Last Hope for Moria RPG

[Pyroclastic]

Orcs skittered out of the way as Uzgash stormed down the cavern corridor. That stupid Turgrog, the only good thing about him was his impending death. The day had started out badly when Grog the Troll had hit Uzgash in the head with a rock he had thrown. If it hadn’t been for Uzgash’s helmet…Thoughts of his helmet threw Uzgash into memories of his life before Moria. Back then he had been captain, no questions asked. They raided when he said so, and that was often. No planning, no politics, no other captains to upset his plans. Now here was Turgrog, thinking he was king of Moria. Uzgash growled menacingly at a passing orc, but even the orc’s squeak of terror didn’t mend his mood. Suddenly he spied his adversary crossing the tunnel ahead. For once the stupid orc was without his troup of bodyguards. “Turgrog!” Uzgash shouted, “Cease with your slinking ways and face me like the warrior you pretend to be!”

Turgrog hissed as he lowered his pike towards Uzgash. Uzgash laughed. “Don’t bother with fighting me, you’ll only die. You’re a pitiful excuse for a captain. Bribes and lies, that’s how you earned your rank!” He laughed even harder at Turgrog’s look of rage. In a sudden fit of inspiration, he further taunted Turgrog;
“Little Turgrog Dancer,
How Is He Captain, What Is The Answer?
He Bought An Army, And Sold His Soul,
The Captain Of The West Gate
Is A Sightless Mole!”

Turgrog stood there, glaring at Uzgash, deciding what to do. Uzgash was pleased, he was so smart, no wonder he was the greatest captain in Moria.

“Well Uzgash, we now have the truth,” Turgrog said at last, “You’re no orc, you’re a stinking, rhyming Elf! How did you get to be captain, eh? You put your enemies to sleep with your poetry? Or were they flopped on the ground in laughter?”

Uzgash didn’t even blink. He walked up to Turgrog and Wksquack! He brained him upside the head with the side of his double headed axe. Turgrog slumped to the floor, not dead but certainly knocked out. “Watch your step, little Grog, your doom approaches.” Uzgash continued on his way, in a considerably better mood.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Flori grinned as Ori and Balin recounted the brief memory of Beorn and his horses - his brother had told him first hand much about his adventures with Balin and the others, including the curious little hobbit, Bilbo Baggins, and he had heard the tales from the others' mouths as well, an the elaborations; he almost felt as if he had been there, and wished he had, although at the time he had not been able to, and Ori had bid him stay back, saying it would not do for their parents to lose not one son but two. He shook his head slightly - he had come to regret that a thousand times over since, although at the time it had seemed only to be fair. Foolish, Flori...well, you shall not make such a mistake again. You did not this time, did you? The full glory of resettling Moria shall be yours as well as your brothers... The thought almost took the dwarf by surprise, and he was surprised by it, and felt slightly guilty - he had always told himself he did not grudge his brother the respect and renown he had gained from the journey to the Lonely Mountain, as it was then, and the battle of Five Armies in which he had fought at Thorin Oakenshield's side. Dain had won respect in his own ways,f of course, always more of a warrior than his brother, and he had of course fought in the battle of Five Armies at the side of King Dain. But had he really matched up to Ori, companion of Thorin Oakenshield, one of those who took back from the dragon what was truly dwarven... He shook away the thought angrily, infuriated and guilty at such ridiculous and jealous thoughts.

But his discomfort, apparently, was not over yet, as Balin drew Ori and him aside to ask them privately what they thought of the route through Mirkwood. Flori's temper, now inflamed, flared up inside. He simply means to put us on the spot, when he knows I don't agree...

He kept it in check though, looking slightly troubled before he opened his mouth to speak. But as he did so, his brother caught his eye, and shook his head very slightly, just out of Balin's sight as the elder dwarf's eyes were fixed at the time on Flori. Flori paused, then replied anyway, "I think it may still be provoking unnecessary trouble still, Balin. But-" he held up a finger as Balin went to speak again, and his expression became less serious and he smiled slightly, shrugging a little. "I trust your judgement, friend. And so long as you solemnly swear that you do not intend to ambush the elf king and put him in a headlock-"

Balin laughed out loud and Flori's smile turned into a wide grin as his friend clapped him on the back and the tense atmosphere relaxed. They continued walking, and Ori and Balin continued to recount their old memories, as the preciously debated of Mirkwood drew steadily closer. Flori joined in, of course, with his own comments on the tales he knew so well from his friends' and brother's mouths, and with tales and jokes of his own. But still he could not quite shake of that guilty, jealous thought of earlier...

[Melisil]

After a while of walking, Loni noticed that Balin, and many of the other Dwarfs up ahead, were arguing about something..

"Go through Mirkwood? I was under the impression that we would be going around. But if we can cut our little expidition nearly in half by taking the shortest road, why not? I'm aware of the elves and how much they hate anyone to walk on thier precious road, but we aren't marching into battle against them, we are merely passing through. I fail to understand why we would upset them."

This was spoken by Narin, and so Loni joined in; feeling he had a bit of an idea what they were arguing about.

"Well my thought is this: we must go through Mirkwood, whether we like to agree or otherwise. From what I can tell, Balin is quite stuck with the idea of going through. It's quicker. We'll use less of our delicious food. And, well, what argument is there!?" said Loni, voicing his opinion as is so very common among Dwarfs.

"There are both Elfs and spiders in Mirkwood Loni." replied a dwarf sceptically, "I'd think you would know! I mean really, with age comes wisdom is what I've heard."

Loni glared at him for a moment. The name of the Dwarf for now had escaped him, but he felt sure they must of met once or twice beforehand.

"Rubbish!" Loni huffed, before turning to Balin. "You agree with me?" he asked somewhat assuredly.

[Saraphim]

Narin turned to the dwarf who had spoken against Loni.

"Oh, Elves and Spiders, is it? Spiders are no match for a gang of strong Dwarfs, armed to the teeth! And as for the Elves, we have nothing to fear from them, like I said, so why shouldn't we take the shorter way? It would take weeks to go around Mirkwood, and it would be a pointless waste of our time!"

The Dwarf in question flinched as Narin bawled out his piece, and several of the others looked at him with mixtures of amusement and slight fear, but Narin could not have cared any less.

[Taralphiel]

Maron kept his mouth clenched as the dwarves debated amongst themselves. He had heard all of the stories about Mirkwood, and he liked Elves as much as the next dwarf. He would have gladly gone through their borders to ruffle their hair, but saying that would not get him far. That much he knew. An upstart dwarf would have little to contribute to the conversation.

Keeping his silence, he turned to the sky and looked up at the clouds some dwarves had been talking about. 'Hmmm' he thought to himself 'I dont know about that one, but to its left looks just like my anvil with a helm being shapen on it...' Lost in his thoughts, he didnt see a sharp stone in front of him, and he almost landed square on his crown. Wobbling ungraciously, he thought he heard a few chuckles from behind him as he caught his balance.

Grumbling, he set his gaze straight to the ground and kept walking 'Keep your wits, whats left of them Maron Sandbrace' he thought as he followed the group along...

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Malí gumbled and mumbled to heself as the male dwarves debated rather boisterously whether to go through or around the forest of the Elves. Malí considered putting in her opinion, but as Balin seemed to have decided to go through Mirkwood, Malí began to grit her teeth and let her expression scream what her voice dared not. The dwarves began to move out, and Malí followed noiselessly since it seemed to be the general consensus for them to go through Mirkwood. She wanted to stomp or storm, but Malí reminded herself harshly that it would seem rather childish. So, Malí followed noiselessly, with only her furrowed brows to convey her true feelings.

It's most impractical to go through the forest, Malí growled inwardly. Of course it was impactical. Spiders, Elves, and everything else Malí could contemplate. She stopped liking the odds the same moment she began calculating them in her mind. These foolish men will take their time through the forest, thinking that since it's a shortcut that they've got plenty of time. Follly! Then there's always spiders, which are much more dangerous than these overly proud men will admit to. Elves could hinder us, even if they didn't attack they would likely take us to their King! It is definitely much more sensible to go around!

Malí wrote as she walked, jotting down all the probabilities and odds against the little troop of dwarves. At the rate they were going...Malí compared it against the rate if they'd gone around. Malí rolled her eyes when it proved to indeed be faster to go through. Then a sly grin slipped over her face as she jogged to join up between Balin, Flori, and Ori. She rolled up her papers and 'politely' interrupted their conversation.

"Balin, sir, I hate to be the bearer of bad news," Malí began, though her smile betrayed her true emotions to show that she was actually enjoying this explanation. "But according to my calculations, which I never show unless absolutely correct and triple-checked, if we keep walking at this pace and go through Mirkwood-" Malí paused and looked at her papers again, pretending to go over her equations again. "-then we will arrive at our destination in almost three years!"

[Imladris]

Balin

Balin braced himself as he saw Malí approach, her brows tied in a knitted frown, her spectacles perched upon the end of her nose. In her hand were papers and it looked as if she was reading them. Yes, he would hear again about how foolish it was to go through Mirkwood.

"Balin, sir, I hate to be the bearer of bad news," Mali said, a queer smile on her face, “but according to my calculations, which I never show unless absolutely correct and triple-checked, if we keep walking at this pace and go through Mirkwood-" she paused, skimming her papers again, --"-then we will arrive at our destination in almost three years!"

Balin’s eyebrows shot up and he stared at her. Three blasted years? He shook his head and narrowed his eyes at her, a small smile playing about his lips. “Three years, you say, to make the journey through Mirkwood? You must have made a mistake, lassie.” He grinned broadly and winked at her before bursting into a loud guffaw. “Come come, Malí,” he said, taking her by the arm and leading her away from the chattering elves, “You don’t really want to go through Mirkwood do you, lass?”

Ori

Ori stretched a crisp piece of paper onto a stump and dipped his fin goose quill pen into his tiny bottle of ink. Pausing, he raised his head upwards, pondering what to write.

Hail, King Dain, (may your beard ever grow longer),

The journey has been without event or danger. The dwarves are full of song, especially Nali, and there have been no serious quarrels along the way.

There is one problem, though: a problem of honour, according to Balin. He wants to pass through Mirkwood instead of circling the long way around. He says that we should not be afraid of those elves who captured us so ignobly before and that if the elves want trouble, they’ll have to come and make it themselves. You must admire him for his honorable spirit, but I’m afraid that the elves will take this ill. Thankfully, Balin promised not to annoy the elves purposely, but still, I am uneasy at this turn of events.

Ori

Carefully folding the parchment, he sealed it with a drop of hot red wax and with a firm hand addressed it to King Dain with dwarvish runes. At his whistle, a sleek raven dived from a nearby oak and landed upon Ori’s outstretched arms. The raven was one of the last birds that yet spoke to the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain. Ori tied the folded parchment to the raven’s leg with a piece of string, and said, “Bring this to King Dain, and then return to me.”

With a nod in reply, the raven spread is sable wings and circled into the air before gliding south towards the Erebor.

Sighing, Ori sat on the stump, remembering his time in Thranduil’s prison. It had been a humbling experience, but was it worth deliberately entering into the forbidden forest? It was a land of elves and spiders and dwarves had no place in it. But Balin was in command of the group and not himself -- he would follow Balin no matter what he ordered.

He saw Flori and called him over, saying, “We haven’t had much time to talk since we left the Mountain,” he said. He glanced over at Ori with a smile, but stopped: his brother’s face was a little pale, and his eyes sad, almost guilty. “What is the matter, Flori?” he asked gently.

[mark12_30]

Lîn growled with disgust, and gave a snort. "Calculations. Lass, if you knew your lore you'd know that even a hobbit can get through Mirkwood in less time than that. Do you really think that Bilbo could do it and we cannot?"

Mali eyed Lîn with considerable ire. Balin waved him off. "Lîn, I think the point's been made. Let it be, lad. Let it go."

Lîn's eyebrows climbed, and Lîn lapsed into sullen silence. But then Narin joined Lîn, and said, "Aye, that's right. Where hobbits have gone, how can a dwarf possibly fear to tread the path? Indeed we shall not fear. Indeed not."

"I didn't say that," Lîn replied. "All I said was it wouldn't take us three years." Don't go putting words in my mouth." Lîn eyed Balin uneasily, who scowled again. Narin continued.

"I put nothing in your mouth that didn't belong there!"

"You did! There's plenty to fear. And if you had a head on your shoulders you'd fear it too!"

Narin roared with indignation, and Lîn dropped his pack and made fists. "Loudmouth!" Lîn shouted. "If the leaders say go around, then around we go, and you'll not stand in their way!" Lîn took the first swing, and grazed Narin on his jaw.

Narin respondd with solid fury.

[The Perky Ent]

Nali strutted over the grass as the party argued about a trip through mirkwood. Nali didn’t really understand the whole thing. ‘Who cares it they go through the forest or not! It’s not like there’s mithril in the forest, so what does it matter?’ Nali thought. As far as Nali was concerned, the quicker route to Moria was the better one. The other dwarves, however, didn’t see his light. Ignoring their rased voices, Nali sat on a small boulder and took out a parchment and quill. He started sketching the scene. In the center, on the left side of the parchment, a dwarf stood with a fist raised and a mouth wide. His opposite, however, had his hands in a waving motion, as if denying whatever the dwarves were saying. Behind to two arguing dwarves, many dwarves stood in the background discussing the matter. As Nali dipped his quill, he heard a small muffled sound and a dwarf screaming. The two dwarves appeared to be screaming to death, as one of the dwarves had a small trickle of blood running down their face. Nali quickly picked up his quill to draw the new features of the dwarves. The other dwarves seemed to form a circle around the two fighting dwarves. Nali shook his head and began to write under the sketch:

Through Mirkwood or around we go
But we’ve had a fight not by our foe
The dwarves now scream, whail, and shreak
That can be heard form the highest peak
It has now started, the blood is drawn
And now all of the dwarves around will faun
On Lin and Narin as they are called
And will keep fighting until their problem solved
And so it has started, the breaking up
While new alliances are being signed up
A peril that will effect all on the trip
For this is a plunge, not just a dip
To moria it will take time
But until then, I will sing and rhyme

After righting his song, he began singing the tune, watching at the dwarves. Suddenly, Nali stopped singing and watched with amazement. Narin had retaliated

[Saraphim]

Narin stood in shock at the dwarf who had just swung his fist at him. Luckily, he had enough wits to dodge, but he only escaped by a hair.

"Oh, so it's a fight you want, then is it?!?" He said loudly.

Immediatly, he was at it with Lin. His fists were not used to this type of work, but he managed to give Lin a lovely black eye before he landed a punch directly on Narin's nose. Blood gushed out in a wave, but that did not stop him from headbutting Lin in the stomach.

Lin stumbled back, but recovered quickly and made Narin's vision spin from a severe knock to the side of his head.

This continued in the same fashion of trading blows and roaring curses, until Narin felt himself being restrained by someone.

It was Loni, and his restraining did not last long as he backed away when Lin threatened to break his nose.

Narin could tell that Lin had started to favor his defence. He had become tougher at blocking Narin's rain of punches, but the few hits Lin did land were weaker and had little force behind it.

Either he's weakening, Narin thought, as he attempted a blow to Lin's temple, Or he's preparing something big

He began to step up his offensive, and managed to knock the breath out of Lin with an uppercut to the stomach. Lin stumbled back, and Narin took his advantage and hit Lin in the eye.(He said later that he meant to do it, but he was really aiming for Lin's jaw)

Lin recovered surprisingly fast, but failed to block Narin's next blow. Lin stumbled back again, and prepared to strike Narin with what looked to be all his strength. Suddenly, someone stepped between Narin and Lin. Narin looked up angrily, and recognized Balin through his blood-covered eyes.

But apparently, Lin did not, and promptly hit Balin square in the face.

[Melisil]

Loni could not tell by now if Balin wished to go through or around Mirkwood. He grumbled to himself, cursing those that opposed going through Mirkwood. Suddenly, Loni noticed that Narin and Lin had first disgruntled each other with, in a way, rude remarks, and they were now fist fighting each other.

"Narin!" Loni growled, "Lin! What are you doing lads?" The time for fist-fights, this was not Loni thought. "Arg.." he sighed. He walked over to the two of them, now in quite alot of fury.

He grabbed Narin's arms, holding them fast. Narin struggled fiercely for almost a minute, but after that, relaxed. Another Dwarf had grapped Lin by now aswell. "Hold, Narin!" he told his companion, who was still every now and then, making an attemp to attack Lin.

Narin stopped, and looked over to Loni. Loni released his hold. "Bit of a bother you stopped me Loni." Narin growled, glaring for just a moment at Lin once more.

"Come now Narin, we can't be fighting one another, 'specially not this early on, if you see. We're all on the same side here, if your remembering. No use bringing up the tension anymore then we need to." was what Loni replied to him.

Narin shook his head, "I suppose."

Loni laughed, "Ah well. What's done's done. Sausage?" he asked, pulling another handfull from somewhere in his bag.

Narin laughed as well, "You'll never be without a sausage, will you Loni?"

"Oh don't say that Narin, you give me far too much credit that ways!"

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

Flói had been quiet from the time they left Erebor. His head had been swimming in thoughts - recollection of a past Age, and ideas for the future; all based on one thing - the great realm of Khazad-dûm. His mind is now focused on an ancient - and relatively unknown - relic called Durin's Axe. Reputedly made by Durin the Deathless himself, its blade was of pure mithril, with a handle crafted of ivory. It said in his ancestor's journals that...

He had been unaware of his surroundings for some time now, until the last vestige of his peripheral senses reported that something was amiss in the group. Apparently a scuffle had broken out between Narin and Lîn.

"What happened?" he asked someone.

"Words. The wrong words." the Dwarf answered.

Don't they all start that way? he didn't ask. "What started it?"

Someone behind him - the singing one - answered that.

"We were debating whether to go through Mirkwood or not. Someone - Malí, I think her name was, said that we'd be wandering through Mirkwood for three years. That young one," - he pointed to Lîn - "disagreed, and -"

"So, how come they aren't the ones who're fighting?"

"That I don't know," Nali reponded.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Flori looked thoughtfully at Mali. Indeed, she had covered up her gender well, even when they were talking. And who was the other - Lin? Who would have thought, not one female amongst them, but two. Not that all the dwarves would have noticed the references to their gender, of course, but it could cause some unrest with the more traditional amongst them...

"Flori?" Ori's voice jerked Flori back to reality and he quickly looked back at his brother. Concern showed in his brother's eyes. "What is wrong?"

What, does he think I am scared of the journey ahead then? Think you that your brother cannot handle a quest as well as you, simply because you were a companion of Thorin, is that it, brother? Flori quickly caught these ridiculous thoughts and quelled them, but something of them must have shown on his face for a split second, for his astute brother looked surprised. "Brother? What is it?"

"Nothing, it's nothing," Flori muttered hastily, pushing away from his brother and continuing down the path at a right old speed, huddled behind his pack as guilty anger grew in his mind.

~*~

The King of Erebor stood on one of the steps up to his throne, his eyes turned up to the round window, set high up at the other end of the hall, one of thekead seperated quarters left open, about half a metre wide in all. Others may have wondered at his concern and intent based on this window, for it was too small to let in much cool air into the room, which was anyway made of stone, magnificent and cool, and what light it let in fell in a hazy square several metres from where the king sat. Yet Dain's bright gaze remained on that small, open part of the window. Waiting.

After a moment, a watcher would now have seen the King turn away from the window, sighing with impatience and sadness and walk slowly up the steps to sit heavily in the magnificent chair. Dain had had many trials and tribulations throughout his reign as King under the Mountain, but his impressive age was really showing now, not in his long, flowing white beard, in the wiseness of his eyes, or the deep laugh lines and wrinkles on his handsome face. Now, as he sat carefully alone in his throne room, his courtiers and servants and warriors and people all busy around him in their forges and fields and homes and palace, chatter ringing through the stone halls, songs through the fields, the clanging of metal in the forges...right now, Dain's age was becoming visible in the way he sighed so heavily, dropped so wearily into his throne, rested his hands against his forehead and closed his eyes.

The faint, croaking 'caw' of a bird made the king stiffen slightly, and as it was followed by the feathery, rustling clapping of wings, then king sat up, his eyes once more trained on the window. Then silence. The king sat frozen, as if suspended in time, until the clicking of feet was head on the roof above....then a small, black head, inlaid with glittering black eyes and a sharp, grinning beak, appeared at the round window. Dain seemed to relax, grinning suddenly in relief, and gave a long, low whistle. The bird gave another croaking caw, this time seeming, to the fanciful or just plain knowledgable observer, to hold a note of relief before the raven flew in, glided through the white stone room, it's wings stark against the walls, and settled itself by Dain's hand on the throne. The King beamed fondly at the raven, raising his hand so it nestled it's head against his finger familiarly as the king carefully untied the piece of parchement on it's leg with his other hand as it raised a foot obligingly.

As soon as the parchment was off and the King had unrolled it and begun to read, the bird gave another caw, this time of farewell, and departed, flying through the hall to the other side, where a high hole in the wall allowed it to slip through into the corridor, from whence it would probably go in search of the kitchens. There was rule in the palace: no one, under any circumstance, can kill a raven. The birds were under the king's protection. Once this one had found something to eat in the kitchen (Dain grinned at the thought - the new cook detested the birds and was most vocal in her accounts of how she would only feed the birds if the food was on the other end of a broomstick. Dain had obligingly and satirically provided her with a special broomstick with a hook on the end for the exact purpose), it would return to the King's hall. Taking a pen and a roll of parchment from his belt, Dain began to compose a reply to his young friend's letter.

[Pyroclastic]

Far from the Mountain of Erebor, Uzgash the Iron Helmed stared at the blank cavern wall, deep in thought. If King Dain had been tall, muscular, and hideous, they might have born a resemblance. The great orc could hear the banging and shouting of Grog the Troll, who was playing in the next cavern over. Grashnegg and Zregic were really doing an admirable job with him. Uzgash’s thoughts were elsewhere, however. Plans for the revolt were always heavy on his mind. He hadn’t heard form Nazkash since he had first approached him with the concept. Uzgash was beginning to regret having involved Nazkash. The more Uzgash considered it, the less he thought of the wimpy little orc he had chosen. Could something that little lead a full scale revolt? Uzgash had chosen him because once Nazklash got rid of Turgrog and his body guards, it would not be hard to dispose of Nazklash himself. Ahh, if only he were still a marauder of the open plains. Things had been so much simpler then. Here in Moria he couldn’t just go about killing all of the Captains, you had to create turmoil, and spread rumors, and ensure your leadership…it was enough to drive an orc to exhaustion. All this thinking! Back before Moria, thought had been an unnecessary expenditure.

The cavern walls shuddered, but Grog was silent and still. Uzgash paused in his thinking for a moment, and his heart quickened. You could feel it, the fear, and the power. Even Uzgash was afraid. If he had been outside, he would have seen the orc minions scrambling for cover. Grog began to wail. The Fiery One was waking. After a moment the feeling subsided, but Uzgash was now alert. Something was disturbing the Nameless Fear.

[Gird]

Frar had walked on, thinking to himself about the debate that had arisen about the path to take. Some wanted to go around Mirkwood, and some, Balin included, wanted to go right through it. He did not care either way, as it was pointless to argue about it. They had come here with Balin, under Balin's direction. He for one would follow Balin wherever he went, be it folly or no. It wasn't his place to argue with authority.

He then noticed that two Dwarfs, Lin and Narin had engaged each other in a fist fight! Oh no! thought Frar, I was expecting arguments, but not physical fighting among ourselves! The fighting should be saved for Moria. Frar didn't even try to get involved. In no time it was resolved anyways.It made him saddened nonetheless to see this kind of thing happen at all.

And as they walked, Frar pulled out his lute and picked out a mello sort of tune.

[Will Witfoot]

Alrik took another draught of ale from his keg and returned to watching the fight between the two beardlings, Lín and Narin. He soon lost his interest though. He was forced to bitterly conclude that even dwarfs werent what they used to be. In the elder days theyd have some proper punch-up's for the sheer fun of it, blood flowing freely when brother's and friend's proceeded to duff each other up, all in good spirit offcourse. After the fight everyone would drink ale and talk fondly about the highlights of the fight, and praise the toughest and strongest individual's.

He watched somewhat sourly as the two youth's pummeled each other, noses bleeding and eyes swelling as their furry was unleashed. He saw Narin uppercut Lín to the stomach and proceed to bash the youngling in the face. Now that was'nt so bad, he thought suprised. Perhaps he had been a bit hasty in his judgement.

His interest was rekindled immediatelly when Balin himself strode forward to interfere and got a fist in the face. Perhaps it was worth watching, after all.

[The Perky Ent]

Nali gazed at the fighting dwarves for quite some time. "Dwarves will be dwarves!" he said as he continued his sketching. He starting drawing birds and clouds, which were a little chalenge for him. Thinking of a harder target, Nali started to draw Erebor. It was a sketch that could rival most maps. The detail implied in the drawing brought a tear to his eye. "Is the riches worth the trouble? Is the risk really worth it? All this time, it was suppost to be a safe ride, but now that I look at the forest, i do wonder...if the dragon Smaug could cause all that damage...what of Durin's bane? All these days i've been kidding myself! Ha! What was i thinking! No gold is worth this! It is folly! I would do best to turn home..."

And with that, Nali started to walk back to his home. None of the dwarves noticed his departure, as they were too busy fighting. After quite a while of walking, the other dwarves became nothing but a dull blur. What would happen in Nali's new life? What would it be like to live after abandoning his fellow partners. If they survived, they surly wouldn't pay him a ounce. He would be an outcast of Erebor, and the entire dwarf community. Crying, Nali started singing (which was hard to understand due to sobbs)

Which is better, death or life
to live alone or killed by knife?
To wander on without a friend
or to fall in fire where my mind will bend?
A disgrace to my kind and as worthy as elf
to colonist the city of dwarrow-delf?
Or to be devoured by orc or fire
while being quenched of my best desires!
I think at last, I realize
that a promise cannot be comprimised
I promise i made to Balin and King Dain
And so i will quest to moria, and meet Durin's bane!

Nali dried his face and started running, trying to remember the way back. After a while Nali could see the sun start to set. Worring Nali wondered if he'd ever see Balin and the others again. "It is usless!" Nali sat on a large boulder. A rock that looked strangly familiar. And as Nali turned his head, he saw the other dwarves fighting. And Nali couldn't be any happier.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Flori heard a sudden resounding crack and the commotion that had been growing behind him ceased so suddenly and unnervingly that it was in fact more noticeable and worrying than the fighting itself had been. The dwarf turned irritably...and froze as he saw Balin standing among the other dwarves, his hands clamped over his nose - evidently what had made the crack. In front of him, a look of dismayed horror on his face, stood Lin, one fist still frozen in mid-air. Around them, the other fighters had paused in various stages of fighting, realising something was wrong, in a way that was almost comical. But Balin's reaction was not exactly comical as he recovered to stand, one hand still on his nose as he suddenly exploded.

"Foolish dwarf, what in merry Mordor do you think you're doing, thumpin' me on the face like that, hmm?!" he bawled furiously, glaring at Lin as he approached. He didn't give Lin a chance to reply as he paused only for a momentary breath before his tirade continued - he hadn't even begun yet, and he was evidently warming to his fury. "Honest to stone, were you behind the anvil when the brains were handed out? Hmm? Do you think you can hit Balin son of Fundin on the nose and get away with it, you son of-"

Flori decided this fight had gone far enough - Balin's anger was famous, and Lin didn't seem too happy to take a shouting at either; abashed though he was, his cheeks were starting to colour with anger again rather than horror and humiliation, and his fist was beginning to rise. As the warrior knew, although a good fight was often what was needed to relieve any bad feeling and ease thinsg up, he also suspected that a good grudge would do nothing of the sort, especially a grudge held by Balin if Lin landed that fist on his face again. Stepping forward as Balin bawled the last sentence, he came between them hastily. "Woah, Balin - I am sure Lin had no intention to impugne your good graces, but-"

"Impugne my flamin' good graces?!" came the incredulous, explosive reply. "I'll give you flamin' good graces, both of you, young hi-hoes..."

"Balin, would it be-"
"Lord Balin, I am sure that-"
"What in stone is-"
"Balin, I think I can see the edges of the Forest!"

Several people had started talking at once, but it was the last that all heeded to, and all eyes swivelled from the conflict involving Balin, Lin and Flori to the speaker - Ori, standing on a high rock, his eyes shaded against the sun as he peered with keen eyes down the path. Feeling intensely grateful towards his brother for finding a way out of the situation, Flori leapt from his awkward position, drawing Balin with him as he came to stand by his brother, looking up at him. "How far, Ori?"

The minstrel peered against the sun once more, screwing up his eyes as he estimated it. "The path is quite straight, and I should say..."

Flori joined him on his perch, scrambling up beside him. "An hour and a half walk, maybe?"

Ori turned his head from side to side, then nodded, smiling at his brother. Only Flori noted the relief in that smile along with the agreement - the seperation between the brothers when Flori had stormed off had evidently worried Ori as much as it had Flori, the older brother realised suddenly. He hesitated, remembering the grudge he had felt towards his brother and it seemed suddenly utterly futile and pointless - he smiled back warmly, then jumped down carefully and, in a typically dwarfish fashion, rather gracelessly, and held out a hand to his brother to get down. Ori took it, although he didn't need it, and came to rest beside his brother. Flori turned to Balin, darting into the conversation gap before Balin's anger at Lin could resurface. "We shall still go through the forest rather than around it, Balin?"

Realising this wasn't the best way to appease his friend, Flori winced inwardly. Balin set his jaw again in his familiar way and jutted his chin. "Indeed we shall!"

Flori quickly covered up the sigh that was coming with a quick clearing of his throat, and a flapping of wings also helped to hide i- realising, Flori looked up, and beside him so did his brother. Ori beamed suddenly and Flori covered his face as the dark shape swept towards his eyes, taken off his guard. But the bird simply landed on his brother's arm, and when Flori lowered his arms, and when Flori looked up again he saw Ori fiddling with the roll of parchment attached with a small, thin length of twine to the bird's leg before, with a triumphant grin, he released it and unrolled it. Both sets of eyes (Flori's and Ori's, of course - the raven was waiting patiently for the crumbs Ori owed it) immediately began to devour the words of Dain:

Ori (and all the company, of course),

I was glad to hear from you indeed - it heartens me to hear that you have set out well and that none among you had last minute doubts. You will all need to fortitude that the others can give to you - the strength of both body and mind that may not yet seem apparent will become evident in time, especially on such a mission as this. Accord is vital-

(here Flori couldn't help snorting and glancing at his brother who returned it with a slight grin)

-, something that MUST be remembered by all, although I risk being called a nagging old nursemaid for that! My advice is to take the pass around Mirkwood, my young friend, but if you must take the path through the forest, do take the outside paths - there is no current and recent emnity between myself and elven King and his people, and that is quite the way I intend to keep it! Please, do not aggravate him, and keep also from the spider-roads, although you will know that better than any, Ori.

I wish you ever more luck in your quest, my friends, I tell you that most earnestly and heartily. You seek to bring more honour to our splendorous race, and what can be more noble than that?

Signed,
King Dain of Erebor

ps. Ori, for your eyes only, and your brothers: whatever Balin may say, be mindful of that temper which has e'er run in his family. No matter what he may say about the elven king, he is as stubborn as he is proud, and would take a grudge to the grave. I will not suffer the complaints of Thranduil upon our people, and do not let yourselves get drawn in and hurt by Balin's pridefullness.

-Dain.

[mark12_30]

Lîs gave Narin one last glower from beneath bushy eyebrows, and stepped aside, glad that the attention had been distracted from her. Rubbing her bruised knuckles, she fought a rising blush. Why hadn't she let up after the first round? No one would have criticized her if she had. No one would have criticized a doughty warrior for it, let alone a young jewellry maker. And let alone a girl; but they don't know that, she reminded herself. Nobody knows that but...

Balin. The blush rose crimson under her false beard and up to the roots of her hair. She turned away, muttering. Of all the foolish, idiotic, reckless... what would her father say? Narin's face had been bony enough, and had hurt her hand more than she expected, but she would not let that stop her next time Narin crossed her path.

But however her tenmper flared, her fists would not take another swing at Balin's craggy face. It wasn't worth the pain. She remembered the crunch as her fist met his nose with her weight behind it, and she wondered that Balin's reaction had been mostly talk. She slowly flexed her knuckles, glad that that she was known not as a soldier but as a jeweller. A soldier would have been severely disciplined for striking the commander. She would have accepted the discipline like a true dwarf, she told herself.

But nobody was clamoring for it. Their eyes, and hopes, were on the edge of the forest.

[Saraphim]

Narin wobbled over to Loni, who looked worried. He noticed the concern in his new friend, and laughed heartily to abate it.

“Did you see the look on Lin’s face when he wholloped Balin? Our good commander be feeling that one later.” He stopped and looked slightly concerned himself. “So will I, now that I come to it.”

His nose had not stopped bleeding, and a look in the polished surface of one of his axes told him his face would soon be a mass of bruises. One of his eyes was slowly swelling shut. Narin tenderly touched his face and winced.

“Oh well,” said Narin, “ I’ve never been much to dote on my looks, and besides, I won.”

Loni snorted.

[Imladris]

Balin

Balin rubbed his cheek and nose vigorously, then gently touched it with his finger tip. There seemed to be an added crookedness that had not been there before. He could not believe that Lîs had swung a fist at him -- the leader of the entire expedition. It felt as if the iron force behind the punch was still driving itself into his cheek, and he was sure that healthy would at once appear soon. Flori and Ori were, naturally, trying to avoid a fight. Turning away from them, he glanced keenly at Lîs: her face was red, and she was muttering to herself. With grudging reluctance he decided it must have been an accident. He knew Lîs well enough to know that she wouldn’t purposely take a swing at him -- but she still should have recognized him.

He heard a sly chuckle behind him and he saw Ori and Flori pouring a parchment while a raven flittered between the two impatiently, as if he waited for a treat. But the smiles quickly faded and the brothers’ brows slowly drew together in a gnarled frown. “Come, come!” Balin said, with a small smile. “First you laugh, then you are all frowns. If anybody has a right to frown, it should be I,” he added somewhat ruefully. “Tell me, what are you reading?”

Ori’s eyes widened and darted towards his brother’s before he said, “Oh, ‘tis nothing. Just a letter from his highness King Dain, telling us that we should all get along,” he added with particular stress to the last word.

With a wry grin, Balin said, “Well, let us hope that there shan’t be another wrinkle among the dwarves. The forest of Mirkwood is but an hour away! Enough time has been wasted…we camp at the edge of the Forest at dusk.”

As they marched, the monotonous stamping occasionally used to keep the beat of a marching song, Balin immersed himself into memory. He could still feel the spider rope tied tightly about his chest, impeding his breathing, still see the spider’s leering faces, their hairy legs that skillfully spun and tied the knots that bound himself and their companions. They had been rescued -- a broad smile flittered to his craggy face -- by Bilbo Baggins. But they had only escaped one trap to be caught in another. The elves had found the dwarves and taken them captive. For a brief instant, a moment of doubt drifted over him, and he wondered if it would not be best to go ’round. No. He shook his head and continued with a firmer step towards the forest that clung like shadow to the nearing horizon.

The stars had just appeared when the dwarves arrived at the forest’s edge. Moss clung to the leaf barren trees, the silence hung around the forest like a heavy drapery. A large squirrel with a busy tail leaped from a tree branch and disappeared into the forest. The trees were silent and seemed to watch the visitors with grave displeasure as they flung their packs to the grounds. “Take only dead wood!” Balin called out as Loni and Narin as they nervously (but resolutely) went towards the forest to gather wood.

[Saraphim]

Narin approached the forest with caution. He was normally a lonely person, prefering his own company to the blatant annoyance from others. But today, he was very happy to have made friends with Loni and have him by his side.

The forest was dark, and the trees seemed to proclaim silent ownership over the area, instead of being part of the landscape. Narin thought about tales, both true and false, of the forest of Mirkwood, and his hand went unconciously to one of his axes.

Behind him, he heard Balin call after them to warn them to only take dead wood. They waved to show that they heard.

"Wouldn't take a twig off of one of these trees anyway." said Narin to Loni.

The canopy above them loomed menacingly as they quickly gathered dry wood. Narin peered ahead deeper into the forest, and could not see more than ten meters; the trees were clustered so thick. When they had sufficient wood, the pair hurried back to camp, glancing back at the path they would soon tread.

[Imladris]

Balin

Balin poured stale water over the glowing embers of the previous night’s fire, regretting the fact that they couldn’t save it for a nice steaming pot of coffee -- alas for the trials of tromping through a forest’s dark halls draped with the spider’s web. Peering under his shaggy brows at the overcast sky, he muttered that it was an ill omen, especially on the day they would enter Mirkwood.

As so many years before, there was a menacing silence permeating the air of Mirkwood. He couldn’t help but wonder with a smile of satisfaction if the elven king, bedecked with jewels and crowned with laurels, would be hunting for a silver deer shimmering in the shadows.

As swiftly as sleep laden dwarves can move, everything was packed, the ashes of the fire scattered, and resolutely they marched into the depths of the Forests. Like so long ago, all was silent, and Balin almost missed seeing the sunlight gradually disappear like it had when Thorin and Co. had passed through the trees. Now it became darker, more crowded with clutching shadows that spilled onto the path.

There was a sharp whistle and a soft thump. Balin ducked sharply and felt a rush of cool air play with his hoary head. Frowning, he glanced up and saw an elvish arrow pinning his scarlet cap to the rough bark of a tree; an elvish voice rippled mockingly from the shadows and cried, “Do not think that our aim was so bad we failed to miss twelve dwarves crashing through the underbrush. ‘Twas a warning, for we recognized two of your number!”

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

Flói shivered. The wind in this place was cold, damp and heavy, which reminds him of the basement back on his home. But it wasn't the cold that chilled his heart.

He turned to his companions. Everyone's eyes was on the spot where the Elf – or so it seemed – shot the arrow. He could see nothing in their eyes, but somehow he knew what they felt was not different from what he feels.

We should have turned back.

Nay, he thought, this is a counsel of despair. He looked more closely at the eyes. Cold, but not the chill of fear. It's as if they ae all tensed for a strike against the Elves.

[Will Witfoot]

Alrik studied the shadow's with nearly an insane intensity. Elves. How he hated those poncy, pointy-eared, arrogant yahoo's. In this Alrik was most clearly a dwarf of the older generation.

"And do not think that my axe-arm has not enough strenght left to cleave an elf's neck." He growled. In thruth, he had no idea where in the shadow's those pesky pointy-ears were skulking in, but he would not be lightly cowed. Even the fact that elven bowmen were well-known for their ability to hit a goblin's eye in the dark, let alone any crags in his armour, left him undaunted.

"Come out! Or is this an example of the fine elven courage I have heard so much about?". Alrik sneered, quite uncaring about the fact that he might cause the demisse of the expedition.

Elves. How he hated them.

[Melisil]

Loni immidiatly got on the defencive when he saw the arrow, and heard the Elvish voice. 'Oh, bother that. I we were so sure they'd let us alone.' he though annoyed. He cast a still annoyed glance at Balin, waiting for Balin to call the attack. But Balin didn't say anything, he seemed to be thinking.

Loni looked around him. Most of the other Dwarfs were scowling. Nearby he heard Alrik shout out threats to the Elfs. 'It was a nice thought, but badly carried out.' he criticiced in his mind.

His gaze returned to Balin, and he whispered over, "Well Balin, what's your choice of doin'?"

[Amanaduial the archer]

Flori was on his feet in a second, his hand on one of the small throwing axes in his belt. "Stand and speak in the open, elf. Hidden words and darker threats do not come well towards a group who mean you no harm."

"I'm not too bloody sure about that now-" Balin muttered, bristling. Flori restrained the urge to turn around and glare at him. There was silence from the undergrowth though, the great dead silence of the living trees that seemed to hem the dwarves in, forcing them in oppresively. "Stand and speak, people of Thranduil! Our company means no harm to those who will deal civily!"

Again there came that mocking, silvery laugh and the whisper of voices that seemed to ripple from every shadow, sending an involuntary shiver through the group of dwarves and the hairs on Flori's neck began to rise. But although these elves knew the forest better than their own palms, they had forgotten one important thing about dwarves: when you spend so much time in the dark, certain things begin to happen to your night and shadow vision. Flori spotted a movement at the edge of his vision, just behind Balin, and didn't hesitate before he leapt for it - there was no room for subtelty when their honour was being infringed upon and they were being intimidated by a bunch of no-good, cowardly miscreants, the dregs of the forest who thought they ruled it just because they had flamin' pointy ears....

"Stay still, y' pointy eared little devil-" Flori growled as he pulled the scruff of the elf's collar down to his level, forcing to to it's knees while it was surprised and holding the blade of the throwing axe to it's bared throat.

"No, dwarf, you hold still." The mocking tone of the voice was gone now and a cold hard texture had replaced it. "Let our companion go or your friends shall regret it, especially Balin son of Fundin and the other who has passed here before-"

"Harm one hair on my brother's head and all the immortal blood in the world won't save you," replied Flori darkly, now truly incensed, but a small part of his brain was battling for reason. He took a deep breath and added quietly, "Come out from where you hide, tell us your names, and I will let your companion go."

An exchange of whispers flew across the air above the dwarves, before there was a subtle feel of change in the air and a second later, a tall, handsome elf stepped from the shadows in front of Flori, his dark eyes fixed upon Flori and an arrow notched easily in his bow. Something about his proud stance (proud even for an elf), fine clothes and the air of casual assurance told Flori that he was not addressing any mere elf. The elf's answer confirmed this. "I will not be questioned in my own forest, dwarf," the prince's quiet reply came.

Flori smiled very slightly and let the other elf's collar go, allowing him to scramble from his knees to stand on one side of the princely elf. He nodded his head civily although he did not return the small axe to his belt. "Your majesty," he said softly. The elf looked slightly surprised and his hand relaxed slightly on the bowstring, before he was all suspicion again. "Are you spies to know about us, dwarf?"

"My name is Flori Bronzeshield, Prince, and I am nothing of the sort. We are merely passing through," Flori replied civilly. His dislike for the elf was still quite intense but it had lessened slightly - for one thing, the elf was not looking down on him even though his gaze would ordinarily have been fixed several feet above Flori's head. He was looking at Flori like an equal. Good that we have that straight then...

"You asked no permission to pass through from my father, Flori Bronzeshield. Tell me, where is it that you and your companions go that you will infringe so easily upon the boundaries of the elven kingdom, especially after your kin's last attempt to trespass on Elvish soil?" came the level reply.

Flori hesitated, glancing discreetly at his brother to catch his eye in askance of what to reply. Last time they had been taught another valuable lesson - that the elves were after all that they could get even, or especially, when they had no right to it: when the dragon Smaug was killed, the elves had asked for 'their share of the treasure', the treasure which was in no way theirs and which they had done nothing for. What was to say that they would not do the same again once Moria was reclaimed and the mines started up within it. What shall we tell him?

[mark12_30]

The silence was broken by a short cough from Lîn. "You must be Thorgeleb."

"Silence," said Balin.

"How do you know my name, dwarf?" replied one of the courtiers.

Lîn glanced at Balin. Balin growled, "Answer him."

"The ring on your left forefinger bears three opals; two are the eagle's eyes, the third is his heart."

"You are Lîn? The opal-setter?"

"Fussiest ring I ever made, " Lîn growled, and Thorgeleb laughed. "Well, Silver Eagle, do you like it?"

Thorgeleb lowered his bow-- just a little-- and answered wth a wry nod.

The prince of Mirkwood frowned. "I have not heard anyone call you by that name. Who gave it you?"

"My betrothed, " the courtier replied, in a voice that forebad mockery.

The prince nodded, careful not to laugh or smile, and turned his attention back to Flori and Balin, and waited their response.

[Imladris]

Balin

Balin frowned as he saw the leadership of the dwarves slowly seem to revert to Flori, but then he realized that it would be good for the lad to come into his own. Nothing could be worse to deal with than elves…it would be a good learning experience. He watched with subtle satisfaction as Flori cleverly captured one of their own and then demanded the elves to show themselves, which the Prince did with the usual elvish hauteur, but the prince somehow managed to stare at them with equality.

"You asked no permission to pass through from my father, Flori Bronzeshield. Tell me, where is it that you and your companions go that you will infringe so easily upon the boundaries of the elven kingdom, especially after your kin's last attempt to trespass on Elvish soil?" the elf asked.

Balin’s brow wrinkled in a craggy frown as he heard the words. Of course Thranduil would want a hand (if not two hands) in the wealth of Moria, as he had with the affair at the Lonely Mountain. He chortled as he imagined the pale, ivory, willowy elves grubbing in the darkness of Moria for True Silver. The forest and the open spaces were their home and the ones who went would shrivel for want of the sun…besides taking a fair amount of wealth as they shriveled, he added with a dark smirk. He could lie, but the elves were keen at sniffing out a falsehood (especially when a great deal of wealth was involved) but more than that lying was such an unpleasant task anyway. “The business of the dwarves are their own,” he said coolly. “It would be well for the elves,” he added patting the head of his axe easily, “if they let us go about our business as we have no concern with the King’s lands,” he added with a slight bow.

The Prince, with a barely perceptible shrug, said, “Whether you have anything to do with our lands or not, your are trespassing against our King. We must know if your intentions are good and that sort of thing,” he added with a brief smile.

With a roll of the eyes, Balin said boldly, “If you must know, we have come to retake Moria. There, does that satisfy your misplaced curiosity?” he growled.

The Prince’s eyes hardened, and he said tightly, “We do not appreciate falsehoods, Balin son of Fundin.”

“Dwarves do not lie!” Balin retorted. “And if you think that your pointy ears make you more noble than the greedy heart of the dwarves --”

The Elvish prince flushed slightly and said, “We will bring you to the halls of Thranduil and he will see if you speak truth or not.”

With forced calmness, Balin replied, “No. You impugn our honour.”

“And you trespass against our lands,” said the prince, drawing the arrow taught in his bow. With a brief gesture, he motioned for his fellow elves to draw in.

With a guttural growl, Balin drew his axe and he could hear the other dwarves do the same. A fierce joy rose in his heart and he contented himself with the thought that the elves had brought the skirmish upon themselves.

[The Perky Ent]

Dear future records of the account of Nali on the Quest of Moria, Nali paused as he took at minute to write on another piece of parchment. "Quest for Moria", Nali though. "Now that's a catchy title!" The other dwarves continued their bickering as Nali start writing several paragraphs about his journey. As Balin walked menasingly twords some of the dwarves, Nali assumed that his temper had overpowered him, as he was told that it was often to do so. Eventually, Balin gave up on the dwarves and they continued their quest. After a short period of walking, which Nali did several feet from the group, he noticed the trees of Mirkwood fence the horizon. "Mirkwood! At last!" Nali shoughted, as some of the other dwarves had also noticed Mirkwood and were sebsequently shouting. And then something hit Nali, he never found out if they were going through Mirkwood or not. Feeling Stupid, Nali darted to the side of Ori, who was glad to see him. "Yes Nali, we're here. We're going through" Ori said as he grinned to Nali and stepped among the trees.

"Well, this is it" Nali said as the other dwarves walked into the forest and some even disappeared beneath the old trees. Pausing, Nali opened up his piece of parchment and read it out loud:

Dear future records of the account of Nali on the Quest of Moria,

I am gazing among the dwarves well amist
a quarrel of the wit and fist,
and Balin, it seams is underestimating
the other dwarves skills of fighting and baiting,
because several has slipped past the fiery dwarf's rage,
and even though they say they'll behave,
they will do just as they please,
and as they have accomplished it with ease,
the dwarves will tend, as they have, to their own,
and won't spare mithril let alone meat on a bone,
for now i sail a ship alone
and sollum and grim, shall be my tone.

Nali took yet another moment to write in his letter to, as it seems, himself. The letter, or rather poem said:

Mirkwood, Mirkwood, the elf and the tree
seem to be calling, calling to me,
the twig, the branch, the leaf and the oak,
makes me forget i am hungry and broke,
a voice in the distance, calling my name,
Nali Nali it proclaims,
and grabs me up and tears me apart,
and it seems all the eyes in the world have to dart,
at the mangled shreads of my depressing life,
from where i am now to when i was a little tike,
it is my beginning, middle and end,
as i have not but a single friend

As if in a trance, Nali started walking into the forest, bumping into trees and twigs on the way. After a while, Nali catched up with the dwarves, who seemed to be standed still. In a voice that seemed drunken, Nali said "Ori! Good day to you lad! What news of the ax?" Ori stood still. Didn't even move a mussle. Suddenly, a arrow flew into the sky and landed inches from Nali's feet. "Mind your tongue, Dwarf!"

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

What chance have we? Flói's mind was humming. He's never been in combat before. There are at least two Elves, probably more. All have bows drawn...and aimed. Will there be any of us still standing should it come to hard blows?

He turned once again to companions. Despite the fact that no words had been said to him ever since their departure - except during the fight - he felt the bond now between them. On his own, he would probably have rushed away from the Elves - to his doom. Now, seeing these Dwarves standing still, defying their foes on their own land, seems to instill courage into his heart. He grasped his axe tighter, and whispered for the Dwarves to hear,

"Let them come. Could they really stop us from reclaiming what is ours?"

And I know my armour can stop their flimsy arrows, he added to himself.

[Taralphiel]

Maron looked about the group as they all drew their axes. He watched his glint dully and his eyes darted from scowl to scowl in his company.

It seems that a situation had come about, and that the Elves had found them making their way through Mirkwood. Maron tried to keep down a panic. He had never been in war before, and the mix of excitement and fear coursed through him steadily.

"Let them come. Could they really stop us from reclaiming what is ours?"

Maron heard Floi's whisper and grit his teeth and gave a very small nod. He had said and done little so far in this trip. But now was the time to prove his skill.

[Saraphim]

Narin noted that the negotiations were drawing to a close. Inside, he was twisted with fear, but outside, he unhooked his twin axes and twirled them threateningly.

"Let them come. Could they really stop us from reclaiming what is ours?" a dwarf whispered.

"No, laddie, they can't" said Narin, more to himself than anyone else.

One of the elves, who had spoken to Lin before, was looking at Narin in disgust. Narin realized that he still had a mottled, bruised face and a slightly swollen eye, and that he must look a disgusting sight to these pristine elves.

He smiled wickedly at the elf.

[mark12_30]

Lîn glanced at Thorgeleb, and then at Balin, and muttered, "This is ridiculous; I can't fight with one of my own jewellry customers. Bad for business." He hefted his axe, and stalked around behind the dwarves.

The elves stared, Thorgeleb raised an eyebrow, and Lîn came up behind Floi, and hefted his axe, and glared at the Prince of Mirkwood. "Guard yourself, " muttered the dwarf, and took up a fighting stance. Then he chuckled. "Thorgeleb, I'd wish you a happy marriage and all, but under the circumstances..."

[mark12_30]

Thorgeleb sighed, and took aim at the nearest dwarf, muttering something inaudible. The elf beside him whispered, "What did you say?"

"I said, " replied Thorgeleb, "why can't we all just get along? I'm in no mood for burying dwarvish corpses just two weeks before my wedding, for pity's sake."

"Your pardon, 'Silver Eagle', that we so inconvenience you, " shouted Ori. His hearing was better than Thorgeleb had guessed. Meanwhile Thorgeleb's arrow *pinged* off of Floi's helmet, Dwarvish voices roared, and the melee ensued.

"Baruk Khazad! Khazad Ai Menu!" "Erebor!" "Durin and Moria!"

"For Thranduil and Greenwood the Great!" .... "Mirkwood, silly." .... "Yes, but Greenwood sounds better for a battle cry."

By then the dwarves were actually swinging at them, and the elves skipped backwards, shooting arrows. Close quarter fighting was certainly not what they had in mind.

[Imladris]

Ori

With a bellow, Ori aimed his fist into the nearest elf’s stomach, but, with a remarkable twist of his body, Ori found himself pummeling thin air, and stumbled forward. The elf laughed and danced away with a taunting lilt, drawing an arrow from his quiver. Swiftly he shot it, and it whistled by Ori’s ear. “You call that a shot!” Ori shouted. “It appears your marksmanship has been highly overrated!”

“I missed, you oaf, on purpose!”

“Hah! Just like my fist missed your stomach’s acquaintance!” Ori shouted, redoubling his attack.

“Don’t trip upon your lengthy beard!” the elf said, grappling with Ori.

Ori, with a roar, swung a hook that hit the elf square in the jaw, which sent him sprawling through the underbrush and knocking him on unconscious. “Better tripping over a beard than awaking with a headache,” he murmured. He rubbed his fist with satisfaction and glanced about him quickly. Nali, it appeared, was flailing his fists at three elves who were doing a good job beating him. With a growl, Ori charged into their midst, wondering how they were going to get out of this frying pan.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Flori ducked another arrow and winced as it embedded itself deep into the trunk behind him, before launching himself with a snarl at his attacker. He didn't pause to withdraw an axe, simply grabbing his elvish opponent's feet and bringing him crashing to the ground.

"So much for your famed elegance, elf!" he yelled, before landing a square punch on the elf's face. He drew back his hand for another kick, but the elf, even stunned as he was from Flori's solid punch, drew up one knee very sharply, knocking the dwarf with a clang on the back of his head. The dwarf rolled away, holding his helmet and shook his head a few times before scrambling to his feet, taking up a fighting stance against the elf...who, he now realised, was no ordinary elf. He had managed to fell the Prince himself.

The elf had whipped out two long, white blades, far too long to be daggers but several inches short of being even a short sword. His brown eyes were narrowed as he flicked his hair out of his face. Flori laughed audaciously. "Ha, hair in your eyes, lass?"

The elf clenched his teeth furiously and his knuckles whitened on the handles of the knives, but he couldn't resist a reply. "No large matter for me - at least my face doesn't take up the larger part of my body, midget!"

"Girly-elf boy!"
"Garden gnome!"
"Thief!"
"Tresspasser!"

The fight was quickly deteriorating into namecalling, something Flori considered far too familiar and a possible hazard in a fight. By means of putting a stop to it, he launched himself at the elf's legs again, knocking the elf with a dismayed yell to the ground once more. But the prince was quicker this time, and it was he who landed the first punch, sending Flori sprawling then pausing to rub his knuckles painfully. No one punches a dwarf without severely regretting it afterwards.

But Flori had not completely lost his senses yet, and could see that the fight, which had been an all out brawl before, was now turning rather nastier - Inn-style, dirty fighting is one thing; axes and bows are quite another. He caught Ori's eye, and saw his brother nod. Turning back to the prince he muttered angrily, "Why would you revel in a fight, elf?"

"I do not relish it, dwarf, and neither did we begin it!"

"Well it must be some form of elf-magic then, for the dwarves certainly did not!" came the outraged and patriotic reply.

"Elf-mag...dwarf, just because you cannot-"

"Enough! I have had enough of your ceaseless babbling, boy; the truesilver and all else that Mirkwood yields is ours and no filthy elven pup will get his hands on it!" Flori yelled, then cried, "Durin's folk! For the kingdom to be reclaimed, do not waste any more time! We have showed these so-called warriors a thing or two to remember the people of Dain by!"

Turning, he paused only for a second on the elf before turning with the rest of the dwarves, who were finishing off, landing their last punches and giving the elves a little more to remember them by, before they barrelled away through the trees, still yelling fearsome war-cries and catcalls at the elves behind them.



The elven prince watched them as the four other elves got to their feet, and two started towards the place the dwarves had vanished, but the prince called them back.

"Wait - do not pursue the fight any further, there is little point. It would do neither party any good."

The two other elves stopped, frustrated. "What would you have us do, Prince Legolas?"

Legolas had a slight, bemused smile on his fine features. A dwarf hundreds of years younger than me called me 'boy' and 'pup'. What's more, the prince had noticed what the others had not; just before Flori called away the other dwarves, he had given a very small, almost unperceptible wink under his bushy eyebrows. The prince shook his head, that slight smile still there, then sheathed his knives and turned to the others.

"Only one or two of us need track them, to make sure they cause no harm in the forest." He looked across the courtiers, then nodded to Thorgeleb. "Thorgeleb - follow them, if you will. Make sure they cause no harm and do not come too close to any of our people or the palace itself."

Thorgeleb nodded and gave a small bow before darting lithely away into the trees. Legolas grinned slightly, then murmured, "Silver eagle, huh?"

"I heard that!"

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

All the while during the skirmish Malí had been hiding -- yes, hiding behind a large, rotting log. While her kinsmen fought, she had lain behind the log, reciting lists of all the major imports from the Elven kingdom and the revenue it had brought in. The list was not terribly long, but because Malí insisted on also reciting the lovely Elven names that had signed the goods in on the lists, her murmuring lasted well through the skirmish. Malí was not a fighting Dwarf. She had two hand axes, yes, but she'd never used them and never even held them before packing them for the journey. Malí was all about keeping track and calculating and making sure everything was perfect. Oh, and what a job I've done so far! Malí scolded herself inwardly.

Soon Malí had begun to wonder why she was so scared, for the sounds of axes and the whirring of arrows slicing through the air had become scarce. All Malí began to hear was name calling and every so often a punching noise came to her ears.

The skirmish was over before Malí could finish her list of panic, and she leapt up and followed fretfully behind the rest of the dwarves, meekly whooping and cheering war cries along with the rest of them.

[mark12_30]

Thorgeleb swung a little northeast of the Dwarf-pack, and trotted along casually and silently. There was no question where they were; their travelling was loud enough to wake an elf from deep dreams.

Not that that took much, either, he smiled. Then he frowned, and looked down at the ring on his hand. Two weeks til his wedding day. Would he be back to the caves on time? He would never live it down if he missed his own wedding...

The idea of being called a latecomer for the next thousand years made him hope that the dwarves knew where they were going. Make sure they do not stray, the prince had said. Thorgeleb stifled a snort; everyone knoww the story of Thorin's part and how they got lost.

Suddenly, Thorgeleb wished he had volunteered someone else.

Lîn

Aside from the occasional slap of branches across their faces, the cavilcade of dwarves trotted along contentedly and unmolested in the woods. Lîs adjusted her beard slightly, when she thought no one was looking. It was dark enough in the forest that no one saw anyway.

She sighed with relief that she had not come to blows with a known customer. Thus far, she had avoided comitting any serious business blunders; she had only comitted... well... insubordiation and striking a commander. She sighed, and shot Balin a sideways glance. Hopefully he'd forgotten about it, or would soon.

Perhaps it would be best if she gave Balin a wide berth for a while. She edged away from Balin, a little, and drew closer to Ori, Flori, Marin, and Narin.

She turned to them, and said pleasantly enough, "Any scrapes?"

Marin replied, "Bah."

Flori said, "Hah."

Ori said, "Heh! Scrapes? From an elf? Sissy long-haired creamy-skinned pointy-eared..."

Narin could hardly claim to have no scrapes. "Nothing new, " he said.

Lîn smiled, and they jogged on.

[Orual]

Óin crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against a tree while his companions had a bout with the Elves. He had no wish to get into a scuffle with the denizens of Mirkwood. Besides, hadn't he said that going into Mirkwood was a bad idea? He surely had. It wasn't his fault that they had gone off into this forest. A forest was no place for a dwarf anyway. Nothing but trouble could come of it!

But trouble had come of it, and now his friends were in a bit of a fix. Óin had a feeling that the Elves did not truly mean violence--nothing that would leave scars too deep, at least--just a little mischief and fun for them. Typical of Elves, that sort of behavior. For all their talk of being the Firstborn, all their wisest-fairest-eldest bibble-babble, they really could be very juvenile sometimes. He rolled his eyes and sighed deeply, and slid his axe out of his belt.

"Baruk Khazad," he said without much vigor, and raised his axe, and joined the fray.