[Imladris]

Ori

Ori’s spirits swelled, then ebbed back into uneasiness at Balin‘s speech. The dwarves roared fiercely, some laughter was sprinkled throughout; a dwarf that Ori recognized as Nali began to sing a song that had the lusty air of a tavern tune. The words were different and Ori, with a brief half smile, realized that a dwarf after his own heart was among them.

Slipping quietly away from the celebration, Ori slowly made his way toward the Lonely Mountain. With a murmured greeting to the guards, he passed through the gates and though the winding passages into his room. Shutting the door, he began to pack. An extra hood, warm clothes, some blankets, mining tools, and a bit of food. Ori smiled wryly at the cram as he stuffed it into his sack.

He picked up a leather bound book filled with soft white empty pages. It would be a journal for the dwarves to tell of their journey and of their lives in Moria. He held it for a moment, brushing his hand against the dark leather and smelling the new pages before he tucked it in a separate sack: it was made of green velvet with a golden tassel that sparkled in the light of dying sun.

Crimson streamers stretched across the dusky sky while an orange glow glimmered upon the edge of the mountains. A soft pink stole from the golden orb that slowly sunk behind the craggy peaks. His brown eyes wide, a little smile about his lips, a small frown on his brow, Ori watched the sunset, but then took his flute and began to pipe a haunting melody, a last farewell to the Mountain.