It was not that the mine was empty. It only appeared that way because the sentinels had spotted four trespassing elves, and they were debating what they should do about it. The most fearsome denizens of Moria were, at that moment, deep down in the lower tunnels, and the Enemy's attention was far away, occupied with weightier matters than the long-abandoned underground kingdom of the Dwarves.
“Away with them! Tear them to pieces and throw them into the pit,” hissed a puny goblin through broken yellow fangs.
“But their blades are bright!”
“Look at that skinny one! We could pick him off, easy -”
“None of you don't know what you are talking about!” said another.
“Shut it!” and the goblins largely fell silent, but only for a little while. They began squabbling again after the Elves passed by, avoiding the tunnel where they crouched behind a makeshift barricade. Quiet curses growled in the darkness: “Damn the lot of them!” and they stamped their clawed feet on the floor.
“We got to go tell ‘em downstairs,” they decided. Consensus was reached at last.
*****
Stealing up to where they could see without being seen, the four elves looked out into the cavern and in soft voices discussed what to do next.
“How many was that? They all came pouring out at once,” said Parnard, running a hand through his tangled hair.
“We could pursue them further, deep into the tunnels,” Danel.
“Deeper?”
Estarfin frowned, seeing the chip in his sword was now a large notch with a crack traversing almost across the width of the blade.
“Will it hold?” Danel asked him.
The Noldo shook his head and carefully resheathed the sword. It would need reforging.
“I would rather not leave Marawendi. Or the horses,” said Parnard.
“The horses will be quiet. I am less certain of our new friend,” replied Danel.
Parnard cast Danel a sharp glance from underneath his hood. “Marawendi is young and has ne’er left the wood,” he said, rallying in her defence. “It was not her decision to take this path.”
“That I know, Parnard. She is doing very well, considering the circumstances.”
“The longer we wait here, the more chance of greater numbers coming,” he warned, and cocking an ear hissed out, “Something is coming! I hear horrible voices, like stones grinding together!”
“Trolls?” said Estarfin.
“Cave trolls,” replied Danel, and commanded Marawendi to stay with the horses.
The three elves rushed down the black tunnel. Time was hard to measure in that place, but it seemed like hours passed before they returned, faces haggard and clothing spattered in dark blood, and Parnard, his head bent with fatigue, shuffled along until he stumbled over poor Marawendi who was shivering in fright upon the floor. If she had seen what I just saw, she would have swooned away, he thought, but he kept his face as placid and unconcerned as if he had just returned from the market. How he wished he could light a fire, and have its warm cheery light flicker the shadows away - but instead he squared his shoulders and said,
“Pardon me, Marawendi; I am near sleeping on my feet. Well, well, mighty little sleep I used to get in Mirkwood when I was on patrol: there was always trouble waiting for me, it seemed, and in places such as poisonous hemlock swamps plump-full of jungle cats was I posted; and if a message of sudden importance ever needed sending, it would be brought straight to me, and I would dash away through the woods, and though I was called out night after night, I was ne’er weary, despite the many dark things that skulked in those woods, and everything looking desolate and beyond all hope.”
As he spoke those words strong and clear, Marawendi’s face brightened and she ceased trembling. Her cheeks, though they had become pale, lit up with bright red blushes, and her dark eyes fringed with long lashes shone with unearthly light, and he could not help forgetting his troubles to see her. It was like finding a rare flower in the deepest woods, and he was proud to see her struggling bravely against fear. Parnard felt something like a glow of fatherly interest in her welfare, and admiring her bright spirit, wished to see it beam yet more brightly by bolstering her flagging courage, although the darkness was drawing closer and closer about them.
“You were gone a long time,” she said, and watched Estarfin pull two long daggers from a saddlebag and strap his damaged sword to Norlomë’s side.
“I am sorry, Marawendi, but there are fewer Trolls in the world now,” Danel said.
The elf-maid gasped. “Did you kill a troll, Lord Parnard?”
“Why - of course I did,” said Parnard, thinking back to that awful moment when the troll turned its tiny malevolent black eyes towards him.
“I am sure Parnard will tell you about it later: now is not the time for storytelling,” interjected Danel. Reinforcements would soon be arriving. “Swiftly now! There is one more bridge to the way out: the last bridge, if I recall rightly, and the Elven Door is at the end of the adjoining hall.”
“Did you hear that?” Parnard cried to the horses. “Soon you will eat fresh grass again,” and they tossed their heads and eagerly pushed forward.
Ahead lay the bridge, its middle curving up like a stretching cat’s back. Mighty flimsy-looking, thought Parnard, and tried to think of pleasanter things as he placed a foot on it, hoping that the Dwarves’ skill in stonecraft was as least as great as their skill in metallurgy. Quietly they stole across the span, walking in single file due to its narrowness, and they reached the far end without misadventure.
Just as Danel told them, two tall stone doors bearing no mark or device came into view as they descended the bridge. Here guards were unnecessary, for no one had entered through the portal in over a thousand years, and it was essentially forgotten. “Will we need a key?” fretted Parnard as they approached. It had not occurred to the elves what they would do if the door was sealed shut. Then Estarfin stepped forward and pushed, and as the massive double doors swung apart on silent hinges, sunlight flooded inside, revealing granite walls and hair and clothing so thick with grey dust that the four Elves seemed hewn from living rock. They crept outside, following along the old gate-road, making as little sound as possible because they knew not what to expect.
On each side of the West-gate, also named the Elven Door or the Door of Durin, two enormous holly trees of great age loomed up, like giant sentinels watching the spot. The doors were cunningly concealed by the crevices of the mountainside, and the inlay of ithildin lay hidden under sunlight, and did not reveal Durin’s emblems, the Elvish tree, or the Star of Fëanor.
“We are less than half a day’s ride to Echad Dúnann,” Danel said, stretching her arms to the sky. Estarfin nodded, vaguely recalling the name.
Outside the doors was a pool of scum-laden water. At one time the water had lapped almost upon the threshold; several successive years of drought had caused the waters to recede - which was well for the elves. It was remarkable how, instead of exhilaration at seeing the open sky and their deliverance from the dangerous dark, a strange dread lay over each of the elves’ hearts. The two Noldor mounted their horses and began to pick their way over the broken stones.
“We ride to green grass and clear streams. Soon we shall soon be on the high road to Imladris,” said Parnard, his voice carrying high on the breeze. “Come away,” he urged Marawendi, dismayed at the slowness of her fat gray pony. How strange that there are no snake-holes or croaking frogs, and there are no turtles sunning themselves on the rocks, thought the Wood-elf, as he squinted in the noonday sun.
A ripple ran across the water from the deeper end of the pool. He paused in his reflections, and in spite of the quietude of the place, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up on end, and he skirted around the scum-covered pool with as much haste as he could manage: it was not a place to cool one’s heels.
