To Rescue Celebrian - RPG

[Mithadan]

The wolves circled the group warily, taking care to not stray too close to the burning torches or the blue light of the lamps. Their growls and howls were unceasing as the Elves stood with weapons at ready awaiting the onslaught. But each time a wolf approached, it was met with a burning brand or a blade and was forced to turn away.

"The Wargs," cried Elladan. "They must be slain or they will harass us day and night. The others will flee if the Wargs fall!" He took a step forward and cried "Elbereth Gilthoniel!" As if in response, his lamp flared bright, its light burning into the eyes of the wolves. The lesser animals whined and made as if to retreat but the Wargs stood their ground. Growling and gnashing their teeth, two padded over to face Elladan, their eyes gleaming red in the night.

The third Warg sidled over as well, but veered suddenly to the side and with an unearthly howl leaped at Tintallë, knocking him to the ground. Before any could come to the aid of the Elf, the pack howled as one and attacked...

[Airerûthiel]

A strange fire seemed to have been lit in Torfithien's heart; she knew this area fairly well, but the appearance of wargs was something she had not experienced in the region before now. The attack upon her companions had fuelled something dangerous deep within her. Her eyes blazed with a fierce red flame of anger and rage as she pulled an arrow from her back quiver and fitted it to her bow in a single fluid movement. The weapon sang as the shaft flew to its target, embedding itself in a warg's skin just below the shoulder.

The creature let out a howl of pain, but this only seemed to spur it on. Its already quick pace increased tenfold as it came for her. Her hand was on the hilt of her long knife. She glanced sideways, trying to find some help, but the others were already occupied trying to fend off the other two. Swiftly she drew the knife. Its blade flashed like a streak of brightest sunlight as it caught the stars' glow. With a roar that sounded like the battle cry of a true warrior and seemed to echo on into eternity, making the very landscape ring, she plunged the knife into the warg's heart.

It snapped at her neck, trying desperately to take a life before its own ebbed away. She ducked and dodged, trying to pull the blade from the wound. It was stuck fast, and the harder she hauled on it the less it seemed to move. Suddenly she slipped on the blood-stained ground and fell onto her back, taking the wolf with her. She found herself staring up into the warg's face, her blood freezing to carmine ice in her veins.

At the same time the creature's teeth grazed her shoulder, tearing her tunic and leaving a small yet noticeable wound, she managed to free her knife. Blood from the warg's chest poured over her like a red waterfall, covering her in the dripping liquid. She could hear arrows whistling in the distance, striking the wolf's thick hide. Her head was spinning, but she knew she had to fight on.

Using the sleeve of her good arm to staunch the bleeding of her injury, she somehow managed to reach around the warg's side and pull the arrow from its shoulder. The weapon snapped in half as she yanked it loose, but she had all she needed. Stabbing wildly on the warg's body wherever she could, trying to break the skin and get the creature to lose even more blood, eventually her arrow found its eye. The howl of pain that the wolf let out rent the air apart.

"Torfithien!" She did not recognise the voice, nor could she tell where it was coming from, but suddenly it became clear that unless she got out of the way the warg was going to fall on top of her, crushing her to death. In that moment the silence struck her. She rolled sideways, praying she would escape. The warg's heavy lifeless body fell barely inches from her own as she passed out.

[ April 12, 2003: Message edited by: Airerûthiel ]

[dragoneyes]

Tintallë had been bowled over by the warg's weight. His breath was knocked out of him but he had no time to lie on the ground and gasp. The warg was now snapping at him, trying to reach his neck. Tinntallë Was holding to warg off with one arm and desparately trying to draw his knife with the other. The wargs was leaning into him more and more and his arm was beginning to shake with the strain.

At last he found the hilt of his knife, he put all of his concentration into drawing it. It came easily and Tintallë got it ready to thrust into the wargs chest but his arm gave way first. The warg drove forward, using Tintallë's stomach to push off, and push strait into Tintallë's blade. The warg howled, a terrible noise as the blood gurgled up its throat.

Tintallë took his chance, he rolled over so that the warg was underneath and he was able to stand. Two arrows flew from the direction of the group, he didn't know who had shot them but he was very grateful for them as they kept the warg down. One hit the warg in the shoulder, the other in the stomach, Tintallë didn't dare rest though. He pulled the knife out of the squirming form of the warg and stabbed it through the neck, ending it s life instantly.

[ April 12, 2003: Message edited by: dragoneyes ]

[Sadbh]

Time was unmeasurable in the prison of stone known as Moria. It was not long after her first conversings with Celebrian since regaining conciousness that she heard a grunting and scrabbling from the hall. The noise grew louder and came closer, until it was upon them.

Feaelena pulled herself up, scraping her arm upon the stones. She felt her chest tighten as she peared into the dark.

There was the sound of a stone being moved aside, a grating scrape across the floor, and the then sound of hsising and clumsy footfall across the floor. Suddenly a torch flared. The unpleasant scent of burning tallow filled the already unbearably stale air.

However, the scent of the flame was the least of things to worry about. Silhouettes were outlined by the torch, dark, malformed, and broken. Glowing pinpricks bore into her from the darkness, fell disgusting to look at.

Shaking slightly, the elf inched back to farther corners, where the shadows were deeper. It was of no use. She had already been seen by the orcs, who grabbed at her arms. The scaled paws caused her to scream, and for a moment her breathing stopped.

Over her fear, however, a sense of duty overwhelmed her an she kept her mouth quiet. If she did not wake Celebrian the yrch would not be aware of her presence and she would be unscathed.

Trying hard to be quiet, she struggled against the orc who had grabbed her, beating it with her depleated strength. She felt it withdraw as she hit its face. It shrieked. There was a stirring in the corner, where Celebrian must be.

The other orcs seemed to be rooting about for them both, moving like noisy dogs across the stone. Squirming soundlessly to the sounds of the lady, she sank onto the floor. "What..." Celebrian started to speak, but her handmaiden quickly silenced her.

"Yrch." Waiting in silence they sat, following with startled eyes the burning torch, as it looped around the room. Just as it had moved away, Feaelena felt something grab at her shoulders. Barely keeping from screaming She struggled once more, feeling the clawed hand beat her around the head and neck.

"Milady, go! There are many!" Feaelena felt herself crushed to the bare rock, slipping into blackness.

[Mithadan]

The last remaining Warg snapped at Elladan forcing him back a step. Then the beast howled and loped away, followed by the remainder of the pack. Elladan dropped his sword and seized his bow, but by the time he had nocked an arrow, the wolves had melted into the night.

Elrohir shook his head grimly. "If we track them, we must turn aside from our quest," he said. "But if we do not, then we will likely face this foe again. They will return, perhaps greater in numbers. This is an ill chance to have encountered these beasts."

He turned to the others. "What shall we do? Shall we follow the Warg and his pack, or continue along our road?"

[Garen LiLorian]

The Wargs were among the groupe without so much as a warning, and Angóre, who had been riding back, could do little more than watch, horrorstruck, as they slashed through the group. Torfithien and Tintallë went down, writhing under the grey forms. Elrohir and Findorfin slew many of the lesser beasts.

Angóre dashed forward into the group, sword flailing at the smaller wolf-forms. He knew not whether any went down under his assault, his purpose was to reach those in peril. "Torfithien!" He cried in warning as the Elf-maid's arrow found the Warg's life, and the lithe maiden rolled quickly to the side. By the time he had looked back, Tintallë had stabbed his foe through the neck, and now was struggling out from under the bulky form, his face a mask of disgust.

Angóre swung down from his horse and helped pull the Warg's body from Tintallë, then looked up at Elrohir's question to the group. "Hunt them? Surely they are broken and divided. We might spend weeks hunting down the remains of the pack. I do not think that they will return, and we can ill afford such a delay. My vote is for continuing on, with all speed. Let these curs come again if they dare."

[ April 20, 2003: Message edited by: Garen LiLorian ]

[the real findorfin]

"Yes, we should continue on our way," Fingil agreed, "they have been seriously wounded by us, and perhaps they will think twice before again attacking."

He stooped down and cleaned his blade, before sheathing it once more. He was breathing heavily but was starngely excited. No one was dead except their enemies and he had fought well. His long rest in Imladris was over and the warrior inside him was released.

He bent down to Torfithien to see if his comrade was alright and found her unconscious. He lifted her head and whispered her name , "Torfithien, Torfithien."

She sighed and opened her eyes slowly, smiling and relaxing as she saw Fingil.

"Are you injured?" he asked kindly.
"I will be alright," she murmured as she raised herself up.

"I am glad," Fingil said, smiling. He rose and offered her his hand.

[Mithadan]

Elladan looked to the east where the wolves had disappeared into the shadows. Then he looked to the south and their goal; the Mines of Moria. He shook his head in frustration, then held a quick and whispered conversation with Elrohir. Turning, he addressed his companions.

"We are faced with ill choices," he said. "We will continue on to Moria without delay, but my heart warns me that the wolves may yet have more to say about our quest. We will double our watch in the evenings and will rest only with a fire burning in our camp until we see the Mountains of Moria. Then, of necessity, we must extinguish our campfires but we shall maintain an even closer watch."

As if to affirm his concerns, from the east there came a mournful howl...

[Lugbúrz]

As the group hied South, keeping close to the base of the Misty Mountains, they passed landscapes of familiar obscurity.

The lands around them had changed since they had traversed it last. Elladan and Elrohir were aware of the perceptible nuances in the Wild. There were tracks of strange feet, Men of a strange breed. The plains stretching Eastwards evinced a snaffling presence of evil stirring. As the group crossed the River Ninglor, they noticed that the fields lay masked by a gloom.

Concerned yet unscathed, the elves made haste of their progress. Their concerns did not end with the Eastern eye. The Misty Mountains seemed to be crawling with terrible sounds. None of their nights passed without vigil.

Elrohir grew concerned of how vulnerable they had become. Even if they could stand their ground and fight the evil around them, their presence had been announced, and was surely being watched. There was little hope of stealth in their arrival. Unless they hoped to baffle the orcs that lay ahead by a spectacular entry in the Mines of Moria. Or was he just imagining their susceptibility and the worst? And was there still hope from quarters unlooked for? Unfortunately, time was running out.

The sun awoke on their fifth day from Imladris to show them the pinnacle of Fanuidhol, a spire of silver marking the Southern horizon.

Moria was upon them.

[the real findorfin]

Since the incident with the Wargs, Fingil had struck a chord with Torfithien and they had grown in friendship. They now walked together most days and as Moria loomed, a deep dread fell over Fingil, which could only be quenched with Torfithien’s aid. But as the sun shone down, he buried his fears and resolutely strode onward.

He had talked with Elrohir in the past few days and they had shared worries of their lack of cover. But as the ground would soon become rocky, Fingil hoped that they would be able to hide and possibly loose any followers. Now, as they packed up and made ready to march after another tense but uneventful night, Fin felt the sun on his face and a new hope dawned in him. They would enter Moria! They would find their lady! They would Rescue Celebrian!

He looked around him and saw the increasingly worried faces hid did something that he would not have dreamed doing usually.

“My friends’” he called out, “we will achieve our quest, as Arien is my witness, I will not let us fail.” He raised his sword to the sun, and slowly, one by one, the others joined him with similar gestures of hope.

“Then let us go and achieve it,” said Elladan, soberly.

[Airerûthiel]

It was strange to have a real friend, but at the same time Torfithien liked the fact that she no longer felt so alone. She would always be grateful to Fingil for saving her life during the battle with the wargs. They were still some days from Moria, and so there was ample time for her to contemplate the journey so far.

She still felt a little detatched from the group as a whole, but there were a few people she was beginning to warm to. In a way she liked this sort of relationship with the company - it made her not feel like quite such an outcast, but was distant enough for her liking (she had never been comfortable feeling close to someone else).

It was at times like these that she missed Lothlórien. The Golden Wood had been her home all her life, and it was in the wilds of the lands that she had sought comfort after Rorfimir's death. She had loved the young Wood-elf ever since she had lain eyes on him in the forest of Mirkwood all those years ago. Why could the wargs not have taken her life instead of his? Why had she listened to him and stayed at home like the 'lady' she was, instead of going to face the wolves with him?

The recent conflict had brought back bitter memories for her. When she had killed that warg, it had been as revenge for taking Rorfimir's life more than anything else. Did she want to avenge his death, or was she just looking for the quickest route to allow them to meet once more? She could not answer her own question, and sighed heavily as she thought on of her home in Lórien.

She could sense there was something troubling Fingil, but did not think to ask him what was wrong. If she tried to get inside his head, then there was the possibility she could get too close to him. With the possible exception of the Lady Celebrian, he was the closest friend she had ever had. She wanted to learn more about him - he intrigued her greatly - but she knew in her heart that it was far too dangerous. Every person she had ever been close to had always ended up getting hurt in some way - both her mother and the love of her life were dead, and now Lady Celebrian was lying underground in the clutches of those vile orcs. She was not prepared to ruin any more lives.

The life she had chosen was one of being solitary. If loneliness was the price that she had to pay at the risk of not hurting anyone else, then so be it. She had made the choice, and now there was no turning back.

[Mithadan]

The Elves continued southward, but veered now to the west, for the mountains curved towards the setting sun in the area of the Gladden Fields. The foothills of the Hithleaglir provided them with some cover, but it was with great caution that they approached Caradhras, the northernmost of the Mountains of Moria. At length, they drew even with Caradhras and turned back to the west to circle Cloudyhead.

Pointing towards the approaching peaks, Elladan said, "Between Caradhras and Celebdil runs the Redhorn Pass before it veers towards the south to skirt the feet of Fanuidhol, the Cloudyhead. Thus even as we approach the gates of Moria, so shall we be crossing the mouth of the pass where my mother was captured. We must take care and scout out these lands, lest we fall into a trap."

Elladan looked at his companions, then to his brother. "Elrohir," he said. "Take Angóre and creep up to the mouth of the Redhorn Pass. If it is clear, go further and spy out the ways of Dimrill Dale."

Elrohir nodded. "We shall return quickly..."

[Lugbúrz]

Elrohir spoke gently to his horse and it instantly galloped away in the silence of the morning. Angóre followed instantly, and soon found himself riding aside the son of Elrond.

Soon they began to climb over a gentle slope that was covered with loose gravel and some sharp stones. The horses gracefully manoeuvered their way through them, as their riders scanned the slopes for any sign of unwanted company.

In a while they reached a small plateau off which two paths rose, each quite similar to the other. The elves stopped briefly to consider their future course.

"Which leads to the Redhorn Pass, I wonder," mused Angóre.

"We'll soon know," said Elrohir, as he looked closely at his companion.

In the minds of elves still resides the wisdom of the Elder Days, and in them lies the understanding of the forces of the world. Magic, is apparently stronger in them than any other of the creatures of Arda. And they possess quite an ability to use it in spectacular ways, ways in which humans are often never looking for.

"Of course," nodded Angóre, and immediately took the path on the left.

Elrohir smiled for just a short moment, and returning to the grave situation, nudged his horse onto the path on the right.

[Mithadan]

Elladan watched as Elrohir and Angóre rode off towards the mountains. Then he settled in to wait for their return. Taking up a twig, he drew a diagram in the dirt, then, with a scowl, he scratched it out. He shook his head and looked off at the mountains as if his long gaze might pierce some veil which shrouded them.

Fingil noticed Elladan's distraction and came near to sit beside Elrond's son. "Something troubles you," he said.

"I fear that the Gates of Moria will be guarded," he answered. "I do not know how we will safely enter..."

Upon hearing this, Tintallë's head jerked around. "You do not know how we will enter?" he demanded. "We have travelled for days and withstood Trolls and Wargs and you do not know how we will enter?"

Elladan's eyes flashed, then cooled and he responded evenly. "There is no tale in Rivendell which speaks of any entrance to the Dwarven realm on this side of the mountains other than the Gates of Durin. Beyond those Gates is a deep abyss spanned only by a narrow bridge, without rails, broad enough only for one person to pass at a time. If that bridge is held against us, I would not care to try to enter that way. No doubt there are other entrances for supplies and wagons, but if so, they are hidden for none know of them. The Dwarves' practice was to conceal a door by making it appear even as the rock from which the mountain is made, without seam or hinge. We might spend weeks seeking such a door, if it exists at all."

"Then is this a fool's errand?" cried Tintallë. "That we shall either not enter or we shall brave Durin's Gate and send up the alarm to all the Orcs of Moria?"

"Peace," answered Elladan in an cold voice. "For this reason, my brother and Angóre are sent to spy out the ways of Dimrill Dale so that we will know if that route is safe. If it is not, we will...find another way to enter." From where he sat, he could just see the peak of Celebdil and he stared intently at that rocky crag...

[Lugbúrz]

As he climbed the path, Elrohir mused upon the events of the past week. News of his mother's capture had filled him with such a rage of purpose that time seemed to have little meaning.

It was well that he and his brother were well versed with travel and stealth, for they could have expended little effort to preparing themselves for the immediate concerns, let alone preparing the others to cope with the situation.

His mind dwelt on the company, most had done well to waylay their fears and surivive. Yes, just survive. That wouldn't be good enough for the path ahead. Moria...

As Elrohir mulled over the quagmire, his horse had cimbed considerably. The terrain around them had transformed. He was in the middle slopes of the Misty Mountains. The loose gravel became dangerously slipperly as the untrodden paths were slated with frigid ice. Deciding to unburden his stallion, Elrohir dismounted and began walking in long strides, as his horse followed gratefully. What occured immediately to Elrohir was that this had definitely been a path once, if not anymore. The years had not yet eroded the ruts of feet.

[Garen LiLorian]

Almost immediately after their split Angóre lost sight of Elrohir as the path he had chosen sloped away to the southwest, climbing upward into the mountains. He sat astride his horse, keeping the beast to an easy stroll, and even as his keen Elvish senses scanned the path ahead, his mind wandered, recounting the desperate journey thus far.

He had traveled these mountains many times in his life, but never had there been such peril. Twice already the group had been assaulted, and only by the grace of Varda were they yet unharmed. There was something more than the random movements of wild creatures at work here; for the mountains to present such deadly peril to even the tall sons of Elrond hinted at a greater scheme, something subtle and hidden even to the long sighted Elves. Shadows were returning, where once light had been. The High Pass, Caradhras, even the forests and plains where only beasts live, all held against them. And yet before them their greatest challenge still loomed. Moria. Who could know what dangers awaited them in that underground vastness? Angóre had no more love for the deeps than had his kindred, yet a thrill ran through his body at the thought. Ahead of him lay his doom, his destiny, and eager he was to meet what fate might send him.

The trail ahead of him widened, then vanished onto a rock plateau. Angóre dismounted, leading his horse over the rock. The Sun cast her rays through the peaks of the mountains now; it would be dark soon. Angóre had no wish to find the gates after dark, for the patrols that issue forth from the Eastgate after dusk would prove a match for any lone scout. But the gate was near now; perhaps no more than a hundred yards, though he could not have said how he knew. Just over that next rise, perhaps.

Angóre bid his horse stay, and crept forword, his soft boots leaving no trace on the rock. Then he froze as he heard voices from over the ridge, the common tongue mixed with the Black Speech as only a goblin knows. An expression of disgust at the their profanity flitted across his face momentarily, and he crouched out of sight behind a boulder as the speakers came into view.

There were two of them; short and swarthy, squinting in the light of the evening and bickering in the manner of such folk.
"Gar, it's lucky you are you didn't get your 'ead sawed off just for askin'. You oughta know better than that after what 'appened to old Shûndug."
"Oh, an' I suppose you've led a blameless life then, 'ave you? After all, daylight patrol being such an honored post and such."
"Shut your mouth, Snaga, or I'll do something you won't like much. We've got business to attend to out 'ere, and shift's over soon anyways. Be a bit of a shame if you, eh, didn't report in this evenin' eh?"

When the second voice continued, it was with rather less venom.
"What're we looking for that's so important, anyways? There some sort of invasion coming?"
The first goblin, who was considerably larger than the other, shrugged elaborately.
"Dunno. I look like I'm on the need to know list to you? I'll tell you one thing though; Bosses've been distracted lately, 'ardly ever coming up to check see everything's still working. I think," he leaned in conspiratorally, "They've got something big in the works. Something to do with the snow pass. Big commotion up there a while back. Whole place in an uproar."

The sound faded as the two sentries moved back towards the mountain face. Angóre was tempted to follow, but there was no reason to risk capture, he knew now what he came here for. He allowed a feeling of triumph to infuse him as he started to move back to where he had left his horse.

As he crested the ridge, he saw something that brought a smile to his lips; Elrohir was leading his horse along the trail. Angóre threw up his hand in greeting, the last of the dying light illuminating him as he stood on the ridge.

[Airerûthiel]

That night Torfithien took the first watch. She was bitterly cold, and her cloak gave her little protection against the wind's bite. Her gaze never strayed from the dying embers; she only glanced up slightly at the sound of a cracking twig or the rustle of wind in nearby bushes. In the fire's flames she sought her future, her purpose in life: but it was not to be found there, not tonight at least. Her heart was heavy as she remembered the family she had loved and lost, and she sighed sadly occasionally.

Suddenly the sound of footsteps registered in her mind. She whirled round suddenly, her hand on the handle of her long knife, instantly defensive. Fingil came out of the shadows, illuminated in various shades of red and orange and gold as he sat down beside her. "Forgive me for startling you," he said. "I did not mean to give you cause for fright. But I do not come here only to keep you company in the lonely night; there is something I must ask you. Why have you been avoiding me?"

"You are mistaken." Torfithien's words came out defensively, making her seem uptight and tense. Fingil could see her eyes beginning to glaze over with tears. "I am sorry; forgive me, I cannot control my emotions." She seemed to be punishing herself for not being as strong and together as she normally seemed. "Fingil, you are the first real friend I have ever had. It is for your own good that we cannot be truly close."

"What do you mean?" The male Elf was curious to know why his friend was talking in riddles. "Torfithien, I can assure that you have done nothing wrong. I only worry because you are so quiet and rarely speak to any of us. We are all striving for a common goal - I know you were closer to the Lady Celebrian than any of us others, but our duty is to help each other as well as to rescue her."

Torfithien knew she had to tell him. "You will think I am imagining things, but...I believe I condemn those whom I am close to to death."

She saw the puzzled look on Fingil's face, and explained further. "When I was but a child, I loved my mother more than life itself. She adored me too, as I was her only daughter and by the time of my birth she was considered perhaps a little too old to bear more children. We had a stronger bond than any other Elven girl-children that I knew other did with their mothers. But that all changed when I was seven years old.

"My mother was an Elf of Mirkwood who had married into the Lórien Elves. She would often go back to visit her people in the wood, and one of these trips when I was small proved fatal. A party of Orcs ambushed her just before she entered the forest, and shot her with arrows. She died instantly. All we knew for some days was that she never came home, until one of King Thranduil's riders came to the Golden Wood with the message that she was slain."

"How could you have been responsible for her death?" asked Fingil. "It was not your fault that the Orcs chose to attack your mother. She was just unlucky. It is a simple case of her being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Torfithien shook her head. "It is more than that. My hands are stained with the blood of a second one whom I was close to. It was about the time that Celebrian married Elrond. I was lonely and longed to find love myself. So I decided to make a journey to Mirkwood, to see where my mother had spent her youth. It was in that forest that I first saw Rorfimir." Her eyes were soft and warm, with a dreamy look about them. "The sight of that Wood-elf walking through the forest and singing The Lay of Lúthien struck me dumb instantly - he was the most beautiful thing that I had ever seen. We laid eyes upon one another at the exact same moment, and fell in love at once.

"The relationship was turbulent, but it had to be kept a secret - we felt we were destined to be together, but no-one else agreed with us. We were even lucky in that our romance produced a son, whom we named Calilmal. However, it was not to be, as I let Rorfimir be taken from me not six years after our son's birth.

"The goblins conspired with the wolves to attack Mirkwood. Rorfimir felt it his duty to go and defend his kindred, but I wished to go instead and fight for my mother's folk. He bade me stay in Lothlórien with our son, promising me that as soon as he returned we would be wed. I never saw him again. To this day I have not forgiven myself for heeding his words and not going to battle. The wargs should have taken my life, not his!" She began to sob, small choking gasps for air coming from her mouth. Fingil nervously put an arm round her shoulder for comfort, stroking her cheek and hair, rocking her as though she were a frightened child.

"What happened to your son?" he asked after several minutes. The child's story intrigued him, and he wished to know what had happened to the boy. Perhaps he had met him once before. Perhaps he could reunite Torfithien with her long-lost child.

"I took him to Edoras." Torfithien's tone was filled with regret as she pulled away from Fingil. She still did not trust him, despite the fact that he clearly wanted to care for her. "He was left on the doorstep of a peasant family and named Tellyn. I do not know if he still lives, and I am sure that he will not remember me in the slightest. He has his life-path, and I have mine. They are separate and shall never cross."

With that, she stood up and walked towards her sleeping patch, leaving a very confused Fingil staring after her as she disappeared into the shadows.

[the real findorfin]

Fingil remained stil, confused. Torfithien's story had filled him with sorrow and she needed to be comforted. Yet, with the dreams of his own demise, could her curse be true?

He shook his head angrily, if his death came to pass it would not be Torfithien's fault. He rose and strode after the elvish lady. He caught her up in the darkness and softly touched her arm.
"Torfithien?"
Sobs became audible but he resisted the reaction to pull back. Rather, he held her tighter and she did not struggle.
"Torfithien, I do not worry about your past. If it is my role to die in this adventure then there is no blame on you. I value your friendship and would not have it suffer, whatever the consequences may be."
The elvish lady turned and wept onto Fingil's shoulder and he held her to him. When the tears subsided, she looked up to him and said, simply, "thank you."
"Let us return to the fire," he suggested.
She smiled, and wiping her tear-stained face, followed him back to the circle of light.

[Lugbúrz]

Elrohir was about to halt and scan the horizon from the plateau that he had climbed onto. He surmised that it was between the two peaks, overlooking the Redhorn Pass in the South.

Just as he was about to let his mount graze on the sparse grass of the mountainside, he heard a cry of surprise. Nonplussed by the sudden sound, Elrohir turned swiftly and noticed with dismay that there were two orcs challenging Angore, who had his sword out and appeared quite perturbed.

In a flash, Elrohir was pacing towards the stranded elf. The orcs however, looked immeasurably calm with their surprising valour, for taking on one of the Eldar was by no means a simple task for two fully grown orcs, even hobgoblins! In a moment, Elrohir understood why, and realised his folly - he had given up the element of a surprise attack, for as he approached the trio, he noticed that behind them stood an entire band of orcs, no doubt the sentries posted for a watch over the Pass.

In the fading twilight, their faces gleamed of malice, and turning to see another elf approach them, made their smiles flicker, but noticing that he was alone, brought their glee back in measured cunning.

"Lost your way in the hills, have we?" asked one of the two orcs that stood closer to Angore.

"No, we were looking just for you," replied Elrohir calmly.

Angered by the composure of the elves, the chief of the band turned around and gave a terrible cry. Without a further word, they were upon the two intruders.

The lack of light gave the orcs a definite advantage, as they surrounded both the elves and advanced menacingly, ensnaring them like a noose around the throat of a desperate prisoner. Elrohir looked at Angore for a moment and was reassured by a look of fiery determintaion, one which lusted for the perishing of evil. It seemed as all vile things abroad were to fear and despair, for the javelins of this elf would find their mark tonight.

The first blow was puissant; the orc-blade pared Angore's arm as he manoeuvered away from it and struck out, slicing the blade with his sharp sword. Two other orcs replaced the disarmed opponent, only to be met with a worse defeat, for this time the acute sword severed the arms that wielded the blades! They dropped to the ground as the orcs let out a terrible howl of agony, and collapsed to the ground, drenched in blood. Fighting beside Angore, Elrohir was less lethal in his attack. The chief and his companion were both engaged in an exchange of blows with the fair elf, and he seemed to be parrying them with little burden as he kept fighting off the numerous smaller orcs that assailed him from all sides. Finding no success, the chief stepped back and let out a loud growl, and presently many more of his men joined the foray. Elrohir immediately realised that this would be quite impossible to tarry with. With a turn of his sword, he gripped the hilt firmly and pummeled through the ranks and struck a deadly blow skewering the chief's belly.

Elrohir expected the band to lose heart and flee, but was quite shocked to see them fight with renewed vigour, as they seemed to take orders now from another. It appeared that the elves had been expected, and the watches had been prepared well. Not finding much respite from the increasing offensive, Elrohir turned to see that Angore had managed to slaughter a few more of the enemy. He then let out a helpless shout as an orc wielding a cudgel approached Angore from behind and struck him on the head, knocking the elf unconscious.

Outnumbered by the whole group, Elrohir backed away menacingly as the orcs took stock and advanced. The new leader spoke harshly, "foolish elf! Surrender or die."

To their surprise, Elrohir quietly laid down his sword.

"Then I shall surrender," he said without emotion.

Amazed by the compliance, the orcs were jubiliant. The head spoke haughtily, "smart, more learn like you then good. Tie him!"

Four orcs carried Angore of their shoulders while they tied Elrohir crudely with filthy ropes, scared to touch the fair elvish skin. Then they marched the prisoners along the plateau for a distance in the waxing moonlight, and after a while climbed down a rocky path and came to the opening of a low cave. They were met by a few more sentries that looked very interested in the captives, glad that they were securely fastened and could do no further harm.

"Who have you here," one of them asked, searching for the leader of the group, and holding up his torch higher to see the entire company.

"Tresspassers, and elves," came the sneering reply.

With no further question, the prisoners were led along with a few orcs into the cave and to the very back, where there was a hole in the wall, with small rocks lying all around it. Beside the opening, Elrohir spied in the torchlight some dwarf runes in the wall, the orcs had found a dwarf entrance and blasted it from inside.

Just as the orcs were about to lead the elves inside the passage, there were a few gasps from them. Elrohir turned to notice that Angore had woken up and jumped up and surprised the orcs carrying him. Having been unbound, he had cleverly managed to secure a sword off one of his bearers. In a minute all four lay dead and he had sprung to cut Elrohir's bonds.

Quick as lighting Elrohir snatched his sword, that had been wrapped around in a wastecloth, for the orcs feared it mortally. In the dim torchlight of the cave, the orcs fell before they realised what was happening. Soon, the few of them that fit the small cave were all lying on the floor. The cries had alerted the orcs still remaining outside, and they were rudely made to stop their celebration and deal with the sudden attack.

The elves ran out of the cave and stood before them, perhaps a dozen or more. Angore had recovered his sword and was crading it with delight and anger.

Then it was that the help arrived. For in the bright moonlight shining upon the plateau, the two elves and their bravery had attracted the watchful eyes of the friends of the skies. Descending swiftly, a convocation of Eagles cried out into the night, filling the orcs with a fear beyond any other. They looked up in terror and disgust and disbanded and fled. But none of them survived. The wrath of the Eagles was swift and lethal. The decapitated orcs lay strewn on the mountain.

The elves had secured an entry into Moria.

[ May 29, 2003: Message edited by: Lugbúrz ]

[Mithadan]

Elladan looked at the members of his little company one at a time. Torfithien and Fingil, though concerned both about the quest and other matters, chafed to be off. Vanimorén too seemed determined and anxious to proceed. But Tintallë was ill at ease, frequently looking up at the mountains with trepidation or glancing about and starting at every noise as if the surroundings were about to erupt with foes.

He is a healer, not a warrior. Elladan stood and walked over to Tintallë and spoke quietly. "Now that Moria is near, the dangers of this task seem more real. Is that not so?"

Tintallë could not meet his eyes. "This is all beyond my experience," he admitted. "I have been in battle and wielded both the blade and the tools of healing. But to crawl into the heart of our foes' fastness without any clear idea of how to accomplish our goal..." He shook his head.

Elladan looked upon him without scorn and spoke softly with kindness. "You are not made for such tasks," he said. "You are no craven but you prefer herbs to blows. There is no shame in this. And there are other tasks which you may perform that will aid us."

Tintallë looked up at Elladan gratefully. "What may I do?" Elladan nodded and continued. "To the south lies the land of Lorien where dwell Galadriel and Celeborn, my kin. Go there! Inform them of our task and advise them that if we succeed in rescuing my mother, it is likely that we will emerge from Moria with all the Orcs of that place on our heels. Ask them for aid, else we must trek through the wilds pursued by an army of foes."

Tintallë nodded and packed his bag...

[the real findorfin]

Fingil watched her in the firelight. She had calmed and was resting, lying - eyes closed - with her cloak about her. He felt deeply for her plight, and longed to help her. But if he did die, then she would feel it was her fault, no matter what he said now.

Tintallë rose and Fingil was brought from his reverie. The elf stood and walked across the space between them. He touched the healer's arm and he turned.
"Where are you going?" Fingil asked.
"To Lothlorien," came the reply, "to attain help for your departure from Moria."
Fingil nodded. "A clever move. The brothers are wise beyond all of us."
He embraced Tintallë and wished him good luck before returning to where he had been sat. He lay down, head on his rolled up cloak and looked up at the works of Varda.

A peel of cries rent the air and echoed about and Fingil was startled. He wondered what they had been, certainly not those of orcs. More like to that of birds. He wondered what had become of Elrohir and Angore. It had been several hours now and they should have been back.

He dozed as the light of the stars shone down upon the group. Torfithien lay asleep nearby, Elladan stood, gazing out into the night around them and Tintallë readied his horse for his journey.

[ May 30, 2003: Message edited by: the real findorfin ]

[Garen LiLorian]

Angóre crossed over to where Elrohir sat deep in thought. He sunk to his heels beside the other Elf and said quietly, "The way is open now, though it will not be for long. The absence of an entire patrol will not go unnoticed and I fear that when they fail to report, we shall find Moria held in strength against us. We must enter the Dwarrowdelf now, and not delay even for the rest of our comrades. The horses must be sent back with messages, and they must catch us as can."

Elrohir spoke without looking up. "I fear you may be right, my friend, though I wish it were not so. Truly, we shall meet with trouble again before my mother returns with us, and where two may be lost, many together are strong." He sighed deeply before continuing, "Yet you are right. If we wait here, all the goblins of Moria shall find us before Elladan can. I can think of only one solution. We must enter Moria, drawing strength away from this gate for Elladan and his company to enter. Our situation has grown desperate indeed for this to be our only course!"

But Angóre said, "If this be our path than there is no turning from it. Yet I do not think our situation dire. Rather are we gifted with this chance! For this night shall many of these Orcs feel the sting and bite of our blades, and our names shall ring in song from the rafters of the Last Homely House." And a strange fire woke deep within his eyes as he turned to make ready.

Then Elrohir stood and cried aloud "Great Windlords, you have placed us deeply in your debt once this night. Would you do another service for the house of Elrond? Find Elladan, my brother, and tell him of what has transpired here. Bid him come with all speed, for the window shall close soon, and Celebrían languish in her captivity lest he come swift as the wind itself."

And the Eagles said "It shall be done, son of Elrond," and with a sound of mighty wings, they were gone, speeding Eastward.

The horses were abandoned, bid to find their way to Lórien and there stay, for the beasts were of no use in the close tunnels of the Dwarrowdelf. Then Elrohir and Angóre stood, and descended into the dark length of Moria.

[Lugbúrz]

The tunnel was dark, and the only light seemed to come off the elves itself until Angore lit a torch.

"The orcs won't be needing this any longer," he said with a smirk.

Elrohir smiled and wondered if any of the other orcs would notice the small mound they had made to inter the corpse and sconce alike. They would surely notice the unguarded cave, if not the missing patrol.

It was tough to feel too hopeful in this dark place, but Elrohir was yet with hope.

"Yes, we can make better use of it," he said with a smile, and looked upon the tunnel as it lit up from the torchlight.

It was smooth, beyond the skill of goblins, and it was very cool, surprisingly not cold, just refreshingly cool. The tunnel was not very high, so it was quite difficult for the elves to move without hunching forwards. At some points it was so low that they had to crawl to inch ahead. In a while they came to an opening. It was a circular room with a high ceiling, and a gentle fresh breeze blew there, as if there were cracks in the mountainside letting in the air from outside.

"There are three paths leading off this chamber," said Elrohir, "we must chose one that descends into the halls below."

"That will not help us much, they all seem to," said Angore after peering into them with his torch held high.

Before they could ponder further, they heard more voices, and the path to the left shone a dim light, and the elves put out their torch and hurried into one of the other tunnels and waited with baited breath.

The orcs soon came to the chamber, and of course did not hear or see anything untoward, for it is the manner of the Eldar to go unnoticed if they ever want to, especially from creatures as clumsy as the goblins.

"What a boring job, guarding that dreadful cave, why would anyone climb that cold mountain," grumbled one of them.

"Well, at least better than the day shift," said another and they all chuckled.

Elrohir tapped Angore's shoulder and in an instant three short javelins had found the backs of the orcs. The fourth one looked perplexed, and looked with fear from one tunnel to another wondering which way he could flee. Then he saw the elves charge upon him suddenly and he lost his balance and fell down. Pointing his sword at the orc's throat, Elrohir spoke to him.

"Tell me, where does the passage you came up lead to."

The orc bared his teeth and hissed and spat, but the elf simply pushed his sword further.

"It goes down to the Pass, and further South," and quite suddenly the orc gave way to fear, "let me go!"

"You will come with us, and lead the way," said Elrohir in such a menacing voice that there was no argument.

Angore stared as the orc stood up, and Elrohir tied his hands and held the rope. The orc cried in pain as the rope seared his defiled skin.

After hiding the other three orcs behind a huge rock on one edge of the chamber, they made their way slowly down the passage the orcs had come in by.

[the real findorfin]

Fingil dozed in the warmth of the campfire. Tintalle had vanished into the darkness, on his way to Lorien, Torfithien and Vanimorien were asleep nearby and Elladan still stood, deep in thought.

Fingil was roused by Elladan's sharp movements and rose quickly.
"What is it?"
Elladan pointed upward and Fingil watched as two Eagles swooped down into their camp.
"Son of Elrond," began the larger, "we bring word from your brother."
Elladan stepped forward, eager to hear the news.
"He and another have entered into the mines while the gate is unbarred. They bid you to follow at once. Make haste or it shall be held against you once more."
Elladan, a worried expression on his face, bowed in thanks, "great lord of the sky, I thank you for your favour to me and my kin. May you fly ever high in the service of Manwe."
The Eagle bowed its head and spoke again, "head for the mountains, at a splitting of the paths choose the left and follow to the plateau. Continue along the straight road and you will find the entrance to the cave." The Eagles both rose into flight and made off into the dark sky.

"Well, let us be off at once!" Elladan cried and began to put his gear together. "We take only what we must. Strap the rest to the horses and we will set them free when we reach the plateau."

Fingil quickly began packing his things together, as did the other two who had woken to hear the words of the Eagles. He took his sword, Angcalion and strapped it secure to him, along with his several knives. He also stored away his remaining provisions and few herbs inside his jerkin and lastly, drapped his grey cloak around him. The rest of his gear that had served him well up to now would be no use in Moria and he secured it to his horse.

Within five minutes the elves were ready to set off and Elladan took the lead on his tall horse. Fingil appointed himself as the rearguard and his two other companions rode inbetween. Torfithien had been silent since the Eagles had left and Fingil worried what the darkness of Moria would do to her spirit.....or to his for that matter.

Off into the night they rode, ever climbing the path until they reached the huge plateau of rock. There they let the horses go and sent them back along the path they had come.
"Now we move on foot," Elladan said and they continued.

[Mithadan]

The sun's light was dawning in the east even as they approached the rough gate into the underground realm of the Dwarves. As they pressed on, they could see crows and eagles circling and swooping in the sky ahead. Now and again, an eagle would descend, only to rise again, bearing a dark form in its talons. As the gate came into sight, the last of the eagles rose, bearing the body of an Orc. The great bird which had brought them the message dropped to the ground before the black opening in the rocky wall of the vale.

"We have cleared this place of the bodies of your foes," said the eagle. "And we have left behind enough feathers for the Orcs to believe that we slew their brethren rather than any land-bound intruder. Your brother and his friend did well. They slew many of the vermin."

Elladan bowed gratefully. "We are in your debt and your favors shall not be forgotten," he said even as the great bird rose into the winds. Then he turned to examine the way into the mountain.

"No Dwarf work this!" he muttered. "The opening was made by force from within. But an entrance we sought and an entrance we now have."

Vanimorén peered into the blackness and shuddered. "It is as if here is a place where the night was never lifted," he said. "Nay! Here the darkness seems to have a life of its own."

"Yet it is into the night that we must go, whether it has a life or no," exclaimed Elladan. "Come! We must find Elrohir and Angóre as quickly as we may!"

He strode through the rough arch and was swallowed by the darkness. After a moment, there came a blue glimmer from within; he had uncovered his lamp. The others hesitated no more and followed Elladan into Moria.

Time seemed to have little meaning in this place. But it was not long before they reached a circular hall with three tunnels leading from it. Torfithien and Fingil examined the ground before each of the openings. "All have been used recently," said Fingil. "There are prints in all three and I cannot discern which our fellows may have taken."

Elladan stepped closer but did not look down, but rather up at the walls of the tunnels. "Here!" he said. "Elrohir has left a mark." Just above the height of their heads were three white scratches which crossed in the shape of a rayed star. "This way. Quickly! But look out for more marks! And listen carefully for Orcs!" They trotted down the tunnel, moving as quickly as they dared...

[Dark Shadow]

Vanimorén brought up the rear as the four elves walked quickly down the dark passageway, lit only by the lamp of Elladan. The darkness seemed almost to reach out and claw at them, hindering their progress, but every now and again, at junctions in the passage, they would come across one of Elrohir’s marks on the tunnel wall. Vanimorén looked about warily, feeling his skin prickling. He was uneasy about something, but in that darkness, there was no way of telling what was following them except by sound. He spoke softly, not wishing to disturb the darkness.

“Is it only I who feels that something is not right? Something besides this strange blackness?”

As he strained his ears, he almost thought he caught a slight scraping sound, barely loud enough to be heard except by the ears of elves, behind them. He turned quickly, almost expecting to see something. The darkness appeared to be as it had been the last time he had checked. He scolded himself for jumping at such things, and hoped that none of the others had noticed. However, he slipped his hand to the hilt of his sword, just in case. The precious metal was a strange comfort under his hand, and he gripped it tightly.

Soon, he heard the sound again, louder, closer. He paused, wondering if the others had noticed it this time. His grip tightened on his sword hilt and he whirled around, gazing into the darkness. He knew something was there. It wasn’t like him to jump at shadows. Still, there didn’t appear to be any immediate threats to the party…

[ June 20, 2003: Message edited by: Dark Shadow ]

[Mithadan]

Elladan led his group through the tunnels as quickly as he dared. His lamp was partially shrouded lest its light reveal them to any foes. Yet the dim glow was sufficient to show any crossings or forks in the passage. At each such place, they paused briefly to search for the mark which showed the direction which Elrohir had taken.

The darkness was oppressive and there was little movement of the air in this deep place. Yet, upon occaision, they passed a corridor from which a slight breeze issued. Elladan placed a mark of his own on the walls of such tunnels, as they might lead to halls at the level of Durin's Gate. Otherwise, they rushed along into the bowels of the mountain, feeling the weight of the stone above them grow as they descended.

At length, they reached a place where a tunnel crossed the corridor in which they travelled. At this crossing, there was no mark on the wall. "Have we gone awry?" wondered Fingil. Elladan peered into each of the rock encircled pathways carefully, then straightened. "Nay," he answered as he uncovered his lamp. "Come forth, brother!"

In response, a shadow detached itself from the wall of the tunnel to the right and approached. The shadow resolved itself into Elrohir as he stepped into the light with a slight smile. He whistled softly and, after a moment, was followed by Angore who led another by a rope. "What have we here?" laughed Elladan softly. "I see you have secured us a guide. Have you enquired regarding bed and breakfast?"

Angore grinned grimly. "Nay," he responded. "But this one leads us to the level of Durin's Gate. There, we may orient ourselves before continuing. But he claims not to know of the Lady we seek or any dungeons."

Elladan approached the Orc carefully. "Is this true?" he asked. The Orc squirmed and attempted to avoid the Elf's gaze. "Never heard of no Lady and never been ter no dungeon," he muttered. Elladan continued to examine the Orc closely, until it wriggled in fear. "Don't know no dungeon but it must be below where we..."

Elladan's eyebrows rose. "Where you what?" The Orc did not answer. The Elf handed the lamp to Fingil who stood nearby and placed a hand on the hilts of his sword. The Orc stepped back only to be jerked into place by the rope which bound him. "Where we lives!" he continued. "That's the only place they'd be now, wouldn't they?"

"Perhaps," said Elladan quietly. But he dropped his hand from his blade and turned to his brother. "Have you called to her?"

"Not yet," answered Elrohir. "There is danger. Do you feel it?"

"Aye," said Elladan. From the moment he had set foot in Moria he had felt it. Not nearby, yet present -- a shadow darker than the tunnels themselves. He nodded grimly. The Orcs were not the only threat in this place.

Even at that moment, Torfithien pressed forward into the pool of light made by the lamp. "Behind us," he hissed. "Something approaches." Elladan pulled the hood over the lamp and the group was plunged into darkness...

[the real findorfin]

The disappearance of all light effected Fingil more than he had hoped. Never before had he felt such a complete lack of any light or noise as all about him stood in silence.

As the light was extinguished, Fingil had seen Angore pull a knife to the orcs throat, so there was no chance of it letting out a warning. However, he was sure that whatever subterranean creature that was coming would have great eyesight in the dark and perhaps it would see them, despite the utter blackness around them.

He gripped his sword hilt tightly and took Torfithien's hand, who stood next to him. He squeezed it gently and the action was returned, before he let go and all his concentration went into listening for the unknown enemy that with every second came closer. The dream he had had returned to him but he pushed it away, that would not happen! A noise came from the tunnel entrance and he felt everyone around him tense. It was here.

[Mithadan]

The Elves pressed against the walls of the side tunnel as the noise drew closer. A tug on his bonds pulled the Orc back as well. Weapons were loosed in their sheaths as the glow of a torch began to spread through the shadows. Then a voice was heard.

"Well? Where are they? I think yer dreamin'. There's nothin' here."

"They're here. And close. I smells 'em, so shaddup."

The Elves crept back as three figures appeared at the crossing of the tunnels. Orcs. Two large and a third squat with broad flaring nostrils. The latter held a bow while his larger comrades bore curved blades in their claws. They paused as the tracker snuffled about, then rose to face the tunnel where the Elves were hidden.

At that moment, Elrohir's captive leapt forward with a screech, waving wildly to the others. He was rewarded with an arrow in his throat, shot by the tracker. The others stepped forward, brandishing their crooked blades and all three charged into the corridor...

[Garen LiLorian]

Angóre bit back a cry as the foul creature in his grasp twisted violently and sunk its teeth into his wrist, then shreiked a warning and ran into the corridor, only to fall with a black feathered arrow protruding from its throat. The three Orcs skidded forward, their triumphant battle cries dying in their throats as they spied the rather larger and more heavily armed group of Elves. Angóre smiled mirthlessly as the small group of yrch tried to reverse direction in midstride, but then bowstrings sang and the two larger Orcs dropped in their tracks, looks of surprise still plastered comically to their faces. The smaller tracker let out a yelp, fired its bow blindly over the party's head, and backpedaled furiously, trying to escape. It had almost made it to the first bend when Angóre's javelin pierced its back, dropping it instantly.

Angóre spat in disgust as he cleaned his wound, then turned to face Elladan and Elrohir. "Have we a plan for finding lady Celebrían in this darkness? Our guide has been taken from us, and even I can feel that this is not the place Vanimorén knew, and age and more ago. Surely now is the time to risk communication, if indeed such a thing is possible, for one of these patrols is likely to be missed soon, and I had rather be smelling the fresh air of Lothlórien than the foul stench of Orcs and worse when that occurs."

[Lugbúrz]

Elrohir mused upon what Angore spoke. It was true that they were blind in Moria, but blind only in the waking world.

The elves held council, and there in the corridor their reunion spread a glow of wisdom, and for a moment the stone burned with a shining glory, akin to its younger days when the Stone Masters had sculpted these surfaces with knowledge long forgotten.

Very little seemed to be spoken but a lot seemed to have been said. And soon they took off, keeping their senses attuned to any approaching danger. One thing they had decided: they would travel in darkness and risk no light, for it was perilous to be spotted by a hidden foe. Lightfooted they walked and had little need for rest. At great speed they moved, ever going downwards and Southwards. There seemed to be a melody in the step they kept, and it spoke of a sad tune, a tune that the walls were still glad to hear. It is said that in later days, the two sons of Elrond often sang this tune in memory of their vigil and rescue. A rescue that was neither a success nor a failure for what they loved most they lost yet from Middle Earth.

The song in the language of the High Elves was one fair beyond the words of Men, but even in the Common Speech it brought to the lips the irony of the elves as the world changed and they parted with their loved ones going West.

We march along, along we march on many a lonely mile,
From Imladris to Moria we march in single file.
Scaling up, up we climb the Misty Mountains high,
Through the Pass we trudge along to meet the enemy nigh.
Slay the foe, we kill them all with strength of Elven blade
Troll we crush and warg we scare and goblins lair we raid.
Ride we must, hard we ride upon the open road,
Across we come from Gladden Stream till the Silverlode.
To Moria we make at last with aid from flying friends,
For seek we must the prize we lost and to make amends.
In the end we come again to the light of day,
Bearing up along with us the merry prize away.
But what an end we must suffer in the hands of fate,
For she passed away and left us with goblins that we hate.

[Mithadan]

The Elves proceeded down the tunnel wrapped in darkness as a cloak to hide them. Their lamps were shrouded and their torches extinguished. As they descended further into Moria, their footsteps seemed to become hushed and the faint musty odor of ages-old dust arose around them. Now and again as they reached places where the tunnel forked or a passageway crossed their path, they warily uncovered their lamps to examine their choices and to mark the way that they had taken.

At length, they reached an end to their tunnel. A broad corridor crossed their path running east and west. Upon illuminating their surroundings, they discovered that a layer of dust several inches deep covered the floor. "None have passed this way in many years," mused Elladan. "We must choose our direction. The way leading to the east seems to gradually descend while to the west, the floor is level. What say you, Elrohir?"

"To the east lie the Gates of Durin, though I cannot say if we stand at a level above or below them," he answered. "From that direction our mother was brought into Moria. Therefore, east is the route which we should follow."

None could suggest any better course. So after a brief meal of waybread and water, they trudged off following the tunnel to their left...

[Dark Shadow]

The brief light they had used to choose which way to turn had been extinguished once more, the elves having chosen the left tunnel. The darkness seemed to consume everything, and even elven eyes could see nothing. Vanimorén flinched at his own pathetic thoughts. Here he was, the only one who had spent much time in Moria and he could be of no help because of the darkness? That and the apparent holes in his memory. It almost seemed that he could remember nothing of this place. He tried to concentrate firmly on the task at hand. They were to find Celebrian, and that was what mattered. She had suffered in the awful dark far longer that him.

Just focus, he told himself firmly, You must remember some of these tunnels. But try as he might he couldn’t, and something seemed to tell him they had to be going wrong. But they couldn’t be. He had to stop feeling paranoid. He gripped his sword hilt tightly. It seemed to be his only comfort. In fact, he almost felt as if it bore a link to Moria. As if, if he could hold it tight enough it might remember the way for him.

[Mithadan]

The dust was deep on the floor of the tunnel and the sound of their footsteps was hushed as if they walked through a covering of light snow. But soon, the walls and floor of the corridor became rough and the ground was littered with rock that had fallen from the Dwarven stonework that surrounded them. Here was a place where the skill of the Dwarves had struggled with the weight of the mountain and, with some shift of the stone above, was losing the battle. The Elves threaded their way among the fallen masonry and lifted the hoods of their lamps so that they did not misstep in the darkness.

The tunnel continued to descend slowly but curved gradually towards the north and it became apparent that the route they selected would not bring them to the portion of Moria immediately inside Durin's Gates. Finally, when the tunnel widened, they stopped and rested, propping their backs against the stony walls.

Elladan sat at the front of the group and while the others debated in hushed tones he remained silent, looking forward along the tunnel. Then he smiled and turned to his comrades. "Look!" he said. He pointed to a lock of his hair which rested upon his brows. It swayed slightly in response to a breeze blowing along the corridor. Standing, he said, "I will investigate. I will return shortly." Taking a lamp, he ran lightly along the passageway.

After a few minutes, the breeze became stronger and a light appeared ahead. Moving cautiously, he emerged in a broad chamber lit by shafts of sunlight from various windows above. Crumbling wooden tables rested against the walls as well as a podium made of stone. Behind the podium were shelves carved from the living rock, above which was a broad opening through which blue sky could be seen. He climbed carefully up the shelves until his head was level with the window. A light wind blew his hair back as he looked down upon a valley below. Through the valley ran an ancient road and a spearhead shaped lake could be seen nearby --Nanduhirion.

He ran back to his friends in excitement. "There is a room with windows ahead through which can be seen the valley of Nanduhirion. We are in the area of the Gates of Moria, but are several levels higher. He should look for passages or stairways leading downward, but we must take care for we approach the living quarters of the Dwarrowdelf and Orcs will be present!"

Any weariness felt by the group evaporated with the promise of fresh air and a glimpse of the sky. They proceeded quickly through the tunnels, dodging fallen rock as they went. But as they approached the chamber where Elladan had looked down upon the valley, a rumbling filled the air. The Elves stopped and looked about uncertainly as the floor seemed to sway. "Forward!" cried Elrohir and his brother leapt ahead with him. But at that moment, the floor gave way with a roar and a great cloud of dust. Fingil, Angore, and Vanimorén fell through the pit which appeared at their feet. Torfithien swayed at the edge, then leaped forward to be pulled to safety by Elladan.

The noise of the rockfall echoed through the halls and it was some time before the dust settled enough to see what had transpired. A portion of the passage had collapsed. Masonry hung precariously on the walls above the gaping opening in the floor. Above, the ceiling seemed to sag and cracks opened slowly, sending streams of powder down into the darkness below.

"Are you there?" cried Elladan. "Aye!" replied Fingil. "Perhaps thirty feet below where you stand, but by some blessing of the Valar we are intact! Throw down a rope!" But each attempt to approach the edge caused more of the passage to collapse. No one could climb up from below in the midst of a rockfall. "We must wait until the passage is stable," cried Elrohir.

Suddenly, harsh cries could be heard from the west. Drawn by the sound of the collapse, Orcs were racing to investigate. "Flee!" cried Elladan. "The Gates lie to the east near where you stand. Seek for Celebrian, then make your way toward the Gates. Mark the passages as you go! We will look for you even as we search for the Lady!"

[the real findorfin]

As the floor fell through, Fingil cried out before being dragged into the darkness below. As he hit the floor, the air was pushed from him and he lay stunned, but as those above cried down to him he replied.
"Aye! Perhaps thirty feet below where you stand, but by some blessing of the Valar we are intact! Throw down a rope!"

Time and time again rock crumbled from the edge, but Fingil did not loose hope until the cries of Orcs were heard. His blood froze as at first, he thought they were on his level but soon he realised that they came from above. The Sons of Elrond gave him warning and he cried a farewell.
"Well friends, we must be off," he said urgently and he set off into the darkness, Angore and Vanimoren behind him.

It was an ill luck that had befallen them, just when hope had returned but, sword ready he was resigned to whatever fate may hold for him.

[ July 05, 2003: Message edited by: the real findorfin ]

[Airerûthiel]

Fingil's words sent relief flooding back into Torfithien's whole body. She had been tempted to follow him, certain that he had plunged to his death, but the fact that he had survived the drop lifted a great weight from her shoulders. All she could do was hope that he would still be alive when he left the caverns of Moria.

Even so she was still tempted to go after the three who had fallen. The way Elladan had grabbed her and pulled her to safety was a sure sign the band of male Elves regarded her as weak. She did not struggle as the group walked away from the yawning chasm, but nonetheless a plan was beginning to form in her mind as she glanced back at the hole in the floor.

Led by Elrohir, those that were left made their way swiftly through the network of tunnels. Behind her Torfithien could hear the sounds of Orcs' breathing and running feet, growing rapidly fainter as she hurried after the rest. She gripped the handle of her long knife, and chose to bide her time. In her dreams the previous night she had seen a great battle below ground, but who would be victorious she could not say. There was a sense of a growing storm, as though their finding Celebrian would result in some terrible tragedy.

Suddenly she stopped running. Her ears picked up on a faint, weak voice. It was still very far off, but she could make out enough of it to know who it was. Should she tell the others? The worry on the faces of her friend's sons was apparent - they were almost tempted to give up the quest. But they needed to know what she had discovered. It was only right.

She approached them swiftly. "Elrohir, Elladan, I have something to tell you. I believe I heard your mother's voice far off in the tunnels." She gestured vaguely in the direction the sound had come from. "If we hurry, we might find her before another day has passed."

The two brothers nodded curtly at the female Elf and then turned back to their discussion. Unnoticed by any that remained, Torfithien turned on her heels and slipped back down the tunnels alone.

It was pitch-black in the passages. She could barely find the marks to tell her the way back, and had to retrace her steps several times at first. As her eyes grew used to the darkness, she was able to pick out the way towards where the rockfall had occured. Her ears listened out intently for the movement of Orcs, and she never took her hand from the handle of her knife in case she was attacked. Living with three older brothers had told her to be wary of everything and everyone.

Eventually she found the chasm. It yawned wide before her, like an enormous mouth waiting to swallow her up. She gulped audibly, trying to summon the courage to jump. It was a long time in coming, but when it did fill her she knew she had no choice. Inhaling a lungful of dusty air, she swayed for a moment, and then dropped into the pit.

The fall was brief but turbulent. She landed with a thump on the ground, stood up and looked around. There was only one way they could possibly have gone. She glanced at the mark on the wall, and then set off after the three male Elves. They were probably deep inside the mine by now, but she would find them. It was only a matter of time.

[Mithadan]

Elladan listened to Torfithien's words and hope rose in his heart. Even as they had run from the collapsed tunnel, he and Elrohir had argued concerning what course to take. Should they attempt to locate their companions first or continue the search for Celebrian? If they were overlong in attempting to find their mother, they might never locate their companions. But if they sought those who had fallen to the lower levels, they would certainly encounter more Orcs and risk being slain, captured or driven from Moria. Torfithien's sharp hearing may have resolved their dilemma.

They peered into the passage that Torfithien had indicated but could neither see nor hear anything. Elladan turned to his brother and whispered to him hurriedly. "The time has come," he said. "We must use Osanwe and attempt to speak with her. Perhaps she may be able to give us some guidance."

Elrohir nodded. "Take care!" he warned. "There is something else here which may be able to hear your call. Something very dark." Elladan nodded. Then he sat on the tunnel floor and closed his eyes...

--------------------------

Weeks had passed. Each day seemed worse than the one before. She and Feaelena had endured hunger and repeated beatings at the hands of their captors. The Orcs came by every day or so with a bowl of water and some crusts of bread...if they remembered. But at other times, they had come only to taunt their captives, to paw at them with their claws and tear at their clothing.

Once, when their guards had entered and begun beating her, Feaelena had attempted to stop them. The guards had turned from Celebrian and amused themselves with her handmaiden, holding her down and carving foul words on her face with their jagged knives. Then they had beaten her senseless.

On this day, or night--time seemed to have no meaning here. Their guards had entered again to drop some crumbs of food. They leered at the Elves as they scrabbled about the floor, picking up the crusts of bread. Then the captain had taunted them. "We're preparing a party for you vermin," he growled. "Tonight you'll be our guests o' honor. Then when we're done with our fun, you'll be the main course. You've been fattened up enough!" With that, he reached out a claw and pinched her. Celebrian choked back a cry and attempted to back away, but the Orc seized her by her hair.

At that moment, Feaelena leaped upon his back and beat upon his foul head with her fists. The second guard seized her and threw her to the floor, kicking her repeatedly. Then the captain drew his knife and traced a line from her ear down to her throat. He stuck her again across the face, then bent and licked at the blood oozing from the cut. He stood with a toothy smile. "Tonight we'll cut you a bit deeper than that," he cried, before exiting the cell and locking the door.

Celebrian was breathless and realized that she had been screaming until she began gasping for air. "Feaelena!" she sobbed. "Are you all right? Feaelena!"

Feaelena roused herself and looked up at Celebrian feebly. Her face was a mass of bruises and blood trickled from her throat to the floor. She nodded wearily.

Celebrian collapsed to the floor beside Feaelena and buried her face in her hands. But at that moment, she heard a voice in her mind as if the speaker were standing next to her.

Mother? She gasped and sat up. Elladan?

----------------------------

He gasped as her pain and anguish flooded through his mind. We are here, just above the gates. Help us find you. Where are you?

I'm not certain, she answered. I was unconscious when they brought us here. But Feaelena said they brought us through the gates and carried us through two great halls to a spiral stair. She told me they carried us down five or more levels then through a door into a hall with doors on either side before throwing us into a cell. There are guards! Do not come! It is too dangerous!

Even as she spoke, he felt something else reaching out for him, somthing dark and powerful. Even as he pushed it away and shut it out, he felt it begin to move. In the depths below the brothers they heard a sound like a great drum. Doom, doom.

Elladan sprang up and ran down the passage Torfithien had indicated. Elrohir followed close behind. At the end of the tunnel was a door. Behind the door was a landing and a spiral stair which circled upward to their left and downward to their right. Without a word, they began descending as rapidly as they dared. They had gone some ways downward before they realized that Torfithien was no longer with them.

[ July 17, 2003: Message edited by: Mithadan ]

[Dark Shadow]

Vanimorén got up, brushing away dust and rubble and checking for injuries, then turned and followed Fingil into the darkness. Catching up with him, Vanimorén felt pressed to ask,

“What are we to do now?”

Fingil frowned slightly, stopping to think. Shortly he replied, “I suppose we’ll continue searching for Celebrian. That is what we’re here for, after all.” He looked from one elf to the other, as if waiting for opinions. Both elves nodded mutely. They continued to walk silently through the darkness, marking the passages, as instructed.

Suddenly Vanimorén heard footsteps behind him. There was no mistaking it this time. “Wait,” he called quietly to the others. He was sure they must’ve heard the sound too. “There is something following us.” He whirled around, holding his sword tightly, before deciding that these footsteps were far too light to be an Orc’s, He also noticed that they seemed unhurried and deliberate. “It’s one of the others,” he whispered in delight. They waited for a while, before Torfithien emerged from the darkness.

“What are you doing here?” Asked Fingil, not unkindly, all the elves were pleased to see her. Then he added, “Are Elladan and Elrohir coming too? Did they send you?” Torfithian seemed taken aback by all the questions, and Angore stepped forward, laying a hand on Fingil’s arm.

“Let the lady speak,” he said calmly. “There is no need to question her presence so.” The male elves fell silent, and stood waiting for Torfithien to explain everything.

[Airerûthiel]

Torfithien was taken aback by her discovery of the male Elves. She cursed herself silently for not being more careful. What reason could she give them for her presence, other than she wanted to prove she was not some pathetic female who had been reluctantly allowed to come on the quest because she was a friend of Celebrian. She hated lying - her father had brought her up to tell the truth at any cost - but her reasons were so feeble that she felt she had no choice.

She took a deep breath and nodded. "I am afraid that Elladan and Elrohir went on alone," she said. "We found a clue that might help us find the Lady Celebrian, and followed that trail. While we were travelling I felt a little dizzy, and had to stop and rest. I must have fallen asleep, for when I awoke they had gone on ahead. I could not find my way back to them, so I followed the tunnels and came here. It is fortunate I found you."

She glanced around at their faces. They looked expectant, as though they were waiting for her to say something more. "What path they took I know nothing of. That is all the news of them I have for you."

Suddenly her sharp ears picked up on a faint sound in the caverns ahead. Her hand went instantly to the hilt of her long knife. She was wary instantly, glancing around in the darkness. Her ears listened out for any sound or movement they could detect.

"What is it?" asked Fingil.

"I don't know," Torfithien said slowly. "But whatever it is, I don't like it.

[ July 19, 2003: Message edited by: Airerûthiel ]

[Lugbúrz]

Elladan led them along with a fervour that spoke of imminent victory. He let his instinct guide him, and soon they were turning through passages without hesitating and considering which way to go.

Elrohir was still very concerned if they had given themselves away, but there was little they could do. Their presence would soon be apparent. The time had come to risk everything to save their mother, even humiliating defeat at the hands of the orcs. Elrohir smiled, a vain smile that was befitting of a Noldor prince, for was that not the lineage of his seers? And what should he make of their return to the Halls? But this was not the time to contemplate such matters, indeed it was not even time for him to leave Middle-earth. He followed his brother with penchant determination.

They soon came to a wide hall with many tables and chairs. There was a stink of rotting filth in the air. There were bones strewn on the floor and blood on the walls. But as they gazed upon the walls, they noticed that they were sculpted with various motifs. They could see carvings of holly trees and noble life-sized elves sitting in their shade, some deep in thought while others busy at work, beholding many beautiful things. But here there the carvings were defiled, but the stone seemed to have endured much ruthless wreckage, for the skill in them was beyond what the orcs could damage. Also to be seen were dwarven lords speaking with the elves and performing skillful acts of creation of their own making. Hammers and anvils and fires could be seen hewn into the mountain walls. Even the ceiling seemed to be embellished with beautiful decorations in stone, but the brothers did not have the time to look at them as they paused a brief minute.

"What is this place I wonder," mused Elrohir.

"Listen!" said Elladan, and they became quiet.

They could hear muffled laughter and great clatter of metal. Crude voices with the makings of a groteque song were now plainly audible. The brothers tiptoed to the end of the hall, where through a door there came a shaft of red light.

Peeking through the door they saw a passage which ran a few yards and at the end of it there was another smaller hall, in which were a great many orcs, moving vessels and utensils in great numbers, dumping them in huge filthy piles and making a terrible racket as they went about it. There also was a reek in the air that choked the elves.

"Orc food," muttered Elrohir, "we have come to a kitchen."

"This must have once been a great dining hall," said Elladan turning back to look at the room they were in, "perhaps the Lords of the Mountain entertained the elves of Eregion to many dainty feasts!"

"There seems to be a party planned even now, hearken!" said Elrohir, returning his interest with disgust to the orc talk.

Cut! Crush! Squish! Squash!
A stew of them we'll make 'n mash.

Gulp! Gobble! Slurp! Cram!
We'll pulp them in a tasty jam.

But first we'll make them beg and cry
For freedom and escape to try.

"I do not like the sound of their mirth," growled Elrohir.

"Patience. This means we still have time, let us hope that we do not give ourselves away," reminded Elladan.

Elrohir nodded and they sat both in thought of how to plan their next move. They could only hope that the others would not give away their position. And then they'd have to escape too.

"If the orcs want to have some fun, then we'll have to entertain them," said Elrohir very slowly. He was looking around the dining hall with a glint of mortal revenge in his eye. Elldan immediately understood his idea.

"This might just work," he said.