of his spear. Ori brought up the rear of the group but came in swinging and was fighting fiercely at Tror's side cutting down all who ventured within the reach of his axe, while the two brothers, Nali and Loni, stood directly next to Balin crushing all their opponents.

Orcs swarmed around them in a mass of unorganized groups endeavoring to break upon Tror, who was now seen as the leader of the group, but always fell as the cold metal of the dwarves found a weak spot in the orc’s armor. Tror was unconsciously weeping, the fall of a great leader and companion, known to all for his generosity and kindness; never again was such a leader to be had as he and to fall on the very day of Durin, Tror could only wonder what this omen might mean.

From the decreasing number of orcs a huge Uruk emerged and rushed at Tror, its huge scimitar wielded high aloft his head. Tror thrust his spear in hopes of subduing the Uruk quickly but it was glanced aside with a stroke and was quickly dropped by Tror, who was by now unslinging his axe. Ori rushed at the Uruk intent on saving Balin’s lieutenant, but a smaller goblin rushed at him and as Ori quickly dispatched him the Uruk changed targets; if not had not been quick to react, the Uruk would have brought the full force of the scimitar upon the dwarf’s head. Tror was stationary no longer and sprang to help his comrade.

“Today is a good day to die, foul minion of the shadow. Come closer, and grapple with me, if you dare!”

The Uruk stunned seemed stunned by his predicament, his yellow eyes faded as they met the determined hatred in Tror’s and with desperate attempts he rained down blows but the Tror soon proved the better, and after many traded blows the Uruk fell dead beneath the weight of Tror’s axe.

[Thinlómien]

The passageway echoed softly when Vigdis strode along it. She held the special chisel she had fetched from the mason's storage room and she was fingering it as she walked. Finally she would get to fix the uneven corner of a stone block that had been troubling her all day.

She arrived at the place where they had been working on the cavern chambers. Forin and Farin, the twin masons that always kept to themselves, were still at work, but Magnar and Vitr, the two others working there, had already finished their day's work. For all she knew about Magnar, Vigdis suspected he would already have started celebrating Durin's Day with his friends and some beer. And Vitr, he would be with his family now.

As she was working on the edges of the block, Vigdis kept thinking about that. She had no family of her own, and that, she knew, was entirely her own decision. Not that she would have craved for children or husband. She liked children well enough, but they made a lot of noise and restricted their parents' lives. As for a husband, well, she wouldn't have minded having a companion to share her joys and sorrows, but she was able to cope alone as well. Besides, she had given her heart to the greatest dwarf of their age, and when he had not returned her love she would not take another man for husband. No one compared to Balin son of Fundin, Lord of Khazad-dûm.

Today was Durin's Day and the day he would look at the mysterious waters of Kheled-zaram. She hoped he would see whatever it was that he wanted to see there, and that when he'd return to celebrate the New Year with his people, he would hold his head up high and there would be a new determination in his eyes. Then she would celebrate not only the New Year and the first and greatest King of Dwarves, but also the high Lord to whom both her loyalty and her heart belonged.

Something warm was moving down her palm. Snorting with annoyance, she wiped the thin trail of blood to her sleeve and licked the few red drops off her fingertip. Vigdis could not be called clumsy at any rate, but whenever she got too carried away, she started maiming herself. She allowed herself a wry smile. Her body seemed to have a protective mechanism of its own that reminded her when she was concentrating on something nonsensical instead of her work.

Her finger was still bleeding. Her handkerchief was grey with stone dust, but she wrapped it around her finger nevertheless. She would see to the small cut later, now she wanted to finish the block. The corner was still more than a little uneven, and she would not call her day's work done before it was finished.

[Gwathagor]

Frar pounded down the hill, axe in hand, eyes ablaze, long black hair streaming in the wind.

Only moments earlier, Balin had stood like the lords of Khazad-dum before him, gazing into Mirrormere, where the sun, the moon, and the evening stars all shone reflected. It was Durin's Day and the start of a new year, and a quiet peace lay over Dimrill Dale.

Then in the stroke of a hammer, the vision was shattered, upended by a single arrow. The Lord of Khazad-dum lay dead in a patch of green grass on the granite slope.

The overwhelming sense of shock did not prevent the dwarves from taking immediate action, and now, driven by speechless rage, they were systematically hacking the marauding orcs to pieces. Loni and Nali were already standing over the body of their fallen lord, feet planted and weapons swinging. Tror was a short distance in front of them, and the other dwarves had spread out into a rough crescent to meet the advancing orcs. Frar took up position near Tror and settled into his work, immediately dispatching two orcs who rushed at him from his left and his right. A third leapt from the top of a boulder at Frar with a spear and a yell - which was cut abruptly short by a tremendous blow from Frar's great double-edged axe. The broken body of the orc was slammed to the ground, raising a cloud of grey dust. Frar spat, turned, and kept swinging.

[Groin Redbeard]

The hall was in a flurry of commotion, Nisa had been with the cooks all day helping with the magnificent feast that was to come that evening when the lord Balin returned. Everyone was very excited, even for dwarf standards, the men hastened around carrying the large caskets of ale and dried goods on their shoulders and getting helping the women with the tables and stools. Though for the most part it was the job of the women to arrange the feast, the men had not yet gathered back from the mines or many crafts that some occupied themselves with.

Nisa sat on a stool in the far corner helping the other women with the meats, turning them on a spit and making sure that none of the men ventured near enough to snatch an early piece for themselves. She looked all around her, there was the greatest gaiety and merriment amongst her people and she was glad that Tror had consented to taking her along, of course the dwarves celebrated Durin’s Day every year but to do so in these magnificent halls seemed to make the effect greater upon her. Her cousin, Tror, always told her to be proud of her people and had instilled in her a deep sense of patriotism.

Although small band that Balin had brought from Erebor could not fill the vastness of the hall, in-fact they had only filled up a small part of it, it seemed as if the whole of the Twenty-First Hall was filled with their joy. She wondered at how it would have been to be present in the days of Durin when the whole hall would have been filled.

One of the kitchen maids leaner over to her, “I wonder when our lord Balin will return?”

“Oh, I do hope soon,” Nisa said with a smile, “this waiting in making me anxious, lord Balin has never ushered forth to Kheled-zaram before in the last five years. I hope that Oin comes back soon too; he’s been gone for the better part of the day. But I guess the waiting will do me good,” she said with a laugh, her clear voice echoing off of the walls, “it makes it all the more merrier when they arrive, wouldn’t you say?"

[Lilly]

Dinner at the Silverfist home was done; the dishes washed and dried. The twins were itching to unwrap the present they’d discovered in their father’s bag. A soft leather pouch secured with buttoned flap hid it from their view. They’d felt it, and weighed it in their hands, and shook it, all to no avail. They could not tell what it was. Now a nod from their mother and a wink from their father gave them permission to open it.

‘Oh, Papi! What is this?’ Tív took the large, rectangular wooden board from his sister’s hands and held it out toward his father. It was light in color, made from beech wood and just about the thickness of Tív’s hand. There was a large circle drawn upon it in gold paint and within the circle lay a six pointed star, the edges of which were made of small inlaid pieces of gems; the edges of each of the star sections being lined by a different color of stone – red, orange, yellow, green, blue, violet. And the middle formed a six sided figure bounded by each of the colors

‘It’s a game, Tív,’ Lys said, clapping her hands in delight at the sight of their birthday present. ‘My brothers and I had one when we were little. Though not,’ she said, turning to Vitr, ‘one so lovely in the crafting.’

‘Here, daughter mine,’ she went on, sitting down on the homespun rug. ‘Let me see that little bag you’re holding.’ She undid the leather strings which bound it and poured the contents of the leather pouch out onto the rug. Crystal marbles rolled out in a glimmering heap. Sparkling globes each one a different hue of the rainbow.

‘See,’ she said, placing the wooden board before her on the run. ‘These red crystals go here in these little carved out holes here in the red part of the star.’ She patted the ground to each side of her, encouraging the children to sit down. ‘You, too, Vitr!’ she went on, smiling up at her husband. ‘It’s much more fun with more players!’

A rousing game ensued. Slow, at first, with the hesitancy of the children at unfamiliar rules; then more decisive and a great deal more boisterous as Tív and Tíva mastered the fine points of frustrating their opponents’ moves. There were groans, too, as plans were foiled. Marbles sent back to their starting places; others of the players quietly and steadily moving their marbles slowly into their winning positions.

When the game was done, and Lys declared the winner, Tív grabbed up her red marbles in his hands. ‘Next time I get to use these,’ he declared. ‘Aw put them back in the bag, brother!’ Tíva ordered, holding open the leather pouch. ‘You know it wasn’t the red ones that won for her.’ She looked at her mother admiringly. ‘She’s just a much better player than you are!!!’ Tíva stuck her tongue out and just as quickly leaped back from the little punch her brother aimed at her shoulder.

‘Here! Give me those!’ Lys reached out for the marble pouch just as it escaped her daughter’s grasp.

‘Vitr, dear, see to them won’t you?’ she nodded to where the twins chased each other round about the room. ‘I’ll just get this put away,’ she went on, securing the game board in its leather pouch and the smaller leather bag within, too. She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. ‘I’ll load up the basket with the cookies and nut cakes I’ve made, then you must fetch my ale and your spirits. We’re already late to the start of the party, I fear.’

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Trór's shout brought him to his senses.

A moment ago, he was just watching the skies, observing the heavenly lamps, as they were hanging high in the sky on Durin's Day. A rare sight, and here, by the Lake Mirrormere, it was as if the history and all the tales of Dwarvenkind he had heard from his brother suddenly came true, and as if it was here, present, now. Durin, Náin, Borin, Thráin, Frosti, Helmi... all the names of the Dwarven heroes of old, who have ever stood in this place, came to Lóni's mind. Their tales, their fates. The legends. Some lead the Dwarven folk into deep caverns beneath Caradhras, some built marvelous halls, some fought nameless monsters in the darkness far below the world of the Sun and the Moon. Some have stood even here, maybe where he is standing now, or by the great Mirrormere itself. There were also those who fought here, in Dimrill Dale, and Lóni remembered them all. Some who fought victoriously, some found their deaths, but now the time seemed to disappear, they were not past, they were all here, both living and dead, right here and right now.

Thrór, Thráin, Thorin, Dáin... and Balin.

He did not hear the hiss of the arrow, and it was only Trór's cry which brought him back to reality. He had only a moment to see the Lord fall. He heard how Náli hissed next to him with his breath. Then Trór's mighty stature covered his sight.

And then he saw them. Goblins. Rushing down from the steep slope, they swarmed like black ants. They moved towards the lake.

Náli by his side moved. Lóni followed, automatically. The Dwarves ran towards the lake to be there first, to cut off the black enemies from lying Balin. Cowards, a thought fled through Lóni's mind. Shot him when he was unexpecting, unarmed. Unknown fear shook him. Balin was wounded. The great Dwarf of this age, cowardly attacked like that... there was no time for him to worry, but deep inside, almost unconsciously, Lóni hoped that Balin's wound was not fatal.

They have reached the place and stopped, like a wall they stood to block the attackers' way. Swiftly, Lóni pulled out his light mace. Right in time, as the first enemies came. A tall, long-legged orc thrusted his spear against Lóni, but was unbalanced by Náli's strike. Lóni seized the opportunity and countered. He was fast, but the orc succeeded to parry with a small round wooden shield. Looking around, the enemy stepped back and left space to his incoming companions.

"Hold your ground! Defend the king!" Trór shouted.

The goblins swarmed about them, surrounded them, yet neither of them could reach the body of Balin. We have to dispatch them, Lóni thought, we have to crush them and then carry Balin inside, fast, before he dies.

Left and right, left and right he directed his strikes.

The sun and the moon seemed so big, as they crossed the heavenly path, and the water of the lake was dark as night. Cold was creeping out of the surface of the lake, and Lóni could have sworn that he felt the chill stealing the heat of the body of the fallen Lord of Moria, who lay next to him.

Left, right, left, right. The two mountain goblins with scimitars kept attacking him from both sides and did not give Lóni a moment of rest. But he was fast, swinging his light weapon and parrying their blows. The yellow stone in his helmet gleamed like a twin of the great yellow stone in the sky. Suddenly, he heard a warning cry from Náli. He turned right in time. The long-legged orc who attacked him before, managed to move towards his right, and got into Lóni's blind spot when his attention was directed elsewhere. Now, the Dwarf could only try to avoid the spear. Not fast enough. The steel rings of his hauberk made a chiming sound when the enemy's weapon was forced against their protective shell with full strength.

But they held. Feeling pain in his right side, Lóni swung with full strength from the right. The orc was too tall. The mace hit his side and there was a crushing sound. The enemy fell on one knee and Lóni led his strike for the second time. The orc's head swung in a funny way and he fell to the ground.

Lóni's helmet rung like a bell and his eyes darkened for a while. He turned and saw a goblin with scimitar. Had there not been Náli, whose presence distracted the enemies from focusing solely on Lóni, the goblin's strike would have surely been directed in a far deadlier manner. From where he stood, Lóni turned and using the energy of the blow, he hit the goblin's head. He could only notice the fear in the enemy's eyes when he realised that he cannot parry Lóni's blow. As the mace hit the goblin's face, he gave out a loud shriek and with a disgusting sound, he fell to the ground, wincing. After a few heartbeats he stopped, motionless.

[Arry]

At the celebration

‘Can you see who’s here?’ Tív poked at his sister’s leg, tugging too at her pant-leg. ‘All I can see are belts and the backs of tunics down here.’ He bobbed and weaved a bit trying to peer around the adults in front of him or at least get a glimpse of some familiar face through crooked elbows.

Tíva had cajoled her father into letting her ride on his shoulders on the way to the area of the great hall where the Durin’s Day party would be. So she had a bird’s eye view of the goings-on and the revelers. ‘Well, just about everyone got here before us! There’s tons of food!’ Her eyes sparkled as she pointed toward one of the tables. ‘Ooh, lots of pies, and sweet buns, and cakes, too!!’

‘How can you two still be hungry?’ laughed Vitr as he swung his daughter down beside her brother. ‘You have enough of your Mami’s cookies in you already to turn you each into lumps of sugar!!!’ He tapped each of them lightly on the tips of their noses.

‘Aw, Papi!’ Tíva grinned up at him. ‘You know, it’s just like you always say – we filled our bellies and now we’re working on our hollow legs!!’ She ducked as his hand came round to give her a friendly cuff on her cheek. ‘Missed me!!!’ she crowed, laughing.

Tív grabbed at her hand and pulled along, further into the room. ‘Hey, come on!’ he urged her. ‘Let’s see if we can find Nîsa. She might have remembered its our birthday, you know.’ Tíva took the lead, then, saying she thought she had spied her over where the meats were being roasted.

Vitr took from Lys’ hand the braided rope handle of the little wagon they'd brought. In it was a small barrel of Lys’ special bright amber ale she always brewed to celebrate this day and beside it a smaller cask of his own brewing. Dwarven spirits – a strong concoction with the traditional flavor of juniper berries and a secret mixture of his own making of various spices. It was a quite delightful drink, a bracing one, and sure to make the festivities all the more merry for those who imbibed.

He handed Lys her platter tucked securely between the barrel and its smaller neighbor. Covered by a brightly embroidered cloth, she'd heaped it with the cookies she’d made for the twins’ birthday. ‘I think we’re near the sweets’ table,’ he told her, nodding off to his right. ‘We can drop these off there, then go set up your ale and uncork my little cask.’

They nodded and smiled at friends and neighbors as they passed through the crowd. And often they stopped for a few moments as they were drawn into the various knots of conversation.

[Groin Redbeard]

A cold wind sent Nali’s green robe flapping. He stood beside his brother Loni; both were staring in wonder at the sky. So focused were they on the heavenly event that they had not noticed that Balin had been gone for some time. The Two globes in the sky were mere minutes away from colliding, or at least looked like they would.

Both brothers were startled at an exclamation of horror from Tror and before Nali knew the cause of the cry Tror and Frar had sprung to the vanguard of the group and were soon followed by Loni. It suddenly appeared that orcs were scrambling down the slopes to where Balin was, but Nali did not see the figure of his lord sprawled out on the ground. Ori and he stood motionless as the group went forward, Nali Finally regained his senses and grabbed Ori by the shoulder and shook him roughly.

“Come my friend, why do we linger? Our leader hath need of our help!” Resolution came back into Ori’s stature and they both sprang down the rocky slope with greater recklessness than their four companions had.

They overtook the orcs and helped with fending them off. Twice Nali intervened on behalf of his brother, though outnumbered, the dwarves put up a stout fight. The fiercest of them was Ori, he flung himself at the orcs with reckless fury so that the strong arms of Tror and Frar had to twice help him. Nali lifted his huge mace and smashed helm and shield alike, he placed himself directly over Balin’’s body alongside his brother.

Once he was flung from his lord while parrying a blow and the orcs laid their cruel hands on Balin and sought to make away with him, but every time he was flung back Loni cut the hands of the orcs that held Balin and they fled in terror.

With the last of the orc s slane, Nali dropped his mace and sunk to his knees. Gingerly he and Loni turned him so that they could see his face. Loni held him in his arms, Nali was weeping beside him, Balin’s face was ghostly white, his eyes were closed and a look of pain was written upon his face.

Suddenly Balin’s chest heaved in an agonizing sigh; his eyes opened and looked around as if bewildered and unsure. As an exclamation of joy rang from companions the realization came into his eyes and a smile crossed his lips.

“My lord!” exclaimed Tror; Ori sprang next to Balin, clasping his friend’s hand in his and burst into joyful tears.

But the lord of Khazad-dum just looked at his friends and gave a nod, as if to say, “thank you.” Then there was a long sigh and Balin lay limp in Loni’s arms, at perfect peace with his fate.

Nali buried his head in his hands and wept heavily next to his brother. The whole company was immersed in grief. Tror clenched his fists and bit his lip, but no matter how hard he tried the tears still flowed from his eyes and stained his beard.

“Alas,” cried Nali after long moments of weeping, “now two great leaders of Durin’s house have fallen in this dale.”

Thus it was that Balin died at the moment of the sun and moon crossing each other’s path. Nali no longer held it as a wondrous occurrence; he cursed and shook his fist at the sky. It was an ill omen that their lord should fall on the day of Durin, Nali couldn’t help but feel that ill times awaited him and his friends.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

It was very late when Lóni actually realised what Balin's state really is. At first, he has not given it much thought, he saw the immediate threat and acted, and only in the furthest corner of his mind he had the worry that Balin's wound may be serious. But now, as he stood at the edge of the dark lake among the fallen enemies and silent friends, he realised the truth which was far more terrifying than he originally dared to think. With the shadow of Durin's stone next to him, Lóni once again thought of the dwarven heroes, but now from a completely different perspective. The living and the dead were once again together, and Lóni felt just how thin the line between the former and the latter was. The heroes of Khazad-dûm, those who died in its halls and in front of its gates. Durin, Thrór...

The sun and moon were together in the sky and the water of the lake was dark and chill.

Balin, their lord, the one whom Lóni always admired and respected as a honourable dwarf of his age, and as somebody close to him, was dead.

[Folwren]

Kénan had remained at the gates of Moria. He had not been close to Balin and therefore was not one of the party to go down with him. Yet he had followed them at a distance, but only to the gates. There he stood on the threshold under the mountain looking out on all that passed from a great distance. He did not see Balin fall, but he saw the routing of the orcs and their flight from the valley. His brows drew together, resembling a thundercloud gathering together before the storm.

He knew that in the inhabited halls above, the dwarves would be gathering for the great celebration of Durin’s Day. His two grandchildren would be there. He should be there with them, but his deep sense of loyalty to his lord, Balin, had induced him to follow.

Soon he realized that he had not followed far enough. In time, he saw the small group of dwarves drawing up the path below him, and they bore on their shoulders a body of one of their number.

Kénan stepped forward out of the shadow of the gatepost into the light of the dying sun. He heard the voices of the dwarves in lament. Then he recognized Balin to be the one they carried. He lifted his hand and pulled the hood away from his head, and thus bared, the gray head bent and he stepped back again to allow the body to pass.

[Durelin]

Kórin expertly filled mug after mug from large barrels of ale, pausing in her work only to take a drink of her own or to chat with a friend or friendly face. She paid no heed to whether or not she was refilling this dwarf’s mug for the fourth or fifth time, nor if the two mugs that dwarf carried were both for him or not. Today was Durin’s Day, and they were celebrating the fifth such day in Khazad-dûm, home and stronghold of their ancestors, reclaimed once again.

Kórin, who had never excelled at any craft she had been instructed in, largely because she had no interest in them, was among those who took up brewing (once again, for some) since Balin’s people had settled in and restored the Twenty-first Hall to a comfortable neighborhood. And most of them had been storing more than they had been offering for months, in anticipation of this day. For five years now dwarves once again dwelt in Khazad-dûm, relighting some – if only a fraction – of its forges.

The gathering area in the middle of the hall – a sort of town centre now – was filled with people, laughter, music, delectable smells, and the smoke of pipeweed. Kórin sang along with a nearby group who played on fiddles and flutes and sang:

“The world was young, the mountains green,
No stain yet on the Moon was seen,
No words were laid on stream or stone,
When Durin woke and walked alone.
He named the nameless hills and dells;
He drank from yet untasted wells;
He stooped and looked in Mirrormere,
And saw a crown of stars appear,
As gems upon a silver thread,
Above the shadow of his head.

The world was fair, the mountains tall,
In Elder Days before the fall
Of mighty Kings in Nargothrond
And Gondolin, who now beyond
The Western Seas have passed away:
The world was fair in Durin's Day...”

Kórin let the others continue without her when she caught sight of two familiar faces amongst the crowd, and called out to them, “Good day, Master and Missus Silverfist! Isn’t it your Tív and Tíva’s birthday today, too? What a party they’re gettin’! Tell ‘em I wish ‘em a good one! I don’t suppose I should offer them a full pint, but what about yourselves?”

~*~

Kór had not been back to get another ale from his sister after she had shoved one at him when he helped her roll barrels into the centre of the hall. He had barely touched his ale, as since then his hands had been busy upon his harp’s strings. He played mostly familiar tunes today that those celebrating could sing along to, such as songs about the Lonely Mountain – both the dragon’s coming and the return of the king under the mountain. It was hard to believe that it was five years ago now that there had been another such glorious return – and one that Kór himself had witnessed.

Kór heard some lively flutes and strings from across the hall, and when he heard them strike up the tune of Durin’s song he began to play along with them. Though only pieces of the words echoed to where he sat, garbled at this distance, he filled in the rest without thinking, running the words through his head as he played, absorbing their meaning and pouring that out through his fingers. It certainly felt that Durin was alive this day, and though he was not, Kór played to awaken him.

[Kitanna]

Iari tugged at Kéni's sleeve, dragging him along to the feast. She hated the thought that they might be late for Durin's Day celebration. All that wonderful food not being eaten, just sitting there, or worse it could all be gone and only the worst was left. It would be a travesty

"Hurry, hurry," She pulled harder, but now Kéni was resisting. His feet were planted in the ground, refusing another step. "We're going to be late."

"We will be fine. The food will still be there and there will be plenty for us, even if we're late. We should have waited at home for Grandpa anyway."

"He said he would meet us there. Now come on!" Iari was pulling harder, but her older brother had weight and height on her. Kéni took Iari by the arm and hoisted her up, slinging her over one shoulder.

"Because of your impatience we are returning home. I am sure Grandpa will bring us something to eat when the celebration is over."

"No, no!" Iari cried, beating her fists on Kéni's back as he started walking. It was unfair. Just because he was older did not mean he had any right to deprive young Iari of the Durin's Day celebration feast. The day before Kéni had been as excited as she and now he was carrying her back to their home and missing all the fun.

Kéni laughed as his sister beat her tiny fists into his back. He drew closer to the feast and knew it was time to settle Iari. What would their neighbors think if he brought her in screaming and abusing him? "Best be quiet or no one will give you anything." Kéni placed Iari down and pointed her toward the feast.

Her eyes lighted and she clapped with joy. Kéni took her by the hand, leading her toward the food.

[Groin Redbeard]

She was left alone for some time with her thoughts, humming to herself and slowly turning the roast. But her thoughts were disturbed by the patter of little feet and the excited shouts of little voices. She smiled to herself and went on with her duty. Presently she felt the little hands suddenly seize her and begin to tickle, she jumped in pretend surprise and then turned on the little Tiv and Tiva and began to chase them around the makeshift kitchen catching one up in her arms and then the other. The little kids laughed with her as she carried them back to her stool.

"My my, you kids are getting heavy. I wonder, could it be that today is your birthday?"

"Yes yes, it is!" the children shouted excitedly.

"Then that calls for gifts, but they must be special gifts for today is Durin's Day and it is not every year that you may celebrate you birthday then."

The Kids held their breath as Nisa reached under her stool and lifted up two packages of stoat skins and handed it to the children she looked on with delight as they opened the pouches and displayed the contents in the light of the fire. One of the packages contained a some wooden figures in the shape of a bird with a sharp beak, they examined it for some time but soon had to ask her what they were.

"These," she explained holding the two figures in her hands, "are raven callers. It was said that in the days of old our folk could speak to the ravens of the hills and call on them for aid. Alas, all too few of us know the language today, even my cousin has endevoured to learn it and failled, but with these you mearly have to blow in this end and a ravens call will pertrude out of it, watch." Nisa placed one to her lips and blew, a sharp caw rang out across the hall and the Tiv and Tiva immediately began blowing on them.

Tiv was handeling an object in the second pouch, they were richly adorned belts of gold studded leather. Tiv's was dark green and sparked when shown in the light; it was adorned with a small jewel on the front. Tiva's was of light blue, but hers did not shine in the light, but instead sparkled and glowed when in the dark, a special kind of "magic worked by Bain who she had purchased them from. Both of the artifacts were well wrought and valuble possetions, but she was a wealthy dwarf and spared no expense on this special day.

However, though the children were pleased with their gifts and thanked her over and over for them she was filled with an emptiness. She had not yet fulfilled her duty and produced an offspring. Nisa wondered how happy Tiv and Tiva's parents were, and how richly they had been blessed to have two little darlings such as these.

"Now you two," she said after the children had fastened their new belts on and stored their raven callers in a pouch, "you best be getting back to your parents. I still have work to do and lord Balin will be back soon."

[Lilly]

Tív and Tíva

The twins were agog at the gifts Nîsa had given them. Tíva buckled her new blue belt about her waist and twirled about, cocking her head this way and that as she tried to catch a glimpse of herself on the side of one of the bigger cooking pots.

‘Oh, I am pretty.......so puh-rit-teeeee!’ She skipped back to Nîsa and flung her arms about the woman as far as they would reach. ‘Thank you so much, Nîsa – I love it!!’ She skipped away again to stand in the dark shadows at the end of the hall, where her belt glimmered out about her.

Tív’s attention was focused on the raven-call. He recalled times outside the caverns with his father, when they’d gone to chop firewood in the forests that carpeted the mountain sides. High in the branches of the tall firs he’d seen the large black birds gliding from one tree’s branches to another and calling out in the still air. Their hoarse, croaking Kaughs and the variations of that call echoing across the little valleys. It was almost as if they spoke, Tiv had thought. His father, noting they boy’s interest in the ravens, had told him stories of how many of the older Dwarves he’d know as a boy insisted there was indeed meaning in those various sounds.

If a raven caws above your head - you will have company
If she says GRAW!” it will be unexpected company
If she says “GEEWAN!” it will be unwelcome company
If she says “BEECAH!” it will be a lover come to call
If she says “GRACE!” it will be someone coming to collect a debt

Tív grinned at Nîsa and blew a series of calls. He was soon joined by his sister, and as soon had tried on his own belt.

When Nîsa let them know in her gentle way that she had best return to her business of turning the roasts for the feast, they put away their calls and bid her good-bye. ‘Thank you!’ they called aloud again, waving their hands at her as they made their way back into the crowd.

-----------------------------

Lys and Vitr try Kórin’s brew

‘You have the right of it,’ Lys said, accepting a mug of foaming ale from Kórin. ‘It is the twins’ birthday She took a small sip and rolled it about in her mouth. ‘Very tasty!’ She furrowed her brow, catching a taste of something unfamiliar. ‘What is that? Something new you’ve added this year.’ She cocked a brow at Kórin. ‘A secret, I suppose?’ she asked, smiling. ‘Well, whatever it is, I think it definitely deserves further investigation.’ She downed the remainder of her mug-full and held it out for a refill.

Noting the sly grin tipping up the edges of Vitr’s mouth, Lys winked at him. ‘Come now, husband mine! Kórin’s offered a taste of her newest brew.’ She tipped her chin toward her own barrel. ‘Let’s give her a taste of mine.’ She nodded at Kórin. ‘You’ll want to try Vitr’s spirits, too. Smooth, but with quite a kick to it!’

[Groin Redbeard]

Something died with Tror as he saw balin's eyes close for the last time. It was nothing new to him, he had seen dwarves die before, even important dwarves such as Balin yet he did not cry for them. As best he could, Tror held back the flood of tears that wished to brake his dam of pride that held them back. This was not the way for a beloved leader to die: killed by an assasin's arrow, and with him the dream that he held. It was Balin dream burned with a fire of its own when he was around other people, it was he who could inspire the populace to do great things, would his dream die with him?

Tror no longer felt like crying, he wanted to fight, he wanted to hit something to vent his frusteration out on an object. His eyes fixed on the arrow that pierced the dwarf lords back, Balin hadn't even worn his armour that day.

"Take it out," he growled in a low voice at Loni (it was he who was holding Balin), "take it out, take the shaft out!" he said in a loud voice after Loni looked up at him confused.

Loni did as he was told, Nali took his robe off and wrapped the dead lord in it. Even in death Balin was a kingly sight.

"Come my friends," said Tror in a gentler voice, "we must not linger. The people will be expecting the return of their lord."

Together Tror,Loni, Frar, and Nali lifted the dead lord on their shoulders. Tror had excluded Ori from this task on purpose, the death of his dear friend had only moments ago happened and the grief might still be too great. Slowly the dwarves walked in step up the rocky slope back to the Eastern-Gate. Tror was never any good with words, yet he sang a durge in a deep voice.

[Himaran]

"Ghaah!"

Dalin winced in pain, letting his hammer clatter to the stone floor. Grimacing, the dwarf tugged off his thick leather gloves and tossed them aside before examining his sore thumb. The damage appeared minor, though shades of deep purple blue and significant swelling had already begun to set in. He shook it furiously, sucked on it briefly, then shook it some more, silently cursing his misfortune. It had been simply ages since his last mishap in the forge; and while crafting something as simple as a pickaxe for one of the miners! Dalin couldn't decide if he was more perturbed by his lack of concentration or the pain itself.

The pain, however, soon faded, leaving the dwarf to brood on his error alone. It seemed as if he had been distracted all day; not even in the forge, a sanctuary of sorts to Dalin, was he left unaffected. Picking up the culprit hammer, he gripped the handle tightly, raised it up, let it hang for a fleeting second, and brought it crashing down against the searing red metal. Again, and again, he swung his craftman's tool in a gleaming arc. He oft likened the path of the hammer to that of his own life; it had a purpose, a mission, a point of conception and a destination. Again, and again, and -- a dull splintering noise jerked Dalin back to reality, a reality in which he had not only missed his target again but succeeded in shattering the base of his hammer in two.

This time, Dalin broke into a loud and profane rant.

Hurling the remnants of his hammer against the forge wall, the dwarf let out a bellow of frustration and collapsed to ground in defeat. What was wrong with him? All day he had struggled to concentrate on his work, let alone socialize with his brethren. What bothered the skilled craftsman even more was the gradual realization that he knew exactly what was bothering him: the dwarf was homesick. Moria seemed darker and gloomier than in past days; a strange sense of staleness had infected its massive halls and chambers. Far too often for his liking, Dalin had begun to catch himself daydreaming of the sunny slopes of Erebor. Rumors of growing orc numbers in and around the region did little to ease his discomfort. Perhaps it was time for a change.

Standing slowly, Dalin glanced around the room to make sure no one was there to witness his outburst. Thankfully, the forge was otherwise deserted. Strange that he was the only one...

... the Celebration!

[Ilya]

"What a waste of time!" Adela huffed, topping off the pan with the last bit of redcurrant jam. The celebration sounded and resounded against the walls, and by the time the pies were done, she reckoned most who might enjoy them would be rather too spirited to do so. "Should have started earlier," she mumbled, tucking a stray piece hair back behind her ear. As she ladled jam into the open mouth of the dough, it quivered like a piece of wounded flesh. Adela sighed, stoking the fire. Why was it her thoughts of late had touch of darkness in them? She glanced up at couple of the other maids chatting with one of the Ladies and then chuckled quietly, shaking her head. In the process the strand of her hair came loose again, limp from the close contact she'd had with the smoke of the fires since before dawn.

The music began. Adela smiled, closed her eyes for a moment, and pictured the kitchens emptying, leaving her alone with the music, a little put aside piece of meat, and glowing embers of the fire to warm her. The solitude of the dark flagstones, to lean on their strength and let her thoughts cease, would be the reward for all the hustle and bustle of the day. Adela didn't put much other stock in the boasts of the miners, but like any dwarf she could sense the voices of the stones. No small feat that the stone of Khazad Dum had tempered her somewhat these last five years, and she liked waiting for what, if anything, it might say back.

Pushing another pie into another oven, she paused for a moment, feeling a cool updraft strike her back and suddenly being aware of the sheer space in the air around her. Small though the settlement was, the 21st hall still seemed altogether too crowded between the boisterous voices of her fellow dwarves and the somber, brooding stones. And something else, she thought. An echo of an echo she could not name.

Adela shook her head, more hair flying free of the bonds that held it. "An echo of an echo indeed!" She huffed over to where the lasts of the meat was roasting. Most had already been carried into the hall, although the choicest cuts still waited for Lord Balin to return. "There's better trade in raspberries than rhymes, and always take a flagon over fate," she recited a mannish saying, looked about, and then popped a slice of one of the honeyed apples that had been set aside in her mouth. The Lord Balin was not a begrudging fellow, she reasoned. Or else, there are some things he just wouldn't count. She gave a leg a good turn as she finished chewing, the noise from the hall rising higher, as an arrow in flight. Odd, but the apple didn't taste very sweet.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Wind was blowing through the pass, coming down from the heights of the Misty Mountains, rushing down the Dimrill Stair, hurrying around the streams of Silverlode and following it, down, to where the young river gathered water from other streams, as they rushed down into the dale. The wind turned around the few scattered rocks, spread through all the length of the valley, as if some giant's child left them here after play. It flew then further, as far as the sharp edge of a waterfall, which suddenly stood in the river's way, as another stream joined her flow. The wind rushed into the crooked fir-trees about it, made them shiver, and it flapped the old and dirty travel-cloak of the Dwarf who stood by them, looking far into the valley below him. He was old, his short beard and long hair being already white, though his blue eyes watching carefully from under the brown hood were bright and vivid. In his left hand, he was holding a short bow, though all his arrows remained peacefully in the quiver he carried on his back.

The mountains were casting long shadows and the sun and the moon over the Dwarf's head were performing a heavenly theatre, but he did not pay any attention to them. He was observing carefully the dale, surrounded by steep cliffs, with only a few bushes and small trees vegetating in there. He stood motionless amidst the fir trees; for a casual watcher, it would have been easy to overlook him in his worn-out brown cloak. The nearby waterfall was bubbling loudly, making it impossible for the Dwarf to hear any other sounds, but the watcher himself was protected by it from being overheard. When he at last moved and stepped forward to climb down the path of slippery green rocks beside Silverlode's channel, his steps were deafened by the voice of the running water.

As he went down, two times he almost slipped on the wet surface. For the third time, he managed to catch his balance only in the last moment. "By Durin's beard," he said, being grateful that both his voice and the sound of his stumbling before were drowned out by the loud stream. "You should take more care, Óin, good lad. Otherwise you may end up breaking some of your bones and who's going to pick you up?"

As the Dwarf continued down the dale, more carefully, as now the rocky gorge was narrowing a little, and also the noise of the waterfall was getting softer, he continued to mutter to himself under his breath, just so not to be louder than the river's bubbling voice.

"Of course I have to take care," he mumbled, as he went on, "but who is going to take a look around the place, if not me? They are all - mining, baking, wining, dining, but nobody thinks about taking a routine survey of the mountains. Of course, of course. It's Durin's Day," now he at last lifted his eyes to take a look at the skis. As if realising with shock what panorama is hanging above him, the Dwarf stood silent for a while. Only then he shook his head, but still being unable to move his eyes away from the heavenly theatre, he stood still.

"It's Durin's Day," he repeated slowly, "but they do not think about some good routine check. At least the main road down here, around the streams of Kibil-nâla... even old Balin got careless, as he became the Lord of Moria." Óin shook his head and made a snarling noise, perhaps a laugh, perhaps not. He finally managed to get his eyes away from the scenery of the skies and looked down at the dale below him. "Of course I am not complaining," he said. "It is good to have a breath of some fresh air once in a while, and now-"

He stopped in the middle of the sentence. His eyes opened wide, as he was gazing into the widening valley below him. The green walls, washed by the running stream gave way and then, the icy cold water continued its way between scarred slopes and following down in foaming curves and leaps amidst the rocks. And there, amidst the rocks, something was moving! The Dwarf now saw it clearly.

"Óin, good lad," he said softly, with his mouth open wide, "you are out on a survey and remain gazing at the Moon and the Sun like some kind of an Elf, and here you have somebody walking all happy right under your nose! Hide somewhere, quick!"

He immediately obeyed his own order. Jumping to the side, he crouched behind the nearest boulder, just as possible it was in the narrow gorge. The icy water was washing his boots and once in a while, a cold shower sprinkled on him.

"Durin's beard, Óin," he mumbled. "You should have picked a better place to hide. But what! You won't climb back there to the fir-trees unnoticed, so do your best and stay put!"

The incomer took a little while before he managed to climb into the place where Óin was hiding, but he did not seem to notice him, until he was just a short distance, not longer than a bowshot, from him. Óin jumped to his feet, preparing his bow, but when he saw who the incomer was, he let his hand reaching for an arrow to lower again.

"By Durin's beard!" he cried in surprise. "It's a Dwarf!" Then he realised that he is no longer alone, and fell silent in a bit of embarassement. But only for a moment.

"Oh, hail to you, fellow kinsman," he said, lifting his empty hand in greeting. "I hope I did not startle you." He observed the incomer curiously. It was a very young Dwarf, lot shorter than Óin, but of a strong build, and his face under the long brown beard seemed pleasant on first sight.

"My name is Óin, of the tribe of Durin, from Khazad-dûm the realm of Balin, my cousin and our lord. And who might you be," he finally looked the newcomer into eyes, with a firm expression as if he had finally evaluated the Dwarf and decided to form a basic opinion on him, "and what brings you to the gates of Moria? Is it that you are bringing any news from our cousins from the North?"

[Boromir88]

Gror's long journey from Erebor was just about over. Gror had lost count of how many days it's been since he left. With no company, it felt like he had been following the Great River for years. He had turned west before reaching the Realm of that Sorceress Witch. Nasty place it was, he had heard, much worse than Mirkwood, and the thought of Mirkwood (which Gror had avoided as well), brought a sense of bitterness in him.

However, Gror had long forgotten about the Elves, he had spotted an Enemy that filled him with an even deeper hatred - Orcs, and a great host of them. He had spotted them not two nights ago, heading up the Silverlode. He then had headed straight for the East Gate with as much haste as possible. He didn't want to explore the matter further; someone had to warn Balin. Such a large gathering of Orcs could only mean one thing - they were out for blood.

He did feel at ease, being in the mountains again. It brought a feeling of relief that he hadn't felt since leaving his home. He doubted Moria would have the splendour of the Lonely Mountain, but the thought of being in the halls of Durin and in the presense of Balin filled Gror with excitement.

Gror was in such a day-dream state he took no notice that someone else had been watching him, until he heard a shout:

"By Durin's beard! It's a Dwarf!"

That couldn't have been the voice of any other, except a dwarf. Gror was just glad to be in the company of another dwarf again. He had practically forgotten what it had felt like. The dwarf introduced himself as Oin. Gror noticed that he was a much older dwarf, and with him was a special aura that Gror couldn't describe. In truth Gror was filled with excitement, but he didn't want to come off as giddy, and embarass himself in the company of someone like Oin.

"Gror, at your service." He said bowing, remembering what his dad had taught him about showing respect to his elders. "Yes, I am here by the orders of King Dain, and am to speak with Balin. But, there are more pressing matters, I fear. A terrible threat approaches, that I was not expecting. A great army of orcs is heading up the Silverlode. I suspect they will be on top of you by nightfall."

"That is a threat indeed!" said Oin. "There is a feast taking place in celebration of Durin's Day. I suspect that is where you will find Balin. Go and warn him. I should like to check out this rabble myself!"

"Yes, sir." Gror bowed again, and raced towards the Gate. But as he sped off he stumbled, and fell face first. He looked up, his beard and face, all wet and muddy - Great, Oin saw that, you just made a great first impression...fool. Gror, got up, brushed himself off and this time slowly walking away. That is, until Oin was out of sight.

[Groin Redbeard]

The fellowship of mourners walked up the steps to the great gate where they saw Kenan bare headed and bowing his head in reverance. The gaurds of the gate approached startled to see that Balin was not with them, and wished to see the dormant figure they carried. An exclamation of horror were uttered by the gaurds as Nali and Loni lowered Balin from their shoulders, some threw themselves on the ground and wept while others stood and looked on in horror. The hareld lifted his horn and with tears in his eyes blew a mightily on his trumpet, signaling the return of lord of the Dwarrowdelf.

"Kenan, my friend," Tror said as the old dwarf approached them, "I am glad that it is you that we must break the news to first, but what a loss... what a terrible loss is ours!"

"How did it happen," asked Kenan in a horse voice.

"Orcs, an archer shot him while he was alone at on the banks of Kheled-zaram. We were not with him to prevent it, we failled him, I failled him."

A cold wind was coming down from the north as Tror spoke. The sky of overcast with a grey sheat of clouds and the sign of snow was in the air. No birds except the distant caw of a raven could be heard, perched somewhere withing its mountain haunt. As the company mournfully paused at the gate the raven flew above them and screeched a loud, "Graw!"

One of the gaurds gave and pointed out across the dale, there was a lone figure making his way up the winding road to the gate, no doubt it was Oin coming in; that dwarf was always absent from the halls, wondering afar in search of excitement. Tror turned to Ori.

"Would you mind staying here to brake the news to Oin," Tror asked, "he knows you better and it will be a comfort to be with a friend when he hears of what was done. I must go and give an accounting to the colony."

[Gwathagor]

The body of lord Balin weighed heavier than it should have upon the giant shoulder of Frar as the Lord of Khazad-dum passed through his gates and entered his halls for the last time. Frar felt a strange burden upon his heart also - but whether in foreboding or simple melancholy, he could not say. It seemed that with Balin, something greater had died, for under his direction, the dark soul of Khazad-dum had flared up again and showed itself bright and steady. Perhaps Frar felt then the beginnings of what would be another quenching of that light, as the darkness of Mordor spread west, north, and south. They were leaderless now, and the flame was beginning to flicker.

"Carefully now," said Frar in a deep rumble. It irked him to speak now, to interrupt the private grievings of his fellows, but they were nearing a steep flight of stairs, and, beyond, the Bridge of Khazad-dum. The solemn band proceeded down the stairs without incident.

None had been injured in the Dimrill Dale skirmish, but they had all been badly shaken. Hardly a word had been spoken since Balin had fallen. However, Frar imagined that they were likely dwelling on similar questions: who lead them now? Whence came the orcs? And why? Why had they come for Balin? Had it been a mere band of marauders? Or was it the vanguard of a larger force? Instinctively, he began to plan. Guards and watches would need to be doubled, at the very least. They had not had to fight for many months now, since the last scrawny goblins had been driven out of the caves, and so weapons and armor would need repair and sharpening. Arrows fletched, spears carved, shields layered. Just to be safe, he told himself.

As he considered, and as he planned, the sorrow began to subside, driven off by the twins need and action. And almost immediately, though he did not notice at first, a deep-seated anger took its place - burning, as yet, only quietly and dully.

[Folwren]

“We failed him,” Tror said. “I failed him.”

Kénan did not know how to answer. They had all failed him. It was not something any dwarf should bear alone, and yet it was a burden that each one bore independently from the next.

“I must go and give an accounting to the colony.” He walked on, beside the six dwarves carrying Balin. Kénan turned and fell into step beside him. They were drawing near the bridge.

“But surely,” Kénan began, and then stopped. His voice lowered almost into gentleness in the presence of the dead body. “You do not mean to take him up there? Before all the children?” He thought of his grandchildren. Kéni - well, he could manage - but Iari! She was but a little girl! Still unhardened and unprepared for death. Kénan looked at Tror, hoping that he did not intend to take that course of breaking the bitter news.

[Arry]

Vitr raised his brow as Lys tipped back yet another mug of ale – one from her own cask this time. He wondered if she’d restocked their medicine box, if there were a good supply of white willow bark to put a damper on the raging headache he could see brewing on the horizon of the coming day.

Ah, let her have her fun, man. he chided himself, reining in the inclination to warn her off drinking so much so fast. She’d been a little down of late, or so he thought. Though when asked she’d said it was just some little chill she couldn’t seem to shake.

That worried him some; it wasn’t like her. His own Gran had had a bit of the ‘sight’, or so his mother called it . . . the knack of seeing into shadows, somehow knowing when something hurtful were coming. The one time, though, she’d had a chill as she described it, it was a dogged feeling of doom that she could not shake nor pinpoint as to its cause. ‘Feels like some cold wind from somewhere’s blowing cross my neck.’ In her last days Gran had talked about her heart going pitter-pat in her chest for no reason along with the wicked chill that raised the hairs at the nape of her neck and crept down her spine. ‘Some big, old hairy legged rock beetle just skittered over my grave,’ she’d say with a flick of her hand as if to pass it off as nothing.

It hadn’t been nothing, though. Death had come for her . . .

Vitr shrugged his shoulders in an effort to throw off his unpleasant thoughts. This was a day of celebration, he reminded himself. Durin’s Day and the day of his son and daughter’s birth.

As he raised his own mug with the others, Vitr put his free hand at the small of his wife’s back, wanting to make concrete the affection he felt for her. He only sipped at the brew, looking often at her face from the corners of his eyes. A smile curved his lips. Her cheeks were quite pink, from the heat of the crowded hall, he thought, as well as the ale she’d drunk, and no doubt from the sheer pleasure of being out and about with no tasks to be taken care of. Her brown eyes glittered merrily it seemed in the highly lit room, and as merry was her laugh at something someone had said. There against her near cheek lay a coppery tendril of hair having escaped from her thick, neat braid he noted, resisting the impulse to draw it back behind her ear. Seventeen years together, he smiled and, so far, more filled with sweetness than with sorrow.

By chance, or mayhap some uncanny design, a small, stray breeze curled its chilly finger down the collar of his tunic. Perhaps from one of the ventilation shafts that drew the outside air into the caverns. He shivered, taking his hand from Lys’ back to rub at the nape of his neck.

‘Mahal, be between us and harm,’ he murmured quickly, an old oath of protection coming readily to his lips. ‘And protect us from all baneful foes and their workings.’

And as quickly, his arm went round about his wife’s waist, drawing her close against him. His gaze flew round the room, seeking out the figures of his son and daughter.

[Lilly]

‘What are you looking for?’ Lys leaned against Vitr’s side for support as she stretched up on tip-toe to see where his gaze wandered. She could feel how tense he held his body, as if there were something quite unwelcome coming.

Shoulders and heads and arms raised in toasts, in greetings obscured her view at times. But for the most part, all she noted as she looked about were the smiling faces of people happy and at ease. ‘Is there something happening? Something I should know about?’ Lys tugged on the sleeve of his tunic. Some little fear began to niggle at the back of her mind.

‘Vitr!! It’s not Tív and Tíva?!’

Relief flooded in as her daughter’s voice called out to her, followed close on by Tív’s gleeful shout to Vitr. ‘Mami! Papi!’ they cried out. ‘Look at what Nîsa’s given us!!’

[Thinlómien]

"Would you mind staying here to break the news to Oin? He knows you better and it will be a comfort to be with a friend when he hears of what was done. I must go and give an accounting to the colony."

"I will see to it," he said quietly, inclining his head a little. He wondered if he should have added "my lord" since Tror would now become the head of the colony. Ori had never had to call Balin "my lord" - he had tried it a few times, but his old friend had forbidden such behaviour, saying it was silly and unrespectful to their long history together. Even when becoming a high lord among his people, Balin had kept his warm and down-to-earth approach to people without losing his lordly dignity that commanded respect.

Ori wiped the corner of his eye with his sleeve. There would be time for mourning, but it was not right now. He would have to stay composed to see the practical things well done and to break the news to Óin. It was his duty.

He turned to look at the direction Tror had pointed at. He knew immediately that it was not his old friend who was coming.

Who could be out on a day like this, unannounced? Not anyone with respectful purposes, Ori concluded grimly and gripped his axe. He said nothing to the guards at the door but started walking towards the newcomer determinedly.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he was acting recklessly, that he was not being himself, but he walked on and called out: "Who are you and what do you think you are doing out on a day like this?"

The newcomer hesitated a little but kept coming towards Ori. When he was closer he shouted in reply: "I bring a message from King Dáin. My name is Gror." Ori lowered his axe, gritting his teeth.

They met and Gror nodded at the older dwarf.

Ori said nothing.

Gror's look grew sligthly uncertain. "I am to talk with Lord Balin," he said.

"Lord Balin is dead. He fell this very day when he went to look in Kheled-zaram," Ori said.

[Kath]

Svori:

Svori had been desperate to get to the celebration for hours. He had been working away on the same part of the wall in front of him for almost as long, entirely distracted by the thoughts of the entertainment that would be on offer that evening ... and the chance to see Hepti. The woman of his dreams had been avoiding him recently, having stated a few days ago that Svori was still not responsible and hard-working enough for her. Had Svori been any less confident in himself he might have started to wonder whether he ever could meet Hepti's exacting standards, as it was he was standing in front of a piece of rock staring at it blankly.

"What are you doing?" He asked himself with a grin, stepping back a little and lowering the chisel he'd been holding motionless for the past few minutes.

Feeling the tension in his arms and back Svori stretched out a little. He had worked hard in the months preceding the quest to retake Moria to become an experienced miner and he had suceeded but his body wasn't quite used to it yet. He had found himself glad that he was a good fighter as the arm strength and steady hands gained from learning those skills had helped him improve his mining, but fighting tended to involve broad sweeping motions rather than the often minute actions that mining required and he found that his body was still adjusting to the newer actions.

"But!" He said as he began to put away the equipment he had been using. "At least it proves I've been working hard. If I'm hurting then Hepti is wrong about that."

Nodding decisively Svori made his way out of the area he had been working in and back home to drop off his work tools and have a quick clean up. He was heading out again within minutes thrilled at the prospect of an evening of celebrating - and was even more thrilled when upon arriving at the doorway of the cavern in which the party was being held he bumped right into the person he had been thinking about all day.

Hepti:
Unsure just how in the mood for a loud gathering she was it had taken Hepti a long time to decide whether to attend the celebration. It hadn't helped that people had kept coming in to her little workshop to ask her questions and just generally talk at her about the events planned for that evening, making her less inclined to go and causing her to get behind with the work she had intended to finish that day. The one thing that had finally convinced her to leave her work and go and have some fun was hearing the laughter coming from the celebration hall. There was something in Hepti that meant she just couldn't let a laugh go by without finding out what had caused it, and so she was convinced.

She was extremely pleased with her decision when she found herself standing next to Svori just as she was about to enter the party hall. Hiding a smirk she returned his surprised greetings.

"So ... may I accompany you in?" Svori asked Hepti, rolling his eyes internally at the strangely formal language he so often found himself using near her. He knew she was the one for him just because of how nervous he got whenever they met, something that never happened with any other woman. He held his breath as he waited for an answer.

"Why not?" Was Hepti's response, and she had to smile at the grin that blossomed over Svori's face.

"Okay!" Svori replied, and then lowered his voice as he realised how loud he'd been. "Okay then, let's go in."

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Onli was happy. This was the obvious beginning of the great celebration, all the dwellers of Moria were coming from all directions to join in a singing, drinking, eating and chatting choir. Onli felt good, like in the old days in the Blue Mountains, when he was invited to banquets along with his mentor Vill. They have been meeting with various important Dwarves; there Onli got to know Dwálin, brother of the current Lord of Moria, and Dúvi, the Dwarf with mysterious past and connections. And there it was also where he had once seen Thorin Oakenshield, shortly before his last, but fortunate journey to Erebor. Fortunate, because even though the honourable Thorin died, his brave deed opened the Dwarves the door to Erebor. And without that, Onli wouldn't have been where he was now.

The hall seemed really full. Onli registered most of his "favourites", that is, the craftsmen whom he was keeping especially good relations with, seeing the potential in them and hoping to make fortune on promoting them. He greeted everybody, smiling cheerfully, thinking inside himself that he should try to get close to the Lord as soon as he arrives. Today would be a great opportunity for strenghtening his good relations with the "high ups". Onli smiled, as he picked himself a mug of beer. He's going to join Balin, and won't let him go until they talk properly. Onli already started to think what he's going to tell the Lord, recalling his knowledge of proper etiquette. Yes, he thought with a smile, this day is going to be great...

*******************
Vriti

There was plenty of food scattered on the ground, when the heedless Dwarf stumbled and dropped the plate he was carrying. Despite his cursing, and despite the fact that it was her over whom the Dwarf tripped (and her back was still hurting a bit), Vriti accelerated, chasing a rolling bun filled with meat. She caught it, the bun was far, far slower than the rats and frogs she hunted (sometimes just for fun) in the empty caverns. Spitting the distasteful crust, she started to chew happily the bun's contents.

But there seemed to be some unusual amount of noise gathering around. Vriti quickly evaluated the situation, and grabbing yet another piece of food, she made her way under the feet of the Dwarves to a safe corner.

A small dwarven child spotted her and pointed at her, shouting something in a high voice, but Vriti hissed at it. She did not want to be interrupted while eating.

[Groin Redbeard]

The feast had begun mere moments ago! Nisa found her place next to Adela, a typical dwarf women who Nisa found intriguing. Although they had little in common, Adela was capable of the occasional good deed, and although Nisa surely appeared as stuffy overly formal to Adela, they had struck up a friendship and had kept it strong during those five years of the colony.

Both of them were busy devouring a piece of roast mutton when the sound of a horn was heard, it was the signal of the return of Balin. Adela and Nisa exchanged excited glances, they knew that the best part of the feast was to come now that the lord of Khazad-dum had returned.


Trór

The precession continued through the gates in reverent silence, Trór still felt the aching pain in his heart as clearly as if it had been that moment that Balin had fallen. Again he felt tears run down his beard, but his figure did not quake with weeping, he still stood proud and tall. They were descending the stairs that led to Durin's bridge, beyond that lay Twenty-Second Hall, and then the Twenty-First Hall, no doubt there would be much merry making and celebration going on, all of that will be shattered within a few moments. Trór suddenly felt someone grab his arm he was about to lead the group across the bridge, it was Kenan.

“But surely, you do not mean to take him up there? Before all the children?” he asked.

Trór stared at him for a long moment, he was right, this was not something that the children should be subjected to, but thus was life and there was no hiding it.

"What would you have me do then?" Trór asked coldly, "would you have me leave our lord's body here to lie upon the cold stone floor?"

Kenan reared himself proudly, he did not deserve this treatment for a simple remark. At this Trór's expression softened.

"No, my friend, we will bring his body with us. However, I will not bring his body in with me at first. You shall wait in the Twenty- Second Hall with..." Trór glanced at Balin's lifeless body, "with our lord. I will break the news to the colony alone."

They crossed the bridge and strode in silence through the hall until they came to the entrance of the Twenty-First Hall. Trór slowly raised his hand, signaling for the others to stop. His body shook at the thought of announcing such news, he felt his cheeks go red with nervousness, but he overcame it. Fearlessly, Trór slowly walked to meet the masses of his kin awaiting the return of Balin.

A loud cheer arose as he entered, many were there that he knew, all of them wore bright expressions of glee on their face. Trór stood as if he were at attention until the cheering subsided, and then his body shook. At once the crowd knew something was out of the ordinary, it was not like the hard soldier to show any feelings of fear, yet that is what he showed. He opened his mouth, but for no words came from him for a moment and even when Trór began to speak he started almost at a whisper.

"The needs of many out weigh the needs of a few, or of one," he began, the crowd immediately guessed that this was a speech about about a significant figure, but who: Durin, Thorin, Thror, Balin. They stayed silent and waited for him to continue.

"This is a concept that our noble lord, Balin, has always upheld. It is because of him that this great colony, this great city of our ancestors has been reclaimed and restored to us, their inheritors. We are gathered here today to pay respects to our honored father, Durin. Though something else has happened today that we shall remember as long as Durin's Day is celebrated. Our lord, and mighty ruler, Balin has fallen!"

A loud cry of horror arouse from the crowd, some of the men exchanged doubtful glances at each other as some of the more older dwarves began to openly weep.

"It was not thirty minutes ago that I witnessed the fall of our lord, who stood upon the banks of Kheled-zaram as an orc arrow pierced his heart. The orcs were swiftly and justly slain, but how can their deaths lessen the pain that we feel at the loss of our great leader?

"The words that I say cannot fully express the loss that I feel, he was my ruler... nay, he was more than a ruler, he was my king. It is only right and fitting that we should mourn the loss of our king, but I pray that his vision shall not be forgotten with his death. Khazad-dum is our home, and through his sacrifice, Balin has given us new hope for the future of our race. It should be noted that in the midst of our sorrow, that this death takes presence in the shadow of new life: the sunrise of a new generation." Trór stepped forward to the two young twins, Tív and Tíva. Trór had not forgotten his cousin's news of their birthday that morning.

"A generation that our leader gave his life to protect, a generation whose children will dwell in these halls after our bones have turned to dust. I know that Balin did not fear his sacrifice, never has the death of one who has died so that his brother may live be ashamed of. We should not forget his profound wisdom too quickly, and we should not fail to remember his devotion to us, his people.

“Of my friend I can say only this: of all the kings I have served, of all the dwarves I have known, he was the most...worthy!”

Balin’s body was led in, his white face seemed radiant when reflected with the torches that lit the great hall in splendor. A long line of mourners followed the body as Trór led the bearers to the end of the great hall and to the Chamber of Marzabul. There they laid him on a great marble stone at the foot of his throne and one by one the people came up to pay their respects to the dead king.

[Boromir88]

"Lord Balin...dead!? How is this possible?" Gror began studdering, "I mean I know it's possible, of course it's possible, but how did it happen?"

"He was shot with an orc arrow in the back."

"Cowards!" grunted Gror, and anger swept through him. "No good, rotten, Orcs! They know any dwarf could easily dispatch one of them in melee, I bet someone like Balin could take on ten orcs! So, they have to -..."

"What is your business here in Moria?" Gror was cut off by Ori. You're doing a fine job, starting on the right foot with everyone today Gror. You embarrass yourself in front of Oin, and now you're making another respectable looking dwarf impatient because you're rambling. Now get on with it...

"I was sent by King Dain to gather news about the Moria colony. However, I fear only more woe will come to you before the end of the night. There is more pressing news and I must speak with the commander of the colony."

"Anything you have to say to Tror, you can say to me." Ori replied.

Gror nodded to try to make up for his ridiculous behavior earlier - if father were here he'd probably pretend he didn't know you. "A large Orc army is coming up the Silverlode. They will reach the East Gate by night fall. I don't know their numbers, I didn't think it important to find out, but there is a great host of them. I came across a dwarf, Oin he said his name was. He told me to hurry, warn Balin, and he went to check out the enemy himself."

"Tror is now in command. He went inside, with a precession, to announce Balin's death to the colony. Tell him this news immediately! He should not be hard to find. I will make sure the guards let you in."

[Dimturiel]

Bain had gone to the feast in high spirits. He had already persuaded himself that day was blessed and nothing could go wrong. He could hardly wait to tell Lord Balin he had finished his work. He wanted him to be the first to know. Well, Onli had been the first to know, but no one did beside him and no one should before lord Balin. That was what he was feeling before the message came, before the world seemed to turn upside down.

When he had first caught sight of Tror, Bain had assumed the latter had come to announce his lord’s arrival. He shifted in his chair, eyes glinting. So the moment had come, he thought.

But he had been wrong. The only thing that had come was a dreadful announcement, one he had never expected to hear, one he had never even imagined to be possible. Lord Balin was dead! He was dead and-how strange!-the world seemed unchanged, going on as if nothing had happened, as if such a death was not reason enough for all the lights to fade and darkness to fall over all. Bain barely understood the rest of Tror’s speech. It seemed to be coming from somewhere far away, a different world, perhaps.

Balin’s body was brought in and Bain entered the line of mourners so that he too could have one last look at his lord. He saw that many of those around them had tears in their eyes. Others were too stunned by disbelief to think of weeping. Bain felt the same way too. As he looked at his lord’s white face, Bain’s thoughts went suddenly to his forge and the now finished helmet that lay there. He shook his head, feeling tears in his eyes.

“He’ll never know now.” he mumbled. “And I thought he would be so pleased…”

[Himaran]

Ignoring his aching thumb, Dalin rushed to his quarters and changed into fresh linens. There was a celebration on hand at the Twenty First Hall, and he was missing it! The flustered dwarf only hoped that some of his favorite malt beer would be remaining upon his arrival. Essentially tripping over his own short legs, Dalin stumbled out of his room and hurried down rough hewn passage. As he neared the supposed festivities, however, a thought struck him. There was no shouting; in fact, he couldn't hear anything at all. Parties, and especially this feast, were generally boisterous, cacaphonous and the like. But on this occasion an eerie silence hung throughout the darkened corridors, as if all the mines had been hushed into quiet submission.

Dalin couldn't help but feel a little uneasy; it was becoming clear that something wasn't right. A creeping sensation tickled the hairs at the base of his neck, growing stronger by the second. Heart racing, he neared the large double doors with a mixture of blind dread and inquisitive curiousity. What could have happened? Had there been an attack? Were orcs invading the mines? Dalin paused as he reached for the handle; one way or another, he was going through that door. The dwarf took a heaving gasp of air, gathered his nerves, and pushed inward against the heavy stone frame. Responding to his reluctant touch, it creaked open, revealing the tragic scene beyond.

As he broke down in heavy sobs, Dalin couldn't help but fancy that he'd have given away both thumbs if only to avoid this horror.

[Arry]

Tív and Tíva shrank back from Trór, seeking the shelter of their mother’s skirt. A flimsy barrier at best against the piercing glance that had been aimed their way. Yet, they took comfort in the fragile protection it afforded them from his attention and his words.

'A generation that our leader gave his life to protect' they had heard Trór say '. . . a generation whose children will dwell in these halls after our bones have turned to dust . . .'

‘Why did he die for us? We did not want him to do that,’ they whispered into the soft dark folds of material. ‘It wasn’t our fault, was it Mami?’

Their Great Lord was dead. They understood that . . . impossible not to. There lay his body, still as stone, resting upon the shoulders of the bearers. His face seemed carved cold as it passed by; his sightless gaze cast up through the great mountains which arched up above it.

‘But it wasn’t our fault,’ Tív whimpered.

Vitr ushered his little family away from the procession. His own emotions were raw from this awful news of Balin’s death. Anger twined with deep grief at the manner and fact of his Lord’s death. He pushed these feelings aside for now, wanting to first deal with the more pressing need of his children for reassurance, for explanation.

He shepherded Lys and the twins to a quiet corner of the hall. The children huddled near their mother still, one hand each still grasping onto her skirt. Tív and Tíva’s eyes were wide as Vitr knelt down on one knee so that they were on a face to face level.

‘No need to be frightened,’ he told them softly, inviting each into the comforting embrace of his arms. ‘It wasn’t your fault. Not at all. It was one of our foe, a foul Orc and his fouler arrow which slew Lord Balin.’ The pinched, pale faces of the twins relaxed a little. Still their dark, deep-pooled eyes stayed fixed on their father’s face.

‘Orcs! Here?’ Tív asked, hastily wiping at his eyes and nose with the sleeve of his tunic. ‘Will they get us, too, Papi?’ Tíva’s tear glistened eyes flashed fearfully as she waited for her father’s response.

‘Not in here, not in the halls,’ Vitr assured his son. He drew his daughter in, hugging her close against him. ‘There were only a few, or so I understood from what Trór said. Outside the mountain. And they were swiftly taken care of. They cannot harm us any longer.’ Vitr looked up at Lys, his eyes clouded with concern. Where there were one or a few Orcs, they both knew, there would surely be many more as yet unseen.

He stood up, taking one each of their little hands in his larger ones. ‘Come,’ he urged them. ‘Let’s go back to our home. I’ll see you to the hallway and you can walk with Mami then to there. I should go back to the hall . . . see if there is anything I’m needed to do.’

The children walked between their parents until they came to the hallway leading to their home. Vitr kissed them each on the cheek as he left them to their mother’s care. And kissed Lys, too; a quick brush against her cheek and a few words murmured in her ear.

‘You make sure Mami gets home safely,’ he charged the twins. ‘I’ll be back very soon . . . before you go to sleep. I just need to take a little time to pay my last respects to Lord Balin.’ Vitr ruffled their hair affectionately.

‘And remember . . . don’t you worry about anything.’ He smiled and nodded as he spoke. ‘Papi will take care of it . . .’

Vitr watched a little while as the trio walked away from him. With a heavy heart he turned away and made his own way toward the chamber where Lord Balin was now laid. Grief trumped the previous anger that had vied with it. Tears threatened at the corners of his sad, downcast eyes as he trudged along. And as he drew near the empty shell of his Lord, those tears escaped, sliding down his cheeks unbidden, wetting his beard.

‘What will we do now . . . without your direction and your steady hand?’ Vitr murmured as he gazed on Balin’s face. ‘How will we keep our homes and hall secure? And my family, my Lord . . . how will I keep them safe?’

He shook his head sadly, knowing there would be no words of reassurance to allay his own fears. Vitr reached out his right hand and touched the sleeve of his dead Lord’s tunic. ‘Always your man, my Lord . . .’ he whispered, and then passed on quietly as another stepped up to take his place.

[Kitanna]

"Our lord, and mighty ruler, Balin has fallen!"

Kéni was among those who issued forth a roar of disbelief and horror. Balin dead? It hardly seemed possibly. He had been strong and full of life, a just and mighty dwarf. Kéni wanted to call Trór a liar and a power hunger miscreant. But that wasn't true or fair. Trór would not do anything to harm the colony or Balin.

“Of my friend I can say only this: of all the kings I have served, of all the dwarves I have known, he was the most...worthy!”

Kéni felt Iari clutch his hand. She squeezed it as hard as she could. Kéni looked down and saw his sister staring ahead, fear reflecting in her eyes. Balin's body was being led in, Kéni was not sure this was something little Iari needed to see. "Iari, do you want to go home and wait for Grandpa?" Iari shook her head slowly and allowed Kéni to lead her into the line with the other mourners.

Dead. Iari remembered that word very clearly from her early years. That was what they had said her father was. Now Balin was dead too. If those as strong and brave as her father and Balin could die who was to say one so weak and young as herself could survive?

Kéni held her hand all through the line. Upon seeing Balin at the foot of his throne Iari started to cry. That was how death looked? Though Balin wasn't twisted in agony and his eyes were closed as though sleep had taken him, there was something terrifying in his cold look. Kéni stroked Iari's hair and gently led her away so other mourners could pay their respects and so the little girl would not have to be exposed any further to the dead body of their fallen lord.

Kéni knew it was time to seek out Kénan. He was dying to know what had happened and if their grandfather knew anything. He also wanted to Iari home and as far away from Balin as possible.

[Folwren]

Kénan hung back away from the body, although he could have been among the first to pass it, as he had been just beside it. As yet, he had not looked upon the face of the dead lord. Finally, he stepped forward by the marble upon which he lay. He paused briefly and looked upon him. A deep sense of doom settled finally upon his breast. It had been hovering there, barely touching, ever since he had first seen lord Balin.

What did it mean? What doom was there beyond the death of Balin? Something awful - something far worse. This was only a beginning. Whether it was some gift of foresight given just briefly to this dwarf, or perhaps it was just the mood into which he had been cast, or perhaps it was his aging years and he felt his own death he felt - whatever it was, he felt that it was certain and more deaths than this one would be taken in the time to follow.

He bowed his head and stepped away from the stone.

He nearly ran into Vitr, a dwarf he knew very little. “Excuse me,” he said, and just about stepped past him. But something caused him to turn. “You have two little ones, have you not? Perhaps you’ve seen my two grandchildren - my granddaughter may have played with your little girl tonight, and I have not seen either of them.”

[Arry]

Vitr was lost in thought, his gaze cast down at the smooth stones set in the chamber’s floor. His accustomed calm and thoughtful nature had taken the upper hand now, pushing away for the while the initial shock of Lord Balin’s death.

He thought now of his duty . . . his duties, rather. First to his family, both the responsibility for the welfare of his wife and children and for his father and his father’s father’s family extending back through their strand of the Longbeard clan. The clan itself – that it should remain viable and strong. And finally this small community which had given him and his family a place to grow and prosper. He wondered who would step up now to be their leader, an unenviable role to fill he felt.

Mahal grant him the strength and wisdom to see us through he murmured And us the same to follow where he leads.

‘Excuse me . . .’ The voice of one of the elder men pulled Vitr from his ruminations. ‘You have two little ones, have you not?’ Kénan asked. ‘Perhaps you’ve seen my two grandchildren - my granddaughter may have played with your little girl tonight, and I have not seen either of them.’

‘Master Kénan!’ Vitr reached out to clasp the man’s arm. He was glad to make contact with something more substantial than his own thoughts.

‘We came late to the celebration. It was my son and daughter’s birthday and we had a little party of our own at home. Sorry to tell you, but I don’t think Tíva saw your granddaughter - Iari, yes? - this evening. We had not been here all that long before . . .’ He glanced toward the throne, at the marble stone at its foot which served as Lord Balin’s bier. ‘. . . before the awful news was brought to us and Lord Balin borne in.’

Vitr fell silent for a moment.

'And sorry, too - that Tív and Tíva are not here for you to ask. I sent them home with their mother.' He gestured about the chamber. 'This was too much for them. They're too young to take this in all at once, and they were frightened.'

[Durelin]

Silence fell over the hall in waves as Trór and some others who had accompanied Lord Balin entered the hall. Their lord was not with them...there were so few of them, and their faces were so grim. Kórin swallowed Lys’ ale, and did not remember how it tasted. Kór’s harp was one of the last sounds to die in the Twenty-first Hall. He stood up from the stool he had been seated on, and gazed around.

Before he saw anything that could cause an entire celebration to cease, Kór heard those terrible words: “Balin has fallen.” The painful silence dragged on for several more moments, as everyone stood stunned and silently mourning, still determining how they should react, how they should vocalize their sadness, or what should be done. As sound slowly started to return to the hall, as weeping and angry questioning and words of despair filled the hall, Kór hurried to find his sister.

He found Kórin in a rather sorry state. She had returned to filling mugs, but now they were mostly for herself. She had started tipping back mug after mug at a startling rate almost immediately after the news arrived. Kór could only thank Mahal that his sister held her ale much better than he did…and that Kórin actually started to grow quieter beyond a certain limit.

She glanced at her brother, but did not acknowledge him as he approached.

“This isn’t going to make you feel any better Kórin,” Kór said sadly, then added in more of a murmur, “It’s not going to make anyone feel better.”

“Oh shutup and have a drink,” Kórin muttered. “Maybe it will make you less of a prude.”

Cradling his harp in his arms, Kór plopped down on the bench next to his sister. The body of their lord was carried through the hall, and nearly every dwarf in Khazad-dûm at that time crowded around and formed a great procession. The siblings sat quietly, watching.

“Balin dead, just like that, eh?” Kórin suddenly broke the silence between them. “I bet the orcs have finally come back for us,” she added surprisingly lucidly. Kór could not think of a way to reply. He leaned forward and grabbed a mug.

[Groin Redbeard]

Nali

Never before had Nali felt as helpless as he did when he laid the dead Balin upon his throne. There was no shame for those that wept for this man and Nali wept bitterly so that the tears stained his face, he wept like a mother over the prostrate body of a dead son. Only the comforting words of Loni could draw him away, although Loni himself felt remorse it had not drained all the strength from him.

“Come, my brother,” Loni said. “We must stay strong for the people’s sake.” His brother left Nali leaning against a pillar in the great hall before Loni left him to pay his own respects to Balin.

Nali felt tired, his sobs that racked his body had robbed him of strength. There was a dull nagging pain in his stomach and he left in search of food, he did not have to go far, delicious delicacies lay across the massive tables. He examined a piece of cold half eaten mutton before he cut off a piece and eagerly gnawed at it. It would have been a happy moment if Balin had been alive. He smiled for a moment as he envisioned the happy scene that would have been, but tears came into his eyes as the reality struck him that it was not to be. Nali slammed the piece of mutton on the table angrily, he felt new vigor enter him.

“This cannot be tolerated,” he muttered to himself. “Vengeance must be had for our king!”

Out of he corner of his eye Nali noticed that he was not alone. He glanced at across the table at a dwarf he had never seen before. The dwarf wore a dark brown beard, which had been tucked into his belt, and wore a ridiculous leather cap to protect him from the elements of the early winter weather.

“Who are you?” Nali asked, but not crossly or unfriendly.

“My name is Grór,” the dwarf began. “Ori sent me to find someone name Trór. Do you know where I can find him?”

“Grór, art thou from Erebor?”

“Yes, I was sent by King Dain to obtain news from this colony. Alas, I am afraid that the news is not a pleasant one.”

“Ori has told you then of our lords death?” Grór nodded his head. “Then come, my good Grór. The event of this evening has grieved me, but it has also reenergized me. Revenge will be had for our lord and such a matter must be brought forth to our new leader Trór, therefore follow me and I will show you where he is to be found.”


Nisa

Nisa had been one of the loudest of mourners for the dead king, her wails of lamentation echoed through the great cavern along with the other women. She proceeded in the long line leading up to Balin’s body, she kissed the stone on which the king laid on and offered a few words of silent praise of him. Trór stood proud stern next Balin.

“Trór,” she screamed, and threw her arms around him. “How is this to be endured, how are we to live without our leader?”

“Hush girl,” said Trór, gently removing her grasp. “We will survive this tragedy as we always have, if this colony falls because of the death of one leader, may eternal shame rest on our head! Go now, I will come soon.”

Nisa left him, but she still could not stop crying. She saw Adela standing a little ways in front of her standing alone, Nisa didn’t want to bother her but she felt as if she needed to be with someone in this hour of grief.

“Adela,” she called. “Adela, are you alright? You look pale.”


Trór

The long line of mourners proceeded without much event, only twice did he have need of fending off a couple dwarves who were clinging to the body of Balin. Presently, he asked for one of the guards to relieve him, and left in search of Nisa. As Trór exited the Chamber of Marzubul he saw Nali approaching with a stranger.

“Nali, by Durin’s beard, you look awful! Rest my friend do not wear yourself out.”

“I will rest when I choose, my friend. First I must introduce you to this dwarf with me: his name is Grór, a messenger from Erebor sent by King Dain.”

Trór was surprised, it had been a long while since the colony had heard news of King Dain. Grór bowed graciously to Trór, who returned the gesture with an even deeper bow.

“I only wish that I had pleasant news to give you.” Trór said. Grór fidgeted with his cap as Trór spoke, he was swallowing nervously and breathed in quick short gasps of breath. This made Trór comfortable, he often had an intimidating presence about himself, it made him feel confident that he wasn’t the only one who was nervous.

“My lord Trór,” Grór began, making another bow. “Ori has told me of the tragic news, I am sorry for your loss, Balin was a great dwarf, his death will be met with much sorrow in Erebor.”

My lord? Trór was startled by the words. Why did he say that? he wondered to himself, but decided to let it slide. Trór was about to answer when Grór interrupted him and started talking very excitedly.

“My lord,” Grór began again, it had begun to get on Trór’s nerves. “I have more bad news for you, a huge Orc army is approaching Khazad-dum as we speak!” Trór quickly grabbed the dwarf’s arm and firmly led him away from the crowd, such news was not to be made known public yet.

“An army?” Trór asked when they were alone.

“Yes, they should reach here by nightfall.”

“Then no doubt that the Orcs that killed Balin were an advance party, I suspected as much. But where is Oin? He would not leave us blind like this.” Trór spoke out-loud but it was more to himself, Grór perked up at the name Oin.

“Go,” Trór commanded the messenger. “Bring me Ori, and Oin if he has returned, I must find the other nobles. If what you say is true, you will have earned my undying gratitude and thanks, but this must be brought before a council. Summon what nobles you have met, as of yet, and tell them to head for the east gate, I will follow with the others.”

Grór nodded his head eagerly and sprang off as fast as he could towards the east gate, nearly tripping over himself several times. Nali and Trór watched with amusement at this, and chuckled to themselves, they had quite forgotten about Balin and the mourners for the time being.

“Clumsy little guy, isn’t he?” Nali commented.

“Hmm, but quite. Come Nali, let us find Frar and your brother, search for Kenan too, I would have his say on this crisis.”

[Thinlómien]

Ori had sent Gror away and stayed by the doors. The idea of going in and facing all the grieving people was still too much for him. He would not want to see all the silly women who had hardly known Balin wailing as if their husbands or children had just died. Men weren't as bad, but there would surely be some self-important busybodies who'd come to tell him how much his old friend had meant to them even if they hadn't even known him in the slightest. No, Ori did not want to see any of those pretending, exaggerating fools. He preferred to sit there, all by himself, and grieve in his own silent way. Maybe soon a friend would come, and he would be the only one to truly share the grief that was pressuring Ori's heart.

He gazed at the horizon, wondering how he would tell it to Óin. There was no good way of telling it, no way to make it hurt less. Ori wondered if Óin was happy not to have witnessed it, or whether he would have preferred to be there. To be there to see Balin smile one last time, to hear his last words, to see him look in the Kheled-zâram like he had always wanted to...

Ori could hardly see the horizon anymore, his vision was so clouded by tears. He let the tears run down his cheeks to his beard, didn't bother to wipe them. New ones would come to moist his eyes anyway.

There were footsteps behind him, and then someone speaking. "Master Ori?" It was the dwarf from Erebor, again.

Ori tried to hold his voice steady when he replied. "Yes?" It was more like a grunt than like a proper answer.

"Lord Trór summons you. There will be a council. Near here, by the East Gate."

Ori gave the man a cold stare behind the veil of tears. "Balin is the lord of Moria." As soon as he had said the words, he regretted them. Gror was wise enough not to say anything. Ori wiped his eyes and tried again.

"I apologise for my unrespectful words. You are right by calling Trór the lord since that is what he is now. And Mahal knows, I will follow him, even to the bitter end."

Gror nodded solemnly and there was a silence. Ori heard his own words echoing in his head. Bitter end? Where did that come from? Is that what's in front of us?

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Onli

Onli's first reaction to Tror's words were horror and disbelief. No, that could not be! Their lord, Balin, dead? The Lord of Moria? But in the first moments, when the leader's motionless body was carried into the hall, he understood that all Tror just had said is true. Onli was watching the Dwarves who carried the body, and he was frowning. Their leader. Balin. Lord of Moria. The candle of his life snuffed out like that. And all that Onli was thinking of just a moment ago, the plans for meeting the leader, the plans for bright future, everything was gone. To Onli, it seemed as if suddenly the path he took, the one which promised to lead him to bright future glittering like gold, turned into a dark tunnel where there were no other ways to escape, not a single shaft of light to pierce the darkness. He was lost, his life was swallowed by darkness and fear and uncertainty of the future.

He was still too shaken to think. He knew he needed time to sort things out. What are they going to do? Who is the leader? He set out to seek for Vriti. Where had she gone to? He thought that perhaps petting his little furry friend would calm him down a little.

***

Óin

The sun was setting slowly and the shadows of the mountains were long and deep. The valley of Silverlode was all shrouded in shadow, but the tops of the rocks surrounding it were ablaze with red and orange colors, and if Óin had looked back, he would have seen the sky in the West looking like fire. But he did not turn back, his eyes were on the road before him, careful, seeking for any movement, for any trace of the Orcs that Gror warned him about. But the dale was empty and silent, except for the running river Silverlode which was seeking its way amidst the stones and short bushes without leaves. The wide plains that Óin could see further on opening wide seemed to be filled with last remains of the daylight, and further to the South, where the river bent and ran quickly over black pebbles, dark shadows of the trees rose. Óin nodded his head. There it was, where the land of the Elves lay, not further than a few miles; but if Gror was right, there it was also where the Orc army was coming from.

"Come on, Óin," the Dwarf muttered to himself. "Of all the directions you could pick you have to take this one. How many miles? Three, four?" He looked around carefully, silent for a while and listening. Water was running over the stones with constant soft bubbling. The dale lay in a shadow that was deepening by every moment.

"Be mindful of these little beasts, Óin, good lad," he said after a while, when he could not hear nor spot anything new. He set his foot into the shallow water where the stream was flowing gently into a wide flow over the stones, only to form again one strong river a furlong further. Even through his boots, Óin could feel the sudden rush of cold as he stepped into the freezing river.

"By Durin's beard," he shuddered. "Feel lucky you are not a fish, Óin. But now quick! If these beasts are there, you'd better find them soon and then run back home. Old Balin may already be expecting you."

Fast, he strode across the water-washed stones, then turned left to avoid a small stream that joined the Silverlode, coming from a cleft in the rock above his head. Carefully, he passed a narrow gap between two short rocks forming the walls of the valley, and after that, a wide space opened in front of him. A little bit to the right, the way alongside the river was climbing down towards the woods of Lórien; to his left, a barely visible path ran towards the valleys of Anduin amidst large boulders and stones.

Óin stopped once again and listened. He did not dare even to mutter to himself, not this time. Breathless, he stood like a stone for a short while.

And then he heard what he had been afraid of all the time: the sound of rushing feet, clinging of iron weapons and armor, harsh voices. Many there must have been, coming from either of the paths below, and they were getting closer.

Óin's face all of a sudden looked grave and his bright blue eyes seemed to dim. Intuitively, he reached for an arrow. "They are there," he hissed, and that was all he needed to say to himself. But it was clear the intruders were yet far away enough, but coming nearer very fast. Óin looked around, a bit hopefully. "If there had been a good place from where you could see them..." he muttered again, very soft.

"Looks like there is none," he concluded and turned again towards the two paths opening in front of him. He scratched in his short white beard by the arrow he was holding. "But which way to take now, what would you think, Óin? Them goblins will probably not come too close to the Elven wood, but how can you know? It is still many miles away."

He stood in thought for a while, but attentive for the sounds of approaching enemies, which were becoming more and more apparent. At last he moved.

"No, there is no use to go either way," he concluded. "If them beasts come from over there," he looked towards the right, "and you pick the other route, you are going to end up a king of fools, Óin, and not a scout. And the same the other way around," he looked to the left, "what if they cut your way back home. You could not deliver your news to old Balin, and most likely, them goblins will sniff you out and chase you, and you will have to retreat to..."

The Dwarf looked at the dark treeshapes standing out in the dusk to the south. His blue eyes gleamed, and he frowned.

"No, Óin, not that again," he mumbled. "You will probably escape the Orcs, but this time, there will be nobody to flow you down the Great River in a barrel."

As if he suddenly decided, he turned around. "No use, Óin, my lad," he said. "Too bad. You shall not wait for them here, but if you hurry, you may reach that high rock with the waterfall, and with luck, see them beasts coming from there. Yes, that is what you should do! Now hurry!"

And with these words, the Dwarf started running back from where he came along the Silverlode's channel, back into the heart of the mountains.

[Groin Redbeard]

Trór had left in search of Frar while Nali stayed to meet Loni when he exited the chamber. There was not long to wait however, Loni's face showed evidence of crying but his face was as calm as ever when Nali approached him and quickly relayed to him the words of Grór.

“Do you believe this,” Loni asked him in disbelief.

“I do, brother. I look forward to the chance to avenge our king, but, nevertheless, I am greatly disheartened that a battle should happen soon after Balin’s death. We will need all the help that can be mustered.” Loni gave him a questionable look when he saw that spark in Nali’s eye that so often appeared when he had an idea.

“What do you mean?”

“The wailing and grieving of the women will greatly dishearten the men before the battle. Wouldn’t it be best if we have someone of prominence, someone who they respect, speak to them to stall their laments for the present?”

“Shouldn't Trór’s words will be enough to quail them down?"

“Yes, but it would be more affective if perhaps a women could break the news to them. She should then come with us to the council.” Nali furrowed his brow and bit his lower lip in thought.

“Aye, this idea is not half bad. Go then and summon who thy think is best.” Loni responded.

“Kórin, she is stout and will be able to bear this news best. You go to the gate brother, I'll fetch Kenan and the Korin” And with that Loni and Nali separated.

The next person for Nail to find is Kenan. The old dwarf may not have been a true warrior or noble like the rest of them, but he was rich and did hold a large part of Trór’s respect. Therefore, Nali searched for him until he found the aged dwarf talking to Vitr. He waited until there was a pause in the conversation and then intervened by placing his hand on Kenan’s shoulder and whispered in his ear.

“Excuse me, but Trór requests your presence in council.”

[Folwren]

“It’s their birthday, is it?” Kénan said. “Hm, well, awful thing to have happened on their birthdays. Aye, aye...Iari’s her name. I’m sorry you didn’t spot her, thanks anyway.” The two dwarves stood in momentary, awkward silence. Kénan’s thought wandered unbidden to the events of Balin’s death.

“It was foolishness. . .you know,” he said gruffly. Vitr looked at him, surprised at his abruptness. “Balin need not have died. It was vanity and foolishness.” Kénan could kick himself. He wanted to kick somebody. Presumably whoever had let Balin to go alone, as he had picked up that he had. Anger prevented him from speaking for a moment and he looked towards lord Balin’s body.

During that pause, Nali approached him and leaning in towards his ear, whispered quietly, “Excuse me, but Trór requests your presence in council.”

“Does he indeed?” Kénan asked, shooting a sharp glance at Nali. “Well, well. You’ll excuse me,” he said, turning to Vitr. The dwarf nodded and Kénan turned to go. As he turned, however, he spotted his two grandchildren, and Kéni was straining his neck to see over the crowds. Their eyes met and Kéni lifted his hand and waved urgently.

“Nali,” Kénan said, catching his sleeve. “Tell Trór I shall be there directly.” And before Nali could answer, Kénan was off, weaving his way through the crowded hall to Kéni and Iari. “What are you two doing here? Kéni, you should have taken her home by now. What’s the meaning of this? Iari, what are you crying about?”

“It’s lord Balin, sir,” Kéni answered defensively. He didn’t fear Kénan’s bad humor. “You wouldn’t expect her not to cry for him?”

“No, no of course not,” Kénan said, rather apologetically. “There, there, child,” he patted Iari gently on the shoulder. “What is it, Kéni? You wanted to say something to me, didn’t you? That’s why you waved?”

[Kitanna]

Iari shrank away from her grandfather. He looked angry or annoyed. Though his tone toward Kéni suggested the source of his angry was not his grandchildren Iari was frightened. After seeing Balin's body just laid out as it was, she wanted nothing more than to go home and crawl back into her bed. It had to be safer there.

“What is it, Kéni? You wanted to say something to me, didn’t you? That’s why you waved?”

"What happened to Lord Balin? I thought there wasn't any immediate danger in the mines." Iari held tight to Kéni's hand.

"There's always danger to be found around here, Kéni." Kénan explained the situation to his grandson while Iari listened closely. When it seemed Kénan was finished relaying his tale she tugged gently on Kéni's sleeve.

"I think I had better get Iari home," he said. "When will you return, Grandfather?"

[Lilly]

On the walk home, the children had been as skittery as copper-winged beetles on the rim of a forge’s firepot. They jumped at every little sound, real or imagined; at every touch of air that moved about in the hallway; at each flicker of light from the lamps which hung along the hallway; and especially at the shadows that wavered and grew large and then retreated once again along the way.

The anxious feelings persisted even as they’d crossed the threshold of their snug home and even though they had seen their mother bar the door....something the Silverfists had not done in all the time they’d lived here. Lys had done it only because she thought it would make the twins feel more secure; yet, as she’d hefted the stout oaken beam into place she shivered as she felt the prickle of her own unheeded fear creep down her back.

‘Let’s have some hot tea with honey,’ she said turning round toward Tív and Tíva. ‘And maybe a good measure of goat’s milk, too....eh?’ She motioned for them to come with her into the kitchen. ‘Tív, you stoke up the fire. And you, Tíva, fetch the milk and honey please.’

They were soon gathered together in a little knot, sitting on the couch. The fire crackled on the hearth filling the little silences among the trio as they sipped their drinks.

‘Is Papi coming home soon?’ Tív asked, watch the swirling patterns in the warm liquid as he dipped his finger in his mug.

‘Yes, soon. I’m sure of it,’ Lys replied, smiling reassuringly at her son. ‘Until then,’ she went on, pulling the warm, woolen blanket that lay across the couch back down and around all their legs. ‘We’ll snuggle in here and wait for him.’

Calling on memories of times with her own mother when she and her brothers were young, Lys told the twins stories of her mother’s family....light and happy tales to drive away dark thoughts. For the while, at least.

[Groin Redbeard]

Kenan made a hasty retreat from Nali’s side. Nali thought this was queer, but the reasons were quickly revealed as he saw the old dwarf talking with his grandchildren. Nali waited for a moment to see if Kenan might rejoin him, but those thoughts were soon put to flight as several minutes past and Kenan showed no sign of leaving his children.

It made no difference there was another dwarf to summoned. Nali thought that he might find Korin with her brother, Kor, but he could catch no glimpse of either. The next logical place to look would be the ale kegs, Kor was not fond of drink, but his boyish sister did. His assumptions proved correct as he saw Korin guzzling down flasks of ale, ably assisted by Kor.

“Exuse me, Korin, but we request thy...” Nali responded as calmly as possible, but he recoiled and grimaced as Korin turned round and exhaled in his face. It smelled like she had drunken an entire keg of ale! She frowned at Nali and offered him a mug.

“Uh, no I couldn’t,” Nali responded, raising his hands in protest, “I have need of thy judgement in a council that will soon commence at the Easter-Gate. Shall I presume that thee will come?”


Trór

All these events were coming on too fast! Trór had not even the time to mourn Balin’s death with his cousin, he could not even tell Nisa that he could not be with her. It would be cruel to have her here the disheartening news from a stranger instead of him, but there was no helping it. Even if Balin were alive this responsibility would still rest on his shoulders, being the stern soldier he was.

Up and down the hall he walked in hopes of catching a glimpse of Frar but he was not to be seen. It was not until Trór had given up and began walking towards the Durin’s Bridge that he caught sight of Frar, standing all by himself leaning against the tall pillars that lined the walkway to the bridge. Trór approached cautiously, but made enough noise with his feet as not to surprise the venerable soldier. When Frar did not stir Trór waited, but Frar stood as if in a daze, his eyes here half closed and he stood as if carved of stone.

“Frar?” Trór was starting to feel concerned, all to often he had seen soldiers crack under the strain of battle, and while he considered Frar to be above that, the strain of today might be enough to break any dwarf’s will.

“Frar, are you alright?” Trór asked a little louder and shook his friend gently on the shoulder.

Startled, Frar snapped his hand to his belt and stepped back from Trór. Trór raised his hands to show he had no intention of attack, it was plain to see that Frar had been lost in his own thought and had not yet come to his right frame of mind.

[Durelin]

Kórin simply glowered at Nali, snorting a laugh when she saw him cringe. The feeling’s mutual, she thought, but moving her lips and forcing sound from her throat seemed like too much of a bother right now. Kórin dearly hoped this was not the sort of Dwarf her brother would be many years from now. She didn’t think she knew of a Dwarf who wore his britches any tighter than Nali, and who could puff up his chest in a more pompous fashion as he told you what was what. And he always knew…

“Kórin will be there as requested, Master Nali,” Kór spoke up, speaking curtly. He ignored his sister’s angry glance. Much to her frustration Kór was generally rather fond of the old Dwarf, and appreciated the value of his experience. But at the moment… The way he looked at Kórin! he thought angrily. Kór took another drink from his mug. Well, he can think whatever he likes, he thought.

“He can think whatever he likes,” Kór heard himself say, as if he were talking in his sleep. He stared down into his empty mug, his face burning, and told himself that he should not refill it. Kórin’s hand fell roughly onto his shoulder, almost causing him to drop the mug.

“That’s right – they can think whatever they want. And I’ll think whatever I want about their council!” Kórin exclaimed with defiance, as if she had expressed an opinion about the council other than apparent indifference. “Say, why don’t you go?” she asked, shaking her brother by the shoulder.

“Well, for one thing, they didn’t ask me,” Kór replied.

“Well they should have,” Kórin said simply.

Kór smiled.

[Thinlómien]

"Now what is all that noise?" Vigdis muttered to herself, rather annoyed. Can't they be any more noisy with their festivities? She still had the stone block to finish. After that, she thought she would go to celebrate, but only after that. She would not enjoy spending hours after hours feasting anyway.

The noises grew even louder. Vigdis halted and listened. There was wailing, and crying and angry shouts. Something was not quite right. Vigdis laid the chisel on the block she had been working on and hurried away from the cavern chambers.

When she arrived at the Twenty-First hall, people were hysteric. Children were being taken away, and adults were crying and tearing their hair. She spotted Tror slipping out of the hall. Her heart skipped a beat. So, they had returned.

"What has happened?" she asked. She feared she already knew the answer.
The ancient woman she had addressed lowered her head in grief. "Our beloved Lord Balin has fallen. He was shot by an Orc when he went to look at Kheled-zâram."

"Where is he now?" Vigdis asked. The steadiness of her own voice surprised her.
"His body has been taken to the Chamber of Mazarbul," the old woman replied.
"Thank you," Vigdis said and turned to leave. She could hear the crane break in sobs and mutter: "Cold, heartless woman..."

Vigdis joined the people waiting for an entrance to the chamber. Most of them were crying, and sorrow was in everyone's eyes. A people mourning a celebrated ruler, she observed. A valiant, loyal people to grieve so deeply.

The queue moved and Vigdis could glimpse a body draped in a red cloak. Then people moved again, and all she could see were the mourners, the faint candelight and the dark, endless roof.

Finally, there were just a few mourners on the line before her and nothing was blocking her view. She gave the body - rigid, pale, kingly - a brief glance but then lowered her head and fixed her eyes on the stone Balin was laying on. A simple, beautifully shaped block of white stone. Stone like that could be quarried from the eastern slopes of Bundushathûr and...

The queue moved again and suddenly there was no one between Vigdis and the white stone. She stepped forwards and slowly lifted her eyes from the stone to the dwarf on it. In the candlelight Balin's face was calm, neither happy nor sad, and his white beard had an almost golden shade. Vigdis lifted her hand to gently touch the man, but refrained from such act of disrespect. She let her hand fall to her side and blinked. There Balin lay, as unmoving and peaceful as a moment before. He was dead.

A loud wail escaped from Vigdis' lips. She shrank to her knees and bent her head. Tears were gushing forth from her eyes.

She had no idea how long she stayed there, kneeling and weeping by Balin's dead body. But eventually she started to become more aware of her surroundings, the cold, familar stone around her, the soft candlelight, the slowly gathering impatience of the mourners in the queue. She forced herself up to look one last time at Balin's face. She could now see a gentle smile hidden in his unmoving features. Weeping quietly, she knelt and kissed the stone like so many mourners before her. "Farewell, my Lord," she whispered, "we will never forget you, and all we do now will be in your honour and memory."

She rose and walked away from the Chamber of Mazarbul, holding her head up high, tears on her cheeks.

[Groin Redbeard]

Nali began to question his own judgement of this women. Perhaps it would be better to just have Tror give the news, but something in his gut told him to keep with his original idea. Korin might be rough around the edges, but that is caliber of dwarves that they needed that moment more than ever: tough.

“Well, for one thing, they didn’t ask me.” Nali hear Kor respond to his sister’s question.

“Well they should have.”

“But we have not,” Nali stated as a matter of fact. “We need thee my lady Korin, not your brother, we will have need of him before the sun sets. Indeed, our lord will have need of everyone before too long.

“Now, will thou come with me my lady, or shall I inform the council that thy have need of an ale mug for comfort? I beg pardon for my frankness, but the truth is the matter is very urgent.” Nali stood sideways from the two siblings, ready to move in an instant with Korin or without her.

She hesitated for a moment. Nali offered a genuine smile, stiffened his back and offered his hand to help her up from her stool.

[Ilya]

Run away.

Adela stayed in the hall just long enough for one of the Ladies to notice her standing stiff and still, cold as stone with the taste of honey spoiling in her mouth. Then with a mumbled excuse, she'd withdrawn to the kitchens. Ran away, ran away, she kept berating herself over and over again as she'd begun to clean up, although she hadn't said a word since Lord Balin had been brought into the hall. Scrubbing plates with the soap-soused hands, she wiped her forehead and felt the water drip down as the women began to take up the mourning wail. Adela swallowed, and drawn by the smell she looked over towards the food set aside for the Lord's party. It would be getting cold now. She looked away.

The stone under her feet seemed maddeningly still, the kitchens not nearly far away enough from the somber grief of the hall. It was all she could do to keep at her work when Adela wanted to bolt, to where she knew not. But better beards would decide their course, and the only thing to do was to trust in Balin's captains. They owed him that much. Though, as she cleaned and hummed low to herself, something cold and dark weighed down in her gut, whispering more laments were still to come.

[Durelin]

Kórin wanted dearly to give Nali the punch in the face he deserved, though that he was her elder and respected by many kept her from going that far, even with this much ale in her. But in Mahal’s name, he had more to pardon for than his “frankness”! Kór felt his sister tensing next to him and saw how tightly she now gripped her mug of ale, so he quickly placed a hand on her shoulder. He ignored Nali and waited for his sister to make her decision.

After a moment, Kórin rose, and as she did, Kór saw her hand jerk slightly, causing most of the contents of her mug to slosh out in front of her onto Nali’s boots. Kór resisted smiling as he watched Kórin struggle to keep herself from doing so. She set the mug down on the bench behind her as she murmured a half-hearted, “My apologies,” and added with clear amusement, “had a bit too much it seems…”

Kórin did her best to look bored again when she turned back to the old dwarf. “So are you to escort me to this council?”

Kór stood and took the opportunity to chime in, “Perhaps you might allow me to accompany you, as well, Master Nali, simply as…ah…support?” He grinned slightly and shrugged his right shoulder in a sort of gesture toward his sister standing next to him. Kórin was a little wobbly on her feet at this point. Once again he ignored a look from his sister, as she glanced at him with a combination of annoyance and ponderousness. But she did not argue with his suggestion, for which Kór was very glad.

He supposed Kórin had been asked to the council because she was the elder, and he supposed that one of them had been asked because of their father’s history. He had a very noble career and was highly respected, which had probably made Kór and Kórin rather disappointments so far in many people’s eyes. They had nothing to their name except accompanying the Lord Balin here to Khazad-dûm – which Kór expected was why his sister had wanted to be a part of this expedition in the first place. She had always been more concerned with living up to their father’s name, though their parents had never once given any inkling that they were disappointed with their children.

“…our lord will have need of everyone before too long…” Kórin recalled Nali’s previous words. At the moment she could not wrap her mind around who that “lord” would now be. It was enough to realize all over again that “our lord” was no longer Lord Balin. Who could fill his place, especially now?

[Arry]

Vitr had stepped back as Nali spoke with Kénan. He wondered what passed between the two elders, but it was none of his business, or he would have been included. Something to do with Lord Balin perhaps, he thought . . . that, and what would happen now. He would have to trust that wiser heads would figure out what needed to be done, and the how and who of it, too. He’d gladly lend his services where they were best deemed needed when the plan was laid in place, but for now his own plan was to see to the well-being of his wife and children.

As he turned to head toward home, he saw Kénan leave Nali and head across the hall. ‘Ah, good,’ Vitr commented to no one in particular. ‘It looks as if he’s found his grandchildren.’ Despite the pervasive gravity, the seriousness of the present situation, Vitr found a smile begin to play about the corners of his mouth. Grandchildren! What would that be like? he wondered. ‘Old fool!’ he chided himself. ‘Here your children are but young pups . . . and you’re already planning to dandle their children on your knee!’

He left the chamber, making his way across the hall where so shortly before the atmosphere had been one of celebration. Now the shadows that the bright lamps had pushed back so recently seemed to overwhelm the light. Vitr hunched his shoulders against the oppressive feeling and hurried on.

A trio of voices pulled him from his gloomy thoughts. There, by the kegs . . . Nali, again, and Kórin, and Kór. How curious. Busy man, that Nali. Kórin looked a bit worse for the wear, Vitr thought. Angry, too, at whatever Nali had said to her.

‘My Lord is dead,’ Vitr muttered, shaking his head as he passed beyond the little tableau. ‘And everything is at sixes and sevens!’

-o-

His heart began to lighten as he neared home. He frowned, surprised and somewhat disconcerted that the door was barred. ‘Lys! It’s me!’ he called, rapping on the thick wood panels. ‘Unbar the door, won’t you?’

[Groin Redbeard]

“Perhaps you might allow me to accompany you, as well, Master Nali, simply as…ah…support?”

Nali was annoyed with the question, especially since he just got Korin to put down her mug and accept his invitation although not without sloshing her ale all over his boots, which he believed was deliberate. The old dwarf, however annoyed he was, looked at the orange haired "youngster" with interest, he would not be much good at the council but perhaps he would be of some use for calming the mood of the dwarves. The mood of the people was Nali's main concern and after all the reason he summoned Korin.

"Nay, young Korin, but you still may be of some use to us yet. Pluck your harp and sing if you have the spirits to brighten the mood of our people, however fruitless it may seem at the moment. All this dampened merriment will bode ill for us before the night falls if something is not done of it."

Nali found that Kor was looking at him confused, as was Korin. It was a slip of the tongue, old fool, you are going to cause everyone to panic before there is need to!

"Bah!" he exclaimed, "I am growing senile in my old age! Do not fear young Kor, everything will be relayed to thee soon. Now, come Korin, with haste! Both of us have lingered too long, the council must be already in session."

The women quickly obeyed his command and they bounded off together in the direction of the east gate.

[Lilly]

‘Shhh!’ Lys opened the door gently, avoiding, she hoped, the rusty squeak mid-arc. ‘I’m glad you came back so soon,’ she whispered, drawing Vitr in with a hand on his arm. ‘You can help me carry them in to bed.’ She nodded over her shoulder toward the little couch where Tív and Tíva lay sleeping soundly, their slight frames curled comfortably about the cushions and pillows.

‘Chamomile, well laced with milk and honey,’ she offered in explanation, as he followed her across the room. She bent to clear the mugs away from the table in front of the couch. ‘Always helps them settle down.’ She grinned up at Vitr. ‘That and the retelling one of my mother’s very long and winding stories.... about one of her crazy uncles....’ She stifled a laugh. ‘No, not an uncle.... this time it was the one about her impish brother, Bósi. You know, the one with the gimpy leg and the pet hen with only one wing.’

Lys reached down to scoop Tíva up into her arms. ‘Oofta! Too many cookies!’ She cradled her rag-doll daughter securely against her and headed toward the sleeping area. ‘No, not in their beds,’ she said, nudging Vitr away from the twins’ room. ‘Let’s let them sleep in with us. It will be easier than having to get up and see to their bad dreams that are sure to come tonight.’

Once the children were made snug in their parents’ bed, quilts pulled up about their shoulders, hair brushed back from their foreheads, Lys led Vitr to the kitchen. She busied herself making some tea for the both of them as he sat down in his chair.

‘So, what’s going on in the hall?’ she asked, taking the chair to his right. Her question fell into the silence as he considered what to say. The rhythmic sound of spoon against mug as she stirred honey into her tea played a soft counterpoint to the quiet. ‘Is there to be a hunting party to go after the orcs?’

She reached out her hand, resting it on Vitr’s forearm. ‘Will you be among them?’ Lys searched his face for a hint of what he might answer.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

After Náli left to search for Kénan and Kórin, Lóni wandered around the halls aimlessly. He intended to head towards the gate, but his thoughts wandered far and to different times, in history and in his memories and in tales and legends he remembered. He did not even think inentionally about Balin, the thoughts were just swirling through his head. He recalled the moments he and his brother and Trór fought in the Battle of the Five Armies, and Balin emerged among the rest with Thorin Oakenshield out of the gate of Erebor. He recognized him rightaway, he looked exactly the same as in the day Lóni first saw him fighting in Azanulbizar. And here it was again, in Azanulbizar, that he had found his doom...

Suddenly, Lóni stumbled and fell to the ground with clunging of iron. Only now he realised that he is alone in a completely dark corridor. Just where was he? The place did not seem familiar, but it was just a corridor, one of the many in Moria, even now he still could not find a way to identify them all. Something furry and wet touched his knee. Lóni jumped up. Two gleaming eyes blinked at him from close distance and then they disappeared with a sound of soft running pads. Lóni shook his head. Blind in the darkness, he bent forwards and by touch found his mace lying on the ground; he felt he had lost it when he fell. When putting it back, Lóni realised it must be still stained from the skirmish by the Mirrormere. Once again he sighed, knowing that in the darkness he cannot evaluate the condition of his weapons and armor. He was certain they would be in the need of polishing. But duty calls, who knows where he had strayed and the others may be already waiting for him. First the council, then other things.

He turned around and strode back from whence he came.

[Arry]

Only the light from the small fire still burning in the kitchen grate pushed back the shadows gathered in the room. It lit her face, leaving only the deeps of her eyes clouded as she looked at him, and then away. Sparks of it glinted in her hair and for a moment he wished only to entangle his fingers in that familiar mass of coppery curls. And on some other night, some other safe, familiar night he would have done so.

But now foul murder had undone his sense of safety, and what was once familiar, so accustomed, so solid and so ordinary had now slipped sideways. It was not just the body of his slain Lord which had been borne in upon the shoulders of his men, but the possibility, the grim reality, of death for those Vitr held dear.

And so, instead, he clasped her hand between his own and spoke softly with more reassurance than he felt. ‘You know, dear heart, I will be among them.’ He reached a hand toward her, touching her cheek gently for a moment. ‘Duty deems it so; there can be no other way for me. It will be the last call to duty from my Lord Balin and the first for the new Lord who will now lead us.’ Vitr pulled at his beard as he tried to picture who that might be.

‘Oh, I do not envy him!’ he went on, shaking his head at the thought of the heavy mantle the new Lord would don. ‘And just as great is my duty is to you and to Tíva and Tív . . .to keep you all safe from harm.’ For brief moment a glint of a smile eased up the corners of his mouth as he spoke. ‘I promised your father and your brothers I would do so, you remember . . .under threat of some horrid and painful punishment if I did not.’

‘But come, let’s put away these heavy thoughts at least for tonight,’ Vitr said in a lighter tone. ‘When I left the hall, the elders were gathering together for counsel. And our worrying here in the dark will not help them make what plans as they deem are needed. I’ve every confidence that they will figure out what we need to do. And I’m quite confidant too that steps have already been taken to keep the hall safe for now.’

Vitr stood up, gathering both their mugs. ‘You go on to bed; I’ll be there directly.’ He held up the mugs with one hand, their thick clay sides making an emphatic clunk as he did so. ‘I’ll just put these in the sink . . . and bar the door. It won’t take but a moment.’

[Groin Redbeard]

The frozen expression of shock did not disappear from Adela's face, as Nisa hoped it would when she approached. Rather it worsened, and when Nisa took a step towards her friend Adela jumped back and mumbled something that Nisa couldn't understand, then promptly fled.

Exasperated, Nisa fell to her knees. The walls of the very hall itself were pressing in around her, the towering columns seemed to fall down; Nisa felt panicked at what she was imagining and tried to stand but promptly stumbled back to her knees. She began to cry. Nothing could shake the horrible feeling of despair that she was feeling at the moment: left utterly alone to deal with her sorrow, but Nisa did not want to be alone. She wanted to throw herself in the arms of someone who loved her and share her feelings with that someone, but no one could fill that place. Tror had left and Adela had ran. Svior! but where was he to be found, and would he approve of her throwing himself in his arms, after all, there was another who was closer to Svior's heart than she was. Oh where was Tror?

Still crying, alone and forsaken, Nisa stood as best she could after the fainting spell had passed. She made her way to a nearby table, where moments ago she had been feasting merrily with her friends, and buried her head within the confines of her hands. Perhaps the loneliness wouldn't feel so terrible if the rest of the world was shut out.

[Lilly]

Wasn’t that just like him....trying to smooth things over. Well this wasn’t something to be smoothed over now was it. Lord Balin was dead....from an Orc’s arrow. And where there was one Orc, most likely there were many....even more than the hairs in Grandpa Forgefire’s long bushy beard.

Now Lys had never seen an Orc but there had been plenty of stories she’d heard about those foul creatures. That they were savage killers, delighting in inflicting as much pain as they could on their victims. That they had no sense of honor at all. Anyone was fair game. Young, old, male, female – it made no difference. She shuddered, recalling one particularly grisly tale of how they’d butchered some wee little babes and....and....eaten them.

No, this was not something to be smoothed over as a mason would a block of stone....

‘Wait....sit down, Vitr, please.’

Lys grabbed hold of his sleeve before he could step away from the table. She looked up at him and cocked her head toward his chair. ‘Just for a moment. I have something I want to tell you, intended to tell you after the celebration....before this gruesome, awful thing happened.’ She shook her head, a look of overwhelming sadness in her face. Sadness....and fright, too.

‘It’s Durin’s Day, a happy day in itself; a day to celebrate. And made even more glad, or so it should have been, by the celebration of our son and daughter’s birth day. I’d thought to add another level to this gladness. I....’

She squeezed his arm.

‘Look,’ she blurted out. ‘I don’t want you to go hunting those Orcs. Even if the next Lord asks you. I don’t want you away from us. I don’t want you away from me, Vitr....and our new child....’

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Onli was treading the corridors, here and there, all over the place, up the stairs, down the stairs, back to Twenty-first hall and out again, and he was angry. He could not find Vriti, despite all of his effort; which was understandable, as she would have probably left the place as soon as the celebration turned into a cacophony of unpleasant noises. Now she was hiding in some of her secret places or wandering around tunnels. Let her wander. But Onli had meanwhile the time to sort his thoughts. It was not that he would be completely heartless. He pitied the loss of Balin. Maybe that was a part of the source for his anger, which seemed to surface for unknown reasons.

All right, not just unknown reasons. When Onli thought about the situation, he concluded that life goes on. Life in the colony goes on. And the colony will have a new leader in no time. And who is this new leader going to be seemed clear to Onli: the second in command, Trór. That arrogant warmonger guy with unpleasant gaze. Onli's first thought was that it hardly could have been worse. He never liked Trór and never worked out any special relationship with him, mainly because there was no need to. Trór minded his business when it came to military things, Onli tried to keep on good terms with Balin who was at the top of things. Of course, he would have never imagined that things are going to turn out like this, otherwise he would have paid more attention on forming his relationship with Trór.

But on his second thought, he reevaluated. Because this fellow certainly knew nothing about running the colony, of course, he had some experience, but Onli was convinced that most of all, Trór is a military officer and as a military officer he is going to need somebody to advice him on the more subtle matters of economics, managing the trade and craft and development of the colony.

And this is why Onli has been looking for Trór, for quite some time already, but with no results. Neither could he find any of the Elders. He was fed up with this already when he once again entered the great hall. The sounds of crying were heard already before he entered, and in fact, Onli could hear them almost everywhere now, or so it seemed to him. Quickly, he looked around the room, in vain hope to notice the face of Trór or any of the Elders. At one moment he stopped, catching a glimpse of... yes, that was Trór's cousin, Nîsa. Intuitively, he started to walk towards her, but before reaching her he stopped. No, first, this was no place - and by her looks, it seemed also like not a good situation to ask, but then, possibly she could tell him where Trór was? But now she once again put her head in her hands. Onli frowned.

I wonder if I can get a single word out of her now, he thought. But who of all people should know better where Trór is than her?

Onli cleared his throat and put on the most comforting smile, although inside him, everything was boiling.

"I am very sorry to disturb you in your grief, young lady Nîsa," he said in a most polite and calm voice. "This is a very sorrowful day, and I despair too. But I sought you out because you might be able to help me. I need to speak to your cousin Trór in an important matter, but I could not find him. Might you perhaps help me to learn where he is now?"

[Gwathagor]

"Frar, are you alright?" Tror was speaking to him. He had been standing alone for some time now, and his mind had been wandering. Frar started and already had his hand on his axe before he realized it was Tror. He smiled and shook his head.

"Tror, my friend. I am well enough, that is of little concern. How does the colony? How have they taken Balin's death?"

Tror sighed heavily and looked away. He pulled his beard.

"Very ill, I fear," he said at last. "Very ill. His death has cast a shadow upon the hearts of our people."

Frar nodded. "I have felt it," he said. "It is upon my heart also. Some foreboding - I cannot put a chisel on it - some darkness looms close."

"We must give them hope, Frar, you and I and the others. They are not leaderless, after all." Tror paused for a moment, his forehead furrowed.

Frar realized then that Tror it was who would take Balin's place, and already he could see that the helm of authority weighed heavily upon his brow. He considered mentioning this, but let it go as Tror had said nothing yet.

"Forgive me, I was lost in thought for a moment. I had come to find you," said Tror. "I - we are holding a council and your experience is needed. Come."

"Of course," said Frar. "A council of war, I hope?"

Tror grinned wryly. "I imagine that will come up."

"It had better, because anything else will be a waste of my time. War is all I know," grumbled Frar as they turned and began to walk towards the council chamber.

Tror laughed briefly and abruptly. Then Frar laughed as well; long and loud and booming, his roar rang through the upper halls of Khazad-dum, and stirred the gloomy coals of not a few dwarven hearts.

[Groin Redbeard]

So focused was Nisa on the darkness that seemed to envelop her through her closed eyes that she did not hear the heavy footfalls of a dwarf drawing close.

"I am very sorry to disturb you in your grief, young lady Nîsa." She jumped at the mentioning of her own name and quickly turned, nocking over a glass full of wine in the process, but the dwarf continued on as calm as ever.

"This is a very sorrowful day, and I despair too. But I sought you out because you might be able to help me. I need to speak to your cousin Trór in an important matter, but I could not find him. Might you perhaps help me to learn where he is now?"

Nisa focused on the face for a second, trying to put a name on the familiar voice. The skin of the dwarf was dark as if he had been working in the mines, but a closer look revealed that it was his true skin color and not soil that people wore when they worked.

After a moment of her studying him the dwarf smiled again, probably in hopes of her recognizing him, and it came to her. Onli! although his ferret was not on his shoulders as was usual, she couldn't mistake that smile. Nisa had often seen him with the company of Balin, mostly offering generous gifts. Trór had not spoken kindly of Onli, and Nisa dared not question his word, but now that she actually came face to face with Onli he didn't seem that bad, in fact he seemed very kind.

"Might you know where Trór is?" Onli repeated.

The tears came welling back up in Nisa's eyes as he said this and again she covered her eyes with her hand and cried. She heard the dwarf exhale loudly, probably in disgust, and why shouldn't he be disgusted? Just look at yourself girl, he asked you a question, answer it!

"I," Nisa started to quiver as she said this, "I don't know where my cousin is, he was watching over our lord Balin's body, but it has been a long while and I don't know if he still stands there or not." Onli smiled courteously but she could see that this is not the answer he wanted.

"Why don't you try Kenan?" She said after seeing the look in his eyes. Nisa tried to grab hold of her emotions and stood up as straight as she could, as was usually expected of her when she was addressing someone. "I know that they are good friends and I'm sure he could grant you a better answer than I."


Trór

Frar’s company and confident laughter comforted the troubled Tror. During all this time the realization of him being the lawful ruler of Khazad-dum had not struck him, but from his own mouth the situation was made clear. A terrible blow it was to his mind, like the premature smote of the hammer on a piece of iron it dented, rocked, and shook him to his very core. Although his friend comforted him somewhat he could not shake the full load of the subject off. How could he, a mere soldier, govern the mason, the crafter, the miner, and the soldier alike? Could he, who commanded the dwarf to fight, also command that dwarf to kneel in loyalty to him?

These, and others, were the thoughts Tror dwelt on as he walked with Frar. So concentrated was he that soon his voice was ringing within the confines of his tick skull. Was Frar speaking? He could not tell, Tror did not care. I am a fighter not a ruler! This Tror repeated until he was deep in debate with himself.

Upon the king was placed the lives, the debts, the carefree wives and children, and the sins of the people. I must bear all! Oh hard condition! Was I born for this greatness? Subject to the breath of every fool. All the ease and comfort that I have ever known must be cast aside, all that private people enjoy must be neglected. Then what have kings that private people have none of, save ceremony, and what is idle ceremony? A drink that is not sweet: poisoned flattery! Be-sink great greatness and bid your ceremony, that comes with you, give you cure.

Proud dream that plays so subtly with a kings repose. I am, now, a king that finds you and I know it is not the bar, the scepter, or the ball, the axe, the mace, the crown imperial, the robe of gold and pearl, the facet title running for the king, the throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp that beats upon the high shores of this world. No not all these doubled could compete with the hard tradition of ceremony. Not all these laid in bed together can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave, who with a body filed and a vacant mind gets him to rest. Next day, before dawn, will he rise and serve his master, and follow so through the ever running year with unprofitable labor to his grave, but with no ceremony. Such a wretch, winding up days with toil and nights with sleep, had the forehand advantage of a king!

Here Tror gave up his fruitless argument. Duty must always be his first role. Yet, he would not procure the crown for himself if the people would not have him. Unity was what the people needed, he would still command his army, no on would take that from him, but the crown must go to the worthiest whether it be him or not.

The massive stone gates were opened outward by two guards at the pairs approach. Ori and Gror were revealed to them by the torch light that was all around. At first Tror was very displeased, not even Loni or Nali were here, but before he could express his frustration Loni and Nali ushered past Frar and were standing by Ori and Gror. A first Tror thought that the third figure with the brothers was Kenan, but he now saw that it was just a woman. He glared at Nali, and the woman, thinking that the scholar had misheard his orders and would have chastised him but for Tror noticing another absent dwarf.

“Where is Oin?” Tror asked Ori a bit puzzled. “Has he not come back yet?”

[Arry]

Tív & Tíva . . . little sleepers have big ears . . .

Though the voices were quiet in their conversation, still the keen ears of the two children picked up on them. Their father’s voice especially, the deep hum of it from the kitchen called them up from their sleep. Tíva woke to it first and nudged her brother awake. He knuckled his eyes and yawned, saying ‘What? What?’

‘Shhhh, Tív!’ his sister whispered at him, her forefinger against her lips. ‘Papi’s home . . . and they’re talking about something.’ She motioned for him to follow her out of bed. ‘C’mon! Let’s go see if we can hear what they’re saying a little better.’

The twins crept to the open entryway into the kitchen, their bare little feet making no noise against the stone floor. They hunkered down in the shadows against the edge of the doorway, leaning against each other. Their mother had just finished speaking, and in a quite serious tone. One of those tones that they recognized well – the one that meant ‘pay very close attention, now; this is important’.

‘What does that mean, Tíva? What she said.’ Tív asked, whispering very low in her ear.

Tíva elbowed him in the arm. ‘Ssst!’ she hissed at him. ‘I wanna hear this!’

Tív scooted away from her just a bit and rubbed at his arm. What in blue blazes was Mami talking about? Just where was she getting this ‘new child’? He inched back to Tíva, and following her lead, listened most attentively.

-----

Vitr

Vitr sat down with a heavy thunk on his chair. He felt a bit dizzy, as if all the blood had rushed from his head and pooled in his feet. He felt cold, and sweaty at the same time. Mouth, dry. His stomach had suddenly tied itself in a tight little knot, too, and was threatening to crawl up his throat.

‘Wh-what?’ he gasped out, looking Lys full in the face as if trying to glean some clue from her expression. He wondered if the trying events of this evening had somehow disoriented him, made his ears play tricks on what she’d said. But no, she’d been quite clear. ‘Our new child’ ...


She looked at him expectantly. No further explanation seemed forthcoming.

‘A baby?’ he croaked. He could feel he was beginning to babble in a rather thick witted manner. His mind had not wrapped itself fully around this bit of news.

‘A baby . . .’ he said again taking a deep breath to collect himself. ‘A baby.’ He nodded his head in a slow, resolved manner. He reached out to cradle her face with his hand.

‘Well this changes everything, now doesn’t it?’

[Durelin]

Kór sighed as he watched Nali turn to walk away, ordering his sister to follow. Kórin gave her brother one last glance, an exasperated look on her face, and then followed, dragging her feet. Kór wondered at Nali’s words, particularly because he had tried to pass them off as a product of senility. “Dampened merriment” will bode ill for us? That seemed fairly straightforward to Kór – obviously low morale amongst the colony wasn’t going to help them any. But Nali seemed to think what he had said was a little off.

What really bode ill for them?

Kór picked up his harp, not minding Nali’s suggestion, and headed in the direction of the kitchens and storeroom, where he expected many of the women were still working while the men sat around and talked. He nonchalantly pulled up a stool just outside the kitchens area and played another familiar song, especially to those from the Lonely Mountain, who made up most of the colony.

“…The mountain smoked beneath the moon;
The dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom.
They fled their hall to dying fall.
Beneath his feet, beneath the moon.

Far over the misty mountains cold
To dungeons deep and caverns old
We must away, ere break of day,
To win our harps and gold from him.”

Kór finished softly singing the words, then simply continued the tune.

~

Kórin wondered at Nali’s words, too, but found it impossible to really ponder anything as ale seemed to slosh about in her head as well as her stomach. She followed the old dwarf with heavy steps until they neared the Eastern Gate. Others had already arrived and were arriving. She recognized all of them, but could not put a name to each face, especially at the moment. One gave her and Nali a look which made her beard bristle with anger. She knew his name – Trór.

Kórin kept a cold gaze on him. The way he carried himself, and how he now addressed Ori… Her eyes narrowed. Was this now the dwarf she would have to take orders from?

[Folwren]

“I think I had better get Iari home,” Kéni said. Kénan nodded his head in agreement. “When will you return, Grandfather?”

“I don’t know,” Kénan replied. “It depends on how long Trór takes in his council.” The long-winded fool may take all day and night, he thought to himself, but this he did not say aloud to his grandchildren. “It may be a long while - don’t wait up for me.”

Kéni nodded and took his sisters hand, but Kénan wanted to make himself clear.

“Get her to bed as quick as you can. She needs rest.” And he did not want to be bothered with her whimpering when he got home. “You get to bed, too.”

Kéni nodded again, though he resented being told to go to bed. He grumbled something between his teeth as he led his sister off, but Kénan was already pacing off in the direction of the appointed place for the council.

“Well, here I am,” he said. “Let’s not take longer than we must!” The request was made apparently to no one in particular, but he was looking in Trór’s general direction.

[Kitanna]

Kéni hurried home, holding Iari's hand the whole way. He was annoyed with his grandfather's treatment of him and even more annoyed that the old dwarf didn't even want to talk to Iari when he returned. Their home seemed safe and warm when they arrived.

"We need to get some food in you, Iari." Kéni went about making a plate of dried meat and biscuits for his sister. "Would you like some tea as well?"

Iari shook her head. Kéni put the food in front of her, but she refused it. "Please eat. You'll be starving in a few hours and it won't do for you to be so hungry when Grandfather gets home. He'll think I've not taken care of you."

The little girl sighed and took a bit from the biscuit. She hadn't realized how hungry she was until now. She gobbled up the rest of the food on her plate and Kéni had some tea ready for her when she was finished. While Iari took her tea Kéni made himself a plate of food and joined Iari.

"What do you suppose Grandfather's meeting was about?"

Kéni shook his head. "I know not, but I would rather not think of it now. And best you don't either. It won't do for you to have any more nightmares. Balin's death was nightmare enough for everyone I think."

Kéni stood and took Iari by the hand after she had finished her drink. "You can sleep in my bed. I'll be staying up a little later, but do not fret sister, I will be close at hand." Kéni tucked Iari in and she fell asleep fairly quickly.

[Dimturiel]

Soon after the news of Balin's death had been announced, Bain left the great hall. There was nothing that could keep him there now. The others were still mourning for their lord, but he could not bear to stand and watch them. He felt somehow estranged from them and he could not understand why. Since they shared the same grief, he should have felt tied to them, shouldn't he?

Inevitably, his footsteps lead him to the forge. He always went there when he had some doubt on his mind or when he was unhappy. Not that he was often so. He usually had no reason to be. But now...

Yes, what would happen now? Things were going to change and probably dark times would come. But the future was a notion Bain had always refused to understand. He had never once thought of what was to come. It was something beyond him, and now that the question what would happen? came to bother him, he found himself helpless, having no answer.

Bain shook his head as if to cast away doubt and needless question. He would leave the thoughts of what was going to happen to more competent heads. There were enough in the colony. As for him – well, for now he was going to face his doubts in the only way he was able.

Bain took hold of his hammer. As always, work was going to be his answer and his comfort. Soon, he knew he would forget everything, his mind bent only on the task ahead. He did not yet know what he was going to make- a tool, a weapon, a piece of armoury – but he was certain that whatever it was going to be, it would be able to clear his thoughts and put his mind at rest for a while.

[Groin Redbeard]

As Tror turned his gaze from the two Nali breathed a sigh of relief. He had stiffened at Tror's glare, fearing an outburst either from Tror or Korin. Slowly, Nali began to relax and let out a sigh of relief, it was the hardest thing to try and keep peace when the threat of war loomed around them in the uncertain darkness. May the great god keep them united in thier hour of need!

Tror began speaking to Ori, who surprisingly had stayed behind at the gate. Nali cast a worried look sidelong at Korin, her eyes were fixed on Tror and they appeared to match even the venerable warrior's vicious glare. Slowly and cautiously Nali touched Korin's shoulder, her head snapped in his direction.

"Remember thy place here," Nal said cautiously but not in a threatening tone. "Thou art but a guest here, and I beseech you not to speak too hastily." It did not look like his words had much effect, but Nali hoped that she would heed them until at least the council was in session.

Poor thing, can you really blame her for being upset? Not only was Korin completely ignorant of the dire predicament that their colony was in, but her help was also so rudely sought for in an hour of great tragedy. He hoped that this misunderstanding would soon pass when the all was made clear. Loni was as his usual: cool headed and silent; Nali envied him at the moment, already the council was on the verge of feuding, as so many great leaders succumbed to when they were suddenly deprived of a great leader. Where was Kenan? If that dwarf would not arrive soon there would be the devil to pay for the both of them!

However, Nali did not have to wait long, and the familiar footfalls of Kenan were heard in the passage. The gruff old dwarf came in as if they were all a group of buddies gathered in the midst of merriment around a ale cask. He spoke very bluntly about ending the matter quickly, not even a word of greetings. Tror spun round when he heard Kenan's voice and grimly shook his head in agreement, though it looked like he intended to say something else, before he turned back to hear Ori's response.

[Thinlómien]

"Where is Óin? Has he not come back yet?"

Ori had been so deep in thought that he had not heard the others coming. He turned quickly to Trór.

"Óin has not come yet," he replied. Following a sudden impulse, he knelt down and bowed his head low. "My lord," he added.

There was murmuring and someone exhaled loudly. Ori rose up and eyed the Dwarves gathered at the gates. "For that is what he is now," he said steadily, "there is no doubt Trór is now our lord and we will follow him."

No one said anything. Ori realised they were waiting for him to continue. He resisted the urge to give the wry smile so characteristic to himself. "Of course, we will have no official ceremony to name him the Lord of Moria until we have let Balin to his rest and mourned him properly. For no one should think we do not honour him, or that we did not love him."

His voice broke a little by the last words but he held his expression calm. There was still a silence. Ori could feel a tear running down his cheek. He wiped it to his sleeve. The time for mourning a dear friend would come later, he promised himself.

He turned to Tror and gave him the wry smile. "I hope I did not overstep my boundaries, my lord," he said in a low voice.

[Gwathagor]

"You did not," rumbled Frar. He turned from Ori to the whole council. "Tror is now our chief, by position and merit. He will lead us to the best of his craft, and we must serve him in return, our hammers and axes at his beck." He glanced around the chamber, eyeing every dwarf in turn. "We must serve him as we served Balin - Balin, who has never yet lead us astray and whose trust in Tror was as iron."

Frar turned to Tror and bowed low. "Speak, Lord Tror. Your dwarves heed you."

[Groin Redbeard]

What was this? Óin had not arrived! This shocked and frustrated Trór, he clenched his fist and drove it down to his side as if was striking an imaginary foe. All things depended on good intelligence on the enemies whereabouts and numbers, all of which he lacked with Óin's absence. Trór would have had soon dismiss the unpleasant thought of his lack of intelligence for the moment and proceed with the council and seek a way to counter this problem, but no sooner had Óri finished relaying this news to him he dropped to one knee. What in the world was he doing?! Never before had Trór felt so helpless as when Óri uttered those two words: my lord.

His old friend continued his explanation as some of the host gasped, Trór found himself among those who did. It hurt Trór to see his friends acting in such a way as would beget all their years of friendship. Frar even joined in with Óri in proclaiming to serve him as they did Balin, the only problem was Trór was not Balin, no one could be as wise or as deserving of honor as that now dead venerable Dwarf.

"Speak, Lord Tror. Your dwarves heed you."

“Enough!” Trór boomed with upraised hands. This was not to be, never had Trór been treated so formally by those he held so close to his heart. Oh how the ceremony has already tainted the sweet nectar of friendship!

“Friends,” he implored, “why all this formality. Have I not known you and worked with you these five years? Have we not served our lord with equal ardor and loyalty? Therefore why should I be your choice as king if the service of mine has not been any more than you gathered here?

“Óri, you are the trusted friend of Balin, closer to him and his mind than anyone her. You have more right to carry on his will than I have. What about Óin, who has worked unceasingly to carry out Balin’s wishes and who not three weeks past returned with a mighty horde of arms from the thrid-deep? Why should I... I don’t know how...”

Trór paused for a second, he had not noticed that he had been yelling. Now who is the one, being ridiculous? Is this how you are to treat your loyal friends?

“I am sorry,” Trór said somewhat hesitantly. He helped Óri who was still on his knees. “I should not scold you for your feelings, nor you Frar for your devotion. I am not use to such formality amongst friends.

“I am not deserving of the rank of ruler amongst you, but I am no fool in seeing that it is my duty to lead at present: being second command to Balin, and chief of soldiers. I would feign have a more learned Dwarf rule you, a military ruler would only bring you strife and war, that is what I am. When this crisis has abated I will relinquish my power to this council to decide on a better choice, but for the present let us speak no more of this, my heart is very much split in the matter and I would have more time to think before we go on.” Trór faced Óri, “thank you for your kind words, my friend, they touch me deeply. Do not think that I take you for granted.

“Now let us turn matters to the reason I summoned you. Gror, come forward and tell us of what you have seen.”

[Himaran]

The heavy latch fell into place and Dalin breathed a long sigh. Was it relief? He felt somewhat safe, at least. Or perhaps it was merely an expression of his troubled spirit. Since recovering from his grief long enough to leave the hall and return to his quarters, the dwarf had watched countless others drift off into the caverns in grief, despair and bewilderment. He was strangely fascinated by how their differing emotions manifested in physical ways, particularly subtle hand gestures. Those with families clutched one another, reassuring young and old alike that their situations were far from dire while comforting the distraught. Others walked with a new determination and purpose, hands kept noticably closer to visible weaponry, as if prepared to strike out against an unseen foe.

But a third group troubled Dalin; these individuals walked alone, hands nervously clenched, fidgeting and glancing furtively left and right. The atmosphere among these dwarves was tense and smelled of panic and fear. Hushed voices whispered back forth as rumors began to spread; some said that an orc army had already invaded the upper levels. Others swore that outsiders weren't involved at all, but that Balin has been murdered by one of his own. A fringe gathering were even rambling about a dragon's involvement in the affair. Dalin didn't know what to believe, but found the rammifications of the collective possibilities to be terrifying. Safe at last in his home, he re-examined the lock to make sure it was secure. "Not a day to be taking chances," he muttered.

[Boromir88]

Gror had not often been in a company as mighty as the one he was in now, and he didn't like it much. The eyes of all the noble dwarves, of the council, staring back at him; waiting on his report.

Gror! Get a hold of yourself! You were never this way around Dain, and King Dain was a mighty dwarf; it was an honour to be in his company too! Then again, Gror got used to being around King Dain. This was an entirely new and uncomfortable situation for him.

"What I've seen? Oh...right...uh - what I've seen. Yes, what I've seen." Get it together you bumbling fool! Act like you would around Dain, or even your father's friends. It isn't much different.

Yet, it was different. Gror couldn't describe it. King Dain was a noble dwarf in his own right, but being in the presense of Balin's dwarves - there was a different air of nobility. One that made Gror feel like he didn't deserve to be here; he should be washing these dwarves' helmets, not addressing them at the council.

But you are here, Gror, because you were asked to be here. That's got to mean something. Tror could have sent you away and told the Council the news himself, but he didn't. Do not disappoint now.

Gror cleared his throat and spoke with much greater strength and authority:

"I have seen a large Orc army heading up the Silverlode. Nothing more than that, I felt it of dire importance to warn you of this threat that approaches. A force of this size can only mean one thing, they're looking for a fight, and I say we give them one!"

Gror turned to Tror, and bowed low; "My bow and sword are yours, lord, and I offer you my service. It may not be much at all, but it is yours for as long as you decide to have it."

[Groin Redbeard]

The manner of Gror was what Tror expected, gathering from his first conversation with him: nervous and uncertain. Though Gror stuttered often in the first few utterances he made the end product of his short speech effective. Needless to say, this was not what many of the members had expected from the messenger, any rumor of an orc army anywhere near their beloved city had not been heard or suspected by anyone. Even Tror half wished that he had misheard Gror, an army of orcs was not a pleasant thought even for a veteran soldier to think about. His army was small but bore many of the veterans from kingdom of the Iron Hills, but goblins never came in small groups, and an orc army capable of swarming the great halls of Khazad-dum could be expected to be as large as five thousand strong.

Frar grinned at Tror’s side, a chance to avenge Balin would certainly a factor in this battle. Nali gave no expression of shock or surprise, seeing as Tror had already told him before the council what the crisis was, but his brother gave a short cry of surprise.

"My bow and sword are yours, lord, and I offer you my service. It may not be much at all, but it is yours for as long as you decide to have it.”

It appeared that Tror’s rant about calling him lord had little effect on Gror, he bowed low to Tror causing his beard to sweep the ground. However, Tror did not feel as disgusted with this messenger offering him honor, in fact the same situation would probably had occurred even if Balin were there. He smiled and stood looked into Gror’s eyes.

“Most readily do I accept it then. You are a messenger of king Dain and I will give you all the honor and respect that is yours. Your fealty will not be forgotten by me when this is over.” Tror now turned to face the council. “You heard why I have called you together. The odds against us are extreme but not impossible, we have strong walls to withstand any siege that might be brought to the foot of these mountains, the uncertainty of our enemy is almost certain: they don’t know our numbers or our strength in the field. Most importantly of all: we have the element of surprise, an army that can move undetected by our scouts is definitely relying speed and surprise, they have had to be marching hard today and will be worn out when we take the field. This may give us an edge in battle.” Tror paused for a moment and turned back to Gror. “How long do we have before the orcs are upon us?”

[Durelin]

Kórin could not form words in response to Nali’s chiding. She expected the old dwarf could tell that her body only tensed further following his reminder. Remember her place? She had been summoned to this council along with the rest! But no, she was simply a “guest” here, while the others – the males here, who prided themselves their lineage and experience – they were the actual members of this council. Why under earth did they drag her here if she had no real place in the proceedings?

She also remained silent as the others hailed Trór as their lord, starting with Ori. “For that is what he is now…” Kórin brooded on these words, keeping her eyes often on her new ‘lord’. She twisted her mouth in distaste more, though, when Trór addressed the dwarves gathered around him as friends. Yes, friends. This group of “friends” chose the leader of the entire colony from amongst themselves. Each and every dwarf in the colony had chosen to follow the Lord Balin when they left their homes to retake their ancient home of Khazad-dûm. Yes, Trór had been Balin’s choice as his right hand while he ruled, but this was no clear succession.

The messenger’s words came as little surprise to Kórin, and in her current state she felt little in response. Besides the intense anger and hatred talk of orcs brought about, she was confused as to why Trór and all the dwarves summoned seemed to be settling in for a nice discussion. How much was there to discuss? If this messenger could tell them no more than that there was a “large orc army” headed their way, they were wasting their time. They needed to send more reliable scouts out immediately, and begin preparing to set out and meet these orcs in battle.

Kórin prepared to speak her mind, even though she still felt a little too muddled to voice her thoughts, but she waited at least to hear the messenger’s response to Trór’s question. Hopefully this Gror was observant enough to provide a couple more details.

[Folwren]

Kénan leaned forward and words burst from his mouth be fore he meant them to be spoken. “The element of surprise?” The dwarves of the council looked at him. He didn’t mind in the least. He had had something to say ever since arriving and he had kept quiet too long. So he got to his feet and faced Trór, giving poor Gror no chance to answer.

“The element of surprise? Do you know nothing? The orcs themselves have already had the element of surprise! They took from us our leader! The one dwarf who could possibly lead us well into battle is now dead. What you saw was a mere scouting party of the orcs. They meant to show themselves. They don’t care now what we do. They’ve already surprised us.” He snorted, disgusted, and looked around at the other dwarves.

“I would like to know just why we are in this predicament. Are we sure, I mean, that we want Trór as our leader? Was it not him who allowed Balin to go down alone and look into Mirrormere? And now he speaks of the element of surprise?” He looked again at Trór and shook his head like a reproving father. “Foolishness.” He allowed the word to hang in almost mutinous silence for a moment. “Tell me, how do you intend to use this supposed surprise against the orcs, when we are so few and they are so many?”

[Durelin]

Kórin raised an eyebrow at Trór upon hearing Kénan’s words. She was glad to find another reason for her distaste of him. Though this went beyond distaste – that he would leave the Lord Balin’s side for any reason was disturbing. Continuing to watch Trór closely she wondered if their lord’s death weighed on him heavily enough.

Kórin was very tempted to echo Kénan’s concerns, but she knew he had said enough, and that certainly his voice carried far more weight than hers ever would. Instead she returned to her feelings of impatience with all those present – not just their supposed leader.

The fiery-haired dwarf snorted a laugh of exasperation. It seemed that the blind were leading the blind, using the counsel of the blind!

“And how many is ‘so many’?” Kórin asked – then added, “exactly,” for clarity. She did not bother to rise from her seat, and readied herself to ignore any quiet admonishment from Nali beside her. He apparently thought he could restrain her somehow should she decide to take part in the council to which she was invited.

[Groin Redbeard]

The sudden outburst from Kenan surprised Tror. There was a deep flame of passion burning in the old Dwarf’s eyes as he angerly sprang to his feet. Tror’s insticts caused him to react and face Kenan suddenly, leaving the timid Gror looking about as if he were an insignifican memeber, and indeed he was as soon as Kenan started to speak.

What Tror had expected from Kenan was the reassurance in their certain victory against the orc invaders, but what the old Dwarf said was of an entirely different matter. Tror couldn’t believe his ears. He was always under the impression that he and Kenan were friends but it was evident that Kenan held him as one who had never seen war: no more than an amature soldier! However, what Kenan said next drove Tror to a state of fury. Was he suggesting that Tror played a part in the death of Balin?

“Tell me, how do you intend to use this spposed surprise against the orcs, when we are so many?”

The first thing to do is to breadk your neck old Dwarf! Perhaps I could surprise the orcs by mounting your head on my spear!

“And how many is ‘so many’?” A women asked – then added, “exactly?” Tror snapped his gaze towards the next speaker, who chimed in with Kenan. Who was this lady who spoke as haughtily as a member of nobility?

“Do not interrupt,” barked Tror, “but seeing as Kenan has already set the example for cutting people off I shall set things right by addressing you personally, Kenan.”

Tror clenched his fist and took a step towards Kenan, some broken teeth might remind him that he was not even present whe Balin had died. His angry footfall was checked by Ori, who sprang infront of the angry warrior.

“This is not the time.” Ori whispered through his pressed lips.

Taken back by this gesture, Tror paused. Ori’s words saw their affect almost instantly as Tror’s expression softened and a look of intense agony enveloped his features. Hadn’t he, by his own words, admitted to Kenan that he had failled his lord? Kenan was right on that account: Tror had failled Balin, but Tror would not address that matter. It was a mistake to let his emotions get the better of him this situation. If you want to get these people through this act like a dwarf who know what to expect.

“You lose hope quickly, Kenan.” he said in a rugged yet subdued voice. “I always thought of you as a fighter.”

“What hope is there? Show me the hope in you plans.”

“There is no guaranty of hope in any of our plans!” Tror responded vehemently,regaining some of his pride and slamming his fist on the stone table. There was a short pause, the council had not lasted five minutes and already he was at his wits end. Tror sighed and rubbed his clenched hand in his other.

“Very well then, what would you have me do, most venerable Kenan.” Tror said this last part with an air of mockery. “If we are not to fight, then what? Flee as fast as our legs can carry us to the Hollin Gate? Even if such an attempt were possible, I would not stand for the shame that it would bring upon our heads?” Tror’s voice had risen in the last sentence. Try as he might he could not contain his fighting spirit.

“If you will not fight for me fight for the women, the children, and the honor that is ours as long as Khazad-dum stands. What is this foul rhetoric that I hear from you, Kenan? You speak of Balin with pride and honor, as you rightly should, but did he conquor and restore the great kingdom of our ancestors to live in fear? Speak no more of hope to us if you have none; do not infest our kin with the lies of the enemy. If I am deemed unworthy in your sight then leave me pressence and in a way fitting to yourself dispose of yourself, but if not, then shall I proudly fight by your side as one who is willing to scrafice his all for the glory that belongs to this great city.

“I am no Balin, but who among us can ascend his lofty mountain of leadership? Already I have made faults, but I also have faith in our survival. I know your qualities, and they are many, but if we are to survive I need Dwarves who are ready to fight with me.” Tror paused to see if Kenan was going to respond. He wondered if any of the council had noticed that he had evaded the topic of what his plan was, in truth he had only vague outlines on what to do. Instead, Tror hoped to rouse some of the old spirit that had died with Balin. Tror looked back at Gror he was anxious to get back to the actual planning of the battle. Such outbursts wearried him or than any fight ever would.

[Boromir88]

Gror acted as if he paid no heed to the outburst and simply continued. Although he did take note of this dwarf, Kenan. Gror was always taught if you have a problem with your leaders, you discuss it in private, and to publicly speak out against Tror at this time is unwarranted.

"Well, sir, I had spotted the army not a day ago, following up the Silverlode, as I headed towards the mountains. My hope was an army as large as this one would be slow moving and I could get here in good time to give sufficient warning. However, with the advance party already reaching the gates, my guess is we have one hour, two at the most, before they're on your doorstep."

He felt like adding, that means we can't sit here and squabble with eachother, we must act fast, but Gror didn't feel like it was his place.

"I met a dwarf, Oin he said his name was, not long before reaching the East gate. He went ahead to get a closer look at this rabble. However, since he is not back, I fear whatever Oin has found out won't be much good now.

Oh...well I...erm...mean no offense to Master Oin. That is, I'm sure he has already found tons of information that would be useful knowing. I, well, just met...that it won't be good to wait around for his information. We have to make preparations immediately."

You were doing so good, until that trash spewed out your mouth! Way to go Gror! Now Tror will have to send you away. I certainly would, if I were him!

[Groin Redbeard]

The old Dwarf winced as Tror rebuked Korin's question, he was just glad that Kenan was on his mind. Nali agreed with the first part of Kenan's questions, even if he did think that they were out of place, but the last part was almost an outward act of treason. Nevertheless, he felt split when Tror began to speak hotly against Kenan, Tror seemed like a youngster defying a father, yet Nali knew that his loyalty was with the new lord.

Thankfully, Gror had continued with talking instead of holding back from the argument. Nali could feel the majority of the council beginning to bristle at Kenan and Tror, the quicker that they got back on track the better.

Two hours is a very short time for a crisis so dire as this. Nali looked up at the stone faces of the gates and wondered if they could hold off, or possibly hide their great city as they they had done before when the Dark Lord enveloped the surrounding lands. He shook his head in silence, nothing happens twice, this meant war. He wished that Gror would be more precise in his explanation of the enemies host. A round about number would give the council a grasp of how to position their own soldiers.

[Folwren]

Kénan bristled with wrath as Trór’s words switched from furious accusation into words smoothed with honey. He spoke of honor in the same breath as he spoke of Kénan’s cowardice, or his disloyalty to the clan. Such speech left Kénan feeling cold and hot at once. What made it infinitely worse was that he had no chance to answer. The young ambassador, Gror, answered Trór’s original question of how soon the orc army would be upon them. As his answer went on, Kénan slowly sank back in his seat. His questions had no been answered, and a sense of doom was settling slowly but surely on him.

As he settled into his seat, he reflected upon what had passed. He had spoken out against the new leader before an entire council. It was an act upon which he could be called later to explain and apologize, and perhaps worse. His thick eyebrows lifted as he cast a swift glance at Trór, gauging the likelihood of such an occasion, and he doubted it. Trór was busy with the weight of war, and unless he intended to use him as an example now, he would probably not dig up the trouble again, if he could help it.

It was true, such a responsibility would not be an easy thing for any dwarf to bear, and Kénan knew that Trór was young and inexperienced and it would therefore hang all the heavier on his shoulders. This was a reason to both blame and pity the dwarf. If he were wise, he would listen to others, but whether or not he would was yet to be discovered. Kénan began to pay attention to what was said.

[Groin Redbeard]

There no response for a long time. Onli just scowled and turned his gaze to looking around the vast hall hoping to catch a glimpse of Trór. Nisa knew that her answer was not the one that Onli had wished to hear, but what could she do? She felt that causing this Dwarf to leave would make her burst into tears all over again, if Trór or Adela would not be with her than she better make do with what she had. Nisa plucked up the scattered remnants of her spunk and addressed Onli again, this time with a smile on her face.

"I'm sure Trór won't be gone long, but he might have gone to the East-Gate to wait for Oin or Ori, neither of whom have come back as I'm concerned." She had caught Onli's attention again but he gave nothing more than a blank stair. Standing, Nisa looked towards the end of the hall and back at Onli as if suggesting something.

"If you would like, I could introduce you to him. I'm sure that he wouldn't mind."

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

"Why don't you try Kénan? I know that they are good friends and I'm sure he could grant you a better answer than I."

Onli scowled and turned his gaze to seek for the old warrior, whom, now thinking about it, he recalled to notice before in the hall. So careless, Onli thought to himself now, again with a burst of inner anger, though on the outside he tried to hold the immovable mask. So careless, it should have occured to him to ask that old Dwarf, these soldiers have always been one hand, whichever personality they have, they are all of the same sort; but Onli hardly ever paid attention to Kénan, there was nothing to gain from him. Perhaps these kids with him, perhaps, once they grew up a bit more, but Kénan himself was a quiet guy, aside from the big things and important happenings in the colony. Onli wondered if he actually ever spoke to him once during these five years. Nevertheless, he was certain Kénan does not have a silver piece of worth with himself. But now perhaps he could be of use.

However, after barely overlooking the hall, he realised he was mistaken; or then Kénan had already disappeared. Curse it, Onli thought, but at the same moment Nîsa spoke again. Onli looked at her, still perplexed, and it took him a moment to realise what she has been saying.

"I'm sure Trór won't be gone long, but he might have gone to the East-Gate to wait for Óin or Ori, neither of whom have come back as I'm concerned."

The first reaction of Onli's to her words was a bit of hope that he, after all, is not condemned to wander the empty halls aimlessly. The second thought was something like "as if you could not have told me earlier, you elvish eggs-laying hen". But he controlled himself enough not to make any move.

"If you would like, I could introduce you to him. I'm sure that he wouldn't mind."

The wheels of Onli's thoughts set on spin for a while again. He was not so keen on the idea of this young and naive girl bothering around, when he is to speak of important matters to the new Lord of Moria. On the other hand, Onli thought it might be useful to have her there after all: especially as his own relations to Trór were quite unprobed. Perhaps having his lovely little cousin around will make the arrogant warmonger a little bit more open.

He decided. Putting on his most comfortable and pleasant smile, he bowed and spoke to Nîsa.

"Of course, my dear lady. I will most appreciate it. If it does not bother you now, I will be most happy if you decided to accompany me. Perhaps seeing your cousin will cheer you up a little bit at this grave time, too," he added in an encouraging tone and beckoned towards the exit from the hall.

[Thinlómien]

The world must have had turned into mist, Vigdis concluded. It was all so hazy. But no, mist was not sharp and hard like this. This was a world of steel. A world of smudged steel, like the blades of unwashed kitchen knives...

Vigdis buried her fingers deep in her hair and pulled, not very gently. What on earth I'm thinking about? Have I lost my wits? But kitchen knives? I know, Vyra keeps a certain good rum in her knife locker there... That's surely something I need.

She headed to the kitchens, calmly rejecting thoughts of everything else than rum. Thoughts of sorrow, horror and vengeful hatred. No time to mourn now, no time to unleash my anger, she told herself.

When she entered the kitchens, she couldn't see anybody except one of the younger cooks, a lean girl with a distraught look. "Excuse me, but is Vyra here?" Vigdis asked, in an unnecessarily loud voice.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

When Lóni arrived at the council, he was at first glad that he did not come late. However, soon he had to face a shock: the dire news of the threat approaching them, and the most unsettling manner of the council's attendants. When Grór was speaking, Lóni looked at him with understanding and tried to look attentively to encourage him, just if the messenger looked at him. But when Kénan spoke, Lóni's mind became troubled. No, this is certainly no time to fall into arguing, he thought. Although he had to confess that Kénan's words contained truth as well. It was obvious that the Orcs have already struck a severe blow to them, and there was hardly anything worse that the approaching enemy could do to them.

Lóni rubbed his one undamaged eye. He did not believe that the enemies will be so many as to bring complete destruction to the colony. No, but it meant war. Again. Had it not been for long enough, Lóni thought, that I have lived in peace? For the last fifty years, he had not set out his foot into a large-scale battle. Since the Battle of the Five Armies, there were only the goblins when they arrived here, but they were not too many and could not stand a chance against the fiery Dwarves who, after all, were not as many either. But Lóni felt that something bigger is coming. Perhaps another full-scale war between the Dwarves and Orcs? Half a century is a long time, and Lóni thought he was lucky, so lucky to live in peaceful times for the time being. At some times in the past fifty years since the Battle of the Five Armies, Lóni thought he might live the rest of his life in peace. But he knew well that peace never lasts for long. He suspected that enemy will come, goblins again, or Easterlings. When Lóni was young and naive still, after the Battle of Azanulbizar, when the war against goblins was won, he and many others foolishly thought that it is over. Some had thought that it is over once and for all. The old ones knew better, and Lóni was to learn that too, when the news came about the death of the Dragon and Thorin Oakenshield facing grave danger at his very door.

Lóni glanced sideways at Ori. Curious, isn't it, he thought. It was Thrór and later his grandson Thorin who were the ones playing the main part in sparkling the flame of the greatest battles of our lifetime. And now, it was Balin again who has fallen; and war is upon us. And here, he thought, examining Ori's face and his eyes, now deep and dark, but as if with a glow of green light shining inside them; here stands somebody who is close to that lineage too, and also somebody who had been there. Like with many others he knew well, Lóni could remember vividly seeing Ori in the battle. And now, he will probably have the chance to see him again...

The young lass, Kórin, interrupted the discussion. Lóni was surprised to hear her talk. He knew her, but now he was unsure whether it was wise to bring her to the council after all. The air between Trór and Kénan seemed filled with tension already as it was, and there certainly was no need to bring more trouble to the council. When Trór stepped forth towards Kénan, Lóni was about to open his mouth, but Ori interfered, before the leader could do anything.

Lóni sighed quietly. There were Orcs approaching, and the matters needed to be settled. The topic, however, seemed to turn back to the important part. Lóni listened to Grór's words, and was reminded of Óin. Indeed, the all-time scout was missing. Lóni wondered, what was he doing?

[Thinlómien]

Ori had listened his time, resisting the urge to interfere in the silly arguments and only once actually blurting out what he was thinking about, that they didn't have time for idle quarreling. Trór annoyed him a little, he was succumbing to the petty strifes instead of concentrating on pressing matters. But Ori would not rebuke his lord twice.

This girl, Kórin, was annoying Ori incredibly. How dare she talk like that? She seemed to be full of herself, crticising others while having nothing better to say either. Such typical behaviour of the womenfolk. But Ori had whatsoever no desire to speak to her, he knew her name and they were taking part in the same council - Ori wondered, though, who on or under earth had invited her - and that was all he wanted to have to do with her, ever.

So he turned to the third one whose behaviour annoyed him, an old dwarf he knew just well enough to call him a friend and said in a low voice:

"Kénan, old friend, questioning Trór's claim to the authority was the worst piece of stupidity I've ever heard from you. What were you thinking of? Balin's death is a hard strike, but don't let it cloud your judgement. It was not Trór who let Balin go and thus caused his death, it was Balin himself who insisted to go alone and you know he was not a man who would listen to what his second-in-command tells him to do instead of what his heart tells him to do."

Ori paused, taking a breath. He blinked the tears from his eyes. "Excuse me, it's just..." He swallowed, took another deep breath, then gave Kénan a sharp look. "I want to ask you, who would you have leading us if not Trór? Think of it, Kénan, there is no one else. We have to put our faith in him."

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

The sun had already disappeared from Óin's sight. Darkness was creeping from the caves underneath the mountains, veiling the dale in soft shadows. The old Dwarf was lying, silently, on the edge of a rocky bed, wrapped in his brown cloak, hiding his long white hair under the large hood. His shiny blue eyes observed closely the scenery below him, as he lay in the cover of the few crooked fir-trees. The waterfall by his side was splashing and the bubbling water ran over the stones, covering all sounds and sometimes giving Óin a sparkling splash of icy cold water.

Long time the valley was empty and motionless, save for the waters of Silverlode running their paths through the scattered stones of the valley. Óin lay low, resting, but attentive. He wanted to learn as much as he could about the approaching enemy; that youngster shall certainly deliver the news to Balin. And Balin will know what to do. Meanwhile, it was upon Óin to stay here, and think on how to spot as much of the enemy as possible, and be able to get away at the same time. He was lying low, close to the ground, and gripping the bow in his hand.

Now, at last. On the edge of the long and wide valley filled with stones, a walking shadow appeared, and then other, and then another. All three of them were walking fast, treading the water-washed plain.

"And here you have them," the old scout whispered to himself silently. "Here you have them, Óin, spoiling the clearest waters of Kibil-nâla with their filthy feet. I swear, if it was just those three, I would have wasted no arrow to repay them for their impudence. Alas, there are not just three of them, I know. Ha, look, there they come."

Óin narrowed his eyes in hope to discern more of the figures who were now appearing in his sight. There were Orcs armed with spears, yes, and several carrying heavy shields. Despite their burden, these tall Orcs were marching fast, protecting the front of the army, which was slowly nearing the gates of Moria. After them, other Orcs were appearing, carrying curved scimitars, and others with short bows, and still there were more coming.

Óin tried to count. The Orcs formed a diverse mass; small mountain-goblins as well as the bigger ones from far North; and he was able to discern some leaders among them, carrying whips, and driving the rest to higher speed. The large Orcs did not need such an incitement, but some of the smaller goblins seemed not so keen on marching in the pace enforced by their leaders. Still, the speed of the army was high, Óin was certain that it will not take long for the enemy to reach Moria. He only hoped that Balin had already started with the preparations for defending the gates.

"Old Balin is no fool," he muttered to himself. "He will not let a mouse sneak into the halls of Khazâd-dûm as long as he is the Lord of Moria. Let us only hope the youngster ran as far as he could to deliver him the news." Óin clutched his bow more strongly, as he noticed a new group of goblins appearing in the gorge, all in heavy armor, but nevertheless keeping up with the speed of the rest; some of them held large maces.

"You will do better to move soon, Óin," the old Dwarf continued in his monologue. "But not yet, not yet. Hey! What is that there? More Uruks?" Once again, he narrowed his eyes, but in the falling dusk he could discern still less and less on the long distance.

"Looks like them," he muttered. "So not just these mountain worms, but whole bands of them big Orcs... ten, twenty... fifty in this group? And now there are others descending the slopes from the northern side of the valley... so not all of them are taking the path right by the river... right, right, Óin, what a fool are you; you may call yourself lucky that seemingly none of them yet got past you by the small paths, otherwise you will be surrounded... of course, of course... you should have known they would know the ways... they can climb the slopes of Bundushathûr where they are not steep enough yet... and there are more coming now, spreading around the sidepaths!"

Alarmed, the old Dwarf rose, though not yet to his full height; he was trying to keep hidden behind the nearest fir's trunk.

"Óin, my lad," he hissed, as his trembling hands clasped the short bow. "You will do better to move, now, or else..."

Slowly, not to raise any attention, he moved backwards, taking care of not to slip on the wet green stones. "Careful, careful, Óin," he whispered almost voicelessly, even though nobody could hear him through the splashing of the waterfall. "If you slip up now, you will cause a lot of trouble to yourself, and nobody is going to pick you up, no no, not this time... or certainly nobody you would like..."

Óin moved close to one side of the dale, his back to the cold green stone. Realising he is covered perfectly by the group of fir-trees, he turned around and paced at high speed further to the west, until he reached a place where the wall beside him was not so steep and unreachable. There he stopped for a moment, looked back and to the front and then up to the slope by his right side.

"Maybe it is unwise," he said. "but I want to see them properly at least one more time." And he began to climb up.

[Ilya]

None of them had come back.

Adela could hear a few footsteps and the occasional sob coming from the hall, but none of the cooks had come back into the kitchen. She'd lost her feet at some point, and so sat in the quiet, only the kitchen smells and the flagstone floor for company, just as she'd wanted to before the feast. After a time, questions began to pick at her mind. Maybe she should've gone back, maybe she should start cleaning, maybe everyone else had left for a reason. What was being done, after all? Why, maybe there was another attack! Maybe they were surrounding the colony, and all the dwarves with sense had already made their escape. Maybe the lords had fought among their own and there were none now left to lead. Adela screwed her eyes shut and rocked back, hitting her head on a table leg. She got up.

There were too many maybes and whitherfores and might have beens just at the moment. Suddenly, the sadness had drained away and left only a pain in her head and frustraition, which in the absence of any others Adela directed at herself as began to do the only sensible thing left to do - her work. So Balin had been slain! A dwarf and a warrior, there were worse ways to die! Orcs had attacked them! Well, strange thing, that, for orcs throughout time have been a peaceful lot, to dwarves in especial! An attack was hardly to be wondered at, even the Iron Hills, so why should the colony have fared any differently?

When the jug's broken, there's no repairing it with the milk on the floor, Adela reasoned, putting the last of the oven fires out. Most of the pies she'd left in had burnt, for she'd run into the hall at the sound of the party's return, and came not to herself in time to rescue them. One, though, the last red-current, baked just fine, and this one she put aside for when the cleaning was done. The heavy smell, of food both cooked and overcooked, was almost gone now, the kitchens once again airy, cool, and still.

Adela felt a chill jerk her spine as she plunged her hands in a barrel of soapy water. The colony would have a leader again, not as experienced as Lord Balin had been, but had not the great Oakenshield perished just as he came into his rule? And now Dain was undoubted King under the Mountain. There were several pretentious, well-meaning longbeards capable of carrying the weight at the test. They'd secure the colony and hunker down for the fight, however long. Maybe the raiding party was the token handful of the black foe still left in these halls, withered and weak, left with nothing but to search for wandering ghosts in the great grieving emptiness of Khazad Dum. Maybe.

Bending over the barrel, Adela glanced down and saw a taut face and raw eyes shivering as another chill ripped through her shoulders and skated around her neck.The dwarf she knew, the one of sense and quiet and a bit of stolen laughter, not to mention pie, looked very different in grief. Very different indeed. She closed her eyes and in breathed deep the smell of soap and wood smoke. This would pass. The thing to do was get home before anyone --

"Excuse me, but is Vyra here?"

Adela whipped around, immediately embarrassed for being so startled, and for snatching a spoon when she turned. She tossed it into the barrel, all the more aggravated, for it'd been clean, and ducked a curtsy before she had time to study the dwarf who'd spoken. Stout, an open face, grey-eyed...it was the woman mason, wasn't it?

"Na, ma'am, it's only me here now. I haven't seen Vyra since, well, since the festivities began," Adela smiled but couldn't hold onto it for long. "Is there aught I can do for you?"

[Groin Redbeard]

Together, Nisa and Onli walked towards the door on the western side of the hall. Down the centre stalked a double line of towering pillars. They were carved like boles of mighty trees whose boughs upheld the roof with a branching tracery of stone. Their stems were smooth and of sparkling black, but the red glow of torches were darkly mirrored on their sides. Nisa turned left and slowly progressed across the smooth floor of the hall. The distance was greater than it had looked.

Onli had remained silent the entire time, walking beside her with a focused gaze ahead. Nisa was glad that he had decided to walk beside her instead of behind, this would have unnerved her greatly. One or two times she had remarked about the splendor of the hall, but Onli only answered with a grunt or a silent nod and she had stopped trying. Nisa could tell that he was displeased with her, but it was not an uncommon feeling. Many a time she felt the same way when Trór was near, it was as if she could almost hear their disappointment in her for lack of character, girlish behavior, and the almost constant blabber that she regularly spewed in hopes of starting a conversation. Again she looked sideways at Onli, not being disappointed when he did not look back. From his red beard to his green cloak, in the glowing light of the hall, she couldn't help but think how handsome he looked. She thought about commenting him on this but decided better on it: his manners, when it came to talking, needed a lot to be said for, unfortunately she couldn't think of a Dwarf who would say anything positive about it.

The bridge could now be seen from where they were walking. As they came to the foot of it Onli was about to cross when a figure on the other side caught Nisa's eye. She grabbed Onli's cloak near the shoulders pulled him behind one of the pillars as fast as she could. His glare made her feel uncomfortably, it was instinct that made her react so rash, she put a finger to her lips motioning silence. The figure she had seen was a guard, he would probably go away in a few minutes to look after his other posts, but she didn't feel too comfortable explaining to one of the these tough as steel brutes why she and Onli must get pass. Finally the guard moved on and Onli made his way to the bridge again, but just as they were both on it a scratching, or scurrying sound could be heard from behind. Onli stopped and a smile crept on his face, but Nisa felt frightened at the spooky noise, especially since she was behind him, and gave Onli a gentle nudge. "Go!"

Onli moved somewhat reluctantly but he soon was running as fast as Nisa. Up the broad stair they ran and through a long echoing passage until they came to some gates. Onli grabbed a large handle on one side and gave it a pull, its groan was loud but short (Onli only opened enough for them to squeeze through). Nisa closed her eyes as she went in first, expecting to meet a row of cruel drawn swords and axes in the hands of the eight royal guards that held the First-Hall, but there were none. They passed into the hall, the bright daylight from its high windows in the east that Nisa was accustomed to seemed to let in a darkness and a silence that made their footfalls seem deafening. Suddenly before them the were Great Gates, shut and immovable save by a group of Dwarves, or one with great strength.

Slowly Nisa and Onli crept up to it. The guards were nowhere to be seen and voices could be made out on the other side. She started to search the doors for a crack that they could see through but not one could be found. Nisa gave Onli a hesitant look, he smiled, a fake smile in her opinion, and reached inside his belt and retrieved a bar of steel which he was about to knock the doors with (seeing as knocking on the stone with his hand would only give them an aching fist). However, just as he was about to do this, the scurrying noise that they had heard on the bridge came back. Nisa flung herself to Onli's side and clenched his arm. What was that noise?

[Kitanna]

Kénan had been gone for sometime. The orcs had come up quickly and unexpectedly upon Balin and slain him. What was to stop them from doing so in a dwarf house? Kéni rose from his seat and went to Iari's room. He opened the door a crack to see that his sister was asleep and safe. Satisfied he returned to his seat.

He hated sitting around waiting for news. Especially when he knew his grandfather probably wouldn't share much with him. Kéni felt like pulling his hair out from this stress. If the dwarf colony was in serious danger he needed to know. He needed to protect little Iari from harm.

"If Grandfather won't tell me what's happening, I may as well learn it on my own." Kéni spoke aloud. Even as the words left his mouth and drifted to his ears he knew he was being irrational. He had no proof Kénan wouldn't share the information fro, his council. Yet, Kéni didn't want to wait around to find out what Kénan planned to do.

He checked once more on Iari before leaving. He had every intention of spying on the council his grandfather was part of. As an able bodied dwarf he deserved to know the truth.

~*~*~

Somewhere in dreams Iari heard a door close. She twitched a little, fighting off her sleepy haze. The house was quiet. She couldn't hear the angered mutterings of Kéni or Kénan. Afraid that they had been attacked in the night, Iari got out of bed and wrapped herself in her blanket. She had to make sure her relations weren't hurt in the next room.

Empty. Kéni was gone and he had left his half finished tea out. "Kéni?" No answer. There was no sign of a struggle, so her brother had left by his own will, but where under earth could he have gone?

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

As he and Nîsa were walking towards the gates, Onli fell back into his thoughts and could not pay enough attention to the young Dwarven lass. He was thinking how to best initiate a dialogue with Trór as soon as they reach their destination. Trór was a warrior, like Dáin, but Dáin was still far more kingly figure. Trór was a completely different sort of person to talk to. Unlike Dáin, and unlike Balin, who was even further from being a soldier. But Onli hardly ever had to talk to the likes of Trór. He tried to remember any situation where he had to interact with any of these numerous generals, officers, military advisors, but he could not recall anything that might be of help to him right now. It was not the soldiers with whom Onli had his business. For him, all these fighters were good just for one thing: to clear the way for the merchants so that the trade may run smoothly and undisturbed. To clear the way for the explorers, so that they may find new deposits of iron, gold or silver and found new colonies. But it was completely unnecessary to deal with them - mainly because they also usually knew nothing of any importance. This had to change, though.

At one point, Onli's thoughts were interrupted by a familiar sound from behind. Vriti! Onli smiled, pleased to hear that his pet had returned. Surely she had had enough of sneaking through the empty halls and came back again in search for Onli. But now, unfortunately, he had no time for her. There were pressing matters at hand. Nevertheless, it pleased him to know that she is around. Soon, he thought. Wait for me there. As if the ferret could hear him, the sound of her scuttling stopped. Getting away from his thoughts for a short while, Onli registered Nîsa standing still in the middle of the bridge, as if listening. He smiled once again. "Go!" he said, but before he himself started to walk, he tried to listen once again, too, if he could not hear Vriti scurrying behind them. But there was only silence.

They went on until they reached the gates. There, all of a sudden, the girl grasped his arm. Onli was about to shake her off, but at the same moment an orange flash flew out of the darkness and Vriti started to run in circles close around her master's legs. Onli almost started to laugh, but prevented himself from doing that, bearing in mind that there may be the guards and the new Lord of Moria nearby. He certainly would not like to bring himself in like that. Seeing however that Nîsa was still a bit frightened - he could almost feel her heart beating, as she still clutched his arm - he turned to her and smiled gently. For the first time, Nîsa could actually say that this was a genuine friendly smile.

"Do not be afraid," he said, smiling wide. "This is just my friend Vriti. Seems like she has been following us. Say hi, Vriti!"

The ferret was now sitting still by Onli's feet, looking up at the two Dwarves. She was turning her head left and right, inspecting them. Onli reached down and picked her up.

"Come on, you can palm her," he said, turning to Nîsa. "She is nice, are you, Vriti?" The ferret looked up at him, and turning her head to Nîsa, she sniffed. Onli smiled.

[Thinlómien]

"Na, ma'am, it's only me here now. I haven't seen Vyra since, well, since the festivities began. Is there aught I can do for you?"

"No," Vigdis replied bluntly and turned to go.

At that exact moment, she heard a lone high note in the air. It was followed by another, and yet another and many others. Together they wove a tapestry of sorrow, loss and remembrance, a force so strong Vigdis felt her legs go weak with it.

"Wait," she said, turning. Her voice came out as a whisper. "You can help me, if you will. Vyra - she's my friend - she keeps a bottle of rum in one of the knife lockers. If you could fetch it?" The girl nodded and disappeared.

Vigdis found a chair to sit on and wiped the corners of her eyes. Her sleeve was now moist. The music was still there, distant but still powerful enough that Vigdis had to keep her guard to stay calm. There was a soft thud of a cupboard being closed. Vigdis turned to the girl. She did not fake a smile, but her voice was uncharacteristically kind. "Oh, and hey, you may take some of the rum too. I'm sure Vyra wouldn't mind, on a day like this."

She paused and forced her tone to sound lighter. "And I have to add, you have a nice troubadour here to entertain you."

[Folwren]

“Who else would I have,” Kénan repeated to himself. “Someone with a less fiery notion of honor, or with more realistic view of what needs to be done.” He looked at Ori. “Yes, perhaps it was stroke of stupidity that caused me to stand up and say what I did, but maybe it will make people think. We can not have the element of surprise - that is too late.”

He lowered his voice even farther to a rasping whisper as the two dwarves’ heads drew closer together. “We must know where our enemies stand and what their number is, and we have to take true calculations of the risks involved. Trór is young and hot headed, aye, like me,” he admitted, “but I at least have more experience under my belt.”

Ori sat up abruptly and looked at him with a distrustful glimmer in his eye. “No,” Kénan said, shaking his head. “I do not suggest that I take command. That would be more folly than having Trór take it. But I suggest that Trór is careful.”

Kénan would then have gone on with what he thought should be done, but Trór raised his voice to address the whole council again, apparently to give his thoughts on the plan of battle.

[Groin Redbeard]

His eyes darted across the map, for the most part the ground was rocky and treacherous but not easily defended if outnumbered. He sighed in frustration and rubbed his beard above his lip. Where was there an opportune spot? The Goblins held their own many years ago in the great battle of Azanulbizar, but they had something he did not: a regular army. Every Dwarf in Khazad-dum could wield a weapon, and did so five years ago in the storming of the Dwarrowdelf, but most of them had gone back to a trade or went to seek riches in the mines and the army that he and Balin had commanded had shrunken to less than one hundred and fifty Dwarves. The soldiers that he had, were eager for military life and had been shaped into a force that would be formidable fighting force, but still nowhere near the skill of the elite group of Dwarves that he commanded at the Batte of the Five Armies.

The elite warriors in Khazad-dum consisted of a force less than twenty, most of them being a part of his old regiment. A few of the council members were among the few who could be considered up to his standard, one of these was Frar: a grand middle-aged warrior with a knack for getting the impossible done. Trór considered him a great friend, one of the few Dwarves who he could relate to, and in return he earned the loyalty of Frar. Even now Frar, who Trór affectionately referred to as "my old war hound", was quietly standing by. Trór could expect little to be said by his friend while the council lasted, Frar had no gift for tactics or strategy or diplomacy but when the blast of war was sounded he wanted this Dwarf by his side.

Hand still pressed to his upper lip, Trór's eyes lifted from the map to the Dwarves gathered. Ori was speaking to Kénan, both seeming very cross at one another. Although he could only hear the whistle of their breath and the deep tone of a syllable or two, he guessed that they were talking of him. He was about to rebuke them both for their quarreling, especially since when a commander did not give you leave to speak you remained silent, however, Trór gave one glance at the map and stopped still. There it was! The ground was perfect for holding against great odds, but it was far away and speed was everything now!

"Gaurd!" Trór blurted abruptly at one of the eight soldiers standing around the council. "Quick! summon the regular soldiers, not a moment is to be lost!" Have the Dwarves in battle attire and ready to march. Bring out the thickest hauberks and the sharpest swords. Muster them in them in the First Hall when all is ready. Do not stop for question or errand, save the one that you are on. Go!" The doors of Khazad-dum were swung ajar and the startled, but not stunned, the guard took off with two others through the great doors at the top of their speed.

Trór had spoken firmly and fast, though his posture assumed that he was at perfect ease. He turned back to the map and placed his two forfingers on it as if measuring a distance. Trór was now muttering words outloud, he tilted this and that way to make sure that his eyes had not deceaved him in his descision. Silently nodding his head in agreement with his conscience, Trór rapped his fingers on the table, folded his hands behind his back, and started to pace up and down.

“Gror, go to the map and tell me which way the Orcs are coming by. I realize that you are not familiar with the ground around here but I need to have an exact description of the Orc Army's march. Do you think you can do that?”

Nîsa

The scurrying noise had disturbed Nîsa and left her shaking even after the appearence of the stoat creature. Thank heavens it wasn’t a rat! Nîsa let go of Onli’s arm and stepped back. Somehow the Dwarf seemed changed, his expressions no longer seemed a facade of cheerfulness but genuine.

Onli gently picked the pet, which he named Vriti, up into his arms. What a curious creature. Why on earth does Onli suffer to keep that thing, unless... of course! He doesn’t have to argue with it, it doesn’t have to respond to his discussions; what a perfect companion for such a lonely wretch.

"Come on, you can palm her. She is nice, are you, Vriti?"

Nîsa smiled at this offer, and slowly extended her hand to do so. She flinched at the touch of its wiskers but hestitantly brought her palm across its neck and down the back. What a sad and lonely thing for a man to live with. Nîsa began to understand this grumpy Dwarf, who had to put up a wall of courtesies to keep anyone from getting too close to him: he was lonely, that was all there was too it (or so she thought). I wonder if he has any true friends in the colony?

Just then, there was a rushing of feet outside the door and a grinding of stone against stone as the doors were pulled open. Onli and her rushed to the side, hidden from the view of the oncoming guards. When they passed, however, the doors where left open. Vriti nuzzled Onli’s neck in his protective embrace as the three companions slowly peered around the stone doors to see what was happening.

[Durelin]

Kórin scowled heavily at Trór and did not listen to the rest of his words. The way he had snapped at her, as if she was the one wasting time! He was quick to anger and apparently slow to getting anything done. That did not sound like a leader to Kórin.

Trór’s sudden barking of orders broke Kórin out of her brooding. Just the regulars, eh? The redhead wondered how many dwarves made up their regular army. Still they did not know the size of the force they would be facing…

After giving his orders, Trór turned back to Gror and asked him for more information, apparently about where the orcs were coming from. Kórin wondered why he had bothered to summon anyone other than the military leaders, as this was more a briefing than a council.

At least the army was being prepared, and Kórin felt there was more work to be done in those preparations than here at this silly meeting. Much more. The dwarf rose to her feet, slipped out from the table and turned to leave while the doors were still open.

~*~

Kór had dozed off outside the kitchens, and at some point had slipped off his stool. He clutched his harp to his chest like a favorite toy or blanket. He was dragged back into consciousness when he heard footsteps approaching. Kór hurried back onto his stool and did his best to look less haggard than he felt. He nodded absently to the dwarf who strode by, entering the kitchens, though he was not even sure if they had noticed him off to the side.

Kór’s heart, along with his entire body, felt heavier than ever. He again began playing on his harp the melody to the song about the Lonely Mountain. Slowly and sadly, though it perhaps should have been a song to bring fire to dwarves’ hearts to protect what was their own. It was already a lament, maybe, that they would again lose their home to an evil force.

Kór absently listened to the voices in the kitchen, thinking it surprisingly quiet. Remembering that he was playing for an audience – at least he considered them an audience – he listened for any responses or acknowledgement of his music.

“…you have a nice troubadour here to entertain you."

Kór paused in his playing to peek around the door of the kitchens. He was surprised to see only two dwarf-women. Then, a little awkwardly, he rose and stood in the doorway, bowing a bit clumsily.

“A troubadour? Thank you, my lady. I have never received a better compliment.” Kór smiled slightly, nervousness tainting the pleasure he felt at being granted such a title.

[Groin Redbeard]

Loni was at his side as they drew closer to the table, and together they studied the map while waiting for Gror's response. Nali's mind was racing with the facts of the past. Texts from the chronicles of Erebor, many of which he helped write, were coming back to him now. Nali was reminded of how the Goblins held the high ground of Azanulbizar in the Great War near the very spot that they were standing on. The Goblins, however, were superior in numbers in that battle, and the place that they had held could easily be defended by an army that allowed itself to outstretch the lines of the enemy. Now Trór, as Nali guessed, had found a spot that could be defended by their small army. Oh the excitement of it all! No matter the peril, Nali was excited about the forthcoming battle. The historic significance of it all, it would be the final battle to keep the Orcs from ever recapturing Khazad-dum, he was sure of it.

Kórin had so silently crept away from the others that Nali barely noticed her leave. The old Dwarf caught a glimpse of her stealing away to the gates but made no immediate attempt to stop her until she could not see him follow.

“Fill me in on the council,” Nali whispered over to Loni. “It appears that my reluctant companion has left us. I’ll be back soon.”

Slowly, cautiously, Nali inched his way away from the table to where he would not be noticed, and stealthily sprinted after Kórin. Nali stopped trying to be silent after he had entered through the gates, it would be better if she knew he was following. The dull thump of his boots echoed off the walls of the First Hall and alerted Kórin.

“What is this?” Nali asked Kórin as she turned to faced him. There were still many steps between him and her, Nali stopped twenty paces away. He crossed his arms and firmly planted his feet evenly apart from each other, Nali had already shown humility in chasing after this rash girl. Nali, a noble of kingdom of Khazad-dum, was not going to be subjected any further to the whim of this women. Yet he did not scowl or speak haughtily to her, it was not in his power to force Kórin to stay and if she was going to stay, as he hoped, it would be of her own will. She would have to come to him.

“Thou hast not even heard the strategy of which I intended you to hear,” Nali continued. “If thou does not want to listen to the important matters that the council has finally come to, why did thou consent to come in the first place?”

[Durelin]

Kórin was not at all surprised that she had been followed, and she knew whose footsteps she heard behind her without turning to look. She did turn, though. She actually was interested in hearing what Nali had to say. She did not find his words persuasive, though, as he remained vague and questioned her actions.

“I consented to come because I believed I was truly invited, but it is clear to me that I am not really welcome among you. And you say it yourself – ‘the important matters that the council has finally come to’… I believe there are more productive things to be done now that the regulars have finally been called out. My help will surely be more appreciated in aiding their preparation.”

What Kórin did not mention was that she had her own preparations to attend to.

[Ilya]

I have never received a better compliment.

Tongue pressed 'gainst her teeth, Adela's first instinct was to pad back to the kitchens proper, leaving the master and mistress to talk as they would, but something held her to the spot. "Well, I don't believe that for an instant. Minstrelry like yours ought to've been complimented long before now," the words came before she knew she was speaking. Adela hadn't even heard the music clearly, but now it was although cotton had bottled her ears and suddenly they were unstopped. Soft wind brushed the stone and a table spill echoed as it dripped onto the floor. Of itself, a smile came to her face, and, although she ducked her eyes down when the bard and the mason regarded her, she couldn't shake her amusement at the good bard's face as he'd heard his compliment.

"Well," she said, with a quick turn, and bobbed to the cutlery that had been set aside for the feast's seconds, sitting unused. Vyra was a small dwarf, and the lock to her cupboard of 'reserves' was similarly frail and easy to get past. She cradled the squat flagon of rum and one mug on her left arm, two other mugs on her right, and took the last of the pies in her hands. Walking back to the corridor that led to the great hall, Adela didn't quite feel the master of herself. It wasn't her place to sit with finer folk like Vigdis or a bard. Why, then, did she take a mug for herself? Why was she bringing her pie, if not to be at the same table as they? She walked erect, the tap of her step softly thumping on the flagstones. "Absurd," Adela muttered to herself, although whether it was because she hadn't heard the music, or that she was forgoing a warm bed to sit up with strangers, or that she didn't care they were superiors, she couldn't say. Balin was dead, and that was most absurd of all.

Catching sight of where the two dwarves were sitting, Adela piled all the glassware onto the table and uncorked the rum. She hovered for a moment, feeling as though in her stomach there was a knot coming undone, and then tucked herself in a chair while Vigdis began to pour.

[Groin Redbeard]

Korin spoke passionately and forcefully, without fear of a reprimand. She did not strike Nali as the fearful type: a rebel rouser, but a fearless one. By the tone of her voice she was not one to be pacified into coming with him, persuasion was needed. Nali, however, was not the persuading type; he would have much rather try to win her over with flowery words and ancient similarities to the great women of the Longbeards. The purpose of the council would not be overturned if Korin would leave, but Nali hated to see his efforts wasted.

“Thou art impetuous, Korin,” Nali stated. “Nothing moves according to plan, but as long as the result is right in the end the events that lead up to the conclusion matter very little.” Nali had not stated this to be nasty, or for it to be a form of rebuke. Nevertheless, it occurred to him that she could take it as another restraint attempt, on his part.

“This is how I see things. My advice is not law, as Tror’s is now.

“Thou sayist that thou art not welcomed at the council, this is not true. It is true, however, that thy’s voice has been silenced, but I pray for you to excuse Tror for that. Insults are not easily brushed off by warriors, and Balin’s death must still weigh heavily on him. It is also worth noting that he does not take part in these councils that often. Just like thineself, such things are too slow for him; but compared to other councils I have attended, this one has moved quite rapidly. Such impatience is good in a crisis, thy’s impatience is a good sign.

“My reason for my requesting thou’s presence to the council had changed once I caught the full usefulness of thy’s character. My original intent was for thou to be an emissary to the womenfolk: to calm their fears, but it soon became evident to me that thou would stir up more unrest than sooth it. Thou has a critical wit, and I wanted to thou to use it. Thou spoke rashly, the time was not yet ripe, but the time has come!

“Thou art not a noble. So, therefore, you are not tainted by the politics that trouble our circle. Thou would rather speak out against flaw and foolishness rather than keep silent.”

The old dwarf paused for a minute, and then started to laugh. “See, even now, how I have wasted time with my flowery speech! Nevertheless, my point was made. Thou’s criticism will be most welcomed now that the battle plans are to be revealed; thou were not made to tend soldiers, Korin. Will thou go and change the bandages of soldiers, or come back and change the telling of history?”

Nisa

They were nearly caught by a women that had left the council. Nisa thought she had seen her before, but was certain that the lady did not belong in the council. A man followed her out shortly after, and Nisa recognized him as Nali.

The two figures were soon talking. Nisa looked at Onli for direction.

"I've brought you this far," she stated in a shaky voice. "What is your move now? Shall I introduce you to the council?"

[Thinlómien]

The two other dwarves watched her pouring the rum. Vigdis noted her hand was shaking and she had to put the bottle down.

"May I?" Kór asked, took the bottle and poured to the last glass that was half-empty. He did not look at Vigdis long enough to see her eyes flare in anger. She was not to be treated like a weakling! Did he think she was not even able to pour the rum? So weak because she was a woman and thereby supposed to be totally distraught by the grief? Or so weak because she was so old? She did note these two were young, probably a century younger than her, a dwarf in her best years. These two were little more than children. She took a deep breath. No need to get angry at a child.

Besides, the young troubadour had been right, Vigdis reflected bitterly. She was weak, she was being torn apart by her grief, whenever she was not putting all her willpower to blocking it. She hated her weakness, she was supposed to be tough, and not fall apart like this. But at least she knew she was not weak because she was a woman or because she was old, she was weak because it was her personal fault to be weak, like a child. A child like these two. Maybe she was in equal company.

She gripped her glass and lifted it. The others mimicked her. "To Balin, Lord of Moria," she said. "To Balin," the others repeated and drank. Vigdis brought her glass to her lips and emptied it in one swallow.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Onli stood silent for a short while. Suddenly, he became attentive again. The Council? He tried to listen to what the two figures were talking about. He beckoned at Nîsa to keep silent. Again, he was displeased by her talking. Can't the girl ever stop chatting when something important is going on?

And what did that mean? What were those two talking about? Important matters? Decisions? Council making some decisions? Which decisions? Onli became nervous. Does that mean they are already arranging the means of governing the colony? Is he late?

"...compared to other councils I have attended, this one has moved quite rapidly..."

Rapidly! The Council is deciding on new arrangement of governing the colony, then, indeed! "In a crisis..." Yes, indeed! Onli now understood it all. This crisis, leaderless colony - Trór obviously was more active than Onli expected from him. Of course, one has to give him that - he is a soldier, after all, he is bound to act fast... in a battle, he needs to do that. But how silly! To call a council like that without discussing things properly first! Without asking the nobles and those experienced and knowledgeable in governing and leading people. And now he brought just his iron-headed warmongering friends there with him, and he is making them all administrators and whatnot! Is that some sort of a coup?

Onli could not just stand and listen anymore. No, he is not going to let his chance slip away. This is the city of Dwarrowdelf, not a military fortress lost in the middle of nowhere! A group of brainless soldiers might easily reduce to dust what Balin worked so hard to build. Not this time! Onli shrugged, Vriti climbed down from his shoulders and landed on the ground. He turned towards the two figures and walked towards them, completely forgetting about Nîsa for that moment. He is going to go and tell them - tell them that he is the one who can help them manage things, and that they cannot do it alone - they are warriors, not governers. What are they going to do in the era of peace, like this?

He was getting close, the two must have noticed him in any second, but now, Onli suddenly heard the Dwarf further away saying something that made him stop.

"...now that the battle plans are to be revealed..."

What? Onli's heart stopped. What battle plans? What battle? What plans? What kind of a new madness is this?

But at that moment, the Dwarf ended his speech, and Onli came out as close that the two must have been both blind not to see him. He stopped, his heart beating heavily.

[Durelin]

Kórin

Flowery speech indeed! But not speech that Kórin couldn’t understand. At first she felt the same angry reaction as before, when Nali called her ‘impetuous’. Of course, she rather prided herself in her stubbornness and hotheadedness, but she did not enjoy anyone pointing it out. Perhaps least of all this old Dwarf.

Nali’s speech did not quench Kórin’s anger, but rather redirected it. She felt herself giving in, and she couldn’t help but be angry about it. She was caught, because she didn’t really want to miss the rest of the council. She wanted to be present when real plans were finally made, and she wanted to have a say in them. The latter, regardless of what Nali said, she was sure was very unlikely, but his words had done the trick. They had made her think that her voice perhaps would matter, even though she refused to believe that.

As Nali finished speaking, Kórin noticed the presence of another Dwarf with annoyance. How much more openly could they eavesdrop on a conversation? Her annoyance grew as she realized she did feel a bit excited to be included in the quiet matters of the leaders. Not that they would be quiet for long.

“Changing bandages was not exactly what I had in mind,” Kórin muttered, ignoring the rude Dwarf who was no doubt still trying to listen in. Then, a little louder, but attempting to be too quiet for the eavesdropper to hear, she said begrudgingly, her voice still taught, “Thank you for this opportunity.”

Without looking at Nali or acknowledging the other Dwarf, she headed back down the hall, intending to reenter the council as boldly as she liked.

~

Kór

Kór smiled completely genuinely at the younger of the two Dwarf women – he practically beamed. He felt his face redden, and the smile slipped away from him only because of his embarrassment at being in such a spotlight. He had been complimented for his music before, but he would never get used to it. He did not seek the spotlight enough. He wanted people to enjoy his music – whether or not they noticed him behind his harp was of no real consequence. It did feel so nice, though.

The Dwarf held his harp awkwardly, hesitating between taking his leave and staying to chat. Or perhaps he should play more for them? But now it seemed too self-serving… The young woman went off into the kitchens and returned with a bottle and a scrumptious looking pie. Kór was pleased but felt a little guilty when he saw that she brought three mugs with her.

Seeing the elder woman’s shaky grip on the bottle, Kór offered to pour the rum, putting his harp down. She was not ‘elderly’, but she was clearly much older than Kór and especially the other Dwarf woman. He filled his glass last and not as full as the others. When the older Dwarf woman uttered a toast to Lord Balin, Kór gravely but strongly repeated “To Balin,” before taking simply a sip of his rum. He watched as the older woman emptied her glass, and felt a little embarrassed again. He had never been much of a drinker, not like his sister. Kórin liked to make fun of how daintily he sipped any drink.

Kór put down his glass, wondering what was going on in that council. He remained silent, not sure what there was to say.

[Groin Redbeard]

Good, very good. Her temper and will were both waning. Nali had half expected her to accept his offer, but he did not expect her gratitude as well. His eyebrows lifted in surprise at this, and before Nali could even reply Kórin boldly walked past him and back out into the night air by the rest of the council. Nali watched her proudly walk by, he smiled to himself. Perhaps she wasn't half as bad as she pretended to be.

A blast of that chilly night air blew in from the open doors and Nali was obliged to adjust his green cloak. This, however, was interrupted by the sound of a Dwarf deliberately clearing his throat. Nali's gaze darted to where the sound came from and put his hand inside his cloak, feeling for his mace. The stranger, who was indeed a Dwarf, smiled and raised his empty hands and did not put them down until Nali's hand was withdrawn from his mace. The old Dwarf gritted his teeth and glared at the stranger. Nali was half angry at himself for his blindness (the stranger was only twenty paces to the side) and the younger Dwarf's boldness. Slowly, Nali made his way to the Dwarf.

"Who art thou," Nali asked in a seething voice. The Dwarf seemed stunned and did not reply. Nali asked again, only this time louder. "Who art thou that comes so boldly before me in the midst of a private conversation? Did my words amuse thou? Is the predicament that we are in sooth thy half-baked curiosity? Well speak!"

If only I were fifty years younger I would deck this impetuous rascal to teach him his place!


Nîsa

She tried to hold Onli back by grabbing his garments, but she missed. Nali would not be amused if he saw Onli listening in on his conversation. The old man was nice enough, but he was old and held very traditional views on manners and duties.

Nîsa was about to call after him, but Vriti, who Onli had placed on the ground, scurried past her and was heading for the doors. As quickly as she could, Nîsa caught Vriti by the tail to stop her and picked her up.

"Not that way, precious. If Trór were to see you messing around near him, he would fit you to his cruel spear. Let's get back to your master."

Carefully creeping along the pillars, Nîsa went towards Onli. She could have stopped him, she could have pulled him back, but she didn't; the old dwarf had stirred and she was frightened. It was too late, Onli had cleared his throat and drawn the attention of Nali, whose temper was none the better for it. In a fume of rage she heard Nali let in to Onli about his rash action.

"Is the predicament that we are in sooth thy half-baked curiosity? Well speak!"

Nîsa couldn't stand it. Even if Onli was rash, she was the reason he was there. Nîsa gently put Vriti in her pocket and stepped out into view. Nali looked stunned by the unexpected sight of her.

"Nîsa? What art thou doing here? Trór will skin the both of you alive if he finds out that thou art snooping around so close to the council, if snooping it was." Nali again turned a venomous glance at Onli, and would have seized him by his scruff if Onli hadn't been quick enough to jump back.

"No, no," Nîsa pleaded and reached to stay Nali's hand. "He hasn't harmed me, and you have no right to speak to him so. It is my fault that he's here, I led him to the council because he wished to speak to Trór. Please don't harm him."

Nali was stunned by Nisa's honesty and openness, this was not her usually reserved character. The old man smiled at Nîsa and turned back to Onli.

"Perhaps I was a bit impetuous myself in rebuking thy's actions, young man. Although thy's eavesdropping was uncalled for, I offer my apologies on my fault. My name, as thou probably have guest by now, is Nali. What is your name, and why doest thou wish to speak to Trór: the new lord of Khazad-dum?"

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Onli was not quite pleased by Nîsa's intervention, his initial thought was that this hen has once again ruined it all, now he will have to talk to this old soldier and explain everything...

He looked at Náli. He remembered him, back then from Erebor, where he had held an important place among the nobles. They never encountered each other, but Onli had heard about him. He got the impression that Náli is a rather charismatic speaker, which may or may not have been good for Onli in this situation. He was happy, for one part, that he can talk to somebody who was not just a mindless iron-hat, however, if he was encountering a real diplomat just now, that might have proven unlucky as well. He could easily outtalk Onli and send him back from where he came. But Onli had to try his best.

"I am very sorry that my presence here had disturbed you, venerable master Náli," he said, bowing his head. "This is all just a misunderstanding. I did not want to, as you say, eavesdrop on anyone, that thought would have never entered my mind, and indeed as young lady Nîsa here says, I was led here by her just to talk to Trór, whom I had hoped to find here. I deem your Council had already decided on important matters, nevertheless, if Trór's leadership of this colony is to continue in the track of our great lord Balin, I suggest he gives a hearing to me. I wish to offer my service to him."

[Groin Redbeard]

The messenger, Gror, obeyed Trór with some reluctance as if unsure of his success. He stared at the map for several minutes mumbling to himself and tracing his finger along, what Trór guessed was, his route from Erebor. Gror, however, soon made up his mind.

“Here,” Gror said (actually it was phrased more like a question than an answer). He pointed to where the river of Kibil-nâla flowed into Kheled-zaram. “The Orcs seemed very intent on speed and I don’t think that they would waste time going around the waters of Kheled-zaram. Is this good?”

Trór smiled a broad, which looked more like a teethy scowl, and placed himself beside Gror. “You see here,” Trór stated, speaking to Gror, but in fact he was relaying his battle plans and the members of the council knew it. “We are on the western side of the river. See how the high ground is in our favor. Give me a company of able bodied warriors and I could hold that position long enough for defenses to be erected here. There isn’t a better position to hold on the entire map, if what you say is true. Are you certain that they are coming by this route?” Gror nodded his head. “Then this is good. My plan is simple: we cannot defeat the Orcs in an open battle, but we can outlast them in a siege. Defenses will need to be made here on the base of these Eastern Gates. I will need at least sixty dwarves with skilled engineer or mason to stay behind from the battle and do this. I, meanwhile, will take my regulars and hold the Orcs back long enough for this to happen. The rest of you will muster those who, five years ago, helped in the storming of the Halls and come to our aid as quickly as possible.

“Now is the time when criticism is appropriate,” Trór shot a crooked eye at Kénan when he said this. “What adjustments need to be made to this plan?”


Nali

"I am very sorry that my presence here had disturbed you, venerable master Náli. This is all just a misunderstanding. I did not want to, as you say, eavesdrop on anyone, that thought would have never entered my mind.”

Nali was taken back a bit by the man’s smooth words, but was disturbed by the way this Onli fellow was trying to weasel himself as blameless in the situation. Apparently eavesdropping had been on his mind, otherwise he would not have been standing so boldly close to him and Kórin. Nevertheless, Onli’s words faintly reminded Nali of himself in younger days; and Onli’s willingness to serve was a welcomed at the moment. There was, however, just one important question.

“Trór now holds the title of Uzbad Khazaddûmu and can never be approached as easily as before. This council is of importance and is not for any common Dwarf’s ears, I will not suffer to have thou disturb him just at the moment. However, if thou is in ernest to serve him, thou will do well to wait for the council to conclude and then wait for my signal to approach him. But tell me, Onli, what use will you be to Trór and how will you serve him? Though thy’s speech is cleverly structured, it seems that thou, hast no experience in managing great affairs.”

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Onli

Náli's words, and especially his last sentence enraged Onli, but he gave no sign of being displeased. When he spoke up, his voice sounded just a little more starchy than before.

"But that would be a very harsh judgement, venerable master. I can understand that in your eyes, I am perhaps young," here, Onli managed to force a rather pleasant smile upon his lips, as if gently accepting an old man's misjudging of those younger than him. "But you may know that I have acquired much experience throughout the years. I have been working alongside master Vill in the Blue Mountains, and later I have served king Dáin, even though my labour was perhaps never noticed by those such as you, it was important. And even here, I have been serving Lord Balin until this very day, using all my skill and putting all my effort to help the remaking of Khazad-dûm as it was once when our fathers dwelt here, in times long past."

Onli took a deep breath, just to continue in his speech immediately.

"I understand calling the council was of need, and Lord Trór -" Onli just recalled what Náli had said about the Dwarf's official title now - So it is like I suspected, he thought. He decided to make it fast and become the new Lord of Moria. Picking his few friends to become his closest advisors. And now this old dotard won't even let me get into the council. Is it too late? Have I missed my chance? That cannot be!

" - Lord Trór will surely find my service most useful. However, I would prefer to speak to him myself." Once again, Onli attempted to give Náli as warm smile as he could. "I understand there are pressing matters he needs to handle, but perhaps with my experience in such affairs I may offer him a helping hand - certainly much appreciated in these first days of his newly acquired authority."

[Groin Redbeard]

This youngster was persistent on the subject of his importance. Nali found it funny, though, that Onli did not mention one example of his past duties. Still this Onli sounded like he had experience as a diplomat of some sort, Nali, however, certainly had not seen Onli within Balin's circle. Nali almost decided against ever letting Onli to speak Trór, but he soon thought better of it. If this Dwarf was as useful as he professed Trór would spot it, and if not, it would serve this Dwarf well to get a tongue thrashing for Trór and dismissed.

"Very well then, Onli. If thou art as useful as thou professes, Trór will no doubt be gratified. I will not allow you to walk so boldly before him in council, as I have said before. However," Nali continued, this time glancing at Nîsa. "Ye may wait outside the great doors for the council to conclude. I will introduce the both of ye when the time is ripe.

"There is some danger in this, though. If Trór spots either of thee, especially you Nîsa, he will not hesitate to punish the both of thee. However, Onli," Nali saw him glance at Nîsa in a less than favorable manner, "I don't expect for thee to get far without her influence. This is all that I am able to offer. Come, if that is thine wish."

Without any further word Nali hastened back to the council, not paying an attention to his two guests until he stepped beyond the Eastern Gate. Here he halted them, and bid them to be patient and wait, before he left. Loni was still standing where he left him.

"What has passed brother?" Nali whispered, quietly slipping to his side.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Lóni

Lóni was listening closely to what has been said on the council. It seemed, at last, that Trór has learned all he needed to - and now things started to move fast. He is really a Dwarf in his place, Lóni thought. Even though the reality of the upcoming battle was now clearer than ever, he believed that under Trór's leadership, the colony can stand up against the enemy. Just like in the old times, perhaps the time has come to once again defend Azanulbizar.

"What has passed brother?"

Lóni turned his head. He could not see Náli: he was standing almost behind him, and with Lóni's one eye Náli still stood in his blind spot. He turned around.

"Trór has consluted that young Dwarf about the way the Orcs are coming," he whispered in return. "And he seems to be comfortable with his plan of defending the Dale. I believe that he has a good plan, don't you think, brother..."

But at that moment Lóni noticed that unusual silence has taken over the council. He looked around. Trór was watching the map closely. Some of the others were too, some seemed as if in deep thought.

"...or not?"

[Thinlómien]

The three were sipping from their glasses in silence. Both of the younger Dwarves seemed unsure of what to say or what to do. Vigdis did not feel like talking and filling the silence with some nonsense that would make the slightly disturbed-seeming youngsters feel more comfortable in the sudden awkward silence. To be honest, all she wanted was to get drunk and forget everything for once. But that was exactly what she was not going to do. She would dedicate this night to Lord Balin whom she had loved and do something he would approve of, something in his honour. She decided to start with taking pity on two of his people and release them from an uncomfortable silence. Hiding her smile behind the rim of her glass, she took a sip and then started to talk, speaking the words that first came into her mind.

"You know, I first met Lord Balin upon arriving to the newly established kingdom of Erebor very many years ago. He was no lord back then, just a famous and celebrated dwarf with royal blood in his veins. He was the leader of the scouts and the miners who were exploring and reconstructing the northern hallways destroyed by the dragon. I worked there, using my knowledge of stone as well as I could to serve this purpose. Even back then I knew that his fate was to become something great." She took another sip. The youngsters were listening intensively. An unchracteristic gentle smile played in the corners of her mouth.

"Of course, he was something great already then. The reputation of his deeds in the service of Thrain and his part in the Quest for Erebor and Battle of Five Armies had reached far and he was one of the King's most trusted men. But I knew he would become something even greater. It could be seen in him, it shone through him. When you saw him those days, you could see so so many things achieved, but you could see the promise of even greater deeds to come." Vigdis shook her head. "Even though, he was not young man anymore by any means even back then."

"I... I was young," she said, eyeing the kitchen maid and the troubadour. They saw her as a woman of her middle years, she wondered if they could see past it and see her as she had been more than fifty years ago, about the same age as the young man was now. "I was greatly... inspired by Balin. He affected people that way even back then." She winced a little, she had no intention of going in depth of what kind of feelings exactly Balin had inspired in her. "He, as you know, was a man anyone who had known him would follow to any peril. And it could be seen from him that there would be peril and trouble on his way, but through it he would win great renown."

Vigdis took another sip from her glass. It would soon be empty again. The troubadour noticed that too and poured some rum for her, never saying a word. Vigdis thanked him with a nod and a smile and continued. "Of course, no one could see what exactly it was that lay in front of him. We only knew his path would lead to something great."

The cook girl and the troubadour man were looking at her, their eyes filled with something she could not quite indentify. Vigdis took a sip from her glass and put it away. "And tonight, if not earlier, we have learned by the bitterest road what was it that awaited Balin. He was to re-establish the kingdom of Khazad-dûm, take our ancestral home back for us and look into Kheled-zâram like Durin the Deathless. But no one will know what he saw there, for he is not here anymore to tell us."

Vigdis took a deep breath. "And therefore, we shall not be bitter that he was taken from us. We may grieve him, but we should grieve for ourselves for losing a great leader. We should not grieve Balin's fate but be happy for him, for what would be a greater prize for the son of the house of Durin than to die with the mysteries of Kheled-zâram unfolding before his eyes in the highest moment of his glory?" The youngsters made no reply. Vigdis had not expected them to. She waited a few more seconds before finishing her speech.

"We will remember his great deeds and forever will they stay in the legends of our people. For surely there is no doubt that Balin son of Fundin was one of the greatest Dwarves of these later ages."

[Groin Redbeard]

The council was silent. A mutual uneasiness could be sensed among the members. As Tror turned to each of them the reality struck him. Balin would have his councilors make up a plan first and then the lord would critic the plan until it fit closely to his agenda. Tror could feel a fit of anger coming on him. He impatiently began to tap his ring, which signified his authority in Balin’s realm, on the stone table.

Are all nobles this pathetic? Can’t they see that I am not Balin. Why then do they think that I should act in accordance to his character? Why must I wait for their slow minds to create a plan when I have one already thought out? A moment ago I was getting chastised for not acting swiftly enough and now, it seems, they think I am acting hastily. The only one in here that is of my like mind is Frar, and even he will not speak.

Tror’s tapping got faster with impatience. He finally took the initiative.

“Kénan, you spoke out against me earlier. Therefore, I ask you to make plain your worries so that we may take into account whatever adjustments you make open to us. Be honest, the lives of my soldiers depend on faultlessness of our plan.”

[Folwren]

Kénan’s attention snapped to Trór. He heard his question - his order - and for a pause that dragged into a long moment of silence, Kénan sat and thought. And then he rose and bowed his head slightly in Trór’s direction.

“With all due respect, sir,” he said, his voice subdued compared to what it had been previously. “My worry is nothing less than the wasted loss of life. I fear rashness. I do not blame you, Trór, for your lust for battle, but you must not let your...ambition for revenge blind you. What I meant earlier was only that we can not have the element of surprise at all. They know we are here, and that is why they came.

“I suggest that we do not attempt to meet these orcs on their own terms. Our strength is in our home - within our city. There have been times in the past when no one could thwart or overcome an army who stood within our gates. And I suggest that we go no further searching for victory.

“Never mind where the orcs are now. Let them come to us! Let us choose the place of battle! Close the gates, and let us fight them in our own time. Let them fight and die on the very steps of our doors, and let’s pile their dead carcasses before our gates, as they piled ours in that bitter day of the Battle of Azanulbizar. And once more we will come out the victor!”

[Groin Redbeard]

His words did not have the spiteful hatred that was expected. Kenan’s words were cleverly chosen, offering criticism while giving explanations for why Trór was mislead. Kenan really knew how to play his cards at the council; however, they were not the empty words of a diplomat. The old man had a point about the danger of taking the battle away from the gates. It was a risk that Tror was willing to accept, but was it his decision to make?

Trór took a good look at Kenan. He was old and experienced, and that meant knowledge in Trór’s book. The aged Dwarf also had grandchildren to take care of; that was a burden that Trór was thankful not to have. Perhaps Kenan was growing soft in his old age, thinking more of the children than on the outcome of the battle. Was the certainty of their defeat as inevitable as Kenan believed? To win, or to lose, would seal the fates of the unborn; even Ori who had been exposed to the worst battles of the age could not deny that the outcome of this battle would have far reaching consequences for Durin’s entire house. To lose meant the destruction of Balin’s dream. If so, Khazad-dum would never again be occupied by a Dwarf. Trór frowned and looked away. It was terrible to think of the uncertainty of war, much less the consequences of it on those who were shielded from its terror.

Trór’s gaze was focused on the ground. It could not true that he was seeking glory on the battlefield! His fingers itched to pick up his spear, to strain his muscles and feel the crash of his axe on an Orc’s shield, yes, he was anxious. Everything was so simple in war: kill or be killed; there was no need to think, only to do. He did not believe, however, in what Frar often said about death on the battlefield being the most honorable way to die. Trór believed that only the truly great would ever be remembered when they die; therefore, why go seeking glory in death? Everyone must accept death, but be diligent in holding on to life. To live for his people, to cheat death where it was so commonly found: that was the key, and Trór enjoyed doing it. He was not seeking glory in battle: death was calling him to do battle.

Death was his lifelong enemy, and Trór enjoyed the challenge of beating him again and again. Perhaps he couldn’t help it, but it made no difference. Fighting the shade of Death and his precursor, Fear, Trór was always strong enough to conquer the pair and to deal them out to the enemy. To be like a god –there was nothing like it in the world. Nothing on earth or in sea is so like a god on earth as a commander in battle.

“You make some excellent points Kenan,” Trór turned to face him. “Doing nothing is an excellent strategy. No my friend I am not mocking you. Winter is coming swiftly from the mountains and the Goblins will soon wish for the warmth of their caves. However, their dwellings are hundreds of leagues to the north and they will be hasty to gain our halls. Old Man Winter will be a great ally for us!

“I must disagree with you, however, on the matter of open warfare. The Orcs have held Khazad-dum before, and they know its weaknesses. We cannot rely on the secrecy as we did in the Second Age when the evil in Mordor swept across the lands. They might expect us to use this again as our strategy. The Goblins of Gundabad can be very cunning and they are not without their siege weapons. No doubt they will bring them to subdue us.

These gates are defensible, but it takes time to erect defenses, time that the Orcs will not give us if we let them hasten hither unopposed. No sir, I will not allow that! Balin’s death has hit the soldiers hard in particular and they need revenge. A fire burns in the heart of every one of my soldiers. Having the soldiers put on the defensive is very bad for morale, it might even be dangerous. Instead of slowly letting their flame die we should use this to our advantage, strike while their spirits are hot. No victory will be gained from my plans, but I can guarantee that it will be no defeat either. It will buy us valuable time.”

[Folwren]

“Revenge?” Kénan’s eyes flashed. His ire was woken again. He edged up to the table, drawing as close to Trór as he could. “Revenge? Is that all you hot headed stripling can think about? Act while their blood is hot? When they’re foolish and prone to stupidity, like you?

“By the great beard of Mahal!” he shouted, throwing his clenched fists in the air. “You say vague things like ‘no victory will be gained but we won’t lose either’ - what’s that supposed to mean? What good does it do to buy time if all our dwarves are off fighting while their blood is up! By my beard, you blockheaded numbskull - my blood is up, but at least I can think clearly! You’ll get us all killed!”

Someone grabbed his arm and pulled him back to his seat and a bubbling murmur of angry voices rose around the table. He sat fuming for a couple seconds and then he leaped back up to his feet. “No, I have something further to say! If we send dwarves out to fight the orcs, they’ll crush them like a nut in a nutcracker! Our diversion will be turned into a routing sport for the goblins, and we will be left with that many less dwarves to help prepare the gates!”

[Durelin]

Kórin

“ Our strength is in our home - within our city.”

Kórin reentered the council room as the old dwarf Kenan spoke again, his tone less harsh but no less passionate than before. She allowed her brooding over Nali to pass away as she took her seat again, and listened to the remainder of Kenan’s words. To go on the defensive was sensible, and certainly they would soon be forced into that position, but a part of Kórin felt shamed at the idea of hunkering down at word of the enemy.

Trór spoke next, at length, sharing his “plan”. Obviously Trór felt strongly that they should stand and fight with pride, but that was the problem: it was all about pride. He even admitted himself that going out to meet the goblins would not result in victory. Kórin could not believe what she was hearing.

Kenan, unsurprisingly, was quick to respond, his anger fully rekindled. Kórin’s eyes flashed with amusement when the old dwarf called Trór a “blockheaded numbskull”, but she could not bring herself to smile. Kenan was right.

Kórin prepared to speak, only to have Kenan continue with a final elaboration. But then she quickly cut in, also hoping to take some of the wrath Trór undoubtedly would feel toward Kenan onto herself. She had no desire to remain in this dwarf’s favor than anyone else’s.

“Kenan is right,” she began without rising from her seat. “You speak of your men as if they are children, as if you must allow them to do what they want or they will get upset! I think you speak only for your own desire for revenge, and this is hardly the time to only be thinking of yourself.”

Kórin’s heart beat a little faster as she awaited retaliation. She wanted to add, “but we’re wasting too much time with this nonsense,” but did not want to belittle what she and Kenan had just said.

[Groin Redbeard]

Yet again Kénan spoke out against Trór, this time with greater fervor than before. Trór did not understand. He had acknowledged that Kénan was right in his strategy and that it would be an excellent plan to be used after the Orcs have been put at arm’s length. Trór had thought that the temperance of the council was finally grasped by him. Why this outright hatred from Kénan? Kénan’s words cut Trór deeply. This was unprovoked hatred, and if this is how Kénan really thought of him than Trór knew what to do with him. The hounds of opposition were at full cry. That woman again raised her voice when she had no right to.

Must I always be denied my satisfaction after insults! These two are just saying it and the rest are thinking it. They say that I have sold my nation and my people to the hordes of the orcs if I go through with my plan; that I have sided with the mad dictates of my conscience over the sound wisdom of this council. My plans have no proper place in a council of fools.

“What is your name?” Trór asked in as calm a voice as possible.

“Kórin,” she stated proudly.

“Then tell me Kórin, why do you chastise me for speaking of my men as if they were my children? Are they not under my command? Are they not the very men who I have reared in the arts of warfare? Are they not the very men who I have fought alongside and watch them die? They are my sons as far as I am concerned, and do not speak so proudly to me, O naïve Kórin! What do you know of war?

“Have you ever seen a people that are so proud of destruction that they would ignore the advice of officers, and defy the enemy to do its worst? Therefore men of Khazad-dum, take pity of this city and of its people whiles yet the orcs are far away. Whiles yet the cool and tempered wind of grace blows over your faces, closer comes the filthy clouds of heavy murder, spoil and villainy. The orcs will be here at our doors before too long and then you will know what it means to fear. But if not, why for a moment would you risk to see the crazed and bloody orc with foul hands defile the locks of your shrill shrieking daughters, and your fathers taken by their silver beards and their most reverent heads dashed to the walls? The naked infants will be fitted upon their pikes, while the mad mothers, with their howls confused, do break the clouds! Is this what you hope to achieve? Do not take me in contempt, as if I were an ignoramus in warfare!” Trór was fuming mad. His breaths came in blasts threw his clenched teeth as he turned his hatred towards Kénan.

“I was willing to forgive your first rant against me, but seeing as you have not learned the art of tolerance, or grace, I will no longer tolerate your presence here or anywhere as a noble. Therefore, for the insults that you have bestowed upon me, the position of military commander and upon the most esteemed, and lofty, position of lord protector of Khazad-dum, I hereby strip you of your rank as a noble among my council. However, I will grant you the knowledge of my having decided to do what you have asked and keep the army close to our gates. This is not for your sake but for the sake of unity and to offer a sense of protection to the people, no matter how false that it may prove. Perhaps this will teach you to show more toleration for a peer’s opinion. I have nothing further to say, and neither do you. Go.” Trór pointed the out, and with a stooping head and crossed arms turned away from Kénan and walked back to the table.

His withheld tears blinded him completely so that he could not see were the table was placed, so that Trór gently bumped into it. The council had tired him more than he knew, he was exasperated, angry and yet sad. If Trór would have known that this was the foreseeable outcome of his summoning of Kénan to the council he would have rather gone to war blindly than to have risked that outcome.

Balin’s wishes for me to succeed him have been in vain! All it has done is to drive a wedge between his subjects. Dwarves should not fight when they were born to be brothers. Yet, it is already done.

“This council has solved little, go and summon the irregulars, as well as the miners. Defenses will be erected. I shall go with fifty of my men, and whoever else chooses to come, to find the approaching orcs, and to find Oin.”

You should not let your council under such circumstances, but time has been wasted enough. You have done much damage, Trór, and have hurt a once dear friend. Still, you may yet put things right with him. At the present you can put things right with her.

“Kórin, stay with me for a moment.”

~~~~~~

Nisa

She stood next to Onli as they listened to the angry words. Vriti was scurrying around in her pocket, no doubt scared by the commotion. How brave Onli must be to want to walk boldly into the midst of these dwarves. The very thought of Trór finding her here sent shivers up her spine. Onli certainly was much braver than she.

“That one speaking is Kénan,” Nisa said this in a whisper, pointing at the old Dwarf. “He is very proud and terrible when he is roused or challenged; though, he is decent enough when matters of state are not on his mind. Best be safe and stay clear of him.

“There is Nali’s brother Loni. I am afraid I can’t tell you much about him. Unlike his brother, he stays quite most of the time and is not too high in the opinion of the council. However, Ori was Balin’s great friend. Both were very close to one another.” Suddenly the speaking paused and a new voice was heard.

“That’s him!” Nisa gasped, “That is my cousin, Trór!” She was surprised at how different he looked. Nisa was always used to seeing him always mild mannered, and even though he occasionally frightened her with his temper, he was never as bad as this. It seemed to Nisa that Trór spoke persuasively, but she could sense a deeper emotion of hatred, of pure black hearted bitterness: there was no love in his speech. He dismissed Kénan from service. His anger must have been indeed great or blind for him to do something like that. A chill ran up Nisa’s spine, she didn’t like to see him like this, and definitely did not want him to see her.

“I must go,” her voiced cracked and shook, her tan face growing white. “I cannot stay here; I must leave now, Onli!”

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Óin was half-sitting, half-lying, hidden from the sight of anything but the dark birds, which in large flocks circled above, diving and disappearing somewhere where the Dimrill Dale and the lake of Mirrormere lay. Óin could not see its dark waters from here, but he knew where it was, hidden underneath the knees of Zirakzigil and Bundushathûr in the dale covered in deep shadow. He also did not see what the carrion-birds were seeking there, but he could see too well what roused them up.

Below him, all the valley was flooded with moving black shapes, pacing steadily in the evening dusk. Even from up here, the highest point in the proximity of Silverlode's dale, he could hear the clanging of iron, the harsh voices and the cracking of stone under hundreds of feet.

Below him, the dale was opening like a gigantic snake crawling among the rocks of green stone. The vanguard of the great army was marching there, the tall Orcs with heavy shields, then spearmen, then Orcs with curved scimitars and some with shortbows. They made a lot of noise, and their marching formation was by no means too organised, yet still, they were there, to protect the van of the army.

"I bet a few well-armed Dwarves will show them," Óin muttered, his beard sticking to the cold rock. "Look, what a disorder! Is that an army? If somebody attacked them now, they would hardly have chance to form a defense. The enemy will be halfway through their ranks before the ones with the shields even put themselves into a bit of good stand. Each of them will have a Dwarf behind his back, shields won't be of any use here. And there, what is that? The small Orcs with the bows cannot even see from back then above the heads of their comrades, how are they supposed to shoot? Now if only Balin was here, he will show them!"

He moved his head a little, as to see further to the right. There were parts where the valley was opening wide, and parts where the slopes heading up were not so steep. There, even the sides of the valley were black with marching Orcs; wherever the valley allowed them to spread into a wider formation, they did, even with great thrusting and jostling. There were small goblins from the North, as well as the large Orcs with whips, Hobgoblins with axes and Orcs with spears, and amidst all of them, an ordered square of huge Uruks was marching, towering above the small goblins, in their hauberks of steel rings - no doubt stolen from Dwarves or Men - and their high iron helmets. They were carrying large scimitars of steel.

"And that will make one and a half thousand, in total, no less," muttered Óin. "And there are more still coming. What is it that these beasts are carrying there? A battering ram!"

In the distance, there was an opening in the mass of the Orcs, something black and big was carried there by numerous hands. And there was more than one of these things coming.

"Well, they know something about the gates of Moria, you should not be surprised, Óin, my lad," the Dwarf shook his head. "At least you know they are really serious: they have come to take Khazad-dûm of our fathers back from our hands, and they made the effort to prepare themselves for the long journey. I would be surprised if they did not have more than that: they can make many clever things, one has to give them that. Not very useful, but when it comes to destroying something, no, you could not find better ones. That filth!"

The Dwarf looked to the left, where a bit above the river's gorge, a wide path was running around the mountainside. Now there was a long line of goblins marching there, all in heavy armor, and some of them armed with maces and warhammers. "These guys won't be fun either," Óin continued in his almost-voiceless evaluation of the approaching enemy. "I bet they can move in that pretty well. Ha! Look how fast they are moving. They'd outrun you, Óin, if you gave them the chance to spot you. Now, what do we have there?"

In the shadow of the mountain, even further above the line of the heavy-armoured goblins, another, almost unseen path could be seen. There, Óin's keen eyes spotted several fast-moving shapes.

"Wargs! Wargs, no less! So do we have warg riders with us? Looks like that! Óin, my lad, this is no fun! Nine, ten, twelve? Not many, likely, but there may be others! No, there will be others! By Durin's beard! The wind is blowing from me towards them!"

The Dwarf turned around and started descending as fast as he dared. "I guess you have seen all you needed," he mumbled during his descent. "You could not have expected less than this devilry. Balin should be informed, rightaway! And you will be quite lucky to get there before they eat you. Now, careful! If you slip, you are going to ride all the way to the valley, and these guys will be very interested in what has fallen into their midst!"

At last he was down. The steepest part was behind him, yet there were still a few dozens of feet below him, but there were also the Orcs, whom the old Dwarf had no wish to encounter. He pulled his hood deep into his face and disappeared amidst the rocks on a hidden path which only he knew.

[Kitanna]

Kéni

Kéni had crept along, slinking around in the shadows. He could see he wasn't the only one trying to listen in on the council. However, he felt it prudent not to eavesdrop with a group, just in case they were caught.

But he did wonder if maybe the others could hear better. Kéni could only make things out when someone raised their voice. They could all probably see better too, but Kéni sat in patience. The words spoken loudly were the only ones worth hearing anyway.

"By my beard, you blockheaded numbskull - my blood is up, but at least I can think clearly! You’ll get us all killed!” Kéni gritted his teeth when he heard his grandfather speak. Kénan had no right to speak to Trór like that, even if he disagreed.

"Therefore, for the insults that you have bestowed upon me, the position of military commander and upon the most esteemed, and lofty, position of lord protector of Khazad-dum, I hereby strip you of your rank as a noble among my council."

The young dwarf's mouth dropped open. Kénan had pushed Trór to the point of stripping away his titles. Never in his whole life had Kéni ever felt ashamed of his grandfather, but now he couldn't believe the dishonor Kénan was bringing on the family, on the memory of Kéni's own parents. Kénan was completely out of line for attacking Trór so openly. And even though it would mean swift punishment from Kénan, Kéni planned to tell him just what he thought.

Kéni had stopped listening to the council, now he waited only for Kénan to come out.

~*~*~

Iari

Kéni and Kénan still hadn't come home. Iari was afraid to stay alone much longer, but going out now was just as frightening. Maybe she could appeal to her neighbors for company. Surely someone would take her in until her family returned.

She grabbed a small rag doll she had been sleeping with and threw on an old shawl. Iari went out in search of her family or perhaps for a kindly neighbor to keep her safe for a little while.

[Durelin]

Kór

Kór listened in reverent silence as the older woman spoke. He marveled at the close contact she seemed to have had with Balin and how long she had known him. She seemed to have a certain affection for him that went beyond impersonal admiration. He ate up her words, knowing that they had great depth to them. These, if any, were words to remember, and certainly words to raise a glass to.

When he knew she had finished, Kór did raise his glass again before taking another sip. It only seemed right. In a way it felt like the least he could do. But then he thought for a moment, as the three sat in silence again, and decided to venture a question.

“Maybe, my lady, you could assist me in composing a ballad at least a little worthy of his greatness? If we have the time for such things…” He trailed off, recalling some of Kórin and Nali’s words.

[Folwren]

Kénan stood for a moment, drawn up in proud silence for a moment. He looked Trór evenly in the eye as he received the rebuke and punishment. He said nothing in reply, but he did not go until Trór had turned his back to him.

Without looking at any of the other council members, Kénan stepped down from the table and turned and walked towards the doors. He had no regrets, his pride and the knowledge that he was right held him from that, but wrath built inside him until it nearly blinded him. Yes, it was true, he had one thing to comfort him. Trór had heard him out and had decided to take his plan of action. This was a balm to his angry humiliation, but it was not enough. His fists clenched as he passed beyond the doors.

Where he might have gone to wait until his anger cooled is uncertain. His pace did not slacken and he turned neither to the right or to the left - he certainly did not intend to go home - but the sound of hurrying feet behind him and the voice of his grandson brought him up short.

“Grandfather!” Kéni called, his voice cracking and turning to a high pitch at the last part of the word. Kénan turned fiercely about. Kéni came to a stop just out of arm’s reach of him.

“What are you doing here?” Kénan demanded. “I told you to stay home, didn’ I?”

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

“I must go. I cannot stay here; I must leave now, Onli!”

Nîsa seemed very frigthened, but at that point, Onli did not pay much attention to her anymore. He heard the loud voices from the council, and he also caught a word or two from before. He was shocked. Putting together all he heard this far, it finally became clear to him that this was not just a simple enthroning meeting. Something else was going on. Something wrong. Warriors. Defenses. Orcs.

Orcs.

Onli felt chill coming down his spine. He shivered. War was descending upon them, and this was a war meeting. He realised he indeed came at the wrong place at the wrong time.

And what more, it seemed that the Orcs were not content with murdering Balin. Now they wanted to dispose the rest of them as well. That meant battle. Chaos. No, it really made no sense to try to make acquaintances with the leaders right now, as they might quickly change again. If anybody else was able to read Onli's thoughts, he would have probably smiled at the fact that even in this situation, the Dwarf's mind so easily kept running on the calculative level. However, Onli did not smile. He was desperately thinking what to do in this situation. He still held in memory what happened five years ago, when they came to this place - how they had to fight, and even though for the rest of the Dwarves it was an easy battle, Onli did not particularly enjoy the memory of it. As far as he could remember, he managed to stab one goblin who got too close to him, but otherwise he tried to fill his place in the ranks and if possible, stay out of trouble. He was not particularly keen on repeating the experience anyway.

He was about to turn to Nîsa, with an unconscious intention to take Vriti from her: he needed to hold her to calm himself. But at the moment an old Dwarf rushed out of the council, his grey beard flowing and his brows knitted in anger. Kénan! He passed Onli, not noticing him standing beside the gate. At the same moment, a loud call was heard from behind. Where did this young boy come from?

"Grandfather!"

The old Dwarf and his grandson now stood just a little apart from Onli. He turned to look if Nîsa was still by his side.

[Kitanna]

“What are you doing here? I told you to stay home, didn’ I?” Kénan was furious, but Kéni was prepared.

He puffed out his chest and stood up to his grandfather. "How could you treat Trór with such disrespect?" The young dwarf had never questioned Kénan's judgment in the past. Yet in the past things had never been so dangerous for their family or the community. "He's doing what's right and I think you know that, but you're just being as stubborn as always. Now you've brought shame onto our family and maybe doomed little Iari."

From the corner of his eye Kéni saw the form of a dwarf move about. He turned a little to see Onli standing by. So this had been one of the others eavesdropping. Kéni didn't know the older dwarf very well, but he did know Kénan. And Kéni was going to catch it for scolding his grandfather in front of his peers. His only hope was that Kénan saw Onli and decided to punish his grandson later.

"Onli," Kéni bowed his head slightly to him. "I'm sorry I didn't see you standing there."

Kénan was fuming, Kéni hoped Onli's presence could distract him until they returned home.

[Groin Redbeard]

True to his wish, Kórin stayed behind. Trór didn’t know what he would say to her exactly but anything had to be better than to let another of his new subjects go unfairly rebuked. Although Trór had spoken harshly to her his frustration was at Kénan. He had seen her before in the halls, but the memory of her had faded from his mind in the heat of the argument.

Kórin still had the same look of defiance on her face that she had had five years earlier; for some strange reason Trór didn’t hold it against her. Normally he would resent the fact that someone below him could face him with such audacity, but her very nature was different from the other women. She had that spark that Trór found worthy of his admiration; Kórin was a fighter.

"All has turned to vain thinking and mad decisions." Trór said this with certain level of annoyance. "These nobles would seek to use me as a shield against the enemy and than to supplant their wishes upon me. I do not agree with everything they have said, but for the sake of unity, I have accommodated them. At least it will keep me out of their blasted politics!" Trór sighed heavily and unfolded his arms. He didn't really care what this woman thought of his thoughts; he just needed to let that much out of him. Besides, she was not tainted by the ceremony of the nobility. Kórin might understand after all. What did it matter anyway?

“It’s Kórin, am I correct?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me, I have seen you before in the colony, what is your occupation? Are you any good with an axe?”

~~~~~~

Nisa

Onli was obviously distracted with the council, but Nisa didn’t hear anything, all she was focused on was the terrifying figures of Kénan and Trór. She wanted to run as fast as she could back to the safety of her home, but to do so would mean leaving Onli. The loneliness of the trek to the first hall was almost unbearable; nothing but shadows in the torchlight and large spaces of darkness in-between them. Why didn’t Onli say something? It would certainly make her decision easier to make.

Nisa had just made up her mind to head off as fast, but before she could do so torchlight could be seen at the end of the hall. Many loud shouts could be heard echoing off the walls, and the clanking of steel could be heard; soldiers! At the moment she noticed the soldiers, the angry figure of Kénan passed them by and all thoughts of running were erased from her mind. The best thing to do now was to stick with Onli where she wouldn’t bear the full brunt of someone’s wrath.

Onli was listening to Kénan, who was talking harshly to some child. The council seemed to be concluded; the nobles began to gather in groups, while some left in a hurry back towards the great hall. Onli looked at Nisa; she glanced at the council, where Trór was standing, and then returned her attention to Onli as if to ask: "what now?"

~~~~~~

Nali

The council had gone sour. Nali frowned at Trór’s choice; it was too harsh and showed only that the new lord was adamant in his ways; it will only breed fear through his subjects when Kénan spreads the news. Nali liked Kénan, they were both old and of like mind. Although they had different ways of reasoning, they were close to each other. Nali would always be loyal to Trór but he did not agree with him on many matters, Kénan was right in both of his strategies and it pained Nali to see him punished for it.

The council was adjourned and Ori, along with Loni, walked up to him.

“It is a sorry state of affairs.” Nali said in a low voice. “I shall go back to the hall and organize the rest of our fighting dwarves and send the miners here with all possible speed. Will ye both come with me?”

[Durelin]

Kórin

Kórin resolutely met Trór’s gaze, fuming with anger – he had called her naïve! She may be young but she wasn’t a fool… – and wondering why he had not yet thrown her out for expressing her opinions, as well. He had not refuted her accusation at all – obviously he could not. He had twisted the meaning of “treating his men as if they were children” to mean that he was their commander and so like their father. I said you were treating them as if they are children, not as your children…you blockheaded numbskull! Kórin thought. Either way, he was a bad parent.

She was dying to speak again, but Trór put an abrupt end to the council. Apparently he had abandoned his idea, at least for the most part. Kórin wondered, though, if fifty men was too large a band for simply a scouting party. She began to rise from her seat, wondering why she even bothered to return (not that she wasn’t happy to have seen Kénan call Trór a “blockheaded numbskull”), when Trór asked her to remain. She stood by her seat and waited, surprise suppressing most of her anger.

Perhaps for the first time since arriving at the council, Kórin really looked at this dwarf, considering him. She was surprised, again, to see a shining to his eyes, as if from forming tears, and she saw grief in his face. He looked haggard, and older than when she had first seen him just that day. She suddenly had no desire to speak or think any more ill of him.

Kórin listened with great interest as Trór seemed to speak to himself about the nobles and their “politics”. She supposed that was what she had glimpsed today, the workings of the leaders of Khazad-dûm. She wasn’t impressed either.

Once gain Kórin was caught off-guard, when Trór then addressed her and asked her about her ‘occupation’. And whether or not she was good with an axe? Well that, interestingly, was easier for her to answer. She hesitated before saying stiffly, “I am a…brewer. But,” she began to add with a smirk, “I believe I am better with an axe, or a mace, than at brewing ale, though my interest certainly lies in both.”

She no longer cared who this dwarf was or cared about what had just happened during the council. Kórin was interested.

[Groin Redbeard]

A smile slowly came over Trór’s face. He could t help but enjoy the way this coversation was heading: soon his purppose would be known. Trór hadn’t smiled all day and it felt good to have forgotten his cares

“A brewer?” Trór flung his head back and laughed. “So you are responsible for good ale that the colony has been blessed with! I have met some brewers in my time, mostly drunks and dotards, but, Kórin, you are different.

“You say that you are better with an axe than at brewing ale. I am giving you a choice to join the fight that’s coming; Mahal knows that I need every man I can find. I need fighters! This is not the time for council or hesitation, Kórin. Action is needed and I sense that you are that sort of dwarf. Will you join?”

Trór tried to read Kórin’s thoughts. However, the expression on her face looked blank. The proposition was tough to make, and she knew it.

“Know that I am not forcing my will on you, Kórin, as I soon must do to all the able bodied men of Khazad-dum. This is your choice, choose it carefully. I will not ask you again and I will not release yo from service until this crisis has abated, if you accept.”

A stiff breeze blew up the old road into Trór’s face and stole his attention to the sands of Mirrormere. Even though the lake was to far off to be seen, especially since the dark reign of night blinded everyone's vision. Trór thought that he could see its waters dancing in the moonlight. He could see dwarves scattered about the lake’s banks searching the precious roots and herbs that covered the area. On the horizon, dark clouds were gathering; Trór could hear screams of the woman and the horrendous laughter of the cruel invaders. The vision faded as the sound of many stomping feet reached his ears. He calmly turned to see the arrival of his troops. This was the core of what would stop the orcs.

The soldiers began to organize themselves in ordered lines; their huge statures belittled Kórin’s.
What are you thinking, Trór? A woman amidst the ranks of these warriors? Come to your senses! She has no training or knowledge in warfare; she will be kill in the first skirmish. Kórin will be better off with the other inexperienced dwarves. Your offer will kill her.

Although fighting woman were not out of the ordinary in dwarven culture, it was certainly not the normal thing to do. Nevertheless, those eyes of Korin’s held back a fire: an untamable spirit that reminded Trór of himself. If her steel would not prove worthy, then that would be the price she would pay. It was no concern of his if she died. Hundreds will die before this engagement would cease.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Nîsa returned Onli's gaze, but at the moment Kénan's grandson addressed him.

"Onli, I'm sorry I didn't see you standing there."

Onli was not exactly happy to be dragged out into the light at that very moment. But now that the boy had pointed him out, he stepped out of the shadows, polishing the front of his vest. Facing heated Kénan, he tried to put on his most comforting smile. He raised his other hand in a soothing gesture.

"You should not mind me. I am just passing through with Nîsa," he glanced into the room, noticing Trór. It was perhaps not wise to talk about his original intentions to coming here now in front of Kénan, he thought. Besides, Onli was still unsure what to do now: whatever the situation of the colony was right now, it was certainly unpleasant; however, upon looking at Trór, he started to wonder once again whether it won't be useful after all to talk to him now. He has already come this far! And now, perhaps, when Trór has to worry about the war, he might give ear to somebody who will be able to manage the administration of the colony... And who knows, if Onli will be granted any status, then perhaps even if the current leader is dead later, the status will be preserved.

Onli shuddered. It was not right after all to think like this. He felt a bit uneasy. Then he noticed that the two are still watching him. He got lost in his thoughts but for one or two breaths, but he realised he did not finish what he was saying.

He bowed. "I greet you, venerable master Kénan," he said. He tried to recall what Kénan's grandson's name was, but could not come to any conclusion.
"And you too, my young friend," he decided to avoid trying to name the boy. "It was truly not my intention to disturb you in any way."

"We just had some business to attend around here," Onli continued with the comforting smile. To support the feeling of "we", he glanced over his shoulder at Nîsa and smiled. "I hope you will excuse us." He felt no need to rouse the feelings inside Kénan concerning the just passed council. He hoped that Kénan will just get past it and leave them. It was uncertain however what he might do in a mood like this.

[Thinlómien]

"I shall go back to the hall and organize the rest of our fighting dwarves and send the miners here with all possible speed. Will ye both come with me?"

Ori gave a thin smile thin to his old friend. Organising stuff, adminstrating things like this, it sounded like stuff Balin had had him do. It was something he could do, he would know what Balin would have wanted him to do in a situation like this. His smile widened to a wry grin but there was sadness in his eyes.

"I will come and do whatever is needed to be done."

Before Lóni could give his answer to the question, Ori added another question: "Has Trór said, to either of you, a word of who will remain here and be in command of the civilians while the warriors are fighting? He needs a trusted man there, but someone he can spare from the battlefield."

Ori's eyes rested on Náli. He was an old and a wise Dwarf, someone Trór would happily trust with a duty like that, but on the other hand Ori wondered if their new lord would rather have the hero of the Battle of the Five Armies on the battlefield and name some more surprising candidate to guard the colony instead.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

"Has Trór said, to either of you, a word of who will remain here and be in command of the civilians while the warriors are fighting? He needs a trusted man there, but someone he can spare from the battlefield."

Lóni shook his head. "As far as I can tell, Ori, Trór has not pondered this matter this far, or at least has not voiced his considerations. I find it unlikely that he just omitted thinking of it at all - but it is possible that his attention is focused on the more pressing matters right now."

He rubbed his undamaged eye once more. He was thinking on how should he put what he had on his mind to his brother and Ori. He was saddened by the thought that some Dwarves might consider Trór a bad leader and think wrongfully about him, dismissing him in their thoughts as somebody either completely unworthy or foolish at the least. But Lóni was aware of the fact that there were many things to manage and the young leader just had to suddenly face too much at once. Was it any different for Thorin when he first assembled his company to go to Erebor? Was it any different for Balin? And who knows how Thrór's folk thought about him first when he came to Erebor?

Even though he understood Kénan's displeasure about the situation, he considered the outcome most unfortunate. Kénan should have been milder, but also Trór should have not reacted so forcefully. Lóni shook his head once more.

"I think we should try to help our new leader, wherever we can lend a hand," he said. "If he did not think deeply about naming a leader for the civilians - and who can blame him - should we not remind him of it? Or, even better, try to think of a good candidate, to help him even more? If there was no need for my presence on the battlefield, and if there was a need, I could accept the task, of course." Even though he was not keen about such an idea, Lóni thought that if nobody was going to offer his service, and if Trór gave his trust to nobody else, he might as well take the burden.

"But I think Trór himself made it clear what he is going to do and he is likely expecting from us," he looked at his brother, "to stand by his side. Perhaps we can look for somebody?"

Lóni fell silent and looked at his companions.

[Groin Redbeard]

Nali could not guess what his brother, Lóni, meant by the phrase: “I think Trór himself made it clear what he is going to do and he is likely expecting from us: to stand by his side.” The statement seemed to be directed at him, yet he did not know whether to take it as encouragement or a subtle chastizement. Lóni’s customary quietude made it difficutl to discern the nature of the remark. Nali did not pursue the subject further. Indeed, even if Nali’s mind had not been pressed with more urgent matters he still would not have spoken on the matter.

“I personally hope to have no command of the civilians. Some dwarfs inspire loyalty and devotion; whilst others, like me, mearly respect. My place is beside a leader’s side. That is why I have spent my life carrying out orders instead of giving them. The task of leading the commoners in battle is important, but this task must fall on another besides me. If asked I will not accept and if chosen I will no lead; my place is by my lord.

“I agree with what thou hast said brother, but I must advise a word of caution. Trór is a proud fellow and still holds the ideal that his word is law; he has not yet becme acustomed to the will of the council. Instead he intends to govern as a general governs his troops: through strength and discipline. This unrest amongst the nobles has been Trór’s fault so far. However, we may yet be able to help our new lord without wounding his pride. Pherhaps we should suggest the mater to Trór before we bring an example of a subordinent forward?”

The idea of approaching Trór rekindled the memory of Onli and Nisa. Nali suddenly turned in a circle to see if he could spot the pair, and indeed he did, along with a fuming Kénan. By chance, Onli spotted Nali looking at him. Nali widened his eyes and nodded his head in Trór’s direction; he hoped that Onli would sieze this chance.

“Oh, I am sorry my friends,” Nali said after recieving two queer stares from Lóni and Ori. “Some commoner wished to speak to Trór. He claims to have some experience in managing affairs of state.” Nali did not realize the irony of his statement and the subject that the three were discussing.

[Durelin]

Kórin

Kórin smirked and bowed her head slightly at the compliment, though she did not think her ale had made it to any noble’s tables. Any smile faded as she considered his offer. As soon as Trór had ordered the regular army to duty, Kórin had been prepared to hear that summons as well – though not for any commander’s sake. But now, now that it was an offer placed before her, and now that it was a matter of being in service to this dwarf…she hesitated.

As she considered, something that Trór had said clicked into place in her mind. “…as I soon must do to all the able bodied men of Khazad-dum…”

“I will join you,” Kórin said slowly, preparing her next words as she spoke. “Though I wish to ask of you one thing… If I serve you in this crisis, as you called it, may I do so taking my brother’s place in mandatory service? I am the fighter; he has a great mind as I never will.”

She had more to say, but had said enough. She would not get any more sentimental.

[Folwren]

Kénan growled something in reply to Onli's nervous mumble of words before reaching out and snagging Kéni by the collar. "You just mind your own business, young fellow," Kénan said as Onli turned away. "Mind it and you should be just fine." With that, he turned, pushing Kéni in front of him.

The walk back home must have been a miserable affair for Kéni. Kénan did not say anything, but the grip on the back of the boy's neck said enough. When they reached home, and the thick door was shut behind them, Kénan finally let him go. He turned him sharply about to face him.

"Stubborn old fool, am I? Who brings shame on my family? Shame?" His voice was terribly stern. "And what do you call speaking against your Grandfather in a public place? Not shameful?"

"Not when you deserve it," Kéni answered defiantly.

"You know better than to speak disrespectfully to me, Kéni," Kénan said in a low voice.

"Respect has to be earned," Kéni said. "It can be lost even then, and you've lost all the respect you ever earned tonight!"

“You are too young to understand such things. You will understand in time. If you did understand, you would have known that had any other dwarf addressed me in public and called me a fool and a shame to my family because I spoke up in a time of danger to save lives, I would have laid into him like you’ve never seen me. That dwarf wouldn’t walk for a week, if he walked again.” He began to unbuckle his belt. “And I can promise you that you at least will not be sitting for a week.”

When it was over, and Kéni was allowed to turn about and face him again, Kénan said:

“I did not speak with myself or my family and mind, lad. It was for the greater good of the colony. I did not bring shame upon our name, for Trór has heard me and will take the advice I gave him. I did what I thought best to do, and though it was bought with a price, I accomplished my goal.” Kéni’s eyes still flashed with reproach. “I did what had to be done, boy!” Kénan said. “You will understand, in time. Now get off to bed.”

Kéni obeyed, but he had hardly lain there five minutes before his Grandfather’s thundering voice called him out again. He crept around the corner of his door post with a shrinking feeling and hanging head. Finally, he looked up to face the bristling and wrathful Kénan.

“Where is Iari?”

[Kitanna]

"Where is Iari?

Kéni sat up in his bed. He was so angry and frustrated with his grandfather he hadn't thought to check on Iari. He threw a cloak over his shoulders. "She was fast asleep when I left!"

"Where do you think you're going?" Kénan growled.

"I'm going out to find Iari. You can be the one to stay behind this time!" Kéni knew he would receive the business end of his grandfather's belt again, but he was more concerned about Iari.

He ran out of the house, not waiting to see how Kénan would stop him. "IARI!" He cried as she hurried along. No doubt his voice was waking those who had tried to get some shut eye after the day's events, but he cared not. "IARI! Where are you?" Hot tears were starting to sting his eyes. He couldn't live alone with Kénan.

Kéni banished all thoughts of death and despair. The orc armies weren't roaming the streets and Iari wouldn't have wondered far. But he couldn't completely banish those thoughts. His sister was his life. "IARI!"

"Kéni?" He breathed an immense sigh of relief upon hearing her little voice in the shadows. Iari came out from the shadows near the weaponsmith's.

"Where were you?" Kéni pulled her into a bone crushing hug. "Where were you?"

"I didn't want to be alone so I went to find someone who would let me stay with them."

"You're going to catch it from Grandfather." Kéni finally realeased his sister. He took her by the hand. He knew they were going to get it from Kénan, but perhaps he could shield her from the worst of the yelling.

[Groin Redbeard]

After he had brushed the subject of Onli and Trór into the back of his mind, Nali went on to ask Ori a question about what the dwarf had just said.

“Tell me Ori, what dost thou mean by inquiring about who will command the citizens whilst the warriors are away? Thou pose the question as if the battle will be far away, while in truth Trór has consented to have the Orc’s beat upon our defenses.” Nali gave worried knowing look at his brother and then back at Ori.

“Do you think that Trór will ignore the council?” Nali leaned deeper and spoke nearly in a whisper. “Thou knowest him better than either of us, Ori. Do you know, or suspect something that we don’t?”

[Dimturiel]

Bain soon realized he could not do anything. That was a puzzling thing to him as it had never happened before. Usually he was able to work at any time and nothing that happened outside would bother him. But it was not so then. It was not like that now, however. It was not that he could not hold the hammer in his hand, what bothered him was that he could no longer work without thinking of anything, his mind bent only at the task at hand. Perhaps he should not be surprised, he told himself. What had happened was too big to be simply put aside.

Frustrated, Bain tossed his hammer. The sound of it clattering as it fell made him strangely uneasy. It seemed almost like an omen. Bain shook his head vigorously as soon as the thought came into his mind. He was not the one to think about omens and other such nonsense.

Not quite knowing what he was doing, Bain headed back to the hall. Company, that was what he needed – the presence of others around him, even if no words were to be said. But when he reached the hall he found that it was almost empty. Of course, he thought, many would not be there as they were now probably busy deciding what they were all going to do next. Bain thought idly for a moment who would now take Balin’s place, but even that thought passed quickly from his mind. He would find out soon enough. No need to trouble himself with that yet, he told himself as he sat down at one of the tables.

[Durelin]

Trór was truly startled by Kórin’s request. Did she think her brother was useless? Such things could not be tolerated-it was his duty to fight- how could her brother be as cowardly as not to fight? Yet Trór was not wrathful, something in Kórin’s voice stemmed the surmounting anger that he felt at hearing such a request. It was almost was as if she had pleaded with him to save a life. Nevertheless, her brother would fight if he could help it.

“And who am I to grant such a request? I command the masses, but the masses do not command me. Every cowardly Dwarf will be seeking this grant if I am to give you such a boon. Am I to give a pardon for your brother simply because you are of a higher quality than him?” Trór spoke in a steady calm voice (he thought Kórin would respond hotly if he would respond in any other way) and paced the back and forth in front of her, gesturing with his hands as he spoke. “Five years ago he fought to reclaim Khazad-dum; now he must fight to keep it. What dreams he has made, what wealth he has accumulated while here I cannot say, but if he intends to stay as an honorable citizen and not send others to protect the women and children then he best pick up his axe and fight!”

Kórin’s blood boiled hotter than ever at Trór’s remarks. She did not care one ounce about how he treated his troops, or whether he lead the peoples of Khazad-dûm to their destruction through his arrogant nature – but he dared to insult her brother, all but call him a coward?

It was all Kórin could do to force herself to speak rather than scream at this dwarf. “He did not make this request, I did. And I made it because he is the better – far better – dwarf than I, and deserves better than to die as a result of your pride or plain incompetence.”

Kórin had not really mindfully set out to insult him, but the words “pride” and “incompetence” came nonetheless. Whether or not he was a competent military commander had not really been at question – she could not speak one way or another on the matter – but it was a simple jab at Trór which her anger apparently could not resist making.

“You will do well to remember to whom you are speaking to!” Trór’s patience had met its end. Prideful was a description that he could abide with; in fact, he often described himself as a proud Dwarf: proud of his leaders, proud of his soldiers; proud of his kin. Incompetent, however, was the last insult that he would accept from Kórin passively.

“I will not grant you this boon, not only for your lack of respect for me: the only Dwarf who has the authority to grant your request, but also for your coward brother. If he is a better dwarf, “a far better dwarf” as you put it, then he will fulfill his duty alongside myself and other brave Dwarves.

“Honor is the very essence of life to a true man and he would not risk losing his honor as a consequence of shirking from duty. But why do I speak to you of honor and duty? You are a woman and do not understand such things. If you had an ounce of either honor or duty you would not think of suggesting such a cowardly thing, unless you know it is what your brother would want.

“Therefore, I will grant the opposite of your wish. I will find your brother and personally see that he fights in the vanguard of the army. If he is a “far better dwarf” than yourself, and cherishes virtuous honor, he will accept the assignment readily. If not, however, then he will have your impetuous words to thank for it.”

Trór paused for a moment, wondering whether to punish Kórin as well. Trór had no idea on how cruel he had just been to her, and that his punishment was more than enough. Perhaps the punishment would not have been as harsh if Trór had issued the sentence to Kór in person; however, the effects of issuing it to a relative of his, especially someone close, had not occurred to Trór until he saw the look of pain and anger on Kórin's face. He recognized his mistake in doing so but did not show it, especially since he thought his judgment was just.

“I leave in six minutes,” said Trór somberly, “if you still intend to come then you best be ready.” He waited for Kórin to leave. There was nothing more to be said and he did not expect her to join him afterwards.

Kórin clenched her fists so tightly that even her short nails dug into her palms. Every part of her wanted to give him a bloody nose at the least, but for some reason she did not. She was not sure why – she could not think of any consequences she might be afraid of. He had already flung enough insults at her – and he could do that all day as far as she was concerned – but beyond that he had already done the worst he ever could.

“You…you despicable--!” she all but screamed. “You will not last long with enemies both within and outside Khazad-dûm. I can only hope you are not a coward and lead your troops from the front!”

She spat on his beard before turning and storming down the hall, forcing her way past some dwarves still gathered near the doors.

[Gwathagor]

When the council was finished, Frar retired to the doorway, waiting for Tror to finish speaking with Korin. He would keep himself close at hand, for he knew that Tror would need him soon enough - perhaps even more than Tror himself realized. Frar often felt that Tror underestimated him. It was not unusual. Indeed, many dwarves saw him only as the hearty warrior, but behind that black beard and scarred face, Frar kept a keen mind. He was generally wise and could be even cunning at need, particularly in battle. But, as a hero of Frar's youth had said, "Talk low, talk slow, and don't say too much."

Frar had said hardly a word during the council. He was no politician and he had no taste for politicians, for those who were content to talk and would sacrifice anything for the sake of that idol, policy. Dwarves gone wrong, he would think. Dwarves are fighters; debate suits us not. Like Tror, Frar found such extensive talk and compromise exhausting. He would far rather take orders or give them - in fact, he would rather take orders he disagreed with than sit and talk about them.

He stirred angrily several times throughout the heated debate and nearly spoke once or twice, but he restrained himself. Ordinarily, he would have been Tror's fiercest ally, this council was one battle Tror would have to fight on his own - if he could not win the respect of his dwarves alone and today, he would never do so.

So, when Korin spat on Tror's beard, it was all he could do to keep himself from lashing out. As she brushed by him in the doorway, he clenched his jaw and followed her with burning eyes as she walked away. It was true that you couldn't please everyone, but an insult of this magnitude to a leader was unthinkable. Did Korin not realize that the colony was effectively in a state of war? Discipline was non-negotiable, and, indeed, it was only his desire to preserve the unity of the colony that kept Frar from exploding at Korin right then and there. He would give her this one free; but the very next insubordinate dwarf to cross his path was going to have his (or her) face broken. The colony would be better off without that kind of hot-head anyway.

He looked back gravely at Tror, but kept his righteous fury to himself.

"I wouldn't count on your ale being very good in the near future, if I were you. In fact, if you'd rather not be poisoned, you might stick to water."

He spoke jestingly, because he knew that they did not have to discipline Korin properly - not now, on the eve of battle. He also knew that Tror would need all the encouragement he could get now and in the days to come.

"I said very little during the council, Tror - I am not one for words like Balin was - but I want you to know that I will stand by your mind in this. And the next time one of your dwarves speaks against you, I'm going to knock his head off. Or hers," he finished, looking back the way Korin had gone and massaging his massive fist. "But for now, give me a task. We've precious little time to make ready."

[Groin Redbeard]

Trór tightened his jaw as Kórin spat upon his braided beard, yet he did not flinch or say a word; in fact, Trór was pleased. Kórin’s insult would be a serious matter under different circumstances, but it could be ignored-she was just rabble. The insult showed Trór that his punishment was harsh and that was good. He was rid of her, and a dwarf would soon be purged of his cowardice, a good start. Two hot heads down, how many more would there be? He looked down and wiped the spit from his beard.

When he looked up, Trór was surprised to see his friend Frar suddenly appear before him. Frar looked angry and focused when he spoke, but Trór was surprised to hear the wit and humor in his voice: good joke; a rare thing from Frar. Trór chuckled to himself, knowing that it was Frar’s subtle way of encouraging him. Frar went on to explain why he had not spoken during the council, but there was no need to explain, Trór understood perfectly well why Frar hadn’t spoken: warriors make lousy diplomats. Anyway, Trór was glad to hear that Frar would not stay quiet in the future; Trór needed help from his friends.

Frar stood half a head taller than Trór and was visibly as tough. Through Trór, Balin kept the colony safe, and through Frar, Trór accomplished the task. Both warriors were strict disciplinarians and perfectionists, which is why Balin chose them for their jobs. Trór was harsher and more rapid in his affairs, while Frar was subtle, wiser, and a little more cautious than his commander-their differences were what made them strong as a team. In a whole, Frar's advice was usually not accepted well (a fault of Trór's); however, his advice usually shaped the direction that the war council would take. Frar wasn't one to hold grudges against his opponents. Even when strategies would turn out in ways that he opposed Frar would dedicate himself to the strategy with as much determination as if it was his.

Even though Frar was older, Trór had always been superior in rank. Even under the rule of Dain Ironfoot, Trór had been amongst the king’s closest advisers. Unlike most dwarves in similar circumstances, Frar did not hold Trór’s youth against him. As gratitude, Trór shared the command of the army with him as much as possible. Frar was the superior in age and Trór in rank, and they loved each other for it. Frar was his closest friend and adviser, now they would be even closer.

“Indeed, no time to lose.” Trór was roused by Frar’s enthusiasm. Leave it to his old war hound to stir him up. He could read Frar’s thoughts as clearly as he had spoken them: ‘Take care of your new subjects. Let me find the Orcs, say the word and I’ll kill them all.’ But Trór knew Frar would never dare to ask such a thing. They started to walk briskly toward the arranged troops, who were all deeply stirred by Balin's death; their rage was evident in their eyes and clenched fists.

“We will take sixty of our finest and fastest soldiers. Your dwarves are the best trained and equipped to move fast; therefore, the majority will from your command. Forty is a good amount and I will take twenty of my own. You will take the point; I will bring my dwarves no less than twenty paces behind yours.”

The sixty dwarves were already in file before Trór and Frar reached them. Forty of Frar’s and twenty of Trór’s; the officers were well trained, they knew what to expect. The leading officer stepped forward and bowed slightly to Frar and then Trór.

“My lord,” the officer said grinning, “the soldiers are ready.”

Trór faced and leaned over to Frar. “Our objective is to find Óin and the front of the Orc army. We will go as far as the ground I had chosen on the map. If we haven’t found Óin by then, we must assume that he has found his way back to here and we must do the same.” Frar nodded. “Use your own discretion on whether or not to engage the enemy,” Trór added with a grin. He knew that it was against what he led the council to believe, but the soldiers were itching for a fight, as well as Frar. They shook hands before they departed, Trór went to the rear and Frar took the point.

Trór’s soldiers hushed as he approached. Individually, they were the toughest warriors in the army, remnants of Trór’s old command. They all wore heavy steel hauberks and helmets that protected their noses and eyes. Their boots, like Trór’s, were fashioned with iron plates after the manner of the Iron Hills' dwarves. All of them a wielded a heavy doubled handed mattock and protected their backs with shield, which was sturdily slung on their back. Some of the warrior’s beards were braided to keep from getting knotted, while others simply let their beards grow wild. Their faces were whether worn-not old but experienced-there were no young dwarves under Trór’s command. They were loyal, hard, and feared, traits of their race and occupation. Veterans, they were all veterans.

His shield and battle axe were brought to him; Trór slung them on his back. His spear had been placed to the side at the beginning of the council and was now picked up again. Trór thrust it upwards as if to test its effectiveness, produced a cheer from his troops. His helmet was placed in his hands, it was modeled similar to the helmets of his soldiers except that his was gold laced on the rims and bore the emblem of a raven on its crest; it was a magnificent specimen of dwarven craft. The brisk wind that had been blowing during the council had brought clouds to shield the light of the moon and stars. Trór lifted his gaze heavenward. It looked like it was going to rain, a common occurrence in the winter months. Good, the rain will render our march inaudible. Trór slowly positioned his helmet on his head and waited for Frar to commence the march.

[Thinlómien]

“Tell me Ori, what dost thou mean by inquiring about who will command the citizens whilst the warriors are away? Thou pose the question as if the battle will be far away, while in truth Trór has consented to have the Orc’s beat upon our defenses.”

“Do you think that Trór will ignore the council? Thou knowest him better than either of us, Ori. Do you know, or suspect something that we don’t?”

Ori offered Náli a dry smile. "Which question should I reply first?"
"It hardly matters," Lóni replied for his brother.
"As long as you reply both," Náli added, smiling just a little.

"Well then," Ori said. "I will reply the easier one first. What I meant was simply that surely Trór will want someone he trusts here." He did his best not to add "at least Balin would have managed it so". It was Trór who was the leader now and they would have to live with it. Or die with it, Ori thought, but rebuked himself for such a thought.

"I mean... we all know it is possible something unexpected will occur. Although it's hardly probable, our troops can be beaten totally with just a few soldiers escaping. Who will manage everything if Trór and all his trusted men fall? Likewise, something may occur here. If there was an accident, or a secret attack through the mines, or even an upraising, who would see to it? Not Trór himself as he will have plenty to think about at the battlefield."

Trying to keep his tone as neutral as possible, Ori continued, "Do you think Trór will appoint someone, or think it's unnecessary? Should we ask him?"

He scracthed his beard. "But, let me first reply the other question as well. I will be entirely honest with you now and say that I do not know. I... I used to see him differently." Ori had never been good with people and now he was troubled. He was not the right man to judge others' actions. "Trór respected and loved Balin, and admired him to no end. He knows Balin would never have disrespected the council by ignoring it. But I think... Trór is of a different kind himself. He does not have Balin's patience, nor his..." Ori stopped abruptly. He would not say "wisdom" like he would have wanted. "His thoughtfulness."

"He will do as he himself sees fit and listen to his councellors if they agree with him." Ori paused. He had sworn to respect Trór as his liege and he truly did. "But maybe these are qualities that are required in a leader in these troubled times."

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

While talking to Kénan and the boy, Onli caught Náli's eye. The Dwarf nodded towards Trór. The new Lord of Khazad-dûm was now preparing to set out, obviously. Was this really the best moment to step in?

But Kénan and the kid have already rushed away. Onli's thoughts swirled fast inside his head. Was it now or never? What happens if Trór goes out and gets killed? Onli was in a very advantageous situation right now, being very close to the leader. Also, did Náli speak to Trór about him? Onli did not know if he managed to, but in either case, he seemed to - albeit somewhat doubtfully at first - be willing to give Onli his chance. And what if Trór did not return? Onli would have to go through all of this again by himself with the assumed next leader. On the other hand, if he earned the leader's trust now, it will be easy to keep his place even if something happened to Trór.

He decided. Forgetting about Nîsa completely, he strode forwards around the nobles, nodding at Náli, making a gentle excuse when slipping around a group of five rough-looking Dwarves in heavy armor, and at last coming before Trór. The armored Dwarf looked at him curiously, Onli bowed deeply.

"Hail to you, Trór, Lord of Khazad-dûm," he said. "Let me wish you well and may Mahal's blessings go with you for the task you have been appointed with." He waited for a few heartbeats and then continued.

"Perhaps this is not the best of situations to come to you, but I know that with this noble order, much responsibility lies with you to continue in Balin's footsteps, and that this is a heavy burden to be laid upon a single Dwarf." Once again, he made a short pause, so that Trór has time to understand and consider all his words.

"But as one as loyal to you, Lord Trór, as I was to Balin, and as I was in the service to King Dáin. I wish to offer you my help in governing the daily affairs of this colony, especially now, as the duty calls you to care especially of the grave danger outside our gates."

Trór stared at the younger Dwarf with a callous expression. “And who might you be?” The question was posed as a means to get rid of the Dwarf. Trór found it quite annoying how he was constantly being pestered by inconsequential simpletons. In short the phrase meant, ‘Who are you? Can’t you see I’m busy?’ However, upon pondering the nature of the Dwarf before him, Trór saw a pair of mischievous and knowledgeable eyes, resilient to the fact that their pleas were being disregarded.

The young Dwarf’s speech had been ineffective until now-in the silence. Trór had been casting occasional sidelong glances at the Dwarf during the speech, but now Trór locked the Dwarf in a stare. Occasionally, the eyes would look down, but they always came back to meet Trór’s own firm gaze. He had seen that knowledge and toughness in Kénan.

“You speak as if you were a relative of Náli.” He paused again to examine the Dwarf’s stature: weak in comparison to what he expected. None of Kénan’s muscular traits. “You were loyal to Balin and King Dáin?” The Dwarf nodded vigorously-tongue tied. “And what do you know of the affairs outside our gates? Eavesdropping on the council, have you?” Trór intentionally framed this question as a way to test the Dwarf’s wit and honesty. To add to the intensity of the question, he faced the Dwarf and lowered the spear (which had been grasped so that it stood vertically in his hands) so that it was pointing in the red bearded Dwarf’s general direction. Several snickers could be heard from the warriors behind Trór, amidst the wind and the shouting of the officers.

But Onli did not falter. He already knew whom is he talking to.

"Nay, Lord Trór, I was not eavesdropping," he said, trying to sound humbly, and deciding to play a clever one. "I cannot overlook the way you and your soldiers have been preparing, and I concluded that Balin's foul murder and the sudden council must be related in some way. And I have been talking to noble Náli, who is no cousin of mine, but he was so kind to hear my suggestion. It was indeed partly on his recommendation that I dared to approach you. My name is Onli, and perhaps you have not heard of my service to Balin or Dáin, as such things were of no concern to a warrior like you - they were of little honor. But even here, during the last five years and especially in our beginnings, when we were short of supplies and tools, it was me who took care of many of the bargains with Erebor." That was not full truth, for Onli had no official position in mantaining contact with Dáin's traders, and he sent away more than he brought in, but who was Trór to know that?

Onli spoke cunningly, but Trór was disappointed to hear that Onli did not have the courage to admit that he was in fact spying. He even took Trór’s jest about Náli seriously! This Onli seemed a very stiff fellow, no sense of humor or sarcasm (especially since Trór though his comparison of Náli and Onli was funny).

The council had been secret. Nobody knew of it, save several of the royal bodyguards and they were sworn to secrecy in everything they do. Onli had mentioned that he spoke to Náli; did he bring Onli as well as Kórin? If so why did Onli shirk from attending the council (an obviously wiser choice than Kórin had made)? These questions, and others, flashed in Trór’s head, but he need not ponder them long. Trór’s gut instinct was that Onli had lied, however clever it had been.

Onli’s favorable character, and resilient eyes, soon became detestable. More and more, Trór began to see through Onli as he talked of his trade exploits. Trór was bred for war but he was Balin’s right hand, it was his duty to know of such things. Besides, it did not tak a marketing expert to know that the trade between Erebor and Khazad-dûm had diminished, and in some cases ceased, as expansion in the mines and in the far lost corridors of the city took place. The messenger Gror was the first direct link sent from King Dáin in the five years of separation. If Onli was in charge of trade relations he was doing a poor job.

“An expert in trade are you? Tell me, what good is a merchant to me when duty calls for warriors to defend our city? If what the messenger Gror says is true, then there will be a siege. We will be completely sealed off from everything, and I don’t expect that there will be much of a trade with the Goblins, unless be ill intended blows.“

“As to your spying, I don’t believe Náli would have led you here, no not someone like you. In which case, you have little reason to be here. Balin may have smiled on subjects spying on his councils...” this part was, of course, sarcasm, “but I will not bear it any longer!“ With a wave of his hand two guards came forward and promptly seized Onli. The Dwarf was frightened. What was this? It flashed through his mind how, just a while ago, the new leader sent Trór away - but Onli did not expect to be treated that way.

“My wrath is more easily won than my favor, as you will soon learn. Did you really think I would promote you to a higher level of power based on your word? If you were a truly loyal to Balin you would not have come with attempts to domineer me. I see lust for power in your eyes, and that is dangerous when you say that you merely want to do a service to me, such a Dwarf has no intention of serving. Take him to the dungeons!”

Even more apparent expression of horror appeared in Onli's face, but Trór did not finish his sentence before he felt something pulling and pinching at his. The voice that followed left him dumbfounded.

“Stop, please stop! Hear me out, cousin!” It was Nîsa. Confound the girl, what was she doing?

The guards halted, waiting for Trór to send them on or to stay their task. He motioned for them to return Onli to his original spot; they did, but still maintained their hold on him.

“What is the meaning of this, Nîsa?” The fury in his eyes was enough to cause Nîsa to quake and look down. Nîsa was shaking, but she swallowed and bravely spoke.

“Was the one who brought Onli. He comforted me in my sorrow for Balin, and you came up in the discussion that followed. I told him that I saw you head back here. When I led him to the First Hall we saw Náli and he counciled us to speak to you after the council. I swear that I had no idea about the trouble I was leading him into or I would not have brought him here. Even if you think him a fool, fools can prove their worth and loyalty through little tasks.”

Onli would have been no doubt offended by Nîsa's final words, but for now, he was too frightened to actually mind that. Trór’s expression softened, his face wasn’t draw as tight and wrinkles appeared on his forehead. The guards unhanded Onli and left, after Trór commanded them with the simple look of his eyes.

“Well spoken cousin. You should have spoken of this, Onli. Too much talk can give one the wrong impression. Being truthful requires telling the truth, it has nothing to do with not telling it. I will expect that much of you next time.“

“For the present, you will be under Náli’s charge. I have an absent seat in my council ring; in good time and with equally good service, you may come to fill it.”

Although Trór did not give an outright apology, he did grant Onli his wish of serving his Lord. Náli was an important figure and had advised Onli on how to go about obtaining such a position. It was only fitting that Náli should instruct Onli. This wasn’t the first time that Náli’s mouth had given him and extra task.

Considering what Onli had just been through, most would think Trór’s boon small in comparison. However, Trór considered himself incredibly generous in the matter. He had just granted Onli (a proven liar in Trór’s mind) a position to one of the richest dwarves in the colony (the richest being Ori and Balin) and certainly one of the most influential. The incredible option of nobility was even given, a spectacular opportunity. Trór hoped that his rash action had scared Onli into line. Indeed, Onli could consider himself lucky, Trór would not have granted anything if his temper had not been up. And lucky the Dwarf indeed felt - after he recovered from the first shock, he realised he could have hardly hoped the meeting with Trór going better.

He had no doubt now that Trór is a rash, stupid and potentially dangerous warmonger, just as Onli feared he was. However, he proved to be generous enough and, in Onli's opinion, not clever enough for his own good. The fear of the previous few moments was gone, and Onli, being a cunning Dwarf, was already reflecting on what he could learn from this encounter. Sure, he has to learn to work with this new Lord of Moria. But Onli was quick to learn from his experiences. Trór was potentially dangerous and explosive and he had to be handled with care. It was actually a new challenge for Onli to learn to cope with people like him. Metal-brains, soldiers who spend all their days on the battlefields or making plans and, in his opinion, completely uneducated in the ways of mundane life. But Onli had to work with various people during his life, he was certain that this won't be any difference.

He turned around, noticing Náli standing in the middle of other Dwarves. Being assigned to Náli was also not necessarily as bad, he thought. At least he was not as unpredictable as Trór himself. Just you wait, Onli thought, turning back to Trór, there will come a time when your actions won't be unpredictable to me anymore either.

"Thank you, lord Trór," he said aloud, bowing deep. "I will do my best to prove my faithful service to you." He decided not to continue in longer monologues, Trór seemed not to like that. "And thanks also to you, Nîsa," he turned to the girl. "I shall go and talk to Náli at once." And bowing to the new Lord of Moria once more, he turned to go.

[Groin Redbeard]

Nali

“What is this I hear? Thou art now in my service?” The bold Onli had conveyed the entire conversation between him and Trór. Nali was aghast.

“Then the work of thine own silver tongue has achieved its purpose. There is no time for the swearing of fealties; nevertheless, thou hast made a bargain with Trór and I will hold you to it. Thou mayest consider thineself under my authority.” Nali gave a slight bow, which actually looked like a slow nod, and then turned back to Ori and Loni.

“You speak true, Ori, but there is no time to wonder whether Trór will bear the yoke of Lordship willingly or not. Come, let us speak to him on the matter of his departure.”


Trór & Nîsa
“Have I done the right thing?” Nîsa wondered aloud.

“Time will tell. Nali is a much better dwarf than I when it comes to handling people. Onli will do well to learn from him.” Trór looked over at Nîsa. Her eyes were still transfixed on Onli as he talked with Nali. “That was a brave thing you did, cousin. I would not have expected that from you.”

“We have all changed in these past few hours.” Trór caught her hint. “I knew that you wouldn’t come back, even though you said that you would. Deep down I knew that you had changed. Must you always be so stubborn in your dealings with people. I saw what happened to Kenan and I guessed that you have done the same to poor Kórin. I swear Trór, one day you will go too far for your damage to be reversed. Not everyone can see things through the eye of a warrior. A gentle hand is better than an iron fist when it comes to being a lord.”

Trór’s complexion was calm and attentive, but Nîsa recognized a deep rooted hatred. Balin must still weigh heavily on his mind. She hoped that he would direct his anger at the ones who deserved it; let loose his hatred in battle.

“What would you have me do, cousin?” He was humoring her.

“Look to a higher power. Find something greater than yourself.”

Nîsa curtsied the best she could and Trór gave a stiff bow. He smiled at her formality; Nîsa suppressed a smile of her own-her words were affective.

“I will join you soon,” Trór said, “Go and do your duty, the work will begin soon.”

She quickly turned and scurried back through the First Hall. Trór watched her all the while. Nîsa always possessed the power to suppress his anger, something no one else could do, though never this outright. There was no doubt in his mind that Onli was responsible for her change.

“Our Lord,” Trór turned to see Ori, Nali, Loni, along with Onli, who stayed behind the three, approach him and bow low. “We are all at thy service.”

“What is it you want Nali?”

“It is not what I want, lord, but what all three of us are asking. In the absence of your lordship, who is capable of leading the colony?”

“The people are leaderless,” continued Ori, “It is time that a sense of order is restored.”

They heard the mournful blast of a horn; Frar and his sixty warriors were on the march. Trór calmly fitted his helmet on his head and then adjusted it. Then he paused to watch Frar’s troops decline down the sloping road, he could be seen running at the head of his troops.

“I am going to find my second. Have decent defenses completed when I come back and all able bodied citizens armed and ready to fight when I come back. Especially make sure that the brew maid Kórin’s brother is prepared to fight, I want him in the front lines.”

“But who will lead us?” Nali sounded firm in his question, as if demanding an answer.

“The strongest!”


Nali

They walked briskly over the bridge back to the main hall. They passed many a soldier and questioning citizen on the way back, but they stopped for none. Nali had a lot to think about during the walk. He worried that Trór and Oin would not return and leave the city leaderless with the strongest struggling for control-Trór’s answer was too subjective to change. He wondered about Kórin’s brother and what he meant to Trór, but did it really matter?

The regulars who had been left behind at the gate were all busy with mounting stones and preparing trenches at the bottom of the stairs. Frar and Trór took one hundred warriors and left fifty behind, twenty of which Ori brought with him to help hand out the magnificent armor and weapons of the third deep.

As the four dwarves entered the great hall, one of the warriors blew his horn; no horn was ever blown inside the great hall unless to announce the coming of something important. The echoes repeated again and again, each time becoming quieter. Ori did not stay; he left immediately for the store of weapons. Loni and Nali remained together until the dwarves began to stir. Hundreds of them began to usher forth from their homes and circles of discussion.

“Thou must tell them, brother. I have a pressing matter to attend to.” Nali didn’t bother explaining, duties were racing through his brain too fast to stop and pause.

Nali scanned the faces of the crowd, but he was certain that he would not find his friend in midst of all these people. He was about to search for her at The Chamber of Mazarbul when he spotted her alone near the ale kegs, leaning against one of the gigantic pillars of the hall.

“Onli, find me Kór the brother of Kórin. Bring him to me.” Onli silently departed.

“Vigdis,” his manner was stern and proud, assuming the air of a noble. Vigdis bowed and opened her mouth to speak but Nali stopped her. “We do not have time for pleasantries, friend, I must speak bluntly for now. War is drawing nigh to the foot of the mountains, even now our new lord is searching for the Goblins, but that is of no concern to thee. As a new Lord rises to power the old must be lain to rest; unfortunately, no arrangements have been made for Balin to be buried. Willst thou be willing to build his tomb?”

[Durelin]

The difficulty Kórin had of finding Kór did not help her rage one bit. She asked nearly every dwarf she ran into if they had seen her brother, and she was of course lucky if she even got a civil answer, with how she barked at them, demanding an answer. Finally she was directed towards the kitchens, perhaps just to be rid of her.

She found him, though, to her surprise drinking rum with a couple of dwarf-women. They of course heard her heavy footsteps as she entered, and looked toward her.

“Excuse me,” she muttered half-heartedly. “Kór, we need to talk.”

He excused himself considerably more politely than Kórin had, placing his glass down, and followed her out of the kitchens.

“I’m guessing the council did not go well?” Kór asked with only slight hesitation, not hiding the mirth in his voice.

“No,” she snapped. She sat down on a nearby bench and Kór joined her. “We have a pompous, arrogant, blood-thirsty fool who will lead us all to our deaths. I have no idea what Balin saw in him.”

“Who?” Kór asked.

“Trór.”

“I am not very familiar with him,” Kór said slowly.

“Neither was I.”

Kórin’s voice had lost much of its fervor. The siblings were quiet for several moments, as her intense anger gave way to a sad and quiet bitterness. Kór knew her anger could flare up again at any moment, that it was not gone, but he was not afraid of it. He was about to ask her to simply tell him what happened when she spoke again.

“It’s all my fault,” she murmured.

“I doubt that,” Kór began.

Kórin ignored her brother. The words came out in a flood, her anger quickly rekindling as she spoke. “Trór has threatened to place you in the vanguard of the army he’s foolishly taking out against the orcs. And I have no doubt he goes through with his threats. He is that kind of dwarf. And it’s all my fault. He’s doing it out of spite for me. He’s playing with your life in order to spite me. Does that sound like a dwarf fit to lead? He will lead us all to our deaths.”

Kór swallowed. He had not expected that he would somehow be involved. And it seemed Kórin forgot that this was the first he was hearing of any armies.

“I guess he did it because I’m a woman. He can’t punish me, but must punish a man close to me. That is how men like him think.”

“Kórin?” Kór broke in quickly before his sister could continue. “So there will be a battle?” he asked as she went silent and turned her eyes back up from the floor to look at him.

“Yes. There’s a large army of orcs headed up the Silverlode,” she began, starting out calmly again. “Apparently a scouting party was responsible for killing Lord Balin. Trór is apparently taking a number of dwarves from the regular army – or perhaps the entire army, as he is insane enough – he’s going out to meet them. Apparently he’s leaving defensive preparations to everyone else. But you’re not going out with him. He’ll do his best to force you, but his command has no real power. Besides, he has to find you…”

Kórin trailed off as Kór shook his head. “It’s alright. If he really wants me there,” he began, attempting to jest.

“No,” his sister interrupted. “He’s going to get all of his men killed. If they are fools enough to follow him…”

“Well, if they are defeated everyone left behind will hardly be in a good position.”

“We will have the strength of Khazad-dûm.”

Kór sighed. “If I must, I must. It makes no difference when and where I fight. I expect we all will have to.” Kórin shook her head angrily and began to speak but her brother quickly continued. “How did you manage to anger him, anyway?”

“Just insulted his lofty pride,” Kórin snorted. “All it takes.”

“Uh huh…” Kór said, but did not ask any further questions.

[Gwathagor]

The soldiers were indeed ready, sixty of the fiercest, finest warriors in Khazad-dum. They stood shoulder to shoulder like grim chiseled stones, three ranks deep, awaiting Frar's command. Not one of them moved a muscle, but the tension was nearly palpable. They all felt it - the excitement, the pre-battle thrill. Even the most hardened veterans there, who had known that sensation countless times before and lived to remember it, felt it again, as they always would before a fight. Frar surveyed them, weighing their strength and their morale with a practiced eye. He strode down the ranks, turned, and strode back. He paused and tapped his foot - and then nodded slowly, his jaw set. He spoke to the lieutenant.

"Send for my axe."

The glowing embers of their excitement were kindled into a flame. This is what the dwarves wanted to hear. Most of them had fought under Frar before, and these muttered quietly to each other, some nudging, some grinning solemn grins. "Gamil Naragatholbund" they called him: "Old Citadel," and the other soldiers could see what they meant. Frar towered above all but the tallest of them like a black boulder, a titan of basaltic muscle and sinew bound in iron. "But have you seen his weapon?" they said. The newcomers had not, but they heard the name "Buzunimbar" passing between the ranks, and they wondered at it.

"First two ranks, step forward."

They did so as one man.

"You will be under my command. Third rank, the Lord Tror will lead you. We have very little time and we cannot wait for our skilled masons to be summoned. When we reach the site, we will throw up simple defenses - enough to break the goblin-army's advance. Then we can take them man-to-man."

Two smiths ran up, breathless. "Your - axe - sir," one gasped, and it was no wonder he was out of breath, for the weapon the two of them bore between them was tremendous. It was nearly as tall as an ordinary dwarf: long of handle, heavy of blade, and forged entirely of a dull black metal, of which, in the torchlight, only the very edges of the blades gleamed all along their twice-curved lengths. Buzunimbar it was, Black-Horn, the only axe Frar had ever borne in his long life, and it was as dark and scarred as he was; but its edge was still keen, and it had been newly sharpened. Most of the dwarves knew that axe and what it had done and could do. The others could well imagine, now that they saw its for themselves, why orc-chieftains told stories to their youngest fighters about the Grim Claw, the bane of their northern kin. It was a thing of fearsome use and terrible beauty.

Frar gave his thanks with an inclination of his head and took the enormous thing from the hands of the relieved smiths as though it were no lighter than a wooden board and yet also as if it meant as much to him as life itself. The smiths edged away and disappeared down a corridor. Frar felt the weight in his hands and lifted the horrible axe with one hand, raising it above his head.

"Gundi!" he thundered. "My hewers! Follow me!"

The electrified dwarves roared back their approval with a shout. "Buzunimbar! Buzunimbar for Tror and Khazad-dum!" they cried, and then fell silent. The soldiers all turned a sharp ninety degrees, and then the first rank began to march as a single-file line, for, even as they cheered him on, Frar had already turned his back and strode out of the hall towards the East Gate.

Outside, the last light of Durin's Day was failing as dusk crept up out of the east into the Dale - and with it, the goblin horde.

[Groin Redbeard]

The night was darker than the inside of a coal mine. No moon or stars guarded the warrior’s footfalls; yet, not one stumbled for Dwarves have sharp eyes, accustomed to the darkness of their mountain halls. However even for Dwarves, it was some time before they could descend down the steep path of the Dimrill Stair with ease.

The warriors soon were led off the old road and onto uneven ground, passing by the pillars and ridges of rock like specters. The steady clanking armor and thumping of boots guided Trór as he brought his warriors behind Frar’s lightly armed soldiers. He could see their dark silhouettes zig-zagging behind boulders and down in crevices, disappearing and then reappearing where he least expected them to emerge. The confusing manner of Frar’s movement kept Trór focused on narrowing the gap between their two bands but Frar kept his distance.

The wind was blowing hard, stinging his eyes. Trór had thought that it would rain tonight, but instead of rain it began to snow. He should have recognized it, the clouds were high and puffy when he last saw them; the snow would have to prompt them to move faster than rain would have. If the snow persisted in coming down harder it might slow the warriors down and cause the goblins to catch them, it might confuse them on their way back to the gates, or worse, separate Frar from Trór. This was a disaster in the making.

Trór squinted and put his hand up to shield his eyes from the snow, he had lost sight of the last line of Frar’s column. He continued to lead his Dwarves for a few paces and then stopped, frantically swinging his head in every direction. Presently he heard what he hoped for, the clanking of armor, Trór’s eyes were not sharp but his hearing was far better. With a wave of his hand they started moving again, one of the officers, Bain, a sharp eyed Dwarf, accompanied Trór in the lead.

“Faster,” came a hiss from Trór. Bain looked at him, confused if he had heard him or not.

“We must go faster!” Trór said with one breath, and with a considerable amount of annoyance at not being heard the first time. The warriors quickened their step and Trór could soon make out the swaying silhouettes of Frar’s warriors again. His column was soon brought behind Frar’s at a comfortable distance. Trór left Bain to lead the warriors and left to find Frar.

Frar was found at the head of the troops, leading the entire expedition. He was incredibly large and not too light footed, this gave Trór no difficulty in overtaking his attention.

“I don’t like all this wind and snow.” A surge of icy wind met his words. Trór stopped running and Frar dutifully stopped as well, the wind howled and whistled about them.

“I am beginning to doubt if we could find Oin in this awful mess. I doubt if splitting up will be a prudent choice now and I don't know if we should go much farther if we can't see what lies in front of our noses. We've been running for sometime now and are well beyond the Eastern Gates,” Trór turned back to see if he could see the peaks of Barazinbar, Bundushathur, or Zirak-zigil but none were there to be seen.

"This all has a foul mood to it. Azanulbizar has clouded our vision! Though this might be a blessing after all, it has clouded the Orcs' vision as well, though I doubt it will affect their sharp sense of smell and hearing."

Trór was beginning to lose hope, he could not clearly see much farther than a hundred paces. Chances of finding Oin in these conditions were bleak indeed. Despite the conditions, however, it pained Trór to think about abandoning the search and leaving his friend in such a hopeless predicament. He ceased searching the rocky plain for a sign and turned to Frar. Hopefully his subordinate would shed some helpful insight on the matter.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Óin

At that very moment, in the falling darkness of night, Óin was stumbling back to the gates of Moria. He emerged amidst the rocks, from his own hidden path, unknown to anybody else. It was dark and a bit hazy, Óin could not see very well in the gloom, yet he was afraid to light a lantern for himself because he was not sure how much far the goblins' advance parties might have reached and he did not want to be spotted. Thus, he hurried, half-blindly, up the hill, towards the ancient eastern gate of Khazad-Dûm.

The journey was not an easy one. But stumbling in the shadows, wrapped tight in his cloak to protect himself from the wind that came from the mountains, old Óin reached at last the walls of Moria.

"Stop right there!" a shout came from the darkness. "Who are you?"

Guards, Óin immediately figured out. He reached for his tinder box to light his lantern so that they could see him, but his face changed in surprise when he realised that there is nothing where his belt pouch should be.

"I must have dropped it when climbing down that hill," Óin muttered. "And just that was my old tinder box which I did not manage to lose since the Dale was founded! Óin, you silly -"

"Hey, you heard me?" said the voice from the darkness. "Who are you! Speak, or -"

Óin cleared his throat. "Óin son of Gróin," he shouted. Something like delighted cries came in return and suddenly, bright light blinded him. "It is him!" a young voice cried, and suddenly he was in the middle of a group of happy guards who were leading him into the gates. The heavy door closed behind them.

"Lead me to Balin," Óin said in an important tone. "I need to -" then he noticed the looks the guards exchanged with each other.
"What is that?" he asked. "What is wrong?"

But at the moment he spoke it he already knew. Suddenly, the breath he took turned into a sort of stridor and the old Dwarf leaned his back against the wall. He closed his eyes.

"Go and fetch somebody," Óin muttered, surprised how old suddenly his own voice sounded. "I have important news for the colony."

When the young guard run away, Óin shook his head and put his hand on his heart.

"Óin, my good lad," he whispered softly. "Looks like you have already lost another friend."

* * *

Lóni

Being left by his brother and appointed with the task of conveying Trór's orders to the colony, Lóni strode towards a close stone block making a support for a column and climbed on it so that everybody can see him clearly. Not being overly fond of being in the position of a commander or an announcer, but knowing what his duty was, he cleared his throat to speak. Sleeking his golden beard, he was also reminded to his slight displeasure that he still did not have time to properly polish his armor after the battle with the Orcs. But now he had to speak. All eyes were fixed on him.

"Folk of Khazad-Dûm, hear me," he started, being careful to pronounce clearly and accurately. Everybody was attentive.
"It was but a few hours ago when our Lord Balin died, slain by the foul Orcs. Like in the ages of our fathers, these creatures have violated the ancient Dimrill Dale." Lóni knew that with the simple folk, it makes little sense to go into details, his main concern was to give them a basic outlining of what was going on but at the same moment to support their morale. "Your Lord had already set out at the head of our soldiers to push the beasts back, but there is a need for everybody's hands." There was a silence for a few heartbeats, Lóni silently counted up to three and then roused his voice to full strength.

"By the word of the Lord of Moria," Lóni was careful not to speak the name; from his experience on the Council he learned that it may not be too good to emphasise too much the fact that it is no longer Balin, but Trór who is the leader. "Each and every single one who is capable to wield a weapon shall assemble and report to the armory. Each and every single one who can fight shall be prepared ere our Lord returns. The enemy shall not take the Gates of Moria, and everyone of you will contribute to that in your post. Now, everybody act as is your due."

Lóni rubbed his left eye. The time of decision was getting near.

* * *

Onli and Vriti

After a short stay with Nîsa around the incident by the Gates, Vriti left the nervosity-soaked area and headed on one of her lonely trips to lower levels. Now she was scurrying through one of the dark corridors deep below the lit hall where Lóni was giving his speech. These corridors were always lonely and the faintest smell of Dwarves did not even come as far as here. Vriti could freely run here and play around with the large beetles who were running around and across the uneven floor. She always jumped, putting her paw in one beetle's way and then she again raised it, leaving the critter utterly confused for a while. She was always capable to spend several hours with this game, very often while her master was wandering through the upper corridors and looking for her.

This time it was not so, however. Little did Vriti know that her master had been busy, very busy with the new job he had been appointed with. Little did she know about his encounter with Kór, where Onli approached the Dwarf just when he finished talking to his sister, and stepping in carefully, but firmly, supported by his newly gained authority, he asked Kór to come with him to Náli. Vriti did not even know about her master's, nor about Kór and his sister's feelings at that moment.

But however Vriti was just a small Eastern mountain ferret, even she could sense the unrest in the colony. She remembered the change she observed in the last few hours. The Dwarves were odd, confused, some seeming a bit detached and not as friendly to her as usually. Sometimes nobody even noticed her. There was a general atmosphere of fear, and strange smells coming in from the outside with the night-breeze, as well as some strange and unexplainable feeling creeping down the whole colony.

Even now, when she was many levels below the twenty-first hall, Vriti could feel some weird tension, her senses were warning her now and then in almost an irrational way. Once or twice when chasing the big beetles, she stopped, her hair standing on end and that was when she sniffed and stood for a while, attentive, as if this tension was something she could catch with her senses. And then it disappeared again and she went on, chasing the beetles in the unevenly hewn low corridors, and just a vague feeling remained somewhere in the back of her tiny head, a warning to her little fuzzy self.

At once during her play she came to the edge of a great hall, where the cavern's roof was running up into unsuspected heights and disappearing in utter blackness. All that Vriti could rely on was her sense of smell and touch and a vague feeling of large space around her. There was a way leading to the elden way upstairs, back to the lit caverns and corridors of the Third Deep, and Vriti had traversed these caverns and corridors leading towards it before, but this time she could feel something was different. She stopped at the edge of the hall, knowing that about twelve leaps in front of her there is a large column supporting the ceiling of this large room, and beyond it, there lies an archway pointing her way towards the stairs to Third Deep. The ferret sniffed in the stifling air of the cavern and headed towards it, avoiding the column by close proximity. Now in front of her there lay the archway, sensible only by the vague feeling of form and slight movements of the air. Vriti's whiskers trembled and she stopped, sensing the archway and the corridor beyond it being just three or four leaps away.

The archway was there. Vriti gazed into the darkness on its other side.

And the darkness gazed back.

[Thinlómien]

After Kór had left, Adela had excused herself quickly as well and Vigdis had been left alone. Being alone was what she both needed and dreaded tonight. She felt weak, drained and despite all the lights around her, the world seemed dark. She leaned herself against a huge pillar and closed her eyes for a while. It did not help, not at all, for all she could see was Balin's pale face still and stern in the candlelight.

"Vigdis."

That was a voice used to command and a voice she knew. Náli was a venerable Dwarf, and one of those few whose good opinion she valued so much that she would rather not be found in such state. Mahal forbid, he probably thought she was drunk. She bowed, thinking she needed to explain herself...

"We do not have time for pleasantries, friend, I must speak bluntly for now. War is drawing nigh to the foot of the mountains, even now our new lord is searching for the Goblins, but that is of no concern to thee. As a new Lord rises to power the old must be lain to rest; unfortunately, no arrangements have been made for Balin to be buried. Willst thou be willing to build his tomb?"

That was a lot of information to absorb, but Vigdis had learned to concentrate on the essential and know her place. But suddenly, she could not find words. She bowed again. She could feel tears coming to her eyes, but she would not cry, not here, not now. She forced herself to talk. "You give me a great honour. I will take it as my duty and I swear he shall have a tomb worth the legend he will become."

Náli nodded. "That is well then. I trust thee in this matter. But now, time runs and other urgent matters are pressing. I shall come to thee in regards of this matter later."

Vigdis bowed once again, and Náli nodded and hurried away. Vigdis's eyes followed the man until he disappeared from sight. She wondered why he had asked her in particular. She prided herself in being one of the best masons in Khazad-dûm and her skills were no secret, but something in Náli's manner made her suspect there was more. Had the old dwarf's keen eyes seen more than they had revealed, or had Balin betrayed her feelings to his closest friends?

She did not know, and after a while she decided she did not care. It was not essential now. What she needed now was half a glass of rum, half an hour of sleep and a whole night of work.

[Groin Redbeard]

It was thus at the twenty second hour that Ori returned at the head of fifteen stout Dwarf warriors burdened with litters overflowing with the magnificence of Khazad-dûm. The array of armor and weapons of which Oin had discovered in the Third Deep was brought forth from into the hall and distributed. O, to see the array of craft that would ascend the brightest heaven of invention!

Old weapons, wielded by the Dwarves five years ago with their Lord, Balin, were forgotten for this new weaponry was crafted back when the renowned forges of the Dwarves was at their height. The weapons of the gifted smith, Narvi, and craftsmen, Doric, were here. The axes were rimmed with jewels and helms were crafted of silver. Leggings, much like the kind of the Iron Hills, were fitted to their legs, but these were of a lighter substance and no arrow or soft thrusting sword could penetrate the small links of chains. The most skilled of the smiths marveled at the metal breast plates bearing the emblems of Durin the Deathless, for they were of the most intricate detail.

However, no matter how delighted the Dwarves were at the sight of such wonders, they were still grim of heart. They did not forget the slaying of the Lord Balin and the encroachment of the Orcs upon their borders. Jealously would they defend their homes against the invader!

Little did they know, however, of Lord Trór’s predicament. For it was Trór and Frar who, unbeknownst to them, had passed Oin in the blinding snow and thus failed in their first reason for leaving the shelter of the mountains. Their path had been dangerously treacherous so far, but now a new enemy crouched for employment: Orcs were close at hand. Their keen sense of smell had tracked the scout Oin to the fords of Kheled Zaram, where they lost him in freshly falling snow.

The historical records are unclear as to what happened next, but it is of my opinion that the Orcs, frustrated and possibly scared of the consequences of failing, pushed onward until unhappy fate put them onto the larger scent of Trór and his warriors.

Thus with rough and all unable quill, I, Drók, shall recant how the warlike Trór, with his friends, assume the greatest struggle of the time. Can these pages hold the vast dale of Azulbizar; or, could you cram within these leather bindings the very armies that did ascend to the fight at Khazad-dûm? But I must ask for your pardon. Instead let us bring to this great account your imaginary forces; for it is you who must now deck the characters of history, turning the accomplishments of many years into an hour glass. Permit me to call us to this history. Your humble patience I pray and may it please you, gentle reader, to hear of the great stirring of the Dwarves and of the Second Battle of Azulbizar.

[Durelin]

“Folk of Khazad-Dûm, hear me!”

For the second time that day, the Twenty-first Hall fell silent. Kór and Kórin had sat in silence themselves for several minutes, and though neither made any outward sign of interest, they both listened closely as the announcement was made and orders were given. The speech was quite brief, and Kórin gave a bitter sigh. Of course they would keep as much information to themselves as possible, including the new lord of Khazad-dûm! Apparently they expected everyone to fight under unknown leadership.

Why didn’t Trór give the orders himself? she wondered. He would have enjoyed more opportunity for that. It dawned on her that his party should have left before now. Kórin tried to remember Trór’s precise words…the “vanguard of the army”. Leaning forward, she covered her hands with her face.

She heard someone approaching, but did not move. It was a dwarf who had come to summon Kór. She felt her anger rise even more when she heard Kór stand up without any hesitation. Then she rose from her seat, as well. They had requested all who could fight, and she was certainly “capable”.

Kór looked at his sister, knowing exactly what she had in mind. He started to say something, but did not, and simply shook his head – somewhat in sadness, but mostly as a simple gesture. It meant, “you don’t have to do this, Kórin”, but he had no doubt she knew that. He knew she felt responsible, but he also knew that she would always be there, regardless of any guilt.

[Groin Redbeard]

Nîsa had already heard the news from the lips of the council, so the shock was not as drastic with her. However, when Lóni finished speaking she found herself shaking. The danger was real and consequences were equally as frightening—even with a victory it would be bought at a high price. Nîsa had never before been present in a battle, save five years ago at the great purification of Khazad-dum, but she did not see much of wars horrors for the women were not brought into the city until it was cleared of any stain of battle. Now she would have to play a more important role of tending the wounded and preparing food for the soldiers, knowing at anytime the defenders could be overrun and her life taken.

The crowd began to stir at the coming of Ori and the armory. The Dwarves began to take heart, for they were leaderless and the thought of Ori being a worthy successor was in the forefront of every Dwarf’s mind—he would be their leader for a time.

Now that there was a soaring of morale the males, with grim farewells to the few Dwarf women, surged forward to choose their armor and weapons. Nîsa felt like weeping at the sight of so many of her friends willingly stepping forward to what very well might be their doom. She saw Bain, the smith, handling a handsomely crafted axe and rushed to him.

“I wish this day would not have come.” Nîsa flung herself on Bain and hugged him. “Why must peaceful days always end? Take care of yourself Bain; find a good warrior to stand by.”

It had occurred to Nîsa that flinging herself uncontrollably on Bain would certainly wound his pride as a fighter, but she did not want him to leave without knowing that she cared for him. He was a burly, strong Dwarf and could no doubt handle himself. She released her tight hold on him stepped back. Her gaze was downcast.

“I am sorry if I have wounded your pride, but so many of my friends will doubtlessly die today, and if not today tomorrow. Please don’t be one of them, take care of yourself!”

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Kór followed Onli's summon immediately, but the freshly appointed deputy of Náli stopped when he noticed his sister raising as well. He hesitated. It was not his post to care whether somebody follows them or not, however, Onli had witnessed part of what happened at the council and he was not feeling very sure as to whether it is wise to bring Kórin back with him. Onli was very careful. This was his first task in his new post, and already the risk arose - or that was at least one possibility in his mind - that he might displease his superiors by bringing this woman along, or, by not preventing her from following.

However, he was not so keen on starting an argument with Kórin either. He wanted to bring Kór to Náli as soon as possible to please his superiors. Well, he could always stop her later if she followed him and he was ordered to deal with her. Onli could not prevent himself from smirking, but he put on a stern face again immediately. It just crossed his mind that perhaps if he were ordered to deal with Kórin, it might again help him prove his abilities.

"Follow me, Kór," he said aloud; and turning around, he made his way to where Náli was awaiting them.

[Dimturiel]

The Dwarves were ready to set out to battle. Bain was with them, his axe held tight in his hand. Vaguely he was wondering how his entire world could turn upside down so suddenly, and he berrated himself for not thinking at least once in those five long years since he had lived in Khazad-dum that such days might come. He should have been expecting this. In spite of the fact that he considered himself a decent fighter, he felt unprepared.

Suddenly, he spotted Nisa, but before he could think of what he should say to her, she had flung herself on him, begging him to take care of himself. Then she abruptly let go of him again, apologizing for her behaviour. But Bain was far from being angered by it. Indeed, he was actually warmed by the hug, and he thought he could see clearly now what this battle was about, and realized that he had reasons enough to fight and win, and return afterwards. He smiled at Nisa.

“Do not you go on thinking about death and the ending of days of peace, my Nisa,” he told her. “Have hope and wait for my return. I must go now, but do not worry: I will come back to you sooner than you think and then we shall have peace and good days and life once more.”

[Thinlómien]

Trór had asked him if he wanted to go and look for Óin and he had chosen to stay. Like he had told Trór, he'd be of no specific importance there but he could be of use with erecting the defenses. And what he had not told Trór was that he was getting old and he did not want to get wearied before the fight. Besides, he was not as worried of his old friend as Trór seemingly was, he knew Óin was clever as a fox and able to cope with any difficulty. He was more worried of how Óin would take the news of Balin's death.

"The most efficent would be to pile those stones here as a wall. I'm only troubled we don't have the time." Brambor's deep voice brought Ori back to the present. The old lieutenant was a veteran in building defenses and thus appointed to take care of the task. He was quick-witted and steady as a rock, exactly the right man to do the job. Ori was there merely to advise him if needed and to represent Trór's rule. He was mostly sheepishly nodding to the old veteran's points, but now he actually opened his mouth to speak.

"I suggest building it from there to there instead," he said, "it will protect the city almost as well and will need far less work."

Brambor surveyed the surroundings carefully and nodded then, seemingly pleased. "That will do," he said. "Svetr! Bratr! take your men and start heaving those stones!" Immediately, a few dozen Dwarves started moving the stones.

"I'm glad there is such strong will to protect our city," Brambor said in a soft voice. Ori nodded. There was not much else to say.

For a while they watched the Dwarves working, then Ori turned to the veteran again. “I do not think I’m needed here anymore. I will seek out Lóni or Náli and see how they are progressing.” Brambor nodded. “Good. I will send you a runner if there’s something you should know.” Ori nodded and with a slight bow, turned and left.

He walked towards the gates. There was a familiar figure leaning against the wall, barely visible in the shadows. Upon hearing Ori’s footsteps, it lifted its head. In the dim evening light, the blue eyes reflected the same grief that Ori knew was in his own eyes.

[Groin Redbeard]

They continued on. The wind was blowing harder and the snow swirled in masses before their eyes. The warriors were spread out in a long line to survey the ground for evidence of Orcs or Óin. Trór marched alongside Frar.

The march was slow and unsure, the warriors hesitant to go any farther in the blinding storm. Trór and Frar knew that they were at a disadvantage: they were blind in the storm the Orcs could smell. However, for a time this threat was ignored—Óin had to be found.

A shout was presently heard from down the line and a halt was ordered. A Dwarf ran to Trór holding something close to his chest; Frar stepped forward and the Dwarf handed the object to him. Frar gave a harsh whisper and bent his head to examine the object while the Dwarf responded.

“What’s the matter Frar?”

Frar turned and hesitantly held out the mysterious object. Trór’s eyes widened in disbelief; he dropped his spear and quickly snatched a box from Frar. It was Óin's tinderbox; Trór held it tightly breathing hard in disbelief.

“Where was this found?”

“It was stuck in some mud not far back, my lord,” the soldier responded. “There were Orc footprints are all around it.”

“Any sign of Óin?”

“None my lord.”

Trór was silent at the response. The box filled his entire gaze, remembering how closely Óin held on to it. It was at this moment that Trór despaired of the search and bent his head while the tears flowed down his cheeks. Óin was dead, and what was worse, his noble body was being defiled by the Orcs. I have lost my king and my councilor; must I lose my friend as well? What an unhappy fate is mine! And in a great voice, he raised his head and cried his friend’s name. Silence followed his cry as he looked around uneasily to see if it would be answered.

“My lord,” it was Gror: the messenger from King Dain. Trór had forgotten that Gror was charged to his service, and that meant following his lord wherever he went. Trór gave a half turn as Gror came forward. He stopped.

“My lord, Oin is capable of taking care of himself in these situations. His valor is well known in Erebor and I’m sure he can get himself out of this Dale without our help. We are wasting precious time; you should be leading your warriors in the city. Nothing can be availed by searching for Oin blindly out here; he may very well be waiting for your lordship upon our return.” Gror had spoken more boldly than was usual, but he was in a grave circumstance and Trór needed to see that.

“No Gror, Óin is not waiting for us: he is dead. Óin would never leave his tinderbox like so—he must be…” A loud cry was heard close by and Trór turned to see one of his warriors fall with a large dart in his neck.

“Orcs!” Officers immediately began to bring the long line of warriors in a compact group. Their lines were now two rows deep and curved to meet attacks on three sides. Shields were easily un-slung from their backs and against them the Orcs’ arrows could not penetrate. Masses of arrows and small spears were hurled against the Dwarves, but against the hard steel of their hauberks and shields the arrows had little effect. Great Uruks could be seen in the swirling snow, some with bent bows but mostly wielding great scimitars. As the arrows came in less frequent volleys the Uruks could be seen advancing; soon the arrows stopped and loud shrieks erupted from the Orcs. Trór could not discern their numbers, but it was a band the size of his own at least. The Orcs sprang forward without order, each of them screaming in their dreadful language. The Dwarves gave a tremendous yell and swung their Mattocks’ as the Orcs hit their lines.

It was no more than a skirmish but it was a desperate struggle. One side motivated by conquest and treasure and the other side motivated by the defense of their home and for their fallen lord, Balin. Many of Trór’s warriors broke rank and swung their weapons with good effect deep within the swarm of Orcs. Trór stabbed swiftly with his spear as the Orcs came at him, his strong arm thrusting his spear through shield and armor.

The Goblins had seen the raven on Trór's helm and they strode with long weapons to pierce him. If not for the heroic protection from Gror, Trór's prowess in battle would have been in vain, for the darts rained most thickly about him. A hobgoblin grabbed Trór's spear and yanked it from his grasp. It was then that Trór threw off his shield and wielded his axe. With Gror close by his side, Trór broke rank, and with a swelling yell, was followed by his warriors and so great was their indignation that many piles of Orcs lay about them.

Throwing himself against shields Trór bore down his enemies and cut the taller Orcs at the knees. Trór's axe swung swiftly, hacking with as much ferocity as he could muster (the extent of which drove him blindly mad). He had tried to catch a glimpse of Frar, but was constantly distracted by the onslaught of Orcs. Trór could only pray to Durin that Frar and his warriors was not in trouble.

~~~~~~~~~~

Nali

“Poor Vigdis.” Nali muttered to himself.

There was a sadness in her eyes that matched those of Balin’s closest friends. Vidgis had done fine work with the new passages and with restoring those pillars of beauty which the Orcs sundered in their long stay. Balin had never spoken of her to him personally and Nali would never assume of anything betwixt the two, but Vigdis had spoken of Balin to him several times in their conversations. Perhaps she could not help it, perhaps she needed to confide in someone, perhaps she did not realize what she was saying at the time, but Nali knew that Vigdis was fond of her lord. He wondered if she would be just as fond of her new lord. Nevertheless, she will make a splendid burial tomb, the kind that dedication and love can create when combined.

“My lord!” Onli was not standing far away, and true to his task, had brought Kór.

“Good, a small task for thee, yet executed well enough. In-fact, thou hast exceeded my instructions.” Nali cast a sour glance at Kórin. He sighed heavily. “I believe I summoned for thy brother’s service, not thee personally. I have given thee a chance with Lord Trór but if thou art looking for more trouble or a boon I am afraid that I shall be of little assistance in granting either.”

Nali paused. His hand was raised to dismiss her, but the motion never came. Tread carefully, old dwarf. No need to cause a scene over nothing. Best hear her out first, no harm in that. His eyes softened, no longer having that concentrated piercing look. He stroked his chin several times before abruptly asking:

“Why hast thou come? Thy brother is the only dwarf I hath need of for the present.”

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

A soft sound of footsteps roused Óin from his silent thoughts. He did not know how long had he been standing there in the corridor. He looked up and his eyes met Ori's. They were just standing for a while, then the younger Dwarf slowly paced towards the weary scout, and about a feet from him, he stopped. They still looked into each other's eyes. There was silence, until Óin spoke:
"How?"

"An Orc. We killed it," Ori replied. Óin nodded, but they both knew that whatever number of Orcs they could kill, it is not going to bring Balin back. There was once again silence and Ori gazed into the darkness towards the gate. Suddenly, he spoke again, more softly now.

"The last thing he saw were the depths of Kheled-zâram."

Óin sighed, but bowed his head; it seemed as if some weight fell off of his shoulders. There was a long silence again, when both the old Dwarves were lost in their memories.

Then suddenly Óin remembered. "Fool!" he muttered to himself. He turned and grasped his friend's arm.

"Ori," he said. "I have seen the Orcs. They are coming. A huge army. Who is the leader now? I have to tell them."

"Trór. But there's also something you should know - he was worried, and he took some men and went looking for you. They should be sent a message that you've returned safely."

Óin's face turned pale. In his mind, he envisioned the host of Orcs marching through the falling darkness and snow, and Trór and his company walking right into their arms. But he immediately dismissed it. He only found a bit uncomfortable - no, not really uncomfortable, just strangely unusual - the idea that Trór with his troops were searching in the darkness and snowstorm only for him.

"I believe in Trór," he said comfortingly, partially to himself. "He will return. But who is his deputy now, then?"

Ori furrowed his brow. "Trór didn't name anyone," he said slowly, his voice betraying no emotion or opinion. "We had better seek out Lóni and Náli at least, they have been arranging things here."

Óin fingered through his white beard. He lifted his back from the wall.

"Let us go and find them, then."

[Durelin]

Kórin had never been angrier than she had been today, and it was starting to seem like every dwarf who thought himself important was doing his best to belittle her. She should not have been the least bit surprised at Nali’s treatment of her arrival alongside her brother, but part of her had believed that he would not turn away any dwarf in this time of need. Foolishly.

“I have given thee a chance with Lord Trór but if thou art looking for more trouble or a boon I am afraid that I shall be of little assistance in granting either…”

His words were like salt on a wound, only Kórin did not feel hurt so much as slighted and demeaned. He had so nobly given her a “chance” to what? Gain Trór’s favor? Be a good dwarf? And of course he expected her now to either act out of spite like a child or beg for his help.

“I am not looking for anything, sir,” Kórin began, trying reasonably to keep her voice calm but putting little respect behind the title she addressed Nali with. “I am here as another axe. I am sure even Lord Trór will not be so upset about receiving two soldiers when he only demanded one.”

Of course, he had never referred to anyone as a soldier or a warrior, he had only spoken of cowardice. Showing what he truly thinks about the people he now leads, she thought darkly.

Once again she ignored Kór’s gaze, though her brother only looked at her curiously. He knew quite well that Kórin had given him but a small piece of her encounter with Trór. She had always had a temper, but he had rarely seen her this angry, and she had never held onto it like this. He would easily admit that Nali’s initial words were rude, but he could see that they had affected Kórin a great deal. And she was not one to let words hurt her.

As surprising was that she managed to hold her tongue quite well, though she certainly seemed angry enough to throw all thought and caution to the wind.

[Thinlómien]

She did not return to the kitchens. Vyra would not be there, nor would Adela, the kitchen girl she had just met. There would be just some people she did not know, and she did not feel like talking to strangers now. She decided to head home.

She walked the corridors to the craftsmen's quarters. She took a turn left, walked for a while and stopped. Slowly, she picked the heavy key from her belt and opened the door, then stepped in and closed the door behind her.

Her apartment was more like a room than a house. There was nothing unnecessary there. A small, neatly made bed. Two chests, one for her most prized tools and her weapons, one for clothes and other personal belongings. A chair and a table with a bright oil lamp, a short piece of candle and a tinderbox on it. A small fireplace and a cupboard with very limited household equipment. She hardly ever made her own food, it was not something she liked doing or was good at, like most of the other craftsmen, she ate at the public kitchens.

Even in the pitch dark she knew her way to the table and managed to light the lamp. Then she walked to the cupboard and took the bottle of rum and a small wooden mug she had had since being very small. She smiled at the silly carvings on the mug and poured just enough rum to cover its bottom. She put the bottle back to the cupboard and went to sit on her chair. The bright, almost cold light of the lamp started to bother her. She took the tinderbox and lighted the candle, then put off the lamp. Normally, she only used the candle if she had run out of lamp oil, but now she preferred the weak, warm glow to the heartlessly efficient lamp light.

But of course, candlelight brought back memories. The still, solemn features in the candlelight, the hint of a smile playing on his face. The yellow glow on the white beard, the kingly rigidness, all draped in red, his colour. That image would haunt her forever, she knew. She drank her rum in one gulp. It was better to go to sleep now. She took the glass back to the cupboard and returned to put out the candle.

Then, another memory. The same candlelight, this time in a small room with a wooden roof. The glow playing on her unbraided hair, him by the doorstep. He had come late, later than was customary or appropriate. Dressed in red as usual, his hand stroking his white beard, he had apologised for the hour and pleaded her help. Flattered and excited, she had quickly cast her black cloak on herself and followed him to the darkness. They had walked the tunnels together and he had...

The flame was extinguished with a hiss. She did not want to remember more now. She brought the tips of her fingers to her lips. They hurt, she had managed to burn them. Burn them while putting out a candle the first time after she had turned ten. Pitiful, she told herself.

She made her way - just a few steps - to her bed and crawled in. She could feel tears running down her cheeks. No, not now, girl. Calm down. Now, you will sleep. Sleep, a refreshing nap. Then you will wake up and start working and remember. You will pour all your memories to the stone. But now, now you won't cry, now you won't remember. You will sleep, you will forget, you will let it be.

[Groin Redbeard]

“I will be equally as brief in my response: no. I don’t know what has prompted this, but thou knowest full well that the request is ridiculous. It is Kór, not Kórin, who I need.” Nali glared at Onli for overstepping his bounds. Kórin was still bitter over something and it annoyed Nali to have to deal with her problems—he had so many other pressing matters on his mind.

“Onli, escort Kórin back to whence thou hast found her, Kór will stay. Return when it is done.”

Onli bowed and left with a reluctant Kórin; Kór stared sorrowfully after her. Kórin’s brother appeared to have none of her sister’s rebellious traits—or perhaps he kept them better hid. Nali immediately began to size up Kór: he was by no means a warrior, but he looked eager to learn if given the chance. The best position for him in battle would be behind a stout warrior to defend him from any blow; put him in the front lines and he would be killed.

“Thou shalt see Kórin again,” Nali stated comfortingly, gaining Kór’s attention. “The attack today will not be the fiercest—the first day never is—stay low and all will be well.”

Nali turned and was about to go with Kór to find him a weapon and armor when to his amazement he saw Ori and Óin step out of the shadows. Nali froze in disbelief.

“Óin! Praise Mahal you have returned!” They embraced as Nali rushed forward, forgetting all about Kór, joyful energy filled Nali at Óin’s return. “We feared that thou wert lost. Has Trór returned with thee?”

~~~~~~~~~~
Nîsa

Tears still flowed Nîsa’s cheeks and it shamed her to do so when so many other women had husbands and brothers who might die. Bain was very comforting; he was a good Dwarf one whom she admired and wanted him to come back.

“Promise me you will keep your head down, I hear that the Orcs far outnumber our own soldiers. The women will doubtlessly be busy with preparing food and wine for the soldiers for later tonight and I will see that I will be one of the maids who brings the food to the soldiers so that I can see you.”

Nîsa reached into her pocket and pulled out a ruby studded sheath with an elegantly made dagger. “Trór gave this to me before we set out for Khazad-dum with Balin. I have had little use for it, but I think that it may do you greater service if you are in enemy hands. It is sharp and easily reached when in a tussle. Please take it; perhaps, it will help you come back.”

[Durelin]

Kórin was truly surprised this time. Nali’s response had been harsher than she expected. Foolish girl, she thought, admonishing herself, you thought this old dwarf would show you any respect? Once again he twisted her words and her actions. How had her statement that she was here as another soldier been a request? She was not here in supplication!

She was about to explode on the old dwarf, but held herself back in an attempt to put words to her screaming. Her head was pounding now, and as she stood there it felt as if all the energy was dissolving out of her body. Unfortunately a moment’s hesitation left her interrupted, as two older dwarves whom she recognized as Óin and Ori, companions of Balin, approached Nali and quickly drew his attention – away from Kór; he was long done with her.

“We feared that thou wert lost,” he told Óin. “Has Trór returned with thee?”

“I hope not,” Kórin rudely interrupted, continuing to ignore Onli and any attempts he made to escort her away, and then addressed Kór, “I’ll have your back on the battlefield. Don’t let anyone push you around.”

She turned and left, walking quickly but not hurriedly to where the rest were assembling for war, though she would stop along the way to retrieve her hauberk and mace, prized gifts from her father. She would figure out a way to be in the same unit as Kór…

~

Kór found himself almost laughing at Nali’s comment about seeing his sister again, until he ended with, “…stay low and all will be well.”

He certainly did not know what to say to that. He could not really tell Nali that he was not afraid. Kór turned back to his sister and raised his eyebrows at her. Right now he was more afraid of what she might do than what might happen to him. She looked ready to explode. Nali did have a way with words…and seemed to be an expert at snubbing. He now appeared blissfully unaware of Kórin’s state.

But everything was interrupted. Thankfully, perhaps. It gave Kórin another moment to think, at least, if not really cool off. He winced when she spoke, though – wishing death upon the new Uzbad Khazaddûmu! Kór turned back to her from the newly arrived Óin and Ori, and smirked as she addressed him. He said nothing, though, and simply watched her walk away.

She always needed the last word, and was a master at exerting control over whatever situation she was put into. He knew she could not stand it if she was not. Kór really didn’t mind being pushed around a little, at least in Kórin’s terms, as they included simply being told what to do.

He sighed. She was also a master at leaving her problems behind on others’ shoulders. He turned back to Nali, Óin, and Ori, but avoided their gazes.

[Gwathagor]

Shrill orc-cries echoed through Dimrill Dale, bouncing back and forth off the high walls of the valley and disippating into the black night sky. In the darkness and swirling snow, it was impossible to tell whence the echoes came, and when the fighting began, Frar's band had lost track of Tror and his dwarves. They stood close and silent now, listening and watching for any sign that might lead them to the skirmish. To some of the less hardy, it almost seemed that evil spirits were on the air, riding on the frozen wind, shrieking and cursing as they went. The muffled clash of weapons also reached them: spear on shield, sword on hauberk, drifting down to where they stood among the ominous boulders, and sounding then like but a memory or rumor of battle - perhaps the hills spoke thus to each other on wild nights, mourning the death and strife that they had observed through the many ages of the world all unable to intervene?

Frar shook himself - his mind was wandering. He brought his thought to bear once more on the urgent situation at hand. Where was Tror?

Did the cries come from the left? Or from down the valley? Or from behind them? Frar stood frozen in indecision, his jaw tight with concentration. He had to make a decision, they could not afford inaction, not now. He looked now left, now right, and cursed himself. Where was Tror?

His officers and soldiers were watching him anxiously when suddenly a goblin came scampering out of the darkness from their right. It lurched to a halt some 15 yards before the dwarves. For a brief instant, the dwarves stared at the orc in surprise and it stared back. It was, evidently, just as bewildered as they were. Then, with a cry, it spun around and leapt off into the mist, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. The dwarves blinked. Had they imagined it? No - the orc's exclamation (had it been malice? Fear? Or something as common as surprise?) still echoed about them.

Frar acted, seizing upon this as a kind of sign. "This way!" he shouted, the officers passed the word down, and the dwarves pounded off after the orc. "Find Tror!" roared Frar. And sure enough, the sounds of battle grew clearer and more distinct. The dwarves began to find scattered bodies and weapons - but no Tror. It seemed that he had led his dwarves some distance in pursuit of the orc skirmishers.

"Spread the line!" shouted Frar. "Two ranks deep, stay together!"

The dwarves obeyed as they ran with a smoothness born of discipline, spreading out into a heavy line of iron death. And over a low rise in the rockey ground, they came upon the orcs and dwarves tangled together, living and dead, struggling violently among the tall boulders and drifting snow.

Frar did not need to give any command. Without a word, his troops swung down upon the battle making no noise but that of their boots against the ground. They hit the lines, however, like a clap of thunder, as they trampled down the first orcs they met and crushed the next ones with heavy blows of their axes. They killed professionally, swinging this way and that through the press, laying orcs out every which way as they went. Frar found Tror in the middle of the battle standing upon a pile of crushed orcs, swinging his axe about him like a lunatic - only to the movement of his axe there was a deep and deadly logic, as subtle as the playing of a harpist and as brutal as the hammering of a smith. Orcs fell upon him in astonishing numbers and died with just as astonishing a rapidity. There were too many, though, and they began to press too closely about him, more warily now, holding him at bay with long spears. The slow anger that had been burning in the deep mine of Frar's heart all day blazed higher. Khazad-dum will not lose two lords in one day! This thing will not be! and he rushed towards Tror with an extra spurt of speed. A gently sloping boulder was in his way, but he could not be stopped now. Indeed, he could not stop himself, such was his anger and determination. He ran up the boulder and hurled himself from its peak upon the mass of orcs that surrounded Tror.

The backs of the first two orcs broke under Frar's iron-shod feet. The next orc, which tried to wrestle Frar to the ground, had his skull cracked, and the last thing he remembered was Frar's massive black fist exploding into his face. The next three had their heads torn from their necks by a single swing of Buzunimbar. This is was all before the other orcs noticed that something was wrong; the seventh orc tried to skewer Frar with his spear and caught Frar's reverse swing in his midsection. Frar leapt through the enormous hole he had just single-handedly cut in the orc ring and ran to Tror's back. The two old warriors did not even need to exchange a word, neither of thanks nor of greeting; they had been through this before. They knew, and they both settled down to the work of killing as many orcs as possible.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Óin smiled at Náli and cast a brief look after departing Kórin.

"Just what is going on here?" he muttered, partially to himself. Then he looked directly into Náli's eyes, penetrating him with his bright sky-blue gaze.

"Trór did not come back with me," he said quickly. "I must have missed him in the darkness and the snow. I am not worried about him, Náli, but perhaps somebody should be sent to bring him back. Especially considering what I saw."

Quickly, Óin explained to Náli all he knew about the Orc army. Drawing out from his memory all the important details, not omitting a single thing, he recounted on the danger approaching Khazad-Dûm.

"I am sure I do not need to tell you what should be done," he finished.

"And the leader should also get to know about it," he added after a short while.

[Groin Redbeard]

Nali’s heart sank when he heard Oin’s response and was even more disheartened hearing the news of the approaching army.

“Send more men out?” Nali asked in amazement. “No, dear heavens no! It will be to little avail to send more warriors to be lost in this storm that thou hast described. Trór is capable as thou sayest; yet, his skill will be tested more than once this day, still it is encouraging to think that he is not alone and surrounded by loyal and able assistants. All we can do is hope for his safety.

“I am indeed glad to see thee, Oin, for thou hast no need of searching for Trór’s second for thou art him! Besides the fact that thou art a good friend of his, it was to this purpose that Trór went searching for thee. The city will doubtlessly be under thee’s control in Trór’s absence, may it be a short one; meaning no disrespect to you my friend. Tell us what more we need do, so that Ori and I may get back to work. An army of Orcs, as large as you say it is, is no trifling matter to remain idle about. ”

~~~~~~~~~~

Trór

The motion of his axe halted in surprise for an instant at the arrival of Frar. His friend had flung himself with reckless bravery upon the spears of the enemy and amazingly evaded harm. Trór’s attention quickly turned back to the enemy as Frar’s opponents began to quake and run before him. Side-by-side Frar’s tremendous axe and Trór’s swift arm dispatched many of the shifty Goblins which encircled them.

Suddenly, amidst the din, Trór heard the familiar voice of Gror. “My lord, look to the sky!”

Arrows ! thought Trór, but he had long since lost his shield and would have to trust to fortune. He could hear the whistling of the incoming missiles but they did not sound like arrows. Without warning, a black rock fell from the sky in front of him! The rock exploded into many sharp fragments killing many of the thick masses of Orcs around him and Frar. A second rock hit the ground and Trór shielded his eyes with his gauntlets.

His eyes were uncovered and he swung his axe with one hand at a small Goblin; Trór swung a second time hitting the Goblin in the side. A spasm of pain shocked his nerves and brought him to one knee as he twisted his shoulders for another strike. Trór felt for the wound but there was none to be seen. His mail was pierced in a thin slit, but no blood protruded from the hole. Nevertheless, the pain was great and only through hacking and stabbing was he able to ignore the pain.

Frar had not been affected as the rocks fell, using the momentum from the chaos that they brought to both sides to press further amidst the Orcs in front of Trór. Gror had since joined them and yelled wildly at the oncoming Orcs and swung with great effectiveness at their unprotected knees. All around Trór the Orcs began to break; no more of the black rocks fell amongst the two enemies, the slingers having long since taken to their heels. The defiant shouts that the Orcs had shouted were traded with cries of dismay and they fled in every direction.

Trór sank to one knee, saving himself from falling by supporting himself with his axe. Frar’s strong hands quickly grabbed Trór, but were pushed away by Trór.

“No, my friend,” Trór said. “I must not show weakness in front of our warriors!” With a heavy groan his lifted himself up. “My thanks to you my friend, but do not look so glum: I am not hurt. It was close that’s all, just a scratch.” Trór grasped Frar’s hand. Trór was inarticulate when it came to thanking his good friend, but he did smil and nod his head as if to say: ‘Thanks. Well done my friend.’ Trór did not offer Frar anything, for it would have been an insult to his honor to accept a gift for doing his duty--Frar had distinguished himself as the stoutest of warriors and his value was worth far more than any gift that Trór could bestow upon him.

Trór turned to Gror and smiled. “You have fought well and have saved my life, along with Frar, when I was sore pressed, for this you have my undying gratitude. I will have you by my side in the next battle.” Gror bowed deeply but did not say a word.

“What of your warriors?” Trór asked, viewing the dead carcasses of the Orcs and the bodies of the Dwarves. “I think my warriors had the worst of it, being smaller in number; yet, I could not have lost more than ten stout warriors. Your coming saved me from disaster, the Orcs far exceeded our numbers, even with your coming, but the confusion which your warriors wrought upon the Orcs was the winning stroke.”

Not a Dwarf was killed of Frar’s warriors, for the enemy was routed with their coming, but the victory was short lived. Horns were heard on the wind and shouts of a large multitude were heard chanting ever closer. Trór ordered for the dead Dwarves to be stripped of their armor and weapons (for he said that it was far better for the Orcs to gain a warrior’s mail and axe than to defile their bodies) and to be carried by the stoutest of the surviving warriors.

“Hasten back to Khazad-dum. Good fortune will meet us there. The time will soon come for you to pick up your axes—for my anger is twice as great at the slaying of Oin. Hasten back to the city!”

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Óin

Óin listened to Náli's words with surprise, partially, and partially with a sort of disbelief.

"By Durin's beard, Náli," he said when the Dwarf finished. "Who am I to give orders to you around here? Who am I to be in command of all this realm? This does not belong to me, I am only a scout! I am sure many of you know more and better what should be done. Even you, or your brother Lóni, or even Ori here. I was never into leading. I have told you what I know: the Orcs are coming, and had it not been for the snowstorm, you would have their rams already battering our gates."

"You ask me what to do? Defend them! You ask me what to prepare? Let us disrupt the foul beasts, let us not let the Orcs get close with their battering rams to the gates. Let us not fight in the open, so that they cannot use their warg riders to too much advantage. But most of all, by Durin's beard, let Trór come! Because this is where we need him. Náli - I have been inside Erebor with Thorin Oakenshield, and I can tell you - there is only one who might defend a fortress as proudly as he did: and that is Trór."

***

Onli

Onli paced through the corridor, only rarely casting a look back over his shoulder to see Kórin who followed him. Lucky me, he thought, even though it did not go very well, at least Óin and Ori showed up and perhaps helped to save my reputation. Náli certainly was not very much pleased when he saw Kórin coming along, but it did not end in any too disasterous manner. I just have to be more careful from now on.

They took a sharp turn and at that very moment, something small and orange charged into Onli in full speed. He lost his balance and fell flat on the floor.

"Vriti!" he picked himself up. "What are you doing here, silly? Where have you been?"

The ferret blinked at him with her small eyes. Onli noticed that there is something strange in her behavior, she seemed somewhat nervous.

"Come on, what is that?" the Dwarf addressed Vriti, not intending to spend too much time with her when there was Kórin to take care of, but wishing to comfort the ferret or at least find out what was wrong. He bent forward and touched her, but on closer proximity he suddenly sensed strong odour, a disgusting and foul stench of indiscerneable origin, which no doubt came from the poor creature. Also, on touch, and also when he looked more closely, Onli realised that some of the hair on her back seemed weird on touch, and was greyish black hue and curled, seeming almost as if it was burned.

"Just where have you been?" he shook his head. He stood up, turning back at Kórin. Vriti started to attack his shoes, but Onli did not want her to climb him up right now, not when she smelled like this. He pushed her away with his shoe, but the ferret did not want to let herself being chased away and started to run in circles between him and Kórin.

[Thinlómien]

"I am indeed glad to see thee, Oin, for thou hast no need of searching for Trór’s second for thou art him!"

Ori shot Óin an empathic glance. It was a resonsibility he himself would never have wanted, and he was rather sure Óin was of the same kind. They had never been leaders, either of them, and in Balin's time they had never been forced to take leadership. "My left hand and right hand," he had jokingly named them. But as hard as it was, now times were changing, and it seemed like Balin's trusted men could hardly lurk in the background anymore.

Having followed this train of thought, Ori was slightly surprised to hear his old friend's reply:

"By Durin's beard, Náli! Who am I to give orders to you around here? Who am I to be in command of all this realm? This does not belong to me, I am only a scout!"

Well, that was true. That was what Óin was. Maybe one of Balin's most trusted men, a wise old man and a hero, but in the end, just a scout. Just like Ori himself was just an archivist.

"I am sure many of you know more and better what should be done. Even you, or your brother Lóni, or even Ori here."

Me? Ori wanted to ask, but was content with just giving his friend a "thank you very much" glance. He did not want Náli to get any funny ideas about his place, it was enough that he was teasing poor Óin. Ori could perfectly understand the outburst that followed. Óin had just lost one of his oldest friends and now they were loading silly responsibilities upon him. Well, everybody has to have their share of them, now that Balin's gone, Ori thought, both with grief and bitterness.

"But most of all, by Durin's beard, let Trór come! Because this is where we need him. Náli - I have been inside Erebor with Thorin Oakenshield, and I can tell you - there is only one who might defend a fortress as proudly as he did: and that is Trór."

The memory brought tears to Ori's eyes. Thorin, Dáin, Balin... he had had the honour of serving such good men and even knowing them personally... and now Trór would be the newest link to the chain, and he would earn his place there, easily.

And as if as a response to Óin's words, the sound of a horn echoed in the halls. "He has returned," Ori smiled. Óin nodded gravely.
"Oh Lord Trór, thou hast returned at the hour of the utmost need," Náli whispered to the roof, a smile on his face.

Ori glanced at Óin. "I wonder why he returned so early... maybe he saw your tracks coming back here?"
"In this snowstorm?" Óin asked darkly. "No, it must be something else..."

The three friends exchanged glances. "Mahal save us if there are bad tidings again," Náli said. "Let us go and hasten to the gates at once!"

[Groin Redbeard]

Great was the rejoicing of the soldiers when Trór and Frar emerged from the blizzard. Horns were blown at his arrival and the blast echoed shrill and long in the First Hall. More shouts welcomed Trór when the horn was heard and the undying swell of joyful cheering rose as his face became clearer to see amidst the snow. In his heart Trór felt little hope in a defensive battle against the Orcs, but upon seeing bright hopeful faces and hearing the courageous hollers of his subjects Trór began to take heart. Whether the outcome of their plight be good or ill, he was glad to live to lead such a proud host of dwarves!

Trór was satisfied to see that adequate bulwarks were constructed along the base and top of the stair. The dwarves could now sally out and hold a position outside of the gates. Boulders, both large and small, had been quarried from the mountain side and rolled a short ways in front of the stair leading up to the gates. The boulders were so closely packed that only two or three dwarves abreast could squeeze threw the larger of the spaces. This, of course, could not stop the Orcs of the Misty Mountains (for they could climb with uncanny agility) but it would stop the Orcs from launching an organized body of Uruks—the Orcs would have to come piecemeal.

Trór climbed over the bulwarks of stone and scanned the warriors dressed for war staring at him and Frar as they proudly ascended stair. There were around 200 dwarves gathered at the gates, but Trór knew that there would be more coming, if his original calculations had been correct. He marveled at the craft of the armor that most of the soldiers were wearing; Trór guessed that Ori had brought out the armory that Óin found in the Third Deep.

The pain in his side had been burning during his flight back to Khazad-dum; however, upon entering the First Hall the burning lessened and he was able to stand fully erect. Trór could now see more dwarves entering from the deeper halls of the city. The torchlight fell upon their faces and Trór cried out in joy and disbelief.

“Óin!” Their eyes met and Trór pushed his way through the crowd, his eyes still fixed upon Óin.

“My dear friend!” Trór exclaimed as he embraced Óin, “We thought you had fallen somewhere on Azinulbizar. Never have I been happier! Now I know we can win this fight!” Trór thought that he should say more but instead he stood gazing into Óin’s eyes, soaking up long memories and thinking on what would await them.

“Come with me,” Trór said after a time, acknowledging Ori, “Let us survey the defenses. I must know everything concerning what you have seen, Óin.” Suddenly Trór noticed the presence of a dwarf standing behind Ori and Óin. They eyed each other with curiosity, though there was a note of fear and anger in the other’s stare.

“Who is this?” Trór asked, stepping closer to take a closer look. There was something familiar in the dwarf’s face.


~~~~~~~~~~

Nali

As Nali, Ori and Óin began to make their way to the First Hall, Nali suddenly remembered a pressing matter that needed to be dealt with as soon as possible. Without telling his friends, Nali left them and made his way back through the hall.

There was no sign of Onli, but Nali did not care, so long as Kórin did not accompany him on his return. Nali felt his temper rise at the thought of Kórin and he clenched his hands into fists as he thought of the current situation he was trying to put aright.

Nali walked hard and fast until he reached his destination. The door stood closed to him and Nali knocked hard. The door opened to reveal the figure of a small boy, behind who cowered an even smaller girl.

“Fetch thine father.” The children obeyed and soon brought him.

“Kenan, why doest thou linger in the comfort of thine home?” Nali asked in amazement at not seeing him wearing his signet armor. “Already our lord hath returned. Quickly, we must hasten to him!”

[Durelin]

Kórin

Onli had rushed to make sure he was ahead of her, so that he could feel like he was leading her back. But Kórin was going exactly where she wished. She was completely lost in a cloud of anger and other dark thoughts when Onli suddenly fell down in front of her and she saw something slight darting across the ground. She stopped and watched the creature – it was a ferret.

“Vitri!” Onli addressed it, and Kórin could not help but smile a little at the animal as it ran around even her own feet. It was adorable, but… What is that smell? Kórin wondered as she caught several whiffs when the animal circled her feet.

“Is it alright?” Kórin asked, not assuming its gender as she certainly hadn’t gotten a close look at it.

~

Kór

Kór learned a great deal from Óin, Ori, and Náli as Óin informed the others what he had observed about the approaching army of orcs, and they discussed how to proceed. Kór wondered if they even realized he was still there, and if they should be concerned about him hearing all of this. A mix of fears simmered in his stomach. There truly was an army marching on Khazad-dûm.

Finally Trór arrived, whom the others greeted happily, and Kór was suddenly noticed again. Trór eyed him oddly, and Kór looked back, trying to read what was behind his strange stare.

“Who is this?” the new Lord of Khazad-dûm questioned, taking a step closer to Kór, who sighed inwardly. His sister and he did bear a resemblance, at least sharing the same hair.

“I am Kór, my lord.”

[Folwren]

Kénan looked at Nali a moment and then stepped back and invited him inside. Nali stepped just within the door.

“If you think about it,” Kénan said, “I am not skulking in the comforts of my own home, as you may assume. It is only yet early morning, and most dwarves on a normal day would still be a-bed.”

“But this is not a normal day,” Nali said, a hint of anger or annoyance fringing his voice. Kénan looked keenly at him. The dwarf had obviously been up all night. Kénan knew things had been afoot – the hall had been alive with feet most of the night, but he and his grandchildren had not stirred from their door.

Finally, he nodded, and a serious expression settled lower on his brow. “Nali,” he began, speaking slowly and with calculation, “I was just dismissed from the council and had little realization that lord Trór had gone out. He sent me from him, shamed before my peers, did you expect me to wait around?” Nali seemed to bridle at this, but Kénan continued. “But, I will come. There is more at stake here than Trór’s life or his honor. I will go with you, and I will fight. Not for him, but for them.” He nodded towards Kéni and Iari.

Nali nodded and turned to go. But before he had completely exited the door, he turned back around. “It would be wisest if thou wouldst reconsider thy loyalties,” he said. “To fight against Trór would be as detrimental as not fighting at all.”

Kénan looked at him steadily a moment and then nodded once. “I will consider what you say.”

Nali turned and left. Kénan stood for a moment in silence. Kéni approached him slowly. “Grandfather,” he said. When Kénan looked at him, he continued. “I will go and fight with you.”

[Kitanna]

“Grandfather, I will go and fight with you.” Kéni's declaration shocked Iari. Obviously it was Kénan's duty to fight, but her brother was supposed to stay and watch over her.

Iari grabbed hold of Kéni's hand. "No! You can't go!" Her vision blurred, but the little girl fought hard so no tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Let go, Iari. I have to do this." Kéni pulled his hand away and stepped closer to Kénan, drawing himself up to his full height.

Iari rushed to Kénan's side. Fear of her grandfather subsided and was replaced with fear for her brother's life. Surely she could count on the old dwarf to be her ally when Kéni was acting so rash. "Grandfather, do something. He's not a warrior, he can't fight."

Kénan patted Iari's head gently, but he moved away from her. He took Kéni by the shoulders. "You understand the danger involved with this decision, do you not?" Kéni nodded. "You are so very young, Kéni. Yet, it is time for you to grow up."

Iari gasped in horror. She pulled one of Kénan's hands off her brother's shoulder. "No!" She cried.

"Iari, please," Kénan pulled his hand away from his granddaughter. "Kéni we need to have you outfitted for battle. Iari, go stay with the neighbors until we return.

Kéni's face was filled with an intense pride, as was Kénan's. Iari had a combination of fear and anger swelling behind her eyes. She stormed off to her room and slammed the door, afraid she would cry in front of Kénan and Kéni. After a few minutes of hushed tones from her family she heard the door close. They were gone, leaving her alone again.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

“Is it alright?”

Onli looked back at Kórin and then at Vriti who stopped by her feet. He shook his head.

"I don't know what she's gotten herself into. Probably crawling someplace where she should not have been." Onli was more thinking aloud than talking to Kórin. He frowned, now switching his gaze between the ferret and the woman.

"I think I - " he started, then forced himself to be more official.

"I trust you will find your way from here, Kórin. I do not expect you to return to Náli, it would be most unwise, as you have certainly noticed." He gave to Kórin a smile as much comforting as he could. "I am sure your brother will be all right. Náli is wise, and besides..." He made a wide gesture with his right hand, leaving the sentence unfinished, but looking at Kórin supportively, so as to make her feel that he could be the one she could turn to if there was any help needed concerning her brother; trying to make her feel that he is the one with enough power to talk to Náli on Kór's behalf.

"If you will excuse me now, then, I have other pressing matters to take care of," he said, and turning to one of the corridor entrances in the hewn wall, he slowly left. Vriti was following him.

"Come on," he sighed, turning to her, as soon as she assumed Kórin to be far away enough from them. Once again, he could smell the foul stench, so discomforting that he actually shuddered.

"That is disgusting," he said, reluctantly touching the animal. "I have to wash you, Vriti. Come." And picking her up, feeling a bit uncomfortable from the unusual odour, he carried her towards his chambers.

[Groin Redbeard]

“I am Kór, my lord.”

"I thank you Nali for bringing him to me," Trór turned to Kór, "Do you know why you are here?"

"Because you summoned me, my lord." There was a hint of amusement in the young dwarf's voice. Trór's eyes flashed with annoyment.

"Simpleton! you have seen war, this is no laughing matter! Take your place by Grór. We are defending the front."

There was a din of horns on the outer steps. Loni immediately dashed towards the doors and peered outside.

"They have come!"

[Groin Redbeard]

The darkness in the night sky began to wain. The blizzard abated with great reluctants; yet, the howls of high Caradhras persisted in haunting the dale. The warriors were fully gathered and they silently awaited the din of a thousand tramping feet. Nearly four hundred strong they stood, not nearly enough to contest the might of the Orcs; yet, for the shortcoming of the Dwarf's numbers they stood ready to defy 'till the last. Dwarven courage never was stronger!

Behold! the mighty hands that firmly grasp their axes; wrought out of stone, in the beginning of their existance, by their Creator. See how their stern faces pierce the darkness as an arrow, at flight, pierces the air. Hark! the cruel sound of the horn afar. The awaited tramping of feet give evidence that the Orcs have come in great force. Two thousand strong, the Orcs gather and gaze in anger at the defences and array of magnificintly armed Dwarves before them. For all the urgency of their haste the Orcs were foiled in an easy victory.

See how the mighty Óin and Frar are cheif in the task of encouraging the Dwarves. The brothers Loni and Nali give proof of the loyalty of their race--see how they embrace their soldiers as brothers in arms. Indeed, even the great Ori humbly walks amongst the warriors as a common Dwarf to inspire great pride. See! the warriors take heart and raise their voices at the sight of their proud new lord. Grór and Kór follow him to the stairs carrying his great shield and spear.

Standing tall and proud, the Lord Trór descended the steps into the chief host of the warriors greeting and shaking hands as if on the eve of some great festivity. Trór knew many of the Dwarves and spoke to them of their worth as he passed. There was Bain the smith; his hand was as firm as his spirit. Vitr: optimistically cheerful and admirably steady. There was Dalin and Svior; even Kénan stood ready for battle. It was not until Trór was out of the First Hall and at the bottom of East Stairs (at the vanguard of his host) that he halted.

Out of Trór's darkest nightmares they appeared. Ranks of black armored Goblins and wargs; large revolving siege machines--all arrayed in powerful dread before his eyes. Trór could hear them jeering at him as he stood upon the stone defenses.

"Soldiers, you are about to embark upon the Great Crusade, toward which we have been driven these many hours. The eyes of the heavens are upon you. History will record your valor. The hopes and prayers of your women and children stand with you. You will bring about the destruction of this last great Goblin army. Remember Balin: slain unjustly and without honor--it is he we must avenge. May his just leadership be with us today.

"Our task will not be an easy one. Your enemy is well trained, well equipped and battle-hardened. He will fight savagely.

"But this is the year 2994 of the Third Age! Much has happened since the triumphs of darkness in the south and in Mirkwood. The united forces of the Dwarves long ago have inflicted upon the Orcs great defeats, in open battle, man-to-man. Our offensive has seriously reduced their strength in these mountains and their capacity to wage war on our cities. Our forefathers have given us an overwhelming superiority in weapons and armor of war, and placed at our disposal great reserves of these same weapons--dangerous in your trained fighting hands. The tide has turned! The line of Durin is marching together to Victory!

"See now they come at last! Our last great challenge is upon us. Let us rid our new home of the threat of destruction and let it thrive as it once did. I have full confidence in your courage, devotion to duty and skill in battle. We will accept nothing less than full victory! May Balin look upon us and bless our noble undertaking. Let his name be our battle cry!"

Long may the remembrance of that day remain in our race's lore. What infinant glory there was for the House of Durin that day! Now may it please you, gentle reader, to hear of the recantation of the Second Battle of Azanulbizar.

[Thinlómien]

Vigdis

The roof was just as dark as her dreams had been. She got up slowly. A headache was thundering against her skull. Was it the rum? she wondered. But she had drunk so much more so many time with so much less headache... it had to be something else. It had to be... no, not that thought again. Soon, when she'd have the stone in her hands. But not now. She made her way to the table carefully and lit the candle. She changed her clothes, picked up her favourite tools, extinguished the flame and went out.

The corridor was just as dark as her room had been before she had lit the candle. She wondered why the lanterns weren't lit. She knew her way to the masonry well enough in the dark, but some passers-by would have problems.

"Ouch!" said a voice.

Vigdis stopped. She had run to somebody in the dark. "Who is it? Can I help you?" she asked.

~*~

Ori

He stood there, among the common fighters. Some of the younger ones were giving him curious glances, but most of his comrades in arms welcomed him in silent approving nods. In Balin's time, he had either stayed away from the battles or stood closely by the Lord as his friend and companion. Now it was different, the battles were on their doorstep, there was no "away" to hide in, and Balin was dead, and despite their friendship, Ori was not the companion to Trór like he had been to Balin. He felt his place was where were the others like him: the artesans and sages who had managed to gather a little knowledge of the arts of war during their years.

"Move a bit to the left," growled old Brambor, the commander of ori's regiment. They obeyed him in silence. The words of Trór rang in Ori's mind: we will accept nothing less than full victory! May Balin look upon us and bless our noble undertaking. Let his name be our battle cry! "Balin," he whispered, thinking what his old friend would have thought of such hot-headed and pompous speech. He smiled wryly. "Poor old Balin." The soldier standing beside him heard him mutter the name and shouted it out loud: "Balin!" Soon his voice was echoed by a dozen others, then hundreds of voices shouted the battle cry. "Balin! Balin! Balin!" They watched the black hordes of goblins roll forwards but fear was no more.

[Groin Redbeard]

He had arrived at the scene, breathless, a few minutes before Trór started to speak. Kenan was behind him: stern and magnificent in his armor. Nali thought of what Kenan might have told his grandchildren before he left—Kenan would fight for those children despite his feeling for Trór. Nali moved into the ranks of soldiers with Kenan; eventually they both clasped hands and said what might be their final farewell.

Nali did his best to encourage the soldiers as he walked to and fro. His lips were curled up in a wide grin, depicting a carefree expression. “Take heart my friends! See how yonder force swaggers so, after their long and hasty march. Morning will scatter their ranks. Hold fast until then!”

The attention of Nali’s listeners was suddenly stolen as Trór emerged from the hall. His voice was like the thunder which precedes the piercing lightning of his gaze. Nali was swept up in the excitement of the moment: this speech would have great affect on the warriors that night. If he could remember it all he would write it down after the battle to be recorded in the book of Marzubul—if fate would allow Nali to do so.

Suddenly, as Trór ceased his speech, cruel shrieks arose from the Goblins. Nali could catch the movement of dark swarms. A thumping of bow strings and the whining of arrows was presently heard; Nali could hear the metallic clink of incoming arrows bouncing off the hauberks of the dwarves—their craft was too skillful to be cheated by an arrow. Nali ran as fast as his legs allowed him through the lanes between the divided columns of the dwarves. Nothing but the noise of bowstrings and arrows could be heard for a long time. Then he heard it: the thud of armor colliding with armor; the shouts and shrieks of the warriors; the sound that had sounded so good to him in younger days: the screeching of an axe penetrating a helm or perhaps a shield. Nali was composed, but it felt as if a cold knife had been twisted in his gut.

“Brother,” Nali called as he saw Loni from afar. Loni commanded one of the columns in the second line to back up the vanguard shortly after the battle ensued. “I am on my way to the utter most right of the battle. How goes the battle here?”

“That I cannot tell. All seems to be overrun by the goblins for the moment. I am going in now.”

“Take care of thy other eye—I would feign have thee see me when victory is won.”

“For Balin then! Farewell.”

Nali set off again as fast as he could go. He slipped his mace into his right hand as the right hand of the mountain grow larger. “Blast! Where is Onli? If I find that he hath shirked from battle I will…” The threat was cut short by an arrow cutting dangerously close to him; more followed in rapid succession. A large shield was thrust between him and the arrows.

“You have come! I thought the worst.” Nali was welcomed by a middle aged dwarf. He was shorter than Nali and very scruffy looking. Not the sort of face that was pleasant to look upon. “A miner,” Nali thought.

“My liege, can you fight?”

“Aye, that I can and more. How goes the battle here.”

“Time will tell. The goblins haven’t been putting up much of a fight yet, but it has just begun.”

“Quick, to it then!”

The fray was desperate when Nali arrived. Not many dwarves had, as of yet, been killed, but the growing number of the goblins was evidently proving the better. Nali descended with a heavy deliverance of blows.

“Hold fast, warriors of Durin’s Halls! Balin, for Balin!”

Again the battle cry of Balin was taken up and for a while the goblins were hurled back over the defenses. Nali fought in the thick of the battle and came dangerously close to getting crushed several times, but always the axe of some dwarf would save him in time. Nali’s mace hard hard and swift until the last orc was hurled back across the bulwarks. However, the goblins regrouped and returned with double the original vigor.

[Groin Redbeard]

Crash! came the first surge of goblins. An even louder crash befell the goblins: down came the mattocks and axes of the dwarves upon the initial attackers. Then, followed by Frar, Trór plunged his spear forward into his first goblin and the dwarves sprang forward.

Trór soon stood the bulwarks, slashing his huge spear back and forth. The goblins, as tired as they were from their long march all day and night, fought ferociously to gain the defenses. Their scimitars glinted with a cruel light and they shrieked so terribly that they drowned the sounds of the battle. Again Trór slashed with his spear onto the shield of an oncoming hobgoblin. Twice Trór stabbed with his spear and twice he repelled the hobgoblin with the brunt of his shield. Trór raised his spear in a majestic pose and snapped his whole body forward releasing the spear through the hobgoblin and into another so closely were they pressing at the breastworks.

Suddenly, as Trór straightened himself (slinging his shield on his back and retrieving his axe from there with one smooth motion), a spasm of paralyzing pain brought Trór reeling forward off the breastworks. He felt the hard resistance of iron and guessed that he had fallen on several goblins. His shield was still fixed to his arm and offered protection from several hard blows that he was quick to block. Many strong hands clasped the shield and ripped it from his hands. Instinctively, Trór rolled to miss the strikes; some dented on the rock surface some found their mark in Trór’s side, but slid of his chainmail (if the orcs had thrust instead of struck it might have been a different story for Trór).

“My lord!” Trór’s ears faintly heard someone yell, but he couldn’t tell who it was; he didn’t care. His side was throbbing with burning pain from his initial wound and bruised by the many blows he was receiving; he could not deflect them fast enough. Another blow and another, each one pushing him further back until Trór was almost flat on his face; Trór’s mind was screaming at him: “get up! Don’t lie there—fight!” With great effort, Trór grabbed his axe and with a great heave swung it upright. His pain was now swimming upstream against his anger. To think that he virtually graveled before the enemy he swore to destroy.

Despite the immense pain in his side Trór stood his ground best he could. The bulwarks were to his back and for a long time he cleft, stabbed, smashed, and crunched anything that came near him. His beard was stiff with sweat his arms were bruised and it is said that his axe turned black and never again from that day shone its true metallic color.

[Durelin]

Kór stood surrounded by vaguely familiar faces, but he could not put a name to a single one – except Grór, to whom he had just been indirectly introduced. It was a strange feeling to Kór, the apparent calm around him, as Trór made his speech. He only half listened to the words, finding it hard to concentrate enough even for such a simple thing. He felt like he was trying to think from behind a cloud, staring idly at various dwarves around him. Many of them had already drawn their weapons – suddenly he felt he should have his axe in hand. He knew it was absurd, especially since he felt conscientious about drawing out his axe all of a sudden, wondering if now that he had waited until mid-speech he should wait until the battle began.

It was very strange indeed, that he had been standing here for so long, that there was this much preparation involved for what seemed to him to be a simple thing. It felt ceremonial, so plain and structured that it only frightened him more. Suddenly a great exploded from all around him, smothering him. He jumped, startled, and now was truly embarrassed so that for several moments he did not register what was being shouted.

Kór had trouble finding his voice, as if he had forgotten how to use it. The power of all the other voices was overwhelming. He remembered the face of the dwarf woman from behind her mug, and the depth of the grief she felt. He felt guilty, guilty for not grieving deeply, for not displaying ingrained loyalty in a battle cry. But there were other ways to demonstrate one’s character…

Kór found his voice the best way he knew how. It was weak at first, but it grew stronger, encouraged by others as it took root.

“Under the Mountain dark and tall
The King has come unto his hall!
His foe is dead, the Worm of Dread,
And ever so his foes shall fall.

The sword is sharp, the spear is long,
The arrow swift, the Gate is strong;
The heart is bold that looks on gold;
The dwarves no more shall suffer wrong…”

Kór wished dearly he was back home in Erebor, holding his harp as his father bellowed the song of victory.


It seemed a slow and drawn out process, all that lead up to the moment when the two walls collided, but the battle began abruptly and then it was all too fast for Kór. The dwarven ranks pushed forward as the goblins did, each side trying to hold their ground and cause the other to lose their hold. The few ranks ahead of him pushed forward no matter what, and every gap was filled in, with no thought for how that gap in the ranks came to be there.

Soon he was even closer to the front ranks. He found himself pushing forward, stepping over the body of one of his own comrades. He had not used a shield outside of training, but he found it natural to cover his body, and not to expose himself for a moment. As he found himself in the front ranks, he reached around and underneath his shield to strike, chopping at whatever he could reach. He struggled to hold his footing, until finally he pushed – or was pushed – forward over a fallen goblin, his boot falling directly on its head. He was glad he could not see a great deal in the night.

Thus it took him a moment to realize that there was a dwarf exposed ahead of the bulwarks, stranded amidst a sea of goblins though he was not far in. Kór pushed forward with greater strength, driven by an amount of desperation. “My lord!” he heard a shout from beside him, and he recognized the dwarf beside him as Grór and the endangered dwarf as Trór, one after the other. He was surprised Grór was still beside him, but pleased. Kór and Grór and the dwarves closest to them pushed their way slowly to their lord, as if they were forcing a wedge into the goblin ranks, hoping blindly that the rest of the line would follow them forward. Kór wanted dearly to look behind him, to make sure they were still protected and were not exposed themselves, but he knew he could not take his eyes off the enemy before him, lest he lose his footing and his life.

[Groin Redbeard]

It was a fight for his life. Trór's side hurt every time his axe brought swift death to an Orc. His axe was like a wave that blunged its cold height down onto flimsy, wavering, weeds. Yet, as the formidable surf, his powerful arms descended and then receded to fall again, but were slowly being choked by the carnage it wrought. Trór could hear nothing, his body was stricken so that he could not speak.

"If I die here, then I die well, indeed!"

Once again he raised his axe and directed it onto the shield of the largest Orc charging at him. As the blow glanced off the shield the Orc gave a dreadful yell; Trór thought that it might have been a victory shout, but all words sounded terrible in Orc language. Trór was quick to retaliate. Again his axe fell on the Orc's shield and continued until the shield was bent beyond use. The shield left the Orc's arm and came flying at Trór, who dodged it with great difficulty. Flinging itself with reckless rage, the Orc bore down merciless blows until Trór felt the full effects of his wound and fell.

The Orcs drew back to await the final blow that would seal their victory. Trór heard shouting, deep throated shouts: the dwarves had swarmed to his protection as they saw him fall. Trór took heart and with the last summoning of strength he struck his would be executer with the broad side of his axe, sending it hurdling back into its own ranks. Then Trór felt the presence of Grór and the coward Kór and lost all thought and knowledge of the moment.

~~~~~~~

Nali

The battle cry of Balin was still strong on the right flank. Nali’s arms grew tireless. Unharmed and jubilant, Nali helped drive the second wave of Orcs back across the ramparts with heavy loss. All was well with his warriors but rumors had reached them that the fight was strongest in the center and that Trór was dead. Nali persuaded the warriors to keep their thoughts focused on their own predicament, but now that a lull had reached his front all of their thoughts went were at the center.

“Find a runner and bring word of the fight in the center.” A runner was speedily sent on his way.

The Orcs charged again. The Orcs clawed to gain a footing but they were steadily checked by the dwarves. The carcasses of the dead Orcs were piled high on the ramparts and slipped as the Orcs groped for anything that they could use to pull themselves up. Nali put himself between a gap in the line and defended it with a tenacity that would surprise many of his age. Though Nali was a proud fighter, he wished that Onli would come soon. It would give him proof of the young dwarf’s loyalty and health: he hoped that Onli had not been killed.

Suddenly, Nali realized he made a mistake. His blow had been to hasty and fell harmlessly on a shield. Nali saw it coming: the shield was withdrawn and revealed a gleaming spear thrust at his chest. Instinctively, Nali sought to deflect the blow, but only half succeeded. A strong arm held the spear and it cleaved through his chainmail and into his arm propelling him backwards.

Nali did not scream or cry out for help; for a moment he wondered if he was dead. His eyes opened to see concerned faces kneeling over him.

“Do not move!” came a voice. Nali looked at his arm, alarmed at what he might see. The arm was bent in an unnatural manner and almost cut off. The sight of it made the pain come alive. He heard a sound like the strike of a hammer on an anvil and felt a sharp spasm of pain in his arm.

“Quickly, bear him to the halls!” Nali saw the officer who had greeted him at his arrival; his axe was red at the edge.

Strong arms picked him up and pressure put on his arm. The sky was dark, without a trace of dawn. Nali wondered if he would ever see the dawn; he wondered how Lóni and Trór were faring, and if his warriors could hold without him. Callous to what he might see, Nali twisted his head to see his arm. Red cloth now wrapped the stump which moments before had been his right arm.

[Thinlómien]

There was no reply, it felt as if no one was there. Had she imagined the cry of pain, or had it been herself? She felt a little dizzy - rum, grief and lack of sleep was evidently not a good combination. She took one step further and reached out to the darkness carefully. There was only thin air. She stopped breathing, there was no sound in the still darkness of the cave. She could not feel the presence of anyone. Am I going insane...?

Then there was a gentle cool breath of air on her face. She stepped back. "Who are you? Why have you put out the lights?" There was no reply, only the barely noticeable brush of something on her shoulder. A gentle brush, as if nudging her forwards. "Who are you? What do you want of me!" There was no reply but the echo of her words in the dark.

Suddenly, Vigdis could see a flickering fire somewhere ahead of her. She approached it carefully. In one of the lanterns, there was a tiny spark still burning. Its glow grew more steady when she came closer, and the warm light surrounded her when she reached to touch the lantern, it surrounded her almost as yellow as candlelight. She felt the brush on her shoulder again. She turned around. "Balin?" she asked quietly, afraid of her own voice and the echoes it might bring. The corridor remained silent and she could see nothing but darkness outside the small circle of the lantern light.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

He stood back and held his column until the battle turned furious in front of him. Bidding farewell to his brother, he lead the warriors forwards.

“Take care of thy other eye—I would feign have thee see me when victory is won.”

“For Balin then! Farewell.”

Náli's last words made him indeed think more of himself than of his brother now. Lóni knew that Náli will be fine, he could get out of many tight spots before. He was the one to lead his company victoriously through the Battle of the Five Armies, standing by Trór's side in the great battle for the first time.

As he rushed forwards, Lóni thought how similar things were once again to that day. But now it was Lóni, and not Náli, who was to support Trór's back. But the sounds of battle, always so similar, seemed even more similar to that day to Lóni. The clash of arms, the shrieks of the goblins, dim and distant howling of the wolves. On the far left, somebody even shouted "Moria! Moria!" just like the Dwarves of Dáin did in that battle long ago.

The Dwarven host moved forwards and rushed into the black tide.

The gloom was almost like on that day, too. As if seeing it in front of himself, Lóni could recall it: the great bats were covering the skies - how lucky we are today, Lóni thought, that the vampire carrion-eaters are not here.

He could hear shrieks from the far right, as one of his fellow warriors fell to the ground and a vampire bat descended upon him.

The Dwarven axes shone in fierce anger. And for a brief moment Lóni could notice Trór in front of the ranks, just like he was on that day.

"Let go!" Lóni cried, rushing to the fallen, but his brother dragged him to the side. "He is dead. Come! We have to follow Trór."

How are you, Náli, Lóni thought. Now it is me who has to follow Trór. You are right, I should take care of my other eye... I need it to keep it on Trór.

"Moria! Moria!" the cries echoed. They clashed. Trór was amazing, swinging his axe and thrusting his spear. The goblins surrounded them. At that moment, Náli gave out a battle cry and rushed forth.

"What happened!" somebody cried.

Lóni saw it too. The black tide moved forth and swallowed Trór. The Dwarves in the first ranks rushed to his aid.

"Brother, watch out!"

Lóni realised he made a mistake. His blow had been too hasty and fell harmlessly on a shield. He could only see a blurry motion of an axe being swung towards him from his right side. Instinctively, Lóni sought to deflect the blow, but only half succeeded. He could feel the blade cutting the flesh on his face, before he managed to push it away. But the pain overwhelmed him, he could not see, he fell to his knees and awaited the final blow.

Lóni could not be completely sure what was going on ahead of the bulwarks, but it was obvious to him that the goblins are rushing to crush the vanguard, to crush what was left of Trór and those who were defending him. Yet there was no way Lóni himself could stop them now.

He heard a strange noise and then a gurgling sound which no doubt came from the goblin in front of him. He managed to force his eyes open and through the mist and blood blurring his vision, he could notice it: a hail of Elven arrows fell from above.

"Take arrows!" he cried, taking his own very old shortbow. "Stop them! Shoot them!"

He was not the only one in the line to carry a bow. The Dwarves around him, who were standing in the back, were armed with ranged weapons too and now they sent their hail of arrows into the ranks of the Orcs. It worked: the attackers were distracted from their attempt and forced to pull back. Lóni knew it could not last, but it might at least give Trór and those around him time to put themselves together.

[Groin Redbeard]

Shrieks filled the air, groans of the dying and wounded. The sounds echoed from wall to wall each time growing fainter but greater in numbers and complexity, creating an audible vision of terror. This was not a battle, this was a hospital.

The First Hall was littered with tables and litters; a few surgeons anxiously trying to help the wounded quickly before moving to another wounded warrior. Nisa was one of those attendants who followed the surgeons around; she had a gift with herbal remedies that cheated pain and quickened sleep. Her timid nature was forgotten now, she had been in places like this before, but never so large, yet, Nisa’s will did not break. Outside the battle was becoming fierce. It was louder than before and fewer bodies were being brought in. Victory was near, or defeat had already been sealed.

“Nali!” Nisa recognized the aged dwarf. Nali was brought in on the shoulders of four warriors, he was hastily set down and surgeon was hollered for.

“Why do you linger my brave warriors, fight while you still can.” With tears brimming, warriors returned to battle. Nisa knelt by Nali and held his good hand.

“My lord, lie still you have lost much blood.”

Nali calmed down for a few minutes, enough for Nisa to clean the wound. What a ghastly thing to happen to such an old and venerable dwarf. Is fate so cruel that it would allow Nali to die so unfavorably? What great sacrifices necessity calls of us. Nisa was angry: this isn’t fair, this is not just. Like flies to vaunting boys are we to the gods: they kill us off like flies.

Suddenly Nali began to breathe heavily. He opened his eyes, wild and delirious. Nisa felt very uncomfortable with Nali staring at her, no look of recognition could be read from his face.

“How did it go, Trór?” Nisa started at the abrupt question. Nali clearly must be delirious with the loss of so much blood. She began to stutter.

“I did not see much; the boys got their dander up and charged the rocks. Did fortune favor us?” Clearly, Nali was mistaking her for Trór; perhaps relaying one of those old encounters they had back in Erebor. Nisa nodded her head, she couldn’t speak.

“We took those rocks?” Nali’s face lit up, trying to raise himself up. Nisa just nodded again. He lay back on the cot and sighed.

“I have never seen a worse ground,” Nisa began crushing some herbs in a goblet filled with wine. Suddenly Nali seized her arm. “Thou wilst give my boys full credit for today’s accomplishment?” Nisa was truly frightened now at Nali’s state, she needed to get him to sleep. With shaking hands she forced the cup into Nali’s hands. He examined it for a moment and then gave a knowing smile.

“Aye we’ll drink on it then.” He drained the cup and fell into a content, yet feverish, sleep.

[Durelin]

Kór

They apparently had reached Trór just in time, or perhaps the dwarf lord felt he could let go now that there were friendly shields and axes to protect him. He fell unconscious into the midst of his rescuers, though not before dispatching another orc attacker. All the would-be rescue party could do for several moments was fend off the orcs who rushed at them, seeing an opportunity to pick off a small group distracted by their fallen comrade. But then there was a whistling overhead, and many of the dwarves instinctively crouched down to try to cover their heads as well as their bodies with their shield. But the whistling came from behind them, and arrows weeded out the orcs in the front lines.

Trór’s body was pulled quickly behind the wall of the Kór and Grór’s shields, and was dragged slowly through the snow back into the vanguard even as the other warriors continued to push forward. They could not raise up Trór’s body to carry it respectfully, no matter how much they wished to – for his own safety and for the entire army. They could not bear his unconscious form away for all to see that their lord was leaving the battlefield in less than victorious fashion.

As the rescue party pulled back into the dwarven ranks, ready warriors flooded around them to hold the ground from which they had retreated. Kór felt almost able to relax, but when he had a moment to turn around, he felt a new fear and apprehension. Regardless of how he felt about Trór, this was the Uzbad Khazaddûmu, and the heart of the soldiers if not yet the heart of the civilians. Kór had to wonder if Trór’s reign would indeed not even last a day.

Quickly Kór got to work with the others. While Grór took Trór by the legs, Kór helped ease the stress on Trór’s body by lifting him from underneath. At least four dwarves helped carry the Lord of Khazad-dûm off the battlefield. It was unceremonious, but they hoped to avoid any commotion over the fallen lord as well as get him aid as quickly as possible.

~*~

Kórin

Kórin could only listen to the women in the First Hall fretting for so long. As wounded dwarves began to trickle in early still in the battle, many bravely rolled up their sleeves and did everything they could to put the warriors back together. But some spent more time worrying, and voicing their worry, than Kórin could stand. These were the types who would spend all their time worrying and leave no time to do anything about it.

She had already donned her mail and carried her mace at her side, and had gone to the hospital in the First Hall to get news about the battle. Unfortunately she learned little, and was still steaming over how much time she had wasted as she made her way to the Dimrill Gate. Kórin soon joined the ranks of the rearguard, but attempted to make her way forward in the lines as quickly as she could without disrupting the formation. Many dwarves glanced at her, even while they did their best to ignore her, and before long an officer instructed Kórin to take her place in line and stay there. She was disgruntled, but obeyed and held her peace. She was here to be a soldier, and she realized she should act like one.

She could not help watching the wounded being carried back from the front lines, fearing that each body might be a familiar face. Of course, it was perhaps better that Kór be among the wounded carried away than the dead left on the field until victory was won or...

Kórin did catch a glimpse of her brother, and she felt relief well up in her, though her tenseness did not lessen. He was not being carried, but was bearing a dwarf along with several others. She could not see the wounded dwarf to know who he was, but she would not approach her brother. She would not break ranks, and it was enough to see him alive. What more was there to know?

[Groin Redbeard]

Everything was dark. Trór was walking in total darkness as conscience of himself as if he had been awake, but he knew that it was a dream. He was still dressed in his armor, his axe, black with his enemy's blood, his axe was still in his hand, but the pain in his side was gone.

Trór could sense something staring at him in the darkness. He moved forward cautiously, repetitively looking over his shoulder. His boots made a dull thud on the unseen floor and echoed all around him.

A voice broke the silence and it was not his own.

"Trór."

He froze at the mention of his name--afraid to move afraid to speak. Again, the same voice called to him, only this time louder. "Trór." He spun around expecting to come face to face with a gruesome spectre, but was still met with utter blackness.

“Friend or devil,” Trór, “I do not know into what vision or nightmare you have cast me under, but I will see your face. I command you to show yourself.”

Footsteps could be heard close by. Trór gripped his axe and braced himself for a terrifying encounter. However, instead of a wraith or demon, Trór was met by what looked to be an old Dwarf, but Trór knew that this was no ordinary Dwarf. The Dwarf wore a crown of pure silver, richly carved and decorated with jewels the like of which Trór had ever seen. Robes gracefully flowed in the Dwarf’s walk and were of the finest needle point. Trór knew he would never such crafts as these as long as he lived.

The Dwarf had a white beard that flowed down to his waist, his noise was sharp and his face was wrinkled. He stood tall and in reality was shorter than Trór, but the air of the Dwarf and the authority vested in his stare made Trór feel very small. The Dwarf’s stare far surpassed Trór’s worst glare and Trór quickly fell on his knees.

“Spirit I know that you are no devil come to taunt me. I know that I am dead and that I am now encountering the terrible unknown that all Dwarves face when they have died. Spare me, I pray you! What is it you will?”

Trór dared to look up at the spirit, somewhere he had seen this face before whether etched in stone or in person but he could not tell. The spirit bade him rise (which Trór readily did). Trór saw that they were standing within the walls of Khazad-dum itself, he was not dead--this was a vision! The spirit pointed to the end of the hall. Fire! there was a fire in the mines.

“What does this mean, spirit?” But the spirit said nothing. Instead, it gave Trór a very pitiful look and bowed its head (it looked to Trór as if it was crying). Suddenly, Trór could hear the din of a battle surrounding them. Once again he felt the pain in his side. The vision was gone.

The battle echoed in his ears. He could feel himself being lifted by strong arms and felt the swaying motion of his march. He still felt the pain in his ribs and wondered if he was bleeding. Trór's eyes were shut, his muscles stiff; unable to speak unable to move, but he was conscious.

Trór could hear his bearers talking to one another.

"Is he dead?"

"He breaths still. Let us wake him."

"Don't put him down!"

"Keep moving!" Trór recognized two of the voices for Kór and Grór.

With great effort, Trór conjured enough determination to speak.

“Put me down!”

“My lord,” spoke Gror, “The Uzbad Khazaddûmu lives!”

Trór opened his eyes and saw that he was within the gateway of the First Hall. Trór immediately thought of his vision and the fire in the mines. He wanted to jump up and run to great halls to see if they were burning, but he found that he was unable to stand without great pain. He looked over and saw wounded warriors lying all around him suddenly he remembered: the battle.

“Warriors, how goes the battle.” For a minute the thought of defeat had entered his mind.

“We still hold most of the defenses, my lord, but they might be overrun even as we speak. Shall the horns blow retreat?”

“Retreat?” A fire leapt back into Trór’s eyes. Gone was the memory of the vision. He only thought of the battle. “If our foes were a hundred times stronger I would not sound retreat! For us there is not retreat, only victory or defeat. Help me up. Give me a banner to lean on and I will stand in the gateway for our enemy to see. I am still Lord of Khazad-dum and I still live!”

[Durelin]

Kór

Kór was not sure if he was more stunned by Trór’s sudden return to consciousness, or by the suggestion that retreat was necessary. He only half listened to Trór’s vehement rejection of retreat, for he was startled for different reasons. The reality of the battle suddenly fell on him, not only of the dire situation he had witnessed firsthand, but also of the empty eyes and the blood that shined on his chainmail… Kór felt weariness rush over him, as his body could not make up its mind if it was sweltering or chilled, and he began to shake all over, his muscles’ support seeming to melt away.

Kór was thus quite happy to obey Trór’s command, and let go of the Uzbad Khazaddûmu. The others lowered him to let him stand upright, but two remained supporting him.

“I am still Lord of Khazad-dûm and I still live!”

Kór, Grór and the others could only look at the Lord of Khazad-dûm for a moment or two, as each tried desperately to figure out how to argue with their lord and extremely stubborn dwarf. Looking into Trór’s eyes, Kór could not help but wonder if he was completely mad.

“With all respect, my lord,” he began quietly and calmly, feeling distant, “that will almost certainly change if you return to the battle. And if we do not retreat while we can, your soldiers will be limited to those you see here.” He gestured toward the wounded.

Kór was glad his sister had not gotten her way. He knew he could not assume she was not out in the snowy night beside it all, but he couldn’t think about that right now.

~*~*~

Kórin

No one was left out of the battle now. The regiment Kórin had adopted was attacked from the side, as the orcs poured around the dwarven forces, greatly outnumbering them. Taken by surprise and in disarray, they could only hope to maintain their position and fight for their lives. Kórin felt useless as she watched the dwarven ranks around her thin.

[Thinlómien]

They were fighting outside, she knew. She could hear the thundering even to the distant cavern where she was working. Dwarf against goblin, good against evil, defenders of their realm against murderers. Any other day, she should have been there, her beautiful sword and her strong arms, her fierceness and skill protecting Khazad-dûm like so many times before. She was enough of a warrior to have been summoned.

But she had been appointed with a duty even more important than fighting the enemy. Instead of revenging her lord's death she would be making him remembered, she, always a mason over a warrior, was carving his tombstone when they were fighting at the very gates. Ignoring the battles, momentarily forgetting the flickering flame and the echoes in the dark, she was fully concentrating in her craft, pouring her skill and love to the stone.

Memories, how they hurt. The scene in her room at night, the first time ever meeting him, all the days exploring the tunnels of Erebor with him. The memories would go, go to the stone and the stone would keep them, live through them, breath through them. His eyes when he explained his crew he had found a new tunnel closer to the top of the mountain, his laugh when she had suggested asking King Dáin for a special permission to break through a wall, his strong body carrying the heavy blocks of stone in the tunnels with pearls of sweat on his brow. All going to the stone, to the shape, the slight curving of the beautiful dark gray block. And his first speech to the colony in Khazed-dûm, the shadows of worry behind his bright eyes, his fierce swordstrokes in a goblin attack. All of them went to the perfectly, mlikily white slab of stone to be placed on top of the oblong dark rock.

And the last time he had looked at her, his eyes briefly passing over her face and the hint of a smile of recognition when he was leaving for the Mirrormere, never to return. That she kept in mind when she carved:

BALIN FUNDINUL
UZBAD KHAZADDÛMU

which would be read in later times by speakers of the common tongue as

BALIN SON OF FUNDIN
LORD OF MORIA

[Folwren]

Kénan and Kéni fought side by side, inching back together step by step as the forces of the orcs continued to press forward. Kénan knew from the beginning that they could not win. The only reasonable thing to do was to retreat back within the mountain and barricade the gates, but the order was never given.

Kéni was wearing out. Kénan saw his strokes become feeble and sweat poured down his beardless face. The suddenly a large orc broke through the seething lines of dwarves and goblins. He lunged towards Kénan. The old dwarf parried the thrust of his spear, but the orc brought the shaft up hard against Kénan’s chest in a back handed stroke. Kénan stumbled back, almost thrown off his feet. Before he could regain his balance and attack the orc again, the creature had turned to Kéni. He swung with the butt end of his spear at Kéni’s head. The boy jerked back to avoid it and tried to parry with his axe. He missed, and as his wielding arm went wide with the stroke, the goblin took advantage of his opened guard and plunged the spear deep into his chest.

Kénan hurtled himself forward with a roar of fury. With one blow of his axe, he hacked the head from the spear’s shaft and then with the second swing, removed the head from the orc’s neck. He fought as thought he had gone mad, his eyes blazing and spit frothing at his mouth as with each stroke he cursed the orcs and all their descendants.

But after he had killed many and cleared a circle about Kéni, he returned to his grandson. The broken spear protruded from his chest, but he was still alive and conscious.

Kénan hung his axe on his belt and stooped and lifted Kéni in his arms, as though he weight no more in his armor than a little child. Then he bore him back to the gate.

Inside someone met him. Kéni changed hands to be carried in for help, if possible. “How goes it?” Kénan asked. “Do you know?”

“Lord Trór has been brought in wounded. He says we are not to retreat.”

Kénan looked at Kéni, gasping and struggling for breath, and he shook his head.

“No. We will not retreat.” His hand tightened around the haft of his axe. He stooped and kissed Kéni’s brow, murmured, “Goodbye, son. You fought well. I will meet you in the halls of our fathers.” Then he turned and strode back out into the cold night of blood and snow.

[Groin Redbeard]

Long have we heard the glory of the Longbeards, now listen to this testimony of their worth.

From the time of the Lord Trór’s wounding the battle stood against the Dwarves. Long did the brave leaders stand against the tides of darkness, praying for the dawn. The steadfast Lóni, his brow wet and weary, firmly held the center. In vain did all the host of the foe strive to break the resolve of the Dwarves, but the Orcs reckoned without the great wrath of Frar--prowess more skilled than an eagle in vaunting flight against sparrows. See yonder foe stayed by so few defenders. Without Lóni and Frar the heroism yet to be mentioned would not have happened.

Yet, not all great deeds were done by nobles this day. Kórin fought bravely within the Dwarven ranks. Many Dwarves fell about her, yet she did not shirk and continued bravely at the fore of her companions. Likewise, Kénan, stripped of all noble trappings, begrudged this not when duty called and gave great testimony to the strength of his generation.

Doubtful the battle stood; as two spent swimmers, that do cling together and choke each other with all their art. All seemed lost till the Lord Trór emerged from the Mountain seemingly unscathed by battle or fatigue. A banner was in his hand, for he had lost his spear in battle, and his axe was held aloft. The Orcs wondered to see his hardy figure displayed so swiftly after seeing him fall and swiftly born away. The Dwarves cheered and pressed ever forward into the stunned Orcs.

The merciless Orcs--worthy to be such creatures, for, to that, the multiplying villainies of nature do swarm upon them--from the Northern realm of Gundabad of Hobgoblins and Wolves is supplied; and fortune, on their quarrel smiling, showed in their favor: yet all were too weak; for brave Oin, --well he deserves that name. Disdaining fortune, with his brandished steel, which smoked with bloody execution, like valor's minion, carved out his passage till he faced the leader of the Orc rabble. Accompanied by Ori was the brave Oin and together sifted through the body guards as a sickle does to wheat ripe for the harvesting. Face to face stood Oin against the Orc leader, Gorfang was his name, which never shook hands, nor bade farewell to him, till Oin unseamed him from the crest the the nave and fixed his head upon the battlements!

At this the Orcs, though greatly superior in numbers, succumbed fatigue of their long march and stout fight against the Dwarves-- they eagerly fled the field. Loath was Trór to restrain his warriors from routing his foe, yet he saw for himself the thinned force which he now commanded. Then was the diminished Dwarf host drawn within the curtains of Narvi’s Gates --never again to usher forth from their halls. The Goblins set siege to the mountain and with crude picks and hammers started biting into the mountain.
Thus ended the Second Battle Azulbizar.

May it please you gentle listener to hear of the second day of our story and the great undoing of Khazad-dum.

[Kitanna]

The wounded had been brought within the lower hall. Iari had woken alone, her heart aching for her brother and grandfather. She had spent much time crying that Kéni had decided to fight. She had been told she was too young to understand duty, to understand his need to fight. Iari may not have understood those things, but she did understand family and already her family had lost too many members in her short life.

Now in the hall Iari searched among the wounded for sign or word of Kénan and Kéni. Iari had heard rumblings that the orcs would break through and take the hall soon, but she couldn't be troubled by that, not now.

She spotted Kéni, laid out on the floor, a thin blanket over his body. Iari rushed over and saw a large, red spot in the chest of the blanket. "Kéni!" she wailed. She reached out to undercover her brother, to see the damage that was done. Another, less wounded, dwarf stopped her.

"Best if you not see that, lass."

Iari refused to let tears forms. If she cried she would show despair for Kéni. His wound couldn't be so bad, could it? If he was going to die they wouldn't have taken the time to bring his body back, right?

Iari knelt next to Kéni, taking his hand in hers. She used her free hand to smooth out his hair. "Kéni? Kéni, please wake up." Iari's brother mumbled a few things, but didn't wake up.

She curled up in a ball next to him. At some point while laying next to Kéni Iari fell asleep herself. She awoke with Kénan's shadow above her and she was still holding Kéni's hand in her own.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

As Lóni walked back into the underground halls, he felt like awakening from some kind of dream. The outcome of the battle - especially the last, what was it, seconds? Minutes? Hours? - it all seemed unreal to him, hazy, as if he had not really been there, or maybe he had, but in some other life or time or memory.

At one point, the Orcs were charging at them, they released their arrows and the black tide stopped, and he saw Trór being carried away from the battlefield. And in the next moment, the onslaught was renewed, and Lóni was once again holding his ground in the small spot beneath the slopes of the mountain, in front of the gates. And was it the Mountain, the one where he had been before? He could not discern one memory, or dream, from the other. He remembered the glorious moment when the gates swung open and the figure of their leader stood there. Thorin in Erebor. Trór in Azanulbizar. Did the past and the present always seem so intertwined? Lóni felt like awakening from a dream, but he now started to feel the present very strongly.

"It is like emerging from deep water, isn't it," said a voice next to him. He turned and saw Óin's face, with his white beard dirty, his face bearing an exhausted expression. Lóni nodded.

"True. But I am afraid that this was not yet the last time when we have had to go into the water."

Óin shrugged and, turning to join a group of Dwarves who followed to see the Lord of Moria, disappeared in the crowd. Lóni walked on, he intended to see his brother first to tell him that he is all right. Lóni was imagining how Náli could already be worried, especially if he heard about what happened to Trór, and knowing that Lóni was nearby.

However, it was only after he didn't find his brother among the leaders of the right flank, that Lóni started to feel a bit unsettled. Then he asked, and finally somebody told him that his brother had been wounded. They pointed him to the place where Náli lay, and Lóni walked there, fearful in expectation.

"Oh brother," he said, when he looked at the motionless body. He could not say anything more, he just gazed at his brother's face, his body, his legs, everything so much alike to his own. There were only two differencies for the older of the brothers - the two eyes still hidden behind the closed eyelids, and only one arm, resting peacefully upon the blood-stained blanket.

[Groin Redbeard]

The Hall stank with the odor of blood— Nisa felt as if the whole Hall were rotting. She had been up the entire night attending the wounded and now was her chance to rest.

Nali was still unconscious. He had been lying still the entire night except for a few moments where he would violently thrash his head and mutter something. Even an unconscious Nali gave Nisa comfort, so she chose a spot close to Nali and began to nod. However, her sleep was soon disturbed by many heavy footfalls—the warriors had returned.

Nisa jumped up at this. Where was Trór? She couldn’t see him amongst the crowd. She knew that he had been wounded and returned to the battle, but where was he?


Trór

The rock surface of the table shifted its weight on its legs as Trór slammed his fist down.

“How many?”

Grór hesitated for a moment before he responded, fearing that his response would bring out an even worse reaction. “We lost a little less than half our strength, my lord.”

Trór stood silent for a long moment. This was not the kind of victory that he wanted, but it couldn’t be helped. Even an army a fraction of its former size was better than nothing at all—Trór was fortunate to still have an army.

“What of my nobles?”

“My lord, the casualtys are still coming in, but for now the only noble that we have lost is Nali.”

“Dead?” Trór’s eyes were wide with surprise and fear.

“No my lord, he has lost an arm.”

Again Trór fell silent. Nali was a good Dwarf and hard to replace. However, a match must be made, but later, not now. He turned back to his officers; most of them were minor for his nobles had not yet returned from battle.

“What of the miners in Second Deep, have they been sent for?”

“Yes, my lord, but we must remember that Lord Balin sent the miners out weeks ago to carve out new passages. They will be half a day more in reaching us. Lord Balin’s death will also be a great shock when they return; they might not be fit for duty until tonight.”

The officer would have continued, but Trór raised his hand for silence—the nobles had returned. Trór could see Ờin coming alone. His beard was splotched with blood, Trór smiled to see it—Ờin had showed his valor had not diminished with his age.

“So well your blood stained beard becomes you, as your valiant deed today; they both smack of honor. I am glad to see you well, Ờin.” Trór looked over his shoulder at his officers; all of them watching his meeting with Ờin as if it were a matter of pressing importance.

“There are too many eager ears here, my friend. Will you walk with me to the bridge? There is pressing matter that I must discuss with you.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Once again, despite the fact that he had known Trór already for a long time, Óin was surprised. This Dwarf, he thought, was one who had been badly wounded in the battle not that long time ago, but how he bore himself! How he acted! His endurance had to be admitted, that was for sure. But when Trór asked Óin to follow him to the Bridge, the old Dwarf was slightly surprised. He did not give away any sign, though, his face remaining motionless.

"Aye," he said. "I will follow you."

A few of the captains shot their eyes in their direction, but neither Trór nor Óin made any response to it. They walked away, the older Dwarf following a few steps behind the current Lord of Moria. What is it, he thought, his blue eyes pinned on Trór's back, that the Lord was having on his mind? Was he planning to act in some way? Did he want Óin to go on a scouting mission, now, or to do something else to thwart the Orcs' plans? Óin would not be surprised at something like that, though he could imagine that it would be hard to get out of the gates, surely besieged by now. Even now he could see in his mind's eye the Orcs approaching the gates, choosing the best places to stand, the old Dwarf remembered every inch of that ground and he knew exactly where they would find good places to stay - and how hard would it be to drive them out of these spots.

At the near end of the bridge they stopped. Óin looked for a moment into the depths of the pit and shivered slightly at the breath of chill currents blowing into his face from the unknown depths. He shook his head and turned away.

"So," he said, raising his eyes to meet the sight of the younger Dwarf, but seeing instead a wounded, but a tough warrior and the Lord of this kingdom, now shrunk and besieged, however still a Dwarven realm of old. "What was it, Trór, that you wanted to tell me about? My earsight is not as good as it used to be, but I am listening to you."

[Durelin]

The orcs retreated even as the warriors of Khazad-dûm were beginning to feel the pressure of falling back. They managed to hold their ground fiercely enough that the orcs gave way. There was no doubt that the dwarves had lost many, and no matter how many orc corpses lay in the snow, the dwarves were now even more outnumbered due to their losses.

Kórin returned from the battlefield, exhaustion and realization hitting her hard. Even when she saw her brother in the First Hall, she could not feel relief like she had earlier. On her mail were splotches of her own blood, as well as the blood of others, orcs and comrades alike. She knew how many orcs she had felled that night, but that she could not count the number of dwarves she had seen fall kept her grim and silent.

When Kór saw his sister enter the hall among the other soldiers sent to the First Hall rather than kept outside as a garrison or to gather the remains of the dead, he almost smiled at first, with relief and with amusement at the fact that she did indeed get her wish to fight, but seeing her covered in the residue of battle left him unable.

Kór made his way to her. "Do you have any wounds that need tending?" he asked after an awkward moment of plain recognition.

"Not any that need tending before others'," she began. "For one thing, I am still standing."

Kór could only nod and look down at his feet. "Trór is among those wounded. We were afraid he was dead..."

"Was that whom you were carrying off the field?" Kórin asked.

Kór nodded. He was starting to shake, and it was getting difficult to speak.

"So he has survived the majority of his men," Kórin said grimly. She looked around the Hall for the new Uzbad Khazaddûmu, but did not catch sight of him.

Staring at his sister's face, wondering at the flat seriousness of her expression, Kór spoke, "We need a drink."

So they returned to the Twenty-first Hall where their day had begun in revelry, and bore back Kórin's keg to the First Hall along with others who brought food and drink to the soldiers returning from battle.

For now they would recover their strength, and leave it to the lords to determine the next step in protecting their lives and their home. They could hold out in the vast depths of Khazad-dûm for a long time, but she was not sure they had the strength anymore to make an effective defense. Still, there was hope of survival, if it could be called that, as the mines ran deep...

[Gwathagor]

Frar leaned heavily against the stone wall and let his axe fall to the ground with a dull but resounding clatter, like heavy bones knocking against each other. His black hair and beard were matted and sticky and made even blacker with orc blood, save for a few red patches where his own blood, oozing from a gash above his right eye, mixed with theirs. The wound had ceased to bleed and was now bandaged with a strip of linen wound many times around his head. His armor was scored deeply on all sides, but only in a few places had it failed altogether, and these wounds too had been bandaged up - and the armor buckled straight back on over them. Altogether, the appearance of the titanic warrior was one of battered, ferocious dignity. Though the head-bandage unfortunately covered his right eye, his Frar's left eye burned with a redoubled fire, a fire that had been rising all day and that the recent battle had only serve to stoke. Frar cast his heavy leather gauntlets down beside the axe, took a deep breath, and looked around him.

All around him were soldiers who had just returned from the field off battle. They trickled in, most wounded, most still in their armor, some of them bearing their gear with them from more distant chambers, clearly with the intent to stay. All were dirty and bruised and beaten in body - but still strong in spirit. They were in a moderately-sized chamber just off the main hall, just an arrow's flight from the Bridge of Khazad-dum, and from here they could answer any threat immediately. In the meantime, they would rest, bind their wounds, and wait.

Frar walked among his soldiers, taking in their strength and morale. He said little, but for his faithful dwarves, his nods and growls spoke plenty. They knew: he was tremendously proud of them and heartbroken at the wounds they had taken.

An hour or so later, his task completed, Frar went in search of Tror, hoping against hope that he had survived the last furious skirmish before the orcs had retreated down the Dale. Their losses had been great and only a very few of their surviving soldiers had gone unscathed. Frar was not excited about bringing his report to Tror, but it was necessary nonetheless.

[Thinlómien]

Vigdis

Hasty footsteps in the corridor. Vigdis lifted her gaze from her work which she had been watching for a time she could not venture to estimate. Yes, they were real footsteps, not ghost-like, and light, lighter than the footsteps she had half expected to hear.

"Help!" a voice called, and it was a young voice. Should I care? wondered Vigdis, still staring at the stone that looked so final, so cold despite all the love she had poured into it.

"Help me!" the voice called, now with a note of desperation. These are your people, Vigdis, she told herself, he would have wanted you to look after them. Not without regret, she left her work - it was finished, she was telling herself, it had been finished already for a while - and stepped into the corridor.

A boy was running towards her, looking exhausted and face full of horror. His step was not steady, he looked as if he was about to faint. "Help!" he shouted again.

"Calm down, what's the matter?"

The boy jerked his head abruptly and stopped upon hearing her voice. "I have... there is... I must tell something to Lord Trór." His eyes were filled with tears. He looked as if he could fall unconscious to the floor at any minute. Vigdis nodded at him approvingly. "You are a brave man, and I see you have done all you can to deliver the message. But you do seem tired, tell it to me and I can take your message forwards."

The boy wavered for a while and said: "My lady..." (Vigdis was both amused and utterly bewildered to be addressed so) "there is something in the mines. I... I was there with my grandfather... he... he's a miner and we went down to the third tunnel by the chasm and there was... there was suddenly red light everywhere... and then blackness, blacker than the blackest smoke... and I asked if it was... if it was a coal fire and grandpa said yes but he did not look like he was telling the truth and he told me to run... to run as fast as I can to the colony... and leave him there because... because he can't run because he has only one leg..." The boy burst into tears and Vigdis stared at him helplessly, not sure what to do and grief and fear building in her heart.

The boy cried. Vigdis hated to do what she did, but now it was not only about one poor little boy, it was about the whole colony. She spoke up harshly: "Is that all? Did your grandfather tell you why he told you to run? It's not the time for useless weeping, we may all be in grave danger."

The boy looked at her, humiliated and angry, but continued: "He told me I had to run and leave him there because I had sworn to my mum I will obey him whatever he says. He said it is important I make it back even if he can't because it may be that our worst fear has awoken."

Vigdis' heart was filled with dread. Durin's Bane... all these years she had thought, or liked to think, that it was a mere legend, a nightmare from old times. But the flame and the shadow, and the old man's words... they could not be ignored. Even a legless man could have stood a chance to run from a coal fire and he had undoubtedly seen something...

The boy was still weeping, but quietly, standing on his own two legs, but hardly managing it. For the first time Vigdis saw clearly how young he was, how utterly unready to face such horrors. "Come," she said, gently this time, "I will take you to rest and your news to Lord Trór. I swear. You need not to worry about this anymore."

The boy walked to her obediently and took her arm to lean on. He let her take him to her workroom and wrap her in the blanket she kept there for the cold nights she used for working. He let her pour something strong and warm down his throat, and started feeling dizzy. "Now, sleep well, brave one," he heard her murmur. "But... what about grandpa? Will someone go look for him?" the boy asked urgently.

Vigdis hesitated a while before replying. "Certainly," she lied when she saw the little one close his eyes. Then she hurried away.

On her way, she met Adela, the kitchen maid she had been talking with earlier. "Look," she said, "there is a young boy in my workroom, sleeping. Someone should take care of him. Can you find that someone?" "Sure thing," Adela said, and Vigdis left her with brief thanks.

She was trying to find Lord Trór when she bumped into a venerable old dwarf with a messy beard of straw yellow and grey. "I need to see the Lord. It is urgent."


Ori

Urgent? Ori wondered, raising his eyebrows as the young woman rushed into him and started demanding things. He was displeased to notice that she hadn't bothered to add one bit of respect to her tone or phrasing. He could recall this was the woman whom Balin had let fight with the search parties and who had always seemed to be found nearby where he was, sometimes even holding private council with him. For some reason, he found this unbearably irksome at the moment.

"I did not see you fighting today? Where were you hiding? Finally realised your place?"

Her cool grey eyes flashed with unexpected fire. "Yes, master Ori, indeed. I was carving the tomb of Lord Balin."

He was afraid he could not hide his surprise, nor his displeasure. A woman carving the tomb? And this arrogant, improper woman of all the female craftmasters they had? "On whose orders?" he asked carefully. He did not want to sound too rude - it was possible someone had really appointed her to do it.

"I got the orders from Master Náli, but I understand he had agreed with Lord Trór." She did not need to add that it was not Ori's business to question the decision in this case, he could hear it in her voice and he had to admit she was right.

So, even grumpier than before, he decided to change the topic: "And you came here for a reason, I understand?"

"Yes. I have news for Lord Trór."

"He's resting. He was sorely wounded."'

"Then I hope Mahal grants him the strength to heal quickly. However, my news are urgent and cannot wait."

"You can tell your news to me, young woman, and I can judge whether they're urgent enough to bother the Lord with, or not."

The grey eyes flashed again. "Firstly, the mission I was appointed with is done. Lord Balin now has a tomb to reside in." She made a brief pause and while he remained expressionless, she continued: "An old miner and his grandson were in the third tunnel by the chasm, in the lower mines, today and it seems they came face to face with Durin's Bane."

Ori felt all the colour leave his face. Of course, it had always been here, the fire and the shade, but they had been foolish enough to hope it was gone, or forever asleep... and of all moments it chose to appear now. "I need to talk to these miners. Lord Trór needs to see them. Now," he said in a hollow voice.

"I'm afraid it's impossible. The old miner has - most probably - perished and his grandson is currently unavailable. He was exhausted and I gave him some drink, he is asleep now."

"On whose authority did you do that? The information is crucial!" Ori shouted, surprising even himself. He hardly ever lost his temper.

"On my own authority, and judgement. The boy would have been of no use to you. I now know what he knows and you can wake him up when you really need him. He was so exhausted he could barely speak even when I met him."

Ori could feel the anger boil inside himself. What was this woman to act on her own judgement on such important matters? But delivering these news to Lord Trór was more important now than the dispute with this insolent woman. "I'm going to see Lord Trór now," Ori said calmly, "and you'd better follow me."

The woman nodded curtly, and followed Ori without a word.

[Groin Redbeard]

So many thoughts whirled through Trór’s head. Where to start? “I could almost see them,” he began, “Our troops moving in one smooth motion down the mountain. The Orcs almost broke. I could feel them braking. If only I had more warriors, I could have crushed them.” Trór lifted his open hand and slowly crushed the air, gazing at it in a vision of victory.

Weary and bereft of sleep, he braced himself against a pillar. He lifted his axe and examined, the head stained a permanent black. “Have you ever felt hopeless?” Trór was still looking at his axe but he could feel Oin’s eyes burning a hole in his head. There was no answer. Oin knew that Trór was asking a rhetorical question and waited for his lord to expound on it.

“When I was wounded, my aides bore me off the battlefield. While I was unconscious I had a dream. In my dream I met a Dwarf; his was beard as white as the snow capped mountains and I knew I had seen him before, though I knew not where. He led me for many hours (at least it seemed like hours) without saying a word through my kingdom, empty and dark, until presently a light began to show—a dull burning red glow from one of the roads that led to the mines. The dwarf looked at me with a sad and foreboding face. There was another road, though I did not see it at the time, but I remember now. It was dark and it stank of Orc. Then the dream ended.”

Oin was patient and expressionless. He did not say anything and Trór was thankful for it.

“I know that face,” Trór began again; “He was staring at me the entire time I could not see him. I believe it was Balin in my dream.” Trór started to stroke his beard. “Oin, I have lived a soldier’s life for as long as I can remember, but I have never felt anything as brutally clear as this. It is as if tomorrow has already happened and there is nothing you can do about it.”

Again Trór fell silent. An idea was blowing in his brain, but there was no time to think. He no longer felt his usual bold and tenacious character sweep hold of him; instead, he felt slow, he felt careful, but something was happening. It left him breathless. As if something was hunting him. The odor of death was everywhere. The wounded, the dead, and the dying were all uncomfortable reminders of an ever encroaching enemy.

“Something is approaching, Oin. It shakes my very soul with fear to think of what it might be.” Trór left the support of the pillar and stood looking across the bridge. “If I had an army I would stay and fight. But this is not an army! Can I ask them to do what I dread to do myself?

“Oin, my friend I trust your counsel. My plan of fighting has failed –the Hollin Gate is still open. Our hope is waning fast; we have a few hours to make a decision.”

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Óin was listening to the new Lord of Moria with growing discomposure. Even in his old face, he could not hide the surprise at the words he heard - and the fear. When Trór ended, the old scout was frowning so hard that his snow-white eyebrows stood almost vertically above the blue eyes, gleaming like the waters of a still mountain lake.

At last he shook his head.

"My lord, my lord, this is not nice for my ears at all what you say. But of course, you are right in implying what you think. Look at me, I have known for a few hours already what is likely going to happen - and yet I did not have the courage to admit it to myself, or to say it aloud. See, I do not have it even now." He chuckled, but his face remained grave. "I see. The beasts outside are upon us, and it is only the question of time before they breach the gates of Khazad-dûm. We have women, children, and civilians with us. Balin would know that I will be the last one to abandon my place in defending his home, but he would also do his best to protect those who are with him. And if it means retreating - so be it. The Hollin Gate is still open, you said. Very well. If you want to hear my opinion, Lord Trór," he paused for a while, as if still pondering for himself before actually saying it aloud, "I believe we should take our chances. Moria is deep, but the Orcs do not know it. I do. I can reach the Hollin Gate in two days' march, or even less, if need be. Of course, with any company, the journey might prove to be somewhat slower, but still... I say it is worth an attempt. Even if..." He sighed. "Even if the Orcs enter Moria, they will not be able to pursue anybody soon. And they will not dare to go further from the mountains, I know them, dirty monsters. They will be content with Khazad-dûm and what is left of it."

"And there is this other thing you spoke of..." Once again, the old Dwarf fell silent. Then he suddenly burst into rage. "By Durin's beard! How is that even possible? Is all the evil turning upon us? By Durin's beard, this is not a coincidence. Dreams can be tricky, lord Trór, but I know, I feel, something's wrong, and this time..."

Suddenly, he stopped and turned his head. He shook it, so his long white hair wagged, but he was not imagining things: loud voices were coming, and approaching fast.

"They said he is by the Bridge..."
"I need to speak to him, because if this is true..."
"What is it? What did the woman say?"

Óin recognised the voices: one belonged to Ori, another to Frár. Soon, he and Trór saw the dark shapes approaching.

[Folwren]

Kénan approached quietly. He knew Kéni was mostly likely dead, but what smote at his heart the hardest was the small figure of Iari, crumbled in a little heap beside him. As he drew near, he saw that she was asleep. Good. Perhaps she had missed her brother’s passing. But she had one of his hands clasped in hers.

Still several paces away from them, Kénan took off his helmet and took the axe from his belt. He laid them down on the stone floor before coming over to the two children. Iari did not stir immediately. Kénan glanced at Kéni’s face, and surprisingly, he did not look dead after all.

“Grandfather?” Iari murmured. Kénan looked down at her. She stirred and then sat up. Her hand never relinquished that of her brother.

Kénan knelt beside her and together they looked into Kéni’s face. Kénan wanted to say something, but he did not know what to say, or even how to say it. Should he tell her that her brother was about to die? Should he just wait and not even talk about it? What would she do when Kéni’s spirit did pass away? Reluctantly, he admitted to himself that he had never been very near to his granddaughter. Now he regretted it. He regretted it extremely.

“Iari. . .” he began, but then stopped, for the hand that rested in Iari’s moved slightly, tightening a little on her small fingers, and then relaxing again. Kénan shut his mouth and waited.

[Kitanna]

Kéni's hand had moved. Iari turned away from her grandfather and clasped her brother's hand to her chest. "Kéni?" Both her hands held fast to his.

"Does he wake?" Kénan knelt beside his grandchildren. He had never put much stock in miracles, but now he looked for one. If the boy should die Iari's small heart would break into a million small pieces, but should he live... "Kéni, open your eyes, son."

The young dwarf stirred. Somewhere in his dreams he was trying to come awake. Kéni moaned and mumbled something incoherent. Perhaps he would come awake yet, at least to say his good-byes. Iari was holding tight to his hand the whole time.

"Open your eyes," Kénan commanded again.

But Kéni would not obey. With a final groan his hand went limp in Iari's. Kéni's chest stopped its labored rise and fall. A few moments passed in which Kénan let acceptance watch over him, while Iari came to realize what was happening. Tears, small and silent streamed down her face. She continued to grasp Kéni's hand, shaking her head all the while.

Kénan wrapped an arm around her shoulder. The grandfather had no notion of time, but eventually Iari let Kéni hand slip from her own. When she did she put her small arms around Kénan's waist and hid her face from the world.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

At first, Onli felt rather content. Even though Vriti was struggling, claw and tooth, he managed to wash her and get rid of the foul stench. He was still wondering what did the poor animal do to come to smell so badly, also the hair on her back, which looked like burned, looked curious indeed. Probably she had been once again sneaking somewhere where she ought not have. Anyway, after the washing procedure completed, Vriti spat at Onli and angrily crawled under his bed to sleep, which meant that everything was all right again.

But then, Onli somehow managed to fall asleep. He only lay himself on the bed, but in the next moment he opened his eyes and realised that the candles on his table have burned out. How long he slumbered, he could not tell. Hastily, he lifted himself and rushed out of his chamber.

How could he have fallen asleep? That was such a stupid thing to do. Now, he only hoped that he did not sleep for too long, and that Náli has not been requesting his assistance meanwhile. Indeed, now that was not the best way to make a good impression, he thought as he was running down the stairs. But where was everybody? The halls were empty. Onli headed towards the Twenty-First hall, then, in hope to meet somebody.

And then he started to meet them. Groups of people, soldiers, returning from the battle. Returning. Onli shuddered. This was too bad. He had missed the battle. From what he gathered, the Goblins have effectively sealed them inside. Another great news. Has everything turned against him today? The last thing he wanted to find out now was that Náli had been in need of his right-hand man and he was nowhere to be found.

And then he came to the First hall, and saw him. There was also his brother, Lóni, and Nîsa. Suddenly, he felt sick. But slowly, he walked closer to make sure what he was looking at. There was no doubt: Náli's right arm was gone.

[Groin Redbeard]

Though Trór wished for Óin to continue, the discussion would have to wait. Óin’s counsel was unsettling. Although Trór first entertained the thought of heading farther into the city, the thought of fleeing bore sharp repercussions. Balin had not fully restored Khazad-dum to its former glory, though within a generation it might have been done. There will be no more songs praising the glories of Khazad-dum—the bard has sung his last note. Khazad-dum is already lost, but the fight goes on.

Frar and Ori bowed as they approached Trór.

“Stand, mighty nobles and tell me what news you bring. But first, Ori, who is this with you?”

Ori realised he didn't remember the woman's name, although he had surely heard it more than once. He coughed a bit uncertainly and then looked meaningfully at the woman, giving her a permission to introduce herself.

Vigdis turned to the lord and bowed a little. "My lord, I'm Vigdis daughter of Flósi, the mason your vassal Náli has entrusted with carving the tomb of Lord Balin. I may report to your briefly that the task is done, and invite you to survey my work."

Trór seemed to be sontent with this piece of information, but didn't say anything before Vigdis continued.

"However, my lord, this is not why I tried to find you and why Master Ori wanted to bring me to you. I have ill tidings to bring. An old miner and his grandson were in the third tunnel by the chasm, in the lower mines, today, and reputedly they came face to face with Durin's Bane."

“By Mahal’s beard!” Trór’s exclamation escaped his lips in a whisper.

Of all the terrors that could unleash itself against the fledgling colony, they would not stand a chance. Trór struggled to come up with options in his mind. Did this woman even see the fearsome demon? Trór paused for a moment, his mind cleared of thoughts. He looked at his nobles, forgetting the woman for the moment.

“Are we to uproot this colony on the word of a boy? How do we know that it wasn’t a fire in the mines? The,” Trór stopped, feared to mention that word, “the…creature has not been seen for centuries, not even King Dáin saw it when he looked through Narvi’s Gates, he only prophesized. In five years that we have lived here it has not disturbed us. No, it is dead. I will not decide without further proof.”

Óin bowed his head in thought. “Can we afford not to?”

Trór’s shoulders rose and fell in a huge sigh. His wound was burning again, it had been for a while but now it couldn’t be ignored. He folded his arms and slowly shook his head.

“Am I to move on the word of a boy?”

Frar's brow was furrowed and he stared hard at each of the speakers in turn.

Finally he spoke up.

"I say no, Tror. It was something else, but it was no Durin's Bane. I do not believe that if they had indeed come face to face with...that thing, they would have lived to tell the tale. There is some mistake." Frar laughed grimly. "And besides, if Durin's Bane has indeed come upon now, what can we do to resist? We would be finished. Our forces are already weak and wounded."

"My lord, if you excuse me," Vigdis spoke up, head held up high. "I believe the boy's tale. You may talk to him when he wakes up, he is now in the care of a woman named Adela. His grandfather has perished, but the boy said the old man recognised the Bane."

She turned to the warlike Dwarf who had spoken before her: "If you will not take the word of a boy, will you take that of his grandfather? Will you speak to the head miner Tófi and ask him would he consider the old man trustworthy and if he can verify his disappearance?" She spoke calmly, but a red hot flame of anger was growing in her. What would Balin have thought of this, the appearance of their worst nightmare denied merely because the witness was not yet of age? And he would be of age from this day on, no one could go through what he had come through today without being forced to grow up.

Ori looked away, troubled. He feared in his heart that what the woman was saying was true, but he longed to agree with Frár and dismiss it all as a childish fairytale and feminine exaggeration.

"Maybe it would help if we knew the name of the old miner who has disappeared..." he muttered more to himself than to anyone else. The echo strengthened his voice though, and everybody could hear it clearly.

Vigdis spoke again: "I do not know the name of the miner, nor that of his grandson, for that matter. However, it should be easy enough to find out - I doubt there are many one-legged old men among the miners."

Ori glanced at her. "Lord Trór," he said. "If I may, I will fetch this head of miners, Tófi. Maybe he will be able to tell us about this old man, and his grandson. And if you will, I will also send someone to enquire after the boy in question."

Both Frar’s and Ori’s words were expressions of what Trór was already thinking. He held up his hand, a single to wait—he was thinking. Too many rash decisions have led to this crisis. The woman had an honest face, but Frar and Ori were trustworthy officials. Frar was his close friend: a brother in arms; therefore it is logical that he would prefer to stand and fight. However, Ori was also experienced in these matters. No more time could be wasted—Trór’s decision must be decisive, not rash.

He spoke at last. "I don't think so Ori."Trór looked at Óin and smiled.

"I thank you for your council, my friend. It was most helpful," he turned to the rest of the group. Trór was evidently sure of choice, it was only a matter of time before he chose this road.

"Frar, you mentioned that the army is weak. I agree. In another pitched battle we could not win. Whether or not Vigdis is correct is no longer the question. Terror in the mines or impending battle with the Orcs, I'll choose the mines." There was a silence. There was an air of regret.

"I realize that this is a choice that Lord Balin would never choose, but," his voice became low and growlish, "I am not Balin!

"Óin, Frar, you go with Vigdis get the colony up we move immediately!"

[Groin Redbeard]

“Ori,” Trór reached out and grabbed Ori’s arm. “Would you mind coming with me? I have to show you something.”

Trór led him across the bridge and towards the chamber of Marzabul. The guards where still standing at the entrance and both snapped to attention as the two nobles approached. They both knelt once within the entrance in respects to Balin, whose regal body lay on the tomb that Vigdis had built. The tomb was indeed a marvelous accomplishment. Trór wondered how the mason could finish it within one night.

The chamber’s shelves, in which at one time held so many records, were empty except for a few books which had been brought from Erebor. One book in particular looked worn on the inside and some of the pages were sticking out. Trór took the book and opened it. There were many different handwritings: Balin, Trór, Ori, Kénan, Lóni, Oin. Maps, ledgers, and journal entries, all with different opinions. Trór handed the book to Ori.

“I do not have the moral courage to enter an account of these terrible two days. You have a way with words that I do not, write our story.”

[Thinlómien]

Trór's words were a command, not a plea.

Ori bowed low. "Yes, my lord," he said quietly.

He held the record in his hands, the book where he had written so often so light-heartedly about some small news, about finding a new vein of silver, or discovering a room, or defeating a band of orcs in the corridors. Now much heavier news lay on his quill, and he would have to write them down as well as he could.

He did not ask why he had been chosen to write this. It didn't seem to him he had any external merit to point at himself, but who would have? Who would be any more fit to write the saddest tidings this far?

Ori could feel tears forming in his eyes but also words were shaping in his mind. "I shall take the book to my keeping for now and record the story of our recent woes."

[Thinlómien]

"Óin, Frar, you go with Vigdis get the colony up we move immediately!"

Trór's words echoed in Vigdis' head when the three hurried to the great hall.

"How are we supposed to get the place evacuated if that's all he gave us for orders?" she said, more to herself than to the others.
"There is a plan," Óin said. "It was devised years ago in Balin's council."
"There is the big bell in the hall. You go and ring it three times so that people know to gather to the hall," Frár growled.
"Yes, sir," Vigdis said, a slight edge of sarcasm creeping to her voice. She obeyed nevertheless.

The deep and clear voice of the bell rang in the high halls. Dwarves began to appear and within quarter an hour there were already hundreds of Dwarves assembled in the great hall. Vigdis couldn't help admiring the efficiency of her own people. She went stand beside a frightened-looking family, and gave the mother a tight-lipped smile. They listened to what Frár and Óin had to say.

"People of Dwarrowdelf!" Frár bellowed. "We bring tidings from our Lord Trór. We are moving. It won't be permanent, but we need to leave this place."

A wave of whispered comments and a few protesting shouts ran in the air. Then Óin continued:

"We are moving to the Hall of Hundred Pillars and the surrounding guardrooms. Our troops will stay here, guard the gates and follow the situation until we get more information about the movement of the Orcs and are sure there are no raiding parties around.

You have three hours to pack, then we have to be moving. You may only take what you can carry for yourself, and everybody is too carry three weeks' food provisions for himself. Take first what is necessary, and only if you can carry more, you may take some of your treasures."

More protesting and murmuring.

"Silence!" Frár shouted. "You will get the provisions from the kitchen from Mistress Thordis. All the cooks are requested to sign up to her there, they will be needed for assistance.

Professional soldiers are to sign up to me at the training grounds, and seasoned warriors with no professional training to commander Brambor at the armoury. Both will be needed.

Three hours from now, the bell will be ringing again. You are supposed to come here with your belongings and food provisions then and Lord Trór will speak to you. Then we will go. If you have some questions, there will be always some member of the Lord's council in this room, for now, Master Óin here.

Go now. You have three hours."

Vigdis shook her head. They had said no word about Durin's bane, maybe to avoid panic. But she was afraid it was a mistake not to warn the people...

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

After the announcement has been made, things started to move, sometimes in a bit chaotic way. Lóni expected to be called to the rest of the nobles, to be given the command due to him - and he was not far from expecting also to get a share of responsibility which would otherwise have gone to his brother. Nevertheless, before anything was to be done, he wanted to first take one more look at Náli. He also wanted to clean his armor - but he felt that either he is going to get the chance to do it in the following three hours, or not for a long time to come. Or maybe never.

As he approached the lying wounded in the First Hall, however, he noticed somebody else walking towards his brother's body simultaneously along the second line of columns at the eastern end of the Hall. Fixing his eye upon the person, Lóni recognised Onli. He turned to quickly cross his path.

"You," he shouted at him. The red-bearded Dwarf turned around, startled. "You were supposed to be under my brother's command, right?"

"Y-yes," stammered Onli. His eyes darted from Lóni to motionless Náli and back. He was afraid. He expected to be scorned for neglecting his duties, for up to now he had been avoiding getting close to Náli or his brother and he was unable to get enough information on what exactly had happened. He feared to be questioned and exposed as an unreliable aide, or straightaway punished. However, Lóni had no intention of either of that.

"Since my brother is in no state to give you orders now, I am placing you to take care of him," he said. Inside, Onli sighed in relief, however, he was aware that this might mean far more responsibility than he will be able to bear.

"I won't have time to watch over him myself," continued Lóni, "but I shall deem you responsible for his transport to safety... and you are bound to watch over him and by all means protect him... until he recovers." Lóni's voice broke slightly at these last words, but he made the effort to make himself sound firm again. He looked into Onli's eyes with his one deep eye.

"I assume you would take this as your task even without my direct order, as you are supposed to be my brother's right- my brother's aide," he finished quickly. "But I now relay it to you directly. I want you to swear that you will watch over him with your life."

Onli's face turned pale. That was something he was afraid of.

"I will surely take care of your brother as well as I can, dear master Lóni," he said, trying to sound resolute. "In fact, I was just on the way to take a look at his condition, if he has gotten any better... I have been thinking, however, that perhaps he should be given to the special care of some skilled healer. What I mean is that after all, it will be better to have him in good care, and I am not well-versed in this art, and perhaps I would better serve with my skills elsewhere, like for example in administering -"

"You have heard me," Lóni interrupted him. "However much I love my brother, there are too few healers in our ranks for them to be preoccupied with only one person, however important leader he is. I am sure they will take good care of him as it is, but what I want from you is to oversee that he is transported safely and that he is never left without guard. That guard will be you, Onli, because all soldiers are needed elsewhere. I want you to swear with your life that you will stand by his side."

There was no way out. Onli touched his beard with trembling hand. "Yes," he said. "I swear... with my life."

"Good," said Lóni. He turned to Náli, still lying with closed eyes and breathing slowly. Who knows how long it will be before they see again? But whatever will happen, Lóni was determined to see Náli again.

"See you later, brother," he whispered and turned away.

Onli was still waiting on the spot, with a mixture of fear and anger boiling inside him, eyes fixed on Náli's lying body. Then his features softened. After all, things could have still been worse. Perhaps, having to watch over Náli, who was unlikely to wake up in any near time, he will be spared any encounters with the Orcs at all. While the warriors will be holding the Gates, he would be safe and sound with the wounded, somewhere far away from the risk of getting into the battle. That at least was a thing to look positively at.

[Dimturiel]

Things had been going from bad to worse since....But Bain could no longer remember a time when things were going right. Everything was hectic and confusing. One minute he was fighting, then he was helping to carry the wounded in the first hall and then the bell sounded for assembly and then the unexpected orders that they were suppose to move out – but were they really unexpected? Bain supposed that if had possessed the inclination to analyse what would happen, perhaps he would have seen it coming. Not that it mattered, since it would not have made the blow less hard to bear anyway.

Since Bain was a fairly experienced fighter, but without having been trained as a warrior, he was to be among those reporting to commander Brambor at the armoury. He supposed he would be one of those protecting the people in their new location. He was glad he was not a trained warrior, for one thing. Guarding the gates with nothing but dreary emptiness behind them, sundered for no one knew how long from the rest of the colony – it would be a hard life. A hard way to spend your last days. The thought came suddenly into his mind and he tried to shrug it off. No use thinking thoughts of ill-omen with the situation being as it was.

Before reporting to commander Brambor, Bain went to the kitchen for his ration, and then to his forge to gather his possessions and to have one last look at all the treasures he had crafted It nearly broke his heart to leave his beloved creations there, the works of both his mind and his hands. Each told a story to him, of some golden or dark day in the past. There was the shield he had set to work on as soon as they had reached Moria, the first thing he made in Khazad-dum. There was a small mail-shirt he had made for the son of a friend of his. He had never got round to giving it, somehow. And there were so many other beautiful things, all of them begging him not to abandon them. But he would not be allowed to carry all of them. The only thing that he took was his last work, the helm he had made for Lord Balin.

“I have made it with him in my mind,” he told himself. “Now I will wear it with him in my mind also, and may his memory make me fight the fiercer, should the need arise”

Then, without another look at what he was leaving behind – perhaps not forever, he was telling himself, perhaps he could return, although at that moment he could not picture himself ever entering that forge again – he turned his back to his forge and strode purposefully towards the armoury.

[Durelin]

Kór and Kórin moved back up to the Twenty-first Hall with others, as they were summoned by the bell to gather there again. They had spent the last half hour in silence, simply enjoying, without real happiness, each other's company. They were both alive. And there was nothing to say. Each of them knew what the other was thinking -- soon they would hear what the next move would be. And whatever the decision, it would be a risky one.

Kórin did not know what to expect. Wisdom was not Trór's strong point, though he had some more level heads around him. Perhaps his near death experience would shock some sense into him...as well as the deaths they had suffered. Perhaps. Kórin twisted her lips in disgust.

Kór glanced at his sister but said nothing.

When Frár made the announcement, Kórin was surprised Trór had actually conceded to this route. And it was not one which she had expected as a possibility. There was still plenty in between them and the orc armies to defend. Why were they moving, as if they had already lost the First and Second Halls. The Bridge of Khazad-dûm alone could be held for quite a long time!

Kórin cursed under her breath. Trór's foolishness had pushed them into a corner.

"What do you think we fall under -- professional or unprofessional?" Kór asked with humor.

Kórin simply grunted. "Unprofessional, surely. I am not drunk enough to be anything else."

Kór grinned, glad that his sister was not completely lost in her anger. Still, she made no move to get up from the bench on which they were seated. Neither was concerned with possessions -- Kór already had his harp on his back again -- and neither was in a great rush to report once again as soldiers.

"They have told us nothing," Kórin growled suddenly. "We know nothing of their plans. We remain completely in the dark." She was barking out complaints at lightning speed.

"And if they explained all the circumstances, the reasons for the decision, the plans depending on luck and...plans for the worst? To a crowd of the entire colony?"

Kórin grunted again, this time in frustration. "But for no one to have any idea what is going on except for their picked council, a group of old fools who will simply continue to bow to Trór's every word..." She knew she was giving a false impression of what she had seen of the council, but she was doing her best to convince herself otherwise.

"Well, you were on the council," Kór said simply, with growing mischief. "If you were still..."

"As if I would have a say!" Kórin burst out angrily.

[piosenniel]

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~*~ Pio