Passing in through the Dimrill Gate of Moria, the first thing that met their eyes was the First Hall.
This great chamber, upheld by four colossal pillars, was among the earliest works hewn by the ancient Dwarves. High upon the eastern cliff-wall narrow windows had been cut, to draw in what little natural light could filter through stone and gloom.
Corpses lay scattered everywhere. A few were Dwarven Heavy-armored warriors in broken mail, but most were Orcs, trolls, and crushed war-beasts.
From the far darkness faint sounds of battle still drifted back.
Kaen Eowenríel gave his orders at once. "Send word to Yenagath. Let him bring men to clear these bodies and raise our forward camp here. All others follow me. We go to the aid of our allies."
"Yes, my lord."
Kaen led his forces through the First Hall. There a staircase dropped away before them, and at its base lay the Bridge of Khazad-dûm, a narrow stone arch spanning a bottomless gulf. It was perhaps fifteen paces long and barely two paces wide, with no rails upon either side.
This had been a carefully wrought Dwarven defense-work, made so that in war they might pour their fire onto the enemy and hold them at a narrow throat with the least cost and the greatest slaughter.
Now Thorin Oakenshield and Dáin Ironfoot were there, struggling with the monsters for control of the bridge.
It was bitterly ironic. The very fortification that Durin's Folk had once designed to bar their foes now stood as an obstacle before them.
No matter how the Dwarves pressed the attack, the war-beasts crowding the far end made it impossible for them to break through to the other side.
"My lord," Andric said, "the bridge is too narrow. Our numbers are useless here. If we rush down, we can do little. The best way would be to call up our Elven archers and strike from above, raining arrows down in support of the Dwarves."
As commander of Tusgar's forces he was no longer only a man of the front line, but a seasoned general.
Kaen nodded, then slowly shook his head. "There is no time. They have already gone too far in."
He thought a moment. "All of you, charge down now. I will use my light to blind and break the enemy. Your task is simple... kill every foe you see."
"Yes, my lord!"
...
On the eastern side of the Bridge of Khazad-dûm, the Dwarven assaults had failed again and again. Thorin and Dáin were both seething with anger.
They watched the creatures jeering at them from the far end of the bridge.
"Give me ten men," Dáin snarled. "I will lead them myself. I will crack open those ugly raiders' skulls one by one."
"Wait a moment, Your Majesties."
A steady voice sounded behind the Dwarven ranks.
Turning, they saw Reger and Andric arriving, with a great number of King's Guard and heavy infantry of Eowenría at their backs.
Andric bowed his head briefly to Thorin and Dáin. "This is a defense-work your forefathers devised," he said, "meant to hold back great hosts. Now the enemy turns it against us. No matter how we rush it, brute force alone will not prevail."
"We have no other road," Dáin answered, shaking his head. "Beyond this bridge lies the Second Hall. That is the heart of Khazad-dûm's ways. It is the great crossroads that binds the different levels and halls together. Only if we take it can we strike at each hall and vale in turn."
"Perhaps we do have another way," Reger said quietly. He lifted his head and looked upward. "My lord is already here..."
The others followed his gaze.
A lone figure stood upon a ledge of stone. Gold, silver, and white light coiled around him. The radiance grew so bright it seemed even the stone of Moria shone with it.
A voice rang out from the midst of that light, solemn and full, echoing through the deep chamber.
"I come clad in the light of rectitude. Let the darkness flee. This place belongs to the sons of Durin."
As the words faded, the golden radiance gathered into a beam and lanced down upon the monsters holding the far side of the bridge.
The trolls and war-beasts there cried out as if stabbed in the eyes. Their bodies burned with unseen fire, and they howled in agony. Many staggered blindly and tumbled off the bridge into the endless abyss below.
Seeing this, Thorin knew their moment had come. He lifted his sword high and shouted, "For our home, charge!"
Dáin raised his hammer and roared, "Sons of Durin, never retreat!"
"Charge!"
The two kings hurled themselves forward with their finest warriors at their heels, launching another assault.
Under Kaen's blazing light, the creatures of darkness were in torment. They could hardly muster the will to strike back. Blinded and terrified, they fled stumbling away from the bridgehead.
"For the light, strike!"
Andric and Reger drove forward as well, leading the King's Guard and the heavy infantry of Eowenría close behind the Dwarves.
Two heroes of peak legendary strength and two of legendary rank led the vanguard, while a mythic hero stood above and smote the enemy with holy radiance.
In the space of moments the dark defenders of the Bridge of Khazad-dûm were broken and swept away. The Dwarves and Men of the allied host cut their way across and stormed onward into the Second Hall.
...
Moria had once been the dominion of Azog, lord of Orcs, but nineteen years before he had fallen beneath Thorin's blade in the Battle of Five Armies.
Now the shadowed ruler of Moria was another, a dark king named Launovar.
He lurked deep within the mountain, in the throne hall of Moria. There he sat upon a crude stone throne, watching as three dark priests stood at the altar below, their snarling chants drawing thick black power into the air.
Launovar's twisted face twisted further into a cruel and greedy grin. He rose and strode into the center of the altar, letting the roiling darkness pour over and through him.
As the power sank into him, his strength swelled. He closed his eyes, savoring the surge, and muttered in wild delight, "Truly this is the might of a dark god. I feel now that I could slay a hundred Azogs."
At that moment ten Orcs came running into the throne hall, panting and afraid.
"Your… your Majesty," one of them stammered, "it is bad news. Durin's Folk are breaking in."
Launovar blinked, then his face darkened. "How many?" he asked, his voice low.
The Orc trembled. "Many, lord. At least eight thousand. The King's Guard of Eowenría are with them, and the Elves of Taurëmírë. They have already taken the First Hall and the Bridge of Khazad-dûm. Now they are attacking the Second Hall."
"The armies of Eowenría?"
Launovar's scowl twisted into a sneer. He walked down from the altar and waved the dark priests away.
"They dare to invade my realm?" he said coldly. "Fools who know nothing of their own smallness. Summon all the hosts. I will drown these intruders in my legions."
For deep in Moria there lay many ancient evils, some so old that their beginnings reached back to the Age of the Two Trees.
Since the darkness took this place, Orcs, war-beasts, trolls and many other foul creatures had bred in these halls for more than a thousand years. Their numbers had long since swelled into the millions.
With such a sea of monsters behind him, Launovar did not trouble himself over a few thousand who had entered his domain.
He seated himself once more upon his throne and gazed down at the altar, a cold smile on his lips.
"When I have bent the Balrog to my will," he said softly, "it will not be mere Durin's Folk who fall. I will sweep away the whole of the North."