[Amanaduial the archer]

Flori entered the Great Hall, the throne room where Dain sat for councils, and where he often came in his own time, for a place to think. Flori's feet echoed around the room as he entered carefully onto the stone floor, but Dain did not turn immediately. He was not sitting as he usually did to think, in the large, elaborate throne, but instead was standing, apparently looking up at one of the stained glass windows, set far up on the high roofed hall.

"My lord," Flori bowed, touching his knee to the ground as he came down, before rising slowly. Dain gave a small sigh and now turned around. His blue eyes were sorrowful and gleamed even more brightly than usual. In one hand he fingered a chain around his neck that Flori did not recognise, on which hung a small, elaborate silver key. The king watched his friend for a moment, then gave another great sigh, turning again to look up; not at the stained glass window as Flori had thought, but at a glass cabinet in front of it. Curious and unnerved by the King's silence, Flori came forward a few steps and, when Dain did not object, he continued to approach until he was just behind Dain. He laid a hand tenatively on his shoulder and followed his gaze without speaking, to rest on the axe in the case. It was bright red all over, both the handle and the blade, but otherwise was not particularly remarkable, certainly not compared to the axe the king used for ceremonies and for battle. But on the very edge of the blade there was a sort of crust of dried liquid, black and gleaming, like tar but...evil.

"The blood of an orc," Dain murmured. "A very powerful one as well. The orc that slew my father, and Thror, the last bearer of one of the Seven; the master of Khazad-dum."

"Azog." Flori's voice was quiet. He knew the stories, told with pride and sadness, with sorrow but strength; the story of how Thror, old, poor and desperate, had left his family and followers and gone to Moria, befuddled with it's tales, and had entered proudly...never to come out alive; how his body had been thrown out to his companion Nar, with that terrible name branded on his forehead; and how in the War of the Orcs and the Dwarves, Dain had faced him down, following him to the very gates of Moria and hewing off his head....

The tales made Dain a living legend, and like a legend it had seemed to the young Flori and Ori when they were told the stories in front of fires - unreal and distant. But now, as he stood behind his friend, staring at the very weapon that Dain had wielded against that terrible foe, Flori understood the king's reluctance, as if a veil had been ripped from his eyes and at last he could see clearly, wondering why he hadn't before. He understood.

"Dain..." Flori wasn't sure what he was about to say, how he could fit into words what he wanted to say; that he had yo go, he had promised one of his best friends that he would go...that he couldn't leave his brother...that Moria should be reclaimed, and that they could do it, truly...

"No, Flori." The King's voice was firm, and tears glistened in his eyes, and he cut off Flori's trailing whisper, shaking his head. His voice became more gentle and he turned to the younger. "No...Flori, you gave your word to Balin. You gave your word to a friend that you would follow him. But do you think it is not too late to break it? 'Twould be no dishonour to you."

"It would, Dain, you know it woul-"

"It would not, Flori Bronzeshield!" The king's angry shout took Flori by surprise and he stepped back involuntarily. But the anger in Dain's eyes died as quickly as it had come and he sighed deeply, hanging his head. A long moment passed and Flori wondered if he should speak, when Dain himself did.

"I told Thrain, the father of my generation, that he would not enter the gates of Moria. It was I who stopped him, I who told him of the shadow that lurked there." He raised his head, looking Flori in the eye. "How can I let you go when I know what is there?"

Flori met his gaze. "You cannot stop us. We must. And we shall defeat that shadow, whatever it was."

Dain regarded his friend for a long moment, before a small smile cracked his face and he put a heavy hand on his friend's shoulder. Flori returned the smile and the older dwarf pulled him towards him, embracing his friend tightly.

"Take care of them, Flori Bronzeshield. All of them."

As Flori left the chamber, Dain followed him with his eyes. He had not said all he had wanted to, of Balin's foolishness and Narin's wish for revenge, of the jealousy and derision that would rise, the seperations that would make their journey all the harder; but it was enough. For now, it was enough.

Suddenly feeling his full age, Dain gave another great sigh and crossed slowly to his throne, slumping into it, his hands across his eyes.