"You're leaving already? Not even staying a few more days to rest?" Elrond looked at the coalition army, fully geared up at the crack of dawn, and asked Rynar.
"There's no time. I don't want the orcs of Dol Guldur and Gundabad to react in time and garrison the place! That would only increase our casualties. And the Gundabad orcs already know about us—we've been exposed. They've been chasing my royal banner through the Misty Mountains, trying to intercept me. My forces managed to drive off their leader, the Fourth Nazgûl, Amorasor, but who knows if they'll come back for more. So we need to move—fast." Rynar shook his head, politely declining Elrond's offer.
"Very well then. If you need any supplies, just let me know. I'll help however I can. I wish you a safe journey and a safe return," Elrond said with a hand over his chest, his tone gentle and humble.
"Hahaha! Many thanks, Lord Elrond! If I don't make it back, please retrieve my royal banner from Moria and return it to my homeland," Rynar said solemnly.
"Huh?" Elrond was momentarily dumbstruck. Yes, Moria was a dark place filled with horrors—but could you not be so grim? You've got not one but two dragons on your side (and who says a dragon of the Elves isn't a proper dragon? Come forward and say that again, I dare you). You're going into Moria, not Mordor. Why do you sound like you're handing over your last will and testament? It's okay to be down-to-earth, but you're already halfway underground with that tone...
"Heh, just kidding! Don't worry, Moria's no death trap. Once we're done there, let's set aside some time to gather leaders from Rohan, Gondor, the Shire militia, Rivendell, Lothlórien, the Under-Mountain Kingdom, the Iron Hills, Aquavia, Singrey, and of course, my own Zaltarion Empire. Let's see if we can put together a united army and march straight to Mordor. What do you think?" Rynar said with a smile.
"King Rynar, you really are something. If you'd been there during the Last Alliance, Sauron would've been sent packing a lot sooner," Elrond gave Rynar a sidelong glance, as if to say: you've got the gift of the gab, I'll give you that. But why should anyone form a coalition with you? What's in it for them? Don't bring up Sauron returning—if the sky falls, there are taller folks to hold it up. People's hearts and motives are complicated. Elves might honor a pact, but Dwarves and Men? Ha. I might as well hope the orcs of Mordor stage a rebellion first...
"...Sigh..." Rynar let out a helpless sigh. Sauron was still weak right now, still mustering troops and power in Mordor. If they struck now, they could skip the whole Ring-bearer plotline. But human nature—now that was the tricky part. Who wanted to take on a thankless, risky job? Rynar sure wasn't about to go solo. (Zaltarion generals: Thank you! You're so noble! But how exactly are you planning to fight nine Nazgûl on your own?)
"You underestimate Mordor. There's a reason Sauron can hold it so securely. Even the orcs have their own Tier-Six powerhouses," Elrond said, having caught on to Rynar's thoughts. Unless it was truly a matter of life and death, no one would willingly throw their top-tier warriors into a meat grinder against orcs. Middle-earth was still, at its core, a world where the strong preyed on the weak.
"Thank you for the warning. Farewell for now, Lord Elrond," Rynar said with a respectful hand over his chest.
"Stay safe. If things go awry, you might consider taking the East Gate and seeking help from Lady Galadriel in Lothlórien—or even retreating back to Rivendell," Elrond advised.
"Will do. And thank you for the hospitality," Rynar replied.
...
"King Rynar, what did you and Lord Elrond talk about?" Balin asked curiously. Given his current status, he hadn't been part of the discussion, but curiosity still got the better of him.
"We talked about the Moria expedition. Elrond doesn't exactly have high hopes for us, but he still wished us well," Rynar said, smiling and shaking his head.
"Your western entrance to Moria should be by Mirrormere, right? Hope you remember the way!" Rynar teased.
"Don't worry! A Dwarf never forgets the way home!" Balin bellowed with laughter.
"I heard you've got a cousin named Gimli?" Rynar suddenly remembered—wasn't this guy the elder cousin of that young Dwarf? The age gap seemed a bit much, though.
"That's right! That little lad is bound to become the bravest warrior of our people! He's the pride of our family!" Balin said proudly.
"..." Rynar fell silent. No matter how you looked at it, Gimli really had done better than Balin. In the games, he was a Tier-Six powerhouse, the King of Moria! In the books, he was the only Dwarf to sail to the Undying Lands. And Balin? Sigh... ambushed by sneaky orcs, lost a vast stronghold, and even got his coffin lid flipped by a troll thanks to the Fellowship's misfortunes...
"Let's move out! Time is of the essence—we must reach Moria quickly! Orcs from Mordor and Dol Guldur might get intercepted by Lady Galadriel's elves, but the Gundabad orcs can easily flank us by circling around to the East Gate!" Rynar said with a serious expression.
"I'll push the troops to move faster!" Balin nodded. The Dwarves' short legs really were slowing the coalition down.
...
"Huff... huff... dammit! This road's killing me!" Rynar groaned, slumped over his saddle, donning the expression of a man in deep suffering. The path was full of potholes—no, wait, it wasn't even a path!
"Mountainside!" Balin suddenly shouted, thrilled.
"Home! Khazad-dûm! Our home!"
"The Dwarf-city!"
"We're home!"
"The Dwarves have returned! We're back again!"
Hundreds of Dwarves raised their weapons and roared in celebration, veins bulging, faces flushed with joy and emotion.
"By the heavens..." Rynar looked up and saw a breathtaking sight.
So-called "mountainside" turned out to be half the mountain carved and leveled by the Dwarves into a sheer cliff wall, towering like a thousand-meter-high fortress. It was a testament to Khazad-dûm's glory days, when thousands of Dwarves lived here. But their decline and greed had led them to awaken a Balrog they couldn't defeat. The stronghold was abandoned, taken over by orcs, goblins, and other dark forces. Later, the Dwarves tried to reclaim it, but if they couldn't even chase out Smaug, what chance did they have against elite orcs in Moria?
"Hold your excitement! Find the gate! And stay away from the lake—don't disturb the water!" Rynar ordered. The Watcher in the Water could be dealt with later—after they retook Moria. Delaying the mission was unacceptable.
"Right! Into the city we go!" Balin slapped his forehead, still giddy with emotion.
"Your Highness! There's something in the water!" Caslow suddenly frowned. As a Dragon Rider, his senses were keener than most.
"Ignore it for now! We'll deal with it once Moria is ours," Rynar said with a shake of his head. If the Watcher stayed in its lane, fine. If not, Rynar had no problem turning it into a giant grilled calamari.