We walked in silence. Now, I wasn't imagining it - both Nahtar and Sting were glowing blue. There were orcs and goblins down here.
"Be on your guard," Gandalf warned. Gimli hefted his ax. It was dark. Utterly, pitch-black inky dark that seemed to envelop us. All we could see was the glow of our swords and the light of Gandalf's staff.
Gandalf's staff suddenly illuminated a great hall. "Behold the great realm and dwarf city of Dwarrowdelf."
"Now there's an eye-opener and no mistake," Sam said.
Gimli saw a room with light inside and dashed to it.
The room was illuminated by a shaft of white light that hurt my eyes. The ray of light fell upon a block of white marble. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw the lumps surrounding the block for what they were: corpses, covered in spiderwebs.
Gandalf moved closer to the block of marble and brushed away the thick layer of dust that had gathered on it. The nine of us stood in a loose circle around it. There were inscriptions on the stone, in the tongues of Dwarves and Men:
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"NOOOO!" Gimli wailed, running to the marble slab- Balin's tomb- and pounded his bare fists on the rock. The sound echoed in the room. I pulled my hood over my head as a sign of mourning. I knew Balin, we had become good friends on the quest to reclaim Erebor as the two oldest people. He was a good man (dwarf, I know), and honorable. However, unlike Gimli, I didn't cry. Lyrasael Silverhelm doesn't cry. I haven't since that guilt-wracked day, sixty years ago, when I swore never to love again. The day of the Battle of the Five Armies. The day Thorin Oakenshield died.
"Here lies Balin, son of Fundin. He is dead then. It is as I feared," Gandalf translated.
Gandalf crouched next to a withered corpse covered with cobwebs. Moving one of the hands aside, he picked up the book the dwarf had been holding and brushed aside some cobwebs and dust. He opened it to the last page and read,
"They have taken the bridge... and the second hall. We have barred the gates... but cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes. Drums... drums... in the deep. We cannot get out. A shadow moves in the dark. We cannot get out... They are coming!"
An ominous silence descended. In it, Pippin, who was holding Gandalf's hat and staff, reached out and touched and arrow that was sticking out of a nearby corpse's chest. Touching it sent a vibration through the entire body, and the head fell off, into the circular opening beyond - it hist have been a well at some point. The body followed suit, and the chain and bucket, making a horrific clanging noise that deafened my ears in the silence. Pippin winced at every clanging echo and looked up at the wizard guiltily when the noise had died away.
"Fool of a Took!" Gandalf thundered, and Pippin flinched. "Next time throw yourself in and rid us of your stupidity!" I knew Gandalf was being harsh, but that's Gandalf - quick to anger, quick to laughter. I felt sorry of Pippin but knew that Gandalf was right: Pippin's stupidity could cost us our lives by alerting whatever dwelled here of our presence, and aggravating if it knew already.
