Yet another morning dawned, shedding its glorious light upon all of Arda without a shred of care for whether it was actually appreciated or not. Burzum certainly wasn't happy about it as direct sunlight somehow waltzed in through a gap in the curtains and forced itself through his lids into his poor, sensitive eyes. He waved his arm in front of his face stupidly before fully waking up and realising that the bloody nuisance couldn't be driven away.

Gutbrúg snickered like a cave-troll in the dark corner he had chosen for himself before Burzum had had the chance to claim it. "Good morning, sunshine," he giggled. "Are the beams being mean to you again?"

"Shut up, you Sauron-damned fool," Burzum muttered, not bothering to arrange his words so as to make them sound more poetic or archaic. It was terribly time-consuming and besides, Gutbrúg was the least likely Orc to tease him if he occasionally slipped out of character. Not that it stopped the bastard from teasing him for everything else, mind.

And thus it came to pass that Gutbrúg found himself muffled by the pillow Burzum threw at his face just in case calling him a fool wouldn't be enough to silence him. He was amused enough to retaliate in similar fashion, but decided against it as Grishtakh stirred on his own mattress. No matter how humorous a person Burzum may have been deep down, his sense of humour, like some small and shy yet pompous animal, mysteriously vanished every time it was in danger of being discovered.

"Huh? Is it morning already?" Grishtakh blinked like an owl, trying to squirm out from under the covers. Being the kind of person to get tangled up in everything, it took him a few minutes and quite a few curses to do just that. Meanwhile, he succeeded without even trying in waking up the two Orcs who still would have liked to continue sleeping.

"I can't find my bleeding greaves anywhere," Ghâshsag began to gripe as soon as he was awake enough to think aloud. "Have you taken them, Gutbrúg?"

"What would I do that for? My boots are designed to shield my shins without having to attach any inconvenient plates of armour to them, Mister Wears-His-Armour-In-Bits-And-Pieces."

"Then who has them?"

Sharrásh shifted under his blanket. He tossed some metal and leather junk on the floor. Ghâshsag picked out his greaves, shoulder guards and dagger from the pile. "Incidentally, why did you have these in your bed?"

"Grunt," Sharrásh said instead of simply grunting. "I need something cool to help me sleep. It's steaming hot under this blanket. If you don't believe me, you can join me here and see for yourself."

Since Ghâshsag was so impressed that he had just heard Sharrásh churn out three whole sentences, he chose to ignore the fact that the older Orc had implied the heat could be 'seen' under such circumstances. As far as Ghâshsag knew, heat became visible around fire and other things that burned, and even then it was only a faint echo of what could be felt; indeed, to him it was nothing but air forced to dance by the intense torridity, outmatched by the more terrifying and conjuring dance of the flames...

"Are you coming or not?"

"Not now," Ghâshsag mumbled. He began the annoying process of fastening the pieces of armour to his clothes. He could have just left them on the floor, but the habit of wearing them was one he was not prepared to abandon; not even in the time of peace, not even in this house.

Tightening the straps of his long gloves over the sleeves of his tattered, ripped coat, Gutbrúg left without a word. The chains on his shoulder guards clinked merrily against metal studs as he walked down the corridor. He was in a great mood.

"Took you long enough to wake up," said the rumbling voice of Thraknash quite suddenly behind him. "Are the rest of the brats awake as well, or shall I go and help them get up?"

"Be patient, I'm sure they'll get out of that room before it gets dark again!"

Thraknash blinked. "Whatever you say. However, if you want me to understand what you're saying, you should try speaking Westron or Black Speech."

Realising that he was still using the Moria dialect, Gutbrúg repeated his answer in the Common Speech and made sure that he sounded twice as cheeky while doing so. Thraknash looked very dangerous for a moment. Just as Gutbrúg thought he was going to get decapitated, the Uruk grunted and told him to go get the rest of the Moria-Orcs and come outside as his lover's cousin had something important to say.

"I bet she just wants us to help with the loot," Gutbrúg muttered, but obeyed anyway. Not because he was very obsequious, but because he was actually a bit curious as to what was going to happen next. Besides, arguing with Thraknash could easily become the rough equivalent of hitting one's head against a brick wall: absolutely useless, unless it was brain damage one was looking for.

"Be careful with that sack, Anguelen," Tauremardë told her cousin. "I put the eggs on top, and I shall be very pissed off if you smash them."

"How come you two managed to get all this stuff all the way here without help, but can't carry the sacks to the kitchen from the front door?"

"Don't be flippant, you ingrate. I'd smack you if my hands weren't full of chickens."

Wondering if he was gifted with the ability to see into the future, Gutbrúg dragged another sack of loot inside. His efforts were hindered by the bright and merciless light of the sun, the great sadist in the sky. At least there were others to share the workload with him. "So... what was the important thing you were supposed to tell us?"

"Wait for it..." Tauremardë panted, carrying a dead pig on her shoulders. She disappeared with it in the kitchen and could be heard slamming it on a solid, hard surface. Also, Togo could be heard squealing with joy. Tauremardë returned with a relieved look on her face. "Now, have you brought everything else inside?"

"Not yet," Ghâshsag whimpered. Even aided by Krazum, the weight of the sack he was carrying almost made him collapse on the floor. With the help of some extremely ugly curses, the two Orcs were able to take their burden to the kitchen where Togo took it from them. "...right... now we're ready..."

"Excellent. First off, allow me to thank you for your help," Tauremardë said, nodding at her exhausted guests. "I am very happy you decided to co-operate. It truly makes me sad that we have to say farewell so soon."

"What? Are you kicking us out already?" asked Grishtakh.

"Well, why do you think we brought so much extra food? Today we shall pack your bags full and prepare you for the long journey that awaits you."

Legolas and Gimli exchanged looks. Krazum smiled crookedly in anticipation of seeing his native land again. And it did not matter if some of the guests didn't like the idea of leaving so soon; the ones who were glad to embark on the quest happily began to choose what things to bring with them, thus forcing the choice on those who would have stayed. Soon they were all busy packing food and weapons and clobbering each other to determine who got the best stuff.