Moria

            Farohir has been called out by Bragin as they wait for the caravan departing the Crossroads headed for the Twenty-First Hall of Moria.  The young half-elf squirms under Bragin’s eye, who is now appraising him as he would a rough-cut gem.

            Bragin and Farohir have ample time to watch as their caravan slowly traverses the corridors and high-roads of Moria.  Farohir’s head swishes to and fro as he tries to catch every sight he can, overwhelmed by the vastness of the halls of Durin.  Bragin, however, is beside himself – he is desperately resisting the urge to stop at every intersection and crossroads, a

            Bragin and Farohir have at last entered the Mines of Moria.  Together they arrive at the first camp of the Iron Garrison, just at the western edge of the Great Delving.  Durin’s Threshold the Dwarves have named it, the last stop on the journey to the Mines and the starting point for the plunge into the deeps beneath the mountains.  Here the two travelers find stabl

Bragin son of Borin has ridden hard across the wastes of Eregion, following a trail that in places vanishes beneath the trees, or wanders lost in the rocks, until at last he reaches the forlorn Elven outpost of Echad Dunann, the West-gate Camp.  It is afternoon with a westering sun when, as he reins up atop a small rise, he looks up and gasps in wonder at the sight of Celebdil, Zirag-zigil the white, soaring up against th

All is now ready for Seregrían to accompany Bosi on their errand to Lothlorien, seeking the aid of the Galadhrim in this desperate hour. But to reach this point took two days’ preparation, and it could not be avoided or sped up.

Sitting with her feet in the water near Haldir's talan, Lusseriel had her notebook in hand and started to write immediately:

"I find that I have a problem with dwarves and will never again, Eru willing, walk through the Moria.

But to tell this story in the proper order:

Day 111 of exile