-General-
"Be careful: if you take the wrong path, no one will be able to save you," said Gandalf aloud. The echo of his words reached the last dwarf crossing the threshold. The host, numbering five hundred dwarves, was nothing more than a speck of dust before the vastness of Moria. The halls of Khazad-dûm rose majestic and immense, declaring without the need for words that this realm had once been home to many thousands of dwarves in the days of old.
"Get lost? What a joke!" bellowed Glóin from behind Kíli and Fíli. "How could a dwarf lose his way in his own home?"
Aldril, walking near the brothers and not far from the old wizard, turned toward his dwarven friend.
"Then why don't you guide us, Glóin?" he said with an ironic smile, tilting his head in Gandalf's direction. "I'm sure the wizard would be more than pleased to have your help; that way we'd have one more guarantee we won't get lost."
Taken aback by Aldril's remark, Glóin, like a flower wilting, lowered his head.
"Well… I just let the wizard have his moment," he muttered.
His evasive reply and subsequent silence drew an ironic smile from Aldril, who shook his head, already used to the dwarves' occasional comments.
How could they possibly know the labyrinthine ways of Moria? Many years had passed since Durin's Bane had driven them from that kingdom. Those who still remembered the old, perilous paths were either dead… or far too old to set foot outside their bed.
It was better to leave that task to the old Grey Wizard, whose reliability in such matters was beyond doubt. Besides, one did not argue with, nor question, Gandalf's knowledge. Naturally, the wizard had earned the esteem of most races wherever he went; it was only natural to befriend such a figure, for his charisma was, without doubt, the greatest in all of Middle-earth.
They walked for a long time. The path grew ever narrower, fading beneath their feet; on either side yawned a bottomless chasm, stretching like a dark ocean, patiently awaiting some careless soul to stumble. These were the natural defenses of the dwarves' realm, yet also their doom should an attack come from within and panic seize its people.
Such had happened in the past, when the Balrog rose over Khazad-dûm: multitudes of dwarves, gripped by terror, fled through those passages, and many, in their desperate flight, fell into the depths where their bodies would never be found.
"I don't understand why your people are so fond of building bridges without railings. Aren't you afraid of falling?" Aldril asked Kíli.
The dwarf merely shrugged. He was no lover of construction, though his brother was quite the opposite.
"There's a reason why we build them that way," Fíli added, without taking his eyes from the path ahead.
"Enlighten me," Aldril asked with genuine curiosity; it was not unfounded, for he had long wondered why dwarves seemed to delight in building crossings with vast drops on either side.
"Wait," Kíli interrupted, looking at his brother in disbelief. "There's a reason for that?"
"Of course there is. Don't you remember Mother's tales?" Fíli replied.
"What tales? The one about the trolls?"
Fíli shook his head, cast Aldril a silent look of apology, and sighed inwardly. Kíli, without a doubt, was the less quick-witted of the two… or at least remembering certain things was not his strong suit.
"The reason is because of the evil dwarves of the Misty Mountains."
Those words made the wizard, marching ahead, prick up his ears. Though he knew of the so-called evil dwarves—those who had betrayed the principles of Durin—he was unfamiliar with the story explaining why dwarven bridges were so narrow and flanked by vast chasms.
"During the reign of Durin III, certain dwarven forces submitted to the Dark Lord. They forged him high-quality armor and weapons, and betrayed their own people, allowing countless orcs to enter Moria. In those days, the bridges were wider and had railings, which made it easier for the beasts to cross in great numbers and push deep into the realm."
Aldril raised an eyebrow in pleasant surprise. Dwarves betraying their own kind? Now that was new. He had always believed that the sons of Durin were loyal to one another, and that the thought of harming their own people would never cross their minds. It seemed he would have to broaden his knowledge of those long-bearded folk.
"And what else?" Kíli pressed, frowning at the mention of the treacherous dwarves. Though he could not recall the tale, the mere knowledge that filthy, vile orcs had first entered Moria thanks to the evil dwarves set his blood boiling.
With a wave of his hand, Fíli tried to calm his brother.
"I'm getting to that," he said, picking up the thread of the story. "Seeing the growing horde of orcs besieging them, Durin III made the difficult decision to use the very tools of the evil dwarves. An explosion caused much of the bridge to collapse into rubble, leaving only a narrow span intact… as if Moria itself had chosen to protect that stone. This prevented the orcs from breaking in great numbers; the narrow path, combined with the innate stupidity of those creatures, allowed Moria's armies to wipe out the threat."
Now that he heard it, Gandalf understood the logic behind it: a confined space would prevent large groups of orcs or goblins from attacking at once, enabling the dwarves to defend themselves with greater precision and lethality. The creatures' natural stupidity would ensure that many fell into the abyss in the absence of railings. Moreover, there was no need to worry about supplies, for a small cart could still cross without difficulty.
"Seeing that such a design was a perfect defense, Durin III proposed it to the other dwarven realms; since then, every bridge has been narrow and devoid of railings."
For Aldril, as for Gandalf, it made perfect sense. Even the Balrog had fallen into the abyss when the wizard broke the bridge; it would have been spared the fall only if the fiery beast had not caught Gandalf's foot with its whip. But now, that would likely never happen again: he was here, and according to the plan, when they encountered the Balrog they would do everything possible to drive it out of Moria, allowing the heavyweights of Middle-earth to unite against it.
Gandalf, for his part, nodded. He ceased to listen intently and focused on the labyrinthine path ahead. It was a blessing for all that he was with them, for he would never hesitate over which way to turn; a map, though incomplete, had been shown to him before entering.
At one time, Kíli and Fíli had protested, arguing that with the map they could guide the company through Moria. But would Gandalf allow that pair of brothers to take the lead? What a jest! There were only a handful of people in all Middle-earth to whom the wizard would entrust their guidance, and unfortunately, the two dwarves were not among them.
It was then, as they crossed a broad space where droplets of melting snow fell and the scent of damp earth and stone filled the air, that Gandalf's and Aldril's demeanors shifted in an instant. Glamdring and Anglachen flashed with glimmers that lit the wide threshold, and that could mean only one thing:
Orcs were near.
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Filthy orcs!! remember support me in "[email protected]/Mrnevercry"