The Sacrifice: The Story of Dis   Part 4 ~Míriel

Disclaimer: All people (Except Korin, who is my own invention) and places are taken from J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings.  Direct quotes from the books are cited.

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The morning came; a cold, dark, winter day.  Dis awoke full of anticipation.  This was the day when all would be settled: the war, and also her own internal battles.  

            After a hastily eaten breakfast of cram, the Dwarves gathered and set off.  Their pace was brisk; and all were filled with a sense of urgency.

            The mountain rose higher and higher into view as they walked, until they were almost at its base.  Soon they came upon a well-worn path of old that presumably led to the gates of Moria.  Dis looked in sorrow at the ruined works of stone beside the path; a memory of all that was.  She squinted, longing to set her gaze on the lake of Kheled-zâram, or Mirrormere, but the fog and the absence of light on this sunless day hindered her vision.

            Dis’ grandfather, Thrór, had often spoken wistfully of it, telling her and her brothers as young children that “the waters were dark: a deep blue like clear evening sky seen from a lamp-lit room.”[i] As a child, Dis had tried to imagine what this would have looked like, but the vision had always eluded her.  Until now.

            Just as she eagerly looked to see this beautiful lake, to behold the reflection of the mountains in its depths, it was before them.  But she was not prepared for what she saw.  It was a lake, yes, but not one of beauty and majesty, but one whose reflection was of darkness and shadow.  The reflection in the water was black.

            In the space of several seconds, Dis took all of this in.  The next thing she knew, the fog had cleared enough that they could now see the gate of their ancient mansions on the hillside.  The Dwarves sent up a great shout, like thunder in the valley.[ii]  It was deafening, but Dis did not take notice, for she was shouting as well.

            Their shout echoed on the mountains; then slowly died.  Everything was silent for a few moments.  The vale was still, waiting.

            Suddenly, the silence of the vale erupted into a roar.  Orcs poured out of the gates of Khazad-dûm and rushed into the valley.  The Dwarven archers quickly notched their bows with arrows and began to shoot the Orcs.

            Dis fingered her sword hilt.  This was it.  She swallowed against the lump in her throat and gritted her teeth.  These accursed Orcs!  How dare this filth invade her home!

            “Oh, Khazad-dûm!” she thought sorrowfully. 

            The Orcs had now broken through the line of archers, and now the time for hand-to-hand combat had begun.

            Dis pulled out her sword and readied herself.  There was a shout next to her as an Orc cut down one of the Dwarves.  Dis flew into action.  She leapt at the Orc and swung her sword.

            “Barak Khazad!  Khazâd ai-mênu!”[iii] She cried.  Her sword sliced neatly through the neck of the Orc, and it fell to the ground.  Dis barely had time to recover before another Orc had appeared in its place.

            The Orcs were still pouring out of the gates of Khazad-dûm.  It did not take a wizard to see that the Dwarves were at a high disadvantage.  Besides being highly outnumbered, it was difficult to see because the sun was hidden behind the heavy blanket of clouds, with no hopes of appearing anytime soon.  The eyes of the Orcs were used to the dark.  The Dwarves on the other hand, were stumbling around in the half-light.

            “To me, oh my kinsman!” Thráin yelled in an attempt to regain order.

            The Dwarves nearby gathered around him.  Dis dodged an Orc, ducked while stabbing another in the stomach, and joined the band of Dwarves near her father.

            When the Dwarves had regained as much of their orderly formation as possible, they were ready.

            “Charge!”  Thráin cried.

            The first assault began.  They surged forward with their weapons and shields held ready.  Dis glanced at her companions.  Thráin had grim determination on his face, Thorin had the fire of battle in his eyes, but Frerin’s eyes were open wide with fear.  Dis felt no emotion; she was simply concentrating on the task ahead.

            They met the Orcs with full force.  Their swords slashed with fury, and many Orcs fell in the first wave of the onslaught. 

            The other Orcs were already down rushing to defend their stronghold.  The vanguard of the Dwarves was badly outnumbered, and the Orcs showed no signs of slowing down. 

            More and more Orcs came as the number of Dwarves grew less.  What happened next was inevitable.  Because the Orcs held the higher ground, they were slowly pushing the Dwarves back down the slope.  They were losing their ground very quickly.

            “We must retreat!”  Thorin yelled to Thráin.

            “No!  We cannot turn back!”  Thráin answered.

            “Father, we must, or suffer worse loss than we have already!” 

            Thráin looked about and laughed bitterly.  “And to where would we turn, my son?”

            Thorin glanced quickly about.  All about him there were Orcs and Dwarves locked in deadly combat.  His father was right.  There was nowhere to turn.

            The vanguard was slowly driven back.  The loss was heavy on both sides, but more so on that of the Dwarves.  

            Dis looked sorrowfully at her slain comrades.  Such was Korin, who lay there with an arrow through his chest.  She thought of the times when he used to pull her beard and tease her endlessly.  That was all past now.

            With each dead friend or kinsman Dis grew angrier, and her sword slashed more fiercely.  Even so, Dis and the rest of Thráin’s company were driven back past Kheled-zâram into a wood of great trees.