Short Story by Empire of Darkness
As the last sword fell at the end of the War of the Ring, all hope was restored to the lands of Middle-Earth. The soul of every man, woman, and child, the soul of every race, the elves, the men, and the souls of four little Hobbits were all touched with a sense of pride and courage. The Ring of Power has been destroyed, and the evil of Sauron will no longer been seen.
However, that is not the end.
The journey home is only one path, for another journey lies to the north, deep in the mountains, where the dwarves are celebrating a victory against the orcs and goblins that had invaded. Word of the Ring's destruction was not what surprised them the most, but rather the word of mouth that a Hobbit had been the one to do it.
Bammal, a younger dwarf, with a full head of long and brown hair, with a beard that was just as long as his father's, mused about the adventure that the Hobbit must have been on, crossing mountains, rivers, but more importantly, through Moria. What a feast they must have had when they arrived there, with all the beer one could ever need, and the food, oh the food, to die for; it all made Bammal insanely jealous.
Word of Moria's true fate, and the nature of the journey through there was perilous, finally reached Bammal's ears, and he pleaded with his father that they must send them help, the mines of Moria were too valuable to allow them to be held by the enemy.
"Be calm," his father told him. "Everything will be made right. If anyone knows anything about invading the underground, it's us dwarves!"
And right he was. The dwarves had always been especially keen to the dark and damp caves of the mountains. Their entire lives were spent underneath the ground; seldom did they leave their homes in search of adventure. Orcs and goblins always presented a challenge, as the precious mines and the ore underground proved invaluable to both the dwarves and their enemies.
Bammal was well trained with his trusty axe, and he felt honored to be selected to join the ranks with his friends to go to Moria and help retake the mine. This would be a fight to remember.
Above the ground, in the snowy mountains, a band of orcs moved quietly through the night. All but exiled, the evils of Middle-Earth now put distance between themselves and the Men of the West, and the Elves from Mirkwood. The killing of orcs now became a sport, something for men to award each other with medals and other trinkets of value. Right now, that was the least of the orcs' worries. Their escape from Mordor and from the Men of the West took them too close to Mirkwood, and they fear that the elves there may have caught their trail. They were in pursuit, but the orcs did not know why. They took shelter in a cave on the mountainside.
"It will be dawn soon," the band's leader said. "The Elves will catch up to us soon, I have no doubt." He swung a satchel down from his back and onto the ground, and a small leg of meat fell out, from what, no one could tell. Grabbing it up before anyone else got the same idea, he started to gnaw on the cold and dry flesh, apparently enjoying every bite, though no man would understand why. It wasn't even cooked.
"Stop hogging the meat," one of the two Uruks with them spoke up.
"Quiet!" the orc shouted as he devoured what he had in his mouth. "I'm the leader here, I eat first!"
"There are no leaders anymore!" the other Uruk yelled back. The two Uruks stood up and moved towards the orc with the meat, who now held his sword in one hand, and the leg in the other.
"There's still more meat!" he shouted as he nudged his satchel with his foot. Without hesitation, the Uruk grabbed the bag and looked through it.
"Meat?" he said, skeptically, until he saw what he was referring to. He grabbed it by its arm, and slowly pulled it out of the satchel.
"You fool," the Uruk said, staring at the small creature he held. "This is why we're being hunted. This is why the Elves are on our trail!"
The orc mouthed out words in a response, however no sound came out, and he felt a sudden and searing pain in his throat. There, about six inches in front of his chin he saw the bloody tip of an arrow. It was his blood. The Uruks took steps back, and grabbed the orcs and pulled them in front of them just as a barrage of arrows swept through the cave from outside.
"Go!" the Uruk shouted as he grabbed the satchel and shoved the creature back inside. They ran deeper into the cave, towards the underground, not knowing that in time they will cross paths with a Dwarven army heading out to reclaim Moria.
Six hooded Elves entered the cave, slowly, three of them with swords drawn, and the other three with their bows ready to shoot any orcs they see.
"These are all dead," one of the Elves said, as he looked over three orc corpses impaled with their arrows. "Find her." They dropped their bows and swords and started looking through all the bags that the orcs had on them. Nothing.
"They must have gone deeper into the cave," Cundae, the oldest of the elves said as he gazed down the long and dark corridor that lie before him.
Bammal had his axe slung across his back as he marched in line through the final stretch of smooth path leading out of their city and into the old shortcut to Moria, that has long been unused by armies. It would be a long journey, possibly taking weeks, depending on which path they go, and which ones are easiest to cross.
"Two weeks journey," Bammal said to his friends behind him. "No idea of numbers and no thought of return. Moria could be ours for the taking, for all we know."
"Orcs and goblins," his friend said as he smoked his pipe, blowing smoke out, and coughing with each syllable. "There're no creatures fouler."
"Maybe Elves," another friend joked, and they all had their laughs, which lifted their spirits from the darkness that has plagued them since they heard of Moria's fall. Bammal smiled, something he's never really known for. A tear welled up in his eye. This is what he's always dreamed, fighting in battle. However now that he's on the brink of one, he can't help but feel frightened. It would be his first battle, while his friends had already seen many, and some have already been lost. The memory of them will never be forgotten, all his mourning disappeared as he wiped his tear away. He was only going to look forward. Yes, that would be best.
Cundae laid flat against the cave floor, and slowly peaked over the edge into the great chasm. There was a narrow bridge extending from one side to the other, and several areas to climb up and down. He now realizes that they've actually been following a path, but to where he does not know. His eyes continued to scan the side of the chasm until - there. One hundred feet below, the two Uruks rested against a rock, trying to hide around the rocks that had fallen from the ceiling. Cundae was there alone. They all split up to take different paths in hopes at least one of them would come across their prey. He knew he could kill one of them, but the other was tucked away, hidden, with only a leg exposed. It was a risk he'd have to take.
Cundae propped himself up, and moved towards the dug out ladder the dwarves made. His footing was everything, if he hit any stone lose, it would alert the Uruks and the chase would be on once again. Foot by foot, he adjusted himself to make use of the ladder; it wasn't made for an Elf to use, but it worked nonetheless. Finally he reached the bottom, and could see the Uruks down a little further, but he was now at an angle to shoot one of them with ease. His hand slowly went behind his head, feeling for the feathers of his arrows. As soon as he felt the soft end, he pulled it out, and held it steady. He closed his left eye as he aimed, as he adjusted for the distance and took one last breath and pulled back… distracted!
The low sound of voices broke his attention, and he brought his bow and arrow down, slipping out of his fingers, the arrow shot into the rock below and bounced up and over the edge of the path, falling into the chasm below. The Uruks paid no attention to this sound, and were more concerned with the voices heading towards the chasm.
Several dwarves emerged on one of the bridges down the path. At the head of them was Bammal, shouting about how they shouldn't have rested, because he knew they'd get lost in their own caves. The Uruks sat motionless, staring directly at the dwarves, who now saw the Uruks, and grew quiet. Cundae took this opportunity and shot another arrow, killing one of the Uruks, and causing the other one to run in fear.
Bammal took his axe and sprinted with great speed over the short distance, screaming as he went, with his friends just standing in awe.
Cundae slid down the side of the chasm and landed on the path below, cutting the Uruk off. Around the Uruk's shoulder, Cundae saw the satchel, and a low murmur was emitted from it, followed by the shrill cry of a baby. The Uruk grabbed the bag and held it over the edge, obviously meaning to drop it unless he would be allowed to pass. No words were exchanged during this stand off, and the Uruk slowly started to walk towards Cundae. Arrow drawn, Cundae aimed it square at the Uruk's head, who just smiled as he held the bag away from him. Bammal now came up behind the Uruk, out of breath, but with enough energy to swing his axe if he needed to. The Uruk was now right next to Cundae, and he had to switch hands; he didn't want his back towards the Elf. Bammal stood next to Cundae, and watched as the Uruk disappeared around a corner. The cry from the satchel didn't get any quieter, and Cundae ran around the corner. The Uruk had ditched it on the side, and took off at full speed down the path and towards the bridge in the distance. Bringing up his bow, Cundae shot ahead of the Uruk, striking him in the head just before he disappeared around another corner. His body fell limp, and slipped off the edge down into the chasm.
"Nice shot!" Bammal said with his mouth open wide. Cundae smiled, picked up the satchel, and pulled out a very small baby Elf.
"What is her name?" Bammal asked, genuinely curious.
"Lelola," Cundae responded.
"That's a fair name. Fair, indeed."