Moria Awaits Us

Summary*

It has been many years since the Battle of Five Armies. Dain Ironfoot now rules Erebor, but not all of them are at peace. It has been hard to live in a place that one of their own had desired yet perished before such dreams could be fulfilled. Balin is one of them. He now wants to lead an expedition to reclaim the ancient colony of Moria. Will he succeed in his quest? Will the others still follow him knowing what it is that awaits them?

Restless. That was the one word Balin found to describe himself. Decades had passed since he had last wielded a weapon, but the memories of those that had fought beside him that day had haunted him. Three kings he had seen as they lost their lives- one to greed, one to madness, and the last to battle. He knew that he was not to blame, but that did not make it any easier to forget. The youngest of Durin's line had fallen as well and he knew there was no one else he would accept as his king. There was no one else save the rest of the company, with whom he would be honoured to fight for once more. He would take up his ancestors' quest. He would take Moria once more, even if he died trying, for there would be no rest for him at Erebor.

He had not forgotten what lay hidden behind those doors. Long had that land been besieged by foul creatures, and fouler still were tales of what lived deep within. He would not sacrifice the lives of those that accompanied him without cause, but he would see the glory of those halls restored, even if it was the last thing he did. He would request the king for permission, and he would set out then. He doubted that Dwalin would want to accompany him if he were not his brother. He had settled well into life at Erebor. He would not ask that of his brother. He would not take one more life down with him, knowing that Dwalin had died protecting his brother on a quest that was not his to undertake.

The request had been made, and Balin was surprised to see the number of young dwarves that had volunteered to accompany him. The recklessness of youth, he thought to himself. Even more surprised was he to see that Ori and Oín wanted to join him as well. He would not have wanted to part any more brothers as he and Dwalin would, but they would not be convinced otherwise. He knew his heart would rejoice at being in their company once more, but he had fears too, which he had kept thus far to himself. Ever since the battle, when Bolg had been slain, most orcs were said to have retreated to build their numbers before they terrorized other lands. He hoped the numbers would not overwhelm them, and believed that they would be safe if they made it far enough without much event. All that they had to do was remain alert for any signs of danger, and remain loyal to one another.

To Balin, the days before they left was the most agonizing of them all. It had been long since he had been uncertain of a decision that he was making. The dwarves had often counted him among the wise, but wisdom seemed to fail him now. He wondered if it had anything to do with the words he had shared with his brother. His brother had not been happy with his decision to leave without him. Time and again, the words returned to toy with his mind.

Do I mean nothing to you that you wish to throw your life away soon after Durin's line has been broken?

You know not what you are getting into. Will you throw all those lives away for naught?

This is not courage, brother. This is not your salvation. It is folly!

What of when you reach Moria? What of when you succeed? Will you forget me then? Will you then be at peace?

Every time, his courage faltered, but his will did not. He knew that this was the path for him. He tried to tell himself that Dwalin was only worried. Had he not felt the same before they had both decided to follow Thorin? Those days were now gone forever. The years were not being easy on him. He had done much in his lifetime, but this was his one chance to make it mean something more, and he would not thwart it. If fate willed it, he would die knowing that he had done his best. He had kept his brothers safe, and he had reclaimed their lost lands.

Months went into preparations and planning for their expedition, leaving a lot of time for the dwarves to reassure themselves that it was not too dangerous a mission. If it meant that there was one more dwarf haven on Middle-Earth, then it was well worth the trouble. If the Lonely Mountain could be reclaimed, then so could Moria. Farewells were quickly said among families. Younger dwarves hoped to join the leaving company some day while the elders simply reminisced the days of their youth. The day had come.

We journey today to the great halls of our people, lads. Great feats and glory await us. Some day soon, dwarves will flourish there once more as like the days of old. Great trials we will face, and as much death will come to us as gold, but let it not be said that we wavered and quivered like the weak. Let it be said that the enemy trembled and fell before the dwarven blades. Let it be said that death did not deter us. Let it be said that Durin's folk prevailed! Let it be said that Moria was ours once more!

As he stepped out of the gates of Erebor, he looked back one last time. This was the land they had fought to reclaim. This was the land that had raised him. This was the land that Thorin, Fíli, and Kíli died for. This was the land he would bring honour to, and the home he would leave behind. He turned one last time to his brother, unsaid words of farewell shared between them, for they both knew it was likely they would never meet again save in the realm beyond the living. He brought his battle axe close, and dipped his head as he reciprocated his brother's actions, and with one last gaze filled with love and longing, he was gone.