Nearly a month passed before our party, commissioned by my great grand uncle Lord Elrond himself, arrived at the base of the rocky peaks that lay above Moria.
We arrived in greater number than when we left Rivendell. En route and roughly a fortnight ago we had encountered a fleeing band of nine dwarves. They were remnants of a massive orc attack on a dwarven military enclave originally numbering about two hundred. The enclave's destination and plan had been the same as ours. Enter Moria and rid its glorious halls of filth. They had not known of Lord Elrond's recent council in Rivendell. They were pleased to hear of Elrond's plans, more proof of the renewed alliance between Middle Earth's dwarves and elves.
But the dwarves met with tragedy in a mountain pass. The enclave walked right into a valley being monitored by scouts from the the right flank of a horde of nearly two thousand orcs and hobgoblins. Forthwith an assaulting wave of the orcs and hobgoblins swept down into the valley. About an hour of carnage ensued in this entrapment. With total massacre in plain view, and with all hope nearly lost, the surviving nine's leader, Sergeant Dremurth Grammett, ingeniously thought up a plan to lure scores of blood hungry orcs through a narrow ravine passage, above which well-posted sentries would hurl rocks down onto the pursuing enemy. This hastily concocted strategy of withdrawal whilst counter-attacking worked to a point. Sadly, just Dremurth himself and eight others escaped out the other end of the ravine passage.
"What became of the rest of my dwarven comrades, I do not know", sighed Dremurth. "As for us, we were mighty lucky to have survived that ghastly melee."
"Aye, but we took down a baker's dozen to maybe twenty or more, each of us, didn't we, Sarge?", bellowed Axel Gravestone, pounding his double-bladed war axe to his broad chest, smiling.
Dremurth interjects, "That we did, that we did, Axel. But, just remember you juvenile twit, I split the skull of that one just about to impale you from your hind. And for that, I have this bloody scratch from the one who was flitting his cheap, skinny blade on my left." Dremurth splays a nasty looking cut on his left forearm. "The ratbreath who did this to me breathes no more. I dealt with him soon after I halved your foe, Axel. I removed his puny bug-eyed head, I did. Arghh!"
The nine broke out in laughter. Soon enough, they were befriended by the commissioned party, always in need of a few more allies. Together, they now numbered sixty-three. Twenty-five dwarves, eighteen humans, fourteen elves, five hobbits and one wizard.
The leader of our commission was my father, Ongleth Buck. Without delay he had appointed our new arrivee Dremurth Grammett as navigator, owing to the dwarf's knowledge of Moria and its surroundings.
All had known the way into Moria that the Fellowship of the Ring had chosen was blocked, due to that scuffle with the tentacled swamp monster. Neither, too, could the Fellowship's way out be used for re-entry, as the bridge to the interior there had been destroyed by the Balroc. Originally Ongleth planned on entering via the Grimmstone Neck, an exceedingly high up entry requiring first a rather arduous climb to a snowcap, then a twelve hundred foot repel into a circular, thirty yards wide ice-lined opening, till the floor of an interior shelf could be landed upon. In fact, much of the gear they had brought from Rivendell had to do with the initial, mountainous climb (snowshoes, pick axes and such), the repel (lots of rope), and the weather (sufficient skins to stay warm).
But a new plan of entering Moria would soon unfold.
On the second night traveling with the band of nine, still many days from Moria, Ongleth had held a meeting with Dremurth Grammett, myself, two of the elder humans, Arthur Traxler and Gregson Bidwell, and the female elven seer, Anthiala Ensali. Anthiala was known for her intellect and alluring beauty, but most of all, extreme hatred of all things evil. There were six of us in all.
To predicate the meeting, father had an assistant, a hobbit by the name of Gabber Dantwiddly, prepare us a fine dinner of greens, wine, bread, cheese and freshly caught rainbow trout from the river that snaked through the valley far below our encampment, which was perched high on a bluff, safe from surprise attacks.
Our meeting place was in a soft clearing beneath a great two hundred foot pine, a stone's throw from the edge of the bluff. The view from here was nothing less than spectacular. From this vantage point it was hard to imagine trouble was again stirring in Middle Earth. The sun was still shining from the west as we sat down to dinner. There was maybe one more hour of light before it would set. Taking in this gorgeous view of nature I thought back to just weeks earlier, when I along with my elfin brethren were convinced, owing to the destruction of Sauron, that our elfin tenure in this, the Blessed Land of Middle Earth, was complete, and that, at last, we would soon set sail for the timeless shores of Sacred Valinor.
As the six waited for Gabber's trays of bounty, I played my mandola and concocted on the spot a tribute song to the group at hand, the idea being to lighten things up a bit and prepare us mentally for what was to be an important meeting, and change in plans.
The Great Pine Meeting
by Darrius Buck, mandolaist
Oh Father Buck, why do you call us here?
We sit here, your point still unclear
We think it must be important
Yet we sit, waiting, hungry, nigh on insolent
Among us is Dremurth, sergeant to nine
Full of brandy, time out of mind
A belly not yet full, he grumbles
A fish not yet consumed, more he grumbles
Among us is Arthur, eldest man, master in sword
There he swings it, getting a bit bored
What will he say when your meeting starts?
Glad the assistant didn't bring beans in his carts
Among us is Gregson, sneakiest that walks on two
Cannot wait to grab something to chew
Hand him a warhammer to swing
And that would be the last I ever sing
Among us is Anthiala, fairest and wisest
If we eat too much she will despise us
And we wouldn't want that, and that we wouldn't want
To become the gamely game that she would hunt
Last of all, me, your mandola player
Singing and strumming layer upon layer
If the food comes not in a minute here
Father Buck, you will have offspring to fear
And they all, at least the males, laughed and exchanged several jokes upon me, not leaving out the quips that I was skinny as a rail (heard that one before) and had ears large enough such that, if bent sideways, I could fly. When I had sung the verse to Anthiala she had feigned a cutesy smirk at me. Now with the ridicule being shoveled upon me by the others, particulary by Dremurth, all she could do was giggle and enjoy my gauntlet.
The food soon came, and we all ate heartily. Grabber went back for more. Twice.
After dinner, the meeting took place and wound on enough to where Gabber had to light a fire for us as the last of the sun's rays had been cut off by the distant hills to the west. We finished about an hour after dark. Much was talked about concerning the welfare of the commission, supplies and food rationing, dissemination of various duties, plans for what to do inside Moria, and so on, but the main point of Father calling us together was to announce a new plan of entry into Moria.
Earlier that day my father, Ongleth had talked alone with Dremurth, who had advised an alternative passage into Moria about which only dwarves had ever known. Its location had always been held in secrecy, although Dremurth felt warranted to reveal it given the dire situation of Middle Earth. The revelation had pleased Ongleth who, for most of his life, did not trust dwarves. Given the brave stories of Gimmley from the Fellowship and other dwarves dedicating their lives to the destruction of Sauron and safety and prosperity of Middle Earth, he had shed his bias. He saw in Dremurth and Axel, and many other dwarves, great warriors, of the kind he and elfinkind could now not do without. Indeed, he realized that the majority of the group which he now led, were dwarves. Furthermore, some of the burdensome equipment, which the commission had lugged all the way from Rivendell, could be parted with. As much as Dremurth drank, joked, and slurred his speech on occasion, Ongleth trusted Dremurth's guidance as the commission's navigator. In his eyes he saw wisdom, sincerity and steadfastness. He knew Dremurth would never give up.
The new entry chosen was known as the Jagged Rock of Kwalthorn. It did not require a climb as the Grimmstone Neck would have. More or less, Kwalthorn was a hidden cavernous orifice that lay behind and under a large jagged rock that lay on a mountainside, only miles from the infamous door where Frodo had uttered the word "friend" in elvish. Entry required a narrow, hands and knees crawl under the jagged rock first, for about one hundred feet in length, before it opened up enough to see, with lit torch, an opening into the mountainside.
About three miles before the commission had approached the Jagged Rock of Kwalthorn, they left their horses and now excessive mountain climbing supplies, skins and other large items that could not make it through the crawl, with three of the humans, who were given orders to care for the horses and guard the supplies in a well chosen hideout. It was a niche between two smaller mountains, water near, with trees for cover from around and above. They would be safe there thought Ongleth. Dremurth seconded. They were to wait till either the commission itself or ally with message from the commission returned, or one month's time, after which they could abandon the horses and stores and choose to go wherever they felt, except Moria, for if the commission did not return, that would mean disaster inside. Anthiala agreed, and blessed the three as the commission separated from them.
Before sunset, the commission, now numbering sixty, had reached the secret Jagged Rock of Kwalthorn, and within twenty minutes the last member had executed the initial crawl. All were inside. At last they were inside the Mines of Moria.
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