DEATH AND VENGEANCE
Chapter 1: The Passing of Thrór
After the dragon had taken Erebor, Thrór and his people moved west, going to the Blue Mountains, although Náin's people stayed in the Iron Hills, and many of Thrór's people went to him.
As Thrór stood in ancient ruins of the Nogrod and the Belegost, he grew restless. The ruins of Ered Luin were but shadows of the splendor he had known in Erebor. The ring on his finger caused gold and other treasures to grow on his mind, and inflamed his greed. He started wandering, searching small caves and shafts in the mountains of Ered Luin. Somewhere, the whispers came to him. Moria. Nothing had been heard of Durin's bane, if indeed it was anything other than orcs or trolls. And no orcs or trolls had been seen within a hundred leagues since before the great worms had driven the dwarves from the Grey Mountains of the north. How the whispers of the enemy came into his halls, none will ever know, but they took seed in his heart, and grew. It could have been that the ring he had of his forefathers was turning to evil, now that its master was awake and active in Middle-Earth again. As he felt old age creeping up on him, Thrór went to his son, Thráin, giving him the last great treasure he had- the last of the seven rings, and spoke thus:
"This ring may prove to be the foundation of new fortune or you yet, though that seems unlikely. It needs gold to breed gold, and of that or any other valuable metal we have precious little here. I have come near the end of my days. I will be departing soon: I am too old to return to Erebor. I bequeath the vengeance upon the dragon Smaug to you and your sons." With that, he gave Thráin the map of Erebor, along with the key to the door.
Soon after, he departed, taking with him only his loyal companion, Nár. They wandered in the wild for many months, finally crossing the Redhorn pass, and coming down the Dimrill Stair. As he looked into Kheled- Zâram, a strong desire came into his heart. Were the beloved mines and halls of Khazad-Dûm still inhabited by orcs and trolls? The yearning overtook his caution, and he headed towards the open gate heedlessly. As Nár caught up with him, he urged Thrór not to go inside, and bade him be cautious. But Thrór did not appear to have heard him, and spoke to him:
"Follow me not into here, lest you perish. If I do not return within three days, take the news to my son, Thráin, that I am dead. He will then be the heir of Durin."
Nár waited for two days. On the second day, hearing noises near the gate, he moved closer. As he saw a corpse being flung out, a hoarse voice called out to him. "Come, longbeard, I need you as a messenger." And as Nár approached the gate, he saw that the corpse was indeed the body of Thrór, though the head was hewn off, and turned over. As he looked upon the body, he saw the huge orc in the shadows of the gate.
"We caught this beggar trying to sneak in like a thief. If beggars will not wait at the door, and sneak in to try thieving, this is what we do to them. Be gone, and deliver this message to your kin. If you wish to know who is now king of Moria, the name is written on his face. I wrote it there, after I killed him! I am the master and king of Moria now!"
Nár turned over the head and looked at the brow, where were branded four dwarf-runes: A Z O G. The name was burned into his heart, and the heart of Thrór's house ever after. As Nár picked up the head, the voice of Azog rang out again.
"Leave it! Be off! Here is some money for you, beggar- your fee." At this, he threw a pouch of coins at him, of little worth. Nár fled, and as he turned, he saw the orcs had come out, and were hewing the body into pieces, and throwing them to carrion-fowls.
Chapter 2: The Muster of the Dwarves
It took Nár several weeks to make it back to the Blue Mountains, and when he did, he handed the pouch of coins to Thráin and told the story in full. Seven days Thráin sat in his throne, saying nothing, until he finally stirred with a great shout.
"This will not stand! This cannot be borne!" This was the start of a long war, of which many died. He sent messages to Náin of the Iron Hills, and many other groups of dwarves besides. It took a full three years to muster the scattered groups of Dwarves that would fight against this disgrace.
As Thráin met with Náin and the other leaders of the Dwarves, they began to form a plan, despite their almost reckless rage. They would move under the cover of darkness, in small groups, to the Misty Mountains, where most of the orcs were. Half their army would cross to the eastern side of the mountains, and the other half would remain on the western half. They would use ravens to fly messages back and forth, and coordinate their attacks, so that the orcs would be attacked from both sides at once.
Once the groups had been determined, they set off, passing through Eriador like shadows. It was a long time before even the Rangers of the north suspected anything, and those of Bree and such had no idea of a war until tidings came long after the first battles.
Chapter 3: The Beginning
They gathered together by the northern end of the Misty Mountains, and invaded all the orc-holds they could find. The war raged above ground and below, in bright light and complete dark. At first the Dwarves had the upper hand, being gathered together while the orcs were still spread out. Their superior equipment also aided them, as the orcs had nothing to match it. But gradually the orcs gathered, and the tide was stemmed, with neither side gaining the upper hand. Every pass was discovered, and on each pass was a hidden entrance to some orc-stronghold or another. The coordination of the attacks between Thráin and Náin never failed to gain them another victory. Although many dwarves died, it was nothing compared to the number of orcs that died. Their numbers were uncountable, and the only way to bury the dead of either side was to burn their corpses- it was revolting to the dwarves, but they were determined no to leave their people to carrion-fowls and scavenging orcs, who would recover armor or weapons. No victory was too costly for the dwarves, and besides revenging Thrór, they were ridding the world of many orcs, and making passage through the wild, and especially the mountains, much safer.
Chapter 4: Mount Gundabad and the Grey Mountains
It was not long before they attacked Mount Gundabad, the capital of the orcs, located where the Misty Mountains and the Grey Mountains meet.
Thráin led the attack from one side, and Náin led the attack on the other side. They were strengthened by the other six houses of dwarves, who joined in the war because of the dishonor of the heir of the eldest of their race. At first the fortune was against the Dwarves, because of the superior numbers of the orcs, but the dwarves held their own, thanks to their superior equipment. Náin was late in attacking, and Thráin was hard beset, losing many good dwarves, including his son, Frerin, and Gróin, the father of Óin and Glóin. Thus it was that when the orcs were confident in their victory, Náin struck. He had crept through the deserted passages of the orcs all the way from the eastern side of the mountains, meeting few orcs, and making sure that the ones he did meet did not escape. The orcs had poured out of the caves upon the coming of night, and left no defense behind. Náin came with his forces, and swept away all that were left near the entrances, and moved on. The orcs were caught completely by surprise, and turned to face this new threat. When the orcs turned to face Náin, they gave Thráin valuable time to rally his troops, regroup, and attack. The orcs were now facing attacks from all sides, and folded. Mount Gundabad was searched out, and any remaining orcs fled or were killed. But the war was far from over.
The Dwarves spent the next two years in the Grey Mountains, rooting out all the orcs, and even destroying a few dragons and drakes. Thus it was that they regained much of their wealth that was stolen from them when they were chased from the Grey Mountains. Before long though, they moved south, back to the Misty Mountains, to challenge the last great stronghold of orcs: Moria.
Chapter 5: Dimrill Dale
The Dwarves' hearts burned with hatred, as they looked upon the three mountains that once sheltered their greatest city. As they looked on, horns sounded and countless orcs poured out of the black pit, as it is now called. Reckless with rage, Thráin led the first attack. Even though they slaughtered orcs by the thousands, still more came, and they were pushed back with great losses. Thráin himself was wounded, as was Thorin, and Fundin their kinsman was killed. It was here that Thorin earned his name, Oakenshield. He was fighting a large troll, and his shield was cloven in two. With a mighty stroke, he hewed the head of the troll off, and retreated. Seeing him without a shield, and wounded, many orcs rushed at him. Backing under a great oak tree, he reached up and chopped off a rather large branch, and used it to ward off blows, and as a club. Setting his back against the tree, none could conquer him, and the steel of the orcs seemed not to bite at him. The orcs branded him "the one with the great oaken shield," and feared to go near him. The name stuck, and he was known afterwards as the great Thorin Oakenshield.
After Thráin was pushed back, Náin charged with his army. The orcs fled before his wrath, having heard of him at the battle of Mount Gundabad. Taking heart, Thráin's forces pushed forwards again, and orcs fell before them like grass before a scythe. As Náin approached the gate, he called out.
"Azog! If you are in there, come out! Or is the play in the valley too rough for you?"
At these words, Azog came out. He was a huge orc, almost man-high, and had a helmet of iron, yet was strong and agile, and wielded a huge double- headed axe. With him came his guard, and they dispersed and fought with Náin's company. With that, he turned to Náin and said:
"What? Yet another beggar at my doors? Must I brand you too?" Then he rushed at Náin and they fought, but their fight was short. Náin was half- blinded with rage, and was tired and weary from battle, but Azog was fresh, and full of guile. So it came that Náin soon made a stroke with his mattock, using all the strength that remained to him. But Azog dodged out of the way, and the mattock hit bare stone, and the handle shattered, jarring Náin's hands. Azog then kicked him in the leg, and he stumbled. With a mighty stroke, he chopped at Náin's head. The mail he was wearing withstood the stroke, but it was so powerful that it broke his neck. Azog lifted his head in triumph, but his cry of victory died on his lips. Everywhere he looked, his orcs were being slaughtered, and the dwarves went about as they would. He turned to flee up the steps, but he was pursued by a young dwarf with a red axe. As he reached the top, Dáin Ironfoot, the dwarf pursuing him, overtook the orc. Their fight was even fiercer than the one between Náin and the orc, but with different results. Azog's attack was one of desperation, and Dáin easily parried the blows, and soon returned blows, putting Azog on the defensive. He hacked at the orc's axe- handle, and it snapped. Then with one powerful sweep of his axe, Dáin hewed through the iron-shod head of the orc, and the head fell down, rolling down the steps. With that act, all hope left the orcs in the dale, and the dwarves slaughtered them.
Chapter 6: The Return
Thráin approached the head of Azog, and thrust a bag of worthless coins in his mouth; the coins Azog had thrown at Nár. He was severely wounded, having lost an eye, and a leg that was damaged so badly he walked with a limp to the end of his days. Dáin took the spear that Fundin had wielded, and sticking one end in the ground, thrust the head of Azog upon it. He won much renown that day, having achieved such a great feat at the young age of Thirty-two, and he was a leader of dwarves until the end of his days, two hundred-twenty years later, when he fell standing over the body of King Brand of Dale in the entrance of the Lonely Mountain. Many feared the dwarf, who was always given away by his red axe, whether in disguise or not.
As Thráin stood at the bottom of the stairs at the east gate, he let out a yell of triumph, saying to all gathered in the valley, "Victory is ours! Moria belongs to us again!"
But none would go into Moria, saying, "Even with one eye, you should see better. We fought this war for vengeance, and we have taken it. But it is not sweet. If this is victory, then our hands are too small to hold it. Nay, though you be Durin's heir, we will not follow you into the black pit."
And those who were not of the house of Durin said, "Khazad-Dûm was not our fathers' house. What is it to us, except a chance for treasure?"
Then Thráin turned to Dáin, and said, "But surely my own kin will not desert me?"
"No," said Dáin. "You are the father of our people, and we have bled for you, and will bleed for you again. But we will not enter Khazad-Dûm. You will not enter Khazad-Dûm. Only I have looked through the shadows of the gates. Beyond that shadow, it waits for you still: Durin's Bane. The world must change and some other power than ours must come to Moria before Durin's folk walk its halls again.
Almost half of the dwarves that entered the battle was slain, or died of their wounds shortly after. They stripped the bodies of the dead so that their equipment could not be taken, and built many pyres, upon which they laid their kin, and burned them. Afterwards, Dáin led his people back to the Iron hills, and Thráin's people went back to the Blue Mountains, and the other bands of dwarves departed to their homes. Thus ended the War of the Dwarves and Orcs, but not their hatred for each other, which led to many conflicts since.
Written by:
Nathan Carey
Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me, it belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien and his descendants- I just "enhanced" it. Besides, I don't have any money anyways, so don't even try to sue me.
Chapter 1: The Passing of Thrór
After the dragon had taken Erebor, Thrór and his people moved west, going to the Blue Mountains, although Náin's people stayed in the Iron Hills, and many of Thrór's people went to him.
As Thrór stood in ancient ruins of the Nogrod and the Belegost, he grew restless. The ruins of Ered Luin were but shadows of the splendor he had known in Erebor. The ring on his finger caused gold and other treasures to grow on his mind, and inflamed his greed. He started wandering, searching small caves and shafts in the mountains of Ered Luin. Somewhere, the whispers came to him. Moria. Nothing had been heard of Durin's bane, if indeed it was anything other than orcs or trolls. And no orcs or trolls had been seen within a hundred leagues since before the great worms had driven the dwarves from the Grey Mountains of the north. How the whispers of the enemy came into his halls, none will ever know, but they took seed in his heart, and grew. It could have been that the ring he had of his forefathers was turning to evil, now that its master was awake and active in Middle-Earth again. As he felt old age creeping up on him, Thrór went to his son, Thráin, giving him the last great treasure he had- the last of the seven rings, and spoke thus:
"This ring may prove to be the foundation of new fortune or you yet, though that seems unlikely. It needs gold to breed gold, and of that or any other valuable metal we have precious little here. I have come near the end of my days. I will be departing soon: I am too old to return to Erebor. I bequeath the vengeance upon the dragon Smaug to you and your sons." With that, he gave Thráin the map of Erebor, along with the key to the door.
Soon after, he departed, taking with him only his loyal companion, Nár. They wandered in the wild for many months, finally crossing the Redhorn pass, and coming down the Dimrill Stair. As he looked into Kheled- Zâram, a strong desire came into his heart. Were the beloved mines and halls of Khazad-Dûm still inhabited by orcs and trolls? The yearning overtook his caution, and he headed towards the open gate heedlessly. As Nár caught up with him, he urged Thrór not to go inside, and bade him be cautious. But Thrór did not appear to have heard him, and spoke to him:
"Follow me not into here, lest you perish. If I do not return within three days, take the news to my son, Thráin, that I am dead. He will then be the heir of Durin."
Nár waited for two days. On the second day, hearing noises near the gate, he moved closer. As he saw a corpse being flung out, a hoarse voice called out to him. "Come, longbeard, I need you as a messenger." And as Nár approached the gate, he saw that the corpse was indeed the body of Thrór, though the head was hewn off, and turned over. As he looked upon the body, he saw the huge orc in the shadows of the gate.
"We caught this beggar trying to sneak in like a thief. If beggars will not wait at the door, and sneak in to try thieving, this is what we do to them. Be gone, and deliver this message to your kin. If you wish to know who is now king of Moria, the name is written on his face. I wrote it there, after I killed him! I am the master and king of Moria now!"
Nár turned over the head and looked at the brow, where were branded four dwarf-runes: A Z O G. The name was burned into his heart, and the heart of Thrór's house ever after. As Nár picked up the head, the voice of Azog rang out again.
"Leave it! Be off! Here is some money for you, beggar- your fee." At this, he threw a pouch of coins at him, of little worth. Nár fled, and as he turned, he saw the orcs had come out, and were hewing the body into pieces, and throwing them to carrion-fowls.
Chapter 2: The Muster of the Dwarves
It took Nár several weeks to make it back to the Blue Mountains, and when he did, he handed the pouch of coins to Thráin and told the story in full. Seven days Thráin sat in his throne, saying nothing, until he finally stirred with a great shout.
"This will not stand! This cannot be borne!" This was the start of a long war, of which many died. He sent messages to Náin of the Iron Hills, and many other groups of dwarves besides. It took a full three years to muster the scattered groups of Dwarves that would fight against this disgrace.
As Thráin met with Náin and the other leaders of the Dwarves, they began to form a plan, despite their almost reckless rage. They would move under the cover of darkness, in small groups, to the Misty Mountains, where most of the orcs were. Half their army would cross to the eastern side of the mountains, and the other half would remain on the western half. They would use ravens to fly messages back and forth, and coordinate their attacks, so that the orcs would be attacked from both sides at once.
Once the groups had been determined, they set off, passing through Eriador like shadows. It was a long time before even the Rangers of the north suspected anything, and those of Bree and such had no idea of a war until tidings came long after the first battles.
Chapter 3: The Beginning
They gathered together by the northern end of the Misty Mountains, and invaded all the orc-holds they could find. The war raged above ground and below, in bright light and complete dark. At first the Dwarves had the upper hand, being gathered together while the orcs were still spread out. Their superior equipment also aided them, as the orcs had nothing to match it. But gradually the orcs gathered, and the tide was stemmed, with neither side gaining the upper hand. Every pass was discovered, and on each pass was a hidden entrance to some orc-stronghold or another. The coordination of the attacks between Thráin and Náin never failed to gain them another victory. Although many dwarves died, it was nothing compared to the number of orcs that died. Their numbers were uncountable, and the only way to bury the dead of either side was to burn their corpses- it was revolting to the dwarves, but they were determined no to leave their people to carrion-fowls and scavenging orcs, who would recover armor or weapons. No victory was too costly for the dwarves, and besides revenging Thrór, they were ridding the world of many orcs, and making passage through the wild, and especially the mountains, much safer.
Chapter 4: Mount Gundabad and the Grey Mountains
It was not long before they attacked Mount Gundabad, the capital of the orcs, located where the Misty Mountains and the Grey Mountains meet.
Thráin led the attack from one side, and Náin led the attack on the other side. They were strengthened by the other six houses of dwarves, who joined in the war because of the dishonor of the heir of the eldest of their race. At first the fortune was against the Dwarves, because of the superior numbers of the orcs, but the dwarves held their own, thanks to their superior equipment. Náin was late in attacking, and Thráin was hard beset, losing many good dwarves, including his son, Frerin, and Gróin, the father of Óin and Glóin. Thus it was that when the orcs were confident in their victory, Náin struck. He had crept through the deserted passages of the orcs all the way from the eastern side of the mountains, meeting few orcs, and making sure that the ones he did meet did not escape. The orcs had poured out of the caves upon the coming of night, and left no defense behind. Náin came with his forces, and swept away all that were left near the entrances, and moved on. The orcs were caught completely by surprise, and turned to face this new threat. When the orcs turned to face Náin, they gave Thráin valuable time to rally his troops, regroup, and attack. The orcs were now facing attacks from all sides, and folded. Mount Gundabad was searched out, and any remaining orcs fled or were killed. But the war was far from over.
The Dwarves spent the next two years in the Grey Mountains, rooting out all the orcs, and even destroying a few dragons and drakes. Thus it was that they regained much of their wealth that was stolen from them when they were chased from the Grey Mountains. Before long though, they moved south, back to the Misty Mountains, to challenge the last great stronghold of orcs: Moria.
Chapter 5: Dimrill Dale
The Dwarves' hearts burned with hatred, as they looked upon the three mountains that once sheltered their greatest city. As they looked on, horns sounded and countless orcs poured out of the black pit, as it is now called. Reckless with rage, Thráin led the first attack. Even though they slaughtered orcs by the thousands, still more came, and they were pushed back with great losses. Thráin himself was wounded, as was Thorin, and Fundin their kinsman was killed. It was here that Thorin earned his name, Oakenshield. He was fighting a large troll, and his shield was cloven in two. With a mighty stroke, he hewed the head of the troll off, and retreated. Seeing him without a shield, and wounded, many orcs rushed at him. Backing under a great oak tree, he reached up and chopped off a rather large branch, and used it to ward off blows, and as a club. Setting his back against the tree, none could conquer him, and the steel of the orcs seemed not to bite at him. The orcs branded him "the one with the great oaken shield," and feared to go near him. The name stuck, and he was known afterwards as the great Thorin Oakenshield.
After Thráin was pushed back, Náin charged with his army. The orcs fled before his wrath, having heard of him at the battle of Mount Gundabad. Taking heart, Thráin's forces pushed forwards again, and orcs fell before them like grass before a scythe. As Náin approached the gate, he called out.
"Azog! If you are in there, come out! Or is the play in the valley too rough for you?"
At these words, Azog came out. He was a huge orc, almost man-high, and had a helmet of iron, yet was strong and agile, and wielded a huge double- headed axe. With him came his guard, and they dispersed and fought with Náin's company. With that, he turned to Náin and said:
"What? Yet another beggar at my doors? Must I brand you too?" Then he rushed at Náin and they fought, but their fight was short. Náin was half- blinded with rage, and was tired and weary from battle, but Azog was fresh, and full of guile. So it came that Náin soon made a stroke with his mattock, using all the strength that remained to him. But Azog dodged out of the way, and the mattock hit bare stone, and the handle shattered, jarring Náin's hands. Azog then kicked him in the leg, and he stumbled. With a mighty stroke, he chopped at Náin's head. The mail he was wearing withstood the stroke, but it was so powerful that it broke his neck. Azog lifted his head in triumph, but his cry of victory died on his lips. Everywhere he looked, his orcs were being slaughtered, and the dwarves went about as they would. He turned to flee up the steps, but he was pursued by a young dwarf with a red axe. As he reached the top, Dáin Ironfoot, the dwarf pursuing him, overtook the orc. Their fight was even fiercer than the one between Náin and the orc, but with different results. Azog's attack was one of desperation, and Dáin easily parried the blows, and soon returned blows, putting Azog on the defensive. He hacked at the orc's axe- handle, and it snapped. Then with one powerful sweep of his axe, Dáin hewed through the iron-shod head of the orc, and the head fell down, rolling down the steps. With that act, all hope left the orcs in the dale, and the dwarves slaughtered them.
Chapter 6: The Return
Thráin approached the head of Azog, and thrust a bag of worthless coins in his mouth; the coins Azog had thrown at Nár. He was severely wounded, having lost an eye, and a leg that was damaged so badly he walked with a limp to the end of his days. Dáin took the spear that Fundin had wielded, and sticking one end in the ground, thrust the head of Azog upon it. He won much renown that day, having achieved such a great feat at the young age of Thirty-two, and he was a leader of dwarves until the end of his days, two hundred-twenty years later, when he fell standing over the body of King Brand of Dale in the entrance of the Lonely Mountain. Many feared the dwarf, who was always given away by his red axe, whether in disguise or not.
As Thráin stood at the bottom of the stairs at the east gate, he let out a yell of triumph, saying to all gathered in the valley, "Victory is ours! Moria belongs to us again!"
But none would go into Moria, saying, "Even with one eye, you should see better. We fought this war for vengeance, and we have taken it. But it is not sweet. If this is victory, then our hands are too small to hold it. Nay, though you be Durin's heir, we will not follow you into the black pit."
And those who were not of the house of Durin said, "Khazad-Dûm was not our fathers' house. What is it to us, except a chance for treasure?"
Then Thráin turned to Dáin, and said, "But surely my own kin will not desert me?"
"No," said Dáin. "You are the father of our people, and we have bled for you, and will bleed for you again. But we will not enter Khazad-Dûm. You will not enter Khazad-Dûm. Only I have looked through the shadows of the gates. Beyond that shadow, it waits for you still: Durin's Bane. The world must change and some other power than ours must come to Moria before Durin's folk walk its halls again.
Almost half of the dwarves that entered the battle was slain, or died of their wounds shortly after. They stripped the bodies of the dead so that their equipment could not be taken, and built many pyres, upon which they laid their kin, and burned them. Afterwards, Dáin led his people back to the Iron hills, and Thráin's people went back to the Blue Mountains, and the other bands of dwarves departed to their homes. Thus ended the War of the Dwarves and Orcs, but not their hatred for each other, which led to many conflicts since.
Written by:
Nathan Carey
Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me, it belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien and his descendants- I just "enhanced" it. Besides, I don't have any money anyways, so don't even try to sue me.
