Story Downloaded from Open Scrolls Archive (https://www.openscrolls.net)
Title: The Dwarves Treasure (#3689)
Author: eiranae
Chapters: 7
Archive: Tolkien
Category: Lord of the Rings
Description: The animosity between the dwarves and the elves is well known. What happens then when a tiny orphan elf is found outside of the Lonely Mountain? Will the two groups be reconciled, or will the dwarves treasure be stolen once again?
WINNER 2008 MEFA AWARDS: 2ND PLACE-RACES-DWARVES
Published: 16 Jan 2008
Updated: 26 Jun 2008
Warnings:
Type: General
Characters: Gimli; Gloin; LOTRs characters; OC
Chapter 1 - There's Gold in Them Thar Holes
Balin walked amongst the dead Orc bodies, carrion for the ravens, surveying the carnage.
Makes my stomach turn.
The stench of dead Orcs tainted the eaves of Mirkwood forest, but the springtime scent of Elves stopped him in his tracks. A dozen males and one female lay crushed like wildflowers among weeds.
“A sad sight,” Gandalf said, shaking his head.
Balin nodded in agreement. He bent down and lifted a lovely ruby pendant from the still chest of the female Elf. Her body’s warmth lingered. Would I had been a little sooner in coming. These Orcs could have tasted the blade of an ax. Balin looked up to see Gandalf’s raised eyebrow and replaced the jewel.
“Probably made by Dwarves,” Balin grumbled under his breath.
He looked around at the others, questioning whether the wizard had noted the blood-stained sword lying near one of the Elf warriors.
“I will go to Thranduil and inform him of this tragedy,” Gandalf said. “You should continue your journey to the Lonely Mountain. We have been away visiting Bilbo for several months now. Friends and family will be eager for your return.”
“Are you sure, Gandalf? I will gladly wait here for you. Thranduil’s halls are not far.”
“I am fine, my friend,” Gandalf smiled, his eyes moving to the sword.
How does he always know?
“Very well.” Balin headed toward the path, weaving through the maze of dead bodies instead of heading back in the direction they had come. He wished to take note of all the valuables even if Gandalf’s presence kept him from carrying any away. He pushed his way into the tangled underbrush, swatting at twigs and vines, determined to clear the path to his pack pony. A thorny creeper caught his leggings. He bent over to pull it loose and saw a small chest hidden under some scrub.
He turned quickly but the wizard had disappeared in the trees. As quietly as possible, he pulled the chest out of the tangled mass of plant-life, gaining several scratches for his efforts. Ah! I have found a treasure. Reaching for the latch, he started to lift it. The sound of Gandalf’s boots made him think better of it. He lifted it to his shoulder and hurried off before Gandalf came at him unawares, chuckling to himself at his good fortune.
#
Tunnon hurried down the corridor to the throne room. He wondered what had happened to cause the king to put aside his anger, but why complain. Eight years had passed since the Dwarves had escaped under Tunnon’s nose. King Thranduil did not take embarrassment well.
Anything surpasses stable duty or fletching arrows for every warrior in Mirkwood! Sometimes he wondered if Legolas didn’t ruin his fletchings on purpose.
The throne room glowed in the torch light as Tunnon approached the king and knelt. He saw the wizard, Gandalf, standing to the side, his head bowed.
“Tunnon, a group of Elves have been slaughtered nearby. Take a party of your guards and see if you can determine from whose realm they have come.”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Gandalf will show you where they are. Bring their bodies back with you.”
“Yes, Sire.”
Tunnon rose and hurried out of the throne room to find his guards.
Well, I did say anything.
#
Tunnon looked down the line of Elves laid on the forest floor. Most he noted hailed from Elrond’s realm, but one—the blonde elleth—had lived in Mirkwood before her marriage to one of Elrond’s scholars. A mixture of anger and sadness washed over him. He knew Gwínedhel from childhood. He had attended her marriage. Her husband lay at the end of the line of bodies, and Tunnon saw the wounds the scholar had taken to protect his wife. Such pitiless destruction!
Guards prepared biers to carry the bodies back to be buried. Tunnon turned to the wizard.
“Lord Elrond will be grieved.”
“This will not be the only grief he must endure.” Gandalf’s eyes swept the scene.
Tunnon shuddered at the implication.
“What hope is there?” Tunnon wondered aloud.
“Only a fool’s hope,” the wizard replied.
Will it be sufficient?
#
Balin hurried the last few leagues of his journey, anxious to find out what sort of treasure he had found. He had strapped the chest to Billy, his pack pony, and made his way past the eastern border of Mirkwood just as the sun rose. He thought about taking the treasure to King Dain but immediately dismissed the idea. A treasure such as this, he shared with only one Dwarf—my good friend, Duron.
He passed the guards with a customary nod and headed straight to Duron’s mansion. After all Duron had endured, he needed a little treasure to brighten his life. Balin thought of Trili, Duron’s wife, and shook his head. Only cursed Dwarves lose their wife and child during childbirth.
Balin gave the door to Duron’s mansion a smart rap and tried to stamp down his elation a bit.
“Balin! It’s good to see you returned safely,” Duron said. “How fared your journey?” He moved aside and ushered Balin in.
“It went well. Mr. Baggins is in good health, but see what I have found in the wilds of Mirkwood!” Balin almost chuckled at Duron’s wide eyes as he lowered the chest to the floor.
“Elf gowns?”
“Nay, something far better, I warrant.” Balin’s excitement threatened to overwhelm him. He reached for the latch but pulled back at the last moment. Bowing and sweeping his hand toward the chest, he watched with bated breath as Duron lifted the latch and pulled the lid up.
“What is it?” Balin asked, bouncing on his heels.
“Eyes.”
“Eyes?” Balin looked into the chest. He saw two sapphire eyes staring out at him from a miniature face.
A young child huddled inside, shuddering as tears rolled down pale cheeks.
“Do not weep, child,” Duron said.
The little head turned quickly and the two large blue eyes widened at Duron’s rough voice. Balin saw the fear radiating from them.
“I will not harm you. Come; let’s get you out of there.” Duron held out a hand.
Balin watched the emotion play over the glowing features—fear, confusion, hope. At last a small hand tentatively reached for Duron’s.
“There now, that’s the way.”
Once out of the confined space, the little one started to sob again.
“Is it male or female?” Balin asked. He hazarded a guess at male, and from the look of him about two summers old.
“Female of course,” Duron said with a sigh and shot him a look riddled with exasperation.
As though all Dwarves can tell the difference! There was no mistaking her pointy ears, though. Duron lifted her into his arms, and she laid her head on his shoulder.
“You stole a child?” Duron said with a glare.
“I didn’t know what it contained!”
“Poor lass.” Duron petted the dark head.
“Look at her ears!” Balin said and moved to get a look at Duron’s new acquisition. “Should we take her back to Mirkwood?”
“Nay, I will take her to Dain. We will hear his judgment on this matter.” Duron said, ending the discussion.
#
Gasps echoed down the hall as Duron passed the guards on his way into the main halls. He headed toward the council room where Dain held his meetings at this hour, whispering soothing words to the little one clutching his hair in her tiny fists.
“There, there, don’t weep lass. Nothing will harm you. I’ll take care of you, I promise.” She sniffed and shuddered in response. He passed several more of his kinsmen on his way through the hall where once Smaug rested on his horde of gold. Eyes followed him all the way to the rooms behind the hall. Some showed curiosity, some hostility, and others pity. Several of Dain’s council members who were coming from the weekly meeting went so far as to point at the little Elf and whisper. Finally, he came to the open door of Dain’s council room.
Dain stood over a table bearing several maps of the Misty Mountains. The Dwarf King traced a line upon one as Duron entered the room. Dain glanced up as he moved toward the table.
“Ah, Duron! Come and—” Duron watched with amusement as the king looked up and caught sight of the Elf-child. “Duron…is that an…”
“Yes, sire.”
“Where did you find it?”
“A chest from Mirkwood.”
“A chest?” Dain crossed the room and pushed back a lock of wispy dark hair to reveal a little pointy ear.
“Aye. I found the lass inside.”
“Hmmm. Well, I’ll send messengers to Thranduil. I’m sure she must be from his kingdom.”
Dain turned back to his maps. The little lass gave a whimper and Duron patted her back, thinking of what might have been if his wife and child had lived.
“Sire.”
“Yes?”
“What should I do with the lass?” His arms constricted involuntarily. He will give her to one of the women to be cared for. This thought irritated him for reasons he did not wish to delve into.
Dain gave a dismissive wave. “Take care of her until they get here, I suppose.”
“Yes, Sire.” Duron turned, smiling to himself as he headed toward the door.
“Does she have a name?”
Duron turned again at Dain’s question. He looked down at the little head on his shoulder.
“What’s your name, lass?” he whispered, hoping she understood the common speech.
The child’s head rose and he felt her soft breath tickle his ear as she whispered, “Míreth.”
“Her name is Míreth,” Duron saw the smile on Dain’s face and felt his own heartbeat quicken. One Elvish word even a Dwarf knew--Míreth: the Elvish word for treasure.
#
Duron walked down the long corridor to his room all the while carrying on a continuous dialogue with the little girl he held close. Dreams of doing the same with his own child flooded his mind. Remembering the long and difficult birth followed by the death of both mother and child made his eyes sting. He pushed the thought from him and focused on how light and slender the little Elf felt compared to Dwarf children.
“That’s the passage to the mines.” He pointed and the little head popped up to look in the direction he indicated. She hadn’t spoken since she had given her name, but Duron kept up a running commentary, hoping to distract her from her sorrow.
“See there, Míreth?” He indicated an open door. “That’s the door to the kitchens. Would you like something to eat?” No one had fed her for a day, at least. She nodded her head in response and he carried her into the large room. A fire crackled at the end of the empty room and clean tables sat, awaiting the preparation for the next day’s meal. He sat Míreth on one of these. All the kitchen help had gone off to their own abodes, so he searched the larder himself for something tempting to a wee lass. He finally settled on some soft brown bread, a large wedge of cheese, and a glass of milk. He sat them down next to the child and helped her feed herself, laughing heartily as she dribbled down the front of her shirt.
“You must go slowly, Míreth, or you’ll be sick.” She chewed her mouthful of bread more slowly as he wiped the front of her dress with a rag. Finally, the last pieces of bread and cheese vanished; he reached for the sleepy eyed child. She did not resist being held, in fact, she settled her head on his shoulder. What trust you have, little one. Have you already decided I am worthy?
He headed down the corridor to his mansion. After only a few steps, Míreth relaxed and started breathing deeply. So weary! My poor lass. He stopped suddenly. Is this Mahal’s answer to my prayers? Duron looked down at the little head and thought of the Dwarf lass, Trili, he had courted so many years ago. It still hurt to think of it. What if this is my chance to be a father after all.
He laid the little lass on the bed and pulled a blanket over her. As he tucked the blanket around her, he heard her mutter, “Ada,” in her sleep before she snuggled further into the pillow.
AN: Thanks so much to my wonderful betas (you know who you are) for all your enduring patience. I would never have actually posted without it!
Chapter 2 - I've Got You Under My Skin
Duron started awake out of the wooden chair and hurried over to the little Elf, thrashing about in the blankets.
“Ada! Ada!” The pitiful cries echoed around the room.
Duron patted her head.
“Shhhh, lass. It’s all right. You’re safe.”
“Nana! Ada! Navan reniel?” Tears streamed down her cheeks as she looked around the room unseeing.
“You’re safe, lass. That’s it. Shush now. Go back to sleep.” Duron pulled her into his arms and rocked her back and forth.
Míreth continued to whimper softly; Duron sang a Dwarvish lullaby to her until she finally drifted back to sleep. He tried to lay her back on the soft mattress, but she clutched his tunic and cried out, “Avo wanno!”
He sat back down in the chair and started rocking and singing again.
#
Duron woke; he looked down to see Míreth still clinging to his tunic.
“Míreth,” He spoke softly trying not to frighten her. Her eyes popped open immediately. “Would you like some food?”
She smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck. As he carried her back down the hall to the kitchen, he thought about the words she had been whimpering last night. Glóin had been around the Elves enough to have picked up a few Elvish words. I will ask him for a translation.
Three Dwarves moved around in the kitchen preparing the morning meal. Duron walked in with Míreth on his hip, and a loud crash echoed around the room. Duron looked over to see Dralin standing with a heavy metal pot at his feet.
“What is that!”
All three stared at Duron.
“Shhh. You’ll frighten her! The poor lass had a terrible night, weeping with fright.”
“Well you can’t bring her in here!” Dralin said in a slightly softer voice.
“But she needs to eat. I don’t want to take her to the hall for fear of scaring her even more. Too many new faces all at once.”
“Ah, let him be, Dralin. The poor lass is shivering from all your bluster,” said Orli. “What do they eat?” He looked at Duron with a raised brow.
“She needs a new dress, Duron,” Kes smiled and reached over to pat Míreth’s head. “You bring her by my place later,” she said and the Dwarf lass went back to her cooking.
“I’m going to Dain!” Dralin yelled. “This is outrageous!”
“’Twas Dain told me to care for the lass. He won’t appreciate you going against his orders.”
Duron watched the new information sink in. After several moments, Duron decided to go to Dain himself.
“Very well,” Dralin huffed, cutting off a sizable hunk of freshly baked bread. He passed Duron a jar of honey and returned to the pot, grumbling as he went about the rest of his chores.
Duron sat Míreth down on a chair in the corner and fed her marveling at the way her eyes twinkled like sapphires. He got her a cup of warm milk and carried her off to Glóin’s room after bowing curtly to the other Dwarves.
#
“Well, I’ll be!” Glóin said standing in his doorway, “Have you taken to stealing the babes of the…”
“Shhh!” Duron hissed. “There’s no need to remind her of what she is.”
Glóin shook his head and held the door open warily.
“I wanted to ask you if you know what the word, Ada, means.”
“Ada? Papa, I think. Why do you ask?”
“She kept crying out in the night. That was one of the words she said.”
“And where are her parents?” Glóin asked.
Duron looked into the blue eyes, taking in both of the Dwarves. He did not doubt Míreth understood the common tongue even though she did not speak it. He sat Míreth on the floor and watched her practically dance over to the teetering stack of books next to Glóin’s chair.
“Orcs,” he whispered.
Glóin’s brow furrow and then a tender look pass over his face as he looked at Míreth.
“Balin told me a whole group were slain in Mirkwood.” Duron watched the little Elf peruse the pages of a book written in Khuzdul.
“Is she staying with you?”
“Until they come for her.” His own words pierced his heart. Míreth sat with a book open on her lap pointing to the Elvish letters on the side of a map of the Grey Mountains.
Her voice sounded like music as she pointed to the letters and said their names.
I’ll just have to enjoy the time I have until the Mirkwood folk get here.
#
Thranduil stared at the elegant tapestry hanging in his personal chambers. Will I never be free of these wretched Orcs? Seeing the body of one of his own among the slain had left him saddened and angry, mostly angry. Why can one not exterminate the lot of them and be done! Curse Morgoth and his wretched henchmen!
He had sent a letter to Elrond with news of the fallen. How will Elrond take such news? Will he be as angry? A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.
“Enter.”
“Good evening, Ada.” Legolas walked into the room with a smile.
“What mischief have you been contriving?”
“Why do you assume I am up to mischief?”
“Your grin.”
“Ah, well, I have just left Tunnon fletching seventy-five arrows for me.” Thranduil shook his head and laughed.
“You will make him angry and he will forget the reason for his punishment.”
“Never! Too many of us remind him of it each day,” Legolas laughed. “Being duped by a hobbit is not something one lives down in a few years.”
“Or a few hundred if you have your way.”
“You are right!” Thranduil glanced at the tapestry again. Its depiction of the War of Elves and Men transported him back to his gloomy thoughts.
“We must do something about this darkness, Legolas.”
“Perhaps we should consult Elrond.”
“Perhaps.”
“I wished to tell you Gandalf will be leaving soon.”
“Yes? Tell him I wish to speak to him before he goes.” Legolas inclined his head.
“Well, I am off to cause some more mischief for our poor Tunnon.”
“Archery in the dark?”
“Nay, something even more amusing.”
Thranduil listened to his son’s laughter echoing down the corridor and missed his wife with all his heart. Oh, to hear the laughter of an elf-child again.
#
Two days later, Duron stood next to Balin as both Dwarves watched Míreth hop from branch to branch in a tall oak outside the Lonely Mountain.
“She will fall and break all her bones!” Duron said, wringing his hands.
“I thought you admired the grace of the Elves.”
“Grace, yes. Fearlessness, no!”
“Come down, Míreth,” Balin called. “You will frighten your Ada to death!”
Duron tried to see Míreth’s reaction to Balin’s pronouncement, but the thick leaves hid her heart from him. She will not wish to forget her true father so soon, will she? Duron remembered the joy of Trili’s words, ‘You are going to be a father!’ The lass has no Papa, and I have no child. Mahal, let us help each other.
A little face peeked out of the leaves, her smile as warm as the sun.
“Come down, Míreth.” Duron held out his arms. “We will go to the mines today.”
Her smile blinded him. He watched with bated breath as she moved from limb to limb like a bird. She climbed into his arms.
“Duron, you can’t keep her.” Balin looked most sympathetic, making Duron all the more cross.
“Do you now have the gift of foreknowledge?” Duron snapped.
“They will come for her. What will you do then?”
Duron looked into Míreth’s smiling eyes—eyes so full of life.
“I don’t know.”
#
Thranduil sat in his throne room going over the recent reports he had received. Since the White Council had driven out the Necromancer he had been able to breathe a brief sigh of relief, but darkness still pervaded his realm as evinced by the recent attack.
“Your majesty, we have a missive from Erebor.” The blond Elf moved forward and passed him the letter.
Dain Ironfoot, son of Nain, slayer of Azog, King under the Mountain, Elf friend
To Thranduil, son of Oropher, King of Mirkwood,
What pretense!
We wish to inform you we have found the treasure you have been searching for.
Treasure?
Please send a party to reclaim what is rightfully yours.
We remain,
Dain Ironfoot
King under the Mountain
Thranduil looked back over the cryptic message. One word caught his eye and held it—treasure.
Thranduil called for his Captain of the Guard.
#
Dain stood in the treasure room staring absently at some finely made Dwarvish armor.
“Alagor! Alagor! Ada! Alagor!”
He turned to see Míreth pulling Duron along by the finger. Dain noted the smile on his friend’s face before noting the child’s anxiety over her hastily uttered words. She remembers her father.
“Papa,” Duron said. Dain exhaled. He applauded his friend’s remedy to a tense situation.
“Pa—pa?”
“Yes. You can call me Papa.”
Does he realize how shoddily he guards his heart?
Míreth tilted her head and seemed to look at something beyond the Dwarf. Dain could imagine the internal struggle the child must be going through. He wondered if a Dwarf child would ever be able to accept such a substitute. Revenge would be the only surrogate for a Dwarf.
“Pa—pa…Pa—pa.” She smiled brightly and began to pull on his finger again chanting, “Pa—pa, Pa—pa,” as she flitted along.
Duron started when he turned to see Dain in the treasure room. Dain smiled and inclined his head toward Míreth.
“She seems much happier these last few days, Duron.”
“Yes. She slept through the night last night without any tears.”
“Good to hear.”
“Have you had any word from Mirkwood, Sire?”
Dain noted the tell-tale rise in pitch. Making a mental note to caution his friend against leaving his heart so poorly guarded, he said in a nonchalant voice, “They will arrive at the end of this week.”
Duron looked down at Míreth’s shining eyes traveling over the treasure trove and back to his face. For the first time, Dain noticed something more than just a kindly interest shining in Duron’s eyes. He fears this separation! The rush of his previous thoughts swept over him. There is no revenge for Duron. What vengeance can be had for death in childbirth! Duron has replaced his lost son with this Elf.
It took Dain several minutes before he could slow his pulse enough to ask, “Will you eat in the hall with us tonight, Duron.”
“Nay, sire. I’m not sure Míreth is ready yet. I have no wish to frighten her, and some resent her too much.”
“They’ll get used to her. Give them time,” Dain said, hardly attending his own words.
What will he do? At week’s end she will be gone.
“Well, I must get back to my council room. Pressing duties await me.”
Dain made his way back to his empty council room in a fog of confusion. His eyes had told him all he needed to know about Duron’s attachment to the Elf child. Duron had been his close friend since before the War of the Five Armies. Dain owed Duron his life many times over. I must help him somehow, but how? Well there’s no need to mention the child if they don’t ask for her directly. Doing so might be unkind, but Duron reasoned if they did not ask for her, they must not care for her. Better for her to stay with Duron if such were the case. Satisfied with his plan, he returned to his maps. Now what to do about Moria?
Mas bennich—Where did you go?
Avo gwanno—Do not depart.
Yanta, rómen, yanta, ando—Tengwar letters
Ellint—faster
Ada—Daddy, Papa
Nana—Mama, Mum
A/N: I appreciate all those who have taken the time to review.
A/N: I appreciate all those who have taken the time to review. [/b]
Chapter 3 - Tears and Fears
Duron had never lived through a faster week in all his days. If he didn’t have memories of a week full of Míreth’s delightful antics, he would swear someone had hit him over the head at the beginning of the week and he hadn’t awoken until week’s end. Duron knew the Elves waited outside the Lonely Mountain. He knew Dain planned to call him to present Míreth, and he knew the Elves prepared to take his treasure away from him forever.
“Pa—pa?” Her delicate fingers brushed his damp cheeks.
A Dwarf crying! Is all Arda at an end? Duron mustered up a smile and pulled Míreth onto his lap. As he thought of the days events he stroked her shiny black hair and sang to her.
Her lilting soprano joined his deep bass, causing him to start for a moment.
Far down in the caverns
Where light doth not dwell
I seek a fair treasure
That I ne’er would sell
Its hue is not golden
Its light not pale blue
Its shine is not silver
But fairer and true
Can you guess my treasure?
From which I’ll ne’er part
A treasure most glorious
For it is your heart
Duron felt the tiny hand on his face again.
“Pa—pa, avo nallo.”
Her own tears chased one another down her cheeks. How can I be so selfish! He mentally shook himself. She has lost her family, and here I am weeping for my own selfish reasons. This time the smile he forced his unwilling features to make had purpose behind it, and it did not falter. He wiped her tears in return for her favor.
“No more tears then, Míreth. I promised you a last visit to the treasury and you shall have it.” He picked up the Elf child, smiling through her tears and headed for the treasury.
Glóin joined him halfway down the corridor.
“I must say, Duron, I’m sorry to see her go.”
Duron inclined his head in agreement afraid of saying anything resulting in more tears.
“Where are you headed now?”
“The treasury. I promised Míreth a last visit.”
“I’m really sorry, Duron. I know how you must feel.”
“Do you?”
“Well, perhaps not, but…let me know if there is any way I can help.”
“I will, my friend.” Duron continued down to the treasury and Glóin headed up to meet the group from Mirkwood.
The quiet atmosphere of the treasury room calmed Duron a bit. He put Míreth down and went to a nook where he kept a few of his own personal treasures. From the amalgamation he extracted a finely made sapphire pendant with mithril setting and chain. His father had made it for an Elf princess, but her untimely death had rendered it useless as anything but a family heirloom. For a brief moment Duron struggled with his love for Míreth and his loyalty to his family’s treasures.
“Pa—pa!” Míreth said, holding up her arms.
Those words sealed it. He looked down at Míreth who had put a bracelet obviously meant for a troll on her head like a crown. She had also decked herself with rings, attempting to escape her fingers and bracelets she kept pushing up past her elbows. Their laughter echoed around the room.
“Come here, my princess.” He sat her on top of a bag of gold coins. “I have a jewel for you.”
He removed the conglomeration of metal and stone noting her wide sapphire eyes.
I will never forget you, lass.
When all the jewelry had at last been returned to its proper place, Duron held out the pendant for Míreth to see. Warmth poured through him. She put one hand on each of his bristly cheeks and planted a kiss on his nose.
Can I give her up without a fight? Can I possibly just let her go?
Half-baked plans of spiriting Míreth off to the Misty Mountains or carrying her away to some other hiding place raced through his mind jumbling into each other. Images of defying the Elves and fighting to the death for Míreth’s sake popped into his head. One by one he pushed them from his mind reminding himself Míreth’s well-being held precedence over all.
He lifted the mithril chain over her head. The sapphire hung down to her belly and she picked it up to gaze at it.
“Now you’re a beautiful princess with your own jewel.”
“Pa—pa, th—thank yo—u.”
How will my heart endure this?
#
Tunnon greeted King Dain in the customary manner. He remembered the King well from the War of the Five Armies; however, something seemed to be different about him. Tunnon recalled the cool assurance of King Dain during their previous encounters. Why does he appear so anxious?
“King Thranduil sends his greetings and thanks you.”
“It was nothing…my pleasure…to be expected.”
Tunnon stared.
“May we see the item now?”
“Item?”
Tunnon wondered at the expression on the Dwarf King’s face. He was no expert at understanding Dwarf behavior, but what appeared to be a look of confusion gradually melted until it became a look of triumph shining on Duron’s face.
“Oh yes…yes of course! Kept it in a safe place. Right this way.”
Tunnon followed the King and his advisors in a cloud of his own confusion. I have missed something important.
“Here it is.”
Tunnon looked at a suit of armor, Elven made. He knew King Thranduil had several like it in his treasury, but he forced a smile and pretended to give the mail a closer look.
“Thank you…for returning this…valuable…armor.” Tunnon muttered.
“What about the-” One of Dain’s counselors started, but Dain interrupted.
“—sword!” Tunnon noted the glare Dain sent in the direction of the counselor. Perhaps this is the reason for his distress? He does not wish to return this sword.
“We appreciate your kindness, but it is not necessary as we…”
“Yes, of course it’s necessary! Wait here and I shall return shortly.” Motioning to his counsel, Dain practically ran out of the room leaving Tunnon staring after him wondering at the notions of Dwarves.
#
Dain grumbled to himself as he marched down the hall to the treasury. I’ll have to consider a replacement for Oren.
“Sire, shouldn’t you tell them about the…”
“No! How do we know she belongs to them? They didn’t ask for her. She may belong to Elrond’s Elves or those of the Grey Havens.”
“But surely Thranduil knows where she belongs and will be able to return her there?”
Dain turned in fury upon the cringing Oren.
“Who is King of this mountain?”
“You are, Sire.”
“Then I’ll thank you to allow me to make the decisions in my own kingdom! I don’t want to hear another word about it. She stays until I say otherwise, and any who dispute this decision can bring the matter to me!”
“Yes, Sire!”
Dain continued back down the hall and resumed his muttering. He quashed a bit of conscience, insisting Oren may be right. A mental image of Duron’s face as he looked out at the assembly of Elves sufficed to strengthen his resolve. Besides, they didn’t even mention the child. She’s none of theirs I’m sure. I’ll just make a point of mentioning her to Elrond’s people next time I see them. Now, where did I put that sword?
Avo nallon—Don’t cry
ellith—female Elf
A/N: Thank you for all the reviews. Thank you Neume for sticking with me and betaing this. [/b]
Chapter 4 - Raindrops on Roses
Duron looked around anxiously as Míreth skipped across the green grass gathering wildflowers by the handful. She presented him with a third bouquet chanting, “Pri-ti flowers, Pa—pa,” before whirling off in search of another.
Two weeks had passed since King Dain told him to continue to care for Míreth until he could speak to Elrond, but Duron still feared the Mirkwood Elves would change their mind and come back for Míreth.
“One more, lass, and then we must prepare for dinner.”
“Yes, Pa—pa.”
What a smart little thing she is.
Although the Dwarf children Duron had been around had learned simple words with ease, he had to admit he had not expected as much from an Elf child. He remembered Gimli’s ease with the difficult words of the common speech. Míreth also picked up new words of the common speech every day, and used less and less of the Elvish. Duron had secretly considered teaching her Khuzdul.
King Dain might reconsider letting me keep you if I did such a thing, he thought watching Míreth weave the flowers into a haphazard crown.
“Let’s go, Míreth.”
She skipped to his side carrying a handful of flowers in one hand and trying to keep the jumbled crown on her head with the other. He scooped her up and carried her back toward the mountain laughing as she tried to transfer the crown to his head.
“My shaggy head isn’t fit for a crown, Princess. Crowns are for kings.”
“Kings?”
“Aye.” He smiled and carried her to their home.
He put most of the flowers into a jug of water, but Míreth refused to leave the crown behind. He laughed as she twisted the escaping stems back into the braid on their way to the main hall. For the last two nights, Míreth sat at table with the other Dwarves. Her behavior thus far made him proud. Those who did not praise her kept mercifully silent.
He headed to his usual spot next to Glóin and Gimli, expecting Míreth to follow. He turned and saw to his amazement Míreth approaching the head table where King Dain sat with his counselors. He hurried over and reached her side just as she pulled on Dain’s shirt sleeve.
“Hello, Míreth, what can I do for you?” Duron noticed his grin.
“Flowers…King.” She held up the wreath of flowers and Dain looked up questioningly.
“It’s a crown, Sire. I told her crowns were for kings.”
“Ahhh.” Dain reached down and took the crown of flowers.
The apology was still on Duron’s lips as he watched Dain remove his golden crown and replace it with the flowers. Duron heard a repressed snicker from one of the counselors.
“Thank you, Míreth. It’s a perfect fit.”
Glowing like the moon, Míreth skipped back to her place beside Gimli as Duron followed, trying his hardest not to laugh.
“She’ll be crafting jewels before you know it.” Glóin said and smiled proudly at Gimli who had recently made a fine sword.
“It’s disgraceful!” Falin spat from across the table. “Letting that filth near our King!”
Duron and Glóin both jumped to their feet simultaneously. Duron groped for his ax before realizing he didn’t take meals clad in war gear.
“How dare you!” He growled low, seeing Dain had noticed the disturbance.
“I meant…the flowers!”
Duron noted the fear in Falin’s eyes. The younger Dwarf looked first at Duron then at Glóin and then at the questioning stare of King Dain. He knows he’s no match for us. Pity he doesn’t try it though. He needs to be taught a lesson! Duron looked around the table for a suitable ‘rod of correction’ and noticed Míreth’s wide eyes. He slowly lowered himself back to his seat Glóin following suit.
“Do you not like the bread, Míreth?” He smiled reassurance.
She looked down at the bread as if seeing it for the first time. Hesitantly, tiny fingers crept toward the brown loaf and brought it to lips white with fear.
“That’s it lass. Would you like some honey?”
She shook her head slightly and stared at Falin. Duron caught his eye and dared him to reveal his feelings by word or expression. Falin did not dare.
“H…have some cheese…El…Mi…”
“Míreth,” Glóin corrected with a warning glare.
“Míreth.” He handed Míreth a piece of cheese and she took it after a moment of hesitation.
Even the child has better manners!
The rest of the meal passed without event, but Duron noticed some whispers and sour looks from further down the table. Did I expect it to be easy to bring an Elf to a Dwarf table? He knew he had. He had expected the others to see the innocence of little Míreth and love her like he did. How could they not? Apparently they can find a way.
#
Elrond sat at his desk looking over a manuscript detailing the Siege of Barad-dur. Erestor hovered nearby perusing the shelves. The Lord of Imladris watched the morning sun creeping through the windows as though trying not to disturb the silence of the room.
“Lord Elrond.”
Alas your effort is undone. Elrond looked away from the window to see a dark-haired youth holding a handful of letters.
“Thank you.”
He opened the first and read his daughter’s elegant script. She was well. Lorien was well. The Lord and Lady of the woods were well. How I miss the exuberant descriptions and funny stories these letters used to contain.
The next contained information from Cirdan. Thinking of ships departing for the undying lands threatened only more sorrowful thoughts so he went on to the last.
This did not lighten his mood any more than the last. So many dead! He stopped at the names of Gwínedhel and Idhrenion. What of Míreth? He scanned the other names quickly, but found no mention of the child.
“What news?” Erestor looked concerned and Elrond knew what his expression had revealed.
“Idhrenion and his party are slain.”
“Slain!” Erestor’s face whitened.
Elrond knew how fond his advisor had been of Idhrenion and his family.
“Yes, in Mirkwood. The Orcs attacked them.”
“Míreth?”
“It does not mention her by name, but Thranduil would not have known it. Or perhaps…” Elrond did not want to continue his gruesome thoughts. A tiny Elf—short work for a hungry Orc. Worse still, her tiny body may have been torn beyond all recognition. The room felt cold.
Erestor dropped into a chair and Elrond scanned the list of names again.
“Should we go to Mirkwood,” Erestor asked, his voice flat and lifeless.
“And risk the loss of more lives?” Elrond put his head in his hands. “Thranduil does not expect it, and we cannot risk it.”
“You are right.”
Elrond thought of how Gwínedhel and Idhrenion looked forward to the trip to Mirkwood. They anticipated surprising Gwínedhel’s family with the sight of little Míreth. What a tragedy they did not see the dancing spirit that was Míreth.
The Elf Lord rose and headed for the gardens. Erestor said nothing. He knows me well.
How much more of this can one endure? He deliberately pushed his thoughts away from Celebrian. It would do no good to dwell on it. Instead he braced himself to deliver the news to Idhrenion’s family. What a task. How many more will fade before this ends? He did not wish to know.
#
Thranduil stared at the Elven armor and sword Tunnon had brought from Erebor. Why did King Dain send this? Why would he choose this time to do so? The armor had obviously been in the Dwarf’s possession for an age.
It is not very valuable, either.
“Perhaps he thinks we mean to claim something more valuable,” Legolas said from his side. “Could this be a means to appease us?”
“I think it a bribe,” Tunnon said. “He wishes to purchase our alliance for what may lie ahead.”
Thranduil looked down the row of Elves staring at the armor with assorted looks of confusion on their faces.
“Should we send another party on some pretense or other to discover their motive?” Legolas asked.
“Dwarves hide their secrets well,” Thranduil replied, wishing he had the gift of seeing into the minds of others.
“Then we wait?” Tunnon turned to question.
“We wait,” Thranduil said. “Whatever it is, it will come to us in time.”
I will not again be moved to war over treasure—no matter how valuable. I will wait. They cannot hide this treasure forever.
A/N: Thank-you so much NeumeIndil. Without your help this story would not make near as much sense.
Chapter 5 - Me and My Shadow
Gimli grumbled to himself as he pounded the hot metal of the ax.
“Ruddy Elves. Can’t get away from them!” Gimli had spent most of the day trying to avoid Míreth. At last, he had found a place free from her constant presence, and beating the hot metal helped a great deal in relieving his frustrations. He turned quickly thinking he had heard Míreth’s footsteps.
“Now I’m hearing things!” The hammer clanged as he beat the poor metal thin. “Two months. Two months she’s been here, and of all the Dwarves in the Mountain she has to take a fancy to me!” He delivered a powerful blow to the ax blade and scowled as he saw the mess he had made of it. A choking sob sent him spinning around just in time to see the hem of a little blue gown disappearing around the door frame.
The room seemed eerily quiet as he stared at the door. Serves her right! She shouldn’t have been spying.
The hammer felt heavier than usual. Well, maybe now she won’t follow me everywhere I go.
The heat started to suffocate him. She’s just an Elf, after all. Why should I care what she thinks?
He threw the hammer down at last and hurried down the corridor in the direction the hem had disappeared. Every empty room he passed mocked him. Where did she go?
“Gimli!” He turned to see Duron coming toward him with a smile peeking out of his bushy beard. “Have you seen Míreth? I promised I would take her outside today.”
Gimli wondered if Duron saw the shame written on his face.
“N-no. I am looking for her myself.” Gimli watched Duron’s smile grow.
“Gimli, I thank you.”
I wish a balrog would swallow me whole.
“I haven’t done anything.”
“You have. You’ve shown her kindness. Dralin isn’t even polite. I know she’s an Elf, but that’s no reason to be cruel to such a little one.”
Gimli saw Duron’s eyes darken. He remembered all the times he and Falen had joked about the Elf. Heat crept to his cheeks.
“I’ve got to find her, Duron. I’ll let her know you’re looking for her.” He hurried down the hall barely registering Duron’s thanks echoing down the corridor after him.
The tunnels seemed to stretch to the depths of the earth. Gimli wondered if the mountain had swallowed her whole. He paused panting in front of the entrance to the Mountain. A cool breeze wafted in to tease him. It brushed the hair on his beard and forced him to turn his glance toward the light.
“Did you see the Elf go by?” he asked Fúrin who stood guard.
“I didn’t notice, but if she did, I say good riddance.”
How can he be so cruel to her? He immediately chided himself for being just as cruel.
Ignoring the other guard’s laugh of approval, Gimli hurried out into the bright sunlight.
“Míreth!” His voice echoed tauntingly around him.
“Míreth!” The leaves whispered jeeringly.
“Míreth! I’m sorry.” The chirping birds cackled at him and a light thump arrested his attention. To the right, Míreth stood underneath a gnarled tree whose branches swept the ground.
“Míreth! There you are.” He hurried over to her and winced as she drew away.
“Míreth, I’m truly sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things. Can we start over?” He held out his hand and waited. The tear tracks on her cheeks accused him. Her glistening blue eyes convicted him. The slump of her shoulders condemned him, but redemption finally came in the form of a small white hand placed in his large calloused one.
“Start over,” she whispered. Gimli heaved a sigh of relief. Perhaps Elves had some good qualities after all.
#
Tunnon sat by the fire watching the dancing, grateful Legolas had not thought of some further form of torture to keep him from enjoying the merriment. Apparently, the Prince had run out of fletchings to ruin, and he couldn’t possibly have run all the horses through the mud in the last twenty minutes. Having time to watch the whirling skirts and joyful music kept Tunnon’s mind off of the darkness surrounding him.
“Come, Tunnon. You should be enjoying the dancing.”
“I enjoy it even if I do not participate in it.”
“You will disappoint the ellith.” Legolas inclined his head toward a group of ellith waiting to be asked to dance.
“I do not wish to dance tonight, Legolas.”
“You should marry before you fade, my friend. You seem too sullen of late.”
“And of course that has nothing to do with fletching arrows from dawn ‘til dusk.”
Legolas laughed and Tunnon joined in the levity before he continued his thought.
“My mate is not in Mirkwood. Just as yours is not.”
“Perhaps you are both too old for mates?” Galion pointed to them with his goblet.
“You jest, my butler friend. Tunnon and I are destined for great things; that is our hindrance.”
“I am destined to become the master of fletchings.” Tunnon inclined his head to Legolas and Galion laughed heartily.
“Perhaps we should travel more. Lord Elrond enjoys my company.” Legolas looked off into the forest as though seeing something Tunnon did not.
“I have always wished to see Rivendell,” Tunnon said thinking of traveling to the valley. I wonder what Imladris is like?
“Then it is settled. We will seek our mates in Lord Elrond’s fair valley.”
Tunnon laughed again imagining Legolas dancing with the Rivendell ellith. He wondered if Legolas would ever remain serious long enough to find a mate.
“Until then, if you will not dance you must give us a song,” Legolas said, grinning.
Tunnon practically groaned as Legolas pulled him to the center of the group and announced Tunnon as the next entertainment.
I should have known he would find a way to torture me this evening.
#
Elrond stood staring out over the valley thinking of the day’s events. The young man had reacted well upon learning of his heritage. Seeing Estel grown to manhood had pleased him greatly. Could hope have come to men at last? It almost made up for the tragedy that had befallen soon after. He should have expected it. Idhrenion’s mother had taken the news of her son’s death badly. Watching her fade had been almost more than he could bear. Idhrenion’s brother seemed close to following his mother’s example. Elrond sighed, thinking of the time he had spent reminding Taenmoron of his own family and his responsibility to them. In the end, his diligence had paid off.
A gentle breeze caressed his brow. It carried the sweet smell of roses, a perfume to calm a weary mind. The moonlight wrapped its arms around him. The sound of laughter drifted up to his balcony, and he leaned over to see what merriment had occurred in his gardens.
Aragorn walked arm in arm with Arwen both of them smiling and laughing. The laughter and smiles did not disturb the Elrond near as much as the light in Aragorn’s eyes. He had seen similar lights before. They usually whispered of a forthcoming binding.
Was Aragorn falling in love with her?
Some of the passion of his youth rose up, demanding he rush down and part them before a possibility could become a fact. He took another calming breath and chided himself for his assumptions.
The moon rose slowly in the sky, recalling happier times—his marriage to Celebrian, the birth of the twins and Arwen, his care for the heirs of Isildur. Each memory bore the stain of sorrow. Will she stay with him?
He watched as they bid one another good night, and Arwen made her way to her rooms.
Aragorn turned from the beauty before him, the light still shining clear in his eyes.
I will watch him. Perhaps it is only an infatuation. Elrond made his way down the long hall, ignoring the beautiful architecture, and knocked lightly on the door.
“Ada!” Arwen opened the door with a smile and threw her arms around him. It has been too long since I watched the sunrise with my daughter.
A/N: Thanks to Neume for all your help on this story.
Chapter 6 - Memories
“Don’t get too close, Míreth.” Gimli looked back to see Míreth bouncing impatiently behind him.
It’s true he hadn’t really liked the idea of an Elf living under the Lonely Mountain at first, but Míreth had qualities he didn’t normally attribute to Elves, such as loyalty. Over time, Gimli had stopped treating Míreth like an Elf and started treating her like a younger sibling.
Gimli liked to tell whoever would listen that he had taught Míreth how to speak the common tongue. After all, she could barely say a few words three years ago, and now she carried on a pretty decent conversation with him.
“Is it done, Gimlí?” Gimli laughed at the way she pronounced his name. She almost made his name sound musical.
“Almost.” The sparks flew as he hammered on the sword blade.
“Can I see it now?”
“Not yet. Stay back there. If you get burnt, Duron will tan my hide.”
“Are swords very hard to make, Gimlí?”
“Of course! It takes years to learn to make them just right,” he said with one last grunt. He thrust the hot blade into water and watched the steam fill the room. Taking a critical look at his finished work, he wondered if his father would be pleased.
“Can I see now?”
“Alright, but don’t touch it.” Gimli held it for her to admire. Admiration came easily for Míreth, another thing he liked about her.
“Oh, it’s wonderful, isn’t it?” She said. Gimli looked again and decided that it was.
“We’ll show Father later. I’ll clean up here and we can go outside for a bit.” Gimli would rather have stayed under ground all day, but Míreth loved the outdoors. You have to make some sacrifices for your friends.
“And can we climb the trees?”
He noticed the light in Míreth’s blue eyes. “You know I can’t climb trees.”
“I will help you, Gimlí.”
“I would fall and break my head open. Dwarves don’t climb trees.”
Gimli turned from putting away his tools and saw the look of concern on Míreth’s face.
“It’s alright, you can climb them, and I’ll watch.”
“No. Dwarves don’t climb trees. Papa would not like it,” she said in a low voice.
Gimli thought about telling her that it would be alright for an Elf to climb trees but decided not to. After all, Duron always worried, afraid she would fall from such a lofty height and break her neck.
“Well, we could pick some flowers,” he tried.
“Do Dwarves pick flowers?”
Gimli started to feel uncomfortable.
“Not really.”
“What do we do?”
Gimli registered the ‘we’ with some concern. Should I tell her she’s not a Dwarf? He didn’t want to upset her even more than he had by the ‘Dwarves don’t climb trees’ comment, so he decided to leave that one to Duron.
“We explore caves. Would you like to explore some of the caves?”
“Yes!” Her smile back in place she began to skip down the corridor, Gimli following close behind.
Gimli smiled congratulating himself for thinking of this adventure. Not only did it keep him from having to go outside, but he had found a particularly interesting cavern a few days ago. He wanted another look.
#
Thraduil sat staring out into the darkness of the once green wood.
Spiders, necromancers, what next? Will the world ever be green again?
He thought of Mount Doom even now spewing forth its evil fumes into the very air that sustained the life of Middle Earth. The winter festival could not completely lift his spirits.
“Your thoughts are far from here, Sire.”
Thranduil turned to see Tunnon looking out over the woods just as he himself had been doing.
“Far in the past and far in distance,” the King replied. “I was thinking of my father’s death.”
“My father’s father fought and died in that war. My father nearly lost his life as well.”
“Very few returned to the wood.” Memories of the spray of blood and screams of death surrounded him just as they had that day as he fought for his life. “Many friends died that day, Tunnon.”
Tunnon nodded and turned away from the darkness. King Thranduil remembered the many ellith who faded soon after the return of the troops. Tunnon lost not only a grandfather, but a grandmother also, and two aunts.
“But happiness can come from even such a horrible time,” Tunnon said, and Thranduil looked to where his captain pointed. Legolas spun around with one of the fair haired elleth. Legolas—yes, Legolas did bring happiness back into my life. Thranduil watched his son spin around laughing as he did so and felt some of the darkness melt away.
“Hope is not yet gone. You are right.”
Thranduil continued to watch the dancers. Hope is not yet gone, but who will remain to enjoy the peace?
#
Gimli followed Míreth into the home he shared with his father Glóin. Míreth often spent the afternoons with them, listening to Glóin’s stories of his past adventures, with rapt attention. Gimli watched his father pull his chair closer to the fire and light his pipe.
“Would you like to hear the story of Mr. Bilbo Baggins?” he said to Míreth, and Gimli saw her nod enthusiastically and bounce in her seat.
“Well, Mr. Baggins is a Hobbit…”
“What’s a Hobbit?” Gimli almost laughed at the Elf’s curiosity.
“Well, Hobbits are very small…”
“Like me?”
“Well, yes…maybe a bit taller and they have pointy ears…”
“Like mine?” Gimli saw his father’s discomfort.
“Well, a bit like yours I suppose, and they walk around barefoot.” Gimli saw Míreth give her tiny boots an accusatory glare.
Glóin continued to tell Míreth the story Gimli himself had heard many times over. He laughed when Míreth’s eyes widened like saucers during the part about the trolls, but she did not interrupt again until his father reached the part about the Elves of Mirkwood.
“What did they look like?” she asked and Gimli saw his father shift from side to side in his chair.
He made several vague motions with his arms and finally said, “It’s hard to describe them.”
“Are they very fierce then?”
“No, not fierce exactly.”
“Are they sneaky, like thieves?”
“No, not sneaky so much.”
“Are they loud and mocking like the goblins?”
“Well…I wouldn’t say mocking exactly. You just can’t trust them.” Gimli saw Míreth nod solemnly at this advice. He couldn’t help but wonder what might be going through her mind.
Gimli mentally begged his father to skip over the part about being held in Thranduil’s dungeon, but by the time Gloín reached that part of the story, he had forgotten his audience again.
Míreth gasped and covered her mouth during all the trials Mr. Bilbo and the Dwarves endured. When Glóin had finally finished, she said, “I hope I never meet a goblin or an Elf! If I did I would hope to have a magic ring to hide me, like Mr. Bilbo’s.” Her solemn expression would have made Gimli chuckle if not for the seriousness of her statement.
Gimli saw his father’s furrowed brow and quickly suggested that he ought to get Míreth home. Gimli made his way down the corridor to Duron’s house wondering if Míreth would ever meet another Elf after all.
#
“Has Míreth ever spoken of her kin?” Glóin asked as he sat with Duron. Duron looked up from his mug to see the look of concern in his friend’s eye.
“No, she seems to be content here. Since the dreams stopped, she’s been as happy as an eagle in his eyrie.” Duron thought of Míreth’s smile and felt the familiar warmth that came from thinking of the little one.
“I think she’s forgotten who she is.” The tone in Glóin’s voice brought Duron sharply back to the present.
“Of course she hasn’t.”
“Gimli says she talks of herself as if she’s a Dwarf.”
“Perhaps she just feels like she belongs here.”
“She never speaks the Elvish tongue like she used to.”
“She doesn’t need to here.”
“She hasn’t jumped into the stream once in the last two months.”
“It’s cold outside.”
“And she said yesterday that she hoped never to meet a goblin or an Elf.”
Duron stared at the Dwarf sitting before him without seeing him. Is Míreth really forgetting herself? Does she need to go back to the Elves?
The aching loss that came every time he thought of Míreth leaving, every time an Elf would come near the Lonely Mountain, every time Dain would speak of Elrond squeezed his heart. I can’t let her go. It’s not so bad that she’s forgotten the Elf-tongue. She can always learn it anew. I can make sure she bathes more often, and it isn’t even safe for her to be climbing trees all the time.
Of course Gloín had just overreacted. Duron stood up to get his pipe.
“Míreth is fine. I will take care of things. She will not forget herself entirely, I assure you. Even if she does, she can always become reacquainted with the Elves later. After all, she has plenty of time.” Duron congratulated himself on thinking of this argument. Elves had all the time in the world. He would enjoy his short time with her while it lasted.
Chapter 7 - I've Got a Crush on You
Duron watched the reedy little Elf pace back and forth in their home and pressed his fingers to his temples. Residuals of the pain he felt at Míreth’s announcement still pricked his heart.
“But Papa, I’ve been practicing ax throwing with Gimli for thirty years! I can take care of myself.”
Duron took another deep breath. Who knew Elves could be so petulant? Is this a common Elf trait? He thought of Trili and decided that perhaps females of all races shared a stubborn streak.
“Going to Moria is a fool’s errand. I really don’t understand Balin’s obsession with the place. Darkness is at work here, and I won’t have you caught up in the madness.”
“But Papa, all the other Dwarves are going!”
“If all the other Dwarves jumped off the bridge of Kahazad-dum, would you?”
“Papa!”
“The answer is no, Míreth.” Duron watched his daughter stomp out the door and collapsed into a nearby chair. He thought of the years he had spent with Míreth. Have I been too strict with her? No other dwarf would have done any different with their child. Of that, he felt sure, but perhaps Elves required a different approach. Why does she wish to leave me?
#
“Gimli.”
Gimli swung the hammer and hit himself square on the thumb.
“Arrgg! Míreth, why do you always have to sneak up on me?” he growled, rubbing his throbbing thumb.
“I’m sorry, Gimli. I thought you heard me. I could hear you pounding away from the Great Hall.” Gimli saw the slightest glint of mirth in her eyes.
“Well, not all of us have the ears of an E…female.”
A shadow passed over her eyes. “What troubles you, my friend?” Gimli motioned her to a chair and took the one next to her.
“Papa says I can’t go to Moria. He doesn’t understand. I will just have to go without his permission.” Dread settled in Gimli’s heart. He knew how Duron would take it if Míreth left. I would be just as distraught!
“I’m not going to Moria,” Gimli said and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Her head shot up immediately.
“You’re not?”
“It will be very quiet here when you go.” He watched her worry her lower lip and hoped that their friendship would be enough of a draw to keep her here.
“It is going to be dangerous,” she said.
“Aye, very dangerous.”
“And Papa would miss me.”
“That he would,” and so would I.
“There’s no telling when I would be able to come back.”
“That’s true. You may never come back.” Gimli repressed a shudder.
“And who would go with you to the secret cave?”
“No one,” Gimli said and sighed heavily.
“I don’t think I’ll go after all. I’m needed here.”
Gimli relaxed. Thank Mahal!
“Oh, did I tell you I think I found a vein of mithril in the cave!” she said, grinning.
“Did you now?”
“Aye. Come on. I’ll show you!”
He followed Míreth down to their secret cave, deep in thought. I never thought to find such a kindred spirit in an Elf. Pity that they do not all possess Míreth’s sensibilities.
#
“Papa?”
“Yes, Míreth?”
“Do you think Gimli likes tall dwarves?” Duron turned and watched Míreth twirling a lock of dark hair around her finger.
“I don’t think Gimli chooses his friends based on their height.” He noticed for the first time that Míreth sat with her shoulders slumped.
“No…I mean, do you think he likes…tall…females?” Duron noted the redness creep into her cheeks. Oh Mahal spare us! Another observation crept its way into his aching head. So that is why the young females have shunned Míreth. I thought them merely cautious of her.
“Well…I think…that is, I haven’t…well I’m not…I haven’t really spoken to Gimli about such things.” Her face darkened and Duron thought he caught a glimpse of a tear. What should I do now? I can’t deal with tears!
“Why am I so different?” she looked at him with wide eyes. “Why am I the only Dwarf with no beard? Why do I tower above everyone else? Why are my ears pointed?” She pulled on an offending ear.
Duron took a deep breath and braced himself for the task he had dreaded all these years. “Míreth, perhaps now is the time for me to tell you…”
“Míreth! There’s something I have to show you. Come quick!” Gimli hurried into the room, waving his hands around and pulled Míreth to her feet.
“Okay! I’ll see you at dinner, Papa!”
“Don’t be late. King Dain expects us to be prompt.” Duron said to her retreating back.
“I won’t.” She shouted and rounded the corner, Gimli pulling her along.
Duron couldn’t help but feel a bit of relief that he had been given a reprieve, but how long would it be until she asked again? Will she want to go to them? Why do the forces work so hard to take my daughter from me?
#
A/N: I apologize for the brevity of this chapter and the length of time it has taken me to update. I have revised all the previous chapters. I hope you will enjoy the improvements and let me know what you think.
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