Tears of Mirrormere RPG

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Óin smiled at Náli and cast a brief look after departing Kórin.

"Just what is going on here?" he muttered, partially to himself. Then he looked directly into Náli's eyes, penetrating him with his bright sky-blue gaze.

"Trór did not come back with me," he said quickly. "I must have missed him in the darkness and the snow. I am not worried about him, Náli, but perhaps somebody should be sent to bring him back. Especially considering what I saw."

Quickly, Óin explained to Náli all he knew about the Orc army. Drawing out from his memory all the important details, not omitting a single thing, he recounted on the danger approaching Khazad-Dûm.

"I am sure I do not need to tell you what should be done," he finished.

"And the leader should also get to know about it," he added after a short while.

[Groin Redbeard]

Nali’s heart sank when he heard Oin’s response and was even more disheartened hearing the news of the approaching army.

“Send more men out?” Nali asked in amazement. “No, dear heavens no! It will be to little avail to send more warriors to be lost in this storm that thou hast described. Trór is capable as thou sayest; yet, his skill will be tested more than once this day, still it is encouraging to think that he is not alone and surrounded by loyal and able assistants. All we can do is hope for his safety.

“I am indeed glad to see thee, Oin, for thou hast no need of searching for Trór’s second for thou art him! Besides the fact that thou art a good friend of his, it was to this purpose that Trór went searching for thee. The city will doubtlessly be under thee’s control in Trór’s absence, may it be a short one; meaning no disrespect to you my friend. Tell us what more we need do, so that Ori and I may get back to work. An army of Orcs, as large as you say it is, is no trifling matter to remain idle about. ”

~~~~~~~~~~

Trór

The motion of his axe halted in surprise for an instant at the arrival of Frar. His friend had flung himself with reckless bravery upon the spears of the enemy and amazingly evaded harm. Trór’s attention quickly turned back to the enemy as Frar’s opponents began to quake and run before him. Side-by-side Frar’s tremendous axe and Trór’s swift arm dispatched many of the shifty Goblins which encircled them.

Suddenly, amidst the din, Trór heard the familiar voice of Gror. “My lord, look to the sky!”

Arrows ! thought Trór, but he had long since lost his shield and would have to trust to fortune. He could hear the whistling of the incoming missiles but they did not sound like arrows. Without warning, a black rock fell from the sky in front of him! The rock exploded into many sharp fragments killing many of the thick masses of Orcs around him and Frar. A second rock hit the ground and Trór shielded his eyes with his gauntlets.

His eyes were uncovered and he swung his axe with one hand at a small Goblin; Trór swung a second time hitting the Goblin in the side. A spasm of pain shocked his nerves and brought him to one knee as he twisted his shoulders for another strike. Trór felt for the wound but there was none to be seen. His mail was pierced in a thin slit, but no blood protruded from the hole. Nevertheless, the pain was great and only through hacking and stabbing was he able to ignore the pain.

Frar had not been affected as the rocks fell, using the momentum from the chaos that they brought to both sides to press further amidst the Orcs in front of Trór. Gror had since joined them and yelled wildly at the oncoming Orcs and swung with great effectiveness at their unprotected knees. All around Trór the Orcs began to break; no more of the black rocks fell amongst the two enemies, the slingers having long since taken to their heels. The defiant shouts that the Orcs had shouted were traded with cries of dismay and they fled in every direction.

Trór sank to one knee, saving himself from falling by supporting himself with his axe. Frar’s strong hands quickly grabbed Trór, but were pushed away by Trór.

“No, my friend,” Trór said. “I must not show weakness in front of our warriors!” With a heavy groan his lifted himself up. “My thanks to you my friend, but do not look so glum: I am not hurt. It was close that’s all, just a scratch.” Trór grasped Frar’s hand. Trór was inarticulate when it came to thanking his good friend, but he did smil and nod his head as if to say: ‘Thanks. Well done my friend.’ Trór did not offer Frar anything, for it would have been an insult to his honor to accept a gift for doing his duty--Frar had distinguished himself as the stoutest of warriors and his value was worth far more than any gift that Trór could bestow upon him.

Trór turned to Gror and smiled. “You have fought well and have saved my life, along with Frar, when I was sore pressed, for this you have my undying gratitude. I will have you by my side in the next battle.” Gror bowed deeply but did not say a word.

“What of your warriors?” Trór asked, viewing the dead carcasses of the Orcs and the bodies of the Dwarves. “I think my warriors had the worst of it, being smaller in number; yet, I could not have lost more than ten stout warriors. Your coming saved me from disaster, the Orcs far exceeded our numbers, even with your coming, but the confusion which your warriors wrought upon the Orcs was the winning stroke.”

Not a Dwarf was killed of Frar’s warriors, for the enemy was routed with their coming, but the victory was short lived. Horns were heard on the wind and shouts of a large multitude were heard chanting ever closer. Trór ordered for the dead Dwarves to be stripped of their armor and weapons (for he said that it was far better for the Orcs to gain a warrior’s mail and axe than to defile their bodies) and to be carried by the stoutest of the surviving warriors.

“Hasten back to Khazad-dum. Good fortune will meet us there. The time will soon come for you to pick up your axes—for my anger is twice as great at the slaying of Oin. Hasten back to the city!”

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Óin

Óin listened to Náli's words with surprise, partially, and partially with a sort of disbelief.

"By Durin's beard, Náli," he said when the Dwarf finished. "Who am I to give orders to you around here? Who am I to be in command of all this realm? This does not belong to me, I am only a scout! I am sure many of you know more and better what should be done. Even you, or your brother Lóni, or even Ori here. I was never into leading. I have told you what I know: the Orcs are coming, and had it not been for the snowstorm, you would have their rams already battering our gates."

"You ask me what to do? Defend them! You ask me what to prepare? Let us disrupt the foul beasts, let us not let the Orcs get close with their battering rams to the gates. Let us not fight in the open, so that they cannot use their warg riders to too much advantage. But most of all, by Durin's beard, let Trór come! Because this is where we need him. Náli - I have been inside Erebor with Thorin Oakenshield, and I can tell you - there is only one who might defend a fortress as proudly as he did: and that is Trór."

***

Onli

Onli paced through the corridor, only rarely casting a look back over his shoulder to see Kórin who followed him. Lucky me, he thought, even though it did not go very well, at least Óin and Ori showed up and perhaps helped to save my reputation. Náli certainly was not very much pleased when he saw Kórin coming along, but it did not end in any too disasterous manner. I just have to be more careful from now on.

They took a sharp turn and at that very moment, something small and orange charged into Onli in full speed. He lost his balance and fell flat on the floor.

"Vriti!" he picked himself up. "What are you doing here, silly? Where have you been?"

The ferret blinked at him with her small eyes. Onli noticed that there is something strange in her behavior, she seemed somewhat nervous.

"Come on, what is that?" the Dwarf addressed Vriti, not intending to spend too much time with her when there was Kórin to take care of, but wishing to comfort the ferret or at least find out what was wrong. He bent forward and touched her, but on closer proximity he suddenly sensed strong odour, a disgusting and foul stench of indiscerneable origin, which no doubt came from the poor creature. Also, on touch, and also when he looked more closely, Onli realised that some of the hair on her back seemed weird on touch, and was greyish black hue and curled, seeming almost as if it was burned.

"Just where have you been?" he shook his head. He stood up, turning back at Kórin. Vriti started to attack his shoes, but Onli did not want her to climb him up right now, not when she smelled like this. He pushed her away with his shoe, but the ferret did not want to let herself being chased away and started to run in circles between him and Kórin.

[Thinlómien]

"I am indeed glad to see thee, Oin, for thou hast no need of searching for Trór’s second for thou art him!"

Ori shot Óin an empathic glance. It was a resonsibility he himself would never have wanted, and he was rather sure Óin was of the same kind. They had never been leaders, either of them, and in Balin's time they had never been forced to take leadership. "My left hand and right hand," he had jokingly named them. But as hard as it was, now times were changing, and it seemed like Balin's trusted men could hardly lurk in the background anymore.

Having followed this train of thought, Ori was slightly surprised to hear his old friend's reply:

"By Durin's beard, Náli! Who am I to give orders to you around here? Who am I to be in command of all this realm? This does not belong to me, I am only a scout!"

Well, that was true. That was what Óin was. Maybe one of Balin's most trusted men, a wise old man and a hero, but in the end, just a scout. Just like Ori himself was just an archivist.

"I am sure many of you know more and better what should be done. Even you, or your brother Lóni, or even Ori here."

Me? Ori wanted to ask, but was content with just giving his friend a "thank you very much" glance. He did not want Náli to get any funny ideas about his place, it was enough that he was teasing poor Óin. Ori could perfectly understand the outburst that followed. Óin had just lost one of his oldest friends and now they were loading silly responsibilities upon him. Well, everybody has to have their share of them, now that Balin's gone, Ori thought, both with grief and bitterness.

"But most of all, by Durin's beard, let Trór come! Because this is where we need him. Náli - I have been inside Erebor with Thorin Oakenshield, and I can tell you - there is only one who might defend a fortress as proudly as he did: and that is Trór."

The memory brought tears to Ori's eyes. Thorin, Dáin, Balin... he had had the honour of serving such good men and even knowing them personally... and now Trór would be the newest link to the chain, and he would earn his place there, easily.

And as if as a response to Óin's words, the sound of a horn echoed in the halls. "He has returned," Ori smiled. Óin nodded gravely.
"Oh Lord Trór, thou hast returned at the hour of the utmost need," Náli whispered to the roof, a smile on his face.

Ori glanced at Óin. "I wonder why he returned so early... maybe he saw your tracks coming back here?"
"In this snowstorm?" Óin asked darkly. "No, it must be something else..."

The three friends exchanged glances. "Mahal save us if there are bad tidings again," Náli said. "Let us go and hasten to the gates at once!"

[Groin Redbeard]

Great was the rejoicing of the soldiers when Trór and Frar emerged from the blizzard. Horns were blown at his arrival and the blast echoed shrill and long in the First Hall. More shouts welcomed Trór when the horn was heard and the undying swell of joyful cheering rose as his face became clearer to see amidst the snow. In his heart Trór felt little hope in a defensive battle against the Orcs, but upon seeing bright hopeful faces and hearing the courageous hollers of his subjects Trór began to take heart. Whether the outcome of their plight be good or ill, he was glad to live to lead such a proud host of dwarves!

Trór was satisfied to see that adequate bulwarks were constructed along the base and top of the stair. The dwarves could now sally out and hold a position outside of the gates. Boulders, both large and small, had been quarried from the mountain side and rolled a short ways in front of the stair leading up to the gates. The boulders were so closely packed that only two or three dwarves abreast could squeeze threw the larger of the spaces. This, of course, could not stop the Orcs of the Misty Mountains (for they could climb with uncanny agility) but it would stop the Orcs from launching an organized body of Uruks—the Orcs would have to come piecemeal.

Trór climbed over the bulwarks of stone and scanned the warriors dressed for war staring at him and Frar as they proudly ascended stair. There were around 200 dwarves gathered at the gates, but Trór knew that there would be more coming, if his original calculations had been correct. He marveled at the craft of the armor that most of the soldiers were wearing; Trór guessed that Ori had brought out the armory that Óin found in the Third Deep.

The pain in his side had been burning during his flight back to Khazad-dum; however, upon entering the First Hall the burning lessened and he was able to stand fully erect. Trór could now see more dwarves entering from the deeper halls of the city. The torchlight fell upon their faces and Trór cried out in joy and disbelief.

“Óin!” Their eyes met and Trór pushed his way through the crowd, his eyes still fixed upon Óin.

“My dear friend!” Trór exclaimed as he embraced Óin, “We thought you had fallen somewhere on Azinulbizar. Never have I been happier! Now I know we can win this fight!” Trór thought that he should say more but instead he stood gazing into Óin’s eyes, soaking up long memories and thinking on what would await them.

“Come with me,” Trór said after a time, acknowledging Ori, “Let us survey the defenses. I must know everything concerning what you have seen, Óin.” Suddenly Trór noticed the presence of a dwarf standing behind Ori and Óin. They eyed each other with curiosity, though there was a note of fear and anger in the other’s stare.

“Who is this?” Trór asked, stepping closer to take a closer look. There was something familiar in the dwarf’s face.


~~~~~~~~~~

Nali

As Nali, Ori and Óin began to make their way to the First Hall, Nali suddenly remembered a pressing matter that needed to be dealt with as soon as possible. Without telling his friends, Nali left them and made his way back through the hall.

There was no sign of Onli, but Nali did not care, so long as Kórin did not accompany him on his return. Nali felt his temper rise at the thought of Kórin and he clenched his hands into fists as he thought of the current situation he was trying to put aright.

Nali walked hard and fast until he reached his destination. The door stood closed to him and Nali knocked hard. The door opened to reveal the figure of a small boy, behind who cowered an even smaller girl.

“Fetch thine father.” The children obeyed and soon brought him.

“Kenan, why doest thou linger in the comfort of thine home?” Nali asked in amazement at not seeing him wearing his signet armor. “Already our lord hath returned. Quickly, we must hasten to him!”

[Durelin]

Kórin

Onli had rushed to make sure he was ahead of her, so that he could feel like he was leading her back. But Kórin was going exactly where she wished. She was completely lost in a cloud of anger and other dark thoughts when Onli suddenly fell down in front of her and she saw something slight darting across the ground. She stopped and watched the creature – it was a ferret.

“Vitri!” Onli addressed it, and Kórin could not help but smile a little at the animal as it ran around even her own feet. It was adorable, but… What is that smell? Kórin wondered as she caught several whiffs when the animal circled her feet.

“Is it alright?” Kórin asked, not assuming its gender as she certainly hadn’t gotten a close look at it.

~

Kór

Kór learned a great deal from Óin, Ori, and Náli as Óin informed the others what he had observed about the approaching army of orcs, and they discussed how to proceed. Kór wondered if they even realized he was still there, and if they should be concerned about him hearing all of this. A mix of fears simmered in his stomach. There truly was an army marching on Khazad-dûm.

Finally Trór arrived, whom the others greeted happily, and Kór was suddenly noticed again. Trór eyed him oddly, and Kór looked back, trying to read what was behind his strange stare.

“Who is this?” the new Lord of Khazad-dûm questioned, taking a step closer to Kór, who sighed inwardly. His sister and he did bear a resemblance, at least sharing the same hair.

“I am Kór, my lord.”

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

“Is it alright?”

Onli looked back at Kórin and then at Vriti who stopped by her feet. He shook his head.

"I don't know what she's gotten herself into. Probably crawling someplace where she should not have been." Onli was more thinking aloud than talking to Kórin. He frowned, now switching his gaze between the ferret and the woman.

"I think I - " he started, then forced himself to be more official.

"I trust you will find your way from here, Kórin. I do not expect you to return to Náli, it would be most unwise, as you have certainly noticed." He gave to Kórin a smile as much comforting as he could. "I am sure your brother will be all right. Náli is wise, and besides..." He made a wide gesture with his right hand, leaving the sentence unfinished, but looking at Kórin supportively, so as to make her feel that he could be the one she could turn to if there was any help needed concerning her brother; trying to make her feel that he is the one with enough power to talk to Náli on Kór's behalf.

"If you will excuse me now, then, I have other pressing matters to take care of," he said, and turning to one of the corridor entrances in the hewn wall, he slowly left. Vriti was following him.

"Come on," he sighed, turning to her, as soon as she assumed Kórin to be far away enough from them. Once again, he could smell the foul stench, so discomforting that he actually shuddered.

"That is disgusting," he said, reluctantly touching the animal. "I have to wash you, Vriti. Come." And picking her up, feeling a bit uncomfortable from the unusual odour, he carried her towards his chambers.

[Groin Redbeard]

“I am Kór, my lord.”

"I thank you Nali for bringing him to me," Trór turned to Kór, "Do you know why you are here?"

"Because you summoned me, my lord." There was a hint of amusement in the young dwarf's voice. Trór's eyes flashed with annoyment.

"Simpleton! you have seen war, this is no laughing matter! Take your place by Grór. We are defending the front."

There was a din of horns on the outer steps. Loni immediately dashed towards the doors and peered outside.

"They have come!"

[Groin Redbeard]

The darkness in the night sky began to wain. The blizzard abated with great reluctants; yet, the howls of high Caradhras persisted in haunting the dale. The warriors were fully gathered and they silently awaited the din of a thousand tramping feet. Nearly four hundred strong they stood, not nearly enough to contest the might of the Orcs; yet, for the shortcoming of the Dwarf's numbers they stood ready to defy 'till the last. Dwarven courage never was stronger!

Behold! the mighty hands that firmly grasp their axes; wrought out of stone, in the beginning of their existance, by their Creator. See how their stern faces pierce the darkness as an arrow, at flight, pierces the air. Hark! the cruel sound of the horn afar. The awaited tramping of feet give evidence that the Orcs have come in great force. Two thousand strong, the Orcs gather and gaze in anger at the defences and array of magnificintly armed Dwarves before them. For all the urgency of their haste the Orcs were foiled in an easy victory.

See how the mighty Óin and Frar are cheif in the task of encouraging the Dwarves. The brothers Loni and Nali give proof of the loyalty of their race--see how they embrace their soldiers as brothers in arms. Indeed, even the great Ori humbly walks amongst the warriors as a common Dwarf to inspire great pride. See! the warriors take heart and raise their voices at the sight of their proud new lord. Grór and Kór follow him to the stairs carrying his great shield and spear.

Standing tall and proud, the Lord Trór descended the steps into the chief host of the warriors greeting and shaking hands as if on the eve of some great festivity. Trór knew many of the Dwarves and spoke to them of their worth as he passed. There was Bain the smith; his hand was as firm as his spirit. Vitr: optimistically cheerful and admirably steady. There was Dalin and Svior; even Kénan stood ready for battle. It was not until Trór was out of the First Hall and at the bottom of East Stairs (at the vanguard of his host) that he halted.

Out of Trór's darkest nightmares they appeared. Ranks of black armored Goblins and wargs; large revolving siege machines--all arrayed in powerful dread before his eyes. Trór could hear them jeering at him as he stood upon the stone defenses.

"Soldiers, you are about to embark upon the Great Crusade, toward which we have been driven these many hours. The eyes of the heavens are upon you. History will record your valor. The hopes and prayers of your women and children stand with you. You will bring about the destruction of this last great Goblin army. Remember Balin: slain unjustly and without honor--it is he we must avenge. May his just leadership be with us today.

"Our task will not be an easy one. Your enemy is well trained, well equipped and battle-hardened. He will fight savagely.

"But this is the year 2994 of the Third Age! Much has happened since the triumphs of darkness in the south and in Mirkwood. The united forces of the Dwarves long ago have inflicted upon the Orcs great defeats, in open battle, man-to-man. Our offensive has seriously reduced their strength in these mountains and their capacity to wage war on our cities. Our forefathers have given us an overwhelming superiority in weapons and armor of war, and placed at our disposal great reserves of these same weapons--dangerous in your trained fighting hands. The tide has turned! The line of Durin is marching together to Victory!

"See now they come at last! Our last great challenge is upon us. Let us rid our new home of the threat of destruction and let it thrive as it once did. I have full confidence in your courage, devotion to duty and skill in battle. We will accept nothing less than full victory! May Balin look upon us and bless our noble undertaking. Let his name be our battle cry!"

Long may the remembrance of that day remain in our race's lore. What infinant glory there was for the House of Durin that day! Now may it please you, gentle reader, to hear of the recantation of the Second Battle of Azanulbizar.

[Thinlómien]

Vigdis

The roof was just as dark as her dreams had been. She got up slowly. A headache was thundering against her skull. Was it the rum? she wondered. But she had drunk so much more so many time with so much less headache... it had to be something else. It had to be... no, not that thought again. Soon, when she'd have the stone in her hands. But not now. She made her way to the table carefully and lit the candle. She changed her clothes, picked up her favourite tools, extinguished the flame and went out.

The corridor was just as dark as her room had been before she had lit the candle. She wondered why the lanterns weren't lit. She knew her way to the masonry well enough in the dark, but some passers-by would have problems.

"Ouch!" said a voice.

Vigdis stopped. She had run to somebody in the dark. "Who is it? Can I help you?" she asked.

~*~

Ori

He stood there, among the common fighters. Some of the younger ones were giving him curious glances, but most of his comrades in arms welcomed him in silent approving nods. In Balin's time, he had either stayed away from the battles or stood closely by the Lord as his friend and companion. Now it was different, the battles were on their doorstep, there was no "away" to hide in, and Balin was dead, and despite their friendship, Ori was not the companion to Trór like he had been to Balin. He felt his place was where were the others like him: the artesans and sages who had managed to gather a little knowledge of the arts of war during their years.

"Move a bit to the left," growled old Brambor, the commander of ori's regiment. They obeyed him in silence. The words of Trór rang in Ori's mind: we will accept nothing less than full victory! May Balin look upon us and bless our noble undertaking. Let his name be our battle cry! "Balin," he whispered, thinking what his old friend would have thought of such hot-headed and pompous speech. He smiled wryly. "Poor old Balin." The soldier standing beside him heard him mutter the name and shouted it out loud: "Balin!" Soon his voice was echoed by a dozen others, then hundreds of voices shouted the battle cry. "Balin! Balin! Balin!" They watched the black hordes of goblins roll forwards but fear was no more.

[Folwren]

Kénan looked at Nali a moment and then stepped back and invited him inside. Nali stepped just within the door.

“If you think about it,” Kénan said, “I am not skulking in the comforts of my own home, as you may assume. It is only yet early morning, and most dwarves on a normal day would still be a-bed.”

“But this is not a normal day,” Nali said, a hint of anger or annoyance fringing his voice. Kénan looked keenly at him. The dwarf had obviously been up all night. Kénan knew things had been afoot – the hall had been alive with feet most of the night, but he and his grandchildren had not stirred from their door.

Finally, he nodded, and a serious expression settled lower on his brow. “Nali,” he began, speaking slowly and with calculation, “I was just dismissed from the council and had little realization that lord Trór had gone out. He sent me from him, shamed before my peers, did you expect me to wait around?” Nali seemed to bridle at this, but Kénan continued. “But, I will come. There is more at stake here than Trór’s life or his honor. I will go with you, and I will fight. Not for him, but for them.” He nodded towards Kéni and Iari.

Nali nodded and turned to go. But before he had completely exited the door, he turned back around. “It would be wisest if thou wouldst reconsider thy loyalties,” he said. “To fight against Trór would be as detrimental as not fighting at all.”

Kénan looked at him steadily a moment and then nodded once. “I will consider what you say.”

Nali turned and left. Kénan stood for a moment in silence. Kéni approached him slowly. “Grandfather,” he said. When Kénan looked at him, he continued. “I will go and fight with you.”

[Kitanna]

“Grandfather, I will go and fight with you.” Kéni's declaration shocked Iari. Obviously it was Kénan's duty to fight, but her brother was supposed to stay and watch over her.

Iari grabbed hold of Kéni's hand. "No! You can't go!" Her vision blurred, but the little girl fought hard so no tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Let go, Iari. I have to do this." Kéni pulled his hand away and stepped closer to Kénan, drawing himself up to his full height.

Iari rushed to Kénan's side. Fear of her grandfather subsided and was replaced with fear for her brother's life. Surely she could count on the old dwarf to be her ally when Kéni was acting so rash. "Grandfather, do something. He's not a warrior, he can't fight."

Kénan patted Iari's head gently, but he moved away from her. He took Kéni by the shoulders. "You understand the danger involved with this decision, do you not?" Kéni nodded. "You are so very young, Kéni. Yet, it is time for you to grow up."

Iari gasped in horror. She pulled one of Kénan's hands off her brother's shoulder. "No!" She cried.

"Iari, please," Kénan pulled his hand away from his granddaughter. "Kéni we need to have you outfitted for battle. Iari, go stay with the neighbors until we return.

Kéni's face was filled with an intense pride, as was Kénan's. Iari had a combination of fear and anger swelling behind her eyes. She stormed off to her room and slammed the door, afraid she would cry in front of Kénan and Kéni. After a few minutes of hushed tones from her family she heard the door close. They were gone, leaving her alone again.

[Folwren]

Kénan and Kéni fought side by side, inching back together step by step as the forces of the orcs continued to press forward. Kénan knew from the beginning that they could not win. The only reasonable thing to do was to retreat back within the mountain and barricade the gates, but the order was never given.

Kéni was wearing out. Kénan saw his strokes become feeble and sweat poured down his beardless face. The suddenly a large orc broke through the seething lines of dwarves and goblins. He lunged towards Kénan. The old dwarf parried the thrust of his spear, but the orc brought the shaft up hard against Kénan’s chest in a back handed stroke. Kénan stumbled back, almost thrown off his feet. Before he could regain his balance and attack the orc again, the creature had turned to Kéni. He swung with the butt end of his spear at Kéni’s head. The boy jerked back to avoid it and tried to parry with his axe. He missed, and as his wielding arm went wide with the stroke, the goblin took advantage of his opened guard and plunged the spear deep into his chest.

Kénan hurtled himself forward with a roar of fury. With one blow of his axe, he hacked the head from the spear’s shaft and then with the second swing, removed the head from the orc’s neck. He fought as thought he had gone mad, his eyes blazing and spit frothing at his mouth as with each stroke he cursed the orcs and all their descendants.

But after he had killed many and cleared a circle about Kéni, he returned to his grandson. The broken spear protruded from his chest, but he was still alive and conscious.

Kénan hung his axe on his belt and stooped and lifted Kéni in his arms, as though he weight no more in his armor than a little child. Then he bore him back to the gate.

Inside someone met him. Kéni changed hands to be carried in for help, if possible. “How goes it?” Kénan asked. “Do you know?”

“Lord Trór has been brought in wounded. He says we are not to retreat.”

Kénan looked at Kéni, gasping and struggling for breath, and he shook his head.

“No. We will not retreat.” His hand tightened around the haft of his axe. He stooped and kissed Kéni’s brow, murmured, “Goodbye, son. You fought well. I will meet you in the halls of our fathers.” Then he turned and strode back out into the cold night of blood and snow.

[Groin Redbeard]

Long have we heard the glory of the Longbeards, now listen to this testimony of their worth.

From the time of the Lord Trór’s wounding the battle stood against the Dwarves. Long did the brave leaders stand against the tides of darkness, praying for the dawn. The steadfast Lóni, his brow wet and weary, firmly held the center. In vain did all the host of the foe strive to break the resolve of the Dwarves, but the Orcs reckoned without the great wrath of Frar--prowess more skilled than an eagle in vaunting flight against sparrows. See yonder foe stayed by so few defenders. Without Lóni and Frar the heroism yet to be mentioned would not have happened.

Yet, not all great deeds were done by nobles this day. Kórin fought bravely within the Dwarven ranks. Many Dwarves fell about her, yet she did not shirk and continued bravely at the fore of her companions. Likewise, Kénan, stripped of all noble trappings, begrudged this not when duty called and gave great testimony to the strength of his generation.

Doubtful the battle stood; as two spent swimmers, that do cling together and choke each other with all their art. All seemed lost till the Lord Trór emerged from the Mountain seemingly unscathed by battle or fatigue. A banner was in his hand, for he had lost his spear in battle, and his axe was held aloft. The Orcs wondered to see his hardy figure displayed so swiftly after seeing him fall and swiftly born away. The Dwarves cheered and pressed ever forward into the stunned Orcs.

The merciless Orcs--worthy to be such creatures, for, to that, the multiplying villainies of nature do swarm upon them--from the Northern realm of Gundabad of Hobgoblins and Wolves is supplied; and fortune, on their quarrel smiling, showed in their favor: yet all were too weak; for brave Oin, --well he deserves that name. Disdaining fortune, with his brandished steel, which smoked with bloody execution, like valor's minion, carved out his passage till he faced the leader of the Orc rabble. Accompanied by Ori was the brave Oin and together sifted through the body guards as a sickle does to wheat ripe for the harvesting. Face to face stood Oin against the Orc leader, Gorfang was his name, which never shook hands, nor bade farewell to him, till Oin unseamed him from the crest the the nave and fixed his head upon the battlements!

At this the Orcs, though greatly superior in numbers, succumbed fatigue of their long march and stout fight against the Dwarves-- they eagerly fled the field. Loath was Trór to restrain his warriors from routing his foe, yet he saw for himself the thinned force which he now commanded. Then was the diminished Dwarf host drawn within the curtains of Narvi’s Gates --never again to usher forth from their halls. The Goblins set siege to the mountain and with crude picks and hammers started biting into the mountain.
Thus ended the Second Battle Azulbizar.

May it please you gentle listener to hear of the second day of our story and the great undoing of Khazad-dum.

[Kitanna]

The wounded had been brought within the lower hall. Iari had woken alone, her heart aching for her brother and grandfather. She had spent much time crying that Kéni had decided to fight. She had been told she was too young to understand duty, to understand his need to fight. Iari may not have understood those things, but she did understand family and already her family had lost too many members in her short life.

Now in the hall Iari searched among the wounded for sign or word of Kénan and Kéni. Iari had heard rumblings that the orcs would break through and take the hall soon, but she couldn't be troubled by that, not now.

She spotted Kéni, laid out on the floor, a thin blanket over his body. Iari rushed over and saw a large, red spot in the chest of the blanket. "Kéni!" she wailed. She reached out to undercover her brother, to see the damage that was done. Another, less wounded, dwarf stopped her.

"Best if you not see that, lass."

Iari refused to let tears forms. If she cried she would show despair for Kéni. His wound couldn't be so bad, could it? If he was going to die they wouldn't have taken the time to bring his body back, right?

Iari knelt next to Kéni, taking his hand in hers. She used her free hand to smooth out his hair. "Kéni? Kéni, please wake up." Iari's brother mumbled a few things, but didn't wake up.

She curled up in a ball next to him. At some point while laying next to Kéni Iari fell asleep herself. She awoke with Kénan's shadow above her and she was still holding Kéni's hand in her own.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

As Lóni walked back into the underground halls, he felt like awakening from some kind of dream. The outcome of the battle - especially the last, what was it, seconds? Minutes? Hours? - it all seemed unreal to him, hazy, as if he had not really been there, or maybe he had, but in some other life or time or memory.

At one point, the Orcs were charging at them, they released their arrows and the black tide stopped, and he saw Trór being carried away from the battlefield. And in the next moment, the onslaught was renewed, and Lóni was once again holding his ground in the small spot beneath the slopes of the mountain, in front of the gates. And was it the Mountain, the one where he had been before? He could not discern one memory, or dream, from the other. He remembered the glorious moment when the gates swung open and the figure of their leader stood there. Thorin in Erebor. Trór in Azanulbizar. Did the past and the present always seem so intertwined? Lóni felt like awakening from a dream, but he now started to feel the present very strongly.

"It is like emerging from deep water, isn't it," said a voice next to him. He turned and saw Óin's face, with his white beard dirty, his face bearing an exhausted expression. Lóni nodded.

"True. But I am afraid that this was not yet the last time when we have had to go into the water."

Óin shrugged and, turning to join a group of Dwarves who followed to see the Lord of Moria, disappeared in the crowd. Lóni walked on, he intended to see his brother first to tell him that he is all right. Lóni was imagining how Náli could already be worried, especially if he heard about what happened to Trór, and knowing that Lóni was nearby.

However, it was only after he didn't find his brother among the leaders of the right flank, that Lóni started to feel a bit unsettled. Then he asked, and finally somebody told him that his brother had been wounded. They pointed him to the place where Náli lay, and Lóni walked there, fearful in expectation.

"Oh brother," he said, when he looked at the motionless body. He could not say anything more, he just gazed at his brother's face, his body, his legs, everything so much alike to his own. There were only two differencies for the older of the brothers - the two eyes still hidden behind the closed eyelids, and only one arm, resting peacefully upon the blood-stained blanket.

[Groin Redbeard]

The Hall stank with the odor of blood— Nisa felt as if the whole Hall were rotting. She had been up the entire night attending the wounded and now was her chance to rest.

Nali was still unconscious. He had been lying still the entire night except for a few moments where he would violently thrash his head and mutter something. Even an unconscious Nali gave Nisa comfort, so she chose a spot close to Nali and began to nod. However, her sleep was soon disturbed by many heavy footfalls—the warriors had returned.

Nisa jumped up at this. Where was Trór? She couldn’t see him amongst the crowd. She knew that he had been wounded and returned to the battle, but where was he?


Trór

The rock surface of the table shifted its weight on its legs as Trór slammed his fist down.

“How many?”

Grór hesitated for a moment before he responded, fearing that his response would bring out an even worse reaction. “We lost a little less than half our strength, my lord.”

Trór stood silent for a long moment. This was not the kind of victory that he wanted, but it couldn’t be helped. Even an army a fraction of its former size was better than nothing at all—Trór was fortunate to still have an army.

“What of my nobles?”

“My lord, the casualtys are still coming in, but for now the only noble that we have lost is Nali.”

“Dead?” Trór’s eyes were wide with surprise and fear.

“No my lord, he has lost an arm.”

Again Trór fell silent. Nali was a good Dwarf and hard to replace. However, a match must be made, but later, not now. He turned back to his officers; most of them were minor for his nobles had not yet returned from battle.

“What of the miners in Second Deep, have they been sent for?”

“Yes, my lord, but we must remember that Lord Balin sent the miners out weeks ago to carve out new passages. They will be half a day more in reaching us. Lord Balin’s death will also be a great shock when they return; they might not be fit for duty until tonight.”

The officer would have continued, but Trór raised his hand for silence—the nobles had returned. Trór could see Ờin coming alone. His beard was splotched with blood, Trór smiled to see it—Ờin had showed his valor had not diminished with his age.

“So well your blood stained beard becomes you, as your valiant deed today; they both smack of honor. I am glad to see you well, Ờin.” Trór looked over his shoulder at his officers; all of them watching his meeting with Ờin as if it were a matter of pressing importance.

“There are too many eager ears here, my friend. Will you walk with me to the bridge? There is pressing matter that I must discuss with you.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Once again, despite the fact that he had known Trór already for a long time, Óin was surprised. This Dwarf, he thought, was one who had been badly wounded in the battle not that long time ago, but how he bore himself! How he acted! His endurance had to be admitted, that was for sure. But when Trór asked Óin to follow him to the Bridge, the old Dwarf was slightly surprised. He did not give away any sign, though, his face remaining motionless.

"Aye," he said. "I will follow you."

A few of the captains shot their eyes in their direction, but neither Trór nor Óin made any response to it. They walked away, the older Dwarf following a few steps behind the current Lord of Moria. What is it, he thought, his blue eyes pinned on Trór's back, that the Lord was having on his mind? Was he planning to act in some way? Did he want Óin to go on a scouting mission, now, or to do something else to thwart the Orcs' plans? Óin would not be surprised at something like that, though he could imagine that it would be hard to get out of the gates, surely besieged by now. Even now he could see in his mind's eye the Orcs approaching the gates, choosing the best places to stand, the old Dwarf remembered every inch of that ground and he knew exactly where they would find good places to stay - and how hard would it be to drive them out of these spots.

At the near end of the bridge they stopped. Óin looked for a moment into the depths of the pit and shivered slightly at the breath of chill currents blowing into his face from the unknown depths. He shook his head and turned away.

"So," he said, raising his eyes to meet the sight of the younger Dwarf, but seeing instead a wounded, but a tough warrior and the Lord of this kingdom, now shrunk and besieged, however still a Dwarven realm of old. "What was it, Trór, that you wanted to tell me about? My earsight is not as good as it used to be, but I am listening to you."

[Groin Redbeard]

“Ori,” Trór reached out and grabbed Ori’s arm. “Would you mind coming with me? I have to show you something.”

Trór led him across the bridge and towards the chamber of Marzabul. The guards where still standing at the entrance and both snapped to attention as the two nobles approached. They both knelt once within the entrance in respects to Balin, whose regal body lay on the tomb that Vigdis had built. The tomb was indeed a marvelous accomplishment. Trór wondered how the mason could finish it within one night.

The chamber’s shelves, in which at one time held so many records, were empty except for a few books which had been brought from Erebor. One book in particular looked worn on the inside and some of the pages were sticking out. Trór took the book and opened it. There were many different handwritings: Balin, Trór, Ori, Kénan, Lóni, Oin. Maps, ledgers, and journal entries, all with different opinions. Trór handed the book to Ori.

“I do not have the moral courage to enter an account of these terrible two days. You have a way with words that I do not, write our story.”

[Thinlómien]

Trór's words were a command, not a plea.

Ori bowed low. "Yes, my lord," he said quietly.

He held the record in his hands, the book where he had written so often so light-heartedly about some small news, about finding a new vein of silver, or discovering a room, or defeating a band of orcs in the corridors. Now much heavier news lay on his quill, and he would have to write them down as well as he could.

He did not ask why he had been chosen to write this. It didn't seem to him he had any external merit to point at himself, but who would have? Who would be any more fit to write the saddest tidings this far?

Ori could feel tears forming in his eyes but also words were shaping in his mind. "I shall take the book to my keeping for now and record the story of our recent woes."

[Thinlómien]

"Óin, Frar, you go with Vigdis get the colony up we move immediately!"

Trór's words echoed in Vigdis' head when the three hurried to the great hall.

"How are we supposed to get the place evacuated if that's all he gave us for orders?" she said, more to herself than to the others.
"There is a plan," Óin said. "It was devised years ago in Balin's council."
"There is the big bell in the hall. You go and ring it three times so that people know to gather to the hall," Frár growled.
"Yes, sir," Vigdis said, a slight edge of sarcasm creeping to her voice. She obeyed nevertheless.

The deep and clear voice of the bell rang in the high halls. Dwarves began to appear and within quarter an hour there were already hundreds of Dwarves assembled in the great hall. Vigdis couldn't help admiring the efficiency of her own people. She went stand beside a frightened-looking family, and gave the mother a tight-lipped smile. They listened to what Frár and Óin had to say.

"People of Dwarrowdelf!" Frár bellowed. "We bring tidings from our Lord Trór. We are moving. It won't be permanent, but we need to leave this place."

A wave of whispered comments and a few protesting shouts ran in the air. Then Óin continued:

"We are moving to the Hall of Hundred Pillars and the surrounding guardrooms. Our troops will stay here, guard the gates and follow the situation until we get more information about the movement of the Orcs and are sure there are no raiding parties around.

You have three hours to pack, then we have to be moving. You may only take what you can carry for yourself, and everybody is too carry three weeks' food provisions for himself. Take first what is necessary, and only if you can carry more, you may take some of your treasures."

More protesting and murmuring.

"Silence!" Frár shouted. "You will get the provisions from the kitchen from Mistress Thordis. All the cooks are requested to sign up to her there, they will be needed for assistance.

Professional soldiers are to sign up to me at the training grounds, and seasoned warriors with no professional training to commander Brambor at the armoury. Both will be needed.

Three hours from now, the bell will be ringing again. You are supposed to come here with your belongings and food provisions then and Lord Trór will speak to you. Then we will go. If you have some questions, there will be always some member of the Lord's council in this room, for now, Master Óin here.

Go now. You have three hours."

Vigdis shook her head. They had said no word about Durin's bane, maybe to avoid panic. But she was afraid it was a mistake not to warn the people...

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

After the announcement has been made, things started to move, sometimes in a bit chaotic way. Lóni expected to be called to the rest of the nobles, to be given the command due to him - and he was not far from expecting also to get a share of responsibility which would otherwise have gone to his brother. Nevertheless, before anything was to be done, he wanted to first take one more look at Náli. He also wanted to clean his armor - but he felt that either he is going to get the chance to do it in the following three hours, or not for a long time to come. Or maybe never.

As he approached the lying wounded in the First Hall, however, he noticed somebody else walking towards his brother's body simultaneously along the second line of columns at the eastern end of the Hall. Fixing his eye upon the person, Lóni recognised Onli. He turned to quickly cross his path.

"You," he shouted at him. The red-bearded Dwarf turned around, startled. "You were supposed to be under my brother's command, right?"

"Y-yes," stammered Onli. His eyes darted from Lóni to motionless Náli and back. He was afraid. He expected to be scorned for neglecting his duties, for up to now he had been avoiding getting close to Náli or his brother and he was unable to get enough information on what exactly had happened. He feared to be questioned and exposed as an unreliable aide, or straightaway punished. However, Lóni had no intention of either of that.

"Since my brother is in no state to give you orders now, I am placing you to take care of him," he said. Inside, Onli sighed in relief, however, he was aware that this might mean far more responsibility than he will be able to bear.

"I won't have time to watch over him myself," continued Lóni, "but I shall deem you responsible for his transport to safety... and you are bound to watch over him and by all means protect him... until he recovers." Lóni's voice broke slightly at these last words, but he made the effort to make himself sound firm again. He looked into Onli's eyes with his one deep eye.

"I assume you would take this as your task even without my direct order, as you are supposed to be my brother's right- my brother's aide," he finished quickly. "But I now relay it to you directly. I want you to swear that you will watch over him with your life."

Onli's face turned pale. That was something he was afraid of.

"I will surely take care of your brother as well as I can, dear master Lóni," he said, trying to sound resolute. "In fact, I was just on the way to take a look at his condition, if he has gotten any better... I have been thinking, however, that perhaps he should be given to the special care of some skilled healer. What I mean is that after all, it will be better to have him in good care, and I am not well-versed in this art, and perhaps I would better serve with my skills elsewhere, like for example in administering -"

"You have heard me," Lóni interrupted him. "However much I love my brother, there are too few healers in our ranks for them to be preoccupied with only one person, however important leader he is. I am sure they will take good care of him as it is, but what I want from you is to oversee that he is transported safely and that he is never left without guard. That guard will be you, Onli, because all soldiers are needed elsewhere. I want you to swear with your life that you will stand by his side."

There was no way out. Onli touched his beard with trembling hand. "Yes," he said. "I swear... with my life."

"Good," said Lóni. He turned to Náli, still lying with closed eyes and breathing slowly. Who knows how long it will be before they see again? But whatever will happen, Lóni was determined to see Náli again.

"See you later, brother," he whispered and turned away.

Onli was still waiting on the spot, with a mixture of fear and anger boiling inside him, eyes fixed on Náli's lying body. Then his features softened. After all, things could have still been worse. Perhaps, having to watch over Náli, who was unlikely to wake up in any near time, he will be spared any encounters with the Orcs at all. While the warriors will be holding the Gates, he would be safe and sound with the wounded, somewhere far away from the risk of getting into the battle. That at least was a thing to look positively at.

[Dimturiel]

Things had been going from bad to worse since....But Bain could no longer remember a time when things were going right. Everything was hectic and confusing. One minute he was fighting, then he was helping to carry the wounded in the first hall and then the bell sounded for assembly and then the unexpected orders that they were suppose to move out – but were they really unexpected? Bain supposed that if had possessed the inclination to analyse what would happen, perhaps he would have seen it coming. Not that it mattered, since it would not have made the blow less hard to bear anyway.

Since Bain was a fairly experienced fighter, but without having been trained as a warrior, he was to be among those reporting to commander Brambor at the armoury. He supposed he would be one of those protecting the people in their new location. He was glad he was not a trained warrior, for one thing. Guarding the gates with nothing but dreary emptiness behind them, sundered for no one knew how long from the rest of the colony – it would be a hard life. A hard way to spend your last days. The thought came suddenly into his mind and he tried to shrug it off. No use thinking thoughts of ill-omen with the situation being as it was.

Before reporting to commander Brambor, Bain went to the kitchen for his ration, and then to his forge to gather his possessions and to have one last look at all the treasures he had crafted It nearly broke his heart to leave his beloved creations there, the works of both his mind and his hands. Each told a story to him, of some golden or dark day in the past. There was the shield he had set to work on as soon as they had reached Moria, the first thing he made in Khazad-dum. There was a small mail-shirt he had made for the son of a friend of his. He had never got round to giving it, somehow. And there were so many other beautiful things, all of them begging him not to abandon them. But he would not be allowed to carry all of them. The only thing that he took was his last work, the helm he had made for Lord Balin.

“I have made it with him in my mind,” he told himself. “Now I will wear it with him in my mind also, and may his memory make me fight the fiercer, should the need arise”

Then, without another look at what he was leaving behind – perhaps not forever, he was telling himself, perhaps he could return, although at that moment he could not picture himself ever entering that forge again – he turned his back to his forge and strode purposefully towards the armoury.

[Durelin]

Kór and Kórin moved back up to the Twenty-first Hall with others, as they were summoned by the bell to gather there again. They had spent the last half hour in silence, simply enjoying, without real happiness, each other's company. They were both alive. And there was nothing to say. Each of them knew what the other was thinking -- soon they would hear what the next move would be. And whatever the decision, it would be a risky one.

Kórin did not know what to expect. Wisdom was not Trór's strong point, though he had some more level heads around him. Perhaps his near death experience would shock some sense into him...as well as the deaths they had suffered. Perhaps. Kórin twisted her lips in disgust.

Kór glanced at his sister but said nothing.

When Frár made the announcement, Kórin was surprised Trór had actually conceded to this route. And it was not one which she had expected as a possibility. There was still plenty in between them and the orc armies to defend. Why were they moving, as if they had already lost the First and Second Halls. The Bridge of Khazad-dûm alone could be held for quite a long time!

Kórin cursed under her breath. Trór's foolishness had pushed them into a corner.

"What do you think we fall under -- professional or unprofessional?" Kór asked with humor.

Kórin simply grunted. "Unprofessional, surely. I am not drunk enough to be anything else."

Kór grinned, glad that his sister was not completely lost in her anger. Still, she made no move to get up from the bench on which they were seated. Neither was concerned with possessions -- Kór already had his harp on his back again -- and neither was in a great rush to report once again as soldiers.

"They have told us nothing," Kórin growled suddenly. "We know nothing of their plans. We remain completely in the dark." She was barking out complaints at lightning speed.

"And if they explained all the circumstances, the reasons for the decision, the plans depending on luck and...plans for the worst? To a crowd of the entire colony?"

Kórin grunted again, this time in frustration. "But for no one to have any idea what is going on except for their picked council, a group of old fools who will simply continue to bow to Trór's every word..." She knew she was giving a false impression of what she had seen of the council, but she was doing her best to convince herself otherwise.

"Well, you were on the council," Kór said simply, with growing mischief. "If you were still..."

"As if I would have a say!" Kórin burst out angrily.