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Lotr: Playing Minecraft in Middle-earth - 319
🕑 Added 2025-11-12 20:19:47 +0000 UTCChapter 319: A Council on Moria
“Don’t go. It’s not safe there.”
In 2989, at the Lonely Mountain.
When a ready-to-set-out Balin proposed leading a company to retake Moria, Gandalf, who happened to be passing through, warned him.
“Think on the disaster a thousand years ago, Balin.”
Gandalf tapped his pipe and said, “You cannot count on the Balrog sleeping forever. Think of Durin VI, then Náin I. Náin I, son of Durin VI, believed the Balrog had fallen asleep and would not suddenly appear. The result was that he was slain right after he was crowned King of Durin’s Folk.”
“But I heard you, Levi, and many other expeditions have gone in and out. Isn’t there anything there?”
Balin was still reluctant.
Gandalf explained patiently, “Passing through from time to time may be possible, but as a place to live, Moria is unsafe.”
“And very unsafe. Extremely unsafe.”
Under Gandalf’s repeated insistence, Balin sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping.
“Very well. I’ll follow your advice, Gandalf.”
“But… if, as long as the Balrog remains, we must abandon the hope of reclaiming Moria, when will we ever go back?”
“That ‘Durin’s Bane’…”
Moria’s Balrog was like Levi: even lying unseen, if one could be sure it was truly there, almost no foe would dare remain.
Helpless.
“It really is a hard knot,” Gandalf admitted. “Levi and I have both gone in more than once, and still we cannot find the thing.”
He blew a round smoke ring. As it drifted farther, it grew thin and vanished.
The two sat at a stone table in silence for a while, neither speaking.
“I still want to try…”
“No. Don’t. Go.”
Gandalf’s answer was firm.
“Stay at the Lonely Mountain, Balin. You may live to see the close of this Age.”
“You may think me suspicious or fearful, but truly, I do not wish to lose a Dwarf-friend.”
The longer-lived Dwarves could reach over three hundred years. Balin was now two hundred thirty-one. Perhaps due to the last decades’ better living, he was in robust health and strong of arm—one swing of his axe could take two Orc heads.
Plainly, he was not a short-lived Dwarf.
Thorin too—he was not even twenty years older than Balin.
“By the way, Levi also advised against any move on Moria now.”
Seeing that Balin still wavered, Gandalf casually added the point.
“All right.”
That settled the last flutter in Balin’s heart.
—
“Though it isn’t impossible to consider.”
Unexpectedly, when Levi heard of it, these were his words.
Balin’s eyes flew wide.
Gandalf frowned.
I’ve just talked him down; how can you pull him back up?
But Levi’s next words eased him.
“In truth, you can first come to the City of Water and go in from the West-gate—the West-gate of Moria and all of Eregion are under our watch. Nothing slips past us.”
Levi said evenly, “If anything happens there, simply come out and call for help.”
Hope rekindled in Balin’s eyes.
“Then…”
“But.”
Levi cut him off.
“Though our people keep watch there, that safety only extends as far as the open wild where we can be seen. To a degree, passing by is safe—better put, relatively safe.”
“But if you mean to colonize Moria, to plant a foothold and live there long-term, the moment something sudden occurs, even I can’t know at once.”
“If you’re attacked in your sleep and don’t even have time to run, that would be a disaster.”
Levi had the confidence that the City of Water could withstand a Balrog’s assault even without him.
The Dwarves could not. Not even at their race’s peak—and far less a single colonizing party.
“You take my meaning. I’m not speaking of Orcs or Trolls.”
“Oh…”
Balin shook his head, deflated.
“I understand. I do.”
“I’ll go back and tell them. Óin and Ori are very interested in this; now I’ll have to work to calm them down.”
“It’s enough that you understand.”
Levi nodded.
Balin sighed and took his leave.
“Gandalf.”
When they finished discussing Balin, Levi brought up something else.
“Rangers of the Shire and near Eregion report seeing a grey-cloaked figure. Have you been out that way lately?”
“Me?”
Gandalf frowned.
“I have indeed gone to the Shire quite often, mostly to keep an eye on Bilbo. As you’ve noticed, compared to hobbits of his years, he’s far too vigorous. He looks a bit aged, but look closely and you’ll find he has hardly any grey in his hair.”
“I have met many hobbits, and befriended the longest-lived among them. I’ve mentioned him—Old Took—he lived to one hundred and thirty.”
“But that is a rare case. Most hobbits pass peacefully at eighty to ninety. They are not a particularly long-lived race.”
“I know.” Levi nodded.
“And you know as well, most likely because of that ring he carries. So long as it remains with him, he will likely outlive every hobbit, perhaps set a new mark.”
“But that isn’t what I meant to discuss. Let’s say they saw you in the Shire. What about Eregion?”
“Eregion?”
Gandalf was plainly puzzled.
“My last time passing there was many years ago, when I entered Moria to investigate—but I only passed through, no stop.”
“That is strange.”
Levi fell into thought.
“I trust my folk. They say a mysterious grey-cloaked old man has appeared there—and the same figure has appeared in the Shire.”
“Mysterious?”
Gandalf seized the word.
“Yes,” Levi explained. “Mysterious. Seen when sight is poor at night, or tucked away in thicker trees. But no matter how hidden, he cannot escape the eyes of rangers and wanderers.”
“No, no.” Gandalf shook his head at once.
“If I wish to go somewhere, I go. I do not creep about like that.”
“That man is not me. I travel by daylight, and I take the road.”
“That truly is strange.”
Now it was Levi who could not make sense of it.
