Ori was among a handful of remaining Dwarves to have taken shelter inside the Chamber of Mazarbul in the Twenty-Second Hall of Moria. No more than
three hours ago he had led his party in a hasty retreat from a fierce battle at Durin's Bridge. The colonists had lost their defensive before the onslaught of
the goblins. Ori had gathered any surviving colonists with him and made their retreat back to the Twenty-Second Hall. It was not a responsibility he had
wished to have taken. Munor, the former captain, and fallen at the bridge and there had been little choice. Someone had to have taken charge at once.
Now Ori sat on the cold stone floor of the chamber against the wall with a large book in his lap and a quill in hand. He knew time was running
dangerously short for all of them so he would have to be quick in recording his final entries. As he did that, around the chamber, there was mostly an eerie
silence from his fellow comrades. Some fiddled with their weapons, others paced slowly back and forth, awaiting the inevitable. The realization weighed down
on them all that the efforts of their expedition to once again recolonize their ancestral halls had failed after no more than five years.
During the first four years, the Dwarves had made progress in their expedition. It was only a year later when Balin, Lord of Moria, was slain by the
arrow of a goblin archer when he went alone to look in the Lake Mirrormere in the valley beneath the East Gate. In a brief but ugly skirmish, the goblin was
slain but many more came pouring up the Silverlode. The body of Balin was rescued just in time for the Dwarves to fall back before the wave of invading
goblins. The colonists had fought to hold the East Gate, the First and Second Halls, and the critical Durin's Bridge, but the goblin numbers had been too great.
Now Ori stared numbly at the center of the chamber. There the tomb was placed, crafted out of a smooth slab of white stone and now served as the
final resting place for Balin son of Fundin, Lord of Moria. The tomb had been placed so that the stream of light from the outside spilled in from the shaft in the
ceiling onto the tomb.
Sinking into his own thoughts, Ori was barely aware of the ominous, rolling sound of drums drifting in from the deep. He felt his stomach tighten with unease
at the sound of each boom. He found himself thinking back to the day that he made his decision to join his old friend and comrade Balin on the expedition to
Moria. It had been that rumor of wealth that had spread among the people of Erebor. Even as a youngster, Ori had heard tales of the darkness of Moria and
what awaited inside. It had been those tales that his older brother Nori had often used to try and frighten him with. But Ori was no longer a youngster. He
remembered long ago of the Quest of Erebor. He had followed his brothers Nori and Dori, as well as Balin, when they had joined with Thorin Oakenshield on
their quest to reclaim the Lonely Mountain. Ori knew he was at last of age to join Balin's expedition to Moria. He carried a sword instead of a slingshot, the one
he brought with him on the Quest. He had not had his old slingshot in many years now. Despite King Dain's advice, Balin's fierce desire to seek
out Moria's lost wealth would not be deterred. Even Dori, the oldest and wisest of Ori's two brothers had attempted to talk Ori away from the expedition. But
Ori had refused to heed Dori's advice. He was old enough and resented still being treated by Dori as though he was still a youngster, the youngest of the three
brothers hough he was. Ori was eager for his next adventure. Along with Balin, and Oin, and many others, they departed Erebor. Ori thought of the
morning of their departure. Before he left, Dori had given him a thick book inside a leather case, as a gift for Ori to record his writings in.
Now Ori had paused writing his next entry and stared down at the pages as he reflected.
"Captain?" A Dwarf named Halin spoke up from nearby. "Is there anything else we can do while we still can?"
"Is there anything else we can do?" Another Dwarf named Morin spoke up bitterly. "There is nothing. Our end is soon to come."
That seemed true enough. Even now the Dwarves still fought, vowing to hold their ground. And yet they still clung to their fading hopes of escape. The
goblins had succeeded in hemming in the Dwarves from the east by taking control of the bridge, the Second Hall, and many of the lower levels of Moria. The
colony's food stocks and provisions were running dangerous low. Their last bastion of hope had remained was with Ori's friend and comrade Oin. With the
remaining colonists lacking fresh drinking water, Oin led a party of his own in search for an escape route through the West Gate. That was five days ago. That
glimmer of hope faded when only four members of Oin's party returned. A Dwarf named Nalni who was one of the four to return, had reported to Ori of what
had happened.
"Our last hope of escape from here was through the West Gate," Ori said with a helpless sigh. "But that way is blocked. The water is now up to the West Gate,
and Oin has been slain by the Watcher in the Water. There will be no getting out that way at all."
"So what is left for us then, Captain?" Morin asked. "Do we try to seek out another escape with what little time we have left?"
"No." Ori shook his head. "Here is where we will make our stand."
Harlin gave a sharp distressed sigh. "What a black and cursed place this is!" He said. "Why ever did we come here?"
"We came here to reclaim our ancient home for Durin's race!" The Dwarf named Nalni replied. "This has and always been our true home. We should have k
known that reclaiming Moria was a feat far too dangerous and difficult for us to accomplish."
"It is no use in lamenting now," Ori spoke up. "In spite of little that we can do now, there is still one thing left that we can do." He motioned around the
chamber. "The goblins will take no prisoners when they come. Let us fight to the very last. For Balin. For Khazad'Dum."
The Dwarves all nodded and murmured their firm agreement. And then silence followed and they all turned an ear to listen beyond the Chamber where they
had taken refuge. The boom of drums seemed to be drawing nearer and each boom sounded like thunder rolling across the sky. Ori picked up his quill again
and began scrawling another entry into the book.
There was the sound of running feet and hurried voices in the great hall outside, headed towards the chamber. All the Dwarves all groped for their weapons
in anticipation of a final confrontation. Instead a brown-bearded Dwarf named Dalri, hurried into the Chamber, accompanied by a pair of his comrades. He
wore a round wooden shield on his left arm and carried a short battle-axe in his right hand. The axe blade gleamed with fresh black goblin blood on the edges,
indicating Dalri his companions had just stepped away from combat.
Ori slammed the book shut and placed it aside on the floor aside and quickly climbed to his feet. "Dalri!" He cried. "You still breathe!"
Dalri nodded. "For the present," He said grimly. "Not for much longer."
"What is happening out there?" Ori asked anxiously, looking past Dalri to the doors of the chamber. The rolling sound of beating drums was drifting closer and
louder.
"We were forced to make our retreat," Dalri explained quickly. "Only a handful of us were able to fall back, but I fear it matters little now. We are forming
our last defensive position here in the Twenty-Second Hall."
Outside of the Chamber of Mazarbul in the vast Twenty-Second Hall, there was a distant blast of a goblin horn amid by the sound of booming drums. There
was the unmistakable sound of the advancing goblins shrieking and chattering.
"Dalri! They are coming near!" Another Dwarf shouted from just outside the gates.
"That was Thrin!" Dalri said. "Ori! You must bar the gates to the chamber!"
"And what will you do?" Ori demanded.
"We will hold them at bay," Dalri said quickly, looking sharply over his shoulder with the realization that time was running out. "There are only six of us
now including myself. We fell back in a hurry when the Bridge and the Second Hall were taken. Frar, Loni, and Nali fell defending the bridge."
Amid the sound of the drums, another goblin horn blared.
"Dalri!" The Dwarf named Thrin shouted with panic on his voice. "They are almost upon us and they are many!"
"You have to bar the gates!" Dalri said hurriedly to Ori. "We will hold them back while we can and give you the time they need. Good luck!"
That was all Dalri had time to say as he and he and his two companions turned away and hurried to rejoin their remaining comrades outside the doors of the
Chamber.
"Come on! We must secure the doors while we can!" Ori shouted to the three Dwarves and they moved quickly to take action.
He and Morin ran to draw the gates shut. Pushing the heavy wooden doors closed, Ori only glimpse of the darkness of the Twenty-Second Hall. Dalri and his
small group of comrades and formed a loose defensive circle around the gates and stood with their shields raised and their
weapons ready. Ori felt a cold fear wash over him when he head the pitter-patter of goblin feet out in the darkness and it became louder like the
sound of incoming rain. And there was that terrible sound of goblin chatter. With the help of Morin, the doors to the chamber were drawn shut. The other
Dwarves in the chamber were hurriedly scouring around for anything that would be of use.
"Come on! Hurry!" Ori shouted to his comrades. Already he could hear the sounds of the skirmish erupting outside between the remaining colonists and the
goblins. With the help of his comrades, four heavy boards were slid across the rusty handles of the doors.
Just outside the gates, the skirmish seemed to be intensifying. There was the sound of steel ringing and weapons crashing against one another, shouts and
cries of the defending Dwarves, and goblins shrieking. Ori felt a sharp pain inside him. He knew his comrades outside would fight to the end but the skirmish
would not last for long. For a long moment Ori gazed in silence at the barricaded gates and listened. He could hear the goblins chattering and cackling outside.
The remaining Dwarves moved to retrieve their weapons and then stood ready in the center of the room around the tomb of Balin.
"Prepare," Ori advised quietly but loud enough for his comrades to hear. He knew without a shred of doubt that the goblins in overwhelming numbers would
make quick work of the last of the colonists. There was still one more thing he needed to do. He turned away and moved back to the spot along the wall of the
chamber where he had sat previously. None of the other Dwarves spoke. Dispersed in the center of the room around the tomb, they stood on guard, their
weapons ready and facing down the gates. This time the gates were rattled violently.
"We have the last of the bearded-scum cornered like rats!" A goblin was heard cackling in a horrible voice.
Ori sat down slowly on the floor against the wall with his sword at his side. A tremor ran through floor from the heavy rolling boom of the drums, but he
ignored it as he placed his book in his lap. The gates were rattled again. He reopened to the page where he had left off and picked up the quill in his hand to
record in black ink what would be his final entry:
"We cannot get out. The end comes. We hear drums, drums in the deep. We cannot get out… they are coming."
His hand trembling, Ori placed down the quill one last time and he closed the book in his lap. He knew not whether anyone would ever read of his accounts
but only time would tell. He reached for his sword and held it ready in his lap. Something smashed heavily against the doors. The the goblins had to have
brought forward a small battering ram to smash down the doors. Ori shut his eyes, gripping his sword and inhaled a deep breath and exhaled quietly. He
He would not be afraid. He stood to his feet and, gripping his sword on one hand and holding his book under his other arm, he moved to the middle of the
room to join his comrades. He then gently placed the book on the floor against Balin's tomb. The goblins outside were now many and they were chattering
madly, urging the battering ram on as it was smashed against the doors a second time.
"The world is grey…" Odlly in that moment, Ori's thoughts had strayed to the last verses of the song of Durin's Awakening. He sang the first part of the
line sadly and quietly but aloud to himself, but his comrades seemed to recognize the first lyrics of the song.
"The mountains old…"As if on cue, Harlin sang the other half of the line just as the battering ram was brought against the doors a third
time.
"The forge's fire is ashen-cold…" Morin sang the second line.
"No harp is wrung, no hammer falls…" Nalni proceeded singing the third line.
Already the last of the Dwarves had begun to join one at a time as they sang, the last verses of their song as the battering ram was brought for again and
again, each time splintering and further weakening the doors. And still the Dwarves sang on, their lamenting voices filling the chamber as the awaited their
end.
The darkness dwells in Durin's halls;
The shadow lies upon his tom
It was only moments before the remaining Dwarves of Balin's Colony came to the end of their song when the gates to the Chamber of Mazarbul hung on their
hinges. The damage from the battering ram was taking its toll on the doors.
In Moria, in Khazad-dûm.
But still the sunken stars appear
The goblins were now shrieking and chattering with triumph. Outside the goblins brought their battering ram forward in one final effort. That was all
that was needed.
In dark and windless Mirrormere;
There lies his crown in water deep,
Till Durin wakes again from sleep.
Their song ended there. Just as Ori raised his sword in front of him, the goblins brought their ram forward once more and the doors to the Chamber of
Mazarbul crashed open.