This is a small story about Ori's moments as he is in Moria. It's short, but I think 'tis enough for a review? or two? please?

The Mines of Moria were fine in the year of 2989 in the Third Age, once it had been retaken by Balin and his troupe. Peace was amongst there, and for five years, it remained like that.

It was the day before it happened, in 2994 of the same age as it was taken.

Ori was quite bored. He was wandering Dwarrowdelf slingshot in hand. The place was dimly lit, but he made his way to his friend's place. Balin.

"Ori!" Balin cried, laughing. Ori gave a weak smile. By far one of the youngest dwarves of all the Dwarves in Moria, he was probably the most good looking, even though he had an incredibly limp build, not looking so attractive like how he remembered Kíli and Fíli, with their long hair and faces…before they died.

The smile fell. His throat tightened and his heart felt like crying when he thought about them, as they died in that battle that he survived.

"I didn't deserve to live," Ori had always thought. "I'm not a use to anybody. I'm a waste of space, time, and effort."

Scratching the end of his nose, he resumed his grin to Balin.

"Hey, Balin," the youngest Dwarf started. "Got any ale? I'm thirsty."

"Ale?" Balin chuckled, "Here? You're mad. There'll be no ale here, laddie."

"What?" Ori yelped, as though he had just been hit across his crooked nose. "No ale? Why?"

"Yes," Balin nodded solemnly. He leant forward, saying in a whisper. "There's only green food."

That was when Ori found out the joke, glaring at the elderly Dwarf, as he roared with laughter.

"What are you laughing about, Balin?"

They turned around, seeing Óin approach, holding his hearing trumpet to his ear.

"Oh, nothing, Óin," Balin said quickly, shaking his white beard. Ori scuffed his boots on the ground, frowning.

"I'm going to…" he trailed off, as the faint drumming was rumbling under their feet, faintly reaching their blunt ears. Every Dwarf stood frozen as the trembling grew.

"What's going on?" Óin said, quickly and harshly.

"It's Orcs," Balin said, quietly.

Immediately, Ori took out his knife as someone scurried around the corner. It was another Dwarf: Frár. He bared a face of real anger.

"Orcs!" he yelled. "We have to get out of here before they-"

They all watched in horror as Frár widened his eyes in shock. The arrow hit his back from somewhere behind the doorway, hitting him directly between the shoulder blades.

As Frár crumpled to the ground, they saw the Orkish stick out of his back, dark blood spreading underneath his jacket.

"We need to move!" Óin yelled, urgently pushing Balin and Ori away. They ran away, hearing more arrows fly over their heads.

"What about the others?" Ori gasped, as they ran. "Flói, Lóni, Náli? They came with us – they need our help. We must -"

"Shut up, Ori," Óin panted roughly, as they made their way in a sturdy sprint to a place where they could shut themselves up. "No more dilly-dallying or we'll get killed. Or do you want to join your brothers?"

Ori, throughout his shock and fear, clenched his jaw. "Shut up about my brothers, Óin."

"We're nearly there," Balin huffed, looking already red in the face, after a 30 minute jog. More arrows rained past them, clattering against the walls. "Near to that place. We can try to escape from the-"

Balin turned around, glancing at the doorway where the sounds of the drums were coming from.

A scream left the youngest Dwarf, as another score of arrows fell upon them. The last of that rainfall, hitting Balin as he turned around to face the door, in the breast, embedding itself in his chest.

The next chapter is coming soon. Thanks for reading. Review...please?