Since Galadriel agreed to purify the Balrog's flame, she lifted the red magic crystal from the table. Its heat did not trouble her. With Kael and the others following, she walked to the central fountain.
At the fountain's edge, she set the crystal at the center. There, a crystal flask usually stood to catch the Light of Eärendil, gathered when the star's reflection fell upon the water by night. When Eärendil crossed the sky, starlight touched the fountain, the waters mirrored it, and Galadriel gathered that light into the flask, a phial of stars.
She placed the magic crystal where the flask would rest, then tilted the phial so the liquid starlight spilled onto the crystal.
It met the heat with a hiss, like water striking iron fresh from the forge.
"The Light of Eärendil is the last radiance of the Two Trees. It can purify all darkness and evil. It will serve to cleanse the Balrog's flame," Galadriel said softly.
Dark miasma rose in wisps from the crystal and dissolved in the star-wash, but the liquid light itself dwindled, consumed by the working.
Kael understood at once that this was a great favor. The Light of Eärendil was not lightly gathered. On a brilliant night, the fountain might collect no more than a thread of glow, and it could take a year to form a single drop. A full flask required centuries, even a millennium.
At that cost, the deep red of the crystal softened to a clear rose, its hue paling toward transparency.
When Galadriel's phial was nearly empty, Kael produced his own and bowed. "My lady, please use mine."
Galadriel shook her head. "This is enough. The Light of Eärendil has cleansed the crystal itself, but it cannot erase Morgoth's taint in a single stroke. To return the flame to purity will take time."
She dipped her right hand into the fountain and stirred. On her finger, Nenya shimmered with a faint light, and a gentle might poured into the waters. The fountain shone as if silver starlight had been poured into it.
Within that light, the black core-fire grew calm. Heat ebbed. The flame began to diminish, almost too slowly to see, and its evil aura thinned.
"From today, I will infuse the waters regularly with purifying power until the imperishable fire is quieted and pure," Galadriel said, drawing back her hand.
Kael could not help asking, "How long will it take?"
"Not long," she answered. "About three years."
"Three years?" Kael blurted.
That was not long to an elf. For the sake of a phoenix Animagus, he could wait. It simply meant his Philosopher's Stone research must quicken. He could not idle for three years. He needed a nearer step along the road to longevity.
Leaving the Balrog crystal in the fountain, Kael stayed in Lórien to recuperate. After a full month of rest, the magical depletion and soul-weariness eased and finally lifted.
During that time, he also crafted three flying brooms to replace those the Balrog had destroyed. He used mallorn wood this time, and the performance proved better, the speed higher. He named them Nimbus, Comet, and Firebolt.
Nimbus for himself, Comet for Arwen, and Firebolt for Gandalf.
Just as Kael settled into the peace of the Golden Wood, a letter arrived from Moria. A raven carried it. He opened the message and made a mental note that he ought to secure a few owls for the future.
It was from Balin. Moria was fully reclaimed. Some orcs had been slain within, and those who fled toward the western gate had been incinerated outside by Smaug's fire. None escaped.
Balin, now Lord of Moria, formally invited Kael and Gandalf as guests.
Gandalf had received the same letter. Even Celeborn and Galadriel were invited.
Kael and Gandalf, of course, accepted. Celeborn declined. Old grief lay between him and the Dwarves. In the elder days, Dwarves coveted the Silmaril and slew his great-uncle Thingol, and Doriath fell. Since then, mistrust had run deep. He had even lived long in Eregion and refused to pass under Moria, crossing the Misty Mountains only after Eregion's fall to rejoin Galadriel in Lórien.
Still, he would not offend the Dwarves who now controlled the mithril veins. He sent a gift instead.
Galadriel stayed with her husband as well. Arwen, at Kael's invitation and representing Lórien, went to Moria to attend the feast.
The three left Lórien, traveling upstream along the Celebrant to Dimrill Dale and the eastern gate of Moria.
Balin himself welcomed them there. "Welcome, Gandalf, Kael, and the fair Lady of Lórien. Welcome to Moria!"
His triumph was infectious. He embraced Kael and Gandalf in turn, and led them within.
They came to the First Hall.
Moria was vast, a city beneath the greatest mountains. From east gate to west, even walking straight and never losing the way, the journey took three or four days. For now, the First Hall served as their primary living place.
The banquet was lively and lavish. Mithril knives, forks, and goblets glittered on the tables. Kael could not help marveling. A small piece of mithril fetched wealth beyond measure, and finished work was priceless. Thorin's gift to Bilbo, the mithril mail, could buy the Shire. Here, mithril lay everywhere. Warriors wore it, blades were plated in it, and even the tableware shone with it.
These were relics of Khazad-dûm, recovered to honor their guests.
Arwen, seated beside Kael, was equally astonished. As the White Princess of the Noldor and Galadriel's student in craft, she knew mithril's worth. Nenya's band was wrought of it, and many of the finest elven blades were alloyed with it, keen and light, holding enchantment well. She had not expected to see it used for cups and plates.
What surprised Kael more came next. Balin had a dozen great iron chests carried in and set before Kael and Gandalf.
"What is this?" they asked together.
Balin gestured. Dwarves opened the lids. Inside lay mithril work, vessels, ornaments, fine craft, and veins of ore besides.
"Gandalf, Kael, you defeated the Balrog and helped us reclaim Moria. I must show my gratitude," Balin said earnestly. "I know this alone cannot suffice, so I have another gift."
At his signal, two parchments were brought forth, penned in Tengwar and Moon-runes with mithril ink.
"As thanks, I have drawn up a covenant. One-tenth ownership of Moria's mithril ore is granted to each of you, Gandalf and Kael. I hope you will accept."
Both were taken aback.
Kael was surprised by such generosity. Before the expedition, Balin had promised him a tenth share if Moria were reclaimed, but he had not expected such swift fulfillment, nor that Gandalf would be granted the same share, and with no delay. There was none of the stubborn clinging to treasure that tales sometimes told of Dwarves. This was a steady and wise elder indeed.
Kael had no reason to refuse. Mithril was a magical metal too useful to spurn. He gladly took the silver pen and signed his name. Kael set quill to parchment, marveling at how swiftly fortune could change. The ink, a blend of mithril and secret components, would never fade. The parchment, of hardened drake-hide and soaked in special infusions, would endure for ages. Such care spoke of Balin's sincerity.
Gandalf declined, however. He accepted only a mithril pipe from one chest. "I have no multitude of dependents and beasts to feed," he said with a wry smile. "Unlike Kael, I have little use for such a share."
Balin did not brighten. He looked a little disappointed.
Curious, Kael cast a gentle mind-reading spell and found no guile. Balin had truly wished to thank them both, gifting a tithe to Gandalf as well. There was also foresight: bind two powerful wizards' interests to Moria, and should danger return, the city would not stand alone.
Such prudence Kael did not mind. It made him admire Balin all the more.
After the gifts, Balin led them to the treasury.
In the great days of Khazad-dûm, mithril's bounty made its wealth surpass even the Lonely Mountain. Even the ceiling had once been plated with gold. After the Balrog's awakening and the city's fall, orcs had plundered it and sent treasure to Barad-dûr. Even the gold from the roof had been pried away.
Yet still, when they entered the vault and saw the piled mountains of coin and gems, they were shaken. It was a hoard to rival Erebor's.
Arwen drew a soft breath, eyes wide. Gandalf's brows lifted despite himself. Smaug would have purred.
Balin stood a little taller, pride softened by gratitude. "Khazad-dûm will be bright again," he said quietly. "And this time, we will not stand alone."