ouch
There's a roar and a clatter against the barred doors that makes Ori clutch his book tighter and the warriors around him shift anxiously. His heart beats wildly in his chest, and his unused sword is heavy on his belt.
The twenty or so of them left, they're all holed up in Moria's most central chamber- Balin's tomb. Orcs surround them, beating at the heavy wooden doors and thick stone walls, and Ori's breath catches and tears sting his eyes. They're all just walking corpses, at his point.
The dwarf steels himself, crouched against his old friend's casket, thinks of home. Of Dori's warm knits and constant mothering, how he had cautioned Ori against leaving home- too dangerous, he said, too much risk. He thinks of the way that Nori would sneak him treats when he was but a little dwarfling, just out of the reach of Dori's watchful gaze.
The memories, which would have normally filled him with warmth, brought Ori nothing but sadness now. He missed his brothers.
A great shout made Ori open his eyes, and, cautiously, he peered over Balin's tomb. Orcs swarmed through the doors, and within just a few seconds, he saw three warriors fall- friends, with lives and families. His breath was coming quick now, his ears ringing, and Ori slid back down to the floor.
The leather of his journal creaks reassuringly under his fingers and, with a deep breath and fierce cry, he draws his sword and leaps into the fray.