Delioron and Tarîkbên headed northwest walking along the dwindling ruins of an ancient road, not much more than a dirt track now. After a while it stopped raining, and the sun peeked behind the dark clouds. Delioron and Tarîkbên did not talk to each other. Later Tarîkbên stepped off the path and led Delioron towards a small ravine on the cliff wall on the left side of the road.
There was a cave mouth on the back of the ravine. Tarîkbên entered the cave, and Delioron followed.
It was dark in the cave, but not pitch black. Soon Delioron saw that the glimmering light came from a small campfire not far from the mouth of the cave. There was a small, hunched figure sitting by the campfire.
”Friend Thráin?” Tarîkbên said in a surprisingly soft, gentle voice, as if he was talking to a child, or an idiot. ”Don’t be alarmed, it is only me – Tarîkbên. I brought a friend with me.”
”A friend?” the figure said in an old, frail voice. He was barely recognizable as a dwarf, as he was only skin and bones. His face was withered and wrinkled like petrified lava and his hair was mostly gone, as were most of his teeth. The remaining teeth were black and rotten. His beard and what was left of his hair were white as snow.
”Yes!” Tarîkbên said. ”A friend from Gondor! Remember how I told you that I would take you to see people who want to hear your story, Thráin? Tell it to him! Just like you have told it to me! Then he will take you to Gondor – to freedom, Thráin!”
”Freedom?” the ancient dwarf repeated, as if unsure of the meaning of the word. ”Alright, Tarîkbên, whatever you say. If you think it’s best. What does he want to know?”
”Everything”, Delioron said. ”Tell me everything. Start from the beginning.”
The dwarf closed his eyes and remained silent for a long time. A stream of images from the past filled his tortured mind. Finally he started talking in a frail, trembling voice.
”It may be difficult to believe it now, but I was once a great King of the House of Durin”, said the dwarf. ”My name was Thráin II, son of Thrór. I had three sons, Thorin II, Frerin and Dís. When the dragon Smaug destroyed Erebor in 2770, my father and I managed to escape with a small number of kinsmen and loyal subjects to the south. Twenty years later my father, by then desperate, gave me a ring, the last of the Seven Dwarf-rings, and went to Moria, where the orc Azog killed him and defiled his body.”
The dwarf fell into silence again. Delioron had started to think that the ancient dwarf had perhaps dozed off, when he suddenly started talking again:
”Once I got word of my father’s death I raised the entire House of Durin and many dwarves from the other Houses as well into war against the orcs. The bloody war raged until 2799 and ended in a decisive battle at Azanulzibar, the eastern gate to Moria. I was wounded, but the orcs were defeated. We could not reclaim Moria though, for the balrog who had driven dwarves out of Moria remained there still. And so I had to continue my life in exile.”
There was another pause, shorter this time. Thráin stroked his beard absent-mindedly before continuing:
”Together with my son Thorin and other survivors from the battle I moved first to Dunland, and after wandering in Eriador for a while to the east side of Ered Luin, where we settled. The House of Durin grew rich, but I was troubled with strange restlessness and driven to return to Erebor to seek revenge and riches. I embarked on the journey on spring of 2841 with Balin, Dwalin and a few other friends, but we faced many hardships on our way there. We were accosted by wargs, orcs and evil birds, and one night I was taken captive by orcs at the edge of Mirkwood.”
Thráin clenched his fists and stared into the fire. It was evident that it pained him greatly to think and talk about what came next, but he forced himself to continue:
”The orcs took me to Dol Guldur, where I was kept for many years. I don’t remember how long. I was tortured horribly, and after a while the passing of time had lost all meaning. They never found the ring. I had hidden it in a crack in the wall in the cell where they kept me.”
”Do you have the ring now?” Delioron asked. Thráin shook his head.
”As I said, I was in Dol Guldur for a long time, years upon years. At some point all the orcs went away. They had left me to die in the dungeon, or so I assumed. Then one day a man came to me – an old man in a pointy blue hat, a long grey cloak and a silver scarf. He had a long white beard and bushy eyebrows sticking out beneath the brim of the hat. He asked me many questions, pretending to be my friend at first. When he found out who I was he started asking questions about the ring. When I would not tell him where I had hidden it, he started to torture me and beat me with his staff. I do not know who he was or how he knew about the ring. Finally he broke me and forced me to reveal where I had hidden the ring. He took it and left me there to die.”
”The description of the old man seems to fit one known as Mithrandir in Minas Tirith, the Grey Wizard”, Tarîkbên remarked. ”Surely you must have heard of Mithrandir, messenger?”
”Yes, I have heard of him”, Delioron replied vaguely.
”I am certain the Steward of Gondor would like to know that the Grey Wizard is after the Rings of Power”, Tarîkbên pressed on. ”I am aware there is no love between Denethor and Mithrandir, and Thráin’s story proves the Steward’s suspicions right! Now the Grey Wizard has the Ring of Thrór – at least that one. You see, messenger, you need to take us to Minas Tirith, both of us! I know much more about Sauron’s plans than Thráin does – and the plans of the Grey Wizard. It would not bode well for you if Denethor found out you left me here to die at the hands of Sauron’s servants, not when I possess the knowledge to save Gondor!”
Delioron ignored Tarîkbên. ”What happened next?” he asked Thráin.
The dwarf stared into the fire with empty eyes as he spoke. ”I did not die”, he said. ”Some time later the orcs came back. They took me away from Dol Guldur and brought me into Mordor, and that is where I have been for the past… what year is it, anyway? Too many years to count.”
”And Tarîkbên?” Delioron asked. ”Why did he help you escape from Mordor?”
Thráin shook his head. ”I do not know why he helped me. I do not know if it matters much anymore. I have been a prisoner in Mordor for so long. I do not know this world I have been brought into. I do not know where I belong anymore. I only wish to be left alone. I do not think I have many years left in me. I only wish to die in peace.”
”You know why I helped him”, Tarîkbên said. ”You have read the letter I sent to your masters last year. Now will you help us?”
”Perhaps”, Delioron said.
