The IRE of Winter

Chapter 9: THE GOBLIN'S LAIR

We have traveled three days and three nights before we reached the feet of the great mountains of Moria, we've traversed a country Men used to call Hollin. Gandalf said Elves used to live here in happier days and when the place was still called Eregion. Gimli filled my ears (it seemed I was the only one who cared to listen) with tales and legends of the great Dwarven kingdom along the way.

'That is Khazad-dum, Moria in elven-tongue,' he pointed Northeast as we walked the winding path. 'Baraz, Zirak, Shathur! We have wrought the images of its map in stones and tales, Durin's-folk needs no map to get through the mines to Moria.' He told stories about his ancestors who used to mine the depths of the mountains for precious stones. It's the only place in Middle Earth where mithril can be found.

'True-silver,' Aramis gathered behind me. 'It's ten times the worth of gold and dearly loved by Elves. Its beauty beyond compare, it doesn't tarnish nor lose the glow and the lodes lead northwards of the mines, to Caradhas.'

'Mithril in elf-tongue,' Legolas said, now walking behind me too. Rod and Aramis led the way side by side while Gimli was behind them. 'In old days my people made ithildin out of it, starmoon in human-tongue.'

I imagined the image of a crown or an armour of wrought glowing silver as I darted my eyes to the frowning mountain before us, Caradhas. 'I should like to see it, if only the mines would be very welcoming to trespassers,' I murmured.

'The old path will never be welcoming, my dear,' Gimli said almost shrugging. 'The Westgate is ruined the last time we tried our luck. It is lightless inside the mines, and though I long to see old Balin's tomb in the Chamber of Mazarbul again, I should dare not to bet my life into the mines. Mirrormere is cursed and all of Balin's folk fought and perished inside Moria's halls.'

'There once a gate Southeast of the pass but the path round the great stream is too dangerous to take. I once entered it and will never again, though there are words of dwarves dwellings inside Moria, that path would prove a great shortcut to this journey. Forty leagues it is.' Legolas put  in.

'If we make for the mountain that would be more than fifty,' Rod said. 'But that path is shorter if we should go North of Eryn Lasgalen.'

The Dwarves had to mine up to the roots of the mountain northwards until one day, they woke the Balrog from its core. Gandalf killed it, of how, I did not ask. I could hardly believe the Dwarf, how could an old man singlehandedly killed such a monster?! A wizard might! Perhaps Gandalf did. I shall ask the old man myself when we meet again. The wind blew dry and crisp as the sun sailed low behind the rim of the eastern mountains, trees scattered scarcely here and there as the lane fades into the vast grassland. The skies begun to darken and soon it drizzled. We marched in a single pile with all our hoods up.

My body ached, I wonder how far North is and if I can travel long enough to reach the North alive. Caradhras was its name, the High (Redhorn) Pass was the quickest way to get to the other side of the Misty Mountains.

When the sun finally settled down the waving horizon, we camped for the night down a hanging rock and where hollies grew tall and lush. We found a cave carved just enough to keep the fire burning and the hanging rock was wide enough to shelter us from the rain. A drizzle came and we filled our bellies with carrot soup and elven bread, and there we huddled near the fire stretching our cold hands and warming our freezing limbs above the blaze. Then Gimli started to tell tales of the fight they once had in this place; how Gandalf burned the wargs and how many wolves Legolas have killed; back in the days when the shadows still exists in the South. I was most interested.