After a restless night, Balin approached the Great Gates of Moria. 'Good morning, Hadn, how stands the watch?'

Hadn bowed and replied, 'All is quiet on the watch, Lord Balin. What brings you out so early?'

'I am going to look into the Mirrormere and be alone with my thoughts.'

'You should have an escort, my lord. There have been reports of orcs in the area,' Hadn advised.

'Nay, I cannot be alone with my thoughts with an escort standing by, Hadn! I will not be long,' Balin promised. He walked past the guard and down the slopes of the Dimrill Dale. The air was crisp and clear as he took in several deep breaths. He had hoped that the calm and serenity of the scenery would quiet some of his thoughts, but as he walked they continued to race through his mind. A serious decision needed to made and it was up to him to make it.

How had he reached this point? How had it all gone so wrong? It had all seemed like such a good idea seven years ago. Life in Erebor had been safe and secure but unrewarding. Dain was a generous and capable king, but Balin always felt rather unappreciated. Had Thorin lived, he, Balin, would have been his right hand. Thorin had always been the one with the ideas, but Balin had been the one who made them become reality. Under Dain he had been just another dwarf. Skilled yes; honored as one of the original company yes; but without the connections to Dain needed to rise to the highest status. Those who had served Dain in the Iron Hills were almost always first. He did not have the prestige he longed for and never would. Over the years he had found himself at the edge of power rather than the center.

The first decades had been exciting as Erebor was rebuilt and reborn and his skills needed. There was more work than the population could accomplish. But at last all was done and life became nothing more than a daily routine. Balin was not the only one to grow restless. Erebor while large, soon was filled with dwarves looking to make their fortunes. Dain controlled who received what and when and some felt as hemmed in as Balin. Memories of riches and wealth ignited the dreams of many and the name Moria was whispered over late night ale.

Balin heard the whispers. He was more than wealthy and quite comfortable in his life, but the thought of leading a quest of his own began to grow in his mind. Erebor had seemed unattainable and many called Thorin foolish, but here he, Balin, was within its walls. That had been accomplished by a mere thirteen dwarves and one hobbit. Now he had many more dwarves and resources. Perhaps Moria was not so impossible. Quietly he began to meet and organize like-minded thinkers and make plans.

When he asked his brother to join him, Dwalin looked at him and said, 'Isn't one mad quest in our lives enough? We were lucky to survive Smaug. Besides, we are no longer young, and I have no need to wander further even for you, brother. I will have nothing to do with Moria.' His brother spent his days protecting the mountain. He needed nothing that Erebor did not already provide. Balin understood but was disappointed anyway.

The rest of the company said much the same with the exception of Oin and Ori. Oin had been rejected by his Only One and was eager to leave the mountain where she resided. 'I've had it with women, Balin. Count me in.'

Ori was very happy at Erebor, well-liked and usefully employed in Dain's record room. However, he had long looked up to Balin. 'It would be nice to see new things, Balin. I've drawn all of Erebor three times over. Moria is sure to present new challenges.'

When he had recruited sufficient people to start, he informed Dain of his plans. 'I wish to throw this open to the entire mountain Dain, but I will not do so without your knowledge.' He said nothing about consent. Dain might be king of Erebor, but he did not rule Balin!

Dain stared at him. Without needing to pause to think he said, 'I beg you not to go. I of all dwarves have looked through the gates of Moria. Great evil awaits any who cross the threshold! You do not understand what you will face!' Even after all these years, Dain's voice quavered and his face paled as he spoke of the shadow at the gate.

'That is all the more reason to try!' Balin insisted. 'We cannot allow evil to grow unopposed.'

Dain had bowed his head in sorrow. 'I will not stand in your way, but neither will I approve.'

And so Balin and his band of followers had entered the gates of Moria. At first they had great success. Mithril and gems were found and they won victories against a few orcs. But while Balin believed that Azanulbizar had reduced the orc population as much as it had the dwarven people, he was mistaken. Orcs reproduce exponentially faster than dwarves and for each orc killed ten seemed to appear. Not so with his dwarves. One dwarf could not be replaced at all and they suffered a slow loss of life and strength.

'I should have listened to Dain and Dwalin,' Balin muttered to himself. He rested his hand for a minute on Durin's Stone and then stood at last before the Mirrormere. Gazing into the water he saw the crown of Durin, but after a few moments the image changed to the face of his old comrade, Thorin Oakenshield. Balin leaned forward in confusion and the face of the dwarf was once again the crown of Durin. 'Ah, Thorin, if only you had survived I would not be here now.'

'I should have remembered my advice to you at Erebor, my friend, when things started to go so badly here. I told you then that it would be best to be less stubborn and retreat from your stance against the Elves.' Taking a deep breath, he stood tall, his decision made. 'Moria is lost. I accept that now. I will lead what remains of my people to the Ered Luin where we can start over yet again. There is no reason more should die in this hopeless cause.'

His heart and mind at peace for the first time in months if not years, Balin began his climb back to the gates. If he heard the twang of the orc's bowstring, it was only for a second. Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria, lay dead in the Dimrill Dale and his people would never know of, or act, on his decision.