The Dwarves Treasure

“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.