[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.