Death of Balin
“Not well,” Balin replied with a smile that faded quickly. He sighed. “I have looked everywhere for it, Flori…and I cannot find it. It eludes my grasp it would feign rest unknown in the darkest cavern than to glitter upon a dwarf’s finger.”
Flori eyed Ori and cleared his throat.
“I am going to look into the Mirror mere,” Balin said, with a sigh. “I have not yet looked into the Mirror.”
Where could it be? I have looked everywhere, looked in every known cave, searched in every fissure, sought amongst the rubble for it. But it was not there. Did it still dwell there? He approached Mirror mere and kneeled beside the water.
The Mirror did not show his own unworthy reflection, but revealed the mountains, snow still sparkling upon their peaks. The crown of Durin rippled in the dark water. The seven stars glimmered faintly within the depths, as if it was lit with starlight.
What had the dwarves awoken in Moria’s depths? Had Durin’s bane died? Or had it left the bowels of the mountain? Balin shook his head. His own dwarves had made great progress, except for the orc skirmishes that continued to annoy them. He figured that the Great Gate would always lie in a bed of rubble.
Balin wondered if Ori had continued to send messages to King Dain. Balin himself wrote the words, deciding to leave out the continued annoyance of the orcs, but he could not help but wonder if Ori would add his own messages at the end of the notes. Would these messages, if he did indeed write them, sour his honey-sweetened words? It wasn’t as if progress had been going badly. It had been going on quite well, but darkness yet lingered within the passages. Doom seemed to lurk in the caverns. Contentious were ripe among the dwarves. And the Ring continued to elusively haunt his memory.
He leaned down and brushed the dark water with his lips. There was a silent sigh, a hidden whisper. Death crept within the dale. An orc drew an arrow to his ear and with a silent leer, loosed the string. The arrow flew and drove itself into Balin’s heart.
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