There were two updates at once due to a mistake on my part, so make sure you've read 5!

CHAPTER 6

"brought out quite a foul thing, precedent."

The breakfasting table of Balin, Lord of Moria, erupted into boos when Ori read that line of the latest update on Shire affairs.

Dwarrow actually loved precedent, but they also loved to be partial. They knew the correct response to this injury was jeering. Ori brandished the letter a little higher to keep it safe from spittle. He carried on reading in his best storytelling voice.

"While the tradition of letting nature's blessings grow unimpeded dates all the way back to the founding of the Shire, that blasted Hardbottle has produced someone willing to testify that my late father, god rest his soul, once trimmed the damn thing and therefore I am obliged to do the same."

"It dates all the way back to the founding of the Shire!" Pouri banged his fist on the breakfast table, which was several ages older than the Shire. Every piece of jewelry and armor he was wearing was likely older than the Shire. So were the spoons they used to stir their coffee. "You can hardly go against a tradition like that! How dare they even suggest it?"

And yet Pouri's outrage was unfeigned. In the moment, this defiance of Shire norms was untenable. The dwarrow of Khazad-Dum could not suffer the insult. Harland Hardbottle was tangling with the wrong hobbit!

"Ohh, but if his Father did it, surely the lad really ought to give in and trim if just a wee-"

Lόni and his hateful assertion of social norms were cut off by boos. Some even climbed atop the table to throw crusts of bread at him. The musician put his hands up defensively. He was grinning like mad and talking fast. Whatever defense he was giving, Ori couldn't hear over the jeers.

"What is this bush again?" The question came from Hakka, another guardsman. "I know that it's a fruit, but it was a foreign name. Some frippery for little pies."

Náli pointed at the soldier who'd spoken. "Now that is a very good question. What was the berry bush of such contention?" The head guard was grinning, lighter than Ori had ever seen him. "The famous berry bush of which every member of Thorin's company learnt, years before the Hardbottle with the adjoining field dared to bring court action against the Master Burglar for failing to trim it?"

'Would Flόi have ever become so merry?' Ori wondered. 'If he had lived long enough to see these days of peace?'

There was a moment of thoughtful silence before all hell broke loose. Blackberry? Boysenberry? Raspberry?

"I believe it was a strawberry bramble," someone said primly. Ori thought her name might be Twaika. She was a more recent arrival to Khazad-Dum, and the politician was certainly no kind of warrior. She had a lovely long beard braided in a loop with her pale hair. He ducked his head and didn't look at her directly. His heart thumped like a rabbit foot.

"Nonsense," Náli dismissed, apparently unaffected by her beauty. "That one's so little. It don't get higher than your knee, does it?" He shook his head. "It's been a blueberry bramble, mark my words."

"The bush was huckleberry!" Oin hollered, throwing the contents of his mug in Náli's face. Coffee dregs soaked the head guard's shocked mouth and beard. The old healer was just having a laugh, Ori suspected. He was deaf as anything and far too old for the guard to retaliate against. Oin leaned back in his seat smugly as Náli spluttered and sluiced liquid out of his beard.

Ori blinked. He didn't remember what the plant of contention was, actually. Bilbo had surely said it a hundred times, but back in those days no one had listened to the details of his complaints about gardens and neighbors. What was it? The bush- the bush that had started this all- he began scrabbling through older letters to find the critical information as the table of Balin's court descended into an all-out brawl. There was the letter announcing the first court case, here was a sketch of an oak tree, here was a slip of paper that had an invitation to tea on one side and acerbic commentary on the other-

"Mulberry!" Ori stood up with a shout. No one seemed to notice so he waved the relevant letter wildly. "It was a mulberry tree!"

That silenced everyone for a moment. And then-

"So it is. What's a bramble, again?"

Balin leaned back in his chair with a benevolent smile. The cheerful chaos started up around them. "I think I shall be off to the Mirrormere," he said in an undertone. "I have much on my mind, Ori, much on my mind these days. I think that gazing into the pool may ease it."

Ori cut him a sideways glance as he scrambled to get his papers back in some kind of order. "Should we finish up here?"

"Oh, no," Balin said. He favored Ori with a fatherly pat. "Don't be rushing for my sake. No…." He let out a sigh. "I'm just off for some quiet contemplation with the ancestors and their wisdom. I won't be needing an entire company."

"Just Náli, then?" Ori lowered his voice in conspiracy. He needn't have bothered. The breakfast was quite raucous by that point.

"Oh, I think I'll be slipping out on him." Balin gave a positively catlike smirk. "He's having a nice time, after all."

The head guard was chasing someone in a circle around the table while Twaika clapped. Tears of laughter were streaming down her pretty face.

Ori gave his lord a thoroughly disapproving expression. "I don't think that is wise, Lord Balin." It had been years since any enemy dared darken their doorstep, but there was no point in chancing it. The lord of Khazad-Dum couldn't step outside his kingdom without a single companion or guard. It was most improper.

Lord Balin merely laughed and then stood to leave.

Ori put his hands to either side of his mouth. "Lord Balin departs for the Mirrormere now!" He shouted, ignoring the glare that netted him from his lord and the sharp realization on several faces. "Show some respect."

The cacophony ended, and everyone gave quite civilized "good mornings" and "have a good day, my lords". Náli gave Ori a knowing wink and then followed the lord out, dripping coffee as he went. Balin sighed and gave a wave to his court on the way out.

"No respect," he grumbled good naturedly. "There's no respect at all."

Ori grinned back.

His work for the day was in redrawing rough maps into posterity. Their delvers had reached the 30th story of the Kingdom this week, an exciting milestone! He was absorbed in his work when a most unusual sound cut through the air.

Ori blinked. He put down his quill. Warily, he looked around.

"Is that someone yelling?" The scribe put his journal in his bag and took out his slingshot instead. With a stone in hand, he edged out of the chamber of Mazarbul and went towards the source of the sound.

It had been months since their delving had revealed any hint of orcs or goblins living below, and much more time since one was found alive. But it could have happened. It could happen any day. It was impossible to know the beasts were all dead until every inch had been mapped.

With that caution in mind, Ori went toward the sound. He passed out of Mazarbul and into the grand open hall that had once seemed so fearful in the gloom, with its enormous pillars holding up stone.

"It's not battle screams." The realization put the hair up at the back of his neck. Ori froze in place. The sound was close indeed now, coming from the direction of the East gate. He couldn't move except to turn his ear. "Surely it's just excitement at some recent news," Ori mumbled to himself. "The- the merchants who left have returned with some kind of news, good or ill."

The sound that cut the air was distinctly a wail.

Ori moved. He ran across the great halls, heading upwards along the steep slope that he had used to enter Khazad-Dum all those years ago. The last step was the narrow stone pathways that cut across open air, stone with crumbling faults that they had not yet fully repaired. There he found the entryway was shut and crowded with all the Dwarrow who had been nearby.

The stone dropped from his hand with a distant clatter. He put his slingshot away without thought. He felt quite numb indeed as he walked to join the group clustered around what was unmistakably the body of Lord Balin. People parted to let him approach.

Náli had dead eyes that stared at nothing. He was standing at Lord Balin's side. The blood on his front matched the blood of the arrow wound that must have killed their lord. "An orc," he said, to no one in particular. "There was an orc hiding up on the rockface. It shot at Lord Balin while he stood upon Durin's Stone. Why was there an orc here?" He turned to look at Ori, every aspect of his body begging forgiveness. "More came. We slew them but I had to run with Lord Balin."

Ori collapsed in grief.

He was aware that Oin arrived. The healer knelt with creaking knees and a dearth of hope. Oin examined Balin's still form for bare minutes before shaking his head.

The wailing was terrible.

'What will we do? What can we do without Lord Balin? There is no one as wise as he, not even close.'

He was now more needed than ever. There was danger. There was instability. They- they had no line of succession ready! Who would rule? And what was the deeper meaning of this? Had it truly been an unhappy chance, or had that orc been a scout for a larger force and a larger purpose?

Ori wanted to drown in grief. He wanted to lie at his Lord's feet and beg forgiveness. Against his will, Ori stood. He started to think. "Náli." He cleared his throat. "We need- We must send out messengers, and scouts. We need to tell our allies what has happened." He paused, but needs must- "Lothlorien first. They will aid us if we need them."

Heads were turning to look at him.

"We have had little challenge from orcs for 4 years now. They may well have been preparing to move against us in force." His head swam with that terrible specter. "We send scouts out from both gates. Lothlorien is by far the closest, but also to Rohan and Eregion. We will lay Lord Balin in state in his favorite chamber." Ori's eyes prickled with tears. He could feel them stream down his face. "King Dain cannot send aid quickly, but he can send us a new Lord for Moria."

Faces around him flinched. He usually said Khazad-Dum. But on this dark day, it truly was Moria.

"We keep the doors shut until we hear word from allies." Ori lifted his chin that much higher. "Do you agree, Náli ?"

Slowly, the older dwarf nodded. "Aye," he said. He lifted his tired face to the people that surrounded them. "I'll send… 14," Náli decided. "And 12 will go out with them to slay the orcs at the East-Gate, if there are any that yet breathe." He took one tremulous step away from Lord Balin. "I'll have them packed and out the doors within the hour, and then the doors of Moria will stay shut!" His voice broke in rage. "The enemies of the Dwarrow may be upon us, but we are built of stone!"

"Khazad-Dum!" The crowd cried it out, shouting again and again. "Khazad-Dum!" and then- "Balin, Lord of Moria!"

They made a procession behind the body on the way to the Chamber of Mazarbul. 14 good dwarrow of fleet foot and stout heart were sent out into the world and then the two doors of Khazad-Dum were shut. The doors were shut, and so they would stay until the scouts returned.