Day 103 of exile
Khazad dûm! I wasn't taught many words in Khuzdul. My father used to say that Dourhands have no use for it. But my grandfather taught me the little I know of the secret language of Dwarves. The direct translation would be ”The Hall of Dwarves” but ”Dwarrowdelf” is the common name. My grandpa also told me what tales he knew of the place.
”From the Dimrill vale in the east to the Doors of Durin in the west, it will make Thorin's Hall look like a mere closet in comparison. Untold riches! Silver, gold and gems in abundance. And mithril, a mere flake would feed you for a lifetime!”
Those were the words he used but I didn't quite believe him. When I grew up, Thorin's Hall, was the epitome of dwarven grandeur. My father of course belted me for even hinting such a thing. But what have the Dourhands ever build but ragged camps? Even the Firebeards and Broadbeams had mighty halls once, though long lost beneath the great sea. I have this nagging feeling that this means something profound. But for now at least the conclusion eludes me.
As I sit here in the first hall beyond the Doors of Durin, I can't help wonder if this place will be a blessing or a curse for us. And by ”us” I mean the Iron Garrison expedition, which I decided to follow. I got wind of their expedition in Gwingris. I followed their tracks to Hollin where I met up with the leaders of the expedition. They obviously took me for a Longbeard, curtsey of Refr's armour. They all worked very hard to find the gate as it lay buried beneath tons of rock and debris. I only saw plain rock face and was doubtful. But one evening as the moon came up I saw Durin's Doors in all it's splendour.
Fear is ever present among us all. Even I know, from my grandpa's stories, how these mighty halls fell into ruin. Coming here might be the dumbest thing I have ever done. Demon or no demon, I can't turn back now. I want to see more!
