middle-earth · lord of the rings · dwarves · thorin oakenshield · bilbo baggins · gandalf · rivendell · fantasy · adventure · quest
Dust settles as Thorin and his company slide into the cavern’s shadow, escaping the wargs. Thorin slices the last beast, his axe gleaming. Inside, breathless, Dwalin scouts a wall crack. Distant Elvish horns echo; arrows rain, felling orcs. A corpse rolls in, arrow-deep. Thorin spits at the Elvish make. Dwalin returns. “Follow it,” Fili urges. They squeeze through the narrow gap, sunlight piercing the gloom. Emerging onto a ridge, Rivendell gleams below. “Imraldis,” Gandalf smiles. Bilbo marvels; dwarves scowl. In the tranquil courtyard, Lindir greets Gandalf. Suddenly, horns blare again. Elven horsemen surround them, weapons drawn. Lord Elrond steps forward, separating from his guards. He nods to Gandalf, then fixes his gaze on the wary Dwarven Company.