
When at last the battle was won the Dwarves that were left gathered in Azanulbizar. They took the head of Azog and thrust into its mouth the purse of small money, and they set it in on a stake. But no feast nor song was there that night; for their dead was beyond the count of grief. Barely half of their number, it is said, could still stand or have hope of healing.
None the less in the morning Thráin stood before them. He had one eye blinded beyond cure, and he was halt with a leg-wound; but he said: ‘Good! We have victory. Khazad-dûm is ours!’
but they answered: 'Durin’s Heir you may be, but even with one eye you should see clearer. We fought this war for vengeance, and vengeance we have taken. But it is not sweet. If this is victory, then our hands are too small to hold it.’
And those who were not Durin’s folk said also: 'Khazad-dûm was not our father’s house. What is it to us, unless a hope of treasure? But now, if we must go without the rewards and the weregilds that are owed to us, the sooner we return to our own lands the better pleased we shall be.’
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