Chapter 2: Moonlit Secrets
The grand feast in Rivendell continued late into the night, the air filled with laughter, music, and the clinking of goblets. The tension that Daeron had sensed between the elves and dwarves seemed to simmer beneath the surface, kept at bay by Lord Elrond's diplomacy and the shared spirit of camaraderie that often accompanied such gatherings.
As the guests reveled in the mirth and indulged in the abundance of the elven cuisine, Gandalf took center stage, his voice commanding attention. He regaled the company with tales of their perilous journey through the Lone-lands, recounting their encounter with cave trolls and the remarkable bravery of the hobbit, Bilbo Baggins.
"And it was Bilbo, a hobbit of all creatures, who managed to distract the trolls with his wits and cunning," Gandalf declared, his eyes gleaming with pride. "He kept them arguing and bickering until the sun's first light turned them into stone."
The dwarves nodded in agreement, their gruff voices filled with appreciation for the unexpected heroism displayed by their newfound companion. A ripple of awe and admiration spread through the hall, followed by a round of applause. Daeron joined in the applause, his eyes fixed on Bilbo. The hobbit blushed under the attention but smiled, basking in the warmth of his newfound companions.
After the applause died down, Gandalf continued his tale, revealing the discovery of an ancient troll lair. He reached into his robe and produced two swords, their blades glinting in the light of the hall. One was a broadsword with an intricately designed hilt, and the other a slender blade with elven runes etched along its length.
"We found these inside, abandoned and forgotten for who knows how long." Gandalf said, "Perhaps you might know these blades?"
Lord Elrond, his keen eyes filled with wisdom, approached the table where the swords lay. He took them into his hands, his fingers tracing the intricate engravings and feeling the weight of their history.
"These are no ordinary blades," Elrond spoke softly, his voice carrying an air of authority.
"The first blade is Orcrist, the Goblin-cleaver… and this one is Glamdring; these blades were forged during the First Age, a mark of great skillmanship. To think that they lay gathering dust in some troll lair. These blades will serve you well." He handed the blades back to Gandalf, who handed Orcist back to Thorin who nodded his head in respect. They continued feasting throughout the night until the moon had reached its zenith. As people began to leave, Elrond spoke quietly to Thorin Oakenshield.
"The hour grows late, let us retire to my study where we may examine the map. Gandalf, Balin, Bilbo, and Daeron, please accompany me to my study."
Daeron's heart quickened at the mention of his name, honored that his father had included him to look at the map Thorin had brought with him. As they made their way through the tranquil halls of Rivendell, the night air whispered with anticipation. The moon, full and radiant, cast a gentle glow upon their path, leading them to Elrond's study. The study was a haven of knowledge, filled with ancient tomes, maps, and artifacts. The air crackled with energy as they settled around a large oak table, Gandalf motioned for Thorin to reveal the map. Hesitation flickered across Thorin's face for a split second. Daeron understood the hesitation, it was no secret the mistrust and tension between Elves and Dwarves.
He knew the story well of the fall of Erebor and about Smaug the great dragon that had laid waste to the once glorious and most powerful dwarven kingdom, how he had destroyed the human city of Dale. The Elves had abandoned the dwarves, leaving them to their fate. Though why, still remained a mystery to Daeron, he had heard rumors that the elves had deemed it a necessary consequence given the dwarves' tendencies to become too greedy and attract trouble. He'd heard the tales of Moria and its fall. Other's said it was jealousy and others said the elves had lost their appetite to shed more elven blood.
Elrond's eyes scanned the intricate details of the map, his fingers tracing the lines and symbols. "This map contains moon runes, hidden from mortal eyes, and testament to the skills of the dwarves. You need the moon to reveal what's hidden, it must reach it's zenith.'' He rose and moved towards a table that sat near a window.
Pale white moonlight shone through lighting the table up. Everyone moved to follow Elrond, their eyes fixed on the map, anticipation etched across their faces. Balin watched with a mixture of awe and curiosity, his gnarled hands gripping the edge of the table. Daeron found himself holding his breath as runes began to emerge, emitting a light blue hew. Elrond smiled
"The moon letters read as follows," Elrond's voice resonated, its timbre filled with the weight of forgotten ages. "'Stand by the gray stone when the thrush knocks, and the setting sun with the last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the keyhole.'"
Silence enveloped the room as Elrond's words sank in. Thorin leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with determination. "Durin's Day is drawing near, and we now possess the knowledge to unlock the door to the mountain."
"You forget Thorin that the door is completely hidden, we need to be at the exact position at the exact time and we only have one chance," Balin interrupted, "Time is slipping by, we must make haste. That door could be anywhere."
Gandalf nodded, his brows furrowed in deep thought. "But we must tread with caution. The enemy is aware of our quest, and our every move will be watched."
Daeron felt a shiver run down his spine, a reminder of the growing darkness in the world. He wondered if Gandalf's previous question about the rangers had anything to do with the quest of Thorin Oakenshield.
Bilbo yawned loudly, causing everyone to look at him, he smiled sheepishly.
"We can discuss things further tomorrow," Lord Elrond announced, his gaze turned to Gandalf. A silent exchange passed between them. A reminder of what awaited them in the morning.
As the company in Lord Elrond's study drew to a close, they dispersed, carrying the weight of their newfound knowledge. Daeron stepped out into the cool night air, his mind filled with thoughts of everything that had happened. The moon, high in the sky, cast its silver light upon him as he walked quietly, as he slowly made his way back to his chambers he could hear the deep yet harmonious voices of the dwarves as they sung, his keen elven ears picking up every last word,
"Far over the misty mountains cold
To dungeons deep and caverns old
We must away ere break of day
To seek the pale enchanted gold…"
Sleep eluded him as he played the song over through his head as he lay down. He couldn't help but sense sorrow for the dwarves who had lost their homeland. Eventually sleep overcame him, his dreams plagued by dragons, gold, and great smiths and destruction.