A thick cloud of dust arose from the serpentine road as the company marched south. The force was around three hundred strong now, for many of the warriors of the Blue Mountains had willingly taken up arms to join the quest. The sun was just beginning cast its first beaming rays over the Misty Mountains to the east, but it was not yet visible to the group, for dawn had only just arrived. Gloin let out a loud yawn as he took his place beside Gerithor.

"The land is changing, lad," he said as his sleep filled eyes took in the landscape. "The sun isn't as bright as it once was."

"Seems the same to me," Gerithor replied. He had been awake for several hours already, for he had taken the night watch before the group had departed the mountains. He too noticed that something seemed off, but he elected to keep it to himself for the time being.

"It may have been the same during your short lifetime," Gloin said. "But when I was young the sun was vibrant, lively even. Now the curse of Sauron dims its light."

At the mention of the Dark Lord Gerithor felt a chill go down his spine, and it seemed that a cold, unwelcome wind began to blow across the plains.

"His name should not be spoken aloud, not even in the relative safety of our company," Gerithor reprimanded as he drew his cloak closer. He saw that dark storm clouds were moving quickly toward them from the direction of the sea, an ill omen.

"Aye, right ye are," Kalan replied as he came up beside the two. "His reach has grown far."

"His reach does not yet extend this far West," Edhael said with hope in his voice. "And if our quest is successful, it never will."

None of them questioned his words openly, though Gerithor knew in his heart that they were not true. Already Sauron had managed to lay siege to the great elven haven of Mithlond. If he was capable of that, his reach had indeed stretched far. And the sorceress... Her servants were near as well. The darkness was spreading, and it was doing so quickly. It would only be a matter of time...

"Say, bard!" Kalan exclaimed suddenly, turning to Edhael. "Do you know how the dwarves first came to walk Middle Earth?"

"Well, if I were to guess... They probably were made out of the very stones themselves! Or at least, the legends I have heard say that." Edhael let out a laugh. "But what do the elves know of dwarves? As the saying goes, one should learn of the trees from the trees themselves! So tell me the story of the dwarves!"

Kalan grinned and turned to Gloin. "We dwarves know of a song in particular, a well-known one, that'll explain it better than I ever could."

At this he began to hum in a deep tone, and several nearby dwarves immediately joined in. After a moment Gloin began to sing, his clear voice ringing across the lonely plains:

The world was young, the mountains green,

No stain yet on the Moon was seen,

No words were laid on stream or stone,

When Durin woke and walked alone

Kalan immediately filled the emptiness when Gloin stopped, continuing the song:

He named the nameless hills and dells,

He drank from yet untasted wells,

Then another nearby dwarf picked up where Kalan left off, his voice almost operatic in tone:

He stooped and looked in Mirrormere,

And saw a crown of stars appear,

Gloin then rejoined the song, this time Kalan's voice harmonizing with his:

As gems upon a silver thread,

Above the shadows of his head,

The world was fair, the mountains tall,

In Elder Days before the fall

Of mighty kings in Nargothrond

And Gondolin, who now beyond

The Western Seas have passed away.

Kalan now once more took up the main tune of the song, his eyes glowing as he recalled the history of his proud people:

The world was fair in Durin's Day

A king he was on carven throne

In many-pillared halls of stone

With golden roof and silver floor,

And runes of power upon the door

The light of sun and star and moon

In shining lamps of crystal hewn

Undimmed by cloud or shade of night

There shone for ever fair and bright

There hammer on the anvil smote,

There chisel clove, and graver wrote

There forged was blade, and bound was hilt,

The delver mined, the mason built

There beryl, pearl, and opal pale,

And metal wrought like fishes mail,

Buckler and corslet, axe and sword,

And shining spears were laid in hoard.

Unwearied then were Durin's folk;

Beneath the mountains music woke:

The harpers harped, the minstrels sang,

And at the gates the trumpets rang.

The other dwarves joined in, their voices thick with emotion as they remembered that the long-past age of their people was over:

The world is grey, the mountains old,

The forge's fire is ashen-cold;

No harp is wrung, no hammer falls:

The darkness dwells in Durin's halls;

The shadow lies upon his tomb

In Moria, in Khazad-dûm.

But still the sunken stars appear

In dark and windless Mirrormere;

There lies his crown in water deep,

Till Durin wakes again from sleep.

As the dwarves trailed off Edhael stared ahead in silence, awestruck by the song. The sadness in the song was evident, for the dwarves had lost much since the age of Durin. It brought the elven bard back to a time when the elves and dwarves were not enemies, when the dwarven kingdoms were the envy of the world. After taking a moment to collect his thoughts, he let out an impressed laugh.

"Who would think that dwarves could be such wordsmiths?!" He exclaimed. "What a marvelous song! I should write it down!"

He reached down into the bag at his side and began to rummage through it, growing more and more flustered as he went. Eventually he quit and threw his hands up in defeat.

"It seems that I neglected to bring parchment on this journey," he said with a sigh. "Ai! If only my memory served me better."

Kalan and Gloin chuckled into their beards, and Gerithor gave the elf an amused smirk.

"I thought the whole purpose of you coming along was to 'document our epic quest.'"

Edhael laughed lightly. "Perhaps I have failed in that regard... But you will all still be graced with my lovely songs!" He patted his lute, which was strapped onto his back, for emphasis.

"Aye, and I think we shall all learn to appreciate it at journey's end," Gerithor replied wryly. "For now though, I think we've had enough music. Wouldn't want to draw any more attention to ourselves than we already have..."

====================================

The song of the dwarves echoed far over the plains, and soon it indeed drew unwanted attention to them. For the orcs bearing the mark of the Dead Tree had been following them, and the sound of the music led them towards the company.

"Cursed dwarves! Singin' their bloody music, makin' a ruckus!" One of the orcs spat. Lurkai growled and sniffed the air, his nostrils flaring as his head tilted upward.

"Makes 'em easier to follow though," he grunted.

"Wish da Lady'd let us do sum knifework, my blade's itchin' for a taste of Manblood," another orc said.

"We should strike now, kill a few in the flanks," Another of the orcs hissed evilly. He was shorter than the others and walked with a distinct limp, but his eyes were filled with a darkness that even the other orcs shied away from. Instead of a sword he carried a staff, simple in design yet made of black wood and covered with runes saying all manner of evil things.

"Maugash, our time will come," Lurkai replied as the small group crested a tall hill. The dust kicked up by the dwarven host was clearly visible from where they stood now, and Lurkai thought he could make out the armored shape of dwarves marching in rank. "The Lady wants us to remain unseen for now. We only attack if it is certain we will not be detected."

Maugash let out a sound between a hiss and a growl, and he licked his cracked lips. "For now. She better change her mind soon."

"Or else what, swine?" Lurkai growled. He was the only one in the group that didn't fear Maugash, and he wanted it to be known. Maugash was one of the Lady's few normal orcs, though he was trained in the art of dark sorcery. Lurkai and the others under his command were a new breed of orc, bred to be disciplined warriors rather than barbaric beasts. They had been trained well... and Maugash did not fit in. He had only been brought along because he was able to communicate with the Lady's ravens better than the others.

"Or else..." Maugash hissed. "Or else I'll need to practice my spells on something other than the tarks."

"Is that a threat?" Lurkai asked aggressively. "Because if it is, you'll wish you hadn't made it. Fall in with the others or I'll report you for disciplinary action. Just because you're the Lady's favorite doesn't mean you get special rights with me and my boys."

Maugash grimaced at the larger orc, but fell in line as he was ordered. Several of the others snickered, but a dark glare from Maugash silenced them immediately.

Lurkai led the group ahead carefully, his inhuman red eyes fixed on the enemy company. He too wanted blood... But he could wait. And the wait would be worth it.

===================================

By the time night fell upon them the company was already nearly to the shore. Gerithor reckoned that they were less than a day's march from Lake Evendim, where the Dunedain encampment of Annuminas lie. Part of him thought that it would be a decent plan to make for the Dunedain camp, but he knew that they could waste no time. Mithlond was surely under attack in earnest by now, if not already fallen.

"We march through the night," He announced, drawing weary groans from dwarf and man alike. He too was tired, exhausted even, but if they wished to reach a standing city rather than a pile of rubble they would need to make haste.

"Wise choice lad," Kalan affirmed with a nod. "My warriors could use some toughening up."

"I'd rather that they were well rested," Gerithor admitted with a shrug. "But we cannot afford that luxury at present. I have an ill feeling in my heart, as if we are already too late."

"There's nothing more ya can do," Kalan replied as he hefted his axe over his shoulder. "If it's too late, we can at least give the orcs what-for."

"I hope it doesn't come to that," Edhael said, an unusual grimness in his voice. "If Mithlond falls... I fear that there will be no hope for my people in Middle Earth. Our last link to Valinor will be broken."

"If Mithlond falls, I very much doubt that there will be hope for any of us," Gerithor replied, narrowing his eyes. "If Sauron has the power to take it, he has the strength to attack anywhere."

"I don't like the sound of that," Gloin muttered. "We'd better hope that luck is with us." 

Do you think they'll arrive in time? Let me know in the comments!