Long had Moria laid in ruin, even years after Mithrandir had destroyed the Balrog and many of the orcs had fled into further blackness.

Now, on an expedition to bring the once prosperous mine to its former glory, a team of dwarves, led by a hybrid named Areanan, seek to uncover the mysteries of the mines and discover the evil force that lingers far within the empty halls.

Forgotten Pages

Areanan glanced up from the stained and yellowed manuscripts of Moria. The group of scouts she had sent forward into the mines to investigate had come back, one of them bearing the manuscript in a leather casing.

The book was broken, torn and almost completely unreadable, but, after weeks of study and careful restoration, Areanan was finally able to coax the remainder of the words and phrases onto the delicate pages.

"Yes, Orif? What is it?" she asked. Though her head barely raised enough to look at the dwarf standing before her, she knew him well enough by his bright coloured belt of silver studded with peridot. He had found it after an uruk raid farther to the south, and kept it as his possession ever since.

"The twins Duik and Firk have found more pages in the mines," he replied. With a nod, she sent him out and the duo followed soon after.

"Who would like to start?" Areanan asked. It really wasn't a question, just a conversation starter. "Firk, perhaps?"

The dwarf she called upon needed no second bidding to begin the narrarative.

"We, Duik and I that is, found this little book of writing in a small nook, somewhere around where Balin's tomb was located, miss." He handed her the small book, bound with old string and cracking with age.

Areanan studied the scrawled bits of writing with nary an indication that the two should leave. They stood nervously, wondering if the should leave or stay, some of their leader's signals were confusing to the younger scouts.

"The both of you may go," she answered their unasked question, almost sensing their nervousness. "But, if you called on by my other scouts, to come here, do so immeadiately and without question!"

The two left in bewilderment, but shrugged carelessly as they lifted the tent flap and were hit by the stench of cooking fires and the loud noises of the other dwarves.

Long after Duik and Firk had left Areanan sat by her makeshift desk, a large flat piece of slate propped up on two pieces of rock.

October 14

The others that tried to hold off the orcs didn't make it. The few of us that have not been separated in here have all gathered in Balin's Room. It's new, only about three weeks old, but I guess everyone felt better to be by their dead leader than to die alone and afraid in some dark passage.

October 29

There are even less of us now. Some decided to venture out. Gather food, kill a few orcs, what have you. But that does not matter to us anymore. We eat what we brought with us, hoping that we might yet live to see the mines free of our oppressors.

Some have asked me why I keep a journal at such a dismal time. I just smile back and say: "Because I want people to remember us. If we do not get out of here alive, it is better that we leave something behind for them to know about us after."

October 31

One last attempt came from one of our few strong dwarves here. He opened the doors and was immeadiately pierced by arrows. The doors were shut and many an uneasy thought passed our minds. We are stuck here. This will surely be our tomb, our final resting place. That is, if the orcs do not decide to make a meal of us. I dearly hope it will not come to that.

November 3

I am writing as quick as I can. I hope this comes out alright. The orcs have stormed in, and I am only alive because a body fell atop me. Whether it be friend or foe I know not. I don't dare look, for fear I shall see a companion's pain-filled face staring down at me, or the malformed face of an orc mocking me in my last moments.

Before they find me, I will place this underneath a small notch in the stone plyth of Balin's tomb. Perhaps someone will find it. I hope so, for I do not want our lives to be lost forever to the world.

Areanan raised her head from the small book. It was a tragic ending to any people. Even though she was not a full-blooded dwarf, Areanan felt as though she was one of them, watching the unknown author write down his final thoughts before the orcs killed him.

And, fortunately, she wasn't full-blooded, or she would be sporting a beard right now, which she wasn't.

Her father had been a dwarf, so, naturally, her mother was a human. Her father had died valiantly in a battle not that long ago, while her mother had taken ill two years before. Fortunately for her, by the time her mother had passed into the West on the ships in the Grey Havens, the half-dwarf was already reaching the age of thirty. Of course, in dwarf years, that is only a small feat.

Re-examining the small passages, Areanan realized that her task was to not only scavenge the last manuscripts of Moria, but to destroy the vile creatures that now inhabited those dark, abandoned halls.

To be continued...

This shall be my third fanfiction writing for "LOTR", and my first multi-chapter, which I think is quite an accomplishment, considering I haven't been writing in this category for very long.

To all you wondering out there "Why the heck did she write a story about dwarves?", let me ask you a question: "Why are all the stories only about elves and man? Are dwarves any less than they?"

I hope you liked it, and I'll need all the support I can, for me actually finishing a multi-chapter story is like... Tim Horton's selling livestock. Please review!

Zealak Silverdirk