To Rescue Celebrian - RPG

[Mithadan]

Game Owners: Mithadan; Lugburz

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Nenmir rode his sweating and tired steed north through Eriador along little known paths. He had stayed close to the Bruinen in his rush to return to Rivendell and during his two weeks of travel, he and his horse had rested little. Weariness nagged at him and his body cried for sleep, but he dared not pause, even now as he approached his destination.

At last, he reached a rise where the Ford of Bruinen could be seen. As his horse clambered up onto the hillock it stumbled, then righted itself before proceeding towards the River at a fast trot. "Easy, faithful friend," whispered Nenmir. "Not much farther now, and yet we still have need of haste." The horse responded to his master's bidding and shrugged aside his weariness to break into a gallop.

Yet it was hours later when the rider crossed the Fords of Bruinen and, at last approached his destination. They descended down the path to Imladris as rapidly as they safely could and approached the Last Homely House just after midnight. His passing had not gone unmarked and as the rider followed the path leading to the door of the Hose of Elrond, several Elves were waiting there for him. Among them was Elrond himself.

"Nenmir," he cried. "Why are you here? You were to escort my wife to Lorien and stay with Celebrian until she was ready to return." Then Elrond gasped, for he saw that Nenmir was sorely hurt and that the snapped shaft of an arrow protruded from his shoulder.

The Elf nearly fell as he dismounted and two others stepped forward to take him by his arms and support him as he spoke. "Alas!" he cried. "Celebrian is taken by Orcs! We were assailed as we climbed the Redhorn Pass. The Orcs were in hiding and attacked us as we rounded a shoulder of cruel Carathras. The others of the escort were slain or scattered. But Celebrian! They seized her by her arms and dragged her away to the east. I followed as best I could, but they took her..." He bowed his head in grief and anger. "They brought her through the Gates of Moria..."

[Mithadan]

Elrond felt as if a icy cold hand had suddenly gripped his heart and he slumped in grief and fear. He stood frozen for a moment as others rushed to Nenmir's aid, yet he was not idle. When he straightened, his face was a mask of dismay, but his eyes shone clear and bright.

He had reached out with his mind and touched Celebrian. "She yet lives!" he cried. "Come! Assemble the heads of the house! We will meet in the Great Hall in one hour. Summon Elladan and Elrohir! We will need trackers of great stealth, a healer and any who have knowledge of Moria and the area surrounding it!"

Esestor, who stood nearby, nodded and turned to go. "Wait!" said Elrond more softly. He bowed his head and in a rough voice, continued. "Find Arwen. Tell her what has come to pass. But tell her that her mother still lives."

Elrond turned and went inside The Last Homely House. Behind him, his folk rushed about setting matters in motion...

[Airerûthiel]

Torfitien could not sleep; she had spent the best part of the night tossing and turning. Her intuition, which was unusually strong even for an Elf of Lórien, told her that evil no longer slept in Middle-earth. Sighing heavily, she rose from her bed and dressed in a simple blue and silver gown. Normally she would not have chosen to wear this, but it was all she had left. Torfithien had never liked wearing dresses, even as a small girl - maybe that was due to the fact that she had grown up with no mother, maybe it was because she felt as though her personality and inner desire for adventure was restricted by wearing gowns.

Her dreams had been troubled with visions of Celebrian being captured, hurt, maybe even killed. This set a bitter taste in the mouth of one who had known Elrond's wife since she was young, and she had been looking forward to her visit to the Golden Wood; many long years had passed since the two friends had seen or spoken with one another.

Torfithien allowed herself a wry smile at her use of the word 'friends'. While everyone referred to herself and the daughter of the Lord and Lady of the Wood that way, the two of them refused to acknowledge the relationship between them as such. But they had a strong bond nonetheless, and were as close as sisters.

She turned her thoughts away from these evil things that plagued her mind at such an hour, when all she wanted to do was dream away her cares and allow herself some well-deserved rest before morning came once more. As she stared out from the edge of her talan into the moonlit night, she dimly heard a strange sound - it came from the direction of the long-forgotten mines of Moria, a day's journey from her home in Lothlórien.

Intrigued as to what it was, she put on her fine grey cloak and crept down the long silver rope-ladder as silently as possible, being incredibly careful not to disturb any of her fellow Elves. She was walking to Caras Galadhron, where she hoped to find brief peace of mind and allow her restless mind to become calm once more, when suddenly she collided with a male Elven warrior who was clearly in a rush to get somewhere.

"Who are you and what do you want?" Torfithien asked, wary of this stranger. She did not trust others easily, particularly those she had never met. Her dark blue eyes met the grey ones of the male Elf, refusing to blink as she gave him a piercing stare.

"I am Glil-Ganduil, and I was part of the group escorting the Lady Celebrian to this very wood to visit her kin," he replied. "We have been attacked by Orcs. All others who were with the Lady are slain or scattered, but she..." He struggled to speak, finding no words to convey his seemingly turbulent emotions. "She has been captured. They took her into the mines. I believe she still lives, but whether that is true I know not. I wish to inform the Lady Galadriel of what has happened, but I seem to have lost my way. Would you be so kind as to show me the true path?"

A horribly bitter taste settled in Torfithien's mouth as the harsh reality of her friend's plight set in. She was in complete shock, letting Glil-Ganduil's words wash over her like the ocean over pebbles on a beach. All she caught was a request to give Elrond the message about his wife.

"Of course I will do this for you," she said. "When would you like me to leave?"

"As soon as possible, Lady Torfithien," replied Glil-Ganduil. When met with the surprised look on the female Elf's face, he replied, "The Lady Celebrian spoke highly of you on our journey. I remember she was eager to see you once again. She has missed you over these years you have spent apart." A small smile played on his lips as he looked at her.

Torfithien's heart was suddenly filled with gladness at this news of her childhood companion. Trying as hard as she could to show her still considerable concern, which dominated her emotions at that moment, she said to the messenger, "If you give me a boon, I shall return the favour. Caras Galadhron is not too far from here. I shall escort you there and request that you have permission to speak with Galadriel and Celeborn as soon as possible. In return, you must tell them that I have gone west to give your message to Elrond."

Glil-Ganduil nodded as the two began to walk in the direction of Caras Galadhron. "I will grant you that boon, Torfithien," he said. "But you must realise that, much as they love the Lady Celebrian and respect your position as her oldest friend, they will never allow you to do anything that may involve battle and conflict, purely because you are female."

Torfithien merely shrugged her shoulders. "Well, Glil-Ganduil, as much as I despise myself for going against the words of the Lord and Lady, I feel it is only my duty to honour my bond with the Lady Celebrian and help her in her hour of need. After all is said and done, she is still my friend, and friends are for nothing if not for each other to rely on when they are needed."

"Very well, though it is to your own folly should you fail in your task," replied the male Elf. "You may take my horse - Randir waits for a rider in a nearby glade."

After going back to collect some essential supplies for the journey and change into a tunic and trousers that had previously belonged to her brother, Torfithien thanked Glil-Ganduil for his generosity and set off on the west road to the Last Homely House. She rode long and hard for nigh on twelve days, through both day and night. Finally, after a long night of non-stop galloping under a full moon, which brought an extremely heavy fatigue to both herself and her horse, they reached Imladris.

"Not much further now, Randir my friend," said Torfithien as she dismounted. "We have nearly come to our destiny." And with that, she began the walk down to the House of Elrond. A small party of Elves were waiting for her, almost as though her coming had been expected.

"Welcome to Rivendell, Torfithien of Lórien!" the tallest one said (this was a thin distinction) as he bowed low. "We have heard from the Lady of the Golden Wood that you were bringing news of the Lady Celebrian, but alas! your message is untimely. Only a few hours ago another messenger arrived with news of the attack upon the party travelling to your home."

Torfithien's heart sank with the realisation that she would now have to face the long ride back to Lothlórien with nothing to show for her journey. "My thanks to you," she said, turning away as she began to walk back down the path towards where Randir waited for her. She had not gone more than around twenty paces when she heard someone calling to her.

"Wait!" The Elf turned to see the one who had greeted her standing behind her. "You are a representative of Lothlórien, and a friend to the Lady Celebrian, are you not?" For once, Torfithien merely nodded as opposed to correcting her definition of the connection between herself and Celebrian. "Elrond has seen you and requests that you at least attend the council being held. You are a little late, but I suppose that we can overlook that small mishap."

Torfithien nodded her gratitude and began to walk through Rivendell to the council-place. The Last Homely House was beautiful beyond belief - she could hardly believe how wonderfully calming and splendid the place was. Eventually the road through the garden-like grounds of Elrond's House led her to the circular council-place, where various others were seated already.

[ February 26, 2003: Message edited by: Airerûthiel ]

[Dark Shadow]

Vanimorén sat alone in the forest near Imladris. He was often found here, for it was only when he was alone among the trees that his mind could really focus. But his mind could find no rest. Something was different, there were discontented thoughts clouding his mind, and he felt restless. He leapt lightly to his feet, and turned in the direction of the house of Elrond. Something was amiss. He began to move swiftly through the trees, feeling the tension in the very trees. When at last he reached the great hose, it was in uproar. Elves were hurrying here and there, and if ever there had been a sense of tension in the forest, it was doubled, even tripled here. Vanimorén got the impression that he was the only one yet to hear of some great tragedy, for all seemed to be moving with a sense of purpose, as if they all had something to do, somewhere to be. In fact, he had never realised there were quite so many elves in Rivendell. He was hesitant to step forward and interrupt anyone, for everyone seemed very busy, so he stood and watched for a while.

Well, I brought it on myself he thought, if I had been here rather than wandering in the woods, I should know what is going on, and there would be no problem.

Finally, in desperation, he stepped forward to ask of the nearest elf what news had been brought that so many should react in such a way.

“Forgive me,” he began to the first elf who paid any heed to him, “but what may I ask is happening. I have just returned from the woods, and I feel that I am missing something.” He felt embarrassed that he should be asking such a question, but he was obviously not going to find the answer by standing and watching, gormless as any passing orc. He smiled nervously, but the other didn’t return it.

“We have received news from the party that was travelling with Celebrian to Lothlorién. Nenmir has returned, and he has returned with the news that Celebrian has been captured by the orcs. She is said to be still alive, and counsil is being held as to what should be done about the matter.” The elf then turned to go about his own business. Vanimorén stood, wondering. Orcs. They say the orcs dwell in Moria. It has been many years since I journeyed there, or even looked upon the land of Eregion. Although I deny it, I know in my heart I would greatly love to see those places again. However the lady Celebrian is not used to such darkness, and now the orcs are there I doubt if Moria is beautiful any longer. Every moment spent in that dark cavern must be torture for her. Then, after a short pause he called after the elf,

“Pray tell me, where is this council to be held?” He asked. Having been pointed in the right direction, he followed the path until he saw before him the circular council-place that the elf had described to him. Others were already sat, and he wasted no time in joining them, although he did wonder if the council was to be selective. Maybe he wasn’t welcome. But he was here now, and that’s what mattered. If Elrond wished to send him away, then that would be as it would.

[Garen LiLorian]

The great West road stretched before him, the moonlight turning its packed earth into the semblance of a winding river of silver. His horse running smoothly down it, Angóre felt the current of the road sweeping him away, as it were a real river, and one he could drown in. On his left the Trollshaws loomed, broken trees giving the place a look like the mouth of one of it's namesakes, or like one of the tombs of Men. The forest seemed to swallow the incandescent moonlight that illuminated the surroundings so clearly to Elven eyes. The dark forest held a wealth of memories for Angóre, memories that had been worn smooth of emotion by long use. The end of his life lay there, the end of his family and the end of his emotion.

But the Trollshaws were not his destination this night. He was bound for Imladris, the end of a long year of errantry lay behind him and the comforts of the last Homely House ahead. He slowed his horse to a walk, feeling the night breezes wafting gently over his skin. Rivendell still lay a good days journey away, even by the paces of the great elf-horse he rode.

And so, a day later, Angóre crossed the ford of Bruinen and came into Rivendell. The atmosphere was quiet and hushed, with none of the omnipresent music that was such a part of this house. Angóre could feel a great loss here, a sadness that he felt could never be remedied completely. Quickly he caught the sleeve of a passing elf. "Tell me, friend, what has happened here. Why sits the merry house of Elrond so silent?"


The Elf told the story of Celebrian's capture, of her imprisionment in the deep of Moria. Angóre stood as one stunned for a long moment. "And what now is the state of affairs?" He asked, very quietly. "Lord Elron has summoned a council. Elladan and Elrohir have been summoned as well as the lady Arwen. There it shall be decided what action we will take. Namarië, mellon" And the elf moved on.

Angóre did not hesitate. Straight away he strode into the hall of Elrond, and seated himself among the many Elves present, including one he did not know, a lady elf, dressed as those from Lórien. He nodded greetings to those he knew well and waited for Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir to begin.

[Lugbúrz]

Elrohir was a statue of stoic determination. He stood next to his brother and heard his father address the Council. Inside were a myriad of thoughts and emotions. He was already contemplating the path they would take to reach Moria. His vast experience on errands had made him and his brother masters of the lands around. But times were changing, and fell things were in abundance. His blood rose when he thought of the orcs holding his mother captive, but he reminded himself of his need for balance and composure. The time would come to deliver vengeance, and bring his mother back to safety.

'We shall have to cross to the Eastern side near Imladris,' thought Elrohir.

Who shall ride with Elladan and him? Elrond seemed to be addressing this very question as Elrohir brought himself back to the present surroundings.

[the real findorfin]

Fingil sat at the council, arms crossed, listening. The Lord Elrond had explained the situation and Fingil's heart had gone out to Celebrian, oh fair lady!

He thought back to the moment he had heard the news, and the look on his lord's face. He had been in the libraries of Imladris, when Elrond had entered and thrown himself down. It was not often that his lord lowered his air of calm, and Fingil realised that something was amiss. He had enquired of his lord what the trouble might be and his blood had boiled then. He was calm now, calm and determined.
Celebrian had been almost a mother to him and he loved her for it.

Elrond called for volunteers and Fingil rose at once.

"Master, my knowledge and my sword are yours. In whatever use they may be. I will aid in her rescue!"

Fingil left no doubt in his voice, she would be rescued!

[Airerûthiel]

Torfithien stood up slowly, regally, and then remembered she had to be a lady no longer. "My Lord Elrond, the Lady Celebrian was the closest thing I ever had to a best friend. If my knowledge and my sword can aid the attempt to rescue her, they are yours to do what you will with."

One of the Elves, who had spent much of the council looking in Torfithien's direction with a look of contempt, jumped to his feet. "Lord Elrond, you cannot permit this Elven woman to go! It goes against everything we have been trained for. She has no right to simply walk into this council and offer her services, friend of the Lady or no." He went on in a continued defamation of Torfithien, whose blood was boiling as she tried to maintain an air of calm determination.

Elrond spoke, his voice a little more subdued than normal. "Torfithien of Lórien, if this was not a desperate situation I would ask you to leave instantly. But as it is - you have been brought up by your father and brothers, and are as skilled in tracking and sword-fighting as any capable male Elf in Middle-earth. The fact that you have known the Lady Celebrian since you were young must also be taken into account."

Elrond turned to the group. "Torfithien is an exception to the rules of this council. She and Celebrian have been friends for many centuries, and as such I believe that constitutes the right to join the quest. Now, do I have any more volunteers?"

The Elven Lord sent a small sad smile in Torfithien's direction as he sat back down, and she returned the expression. Inside, however, her eternal thirst for adventure had been reawakened. Maybe, just maybe, this would be her chance to prove to the others that just because she was female did not mean she was not worthy of being a warrior.

[Dark Shadow]

Any more volunteers? Volunteers for what? So far nothing had been specified of what they were doing, or where they were to go. There had been much debate about Torfithien’s right to be present, but they hadn’t yet been told how many would be needed to go, nor where those would be going. He rose slowly, watching everyone, hoping he was not out of line to ask questions.

“I, like the others would be more than willing to risk anything to save Celebrian, but I must ask; where exactly are we headed, and what will we be facing?”

It was unusual for Vanimorén to be practical this way, but today he felt different, and was acting in a way most different to his customary character. He looked around the assembled council, wondering if perhaps his mind had wandered again and he had missed something, but for once he doubted it. In fact, Elrond had hardly spoken since he had arrived, and Elladan and Elrohir were similarly quiet. The tension in the atmosphere was almost unbearable, and Vanimorén began to hope to be chosen as one of the rescue group, regardless of where they were headed, simply to escape the horrible, horrible anxiety.

[Mithadan]

Elrond looked gravely at Vanimorén and the others standing about, many of whom were now also volunteering to join the search for his wife. Then he stood and raised his hand. The room fell quiet, awaiting his words.

"Nenmir reports that Celebrian was taken to Moria and it is there where you must seek her out. But his will not be an open assault. Not by force of arms will her freedom be gained. It is said that now many Orcs have entered Moria in the time since it was abandoned by the Dwarves. To assail that dark place would be foolhardy."

He walked around the table to where his sons stood and looked at them silently. Their faces were grim, yet determined. He nodded as if they had spoken to him and turned to the assembled crowd. "Only through stealth can Celebrian be saved. Thus only a few will be chosen. Elladan and Elrohir will go, for they would not allow any others to go in their stead. For their companions, I shal choose several, but they shall not be warriors. Trackers, rather, those more skilled with the knife and bow than with the sword and learned in the skill of moving unseen and unheard. And a healer."

He looked about the room and considered carefully his choices. Again, a clamour arose as others sought to present reasons why they should be allowed to accompany the sons of Elrond. He nodded to to Torfithien, then to Fingil and Vanimorén. Then Elrond looked about again... A healer, and perhaps one other, he mused.

[Garen LiLorian]

All was chaos in the normally quiet and serene council chamber. Elves were shouting like Men, each putting forth reasons to be included. Angóre, by contrast, was seated calmly in his chair. Only his eyes showed any light, a flash that had been instilled at the name of Moria.

"Lord Elrond," his voice was swallowed by the roar of the chamber. "Master Elrond!" The din subsided, and many faces turned towards him. Elrond nodded, and Angóre rose. "Well you know me, and well you know of my deeds and journeys over the area which these rescuers shall travel. I boast not when I say that those areas are as well known to me as any, and, though I have never ventured the dark of Moria, gladly will I do so now and gladly stay there, if it will be required of me to free Celebrían. Will you accept my arm and knowledge in aid of this quest?"

[dragoneyes]

Tintallë watched in silence at the chaos around him. He wasn't quite sure why he was here, he didn't think he was good at any of these things. In truth he was a great healer and his skills with the bow weren't the worst in Rivendell either but that wasn't how he veiwed himself. He had been taught everything he knew by his father, who had been training him, ready for any crisis such as this. He could hear his father's voice in his head 'What are you doing sitting there while all the places are being filled? Quickly, they haven't got a healer yet.' That was true, he listened to what the other Elves were saying, they were all boasting tracking skills, fighting skills and knowledge of the area, no healers as of yet. He looked around at Elladan, Elrohir and Elrond, they looked the worst hit by this news and so they should be! Tintallë's heart went out to them, if there was one thing he had to do, it was to help others when they were in need, he hated to see others' pain and he always had to do something about it.

Tintallë made up his mind, he would go, he wasn't sure if his father would ever forgive him if didn't at least try. "Lord Elrond, I know something of the ways of healing, even if I am not all that good. I can also use the bow and dagger, though not willingly." He knew he hadn't put his case forward as well as he could, but Elrond knew what he was capable of all the same and nodded in agreement.

[ March 05, 2003: Message edited by: dragoneyes ]

[Lugbúrz]

As Elrohir saw his father put together a group to assist him and his brother in their grave task, his thoughts ever leant towards their immediate concerns. How were they going to get to Moria?

He looked at his brother, and both of them seemed to have been pondering the same issue. Nodding in assent, Elrohir slowly made his way and approached the elf from the Golden Wood. Pulling her away from the Council, he asked her his question in the tongue of the elves of the Wood.

"Forgive me for this intervention, fair Lady, but I have an urgent matter to discuss with you."

Satisfied with her anxious nod, Elrohir continued, "you travelled further than Nenmir, but happened to arrive just as soon, pray tell, by which lands did you come upon Imladris so quickly?"

His question was most sincere but it had a tinge of irritation, for he realised that such bravery may have been better served by reaching Moria directly. He did not of course doubt the wisdom of his mother's friend, but frustration was an unfamiliar emotion for the son of Elrond.

[Mithadan]

Elladan listened carefully to Torfithien's description of her journey from Lorien to Imladris. She had ridden quickly north across the Gladden Fields, a flat grassy area with few obstacles. Then she had veered to the east to avoid the fens and crossed the River Gladden at a shallows near the foothills of the Misty Mountains. From there, she had continued north across gently sloping lands until she reached the ancient dwarf road which ran down from the mountains towards the east. Following the road into the mountains, she had traversed the High Pass and descended down into Eriador where she had quickly found Rivendell. He nodded approvingly, then turned to his brother.

"The High Pass is the nearest to Rivendell. The passes to the north are not an option. They are too far out of the way and too close to Gundabad which has become a haven for Orcs and other evil creatures. The only other possibility is Redhorn Pass. But since our goal is to pass into Moria undetected, that route may be unwise for it is clear now that it is watched."

Elrohir nodded in agreement, then turned to watch his father select Tintallë and Angore as the final members of the rescue party. Before Elrond could dismiss those assembled, Elrohir stepped forward and whispered to his father who nodded. "In addition to those selected," continued Elrond, "a number of riders will be needed to ride ahead through the High Pass, then rest their horses as the rescuers cross the Misty Mountains behind them. In this way, the rescuers will have fresh horses awaiting them when they reach the east side of the mountains. These riders must leave immediately."

After a number of Elves volunteered for this task and hurriedly exited the council, Elrond dismissed those remaining and spoke to the small group who would set out in search for Celebrian. "While I chafe at any delay, we must plan this venture carefully and gather provisions. You will, nonetheless, leave tomorrow evening. Pack those things which you may need tonight and we will meet again tomorrow morning at dawn to review such maps as we may have of Moria and the lands surrounding it..."

[Lugbúrz]

Elrohir went to bed pondering about what he had learnt.

'My guess was correct,' he mused, 'the Eastern side of the Misty Mountains is faster yet, but what about the Hollin gate?'

He had heard from his father about the splendour of Moria and Eregion in the days of Celebrimbor, could they not use that secret entrance to their advantage?

"The dark of Moria is no place to lose ourselves at such a time," said Elladan as he read his brother's thoughts.

"That maybe so, but going in the easy way would be tougher still," replied Elrohir.

"There may be other ways yet," reminded his brother.

"I wish we were leaving tonight, I cannot bear the thought of those vile creatures near her," he sighed, and then retired for an early rest.

[Hirilaelin]

Riding. Riding to Lóthlorien. The mountains. Ambushed, orcs, leering over her, pain, darkness. Captured, all alone, no escape, no!

Wait. Not alone, not entirely. In the darkness surrounding her, something stirred, cried out. Feaelena! Her handmaiden. No, she was not alone. Struggling to rise, she found that her wrists and ankles were bound tightly, so she fell back onto the cold stone of the floor. Pain suddenly flooded her conciousness, making her winch. They had struck her, knocked her out. She tried twisting her head, but a fresh wave of pain assailed her.

She attempted to rise again, but could not get further than a sitting position. A ways from her, Feaelena stirred again. Using her feet, Celebrian managed to inch across the floor, and reached her handmaiden. She called to her softly, urgently. "Feaelena! Feaelena!" The other stirred again. "Feaelena!"

Suddenly, Feaelena regained her senses with a gasp. Celebrian leaned over her. "Feaelena, are you all right?"

"Lady? I am well, though in pain. Where...?" Her voice trailed off, and she rose slowly to a sitting position, straining against the bonds that held her. Celebrian replied. "Moria, I would assume. The orcs ambushed our party, though no others than us were taken, as far as I can tell. But now, how do you fair?"

"It is as I said, my lady. I seem to have been struck on the head, and knocked unconcious for a time, but am now fine but for a small amount of pain, though I am thirsty." Celebrian nodded. "Yes, I know, but I do not think that that particular hurt will be mended for a while."

"Have you seen naught of our captors, my lady?" Feaelena questioned. "Nay. Not a sign. Where they may be, or what they are doing is beyond my knowledge." Suddenly, she felt a presence in her mind. "Elrond!" she gasped. But no, it was fading even now. No... "My lady?" asked Feaelena. "What troubles you?"

Celebrian shook her head. "Nothing. I thought that perhaps... I do not know. Maybe it was nothing, but a delusion brought on by captivity."

"What happened? Are you sure that you are all right?" her handmaiden questioned anxiously. "Yes, I am quite sure, I just thought that I had felt something. But we should rest. We do not know what this captivity may bring, but whatever it does, we must be ready." With that, Celebrian lay back on the floor, and Feaelena did the same.

Sleep beckoned, its siren song of peace and rest almost irresistible, but Celebrian could not rest. She lay still, in the dank darkness of the place, her mind wandering down the avenues of memories, far away from captivity. At last though, her body succubmed to its weariness, and she drifted into dark dreams, any hope of rescue gone.

But some small part of her remembered what she had heard in her mind, and the candle of hope burned still, warming her even in the darkest of her dreams.

* * *

OOC: I hope that this is all right, please tell me if something needs to be changed or taken out!

[ March 08, 2003: Message edited by: Hirilaelin ]

[Mithadan]

The next morning found the rescue party up early gathering what they would need for their journey and packing for the risky venture. The sun was still climbing into the sky when they were again summoned to meet with Elrond and the heads of his house.

As they assembled, Elrond spoke. "You go into darkness beyond your ken with little hope of success. Yet I have gathered some few things to aid you in your quest." He laid a packet of maps on the table and unfolded them. The first was a map of Wilderland, showing the High Pass and the lands east of the Misty Mountains. Then there were several maps of Moria, not very detailed and faded with age and disuse. He looked up at Vanimorén and said, "You entered Moria before Eregion fell an age and more ago, did you not?"

Vanimorén nodded. "Yes. I entered with my father and Uncle at the invitation of some Dwarven traders. We were brought through the West Gate and visited there. On another occaision, I passed through Moria and exited by the Main Gates in the East. We were visitng kin in Eryn Lasgalen which is now known as Mirkwood." Elrond pushed the maps to Vanimorén and bade him discuss what knowledge he had of Moria with Elladan and Elrohir.

Then he brought forward a case and opened it. Three rods he removed with hoods over their tops. "So that you will not need to rely only upon torches in that dark place, I give you these." He removed the hood from one to reveal a crystal mounted in a setting of steel. The crystal glowed and flickered with a blue fire as if lightning had been captured therein. "These are Noldorin Lamps," said Elrond. "The secret of their making has been lost in Middle Earth. But during the First Age, it is said that Morgoth sought the secret of making these lamps from prisoners held in Angband. While some knew how they were made, and indeed were compelled to make them for the Dark Lord and his minions, he never discovered what magic or craft was used to light the fire within the crystals."

He handed them to Elrohir. "They will not go out and cannot be broken. But they burn always and must be hooded when you have need of secrecy and the aid of the dark." Then he bade the group speak of what path they would take to Moria...

[Sadbh]

Feaelena's head throbbed disconcertingly as she was woken by Celebrian. Her memory of events prior to her waking were dim and her throat was parched, lip soar from where she had bitten it earlier. Finally, she was in earnest called from her sleeping and full awakeness hit her. "Feaelena, are you all right?"

"Lady I am well, though in pain. Where...?" A short conversation ensued the discourse tired and the voices weary. Suddenly, Celebrian gave a short gasp, whispering ,"Elrond." Fealelena sat up and leaned forward, shoulder aching dully from being pressed against the stone floor. "My lady, are you alright?" Celebrian shook her head and mumbled a reply.

"It was nothing, just a delusion brought on my captivity." They exchanged a few more words, when Celebrian sighed that they should rest. Feaelena nodded silently in agreement and with a shift of her cold body, she lay back down. She felt exhausted, yet a nagging sense of ignorance would not let her sleep.

She closed her eyes and worried her lip, trying to recall the events before she had been woken by Celebrian. She remembered the journey to Lothlorien, the sword hilt that had come crashing down onto her crown, and then a dark haze. Where had her father been?

She shifted on the stone floor, the cold, damp surface pressed against her cheek. Sleep was slowly reclaiming her senses, and with a final turn of her neck, she succumbed to a painful, dream-riddled sleep.

[ March 09, 2003: Message edited by: Sadbh ]

[Garen LiLorian]

Angóre spoke first, his face creased in thought. "We cross the mountains at the High Pass, travel southward and enter Moria from the east? If that be our course, the curve of the mountains takes us many leagues out of our way. Why do we not travel southward through Hollin, attempting Redhorn Pass if it be possible, or if not, searching out the secret West-door of Moria? There are Elves here among us who were young when the gates were open, surely we could find it now." As he spoke, he watched the faces of Elrond and his sons, and knew the answer even before they spoke.

"Because," He continued, his heart heavy, "Celebrían was taken through the eastgate, and our chances of finding a lone Elf in the deep of the dwarrowdelf are slim without trail indeed. Also, where one ambush was there may be another, is this not so? It would be a sad fate for the rescuers to be caught in the same snare. Very well, the longest way round seems to be the shortest way there, though I grieve for the lost time." Another thought occured to him then.

"Our friends and kinsmen in Lórien might help us by finding the trail and preparing fresh horses. Has anyone been dispatched to them?"

[Airerûthiel]

Torfithien spoke. "My kin of the Golden Wood would be more than willing to aid this quest, as both the Lady Celebrian and her daughter walked in that country many years before. I am willing to ride back east, but unless the messenger who was travelling with the Lady has returned to Imladris without our knowledge we may be too late to find her if I do so. It would take at least twelve days to reach them, and by then I fear we may not be able to help Celebrian." There was a tinge of sadness in her voice, as though she knew what was to come of their journey to the dwarven halls.

The dream that had troubled her rest the night before still weighed heavy on her conscience. She had always been plagued by her gift of foresight, and she cursed and welcomed it in equal measure. She had seen a necessary but not entirely unexpected conflict, and less shadowy figures leaving the long dark tunnels than had entered them. But she held her tongue, unsure as to whether it was vital to trouble the already anxious party with what may not yet come to pass - although the hollow feeling in her stomach and bitter taste in her mouth only served to confirm her fears.

"I am sure the Lord and Lady of the Wood possess the wisdom to have thought of this plan you intend to see through, Angóre." She smiled at the male Elf, trying to read his eyes and see the secrets he hid beneath them. "But you were right to think on of this, for there are many who would not consider such a thing."

She turned back to the group, her long hair streaming out behind her like a veil of the night sky itself. "I can only hope that we are not yet too late to save the Lady," she whispered to herself, staring up into the morning sky and trying desperately to read hopeful messages from the patterns of the clouds.

[ March 12, 2003: Message edited by: Airerûthiel ]

[Dark Shadow]

Vanimorén remained quiet as discussions of paths and the help of Lorien flew around. All conversation washed over him, he was oblivious to everything, at least for that moment. Calm had been restored, and no longer did any of the elves feel the need to shout, but instead everything felt almost too calm. He almost felt like standing and shouting at everyone, asking if none of them cared, but he knew to well. This was the elven way. They were all probably feeling the same way as he, but were more restrained, and could remain serene and untroubled. In fact, now all Vanimorén’s concentration was focused on staying calm.

After a while, his mind began to turn to more important issues, those that were already being discussed for the part, but also the issue of light. The lights Elrond had given them should be of much help, but Vanimorén doubted whether any light could truly pierce that darkness. He did not voice these doubts though, for it seemed that this would be an unnecessary concern at such a time. In truth, the aspects of the conversation that most interested him were those of the route they were to take. And indeed how they were to enter Moria. He listened intently as Angóre spoke, first of the pass over the mountain, which would lead them through Hollin. The elf seemed to answer himself, and soon conversation passed on, but Vanimorén’s thoughts lingered in Hollin. Perhaps that was the way they should take. But perhaps his heart only said that out of longing. He sat, brooding over this, waiting for someone to notice and call upon him for being the most useless member of the council having put forward nothing of any use to anyone, and sitting, thinking about personal desires at a time when all should be selfless.

[Mithadan]

Elladan nodded with approval at Angóre's analysis. "We cannot risk the Redhorn Pass. We might fall into the same trap as that which captured my mother. Even were this not so, it is clear the pass is watched. Our only hope is in stealth; we cannot risk being spied."

He thought for a moment more, then continued. "As for the Hollin Gate, those few of our people who have passed that way have reported that where the gate once was there is only a blank rock wall. It is the way of the Dwarves to conceal doorways with craft and artifice. To open the gate would require a key or a password perhaps and we have neither. No, for better or worse our path leads to the east. We must enter Moria through its main gate or seek another entrance from that direction. So our path is decided for us; we will take the High Pass and travel south on the east side of the Misty Mountains."

Elrond responded to Torfithien's query. "I do not doubt that Galadriel would provide us with such help as we might request. Yet to stop at Lorien would but cause more delay. And even if she were to offer us a hundred archers it would be to no avail except to turn the attention of the Orcs to our people and prevent their entry into Moria. We will proceed with our small party as planned."

Elrond and his sons looked about the room awaiting other questions or suggestions...

[the real findorfin]

Fingil has remained silent throughout, as suggestions flooded the conversation. He listened to each argument, hearing the positive and negative points of each, ever quiet. He was used to the silence, long years of quiet learning had seen to that. As the talk of the West Gate and Eregion began, his mind wandered to his mental picture of the once grand settlement, and to the Gwaith-i-Mirdain and the Rings of Power, oh to live there in those times.

"...we will take the High Pass and travel south on the east side of the Misty Mountains," Elladan spoke, finally.

"Oh well," thought Fingil, there will be no chance now. He resigned his longings to the back of his mind. He leant back, quite happy to let the leaders take control of their path. He was there to rescue Celebrian, but he was no master of stealth east of the mountains. Wherever Elladan and Elrohir decided to go, he would follow.

He felt suddenly useless, what had he done so far? But at least he was not the only silent one, Vanimorén seemed to be very quiet too. He mentally promised himself to make sure he was needed once they got on the road, he would not be seen as baggage. His skills, which were honed to the northlands of Eriador, would now come to the test in the East and under the ground, in the terrible dens of the orcs. He would make a difference, he would!

[Lugbúrz]

The Misty Mountains. Although they stood nigh to Imladris, they were a statement of segregation. Truly, the phrase in the common tongue - 'Last Homely House' - loomed as large as the imposing mountains, in the minds of the elves that quietly climbed its heights, hoping to make the best of the light that remained.

All of them knew the paths very well, but the passes were no simple matter of memory. They changed every time, and some were fraudulent tracks meant to deceive the unwary eye. Orcs, increasingly populating these precipices, were ever at work to trap the journeying travellers.

It was only with the superior experience of the elves, and the wisdom of Elrond and his sons, that the group reached the High Pass late into the night. The lamps provided by Elrond were priceless in the cloudy night, as they traversed windy mountain paths and the horses stumbled to find their step in the dark and soon grew weary.

They were met there by smiling faces and fresh horses, and were also treated to a snack beside a warm fire.

Once beyond the pass, the group realised that the gathering clouds not only reduced the light further but spoke of the impending storm. The pine forests surrounding them did not provide much hope of shelter in case of rain. The group began scouting the slopes for some place to rest.

"There looks to be a cave there," called Vaniromen.

"We must be careful of caves in these mountains, orcs are known to dig secret passages into most of them," warned Elrohir.

"So let us search them first," suggested Angore.

They made their way cautiously to the cave and dismounted their horses. Their lamps shone bright in the gloomy dark, and as they approached the cave the light illuminated the entrance, showing a dry and empty cave. As they moved inside they saw that the cave had a door in the very back. Realising that this could lead to an orc passage, they decided to investigate further.

As hard as they tried, they could not make the door open, and as they were trying hard, they failed to realise that it was almost time for dawn. Just as they were about to give up and turn around, they noticed that the entrance to the cave was blocked!

Up against the entrance were two huge cave trolls that were in need of sleep!

[Mithadan]

Elladan cried out, "Ware! Trolls!" Then he drew his sword and pushed Tintallë to the rear for he was but lightly armed and not skilled in the ways of battle. He attempted to do the same with Torfithien, but she would have none of it. Instead, she slipped her bow into her hands and nocked an arrow. The others stood at ready with their weapons as well.

The cave was just broad enough for the Elves to form a semi-circle facing the Trolls. Blinking sleepily, they growled and one stepped forward menacingly. Elrohir thrust the Noldorin Lamp in its face and the crystal's blue light caused the Troll to shut its eyes. In an instant, arrows flew through the air and the Troll bellowed.

The scream was answered but not from the second Troll before them. The door to their rear rumbled aside and a third Troll stepped forward into the cave. "Back to back," cried Elladan as some of the Elves turned to face this new threat...

[Airerûthiel]

Torfithien gazed down her second arrow with the air of a seasoned warrior as she quickly got her back against that of another of the party - she was not sure who, for inside the cave it was too dark for even the keen eyes of Elves to make out much. The approaching troll grunted with a sound like that of distant thunder, its footsteps shaking the very earth beneath her feet as it slowly came closer.

The hairs stood up on the back of the Elf's neck as she swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth. She had always prided herself of never confessing to being afraid, and although her deepest innermost desire was to scream out loud, she refused to damage her reputation now. Her bowstring quivered with the tension as she breathed out slowly, keeping as still as she could. Around her she could just make out the glint of many arrows as her companions prepared to fire.

Suddenly Elladan shouted, "Torfithien! Get back, quickly!" The female Elf tried to shut out his voice, her stubborn determination getting in the way of her safety, but when she realised that what Elrond's son was saying mattered greatly, it was almost too late. The troll let out a roar at the intruders, and then swung out a fist that resembled a large grey boulder at her. Without thinking, she dropped to the floor, loosing the arrow as she did so.

The shaft pierced the troll's shoulder, causing another bellow to escape from its jaws. Above the Elves' heads, the roof of the cave seemed to be rumbling. "The roof's going to collapse!" one of them shouted - Torfithien could not tell which. Her heart was in her mouth, hammering as though it was an escaping prisoner locked up inside her chest. She was clearly terrified now, but only showed a fraction of her fear as she tried to will herself to stay calm.

'What have I done?' the Lórien Elf wondered, unsure of what to do next. She looked to her companions for guidance, but for once no-one seemed to have any ideas.

[the real findorfin]

Fingil was exploring the far wall of the cave when the commotion began.
As they bellowed and ran forward, Fingil drew his sword and whispered a prayer to Varda. As if in answer, a Noldorin Lamp was thrust forward into the face of one of the trolls. Fingil was about to charge when a huge rush of air flowed through the cave. He turned to see a third troll and his heart turned cold. For a second he remained quiet then an idea appeared in his mind. The others had gathered into a group and he now stood alone, unseen in the corner. He ducked down and opened his pack, bringing out a length of rope. He unwound the silver chain and cried out, "Vanimorén, catch."

He thrust out the rope to his elvish companion, who caught it neatly.

"The legs!" Fingil cried and as the Troll blundered forward he made read to take the strain. He only hoped he could manage it.

[Dark Shadow]

Trouble already? What ill luck the party had. They had barely left Imladris and now, on their first night not only were they to suffer what looked to be a storm, but they were obviously not welcome. As they went to investigate a door at the back of the cave, two huge trolls, probably the regular inhabitants of the cave, blocked the entrance. That was not all they had to worry about; the two in the entrance were soon joined by a third who came through the door at the back. The elves were trapped. They had all formed a semi-circle around the trolls, all but Fingil, who was over by the far wall, but now the circle had broken up with the arrival of the newest threat. While Elladan drew his sword, and Torfithien her bow, Fingil ducked, and rummaged in his pack for a rope. Suddenly he called from the corner,

“Vanimorén, catch!” He threw the rope, and Vanimorén caught the end of it. The two were now on either side of one of the Troll, holding the silvery rope. It began to make its way forward, and Vanimorén felt the rope tense as Fingil clutched it firmly. The rope was taught, and the Troll was none too bright. Vanimorén readied himself, and sure enough, Fingil’s plan worked. The Troll stumbled blindly into the rope. There was however no time for satisfaction. The Troll was stunned, but it would not last too long, and there were still two standing.

[Garen LiLorian]

"'Ware, Trolls!" Elladan's shout rung through the cave, startling Angóre from his contemplation of the bare rock before him. Quickly the small group of Elves turned to face the new threat. "Back to Back!" the son of Elrond cried, and Angóre pressed against the back of Torfithien as she readied an arrow.

Long years of hunting had sharpened Angóre's senses to nearly supernatural levels, and he felt rather than saw or heard the gigantic creature's paw swinging towards him. Torfithien dove, releasing her arrow, but Angóre stood calm, his short javelin braced against the rock of the cavern.

The creature's boulder-like fist impaled itself on the Elven warrior's short spear, and another howl rent the air of the cavern. However, Angóre himself had not escaped without injury. Only the great beast's pain kept it from following through with the swing, but the strength of the creature was enough to send the slight Elven warrior against the wall of the cavern, his breath leaving him in an explosive rush. The walls trembled again.

The scene in the cave was chaos. Fingil and Vanimorén had succeeded in bringing one of the great brutes to the ground, and if their cries of triumph sounded pitiful when compared to the great bellows of the wounded trolls, no-one seemed to care. Elladan and Elrohir worked as a team, slashing and confusing one of the trolls, the lamps in their hands blazing as they fought together. The third and final of the beasts bellowed its anguish to the rocks, arrows liberally coating it and the thick pinprick of Angóre's javelin still protruding from its clenched fist.

Angóre drew his blade with eager fingers, his eyes bright. "Torfithien!" The Elven maiden stood under an overhang of rock, fitting yet another arrow to her bow, but looked up at Angóre's call. "Concentrate on the arms, keep them off me!" he called, and threw himself forward before recieving an answer.

The great troll's eyes narrowed as it saw the small Elf moving towards it, blade in hand. Yet another roar boomed through the cavern, and a hand swept out. Angóre dodged, then rushed, his bright blade drawing a dark line down the creature's thigh. Another swing of the beast and Angóre ducked, feeling the wind whistle on the back of his neck. Another dark line, and Angóre danced away out of reach. This was a game he had played often, and in an open field the troll would have stood no chance against him. But here the rock walls hemmed him in, kept him from exercising his one advantage.

Angóre's dodges became increasingly frantic, his counter-attacks fewer and farther between. Torfithien had saved him three times already, her arrows piercing the troll's shoulder and upper arm just at the upswing had saved him from certain death, but now she stood, fitting her last arrow to the bow.

Angóre danced back yet again, drawing his blade across the creature's knuckles as it swung. His narrow chest heaved as he fought, sweat drenching him. Again he dodged by the narrowest fraction. The Troll, maddened beyond reason by this stinging gnat, stumbled forward, his great arms reaching, and Angóre did the only thing he could. Forward he dove, the troll's hands snapped on nothing. Torfithien's last arrow quivered into the beast's chest and it threw back its head for yet another roar. Angóre saw his chance open before him, and thrust the sword home with both hands, the Elven blade biting deep into the doomed troll's vitals, stealing its life.

"Aure Entuluva, amil." He whispered softly as the dying troll sobbed and gasped, and a solitary tear slid its way down his face, losing itself in the mixture of sweat, blood and dirt.

[the real findorfin]

Fingil was nearly pulled forward as the troll blundered into the rope, but with supreme effort, he managed to stay upright, bringing the huge beast down. As soon as it hit the ground, he dropped the rope and drew his sword.

The troll was already writhing around as he and Vanimorén made for it.

"Keep its attention," shouted Fingil and at once, Vanimorén called out to the troll. It turned its head and Fingil dived in. With a short and sharp cutting motion, he slit the throat of the beast. Its groans and movement became less and its head dropped to the cavern floor.

"Well done, my friend," Fingil called. Vanimorén waved back. "Onto the next."

[ March 20, 2003: Message edited by: the real findorfin ]

[dragoneyes]

Tintallë was overwhelmed, there is only so much you can learn from books and tales. He had managed to keep his wits about him though and was now firing arrows at the last remaining troll. He had not done anything that physical, yet he was still sweating, he paused to wipe some from his brow. He noticed that everyone else was now attacking the last troll, it did not last long.

With one final swing, the troll fell to the ground, defeated. Either Elladan or Elrohir, Tintallë couldn't tell which yet, rushed forward and finished it off. Many sighs of relief echoed around the cave. The welcome light of the sun broke over the mountainous landscape. Tintallë felt much better now that it was light.

The Elves regrouped, not saying much for a while until Tintallë broke the silence "Where have the horses gone?" They were certainly not inside the cave, hopefully all they had done was run a little way away, it wasn't safe for unarmed horses to wander alone out here.

[Lugbúrz]

Elrohir and his brother urged the group to the exit and surveyed the wreck in the first rays of dawn. The cave was collapsing inwards from the clash of metal against stone. Although the trolls had been subdued by elvish skill, their brutal onslaught had left a permanent mark. The swords were not as sharp; some blunt and some broken. Their supply of arrows almost at an end and their lamps now half in number. The rope was shredded to pieces and the elves were drained of precious energy.

The only intact part of the group were the horses, which were huddled together in a short distance from the cave, sensing danger, and now relieved to see their masters survive it.

After a quick appraisal of the group's dimished capabilities and injuries, the weary elves, deprived of sleep, descended the final slopes of the Misty Mountains.

[Mithadan]

Elladan had stayed behind as the others filed out of the cave. Treading carefully about the bodies of the trolls and the rocks which had fallen from the ceiling and walls, he entered the rear doorway and passed into a dark room. A horrid smell assaulted him immediately and he grimaced at the half-seen things lying upon the floor. The light of his lamp revealed piles of bones and partially cooked meat, shattered crockery and rags. But in the far corner were propped two sheathed swords and a long knife. These he took and carried from the trolls' cave.

Catching up to his companions, he silently showed the weapons to Elrohir, who examined them quickly. "Elven make," he said simply. Elladan nodded. Neither commented upon the blood stains on the sheaths or the likely source of the weapons. They continued down the foothills of the mountains and made camp in a copse of trees half-hidden in a fold in the land.

[Lugbúrz]

Even though they were all tired from their encounter, the elves decided to keep a watch as they rested. Elrohir took the first watch, and as he sat, his senses keen to the surroundings, his thoughts were far away.

'When three trolls can cause such havoc, what hope does there lie for us in Moria?' wondered Elrohir.

As he sat and pondered the road ahead, he set about examining the swords that his brother had showed him. Upon looking at them closely, he realised that they belonged to the elves of Mirkwood. He looked East, and the lands stretched beyond him in open fields. He knew that just beyond lay the River Anduin, and nigh to its Eastern bank lay the first eaves of Mirkwood. On their Southern path lay the lands of Men.

'And what hope will that bring, I wonder,' he sighed, as he got up at the end of his watch.

[Airerûthiel]

Once again Torfithien could not sleep. She sighed heavily as she turned over yet again, staring up at the stars. Although there was a keen wind that night, the Elven maiden did not feel cold at all - she was used to sleeping outside, being as she was a child of the Golden Wood. Her heart ached as she remembered her home in Lórien, so near and yet so far, and she was tempted to try and go back.

But she could not leave her companions. Although she had long learned to be suspicious of others before giving her trust, she was still proud and refused to allow herself to show any signs of weakness. In Torfithien's eyes, to behave in the manner of a lady was to show that one was less than strong. It was not that she did not have the utmost respect and affection for Celebrian, only that she had been forced to grow up fast and in a family where she was the only female.

The memory of her mother's pale slender face came back to her, framed by delicate whispy tendrills of blonde hair that was almost white. She looked as if she was asleep, with a peaceful expression on her face that Torfithien could remember seeing whenever she, as a small girl, had run to her mother with whatever minor worry she had. Oh, how she wished for the touch of those hands stroking her hair again!

"Wishing will not make her come back," she said a little too loudly, her eyes snapping open. She knew that now she would never go back to sleep, for the heartache she would feel as soon as she closed would be too great for even the bravest and most courageous warrior to bear. Although Elrohir never knew it, there were two people keeping watch that night.

[the real findorfin]

As they set up camp, Fingil moved purposefully. He had shown himself as the warrior he truly was, and no longer looked like silent baggage. He was content.

As the moon came high, many of them were asleep. Fingil lay, looking up at the stars, thinking of what lay ahead.

Moria, the ancient Kingdom of the Dwarves. Now bereft of dwarves and packed full of orc dens.
The darkness of his thoughts disturbed him but he was resigned to follow whatever course the group took.
The Lamps of the Noldor would be a help, but they could not light the entire kingdom, and there would always be more shadows than light.
The awesome difficulty of their task swamped him but he battled through it, Celebrian was in there and she would come out, alive!

He turned onto his side and closed his eyes, but dreams of darkness and terrible dens haunted him throughout the night.

He was running down many dark tunnels and the image of a Noldorin Lamp was always ahead of him, growing dimmer and dimmer, until it was gone. He was alone and fear gripped him, but was he? Suddenly the screech of orcs echoed around him in the tunnel and he knew that he was trapped. Breathing touched his neck, dark foul breath and he almost choked on the stench. As he felt harsh metal slice into him, his legs gave way and he fell...

and woke. He was sweating and in the still dark night Fingil thought, with a sudden dread, that he had seen his future. Was that what would happen to him, or was it a mere dream? He did not know, but he would not give up. As he fell back into uneasy dreams, the feeling of dread stayed with him and he did not sleep easily.

[ March 31, 2003: Message edited by: the real findorfin ]

[Mithadan]

The morning found Elladan sitting with his back to an oak tree while he worked at the blade of his sword with a whetstone. He sharpened the edge methodically with a grim look on his face. After some time, the edge was again keen and more or less straight. Satisfied, he looked up at his companions as they ate a light breakfast and prepared to break camp.

Angóre drew his own blade and tested its edge. He frowned and looked up at Elladan who tossed him the stone. As he sharpened his edge, Angóre spoke to Elladan. "Once we reach Moria, how do you propose we find Celebrian?"

Elladan looked troubled. "The truth be known, I have no idea," he responded. "Vanimorén visited Moria an age and more ago when Eregion yet existed. He, at least, may be able to guide us through the main ways. But I fear that Celebrian is held in some deep, dark place, far from Moria's main halls. It may be that we will be forced to seek out a 'guide', willing or no."

Angóre's eyebrows rose at the thought. "An Orc?" he asked. Elladan nodded. "Perhaps. We cannot merely blunder about, wandering the halls and stairs of the place. But there may be other ways to find my Mother..."

Angóre tossed the whetstone back to Elladan with a word of thanks. Then they rose and joined the others who were preparing to mount their horses.

They rode long and hard that day and as the sun began to duck behind the peaks of the mountains to the west, they slowed looking for a likely place to camp. Suddenly, Elladan halted his steed and leapt down to examine the ground. Elrohir joined him. Fingil approached the twins attempting to see what they were probing with their fingers. He crouched down between them and saw a pawprint in the soft earth. "A wolf?" he asked.

"More than one," answered Elrohir, pointing to a second print a few feet away. Fingil squinted at the prints, but other than identifying the animal that made them, the marks told him little. Torfithien moved forward to examine the prints. She tested the soil with her fingers and traced the outlines of the marks. Then she stood and faced the others. "A day old and no more," she said with certainty. "They will not be far." Elladan nodded his agreement. "We will seek out a hillock or some place in the open and we shall build a fire," he said.

Tintallë shuddered. "Why not seek the shelter of a forest?" he asked. Torfithien smiled at the healer. "We do not wish to be taken by surprise," she answered. "Trees will not hide us from the noses of wolves, but they would allow them to creep up on us unseen."

[ April 01, 2003: Message edited by: Mithadan ]

[Garen LiLorian]

Angore frowned. "Certainly a band of Elves, mounted and well armed need not fear a mere hunting pack of forest animals," he said, seeking confirmation in the faces around him. Elladan nodded, but his face was grim. "The tracks are not of 'mere' beasts, Angore. See the width, the depth, the length of claw. Far larger than any wolf yet spawned. No, we have happened across a much worse adventure. These are Wargs, demons in wolf form and servants to Orcs. There are three of them, one older and larger than the other two unless I miss my guess." He returned to his examination of the marks.

Angore drew a deep breath. "Wargs! I have heard of such foul creatures, but have not encountered them, by chance or fate. Can we avoid them? Or, perhaps better, frighten them off? I dislike the thought of spending another night resting and watching with lady Celebrian in the clutches of such hosts. Surely we know where we are, where we are going, and there is at least one among us who knows this area well?" He looked at Torfithien and Vanimoren.

[the real findorfin]

Wargs! Fingil shuddered. He had encountered a fair few of the evil creatures during his time in the northlands and was not eager to renew his acquaintance. Although he had won all of his battles against them, he had been severly hurt in his last encounter and still bore the scar across his upper arm.

"We should keep moving," Fingil suggested, "If we all hold brands and are ready for them. We should make a circle, with the horses inside. If these Wargs are hungry then the horses will alert them."

"Perhaps the Noldorin Lamps will keep them away," Vanimoren suggested.

Fingil, nodded in agreement, "yes, the light of the elder days will certainly avail us."

He turned and patted his horse reassuringly, "don't worry," he whispered, "you'll be fine."

[the real findorfin]

And so it was agreed that they should keep moving. They organised themselves as Fingil had suggested, with the Noldorin Lamps dispersed throughout the group and the rest holding burning brands. For an hour they moved and no site or sound of the enemy could be heard. Fingil had begun to relax slightly, perhaps they would not attack?
But as it always is, the moment he relaxed, a great howl broke the silence.
"That was near!" cried Fingil, his sword already in his hand.
"Be careful," Elladan spoke calmly, "keep moving."

The group continued through the dark, their lights creating a tunnel of light in the night. As they walked, some thought they could feel eyes on them, and Fingil swore he had seen a shadow pass just beyond the range of the lamps. More than once, one of the group swung around to meet a non-existant attack. The tension was impossibly high. They all knew what was out there and they all knew what was coming, it was the waiting that was the worst part.

Fingil, who had offered to take the rear with Angore, was listening intently for the footfalls of the creatures, and it was this hearing that saved his life. As the dark shape leapt, Fingil swung around, dodging the beast and rolling. He was up in a second and cried out, "they attack."

The group halted and all faces turned outward. The first creature had disappeared back into the night but as the elves watched, a great circle of dark shapes appeared about them, encircling the group. Fingil could only just make them out, three larger bodies: the Wargs, and many smaller creatures, ordinary wolves by the look of them.

A baying set up and continued for some time as the two groups faced each other. Abruptly the harsh call stopped and the elves tensed. At a lope, which swiftly turned into a run, the Wargs advanced and the wolves followed.

"May the Valar protect us," Fingil muttered, as the first wolf closed

[ April 10, 2003: Message edited by: the real findorfin ]

[Mithadan]

The wolves circled the group warily, taking care to not stray too close to the burning torches or the blue light of the lamps. Their growls and howls were unceasing as the Elves stood with weapons at ready awaiting the onslaught. But each time a wolf approached, it was met with a burning brand or a blade and was forced to turn away.

"The Wargs," cried Elladan. "They must be slain or they will harass us day and night. The others will flee if the Wargs fall!" He took a step forward and cried "Elbereth Gilthoniel!" As if in response, his lamp flared bright, its light burning into the eyes of the wolves. The lesser animals whined and made as if to retreat but the Wargs stood their ground. Growling and gnashing their teeth, two padded over to face Elladan, their eyes gleaming red in the night.

The third Warg sidled over as well, but veered suddenly to the side and with an unearthly howl leaped at Tintallë, knocking him to the ground. Before any could come to the aid of the Elf, the pack howled as one and attacked...

[Airerûthiel]

A strange fire seemed to have been lit in Torfithien's heart; she knew this area fairly well, but the appearance of wargs was something she had not experienced in the region before now. The attack upon her companions had fuelled something dangerous deep within her. Her eyes blazed with a fierce red flame of anger and rage as she pulled an arrow from her back quiver and fitted it to her bow in a single fluid movement. The weapon sang as the shaft flew to its target, embedding itself in a warg's skin just below the shoulder.

The creature let out a howl of pain, but this only seemed to spur it on. Its already quick pace increased tenfold as it came for her. Her hand was on the hilt of her long knife. She glanced sideways, trying to find some help, but the others were already occupied trying to fend off the other two. Swiftly she drew the knife. Its blade flashed like a streak of brightest sunlight as it caught the stars' glow. With a roar that sounded like the battle cry of a true warrior and seemed to echo on into eternity, making the very landscape ring, she plunged the knife into the warg's heart.

It snapped at her neck, trying desperately to take a life before its own ebbed away. She ducked and dodged, trying to pull the blade from the wound. It was stuck fast, and the harder she hauled on it the less it seemed to move. Suddenly she slipped on the blood-stained ground and fell onto her back, taking the wolf with her. She found herself staring up into the warg's face, her blood freezing to carmine ice in her veins.

At the same time the creature's teeth grazed her shoulder, tearing her tunic and leaving a small yet noticeable wound, she managed to free her knife. Blood from the warg's chest poured over her like a red waterfall, covering her in the dripping liquid. She could hear arrows whistling in the distance, striking the wolf's thick hide. Her head was spinning, but she knew she had to fight on.

Using the sleeve of her good arm to staunch the bleeding of her injury, she somehow managed to reach around the warg's side and pull the arrow from its shoulder. The weapon snapped in half as she yanked it loose, but she had all she needed. Stabbing wildly on the warg's body wherever she could, trying to break the skin and get the creature to lose even more blood, eventually her arrow found its eye. The howl of pain that the wolf let out rent the air apart.

"Torfithien!" She did not recognise the voice, nor could she tell where it was coming from, but suddenly it became clear that unless she got out of the way the warg was going to fall on top of her, crushing her to death. In that moment the silence struck her. She rolled sideways, praying she would escape. The warg's heavy lifeless body fell barely inches from her own as she passed out.

[ April 12, 2003: Message edited by: Airerûthiel ]

[dragoneyes]

Tintallë had been bowled over by the warg's weight. His breath was knocked out of him but he had no time to lie on the ground and gasp. The warg was now snapping at him, trying to reach his neck. Tinntallë Was holding to warg off with one arm and desparately trying to draw his knife with the other. The wargs was leaning into him more and more and his arm was beginning to shake with the strain.

At last he found the hilt of his knife, he put all of his concentration into drawing it. It came easily and Tintallë got it ready to thrust into the wargs chest but his arm gave way first. The warg drove forward, using Tintallë's stomach to push off, and push strait into Tintallë's blade. The warg howled, a terrible noise as the blood gurgled up its throat.

Tintallë took his chance, he rolled over so that the warg was underneath and he was able to stand. Two arrows flew from the direction of the group, he didn't know who had shot them but he was very grateful for them as they kept the warg down. One hit the warg in the shoulder, the other in the stomach, Tintallë didn't dare rest though. He pulled the knife out of the squirming form of the warg and stabbed it through the neck, ending it s life instantly.

[ April 12, 2003: Message edited by: dragoneyes ]

[Sadbh]

Time was unmeasurable in the prison of stone known as Moria. It was not long after her first conversings with Celebrian since regaining conciousness that she heard a grunting and scrabbling from the hall. The noise grew louder and came closer, until it was upon them.

Feaelena pulled herself up, scraping her arm upon the stones. She felt her chest tighten as she peared into the dark.

There was the sound of a stone being moved aside, a grating scrape across the floor, and the then sound of hsising and clumsy footfall across the floor. Suddenly a torch flared. The unpleasant scent of burning tallow filled the already unbearably stale air.

However, the scent of the flame was the least of things to worry about. Silhouettes were outlined by the torch, dark, malformed, and broken. Glowing pinpricks bore into her from the darkness, fell disgusting to look at.

Shaking slightly, the elf inched back to farther corners, where the shadows were deeper. It was of no use. She had already been seen by the orcs, who grabbed at her arms. The scaled paws caused her to scream, and for a moment her breathing stopped.

Over her fear, however, a sense of duty overwhelmed her an she kept her mouth quiet. If she did not wake Celebrian the yrch would not be aware of her presence and she would be unscathed.

Trying hard to be quiet, she struggled against the orc who had grabbed her, beating it with her depleated strength. She felt it withdraw as she hit its face. It shrieked. There was a stirring in the corner, where Celebrian must be.

The other orcs seemed to be rooting about for them both, moving like noisy dogs across the stone. Squirming soundlessly to the sounds of the lady, she sank onto the floor. "What..." Celebrian started to speak, but her handmaiden quickly silenced her.

"Yrch." Waiting in silence they sat, following with startled eyes the burning torch, as it looped around the room. Just as it had moved away, Feaelena felt something grab at her shoulders. Barely keeping from screaming She struggled once more, feeling the clawed hand beat her around the head and neck.

"Milady, go! There are many!" Feaelena felt herself crushed to the bare rock, slipping into blackness.

[Mithadan]

The last remaining Warg snapped at Elladan forcing him back a step. Then the beast howled and loped away, followed by the remainder of the pack. Elladan dropped his sword and seized his bow, but by the time he had nocked an arrow, the wolves had melted into the night.

Elrohir shook his head grimly. "If we track them, we must turn aside from our quest," he said. "But if we do not, then we will likely face this foe again. They will return, perhaps greater in numbers. This is an ill chance to have encountered these beasts."

He turned to the others. "What shall we do? Shall we follow the Warg and his pack, or continue along our road?"

[Garen LiLorian]

The Wargs were among the groupe without so much as a warning, and Angóre, who had been riding back, could do little more than watch, horrorstruck, as they slashed through the group. Torfithien and Tintallë went down, writhing under the grey forms. Elrohir and Findorfin slew many of the lesser beasts.

Angóre dashed forward into the group, sword flailing at the smaller wolf-forms. He knew not whether any went down under his assault, his purpose was to reach those in peril. "Torfithien!" He cried in warning as the Elf-maid's arrow found the Warg's life, and the lithe maiden rolled quickly to the side. By the time he had looked back, Tintallë had stabbed his foe through the neck, and now was struggling out from under the bulky form, his face a mask of disgust.

Angóre swung down from his horse and helped pull the Warg's body from Tintallë, then looked up at Elrohir's question to the group. "Hunt them? Surely they are broken and divided. We might spend weeks hunting down the remains of the pack. I do not think that they will return, and we can ill afford such a delay. My vote is for continuing on, with all speed. Let these curs come again if they dare."

[ April 20, 2003: Message edited by: Garen LiLorian ]

[the real findorfin]

"Yes, we should continue on our way," Fingil agreed, "they have been seriously wounded by us, and perhaps they will think twice before again attacking."

He stooped down and cleaned his blade, before sheathing it once more. He was breathing heavily but was starngely excited. No one was dead except their enemies and he had fought well. His long rest in Imladris was over and the warrior inside him was released.

He bent down to Torfithien to see if his comrade was alright and found her unconscious. He lifted her head and whispered her name , "Torfithien, Torfithien."

She sighed and opened her eyes slowly, smiling and relaxing as she saw Fingil.

"Are you injured?" he asked kindly.
"I will be alright," she murmured as she raised herself up.

"I am glad," Fingil said, smiling. He rose and offered her his hand.

[Mithadan]

Elladan looked to the east where the wolves had disappeared into the shadows. Then he looked to the south and their goal; the Mines of Moria. He shook his head in frustration, then held a quick and whispered conversation with Elrohir. Turning, he addressed his companions.

"We are faced with ill choices," he said. "We will continue on to Moria without delay, but my heart warns me that the wolves may yet have more to say about our quest. We will double our watch in the evenings and will rest only with a fire burning in our camp until we see the Mountains of Moria. Then, of necessity, we must extinguish our campfires but we shall maintain an even closer watch."

As if to affirm his concerns, from the east there came a mournful howl...

[Lugbúrz]

As the group hied South, keeping close to the base of the Misty Mountains, they passed landscapes of familiar obscurity.

The lands around them had changed since they had traversed it last. Elladan and Elrohir were aware of the perceptible nuances in the Wild. There were tracks of strange feet, Men of a strange breed. The plains stretching Eastwards evinced a snaffling presence of evil stirring. As the group crossed the River Ninglor, they noticed that the fields lay masked by a gloom.

Concerned yet unscathed, the elves made haste of their progress. Their concerns did not end with the Eastern eye. The Misty Mountains seemed to be crawling with terrible sounds. None of their nights passed without vigil.

Elrohir grew concerned of how vulnerable they had become. Even if they could stand their ground and fight the evil around them, their presence had been announced, and was surely being watched. There was little hope of stealth in their arrival. Unless they hoped to baffle the orcs that lay ahead by a spectacular entry in the Mines of Moria. Or was he just imagining their susceptibility and the worst? And was there still hope from quarters unlooked for? Unfortunately, time was running out.

The sun awoke on their fifth day from Imladris to show them the pinnacle of Fanuidhol, a spire of silver marking the Southern horizon.

Moria was upon them.

[the real findorfin]

Since the incident with the Wargs, Fingil had struck a chord with Torfithien and they had grown in friendship. They now walked together most days and as Moria loomed, a deep dread fell over Fingil, which could only be quenched with Torfithien’s aid. But as the sun shone down, he buried his fears and resolutely strode onward.

He had talked with Elrohir in the past few days and they had shared worries of their lack of cover. But as the ground would soon become rocky, Fingil hoped that they would be able to hide and possibly loose any followers. Now, as they packed up and made ready to march after another tense but uneventful night, Fin felt the sun on his face and a new hope dawned in him. They would enter Moria! They would find their lady! They would Rescue Celebrian!

He looked around him and saw the increasingly worried faces hid did something that he would not have dreamed doing usually.

“My friends’” he called out, “we will achieve our quest, as Arien is my witness, I will not let us fail.” He raised his sword to the sun, and slowly, one by one, the others joined him with similar gestures of hope.

“Then let us go and achieve it,” said Elladan, soberly.

[Airerûthiel]

It was strange to have a real friend, but at the same time Torfithien liked the fact that she no longer felt so alone. She would always be grateful to Fingil for saving her life during the battle with the wargs. They were still some days from Moria, and so there was ample time for her to contemplate the journey so far.

She still felt a little detatched from the group as a whole, but there were a few people she was beginning to warm to. In a way she liked this sort of relationship with the company - it made her not feel like quite such an outcast, but was distant enough for her liking (she had never been comfortable feeling close to someone else).

It was at times like these that she missed Lothlórien. The Golden Wood had been her home all her life, and it was in the wilds of the lands that she had sought comfort after Rorfimir's death. She had loved the young Wood-elf ever since she had lain eyes on him in the forest of Mirkwood all those years ago. Why could the wargs not have taken her life instead of his? Why had she listened to him and stayed at home like the 'lady' she was, instead of going to face the wolves with him?

The recent conflict had brought back bitter memories for her. When she had killed that warg, it had been as revenge for taking Rorfimir's life more than anything else. Did she want to avenge his death, or was she just looking for the quickest route to allow them to meet once more? She could not answer her own question, and sighed heavily as she thought on of her home in Lórien.

She could sense there was something troubling Fingil, but did not think to ask him what was wrong. If she tried to get inside his head, then there was the possibility she could get too close to him. With the possible exception of the Lady Celebrian, he was the closest friend she had ever had. She wanted to learn more about him - he intrigued her greatly - but she knew in her heart that it was far too dangerous. Every person she had ever been close to had always ended up getting hurt in some way - both her mother and the love of her life were dead, and now Lady Celebrian was lying underground in the clutches of those vile orcs. She was not prepared to ruin any more lives.

The life she had chosen was one of being solitary. If loneliness was the price that she had to pay at the risk of not hurting anyone else, then so be it. She had made the choice, and now there was no turning back.

[Mithadan]

The Elves continued southward, but veered now to the west, for the mountains curved towards the setting sun in the area of the Gladden Fields. The foothills of the Hithleaglir provided them with some cover, but it was with great caution that they approached Caradhras, the northernmost of the Mountains of Moria. At length, they drew even with Caradhras and turned back to the west to circle Cloudyhead.

Pointing towards the approaching peaks, Elladan said, "Between Caradhras and Celebdil runs the Redhorn Pass before it veers towards the south to skirt the feet of Fanuidhol, the Cloudyhead. Thus even as we approach the gates of Moria, so shall we be crossing the mouth of the pass where my mother was captured. We must take care and scout out these lands, lest we fall into a trap."

Elladan looked at his companions, then to his brother. "Elrohir," he said. "Take Angóre and creep up to the mouth of the Redhorn Pass. If it is clear, go further and spy out the ways of Dimrill Dale."

Elrohir nodded. "We shall return quickly..."

[Lugbúrz]

Elrohir spoke gently to his horse and it instantly galloped away in the silence of the morning. Angóre followed instantly, and soon found himself riding aside the son of Elrond.

Soon they began to climb over a gentle slope that was covered with loose gravel and some sharp stones. The horses gracefully manoeuvered their way through them, as their riders scanned the slopes for any sign of unwanted company.

In a while they reached a small plateau off which two paths rose, each quite similar to the other. The elves stopped briefly to consider their future course.

"Which leads to the Redhorn Pass, I wonder," mused Angóre.

"We'll soon know," said Elrohir, as he looked closely at his companion.

In the minds of elves still resides the wisdom of the Elder Days, and in them lies the understanding of the forces of the world. Magic, is apparently stronger in them than any other of the creatures of Arda. And they possess quite an ability to use it in spectacular ways, ways in which humans are often never looking for.

"Of course," nodded Angóre, and immediately took the path on the left.

Elrohir smiled for just a short moment, and returning to the grave situation, nudged his horse onto the path on the right.

[Mithadan]

Elladan watched as Elrohir and Angóre rode off towards the mountains. Then he settled in to wait for their return. Taking up a twig, he drew a diagram in the dirt, then, with a scowl, he scratched it out. He shook his head and looked off at the mountains as if his long gaze might pierce some veil which shrouded them.

Fingil noticed Elladan's distraction and came near to sit beside Elrond's son. "Something troubles you," he said.

"I fear that the Gates of Moria will be guarded," he answered. "I do not know how we will safely enter..."

Upon hearing this, Tintallë's head jerked around. "You do not know how we will enter?" he demanded. "We have travelled for days and withstood Trolls and Wargs and you do not know how we will enter?"

Elladan's eyes flashed, then cooled and he responded evenly. "There is no tale in Rivendell which speaks of any entrance to the Dwarven realm on this side of the mountains other than the Gates of Durin. Beyond those Gates is a deep abyss spanned only by a narrow bridge, without rails, broad enough only for one person to pass at a time. If that bridge is held against us, I would not care to try to enter that way. No doubt there are other entrances for supplies and wagons, but if so, they are hidden for none know of them. The Dwarves' practice was to conceal a door by making it appear even as the rock from which the mountain is made, without seam or hinge. We might spend weeks seeking such a door, if it exists at all."

"Then is this a fool's errand?" cried Tintallë. "That we shall either not enter or we shall brave Durin's Gate and send up the alarm to all the Orcs of Moria?"

"Peace," answered Elladan in an cold voice. "For this reason, my brother and Angóre are sent to spy out the ways of Dimrill Dale so that we will know if that route is safe. If it is not, we will...find another way to enter." From where he sat, he could just see the peak of Celebdil and he stared intently at that rocky crag...

[Lugbúrz]

As he climbed the path, Elrohir mused upon the events of the past week. News of his mother's capture had filled him with such a rage of purpose that time seemed to have little meaning.

It was well that he and his brother were well versed with travel and stealth, for they could have expended little effort to preparing themselves for the immediate concerns, let alone preparing the others to cope with the situation.

His mind dwelt on the company, most had done well to waylay their fears and surivive. Yes, just survive. That wouldn't be good enough for the path ahead. Moria...

As Elrohir mulled over the quagmire, his horse had cimbed considerably. The terrain around them had transformed. He was in the middle slopes of the Misty Mountains. The loose gravel became dangerously slipperly as the untrodden paths were slated with frigid ice. Deciding to unburden his stallion, Elrohir dismounted and began walking in long strides, as his horse followed gratefully. What occured immediately to Elrohir was that this had definitely been a path once, if not anymore. The years had not yet eroded the ruts of feet.

[Garen LiLorian]

Almost immediately after their split Angóre lost sight of Elrohir as the path he had chosen sloped away to the southwest, climbing upward into the mountains. He sat astride his horse, keeping the beast to an easy stroll, and even as his keen Elvish senses scanned the path ahead, his mind wandered, recounting the desperate journey thus far.

He had traveled these mountains many times in his life, but never had there been such peril. Twice already the group had been assaulted, and only by the grace of Varda were they yet unharmed. There was something more than the random movements of wild creatures at work here; for the mountains to present such deadly peril to even the tall sons of Elrond hinted at a greater scheme, something subtle and hidden even to the long sighted Elves. Shadows were returning, where once light had been. The High Pass, Caradhras, even the forests and plains where only beasts live, all held against them. And yet before them their greatest challenge still loomed. Moria. Who could know what dangers awaited them in that underground vastness? Angóre had no more love for the deeps than had his kindred, yet a thrill ran through his body at the thought. Ahead of him lay his doom, his destiny, and eager he was to meet what fate might send him.

The trail ahead of him widened, then vanished onto a rock plateau. Angóre dismounted, leading his horse over the rock. The Sun cast her rays through the peaks of the mountains now; it would be dark soon. Angóre had no wish to find the gates after dark, for the patrols that issue forth from the Eastgate after dusk would prove a match for any lone scout. But the gate was near now; perhaps no more than a hundred yards, though he could not have said how he knew. Just over that next rise, perhaps.

Angóre bid his horse stay, and crept forword, his soft boots leaving no trace on the rock. Then he froze as he heard voices from over the ridge, the common tongue mixed with the Black Speech as only a goblin knows. An expression of disgust at the their profanity flitted across his face momentarily, and he crouched out of sight behind a boulder as the speakers came into view.

There were two of them; short and swarthy, squinting in the light of the evening and bickering in the manner of such folk.
"Gar, it's lucky you are you didn't get your 'ead sawed off just for askin'. You oughta know better than that after what 'appened to old Shûndug."
"Oh, an' I suppose you've led a blameless life then, 'ave you? After all, daylight patrol being such an honored post and such."
"Shut your mouth, Snaga, or I'll do something you won't like much. We've got business to attend to out 'ere, and shift's over soon anyways. Be a bit of a shame if you, eh, didn't report in this evenin' eh?"

When the second voice continued, it was with rather less venom.
"What're we looking for that's so important, anyways? There some sort of invasion coming?"
The first goblin, who was considerably larger than the other, shrugged elaborately.
"Dunno. I look like I'm on the need to know list to you? I'll tell you one thing though; Bosses've been distracted lately, 'ardly ever coming up to check see everything's still working. I think," he leaned in conspiratorally, "They've got something big in the works. Something to do with the snow pass. Big commotion up there a while back. Whole place in an uproar."

The sound faded as the two sentries moved back towards the mountain face. Angóre was tempted to follow, but there was no reason to risk capture, he knew now what he came here for. He allowed a feeling of triumph to infuse him as he started to move back to where he had left his horse.

As he crested the ridge, he saw something that brought a smile to his lips; Elrohir was leading his horse along the trail. Angóre threw up his hand in greeting, the last of the dying light illuminating him as he stood on the ridge.

[Airerûthiel]

That night Torfithien took the first watch. She was bitterly cold, and her cloak gave her little protection against the wind's bite. Her gaze never strayed from the dying embers; she only glanced up slightly at the sound of a cracking twig or the rustle of wind in nearby bushes. In the fire's flames she sought her future, her purpose in life: but it was not to be found there, not tonight at least. Her heart was heavy as she remembered the family she had loved and lost, and she sighed sadly occasionally.

Suddenly the sound of footsteps registered in her mind. She whirled round suddenly, her hand on the handle of her long knife, instantly defensive. Fingil came out of the shadows, illuminated in various shades of red and orange and gold as he sat down beside her. "Forgive me for startling you," he said. "I did not mean to give you cause for fright. But I do not come here only to keep you company in the lonely night; there is something I must ask you. Why have you been avoiding me?"

"You are mistaken." Torfithien's words came out defensively, making her seem uptight and tense. Fingil could see her eyes beginning to glaze over with tears. "I am sorry; forgive me, I cannot control my emotions." She seemed to be punishing herself for not being as strong and together as she normally seemed. "Fingil, you are the first real friend I have ever had. It is for your own good that we cannot be truly close."

"What do you mean?" The male Elf was curious to know why his friend was talking in riddles. "Torfithien, I can assure that you have done nothing wrong. I only worry because you are so quiet and rarely speak to any of us. We are all striving for a common goal - I know you were closer to the Lady Celebrian than any of us others, but our duty is to help each other as well as to rescue her."

Torfithien knew she had to tell him. "You will think I am imagining things, but...I believe I condemn those whom I am close to to death."

She saw the puzzled look on Fingil's face, and explained further. "When I was but a child, I loved my mother more than life itself. She adored me too, as I was her only daughter and by the time of my birth she was considered perhaps a little too old to bear more children. We had a stronger bond than any other Elven girl-children that I knew other did with their mothers. But that all changed when I was seven years old.

"My mother was an Elf of Mirkwood who had married into the Lórien Elves. She would often go back to visit her people in the wood, and one of these trips when I was small proved fatal. A party of Orcs ambushed her just before she entered the forest, and shot her with arrows. She died instantly. All we knew for some days was that she never came home, until one of King Thranduil's riders came to the Golden Wood with the message that she was slain."

"How could you have been responsible for her death?" asked Fingil. "It was not your fault that the Orcs chose to attack your mother. She was just unlucky. It is a simple case of her being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Torfithien shook her head. "It is more than that. My hands are stained with the blood of a second one whom I was close to. It was about the time that Celebrian married Elrond. I was lonely and longed to find love myself. So I decided to make a journey to Mirkwood, to see where my mother had spent her youth. It was in that forest that I first saw Rorfimir." Her eyes were soft and warm, with a dreamy look about them. "The sight of that Wood-elf walking through the forest and singing The Lay of Lúthien struck me dumb instantly - he was the most beautiful thing that I had ever seen. We laid eyes upon one another at the exact same moment, and fell in love at once.

"The relationship was turbulent, but it had to be kept a secret - we felt we were destined to be together, but no-one else agreed with us. We were even lucky in that our romance produced a son, whom we named Calilmal. However, it was not to be, as I let Rorfimir be taken from me not six years after our son's birth.

"The goblins conspired with the wolves to attack Mirkwood. Rorfimir felt it his duty to go and defend his kindred, but I wished to go instead and fight for my mother's folk. He bade me stay in Lothlórien with our son, promising me that as soon as he returned we would be wed. I never saw him again. To this day I have not forgiven myself for heeding his words and not going to battle. The wargs should have taken my life, not his!" She began to sob, small choking gasps for air coming from her mouth. Fingil nervously put an arm round her shoulder for comfort, stroking her cheek and hair, rocking her as though she were a frightened child.

"What happened to your son?" he asked after several minutes. The child's story intrigued him, and he wished to know what had happened to the boy. Perhaps he had met him once before. Perhaps he could reunite Torfithien with her long-lost child.

"I took him to Edoras." Torfithien's tone was filled with regret as she pulled away from Fingil. She still did not trust him, despite the fact that he clearly wanted to care for her. "He was left on the doorstep of a peasant family and named Tellyn. I do not know if he still lives, and I am sure that he will not remember me in the slightest. He has his life-path, and I have mine. They are separate and shall never cross."

With that, she stood up and walked towards her sleeping patch, leaving a very confused Fingil staring after her as she disappeared into the shadows.

[the real findorfin]

Fingil remained stil, confused. Torfithien's story had filled him with sorrow and she needed to be comforted. Yet, with the dreams of his own demise, could her curse be true?

He shook his head angrily, if his death came to pass it would not be Torfithien's fault. He rose and strode after the elvish lady. He caught her up in the darkness and softly touched her arm.
"Torfithien?"
Sobs became audible but he resisted the reaction to pull back. Rather, he held her tighter and she did not struggle.
"Torfithien, I do not worry about your past. If it is my role to die in this adventure then there is no blame on you. I value your friendship and would not have it suffer, whatever the consequences may be."
The elvish lady turned and wept onto Fingil's shoulder and he held her to him. When the tears subsided, she looked up to him and said, simply, "thank you."
"Let us return to the fire," he suggested.
She smiled, and wiping her tear-stained face, followed him back to the circle of light.

[Lugbúrz]

Elrohir was about to halt and scan the horizon from the plateau that he had climbed onto. He surmised that it was between the two peaks, overlooking the Redhorn Pass in the South.

Just as he was about to let his mount graze on the sparse grass of the mountainside, he heard a cry of surprise. Nonplussed by the sudden sound, Elrohir turned swiftly and noticed with dismay that there were two orcs challenging Angore, who had his sword out and appeared quite perturbed.

In a flash, Elrohir was pacing towards the stranded elf. The orcs however, looked immeasurably calm with their surprising valour, for taking on one of the Eldar was by no means a simple task for two fully grown orcs, even hobgoblins! In a moment, Elrohir understood why, and realised his folly - he had given up the element of a surprise attack, for as he approached the trio, he noticed that behind them stood an entire band of orcs, no doubt the sentries posted for a watch over the Pass.

In the fading twilight, their faces gleamed of malice, and turning to see another elf approach them, made their smiles flicker, but noticing that he was alone, brought their glee back in measured cunning.

"Lost your way in the hills, have we?" asked one of the two orcs that stood closer to Angore.

"No, we were looking just for you," replied Elrohir calmly.

Angered by the composure of the elves, the chief of the band turned around and gave a terrible cry. Without a further word, they were upon the two intruders.

The lack of light gave the orcs a definite advantage, as they surrounded both the elves and advanced menacingly, ensnaring them like a noose around the throat of a desperate prisoner. Elrohir looked at Angore for a moment and was reassured by a look of fiery determintaion, one which lusted for the perishing of evil. It seemed as all vile things abroad were to fear and despair, for the javelins of this elf would find their mark tonight.

The first blow was puissant; the orc-blade pared Angore's arm as he manoeuvered away from it and struck out, slicing the blade with his sharp sword. Two other orcs replaced the disarmed opponent, only to be met with a worse defeat, for this time the acute sword severed the arms that wielded the blades! They dropped to the ground as the orcs let out a terrible howl of agony, and collapsed to the ground, drenched in blood. Fighting beside Angore, Elrohir was less lethal in his attack. The chief and his companion were both engaged in an exchange of blows with the fair elf, and he seemed to be parrying them with little burden as he kept fighting off the numerous smaller orcs that assailed him from all sides. Finding no success, the chief stepped back and let out a loud growl, and presently many more of his men joined the foray. Elrohir immediately realised that this would be quite impossible to tarry with. With a turn of his sword, he gripped the hilt firmly and pummeled through the ranks and struck a deadly blow skewering the chief's belly.

Elrohir expected the band to lose heart and flee, but was quite shocked to see them fight with renewed vigour, as they seemed to take orders now from another. It appeared that the elves had been expected, and the watches had been prepared well. Not finding much respite from the increasing offensive, Elrohir turned to see that Angore had managed to slaughter a few more of the enemy. He then let out a helpless shout as an orc wielding a cudgel approached Angore from behind and struck him on the head, knocking the elf unconscious.

Outnumbered by the whole group, Elrohir backed away menacingly as the orcs took stock and advanced. The new leader spoke harshly, "foolish elf! Surrender or die."

To their surprise, Elrohir quietly laid down his sword.

"Then I shall surrender," he said without emotion.

Amazed by the compliance, the orcs were jubiliant. The head spoke haughtily, "smart, more learn like you then good. Tie him!"

Four orcs carried Angore of their shoulders while they tied Elrohir crudely with filthy ropes, scared to touch the fair elvish skin. Then they marched the prisoners along the plateau for a distance in the waxing moonlight, and after a while climbed down a rocky path and came to the opening of a low cave. They were met by a few more sentries that looked very interested in the captives, glad that they were securely fastened and could do no further harm.

"Who have you here," one of them asked, searching for the leader of the group, and holding up his torch higher to see the entire company.

"Tresspassers, and elves," came the sneering reply.

With no further question, the prisoners were led along with a few orcs into the cave and to the very back, where there was a hole in the wall, with small rocks lying all around it. Beside the opening, Elrohir spied in the torchlight some dwarf runes in the wall, the orcs had found a dwarf entrance and blasted it from inside.

Just as the orcs were about to lead the elves inside the passage, there were a few gasps from them. Elrohir turned to notice that Angore had woken up and jumped up and surprised the orcs carrying him. Having been unbound, he had cleverly managed to secure a sword off one of his bearers. In a minute all four lay dead and he had sprung to cut Elrohir's bonds.

Quick as lighting Elrohir snatched his sword, that had been wrapped around in a wastecloth, for the orcs feared it mortally. In the dim torchlight of the cave, the orcs fell before they realised what was happening. Soon, the few of them that fit the small cave were all lying on the floor. The cries had alerted the orcs still remaining outside, and they were rudely made to stop their celebration and deal with the sudden attack.

The elves ran out of the cave and stood before them, perhaps a dozen or more. Angore had recovered his sword and was crading it with delight and anger.

Then it was that the help arrived. For in the bright moonlight shining upon the plateau, the two elves and their bravery had attracted the watchful eyes of the friends of the skies. Descending swiftly, a convocation of Eagles cried out into the night, filling the orcs with a fear beyond any other. They looked up in terror and disgust and disbanded and fled. But none of them survived. The wrath of the Eagles was swift and lethal. The decapitated orcs lay strewn on the mountain.

The elves had secured an entry into Moria.

[ May 29, 2003: Message edited by: Lugbúrz ]

[Mithadan]

Elladan looked at the members of his little company one at a time. Torfithien and Fingil, though concerned both about the quest and other matters, chafed to be off. Vanimorén too seemed determined and anxious to proceed. But Tintallë was ill at ease, frequently looking up at the mountains with trepidation or glancing about and starting at every noise as if the surroundings were about to erupt with foes.

He is a healer, not a warrior. Elladan stood and walked over to Tintallë and spoke quietly. "Now that Moria is near, the dangers of this task seem more real. Is that not so?"

Tintallë could not meet his eyes. "This is all beyond my experience," he admitted. "I have been in battle and wielded both the blade and the tools of healing. But to crawl into the heart of our foes' fastness without any clear idea of how to accomplish our goal..." He shook his head.

Elladan looked upon him without scorn and spoke softly with kindness. "You are not made for such tasks," he said. "You are no craven but you prefer herbs to blows. There is no shame in this. And there are other tasks which you may perform that will aid us."

Tintallë looked up at Elladan gratefully. "What may I do?" Elladan nodded and continued. "To the south lies the land of Lorien where dwell Galadriel and Celeborn, my kin. Go there! Inform them of our task and advise them that if we succeed in rescuing my mother, it is likely that we will emerge from Moria with all the Orcs of that place on our heels. Ask them for aid, else we must trek through the wilds pursued by an army of foes."

Tintallë nodded and packed his bag...

[the real findorfin]

Fingil watched her in the firelight. She had calmed and was resting, lying - eyes closed - with her cloak about her. He felt deeply for her plight, and longed to help her. But if he did die, then she would feel it was her fault, no matter what he said now.

Tintallë rose and Fingil was brought from his reverie. The elf stood and walked across the space between them. He touched the healer's arm and he turned.
"Where are you going?" Fingil asked.
"To Lothlorien," came the reply, "to attain help for your departure from Moria."
Fingil nodded. "A clever move. The brothers are wise beyond all of us."
He embraced Tintallë and wished him good luck before returning to where he had been sat. He lay down, head on his rolled up cloak and looked up at the works of Varda.

A peel of cries rent the air and echoed about and Fingil was startled. He wondered what they had been, certainly not those of orcs. More like to that of birds. He wondered what had become of Elrohir and Angore. It had been several hours now and they should have been back.

He dozed as the light of the stars shone down upon the group. Torfithien lay asleep nearby, Elladan stood, gazing out into the night around them and Tintallë readied his horse for his journey.

[ May 30, 2003: Message edited by: the real findorfin ]

[Garen LiLorian]

Angóre crossed over to where Elrohir sat deep in thought. He sunk to his heels beside the other Elf and said quietly, "The way is open now, though it will not be for long. The absence of an entire patrol will not go unnoticed and I fear that when they fail to report, we shall find Moria held in strength against us. We must enter the Dwarrowdelf now, and not delay even for the rest of our comrades. The horses must be sent back with messages, and they must catch us as can."

Elrohir spoke without looking up. "I fear you may be right, my friend, though I wish it were not so. Truly, we shall meet with trouble again before my mother returns with us, and where two may be lost, many together are strong." He sighed deeply before continuing, "Yet you are right. If we wait here, all the goblins of Moria shall find us before Elladan can. I can think of only one solution. We must enter Moria, drawing strength away from this gate for Elladan and his company to enter. Our situation has grown desperate indeed for this to be our only course!"

But Angóre said, "If this be our path than there is no turning from it. Yet I do not think our situation dire. Rather are we gifted with this chance! For this night shall many of these Orcs feel the sting and bite of our blades, and our names shall ring in song from the rafters of the Last Homely House." And a strange fire woke deep within his eyes as he turned to make ready.

Then Elrohir stood and cried aloud "Great Windlords, you have placed us deeply in your debt once this night. Would you do another service for the house of Elrond? Find Elladan, my brother, and tell him of what has transpired here. Bid him come with all speed, for the window shall close soon, and Celebrían languish in her captivity lest he come swift as the wind itself."

And the Eagles said "It shall be done, son of Elrond," and with a sound of mighty wings, they were gone, speeding Eastward.

The horses were abandoned, bid to find their way to Lórien and there stay, for the beasts were of no use in the close tunnels of the Dwarrowdelf. Then Elrohir and Angóre stood, and descended into the dark length of Moria.

[Lugbúrz]

The tunnel was dark, and the only light seemed to come off the elves itself until Angore lit a torch.

"The orcs won't be needing this any longer," he said with a smirk.

Elrohir smiled and wondered if any of the other orcs would notice the small mound they had made to inter the corpse and sconce alike. They would surely notice the unguarded cave, if not the missing patrol.

It was tough to feel too hopeful in this dark place, but Elrohir was yet with hope.

"Yes, we can make better use of it," he said with a smile, and looked upon the tunnel as it lit up from the torchlight.

It was smooth, beyond the skill of goblins, and it was very cool, surprisingly not cold, just refreshingly cool. The tunnel was not very high, so it was quite difficult for the elves to move without hunching forwards. At some points it was so low that they had to crawl to inch ahead. In a while they came to an opening. It was a circular room with a high ceiling, and a gentle fresh breeze blew there, as if there were cracks in the mountainside letting in the air from outside.

"There are three paths leading off this chamber," said Elrohir, "we must chose one that descends into the halls below."

"That will not help us much, they all seem to," said Angore after peering into them with his torch held high.

Before they could ponder further, they heard more voices, and the path to the left shone a dim light, and the elves put out their torch and hurried into one of the other tunnels and waited with baited breath.

The orcs soon came to the chamber, and of course did not hear or see anything untoward, for it is the manner of the Eldar to go unnoticed if they ever want to, especially from creatures as clumsy as the goblins.

"What a boring job, guarding that dreadful cave, why would anyone climb that cold mountain," grumbled one of them.

"Well, at least better than the day shift," said another and they all chuckled.

Elrohir tapped Angore's shoulder and in an instant three short javelins had found the backs of the orcs. The fourth one looked perplexed, and looked with fear from one tunnel to another wondering which way he could flee. Then he saw the elves charge upon him suddenly and he lost his balance and fell down. Pointing his sword at the orc's throat, Elrohir spoke to him.

"Tell me, where does the passage you came up lead to."

The orc bared his teeth and hissed and spat, but the elf simply pushed his sword further.

"It goes down to the Pass, and further South," and quite suddenly the orc gave way to fear, "let me go!"

"You will come with us, and lead the way," said Elrohir in such a menacing voice that there was no argument.

Angore stared as the orc stood up, and Elrohir tied his hands and held the rope. The orc cried in pain as the rope seared his defiled skin.

After hiding the other three orcs behind a huge rock on one edge of the chamber, they made their way slowly down the passage the orcs had come in by.

[the real findorfin]

Fingil dozed in the warmth of the campfire. Tintalle had vanished into the darkness, on his way to Lorien, Torfithien and Vanimorien were asleep nearby and Elladan still stood, deep in thought.

Fingil was roused by Elladan's sharp movements and rose quickly.
"What is it?"
Elladan pointed upward and Fingil watched as two Eagles swooped down into their camp.
"Son of Elrond," began the larger, "we bring word from your brother."
Elladan stepped forward, eager to hear the news.
"He and another have entered into the mines while the gate is unbarred. They bid you to follow at once. Make haste or it shall be held against you once more."
Elladan, a worried expression on his face, bowed in thanks, "great lord of the sky, I thank you for your favour to me and my kin. May you fly ever high in the service of Manwe."
The Eagle bowed its head and spoke again, "head for the mountains, at a splitting of the paths choose the left and follow to the plateau. Continue along the straight road and you will find the entrance to the cave." The Eagles both rose into flight and made off into the dark sky.

"Well, let us be off at once!" Elladan cried and began to put his gear together. "We take only what we must. Strap the rest to the horses and we will set them free when we reach the plateau."

Fingil quickly began packing his things together, as did the other two who had woken to hear the words of the Eagles. He took his sword, Angcalion and strapped it secure to him, along with his several knives. He also stored away his remaining provisions and few herbs inside his jerkin and lastly, drapped his grey cloak around him. The rest of his gear that had served him well up to now would be no use in Moria and he secured it to his horse.

Within five minutes the elves were ready to set off and Elladan took the lead on his tall horse. Fingil appointed himself as the rearguard and his two other companions rode inbetween. Torfithien had been silent since the Eagles had left and Fingil worried what the darkness of Moria would do to her spirit.....or to his for that matter.

Off into the night they rode, ever climbing the path until they reached the huge plateau of rock. There they let the horses go and sent them back along the path they had come.
"Now we move on foot," Elladan said and they continued.

[Mithadan]

The sun's light was dawning in the east even as they approached the rough gate into the underground realm of the Dwarves. As they pressed on, they could see crows and eagles circling and swooping in the sky ahead. Now and again, an eagle would descend, only to rise again, bearing a dark form in its talons. As the gate came into sight, the last of the eagles rose, bearing the body of an Orc. The great bird which had brought them the message dropped to the ground before the black opening in the rocky wall of the vale.

"We have cleared this place of the bodies of your foes," said the eagle. "And we have left behind enough feathers for the Orcs to believe that we slew their brethren rather than any land-bound intruder. Your brother and his friend did well. They slew many of the vermin."

Elladan bowed gratefully. "We are in your debt and your favors shall not be forgotten," he said even as the great bird rose into the winds. Then he turned to examine the way into the mountain.

"No Dwarf work this!" he muttered. "The opening was made by force from within. But an entrance we sought and an entrance we now have."

Vanimorén peered into the blackness and shuddered. "It is as if here is a place where the night was never lifted," he said. "Nay! Here the darkness seems to have a life of its own."

"Yet it is into the night that we must go, whether it has a life or no," exclaimed Elladan. "Come! We must find Elrohir and Angóre as quickly as we may!"

He strode through the rough arch and was swallowed by the darkness. After a moment, there came a blue glimmer from within; he had uncovered his lamp. The others hesitated no more and followed Elladan into Moria.

Time seemed to have little meaning in this place. But it was not long before they reached a circular hall with three tunnels leading from it. Torfithien and Fingil examined the ground before each of the openings. "All have been used recently," said Fingil. "There are prints in all three and I cannot discern which our fellows may have taken."

Elladan stepped closer but did not look down, but rather up at the walls of the tunnels. "Here!" he said. "Elrohir has left a mark." Just above the height of their heads were three white scratches which crossed in the shape of a rayed star. "This way. Quickly! But look out for more marks! And listen carefully for Orcs!" They trotted down the tunnel, moving as quickly as they dared...

[Dark Shadow]

Vanimorén brought up the rear as the four elves walked quickly down the dark passageway, lit only by the lamp of Elladan. The darkness seemed almost to reach out and claw at them, hindering their progress, but every now and again, at junctions in the passage, they would come across one of Elrohir’s marks on the tunnel wall. Vanimorén looked about warily, feeling his skin prickling. He was uneasy about something, but in that darkness, there was no way of telling what was following them except by sound. He spoke softly, not wishing to disturb the darkness.

“Is it only I who feels that something is not right? Something besides this strange blackness?”

As he strained his ears, he almost thought he caught a slight scraping sound, barely loud enough to be heard except by the ears of elves, behind them. He turned quickly, almost expecting to see something. The darkness appeared to be as it had been the last time he had checked. He scolded himself for jumping at such things, and hoped that none of the others had noticed. However, he slipped his hand to the hilt of his sword, just in case. The precious metal was a strange comfort under his hand, and he gripped it tightly.

Soon, he heard the sound again, louder, closer. He paused, wondering if the others had noticed it this time. His grip tightened on his sword hilt and he whirled around, gazing into the darkness. He knew something was there. It wasn’t like him to jump at shadows. Still, there didn’t appear to be any immediate threats to the party…

[ June 20, 2003: Message edited by: Dark Shadow ]

[Mithadan]

Elladan led his group through the tunnels as quickly as he dared. His lamp was partially shrouded lest its light reveal them to any foes. Yet the dim glow was sufficient to show any crossings or forks in the passage. At each such place, they paused briefly to search for the mark which showed the direction which Elrohir had taken.

The darkness was oppressive and there was little movement of the air in this deep place. Yet, upon occaision, they passed a corridor from which a slight breeze issued. Elladan placed a mark of his own on the walls of such tunnels, as they might lead to halls at the level of Durin's Gate. Otherwise, they rushed along into the bowels of the mountain, feeling the weight of the stone above them grow as they descended.

At length, they reached a place where a tunnel crossed the corridor in which they travelled. At this crossing, there was no mark on the wall. "Have we gone awry?" wondered Fingil. Elladan peered into each of the rock encircled pathways carefully, then straightened. "Nay," he answered as he uncovered his lamp. "Come forth, brother!"

In response, a shadow detached itself from the wall of the tunnel to the right and approached. The shadow resolved itself into Elrohir as he stepped into the light with a slight smile. He whistled softly and, after a moment, was followed by Angore who led another by a rope. "What have we here?" laughed Elladan softly. "I see you have secured us a guide. Have you enquired regarding bed and breakfast?"

Angore grinned grimly. "Nay," he responded. "But this one leads us to the level of Durin's Gate. There, we may orient ourselves before continuing. But he claims not to know of the Lady we seek or any dungeons."

Elladan approached the Orc carefully. "Is this true?" he asked. The Orc squirmed and attempted to avoid the Elf's gaze. "Never heard of no Lady and never been ter no dungeon," he muttered. Elladan continued to examine the Orc closely, until it wriggled in fear. "Don't know no dungeon but it must be below where we..."

Elladan's eyebrows rose. "Where you what?" The Orc did not answer. The Elf handed the lamp to Fingil who stood nearby and placed a hand on the hilts of his sword. The Orc stepped back only to be jerked into place by the rope which bound him. "Where we lives!" he continued. "That's the only place they'd be now, wouldn't they?"

"Perhaps," said Elladan quietly. But he dropped his hand from his blade and turned to his brother. "Have you called to her?"

"Not yet," answered Elrohir. "There is danger. Do you feel it?"

"Aye," said Elladan. From the moment he had set foot in Moria he had felt it. Not nearby, yet present -- a shadow darker than the tunnels themselves. He nodded grimly. The Orcs were not the only threat in this place.

Even at that moment, Torfithien pressed forward into the pool of light made by the lamp. "Behind us," he hissed. "Something approaches." Elladan pulled the hood over the lamp and the group was plunged into darkness...

[the real findorfin]

The disappearance of all light effected Fingil more than he had hoped. Never before had he felt such a complete lack of any light or noise as all about him stood in silence.

As the light was extinguished, Fingil had seen Angore pull a knife to the orcs throat, so there was no chance of it letting out a warning. However, he was sure that whatever subterranean creature that was coming would have great eyesight in the dark and perhaps it would see them, despite the utter blackness around them.

He gripped his sword hilt tightly and took Torfithien's hand, who stood next to him. He squeezed it gently and the action was returned, before he let go and all his concentration went into listening for the unknown enemy that with every second came closer. The dream he had had returned to him but he pushed it away, that would not happen! A noise came from the tunnel entrance and he felt everyone around him tense. It was here.

[Mithadan]

The Elves pressed against the walls of the side tunnel as the noise drew closer. A tug on his bonds pulled the Orc back as well. Weapons were loosed in their sheaths as the glow of a torch began to spread through the shadows. Then a voice was heard.

"Well? Where are they? I think yer dreamin'. There's nothin' here."

"They're here. And close. I smells 'em, so shaddup."

The Elves crept back as three figures appeared at the crossing of the tunnels. Orcs. Two large and a third squat with broad flaring nostrils. The latter held a bow while his larger comrades bore curved blades in their claws. They paused as the tracker snuffled about, then rose to face the tunnel where the Elves were hidden.

At that moment, Elrohir's captive leapt forward with a screech, waving wildly to the others. He was rewarded with an arrow in his throat, shot by the tracker. The others stepped forward, brandishing their crooked blades and all three charged into the corridor...

[Garen LiLorian]

Angóre bit back a cry as the foul creature in his grasp twisted violently and sunk its teeth into his wrist, then shreiked a warning and ran into the corridor, only to fall with a black feathered arrow protruding from its throat. The three Orcs skidded forward, their triumphant battle cries dying in their throats as they spied the rather larger and more heavily armed group of Elves. Angóre smiled mirthlessly as the small group of yrch tried to reverse direction in midstride, but then bowstrings sang and the two larger Orcs dropped in their tracks, looks of surprise still plastered comically to their faces. The smaller tracker let out a yelp, fired its bow blindly over the party's head, and backpedaled furiously, trying to escape. It had almost made it to the first bend when Angóre's javelin pierced its back, dropping it instantly.

Angóre spat in disgust as he cleaned his wound, then turned to face Elladan and Elrohir. "Have we a plan for finding lady Celebrían in this darkness? Our guide has been taken from us, and even I can feel that this is not the place Vanimorén knew, and age and more ago. Surely now is the time to risk communication, if indeed such a thing is possible, for one of these patrols is likely to be missed soon, and I had rather be smelling the fresh air of Lothlórien than the foul stench of Orcs and worse when that occurs."

[Lugbúrz]

Elrohir mused upon what Angore spoke. It was true that they were blind in Moria, but blind only in the waking world.

The elves held council, and there in the corridor their reunion spread a glow of wisdom, and for a moment the stone burned with a shining glory, akin to its younger days when the Stone Masters had sculpted these surfaces with knowledge long forgotten.

Very little seemed to be spoken but a lot seemed to have been said. And soon they took off, keeping their senses attuned to any approaching danger. One thing they had decided: they would travel in darkness and risk no light, for it was perilous to be spotted by a hidden foe. Lightfooted they walked and had little need for rest. At great speed they moved, ever going downwards and Southwards. There seemed to be a melody in the step they kept, and it spoke of a sad tune, a tune that the walls were still glad to hear. It is said that in later days, the two sons of Elrond often sang this tune in memory of their vigil and rescue. A rescue that was neither a success nor a failure for what they loved most they lost yet from Middle Earth.

The song in the language of the High Elves was one fair beyond the words of Men, but even in the Common Speech it brought to the lips the irony of the elves as the world changed and they parted with their loved ones going West.

We march along, along we march on many a lonely mile,
From Imladris to Moria we march in single file.
Scaling up, up we climb the Misty Mountains high,
Through the Pass we trudge along to meet the enemy nigh.
Slay the foe, we kill them all with strength of Elven blade
Troll we crush and warg we scare and goblins lair we raid.
Ride we must, hard we ride upon the open road,
Across we come from Gladden Stream till the Silverlode.
To Moria we make at last with aid from flying friends,
For seek we must the prize we lost and to make amends.
In the end we come again to the light of day,
Bearing up along with us the merry prize away.
But what an end we must suffer in the hands of fate,
For she passed away and left us with goblins that we hate.

[Mithadan]

The Elves proceeded down the tunnel wrapped in darkness as a cloak to hide them. Their lamps were shrouded and their torches extinguished. As they descended further into Moria, their footsteps seemed to become hushed and the faint musty odor of ages-old dust arose around them. Now and again as they reached places where the tunnel forked or a passageway crossed their path, they warily uncovered their lamps to examine their choices and to mark the way that they had taken.

At length, they reached an end to their tunnel. A broad corridor crossed their path running east and west. Upon illuminating their surroundings, they discovered that a layer of dust several inches deep covered the floor. "None have passed this way in many years," mused Elladan. "We must choose our direction. The way leading to the east seems to gradually descend while to the west, the floor is level. What say you, Elrohir?"

"To the east lie the Gates of Durin, though I cannot say if we stand at a level above or below them," he answered. "From that direction our mother was brought into Moria. Therefore, east is the route which we should follow."

None could suggest any better course. So after a brief meal of waybread and water, they trudged off following the tunnel to their left...

[Dark Shadow]

The brief light they had used to choose which way to turn had been extinguished once more, the elves having chosen the left tunnel. The darkness seemed to consume everything, and even elven eyes could see nothing. Vanimorén flinched at his own pathetic thoughts. Here he was, the only one who had spent much time in Moria and he could be of no help because of the darkness? That and the apparent holes in his memory. It almost seemed that he could remember nothing of this place. He tried to concentrate firmly on the task at hand. They were to find Celebrian, and that was what mattered. She had suffered in the awful dark far longer that him.

Just focus, he told himself firmly, You must remember some of these tunnels. But try as he might he couldn’t, and something seemed to tell him they had to be going wrong. But they couldn’t be. He had to stop feeling paranoid. He gripped his sword hilt tightly. It seemed to be his only comfort. In fact, he almost felt as if it bore a link to Moria. As if, if he could hold it tight enough it might remember the way for him.

[Mithadan]

The dust was deep on the floor of the tunnel and the sound of their footsteps was hushed as if they walked through a covering of light snow. But soon, the walls and floor of the corridor became rough and the ground was littered with rock that had fallen from the Dwarven stonework that surrounded them. Here was a place where the skill of the Dwarves had struggled with the weight of the mountain and, with some shift of the stone above, was losing the battle. The Elves threaded their way among the fallen masonry and lifted the hoods of their lamps so that they did not misstep in the darkness.

The tunnel continued to descend slowly but curved gradually towards the north and it became apparent that the route they selected would not bring them to the portion of Moria immediately inside Durin's Gates. Finally, when the tunnel widened, they stopped and rested, propping their backs against the stony walls.

Elladan sat at the front of the group and while the others debated in hushed tones he remained silent, looking forward along the tunnel. Then he smiled and turned to his comrades. "Look!" he said. He pointed to a lock of his hair which rested upon his brows. It swayed slightly in response to a breeze blowing along the corridor. Standing, he said, "I will investigate. I will return shortly." Taking a lamp, he ran lightly along the passageway.

After a few minutes, the breeze became stronger and a light appeared ahead. Moving cautiously, he emerged in a broad chamber lit by shafts of sunlight from various windows above. Crumbling wooden tables rested against the walls as well as a podium made of stone. Behind the podium were shelves carved from the living rock, above which was a broad opening through which blue sky could be seen. He climbed carefully up the shelves until his head was level with the window. A light wind blew his hair back as he looked down upon a valley below. Through the valley ran an ancient road and a spearhead shaped lake could be seen nearby --Nanduhirion.

He ran back to his friends in excitement. "There is a room with windows ahead through which can be seen the valley of Nanduhirion. We are in the area of the Gates of Moria, but are several levels higher. He should look for passages or stairways leading downward, but we must take care for we approach the living quarters of the Dwarrowdelf and Orcs will be present!"

Any weariness felt by the group evaporated with the promise of fresh air and a glimpse of the sky. They proceeded quickly through the tunnels, dodging fallen rock as they went. But as they approached the chamber where Elladan had looked down upon the valley, a rumbling filled the air. The Elves stopped and looked about uncertainly as the floor seemed to sway. "Forward!" cried Elrohir and his brother leapt ahead with him. But at that moment, the floor gave way with a roar and a great cloud of dust. Fingil, Angore, and Vanimorén fell through the pit which appeared at their feet. Torfithien swayed at the edge, then leaped forward to be pulled to safety by Elladan.

The noise of the rockfall echoed through the halls and it was some time before the dust settled enough to see what had transpired. A portion of the passage had collapsed. Masonry hung precariously on the walls above the gaping opening in the floor. Above, the ceiling seemed to sag and cracks opened slowly, sending streams of powder down into the darkness below.

"Are you there?" cried Elladan. "Aye!" replied Fingil. "Perhaps thirty feet below where you stand, but by some blessing of the Valar we are intact! Throw down a rope!" But each attempt to approach the edge caused more of the passage to collapse. No one could climb up from below in the midst of a rockfall. "We must wait until the passage is stable," cried Elrohir.

Suddenly, harsh cries could be heard from the west. Drawn by the sound of the collapse, Orcs were racing to investigate. "Flee!" cried Elladan. "The Gates lie to the east near where you stand. Seek for Celebrian, then make your way toward the Gates. Mark the passages as you go! We will look for you even as we search for the Lady!"

[the real findorfin]

As the floor fell through, Fingil cried out before being dragged into the darkness below. As he hit the floor, the air was pushed from him and he lay stunned, but as those above cried down to him he replied.
"Aye! Perhaps thirty feet below where you stand, but by some blessing of the Valar we are intact! Throw down a rope!"

Time and time again rock crumbled from the edge, but Fingil did not loose hope until the cries of Orcs were heard. His blood froze as at first, he thought they were on his level but soon he realised that they came from above. The Sons of Elrond gave him warning and he cried a farewell.
"Well friends, we must be off," he said urgently and he set off into the darkness, Angore and Vanimoren behind him.

It was an ill luck that had befallen them, just when hope had returned but, sword ready he was resigned to whatever fate may hold for him.

[ July 05, 2003: Message edited by: the real findorfin ]

[Airerûthiel]

Fingil's words sent relief flooding back into Torfithien's whole body. She had been tempted to follow him, certain that he had plunged to his death, but the fact that he had survived the drop lifted a great weight from her shoulders. All she could do was hope that he would still be alive when he left the caverns of Moria.

Even so she was still tempted to go after the three who had fallen. The way Elladan had grabbed her and pulled her to safety was a sure sign the band of male Elves regarded her as weak. She did not struggle as the group walked away from the yawning chasm, but nonetheless a plan was beginning to form in her mind as she glanced back at the hole in the floor.

Led by Elrohir, those that were left made their way swiftly through the network of tunnels. Behind her Torfithien could hear the sounds of Orcs' breathing and running feet, growing rapidly fainter as she hurried after the rest. She gripped the handle of her long knife, and chose to bide her time. In her dreams the previous night she had seen a great battle below ground, but who would be victorious she could not say. There was a sense of a growing storm, as though their finding Celebrian would result in some terrible tragedy.

Suddenly she stopped running. Her ears picked up on a faint, weak voice. It was still very far off, but she could make out enough of it to know who it was. Should she tell the others? The worry on the faces of her friend's sons was apparent - they were almost tempted to give up the quest. But they needed to know what she had discovered. It was only right.

She approached them swiftly. "Elrohir, Elladan, I have something to tell you. I believe I heard your mother's voice far off in the tunnels." She gestured vaguely in the direction the sound had come from. "If we hurry, we might find her before another day has passed."

The two brothers nodded curtly at the female Elf and then turned back to their discussion. Unnoticed by any that remained, Torfithien turned on her heels and slipped back down the tunnels alone.

It was pitch-black in the passages. She could barely find the marks to tell her the way back, and had to retrace her steps several times at first. As her eyes grew used to the darkness, she was able to pick out the way towards where the rockfall had occured. Her ears listened out intently for the movement of Orcs, and she never took her hand from the handle of her knife in case she was attacked. Living with three older brothers had told her to be wary of everything and everyone.

Eventually she found the chasm. It yawned wide before her, like an enormous mouth waiting to swallow her up. She gulped audibly, trying to summon the courage to jump. It was a long time in coming, but when it did fill her she knew she had no choice. Inhaling a lungful of dusty air, she swayed for a moment, and then dropped into the pit.

The fall was brief but turbulent. She landed with a thump on the ground, stood up and looked around. There was only one way they could possibly have gone. She glanced at the mark on the wall, and then set off after the three male Elves. They were probably deep inside the mine by now, but she would find them. It was only a matter of time.

[Mithadan]

Elladan listened to Torfithien's words and hope rose in his heart. Even as they had run from the collapsed tunnel, he and Elrohir had argued concerning what course to take. Should they attempt to locate their companions first or continue the search for Celebrian? If they were overlong in attempting to find their mother, they might never locate their companions. But if they sought those who had fallen to the lower levels, they would certainly encounter more Orcs and risk being slain, captured or driven from Moria. Torfithien's sharp hearing may have resolved their dilemma.

They peered into the passage that Torfithien had indicated but could neither see nor hear anything. Elladan turned to his brother and whispered to him hurriedly. "The time has come," he said. "We must use Osanwe and attempt to speak with her. Perhaps she may be able to give us some guidance."

Elrohir nodded. "Take care!" he warned. "There is something else here which may be able to hear your call. Something very dark." Elladan nodded. Then he sat on the tunnel floor and closed his eyes...

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

Weeks had passed. Each day seemed worse than the one before. She and Feaelena had endured hunger and repeated beatings at the hands of their captors. The Orcs came by every day or so with a bowl of water and some crusts of bread...if they remembered. But at other times, they had come only to taunt their captives, to paw at them with their claws and tear at their clothing.

Once, when their guards had entered and begun beating her, Feaelena had attempted to stop them. The guards had turned from Celebrian and amused themselves with her handmaiden, holding her down and carving foul words on her face with their jagged knives. Then they had beaten her senseless.

On this day, or night--time seemed to have no meaning here. Their guards had entered again to drop some crumbs of food. They leered at the Elves as they scrabbled about the floor, picking up the crusts of bread. Then the captain had taunted them. "We're preparing a party for you vermin," he growled. "Tonight you'll be our guests o' honor. Then when we're done with our fun, you'll be the main course. You've been fattened up enough!" With that, he reached out a claw and pinched her. Celebrian choked back a cry and attempted to back away, but the Orc seized her by her hair.

At that moment, Feaelena leaped upon his back and beat upon his foul head with her fists. The second guard seized her and threw her to the floor, kicking her repeatedly. Then the captain drew his knife and traced a line from her ear down to her throat. He stuck her again across the face, then bent and licked at the blood oozing from the cut. He stood with a toothy smile. "Tonight we'll cut you a bit deeper than that," he cried, before exiting the cell and locking the door.

Celebrian was breathless and realized that she had been screaming until she began gasping for air. "Feaelena!" she sobbed. "Are you all right? Feaelena!"

Feaelena roused herself and looked up at Celebrian feebly. Her face was a mass of bruises and blood trickled from her throat to the floor. She nodded wearily.

Celebrian collapsed to the floor beside Feaelena and buried her face in her hands. But at that moment, she heard a voice in her mind as if the speaker were standing next to her.

Mother? She gasped and sat up. Elladan?

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

He gasped as her pain and anguish flooded through his mind. We are here, just above the gates. Help us find you. Where are you?

I'm not certain, she answered. I was unconscious when they brought us here. But Feaelena said they brought us through the gates and carried us through two great halls to a spiral stair. She told me they carried us down five or more levels then through a door into a hall with doors on either side before throwing us into a cell. There are guards! Do not come! It is too dangerous!

Even as she spoke, he felt something else reaching out for him, somthing dark and powerful. Even as he pushed it away and shut it out, he felt it begin to move. In the depths below the brothers they heard a sound like a great drum. Doom, doom.

Elladan sprang up and ran down the passage Torfithien had indicated. Elrohir followed close behind. At the end of the tunnel was a door. Behind the door was a landing and a spiral stair which circled upward to their left and downward to their right. Without a word, they began descending as rapidly as they dared. They had gone some ways downward before they realized that Torfithien was no longer with them.

[ July 17, 2003: Message edited by: Mithadan ]

[Dark Shadow]

Vanimorén got up, brushing away dust and rubble and checking for injuries, then turned and followed Fingil into the darkness. Catching up with him, Vanimorén felt pressed to ask,

“What are we to do now?”

Fingil frowned slightly, stopping to think. Shortly he replied, “I suppose we’ll continue searching for Celebrian. That is what we’re here for, after all.” He looked from one elf to the other, as if waiting for opinions. Both elves nodded mutely. They continued to walk silently through the darkness, marking the passages, as instructed.

Suddenly Vanimorén heard footsteps behind him. There was no mistaking it this time. “Wait,” he called quietly to the others. He was sure they must’ve heard the sound too. “There is something following us.” He whirled around, holding his sword tightly, before deciding that these footsteps were far too light to be an Orc’s, He also noticed that they seemed unhurried and deliberate. “It’s one of the others,” he whispered in delight. They waited for a while, before Torfithien emerged from the darkness.

“What are you doing here?” Asked Fingil, not unkindly, all the elves were pleased to see her. Then he added, “Are Elladan and Elrohir coming too? Did they send you?” Torfithian seemed taken aback by all the questions, and Angore stepped forward, laying a hand on Fingil’s arm.

“Let the lady speak,” he said calmly. “There is no need to question her presence so.” The male elves fell silent, and stood waiting for Torfithien to explain everything.

[Airerûthiel]

Torfithien was taken aback by her discovery of the male Elves. She cursed herself silently for not being more careful. What reason could she give them for her presence, other than she wanted to prove she was not some pathetic female who had been reluctantly allowed to come on the quest because she was a friend of Celebrian. She hated lying - her father had brought her up to tell the truth at any cost - but her reasons were so feeble that she felt she had no choice.

She took a deep breath and nodded. "I am afraid that Elladan and Elrohir went on alone," she said. "We found a clue that might help us find the Lady Celebrian, and followed that trail. While we were travelling I felt a little dizzy, and had to stop and rest. I must have fallen asleep, for when I awoke they had gone on ahead. I could not find my way back to them, so I followed the tunnels and came here. It is fortunate I found you."

She glanced around at their faces. They looked expectant, as though they were waiting for her to say something more. "What path they took I know nothing of. That is all the news of them I have for you."

Suddenly her sharp ears picked up on a faint sound in the caverns ahead. Her hand went instantly to the hilt of her long knife. She was wary instantly, glancing around in the darkness. Her ears listened out for any sound or movement they could detect.

"What is it?" asked Fingil.

"I don't know," Torfithien said slowly. "But whatever it is, I don't like it.

[ July 19, 2003: Message edited by: Airerûthiel ]

[Lugbúrz]

Elladan led them along with a fervour that spoke of imminent victory. He let his instinct guide him, and soon they were turning through passages without hesitating and considering which way to go.

Elrohir was still very concerned if they had given themselves away, but there was little they could do. Their presence would soon be apparent. The time had come to risk everything to save their mother, even humiliating defeat at the hands of the orcs. Elrohir smiled, a vain smile that was befitting of a Noldor prince, for was that not the lineage of his seers? And what should he make of their return to the Halls? But this was not the time to contemplate such matters, indeed it was not even time for him to leave Middle-earth. He followed his brother with penchant determination.

They soon came to a wide hall with many tables and chairs. There was a stink of rotting filth in the air. There were bones strewn on the floor and blood on the walls. But as they gazed upon the walls, they noticed that they were sculpted with various motifs. They could see carvings of holly trees and noble life-sized elves sitting in their shade, some deep in thought while others busy at work, beholding many beautiful things. But here there the carvings were defiled, but the stone seemed to have endured much ruthless wreckage, for the skill in them was beyond what the orcs could damage. Also to be seen were dwarven lords speaking with the elves and performing skillful acts of creation of their own making. Hammers and anvils and fires could be seen hewn into the mountain walls. Even the ceiling seemed to be embellished with beautiful decorations in stone, but the brothers did not have the time to look at them as they paused a brief minute.

"What is this place I wonder," mused Elrohir.

"Listen!" said Elladan, and they became quiet.

They could hear muffled laughter and great clatter of metal. Crude voices with the makings of a groteque song were now plainly audible. The brothers tiptoed to the end of the hall, where through a door there came a shaft of red light.

Peeking through the door they saw a passage which ran a few yards and at the end of it there was another smaller hall, in which were a great many orcs, moving vessels and utensils in great numbers, dumping them in huge filthy piles and making a terrible racket as they went about it. There also was a reek in the air that choked the elves.

"Orc food," muttered Elrohir, "we have come to a kitchen."

"This must have once been a great dining hall," said Elladan turning back to look at the room they were in, "perhaps the Lords of the Mountain entertained the elves of Eregion to many dainty feasts!"

"There seems to be a party planned even now, hearken!" said Elrohir, returning his interest with disgust to the orc talk.

Cut! Crush! Squish! Squash!
A stew of them we'll make 'n mash.

Gulp! Gobble! Slurp! Cram!
We'll pulp them in a tasty jam.

But first we'll make them beg and cry
For freedom and escape to try.

"I do not like the sound of their mirth," growled Elrohir.

"Patience. This means we still have time, let us hope that we do not give ourselves away," reminded Elladan.

Elrohir nodded and they sat both in thought of how to plan their next move. They could only hope that the others would not give away their position. And then they'd have to escape too.

"If the orcs want to have some fun, then we'll have to entertain them," said Elrohir very slowly. He was looking around the dining hall with a glint of mortal revenge in his eye. Elldan immediately understood his idea.

"This might just work," he said.

[the real findorfin]

"Well, whatever it is, we cannot wait for it to find us. Let us move on."

Fingil once again took the lead and led them onward further down the passageway. Slowly the sound became louder, but was still in the distance as Angore took the lead and Fingil slipped back to talk to Torfithien.
He smiled at her and the fell back even more from the others.
"It is not like you to fall wearily at the side of the road when others continue," Fingil said, opening the conversation.
"The darkness drains me," she replied lamely.
"Of course," he replied, with a hint of mirth, or as much as could be expected. "Well it is good to have you with me," he said, comfortingly.

His words were truth, for when he had fallen he had hoped she had been with him. Their friendship had grown with time and he now found that he wished her to remain with him at all costs. He wanted to protect her, noty that he thought her weak, on the contrary he found her to be a mentally and physically strong person.
"I'm glad to be with you also," she replied.

They returned to the others and the small group wound their way along the passageway into seemingly endless darkness. When would it end?

[Mithadan]

Elladan and Elrohir crept back through the dining hall to the spiral stair and dissolved again into the shadows. They climbed down another level and passed through a low arch into a new passageway where they found themselves again submerged in a darkness deeper than night. Uncovering a lamp, they walked along the corridor for a ways until it forked. The tunnel to the left had a layer of dust on its floor and showed signs of disuse. Masonry had fallen from the walls and ceiling and a pile of garbage and bones sat near its mouth.

The brothers entered the side passage and proceeded perhaps a dozen paces into it. At that point, the tunnel curved slightly and was obscured partially by a rockfall. There they sat, invisible to any who might pass by the entrance to the corridor, and waited. They heard Orcs walking by along the main passageway, some jabbering on excitedly about the upcoming party. Two did not reach their destination, instead donating their shabby cloaks, shields and helmets to the Elves, but only after confirming that the night's entertainment would include the long anticipated passing of two Elven maids.

After some discussion, Elladan reached out to Fingil with osanwe, again risking the possibility that whatever dark being inhabited this place might overhear. There will be Orcs moving soon through the halls towards a place of celebration. Celebrian and her handmaiden will be the entertainment. This will be our only chance. Follow the Orcs but do not reveal yourselves.

The brothers took stock of their weaponry and stripped the two Orc bodies of a quiver of arrows and a bow. Then they wrapped themselves in the Orc cloaks and took up their livery before carefully approaching the mouth of the tunnel, crouching to disguise their height. Soon, more Orcs passed on their way to the dining hall. The raucous celebrators did not notice two shadows detach themselves from the dim tunnel to follow them.

[Airerûthiel]

In a way, Torfithien did not want the darkness to end. It would give her time to be with Fingil. Her heart was stirring in a way she had never known before, not even with Rorfimir. She craved the knowledge that her friend was by her side at all times, like a hunger that was never satisfied. He made her feel safe and protected, but in a way that respected her, and she respected him for it. But she knew very little about him, whereas he had heard her life story. She remembered from her vision that the numbers leaving the mines were less than those going in, and made a mental note to learn more about Fingil before the end.

The group had been walking through the pitch black tunnels for what seemed like forever, although it could not have been more than an hour or so. Suddenly Torfithien's sharp ears picked up the sound she had heard in the tunnels when she was with Elladan and Elrohir. It was a voice calling for help - loud at its source, but very faint where she was. But she knew who was in need of aid. It was her other closest friend and companion since childhood, Lady Celebrian of Rivendell. And no doubt that close to where Celebrian was, they would find the twins too.

She broke away from Fingil and ran on ahead of the others. "Hurry!" she cried after herself. The three male Elves had vanished in the dark. "I hear Celebrian calling us! Follow me!"

[the real findorfin]

While the Brother's thoughts passed to Fingil, he was less awre of his surroundings, but suddenly the group dissolved around him as Torfithien ran forward and the others called out after her and began to move. The osanwe was cut and Fingil lurched forward, "what is she doing?"
"She said she heard Celebrian," Angore informed him and they sped after her.

Surely enough as the chasing elves continued, they began to hear sounds, at first the racious calling of orcs only but soon, over the din, they could hear elvish talk, pleas and cries for help.
"How could she have heard that?" Fingil wondered. They turned a corner and the sounds multiplied as, in front of them a narrow entrance led onto what seemed to be a main tunnel. A large band of orcs, with the two elvish women, passed by singing and dancing. Torfithien was knelt close to the entrance, a look of horror on her face and Fingil knew she was wondering whether or not to run out to her friend's aid. He decided for her and grabbed her shoulder. She spun around but remained silent.

As the orcs passed and the passage was quiet once more, the elves took stock. Fingil explained what the brothers had said and they determined to follow the orcs toward wherever the festivites would be held. But how to follow without being noticed, that would be a problem.

[ August 28, 2003: Message edited by: Mithadan ]

[Mithadan]

Findorfin's Post:

The plan had begun well, they had stayed well back and followed from a distance, Fingil taking the lead. But, as Fingil had worried, the confusing tunnels of the orcs had confounded them and the light which seemed to stay ahead only by a little turned out to be a mere reflection of the light, cast from some mineral in the walls. Suddenly the light had been cut of and they all realised the orcs were now to far ahead to be found. In truth, the elves had lost their quarry.
"We were so close," Torfithien said, in a sorrowful tone, slumping down against the wall.
"We cannot give up," Angore said, roughly. Fingil remained quiet, unsure what to do. After some deep thought, during which he took a deep swig of water from his side, he spoke,"we will carry on anyway and take what may come."
And so they continued into the dark, without a hint of where they should go. Soon they came to against a problem, one tunnel seemed to rise upward, the other dropped steepily futher into the depths of Moria.
They all stopped and Vanimoren stepped forward, "we are low enough already. We should take the upper path."
Fingil strode toward the lower path and knew at once that his companion was correct. Not only did the plan make sense, but he felt something dark down in the depths that transcended all 'lack of light'.
"We will take the upper path," he agreed and they cotinued upward.

The path steepened much as they walked, or climbed as it began to seem, and their progress was much reduced. The tunnel had no turnings and was straight as an arrow. It seemed to suck the life out of them as they trudged along but soon it flattened out again and they could make better time. Angore, as did they all, seemed anxious to reach the end and spurted forward as the mouth of the long tunnel could be dimly made out. The others, heartened by his actions followed and they burst, somewhat foolhardily, into a cavern....and straight into someone.

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

Mithadan's Post:


Elladan and Elrohir slinked into the dining hall, keeping to the shadows and seeking the cover of the massive stone pillars. They stayed back near the far wall close to the archway which led to the spiral stair and pulled the black cloaks close about their bodies. It was not long before the hall began to fill with Orcs, many bearing flagons or mugs containing some fiery drink. Elbows were jostled and drinks spilled as the crowd grew tighter and, here and there, fights broke out to the delight of the on-lookers who cheered and hooted their approval.

Then a group of especially large Orcs entered from a tunnel to the side, bearing torches and spears. The fighting subsided and a cry arose from those assembled. "Azog! Azog!" A very massive Orc, wearing a horned helmet and a necklace which appeared to be strung with the teeth of Men climbed upon a dais and called for silence. He raised a great cup and drained it in a single gulp before speaking.

"Tonight's a night for food and fun!" he shouted. "We've prisoners to play with and meats to eat. It's a night for drink and blood to flow! We'll hear them scream and beg and then, when we've had our play, we'll string them up before the gates as a warning to all foul Elves that this is our domain!" A shout arose from the crowd, and mugs were beaten on the tabletops until Elladan feared the noise would bring down the walls. Then Azog turned to his guard and shouted, "Bring up the prisoners!"

Again, the room erupted in a chorus of yells and screams. Four of the great Uruks made their way through the crowd and back toward the archway near where the brothers stood. When they passed, Elladan and Elrohir waited a moment until the crowd's attention shifted back to the Orc Chieftain at the front of the room. Then they clutched their cloaks tightly about them and hurried into the stairway after the Uruks, maintaining their distance but staying within sight of the light of their torches.

The Orcs descended four levels along the spiral stair, then turned and went through a doorway which led into a narrow hall. The brothers followed cautiously, but the Orcs, familiar with their surroundings and fearing no assault, did not look back. Three tunnels exited the passageway on the right. The Orcs selected the second tunnel and shouted as they entered it, "Here we come! Are you wearing your party best?" They were greeted by a scream.

Elrohir almost followed them, upon hearing the cry, but Elladan pulled him back and motioned him to the third tunnel. Elladan himself returned to the first tunnel and crouched there, waiting for the guards to return with their prisoners. He did not have to wait long.

Only a few minutes passed before their footsteps echoed in the hall. Drawing his sword, he leapt out before the lead Orc and slew him with a single stab to the throat. Elrohir, coming from behind, brought his blade down upon the head of the last guard. The remaining two let loose their captives who immediately began striking them about their heads. Elrohir slew the third guard with a quick thrust and stepped forward to seize one of the prisoners. The last fell to Elladan's blade, but even as the Orc slumped to the floor, he turned and slashed at the captive standing behind him. She crumpled to the ground with a cry of pain. Her dirty grey cloak settled over her and almost immediately a red stain began to spread upon it.

"Feaelena!" cried Celebrian. "Feaelena! No!"

Elrohir kneeled by the Elven Maiden and examined her wound. He looked up at his brother and his eyes betrayed what he had seen. Elladan took Celebrian in his arms and knelt beside his twin. Feaelena looked up at Celebrian and smiled weakly. "You see my lady?" she whispered. "There was hope. At least for you. My hope now lies in the West. Farewell!" And with that her spirit fled and her body fell into its final sleep.

Celebrian began to weep bitterly, but Elrohir raised her gently to her feet. "Mother, you may mourn later, just as we will rejoice that you yet live later," he said. "But for now we must flee." The three made their way to the stairway and began to climb. Elladan led the way, his fair Elven face obscured by the Orc hood and cloak. Elrohir and Celebrian followed several steps behind.

They climbed two levels, then a third and a fourth. From the nearby archway, they could hear the cries of the assembled Orcs, yet none came their way. They climbed a fifth level and a sixth. Suddenly a form erupted from a side tunnel and crashed into Elladan, knocking him into the wall. Other figures followed.

Daro, Mellyn!" cried Elrohir and a raised sword halted before it descended upon his brother. It was Fingil who stood there with his companions behind him...

[ September 18, 2003: Message edited by: Mithadan ]

[the real findorfin]

Fingil almost cried aloud in joy as he finally worked out the scene in front of him. The brothers...with Celebrian. But there was no time to wonder at the rescue, for as Fingil relaxed his arm, cries were heard. Far off they sounded but he remembered the trick of the light, and no distances were sure in the tunnels.
"The escape has been discovered," Torfithien whispered, breathless.
"Follow us," Elladan said quickly and, with his brother, helped Celebrian as they fled from the harsh screams.

Not for the first time, Fingil became disorientated in the maze of tunnels as they ran. The cries seemed to become louder and at one point they felt so close, he could have sworn that the enemy was run parrelel to the company, along some tunnel only the other side of the rock wall.
"I do not think we have far to go to the gates," Vanimoren said, between breathes.
"Good," Angore cried, "the sooner we are gone the better."
As they cotinued Fingil wished they could speed up. But Celebrian's condition was poor and they soon were moving no quicker than a fast walk.
Will we ever get out of these accursed tunnels! Fingil shouted in his own mind.

[Airerûthiel]

Torfithien's heart leapt for joy at the sight of her old friend. It was all she could do not to run to her and begin talking excitedly about the latest news from Lothlórien. But suddenly all that seemed trivial and worthless; there were more important issues at stake. Celebrian seemed to be a different person from the one who Torfithien had known almost all her life. It was unlikely that she would have much interest in news of her people at this time.

The group continued making their way through the tunnels, but their speed was painfully slow. An image that had plagued Torfithien ever since she had joined up with the rescue party flashed into her head: that of less leaving the mines than had entered them. She shook her head to erase the vision and continued on her way. Her fear was starting to seep into all her thoughts, and she doubted whether they would survive.

The sound of the Orcs seemed far away; they must have lost the trail a little. But Torfithien knew that tunnels were places where everything was distorted. Nothing seemed real any more. She kept expecting to open her eyes and be sitting in her talan in the Golden Wood. Beside her Fingil seemed to be frustrated with the speed they were moving at.

"Shall we go on ahead a little way?" she asked him. "That way we can try and find a safe path for the others to follow." Fingil nodded and the two Elves quickened their pace a little, so that they were slightly ahead of the main group. Torfithien wrinkled her noise slightly at the musty damp smell that hit her full in the face. The long dark tunnels seemed to stretch on forever into a deep blackness.

[Garen LiLorian]

The group's progress had slowed to a crawl, and the sounds of pursuit grew ever louder. Angóre dropped to the back of the group, his hand clenching the grip of his sword, his face contorted in concentration as he listened to the sounds of the orc pursuit. Ahead, Celebrían stumbled again, and had to be helped to her feet by Elrohir. Angóre halted, a look of resolution passing over his features. "Elladan," he called softly, and Elrond's son dropped back beside him. "This isn't going to work," stated Angóre. "The Orcs grow ever closer and our progress grows slower. As I see it, our only option is to split up, some few of us remaining to draw off our pursuers while others continue on to the surface with Celebrían."

Angóre watched as emotions flitted across Elladan's face, but knew before words were spoken what the decision must be. He spoke, forestalling Elladan's words. "I shall lead the yrch away down the tunnels away from you. I await only your command."

[Mithadan]

Elladan started at Angóre's offer, for though it was courageous, it seemed also foolhardy. To separate at this stage would be to risk the loss of those willing to play the rabbit to the Orc's foxes. Yet their options were limited. Fingil and Torfithien held Celebrian up, one on each side of her. They could proceed no faster than a trot and behind them were the fast footfalls of running Orcs.

He turned to Vanimorén, who was alternating between peering out at a side tunnel, then looking forward down the passage in which they stood. "Do you know where we are, Vanimorén?" he asked. "Do you recognize any of these passageways?"

Vanimorén looked up at Elladan. "Rock is rock," he complained. "It all looks the same. Yet I believe that we are at or near the level of the Gates. Perhaps one level down. There was a great hall near the Gates at the First Deep. East of that hall and one level up is the First Hall, then the Bridge over a chasm which leads out to Nanduhirion, the Dimrill Dale. I do not think that we are very far."

Elladan looked to his twin, who remained silent but nodded. Then he turned back to Angóre. "Go!" he said grimly. "But take only such risks as you much. Draw them away, then double back if you can. If you cannot, then seek a stairway and go up one level before turning to the East. We will meet in this First Hall, but we cannot wait long."

Angóre nodded and ran back down the tunnel. A few moments later they heard him call out. "Ho! Ugly ones. Do you look for me?" Then came the sounds of pursuit and the shouts of the Orcs.

"May Varda protect him," said Elrohir. Then the Elves hurried on towards the East...

[Garen LiLorian]

Angóre leapt gracefully down the corridors, the sounds of Orc boots crashing behind him growing neither nearer nor farther as he led them away, always heading to the West and down. He called taunts over his shoulder and tried his best to sound like many people, but knew that at least some of the pursuing orcs had not been fooled. "Varda protect them," he thought as he raced away. Then the sound began, low and rumbling at first, but soon it was picked up by many others. The great goblin drums of Moria had begun to beat, and Angóre knew despair.

He did not know how long he had been running, and the sounds of pursuit still followed close at his heels. The orcs were enraged at the violation of their halls, and their yells merged with the drumbeats and pounded at his senses. Vaguely he hoped that the others had made it out by now, but could put no more thought on the subject. He ran on, to the rythm of the drums.

The Drums stopped suddenly. Angóre halted, fear and triumph warring in his heart. Either Elrond's sons had escaped or been run to earth, there was no other reason for the cessation of the omnipresent thumping. "We will meet in the First Hall..." Angóre remembered Elladan's words, but prayed that they were wrong. The sounds of the orc pursuit had faded, whether they had given up or were simply saving their breath Angóre knew not, and cared not. He stopped and slid into a patch of deepest shadow to see. Nothing came 'round the corner. Weary and footsore, Angóre loosened his sword in his scabbard and slowly began to make his way back to where he had left Celebrían and her sons.

It took a great deal of time to return, and more than once Angóre relied on the grace of Varda to make the right choice, having no memory of the passages he was presented with. He would never learn if he had chosen rightly, but finally he came to a long, narrow span across a seemingly bottomless chasm. Vanimorén's words echoed through his head, "...The Bridge over a chasm which leads out to Nanduhirion, the Dimrill Dale." Angóre breathed a prayer of thanks that he had chosen correctly. But there were more obstacles before he could breathe fresh air again. The Bridge was heavily guarded, with great Goblins of the mountain, almost as tall as men. Angóre's eyes became calculating, the eyes of a hunter, as he took to the shadows and began formulating a plan.

[Mithadan]

Angóre's ploy attracted the attention of many of the Orcs but some continued to follow the other Elves. Twice, they were forced to turn and defend themselves but none of the Orcs that had pursued them lived to report the route they were taking. Eventually, there were no sounds of pursuit behind them and they were able to halt and rest for a time.

Elladan sat next to his mother and draped his grey cloak about her shoulders. "Amme", he said quietly. "Are you wounded? Have they harmed you?" She looked back at her son with dull eyes. "My body has taken no harm..." she answered quietly, yet both knew that she had left things unsaid. He held her close, then stood as Vanimorén, who had gone ahead, returned to the group.

"I have found it!" he cried excitedly. "The great hall of the Second Deep! It is but a ways farther to the left. The Gates are not far now!"

"At last," sighed Elrohir. But even as he spoke, the sound of beating drums echoed in the tunnels. They cowered in the shadows until the sound stopped. Then they all rose and made their way down the passage, following close behind Vanimorén who led the way. Fingil spoke quietly to Elladan as they walked. "The Gates will be held against us now, will they not? The drums were an alarm." Elladan did not respond, and they continued on through the darkness.

Just as Vanimorén had said, a large and lofty hall opened on their left. It was lit dimly by faint and distant daylight that entered through shafts high above. Keeping to the walls and dodging from pillar to pillar, they made their way to the end of the hall and found a broad stairway leading upward. At the top of the stairs, they halted and Elladan peeked out carefully. They had reached yet another hall, more massive than the one a level below, lined with great columns of carved stone. To the left, the hall ran on back towards Moria. But to the right, light entered through the Gates of Durin and illuminated a narrow span over a black chasm. The bridge had no railings and was broad enough only for one person to pass at a time. And it was guarded.

On the near side of the chasm was a group of Uruks, nearly twenty in number. They wore mail and carried black spears tipped with steel blades that were painted red. On the far side of the bridge were ten more similarly arrayed Uruks. Both groups stood facing inwards, peering into the hall for a glimpse of the Elves.

Fingil raised his sword as Elladan returned. "The bridge is held against us," he said tiredly. "There are two dozen Orcs, some on each end of the span."

"Then we must fight our way out," said Fingil.

"No," answered Elladan. "They are too many and the bridge is easily defended. While we could defeat them, it will be dangerous and they will raise the alarm. We may find ourselves quickly surrounded."

"Then we must play Angóre's game," interjected Torfithien. "We must lead them away on a merry chase."

"Perhaps..." replied Elladan. Then he and Elrohir huddled together and whispered, debating what course they should take...

[ November 04, 2003: Message edited by: Mithadan ]

[Mithadan]

Their debate was interrupted by a commotion near the great Gates. A short Orc with wide flaring nostrils loped into the hall and spoke rapidly to one of the Uruks. The taller goblin shook his head vigorously, but the tracker would not leave him be. "Outside!" he shouted. "I smell Elves outside! They've escaped I tell yer! They're outside!"

The Orc captain thought for a moment, then traversed the bridge to discuss matters with members of the group on the near side of the chasm. After some debate, the captain again crossed the bridge and motioned for his Orcs to follow. With the tracker leading the way, the Uruks stepped through the gates. The Orcs left behind on the near side of the bridge shuffled their feet nervously and debated noisily whether they should stay in place or follow. A few well placed cuffs to a few heads delivered by their captain convinced them to stay.

Elladan moved his bow off his shoulder and brought an arrow to its string. The other Elves followed suit. "It appears that we have a plan..." commented Fingil wryly.

[the real findorfin]

In unison five arrows flew across the gap and felled the first rank of orcs. Four of the second rank were down before they could react but the fifth arrow from Fingil glanced from the Captain's armour. The great orc screamed a war cry and his remaining company charged blindly toward the dark tunnel where the arrows had flown from.

Fingil managed to lose another arrow from the rear of the group and felled the foremost chittering orc before slinging the bow quickly on his back. He drew his large sword, it had seen battle in the north and was an ancient and powerful blade, and Fingil found comfort in it. It had disposed of the hordes of Angmar and would not fail to bring death to ptiful scum of Moria.

Within seconds the orcs were upon them and battle commenced. He parried a weak blow from a barely armoured fiend then stabbed forward into its unprotected gut. The screech of the creature was foul and was quickly silenced as, with a swing of his mightly blade, Fingil took the head from the creature.

Fingil took stock of his position and panic hit him when he noticed Torfithien was nowhere to be seen. But then he realised Celebrian was gone as well. No doubt his companion was protecting her mistress.

Another goblin charged at him and he countered and swung again. This foe was more nimble than the last and darted aside, receiving only a cut along the arm. He dodged under Fingil's second attack and managed to cut a large wound across the elf's upper leg. Fingil cried out, in anger moe than pain, and sprang forward with a pace that surprised both combatants. The orc was impaled on his sword before he could move.

However, this sudden burst caused Fingil more than it gained. the sword had wedged between the creatures ribs and the metal armour he had worn. Try as he might, Fingil could not dislodge the blade so he gave up and drew his smaller hunting blade. He was now at a distinct disadvantage and the enemy sensed it. As he moved back from the melee another orc paced toward him menacingly. The goblin followed him and, twisting his head to one side, cried in a taunting manner. Fingil cried back and tried to intimidate the orc as best as he could. The competition of wills continued until the orc, in a temper, leapt at Fingil. They closed and, weapons forgotten, fell to the floor writhing about. The goblin managed to roll on top and his hands closed aeround Fingil's neck. A spike of his armour buried into side and Fingil almost despaired. His felt light-headed and the gleeful chittering of his enemy seemed far off. But it was this very sound that brought Fingil back from his hole of despair. The thought that an orc was getting the better of him offended all of his senses and with a heave, he lifted the enemy from him and pushed him backwards. Picking up the creatures own jagged blade, he buried it deep, stabbing through the gap in the visor of its helm. Blood spurted out and it went limp. Fingil left the blade in its head and regained his knife. The wound to the side was quite deep but not life-threatening and Fingil decided he could live with it for now. In the struggle, they had moved down the tunnel and he strode quickly to see how the fight went back at the cave entrance.

[ November 01, 2003: Message edited by: the real findorfin ]

[Mithadan]

The arrows whistled through the air and the first volley found their marks as if they had been guided by the eyes of Manwë. The troop of Orcs turned and charged, leaving behind five of their brethren dead or dying on the cold stone floor. Four more fell with the second volley, before the Elves were forced to abandon their bows in favor of swords and knives.

Torfithien pulled Celebrian farther back into the tunnel as the skirmish began, shielding the fatigued prisoner with her body. Elladan and Elrohir stood shoulder to shoulder, their bright blades gleaming with an internal incandescence, while Fingil stepped forward to meet the charge of their foes. Vanimorén wielded a long knife in one hand and a Noldorin lamp in the other, the light of which burned the eyes of the Orcs with a searing light.

Two Fingil slew quickly before losing his blade and grappling with a third. One each fell by the swords of the twins in the first moments of battle, but others took the places of the slain Uruks and aimed slashing blows at the brothers. Vanimorén stood his ground and the Orcs were loath to approach the bright light which he held. Leaping forward, Vanimorén took one through the throat before closing with a second.

But by now the remainder of the troop had caught up and more Uruks joined the fray, some assailing Elladan and Elrohir while another confronted Vanimorén. The twins retreated until their backs touched the wall behind them. Vanimorén gave way and stepped back toward the tunnel before tripped over a fallen Orc and tumbled over backwards. With a scream of triumph, his foes leapt forward, then fell, one pierced by an arrow in his throat and the other with an arrow in his back.

Vanimorén stumbled to his feet with a gasp. To his left, Torfithien stood with her bow at ready. Beside her, propping up Celebrian, was Fingil, who had recovered his blade. And standing in the middle of the great hall, drawing back the string of his bow again was Angóre. He let his dart fly and one of the Uruks assailing Elladan and Elrohir fell. He smiled grimly as he drew back his string again and nocked another arrow.

With a cry, Elladan threw one of his foes to the ground and dispatched him with a thrust of his blade. The two remaining Uruks fell back in fear and turned to flee. One toppled as Elrohir's blade split the Orc's helm. The second drew a horn from his belt and blew a quick blast even as arrows from the bows of Angóre and Torfithien found him and ended his unhappy life.

"Quickly!" cried Elladan. "To the bridge!" Even as the group stepped forward and raced to the chasm's verge, cries arose and echoed through the hall warning of approaching foes. Yet for the moment the Elves stood alone in the hall.

Elrohir shoved Fingil toward the span, spitting out a single word of instruction, "Lead!" Then Torfithien followed, assisting Celebrian on the narrow span, and still no Orcs had appeared to harry them. Vanimorén stepped onto the bridge, striding gracefully along the rail-less way without even a glance at the abyss on either side. Angóre next, then Elrohir and, at last, Elladan, and as they reached the center of the span arrows skittered and whined around them.

"Do not look back," cried Elladan. "Quickly! To the gates!"

Fingil and Torfithien lifted Celebrian as they raced for the steps. A stiff wind met them as they stepped out of Moria into a dark, moonless night. Vanimorén and Angóre raced by them with weapons raised, ready to to confront any foes. Elladan and Elrohir paused at the gates, hoping to find a way to bar the way, but the great doors were askew and the hinges torn. Their faces grim masks of determination, they followed the others, seeking a place to make a last stand.

In front of the group, shadowy shapes stepped silently out from behind rocks, trees and shattered pillars. Ten, twenty, more...many more. Behind the Elves, dozens of shrieking Orcs loped out of the Gates of Moria. The Elves halted and formed a ring, facing outward, with weapons ready to strike the first foe to step near. In their midst stood Celebrian with her head bowed, weeping at the cruelty of the world.

The silent host that barred their way raised bows and a cloud of arrows spewed forth, arcing over the heads of the Elves, to land among the Orcs streaming out of the Black Pit. Again and again the bows sang, spilling a deadly rain of darts among their foes. Then, with a great cry, the host charged, flowing by Celebrian and her rescuers like a river around an island. Swords glittered in the starlight and the Goblins who had pursued their quarry from Moria wavered, then fled screaming back into the mines.

A familiar figure appeared and came to stand beside Elladan. "Bring help, you said," cried Tintallë. "Is this enough?" Even as he spoke, the Elves of the host of Lorien surrounded them and ushered them forward toward the Dimrill Vale, where stood Celeborn and Galadriel...

[Airerûthiel]

Relief crashed over Torfithien as she was carried along by the Elves of the Golden Wood. Everywhere she looked she saw familiar faces. Many of her childhood friends were among them, whom she had known since she was small. For a brief moment she glimpsed someone she knew all too well. Her soul urged her to run to her older brother, but knew better than to bother him whilst he was on duty. She would talk to him later when they arrived back at their home...her home. Her heart sang so loudly inside her she was afraid that the Orcs would hear its voice. For the first time in what felt like years, she was actually truly happy.

Her eyes darted sideways to the Elf who walked beside her. Fingil looked to her with kind eyes and smiled softly in her direction, a smile that told her everything would be all right again. She did not know what made her do what happened next. Tentatively yet impulsively, she reached out and took his hand in hers. His palm felt warm and it only took his a second before his firm yet gentle grip tightened around her hand with a sense that neither of them would ever let go.

Torfithien felt released, like a caged bird cast out into the air. The clumsy, passionate first love she had once known had died long ago, but she had stuck to her silly little promises. Before this she had been acting like a child. Now she was surrounded by a whole band of new friends (and several old ones) and she knew she cared for Fingil in a much deeper way. But what really lifted her spirit was the fact that mercifully, her premonitions had been wrong for once. The visions had all but deserted her recently; she did not feel the weight of such a dark fantasy pressing down on her any longer.

[ November 09, 2003: Message edited by: Airerûthiel ]

[Mithadan]

So it was that a deed of great renown was achieved. For Elladan and Elrohir, accompanied by but a few of their brethren, dared enter into Moria, the Black Pit that once was fair Khazad-dûm, and rescued their mother Celebrian from torment. And when the next morning dawned, they rode with the host of Lorien to the land of the golden Mallorns, where Celebrian was placed in the care of her mother, Galadriel.

For three months they resided there, and Celebrian received such healing as could be offered her east of the Great Sea. Then they rode forth with a guard of many Elves and crossed the mountains through the Redhorn Pass, and no Orc dared assail them as they traveled on to Rivendell. But it is said that Torfithien and Fingil remained behind in Lorien where they dwelt together while the Third Age lasted, until they passed over the sea into the West.

For a while, Celebrian dwelt in the House of Elrond, and happy was their reunion when she returned to Rivendell. Yet their happiness was marred, for a shadow remained upon Celebrian which even the ministrations of Elrond could not lift. The memory of the darkness of Moria and the torment of the Orcs, as well as the death of her faithful servant, Feaelena, weighed heavy upon her, until she resolved over the protests of her husband and her children to seek healing in the West.

On a sad fall day, she rode forth from Rivendell with Elrond, Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen and a few others besides and rode to the Grey Havens, where they dwelt for a short time as her ship was prepared and hallowed. Then, one evening as the stars emerged and night fell, she stood upon the docks on the verge of the Great Sea and took her leave from her husband and children, and mournful was that parting.

But even as she stood on the foot of the gangway, she embraced her daughter Arwen, and her tears fell like rain. And she said, "My heart forebodes that this will be a parting beyond the circles of this world and that when Elrond and I are at last reunited you will not be standing beside him on the quays of Tol Erresëa. Your fate will take you elsewhere and your hope will remain in Middle earth. Therefore take this for it will give you solace even as the darkness falls, and maybe someday you shall give it to another in token of the last united hope of Elves and Men." And she brought forth a bright green gem that burned with an inner light as if the rays of the sun shining through the leaves of a beech tree had been captured within it.

Then she boarded her white ship and it departed, and passed onto the Straight Road and Celebrian was never seen in Middle Earth again.

END

[ 10:45 AM November 28, 2003: Message edited by: Mithadan ]