The Dwarves Treasure

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]