The Fall of Khazad-dum:

"This tale begins nearly a thousand years ago, during a time you Bree-landers would recognize as late in the reign of Arvedui Last-King of Arnor at Fornost in the days when he fought against the dreaded Witch King of Angmar, and some decades before the time of Fram son of Frumgar of the upper Vale of Anduin, of whom you heard from yon greybeard's tales."

"There were and are many Dwarven mines and halls scattered across this Middle Earth, from the Blue Mountains in the West, where my own clan now dwells, to the Iron Hills far to the East, on the threshold of Rhun. Some of these mines and halls are mean and poor, others magnificent and rich. But none of them have ever so much as touched upon the vastness, the beauty, the magnificence of Khazad-dum, the ancient realm where in the Elder Days of Starlight the Dwarven race first made its mark upon the world, long before the first Men or Halflings were even thought of, in an age when Elves were their only neighbours."

"How can I begin to describe Khazad-dum in all its grandeur, its beauty, its vastness? I who have not seen it even it its current state, and was not born until many centuries after its fall? I have heard it described to me time and again, but beyond doubt I cannot do it justice. It is known today amongst Men as the Mines of Moria, but to call it a mine is as much an insult as it would be to call the Citadel of Minas Tirith a pile of stones, or the Golden Hall of Meduseld a thatched hovel. If I told you that Khazad-dum in the days of its glory contained more riches than those of all the Kings of all the nations of Elves and Men on this Earth since the dawn of time, you would perhaps accuse me of poetic exaggeration; if I told you that Khazad-dum contained chambers and halls so vast that one could fit the whole of Minas Tirith into them with room and to spare, you would undoubtedly brand me a liar. Yet by Aule's Oath these are no lies or exaggerations, but the literal truth. That no outsider belives in them now is a sign of how far the world has fallen from the glory of the Elder Days."

"What then were the origins of Khazad-dum? It began as a cavern under the Misty Mountains, under the snowy peaks of Zirakzigil, Barazinbar, and Bundushathur, known to Elves as Celebdil, Caradrhas, and Fanuildihol, and in latter days to Men as Silvertine, Redhorn and Cloudyhead. To its west lay the headwaters of the river Glanduin, and to its east the sacred lake of Kahled-Zaram, the Mirrormere, from which flows the river Silverlode into the Elf-wood of Lorien. In this cavern in the very heart of the mountains Durin the Deathless, forefather of the Dwarves, began to carve with simple tools the first shaped and dressed chambers from the living rock. Other Dwarves took to their own tools beside him, and for thousands upon thousands of years one chamber was carved after another, and one vein of gold or silver or mithril tapped after another."

"Khazad-dum grew and grew, until in spanned the entire breadth of the Mountains from east to west, and ranged from the highest peaks to the deepest foundations of the Earth. Who can describe its magnificence? There were silver fountains, and gold-panelled walls. There were clear gems that cast their cool light into the darkness, rendering torches and candles obsolete except in emergencies. There were mountains upon mountains of treasure in the vaults, gold and silver and jewels, and most of all the precious metal mithril itself. There were halls of such splendour and glory that the starry skies above cannot compare. And there were the Dwarves of Durin's line themselves; minstrels and scholars, miners and craftworkers, guards and traders, now labouring diligently, now feasting merrily in brightly-lit halls. They lived and loved, fought and died, as is the way of all mortal folk. For countless generations did they grace those noble halls under the mountains."

"Ages upon ages passed. For all his long years Durin proved not truly deathless in the end – Alas! – and so he was succedded by his son, and he by his son in turn. Elves settled to the East and West of Khazad-Dum, in Lorien and Eregion. For a time, there was friendship between our people and the Elf-smiths of Eregion, in particular between our Narvi and their Celebrimbor. But the Elves of Eregion, through their folly, were seduced by the Dark Lord of old and brought a terrible curse upon the world. We Dwarves did not forget or forgive it, and ever since we have thought precious little of the pride and vanity of Elves. We swore off all dealings with them, and looked to our own defences in the dark times that followed."

"Ages more passed, more Dwarven-kings followed each other in sucession, and the World itself was changed. The Dark Lord was defeated in a great battle, in which the Dwarves of Khazad-Dum played their part. But after that battle things were not as they had been before. The Elves became a fading people, vanishing slowly into the twilight, and their place was taken up by Men. Indeed, Men became ever more common in the lands about, at least for a time, though after many years their numbers began to dwindle in the North, even as they waxed strong in the South. And yet in time the Shadow began to grow again in the East and to drift westward. The creatures of the Dark Lord, Orcs and Trolls and other vile folk, began once again to creep into the mountain passes, and waylay passing caravans and honest traders as they had in the dark times of old."

"It was on that account the troubles of Khazad-Dum began, for trade has long been the life's blood of the Dwarven kind. We do not grow our own crops or raise our own livestock, nor cut our own timber, nor weave our own cloth, save where necessity demands it. By choice we work only in metalcraft and gemcraft, and trade the fruits of our labours with other kindreds for the necessities of life. Long ago we traded with the Elves; when our dealings with them ceased and times grew perilous, we tightened our belts and traded what we could for the barest necessities that the wild Men about the Mountains could provide. When the Dark Lord was defeated and the Men of Westernesse thickly settled the lands things looked up for us, and the flow of wealth to and from Khazad-Dum began to approach what it had been in the days of yore. Our people grew fat and contented – and yes, greedy too, for wealth attained however easily is not lightly surrendered."

"But now the Orcs and Trolls were once again threatening our trading caravans, and by so doing they threatened the treasure and the livelihood of countless thousands of Dwarves. First one clan faced hardship as it lost a carvan in the Redhorn pass; then another lost near all it possessed when all four of its caravans, one after another, were looted in the wastes of Eregion, Hollin as it is known today. The raids on the caravans grew ever bolder and more frequent, and more and more were they despoiled. For the first time since the dark days of long before, misery and poverty began to spread amongst the common folk of the Dwarves, as they lost everything they had risked in trade, or as their wealthy patrons began to dismiss all but the most essential of their servants, fearing that they needed to guard their own treasuries against unforeseen disaster."

"Thus it was that one day (though day and night were the same in gem-lit Khazad-Dum) King Durin VI called to council the greatest ministers, the wisest counselors, and the wealthiest nobles of his sprawling realm. His brief to them was simple; to discuss what could be done about the Orcish and Trollish menace to the trade and wealth of Khazad-Dum."

"King Durin sat on his golden throne, which sat under the vaulted dome of a gilded private chamber which long ago had been carved from the living rock, at the head of a long, tow table carved from fused gemstones, radiant with its own inner light. The assembled Dwarf-lords of Khazad-Dum sat on their own chairs of silver, along the lengths of the King's table. At the far end of the table opposite his father sat Prince Nain, heir to the throne of Durin's line."

"As he stared at them all, thumbing the plaits of his long, grey beard, Durin said:

'My friends, what is to be done? Orcs and Trolls are multiplying in the Misty Mountains. Our caravans are in jeopardy, our trade in peril. Our people face impoverishment – many lost everything but their tools and the clothes on their backs when their trade goods were despoiled. To whom shall we turn for help? Our kindred in the Blue Mountains to the West and the Iron Hills to the East are far distant, and can spare but few warriors in our support. The Men of the North Kingdom are in decline, and at war with the terrible Witch King of Angmar; they cannot aid us. Elrond Half-Elven of Rivendell is not himself our foe, yet even so he is akin to those Elves who dwelt once in Eregion and with whom we have not had dealings since the dark times; in any case, all his affairs are bound up with the fate of Arnor. No help shall come from that quarter either. Nor can the Men of the South Kingdom, who are at constant war with Rhunlings and Haradrim, come to our aid. Our ties to the Northmen of Rhovanion are few; they are not our friends. We have been on bad terms with the Elves of Lorien for many ages; they will do nothing to help us, nor in any event would honour permit us to ask for their aid. How then shall we help ourselves?'"

"'I grudge every last copper penny that falls into the filthy paws of an Orc!' grumbled an aging, fat Dwarf-lord by the name of Dundor. 'We must have free trade, without let or hindrance. Merciless war against the Orcish filth and their allies, the savage Trolls! Death to them all!'"

"He was met with cheers from around the table, as the other Dwarf-lords pounded their heavy fists against its adamantine surface. Only King Durin and Prince Nain remained silent. Then King Durin said, 'How shall we finance such a war, Lord Dundor? We can manufacture our own weapons and armour, to be sure. But what of the food and other stores we shall need? If we have not a great supply in reserve, and the war takes an ill turn for us, we could be left to starve in our own halls. Prudence demands we must build up all our reserves in great measure before we can go to war against the Orcs and Trolls. Who shall pay for this?'"

"'By far our greatest wealth is in Mithril,' replied Dundor. 'With a single well-guarded caravan of it, we could in short order buy all the supplies we need for decades to come. Yet our common stores of Mithril run low. The veins of it in the mines are tapped out after thousands of years of exploitation. We must dig deeper, dig beneath the very roots of the Mountains, in order to find the Mithril we need in trade for supplies. Are there growing numbers of the idle, who have lost their livelihoods due to the raids on their caravans, or dismissal by their masters? Then let us get them off their backsides, and put them to work deep in the lowest caverns! By the sweat of their brows shall we gain the wealth we need. Then verily our stores shall be full, and our war against the Orcish and Trollish swine may last for generations if it must.'"

"There were many approving nods along the length of the table, but Prince Nain frowned deeply. Then he spoke, saying:

'Your majesty, my lords - our people need not be impoverished by lack of trade, nor by the loss of their hard-wrought trading goods in the sack of their caravans by the Orcs. Many are the lords of our people whose wealth is beyond counting. Were they but to open up their treasuries for the benefit of all, there would be enough wealth for the least of our people to live in splendour for a thousand years. Let us defend our caravans with vigour, by all means. If we must make war on the Orcs and Trolls, so be it. But we need not force the people ever deeper into the mines, into dark and unknown caverns, to finance our wars. If war it must be, let our great nobles and our own royal house finance it with their own wealth, and let us remove a heavy and dangerous burden from our people'"

"He was met with stony-faced silence, and not a few glares of anger. Olin, a younger Dwarf of especial pride and magnificence who was but newly come into his inheritance, took the floor. Speaking in a deep voice, he cried, 'Those of us around this table have wealth and to spare; what of it? Shall a Dwarf-lord live in less than splendour? Shall his cups be made of less than gold, shall he not number his precious jewels as Men number the ears of wheat in their fields, and Elves the trees in their forests? My wealth is my own; no Dwarf outside my own house has a claim on the least penny of it. My ancestors toiled for it, and to them I am grateful. But why should one who is not of my own house receive the benefit of it? If the craftsmen and artisans have less wealth than I, that is their lot. Let them be put to work by the King at a reasonable wage, and let the fruits of their labours supply us with the finance we need.'"

"'Here here!' cried Dundor. 'No one shall part me from the merest scrap of my treasure. It is the patrimony of my sons – it shall not be squandered lightly. By ancient treaties amongst ourselves, only the Mithril of the mines is held by the King alone in trust for all the Dwarves of Khazad-Dum, and only it may be used to finance works in the common interest. If we had enough Mithril in the upper mines, our problems would be solved here and now. But as we do not, we have no choice but to dig deep, dig beneath the Mountains themselves, north toward the Redhorn from whence the veins of Mithril seem to flow. Let the King acknowledge this, and command the people accordingly.'"

"King Durin was silent for a long time, as he thought carefully about the courses of action open to him. He knew his son Nain spoke words of wisdom concerning the treasuries of the nobles and the burdens of the people; but he also knew that what Nain proposed was impossible. The great houses of the Dwarven-lords would never permit it, as the words of Dundor and Olin proved. Any attempt by the King to confiscate their wealth would lead to civil war, here in the heart of Khazad-Dum, at a time when the Dwarves needed all their strength in unity against their ancient Orcish and Trollish foes. And as for opening up the royal treasuries…well, thought Durin with a smile, there Nain showed the naivete of youth. He would learn in time."

"'I thank all who have spoken for their counsel,' said Durin in a grave voice. 'My decision is made, and these are my commands. The mines that follow the veins of Mithril shall be expanded, deeper and wider, north towards the Redhorn. Those amongst the people who are idle shall do this work, and the Royal Engineers shall supervise it. The proceeds shall be placed in a common fund, used solely to purchase supplies in trade. With these supplies shall we build up our stocks of food and other necessities. The armouries shall be kept busy, our stores of weapons and armour increased, our ablest warriors trained for battle. Then we shall form our plans and strategems, and launch our war. We shall not stop until not a single Orc or Troll draws breath from Gundabad in the North to Angrenost in the South. I swear by Aule the Smith we shall prosecute this war of extermination relentlessly, should it take one-hundred years to attain the victory. I the King have spoken – so it shall be done.'"

"The Dwarf-lords stood up from their chairs and bowed deeply. They were smiling in satisfaction – all save Nain, who appeared crestfallen that his counsel had been dismissed wholesale by his father the King, and who feared that he had lost face amongst the Dwarven-lords. He turned to his father, but Durin was engaged in conversation with several of them. Shaking his head, Nain returned to his own chambers, hoping that his worries would prove unfounded."

"For, not idly had Nain expressed his fear for the dangers faced by the miners should they delve into the deep, untapped caverns beneath the Mountains. He knew the perils they might face, as did all the nobles and the King himself. The caverns of Khazad-Dum had not been untenanted when Durin the Deathless and his brothers had first delved therein; evil things had dwelt there, creatures spawned in the Age of Darkness, foul, loathsome things that had never seen the light of the Stars. The Dwarves had long waged battled with them, and driven them from the upper halls and mines in those most ancient of days before the first rise of the Moon and the Sun. The ignorant assumed them long-dead, but now and again one or two of their more dimunitive desencents could still be found lurking in newly-opened caverns. The wise amongst the Dwarven kindred knew that many more of their descendents surely lingered in the deep caverns yet untapped, perhaps in the company of creatures even older and fouler than themselves."

"Yet at first it seemed that Nain's fears were indeed groundless. The idle were put to work, and the mines were deepened and expanded towards the roots of the Redhorn, just as King Durin had commanded. It was hard, grueling work to be sure, but nothing any Dwarf worth his salt could not handle. The lower caverns proved empty, save for blind, pale fishes in cold pools, and little slimy or crawling things of worm- and bug-kind that were of no account. The veins of Mithril did indeed flow north and downwards towards the roots of the Redhorn, just as Dundor had surmised, and it was not long before the first fragments of the precious metal began to make their way to the upper halls."

"Ah, Mithril! It is found nowhere apart from Khazad-Dum, and is of all metals the most precious, though it is very sparsely distributed amongst its ore-rock, and many thousands of tonnes of ore must be crushed and smelted to extract a few molten drops of it. Lighter than a feather it seems, yet harder than Dragon scales. Perhaps you would disbelieve me if I told you that a single chest of Mithril ingots, fairly valued, would be more than enough to purchase the whole of the Bree land?"

The Bree-landers did indeed disbelieve this, but felt it was not best to challenge the Dwarf, who had proved so touchy and ill-tempered throughout the evening. Yet he interpreted their silence as aquiescence, nodded, and continued:

"And well you should accept the truth of my words! For they are merely stating the plain facts of the matter."

"But, to continue: the work in the mines progressed, day by day, week by week, month by month and year by year, patient and yet persistent in the Dwarven-fashion. It had to be done slowly, for there were significant challenges raised by excavating tunnels so deep under the mountains, which without careful work might at once cave in under the awesome weight of the miles of rock above. But the Royal Engineers were experts at their craft, and I am proud to say not a single Dwarven life was lost as a result of a cave-in or other accident during the construction of the new mines. Nain's fears seemed ill-founded indeed, and much to his own displeasure and his father's concern he was publicly ridiculed by Dundor, Olin, and the other Dwarf-lords on more than one occasion."

"Thus matters continued until ten years had passed since Durin VI had issued his commands – until the year nineteen-hundred and eighty of the Third Age, if I reckon correctly according to the calendar of the Gondor-men. Much had changed in the world outside, for Arnor had fallen into ruin several years before, and with it the line of the Kings of Men came to an end in the North. But the Witch King's power was also broken in Angmar, and that foul wraith fled the Northlands, never to return. Many Orcs and Trolls were slain in the Battle of Fornost, and for a time their raids upon the Dwarven caravans out of Khazad-Dum lessened, though the loss of our markets in Arnor brought further impoverishment to many of our people."

"Even so, our armories were built-up as Durin had commanded, and the supply of Mithril to be used for purchasing vast stocks of grain and other essentials from the Gondor-men was near completion. Soon, perhaps within a year, Durin planned to unleash his war against the Orcs and Trolls, exploiting their weakened condition to expunge the last trace of them from the Misty Mountains even if such an exploit still took some years to achieve. The minstrels in our brightly-lit halls sang ancient songs of victory in battle, and the Dwarves of Khazad-Dum toasted each other over flagons of mead and joints of meat, eagerly anticipating their long-awaited vengeance against their Orcish and Trollish foes."

"In this general mood of hopefulness and battle-lust, few who dwelt in the upper levels of Khazad-dum felt need for concern when one day news reached them that a party of craftsmen in the deepest part of the new mines, who had entered into a newly-carved shaft that opened on yet another dark cavern for the purpose of stabilizing the roof with beams and struts, had failed to return on time. That day passed into another, and it soon became clear that they had failed to return at all."

"Dark rumors fueled by the tales and superstitions of ancient times began to spread amongst the miners of the lower levels, but the engineers who acted as their overseers were keen to forestall a panic. Declaring that the party of Dwarves had no doubt gotten lost, they organized a rescue mission to track them down and lead them back to the known and charted caverns where they had last been seen. Some of the braver, younger miners volunteered to join the expedition, which was led by several junior engineers who had been promised hefty rewards if they undertook its leadership. Promising to be back within three days, and to bring the lost miners back with them, they departed into the same mineshaft and the same uncharted caverns in which the missing Dwarves had last been seen. The older, more cautious miners said prayers to Aule the Smith, the god of all Dwarves, and continued with their work as before."

"But when four days had passed, and then five, and that second party of Dwarves also failed to return from the ill-fated caverns beneath the roots of the Redhorn, the dark rumors were soon fanned into the flames of all-out panic. Throwing down their hammers and chisels, many of the older or better-off Dwarves amongst the miners, the ones who still had some meager savings still salted away in their chambers on the upper levels of Khazad-Dum, flat out refused to work any further. Ignoring the pleas and defying the threats of their supervisors amongst the Royal Engineers, they set in motion the gears and pulleys that hauled the mining carts up the long, steep shafts back to the upper levels, riding those carts that were empty of ore back to the safety of the upper mines as swiftly as they could. Only the poorest and most desperate miners remained down below so that they could keep collecting their miserly wages, and even they proved surly and well-nigh unmanageable, refusing to enter into any chambers but those which were already well-lit and well-explored. Yet as these chambers had already been tapped-out of most of the precious slivers of Mithril that flecked the walls of the caverns, the work of the deeper mines soon ground nearly to a standstill."

"Needless to say, this news was not well-received by King Durin and the Dwarf-lords. They had a war to fight, one which might last many years despite the weakened condition of the Orcs and Trolls of the Mountains. How could they fight it when they had not the Mithril to buy all of the supplies for which they had budgeted? True, they could sell what Mithril they had to obtain a substantial quantity of food stores, and at the council meeting held to discuss the issue Prince Nain recommended this course. But he was quickly shouted down by the Dwarf-lords, who insisted that the full amount of Mithril required to purchase the planned amount of stores must be hauled up from the mines, by hook or by crook."

"'And how are we to obtain that Mithril, when our miners refuse to take up their tools, or to carve new mine shafts into the still-untapped veins?' asked Nain, his voice barely containing his impatience at the subborness of the Dwarf-lords."

"The pay of those who threw down their tools has been cut off," replied Dundor with a smile, "and so has that of the malcontents in the deeper mines who expected to be paid without doing any work. Soon they will use up what savings they still have, if indeed they have any, and then they will begin to starve. Poverty will drive them back into the deeper mines, and hunger will set them to work at excavating new shafts and digging up the remaining Mithril-ore that we need.'"

"'Are our people slaves then, to be driven like the lowest Orc?'" fumed Nain.

"'Mind your words, young Prince!' shouted back the elder Dwarf-lord. 'You are not so high and mighty that I would fail to challenge you to a duel, if you insulted my honour!'"

"'Peace!' cried King Durin, raising up his hands. 'There will be no duels with my son, Dundor. He is heir to my throne. Much wealth and power you may have, but you forget yourself and your place.'"

"Dundor grumbled angrily, but made a show of bowing before the King. Durin then said the council, 'I do not wish to wait weeks or months for work to resume in the mines. Once again I ask you, what is to be done?'"

"'Prince Nain speaks so eloquently on behalf of the commoners he must surely be popular with them,' smiled Olin, the younger Dwarf-lord who was one of Nain's regular antagonists on the council. 'Perhaps he should have a word with the loafing miners on the upper levels, and also descend into the deeper mines himself in order to persuade the fearful malingers there to get back to work?'"

"Durin frowned at the young Dwarf-lord's insolence, but said to Nain, 'Would you be willing to undertake such a venture, my son?.'"

"'I am willing,' replied Durin, rising from his silver chair, 'and I shall set out to do so at once.' He bowed to his father, and then without a word to the Dwarf-lords exited the council chamber and made his way towards the distant hall that led down to the deeper levels where the miners had disappeared."

"It was a journey of some hours westward and downward, but at length Nain found himself in the older, upper levels of the mines, near the entrance to the long, sloping shaft that led into the newer and deeper mines opened up but a decade before. The way down to and up from these deeper levels involved riding in empty mining carts. These could be set in motion by the turn of a lever that channeled the water from mountain streams over waterwheels whose motion turned the gears that pulled the carts up and down the shaft on metal tracks, in parallel columns, by means of a mighty length of heavy steel chain to which each cart was affixed. Nain turned the lever which set the entire contraption in motion, jumped into one of the moving carts, and patiently rode the long descent down into the deeper mines."

"When he arrived at the bottom, after a leisurely descent of nearly an hour through a shaft but dimly-lit by occasional glowing gems set into its walls, he expected to find at least a few waiting engineers anticipating his arrival, since typically the carts would not be set in motion from the upper levels unless it was to carry workers down to the lower levels. Yet to his surprise, as he leapt out of the cart and began to walk down the broad horinzontal shaft that formed the entrance passage of the deeper mines, its gem-lit corridors were completely empty. He called out several times, but his voice was met only by its echo along the deserted corridors."

"Feeling the hairs stand up on the back of his neck, Nain silently debated what he should do next. He did not want to report to his father that the deeper mines were completely abandoned without a more thorough exploration of them; yet, some warning voice from deep within told him that it would be folly to advance another step beyond where he stood. A deep dread began to descend upon him, and he fought the urge to turn and flee back to the moving carts, back to the safety of the upper levels."

"Then, Nain heard it; distant and soft at first, then nearer and louder by the second. It was a chaotic scraping and clacking, as if of many hundreds, of many thousands of rapidly moving feet. As he stood rooted to the ground, he realized there was no doubt; whatever creatures were making the noise, they were heading straight for him. He found himself wishing it was the vanished miners and engineers, but knew full well that no Dwarves could ever make the sounds that were moving closer to him by the second."

"Concluding that discretion was the better part of valour, Nain turned about on his iron-shod heels and ran towards the mining carts. He soon reached the place he sought, but before jumping back into one of the carts he could not resist the temptation to turn around and see what was following him."

"As he did so, Nain felt his stomach turn cold, and nearly went sick with disgust and fear. Surging toward him down all sides of the gem-lit corridor was a living tide of vermin!"

"There were thousands upon thousands of boated carrion worms, giant centipedes, frenzied spiders, and pale, sightless things he could not describe or imagine even in his nightmares! Creeping, scraping, clacking, crawling, the loathsome horde surged down the long shaft, many of them dripping poison from envenomed fangs. Thousands of glittering, faceted eyes stared back at Nain coldly, all seemingly eager to fall upon their prey."

"Certain now that he had uncovered the cause of the miners' disappearance, and that no further enquiries need be made as to their horrible fate, Nain leapt into one of the moving carts as fast has his legs could carry him. As the cart moved past the lever that projected from a control panel set in the wall of the mineshaft, Nain reached out and slapped it into the setting that would pull the cart up the sloping shaft to the upper levels with the greatest possible speed. He was thrown back by a sudden jolt as the gears in the distant mechanism shifted, and then felt himself pressed against the rear wall of the cart as it hurtled upward with incredible speed, his teeth and bones jarring painfully as the cart rattled over its metal tracks, his long hair and plaited beared flowing in the wind that scoured against his face."

"It was less than ten minutes before Nain found himself nearly at the top of the long shaft, the glittering light of the upper levels shining brightly at the end of the dimly-lit tunnel. Seized by a sudden fear that he might miss his chance and find himself hurled back down towards the horde of vermin, Nain leapt out of the cart as soon as it reached the top of the shaft, and went flying through the air, only to land on his posterior in a most painful and undignified manner. Several engineers happened to be standing by the shaft's entrance, for when Nain had set the lever to maximum speed it had triggered a mechanical alarm that alerted the engineers in the nearest station-room in the upper levels that there was trouble afoot. They had been about to administer a severe reprimand to the fool who had set the carts in motion at such a dangerous speed, but seeing that the Dwarf sprawled on the ground before them was in fact the Crown Prince and Heir to the Throne of Khazad-dum, they wisely held their tongues."

"'His dun-colured skin now ashen pale, Nain pulled himself to his feet, and without bothering to dust himself off began shouting orders to the astonished engineers. 'Shut down the carts at once!' cried he. 'Shut them down now! Sound whatever alarm you may, and summon the King's Guards here on the double! We need burning pitch and boiling water, as much as you can make in less than an hour! Hurry, you gaping lackwits!'"

"The engineers were mystified, but seeing the panic that had infected their famously stoical Prince, they were not inclined to argue with him. The carts were swiftly brought to a halt, and the engineers scurried off to their appointed tasks, while Nain stood at the top of the shaft, listening frantically for the sounds of the crawling vermin slithering up from below."

"There were but a few Guards on hand within calling distance, for there was little need for them in the mines. Such as there were soon arrived, accompanied by a larger number of engineers, and of miners who were employed tapping such veins of gold and caches of gems as could still be found in the ancient upper levels of the mines. The engineers had many tools of the smelting-craft on hand, and began to roll large pots and cauldrons toward the mineshaft, firing up coals to heat the water and pitch they had poured within their thick-walled iron containers. Nain had by this time steadied his nerves somewhat, and made clear to the Dwarves present the nature of the threat that was surely surging up from deep below. Their faces twisted with disgust at the thought of the crawling vermin, and pity at the terrible fate that had met the miners and engineers far below – and perhaps, thought Nain, with rage at the greed of the Dwarf-lords who had driven them to that fate. Did he catch sight of a few resentful glares aimed at himself? He was his father's son, and sure to incur resentment for his father's choices; but, he vowed, when then day came that he ruled Khazad-Dum from the throne of Durin the Deathless, things would be done differently."

"Turning his thoughts back to the matters at hand, Nain noted approvingly that all was at the ready. The horde of vermin might have taken their prey unwares in the deep mines, but now the shoe was on the other foot. They were expected, and had no means of escape from the shaft but to go forwards or backwards. Either way, they would make easy targets for the floods of burning pitch and boiling water that now awaited them. The warriors stood in a row, their double-bladed axes at the ready to dispatch any vermin who somehow slipped past their fate and out the exit from the shaft into the upper levels. A second row of warriors stood behind them, ready to dispatch with burning brands loaded into their crossbows any of the vermin who might crawl onto the ceiling above, or who otherwise sought to escape their doom."

"The crawling things could be heard clearly now, clicking and scraping as they scurried up the shaft, the glowing gemstones that were set at long intervals into its walls turning dark as the thick horde of creatures scurried over them. As they neared the rim of the entrance, Nain gave the order, and the kettles of burning pitch and boiling water were poured down the shaft in wave after wave. There was a hideous screeching and clattering, and a nauseating smell soon drifted upwards from the shaft. Yet to Nain's amazement, the vermin did not retreat back to the lower levels. They continued to surge upward, right into the alternating waves burning pitch and boiling water that spelled their doom. Some of them did indeed slip past the exit of the shaft, but they were soon dispatched by the axes and flaming brands of the warriors. The grim work continued for some time, but at last the tide of vermin ebbed and then died entirely, as the last of them were snuffed out. Not a single Dwarf had been slain or even wounded, thanks to the tight defence they had established."

"The Dwarfs swept the perspiration from their brows and congratulated each other on a job well-done, and for having avenged their brothers who had perished in the deeper mines under the claws and fangs of the vermin. Nain congratulated all of them personally, and promised to speak well of each of them by name to his father, who he assured them would reward each of them with a hefty prize of gold for their brave service."

"All the Dwarves were cheered mightily by Nain's generous words, save one alone; an aging, grey-bearded miner whose thickly-lined face was uncommonly grim and dour even for the Dwarven-kind. When Nain asked him what was the matter, he shifted uneasily on his booted feat; but at length he acknowledged that the tide of vermin didn't strike him quite the same way it had the others."

"'I know it seemed to all you folk that they was surging up here hungry to eat some Dwarves for their supper,' he whispered gruffly. 'And things would no doubt have gone poorly enough for anyone unlucky enough to have been surrounded by them crawling things and buried under 'em. But mark ye – I've opened up new caverns before, in the farthest reaches of some of the upper levels of the mines, when I was in my youth. And now and then I seen one or two of them crawling things, giant spiders and carrion worms and suchlike. Sometimes they'd move to attack us if we were few, and we'd have to fight hard to drive 'em off or slay 'em. But when we were many, especially if we had torches, even the biggest of them nasty critters might flee from us in a panic.'"

"And what is your point, old fellow?" asked Nain, who was not at pleased at the thought that his relieved mood might be overturned by some hoary greybeard's whisperings."

"'My point, lad – er, I mean your Highness,' muttered the elderly miner, 'is these crawling things today didn't look to me like they was running at us to catch and eat us. They looked to me like they was all in a panic and running away from something else, something behind them, down there in the deepest mines. Didn't you see how they threw themselves into the burning pitch, into the waves of boiling water? It was as if they preferred a quick death up here to facing whatever they had run away from down there,' he concluded with a hushed, portentious whisper."

"'Don't worry about it, old chap,' replied Nain with apparent cheerfulness, clapping the aging miner on the shoulder. 'They're just mindless beasts, driven by their appetites. There's nothing to read into their crawling and scurrying about.' But as he turned on his heels and began the long march back to his father's chambers on the upper, easternmost levels of Khazad-Dum to make his report of events, the old miner's words lingered uneasily in the back of Nain's mind."

"Nain chose not to mention the miner's fears to his father, for how could he lessen the satisfaction his father would feel at victory – or, for that matter, risk making a fool out of himself in front of the Dwarf-lords yet again - based on the whispered doubts of a single elderly commoner? King Durin, who had been taking council with Dundor and several other Dwarf-lords when his son entered the gilded and be-gemmed throne hall, was mightily pleased that the problem had been resolved and that production of Mithril could resume. The Dwarf-lords also nodded approvingly, and Dundor made a rather patronizing show of congratulating Prince Nain for at last taking charge of the situation in the deeper mines so as to further the work approved of by the King's Council, despite his having continually questioned the wisdom of that Council's decisions in the past."

"King Durin formally commanded the miners and engineers to return to their work in the deeper mines, although as a concession to them he also ordered a brigade of his own Royal Guards to accompany them, in case any more flesh-eating vermin lingered in the newly-opened caverns. He promised a public funeral ceremony would be held to commemorate those who had been slain in the deeper mines, took the names of the Dwarves who had defeated the vermin, and agreed to pay each of them a purse of gold coins as a reward for their efforts. Nain could see that Durin was already calculating how soon it would be before the last of the required Mithril had been smelted into ingots, so that he could purchase the stores needed to launch the long-expected war against the Orcs and Trolls of the Mountains."

"As Nain left his father's glittering halls, he ran into his own young son and heir Thrain. Thrain, noting the troubled look on his father's face, enquired as to what was disturbing him, for the news of the victory against the loathsome vermin from the deeper mines had spread like wildfire amongst the Dwarves in the upper levels of Khazad-dum, and there was much rejoicing amongst them. 'Nothing is the matter, my son,' replied Nain. 'My mind is merely taxed by the stress of the battle this day.' He glanced at him furtively, and said, 'I might wish you to make a journey to the upper world someday, in which case you should have your kit and some provender ready. You might be departing Khazad-Dum on short notice. You have not yet taken wife nor sired offspring, so it should take little effort for you to leave these halls speedily if called upon to do so.'"

"'I'll prepare, father,' nodded Thrain. 'But for what purpose?'"

"'You needn't concern yourself with that for the present,' replied Nain. 'Now, go and join the celebrations with your friends.'"

"So all Khazad-Dum rejoiced – though not without an appropriate funeral tribute being paid to those who had perished in the deeper mines – and things once again returned to how they had been. The miners who had refused to work after the first disappearances, and who were now running low indeed on funds to support their families, gladly accepted the King's generous offer to station warriors in the deeper mines for their protection. There were perhaps a few cynics who whispered that the warriors would accompany them as much to prevent them from deserting their posts again as to protect them from any lingering vermin, but they were soon silenced by those who needed their pay too much to afford offending the King with seditious words."

"The engineers had swiftly cleared the debris left by the vermin in the shaft that led to the deeper levels, and fortunately the iron-walled carts and the mechanism that drove them had not been damaged by the flood of burning pitch and boiling water. King Durin himself was on hand as the miners, engineers and warriors descended down the shaft in their carts, wished them good fortune, and bade them to work speedily and well in bringing their precious cargoes of Mithril-bearing ore to the upper mines."

"Two days passed, and the carts then began to return to the surface bearing Mithril-ore ready for the smelters and refineries of the upper mines. The smelterers and engineers set speedily to work, for before returning to his halls on the upper levels King Durin had instructed them that it was of the utmost importance to make up for the delay in production, and fill their quota of refined Mithril ingots within the required time."

"But on the third day, the carts began to come up empty, one after another. The smelters and engineers began to stare at each other uneasily, and then at last, when half a day had passed without a single cart bearing a trace of ore to the surface, they sent word to the King that once again there appeared to be trouble in the deeper mines."

"Nain was present when his father received the news from a messenger, and while the Prince turned pale, the King's grey-bearded face grey ruddy with rage. Calling for the commander of the Royal Guards, he ordered an entire regiment of warriors to leave their posts by the Eastern Gate, and descend at once into the deeper mines to discover what had happened, and put paid to any creature that had once again caused the production of Mithril-ore to fail. These warriors soon received their orders, and promptly set to their long march to the deeper mines, leaving only a skeleton guard on the Eastern Gate itself."

"Durin and Nain then made their way to the Chamber of Mazarbul, which lay to the south of the King's Chambers across the Twenty-First Hall on the Seventh Level of Khazad-Dum – that great hall whose pillars were each five-hundred feet in height and one-tenth that many feet in breadth, and whose vaults were lit by crystal chandeliers full ten tons in weight apiece. In the Chamber of Mazarbul the ancient records of the Dwarves had been located since time immemorial. Durin wished to know if there were any hints of ancient knowledge concerning the caverns under the Redhorn, so that the source or refuge of the vermin who it seemed were still plaguing the miners could be uncovered and the foul creatures utterly extirpated. Nain accompanied him, since in his youth he had displayed a special talent for research in the archives."

"Now, it should be noted that Durin had ordered the warriors to send word by messenger as to what conditions they found in the deeper mines when they had reached them. He had expected to receive this word within a day or so. Imagine his surprise, then, when less than a half a day later the entire regiment returned from their expedition! Durin and his son heard the echoes of their iron-shod feet in the mighty-pillared hall outside, and Nain followed the King as he strode out of the doors of the Chamber of Mazarbul, demanding of the Guard commander why he was not fulfilling his explicit orders. Nain noted the pale features and worried glances of the Dwarven warriors, and once again felt a chill of fear down his spine."

"This Guard commander replied to the King that the regiment had only made it to the upper levels of the mines, some distance from the shaft that led to the deeper mines, when it was clear that something was dreadfully wrong. The upper mines, like all the corridors and halls of Khazad-Dum, should have been clearly lit by the glowing gemstones set into the walls. Yet instead, these upper mines were entirely plunged into darkness!"

"The commander, at a loss to explain this failure of the light, ordered his troops to brandish their torches instead. They did so, but the wavering torchlight soon revealed a deeper and more troubling mystery. The mines were entirely deserted! There was not a miner, not a smelterer, not an engineer to be found anywhere in the caverns on the shafts that the warriors had explored. Their shouts and calls had merely echoed emptily amongst the labyrinthine tunnels."

"'How do you explain this situation, commander?' demanded the King, stamping his foot impatiently. 'And why did you not explore futher, to uncover the truth behind this mystery? Shall it be said that Dwarves, indeed the King's own handpicked warriors, are afraid of the dark?'"

"'I have no direct evidence, my liege,' bowed the commander, wisely ignoring the King's jibe, 'but I fear that a large army of Orcs has penetrated Khazad-dum itself!'"

"'Impossible!' cried King Durin, his features now set with rage. In all the thousands of years of its history, no Orc had ever set foot in Khazad-Dum. Durin did not intend for it to be said in the chronicles that the first such invasion had occurred in his own reign."

"'There is no other explanation, my liege,' replied the commander stoically. 'Those foul folk do have their own cunning arts, and they are near as adept at us at tunneling and quarrying under the mountains. I deem they opened up some caverns unknown to us, which led into the newer, deeper mines where we have sought Mithril these ten years past. They ambushed our miners and in the deeper levels, and drove the vermin up towards us in these upper levels as a diversion. Now they have slain the warriors and miners we sent down into the deeper mines again, and moreover they have since invaded the upper mines, slaying the miners there, and using their black arts to dull the light from our wall-gems. I ordered my Guards to return to the dwelling-places of the eastern upper levels at once, for fear of an ambush down below"

"'He speaks wisdom, father,' nodded Nain. The Prince felt the commander's explanation would account for his uneasy mood of the past several days; some Dwarves have on occasion been blessed by an inner sense that warns them when their ancient foes, the Orcs, are nearby."

"'Does he?' snapped the King irritably. But then he was silent for several minutes, thumbing his long, plaited beard. At length he said, 'Let us say you are correct, commander. That would mean Khazad-Dum has been cut in half, for if the Orcs have seized the mines they could easily have seized the western chambers and the West-Gate that opens upon Hollin. The few Dwarves who dwell in those western regions would have been overwhelmed by them if the Orcs invaded in great numbers, as they surely would.'"

"'That is correct, your majesty,' nodded the commander. 'I propose…'"

"But it is said he never finished his sentence. For from the western doorway of the great pillared hall, whose stairs led down to a guard room that in turn led down into the upper mines, there came a deep, low rumble, as if the ceiling of an entire cavern had crashed to the ground, or a wall of stone had collapsed entirely."

"'What in Aule's name was that?' gasped the King, blaspheming in his shock."

"Another harsh echo rumbled down the many-pillar hall from the western door, followed by an indescribable noise, as if of thousands upon thousands of stones grinding together."

"'The enemy attacks!' cried the commander. 'They are working some mischief in the deeps. No doubt their vanguard may come flying up the steps of the western door at any minute!'"

"'To your posts!' cried the King – who no longer doubted his commander's suppositions. 'March to the western door at once! And someone fetch me an axe!' He turned to Nain."

"'Back to the Royal Chambers, Prince!' he commanded. 'Summon the heralds! Command them to summon the rest of my Guards, and bid the Dwarf-lords to send their own private guards to join my army here at once! Warn the people to flee their chambers and make eastward for the Second Hall! They are to bring what weapons they can find, even pickaxes – if we are overwhelmed here, we shall fall back, and the Second Hall shall be our redoubt. If we our driven out of the Second Hall and across the Bridge of Khazad-Dum, the First Hall behind the Eastern Gate shall be our last redoubt.'"

"'But father…' objected Nain, who did not wish to be sent away from the King's side when battle was immanent."

"'Fly!' shouted Durin. 'Do as I command! You may rejoin me here when your work is done.'"

"So Nain ran as fast as he could to the Royal Chambers beyond the northern door, while King Durin, equipped with an axe and shield from the warriors (but no proper armour) led his Royal Guard to the western door. The situation seemed advantageous, for the door was narrow, and only a few Orcs could come through at a time such that they could be easily cut down by the Dwarves – unless they had contrived some way to bring down the wall entirely and invade en masse. The Guards commander feared they intended just that, given the crashing and rumbling that echoed up from the deeps, and he ordered his warriors to take their position a full thousand-feet from the western wall until the intentions of the Orcs became clear."

"Meanwhile, Nain reached the Royal Chambers, and his words soon set the occupants of their brilliantly-lit, gilded halls into a near panic. The heralds set to work, and soon Dwarves were scurrying in all directions – the nobles, even Dundor and Olin, to the Twenty-First hall along with their private guards to join the King and his army, the commoners eastward and downward toward the Second Hall as Nain had commanded. Nain searched about, and soon found his son Thrain."

"'What is happening, father?' asked young Thrain. 'Rumour is spreading that the Orcs have invaded Khazad-dum through the mines! How is that possible?'"

"'It matters not,' snapped Nain. 'We are taken by surprise, and may soon be overwhelmed, at least in these upper halls. Find your mother, seize the provender and kit I told you to prepare, and make your way to the Second Hall, as close as you may to the Bridge of Khazad-dum. You might have to cross it, and even flee through the Eastern Gate and down into the Dimrill Dale under the open sky.'"

"'Am I not to stand and fight with you, then?' asked Thrain hotly."

"'Don't be a fool!' replied Nain. 'I am Crown Prince; my place is in battle beside my father the King. But your duty is to preserve our line. If your grandfather and I fall in battle, who then shall lead our people if not you? You must safeguard yourself to fight another day, if worst comes to worst!'"

"Thrain bowed dutifully, and set off to do as he was bid. Meanwhile, Nain raced to his own apartments, and soon emerged wearing his own arms and armour. He picked up a spare breastplate and helm for the King, and then ran back as fast as his legs could carry him, under the vaulted arches of the Twenty-First Hall, where a large army of Dwarvish warriors, led by his father and the Dwarf-lords, stood arranged in three broad rows seven dwarves deep apiece, ready for the Orcish assault. Nain girdled the breastplate about his father the King, and placed the helm upon his graying brow; Durin smiled at his devotion. Then they turned and waited for their foes to appear."

"The rumbling had echoed up from below for some time now, growing louder and nearer, as if a mighty hammer was shattering the rock beneath their feet and a vast pickaxe was tunneling up towards the Twenty-First hall from deep below. Impossibly, the floor itself began to shake, and a rain of dust began to descend from above, as if even the mighty vaulted arches that had been carved by Durin the Deathless in the ancient days when the world was young were beginning to give way under some unimaginable strain. A thin crack suddenly appeared in the polished floor, some distance westward and to the north of the Dwarves, and began to grow haphazardly with every crash and rumble from down below."

"The Dwarves grumbled uneasily amongst themselves, for they knew that while the Orcs had some skill in mining, it was inconceivable that they could exert blows of such tremendous force against the impregnable walls and floors of Khazad-Dum. Were they joined by a vast army of Trolls, smashing at everything in sight with their terrible stone hammers? If so, the coming battle would be a grim one indeed."

"Such were the thoughts of the Dwarves, when the light from one of the gem-lit chandeliers far above the western door began to fade. Then it failed entirely, as did another, and another. A rolling wave of shadow descended upon the Twenty-First hall, plunging the Dwarves into utter darkness."

"'Torches! Torches!' they cried, and sure enough flaming brands were soon held up here and there amongst the companies. But they provided pitiable illumination of the nearest pillars and the western wall amongst the vast, all-embracing darkness – a darkness such as no one can imagine, unless he has explored the deep places under the surface of the world for himself. Far behind them, toward the south, only a single shaft of natural light penetrated that black void, from a narrow, open air-vent set into vaulted ceiling far above the Chamber of Mazarbul."

"The Dwarves muttered prayers to Aule the Smith, and braced themselves for what was surely an immanent assult. The pounding and hammering down below grew stronger and louder, till the floor trembled mightly with each stroke, and the Dwarves were hard put to stand firmly on their feet. They steeled themselves and waited."

"Suddenly there was a mighty, thunderous roar, as the growing crack in the floor before the Dwarves suddenly exploded in a shower of flying stones and thick dust. Several Dwarves were killed at once by falling boulders, and the rest had to step back quickly, still in their ordered columns, to avoid any further casualties. The dust began to clear, exposing in the torchlight a vast open gulf where the crack had been, in depths utterly obscured in darkness."

"The torchlight could not cast the least impression into this absolute darkness, and that struck the Dwarves as a strange thing. But stranger still was that darkness began to grow. Like a living thing it surged up from the gulf, blacker than midnight, blacker than pitch, a tangible thing that devoured all torchlight that fell upon it. It towered dozens of feet above the Dwarves now, a mightly pillar of Shadow. A pall of fear fell upon all the folk of Durin, and the King himself began to tremble inside of his armour. Whatever stood above them, it was no Orc or Troll. Nain feared it was some foul device of the enemy, conujured up by their black arts to douse the light in darkness, and strike terror into the hearts of Dwarven-kind."

"As they stood fearfully before the pillar of Shadow, two small, bright points appeared in it, high above. They began to grow, until they took the form of two great, glowing orbs. The light from them was not cool, nor was it warm; it was hot, fiery hot, and it blazed so fiercely and terribly that the Dwarves could not endure the sight of it. It burned their skin, and seared their eyes, and they trembled before the flaming orbs, even as they stood rooted to the ground by their fear."

"Then the orbs took form, two great, narrow ovals, and revealed themselves for what they were. They were the eyes of the thing that towered above them!"

"Even as Nain cried aloud in terror, and Durin wept and cursed fate and all the gods, the pillar of Shadow was suddenly set afire by an aura of Flame, as bright and terrible as that burning flame of the nameless thing's eyes. Its form was all too clear now; it stood upright like a giant Man, but on cloven hooves, and its heavy form was twisted and evil. Two great shadowy wings, like those of a giant bat, grew out from its back, and two curved horns like those of a mountain goat grew out from its misshapen head. It stood motionless, as if content to let Durin's folk writhe in fear before laying their Doom upon them."

"Suddenly, finding his courage, Durin gave an order. 'Archers!' he cried. 'Fire! Kill the beast before it nears us!'"

"Their hands and arms shaking, the archers lifted up their crossbows, and unleashed a torrent of hundreds of heavy bolts against the pillar of Shadow and Flame. Any living thing, even a Dragon, would have been slain by them, for on each bolt was carved an enchanted Dwarven rune, and even an evil Fire-Drake with a hide of Mithril scales could not have endured the powerful magics that would have been unleashed upon it when the enchanted bolts hit home."

"But these bolts never reached their target. Before they had flown within fifty feet of it their wooden shafts burst into flame and ashes, and their steel heads melted into molten metal. A torrent of ash and melted steel fell uselessly at the terrible thing's cloven-hoofed feet, as it stared silently upon its prey."

"Then it opened its wickedly-fanged mouth, and unleashed an awesome roar that echoed deafeningly amongst the massive pillars and vaults of the hall. Two great sheets of fire shot up from each of its talloned hands – the one to its right taking the form of a vast, fiery whip, and the one to its left a sword of living flame."

"Now King Durin gave the only order that he could. 'Run!' he screamed. "Drop your shields, and flee for your lives!'"

"Many of the Dwarves had already done so, and the rest soon joined them, fleeing desperately to the east, to the doorway that led down flights of carved stairs to the Second Hall, were the commoners had been told to form a redoubt. But with a single mighty leap, the terrible thing was upon them, more a force of nature than a beast. Its flaming whip darted about like lightning, its fiery sword swung right and left. The merest touch of either foul weapon caused its victim to burst instantly into flames, leaving not a trace behind. The Dwarf-lord Dundor perished thus, weeping with fear, and Olin soon after him, the look on his face up to the last instant one of utter shock and disbelief."

"Nain frantically pulled his father along with him, though the aging King soon began to puff and wheeze heavily, unaccustomed as he was to the strains of running after many long years spent in ease and comfort. Suddenly Durin faltered, and lay sprawled upon the hard stone floor."

"'Father!' screamed Nain. 'To your feet! Hurry!' He stared upward at the merciless pillar of Shadow and Flame, which strode inexorably toward them."

"'Run!' cried the King. 'Save yourself and our people! That is my last command!'"

"Weeping bitter tears, Nain turned and ran, already far behind the fleeing survivors. Yet he could not stop himself from turning back for a moment. What he saw turned his blood to icewater and his heart to stone. King Durin, still clasping his axe in his aged hands, stood now to his feet. Raising his axe above his head, he cried "Baruk Khazad! Khazad ai-Menu!" – which in the Common Tongue is "Axes of the Dwarves! The Dwarves are upon you!" - the ancient battle-cry of the Dwarves since time immemorial."

"The evil thing halted in its stride, staring at the doomed King with its terrible burning eyes. Then, its hideous face twisting into what Nain realized was a smile, it relinquished hold of the flaming sword in its left hand, which disappeared at once in a shower of sparks. It reached down, and seized hold the King of Khazad-dum. "

"Durin's axe at once melted into a torrent of liquid steel. But his body was not at once consumed – it burst into flames, yet the King remained horribly alive, screaming in agony as the skin peeled slowly off his withering flesh, exposing the bones beneath."

"The evil creature lifted up the King of Khazad-dum, holding him in the air like a living torch. For some moments it gloated over his torment. Then it threw him through the air, where he crashed against the nearest pillar, and exploded in a shower of sparks and ash. By this foul deed the being of Shadow and Flame had named itself – for it would ever afterward be known amongst the Dwarven people as Durin's Bane."

"Nain, beyond all grief in his terror, turned again, running for his life as the thing began to pursue him. He barely reached the doorway to the eastern stairs and ducked inside its heavy arch before the firey whip lashed out at him, missing his back by a handsbreadth. Then Nain was flying down the stairs, in the wake of the handful of warriors who had survived the massacre in the Twenty-First hall."

"At length, Nain dashed out from the stairway, many levels down, and found himself on the threshold of the Second Hall. It too was held up by mighty pillars, but there were fewer of them than in the Twenty-First Hall, and it was lit by gems set into the pillars rather than by chandeliers above. Between the pillars were broad, open expanses of polish stone floor, punctuated here and there by deep shafts that led into ancient mines far below that had long since been tapped dry. Toward the east, there lay a mighty gulf which descended toward the roots of the world. This gulf was spanned by a single, narrow arch of stone – the Bridge of Khazad-Dum – which led to the First Hall on the other side. The First Hall was but a narrow expanse of flat stone, in which was set a doorway that led up a carved stone stairway to the Eastern or Dimril gate. The Dimril-vale, under the open sky, lay eastward beyond it."

"Amid the open spaces of the Second Hall were thousands of Dwarves, who had hastily dropped everything (save the occasional pack of precious goods or provender) and fled there from the upper levels on the command of the King's heralds. They were shifting aimlessly about, rather than readying a proper redoubt as they had been instructed, when the terrified warriors fleeing the Twenty-First hall had burst in upon them, running as fast as their legs could carry them towards the Bridge."

"'Khazad-dum has fallen!' cried the warriors. 'Flee for your lives! Save yourselves!' Many of the Dwarven common folk looked fearful at this news, yet some scoffed, even though they could not imagine why warriors would play such a prank on them. For Khazad-dum – the mightiest realm of the Dwarves since time immemorial – to fall to any enemy was simply inconceivable. Some of them turned to Nain, who they now saw racing toward them, for an explanation."

"'Are you deaf, you fools?' cried Nain. 'The King is dead! Doom is upon us all! Fly across the bridge and up the stair to the Dimril-vale while you still can!'"

"As if to prove the truth of his words, the ground began to shake suddenly beneath their feet. Showers of dust fell from the ceiling above, just as it had in the Twenty-First Hall, and an ominous rumbling echoed up from one of the broad shafts that led to the ancient mines below."

"Scoffing no longer, the people began to move quickly to cross the Bridge, over which the warriors had already fled. But it was a narrow span, wide enough that it could only accommodate the Dwarves in single-file. It had been built in that manner to impede the attack of any enemy who managed to take the Eastern Gate and the First Hall, since in crossing single-file over the limitless gulf even a vast army could be held at bay by a small number of Dwarvish warriors. But now it was the Dwarves themselves who were impeded in their escape, caught in their own trap, and their exit from the Second Hall to the First and then up the narrow stairs to the Eastern Gate was painfully slow."

"Nain rushed to the Bridge, and to his relief he found his wife and his son Thrain standing near it, just as he had commanded. They both wept with the news that Durin was no more, but Nain would not waste words of grief upon them."

"'Over the Bridge, now!' he shouted, and grabbing each of them by the arm he barged into the column of refugees and led them single-file across the narrow span – for he knew that now was not the time for gestures of futile bravery, if Durin's royal line was not to be extinguished utterly by the Doom that fast approached."

"Even as they reached the other side and set foot on the polished stone floor of the First Hall, the light from the gemstones of the Second Hall began to fail, and then die entirely. Both halls were now plunged into darkness, save for a few narrow beams of light where the Sun's rays penetrated through ventilation-shafts far above. Panic descended upon the people now, and they began pushing and jostling as they hurried to cross the narrow bridge, some of them nearly falling off it into the limitless gulf on either side. Nain ordered his wife and his son Thrain to cross the First Hall and climb the stairs to the Eastern Gate without delay, but he himself stood just beyond the eastern edge of the Bridge, urging the people to cross and exit the hall as quickly as they may without doing themselves or each other an injury."

"No more than a few-hundred Dwarves had safely crossed the Bridge when a dark pillar of Shadow suddenly shot-up from one of the ancient mineshafts sunk into the floor of the Second Hall. Weeping openly, Nain called again to the Dwarves to flee for their lives, even as Durin's Bane revealed itself in all its fiery horror, flaming whip and sword rekindled and ready for butchery".

"There was utter pandemonium now, as Dwarves stampeded towards the Bridge, while many who sought to cross where pushed to their deaths in the fathomless chasm that it spanned by those stronger and even more desperate than themselves. Nain could only stare in horror as the thousands of Dwarves still trapped in the Second Hall – those too old, too young, or two infirm to push their way through the frantic crowd and across the Bridge – succumbed to the flaming whip and sword in a terrible massacre, even more fearsome than that of the Twenty-First Hall."

"It took Durin's Bane no more than a few minutes to complete its evil work, and then not a single living Dwarf was left in the Second Hall. The vile thing then strode towards the Bridge, its flaming body casting a hellish glow upon the pillars and vaults of the Hall. Nain abandoned his post now, and dashed for the exit to the stairs himself, even as it caught sight of him and roared fearsomely. With two mighty leaps it bounded across the Bridge and landed upon the floor of the First Hall, its fiery whip and sword slaying those few old or weak Dwarves who had made their way across the Bridge, but had not the strength to force their way through the press of the others towards the stair. Yet this gave Nain sufficient time to reach the stair himself, and catch one final glance of Durin's Bane, flaming sword and whip brandished triumphantly as it let out a deafening roar. Then he turned and vanished up the stair himself, leaving the halls of his forebears since time immemorial behind him."

The Dwarf paused for a moment now, his rough features lined with sorrow as he stared at the faces of his audience. All were silent. The Bree-men were grave and somber, while the Hobbits were quivering with fear. The aged storyteller, who had long since finished his meal, stared sharply at the Dwarf with his bright blue eyes, yet seemed somehow lost in thought. "Durin's Bane…the Balrog of Moria," he whispered, but said no more.

The Dwarf sighed deeply, and then continued his tale:

"When Nain passed through the Eastern Gate and into the brightly-lit Dimril Vale –it was Novemeber Eve, but the crisp autumn air was bright and clear, and the hour was not yet noon – he saw the few hundred surviving Dwarves of Khazad-dum, more warriors than commoners, and more males than females, fleeing for their lives down the Dimril Stair. He flew after them, fearful that at any moment the walls of the mountains would burst open behind him, and the terrible being of Shadow and Flame would pursue the race of Durin even to the very last, leaving not one survivor amongst them."

"Not until they reached the tranquil waters of Khaled-Zaram, the Mirrormere lake, did they stop, and that was out of exhaustion rather than the dissipation of their fear. But Durin's Bane did not come crashing through the sheer rock walls of the mountains, and it soon became clear to them that its pursuit had ended at the First Hall. Then they fell to their knees, some numb and witless, some weeping with exhaustion or fear, some risking themselves an injury by quenching their thirst in the frigid, ice-cold waters of the lake. Nain himself stood wordlessly, gazing in the lake's surface at the placid reflection of the snow-capped peaks of the mountains, of the Redhorn and its peers. There they stood, solid and unmoveable, their calm majesty giving no hint of the terrible Doom that had befallen the Dwarven people beneath them."

"It took the best part of a day before Nain could rouse himself to establish some order amongst the survivors, who thankfully included both his wife and his young son Thrain. As day turned to night, and the waters of the Mirrormere reflected the pure light of the Stars and Moon above, Nain soon realized the situation was grim indeed. The people had fled with nothing but the clothes on their backs, or at most and in only a few cases a few sacks of provender or of precious goods. Everything else they possessed – their arms and armour, their precious gems and ingots of gold and silver and mithril, their stores of food – lay in Khazad-dum, at the mercy of Durin's Bane."

"It was a grim and bitter night in which many tears were shed and many curses uttered, and the morning was no better. The bright cheerfulness of the early November Sun against the clear blue sky seemed but a mockery. The people were already beginning to go hungry, and it was obvious that their situation was untenable. Nain at length organized a party of brave volunteers amongst the warriors, who with him crept fearfully back to the threshold of the Eastern Gate. Ducking inside, they turned their backs to the stair that led down to the First Hall, and dashed up a narrow stair to a barracks that had been carved into the living rock above the Gate. There they found such stores of food and weapons and other supplies as had been provisioned for the Gate-guards, and with all the speed they could muster they took hold of these and carried them back down the stairs and out the Eastern Gate toward the makeshift camp by the Mirrormere."

"Thus equipped, and set out with military tents and a store of provender, the survivors prepared to spend the fast-approaching Winter encamped by the freezing waters of the Mirrormere. They could imagine no other course of action, for they had no where else to go. There was some talk of fleeing either West to the Blue Mountains, or East to the Iron Hills, and throwing themselves on the mercy of their distant relatives who lived in the Dwarvish-mines of those places. But it was too late in the year for such a long journey in either direction, and so they had no choice but to linger in the Dimril-vale until the next Spring. That they should seek to reclaim Khazad-dum from Durin's Bane was, naturally, inconceivable in their weakened condition. Pride prevented them from begging for aid from the haughty Elves of Lorien, who no doubt would have taken secret delight at the terrible misfortune of their ancient Dwarvish foes. And well did they acquit themselves in that, for any Dwarf worthy of the name would much sooner starve and freeze to death, along with all his relatives, rather than humble himself as a beggar before one of the sly and treacherous Elven-folk."

The old greybeard shook his head vigorously at that remark, and frowned deeply, but he did not interrupt the Dwarf, who continued with his tale:

"So they passed a bitter winter by the frozen Mirrormere. They hunted such game as they could to supplement their meager stores, but even so many of the oldest and youngest Dwarves starved and froze to death, and their numbers were reduced to fewer than five-hundred – out of all the many thousands who had once lived in Khazad-dum! Nain, his wife, and Thrain at least managed to get by on their own means, thanks to the sack of provender and camping-goods that Thrain had prepared on Nain's instructions, and to Thrain's apparent talent for snaring birds and tracking-down game."

"King Nain – for King he now was – had much to think about over that bitter winter, and when the ice melted from the Mirrormere with the arrival of spring he had reached a conclusion. For now, the Dwarves of Khazad-dum would have to take up residence elsewhere – he favoured the East, near the Grey Mountains or the Iron Hills, rather than the West, since the fall of Arnor had plunged the future of the Westlands into doubt, and they no longer seemed the safe refuge they once might have. But he would not come begging cap in hand to anyone. Risking all, he resolved on a brief return to Khazad-Dum, to scavenge more provender and weapons, and most importantly of all as much treasure as possible from the vast Royal and noble storehouses. Then at least his people could forge a new home for themselves with some honour and dignity intact – until the distant day came when they had multiplied sufficiently, and learned enough of the means by which they might defeat the terrible Durin's Bane, that they could reclaim their rightful home in Khazad-dum."

"Summoning the Dwarvish males to his tent, Nain laid bare his plans to them, and asked for volunteers. They new it was a great risk, but Nain reminded them that Khazad-dum was vast, and that with care they might be able to salvage what they needed from its upper halls before attracting the notice of Durin's Bane. So after some time, Nain persuaded a hundred of the bravest warriors and as many miners and craftsmen to accompany him back to the Eastern Gate. Thrain he instructed to wait at the camp beside the Mirrormere, and take command of those of the people who remained there if worst came to worst."

"So Nain and his brave volunteers returned to Khazad-dum, their every fearful step as silent as it could be. The found the First and Second Halls plunged into darkness, save for the beams of sunlight which here and there shone down from the ventilation shafts. Crossing over the Bridge, their way guided by but a few torches, they filed across the Second Hall and the up the stairs that led to the upper levels where food was stored, or down to the armories and treasuries. Most of them took the downward path, for Nain had instructed them that to salvage what they could from the treasuries was the most important task – treasure could always be traded for food or weapons if it had to be."

"They set swiftly to work, and for several days, each moment of which was spent in sleepless fear, they gathered together what valuables they could, carrying them swiftly and silently across the Bridge, and piling them for the time being in the First Hall. They dared not risk claiming the ingots of mithril that had been mined over the previous decade, for they were hidden in the King's deepest storehouse, many levels down, and Durin deemed the risk too great. Even so, the upper treasuries were flush with gold and silver and gems, a horde of wealth so vast that to move even a tenth of it would have been the work of a hundred years. Only a few handfuls at a time were taken here and there, stuffed into sturdy leathern sacks and deposited on the floor of the First Hall in orderly rows. The work proceeded smoothly, and some of them began to whisper that perhaps the terrible doom of the previous year had passed, had departed back to the netherworld from whence it came. But Nain knew better than to trust in such hopes, and knew how sorely he was tempting fate as it was. He urged them to move as silently as they could."

"All seemed well, until one day (after having spent the best part of a week in diligent toil) an uncommonly careless Dwarf removed from the treasuries a giant ruby that had been precariously balanced on top of a heap of gold coins. The coins shifted slightly, and then slid down to the floor in a gilded avalanche that echoed loudly down the dark stone corridors."

"Turning pale with fright, Nain, who had been standing nearby, ordered the Dwarves to abandon their work and return as swiftly as they could to the First Hall. It took the best part of an hour before they were all gathered there, and he then set them to work at once carrying the sacks of coins and gems and other valuables up the stairs and back out the Eastern Gate. The provender and weapons he left in their heaps on the floor, not to be evacuated until all the treasure had been carried to safety."

"Most of the treasure-sacks had been carried up the stairs when the Dwarves heard what they had most dreaded – a deep rumbling that echoed up from one of the mineshafts in the floor of the Second Hall. Quickening their pace, the Dwarves began to move towards the doorway that led to the stair, running as fast as they could under the heavy weight of the treasure-laden sacks they carried on their backs. Nain followed in their wake, staring regretfully at such treasure, weapons and provender that remained on the floor of the First Hall, and perhaps calculating how many days it might be before they dared to risk returning to reclaim these remaining fruits of their perilous labours."

"Then, with incredible speed, their Doom caught up with them! For it appeared that Durin's Bane was capable of stealth when it wished. A pillar of Shadow suddenly appeared at the far side of the Bridge, and then burst into Flame! The Dwarves stood in horror at the apparition which had slaughtered their kinfolk so mercilessly the year before. It made no noise this time, but the terrible fiery whip soon shot up from its taloned hand. With two bounds, it leapt over the narrow Bridge and landed once again on the floor of the First Hall!"

"Nain had not needed to command the Dwarves to drop their sacks of treasure and run for their lives. But even as he followed in the wake of his warriors, Durin's Bane ignored the other Dwarves and went straight for him, as if knowing full well who he was. The last of the warriors to reach the doorway to the stairs turned and saw King Nain fleeing hopelessly, only to be caught by the flaming tongue of the evil creature's whip. Nain at once exploded into flames, and then disappeared entirely. His one mercy was that at least his end had been swifter and less terrible than his father's."

"So the Dwarvish warriors and craftsmen fled out the Eastern Gate, where the sacks of the treasure they had managed to rescue (and while but a fraction of the wealth of Khazad-dum it was still a vast sum) lay scattered about carelessly. Fearful that this time Durin's Bane might well pursue them through the Gate, yet at the same time determined that Nain's sacrifice must not have been in vain, they picked up two brimming treasure-sacks apiece and marched back to the camp by the Mirrormere as quickly as they could under the staggering weight of such heavy burdens."

"They broke the grim news to Thrain and his mother as soon as they arrived, and so once again the Dwarves of Khazad-Dum, who had at first rejoiced at the sight of the many treasure-sacks that had been salvaged from the depths, found themselves plunged into mourning. This grief, piled on top of all the others she had suffered, was more than Thrain's mother could bear; she perished that very night. Thus a double weight of mourning was imposed on young King Thrain, and a double funeral was held the next night according to the secret Rites of Aule, of which no Dwarf may speak to outsiders. Then, after the prescribed mourning period had passed, and spring was well underway, King Thrain ordered his people to pack up their goods, decamp from the Mirrormere, and take the first steps of their long journey toward the East, so that the might find refuge near the Iron Hills before the snows of winter once again blanketed the land."

"But fate, grim and implacable, had one last arrow of misfortune to hurl at the Dwarves of Khazad-dum. The Orcs and Goblins, those maggots of the mountains, had sent a large party of scouts and skirmishers southward from Mount Gundabad to learn why the Dwarvish caravans from which they had won so many ill-gotten gains in previous years had suddenly ceased their travels. They arrived at the Dimril Dale on the very day that King Nain and his people were departing eastward, bearning their sacks of treasure with them. Without any apparent curiousity as to why the Dwarves were bearing their treasure on their backs, rather than in sturdy carts, they at once fell upon Nain's folk as soon as the Sun set beneath the Mountains to the west."

"A battle was fought then and there, but it was an uneven contest. The Orcish raiding party was small, but then the Dwarves were few in number, and weakened by hunger, toil and grief. I will not burden you with the grim details, save to say that two-score Dwarvish warriors perished before the remaining Dwarves, under King Thrain's orders, dropped their sacks of treasure and fled for their lives down the Vale and out into the plain of the river Silverlode west of the wood of Lorien."

"Orcish custom would normally have dictated hunting down the survivors to the bitter end, so that they could provide hours of amusing torment before they perished; but the Orcs were relatively few in number, and had sustained many losses themselves, and in the end their greed for gain outweighed their bloodlust; they did not wish to leave the treasure-sacks without sufficient guard while they pursued their quarry. So they left the Dwarves to their fate, took up the treasure themselves, and scurried back to their hills in the frosty North."

The Dwarf sighed again, and noted that some of the Hobbits were weeping tenderly at this sad tale, although they sought to drown their grief with Butterbur's prize-winning ale. But then his countenance turned grim and stern, and he flashed a glare at the old greybeard, who stared at him somberly from the shadows of his corner. The Dwarf continued:

"Now I promised you that my tale would address the calumnies of yon storyteller, and so it does. For the Orcish thieves of that treasure, for which King Nain had vainly paid with his life, soon received their just deserts. They were not far from Mount Gundabad when Scatha the Worm, of whom you have all now heard, descended greedily upon them, slaying them to the very last spindly-armed Goblin. He took the treasure of Khazad-dum for himself, and of its fate since then you have all heard tell. But let it not be said the horse-boys took it justly! To this day the gold that decorates the hall of Meduseld at Edoras is the rightful property of Durin's line, stolen from us by Fram son of Frumgar, who added injury to insult by murdering many fine Dwarvish warriors to boot. If we were were not so diminished in strength in these latter days, even now we would march on Edoras, pry the gold from its pillars and rafters, and carry it back to our own halls. And that, Men and Halflings of Bree, concludes my tale."

The Bree-men and Hobbits nodded gravely, and thanked the Dwarf for sharing his bitter tale with them. Truth to tell, most of them still thought that Fram and his line had a rightful claim to at least half the treasure, since had it not been for Fram's bravery and Freya's sacrifice Scatha would never have been slain, and the treasure would have remained in his lair until the end of time. And perhaps a few thought the Dwarves had brought their own troubles upon themselves, due to the greed and selfishness of the Dwarf-lords and their King. Glancing at the Dwarf's fierce countenance, though, they wisely decided to keep their opinions to themselves.

Even so, the Bree-hobbits who had inquired earlier of the ending of the old greybeard's tale timidly raised his hand, and said, "Beg pardon, Master Dwarf, but whatever became of King Thrain and his line? Last you told of them, they were fleeing from the Misty Mountains with nothing other than the shirts on their backs, or so it seems."

"What?" cried the Dwarf harshly, so frightening the poor Hobbit that he shrank back as far as he could on his stool without falling off. "Is so little of Dwarvish history known to your folk? I suppose I should expect nothing better of this rural backwater," he concluded scornfully. But then appearing to have a change of heart, he said:

"Very well, I shall tell you their fate in brief, seeing as the hour is late and even I grow tired. King Thrain and his people fled to the East, with hardly more than the shirts on their backs as you put it, and several more lost their lives in the perilous journey across the Anduin and past the eves of Mirkwood in the North. They were met and guided by the Grey Pilgrim, it is said, and he showed them the path to Erebor, the Lonely Mountain north of Lake Esgaroth, which proved to be rich with untapped ores."

"Thrain and his people set to work, and soon delved comfortable halls for themselves under Erebor, and many rich mines nearby in the Grey Mountains as well. Thrain founded the line of the Kings under the Mountain, and made firm alliance with the Dwarves of the Iron Hills to the East. Things went well for the Dwarves of Erebor for centuries, even though an attempt by one of Thrain's descendents to reclaim Khazad-dum for the Dwarvish race ended in disaster, and led to a great battle against the Orcish chieftain Azog (who was justly slain) that futher renewed the bitter enmity between Durin's line and the Orcs and Goblins of the Misty Mountains."

"But alas, fate once again hurled a cruel arrow at the heirs of Khazad-dum – of Moria, as foreigners now call it. Scatha had been slain long before, but one last great winged, fire-breathing Dragon yet lived in the Withered Heath north of the Grey Mountains – Smaug the Golden. One grim and terrible day several hundred years ago, he descended in wrath upon Erebor and took it for his own lair, slaying the great part of the Dwarves there and scattering Durin's line once again. Nor did his wrath stop at the Dwarves – he laid waste the nearby town of Dale, and forced the Northmen who lived there to take refuge at the Lake-town of Esgaroth, some leagues to the south. The Dwarves of Durin's direct line fled far, far to the west, to the Blue Mountains; for the East was again growing perilous in their judgment, not merely on account of Smaug, while despite the fall of Arnor the Westlands had proved strangely peaceful. Durin's heir as King under the Mountain yet dwells in his new halls amid the Blue Mountains to this day, but his rightful treasure lies under the foul claws of Smaug the Golden in the heart of Erebor. Of this matter I will say no more; my tale is told in full."

The Bree-hobbit, who had recovered from his fright, thanked the Dwarf for finishing his tale with all loose ends tied-up. One of his friends chirped up that "Listening to tales is thirstier and hungrier work than telling them, Mr.Butterbur." There was broad agreement with this sentiment, and the Bree-men and Hobbits began to discuss eagerly the exotic tales they had heard this night, and place their own orders for food and drink. Butterbur, his broad face once again beaming happily, stood up to refresh his guests with a final round of beer and good homely bread and cheese and stew (and a final infusion of coins into his bulging purse) before turning suddenly towards the two storytellers, an embarrassed expression on his face.

"Pardon me, kind sirs," he said, bowing awkwardly as he wiped his pudgy hands on his greasy apron. "I haven't got the best memory, it seems, and in all the excitement this evening I've quite forgot my manners. Might we have your names, so that the company here has the honour of knowing who delighted them with such marvelous stories of far off times and places, and queer, foreign folk – begging your pardon, Master Dwarf."

"My name is my business, innkeeper, and no one else's," replied the Dwarf gruffly, apparently offended (as Butterbur had feared he might be) at the description of his race as "queer" and not merely foreign. "Take these coins and ready my room for the night," he continued, slapping three sliver coins on the tabletop.

"Suit yourself, Master Dwarf," replied Butterbur obsequiously (for the Dwarf had placed enough money on the table to rent his finest room for the night, and better still had paid for it in three silver pennies rather than thirty coppers). He pocketed the coins in a deftly-practised move. "And you, old fellow?" he asked the first storyteller, a trifle patronizingly.

"I have many names in many lands," replied the old Man, almost as gruffly as the Dwarf. "But in these parts, and in the Northlands generally, I am referred to as Gandalf the Grey."

The Dwarf's jaw dropped open, as he stared at the Grey Wizard in astonishment. Butterbur scratched his head, and stared keenly.

"Gandalf…" muttered the innkeeper. "Now that's a strange name. Most definitely foreign. Do you know, when I think of it I remember a Gandalf who spent some time here at the Pony, many years ago when my poor departed father still ran the place. I was just a lad at the time. He looked much like you, but was about the same age then that you are now. Was he your father, perhaps?"

"Heaven preserve us!" cried Gandalf, his bushy eyebrows shooting up. "Now it's my turn to say my business is my own! Be off with you, Butterbur, and when you return make sure you've a mug of tea and a blackberry-tart waiting for me, if you've any left in your stores."

"I'll see what I can find," replied Butterbur, a bit less obsequiously than he had to the Dwarf (for after all this Gandalf had paid for his ample board with stories, not silver pennies). Butterbur then shuffled-off, leaving Gandalf to turn his attention to the Dwarf, who still sat and stared at him.

"Well?" exclaimed Gandalf at length. "If you've anything to say, then say it. You needn't stare as if you'd never seen a Wizard before."

"Begging your pardon, Gandalf the Grey," replied the Dwarf, who stood up and bowed deeply. "I fear my words and tone were harsher towards you this night than they might have been, had I known I was addressing a distinguished personage of such stature, such reknown, with such a reputation…"

"You needn't trouble me with long-winded Dwarvish speeches, Thorin Oakenshield," replied Gandalf, pulling out his clay pipe and stuffing it with pipeweed from his leathern pouch. "Dwarves don't bother with them unless they want something from others. Pull up a chair and tell me what's on your mind."

"A thousand pardons," replied Thorin, bowing deeply again. "I still can't understand why I didn't recognize you all this time; it is as if a veil were pulled over my eyes. As soon as I heard your name I recognized you immediately."

"You've certainly pulled a veil over other people's eyes this night," replied Gandalf mischievously. "You neglected to inform the Bree-men and Hobbits that the tragic story they heard was told to them by Durin's Heir, the rightful King under the Mountain himself!"

"Hush!" whispered Thorin, as he pulled up a chair in front of the Wizard's table. "Not so loud, if you please! I never reveal my true identity to strangers in foreign parts; for there are more than a few enemies who would be happy to see the end of Thorin son of Thrain son of Thror, heir of Thrain last-King of Khazad-Dum, and rightful King of Erebor."

"That title's quite the mouthful," observed Gandalf while igniting his pipe with a flint and tinder from his pouch. "I prefer 'King under the Mountain' myself. It's strange, though; I was just thinking of you these past few days, and when I pop into the Prancing Pony all of a sudden there you are. The spitting image of your father and grandfather, both of whom I knew well."

"I've thought of you yourself, Gandalf," replied Thorin gravely. "I could use your help."

"Help with what?" asked Gandalf.

"To reclaim what is rightfully mine!" whispered Thorin urgently. "My treasure under Erebor, and my throne; and my vengeance too!"

"Really," said Gandalf, taking a deep pull from his pipe, and blowing out a few smoke rings before replying. "There's the matter of the Dragon, you know. Dear old Smaug will have something to say about your setting up shop in his lair; and about your taking revenge on him, for that matter. There was more than a little exaggeration in your tale, when you claimed a volley of enchanted Dwarven-bolts could slay a Dragon armoured in Mithril-scales – not that Smaug possess such armour, of course. Still, a weapon of that sort applied even to plain old Dragon-scales wouldn't do more than give him a nasty itch, and make him very cross with you."

"That's why I need your help, Gandalf," replied Thorin with some embarrassment. "Much as I hate to admit it, we cannot defeat the Dragon without your aid."

"And who is this 'we' you refer to?" asked Gandalf.

"My cousins and other kinfolk," replied Thorin. "There's Balin and Dwalin, Oin and Gloin and…"

"Enough!" said Gandalf, raising his hand. "I don't need a complete list. How many are there in your proposed party?"

"Thirteen, including me," said Thorin. "Though that's an unlucky number for such a perilous expedition, to be sure. Fortunately with you it will be fourteen."

"Would be fourteen," corrected Gandalf, "if I accompanied you all the way to the Lonely Mountain." He paused, and frowned slightly. "Understand that I'm only in these parts on a holiday of sorts. I was planning to spend a month or two relaxing in the Shire, which is as relaxing a place as one can find these days."

"The Shire?" replied Thorin, and now it was his turn to frown. "The Halflings of the Shire are just ignorant peasants, worse than these Bree-landers. We buy the food they grow in exchange for gold and silver ingots from our mines in the Blue Mountains; but I wouldn't socialize with them on any account."

"Since when do Dwarves ever associate with non-Dwarves when they can avoid it?" asked Gandalf pointedly. "As it happens, the Shire Hobbits might be ignorant as you say; but they have good hearts, and I've been fond of them for many years. You might say I keep an eye on them now and then to ensure they're getting along decently. What's more I'm friends with the Took family of the Great Smialls at Tuckborough, whose patriarchs have by custom served as Thains of the Shire since the fall of Arnor."

"Indeed," replied Thorin, with little apparent interest. "But about our quest…."

"Yes, your proposed quest," interjected Gandalf. "You have some sort of plan or scheme in mind to regain Erebor for yourself, I suppose? And you want me to help you slay the Dragon, is that it?"

"Yes and yes," nodded Thorin. "There will be a one-fourteenth share of the treasure of Erebor in it for you, if we succeed!"

"That's more than even I would spend in all my days in Middle Earth!" laughed Gandalf. "My needs are simple you know. I could use a small stipend in exchange for my counsel; my purse was lost when I forded the Greyflood, as I mentioned earlier. But you'll have to reserve that fourteenth share for someone else who does something to earn it; I certainly won't."

"You refuse to help us, then?" asked Thorin, who appeared both crestfallen and offended at the same time.

"I did not say that!" exclaimed Gandalf. "Heavens, why does it seem no one other than me actually pays attention to people's words? Now listen carefully; I am willing to help you, certainly to help you devise a winning stratagem. And I might accompany you on a good part of your journey to the East; even as far as the westernmost eves of Mirkwood. But no further; I have my own business to attend to later this summer, business of the utmost importance, once my holiday (if indeed I take it) is at an end. It will be quite impossible for me to accompany you all the way to the Lonely Mountain. Maybe I can check in on you there much later in the year, or even early next year, but I certainly can't promise it."

"Well!" exclaimed Thorin, who plainly was not entirely pleased by the Wizard's reply, but just as plainly did not wish to offend him. "We would be greatful for any counsel you can offer, to be sure. But the hour is late, and I'm off for bed; in any case, I don't wish to reveal my secret plans outside of my own halls. Will you agree to forego youf 'holiday' in the Shire, as you call it, and spend a few weeks with me and my kin in the Blue Mountains? My halls are in the northern branch, east of Forlindon. You'll pass through the Shire as far as Michel Delving on the way there in any case, so you can keep an eye on your Shire Hobbits from horseback if you think that's important."

"Hmm," muttered Gandalf, blowing more smoke rings with his pipe.

"And there will be a stipend for you, a generous one, just for offering your counsel," promised Thorin. "And a good horse too, if you've lost yours. I can buy you one here at Bree in the morning."

"Done and done!" smiled Gandalf. "My holiday in the Shire can wait for another year."

Butterbur then arrived, bearing a tray with a mug of tea and a slice of blackberry tart. He deposited it on the table and then bustled off, leaving Gandalf to tuck in. Gandalf devoured the tart and drank the tea in record time, and then stood up, nodding briefly at Thorin. "I'm off to bed myself. We'll continue our discussion in the morning. Good night!"


The next day dawned bright and clear, the storm having blown eastward overnight. An hour after dawn, Gandalf and Thorin stepped out of the doors of the Prancing Pony, both well-breakfasted and ready for a long day's ride. Thorin strode toward the stables and signaled to the stable hands, who soon brought them two ponies; one of them Thorin's, the other freshly purchased by Thorin from Butterbur for four silver pennies, much to the innkeeper's delight; this one was for Gandalf. They mounted their steeds and without further ado rode down the main street of Bree, and out the Western Gate.

The rolling fields about were muddy and the trees were bare, looking as if they were still in the grip of late winter. But the air had a rich, fresh smell to it, and the first brave Coltsfoot flowers were already poking up from clay embankments by the roadside; spring was plainly on its way.

"I suppose we'll have to accept your accompanying us no futher than the western edge of Mirkwood, if you can't be swayed on that score," observed Thorin.

"You will, since I can't," asserted Gandalf.

"That still leaves that matter of the number in our company, though," frowned Thorin. "Thirteen Dwarves! That is most inauspicious indeed! I can't leave behind any of them, so we shall have to find a fourteenth member for our party; goodness knows where."

"Let me think on that," replied Gandalf soothingly. Then he smiled broadly. "Help can sometimes be found in the unlikeliest places, you know" laughed the Wizard, as he spurred his horse towards the Shire.

THE END