"If only" Ghîm thought to himself "if only they could see us now". His brethren, who gave their last defending these halls. Admittedly, much work remained before the splendour of old could be restored. But still; the Twenty-first Hall was retaken. And inch by inch, cavern by cavern - Khazad-Dum would be theirs again! He twirled his beard with content and was about to return to his scrolls when something caught his eye. Below him, some twenty feet away from the scaffolds, stood two elves. These were not the first Ghîm had seen since the arrival of the expedition, and probably would not be the last. And with any hope not only the halls themselves would be restored, but also friendship and bonds of old. The two below seemed to take no notice of Ghîm, however, or anyone else for that matter. "Perhaps friendships will have to wait just a little longer", Ghîm mused "but then again, no boat ever made the water if there was no one to give it a push".
Satisfied that he needed a break from his writing, and that he might as well use the opportunity to at least see what these two were up to, Ghîm got to his feet and started towards the ladder. He was not a youngster anymore but had worked these scaffolds long enough to make it to the bottom with somewhat of a flourish. "Not too bad for a scribe, eh?" he thought and turned to approach the elves. They were still involved in conversation over what appeared to be a map of sorts. Yes, a map. Ghîm paused to curse at the fervour of his brethren, but over the chiseling and sawing he believed he could make out the words "Orc-Watch" and "deeper". He frowned. If these two were indeed intending to reach the Orc-Watch, surely they would have wanted to come in greater numbers? They could not expect any dwarves here to be spared for such a trip. And as for going beyond; The Redhorn Lodes themselves were no safer, riddled both with debris and foul orcs. Before given any chance to question the motives of the elves further, the two appeared to be done talking. Ghîm realised that the opportunity to learn more of their business here, and possibly even talking some sense into them, had just passed. Looking after them as they walked into the shadows, he could not help but wonder what dangers might await them. Or how long before the master archivist would be missing him.
The guards of Orc-Watch had been somewhat surprised to see him wander into the encampment alone. But Ghîm had not always been a scribe, and he could still sport the confident stride of the warrior he once was. The guards thus did not bother him with more questions than necessary, and he was soon shown to a good spot by the fire and a bit of food. Ale deliveries, he was told, were few and far between so there was little to be spared. Ghîm was quick to commend the expeditioners for their outstanding work in spite of such dire conditions and, much to their appreciation, vowed to forward their concern once back at the Twenty-first. Then, he was left alone and through the fire he spotted the now-familiar elven forerunners, talking to one of the guards at the far end of the defences. And he gave them silent thanks. The journey to the encampment had not been easy. Ghîm was not sure whether the two had been too occupied with the orc assailants to notice that he was following, or if they simply had not cared. Either way he was grateful, for a confident stride alone would not have been enough.
Some time after the elves had finished talking to the guard, Ghîm decided it would not do him well to wait around for the next ale delivery. He approached the guard, inquiring "I saw those pointy ears earlier. What ever are they doing down here?". The guard greeted Ghîm in kind, "Oh, they were simply asking for the safest route through the Redhorn Lodes. I told them to wait a year or two. But they seemed keen on getting on the road a little sooner than that". The guard chuckled dryly, continuing "These caves will not be won by rushing to and fro like some stung goat, you mark my words". But Ghîm had not the time to dwell on it. However true his words Ghîm dared not risk losing track of the elves, and even now he could see them moving down the stairs and into the gloom of the Redhorn Lodes.
He had not thought himself to be one to lose track of time, but passing through the Lodes would have been an ordeal even at a younger age. Whereas the two elves at least could rely on eachother at times when orc patrols could not be avoided, Ghîm was not as lucky. More than once he had to become one with whatever nook or cranny he could find. And more than once he was so close to the wretched creatures he was surprised they could not smell him, let alone hear him breathe. And the worst was still yet to come. For the elves were indeed heading deeper, where the terrain would soon change into tunnels and caverns that had never been fully mastered by the dwarves. No, this was a place where time seemed to be long lost and forgotten. Spiders, and fouler beings, would shy away from the push of the two forerunners. Where before he had to tread with utmost care Ghîm was now forced to move at greater speed, the gap ever threatening to close behind the elves. And for good reason. He fell a beast himself at one point, but only with difficulty. Orcs had always been beastlike to Ghîm - to whom indeed would they not? - but these creatures were different; mindless and with swollen, disfigured bodies. There was a rot here, and Ghîm prayed he would not fall under its command. And he pushed onwards.
The partially unaware party of three had made it almost fully around the foul lake, which covered most of the vast cavern. After exchanging a few brief words, the two elves entered a small tunnel leading away from the lake path. Stumbling down the sloping passage they soon found themselves halted by a voice, speaking in their own tongue. "I wish only the venue and circumstances were other but nevertheless I am glad that you have come". In front of a dark cave entrance stood an elf, greeting the two as if it was the most natural of things. The female traveller spoke next, "And we are glad to find you well, lord Donfuin. As well as one can be in this place". She took a step forward, bowing gracefully before the lonely gatekeeper. "I am Shantel, and this is Osilivren. We have been sent by the Council of Imladris". Donfuin eyed them both carefully before speaking anew, "Again, I am very much glad that you have come. Foul things are afoot under these foundations of stone, and it is imperitive that the Council learns of it in detail".
From a distance, behind a rock formation, Ghîm was struggling to hear the conversation of the three elves. It was a blessing to him to be learned in their tongue. And a curse; for what the one called Donfuin now told the others of menacing fungus and more darkened his heart. For if it were true, his expedition was now facing perils that were beyond mere orcs. Ghîm sighed heavily. He could think now only of getting back to his folk in time. "This settles it, then" he thought, "no use skulking in the shadows anymore".
"Something approaches!" Osilivren turned around, peering into the tunnel above them. But there was only silence. The three stood there for another few seconds, ready for whatever assailant was waiting to strike. But there was none. "Very well", said Shantel then, "we shall report these findings to the Council, Donfuin. They are sure to respond with haste". After brief farewells, the two travellers set off again. Haste was indeed of the essence. But the dark roads were long, still, and unforgiving and it would be some time before they would see the light of day again.
Ghîm could not see them leave. And he would not follow them back. By the edge of the foul lake, where the stealthy beast had dragged him, his thoughts were now elsewhere. "If only", he whispered and closed his eyes for the last time.
