The Dwarves Treasure

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.