View Single Post
Old 11-24-2008, 04:19 PM   #2
Thinlómien
Shady She-Penguin
 
Thinlómien's Avatar
 
Join Date: Dec 2004
Location: In a far land beyond the Sea
Posts: 8,385
Thinlómien is wading through the Dead Marshes.Thinlómien is wading through the Dead Marshes.Thinlómien is wading through the Dead Marshes.Thinlómien is wading through the Dead Marshes.Thinlómien is wading through the Dead Marshes.Thinlómien is wading through the Dead Marshes.
It was Durin's Day and the sun was slowly descending in the sky. Its light was almost as cold as the ascending moon's, and neither of them could light the surface of the waters of Lake Mirrormere. It remained as dark as always, absorbing all light to its unknown depths.

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

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

The other man nodded, but the usual warmth in his eyes had been replaced by a slight uncertainity.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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Last edited by Thinlómien; 11-26-2008 at 12:34 PM.
Thinlómien is offline