# All Roads Lead Home



## Ghorim (Apr 2, 2008)

“Name?”

Jokim glanced up from the flimsy parchment to regard another young and vacant face. 

“Komar,” came the reply, a bit tenuous and uncertain.

The elder dwarf studied the boy from just over the brims of his reading spectacles. Forcing a smile, Komar nodded awkwardly, as if to confirm that he could be trusted to know his own name. Jokim’s eyes contained nothing in answer save the cool boredom of a civil servant at work. 

But he had already sniffed out a lie, perhaps one yet unspoken.

Jokim glanced back down to the log sheet and recorded the name in stiff characters.

“Father’s name?” he asked, without looking up this time.

“Ogdin,” said Komar with cautious confidence.

“Mmm...” Jokim made his entry, then took another survey of the lad’s features. In crisp shorthand, he noted Komar’s hair and eye color in the corresponding boxes. 

“Age?”

“Thirty-one,” came the blurted response.

Jokim began to write this, but stopped and looked up at Komar again.

“Thirty-one?” he repeated, stretching out the number for the youth to confirm.

Komar nodded. “Aye, that’s right.”

The old dwarf lowered his quill. Komar followed the instrument with his eyes as it came to rest beside the enlistment log, and felt all of his dreams tumble with its descent. 

“Komar,” began Jokim in a fatherly tone, stepping out from behind the veil of official indifference for a moment, “a word of advice from one who has played this game before: if you’re going to lie about your age, give as low a number as possible. The minimum enlistment age is thirty. Say thirty. Tacking on that extra year only makes it all the less believable.”

The lad lowered his eyes and nodded sadly, looking like he wanted to hide in a corner somewhere. Indeed, Komar had little more than a light down of hair upon his chin, and adolescence had yet to chisel out all of his pudgy, childish features. Mid-twenties, at the eldest.

“I’m sorry...” he began.

“Did you not hear me?” interrupted Jokim, pushing back his spectacles from the precipice of his nose and furrowing his gray brows. “I said, ‘Say thirty.’”

“I heard you,” nodded Komar repentantly. “And when the proper time comes...”

“Say _thirty_,” hissed Jokim, wondering what more he needed to do to get the hint across.

Komar finally looked up, and his eyes ignited with the sudden shock of what the old army clerk was offering him. He cleared his throat, still all nerves in the presence of Jokim’s intimidating, eagle-like features. 

“Thirty,” he said in a half-whisper.

“Good!” cried Jokim, so sharply that the whole procession of lads behind Komar leapt to attention. And in a few triumphant strokes he entered Komar, son of Ogdin as a thirty year-old recruit to the Iron Hills Infantry. 

Jokim then turned to gesture toward the two bored-looking sergeants who were idling about behind him.

“These two will give you your physical. Should you pass it, go on to the next station to receive your armor measurements.”

Komar nodded and showered gratitude on Jokim with his moonstruck eyes alone. To think – his dream about to come true! After all these years of envy, he’d be a real soldier at last! With glorious visions swirling all about him, the lad wandered over to his physical in a joyful daze.

Ignoring Komar’s euphoria, Jokim looked back down to the log to make certain he had recorded everything correctly. And then he glanced up to the next face.

“Name?”

---

After all the enlistments were completed, after all of the latest infirmary reports had been filed, after the ration requests were checked and double-checked, Jokim went out to be a soldier again. He tore out of the constricting shell of his clerk uniform and into looser, layered clothes for his personal training session. While stretching the tendons and joints of his aging body, he also prepared his mind for the harsh tasks ahead. Once he was prepared, Jokim checked past the guards at the main gate and went jogging out into the darkening gloom of the surface world. 

He could just spy the brilliant colors of the setting sun cutting through a swirl of clouds to the west. All else was grey – the native color of the Iron Hills. His evening trot took him along the rolling dirt paths that sputtered over the surface of the land. A light snow fell, soggy and quick to melt upon the dirt and stone beneath Jokim’s feet. The dwarf’s breath burst out in plumes of mist as his legs churned and arms pumped. For miles all about, nothingness. Now Jokim’s mind could wander from the numbing routine that ordered his days.

But his thoughts kept returning to that endless river of faces at the recruitment office. Enlistments had spiked fiercely since Erebor had fallen the year before. The ire of the Khazad was running high, and from children to elders all spoke of terrific vengeance against the Great Worm Smaug. They would mobilize, they would storm the halls of their beloved ancestral home, and they would leave with the Worm’s head on a great mithril platter.

When his colleagues took to speaking of such things, Jokim would hold his tongue and withdraw. He had heard these words before, spoken with just as much passion and persuasion. In the eyes of these young warriors he could glimpse the insatiable blaze that had devoured his friend Berezin and so many others as they vied to recapture the Grey Mountains. 

_That fire will claim many more_, Jokim thought as he rounded a bend in the hillside. 

The view stretched west, and just beyond the horizon lay the Lonely Mountain itself. The old dwarf slowed to a halt, his gaze held by the dreary expanse of the plains before him. 

“My home,” he muttered, looking in the direction of Erebor and envisioning it as it was in his youth. 

“My _second_ home,” he corrected himself. But then he thought again.

“Nae... no home for me. No home for any of us, not any more.”

He spat a wad of phlegm upon the ground, before turning around and jogging back to the gates.

---

Druri worked at the fire with weary patience. He knew that when his uncle returned home he would want a healthy blaze to warm his bones beside. The youth’s features drew taut as he tried to nurture the fragile sparks into healthy flames. They resisted, avoiding the timber that Druri had so carefully stacked together and contenting themselves to glow gently upon the stone floor of the hearth. 

But the lad did not give up, blowing and stirring at the embers determinedly. And his efforts were repaid when the timber began to catch, the flames spreading surely over the wooden formation and beginning to warm the one-room dwelling. By the time Jokim entered, sweating and short of breath, the air had grown cozy and welcoming.

“Well done,” he said tersely, as usual avoiding the gaze that his nephew cast his way. The old dwarf lowered himself into his favored armchair, whose stuffing was bursting from every seam, and let out a contended sigh.

“And supper?” he inquired as he kicked off his boots. 

“Stew’s ready to cook now,” said Druri, adopting his uncle’s dry tone of speech. He brought the swollen pot over and hung it to heat above the modest blaze.

“Good, good,” mumbled Jokim, rubbing his temples with shut eyes. 

Druri paused and watched his uncle, waiting until he was properly settled in before breaking the news.

“A missive arrived today, uncle.”

“Oh?” Jokim opened one eye in half-interest. “Had it far to travel?”

“The messenger said it came from the Ered Luin.”

“Far, indeed!” Jokim sat up a bit now, rousing himself with surprise. “Have you read it?”

“Of course not, uncle,” said Druri dutifully. “I had assumed it was for you.”

“I see. Well, fetch it and read it to me now.”

Druri hesitated briefly before walking to his cot, upon which the unopened message lay. “Are you sure you wish me to read it, uncle? I’m no good with words, at least not good the way you are.”

Jokim snorted. “I waited until I was full-grown before learning to read and write my letters. I won’t have you making the same mistake. Besides,” and again he reached up to rub one of the corners of his eyes, “I have been poring over official documents all day. Give these eyes some relief, lad.”

“But the stew...”

“I’ll handle the stew. You just read what you see, and if you need help, I’ll lend it.”

Druri bit his lip, carefully opened the letter, and began to read as Jokim crouched beside the pot to stir its contents. Quickly, the young dwarf found the language of the missive too broad for his grasp, and before he’d even made it halfway through the message, he and his uncle had traded places. 

Jokim had left his spectacles in the office, and so he squinted heavily as he absorbed the words. He read aloud, while Druri stirred the ladle and listened.


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## Ghorim (Apr 2, 2008)

_My old comrade Jokim,

Greetings from the Ered Luin. We have been here almost a year now, and the sting of our journey yet lingers. I cannot call this place haven or home, though others may content themselves to do so. Even here, amidst these fine mountains, the most placid scenes enrage me. We should not be here. I should not be seeing these sights. Twice now the Great Worms of the North have torn away my home from me, and I can find little outlet for my grief save to commiserate with my fellow travelers. 

I fear, however, that in my anger I have strayed from my original course in writing this letter. For, how silly of me, I began with the intent of convincing you to join us out here in the West. I may have doomed my mission before I even undertook it, but please do hear me out. 

Since the arrival of the survivors from Erebor, there has been a great shake-up amongst the infantry of this region. We lost many, many good officers when the Worm descended upon us in flame, and the native troops here are ill-equipped, to say the least. Our new army is a scarcely concealed mess, crying out for talent and experience from abroad. 

You know I have always felt that the Iron Hills forces were wasting your abilities by relegating you to that clerical post. And I know that you have long desired a more prestigious position, one befitting your skill and character. Well, since I arrived out here I have been wielding what little prestige and influence I possess like an axe on your behalf. After praising you to every two-bit officer I could find and receiving scant attention, I lucked into contact with a fellow of fine lineage who could use a lieutenant in his unit. 

Now I can already see you, Jokim, with your nose wrinkled in disgust at such charity. You have always fended for yourself, for good or for ill. But I know what they pay army clerks, and I should think that it is hardly adequate to support yourself and your young nephew. Make this move for his sake, even though it may stain your pride. An officer’s pension is well worth making the march out West, I assure you. 

The position here would require few hard contact drills, so you needn’t worry about aggravating your condition. And if you’re still concerned about your association with the Grey Mountains campaign, worry not. Those old grudges have faded in the wake of the Worm’s desolation. We are all Khazad now, and you shall be treated as kin by all who dwell here. Since we are brothers as ever, I would gladly house you and your nephew with my family until you found a home of your own.

I have convinced our officer friend to reserve his opening until either you produce yourself or a missive declining the opportunity. I beg of you to consider this offer to the fullest before acting. Would it not be grand to live as neighbors again into our final days, comrades of the Grey Legion until the end? I await your decision most eagerly.

Your kinsman,

Vorik
_
---

Jokim lowered the letter, staring at the ostentatious signature that marred the bottom of the page. After a few moments of thought, his overcast features split in a sudden burst of rueful laughter.

“Vorik, you sentimental old goat!”

And then he remembered that Druri was still in the room. The lad had long since stopped stirring the stew, and now stared at his uncle with shocked eyes and a gaping mouth. Jokim scowled to himself, realizing that he shouldn’t have read all of that for his nephew to hear. 

He stood from his chair, setting down the missive on a side table. With a thoughtful, almost drowsy gait, Jokim strolled to the dwelling’s lone window. Unconsciously, the dwarf’s hand rose to stroke his graying whiskers as he gazed out upon the slumbering streets.

Kneeling beside the steaming cauldron, Druri struggled to dam up the flood of questions that he wanted to ask his uncle right then and there. But the most important one burst from his lips:

“Do you want to go west, uncle?”

Jokim gave a brief glance over his shoulder and chuckled. 

“That is not the question. What is another journey to me now?”

He laughed again, with something approaching true humor this time, and returned to his raggedy throne. He crossed one leg atop the other and folded his hands over his belly. 

Druri grit his teeth in concern at how his uncle might decide. His young heart strained at the thrilling thought of an adventure from one side of the realms to the other. He and Uncle Jokim could have a new home, and a better one at that, with a higher salary and more respect for the both of them. As it was, the other boys of the Iron Hills didn’t get along with Druri. He was no one’s son, they said, just the nephew of some squint-eyed old clerk who could never make it as a real soldier. But in the Ered Luin... no more such slights and insults, never again!

“Stir the broth, lad,” said Jokim, though his thoughts, too, lay elsewhere.

Druri snapped back to attention and resumed the chore. Just as the stew came to a healthy boil, Jokim glanced at Druri.

“Lad... tell me, do you remember Vorik?”

The nephew squinted one eye, searching his young memories. “Back in Erebor... I remember we visited his home once for dinner. It was very big. His son was a bit taller than me, but I beat him at arm wrestling. Mama...” he paused. “Mama said Vorik was a friend of the family.”

Jokim nodded, and his smile seemed to turn sad without any observable change of expression. “A friend, indeed. A friend, indeed...”

Both fell silent, with the broth hissing insistently to fill the stillness of the room.

Suddenly, Jokim clapped his hands down on his chair’s armrests, startling Druri into the moment once again.

“Let us eat,” said the uncle.

With soldierly efficiency, they slurped down the pot to its very bottom. And with no further discussion on Vorik’s letter, they lay down upon their cots and went to sleep. The fire dwindled gradually over night, until only the lonely embers remained in the morning.


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## chrysophalax (Apr 2, 2008)

Fletching arrows had never been Haluin's favourite pastime, for he was too much of a perfectionist. Either the angle at which each feather did not perfectly match the others, or the notch into which each much be secured did not have the same uniform depth. He could always find some flaw, some indiscirnable _something_ that made his arrows less than the ideal weapon he needed them to be.

An elf on his own needed good weapons, dependable weapons if he were to survive on his own. It was far too widely known (in his opinion) that elven senses were arguably the most developed among the peoples of Middle Earth and there were those who enjoyed the challenge of putting them to the test.

Ruefully, Haluin remembered a one might in late autumn two years gone, when with the trees near bare and the forest carpetted with dry leaves that he had seen he was being tracked by a small hunting party of orcs. He had cursed their sensitive noses as he began to run for his life, threading in and out among the trees, his thoughts streaking ahead, trying to remember if the land around him would afford him a place of escape. It had been nigh on two centuries since he had last the eastern shores of Anduin and much had changed, to his increasing distress.

After almost an hour had past, running full tilt, he had come across the carcass of an enormous stag and, pausing only a moment in revulsion, he burrowed beneath it, all the while praying to any of the Valar who would listen that it would be enough to disguise his scent.

Day had turned into evening by the time Hakuin eased out from under his maggot-ridden host. Apparently his pursuers had given up on their sport and gone in search of game not quite so fleet of foot.

With a whispered prayer of gratitude to whomsoever had heard his desperate plea, Haluin set off in search of the nearest stream in order to wash away the bits of offal that clung to him like a fly in honey. 

He found himself chuckling at the memory. _Ah, Elbereth, how far I have fallen. Who would have thought such a promising life should find itself near extinguished in such a disgusting manner? If whoever you are is still listening, I pray you that, once my life here is done, that be allowed to return at some future time in order to make right all the wrong I have done, for how can one so ill-starred as I have any hope of attaining Valinor while I yet live? _

For the normally irrepressable Haluin, thoughts of this nature he found deeply disturbing...and increasingly more frequent as time went on. So many of his friends had either fallen, gone West, or had shunned him since the incident in Mirkwood, so the past thirty years had found him totally alone with only his shadow for company.

As in his memory, the light was now fading in the western sky and he felt a tug at his heart as he watched Him dip below the treeline, turning the clouds first orange, then red, then a purple so warm and rich it brought tears to his eyes. With a sigh, Haluin collected the arrows he had been working on, stowing them away in his quiver for later scrutiny, then began to walk. 

_I will spend tonight by Anduin._ he thought. _For the sake of my memory and because I love the sound of his voice as he rushes ever southward. May tomorrow bring me better prospects._


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## Ghorim (Apr 4, 2008)

For three days Druri searched for a sign from his uncle. The lad didn’t dare broach the subject and ask outright. If he somehow angered the old fellow, this wondrous opportunity might disappear forever. So he hunted for hidden meaning behind the few words that Jokim spoke each night, scrutinized his elder’s expression when he wasn’t looking, and tried to make note of every peculiar action his uncle took.

Yet for all his efforts, nothing was revealed. Jokim was like a smooth, featureless stone, without any cracks or hints of intention. 

By the fourth night, Druri was reduced to complete paralysis. He sat hunched on his cot with his hands gripping his hair, trying to convince himself to remain patient. The fire was roaring, but he paid it no mind. Had Uncle Jokim forgotten? No, he had the sharpest mind of anyone that Druri had ever met. So he had to know how this silence was torturing his poor nephew, aye? 

Druri glanced up from the floor and stared at the door with a renewed determination. He would ask tonight, the moment his uncle stepped through that entryway. And he would not accept a “no.” Never.

Some fifteen minutes after Druri came to this resolution, Jokim stepped through the door, an imposing shadow cast by the lantern light from outside. Druri’s voice caught in his throat. His uncle stepped forward, and then Druri saw the sack draped over Jokim’s back and a scroll tucked under one arm. The lad stood, his lips trembling.

Jokim took another step forward, and the room’s firelight flooded his face. He did not look at Druri. The sack fell from his hand and hit the floor with a dull thud. Jokim sat at the table and placed the scroll before him. Only now did he meet Druri’s yearning gaze. Silence reigned for a few moments.

“We leave in two days,” said Jokim, finally.

A sudden spasm brought Druri off of his feet and into midair. A whoop escaped from his throat. But halfway through the excited gesture, he remembered his place and the manners that his uncle had taught him. And the second his feet touched ground he was stiff and awkward again, casting an apologetic look Jokim’s way.

The old dwarf gave a rare chuckle, which instantly loosened Druri’s stance. “Go on, lad. Celebrate if you will. Get all of that energy out, and when you’re ready to listen sensibly, have a seat beside me.”

Druri nodded excitedly. Indeed, he felt like he might burst open with giddy laughter and babbled words. But for some reason, he still could not bring himself to open up completely in front of his elder. He glanced to the door, then back to Jokim.

“Excuse me for a moment.”

He walked to the door, opened it, and closed it gingerly behind him. 

Jokim heard his nephew’s heavy footfalls as the lad went sprinting off into the night. He smirked and leaned his head against his fist, waiting for Druri to complete his victory lap around the neighborhood. The lad returned a few minutes later, flushed and breathless, plopping himself down on the stool that sat beside his uncle.

Making no comment at Druri’s arrival, Jokim unrolled the scroll across the table, revealing a sprawling map of Arda.

“This is on loan from the Hall of Records,” explained Jokim. “Very fragile. Be sure not to dirty it up.”

Druri nodded solemnly. 

“Now,” continued the uncle, “here we are.”

His right index finger hovered over a series of hatch marks on the northeastern corner of the map.

“The Iron Hills. And the Ered Luin lie here.”

His left finger shot out to the opposite end of the scroll. Druri’s eyes widened. He hadn’t realized how far a trek this would be. Now Jokim’s right finger lifted itself to just in front of Druri’s nose, wagging in his face stubbornly.

“This is no pleasure journey that we are undertaking, you and I. It will take many months. It will test your body as it has never before been tested. And there will be _danger_.”

Jokim gave one last emphatic thrust of his finger and let this final point hang over his nephew’s head. Once he was satisfied that the message had struck home, he continued his illustration of their itinerary, his right finger drawing out the route as he spoke.

“Now... we will begin by traveling along the Redwater. There are many fine mannish settlements upon its banks, and we can stock up on provisions as we go. Next, we break southwest, across the plains, until we reach the River Running. We’ll follow it to Mirkwood. And there the most dangerous portion of our journey begins.”

Druri looked up from the map to his uncle. The old dwarf stared back coldly, his features creased and shadowed.

“I will have many instructions for you as we near these dark lands. Many a traveler has lost his way within those tangled woods, but if we progress sensibly we should find our way to the other side. Crossing the Misties will prove another challenge, but I’m pleased to say that the rest of the march should be a fairly simple matter.”

“One foot in front of the other,” said Druri with a hesitant grin. 

“Aye,” Jokim returned the smile, sensing the boy needed to be set at ease. “Now, that sack on the floor contains some of our preliminary supplies. Food, blankets, extra clothes. You’ll need to get one of these,” the old dwarf tugged at the weathered brown hood that was a permanent fixture upon his head. “Keeps the rain and wind out. I’ll give you some coins to find one at the market tomorrow morning.” 

Druri nodded, trying feverishly to remember everything that his uncle told him. He felt that gnawing need to impress Jokim, to prove to him that he was worthy of an adult’s responsibilities. 

Jokim rolled up the scroll and shoved his chair back, its splintering legs screeching along the floorboards. Druri watched him proceed to the back of the room, where a hefty trunk sat beside Jokim’s cot. The uncle opened it, and from its innards produced a long, rectangular case. He returned to place it gingerly upon the table.

“Open it.”

Druri complied, and lost his breath when he saw the polished dagger blade gleam merrily back at him. 

“You’ll need to learn to defend yourself along the road,” said Jokim, gauging the lad’s reaction. “We’ll have some lessons over the first few nights of travel.” 

And with that, he shut the case and returned it to the trunk. 

But the effect of the blade’s brief appearance was more than enough. Druri had to cup a hand over his mouth to hide his dumb grin. He was an adventurer now. The path to the Ered Luin stretched out before his imagination like a magical thoroughfare, filled with conquests to make and secrets to discover. 

That night he climbed into bed, wide awake but already dreaming.


----------



## Ghorim (Apr 6, 2008)

Jokim made it his mission to sell all of his spare possessions before they departed. He went to market with a cart loaded full of his furniture, heirlooms, and mementos from his traveling performer days. After much haggling and storytelling, he emptied that cart. The last thing to go was his tattered armchair. No one would approach the thing upon first sight. Finally, Jokim managed to convince one particular bargain hunter to experience the chair’s luxurious comfort for himself. 

“It’s a fixer-upper,” Jokim acknowledged. “But you’ll never find one better.”

And so he picked up a few bits of silver for his trusty armchair. With that task completed, Jokim sold the cart and went to spend his gains on provisions for the journey ahead. 

By the time Jokim and Druri stepped out of the city’s main gates, their packs were swollen with foodstuffs and their flasks sagged with excess water. Still an old soldier at heart, Jokim never went into a situation unprepared.

He looked more like an infantryman than ever before, carrying his old battle-axe in hand as he and his nephew marched down the slopes of the Iron Hills and into the flatlands below. Druri stared at Jokim with respectful awe from beneath the bright red traveling hood he had bought the day before. 

The uncle he had come to know over the past months was many miles removed from the one who used to visit Erebor twice each year — the fellow who always seemed distracted and off-balance in the presence of Druri’s parents. He’d bring a small gift for his nephew, and tousle the lad’s hair as he handed it to him. That would be the extent of their interaction for the evening. 

At dinner, Druri’s mother Froma would inevitably ask Jokim why he didn’t move back to Erebor to be closer to his family and old friends. The uncle would grow defensive, muttering something about an old campaign he had fought in and taking another drink of ale to further obscure his reply. Froma would press further, and for every step she advanced Jokim would retreat three more paces. Then he would proceed to drink until he plummeted onto the family couch, not to arise until late the next morning.

“Your uncle gets headaches... terrible headaches,” Froma would explain to Druri as he stared at the lumpy form of Jokim stretched out on the couch. “And he knows of only one way to take care of them.”

Jokim hadn’t touched a drink since Druri moved in with him. 

One evening, as they passed through the bustling villages of the Northmen who lived along the Redwater, Jokim treated his nephew to dinner at a local tavern. He made a point of reminding Druri as they entered that this was the last good meal they would have for months. The barman, seeing a dwarf of distinguished years march into his establishment, was experienced enough to know to immediately offer a drink. 

“None for me,” replied Jokim brusquely as he took a seat at the bar. “Just a hearty roast for two travelers with many leagues yet to march.”

“You’re certain of that?” replied the man. “A good ale fills the belly just as well.”

“I intend to get us off to an early start tomorrow,” said Jokim. “There’s no need to overindulge.”

“Uncle Jokim,” said Druri, tugging at his elder’s sleeve from the neighboring barstool.

Jokim turned to his nephew.

“You said this is the last good meal we’ll be having for many months,” Druri said, carefully reciting the words from memory. “Why not have just one drink?”

The barman slapped the countertop. “I like the way this one thinks! Would you like a brew as well, lad?”

“Just one will do, thank you,” cut in Jokim swiftly. “Make it a wheat, if you please.”

He gave Druri what looked like an irritated glance as the man went to fill up a mug, but his glower quickly disintegrated into a wry grin. 

When the drink came, Jokim tilted his head back for a long pull of the drink. He slammed the vessel down upon the bar, stifled a belch, and then glanced curiously at Druri.

“Ever had a drink, lad?”

“Well, Papa used to say that as soon as I was old enough...”

Jokim slid the mug down to his nephew. 

“You’re more than old enough now.”

Druri stared at the ale, and then turned to his uncle with an overawed expression lighting up his face.

“Go on,” said Jokim with a sage-like nod.

The lad turned back to the mug and rubbed his hands together, strategizing how best to tackle this new foe. 

“Use both hands if you have to,” offered his uncle.

Seeing the wisdom of this approach, Druri grabbed the vessel by each side and tilted his head back as he had seen his uncle do. 

“Now, now,” said Jokim cautiously. “Slowly, lad! You’re going to...”

The drink flowed up and over the brim faster than Druri had anticipated. Some of it got down his throat, but an amber waterfall trickled down from the mug and onto his shirt. Startling, the lad leaned forward to straighten the vessel, but the damage was already done.

Jokim chortled louder than Druri had ever head before.

“A towel for my overeager nephew, please!”

---

The next morning they tore themselves away from the Redwater and began their march across the Northern plains. Winter was just beginning to loosen its grip on the land, with dots of green sprouting up between the patches of dried brown grass. The summit of the Lonely Mountain briefly peaked up over the distant horizon as the two dwarves proceeded west, but neither paid it any mind. 

Jokim toyed with their pace as the days wore on, seeing just how much Druri could handle without tiring. The lad tagged along gamely, but Jokim decided to go easy on him until they reached Mirkwood. They needed to get through that shadowy forest as quickly as possible, and afterward could afford a brief respite before crossing the Misties. 

When they set up camp each evening, Jokim took to instructing his nephew in the ways of the road. The dagger lessons began in earnest, as Druri struggled to control his form while handling the weapon. Jokim also began teaching his nephew some of the hand signals that he had learned while in the Ereborian army. These the lad picked up far more readily, and Jokim began to fancy that he could make Druri fluent in sign language by the time they reached the Ered Luin. 

But most importantly, the boy had to learn about rations.

“This,” said Jokim one night as they prepared to eat, “is to become your newest friend.”

He pulled a flat, pale loaf of food from his travel pack. 

“Cram.”

“Cram?” Druri watched as his uncle tore him off a chunk. 

“The lightest, most durable food a traveler can carry,” explained Jokim. “Many complain of its taste, but you’ll come to appreciate it in time.”

He handed Druri a piece, and the lad took a cautious nibble at it. A surprised cough overtook the nephew upon the first taste, and he grimaced slightly.

Jokim concealed an amused smile beneath his beard and bit a great hunk out of his piece. This time, Druri did not follow his example. Instead, the lad folded his arms across his chest and turned up his nose.

“Hmm...” Jokim swallowed the dry bread and wiped his lips. “This food is unkind to beginners, I suppose. But there is an old recipe I know of...”

The uncle began rummaging through his pack again, and Druri relaxed his aloof posture to watch. Jokim pulled out a dark jar and twisted it open.

“Cram... with jam.”

He poured some of the preserves atop the remainder of the loaf, and handed the sticky treat to Druri.

“Cram, with jam...” repeated Druri, smiling at the sound of it.

The lad took an exploratory bite. It didn’t taste half bad anymore.


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## Ghorim (Apr 6, 2008)

Mirkwood appeared, first as a dark line coating the horizon, then slowly growing, its impenetrable trees seeming to tower up to scrape the clouds. Jokim and Druri hugged the River Running as they approached, the lad drawing closer to his uncle the nearer the woods became.

Soon they could make out the individual trees that guarded Mirkwood’s border, their gnarled and deformed trunks appearing like bodies burnt beyond recognition in dragon’s fire. Jokim grew stern and distant again in the final days before they penetrated the tree line, his jaw clenched stiff and firm as the shadow of the forest clouded his thoughts.

They reached the woods’ edge in the evening, and Jokim advised that they set camp outside of the forest and only enter at dawn.

“Nights in Mirkwood are best avoided,” he muttered to Druri as he set his pack upon the ground.

The nephew held his tongue in that moment, but grew curious after their evening meal was past.

“Have you been through Mirkwood before, uncle?”

“Once,” said Jokim after a pause. “When I journeyed from the lands of the South to settle in the Iron Hills.”

“What’s it like in there?” asked Druri, drawing closer to his elder as he felt the gaze of the forest at his back. 

“You’ll find out soon enough,” said Jokim, eyeing the edge of his axe blade. He looked up to see a pained and uncertain expression on Druri’s face.

The uncle scowled and leaned forward, setting his weapon aside.

“Now, I told you that I’d have many instructions for you before we entered Mirkwood,” he said. “But it all centers on two rules. Do not leave the path, and do not so much as touch the water that flows through the heart of the forest. Do you understand those?”

Druri nodded, unconsciously chewing on his lower lip.

“Now turn around and face the forest,” said Jokim, giving his nephew a push in the right direction. 

The lad shivered as he gazed into the trees. Now he could see the old road that they were to follow, receding into a wall of shadows, pure and unassailable.

“It grows dark in there, that you can already see,” said Jokim, his voice sounding leagues away to Druri’s ears. “And so you must take a hold of my hand as soon as we enter, and not let go until I give you permission to do so.”

Druri nodded, feeling numb all over.

“You shall see and hear many queer things in these woods at night. Flashes of light, strange animal calls, whispered voices, and dozens of glowing eyes that will watch you from lairs unseen. But pay them no heed. A realm takes on the character of its inhabitants, you see. Just as the Elf deceives and misleads unwelcome strangers, so too do his woods rely on trickery to ward off outsiders. The sights and sounds of Mirkwood may strike you full of dread, but never despair. Keep your feet upon the path, your head upon your shoulders, and your hand held in mine, and we shall escape these woods unscathed.”

He placed a hand on Druri’s arm, and the lad leapt to his feet in shock. Jokim waited calmly for his nephew to settle down, and then gestured toward the ground.

“Get some sleep, lad. We’re going to pick up the pace tomorrow.”

With each of his arms rubbing the other, Druri slowly lowered himself back to the grassy floor and crawled beneath his blanket for the night. The wind rustled through the trees, and almost seemed to call his name as it swept out over the plains. Druri huddled closer to his uncle and pressed his eyes tightly shut.

---

Jokim shook the lad awake before the sun rose the next morning, and practically pulled him to his feet. Druri stiffened as he gazed into the woods again, but hardly had the time to hesitate. As soon as Druri had slung his pack over his shoulder, Jokim clasped his hand and began to drag him ahead into the trees. The lad took a sharp breath and kicked hard at the ground to keep pace with his uncle. 

An endless maze of branches closed in overhead. Although the sun rose red and angry behind them, its rays seemed to fail as the two dwarves cut deeper into Mirkwood. For the time being, birds still sang all about them from their shadowed nests. Spring was soon to come. But in Druri’s heart, an unsettling chill descended. He couldn’t shake the feeling, even with his uncle confidently leading the way. It was the same sensation that had gripped him as he stumbled out of Erebor’s rear gate, borne along by a crowd of fleeing bodies, desperately trying to figure out where his parents were amidst the din.

Unexpectedly, Jokim turned his head to gaze back at Druri over his shoulder.

“Hear those birds, eh?”

Druri nodded. 

“Can you whistle with ‘em?”

Jokim pursed his lips and blew out a strong note. Druri stumbled a bit as his uncle continued to tug him along, and shook his head once he recovered his balance.

“Give it a go,” said Jokim, turning around to face ahead once more.

Druri blew weakly. “I can’t.”

“Keep trying,” said Jokim, giving another instructive whistle.

And so they continued along the bumpy path, making their peculiar tweeting noises as the gloom deepened all about them.


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## chrysophalax (Apr 8, 2008)

Days had passed and Haluin found himself at a crossroads, not only literally, but in his thoughts as well. Standing on the eastern side of the Old Ford with Mirkwood at his back and the mountains before him, he pondered his next course of action. His banishment from Eryn Lasgalen was still in force, so much though he wished it, he could not return. All that remained to him then was to turn either west or south. To go north was out of the question, given the recent dragon sightings over Erebor and Lake Town, therefore Haluin found himself in his present unhappy quandry.

His path had never taken him west of the Hithæglir, its peaks eternally shrouded in mist and mystery and so they held a certain fascination for him. South he had been many times, even as far Osgiliath, though never to Minas Tirith herself. Was that a possibility? Certainly, though fraught with far less danger and therefore, less interesting.

His mind was set and his foot nearly resting upon the ancient stone bridge when he heard an odd sound, rather like that of an injured bird. _Or someone imitating one badly._ he thought wryly. _No woodman would do that, nor any of my kin. That leaves...?_ Instantly he began searching the edge of the treeline for anyone approaching but there was nothing and no one to see as yet. _Excellent! I have time to seek cover!_ Haluin sprinted for the trees just at the northern edge of the Road, swarmed up the nearest tree, then soundlessly nocked an arrow to his bow.

Minutes later, there came to his ears the harsh sound of Dwarf speech and he froze in astonishment. _Had the dragon driven them this far from the Ered Mithrin?_ Haluin wondered as he waited for them, for indeed, there were two distinct voices now, to come into view.

The elf had not long to wait as two Dwarves, one fully grown and one seemingly much younger came striding along the path, the younger apparently breathing a sigh of relief at finally being out from among "those horrible trees" to quote the youngling verbatim. The elder chuckled in agreement, then clapped his companion on the back causing him to stumble awkwardly, then duck his head in embarrassment as he trotted to catch up.

Haluin slitted his eyes, concentrating, for something about the older dwarf seemed oddly familiar. Something in his mannerisms...what was it? Boldly he decided that since the two travellers had come through unscathed and none the worse for wear, he would satisfy his curiosity, though naturally, Haluin, being who he was, proceeded to enjoy himself a bit.

"Who treads so noisily through Thranduil's kingdom?" he called out in an authoritative voice. The youngster froze in his tracks, wide-eyed, as his companion reached for his axe and began scanning the trees closely. "What coward must hide in a tree when he speaks to strangers?" the dwarf called back gruffly. "Put aside your axe, master dwarf and you will see."


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## Ghorim (Apr 9, 2008)

Of course, Jokim had not been entirely truthful with his nephew. Yes, straying from the forest road meant certain peril, but staying upon it hardly ensured them safety. They traveled at the mercy of the inhabitants of Mirkwood, two-legged, four-legged... and eight-legged. Jokim didn’t so much as breathe a word to Druri about the great brood of spiders that nested deep within the forest, but he watched and listened closely for any sign of their presence as they progressed.

By the third day of the journey, the birdsongs had faded into a menacing silence. As Jokim had intended, the whistling lessons had served as a fine distraction for the first couple of evenings. But soon he had to concoct new methods of keeping Druri’s mind off of their surroundings. So at night, when even a soft rustle or far-away gleam could set the lad on edge, Jokim would tell every dwarvish legend he could remember from his youth. He would teach Druri all of the old songs and poems that his friend Dhal had once recited for him. 

Slowly, the fatigue of a hard day’s march would catch up to Druri as he listened, and he would drop off to sleep. Then Jokim’s long night vigil would begin, as he clutched his axe close and scanned the rich blackness for any threat. Sleep would overtake him for brief patches of time, but he kept his watch as dutifully as he could. 

The weeks wore on, but they made excellent time. Having loaded up on water from the River Running and rationed it carefully, they were not tempted to drink when they passed the Forest River. Only after the water was long past them did Jokim explain to Druri the river’s debilitating spell. Perhaps there was a hint of envy behind his words – if only he could enjoy such a sound slumber in these dratted woods!

Time blurred and distended in the darkness, but when they spotted the light emanating from the end of the forest, uncle and nephew alike were overjoyed, and did not slacken their pace until they burst out into the welcoming expanse of the grasslands again. Along the way, the birds began to sing once more, and Jokim and Druri joined them as best they could. Of course, the lad wasn’t any better a whistler than when he had first set foot in Mirkwood, but Jokim convinced himself that Druri had improved. 

“At last, away from those horrible trees!” said Druri as they emerged from the void. And he laughed like a child, a rare sound that touched a cord in Jokim’s heart. His beard splitting in a warm smile, the elder finally released his nephew’s hand and slapped him on the back, causing the lad to lose his footing for a moment. 

Jokim kept walking, chuckling to himself and scanning the surrounding area for a good place to establish a camp. They would sleep well tonight, deep into the morning, and then after a hearty breakfast of cram and jam they would...

“Who treads so noisily through Thranduil’s kingdom?” came a booming voice from a line of trees to their right.

Druri had almost caught back up with his uncle when the words stopped him short. His gaze shot to the trees, then to Jokim, desperate for guidance. The elder already had his axe out and at the ready. He leapt in between the source of the voice and his nephew, his weapon raised to protect his throat and chest. Already, he could sense they were under threat from an archer.

“What coward must hide in a tree when he speaks to strangers?” called back Jokim, in Westron now. 

“Put aside your axe, Master Dwarf, and you shall see,” came the cool reply. 

Hearing the voice again, Jokim could now hone in on the location of their assailant, but he still remained unsure as to which of those trees might contain the fiend. 

“Ah, but now I recognize this breed of coward,” shouted Jokim, ignoring the other’s demand. “He is an Elf, as sure as my beard is long.”

There was silence. A pair of amorous birds flitted overhead. 

“And what if I am?”

Jokim scowled and motioned for Druri to get down on the ground, and then he himself knelt to become a smaller target. 

“Then you are no different from any other that I have ever met,” said Jokim, still holding his weapon up. His eyes, ever keen and raging, peered through the two half-moon openings made by the blades of his axe. “I did not know that your Lord Thranduil also laid claim to the lands surrounding his accursed weed patch! You accost us in free territory.”

“What makes you so certain that he is my Lord? I merely wish to defend the poor ears of these lands from your sour squawks, my good Dwarf.”

“And still he denies that which he is,” grunted Jokim. “Only an Elf would partake in such silly games with unwitting passersby.”

From his sheltered vantage point, Haluin smiled. 

“Supposing you are correct, Master Dwarf, and I am as you say I am. Why do you still hold your weapon aloft? For when has an Elf ever slain a Dwarf in cold blood? If I know my history, such crimes only happen the other way around.”

Jokim’s eyes narrowed, but he made no response. Druri glanced out timidly from behind his uncle, trying to make out their assailant amidst the leaves and branches above.

“And if I indeed were an Elf who intended to do you harm, what would have stopped me from lodging an arrow in one of your hateful little eyes by now?” 

Jokim shook his head and clutched his axe all the tighter. 

“If I am mistaken, then show yourself and prove me wrong,” said the dwarf.

“Did I ever say you were mistaken, Master Dwarf?”

“Show yourself,” repeated Jokim evenly, maintaining his composure even as the Elf tried to twist him around with tricks of words.

“But I have already laid down my conditions for appearing,” replied the voice. “Drop your axe, and I shall present myself. No harm shall come to you or your young charge, this I swear.”

“The oath of an Elf holds no sway with me,” Jokim dug his boots deeper into the ground.

“But, Master Dwarf, you do not know if I am...”

“Enough!” said Jokim sharply. “There’s no use in my chasing your words about. I am patient. I will wait until you give up this shameful game and face me honestly.”

A laugh came from the trees. “But Master Dwarf, if I am indeed one of the Eldar, then only one of us has forever to wait, correct?”

Jokim said nothing, and did not stir from his defensive crouch.

“So then... it seems we must all wait for you to overcome your pride, Sir Dwarf!”

Again, the dwarf gave no response. Sitting behind his uncle, Druri knit his brows and held his breath. The sun drooped and disappeared in the west, and still the standoff continued. Neither of the opponents spoke. Stars took to the sky, materializing one after the other to fill the great, dark plain overhead. A soft wind caressed the trees. It was a beautiful evening... a true spring night.

Druri was slumped halfway over now, and his patience finally frayed.

“Uncle...”

“Hush,” ordered Jokim.

“Your nephew has more sense than you, Bushy-Beard!” called the hidden voice.

“You may take your meal from my traveling pack,” said Jokim to Druri, sensing his hunger.

“Can’t you just put your axe down?” whispered Druri, practically begging.

Jokim merely shook his head. “Eat.”

The night wore on. Druri ate his cram and curled up in the grass, dozing off behind Jokim’s staunch front. For the first several hours of his defiant stand, the elder dwarf appeared fortified with stone. His posture did not ease one bit, nor did his attention waver from the trees ahead. But as midnight approached, his eyes started to droop and flutter. The axe began to lower by minute degrees. All those nights in Mirkwood, keeping watch without a sound sleep... sound sleep... sleep...

“Master Dwarf!” called the voice, snapping Jokim’s head back up. “If you cannot keep yourself awake, I’m afraid I’ll have to come down there and remove your axe myself!”

The dwarf grunted an angry oath in Khuzdul and rubbed his eyes. And he sat there for another hour. But upon catching himself nearly nodding off again, Jokim could take no more. He stood in an exhausted rage, tossing his axe away.

“There, Elf! I am defenseless. Show yourself or shoot me down where I stand.”

Druri stirred awake at the outburst, and looked up from the ground to see what was happening.

One of the trees rustled in the darkness. The voice sounded once again.

“Honestly, Sir Jokim, I knew you to be hardheaded in the past. But the years have only stiffened your skull all the more, it seems!”

The elder dwarf’s wrath faltered, with shock sweeping over and rendering him dumbfounded. “What...? How...?”

And at long last, the slender figure dropped lithely from the branches above and strode toward Jokim. Emerging from the shade of the trees, the pale moonlight lit his face, unaged since the last time the dwarf had beheld it.

Jokim gasped. “You!”


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## chrysophalax (Apr 9, 2008)

"Aye, friend Longbeard! I see you've not forgotten me then. Excellent!" Haluin bowed gracefully to them, amusement dancing in his slate-grey eyes. "Though you wound me, Jokim. “ 'Then you are no different from any other that I have ever met.' ”? Surely this cannot be so! Exactly how many of my people have you had the pleasure of meeting, may I ask?"

His delight at meeting an old acquaintance from the past showed in every aspect of his demeanour, causing words to tumble eagerly out upon surprised ears. "From your stalwart defense of this youngling, I would hazard a guess that he is kin to you." Haluin bowed deeply once again to Druri, introducing himself as he did so. "I am Haluin Ithilmirion and I once called this wood my home. May your beard grow ever longer!"

Eyes large as millstones stared back at him. Druri had had as yet little congress with the Firstborn, so to him, this was a creature of wonder, though instinct told him to be wary. His uncle's behaviour earlier on had done nothing to allay those suspicions either, therefore he plucked up his courage and blurted out, "Druri, at your service."

Haluin acknowledged the greeting with a nod of his head, then knelt down and began searching through the pouch he carried slung next to his quiver. With a soft, "Ah, at last!" he withdrew a small parcel of leaves which he carefully unfolded. Despite themselves, the dwarves leaned slightly nearer to see what lay nestled therein. Jokim snorted. "What is this, master Elf? Some stale pieces of flatbread?" A flash of irritation showed in Haluin's eyes as he gingerly broke the corner off the topmost wafer and handed it to Druri. "As you know not of what you speak, I will forgive you your ignorant statement, Jokim. This is _lembas, our version of cram and far better tasting, in my opinion." Here his natural humour showed in his voice. "I could hear the lad cracking his teeth on it miles away!"

Exhibiting a scepticism he hoped would impress his uncle, Druri took the proffered tidbit between his thumb and forefinger, turning it this way and that. Finding no outward defect, he then sniffed it and was pleasantly surprised by a faint scent, similar to honey. Instantly he began to salivate, but a quick glance at Jokim's stony scowl made him hesitate. Cautiously, he touched his tongue to the morsel, then popped it into his mouth.

It melted almost immediately, filling his mouth with deliciously foreign flavours. He grinned up at the elf, his eyes twinkling, then remembered himself, coughed a few times, then gave his verdict. "I don't think it's poisoned, uncle. I could eat it...if I had to." he said with his eyes lingering wistfully on the pouch now once again slung over Haluin's shoulder.

Haluin laughed aloud. "Will wonders never cease? A dwarf with good taste! I thank you for your honest assessment, Master Druri. You give me hope that our peoples are not so dissimilar after all." Druri blinked, then suddenly self-conscious, he went and sat down on a rock a few feet away.

The elf turned to Jokim who's stern gaze had never left Haluin's face. "Why do you stare at me so, old friend? Did we not, after all, part on friendly terms?" Haluin sighed when there was no immediate reply forthcoming. Deliberately, he laid aside his bow, quiver and pouch, stretching his shoulders gratefully before leaning against the nearest tree, looking for all the world as though he were reclining against an old friend.

"You seem careworn, weary. Could it be...?" In a flash occurred to Haluin why two dwarves might be heading west and his brow knitted in concern. "Tell me you did not dwell in Erebor when the dragon came."_


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## Ghorim (Apr 11, 2008)

To Jokim, seeing Haluin so perfectly preserved six decades on from their last meeting was akin to seeing his own ghost. With the Elf’s return came a sprawl of memories that he had long tried to shutter away – the dishonor that had chased him into the clutches of Sir Astoundo, the hated performances before jeering crowds, and the helplessness that had gripped him daily as he and Ollie the Giant sat crammed in their wooden cart together.

Jokim felt like he had destroyed and rebuilt himself over the 60 years since those barren days. But here came this Elf, acting as jaunty and carefree as ever, referring to him like some old chum whom he’d seen only yesterday. As if the world around Haluin had passed him by, untouched! A great resentment festered in Jokim, and he forgot for a time the grudging respect that the Elf had so painstakingly extracted from him in their past time of acquaintance. 

The elder dwarf watched in annoyance as Haluin offered his nephew the sickly sweet lembas bread, but refrained from comment. Druri seemed thunderstruck, taking in every gesture the Elf made with great reverence and wonder. Jokim would need to talk some sense into the lad later. After Druri had retreated from their company, Haluin’s dancing gaze leapt to Jokim.

“Why do you stare at me so, old friend? Did we not, after all, part on friendly terms?”

The dwarf turned slightly away to face the stars, taking up the posture that he had assumed when the two first met: arms crossed over his chest, eyes blank and unmerciful, and ears closed to friendly offerings. How could he possibly explain these past years to this Elf, for whom all seemed a passing amusement?

Jokim heard Haluin sigh, and followed from the corners of his eyes as the Elf disarmed and sidled up next to a nearby tree.

“You seem careworn, weary. Could it be...? Tell me you did not dwell in Erebor when the dragon came.”

The dwarf dug his fingernails into his shirtsleeves. He winced slightly, but gave no other immediate response. The night wind tugged at his clothes and beard, and his posture gradually melted from its stony indifference to a confused and helpless stance. 

“Jokim...?” Haluin eased off the tree and began to approach the dwarf.

The movement stiffened Jokim again, and he took a defensive step backwards, his eyes casting a battle glare into the heart of Haluin’s concerned gaze.

“I did not,” said the dwarf, loosening his tongue at long last. He nodded to Druri, who sat hunched on a nearby rock. “He did. He and his parents.”

Haluin’s expression recoiled in shock, but quickly softened. He took another cautious step toward Jokim.

“Old friend, you must forgive me. I...”

“I do not _need_ any of your petty condolences!” blurted Jokim in a sudden spike of rage. His anger had burned cool all of his life now, suffering loss and indignity in reserved silence. But seeing an Elf’s eyes well up in sympathy on his behalf was too much to bear. “I have already had tears and sighs enough for one lifetime! Rivers of tears, gales full of sighs, and for what gain?”

The dwarf marched over to where his axe had fallen and snatched it up in a vicious motion. He turned on Haluin, and for a frightening moment looked capable of anything with his weapon in hand. Druri shot to his feet, a great dread striking him as he watched his uncle’s temper take flame.

“Save your apologies and cloying words for one who needs them. There is no ground that you and I can stand upon together, do you understand? Our paths parted for a reason in Rohan, and apart they ought to have remained.”

Jokim took a sharp step forward. 

“Leave me and my nephew to our journey. Go back to your...” the dwarf’s speech suddenly faltered. He placed a hand to his forehead, seeming to reel from a critical blow. “Go back... to your...”

Tremors seized and rattled Jokim’s head. A sudden look of anguish crossed his face as he felt it building at the base of his skull... the old, familiar pressure that heralded the imminent arrival of a crushing headache. 

“I...”

His hands started to quaver, and soon his axe clattered to the ground. Pools of sweat burst out over his face. The dwarf stumbled forward, his wide eyes fixed on Haluin in a desperate, death-like stare. He began to topple forward, but before he could hit the ground both the Elf and Druri rushed to his aid, each grabbing Jokim on one side to keep him aloft.

“It’s one of his headaches,” gasped Druri, straining against his uncle’s limp weight. “I know it!”

“Come!” said Haluin sharply. “Help me set him down beneath the tree.”

They dragged Jokim a few yards and then propped him up against the sturdy tree trunk. Druri knelt by his uncle’s side and shook him by the shoulder, trying to bring him back around. Jokim’s face glowed sickly in the moonlight as his lips sputtered out half-formed words.

“Do not shake him,” said Haluin in a commanding voice that marshaled the weight of centuries behind it. “Keep him still. When I tell you, tip his head back and hold open his mouth.”

Druri nodded and obeyed, watching as the Elf produced one pouch after another of strange-smelling herbs from his belt. He mixed a pinch of each herb into a small water flask, and then gave Druri the order to open his uncle’s mouth. Jokim coughed a bit, but swallowed the mixture as it trickled down his throat.

“That should help him rest,” explained Haluin as Druri appealed to him with searching eyes. 

“Is he going to...?” Druri began to fumble with the question.

“Your uncle will be fine,” said Haluin, quickly and calmly. “He mentioned these headaches before, when I first knew him.”

Druri turned back to his uncle, and indeed, Jokim seemed to have relaxed somewhat, his features growing placid and his breathing drawing steady.

The young dwarf exhaled deeply and dropped from a crouch to a seating position. He stared at Haluin, who was monitoring Jokim with tight-knit concern. Druri rubbed his hands together nervously and lowered his head. He still felt a great apprehension in the Elf’s presence, but he knew that Haluin was the only one who could help his uncle now. 

They were silent for several minutes, listening closely to Jokim’s quiet breathing for any minor aberrations. Druri glanced up from his meditations, looking sullen and alone without his uncle’s strength to reassure him.

“How do you two know each other?” he asked Haluin, haltingly. As soon as the Elf looked his way, Druri’s gaze shot back to the ground below.

Haluin smiled thinly. “A chance meeting, you might call it...”


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## chrysophalax (Apr 14, 2008)

Remembering Jokim's apparent reluctance to speak of his affiliation with Astoundo's troupe even from their first meeting, Haluin proceeded to tell Druri of the impression his uncle had made on him at the summer festival in Rohan sixty years before.

"As I'm sure you are aware, your uncle is an extraordinarily strong dwarf, even as dwarves go. This point was made rather forcefully when I, quite by accident, mind, was innocently peering into a waggon where an interesting conversation was underway. Your uncle had me around the throat and nearly choked the life out of me before several of his companions managed to persuade him that it might not be a good idea to strangle a stranger in front of so many witnesses."

"He-he tried to strangle you? Without being attacked or-or anything?" Druri asked, his eyes once more agog at this bit of news. "Aye, well, it all worked out well in the end and we became competitors, though not against each other, during that festival. He, of course won the prize for wrestling, beating a dear friend of mine in the process, I might add. I won the prize for archery, though it was later taken from me when it was discovered that I was an elf. Can I help it if most mortals have not our gifts with the bow?" Here Haluin gave such a mournful look that Druri burst out laughing in spite of himself.

"In any case, we struck up a friendship of sorts and he travelled with my friend and I for several months until we came to a parting of the ways, though it was not of my choosing." Haluin's eyes had grown more sombre as he spoke and Druri wondered what might have happened, but then, grown-ups in his experience always left out the best parts to most stories.

Haluin's gaze swept over the sleeping dwarf, watching his chest rise and fall now in relaxed slumber. "He's the strongest, most stubborn being I have ever met, in all the ages of my life, Druri. And also one of the bravest. You should be proud to be his kinsman."

The young dwarf shifted uneasily, as though something was bothering him. Finally, he plucked up his courage and asked. "If you were his friend, then why did he tell you to return to...whereever it is you come from?

Haluin flinched away from the question, wishing with all his heart he did have a place to return to, that he was not regarded as nameless and homeless among his people. After a moment's pause he answered, "In truth, youngling, I know not. He and I...we never agreed on many things, but we never fought or came to blows. It seemed we usually...agreed to disagree, each respecting the other's beliefs for the more part. Possibly something happened that has changed his mind regarding my people, I cannot say."

Birds were beginning to sing deep in the wood as the first hint of false dawn brought a blush to a scattering of clouds in the eastern sky. With a heavy sigh, Haluin turned his back to the trees he had known since childhood, somehow knowing it would be for the last time. "If, when he awakens, he wishes me gone, I will bow to his wishes. I would gladly have travelled with you, for I am always glad of a friend." The elf turned to look down at the dwarves once more. "Sleep if you can, Master Druri. I will guard your rest."

With that, Haluin seemed to vanish into the mists that had crept wraith-like over the eastern bank of the Anduin, right up the base of the trees themselves. Druri knew he should have been frightened, indeed _had_ been frightened ever since they had entered Mirkwood, but now he felt somehow comforted by the elf's words and so allowed himself to curl up at his uncle's feet and fall fast asleep, to the sound of soft elvish song.


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## Ghorim (Apr 16, 2008)

Jokim reached for her face, but clutched only wet grass instead. His eyelids popped ajar one after the other, and then drifted down to somewhere halfway between open and shut. Froma’s pale and trembling features disintegrated into memory, and in her place appeared the slumbering form of her son. He lay just a few feet from Jokim, snoring gently on his side with arms laced across his body. 

A woozy smile emerged upon Jokim’s face, and he reached over to gingerly remove the lad’s traveling hood and ruffle his hair, just as he had once done during his holiday visits to Erebor. Druri muttered a protest and rolled over to face away from Jokim. The uncle chuckled, and slowly shoved himself up from the ground. He leaned his head back against the rough bark of the tree that had shaded them both in sleep. 

Morning had long since swept over the Anduin, touching its banks and the gently rolling plains beyond with a soft, golden pallor that forced Jokim to squint as he looked out upon it all. The sun’s rays reflected off the mighty river’s rapids, shining hot and true through the warming air. Jokim began to rise to his feet, but a rare indolence teased at his heart, and he plopped back down upon his rear. A continual embrace seemed to hold him beneath the tree, caressing his tired body and whispering for him to rest a while longer. His eyes eased shut again.

Strange... it felt almost as if he’d been out drinking the night before, only without the lightning storm in his head to accompany the heavy lethargy. But where was the barman to serve him out here? Jokim grinned to himself. No, he couldn’t have... or... did he...? 

_“When I tell you, tip his head back and hold open his mouth.”_

Jokim suddenly remembered the cool water trickling down his throat, and his eyes shot open. Haluin, of course! Now the events of the previous night began to dance mockingly before his memory. 

In a burst of frustrated energy, Jokim willed himself back onto his feet, and stumbled out from beneath the sleepy beckonings of the shade tree. He went in search of his axe, and found it on the ground where he had dropped it, the blade coated in a thin layer of dew. His traveling pack lay nearby. 

The dwarf cast a wary eye through the trees for any sign of the Elf. Nothing. Fled or hiding again, most likely.

“Dratted...” mumbled Jokim, but decided it best not to complete the thought. He marched toward the water’s edge, rubbing his sleeve against the wet axe blade as he went. Kneeling on the muddy bank, Jokim splashed his face with the river water. He needed to shake off every remnant of that Elvish elixir and get Druri moving, before...

“Did you sleep well, Master Dwarf?”

Jokim’s hands ceased scrubbing his face. The remaining water that had settled within them trickled down his bearded cheeks and cascaded back into the soggy earth below. Shaking off his hands and scowling, the dwarf rose reluctantly from his crouch. He did not turn to face Haluin, but spoke instead to the Anduin as it roared lazily across the land.

“You needn’t ask such a silly thing, of course. You saw to it that I slept with the dead.”

“Then my old skills have not diminished, it seems.”

“Nor have mine,” growled Jokim. “And with every move you severely tempt me to test them.”

Haluin fell silent, for long enough that Jokim turned to make certain the Elf was still standing there. The dwarf took in a sad but proud look from his old acquaintance. 

The Elf cleared his throat and spoke in a dry, mournful tone. “I must admit, I no longer understand how to approach you, Jokim. So, then... tell me what words to lay at your feet, and how best to pay my respects.”

The ire of the night before flickered briefly in the dwarf’s eyes. But then the flame faltered, as if Jokim’s heart were trying to rise up again in rage but found its burden too heavy to lift. 

“Sixty years, it’s been?” muttered Jokim after a moment of consideration. “A blink of the eye for one such as you.”

Haluin nodded, but smiled grimly at the dwarf’s ignorance.

“Yet much has changed for me,” continued Jokim, not noticing the Elf’s expression. “Or rather, I have seen the same disasters and follies play out for a second time in my life.”

“Live long enough and you will only see them recur without end,” said Haluin. 

These words seemed to jar Jokim out of his defensive front, and he turned away, looking north out of old instinct. Somewhere beyond the ominous trees of Mirkwood lay the Grey Mountains. The dwarf snorted in bitter amusement at himself. Always looking to some horizon, dreaming of home like an old fool...

“I never told you why I get those head pains, did I?”

Haluin shook his head, eyeing Jokim with a renewed interest.

The dwarf reached up to clutch the battered brown hood that he always wore, and gradually peeled it away. A matted bush of graying locks bloomed atop Jokim’s head, but Haluin immediately perceived that something looked amiss. 

Noting that flicker of confusion in the Elf’s eyes, the dwarf smirked and grabbed a chunk of the hair on the right side of his head. He lifted it with tender care, and turned slightly to give Haluin a clear view. There, beneath the dwarf’s thick mane, lay a great crater in the side of his head. The entire skull seemed to have caved inward, and the flesh that covered the indentation was colored a sickly purple. 

Haluin did not hear his own gasp, did not note the single step he retreated in shock.

Jokim covered the wound once again, grinning ruefully all the while.

“That is all the Grey Mountains have left me, Haluin.”

The Elf held his breath waiting for a further explanation, but the dwarf said nothing more, pulling his hood back on to conceal his old secret. Jokim felt he had made his point, and marched past Haluin, intent on waking Druri and continuing the march west without turning back. 

“But Erebor has left a far greater wound within you, Jokim. That is plain.”

The blunt statement staggered the dwarf’s stride. He turned to cast a cutting gaze over his shoulder.

“And what would you know of that?”

“More than you would imagine,” said the Elf, unfazed by Jokim’s seemingly implacable resentment. “For I have lost Mirkwood, just as you have lost your homes of old.”

“What’s this?” Jokim turned about in a swift motion. 

Finally, he looked ready to listen to what Haluin had to say.


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## chrysophalax (Apr 16, 2008)

"It is not only the dwarves that carry great sorrows. There are those among the Firstborn that bear them as well." The elf fixed Jokim with a look that seemed to pierce his very soul, peering into it so deeply that all things were laid bare to his scrutiny and Jokim turned away, flinching involuntarily. "Yes, I see that I can trust you with my burden, if you will hear it."

The dwarf cautiously looked again at Haluin, only to find an ancient weariness there, a weariness that mirrored his own. Brusquely, he nodded his assent, his feet planted firmly as if defying the elf to continue. Haluin drew a deep breath, then sat down in the grass at the river's edge. In a rare show of nervousness, he plucked a few long pieces of grass, heavy with seeded heads and began to dextrously weave them together. A loud cough forced him to set aside his handiwork and begin his tale.

"When I was young, as we deem young, I was training with several other comrades close to my own age. We were given set tasks to accomplish as future warriors and guardians of our borders, such as tracking, hunting, all manner of woodcraft and leechcraft, much as, I am sure you had to learn as a warrior yourself." Another nod of acknowledgement spurred him on.

"One day, we were out in one of the darkest part of the wood, a place to the south that had always seemed to me a dark place, a place of uneasiness. It is a hill called Amon Lanc and it was there that I slew my truest friend, mistaking him in my fear for an enemy." The planes of his face had grown hard and pinched with the telling, as though he experienced again the depth of his crime.

He turned suddenly tear-laden eyes once more to Jokim, who looked on him in shock. Haluin continued, anguish in every word. "How can you understand what it is to slay one who should never have died? He should have lived until he wearied of his life here and then gone into the West, as all my people long eventually to do. I _denied_ him the joy of seeing his forefathers again! Instead, because of me, he must wander in Mandos' halls forever, unless he is allowed one day to return to live among us once more."

Tearing at the grass before him, Haluin laughed grimly. "Now you see my punishment. I must bear this knowledge, this shame, forever. Never again can I come within Eryn Lasgalen's borders nor derive solace from those I loved. I am become a pariah. Indeed..." he voice dropped to hoarse whisper, "I fear the West itself will be denied me."

In one swift motion he stood then and looked out west over Anduin to the great mountains that loomed up before him. They seemed in that moment to symbolise his future, both mentally and physically, an obstacle almost too great to contemplate. Without turning, he asked, "There, Master Dwarf. You have heard my tale of woe. You alone are the only one to hear it in full." Haluin's back tensed almost imperceptibly, as though anticipating a blow. "What say you, Jokim? Am I as accursed in your eyes as I am in my own?"


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## Ghorim (Apr 18, 2008)

Jokim followed along the darkening path of Haluin’s speech, experiencing every milestone along the way. When Haluin spoke of training, Jokim saw himself standing right alongside the Elf and his comrades, himself a youth again, marching under the banner of the Grey Legion. Then they began the journey into the shadows of Mirkwood, Haluin timorously leading the way as Jokim crept close behind. Amon Lanc approached, and the shades of black deepened and stretched unto eternity. 

And then Jokim watched the fateful blow as Haluin delivered it, saw the victim’s fragile body crumple to the ground. The trees wept dried autumn leaves, which fell atop the bloodied corpse and buried it in the silence of the forest. 

Jokim blinked, and there he stood beside the Anduin once more. The great river looked like it could have swallowed Haluin right then and there without a moment’s struggle. The Elf’s once ripe form had suddenly withered in upon itself, for a moment showing its true age. 

“There, Master Dwarf. You have heard my tale of woe. You alone are the only one to hear it in full.”

The dwarf still felt his spirit displaced, unable to move or act in the moment. He stared at Haluin’s back. 

“What say you, Jokim? Am I as accursed in your eyes as I am in my own?”

The question, delivered in a strangled whisper, returned Jokim to his senses. He felt the axe handle and all of its familiar pockmarks in his hands once again, felt his feet planted firmly upon the grass. Nothing about his posture felt right in that instant. He shifted uneasily, his eyes squinting and lip curling in dismay. 

Finally, he steeled his grip on the axe and drove its spiked head deep into the ground. There he left it, approaching Haluin unarmed. Jokim stopped just at the river’s edge, his body parallel to the Elf’s. They both looked out over the same infinity, the towering Misties shrouded in sorrow and blotting out all that lay beyond.

Jokim hesitated for a great while before his lips parted. “All of those years...”

Haluin glanced over to the dwarf, his fear of Jokim’s reply only half-concealed.

“... I never knew what your folk did with all of those years. Lifetime piled upon lifetime, ages come and gone.”

The dwarf looked at Haluin, his gaze still scrutinizing but somehow softened.

“I never thought of them as a burden.”

Haluin arms began to drop as he took in Jokim’s words.

“Two homes I have lost to the dragons. Many friends and family have fallen along the way. I had even lost myself for a time, somewhere in a bottle... or a traveling cart... not knowing who I was or whence I was headed. But...”

Jokim turned to face Haluin fully.

“I have never lost my kin, not completely. Even when the rest of Erebor wouldn’t take me, I had my sister Froma's house to lend shelter. And even now, with her gone...”

He glanced over to where Druri lay, still blissfully asleep.

“I have him. I’d never given the slightest thought to having a son, but...”

The dwarf smiled in an unexpected flood of pride and affection. But the expression waned as he turned back to Haluin.

“Well, never mind that. But what I say to you now is this: I could never curse you, Haluin, as much as I could never curse myself.”

The Elf seemed to lose his breath for a moment.

“There must yet be a place for you in this world,” continued Jokim intensely. “If there is one for me, then there must be one for you.”

“Where... where is your place, now?” asked the Elf, his voice weak with strange emotion.

“The Ered Luin,” replied Jokim with a sharp air of self-dignity. “An old friend of mine wrote to say that he could secure me an honorable position in the officers’ corps there. I dwelt in the Iron Hills before, scratching out my earnings as a clerk. It was no way to live for me, and even less so for my nephew.”

Suddenly, an awkward and tense look crossed Jokim’s face as he realized where his speech was carrying him.

“If we journey west... together... well, there are Elf havens along the way, are there not?”

The dwarf’s question hung in the air for a few moments as Haluin’s gaze lowered in silent consideration. Jokim suddenly seemed to grow nervous, and in a blur his right arm extended itself, the fingers spread wide in an open invitation to shake. He studied the Elf's eyes.

“Well? Are you coming... or shall I leave you here to skulk amongst the trees?”


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## chrysophalax (Apr 19, 2008)

At a loss for words, Haluin could only look at Jokim's outstretched hand, stunned at the dwarf's sudden display of generosity. He could no more have refused it, than he could speak Khuzdul.

"I...of course!" was all he could say as he reached out, clasping Jokim's arm in a firm grip. Jokim nodded as though sealing a bargain, then released Haluin to stand looking up at him appraisingly.

"That's settled then. I'll go and get that nephew of mine on his feet. The Road won't come to us, after all."

The elf remained where he was at the river's edge, watching as his new companion retrieved his axe, threw it up on his shoulder and headed back to gather his few belongings. Haluin could scarcely give credit to what had just happened. In the short time he had known the dwarf in Rohan, Jokim had never done more than show him tolerance, much less an act of friendship such as this. _The least I can do is see that they reach their new home safely, though it cost me my life._ he thought gratefully.

Gathering up his own meager possessions, the elf smiled to himself. To not be alone again for a time was a gift unlooked for, one which he would treasure in memory as he had all others in the past. Voices came to him then on the wind, one eager and excited, the other deep and steady as the mountains that lay just beyond the bridge, reassuring and comforting.

"Come, my friends! We must decide our way before we cross." 

"See? What have I told you? Think they know everything..." Jokim grumbled into Druri's ear as they approached Haluin, which only made the elf grin.

"Nay, Jokim. Not _everything._ Tell me, have you ever ventured beyond the mountains? In these times there are perils to be faced at every turn and I would that you were aware of them." Sweeping his arm out along the mountain ridge to the west, he began a litany of what they might face.

"We must in any case go south for a time. There we will encounter the Dimrill Stair where there is a lake well known to your people, Jokim. I, unfortunately, know not it's name in your tongue. The Stair will lead us, with difficulty to the Redhorn Pass over the mountains and down into Imladris, the home of my distant kin. I...am uncertain as to our reception there." he said softly.

"Should we travel further to the south we must be even more vigilant, as we would pass by Lothlorien, where the greatest among my people still dwell."

At the sound of the word _Lothlorien,_ Jokim's face paled slightly and Haluin looked at him keenly. "What troubles you?"

A hand waved, dismissing Haluin's question. "Nothing." Turning to his nephew, Jokim placed his hands on his hips. "The question is, what will be best for this one?"

A strong hand gripped Jokim's shoulder. "It matters not the road you choose, my friend. There will be danger regardless of the road taken. However...now you will have my bow to guard your back. Never fear, either of you. You _will_ reach your new home."

Oblivious to all future dangers, a young voice piped up, "Do we get breakfast first?"


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## Ghorim (Apr 21, 2008)

Jokim tossed back his head and gave a sharp laugh that sent the birds scattering from all of the nearby trees.

“Listen to this one,” he said as his hand shot up to slap Druri across the back of the head. It was meant to be a playful gesture, but as usual Jokim failed to recognize his own strength. “Always thinking with his belly! If you’re not careful, lad, you’ll wind up like our friend Vorik.” He held out his arms in front of his stomach and made a waddling motion.

The young dwarf winced and rubbed his head, but smiled weakly at the joke.

“Well,” continued Jokim, “you practically slept through breakfast time, didn’t you?”

“He wasn’t the only one,” said Haluin with a sly look.

“Well, that couldn’t be helped, could it?” replied Jokim, still indignant at having been drugged, as he saw it. He turned to smirk down at his nephew. “What say we stop for breakfast after we’ve made it over the river?”

“But which way are we bound?” asked Haluin.

“To Kheled-zâram,” said Jokim, firing out the four syllables of Khuzdul with a harsh precision. “That is what our folk call the lake you spoke of before. One tangled wood is enough for us, and there's no need to stray so far south as Lorien.”

Haluin nodded. “You shall have to lend me a few lessons in that tongue of yours,” he said. “It has always mystified me.”

“We are not so charitable with such knowledge,” said Jokim dourly. "But I have taken on lesser students than yourself in the past.”

The Elf gave him a questioning look, but Jokim was already marching for the stone bridge, with Druri scampering along to keep pace with him. Haluin followed a few steps behind, his eyes sweeping out over the wide swath of land that lay before them.

Halfway across the bridge, Druri begged his uncle to have a better look at the Anduin as it flowed beneath them. The tall sides of the bridge were too great for him to peer over. With grudging consent, Jokim halted the march and hoisted his nephew up to stand atop one of the walls. From his new perch, Druri’s mouth went slack as he watched the turbulent waters rush just a few meters below him. The power of the river seemed to rest at his feet, rushing south in a terrific fury. He turned to tell his uncle all that he could see, but a sudden gust of wind threw him off balance. Jokim grabbed one ankle, Haluin took the other, and together they yanked Druri down before he could go tumbling into the thrashing currents below. Jokim gave no admonishing words, but merely pushed Druri ahead as they continued to the other side.

At breakfast, Druri opted for _lembas_ again. 

“We should save the cram for later,” he said, trying to appease his scowling uncle. “When we really need it.”

Jokim chewed on his cram — no jam, this time — and watched Druri as he gobbled down half a loaf of the Elvish grub in a single breath. The uncle cast a sour look at Haluin, who could only smile and shrug in response. As Druri picked at the crumbs that lay in his lap, his eyes wavered to gaze up at the Misties. They seemed to bear down upon him from their impossible heights, and he quickly looked away.

“Not like the Lonely Mountain or the Iron Hills, are they?” said Jokim, noting Druri’s hesitation. He adjusted his gloves as he too gazed upon the impressive, snow-capped range. “Nae, these fellows are much crueler. You must save your strength for the climb ahead. This will not be like the jogs we would take back home, lad. The wind hits hard here, and the cold will find its way through any blanket you may take. You must stay close, as you did in Mirkwood.”

Druri nodded, feeling the full brunt of Jokim’s intense scrutiny. He was still learning to anticipate the shifting currents that guided his uncle’s moods. Every gesture or word Druri spoke in his elder’s presence had to be offered with great care and humility, for Jokim could ignite at the slightest show of disrespect. Yet his displays of approval and caring were ever generous, and it was for those moments that Druri worked so diligently to stay in his uncle’s good graces.

They began the journey south along the Anduin, with Jokim dispensing fables, anecdotes, and songs to keep Druri’s attention as they went. Haluin listened closely to these, and would occasionally offer his own stories and music, although Jokim seemed to begrudge every moment of influence the Elf gained over his nephew. The lad’s budding taste for Elvish food was bad enough a habit, Jokim thought. 

The two elder companions spoke very little with each other at the march's onset. Only at night, when their excitable young charge had settled down enough to sleep, could they talk frankly. On one such evening, Jokim broke from his usual distance to address a small thought that had been pestering his mind ever since they crossed the river.

“You said you never spoke of what happened at Amon Lanc to anyone,” he said, startling the Elf out of a reverie. “Not even Hengist?”

Haluin rose from his reclining position and regarded Jokim, who loomed nearby in a sentinel’s crouch. The dwarf’s gaze was not on him, but the Elf could sense that he was listening intently in the still night. 

“Nae, never in its entirety. At times, though, I thought he glimpsed the whole of it.”

Jokim nodded. “As keen a mind as I ever saw in that race. I do not lay much faith in the schemes of Men, but that one offered some hope.”

Haluin sighed. “He was never given his due amongst his folk, but he still loved them dearly.”

The dwarf gave a wisp of a smile. “And he scrapped for every moment until his end. He had a bit of the Khazad in him, in that sense. I...” he chuckled quietly, “... I did fear him, I must say, when our match came.”

“Oh?” Haluin’s ears perked, for he had never heard Jokim admit such weakness. “A great dwarvish warrior such as yourself?”

“I feared he would deliver one of those mighty headbutts to my skull, right on the cracked part of it, and I would never rise again after that.”

“Why did you face him, then?”

Jokim wet his lips, and the slightest shift of his body pulled his gaze away from Haluin again. The night shadows splashed over his features as he considered the question.

“I suppose I hadn't much to live for at the time.”

Haluin let the full weight of those words sink in, before pursuing a question that had troubled his own thoughts for a time.

“How did you suffer that blow to your head, Jokim?”

“For another time,” said Jokim, seeming to retreat without moving. “A tale for another time, Haluin.”

The Elf stared at the dwarf with a pointed dissatisfaction. But Jokim gave no further reaction, and Haluin eventually lay back down to take in a sky scattered with stars. The dwarf rubbed at his traveling hood, just over where the old injury lay. A brief moment of tension forced him to clutch at his axe handle until the discomfort passed. Then all fell still within him again, and his thoughts could return to the trials that lay ahead.


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## chrysophalax (Apr 21, 2008)

Another day and night passed and with the passage of time, Haluin began to scan the mountainsides more closely, especially as night gathered about them.

Things there were in the darkness, things with ears and eyes as keen as his own. Things that hated and reviled all those that were not as wretched as they were and he was filled with dread.

As they settled down for the night, both dwarves noticed Haluin's uncharacteristic tension, the fierce concentration with which he stared into the shadows, some darker than others, that crept along the rockface above them and they asked each other what it might be.

"Don't waste your time with wondering, lad. That one there can see like a bat in the dark and an eagle on the hunt in daylight. If there's aught to be seen, he'll find it."

Druri swallowed. "That's what worries me, uncle. What _is_ it he's watching for? What could make such a warrior as Haluin act like this?" Fearfully, he began to search the night himself despite his uncle's admonishment, though he scarce knew what to look for.

Slowly, his voice taking on the chant-like manner of story-tellers and bards, Haluin answered. "Orcs have been the Eldars most ancient enemy, save he who had created them in mockery of Eru's firstborn. Age upon age have we fought them, and the evil they represent.

The learned among my people say they are elves, taken by Morgoth, twisted and tortured until they became misshapen, pitiful versions of what they had once been. Others say they are Morgoth's only true creation, something completely evil, obedient to him even now, even when he is no longer in this world."

The elf's voice became tinged with sorrow as he spoke on, his eyes sparkling as they flashed like starlight in their unceasing vigilance. 

"As for myself, I only know that they are deadly. More fierce, more vicious than any wild animal you are ever likely to encounter. They will never show nor give mercy, for they know only destruction."

"Were it daylight, I would show you the scars I bear from hunting them...and from them hunting me. They are the only thing in this world I can truly say I _hate."_ His voice grew cold as ice and Druri's eyes widened in something akin to fear as he watched the elf's ethereal beauty turn hard as stone. He realised then that this was a creature outside his reckoning, so unlike his own sturdy people. This friend, this elf had become suddenly dangerous in his young eyes and he scooted close to his uncle for protection. 

Jokim glared up at Haluin, then patted Druri's shoulder. "Easy, lad. I'll not let any harm come to you," he glared up once again at the elf, "not from _anyone."_

Silence fell for a time after that and night sounds seemed to become eerily magnified. They could hear Anduin rushing past, the scuttling of night creatures in search of their dinner, the occasional hoot of a hunting owl on the wing. To Haluin's ears, all comforting sounds...yet there was something...

"Jokim, come here." Haluin whispered. Grumbling, the dwarf got up from his comfortable spot in a bed of fern and stumped over to where Haluin stood listening with his eyes closed.

"If you scare my nephew with your tales again..." A hand clamped over his mouth as fast as lightning as Haluin whispered into his ear urgently. "I did not mean to frighten him, but you _must_ know what dwells here! Now listen to me. Something is hunting along that ridge." He pointed up toward a sharp promontory just north of the Redhorn Pass. "We must keep quiet, for if it is an orc, it will hear us almost as surely as I can hear it. I can only hope that daylight will drive it from our path. If not..."


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## Ghorim (Apr 24, 2008)

“I can only hope that daylight will drive it from our path. If not...”

Jokim tore the Elf’s hand from his mouth in annoyance. “If not, what?” 

The dwarf inclined his head, glaring up at Haluin from beneath two bristling brows. “What then, if not? We handle this matter ourselves, if not!”

And suddenly the two companions found a new bond in their hate, a sacred hate that coursed through them in like time. That mad warrior gleam returned to Jokim’s eyes, and it soon reflected into Haluin’s, catching them ablaze. 

“You say it’s only one?” asked the dwarf.

Haluin tensed for a moment in total silence, straining his ears to sweep the whole of the land. A hundred tiny sounds came rushing to him, but he sliced through the miniature cacophony to hone in on the light footfalls and ragged breathing that approached them from the south. The sounds conjured the image of the beast to his imagination, and he could clearly see its discolored eyes scanning the region for prey.

“Only one.”

Jokim smirked, sensing their mastery of the situation. 

“A hunter, perhaps. But more likely a scout on patrol, looking for intruders entering along the range’s edge. When Greenskins hunt, they work in packs, aye?”

“True...”

“And if he is a scout, then he is not looking to fight first. At the first sign of danger he will flee to whatever hole he crawled out of...”

“... And bring the rest of his tribe charging down upon our heads.” 

Jokim raised a knowing finger. “Not if we drop him before he makes it home.”

Haluin shook his head. “An orc in flight is harder to catch than you might think, especially in the dark.”

“So we will lead him where we please and finish him there.”

“And how do you propose to do that?” Haluin leaned in closer, giving a quick glance over to Druri, who was staring at them in fearful curiosity. 

“You are correct in saying that this orc will hear us if he strays too close – us, but not you. Centuries of hunting these scum must have you practiced enough to sneak past one brainless scout, aye?”

Haluin smirked at the dwarf’s ribbing. “I suppose I could manage the feat.”

“So, then...” Jokim pointed up to the ridge that the Elf had indicated. “Creep past our scaly friend, heading south. Stick along the base of the ridge, out of sight, and you should elude his detection. Druri and I will then head north, and climb up to the ridge. Of course the Greenskin will hear us, and he will move to investigate. But we will take up position behind a bend in the path. When he draws close enough, we will leap out and give him the scare of his miserable little life. He will flee in the opposite direction, of course – south, back toward the dank pit he calls home. By then you will have made it up to the ridge, the sounds of your ascent masked by the ruckus that Druri and I will be sure to make. When he comes stumbling into view, you draw that bow of yours and do what you do best.”

Jokim leaned back and folded his arms across his chest, looking quite pleased at his devious little plot. Haluin shared the mischievous look, but wasn’t yet satisfied.

“And how, pray tell, will you know when to reveal yourself? Orcs such as this one can move on the whisper of the wind. He could just as easily get the drop on you.”

“You will be our eyes for that,” said Jokim. “Watch from a safe vantage point to the south. When you see him start to sneak up on a turn in the road, then you will give us our signal to attack. Do you know any bird calls?”

“Name any breed,” said Haluin confidently.

“A hawk. There are many that hunt the Iron Hills by night. A fitting bird call for this operation, I should think!”

“What type of hawk call should I make?” asked Haluin, his features growing serious. “Red-tailed? Or perhaps...?”

“Never mind which type!” hissed Jokim, mindful of the orc’s approach. “Just holler it out, whatever it is, and we will do our part.”

“And what if you are wrong and this orc is a fighter before all else?”

“Then that will be his fatal error,” rumbled Jokim, cracking his knuckles with expectant glee.

“Fine,” Haluin nodded quickly. “Hardly a perfect scheme, but just good enough that we might make it work. What will you tell your nephew?”

“Leave that to me,” whispered Jokim. “Now be off!”

Haluin smiled, gave a curt farewell, and then dissolved into the shadows, slinking just beneath the rocky outcroppings that loomed above. 

Jokim turned and then strolled back to where Druri sat. The lad was so wound up that he leapt to his feet as his uncle approached.

“What were you and Haluin talking about, uncle?” he demanded in a gush of tense energy. “And where did he go?”

The uncle smiled with easy reassurance. “Us? Oh, we were only discussing how to proceed toward the Redhorn Pass. We’re nearly there, you know. Haluin has gone off to scout ahead, just to ensure that the path is safe.”

“Will he be long...?” said Druri, seeming mollified but ever-wary.

“Not long, nae,” said Jokim. “But long enough that we might take a short hike of our own.”

“What... what do you mean?”

“It couldn’t hurt to have a bit of a look around, could it?”

“At this hour, uncle?”

“Well, if the night scares you so...”

“I’m not afraid!” Druri reflexively beat his chest with an excited fist. 

“Then follow me,” said Jokim, grabbing his axe and starting to head north. 

Druri stood dumbfounded for a moment, but then sprung to follow, snatching up his dagger for protection.

“We’ll play a bit of a game along the way,” called Jokim over his shoulder. “You must mimic all that I do, and without question.”

A puzzled look creased Druri’s face. His uncle’s behavior seemed out of sorts tonight, as if Jokim were trying to keep some secret out of Druri’s reach. But being eager as ever to please him, Druri hurried along behind his uncle, and even took on the assignment of mirroring his movements.

Haluin heard every word the dwarves exchanged, and had no doubt that the orc patrolling up above heard them just as clearly. The Elf was just about to cross directly beneath the scout, and he slowed his pace to a patient crawl so as to avoid making any unnecessary sound. He moved between the rocks with a fluid grace, selecting precisely where he would place each step before making it. 

Suddenly, he heard the orc’s steps skid to a halt up above. Haluin tensed against the rock wall to his right, remaining absolutely still. The orc sniffed loudly at the air. The Elf held his breath. 

_ Of course, his smell!_

Jokim had forgotten to reckon for the deadly accurate noses of orcs in his scheme. Those, more than their eyes or even ears, were their greatest assets. With absolute care, Haluin began to reach for his bow, steeling himself for imminent discovery. But in that instant a great tumbling of rocks sounded from the north.

“What your step, lad!” he heard Jokim bellow, practically at the top of his lungs.

Up above, the orc snarled and continued on his way, more swiftly now. Once the scout had reached a safe distance, Haluin exhaled mightily and shook his head. 

“You are tempting every whim of fate with this plot, Jokim,” he thought. But mindful of his role, Haluin hurried along to take up his position along the ridge line.


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## chrysophalax (Apr 24, 2008)

It was not only the orc's sense of smell they had not taken in to account. Haluin cursed himself for a fool as he heard himself once again agreeing to the dwarf's scheme.

_Do you know any bird calls?”

“Name any breed.” 

“A hawk. There are many that hunt the Iron Hills by night. A fitting bird call for this operation, I should think!”

“What type of hawk call should I make? Red-tailed? Or perhaps...?”_

"What a fool I am! It may be that hawks hunt in darkness in the Iron Hills, but here they do not. I _must_ reach that orc before it can find them!Elbereth, do not let my error be the death of them!"

Panicked now, he began to race over the rocky outcroppings that seemed to spring into his path as if conjured there. His eyes sought after any movement, any sound, any glint of starlight on metal that might betray his quarry.

Ahead and slightly above him, he could faintly hear the dwarves as they fumbled along the slope. Haluin winced, for if their movements were that clear to him, how clear must they be to their enemy? Spurred on, he ran faster, desperate to find and slay the deadly creature which hunted his friends.

Suddenly, he heard a great cry followed by another, slightly higher-pitched. _Druri! Valar, not the youngling!_ Anger enveloped him then and he could feel battle rage swelling through him, taking him over, causing him to forget everything but the lust to kill.

In what seemed like the passing of a moment, Haluin found himself careening along paths that didn't exist, his body instinctively finding solid purchase among shifting, sliding stones until at last he heard just before him the sound of metal on metal.

Druri was lying, dazed, off to one side of the stony path they had followed up the ridge, but Haluin barely noticed the lad. His attention was fully fixed upon Jokim as the dwarf hacked and danced his way around the the small flat space where the orc had attacked them. For a few fleeting seconds he stood, marvelling at the dwarf's surprising agility for one normally so stodgy, then he gave a cry that froze both opponents in their tracks.

The orc turned to see an elf, who's countenance burned with hatred so that it appeared to glow and it crouched low, spitting a curse as it did so. An unfortunate error in judgement, for Jokim neatly removed its head from its body in one neat stroke, then dropped his axe and ran to Druri's side.

A trickle of blood could be seen running down his face as Jokim reached him. Haluin reached them only a breath after and he could hear the young dwarf talking excitedly. "Uncle! Did you see? Look at my knife! I stuck him before he knocked me down. Did you see?" Groggily, he held his knife up for Jokim to see, black blood already clotted up to the hilt. "Good work! Your first blooding. You'll make a fine warrior, lad."

Haluin caught what he though was a faint quaver in the older dwarf's voice, so he decided to add his praise. "I heard your battle cry from afar, Druri. Were it not for that, I might not have found you in time to aid your uncle." He dropped his pouch and began searching for his box of ointment and bandages for Druri's wound, while Jokim watched just over his shoulder. "That should make a fine scar, Druri...and a fine story!"

Druri's eyes lit up with pride and he barely winced as Haluin gently cleaned and dressed the swallow cut. He had been concerned, for most orc swords carried a foul grease that often caused infection. This had been so shallow though, that he was quietly confident it would heal clean.

"There, young master. A fine night's work! Jokim..." He stood and pulled the dwarf aside. "I will go and get rid of that offal. Take him and find some shelter. I'll not be long." He gripped Jokim's shoulder, then went over to where the orc lay, picked the body up and with a noise of disgust, walked off into the darkness.


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## Ghorim (Apr 25, 2008)

Haluin tracked the dwarves down to a small alcove created by a low-hanging rock. Druri was laid out on his back, breathing deeply, while Jokim sat facing the lad with his back to the Elf. The foul, sour smell of orcish blood still hung thick in the air, and Haluin soon realized that they would have to depart this area with the rising sun, before the rest of the slain orc’s tribe took to the hunt. The Elf sat down at the entrance to the small den and wiped off his hands, still cringing at the deed he had just completed.

“I have disposed with the body as best I could,” he said. “However, we must take only a short rest tonight and then be on our way. An orc’s thirst for vengeance burns just as fierce as that of any Elf or dwarf, and it shall not be long before our actions are discovered.”

Jokim bowed his head in acknowledgment, but did not turn to face Haluin. “So be it,” he said, his voice sounding parched and toneless.

Haluin glanced up from his hands and peered closely at the dwarf’s posture. He inched forward in the silence that followed.

“Jokim...”

The dwarf turned, but Haluin saw only Jokim’s left eye as it peered over his shoulder. It gleamed dimly in the night, and a small drop trickled from the corner to stain the dwarf's shoulder. The Elf froze.

“Henceforth,” began Jokim, forming his words as if cobbling together sand, “you shall make all of our journey’s decisions. Am I understood?”

Haluin could only nod. Jokim turned back away, and gave a great heave of his broad shoulders.

“I must apologize, for I misjudged all tonight. I misjudged all...”

“You handled yourself admirably, Jokim.”

The dwarf spun around fully this time, and in Jokim’s wounded rage the Elf instantly recalled the blaze of the orc’s hateful eyes. Suddenly, the dwarf was upon his feet and advancing, shoving at Haluin, shoving him with bruising force out of the alcove and back into the open night. The Elf kept his hands aloft to protect himself from any unnecessary hurt. 

Once Jokim had forced Haluin far enough back he turned to ensure that Druri was still sleeping. Then his gaze fell heavily upon the Elf, who still sat upon the ground, his clothing now caked with dirt from the dust-up.

“Do not feed me such lies,” Jokim spat, keeping his voice low. “My lad is too naïve to know, and you were not there to see it, but he was inches from having his throat cut tonight. His protection is the only task of worth left to my life. The only one. And I threw him into harm’s way... thoughtlessly.”

The dwarf began to pace, restless on his feet, while Haluin slowly picked himself up from the ground. 

“Do not look at me through his eyes, Haluin. Do not make that mistake. Recall when you first met me – I was not even fit to care for myself, was I? You remember it all, do you not?”

Haluin kept his distance, allowing Jokim’s outburst the time it needed to dissipate. 

“And now...” Jokim’s feet halted in a cloud of dust, and he stood staring at the ground helplessly. “I must care for him. How do I...?”

The dwarf’s speech faltered, leaving the question hanging above him unanswered. 

“How do I...?”

He tried to approach the thought again, from a different angle, but he failed to comprehend the enormity of the responsibility. Again he looked back into the alcove, this time to see Druri staring back at him through the shadows. 

“What’s the matter?” the lad whispered, his words trembling.

Jokim’s brow creased, and with halting steps he made his way back into the cramped den. Haluin followed cautiously behind, having to crawl to gain entrance to the shelter.

The uncle sat himself beside his nephew, who had now sat up to stare questioningly at him. Jokim found himself unable to face the lad, and kept his gaze locked on the opposite wall. Haluin decided he would have to be the one to explain.

“We were just having a bit of an argument, Druri. Old friends that we are, we still have our disagreements.”

“What about?” asked the young dwarf, rubbing his hands anxiously on his knees.

“Nothing of import,” said Jokim, at last looking directly into Druri’s eyes. He put on the old brave show that his nephew had come to expect, steadying his expression and offering a broad, reassuring smile. “You should take your rest, lad. We shall need to depart early.”

Druri nodded, and drew himself closer to Jokim. The uncle responded by wrapping his arm around the lad, embracing him with an uncharacteristic tenderness. Even Druri was surprised at the display, but after stiffening for a moment eased his head down upon Jokim’s chest.

“I did well tonight?” Druri whispered.

“Splendidly,” said Jokim, clutching at every strand of his composure. “You’ve made me proud.”

Druri smiled and fell silent.

Then the humming began, almost imperceptible at first as it rose from the elder dwarf’s throat. But soon the soft melody filled the small space that the three travelers huddled within, somehow warming the cold walls as it reverberated off of them. Druri closed his eyes and felt the sound rumble through Jokim’s chest. 

The tune carried with it that particular melancholy that seemed to color most songs of the dwarves. Its notes wandered gingerly up and down a minor scale, as if in search of a home. It felt familiar to Druri, but from where he could not place. He was still hunting through his memories for the song’s origin when he fell asleep.

Once Druri’s breathing steadied, Jokim tipped his head back and sighed deeply, staring up at the low ceiling. Perhaps he spoke then to Haluin, but he never looked at the Elf directly.

“He was like this when he first came to me,” the dwarf began in a solemn whisper. “Flighty, driven at all times by his fears. He could never sleep through the night. He would awake, thinking the dragon was coming again, and crawl into bed with me. And then he would cry. What could I say then? I merely held him until he grew too weary to weep.”

Haluin nodded. “Your presence... your presence alone strengthens him, Jokim.”

The dwarf shook his head, but said not a thing. He listened to Druri, and his features tensed with unspoken concern as he continued to fixate on the ceiling. 

“You should rest as well, Haluin,” Jokim said after a few minutes. “I can claim no sleep tonight.”


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## chrysophalax (Apr 25, 2008)

Caught offguard by the suddenness with which the dwarf's confident demeanor had vanished, Haluin attempted to lighten the moment. "It seems you know little of elvish behaviour, Master Dwarf, if you ask me to rest. "Rest" for us is not a physical thing, it is more spiritual perhaps. Our minds wander along the paths of waking dreams, giving us the ability to gain strength from the freedom such journeys bring."

Jokim sat still as stone, seemingly unhearing as he watched over the sleeping Druri. "He is fortunate to have you, Jokim." A disagreeable grunt from the dwarf told him he was being heard at least. "There is much you will teach him, over time. Things only people who have travelled, who have lived, can know...of both good _and_ evil. He learns quickly and he is curious...an excellent quality in all beings in my opinion."

As no further comment was to be had from Jokim, Haluin heaved a great sigh and eased his way out of the close confines of the niche. Like all elves, he disliked confined spaces and he eagerly breathed a deep lungful of early morning air as he stretched his muscles gratefully.

Truth be told, Haluin was deeply concerned. The trip over the mountains was likely to take days and the fact that they had encountered an orc so soon was not a good sign. In times past, he had made the journey without so much as a hint of orc activity. This however, was _not_ going to be one of those times.

His worry was now compounded by Jokim's odd statement that he wanted Haluin to direct their path from here on. Why? What had caused the sudden lack of confidence in his abilities? Steeling himself, Haluin determined to drag whatever was bothering the dwarf out of him, for all their sakes.

Kneeling, he called softly. "Jokim, come out here. Nothing can harm him now. Come out here and speak with me." "Nay, elf." Arching an eyebrow, said elf persisted. "Unless you want me to wake your injured nephew from some well-earned sleep, you _will_ join me."

A soft curse and the scrabbling of tiny pebbles greeted this demand, then an angry dwarf was standing toe-to-toe with Haluin.eyes blazing. "What do you want of me, elf? Can't you leave me be?"

"No, Jokim, I cannot. You are being a fool." The dwarf's knuckles cracked as he balled up his fists. "Aye, well, at least I travel in like company." Haluin merely crossed his arms while looking down at the fuming dwarf. "Is that the best you can do? I say you are a fool because you choose as leader one who only knows the way as far as the elven realm of Imladris, just the other side of these thrice-cursed mountains!" 

Unaccustomed anger began to stir in Haluin's breast, anger born of frustration and lack of understanding. "What is wrong with you? I have no wish to make your decisions for you, to become your scapegoat should my choices prove wrong. You prate of the past and how I found you. What of it? The past is gone and with any luck, you learned from it!" He stopped, his chest heaving as the words kept coming. "You are a dwarf though, so it is possible you learned nothing..."

The blow came without warning, knocking the elf flat on his back. Haluin's head hit the ground hard, dazing him so that there appeared to be two dwarves now trying to throttle him. Instinctively, he went limp, then as he felt Jokim's grip shift, Haluin grasped his wrists, thrusting the dwarf away from him. "You can kill me if you will, but not in front of Druri." he whispered hoarsely as he rubbed his damaged throat. "Forgive my anger, but can you not see? You are all he has. There is no room in your life anymore for self-doubt...or self-pity. He looks to you now for guidance and you must be there to give it to him. And, I..." a coughing fit set in and he found himself choking. Jokim took a step toward him, but the elf waved him back. "Nay, my friend. I've enough of your "caresses" for one day. As I was about to say, I am still willing to help you to your destination. No matter what you think of yourself, I trust in you and...you will find one day I'm not the only one."


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## Ghorim (Apr 26, 2008)

Jokim unloaded a few decades' worth of frustration into the one blow that sent Haluin spilling. The first twitch of his arm was motivated by a fierce racial pride, if nothing else. But as his fist rose, it gained an added fury with memories of his captivity, the fall of Erebor, the years of confinement to a clerk's desk. This Elf... who was he to lecture Jokim on his past? The dwarf even felt a grim sort of satisfaction as Haluin's head smacked against the hard stone.

But then the gale of emotion passed, and Jokim was left looking on the pitiful scene that he had left in its wake. Haluin lay there, coughing on the ground, battered and bruised by Jokim's fickle eruptions. And him... standing there... what had he proved? His fingers eased and fell loose. He took a step forward, but Haluin held his advance. 

"Nay, my friend. I've enough of your "caresses" for one day. As I was about to say, I am still willing to help you to your destination. No matter what you think of yourself, I trust in you and...you will find one day I'm not the only one."

The dwarf felt a certain sting at the Elf's charity - that Haluin would think Jokim was in need of any was bad enough. But to offer those words after such a furious attack...

Jokim tore off his hood and moved to sit beside Haluin. The Elf backed away with wary eyes, but the dwarf's gaze was not there to meet them. He sat facing back East, over the shadows of the Anduin and Mirkwood, back to the horizon where the sun was just starting to make its presence known. Tendrils of red and orange spread out over the blackened sky. 

Thinking of how far he and Druri had already come, Jokim shook his head and gave a contemptuous snort.

"I am not going to _kill_ you, Haluin," he said at last. 

The Elf was silent, evidently reserving his judgment toward the veracity of that statement. The dwarf picked up a small stone, rolled it over in his glove a few times, and then gave it a heave down into the lands below. It fell in a long arc, landing far enough away that Jokim could not hear its impact, but Haluin could.

"They say... my folk say, that is... that a fool expresses with his fists what he cannot form with his tongue," Jokim said. "I... have been a fool this evening. On that point you are correct. I could never properly explain to you in words the hurt of seeing my nephew nearly slain by my own arrogance."

He paused, picking up another stone. 

"It drove me a bit mad, suffice to say. That cannot happen to him again. It _must_ not."

Jokim clenched the rock until it grew hot in his hand.

"It is my responsibility to ensure that. Handing the reins to you could never relieve that burden."

He chuckled suddenly, the laughs spilling out hoarse and bitter as he tossed the stone aside.

"To think! An Elf leading a dwarf through the mountains! What lunacy possessed me?"

He reached out to slap Haluin on the shoulder, but the Elf tensed, and Jokim stayed the blow. The dwarf pulled back his grin, letting his face lapse back into its familiar illegibility. 

"I shall lead us through the terrain. I am not much more familiar with this range than you are, but an Elf should never be expected to properly navigate stone and snow."

Jokim again snorted with amusement at the thought.

"However, tonight has proven one thing to me - you understand these Greenskins far better than I fancied I could. Your quick thinking delivered my plan a fate far better than it deserved. And I thank you for that."

With the tides of his roiling anger ebbing away, Jokim's voice was stripped of all but a frank sincerity.

"When next we encounter one of their defiled number, you may take the lead. Direct me as you wish, and I shall not slacken in my assault."

The dwarf smirked grimly as battle visions returned to his head. As much as Druri's wounding had lit a scare in him, Jokim had savored that fleeting moment as the dark blood spurted from the orc's cleaved neck. He hadn't had the pleasure of such a sensation since the Grey Mountains campaign... and that he couldn't even remember.

"I do not doubt myself," said Jokim, with every ounce of his conviction striving behind the words. 

"Not with the axe, I can set your mind at ease there. 'Self-pity,' you say?" Jokim's pride began to rankle again. "I have worked too long and hard as a warrior to seek shelter in such weakness. The moment a soldier hesitates on the battlefield shall be his last, as they say."

He turned again, his eyes searching for Druri in the shadows.

"It is in rearing him that questions still haunt me. But never mind that! I cannot talk it through, least of all with you."

The dwarf rose with a grunt, for a blazing red glow had just started to peek out over the east.

"The past is forgotten, then. Today we start afresh. But..." and here he held out a hand to assist Haluin. "... do not fancy that I've yet learned nothing from it."


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## chrysophalax (Apr 27, 2008)

Haluin's mind became fixed on one of the dwarf's comments as he was helped up from his semi-prone position. "Why "least of all with me"? 'Tis true, I have never raised elflings of my own, nor spent much time around younglings at all, except for those of Hengist's kin. Yet while I travel with you, I feel a certain responsibility for his safety, just as any elder would for a child. You do me a desservice not to speak of misgivings or doubts you may have concerning him, unless of course, it is not part of your customs."

When Jokim kept silent, Haluin mentally shrugged and decided on a more simple approach. "Is he feeling up to rugged travel today, or do you think we should go easy? I know you are a hardy folk, but I have no notion of what his limits might be while injured. Do you have anything for rations other than cram? He may need something more nourishing for a time, until he regains his strength."

As he spoke, the elf had been searching the slopes above and below their present position for any kind of edible vegetation. They hadn't yet gone above the treeline, but it was quite a distance from the small cave to any actual cover. This caused Haluin not a little concern, for with days ahead of them and autumn nights starting to chill the air, he knew it would only get worse from here.

The only thing that made any sense to him was to scout ahead and see exactly what they faced. He turned to Jokim who seemed determined not to look at him. "While you both break your fast, I will go and see what lies ahead. If I find any trace of orcs, we must choose another path, or go back down and begin our upward journey from a better place. It could be that another day's rest will aid Druri's recovery, but...my heart misgives me."

With that, he emptied all his foodstuffs out of his pack. There were three remaining bundles of lembas, a little dried fruit and a small flask of wine. He gave it all to Jokim, who looked at him oddly. "It is quite possible I will not return. These are, as I have said before, very dangerous mountains. Food will be of no use to me if I am slain, will it now? Nay! Do not glare so! Look you..." he pointed toward the forest. "I shall return before the sun rises fully over the trees, if not...go and ask the woodmen who live on the western edge of the forest. They will lend you aid." 

He made as though to turn, when he felt a strong grip on his arm turn him forcefully around and Haluin found himself being stared down by one of the most impressive scowls he'd ever seen.


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## Ghorim (Apr 28, 2008)

“Since you have chosen to make it your concern, allow me to relieve you the burden,” said Jokim, picking his words with a purposeful determination. “The lad is mine to raise. All I ask is that you help to protect him until we go our separate ways.”

His grip on the Elf’s wrist pulsed in time with his speech, tightening as his tone hardened and loosening once the point was made. Then he set Haluin’s arm free, casting it off with a careless toss. 

“Go off and do your scouting. We’ll be here waiting when you return – which you _will_. None of this ‘if I am slain’ nonsense!”

Jokim shook his head in annoyance and shooed Haluin off with a quick push. The Elf cast him one last perplexed look before beginning to pick his way up the slope and into the predawn wilderness. 

After sending Haluin off with a stiff stare, Jokim returned to the quiet den where Druri was just beginning to stir. Unlike the Elf, it felt like a little home to Jokim, cozy and sheltered from the mountain winds. He lowered himself onto the dirt floor, dumping Haluin’s provisions out on the ground as he watched his nephew inch back to wakefulness.

Druri’s eyes split open, flinching hesitantly as he took a deep breath and stretched his arms and legs. “Good morning,” he croaked.

“Good morning,” replied Jokim, offering a smile. “How do you feel?”

The lad began to reach for the spot on his forehead where the stained bandages rested, but suddenly stayed his hand and let it drop. “Just fine, uncle.” He sat up by degrees.

The elder dwarf arched one of his brows at Druri’s half-completed gesture. “Still a bit sore up top, eh?”

Druri bit his lip and nodded.

“Do not try to conceal it for my benefit,” said Jokim sternly. “Haluin and I will need to know how you are progressing. Even in the army, they told us to always report our injuries in full. Health comes before pride, remember.”

These words coaxed a nod from Druri, and he reached up to rub his head again.

“Feel like you could march today?”

The lad considered the question more fully this time, but gave the same response. “Aye.”

Jokim smirked, and began to rummage through his pack, ignoring the Elf’s food. “We’ll see how you feel as the day stretches on.”

Druri sniffed at the air, smelling the lembas that lay nearby. Jokim glanced up quickly and seemed to sense his nephew’s appetite before the lad even knew he was hungry. 

“No more of that... _limbas_ bread,” said Jokim sharply, though flubbing the pronunciation. “You’ll spoil yourself on that rubbish.”

With a flourish he produced a couple of sacks from the pack. Druri seemed a bit deflated at his uncle’s decree, but perked at the sight of two new sources of food. Jokim passed the sacks over to a pair of eager hands.

“Grab a handful from each sack and pop it in your mouth,” instructed the uncle.

Druri did as ordered, and in so doing found that one sack contained nuts and the other dried fruit. He stuffed his mouth full of the crunchy mixture and chewed greedily. 

Jokim watched in silent amusement. “Aye, a good hearty breakfast.” He reached over and took two handfuls for himself.

The lad swallowed his serving down. “How are you today, uncle?”

“How am _I_? Fit as ever, lad, and don’t you worry yourself about it when you’ve got such a hurt of your own.”

“Did you sleep well?” Druri pressed on, undeterred.

“Sleep? Pah! I didn’t need any.”

“Really?” Druri grabbed for a second serving of breakfast.

Jokim nodded, and leaned back with his hands laced behind his head. In that moment, it struck him to realize just how much more comfortable he felt when Haluin wasn’t in their midst, his sharp Elvish ears picking up every whispered word.

“Why, when they were first breaking me into Erebor’s army, we did without sleep on the regular. They’d pair each of us fresh recruits with an old and grizzly type to pull all-night shifts at guard. It was part of our training, so we could be sharp even after long marches.”

“How’d you keep alert all night?”

“Everyone had his own way... little tricks he’d play on himself to keep awake. Most of the time, the older soldiers wouldn’t waste their breath talking to us, but the ravens would converse with us freely.”

“Ravens?” Druri spilled a bit of his food into his lap. “Talking?”

Jokim nodded, smiling fondly at the memories. “The ravens were our winged messengers at Erebor. We would send them flapping with missives to the other guard towers or down into Dale below. Most of them could squawk a word or two of the Common Tongue, and the more clever members of their flock could carry on all night if you let them. I met quite a few wise birds during my shifts at guard. They saw the world differently...”

“What’s become of them now?”

Jokim shook his head. “I do not know. Perhaps they left with the survivors for the Ered Luin. I know they never found the Iron Hills weather very agreeable to their kind. I would imagine that at least a few still roost upon the Lonely Mountain...”

Druri chewed on his food, marveling again at how worldly and experienced his uncle seemed. His young mind leaped to a new thought without a stumble.

“Did you really try to strangle Haluin?”

“What’s this?” Now it was Jokim’s turn to spill his food.

Druri nodded, but proceeded hesitantly in the face of his uncle’s evident surprise. “That’s what he said. That when you first met him, you grabbed him by the throat and nearly did him in!”

Jokim chortled and slapped his knee, as little bits of partially chewed nuts and fruit spilled from his mouth. “Is that what he said to you?” The uncle swallowed his mouthful of food, caught his breath a bit and continued. “Just like an Elf! Always imagining and embellishing things.”

“What really happened?” Druri leaned forward.

“Well, first, you need to know that I was in the midst of a private conversation with a dear friend of mine. All of a sudden, I hear a noise behind me.” Jokim sat up, acting out the story as he unfolded it. “I turn about, and there I see two keen little eyes watching us from behind a flap in our traveling cart. So I reach out, fast as I can, and grab the eavesdropper’s wrist. That’s how I first met Haluin. Maybe I put a bit of a clamp on him, but I never laid a finger on his throat.”

“What were you both doing in the Rohan?” Druri asked. Jokim had always been vague with his nephew about this period of his life, and Druri was hungry for more answers.

“Haluin was running around, calling himself ‘Halfast,’ trying to pretend he was a Man. Only the Valar know why... he wasn’t much good at keeping up the act. Too stuck up and full of himself to be a mortal!”

“And you...?”

“Me? I was adventuring. My term of service in the army had expired, and I felt in need of a change, I suppose. So I wandered the realms for a time, testing my strength. It took me awhile to realize that it wasn’t proving a thing. I missed the company of my kin. So I returned east to settle in the Iron Hills.”

Druri’s imagination became snagged on the thought of his invincible uncle roaming the lands, performing feats of dwarvish might at every stop. “Did you do a lot of wrestling?”

“Wrestling, you say?”

“Haluin said that you won the wrestling championship at the festival in Rohan.”

“Oh, aye. He did not imagine _that_. It was a lark of mine, you might say. My friends and I used to wrestle all the time when I was your age — myself, Vorik, and a few others. I wanted to see if I could yet hack it at the Rohan festival. The competition was fairly dull... except for my last opponent.”

“Could you teach me to wrestle?” Druri sat up fully erect, determined to absorb everything that Jokim knew so as to become wise and powerful like him. Why, if another boy ever looked down on him again, Druri could pin him to the ground and twist his arms until the oppressor wailed for his mother.

“Not until that gash of yours fully heals,” said Jokim with a grunt, bursting his nephew’s boyish fantasies in a hurry. “Besides, you still have some more dagger lessons in store. You fought like a sharp little warrior last night, but next time I want it so that you strike your foe down with the first blow.”

Druri nodded with a grin, happy to be reminded of his triumph of the night before. His first blooding already... just to think of all the tales and experience he would have by the end of this adventure!

A few light footfalls sounded from outside, and suddenly Haluin appeared at the entrance to the alcove, crouched low to the ground and gazing inside. Jokim instinctively tensed up at the Elf’s appearance, and rose to his knees. “See anything?”

“A few things that made me suspicious,” replied the Elf. “Can the lad travel?”

“I’m ready,” pronounced Druri definitively.

“Good,” said Haluin with a smile. “We will test you today.”


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## chrysophalax (Apr 28, 2008)

Haluin had not failed to notice that the food he had offered had been carelessly cast aside, untouched. Clenching his jaw, he gathered it up without a word, but not without catching Jokim's eye first and the look he gave, left the dwarf in no doubt as to Haluin's displeasure.

Having neatly packed it away, the elf withdrew from the small cave, allowing them to finish stowing their gear before setting out. His thoughts were as dark as the storm clouds now gathering to the south and west into vast thunderheads. Their road together was going to be hard enough, why did Jokim insist on making things worse by being so...dwarvish?

Wind whipping up from the valley below brought with it the scent of his homeland and his heart wept with the pain of separation as he dared a glance over his shoulder at the darkling trees. His hair billowed in front of his face, obscuring the view and he took it as a sign. Eryn Lasgalen was his no more, only the memory of her. Turning his back once more, he looked up at the route he had chosen for them as the next stage up into the mountains.

"Well? Are you posing for a monument or can we get on with it?"

Haluin's back stiffened, then he began to walk back down toward the valley. "We must backtrack a short way, then go south along that ridge." he said pointing. "There our path will join with main track that leads up into the Redhorn Pass. There, once we have climbed a good distance we should be able to reach a cave well known to my people and hopefully is still unspoiled by orcs. There should be some provisions there also."

"Will there be any lem...?" "Enough of that." said Jokim gruffily as he cut Druri off abruptly. Haluin threw a look over his shoulder at them. "Nay, Master Druri. Lembas is what we eat at need as we travel, it is not our sole source of nourishment...despite what you may have heard." he added dryly.

After they had reached the place where the paths joined, in complete silence, it might be added, Jokim spoke up. "You spoke of suspicious things. What things, or do you wish to keep us uninformed?" Haluin winced inwardly at the dwarf's words. Was he attempting to start an arguement, or did he actually suspect the elf of withholding information?

_No time like the present._ he thought grimly as he came to a full stop just in front of Druri, who stumbled into him. The young dwarf mumbled an apology as Jokim took up his customary stance, feet firmly planted, arms folded across his chest. Drawing on all the patience he had, Haluin gave his report with military precision. 

"I found the tracks of several orcs on the path just above us, but they were several days old. Five of them, to be precise. They were travelling slowly, so I doubt it was a hunting party. What does concern me is the lack of any other tracks. Normally the mountain paths this low down hold evidence of animals having passed, but I found none. I am uncertain what this means, so we must be alert, though I have no need to tell you this Jokim. I say this for Druri's benefit. With your permission, I can teach him to track, even over stone."

The challenge was cunningly worded, yet there it was. Either they could benefit from each other, or not, at their peril. The choice was Jokim's.


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## Ghorim (May 2, 2008)

As Haluin made his offer, unfurling it to flap in the face of the warning that Jokim had given him earlier, the dwarf’s response grew nothing short of animalistic. Like a wolf facing an invader of its territory, Jokim’s mustache curled upward to bare his teeth. His arms unslung themselves to fall to his hips, allowing the full length of his impressive auburn beard to sway with the winds. He gave a grunt and tugged sharply at the beard. It was a sign of offense, and though Haluin had never seen a dwarf express his displeasure in such a way, the gesture spoke clearly enough. 

“Let us simply focus on the travel while the lad is yet recovering, eh?” Jokim tried to sound civil, but his polite words barely smoothed out the growl that lay beneath them.

“I’m feeling fine,” protested Druri, displaying his own sense of youthful pride as he straightened himself and tried to look vibrantly healthy. 

“Such lessons do not require perfect health,” said Haluin, calm and confident as he pressed his luck with the dwarf. “Only the capacity to listen and observe.”

“I can do that,” chimed in Druri again, beginning to wonder if his uncle was doubting him.

Jokim took a breath in preparation to silence them both, but a sudden howl of wind crashed all about the travelers. It became clear to him then that every moment of this debate was an unnecessary delay. He saw his dilemma rather differently than Haluin viewed it: to assert his rightful control over Druri, or hand the Elf a petty victory to ease the tension that was grinding their progress to a standstill?

The dwarf’s aura softened from feral to merely annoyed. His arms crossed again, and his head swiveled to give Druri an appraising look.

“Do you want this?” he asked.

Druri nodded with a slightly pained expression, unsure if he was making the right choice.

Jokim wasn’t quite certain either, but returned the nod and glanced to Haluin. “Instruct him as we go. I don’t want you halting us to inspect squirrel droppings or any other such nonsense.”

The uncle gave his nephew’s arm a yank, and set to leading them south for the Redhorn. Haluin’s smile spread slowly as he moved along behind. Soon his lectures began.

“You must prepare yourself to view all things differently henceforth, Druri,” said Haluin. “Hidden messages and meanings surround you at all times when you travel the land. You must learn to see and hear them. But there are no easy paths to this understanding.”

Jokim rolled his eyes while Druri’s widened. 

“Take the time to look around you,” said the Elf. “Tell me what you see.”

The lad placed a finger to his lips as his gaze swarmed over the ample green plains that stretched east and the grey wall of mountains that concealed the west. 

“There’s so much,” murmured Druri. 

“Take it all apart, piece by piece.”

“Well...” Druri’s expression started to brighten.

“I’ll give you the first piece,” cut in Jokim, pointing ahead to a deep body of water that filled the valley below. “That is Kheled-zâram, the lake that changed our folk’s history.”

Druri’s focus broke from Haluin’s exercise, and he scrambled ahead to catch up with his uncle and get a better look at the lake. Jokim placed his free hand on his nephew’s shoulder and pointed again with his axe.

“‘Twas there, into its waters that Durin the Deathless gazed upon his own reflection one evening. And there he saw seven great stars shining all about his head like a crown. He knew then that he would settle beneath these mountains, in Khazad-dûm, as he named it.”

Druri stared ahead, slack-jawed and speechless as his uncle’s voice carried him back into distant times.

“Middle Earth still lay slumbering then. Durin had wandered alone for years in search of his home, without guidance or companions. Imagine! All these lands without a town or village upon them.”

As Druri took those words in, Jokim gave a quick glance over his shoulder to cast a smirk Haluin’s way. “Well, I suppose there was an Elf or two about, in the trees somewhere, no doubt. They are called the Firstborn, after all. But we, the Khazad, came into being first, by Mahal’s hand.”

Haluin gave a slight shake of his head, a wordless warning for Jokim not to press on that front. Jokim chuckled softly and turned back to face ahead, patting Druri’s shoulder.

“Perhaps someday, in quieter times, you will have the opportunity to return to this lake and behold the seven stars for yourself. For today, however, we must keep to our march.”

The lad looked up to Jokim, his youthful wonder turning stone serious. “We’ll both return someday, uncle.”

The elder was caught in a rare moment of complete off-guardedness. His features furrowed for a moment before a smile dawned over them once more. Druri’s shoulder received a final slap. “Aye, lad. We’ll both do it.”

Jokim cast another amused glance Haluin’s way. “But go on, now. You’ve got tracking lessons to take.”

Druri nodded, and with a sense of resigned duty fell back to where Haluin followed them. The uncle smiled to himself and slung his axe atop his shoulders. With his authority securely reasserted, Jokim allowed the Elf to blather on all he liked about looking and listening for nature’s hidden messages. 

_Let him try to teach the lad about respecting the land and its creatures_, thought Jokim. _Even that youngling will learn soon enough on his own that it’s all about survival – and only that._


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## chrysophalax (May 4, 2008)

The weather was proving fickle as they trudged slowly up the pass. A clear morning sky had given way to grey clouds scudding gloomily past and talk between them diminished to a few necessary words.

Haluin had begun pointing out to Druri how to distinguish between many different types of spoor, the old trace where an orc boot had slipped on a flat stone, the print of a wolf as it stalked after mice among the rocks. Seeing how eagerly the young dwarf took in his words, he started to tell Druri how to watch for broken twigs or trampled grass when whenever he found himself travelling through woods or fields These would stand him in good stead, thought Haluin, if he should ever be hunting either an enemy, or dinner.

"When it turns dark and should we have a clear night, I will show you how to guide yourself by the stars and teach you as many names as I can." A stifled cough, one of many heard throughout the day, came once more from Jokim causing Haluin to bristle in irritation. It had become more than plain to the elf that Jokim was not satisfied with him teaching _anything_ to Druri and Haluin couldn't help but wonder at Jokim's attitude. Why would he want such knowledge as the elf possessed, to be kept from Druri. What possible purpose would that serve?

When at last they stopped for a quick meal under the overhang of an enormous granite boulder, Haluin decided to confront Jokim about the "problem".

"Rarely are we elves as direct about things as your folk are, but I must know. Do you want him better equipped than he is now for whatever may lay in the future, or do you wish him kept ignorant? I know well that you believe dwarven knowledge to be all he should ever need, but that is a short-sighted notion, is it not? 

In the past, both our peoples benefitted from sharing knowledge, so why should we not now? Were our leaders wrong in your opinion to do so? Is it a weakness in your eyes?"

The questions poured from Haluin like a waterfall, for he could not fathom why someone should think in such a way. "Tis true that some of our reatest leaders, such as Feanor, grew so haughty that they believed themsleves better, greater than all others...especially dwarves, but also men. I count it a disgrace that such was their arrogance that they slew each other because they would not hear what others had to say. I would not have it so between us, Jokim."

Druri listened, but not having any prior knowledge of what Haluin was telling his uncle, he just kept eating and listening. Jokim kept his thoughts to himself as Haluin spoke, his face giving nothing away as he ate. Once he had finished, they packed away what little remained and covered their tracks, Jokim still having not spoken a word.

In frustration, Haluin gripped Jokim's shoulder and spun him around to face him. "You are a brave, skilled warrior, Jokim. What is it you fear from me? Can it be you are jealous that he listens to me as well as to you? I cannot believe it of you...unless you have changed greatly over the years and become less than you were. Answer me!"

Further up the path, a shadow lurked, listening. It smiled, drooling. All it had to do now was wait, wait for the cover of darkness, then it would feed.


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## Ghorim (May 5, 2008)

Jokim faced Haluin, his hood pulled low to his eyes and his lips pursed in a flat, ambiguous line. With every word that the Elf spouted, he was seeking an entryway to Jokim’s thoughts, trying to slip through a crack in the stony wall that the dwarf had erected between them. At times, deep within his companion’s eyes, Haluin thought he spied a hint of understanding or compassion. He rushed toward it, modifying his tone to try and pry that old empathy out of Jokim. But just as Haluin appeared on the verge of progress, the dwarf’s defenses stiffened, the cracks sealed, and he seemed all the more distant to the Elf.

“Are you done?” grunted the dwarf after Haluin’s impassioned speech. “I have allowed you to teach him, have I not? What more can I provide you?”

“Support, not mere tolerance,” said the Elf resolutely.

Jokim placed an impatient fist to his hip. “We have a march to continue, as you might recall.”

And he turned, beckoning Druri along with a silent motion of his hand. With his back now to Haluin, the dwarf allowed his face to melt into a full expression of his annoyance and frustration. Jealousy? Bah! How dare that Elf make such a fuss in front of the lad, and attempt to prop himself up as some long-suffering mediator between their races?

“We are not competitors, Jokim,” came a call from behind him. “We never have been. Remember the words you spoke upon the Anduin!”

The dwarf’s step faltered.
_
“I could never curse you, Haluin, as much as I could never curse myself.”_

Jokim cast a glance over his shoulder, and this time Haluin could watch the stony countenance erode completely, if only for a moment. There stood Jokim, just as confused and lost as he was, weary from heavy hurts and seeking salves at every turn. But then, with a visible effort, the dwarf erected it all again. The proud columns burst upward, and the angry walls swelled to connect them. Though he stood still, the dwarf seemed to recede in Haluin’s vision.

Jokim’s eyes clouded over once more, and he turned to lead the way.

---

Druri felt the wills of both Haluin and his uncle leaning heavily on him throughout the day’s march. It seemed he was stranded somewhere between their considerable influences, and he began to feel that every word he uttered would be perceived as a declaration of allegiance to one or the other.

The lad couldn’t understand why he felt the two adults tugging at him, until he witnessed their dispute at the mid-day meal. All of his confusion transferred into an intense guilt that burdened his heart. They were fighting over him. He was driving these two old friends apart. 

Druri’s lip trembled as Jokim beckoned him along. He followed hesitantly, trying to evenly halve the distance between his uncle and the Elf. Maybe, if he tried, he could please them both. So he tried to split his attention, listening in equal measure as Haluin pointed out the minute details of displaced pebbles and Jokim called to his attention the rich history of the Misty Mountains and Khazad-dûm beneath them. 

That night, they made camp on a small plateau that provided excellent sightlines to both the east and west. After supper, Jokim took Druri aside to polish up his dagger work and demonstrate how to tie various styles of knots in the climbing rope that he had brought along. Then the uncle handed Druri over to Haluin, who delivered his promised lecture on the stars.

Druri tried to pay attention, but he was vividly aware that his uncle was watching them the entire time, cradling his axe and scowling as the Elf pointed here and there in the sky. Suddenly and without warning, the lad cracked.

“Please don’t fight over me!” he blurted, trying to cast a pleading look toward both Haluin and Jokim at the same time.

The Elf fell silent, and his outstretched finger dropped slowly from the air. He turned to look first at Jokim, and then at Druri, who had buried his head deep into his hands. The uncle stood, also looking at Haluin first, then to his nephew. A pained expression crossed his face, and he approached the lad.

“Druri...” Jokim did not often refer to his nephew by his name. The lad glanced up, looking almost fearful in the dim night. “This... none of this has anything to do with you, do you understand?”

Haluin nodded, at last feeling Jokim’s will fully allied with his own. “Your uncle and I may spar from time to time, but we both desire only what is best for you.”

“All of what Haluin spoke of earlier... jealousy and such... there is none of that in me, Druri.” It seemed as if Jokim was finally addressing the Elf’s questions of that morning, but through his nephew. “I am only curious as to what he is teaching you. Perhaps... perhaps I could even pick up a thing or two for myself by listening.”

Haluin gazed up at Jokim in wonder. Did he truly mean that? Druri was also caught by surprise, and with both of their gazes upon him, Jokim responded with one of his old, wily smirks.

“Not that I would trust everything that spills from this pale tree-lover’s lips, lad.” 

Somehow, the insult only brightened Haluin’s expression. For the first time in days, all three of the travelers seemed at ease.


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## Ghorim (May 5, 2008)

But the moment was short-lived.

For out of the inky stillness came an unearthly howl, a single, sustained note that bent eerily in the mountain winds. An axe and bow flashed in the night as each warrior readied a defense. They faced toward the source of the sound, and even Jokim could now hear the swift trot of four paws upon the rocks, coming down the mountainside toward them.

“Get behind us, lad!” called the dwarf to his nephew, and Druri stumbled fearfully behind Jokim and Haluin, drawing his dagger as he went. 

The Elf loosed two bolts into the shadows. One clattered into dead stone, but the other struck home and produced an angry whimper. Finally, their foe bounded into view, landing in a menacing crouch with its teeth bared and growling: a warg, greater and more grizzled than any Jokim or Haluin had ever seen. 

Its immense size and dominating presence betrayed its status as a former pack leader. All up and down its body were scars from the ill-fated challengers that had dared to test its authority over the clan. Four great paws, armed with claws that were each the size of Druri’s dagger, flexed against the ground. Saliva oozed from between yellowed fangs as the beast smelled a fresh meal. One eye was missing, claimed by the eventual successor to the warg’s former throne, and from its left shoulder jutted one of Haluin’s arrows. But the years had hardened the beast’s thick pelt into a veritable suit of armor, and the projectile had barely penetrated its fur.

Now seeing the beast, Jokim leapt forward and fell into a crouch of his own, glaring into the warg’s one good eye dead on. The dwarf was now in Haluin’s line of sight, and he had to move to keep an open shot at the beast.

“I thought you said that I was to take the lead from now on,” said the Elf, unable to resist comment even in the moment of battle.

“Only with orcs,” muttered Jokim. The warg growled at him and gnashed its teeth, and the dwarf, unexpectedly, growled right back with just as much gusto. Druri looked on, clutching his dagger handle with both hands for fear of his uncle’s safety. Jokim’s hand swung down to cradle a handful of dust and stone as the animal began to inch forward. 

Suddenly, Jokim cast his hand to his left, spraying a cloud of dust into the air. The warg’s head shot to follow the mist, but Jokim had moved in the opposite direction. With surprising agility, the dwarf cut to his right but then changed direction as soon as his lead foot touched ground, leaping directly at the beast and swinging his axe in a vicious arc. 

The warg reacted to the ruse just in time, recoiling as the dwarf’s axe raced toward the side of its head. But Jokim’s blade still connected, slicing cleanly through the bridge of skin that connected the warg’s jaws on the left side of its face. The beast fell back with another whimper as dark blood gushed in a torrent from its mouth. But it recovered more swiftly than Jokim had anticipated, and charged him before he had fully set his feet. Though he managed to interpose his axe between himself and the warg’s deadly, thrashing jaws, Jokim was bowled over, and the beast loomed over him with claws raised to finish its work.

Three more of Haluin’s arrows sung out in the night in rapid succession, all three delving into the warg’s right side. It fell back again, voicing more fervent anguish as the sting of its blows began to accumulate. The beast’s reddened eyes came to rest squarely on the Elf, and seeing more arrows in the offing, it made a desperate charge at its prey. Haluin managed to fire once more, but the arrow glanced off of the beast’s helm-like skull. The Elf knew he could not simply dodge the charge, for that would give the beast a clear line at Druri. A hand fell to the hilt of his blade, and Haluin steeled himself for the worst.

But in rushed Jokim with a great cry, leaving his feet as he blindsided the beast with a heavy shoulder. All of the dwarf’s momentum was just enough to throw the warg off-balance, and it staggered sideways before regaining its tensed posture. Druri swung around so as to keep Haluin between himself and the beast. In short order, Jokim rushed to the Elf’s side, and once again they together constituted a formidable wall in front of the petrified lad. 

The warg was trembling in painful rage, unused to meeting such stiff resistance. It was already agitated coming into this night, having lost its former prestige to an arrogant young upstart not even a week ago. But this insolence was too much to bear. It howled again, a deafening noise that rattled all of the stones on the plateau.

“It seems we have only succeeded in thoroughly annoying our adversary,” said Haluin, drawing back another arrow.

“Let him come, then,” growled Jokim, spinning his axe.

Haluin smiled, glad to hear the dwarf’s swagger back in full force. “Indeed. Let him.”

Their wish was soon obliged, as the warg made another head-on rush in a blur of fur and fangs.


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## chrysophalax (May 14, 2008)

Dwarven iron met slashing claws as the beast roared its hatred directly in Jokim's face. The dwarf laughed grimly, for not only had his axe successfully parried the warg's latest attack, but it had also partially severed the right front paw, leaving the animal snarling and whining in pain.

The elf meanwhile was finding himself more and more discomfitted by the situation. Was this truly the only warg on the mountainside? His ears strained, listening for any answering howl from above or below. Nothing. And it was precisely that "nothing" that worried him. Why was this warg alone? Was there something wrong with it?

Questions needed answers, but there was no time, not while there were arrows to retrieve. _What was I thinking? It's not as though I have comrades at my side to borrow more from until after the battle._ Haluin eyed the creature, which now resembled nothing so much as a grotesquely enormous, furry, porcupine. Oddly, his mind chose this moment to envision himself telling the story of this particular adventure to a friend and being told he was a liar. His sudden laughter caused all three, both friends and foe, to pause and look at him as though he had just gone mad. 

"Come, Jokim! Let's finish it. I, for one, have had enough of this." The dwarf's eyes sparkled and he grinned at Haluin as together they charged the great warg before them. Not for the first time did Haluin rue the day he had chosen not to take up the sword, in favour of hunting daggers. The short reach was proving a _definite_ disadvantage under the circumstances.

All teeth and claws, the warg fought with all its remaining strength, but the combined efforts of Haluin and Jokim proved the greater as, with a last mighty stroke, Jokim buried his axe in its side. Great gouts of blood spurted as the creature bled its life out over the rocks that would become its tomb.

Druri gave a cry of victory and rushed to embrace his uncle, while Haluin watched over the warg's last death throes. As he stepped in closer to begin plucking out his arrows, a huge yellow eye focussed on him as he reached toward its neck. Without warning, the huge jaws clamped onto his left arm. Haluin reacted instantly, burying one of his daggers to the hilt in the open eye socket.

Pain engulfed Haluin's arm, becoming a living entity that threatened to overcome him as he sank to one knee. "Jokim..." he gasped, unable to manage more as shock began to set in.

Both dwarves ran to his side and as Jokim began to prise at the warg's jaws, Druri kept the elf sitting upright. Great pain had always affected Haluin strangely, causing him to become giddy. He began demanding that Druri find all his arrows and to take great care that he got none of the warg's blood on him as he did so. Confused, the youngster made as though to obey, but a stern look from Jokim made him stay put.

Mumbling under his breath as he strained to free Haluin, the dwarf tried not to think too much about the extent of the damage done to Haluin's arm. All he knew was, that it didn't look good. He'd seen axe wounds, knife and sword wounds, even a few nasty bites, but nothing quite so...mucous-laden. It was all he could do to keep his breakfast where it belonged.

After what seemed hours, Jokim succeeded and gingerly lifted Haluin's arm out of the warg's bloody jaws. The elf's head rolled back onto Druri's shoulder as he slipped into unconsciousness, his long dark, sweat-laden hair covering him ominously like a shroud.


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## Ghorim (May 20, 2008)

Jokim’s arms tensed into thick knots as he tore and pried at the warg’s jaws. But all of his efforts seemed for naught — they were clamped in a death grip on Haluin’s left arm. Beads of sweat slithered down his face, and through clenched teeth a series of curses began to spew forth.

“A blight on you, Haluin,” grunted Jokim in Khuzdul. “You and your arrows! So impatient to claim what was yours... now look at you. A damned mess, and I’ll be the one to clean it up!”

But with each harsh word he spoke aloud, Jokim whipped at himself within. He should have delivered a sounder blow to finish the beast... he ought to have held Haluin back until they were sure... or if only he had...

“Nonsense...” spat Jokim, silencing the internal debate. The Elf and warg’s bloods blended freely upon his gloves and sleeves, but he could feel the slightest bit of slack beginning to build in the beast’s jaws. Druri watched in silence, holding Haluin aloft by his right shoulder and straining to see his uncle’s work.

Finally, all of the tension broke at once and Jokim split the deadly trap that had ensnared the Elf’s arm. A fresh swell of blood seemed to burst from the depths of the corpse’s throat, staining Jokim up and down. The putrid smell of the warg’s half-digested morning meal issued forth, causing the old infantryman to gag and reel backward for a moment. Druri retreated as well, taking Haluin with him. 

Once he had regained his composure, Jokim stepped forward and carefully took up the Elf’s arm. The warg’s teeth had thrust deep into the forearm and elbow, leaving a dark trail of puncture wounds along the top and bottom of the limb. Jokim had no doubt that the force of the bite had shattered at least one of the bones in Haluin’s arm, if not all of them. 

Druri laid the Elf’s unconscious form on the ground, while Jokim held the tattered, bloody arm aloft. 

“Fetch his pack,” the uncle said to his nephew. “He has those salves and bandages of his.”

Druri went stumbling off into the night and returned with the Elf’s supplies. Jokim quickly set to work, recalling all of the limited medical training he had received in the army as he treated and bandaged the ugly wounds. 

“Nae, this simply wouldn’t do at all,” thought Jokim. “It might hold the bleeding at bay for a time, but this injury is beyond what I can manage.”

And what was more, he needed to put that arm in a sling. 

Jokim shot another glance at Druri. “My pack. A spare shirt. Hurry.”

The lad obeyed with uncommon speed, and soon Jokim was ripping his old shirt apart and tying it about Haluin’s left shoulder to hold the injured arm in place. Druri watched closely, haven been trained throughout this journey to learn at every occasion.

Jokim stood once his task was done, and placed his hands on his hips as he gazed down at Haluin. The Elf’s hair had strung itself all over his face, and each breath came in a sickly gasp. Druri stood alongside his uncle, looking to him for direction.

“We must get him to Rivendell as swift as we can,” said Jokim quietly. “I know little of that place, but the healers there are renowned for their skill. A shame that he’s the only one among us who knows the way.” He nodded down at Haluin. “Well... no matter. He spoke of that cave earlier, did he not? The one his people filled with provisions. We can get him there, and then bide our time until he recoups his strength.”

“Do you know where that is, uncle?” Druri asked, still holding his dagger fearfully.

“Nae,” Jokim glanced up along the rocky track. “We’ll have to wake him soon enough so that he can direct us. But he gauged it at another day’s march earlier this evening.”

Druri nodded. “I’ll talk to him. Maybe that will bring him around.”

“So be it. Let’s push off, then.” Jokim knelt down to pick up Haluin.

“But... eh... may I fetch Haluin’s arrows before we go, uncle?” Druri half-dreaded to ask the question. And his fears were answered when his uncle glared at him in annoyance.

“Half a moment,” muttered Jokim. He stomped over to pick up his axe, which he had cast aside upon the ground. Approaching the corpse, Jokim lifted the weapon over his head and then brought it down heavily upon the warg’s throat. The body did not give so much as a shudder... he might as well have been chopping up a slab of meat. Jokim pressed his boot against the beast’s side and yanked out his weapon. He turned back to Druri, his whole form bathed in shadowy stains.

“Now you may approach it.”


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## Ghorim (May 20, 2008)

Jokim labored forth with the unconscious Haluin draped over his shoulders. He found himself recalling the old infantry drills at Erebor, when he and the other privates had to lug full kegs of ale on their backs up and down the mountainside. 

“And I told myself I’d never do such things again,” he thought ruefully.

Druri, meanwhile, had the honor of carrying both Jokim’s axe and Haluin's bow as his uncle trudged along. He stood just to Jokim’s right on the path, staring at Haluin’s blank face and asking it questions every now and then.

“Haluin? Can you hear me?” This was the fourth time Druri had asked that since they set off from the plateau.

“Is he awake yet?” grunted Jokim.

“Nae.”

“Alive?”

“I think so.”

“Good.”

Jokim’s eyes cut at the night in a dead stare. He looked like a butcher fresh off of a full day’s work, with his face caked in pulpy red and filthy brown. His thick brows crashed down upon his eyes as he strained to make each step. Druri feared his uncle then, and focused his attentions on rousing Haluin. 

The path curled ever upward, affording no respite to the two dwarves as they went. Jokim sharpened his ears, searching for the sound of any more warg calls echoing through the mountain passes. Only the wind cried out in the night, and somehow that silence was all the more unsettling. 

They rounded a bend, only to discover that a wave of rocks had swept over the track sometime before, leaving only a narrow strip for them to tread upon. 

“An avalanche...” Jokim sounded only sour and resigned. “Luck is hiding her face from us tonight.”

He marched up to where the path began to narrow and then set Haluin down with a groan, which the Elf duly matched.

“Come, lad. You take the legs, I’ll take the shoulders.”

Druri did his part, and by stringing Haluin out between the two of them, they were able to walk along the ledge with relative ease. The Elf groaned again, more forcefully this time.

“What... what are you doing?”

Jokim glanced down at Haluin, and each appeared upside-down to the other.

“Carrying you to safety, that’s what.”

“Your beard... is in my face.” And indeed, Jokim’s whiskers were dangling down to brush against Haluin’s forehead and obscure his vision.

Jokim stopped the procession for a moment, but then continued. “I am aware of this.”

The Elf coughed. “You reek of warg.”

“And you’re no bunch of spring roses, yourself! Now hush up and save your strength... we need you to direct us to that cave of yours.”

Haluin looked about deliriously as the world seemed to pitch to and fro. “Where are we?”

“On our way there. No more remarks! The lad and I are in the perfect position to pitch you over the side of the mountain, you should know.”

Were it not for the living flame that immersed his arm and shook at all of his senses, Haluin would have had a sharp rejoinder in the offing. As it was, however, he took Jokim’s advice and fell silent. 

Once they passed the pile of fallen rock, they set Haluin down again. Jokim grabbed the Elf’s good arm, pulled it over his shoulders, and then took a grip on Haluin’s right leg. In a smooth motion, he lifted the Elf up onto his back once again.

“That’s another army lesson,” he remarked to Druri.

“Perhaps we should both keep carrying him as we did just now.” The lad worried for his uncle’s own health, wondering if all of this strain might trigger one of Jokim’s devastating headaches. 

Jokim shook his head emphatically. “We’ll move quicker this way. Come.”

Druri nodded, knowing it best not to challenge his uncle’s judgment. In the meantime, he would follow and toy with his elder’s axe, pretending that it was his own. 

“Still awake, Haluin?” Jokim turned his head slightly to the right, where Haluin’s head rested near his shoulder.

“I... believe so...”

“Well, this is no dream now. I need you to tell me where we are, and how much further to the cave.”

“It... might be of some assistance... if you were to stop moving... and put me down.”

“Hmm.” Jokim took the point, and tipped over to his left, setting Haluin down on two unsteady feet. Druri moved to keep the Elf’s weakened balance intact. Haluin squinted and glanced about them, trying his best not to look at whatever remained of his left arm. 

“Not far,” he murmured, and then swayed uneasily. Jokim caught him, and swiftly hefted him up again. 

“That is all I need to hear for now. I assume your folk have hidden the entrance well, so you must tell me when it is upon us.”

Haluin groaned sickly, and Jokim quickened his pace. Now he seemed to move without fatigue, possessed by the need to stay in motion. Druri had to scurry to keep pace. So they went for nearly an hour more without a word exchanged. The crescent moon hid shyly behind a slashing front of clouds, casting everything before them in a pale gloom. In the nether regions of his skull, Jokim began to feel a prickling pain, but he shunted the sensation aside. 

“Here!” the word struck out, clear as a beam of sunlight through the murk of the night.

Jokim skidded to a standstill, and turned to face the rock wall beside them. Once again, he lowered Haluin to the ground. Now both warriors looked tipsy, and Druri wasn’t sure which one to steady first. 

“That rock...” Haluin pointed, but his finger drifted all along the wall in front of them. 

“The large one?” Jokim put a hand to his forehead and tried to refocus his vision. 

The Elf nodded. “Hollow.”

There came a chuckle from the dwarf, and then he lowered his shoulder to shove the obstruction out of the way. It proved a bit more stubborn than he had anticipated, but with a determined second effort, he cast the great stone aside, revealing a small passageway that receded into darkness.

Jokim turned to Haluin, whose hand rested on Druri’s shoulder for support. “After you.”

“Guests first,” deferred the Elf. 

“Hmmph... an Elf welcoming a _Khuzd_ into a cave?”

“Enter, Jokim, or leave us waiting out here all night.”

The dwarf gave Haluin one of his stiff, probing looks. 

“My axe, lad.” Jokim took up his weapon again, and then led the march down into the shelter. Haluin and Druri followed, moving in unison.

---

Not long thereafter, they were settled. Thankfully, the cavern had gone unspoiled, and the provisions still stood in neat rows on stone shelves carved into the walls. Much to the dwarves’ delight, there was a hearth with a chimney that exited discreetly from the mountainside overhead. For the past several days, they had gone without fires to avoid detection by scouting orcs, but now Druri got to put some of his skills and spare tinder to use. 

Jokim pulled up three of the haven's cots while his nephew stoked the fire with practiced care. Down Haluin went onto his, while the elder dwarf sat upon his cot to watch Druri work. He didn’t even notice his chin drifting toward his chest until his nephew shook at his knee. 

“Uncle...”

“Mmm! Aye?” Jokim’s head darted back up.

“You rest. I’ll take the first shift at watch.”

Jokim rubbed at his eyes. “You’re not worn down from all that?”

“The march has me in fine shape, just as you said it would.”

The old dwarf chuckled dryly. “Youth.”

Druri pulled the remnants of Jokim’s spare shirt from his pack. “Here... you should wipe off your face.”

“That messy, eh?” Jokim rubbed at his cheeks and forehead, and pulling back the cloth saw its once milky white surface slathered in red. He laughed again, and tossed the rag aside before doing the same with his soiled gloves. Then, with great suspicion and hesitancy, he lowered himself onto the Elvish-made cot, expecting it to be too soft or too narrow for his comfort. But the cushions absorbed his weight kindly, and the pillow greeted his aching head with a soft embrace.

Jokim gave an appeased yawn, settled his hands upon his chest, and shut his eyes.

“Now if you grow weary, lad, simply give my beard a tug and I’ll be up to relieve you.”

“Yes, uncle.”

“Ahh... and remember this, Druri... there is no rest so sweet as one taken after a full day’s work...”

“Of course, uncle.” Druri whispered these last words, for he could tell that Jokim was already drifting off to sleep. Sure enough, the snores soon began to rumble out from his uncle, like heavy carts rolling over cobblestone. The lad withdrew from Jokim’s side, turning to the soothing crackle of the fire. 

Once again, he found himself situated between his uncle and Haluin. His pride at being their mutual apprentice swelled all the more now, after witnessing them vanquish so powerful and fearsome a foe. If only he could have helped... 

“Someday,” Druri thought, “I will lead the charge. I will save the day.”

He smiled at the thought and the visions that accompanied it, but a whisper cut in to his left.

“Druri...”

The lad glanced over to where Haluin lay. He could see the Elf’s keen gaze peering at him through the shadows. A hint of desperation stirred behind those bright eyes. Druri scooted over to the injured warrior’s cot.

“Aye, Haluin... can I do anything for you?”


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## chrysophalax (May 21, 2008)

"Aye Druri, there is. We will have need for fresh water soon. At the back of this cave you will find a rock with a single carving, much like one of your runes, upon it. If you push it aside you will hear the sound of water running not far beneath, There is a spring which flows there from which you can draw water at need and I...I would like to cleanse myself of that foul creature's stench, if you will aid me."

With a quick nod, Druri went off in search of the rock Haluin had spoken of. Upon reaching the back of the cave, he dug deep into one of his pockets where he stored a flint and tinder. Striking a spark, he lit the bit of tinder, creating a small flame by which he was able to make out a jumble of rubble in one corner. Carefully he peered at each one until at last he came upon a curious looking sigil. Elated, Druri set aside his mákeshift light so that he could move the stone aside.

The sound of coursing water greeted his efforts and it was all he could do to contain a whoop of joy. Gathering up his now sputtering tinder, he looked down and spied a cup tied to a length of silvery rope. With great care, Druri lowered the cup down so that it dipped into the water, then hauled it back up, nearly full. He then untied the rope and set it aside so that he could bring the water-filled cup to Haluin.

"Haluin! I found it! Here's some fresh water for you." Gratefully, the elf sipped from the cup, then reached out to give the young dwarf's arm a firm squeeze. "Well done, lad, well done." He raised himself up one his right elbow, wincing slightly. "How is Jokim? He should not have carried me alone. Your uncle, I fear, is far too stubborn for his own good."

"I think he's asleep right now, Haluin. At least, he looks asleep." Druri said as he craned past Haluin to see where Jokim lay on his cot like the dead. "You said you wanted help with cleaning up? You, uh, don't look too good just now. Are you sure?"

Haluin chuckled softly as he settled himself once more on his cot. "You have good instincts, Druri. We might make a healer of you yet. I will rest until first light. You go and cover the stream, it must not be allowed to become tainted. Go now, lad."

As soon as Druri disappeared into the caves depths, Haluin slipped outside the cave, cradling his arm gingerly. It throbbed relentlessly and Haluin could feel the fire of fever burning within him. He berated himself as he leaned against the cave's mouth, setting his forehead against the cool stone in an effort to relieve his throbbing head.

_Elbereth...have I gone so far astray that I can no longer govern myself? I have acted foolishly, nearly getting Jokim and his nephew killed! Keep me from becoming a burden to them, Lady. Keep me on my feet long enough to reach Imladris....even though it may mean my death when Lord Elrond sees me._

"Haluin? You should be laying down...shouldn't you? I'm standing watch. We can see about getting you clean later." The note of pride in Druri's voice made Haluin smile as he turned and made his way back to the cot. Wearily, he stretched out, his arm now moving beyond pain into the realm of agony. Haluin stifled a groan as he sought to position himself so as to relieve the pressure on his arm. He could almost feel it swelling, the infection spreading insidiously outwards, like an invader seeking to overwhelm his defenses.

As the light of an early dawn crossed the mouth of the cave, it found both dwarves looking over the foodstuffs and a fire burning in the fireplace, over which, a pot of water was boiling. Soon it would be time to see in what state Haluin had survived the night.


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## Ghorim (May 30, 2008)

The dreams were returning. Half-blurred visions, of his sister, the mountains, everything engulfed in dragon’s fire... they hid just behind Jokim’s eyelids when he shook himself awake each morning. He hadn’t dreamt since the day his head had caved in. In the long years since, the empty shadows of his sleep had become so familiar that Jokim had forgotten that other world — one of whispered possibility and lurking fears.

Jokim took a belly flop out of bed that morning, smacking the stone floor as he rolled in the midst of a somnolent wrestling match. Druri, who had nodded off against his uncle’s cot, stirred in agitation. Gazing sleepily across the rumpled mess of Jokim’s bed, Druri saw the old dwarf’s head pop up from the ground and those formidable brown eyes lock onto his.

“You fell asleep on guard duty,” muttered Jokim, rubbing his head as he tried to remember what sort of beast he was battling in his dream.

“You woke up on sleep duty,” replied Druri, stretching his arms across the cot with a groan.

Jokim arched a brow, and Druri’s whole body stiffened with the realization of how insolent his retort sounded. 

“Uncle, I... eh... forgive...”

But Jokim’s hand had already shot across the distance between them and grabbed Druri’s hair, swirling it up and throwing it all into the lad’s face. The uncle rose to his feet, wearing a glower that halved the distance between admonishing and amused.

“Your point is well taken, lad. I needed the sleep, as did you.”

Dawn’s light was just beginning to creep into the cavern, coloring the rock a buoyant gold. Haluin lay on the cot nearest to the entrance, with his back shoved out at the two dwarves. Jokim regarded his still form for a moment, before reaching down to yank Druri to his feet. 

“Come... let the Elf rest. We’ll see what’s in stock for breakfast.”

A curious repast awaited them amongst the stored provisions. All manner of foreign vegetables and grains sat dried and stacked in barrels, and further back in the coolest alcove of the cave was a small collection of salted meat.

“They must stock this place with each new moon,” said Jokim, unable but to admire the precision of it all.

With all of the ingredients at their disposal, a stew was inevitable, and Druri eagerly set to work heating up some water from the underground stream. Reinvigorating the fire and hanging a pot above it to boil reminded him of those quiet meals he and Uncle Jokim shared back in the Iron Hills. His elder brought over a carefully chosen selection of ingredients, and soon a nostril-knocking aroma began to fill the rocky haven.

“Imagine how fine that is going to feel down in your belly,” said Jokim, rubbing his bare hands together and warming them over the cauldron. 

“Don’t tempt me, uncle. I might just try a sip before it cools!” Druri ladled out a spoonful and gave it a sniff. It smelled just like something his mother used to make, and the young dwarf gave an old man’s bitter smile as he recalled those peaceful days. 

When the first bowl was ready, Druri carried it over to wear Haluin lay. 

“Haluin, rise and be counted! I’ve got a delicious bowl of...” 

The lad froze at the sight of the sweat-streaked face, the slack jaw, the fogged-over eyes. It didn’t look like Haluin so much as a husk of hair and flesh in bloodstained clothes. Druri left the bowl on the floor without a second thought and moved to Haluin’s bedside. He knelt down and craned his neck to gaze a straight line into the Elf’s eyes.

“Haluin?”

Something frail but determined flickered behind that ancient gaze, and Haluin returned to the room with a blink and a weak smile. It was a flimsy front, and Druri cut around it to glimpse the enormous pain that the Elf was attempting to mask.

“Come,” he said quietly, hoping not to draw his uncle’s attention. “Eat what you can.” He held out the steaming bowl, and lifted a spoonful toward Haluin’s cracked lips.

Jokim meandered over to the Elf's cot, and in the fifteen seconds it took him to cross the cavern he guzzled down half of his portion. 

“How is he?” Jokim looked up from his bowl just long enough to ask the question, before ingesting another scalding spoon’s worth.

Druri shook his head, looking up to his uncle with a familiar, childlike fear gripping his features. “Fever.”

“Eh?” Jokim rounded the side of the cot and saw Haluin’s condition for himself. “Hang it all...” He stood still and thought for a moment, surveying the Elf with a stern, practical gaze. “Without the proper care, he dies slow or he dies fast. I cannot give that care to him. Imladris, then, is his best hope.” And with that hard sweep of cold, dwarvish logic, Jokim had laid out the path that the three travelers were to take. 

Haluin heard and registered all of this, and a brief lightning strike lit in his eyes at the mention of the Elvish realm. Jokim settled down upon a knee beside Druri, forming a neat, mirrored image of the uncle and nephew. Though only a few tentative shrubs of hair sprouted from his rosy cheeks, Druri had a vague, familial resemblance to his elder. The lad’s hair ran with streaks of the distinctive auburn hue that glinted in Jokim’s beard. Thick eyebrows jealousy guarded a pair of dull brown eyes on each dwarf’s face, eyes that held back emotions with the stubbornness of an earthen dam. 

But Haluin could sense the faintest trickle now as Jokim leaned in.

“How much further to Imladris?”

“Three days.” The Elf’s vocal chords scraped together in a discordant sound that alarmed even him.

“We will make it there in two,” Jokim’s hand rose to pat Haluin’s shoulder, but twitched to a halt halfway there. His expression stiffened. He cast an eye at Druri, then back to the ailing Elf. “Come... let us make quick work of this stew and be on our way.”

Outside, the wind was crying for blood, bearing with it an army of grey storm clouds from the west. These mountains would never grant them an easy passage...


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## chrysophalax (Jun 1, 2008)

_Imladris...two days...will it be my salvation, or my doom?_ Haluin drifted in a pain-filled haze as he listened to the dwarves packing up after their hurried breakfast. Guilt tinged with anger only added to his misery. Even the elements were conspiring against them now as a mournful drizzle began to fall outside the mouth of their safe haven.

_Get to your feet, slaggard! This is not the worst wound you have ever suffered._ a fierce voice snarled at him as Haluin struggled consciousness. Not only his arm, but his entire body felt now like raging fire and thirst was fast becoming a new enemy.

Gritting his teeth, Haluin sat up and knew he was in trouble. Dizziness made the urge to vomit nearly irresistable, so he began to breathe slowly, his right fist digging into the bedding on which he sat as he fought for control.

Jokim glanced up at the elf, then straightened, hands on hips as he looked Haluin up and down. "I've seen more lively corpses, Haluin. Not the most sturdy folk, elves." For the first time, Jokim became uncertain, even as he goaded the elf. He had seen too many wounds go bad not to know what was happening to his friend.

_Don't go all soft, Jokim, you old fool. He's not a friend, just a misfit much like yourself. I just don't want him dying on my watch, is all._

As though reading his thoughts, Haluin grinned humourlessly as he got carefully to his feet. "Two days you say, master dwarf? Possible, but unlikely. We still have to reach the crest of the pass and in this rain, that task has been made all the more difficult. As you well know, slate and shale provide unsure footing at the best of times. In the rain, need I say more?"

"We have to try, Haluin! We can't let you just...die up here!" Druri blurted out. His face turned crimson as Jokim glowered at him, but the youngster refused to be cowed. "You know we can't, uncle. What would the elves think of us if they find us with one of their dead kinsmen?"

Despite his fever, Haluin began to laugh. "They will probably thank you!" He plucked at the braids in his hair until he found a specific one, then held it out for them to see. A thin red ribbon with elvish writing on it had been incorporated into it and he held it with distaste. "This is the badge of a kinslayer, one who is outcast among my people. All elves know what this means and many would not hesitate to do me harm because of it. They have every right to deny me aid should we reach Imladris."

The two dwarves shuddered as they listened to the painful irony in Haluin's voice. Such treatment by one's own kind was unheard of among dwarves and it made Jokim indignant. "How your race can claim superiority over others is unbelievable, Haluin! I wouldn't let a _dog_ suffer, much less..."

Haluin's hand cut savagely across Jokim's words. "It matters not! You must get over this accursed pass and I-I will do what I can not to hinder you. Therefore...if you are ready, let us be off."


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## Ghorim (Jun 3, 2008)

“There’s but one more thing to do ere we depart.”

Jokim cut past Haluin and across the cavern, as if seized by some sudden inspiration. And indeed, there was a sort of savage artistry to the way he drew his dagger and applied its blade to the legs of one of the shelter’s cots. Druri and the Elf gawked in confusion as Jokim sawed at the wood with fixated intent.

“Is this how you repay the hospitality of my folk?” Haluin managed, already leaning on Druri for support.

“Pay attention!” Jokim had now severed all four limbs from the bed, and next removed a length of rope from his pack. With nimble strokes he lashed each leg back onto the bed, only now they ran parallel with the cot. Once his task was completed, he held up the finished product: a sturdy stretcher.

“In case your skinny legs should buckle,” said the dwarf with a smirk. But behind that jovial exterior, Jokim knew — they would have to use that cot at some point on the march to Imladris.

---

The wind scratched and clawed at the travelers, fighting them for every step they took. It hurled the raindrops into their faces like tiny pebbles, stinging the exposed skin and flushing it red. The ground dissolved into a shifting mass of stone and mud, slick and untrustworthy. Druri, who served as Haluin’s left crutch, kept slipping and sullying his clothes all the more in splotches of greyish-brown gunk. But he bit down on his lip and pushed up from the ground each time, sliding sloppily along and keeping a hold on the makeshift stretcher with his free hand.

Jokim quickly established himself as the engine that drove the trio forward. He scrapped ahead with an untamed violence to match the gale gusts and pounding rain, staking every inch of his advance in defiance of the elements. He wore that ludicrous, lop-sided grin of his, the same one he donned each time the odds of success tipped toward the impossible. Soon, he took over Haluin’s position at the center of their shambling triangle, willing both the Elf and his nephew onward with a tree-trunk arm wrapped around each of them. 

They climbed higher, day slipped into evening, and the temperature plummeted. The rain came sheathed in packets of sleet now, and the ground refused to support their footfalls. Haluin was barely with them anymore, swaying wildly in the breeze like a tattered flag.

“It’s no good!” gasped Druri, trying to shove his voice above the howl and thunder of the storm. He could see that feverish halo burning around his uncle’s eyes, a sight which told him that Jokim would drag them ahead all night unless someone convinced him to stop. “We must rest!”

Jokim’s head seemed to retract from its own private world of struggle to behold the pathetic sight of Haluin and his nephew. For the first time in hours, they came to a complete halt. 

“Indeed!” bellowed Jokim. “Stay alert for any overhangs or shelter!”

All they could find was a chilly crawlspace trapped between two large boulders, barely enough to hold all three of them but just enough to keep most of the rain out. The dwarves practically had to drag Haluin inside, before cocooning him in as many blankets as they could spare. Uncle and nephew then huddled together on the ground, sharing the last remaining scrap of quilt they had. 

“Well, well...” Jokim muttered, for lack of anything better to say. Somehow his tone, with its grim doubt shaken by weariness, summed up their predicament perfectly. 

Haluin groaned, adding another layer of nuance to Jokim’s declaration. The sound shot back and forth in the tight space between the stones, and seemed to linger for a solid minute before fading into memory. 

“Do not entertain the thought of dying, Haluin,” grunted Jokim. “Do not even consider the word. I may end up dragging a sack of skin and bones into Imladris, but it will be a _breathing_ sack, you understand?” He spoke these words about as tenderly as any such words could be spoken.

“Jokim...” Haluin rasped, writhing over onto his right side to gaze blearily at the dwarf. “Since my being alive continues to entertain you so... I would not seek to disappoint you.”

“Good,” pronounced Jokim sharply. “Now sleep.”

But none of them found much rest that night.

---

The second day proved worse still, for now even Jokim’s steps were beginning to waver. As the wind and rain only redoubled their intensity, the party almost seemed to have each step it took negated. The stone giants were out in full force, tossing boulders against the mountainsides in terrifically destructive sport. 

“Durin’s beard!” declared Jokim, as his own grew limp and waterlogged from the downpour.

All throughout the morning and afternoon’s long slog, he felt icy fingertips begin to spread along his skull, soon encasing his entire head. Every now and then, they would squeeze, and for a moment, Jokim’s vision would go blurry. But he raged on, convinced that Haluin would not be much longer for these realms unless they lugged him into the arms of his Elvish kindred. 

By evening, the fingers were steeling their grip, and Jokim recognized that familiar mist that enshrouded all of his senses. His stomach lurched along; his legs grew limp and doughy.

“No...” Jokim grunted to himself, trying to shove open the clamp that now gripped his skull. Druri and Haluin were depending on him! Just a few steps further...

But the harder he struggled, the tighter the press became. This time, Jokim didn’t even sense it happening. His eyes rolled back into his skull. His final step faltered, the knee buckling and the leg collapsing in on itself as he tumbled to the mud, bringing Haluin down with him. Druri reacted just quickly enough to cushion some of the collapse, but he ended up on the bottom of the pile for his efforts. 

In a burst of determined terror, Druri shoved both his uncle and Haluin off of him. He rolled Jokim over, and his worst fears were confirmed. A headache. His uncle had pushed himself too far, and the hammer had come down in an instant. Druri’s gaze veered away from the unconscious Jokim over to Haluin, who was barely supporting himself on his right hand and both knees.

Normally, Druri’s face would be stained with thick, hot tears. But somehow the extremity of the circumstances had washed away all such weakness. As Haluin met the young dwarf’s eyes, he saw only a harsh understanding and hard-forged sense of purpose.

“We have to carry him,” said Druri. He pulled up the stretcher, which he had dropped in the earthen goo. “We have to carry him.”

Thunder rolled somewhere overhead amidst an endless, stone-grey sky.


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## chrysophalax (Jun 3, 2008)

"We have to carry him." 

Those grimly spoken words made it possible for Haluin to do for another what he could never have done for himself. Summoning all the strength he had left, the elf got to his feet and helped Druri wrestle his uncle onto the stretcher. It was plain that Haluin couldn't use both hands to bear his end, so Druri fashioned a sling of sorts from some of the cloth set aside for bandages. 

After tying one braided end of cloth to the stretcher handle and setting the other looped end across Haluin's right shoulder, the elf found it possible, if uncomfortable, to carry his part. As they staggered onward into the cold, wet night with Haluin leading, he found himself grinning. " 'Tis true, my friend. Your contraption has indeed come in handy, but little did you guess who would benefit from it."

The raging fever that had tormented him so now seemed to be gone, yet he knew from experience this was only an illusion. He could feel his mood changing from lightheartedness into something approaching euphoria. Everything was easier, the rain and darkness now merely spectators as the elf began to sing.

Druri couldn't believe his ears. "H-Haluin?" _This is all I need. Uncle's ill and Haluin...I have no idea what's happened to him!_ One glance down at Jokim's unnaturally pale face made him dig deep within himself. He gripped the stretcher even tighter, shaking off the tiredness of his young muscles. His uncle depended on him, needed him to be strong now and he wasn't about to fail him...not this time.

Had anyone come across them as they made their perilous way along the crest of the pass, they would have seen a wounded elf and, not a dwarf in his youth, but a grim adult, determined to bring his fallen comrade to safety. Such was the effect the journey had had on Druri already.

After another hour or two of Haluin's delirious singing and Jokim's muffled groans, Druri was nearing his breaking point. Calling a halt, he gingerly set the makeshift stretcher down, then hurried to help Haluin out of his sling. Sparing not a glance for the elf, Druri knelt at Jokim's side and was heartened to see that his uncle had fallen into a deep sleep despite the wind and the constantly pelting rain.

Once again, the sound of singing filled his ears and Druri gritted his teeth. "Haluin! Do you have to..." But it was not Haluin. The elf was now standing, his posture completely rigid as he too, listened to the singing. 

"They are elves. Elves from Imladris, unless I miss my guess. Wait here. I will go to them and ask for their assistance." Haluin's voice was so soft, Druri almost didn't hear him, but what he heard chilled him to the bone.

He heard the sound of fear.


Cautiously, Haluin made his way in the direction of the singing, his mínd racing. _Ah, Elbereth! Guide my tongue. If nothing else, I must secure aide for Jokim. Druri is yet too vulnerable to go forward to Ered Luin without him._ He wouldn't allow himself to think of the dangers he himself now faced, ironically, amongst his own people.

A few more stumbling steps brought him within view of a small group of elves, possibly three or four, one of which called out to him as another raised a bow in warning. Haluin stopped, swaying. One of the group spoke swiftly to the others, then ran up the slight slope to the injured elf's side.

"What is amiss, brother? You are grievously wounded!" He waved for the others to join him as he helped Haluin to sit down on a large boulder. "My name is Eldarin, _mellon._ We come from Imladris and were seeking shelter when we heard your song. What has happened?"

Eldarin's kind words made Haluin's chest ache for the comradeship of his kind. It had been so long since he had been among them and now, once daylight revealed him for what he was... He pushed the thought aside as his thoughts turned to those waiting for him.

"My companions and I were attacked by an enormous warg. Two, maybe three days ago...I am...unsure, but I believe it was that long ago. They were bringing me to Imladris, as I have suffered a bite from the creature and I am...not well." The others looked at the now filthy bandages and blanched.

"You must come back with us, now!" Eldarin cried, but Haluin held back. "One of my companions is also unwell. He suffers from an old head injury and he is now unconscious. Can you help them?"

"Yes, we will help him as well. Now let us go swiftly. My heart tells me you are at great risk." They told him to remain behind and rest, but Haluin refused, knowing he must be there when the group realised they would be helping dwarves as well as one of their own.

It was the work of moments for them to reach the place where Druri knelt next to Jokim and Haluin's heart sank when he saw them eyeing each other narrowly. "Dwarves? You travel with _dwarves?"_ Haluin set his jaw. "Aye. The elder is an old friend of mine and this is his nephew, Druri. Without them I would never have made it this far."


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## Ghorim (Jun 6, 2008)

They sat as shadowy islands amidst a slushy brown sea. First, the lump of Jokim, his hardened body laid still by its one, hidden weakness. Beside him, his nephew, dumped upon the ground like a handful of earth left by a lonely mourner. Druri held one of Jokim’s great hammer fists with both of his hands, and listened to his elder breathe. The air droned in and out, as sure as the tides, providing a steady undercurrent to the chaotic clatter of the skies above. 

Druri wanted Jokim to know that, even though they were separated by the black mountains of sleep, his nephew was still at his side. So Druri squeezed the hand tighter, and muttered soft words in Khuzdul, a child’s incantations for healing, lost and scattered within the screaming wind. He was seized and weakened by the fear that his uncle might not wake up this time. That he would go on living, but wander lost amidst his dreams forever. Would he think of Druri then? Even now, where were Jokim’s visions leading him...?

The approaching sound of voices blew away the lad’s swirling dread. They spoke in a strange tongue, the sound of flower petals drifting through the storm. Druri squinted to make out the forms of Haluin and three other Elves. Haluin was talking to the others, almost pleadingly, and Druri heard his name mentioned amidst the gentle stream of foreign words.

He rose gingerly and stepped forward into the hot glare of three suspicious gazes. Their silent judgment hung suspended over Druri’s head, threatening to fall if he presented a poor impression.

“Druri, son of Dwoin, at your service.” He bowed low, with his legs clasped together and his soaked hood removed. There was something almost comedic about the lad, spotted in filth and fatigued past the point of reason, attempting such a formal gesture. “If...” he paused to assemble the words properly in his head, “if I could but humbly request entrance into your fair realm for my uncle... he is much...”

“You said the elder _Naugrim_ suffers from an old head wound, _mellon_?” said one of the Elves, stepping forward and cutting Druri’s stiff speech to tatters. He ignored the young dwarf entirely, eyeing instead the living corpse of his uncle.

Haluin nodded in response, trying to focus his vision to take in the scene before him. 

The lead Elf, Eldarin, knelt down beside the stretcher and carefully slid off Jokim’s hood. In a burst of lightning, the right side of the dwarf’s head flashed in the eyes of both Eldarin and Druri. The young dwarf gasped and stumbled backward to press against the cliff wall. Haluin felt his own breath depart him, only now realizing that, in his stubborn pride, Jokim had never revealed the source of his headaches to his nephew. 

Eldarin lifted Jokim’s hair and studied the bruised crater, crisscrossed with agitated veins and covered in a thin layer of scarred flesh. A soft sensation of awe spread through him, as it looked as though the faded wound should have killed the dwarf outright.

“How long has he lived with this...?” his keen eyes cut straight through the evening murk to strike Haluin’s face.

Haluin shook his head, but his attention remained on the pale, shaken Druri. “He would not say. He lives as hardily as any of his folk, but at times, when he over-extends himself...”

Eldarin stood with a crisp nod. “We shall shelter him, and the little one as well, until they are properly recovered.” Although there was a definitive snap to his speech, it was not without its grudging aftertaste. 

Haluin only nodded, and limped over to Druri to help guide him the rest of the way. In whispered Westron, he explained Eldarin’s ruling to the young dwarf. The lad made no response, his gaze still held by the horrific wreckage of his Uncle Jokim’s skull. Haluin gently reached his right arm around Druri’s shoulders, subtly shifting the boy’s gaze away from where Jokim lay. The other two Elves each took an end of the stretcher, and they all resumed the march ahead. Druri and Haluin achieved an even balance leaning upon one another for support. 

Eldarin found himself staring at the suspicious-looking stretcher as they cut ahead through the raging elements.

“Where, exactly, did you find this item?” he asked, turning to Haluin.

The wounded Elf sighed. “Jokim here shall have to explain that to you once he awakens.”

The pass eventually crested, and the descent began, down into an ocean of mist. Druri lost sense of the time as they winded down the mountainside, along paths that he could not glimpse in the darkness. Haluin attempted to help the lad along, but his footing was hardly any more dependable. Both of them were considering requesting a respite when the soft lantern lights came into view. 

For a moment, Druri forgot all his fear for his uncle. His wonder swept him away, borne along by the sight of that mystical Elvish haven, hidden somewhere between the crevices of the Misty Mountains. He turned to Haluin.

“Is this...?”

“Yes,” said Haluin, in a joyless, hollow voice. “Imladris.”


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## chrysophalax (Jun 8, 2008)

Never before had Haluin been so grateful for the all-concealing cover of darkness as he was upon entering Elrond's realm. Among Men, this was rumoured to be a place of peace and healing. To the Elves however, it was more complicated.

Legends dwelt here, in this land of waterfalls and sunlight. Many who had seen wonderous and terrible things in ages past. Some who were deemed among the eldest in Middle Earth, save of course, the Ents and ancient Iarwain Ben-adar. Yet all who lived in this land, safe and protected, answered to but one voice, that of Lord Elrond.

It was that voice now that murmured softly in answer to a question posed by Eldarin and Haluin found himself daring to hope he might actually survive this unwanted exposure to his own kind.

_Such compassion as I hear from him would not judge in haste._ he tried to convince himself. The fact that Elrond had barely paused when told that two of those rescued in the Redhorn Pass were dwarves also gave Haluin cause to relax slightly. Eldarin had explained to Elrond the severity of the elder dwarf's injury, even insisting that he inspect it immediately. 

Elrond's face had turned grim as he searched the old wound with gentle hands, his long fingers moving gently, pushing aside the hair that covered it, a shocked hiss escaping him. "How has he survived this?" he exclaimed to no one in particular.

An exhausted voice answered. "My uncle is very strong, sir." Haluin grasped Druri's shoulder in sympathy. The young one was nearly dead on his feet, yet he stood firm, pride shining in his weary eyes.

"Aye, Lord. What young Druri says is true. Jokim, for that is his name, is strong, his bravery second to none. Without him, my corpse would now be lying among the rocks instead of that warg's." Elrond favoured Haluin with a long, searching gaze that seemed to look directly into his soul. It was all Haluin could do not to flinch.

"Very well. Take them inside and see they are made comfortable. I will attend to each of them in turn shortly." 

A surge of panic raced through him as they were taken to separate rooms, knowing he would have to face Elrond soon. As they were parted,he told Druri he had but to ask their hosts for whatever he might need and he responded by nodding tiredly. As worried as Haluin was for his own safety, the elf coudn't help but grin, knowing that Druri would probably be asleep as soon as he lay down.

As they reached the room in which Haluin would be staying, pain, his current nemesis, made a sudden reappearance as the elves who were assisting him tried to get him settled. A few whispered words and within minutes, another elf arrived with a cup filled with a fragrantly steaming potion. Haluin was told to drink, which he gratefully did, allowing oblivion to claim him if only for a short while.


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## Ghorim (Jun 10, 2008)

Through great and winding halls Druri walked, scarcely able to take them all in without stumbling over his own feet. Great arches swept overhead, with branches carved like those of trees. The walls seemed to glisten and pulse in the dim candlelight, with broad windows that gazed out upon the dark and misty forests of Rivendell. The sound of rushing water was ever-present... just as one stream or waterfall faded from hearing another arose to took its place. Druri’s waterlogged boots, meanwhile, squished along the floorboards in a soggy symphony of their own.

Ahead of him, two speedy young Elves carried the stretcher that bore his Uncle Jokim. And behind, two more Elves — one male and the other female, as Druri perceived it — bringing up the rear. They were clad all in white, and a great sense of calm seemed to ripple forth from them. Druri felt as if their hands were firmly planted on his shoulders, but they had yet to so much as brush their fingertips against his body. 

There was something vaguely funereal about their whole procession, with Jokim’s handmade coffin leading the way. But the old dwarf would give an occasional snore or mumble that echoed throughout the hall, as if to remind everyone present that he had no intention of succumbing to this latest setback. Brief flutters of laughter and half-finished melodies sounded in answer down connecting corridors, drawing Druri’s darting gaze. Try as he might, his eyes could never capture the source of the sounds, yet he knew they were somehow being watched.

“Your room is not much further, little master,” said the female at Druri’s back, with a voice that seemed to sing each word in a sweet, endless ballad.

Druri’s nascent dwarvish pride stirred at the use of the word “little,” but somehow he couldn’t take offense to the words when this particular Elf spoke them.

“Will my uncle and I share a dwelling?”

“He shall require his own room,” answered the male, as if the question were directed to him. “To contain the racket he makes, if nothing else.”

“He is in need of especial care from our Lord Elrond,” added the female. And as Druri turned over his shoulder to look at her, she offered a kind smile that flooded his weary spirit with warmth. “For you have both overcome much on your journey here.”

Druri smiled back, all dimples and youthful sheepishness. He cranked his neck about to face ahead once again, for fear that he might never be able to look away if he stared at her any longer. They crossed over a covered, open-air bridge that led to a stately dwelling tucked amidst a grove of tall, sheltering trees. The rain drizzled softly off the roof above them. 

Once they entered the new structure, Druri felt a great sense of comfort and familiarity sweep over him, though he had never beheld such a place in his young life. The walls and floorboards were crafted of a smooth, brightly colored wood. Fragrant wildflowers poked out from holders embedded in the walls, encouraging the young dwarf to take a deep breath as their parade entered. 

“Welcome to the Last Homely House,” said the female. “Here is where travelers of all sorts stay to mend and rediscover their mirth. We have hosted kinsmen of yours in the past, Master Druri, but it has been a great many years since we saw one last. Is that not so, Lindir?”

The male nodded, directing the two stretcher-carriers to a nearby entryway. “A troublesome patient, as I recall him.” 

Lindir followed into the room after Jokim and his bearers, disappearing from Druri’s sight. The lad visibly deflated as his uncle, though unconscious, left his presence.

“Come,” and now the female did place a gentle hand upon Druri’s shoulder. “I will show you to your accommodations.” 

Druri perked up a bit at her touch, and obediently followed her lead. His room was just across the hall from Jokim’s. A bed, immaculately made, sat on the left end of the room, overlooking a softly crackling fireplace on the opposite wall. Two chairs, a bedside table, and another grand window with drawn indigo drapes completed the simple but cozy layout. A bowl of fresh fruit sat on the table, just inviting a hearty sampling. But Druri was too tired to think about food right now. 

“I shall send for some dry clothes,” the Elfess said.

“Nae, I have my own,” said Druri, slapping the traveling pack that clung to his damp back. He spoke brusquely, in a sharp tone that echoed his uncle’s with surprising clarity. But Druri soon blushed at having snapped at his host. “But my deepest thanks for your hospitality, m’lady.”

“Of course,” she gave another one of her stirring smiles, and moved gracefully backward from the room and into the hall. “I shall give you your privacy...” she knew how stodgy dwarves could be on that point, “...but do change swiftly. I believe Lord Elrond wishes to speak with you, before you take your well-earned rest.”

“Aye, m’lady,” Druri bowed in a display that struck her as adorably rehearsed. She began to close the door, but the lad piped up again, although hesitantly.

“And what may I call you...?”

Her hand halted for a moment, just long enough to speak her name. “Avenhel.” Her musical voice danced over the three syllables in a tender melodic stroke. “Good night, Druri.”

“Good night, Avenhel,” the lad replied, making a slight stumble over the delicate contours of her name. 

The door closed, and Druri was completely alone for the first time since he had left the Iron Hills. He wondered where they had taken Haluin. And then a great worry stirred in him, that the other Elves might discover the damning red braid that cut through Haluin’s dark hair. Would Druri’s new Elvish friend be banished from his kindred forever? The thought drained the color from the lad’s face. 

He remembered his own reaction when Haluin had named himself a kinslayer... the abject shock and horror of it all. How could that fair and noble creature have struck down one of his brothers or sisters? Doubt had eclipsed Druri’s view of Haluin, but only for a brief time. Whatever Haluin had done in his past, Druri had decided, it did not change the great kindness that the Elf had shown him and his uncle. The lad’s loyalty to Haluin burned fierce, and a dwarf’s determined loyalty is not a gift easily lost.

Druri’s thoughts raced back to the moment, and he quickly set to tearing off his wet clothing. He carefully laid out his shirt, hood, trousers, socks and boots in front of the fire to dry. Then from his pack he produced his last clean set of garments, and pulled them on in a hurry. It was remarkable how much cleaner the change made him feel, and Druri gave a contented yawn, eyeing the plush expanse of the bed in exhausted envy.

But a knock came on the door before he could follow that sleepy line of thought any further. 

“Come in,” offered Druri, sensing his innards already beginning to knot up with nervousness.

A reedy arm extended the door into the darkened room. It was the limb of a courtier, nothing more, and soon retreated from sight. Half a moment passed, and then the lord of the realm strode into Druri’s room, with silver robes fluttering all about his grand form and down to the wood plank floor. He carried in his right hand a single candle, which seemed to emit a light far greater than any one candle should ever produce. That great flash of brightness gave Druri his first clear glimpse of the lord’s features: Elrond, in all of his ancient glory.


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## Ghorim (Jun 10, 2008)

In those cool grey eyes, Druri felt he glimpsed all things at once: youth and age, great laughter and terrible sadness, unquenchable fire and unbreakable steel. The lad’s breath caught somewhere halfway between his gut and throat as those eyes swept over, around, and through him. The Elf lord’s expression was patient but expectant.

“Druri...” the name gushed out in a gasp of awe, “son of Dwoin... at your service, m’lord!”

The young dwarf bowed as low as his knees would allow, pressing his chin to his chest and avoiding Lord Elrond’s gaze for as long as he could.

“Well met, young Druri,” came a steady voice that easily filled the entire room and seemed to expand its walls. “Though I know that is not your true name.”

Druri glanced up in some confusion.

Elrond gave a thin smile. “I have learned many things of your folk over my years of dealing with them,” he said. “But no dwarf has ever given me his name in Khuzdul.”

The lad wet his lips, unsure of how to react.

“Why do your people hide their true selves in that way, I wonder?”

“I...” Druri cleared his throat. “That is for a wiser tongue than mine to answer, m’lord.”

The Elf lord laughed, and the candle and fireplace burned all the brighter for it. “Well spoken, youngling! Your uncle has taught you quite well, it seems. But please, do have a seat.”

It was an indisputable order wrapped up in the soft tones of a suggestion. Druri shuffled over to the bed, and lowered himself gently upon it. An involuntary sigh welled up from within him as his feet finally bequeathed the weight of his body to the mattress. How long had it been since he last sat down...? Druri’s drowsy memory couldn’t remember.

Elrond settled himself into one of the room’s chairs, positioned just an arm’s length away from the dwarf. His robes seemed to expand to cover the entire seat, making it his own from the moment he touched it. Druri clasped his hands in front of him and tried to stare a hole into the floor. But some unknown force pulled his gaze upward, straight into the heart of Elrond’s bottomless eyes.

“Tell me, Druri... what brings you and your uncle to my realm?”

“Well, m’lord,” Druri’s fingers fidgeted amongst themselves like writhing worms, “my uncle has received an offer to become an officer in the Blue Mountains, where most of our kin now dwell. He decided to take it, and to bring me with him.”

The Elf lord nodded calmly, as if that were the only explanation Druri could have possibly given. “A warrior, then?”

“A great warrior,” Druri nodded with a flash of filial pride.

“With the wounds to show it.”

Druri grimaced, and nodded.

“You did not know of his injury before tonight?”

Druri felt Elrond’s sure hand guiding the conversation just where he wanted it to go, and could only give another helpless nod in response.

“But you had witnessed its repercussions.”

“Headaches,” Druri managed, unable to look away from the grey mists that hovered about the Elf lord’s pupils.

“How many have you observed?”

“Three,” said Druri, quickly. “Two since our journey began.”

“And he lost consciousness every time?”

“Every time.”

“For how long?”

“Usually just through the night.”

Elrond nodded, and then the intensity of his eyes and voice seemed to loosen their grip on the lad. “I ask you these questions, Druri, because I wish to ascertain the severity of your uncle’s condition... and if it is worsening.”

Druri swallowed heavily, and gave a timid nod. Elrond regarded him in silence, and Druri suddenly felt like they were the only two beings left in Middle Earth. Every part of the young dwarf wanted to revolt in fear, but something about the ancient Elf’s presence calmed and steadied him.

“From what Master Haluin tells me, you and your elder have proven the mettle of your race once again. I commend you for your bravery.”

“My deepest thanks, m’lord,” Druri whispered.

“But I shall detain you from your rest no longer. My healers, Lindir and Avenhel, shall watch over you and your uncle through the night.”

Druri nodded, feeling a great heaviness beginning to drape itself over his senses. Elrond stood with a soft rustle of his robes, picked up his candle, and began to glide toward the door. Halfway there, however, he stopped and turned to cast one grey eye over his shoulder. 

“Druri...”

“Aye, m’lord?”

“Do you know of any reason that your companion Haluin would have to fear me?”

The lad felt a shiver slither through his core. “Nae, m’lord. I can think of none.”

Elrond gave the barest of nods, but his lone eye lingered on Druri for another moment longer before turning away. In a few seconds, he was gone. 

Druri’s head crashed back upon his pillow. Too weak to even pull the covers over himself, he slipped gradually into slumber. But thoughts and fears — for Jokim, for Haluin — held him from giving in entirely. What would become of them all now? What could he do? What could he do?

The lad gave one last desperate sigh, before his head sunk under the waves and the swift tides of sleep pulled him out into a shadowy ocean of dreams. He was smothered on all sides, but utterly alone.


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## chrysophalax (Jun 10, 2008)

_I feel utterly alone..._

Those words echoed in Haluin's mind, for even as he lay gazing out through the large open windows at the stars fading in the first blush of dawn, he suddenly found himself envying Earendil. _What is it like for you, Mariner? Is there some astral wind that soothes your brow as Vingilot plies her way through darkling seas? Does Elwing yet fly to meet you, or are you also now bereft in your eternity?_

Unable to bear his thoughts any longer, he turned his head away as silent tears slowly coursed down his cheeks. He wished with all his heart that Elrond would come to him, that he could confess everything, knowing that whatever judgement the wise elf would make, it would be over and he could rest at last.

_The pain of being among my people is too much for me to bear. Ah, Elbereth, would that it were otherwise and that I could rejoice with them, be a part of them once again, rather than burden them with the unrest my presence will surely bring about._ A tortured sob shook his body. _At least Jokim and Druri are safe now. That is all that matters._

The once mischievious elf that was Haluin found his thoughts becoming more and more disordered and he was at a loss how to control them. Guilt formed them into whips that his mind used to scourge him with, until at last he cried out, "Enough, enough! I cannot bear it!" 

The door to his chamber burst open and Haluin found himself staring tearfully at a worried Eldarin. "Haluin? _Mellon,_ is your fever worsening?" The tall elf came to sat on the side of the bed and pressed a cool hand to Haluin's forehead, his brow furrowing. "What are you doing here?" Haluin asked hoarsely, his voice rough from weeping. "I was concerned." came the ready reply, "It is not often we find our kinsmen wounded in the high passes." He looked closer at Haluin's red-rimmed eyes. "I fear you suffer grievously from your wound. Shall I call Lord Elrond from seeing to the dwarf?"

Haluin chuckled dryly. "Yes, I suffer from a wound...but not this one. Please, do not worry Lord Elrond on my behalf. My friend's condition is more serious, I deem, than my own." Eldarin did not look convinced. "Come, _toron,_ we are warriors, and warriors should not lie to one another."

Haluin replied evasively. "Will you help me up, so that I might watch Arien as she rises? I weary already of this bed." Eldarin eyed him sceptically, but after a few more persuasive words, he steadied Haluin so that he could walk the few steps needed to watch the sunrise.

It was not long before Arien rose, joyously heralding a new day, clad in brilliant hues of orange and yellow. The last shreds of violet night scattered and Haluin found the courage to hope once more. Here, perhaps, in this sanctuary of peace and serenity, Haluin Gilmirion would no longer be exiled, but welcomed.

_Elbereth, Lady, if you hear me still, heal Jokim and ease young Druri's mind. They have become surprisingly dear to me in this short time._ 

"Come, Haluin...you must rest." Eldarin said quietly, but Haluin was reluctant to return to his sick bed. "Nay, Eldarin. I wish to enjoy all the beauty I see stretched out before me. This valley is perfection itself." "Aye, long may it remaion so, yet I fear...I fear for the future, _mellon._ Silence fell between them at that, for Haluin knew all too well of the darkness brooding in the south of Mirkwood. The Elves of Middle Earth were fading even as their enemies seemed to be gaining in strength and neither Haluin nor Eldarin dared to look into places only the Wise could see.


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## Ghorim (Jun 16, 2008)

Somehow, at some point during the night, someone had slipped the covers out from under Druri and buried him with them. The lad hadn’t so much as stirred. 

When his thoughts drifted back ashore, Druri found himself burrowed deep within a pair of quilts, curled up into a ball and feeling shamefully comfortable. Beams of full morning sunlight burst from around the edges of the drapes, coating the guest room with a fuzzy glow. Druri murmured to himself and rolled over onto his opposite side, drawing the covers closer. He had never been allowed to fully embrace such indolent pleasures before. Why, on any other morning, Uncle Jokim would have long since shaken him out of bed, with a grunted curse and maybe a quick shove to spark the lad’s senses...
_
Wait... Uncle Jokim!_

Druri suddenly remembered the events of the past night, and felt a stabbing need to see his uncle and know of his progress. He attempted to roll out of bed in one fluid motion, but his legs tangled in the blankets, and the lad and all of his wrappings tumbled to the floor with a dull thud. 

Just as Druri was wading out of his cloth maze, the door gusted open to reveal Avenhel. She placed a single hand to her lips in surprise and barely contained her amusement. 

“Good day, m’lady!” came Druri’s chipper young voice, with a quilt’s soft corner still hanging over his head like a cowl. 

Avenhel struggled to maintain a courteous and professional distance as she replied. “Are you in need of any assistance this morning, Master Druri?”

“Nae,” declared Druri, casting the last cotton tentacle off of his body. “None!” He stood, and gave a slight stumble, but quickly regained his balance.

“If I may...” Avenhel approached him with airy steps and placed the back of her hand to the young dwarf’s forehead. “Well! It seems you have overcome your fever.”

“I had a fever?” Druri rubbed the spot where the Elfess had touched his skin.

She nodded, her dark tresses bobbing slightly as her autumn eyes held sway over Druri. “Only a slight one, when I tucked you in last night.”

“So that was you,” Druri blushed without noticing it as Avenhel gave him a patient, mother’s smile. He felt predestined to say the wrong things in front of her, as if wicked spirits were ever swaying his words in the wrong direction. Her gaze was slowly weakening the lad as he bobbled for a statement to make. 

“My uncle!” he blurted, with unexpected force. He took a deep breath and then continued, “How is he today?”

Avenhel knelt to pick up the tangled mess of blankets on the floor, her every move seeming carefully choreographed. “Lord Elrond attended to him throughout the night. Your uncle’s skull has settled into its shape over the years that he has borne his injury, so there is little that can be done there. However...” her gaze tensed for the hint of a moment. “My Lord spoke of a spiritual healing that has yet to commence for Sir Jokim. I do not fully understand his meaning, for he practices his art on a different plane than Lindir or I.” 

She stood, with the cloth bundled in her elegant hands. “Yet I witnessed a silent struggle between the two of them, even after we had sedated your uncle. Lord Elrond placed a hand upon the wound and closed his eyes. He was... searching for something, it seemed. And I could see in Sir Jokim’s face... the desperation, the fury... of a warrior mounting a determined defense. So it went for several hours, to little or no gain. In the end, however... it was as if they suddenly reached a mutual understanding. Your uncle finally dropped into a deep repose, and Lord Elrond broke off the contact with a placid look in his eyes. What it all means, however...” 

Avenhel shook her head, and set to making the bed again. Even as she retold the events of the previous night, she sought to comprehend them herself. Druri wasn’t quite sure what to make of the tale, either, but shuffled his feet and made an offering to fill the silence that followed her speech.

“He is rather stubborn, my uncle,” he said. “Even an Elf Lord would have great difficulty calling him out from behind his defenses.”

“I hear that word applied quite often to your folk... stubborn.” Avenhel remade the bed, casting the sheets and quilts back atop the mattress one after the other.

Her back was to him when she spoke, and Druri tried to read between her inflections to catch the true meaning of her words. For all his effort, he still found her impossibly distant. “May I visit my uncle, m’lady?”

“Quietly,” she replied, giving him a brisk glance. “He is slated for a full morning of sleep today, and we do not wish even his nephew disturbing him.”

“I shall tip-toe,” said Druri, giving a dramatic bow. 

“And take some fruit, Master Druri. I shall have the rest of your breakfast delivered shortly.”

The lad glanced at the bowl of fruit, sizing up its delicacies eagerly. He began to reach for an apple, but reconsidered upon imagining all of the crunchy noises it would make in Jokim’s room. Instead, he cupped a bunch of grapes in his hand.

“Well done,” remarked Avenhel, sending the young dwarf on his way with another sunburst smile.

---

Druri traced the outline of Jokim’s dented skull, squinting his eyes as if trying to decipher a line of Elvish text. Even knowing it was there, seeing the ghastly wound’s silhouette still shook him. His breakfast — seed cake, cheese, honeyed tea and his handful of grapes — went untouched. The lad sat slumped in a too-large green armchair, watching his uncle’s body rise and fall while Lindir stood nearby. 

“There is little you can do for him now, beardling,” the Elf said. “He shall remain this way through the evening, at the least.”

Jokim looked completely at peace, sleeping on his left side with his head sunken so deep into the pillow that Druri could make out only one shut eye and the hint of his uncle’s gaping mouth. They had dressed him in what looked like a green dressing gown, something that Jokim would no doubt object to when he awoke, Druri thought. Outside, birds twittered and sang over the top of each other, while a set of wind chimes whispered mysteriously in the light morning breeze.

Druri leaned his head into the side of his fist with a sigh. “I don’t understand why he never told me about it...”

Lindir smoothed out his sleeves and turned his gaze toward the window. “Pride...” he suggested, then paused. “Fear.”

The young dwarf glanced up in surprise with an unknowing scowl of anger. “Fear?”

“He murmured your name quite a few times throughout the night,” Lindir replied, with head tilted back as his cool eyes regarded Druri along the length of his nose. “Lord Elrond had to settle him down by force.”

Druri shook his head emphatically. “I do not believe you.”

Lindir shrugged his shoulders. “Believe what you will, Master Druri. Believe that any mortal can live without fear.”

A look of frustration flashed over Druri’s face before he tore his gaze back to the slumbering form of Jokim.

The Elf chuckled with a noticeable lack of amusement. “Go on, little master, eat your breakfast. I can see you’ve been forcing yourself to refrain. Once you’re through with that, pay Sir Haluin a visit. He shall benefit from your presence more than this snoring lump here, I can assure you.”

Druri glanced up, giving one last silent message of resentment before tucking into his meal. He ate without relish and left without a word, going across the hall to ask Avenhel to escort him to Haluin’s room.


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## chrysophalax (Jun 17, 2008)

"Lindir said I could...no, I won't stay too long..._yes,_ I'll speak quietly!"

Weary though he was, Haluin grinned at the exasperation in Druri's voice. The young dwarf was apparently just outside his door and being lectured by one of the many pedantic healers caring for the injured elf. He made an effort therefore to rouse himself. It would not do for Druri to find him looking as bad as he felt just now.

The door opened soundlessly and a hand, closely followed by an anxious face appeared from the other side. "Haluin? Haluin, you're awake!" Druri's head disappeared again for a moment. "See? I told you he wouldn't be sleeping!" Smugly, he entered Haluin's spacious room, then promptly sneezed violently as he breathed in the scent of sandalwood and cedar that had been burning in a censer near the bedside.

Chuckling to himself, Haluin waved his young friend over, delighted to see how much better he looked. "It seems elvish food and drink agree with you, young Druri. Come, sit near me and tell me how it goes with you and your uncle. I must confess, I have missed you." Haluin's heartfelt words soothed Druri's irritation with Lindir somewhat, so he dragged a chair up to the opposite side of the bed from where the incense still burned, slumping into it with an air of annoyance.

"Elvish vittles are fine, Haluin...but some Elves..." Despite his discomfort, Haluin sat up a little further. "What has happened, Druri? Has someone said something to offend you? Not all elves are as open to your people as I am, so if there has been any..." Druri glanced up at the elf with a frown. "You don't have to protect me, Haluin. I can take care of myself."

"I have no doubt on that score, youngling. I ask so that I might speak with whomsoever caused the affront. Lord Elrond is not the most tolerant of beings and we need his goodwill just now. Think of your uncle and tell me." Grudgingly, Druri told Haluin what Lindir had said to him as Haluin listened quietly. When he had finished, Druri glanced over at his friend. "I know you think Uncle Jokim is proud, that all dwarves are proud...is that wrong?"

A wry smile was his only answer for a few moments, as Haluin closed his eyes in thought. _Not half so proud as some Elves, my young friend._ The elf reached out and clasped Druri's shoulder. "Of course I think you are proud! Your people have much to be proud _of._ My people on the other hand...ai, they think they are "Eru's Chosen". The only beings fit to grace Valinor, to be in the presence of the Valar." His hand fell away as he became suddenly withdrawn.

"Does Lord Elrond feel like that? That he's better than us?" Druri's question held a tinge of panic and Haluin instantly sought to comfort him. "Nay, nay, Druri. Do not let the thoughts of a feverish mind distress you. Forgive me for misleading you. Lord Elrond is one of the most powerful Elves still living in this Middle Earth and we are very, very fortunate that he has taken us in as he has. I have no doubt whatever that he will do all that is in his power to heal your uncle, never fear!"

The conviction in Haluin's voice was like the sound of hammer on stone to him, solid and reassuring. Haluin had never misled them, so he placed his trust in the wounded elf lying before him. "Oh, I never told you how Uncle is! Lindir says that there is more to be done, but that he rests well. He didn't say when Lord Elrond would be here to see to you though." As though suddenly nudged, Druri asked, "Would you like some water, or...or something?"

"Some water would be wonderful. Thank you, young master." Haluin replied softly. Dread returned at thought of Elrond coming to tend to him and he found himself wondering if such dread was warranted. After all, he had just assured Druri of Elrond's gracious nature...but had it been truth, or merely reassurance?


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## Ghorim (Jun 24, 2008)

Druri dutifully returned with water in hand, but the glass he carried was the only thing that passed into Haluin’s room. The healer at the door stood to ward the young dwarf off, launching a stiff gaze that promised great discomfort if the lad were to attempt to disturb his patient any further. A sense of powerlessness numbed Druri, as he once again found himself set against an Elf’s eternal well of experience.

So he turned, dejected and uncertain, shuffling back down the hall with eyes downcast. He almost failed to note Lord Elrond approaching him, sensing the regal aura only at the last moment. In an instant, the lad attempted to shift from his sulking gait to an ornate bow, but the gesture came off as forced and choppy. Druri looked up just in time to freeze under the Elrond’s pale grey eyes and witness a slight cant of his head in response. 

The dwarf’s gaze swung to follow the Elf lord to the entrance of Haluin’s room. There came no gesture or sound from Elrond, but the healer’s taught exterior melted and he stepped aside with a lowered head. Elrond entered Haluin’s room, closing the door with a stern sense of finality that reverberated throughout the hall. Druri lingered in the abject silence that followed, only to turn and hurry away. 

“Good luck, Haluin,” he muttered under his breath.

Retracing his steps back to his room, Druri found Avenhel standing by the window. She had opened the drapes, exposing the room to a flood of sunlight that cast her figure into shadow. She had been looking out through the glass, into the lush maze of trees that lay beyond. The sound of dragging footsteps turned her head. There stood Druri, appearing trapped within the entryway. He leaned on the doorframe, looking at her but not quite looking at her. 

“Welcome back, Master Druri.” She turned to face him fully. “How does Sir Haluin fare?”

The young dwarf took a few wandering paces into the room. “Weary, but much improved. Lord Elrond is attending to him now.”

“And you?” Avenhel’s brows shifted upward, and Druri immediately knew that she saw everything. Yet he still puffed out his chest and pressed a dashing smile.

“One night’s sleep was all I needed.”

“You are fit for a walk, then?”

“Why, lead the way!”

Druri followed the Elfess without really knowing why.

---

They strolled along the terraces that swept down to the valley, before handcrafted stone gave way to clean-cut dirt paths. Avenhel swayed in time with the winds, her eyes closed as she listened to sounds that Druri strained to hear. Music and voices seemed to hide just beneath every noise — the rustle of leaves, the babble of running water, the chirp and scuttle of unseen animals. The young dwarf glanced to the stream that snaked alongside their path, and thought he saw a figure standing in the water’s reflection. When he looked up, however, there was nothing.

Suddenly, Avenhel broke from her trance.

“Where is home for you and your uncle, Master Druri?”

The lad grimaced as he considered the question. It was not so easy to answer as it seemed. “Everywhere... and nowhere.” He had stumbled upon the response, but nothing could sound more correct to his ears.

“Why do you say that?” She slowed her pace to regard her patient more carefully. 

Druri’s gaze plummeted to the ground. “Well... Uncle was born in the Grey Mountains, but the dragons forced our folk out when he was very small. And then he lived all over... in the Lonely Mountain, the Iron Hills and abroad. My parents raised me in Erebor, but then... well, I had to move, too.” Pure dwarvish rage twisted his expression for a moment, but it soon went rubbery and confused once again.

“And that is how you fell into his care?” Avenhel’s words seemed to weave their way around the walls of fear and distrust that might have prevented Druri from speaking any further.

“Aye,” Druri nodded, and looked directly at her. She silently coaxed him onward. “We fled to the Iron Hills after the attack. They put all of the children who could not find their parents into one ring of tents. I kept waiting...” Hours and hours he waited, but he would not tell that part of the tale in full, even to Avenhel. “And eventually Uncle Jokim came to claim me. I’ve lived with him ever since.”

For the Elfess, the most revealing parts of Druri’s speech lurked in the long shadows between the words he had chosen. Avenhel kept an eye on Druri even after he had lapsed into sullen silence. She had never before seen a dwarf so young, and marveled at how stiff maturity and adolescent uncertainty seemed to do battle over every action Druri took. “How old are you, Master Druri?”

The lad kicked at a pebble as his cheeks flushed to match the curling red hairs on his cheeks. “Twelve.” He tried to prop the number up higher than it was with a proud and defiant tone, but he withered under Avenhel’s laughing smile. 

“You are quite remarkable, young master, for a lad of twelve years.”

“Thank you...” He fled her eyes, which glinted with sunlight and merriment. 

They crossed a bridge over the stream and ventured deeper into the forests of Rivendell, where meadowlarks called after one another and the light dimmed. It felt like a land of dreams to Druri, and suddenly his steps became all the more uncertain. Memories that he had once scattered to the winds came gusting back to fill his mind. Fear seized him, but still he followed Avenhel, unable to break from her gentle wake. 

In truth, he would follow her to the darkest corner of the realm, if she willed it so.


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## chrysophalax (Jun 29, 2008)

The soft sound of the door opening drew Haluin's attention from speaking with the elf attending him. It had come at last, the moment which he dreaded most.

The lord of Imladris nodded to the attendant for privacy and he wasted no time in leaving their presence. Elrond drifted closer to the bed where Haluin lay, his eyes never leaving those of the great elf. A swift, feather-light touch unwrapped the bandages, exposing the draining wounds. Briefly, Elrond's brow creased ever so slightly as he explored the torn flesh with the expertise born of millenia of experience.

"How fares Master Jokim, my lord?" Haluin asked nervously. "The lad tells me he has not died, yet his wound was terrible..." " Rest easy, Haluin Gilmirion." came the soft reply. "He is made of very stern stuff. I have no doubt that my humble skills can yet be brought to bear on his behalf." Haluin smiled tentatively. "I am certain that young Druri will be most grateful to hear that, my lord, as am I."

Elrond's piercing glance flicked to Haluin's face for an instant as he cleansed the elf's arm with herb-infused water that had been set aside for the task. "It is not for the dwarf that I am concerned, my impetuous friend. News has reached my ears of the impending arrival of some of your kin from Mirkwood, as many now call it. Alas for the beauty that was once Eryn Lasgalen!" he sighed.

Haluin's eyes widened in fear. "But why, my lord?" "Ah, Haluin. Can you not guess?" Elrond reached across and gently lifted the damning braid into view. "B-but how? Why now?" He could feel his face drain of colour and his arm began to throb painfully as he thought frantically, trying to remember what had betrayed him.

"You must calm yourself, _mellon._ I will not have you undo the healing I am about to work upon you." "Forgive me, my lord. I have no wish to hinder you." He said as he lay back against the pillows then, trying with all his might not to think of what awaited him once they arrived. After a time, his efforts were rewarded as the pain that had been his nemesis for days began to fade away under Elrond's ministrations. 

His mind clear for the first time in a long while, Haluin turned gratefully to Elrond, who sat next to him, silently assessing his improvement. "My lord...what will happen? Will you deliver me into their hands? If it must be so, I ask for your protection for my companions until they can continue on their journey."

A gentle, sorrowful smile graced Elrond's lips. "I see you lack neither courage, nor loyalty...though perhaps a little wisdom. Your lack of forethought has brought you to this pass, therefore you must face the consequences." Haluin held his breath as Elrond looked away for a moment before continuing. "I...cannot restore to you the full strength of your arm. Some of the tissue had died before you reached us. I cannot restore what has already been destroyed."

Haluin blanched. "Am I to be a cripple then?" he whispered in anguish. "If I cannot shoot a bow..." "Then you can wield a sword. You are not only one of our people to suffer such a loss." said Elrond firmly. "You face many trials yet, young Haluin. But know this. You will not face them alone. The courage of your actions have made for you allies among my folk since your arrival. Therefore, I would not have you despair."

Their hands clasped as Haluin swallowed, overcome. "Then, if that be so, I have another request." A raised eyebrow was the only reply. "Do not tell Jokim of my affliction, nor of the arrival of my kinsmen. I would not have him needlessly concerned on my behalf."

The lord of Imladris smiled as he shook his head. "You fascinate me, Haluin. Many of our people, myself included, would deem your loyalty to your dubious companions misplaced. Dwarves and elves are neither friends, not enemies in these times, yet you ask this of me..." He seemed to withdraw into himself for a moment before continuing. "Yet, for your sake I shall, though I see no advantage in doing so. May such a course not become a bane to you." He then reached forward to lay his hand on Haluin's forehead as though in blessing. "Sleep now, son of Gilmir." he commanded and Haluin slipped into dreamless slumber.


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## Ghorim (Jul 3, 2008)

It began with the premonition of a thought... a tingling itch in the fingertips and toes... a faint sense of presence. The endless sheet of darkness that had engulfed Jokim began to divide into separate patches, each piece gradually developing into its own shape. Soon the dwarf’s other senses began to dimly pulse, bringing form to his dormant body. The dryness in his throat cropped up first, an arid desert that parched his slumber. He became aware of his leaden limbs, weighted down by fatigue. A melody seemed to unfurl from somewhere far overhead, as if Jokim stood at the pit of a deep chasm, straining his ears to catch the notes. 

Even with all of these sensations budding about him, Jokim might have yet sunken back into oblivion. But it was that smell... it teased him onward and upward, beckoning him to crawl out of his hole, hand over hand. 

Jokim smacked his lips and inhaled deeply. It was Lindir’s first sign that something was amiss. The healer glanced up from the lute he had been plucking to pass the time, and eyed his patient with professional suspicion. Was the dwarf waking...? No, it was far too soon for that.

But then a tangle of slurred sound came rolling out from Jokim’s lips, causing the Elf to stand and lay his instrument aside. 

“Just like the Naugrim to disobey medical orders without even knowing what they are,” thought Lindir, hurrying over to his mortar and pestle. He would put this insubordinate dwarf back down if he tried too hard to wake up. 

Yet even as Lindir’s practiced hands mixed and blended the proper herbs to blacken out the dwarf’s thoughts, Jokim was starting to stir. His hands gripped at the sheets, and his face began to twitch out signals of his impending return to consciousness. The Elf’s gaze leapt between his labors and his patient as he raced to beat Jokim to the punch. 

A groan shambled forth from the dwarf, and his eyes made their first tentative flutters. Quickening his pace, Lindir stirred his potion into a glass of water with whirlwind speed. Just as Jokim’s head began to make a laborious rise from its pillows, the Elf was at his side with the concoction in hand.

“Drink this, Master Dwarf,” he said in a honeyed whisper. “It will ease your weary head.”

Jokim seemed to attempt a drowsy appraisal of the Elf with slit eyes. But suddenly his head crashed back down, his eyes shutting along the way. After pausing for a moment, Lindir carefully tipped the dwarf’s head back and opened his mouth, bringing the glass toward the pair of cracked lips...

He nearly dropped the drink when Jokim’s hand burst upward to clench his wrist. A spray of droplets spilled from the glass into the dwarf’s beard.

“Nae, Elf,” came the croak. “I’ve had this trick played on me once before. I demand untainted water.” His eyes split open in a vivid burst, and Lindir now saw that his patient was fully conscious. “You may fetch it now. I shall wait.”

For a silent moment, healer and patient eyed each other as mutual foes. Lindir summoned ages of icy detachment to bolster his gaze, but Jokim did not relent. In fact, his clamp only seemed to tighten as the sense of grip and feeling returned to his hand. 

“So be it, beardling.” Lindir slipped his hand free and left in a flash of white robes.

---

“My nephew?” Jokim took a cautious sip from his new glass of water. He had propped himself up into a sitting position while his attendant was away.

“Fully recovered.” Lindir stood with his hands clasped chastely in front of his body, trying to illustrate with a furrowed brow just how sorely this dwarf was testing his patience.

“And Haluin?” 

“That is another matter.”

“But alive?”

“Of course.”

“Splendid!” Jokim took a long, loving pull from his glass. Then he pulled the sheets from his body with an aggressive flourish, eying his legs skeptically. They were covered with the same soft, green fabric that made up his sleeping gown. A pair of light brown socks sheathed his still-aching feet.

“What, exactly, have you dressed me in?” Jokim shot an irritated glance Lindir’s way.

“The same garments that all of our guests wear. Your clothing is being cleaned and dried at the moment.” Lindir attempted to maintain the rigid, knowledgeable tone he always used when speaking with patients.

“Hmmph... well, I would hardly wish to visit either of my companions in such threads.” Jokim began to search the room, leaning left and right to gaze around the bed.

Lindir flexed an eyebrow. “Master Jokim, you are only in the proper condition to receive visits, not to make them.”

“Ah! There it is!” Jokim spotted his traveling pack, ignoring the Elf entirely in its favor. He gripped his right leg at the knee with both hands, and swung it over the side of the bed. By the time he had done the same with his left leg, Lindir was standing directly beside him, leaning in with a face reddened by disapproval. 

“Not another inch, dwarf. You are under orders to rest throughout the remainder of today. Your condition is too delicate to accommodate anything more.”

Jokim wiggled his toes on the rug that lay beside his bed, and gave a provocative smirk. He regarded the grand window at the far end of the room, sizing up the Elf without a glance in his direction. 

“I suppose you think yourself an expert on my condition, Sir... what is your name...?”

“Lindir.”

“Ah... Lindir. Jokim at your service.” Jokim gave a half-bow. “I do not doubt that you have practiced medicine for a good many centuries. But I know my body better than any other, and just how much it will take before resigning. After all...” he tapped the indentation on the side of his head. “This wound kills anything but a Khuzd, aye?”

“It is precisely because you misjudged your limits that you are sitting where you are at present, Master Dwarf. Now listen carefully to me. There are several steps for you to complete in your recovery before we permit you to walk.”

“Well, let’s see...” Jokim grunted and rose to his feet. It was all Lindir could do not to shove him back to the bed. The dwarf placed his right foot forward. “One step...” His left foot followed. “Two steps...” Jokim’s course began to lead him toward his traveling pack. “Three steps... four... five...” He glanced over his shoulder at Lindir with a glint of triumph. “Are those enough steps, Sir Lindir? Am I not recovered?”

The Elf appeared miles away from amused, his arms folded in a white cross over his chest. “And are you done behaving like a child, Master Dwarf? Honestly, your nephew has shown more maturity.”

Jokim smiled, starting to rummage through his pack. “Well, I suppose each generation strives to see that the next one improves upon its designs.”

Lindir perceived what the dwarf was searching for. “You wish to change clothes?”

“Certainly!”

“I propose a compromise, then: I will let you don new garments, and summon your nephew for a visit, if you give your word to stay in bed through sundown.”

“And then what?” The dwarf glanced up, intrigued. 

“And then... if you prove you can behave yourself... you may just have the honor of supping with our Lord Elrond, if he wills it. For reasons I’ve yet to fully unravel, he is rather intrigued by you and your young nephew.”

“If I prove I can behave myself...” the words were nearly lost amidst a rolling chuckle. “Agreed. Go out and send for my nephew, and I shall change in the meantime.”

“Where shall I find you when I return?”

“Snug in my bed, Sir Lindir.”

“Good.” The healer gave a glare to remind Jokim just who gave the orders in the Last Homely House, before making a curt exit. Jokim gave a salute to the Elf’s retreating back, before his nose snagged on the enchanting aroma that had lifted him out of his black slumber. What could it be? 

The dwarf searched the room, sniffing all the way like a hound closing in on his prey. Suddenly, Jokim found himself standing directly in front of the source. His jaw almost unhinged itself in disbelief. It was a fresh loaf of lembas, carefully wrapped and sitting on a table beside the door. Jokim clamped his teeth shut again.

“I must be more out of sorts than I realized...” he muttered, before returning to his pack to free himself of the hideous green pillowcase that the Elves had draped over him.


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## chrysophalax (Jul 22, 2008)

_The courage of your actions has made for you allies ..._

Elrond's words of hope lent Haluin strength as, with the help of his caretakers he dressed, needing to be up and about before his kinsmen arrived. He frowned at the remains of his arm, partially withered now by the filth of the warg's mouth. He could flex his fingers weakly, but bending his elbow proved nearly impossible, as tendons and ligaments destroyed by the warg's bite no longer functioned properly.

Sickened, he tentatively moved his shoulder and found to his relief that it moved without pain. _So...I have full movement from shoulder to elbow and I can make a fist, if my enemy waits long enough...Wonderful! I have definitely been in better situations. However, as Elrond said, I can wield a sword. Therefore..._ 

Quickly pulling the left sleeve of his doublet down, Haluin set off to find Eldarin. He recalled seeing his new friend carried not only bow and arrow, but a sword as well. Maybe, with any luck, Eldarin would also be willing to become his tutor.

As he made his way along the many open porches and pathways in and around Elrond's home, the elf began to notice that occasionally he would meet with stony disapproval or a haughty stare. _News travel fast, I see._ he thought grimly, but nodded courteously to them nonetheless. He refused to allow himself to act in any way other than he normally would. Besides, he had anticipated this.

Suddenly, movement on the pathway below caught Haluin's eye and he paused in his search for a moment. _Young Druri, if my eyes deceive me not...with an elf-maiden! Jokim must still be unconscious._ Haluin chuckled to himself as he watched the two walked slowly onward, talking together like lifelong friends. His heart warmed by the sight, Haluin turned again to the task of finding Eldarin. Perhaps the smithy...

Three elves on horseback made their made in through the eastern gate of Rivendell. Two males and a female, all with grim faces, their backs rigid with purpose. Swiftly there came eager hands to take their mounts from them as they leapt lightly down to make their way inside. One glanced keenly up to the many terraces overlooking the path where they now stood and his eyes narrowed. With a whisper of apology to the others, he left them and began to trail after the figure he had glimpsed briefly from below.

Unaware he had been spotted by once friendly eyes, Haluin continued to make his way along the winding paths until he heard not far off the clang of metal on metal, then the hiss of water. He smiled as he thought of Jokim. _How he would love to tell these elves all the things they were doing wrong!_

A friendly voice called out to him as Eldarin stepped away from the forge mopping his brow. "I thought I might find you here, but I had no idea you made swords yourself. I am duly impressed, Master Smith!" Eldarin grinned. "And why should I not? The greatest weapons ever forged were made by our people, after all."

Haluin laughed aloud. "I have an injured friend in one of those rooms yonder who, I am certain, will beg to differ with you, _mellon._ I cannot wait to hear _that _ debate!" Eldarin arched an eyebrow as he set about changing his tunic. "Such strange companions you keep, Haluin. I would hear the tale of how this came to be." The dark-haired elf sighed. "Your wish may be granted sooner than you think, Eldarin. I understand that some of my kinsmen are on their way here." "This troubles you?" Haluin raised haunted eyes. "More than you know." he whispered.

A concerned glance met his own as Eldarin led them both under the shade of several oak trees towering nearby. The taller elf slipped a horn cup from a loop hanging at his side, then knelt to scoop a cooling draught of clear, clean water from a rushing stream where it flowed past the smithy. "Sit with me, Haluin and tell me your tale. Ever since I found you and your companions upon the mountain ridge, it has seemed to me that you bear more than your share of sorrow."

"You see more than you should, Eldarin. Nor am I unable to unburden myself to you...not yet." Haluin leaned against a slender beech growing at the stream's edge, his head cradled in the young tree's crown. "I mentioned earlier that my kin are on their way here. I fear their intentions, truth be told. Not that it matters now..." He gestured dispiritedly at his arm, then chuckled mirthlessly. "And to think I came to ask if you would tutor me in swordplay. As you can readily see, I will never shoot my bow again, but I had thought to learn an alternative method of warfare and defense."

Eldarin's brows furrowed as he listened. "Of course I will teach you, Haluin, but why are you so downcast regarding your kin? What has happened betwen you?" The injured elf looked away, unable to meet Eldarin's gaze. "I-I cannot speak of it. The memory of my shame holds too much pain for me still, even decades after my crime..." "Crime? What crime could you possibly..."

_"Haluin!"_ 

Both elves startled and Eldarin scrambled to his feet. Haluin's eyes widened as he stared over Eldarin's shoulder at the face of one he never thought to see again. The face of his slain friend's brother.


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## Ghorim (Aug 3, 2008)

Avenhel’s very first patient had been a baby sparrow. She had discovered its broken body on a springtime walk through the depths of Rivendell’s forests. The air was sweet with budding aromas, the sun just peaking above the treetops... and then suddenly there was the horrific sight of the scattered nest and the tiny, writhing form upon the path.

She ran home with it cradled in her hands, and begged her father to make the bird well again. He was a renowned healer, and could have easily handled the endeavor himself. But he assigned it to her instead. Avenhel shook her head, claiming she would only worsen the bird’s condition.

“With my guidance, you can restore this creature to the full glow of health,” her father had said reassuringly. “And you shall learn much along the way.”

She did. Patience, tenderness, concentration... these were things a small child such as her had yet to comprehend. And yet, day by day, Avenhel’s hands and self-confidence steadied as her father instructed her at every turn.

By the time the sparrow had begun to flap its revitalized wings again, Avenhel knew she wanted to continue in her father’s trade. The bird eventually flew off, but she would see it around the woods from time to time as it aged. Every time they met it would sing a song for her, and she would smile knowingly.

That sparrow had been dead for centuries. But seeing Druri’s eager smile and listening to him talk about his adventure to Rivendell instantly reminded Avenhel of the little bird. The lad was hopping about, reenacting the pitched battle that his uncle and Haluin had fought against the great warg. He was such a child, brimming with so much fiery life that he seemed ready to take wing. Throughout the course of their walk, she had managed to pull the little fellow out of his shy cocoon. Now he seemed determined to tell her everything he could.

“And then Uncle swung his axe like this!” Druri slashed at the air with his invisible weapon. “And the warg fell over in a pool of its own blood!”

“Magnificent!” Avenhel said, canting her head in approval. 

They were now nearing the end of their circuit around the forest grounds, with the Last Homely House coming back into view. The Elfess gazed ahead to see Lindir standing upon one of the sweeping terraces. Their eyes met, and she instantly perceived his displeasure at discovering her on a stroll with one of the Naugrim. She gave an apologetic smile, but her eyes flashed with a determined defiance. Let him scoff and pout about it, if he wished!

Then Avenhel noticed Haluin moving along one of the neighboring balconies. His left arm was yet withered and rotted, but he seemed to be carrying himself well enough. Yet there was still that haunted, stiffened look to his movements.

“Now,” she found herself asking again, “what is that one doing by traveling with these two dwarves?”

Druri had mentioned to her that Haluin and Jokim had met each other many years ago, but she sensed there was something more that continued to link those two unlikely companions together. With her young patient so swiftly recovered, perhaps she could find some more time to spend with Haluin...

Now Avenhel could see Lindir descending the steps from the walkways above. He stopped at the base of the stairs, waiting for her and Druri to arrive. When they approached — with Druri just beginning to detail how his uncle had carried Haluin through the mountain passes — Lindir cut in with a curt announcement.

“Master Druri... your uncle is awake.”

Druri’s half-finished sentence came tumbling down. “He is?”

Lindir nodded. “I shall lead you to his room.”

“Never mind, I can find it myself!” By the time he finished his declaration, Druri was halfway up the stairs, conquering them two at a time.

Lindir followed the lad’s ascent with a disdainful scowl. “They are not much for orders, are they?” He turned to Avenhel, and a familiar smile dawned on his face again. “But that leaves us free, yes?” And he leaned in toward her, anticipating a moment of confidential tenderness.

She brushed past him. “I shall fetch Haluin. This news should interest him as well.”

Lindir’s breath caught in his throat as he now found his gaze chasing after Avenhel as well. “Tonight, then,” he said, his tone clipped and unfazed.

---

Avenhel tracked Haluin to just outside the entrance of Eldarin’s smithy. There was another Elf standing there, and judging by his garb, he came from Mirkwood. He and Haluin were leaned close in private conference, but Avenhel could feel the heat of their words emanating forth. Haluin glanced up for an instant over the other’s shoulder, and there he saw Avenhel standing there, unsure of her place.

He whispered one last thing to the other Elf, and then stepped around him to approach the healer.

“Yes, what is it?” Haluin’s face had that drawn quality to it as he spoke... Avenhel could see the conversation he had just finished still coursing through his thoughts. 

“Sir Haluin...” she gave a light curtsey, remaining as dry and formal as she could manage. “I have been sent to inform you that Sir Jokim has awoken.”

Haluin seemed to forget everything for a moment in a burst of surprised happiness, but all too quickly he turned back to face the Mirkwood Elf, who had been staring at his back with arms crossed.

“_Mellon_...” Haluin began, wary and full of hesitation, “a dear friend of mine is recovering from illness here. If you would but allow me a moment to visit with him, and then we may finish our business.”

“Jokim...” said the other. “What sort of name is that?”

Haluin shook his head. “Please, I ask only a slight favor.”

“Make it brief.”

Haluin nodded, resigned to a fate that Avenhel feared to comprehend. He turned to her now. “Lead the way.”

Avenhel nodded, and did as requested. She felt the Mirkwood Elf watching them the whole way. “Who was that?” she whispered.

But Haluin did not answer.


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## chrysophalax (Aug 7, 2008)

The ever-viligant Eldarin watched as several, very interesting vignettes played out before him; the eager shout and hurried footsteps of young Druri as he ran to greet his uncle, the storm-filled eyes of the blonde stranger from Eryn Lasgalen, the hesitant tension in Haluin's shoulders as he turned to meet said stranger. All of these things he noticed in an instant, then acted instinctively, coming to stand at Haluin's left hand.

"_Mae govannen, mellon. _What brings you to the house of Elrond?" The blonde paused, then bowed his head in greeting, his eyes never leaving those of Haluin. "Ask this one, for it is he that brings me." was the calm, restrained reply.

His face a picture of shame and humiliation, Haluin whispered softly in Eldarin's ear. "I must speak with him alone, _mellon._ I would not have you become needlessly involved in this." Against his better judgement, Eldarin nodded, then pointedly gripped Haluin's arm gently in a show of support. "I will leave you alone, at Haluin's bidding. Should you require anything, I will be in the smithy yonder."

As the injured elf glanced at Eldarin's retreating back, a soft, mirthless chuckle brought his head snapping back around to face his former friend. "
"Still able to charm both bird and beast, I see. Haluin, tell me, do you know how long it has been since we sent you into exile, kin-slayer?"

"More decades than I care to count, Culuin. I know you have not come here on your own, else you would not now be speaking so hurtfully to me. No, no...let me guess. Neniel at least, am I right? She always did bring out the worst in you, old friend."

For a moment, Culuin's eyes softened as though ashamed of his words, then looked away across the gardens as they spread out across the valley. "Thranduil heard of your return. You were too careless, Haluin. You know how everything carries in the Wood! Now Neniel wants your head and neither I, not anyone else can stop her getting it, not after you came back inside the Boundary." 

A young healer Haluin recognised approached the two hesitantly. “Yes, what is it?” 

“Sir Haluin...I have been sent to inform you that Sir Jokim has awoken.”

“Mellon...” Haluin began, wary and full of hesitation, “a dear friend of mine is recovering from illness here. If you would but allow me a moment to visit with him, and then we may finish our business.”

“Jokim...” said the other. “What sort of name is that?”

Haluin shook his head. “Please, I ask only a slight favor.”

“Make it brief.”

As they quickly made the short journey up the stairs to Jokim's rooms, Haluin could almost feel the healer's head bursting with questions. Had he been in her position, he had no doubt he would have perished of curiosity by now and he regretted leaving her in the dark.

Moments later however, all was forgotten as the companions stood once again, face to face. The reluctant smile that fought to show itself amid the thatch of Jokim's beard vanished at the sight of Haluin's arm. "I had thought that Lord Elrond could heal anything! Why are you still wrapped up, elf?" He thumped his own chest. "Look at me! Whole and tough as granite, says I." 

Here he sheepishly glanced at Lindir who hovered not far out of earshot. "My headache's gone and they say my hair might even grow back." he whispered. "But someone needs to speak with whoever makes the sacks we have to wear!" He said, raising his voice purposely. 

A snort from just outside the room greeted the remark and Jokim's eyes glittered in amusement. Druri, who'd been sitting on the end of his uncle's bed was speechless with delight. Not only was Jokim in a better mood, but he was also baiting the healers. It didn't get much better.

"Who was that you were talking with down there, Haluin? That stringy, blonde fellow. Friend of yours? Can't say I like his look much." The tall, dark elf sat himself down next to Druri, laughing softly as he did so. "Ah, my bearded friend. It seems you miss nothing, even shut away here in an elven eyrie. That "stringy, blonde fellow" is...was, an old friend of mine. Now he comes to bring me back to Mirkwood. Something about justice and my head on a platter."

Jokim's brows formed thunderclouds at Haluin's words. "Has this got to do..." "Yes, yes, it does." murmured Haluin as he glanced pointedly at Druri, who was looking worriedly from one to the other. "He can't do that, can he?"

"By all rights, they can demand of Lord Elrond that he release me to them. I wonder what he will do?" 

In the hallway, Lindir listened with increasing outrage. _How dare someone from the Outside come and demand that any patient of his be taken from his care before they were declared fit?_ Carefully, lest he break the thin glass out of sheer irritation, he set down the beaker he had been measuring with and vanished down the hall in an indignant swirl of white robes.


----------



## Ghorim (Aug 16, 2008)

Jokim first heard a growing din of footfalls as Druri raced down the hallway. Next there came the skid of worn boots on polished floor as the lad tried to stop all at once. Finally, a startled and delighted gasp cut through Druri’s ragged breathing as he spotted his uncle, seated perfectly erect and awaiting his arrival. 

Jokim answered it with a single, sustained note of mirth: “Ha!” He beckoned the lad over. They embraced, and for nearly an entire minute, there was only silence.

“Have they treated you well?” Jokim murmured the question into Druri’s left ear, not ready to let go of the lad just yet. His broad arms threatened to engulf his nephew entirely.

“Very!” replied Druri, visions of Avenhel parading through his thoughts.

Jokim released the lad from their embrace, but quickly latched his hands onto his nephew’s shoulders. He held Druri at arm’s length, giving him a skeptical eye. “Very well, you say? Is that the truth?”

Druri scrubbed the dreamy look from his face and grew serious again to match his uncle. “Well, some of them have. There is one Elf, however...”

The uncle picked up on his nephew’s irritated tone immediately. “The one who cares for me.”

“Aye... how’d you guess?”

Jokim snorted. “He’s taken enough pains to remind me that I am a whelp by his reckoning. Wagging his nose high and preening his feathers! Well, remember what I have always told you about Elves. They...”

And then Haluin entered the room.

“You, Elf!” cried Jokim, hopping to his feet. But the joy of reunion fled quickly, between Haluin’s blighted arm and the arrival of his vengeful kinsfolk from Mirkwood. Of course Haluin spoke of it in that laughing cadence of his — “something about justice and my head on a platter” — but that enraged Jokim, for the fearfulness in the Elf shone so obviously in that moment. His was the laugh of a prisoner resigned to his execution. 

“By all rights, they can demand of Lord Elrond that he release me to them. I wonder what he will do?”

Jokim did not hear the flutter of robes outside the door. He had his gaze steeled on Haluin, and shook at him with rough words. “Why sit and wonder while your limbs are not yet shackled? Go to Elrond and make your case!”

Haluin shook his head. “I cannot just yet. I still must have words with my accusers. This visit is my momentary reprieve.”

The dwarf gave one of his formidable growls and pressed a fisted hand deep into the covers of his bed. “What brings them howling for your head now after so many years?”

“I have violated the terms of my banishment... I foolishly overstepped Mirkwood’s borders. Now a debt must be paid.”

Jokim’s brow furrowed, for he saw the seriousness of this offense. His folk valued the sanctity of oaths, orders and obligations more so than any other. The actual kinslaying Haluin spoke of... that he could overlook as a lapse made in a moment of childish fear. But why... “But why did you return, when you surely knew...?”

Haluin gave a sigh laden with many years of disappointment. “It matters not...”

Jokim lowered his gaze for a moment, but then plucked it back up in a moment of fervor. “So... you have your battle to fight, and I have mine.” He stood from the bed again. 

“What is this of battles? You may still claim to be built of stone, friend, but do not forget what brought you to this bed.”

“If you are to be so detained,” grunted Jokim, clearly trying to ignore Haluin’s remark, “then I shall be the first to make your appeal to Lord Elrond.”

The thin smirk dropped from Haluin’s face. “That is not necessary.”

Nothing seemed to register with the dwarf, who was rolling his shoulders and flexing his neck, as if preparing for a wrestling match. “Do not forget why I brought you along on this little hike of ours, Haluin. I will find you a home, just as my old friend has found me one in the Ered Luin. That is my aim, and nothing shall stand in its way.”

“And for whose benefit is this, Jokim?”

The dwarf folded his arms and eased back into his familiar, defiant posture. “No games, Haluin. A dwarf speaks his intentions and nothing else.” He eyed his nephew. “Come along, Druri.”

An instinctual obedience brought the lad to his feet, but his gaze hovered on the Elf. “Would you like me to accompany you, Haluin?”

The Elf smiled, but pushed Druri along toward his uncle. “I’m afraid your presence would only further inflame the hearts of my kin.”

Druri gave a meek nod and wandered over to Jokim, who took him by the shoulder. “Best of luck,” said the elder dwarf.

“And to you,” replied Haluin, with minimal inflection.

Within a moment, both dwarves were gone, their footsteps retreating down the hallway. Haluin stood alone for a moment, gazing at his toes, before lifting himself erect and making determined strides out the door.


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## chrysophalax (Aug 19, 2008)

Despite his roiling thoughts, Jokim's outrage on his behalf and Druri's offer to accompany him, touched his heart deeply. How odd his world had become, when a dwarf would, if necessary, do battle to defend him against the machinations of his own kin? His lips quirked in a crooked smile as he went in search of Culuin, his spirits strangely lightened after visiting Jokim and finding him well. At least all was right with his friends and for now, that was what mattered.

As he walked along the terraced steps leading back down toward the smithy, Haluin pondered Jokim's words. _"Go to Elrond and make your case!”
_ That was precisely what he intended to do after speaking with Culuin, but as he approached his former freind once more, a slow, subtle sense of anger began to grow deep within him, a feeling of resentment, of outrage. How could those he had lived with, come into majority with, laughed and wept with, do this to him?

The very sight of Culuin caused his fist to clench at the injustice of it all. Was it not enough that he could never return to Eryn Lasgalen and his family? Yes, he had slain his dearest friend, but not intentionally! It had been a terrible, horrific accident and now he, Haluin Gilmirion, had been hunted down like a beast...and why? Because he had had the audacity to climb once more among the boughs of a favourite tree which had always stood at the westernmost edge of the wood, to hear its voice once more, before leaving for lands west of the mountains. never to return.

"How fares your friend?" Culuin asked, as he stood up from where he had been sitting near the smithy door. "Well." Haluin replied. "Far better than I, it would seem." He faced Culuin now, his right arm crossed protectively over his left. "Now, what does she intend? Does she think I will return willingly? If so, she would be mistaken, for I have no intention of doing so." Culuin's eyes flashed angrily, but Haluin held his hand up before he could speak.

"I...I realise I crossed the Boundary. It was but to say farewell to the trees. As I was about to leave, I heard voices on the Road and so I waited, until I knew who it might be, friend or foe. To my delight, it turned out to be an old friend I had travelled with many years ago in Rohan." Culuin arched an eyebrow, his face a mask of distaste.

"This...friend. This Jokim. The name has a dwarfish ring to it." Haluin sighed heavily. _Now it comes._"Aye, Culuin, he is a dwarf and he is accompanied by his young nephew. They were bereft of their home once the dragon returned and they seek a new life in Ered Luin. What of it?"

"You have become strange, Haluin. Wandering in the lands of Men, consorting with dwarves. Has the slaying done this to you?" Haluin's jaw dropped. "What else would you have me do? I am banished, condemned!" He began to pace, then stopped abruptly, turning to face his former friend. "Earendil's Light, Culuin! What would you have me do?"

"Indeed, stranger to Imladris. What _would_ you have him do?" Two heads turned swiftly at the intrusion, to see Eldarin standing in the smithy doorway, hammer in hand, looking like a thundercloud. "I know not what Haluin has done to merit such treatment, but I can tell you that I have witnessed his bravery and his loyalty and I can find no fault in either. I would be glad of his courage at my side in battle, _this_ I know!"

Culuin paled slightly, but to his credit, he didn't flinch. "Indeed? Then it might interest you to know that _this_ one slew an elf who counted him dear, as we fought orcs in the south of Eryn Lasgalen. Our king declared him Kin-slayer and banished him from our realm." His accuser sneered. "Show him, Haluin. Show your defender just what he defends."

Haluin felt the blood drain from his face completely as he fumbled for the braid, the accursed sign of his crime. Eldarin watched as Haluin closed his eyes in shame as he held up the braid for him to see, then threw down his hammer in disgust.

Haluin flinched, but he found that it was not he, but Culuin who bore Eldarin's fury. "You were once his friend and you make him do this? You make him humiliate himself before me...to impress me, to "open my eyes"?" He stepped so close to Culuin that the other almost stepped back instinctively. "I deem you cruel and cowardly to treat a former comrade-in-arms so callously. I have heard tales of your kind, of your king and how he meets out judgement without thought before now..." He drew back, glancing at Haluin, who was dumbfounded. 

"Go your way, elf of Mirkwood. Get you back to your companions and tell them that Haluin has supporters here and they will not see him harmed."

The blonde elf glared icily from Eldarin to Haluin, then bowed stiffly to Eldarin before walking swiftly away.

"I...hardly know what to...my thanks, Eldarin." Haluin blurted out as he stood rooted to the spot. "You sounded like a certain dwarf I know." he said with a light laugh.

Suddenly, the pain so long held at bay surged through his arm and he clutched his arm tightly. Eldarin called for aid and between himself and his apprentise, they helped him back up to his room, where Lindir waited, his face tight with concern.

"Thank you, Eldarin, that will be all...and see you if you can keep those fools from Mirkwood away from him, will you? That female has been worrying my staff with her wheddling questions and I'll not have it!" He began to whisper curses under his breath as he unwrapped Haluin's arm. "Tell Lord Elrond I need to speak with him also." he called over his shoulder as Eldarin and his helper quielty left the room to do Lindir's bidding.

The healer turned sad eyes on the patient who seemed to have suffered a severe setback and sighed. "Master Haluin, what hinders your healing? What demons do you fight in your heart?" 

Haluin only turned his head away as the pain grew, blotting out the anguish in his soul.


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## Ghorim (Aug 28, 2008)

Just before he left his room, Jokim’s eyes caught upon his old traveling hood. The crumpled, weather-stained thing hung limply atop his pack at the far end of the room. He hesitated for a moment, stalled by the urge to pick it up and once again conceal the wound that festered upon the side of his head. One foot twitched in its direction.

“Nae...” Jokim thought. “All here know what I am. ‘Tis time I accepted it as well.”

He pulled himself back, turned, and strode out into the hallway. His hand grasped Druri’s out of habit. 

They encountered Avenhel in short order. She startled at the sight of the wounded Jokim barreling down the hallway, his head lowered slightly as he marched ahead.

“Where is Elrond?” he asked, his voice all the more frightening for the fact that it was dead calm.

“In his study,” Avenhel responded quickly. “Down the hall and on the right.”

The dwarf gave a snappy nod and muttered a “thank you” before continuing on his way. Druri tried to give the Elfess an apologetic look as his uncle dragged him along, but she didn’t seem to notice it.

Lord Elrond was standing and waiting for the two dwarves by the time they reached his door, for he had heard them coming down the hall as one hears an oliphaunt trampling through the forest.

“Good afternoon,” he said upon their appearance, somehow twisting the simple greeting into a question and a reproach at the same time.

Jokim’s step faltered, and he found himself frozen at the gateway to the study. It was not merely the sight of Elrond so prepared for their arrival that surprised him; it was the impossible depths of the Elf Lord’s stare. The dwarf suddenly felt like an infantry private again, staring down a commanding officer whose eyes could judge his entire worth in a single, fleeting gaze. 

For his part, Druri did not exactly hide behind his uncle, but still positioned himself at an angle so that Elrond could not so easily spot him. Their dream-like conversation from the night before reemerged, pale and vivid, in his memory.

“I’d request that the two of you have a seat,” Elrond continued, “especially you, Master Jokim, for it seems you have wandered out of your bed without my healer’s permission.”

It was a father’s disappointed voice that rang in Jokim’s ears, and he moved to obey — almost meekly. Druri followed, gazing about the room as they approached the ruler’s great oaken desk. Two towering shelves hemmed them in from either side, packed with countless unnamed volumes whose origins spanned leagues and ages. A grand window, tall and broad in the familiar Rivendell style, looked out on an astonishing view of trees and streams, with a waterfall roaring at center. Afternoon light flooded through, painting Elrond’s figure in a bright gold. 

“How many books are there in here?” whispered Druri, trying to fend off the room’s solemn silence.

“Many. Some would say too many.” Elrond sat behind his desk, eyeing each dwarf in turn.

“Have you read them all?”

“Yes.”

“Every page?”

“Druri!” Jokim grunted, before clearing his throat. “Forgive him, m’lord. He is only curious.”

“Curiosity need not be forgiven,” Elrond shifted in his seat, facing Jokim with a half smile. “For without it, we would never so much as peak our heads out from under the covers each morning.”

Once again, Jokim found himself thrown off-balance by the Elf’s words and gaze. Before he could get his thoughts level again, Elrond had already changed his whole manner.

“What, then, brings you to me against orders, Master Jokim? It is more than a mere insubordinate streak, I hope.”

Remembering his cause, the dwarf refocused his attention and hunkered down in his chair. “This concerns my friend, Haluin.”

Elrond’s brows jumped briefly at the word “friend,” but he nodded. “Continue.”

“Perhaps you have already heard, m’lord. His so-called ‘kin’ from Mirkwood have arrived to claim his head.”

“Their approach has been known to me, yes.” Elrond stroked his chin.

“As lord of this realm, you have the power to deny their request.” Jokim furrowed his brow. “And you must.”

“Do you understand his crime?” Elrond leaned back slightly in his chair, appearing to take a full stock of this strange dwarf and what he stood for.

Jokim nodded. “He told me all, m’lord. I have seen the braid.”

“And still you defend him?” Elrond made his counter with a peculiar nonchalance, sinking back further but never detaching his focus from Jokim.

“The story of that day is his alone to tell,” said the dwarf, undeterred. “I shall not repeat it here, even in his defense. Suffice to say, he struck not out of malice. I cannot claim to have known him for anything longer than one year’s time. But during our journeys together, I have never seen so much as a hint of such wickedness in him.”

“The heart can hide many things.” Elrond folded his hands together in front of his face, and his intimidating, grey stare only seemed to redouble its pressure on the dwarf.

“But it cannot hide a pain such as the one he feels,” Jokim responded, leaning forward and jabbing his right index finger down on the edge of Lord Elrond’s desk. “His own people — family and friends — have disowned him. He has lived without a realm to call home for centuries, longer than any dwarf may ever live. It tears at him, m’lord. It is a remorse that a true murderer could never feel.” 

Elrond considered the words in silence, but gave no outward indication as to his contemplations. Then he spoke, in an ancient rumble. “Tell me, Master Jokim, for I have never known: what do the Naugrim do with their kinslayers?”

“We... we have not had many.”

“But the ones you _have_ had?”

Jokim inhaled deeply. “Banished.” He exhaled.

“And what if one should disobey and return?”

“That has not happened.”

“Then tell me, if you were arbiter of such a case. A dwarvish kinslayer has returned to the scene of his crime, in clear defiance of his banishment. What would you have done with him?”

“I... could not say.”

“Perhaps you begin to see my predicament, then?” 

Jokim’s gaze had retreated to the edge of the desk, but now it rose again. 

“There is no ‘must’ about my decision,” Elrond continued. “You have defended Master Haluin with a friend’s ferocity, and for that you have my respects. But that great emotion blurs your vision. You do not know this, but the King of Mirkwood is a dear old friend of mine. Am I to defend a kinslayer’s life over his royal decree?”

Elrond leaned forward now, as if to dismiss Jokim and his nephew. But the elder dwarf did not waver, not even in the face of such a sharp rebuke. He folded his arms across his chest, his signature expression that Elrond saw now for only the first time. Jokim seemed to seal himself to the seat of his chair, wholly stolid and immovable.

“Then take this blind dwarf’s words for whatever worth they may hold,” he spat back defiantly. “You have two choices, as I see it: you may throw away this life, as you would a rotten fruit. Or you may offer him sanctuary, and grant him the hope that he has lacked since the day of his fatal mistake. You can forge a new life for him, if you so will it.”

A silence followed. Time stretched and stalled. Druri’s gaze leapt between the two powerful figures, fearful of what was to follow.

“Your words are duly noted,” spoke Elrond, finally. “Now return to your bed.”

Jokim rose in a slow, measured gesture of obedience, and then bowed deeply. “I thank you for your time and consideration, m’lord.” 

Druri neatly mimicked the bow, but whereas Jokim lowered his eyes to the ground in traditional deference to royalty, the lad tried to spy a hint of Elrond’s temperament by stealing a look at him. The Elf Lord snared Druri’s gaze with a sudden flick of his eyes.

“And have you anything to add, Master Druri?”

“Me?” Both Druri and his uncle rose from their bows in awkward surprise.

Elrond nodded, looking as serious and receptive as he had been when Jokim spoke.

“Eh...” Druri’s hands instinctively clasped together in a jumbled embrace behind his back. “Only that... Haluin... I trust him greatly, m’lord. He has saved our lives, and we have helped to save his. I... I...” he stammered to a halt. “I can only echo the words of my uncle, m’lord.” As if to apologize for his stumbling speech, he gave another bow.

Neither dwarf noticed, but Elrond was smiling ever so slightly. Before they could glance his way, however, a pair of elves appeared at the study’s doorway. 

“Lord Elrond,” said the elder, with his fist to his breast. “Lindir requests your presence. Master Haluin’s condition has worsened.”

Both dwarves spun about, and Elrond stood. “I shall come,” said the Elf Lord, walking out from behind his desk.

“May we accompany you?” Jokim glanced over his shoulder at Elrond’s approaching form.

“Your nephew may,” said Elrond briskly as he passed by the dwarf. “_You_ shall return to your bed, as ordered.”

Jokim did not appreciate the Elf Lord’s tone, but did not so much as grumble his discontent. By now, he knew better than to get smart with the ruler of Rivendell.


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## chrysophalax (Sep 8, 2008)

A female elf with long, flowing blonde hair sat at the end of the corridor, brushing out the dust of the road from the folds of her dress, watching as Elrond and, oddly enough, two dwarves left his personal study. _Fascinating!_ she thought. _How is it that all who come to know Haluin fall under his spell? It is not as if he holds some ancient magick such as the Ainur do...or even dragons, come to that. Nay, but he has...something, some power..._

A hand gripped her shoulder lightly and she glanced up, then back down the corridor. "Aye, Neniel. He wields a power far greater than you will ever understand, that of friendship."

Neniel threw back her head and laughed a soft, bitter laugh, then shrugged off the hand in annoyance. "Cerilin, you were never his creature before. Why do you speak in such a manner now?"

The elf who's hand she had brushed aside merely quirked an ironic eyebrow at her. "I was never yours either, which is why I am here. Our king has no wish to seek Haluin's death even now and were it not for your incessant whisperings in his ear, we would not be here! Is it not enough that he will most likely die of his wounds? Must you speed his passing by throwing his misdeeds in his face to torment him?"

"Yes! I owe him nothing! He refused me and then, when I had a chance to wed into a house with even greater standing and position, he took that from me as well! He has made of me a mockery and now I have the chance to repay him in full!"

Cerilin looked at her narrowly, his lips curled with distaste for what he read on her face. "And what of your brother, Culuin?" He asked softly. "What of myself? We have lost not only one brother, one friend, but two. Haluin was both brother and friend to us as well! You are not the only one who still suffers!" 

She drew herself up imperiously, ignoring Cerilin's words. "Do you not see how he has fallen? He consorts with _naugrim_! How can you possibly defend him? _He has taken the life I rightfully deserve!"_ she cried. "But I will see to it that he suffers first, you mark me, Cerilin. After I have spoken to Lord Erond, none here will defend him and whatever you might have to say will be discounted, I will see to that. My brother agrees with me, that Haluin deserves death now, though in the past 'tis true he did not."

"Because you poisoned his mind against his friend!" Neniel waved a dismissive hand. "If you choose to believe that, I cannot stop you. But know that you came on a fool's errand." She glanced thoughtfully down the long corridor. "If you will excuse me, I have some business to attend to."

Cerilin's dark grey eyes watched as she gracefully walked away from him and she reminded him of nothing more than the darkening shadows that threatened to choke the life-giving light out of his beloved woodland home. It took him only moments to come to a decision before he turned to go in search of Culuin.

The retreating footsteps behind her brought a smile to her lips as Neniel made her way along the many sunlit hallways toward her destination. Now that she had seemingly put Cerilin in his place, all she needed was to assess the only unknown factor she could foresee. The dwarf. Having listened in to the conversation between the dwarves and Lord Elrond, she had been astounded at the depth of friendship the creatures had for Haluin. Now she would test that friendship for herself, by speaking with the one called Jokim, for she suspected that the dwarf was far more necessary to Haluin than he would ever let on and therein lay his weakness. 

Feeling a sudden rush of charity, she determined to rid Haluin of said weakness before Elrond could convene any sort of council. Let him then deny her her right to have Haluin slain!

Drawing a deep breath, Neniel willed her face not to show the disgust she felt as she knocked lightly on Jokim's door. The sound of heavy footfalls and grumbling in an uncouth tongue greeted her ears as the door was yanked open. "Durin's Beard, what..." Jokim stopped abruptly as she stared up at the tall elf standing before him, then a look of suspicion mixed with surprise crossed his face. "Yes?" he asked abruptly.

"Greetings, Master...Jokim, is it? I am Neniel, a friend of your Haluin. I had heard tell that you were injured saving his life. Is this true?" Jokim squinted at her for a moment, then replied, "He is not _my_ Haluin and I took a hard knock, nothing more."

Seeing that heseemed disinclined to ask her in, or even move from the doorway, she switched tactics. "I have heard it whispered among the healers that he may not live, his wound has festered so." This statement contained only the barest grain of truth, yet it was enough to cause Jokim's face to change just for an instant. That instant told her all she needed to know. "Why are you asking about him? You're one of elves from Mirkwood, aren't you. What is it, are you afraid you'll be cheated of your sport?"

A look like ice lanced through him, raising the hairs on his head. "I ask out of concern, nothing more.Forgive me for interrupting your rest, master dwarf. You so obviously need it." With that, she turned away from him, leaving him to glare after her as she went to seek out Culuin and Cerilin. It was time to cut off Haluin's support.


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## Ghorim (Sep 21, 2008)

_What had she meant?_

Again and again, Jokim tore through the memories of his fleeting conversation with Neniel, searching for the answer. There she was, standing poised and aloof, and he watched her lips twitch upward in a mocking smirk...

_"I have heard it whispered among the healers that he may not live, his wound has festered so.”_

What was that dancing behind her eyes? A calm superiority... a hardened hatred... no, more than that... a plan. This was an Elf he was dealing with, after all, Jokim reminded himself. 

“And what other plan could it be? She wants Haluin dead. But how...”

A soft rap on his door pulled his thoughts up from their circular musing. The dwarf was seated on his bed, in the same position he had assumed as soon as Neniel had left: head slumped and shoulders shrugged high, each hand resting palm down on the mattress. 

“Who goes there?” Jokim muttered, hardly in the mood for another visitor.

“Only Avenhel,” the voice whispered in a timid melody.

“Only who?” The dwarf grunted and stood, preparing himself for another unwelcome intrusion. But then the door cracked open, and he recognized the young Elfess who had directed him to Elrond’s study.

“Hmm... it’s you.” He motioned for her to come in, which she did with a halting care. Their eyes met, just before hers slipped away. “We have not been introduced,” said the dwarf, expectantly. “Avenhel, you said?”

“Yes,” she curtseyed slightly. “I have been caring for your nephew, Sir Jokim, while you were... indisposed.”

Something about her diplomatic choice of the last word gave the dwarf a grin that refused to leave his face. “And has he behaved?”

“Wonderfully.”

“Ahh... but you must be careful with him,” Jokim wagged his finger. “He will charm you to no end on first meeting, and then will seek out the most vile naughtiness while your back is turned.”

She nodded, still lingering in the doorway. “I can only hope that this trait does not run in the bloodline.”

Jokim chortled. “I have never been accused of too much charm, m’lady Avenhel!” Seeing her to be an agreeable antidote to the icy Lindir and scheming Neniel, he plopped back down on his bed, relaxing himself for the moment. “So now that the lad is back to scampering about, you have come to care for me and fluff my pillows, eh?”

She approached with light steps, looking somewhat relieved herself but still maintaining a measured distance. “Your healer Lindir is occupied with Sir Haluin.”

“Oh?” Jokim’s face clouded with concern, as it had when Neniel had passed on her wicked rumor. “How fares he?”

Avenhel, surprised to see such a plain look of worry of the dwarf’s face, moved quickly to settle his doubts. “He has taken a step back, but now Lord Elrond is at his side. His wisdom and skill shall guide Haluin back to the path of recovery.”

“Not... near death?”

“No, Master Dwarf, far from it.”

Jokim snorted. “Well, so much for the whisperings of the healers!”

“Excuse me?”

The dwarf stood again, pacing an agitated half-circle around the bed, arms crossed and head lowered. “What do you know of this Neniel... the Elfess of Mirkwood?”

“Not a thing,” Avenhel shook her head. “She only arrived this morning, and I have but seen her in passing.”

“Then know this...” Jokim halted. “She is plotting something, as sure as my axe is sharp! You know what brings her and her kindred here from Mirkwood, of course.”

Avenhel lowered her head, but still gave a slight nod of acknowledgment. “Those whispers I have heard.”

“She will tear through any wall to find the revenge she seeks,” Jokim said, gazing to the ceiling in thought. His eyes followed the spiraled engraving that decorated the surface above his head. “That any fool could see. But _how_, that is my question...”

“Do not strain yourself,” Avenhel said, trying to soothe him with her lilting voice. “As soon as Haluin is fit again, Lord Elrond shall hold council to hear the grievances and render his decision. He cannot leave a matter such as this unsettled for too long.”

“All the same... you and the others must be on your guard.” Jokim paused, stroking his beard. “And I do not want that Neniel within shouting distance of my nephew, understood?”

“Eldarin is watching young Druri now,” Avenhel said. “He is the most trustworthy guardian I could name in Rivendell. You trouble yourself too much, Master Dwarf. Do sit down.”

Half-appeased but still uneasy, Jokim returned reluctantly to the bed. “Were I not under the Lord’s orders to remain in bed, I would feel a greater calm, knowing that I had some power over what’s to come.” He glanced at Avenhel, who had now settled upon the chair beside the bed. “My mind is prone to suspicion, you see, but I find that its doubts most often prove correct!”

“Have faith,” she said. “If but this once.”

“Faith...” Jokim grumbled. “I place no stock in fantasy.”

Avenhel shifted in her seat, thinking of ways to change the course of the conversation during the silence that followed. “How did you and Sir Haluin come to grow so close?”

The dwarf closed his eyes and smiled. “Ask him. For all my effort, I cannot fathom how such a ridiculous thing should happen...”

---

Druri could feel his voice stirring, but dared not speak. For as soon as Lord Elrond entered Haluin’s room, a deathly silence had fallen over everyone within. The lad quickly got the sense that he was here watching at the Elf Lord’s mercy, and if he distracted Elrond from the delicate procedure at hand, a hard grasp would quickly whisk him out of the room. So he sat in the back corner and held his breath, Eldarin standing at his side.

Elrond studied the wound for several minutes, with not a word spoken. Lindir was at his side, waiting intently for any indication that his assistance was needed. But none came. The Elf Lord partially undressed the wound, eyeing it sternly before looking to Haluin, who lay in bed with his head turned away. Even though he hid his eyes, Haluin's shame was apparent.

“It is as with Master Jokim’s wound.” Everyone in the room seemed to jump a bit and stare at Elrond, Haluin included. “It is not merely a physical injury.”

Haluin’s good hand clenched itself into a fist.

“Would you not say so, Haluin?”

The Elf Lord looked down on his patient, calm but utterly exacting as he awaited a response. 

“Speak.”


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## chrysophalax (Sep 22, 2008)

"What would you have me say, my lord? Are you implying that the warg's foul bite is not the only poison that flows through my body?" A dry, humourless chuckle escaped the elf. "It is not to be wondered at, I suppose." He turned feverish eyes to Druri and Eldarin and felt guilt rise within him. He was not worthy of such kindness...

Elrond grasped him almost painfully by shoulder, forcing Haluin to look into his eyes. "Why do you torment yourself thus, son of Gilmir? You are more than worthy of my efforts...and of the friendship and concern that many bear you..."

"Nay, lord!" Haluin cried in despair. "It was by my hand that one closer than a brother to me died. Culuin has every reason to hate for taking his brother's life, as does Neniel for denying her a mate. Thranduil judged me well." He then closed his eyes and drew a long breath. "My friend Jokim nearly died and young Druri was put at risk for my folly. Is it not plain, my lord, that I deserve death?"


A cry came from the corner where Druri had sat so still and silent, listening with growing dismay to Haluin´s account. "Master Elrond, don't listen to him! He-he is ill, he doesn't know what he's saying! I saw him shoot the warg and he wasn't even afraid, he even went for help after! He helped my uncle and me find the best mountain passes and he showed me things about the stars, all their names and how to..."

Eldarin squeezed Druri's shoulder and he fell silent, his eyes pleading. "Master Druri, we doubt not Haluin's courage, _he_ does and it is that which works against my lord's efforts to heal him. Be at peace, young one. My lord will not allow it. Quiet now and listen." Eldarin's words gave Druri a little hope, but when he looked on the pallour of his friend's face, he couldn't help but doubt.

Disbelief washed over Haluin as he heard the young dwarf speak for him in such earnest. He had nearly cost all of them their lives and still he was trusted! Perhaps...perhaps he had been wrong after all.

Swallowing his fear, the stricken elf looked up at Elrond once more. "It was never intended, my lord...my friend's death. And Culuin spoke for me before my king...it was Neniel...I had refused her, before she and...Daeron were betrothed..." He choked on Daeron's name and tears long unshed spilled down his face.

Unbidden, both Druri and Eldarin came to his bedside and the dwarf scrambled up beside the elf, patting his shoulder awkwardly. Elrond smiled enigmatically as he carefully redressed Haluin's arm afresh. Grief long denied had ofttimes in his experience been the bane of true healing. Now it could begin, while he weighed in his heart everything that had been said.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^


Selfish she might be, vindictive she was for a certainty, but she was also cunning.

Neniel had always known what she wanted and should she find herself opposed, she liked nothing better than to slowly, with patience only the near immortal can know, find the way to achieve her goal. Once, that goal had been Haluin. In the face of his denial of her charms, the goal had become his everlasting pain and eventual destruction. 

At first, she had sought out Daeron. This had surprised many in Thranduil's court, as she had never shown him the faintest hint of interest. Now, he was her world and to her annoyance, Haluin had been delighted when they had announced their betrothal. Then inadvertantly, Haluin had given her a gift. He had slain Daeron accidently while on patrol and with his death came the perfect opportunity for revenge.

Alas, she was to find her purpose thwarted once again, as even her brother Culuin had spoken for the hated Haluin. Angered, she had demanded his death, in payment for Daeron's life and she had been within her right. Thranduil had pondered long over his decision and Haluin had taken the Kinslayer's braid before being expelled forever from his home. This had pleased her initially, but then...he had returned! She simply could not believe he had not had the grace to get himself killed in all the years since his expulsion.

Now, she was bent on what she saw as justice. To find that he had gravely injured had delighted her no end, but now that he threatened to recover, she had no choice. Neniel would strike where he was most vulnerable, at his friends.

Humming a song her father's bard had taught her as youngling, she sat looking carefully through the contents of a small chest she had brought with her from Eryn Lasgalen...in case it was needed. It contained medicines and herbs, some common, some rare as rare, all potent and many deadlier than the sharpest sword. Smiling, she lifted several small bottles to the light, turning them this way and that, admiring the swirl of colour within each carefully cut crystal. Which was it to bè? Spider venom? No, too easily recognisable. Powdered dragon scale? Possibly, though her intended victim might be immune. No, something even more subtle...ah, yes! 

Deep in the bottom of the chest there lay a small wooden box. What it contained hadn't been used in centuries and therefore would most probably go undetected, even by the venerable Lindir. Having decided, she carefully repacked her bottles and potions, then slipped the box into a pocket in her dress before going in search of the cooks. There was a dish she wanted prepared specially for the convalescing patient and if it he chose to share it with the dwarf youngling...so much the better! Now all she had to do was find Cerilin and have him request it be made for her.


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## Ghorim (Sep 29, 2008)

Without the fair warning of a knock, the door to Jokim’s room stuttered open. The dwarf opened an eye, and withdrew his hands from behind his head as he sat up in bed. In the doorway stood Druri, his gaze lost and his lips trembling slightly. Behind him hovered the lean figure of an Elf — the guardian Avenhel had spoken of, most likely.

The Elfess was now standing from the chair beside Jokim’s bed, but the dwarf opened his mouth before she could.

“What news of Haluin, then?”

Druri said nothing, walking over to the bed and sitting at its foot. The tall Elf made a broad step into the room, gave a look to Avenhel, and then fixed a studious gaze on Jokim. “His recovery will be long indeed, and I fear the wounds on his arm are the least of his worries.”

Jokim glanced at Druri, who sat with his head bowed. The uncle reached over to clasp his nephew’s shoulder, and held it silently for several moments. Druri looked up, and Jokim spoke. “What have you heard, my lad, that pains you so?”

“Haluin... slew his friend?”

“His dearest friend,” Jokim said gravely, making no attempt to soften the words. He watched as Druri’s face twitched in a reflex of horror, and he could see the lad wrestling with all the terrifying thoughts and images of his young imagination.

“He struck in the shadows, without knowing,” Jokim said, holding Druri steady and not allowing him to look away. “And the ghosts of that mistake still torment him. But how long can one live with such a burden and still not forgive himself?” He turned to the Elves now, addressing the question to them.

Eldarin shook his head. “One _cannot_ live, not truly, with such a blight on his spirit. Haluin has allowed guilt to infect his thoughts. He now blames himself for your injuries in the mountains, Master Jokim.”

The dwarf growled and stood in a burst. “I will not allow that fool of an Elf to bleed himself dry! I must speak with him.”

The Elf took a precautionary step forward, as he well knew how unpredictable a dwarf’s rage could become. “Lord Elrond has closed Haluin’s room to all visitors for the remainder of the day. Your friend needs time alone, to recover. As do you.”

Jokim gave a resounding smack to his chest. “I’m as full well as I’ve ever been.” Eldarin narrowed his eyes, and the dwarf seemed to smell a losing battle. “... If Lord Elrond orders it, however...” He scowled, and sat himself back down on the bed, with his right hand balled into a fist as it rested on his knee. The others all watched the dwarf, fully expecting him to dictate whatever might happen next.

“Haluin needs a good shaking, is all,” Jokim muttered, more to himself than to his onlookers. “You cannot be gentle with those types... they will wallow in past mistakes and never escape the fear of repeating them. But what can we do until tomorrow?” He rapped his fist against his knee, possessed by an idea. “Those Mirkwood Elves... they need to be handled.”

“I fear they are rather set on their mission,” Avenhel said, looking out the window as if consulting the trees for guidance. 

“Only one,” spoke Eldarin, with an intensity that seized the others’ attention. “Only the female truly wishes to see an execution. The other two are... pliable.”

“You are certain?” Jokim stared at the Elf, measuring Eldarin’s trustworthiness with each minute expression he made and word he spoke.

“Master Dwarf... like yourself, I have danced the warrior’s dance. And I know, as you know, when someone has a lust for the kill and when he is merely pretending.” Eldarin’s eyes flashed... and Jokim immediately knew that he had found a reliable accomplice.

The dwarf formed a wry smirk and opened his mouth in a slight sneer. “So you aim to set to work on the female’s rear guard?”

Eldarin nodded. “Isolate her. If she finds herself alone, she will act rashly. And then my Lord will not fail to see the folly of her arguments.”

“Yet be wary of her!” Jokim raised a single finger, precise and erect. “I spoke hardly a breath’s worth of words with her, and I can already sense a web in the weaving.”

“Then we must fashion one of our own... invisible to her eyes.” Eldarin’s quiet confidence seemed to embolden each statement he made. He made a quick turn for the door, his thoughts already revolving about the figures of Culuin and Cerilin.

“Hold!” Jokim stood again, forcing the Elf to halt out of respect. “Eldarin, your name was?”

“Indeed,” the Elf threw a glance over his shoulder.

“Why do you pledge such support to one you barely know?”

“Why do you?”

Jokim snorted. “I cannot stand for the torture of a gentle spirit.”

“Then you have my answer.” Eldarin gave a fleeting flash of a smile and... was that... _a wink_? But he had disappeared into the hallway before Jokim could tell for certain.

The dwarf turned to Druri, one hand resting on his hip as the other tugged at his beard. “Well! It seems I’ve placed all of my trust in an Elf once again. I’d advise you not to follow in this habit, lad.”

“Yet have we ever disappointed you, Master Dwarf?”

Jokim furrowed his brows and gave Avenhel a surprised look. “Perhaps not. But I still hold my breath every time.”


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## chrysophalax (Oct 2, 2008)

"A confection of ground acorns, honey and nutmeg? Is he _serious?_ If that is what passes for a sweet in the halls of Thranduil..."

The elf who served as Elrond's chief cook had been irate when she had heard the request made by one of the Mirkwood elves. How could this _possibly_ be Haluin's favourite dish? Had his tongue been injured as well? She had held forth in no uncertain terms on dead palates and lack of taste in general until at last most of her staff threatened to walk out if she didn't calm herself. The elves of Mirkwood should know better than she want he preferred and wasn't it good that he finally wanted something special to eat?

She huffed, but did as she was bid, even if it was her better judgement.

***

Druri had finally screwed up his courage enough to want to sit with his friend again. It had been hard, hearing that a person he had come to trust had killed a friend. After all, he and his uncle were Haluin's friends. What if...? No. His uncle had defended Haluin, saying it was an accident, that it couldn't have been helped and that Haluin was still suffering because of it. That had been what had decided him. That, and a talk with Eldarin.

As they had taken supper in Jokim's room, the three of them discussed at length Neniel's plans and Haluin's illness. That was when Eldarin grinned and whispered to them of his plan for Haluin, should all go well after the council meeting. It was his intention to fashion a device that Haluin could wear, a type of lightweight metal hand that he could wear over his lower arm, thus lending strength to the crippled limb. With it, he would be able to regain his balance when using a sword and even use it to parry other weapons if need be.

Jokim's eyes lit up with interest and he sat forward eagerly, questioning Eldarin closely about the device, finally deeming it practical and sound in its conception. It made Druri smile to see his uncle almost happy and not as moody as he had been so often in the past. "Eldarin? Do you think...I mean-I know that Lord Elrond said for him not to have more visitors today, but do you think...just for a minute or two...?"

The elf smiled at him, laying a hand on the youngling's shoulder. "I am certain that a minute or two of your company will cheer him, Druri. Jokim, may I borrow your nephew for a moment?"

He waved them both away impatiently. "Just be sure you return before long." he said, sucking on a chicken bone. "I have more questions for you." Eldarin smiled disarmingly as he bowed. "At your service and your family's. We will not be long."

A young elf from the kitchens was just entering Haluin's sick room after tapping shyly on the door, when Druri and his guardian entered quietly behind her. "He asked for these special, Eldarin." she whispered as she set the tray of sweets on the table next to Haluin's bed, then slipped silently from the room. She sighed with pleasure as she fingered the beautiful stone in her pocket. It would make a lovely necklace, she thought to herself as she made her way back down to the kitchens. How lucky it had been she who had been chosen to bring the little tray of sweets up to the sick elf's room. The lady of Mirkwood had been _so_ kind.

"What is it, Haluin?" Eldarin asked as he pulled a chair close to the bedside as Druri clambered up onto the foot of the bed once more. The dark haired elf was staring strangely at the tray, a worried look in his eyes. "I-what are these doing here? I haven't tasted these since..." Something wasn't right. He couldn't remember asking for anything, least of all the sweets he and Daeron used to steal by the dozen when they had been elflings together.

"They look delicious, Haluin! Can I have one?" asked Druri eagerly. Convinced after tasting lembas that anything elven _had_ to be good, his eyes had flown greedily to the tray, where several sweets sat swimming in honey. Eldarin passed the tray over and Druri made to take one. _"NO!"_ Haluin cried, knocking the tray from Eldarin's hand. Druri cringed, suddenly afraid as the elven smith grabbed Haluin's shoulders tightly to keep him from leaping out of bed. _"Let me go, Eldarin!_ he shouted, struggling.

"Calm yourself, Haluin, or I shall call for Lord Elrond." The words, spoken calmly, forced Haluin to breathe deeply. _Had he been mistaken, or had he indeed smelled something a little...off about the sweets?_ "Release me and listen." he said quietly, shaken. "I did not ask for them. Do you understand? Only Neniel and Culuin know how Daeron and I used to love them..._do you see?_"

Nodding tightly, Eldarin took Druri's hand. "We must return to your uncle now, Druri. Say nothing of this to him, I beg you. I must speak with Lord Elrond first, understood?" Druri nodded meekly, then turned back to Haluin who's eyes now burned with a slow fire. Haluin extended his hand and Druri took it firmly and shook it, the shake not of a youngling, but an adult. "I thank you, Haluin. I and my family are in your debt."

The elf shut his eyes for an instant, then pulled Druri to him, hugging him fiercely. "No thanks are needed, my friend. What would I have said to Jokim?" Eldarin barked a laugh. "Indeed! I believe you have saved more than one life this day, Haluin." He stooped and carefully gathered up the broken sweets from where they lay scattered on the floor. "Handle them carefully!" cautioned Haluin. "It is possible I was wrong, but I will rest the better for knowing what Master Lindor will make of them."


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## Ghorim (Oct 6, 2008)

The sticky, shattered remnants of the dessert treats sat on the table in front of Lindir. He glanced up from them to scrutinize Eldarin, who had brought the tray into Lindir’s private quarters with accusations flying from his lips. The smith had backed away from the table, clutching his hips as he visibly tried to keep himself under rein. His eyes, piercing and fierce, clung to Lindir’s in silent provocation.

Lindir sensed he would have to form his words carefully. He sat back in his chair, drawing his hand up to brush aside a lock of hair that dangled above his left temple. “This is a precarious line of thought you are taking, Eldarin.”

“It is the only sensible line I can see.” Eldarin took a step forward and leaned upon the table.

“That they would poison him? In the heart of Elrond’s kingdom? On the eve before they were to argue their case to the Lord himself? None too subtle a plan, I daresay!”

“And what other possibilities are there? This dish is certainly not native to our realm. Only a Wood Elf would know the recipe. And only Haluin’s acquaintances would know of its importance to him.”

Lindir shifted in his seat uncomfortably. Eldarin’s words were leading his thoughts to places they dared not tread. “And our guest denies having ordered this confection?”

Eldarin nodded. “But the youngling who served it to him claims he did.”

“Well, allow me to suggest this...” Lindir leaned forward, making a show of proving that Eldarin could not intimidate him. “Perhaps Haluin _did_ order the dish, and then raised a fuss about it being tainted to throw suspicion on his accusers.”

Eldarin’s palms barely rose an inch above the table, but they smashed back down upon the polished surface with such force that the whole room seemed to quake. “You miss the point, Lindir! We mustn’t leap ahead and attempt to guess at motives. What we _need_ to know is whether this dish is indeed poisoned.”

His eyes shot wide from Eldarin’s outburst, Lindir stood slowly, his gaze falling back onto the sweetened acorns. “And you would risk needlessly accusing our kin from Mirkwood...? With accusations wielded by an avowed kinslayer, no less?”

“No one need know but you and I. Do not misplace your nerve when it is needed most, Lindir.” Eldarin clutched at the edges of the table. “Outside of Lord Elrond, only you know the proper tests to determine if this food has been tampered with.”

Lindir folded his arms in front of his body, throwing his head back to regard Eldarin from what felt like a safe distance. He had known the smith since they were both small. They had grown up to travel in different circles, pursuing different trades, but Lindir had always known Eldarin to be a fellow of raw honesty and staunch integrity. It seemed that he had taken a shine to this Haluin, even if that half-mad wanderer traveled openly with _Naugrim_ and had an innocent's bloodstains upon his conscience. 

_His judgment might be questionable_, thought Lindir, _but he would never knowingly spread a lie._

The healer’s chin dipped slightly, and he and Eldarin stood in the silence of the tidy living chamber. An unseen breeze seemed to shake at the flickering candles that lit the room. 

Lindir cleared his throat and spoke. “If I am to spend time examining this specimen, then you too must go out in search of facts.”

Eldarin nodded, almost trembling with eagerness. “What shall I seek?”

“Find the youngling who delivered this food. Question her. We need to know who gave the dish to her, and who handled it before that. Follow the chain back to its source. Perhaps that will give us some proof — or dearth thereof — as to the poisoning question.”

The smith had to conceal a smirk at Lindir’s clinical tone. “And what if your tests reveal a taint?”

Lindir sighed and looked away. “Then I must examine all who have had direct contact with this food.”

“And after that?”

“We... must alert Lord Elrond.”

“Good. That is all I wish to hear.” Eldarin gave a brief bow and turned swiftly on the carpeted floor, making a swift exit from the room.

Lindir wanted to call out to stop him... not necessarily because he had any more orders to give... but because he was loathe to let the smith think he had won this little argument. His voice, however, caught in his throat, and Eldarin was already well gone before Lindir could think of a good excuse to detain him.

The healer glowered to himself for a moment or two, but then turned his attention back to the dessert plate. Eyeing it as a child might eye an unwanted chore, Lindir turned to fetch his gloves. Not knowing what the supposed poison might be, it would likely take several hours of tests to discern the truth.


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## Ghorim (Oct 6, 2008)

Jokim held his hands with each palm facing outward, and then placed one against the back of the other to form an “X.” Sitting directly across from him, cross-legged on the bed, Druri screwed up his face and tried to remember the meaning of the hand signal.

“Eh... ‘All is safe?’”

Jokim shook his head. 

“Oh! ‘Danger is near,’ then!”

The uncle groaned. 

“What? That’s right... isn’t it?”

“Indeed. But had you followed your first guess, you would have fallen into a deadly trap!”

“Well...” Druri stared at the leaf-patterned quilt beneath him for a moment, before plucking up. “Now I know!”

“I should certainly hope so,” Jokim muttered. “I have been neglecting your lessons this past while, I suppose.”

“And how were you supposed to teach me while you were asleep?” Druri smiled, and even laughed a bit at the thought.

“Hmmph... you ought to have woken me as soon as we got here, before those Elves could change me into those dratted pajamas of theirs.” Jokim folded his arms as if to express his paternal disapproval, but his mustache had curled up in a half-grin.

Druri slapped his knee. “Aye! Avenhel tried to get me to change, too. She said they’d bring clothes for me. But I didn’t let ‘em.”

“Good lad. But it seems you’ve been rather accepting of their food!” The uncle reached over to poke his nephew’s belly.

“And you, too!” Druri had to reach a bit further in an attempt to return the favor, but Jokim smacked his hand away, and then suddenly rubbed his knuckles against the lad’s head. 

“Hey!” Druri leapt at his uncle in a surprise pounce, bowling the unsuspecting dwarf back into his pillows. They tangled for supremacy, bouncing up and down on the mattress.

“Hold!” barked Jokim between heaving laughs. “No wrestling lessons until tomorrow! I’ve not yet fully recovered!”

The door opened, and Avenhel peaked her head in. Of course, her pinpoint hearing had told her all that was happening inside Jokim’s room, but actually seeing the dwarf and his nephew at play nearly sent her into a fit of giggles.

“Druri!” she shouted, with a surprising sternness. “Are you aggravating your poor uncle’s condition?”

“Eh...?” Druri glanced up, just long enough for Jokim to heave him off and back to the foot of the bed.

“‘Poor uncle?’” Jokim grunted indignantly.

“Oh! Nae, m’lady. We were just having fun.” Druri looked genuinely repentant, and Avenhel could only shake her head and smile. 

“Do keep it down, then, if you must roughhouse.” She began to close the door.

Druri nodded, rubbing his right arm where Jokim had gripped it as they wrestled. “Avenhel...?”

She pushed the door open again. “Yes, Master Druri?”

“May I spend the night in here?”

“Oh...” she gave a frown, more for show than anything, and glanced to Jokim. “Will he behave?”

Jokim sat up with a snort. “Under my watch? Of course. The lad knows better than to cross his uncle by now.”

“Ah. I see. In that case, I shall trust your heavy hand, and fetch our young master a cot for the evening.” She and Jokim exchanged a brief, knowing look before her face retreated back into the hall.

Druri, however, still wasn’t in on the joke. “Is your head really hurting, uncle?”

“Nae, lad. It feels quite well now. But you certainly put it in peril, for a moment!” He laughed again, settling down upon his back and holding his sides. 

It was almost shocking for Druri to see Jokim in such high spirits. He had grown so accustomed to the grey cloud that had always seemed to hover between them back in the Iron Hills. Their first year together had been one of emotional frost and impossible distance, even with the two of them crammed into Jokim’s one-roomed dwelling. 

They had both been mired in mourning... for Froma, mostly... but also for the sense of security that they had each lost. Neither quite knew how to approach the other, and so they circled at a wary distance without ever drawing closer. Even through his uncle’s hour-long silences and hard stares, Druri vied to understand his elder and the secret thoughts that motivated him.

Now, after only a few weeks out on the road, winter had thawed and a new affection bloomed between them. Maybe, then, Druri could voice the question that seized at his thoughts without angering his uncle. But the lad was so fearful of returning to their past estrangement, he almost couldn’t bear to ask it.

Finally, it gushed out all at once. “How did you hurt your head, uncle? And why did you never tell me about it?”

Jokim’s chuckles died a quick, wheezing death. He stared at Druri from his back, his features unguarded and riddled with surprise. A gust of air gushed out from his core as he sat up to face his nephew’s question. Both hands reached out to grip the lad’s shoulders, and he pulled Druri close, so that they sat almost nose-to-nose. Druri fought the instincts that told him to look away and gazed deep into the heart of Jokim’s bare eyes.

“That, my lad, is a long tale to tell in full. I only wish to tell it once, and Haluin deserves to hear it just as much as you do. Once he reconciles with his past... I shall do the same with mine, for the both of you to hear.” Jokim’s brows were knit tight, and he spoke each word as if it carried the weight of his whole life with it. “Suffice to say... I suffered the wound in battle. And I hid it from you... out of fear... that you might see your old uncle was not so invincible, after all.”

Druri’s eyes drifted for a moment to take in the sickening curve of Jokim’s dented skull. He still could not get used to it. But when his gaze returned to his uncle’s eyes, he saw the same old spirit flickering behind them... proud, strong, stubborn... and utterly devoted. The lad shook his head and embraced Jokim tightly. “It doesn’t matter,” he whispered, as a surprised Jokim returned the hug.

Avenhel entered the room with a cot tucked under her arm, but nearly dropped it as she saw the two dwarves exchanging an embrace. She had never seen or even known that their kind could express such tenderness. Her breath fled her, and she could not exhale until Jokim glanced up to acknowledge her.

“See?” the dwarf said, nodding to Druri. “Look at how well-behaved the lad is now.”


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## chrysophalax (Oct 13, 2008)

Anger boiled within him as Eldarin stalked along what seemed miles of corridors on his way down to the kitchens. What was the woman playing at? Mentally, he shuddered at the thought. _What must Haluin be thinking? One of his own tried to kill him out of spite. Unthinkable!_

Descending the stairs, his mind taken up with questions, he could hear Elrond's cook raising her voice and slamming pans about. "What?! That newcomer and his dwarves are proving more trouble than they're worth! Tell me again, now...who has accused me of poisoning that Haluin and I'll go to Lord Elrond, I will!" He ground his teeth. Could _nothing _ remain secret for more than a moment?

Two young elves who served in the guest chambers and several others from the sculleries were gathered round as she held forth, eyes gleaming. Secretly, they loved nothing better than when Cook went into one of her rants. A young elf with long, bright hair bound back with ribbon leaned closer to her friend, whispering and giggling, then froze. All of them froze.

"What's the matter with you lot? You look as though you've seen..." A quavering voice said. "It's Eldarin, ma'am..." and they made as though to scatter like leaves in the wind, but an imperious voice called out, "Hold!"

"Eldarin, is it?" Turning, the older elf turned and fixed him with a wary eye. "Is it you then that has cast these rumours about? See here, youngling..." She waved a wooden spoon at him, hand on hip. "If my lord hears of this..." Eldarin swept his gaze over the young elves who were attempting not to cower in the corners, then looked down at her, his face stern, but the light of mirth in his eyes.

"Good lady, I seriously doubt that you have harmed our guest, have no fear. However..." Again, a sweep of the eyes, "however, I have set guards at each of the scullery doors and all of your staff wil be questioned, along with the servants I see here from the guest wing. Interesting that I find two of them here just now." She raised the spoon again and he stepped forward, took it gently from her and laid it down on the wooden counter. "I swear to you that your work will not suffer, nor dinner for the master and his guests be late. I shall be swift!"

"See that you are." she mumbled as she snatched up the spoon and marched off with several of her assistents trailing behind like ducklings in her wake. Eldarin crooked a finger at the two servants he had referred to earlier and they came forward meekly enough, one of them fiddling with something in her pocket.

Always having been good with names, he greeted them solemnly, then brought them through the scullery and along the hall that led down to the apple cellar below. There, the two women sat themselves down on a low bench, while Eldarin leaned back against the wall, then ran a hand through his hair. "Yloris, Idriel, I watched you as Cook was talking and you seemed to think this was amusing." His eyes hardened. "I can assure you, it is not. A guest under Lord Elrond's protection very nearly came to harm because _someone_ brought him tainted food. I _will_ determine who it was, is that understood?"

The one called Idriel began to shake and the other two looked at her curiously. She drew her hand out of the pocket concealed in her gown and slowly opened it. In her palm lay a jewel, glittering fitfully. "I heard a voice in a dream, Master. It told me that the Mirkwood elf would be healed and I would be rewarded if I could do just one thing, remember a recipe that I would be told. It said that the lady would reward me if I did this thing...and here, this was on my pillow when I awoke after the dream. Is it not beautiful?"

"May I?" Eldarin plucked the jewel from her hand, turning it that way and that, then dropped it with distaste in her palm, then sighed. Of all the people in Imladris that could have been chosen to carry out such a deed, it would have to be Idriel. She had been born sickly and as she grew, her mind had remained young, never more than a child. When given the simplest of tasks, she would smile happily and run to do it.

Wearily, he ran his hand over his face. How could accuse her? Damn the Mirkwood witch!


*********

Angrily, Haluin cast aside his coverlet and rose from his sickbed. Neniel would answer for what she had done and before Tilion had finished his course across the night sky, if Haluin had anything to say about it! Hastily, he dragged his clothes on, scarcely aware that his tunic hung loosely open as he made his way along the twisting corridors toward the lord of Imladris' rooms. As he walked, Haluin could feel himself grow cold at the memory of Druri's frightened face and how even Eldarin had been momentarily taken aback by his outburst. Some premonition of death had gripped him, there was no other way to put it and had Druri come to harm...

His good hand clenched into a tight fist. _Nay, Neniel! If there is justice still among our people, you will be denied yet again. I will not have you harm those to whom I have pledged friendship._ His eyes flashing like flint-conjured fire, the injured elf finally fetched up before the door of Elrond's personal study. Inside, he could hear low voices murmuring, then silence. "Enter, Haluin, for the night is chill."

The door opened, swinging open soundlessly to reveal a smallish room with a warm fire burning cheerily, giving a warm glow to the oak-panelled walls, with their beautifully carved moldings standing out in bold relief as they outlined the edges of the painted ceiling. " A lovely room, my lord. Even Thranduil's study does not rival it." Elrond merely waved Haluin to a seat, then settled back into his own high-backed chair, his eyes fixed keenly upon Haluin.

"I am quite certain you have not come to comment on my choice of decor. Is it something urgent that causes you to interrupt me at this hour?" Haluin sat rigid in his seat, but did not flinch. "Aye, my lord. As you have no doubt heard, the young dwarf, Druri was nearly poisoned earlier today. I ask that you set a guard on the elves of Eryn Lasgalen for the duration of their visit." Elrond steepled his fingers. "Poisoned, you say? I have heard no such accusation. What I _have _ heard though, is that it was you who asked for this so-called tainted food in order to throw suspicion onto the lady Neniel." His eyes glowed like obsidian in the firelight. "Tell me why I should not grant her request and hand you over to her for justice, outlaw of Mirkwood. I have healed you, fed you, cared for you and your dwarvish companions and now you come to me with demands instead of gratefulness. You disappoint me, kinslayer."

Feeling his face drain of all colour, Haluin took a deep breath, fighting to control the shame, anguish and rage that rose up in him at Elrond's words, which had fallen like a lash upon his heart. "My lord, forgive me if I seem ungrateful for all that you have done. I ask that you lay no blame at the feet of my companions, for they came here only out of desperate need, for my sake and Jokim's. I have asked for guards for the simple reason that I believe Neniel to be capable of anything, even the death of an innocent in order to get to me..." Elrond sat forward so swiftly then, that Haluin drew back reflexively. "Has it always seemed to you that you are all she thinks of? Are these not corrupt thoughts on your part?"

"Corrupt...? Nay, my lord! Ai, how can I convince you? It is my arm that is broken, not my spirit, nor my mind! My lord, she has tried more than once to have me brought low and, barring that, she has asked for my life. You are right to call me kinslayer, for so I am, to my eternal shame, but...I am _not_ a liar! My word is true, my lord and-and I ask not for them to be watched for my sake, but for my friends, who are innocent of any wrong-doing. I will _not_ have them come to harm because of me! And, if you wish me to repay you for your..."

"Enough, Haluin, enough! My lord, let this go no further. Lindir's suspicions are groundless and his prejudices abhorrent." Haluin whirled in his chair to see Eldarin watching him from the deep shadows of a window seat. The tall elf rose and came to stand next to Haluin as he gazed across at Elrond as though awaiting a judgement of his own. "I see you have a formidable champion, Haluin of Eryn Lasgalen! Forgive me for pressing you thusly, but there came to my ears certain distasteful rumours and I find it fortuitous that you chose to visit me this evening, for I have learned much that needed learning. Eldarin, take our friend back to his room and see that he is undisturbed. The next day or two will be most trying, I fear."

Outside in the corridor, Haluin confronted Eldarin fiercely. "Why did Lord Elrond accuse me..._me_? Do you believe I am capable of such a thing as well, or has your kindness been merely a dumbshow? 

Facing Haluin squarely, the taller elf answered softly, "I was against Lindir telling my lord of his groundless suspicions from the first, and yet, as you see, he chose to. My lord saw his chance to determine whether or not you were indeed true. I...regret that you think I acted falsely." He searched Haluin's face, but his eyes met only a closed expression. "You should return to your duties, Eldarin. You need not trouble yourself, I can find my way." With that, Haluin walked back the way he had come without a backward glance, feeling once more both lonely and alone.


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## Ghorim (Oct 21, 2008)

Jokim had not officially served as an infantryman for a century... maybe more. But the particular rhythms of that martial lifestyle had worked their way into him, almost unnoticed. They established the patterns of each day, formed the bedrock of his rigid self-discipline, and drove him onward... every marched step of the way.

So when he awoke on the second morning after the Elves had carried him into Rivendell, Jokim arose like a young recruit preparing for a sergeant’s inspection. The room was pure shadow when the dwarf opened his eyes, but he could sense the coming dawn. His bare feet swung up and over the side of the bed, kicking off the covers and planting themselves firmly upon the orange rug that adorned the spare floor. He stood in a fluid motion, stretching out his arms with a soft groan. 

The dwarf then swiveled his hips, lowering his hands and crushing them into fists. He threw a quick pair of punches, testing the muscles. Jokim scowled. A day of bedridden sloth had him feeling sluggish. But it was early yet. He worked his lower half next, stretching his legs, squatting, standing, lifting up the knees as high as they would go. Every motion flowed with barely a sound. Druri slept on, curled up nearby on his cot. 

After he had worn in his body to his satisfaction, Jokim turned an eye to his traveling pack, which now sat slumped against the side of the fireplace. There was one set of clothing he had yet to wear on the journey thus far. Today, it felt somehow appropriate to don it.

Jokim had intended to preserve his Iron Hills dress uniform until he reached the Ered Luin. He would wear it for his initial meeting with his commanding officer, in order to make a sound first impression. Strange... he hadn’t spared many thoughts on the goal of this journey since it began. A strange new life awaited him in the west, but too much still lay unfinished for him to consider those possibilities.

He pulled on the jacket first, wrapping himself in its muted blues and fastening the iron buttons one at a time. The collar stood tall and stiff, the cuffs thick and smooth. It all made him look a few years older, accentuating the tiny hints of advancing age that had been sneaking into his mannerisms over the past while. Jokim studied himself in the mirror, suspicious of the authoritative-looking figure that was reflected back at him through the shadows.

The pants came on next, and the belt. The dwarf pulled a rag from his pack, spat a healthy puddle into it, and set to polishing his boots for a few minutes. Still the room lay dark and undisturbed, just his breathing and Druri’s droning in the blackness. 

Finally, Jokim rose, straightened out the tangles of his beard, and headed for the door. He was ready for war. But when he pulled open the door and turned out into the hall, the dwarf caught a glimpse of Druri’s sleeping form. The torchlight from the hallway lit upon the lad’s slumbering face, and gave Jokim pause for a moment or two. That was _his_ lad... his responsibility.

With a stifled sigh, Jokim shut the door and went in search of Haluin’s room.

---

Once he found it, the dwarf had to face down an Elvish attendant who was guarding Haluin for the night. Jokim verbally disarmed the fellow as he might a foe in battle. Aye, he was allowed to be up and about. And aye, Haluin was permitted to see visitors now. The Elf looked up and down the hallway for support, but none appeared. He stepped aside, and glumly motioned for Jokim to enter.

Haluin’s back was to the dwarf as he entered to the room. Jokim’s stalled his approach for but a moment. Then he crossed the floor, and tore open the drapes at the far window. Dawn light flooded the room. Only then did Jokim turn, to see Haluin now sitting up and staring at him.

“Good,” Jokim said. “You are not dead, it seems. Although... as I have heard it... you have been behaving like an invalid on his way to the grave.”

The dwarf leaned back to sit on the broad windowsill, resting his hands in his lap. Haluin said nothing, his gaze drifting to the tranquil forest scene that lay just behind the glass.

“Spare me all this,” muttered Jokim. “These... theatrics of guilt. Guilt cannot change the past or find you solace. It is a useless circle... of pining and empty hope. Your friend is dead, Haluin. You cannot reach back and stay your own hand, not even with all the guilt and tears you can muster.”

His words were bare, unadorned by any outbursts of passion or anger. They simply sat in the air, heavy and ominous. Haluin, for his part, made no more attempts to hide his gaze from his friend, and let all of his weariness and uncertainty show without speaking a word.

“I would not have you crawl while you yet have the strength to stand tall,” Jokim continued, his arms drifting up to their comfortable, crossed position. “Enemies stand at your gates, and they seek nothing less than your life. Today, in council with Lord Elrond, they will make their charge. Where will you be then? Holed up in bed, coddled by your quilts?”

“No!” said Haluin, unable to stand this reprimanding any longer. “What do you take me for?”

Jokim smiled vaguely, rising from his seat. “Forgive me... but your spirit needed a bit of prodding.”

The Elf laughed one of those bitter laughs that Jokim had grown accustomed to hearing. As well as they knew each other by now, there were still centuries of Haluin’s life that Jokim did not fully grasp. In the dwarf’s mind, those sorrowful laughs provided his only, brief glimpses into the Elf’s murky past. 

Haluin stood, but slowly, unveiling his full height only by degrees. “You are a clever one this morning, Jokim, but do not assume to see all.”

“I see only what I can from this lowly vantage point of mine,” Jokim smirked. “But even that is enough to grasp the importance of today. You must be prepared to fight with all of your strength this morning, with no regrets to restrain you.”

“There will always be regrets...”

“Then bury them.”

Haluin glanced down at Jokim... and for the first time in what seemed awhile, gave an honest smile.


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## chrysophalax (Oct 22, 2008)

Annoyed as he was by Jokim's prodding, Haluin saw the sense in what the dwarf said, albeit more causticly than was perhaps necessary. _Then bury them._ Sage advice and yet, more easily said than done. Nevertheless, Haluin smiled at his friend, glad of his support.

"Have you broken your fast yet this morning, Jokim? If not, your company would be most welcome."

The dwarf hesitated momentarily, thinking of Druri, still abed, then remembered that he would have Eldarin to eat with and nodded. Haluin reached across to the table next to his bed and rang a silver bell. The door opened and one of his attendants looked at him curiously. "My friend will have his breakfast here this morning. " He shot Jokim a sly glance. "And make sure there are no "sickening sweet pastries", just honest bread, porridge and some bacon, if you would." She nodded, then vanished, chuckling.

"Finally you've given up your sweets, Haluin? About time!" The elf shrugged in mock defeat. "I bow to superior wisdom. Now, shall we eat out on this splendid porch? I feel the need of sunlight on my face today."

Together, they opened the doors that led out onto a porch over-looking the easternmost part of the vale as it cut its way towards the hills that dotted the Wild. Now, with the approach of autumn, the trees were brilliant, their colours riotous and they filled Haluin's heart with hope. Inhaling deeply the scent of fall, he sat himself down on a bench and rested his good arm on the oak railing, the smooth, solid surface tactile and reassuring.

"Today Lord Elrond holds his council. Will there be justice, do you think?" Well aware of the irony behind that question, Haluin chuckled softly. "Ah, yes...justice. Justice for whom, I wonder?"

Jokim's brows came together almost audibly. "Enough, elf! You'll work yourself into a fit of depression deeper than the bowels of Khazad-Dum if you keep on. We need to talk strategy here, not wax poetical. Do you know that she-elf came to visit me? She liked me not one bit more than I did her, if you take my meaning." He looked at Haluin somberly. "You have interesting enemies, elf."

"Aye, that is one way to describe her. Bloody-minded is another." Haluin's clear grey eyes took on an icy hue. "She thinks that Elrond will side with her, that she will be able to persuade as many as she can that I am indeed a monster, as she failed to do once before. I despise her for involving Culuin and Cerilin in this!" he ground out, his fist clenching and unclencing in anger.

Jokim gripped the elf's shoulder hard, fingers digging into muscle. "Good, good! Get angry! A fire in your belly is what will see you through this. Durin's Beard, I can't stomach her and her scheming!"

Just then, their breakfast arrived and Jokim sat down across from Haluin, still grumbling under his breath. It was plain he still had a number of thoughts yet unvoiced on the subject.

After eating a few bites in silence, they looked at each other and said. "We need a plan." Haluin's smile was predatory. "Well said!" Quickly, he sobered. "It may be that Druri will be called upon at some time to speak, Jokim. I would not have you ignorant of that. You see..." he paused and Jokim waved his knife encouragingly. "An attempt was made to poison me yesterday." The knife went still. 

"A tray of sweets I have only tasted in Eryn Lasgalen was brought to my room while Druri and Eldarin were with me. The servant has said that I requested them, but I did not. To my knowledge, sweets of that sort are eaten only among my...the people of Thranduil." He omitted telling Jokim of Druri's own escape. It would serve no purpose to have a maddened dwarf about the place just now.

Said dwarf's face now resembled nothing more than a rapidly moving storm front as he leaned forward intently. " Are you saying she meant to poison you _here_, in Elrond's house? Is she mad?!"

"Nay, my friend, obsessed, desperate." Pushing his uneaten food away, Haluin sat back heavily against the railing. "Glad am I that I refused her long ago! A pity Daeron did not as well." Jokim opened his mouth to berate him again, but Haluin forestalled him. "Easy, my good dwarf. I am not slipping into despair, merely stating a fact. Now, help me prepare."


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## Ghorim (Nov 2, 2008)

Nothing remained on the table save for stray crumbs and soiled silverware. The sun had fully dawned, but was more of an annoyance than an encouragement. Jokim squinted off its hungry rays as he eyed Haluin appraisingly. The dwarf had spun his chair around, and now straddled it backwards, leaning forward upon its back with his arms folded over the top. 

So far, this had been the extent of their strategizing... an uncomfortable and questioning silence. But suddenly, something sparked in Jokim, and he rapped a fist upon the wooden backrest. 

“Daeron does not enter into any of this.”

“Excuse me?” Haluin had grown used to interpreting Jokim’s blunt, clipped statements, but this one pricked enough to sit him up in his seat.

The dwarf nodded, seeming all the more convinced despite the Elf’s confusion. “I made this mistake when arguing your case before Lord Elrond. I spoke of how you struck your friend out of fear, not malice. But I failed to see... none of that matters!”

He stood, wiping off his uniform’s tunic and his beard as he pushed the chair away. “Thranduil made his judgment in your original case many years ago: you were banished, but not executed. We cannot look back and change his ruling. The sole thing that should concern our attention is your _return_ to Mirkwood. _That_ is the crime for which these Elves believe you must die.”

Haluin pondered these words, hand to chin. “So... I need only convince Lord Elrond that I meant no ill will in visiting the woods one final time...”

“Exactly!” Jokim clutched at his belt and puffed out his broad chest. “And here is where you will outmaneuver Neniel. She will attempt to boil your blood and turn the debate to Daeron’s death. She’ll seek spectacle... a shouting match, if she can orchestrate one. But you will not succumb to her schemes.” The dwarf marched a few steps forward until he stood right before Haluin’s face. “You will speak calmly, simply, honestly... but with conviction... about your recent visit to the woods.”

The Elf smiled, reaching out to pat Jokim’s shoulder. “I am glad you are taking your coaching duties so seriously, my friend.”

The dwarf’s expression didn’t so much as twitch, and he cast Haluin’s arm aside with a stiff shrug. “Hold the pleasantries until after your name is cleared. We have more to discuss.”

“Ah!” Haluin threw up his hands. “By all means, commander... continue.”

Jokim leaned in a bit more. “Culuin... and Cerilin. That is the next matter.”

Haluin considered correcting his friend’s slightly off-kilter pronunciation of the two names, but wisely kept silent.

“Eldarin and I have discussed these two already. He says their hearts are not behind this hunt.”

“Not nearly so much as Neniel’s,” Haluin replied with a nod. “And whose could be?”

Somehow, Jokim produced a chuckle that sounded both grim and playful. “I do sometimes wonder whether she has a life of her own to manage.” The traditional scowl returned. “So, then... when you address Elrond, take the time to speak to those two as well. Their resolve is already brittle. They know you too well to wish death upon you. If you can break one of them... just one... force him to renounce Neniel’s cause in front of everyone... then you will have won the day.”

“You make it all sound rather simple,” Haluin leaned back and cast a wry look Jokim’s way. “Her will presses at their backs, and it will not be so easy to break.”

“And what if they were to hear of this poisoning attempt?”

“For all I know, all three of them conspired on it.” The color fled from Haluin’s face as his gaze fell.

Jokim gave the Elf a quick slap to the shoulder. “Now, now! No such thoughts. Tell me this... do you have proof that your food was poisoned?”

Haluin sighed. “Lindir investigated the matter personally.”

“And?”

“He seemed more convinced that the poisoning was a tale I dreamed up to save my skin.”

“Ach!” Jokim stomped a boot down with such force that the entire balcony rattled. “It amazes me how even those with an eternity to learn can be such fools!”

Haluin laughed aloud, rising from his bench in a nimble leap. “Perhaps they only require a stricter teacher.”

“Ah... I will gladly teach that pompous waif a lesson or two, without compensation.” Jokim looked half-ready to track down Lindir, yet half-desperate to rein in his temper.

“Come, come...” Haluin moved lightly over to the double doors, casting them both open before turning back to send Jokim an eased look. “One way or another, he too will have his say at the council. And if he has discovered the truth, he cannot ignore it. For the now, let us conclude our planning. You have given me a fair number of thoughts to chew upon. What say we spend however much time remains before my grand trial with your nephew and Eldarin? That should settle everyone’s spirits.” 

The dwarf drew a deep breath, filled with autumn chill and the strange smells of the Elvish forest. Now Haluin was telling _him_ to relax? Well... if that didn’t beat all! Here Jokim had thought that this Elf was on the verge of giving in, but now the fellow was referring to his “grand trial” with a wink and a sardonic smirk. What had changed?

“Perhaps I just amuse him that much,” Jokim thought.

Finally, Jokim approached Haluin, the first few steps falling reluctantly, but soon speeding up as he thought of spending some uneventful free time with Druri. As loath as the dwarf might be to admit it, perhaps he did need an hour or so to unwind.


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## chrysophalax (Nov 8, 2008)

With Jokim away, Druri had breakfasted with Eldarin, listening eagerly to the elf's tales of his travels in the Wild. The world, he was finding was much more fiercely complicated place than he ever could have guessed, populated by peoples he had never of. Rangers, talking trees, trolls that turned to stone in the sunlight, even little people shorter than himself, with hairy feet and laughing eyes. He was entranced,fascinated, alive with curiosity and when Eldarin told him he might be able to see some of these wonders, he had whooped with delight.

The elf smiled, then leaned forwardly over his toast conspiritorially. "Would you like to see something I've been working on at my forge?"

Druri's eyes shone. "Can we go now? What is it?" The questions spilled out, making Eldarin laugh as he flung his cloak about his shoulders. ""Yes and you will see when we get there, Master Druri." Truth be told, Eldarin had been near to bursting with wanting to tell Haluin what he been planning for him ever since they had known he would survive his injuries. Eldarin, warrior that he was, couldn't imagine not being able to defend himself or his lord's realm due to a debilitating injury, so he had determined that he would do what he could to aid Haluin's return to full strength.

Two elves, shirtless and gleaming with sweat, looked up from their labours as the two companions entered the smithy. "Mae govannen, young master." called the one working the bellows. "Druri, is it not?" "Aye, Gildor. This is my new charge, Druri, nephew of Jokim." Quickly, Eldarin slipped his cloak of and rolled up his sleeves. "Druri, these are my friends, Inglor and Gildor. They have been working with me to complete _this!_"

From a shelf just to the side of the entrance, Eldarin took down a box and set it on a bench, then opened it with a flourish.

Druri gasped. Partially wrapped in a soft woolen cloth, there lay an arm, gleaming with a soft, silvery glow as the light of the forge's flames caressed it. "May I-may I touch it?" Eldarin nodded, unwrapping the limb so that Druri could lift it out easily.

It weighed almost nothing, yet as he moved the articulated fingers gingerly, Druri could feel the strength of the metal as if it spoke to him through his hands. Whenever light glanced from its hematite-dark surface, it shone like moonlight, ethereal, yet he knew it was neither silver nor that most coveted substance, mithril. "Eldarin...what...?"

"Have you ever heard of an elf named Eol? No? Well, he was one of the greatest forgers our people have ever known. Many have claimed his soul was foul, corrupt, but I have never held such an opinion. For me, his work spoke for itself and I have studied all I could of his methods. It is said he worked with metals from a dying star that fell to Arda and that he created new metals, making his swords nigh on indestructable with wills of their own. I have endeavoured to emulate his work and...have created this for Haluin."

Carefully, Druri set the arm back in the box, quenching its glow with the cloth before reluctantly closing the box. "I've never seen anything like it, Eldarin. How will it work?" Eldarin glanced at Inglor before answering. "He will be able to slip it on and it will form itself to his arm, the articulations are so fine it will virtually seal itself in place. Then, he will have to learn how to make the fingers respond to the commands of the small muscles in his wrist. I believe he is determined enough to learn quickly and, with the magick we have imparted into it, he will be whole again. At least, that is my wish for him."

The elf glanced down at Druri and turned away, embarrassed by the look on Druri's face. "Nay, I have done nothing to merit..." 

"Shut up, Eldarin!" All three elves stared at the young dwarf in surprise. "Don't go all modest here! What you, Inglor and Gildor have done is-is-I don't kow what it is, but I do know that Haluin would probably fade away without it. You have saved him, again, and that is _nothing_ to go all shy about!" He crossed his arms over his chest, looking for all the world exactly like his uncle. "Elves..." he grumbled.

All three of them burst into peals of laughter. Druri only quirked an eyebrow and his meagre beard bristled. Eldarin wiped his eyes, then rolled his sleeves back down while Gildor replaced the box back on its shelf. "I think we should return before your uncle comes seeking you, Master Druri. I beg you, not a word of this until after...yes?" Relenting, Druri relaxed, his lips curving into a small grin. "As long as you promise to take the credit!" Eldarin threw up his hands in surrender. "As you will, young Master." Turning to the others, Eldarin said, "Let this be a lesson to you. Never show modesty in front of a dwarf!"

*******************************************


Lindir hissed. That was the third time he had nearly singed his fingers! _Why are my hands suddenly so unsure?_ he wondered as, carefully, he set the glass bowl aside in which sat what remained of the supposedly poisoned sweets. Thus far he had detected nothing that would have caused even a mild case of hiccups, to say nothing of containing fatal ingredients. Angrily, he pushed the lot aside and sat down to contemplate his findings.

_No poisons, no irritants, nothing unusual whatsoever! What is Haluin trying to do? What does he hope to gain by these outrageous accusations?_ He resented having to set aside all his other duties at Eldarin's request on behalf of a patient, who, frankly, he disliked intensely. However, the healer was nothing if not meticulous and for a patient to come under threat while in his care was unthinkable. Not only was he outraged by Haluin's hasty allegations, but he was annoyed on behalf of the elves from Eryn Lasgalen, who, in his estimation, had more than satisfactory cause to pursue Haluin, from what he gathered from whispered snippets he had overheard spoken among the elves who looked after their guests, (not that he _ever_ put stock in gossip!). Simply put, the facts seemed to point to Haluin lying to save himself.

Allowing himself a tight smirk of satisfaction, he set about tidying up, before setting quill to parchment. _Eldarin has put his eggs in the wrong basket this time._ he thought smugly. This was not the first time the smith had lorded himself over others and Lindir would be pleased to be the one to put him in his place.


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## Ghorim (Nov 25, 2008)

“And just where have the two of you been?”

Even as it leaned to one side, Jokim’s broad figure seemed to fill the entire doorframe that led into his room. He shot Druri one of his familiar, avuncular expressions: a skeptical frown, with one eyebrow raised slightly higher than the other, as if anticipating a fib.

Druri drew a deep breath, warming up for a giddy description of Eldarin’s forge and the magical works it contained. But then he saw Haluin peering over his uncle’s shoulder, and his mind locked up. With his breath still held in, Druri hurriedly tried to determine a way by which he could tell the truth and still avoid giving away Eldarin’s precious secret. 

Just as he was starting to turn blue, the smith spoke up for him. 

“We were touring the innards of my forge, Master Jokim.”

“Ah. Well... what say you, lad? Is it up to snuff?”

Druri had exhaled heavily as soon as Eldarin spoke, and took a quick breath to reply. “Of course! Nearly as good as any of ours.”

The uncle chuckled, with the Elves echoing in laughter. “It must have some fair merit, in that case.” Jokim turned an eye to Eldarin. “I’d much like a look at it, myself.”

Eldarin gave a slight bow. “It is but a humble place of work.” Druri was giving him an annoyed look, which the Elf perceived instantly. “That is to say...” He rose back to his full, intimidating height. “... Rivendell boasts other sights that you ought to take in first.”

“Which waterfall will it be, then?” Jokim gave a disinterested sigh.

“He has not yet seen the Hall of Fire,” Haluin suggested.

“What’s that?” Jokim shifted his weight off of the doorframe, squinting at Haluin from over his shoulder.

Three sharp clicks sounded from Eldarin’s tongue. “Indeed not. Nor have I shown it to the youngling. How remiss of me. Come, you all must have the tour.” He whirled in a nimble flash of robes and started down the hallway, spindly legs eating up space as he went.

“And where exactly have you been hiding this great hall?” Jokim was still staring at Haluin, addressing him as if this were somehow his doing. 

The Elf shrugged. “Right under your nose, as usual.”

---

Unlike Druri, who had taken to their leafy accommodations with a curious zeal, Jokim had never let his guard down from the moment he awoke. Maybe it was the army of trees outside his window, hemming him in with their maze of shadows. Or the ever-present sound of rushing water, which seemed to conceal malicious whispers just beneath its surface. Jokim kept looking over his shoulder, expecting to catch something unexpected. He saw nothing, and his unease only grew.

Yet all of that tingling dread washed away when he set foot in the Hall of Fire. Stone! At last, stone! And yet it was not stone the way the Khazad would have fashioned it. As with much of Rivendell’s architecture, the hall had been designed to mimic the surrounding forest. The columns rose from the floor as sturdy trunks, their arches groping branches that scraped the ceiling. 

The fireplace stood out as the only foreign presence in the room, dominating the far end of the hall. A healthy blaze illuminated the entire space, seeming to blot out even the sunlight that filtered in through the windows.

“You must experience this place at night before you depart, my good dwarves.” Eldarin’s stern voice shot up into the arched ceiling overhead, finding a home amidst the rafters as it reverberated to and fro. “... When music swells from wall to wall and poets leap from verse to verse.” 

“Hmm...” Jokim planted himself at the room’s center, where a spiraling series of tiled circles found their terminus. “Listen to those acoustics!” He placed a fist to his navel and hummed a deep note. The sound seemed to bloom all about them, causing Druri’s neck to swivel around in circles as he tried to follow the tone.

Jokim turned one eye from the ceiling to Eldarin, who stood gazing up with arms crossed. “You Elves must have borrowed some of this design from our folk.”

“Why do you say that?” 

“It is what he always says.” Haluin had leaned himself against a column, some distance apart from the others. “By his reckoning, the Firstborn have not had an original thought in ages.”

“Hmmph...” Jokim gave a half-chuckle, half-grumble and shot Haluin a wry look. “I only say that because our music halls in Erebor had a much similar architecture. The ceiling is all very smooth and circular, as you can see. No right angles. It gives the sound a chance to breathe.” He hummed again, louder and higher up his register this time, demonstrating the effect.

“You have a fine voice, master Jokim.” Eldarin studied the dwarf closely, as if trying to determine if that singing had really been his. “Tell me... did you ever sing in one of your folk’s concerts?”

Jokim snorted, and this sound too blanketed the hall. “Never that! Only around the fire from time to time... when the lads needed another voice for the blend. I did...” he paused, appearing uncertain if he wanted to complete the thought. “I _did_ play in a military band, for a spell.”

Eldarin’s eyes lit up, and Jokim immediately regretted having mentioned it. “What instrument?”

“Well... I hardly see why it...”

“What instrument did you play?” To everyone’s surprise, the demanding question came from Druri, who had stomped right up to his uncle with a serious look on his face. “You never told me about that.”

Jokim cleared his throat. “Well... it was a long time back, you must understand. In Erebor, during my first infantry assignment. I played the fiddle. There were... ah... _three_ of us fiddlers, as I recall. The other two fellows were far more experienced. I just played the backing melody, you see.”

“Can you still play?” Druri’s eyes and voice were welling up with a horribly childlike hope, leaving Jokim little choice in the matter.

“Well... ahem... I don’t see why not...”

Haluin clapped his hands sharply, eliciting a little jump from Jokim. “Fetch this one a fiddle, then!”

“Now?” both Eldarin and Jokim asked the question, with varying degrees of incredulousness.

“Why not?” And finally Haluin seemed at ease enough to approach the others, to become fully a part of their odd little group. “It would lighten the mood.”

His sly grin transferred itself to Eldarin, and the smith soon went off down a side corridor in search of the instrument.

Jokim stroked his beard in a short burst of annoyance and glanced between Haluin and Druri. “See, now, what you two’ve gotten me into?”

Haluin gave a light snicker. “And now the slayer of the Great Warg frets over a little recital before friends?”

“Not friends alone...” Jokim glanced about the hall. “Every floorboard and tile has an ear in these parts.”

“Then the whole building is in for a treat, I’d imagine.”


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## Ghorim (Nov 25, 2008)

Jokim found himself gazing along the body of the fiddle, with a look so intense he might as well have been aiming the sights of a crossbow. The fingers of his left hand curled over the neck, gingerly touching down on the strings in a long-forgotten embrace. He brought up the bow, holding it high like a sabre as he examined it against the light. And then, with infinite care, he lowered it to meet the strings just north of the bridge.

The dwarf glanced up from his precautions to see Druri, Haluin and Eldarin seated patiently in chairs not three feet away, staring at him with inviting expectation. Jokim sighed and lowered his chin, pressing the instrument to his shoulder. He made his first draw in years, striking out a reassuring C note, before working his way gradually up the scale and then back down again. 

The instrument’s tone was absolutely pure, and Jokim raised his head in surprise. “A fine instrument...”

“Yes... do be careful with it,” said Eldarin from his seat, hands laced in front of him. “It is older than you are, I believe.” 

This remark pulled another scowl from the dwarf, but he quickly lowered himself back to business. He started with a C again, but this time used it as a launching point for a lilting waltz pattern. First sawing out long, resonating notes, and then plucking out little groupings of three, Jokim coaxed the strands of melody out from the instrument. They hovered in the air, feeding off of the hall’s natural acoustics to sustain for precious additional seconds. 

Jokim’s right foot began to tap in time to the song. Then his left. His body started to sway subtly, and soon he was moving in a compact little circle, dancing a waltz with an invisible partner. With eyes now closed, the dwarf was overtaken by memories... of the old band, of the summer nights they spent playing to whooping crowds in Dale, of learning this very song from his friend Dhal. 

So inspired was he, that he leapt a full octave for the final note, a long, piercing wail that Jokim held as long as it would last. And then he opened his eyes.

His three companions were standing... for they were no longer alone. Lord Elrond and two of his attendants stood behind the small row of chairs, with the great Elvish leader staring curiously at the dwarvish fiddler. Jokim immediately disengaged himself from his playing position, and bowed so low as to let his beard scrape the floor.

Elrond seemed to step through the chairs, and came right up to the dwarf. The Elf Lord extended his hands, into which Jokim instantly placed the fiddle and bow. Once filled with the strains of the dwarf’s playing, the hall now only heard the crackle of its namesake in the fireplace.

“... And we shall hear more of your talents later, Master Dwarf.”

Jokim lifted his head in confusion.

“... But for now, there is business we must attend to.” Another long moment of silence followed. But then, in a whipping flourish, Elrond lifted the instrument and struck a perfect imitation of Jokim’s final high note. Only the dwarf saw the smile that followed.

“Come. Follow me.”

And they all did, as if entranced.

---

A spiraling staircase led up to the sprawling terrace, where morning sun cast the shadows of leafy branches across the ground. Nine chairs sat in an orderly half circle, three of them already filled. Neniel, Culuin and Cerilin stood upon the arrival of the others, forming a neat defensive front together. Jokim and Eldarin stared right back at them, while Haluin and Druri averted their glances. 

The two dwarves and the two elves sat themselves on the opposite end of the circle. Elrond took the center chair, and Lindir appeared soon after to sit at the Elf Lord’s side.

Within a few moments, the wordless dance had ended, and all of the involved parties sat facing each other. Gazes shot here and there, each participant trying to read the intentions of the others. Elrond stood amidst the silence.

“We are gathered today... to discuss the curious case of Haluin of Eryn Lasgalen.” The accused Elf lifted his head at the sound of his name. “He is a kinslayer. His red braid tells us that much.” Elrond’s gaze drifted down the row of chairs to the opposite end of the terrace. “These three accuse him of violating the terms of his past banishment.”

The Elf Lord sat. “I have entertained several arguments already — both for and against his life. Now I would have each side present its final case.” All those gathered scrutinized Elrond’s tone and words, searching to divine his leanings. But his speech flowed with barely an intonation. The dry monotone proved all the more unsettling; everyone found themselves on edge.

“I would have his accusers speak first.”

Neniel stood in a fiery flash, but Elrond held out his hand. “No. I have heard your views in great detail, Neniel.” She reacted as if slapped. “For the moment, I would reserve this forum for those whose voices have not yet been heard.” Elrond also gave a warning glance to Jokim, who looked ready to leap to Haluin’s defense at any moment.

Now those eternal grey eyes found their way to Neniel’s escorts. “Culuin... Cerilin. Which of you will speak first?”

As surprised as anyone else, the two Elves exchanged a glance. Which of them, indeed?


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## chrysophalax (Dec 4, 2008)

As Cerilin stood to speak, Haluin's mind began to drift. It made little difference to him now what the elves had to say. The long separation from his kind had given him a taste for adventure, for experiences and cultures elves normally held themselves aloof from and he found himself daydreaming, thinking back over decades of friendships come and gone, of places seen and fondly remembered.

_But not all. Not all the friendships have gone, it seems._ he thought as he glanced fondly over at Jokim, his face as unreadable as stone. Haluin's grinned to himself. _I think I shall enjoy hearing what you have to say when it comes your turn, old friend. I have the feeling these elves have never heard an irate dwarf before!_

The image of Jokim on his feet, berating Haluin's accusers nearly made him laugh out loud and it was only by taking firm control of himself that he managed not to. Culuin shot him an acidic glance, but Haluin merely looked back at him serenely. He was long past caring now. All he wanted was to explain himself and be allowed to continue on eastward with his friends. After all, wasn't losing the use of part of a limb punishment enough?

"...and while it is true that he was known as one of our greatest archers save our prince, Haluin became a kinslayer and was banished. Why should he then return, my lord? What was the reason behind such a mad decision? As you can see, he now consorts with _Edain_ and _naugrim_. What is he likely to do next? It is more than obvious he has become unstable and needs to be..."

Eldarin stood abruptly. "Needs to be what?" he growled. "Put down like a rabid animal? Have you no compassion, you of Mirkwood?", deliberately using the common term of Thranduil's territory. "He wished only to say farewell to his homeland! From what the youngling has told me, he never attempted to speak with any of you. Where then is the harm? Look at what he has done since! He nearly gave his life on the Redhorn to save his companions. Is that the act of a madman?"

"Sit down, Eldarin. Let our guests speak." said Elrond in a quietly authoritative voice. The smith bowed his head stiffly. "Yes, my lord. Forgive my outburst."

"Pray continue, Cerilin. You were saying...?" The elf's face had gone slightly more pale beneath the concerted glares facing him. "I-there is nothing more I have to say, my lord, save that the lady Neniel demands justice."

Again, Haluin had to control a burst of laughter. _How like you, you cunning fox! Blame it all on someone else when you find the wind blowing the wrong direction._ All eyes fixed on Elrond to see who he wold have speak next.

"Master Lindir, I believe you have some findings to present?"


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## Ghorim (Dec 14, 2008)

The coarse wool of Jokim’s uniform rustled as he shifted in his seat. He watched with an indignant scowl as Lindir rose and bowed before Elrond.

“Indeed I do, m’lord.”

Lindir’s solemn, self-righteous tone sent the dwarf’s eyes for a roll. And then the Elf bowed to Haluin’s accusers.

“Perhaps not all gathered here have heard of last night’s incident...”

Jokim’s right hand dragged along his face. That bow was indication enough. Lindir thought the Mirkwood trio innocent.
_
Why not lick their boots while your head is drooped so low, Lindir?_

“... But Master Haluin claims a dessert tray that we served him had been somehow tainted. Of course, we take all such accusations seriously...”

One at a time, the dwarf wrapped his fingers around the knobby arms of his chair, squeezing his frustrations into the polished wood.

“... And so I began the arduous process of testing the samples...”

Through the lengthy descriptions of chemical processes that followed, Jokim found his ire only rising.

_Why does Elrond let this blowhard have his say before Haluin? Surely he knows..._

Suddenly, Jokim felt a jab at his left shoulder. He whipped his head around to see Haluin, giving him that ridiculous child’s grin which seemed to light up his face at only the most peculiar moments. The dwarf’s jaw gaped in an uncomprehending stare, but the Elf’s message quickly dawned on him:

_Relax!_

Jokim tilted his head back, and allowed the briefest hint of a smile to cross his face before he returned to watching Lindir parade his knowledge about.

“... And so, all my efforts produced no evidence of contamination. Therefore, I’m forced to conclude that our guest was either sadly mistaken, or else... well... it is not my place to speculate.”

“Not your place?” Eldarin was visibly restraining himself to his chair. “You have done nothing but speculate in our private conversation, Lindir, and with Lord Elrond as well. Why not let the rest of those gathered in on your theory?”

“Eldarin.” Elrond held up a single hand, and the smith instantly knew his lord was threatening an ejection. Eldarin bowed his head, the hand lowered, and Elrond’s attention shifted over to Haluin. “What have you to say?”

Haluin almost shrugged, but thought better of it, shaking his head instead. “If I was mistaken, then I apologize for any uproar it might have caused. But I know that I did not order that dish. And we _all_ know that it is not a delicacy that any denizen of Imladris would recognize. When I saw it, and smelled it — in _that moment_ — I became convinced that something was amiss. That is all I can say.”

Elrond turned to Neniel and her cohorts, and for a moment a question seemed to rest on his tongue. But instead he turned back to Eldarin. “You were present when Master Haluin received this food?”

The smith nodded, his expression set and grim. “I was. Haluin seemed confused as soon as he set eyes on the dish. The youngling here...” Eldarin nodded toward Druri, “... was there as well. He reached for one of the sweets...” In an instant, Jokim tensed up all over again. “... But Haluin knocked the entire plate aside, and seemed gripped by hysterics. I held him down, and only then did he explain his suspicions.”

Again, Elrond gave a glance to the Mirkwood delegation as he settled back into his chair. “These, as Lindir said, are not trifling accusations. Regardless of how the rest of our discussion proceeds this morning, I will see this matter settled before any of our guests depart these borders. However... if, for the moment, nothing can be proven in either direction, I would suggest that we return to the matter at hand.”

“M’lord...” Eldarin stood, though knowing that he risked reprisal for continuing to speak out of turn. 

“Yes?” Elrond’s attention settled once again on the smith, his patience not yet spent.

“If you would entertain this discussion a moment or two longer, I would call upon a pair of witnesses to contribute their testimony to the matter.”

“And who would those be?”

“Our head cook... and her assistant, Idriel. They are the ones who prepared and served the dessert to Master Haluin.”

Elrond considered the proposal for a silent moment, appearing to gauge the value in drawing out this investigation any longer. Eventually, he offered a somewhat wary nod. “Lindir... fetch the both of them. We shall see what they might offer to our deliberations.”

Lindir and Eldarin both bowed, one out of obligation, the other out of gratitude. The healer stalked off, offering the smith a scowl as a parting gift.

With a stay in the debate, murmured conversations cropped up on both sides of Elrond. But Jokim found himself unable to tear his glare away from Neniel, convinced that she had nearly murdered his nephew in her schemes to destroy her enemy. 

Haluin poked at the dwarf again, but this time he did not respond. Neniel was staring back at him, aloof and mocking, a twinkle of laughter dancing in her dark eyes.


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## chrysophalax (Jan 9, 2009)

As he watched Lindir's departing back, Haluin mused. _This is ridiculous, all of it. Jokim has been delayed long enough by this farce and I, well...I have nothing left to lose now, have I?_

Settling back comfortably in his chair, his mind finally at rest, his eyes drifted over the faces of his former friends and family, then further around the circle to where Elrond sat patiently waiting. Haluin felt a twinge of envy as he looked at the ancient elf sitting so unperturbed in their midst.

_How does he do it? He has endured horrors that would have driven me mad and sadness which would surely have consumed me, yet there he sits, presiding unnecessarily over a council he has no need to. It is no wonder, to my mind that he is considered one of the greatest among us. My question is; why does he concern himself with so petty a matter?_

As if in answer, Elrond turned his head and fixed Haluin with a look so piercing, the younger elf swore later that his very _fea_ felt the force of it. _Peace, Haluin. Speak what is in your heart. You will know what to say._

Shaking his head as if to clear it, Haluin glanced quickly around to see if anyone else had noticed, but aside from a raised eyebrow from Eldarin, the others seemed to have been oblivious.

He mulled over this extraordinary occurrence until Lindir returned with the two elf women from the kitchens, neither of whom seemed best pleased. They stood just behind Lindir's chair, the younger twisting her hands worriedly in her skirts, while the cook glared at the lot of them as if her time would be best spent elsewhere.

"My lord..."

Lindir scowled as Haluin stood at the same time as he, uttering the same words. They both turned to Elrond, who nodded his assent to Haluin. Angrily. Lindir steppde forward. "My lord, I have returned with witnesses crucial to discovering the truth behind what happened to this...unforunate in our midst. Surely you will allow..."

"Peace, Lindir. Indeed I will allow any to speak concerning this unfortunate happenstance. However, it is Haluin's turn just now. Haluin? Pray, continue."

With no little sputtering and muttering, Lindir sat down heavily in his chair and attempted to glare holes through the injured elf who stood now in their midst, his shoulders back and head held high. This was his moment and he intended to make the most of it.

"My lord, my friends...good elves of Eryn Lasgalen. " He bowed to each in turn, gathering his thoughts. "I beg you to consider my words, for they are my only defence. It is admittedly true that I returned to the trees of my homeland, many decades after my crime. It is _not_ true that I spoke to or conversed in any way with anyone _other_ than the trees, to whom I was bidding a final farewell before turning my face to the western lands.

For the last sixty years I have journeyed with men and discovered that nobility lives still in their breasts. Among the men of Rohan I found friendship, deep and true and among the men of Gondor, the House of Elendil prospers yet. Yes, I have even befriended one of the Children of Durin and found there strength and honesty beyond price.

Some of you who sit in judgement of me may frown on my actions, yet what else would you have me do? If you who once called me kin know me at all, then you know well that I give my hand freely to all who have need of it, whether it be in friendship for a time, or for aid. 

I have found among both men and dwarves, compassion, companionship, humour and openness. It would seem that Iluvatar's gift of death has given them the capacity to live life, to experience it as we _never_ can...with all their hearts!" His eyes shone with fervour as he spoke.

"Therefore, my lord, I ask that you set me free. I will wear hundred, a thousand such braids as this if that is what you require, but set me free to live life with my friends such as it _should_ be lived. Not cowering in the darkness of the trees like frightened children!"

He turned and looked Cerulin in the face. "What will you do when the Dragon comes? The same thing you did when Dæron and I went with the others of Thranduil's guard to spy out the Necromancer? Say you felt unwell and spent the day shivering in your cave?" 

Neniel shot to her feet, as did her brother, but before they could do anything, Elrond stood and cried out, "Enough!" in a thunderous voice, causing everyone to stand rooted to the spot. "All of you. Return to your rooms. I will tell you of my decision this evening in the Hall of Fire. Until then, I command the opposing parties to stay separate from one another. Is that understood?"


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## Ghorim (Feb 11, 2009)

Haluin disappeared into his room shortly after Elrond’s heated dismissal of the council. He spoke only briefly of a need for rest before departing his friends’ company, and the look in his eyes seemed fixed on distant concerns. They let him go, with only sullen nods toward the Elf’s back as he strode away.

His departure left Eldarin to play host to the two dwarves. 

“The forge, perhaps?” The smith glanced back as he led them down the spiraling stairs, back to the Hall of Fire.

“Let’s have a look,” Jokim said. “The lad seemed rather impressed.”

“It would be my honor to show you,” Eldarin bowed his head. Jokim said nothing.

And indeed, he said nothing more as the Elf led him around the workroom. The forge fire still burned, and the projects sat half-finished, carefully laid to rest on shelves. Jokim worked his way around the floor at a stately pace, stopping now and again to examine Eldarin’s works. The Elf kept waiting for a remark, even a grunt of derision or approval, but the dwarf only stared sternly at the objects, occasionally glancing back as Eldarin continued his spoken tour.

Strangely enough, Inglor and Gildor always seemed to find something to busy themselves with on the opposite end of the room whenever Jokim approached. He moved like a storm cloud borne by swift winds, glaring at them from under stiff eyebrows so that they could not concentrate on their labors. Druri opted to follow the two young apprentices, standing on the tips of his toes to watch as they tweaked and tinkered with the glowing hot metals.

Eldarin found himself trying to stay in front of the elder dwarf as they circled about. He quickly realized why: he wanted to see Jokim’s eyes, to read his every facial expression for some glint of approval. To think, after all the centuries of toil, he still cared so deeply about one dwarf’s opinion. 

“Well, no more trinkets, then!” thought Eldarin. “Let him see my best.”

So out came the box with Haluin's metallic arm, and once again he unveiled it in as dramatic a fashion as possible. Jokim stood a few steps away, hands clasped behind his back. 

“You’ll recall our discussions on this piece,” said Eldarin, turning it slowly so the dwarf could see it from every angle. 

“Of course,” Jokim inclined his head and then craned his neck to follow the contours of the limb with his eyes.

Druri bounded over to his uncle’s side. “Is it not incredible? Eldarin told me there’s magick inside of it, and that it’s made of metal from a star, and it’s indestructible...”

“Now, now...” Eldarin laughed nervously. “I never said...”

“You work quickly.” Jokim took a few steps toward Eldarin, who froze. The dwarf extended his hands, and the Elf seemed to incline his whole body to hand over the arm. “You had this idea as soon as you heard of Haluin’s injuries?”

“Well...” Eldarin stepped back, giving Jokim the space that he seemed to wordlessly command. “My imagination stewed over it for awhile. But once the concepts come to me, I must see them into being. I worked throughout the night...”

“Haluin shall enjoy this,” Jokim was staring down the piece lengthwise, from elbow to fingertips. “Aye... you must present it to him tonight.” The dwarf brought it back to its case, gingerly placing it inside and wrapping it with the cloth like a grandfather tucking in a slumbering infant. His eyes shot up to Eldarin. “Good work. Now, let us eat.” And out the door he marched, without so much as a second glance about the forge.

Eldarin found himself blinking to regain his bearings in the dwarf’s wake, and he looked to Druri. “Does he always...?”

“Always,” the lad nodded with a knowing smile. “Don’t worry, he just gave you his highest praise.”

“That relieves me more than you know...” Eldarin glanced to his assistants, who were watching the scene curiously, and nodded for them to go back to work.

“Coming?” came an annoyed call from far down the path, and Eldarin and Druri both found themselves rushing out after Jokim’s voice.


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## Ghorim (Feb 11, 2009)

The midday meal proved a delicate negotiation.

“After that business last night, you expect me to let him eat even a morsel of your kitchen’s food?” Jokim seemed to have sprouted an extra foot to shove his face straight into Eldarin’s.

So, a compromise: the food came from Rivendell’s kitchen, but with Jokim there to supervise. Unfortunately, that created another problem, as the cook was convinced that the dwarf’s beard would somehow shed its tiny hairs into her stew for that evening’s banquet. And so, a compromise to the compromise: Jokim stood at a proper distance, out of arm’s reach of the ingredients, watching with exacting attention as each dish took shape.

He left the kitchen muttering under his breath about what he’d _really_ like to see done to that Elf’s stew.

Out they went into the forest, where Eldarin promised the dwarves a scenic picnic. Jokim seemed to visibly deflate at the idea, but for Druri it had the opposite affect. Eldarin had to squelch his laughter as he watched the youngling walk the path into the valley’s depths, his head swiveling from side to side and up and down in search of new sights. 

The Elf had grown used to traveling these walkways with fellow ancients, who knew every step of the woods as common knowledge. They no longer remembered anything of its mystery. 

So Eldarin explained the names of the trees and the calls of the birds to the eager-eared youth, while Jokim marched behind. The old soldier kept his eyes locked to the path, following its bends and gaps as it descended into a deep haze. Autumn had flecked the leaves with daring yellows and flashing reds, but it all passed him by without thought. Eldarin glanced back to him once, and saw the same look in the dwarf’s eyes that he had seen in Haluin’s earlier that day. Distance.

The pond where they were to dine had been Eldarin’s refuge in younger, more confused days. It did not offer the most dramatic vista in the valley, but the Elf knew of no place more restful and secluded. By the time their long walk carried them to its banks, the afternoon sun was hitting the pond’s water just right, casting the area in a warm glow.

“I would catch fish here from time to time,” Eldarin explained, laying out a blanket for them to dine upon. Then the food, one plate at a time, appeared from the basket that he had cradled under his left arm: fruit and bread and cheeses, and a loaf of _lembas_ especially for Druri. He noticed a smile on the boy’s face from the corner of his eye and glanced over. “What’s that grin for?”

“Oh... well, when you mentioned fishing... I remembered one time when my father took me down to the Laketown. The fishermen were just coming back with their haul for the evening. They had these huge nets...” Druri extended his arms as far as they would go. “... And they were about to burst from all the fish the men had caught. And the fish were still flopping around, too, when they dumped them into the bins.”

“Well, I never claimed such skill. I threw most of my catches back, in any event.”

Jokim sat and leaned back against one of the sturdy trees whose branches stretched out over the water. He would have gladly left them to their conversation, but Eldarin turned on him.

“It must have been a fine place to live... Erebor, that is.”

The dwarf sensed a hint of sympathy behind those words, and instantly recoiled. “I had the fortune of growing up there, aye. But it is lost and bespoiled now. The time to mourn it has passed.”

“You do not ever stop to think of your home?” Eldarin knelt, but kept Jokim squarely in his sights.

“It does no good, looking back on these things...” Jokim quickly ripped off a hunk of bread for himself. “Besides, it has not been my home for many years. I left it just before I came across Haluin.”

“Oh yes... in the Rohan, correct?”

“So he’s told you everything already, has he?”

“Very little, in fact.” Eldarin gave a typically Elvish smirk as he picked up an apple. “I do, however, get the impression that the two of you served together at arms for a spell.”

“Perhaps we did...” Jokim attempted to hide his response behind a mouthful of loaf, but Eldarin’s hearing picked up quite clearly.

“Did you fight in many battles?” Druri inched just a bit closer.

Jokim sighed, knowing the lad would demand to hear everything. “A few. Those were troubled times for the realm... the Dunlendings thronged at the borders and sought to flip the lands upside-down. Somehow I fell in with Haluin, and one of the Rohirrim, an old brute named Hengist. We became a bit of a unit unto ourselves... a Man, an Elf and a Dwarf.” Jokim snorted. “We were very much the King’s pet project, and an object of popular lore. The court minstrels wrote a song about us, as I recall. But we were simply there to keep order in the lands.”

“A song!” Eldarin took a loud bite of his apple. “How did it go?”

“Ask Haluin. He has the memory for those sorts of things...”

“But I suppose that time together brought you all quite close...”

“Battle tends to do that, aye.”

“Why did you part ways, then?”

“Hengist was the one holding things together, as it turned out...” Jokim shifted where he sat, and stared off across the placid water as he chewed up the rest of his bread. Eldarin and Druri waited, as birds trilled lazily overhead. “Well, he took a nasty blow in a skirmish, and never quite recovered from it. That was that, in a sense. The Dunlendings had gone off to lick their wounds for a spell... they would be back later, of course. But Haluin and I decided to go our ways right then. ‘Twas only by chance that he stumbled upon me and Druri on our march, sixty years later.”

“Perhaps your reunion came about for a reason?” Eldarin arched an eyebrow, his half-eaten apple forgotten for the moment.

“Hmm! I take it you mean something supernatural. Your folk seem to place great stock in spirits and fates! But there are only events... only facts. I take mine as they come.”

“So what should happen, then, if our friend Haluin is found guilty and tossed into the hands of his accusers? Shall you accept that?” 

Eldarin, or some part of him, knew he was pushing the dwarf with that remark. But he did not anticipate the formidable look that Jokim shot back.

“Then let them try to take him,” Jokim said, cool and unperturbed. “Let them try.” The dwarf grabbed an apple of his own and took off half of its surface in one bite. 

Eldarin stared back at him. Jokim did not blink. No, he was not bluffing, Eldarin was certain of that...


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## chrysophalax (Feb 16, 2009)

All attempts to calm his mind met with stubborn resistance as Haluin paced the confines of his room. Patience had never been among the many virtues he considered himself possessed of and now he felt caged, forced to reflect on the myriad miniscule decisions that had brought him, now, to this hour when his fate hung in the balance... a balance held by strangers the elf wasn't certain he could bring himself to trust.

_I told them nothing but truth._ he thought wretchedly as sat staring at the wall as though the answer to his fate would suddenly appear, emblazoned on the wood in letters of fire. _If Lord Elrond chooses death for me, there is nothing for it but to accept. On the other hand, should he choose to banish me from all elven lands...what will I feel?_

A faint ache stirred in his chest at the thought. It wasn't as if he hadn't faced that prospect before, so why did the thought trouble him now? Holding his injured arm close, Haluin rose from the side of the bed and walked to the large window which looked out over the vale. Soft afternoon light filtered through the trees, dappling the grass beneath them, lace-like.

He leaned against the carved wood of the window frame, drawing strength and warmth from it, his senses inordinately sharpened. A slow smile spread across his lean face, for in the distance he could see Jokim stumping along ahead of an earnestly gesticulating Druri, as Eldarin strode beside the youngling, bearing a basket and a large, cloth-covered parcel, his head inclined as though listening intently to all that Druri was saying.

As Haluin watched the trio make their way across the grass toward the great house, a complex brew of emotion welled up within him. Envy,sadness. relief, loss...fear and something indefinable, something he refused to put a name to clawed at him, hissed at him, shook him to his core.

In a flash, all that he stood to lose was thrown into sharp relief before him. If Elrond found him guilty, he would be stripped, not only of his life,which he had never held in high regard, but of those who had, somehow, become precious to him.

White-knuckled, he clutched the windowsill, cursing himself silently. Following Hengist's death, Haluin had hidden behind wards of bitingly sarcastic humour, never allowing anything or anyone to gain a foothold on the slippery wall that was his loneliness. He cursed Eldarin for his kindness,for his willingness to aid them despite discovering that Haluin was a kinslayer. Now, all the pain of caring had returned, fangs and claws sinking themselves heart-deep.

Gritting his teeth, Haluin turned from from the window. _I will not give in to this!_ Where his hand hung withered throbbed now, sharply, as he tried to make a fist. _It's not his fault. The fault, if any, is mine for defying my king's will._ Drawing in a deep breath, Haluin steadied himself, trying to reach for a hope he really didn't believe in. _It may yet be that I will live and we will go on together to Ered Luin and then...then I will discover what kind of life a cripple can make for himself in the Wild._

The knowledge that the Havens would be forever be closed to him drew a wry chuckle from him. _The Valar must have known this would be my fate, to fill me with such wanderlust. Seems I am to be another Maglor, doomed to walk the confines of Middle Earth until Iluvatar tires of his game._

A sharp rap on the door brought his head up, startled. _Already? So be it._ A sneer marred his face as he squared his shoulders. "Come." 

Lindir opened the door and entered the room, a closed expression on his face. "Haluin Gilmirion, you will accompany me to Lord Elrond's study." Haluin looked at him long and hard, as though to read his fate in the Healer's eyes, then inclined his head and followed Lindir as he was led through the covered walkways to hear what was to become of him.


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## chrysophalax (Feb 18, 2009)

The door closed softly behind him as Haluin moved into the comfortable warmth of Elrond's study, trying in vain to hide the smug grin on his face when Lindir had been told, quietly but firmly, that his presence would not be required. The Healer had shot him a venomous glance, but bowed nonetheless to his lord before leaving the room, his back uncomfortably stiff, it seemed to Haluin.

Once more his vision, hearing, even his sense of smell seemed to be heightened as if in mockery of his predicament. _Why is it only now that I notice that Lord Elrond has a fondness for oatmeal and honey soap? How fine the carvings are on his balcony railings!_ Haluin's mind darted from one thing to the next until the gentle sound of Elrond clearing his throat brought the elf's attention back to the present task.

Graciously, Elrond gestured for Haluin to take a seat, but Haluin politely declined. "Thank you my lord, but I prefer to stand. And, if I may...I thank you for all you have done for my companions and myself. Regardless of your decision, I owe you my gratitude...and my life." He bowed deeply, then rose and taking a deep breath, looked Elrond in the eyes. "What is your will, my lord?"

"You are brave, Haluin. None can deny that. You are also a stalwart friend, if the words of your dwarven companions are to be believed." Elrond turned and walked to his bookshelves, his long fingers ghosting over the leather as he contemplated his next words. "It seems you have also won the loyalty of one of my best warriors, who's word I have never had cause to doubt."

Haluin could feel a cold thread of sweat begin to trickle down between his shoulder blades. "My lord..."

Elrond turned swiftly and fixed him with a cold stare. "This has not been easy for me, young Gilmirion. Thranduil is a trusted ally and friend and Neniel was...persistent."

Haluin closed his eyes as his stomach clenched. "I...understand. Tell me then. How long...when..." He couldn't finish. He thought he had been ready to hear it, but reality was proving a harder burden to bear than he had anticipated.

"Before dawn breaks on the morrow, you will be taken to the westernmost border of Imladris. You are now and forevermore banished from all lands under the control of the Lady Galadriel and the Lord Celeborn, King Thranduil, Cirdan the Shipwright and myself. Should you enter any of these lands again, wittingly or unwittingly, your life will be immediately forfeit. Any of the Eldar who aid you from this point on will also have this Doom fall upon them. These are my final words on the subject."

Haluin's eyes flew open and his breathing faltered. _I will live, but I am accursed, tainted._ "It is...more than I deserve, my lord." he whispered, suddenly finding his voice without strength.

Sorrowful eyes looked into his own as Elrond once more bade Haluin take a seat. This time, he did not refuse. "Nay, Haluin. You do not deserve the punishment I have been forced to mete out to you. One with your courage and strength of will should be praised, not condemned! Yet...you have broken faith with your king and Neniel was within her rights to call for your death, petty though her reasoning was for doing so." Elrond turned away with a gesture of disgust on his face. "She and her kinsmen have already begun their journey back to Eryn Lasgalen. I made it clear that...justice would be served without their supervision." His hand reached out and gripped Haluin's fiercely. "You will not leave without all that you need to endure your journey, Haluin. Remember, tomorrow your Doom will fall, but not until then. So take what solace you will from that with my blessing."

Gratitude shone from his eyes as Haluin stood, still grasping Elrond's hand. "I thank you once more,my lord. Your kindness to Jokim and Druri far outweigh the burden I must now bear. Now, I must find them and tell them...and say my farewells."


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## Ghorim (Feb 25, 2009)

They had arrayed themselves perfectly for the ambush: Druri, seated on the final inch of Haluin’s bed, ready to spring up at the Elf’s first appearance, Jokim, standing beside his nephew, a pensive eye on the door, and Eldarin, leaned against the wall right beside the entrance. He heard Haluin’s footsteps first.

“Be ready...”

And so when Haluin opened the door, he was instantly engulfed on three sides: Eldarin to his left, Jokim to his right, and Druri standing directly in front of him, already asking: “Well?”

Haluin gave a bewildered look over his assailants, seeming to admonish them each in turn for their impatience in invading his room and setting up this trap. His gaze settled on Druri, one eyebrow arched.

“Well, what?”

“Don’t be that way, Haluin!” Druri stomped a boot on the floor, but before he could continue, Jokim’s hand had clapped down on his shoulder. The gesture instantly silenced the boy. 

“Come, Haluin...” The Elf had heard that fatherly tone from Jokim before, and its presumptuousness never ceased to amuse him. “We know who you were just speaking to. What did he have to say?”

“Oh... _him_...” Haluin parted the others as he walked across the room toward the window. Of course he was leading them on, with that same insufferable, sarcastic manner he loved to hide behind. But then he turned, saw his three friends staring back with tense concern etched over their faces, and something broke in him. The irony and distance drained from his face, and his features crinkled into an exhausted smile. “He said... I am free to go.”

All of the coiled tension that had built in Druri burst at once. With a whoop that shook the windowpanes, he ran straight at Haluin, who barely had time to brace himself before the young dwarf hugged him about the waist. The lad’s legs just kept churning, spinning them around and around in circles like a top, narrowly missing furniture as they went.

Haluin laughed. Not a chuckle, not a snicker, but a full-bodied, musical laugh, the likes of which Jokim had not heard from him in years. The dwarf looked to Eldarin, and for some reason felt compelled to clutch his arm and shake it. “Well... how about that?”

“Indeed! But I believe you had best rescue Haluin from your nephew’s enthusiasm...” Eldarin nodded to the dancing partners, who were still stumbling about. 

Jokim smirked, marched over, and with a quick tug pulled Druri off. “All right, lad, that’s enough! You’re going to crush the breath out of him.”

Sure enough, Haluin was wheezing a bit as he lowered himself into a chair beside the fireplace, holding his sides and continuing to heave silent laughter.

“So what does Neniel have to say about all this?” Jokim cast one broad arm over Druri’s shoulders to keep the euphoric lad in check.

“I would not know,” replied Haluin after a few deep breaths. “She and her companions have already departed.”

“Ha!” Jokim smacked his hands together in a thunderous stroke. “And that news couldn’t have come soon enough!”

“But what is your punishment, Haluin?” And then the air seemed to leave the room. The others turned to Eldarin. He did not relish in casting a cloud over the celebrations, but he sensed something unspoken, and it plucked at his nerves.

Haluin took another breath... and seemed to hold for as long as he could, clinging to the little time that remained before he replied. The smiles faded. The silence turned sinister. And then there was nothing left to do but explain his fate.

---

Some hours later, Jokim and Druri were readying themselves for the banquet. The Elves had lent Jokim a coarse brush, and so he deployed its bristles against the thick tangles of his beard. Druri shared the room’s mirror with him, dutifully grooming the downy curls that coated his cheeks with a small comb.

“How much longer before I have a beard like yours?” Druri locked eyes with the reflected image of his uncle.

“It can vary...” Jokim winced slightly as he plowed the brush through a stubborn knot of hair. “But in ten years, your beard should be equal to any Man’s. And in twenty, it shall be respectable enough for a Dwarf.”

“That’s too long to wait...” Druri plucked at the hairs with his fingers, as if trying to pull them out further.

“Patience!” Jokim gave a final tug with the brush before setting it aside. “You’ll find a full chin of whiskers is both a boon and a burden all wrapped up in one.”

Druri scowled, far from appeased by those words. He turned away from the mirror, hopping up to grab a seat on the dressing table and face Jokim. “So then... once we leave...”

The clicking of his uncle’s tongue interrupted him. “Get down from there.”

“Aye, sir...” Druri mumbled, and slipped back down. “But I must know... where are we headed next?”

“Through the foothills of the Misties...” Jokim clasped hands to hips as he looked down on Druri. “Our last challenge of the march, I should hope. Your guard should be raised from the moment we leave this haven... the second leg of this region is just as dangerous as the first, though less steep. After that, however... once the lands flatten out, it should become a more pleasant stroll. Through Bree, and perhaps the Shire as well... you might have the chance to meet a Halfling or two.”

“I will?” Druri practically gasped.

Jokim chortled. “Aye, lucky you!” He took his nephew’s arm and led him toward the door. “Come... supper awaits.”

But Druri halted their progress halfway to the door. He found himself staring at the floorboards again. “Uncle... I don’t see how we can feast and sing and laugh... knowing about Haluin...”

“Haluin lives, does he not?” Jokim smacked the lad’s arm, which perked Druri’s chin upward. The uncle smiled. “Tonight we celebrate life. Tomorrow we deal with its particulars. Now come, already! We are late enough as it is.”

This time, Druri made no effort to shrug off the rough hands that bore him into the hallway.


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## Ghorim (Feb 25, 2009)

They heard the music as soon as they shut the door behind them. Throbbing, soaring, swelling against the walls, it seemed to beckon them closer. Suddenly there was a question of what sort of Elvish madness these two were stumbling into, and uncle and nephew exchanged a glance before soldiering on. 

Upon seeing it for a second time, the Hall of Fire seemed completely reborn to them. Three long tables filled the space, populated by Elves of all descriptions. Up until this point, Jokim and Druri had been relatively sheltered from the bulk of Rivendell’s population, holed up as they were in the recovery wing of Elrond’s house. Now, however, dozens of new faces had appeared out of nowhere, joining together in one song.

The melody spiraled ever upward, with its sights set on the clouds, before coming back down to earth and beginning its ascent anew. Two groups of musicians sat opposite each other at the front of the hall: lutes, woodwinds, fiddles and viols all atwitter with activity. The two bands bounced notes off of one another, one group playing a straight melody while the other crafted spirals of harmony around its counterpart.

At the front of the hall, the fire seemed to blaze brighter than ever before, casting a parade of flickering shadows over the walls and ceilings.

Nearly everyone present in the hall was singing and clapping along; evidently it was a popular tune. They sang in Elvish, of course, a language that Jokim had always dismissed as formless and hopelessly airy. So he ignored the words and focused his efforts on dragging a thunderstruck Druri over to their table. He spotted Haluin standing on the tips of his toes and waving his good arm, trying to catch the dwarf’s attention amidst the throng. There next to him were two open seats, and Jokim realized that they were positioned within arm’s reach of Lord Elrond, who stood at the head of the middle table. 

Pleased to see his friend caught up in the festive spirit, Jokim returned the wave. He could feel the eyes of the Elves lock upon him and his nephew as they marched past. 

“You’re late!” Haluin shouted, pulling back each chair in turn for the dwarves to sit.

“Well, I see the meal has yet to be served. So we’ve missed nothing of import!” Jokim patted Haluin’s shoulder as they passed each other. 

“I thought you were an appreciator of fine music, Master Jokim!” That was Eldarin, leaning over to rib the dwarf. 

“I’d hesitate to call all of this wailing a fine example of anything!” Jokim cast a superior grin Eldarin’s way.

“I think it’s grand!” offered Druri, who was already clapping in time. “What’s the song about?”

“Friends and fellowship, things your uncle could stand to learn a bit more about,” said Haluin, giving Jokim a bump. The dwarf returned it gamely, and then folded his arms as he waited for the song to subside. After a few more minutes of repetition, the final note struck, and once the applause faded, Elrond motioned for those gathered to sit. 

“I see our two truants have arrived.” He gave a kindly look to the two dwarves, as peals of laughter followed. Druri sunk into his seat a bit as everyone seemed to look his way at once. “It is not often that we are so honored by the presence of Aulë’s children in these lands. Please do take the time to introduce yourself to them, should you have the opportunity. They are on a march to the Ered Luin, and if I know the Naugrim, they are not likely to tarry in one place for even a moment longer than necessary.”

“We shall simply have to take them prisoner, in that case!” Eldarin’s suggestion drew another round of laughter, and Jokim sent a slow-simmering glare his way.

“I do hope we are past such unpleasantries by now, Eldarin.” Elrond, as always, was especially patient with the smith, such was their trust. “If we wish to detain our guests, we shall simply have to do so by our hospitality.” And with that, the Elf Lord clapped his hands, summoning a phalanx of servants and kitchen assistants armed with steaming bowls of stew. 

“There’s what you’ve been waiting for, Jokim.” Leaning forward on the table, Haluin turned to face the dwarf. “Now tell me, shall you complain about the Elvish food all night long, as well?”

“We shall see, Elf.” Jokim yanked his napkin off of the table and spread it over his lap. “But I am in a charitable mood tonight.”

Listening from his neighboring seat, Druri couldn’t help but burst out grinning as the old banter between his uncle and Haluin returned. Suddenly, everyone was starting to seem comfortable again. Maybe Jokim was right. Maybe they could simply celebrate their lives tonight, and tomorrow... well, maybe then they could start to make sense of things.


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## chrysophalax (Mar 11, 2009)

Venison stew, flanked by baskets filled with fresh-baked loaves of oaten bread eventually led to platters piled high with trout, their scales flashing rainbow-like in the gleam of myriad beeswax candles lighting the Hall from end to end.

Druri, who as a small lad had been witness to many a dwarven feast, had never seen the like as course followed course, each providing new delights for his senses. The scent of roast pheasant mingled with the heady aroma of mead, beer and the tang of _miruvor_, the wine favoured by the elves and he snickered to himself as Haluin kept leaning over, trying to get Jokim to try some. The resulting sneer his entreaties met with each time almost caused Druri to choke on his own pint of beer.

By the time the trays of honeyed pastries and fruit-filled tarts arrived, the entire company had become more than a little merry. Eldarin was up and trying to dance with one of the elven lasses playing a flute, sowing momentary dischord amongst the musicians. Jokim rolled his eyes as he downed another brimming mug of beer, blithely unaware that his own foot was tapping out a sprightly rhythm of its own.

At last, finding himself unable to sit in his seat any longer, Druri got to his feet and began to caper about, clapping his hands enthusiastically. Instantly, the musicians, having seen Eldarin off, began a lively tune well known to among the elves, who began singing ever more loudly with each successive verse.

Only one among them sat still on his bench, scowling. Lindir the healer had been most displeased by his lord's verdict, even though he was ignorant of the accompanying stipulations Elrond had meted out to Haluin. To him, any elf who consorted with _naugrim_ deserved punishment...harsh, decisive punishment, in this case, death. The fact that Haluin had been allowed to live showed a flaw in Elrond's character and this...this _feast_ was a parody, a mockery of the justice _he_ would have dispensed had he, Lindir been present.

The glares sent Haluin's way by the healer were not lost on Jokim, however. While watching his nephew try to sing along with every song, he had noticed Lindir's face and it was _not_ in a festive mood! Discreetly, he nudged Haluin as he sipped his beer. "Don't look now, but you seem to have an admirer." The sarcastic tone in Jokim's voice was not lost on Haluin's _miruvor_ clouded senses. "Ah, you must mean Lindir. I am not surprised, in fact, I'm delighted!" Recklessly, Haluin stood to his feet and raising his goblet high, called for silence.

"Good elves of Imladris!" The music diminished swiftly, gracefully to the faintest pianissimo as Haluin began to speak. "On behalf of my friends and I, I wish to thank Lord Elrond, indeed all who have given us refuge and respite after our travails upon the Redhorn Pass." Murmurs of approval greeted this statement and all present reached for their goblets and mugs. "In particular, I wish to express my gratitude to Lindir, without whom I would never have truly understood what friendship is."

The stunned look on the healer's face was priceless and Haluin smiled smugly into his goblet. _Yes, Lindir...without a fool like you to show me how a friendless person acts toward others, I never would have known how fortunate I am._ Pleased with himself, Haluin downed the contents of his goblet in one, then made his way over to Eldarin. "Give this to the musicians, if you will. I think Jokim will remember it." Eldarin put up his hands. "Nay, _mellon!_ I'll not be party to whatever scheme you have in that head of yours." "Coward!" Haluin hissed as he turned his back on Eldarin, then headed for the players, who were just preparing to take a well earned break.

Fishing a piece of parchment out of the depths of his tunic, Haluin knelt down next to the harpist who led them and whispered his request, then hummed a few bars of a song, repeating them several times until the harpist was satisfied his players had the way of it. "It will be our pleasure, Haluin Gilmirion. I trust you will enjoy our rendition!" His twinkling with mischief, he smiled. "I'm certain I will, as will my companion, I have no doubt!" With that, he returned to his seat and refilled his goblet. If he was going to leave his people and his friends behind, he was going to do it in style!


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## Ghorim (Mar 17, 2009)

Quite unexpectedly, Jokim found himself holding court over a legion of admirers at the hall’s center table. They were all of them youths, born after the age of friendship between Elves and Dwarves had passed. 

None had ever seen one of the Naugrim so close before. So they crept timidly from every corner of the hall, bunching together in groups of two or three to overcome their innate fear of those sharp eyes... that thick scowl... that _beard_. 

Jokim sensed the younglings coming, and had hoped ignoring the lot of them would eventually send them scurrying back to wherever it was they came from. But then one got up the gumption to ask him a question. The dwarf tried to grunt it off, but Eldarin was there to prod him into an honest answer. 

After that, the dams burst, and Jokim’s ears were flooded with query after query. Before he knew it, he was explaining the style of axe he used in battle, comparing Erebor to the Iron Hills, and even refuting a few pesky myths about his people.

“Aye, our women have beards,” he growled at one girl. “And why should that be so strange, eh?”

She recoiled, along with half of the group. Jokim grimaced at his own temper, and was about to mumble an apology when the sound of a familiar song pricked up his ears. 

What was this...? That grating, jaunty melody... the growing din of woodwinds... the clip-clop rhythm, sounding like the trot of a horse... no! It couldn’t be!

Jokim stood slowly, eyes cast toward the musicians at the front of the hall. From a swirl of dancing Elves, the figure of Haluin emerged. A grin the size of a mountain range stretched over his face.

“You all must excuse me for a moment,” Jokim murmured to the group of young Elves, who were trying to follow his gaze. “I have... other... business.”

He set out at a steady march to the dance floor, and the younglings scattered in his wake like birds fleeing before an oncoming carriage.

“Haluin!” Jokim called as he neared. The Elf stood just at the edge of the ring where dancers leapt and twirled. “You can still stop this.”

“But why would I? It’s such a delightful tune.” Haluin laughed and spun away from Jokim just as the song’s opening lines were about to commence. The dwarf pursued in a fit of irritation, but a dancing Elf managed to blindside and sweep him up into the heat of the dance. Jokim tried to disengage, but in an instant he had been passed on to another Elf. And so they flung his stout form about the dancing floor, as the musicians began to sing:

_"Out on the plains,
Three riders seen!
One short, one tall,
One in-between.

When mounted up, they look unsteady,
But come battle they're more than ready!

With weapons drawn, as bold as kings,
They ride to fight the Dunlendings.
A Man, an Elf, a Dwarf: a team,
Defenders of the Rohirrim!

The first, Hengist, a warrior bold,
His strength a legend often told,
With mighty blows he hacks and cleaves,
To sweep away brigades like leaves.

Next Haluin, with merry eye,
Who could shoot gnats out of the sky,
His arrows sing their deadly tune,
And leave the battlements in ruin.

The last, no taller than a child,
But with his axe he fights like wild.
Called 'Jokim,' with a bristling beard,
A name and face most dreadfully feared.

They came from lands split far apart,
But through their deeds, they forged one heart.
A Man, an Elf, a Dwarf: a team,
Defenders of the Rohirrim!"_

Jokim had not heard any of this nonsense for over sixty years. And although he cringed at every merry note and every forced rhyme, he could not help but remember: The colors of the autumn festival, where he and Haluin and Hengist met. The misfit camaraderie that somehow glued them together. The pitched battles, fought under sun and moon, as bodies fell in the chilly air.

The Elves bore Jokim along effortlessly, incorporating him into the design of the dance without his even realizing. By the end of the song, Jokim had been tossed straight into Druri, who had been jigging about the whole while. Haluin slipped in from nowhere to join them. When the final note struck, the three stood at the center of floor, alone, surrounded by a circle of grinning dancers.

“A spare cheer or two for our heroes!” called the lead musician, and the feast goers complied in force. “Take a bow, Masters Haluin and Jokim!”

Jokim looked content to stand rigid, but Haluin pressed a hand to his friend’s back and pushed him down. The dwarf rose, looking exasperated at all of this Elvish pageantry. He noticed Lord Elrond standing tall amidst the crowd, watching the proceedings with that peculiar intensity of his. 

Druri tugged at his sleeve. “That was_ the song_, wasn’t it?”

The lad’s face had flushed red from all the beer and wine he had guzzled that evening. Jokim frowned. Only his second night of drinking, and the lad was intent on earning himself a headache in the morning!

“Aye, of course it was. More hideous than I remember it...”

“Pay your uncle no mind, Druri,” Haluin cut in. “He’s still bitter about that one line... how does it go? ‘The last no taller than a child...'”

“It’s not simply that,” Jokim snorted, taking Druri by the shoulder and leading him back to the table. “The melody is absurd, the lyrics leaden...”

“And there’s not enough mention of your prowess with the axe!” Haluin laughed.

“Am I the only one not yet drunk tonight?” Jokim muttered to himself. Up ahead, the group of young Elves awaited his return. Jokim halted his approach. Clearing his throat, he pushed Druri out in front of him. 

“Have you all met my nephew, Druri? He loves to answer questions.”


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## Ghorim (Mar 17, 2009)

Jokim had enough experience with drink to know when Druri was finished for the night. He figured it out before Druri, in fact.

“Come along, lad. Your head is ready for the pillow.” Jokim tugged his nephew down the hallway back to their room. 

The bawdy music from earlier that evening had given way to Elvish poetry: sprawling odes to the land and the water and the sky. Druri’s head had started to dip during the last reader’s verse, and so Jokim wordlessly pulled the lad from his chair.

“But uncle... I’m not tired yet.” Druri tried to half-heartedly pull back in the opposite direction, but every time he stalled his uncle seemed to grow more stern and forceful.

“I’ve heard that tale before...” Jokim let go of the lad’s wrist to open the door once they reached the bedroom. And then he stood, pillar-straight, and pointed into the dark chamber. He would not forcibly shove Druri inside. His nephew would have to choose whether to obey or disobey. 

Druri looked back down the hallway. Then he turned unsteadily to face his uncle’s grim expression. With a miniature grunt, he acquiesced, and trudged past Jokim into the room.

“How much longer can we stay here?”

“It is Haluin’s choice...” Jokim said. “Here, you take the bed tonight.” He directed Druri away from the cot where the lad had slept the night before.

“Hmmm...” Druri plopped down on the mattress and rubbed his head drowsily, seeming to anticipate the hangover to come. “What do you think he’ll want to do?”

“We’ll make our plans tomorrow. Now hop to it, lad. Take off your shoes, and then under the covers with you.”

Druri flailed at his boots incoherently for a moment or two before Jokim sighed and helped to pry them off. He then circled the bed, tucking in the covers at each side.

“I’m still not sleepy,” Druri said dourly, staring at the ceiling with arms folded over his chest.

Jokim smirked in the dark and pulled up a chair. “A deal, then. You close your eyes, lie still, and don’t say a word for five minutes. If you’re still awake after that, I’ll take you back to the Hall of Fire.”

“Only five minutes?” Druri lifted his head off the pillow. Jokim nodded. And so Druri’s head crashed back down, the lad excitedly squeezing his eyes shut, knowing full well that he could best his uncle’s challenge.

Three minutes later, he was snoring.

“A noble effort, lad,” whispered Jokim as he crept out through the bedroom door. “A noble effort.” Then he shut it behind him, marching back down the silent hall.

---

Only a few devotees still sat around the great festival hall, encircling a poet who made his stand near the grand fireplace. His booming tones echoed off the walls, filling the space with visions of fiery battle and valiant heroism.

Haluin sat off on his own at one of the abandoned dining tables, toying with a silver spoon that lay in an emptied bowl of stew. Jokim plopped down in the opposite chair. The Elf glanced up, and the two exchanged weary grins from across the table. For several moments, they said nothing.

“How do you feel, then?” Jokim leaned forward, hands clasped in front of his chin.

Haluin considered the question. “I feel...” he glanced to the poetry circle, then back to Jokim. “Like me. And a great while has passed since I could honestly say such a thing.”

“A burden has been lifted, then?”

“And another lowered in its place. But this one I can carry.”

“With help.”

“Of course." A pause. "And how do you feel, Master Dwarf?”

“Me? Chipper. Positively _chipper_, Master Elf. I could set out at a full march tomorrow morning, but I fear the lad will need more time to recover.”

Haluin chuckled softly and dropped the spoon. “But let it not be said that young Druri did not enjoy himself tonight. I am glad to see him no longer so sullen as before.”

Jokim looked away for a moment. “He... he could use more occasions like this one, you are correct.”

A question stalled in Haluin’s throat. It was best left unasked until later. “You ought to rest up as well, Jokim.”

The dwarf snorted. “Ought to...” 

A resounding cry from the front of the hall cut him off:

_“As morning burst,
The banners flew,
Pale green, deep red,
And lightning blue.”_

Jokim cradled his head in his hand and spared a glance toward the orator. “Blowhard...”

Haluin shook his head with a grin, but noticed Eldarin striding their way. The smith bowed beside the table. “Good evening, sirs. Am I interrupting...?”

“Not in the least,” said Haluin, tilting his head. “What news, then?”

“Well...” Eldarin rose, clasping his belt with both hands. “If you would follow me, Master Haluin, there is something I would like to show you.” His eyes darted to Jokim, who smiled broadly.

Haluin picked up instantly on that brief exchange. “Ah! So the two of you have conspired on a surprise of some sort?”

“Nae.” Jokim stood with a quick shake of his head. “This one was all Eldarin’s doing.”

“Hmm...” Haluin pushed back his chair, smacking his thighs once he stood. “Well! Lead the way then, master smith!”

The three left the Hall of Fire together, words still tumbling through the air at their backs.


----------



## chrysophalax (Mar 18, 2009)

A sickle-shaped moon rode high in the night sky above them, brilliant silver against gossamer black as Eldarin led the way down the winding stair toward the smithy below. Haluin inhaled deeply as though to somehow breathe in the memory of Imladris and make it a part of himself. He had drunk deeply, joyfully at Elrond's table and now, every scent, every sound engraved itself on his soul and he sighed with longing as he looked about him. 

_Ah, Elbereth...if you can hear me, grant me strength for the journey and let me not fall into despair._ he prayed fervently as they made their way silently across the dew-covered grass. Eldarin lit the lamp hanging by the smithy's door, then gestured for them to enter.

As the golden glow of the lamp revealed the orderly interior, Haluin felt drawn to touch and inspect several of the swords and pieces of armour that lay on a large table against the far wall. Reverently, he picked up one after the other, testing their balance, admiring the engraved scrollwork. So caught up was he in his inspection that he startled when Eldarin cleared his throat gently.

Turning, he found himself greeted by amused looks on the fces of his friends. Embarrassed, he set down the sword he had been holding and straightened. "Forgive me, I-that is, they're beautiful, Eldarin. It is no wonder Lord Elrond values you so highly." Wistfully, his hand trailed once more along the gold-etched blade of a longsword. "You are a true artist, _mellon nin._

Eldarin bowed his head at the compliment, then reached for a box on the shelf at his shoulder. "I have something for you, Haluin." More than that he couldn't bring himself to say as he opened the box, then stepped back even as Jokim crowded forward.

Surprised at Eldarin's generosity, Haluin curiously approached the box and removed the cloth covering its contents. His eyes widened, then flew to meet those of Eldarin. When Haluin didn't move, Eldarin stepped forward and lifted the dark metal arm from its resting place. "Fool of an elf, take it!" barked Jokim suddenly. Both elves raised elegant eyebrows at him, then Haluin reached out to stroke the metal.

"When did you...? Why, Eldarin? Why put so much of yourself into this creation when I could have, _should have,_ been sentenced to death?" "Do not ask me for reasons, Haluin. Take it. Wear it. _Live,_ mellon!" His throat gone dry with emotion, Haluin began to unwrap his left arm. Jokim took over after a few moments, grumbling to himself as the elf fumbled with the cloth. "Just my luck to have one of the only helpless elves for leagues in any direction! This contraption of yours had better work, Eldarin, or I fear for his safety!"

Feeling himself totally unworthy of such a gift, yet grateful beyond words, Haluin stretched out the remains of his arm as Eldarin carefully slipped the new one in place. Haluin gasped as he felt the the minute joints conform to the shape of his arm and hand, becoming almost one with him. He grimaced as he tried to bend his near-skeletal hand for the first time since the attack and the others watched with concern. The withered muscles and sinews burned as the arm moved, first slowly, then after a few minutes, attempting more intricate movements.

The black arm gleamed darkly from elbow to fingertip as Haluin opened and closed his hand, then picked up a cup as easily as if he had been born with it. He threw back his head and laughed aloud, then gripped Eldarin in a mighty embrace. "You have given me back my life, indeed! I cannot even bring myself to feel guilt now, only elation!" Winking, he turned swiftly and gripped Jokim's shoulder. "You knew, did you not? Ah, you wily fox..." Stooping, he embraced Jokim as well, who patted him stiffly on the back, then harrumphed into his beard. "Of course, I knew. Eldarin knows a trust-worthy dwarf when he sees one! What of it?"

Haluin threw up his hands defensively. "No offense meant, old friend! Druri,as well?" Jokim threw out his chest. "He knew, of course. The lad can keep silent when he has to." Overwhelmed, Haluin squeezed Eldarin's shoulder again in gratitude and Jokim coughed none too loudly. "Before you two go all soft again, I think I'll take my leave." He fixed Haluin with a steely gaze. "We have much to discuss in the morning, master Elf." "Aye, Jokim...in the morning. Goodnight to you, rest well...you and Druri." This last was said softly and Jokim paused for a moment, then grunted and departed for his room.

Silence filled the smithy as Eldarin watched, marvelling. The arm had molded itself effortlessly to Haluin's injured limb as thouhg it were living tissue and he was tempted to ask if Haluin could feel anything with it, but he knew that that would be impossible. The arm would obey Haluin's muscular impulses and if they no longer existed, it should eventually obey his thoughts. The wonder was, it already appeared to be doing that!

"I cannot thank you enough, Eldarin...truly." "There is no need, _mellon._ When I heard your story and saw the way you had fought to defend your friends...how could I _not_ do all that I could to restore you? In any case, you will leave us soon and you must be able to defend yourself, no?"

"Aye, Eldarin." Haluin said sadly. "Soon..." A hand closed on his shoulder comfortingly. "Then you cannot leave without a proper weapon, can you?" Moving to the table where Haluin had been admiring the swords, Eldarin picked up the longsword and brought it over to him. "Read it." Etched into the blade was the word _GALVORNION_. "You are no longer the son of Gilmir, _mellon,_ but the son of the black metal, a fitting name for a fugitive, don't you think?"

Unable to speak, Haluin embraced him again, then fled out into the night, sword in hand to face a new life alone. 

*********


A sentry leaned against the trunk of a large oak overlooking the Ford of Bruinen, part of the small contingent sent by Elrond to make certain the elf Haluin made it safely across the ford, the western border of Imladris. It went without saying that, should he attempt to return he was to be shot on sight.

Earlier, he had been given a pouch filled with dried fruit, herbs and a small flask of _miruvor_ by Elrond himself, a gesture which touched the elf deeply. He had bowed, then paused, his eyes searching those of the elven lord. "I know that I no longer have the right to ask this of you, but...my lord, I ask that you not tell my friends of my departure. I will hope to join them as they leave, but I cannot be assured we will meet again." Again, a pause, a breath. 

"Will you see that they are armed properly? It would ease my mind to know that elven steel stands between them and whatever dangers might try to thwart them on their journey." Elrond stroked his chin thoughtfully. "And what makes you think Jokim will accept such gifts?"

Haluin's answer was swift. "If they come from Eldarin's forge, he will accept."

"As you wish, Haluin. Now go and though I cannot give you my blessing, know that I hold you in high regard and that I grieve with you." With that, they parted, as the birds began to stir in their down-lined nests. Haluin wondered what Jokim's reaction would be, then decided it would be a thing best not dwelt upon as he walked into the chill currents of the Bruinen, to the sentry's great relief.


----------



## Ghorim (Mar 30, 2009)

As usual, Jokim twitched awake just before the first hint of dawn. He couldn’t quit that habit even if he tried.

But on this particular morning, he still lay in the afterglow of the last night’s feast. He could still feel that roasted pheasant sitting in the pit of his stomach, and a small lake of ale sloshing around through his head. That, of course, was the price he paid for having sworn off drink for so long.

“Come Jokim,” thought the dwarf. “You’re no infantry whelp any more. You can afford a day off every once in awhile...”

He rolled over on his cot and tried to settle back down. He did not succeed. 

“Nae, nae! You ought to get up, have a good morning jog, get some air into your lungs.” 

“But you'll be resuming your march soon enough. There’s no need to wear your feet down to stumps...”

"But what about your conditioning?"

"But what about a good night's rest?"

And so it was that, while considering whether or not to stay awake, Jokim ended the debate by falling asleep.

---

A few hours later, a peculiar humming sound awoke him. Jokim pulled himself up and made a groggy scan of the room, only to see a dark silhouette moving toward the windows.

The figure grabbed the curtains and ripped them open, casting the full light of morning into the shadowy room. Druri, still lying shipwrecked upon the bed, groaned and pulled the covers over his head. Jokim, meanwhile, squinted through the sunshine to make out the form of Avenhel. 

She had been humming to herself all this while, but as soon as the curtains opened, so too did her throat. Her bell-clear voice danced swiftly through a soft melody as she went about tidying up the dwarves’ room:
_
“You’ve drunk your dreams and slept your fill,
Slumbering... throughout the night.
But now the sun is at your sill,
Beckoning... with golden light.

Arise, o sleepyheads, arise!
Shut up your snores and set to work!
Arise, o sleepyheads, arise!
Break your fast with knife and fork!”_

She clapped her hands, and in rushed a pair of servants, each bearing a tray of vittles for the guests to digest.

“More food!” was Jokim’s first exasperated thought, but then he noticed that the cooks had catered his dish especially to him. It was austerely decorated with breads and cheeses, while a small bowl of fruit and a pitch-black cup of coffee sat on the side. Druri’s menu, meanwhile, featured a far sweeter array of treats, the smell of which brought the lad's nose peeking out from under the quilts.

Both trays landed upon the table that sat beside the broad window, and the dwarves made their way over to them in short order.

“Must every word in this valley be delivered in the form of a song?” grunted Jokim as he took his seat, eyeing Avenhel with an early morning air of grumpiness.

She was already straightening out the sheets on their beds again. “Be fair, Master Dwarf. We have kept our music in check so as not to disturb your recovery.”

“You have been fine hosts, granted.” Jokim took a sip of coffee, savoring its hard, bitter flavor. “Although you are fattening up the both of us too much for my liking.”

“It is a long way to the Blue Mountains, yet.” She cast one of Druri’s quilts over the bed with a grand flourish. “You shall both have ample time to walk off our hospitality.”

“Which reminds me!” Jokim clanged his cup down on the tray. “Go and fetch Haluin, if you would. We must discuss our departure.”

Avenhel’s busywork shuddered to a halt, and she turned to the dwarf with a surprised look. “Excuse me, Master Jokim?”

“I said to go and fetch Haluin.”

“But... Master Jokim...” She paused, placing a finger to her lips.

Jokim tilted his head to the side. “Well?”

“Master Haluin left before dawn this morning.”

There was no gasp, no blurted curse, no violent outburst from Jokim. He stood, glowering, but reserved judgment until he heard the rest. “Excuse me?”

“He... the terms of Lord Elrond’s ruling were that Master Haluin leave before dawn today. And he did, as ordered.”

“Why was I not awoken?” Jokim took a step toward the healer.

“We all thought you knew... that the two of you had an understanding...”

“The only _understanding_ we had was that the two of us were to meet, _this morning_, to discuss our next move.” Only here did Jokim display a brief flash of temper. His voice boiled to a near-roar on the critical words, as he lashed out at the sense of betrayal this news had brought him. 

Haluin had deceived him, openly lied and deserted him. And after Jokim had done so much to ensure that the Elf’s life was spared! Did that not warrant at least an open farewell, at least an honest explanation?

“Where did he go?” Jokim’s voice blew frigid and without inflection.

“To the west.” Avenhel cringed, blaming herself as the bearer of ill news. “That is all I know, Master Jokim.”

“And who would know more?”

“Perhaps... Sir Eldarin might.”

“I would agree.” Jokim turned for the door. He heard the screech of a chair’s legs on the wooden floor and spun around. “Druri! Stay here. Finish your breakfast.”

The lad had started to rise from the table, but his uncle’s harsh tone fastened him back down to his seat. As the door to the room slammed, he stared at the food on Jokim’s plate, which lay untouched and growing cold.

---

Jokim heard the musical ring of Eldarin’s hammer upon the anvil from the moment he marched out the doors of Lord Elrond’s house. A few of the Elves he passed on the way to the forge greeted Jokim as he gusted by, but the dwarf paid them no mind. 

Gildor attempted to stop him at the entrance to Eldarin’s workshop, but Jokim burst past him as a gale might through a sapling.

“Smith!” Jokim shouted, standing at the center of the room and staring at Eldarin’s hunched back. Eldarin gave a short glance over his shoulder and then stood calmly, lowering his hammer. 

“Master Jokim... I’d been expecting just such a cheery visit from you all morning.”

“Where is Haluin?”

“Haluin? He is gone, like a leaf severed from the tree, left to wander according to the breezes...” Eldarin spoke in solemn tones, but laughter seemed to hide just beneath the words.

“Spare me your flowery speech. What did he tell you?”

“Little. His parting words, in fact, came to me only through Lord Elrond.”

One of Jokim’s brambly brows shot upward. “And what were those?”

“That I am to arm you properly for what remains of your journey.”

“_Arm me properly?_” This final slight was truly too much for Jokim to bear. “Arm me proper... listen, Elf! I am equipped with an axe of dwarven make. It has served me well for the past 100 years of my life. Perhaps this is all Haluin’s final joke, but I have no need for any Elven steel at my side.”

Eldarin shook his head. “It is not merely you who I am arming, Master Jokim.” He turned about, and with his tongs lifted the piece he was working on. Even with it half completed, the dwarf could make out the intricate craftsmanship at work... a dagger, as sharp and as bright as daybreak. “I work on behalf of your nephew, as well.”

Jokim’s arms, which had knotted into that familiar cross in front of his chest, fell slack at his sides. “Preposterous...”

“As for your axe...” Eldarin lowered the small weapon again. “I propose a compromise. I need not craft an entirely new weapon for you. The only thing I need replace is the head of your weapon. Bring the axe to me, and I can easily trade one head for the other. If the new blades do not suit your tastes, then I will reaffix your dwarf-made axe head atop its handle.”

Eldarin extended a gloved hand toward Jokim. The dwarf eyed the smith suspiciously. Then Jokim shook his head... at himself, for doing what he was about to do. Jokim’s broad hand gripped the smith’s. 

“I have seen the power of your work, Eldarin. Do not disappoint me.”

A brief hint of concern appeared to cross the Elf’s supremely confident expression, but he nodded. “I would not dream of it.”

“Good. I shall fetch the weapon. But what am I to do in the meantime, while you work?”

“I believe the healers wish to spend some more time bonding with you. They are not yet fully convinced that you are prepared to withstand a full day’s march.”

Jokim grunted. “Then I am to be delayed again? Haluin shall be miles away by the time I set boot outside of this dratted valley. I cannot allow him to dash off on his own...”

“Master Jokim...” Haluin bowed slightly. “With all due respect... your friend had survived the past sixty years without your axe at his side... and for a good many centuries before your birth, besides. What are another few days to him?”

A low, rumbling sound emitted from the dwarf’s very core, sounding halfway between a growl and a groan. Then he and Eldarin stood silently for a few moments, while Gildor and Inglor tried to work quietly at the opposite end of the room.

“So be it.” That was all Jokim bothered to say as he made tracks for the forge entrance. Eldarin smiled at the back of the departing dwarf’s head. Like all of the Naugrim, Jokim made for a powerful friend and a terrifying foe. But which one was he to Haluin now?


----------



## chrysophalax (Apr 10, 2009)

A day later and...rain. Of course it would be rain! All the while they had tarried in Imladris, the sun had shone brightly despite the autumn chill. Now, nothing but steady, penetrating, irritating rain and Haluin was sick of it.

Glaring up at the steel grey sky, he wrapped his cloak tighter, grumbling. "Come, Master Dwarf. Now is not the time to sit at your ease! All you will find is a shrivelled husk if this continues!"

Haluin had never liked rain. It inevitably ruined good boots, made his hair tangle and, in general, put in him in a very bad mood. Having found a small hillock topped by several old oaks that still had a fair amount of foilage clinging tenaciously to their limbs, he had settled himself at the base of the largest and prepared himself to wait. There was no doubt in his mind that the dwarves would pass this way, as the hillock overlooked the main road heading west out of the vale and into the Wild. Indeed, not long after deciding on this spot, he had observed three rangers riding westward at an easy pace. They had given him no notice, so he felt confident he would remain undisturbed until his friends arrived.

As the sun began to set on his first full day of exile, he tugged on the new braids he now sported, one hanging from each temple and wound tightly with white leather. He hated them. 

_White against black. No one who has any knowledge of our plaits could miss the meaning...or the intended target._ He longed to take out his knife and hack them out, but his sense of justice would not allow it. He had violated his king's edict and he had paid. 

Had Haluin been an elf of typical habits, his sentence might have led to suicide, for most of his kind despised solitude, but he had always been different, preferring to choose his own companions where and when he would. Even now, even though the new braids irked him, it was more for aesthetic reasons than anything else. White was too stark, it would make hunting just that much more difficult and that bothered him.

Before his mood could shift from bad to worse, his eyes drifted down to the wonder that now graced his left forearm and an unaccustomed warmth filled his chest. _How can I ever repay Eldarin's generosity? Especially when to be in his presence would mean a death sentance for him as well?_

The black metal beneath his fingers felt soft to the touch and he pictured the smith labouring tirelessly, beating and tapping the metal, coaxing it with subtle magick until at last he had acheived his goal. 

Haluin let his head fall back against the tree trunk as he stared out over the trees at the now fading sunset. Despite all the jibes Jokim had flung his way, Haluin was not normally given to dark thoughts, preferring rather to face the world with sardonic humour as his armour fo choice. Now however, he felt his armour slipping. So much, _too_ much had happened in so short a span of time. Was this what it must be like for those with mortal life spans...to be forced to compensate and adapt and not have decades or centuries in which to turn each action over in one's mind at one's leisure? Why were they not all mad?

Unwanted regret clawed at him, gnawing hungrily and there was no escape. Clutching the pommel of his sword like a lifeline, he began to breathe deep, one breath at a time, letting the forest and its scents fill his lungs and his soul. He must not surrender, not when there was a chance that his friends still needed him and if they did, they would need him sane, not driven mad by the past.

With that thought in mind, Haluin watched as each star emerged to shine brightly against the deepest of blues, greeting them as the old friends they were, glad that they at least would never reject him.


----------



## Ghorim (Apr 18, 2009)

“Well?”

The ropes dangled from a sturdy tree branch high overhead, swaying idly in the breeze. And there below stood Jokim, tensed in an anxious crouch. He waited for Lindir, who sat on a nearby bench with a pile of parchments in his lap.

“Well?”

The Elf glanced up from a half-jotted note. 

“Begin.”

The dwarf leapt at his rope as if it had insulted his family. He clasped it firmly, and with a series of harsh lunges set to pulling himself up its length hand over hand. This was the sixth such physical test the healers had put him through that day, with afternoon now bleeding into evening.

Each exercise, in Jokim’s eyes, had grown more ridiculous than the last. But the tasks were made tolerable by the presence of Druri. In a show of solidarity with his uncle, the lad had joined in every drill. The both of them being dwarves, a friendly rivalry had naturally sprung up between uncle and nephew. Jokim had tried to handicap himself a bit each time (one-armed pushups, head starts for Druri on the races), but the lad hadn’t bested him yet.

The ropes proved no different. Druri struggled to find his form, and shuddered up his rope in fits and starts. By the time he hit the midway point, Jokim had already conquered his rope, and pulled himself atop the tree branch from which it hung. He sat there, arms crossed, feet dangling, an impatient eye cast down on his nephew.

“Come, lad! You can make it the rest of the way.”

Druri gave an exhausted wriggle, but only seemed to slip further down the rope. “But...”

“None of that!” Jokim slapped the tree branch a few times, the force of which gave Druri’s rope a vigorous shake. “Show some of that strength you had up in the Misties.”

The lad bit his lip, but then took in a thick gust of air to steel himself for a desperate ascent. 

“A little bit at a time!” called Jokim from above. “Take it inch by inch.”

Somehow, those words made everything seem possible. “One inch...” Druri slithered up the rope’s coils. “One more inch...” Up and up. Suddenly, the branch above seemed within reach. But Druri could feel his body starting to fail him.

His uncle was clapping him on, very close by now. “One last reach and you’ll have it.”

Druri coughed, and clung to the rope in the name of life. Below, Lindir was on his feet and staring at the scene overhead.

“If... if I reach... I’ll fall!” Druri’s eyes were shut tight, so Jokim could not see the fear in them. When he opened them again, he saw his uncle’s broad hand, hanging down to just in front of his face. He glanced up, to see his uncle frowning with scarcely concealed disappointment. 

Druri cringed... looked to the hand again... and then made a desperate lunge for the top of the rope instead. He slipped. But that rough hand was there to grab and hold him upright, with his legs still wrapped tight around the rope.

Jokim was smiling. “Better.”

---

Once the dwarves were both back safely on the ground, Jokim approached Lindir. “Have you any more hoops for us to tumble through? Or are you finally convinced that I am fit to make it the rest of the way west?”

Lindir made no attempt to respond, and instead took out a small wooden rod that he waved in front of Jokim’s face. “Follow this with your eyes.”

Grumbling, the dwarf obliged. The healer watched mutely, before making another note on his parchment. “No dizziness?”

“None.”

“Stomach pains?”

“None.”

“Hairiness of the chin?”

“None... what?”

Lindir laughed and set his quill down. “Then I believe we are both rid of each other, Master Dwarf.”

Jokim smacked the Elf on the shoulder, a traditional dwarvish gesture of congratulations. But the force of the blow sent Lindir’s quill squiggling all over the page, rendering much of his notes illegible. Lindir was about to send a tirade crashing down on Jokim’s head, but a shadow suddenly fell over them both.

“I’m afraid Sir Jokim has one more test to pass.” They turned, and there stood Eldarin, a long sack tucked under his right arm. With typical flair, he set the package down upon the ground and unrolled it. Inside, a gleaming new blade shone atop Jokim’s axe handle like a winter star. 

Druri gasped and rushed over, but Eldarin held up a hand. “Now, now! You’ll receive your gift in time, young Druri. Your uncle has first rights to this weapon.”

Jokim stumped over slowly, looking down his nose at the axe with great skepticism. He expected the blade to be covered with Elvish runes and frilly carvings of vines and leaves and such. Yet each half-moon blade stood completely unadorned. Eldarin had barely altered the design of Jokim’s original weapon, in fact, save for some triangular holes cut through the steel.

“Well! I see you stuck close to dwarvish engineering. Very wise.” Jokim knelt to gaze closer at the Elf’s handiwork. Then he gripped the handle and took up the weapon. Immediately, he noticed how much lighter it felt. 

He looked to Eldarin with a scowl. “Is this the same handle?”

The smith bowed his head. “Examine for yourself.”

Jokim looked, and saw the wooden handle still had all of the familiar pockmarks its surface. “What material did you use for the blade, then?”

“I must keep my trade secrets, Master Dwarf...”

“Hmmph... well... will it still hold up in combat?”

“There is only one way to find out...” Eldarin strolled over to a nearby tree, where he had propped up a wooden staff before he presented himself to the others. He took it up, spinning the weapon with casual ease, before pointing it straight at Jokim. “I challenge you, Sir Jokim.”

“Ho ho!” Jokim tilted his head back and snorted. “Then lead the way, Elf. I’ll gladly break in this new blade on that toothpick of yours.”

Eldarin laughed, bowed, and then turned about on his heels. “The training fields are this way...”


----------



## Ghorim (Apr 18, 2009)

Halfway up to the training grounds, Jokim felt a light tap on his head. He gazed up, and blinked as he caught a raindrop in the eye. The overcast skies had threatened to leak all day, and now they were finally making their move.

By the time he and Eldarin took up their positions on the field, facing one another at ten paces apart, a full downpour had commenced. 

Off near the treeline, Druri had an Elvish cloak stretched over his head for cover, surrounded on both sides by several curious onlookers. They were mostly adolescent Elves, whispering amongst themselves in their native tongue. The meek dwarf in their midst strained his ears for a familiar word, but heard none.

On the field, Eldarin took a stride forward. “You shall stay on the defensive, then?”

Jokim lowered himself into a taut crouch. “I would not wish to lop off the hand of a smith with his own blade. A defensive exercise shall test the weapon well enough.”

“You are too courteous...”

“Begin, then. When you are ready...”

Eldarin eased back into his traditional stance, his right hand inching up the body of the staff. He began to circle Jokim, trying to get a good look at the dwarf’s stance before he leapt in. It was tight, compact, inscrutable... rather dwarvish, in its own way. How could Eldarin find his way in? Well, it would take more than a polite request...

The Elf’s feet took flight in a sudden whir, and his staff dipped for a strike aimed at Jokim’s shoulder. But out flashed the axe blade, fending the blow back from whence it came. Eldarin withdrew, but saw Jokim pursuing, a statue sprung to life. 

He tried to force the dwarf back with an off-balance blow. But Jokim’s axe was there again, snaring the staff and twisting it down into the ground. The dwarf’s left palm shot out, catching Eldarin flush in the gut. Back stumbled the Elf, gasping for breath.

“I thought you had agreed not to attack...” Eldarin rubbed the sore spot with a grimace.

“Not with my axe.” Jokim pushed a stray lock of hair from his eyes. “But if you continue to leave such openings, I shall take them every time. Now come. No children’s games. You are capable of more.”

Eldarin chuckled and spun his staff about, flicking rainwater through the air. “Well! Let us see if you are right...”

The next time the Elf attacked, he did not relent. His staff probed at every angle of Jokim’s defensive front. Yet with every strike, the dwarf’s axe was there to meet the challenge. Though not as nimble as his opponent, Jokim did not waste a single movement. His sheer efficiency allowed him to keep pace.

But Eldarin still had speed and reach on his side. Jokim tried to close the distance again, hoping to clog up the Elf’s attacking lanes. Instead, Eldarin whirled back and around like a shadow in the rain, untouchable. When the dwarf gave chase now, a hail of quick blows mocked his efforts. And when he fell back, Eldarin could pick at him from afar. 

Sensing an advantage, Eldarin pressed his luck with a daring leap straight at Jokim. But just before the Elf struck, he saw the dwarf’s axe twist slightly and slash upward. By the time Eldarin’s feet touched ground again, he found that not only had he failed to strike his foe, but his staff was now four inches shorter than it had been before.

Eldarin looked at the severed tip of his weapon lying in the grass, then up to Jokim. The dwarf gazed back coldly. In a sudden fit of anger, Eldarin swung straight for his opponent’s skull. Jokim deflected the blow, but stumbled slightly at its force. Before he could regain his footing, one of Eldarin’s lanky legs shot out in a fierce sweep. 

Down went Jokim, flinching as he hit the wet ground. When his eyes opened a half-moment later, he saw the sawed-off end of Eldarin’s staff hovering directly above his head. 

“Eh...” Jokim cleared his throat, sitting up slowly. “We’ll call it a draw, then.”

“Do not flatter yourself!” Eldarin laughed, and reached down to help the dwarf back up. 

Within an instant, the crowd had surrounded them, hurling questions and congratulations. Druri came last, head dipped slightly. Jokim elbowed past the Elves and sought out his nephew.

Druri glanced up through the pelting raindrops. “Sorry you lost...”

“Now, now...” Jokim patted the lad on the shoulder. “There’s no shame in an honest defeat.” He looked to Eldarin, who was practically being borne off by his admirers. “Especially to a worthy adversary...”

---

The next morning at the breakfast table, Jokim’s axe sat propped up against his chair. Eldarin had not asked for his thoughts on the new blade, nor had the dwarf volunteered an opinion. But seeing the weapon as it sat there, ignored and familiar, was answer enough to the smith. 

Outside, it still poured. The leaves shuddered with each blow from the thick raindrops. Rivulets trickled down the window. 

Inside, the meal was through. Jokim leaned on the table, staring at the flowery painting on the far wall. Druri sheathed and unsheathed his new dagger again and again, staring at Eldarin’s elaborate craftsmanship. 

Eldarin smiled, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “Well... here we are, your day of departure! And I had thought you would be prancing about the halls when this hour came, Master Jokim.”

“Prancing!” Jokim snorted and shoved back his chair, taking up his axe in a smooth motion. 

“Has the rain affected your mood?” Eldarin was only now beginning to realize how much fun he could have by needling a dwarf as self-serious as Jokim.

“I do not look forward to hunting down Haluin in such a mess.” Jokim had moved to his traveling pack, checking to ensure everything he needed was stuffed away inside. 

“And who says you will have to hunt him down?” Eldarin hovered over him, leaning in with a curious expression. “You seem to think he has fled halfway to the sea by now. But why would he desert a friend without farewell?”

“He is sulking again...” Jokim muttered, yanking the pack back over his shoulders. “And I fear that if he does not wish to be found, I shall not find him.”

“Well... you know what they say...” Eldarin doubled back to the table to gather the plates. “There is only one way for a dwarf to track down an Elf...”

“What’s that?”

“... Hire another Elf to do the tracking.”

The dwarf sighed and shook his head. “What... is that an offer?”

“If you take it that way...”

Druri glanced hurriedly between his uncle and Eldarin, and then stepped between them in a brave display. “We should take Eldarin along, uncle. I think he will prove quite useful.”

“Hmm...” Jokim gave Druri a probing stare. “Well, do not forget Elrond’s decree, unless Haluin lied about that part, too: any Elf who provides him aid...”

“I do not see how my leading you to Haluin aids him in any way.” Eldarin chuckled. “It seems you are more likely to throttle him than anything else!”

“He might deserve it...”

“Uncle!” Druri stamped a foot.

“Fine, fine... Eldarin! You have officially joined this little circus of ours.”

“It is an honor...” Eldarin gave a deep bow and a flash of his eyes. But Jokim strode past, already planning his escape from the valley. Glancing up and after the old warrior, Eldarin then turned back to Druri and gave a smile. It was returned in full measure. The lad gave him another dwarvish slap to the back as they followed Jokim out.

---

The farewells were brief. Jokim and Druri presented themselves to Elrond one last time, with bows and thanks for the healing hospitality.

“Our folk do not forget our debts,” Jokim said.

“Indeed!” chirped Druri. “If ever you are in need, Lord Elrond, do not hesitate to call for us.”

The Elf Lord’s laugh filled his study. “Then I shall not forget your name, Druri, son of Dwoin.”

Druri beamed, rather pleased with himself. As if that weren’t enough, a few minutes later, Avenhel was giving him a kiss upon the forehead. 

“Behave yourself.” She said nothing more and turned, walking back up the winding stairs to the entrance of the Last Homely House. Lindir stood there, waiting for her in the biting rain. Druri frowned as he watched them enter together, without a second glance cast toward the departing travelers.

“Druri!” That was his uncle’s harsh voice calling behind him. The lad looked over the forested lands one last time... tall trees that he could not name swaying in the wind as thunder rolled... and then he scurried down the path to where Jokim and Eldarin stood waiting. 

Together, they went looking for their missing companion.


----------



## chrysophalax (Apr 19, 2009)

Two days later found the trio still searching the Road and nearby environs for signs of the errant elf. Jokim's self-restraint was beginning to fray at the edges, while Eldarin had to admit to a growing sense of admiration for the fugitive. By no means unskilled in woodcraft, Eldarin called upon every trick he knew, but apparently, Haluin was reluctant to be found.

Not that he could be blamed, really. The close proximity of Imladris made him understandably nervous, yet he dare not stray too far, for fear of missing Jokim and Druri when they passed along the Road. Therefore, he had taken, as was his wont, to the trees and for going on three days now, there he had remained.

Impatience combined with a lack of activity however, proved to be his downfall. In the early morning of the third day, he carefully climbed down from his perch atop a tall oak, stretched, then after a meagre breakfast of dried apples and nuts, he decided on a little sword practise.

Haluin, an expert archer his entire life, nevertheless was more than competent with a sword. He smiled in remembrance as he moved through a series of stances, at a time soon after he had begun travelling with Hengist. The warrior from Rohan had challenged Haluin, after finishing off an entire wineskin by himself, to a contest with swords to first blood, having stated rather loudly to all and sundry that no archer could ever best him, elf or no.

Gladly the elf accepted and proceeded to tutor his friend in the not-so-subtle art of assumption. Granted, he had gone easy on him, as the man was drunk, but they had both ended up giving each other a nice set of scars and a large dose of mutual respect.

Now, he grasped his new sword effortlessly as he thrust it with killing force into an imagined enemy, left-handed. Eldarin's craftsmanship was impeccable. The dark sword sang a savage song as it clove the air, seeming to foresee Haluin's movements. Suddenly, he began to grin, then to laugh at the thought running through his head. _It moves as though it were made for me!_ So engrossed was he in his swordplay that the sudden snap of twigs behind him brought his mirth to an abrupt end. He whirled, bringing his sword up.

"Thought you'd out-smarted us, eh? Unlikely, since you'd need sense for that!" 

Haluin smiled brilliantly at Jokim, who stood now before him, arms crossed over his chest, his face a portrait of annoyance personified. The entire effect was ruined seconds later, however, as Druri came pelting up the hill behind Jokim, rushed past him and threw his arms around Haluin's waist, effectively driving the air from the elf's lungs with a _whoosh._

Once he found his breath, Haluin set the sword aside, laughing and gave the youngling a warm embrace in return. "I'm very glad to see you again as well, young Druri!" He knelt, gripping the dwarf by the shoulders to gaze at him searchingly. "I see that your beard has filled out and you're nearly your uncle's height now. Is it the elvish cooking, do you think?" he asked as he looked over Druri's head to wink at Jokim, who was having none of it.

"You lie to us, then leave without us? Explain yourself, elf."

The smile faded from his face as Haluin got to his feet. Since crossing the Bruinen, he had dreaded explaining his actions. He doubted seriously they would understand.

"It was not for your sake that I left without telling you...not entirely. I feared that you would push to leave before you were completely healed." That earned him a glower and he cleared his rapidly drying throat. "Foolish, I grant you. You would never put the youngling at risk, not even to pin my ears back. Forgive me." That said, he began to relax slightly. "Nay, in truth, I left without letting you know for..."

Like a shadow, Eldarin drifted into sight and his voice faded to a whisper. "...Eldarin's sake." In a flash, his face changed as he glared at the new arrival coldly. Druri's face paled, confused and he started back before Haluin's anger, even as Jokim turned swiftly to face Eldarin. 

Eldarin froze, stunned by Haluin's reaction and he looked uncertainly from Jokim to Druri before stepping forward to greet Haluin, who flung up his hand to stay him. "Why are you here?" he hissed, then turned his glare on Jokim. "Why did you bring him? You _know_ he can be slain now, for aiding me! Am I now to be responsible for another death?"

"Haluin, relax! He offered to guide us to you, nothing more. He's not aiding you by doing that." Jokim said as calmly as his startlement allowed. In all the time he had know the elf, he had never had that raging anger directed at him and he found it more than a little intimidating, though he refused, of course, to show it. Druri, meanwhile, stood firm next to Eldarin, eyes wide and with a slight tremble in his legs.

"Jokim has the right of it, Haluin." said Eldarin soothingly. "He reminded me of Lord Elrond's edict and I offered to track you down." He squared his shoulders, then continued. "Your actions were callous regarding your friends. I had not thought you capable of such..."

"I fully intended to wait for them, smith! Why else would I be here, lurking among the trees like a thief? I would never abandon them!" he said fiercely, stabbing a finger in their direction. As Haluin continued his tirade, Jokim motioned to Druri and they edged away from the tree under which they now stood, making as little noise as possible, until they were just out of sight, but not, unfortunately, out of ear-shot.

"Durin's Beard, uncle! Does he do that often? Listen to him!" Druri asked unsteadily, shaken by the change in the normally friendly elf. "Nay, Druri, I'd rather not." he said, wincing at the string of invectives being hurled not far away. "Let them work it out. Elves are odd creatures at the best of times, but when things go awry between them, it's best to be elsewhere!"

************************

"...and did it ever occur to you that I thought you might have been worth the risk?" Eldarin snarled at Haluin finally. Both elves stood glaring, fists clenched in a desperate effort to gain control...and failing miserably. "I told you before you left, when I gifted you with sword and hand, that I admired your courage and that I valued your friendship. So yes, curse you! I have made my decision. I intend to help the dwarves, to help _all_ of you! Will you now make a mockery of me for it?"

Haluin couldn't remember ever being so angry, or so conflicted. For his sake, Eldarin had chosen exile and now faced death. He could almost picture Neniel's delicate features laughing aloud at his plight, at the irony of it all. Swallowing hard, he turned away, unable to look at Eldarin any longer. "I cannot stop you, but this is never what I wanted. I, too, value your friendship and I am already so far in your debt that I can never repay you."

Taking the pause in Haluin's speech as a sign that he might soon accept Eldarin's presence, the smith took a deep breath, exhaling slowly in order to steady himself. "I ask for no repayment, _mellon._ I think I know you better than you know yourself, Haluin. What will you do after you have seen the dwarves to Ered Luin? Wander alone until you eventually fade from boredom? Maglor, you're not, despite all that has happened to you. That is why I am determined to accompany you. One thing I have never been called is boring!"

In spite of himself, Eldarin's words made him chuckle and his shoulders began to shake with mirth. Mistaking this for sorrow, Eldarin stepped forward swiftly, tripped on a root hidden beneath a small pile of leaves, then fell heavily against Haluin so that they landed side by side on the ground.

Moments later, Jokim rolled his eyes as the sound of uncontrollable laughter came rippling down the hillside. "_Silent as an elf._ Right. Druri, we maybe in more danger now, with two elves, than we ever thought possible with one." Druri smiled hugely as they started back up the hill to re-join the elves. "At least we won't need worry about entertainment, uncle!"


----------



## Ghorim (Apr 28, 2009)

The rain came and went that day, lashing out in spurts as gray clouds blotted out the sky. But no downpour could dampen Druri’s spirits. He marched right at the front of the procession, as if this were his band to lead west. 

Druri could not have predicted that Eldarin would join their adventure, but something felt so irresistibly _right_ about the Elf's arrival. Now they were four, and what beast or force of weather could defeat them? Three fearsome warriors at his back, and Druri with his new dagger. Together they would conquer every hill and dell between here and the mountains.

The sights they would see! The stories he would tell his new friends in the Blue Mountains!

Clearly amused and feeding off of his youthful abandon, the Elves followed close behind, occasionally correcting Druri when he steered them off course. And last of all followed Jokim, with a stormy countenance to match the tempests overhead. The others seemed to conveniently overlook his mood, and traded songs and riddles as the day’s uphill march carried on.

Then night swept in, with a sudden leap from light to darkness. A stiff autumn chill descended, with shades of oncoming winter. But the rain did not turn to sleet, and that was enough.

Eldarin stopped the march, glancing up to the stream of raindrops that filtered through the thick boughs overhead. “Let us see what sort of fire we can raise amidst this gloom.”

Jokim clicked his tongue sharply. “Druri! Are you up to the task?”

“Ha! Fetch me my kindling and you shall see.” Perhaps the thrill of the road had gone to the lad’s head. Jokim gave him a glare that promised grand suffering and torment. The lad swallowed his bluster with a thick gulp. “... If you please, sir.”

“With pleasure, master firestarter.” Jokim gave a stately bow.

The Elves both burst out laughing at the same time, and it was all Jokim could do to ignore them. They were going to be impossible like this, in each other’s company... nattering along like little children. But Jokim would still have something to say on that matter...

---

Druri struggled with the tinder that evening. At every sign of progress, a new waterfall seemed to drop from the heavens to douse his efforts. The others crowded around him, and at Jokim’s silent order did nothing to assist him. Druri had to learn.

The frustration mounted, despite the lad’s best efforts to hide it. When Druri slammed his tinderbox down upon the ground, Haluin gave the lad’s uncle a pleading look. Jokim nodded, and in stepped the Elf to provide his assistance. Working together, the Elf and young dwarf fostered a modest blaze, sheltered from above by a sturdy pair of trees. And finally, the group settled down against those thick trunks in preparation for a night’s rest. Druri did not last long, with all of his energy spent on the day’s toils. 

Haluin, meanwhile, grew restless, and offered to scout the path ahead. He slipped off into shadow, leaving Jokim and Eldarin to stare at each other from opposite ends of the fire. 

The dwarf eased back against the wet bark that would serve as his bed for the night. And yet his expression did not relax in the least. It held on Eldarin... measuring him, questioning him... while the reflection of the flames danced over Jokim’s eyes. Eldarin feigned a fascination with the campfire, but found the dwarf’s persistent scrutiny impossible to ignore.

“What are you doing out here, Eldarin?” Finally Jokim spoke, and at first Eldarin mistook it for a rumble of thunder.

“What am I doing?” Eldarin looked up from stirring the blaze. “Well... I am enjoying a scenic stroll to the west.”

Jokim leaned forward. He said nothing. 

The rain, the fire, Druri’s breathing... all of these sounds suddenly became heightened to Eldarin. “Have I... not answered to your satisfaction?” He offered a smile as a token of goodwill.

“Try again.”

The Elf leaned forward. He would meet the dwarf on his own terms, then. “I am here to help you and your nephew reach your destination.”

“We do not need you.”

Eldarin laughed, but this time it was only to stall. “You are so certain? I do not doubt your abilities, or Haluin’s, or even young Druri’s, but danger is always...”

“Eldarin. You agreed to take us only so far as Haluin. Nothing more.” Jokim did not wish to stir Druri, and so his volume did not rise by so much as a hair. But the intensity behind his words burned white-hot. At that moment, Eldarin abandoned all thoughts of rest.

“Haluin and I have already had this discussion, Master Jokim.”

“And it appears you have convinced him. Convince me, then.”

“Somehow, I imagine accomplishing one is not the same as accomplishing the other...”

“You do not owe us a thing, Eldarin. Know that first. My axe, Druri’s blade, Haluin’s arm... and his confidence. Our debt to you is beyond measure.”

“Just so you are aware, this is how my and Haluin’s conversation began.” Though it did not seem proper, a mirthful look danced over Eldarin’s face. He could not hope to control it. As with Haluin, humor was like an extra limb to him.

“And what did you say?” Jokim slid forward again, almost to the fire’s edge.

“I owe him more than objects... than metal. I owe him the debts of friendship. The road he must walk... none should travel alone.”

“You speak of debts.” Jokim’s right hand came up, brandishing an angry finger like a sword. “But what of your oath to your Lord Elrond? Your duty to the realm that bore and raised you? Your hammer, your sword... you shall deprive them of both?”

Eldarin shook his head. “You overestimate my value...”

“You wear this humbleness like a mask. You have weakened Rivendell with this rash decision of yours, Eldarin. What will you do, should war come? You will not be able to fight alongside your brothers and sisters, for they will have disowned you.”

“Say what you will of this choice I have made...” Eldarin mustered his strength, which had burned cool unto now. “But do not call it rash. I have considered all of these things you speak of. The cost...”

“An eternity of costs, Eldarin. Could you have fully considered those in one day?”

“Do not lecture me, dwarf.” Finally, here came the Elf’s fire, bursting forth in a fierce plume. “Eternity! What do you know of it? You will be returned to the earth ere long. Who defends Haluin then? He will wither without company. Fellowship... laughter... these things sustain him! Someone must provide them... someone...”

Eldarin’s words fell short, but this time Jokim made no effort to cut into the silence that followed. The dwarf eased back once again into the grooves of the great tree. Stonefaced, he watched Eldarin struggle with his emotions for a couple of moments. The Elf eventually regained control, and looked up. Their gazes met again.

Jokim cleared his throat. “I remember this very well... when Haluin reappeared outside of Mirkwood. I did not want him along. But then he told me of his crime. Never in our past years together had he made any mention of it. And I saw then how alone he was... his every fear laid bare at my feet.” 

The dwarf paused to stroke his beard. Eldarin leaned forward slightly, sensing the air between him and Jokim had eased somewhat. “So you took him.”

“I took him,” Jokim nodded. “But I wanted to find him a home. That is what I said to him: ‘There must yet be a place for you in this world,’ I said. ‘If there is one for me, then there must be one for you.’”

Eldarin smiled. “So when you spoke with Lord Elrond...”

“I asked him not only to spare Haluin’s life... but to adopt him, as well.” Jokim snorted and waved his hand as if to sweep that fantasy aside. “Obviously, my words were not heeded. So now he is left without a land to call home... permanently. And you have chosen to suffer the same fate. That is what I do not understand, Eldarin. One must always have some place he can call home, or else...”

“No.”

“No?” Jokim arched a brow.

“You are wrong.” The idea was beginning to form in Eldarin’s head as he spoke these words, and soon it struck him so hard that he simply had to spring to his feet. “It is not the _places_ we call home. It is the people.”

“You are hiding behind pretty words, Elf.”

“No. No I am not. Hear me. What was it you said at our picnic by the pond in Imladris? That Erebor was home to you no longer... that it was lost and bespoiled...”

“Indeed.”

“Nothing more than a pile of rocks to you now. It was not the mountain that made it your home. It was your friends, your family. Druri.” Eldarin motioned to the lad, who had curled up beside his uncle in slumber. “Soon you shall call the Ered Luin home. But what does it matter? Wherever Druri goes... that shall be home to you, always.”

Jokim’s jaw had dropped slightly and his eyes narrowed as he considered these words. “I... cannot fault that reasoning.”

Eldarin smiled with a warmth to match the fire, and sat back down again. “So it must be with Haluin and me. A home... to each other.”

All of this sentimentality had made Jokim uncomfortable, and so he tried to make his next words as terse as possible. “Well... so be it, then. I cannot endorse your decision fully, but I suppose I will allow you to accompany us.”

From the din of raindrops, a sharp clapping sound emerged. Both Jokim and Eldarin glanced up, with hands on their weapons. And from the shadows appeared Haluin, clapping his hands together in mock congratulations.

“What wise fellows I have for traveling companions.” He sat down between them, as both shifted nervously at Haluin’s appearance. Neither could guess at how long he had been listening.

“Well... harruuuumph...” Jokim gave a loud rumble of phlegm. “I should turn in.”

“And perhaps I’ll have a look for some dry kindling,” Eldarin muttered.

And yet, before they could turn away from him, Haluin managed to offer each a look of quiet gratitude. 

Who would not count him among the blessed now?


----------



## chrysophalax (May 3, 2009)

Early the next morning, Jokim woke to the whispered mutterings of the elves as they prepared breakfast over a cheerfully burning fire.

"Durin's Beard, can they _never_ shut up? Their constant nattering's going to drive me mad!" he grumbled as he scratched his beard, then stretched, his back making a satifying cracking sound as he did so. "Ah, much better!"

"If our "nattering" bothers you so, master dwarf, perhaps I can fashion you some earmuffs." said Haluin as Jokim approached them. The look he received was far from pleased. Smiling broadly, the elf handed him a steaming bowl of rabbit stew and a hunk of bread from the packs the cook had filled for Eldarin before they departed Imladris.

"mmf...so, what is so important at this early hour, Haluin?" Jokim asked around his bread. Eldarin shot his friend a quick look and Haluin merely shrugged in answer. "Haluin has no knowledge of the Great Road in this part of the world, so he has asked that I lead us the rest of the way to the Ered Luin."

Jokim glanced from one to the other as he swallowed. "So? This we knew already. Is it a problem?"

"Not exactly, merely a difference of opinion. From what I know of you, I would think the direct route would be the most appropriate, while Haluin prefers a more circuitous one. He seems to think that Druri might like to see something of Eriador before we reach your new home."

Haluin had been chewing thoughfully on a crust of bread as Eldarin explained, his eyes watching for Jokim's reaction. Truth be told, he wanted the dwarf to choose the longer route, as he was loath to part from them before he had to. Also, he knew that Eldarin would be able to share much of Eriador's history with the young dwarf. Druri had shown a certain fascination for new experiences and Haluin felt he could only benefit from the additional knowledge. The fact that Haluin was being just a bit selfish was beside the point.

A huge sneeze, followed by an enormous yawn broke the moment's silence and Haluin chuckled. "We should be glad we're not still on the Redhorn, or we'd have more than one warg circling us now!"

"I heard that, Haluin!" called Druri as he hauled his boots on before joining them by the fire. He sniffed appreciatively. "Is that rabbit?" "Elbereth, are you certain he's a dwarf and not a hobbit, Jokim?" laughed Haluin. "He eats enough for one!"

The elves grinned as they watched Druri wolf down two consecutive portions of stew and even Jokim rumbled humourously at the sight. Both Haluin and Jokim knew just how close they had been to death mere weeks before and were now able to take pleasure in each other's company, if only for a short time.

"What were you talking about before I woke up?" asked Druri curiously. Jokim shot Haluin a piercing glance before answering. He knew exactly what the elf was thinking...and why.

"Eldarin was just telling me that there's many a good story to be had about some of the places in this part of the world. So, if you want to put up with an unending string of long-winded stories and walk who knows _how_ many extra miles to see decrepit walls and tumbledown citadels from here to the mountains, on your head be it!" He gave the ghost of a wink to Haluin as Druri's mouth fell open.

Both elves threw their hands up, shielding their faces in mock disgust. "Valar, Druri! Swallow first!" cried Haluin as Druri hurriedly dragged a sleeve across his mouth. "Do you mean it?! Stories about heroes and battles and...and those little people, uh, hobbits? Uncle, can we?"

The wicked smile on Haluin's face almost earned him a broken jaw, but Jokim's heart just wasn't in it. The look on Druri's face was priceless and Jokim could no more have denied him than he could have flown.

Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest and fixed Druri with a stern glare. "I'll agree to it, but only because I know we'll reach our new home before the snow flies. I've no desire to be caught out in the open, waist deep it, is that clear?" Both elves nodded solemnly, glad that Jokim had fallen in with Haluin's plan.

"Excellent!" said Eldarin as he rose smoothly to his feet."I propose that we head for the bridge over the Mitheithel and from thence depart slightly from the Road to the north where we will encounter the Weather Hills. The only thing we must be wary of as we near the hills are the Rangers. They are great allies of Lord Elrond and, while I would never believe any evil of them, we must be wary for Haluin's sake."

This instantly sobered the elf. He stood up from his seat on a fallen log and set about clearing up the campsite without another word. Jokim cleared his throat, but Eldarin shook his head sharply. _Leave him._

"Druri, get your pack in order, lad. We'll be off shortly." The youngster hesitated just a moment, then replied. "Aye, uncle. And look, the sun's up and no clouds!" His uncle gave him a sharp clap on the shoulder as he hurried off to re-stuff his pack.

As he turned to speak to Eldarin, Jokim saw the elf's brows furrow worriedly. "What is it?" 

"Is he always...?"

"Stubborn? Annoying? Emotional? Irritating?"

Eldarin looked at Jokim askance. "I was going to say sensitive...but yes."

"Always. I wish you much joy." As Eldarin's eyebrow rose, Jokim turned away and began whistling merrily. This might be amusing after all!


----------



## Ghorim (May 20, 2009)

Later that day, the trees parted. 

The whole of the western plains spread out before them, with hills like the backs of slumbering beasts jutting from the earth. Jokim seemed to exhale a knot of tension from his lungs as they left the forested lands at long last. Now he could see full well in every direction, and that was no small comfort.

The rise upon which they stood spilled down to the shores of the Mitheithel below, and there awaited the Last Bridge. Eldarin stopped them halfway across to provide Druri a short lecture on the structure’s history.

“Go ahead,” he said to Druri, placing the lad’s hand upon the worn stone siding. “Touch it. It is old, but good craftsmanship survives the ages.”

Druri beamed, and his glow found a reflection on his uncle’s face. 

Once they had crossed and crested the first great hill on the other side of the river, Druri insisted on tumbling down its side. Jokim gave his reluctant approval, and off Druri went, somersaulting and spilling end over end like an overgrown hedgehog. Haluin gave a whoop and followed close behind. 

“A child, as ever!” declared Jokim, shaking his head as he watched the two roll down the hillside.

Eldarin smiled, and accompanied Jokim in the long walk down. “But it is a part of us that we all should preserve, if we can.” 

“Such an Elvish thing to say...”

But Eldarin only laughed. “I would have much liked to have met you when you were Druri’s age, Jokim! I am certain you could not have been born so gruff.”

Down below, Druri and Haluin were stumbling about, dizzy from their shortcut. Jokim looked from them, up to Eldarin, and then sighed a thick breath of autumn air. The dwarf tugged at his hood, and said nothing more.

---

Within the next two days, Eldarin had pulled them from the main road to strike north for the Weather Hills. The skies had treated them kindly thus far, but now clouds began to overtake the view once more. Their leader insisted on assaulting the tallest hill of the group.

“All things for a reason,” he told the dwarves, cryptically.

Druri relished the challenge, but underestimated the difficulty of the ascent. He practically sprinted the first quarter of the way, until his young legs tired and the others passed him one at a time. Soon enough, Jokim was hauling him along by the forearm. “Why are we climbing this one?” the lad called to Eldarin between heavy gasps for air.

“You’ll see before long.”

“There’s something at the top, isn’t there?”

“Perhaps...”

What could it be? Druri strained his imagination to conjure up images of great fortresses, or a tunnel that led to a cave filled with treasures. Those visions encouraged his weary feet to keep plowing the path, and he shrugged off his uncle’s help ere long.

Once they reached the hill’s final crown after a full day’s climb, Eldarin made a grand gesture. “Behold! One of the great works of Man!”

But Druri saw nothing to warrant such excitement. A tired and broken ring of stones sat at the peak of the hill. The land was claiming the structure back, inch by inch, as grass overgrew the formation and dragged it back into the earth. 

Druri leaned forward with his hands on his knees, but kept his head held up as he tried to distinguish something remarkable amidst the ruins. “What... what do you mean?”

“Come closer and see.”

And so they all hiked into the center of the stone circle, where the stench of decay hung heavy. Jokim glanced over the masonry with a critical eye. “These stones once bore a great weight...”

“Correct.” Eldarin clapped his hands. “For here stood the Tower of Amon Sûl, and great it was, in its time.”

Druri glanced up to the sky, which was just beginning to darken for the night. He tried to envision a tower stretching like a finger to the clouds, but his imagination failed him. 

“Yes,” Haluin moved to stand beside Druri. “A great thing built by great Men, but torn apart in time by their failings.”

“It amazes me...” Eldarin said. “For I witnessed this tower’s rise and its fall in my time. You must recognize this about Men, Druri: they have but a short while to live, and yet the best among them grab that time for all its worth.”

Haluin nodded solemnly. “How they come and go...”

“So who built it?” cut in Druri. “And how did it come down?”

“Well, that is a full night’s tale,” said Eldarin. “Perhaps we’ll cook our supper for the night and I’ll tell you then?”

Druri gave an eager nod, and was soon assembling the evening’s fire. Eldarin assisted him, and was already beginning the long saga... tales of a great leader named Elendil, strange “seeing stones,” and brewing strife within the land of Arnor.

Despite his passing interest in the history behind the ancient monument, Jokim thought someone had best make use of this prime vantage point and stand watch. So he stepped outside of the stones to patrol the area. Haluin followed close behind.

“May I ask you something, dear Jokim?”

“Hmm...?” the dwarf glanced over his shoulder as the Elf caught up with him. “What?”

“How is it that whenever I try to give Druri a lesson, you stare daggers at me and interrupt whenever possible... and yet when Eldarin does the same...”

“You are forgiven.” Jokim strangely punctuated that statement with an elbow to Haluin’s ribs, but it seemed to be a dwarvish gesture of reconciliation. “Say what you will to the lad for the rest of the march. He is learning sound lessons from the both of you.”

Haluin grinned, surprised at how easy that was. Together with Jokim, he gazed west, toward their eventual destination. Only a few stars shone through the murky dusk sky. A peculiar autumn silence hung in the air, for a lack of summer’s buzzing insects or cooing birds. The land slept, and the four travelers on the hill seemed the only ones awake.

“What will you do, then, once you are among your folk again?” though he tried to hide it, the hint of envy in Haluin’s voice was all too clear.

“I should think that would be clear enough.” Jokim lifted his axe and balanced it upon his shoulders. “I shall take to my new station as best I can. Drills in the morning, drills in the afternoon, drills until nightfall...”

“Sounds perfectly suited for you.”

Jokim glanced over, attempting to see if Haluin’s tongue was indeed planted in his cheek. “The question is what _you_ will do with yourself.”

“Oh...” Haluin stretched his arms with a muffled yawn. “Much the same as before, I suppose. Roaming the lands, singing songs, righting wrongs... only now I’ll have Eldarin along to slow me down.”

“Hmmph. You make it sound like a picnic.”

“And why shouldn’t it be?”

“I need not even answer that.”

“Come, Jokim.” Haluin patted the dwarf on the shoulder. “Enough worry has been spent on my behalf these past weeks. Most of all by yourself. I shall make do as ever, old friend. And if your people do not force me away, I would be happy to visit you on occasion.”

“They _will_ allow you to visit,” Jokim said, giving Haluin quite the serious look. “I shall see to that.”

Haluin smiled and lifted his hand. “That gladdens me to hear. But let us not speak of such things just now. There are many leagues yet to travel. And besides, we’ll have company soon enough.” The Elf pointed out across the plains.

“Eh?” Jokim turned swiftly to follow the gesture. 

“See there? The dust kicked up by a horse in full gallop. A single rider. He'll see the smoke from our fire soon enough, and if he thinks it worth the climb, he'll be upon our camp by daybreak.”

“I see your dust, but I must trust your eyes for the details. Is he friend or foe?”

“That... depends.” Haluin’s face flirted with a frown before he turned to march back to the camp. 

Jokim’s gaze lingered on the distant rider before he moved to follow. He kept his axe gripped close and tight.


----------



## chrysophalax (May 20, 2009)

Soft snores from the vicinity of the campfire made Haluin grin as he approached the dark form that was Eldarin. "Finally bored him to death, _mellon_?

_"Lala-inye, toron."_ he responded acidly. The youngling hasn't our endurance. Not yet."

"Not yet, indeed. Yet if Jokim is any measure of their kind, he will become formidable. His uncle will see to that..." Haluin's voice held a tint of wistfullness as he spoke of Druri, for he knew that once they reached the Ered Luin, the young dwarf's life would become one of duty and back-breaking toil. It made him cringe inwardly and hoped that Jokim would not stifle the obvious creativity and thirst for knowledge Druri possessed in abundance.

In an attempt to throw off the ever-present cloak of darkness threatening his thoughts, Haluin crouched down next to Eldarin, deftly plucking a morsel of meat from the make-shift spit as he did so. "We are about to have a guest."

Eldarin raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Friend or foe?" he asked as his hand drifted unconsciously toward his scabbard. "An excellent question and one which I have already heard. In truth, it could be either. One of the Rangers you spoke of, perhaps. It is any case a man who, from the speed at which he is driving his poor beast, has pressing business. Mayhaps he will pass us by."

"Unlikely, if it is a Ranger. Our fire will, unfortunately, have drawn him like a moth to a flame. This is one of their most frequented places of meeting, after all."

The elves pondered briefly on this turn of events, but after repeated assurances by Eldarin that all would be well, Haluin finally unbuckled his sheath, letting it slip off his back with a sigh. Eyes sparkling with humour, he said, "Your craftsmanship is certainly not what one would call shoddy, _mellon!_ Indeed, should Ea ever stand in need of a weaponsmaker for, say... trolls? I'm certain you would be the first they would seek out!"

The elven smith chuckled softly. "A high recommendation, _toron nin._ Certain you're not having any difficulty in wielding such a grand weapon?"

"What a question! I am wounded to the heart!" exclaimed Haluin as he dramatically clutched his breast and sank to one knee. A well-timed snort from Druri in his sleep was nearly Eldarin's undoing as he tried not to burst out laughing. "Now I see what Jokim meant." he mumbled as he got to his feet, eyes streaming.

"What has that reprehensible dwarf said to you behind my back?" asked Haluin from where he now sat, cross-legged on the ground. 

"Are you always this curious?" When only a smile was forthcoming, Eldarin sighed heavily. "Very well. He wished me joy of you once we leave them to their own devices." 

After a prolonged silence, Haluin asked softly, "Do you regret your decision, Eldarin? There is still time...you can still return..." Abruptly, Haluin was hauled to his feet by the front of his tunic, Eldarin's face white with anger not two inches from his own. "Never speak to me again of my decision! If I have not given you enough reasons, then you are truly a fool and I have chosen poorly, to my ever-lasting regret!" He shoved Haluin away, then turned his back. "Leave me, Haluin. Now."

"No." The word left the elf's lips without thinking. "I am not one of your apprentices, to be ordered about at your whim. If I erred by asking you what was in my heart, forgive me, but do not order me, for I will not obey."

Eldarin's eyes narrowed. He was not accustomed to being flouted, it was true and his hands became fists as he strove for control. So, this was Haluin. Exile, malcontent, kin-slayer and Varda, help him...friend and _otorno._ Drawing in a deep breath, he turned.

"I will never ask you to obey...if you will never ask me why, again. Agreed?" Rebellion flared in Haluin's eyes for an instant, then he extended his arm to Eldarin. "Agreed." Gladly, Eldarin clasped his arm and clapped Haluin on the shoulder. "I think we understand each other, _toron_, though it was a near thing."

"Aye, Eldarin...that it was. Valar, do you realise how murderous you look when you're angered?" "So I have been told, on more than one occasion!" he replied with a wolfish smile. "Take heed, elf of the Greenwood! Eldarin of Imladris can make a fearsome foe!"

"Of that I have no doubt!" said Haluin with a slight quaver in his voice, for in truth, he would far rather lose his own life than the friendship of any of his companions.


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## Ghorim (May 28, 2009)

Jokim continued his lone vigil upon the hill. Only wind for company, and the endless space, and the faint murmurings from within the ruins behind him.

And there he was, amidst all this quiet. How strange... how strange that his life should have led him here! He tried to picture the past actions that had charted his course, but could not remember. He tried to imagine what lay in store, and yet nothing came to him. 

All that he could perceive was that moment. Then a twig snapped in the dark, and the moment was gone. 

Without thought, the dwarf dashed behind a great stone that had fallen from the former tower, now coated in moss and strangling vines. He peered after the source of the noise, which had sounded from further down the western end of the hill. How far down he could not guess... until he saw the figures. Two of them, creeping along in the night, several dozen yards distant. They hunched low as if in search of concealment. One led a horse along behind, with a hand on the beast’s muzzle.

Jokim saw them for only a few blinks of his eyes, before they disappeared behind a rise in the hill. He paused for a moment, considering his options. Alert the Elves? No... he could handle this matter on his own. Those slinking shadows did not seem hostile... not necessarily.

So the dwarf crept... practically _slid_ down the hillside, maintaining a fair distance between himself and the strangers the whole way. He managed to keep the high ground, monitoring their progress from above. All the while, Jokim remained keenly aware of each movement he made, careful not to give himself away with an idle footfall or sharp breath.

The strangers sought and found shelter in a cozy hollow, flanked by trees and rocks. 

“Here...” At the sound of that whisper, Jokim halted, settling into an uneasy crouch on a grassy overhang several feet above the two others. He dared not peek over the edge just yet. Let them get comfortable, first...

“We can settle here for tonight, my dear. But no fires.” It was a boy’s voice.

“I believe I hear a stream nearby...” A girl speaking. “How wonderful it is, just the two of us here...”

“Yes, and let us keep it that way!” The sound of a heavy load hitting the ground, and the horse whinnying softly. “There was smoke atop the hill... we must be careful tonight.”

“Of course, my love. A short rest, and then...”

“And then tomorrow we fly. Toward our future... together.”

These honey-drenched words were too much for Jokim to bear, and he edged forward to catch a glimpse of the twosome who were assaulting his ears so. They stood in the glade below, arms wrapped about each other, swaying to a tune that only they could hear. By Jokim’s reckoning, they were both in their teens, although his knowledge of Mannish years was lacking.

The boy stole a glance at the sack that lay in the grass beside their mount.

“What are you looking at, dearest?” the girl smiled up at him.

“Oh... I simply cannot wait any longer!” he broke off their embrace and ran over to the sack. “I must show you what I found for you in Bree.” And so he set to tearing through the bundle, pulling out set after set of fine clothes, decorative metalwork, and sundry other items that glittered even in the dark.

Jokim’s eyes widened, and he inched forward again to take in this peculiar bounty.

"Ah ha!" At last, the boy stood, his arms held high. From his hands dangled a golden necklace, with a jeweled pendant attached. 

She gasped at the sight. “Merrill! Wherever did you find it?”

He giggled, dancing around her in a circle as she chased after him. “It belonged to our hosts’ late daughter. The mother showed it to me one night, would you believe? Such a precious thing... And to think it was going wasted, gathering dust in a chest, when it only awaited a beauty such as yours to unlock its brilliance.”

Suddenly, he stopped evading and stepped forward. With a tender touch, he affixed the jewelry about her throat. She placed a hand to his cheek. “I am... overwhelmed...”

They embraced tightly, laughing and resuming their swaying dance through the shadows. “I always knew you were clever, my beloved...” She could barely contain her joy. “Even when you worked as our stable boy. If only my father would have...”

“Do not speak of him!” Merrill pushed her back for a moment, still clutching her shoulders. “He is far behind us now, Mirina. We shall take our spoils, and ride until the land ends. And there, at the shore, I shall build us a house, where we can spend the rest of our days in peace.”

“By the sea!” She squealed with delight. “You could fish for our meals, and I could collect the shells from the beach... how blessed we would be.”

Jokim, more than ready to shut up the two young lovers at this point, rose to his feet. “Blessed, indeed! For I have never seen a couple so young carrying riches so fine!”

The children shrieked in unison and spun to gaze overhead. They could see nothing of Jokim’s features, only a terrible, avenging shadow in the night. Their horse, lashed to a tree, tried to pull the thing out by its roots as it reared up in fright.

Merrill fumbled for the shortsword sheathed at his side, but Jokim gave a wordless roar that froze the lad dead. The dwarf leaped down from the overhang, a distance nearly twice his height. His landing was harsh, but he did not so much as pause before striding toward the trembling couple. “You will come with me.”

But the lad cracked, moving to draw his weapon again. “B-b-back, fiend!”

As soon as the sword left its sheath, Jokim’s axe swept in to knock it clear from Merrill’s grip. It tumbled into the nearby bushes, disappearing.

“Need I explain this again?” Jokim growled. 

“Perhaps if you were a bit more cordial, they would accept your invitation!” And who else would it be but Haluin, leaning against a tree not ten feet away, looking as pleased with himself as ever.

Surprising as they were, these unannounced appearances by Haluin were becoming a tad predictable for the dwarf. “Haluin. Am I to extend courtesy to petty thieves, then?”

The Elf smiled and shook his head. “I am certain our young friends have a good reason for sneaking through the night with a bulging sack full of priceless goods.” He glanced to the young couple. “And if you two would consent to having your wrists bound, we would be happy to hear your story.”

---

Jokim and Haluin led the captives back up the side of the hill. Haluin gazed west and smiled, tapping Jokim’s shoulder to stop the procession. “See our rider there? Now I believe I know why he’s in such haste.”

The dwarf looked out to note the familiar cloud of dust approaching their way. “Hmm! I see your meaning. In which case, we need only hold these two until daybreak.” He tugged at the rope that bound the youths together. Merrill and Mirina kept their heads bowed and said nothing. Their fair features were downcast and shadowed.

“Let us be gentle with them, then.” Haluin gave his friend an admonishing look, before continuing up the path toward the peak of Weathertop. 

“Gentle...” Jokim muttered, glancing back to the captives. He shook his head at them, a deep scowl furrowing his beard. “Blessed, indeed!”


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## chrysophalax (May 31, 2009)

As they trudged to the summit of the hill, Merrill brooded. Things were not going at all to plan. What had started out only the previous morning as a thrilling, romantic adventure had swiftly degenerated into a humiliating disaster.

_What am I to do?_ he wondered despondently. _Mirina's father will surely have my guts for garters if these...people turn us in and I will look like the worst sort of fool besides!_ The young man cast a forlorn gaze at the fearsome presence that marched beside him and shuddered. _What have I gotten myself into?_

Haluin, meanwhile, raced ahead to their campsite to alert Eldarin and as he reached the rocky ring in which their fire blazed merrily, he called out softly, "_Mellon!_ Jokim has brought entertainment in the form of two human youths. It appears that they are thieves and intend to use their ill-gotten gains to buy a house near the sea. Romantic, eh?"

"Touching. Human, you say?" the smith sighed gustily. "I've no idea how much experience you've had with the Secondborn, Haluin, but mine has been, shall we say...varied. I would not choose one as my dearest companion, let us say."

Haluin grinned. "Nevertheless, our stalwart dwarf is even now soldiering up the hill with them, as we yet speak. I noticed their horse, a fine animal, though badly startled when Jokim showed his grizzled face, tied to a sapling below. I am going down to soothe it and, as it was most likely stolen as well, will calm it enough to tell it go home."

A sound that imitated rather well a small landslide caused the elves to turn. It was Jokim grumbling. " 'His grizzled face' is it? I'll have you know, elf, that you're no prizewinner yourself."

With a wink and a wave of his hand, Haluin sped off down the slope to liberate the stranded horse, leaving Eldarin to sort things out. The elf gestured to the snoring Druri, then beckoned for Jokim to follow him. Rolling his eyes, the dwarf complied, then told the young lovers to move on, waving his axe for emphasis.

They were led several yards away, to a part of the ancient tower that still held a fleeting memory of its former glory. Two arches still held up the semblance of a roof and this, Eldarin thought, would make as good a shelter as any for the fugitives.

No sooner where they settled however, than the bickering began. Merrill looked askance at his hosts and nervously asked, "Who-who are you people and by what right do you detain us? My lady and I have ridden far this day. Can you not see that she is weary?"

_I_ am weary? Need I remind you Merrill, that I have been riding almost since I could walk. It was _you_ who insisted that I ride side-saddle before you." She rubbed her upper leg irritably. "Have you any idea how uncomfortable that can be?"

Stunned at how surly she had become, Merrill immediately attempted to soothe her. "Dearest, if only you had had the patience, I could have taken both horses..."

"And if _you_ had not decided, without my consent, mind, that you would steal those jewels before the entire household was properly asleep..." 

"Did you just say, without your consent?" Icy silence and harsh glares were the only means of communication the two shared for several long hours after that and by the time Haluin returned, both Jokim and Eldarin wore complacent grins as they sat near the fire awaiting his return.


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## Ghorim (Jun 8, 2009)

Every few minutes, Mirina would snap awake again. To the east, the sky would be just a bit paler. And to the west, the approaching cloud of dust would seem just a bit closer. 

Her innards would constrict, and she would curl up tighter against the crumbling stone wall, trying to dream herself some place else. Anywhere else...

She cast an angry and envious look to Merrill, who lay slumped on his side, dead to the world. How could he...? How could all of this turn so black, so quickly?

There came a quiet footfall beside her as she watched the rider’s progress toward Weathertop. Mirina turned. With her hands bound behind her, she could not wipe away the fat tear that rolled down her freckled cheek.

“Good evening.” It was the Elf... or the merrier of the two Elves, rather. He was smiling, moonlight dancing across his features. He stooped down and gently swept away the tear from her face. “I am Haluin.”

“Mirina...”

“That was a fine mount you and your friend laid hands on.” Haluin sat against the opposite wall, facing her beneath the roofed shelter. “You two have good taste, at the least.”

“My father is a stablemaster.” Mirina held her head up with a tense pride. She would not let this one see her so weakened.

“I see...” He was watching her, staring at her. Valar, make him stop! “Mirina...” He eased forward, and she recoiled against the wall. “You seem too... what is the word... _level-headed_ to get involved in such a mad business. Robbing homes? Stealing horses? How did all of this start?”

She exhaled deeply and dropped her head, dark red tresses falling over her face. Beneath that veil, she gazed over to Merrill. “He was... he has always been... in love with me.”

Haluin settled back again. “Oh?”

“He worked for my father. And every time I came in to pick up a beast, he paid me especial attention. Merrill’s family is poor, but he has the charm and manners of a nobleman.”

“Of course.” He smiled encouragingly.

“Well, soon we started spending more time together. And then my father found out.” She bit her lip. “It soon became clear to Merrill... if he wanted my hand, he would have to take me away. And so the plan came together in his head, I suppose. To elope. And make our living dishonestly... I urged him not to, but he filled my head with such pretty lies.” She looked up to the Elf, a helpless pout on her face. “I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course.” Another smile, another nod. “But how did you manage to come away with such a haul?”

“We posed as brother and sister... orphans... and a well-to-do couple in Bree took us in. After that, it was simple.” She paused. “They were so kind to us. How could we... how could Merrill...?” She lowered her head again, sobbing quietly.

“Come, come,” said Haluin warmly. “You’ve told me enough, child. Just look at you! You’re shivering. Why don’t you head back to the fire and warm yourself for the rest of the night.”

“Is it long until dawn...?”

“Long enough. Go on, now.”

She bowed her head in gratitude, and then stood to creep over to the camp where the others rested. 

Haluin watched her go until she settled down near the campfire. Then he turned to shake Merrill awake.

“Eh...?”

“I’m inviting you over to share our fire, young Merrill.”

“Oh, I see...” A yawn. “Well, that will do nicely. Thank you.”

“But first, a word in private...”

“Why, what is it?”

“Well, forgive me for being so blunt, but I must say: you seem too... what is the word... _level-headed_ to get involved in such a mad business...”

---

As soon as Mirina appeared, Jokim and Eldarin made it clear that they would have nothing to do with her. So she strayed as far away from them as she could while still keeping close to the fire’s warmth. Finally, she threw herself upon the ground and fell into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

Once she had drifted off, Jokim visibly relaxed. He leaned back, patting a sleeping Druri on the shoulder. The lad had rolled over onto his side about an hour ago, throwing an arm across his uncle’s lap. Still he snored on, snug beneath his blanket, a half-smile on his face as his dreams whisked him here and there.

Jokim watched this for a moment and gave a muffled sigh. When he glanced up, Eldarin had an eager grin waiting for him from the other end of the fire. The dwarf snorted and looked up to the sky, distracting himself with the clouds and stars for a minute or two. But when he looked back, Eldarin’s smile had only widened.

“Confound it... what are you leering at?” Jokim crossed his arms.

“I only wish to say, Master Dwarf, that this is the most precious thing I have ever seen.” Eldarin gave a nod to Druri. 

“Well! Laugh it up, if you will. But know that I...” Jokim’s voice had risen too loud. Druri began to murmur and stir. The uncle’s face turned ashen, and he immediately set to patting his nephew’s shoulder to settle him back down. After a few tense moments, Druri resumed his snoring.

Eldarin, meanwhile, had to shove a knuckle between his teeth to prevent a peal of laughter from bursting forth. “Come, now,” the Elf said once Druri was asleep again. “We all see through that stern warrior’s pride. You adore him. There is no shame in that.”

“Ahem...” Jokim shifted uncomfortably. “Well, perhaps I have coddled him too much.”

“Coddled him? Whatever do you mean? He starves for your approval and likewise dreads your wrath. I see nothing amiss in that.”

“But he cannot depend on me for these things. Soon enough he must become his own dwarf... make his own decisions...”

“That is absurd. How old is he?”

“Eh... I believe... fourteen.” Jokim scratched his beard.

“Barely fuzz on his chin and you already wish to set him free!” Eldarin chuckled. “No, no, Sir Jokim. Your obligation to young Druri has just begun. No matter how old you live to see him grow, he shall continue to come to you for advice and wisdom. And you are more than qualified to give both.”

Jokim answered with his customary, stolid silence. Eldarin watched the dwarf from the corner of his eyes, hoping to see if his words had made any impact. But Jokim had already turned his attention elsewhere.

“What is Haluin up to?”

Eldarin glanced up to the covered tower. “He is having a word with the boy.”

“And what good will that do?”

“Perhaps he will fish out some answers about these two young brigands. That, or well-spun lies. It makes little difference to me, in truth...”


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## chrysophalax (Jun 13, 2009)

" You wouldn't understand." came the muffled answer as Merrill turned his back on Haluin. He was still smarting from Mirina's words and saw no point in talking about his pain to a stranger.

Said stranger however refused to be put off. Few creatures in Middle Earth save dragons were more curious than Haluin and so he tried another tack.

"She seemed a bit...cold just now, almost regretful as she spoke to me. Why should that be, I wonder? After all, as you imply, I know little of your race and you care for her..."

Merrill was on his feet in an instant, despite being hampered by the ropes binding his hands. "She was always coming in the stables, looking at me, talking to me. You've seen her! She's beautiful and she wanted to be with _me_, but would her father allow it? No!" He spat on the ground angrily. "Said I was no good for her and that I'd best stay my distance."

"How unfair. Anyone can see how, er, how well-mannered you are." said Haluin with a smirk, but the boy failed to spot the sarcasm. "Exactly! So I told her we'd run away together and find a house by the sea. The only problem was, no money. A man must support his beloved, after all!" 

Plucking a knife from its sheath on his right boot, Haluin carefully pared the nails on his right hand as he listened. "A good point. continue."

Encouraged, Merrill sat down on a rock, his eyes shining. "I stole one of the master's horses, Mirina told me which one and we rode hard for Bree. There we stayed in her cousin's house, near the eastern gate. The old lady was nice, so it surprised me when Mirina told me to steal her jewels and some of her fine clothes for Mirina to wear during our journey. I asked her about the woman's husband, for I had no wish to harm them, but she told me he would ride out the next day for Deeping Coomb. Ah, sir, she's so in love with me that she was willing to steal from her own kin in order for us to have a life together!" The huge smile on his face made Haluin momentarily sad for the boy. It was more than obvious that the star-crossed lovers' relationship was not long for this world.

Sheathing his knife once again, the elf stood and pulled Merrill to his feet. "Come, young one. You're shivering and we have a merry fire just there. I am certain my companion Eldarin might even have something in the way of food if we ask him nicely." The boy nodded gratefully and grinned crookedly up at him as they walked up the gentle rise to join the others. "Thank you, sir." he murmured.

Ever mindful of the horseman he had glimpsed earlier, Haluin said, "Do not thank me just yet. I am not the one you must convince."

Eldarin waved a hand in greeting as they approached and Jokim grunted. "Don't wake the lad, Haluin." He grumbled, his eyes falling to where Druri lay snoring deeply. The elf looked scandalised. "Of course not! How can you think that I...never mind. Eldarin, is it possible that you find something edible for our young guest? Excellent! Jokim, a word?"

Jokim and Eldarin exchanged befuddled glances, then shrugged as Jokim slid carefully away from his nephew's sleeping form as Elarin began rummaging through their packs.

"What, Haluin? Durin's beard, you're acting strange!" the dwarf hissed as he joined Haluin behind a large pile of tumbled stone. "Why the secrecy?" Sighing heavily, Haluin looked down at him and flexed his left arm irritably. "They're lying...one or both, I cannot tell." Leaning back against the crumbled wall, he drew his cloak more tightly around him against the chill wind that blew fiercely on this side of the hill. "It wearies me, Jokim. I have always despised liars. Hengist was ever truthful in his dealings with me."

The dwarf's eyes narrowed at the wistful tone in the elf's voice at the mention of his long dead friend. "Men are not to be trusted in general, Haluin. It's always best to trust to who you know best."

"We should all keep to our own then? Had I done that where would I be now? Dead, had I not trusted in you." He rubbed his eyes wearily, then pushed away from the cold stone. "Ah, Jokim, pay me no mind. I cannot help but fear for them, despite their falseness. They are young and no nothing of the world as yet."

"It is just such sentimentality that set you on your current path, Galvornion." spoke Eldarin as he silently appeared next to the dwarf.

Haluin hissed. "As you say, Eldarin. Are you my conscience now, to chastise me thus?"

"What on...who's watching the fugitives?" growled Jokim as he dashed off to check on them, leaving the elves to it. Yes, far better to stick with those you know best!

*********************************

"Your conscience? Nay, _mellon_. Do not be so quick to misunderstand." said Eldarin quietly. Haluin was not convinced. "I freely admit that my actions have indeed lead me to my 'current path', as you so rightly put it, yet I have few regrets. I have lost many dear to me and nearly found myself in Mandos' halls more times than I can count, however...I have also seen much, experienced much and found others to care for. Can you say the same? Has your life in Imladris always gone as you would have it?"

Dark shadows seemed to flow across the elven smith's face as Haluin spoke, his eyes the smoky-grey of summer stormclouds. "My life in Imladris, aye, but before then..." A flash of deep pain marred his features and Haluin found himself suddenly fearing the answer. _"Mellon,_ do not-it is of no..."

"Silence, I beg you, Haluin. You asked a fair question, now listen." Eldarin turned away, facing the lightening sky to order his thoughts. "You know of Celebrian's abduction and subsequent torture by orcs, yes?"

"Aye." breathed Haluin. 

"She-I was among the party sent to keep her safe. I was sorely wounded, not so very far from the place I found you, only...no one aided me. Understandably, their only concern was trying to find our lord's wife." He drew a ragged breath. "It was not too long before a band of brigands which normally haunted the Greenway came upon me, weak from thirst and blood loss. It was...not pleasant, but let it be said, I am here and they are not." He faced Haluin, whose face had gone white with rage. "And _that_ is why I do not put my trust in Men, nor will I ever. What the dwarf said makes sense. Therefore my answer is, no, not entirely."

For once, Haluin was speechless. The thought of Eldarin having been cruelly used made him angry beyond words, yet his own past with the Eldar forced him to disagree with his companions, but he chose not speak of it...for now. 

Placing his hand on Eldarin's shoulder, he silently offered an apology and was drawn into a fierce embrace. "Do you see now why I could not have left you on the Redhorn, my foolish friend?" Haluin chuckled. "Aye. I also see that I am not the only one to have suffered more than his due share. Forgive my arrogance, if you can."

Eldarin drew back and smiled. "I think that can be arranged, but for now, I think it best that we see to our visitor, who even now approaches the base of our erstwhile refuge. I'm certain Jokim will have something in mind for an appropriate welcoming!" he said with a laugh and Haluin joined in, relieved. Then his thoughts flew to Druri. He couldn't wait to see how the young dwarf would react to all the excitement!


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## Ghorim (Jun 16, 2009)

Druri rolled over, took a deep intake of air... and smelled something cooking. Little else could have stirred his slumbering senses. But the scent of freshly caught game — was that rabbit? — roasting on an open fire was enough to sit him up.

Directly in front of him was Eldarin’s back, hunched over the flames. Haluin stood vigil at the northern edge of the stone circle, looking out upon the plains as he flexed his metallic arm out of habit. And to Druri’s left lay Jokim, slumped in a half-doze as day dawned to the east.

The young dwarf stretched and yawned, drawing Eldarin’s attention. “Hmmmmm! What a good rest that was. I don’t think I’ve ever slept so well...”

Eldarin smirked over his shoulder. “Well... I’m glad my historical narration proved so refreshing!” 

“Oh...” Druri remembered the Elf droning about the history of Arnor just before he nodded off. “I’m sorry Eldar...iiiiin.” Another yawn slurred his speech. ”I was just tired from the climb, is all.”

“Of course.” Eldarin rose to his feet. “Still, I deserve none of the credit. Jokim here guarded your sleep like a hawk.” 

Naturally, the elder dwarf snapped an eye open as soon as Eldarin mentioned his name. But Druri’s attention had focused on the other end of the fire. Eldarin’s figure had obscured them, but now he spotted the two young humans sitting in the camp. They looked miserable and bleary-eyed, huddled close together.

“Oh! Hullo!” Druri hopped to his feet. “My name is Druri... at your service.” He gave one of his boyish half-bows. “What’s yours?”

“Druri!” Jokim barked, rising up ominously behind his nephew. “Do not speak a word to those two.”

“Why not?”

“Have a look at their hands,” Eldarin said, turning back to his spit.

Druri walked around the fire, just a few paces, far enough to see that their hands were bound together. The lad grimaced and quickly retreated. “What did they do, uncle?”

Jokim nodded to the bag of stolen goods that sat at the far end of the camp. “Thieves.”

“What will we do with them...?”

“Their escort should be arriving shortly,” Haluin called from his sentry post. “Just see for yourselves.”

With one last look at the ragged captives, Druri followed Jokim up to Haluin’s perch, where they gazed out to the wide world beyond. And there came the rider not far below, gingerly picking his way up the hill on his mount, leading another horse behind by its reins.

Haluin clicked his tongue. “He went so far as to track down their horse, even after I went to all that trouble to free it! But the beast seems to trust him. Interesting...”

“I hear you muttering about me, sentry!” came the distant shout, echoing over the still landscape.

The Elf laughed and patted Jokim on the shoulder. “Why don’t you welcome him to our camp? It sounds like the two of you will get along.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” grumbled the dwarf, but Haluin was already heading to the fire for his breakfast. Jokim spat on the ground in annoyance, leaning forward to peer down at the approaching stranger. Druri huddled close to his uncle, as peckish as ever, but still more curious about the shadow below.

Soon enough, the rider came into full view. The fine, grey stallion he rode granted him the illusion of great height, but Jokim could tell he was a short and stocky type. His thick brown curls were limp and matted from days of riding in the rain. Although he was young yet, a stubborn bald spot had taken up residence atop his head. And he wore one of those scraggly human beards that always forced Jokim to smirk reflexively. 

As the man approached with his pair of horses, Jokim called for him to halt. “What brings you to the summit of Weathertop, traveler?”

“Mmm...” The man narrowed his eyes at Jokim with a wry expression. “And now I see a dwarf laying claim to Amon Sûl as though it were a lost stronghold of his people. Perhaps all these days without sleep have driven me mad, after all.” He dismounted with an agile leap, taking the reins of both horses in one hand. Neither animal so much as stirred.

“I ask only out of curiosity.” Jokim glanced to Druri, who had halfway concealed himself behind a stone outcropping. 

“You have something I want, dwarf,” replied the man. “Two somethings, in fact. And if the tracks are any indication, you and your youngling there are not alone.”

“True enough. Name yourself, then, and enter as a friend.”

“You may call me Goran. I fear my name comes without any titles or ornaments to it.”

“Just as well.” The dwarf jabbed a thumb into his chest. “Jokim.” He yanked his nephew out of hiding. “And Druri.”

“What silly names your kind adopt on the road!” snorted Goran, leading his horses up to the ruins. 

Once inside, he stopped to stare at Merrill and Mirina, before a gale of rueful laughter rose from him. “And here I thought I was due for a pitched battle with these fugitives once I caught them.” The two young lovers shrank at his sight. “But it seems that two Elves and two dwarves have done all of my work for me! What sort of menagerie is this, eh?”

“A most peculiar one, I’ll admit.” Haluin stepped forward to speak, while Eldarin noticeably withdrew. “But all of the credit goes to Master Jokim here. He spotted them, hunted them down and captured them before he’d even had his supper last night.”

“Jokim...” Goran glanced at the dwarf again. He sounded out the name, creasing his brow: “Yoh-keem... now where have I heard that before?”

“Nowhere important,” said the dwarf briskly. “Haluin, Eldarin... this one’s name is Goran. Goran, these are my companions...”

“What were their names?”

Jokim did not like to repeat himself. “Haluin... and Eldarin.”

The man stared blankly at the Elves for a moment, and then slapped his knee, cracking up in a fresh fit of laughter. Eldarin thought this odd fellow was laughing at his name, and so his expression bristled. “What tickles you so, horsemaster?”

Goran eventually straightened himself up by leaning on one of the stone walls. Still chuckling to himself, he turned his back to the others and set to tying his horses up against a crumbling support beam for the old tower.

“Well?” Eldarin stepped forward.

Suddenly, Goran spun about on his heels, placed a hand to his chest and bellowed out: “Out on the plains! Three riders seen! One short, one tall, one in-between!”

The reactions from Jokim and Haluin could not have diverged any further. While the dwarf groaned and slumped back against a wall, the Elf clapped his hands and laughed along. “You see, Jokim! Even today, our fame carries on.”

Goran waved a finger at Haluin. “My family hails from the Rohan originally, you see. And it is a well-worn legend in our clan that my grandfather fought alongside your three-headed monster in the old days.”

“Incredible!” Haluin shook his head in disbelief.

“Now what am I to tell my master upon my return? That I came upon the ghosts of Haluin and Jokim at Weathertop? He shall have me sent away!”

“Not ghosts in the least,” cut in Jokim. “Nor imposters to the names. But tell me, rider, whom do you call master?”

Goran nodded to Mirina, who would not so much as look at him. “This one’s father. He dispatched me to track them as soon as they turned up missing.”

Druri inched closer to Goran, fighting off his timidity. “Are you a ranger, then?”

The man shook his head and laughed again. “No. Far from it. A ranger would have caught these urchins much sooner. As it was, I just missed them in Bree. And I knew I would have to make haste, as they had stolen my master’s swiftest steed while he slept!” Goran glared at the children with a quick flash of temper. “Well, I drove my beast nearly to death — and myself, besides — but now it appears things may be righted again. That is their loot over there?” 

“All of it,” Haluin nodded.

“Brilliant.” Goran marched over to the couple, grinning as they recoiled at his approach. 

“Perhaps you and your animal should take some time to rest, then?” Haluin approached the rider. “We are in no hurry, and could watch over your prisoners while you slept.”

“Sleep!” Goran’s head shot up. “I appreciate that idea very much, Elf. But first, I thought I might share in your morning meal?”

“By all means.” Haluin smiled over to Eldarin, who only looked in the other direction.


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## Ghorim (Jun 16, 2009)

Merrill and Mirina watched like scrawny dogs awaiting table scraps as the others broke their fast. The sun was fully up by now, but the sky above had gone overcast. Though he savored the food, Jokim still watched the skies pensively, fretting about early snows.

Haluin, meanwhile, attacked the new visitor with his customary curiosity. “Where do you and these two hail from, Goran?”

The man chewed a roll of bread down to mush, swallowed, and then replied. “A healthy little village in the plains of Eriador. We are not the sort of place that, say, Bree would ever bother to sneeze at, but we do quite well for ourselves.”

“Ah... surrounded by land... far from the ocean...” Haluin glanced at the couple with a smile.

“Er... yes...” Goran scratched his bald spot and ladled another serving of rabbit stew for himself. 

“And so you are headed home, now?”

“More or less.” Goran nodded. “We must first stop in Bree, however, to return the goods. And I expect our young friends here will make the presentation themselves.” He gave a wicked grin to Merrill and Mirina, who both made half-hearted attempts to escape from their bonds.

“Hmm...” Haluin glanced to Eldarin briefly, and then back to the rider. “And so it seems we are all headed the same way... more or less. Perhaps we could travel together as far as Bree?”

Goran shrugged. “It will make my task easier, if the rest of your companions here would have me.” He meant, rather specifically, Jokim and Eldarin.

Of course, Jokim already knew that Druri was thrilled to have another race around to study and learn from. He could only imagine the lad’s begging and pleading if he said no. So with his mind already made up for him, the dwarf gave a passive nod.

Eldarin gave a sigh as the others turned to him. “It seems I am overruled in either event,” he said flatly. “So my opinion does not matter.”

Goran flashed a half-smile, half-sneer in Eldarin’s direction. His response rang just as dry. “Thank you for that vote of confidence, Sir Eldarin.”


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## chrysophalax (Jun 17, 2009)

Inwardly dismayed by Eldarin's reaction, Haluin crouched down and broke the largest remaining piece of bread in two, then ladled some of the rabbit stew onto them. Their captives might be thieves, but they were also little more than wayward, frightened children on an adventure that had gotten out of hand and keeping them hungry was not in the elf's nature.

"Druri, toss me that waterskin, will you?" he called as he crossed to where Merrill and Mirina were now huddled together on the ground, the girl hiding her face against the stone at his approach. _Interesting, why does she not seek his touch for comfort?_ wondered Haluin as he stopped beside them. 

"Catch!" cried Druri and the elf spun, easily snatching the skin out of the air. He winked at his young friend, then turned back to see Merrill eyeing the bread greedily. "Here, take this." Haluin said softly. "Mirina, will you not eat?"

She shook her head slowly. "No. I'm sure he'll eat it though." she said bitterly. Concerned, Haluin edged closer with the waterskin. "Drink then. It would grieve me if you fell ill."

She glanced up at him, her tongue sliding over cracked lips, then to the skin in his hand. "As you wish." she replied, then drank thirstily for a few moments before Merrill turned and tried to take it from her. "Don't drink it all, you're not the only thirsty one, you know!"

Haluin reached out, lightning-fast and stopped him. "You will wait until she has finished." he said grimly and the boy's eyes widened before looking down, ashamed.

She handed the skin back to Haluin, grinning shyly as she did so. "Thank you, elf. Forgive me, but I've forgotten your name."

"I am Haluin, young one and you are welcome." Dropping the skin into Merrill's lap without further comment, he stood and set about clearing up the remains of their breakfast.

"Is he always so touchy?" Goran asked as Jokim finished the last of his stew. "Only when provoked." The dwarf replied. He hadn't liked the way the younglings reacted when they upon seeing who had come after them. _Fear of punishment is understanable, but why would they both cringe from him? Her father is his master, after all._ Determined to keep an eye on the man, Jokim sopped up the last bite, then threw the bones on the fire.

Meanwhile, Druri, having finished his own meal, watched the two young people and Goran with interest. Of course he had _seen_ men before, in Laketown, for instance. But he had never had the chance to speak with them and, as ever, he had questions.

Deciding to risk it, Druri walked over to Goran and cleared his throat. _I'm beginning to think you're that foolish elf's nephew and not my own!_ The words of his uncle spoken what seemed ages ago echoing in his head as he did so.

"I heard you say your grandfather fought with my uncle and Haluin. Did he have any stories about the battles they fought?"


*********************************


Grinding his teeth, Eldarin stalked to the far side of Amon Sul and stood staring eastwards, wondering just how big a mistake he had made. Why did Haluin have to be so accepting? Did he not see the danger in such things? 

_Fool, of course not and now...now...“So it must be with Haluin and me. A home... to each other.”_ The words he had spoken in earnest to Jokim mere days before came rushing back to him, strengthening his resolve.

Frustrated, he began throwing stones as far as he could down into the trees below, relieved at least that this Goran was not a Ranger, for it would not be long before their leader would be made aware of Haluin's presence in the area and that would bring an entirely new set of problems if they weren't careful.


**********************************


"Stories, you say? Well, lad, it just so happens that I _do_ remember a few wild tales the old man used to spin after he'd had a few mugs of beer by the fire. It seems your pointy-eared friend there is quite the shot with a bow and not just because the song says so, neither!" He put a finger beside his nose and said secretively, "'Tis said he once shot clean through three Dunlendings with one arrow. Pinned all three together, he did."

Druri's mouth fell open. "Is that even possible? I didn't know arrows were that long!"

Garon shrugged. "That's the story, lad. Take it or leave it. But...your uncle now, _he_ slew thirty enemy soldiers by himself after his axe-handle had been cut in half _and_ in under an hour! What do you say to that?"

Eyes shining with pride, Druri threw out his chest. "I say that's a fine day's work! One day I hope someone will tell such stories about me!"

_He's doing it again!_ thought Merrill as he listened to the man regale his impressionable audience. _He's worming his way in amongst them with his tales and his friendly ways...should I warn them?_ The boy almost called to the larger dwarf, but then he remembered Haluin's treatment of him earlier and he frowned. _No. Let them find out on their own. Serve that elf right!_


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## Ghorim (Jun 29, 2009)

Once he had managed to detach Druri from his ear, Goran requested a private moment with the captives.

“There are private things that the three of us must discuss, and strangers’ ears make for still tongues.”

“Hmm.” Jokim looked straight into Goran’s eyes for a few silent moments. And then he shrugged. “Be brief.”

The dwarf stepped out of the stone circle, taking his nephew and Haluin with him. Eldarin was still nowhere to be seen.

Goran watched them go, and then turned to see the two lovers huddled together on their knees. He clapped his hands together with a flourish. “And so it ends. You two made a good run of it, I’ll give you that.”

Mirina cast a look up at her father’s bodyguard through wisps of hair that drifted in the breeze. “What did Father say... when he found out?”

The man smirked, crouching down to her level. “You think he’s angry, don’t you? Furious, even! Well, he was at first.” He watched her wince. “But in the end, he only wants you home safe and sound. He sent me off with only concern in his heart.” He cradled her chin in his hand for a moment, but then noticed Merrill glaring at him.

“And what are you getting so hot for, child?”

“You know why.”

“Is that so?” Now Goran took Merrill’s chin in hand. He squeezed the boy's cheeks together, shaking Merrill's head from side to side. “A helpless babe, as ever.” And with a quick snap, he tossed the boy headfirst to the ground. Then Goran stood, sighing to himself as he adjusted his riding gloves and regarded the skies. “Well, at any rate... behave on the ride home and the old man might be lenient on you for leading his daughter astray. Either way, you’ll be in search of a new place to work.”

“What do you want from us?” Mirina edged forward, wishing her hands were free to help Merrill.

“The story. From your escape until your capture. And please...” Goran flexed his fingers. “No lies.”

---

Of course, Eldarin had made no promises about giving Goran his privacy. He watched the whole scene unfold, peeking over the edge of one of the decaying walls. The Elf’s eyes narrowed, but just as Merrill and Mirina began their tale once again, he heard heavy footfalls coming around the side of the ruins.

Leaping down from his perch, he landed just in time to face the oncoming Jokim.

“There you are!” The dwarf shook his head. “Is eavesdropping an Elf’s favorite pastime, then?”

“I do not trust the man.” Eldarin dusted himself off, looking stern and stiff. “And nothing that I overheard just now has won my favor.”

“And you think I’d allow him to watch my back?” Jokim snorted, leaning close to drop his voice to a hiss. “But I’d rather him than two sniveling thieves! He is their foe, and that makes him friend to me, at least until Bree. Now come. We are readying to leave.”

Jokim knew that the Elf had a snappy response coming, so he spun in a flash to head back the way he came. Eldarin stood to himself for a moment, considering their predicament as the winds whipped along the hillside. 

With a sharp grunt, he drove his fist into the side of the ancient tower. And then he followed.


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## chrysophalax (Jun 30, 2009)

"I see no reason not to follow the Road, Haluin. Throw a hood over those ears and no one will be the wiser. I remember well your fondness for disguises!"

The elf favoured Jokim with a raised eyebrow, then chuckled. "Ah! There you have me, master dwarf! Your memory is as sharp as ever."

"It would serve you well not to forget it!" The dwarf grumbled under his breath as his eyes searched the campsite. "Druri!"

A head shot up from behind a largish boulder. "Here, uncle! Just taking care of the necessaries." After a moment he emerged, adjusting his belt and blushing at Goran's amused snort as he turned to Jokim. 

"If we're all in agreement, I'd like to get on the road as soon as possible. My master is not a patient man and since _this one_ has chosen to flee, we are now two men short in the stables and he is _most_ displeased!"

Jokim shrugged, then looked to Haluin. "We will be ready, Goran. See to your master's daughter and Merrill while we prepare." said the elf softly. He knew Eldarin was still opposed to being in the man's company, but as it would be such a short time, he felt certain it would make little difference in the end.

The man looked for a long moment at Haluin, then shook his head and gave him a mock bow. "As you wish, my good elf! We shall await your pleasure."

"I'll go fetch Eldarin. I fear he's..." "He is here, Haluin." said a voice behind him. "Get the packs."

A low, rumble from Jokim at Eldarin's tone was instantly silenced as Haluin shook his head sharply, mouthing, _It is nothing._ Grimly, the dwarf left them to it as he and Druri set about dousing the fire and returning the stone circle to the way it had been before their arrival.

Silently, the elves gathered their gear, stowing it all away with swift efficiency. Goran watched the interplay between them closely and his thoughts turned to treachery. _Elves, the self-proclaimed "Firstborn"! Such open hostility toward Men is hardly normal for them. It might be interesting to discover the cause. One less elf one way and another won't be noticed in any case, should he prove too meddlesome._ He thought viciously as he jerked Merrill roughly to his feet.

The boy bit back a cry and Eldarin's head came up, eyes fierce and dangerous. A hand harder than any steel gripped his arm with punishing force. "Nay, _tor-nin_! whispered Haluin in his ear. "Not now, not here. Listen to me!"

Eldarin flicked his eyes to Haluin's hand. "Release me, Haluin. We will speak later." he hissed, then tugged his arm free before returning to his task.


************************************


Later that same day, a group now numbering seven made their way along the Road toward Bree.

Goran rode, leading Merrill, who's hands were tied by a length of rope to the saddle. This allowed the boy to walk alongside, but not so far that he could try and pull himself free. Mirina followed close behind them, her head down so that her face was hidden by her hair from the others, the very picture of abject shame.

Druri was again took the point, his head up, alert as a hawk. The young dwarf took his responsibility seriously, as was to be expected. His uncle allowed a brief flush of pride to wash through him as he watched the youngling marching just ahead. With any luck, his nephew would live to a ripe old age, bring honour on the family name and possibly even sire children of his own. All they had to do was reach the Blue Mountains. Strong, rich, Dragon-free Mountains! He inhaled deeply and grinned behind his beard. _Hammer and tongs, it'll be good to see proper mountains again!_

The elves meanwhile were ranging off the Road, taking solace from the trees that wooded the northern side. 

"...and then I saw him fling the boy to the ground! Haluin, by all I hold dear, the man means trouble. Can you not feel it?"

"Nay, Eldarin, I cannot. Wait...listen..." He stilled Eldarin as he opened his mouth to argue further. "I believe you saw what you saw. I have no reason to doubt your word, _mellon._, calm yourself! I will watch this Goran as well, for I have no wish for either of them to come to harm at his hand."

The elven smith slapped his hand against his scabbard, then winced, darting a look at his hand. Dried blood coated the back of it and Haluin's eyes widened slightly at the sight. "What...?" "Leave it, Haluin. I...lost my temper earlier and paid the price."

"I see." replied Haluin coolly. "Just be sure your temper doesn't damage you to the point that we _all_ pay for it. Not many can wield a sword despite a broken hand." Eldarin bit back his reply, choosing instead to ponder the wisdom of Haluin's words.


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## Ghorim (Jul 22, 2009)

Eyes sweeping over the curves of the land, Druri played the role of watchman with all the eager obedience of a hound sniffing out a trail. Once every minute or so, his eyes would fly back to his uncle, in search of an approving nod or glint of satisfaction in Jokim’s gaze. 

The old dwarf had grown quite adept at hiding any twitch of emotion behind his beard and stone mask of a face. But Druri could see through it all. He waved back to his uncle. Dour expression still intact, Jokim gave an old, Erebor-style salute. Sensing the full honor of the gesture, Druri grinned to himself and scampered even further ahead.

Goran gave a throaty chuckle from atop his horse. “You’ve trained your little pup well! He treats duty like a joy.”

“And why should it not be?” Jokim glanced up. “Doing a job well is its own best reward, as the Khazad say.”

“Men say that too, so you are aware.” Goran shifted in his saddle. “Now... is he your nephew by blood or by marriage?”

“Blood, of course! Can you not see the resemblance?”

“Mmm...” Goran squinted. “Around the eyes, perhaps?”

“He has his mother’s eyes, actually...”

“And she is...?”

“Was. My sister.”

“Ah.” Goran knew Jokim’s wrath awaited him if he traveled down that path of discussion any further. So his mind raced after some other topic to pursue. What does one talk about with these dwarves, so irritable and distant? Maybe if he tried to butter Jokim up...

“Well, let me just say, if I haven’t already, what an honor it is to travel alongside a warrior of legend such as yourself.”

“Hmmph.” That was not the reaction Goran had hoped for. “That fellow from the songs you know... I am not _him_ any longer. If I ever _was_ him. I did what I had to do during those days... all three of us did. Then the minstrels got a hold of our story and it became some silly tale of adventure and heroism. I am a mere infantryman. I have never claimed any greater station.”
_
Well, look at it this way, Goran... that’s more words than he’s said during the whole journey so far..._

“Uncle!” And just like a hound, Druri had shot ramrod stiff, arm pointed to a distant hill. Within two strides, Jokim was moving at a full sprint to reach the lad. In the same instant, Goran pulled his horse up short and called his prisoners to a halt.

As he ran, Jokim lifted one hand from his axe to shield his eyes, for Druri was pointing directly into the sinking evening sun. He skidded to a quick stop, a cloud of dust and gravel flying in his wake. “What is it, lad?”

“A rider! And he’s just sitting there.”

Jokim squinted, and then he saw Druri’s meaning. The position of the sun doomed any attempt to identify the figure, but there it sat on a rise some leagues distant. Mounted. Alone. “Well, well...” Jokim lowered his axe.

“Do you think he’s watching us?” Druri had his dagger drawn, eager to break in the new blade.

“It would not surprise me in the least.” Jokim took Druri’s weapon hand and lowered it slowly. “Patience, now.”

The lad glared at him in reply. 

For one instant, Jokim froze. His hand dropped to his side. In that furrowed little face, he saw a distorted reflection of himself at the same age. Growing up lost, deprived of a home and a father, hungry to lash out at the world by any means possible. 

Jokim paused... and then he acted, shoving a warning finger in front of Druri’s face. The lad flinched, and suddenly he was a simple child again. 

“Patience,” Jokim repeated in a stiff whisper. Goran was galloping up behind him, nearly drowning out the word. But Druri heard it, and took fear from it. “Patience.”

“What is it, then?” Goran called, a hand to his eyes. Merrill and Mirina stumbled pathetically along behind. 

“Well, do you not see the...” Jokim turned to the hills again, but the rider had vanished. “Hmm...”

Goran’s mount snorted and fidgeted, and the man laid a hand to its temple. Its movements slowed and then ceased. “Company, then?”

“Possibly. It will come tonight, if it comes at all.” Jokim hoisted his axe over his shoulder, and watched with great interest as Druri reluctantly sheathed his dagger.


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## Ghorim (Jul 29, 2009)

“Rather provocative, wouldn’t you say?” Eldarin watched the distant standoff, crouched on a high branch. The flashing autumn leaves swallowed his figure.

“The word that comes to my mind is ‘cheeky,’” replied Haluin. He knelt on a neighboring branch, bow at the ready in case the rider tried anything foolish.

Eldarin shook his head at the remark and spared a glance to Haluin. “Would you call that a Ranger?”

With the benefit of Elvish eyesight and a different angle of view, the two could make better sense of the rider than the five walkers stranded out on the plains trail. He was hooded, armed with bow and blade, stolid in the saddle and affectless in his posture.

Haluin squinted and shrugged. “They have no uniform... neither in their attire nor their methods. But he seems well equipped, and is using the sunlight to his advantage.”

“A message? A warning?” Eldarin gripped the bark of his branch with a scowl.

“Remind me again why you are so fearful of coming across a Ranger on the road west?”

Eldarin turned again to his companion, holding back an incredulous expression. “Why, for your sake, of course. Who could say how they would react...?”

“True. But three crossed my path while I was waiting for you and the dwarves to find me. They let me go unmolested.” Haluin watched as the rider descended the far side of one of the hills, disappearing. “My guess is this one would be more interested in our young prisoners.”

“But as you’ve said... each one of their number handles his business differently. I would take caution.”

“Of course, as always. I have my disguise, in case things go awry...”

Eldarin stood. “At least we have the element of surprise, for the moment.”

_THOCK!_

The arrow struck the tree trunk directly between the branches where each Elf stood. Haluin leaped and spun about midair, drawing back a bolt of his own in search of a target. He caught a glimpse of a fleeing shadow, but it disappeared amidst the trees. 

Eldarin hopped down from his branch to give chase, dashing off into the woods. Meanwhile, still on his branch, Haluin exhaled sharply and glanced to the embedded arrow. A small strip of parchment was tied to its shaft...

Some minutes later, a panting and frustrated Eldarin returned. “Our assailant had a horse waiting for him by the stream! The coward. But how did he...” His words faltered as soon as he saw Haluin. The Elf was leaning against a tree, staring at a strip of parchment and chuckling to himself. “And just what are you giggling about?” 

“Our friend was sending us a message with that shot.” Haluin held up the parchment with a grin.

“What does it say?” Eldarin placed his hands to his hips.

Haluin began to speak, but then snorted with a fresh fit of laughter. Covering his mouth in mock embarrassment, he handed the parchment to a glowering Eldarin.

The smith gave the message a quick look. It contained but one word, capped by a garish exclamation point: “Cheeky!”

---

“So there are two of them, at the least?” Jokim had driven the head of his axe into the ground, and leaned sideways upon the handle as he regarded Eldarin.

“We do not know for certain if they are working in concert... but yes.” The Elf had one foot propped up on a stone, his eyes sweeping over the plains in nervous arcs. He had insisted on a private conference with Jokim as soon as he returned from the woods with Haluin. They needed to plan.

“Hmm!” Jokim stroked his beard with a half-grin, and Eldarin was alarmed by how everyone else seemed merely amused by these developments. “They are worthy adversaries, at the worst. To think one managed to get the drop on two Elves!”

“Yes, well...” Eldarin wanted to forget that lapse in attentiveness as quickly as possible. “They are clever enough, I suppose. And they have us out here in the wide open, if they want us.”

“But as you said before... Rangers are not wicked by their nature. My guess is that they were dispatched from Bree after our two little brigands robbed the town. And if they wish to take custody of those urchins, I see no fault in that! Our main concern should be protecting Haluin.”

Eldarin considered for a moment, then nodded. “Given the skills they’ve displayed... I doubt they could be anything other than Rangers. And if that is so, then what you say is true. I’d gladly entrust them with our prisoners over that Goran character.”

Jokim glanced back to the rest of the party. Goran and Druri appeared to be playing a game of tag in the orange dusk light, running around one of the horses while Haluin tended to the shackled youths. The dwarf scowled, yanking his axe from the ground. “We make camp here. No hiding, no fleeing. If they come, then they come.”

Eldarin smiled. “I admire that about your folk, Jokim. The fearless audacity...”

Jokim wagged a finger, a gleam in his eye. “We call it ‘common sense.’”

---

It began to snow that night. A light flurry, nothing more. But still it was enough to obscure the sightlines of the four warriors who stood watch. They lined the far edges of the camp, Haluin facing north, Goran east, Eldarin south and Jokim west. 

Encased in their protective circle were the horses and the three youths, all huddled by the fire together. Druri stared at the young humans, whose eyes would not rise to meet his. The lad believed he had been entrusted with the most important task of all... guarding the prisoners. 

Of course he remembered his uncle’s orders: that he should not speak with them, or even make eye contact with the thieves. But how could he not want to know more about them? What was so scary about them, besides?

Druri cleared his throat, attempting to deepen his young voice before he spoke. “Why did you do it, then?”

Merrill gave him a sour look. “And why should you bother to ask?”

The young dwarf shrugged, holding his nerves in check. “There had to be a reason.”

“Out of love...” Mirina spoke up, but only in a half-whisper. “Foolish love.”

The boy at her side was struck dumb for a moment, but then turned away from her in a huff. Druri, too, was taken aback, and his jaw fell slightly. He inched closer to the fire, wetting his dry lips.

"Love, you say?" Druri began nonchalantly. “What... what’s it like to be in love?” The dwarf didn’t look at either of the prisoners as he asked the question, instead fiddling with his dagger as a distraction.

Mirina smiled faintly. “It is not a lightning bolt from the heavens, if that is how you imagine it. It is... quiet. A quiet need that conquers your senses over time, without your even realizing it.”

Druri glanced up. “Until it’s too late?”

The lass giggled, showing her youth for a moment. “That is one way of putting it.”

A grin began to trace itself over Druri’s fuzzy face, and he opened his mouth to speak again, but a nearby shout silenced him.

“Druri! What did I tell you about speaking with the prisoners?”

The young dwarf sighed, looking down to his dagger again. “Sorry, uncle...”

And so began a silent hour at the camp, with just the crackling fire and gusts of wind for company. Merrill and Mirina went to sleep, and Druri pulled his blanket tight about himself to keep warm. He was determined to stay up all night in vigilance over the prisoners, but the coziness of the campfire was lulling him under. 

But just as his eyes were beginning to droop...

“Halt!” 

Druri’s head shot up, and the two humans awoke as well. It was Haluin shouting, sounding suddenly fearsome with an arrow drawn. Save for Eldarin, the others could not see what had alerted the Elf’s attention.

“State your name and purpose!”

Haluin’s words tumbled away into the swirling winds, their sound disappearing in an instant. A mounted shadow appeared at the farthest reaches of sight, staying in motion but not seeming to come any closer. It drifted amidst the falling snowflakes, with distant hoofbeats sounding over the gusts.

Before Haluin could reiterate his orders, Eldarin took the words right out of his mouth.

“Halt! Name and purpose!”

Another rider approached from the south. Eldarin began to inch back toward the fire, and the other three guards followed his lead.

“What’ll it be, lads?” Goran had his sword drawn, turning left and right to keep tabs on both riders.

“Lads, he calls us!” Jokim snorted. “You just hold your side of the formation, boy.”

With a sudden eruption of courage, Druri jumped to his feet and ran to his uncle’s side. All too quickly, Jokim shoved him away. “Get back!”

“Uncle... I’m at your side, no matter what.” Druri marched forward again. 

Of course the lad had picked a moment like this to get stubborn! Jokim reached a hurried compromise, shifting Druri behind him. “You have my back, lad. Be my eyes back there.”

That gesture was more than enough to please the lad, and a rush of battlefield euphoria filled Druri as he took up his position.

Haluin bit his lip, awaiting some response from the northern rider. “Need I remind you, stranger, that your silence forces me to assume the worst!”

A laugh burst out in reply, a sound that split the winds and froze everyone within the camp circle.


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## chrysophalax (Aug 30, 2009)

Off to his right, Haluin could hear Eldarin chuckling softly to himself. "What do you find so amusing about this particular situation, _mellon_? he asked distractedly. They exchanged glances and the wicked grin on his companion's lips nearly made Haluin smile as well.

"You always did have a flair for the dramatic, Eldred. Can you not see you've very nearly frightened the younglings to death?"

The man so named peered closely at the elf, then threw back his head, laughing heartily. "By my father's bones! Eldarin? What brings you this far west, you scoundrel?" His fellow rider relaxed in the saddle but remained alert as the elf approached Eldred, extending his arm in friendship.

"_Mae govannen, mellon nin!_ My friend and I are escorting these worthy dwarves to Ered Luin. As to these..." Eldarin glanced darkly at Goran and his captives. "we travel the same road with them until we reach Bree...unless you are willing to assist them?" he asked hopefully.

Leaning forward to rest on horn of his saddle, Eldred chewed his lip thoughtfully. It had been long years since he last encountered this elf and he understood well Eldarin's distrust of men. "If I do this for you, what do you give in exchange?"

Jokim stomped forward at this, beard bristling. "Elfred, or whoever you call yourself-who are you to demand anything from Eldarin? He asked you a question...though why is beyond me..." he muttered darkly. "Aye or nay, which is it?"

Both elves and both riders stared in astonishment at the dwarf, then at each other. Eldred's shoulders began to shake with mirth. "Well asked, good dwarf! Old friend, it seems you've fallen in with someone who will keep you honest at last. As you wish, master dwarf, aye. Is that plain enough?"

A chorus of complaint broke out behind the elves. "Wait! No! You can't hand us over to hi-them! What if they..." Both men rode forward a few paces and dismounted. Goran backed away slowly and discreetly as they approached the runaways.

Gently, Eldred lifted his hand to brush the girl's hair from her face, then he searched her eyes for many lang moments. His companion did the same with Merrill. "I see nothing but youth and foolishness, Eldred. He is a but a callow, harmless boy." Eldred nodded, then looked at Goran, who returned his appraising stare directly.

"I'll take your help, if only to be shed of _him_." he said, pointing at Eldarin who raised his chin defiantly. "I don't like his look nor his kind."

"His _kind,_ are the eldest living, save the Ents and deserve honour and respect. Know that we do this for love of him and his _kind,_ not for you." spat Eldred contemptuously, then turned his back on Goran and re-mounted. "Go your way, my friends and-Master Dwarf?" Jokim gazed levelly up at him, hands planted firmly on hips. "I wish you both good fortune and long life in your new home. We are at your service." Both men bowed their heads in acknowledgement, then waved the others to join them. The youngsters glanced pleadingly back at the elves, but both refused to meet their gaze. 

"That was interesting. " mused Haluin as they began to walk northward of the Road. "Do you have other friends that will be aiding us at whiles a swe journey, or was that just a coincidence?" Eldarin smiled. " A happy coincidence, I'm afraid. Eldred and his brother are renegades of a sort themselves, even among the rangers. It seems that I attract that sort of person." A shower of pine cones greeted that assessment and he spent rather a long time that night combing pine sap and seeds from his hair while the others chuckled at his expense.


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## Ghorim (Sep 7, 2009)

“I like four,” Haluin said to Eldarin as their feet crunched along the trail to Bree. “Four is a good number to travel with.”

And then he ducked as a snowball came hurtling his way. He and Druri had been engaged in a battle of wits all morning, each trying to catch the other off guard with a well-placed snowball toss. As noon approached, the tally stood at Haluin 2, Druri 0. But that did not discourage the lad from trying to even the score.

Eldarin and Jokim were humoring the contest by doing their best to ignore it. 

“Yes,” replied the smith, as Haluin’s head popped up again. “And had I had any say in the matter, it would have stayed at four.”

“But you must look at it this way...” Haluin stooped down to begin assembling his next projectile. “Had we not brought Goran and the two younglings along, you never would have met your old ranger friends again.”

“I would not call them ‘friends,’ exactly...”

“You named Eldred ‘_mellon nin_,’ did you not?”

“Well...”

“How _did_ you cross paths with them before, at any rate?” Haluin peeked over Eldarin’s shoulder to see that Druri was wisely marching in front of his uncle, using Jokim as a shield.

“By mistake, of course. And let that be the end of it.”

“Oh no, I imagine we’ll be seeing those two brothers again in Bree. And then let the story be told in full!” Haluin’s arm twitched instinctively as he saw Druri’s head pop out from behind Jokim. The snowball went sailing through the winter sky in a long arc, glancing off of Jokim’s hood and hitting the ground.

The dwarf turned around with an angry, arched brow.

“Seems it’s two against one now!” called Haluin as he went dashing off the trail. A volley of snowballs followed in his wake.

---

Haluin was still wiping the snow from his hair as the group sat down to lunch. Jokim had a strong and accurate arm, as it turned out. 

“Where did you learn to toss like that, friend?” Haluin settled himself beside the dwarf as Eldarin prepared the midday meal. 

“Upon the slopes of Erebor, naturally.” Jokim kept droll and deadpan even as Haluin ribbed him on. “The winters were filled with snow and sport for young dwarves. Our games could grow quite vicious. So one learned rather quickly how to defend himself with a snowball.”

“Now I am beginning to understand the forces that shaped you, Master Jokim.”

The dwarf gave Haluin an unimpressed look, as Eldarin began sending around the vittles. Although deep into their march from Rivendell, they still had a decent spread before them: dark bread and pungent cheeses, with apple slices and grapes to go around. Even Jokim’s “cram and jam” recipe made a surprise reappearance on the menu. All of this was much to Druri’s delight, as he stuffed everything he could fit into his mouth.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, before Haluin saw fit to spark a conversation. “Now... all of this fine fare has me wondering: what is the best meal each of you has ever had?”

“Oh, that’s easy!” Druri said between mouthfuls. But then he seemed to freeze up, and gave his uncle a timid look.

Jokim rolled his eyes. “Go ahead and say it. I shall not be offended.”

The lad gulped down a handful of grapes before continuing. “That feast in the Hall of Fire was magnificent.”

Haluin clapped his hands. “An excellent choice! I still remember that pheasant dish like an old acquaintance. And you, Eldarin?”

There came a smile and a cough. “Well. You have forced me into an embarrassing memory, _mellon_.”

“Then I am glad I asked the question. Do tell.”

“There was... many, many years ago... a lass that I did fancy.”

“Ah! A secret romance!” Haluin edged forward with his characteristic smirk in full gleam.

“Not secret in the least. The whole realm knew how we looked at each other.” Eldarin chewed on a slice of bread, letting his mind slip back to those distant years. “I had hoped to impress her, and so hit upon the idea of cooking breakfast.”

Haluin stifled a snigger and motioned for Eldarin to continue.

“I had the realm's chief cook show me all of her tricks. You must understand... I studied for weeks for the sake of one meal.” Eldarin smirked at his own expense. “And I daresay it went well. Salted eggs, garnished with freshly sliced vegetables. Blueberry toast. Chilled apple cider. I can still taste it. We shared our dishes over the morning sunrise. She complimented my work, and I floated through the rest of the day in a cloud.”

“Ah! What a lovely picture you’ve painted.” Haluin reached over to pat Eldarin’s shoulder. “But what became of this dining partner of yours?”

Eldarin shrugged off the question. “We were young. In time she found another, and they have been quite happy ever since.”

“But does he cook for her?”

“I cannot say.” Eldarin looked eager to drive the conversation elsewhere. “Now how would you answer your own question, Haluin?”

“Hmm. I knew it would come to this...” Haluin rubbed his chin with his good hand. “I must say that every meal my mother ever cooked was the best one I had ever eaten.”

“Pah.” Eldarin waved a dismissive hand. “You are ducking the question.”

“It is no idle boast! That acorn dish you saw in Rivendell...” He paused, allowing the dark memory to come and pass. “... She fixed it on special occasions, and I could swear that it tasted better every time. It would do her a disservice to single out one meal above the others.”

“Hmm. If that is your answer, then...” Eldarin turned his eyes to Jokim, and the others did the same. 

The dwarf had spent all of this while munching on his provisions, seeming to pay the conversation little mind. But with everyone’s attention now on him, Jokim furrowed his brow and squinted an eye. He popped one last apple slice into mouth and chewed it thoughtfully, looking to each of his companions in turn as he did.

Finally, he swallowed, and then pulled down his hood. “My favorite meal, I would say, was the first one I enjoyed after... acquiring this.” He rubbed the crater on the right side of his head.


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## Ghorim (Sep 7, 2009)

The others fell silent. Druri inched forward expectantly.

“Aye. I suppose I have kept you waiting too long for this story, haven’t I?” Jokim smirked and folded his arms. “I fear you are all bound for disappointment. There is little remarkable about the tale. But let me tell it, and you can form your own judgments.”

He settled back against his bulky traveling pack, evidently getting comfortable for a long yarn. Wordlessly, the others crowded around him, Druri sitting right beside him.

Jokim folded his hands behind his head, glanced over the others once more, and began. “Well! As you all know, I am a Grey Mountaineer by birth. That was one of the ranges our folk settled after the fall of Khazad-dum, many generations ago. But in time, that colony too would collapse. I was five years of age at the time. My mother, grandparents and I fled in the first evacuation, as the cold drakes claimed our home one deep at a time. My father Jurgan stayed behind to fight them, and there he was slain alongside many other sturdy warriors.” Jokim glanced to Druri. “Your mother, Froma, was born along the march to our new home at Erebor.”

“Now... for many years after that, there was a yearning on the part of those of us who had lost our homes to claim them back by force. Four of my friends and I trained together in the name of that dream, and vowed that we would serve in the infantry when the campaign came. We called ourselves the Grey Legion. Ha! Imagine that...”

Jokim pictured his younger self, filled with ideals and misplaced faith.

“Well, our dream came true. We five enlisted together, and the campaign to recapture the Grey Mountains began. That is where I took my injury.” He traced the borders of the wound with the fingers of his right hand. “I... do not recall any of the actual details. My memories of those times have been somewhat... unreliable since I took this blow. But as I am told, our unit cut too far ahead of the main host. We were too hungry for revenge...”

Jokim paused, and seemed to willfully skip past a few parts of the story. “I took this blow from a cold drake, in fact. It swung its tail at me, and I did not duck quickly enough.”

Druri winced, and Jokim reached over to pat his shoulder before continuing. “Everyone who saw the impact thought me dead. But one of my comrades... Ghari, it was... picked up my body as the others fended off the beast. He ran with me draped over his shoulders from the third deep, all the way back to the surface. ‘Twas only when he laid me down on the ground that he realized I was still breathing. Of course, he would always call me ‘hard-headed’ after that, and always with a wink.” Jokim chuckled, while the others all exhaled at the momentary break in tension.

“But at any rate... the blow crushed my helmet into the side of my skull, you see. It took several hours of work at the infirmary to cut the blasted thing off. As I’m told, I still have a few slivers of metal lodged in my head.” Jokim tapped the side of his skull, a strange look of pride crossing his face. Then he sat up and stretched, appearing through with the story.

“And what about this meal you had?” Haluin studied Jokim closely, for these moments of openness were rare from him.

“Oh.” Jokim drifted back to his reclining position. “Well. I did not wake for several months after that. They carted me back to the Lonely Mountain and housed me with the other war invalids. To me, it was like one long night’s sleep after too much drink. But for my loved ones, the days stretched without end.” Only now did Jokim avoid the stares of the others for a moment, glancing to the clouds overhead. 

“But I began to come around a little bit at a time. My eyes would flutter, I’d mutter a thing or two and then slip under again. They held onto hope. And finally, one morning, I opened my eyes and spoke. Froma was at my bedside, as she often was during those days, and I said ‘good morning’ to her.” He smiled. “I remember this exchange very well. She leapt up from her chair, and began to shout at me, for fear that I might fall asleep again. ‘Jokim! Jokim! Good morning!’ Of course, I did not see what all the fuss was about... I had no inkling as to how long I had been convalescing. So what do I say to her? ‘What’s for breakfast? I’m hungry.’”

Haluin laughed, grateful for the story’s happy ending. “And now we see where Druri gets his appetite.”

“Perhaps so. But remember, they had been stuffing nothing but cold porridge down my throat while I slept. I was used to heartier fare. So Froma, bless her, stays by my side until the healers arrive to examine me and throw her out. She spends the rest of the day gathering up my family and friends. Together, they cook up a meal for me, the likes of which you cannot fathom. So by suppertime, they have five courses prepared. And in they come to my little room at the infirmary: Froma, my mother, some cousins and a few of my comrades from the infantry. Each one carrying a dish!” Jokim roared and slapped his knees. “I daresay I had overestimated my hunger that morning! I was still somewhat sick from the blow, and could only pick at the ham and the beans and the tarts. But everyone else pitched in to finish the spread. We had quite the party around my bed... over the healers’ objections, of course.”

The old dwarf gave a beaming look to his nephew. “And you know, Druri, there was another guest that night... your father, Dwoin.”

“My father?” Druri sat up, his mouth hanging open slightly.

Jokim nodded. “He was my neighbor at the infirmary. He had taken a bad fall in an infantry drill a few weeks before and separated his shoulder. So he and Froma met there, rather by chance, and came to enjoy each other’s company.” He placed his hand on Druri’s shoulder again. “And so, in an odd way, I am thankful for this old wound of mine. Without it, I would not have you.”

The lad startled with a sudden pang of emotion. He had done his best over the past two years to put his parents out of mind. Just thinking about them had been unbearable at times. But Jokim’s story had summoned them back into his imagination, smiling and holding out their hands to him. Overwhelmed in that sudden rush of memory, Druri turned away from the others and tried to hold it all in. But soon they could hear his muffled sobs.

Jokim’s expression turned sour. “Now, now... there’s no need for that...” He gave the Elves such a glare that they immediately stood to begin packing up their things, giving the dwarves their privacy. Jokim reached to turn Druri around. He grabbed each of the lad's shoulders and held him at arm’s length, staring into his watery eyes. “Now this simply will not do. We’ll be in Bree soon! It is a merry place. So what do you cry for, eh?” He rose to his feet. “Dry your tears, lad. You are better than this sort of thing.”

Hearing those words yanked Druri up from the ground, as he wiped fiercely at his cheeks. “You are right, uncle. Forgive me. I... it shall not happen again.”

Jokim gave a stern nod, and then reached out to hold Druri by the shoulders once again. They locked gazes for a moment, before Jokim released his nephew and turned to recover his traveling pack.

As he knelt to gather his possessions, Haluin watched the dwarves from over his shoulder...


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## chrysophalax (Oct 7, 2009)

The rest of the day found the companions joking, laughing and telling tales, all that is, except Haluin. The normally gregarious elf had listened to them and as he did, a feeling stole over him, wrapping itself around his heart as would a vine around a young sapling, slowly squeezing it to death. It took him a long while to discover the cause and when he did, he felt ashamed.

Envy. Haluin was envious and more to the point, he was jealous. Jealous of the ease with which his comrades conversed, each feeding off the others until they finally burst out laughing, or growled back and forth in heated discussion. Much as he and Dæron had.

Unbidden, his eyes began to sting as he simultaneously recalled both Jokim's brusque comfort when Druri had begun to cry and a similar time long ago when he himself had comforted Dæron after his sire had decided at long last to sail into the West.

Never again, he felt, would he allow someone so close and the thought caused the vine to tighten all the more greedily. Friendship and camaraderie had always been such an important part in his life and now...yes, he had friends, but, as with all mortals, they would die and leave him bereft once more. 

_Fool!_ he thought to himself, _You have no right to feel envious of young Druri. The youngling has lost nearly everything, yet he still has his uncle, who would race into the mouth of old Smaug himself to save the lad. Would you have it any other way?_

"What grim thoughts haunt you, _mellon-nin_?"

Eldarin...of course. Haluin closed his eyes for a moment to gather his thoughts, then asked, "Would you have the truth?" The other faltered in his stride, stunned. "Of course! Haluin, what troubles you?"

The concern in his friend's voice tore asunder the constricting sensation in Haluin's breast and he gasped at the suddeness of it. "I-how-Elbereth, Eldarin, what can I tell you that you have not already heard? It tears at me that soon I will be parted from them." Haluin's hand tugged at his braids as words began to spill forth. "Jokim and the youngling...they-what if I never see them again after we leave Ered Luin, _tor-nin_? Have I not lost enough?"

A firm hand gripped his upper arm and stopped him in mid-stride. "You have not lost all, Galvornion. Look at me." Light grey eyes met darker grey tentatively. "I swore to Jokim that we would be a home to each other. I swear that to you as well. As long as I draw breath, you will be as a brother to me."

Speechless, Haluin hugged Eldarin fiercely. 

"I think Haluin feels better now, uncle." observed Druri as they sat on a rock off to the side of the road. "Durin's beard," grumbled Jokim. "Elves...I wonder if that star-metal is affecting his brain? Ha! It could only be for the better!" Slapping his knee, he stood, still chuckling at Haluin's expense, while Druri grinned behind his beard. "Oi! Hurry up, you two! We want to make Bree by tomorrow! Eldarin's been telling me about the ale they serve there!"

"Aye, Master Dwarf, we're coming! Walk on ahead and we'll catch you up!" called Eldarin. He then turned back to Haluin, eyeing him carefully. "I understand, believe me...and it was not easily that you gained my trust. Do you not feel the kinship? We are both...damaged, I suppose one would say. You, by your own kin and I, by strangers. Is it not possible that as we have been scarred, so might we also be healed?"

Long moments passed before Haluin replied. In truth, he didn't know if what Eldarin spoke of _was_ possible, but the earnestness with which his companion spoke, gave him a tentative kind of hope. He nodded, then replied softly, "I will not fail you, Eldarin. As the saying goes, 'Third time charmed.' I owe you everything." 

The smith grinned sadly, suspecting it was merely gratitude that made Haluin accept him. _It will do for now._ he told himself as they began to follow after the dwarves._As for the future...it is too dim for me to see just yet, but there is always time._


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## Ghorim (Oct 14, 2009)

As with any journey, the last ten miles to Bree were the longest. With every rise along the hilly path, Jokim could see Druri’s heart visibly leap into his throat, as the lad anticipated spotting the town at long last. 

Of course, the old dwarf knew full well how much further they had to go. But he decided it best not to tell the lad outright and spoil the mystery.

Jokim did, however, notice Druri developing a peculiar habit: folding his arms and rubbing them incessantly with his hands. At first, Jokim dismissed the motion as a nervous habit. Then he saw the lad’s teeth chattering. 

The wind was pummeling them head-on from the west, with snow drifting in white waves over the plains. As Jokim had feared, the weather bore all the signs of a bitter, early winter. 

“You’re not cold, are you?” Jokim dropped the question casually, his eyes steady on the horizon as he and Druri trudged along together.

“Me?” Druri perked up, as a fiery young warrior’s pride stiffened his back and puffed out his chest. “Not at all! Iron Hills winters are far worse than this, you know.”

Jokim had to chuckle at the audacity of that statement. The lad had only lived with him in the Hills for one year, but he was already talking about them like a crusty old coal-digger. “I know that full well. But I’m of the thought that this old coat of yours is no longer doing its job.” Jokim tugged at the garment’s sleeve, which barely reached Druri’s wrist.

The lad’s mother had fashioned the dark green coat for him years ago, presenting it as a gift on his tenth birthday. Her care showed in every stitch, but Druri’s growing body was fast outstripping the coat’s usefulness. 

Not to mention the fact that hard months of travel had worn the coat’s lining thin. A hard fall taken along the Redhorn Pass had opened a gash in one of the arms, and Jokim could see the stuffing beginning to seep out. 

Druri knew all of this. But at the same time, he thought of his mother every time he put on her creation. “My coat is just fine, uncle,” he said, with a stubborn upward jab of his chin. 

“We don’t have to get rid of it, you know,” Jokim said, one hand settling onto Druri’s shivering shoulder. “A good seamstress could sew it into something else... something smaller. Perhaps a vest.”

“You think so?” Druri glanced up, looking hopeful but hesitant.

“I know it. Froma loved to do that sort of thing with old clothes.”

Hearing his mother’s name softened Druri’s stance, but still he withdrew. “I do not wish to be a burden... we do not have much to spend, do we?”

“Come, little one. I sold nearly everything I once owned before we left on this journey. You do not think I could afford a coat to keep my nephew warm in winter?” He shook at Druri’s shoulder, and the force trembled the lad’s entire body. 

Druri smiled, said nothing, and their agreement was made.

---

They reached Bree in the late afternoon, just as the merchants who crowded the town’s main square were preparing to pack up their wares for the evening.

“A bargain hunter’s paradise,” said Haluin as they surveyed the stalls. “They will all be looking to make one last sale before retiring.”

Jokim placed his hands to his hips and took in the whole scene. Then he set out at a march down the narrow stone path that ran between the stalls.

“Sir! A whetstone for your axe?”

“Hearty spirits for sale! Perfect for a night of revelry!”

“Tools, tools, tools! Ready for any and every project!”

The dwarf shoved through the sales pitches with knitted brows and gritted teeth. He did not even spare a glance for each desperate plea. But the next one at least attracted a curious eye:

“Winter clothing, here! All sizes! Men, Elves, Halflings, Dwarves!” It came from a tall and greasy-haired fellow, who was waving a set of bright red long underwear like a beacon flag. Jokim snorted and kept on walking.

“Eh... Jokim?” Haluin sprinted up to the dwarf’s side. “I believe that gentleman was offering exactly what you were looking for.”

“I did not like his look,” Jokim muttered, as more sales offers crashed through the air. 

“Well, pardon me for saying so, but most of these faces would not look out of place inside a bandits’ den.” Haluin glanced about. “You must lower your standards, my friend.”

The response was unintelligible. And so Jokim led them on nearly a complete circuit of the market, with Druri tagging close behind and staring in wonder at all the items and displays. Eldarin, never comfortable around large groups of Men, kept a watchful eye on the group’s pockets. 

Haluin was about ready to hunt down a good coat himself when Jokim brought the group to a sudden halt. 

“There we are!” And he set out at a straight clip for a little stall that sat hunkered off alone in the back corner of the square. “Finally, a trustworthy merchant.”

Both of the Elves sighed as they saw where Jokim was headed. There behind the stall, standing with his stubby arms extended as far as they could go, was a dwarf... the only one selling goods in the market that afternoon. The dwarvish merchant’s bright yellow hood and cloak compensated for his lack of height by calling attention to his gaudy fashion sense.

“Finally, a discerning customer!” he roared, and both he and Jokim exchanged chummy laughter and handshakes. “Kabur, very much at your service.”

“Jokim, at yours and your family’s.”

“And Druri!” The lad came jogging up to Kabur’s stall, just as eager to see another dwarvish face after many months on the road. 

“Of course! How could I forget Druri?” Kabur laughed, the multiple chins beneath his curly brown beard jiggling as he did. “Your son?”

“Nephew,” Jokim said, patting Druri’s head. “How are your sales?”

“Oh, decent enough. But saying that something is dwarvish crafted doesn’t carry the weight it once did. Ach!” He rubbed his forehead, which was scored with crease marks. “Don’t get me started down that path. I will ramble on until your ears melt.” The Elves were now approaching, having thus far preferred to keep their distance. Kabur glanced to them in surprise. “Oh... eh... can I be of some service to you two?”

“Allow me to introduce Haluin and Eldarin, my companions.” The Elves gave stiff and reluctant bows, as if Jokim had trained them to do so.

“Hmm!” Kabur’s round face turned suspicious. “I have never met a kinsman who knew the name of an Elf, let alone two.”

“Then your acquaintances must not get out past the mountains much.” Jokim offered a slight grin, and Haluin silently applauded his remark. “Theirs are names that I am proud to know.”

“Eh. So be it.” Kabur did not look particularly impressed, and returned his attention squarely to Jokim. “What brings you to Bree, then, and my humble booth in particular?”

“We are nearing the end of a long march from the Iron Hills out to the Ered Luin, where I will be assuming a new station.”

“Ah! I pray to Mahal that your journey has been a safe one?”

“At times.” Jokim glanced to Haluin. “But back to the point. Druri here needs a new coat.”

“Aye, I can see as much. Well! I have just the thing.” Kabur ducked beneath his front display, where he kept a locked pair of chests. His proud backside stuck up in the air as he began his search. “It’s Halfling-sized, but should suit the lad just fine.” After a few moments of rummaging and humming to himself, Kabur popped back up with the coat draped over one arm. It was a deep tan garment, double breasted, with big black buttons, a dark collar and round cuffs. 

Jokim gauged Druri’s reaction with a quick glance, and saw the lad’s obvious interest. “Well, lad? Try it on, if you’d like.”

Druri carefully removed his mother’s jacket, handing it to Jokim before slipping on the new one. He was shocked to be able to bend his elbows and rotate his shoulders without fear of the coat ripping. It felt snug and warm to be inside, and the sleeves extended all the way up to the palms of his hands. “Wonderful...”

Kabur scratched his beard. “A bit big on him, yet, but he’ll grow into it.”

“I agree.” Jokim helped Druri out of the coat. “How much for it, then?”

“Oh... I should say four gold and one silver’s fair.”

Jokim snorted, and with a sudden flash of temper leaned forward on Kabur’s display table. “Four gold and a silver? What do you take me for, eh?”

“What’s this? Why, I have to sell it for more than I paid, you know! I have a little girl to feed at home, after all...”

“Oh now don’t give me any of that, you stale sack of goat’s dung.” All of Jokim’s companions blanched in unison. “I could find a coat just like that for two gold and two silver in the Iron Hills.”

“Why listen here, you scabbed-over son of a fig...” Kabur leaned forward on the table, until he and Jokim were nearly nose-to-nose. “I might gouge one of these stupid long-leggers every now and then, but you and I are kin. I can give it to you for three gold, three silver, but that’s my final price.”

“Pah! You can do better than that, you cross-eyed toad-licker! You think I’ll overpay any half-witted merchant with a beard? Give me three gold flat if you really know what you’re doing.”

“Three gold, two silver, and I’m not budging.”

“Three gold, one silver!” Jokim gave the table a smack.

“Three and two, you leafy pansy-picker!”

“Three and one, plus five copper.”

A pause.

“Three, one and five?”

“Three, one and five!”

“Sold, you heartless bastard!”

A terrible silence followed as the two dwarves exchanged coins for coat. 

But as soon as the transaction was complete, both Jokim and Kabur burst out laughing and embraced each other. The others still had yet to recover from hearing Jokim say “goat’s dung,” and now they were all the more bewildered.

“Elbereth! What did we just witness?” Eldarin muttered to Haluin.

“Some sort of strange dwarvish ritual, I’d imagine,” Haluin replied.

Kabur clapped Druri on the shoulder as the lad clutched his new coat uncertainly. “Were you paying attention, youngling? Because _that_ is how you haggle!”


----------



## Ghorim (Oct 14, 2009)

To further prove that there were no lingering resentments following their haggling session, Jokim offered to buy Kabur a drink over at the Prancing Pony.

“I have never had the pleasure of a visit,” Jokim said once Kabur had finished folding up and locking his stall. “But Eldarin here tells me that the drinks there are without equal.”

“Aye, he told you true.” Kabur dusted off his hands. “I have spent a good many years... ahem... _studying_ their list of beverages, and still I find something new with every visit.”

Before long, the five of them were crammed around a small table, with Jokim and Kabur carrying on like long-lost cousins... which all dwarves were, of a sort. Each diner had a rather appropriate drink sitting on the table before him: a hearty stout for Jokim, an exotic and strange-smelling concoction for Kabur, a colorful pumpkin ale for Druri, red wine for Eldarin, white wine for Haluin. 

The confines were cramped, with patrons bumping elbows every time they made their hand gestures too broadly. Pipe smoke and unprintable conversations filled the air. Peeking around the room, Druri spotted a large party of hobbits convened at a series of tables lined up at the center of the main room. Their drinking songs nearly drowned out the rest of the conversations in the building. As the evening wore on, a few took to the tabletops to dance. It looked like a grand time, and Druri almost felt pulled to rise from his chair and join the throng. But he also kept a hungry ear on the conversation between his uncle and Kabur.

The merchant had been explaining that he did, in fact, have a young daughter, that he and his wife worshipped her, and that he hated being away from “his girls” on business like this, but it was the only way for him to scratch out a living. The new dwarvish colony at Ered Luin was not faring well, with the riches of Belegost and Nogrod but a distant memory. Kabur found himself traveling ever further afield to sell his wares, and returning with a diminishing haul each time. 

“Poor times for our folk,” Kabur muttered before taking a long pull from his drink. “But we have survived worse.”

“Aye,” nodded Jokim with a proud glint in his eye.

“Hear, hear!” offered Druri, and all three dwarves drank in unison.

Jokim wiped away the excess foam from his mustache with his sleeve. “So what has become of the King Under the Mountain, then? I last heard that he and his kinsmen had escaped Smaug’s descent and ventured south.”

“And in the south they remain. The story goes that they are roaming the lands of Dunland, reduced to little more than beggars.”

“Shameful.” Jokim shook his head. “Why do they not settle in the Blue Mountains?”

“Pride, no doubt. They wish to found their own colony where none has ever before existed, and claim credit for all the bounty that comes with it. We are beneath their standing, it seems.”

And so the conversation went, with grim expressions and dour tones all around. Haluin, meanwhile, tried to stretch out his legs without tripping any passing patrons. He scanned the room, and though he was not exactly seeking a familiar face, he managed to stumble upon one.

“Oh no...” He locked gazes with a man at the other side of the room. 

“Oh what?” Eldarin followed his companion’s gaze. And now he saw the man, too, wading across the sea of tables and chairs. “I do not believe it.”

“Friends! Companions!”

Druri glanced up. “Why, it’s Goran!”

From his flushed red cheeks and swerving gait, it was clear the scruffy horseman had a full belly of spirits bearing him across the room. He grinned wildly, his gaze veering between the others as he approached their table.

“So you finally made it to town, did you?”

“Unfortunately.” Eldarin turned his back on Goran and hoped it would send the proper message. 

“Indeed we did...” Haluin, at least, attempted to be civil. “But you must bring us back up to speed. Where have the two rangers and the two youngsters gone?”

“Them?” Goran glanced about before plucking a chair from a nearby table and straddling it sideways. “Well... the two brats returned their stolen goods to the family, and now they’re in stockades at the western entrance of town for the next couple of days. The family thought it would send a good message to travelers.”

Jokim tapped his glass on the table with approval, but Druri appeared less than pleased.

“And what of Eldred and his brother...?”

“They stayed just long enough to satisfy the family and the town’s demands for justice. Don’t know where they went off to next. Who’s to say with rangers, eh?”

“So Merrill and Mirina are your property again?” Haluin attempted to mask the concern behind those words.

“Once they’re set loose, aye. All mine to bring home.”

“Ah... I see.” Haluin glanced to Druri and acknowledged his concerned expression with a slight nod. “Well... it was a pleasure coming across you again, Master Goran.”

“Indeed! But you all must excuse me... I am keeping a new friend of mine waiting.” Goran swiveled in his chair and gave a sly wave to a young woman who sat hunched over the bar. She returned the gesture, looking far from enthusiastic in doing so. The man hopped to his feet, stumbled slightly, and then went waltzing his way back to his female companion. Within moments, he had an arm draped along her shoulders.

“What was that, eh?” Kabur glanced between the others at the table.

Jokim smirked. “Nothing of consequence.”

Druri cleared his throat. “I... eh... I would like to have a look around the rest of the inn. Would anyone else like to come along?” He flashed a quick look to Haluin. 

The Elf stood up. “Why, of course, Druri. We can explore this strange establishment together. Come along.”

“Keep a sharp lookout,” whispered Eldarin, and Haluin gave a nod.

“No mischief, you two!” Jokim called to them before returning his attention to the conversation with Kabur.

Haluin began by pretending to point out different sights to Druri, but once he saw that Jokim’s back was turned, he yanked the young dwarf into a long hallway that led back to the Prancing Pony’s kitchen. It was the only private space in the whole building, outside of the guest rooms. “You wish to talk?”

Druri nodded feverishly. “I don’t trust Goran.”

Haluin laughed. “You are more perceptive than I realized, Master Druri.”

“We can’t let him take Mirina... and Merrill. We just can’t. I’m worried he’ll do something bad to them.”

As always, the Elf knew when to turn serious. “I understand your concerns. But what can we do? They violated the laws of the land, and Goran claims no other mission than to return them to the girl’s father.”

“But... but if we can prove that he’s a danger to them... maybe Mirina’s father will dismiss him, then? Maybe the rangers can help.”

Haluin took a breath to reply, but in a flash the kitchen doors burst open. A panting hobbit servant came racing down the hallway, armed with a steaming pork roast for an expectant table. He did not even acknowledge the Elf and the dwarf as he whisked past them.

Haluin paused as the servant passed, and used that moment to formulate a better response. “What you are proposing, Master Druri, is rather audacious... absurd, really.”

The lad sighed and stared at his feet. “I know...”

“Which means we shall have to be extra careful in going about it.”

Druri gasped and looked up. “You mean...?”

“We shall speak more of this after supper.” Haluin gave a sly, cat-like grin. “Now come... we have a tour to complete.” 

And out from the hallway they popped, Haluin still pointing around the room as if nothing had happened.


----------



## chrysophalax (Nov 24, 2009)

It was a long walk home for Goran that night and he was in a foul mood. Not only was he sporting a split lip ( the young wench had proven to be more choosy that she had a right to be) but his pride was smarting as well.

_It's those cursed elves. Everything was going fine until I ran afoul of them!_ he thought viciously as he strode along the frost-rimed track leading to Mirina's father's farm. The rangers' report had indeed made Goran's life less comfortable than it had been. His master now kept a close eye on the man, which only served to make his temper all the more vile.

Mumbling drunkenly to himself, Goran began to plot. Since his luck had changed so distractly after he had encountered the elves, they would just have to disappear, wouldn't they? The thought of something happening of a fatal nature to his perceived enemies made his face twist into a sadistic grin. _Immortal, beautiful, soooo wise. So superior my kind. Ha! I'll show that haughty Eldarin and his friend who's the wiser! But first...I'm going to have a bit of fun._ The grin still in place, Goran made his way unsteadily toward the stables.


^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"You're a fool!"

"Aye, you are not the first to say so, _mellon nin._" replied Haluin with a sigh. For over a hour he had endured a dressing down such as he had never experienced in his long life from Eldarin and he had gone from irritation, to boredom and was approaching amused.

It was obvious that the elf from Imladris had rarely encountered someone as stubbornly single-minded as Haluin. In most cases, whenever Eldarin gave wise council, he was listened to thoughtfully, his words weighed with due respect. He was _not_ accustomed to having his opinion cast aside without careful consideration and it was wearing on his nerves.

"Why encourage the lad? If Jokim discovers his scheme..." Haluin held up a finger. "Ah! There you have it! If." The elf rose from where he been reclining on the bed, watching Edalrin pace the floor, stretched until his shoulders cracked, then crossed to the window, opening it to let the sharp sting of almost-winter fill his lungs.

He spoke as much to the night air as to his companion in his reply. "You wish to know why? Because he has a kind heart and a fearless spirit. He wants to protect someone he feels cannot protect themsleves. All good and noble things, Eldarin. Indeed..." he turned now, facing him. "how different is it from how you helped me?"

"No. You will not persuade me with sentimental arguments, Haluin. We are the same, you and I. Of course I would help you."

Haluin's eyes blazed. "Do you mean to say-" He almost couldn't find the words. "-that you did all..._this_ because I am an _elf?_ Haluin glanced down at his arm now with something resembling loathing. "I see now how different it is. He wishes to help the helpless, regardless of who they are and that makes his spirit greater than yours will _ever_ be!"

"Nay, Haluin...stop!" cried Eldarin as Haluin tried to shove past him. "Release me before I do something I will regret." snarled the Mirkwood elf. "Only if you
_listen!"_ came the reply.

"Another lecture? Certainly!" Haluin ripped himself from Eldarin's grip and stood stiffly, his eyes filled with anger and pain. "Say it and be done."

Suddenly there came a pounding on the wall and the shout of "Durin's Beard! We're trying to sleep!" reverberated throughout the whole second floor of the inn.

The moment shattered, Eldarin glared at Haluin, snatched up his pack and sword and left without another word, the only sound, Haluin's fist smashing the bedpost to splinters.


^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Morning brought a surprise for Goran. He awoke to find himself being watched.

"Master Eldarin! What brings you here? More wrongs to right, perhaps? Shall I expect the return of your Ranger lackeys as well?"

Goran had always held his drink well and having such a golden opportunity as this fall into his lap was more than he could have dreamt of. Revenge smiled sweetly.

"What have you come for? Surely it's not my witty conversation?"

The elf sneered. "Hardly. I come with a warning. You will stay away from the children and to ensure this, you will be watched. There are more than human eyes that see, after all."

Goran threw back his head and laughed aloud. "You-you pretend to _care_ for them? Ha! You don't fool me, elf! They're not your kind, what do you care?" The words pierced Eldarin like a dagger. He flew at Goran, plucked him up from where he had lain asleep in the hay and shoved him against the rough wood of the stall. "Do not speak to me of what I do and do not care for, filth. I-ah!"

"Filth, is it?" Goran withdrew the long, slender dagger from between the elf's ribs and watched as he stumbled back, clutching his side. "You dare call me _filth_?" he rasped. "Because of you, my place here is precarious at best." A calculating smile crossed his face. "But now, you've given me the chance to redeem myself. My master will be most grateful that I was able to thwart the theft of one his best horses and will most likely reward me. I should be thanking you!" he chuckled.

Awash with pain and regret, Eldarin drew himself up proudly, his blood-soaked hand flashing in an instant from his side to the scabbard at his back. Now faced with a goodly length of elvish steel, Goran shut his mouth with a snap. "_This_ is why I despise Men, Goran. You mock what you cannot understand, then destroy it, crushing all that is beautiful and good for your own ends. Well, no more. Not you, at least." He lunged, but Goran managed to turn the thrust with his blade. He cursed, knowing how this would end, but he couldn't resist a parting shot, even with death staring him in the face. "So, my death is so much more right than yours? Elven logic seems oddly flawed to me. Death is death and neither of us will see the sunrise this day, or any other!"

"Die, Goran! Go to the nothing that awaits you." Eldarin cried, trying to drown out the man's words. Desperately, he pinned his opponent to the wall. Goran's eyes flared with pain as the sword's length slashed through his vitals, then fell without a sound.

The elf turned away, sickened, the pain in his side a flame threatening to consume him. He walked into the woods, back in the direction of the inn before he collapsed. "Forgive my words, _mellon nin." _ he whispered, "If I do not see your face again, know that I regret them sorely." With the last of his fading strength, he cried out to the trees around him. "Tell my brother, Haluin of Mirkwood, to come to my aid, my friends. Tell him to come swiftly!" _I do not wish to die, not now...Elbereth, not now..._


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## Ghorim (Dec 13, 2009)

_The previous night..._

More ale, and more ale still! The two dwarves single handedly kept their server busy long after supper was through, as Kabur led Jokim on a guided tour through the Prancing Pony’s inventory of brews.

Here is how they went about it: First, Kabur and Jokim each ordered a different drink. Then, they raised their mugs and toasted to the honor of one of the Seven Fathers of their race. They clinked glasses, usually sloshing their table with spillage as they did. Once each dwarf had completed his pint halfway, he exchanged mugs with the other and finished off his partner’s work. 

As they carried on their quest, a crowd of curious spectators began to encircle the table. Even the wild hobbit dance party broke up to come and have a look-see. 

“D’ya think they’ll conquer the whole menu?”

“Dunno. How many drinks ‘re on it?”

“Three score and five, last I counted!”

For his part, Eldarin covered his eyes and pretended as though he had never met either of these rowdy Naugrim. By the time Haluin and Druri returned from their second excursion around the inn, Jokim and Kabur were toasting Durin The Deathless and chugging down their drinks as fast as they could. The crowd was positively delighted at the showmanship.

Standing on the tips of his toes, Druri tried to glance over the taller patrons to see what was happening. 

“Here, I’ll lift you,” Haluin said, extending his arms.

Druri gave the Elf a withering look, and then turned to elbow his way through the onlookers instead.

“Ah, I have already forgotten...” muttered Haluin as his hands fell to his sides. “Never offer a dwarf help he doesn’t need!”

The young dwarf made it to the front just in time to see his uncle and Kabur guzzle down their seventh round. Most of the other patrons had assumed that this was some sort of drinking contest between the two dwarves, and a whispering buzz had begun to build as wagers were laid.

“Ha!” shouted Kabur, looking flushed and merry as he wiped at his lips. “What shall we order next?” He pulled up a little slate with the drinks listed in a neat little typescript. Their server, a middle-aged hobbit who appeared ready to turn in for the night, hovered nearby.

Jokim considered the question, but then spotted Druri amongst the small crowd. The uncle had kicked back in his seat, with boots up on the table in a rare moment of carelessness. But now he sat up, stiff and suddenly aware of the example he was setting for the lad.

“I am afraid I must decline, friend.” Jokim straightened his beard with an earnest expression.

“What’s that?” Kabur glanced up, his fantasies for the next round dashed.

“I ought to call it a night.” Jokim stood and stretched his arms. 

Their server gave a grateful sigh and stumbled off.

“The fat one wins!” came a call from the crowd. “Pay up your bets, losers!”

“But...” Kabur paused to frown at the heckler. “There are many more names to toast! Telchar, Azaghal...”

“And yet I must preserve some mystery for my next visit.” Jokim gave a polite bow. “It shall do no good if I have already tasted everything that the establishment has to offer. I wish you a restful night, sir.”

“And to you, sir...” Kabur dropped the drink list glumly as the crowd dispersed.

“Come, Druri,” Jokim said, taking the lad by the shoulder. “Bedtime.” 

“But...” Druri threw a desperate glance Haluin’s way. They still needed to plan for Mirina and Merrill’s rescue.

“No arguing.” 

Jokim was dragging Druri off, but Haluin gave a wink to the lad as they passed. There was no need to hurry things. As Goran had said, the two young thieves would stay in their stockades for the next two days before he regained custody. In the meantime, Haluin and Druri could stall until they found a way to expose the horseman for what he truly was.

And, Haluin thought, perhaps it was time to present the idea to Eldarin...


----------



## Ghorim (Dec 13, 2009)

Druri lay in the darkness and listened to his uncle snore. 

The deep, window-rattling claps of thunder that rumbled out from Jokim would have driven anyone else mad. But not Druri. For the past two years, these were the last sounds he had heard nearly every night before he fell asleep. And for all their ugliness, there was a strange sense of familiarity and comfort behind them. Hearing them meant Jokim was nearby, and that was enough.

So as his uncle droned on, Druri was lulled deeper and deeper toward sleep. But every time he was about to slip under, something snapped him back awake, like a pin poking the back of his neck. He was thinking of Mirina.

Druri rolled onto his side to face the window, gazing out into the bluish-gray gloom of the night. She must be freezing out there, locked in the stockades, with the wind tearing at her clothes and the frost setting in on her skin. How could he rest snug in bed knowing her misery? And Merrill’s, besides?

But what could he do? Druri frowned, as his mind furiously warred with itself. It would be a callous act of insubordination, sneaking out from under his uncle’s nose... but no! He had to act, even if he and Haluin hadn’t planned for it.

So with the greatest caution, he began to slip out from under the covers... one leg dangling out an inch at a time. His ears honed in on every little nuance of Jokim’s noisy breathing, alert for any signs of wakefulness. One leg, then the other... yes... now he only needed to find his boots, and then... 

_“Nay, Haluin... stop!”_

The shout rang loud and clear through the wall, and Jokim snorted awake in a terrible huff. Druri froze, knowing that he was done for. But his uncle did not so much as pay him a second glance as he lumbered by, barefoot and dressed only in his long underwear. He was muttering in a strange mixture of Westron and Khuzdul, taking the most vile oaths from each language and mashing them together.

With eyes squinted against the candlelit hallway, Jokim stomped his way to the next door down and smashed his fist against the wood.

“Durin’s Beard! We’re trying to _sleep_!”

At the farthest end of the inn, a quarreling couple fell instantly silent. Downstairs, the late-night revelry and conversation went dead. On the streets outside the Prancing Pony Inn, a youth who had just kicked a pebble down the cobblestone walkway dropped to his knees in shock and horror. 

All of Bree seemed to hold its breath for a few moments after Jokim’s shout. 

Then everyone heard Jokim’s door slam shut again, and the world timidly stirred back to life. Druri had not budged from his sitting position, just as frightened as everyone else within earshot. But again, Jokim did not appear to notice the lad as he marched back to bed, throwing himself back under the covers and resuming his snores almost immediately.

At that moment, Druri realized he hadn’t exhaled for some thirty seconds. He let it all out in a controlled gust of air, and waited to hear a few more snores before resuming the search for his boots. 

Once he found them, Druri laced each string with trembling hands, and then began his desperate creep toward the door. He timed each step to coincide with Jokim’s rumbling breaths, and in this fashion concealed his escape. Just before he left, he remembered his new coat, and plucked it off the rack near the room’s entrance. Then he opened the door just wide enough to admit his round little body, and slipped out into the hallway. 

With that feat accomplished, it now seemed foolish to give up and turn back. Druri tiptoed his way over to a closet he had spotted while Jokim was yanking him up to bed. The little room was filled with fresh sheets, pillows and blankets for guests. Sizing up the inventory in the dim light, Druri began grabbing as many quilts as his arms could handle. 

And then, his face completely hidden by the pile of bedcovers, Druri hurried down the stairs. The innkeeper gave the lad a queer look as he passed by the bar, but assumed he was a halfling servant completing late-night laundry work.

“Make sure you scrub all the stains out this time!” he called.

For his part, Druri did an admirable job of not halting his step, and acknowledged the order by heaving his shoulders. “Aye, sir!”

And out into the night he went. Druri had tensed his body in expectation of a frigid shock. But he found his new coat blocked out the cold. With a surprised grin, Druri began to make his way west, toward where Goran had said the youngsters were being kept. 

Halfway to the western gate, however, he spied the light from a watchman’s lantern making its way down the street, about to round the corner. Unfortunately, Druri panicked and made a poor effort at hiding. The best his agitated mind could manage was to press himself up against the side of a building and crouch behind a short barrel. 

But it was no good, Druri realized. The watchman would find him, and then he would have to explain everything to his uncle! What embarrassment, what shame...

Suddenly, a hoarse shout rang out. “Eleven o’clock, and all’s well!”

The lantern stopped its advance. Druri bit his lip and waited for it to resume. But then came the sound of a window opening, and a second shout, this one from what sounded like an old woman: “Oi, Clovis! You woke me up again!”

“Oh! Sorry, ma’am, but I just wanted to let the town know that all’s well.”

“And that’s just my problem with you! Why d’you carry on and scream about everything being well, eh? Why don’t you save all your shoutin’ for when something bad actually happens?”

“But, ma’am, that’s the way it’s always been...”

“I don’t care how it’s always been! You ought to show some more sense, boy!”

Druri wasn’t sticking around to hear any more of the argument. He had spotted a dank back alley on the opposite side of the street, and went dashing toward it, as his pile of blankets swayed back and forth the whole way. 

Now focused on avoiding discovery, Druri took a roundabout course to the western edge of town, where two pitiful forms squatted in the dark. A pang struck the young dwarf’s heart, but he still had to proceed carefully, in case any guards remained posted for the night. Thankfully, the only sentries at the west gate were up in tall towers, and had their eyes trained on the wilderness that lay beyond Bree.

Shimmying along in a half-crouch, Druri approached the first stockade. It was Mirina’s. Her eyes were shut, and her face had gone half-blue from the cold. Gazing at her closely, Druri could see the frozen trails of tears that had rolled down her face that night.

“Mirina...” he whispered, trying to hold his emotions in check.

She stirred, and opened an eye halfway. The young dwarf held a finger to her frosted lips.

“It’s me, Druri! But please don’t make any noise. I’m here to help you.”

“Oh, Druri...?” she rasped, both of her eyes popping open. “What... why are you doing...?”

He gingerly swept a blanket over her body, tucking it in tight around her clothes, and then added two more on top of it. “To keep you warm,” he explained, with a pathetically boyish smile.

“Oh... thank you...” she seemed too surprised to say much more.

“But this is just the first thing we’re going to do for you Mirina.” Druri was trying to explain, but his enthusiasm was carrying him along too quickly for the confused girl to follow. “We’re going to make sure Goran never gets his hands on you or Merrill again! Me and Haluin... we’re making a plan, you see, and...”

“Oh please!” Mirina whispered. “Oh please don’t let him near us, Druri. If he gets us alone, I don’t know...” A harsh sob pierced her speech, and she fell into quivering shakes. 

“What, Mirina?” Druri leaned in close, his nose just above the young prisoner’s bowed forehead. “What will he do?”

“Druri...” Mirina choked back the tears. “He has made... advances on me before, do you understand?”

Druri sucked in a gasp, but nodded solemnly.

“And Merrill... he has been the only thing standing in the way. He is so loyal to me... he always lingered when Goran was in my presence... to protect me. But now...”

“Say no more,” Druri whispered, wiping away Mirina’s tears. “We will put a stop to him, I swear to you!”

“Thank you, Druri. But hurry! If the guards catch you, you shall soon join us in captivity.”

“Right!” Druri nodded, but something rooted him to the spot. After a moment’s hesitation, his head lurched forward and he planted an awkward kiss upon Mirina’s cheek. Then he made a quick race over to Merrill’s stall, where he bedecked the lad with his two remaining blankets. 

Finally, he gave one last wave to the prisoners and turned to fly back into the shadows. He couldn’t help looking back as he ran, just to make sure no one had noticed his charity mission. But as soon as he turned his head, Druri ran into what felt like a stone pillar. The young dwarf fell to the snowy ground, and rubbed his head as he glanced up into the dark.

A towering shadow loomed over him.

“You continue to impress me, Master Druri. The courage of a dwarf, the appetite of a hobbit, and now, it seems, the sneakiness of an Elf!”

Haluin! Druri’s face lit up in surprise. “Thank you, Haluin! But don’t say as much in front of my uncle. He would take that last compliment as an insult.”

The Elf laughed, reaching down to help Druri to his feet. “Oh, rest assured, your uncle will not hear a word of that, or any of what you have been up to this night. Now follow me, and do as I do. You have a good knack for stealth, as I have mentioned, but there are still many things for you to learn.”

With a look of childlike obedience, Druri nodded and matched the Elf’s steps as they wound their way through the night back to the Prancing Pony.


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## Ghorim (Dec 13, 2009)

Haluin and Druri crouched outside of Jokim’s room, listening for any sounds or hints of life. The lad became alarmed when he realized he could not hear the familiar snores.

Druri scrunched up his face, and glanced to Haluin for guidance. The Elf shook his head, and pointed to the bottom of the door. A faint light shone through... that of a lit candle. Druri could not hear it, but Haluin perceived the sound of Jokim’s wakeful breathing through the closed door. 

The Elf glanced to his young companion again with an honest and open expression... they would have to face the consequences of this excursion together. Druri’s gaze dove to the floor, but he rose to his feet. Haluin did the same, and turned the knob.

They found Jokim sitting on his bed, arms crossed in expectation. The sole candle lit his glowering features harshly, giving him the appearance of an angry spirit sent to punish the wicked. He raised one hand and beckoned for Druri to enter.

“Sit beside me, lad.” His voice was blank, and that terrified Druri all the more. He had half-hoped to hear a forgiving tone, while still expecting a growling burst, but received neither. So he walked hesitantly, seeming to doubt each step he took along the floor. Haluin said nothing, entering the room but maintaining a respectful distance.

Jokim gave him a dark look. “Close the door.”

The Elf obliged, as Druri settled himself beside his uncle. While Jokim sat fully erect, his nephew slouched meekly, as if expecting a blow from above.

“I do not care which one of you tells it. But I will hear the tale in full, with no lies, half-truths or omissions.” Jokim’s eyes fell upon Druri, and then leapt to Haluin.

Haluin inhaled deeply, prepared to take the blame, but Druri blurted out before he could respond. “I went to help Mirina and Merrill, uncle!”

Silence. And then a single word, loaded thick with accusation: “Why?”

“Because... I thought they’d be cold, out there in the night... and I was worried about Goran. I think he might do something terrible to them, uncle, if they’re left alone with him. Mirina told me that...”

“I do not care what she told you.” Jokim swept aside Druri’s explanation with such a savage parry that Druri made no attempt to respond. He pursed his lips and slouched deeper.

“Haluin.” Jokim refocused that old eagle’s stare on the Elf. “What would you add?”

The Elf stepped forward, as a vassal does before addressing his lord. “Druri brought his concerns to me earlier this evening, Jokim. And I agreed with them. We discussed helping the two youngsters, but reached no plan of action. I did not anticipate Druri would attempt to visit them tonight. However, as soon as I heard him leave, I tailed him at every step.”

“You made no effort to stop him?”

“None. By I followed to ensure his safety. He only went to supply the children with blankets to keep them warm.”

Jokim nodded. And with a terribly thick pause, he considered his response. “You have both schemed to catch me unawares tonight. But you have shown your honesty once caught, and I thank you for that.” This was as mild a rebuke as Druri and Haluin could have imagined, and both of them seemed to ease up.

But then Druri found his uncle’s harshest glare thrown at him. “Never trust the words of thieves, lad. Never. They succeed through deceit, and exploiting the kindnesses of others. This is why I have forbidden you to speak with them. You have a soft heart, and it appears they have cracked it open with sympathetic words and gestures.”

The words “soft heart” were weighted so that they inflicted the maximum amount of shame on Druri, and what little confidence he had regained seemed to deflate in an instant. Haluin held his tongue despite an urge to speak.

“Now. Tomorrow we solve this matter properly. Face-to-face. No more slinking about in the shadows. We shall approach the local authorities, level our concerns about Goran, and see if we cannot arrange some formal escort for the three humans back to their village.”

“‘Our concerns?’” Haluin raised a brow. “Then you share them, as well?”

Jokim’s expression did not stir. “I believe Goran is corrupt, aye. And yet his young prisoners are not the doe-eyed innocents that you seem to believe. I would request an escort for Goran’s safety as much as theirs.”

Again, Haluin decided to keep silent rather than to argue. They disagreed, but seemed to have reached an equitable middle ground of action.

“Now... where does Eldarin stand in all this?”

Haluin looked away for a moment. “I told him of the plan, and the argument that followed was what awoke you earlier, Master Jokim. He then left the room, and I am unaware of his whereabouts.”

Jokim scowled. “That complicates matters. Let us seek him first thing tomorrow, then.”

“Agreed.” Haluin thought he might make an attempt to track his kinsman before dawn, but no... the shame was too fresh. Both he and Eldarin needed time and space to collect themselves again.

“Druri.” The lad glanced up at Jokim’s commanding word. “You and I shall share a bed until you have regained my trust.”

“Aye, sir...” 

At this point, Haluin left the room. This time, Jokim had made a resounding impression without so much as raising his voice.

---

Often in dark dreams, a sense of unknown dread oppresses the sleeper. A tightness in the chest, a numbness of the limbs, a feeling of powerlessness before the coming storm.

So it was with Haluin at dawn the next morning, as he stood hunched over the windowsill. He could not place the source of his fear, but he knew it had something to do with Eldarin. Their conversation from the prior night echoed in his mind, only this time accompanied by reminders of what he could have said differently.

He stood rooted at the window, watching as pale winter light trickled through the alleys and avenues outside. Something told him to run and search for his kinsman, and yet something stronger held him back. 

Finally, he heard the first stirrings of life from the neighboring room. Shortly thereafter, Jokim appeared at his door with a bleary-eyed Druri in tow.

“To the sheriff’s?” Jokim asked, and his stone-set figure reassured the weary Elf.

“If you know the way,” Haluin said.

“Well... Druri has been touring town quite a bit lately. Perhaps he can show us?” That rare bit of humor from Jokim coaxed a smile out of Haluin, and off the three went.

But after that moment of relief, the feeling of terror oozed its way back into Haluin. The streets were quiet that morning, but something still seemed amiss. The Elf fell behind the dwarves, who were trying to find the center of town. Then, without warning, Haluin stopped entirely. 

It was not so much anything he saw, or anything he heard, but something he _felt_... so suddenly and keenly that he shuddered all over. Something... someone crying out in terrible need. 

“Eldarin...”

And then his feet whirled to live, sending Haluin dashing off for the town’s southern gate. Jokim spun about, just in time to see a blur of an Elf disappear down a side alley.

“What in the name of...? Follow, Druri!” And Jokim flew with surprising speed after his friend. Druri jogged behind as best he could, but without breakfast to aid him, his legs quickly failed.

Haluin slashed through the marketplace, weaving in and around the early risers and leaping over crates without breaking stride. Now several seconds behind the Elf, Jokim found the obstacle course harder to navigate, and went crashing through the shocked merchants and customers. Druri was now reduced to a brisk walk, and stepped lightly through the carnage his uncle had left in his wake.

By then the Elf was flying past the gates, his feet aflame as he aimed for the nearby treeline.

“No, no, no, no...”

That tightness in his chest grew stronger, but that only whipped him into a faster sprint. A harsh gust of wind rattled the bare trees as Haluin’s boots crunched along fallen leaves... yellow, orange... and blood red.

Even from the southern gate, Jokim heard the despairing cry. A flock of dark birds took wing from the trees.


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## Ghorim (Dec 13, 2009)

The travelers did end up speaking with the sheriff that day, but not in the fashion they had expected to. He interrogated them at great length on what they knew of Goran, and their companion Eldarin, and if either would have reason to attack the other.

Jokim bristled at the questioning, what with Eldarin hovering between life and death in the next room. The dwarf seemed about ready to flip the man’s desk over on its side, but surprisingly, it was Haluin who defused the situation. He replied to the sheriff’s questions in a numb monotone, outlining how they had met Goran, the doubts they all shared about his sincerity, and reiterated the point Jokim had shouted several times already: that Eldarin would never strike another being unless provoked.

The sheriff maintained an aloof mask, but indicated that Haluin had told him enough. Before quitting the room, however, he made some reference to the fact that the dead man’s master would arrive in Bree by the next morning, and he would be harder to please.

They were not allowed to visit Eldarin’s bedside. So, feeling ill-at-ease in the sheriff’s hall, the three travelers retired back to the Prancing Pony, which lay only a block to the east. One of the deputies had proven a great deal friendlier than his superior, and promised any updates of Eldarin’s condition would immediately reach their room.

So it was that Haluin, Jokim and Druri hunkered down together in the dwarves’ room to wait. For what else could they do? The Elf and the young dwarf were both destroyed with grief, for each secretly blamed himself for Eldarin’s plight. 

Druri’s brittle composure broke first, and he threw his face into his hands to weep not long after he sat upon the bed. “Oh! If only I had not made that stupid plan!”

Jokim, the only one in the room who had remained on his feet, marched straight up to Druri and gripped both of the lad’s wrists. “Druri: cease.” 

The lad stifled a pitiful sob and looked at his uncle with a tortured expression. “But, but...”

“No.” Jokim glared at him. “No, Druri. Your only mistake was one of misplaced kindness. Did you order Eldarin to pursue Goran? Were you there at the stables when they fought? No. Now... cease blaming yourself for something that you could not have controlled.”

Haluin watched all of this from a nearby chair with a frozen, glassy-eyed expression. Jokim had cowed his nephew into a shocked silence, but tears still rolled down the lad’s fuzzy cheeks.

The uncle sighed and sat himself beside Druri. He seemed to wrestle with his thoughts for a moment before speaking. “The world is an evil place, lad.” A broad hand patted Druri’s back. “It will wound you many times before you leave it. But never surrender yourself to despair. Cast yourself into those fires, and all is lost.”

Haluin covered his eyes, and sat on the verge of making his own confession when the door opened. He glanced up, and saw standing there the two rangers from the road. 

Eldred was at the front, bowing deeply. “Greetings, friends. I must acknowledge your sadness, but I say this: fear not. Your friend will live.”

“How are you so certain?” Haluin rose to his feet, appearing half feral in his grief.

The man smiled, with both mischief and sympathy in his eyes. “Goran was no great assassin. He struck between the wrong set of ribs.” Eldred pointed on his own body where Eldarin had been wounded. “It is still a wicked blow, and it could kill a lesser being, but I assure you: Eldarin shall not succumb.”

“And are you a healer as well as a jester?” Haluin growled, with nothing left to hold him back. “Where were you, then, as Eldarin lay dying in the woods?”

A look of surprise and sadness crossed the ranger’s face, but he soon bowed again. “I see that my brother and I have made our appearance at a poor time. My apologies.”

“And yet we thank you for it,” said Jokim, rising back to his feet. “We shall speak again, Sirs Eldred and...?”

“Hurod,” replied the silent brother, offering a short bow of his own. And without another word, the rangers retired from the room.

Silence reigned in their wake, until another visitor knocked on the door. It was Kabur, and he nearly prostrated himself with his bow, as he thought back on how contemptuously he had treated Eldarin.

“Friends, my condolences...”

“We’ll have none of those, thank you,” replied Jokim. “Eldarin shall live.”

“Oh... aye, of course.” Kabur rose, clutching a book in his hands. “Well, I suppose the three of you have little more to do than wait, so I brought this book along...” He held it up. “It’s an adventure tale that I’ve been reading to my daughter back home... but I took it along for this latest journey. Perhaps it can offer some distraction...” He walked to Jokim reverently and handed over the volume.

“Thank you, Kabur,” Jokim said, with as much warmth as he could muster.

“I am leaving upon the morrow for the Shire. The halflings have always been fine customers of mine. Perhaps we’ll meet again there?”

“As soon as Eldarin recovers enough to travel, we shall be on our way. And once there, we shall ask for the fat dwarvish merchant in the bright-colored garments.” Jokim grinned.

“You flatter me, sir... farewell!” Kabur gave another awkward bow, and left.


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## Ghorim (Dec 13, 2009)

The shadows cast by the window shades lengthened along the wall, as afternoon stretched into an early winter evening. Still no word came on Eldarin. 

Haluin sat tensed in his chair until he could bear it no longer. He left the dwarves with only a hurried excuse, and began a meandering walk around the town. His wandering took him to every neighborhood of Bree, where the locals gazed upon the distracted-looking Elf with great suspicion.

He tried to outpace his thoughts, but they kept nipping at his heels. What would happen if Eldarin perished? Haluin imagined a life alone in the wild... imagined Jokim and then Druri growing old and disappearing. Simply him, left to wander without destination. 

The Elf shuddered and tore at his hair. No home left for him... no one left to care for or protect. He suddenly felt possessed by a need to leave the town, with all its foreboding walls and sealed doors. Without thought, his legs carried him back out the south gate, back to the woods.

The sun had long since set, and stark shadows now leapt from every tree. Haluin sat beneath the tallest and sturdiest he could find. Many long hours he had spent like this in Mirkwood, sitting in contemplation of the world. In those younger days, it had spread before him in a great expanse of possibility and adventure. 

But what could he say of the world now, save to echo Jokim’s assertion: it was an evil place. As if drawn by swift tides, his thoughts flew to every tragedy that had befallen him: first Daeron, and then Hengist so many years later. Those terrible years he spent adrift, driven only to hunt orcs into extinction. He thought of Neniel, her treachery and lust to see him utterly destroyed. 

Even Eldarin’s devotion struck him as a blow now. What had the smith dedicated himself to, suffering banishment and injury on Haluin’s behalf? All for naught, all for naught!

Footsteps. Haluin’s head, which had been bowed in meditation, sprung up to see a stout shadow heading his way. Heavy breathing accompanied its approach. Jokim, of course.

“I had thought that I might find you here.”

The Elf sighed and rose, leaning against the tree all the while. For once, he could not think of a response.

“You are prone to these melancholy fits, Haluin.” The dwarf stood at a fair distance, arms folded over his chest. “It is not healthy.”

“I am used to being alone. I thought it would be best...”

“Thought it would be best?” Jokim took a step forward.

“... If I did not burden you or the youngling with my grief.”

The dwarf snorted. “Haluin. What am I here for if not to share your burdens and make them lighter, when I can? After all the nonsense we’ve been through together... what could you possibly have to hide from me?”

Haluin’s stance softened, as Jokim’s words seemed to beckon him back toward the world of the living. “I...” he gave a reluctant chuckle. “No, nothing. I often think that you see all.”

“I only see well in the dark, Haluin. When one has entertained such grim thoughts himself, it is not difficult to recognize them in another.”

Haluin placed a hand to his chest in surprise. “Jokim... what do you mean...?”

“Another story, then. After you and I parted ways in the Rohan, I chose to live in the Iron Hills, safely away from my family and friends. I had never explained to them why I left to wander in the first place. But being around them shamed me. It was cowardice.” Jokim spared a glance to the clouds overhead. The full moon shone faintly through the grey sheets. “So I was not there to protect them when the dragon came. Of course, I would have perished along with all the others. But perhaps... my sister and her husband might have survived in exchange.” Jokim’s arms unfolded and dropped heavily at his sides. “I spent many nights tortured by those possibilities. But in the end, Druri needed me more than I needed those thoughts. Do you understand? For all that you might have lost, there are still others nearby who can defend you.”

Haluin had crept gradually closer while the dwarf talked. So Jokim was not fast enough to defend himself as the Elf gushed forward to embrace him. 

“Ach! What is this, then?” Jokim burst free with a grunt. “If that is to be my reward, then remind me never to speak of my past with you again!”

“My apologies, friend!” Haluin gave a full-bodied laugh. “But I know of no other way to properly express my gratitude.”

“Well...” Jokim carefully rearranged his beard. “Then perhaps you can hug a tree when I tell you this: Eldarin is awake and talking. Druri is with him now.”

“What?” Haluin started. “Why did you not tell me that right away?”

“I wished to see you recover yourself without the benefit of that news.”

“Well, well!” Haluin smacked Jokim on the shoulder in a peculiarly dwarvish gesture. “Then I am myself again.”

“Good! Keep it that way.” Jokim returned the congratulatory slap, and they began the walk back to town.


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## chrysophalax (Dec 26, 2009)

"...and I found where Mirina and Merrill were being held, half-frozen in a mean little prison on the western edge of Bree. I gave them some blankets that I, er, found in our room and then Haluin came..."

"Haluin? Is he safe?"

The weakness with which the question was asked made Druri's heart ache.

What would Haluin think when he beheld his fallen friend, lying so pale in the watery winter sunlight that tried its best to warm the room in which he lay? The lad was doing his best to make amends. After all, it had his plan that had led to this. He had to do something!

A gentle tap on the door alerted Druri that they had company and he scurried quickly to open it. Haluin stood there, looking calmer than the young dwarf would have imagined possible. The elf smiled down at him, then glanced past him to the form lying so still on the bed. For a moment their eyes met and held, but Haluin had not the heart to hold Eldarin's gaze.

"Thank you for keeping an eye on him for me, Druri. Jokim came to fetch me as soon as he heard Eldarin could have visitors. If I may, I wish to sit with him."

Druri waved Haluin into the room. "Yes, of course! There's water and some fruit on the table just there and he's even taken some broth. I'll be with uncle if you need anything." As Druri started to close the door behind him, he grabbed Haluin's hand. "I'm so sorry. I know I'm not supposed to blame myself, but I can't help it!"

Haluin fell on one knee, gripping Druri's hand tight. "You only wanted to help someone in need, Druri. That is _never_ wrong! Listen to your uncle's wise words, youngling and be at peace." He then rose to his feet, gave the lad a quick embrace and closed the door after him.

Before he turned to face the bed again, Haluin drew a steadying breath. The sight of Eldarin's drawn face had shaken him badly. Willing himself not to show his anxiety, he went to the table to pour himself some water, then settled on the bed at Eldarin's side.

The elven smith extended a hand that Haluin took tentatively in his own. The grip he received was surprisingly strong and he looked up, sighing in relief. "I thought..."

"I know, _tor-nin_, you thought I would leave you. I am made of far sterner stuff, I'm afraid! You must try harder if you wish to be rid of me so soon." Eldarin said with a grin, then grimaced as he tried to shift himself over.

Instantly, Haluin stood and with Eldarin's direction, made the injured elf more comfortable. He then sat himself down on the nearest chair and looked at his friend carefully. "I want to look at what those rangers have done. They certainly took long enough about it! Did you know that thay would not let us see you?"

As Haluin drew back the covers and began to examine the bandages binding the wound, Eldarin chuckled dryly. "It was at my request, not theirs. I needed the time to heal, without your fussing over me as though I were on my deathbed. As it is now, you can fuss all you like, _mellon-nin_. Thanks to Eldred's expert care, I will be able to harrass you for ages to come!"

Guilt pricked at Haluin's conscience. "I fear I was less than gracious to them. I was so angry..." He ducked his head as tears welled up, threatening to betray just how afraid he had been, as well. "If I had not provoked you-if I had only listened to you, you would not now be lying here in pain."

"Or perhaps it would be you or Druri lying here instead and with perhaps not so good an outcome. Haluin, hear me." he said, with note of pleading in his voice so soft Haluin nearly missed it. "I'm listening, Eldarin. Truly."

Gesturing for some water, Eldarin sipped slowly from the goblet Haluin handed to him. After a few moments, he coughed carefully, then handed the goblet back and began to speak.

"I killed him, Haluin. Let there be no doubt of that. He stabbed me and I killed him before he could strike again. It was not my intention from the start, I wanted only to threaten him into leaving the children alone. I should have known better-he was, after all, a man." he said bitterly. Haluin drew breath to comment, but ceased after a glance from Eldarin. "I was also afraid that you would attempt to confront him as well." he whispered.

Haluin squeezed Eldarin's hand comfortingly. "I thank you for thinking of me, but it should not have been necessary. I said many things I regret, especially after the kindness and companionship you have shown me, not to mention saving my life." He looked away, his hair falling across his face like a shroud. It made Eldarin shudder at the omen and he reached out to push it aside.

"Enough, my friend. Peace. We are both hot-tempered and have both made mistakes. This is not the first time and it will scarcely be the last." He took Haluin's chin in his hand and swallowed when he felt the wetness of tears. "I will not leave you. Mandos himself will tire of my complaints and send me back to your side should I fall, rest assured!"

Haluin chuckled aloud at the image of an irate Eldarin berating the lord of the Halls of the Dead, then wiped his face on his sleeve. "I do not deserve you, but I am glad beyond measure that you find me worthy. Now, you get some rest while I guard your sleep, my brother. Tomorrow may not be uneventful from what I gather from the sherriff."


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## chrysophalax (Dec 26, 2009)

Haluin's words had the ring of prophecy when there came a fierce pounding on Eldarin's door. Raised voices shouted out in the hallway as Haluin took up his sword and he could hear Jokim arguing loudly with several strangers just outside the door.

"Stay where you are!" he hissed as Eldarin struggled with the bedclothes. "I won't have you ripping your side open!" Mumbled curses warmed his ears as Eldarin stood up, bracing himself on the bedpost. "I'll not be confronted, hiding behind you like an elfling behind its mother's skirts!" "Fine! At least find a sheet." Haluin ground out between clenched teeth as the door burst open.

Two stout men carrying pikes and with breath foul enough to make a dragon re-consider breakfast entered the room. casting suspicious glances at the two elves. A third man followed, while a fourth stood out in the hall looking vaguely uncomfortable with the situation. The third man was tall, well- dressed and had an air of inflexibility about him that made Haluin sneer.

"Who are you and what is your business here?" asked the elf sharply as he dropped his hand to the pommel of his sword.

"I'll ask the questions, elf." the man replied, his voice sounding like distant thunder. Haluin's eyes narrowed dangerously and he could hear Jokim chuckle.
"You." the man addressed Eldarin. "I am told you slew my horsemaster. Is this true?"

"Only after he attacked me." replied Eldarin, as he exposed his side to those in the room. "He was a violent, evil man. I have nothing more to say to you."

Haluin took a step forward. "Sherriff, my brother is not yet healed and I will not tolerate any further disturbance of his rest. You know all that I and my companions have told you and you know that he is innocent of any wrong-doing! Goran was cruel to Merrill and harboured evil thoughts toward this one's daughter." he said, nodding toward the tall man who stood glaring like beast about to attack. "Now, get out!"

The sherriff and Mirina's father began a heated argument, but in the end, it was decided to leave them in peace for the time being. Jokim and Druri glowered at them as they joined the elves in Eldarin's room and shut the door solidly behind them.

Druri gave a huge sigh of relief, then gasped as Haluin spun to catch an ashen Eldarin in his arms as he fell. In a flash, Jokim grabbed the elf's legs and together, they lowered him carefully onto the bed. "Ah, Elbereth...why did you not _listen_?" scolded Haluin as he snatched up a cool, wet cloth and pressed it to Eldarin's brow. "You...are not the only one who still has-things to learn." replied the smith, his voice thick with pain. "Jokim, find the rangers! I don't care how, just find them!" cried Haluin as he watched Eldarin's eyes slide closed and his breathing become unnaturally slow. "No, _tor-nin_ I forbid it. Damn those rangers! Eldred said he would live. He must, he must..."

Druri stood at the foot of the bed, awkwardly patting Eldarin's feet. He didn't know who to be the more concerned about; Eldarin with his wound, or Haluin with his fear of losing yet another dear friend. 

He never knew where it came from, but Druri prayed as he had seldom prayed before. _Great Ones, Ai-Ainur, I think my friend calls you. Don't let Eldarin die! We need him, Haluin needs him. Just...help!_

And gently, he continued patting Eldarin's feet.


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## Ghorim (Feb 1, 2010)

“Your lack of faith is appalling.” Eldred eased the door to Eldarin’s room shut, having succeeded in sweeping the Elf’s companions out into the hallway. “I said he would live, and he does.” The ranger made a casual shrug. “Too much excitement, nothing more.”

Jokim stood at a crossroads between gratitude and a desire to throttle Eldred’s hubris out of him. The ranger had appeared conciliatory at their last meeting, but now seemed merely annoyed that Jokim had hunted him down at Eldarin’s latest setback. 

In truth, the dwarf didn’t have to do much work. He raised enough of a ruckus in his search that Eldred simply had to follow the sounds of warthog grunts and thickly accented oaths to their source. There he found an angry set of hands that grabbed him, twisted his left arm behind his back without any apparent explanation, and dragged him several hundred yards along Bree’s slushy paths to the sheriff’s building.

Now they stood in the cramped passageway that led between the sheriff’s living quarters and his holding cells, filled as ever with sullen faces protesting their innocence. The infirmary room in which now Eldarin stayed had sprung from that hallway as an afterthought some years ago, just in case some barroom brawler found himself in need of more than a few stitches. 

As Eldarin still sat under suspicion of premeditated murder, he continued to lodge in that unfinished sketch of a room, beneath the baleful gazes of Bree’s sheriff and his deputies. 

All of this misfortune weighed on Jokim’s mind as he made an infantryman’s march straight for Eldred, those same hands threatening to mangle the ranger for a second time. Eldred slid along the wall like the shadow, safely out of reach. His compressed, somewhat stocky build masked a fluid grace of motion that he could call to his service whenever threatened. 

He waved a mocking finger at Jokim. “Tut, tut. I’ve kept my promise, haven’t I?”

“Listen.” Jokim continued the dance, taking a step forward that Eldred mirrored in the opposite direction. “Since you and your brother seem to be the only ones with any sort of competence at healing in this dratted town, we demand that at least one of you stay at Eldarin’s bedside until he is fully recovered.” 

“What presumption! And does the sun also rise and set at your beck and call, dwarf?”

At this moment, Haluin somehow slipped between the two dancing partners before Jokim could make the next move. “Now, please, Eldred. For all its bluster, is Jokim’s request not reasonable? Our friend remains trapped in a dangerous place, and it would help to have a skilled and sympathetic set of hands nearby.”

Eldred rose from his defensive crouch and gave an almost grateful smile. “Well... it might be possible, but Hurod and I have other business to attend to.”

“Such as?” Jokim shoved past Haluin to level his milk-curdling glare at the ranger.

“Proving Sir Eldarin’s innocence, of course.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” This time, Haluin returned the dwarf’s favor, practically leapfrogging over and around Jokim to keep him out of striking range. 

“Every deadly tussle leaves footprints, bloodstains, battered walls... tiny brushstrokes that paint the truth. With the sheriff and the dead man’s master as an audience, I can display the proper picture to undeceive them of their biases.”

Eldred’s theatrical delivery of this speech made it almost seem believable. But even Haluin seemed to hold himself back from leaping headlong into the ranger’s promises. He took a step back, with a detached air about him. “Then leave Hurod here to tend to our companion.”

“Yours is not the only matter on our plate at the moment, you realize.” Eldred frowned slightly as he spoke, but soon waved his hand in flippant surrender. “As you wish, then. But you ought to find yourself a leash for that mongrel of yours.” And with a delighted flash of his eyes in Jokim’s direction, Eldred glided down the hallway and out into the streets.

“To think, we are throwing our lot in with that deranged acorn eater.” Jokim had bottled up his rage to deny Eldred any further satisfaction, but Haluin could feel a powerful draft of heat emanating from the dwarf’s general direction.

“You are running short of good insults after your haggling match, it seems...” The Elf smiled.

“Well, I think he’ll get the job done.” Druri stepped into the fray with a gust of youthful passion. “Rangers are masters of tracking, are they not?”

“And Men are masters of stubbornness and shortsightedness.” Haluin’s grin had fled, and the vacant expression that remained in its place gave both of the dwarves pause. “I do not like Eldred’s chances.”


----------



## chrysophalax (Mar 26, 2010)

Winter was arriving with a vengeance, Eldarin could feel it. Outside, the wind was howling, stripping the last leaves from the trees, leaving them to huddle naked and forlorn in the gathering gloom.

With his face pressed against the single pane of glass the room in which he was being held afforded him, the smith yearned with all his heart to be back out in the elements again, free from all constraints and complaints his present situation forced upon him and irritation, an emotion he had seldom, if ever, felt, was fast becoming his boon companion.

His wound had healed, seemingly overnight, such was the healing power of the elven constitution and now all he wanted, was out. Where was everyone? He was not normally given to losing his patience, but Eldarin had finally had enough. Stalking over to the door, he began to pound on it, determined not to be ignored any longer.

Haluin, meanwhile, had decided an apology was necessary. The rangers had only been doing as they had seen fit, after all. Maybe a little ingratiation would help him secure Eldarin's freedom just that much sooner. Therefore he went to seek out Hurod in order to win him over. After all, he had never been lacking in charm and his previous experience with the ways of men told him he had a better than average chance of gaining the man's trust.

He found the man at the edge of the woods just to the north of town. The snow had begun to fly and Hurod was hunkered down, scoring the bark of a tall birch with his knife. "Have you asked it's permission?" called Haluin. Hurod spun round, his eyes fierce and Haluin's respect for the man rose considerably.

"Nay, elf. I fear I've neglected my manners in that respect." he replied drily,sheathing his knife. "You speak like a friend of mine. He's always talking to plants and trees. Spent too much time with you lot, I reckon."

Haluin grinned. "One might do worse than spend time with "my lot", as you so quaintly put it." He extended his hand. "I wish to ask forgiveness for my rash behaviour earlier. I-am not normally so quick to anger. You and your brother were only trying to help."

Hurod glanced dismissively at the proffered hand and made as if to turn away, then snarled and clasped it almost cruelly. "I have no love for elves, but...neither do I hate you. I accept your apology for my brother's sake and because...I believe I would have acted the same way were he the injured one."

Haluin bowed his head in acknowledgement, then pulled his arm from Hurod's iron grip. "I think we understand each other then. Come, we should get that willow bark back to Eldarin, if you have no other herbs to find." Together they silently returned to the sheriff's building, but long before they reached it, Haluin stopped for a moment, listening. "Do you hear that?" Confusion filled Hurod's eyes. "Hear what?" 

The elf broke into a run. He had heard raised voices and one of them was Eldarin's. Elbereth, what has happened now? He sounds furious! Anxiously, Haluin raced down the street, imagining the worst and when he arrived moments later, he found both Druri and Jokim yelling at the sherriff, who was yelling by turns at Jokim and Eldarin, who was white with rage, demanding to be let outside.

All eyes flew to Haluin as he skidded into the hallway. "Where have you been?!" cried all three of them at once, glaring at him as though he were the cause of it all. Calmly, he raised a quizzical eyebrow at them, smoothed his hair back, then walked over to join the fuming group before him. "Righting a wrong, if you must know. Hurod is following behind with some much needed herbs for you, Eldarin. Now, by Nahar's balls, will someone tell me what has happened?"

Abashed, Eldarin turned and sat on the edge of his bed, while the others told Haluin of the elf's sudden fit of temper. Haluin was appalled. "Why are you so surprised, Jokim? Do you know so little of us? We cannot tolerate long periods in confinement, without the freedom to walk beneath the stars, or the ability to feel the sun on our faces. Just as your people were shaped from the earth itself by Aule, so were we bound to her, heart and soul, by Iluvatar himself when the music was sung. We wither and die, my friend." he said softly. "I'm certain it was only the feeling of oppression that caused to him act thusly...is it not so,_mellon[/ I]?"

"Aye, tor-nin. I can feel the earth changing, beginning to slide into the deep sleep of winter...and I cannot wish the trees fair dreams as I have since I was an elfling...not shut away in here!" His voice held such a sadness, that Druri felt his eyes start to sting and hastily scrubbed them with his sleeve.


"How long must we wait for men's justice, sherriff?" asked Haluin in challenging tone. "My kinsman will not remain here much longer, of that I can assure you. He was set upon by a rabid animal cloaked as a man, an animal that even now could have done unspeakable things to one of your own children, had Eldarin not been forced to slay him, also paying with his life in the process! I will not have him languish here. I will not!" As the sherriff reeled from Haluin's verbal assault, the elf went to kneel at Eldarin's side, whispering words of encouragement that only he could hear._


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## Ghorim (May 9, 2010)

The bloodstains had curdled into black splotches by the time Eldred led Mirina’s father through the stables. No one had made any attempt to clean them. The Bree folk had common sense enough to stay away from such a grisly scene. Not even the town’s elders could recall the last time that someone had met with such a violent death within their city’s walls. 

Now whispers darted from every tongue in town, telling of the shadowy Elf who had cut down a Man in the stables. For what they lacked in substantive facts, these tales compensated with fantastical inventions: the Elf stood twice the size of any Breeman, he wore a cloak that could render his form invisible, and his sword was as black as the midnight sky with a sickly curve along the blade.

Torgard, Mirina’s father and Goran’s former master, had rode into Bree after a grueling 14-hour gallop to discover these stories. The news of Goran’s death had come as a near-shattering blow to a man who had already stood overburdened by indignities. Less than a month ago, his daughter had lost her wits and eloped with one of his stablehands, a young halfwit whose family’s social standing resided one rung above dirt. Then came word that these two misfit lovers had robbed an unsuspecting Bree family. Now Goran, whom he had raised almost as a second child, lay dead at the hands of an Elf. 

Yet somehow, Torgard had weathered each development with a grim sort of calm. His father had raised him in a militant fashion, branding into him the values that made him such an efficient stablemaster. Rigid posture, precise movements, attention to detail, a harsh but fair sense of discipline... Torgard applied all of these lessons in his stable, as well as his household. And even as these values, one by one, seemed to have failed him over the past weeks, they also insulated him from shock. They became his armored shell, and it seemed as though he could ward off any misfortune.

But then Eldred told him that Goran had struck the Elf first. Had any other person told him as much, Torgard would have whipped the slanderer as he would a misbehaving stallion. Eldred, however, was a trusted voice. In their zigzagging travels throughout Eriador, Eldred and his brother had come to Torgard’s aid on several occasions over the years, almost always with regard to horse thieves. They worked quickly and decisively to track down the criminals, and their ruthless speed only served to impress the stern horsemaster.

When Mirina and Merrill had disappeared, he had hoped to call upon the brothers first. But word came that they were otherwise detained with wolf troubles to the north. Goran, meanwhile, had so insisted to his master that he personally capture the runaways, that Torgard gave the young man his blessing to pursue them. It would be a fine test of his mettle. Now it had ended like this, in shame and disaster. 

Eldred walked him through the tracks of Goran’s final battle step by step, forgoing his usual theatrical delivery and adopting a respectful monotone. They started at the narrow trail of blood that had spurted near Goran’s bed of hay. Such a blow could only have come from Goran’s dagger, Eldred said, and matched the wound on Eldarin’s body. And on and on the ranger went, using his deep tracking knowledge to recreate the scuffle, right up until Goran’s fatal fall. At each description that incriminated his trusted servant, Torgard’s mind rebelled. Every part of him wanted to leap upon Eldred, to repeat the murky tales he had already heard from locals. But the ranger’s arguments stood sound and impenetrable. And the evidence spoke loudest of all.

Without abandoning his formal posture, Torgard bowed his head to consider. The flecks of gray that scored his temples seemed to have multiplied in only a month. 

“I suppose you never saw him handle horses,” he said at last, with his back to Eldred.

“Only when we returned them to you. He would lead them into the stables, and I would see no more of him.”

“He had a gift, Goran...” Torgard tiptoed around the name. “He set the beasts at ease almost at once, no matter their agitation. And he loved them. Genuinely. There was a great tenderness in him. You cannot convince me otherwise on that count.”

“Perhaps. But I fear that he cared more for your beasts than he did for his fellow Men. And Elves, even less so.”

Torgard recoiled, drawing himself back against one of the abandoned stalls. The stablehands had hurriedly evacuated all of the steeds the day after the death. Now the stables had a ghostly, foreboding air about them, as if they were haunted by more than just Goran’s displaced spirit. 

“Do not speak of him thus. You, who hardly knew the man...”

Eldred clasped his hands together and took a step forward, half-contrite but not conceding any ground. “I understand that you had a great deal of pride invested in Goran’s success. You believed in him when no one else would... least of all myself or Hurod.”

“And he proved himself to me, ranger. Day in and day out with his chores, improving with each mistake, always eager to serve on my behalf. You saw none of that.”

Eldred raised one hand, index finger pointed in a sharp rebuke. “But I did see the wild youth who snuck into your stables and made off with one of your best mounts in the night. And I dragged him back to you by the scruff of his neck, as you had demanded.”

Torgard pointed right back. “And we all agreed that he should work off his debt, did we not? That by doing good, he might reverse his ways?”

Eldred sighed, and dropped his finger. His right hand returned to its embrace with his left. “We did. But it never sat right by me. I ought to have told you...” He paused, shook his head, and continued. “I cannot imagine the feeling of having one’s trust in another so violated. For Hurod is the only Man I have ever trusted, and he has yet to fail me. As for you, Goran won your heart, that much I can see. And perhaps he did right by you, in some ways. But talk to your daughter if you wish to know the full tale. That is all the counsel I can provide at the moment.” 

Eldred bowed in Torgard’s style, cold and considerate, before turning to leave. The stablemaster tracked him with an incredulous glare. His composed mask began to distort in anger.

“What do you mean, my daughter?” He took several long steps after Eldred, but the ranger did not slow his pace. “What do you mean?!”

But as Eldred faded into the wind and snow outside, Torgard realized that he would have to seek the answer himself.

---

It looked as though a storm had passed through Eldarin’s room, leaving everyone within roughed up and frazzled in its wake. Druri did not sit so much as crouch in a hawk’s perch on the edge of the room’s lone seat. His face still flushed red from shouting at the sheriff. 

Jokim, too agitated to sit; Haluin, too weary to stand. Eldarin, still in bed, gaze swimming amidst the snowflakes that danced outside the window. 

Eldred walked into this peculiar scene, tearing off his cloak in a swirl of dark brown cloth. He tossed the garment at Hurod, who rather resembled a coat rack in his wooden stillness in the room’s far corner. With all six of them in the cramped apartment, there was barely any space left to stand.

“I hear that you wish to escape.” The ranger looked at Eldarin as if he were the only one present. 

Without a word, Jokim slid into the only open space left in the infirmary... directly in front of Eldred. The ranger gazed straight over the top of his head. 

“If you would only call off your bodyguard...”

Eldarin sat up with a shake of his head. “I never would have imagined a dwarf as a personal protector.”

That simple remark appeared to put Jokim back in his place, and he reluctantly backpedaled to make way for the ranger. But his eyes still held a tone of caution for Eldred, reminding him that he was being watched. 

“I have won you a reprieve, Eldarin,” Eldred said, with a half bow. “I told the sheriff you are fit to walk, and he will permit you an evening stroll under my supervision.”

The instant he had gained even that much permission, Eldarin was on his feet, blankets whipped aside. Once again, Hurod caught the fabric flung his way. “There is some fair influence you must wield in this place, Eldred, for the man seemed intent on locking me up until the spring.”

“Hmm.” The man gave a half-smile, one laced with some irony intended for only Eldarin to understand. “But I deserve only half the credit. From the way the sheriff described it, it was our esteemed pair of dwarves and Master Haluin who softened him up before I arrived.”

Eldred looked at Druri this time, and the young dwarf nearly slipped off the chair and onto the floor. Needless to say, his imagination had already painted a thousand spectacular images of what rangers were capable of. Traveling for days straight without rest or food, shooting arrows through the eyes of beasts from hundreds of paces away, tracking a pack of wolves with only one hair of shed fur to guide them. 

Druri had heard their kind spoken of in whispers only, and mysteries outnumbered facts in his knowledge of their ways. For Jokim’s sake, he tried to hide it... but he was overawed by the two brothers, no doubts about it.

Eldarin gave Druri a short look as well before surveying the rest of the party. “Let us leave this sad little room, then, and enjoy what remains of the day.”

And, as if he had been awaiting this signal the entire time, Druri sprung to Eldarin’s side. “That’s the best thought I’ve heard all day!”


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## Ghorim (May 9, 2010)

Out they went, into weather that most Bree folk would have considered too brisk to face. But there was something magical about the twilight hour in winter, the way the dying light made its last gasp over the frigid hills and leafless trees.

As he tried to sneak a covert glance at Eldarin’s face, Druri saw it illuminated in a strange spectral glow. The Elf breathed deep gulps of the stinging air, his expression blank but glowing with an inner joy. Druri scampered along at his side, attempting to match each of Eldarin’s long strides with two of his own. 

Jokim and Haluin were aways behind, and the rangers hung at the rear of the procession like trailing shadows. 

Druri had spent most of his brisk jog trying to raise the nerve to break Eldarin’s trance. They were coming up on the grove of trees south of the city, the same area where Eldarin had fallen in dying throes not two days beforehand. Seeing the boney tree limbs grasping toward murky skies reminded Druri of what Eldarin had spoken from his bed... not so much the words themselves as the ache behind them. Of course Druri knew some things about nature... scattered lessons handed down from father, uncle and Haluin. But he had never felt it in the way that Eldarin’s voice had suggested. What secret was the Elf hiding?

“What did you mean about... seeing the trees off to sleep?” Druri made a point of not looking at Eldarin as he asked the question, in order to keep a hold of his composure. But when he turned back, the Elf’s gaze had him pinned. A glint of curiosity had animated Eldarin’s serene expression, and he looked at the young dwarf as if studying him for the first time.

“Perhaps...” He began at a half-whisper, but then found his normal speaking voice again. “You would not understand were I to merely tell you. But perhaps you could learn to see such things for yourself.”

Druri snorted. It was a secondhand expression, passed down from his uncle, and it fit him poorly. He had hoped to dismiss the Elf’s words without a second thought, but a fearful excitement shone through his eyes. Fear, that he had begun down some strange path that he could not turn back from.

“Come with me.” Eldarin turned to look ahead. The trees had grown quite close now, with spiraling branches that seemed to beckon Druri closer. He remembered the first time he had glimpsed the Mirkwood treeline up close, and recoiled from fear’s memory. But Eldarin nudged him forward, until the nearest tree was close enough to touch... thick, stolid, rooted to the same earth for decades. 

Eldarin placed Druri’s hand — why was it quavering all of a sudden? — against the rigid bark. Druri instinctively glanced over his shoulder, searching for his uncle, but Eldarin was there again to guide his head back to the tree.

“No, no, Jokim cannot join us.” The Elf spoke as if he were settling a spooked horse, while his hand remained resting atop Druri’s.

“Why not?” Druri squirmed, still resisting.

“Your uncle is a practical fellow. A fellow of stone and discipline... of solid things. I have the utmost respect for his intellect, you understand, but his ears are deaf to the things that you will be seeking.”

“What am I...?”

“No more questions.” Eldarin leaned in closer. “You are distracted, and there are many things you must now ignore. Steady your breathing, lad.”

Druri made a fitful gasp of air, before making a labored attempt at exhaling evenly. He shut his eyes, tensing his fingers against the tree’s outer shell. Another breath. In... out. Two more breaths... slower, steadier.

“Good. Now you must shut out the rest of what surrounds us... the bite of the cold, the whistle of the wind. It is a difficult task the first time you attempt it, but you will improve. There is nothing but us two and the tree.”

Druri pressed his eyelids tighter. He tried to imagine the endless blackness of a deep cavern, where no sunlight or lanterns could penetrate. No breezes, no sounds, just stillness. He grew afraid at the thought, but something he could not name seemed to soothe him. He was safe here.

“Yes.” Eldarin’s voice was a mere whisper now, floating somewhere behind him in the darkness. “Now the most crucial step. You must abandon your thoughts... the little memories and musings that cling to your attention. Let them all fall like autumn leaves, one at a time, until you are empty. Then you are ready to listen, and I need instruct you no further.”

This task struck Druri as impossible. When awake, his mind fluttered in a constant state of near-hysterical energy. There were so many things to wonder about... what Eldarin was doing, what Druri might hear next, what he might be doing wrong. But no, he had to let go. 

By degrees, Druri dammed back the incessant burble of thoughts that filled the silence. Instead, he trained his focus on the stillness around him, embracing it, blending into it... but he was not alone. Another heartbeat pulsed in the black. Not Eldarin, who seemed to have faded into ether, but something warm and inviting. 

“Closer.” 

Druri moved, somehow, closer. The second heartbeat grew louder. Now the young dwarf could sense a great lethargy draping over him, seeping into him drop by drop. He felt himself sinking down, almost melting, but still he trudged ahead.

“Closer...”

He grasped for the other presence, seeking a hand to hold. “I hear you,” he wanted to call. “Let me see you.” But his weariness was overwhelming, and Druri already felt himself tumbling down, down into deeper blackness still, where a great shroud enveloped him...

And now all was still.

---

By the time Druri awoke, blinking off a peaceful haze, he was all the way back to his bed at the Prancing Pony. The covers around him had been tucked in to the point where they nearly pinned him against the mattress... his uncle’s handiwork, no doubt. And there, he suddenly realized, was Jokim, crouching at his bedside.

“Druri? Are you there?” Jokim’s face was pinched with concern, hovering close by.

“Oh...” Druri made a leisurely yawn. “Hullo, uncle. Is breakfast ready?”

Laughter rained down from above, and Druri noticed that the Elves were there in the room, too. A fire blazed in the hearth — it was still evening — and cast grinning shadows upon the ceiling.

“Well...” Jokim gave Eldarin a skeptical glance. “He is still himself, it appears! But you have yet to explain this trance you put him under.”

The Elf shook his head. “And again, I say: it was not I who did the work. I simply set Druri on the correct path, and he did a most excellent job of following it.”

Jokim returned his attention to his nephew. “What do you remember?”

Druri blinked a few more times and shifted in his bed. “Remember? Oh, we were walking, weren’t we? Aye, we were. And Eldarin led me to one tree... and I spoke with her, uncle! I really did. She was very old, and could not speak so loudly, but I heard her. She kept telling me to come closer, but she was very sleepy, and so was I... and the next thing I remember...”

“That is enough, Druri.” Jokim spoke with a clenched jaw. “Rest, now.” One eye settled onto Eldarin, bright and piercing. “You shall give him no more of these lessons, Eldarin.”

Eldarin raised both hands with palms forward, attempting to make peace. “You need not be so alarmed, friend. This sort of reaction often happens the first time...”

“And it will be the last time for him. There is no more discussion. Do not forget who has raised this lad, and where he comes from...”

“Jokim...” Haluin stepped forward. “I am hearing a familiar argument, am I not? Let us set the matter aside for some other time. Druri is quite fine, and quite himself, as you will see. Let us sup, and hope that we shall have a clear path to leave Bree as soon as possible.”

Druri, of course, wanted to contribute his own thoughts to the conversation. But one look at his uncle, who barely contained his displeasure in bowing to Haluin’s counsel, and the lad knew to hold his tongue. The matter was indeed closed, at least for the time being.


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## chrysophalax (Jun 11, 2010)

Matters had not gone well at the stockade after Torgard saw for himself the appalling conditions in which his daughter and stableboy had been housed. 

"I would never keep an _animal_ in such squalor, much less _children!_ " he had roared at the unfortunate who happened to be on guard. As the man scrambled to find his keys, the sherriff arrived and another shouting match ensued, causing the nearby neighbours' ears to prick up and many craned precariously from their windows to see what all the fuss was about.

They were treated to the sight of Torgard shouting, the guard frantically herding the two young people out of the miserable pen /cell they had been huddling in and the sherriff struggling manfully not to punch one of the influential citizens in the region senseless.

"Are all of your prisoners so well treated, Master Sherriff? I hope for their sakes they are not! _Look at them!_ They're nigh dead with cold and the boy looks as though he would eat the next passing dog, if he could catch it! What is _wrong_ with you?!"

The sherriff stood his ground. "I have no excuses, Torgard, but let me say this. Goran's death has set this town on its ear and I've had neither time nor men to spend on anything else except that I, too, am shocked by what I see and I will do what I can to make it right. I can do no more."

The two men stood glaring at one another for a long moment, then Torgard nodded curtly. "I will take these two home now and we will speak no more of this until the matter is concluded, but hear me..." he said, his voice dangerously soft, "I want who did this punished. Do you understand?" The sherriff's eyes narrowed. He was not a man who liked being told how to do his own work. He smiled grimly as his thoughts turned to the elf awaiting his fate.

"He will get what he deserves, Torgard, believe me."


*******************************************

"Why is Jokim so closed to our ways, Haluin? All I did was..."

"All you did was, in his eyes, try to corrupt his innocent nephew with your elven foolishness." The raven-haired elf sighed at the confusion he saw in his companion's eyes. "Foolishness? I sought merely to teach the youngling something of what lies blatantly before his eyes, but that he cannot see. What is the harm in that?"

"Ah, _tor-nin_. You understand as little of them as they do of you. Jokim is like the earth and stone from which his people sprang. Solid, dependable, hard..." His eyes sparkled for a moment with wicked glee. "...and thick!" They both chuckled as Haluin continued. "He will defend you to the death, this you've already seen. But do not try too obviously to change Druri, for that will earn you his undying enmity. Dwarves seem to me to exist sometimes on pride and stubbornness alone, so yes, I understand your frustration!"

The presence of the rangers, standing discreetly out of ear-shot, sobered Haluin suddenly and Eldarin looked around to see what he was looking at, then turned to face his friend. "Do not worry for my fate, Haluin. Our race is not yet finished, not by a long road. Though I do not trust in Men, those two have hidden depths, which I am certain you yourself have sensed. Is this not so?"

"Aye, Eldarin. But again, that is simple for me to say, for I have not experienced the horrific things you have at their hands. We have yet to meet the girl's sire, after all." In truth, Haliun was filled with dread. Goran's master sounded by all accounts to be a harsh man, but, he reminded himself, all he had to go on were the accounts of the two runaways. Perhaps the man was wiser and more fair than the young ones had made him out to be. 

Lazily, Haluin stretched his long legs and stood up from where they had been sitting, on a long-dead tree that had fallen many winters before, blown down in a gale. "Come, friends! Let us make our way back to the inn!" he called to the rangers. "If we must!" came the dry reply, Hurod's most likely.

"Come, you laggards! One last drink together before we hear Eldarin's judgement. Never let it be said that the elves are miserly when it come to wine and good company." Eldarin laughed. "Spoken like a true Sindar from Mirkwood! I've heard many a tale of the merriment to be had around King Thranduil's table."

"And all of them true! Why, one Midsummer about a hundred years ago...or was it seventy-five?" _Years?!"_ blurted Eldred incredulously. "Yes, years. Don't interrupt! Either way, a great feast was being laid on and a grand bonfire was lit just down from the lake, when one of the largest of the spider clans decided to attack. Unfortunately..." "Did you say spiders?" "Yes, spiders. Why? Anyway... this was after we'd been drinking steadily for many hours, so never even noticed that the prince had been abducted! You should have _seen_ his face when we found him the next day, trussed like a goose upside down in a huge old beech about a mile from the lake." He began to laugh.

"What happened then?" prodded Eldred, grinning.

"If only you knew Prince Legolas..." he chuckled, which made Eldarin start as well. "The pristine Legolas...I've had the pleasure, yes. That must have been a sight!" 

"I can only tell you, the youngling can _curse!_ Very inventive, I must say and most of it completely impossible, I can assure you! And did I mentioned the mint sauce?"


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## Ghorim (Jul 30, 2010)

Haluin did not knock as he entered the dwarves’ room at the Prancing Pony. Elvish manners never bothered with such formalities... every neighbor was a friend, and every doorway was an invitation to enter. Of course, Haluin had _attempted_ to curve this habit in the company of Jokim, whose folk seemed to hold privacy and fellowship in equal regard. 

Once again, however, the Elf neglected to take precautions. Within moments of the door popping open, Jokim’s face would twist itself into a stern reprimand, as if Haluin were a child for him to scold. But before Jokim’s brow creased, before his eyes flashed in annoyance, and before his mouth hooked south in a deep scowl, Haluin saw that his recklessness had netted him a strange reward: He had caught the dwarf in an unguarded moment.

Jokim sat in one of his room’s wingback chairs, one hand buttressing his head while the other hung limp over the arm of the chair. He stared at the wall to Haluin’s left, without expression, turning over a thought in his head. He looked old in that moment. Haluin felt startled, seeing as if for the first time the grayed fringes of Jokim’s beard, the crevices that had begun to mark the contours of his face, the deepened bruises encircling his eyes. And in those eyes themselves there lay a profound sadness, for this brief moment fully exposed.

In some sense, Haluin had known it was there ever since he first met Jokim. Back then, the dwarf had been a young and fiery colt who brandished his emotions in wide arcs, with little restraint. His fury, his excitement, his hurt had all blazed wild in his eyes. But in the years since then, Haluin discovered, Jokim had learned to mask himself behind a grim, stonecut expression. A neat trick, indeed, for even the dwarf’s eyes refused to reveal any of his secrets. Even at his most impassioned, they still remained clouded over. The fire behind them shown distantly, like lightning flashing through some thick and terrible storm.

Throughout their entire journey, Haluin had been trying to crack through that stubborn shell. So far, he had precious little to show for all his efforts... only the times when Jokim was too weary to maintain his stronghold, or when he had willingly stood down as a token of friendship. Seeing Jokim slumped in that chair, Haluin’s mind flashed to their conversation in the forest outside of Bree. That the dwarf might have exchanged his own life for those of Druri’s parents...

But there was no more time for this line of thought. Jokim had already hopped to his feet, drawing his face taut and seeming to shed several years of age all at once. “You do not knock? _Still_?” Behind that fatherly tone, a hint of irony in Jokim’s voice suggested that perhaps he had begun to see the humor in Haluin’s unannounced entrances.

“One thousand pardons, good sir!” Haluin gave an exaggerated bow, his usual apology in these sorts of instances. It managed to coax a giggle from Druri, who was lying on his bed, struggling through the first pages of the book that the merchant Kabur had loaned to his uncle. 

Jokim, on the other hand, kept an aloof front. “What is it, then? News?”

“Of a sort. From what I am told, Eldarin’s fate will soon be decided, one way or the other.”

“'The other.'” Jokim repeated the words and considered them. “And if it comes to that?”

“The lot of us may have to make an unannounced departure, I fear.” A gleam of mischief crossed Haluin’s eyes. “Are you good with disguises?”

The dwarf gave a gale-force snort. “Haluin. Do you know that I had once entertained the thought of a peaceful and uneventful journey to the Blue Mountains? But ever since I crossed paths with you it has been nothing short of a traveling circus. Poisonings! Banishments! Thieves! Rangers! And now you plot a bandit’s escape from Bree? This nonsense seems to follow you about, Haluin.”

It was quite a harangue, enough of one to force Druri to shrink a few inches back into the bedcovers and bury his face in his book. So how else could Haluin respond but with laughter? Rightly or wrongly, he sensed a note of humor in Jokim’s speech once again.

“It is not my fault that you have grown unaccustomed to adventure, my dear dwarf. But as you should recall from our days in the Rohan, some journeys are doomed to be frightfully _eventful_.”

The silence that followed seemed to progress in distinct stages: at first icy and still, before the air between Haluin and Jokim somehow warmed without any words exchanged. Jokim relaxed his fighter’s posture.

“So you have a plan, then?”

“Of sorts...”

“Of sorts! We’ll need better than that.”

“Which is why I’ve come to speak with the both of you. Yes, that is correct, Druri. Stop pretending to flip those pages and join us!”

Druri hardly needed such a formal invitation. He rolled right off the bed, flipping the book away with a careless toss. “Do we really get to wear disguises, Haluin?”

Jokim stared down his nephew, shook his head, and then turned to (alas, once again!) conspire with the Elf.

---

Merrill slumped in his chair and listened to the muffled tones behind the closed door. Mirina’s voice, soft and distant, sparring with the cold drone of her father. He wanted to join them in there, but could not. He did not look at the faces of the others who passed him by in the hallway.

He was a sullen lad of sixteen, with a body of nothing but gangly limbs and sharp angles. His straw-colored hair clung limply to his scalp as though it were permanently wet. Most of his young life he had been content to dream. Now, finally, he had taken his first significant action, and this was the result.

From the reprimanding tones of his jailers and the villagers who had jeered him while he was pilloried in the town square, Merrill got the impression that he was supposed to be sorry for his deeds. He was not. How could anyone understand?

The interrogation went on for some time, and the lad began to fidget. Then Mirina began to sob, and he was on his feet. Ear against the door, mouth agape, face contorted in worry, listening.
_
“This is all true... you swear that to me?” 

“Father, yes. You must believe me... for all I have done...”_

_“No, Mirina...” _

There was more, but it was too soft for Merrill to hear. He strained for a good five minutes, nearly denting the wood with his pressing ear alone. But there were only snatches of words and choked sobs... from both of them? No, that could not be. Merrill had never seen the old man weep or mourn... even when his wife passed. 

Suddenly there were footsteps from within the room, heading toward the door. Merrill crashed to his rear, and then scrambled back to his seat. He stole a glance at both father and daughter as the door opened. Their eyes were moist.

“Merrill.” Torgard called him up like a hound. The lad stood, reluctant and obedient, and slunk behind the father. He was no longer allowed to stand beside Mirina.

“What now, father?” Mirina asked, eyes hugging the floor, her gaze hiding from Merrill’s. 

“We shall meet with the party that captured you on the plains. I owe them a debt of gratitude for halting your flight.”

“And the Elf...?” There was no question as to which Elf Mirina was referring to.

“I shall speak to him alone.” The mist fled from Torgard’s eyes. Both children looked to him in the gaping silence that followed. He stared straight ahead, and marched dead center down the inn's halls. Merrill’s wrist was crushed firmly within one of his square fists.


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## chrysophalax (Sep 28, 2010)

It was nearly sunset and Eldarin paced restlessly in the small, bare room the sherriff normally reserved for interrogation. The elf had been told that Goran's master would be arriving shortly and to mind his manners if he wanted to keep his looks. Eldarin had merely glared and turned away. His thoughts had grown ever darker since his injury and even the light-hearted Haluin had not been able to draw him out of late.

_What was Eru thinking when He sang into being the Secondborn? Were we not enough for Him to toy with?_ Just as the desire to smash something was becoming an obsession, he heard the sound of footsteps just outside. The door opened and a man nearly Eldarin's height entered the room.

Torgard's presence was commanding and he knew it. However, he was as good a judge of men as he was of horses and the "man" he now found before him gave him pause. There was no fear in the elf's eyes nor was his demeanour overtly threatening. Rather, he gave the impression of a powerful animal weighing its options and liking its chances.

As they stood assessing each other, the sherriff brought in two chairs, then left with a word, closing the door unceremoniously behind him.

"I want to ask you some questions and I want the truth, Elf."

"As I am not in the habit of lying, you will have it." replied Eldarin acidly.

"Good. I am a busy man and will not have my time wasted. Is it true my horsemaster Goran had...thoughts regarding my daughter?"

Eldarin's eyebrows went up. This was not what he had expected. "I cannot say for certain, but I never cared for the man. His character seemed unsavoury."

Torgard sighed deeply, his thoughts torn between friendship and what was just. His next words were heavily weighted with care and sorrow. "My daughter has told me this day of his advances toward her and of how Merrill, despite his wastrel appearance, sought in his own misguided way to rescue her, though it was from the wrong man."

The proud man stood , his shoulders bowed. "She lied to Merrill, telling him how she hated me and how badly I treated her. She made him think she cared for him and the poor, blind fool believed her. Now...if I can trust in what she has told me is the truth, you have done me a service and I stand in your debt."

He held out his hand and Eldarin stared at it for a moment, bewildered. Slowly he stood, clasped Torgard's arm and said, "A debt easily repaid. Let my friends and I continue on our way west and you will be troubled by us no more. Winter waits for no one and we have many leagues to travel yet before journey's end." 

"As you say, easily repaid. Done and done. I will ask the Pony's landlord to give you supplies enough to last at least until you reach...where is it you're bound?"

Eldarin smiled for the first time in days. "In truth, I have no clear idea. You must ask the dwarf, Jokim. It is his journey, after all. I am a mere follower."

Torgard looked at him searchingly, then chuckled. "Very well. I will talk with your friend and again...I thank you." As he turned to leave the room, he felt a strong hand grip his shoulder and turned back. "What-?" "One thing further, Torgard. Do not despair of your daughter. She will be well, as long as she knows beyond doubt that you care for her." With that, Eldarin released his grip and slipped out of the room and vanished into the gathering gloom, eager to rejoin his companions.

He let out a glad cry, throwing wide his arms as he inhaled the crisp, apple-scented air of autumn. The stars seemed to shine brighter than he could ever recall seeing them shine before and he felt the cloying web of imprisonment and pain fall away from him as he strode quickly toward the Pony, the faces of his friends appearing before him as though guiding the way in his mind. Now, he could look forward to the Road and savour all the adventures it could throw at them and his heart filled with anticipation.

Overhead, a moon nearly at the full, watched as the elf hurried toward the inn and bats flew on soft, silent wings, seeking their supper. Below, Eldarin heard their cries and smiled to himself. _An excellent idea, small ones! Prison food has hardly agreed with me and a flagon of wine will not go amiss!_


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## Ghorim (Oct 11, 2010)

A grim mood had settled over Jokim, like a great hand that laid heavily upon his shoulder. He could feel the winter nipping at their heels now. Gusts of frost, flecks of snow, early darkness and dim mornings... all things he did not trust. It was as though he could not imagine spring, and only foresaw the days growing shorter and shorter, until naught but shadow remained.

He felt a dull longing beginning to take flame in his breast: for halls of stone, and warm hearths, old friends and stout drinks... safety, security, stability. He wished to shut out the wide world of the plains, with its snake trickery and uncertain paths. Long had he trod its grounds, always seeking and never finding, and he had grown weary of it all. These adventures and dalliances that amounted to nothing in the end. He viewed Druri’s flowery enthusiasm for the road only with bewilderment. 

So when Eldarin announced his freedom to the party, Jokim wasted little time in following up with a declaration of his own: they would depart Bree on the morrow, pre-dawn.

It deflated the room. To Druri and the Elves, it seemed that Jokim had turned his back on the spirit of adventure that had bonded them together. No more mystery, no more discovery, only itinerary. With his instructions given, Jokim went downstairs to have a drink alone. But Haluin followed.

He found the dwarf in the darkest corner of the Prancing Pony’s dining room, almost hidden in a recessed booth, nursing a mug of stout. 

“What moves a heart of stone?” Haluin leaned on the booth’s outside frame and gazed into the shadow at Jokim, whose eyes hid beneath his traveling hood. “I have often pondered this riddle, Jokim, when I have pondered _you_. But yours is not a hard heart, I do not think.”

Jokim glanced up, and his eyes gave that distant lightning flash. “Oh?” He measured the syllable out, tensed it, brandished it as a warning.

“Just earlier today I saw it, that mirth which you keep tucked away in a drawer somewhere in there.” Haluin tapped at his own chest. “It lives on, in spite of your best attempts to snuff it out!”

Now he sat across from Jokim, watching the dwarf lower his gaze again and return to tending his ale. “Ah, but the business with Druri’s lessons the other night, and your speech upstairs a moment ago give me doubt. Now is the time when we ought to be lifted in gay spirits, but you sink deeper into yourself.”

“I might well rejoice for Eldarin’s freedom.” Jokim gave a sip of his drink and watched Haluin. “But this entire business with the urchins — which you instigated at every turn, I might add — has left a bitter taste in my mouth. The road is no longer for me, and I am no longer for it. I seek only a speedy and safe journey home.”

Haluin stared at his friend for a spell, almost uncomprehending of this backhanded strike. But that ancient Eldar spirit suddenly took wing in his eyes, and he spoke in a tone unfamiliar in its severity. “No, not a hard heart. But a heart that can grow blinded by its pride! That remark about our encounters with the young thieves I shall leave untested: it is sunk by its own folly. Yet even without it, your words wound me.” 

He stopped, taking a deep breath to collect his thoughts and his wits. “You see much, Jokim, far more than you let on, I imagine.”

The dwarf had made no visible reaction to any of this talk.

“But,” Haluin continued, “You also possess a gift for overlooking the obvious. So pray let me speak bluntly: I cannot bear the thought of our parting. Even with a companion so faithful as Eldarin at my side, the years of our wandering shall be long and fallow.”

The Elf clasped his hands, steeling himself in forced composure. “These are your final days of adventure, or so you say, and in a sense they are mine as well.” But no, this was too much. Haluin’s thoughts began to fracture. “I... I have always thought us bonded in some fashion, Jokim. Bonded by some design beyond our reckoning. That we should be shoved together again, by happenstance... a greater meaning lies behind it.” A pause. Outside the booth, revelry and music bloomed in the air. But a heavy silence seemed to reign within the shadowy alcove. “Have you... not thought the same?”

Haluin stared intently into Jokim’s eyes, but the dwarf had drawn that grey veil about them again. Jokim leaned back into his seat, and ignored his drink for the moment. His hands rested in fists on the table.

“What do you fear to lose in me, Haluin?” Jokim glanced to the floor. “We are bonded, perhaps, but all bonds must break.”

“I fear to lose a brother!” Haluin whispered these words, but with a terrible grief and intensity. “Brothers we called ourselves in the Rohan, or do you not recall? And a brother I have always counted you, even in our years spent apart. Even when you have pulled yourself away from me.”

Haluin did not know why, but these last words seemed to produce a shudder in Jokim. A true chord had rang somewhere within him.

“I have pulled myself away. Yes.” Jokim pondered the words. “Many times. From you, and from others. And I have always thought it sensible... for the best.” His eyes drifted to the careless gaiety of the Prancing Pony. “But...”

The Elf watched Jokim’s eyes haze over again, and felt himself lunge in sympathy toward his friend. “You are thinking of your sister.”

“I...” Jokim was disarmed. He hid his gaze, straightened his beard, and then glanced up. His eyes were frank and open. “What do you wish of me, Haluin?”

“Only that you savor the final days of this journey, just as you did with the first. For the sun’s setting is surely as brilliant as its rise, no?”

Jokim made a puffing snort that ruffled his entire mustache and sent ripples through his beard. “Poetry. At a time like this.”

“Poetry at any time makes the heart sing.” Haluin wagged a finger. “And do not tell me that dwarves are ignorant of such things! For I have heard the little rhymes you teach Druri when he tires along the trail, and there is music in them... even the Khuzdul ones!”

The dwarf’s expression relaxed, and a little curve of his mustache indicated a half-smile brewing. He looked wily in that moment, like a faded echo of the young brawler Haluin once knew. Unchanged, but grown dusty from disuse.

In truth, Jokim was sharpening a little barb in his mind, but stopped short of speaking it when he spotted Druri and Eldarin approaching. The young dwarf led the way, hopping between the chairs, tables and patrons that barred his path.

“Uncle!” He called several feet out from the table, even though he clearly had Jokim’s attention. “Uncle.” He spoke again, now standing at Jokim’s feet, making his earnest imitation of an adult’s voice. “Eldarin and I have discussed the matter of our departure, and we agree that...”

“You wish to stay up late and celebrate, eh?” Jokim gave Eldarin a wry look first, then Druri. The lad’s plain expression had gone muddled, showing his uncle’s guess had proved correct. “Well.” One last glance to all three of his companions. If Haluin didn’t know any better, he might have imagined that Jokim enjoyed all of this attention. “We leave _at_ dawn. But not a minute after.” 

Druri whooped and clapped his hands. “Drinks for all, then! Come, Eldarin!”

The Elvish smith shook his head as Druri whipped past, but gave a quiet bow of respect to Jokim before chasing after the lad.

“Hmm. Is that more to your liking, Haluin?” Jokim kept a careful watch over Druri’s progress across the room. “Now I shall have a sleepy sluggard to drag out of bed tomorrow.” 

“You err as I err, Jokim: we both look too far ahead.” Haluin smiled, and the dwarf gave him a questioning look. “There is only tonight to cherish. Damn tomorrow.”

“Damn tomorrow!” Jokim’s brows rose, and he gave an admonishing little chuckle. “Well. I suppose I shall drink to that... for tonight, anyway.”

And he raised his glass high, where the lamplight caught it, and lit the dark liquid to a dull gold.


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## Ghorim (Oct 11, 2010)

But tomorrow came. Frigid and hard, sorrowful and blue. The west wind shifted, whispering promises of worse to come. A punishing winter and a late spring.

The first fires of day had not yet stirred as Jokim descended the stairs into the tavern hall. A cauldron of song and mirth last night, today a tomb. The day clerk had slumped forward on the bar, fast asleep. The dwarf smacked the countertop as he walked past, not looking back to see the fellow’s reaction. He was headed out: too antsy to sleep and hungry for a jog.

He remembered days when he dreaded the early infantry jog. The darkness of the barracks as the call to rise went along the bunks, fumbling for boots, blank and sleepy faces, the slap of mountain air as he went past the gates of Erebor, the raspy barks of sergeants: “Knees up!”

But now he cherished his little morning trots as a perfection of solitude: just the chugging rhythm of his body at work, the lazy roll of passing scenery, and quiet thoughts. That morning, as Jokim took to the snowy tracks that ringed the village, he thought of Haluin. Some old memories, but primarily thoughts of the future.

Jokim had failed in his mission to find his old friend a haven among the Elves. He had not expressed his disappointment aloud to the others — he could never allow Haluin to imagine that he cared so much — but it gnawed at him in a slow and torturous fashion. For even though Eldarin had spoken grand words about he and Haluin being “home to each other,” Jokim saw through such talk. He had felt the weight of Haluin’s spirit last night... the true weight of exile.

Part of him had hoped that he could disengage himself from Haluin — cleanly, to send the Elf on his way without regret. But it would not work out so easily; Jokim saw that now. As Haluin had said, they were bonded, somehow... and neither quite understood it.

So the dwarf continued to wrestle with his thoughts as he returned to the gates of Bree, with the first hint of orange dawn taking flame in the east. Within the village, lights were stirring, and the first morning folk had taken to the streets. Jokim did not slow his gait, still rumbling through the streets like a miniature oliphaunt on the loose. Every villager he passed stopped to stare. They had seen many dwarves pass through these walls, but none quite like this one.

He finally halted once he returned to the Prancing Pony, making a few finishing stretches outside the front entrance. It was there that a voice spoke from behind him: “Jokim, is it?”

“And who wishes to know?” The dwarf turned, and exhaled a full gust of winter steam from his nostrils. 

“I am called Torgard.” He stood in a thick greatcoat, tall and shadowed in deep blue beneath the inn’s hanging sign. “You arrested my daughter, Mirina, on Amon Sûl.”

“Indeed, I did.” Now Jokim recognized those eyes... those of the severe man who had stormed into Eldarin’s room a few days before. “And never have I met a child more deserving of punishment.”

“I agree.” Torgard stepped into the light, such as it was. “And I wished to thank you for the service.”

Jokim paused, making a quick read on the man and his intentions. “Let us step inside and speak... briefly.”

Torgard nodded and smiled agreeably, but his eyes said nothing. Jokim stayed wary.

---

The day clerk was firing a salvo of dirty looks Jokim’s way as the dwarf and Torgard sat down to their conference. As he and the stablemaster made small talk, the dwarf did his best to ignore the onslaught. But finally, he forced himself to turn and give the barman a glare that sent the fellow scuttling in the opposite direction.

“You were saying?” He glanced back to Torgard.

The man had been explaining the circumstances of his daughter’s disappearance, and the hunt of Goran... the anxiety he felt at Mirina’s flight, the agony of Goran’s betrayal. At first, Jokim attempted to close his ears to such talk. The matter of the young brigands was already closed, sealed, packed away and forgotten in his heart. 

But as the stablemaster’s stern composure began to draw thin, as his words gained urgency with each passing sentence, like a boulder tumbling down the mountainside, Jokim began to realize that Torgard had to speak these things aloud. This was a confession. And the man seemed to think that Jokim would understand his plight more than anyone else.

So the dwarf softened his front somewhat. Even as the hour of dawn came and went, and the Elves descended into the main room, appearing ready to depart, Jokim listened. Finally, after a deep sigh, it appeared that Torgard had nothing more to say.

“And what now?” Jokim heard himself speak the words, but did not quite believe them. “How do you discipline the children?”

Torgard shifted in his chair, appearing distant. “My heart is at war with itself, I fear. And until the tide turns one way or another, I can make no final judgment. But at this moment, I find myself drawn away from wrath, and toward mercy. There have been enough tears shed over this affair, I think.”

Jokim leaned forward. “Be wise. Push sentiment aside, and make a prudent decision. That is all the counsel I can offer.” Now he rose, standing about as tall as Torgard seated in his chair. “And with that, my companions and I must be off.”

“I wish to offer you one of my finest geldings as repayment for your deeds.” Torgard spoke with a sharp cadence, making his offer sound like a demand.

Jokim shook his head. “What deeds? I happened upon two thieves in the night and treated them as I saw just. As for the gelding, I can ride with competence, but nothing greater. I could not fully appreciate such a gift. I apologize, but I must decline.” He bowed.

“The offer shall stand, should you ever reconsider.” Torgard's voice quieted, as he drew back into his cold reserve. “In the meantime, take my heartfelt thanks with you to the Blue Mountains. Oh yes... and my daughter wished to pass along a message.”

Jokim had begun to march to the inn’s staircase, but paused to listen.

“She wishes to thank your nephew for his kindnesses.” 

“Hmm.” A slight frown, concealed beneath his beard. “Thank you.” And with that curt salutation, Jokim was heading up the stairs.

Torgard sat alone for a spell, considering his conversation with the dwarf. Then he noticed the Elves glancing his way, and gathered up his things before departing the Prancing Pony. Outside, the rising sun did little to warm the land. Torgard walked alone.

---

“Five more minutes...” Druri groaned and rolled away from his uncle’s prodding, drawing the covers about him in a tight cocoon. 

“Five more minutes!” Jokim roared, sending Druri tumbling over the far side of the bed in fright. “You’ve only slept in this late by luck and my mercy! Now up with you, lazybones. Clear your wits and prepare for the march!”

Up the lad scrambled, predictably terrified. “Yes, sir, uncle sir! Where are my boots, sir?”

Jokim smirked and held up his nephew’s boots, both clutched in his right hand. “Here. Now settle down, lad. I only bellowed so as to wake you up for good. And none of this ‘sir’ nonsense. You are not infantry just yet. And I am your uncle, not a commander.”

Jokim felt a refreshing wave of warmth and affection wash over him as he watched Druri slap on his boots, unwittingly sticking out his tongue as he tied the laces. When it was just the two of them, uncle and nephew, life was simple.

“What took you so long to wake me, uncle?” Druri glanced up from a half-finished loop on his left boot.

“Hmm. I was waylaid by a long-winded fellow. Torgard, the father of the female brigand.”

Druri’s face lit up, and suddenly Jokim wished he had held his tongue.

“What did he say?”

“They are returning to their village, and that is all there is to know. Now hurry up.”

But Druri persisted. “Did he say anything about Mirina?”

Jokim scowled at the lad for a moment. “No.”

Druri sank a bit, but his elder gave him a quick smack on the shoulder to bring him back to life. “Come, hop to. I shall not have any further delays. We are leaving!”

The lad obeyed, but his thoughts appeared to lie elsewhere.


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## chrysophalax (Oct 12, 2010)

Druri's pensive mood matched the watery sunlight which greeted their return to the Road. The normally effusive young dwarf remained withdrawn even into midday, when stomachs began their urgent rumblings and thoughts were growing dull from lack of conversation...at least between the dwarves. Eldarin, glad beyond measure at being able to stretch his legs and breathe the clean air again, found himself commenting on everything from a flock of birds winging threir belated way south, to the grim hills rolling away to their left and the mist that seemed to cling shroud-like about them.

Noting Druri's unaccustomed silence, the elf nudged Haluin, who had been listening avidly to Eldarin's ramblings. "What troubles the youngling? Never have I yet known him to be this quiet, this long. You know him better than I, _tor-nin._ What ails him?"

"Despite all appearances, I am no expert in the ways of dwarf-kind, _mellon-nin, _" replied Haluin. "Although...my shrewdest guess would be that it was something Jokim has said to him. He has no idea how much the youngling hangs on his every word and many times I have seen their effects." A sly grin slowly made its way across Haluin's face as he pondered the many vagaries of dwarvishness. 

"I think I may have a remedy." he whispered. Eldarin quirked an eyebrow in question, but his friend merely held a finger to his lips, grin still firmly in place. Raising his voice, he asked, "Now tell me again, Eldarin, my thoughts were straying earlier..." A snort from Jokim told the elf that, as he had anticipated, they were being listened to. "You say those hills to our left are haunted? By what, or should I say, by whom?"

Eldarin's eyes flashed in amusement and he eagerly followed Haluin's lead. "Haluin, Haluin...very well, I will tell you the tale again, though why I should bother to waste my breath-" "A thousand pardons! I am all attention now. Please continue!"

Sighing dramatically, the smith began to speak. "Once, not very far from this spot, stood a great kingdom of Men, Angmar, it was called. Fearsome it was, for it was ruled by the Witch-King in direct opposition to the ancestors of our Ranger friends who dwelt hereabouts. His magick was cruel, and it is said, he trapped the souls of Men beneath those very mist-covered hills, where they lie to this day, their bodies heaped in ill-gotten riches, moldering, howling, hungry, jealous...yearning for life and hating all those that yet walk with the sun on their faces."

"Riches?", rumbled Jokim.

"Souls of Men?", quavered Druri.

The elves grinned at each other. A captive audience!

"Indeed, my good dwarves! Treacherous riches. Treasures locked away for centuries along with the corpses of those who longed for wealth and power, only to find death their only lasting reward."

Jokim snorted. "A truly elvish sentiment! Wealth and the finding of it can be an art."

"Ah, yes. So I've heard it said among the dwarves of Khazad-Dum, though Mithrandir has heard otherwise and keeps his own council on that subject."

"Ha! Wizards! What have they ever forged of note? They speak of signs and portents, wind and waves, nothing of any substance to we mortal folk."

Both elves became silent, their thoughts filled with one being in particular and they shuddered. "You know not of what you speak, old friend." said Haluin quietly, but before Jokim could utter the retort burning on his lips, Druri piped up, "Can we go and see them? The-the hills, I mean."

All eyes turned to Jokim, who glared at Haluin as though it were all his fault. "By all means! What's another day wasted, after all?" he spat grumpily. Admonished by his uncle's sudden change in mood, the lad attempted to apologise, but it was Jokim who spoke first. "Nay, Druri. I-I have been in a foul temper of late. It is nothing. Of course we will go and explore if you wish. And you!" He stabbed a stubby finger up at Eldarin. "You may lead the way, Master Elf...and no detours to look at some "delightful acorns" or what-have-you, is that clear? "

"Quite." replied Eldarin calmly. "But listen to me carefully. We must not camp on the barrows overnight. I say this not for our sakes, but for the two of you. There are things that dwell amid the tombs that can do you harm, so we must be on our guard."

"Elvish superstition." mumbled Jokim as they turned off the Road and began to wend their way across the brown fields toward the ominous hills ahead.


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## Ghorim (Oct 28, 2010)

Druri started awake from a cold sleep on the ground. All he could remember was the fog.

It had swept upon them like a great wave, first cresting overhead and then crashing down into their midst, throwing all that lay before and behind them into grey confusion. They had stuck close together at first, but then... but then... what had happened? 

The lad rolled to his side and swept his gaze across the sea of mist, eyes wide and searching. At the same time, he wandered through his memory, attempting to piece together the chain of events that had led him here. The trail... and they broke from it... Eldarin was talking... something about men and ghosts.

Ghosts! Druri’s right hand crept to the dagger at his side. He sat up slowly, as if moving too fast would alert the fog to his presence. It pressed down upon him, heavy and wet, draping over and pressing against his body like the hand of a giant. He brought forth the dagger, but it made him feel no safer.

“Uncle?” There was no echo. The fog swallowed his words, as if he had never spoken them at all. 

“Uncle!” He called out now, with all the boldness he could muster, but silence still reigned over the downs. Druri bit his lip, hard, and his next cries were contorted with pain: “Haluin! Eldarin!” 

No answers.

The fog swirled and shifted before him, disorienting his sense of place. Was he high or low? What time of day was it? Where was the path? He could not tell.

Druri took a step forward, tensing in expectation of a blow... but nothing came. Now he moved forward again, eyes shifting back and forth between his own feet and the mists ahead. He held the dagger out ahead of him like a divining rod, gripping it tight with both hands to control his shakes. 

He had to be brave, as Uncle would have wanted. If he kept his wits clear, he could escape unharmed. The fog would lift. It had to.

And suddenly, absurdly, Druri began whistling to himself. Broken shards of melody between trembling breaths, and strange little bird calls, the kind Jokim had taught him as they entered the shadows of Mirkwood. He imagined his uncle behind him, that solid anchor of support. Behind him... a scurrying noise. A whisper in the dead grass.

Druri spun, dagger pointed toward where he had heard the sound. But where was that? He barely could see past the tip of the weapon, and otherwise his vision was scattered and useless. Again, he mustered himself and held his fear at bay.

“Who’s there?” 

That same silence answered, but now it had grown pregnant with a new menace and chill. Druri held his stance, fighting the urge to go barreling into the murk, crying for anyone who might hear him. 

Now he heard movement again, this time to his left. He shifted, and caught a glimpse of a shadow darting through the mist. No, this was not his imagination. The figure had left a stream of displaced fog in its wake, which rolled lazily in grey plumes.

“Who’s there?” Druri spoke with more authority now. He had a tangible foe, not just some phantasm of his mind, and knowing this steeled him.

Another movement, this one to the right. And then, mercifully, a voice: “Druri?” It sounded muffled and hollow in the fog.

“Yes!” Druri lowered the dagger and leaned forward in a great exhale of pent up tension. “Yes, it’s me! Who’s there?”

A small shadow now appeared straight ahead in the fog... no taller than Druri himself. “It’s me, Gulvar.”

The dagger fell. “Gul...?” His closest playmate in Erebor. A dusty lad with a nose for mischief and fast little feet. They would explore the mountainside for hours together, collecting and trading the little rocks they found along the way. They played messy pranks on their mutual enemies. One night, they had even snuck into an all-girls home, and barely escaped to tell the tale.

But when the surviving children from Smaug’s descent had gathered in a ring of tents at the feet of the Iron Hills, Gulvar had not appeared. Nor had anyone seen him or his family in the flight from the Lonely Mountain. Druri had never dared to think of what had happened. He imagined that Gulvar had simply vanished. Gone off on one last great adventure alone, never to return.

“It can’t be you.” Druri knew the dagger lay at his feet, but he could not bend to pick it up, lest this apparition fade back into the mists forever.

The shadow laughed, with the same little snort that Gulvar had always made. “Of course it’s me! Who else would it be?”

Druri found himself instantly transported back into his memory. He saw himself and Gulvar standing upon the shores of the Long Lake, skipping stones toward the horizon. The sky shown in a piercing blue, with drowsy white clouds ambling by in flocks overhead. They all reflected perfectly upon the lake’s mirror surface. 

The memory glowed like a pale light, cutting through the fog, cutting through the fear. Druri wanted to embrace his old friend, but something held him back.

“What... what are you doing here?”

The response was rapid. “Some of us made it out of Erebor through an old secret hatch in the mountainside. But we got lost on our way to the Blue Mountains. We have to get out of here, Druri, and we need your help.”

“Me?” Druri strained his eyes, trying to discern Gulvar’s familiar features, but the figure was pure black. “I... I don’t know the way.”

“Well you made it in here, didn’t you? Maybe if we retraced your steps...”

“Maybe.” A note of hope sounded in Druri’s voice. “And maybe you can help me find my uncle, and two Elves who were traveling with us. Have you seen them?”

“No, I haven’t. But we should get moving.” 

Druri was surprised that Gulvar did not take advantage of the opportunity to make an Elf joke, which he loved almost as much as supper. Nor did he even question why Druri was traveling with Elves in the first place...

“I suppose so.” Druri took a step forward.

“Don’t forget your dagger.” Gulvar’s voice dropped low, and Druri felt a shudder pass through him. “It looks valuable.”

“Oh... yes... one of the Elves made it for me.” Druri bent down to pick up the weapon.

“Good. Follow me.” And then the shadow hastened off into the fog. Druri dashed after, again feeling the fear of losing his friend for a second time. 

They went along at a brisk pace for several minutes... it could have been an hour, even. Uphill, downhill, but always moving relentlessly forward. Druri began to wonder why Gulvar needed his help... his friend cut through the fog without hesitation, as if he could see for leagues in every direction.

And there were so many other questions: how many dwarves were with Gulvar? Where had they lived all this time since the attack? Were there other old friends, neighbors and forgotten faces amongst their number?

Druri held it all in, and tramped along as best he could in pursuit. At last, another shadow, much larger than the both of them, loomed up ahead. It pointed straight up into the grey sea, a great stone, like the spire of a castle... or the claw of a dragon. Seeing it sparked Druri’s memory. Something Eldarin had said earlier... about tombs, and treasures, and old spirits. 

Gulvar went straight for the stone, and disappeared into a dark portal at its side. But Druri lingered behind, hesitating. 

“What are you waiting for?” His friend sounded impatient. Druri crept forward, still brandishing the dagger for some reason, and peered into the opening. Nothing but darkness, as impenetrable as the fog that surrounded him.

“Gulvar...?” Druri craned his neck forward, past the edge of the portal, into the gloom. “Gulvar... I don’t know if...”

A hand shot out of the black and gripped Druri’s wrist. Not the hand of Gulvar, or a dwarf, or any other living thing. Pale skin, glistening strangely even without light, and cold. Cold that went beyond winter chill. The cold of sorrow, the cold of jealousy, regret and fear. 

It cut straight to Druri’s heart, and he fell to his knees. A cry died in his throat, and he felt himself being dragged into the shadows. Down, down, down, with mirthless laughter chasing him as he went.


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## chrysophalax (Dec 4, 2010)

Dragon. Smoke. Flames. Dead and dying kinfolk lying on unforgiving stone...shouting, sweating, running. _What do I do? Druri! Find Druri!_ 

Jokim found himself running blindly as he had once done years before, calling for anyone who might still be alive in the chaos. Suddenly, he collided heavily with something larger and stronger than he was. Hammer in hand, he found himself growling dwarvish curses as he raised it to deal a killing blow.

_Elbereth's teats! Jokim, have you gone mad in this mist? Haluin, help me with him, for pity's sake!"_ As Jokim paused in confusion, he felt an inhumanly strong grip lift him bodily from his fallen opponent, then place him none too gently on the sodden earth. "What are you playing at? Druri is missing and you try to murder Eldarin? What has come over you?"

Haluin's words brought Jokim up short. He planted the haft of his axe firmly in the ground, then half-collapsed beside it. "I-I didn't see that it was you, smith. I'm sorry. I thought you were..." He broke off, his words fading away into the mist.

As Eldarin wiped his bleeding lip, he came and crouched next to the older dwarf. " You thought I was what? An old enemy perhaps?"

"Something like that." he mumbled. Truth to tell, Jokim was ashamed. He had always prided himself on never losing his nerve, never over-reacting...and what had he done? Both, nearly killing a friend in the process. It was just that...it had all seemed so real!

"We have to find him."Jokim ground out. "If that lad is seeing half the things I thought I saw...Durin's beard, why did we ever come to this cursed place?"

Haluin motioned for Eldarin to go on ahead, then fell in beside his friend as they began their search. "If there is any blame to be placed, let it be on us, old friend. We elves-well, we...do not fear the creatures that dwell in darkness, nor the ghosts of those that have died. Perhaps one must have a finite lifespan in order to have such fears, I do not know. We will find him, that I _do_ know!"

"And once we do, no more of this, Haluin. Do you hear me? No more! We are all we have in this world and I will _not_ have him harmed, is that clear?"

"As miruvor, Jokim. Eldarin knows these old mounds and I have no doubt whatsoever that he will be able to..."

Suddenly, Eldarin's voice seemed come from all directions at once. "Haluin! Jokim! Here, quickly!" Jokim gnashed his teeth in frustration when he saw that Haluin wanted to run in exactly the opposite direction from where he himself thought the elf's voice was coming from. 

"We can't just run off like headless geese!" And we cannot waste precious time, either. Be quite now, Jokim and trust me." The dwarf started to growl a reply, then clamped his mouth shut as Haluin's eyes fell shut, his face taking on a look that could only be described as serene concentration.

_Where are you, tor-nin? We are not far, but this place plays tricks. Bring us to you!_

_Hurry, mellon! The lad lies under stone and only Jokim can save him, I fear._

Haluin's eyes flew open. "Follow me!" he cried, then turned and began to sprint uphill toward the top of the mound on which they stood. He had no fear that the dwarf would keep pace, for he knew that Druri's life depended on it. As they ran, Haluin explained to him the picture Eldarin had planted in his mind.

"Druri has been taken into one of the barrows, Jokim. There will be no earthly enemy for you to fight, but there will most probably be old magick about, for this was part of the Witch King's domain once and it is said, his influence still holds sway here."

"It's going to take more than a long-dead witch to take my nephew from me! Now just get me there!"

Within minutes, both elf and dwarf crested the top of the rise and stopped short. What they saw caused a shiver to crawl with frozen claws across even Haluin's neck. A large trilithon of standing stones stood bleakly atop the frost-rimed hill and there could be heard eerie laughter rising from beneath it, a high-pitched cackling fit to freeze the blood of any mortal.

Beside, lay Eldarin, his ear pressed to the cold earth as though striving to hear its heartbeat. 

"Is he...?" "Nay, my morose friend. He lives, but..."

"Stand aside, stand aside! Leave this to me!" snarled Jokim as he pushed past Eldarin and began to access the stones before him. The dwarf slipped between the three standing stones, then dropped to his knees in the center, muttering. "Fine workmanship...well fitted..." Expert hands felt their way along the huge stones, feeling for any hidden joins that would allow him to enter the crypt beneath. "Ah! No...yes!" Then, with a sharp cry, he vanished from sight. Both elves flew to the spot and were greeted by a gaping hole.

"Jokim!" No answer. "Jokim, is he there? Jokim!" Again, no answer. A look of horror filled Haluin's face, then his eyes narrowed and he leapt down into the darkness below.


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## Ghorim (Dec 21, 2010)

The fall into blackness seemed without end. And then, with a jarring crash, a muffled curse, a faint ringing in his ears, and the clattering of his axe into shadow... Jokim found himself on solid ground.

Instinctively, he rolled forward and reached toward the sound of his weapon. Groping, and groping... but there was nothing there on the cold ground. The axe had vanished. 

No, it didn’t matter. Druri! He was on his feet in a flash, drawing the knife that he kept for skinning game. His eyes cut through the shadow, and he could see a long hallway before him, slanting deeper into the earth. A sickly green light colored the stone walls, upon which strange and twisted runes spelled out secret histories.

Somewhere, Jokim dimly perceived his name being called. But it was drowned out by that desperate loop in his head: “Druri! Druri! Druri!”

He dashed off into the tunnel, without thought of caution or strategy. His own safety meant nothing now.

Terrible visions harried and pursued him... the harm that might have already come to his young nephew. He felt those big round eyes staring at him, accusing him with their trust and innocence. Run faster! Faster!

As Jokim barreled deeper into shadow, he could sense a rising heat flooding the passageway. Not the balmy, languid heat of summer, but a sharp and aggressive crackle in the air. He remembered the fires of the forges where he had once apprenticed... the way the flames seemed to reach out and snap at you. But no, this was worse. Like whips cracking over the skin, from every direction.

The green light bled into red.

Jokim sped around a blind curve and skidded to a halt. His mind registered the sight ahead of him just in time for him to leap into a slight recess along the walls. A burst of pure flame engulfed the spot where he had just stood. The dwarf pressed himself tight against the wall, eyes wide and breathing heavily.

“I smell you, you hairy little rodent.”

No...

“I had always regretted that I allowed a few of you vermin to escape the Lonely Mountain.” A deep chuckle, and the walls rumbled. “Your nephew is with me now, beardling. Come and claim him, if you can!”

And another fireball shot through the hall, forcing Jokim to shield his eyes. He felt his heart ready to burst with rage, but a numb paralysis chained his feet to the floor. He could not move, only cling there in the tiny alcove like a drowning rat, and prepare for his final death charge.

Jokim was nearly set to pitch himself headlong into doom, when he glanced up and saw with a start that Haluin was standing before him. Right in the middle of the hallway, right in the line of fire.

“Haluin! Get back!” Jokim shouted, waving his arms frantically. 

The Elf just stared at him, so strange and calm. “I have your axe with me, Jokim, but you do not need it. In this realm, your mind is the battlefield. But do not forget: they are _your_ thoughts, though dark forces may besiege them. _You_ are the master of this domain.”

“What sort of Elvish nonsense...” But another flash of dragon’s fire flooded his vision, and suddenly Haluin was gone.

Jokim blinked, startled. Was none of this real? And then he remembered the visions he had seen in the fog, how they had clouded his mind and led him to the verge of disaster. 

The dwarf felt himself easing off his death grip on the walls, rising to his full height. Suddenly, he looked down and saw his axe in his right hand. Now there was a shield draped over his left arm. A sparkling suit of dwarvish mail encasing his body. And a helmet, with a slit visor, settled over his head. Jokim clutched his newfound weapons tightly, uncomprehending. But a warmth stirred within him, a fresh gust of courage that bore him out from his hiding place.

Smoke engulfed the hallway, but he could see those bitter eyes shining in the murk. A fearsome growl shook the earth and rattled Jokim’s armor. But the dwarf did not budge. He brandished his shield and cried out in a hoarse bellow.

“As a worm you lived, and as a worm you shall perish!” Jokim lowered himself into a crouch. “And let these be the last words that echo in your dying ear: _Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!_"

Before he could even charge three paces, a blinding light and rippling heat blasted through him. Jokim’s progress stalled, though his shield deflected the brunt of the attack. This time, the flames did not cut off, but only seemed to intensify. Sweat dripped into Jokim’s eyes; his skin flushed red and scalded. 

With a muffled curse, he tossed the shield aside and ran harder into the flames. Now he could feel the armor melting away, could smell the putrid stench of his hair and flesh crackling in the naked heat. The pain was incredible; it coursed through his body in brutal waves. But he dashed on, harder than ever, seeing his goal within reach. For Druri, for Druri!

Jokim left his feet, flying through the air in a delirious pounce, and with what strength he could muster swung his axe for right between those two hateful eyes...

He missed. The axe cleaved air, and Jokim went hurtling into the far wall, with his left shoulder bearing the full brunt of the impact. 

The dwarf groaned, rolling onto his side. His throbbing head felt ready to collapse... but he was alive. Not burned all over, as he had thought, just a bit sore from his collision with the wall. There was no armor and no shield, although strangely enough, he truly _did_ have his axe in his hands. But most importantly, there was no dragon in the hall. No thick blanket of smoke. Only Haluin, who came running up to him with a poorly hidden grin.

“Bravo, Sir Jokim! Excellent work! The dragon is slain!”

“What... in the name of the Seven Fathers...?” Jokim began to stumble to his feet, and Haluin swiftly yanked him up the rest of the way. 

“Explanations can wait! We mustn’t tarry, for I sense that Druri is near. And alive!”

Jokim’s jaw dropped in a spasm of shocked joy. And then, both he and Haluin noticed the large set of rusted double doors to their right. They looked ready to corrode from age, with the hinges bent at precarious angles.

The elf and the dwarf exchanged glances. “Shall we?” Haluin grinned, his cheekiness not forgotten even now.


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## Ghorim (Dec 21, 2010)

With one combined blow they kicked the doors in, stirring up a storm of dust that shrouded the room beyond. When the debris cleared, they could see it to be a grand old atrium of some sort, once a beautiful hall, but now rotting from within. Dust and mold clung to the walls and the cone-shaped roof, obscuring an ancient mural. A great pile of ancient treasures lay heaped on one side of the room: scepters inlaid with fine cut jewels, great armored coats, and more jewelry and coins than could be counted. They might have tempted Jokim’s heart were they not so clearly rusted over and befouled with an unmistakable stench.

At the center of the room stood a marble slab, pure and blank as an unmarked tomb. And there upon it, dressed in a long white cloak, lay Druri, looking wan and feeble in the dim light. A shade in a hooded robe loomed above him, and now Jokim and Haluin could make out the dagger clutched in its hands, primed to thrust...

“Halt!” Haluin drew his bowstring and stepped forward, Jokim hot at his side.

The shadow’s head shot up, and Jokim immediately recognized the frigid gaze that stared back at them... the same eyes he had seen on the dragon moments ago.

A dry laughter surrounded them, like the sound of an old man’s final gasp. “You threaten us with your toys, Firstborn? Too far from home, too far from home! Be gone!”

“Unhand the boy and you shall have your wish.” Haluin drew the string tauter, and stepped just in front of Jokim to prevent the dwarf from dashing into peril.

“This?” The shadow hissed, long and deep, and let the blade of the dagger glide gently over Druri’s body. “What cares have you for this... dirt, and ash, and rubble? From dust to dust the circle turns, and ne’er the chain shall break.”

Haluin shook his head and smiled ruefully. “Your cold words do not touch my heart, damned one. It beats strong within me. Have you been lost so long that you have forgotten the warmth of life?”

This time, the shade cackled. “But you shall know this feeling, too, in time. For you are damned as we are damned, Firstborn! Forever lost to wander!”

Haluin’s composure appeared to crack for a moment, and hesitation stilled him. The bowstring relaxed by one degree.

But now a booming voice sounded behind them, and a gust of warm air blew into the room. “Not lost! And not alone! He has me.” It was Eldarin, standing proud and powerful in the entrance. A strange energy, a kind that neither Jokim nor Haluin had ever sensed, seemed to pulse from him.

The shade sensed it as well, and recoiled from the tomb slab with a groan. “Leave these halls! You are forbidden!”

But Eldarin had already begun the chant. Quietly at first, almost under his breath. The words were in Elvish... an old strain, almost forgotten upon the lands of Middle Earth... and they bristled with a terrific, ancient power. Suddenly, Haluin had taken up the chant alongside his kinsman. A faint, blue glow began to fill the room, cast by Eldarin’s sword and the tips of Haluin’s arrows.

So, too, did the blade on Jokim’s axe begin to glow, for it was forged by Elvish hands. And finally, the dagger that the shade held caught with the same blue light, for it was the same blade that it had stolen from Druri, the same blade that Eldarin himself had forged in Rivendell. A sizzling sound overtook the shadow’s hands, and with a shriek it dropped the weapon.

Haluin fired off two bolts in rapid succession. They shot through the shade’s cloak and pinned it to the wall. Its shriek had grown to an ear-splitting howl, which reverberated and swept throughout the atrium.

“Now, Jokim!” Eldarin cried above the din.

The dwarf had been absorbing all of these strange turns in a volatile silence, his heart burning and weeping from the sight of his nephew so close to death’s hand. When Eldarin called his name, he did not think twice. He raced forward, roaring with a fury to match the shade’s wails. Jokim leapt over the marble slab as though it were a fallen log, and brought his axe down upon the shade’s head.

The blade split the robe straight down the middle. A crack like thunder sounded, lightning flashed, and a gale of frozen wind whipped through the chamber. All at once, the centuries of dust and mold fell from the walls and the ceiling in a cascading tumult. Jokim and the Elves covered their mouths, shut their eyes and coughed. The room would have gone completely black, were it not for a skylight, now uncovered from grime, that shone down in a radiant beam upon Druri.

His cheeks were flushed pink again, and he too rolled over to cough up the dust that rained down on him.

Jokim turned from the tattered robe and fell upon his nephew in an embrace. “Druri! My nephew, my one treasure! Arise, I beg of you!”

He stood there, bent over and shuddering with suppressed sobs. All was silent. The last specks of ancient dust fluttered down from overhead like snowflakes.

And then, weakly, a little hand reached up and settled upon Jokim’s back. “I am here, uncle...”


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## chrysophalax (Jan 23, 2011)

Few words were spoken as the four companions picked their way back down the eastern slope in the light of a pale pink dawn. Little light it gave and less comfort, for all except Eldarin were shaken by what they had experienced within the chilling hill of the barrow.

" He said you would die, uncle. A lonely, sad death and that I would be of no use to you." Tears hung at the corners of Druri's eyes, threatening to spill at any moment. "How could he _say_ that? You know that I would never-"

"Hush now, of course I know! You're a good lad, that we all know, now not another word about it. And, Druri?"

"Yes, uncle?"

"There will be no more of these elvish tales, do you hear? They may be our allies, but they know little and care less for the likes of us, sometimes. Theirs is a different world."

Jokim had been shaken to the core by what had befallen Druri and now his latent suspicions and misgivings regarding the world in general had sprung to the fore. He would do anything to protect his nephew, no matter the cost.

Ahead, the elves stood silently, scouting the land below as the mist rose languidly, drifting ghost-like through the waist-high bracken.

"How should we proceed, Eldarin?" asked Haluin quietly. "We have been far too reckless in our course until now, it would seem and I could not bear it if one of you comes to harm." 

The elven smith glanced at his friend sharply. "Do you blame yourself yet again? What a fool you are, Haluin! You did nothing wrong by asking me to tell a tale. If anything, it is I who should feel at fault, for I knew the dangers and did nothing to stop it." He snorted bitterly. "We know so much, do we not? Firstborn of Iluvatar! Ha! Much joy has it brought us!"

Haluin gripped Eldarin's shoulder firmly. "Were it not for you, Druri and possibly Jokim would be now be lost to us. It was you who saved them, not me! Like a child who trembles at every darkling shadow in the night, I listened to that foul creature and...I believed."

The pain in Haluin's voice made Eldarin's heart ache. "What I said was truth, _tor-nin_. I have sworn to walk at your side until Arda fades, if need be."

"A mad promise! You have left all you love, everything! For what? So I won't be _lonely?_ Do I not deserve the punishment I am given?" Haluin's breast was heaving now and for the first time in his existence, he longed for death.

Anger flared in Eldarin's eyes as he struck Haluin a backhand blow that knocked him to the ground, his left cheek deeply torn by Eldarin's ring. "A mad promise? Aye, so it now seems to me as well! And no, son of the Greenwood, not all!"

Haluin was struck dumb, not only by the blow, but by the fact that he had unwittingly pushed his companion so far. As he watched Eldarin stalk away, he felt a dam break deep inside and wept bitter tears of regret as he watched the ages roll out before him, powerless to stop them.

The dwarves were nearly at the base of the hill, when Eldarin appeared beside them. Druri jumped, then chuckled uneasily. "I sometimes forget how quietly you move, Eldarin! " After a moment, the youngster looked puzzled. "Where is Haluin?" The smith gestured vaguely behind him and Jokim's eyebrows shot up. This was new!

"What has he done this time?" he asked in jest.

"It is not my concern." replied Eldarin stiffly. "By which route would you like to continue, Jokim? Do you wish to return to the Road, or do you prefer to stay out of sight?"

"I want to avoid as much attention as possible for now. We have enough food for at least three more days, by my reckoning."

"Very well. Then I suggest..."

Suddenly, Druri blurted out, "Where is he, Eldarin? What happened? It's not like you to act like this."

The elf closed his eyes, sighing heavily. "He said something that angered me and...I struck him." Jokim chuckled. "I know how you feel, smith! Many's time when we were travelling together-"

"No, Jokim, you do not understand! I gave my word that I would stand by him, protect him and instead, I have wounded him deeply. Ah, Valar!" he sighed as his shoulders slumped.

Druri glanced at his uncle, then put his hand in Eldarin's and squeezed tight. "Go find him, smith. We'll wait." rumbled Jokim gruffly. He knew the kind of loyalty Haluin could instill in those closest to him, as well as the depth of annoyance and that,usually, the former outweighed the latter.

"No need." called a hoarse voice. "I am here." Three sets of eyes flew to Haluin's face and Druri gasped, then yanked his hand out of Eldarin's. "What did you _do_?" he cried.

The bloody cut on Haluin's left cheek spoke of a future scar, a companion to the one he already bore and the black eye that was well on its way to forming, marred his handsome features.

"Durin's beard!" Jokim exclaimed. "I'm glad you're on my side." he said to Eldarin, who stood mortified as he gazed at Haluin's face. The elf started toward his friend, who held up his hand to stay him. "No, let it be. We've lost enough time. Lead and I will follow."


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## Ghorim (Feb 3, 2011)

They retreated into themselves that day. The fog fled, yet something lingered between them. 

Whole conversations seemed to unfold and fade without anyone speaking a word.

Boots crunched over wet snow and dead leaves. Dark clouds appeared to hang just overhead, within easy reach.

They forged into woods; the dwarves did not bother to ask their name. There was no road for this leg of the march, only back trails, unsteady under foot and gnarled by jutting tree roots. Haluin cut himself off from the rest of the party, blending amongst the trees as he scouted the forest. What he sought was unclear… but Jokim fancied it was time away from Eldarin.

He did not want to stick his nose into their little snit. But as much as he grumbled and tried to look the other way, part of him sensed that their feud ran deeper. Both of them were Elves, perhaps, but there was some sort of mismatch between them. Competing temperaments. They could not survive an eternity together, not even a year.

If they could not sort the matter out themselves, it would fall on him to fix. But what could he say? And he had Druri to sort out, besides.

The lad had sunken back into that tentative, haunted gait… the same one that had marred him in the months after the Mountain fell. It frustrated Jokim to no end. His nephew had made such progress, shown such inner fire along the journey. Now it was all dashed away, and specters seemed to dance before his eyes.

So when they stopped for lunch, Jokim pulled Druri aside. A great tree loomed beside them, with limbs spread like tentacles to snatch them up. Druri stared up at it, bewildered.

“Are you afraid?”

Druri did not respond, and kept staring up.

“You look at me when I address you.” Jokim gave the lad’s head a smack, dislodging his traveling hood. His nephew looked at him now, hurt in his eyes as he straightened the hood.

“Are you afraid?”

Druri looked down, but quickly remembered the force of his uncle’s hand and popped his chin back up. “I am not afraid.”

Silence. Jokim folded his arms across his chest in that fearsome old expression and stared down at his nephew. As if from leagues away.

“I…” Druri trembled all over. “I am afraid.”

“Of what?” Each word arrived like a blow.

“Of…” The lad cringed and made little fists of his hands. “Uncle, I heard those things in the darkness… and I saw them, too. It was you…”

“No.” Jokim knelt down and clutched both of Druri’s wrists. The fists crumbled under his grip. “No. You saw nothing but tricks in the mist.” Druri looked ready to weep again, and Jokim gave him a heavy shake. “Listen. It is said that a lie, well told, can have all the weight of truth in your hand. But when placed beside the truth, it crumbles into dust. The truth stands before you now, Druri. It is me. I shall fight for you, I shall scrap until my last breath to keep you safe. But you must show me that same strength.”

“But I…” Druri sucked in a breath and kept the tears at bay. “I could never be as strong as you…”

“Nonsense! When I was laid low in the Misties, you showed your mettle. Haluin told me everything. How you willed the both of us through to Rivendell. All the bravery that sleeps within you… it is there, but if you do not seek it, if you shy and flee from it, it shall wither.” He smacked Druri again, this time on the shoulder. “Now straighten your back and march at my side. We are nearly there, do you realize? Nearly at our new home. What shall they say if you arrive shivering and meek? Be strong! Be what you are!”

Only now did Jokim offer a smile, a tiny ember of warmth that seemed to light something in Druri. The lad took a deep breath, puffed out his chest and looked ready for battle. Jokim stood back to his full height, swiping at Druri’s nose in an affectionate gesture. Druri made a sudden leap, brushing his own knuckles against Jokim’s nose in a surprise uppercut. 

By the time they returned to the Elves, they were engaged in a full-fledged play fracas. Jokim would turn the other way, and Druri would try to catch him off guard with a furtive smack. Retaliation, of course, was swift to follow. 

As the dwarves walked past, jabbing and slapping at each other, Haluin and Eldarin stared after them. Then they looked at each other.


----------



## chrysophalax (Feb 6, 2011)

The smith's eyes lighted on Haluin's torn cheek and glanced away again, sickened. The ring that had caused the injury had not stopped burning on his finger and he longed to fling it from him.

"So simple." whispered Haluin.

Eldarin started, then replied distantly. "Everything is simple for Men and Dwarves. They have so little time to sort out their differences, after all. While we, on the other hand, have ages.

Haluin shivered as his vision of time and time and time opened once again before him. "Ages. Do you know? Until now, I had thought long life a gift, but now..." he fingered his wounded cheek gently. "Now I am uncertain."

Concern wrinkled Eldarin's brow. "What else is there but to endure, _tor-nin_? I have pledged you my life, what else would you have me give?" 

Long minutes as they walked side by side in the dwarves' wake, their hair bejeweled with snowflakes from a sudden flurry. Haluin's head was aching from confusion and pain. Ashamed that he had pushed his friend to violence and now would bear forever a scar as a reminder of his rashness, his thoughts gnawed at him. '_And well deserved, too. This is no way to repay such generosity of spirit. For once in your life, fool, think! Ease his guilt, or lose him. Simple.'_

Abruptly, Haluin stopped, removed his pack and began rummaging around in its depths. Eldarin kept going for a few paces, then stopped, curiosity getting the better of him. "What are you looking for?"

"My bag of herbs. Go on ahead, I'll catch you up." With that he knelt down, dumping the contents out on the ground, muttering the while. "Where is that mirror? Durin's Bane, of all the things to lose now..." He continued on, carefully picking through several neatly tied pouches, in the end setting aside a small handful of leaves and berries.

Eldarin watched, fascinated. He had no gift for healing, but had watched Rivendell's healers work many times whenever there had been an accident in the smithy and never failed to marvel at their lightness of touch. 

Out came a small mortar and pestle made of oak and as Haluin ground the berries, Eldarin moved closer, with Haluin still muttering beneath his breath. "Of all the times to misplace that mirror. Idiot!" 

"Why do you need a mirror?" Eldarin asked quietly, as he sat down on a nearby rock.

Haluin's eyes met his and he sighed. "Because I can't see the wound without it, nor must I constantly ask for your assistance. In truth, I haven't seen many things and because of this, I have wounded you as deeply as you have me. Forgive me, _mellon-nin_, though I do not deserve it." He cast his eyes down lest Eldarin see the tears shivering on his lids and drew a deep breath as he continued making his paste.

Without a word, the smith stood and walked away, not sparing a backward glance for Haluin, who's tears fell unimpeded to the ground.

********************************************************

"Durin's Beard, where _are_ those two? My stomach's flapping against my backbone and they have most of the food. Typical!"

Jokim's irritable words only served to amuse Druri, who had by now shaken off the last vestiges of the wraith's presence and was feeling more dwarf-like than he had felt in weeks. "Stop griping, uncle! You know Eldarin wouldn't run off with the food. He's not even very keen on it! Too _"mortal"_, I'm guessing."

"Turned into a judge of character now, have you? We'll just see how far that gets you when you're back around your own kind, my lad!" Druri dodged a swipe at his shoulder easily, grinning roughishly.

"How far now, uncle? Will we bring Haluin with us? And Eldarin to, of course!"

These were questions Jokim had already been turning in his mind and some of the answers were proving difficult. "I'll ask the smith...if he ever shows his face again. As to the rest, I'm not sure, Druri. Just not sure..."

********************************************************

Haluin dried his eyes and looked down at his poultice. It looked right, all it needed was some... "Water?"

The elf jumped, grabbing for the knife he had laid on the ground beside him. "Eldarin? You came back!" he cried, relief and delight evident in his voice.

"Fool. Of course I came back. I know enough to know that all poultices need moisture of some kind. Give me _some_ credit!" Chuckling, he glanced then at Haluin and saw not only his ravaged cheek, but that he had been crying and grabbed him by the shoulder. "What is -no...you thought I-Haluin, ah,Valar! When will you trust me?"

Silently, Haluin took the water his friend had brought to him and mixed his poultice, then, as he went to smear some on his cheek, Eldarin stopped him and did it for him. "You see? No need for a mirror, you're vain enough as it is! Come now, _tor-nin_. Our dwarvish companions will be starving by now and I have some news that will gladden even Jokim. The Golden Perch! A delightful tavern not too far north of here and just over the Bridge Shire-side."

They collected Haluin's bags and bundles, as Haluin drew a deep breath of fresh, snow-tinged air. "My thanks once again, Eldarin. What would I do without you?"

Smiling, Eldarin clapped him on the back. "You'll never know, Haluin. You will never know."


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## Ghorim (Mar 11, 2011)

Kip listened, jaw clamped shut, as the innkeeper called him a sluggard.

Burter didn’t yell it. He never yelled. He would invite Kip over as one might a drinking chum, always with a smile, and explain to him how he was not fit to breathe everyone else’s air.

Normally, Kip would stare at some vague point below the keeper’s chin to avoid making contact with those winking, jolly eyes. But this time, he held his head up, stared straight at the old hobbit and took his lumps with pride.

“Now, for this evening! What say you dig a good sound hole out back, say six by three by six, and fill it back up?”

Kip didn’t say anything. He grabbed his axe, lifted it high above his head, and took aim at that broad, shining forehead… 
“Kip!”

The crazed glow fled from Kip’s eyes, and he turned to see Grub scampering up the hill towards him. He turned back to where his master had once stood, and saw the log staring back at him dumbly from the chopping block.

“I’m busy.” 

He didn’t like to be gruff with Grub, who was as sensitive a fellow as he’d ever met. But Kip had cocooned himself in one of those dreary moods, wanting only to dwell upon the ways in which he’d been wronged. Talking to Grub might actually cheer him up again, and he could never have that.

“No, no, Kip! You have to come.” Grub made it to the crest of the mound that stood behind the Golden Perch, and heaved forward with his hands on his knees. “Two Elves and two dwarves just walked in the door. Swear on me auntie.”

Kip had raised the axe again to continue his wood chopping for the day, but felt his arms go slack. This time he really gave Grub a good look. The two Halflings who worked as the Perch’s busboys seemed drawn as if to cancel each other out. Kip’s hair was sandy and shocked with wild curls. Grub’s was dark, straight, and clung to his forehead by an ever-present layer of perspiration. Kip had a slender, quick build, but with a knack for clumsiness and inventing new ways to knock things over. Grub moved slowly, but with an almost effeminate care and attention to detail. Kip was clever to the point of overlooking common sense, while Grub’s simplicity tended to keep him out of trouble.

They weren’t quite friends, but more like common sympathizers. 

“You razzin’ me, Grub?”

“I ain’t razzin’!” Grub shook his head vigorously. “On me auntie, I swear!”

“You’re razzin’.” 

“Ain’t razzin’! I’ll show ‘em to ya.”

“What, and have me abandon a job like this? And then have Burter come crashing down on me like a cow with wings? No, no. I’ve had his rear planted on my head too many times already.”

Grub rubbed at his nose like a sullen child. “Well he’s going to want you to serve ‘em…”

Kip had prepared to chop, but again hesitated. “So what, then, they came in separate? And at the same time?”

“No.” Grub folded his hands into his armpits to keep them warm. “Together.”

“Together?”

“Aye, you heard me!”

“Two dwarves and two Elves? Like a bloody bunch of farmhands, just lolling in for a drink together?”

“Well one o the dwarves is real little, ‘bout my size. Think he’s just a scamp.”

“So… hold on.” Kip finally put the chunk of wood out of its misery, splitting it in half with a clean stroke. Then he tossed the axe aside and walked straight up to Grub. “A scamp, you said? Don’t they all sprout of the ground at four foot high, with beards twice as long?”

“No, no!” Grub shook his head hard, as if the faster he shook the quicker Kip would believe him. “That’s what I thought, too. But he’s just like a lil puppy, sniffin’ everything out. You have to see!”

Kip took a step forward, but seemed to regret it instantly. “No, no… I’ve got all this wood, and…”

“It’ll be quick! You just have to see them. Bloody… _I’ll_ do the bloody chopping if it gets you down the hill any faster.”

“You?” Kip turned suspicious. “You never do the bloody chopping.”

“Just come on!” Grub took Kip’s sleeve and gave him a surprisingly strong tug in the proper direction. Kip, being who he was, tripped over his own feet and made the rest of the journey down the hill in a tumble of limbs and curses.

Grub helped him back to his feet at the bottom, and the two lads snuck around to crouch just beneath one of the front windows. 

“Gotta be real sneaky, now,” Grub whispered. “You know about Elves and how crafty they are.”

---

Inside, Haluin glanced over to Eldarin and muttered in their home tongue: “Should we pretend that we cannot hear them?”

Eldarin gave a half-glance to his companion. “That would be the courteous thing to do, yes.”

---

On a silent count of three, they peaked just over the brim of the windowsill and into the tavern. The first thing Kip saw were the two powerful, lanky forms of the Elves, rummaging through their supplies with creased brows. They weren’t at all like he expected. He imagined their skin would be glowing, and that they’d be wearing green tunics and have layers of bright jewelry all over them. Instead, they looked grey and tired and… _dirty_.

Then there was the little dwarf, who sat cross-legged by the hearth and stirred at the fire. Grub was right… if it weren’t for that little carpet patch of beard on his cheeks, he could have passed for a farmer’s broad-backed son. But there was something else different about him… in the way he carried himself… a certain pride and decisiveness to his movements.

As for the other dwarf, he sat in a red wingback chair that had its back to the window. All that Kip could see of him were a pair of enormous, dinged up traveling boots stretched out and crossed over one another in a lounging position.

The two hobbits crouched back down again. 

“Well?” Grub hissed.

“Well what?” Kip rubbed at his chin, considering what he had seen.

“You gonna apologize to me?”

“Oh Grub. Get off it. I’m sorry if you can’t stomach anyone second-guessing you.”

“Mrrr….” Grub pouted, his lower lip jutting out. “Well at least you could thank me for takin’ the bloody chopping…”

“Why are you taking the bloody chopping, anyhow?”

“It’s that _other _dwarf. He’s a right terror, he is. Snortin’ and grumblin’ like a horse that nobody’s broken in. He could rip me head off and eat it with his toast and jam!”

“Oh shut up, Grub,” said Kip, but he was nervous. “Nobody’s that bad that ain’t a goblin or worse.”

“Well don’t say I didn’t warn you. ‘Cos Burter wants you in there servin’ them on the double.”

Kip tried to ignore that last remark. “What about the Elves?” 

“I dunno. They’re all frilly and what-not. Don’t know how they got crossed in with the Beardfolk.”

“Well… why does Burter want _me _in there, at any rate? You’re better with customers.”

“I dunno.” Grub tried to draw a blank expression, but it was clear that he harbored great satisfaction for having ducked his duty. “Maybe he wants somethin’ else to ream you for.”

“Oh, well thank you so very much for that.” Kip put on the posh accent that always colored his sarcasm.

“Well at least you've thanked me for _something_!” And with that Grub started out on one of his little tantrums, standing up and stomping away in search of attention.

“Oh come now, Grub. Grub!” But his comrade had rounded the building’s corner, and Kip was left alone with the unappetizing prospect of serving four strange folk. He glanced back up to the window and rose to peek in one more time. This time he found himself unable to stop staring, his gaze fluttering between the newly arrived party and Burter, who stood frowning at the countertop behind the bar.

_Counting every moment that it takes me to get inside_, Kip realized. The thought should have spurred him on, but it froze him with terror instead. And so he stared and stared, imagining all the ways that this night could go wrong…

“Kip?”

He whirled about, and found himself staring Tilly Proudfoot right in the eye. She was bundled up in that perplexing purple coat of hers, lined along the edges with the fur of some tiny, defenseless creature. 

Things, ludicrously, had just gotten worse.

Kip was gaping at her, but she was making every effort to look past him, in through the window at the source of his fixation. “What are you doing?”

“Just… inspecting… the window frames.” The lie was so lame that he could barely stumble through the words.

“What? Something of interest is finally happening at this little shack?” She began to move to the door.

“No!” Kip dashed into her path, and then realized how suspicious and desperate this looked. “No,” he began, more reasonably this time, “I’m just scared to go in there… ‘cause I’m late. I think Burter’s goin' to give it to me good.” He smiled nervously, congratulating himself at having told at least a certain version of the truth.

“Well,” she smiled, in a way that suggested more than idle amusement, “maybe I can distract him for you.”

“Tilly, no. It’s not that bad. I’ve weathered his worst.”

“Even so…” She stepped around him. Kip twitched in an attempt to stall her further, but realized he was making things even worse at this point.

Tilly Proudfoot, a member of the most notorious knitting circle in the eastern Shire, was about to stumble upon the juiciest scrap of gossip the region had seen in years. At this point, the terrible wheels already were set in motion, and trying to intervene would only get Kip crushed between their teeth.


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## Ghorim (Mar 11, 2011)

She opened the door, and made a haughty assessment of the interior. After giving a polite whiff of a greeting to Burter, her gaze fell upon the hearth… and then she froze. The door hung open behind her, flapping limply in the early evening winds. After a few moments, the Elves stared up at her. Then the little dwarf by the fire. Then, from the red wingback chair, a growl arose like that of a bear awoken from hibernation.

The body in the chair swiveled, and all Tilly saw were two dark, tumultuous eyes staring over the chair’s back.

“You are letting in _a draft_.”

“Excuse me!” Tilly squeaked, spun around, slammed the door, jostled past Kip as if he were an errant tree branch, and went dashing off to town.

_In an hour, the whole Shire will be here,_ Kip thought, watching glumly as Tilly’s strange, purple form vanished into the deepening shadows.

---

With a series of spectacular tumbles, cartwheels and flips, Kip’s eyes managed to avoid Burter’s. Nevertheless, he felt the temperature in the room rise a few degrees as the innkeeper stoked his ire. But so much the better: it canceled out the draft that Tilly had let in.

Kip flicked his serving apron off one of the pegs behind the bar, tied it around his waist, and hastened over to the hearth. The Golden Perch was a small establishment, with the busily stocked bar dominating the east end of the main space. Beyond that lay a cramped kitchen, where Myra the spinster cook toiled. The space between the bar and the hearth, which contained the main jumble of tables and chairs, measured only a dozen paces or so. As he weaved between the tight-packed furniture, Kip tried to imagine the whole town of Stock and all the farmers from the surrounding regions filling the room to see the Perch’s strange new guests. Then he tried to imagine four staff trying to keep them all merry and sated.

Disaster, surely, awaited them.

Thankfully, the room was empty at the moment, except for a regular who was shooting the strangers suspicious looks from his barstool. As he neared them, Kip tried to restrain himself from appearing similarly intimidated. He had to figure out which one of the four to address first. Instinct drew him toward the little dwarf, but that would have been patently ridiculous, so he made an effort to judge between the two Elves. Both had noted his approach and looked back to their supplies. But after Kip had stood there for a few gawky, silent moments, the one on the left looked up and gave a relieving smile.

“Yes?” 

The Elf had a masked wound on his left cheek that Kip found hard to ignore.

“Eh… welcome to the Golden Perch. My name is Kip. May I be of serv… er… _how _may I be of service to our esteemed guests?” Kip felt a strong glare at his back.

“Ah yes, service. Wonderful.” The Elf clapped his hands, and looked to the dwarf child. “What does the stomach of our party have to say?”

The lad, Kip now realized, had been sizing him up… the way a cat might a bird on a nearby branch. “How about seed cake? Oh, and a big loaf of oat bread, with plenty of butter, please! There ought to be some meat, too… do you have any pheasant? And strawberry tart for dessert… and beer! Lots of beer, too!”

The Elves laughed in unison, and the one who had spoken before looked back to Kip. “This is our friend Druri. You must forgive him; he has nibbled on travel rations too long for his liking. By the way, does his appetite remind you of anyone? A relative, perhaps? We have always said that he eats like a hobbit.” 

All of this merriment and cheer struck Kip like a refreshing splash of water to the face. He perked up — especially when Druri mentioned “beer” — and gave a grateful smile to the Elf. “It’s been said that my grand-uncle Roark could swallow a whole chicken and spit out the bones during his prime, and I’ve seen him clean three full plates in one sitting before.” He turned back to Druri. “But I’m afraid you’re used to finer flavors than we have here, at least when it comes to the pheasant. But... our cook Myra can whip up some tasty corned beef.”

Druri nodded vigorously. “Fine. But what about everything else?”

“Well… replace strawberry with apple and we can manage that tart for you…”

“And the rest?”

“I don’t see why not.”

Druri nodded again and looked satisfied.

Kip wagged a finger. “And just you wait on that beer. I’ve a special brew ready to come up from the cellar, and I’ll let you lucky lot tap the keg.”

The Elf gave a gracious cant of his head, and there was a sudden regality about him that began to conform with Kip’s imagination. “Thank you, Master Kip. We shall await our repast most eagerly.”

Kip nodded and just smiled stupidly at them for a moment, even daring to finally look at the older dwarf in his chair. He had expected a savage glare, but found only cool disinterest. The fellow made for an intimidating picture, though: weather-beaten and hard, with a slanted red nose and a great auburn beard that cascaded past his waist. His thumbs were hooked beneath his black belt, attached to hands that looked like they could pulverize iron and tear bricks from hardened mortar.

After Kip had stared at him for a few moments, the dwarf blinked his eyes. Somehow, that mere gesture was pointed and threatening enough to send the busboy hurrying on his way. 

---

Myra was middle-aged, jowly and plump, the way any good cook should be, she claimed. Her tenure at the Golden Perch had outlasted a small army of busboys, and she adopted each new pair like a set of surrogate sons. She had never had children, or a husband, or even a determined beau. But scared young hobbits living away from home for the first time were drawn to her like stray cats to a welcoming doorstep.

Kip and Grub trusted her with their secrets far more than they trusted each other. Kip alone had enjoyed countless talks with her in the pre-dawn hours when they began baking the day’s bread, or in the evenings when he helped her with the dishes. (In five months of work at the Golden Perch, Kip had dropped and shattered three plates. Myra covered for him every time.)

She was in the midst of dicing up carrots into tiny cubes as Kip entered the kitchen. He went right up to her and sat on a barrel beside her workstation.

“Did you hear about the new guests?”

She did not look up.

“Oh, Grub managed to blubber something about it before he went out looking for you. And I’ve had a peek out the door.”

“Have you ever seen anything like it?” Kip leaned in toward her.

“Dwarves and Elves together?” She clicked her tongue. “Strange times, indeed. I knew that business with the dragon was an omen. You may live long enough to see eventful days, Master Kip.”

“Really?” He beamed, but then Myra fixed one disdainful eye on him.

“That expression is usually meant as a curse, you know… eventful days! One would hope that the Shire is quiet enough to be left alone in what’s to come, but I would not be so certain.”

He stared at her blankly for a few moments, after which she sighed and lowered her knife. “You've an order for me, I take it?”

“Oh, right!” Kip recited the young dwarf’s feast from memory, saving the drink order for last.

“And did you pass on the beer request to Burter?” She had grown used to him forgetting simple things like that.

Kip shook his head, and smiled to show that the oversight was intentional. “No. I think tonight calls for a special occasion.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, Kip…”

“What? It’s been fermenting for months down there…”

“Just because your uncle used to brew up warm goat’s urine in his cellar…”

“Oi! Uncle Roark’s brew was the finest in the Eastern Shire!”

“And he taught you everything he knows, I take it?”

“He did!”

“Well then you’re just as likely to poison tonight’s fine guests as satisfy them. And then what do we do, eh? Two dead dwarves and two dead Elves in our hall. We’ll have a pair of armies at our doorstep before you know it!”

Kip hopped up from the barrel and backed to the door, his face scrunched at this betrayal. “Well I watched Burter, too. And I read the books he keeps in the cellar about brewing. All of them. I was just following a recipe in one of them, is all.”

She sighed, and some of that matronly warmth returned to her. “Don’t be so cross. Go on, fetch your little keg. Just remember that Burter won’t need any more of a reason to thwack you if your batch backfires.”

Kip grinned and nodded, and hurried off for the stairs. What he hadn’t told her was that he’d added a few embellishments to the recipe in the book. An extra handful of hops, a different preparation for the barley… maybe something else, too, he couldn’t remember.

At any rate, it was his signature brew. And if anything was going to get him out of Burter’s doghouse, this was it. As he rolled the keg up one step at a time, Kip found himself humming happily for the first time in months.

By the time he slid back out the kitchen doors, the tavern was already beginning to fill up. All of the locals had made a point of sitting well away from the hearth, but there was no question where their attention lay…


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## chrysophalax (Mar 20, 2011)

_How amusing!_, thought Haluin as he settled back in the overstuffed chair across the hearth from where Jokim was holding court. _It's quite possible he could start a stampede just by belching._

Eldarin on the other hand was feeling less than comfortable. Never at his best in crowded places, he nevertheless felt a wry smile beginning to form as he gazed back at the gaggle of wide-eyed faces attached to even wider bodies, each clutching their pints as if they were talismans of protection against such...oddities. Leaning over, he whispered in Haluin's ear. "Surely they've seen elves before? Has been that long since last I set foot here?" A quick calculation told him that fifty four years had passed. "Hm. Most of them can be forgiven then, I suppose." he mumbled.

"Do you think the food is actually any good? I'm starving!"

"My dear Druri, look you at these good hobbits. Do any of them look under-nourished to you? Nay, my friend any inn that doesn't produce large quatities of food and more than passable beer would never last long in the Shire!"

Eagerly, Druri pulled a stool closer to where the eleves were sitting, heedless of Jokim's grumbling. "Tell me about them, Eldarin! Haluin mentioned that you have been in these parts before. What are they like.._really?_"

The smith smiled and several gasps were heard coming from the direction of a tableful of ladies, one of which was now busily fanning herself with her neighbour's bonnet. Jokim's eyes rolled almost audibly. 

As Haluin chuckled, Eldarin regaled the lad with as much of the long history of Hobbitdom as he could remember, from their humble beginnings near the shores of the Anduin, to the long march westward in search of milder weather, to the various clans and families which now made up the Shire. "For many long years, when there was a High King, these lands were closely guarded. Not only by the men who now call themselves Rangers, but by Mithrandir as well. Ah!" He held up a hand to forestall the inevitable question. "Mithrandir is a wizard and here he is known as Gandalf. The Shire holds a special place in his heart for some reason know only to himself and even though these good folk do not realise it, there must be something special for one of the Maiar to take such an interest."

As the elf spoke many of the hobbits found themselves starting to wander in their thoughts, for even though many of them couldn't properly hear him, the manner of his speech had slipped into the familiar cadence of a seasoned storyteller, and while many of the ladies present made eyes at the elves, the lads hung on every word, inherently knowing that this was on of those moments that will never come again, the stuff of fireside tales for years and years to come.

"Here it is, good sirs!" cried Kip, nearly collapsing under the weight of a huge, fully laden pewter tray. "Corned beef and taters, a fresh loaf of oat bread, butter and honey. Local, that honey!" The companions inhaled and closed their eyes, salivating. The rest of the room fell to murmuring as the mood was broken. As they fell to, passing around bowls and dipping into the various dishes, Kip returned bearing an enormous pitcher of beer, his eyes sparkling. Jokim eyes lit with joy. "Is that the brew you spoke of, lad? Durin's beard! At last, something stronger than elf..." Haluin shot him a glare. "Anyway, your health!"

As Kip filled tankards, Jokim began gulping his down as though his life depended on it. Druri watched in awe, Eldarin in worry and Haluin with resignation as two more tankardsful swiftly followed the first. "'e can really hold his own, he can! Kip, is that yer brew? The one that..." Kip made shushing motions as he glared at his detractors.
"These are obviously customers who know a fine brew when they taste one!" he said proudly.

Meanwhile, the elves sniffed at it cautiously as Druri took his first mouthful. His face split in a wide grin and soon he was keeping pace with his uncle. With a shrug, Haluin and Eldarin followed suit and within half an hour the entire keg had been drained, to the sound of loud applause. "Is there another, lad? Thash, that's the best beer I've had in...hmmm...a long time!" exclaimed Jokim warmly. The young hobbit's face fell. "I-that is-no, sir, I don't. Sad to say, ye've drunk the lot. We do have many kegs of the house brew though."

As Jokim's face clouded, Haluin hurriedly pulled the lad close. "Run as fast as you can and bring us back a keg of your landlord's finest. Go!" Not needing any encouragement, Kip flew down the stairs and began to look through the barrels.

Haluin leaned across the table and grabbed Jokim's sleeve. "You have hit upon a treasure here, old friend! If you can get that dragon's breath exported..." The dwarf glared back at him for a moment, then as the elf's words sank in, he threw back his head and laughed, causing cats outside to hide and ponies next door in the small stable to throw their heads up in panic. "Not bad, not bad. You're startin' ta think like one a' me now, elf!" he said, putting a finger to one side of his nose. "Canny, canny! Now, where's that beer?" he roared.


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## Ghorim (Apr 5, 2011)

Just as Kip brought over the next round of drinks with a stumble and a grunt, there arose a great commotion from outside, as if a brigade were massing on the inn’s doorstep. 

Kip looked up in horror. The Golden Perch was already bulging at full capacity. He and Grub had brought up extra chairs from downstairs, and squeezed the tables together so that only the narrowest of trails led between them. For a patron to stand up from his seat, he had to ask someone at the next table to make room before backing up his chair. 

What could Kip tell this latest group? To form a line outside?

Then that familiar face, with its enormous graying sideburns poked in the door, and Kip could almost relax. _Almost_, but not quite, because he knew that the Perch was about to descend into bedlam.

Marlo and his Merrymakers were the most popular traveling band of musicians in the Shire. Every innkeeper with enough coin on hand wanted to recruit them to play at his establishment every night. But Marlo, the group’s fuzzy-faced leader, did not approve of routines or schedules or knowing where he would bed down the next night. So he led his players — each one as wild-eyed and mischievous as he — on a zig-zagging route that defied any predictability. They were regulars in Bree, often seen in the mannish villages of Eriador, and rumors whispered that they had played before Elvish kings and dwarvish lords alike. Marlo may or may not have been the source of said rumors.

Even with the instruments on their backs, they could trek from one corner of the Shire to the other within a day or two. And when they arrived at an inn, tavern or even someone’s den, it was always unannounced. 

So there came a gasp from the few at the front of the room who had seen Marlo’s entrance, and before the others could catch on, the old hobbit put his flute to his lips and played a high, piercing note. Now everyone looked his way.

“Eh…” he looked about the room, feigning confusion. “Did someone call for musicians?”

“HOOOOOOOO!” It was a physical _eruption_ that shook the Golden Perch, as the spare beer mugs rattled underneath the bar and the pictures threatened to drop from the wall. 

Marlo gave an eye-crinkling smile and bowed deeply, drinking in the attention as a seasoned performer does. Then he rose and gestured for the Merrymakers to file in after him. In they came: two fiddles, a lute, a clarinet, a viol and a big round drum, each borne by their players. They were all noticeably younger than Marlo. He had to keep the band’s roster this way: as his fellow musicians aged, they grew weary of the road and looked for places to settle down. 

Marlo could not tolerate such a line of thought. Seemingly inexhaustible, he directed his players through the crowd with familiar gusto. Then he visited Burter behind the bar to share an enthusiastic handshake. The customary deal was that any innkeeper lucky enough to find the Merrymakers in his hall would provide food, rooms and a nominal fee in return for a night’s worth of entertainment. Oh yes… and plenty of drinks. No keeper had yet to refuse these terms.

“Frogs and toads!” Druri was peeking over the back of his chair from his knees. “Who’s that, Kip? It’s not Mith… er… Mithrrr… er… Gandalf, is it?”

“No, of course not!” Kip shook his head with a little smirk. “You’ll find out soon enough. He’s no wizard, but he might be the next best thing.” And with that, he had to rush off to serve another table.

Jokim had given the commotion a faint ounce of interest, but had returned his attention to cleaning out the bottom of his tankard. But now Haluin tapped him on the shoulder.

“My dear dwarf,” he began, which was Jokim’s first signal that something terrible awaited him. “… I suppose now is as good a moment as any to unveil a little surprise that I’ve been saving for you.”

Jokim made a noncommittal grunt — his grunts came in many shades, as Haluin had learned.

The Elf reached down for his traveling pack, and plucked out a leather case almost as large as the pack itself. It took another poke from Haluin to draw Jokim’s gaze, but nothing more to hold the dwarf’s attention. He had seen this case before: marked along the fringes with Elvish script and clasped shut with silver hinges. Haluin did not even have to open it, but did just for show.

Inside was the same fiddle that Jokim had played in the Hall of Fire, at first as a private concert for his companions but soon enough for Lord Elrond himself. 

Jokim looked up incredulously. “You _stole_ this?”

“What? No. You are much too much, Jokim. It was Elrond’s final gift to me before I parted his realm. He said to pass it on to you, on the condition that you continued to practice your scales. You have some talent, he told me, though it may be raw…”

“And you carried this all the way from Rivendell in secret? Why did you not hand it over to me?”

“And have you complaining all the way about having to lug about so useless an item? You singe my ears enough as it is with your grumbling!”

“Well… eh…” Jokim brooded, and then made a rare, self-effacing smile. “Perhaps you’re correct.”

Haluin smiled back. The Perch’s excellent beer had made quite the impression on his old friend, it seemed! He had seen Jokim drunk on only a few occasions, all of them back in the Rohan days, and knew that the dwarf’s moods could swing any which way once spirits were in play. 

He wouldn’t say that Jokim was drunk yet — although the dwarf had a head start in that direction. But at least tonight it seemed that the suds were brightening his mood.

Of course, that was before he took the fiddle out of its case to look it over, and one of Marlo’s Merrymakers spotted him doing it.

“Oi, Marlo! We’ve another musician in the house!”

The band was setting up on a raised platform in the back corner of the room, well away from the hearth, but the fiddle’s glossy finish had glinted in the firelight and caught the lutist’s eye.

Marlo broke from testing his flute to follow his comrade’s outstretched finger. “Ha ha, so we do!” 

The night’s crowd, which had funneled all of its attentions toward the band, now seemed to collectively swivel toward the hearth. Jokim froze up and tensed like a cornered animal. The lady’s table, headed up by Tilly Proudfoot, broke into excited whispers and giggles.

“You, sir!” Marlo called across the room. “You with the beaver pelt on your chin!” Hoots and laughter rocked the Perch from side to side. “Come on up and join us! We could always use another for the fiddle section.”

Jokim stood, fiddle and bow in hand, and cleared his throat as if to deliver a royal address. “Well, sir, you must understand…”

“That he’s the dwarvish fiddling champion, and he refuses to play with any rank amateurs!” Who else would it be but Haluin, fanning the flames with a gleeful abandon?

Were there not so many witnesses, Jokim might have flung the Elf into the hearth at that moment, but now it was far too late. Marlo was laughing and gesturing furiously for Jokim to step to the stage, and patrons were already making way, with some even coming forth to pull the dwarf in the proper direction. Even Druri was at his uncle’s back, grinning and pushing him forward.

Only Eldarin, sunk back in his chair and looking eager to disappear, seemed to empathize with Jokim’s pain.


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## Ghorim (Apr 5, 2011)

Once they finally had managed to install him on stage, Jokim’s ruddy face had gone colorless. Haluin shook his head. The same warrior who could send whole companies into retreat with a roar was deathly afraid of public performance!

The two fiddlers yanked Jokim into a huddle and began explaining the melodies to him, while Marlo stepped forward to address the antsy crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen… what a pleasure it is to return to the Golden Perch.”

A great cheer went up at the name.

“Stock has been right kind to us on many an occasion, and don’t think such hospitality has gone unnoticed! But I’m not much one for speeches. How ‘bout a tune, eh?”

Thunderous applause.

Marlo glanced over his shoulder to make sure his men had the dwarf sorted out, and he got an affirmative nod from his lead fiddler. After Marlo turned back to face the audience, the fiddler gave Jokim a wink.

“Remember, if you’re not sure where we are, just play a C!”

“I heard you the first time.” The hairs on Jokim’s beard seemed to bristle, and the fiddler took a discreet step away from the dwarf.

“Alright, then! Now I want to see all those mugs and flagons and whatever it is you’re drinking out of _up in the air_!” Marlo’s voice took on a grand, booming tone, and all the patrons obeyed his orders.

He counted off for his musicians, and then they launched forward at a nimble gate: the drummer pummeling his instrument, the hobbit fiddlers dueling with harmony lines, the lutist’s fingers dancing along his strings, the viol sawing stubbornly, and the clarinet taking a soaring lead. Jokim drifted to the back of the stage, near the violist, and copied him note for note.

Marlo played the role of rabble-rouser, encouraging the crowd to sway their drinks from side to side as they held them aloft. With teeth gritted in anxiety, Kip crawled along to clean up the downpour of sloshed drinks that threatened to stain the floorboards. Grub, meanwhile, began placing eight mugs of stout — one for each musician — on a pair of trays just off the stage.

“Sing along if you know the words!” called Marlo, and soon had a legion of backup singers as he began the tune:

_“With stumblin’ steps, I make my way,_
_Into places unseen._
_Through valleys, over mountains,_
_And all lands in between._

_But even when the Eastern wind,_
_Chills me to my bones:_

_All roads lead home!_
_All roads lead home!_
_All roads lead home, in the end!_

_My father always said to me:_
_‘Son, never be bold._
_Sit right here upon me knee,_
_And do just as you’re told.’_

_But as sure as the robin sings, _
_I was meant to roam!_

_All roads lead home!_
_All roads lead home!_
_All roads lead home, in the end!”_

Druri nearly fell over from hopping along in time, Haluin had to grip his sides from the hilarity… and Eldarin still looked vaguely miserable.

As whoops and cheers rained down on stage, Jokim’s fellow musicians were all slapping him on the back. 

“How about our newest player, eh?” Marlo smirked and raised his own hands to applaud. “I like the sound of three fiddles!”

Pushed forward to center stage, Jokim made a cursory bow and exited the stage… although he was sure to take his mug from Grub along the way. If he had hoped to avoid attention, though, he had failed: once petrified at the mere sight of him, all of the hobbits in the room were suddenly curious about this musical dwarf. A chant already had started up to get him back on stage.

Jokim groaned. Nights of revelry were always the hardest!


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## chrysophalax (May 7, 2011)

Even as he resigned himself to a long night of revelry and drinking among the merry throng of hobbits, the like of which he could scarcely credit, given their stature, Jokim's thought turned to revenge. Haluin seemed forever bent on dragging him into humiliating experience after humiliating experience. It was time someone turned the tables.

"Marlo, my good hobbit!" boomed Jokim, his eyes fixed on the cause of his current predicament. "Are you aware that I am not the only guest musician in the common room this evening?"

Both elves whipped their heads around to face the stage, even as all eyes began to search the room. Who could the dwarf be speaking of?

Eldarin began rubbing his temples. "If he thinks for one second..." "Nay, Eldarin, peace! I do believe Jokim seeks to return the favour I so graciously bestowed on him. Watch!"

Even as Haluin spoke, Jokim was pointing in the direction of their table, making grand gestures and posturing dramatically as he shouted into Marlo's ear. The hobbit's face beamed as he peered through the smoky haze and his gaze lit upon Haluin.

"From Mirkwood, you say? Renowned singer, you say? Well, then! Let's have him up! What do you say, boys?" The fiddlers cheered loudly and Marlo turned to the crowd and began beating on an old pot (kept just for this purpose) for silence.

"Good folk of the Perch! Our good dwarf has been so kind as to inform me that we have yet another surprise awaiting us this evening. I have it on good authority that our next guest performer hails all the way from the forest of Mirkwood and has sung before elven royalty. Come, sir! Will you not sing with us?"

The ladies present began giggling as the tall elf moved gracefully toward the players, fully aware of the effect he had on the fair sex. He nearly burst out laughing at some of the comments that reached his ears. "Daisy, _look_ at his hair!" "His hair? Look at his _face! _ Those eyes..." "Eyes, ha! Look at his..." By the time he had reached the relative safety of the musicians, he was nearly in tears.

The elf's companions meanwhile, were all having mixed emotions. Druri was well on the way to being well and truly drunk for the first time in his life and therefore was delighted with everything. He had begun to applaud wildly as soon as Haluin had gotten up from the table and was still going strong. Eldarin was ill at ease. None of them had any idea who in the room might be aware of their situation and any mention of Mirkwood could spell trouble. and Jokim...well, he realised as soon as saw the light in Haluin's eyes that he had grossly miscalculated. The elf's love of attention and natural talent for enjoying life in general made it nearly impossible to embarrass him. So it was with a heavy sigh and a quiet chuckle to himself that Jokim moved aside and let Haluin take his place.

"What will you sing, my good elf? Will you need accompaniment?"

"O' course 'e will!" the crowd yelled.

"Of course I will!" replied Haluin with a blinding smile and Jokim rolled his eyes at the girlish squeals that arose from a group of ladies who had, oddly enough, been near the back mere moments before. The elf then took Marlo and his cronies aside and hummed a bit of the tune, confident they would be able to follow along. With a nod, they re-tuned, then looked up at him eagerly.

Haluin then nudged Jokim, winked, then turned to his audience, for of course, they were now _his._

"The song I will sing for you now, is famous throughout the great lands to the South, Rohan and Gondor. It is the tale of three great warriors who fought there not so very long ago, but who live still in the memories of those folk by way of this song. Marlo?"

A few quick bars and Haluin began:

_"Out on the plains,
Three riders seen!
One short, one tall,
One in-between.

When mounted up, they look unsteady,
But come battle they're more than ready!

With weapons drawn, as bold as kings,
They ride to fight the Dunlendings.
A Man, an Elf, a Dwarf: a team,
Defenders of the Rohirrim!

The first, Hengist, a warrior bold,
His strength a legend often told,
With mighty blows he hacks and cleaves,
To sweep away brigades like leaves.

Next Haluin, with merry eye,
Who could shoot gnats out of the sky,
His arrows sing their deadly tune,
And leave the battlements in ruin.

The last, no taller than a child,
But with his axe he fights like wild.
Called 'Jokim,' with a bristling beard,
A name and face most dreadfully feared.

They came from lands split far apart,
But through their deeds, they forged one heart.
A Man, an Elf, a Dwarf: a team,
Defenders of the Rohirrim!"_

The crowd sat in stunned silence, then began banging thier tankards on tables, calling for an encore.

Jokim cringed. Not only had his plan backfired, but now as he played his way through the miserable song a fourth time, it dawned on him that the hobbits were determined to _memorise_ the wretched piece!

"They love us!" cried Haluin as he bowed, then gestured to Marlo's band, who were busy collecting yet another round of free beer. Marlo sidled over to Jokim during the break. "Do you think he'd be willing to tour with us? The crowd seems to have taken to him!"

"Tempting as that offer is, master hobbit, we must be moving on come sunrise." replied Jokim. "In fact, we must all to our beds now. Your health! Come, Haluin."

Cries of dismay went up from all and sundry, but to no avail. The party dispersed soon after the strangers ascended the stairs and the landlord smiled with satisfaction as he counted up the coins in the till. Tonight would be a night to remember!


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## Ghorim (May 22, 2011)

It was a busy night for the wheelbarrowman. 

Marlo and his Merrymakers did as they were paid to do, and their tip jar filled up almost as quickly as their audience’s beer mugs. 

By the end of the night, only the stoutest of liver were prepared to walk home under their own power. As for all the rest, either they had to find a (somewhat) sober friend to use as a crutch, or else they paid a call on the wheelbarrowman.

For a copper, he would whisk them off on a bumpy ride along the country roads, the moon lighting his way, only to dump them unceremoniously at their doorsteps. Whether they could crawl the rest of the way into bed was none of his concern.

“Wheelbarrowman, wheelbarrowman!
Wheeling them home as fast as he can!
Buy up a round, but save if you can,
Save up a coin for the wheelbarrowman!”

Or so the ditty went, anyway, and the Merrymakers were sure to launch into it each time the stout hobbit appeared at the front door.

For Kip and Grub, his every appearance was a blessing — it meant one less rowdy patron to please. They stumbled through the common room’s forest of limbs, maintaining a precarious balance with their serving trays. 

With each spilled drop of beer, Kip felt Burter’s glare eating away at him. At one point, the innkeeper pulled him aside for a talk.

“I saw what you did earlier with that beer of yours.” Burter smiled wide and clapped Kip on the shoulder. His hand stayed there, squeezing tight. “A ‘special brew,’ eh? I’d never seen that little keg before. Believe me, my boy, I know _every_ brew in my cellar, like a farmer knows his crops.” He laughed, spilling false warmth all over. “You ever swing a trick like that again and it’ll be a cold, cold winter for you. You hear me?”

Burter’s eyes crinkled. Kip nodded.

So he labored for the rest of the night doubly burdened, fretting about both his hectic present and uncertain future. And a long night it was — Kip and Grub were still sweeping up the main room long after the last patrons had tottered off into the night. 

“Well, look at this way…” Grub grunted as he spoke, squatting and reaching under a table to pick up a half-eaten hunk of bread. “We got to see Elves and Dwarves and Marlo and his band, all in one night. If that don’t count for an eventful evenin’ in Stock, I don’t know what does.” He stared at the bread for a moment and then took an exploratory bite.

Kip snorted as he scrubbed at a stain entrenched on one of the tabletops. “Aye. But at least you didn’t have Burter breathing down your neck like some bloody…” He glanced up, and noticed Grub and his snack. “Oi! Are you _eating_ that?”

Grub nodded and hunched his back defensively.

Kip sighed and put down his rag. “Well, give us a bite, would you?”

But before Grub could react, a great groan reverberated down the staircase. Both hobbits stared up, and heard a heavy footfall on the top step. Then another, with a second groan alongside. 

“That isn’t…” A shaken Grub turned to Kip. “That isn’t the ghost you told me about…?”

“No, Grub. I was just razzin’ you that one time.” 

The first thing they saw descending the staircase wasn’t a foot, but a blanket. Step by step, the figure revealed itself from the bottom up: it was that little dwarf, Druri, wrapped up in his quilt. He looked almost pale enough to pass for a wandering spirit, and his eyes were ringed and slightly puffy.

“Unnnnnnhhh…” He didn’t acknowledge the busboys, instead shambling up to the bar and mounting one of the stools.

Kip hurried behind the bar. “Can I help you, Master Druri?”

“A glass of water, please,” Druri managed, looking unsteady even while seated.

Kip had seen these symptoms more than a few times in his life, and knew exactly how to react. He fetched the water in a blur, and set it gently down in front of the dwarf.

“Thank you…” Druri sipped at it gingerly, closing his eyes as he did.

“Too much down the gullet, eh?” Kip folded his hands on the bartop and settled his chin atop them, looking up at Druri. 

Druri’s eyes gave a prideful little flash, but it faded fast, and he nodded.

“Well, maybe it would help you to be in the company of friends?” Kip nodded over to the hearth, and Druri followed his gaze.

There, lounging comfortably and giving him waves of encouragement, were Haluin and Marlo. Druri gave a hoarse laugh.

“It might. Thank you.” It took Druri a few moments to decide how to safely dismount his stool, but he managed to get down and begin his journey to the hearth, water in hand.

Grub stepped forward as if to help him, but Druri held him off with a rumbling growl. Haluin had to suppress a smile. Jokim would be proud.

Marlo watched Druri’s approach with a curious sort of sympathy, taking a few contemplative puffs from the long pipe that reached down to his hairy feet.

“So a dwarf can overdrink, I take it? I thought their stomachs were forged of cast iron.”

“Be fair.” Haluin slapped his knees. “The lad is still building his tolerance.”

“What are the two of you doing up?” Druri croaked, curling up on the right side of the couch, opposite Haluin. 

“Well, I was trying to convince your friend here to tour with the Merrymakers.” Marlo gave Haluin a wily look from his armchair. “The womenfolk seem to fancy him, and I’m well past the days when that was a given for me!”

“And I was politely declining.” Haluin smirked. “But I did intend to compliment your music and the fellows who played it. That one song, especially… ‘All Roads Lead Home,’ was it?”

“Oh yes, that one,” Marlo turned to the fire and blew a few gusts of smoke in its direction.

“I had meant to ask… did you write it?”

Druri had shut his eyes and was already beginning to drift off, but something in Haluin’s voice prodded one of his eyes open.

“I wrote that… when I was 21 years young.” Marlo didn’t look the same in the firelight, Druri noticed as he sat up. He wasn’t the entertainer anymore. Lines once invisible creased his face. “Which means I’ve been performing it for… well, let’s not say how long that’s been, shall we?” He chuckled. 

In the quiet that followed, Druri looked to Haluin and saw that he was leaning forward expectantly, his lanky frame folding in upon itself.

“You know…” Marlo suddenly roused himself. “I wrote it… to convince myself that I had made the right decision. To leave home. It was just me and a few friends back then. It wasn’t the sort of thing that good Halflings did, then or now, you understand? Going off half-cocked on some adventure, playing music in taverns for bed and bread.”

“Would you say… you chose correctly?” Haluin looked away, and his face fell into shadow.

“I’d say… I did.” There was that little moment of hesitation. “Maybe I was scared then. But I’ve seen more of the world than the rest of my village put together ever saw. Met all sorts of people…”

Haluin turned back, interrupting. “But do you ever miss having a home? Or a family?”

“I couldn’t imagine having either — not now, after all these years. Like the song says, ‘I was meant to roam.’” 

The hobbit chuckled again, in that agreeable sort of way that encouraged accompaniment, but he laughed alone. 

“But you…” Marlo nodded to Druri, then Haluin. “You’re nearly at the end of your journey, aren’t you? The Blue Mountains, you said?”

Haluin said nothing, so Druri cleared his throat and jumped in. Even with his poor stomach in full revolt, he felt a jolt of enthusiasm. “Aye, we’re not far, are we? My uncle’s going to be an officer in the infantry there.” 

“Ah! I could see that for him. Built like an ox.” Marlo nodded. “Tell him to keep practicing on his fiddle, though. One must not let such a fine instrument collect dust!”

Haluin suddenly appeared to snap to. “Knowing Jokim, he’d probably use it to prop open his door!” Druri had never heard Haluin laugh at one of his own jokes, but here he did, and a little too loudly at that.

The silence that fell then was total, and they could hear Kip and Grub grumbling from the other side of the room.

Haluin looked to Druri and then away again a couple of times before speaking. “Would you like to be left alone to rest, Druri?”

“No,” Druri shook his head and took a gulp of water. “Stay.”

“Perhaps a tune would help? I could play something restful.” Marlo pushed his pipe away and took up his flute, looking rather eager to please.

“It would be our pleasure.” Haluin leaned back, and exchanged another look with Druri.

And so Marlo began to play. Not the raucous lines of melody that he had blown on stage, but long and meditative notes. He sounded like a completely different musician, no longer having to show off for the crowd. Druri sunk back into the couch and listened to the gentle flow of sound. Again he looked to Haluin, and saw him staring off into the shadows. Thinking something over.

Quiet though it was, Marlo’s flute began to fill the hall. Even Kip and Grub stopped their bickering to listen. 

On and on, the melody went. A lonesome sound.


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## chrysophalax (Jun 28, 2011)

Memories are made up of two things. Things that make you grin for no reason, or things that make you long for a brain-numbing injury that completely removes the ability to remember anything in the first place.

It was in the latter category that Haluin now found himself. The soft minor that wafted from the old flute wrenched at his heart and he longed to rise from the comfortable depths of his fireside seat and follow the melody whereever it lead him, as far from himself as he could get.

_Ah, if only it were that simple!_ he thought morosely. _To simply remove one's self from the vicinity of one's recollection and there it would remain, never to haunt one again. Alas, the one place where this might be possible, I am forbidden to go! And why? Because of my cursed impetuous nature! How many people in my life have warned me against my own nature and have I ever deigned to listen?_ 

The obvious lack of an answering voice spoke for itself and he ground his teeth, then a thought occurred to him. He might never be able to right the wrongs in his own irredeemable life, but he could most certainly lend a hand where his friends were concerned. Haluin found himself suddenly abashed. Was he, had he always truly always been, that self-centered.

Looking down at his left hand, the shiny one, he grimaced and turned away. Not because he disliked looking at it, but because of the fact that it had been a gift. A gift made for him by one of the most selfless beings he had ever known. Ruefully, he chuckled. Selfless and selfish, what a pair we make!

"Haluin, mate! What in all of Arda are you thinking of? Your face looks like the Misties just before the snow flies. What's goin' on in that a' yours?"

"Memories, my good Marlo, memories. Wicked things, all. Begone with them, I say!" he cried, waving his arms like a conjuror. Marlo snorted a laugh and Druri began snoring.

"He's an easy one to please. Wish all my patrons were that mellow!"

The elf smiled as he looked over at his sleeping companion. "Our young Druri has seen a lot for one so young. Wargs, mutilation, treachery, betrayal and all that since joining my company, sadly." Marlo's eyes grew round, his ears almost visibly pricking forward. "Aye? To tell the truth, master Haluin, to look at you, I'd never a' thought you make so interesting a travel companion as to have seen wargs!"

A dangerous light flared in the elf's eyes as he sat forward and with a flourish, bared his left arm. Marlo's jaw dropped at the sight. "M-may I touch it?" Haluin nodded curtly. Gingerly, Marlo's fingers prodded the arm and upon meeting cold metal, he flinched back. Haluin grinned at the reaction as he fluidly flexed his fingers. "How? Who? Um...."

"Not at our most articulate are we now, my dear hobbit? Believe me, it is indeed a story worth the hearing...however, not this night. Suffice it to say, should we ever meet again, I'll be glad to not only share my tale with you, but possibly lend my services as well, if only to give your young tenor some assistance. He tends to break on the high notes, sadly." This last was said with a wink and Marlo collected himself. "I may just take you up on that, Haluin. You're a good sort, you are! Now, I'm off to shut my eyes for a few hours before we return to the road. Rest you well!"

As the hobbit packed away his fiddle and left for the soft hay in the stables 'round back of the inn, Haluin stooped and lifted Druri easily in his arms. Behind him, he heard the tentative clearing of a throat. "Will ye be needin' anythin' else, master elf?" asked Kip, rag in hand.

"Thank you, no, Kip. After I've put Druri to bed, I'll be going out to walk. Feel free to lock up as you need. Oh, Kip?" "Sir?" "Remind me to talk with you before we leave. I have a business proposition for you!"


The stars that blanketed the night sky greeted Haluin as he emerged from the inn, stretching limbs cramped from too much sitting. He smiled, laughing up at them as they hung there, twinkling fairy-like above him. Filling his lungs with air, he took in the odd smells of cow dung, chickens and happily, the faint scent of gooseberry pie, freshly baked. 

With the road shining before him in the light of a half moon, he pondered, tempted. But, no, not now. Not when the journey was so near its end. He could not simply walk away into the night as he so longed to do. No, not now...not yet. Suddenly before him, a shadow detached itself from a small copse of trees a sort way from the road. Curiously, it beckoned to him and Haluin being Haluin, well, he began walking toward it, intrigued. Elven sight being what it is, there was never truly any mystery. What actually interested him was why this person was here. Now. Wishing to talk with him.

"Master Eldred! What brings you to this quaint little village as the snows are threatening to fall?"

A heavy sigh, followed by a plume of frosty air was his only answer for a few moments. The man waited until Haluin had reached him before speaking, his hand drumming all the while on his sword hilt.

"Do you always wander about so...freely? 'Tis well that we keep a watch hereabouts, else I fear your forward progress would soon be hastily impeded."

Haluin tilted his head slightly, as though to view the man standing before more accurately. "Good evening to you as well, I'm sure! And yes, I do wander about freely. Why should I not, on so grand a night as this?"

Eldred made a sound similar to an impatient growl deep in his throat as he moved closer to the tall elf. "You are far too reckless! Can it be that Eldarin has not warned you that your delightful little company is travelling close by where our people make their way to Cirdan's shore? It would serve you well to stay better concealed for the final stage of your journey. We Rangers are sadly fewer in number than in decades past, so we cannot provide as much protection as we once could. All our thoughts are for the small people of this land, though they scarce realise it. Take care, elf. Use your head for once and stay clear of the Road the rest of the way!"

"I-of course. Believe me when I say, I had no idea of the danger and I thank you. You had no need to give us any warning at all." He made as though to continue, but Eldred stayed him. "Make me no speeches, Haluin. Let me just say, this is a debt re-paid and leave it at that. Fare you well, son of the Greenwood!"

With that the ranger slipped seamlessly back into the shadows, leaving Haluin troubled and saddened. Quickly he turned his steps back to the inn, where he scrambled up the thickly twisting vines that covered the front of the building. Once up on the roof, he lightly danced his way across its peak to the window of the room he shared with Eldarin.

Naturally, Eldarin, was awake, reading whatever he could get his hands on. At the sound of the window sliding open, he glanced up sharply, then relaxed as Haluin eased into the room.

"Honing your burglary skills,_mellon_ ? I have said it before, you have spent far too long with-"

A look stopped him mid-sentence. "What is it, Haluin? What has happened?"

"You remember our friends, the rangers? Delightful lads, with not an ounce of good humour between them?" He waited for an affirmative sign before continuing, then proceeded with a rush. "I've just met young Master Eldred, who has informed me that we travel too near the Road for his liking and are likely to be spotted by those of your kin who are westward bound. Why did you not inform us of this? It might be that if we had strayed across this pathway of theirs, we might stand in violation of Elrond's edict and our lives would be forfeit. _Mellon,_ I cannot risk that, if only for your sake." He stopped then, gazing quizzically at his friend. "Eldred also said something that intrigued me. He said to consider it a debt re-paid when I thanked him for the warning. Do you know what he means?"


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## Ghorim (Jul 19, 2011)

For the first few moments, Eldarin acted as though he had not heard Haluin’s question. He licked his forefinger and turned the page of his book, even perusing the first few sentences at the top of the next section.

Of course he knew he would have to put the book down and answer. Haluin was watching him with admirable patience, and feigning sudden deafness would not do Eldarin any favors. So he reached to the bedside table, taking the carved slice of bark that served as his bookmark, and put down the volume.

“A debt, of sorts. You would have me tug at your ears all night with the story?”

Haluin smiled, shutting the window behind him and settling onto the cushioned seat beneath the sill. “I do not tire easily, _mellon_, and refuse to live trapped in silence. And on this night, I would not risk waking a pair of dwarves just for the sake of conversation.”

Eldarin allowed himself a brief laugh and stood from the bed to stoke the fire. “Or any other night, for that matter! Well, so be it then. But I shall tell it short.” The fire poker was shaped like a halberd, and as Eldarin thrust it, the embers danced as a host of fireflies stirred from slumber.

“Our friends of the woods fancied themselves rangers long before they were prepared to bear such titles and responsibilities.” Eldarin stepped back from the fireplace, but did not sit down. “You call him ‘Young Master Eldred,’ and young he is indeed, even all these years after I first crossed his path.” He paused, and stared into the fire, memories dancing before his vision alongside the flames.

“He was perhaps Druri’s age. And at that age, I suppose, all three of our races are much the same. Impulsive, overeager, blind to lurking danger. Eldred was slight as a child… sickly, even. Born two moons too soon. He was an object of scorn and derision from the other youths in his village. You would not know it to look at him now.”

Haluin nodded. “He has labored for every pound of muscle, I imagine…”

“But as a child he wanted everything on his plate immediately, respect most of all. So one autumn night he struck his grand idea — to hike into the Misties and slay an orc, and return with its head. That would show the others his mettle, yes? And into this quest he roped Hurod, one year his junior, ever obedient. They took their father’s chipped and battered old sword and stole off into the night. Their village was near the foothills of the mountains, not far from where they accosted us the other day, in fact.”

“When, then, did you sniff out their trail? And what had brought you so far afield from Imladris?” Haluin had drawn himself to the edge of the cushion, watching in his mind as the two boys struggled up hills and tried to carry a man’s sword between the two of them.

“Ah, you leap ahead of me in the tale! But yes, I sought the same prey. My rotation on scouting duty fell that month. And besides, one of my fellows had claimed more notches on his bow from orcs slain, and so I sought to better him.”

“A friendly competition, of course?”

Eldarin snorted. “Of course.”

Haluin folded his arms with a grin, wondering — and not for the first time — why Eldarin and Jokim didn’t get along better than they did. “Go on.”

“Well, I can see from that leer of yours that you have already guessed half the tale. The boys did not know it, but they were the hunted that night. A nimble little scout had caught their scent, and scuttled along behind them on a ridge overhead.”

“But then your bow sung out in the still of the night…”

“No.” Eldarin shook his head forcefully. “I waited.”

Haluin furrowed his brow. “Whatever for?”

“I wished them to know how close they were to death. I could have easily dispatched the orc in silence, and they would be none the wiser to the lesson as I dragged them by their ears back down the mountain.”

Haluin grew pensive, for now he recalled the orcish scout that had come so close to harming Druri.

“You risked their lives for a lesson?”

“I saw little risk in it. The fiend never left my sights. The lads never knew true danger.”

“And yet…”

“I waited for it to pounce, yes. It chose to announce itself with a snarl and a short drop. It landed before them, and I watched from a nearby outcropping as Eldred fumbled with his father’s sword. His hero’s moment came, and he panicked. Hurod, too. He could only stand as still as stone and wail. It leapt at them, cudgel raised, and now Eldred’s scream joined his brother’s. ‘Twas only then that I fired. The bolt struck its throat, and the spray was enough to cover both of them in black blood.”

The wind shrieked in a fierce gust outside the window; the inn creaked and shifted in the night.

“What did you say to them…?” Haluin still looked uneasy.

“Much as you would expect. That they were fool boys playing at men’s games, and that the orcs would be roasting their headless bodies on spits had I not been there to intervene.”

Haluin shook his head. “And why are you not a father, Eldarin? You have such a way with children, it seems.”

“Jest if you will. My actions and words won their loyalty. There would be more lessons to come after that. I did not preside over their entire education as rangers, but I set them on the path with their first steps in tracking and stealth.”

Haluin chewed on these words for a spell, leaning forward with his good hand arched over his temple. “But surely this was after you had sworn off Men as untrustworthy? So why then bother with two of their lot, and a pair of unpromising striplings, besides?”

Eldarin paused, and let the silence stretch for several moments. He seemed to be hunting for just the right words — no others would do. “To see… if they could be molded. Into something I could trust.”

“And you succeeded.” There came no immediate response. “Correct?”

Eldarin stared at him. “I can see where you wish to steer this talk, Haluin. You will say that Eldred and Hurod have proven that all Men are just, deep down beneath their flaws and foibles. And yet I saw them as they were: two overzealous boys, who stole from their own father in search of proving their idiot might. Is that not the way of Men, neatly shown in one night of foolhardy adventure?”

“But did you ever stop to think that they were only that way because they had never known better?” Haluin stood and walked toward Eldarin, arms extended. “You are not the first to speak such thoughts. I heard the same arguments many a time in Thranduil’s halls. ‘The way of Men.’ As if it were a river, flowing ever toward the same sea. We as Firstborn hold ourselves above such folly, or so we think. But why is life granted us if not to steer them toward truth? Your ranger friends do not prove all Men good — even a trusting fool as I can see it is otherwise — but they do show that all Men have the capacity to learn, if someone sees the worth in them to teach.”

The two Elves were face to face now, Eldarin still holding himself erect and not ceding an inch. But his eyes had grown clouded, looking past Haluin to consider his words.

“I lack your faith in them. I do not think an eternity of us bickering could sway me otherwise. And yet I hesitate, if but for a moment.”

“Then tell me this — we have nothing if not time. Why do we not use it to bring light to the Men of Eriador? If neither of us can win the other over with words alone, let us see from experience who is correct. You and I — we can teach them of herblore, of metalwork, archery and swordsmanship, the ways of trees…”

Eldarin put a hand to Haluin’s shoulder. “Now you are being borne away by the sound of your own words, pretty though they may be. Men will break your heart, again and again throughout the generations, should you leave it open to them.”

Haluin smirked. “The same may be said of the Naugrim. Ha! I _know_ it has been said, in every Elvish hall I have ever visited. And yet where do I find myself? My staunchest ally, yourself excepted, has a waist-long beard and stands no taller than my chest. But I have seen harder steel from Jokim than I have in most of the Firstborn.”

Eldarin waved his hand. “You are comparing sheep to horses.”

Haluin laughed. “That is a Mannish phrase, is it not? Look at you now, Eldarin! You are becoming one of them.”

“Hmm.” Eldarin gave a slight upward curl with his lip, but returned to the bedside to fetch his book. “Perhaps you would be better off conversing with the dwarves, after all.”


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## chrysophalax (Aug 11, 2011)

The morning light did nothing to ease Haluin's normally untroubled mind. Their conversation of the night before had him wondering, not for the first time, if he weren't just the slightest bit impulsive when choosing his companions.

_Can it be that my desire for fellowship so outweighs my common sense that what Eldarin said can be true? Hengist never failed me in his friendship. Never once did he betray my trust, nor doubt my loyalty. Why then, nay. how then is he so embittered toward them? Surely he cannot subscribe to the ridiculous notion held by so many of our people that we are set apart, set above all other races and creatures that grace the beautiful lands of Arda? Nay, this I will not believe!_

Inside the inn he could hear people stirring about, breakfast orders being shouted by the landlord and sharp replies from the cook as Kip and Grub scurried about, desperately trying to stay out of trouble. Marlo and his lads had just come down, laughing boisterously at the young hobbits' antics.

"Come on, Burter, give the lads a moment to breathe! The sun's just now peeping her head above the trees yonder." said Marlo cheerfully, waving his first pint of the day in the direction of a blazing sunrise.

"Garn! The young 'uns are fiends of the first order, Marlo, don't let yer good self be fooled! They's lay about like a lizard on a stone rock all day if I di'nt keep both me eyes well peeled!"

Above, Haluin heard the first stirrings of life in the room the dwarves shared and sighed deeply. _Soon our journey will end. Eldarin has told me that if we continue on unimpeded, we will reach Jokim's new home in two to three weeks. And what then, I wonder? Ah, I cannot think on farewells just now._ With that, Haluin rose from his place on the doorstep and slipped inside, gesturing to Kip as he did so.

The young hobbit blinked and looked over his shoulder. "Me, sir?" The elf nodded, smiling and Kip hurried to join the tall elf by the fire. Haluin squatted down so thet would be eye to eye. "We leave this morning, Master Kip and I have a business proposition for you. My dear friend Jokim was clearly taken with your brew and, if you're willing, I would like to place an order for fifty casks of your finest to be sent to either Belegost or Nogrod, I cannot remember which city it is that my companions will settle in. I will be certain to check before we depart. Payment will be sent once the casks have arrived. However, I am willing to pay for haulage and for your time spent away from the inn. If this is acceptable to you, I will speak with Master Burter to see if all can be arranged. What say you, my good hobbit?"

Kip's jaw had dropped open at the words "business proposition" and had remained so as the elf continued to speak. Hastily, he wiped his mouth on his shirt sleeve and knuckled his forelock. "Sir-I-I don't rightly, that is to say, are you certain? I mean, _my_ brew?? I-yes!" He grabbed Haluin's hand and wrung it enthusiastically, all the while grinning like a fool.

"Done then!" replied Haluin as he stood to walk over to where Burter had been eyeing them curiously. He greeted the elf warmly, waving him to a seat at the bar as he did so. "G'morning to ye, Master elf! What can we serve ye?"

Haluin leaned across the bar, gestured for the landlord to come closer, then began whispering his plan into his ear. Disbelief, incredulity, then a flash of greed crossed Burter's face and the negotiations began in earnest. For nearly half an hour Haluin and Burter hemmed and hawed, each not wanting budge and inch until at last, all was settled as Haluin pulled from his pack a small, but heavy sack. "This is to prove I mean what I say, landlord. I have no need for the wealth I have at my command. Take this and give half of it to young Kip in front of me. It will more than pay for hiring a temporary replacement, so that you will lose nothing by his absence. Take it or leave it, as your people say."

The weight of the sack and the glitter of the gold within convinced Burter at last that he would indeed lose nothing by letting Kip pursue his foolishness. The two shook hands and Burter called the hobbit over, who promptly fainted at being shown the contents of the sack.

"Now what have you done, elf?" boomed a voice from the bottom of the stairs.

Haluin turned away from the voice as a lump formed in his throat. _Nothing I would not do for you a thousand times over, my friend. I hope you will enjoy this gift for many years to come._


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## Ghorim (Aug 21, 2011)

The four travelers crowded in tight around Eldarin’s breakfast plate, staring down at its contents in curiosity. Jokim’s beard dangled perilously close to the eggs, prompting Eldarin to push him backward.

“Mind your whiskers, Master Dwarf! I do intend to eat off this plate once we are through.”

Jokim, grumbling, hung back from the table to stuff his beard into his belt, allowing Druri to slide into a prime vantage point at Eldarin’s left elbow. The lad knelt upon a chair to get a better look at the plate.

“Now…” Eldarin glanced between his companions to ensure he had their attention. “This makes for a crude map of our route, but it will do.”

“Oh!” Druri nearly hopped out of his chair, nodding like an eager student. “I see it now. The eggs are the sea to the far west, aye?”

“Indeed. Well spotted.”

Druri beamed. Back when his uncle had borrowed that dusty old map from the Hall of Records before their departure from the Iron Hills, Druri had stayed up late every night committing every border, mountain range and city to memory. It had been an incredible tapestry of foreign names and new frontiers for his imagination. Every morning when they broke their fast, he quizzed his uncle about those strange words… Gondor, the Anduin, Angmar, the Shire.

But he had stared most intently at their destination: the Ered Luin, crouched on the far end of the realms, with all that sea lying beyond them. What would it be like when they finally got there?

Now, Druri realized with a start, the answer lay just beyond the horizon.

Eldarin pointed to the plate. “And the, ahem, potato wedges here are the northern and southern ranges of the Blue Mountains, on either side of the Gulf of Lhûn, which I have illustrated with this bit of egg yolk here…”

“Yes, yes.” Jokim interrupted, leaning back in. “We’ve gathered as much. Now what is the point of this little guessing game?”

“The point,” Eldarin continued, unruffled by Jokim’s brusque tone, “Is that we must avoid the tip of the Gulf, where the Grey Havens lie. For Lord Elrond’s decree still hangs over Haluin and I. Should we stray too near the lands of Cirdan the Shipwright, our lives become forfeit.”

“So we must take the long way around.” Haluin looked pensive at Eldarin’s right side, slouching with both of his elbows on the table.

Druri picked up on the Elf’s mood and frowned. “Don’t worry, Haluin. We’ll be careful.”

Haluin glanced up to him for a moment, offering a slight smile of appreciation, but Eldarin was already continuing.

“It should not present any great challenge. We simply use the Far Downs for cover…”

“Those bacon bits, you mean?” Jokim squinted.

“Yes, the bacon bits. And now this is the moment when you prove your worth, Jokim. Where have the dwarves settled in the mountains? North or south of the Gulf? Where is our final destination?”

“Yes,” Haluin turned to the dwarf. “Are we bound for Belegost or Nogrod?”

Jokim shook his head. “Neither. Both of those great strongholds were lost in the War of Wrath, when the sea split the mountains and drowned the wealth of the dwarves. Some of the survivors resettled in the range south of the desolation, while most of the others struck east for Khazad-dûm. But now that settlement, the crowning jewel of our folk, is lost as well.” He snorted, and his face turned dark. “Any student of our people’s history will know that we never find peace in any one spot for long.”

The dwarf fumed amidst shadowy thoughts as the bustle of the Golden Perch carried on about them. After a few silent moments, he continued. “The northern passes remain unsettled. We head south. That is where the Broadbeams and Firebeards stoke their hearths, and a small number of Longbeards from Erebor have joined them since the Worm’s descent.”

“Uncle and I are Longbeards,” Druri cut in proudly, pointing to the auburn-hued tuft that passed for a beard on his chin. “They say we’re the fiercest in battle, and the best smiths.”

“You are of Durin’s Folk?” Haluin sat up a bit and stared at Jokim. “You never mentioned…”

“A minor branch of the line.” Jokim spoke quickly, as though the mere thought of status and inheritance annoyed him.

Druri, of course, remained oblivious to his uncle’s tone, and prattled on. “Mother once said that my grandfather Jurgan was a great general in the Grey Mountains, and trusted adviser to the king.”

Now Haluin leaned all the way back in his chair, an incredulous smile on his face. “Jokim, son of Jurgan! Ha! After all these years, I am still uncovering these secrets about you. To think that I have been traveling alongside royalty and been none the wiser!”

Jokim flushed red. “Royalty! I am about as royal as the denizens of the stables next door, you gangly oaf!”

“Well,” Haluin laced his hands behind his head, metal over flesh. “Let it at least be known that it was _you_ who compared himself to a horse’s hindquarters, not I.”

Eldarin and Druri sniggered, and the jest managed to make even Jokim realize how ridiculous this argument was. He bit his tongue and straightened himself up again, salvaging a bit of pride after the outburst. “Well, at any rate… we shall cut south, as I said. From there, the East Gate of the realm is not hard to find. In past times we might have hidden it from the outside world, but now our folk have need of all the trade we can find. The main road splits off and leads right to it, or so I am told.”

“So…” Eldarin picked up the table’s pepper shaker and began to sprinkle it along their proposed route. “We depart from the fruit salad, cut south along the bacon bits, until we reach the potato wedges.”

“And steer clear of the egg yolk,” Haluin added.

“Indeed,” said Eldarin, spearing the egg with his fork and popping it into his mouth.


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## Ghorim (Aug 21, 2011)

Haluin managed to relay directions for the ale shipment to Kip just before they left. There were many other farewells to be made along the way.

Burter the innkeeper gave them a warm wish of good luck, and Marlo proved especially thorough in thanking the four adventurers for their assistance.

“The offer stands, Haluin: join our merry band and you’ll see riches beyond your wildest dreams!”

The Elf laughed and gave a bow. “I am most humbled, Master Marlo. But I would fritter away my fortune, I fear, on dalliances and disasters. Should we ever cross paths again along the road, however, I owe you a song!”

“Hmm, I grudgingly accept. May we meet again soon!”

And shortly thereafter, standing in a row in front of the Golden Perch, Marlo and the Merrymakers struck up a sendoff song as the Elves and dwarves went on their way. Burter watched from inside the inn, but Kip and Grub stood outside in the cold alongside the musicians. They took off their aprons and waved them over their heads in farewell.

The two busboys were the last thing the walkers saw of the Golden Perch before it disappeared behind the rolling hills.

---

Eldarin and Jokim took the lead as they began the final leg, with Haluin and Druri following a short ways behind.

At the front, Jokim leaned in toward the Elvish smith. “You wouldn’t happen to know why Haluin would want to hand over a small fortune to a Halfling busboy, would you?”

“I haven’t the slightest.” Eldarin spoke with the deadest of inflections, leaving Jokim to grunt and ponder to himself.

At the back of the line, Haluin scratched his head. “I had always assumed your uncle was a Firebeard, what with those red whiskers.”

Druri shook his head. “Oh no. Our beards have some red in them, but Firebeards are _really_ red. You’ll see when we take you underground.”

Haluin pursed his lips and looked down at his excitable young companion. “If only I could be so sure of that as you, Druri. I believe I have been most fortunate to befriend you and your uncle, as most dwarves are not nearly as friendly toward my folk. I fear your kinsmen would sooner pour burning pitch on me and Eldarin than let us set foot within their hallowed halls.”

In response, Druri’s eyes gave a little flash, instantly reminiscent of Jokim. “Don’t say that, Haluin. Uncle and I will get you in. The Elves let us stay in Rivendell as long as we wanted, so we owe you a debt of hospitality. And dwarves always repay their debts.”

Haluin smiled down at him. “All the same… part of me does not wish to drag out the farewells any further than they need last. It might be easier to see you and your uncle disappear into that blackness, rather than stay indefinitely as your guests. I… could never bring myself to leave, I fear.”

The Elf looked suddenly ancient and sad in that moment, his juvenile exterior melting for a moment as his true age showed. Druri felt a sudden gust of empathy for Haluin, stronger than any he had felt before. Haluin’s sadness was his sadness.

Druri looked to the ground as it passed beneath their feet, then his gaze shot up and he blurted out: “Don’t leave, then.”

“What?”

“Don’t leave. You could help us hunt for food on the surface, and… and… Eldarin could be a smith again. He could make weapons, and teach apprentices, and defend the realm, just like he did in Rivendell. If you can’t be around Elves anymore… we could take you in.”

_Oh, child! You know nothing of this world, only generosity!_

Haluin had promised himself a stone face for these final days, as Jokim and Druri slowly slipped from his hands and back into the ways of their people. But hearing Druri’s voice then, so strained with faith and earnestness, brought tears welling dangerously close to Haluin’s eyes.

“Druri…”

“And if anyone said you couldn’t stay, I’d hit them as hard as I could, just like Uncle taught me. Or he’d order them to go away, because he’s going to be an officer, and…”

“_Druri_.” Haluin stopped walking, and Druri halted with him. The Elf sighed, looking off to the south and west, where the peaks of the Blue Mountains would soon come into view. “It cannot be. It simply cannot be. Eldarin and I have a calling in these lands. I treasure your friendship, beyond all else. But you have your place, and I mine.”

“No.” Druri balled his hands into little mallet fists, shutting his eyes tight and rabidly shaking his head. “No, no, no!” Then he lunged forward and struck Haluin in the midsection… just like Jokim had taught him. The Elf lurched forward and coughed, just as Druri embraced him in an ironclad hug.

Haluin, dimly aware that Jokim and Eldarin had stopped ahead and were staring back at them, draped his long arms around Druri. The wind was blowing hard out of the west, whipping straight through them. Still they clung to one another.

They stayed like that for a long while, silent, until Druri abruptly let go and went dashing ahead, wiping at his eyes.


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## chrysophalax (Sep 8, 2011)

The first hard snowfall of the year descended on the party during their first night out from the Golden Perch. Haluin had emerged from their makeshift shelter of birch boughs and blankets into a crystal-grey world.

Trying not to disturb the dwarves as they slept, he soundlessly made his way, wooden bowl in hand, to see if he could possibly salvage some late-hanging sloes. _A drop or two of sloe wine on a fine winter night will not go amiss!_ he thought. _I doubt the cold will have affected them much, after all._

Luck proved to be on his side, for he came to a small copse he had spotted earlier, as the sun was making her way to the horizon. There they stood, a small grouping of five trees, still sparsely laden with the deep purple fruit. Deft fingers made quick work of them and shortly he found himself ready to rejoin his companions. A small lump formed at the base of his throat at the thought and, for just a moment, he considered fleeing into the fast approaching dawn.

_No!_ he berated himself curtly. _Cowardice is not the answer. This time, you must face the consequences of your rash behaviour. Now and for the rest of your accursed life!_

Purple drops dotted the snow and Haluin's eyes grew wide as he held his hand up to find the fingers gloriously wine-stained. Shaken, he carefully set the bowl down in the snow, lest he hurl it to the ground in anger. 

Longing such as he had never felt before filled him near to bursting as he stood, taking in every rustle, every faint note of early morning birdsong, the mewling cry of fox kits buried snuggly in their den. _Elbereth, why must I be parted from my friends, from my kin...ah, even denied lasting peace beyond the Encircling Sea?_ He sighed. "Am I truly so evil a being to be thus denied?"

"Nay, _mellon-nin,_ not now, not ever." Haluin sighed again. " So you say, Eldarin, and yes, not for the first time. Forgive me, _tor-nin._ I do not wish to belabour the point so much...it's just-"

"Unjust, you mean. Elrond's judgement of you was unjust, which is why I chose to leave his service. Well-one of the reasons."

Haluin grinned at that, scooped up berry-filled bowl, then looked Eldarin directly in the eyes. "I have decided something."

The smith's demeanour became wary. "Oh?"

"Aye! I wish to see the Grey Havens, even if only from afar. Druri would love to see such a marvel as Cirdan's harbour, possibly more than I myself!"

"Do you realise the danger you would put us all in, Haluin? Have you learned _nothing?_"

Haluin took a step backwards, so startled was he by his friend's reaction. Eldarin strode forward, in order to press his advantage. "I have come to know you well, son of the Greenwood and I know what you would say to persuade me, and yes, it will be every bit as dangerous and more if we attempt it. Cirdan has no need for guards in his domain, but I assure you, Lord Elrond's elves will be on the alert for us, without doubt!"

Haluin replaced the bowl in the snow. "Is this how you intend to carry on, Eldarin? Forever cautious, never truly living?" He could feel the anger building between them now and it saddened him, even as it goaded him. "I will not be coddled, like one of the elders among Men. I know well enough that my actions have brought me...nay, _us,_ to this pass, but if I must be condemned to become a second Maglor, then I beg you, let me find what pleasure I may, lest I too go mad!"

In that moment, Eldarin could gladly have throttled Haluin, but pleading look in his eyes stopped the smith before he could even think to move.

Instead, he turned on his heel and snarled, "Come, we must hunt something for breakfast. Your friends will be hungry, I'm sure." 

Silently, Haluin followed, not entirely certain if he had indeed made his point. He supposed he would find out soon enough.


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## Ghorim (Sep 13, 2011)

Jokim crawled out from the shelter, some half-forgotten dream fading from his memory. He felt a jolt as his bare hands sank into snow.

As he rose to his feet, he cradled his back, sore from a restless night of half-sleep. He never slept well on the road. All this open, naked space left him feeling exposed. Even with the Elves seemingly up at all hours of the night, Jokim insisted on taking regular shifts at watch. And when he lay down to rest, a constant prickling sensation kept him from drifting too deep. He’d open an eye, assess the surroundings, ensure that Druri was safe at his side, and then fall back into a foggy doze.

The Elves were nowhere in sight that morning, and Jokim again felt the sheer expanse of the land around him. The snowfall had swallowed the hills and skeletal trees whole, and even in the early darkness they cast an eerie glow. A patch of dawn colored the eastern skyline, and beneath it shone a smattering of morning lanterns, lit by the farmhouses of the Shire.

But out where they had made camp, there was only a queer silence, as if the land were holding its breath.

Jokim laced his fingers and extended them as far over his head as he could, groaning and leaning back slightly as he felt a few satisfying pops along his spine. He went through his usual collection of morning stretches, allowing his body to slowly warm to life. For a moment, his mind wandered west, to the Blue Mountains and thoughts of his new home.

He inhaled a bracing gust of winter wind, shut his eyes, and suddenly found himself there: the clang of blacksmith’s hammers in his ears, the sturdiness of stone under his feet, the smell of roasted lamb shanks and cinnamon spice in the marketplace…

Then he opened his eyes and saw the two long shadows approaching the camp. Jokim let his breath go in a sharp sigh, fully expecting Haluin to hurl a jest his way for getting caught with his eyes closed. But there was only the morning’s silence, and for half a moment the dwarf imagined that it wasn’t the Elves at all, but two strangers headed his way. He had taken a step toward his axe, lying partially covered in the snow, when the lead shadow raised its right arm in greeting — it was Eldarin.

Jokim returned the salutation, but was already looking past him to examine Haluin. Whereas Eldarin moved at his usual strident pace, his companion seemed to be slinking along behind, head lowered and face clouded.

_Another quarrel. _Jokim recognized it immediately. _It’s not even dawn and they’re already at it._

He scowled, but wiped his face clear as the Elves neared. “Good hunting?”

“Enough to silence our bellies,” said Eldarin, throwing two furry carcasses onto the snow beside last night’s burnt out fire. He spoke in a clipped tone that suggested he had no appetite for conversation.

“I had thought of taking a jog this morning.” Jokim turned to Haluin as he spoke.

“In all this snow?” Eldarin snorted as he drew his knife and set about his grisly work.

“Perhaps a walk, then.” The dwarf was staring hard at Haluin now, who finally seemed to wake up and take the hint.

“And perhaps you might require some company. Unless I am needed here, _mellon-nin_?”

Eldarin shook his head without response. Jokim didn’t wait for the silence to linger any longer than necessary. He started off at a brisk pace, which Haluin matched. They retraced the footprints that the Elves had left in the snow on their foraging expedition, leading toward the ghostly trees that lined the road.

Jokim waited until they had gone a certain distance before speaking. “I must say… I am used to being the first one awake, ever since my childhood. You and Eldarin continue to put me to shame. I rise at dawn and think myself a sluggard.”

He gave a covert glance at Haluin to gauge his reaction, and noticed the faint stirrings of a grin. “You need not feel ashamed. I believe I would sleep until midday, if I ever had the luxury.”

“Ach, never that! I cannot stand to slumber late. Sleep is a useless thing; it holds a fellow back from all that needs doing.”

Haluin stretched his metal arm, which appeared to be growing stiff in the cold air. “I would not go so far as to say that. What are our endless toils without dreams to grant them meaning?”

The dwarf clapped his hands. “Now where is a quill when you need one, eh? That could pass for poetry in a beer hall.”

Haluin raised an eyebrow. “You are unusually sprightly this morning, Master Dwarf.”

“Well.” Jokim cleared his throat. “I figured you could use some good cheer.”

“Ah. I see.” Haluin turned away, to watch as the white lands turned pale orange beneath the rising sun.

Jokim waited a moment, handpicking his words one at a time before he spoke them. “I sense a… discord… between you and the smith. It is not my business how it started, but I would see it finished, if I could.”

“I thank you for your concern. But it is indeed our matter to settle.”

Jokim could sense his friend pulling into himself again, into that sullen place where he would let no one else enter. So the dwarf pressed.

“I puzzle over the pair of you at times. You resemble one another in many ways, and yet it is as if you were both forged from different materials.”

“Perhaps so…” Haluin still had not turned back to face Jokim.

“Had you ever considered… traveling apart from him, if but for a time?”

“What?” Haluin looked back, over one shoulder and between his long sheets of hair.

“One month from every year... spent apart. Time for each to pursue his own goals and find solitude. It is merely a suggestion, and unasked for, besides. Make of it what you will.”

Haluin said nothing, and their boots continued to crunch through the snow beneath. But Jokim could almost see the idea rattling around inside the Elf’s head.

Suddenly, Haluin laughed. “Imagine if we had spent every day of the past 60 years in one another’s company.”

Jokim smirked and gave a slight tremor of a laugh. “I would rather not.”

Already, though, the Elf’s expression had turned serious. “But Jokim… I ought to inform you of what it was Eldarin and I disputed this morning. It… concerns our traveling route.”

_Another detour_, Jokim thought, but held back his judgment. “Go on.”

“It would mean very much for me to behold the Grey Havens once again. Only from a safe vantage, of course. Eldarin worries about the shadow of Lord Elrond’s decree, and rightfully so. But…” A pause. “It is difficult for me to put into words so that you might understand.”

“I believe I do, in fact.” Jokim folded his arms over his chest. “I would risk a dragon’s wrath to behold the Lonely Mountain one last time. Or the stony spires of the Grey Mountains, where I was born. You seek a memory for a keepsake.”

“I do.” Haluin nodded, and gazed upon his friend closely.

“You must understand, however, that Druri’s safety outweighs all my other feelings on the matter. I have not forgotten the Downs.” Jokim gave Haluin a frank look, but kept a neutral tone. “If you can assure me that we shall not be accosted by Elves or otherwise have our safety threatened by this new route, I shall grant my approval.”

Haluin sighed. “If I could but make such a promise. But I will say that the risk falls on my and Eldarin’s heads alone. Even if we were spotted — and we would take every precaution in the name of invisibility — they would want nothing to do with you or your nephew.”

“They would if I resisted your arrest.” Jokim spoke flatly. “And do not deceive me otherwise: I would not stand idly by as they hauled you off to your death.”

“I…” Haluin paused, trembling a bit… perhaps from the cold. “I am both honored by your loyalty and frightened by it, Sir Jokim.”

“As it should be.” Jokim put a firm grip on Haluin’s elbow. “Now let us return to camp.”

As they turned around, the sun shone fully in their faces. The lands seemed different now. Awake, alive, frozen but inviting.


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## chrysophalax (Sep 13, 2011)

_Travel apart. Solitude._ Jokim's words burned as though branded into Haluin's mind and he almost gasped from the pain of them as the pair made their way back towards camp. Round and round they coursed in his head until he found himself clenching his fists so hard that he gouged nailprints into his palms which began to bleed.

Meticulously, Haluin began to relive every moment spent with friends. How and why had they parted over the ages and what had been his role in the parting? These two questions sat like crows on his shoulders, pecking, stabbing, screaming raucously over and over. Unwittingly, Jokim had found Haluin's deepest fear and given it its head.

Upon their return, they stopped short, gazing quizzically at the sight before them.

Eldarin and Druri were wrestling and the smith was obviously losing. His hair was plastered wetly across his face, whilst Druri held him firmly in place by sitting on his back, twisting Eldarin's thumb for all he was worth.

"Fighting over gets to skin the conies?" chuckled Jokim as he strode toward them. 

"'Morning, uncle! No, he's already done that, see? They're roasting on the spit and near done! No, this is over where we go next...and I won!"

With a grunt, Eldarin took advantage of Druri's momentary lack of concentration to heave the youngster off of him and, with a dignity only sorely wounded pride can muster, slowly stood and proceeded to shake the snow from places snow has no business being.

Haluin burst out laughing and not even the smith's frigid gaze could silence him. 

"I must congratulate you, youngling. We Firstborn are rarely caught out in such a manner. Perhaps some of our methods are rubbing of on you?"

"Or maybe he's just stronger." Jokim growled. "So what's this then, smith? Why should there be a change is our planned route? Have we now added toast to the bacon bits and whatnot?"

Eldarin's eyes flashed to Haluin, seeming momentarily confused. "I thought it best to inform Druri of a possible change...and my reasons against it." he added darkly.

"I still don't see why! When will I ever get the chance to see such a wonderous place again, uncle?" he asked plaintively.

Haluin came forward then and knelt in the snow next to Druri. He took him by the shoulders and squeezed tight. "My young friend, it was but a passing fancy of mine, to see the Havens. It was wrong of me to suggest it for the danger is indeed to great." He turned with a look of apology to Eldarin, who swallowed, then turned away. He knew what this had meant to Haluin.

"What? No! Uncle..."

"Calm yourself, lad. For once this mad elf has seen reason!" mumbled Jokim as he went to inspect the hares. The smell of meaty juices dripping into the fire was making his stomach rumble.

Druri struggled against Haluin's iron grip for a moment, then his shoulders sagged in defeat. "Why, Haluin? Why have you let them have their way?" his voice began to quaver and he cleared his throat harshly.

"Because I did not think, youngling. I thought only of the adventure...not of my friends and the danger I might be leading them into. A failing of mine, it would seem." he said softly. "Listen now. I would never and _will_ never risk your life needlessly. You are a true friend, young Druri and I would have you with me all the days of your life if I could. Alas..." he drew a steadying breath. "This vow I make to you.._and_ to that grizzled old greybeard yonder, that I will always be at your side when I am needed and that I will be at your service, good sir, all the days of your long life."

Druri threw his arms around Haluin's neck, hugging him fiercely. "And I and mine will always be at yours, I swear it!" he whispered into the elf's ear.

"If you're quite finished, breakfast is burning!" Barked Jokim as he began banging pots around, more for the sound than anything else. He was proud of his nephew and yes, even of Haluin, but it would never do to show it.

The smith slipped back into their makeshift shelter in order to change his clothes...and to think. Haluin had finally, hopefully, learned to think before acting and it had cost him. Eldarin had seen the pain in his friend's eyes and now he wanted nothing more than to make that pain easier to bear. Perhaps one last excursion would do the trick? The smith grinned to himself pulled on a clean tunic. Hobbiton might be just the ticket!


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## Ghorim (Oct 12, 2011)

The final route, short as it was, would not stop changing. But for once, Jokim stifled his grumbles. He had come to learn that all Elves, even ones as stolid as Eldarin, came with an impulsive streak. Their plans stayed open-ended, always fit for revision.

So now they were bound for Hobbiton, which the dwarf did not recall seeing on Eldarin’s breakfast plate at the Golden Perch. Well, Jokim could tolerate that, given the instant effect the town’s name seemed to have on the party’s morale. The group’s entire bearing shifted, as if swung by a stiff breeze, with Haluin and Eldarin apparently reconciling and Druri acquiring an extra bounce to his step. The lad had become quite fond of the Halflings — their homespun simplicity, their folksy music, and their healthy appetites most of all.

Jokim did not necessarily object to his nephew’s rather un-dwarvish proclivities, but he made silent note of them. The lad would need to change, for his own good. Adjusting back to underground life would prove all the more difficult should Druri ever grow accustomed to cozy hobbit holes or Elvish greenery.

_I needn’t be rough with him_, Jokim thought as he watched Druri practically skipping through the snow ahead_. But I must guide him back, one pace at a time._

Some chuckling from Haluin distracted his thoughts. Of course, he first imagined that the Elf was snickering in Druri’s direction. But glancing over, Jokim saw that the Elf’s gaze was directed further up the road, into the white distance ahead. The dwarf squinted, but saw nothing.

“What is it?”

Haluin shook his head. “You shall see in a moment, once your eyesight catches up.”

The Elf exchanged a winking glance with Eldarin, and it was all Jokim could do not to roll his eyes. But indeed, it was not long before Jokim spotted the butt of the joke — or, rather, heard it. There came a steady stream of grunts and curses, rolling over the hills like an angry tide. Every distinguishable word was in Khuzdul.

Haluin had been staring at Jokim, anticipating his reaction. When the dwarf grimaced and snorted, the Elf laughed again.

“What is our friend saying?”

“What you might expect.” Jokim spurred on his pace, passing Eldarin and Druri and taking the lead. Now he saw the yellow blob in the near distance — blinding bright yellow, a color he’d only seen worn on one occasion.

As they approached, the situation became clear: Kabur, the dwarvish merchant from Bree, had led his covered cart of wares straight into an icy rut. The back left wheel had sunken into the snow, and looked as though it may have cracked from the mishap. The merchant had a pair of cart mules who looked quite uninterested in helping him out of his plight, but that did not stop Kabur from cursing them up and down and heaving his considerable weight into the back end of the cart. He had cast aside his thick winter furs, which like his yellow tunic had become stained with mud, snow and sweat from his labors.

When he turned around to face the approaching party, his round face was cherry red. Not only was he sweating in rivulets, but his skin was practically steaming with heat in the cold air.

“You!” he gasped, still leaning heavily on the motionless cart as he slid down into the snow. “All of you!”

He looked utterly perplexed, staring at this unlikely group once again and floundering to make sense of them.

Jokim gave Haluin a warning look — he could _smell_ the jest coming, in this case — and stepped forward. “Greetings, Kabur. Might we be of some assistance?”

Kabur appeared to snap back into his senses and groaned his way back onto his feet. “Ah! Of course, friend Jokim! A fine fortune that you should discover me in these straits.” He made an inviting gesture, and so all four travelers approached to aid him. Kabur scowled and then waved them back. “No-no, no-no! I do believe Jokim and I can handle this alone.” He stared at the Elves. “The last thing I need is aid from… er… anyone else.”

Jokim scowled a bit and looked back to Haluin, but his friend nodded him in Kabur’s direction. So the two dwarves set to pushing now, but the wheel was caught fast. With Jokim putting his back into it, the cart showed some signs of giving. But it was overloaded, its weight sunk deep into a mixture of sucking mud and hard stone.

“It seems…” Jokim began, stepping back for a moment. “We shall have to unload your goods and then hoist it out.”

“No!” Kabur’s brows were kneaded into angry lumps. He was single-minded, driven mad with frustration. “Another go and we shall have it; I can feel it coming!”

Haluin suppressed a sigh, looked to an equally exasperated Eldarin and Druri, and then began to creep around to the far end of the cart as the dwarves continued to huff and shove. The Elf made his way to the mules, which each gave him a stink-eyed gaze as he neared. But placing his good hand to each of their scruffy manes in turn, Haluin began to whisper…

A few moments later, the mules gave a powerful, united tug at their restraints. That jolt, combined with some dwarvish horsepower from behind, sent the cart staggering out of the mud and back onto the trail. Down went Kabur into the brown snow, while Jokim caught his balance just in time.

Kabur, laughing between his panting coughs, scampered back up. “What did I tell you, eh? We had it all along.”

But Jokim was staring ahead to Haluin, whose expression told all: “You can thank me later.”


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## Ghorim (Oct 12, 2011)

They offered to let Kabur ride along in the cart and rest from his exertions, but Haluin made the mistake of taking up the mules’ reins. As soon as the Elf made the motion, Kabur elbowed his way back to the fore and insisted on marching at the head of the group.

Still, for all his girth, Kabur was yet a dwarf, and did not tire easily. He set a brisk pace, and even his obstinate livestock decided to obey it. They reached Hobbiton by the afternoon.

As they entered the township, Kabur began nodding at a large mound of snow up ahead.

“Never mind an inn. We can stay there. I’ve been before. Most hospitable!”

And indeed, the mound didn’t even have a sign with a cheeky name out front. It was, the travelers discovered, nothing more than a friendly and well-appointed hobbit hole, with a round red door peeking out from the snowdrifts. Haluin and Eldarin exchanged a worried look, wondering if they could duck comfortably inside.

Kabur marched right up to the door, knocked, and before long was introducing them to the proprietress of the home, Miss Cordelia Boffin. She uttered a startled “Bless me!” upon finding three dwarves and two Elves at her doorstep — a most unexpected party. But soon she was sizing them up with a look of wry amusement, deciding to run with this odd hand the fates had dealt to her.

Cordelia was strapping and buxom, even in her late middle age. Her husband was known only as “the regrettably late Mister Boffin,” and her children were full-grown, with homes of their own to care for. But until their time came to inherit the old Boffin family hall, Cordelia had decided to turn it into a cozy bed and breakfast for passersby. She could not stand the cold, clammy silence of a widowed household, and so she spruced up the hallways and many rooms of Boffin Hall with potted flowers and patterned drapes and all manner of gay decorations — the sorts of things her husband could never stand.

She chatted up her lodgers relentlessly, even the surly dwarvish merchants who only dropped in to escape from thunderstorms. But she pampered even the grumpiest of them, insisting they take second helpings at every meal she prepared for them. Kabur was a welcome sight — perhaps the only dwarf she’d ever met who reciprocated her hospitality with genuine warmth. And the sight of a dwarvish youngling immediately ignited her dormant maternal instincts, so much so that she was soon fixing a mid-afternoon snack of cheese and crackers especially for him. 

As for the Elves, she approached them with a reverential caution, checking in again and again to ensure that her ceilings weren’t too low (they weren’t), the hall wasn’t too cold (it wasn’t) and that they could find a comfortable place to lie down for the night. That last point proved a bit of a challenge. Cordelia eventually hit upon the solution of shoving two beds together at the feet for each Elf.

The five travelers took their time to settle in. Kabur had to lead his mules to a neighboring stable, the Elves and Druri went wandering through Boffin Hall’s winding central corridor, while Jokim carefully laid out his Iron Hills military uniform on his bed, ensuring that it had not become overly wrinkled or soiled since he last wore it in Rivendell.

They were the only guests lodging there that day.

“As soon as the first snow falls, the Shirefolk seize it as an opportunity to hibernate,” Cordelia explained.

Kabur appeared to have a similar plan in mind. Once his mules were seen to, he sank into a chair beside the hearth and produced his pipe. Cordelia sensed his chilly exhaustion, and before he could even object she had warmed a pan of water for him to stick his bare feet in, and wrapped him up with a pillow and blanket. Jokim stumped back into the main hall and installed himself in the neighboring chair.

By that time, Druri and the Elves had finished their inspection of the grounds, but the young dwarf was hopping at the chance to explore Hobbiton proper before the sun set. Jokim gave Druri a good long look before granting his permission, just to remind the lad that he held the power to clip his wings should any mischief ensue.

“You need not trouble yourself with leaving your chair, Sir Dwarf,” Haluin told Jokim with a faux regal air. “Eldarin and I shall ensure that Master Druri does not disturb the peace.”

“Hmm.” Now Jokim turned his leery eye on Haluin. “And since when have you been a responsible caretaker?” But he did not get up.

Once they had left, Jokim noticed Kabur staring at him as he blew his little smoke rings toward the hearth. The merchant lowered his pipe and canted his head back to regard Jokim. “Not that it’s any of my business…”

“I’m sure it isn’t,” Jokim grunted.

“… But you do appear to trust those… companions of yours a great deal. Allowing them to escort your nephew?”

“They have proven worthy of far greater tasks than that.” Jokim hunkered down in his chair. He remembered all too clearly the look Kabur had given the Elves when they first met in the Bree marketplace, and then again that morning…

“Perhaps so. But why do you travel with them in the first place, I wonder?” Kabur’s tone grew a bit pricklier, probing Jokim’s defenses.

“I did not choose either one of them for companions, if that is what you wish to hear,” Jokim said. “I set out on this march expecting no other company than Druri.”

“So they’ve kidnapped the two of you, then?” Kabur clamped the pipe stem between his teeth and puffed. “Is that it?”

At that moment, Jokim saw the ridiculousness of the conversation spread out before him. He had nothing to defend, nothing to hide from, least of all veiled accusations. So he unclenched his muscles, and sat up taller in his chair.

“I don’t suppose you’ve ever seen battle. Ever killed?”

Kabur chuckled and cast a fat smoke ring toward the ceiling. “Oh no. Much too cowardly for that sort of business…”

“Well. Take this bit of advice from one who has been there. When you are in the thick of the melee, you do not much care if the fellow watching your back is tall or short, or what stock he comes from, or what tongue he speaks. As long as he protects your flank, you come to trust him absolutely. So it was with me and Haluin, many years ago. Another quirk of fate, you might say.”

The merchant’s flippant, laughing expression had faded, and even his puffing slowed to a trickle as he reevaluated Jokim. “Fought together, eh?”

Jokim wasn’t looking at him. “I judge fellows on a clean scale. Haluin and Eldarin have fared rather well on it. And that is all there is to tell.”

They sat silently for a spell, with Kabur trying to think of something to say. But just as the words were reaching the tip of his tongue, Jokim stood.

“All that being said, I do not necessarily trust them to stay out of trouble. I shall return shortly.”

He left Kabur stuttering, swiveling in his chair to get a word in, his hairy feet still soaking in the pan. But Jokim was already at the door, bowing to Cordelia in his courtly way, and heading out into the snow.


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## chrysophalax (Oct 12, 2011)

A crystal clear night, as autumn teetered on the edge of winter in Hobbiton proved to be a rare sight indeed for young Master Druri. Smoke curled enticingly into the night air, invoking in his mind merry families with their tables piled high with any number of delectable dishes, just waiting to be savoured.

"Haluin! Haluin, look!" he called excitedly and both elves responded by ceasing their current conversation. "Yes, Druri, what...?" The young dwarf was nearly dancing on the spot as he pointed upwards. "Ah, yes...Menelmacar! Well spotted!" 

"No, no..._look!_" Both elves glanced at each other, then strained their eyes, curious to see what had taken the lad's attention so completely. They scanned the darkness and upon finding nothing unusual after the moon has shifted slightly in his course, were forced to admit defeat. 

"Well? Can you tell me what it is?"

Haluin laughed as he replied. "You have me this time, youngling. I see nothing untoward above us, nor do I hear anything that shouldn't be here. What is it that _you_ see?"

Druri stood momentarily agog, then began waving his arms. "All _that!_ Up _there!_They can't possibly _all_ be stars, can they? The sky is nearly white with them, or...whatever it is."

"Ahhhh, I see!" chuckled Eldarin. "Druri, what you are seeing is what Men call so crudely, the Milky Way. Few places upon Arda so clear a sky that one can see it this clearly, but yes, they are indeed stars, innummerable and unending. Beautiful..." he murmured. " You should see them from Beleri-." Suddenly, he fell quiet, not wanting to see the pain he could feel radiating from his companion. "I am sorry, _mellon._ Forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive." he whispered as he turned to face a bewildered Druri.

"Come, young one! What else would you see this fine night? As you know, we are now approaching what seems to be the main center of Hobbiton. Is it curious how they love living in holes in the ground, rather like you and I,eh?"

Eldarin snorted delicately, but Druri was intrigued. "You, Haluin? I thought all elves lived in fine mansions, like Master Elrond." "Nay, hardly! My folk dwell in caves, much as you did yourself, though I daresay, our dwellings have not the workmanship of your peoples'. Then there are the elves of the Golden Wood. They live high in the _mallorn_ trees and their dwellings are known as _flets._ Iluvatar made my people are very adapable, my dear dwarf."

Druri gnawed on his lip for awhile as they walked, lost in thought. He listened to the elves, murmuring together in their melodic tongue and he sighed, knowing how much he would miss them.

Finally, as they stopped atop a small hillock above Hobbiton town square, Druri asked. "Why does Kabur act the way he does around you? It's almost as though he...hates you. Elves, I mean."

"He speaks from ignorance, Druri." replied Eldarin grimly. "As have I, in the past." He knelt down so that he could look the smaller dwarf in the eye. "I am as guilty as he when it comes to believing that all people from one race are all the same. Your uncle and yes, even you have taught me that a being as old as myself can learn new thoughts and I-I wish to thank you for that." Haluin's fingers closed on Eldarin's shoulder, squeezing tight. The smith closed his eyes for a moment, then grinned up at him before getting to his feet.

"Maybe Kabur will learn a thing or two from you as well, before we part company." said Haluin, smiling. "You have become quite the ambassador, Druri. You should be proud!" 

Druri ducked his head, then grinned up at them. "I believe that both of you are my friends. That is all I need to know. In fact, I- get down! _Now!_" he cried as he pushed Haluin to the ground. Eldarin dropped as well, his ears catching the sound he had dreaded hearing for miles, the sound of elvish singing.


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## Ghorim (Nov 8, 2011)

“Druri! _Druri!_”

Jokim stood, hand on hip, in the center of Hobbiton’s main square, lit by the sleepy glow that seeped through the windows of hobbit holes. His companions’ trail, at first outlined so neatly along the snowy paths, had gone muddled and then vanished altogether.

He had taken it for a jest, and a poor one at that. But he did feel just a bit foolish, wandering in the cold and honking his nephew’s name like a mother duck. A few moments before, a bundled up Halfling had opened his door to complain about the noise, but the sight of a seething dwarf prowling the grounds had sent him scurrying back inside.

Now, having hollered his fill, Jokim stopped to listen. And then he heard it, so close at hand that it caught him off guard: the frilly tones of Elvish singing, with hoof beats for rhythm. They swept down the road, three riders in hard grey cloaks. As they drew near, they stilled their harmonies. Jokim watched as their flashing eyes honed in on him, the blunt and solitary shadow in the center of the road.

And strangely, his first thought was of his axe, sitting propped up in his room at Boffin Hall.

They reined up just in front of him, tall and imperial upon horses bred to a fine sheen throughout the generations. They were silent, and Jokim was happy to match them. He studied their faces, harsh and lean faces that defied easy reading. The rider on the far right had his hood drawn up, and Jokim could not discern his features amid the night’s shadows. As for the other two, he did not recognize them. But the way they peered at him so keenly, he suspected they knew him. They were coiled, expectant.

The dwarf gave them each a pointed glare. “What, then? Were you expecting a welcome?”

The rider at center gave a smirk, but it seemed more of a reflex than an admission of humor. “I think not. Least of all from a Naugrim. And what brings this one out, wandering the avenues of Hobbiton beneath stars and moon?”

_‘This one_,’ Jokim thought, his indignity burning red. _As though I were not standing here before him._

“I seek my nephew,” Jokim said flatly. “He is likely up to some mischief.”

“A nephew? We had heard tales of a beardling and his nephew traveling alongside a pair of the Firstborn,” said the rider on the left. If Jokim could guess, he would peg him as the younger of the two identifiable Elves. “Is this he before us?”

Jokim snorted, but gauged his response for a moment. Perhaps the others' trail had gone cold for a reason…

“Well, do you see any other Elves about here?” He did not have to feign the annoyance in his voice.

The younger Elf smiled — and this was a genuine smile, but with a glint to it that lit Jokim’s alarm. The rider glanced back over his shoulder, and made a show of following the road with his eyes. Following the gaggle of footprints, now sullied with horseshoe marks but still visible, up to the point at which they ended near where Jokim stood. He looked back up to meet Jokim’s gaze, one eyebrow arched in that air of smug amusement that came so easily to his folk.

“No. Indeed, I do not see a one.”

Jokim expected them to leave then. But they did not budge, and the crackle he sensed in the air began to intensify.

“Perhaps the Naugrim could inform us of a suitable spot to overnight?” That was the center rider, again dancing around the issue of Jokim being directly in front of him.

“Yes, where are you staying?” The younger Elf leaned forward ever so slightly.

Jokim glanced over all three of them again — especially the one of the right, whose silence struck him as off — and then refocused on his interrogator. “A hole, back along the road.” He folded his arms. “But you would not like it. There is another dwarf there, in addition to my nephew and myself, and I’m told our snoring is atrocious. Besides, if I were you, I would worry about accidentally bashing my fragile head on the low ceilings.”

The remark did not go over well. The riders made some curt pleasantries, spurred their mounts, and went on westward. Jokim made an attempt to glimpse the hooded rider as they passed, but saw nothing. So there he stood, listening to the hoof beats recede into the night, and waiting for the call that he somehow knew was coming…

“Jokim!”

The dwarf looked up — up, of course! — into the boughs of one of the many, knotty trees that lined the main road. As he squinted, he could make out a pair of tall shadows emerging, and a short one clinging tenuously to the trunk.

“So that’s where you hid, eh? I wonder how you got the little one up there.”

“He is an able climber, when supplied with a bit of a push, of course.” It was Haluin’s voice. “If we drop him, will you catch him?”

“Naturally.” Jokim strode up to the tree, set his feet and extended his arms. Down came Druri, with a suppressed yelp, into his uncle’s steady grasp. The Elves dropped down shortly thereafter, with Eldarin casting worried glances westways up the road.

“Well,” Haluin was attempting to stay cheerful, but his face was ashen. “You did a commendable job, Jokim, but…”

“Do they suspect?” Eldarin cut in.

“Judging from their looks, it is a matter beyond suspicion.” Jokim placed Druri back down on his feet. “They know you are here.”

“They may double back.” Eldarin glanced to Haluin, in search of a thought. “We could move on tonight, off the beaten trail…”

“Half a minute!” Jokim waved his arms. “Now I suppose you hid yourselves for some good reason. But this cannot have anything to do with Lord Elrond’s judgment, can it? Blood and pus! ‘Hobbiton’ has the word ‘_hobbit_’ in it, for Mahal’s sake. It is not Elvish territory.”

Haluin sighed. “Do not forget, my friend, that there are those who may wish us ill under any circumstances, and that Elrond is not master of all our folk.”

Jokim lowered his gaze and stewed at the snowy ground. “Well, I am not much one for fleeing. I understand your caution, Eldarin, but I do not sense they were spoiling for any sort of tussle. And if it came to that, there are three of them, and three of us.”

“_Four_!” Druri bellowed.

“Three.” Jokim held fast. “I am leaving you and the merchant out of the count. At any rate, we are headed back to the dwelling regardless, so let us continue this discussion there.” He eyed Haluin. “I believe any final decision, however, rests with you.”


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## chrysophalax (Dec 31, 2011)

"Ah, the wanderers have returned at last!" chuckled Cordelia as she heard the door creak open. _I must have that seen to! _ she thought even as she listened to Kabur's non-commital grumbling by the fire. The sound of stamping feet and hands being chafed sent her bustling about, putting the kettle on and setting the table with fresh bread, butter, honey and cheese for a late night snack.

"My lady, you do yourself more than proud by showing us such generosity!" cried Haluin as he skimmed a finger lightly over the honey pot. He then stopped her mid-bustle by taking her hand and kissing it lightly. A small choking sound from the direction of the fire made Jokim turn, only to catch Kabur glaring at the lot of them.

"_Must_ he be so..." "What, Kabur?" growled Jokim. "So Elvish, if you must know! With his airs and graces, all of them false..."

The energy in the cozy sitting room changed in an instant as all the occupants froze. Haluin quietly escorted Cordelia into the kitchen, confident in his friends' abilities to redress the situation. He figured without Eldarin. As soon as they had disappeared around the corner, he was towering above Kabur, glaring down at him with fury in his eyes.

In a trice, Cordelia slipped her arm through Haluin's and whisked him away with her into the kitchen. She began to hum tunelessly as she gathered cups and saucers, plates and knives. As he watched this miniature whirlwind of activity, Haluin listened intently to the heated conversation in the parlour.

"Where are your manners?!" Jokim ground out. "We are guests and guests have an obligation to their host or hostess to be civil." He turned on Kabur, pushing him back down into the chair from he had risen. "Never insult Haluin again in my presence. He may be a trial at times, but has suffered more than you know and has, as I have said before, proven to be a good friend. Am I heard?"

Kabur turned his face away and spat into the fire. "Heard." he snarled. "But I warn you, you trust them at your peril!"

"What do you know of peril or mistrust, Kabur?" asked the smith through clenched teeth. "Your people, yes, I can understand, but _you_, what have you suffered? Do not confuse the pain and old griefs of past generations with that of your own life here and now. To do so is folly of the grandest sort!"

"Stand aside, Jokim. Let me up. I would answer this fool in full."

"Do they always bluster, so, dwarves?" Haluin nearly jumped, then looked down into a pair of wise, kind eyes. "I fear so, dear lady. Yet this one...he is unlike my companions, who grumble from habit mostly. Kabur has been wronged in past, I'm thinking. Jokim will soothe his feathers, no doubt."

"Aye, you're right there. He's a good 'un, is Master Jokim. You did well to fall in with him. What of your brother though? He seems a bit fiery." "My brother? Ah, yes. Eldarin...he's a bit over-protective at times on my behalf, Eru knows why, with all the trouble I've caused him..."

A warm, chubby hand patted his. "Now, now. I'll not have any guest of mine mopin' about in _my_ home! Lay your worries aside for a time, Master Elf and tell me of your adventures! What have you seen out in the wide world? What have you done?" She cocked her head as though listening, then winked up at him with a twinkle in her eye. "I think they're sortin' it out, any road."

Haluin needed no further urging. Within moments he had her laughing, her apron covering her mouth as tears poured down her ruddy cheeks. Even the arguing in the parlour stopped when Haluin began singing _that song_ and Jokim clapped his hands of his ears, groaning. "Durin's beard, not here too!" he bellowed. Druri began chuckling as he watched his uncle grinding his teeth in mock agony, then he started wiping tears from his own eyes when Cordelia, who turned out to be quite musical, joined in on the chorus in a voice so high only bats could hear her and a stray dog outside began to howl mournfully.

"Elves." grumbled Kabur.


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## Ghorim (Jan 9, 2012)

Boffin Hall, like any well-appointed hobbit hole, had nearly half of its rooms devoted to food and drink. There were, of course, the pantries, larders, a sprawling kitchen, and a wine “cellar” (not an actual cellar, of course — that would require stairs to climb). But then there were the rooms where food was meant to be _consumed_: a master dining room for heavy meals, pleasant little nooks intended for small nibbles and desserts, and in the far back of the manor, a tea room, where an army of overstuffed chairs crowded about a round oak table.

So when Cordelia called the group to evening tea (some short while after her mismatched duet with Haluin), this was where she led them. The room was irrepressibly jolly: yet another hearth cast long shadows and friendly glimmers across the room, while a curling candelabra overhead showered further light. A lumbering cabinet with glass doors displayed all of the Boffin estate’s teaware, every porcelain and metal piece bedecked in some floral pattern or other. Paintings of flowers and blue-skied landscapes covered the walls.

By contrast, the procession that marched in looked positively dour — Haluin being the lone exception. Kabur’s round face was still flushed red from the argument in the den, while Jokim looked like he’d rather be anywhere else than these frilly surroundings. Eldarin was taut and tense, his mind divided between the mysterious Elvish riders and the insolence of the dwarvish merchant. Druri, who knew no form of subtlety, was glaring at Kabur every chance he got.

Seemingly oblivious to their moods, Cordelia arrayed them around the table like a little girl arranging her dolls: Haluin and Eldarin on the far side (crammed and cramped into hobbit-sized chairs), and the dwarves all in a row on the other, with a vacant seat for her in between the two parties.

“Now just make yourselves comfortable and I’ll be right back with the tea,” she cooed, giving Haluin an extra smile before ducking out of the door.

And then a dead, weighty silence fell between the five travelers.

Haluin glanced between the others, as if attempting to ascertain who was the most miserable. He couldn’t resist making a remark.

“What a finely decorated room.”

No one responded, save for a protracted exhale of air from Jokim’s nostrils. Haluin smiled his way, Jokim shook his head, but just then the sound of jangling silver came bouncing down the hallway. Cordelia returned to the room holding a tray, miraculously laden with a full teapot, six cups and saucers, sugar, honey, _and_ cakes _and _crackers _and _forks, knives and napkins. Haluin watched with concealed amusement as Jokim’s stomach visibly twisted itself into a knot at the sight of this spread, which Cordelia began laying out in front of them as quickly as she had prepared it.

Soon all five of them had a miniature repast at the ready. Cordelia took up the sugar bowl herself and waltzed around the table, taking requests for lumps. Jokim and Eldarin wouldn’t bother with any, Haluin asked for one, Druri for two. At last she came to Kabur.

“I’ll take two, good-sized, healthy lumps, if you wouldn’t mind,” he rumbled, arranging his girth in preparation for the meal.

But Cordelia walked straight past him.

“Eh…?” He held up a fat finger to get her attention, a confused look furrowing his face, but she paid him no mind. She deposited the sugar bowl in front of Eldarin, at the opposite end of the table from Kabur.

Then she sat herself down in front of her own plate, cradling her teacup with pinkie raised. “So! How’s the journey gone so far?”

Haluin laughed and began telling a good-natured version of the adventure, beginning with his chance encounter with Jokim and Druri. Kabur, meanwhile, stared fixatedly at the sugar bowl, as if trying to will it across the table to his side. He wasn’t much one for reaching, or getting up from a seat once he had dented it with his rump, which made the situation all the more intolerable.

“Eh… excuse me, brother Jokim...” He nudged his neighbor at the table. “Would you mind passing the sugar?”

“But Master Kabur!” Cordelia cried, interrupting Haluin mid-sentence. “I do believe Master Jokim would have to make quite a reach to fetch the sugar.”

Everyone stared at her, even Druri, who already had a piece of cake dangling out the corner of his mouth.

Their hostess smiled, with a poorly concealed satisfaction. “You ought to ask your friend Eldarin to pass it.”

“My fr…?” Kabur’s voice sputtered short. He wouldn’t even utter the word in reference to the Elf. “Well, if you insist on this silliness, I’ll just fetch the bowl myself.” With a grunt and some strain, he pushed back his chair and began to stand.

“Master Kabur!” Cordelia’s tone boomed, and her guests swore they could hear the teaware rattle in the cabinet. “And here I thought you a gentleman! I will not tolerate such rudeness at my table. Now _ask_ him for it!”

Kabur froze, his hands clutching the chair’s arms and his elbows bent in preparation to stand. He looked at her, looked at Eldarin, scowled, but relaxed back into his chair with some reluctance.

“Elf…” he began.

“He has a name,” Cordelia chided.

“_Eldarin_.” Kabur grunted out the name with all the formality of a belch.

“Go on.”

“Eldarin. Pass the sugar.”

“Ask him _nicely_.”

“Eldarin.” Kabur grit his teeth. “Pass the sugar. _Please_.”

“There you are.” Cordelia smiled, her old matronly manner returning. “Not so hard, was it?”

The Elvish smith had taken in this entire exchange with barely a flicker of expression, and he did not so much as twitch his lips as he took up the sugar and handed it to Haluin, who handed it to Cordelia, who jollily plopped two fat lumps into Kabur’s cup.

“Now!” she proclaimed, setting the bowl down. “No one ever raised Cordelia Boffin to be a fool. I know what’s been going on between the lot of you, and won’t have it fouling up my home.”

None of the others even bothered with their tea as she continued.

“When I was raising my son and daughter, they were known to quarrel over the tiniest thing. Who got to take a bath first, or the silliest little toys — things they wouldn’t even touch unless they knew the other one wanted to play with it! And when I sat them down to make peace, I always had them do the same thing: each had to pay the other one compliment.”

She glanced around the table, stern and reproachful. “Haluin. Eldarin. Kabur. Say one nice thing about each other.”

Kabur gave an incredulous snort. “Lest you forget, I am no child of yours!”

“But you are my guest. And to stay under this roof, you must follow my rules.”

The merchant frowned and bit his lower lip. “Well… why don’t they have to do it?” He nodded to Jokim and Druri.

“They aren’t the ones who seem to have their beards in a tangle about breathing the same air as Elves. Now no more hemming or hawing!”

“Well… they ought to go first.” Now Kabur nodded to the Elves, arms folded across his chest.

Eldarin stirred. “As I recall, it was not us who paid the first insult in this matter. That was your deed, and so let it be you who pays the first compliment.”

Haluin waved his hands. “A compromise! I shall take the first plunge, then Kabur compliments me second, then you, Eldarin, compliment Kabur third, and finally he returns the favor. Fair?”

At opposite ends of the table, Kabur and Eldarin made their grudging signals of assent.

Haluin nodded. “Fair.” He turned to Kabur. “Master Kabur. You have a most excellent and resplendent beard. It does a credit to your race.”

“Well… thank you.” The merchant seemed genuinely taken aback, stroking his curly beard in self-admiration. But his expression soon hardened when he realized it was his turn. “Haluin…” He glanced over to see Cordelia glaring at him, then quickly looked away. “Eh… Haluin. You have…” He looked the Elf up and down, but his gaze caught on the glint of the firelight reflecting off Haluin’s metallic arm. “… A piece of excellent craftsmanship dangling from your left shoulder. Although I suppose that is more a compliment to your _friend_ here.” With obvious dwarvish pride, he clamped Jokim on the shoulder. “For only a _Khuzd_ could forge something so intricate.”

Haluin stared back at him for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed. Even Jokim could not help but smile ruefully at Kabur’s ignorance.

Once Haluin calmed himself a bit, he smiled at the bewildered merchant. “Master Kabur! You were instructed to pay _me_ a compliment, not Eldarin.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Kabur frowned, anticipating an Elvish trick.

Haluin held his left arm forth for all to see, flexing the elbow joint and letting the fingers dance for a moment. Through excruciating efforts — always at night, always on his own, when the dwarves were asleep and Eldarin was elsewhere — he had taught himself to use the metal arm as skillfully as living flesh.

“My good dwarf… this is Eldarin’s handiwork, and his alone.”

“But surely…” Kabur stared at Jokim for support, but his neighbor took great pleasure in shaking his head.

“Haluin does not lie. It is Eldarin’s craft, not mine.”

Now Kabur stood, leaning across the table to study the arm more closely. Entranced, his eyes danced over the fine articulations, the tiny plates that simulated long Elvish fingers, the complex joint work at the elbow, and the perfect symmetry with Haluin’s right arm. Even with all of his prejudgments still in tow, he could not overcome the innate love of fine craftsmanship that every dwarf carries in his heart.

Haluin stood, too, and walked around the table so Kabur could see it up close. “You may touch it, if you wish.”

Kabur could not say no, and reached out to run his hands along the smooth surface. “My word… what material is this made of?”

Haluin smiled broadly and nodded over to where Eldarin sat. “At long last, I believe the two of you have something to discuss.”


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## chrysophalax (Feb 20, 2012)

Long into the night Kabur and the elves sat talking, as first Haluin spoke, telling once again the tale of how he and the dwarves had been assailed in the mountains and of Jokim's heroism (at which time Jokim grunted and departed for his (in his opinion) overly soft bed. Druri, meanwhile, decided to embellish the story.

"I was terrified, but not Uncle! That ugly beast had Haluin by the arm would've dragged him off to feed her young, doubtless! But Uncle, was having none of it and killed the great beast without even getting short of breath!" Pride glowed in the youngling's eyes, as he wielded and imaginary axe around Cordelia's sitting room until even Kabur gave up a gravelly chuckle.

"As well it should be, young beardling! We dwarves never let down a comrade-in-arms. Never!"

Then it was Eldarin's turn to submit to Kabur's scrutiny. At first, the smith was reluctant to be questioned so closely, as the desire for secrecy is ever foremost in the heart of a true craftsman, but soon he couldn't resist relating to a fellow admirer of the art some of how he had created such a marvel.

"But what gives it such _life_? Surely this comes nearer sorcery than skill! He moves it as though it were a living part of him." marvelled Kabur in hushed tones. Haluin smiled as he deftly twirled a silver teaspoon between his fingers, flipped it in the air, then caught it without looking behind his back.

"In a manner of speaking, it _is_ alive, my good dwarf. Between the life force that Eldarin imparted the metal with that went into the creation of this arm, and my own will, it functions nearly as well as before I was maimed."

"Ah, _that_ is the great secret-this...imparting? Sadly, I fear that Aule gave us no such gift."

"Do not blame Aule, Kabur. It was Iluvatar who commanded him to let your people sleep again, until such time as it was deemed for your people to rise once more. Perhaps it could only be give once? I do not know, but from the craftsmanship I have seen over the ages by your people, you have no need of it, for all know that there is no finer artistry upon Arda than that crafted by dwarvish hands...and hearts."

Both Haluin and Kabur stared at Eldarin as he spoke and Druri felt a tear run down his cheek.

"Fine words, elf. Fine words. I actually believe that you mean them." With that, the merchant stood to his feet and bowed low. "My house is at your service, if at anytime you find yourself in need."

Eldarin smiled and clasped Kabur's hand warmly. "And I, at yours, friend Kabur. May it always be so between our peoples."

The sound of a jaw-cracking yawn drew their attention to Druri, who was attempting to mask his sleepiness and failing miserably. "Up with you, Master Druri! After the tall tales you've told tonight, you deserve a few hours rest before we head west tomorrow. Alas that this will be the last delicious breakfast we will consume until-"

"Until we reach the Blue Mountains! There you will see dwarvish hospitality in abundance, Haluin. You'll see!"

Haluin winked at Eldain. "Oh yes, I can see it now. Eggs and kram, kram sausages, toasted kram with nettle honey. Kram-" Suddenly a sofa cushion caught Haluin in the face and when the elf made a mad grab for the youngster, Eldarin stepped in. "Enough _tor-nin_! You will bring the house down around our ears. Let the lad rest. Run for it, Druri!" he cried and the youngster gave a whoop, disappearing down the passage toward his bed and sleep.

"So the morning will see you on your way westward? I wish you luck in your journeys then. May your blades never dull!"

"And may your beard grow ever longer, Kabur. We part as friends, I think." "Aye, friends." replied Kabur as he held out an arm for them to clasp before heading each to their own sleeping area. 

The next morning would begin the final push to the Ered Luin.


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## Ghorim (Mar 2, 2012)

So many goodbyes.

First to Kabur, who for the next couple of days would attempt to stir Hobbiton's sleepy inhabitants into purchasing his remaining stock. Then to Cordelia, who handled the entire affair with a magnanimous grace, even though the departure of her new guests obviously pained her.

“Come back any day: rain, sleet or snow,” she said.

These were routine farewells — each one the natural consequence of “hello.” And yet something about them struck a melancholy chord in Haluin. Perhaps because they foreshadowed the final goodbyes that now loomed so large in his mind: Jokim and Druri, disappearing into some slate-gray mountainside, down into shadow.

Would they ever see each other again?

Druri seemed certain they would, and Jokim exuded a quiet confidence for reunion. And yet Haluin could not be so certain. The sudden appearance of Elvish riders the night before had tightened Eldarin’s nerves to pure tautness. He would do his best to cover their trail as they approached the Blue Mountains, he said, but after that he and Haluin would have work to do. And strange paths to travel, ones seldom trod by Elves or any other free folk. Through winding passes and nameless forests, with only the wind and scuttling, unseen creatures for company. So they would wander until they felt it safe to return to green and populated lands — but how long would that be? Neither Elf could say for sure.

Haluin found himself hovering closer to Jokim on the first day of the final leg. The dwarf, as always, proved more perceptive than his gruff front suggested, and slowed his pace to match Haluin’s. They made poor time that day, and the day that followed, but did so in a companionable silence that superseded idle chatter.

Then the mountains appeared on the western horizon, so suddenly that it seemed a great cloud of fog had been hovering there this entire time, only to be lifted in a violent gust. Jokim stopped to admire the vista, Druri at his right arm. Haluin watched his companions react to the sight. Druri clapped his hands and balled them into little fists, jumping up and down even as his uncle clasped him tightly. Jokim’s face barely twitched, but by a dwarf’s standards it was a fireworks display of emotion. Something stirred in him at the first glimpse of those snowy peaks, which glowed bright blue in the morning light.

A tingling, a sense of home.

Haluin pondered Jokim’s expression deep into the night. The image would not fade from his memory — the dwarf’s eyes in particular. How sad they had looked, if only for that first moment! What had it meant? But this reverie ended abruptly sometime after midnight, when Jokim himself came stumping up to take one of his thoroughly unnecessary turns at watch.

Haluin was sitting on a short and stubbly plateau, thrust out from a high hill at a flat angle. The perch provided a grand view of the eastern foothills that led up to their larger siblings, the Blue Mountains. The peaks seemed closer now, glowing a deep indigo in the night, silhouetted by what might have been tendrils of fog creeping in from the sea.

Jokim sat himself beside Haluin, his beard fluttering in the light winds. There was no fire for them to share — Eldarin had concealed that in a small hollow farther down the hill, where Druri now slept in a curled ball while the smith watched over him.

Haluin expected more silence from his friend, which he would not have minded. But Jokim spoke, nodding to the mountains.

“There is a certain holiness about them, is there not?”

Haluin glanced over. “I sense it. Though I suppose I am not as attuned to it as you or Druri.”

Jokim huffed in what might have been a laugh. “Your folk seem to think of the Khazad as if we had no bond with the natural world. Simply because we do not fondle trees or blabber on and on about the starlight. But stones speak, too, if one knows how to listen.”

“What do they say?” Haluin drew his knees up close to his chest.

“It is not words that they speak.” Jokim tried to straighten his beard, but the wind continued to run its fingers through it. “It is more akin to… a vibration. When you stand within the mountain, it surrounds you, lifts you. Even when the blacksmith’s hammers go silent for the night, there is music in the air.”

Haluin smiled, watching Jokim’s self-serious expressions. “Such high-flown sentiments! And yet I always knew you had a poet’s soul, friend Jokim.”

“A poet’s soul!” Jokim snorted, paused, then gave a full laugh. “No, I fear that is Druri’s burden, not mine.”

“Why should it be a burden?”

The dwarf shook his head. “Our folk have our poets and our minstrels, without a doubt. But I would rather Druri first taste the fruits of honest labor and then decide which life he prefers.”

“You worry that Eldarin and I have rendered him an Elf?”

“Did I say that?” Jokim gave a great harrumph. “No. I have glimpsed his mettle on this march of ours, and he is dwarf through and through. He has not complained once on this entire journey. Not once, for lack of comfort or food, though I’ve seen the hunger etched on his face most days." He paused. "However. His head seems tethered to the clouds at times, and he is prone to drifting off into whimsy. In our realms, with the work we demand, that cannot suffice. I would see him tempered in hotter fires, to prepare him for adulthood.”

Haluin paused before responding, for he knew that Druri’s upbringing was one of Jokim’s most jealously guarded possessions.

“Your goals for the lad are to be commended. But what hotter fires could there be than the loss of one’s family, one’s friends? You know full well all that the lad has undergone and overcome in so short a life.”

Jokim leveled a scrutinizing gaze on Haluin, but one that seemed to grant permission to continue.

“I see Druri’s imagination as a strength, not a weakness. I am an Elf, of course, and my word is suspect, even as your friend. But to see his love for life, even after all that it has heaped upon his shoulders… he is a marvel. You wish to steel him further for whatever is to come, and in that you have my full support. But take care that in doing so you do not snuff out the spark that makes him your nephew. Perhaps there is a poet in him after all. Or something greater still.”

Jokim glanced back to the mountains, and pondered those words for some time. The fact that he had not snarled an immediate retort seemed to bode well, or so Haluin thought.

“I would not have his peers think of him as soft,” Jokim finally rumbled.

Haluin laughed. “And what of it? Why, you seem intent on parading Eldarin and me through the tunnels in a grand display of friendship between the races. What will _your _peers think of _you_? And yet the thought does not seem to ruffle you in the least.”

“Not in the least,” Jokim repeated flatly. “And if others should take umbrage, I shall ruffle _them _a great deal.”

The Elf shrugged. “Let them say what they will about Druri, then. As long as he keeps true to himself, he has nothing to be ashamed of. However, we are both discounting the possibility that Druri takes after you of his own accord, and becomes a great warrior to be feared and admired.”

Jokim did not share Haluin’s mirth, and said nothing. The Elf fell silent, studying Jokim and struggling to read his energy. The dwarf cleared his throat, and looked off, away from the great mountains. 

“Actually, I believe I would steer him clear of that path, if I could.”

Haluin bit his tongue, lest it set to wagging with all the questions that Jokim’s remark had prompted in his mind. The dwarf had spoken it in such a way that seemed to close the subject.

The Elf looked away for a time, but still felt their conversation unfinished.

“You know, you need not lose sleep like this to keep watch. Eldarin and I can handle such duties unassisted.”

Jokim shook his head. “I do not mind it. I enjoy the company.”

Then he turned and looked, with a frankness that took Haluin aback, and smiled. And then Jokim returned his gaze to the mountains, falling back into a meditative silence as if not a word more need ever be spoken between them.

Indeed, there was silence until near dawn, when Jokim stood and marched off down the hill to help pack up the camp. Haluin watched as he disappeared into shadow.


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## chrysophalax (Mar 21, 2012)

Eldarin looked up as Haluin descended from his perch to help with breakfast. His contribution? A fat partridge that he had shot on the wing only moments before. 

"A delicacy at this time of year, _mellon-nin!_" he called with a grin. " Make certain you do not over-cook it. Jokim will not thank you for it." A snowball whizzing past his head was Eldarin's only reply as he reached for his knife. "Beautiful plumage...a shame, really."

"Now, now, not so glum, Eldarin. Soon our friends will be ensconced in their new home and from the sound of it, if Druri has his way, we may finish out the winter there in comfort."

Eldarin snorted. "Comfort, say you? Of course! You are used to the cramped quarters of Thranduil's Hall, but I am not. Nothing could be further from the truth." he murmured as he quickly cleaned and feathered the bird, despite not having a pot of hot water to assist him.

"Come, _tor-nin_. Why is the prospect so repellant to you?"

The smith set his knife down, sighing, then looked at Haluin very carefully. "It is not _repellant_ to me! Nothing so dramatic. Say rather...wearing. I am not a cave-dweller, Haluin. When I look up, I prefer the open sky above my head to a mountain of rock which says nothing to my soul. I cannot- ah, it makes no difference. If I must endure it, I must. But for your sake alone." _As with all things in my life now, it seems._ came the thought.

Haluin narrowed his eyes at the tone in his friend's voice, but chose to say nothing. He had learned that whenever Eldarin became moody, it was best to leave him to himself for a time. So, silently, he watched as the smith prepared the group's breakfast, using the time to learn more about the elf who had chosen a life in exile over the life he had always known.

_He is not so different from Jokim, now that I think on it. The only difference seems to be, that he was forced to give up his all that he had known, so that his nephew would have a normal life in the halls of Ered Luin. Whereas, Eldarin...he has forsaken all, for friendship. But why? And what makes two such opposites act so selflessly? Am I capable of doing the same?_

Suddenly fingers were snapping in front of his eyes, startling Haluin from his revery. "Go and get the others, day-dreamer. Make yourself useful!" Haluin blinked up at Eldarin for a moment, then jumped off the boulder he'd been seated on and went in search of the dwarves.



"How long can they stay, uncle?" "Why don't you ask them? They're delicate creatures, elves. They'll probably perish if they're without the sun for more than eight hours."

"No, twelve!" came the laughing voice of Haluin from behind a leafless beech tree. "Druri, lad, it 's not yet been determined that we'll even be _welcomed_. Let us not put cart before horse, yes?"

"Not determined? But, uncle...I-I thought-"

Jokim flashed Haluin a stony glare from beneath his formidable brows before addressing Druri. "Look here, lad. It's not up to us. The council will have the final say, but I'm certain that when they've heard all that we have to say, they will be allowed to stay, for a time." He turned and growled at Haluin. "Now what did you want?"

"Breakfast is, ah, ready, Jokim. That is all." With that, he melted back into the wintry forest without a sound. Jokim sighed. " I shouldn't have been surly to him, Druri. Haluin is deeply grieved and I fear it will only worsen."

"And he isn't the only one, uncle. You think that because I am young that I have no eyes, but I see clearly that when they leave, his will not be the only heavy heart. _That's_ why I want them to stay! You two have been comrades and after that, friends for a long time and friendship always comes with a price. Haluin fears that this will be your final parting, you do know that?"

"Aye, lad. I know. but I also know that there's many a good year left in me yet, so let's go cheer up our long-eared friend and make it clear to him that he'll have to put up with us for far longer than he ever dared hope!"


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## Ghorim (Apr 10, 2012)

Theirs was no longer a straight march, but a steady ascent. The incline was subtle at first, but grew sheerer with each stride. The mountain peaks no longer loomed on the horizon, but somewhere overhead, shrouded by clouds and the legions of evergreen trees that jutted from the earth like spearheads. All was white and gray, snow and stone, cold and silent.

Jokim took the lead. The harsher the route, the swifter he seemed to move, as though he were making a descent and not the other way around. In those rare moments when Druri caught up with his uncle, the lad could see that familiar glow in Jokim’s eyes: the same fire that had raged in the Redhorn Pass, when Jokim had attempted to will them all the way to Rivendell on his own. He could smell home — they both could.

After all, the track was no mystery to discern. The farther they traveled up the mountainside, the more trodden it seemed with boot prints and cart tracks — the noisy evidence of traveling dwarves returning in droves to the mountains for the winter.

“It appears as though our friend Kabur is a straggler,” said Eldarin, amusing himself as they walked along by attempting to parse the many narratives written in the snow. “He is late for the great migration.”

“And Jokim as well,” Haluin nodded to the stout form not so far ahead, cutting along the path with fierce, whipping strides. “Though he seems eager to make up for lost time.”

“Too eager, you would say?” Eldarin had heard the note of disappointment in his companion’s voice.

“I… cannot place any blame in this matter,” Haluin said, looking up into the overarching pine branches. “He is so close to his goal, and with it comes safety. He and Druri have had none since I lashed myself to them, I fear.”

“Mmm. Perhaps.” Eldarin paused. “And yet I do not see a weary traveler making a final burst toward hearth and home. No. I see a soldier marching to battle.”

“Battle?” Haluin eyed him curiously.

“He would have to tear the dwarves’ gates down himself to allow us entrance. And I believe he just might attempt it.”

Haluin gazed ahead, watching that broad, hunched over back retreating into the mountain woods, and clenched his jaw.

“He just might…”

---

By degrees, the path narrowed until only a single cart could navigate it at a time. It began to twist, turn, and switch back upon itself, climbing ever higher. The route was unprotected on one side, dropping off into the dead white below. The mountain winds raked against every inch of the terrain, forcing the travelers to earn each stride.

Haluin knew they were nearing the gates when the tree cover suddenly cleared — even in the thick snow, he could glimpse the stumps where the dwarves had cleaved the evergreens in the name of firewood. Gritting his teeth all the harder, he made a dash ahead to catch up with Jokim. He passed Druri along the way, and still had enough levity to smack the lad playfully on the back of the head as he went by.

But when he leaped in front of Jokim, barring the dwarf's advance with outstretched arms, Haluin's face had drained of humor. He shouted above the incessant howling gale.

“Jokim!”

The dwarf stared up at him, one hand clamping his traveling hood in place as the winds sent his beard tumbling about.

“Haluin! This can wait.”

“It cannot!”

Jokim’s eyes had gone cool, and he shrugged at his heavy pack. “Wrong though you may be, let us at least step out of the wind so that we might hear each other speak!”

The dwarf pulled him into a minor alcove within the cliffs that stood along the protected side of the path. Not far behind, Druri made a sprint forward as if to join them, but Eldarin caught him by the shoulder and pulled him back. The young dwarf shook at his grasp briefly, but then went still. Neither said a word as they waited amid the winds.

Within the alcove, Jokim raked some of the clumps of snow out of his auburn beard, before realizing that the white stuff had coated his eyebrows as well. “Speak quickly. We cannot tarry in such weather.”

“What do you intend to do at the gates?”

“I shall gain entry for the lot of us. Now! If that is all you needed to know…”

“It shall not be so simple, as you are well aware.”

“Hmm. Nothing worthwhile is. But this is not worth discussing! Now come…”

“Jokim.” Haluin stepped into his way again. “Why did you make this journey?”

The dwarf narrowed his eyes and knitted his brows in a formidable display of annoyance. “You know the answer. No riddles.”

“I can only guess at it, in fact. But I would say that this… new station of yours. You are seeking it not for the sake of your own honor or prestige, but to safeguard Druri’s future.”

“As I said. You know the answer. Now let us continue on!” The dwarf pressed forward, straight at the Elf.

“We are not finished.” And then Haluin proved once again that he could stand toe-to-toe with even an irate dwarf. His face glowed in a flash of old Eldar strength, and suddenly he seemed to stand just a few inches taller. Jokim frowned, but took a respectful step backward.

“I do not know what manner of grand speech you have planned,” Haluin continued. “But if you step forward as a friend of Elves, it could stain your reputation in these mountains. Enough to deny you an officer’s rank.” He let that last remark hang in the air, and watched Jokim carefully mask his reaction to it.

“If not for your own sake, think how that might affect your nephew.”

“And what, exactly, are you proposing?”

“I do not need to glimpse the heart of the Ered Luin. I do not need the dwarves’ grudging hospitality, and least of all do I need you to endanger your station for my sake.” Haluin put his hands on Jokim’s shoulders. “Have I not already done as much to Eldarin? Pulled him from his home, stripped him of his rank and honor? All in the name of feeble tokens of friendship. I cannot do the same to you. We can say our goodbyes now, go our separate ways…” He trailed off, then noticed Jokim was glaring at him.

“Are you done?” The dwarf was trembling, Haluin realized. Not from cold, or grief — but from a muted rage. The Elf stepped back, nodding his head.

Jokim’s voice came from deep in the back of his throat, very stern and steady, barely audible, but still repressing some great torrent of feeling within him.

“Whether or not our final parting lies ahead, you shall not know me much longer, son of Mirkwood. So allow me to have my say. Forgive yourself. Forgive yourself Daeron, forgive yourself Hengist, forgive yourself Eldarin. Companions may come and go, but you always must live with yourself. And if you cannot forgive that fellow, there is no way to move forward. Instead, take a moment to consider that there are those in this world who care for you deeply, who would sacrifice all on your behalf. Why blame yourself for that devotion when it is so much easier to accept it with open arms, eh?” Jokim reached out and grabbed one of Haluin’s hands, clutching it tightly. “You are _good_, Haluin. As you ever have been. Whatever happens at the gates shall not change that. There shall be no sad partings between us, not yet! We go to the gates together, as friends.”

Haluin was frozen, staring at the dwarf in a vague wonderment, but Jokim didn’t allow the moment to last. He shoved ahead, still gripping Haluin’s hand and pulling him along like a dumbstruck child.

Jokim signaled to Eldarin and Druri, and allowed them to catch up before speaking.

“What say we bang on the door together, eh?” He gave Druri a half-shake, half-hug and pushed him ahead.

Eldarin stood behind, still and mute between the furious white waves, attempting to read Haluin’s face in search of what had passed between him and Jokim.

But the tear already had fallen, already frozen, just one droplet of ice lost amid countless others on the mountain slopes.


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## Ghorim (Apr 10, 2012)

The eastern gate to the Blue Mountains stood at the end of a long, narrowing pass, dug by dwarvish picks and shovels in a prior age.

An army would need to be driven by madness or certain starvation to attack it. The long approach to the gate resembled an extended practice field for defensive crossbowmen. Flat, vertical cliff walls on either side offered no footholds and no cover. The gates themselves seemed to have the whole weight of the mountain behind them: broad, arching slabs bookended by rune-scarred pillars and adorned with the official seal of the Ered Luin.

Borne by the winds, the snow had become trapped in the pass and billowed about in swirling patterns, obscuring the gates ahead in a frozen fog. On first approach, Eldarin could see the notches along the curved gate wall to allow for crossbow perches. But there was no sign of any bricklaying in the rest of the facade: no bonding mortar or external ornament. Solid rock, carved from the mountainside itself.

“Halt!”

A single sentry must have spoken the order, doubtlessly from somewhere behind the gates. But in the cramped confines of the pass, the word echoed and resounded with the force of a stone giant’s bellow.

The four travelers obeyed, but Jokim took an additional step forward to present himself as leader. They were somewhat shielded now from the wind, though it yet shrieked overhead, so Jokim had a moment to straighten his posture and beard for their unseen interrogator.

“State your name and purpose!”

Westron words, but salted with a thick Khuzdul accent, heavy and coarse with its consonants.

“I am called Jokim, son of Jurgan, late of the Grey Mountains. I come to you as a kinsman and ally.” He bowed deeply, removing his hood without thought for what he might reveal underneath it.

Silence. Jokim narrowed his eyes, trying to read where the sentry might be posted. Likely enough that he was conversing with a superior officer between his booming reports.

_They’ll be trying to make sense of the Elves just about now…_ Jokim thought.

“State the purpose of your contraband!”

Jokim paused, somewhat amused by the choice of words. Then he peeled off his traveling pack, held it theatrically in front of himself, and dropped it in the snow.

“Search my possessions if you suspect me of smuggling. Otherwise, as your friend, I have nothing hidden to declare.”

A longer pause this time. Jokim resisted the urge to glance back at Haluin and Eldarin. In this moment, gamesmanship was half the battle.

“Your Elvish driftwood!” A different voice called out this time. Less accented. “Where did you come across it?”

Now Jokim could barely stifle a chuckle. “_It_ came across _me_, good sir! The first one outside the forests of Mirkwood, the second along the Redhorn Pass of the Misty Mountains! Without their aid, I would not stand before you today!”

“Start at the beginning!” This new interrogator did not waste any time. “Whence hail you? What purpose brings you to this realm, and with such a strange assortment in tow?”

“A soldier I am, by trade! I have served in the armies of Thrór and Grór, kings of the Lonely Mountain and Iron Hills. I dwelt in the latter’s realm when the Worm descended upon Erebor. My nephew here, Druri, was not so fortunate. He came into my care an orphan. Nearly one year later, a friend offered me a new post in your infantry by way of a missive. I come here to state my claim to it.”

“You have conveniently left out the role two Elves might have played in such a lark!”

Jokim huffed, and to those three standing behind him it seemed both a laugh and a grunt.

“Hear me!” he called, extending his arms wide. “You seem a reasonable fellow! I am not fond of raising my voice, and the both of us shall go hoarse ere long from shouting over this wind! Allow us entrance so that we might swap tales face-to-face!”

“You and your nephew may enter. That is no cause for negotiation.”

“A negotiation you name it, already! Then you sense my purpose! I seek haven for all four members of this party!”

“You shall not have it!”

Jokim lowered his arms, placing hands to his hips. “You drive a hard bargain, guardian! But what are we dwarves if not hagglers, eh?”

Listening to this entire exchange with a dampened expression, Haluin felt his eyes widen. Jokim sounded more amused than he’d ever heard the old dwarf sound before.

_By Eru… he is in his element!_ Haluin shook his head in wonder.

“You offer a counter-proposal?” This second sentry still had a marked coldness about his speech — this was hardly a cordial affair. And yet there seemed in his words a hint of suggestibility, not the mechanical tones of the first voice that had shaken the pass.

“Come down here, with us!" Jokim shouted. "Let us talk this through as equals. That way you might come to know these two friends of mine whom you dismiss as kindling!”

This time there came a long pause, a full minute with only the wind for company. Jokim’s posture remained erect. Confident. They were deliberating. That meant a concession was forthcoming.

Finally, an answer.

“Await our arrival! We shall emerge shortly.”

“_We_.” Jokim finally turned back to his companions. “You see? They are preparing our welcoming committee.”

Haluin shook his head. “You are absurd, Jokim. They shall welcome us by hurling us down the slopes!”

The dwarf shrugged. “We shall see. Be charitable, and a surprise might be your reward.”

When the gates did open several minutes later, with the titanic crank and grind of unseen gears, a grim mass of figures emerged. Spears and halberds stuck out from their herd like quills from a porcupine. Their armor and shields bore the dusky blue coloring that heralded their home realm.

It was difficult for the travelers to pick out individuals from a distance, especially with the snow dancing through their vision. But the figure at the head of the formation was impossible to miss. Unlike the half-dozen others, he wore no helm. And his beard, a vivid crimson explosion reined in by elaborate plaiting and silver ornaments, announced his presence immediately.

Druri tugged at Haluin’s sleeve. The Elf glanced down at him.

“You had asked earlier,” Druri said, nodding to the group’s leader. “_That_ is what a Firebeard looks like."


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## Ghorim (Apr 12, 2012)

Jokim kept a critical eye on the infantrymen as they approached.

At first all he could hear was the ever-present wind and the mechanical dirge of the closing gate. But once the slabs slammed shut and the stone echoes faded, he could hear the sound of the welcoming party rumbling ever closer.

They moved in unison, their marching count unspoken. Disciplined. The formation was tight and orderly. If provoked, Jokim knew the infantrymen would collapse in upon themselves, interlocking shields to form a solid wall. His old infantry officers called it “the tortoise form,” although younger comrades had jokingly called it “the hedgehog” on occasion. They would use it to ward off the first round of blows, and then spring forth with spears thrusting and axes hacking.

At some point through the ages, dwarves had earned the reputation as berserkers in battle: mindless aggressors fond of splashy attacks and vainglorious charges. But the foundation of their infantry was staunch defense, followed closely by a devastating counter-punch.

This group seemed to grasp that — their red-bearded leader in particular. He may as well have been wearing a visored helmet for all that his ruddy face let on. He brought his troops to a halt a good ten paces away from the four travelers.

“Before we proceed any further…” He was speaking in Khuzdul, but Jokim recognized the Firebeard's voice as the second that had called from behind the gate. “Instruct them to disarm.” He nodded to the Elves.

Jokim stopped just short of telling the Firebeard to order the Elves himself, knowing that he had to pick his battles.

“Haluin, Eldarin.” Jokim turned partially, but kept his eyes on the commander. “Our hosts would feel more at ease if you were to remove your weapons.”

Eldarin seethed, but he and Haluin exchanged a long look. Then, item by item, they placed their weapons in the snow: bow and quivered arrows, sword, several daggers.

“Step forward, all of you.” The lead dwarf called, in Westron this time.

Dutifully, the travelers approached, leaving the Elves’ weapons behind them and out of reach.

“Halt.” The Firebeard had a crisp, sergeant’s bark, but Jokim suspected he bore a higher rank. The leader spared two lightning quick glances at a pair of his subordinates. “Search them.”

Again, Jokim forced himself to hold his tongue as the infantrymen, one quite young and the other quite old, rifled their hands along the Elves’ bodies, making no effort to come across as gentle. Druri started to growl as a guard dog might, but Jokim silenced him with a glare.

Having found nothing, the two guards returned to formation, snapping exactly into their previous positions. Their commander was silent.

“Are you satisfied?” Jokim ventured, trying to keep the conversation in Westron this time.

“Never that.” The Firebeard still spoke in Khuzdul. “I am called Barulin, and I am captain of the East Gate. The realm’s safety is my concern, and satisfaction on that score breeds carelessness.”

“I respect your dedication, Sir Barulin.” Jokim bowed slightly, maintaining the dwarvish tongue. “But these two are of no threat to you or our kin.”

“Convince me.” Barulin folded his arms. “And more than that, convince me that they would not go telling tales of all that they would see behind these gates.”

“I am indebted to both of them.” Jokim gestured behind him. “For guidance along the trail, and care that I received in Rivendell when I lay near death. Eldarin, the fellow who stands on your left, was a member of the party that came upon me after I had lost consciousness in the Redhorn Pass. Haluin, the Elf on your right, was gravely injured as well, and my nephew pushed past the brink of exhaustion. Without Eldarin's aid and the healing skills of his Lord Elrond, all three of us would have met our ends in the Misties.”

“You and your nephew ought to have traveled as part of a greater party.” Barulin spoke flatly. “That way, you never would have become dependent on the aid of strangers.”

“Be that as it may. I owe the debt of life to both Elves. And a dwarf must always repay his debts, to anyone, or risk dishonor.”

Here Druri sprang forward, all of his pent up indignation carrying him. “I too owe the debt of life! You must allow our friends to pass so that we may repay them.”

The guard captain did not so much as glance at Druri. “Again, it is no fault of mine that you have allowed yourselves to be taken in by Elves. And in repaying your debt you would put others at risk.”

“We would not.” Jokim’s tone began to heat up now. “For Haluin is not some mere stranger I crossed along the path by chance. I fought alongside him in the Riddermark 60 years ago, and his arrows spared my neck on many an occasion.”

“And what sort of farce is that?” Barulin frowned. “Do you expect me to believe that a dwarf and an Elf fought as comrades among the Southern horsemen?”

A silence fell, but Druri began murmuring something to himself, his head lowered.

This, finally, drew the gate captain’s attention. “Speak up, boy, if you would be heard!”

Druri tossed his head up, a flame beneath his eyes, and cried out: “Out on the plains! Three riders seen! One short, one tall, one in between!”

The lad had expected a dramatic reversal from his recitation, but the best he got from Barulin was a look of perplexed annoyance. “Is that gibberish supposed to mean something?”

Suddenly humbled, Druri became a child again, folding his hands into little fists and rubbing them together nervously. “Well, it’s a song, you see. Written about my uncle and Haluin and their friend Hengist, many years ago.”

At this pitiful sight, Barulin finally allowed himself a bark of a laugh. “I have not heard it.” He turned to his pack of guards with a smirk. “Have any of you?”

The guard captain had intended the question to be as flippant as possible, but a gray-bearded veteran at the back of the formation pounded a fist against his shield. “Sir!”

Barulin turned round to face him. “Soldier. Permission to speak.”

“Sir…” The veteran paused, considering his position for a moment. “Sir, I do recall a song of just that sort. About three heroes. I heard it at Bree. The Prancing Pony, many years prior. Some horsemen had gathered in the corner, and they were singing it loud enough for the whole town to hear.”

Barulin’s face remained stony and skeptical. “And do you remember the names of these three heroes?”

The veteran hesitated again, but felt the pressure of his commander’s gaze. “I remembered the dwarf’s name: Jokim, sir. And the other two in the story were a man and an Elf. Haluin and Hengist sound… familiar. I could not say for certain.” And with that he clamped his jaw shut, looking duty-bound and miserable.

Jokim had to leverage all of his willpower to keep from whooping aloud, and a quick look at Haluin revealed a similar repressed joy. Finally, that bloody song had served some use!


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## Ghorim (Apr 12, 2012)

Now Barulin wheeled back around, his mood tempered but unbroken. “Heroes of song, then? A source of pride for you both, perhaps. But it does not alter my mission. Elves are not permitted beyond these gates.”

Jokim moved to strike while the momentum was tilted in their favor, however slightly. “But captain. In times of old, in these very mountains that we stand upon, were Elves not guests of honor in our halls? Given seats beside our Lords, trusted with many of our greatest secrets? And even in the ages that followed, when Khazad and Elf-folk grew cold toward each other, did we not still name friends among them?”

“These strangers may be friends to you.” Barulin nodded to each Elf in turn. “But that does not bind the rest of our folk to declare amnesty. They cannot enter.”

“Excuse me.” Eldarin spoke, and the entire block of infantrymen tensed. All eyes turned to him, most of them glinted with suspicion. “I have not understood most of the pleasantries exchanged in this matter. But I fear some breath may have been wasted on my behalf. For you see, I have no great need to see the halls of the dwarves, though I am a smith, and the legends I have heard of your workmanship tantalize me with their scope. In truth, while Jokim and I consider each other capable allies, Haluin is his truest friend.” He placed a hand behind his kinsmen, and gently pushed Haluin forward. “I recuse myself from this debate. You need only consider admitting one Elf to your fine halls, sir guardian.” And with that, Eldarin bowed deeply, and took a step back.

Jokim gave the smith a short look of amused appreciation, but again made a quick turn at Barulin. “Does this sway you, then? One Elf. For one night. Allow me to show him the same hospitality he has shown me at every turn.”

This time, Barulin had to pause to consider. This was progress. “One Elf is the same as any other,” he finally concluded, speaking in Westron. “And just one is likely enough to _steal_ — objects and secrets both.”

“Then bind my hands.” Haluin stepped forward, now. “Bind my hands, so that I might not steal your treasures. Blindfold my eyes, so that I might not glimpse your realm. Post guards, if I frighten you so. It does not concern me.”

For the first time, Jokim's confidence appeared to waver. He turned to Haluin with a scowl. "You need not..."

The Elf shook his head. "I could tolerate such indignities, should they render our hosts less fearful."

Barulin raised his brows ever so slightly, and his eyes flashed at the Elf’s implicit challenge of his bravery. He looked to Jokim, continuing in Khuzdul for the moment. “And what would you do with him? Where would you take him?”

“I would lead him to the home of my friend Vorik. He is a healer in this realm, and a friend from my earliest days. ‘Twas he who offered me my new position.”

“And there the Elf would stay?”

“Haluin said it best, sir. Post guards at Vorik’s door if it allows you to sleep better at night. We only wish to say our farewells in a place of comfort. Remove his blindfold and bonds once we enter the home, that is all I would ask.”

“Hrrmm.” Barulin glanced between Jokim and Haluin in thought.

Jokim slapped his hands together. “As I see it, the haggling is done from our end. We have made every concession to placate your concerns. Now lend one to us. Grant my friend sanctuary.” He extended his hand, expectant. “We are agreed?”

Barulin stared at Jokim’s hand, but made no effort to extend his. “_If_ we were to allow an Elf entrance, the final decision would rest with a higher station than mine.”

“By all means, then. Discuss it. We shall wait.” Jokim stepped back, rejoining his nephew and the Elves.

The guard captain gave one last dull-eyed survey of the group, lingering on Jokim the longest. He gave a little nod to his fellow dwarf, but its purpose was unclear. Then he turned to his guards. “Company, return!”

And at a double clip, they retreated back to the gates, which opened as they approached and promptly closed behind them.

The four travelers stood in a long silence after that, but Druri wouldn’t let it last. He ambushed Haluin with one of his characteristic bear hugs, squeezing the Elf’s waist with a strength that ought to have belonged to his uncle. “They’re letting you in! They’re sure to!”

“Now, now! It’s far too early to begin celebrating!” Haluin laughed, patting the lad’s head with one hand while trying to pry him off with the other.

While they wrestled about, Jokim walked straight to Eldarin and clapped him on the elbow. “Another debt that I may never repay you, Eldarin. Your sacrifice swung the tide in our favor.”

The smith gazed at him wryly. “What sacrifice? The sight of dwarvish architecture might have moved my heart, but the smell of dwarvish hides surely would have turned my stomach!”

Jokim stared at him intensely for a moment, but then threw back his head and laughed loudly enough to shake the mountain gates. “Did you hear that, Druri? Let go of Haluin! It is Eldarin who deserves your attacks. Go on now, defend your people’s honor!”

With an eager grin, Druri did as he was bade, charging at Eldarin and entering into a flailing melee with him. Jokim stood back with Haluin and watched, the two laughingly cheering on their kinsmen in battle.

And from behind the mountain gates, standing in a crossbowman’s perch, Barulin watched this mirthful scene with a curious eye, stroking his beard in thought. “Hrrmm…”

Then he turned to descend the stairs, his path bound for the High Council’s chambers.


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## chrysophalax (May 29, 2012)

The thought of leaving Eldarin in the cold all alone did not sit well with Haluin. Even as he watched his friend wrestle with Druri, his eyes never left the retreating backs of the dwarves. If only they knew what kind of Elf he was, surely they would allow him entrance?

"Enough, young one." he said firmly and Druri ceased instantly, glancing at Haluin uncertainly. "Forgive me. I was only..." "Nay, quiet yourself. I must speak with your uncle now, Druri." He gave the lad's shoulder a squeeze, then moved to join the older dwarf where he had been sitting, watching the antics of his nephew.

"What do you make of this, Jokim...truly. You know that I would suffer any amount of humiliation in order to see you among your people once more, but Eldarin? He mistrusts those who are not Firstborn at the best of times! Surely this will only convince him that his prejudice is justified." The elf sighed heavily, his eyes filling with sadness at the injustice of it all. "Why must we be forced to endure this, merely because in the past our ancestors fell out? How many lives were lost then because of mistrust, envy and greed...on both sides?"

Jokim harrumphed into his beard. He knew only too well the harsh words and possibly harsher treatment that Haluin might be forced to bear when they entered the mountain fortress and he also understood Haluin's concern for their comrade. While he and Eldarin had not always seen eye to eye, Jokim would never say a word against the smith, for he had seen the depth of loyalty and care he had bestowed upon each of them and most especially the doomed wanderer, Haluin. The wrongness of the situation made Jokim grind his teeth in frustration. His people were better than this!

"I don't know what to say, my friend. I had figured on a certain amount of negotiation and stubbornness, but this?" He reached over and grasped Haluin's forearm, gripping it tight. "You don't have to do this, you know. They're only trying to goad you into acting the way they _think_ all elves act, crafty and shifty, completely untrustworthy... Ah, Durin's Beard! If they only knew you the way I do!" he growled, driving his free hand into the log upon which he sat.

All three stared at Jokim solemnly. Rarely did the older dwarf display this much emotion and the elves looked at each other in concern. 

Haluin pulled away from Jokim in order to kneel in front of him. His knees sank into the slushy snow and for once, the fastidious elf took no notice. "As I said earlier, I would do anything for you, for _any_ of you! I owe each of you more than my paltry life is worth, therefore do not fret for my sake, my dear friend, for so I believe you to be. You have reached your goal and, well, _most_ of us are in one piece!" he chuckled ironically. "Be glad! Druri will now grow into the stout dwarvish warrior he was meant to be, no longer to be "tainted" by elvish ways and you will live out your life where you should, among those who understand you, among friends. Is that not what you have desired these many months? Let them do what they will with me. It matters not, as long as you receive the respect and rightful place here as you should. If they refuse you this..." The elf's eyes flashed ominously, "then they will have us to answer to."

Eldarin came up to stand behind Haluin and placed his hand heavily on his sword. "Agreed."


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## Ghorim (Sep 11, 2012)

The wait was long, and the cold cut deep.

Haluin had endured foul chills before: the Mirkwood winters of his childhood, when sudden fronts of snow and ice had rendered the forests as still and eerie as a silent dream. Or the long nights on the open plains of Rohan, where the winds roamed unchecked and sliced through even the thickest of furs.

But even with the great cliff walls to shield them against the pale gusts that blanketed the Ered Luin, the cold up there was something different. It felt permanent. Unchecked by the passing of the seasons, years or ages. Always there. Always hungry.

The Elf shifted his weight back and forth in restless rhythm, acutely aware of the dying daylight as afternoon slipped toward evening. He glanced back to Eldarin, who was pacing deep tracks in the snow. The smith had made it clear that he would not camp in the pass that led to the dwarvish gate, sheltered though it was from the elements. He would not have those sharp and distrusting eyes studying his every move throughout the night. Once nightfall approached, he planned to make a retreat down the mountainside in search of a safe haven amidst the rocks and snow.

Now Haluin turned to Druri, who was doing a little jig to keep himself warm. His dance had a happy bounce to it — he was celebrating a homecoming, oblivious to any challenges that lay ahead. But then there was Jokim. He stood well ahead of the others, closest to the looming gates, in his traditional posture: arms crossed, feet rooted to the ground, head bowed ever so slightly as he stared ahead. He had not turned from the gates since his companions’ conversation had died off an hour before. His beard and mustache had long since gone stiff from the freezing cold, the auburn whiskers now coated white.

Haluin felt that familiar pull to needle the dwarf, to draw him out of his shell and see the world around him. But he had learned long ago that Jokim sometimes preferred living within that fortress of his mind.

So the Elf contented himself to find happiness where he could, taking up a dance alongside Druri. His nimble feet crunched the snow in lively rhythm, and the sound echoed throughout the narrow pass. Druri grinned, sensing the unspoken challenge, and sped up his hopping.

Eldarin’s pacing stopped. Jokim diverted his iron-willed attention from the mountain ramparts. They stared at the two dancers, almost able to hear the music. Even with the wind screaming obscenities overhead, even with the endless mountain cold choking out all other life, there was warmth in their midst — if but for a moment.

But then unseen gears groaned and cranked, ancient stone scraped against earth, and the four travelers fell still. The Eastern Gate swung open once more, and the steel hedgehog formation of soldiers reemerged, Barulin at its head. They moved at a standard march — no great hurry. But before the commander even brought the group to a halt, he was calling for Jokim, beckoning him forward.

Jokim gave a quick look to Haluin, Eldarin and Druri in turn before stumping ahead to meet the Captain of the Gate.

Barulin quickly pulled Jokim aside, designating a lieutenant to mind the formation while he was diverted. The captain led Jokim well away from everyone else, where even the pass’s copious echoes would not divulge the details of their conversation.

Haluin watched the distant conference with a skeptical eye, and leaned in toward Eldarin.

“Another dwarvish haggling match, you suppose?”

“I would suppose,” the smith nodded. “But perhaps you…”

“Hang on!” Druri shoved his way between the two Elves in a huff. “I won’t have _two_ secret talks going on that I can’t hear! Now speak up! What are they saying? Can you hear them?”

“You would have a better chance of deciphering it — were you to stop and listen,” Eldarin said sternly, gesturing to the two distant dwarves.

Even hushed by secrecy, their conversation sounded like the angry rumble of competing storm clouds. Druri fell silent and strained his ears, chasing after each word, each syllable. But he was cut out from this adult world that Jokim and Barulin inhabited, and their words remained a mystery just beyond his fingertips. It infuriated him.

But even if he could not catch the words, he could taste the charge of tension that crackled through the thin mountain air. His uncle’s posture was coiled in the same compact stance that he assumed in spars or battle, and he wielded his Khuzdul like a war hammer: blunt, brutal and heavy. Barulin matched him blow for blow, his voice booming with martial authority.

Suddenly it seemed uncertain that Haluin would ever gain entrance to the mountain colony.

Within a few minutes, Jokim appeared to break off the talks, turning to return to his companions. But Barulin called him back. They exchanged a few more words, and then to the surprise of all the onlookers (this including the dwarvish infantrymen, who were as curious as anyone), the gate captain and Jokim clasped forearms in a show of respect… and disarmament.

Jokim marched back to Druri and the Elves, his gaze clouded and unreadable.

Haluin moved forward to meet him, and Druri was half a step behind.

“No matter the outcome, Jokim…” Haluin began.

The dwarf cut him off. “They still insist that your hands be bound and your eyes covered. But they shall not shackle your feet! I dragged that concession out of them. And _I_ shall be the one to apply your restraints. None of them shall lay a hand on you, save to inspect that my knots are sound.” He nodded to Druri. “The lad and I shall lead you to Vorik’s home, where they will keep you under lock and key for the night. That was the best I could manage.”

There was a pause as the conditions of Haluin’s entrance sunk in. Then Druri clapped his hands in celebration.

“Ha!”

The lad shot a smirking, superior glance over at Barulin and his infantrymen — for in his mind, Jokim had just outdueled them all.

“Jokim…” Haluin gave a short bow. “You have done well by me yet again. Better, in fact, than any reasonable observer might have hoped for.”

“A beggar’s bargain, I call it…” Jokim grumbled a few more choice oaths to himself.

Haluin turned back to Eldarin, who lingered behind and made no attempt to share in even the modest celebration.

“Excuse me.” Haluin retreated with another half-bow and walked back to his kinsman.

“I suppose this is what you wanted?” Eldarin’s voice sounded strangely haughty.

Haluin sighed. “_Mellon_, none of us would call this predicament ideal. But I act only out of friendship in this case…”

“Out of _acquiescence_.” Eldarin’s eyes narrowed. “You may consider yourself diminished, but you are yet of the Firstborn, and are unworthy of such shameful handling. How easily you forget.”

“No guest should be treated in this fashion, Firstborn or otherwise. But you have yet to acknowledge Jokim’s end of the bargain. Do you realize that he has now risked his entire reputation among his own folk, just so that I might spend one night at the table as his guest? How am I to scoff at such a gesture?”

“But to be nothing more than a prisoner…”

“You do not have to make this journey, Eldarin. I choose it of my own accord. We shall speak no more of it.” Now Haluin showed a severity to match his companion’s. “I wish you a safe rest and haven for the night. We shall reunite upon the morrow. I would wager on dawn for my return.”

“Hmm, yes.” Eldarin’s front mellowed. “The Naugrim would not keep you a moment longer than was necessary, would they? Well, I shall manage tonight. And then tomorrow we begin.”

There was something grim and foreboding in Eldarin’s tone that gave Haluin pause. But on second thought… these were grim days ahead of them. They would both need that sort of resolve.

“Fare thee well, then. For the now.”

“For the now. Good night.” And with a sharp turn that sent his robe flowing behind him, Eldarin marched off down the pass, snatching his discarded weapons back up as he went. His figure disappeared into shadow and swirling winds.

When Haluin turned back, he saw Jokim standing there, holding bonds and blindfold almost apologetically. Barulin and two of his troops stood just behind.

“If you are ready…” Jokim bowed his head slightly.

Haluin sighed, sparing one last glance to where Eldarin had vanished into the night. “I am ready.”

He knelt in the snow, allowing Jokim to lower the blindfold in place. Darkness fell over him. And for the next hour, there in darkness he would remain.


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## chrysophalax (Sep 11, 2012)

Haluin's heart hung heavy in his breast as he sat on a bench, his shoulders aching. Nearby, deep, rumbling voices, some sounding not so pleased, carried on a protracted conversation. It hadn't been that long, only an hour perhaps, but already he began to regret his decision. Many a time in his long life had Haluin felt under threat, but _this_? This was different. Here he could feel the weight of an entire race's enmity bearing down on him as he had passed through the echoing halls, his ears straining in an attempt to find any familarity with the world he knew...and finding none.

None except the incessant chatter of Druri at his side. The youngling had seemed to sense his tension and yes, fear, at being so thoroughly cut off in unfamiliar territory and had kept up a stream of whispered commentary, pitched so that only the elf could hear. He had had to smile at Druri's ingenuity, even as it drove him mad with curiosity.

"You should see the lamps, Haluin! They're set high in the ceiling above so that they throw back the light in a thousand rainbows all along the corridors. And the lamps themselves are works of art! Nothing like what we had back home. They seem to be fashioned of metal, silver maybe and shaped like curling vines and birds and even far down one hall, I saw something dragon-like! I've never seen the like!" he cried, drawing several sets of grim, glowering looks his way. _I would give much to see them. _ thought Haluin sadly, even as his thoughts turned to Eldarin unbidden. The proud smith would, he knew, have loved to view such skilled craftsmanship, but he too was still caught in the ancient distrust to two races held for each other. _I cannot bear to think of him so exposed, though it be for one night. I wish I hadn't been so harsh with him. He's done nothing to deserve it._

Stretching, he tried to ease the ache that was now creeping slowly down his left arm, bringing with it the dull pain he normally kept away by exercising his muscles. In an attempt to distract himself, he once again tried to discern what the voices around him were saying. His Khuzdul wasn't fluent by any means, but in their long association, he had managed to pick up a few phrases from Jokim and these did not put his mind at rest.

After a time, Jokim came to him and helped him to stand. "They're taking us to my friend Vorik's house now. You'll be kept there and fed for the night."

"Will you not be there? Am I to be, as Eldarin said, kept locked up and bound as a prisoner all night?" His tone came out far more panicked then he would have liked.

"Nay, nay, Haluin. I will untie and remove your blindfold once we arrive at his house, and we will be sleeping in his house as well, but you will eat alone. I'm sorry, my friend." said Jokim gruffly. "It's not my choice, you see."

"No...I-I know. Let us go and get it over with." he said miserably. This was never how he had imagined he would be saying his farewells!

More grumbling several feet away told him they would be on the move again and Druri came to his side, placing Haluin's hand on his shoulder for guidance. "Not far now, Haluin." he whispered. "He lives only two halls from here." _Wherever "here" is._ Haluin thought morosely. 

A quarter of an hour later found the small party stopping just outside the dwarven healer's door and surprisingly a calm, compassionate voice greeted them. "Come, come. Jokim is it then? Welcome, old friend! I understand you bring with you an oddity to our domain."

Jokim's chuckled. "You could call him that, I suppose. Haluin, turn around. You lot, we thank you for safe passage." With that, Jokim considered the dwarven guard no more as he hastily untied the ropes binding his friend, then removed the blindfold. "There. that's better!"

The elf groaned as he moved his arms forward, shoulders cracking loudly. He bit back a cry as he tried to move the fingers of his left hand, but for the first time since he had gained his new arm, they felt numb. Neither Jokim nor Druri seemed to notice his pain, but the sharp-eyed Vorik narrowed his eyes as he watched the elf's face.

"Interesting. His hands are different colours." he remarked as he waved his guests to their seats after the approrpiate rgeetings had been exchanged. "May I speak?" asked Haluin seating himself carefully. "Of course." Haluin bowed his head in thanks. "Master Vorik, my friend and companion, Eldarin made my arm as a gift after I lost the use of my own. You see?" He extended both arms so that that healer could see them. Vorik came forward, snatching up a lamp so that he could see better.

His eyes widened. "This is...not real? But the joints, excepting the colour, of course, they seem so lifelike! And your friend? The one who made this?" he stopped, his eyebrows knitting together furiously. "_He's _ not the one left out in the open is he?" "Aye, Vorik and not only by edict but by choice. He has no love for dwarven halls." replied Jokim sternly. "I see. But you do realise he runs a great risk at this time of year. Wolves have been seen in greater numbers than ever before, prowling the foothills between our halls and the outer edges of the Shire."

"Wolves? Jokim!" Haluin gasped, rising quickly to his feet. "Ah, Elbereth, what have I done?"


*************


Below the great gates of the dwarven fastness, Eldarin struggled knee-deep through the snow with only a meagre portion of starlight and moonlight to guide him. Darkness seemed to have fallen even earlier than was its wont and Eldarin drew his cloak close against the rising wind. It looked like being a grim night indeed.

As he made his way soundlessly through the trees, back toward a rocky outcropping he had spied earlier, the smith found that he had much to occupy his mind, now that Haluin was no longer there to distract him. 

When he had first turned away from his comrades to begin his decent, it had felt to him as though a burden had slipped from off his shoulders, that he was now free to think and act as he liked, the rest of the world be damned. Soon, however, the cold had begun to seep and creep its way into his mind and into his heart. It spoke to him of loneliness and pain, of exile and isolation. Of Haluin.

Suddenly it became clear to him, as clear as water over crystal, just how heavy the burden was that his friend had borne all this time. He stopped for a moment, picturing himself as Haluin, alone and friendless in a strange wood, with only his woodcraft to guide him and none to cheer him at his side. The thought nearly brought him to his knees as he heard again all their petty squabbles and heated arguments, which now meant less than nothing. _I've been cruel to him, which was never my intent._ he thought miserably. _How many times have I berated him, always chiding him as though he were but a mere stripling to look after his dignity, which he himself holds in no high regard? Who am I to say such things to him, when he has lost so much and will soon lose all else that he holds dear? Cruel I have become...and heartless._

Another image crowded close, like a wolf scenting the blood of a fallen stag. The image of Haluin, kneeling in the snow to be bound set his blood to boiling. "Enough!" he cried, gripping a nearby tree branch with punishing force. "Ah, Elbereth, protect him now while I cannot, for I swear by Eru that I will bring that mountain down around their heads should harm befall him!" 

Spurred on now by the fire that burned within him, Eldarin hastened toward the scattering of boulders that would serve as his makeshift shelter where he would await the coming dawn, little knowing that he was not the only creature that stirred the forest floor this night.


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## Ghorim (Sep 26, 2012)

Jokim, old fool that he was, had made the mistake of settling all of his weight into one of Vorik’s rather well cushioned armchairs. He did not crouch at the edge of his seat like he had at the inns or taverns along the trail, eyes darting from corner to corner in suspicious arcs. He slid back into the seat… almost comfortable.

Finally, after months on the road, after months with a raised guard and wary instincts, after months of incessant marching with little sleep and a burdensome pack through strange-smelling forests, all the while fretting over Druri… now he could almost — _almost_ — allow himself to relax. He found himself in his old friend Vorik’s spacious den, with properly sized ceilings and furniture lit by a soft, homey glow coming from the hearth at the center of the room. Now he was among kin, safely arrived at last. Jokim even began to consider kicking off his boots and settling his weary feet onto a tempting looking footrest…

But then Vorik had to go and say the word “wolves.” Immediately, Haluin leapt to his feet, horror etched upon his pale features.

“Wolves? Jokim! Ah, Elbereth, what have I done?”

When Haluin shot out of his chair Jokim did the same out of pure instinct. When you fight alongside a fellow long enough, you start to shadow his movements without even paying it any thought.

But after a short moment and a blink of his eyes, Jokim regained his senses, realizing that there was no immediate threat in the room — only Haluin’s feverish worries for Eldarin’s safety.

Jokim gave a heavy sigh that turned into a grunt halfway through. “Haluin. Wolves in the foothills are not the same as wolves among the high passes. We saw none on the ascent, nor _heard_ any between here and the Shire, as I recall. And your fears do Eldarin little credit: he is the ablest of us all outdoors… or at least as able as you. I imagine he would avoid any encounter with a wolf well before it could happen. It is only one night, besides.”

Haluin paused, his gaze looking past Jokim — seemingly imagining Eldarin out there alone on the frozen slopes, stalked by menacing shadows. After a time, he sat back down, but looked hardly at ease. Druri, too, seemed shaken and upset on Haluin’s behalf. He tried to catch the Elf’s gaze, but Haluin remained distracted.

Jokim turned to Vorik, looking suddenly weary. “You must forgive my Elvish friend. He and his kinsman Eldarin share a hardy bond.”

Vorik had been observing Haluin, curious about this foreigner and his ingenious contraption of an arm. But now he turned back to Jokim, giving a smile that split the thick underbrush of his beard. “Of course I understand! Is it not the same with you and I? Ha! Come here, brother Jokim!” And before his friend could initiate any defensive maneuvers, Vorik engulfed Jokim with a tremendous bear hug. Jokim groaned in protest. But the sound was drowned out by Vorik’s baritone laughter, his big-bellied form quaking as he lifted Jokim off the ground. The sound perked Haluin and Druri up in their chairs, and even as he wrestled himself out of his friend’s thick arms, Jokim was smiling in a begrudging sort of fashion.

Vorik finally dropped him fully, and Jokim brushed at the shoulders of his cloak. “Is that any way to greet a weary traveler? With an assault of affection!”

“As though you expected anything less!” Vorik snorted and straightened his beard, his eyes dancing with fond excitement. “I have spent all these months — no, a year! — awaiting your response to my missive. And of course, as you know, my imagination ran away from me and out the door. I could envision you either throwing the letter in the hearth after reading the first sentence, or bounding out on the road with your rusty old axe in hand. And I worried! Of course I worried. About you and your nephew — little Druri! Ah, look at him! How he’s grown. A stripling no longer!”

Vorik had to pause to catch his breath here, producing a handkerchief from his vest pocket to wipe at his glistening, reddened brow. It gave him and Jokim a chance to fully regard each other.

They both had aged in their own ways since their last parting, a scant two years ago in the Iron Hills following the fall of Erebor. Vorik and his family were bound west to the Blue Mountains, for even the Iron Hills felt too close to The Calamity to settle there. The two friends had shook hands and muttered some words that resembled a farewell, without eye contact. And then Vorik nudged forward Druri, whom he had cared for in the desperate flight from the Lonely Mountain, passing the lad into his uncle’s custody.

Vorik had not been himself then. He looked grim and grey and haunted, just like any of the hundreds of dwarvish pilgrims cast onto the road in those days. But two years on, he was beginning to resemble that easy-spirited companion of old. Given the jovial squint of his eyes, his bouncy gait, and the natty fashion in which his wife dressed him every morning, he had the perpetual air of a doting uncle. And many of his patients came to view him that way, their families adopting him as an extended relation.

There was still that edge of sadness to his appearance, however… an added crease in the brow, a distractedness in the eyes. It would never really leave, not for good… Jokim knew, because he shared the same wound in his heart. But that haze of sorrow was banished from the dwelling for the moment.

“You must forgive me,” Vorik said. “‘Twas all I could do not to blubber up like a granny in front of those soldiers you brought with you. But now I shall hold my tongue… for as long as I can stand it. Introduce me to your companions! Tell me of your journeys!”

Jokim smirked, nodding to Haluin. “This Elf… Haluin. He was the one who watched my neck during my wild days in the Rohan. You’ve heard that story enough times, I assume.”

Vorik blinked. “The same Elf? Bless me.” He stepped forward and bowed deeply, crossing one arm over his long black beard to prevent it from brushing dust off the floor. “I am Vorik, at your service — and indebted to you for saving my fool of a friend all the times that you did in battle!”

Haluin had snapped from his reverie, but not entirely. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair — which stood far too short for his long legs and with a seat far too broad for his slender frame. “It was a service returned in kind many times, I assure you. Well met, Vorik. Jokim has spoken well of you.”

“Of course he has, of course. I shall wish to hear more of your tale, Haluin.” But Vorik already was turning to Druri. “Now come here, you little adventurer! Let’s have a good look at you.”

Druri detested the term “little,” even coming from an elder dwarf. So to prove his maturity, he stepped forward with a very serious, very adult expression.

“We commend you for your hospitality, Master Vorik.” And he gave a little bow as punctuation.

Vorik stared at the lad for a moment, a smile slowly taking root on his face, before he reached out to pat Druri on the head. “Well done, lad! Well done. I see you’ve polished his manners along the road, Jokim.”

Druri’s expression turned dark and he stepped back into the shadows.

Meanwhile, Jokim glanced around the round den and straightened his beard, which was still dripping water and chunks of snow along the floor. “Where is your wife, then?”

“Ach! Midwifery!” Vorik threw up his hands. “It has thrown our lives into a series of unexpected arrivals. Greta is out on assignment this evening, I’m afraid. Supper might be late in arriving.”

Jokim waved his arms dismissively. “No trouble, no trouble. We have a few provisions left in the packs, and besides…”

“Hang on! I won’t have you eating jerky and dried fruit and acorns and whatever on earth else you’ve been nibbling these past months. I might not be trustworthy around an open flame, but I shall invade the larders on your behalf. Go on, sit. Be comfortable! I shall return with _victuals_.”

And after speaking that last word with excitable flair, Vorik ducked off down a flight of stairs that led to the cool cellar below where he and his wife stored their provisions. His beard trailed behind him like a scarf caught in high wind.

Once he was gone and the sounds of rummaging began reverberating up from below, Jokim sighed and gave a half shrug to no one in particular. “Rather eager to please, my friend Vorik…”

Then he lowered himself back onto the edge of his chair, and _almost_ slid himself all the way back… but stopped this time to look at Haluin.

The Elf stared right back at him, his entire face clenched taut.

Jokim put a hand to his own forehead and rubbed it wearily. “I take it I have not managed to set your mind at ease regarding Eldarin.”

“Truth be told… no.”


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## Ghorim (Sep 26, 2012)

The dwarf set his hand back down on the armrest. He rapped upon it a few times, turning his thoughts over. His gaze never left Haluin. “You wish to go seek him out?”

“To warn him, at the least.”

Now Jokim canted his head forward slightly, so that he looked up at Haluin from beneath his brambly brows. In an arsenal full of fierce expressions, this was his most simple and intimidating.

“You do realize that if I take you back out, our friend the gate captain will have no compelling reason to welcome you back _in_?”

“I realize this.” Haluin leaned forward, grimacing. “And I understand the terrible pains you underwent in securing my passage, and the hospitality…”

“No.” Jokim held a hand up, and Haluin fell silent. “No more.”

Silence reigned. Druri moved in toward where his elders sat, his traveling hood in hand, awaiting word from his uncle. Beneath them, Vorik continued to clunk around in his pantry.

Jokim glanced between the Elf and his nephew. Licked his lips. Cracked his knuckles.

“We go, then. Haluin and I.” He rose to his feet. “Druri, you stay here.”

Druri reared back in shock, but then immediately pulled himself up to contest the ruling, puffing out his chest. “You cannot…”

“I can. I have. The decision is made. Sit yourself down.”

Druri did not sit. “If Eldarin is in danger, I must be there to help! He is my friend as much as he is yours! It’s always been the four of us…”

“No, it has not. I have wielded an axe since long before you were a notion in your father's eye. And the Elves have enough experience between them to render me an infant by comparison. It is dangerous out there tonight, Druri. The three of us know danger. You do not.”

Jokim spoke his words calmly, with the paternal tone of a lecturer straightening out a misguided pupil. But Druri’s young rage was boiling, and he took the unprecedented gesture of stepping toward his uncle in a threatening fashion. “But I proved myself along the journey! There was danger at every turn, and I handled it all!”

“Druri.” Now Jokim stepped forward, and the beat of his boot on the stone floor arrived with all the authority of a thunderclap. “I did not drag you all the way to this safe haven to throw you back into peril at the first opportunity. Do you understand me? Your survival has been my responsibility this entire journey, not yours. You shall stay here with Vorik, while we handle our business on the surface.”

Druri’s aggressive front wavered, but something pushed him forward, deeper into conflict. “You cannot make me stay. I can make my own decisions now.”

There was something desperate — and yet fiercely determined — in his voice.

Jokim stopped and stared at his nephew for several uncomfortable moments. At the other end of the room, a clock atop Vorik’s overstuffed bookshelf beat out the seconds, the sound suddenly ringing in everyone’s ears. Vorik’s heavy footfalls below signaled that he was readying to climb the staircase.

Jokim pinned his nephew with a glare. “Can you? Then decide how you would like me to treat you. Because the moment you disobey me, there is no return. I forgive honest mistakes. But never insolence.”

He pointed to the nearest chair, expectant.

Shortly thereafter, Vorik came staggering up the stairs. The healer had managed to maintain a precarious balancing act, featuring all manner of salted meats and cheeses, bread loaves of various shapes and hues — and perhaps a pie or two — all slapped onto mismatched platters that teetered precariously in his hands and up his arms.

“Well, I suppose I’ve mustered enough to meet any appetite, eh?” He was clearly quite impressed with himself.

But then he saw the scene laid out before him: Jokim and Haluin picking up their soggy supplies by the door where they had dropped them, and Druri sitting in a chair, stewing.

“Whatever is the matter?” Vorik just managed to limp to a nearby table and deposit most of his haul on its surface.

“We are going out to check on our companion.” Jokim spoke brusquely. “We shall return shortly, if all goes as I hope it will.”

“Oh… I see…” Vorik’s whole bearing deflated, and even his mustache appeared to curl downward in dejection.

Jokim halted his preparations, his left glove half on, and sighed at the sight of his friend. “Apologies, brother. No disrespect intended. But it can’t be helped. These are the wages of friendship.”

And soon, they were both out the door, Haluin blinded and bound once more. Vorik heard the guards murmuring in consternation as they chased after the two companions, who were striding toward the eastern gate with purpose.

Then Vorik saw Druri glaring at the floor, arms crossed. He was able to guess the rest. 

Forgetting his elaborate spread for the moment, Vorik ambled over to the footrest that sat in front of Druri’s chair and carefully settled himself upon it. He crossed his own arms, leaning forward and craning his neck in an attempt to catch the lad’s gaze.

“Care to talk about it?”


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## chrysophalax (Sep 26, 2012)

Despite his lack of sight, Haluin could sense the high emptiness around him and he shivered. _Too much open space, not enough cover! _his mind warned as the small group made their way back toward the mighty doors. _Calm yourself, fool. _he thought. _You'll be outside before you know it...but will Jokim forgive me for what I must do?_

Silently the elf fretted, caught between loyalties. The echoing passages were of little help in calming his mind. for he could hear every rustle of cloth, every chink of ringed mail. Indeed, every breath--each floating upwards to the vaulted ceilings, whispering like so many bats until one by one, they faded from even his ability to hear. 

_Am I being an even greater fool than usual? Is Jokim right, that the wolves Vorik mentioned have their territory far distant from this place? _Frustrated, Haluin began to pull at his restraints, but Jokim's steadying hand on his wrists stayed him. The dwarf knew full well that, if he so chose, no ropes bound in such a fashion could stop him if he truly meant to escape, but again, there was the dilemma. He could not, nor would not, bring shame on Jokim after all he had done to negotiate his entrance into the dwarven halls of Ered Luin. _Yet how can I leave Eldarin on his own while I am aware of possible danger? I cannot!_

Such were the worrisome thoughts that filled the elf's head, to the point where he had to be physically stopped from walking further. "Unless you've developed the power to walk through walls, you'd better stop, Haluin." muttered Jokim irritably. "What were you thinking? No, don't answer that! I don't want to know." Jokim pulled down on the rope binding his friend's hands and he knelt down on the iron hard stone to have the blindfold removed.

Haluin blinked, taking a second to let his eyes adjust and then he was on his feet. The two guards stood by, warily fingering their weapons, while a third signalled up over their heads for the doors to be opened.

"Jokim, listen to me. I'm asking you a favour, this once, friend to friend. Let me go alone. I have no idea if there are indeed wolves out there, or if my fears are getting the better of me, but I will not deprive Druri of his uncle. I will not!" He watched the thunderclouds gather on Jokim's brow, but this time Haluin refused to back down. "He and I must travel the wide world alone now. Here is where your guardianship of me ends, my friend." He swallowed, hating how final his words sounded. "Go back, go back to your friends...to your new life with your people and live your life in peace. There is nothing greater I could wish for you than this." So saying, he squeezed Jokim's shoulder tightly, then turned, rushing out into the swirling darkness which swallowed him instantly.

"Haluin!" Jokim cried as he ran a short distance out into thigh-deep snow. "Curse you, Haluin!" His bleary eyes swept the bitter cold landscape, but no trace could he find of his companion. "And of course, no footprints. Curse him!" he fumed, his voice wavering as he made his way back to the doors. The guards inside looked at him oddly, then one of them said, "Elves! how can you trust anything as flighty as that to have your back?" Jokim stepped forward and jerked the guard up by his shirtfront. "I'd have him watch my back over ten of you any day. You have no idea what you speak of !" he snarled, then pushed the guard from him as he stalked off, heading back the way he they had come, dashing away an unwanted tear. _What am I going to tell the lad?_ he thought bitterly.


**********************


Outside, the howling gale made sight nigh on impossible for Haluin as he made his way slowly into the wood. Desperately, he strained his ears for any sound other than the groaning of the trees as the wind tormented them. _If I can only find one that's still awake, maybe it saw him._ he thought as he reached out with his fingertips, hoping to find an evergreen. Long minutes passed before his fingers found the rough, fragrant bark of a pine tree. Eagerly he clutched at it, wrapping his freezing hands around a stout branch. "Greetings, friend! Have you seen another of my kind pass by here after the sun last set? I seek him, for I fear he is in danger."

_Another...Firstborn? Not for many long ages have I seen one like you. _

"Please, friend. Will you ask the others if they have seen him? He is only a little taller than me, with black hair and keen, grey eyes. He would be seeking shelter..."

_Yes, I will ask. Are you prepared to wait?_

Haluin sighed. he was already beginning to suffer from the cold, but he had no other choice. "Aye, friend. I will wait." He looked around to see if there was any shelter to be had close by, when a thought struck him. "One thing more, friend. Have you seen any wolves, any large animals or any that could be counted as enemies of those who dwell in the mountain since the sun last set?"

The tree was silent, then, just as Haluin was about to leave, it replied. _Aye, young elf. Some men from the south passed through between the sun's resting and your arrival. _

"How many?" asked Haluin tightly

_A number. We do not concern ourselves with such things, but they carried hurtful things._

Suddenly, Haluin went even colder, for now it was not Eldarin who was in danger, but himself. "Thank you, friend. I must go now. Send me word as soon as you can with my thanks." he said, giving the tree an affectionate pat.

_There is a cave...down the slope from where I stand. Perhaps the Firstborn is there._

"A cave? Excellent! May your roots grow ever stronger, friend!" cried Haluin, his heart soaring. Eldarin had to be there!

The wind slowly began to die down, allowing the elf to finally see the terrain down which he had been blindly stumbling. Huge rocks and boulders littered the area as though the mountain giants had been playing a game with them. He could no longer feel his left arm properly, the ache having given way to outright burning where the dead tissue started, while his right was fast losing feeling as well. "Marvelous! At this rate, I'll soon have to commission another arm." he mumbled bitterly to himself. "Eldarin! Eru's balls, _mellon,_ where are you?" he groaned miserably. "Eldarin!"

As he made his way through a pile of massive boulders grouped together forming a natural dolmen, a figure darted out and flung him down, placing a knife to his throat.

"H-Haluin? Is that you?"

"Yes, _mellon,_ now would you kindly get off my chest? I'm near frozen through without being suffocated into the bargain!"

The elven smith helped him to his feet, then motioned for him to follow. He led Haluin to where a small fire was burning smokelessly, yet with enough warmth that Haluin sighed with relief as he sank down next to it.

"What are you doing here? Did you insult their cooking?" asked Eldarin as he looked for his flask of miruvor. "Hardly." replied Haluin. "Jokim's friend Vorik said that there were wolves nearby and I...was concerned. Then the trees said that a band of men from the south had just passed by not long before..."

"Do you think me a babe in arms, that I must be coddled so?"

Haluin's eyes flashed angrily, even as he concealed the hurt Eldarin's words inflicted. "No, _tor-nin!_ It's just that I could not bear the thought of what might happen."

"That you might be left alone, you mean." 

Haluin's eyes flew to Eldarin's and the smith immediately regretted saying them as he watched Haluin's eyes fill with tears. "No...not that." Haluin whispered, turning away. "You do not deserve the same fate that I have been condemned to and yet I chose to leave you on your own. That is not friendship, that is torment." He held his hands to the fire to warm them, biting back a cry as the pain in his left arm grew stronger. "It doesn't like the cold, it would seem." he said through clenched teeth.

"Let me see." demanded Eldarin and when Haluin didn't move, he came forward to take both of Haluin's hands in his. "Elbereth, you're frozen!" he gasped. "Why did you go out in such bitter weather so ill-clad?" "I wasn't thinking." came the miserable reply and Eldarin's heart ached for his friend.

"Come then and get warm. Have some miruvor while I find that extra cloak Druri burdened me with some days ago." Haluin gratefully sipped from Eldarin's flask, sighing as the liquid warmed him. Suddenly he felt tired to the point of exhaustion and when Eldarin returned and wrapped him snuggly in the warm, woolen cloak, he felt himself falling away.

Eldarin made him comfortable, then smiled down at his friend as he drifted off to sleep. "I'm glad you're here, _tor-nin_. No matter what, it wasn't the same without you."


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## Ghorim (Oct 23, 2012)

Jokim took a wrong turn on the way back to Vorik’s home.

It was not a conscious decision, nor was it wholly unintentional. It came as more of a reflex: Jokim saw the fork in the underground path, and knew the left branch led along a descending avenue to the squat row of homes where Vorik lived. But instead he struck right, without knowing why.

This route took him along one of the settlement’s main arteries, drawing closer to the mountain’s heart.

Walking through a dwarvish settlement served as a stark reminder of an individual's insignificance. Jokim’s people were small folk who built everything to titanic scale. All of it — from the dense columns that could carry an entire mountain’s weight to the minute detail of each ornamental edifice — was meant to outlive its creators. The great smiths of the dwarves built these things not out of a lust for personal glory, nor a vain desire to see their own reflections in every gleaming surface, but a hunger to commune with the eternal. Their forms were mortal, doomed to dust, but their creations might endure… until that great day of prophecy, when all the Khazad would heed the call of their creator and return to repair the world itself.

So Jokim walked among the cavernous halls, hearing every footfall echo in heavy report. The geometry was exquisite, from the curved shape of the ceilings to the inlaid jewelry in the walls, carved and polished to such a sheen that they caught even the dim torchlight and refracted it in thousands of different directions.

There were guards with their halberds and tradesmen with their carts and washerwomen with their bundles of clothes, all of them lost in their daily business and oblivious to the glory that engulfed and surrounded them. Jokim walked among them entranced, his hood in his hands, looking skyward instead of at his feet. He could feel the weight of the departed generations in the air. He could hear the fall of their hammers. He could sense the mountain’s eternal heartbeat.

Then the hall opened up, the ceiling fled still higher, and Jokim beheld a subterranean vista. It was a great ring of wide-open space, with sheer cliffs marking its boundaries. At the zenith of those cliffs stood the great stone mansions of the wealthiest dwarvish families, their homes treated to an impossibly grand view of the colony. Waterfalls fed from hidden pools tumbled down hundreds of feet into canals below, which snaked through the humbler neighborhoods of merchants and artisans. Those seven canals culminated in the central square, all of them joining to power a billowing fountain that shot a steady geyser into the air.

The geometry at work was more complex here, but as Jokim stared he could begin to piece together the patterns at work, the way in which each element of the design necessitated the next. He stopped on a short bridge that arched over one of the rushing canals to take it all in. He leaned forward on the bridge’s side, feeling the stone polished as smooth as an expertly sanded piece of wood. And though he yearned to drift away into all this beauty, to lose himself amid the perfection of angles and architecture, still he thought of Haluin.

He heard the words of their last conversation echoing, speaking to him in endless rounds. Each time he relived Haluin’s farewell, Jokim tried on a different cloak of emotion: sorrow at the parting, rage at the Elf’s insolence, or turning that rage inward… for not pursuing, for instead retreating from the snow and shadows.

Was that to be their final parting? The thought left him numb. He could not begin to approach the idea, or even fathom its dimensions.

But now martial bootprints sounded behind him, heading his way. Jokim drew up that familiar mask and hid his expression before he turned.

Barulin stood there, a cloud of cold air lingering about his person from the Eastern Gate. Jokim began to bow, but the captain was in no spirit for formalities.

“Do you expect him to return?”

Jokim glanced up and shook his head, channeling a great deal of energy simply to appear impassive. “I do not rightly know.”

“And what _do_ you know, then? The two of you had a lively conversation at the gates.” Barulin’s voice had that permanently skeptical quality that most military officers possessed, always challenging the word of subordinates.

“He spoke as though we were uttering our final words. He likely shall never return.” Jokim’s voice sounded distant to him, as though another were speaking in his place. He felt like he was swimming against swift tides just to speak, just to be heard. “And yet he follows muses that I could never hear nor comprehend. Perhaps he shall return with the morning light and call for me at the gate. I cannot say for certain.”

“I require some indication one way or another… for the purpose of scheduling this evening’s guard shifts.”

That remark snapped Jokim to. “You speak of him as though he were a battalion of orcs with a battering ram.” He pushed his weight off the bridge, moving toward Barulin, his forward momentum propelling his next words. “He is of no danger to the realm, you know that full well. His is a lost soul hunting sanctuary, and we shackle him like a horse thief.”

Barulin, his expression locked and stern, brushed some snow off the fur lining of his coat. “I protect the realm, not the feelings of its visitors. And on the subject: you would do well to rein in yours. That little tantrum of yours at the gate was unacceptable. I am not certain how you lads handled business in the Iron Hills, but in these mountains we do not rough up one another at the first insult.”

Jokim held back a growl, for he sensed a kernel of truth in the captain’s reproach. But he was feeling combative. “Your man spoke out of turn. Where I received my training — and it was not in the Iron Hills, you should know — sentries were expected to remain silent.”

“Indeed. You speak the truth. And he shall face the proper discipline for that lapse. But you, Jokim son of Jurgan, come here claiming the position of an officer. More is expected of you.” Barulin gave a well-practiced look of disappointment, drawing his shaggy brows taut and shaking his head slightly. Then he turned to hike back to his gate. “I wish you a good eve.”

For the first time in ages, Jokim felt chastised. He lowered his gaze a moment before calling after the captain. “If Haluin returns, I want to know straight away. Whether that comes tonight or years from now.”

With a crisp halt and turn, Barulin swiveled back to regard Jokim. “You really think of him as a friend, don’t you?” He spoke the words almost cautiously, testing them, skeptical that they could even exist. 

Jokim said nothing, but gave a fiery expression that spoke volumes. Barulin stared back. This stranger's loyalty to an Elf both baffled and impressed him. But in the end, he gave it little thought. This one was an oddity, and outlier, nothing that affected him or his duties. So he nodded curtly and continued on his way, his thoughts already turning to the night shift.

Jokim was left standing there in a rare slouch. He turned his gaze back to the heart of the mountain, but that mystical sense of connectedness had fled him. He grit his teeth and gave himself a little nod.

_Chin up, soldier. Go home to the lad. He’ll be waiting for you._

But as Jokim walked back off down the avenue, he ran his fingers along the stone bridge one last time, savoring its smoothness, studying its strength.


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## Ghorim (Oct 23, 2012)

As a healer schooled from years of house calls, Vorik had grown accustomed to dealing with stubborn children. There were the wailers, the snifflers, the ones who bit their tongues and said nothing, the ones who crawled deep under their bed covers or even braced themselves in doorframes at word of his impending arrival.

Apparently there was a veritable treasury of horror stories about healers and their dark arts, passed down through generations of dwarvish children.

But Vorik had developed a variety of tactics to crack through skittish youngsters' defenses, setting them at ease and even producing laughs with a gentle wit. He was aided, no doubt, by his lumbering resemblance to a well-dressed dancing bear.

Druri, however, presented an entirely unique challenge. He sat at the fulcrum of youth and adulthood — hardheaded as only children can be, and yet more steely, more patient, harder to knock off his guard. The lad still had the cold grey mists of the road hovering about his spirit, and gave no reaction to Vorik’s invitations to talk.

Still, inch by inch, Vorik managed to coax Druri over to the table to share a half-meal with him, nibbling on the odds and ends of his larders. That in of itself was a victory, but Druri would say nothing more to him between chewing his food.

“You are thinking, I suppose, about your uncle and the Elf.” Vorik leaned forward against table, while Druri gave him a pointed look. “And I can hardly order you to do otherwise. They have become your comrades in these past months, after all. But rest assured: they are equipped to handle any situation. Even without your trusty blade at their side.”

Vorik nodded to the sheathed dagger that Druri had set on the table. The weapon lay at arm’s length, as if the lad expected to receive an emergency call to battle at any moment.

Druri folded his arms and leaned back in his chair with a scowl. Vorik sighed and shook his head in wonder. This was not the same lad that he had entrusted to Jokim in the Iron Hills two years ago. Not in the least.

“You look more like your uncle every day.”

The lad flinched, but quickly regained his suspicious front. “I do?”

Vorik smiled, surprised to have found an opening. “Of course. We could hardly escape each other’s company when we were your age. He could be a very grim fellow, even then.”

“But…” The lad paused, desperately wanting to maintain the appearance that he was above conversation. But he gave in. “You don’t think I’m… _grim_, do you?”

With a laugh, Vorik pounded the table a bit. “Well, if you’re so concerned about it, then I doubt it could be so!”

Druri bit his lip and tried to find the words that would position himself as both _not_ grim and _not_ a craven child. But the sound of a heavy march approached Vorik’s front door.

Vorik snapped his fingers. “There! You see? They’re back, safe and sound.”

But Druri was already on his feet and racing for the door, dagger clutched in one hand. The door swung open, and in marched Jokim… alone.

The lad was frantically hopping side to side, trying to peek around his uncle. “What… where is Haluin, uncle? And Eldarin! What happened out there?”

Jokim held up one hand in formidable silence, and Druri stilled himself. “Haluin… has gone off to search for his kinsman alone. He would not have me along.”

“He…!” Druri blurted out the first word, but stopped, slack-jawed, to take in what his uncle had just said. “You mean to say… you _let _him go off into the storm?”

Druri suddenly noticed the great lumpy bags under his uncle’s eyes. The lines that scored his face. The unseen weight that pressed down upon his shoulders.

“He… would not have me. He ran off into the night. I lost him amidst the snow.”

“But… is he returning?”

“He said that here was where we must part ways.”

Druri began to heave his breaths, shoulders rising and falling, a flush of red flooding his face by degrees. “And you let him? You let him say that? And run away! In the snow! With the wolves?!”

“I do not expect you to understand, Druri.”

The lad growled and ran at his uncle, attempting to shove by, but Jokim grabbed his shoulders with stone hands and held him back. “They’re both in danger now! Why didn’t you let me go with you?! I never would have let that happen!”

Jokim said nothing. He only stared at the lad from that great distance behind the grey veil of his eyes, watching Druri struggle in his grip. Watching his nephew slowly melt from a warrior to a lost and scared little boy.

“What if we never see them again?!” Druri moaned, writhing even as Jokim’s grasp tightened. “That can’t be it… it can’t be! I never got to say goodbye!” And now he was weeping, hot angry tears gushing down his round cheeks.

As soon as the tears appeared, Jokim released his hold. Druri fell into him, and now Jokim wrapped his nephew in a fierce embrace. The lad returned the hug, burying his head into his uncle’s right shoulder and sobbing.

It lasted for a long while, Jokim patting Druri’s back, Vorik standing at a respectful distance. In a strange and fleeting moment of thought, Jokim realized that he had never felt quite so close to his nephew, the lad pouring out what he could only dam in.

But then he became uncomfortable, feeling the burden of the moment, and cleared his throat.

“Perhaps something to drink…” His voice was hoarse.

“What’s that?” Vorik cupped a hand to his ear.

“Something to drink.”

“Oh.” Vorik nodded. “I shall put on some tea. I’ve fixed up a few special blends in anticipation of the winter months.”

“Tea?” Jokim glanced up, and an improbable smile wrestled its way onto his face. “_Tea_, Vorik? I have marched across the world entire, parched for a sip of true dwarvish stout, and you offer me _tea_?”

Vorik laughed, a bit too loudly, out of sheer relief. “Of course, of course. I am an herbalist, you see, and am fascinated by the craft of such drinks. But your thirst demands something stiffer! Well, I have no stout on hand, but I can make the proper visits. Have a seat, be at home. I shall return shortly.”

The healer approached and patted each of them on the shoulder in turn, giving Druri in particular a thoughtful look before he ambled out the door.

After the slam of the door faded, uncle and nephew were left in a thorough silence.

“Well, let us accept his offer and sit, eh?” Jokim gestured toward the hodgepodge flock of furniture that ringed the central hearth.

They both shuffled over, Druri still blinking off the tears, trying to drain away the emotion but failing. Jokim sat heavily in the master armchair and rubbed the side of his face. Druri settled on a neighboring rocking chair and fidgeted back and forth.

“I have little to tell you, lad.” Jokim eyed the same footrest that had tempted him earlier, but again didn’t bother, drawing in his legs and keeping his boots on. “I would never lead you to despair, but likewise I would never feed you false hope. Haluin is now beyond us both, and what happens next is a mystery. We shall search for him and Eldarin tomorrow morning, but if they do not wish to be found, our prospects are slim.”

Druri rocked himself back and forth in nervous rhythm. He still clutched at his dagger. "And what if we don't find them?"

"Then we pick ourselves back up and forge ahead. That is what we do."

Druri said nothing.

Jokim turned away and sank back into his thoughts. Now began their greatest test.

This was what he had forgotten amidst the drudgery of the long journey from the Iron Hills: that _here_ was where the true challenges began for him and his nephew. They no longer had a set goal lying somewhere beyond the horizon. They had arrived. There was only _here_ now, only home. 

And on this night, only uncertainty.


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## chrysophalax (Nov 15, 2012)

Neither the night nor his dreams were kind to Haluin as he slept fitfully near the warmth of the dying fire. Images, like spectres from one of the many tales told in the Hall of Fire, flitted through his mind, tormenting him.

_Once again he felt the grinding pain of his bones being crushed in the warg's jaws, relived the wrench of betrayal and loss as Lord Elrond banished him forever from his own kin and his heart wept once more as Eldarin knocked him to the ground, scarring not only his face, but his soul.

The howling wind crept into his dream as well and he began to call out, "Eldarin! Where are you? The snow is too thick, I cannot find you!"_

"_Tor-nin, _wake up! You are dreaming,_ mellon,_ wake now!" _Ah, Valar, he is burning with fever, no wonder his dreams are foul._ thought Eldarin frantically as he tried to stir Haluin from his slumber. Seeing that the fire was slowly dying, the smith made the decision to leave his friend in order to find more firewood. Earlier he had begun to explore the cave and found nothing, so there was nothing for it but to venture out into the storm.

Delving into his pack, Eldarin found his skinning knife, tested its edge against his thumb, then slid it into his belt before drawing his cloak as tightly around himself as possible. With a sigh, he knelt again beside Haluin, his eyes filled with worry._ Nay, Namo...you'll not have him yet. Not if I have anything to say in the matter! _Carefully he tucked Druri's cloak tighter about Haluin's body, then rose, leaving the feverish elf reluctantly as he lay shivering, bathed in sweat. 

"I will return as fast as I may, Haluin. I so swear!" he whispered fervently, then covered his head against the driving snow.

The first thing the smith did was to petition the trees, asking them to let him harvest any sickly limbs or any deadfall that might be close to hand. As he waited for a reply, he scanned the trees for any hanging or broken limbs. Surely in a wood this thick there would be some trees that were injured and in need of trimming? Luck proved to be on his side, for within minutes, he spotted two large limbs hanging precariously from a large oak, Swiftly he grabbed a hold of the lowest one and pulled hard, bringing them both down at the same time and landing flat on his back for his trouble. he slapped the snow away, cursing. Suddenly, the wind began to pick up as he dragged the two long limbs behind him into a small clearing and, just for a moment, he could have sworn that he heard voices.

_Only the trees,_ he said to himself. _I wish they could tell me where there are more limbs. I'm not certain these are enough to last until morning._ Glancing upwards, he saw a break in the clouds and frowned. How long had he been away? He was certain that the earlier glimpse he had had of the waning moon while on watch had not shown him to be riding this high! Gritting his teeth, Eldarin gripped the limbs and dragged them as fast as he could manage toward the cave.

Shortly, he could see what looked to be the flickering of a campfire not too far ahead through the steadily falling snow. Breathing a sigh of relief, Eldarin set the limbs down for a moment to stretch his back and as he did, he heard it again. Voices and not far away! 

Closing his eyes, the elf held his breath, listening. 

"He doesn't look good, does he brother? Hardly worth bothering with, I'd say." "Aye, near dead, I'd call him."

"As will you be if you touch him."

Two men that had been standing over Haluin whirled, drawing their swords. "Who are...Eldarin?"

The smith froze upon hearing his name. "Eldred? What are you doing here?" He lowered his knife cautiously as the two men sheathed their weapons.

"We were driving some Dunlendings back South who were up to no good. Our leader doesn't like thieves and ne'er-do-wells anywhere near the Shire. Speaking of which..." he said slyly looking from one elf to the other. "Where are your dwarvish comrades and why is Haluin taken ill? More to the point, why does he languish here in the cold?"

Eldarin bristled at the man's tone. "I've not neglected him, if that is what you imply. He-we...had some difficulty with Jokim's folk and I was not allowed admittance. Haluin was, but, as Haluin is Haluin, he became concerned for my safety and came to find me. Now he is ill." Eldarin's shoulders slumped. "Would you look at him and see if there is anything you can do for his fever?"

Hurod nodded, silent as ever and Eldred came forward to clapse the smith's hand. "Of course I will. I would never willingly see one of the Fair Folk perish if I could prevent it." he replied calmly. Eldarin returned the welcoming gesture whole-heartedly, then went to Haluin's side only to find him shivering violently. "Elbereth! Eldred, I swear to you that I've not left his side for long, only to gather fuel for the fire and yet he is much worse. You must help him!"

"I have said that I will and I shall. Finish bringing your fire wood. He needs to stay as warm as possible. Hurod, help him , will you?"

"Aye." replied Hurod stoically, gesturing for Eldarin to follow. Together, they made short work of the dead limbs and soon the fire was blazing brightly once more. Eldred, meanwhile, had pulled away Druri's cloak and opened Haluin's tunic and vest in an attempt to discover what was causing the sudden fever. "Have you talked? Has he said he was feeling ill?" Eldarin thought a moment before replying. "No, not that I recall. Only that his arm wasn't bearing the cold well."

"Ah! Good." said the Ranger as he rolled up Haluin's sleeves. A sweetish smell greeted their nostrils and Eldred frowned. Quickly, he threw a worried glance at Eldarin. "Is it possible to remove the arm?" "Yes, I believe so, but it will cause him pain, I think." 

"Greater pain than he is in now? I doubt it. Do it...and if it is what I think it is..." Eldred's jaw muscles twitched as he ground his teeth. "He may not survive."

Eldarin looked at the man directly in the eye. "He will _not_ die. He is my brother and I have sworn to protect him. Hold him. Tightly." With that, the smith gripped the arm firmly and breathed a few words over it. It went limp in his hands and he was able to prise it away from the remains of Haluin's ruined arm. 

The sight that greeted them made Eldarin close his eyes and turn away, sickened. The arm was black and shrivelled, the pain it must have been causing, unimaginable. Haluin groaned as the arm fell away and his eyelids flickered as he began to come around. His eyes fixed on Eldarin's face as his own drained of colour. "_T-tor-nin_?"

"Gently, Haluin." Eldarin said softly. "Eldred and Hurod are here, remember them? Eldred says he can help with the pain in your arm." Haluin struggled to look at the two men, but he couldn't seem to focus. "I feel terrible, _mellon-nin._ This is not the best time for guests."

Eldarin chuckled at the weak jest and stroked his friend's brow gently. "They came uninvited, I'm afraid. But I think we'll forgive them if they can help you, yes?"

Haluin smiled up at them and nodded, while Eldred whispered for Hurod to prepare some tea, handing him a small bundle of herbs as he did so. Suddenly, Haluin, reached up with his right hand and grasped Eldarin's hand. "Vorik, take me to Vorik, _mellon-nin. _Jokim's friend...healer..." His voice became weaker and weaker, then his hand fell and his head lolled to the side. Eldarin pulled Haluin close, instinctively trying to bring comfort. "Eldred, just get him through until dawn. Then, by the Valar, those stiff-necked dwarves will open their gates if I have to pull them down. _Stone. By. Stone._"


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## Ghorim (Nov 22, 2012)

Sleep hung deeply over the house of Vorik.

It was near dawn of the next morning. Jokim lay slumped back in the den’s great armchair, head sunk into the cushion, jaw slack, snoring at the ceiling. He finally had given into the temptation of the footrest, and it had done him in. His feet were propped up and crossed, the big toe of his right foot poking through its travel-worn sock.

He had been exhausted from the journey, and from the push-and-pull of heavy emotion: joy at reunion with his people, pain at the flight of Haluin. For a soldier who had spent most of his life smothering his feelings in the name of discipline, this sudden torrent nearly swept him away.

But then Vorik had returned with a small keg of stout, and through radiant force of personality had made Jokim and Druri feel at home. They all took to drinking, and soon Vorik was ribbing Jokim about their shared youth in the Lonely Mountain.

Jokim resisted and deflected the banter at first, his thoughts still locked on Haluin, until Vorik had the gall to suggest that he had out-wrestled Jokim in front of the entire realm during a distant summer festival. That brought Jokim roaring to life, and soon the two old friends were locked in a jovial battle of insults. Druri stirred, too, and began peppering them both with questions about old Erebor. Warmth returned to the air around them.

Finally, as the night deepened and the keg of ale dried up, Vorik sensed his old friend was beginning to fade. So with a rhetorical twist, he launched into a windingly obscure lecture about the history of Erebor’s family lines, framing it as an answer to one of Druri’s questions. Feigning interest as best he could manage, Jokim settled back further into the chair, making the fatal decision to put up his feet. Then he allowed his head to settle backward. His eyes to close. His breathing to slow.

Vorik watched it all out of the corner of his eye. And when at last Jokim’s right hand loosened, dropping his empty mug to the floor, Vorik smiled and pumped a victorious fist.

“Got him!” he whispered to Druri, who just then noticed that his uncle was dead asleep.

Together, they covered the slumbering Jokim with a blanket, taking needless precaution not to wake him.

Vorik had then offered Druri the guest room: a great big bed all to himself. But Druri declined. He could not imagine sleeping in a different room from Jokim.

So the next morning's dawn found him on the couch, curled up under a patchwork quilt and snuffling in harmony with his sleeping uncle.

In the master bedroom, Vorik and his wife Greta slept on their sides, facing one another, their beards tangling together at the center of the bed. Her delivery the night before had gone late, well past midnight.

“Blood and complications,” she had muttered when Vorik asked about the delay. But both the new mother and her son would live.

So the couple stayed up late, first cleaning up the mess that Vorik had made in his clumsy effort to feed their guests, then lying in bed and talking through each other’s days, as was their nightly tradition. The new guests, of course, were a prime topic of discussion. Vorik gushed about their unexpected arrival, while the pragmatic Greta calculated the logistics of housing another two dwarves in a house that practically was a thoroughfare for the visiting sick. Luckily there were no overnight patients when Jokim and Druri had arrived!

“We’ll sort it all out in the morning,” Vorik had said, yawning as he did. They both drifted off a scant few hours before the dawn.

And so the house sat perfectly still that morning, all four of its inhabitants lost in dreams.

Had the sentry from the Eastern Gate not raced up and pounded on the door with a mailed fist, calling for Master Vorik in a coarse bellow, they all might have slept until midday.

No matter though, for Vorik and Greta both were trained to pop out of bed at the mere sound of their doorknob turning. Healers and midwives worked no set hours, after all, and any late-night moment could bring an ailing visitor.

So up they went in a rush, in nightshirts and slippers, Vorik clamping his sleeping cap to his head as he ran.

They opened the door to meet a ruddy, cold-burned soldier, icicles still clinging to his beard from the long night’s watch. 

“Master Vorik!” He snapped his heels together and puffed out his chest. “Your presence is requested at the Eastern Gate!”

“Whatever for?” Vorik asked, dazedly realizing that he was not yet quite awake.

“There is a party of four at the gate, sir, and they claim one of their number is gravely ill. They called for you by name.”

“Well let them inside, for goodness sake! Bring them here!”

The sentry shook his head. “We cannot. They are foreigners.”

Vorik stared at him dumbly for a moment, then smacked his forehead. “Oh for Valar's sake… is it Haluin again?”

“Excuse me, sir?”

“The _Elf_!”

“The wounded one is an Elf, yes.”

Vorik raised a finger and jabbed it at the soldier. “Then you take me to the gate, private, and you take me straight to your commander. Am I heard?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good.” Vorik whirled around to fetch his equipment, only to find Greta standing there behind him with his satchel of healing herbs and powders, a coat, boots and a scarf. He sighed in a fleeting moment of relief. “Thank you, my wife.”

But now he already was looking past her, to the just-stirring forms of Jokim and Druri. “The two of you might want to come with us,” he said. “I fear your friend the Elf is in peril.”

---

So all four of them hurried after the sentry, wearing untied boots and hastily buttoned coats. Once they reached the Eastern Gate, they climbed a narrow set of stairs up to the main crossbowman’s perch, where Barulin surveyed the scene outside through a narrow slit in the stone.

Any of the four was well prepared to tear into the gate commander for locking out a traveler in need of healing, but Vorik took the lead.

“I want this gate open, Barulin, and I want those four let inside this instant!” Vorik moved up on the captain, his solid girth becoming an asset for intimidation.

“I am afraid I cannot comply.” The captain’s tone was smooth as stone, unperturbed. “By admitting two Elves and two Men, I may as well welcome a foreign army.”

“Then admit the sick one only. Blindfold him if you must. It is Haluin, isn’t it?”

“I believe so.”

Vorik grunted and shoved past the commander, sticking his head out the narrow window.

He could see a pale, lanky form held up between two stocky men. A dark mop of lank hair obscured his face. Another Elf stood at the fore of the group, gazing up with an intense, pleading expression.

“Hallo there! I am Vorik, and you have summoned my services!”

“I am Eldarin!” called the Elf. “But there is no time for pleasantries! My brother is barely clinging to life. You _must_ grant us sanctuary!”

“We are negotiating that point!” Vorik called back. “But while you can, tell me everything about his condition, but make it a brief everything!”

“Please! His left arm has rotted through! His flesh is aflame! His hours are short!”

This was all Vorik needed to hear. He whipped back and turned on Barulin. “You have your bloody orders, I take it. But you are opening this gate for me to go out there.”

“No, no, no! He will do more than that!” Jokim came charging up, unable to contain himself any longer. “You are letting Haluin inside here, just as you did yesterday! What creature are you that you would dismiss an ally to a death in the snow?”

Barulin did not budge. “If he is sick, he could infect the realm. I cannot risk it.”

“You bloody imbecile!” Now it was Greta’s turn to roar, which she did louder than any of the men. “If he is sick today, then he was sick yesterday! Do you blockheads understand the word ‘asymptomatic?’”

“Never mind, Greta, never mind!” Vorik waved his hands frantically. “Send me out there! I shall work in the snow!”

Barulin glanced to the sentry who had escorted the healer to the gate. “Open it. Release any who wish to go out. But the Men and the Elves do not enter!”

The soldier nodded and retreated, Vorik and Greta following close behind. Jokim stayed facing the captain, his expression a thinly lidded cauldron of boiling rage. He marched forward so that he and Barulin stood nose to nose.

“Your words last night about containing my temper were well-spoken,” he began. “But understand that you have earned my grudge, Barulin. And it is permanent.”

This was no small pronouncement to be made between two dwarves, but Barulin simply bowed his head. “And understand that I may have my own personal feelings in this matter, but they can never supercede my duty to the realm.”

Jokim stared into his eyes. But they were simply the dull eyes of a loyal soldier, and Jokim could not gauge the captain’s sincerity.

“Not good enough.”

And he left the perch with Druri, just as the mammoth gates began to moan and scrape open.


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## Ghorim (Nov 22, 2012)

Before the gates had even budged, Vorik ordered one of the sentries to fetch as many blankets as he could carry from the nearby barracks.

Now Haluin was swaddled in them, lying on the ground, staring up at the dwarvish healer through a haze of delirium.

“Haluin. Haluin.” Vorik leaned in close, cupping the Elf’s chin. He spoke stridently, yet with a certain bedside care. “This is Vorik. You remember me, yes? Nod for me. Yes! Yes you do. Now I want you to focus on the sound of my voice. Can you hear it? Yes you can. Stay with that sound. Keep your eyes open. Keep calm. All of your friends are here. I am here. Now I am going to examine your arm. There will be pain, but Greta and I will do our best to contain it.”

From his vantage point nearby, huddled close against his uncle, Druri could just make out the black and shriveled form of Haluin’s arm as Vorik peeled back the rangers’ bandages. The sight was too much, but still he forced himself to watch, watch as Vorik turned to Greta with a creased brow and consulted. He could hear their hushed, concerned tones, see Greta shaking her head.

Then the woman turned and ran back into the gate, disappearing into the dark of the caverns.

“What is happening?” Druri gazed up at Jokim, trying to contain his despair in front of the rangers and Eldarin and the dwarvish guards who stood heavy watch over the open gate. “Why is she heading back in?”

“They need more supplies.” Jokim said, his voice betraying a note of deep concern. “But I do not know why.”

“Is it bad? Is it really bad?”

“I do not know. We must be patient, you and I.” He hugged Druri closer, feeling the lad’s desperate grip, smelling his fear.

Of course Jokim knew full well what was coming. An amputation, it had to be. Vorik had dug out some salve or other from his pack, and was rubbing it upon the Elf’s corrupted flesh. But that was just a stopgap to ease the pain. It would mean nothing in the long term.

Jokim found himself shaking his head uncontrollably. No, no, no. It could not end like this. Not out here in the cold and white, with the wind shrieking above them. They had to give Haluin a fighting chance: inside, where it was warm, with adequate supplies and a proper bed.

He released Druri. “Wait here.”

And he turned to march for the gate once more, his course aimed straight at Barulin. He pulled aside the captain, who dolefully stared at him all the while. “You must let him in, even if it is no further than the first antechamber. He will perish out here, surely!”

Barulin again shook his head. “I cannot.”

“Then allow me to take the blame.”

“Excuse me?”

“When the High Council inquires, as it surely must, I shall claim responsibility for the breach. An officer’s title means nothing to me if my friend’s blood forever stains my hands! I shall renounce my station, do you understand?”

For once, the gate captain seemed knocked off his guard. He took a moment to consider the offer and form a response.

“Understand this…” he began.

But then a deafening braying noise echoed throughout the cliffs. The two dwarves turned to see a pair of surly mules drawing a broad, covered cart toward the gate. And at the reins was a fat dwarf in a bright yellow cloak.

“Hullo again, friends!” Kabur waved with his free hand, blissfully unaware. “You wouldn’t believe all the sales I made in Hobbiton!”

Jokim sighed heavily, and Barulin turned a skeptical eye on him. “That dolt Kabur is a companion of yours?” The merchant and his eye-wounding outfits were a well-known nuisance at the Eastern Gate.

“He sold us goods along the road. It does not matter. Now listen to me…”

“Half a moment. Allow me to deal with this.”

Barulin stepped ahead to meet the cart, leaving Jokim standing behind in reddened frustration. Kabur, meanwhile, seemed to just now be realizing that something was amiss.

“Whatever is the matter, sir?” he asked the approaching captain, drawing his mules to a stop.

“Nothing to concern yourself over, master merchant. An Elf has taken ill, but he is being tended to.”

“Oh, I see that now.” Kabur could just make out the familiar face of Haluin, drawn deathly white as he lay on the snow. Now he glanced up to see Eldarin, the once proud Elf diminished by the sheer weight of despair. Then there were the rangers Eldred and Hurod, popular figures in Bree — folk heroes, practically. And they were staring at him, straight at him, as if demanding some sort of answer.

But it was Jokim that grabbed and held Kabur’s attention, jogging after Barulin with desperation in his eyes. “Captain! I call on you to grant him entrance! For the sake of his life!”

Kabur froze for a moment, half-speaking a word that faltered and lingered as a sustained vowel. “Aaaaaaaa… of course! Aye, it looks as though things are well under control here. What are an Elf’s sniffles to me, after all? Ha ha!” His forced laugh disintegrated into a cough. “Eh… may I proceed?”

“Of course, master merchant. My guard shall make way for you and your cart.” Barulin paid the onrushing Jokim no mind.

“Thank you, captain. But I wonder... what of the travelers? I imagine the Elf would receive better care indoors. If his life truly is at stake…”

“No.” Barulin had tired of this argument. “That shall not happen.”

“Oh. I see. Well, nothing I can do, in that case!” Kabur clicked his tongue and gave a light snap of the reins to goad his beasts into action.

As he pulled around the small crowd that had gathered around Haluin, a lump formed in his throat as he caught sight of the ruined arm that Eldarin’s masterful contraption had hidden all this while. But he quickly turned his gaze ahead, for he could feel Barulin’s eyes on him as the captain walked alongside his cart.

Once he was past the group, however, Kabur pulled hard on the reins. After growling their complaint, the mules came to a reluctant halt. With a deep intake of breath the merchant swiveled in his seat, gazing back through the cart at the others.

“Eldarin! Get him in here!”

The Elf turned and stared at him in shock, not comprehending.

“Bloody pus and guts! Get Haluin in here _right now_!”

In fact, it was the rangers who made the first move. Up until this point, their mute tongues and flat countenances had suggested that they were uninvolved — _uninterested_, even — in the events that played out before them. But in reality they had been tensed, aware, anticipating the moment of decisive action whose approach they innately anticipated. 

Now that moment had arrived, and here was how they acted:

In one graceful blur of motion, Hurod knelt down, snatched up Haluin from the ground, pivoted on his heel and leapt into the covered cart. Eldred moved half a step behind, shoving a stuttering Vorik backward and into the conveyance.

Eldarin grasped the plan at Hurod’s first step, and now he practically flung Druri into the cart on top of everyone else before pouncing in himself. There was barely room for him, and his legs dangled out the back.

Barulin was no fool, and sniffed out the escape attempt well before all six travelers had crammed themselves into Kabur’s rolling cabin. But as he made the first running step toward the back of the cart, he ran into a brick wall named Jokim. The older dwarf had lingered behind Barulin as the captain returned to the gate, so as to check in on Haluin’s condition. Now he found himself in perfect position to thwart Barulin’s advance, and made no mistake. He wrapped his arms around Barulin’s torso, absorbing the captain’s momentum and spinning him hard as they both went tumbling into the snow. Jokim landed on top, and quickly had iron grips on each of the captain’s wrists.

Meanwhile, seeing his cart fully occupied, Kabur threw all of his weight into a savage whip of the reins and screamed at his mules:

_“Ride like a bloody avalanche, you stupid piles of hair and dung!”_

And in a sense, this was the mules’ moment of truth, too: for years they had stewed in rage as this fat buffoon of a merchant ordered them around and snapped harsh leather against their hides. Now they had the chance to prove their mettle to him… and hopefully smash his burdensome cart in the process, allowing them to run free.

So with the prospect of liberty blazing in their eyes, the mules set off at a dead gallop. Kabur lurched backward, fumbling the reins. Eldarin nearly tumbled out the back. But they were off, racing straight at a solid wall of guards in front of the open gate. The formation wisely broke ranks rather than try to withstand an irate pair of charging mules. In flew the cart wagon, bound for the heart of the mountain.

Barulin was left gasping in the snow, glaring daggers at Jokim. “Unhand me!” 

“With pleasure.” Jokim released the captain’s wrists and held his hands over his head, allowing Barulin to push him off. As soon as Jokim landed on his back, he found half of the halberds of Barulin’s regiment aimed squarely at his throat.

“Never mind him!” the captain bellowed at his soldiers. “We have a breach! Apprehend that cart on the double!”

After a confused moment of silence, the infantrymen saluted and turned, racing back to the open gate.

Breathing heavily, Barulin dusted snow off his uniform before yanking Jokim up off the ground. “And you shall come with me!”


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## Ghorim (Nov 22, 2012)

Kabur cackled madly as he steered the runaway cart through the bejeweled thoroughfares of the Blue Mountains, sending laborers, nobles, mothers and children all diving for cover. This was far and away the most exciting thing that had ever happened to him.

But suddenly a nagging doubt grabbed his attention: which way was he going?

“Which way am I going?!” he blurted out, instantly filled with alarm.

Unfortunately, Vorik was buried somewhere beneath the crush of bodies in the covered cart, and could neither hear nor answer the question . But with some effort, Druri managed to wedge himself out of the pile and scramble into the driver’s seat next to Kabur. “You’re going to the home of Vorik, the healer! He’s in the back!”

“But _which way_?!”

“Left! Hard left!” Druri screamed, and the two of them pulling on the reins together somehow managed to direct the stampeding mules around a sharp bend. Scarcely had they recovered from that scare when Druri noticed a familiar figure moving on the road ahead. It was Greta: she was carrying a hefty pack of supplies, but jogging as fast as she could manage.

Druri hopped to his feet and pulled off his hood, waving it in the air as the wind whipped at his face. “Greta! Follow us!”

That was all he could manage before the cart sped past her.

As she spun about and gaped at the receding cart, Greta spat a curse.

“Unbelievable!”

But she followed, running two times as fast back toward her home.

Up ahead, the cart was nearing its destination.

“There it is!” Druri shouted, pointing at the rapidly approaching house. “Stop the mules!”

Kabur yanked at the reins impotently. “I don’t know how!”

“Then pull harder!”

They both pulled at the reins, to no avail. Kabur cursed. “We’ll have to crash this bloody thing to make them stop!”

But just then, the ranger Eldred burst between the two drivers. Extending his arms to their limit, he reached out and grabbed both mules’ swishing tails. Then he pulled back as hard as he could.

There was a hellacious, feral cry from both beasts, a groaning of wood as the cart wheels locked, and a unified shout of dismay from the back of the cart. Dust kicked up in a swirling cloud, and all of the passengers shut their eyes tight.

Unseen moments passed. But the noise faded, until there was near-silence. Eldred opened his eyes first, and saw two peeved but motionless mules standing before him, their bodies paralyzed by his grip on their tails.

“I did not imagine that would work…” the ranger muttered, looking about him in wonder.

---

That moment of quiet was short-lived.

They all burst into the house, Hurod still cradling the sickly and apparently unconscious Haluin in his arms. Vorik directed them into the infirmary wing of his home, a narrow, two-bed chamber where his sickliest patients would stay. Hurod stretched out the Elf on one of the beds, moving gingerly despite the stabbing urgency that surrounded him. Vorik began to hurriedly unpack his satchel on a nearby table while Eldred raided the dwarf’s stores of bottled herbs and potions.

Greta dashed in shortly thereafter, setting down her heavy burden and kneeling to open it up. “Wash your hands, Vorik! We can begin in a few minutes. Are these two capable of holding down the patient?” She nodded to each of the rangers in turn.

Eldred glanced over, with both his arms full of pouches, vials and other containers. “Yes, mum. My brother and I shall assist.”

“And so shall I.” Eldarin had to duck his head as he entered the door to the infirmary, his figure filling the entire frame.

“No!” Vorik shouted. “You stay out there.”

“I cannot sit idly by while my brother…”

“You are too_ close_ to him, Eldarin. I cannot have anyone with strong attachments to Haluin in the room. It will only distract!”

“But my folk have healing expertise that yours and even the rangers lack.” Eldarin spoke calmly, but he appeared on the brink of tears. “Please, you must allow me to assist.”

Vorik knew he could least afford to engage in another time-consuming argument while Haluin languished on his bed. “You stay, then. But you say nothing unless I speak to you, understood? Your folk may rule the wilds, but I am commander under this roof.”

And sensing the healer’s commitment, Eldarin simply nodded and said nothing.

Finally, there was Druri left lingering at the door, gazing in uncertainly. Vorik spied him and marched up, leaning forward on his knees to speak to the lad.

“Druri. I cannot have you in this room, but there is one thing that you can do for me.”

The lad swallowed his grief and nodded obediently. “Name it.”

“Fetch my son Nikolin. He lives nearby. I need someone to tend to my other appointments and any other maladies that may arise today. He lives right around the corner: go out the front door, make a right, then another right at the first avenue you come across. He lives in the third house on the left. Am I heard? Good. Repeat what I just said.”

“Out the front door, right, then another right, third house on the left.”

“Perfect! Now off with you!”

Druri turned and barreled out the front door at full speed. Vorik nodded to himself and shut the infirmary door.

That left only Kabur, who had thrown himself on the den’s couch and continued to sit there, breathing heavily and sweating just as hard. He had completely forgotten about the mules — he did not even bother to tie them up, which had allowed the beasts to dash off and continue their destructive gallop through the realm. This would turn out to be a blessing in disguise, however: ordered as they were to capture the cart, not its passengers, Barulin’s soldiers would clamor straight past Vorik’s home and continue following the cart tracks in the cobblestone road.

None of this was on Kabur’s mind, of course — just the harrowing rush of his life’s first true adventure.

“Quite the day,” he panted to himself, sitting alone on the couch. “Quite the day, indeed…”


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## chrysophalax (Dec 5, 2012)

Words flitted like bats in the darkness above Haluin's head as he lay supine on the bed where Hurod had so carefully placed him. Urgent, yet gentle hands probed at his arm, but he only felt the pain distantly now. Somehow, it didn't seem important, not as important as trying to discern what the voices were saying.

Cautiously, the injured elf opened his eyes, only to shut them again against the barrage of candle and torchlight that filled his vision. Vorik caught the slight movement instantly.

"Haluin? Haluin, can you hear me? Don't move, lad. Just open your eyes again if you can."

The elf's lips curved into a grin. "Jokim?" "Nay, my friend, 'tis I, Vorik. You've a nasty infection and I'm going to take care of you. Do you understand?"

Eldarin frowned, glaring at Vorik, who shook his head violently. "Don't lie to him!" mouthed Eldarin as he edged closer to the bed. Slowly Haluin's eyes drifted open, stubbornly trying to take in what was happening. What he sensed, rather than saw, alarmed him. "_Tor-nin_? Vorik, where is Eldarin? Is he safe? What of Jokim and Druri?" Feebly he began to struggle and his arm oozed virulent smelling pus from a large split in the skin just above the elbow.

Vorik nodded to the two men, who silently stepped closer, then Hurod gripped him by his good arm, while Eldred held him just above the knees. "No!" cried Eldarin as he watched Haluin's face contort in agony. "I told you..." Vorik began, but Eldarin rushed on. "I know, friend and under normal circumstances I would obey, but hear me. You know nothing of our ways when it comes to healing, therefore I beg that you allow me to help you keep him calm as you...do what must be done."

Greta placed her hand over Vorik's, squeezing hard. "Let 'im try, husband. I've the feeling we'll know for sure if it works very soon!"

Eldarin looked from one dwarf to the other, hoping against hope that Vorik would allow his assistance. Hurod growled and all heads turned to the normally stoic ranger. "He's fading. Someone do something!"

Without further words or permission, Eldarin came and stood behind the head of the bed, cradling Haluin's head in his hands. "Haluin, do you hear me?" "Eldarin? Aye! Aye, _tor-nin._" came the whispered reply.

"Do you remember the Hall of Fire and how we told stories so many nights? Well, I've a story to tell you that you may never have heard, or perhaps forgotten in all the years since you were an elfling. Would you like to hear it?" Haluin looked up at his friend, his eyes clear and free for an instant from pain and he smiled. "Aye, say on!" he said, smiling. Eldarin nodded to Vorik, who then rushed to wash his hands, while Greta readied his instruments.

Then Eldarin took up the tale of Finrod and Mædhros, two elves whose ancient friendship was legend among their kind, but who had grown estranged because of the oath that Mædhros had sworn. Nonetheless, Finrod longed to repair the bond and risking all, he made his way up into the great mountains, the Thangorodrim, risking all. There with his harp, he sat among the giant boulders and sang a Song, a song of Valinor, which soon found itself echoed by the one for whom he had searched so long.

The rangers, as they listened, found they no longer had any need to hold Haluin, for he had long since ceased to struggle. He had been drawn, by the power of Eldarin's voice into the story and so lay still, as his arm was sawn from his body.

"And then, even as Finrod found that his friend was bound by Morgoth's cruel device to the mountain by his wrist so that he could not be freed, Mædhros begged him to loose an arrow and thus end his suffering. Finrod reluctantly nocked an arrow, weeping, then called on Manwe to speed it's flight. His prayer was answered, but in a way totally unexpected! For the King of Eagles, Thorondor himself, greatest of all birds, flew down and caught Finrod up and bore him to the rock face where Mædhros hung.
Swiftly then, he severed Mædhros hand and they were borne away to Mithrim, where Mædrhros in time, was healed."

Not a word, not a sound followed the telling of the story, a story that Vorik found more than appropriate under the circumstances. Greta carefully dabbed at his eyes where some unwanted moisture seemed to have unaccountably gathered. He cleared his throat. "I was wrong to have told you to remain slient, Eldarin. My apologies. I had no idea elven words contained so much...well, so much!"

"What he means to say is, your people have a true gift and he's speechless." said Greta, dabbing at her own eyes as well. "We thank you."

"As do I. You did your work swiftly and cleanly and now...there is a favour I must ask, nay, _demand _of you!" Vorik's bushy eyebrows shot up. "Demand?"

"Aye. I must be allowed to use a forge. His arm must be refitted to hang from the shoulder now and...I will even be willing to let anyone who has the desire, to watch me in my work. Elves and dwarves worked together once, long ago and the things they created together were never duplicated. Can it not be so again?"

Vorik looked up at the smith long and hard. "You do realise that I have no say in who uses our forges and who doesn't, don't you? And after all this?" He blew out a long breath, scratching his beard in thought. "I can ask, that's all I can do. But for now, I have a patient to attend to. Pray that we were in time!" With that, Vorik began clearing away the bloody instruments, while Greta supervised the rangers in changing the linens on the bed, then re-bandaging the new stump with fresh gauze, tucking in fresh-smelling herbs as she did so with the precision born of years of practise.

Eldarin, meanwhile had never moved from where he held Haluin's head, still carefully cradling it all through the changing and the cleansing. Haluin had fallen into a deep, healing sleep midway through the story, his face now peaceful and unlined. Eldarin breathed a sigh of relief, then suddenly, he began to shake. Greta was instantly at his side, helping him to settle Haluin's head gently on the pillow before pushing a chair beneath him as his knees buckled.

"I think he could use a drink." observed Eldred, dryly. "And us as well. Watching and listening at the same time is thirsty work!"

Vorik chuckled, even as he came over to check on Eldarin. "Aye, a good cold flagon of stout is just the thing. Ah, Druri!" he cried as the young dwarf came running headlong into the sickroom. "Your son's here and tending to business. Kabur's snoring soundly on your couch and Haluin...? How is he, Vorik? Is he...he didn't...did he?"

"Come along here, young Druri. All of us need a drink. Go and ask Nikolin to send you back with some, there's a good lad. Then I'll tell you everything!" Druri spun on his heel and raced into the front set of rooms, while Vorik patted Eldarin gingerly on the shoulder. "That was remarkable, friend. I've never seen the like, nor will I ever again I don't expect. Do all elves possess such magic?"

Eldarin tore his eyes away from watching the rise and fall of Haluin's breathing to look wearily at the healer. "Not all, but most, I'd say. Iluvatar granted us many gifts that dwarves and men seem not to possess, and yet, you have gifts that we sometimes envy. Such is the way of things." Carefully he reached out to lay the back of his hand against Haluin's brow. "Was it enough? Will he live?"

"It's early yet...but, aye, it's my belief that he'll pull through. He's strong and lucky, that one!"

"You must find me a forge, Vorik. If he has but one arm, I fear how he will react. No, I _must_ be able to refit the one I made for him!" said Eldarin grimly.

"We have forges, Eldarin and we would gladly let you use them." said Eldred quietly. "He's fought too hard and suffered too much to become a cripple now."

Eldarin narrowed his eyes. "You would aid us? Why? Lord Elrond would take a very dim view of that, I'm sure and I know that your captain's welcome in Imladris might become...shall we say---less welcome?

"That would be for him to decide. Nevertheless, the offer stands. If the dwarves refuse, make your way to our encampments to the east of the Tower Hills. There you will find succor, despite the edicts of your lord, smith."

"Then I thank you, Eldred. Yet I hope that it will not come to that. He needs to be whole again sooner, rather than later." A sudden sound caught his attention. "Where is Druri?" he asked sharply.

Both the rangers were on their feet in an instant, moving to stand in the doorway. "It would seem we have company." stated Hurod matter-of-factly.


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## Ghorim (Dec 27, 2012)

The stone cell lay silent, save for the flexing of Jokim’s leather glove.

He would spread his fingers as far as he could, gathering the tension from the rest of his body, and then crushed it all into a fist. He squeezed and seethed until his knotty arm trembled from the concentrated force. He could feel the bones in his hand grind against one another.

Then at last he would release the fist, and begin the cycle anew. Flex to fist, flex to fist, the leather glove creaking with each motion.

Jokim sat perfectly erect on the stone bench in his holding cell, repeating this process for the better part of an hour. And so he kept his rage at bay.

But in his mind’s eye he was doing much more. He saw himself rending the ornate metal bars of his cell, clawing at the stone surrounding them, howling for his release.

None of that would have made a difference, however. Jokim felt contorted by anger and dread for Haluin’s flickering life, but his sense of honor held him still. He was already imprisoned for assaulting a military officer. He could not demean himself further.

Still he felt the weight of each moment, until the sounds of conversation and approaching boots drew his attention. Jokim rose to his feet, ramrod stiff like a private ready for inspection.

The door to his cell swung open, and a young dwarf stepped through. He had the look of a noble attempting to dress like a workman: simple brown attire that was nevertheless crisp and unspoiled, with fashionable accents of blue thread that gave away his station. His dark beard bloomed like an overeager shrub, reined in by intricate plaiting that drew its fringes together in a braid that dangled beneath his chin.

He made a straight approach at Jokim, taking a quick appraisal of the old dwarf as he did. “You are Jokim?”

Jokim bowed his head to confirm but said nothing.

The young noble smiled, an unexpected expression that disarmed Jokim for a moment. “Well sit, then.” And without waiting for Jokim’s reaction, the young fellow settled himself on the cell’s bunk, which sat in a rectangular crevice cut into the wall. With a disinterested swipe of his hand, he dismissed the bulky infantryman who was hovering in the cell’s entryway.

Jokim sat back down on his bench slowly, studying his visitor with guarded suspicion.

The nobleman slapped his knee, still grinning. “I heard you took down Captain Barulin while he was at a full sprint. Is that true?”

This was not a proper interrogation. But Jokim kept his head bowed and spoke respectfully. “I do not recall it that way, m’lord.”

“Please. None of this ‘m’lord’ business. I owe you an introduction. I am Ossi, son of Olafur, who is Lord of the Broadbeams and ruler of this realm.” He rattled off his father’s title as one might describe a butcher or gem cutter.

Jokim looked up, gazing with new eyes upon the fellow whom he now realized to be the Prince of the Blue Mountains.

“Yes, yes.” Ossi gave another impatient wave of his hand. “I am acting on behalf of the Great Council to sort out whatever it was that happened at the gate this morning. I shall report to them and my father directly. That is what brings me to your cell.”

Jokim edged forward on his bench. “What have you heard about the injured Elf, Haluin?”

“What have I heard? I have heard that your friend Vorik’s home is now barricaded against all comers. Captain Barulin desperately wants to bully his way in there and arrest the fat merchant who managed to break his impeccable defensive perimeter, not to mention round up the rangers and Elves. But those same rangers have moved some rather heavy furniture in front of the door. All of which is to say that I believe the Elf is alive, or else why go to such extraordinary measures? But I cannot say for certain.”

Jokim couldn’t help but smile a bit at that news, even as his brow furrowed. What he wouldn’t give to help defend against that siege! But now he gazed straight at the prince with a strange confidence in his eyes.

“You would be well within your rights to call the Captain off the chase, m’lord. His responsibilities do not extend beyond the Eastern Gate.”

Ossi’s gregarious expression faded. He gave Jokim a haughty look in return, subtly lifting his nose. “I shall take that under consideration. But I did not come here for advice. I want you to tell me what happened out there. That tackle you put on Barulin, in the main.”

“It was a simple matter.” Jokim already had folded his arms and drawn himself back, assembling a front against the prince’s prodding. “The captain was pursuing a course of action that would have left my friend the Elf dead in the snow. A situation developed. An opportunity presented itself. I acted on instinct. Nothing more.”

“You do know the penalties for assaulting an officer of the Ered Luin in the course of his duties?”

“I do not. But I expect a harsh punishment. What matters is that I have given Haluin a fighting chance to live, and he does not often squander those.”

“And what of this… position you came here expecting? The lieutenant’s post. You may have very well just squandered it on your first morning in the mountains.”

“I do not regret my actions. Before the merchant arrived, I had told the good captain that I would relinquish my post if it meant getting Haluin inside. He refused the offer then, but I suppose the fates consented to the trade.”

Ossi smiled and leaned forward on his knees casually, but it was a studied movement. He looked Jokim over again, this time with greater care. He said nothing for a solid minute, letting the silence sink in and take over. But Jokim did not flinch.

“You know,” Ossi began, his words sounding all the louder in the little cell. “I do not believe anyone had ever hauled down Captain Barulin like that. Not since he could walk upright, at any rate. That takes talent. We _need _talent in this infantry.” 

“I shall serve if called upon, in whatever capacity is deemed best.”

The prince laughed. “Spoken like a true soldier: telling his superiors what they want to hear!”

“I speak only the truth. I am not one to play games with my words.”

“Hmm.” The young dwarf smirked and slapped his knee. “Tell me… did Vorik ever inform you _who_ offered you that lieutenant’s post?”

“Vorik only referred to him as a ‘fellow of fine lineage.’” Jokim had long since memorized his friend’s letter, carrying it along the march through wind and rain and reading it as an almost nightly ritual.

“Mm! Fine lineage, indeed.” The prince idly picked at one of the sleeves of his shirt. “I found myself in a situation, you see, some months ago. Perhaps a year, now? Yes, it must have been a year, if not more. I had banged myself up right good following a late-night misadventure. Now normally this mishap would lead me straight to a visit with the royal healer. But this was a situation that required a certain… circumspection, do you understand me?”

Jokim said nothing. His arms remained tensed and crossed.

“Well, I asked some voices that I trusted: who else in the realm might heal my hurts with little fanfare? They might have named any healer in the realm, but there was a certain fellow… Vorik. He and his family were newly arrived refugees from the Lonely Mountain, bless its memory. And that sort of novelty has its benefits: Vorik had developed a quick reputation for his skills and manners.”

The prince was watching Jokim all the while, gauging his reaction to the story. “Well. I shall not belabor the point any further. Vorik patched me up. And it should not surprise you that he and I fell to talking. I bemoaned the lack of inspired soldiers in our mountains, and then he brought up your name. He said you had been overlooked. A hidden gem. A soldier of great talent and principle. Would you agree with that?”

“My friend Vorik has been ever effusive with his praise. I am more than capable on the field. If given the opportunity, I shall prove that.”

“But Jokim… I do not want _capable_, or even this ‘more than capable’ nonsense. I want _inspired_.” Prince Ossi scraped himself forward to the edge of the bunk. “And what you managed at the gate proves to me that you possess such a spark. You did two things to Captain Barulin that I have never seen done: you bent his will and convinced him to relinquish his gate to an _Elf_, of all things, and then you pinned him to the ground in a single maneuver. No one teaches that sort of ability.”

“It would be an honor to serve under you, m’lord. But first I must face trial, I assume.”

“Oh yes. That.” Ossi smiled broadly and waved a hand, like a magician vanishing a handkerchief. “That can go away, Sir Jokim, if I put in the proper words. In return, I simply require two conditions.”

“What are those?” Jokim steeled himself for some creative phrasing. Prince or no, this dwarf did not inspire the greatest confidence in him. Jokim would require something more than honeyed words.


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## Ghorim (Dec 27, 2012)

“Number one,” Ossi held up a finger. “You work with all due haste to usher your merry band out of these mountains. By that I mean the Elves and the rangers.”

Jokim scowled. “If he survives… Haluin shall require time to recover. His companion Eldarin would not wish to leave his side. And the rangers…”

“That is why I say with ‘all due haste,’ my good fellow. Matters are yet unsettled. It would be unreasonable to impose a hard deadline at this juncture.”

“What is your second condition, then?”

The prince rose to his feet and extended his arms. “Permanent loyalty to me. The sort of loyalty one grants a fellow after he saves your military career.”

Jokim bowed his head. “I shall indeed be in your debt, m’lord, once you make good on your words.” And although he phrased the prince’s end of the bargain as inevitable, Jokim harbored his doubts. He paused a moment to consider, toying with the idea of consenting… until a thought struck of him. “And what of Kabur?”

“Who?”

“The merchant.”

“Ah. Well, my friend, I’m afraid someone must take responsibility for what happened today. He did, after all, nearly run over an entire regiment of soldiers with his cart. And he smuggled in four outsiders in the process! Not exactly the kind of actions that prompt sympathy in the High Council.”

“I shall tell you what he did.” Jokim growled deep. “He acted to save my friend Haluin’s life. He acted even though it would come at great cost to him. He was the ‘inspired’ one out there, not I. I cannot in good conscience leave him to hang at a trial while I waltz off under your wing.”

“Oh come, Jokim. No one is going to hang. He will, most likely, do some time in the quarries…”

“For how long?”

“That is the Council’s decision. I am not a member, simply an advisor.”

“He has a wife and daughter to provide for. And have you seen the fellow, at any rate? Labor of that sort would shatter him.”

“Then what would you have us do, Sir Jokim? Give him a slap on the wrist and a stern warning for risking our entire realm’s security?” Ossi had begun to pace.

“I would have you try us both. As co-conspirators. Let his sentence be mine.”

The prince stopped in his tracks and turned to stare at Jokim with hard, skeptical eyes. “And what point would that prove, exactly?”

“There is no point to prove, m’lord. Vorik called me a soldier of principle, and so I am. I cannot abandon a friend in peril.”

The prince shook his head. “I understand your emotions are riding high. But think of the post that beckoned you all the way from the Iron Hills. You will throw all that toil away because… because why, exactly? You feel the need to be punished? Because you wish to hold this merchant’s hand as he stands before the Council?”

Jokim shook his head. “You have not heard me, m’lord: I already expected to lose my station. Your generous offer is a most pleasant surprise, but I do not take it for granted. A trial before the council is my due. Tell me only this: if I am tried and found wanting… if I serve my penalty and return… would you still have me as your lieutenant?”

For the first time in their conversation, the prince hesitated. Jokim had gambled on the notion that he had some leverage in these talks — that the future ruler of the realm actually valued and needed him as much as he said he did. And it appeared as though Jokim had made the correct bet.

“We shall see,” Ossi concluded. “You may insist on getting dragged through a hearing, but I shall put in a good word on your behalf nonetheless.”

“Then do the same for the merchant, m’lord, for we acted in the same spirit.”

“Very likely. I bid you good day.” Ossi bowed in the old noble fashion, running a hand along his beard as he did. Despite a bevy of competition, it was one of the more ridiculous things Jokim had seen that day. The prince then turned and knocked on the cell door to be let out. “Guard…”

“If I may make two requests of my own, m’lord…” Jokim cut in. “I would like an update on Haluin’s condition as soon as it is available. And if someone could fetch my nephew and bring him here, it would set my mind at ease.”

Prince Ossi stared at Jokim, the door swinging open behind him. “You ask a great number of favors as a prisoner.”

“All favors that go unasked go unanswered,” Jokim might have been smirking. “An Elf told me that once.”

“Hmm. Aren’t you _worldly_…” Ossi took a brisk step out the door, and was gone.

Jokim listened as the prince’s footsteps receded down the long hallway, hearing a couple of gates open and close along the way. Then there was silence again.

He thought about their conversation, wondering if he were better off now than if it had never happened. But it wouldn’t do any good to think it to death.

Instead he distracted himself by studying the dull craftsmanship that went into making his cell. But there was little inspiration to be found there.

So finally he glanced down to his right hand. Jokim stretched out the fingers, and then balled them into a tight fist. And he squeezed, feeling the tension boil out from within.


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## chrysophalax (Jan 6, 2013)

A full day had passed. A day and half a night in which Eldarin and Vorik fought for Haluin's life, for it seemed he had lost the will to fight. His fever rose and fell like an ill tide, leaving him exhausted, reeking sourly of sickness and something Eldarin dared not think on.

Inwardly he cursed Haluin, for he could not curse Vorik. Indeed, the older dwarf laboured manfully even now, laving Haluin's brow with herb-infused water that steamed away the foul humours. Carefully he had debrided what was left of the diseased flesh from the edges of the wound. Nay, the smith could not curse him, so he turned his anxious gaze upon the only one who could bear the blame. Haluin himself. _Why did you not speak of your pain, of the rot you knew must surely be devouring what was left of your arm? Why did it have to progress this far, tor-nin?_

Angrily, he turned away from the bed. "I must go speak with Druri. Perhaps he can lighten my mood." he said flatly as he left the sickroom. Hurod's eyes met those of his brother as they sat watching Vorik closely. "I don't envy the lad. He's in a right state, he is."

"Of course he is, brother!" replied Eldred sharply. "He has thrown away everything he has ever known - and why? So that this troublesome elf won't be alone. What kind of person would do that for a complete stranger?"

"A noble one. And lower your voices! He can hear you! I'll not have you jeopardise our good work because you can't fathom a simple concept." Both men looked levelly at the dwarven healer, who returned their glares in equal measure. What he had witnessed earlier had had a profound effect on him and in truth, he was burning with the desire to know more of elven healing practises. But first, Haluin must live. To that end, he applied himself as he had rarely done before, for was this not Jokim's friend? Vorik had no intention of letting his old comrade down!


As an uncomfortable silence fell between men and dwarf, they heard Druri speaking to someone brusquely in the front room. Vorik raised his head and Eldred rose to his feet. "I'll go. It doesn't sound like a delivery of fresh herbs for your concoctions out there!" With that, he stepped into the spacious sitting room of Vorik's home to find Druri speaking loudly at the door.

"Speak your name clearly. Who comes here seeking Druri, nephew of Jokim?"

"I am Ossi and my father is lord of this realm. Open to me at once!"

A sudden scrambling sound could be heard from the couch upon which Kabur had been resting. Now the old dwarf was trembling, shaking his head from side to side. "Ai, I am ruined! Ruined! And all because of an elf!" he wailed, clutching at his beard in terror.

Eldarin snarled, moving to Druri's side. "Come, help me shift this. I would speak with this Ossi. I would end Haluin's suffering as soon as possible." he ground out, eyes flashing angrily. The two rangers joined them in moving the three large oak cabinets that normally held all of Vorik's records and notes regarding his patients into the middle of the room, then Eldred put a calm, steady hand on Eldarin's chest. "Listen to me, smith. If you have any hope at all of being allowed into one of their smithies, then speak civilly! Otherwise, you may as well slay Haluin yourself. Do you understand?" The smith took hold of Eldred's wrist, nearly crushing it. "Perfectly. Do _not _touch me again!" he hissed and Eldred looked at him a moment longer before lowering his eyes and backing away.

Eldarin hated himself in that instant, knowing full well that Eldred's counsel was both wise and sound. Drawing a deep breath, he nodded to Nikolin, who hastily opened the door.

Instantly, the large front room was filled with dwarves from Barulin's guard and in the center stood a simply dressed dwarf, who's eyes swept the room intently, until they rested upon Eldarin. "Ah, is this one of the miscreants, Barulin?" "Aye, my lord. I see all of them but one in this room."

"Where is the other one? The dying one." asked Ossi with seeming disinterest. 

Eldarin stepped forward swiftly and the dwarves made to close ranks, but he was too quick for them. The elven smith threw himself on his knees before Ossi and Druri gasped audibly at his audacity. "My lord prince. I beg of you!" he pleaded, raising his hands outstretched to Ossi in supplication. "Spare the lives of those you see before you that are not your kin. They acted out of care and mercy for my brother's sake who lies through there, barely clinging to life. Vorik's expertise and knowledge have wrought a miracle this night, but unless I can replace the arm that has been cut away from him, he will surely die. Please! Come and see. Then you will understand, as one warrior understands another. Come!" He then seized Ossi by the arm and began to pull him toward the sickroom, but Barulin barred the way.

"Release him, elf. Now!"

A young voice shouted then. "No! Let him through!" Druri confronted Ossi, his stance no longer that of a youngling, but of a dwarf full grown. "Do as Eldarin asks, my lord. Come look upon our friend and show mercy."

Ossi stood rooted to the spot. Never had he experienced such grim determination in the cause of just one person and against his better judgement, he found himself intrigued. "Aye. I will see this elf for whom all of you have risked your lives..and ruined your reputations." he added, glancing over at Kabur. Barulin was outraged. "My lord Ossi! I can't allow..." 

Ossi chuckled. "Allow? Indeed? I wonder what Father will say about that at the council meeting? Lead on!"

Vorik glanced up. "Well? What was...ah, my lord! Come to see the prisoner, no doubt. You can take a look, but it's touch and go just now. It seems only Eldarin's presence is keeping him with us."

The dwarf prince moved quietly to the bedside and there beheld the remnants of Haluin's left arm, only a handspan of which now remained showing healthy, clean tissue neatly wrapped in soft strips of fine linen. "How did he come by such a fearful injury?" asked Ossi as he drew hastily away.

"We were attacked by a warg as we crossed one of the high passes in the Misty Mountains, my lord. Uncle and Haluin thought the creature was dead and Haluin went to retrieve some of his arrows from its side. It grabbed him and nearly tore his arm off above the wrist, but Uncle finished it off, then freed Haluin from its death grip. All this after Haluin saved us both from an orc attack." Druri gripped his beard tightly. "My lord, he is a dear friend, none more true. Can you not let Eldarin save him?"

The dwarf lord looked from Druri to Eldarin sceptically. "How, save him? What can you do that Vorik, with all his wisdom cannot? Others have survived with only one arm." said Ossi, testing the elf's nerve.

"I can forge him a new arm, my lord. One that works far better than his own natural one." The smith took another deep breath as he felt his temper rising once more. "And the fact that you even ask such a question shows me how little you know of elfkind. The will to live does not burn so brightly in those of us who suddenly deem themselves unfit. Ah, we waste time! Vorik, show him Haluin's arm!" he called, but Hurod was faster, scooping the discarded arm from where it had been hastily placed on a side table.

The elven smith took it from him with a grateful nod, then held it up for all to see. "See how each joint moves, my lord? Each one so finely wrought that I daresay you would be hard pressed to see the individual articulations. He can - could, do anything with it, my lord. It only needs to be lengthend, now that his whole arm has been removed. I - I will gladly allow any smith you wish to watch me as I work, to ask me what they will, so long as I am able to repair it. Please, let me do this. Save his life!"

Ossi took the arm and turned it over and over, inspecting it. In truth, he had to admit that none of the smiths of the Blue Mountains were now capable of this level of workmanship. He was astounded. Lowering it, he looked Eldarin directly in the eye. "You would share this knowledge with us? This is no ruse to escape or to use in bargaining for Jokim?"

"I would do more than that if it will bring him back to me, whole once more. I have no desire for anything else. Take what you will from me, only save him."

The rangers glanced at each other uneasily. Had he not already condemned himself by helping Haluin, now he had surely overstepped the mark, for elves guarded their secrets more jealously than dwarves.

The dwarf lord stroked his beard. "I will take your request to the council and I will tell them all that I have seen and heard. I can do no more. You may remain here, all of you, until such time as the council makes its decision regarding your fates. and you, Master Druri. Come with me." He gestured for the young dwarf to join him, but the lad hung back.

"What of Haluin and the rest? You must persuade the council, sir, you must!" Druri ran to the stricken elf's side and clasped his hand firmly. "He is valiant, lord and has suffered greatly. Grant him this boon and I and my House will be forever in your service, I so swear!"

"You speak well for one so young. Your uncle has taught you well. Come now and you may speak to him if you will. I am not cruel, young Druri, but laws are laws." he shrugged. "We shall see."


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## Ghorim (Jun 1, 2013)

While the prince of the realm made his inquiries in the infirmary, Barulin gave a subtle nod to his men. In a whir of armor plating and flapping beards, they closed in on their true quarry: Kabur.

The merchant made a decent hunt of it, cramming himself behind the couch and curling up into a round ball, but the soldiers sniffed out the ruse and hauled him to his feet.

If Barulin was pleased in that moment, after a full day of simmering frustration, he did not show it. He approached Kabur as his men held the merchant in place.

“Well. You had your moment to play the hero. Now you will learn that there are consequences for such actions.”

“Please, sir…” The merchant was making every effort to compose himself, relying on whatever salesman’s charm he could scrape together in that moment. “My actions… I meant no harm, you see!”

The captain paused for a moment, staring at the merchant, war hammers and siege fires blazing in his eyes. “Do not insult my intelligence again, merchant.” He nodded to his troops. “Take him to the cells.”

Barulin turned, and saw Nikolin glaring at him. The young healer was the only one left in the den while the others conferenced in the infirmary.

“And do you have something to add?”

Nikolin hesitated, then shook his head, looking miserable in doing it.

Barulin and his men were well on their way down the avenue, a sullen Kabur in tow, when a shout rose behind them.

_“Captain!” _

The realm’s prince did not often shout. His voice was laconic, at times even detached. But when he got it into his mind to grab a fellow’s attention, he could bellow with the best of them. And for a moment, one glimpsed the inner nobility that Prince Ossi otherwise sought to hide.

Barulin and his men skidded and swiveled. The prince was marching at them with a bullish intensity, with Druri scampering along behind.

“Captain.” Ossi’s voice had returned to its normal pitch. “What are you doing?”

“Sir.” Barulin didn’t have to straighten up for the prince: his posture was always fully upright and stiff. “I am escorting this prisoner to the dungeons.”

“I can see that.” Ossi straightened one of his gloves. “But I would have you remind me what the Captain of the East Gate has to do with internal affairs like this one.” He gave a nod and a long look at Kabur, who fidgeted under his gaze.

“Sir, with all respect. This one trespassed through my gate. He is therefore my responsibility.”

“Your _responsibility_ was to keep the riff-raff out of the realm. And you fouled that up rather well.”

For a moment, Barulin looked almost desperate. “Sir, if I may…”

“_Tend to your gate,_ Captain.” The prince snapped at such a volume to make the silence that followed seem absolute. “And take your men with you. Home Guard will tend to the healer’s home and see that it is secure. You are no longer necessary here.”

The captain clamped his jaw and gave a curt nod, before turning to marshal his men with a quick whip of his right hand. They were well on their way back to the Eastern Gate when Ossi called out.

“And captain…”

Barulin halted and turned.

“I would be fully prepared to explain your decision making in this whole mess to the Council.”

The captain lingered there for a moment, seeming to absorb the full weight of this blow to his military career, before nodding once and heading back on his grim march.

Prince Ossi watched the retreat with the satisfaction of a sculptor looking upon his latest masterpiece. “That ought to stifle him for a while,” he mused, before remembering that he was, in fact, not alone.

He glanced with a sigh at his irksome companions -- an overzealous child and an overweight merchant. “Well, come along. The dungeon awaits.”

It was a long walk down to those dungeons, a descent of deepening gloom toward depths that few surface dwellers could fathom. Ossi seemed to intentionally take the long way down, leading a roundabout march so he could spend more time prodding his prisoner.

“Tell me, merchant… is that mad spark in Jokim’s eye contagious? Or did you honestly believe that sparing an Elf’s life would be a worthy waste of your own?”

“I do not honestly know what I thought, m’lord.” Kabur’s eyes were glued to the ground. He had been watching as the path beneath them degraded from smooth stone avenues to rugged side-streets to glorified gravel. He was wondering who would support his wife and daughter, and if his little girl would grow up ashamed of her father.

From behind them, Druri growled. The prince could not help but find the noise pathetically adorable.

“He has nothing to apologize for,” the lad declared. “He saved a life today, and made your guards look like fools in doing it!”

“Ah! Very cutting words, young one.” Ossi did not even bother with a glance over his shoulder. “You and your uncle are Longbeards, aren’t you?”

“We are.”

“I knew it. It takes a special, inbred sort of presumptuousness to talk the way you do to your superiors.”

“You are a prince, but you are also wrong.”

“I do not believe that _both_ of those statements can be true at the same time. But no matter. The adults are talking.” Ossi jostled the merchant to break his sullen reverie. “Tell me about this Jokim. I already know that our little tag-a-long friend would describe him as one of the Valar.”

A faint din of grumbling curses sounded close behind.

“Well, m’lord…” Kabur seemed to blink back to life, rifling through his memories of Jokim as one might a hand of playing cards. “I respect the fellow a great deal. From what little I’ve seen of him… he is quite intense. Purposeful in everything he undertakes. Highly protective of his nephew. I would trust him absolutely.”

“And should he be punished as your conspirator? Did he have any part in this plan of yours?”

“Plan, m’lord? There was no plan. No, I acted on dumb instinct, and that has led me to this shameful predicament that you find me in. Jokim is absolutely innocent; I would not dare see him punished.”

The prince hid a satisfied smile beneath his beard. “I shall remember these words, merchant. Thank you for sharing them.”

Unfortunately, an irritating cry interrupted Ossi’s small moment of contentment: “You had better have treated my uncle well!”

“Perhaps if you continue down this road of supreme insolence, you shall get to _share_ in your uncle’s delightful prison experience, stripling. Now keep your demands to yourself, or I shall find you the dankest cell in the entire mountain. The one with the largest _rats_.” 

Druri scowled and thought of all the different insults he’d like to pay the prince, but said none of them.

---

“Teach your nephew some manners. Until then, steer him clear of my sight.”

And with that, Prince Ossi left Jokim and Druri to their reunion. He had already dropped off Kabur in a neighboring cell, leaving some vague assurances of “consulting with the council” as to their hearing date. Otherwise, their stay in the dungeons appeared to be indefinite.

There was very little light in Jokim’s cell, provided solely by the torchlight in the hallway. When the cell door closed behind Druri, that faint glow rained between the window bars and struck his uncle clean on the face. The light played upon the crags and pockmarks of his features, rendering him as sad and weathered… and yet somehow noble, nobler than these crude surroundings of iron and stone. As if the light that bathed him now might carry him from his cell without the consent of lock or key.

In years to come, Druri would remember his uncle as he appeared in this moment. But the moment was already receding, already gone, and Jokim was beckoning him over to tell of Haluin’s condition.

Druri told what he knew. It was little, but enough to ease his uncle’s gravest concerns. Haluin had an opportunity to survive. A look of chiseled determination set in on Jokim’s face… he turned away and looked out toward the wan light of freedom.

“I regret that this is how we should begin our stay in these mountains.”

“Do not regret, uncle. You told me as much once. You acted with great courage, and they only put you here because that courage frightens them.”

Jokim looked back to Druri in a moment of faint wonderment. “Listen to you, these fine words you speak. Hmm!” He smiled. “You _give_ me that courage.”

He patted the back of his nephew’s head, while the sound of the jailer’s keys rattled down the hallway.

“We shall see this through.”


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## Ghorim (Jun 1, 2013)

Despite his best attempts at disguising his station in plain workman’s clothing, people tended to recognize the Prince of the Blue Mountains. They called to him, bowed to him, sang his praises. Fine noblemen kneeling on cobblestone, dirtying their pristine robes.

The tinsel of their affections did little to sway his mood one way or the other. He smiled in that distant, transparent way that royalty tend to do, and gave his simple acknowledgments of their presence. But his mind lay elsewhere. He was thinking about his father.

Ossi felt his heart began to beat just a bit faster as he journeyed up winding stairs toward the throne room… “the lair,” as he thought of it. His thoughts retreated, stuttered, fell back on themselves. The same image kept appearing, of the great Olafur gazing down on him, a glint of dissatisfaction in his eyes.

The prince balled his fists and chewed at his mustache as he continued his climb. Thankfully there was no one about to see… few had the authority to even make this ascent… he already had crossed two guarded checkpoints.

Suddenly, he fell to a halt. His right foot simply would not scale the next step. Ossi stood motionless in a narrow spiral stairwell, which led to the back entrance of the throne room. The great, gold-inlaid double doors that everyone in the realm had seen were there for receiving ceremonial guests. But those who wielded true power in the realm took the quiet, less ostentatious path.

Everything else was silent, so that his own breathing sounded like the great gale gusts that troubled the mountain peaks above. Ossi gripped the wall to hold himself aloft, and grappled with his thoughts.

Foolishness! Childlike foolishness! What did he have to fear? Nothing.

“Master yourself,” he muttered, feeling his fingers scrape deeper and deeper into stone. “Master yourself, and move forward.”

He took a step, then another, and soon it was as if the moment of doubt had never fallen upon him. But still he walked with a slight hitch in his step the rest of the way.

Ossi knocked on the door, bolted and nondescript. He answered the customary inquiries with customary acidity. (“Yes, this is the prince. You may recall this from the last thirty times you asked!”)

The humorless guard granted him admission, and the prince muttered his way into the throne room of the Blue Mountains. For first-time visitors, the sight of the cavernously curved room could send heads reeling. It had the appearance of standing inside a giant crown, gazing up as four great arching spires met in a diamond-shaped (and diamond-crusted) pattern at the center of the ceiling.

Despite its bold shape, it was an austere effort compared to the sprawling holds that dwarvish rulers once occupied in days of antiquity. The gold and precious metals were mere adornment to base stone. Intricately tamed stone, perhaps, but stone nonetheless. Gone were the glittering heights of Belegost and Nogrod. The dwarves of the Blue Mountains were now a frugal lot by necessity, subsisting on meager spoils from their ever-deepening mines.

Their Lord Olafur embodied this sense of faded glory. He stood at the end of a line of Broadbeams of dwindling fortunes, ever since the exile from Khazad-dum many generations prior. It seemed as though he had absorbed every slight his line had suffered throughout the ages, even having never lived through most of them. Growing up, Ossi could not recall hearing his father laugh. There was the occasional choked chuckle, or a sharp exhale from his nostrils that signaled mild amusement, but Olafur never gave himself over to mirth.

Instead, the Lord of the Broadbeams threw himself into his blacksmithery and craftwork, attempting to equal the work of the old masters. He often came quite close — even for a dwarf of undiluted regal lineage, he was an exceptionally talented smith. But no creation of his could ever satisfy or cheer him. He would cast his woodwork into the fire, melt down his metalwork, always forging forward with terrific hunger and little patience with himself.

So it was no surprise that he was down in his private forge when Ossi entered the throne room that day. A great opening at the far end of the room exposed a staircase leading down into flickering fire. As a child, the entranceway had struck him as a portal to some terrible nether realm.

“He is down there, correct?”

Ossi was speaking to Frors, Olafur’s longtime attendant. Old Frors was an odd duck, one of the few in the realm who seemed capable of weathering the Lord’s volatile moods with some semblance of humor intact.

“Yes indeed, m’lord. He is fashioning an axe, which might provide a hint as to his mood today.”

A familiar chill of fear passed over the prince’s heart, but he laughed over it. “Ah, an axe to grind, eh?”

Frors dutifully chuckled at the forced jest and bowed. “I shall fetch him, m’lord.”

Well aware that the guards who occupied posts at every corner of the throne room were watching him, Ossi kept ramrod stiff while he waited for several minutes. Then he saw a looming shadow, cast on one of the staircase walls, lumbering up the steps. His father was breathing heavily today, torn as he was from the midst of his labors.

Frors, following behind, fetched the lord of the realm a thick fur robe. Leaving the overheated crucible of the forge felt much like stepping out into a mountain winter shirtless.

“Is the Elf dead?”

“No, father. Toeing the line, but not dead.”

Lord Olafur snorted the way an ox might. “He is a bloody complication.”

“I do not deny it.”

“… A curse that you invited upon us while I labored in my forge.”

Ossi could sense his father building momentum, and hurried to waylay his progress. “I saw no harm in dragging him in bound and blinded. He caused no uproar. How was I to know that he would flee and return to us half dead, or that some lard-brained merchant would play at hero in whisking him back inside?”

“One show of weakness invites the other, child. You exposed us to calamity, and now I must clean your mess.”

“Father. Understand me…”

“Understand _this_. Enjoy your new plaything… this half-rate lieutenant who harbors Elves for friends. You need only concern yourself with the workings of your disastrous little infantry regiment from here on. You shall have no further say in the affairs of this realm until you prove yourself worthy.” He paused, melting his son with a glare. “_If_ you prove yourself worthy.”

The prince could sense himself rapidly running out of rope, and in his desperation he sought to play a card that he had otherwise hope to conceal.

“Listen! I grant that the dying Elf makes for a minor disaster. But the other one could prove a great boon to us.”

“A boon? Trouble me no more with your babbling.” He turned away. “Frors! Escort my son…”

“The Elf is a smith, father! A smith of divine talent, talent that I have witnessed firsthand.”

Olafur turned back to face his son, but his expression was closed and stained by suspicion. “Your judgment in that field is suspect at best. And even if he were so gifted, of what use would it be to me?”

“He is desperate to use our smithies. He wishes to re-forge a metallic arm that he made for his kinsman, believing it may save the wretch’s life. I saw the original up close… it is on a level with the work of our finest hands.”

“And what would you have me do? Lend him my tools so that he may sully my forge with his inferior work?”

“_Yes!_” The prince immediately fell silent, recognizing his insolence. Olafur began to growl, and Ossi rushed to talk over him. “Do you not see? He will work in plain sight, allowing us to study and preserve all of his secrets. All of them. You have said before that you are within a hair’s breadth of equaling our people’s old masters in your forge, yet you curse the missing spark that keeps their level out of reach.” Ossi felt his inner confidence surging, and forgot that it was his father whom he was now attempting to persuade. “What did the smiths of Belegost and Nogrod have that you do not? Elvish allies. Elvish collaborators. There is something they must know that we lack. Before you is a chance to unlock their great secret. It is an unprecedented opportunity!”

“Do not feed me your faerie tales…”

“You are curious, father. I sense it. Allow me this chance to redeem myself. I shall fetch you the metal arm. Behold it for yourself, and _then _tell me you are willing to let its creator walk without tapping his mind.”

Then fell a great, stony silence, a silence that Olafur seemed to fuel and sustain, letting it grow to the point where it almost deafened. And then he spoke in a whisper that hit like a pair of jabs to Ossi’s chest: “Bring me the arm. And bring me its creator.”

The prince’s jaw fell, and he began to assemble some hodgepodge statement of gratitude. But Olafur was already moving away from him, almost floating, and Ossi felt himself pulled by the hands of Frors toward the back door, until he was suddenly back in the dingy and cramped little stairwell without quite realizing what had just happened.

He stood there for several moments, collecting his wits, before running a hand over his face and beginning the descent. This would be a long day.


----------



## chrysophalax (Sep 1, 2013)

The house of Vorik hadn’t seen this much activity in months. Not since Barulin himself had suffered a rather humiliating training injury involving one of his newest recruits and a pot of goose grease that one of the armourers had left lying about. The week or so that it took him to recover from the sprained ankle was among the longest of Vorik’s life, as every guard under Barulin had to see and comment, for himself. Never would he get some of the jests out of his head.

In the case of the elf, however, it was not the number of people involved, but the type. Rangers, an elf, a frantic merchant and a fiercely protective young dwarf had those in Vorik’s home constantly on edge. The sudden reappearance of the prince did nothing to ease their anxiety as Ossi demanded once more to speak with Eldarin.

When told of the prince’s return, the elven smith glanced anxiously at Vorik, who merely nodded, then resumed redressing Haluin’s steadily oozing wound. Willing himself to remain calm, Eldarin went to meet the prince, knowing that whatever was said would mean the difference between life and death for his friend.

“Bring the arm. My father will speak with you, Master Elf. If you wish to save your companion, guard your words.”

Eldarin’s eyes flashed angrily, but said nothing and did as he was bid, retrieving Haluin’s arm from where it lay next to him on a table. As he lifted it, he looked down at Haluin and was startled to see that his eyes were open. Quickly he reached down, touching his good shoulder lightly. Haluin smiled wanly, then whispered, “You have done all that you can, _mellon-nin._ I am more than grateful.”

“I hope to do much more, Haluin. Think for awhile on the trees of your homeland and all will be well, I swear.” Another weak smile and Haluin drifted off into healing reverie as Eldarin returned to the prince’s side.

“It is here and I am here, prince. “ said the smith shortly. Ossi raised an eyebrow. “So I see, now mind your tongue, smith, if you would have your way. My sire suffers no fools and has a temper to rival any dragon. Am I understood?”

“Aye, prince. Let us go, by all means. My friend’s time here grows shorter by the moment.” Ossi looked up at the elf keenly, then nodded. “Follow me.”

Up and up they climbed, dwarf and elf together. Many looks were thrown their way and many questions were asked of the patrolling guards who passed regularly among the general populace, but they all claimed ignorance and walked on heedless of the burning curiosity they left behind.

What seemed like ages later to Eldarin, they came at last to a cavern wherein burned the light of a forge. A lone dwarf with huge shoulders wielded a hammer as carefully as a sculptor chipped at marble, shaping, coaxing, pleading, demanding. It took Eldarin a moment before he could speak.

“My sire,Olafur, elf.” Ossi said in hushed tones. Eldarin glanced down at him, then back to the dwarf at the forge. “A craftsman indeed. I am in your debt, prince.” Drawing himself up, he raised his voice. “I am Eldarin of Imladris. May I approach?”

A grunt was his only answer. He tried again. “_Lord Olafur, may I approach?_ I have brought that which you requested.” “That which I requested…” said Olafur sarcastically. He suddenly straightened, fixing the elf with a piercing glare. “Are all of you so…delicate?”

“If by that you mean respectful, aye, lord. We are. May I approach?”

“Persistent, aren’t you? I thought you elves had the patience of ages.”

“Aye, lord. But not when one of our kin lies dying.” With that, he walked up to Olafur and laid the arm on the anvil. “I made this for my brother who lies in Vorik’s hall. He lost an arm protecting his friend, a dwarf. I will show you and any other smith in your kingdom all that I can if you will only allow me to modify my creation to fit him.” Eldarin looked the dwarf lord directly in the eye. “Only this will save him. Be merciful, I pray you and all my knowledge will be yours.”


A stab of guilt lanced through the elven smith as he spoke, for not only was he about to divulge secrets known to but a few this side of the Havens, he would have to betray every smith to ever ply the trade.

_Can I truly capable of such a thing? To give away everything I have worked for, bled for, all for the sake of an outcast? A voice somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind chuckled darkly. And have you not already done so? It was for Haluin that you left your apprentices, your own sons no less! Was his situation indeed so dire? Eldarin, you are a fool among the Eldar, for you have thrown away your own future as blithely as he has._

Shutting out the voice that whispered so cunningly in his mind, Eldarin raised his eyes once more to those of Olafur and there he read cold, calculating assessment. "My heir tells me that your kinsman lies close to death. Is he so dear to you that you are willing to trade all your secrets in the hope that he will live? Does he come from a ruling House that you hold him in such regard?"

"Nay, my lord. He is not a noble, neither does he have a family that would grieve should he fade. He is, however, a fine warrior and a savagely devoted friend, as I am certain Jokim can attest. He saved the life of each of us during the long journey here, at one time or another and for that, if for nothing else, I owe him the same loyalty."

Olafur lay down his hammer then to pick up the arm. "Show me how it works."

Without another thought, Eldarin set to the task of completely dismantling the arm, explaining to the dwarf lord in minute detail each step in the process. After a short time had passed, Olafur bade Ossi to send for his best smiths. "This is indeed beyond the finest work my smithies are capable of turning out. But why do I have the feeling that no matter what we do, achieving the full potential of such a contraption might still be beyond us?"

Eldarin glanced at the dwarf, puzzled by the question. Then it hit him and inwardly, he tensed, not knowing how what he had to say would be received. "My lord, your suspicion may be true, though indeed I cannot tell for certain. You see, when we..I...create a thing, be it a weapon, or a tool, I transfer to it a bit of my energy, my heart...my soul, if you will." He reached to to carefully pick up a finger from amongst all the scattered components lying on a long table near the roaring hearth. He held it up for Olafur to scrutinise.

"Into this creation I poured myself to the greatest extent of which I was capable. And it worked! Now, I must do the same in greater measure if I am to save him. So you see, you may not only gain my secrets and those of my kin, but drain me dry as well, thus ridding you of an "enemy". A fair trade, do you not think?

Olafur gazed up at the eleven smith craftily, then said. "Perhaps. My smiths will be here soon. Then you may begin." He held out a huge hand toward the elf, who paused but a moment before clasping it. "We have a trade."


----------



## Ghorim (Dec 9, 2013)

“You may begin.”

Six faces hung suspended in black before Eldarin’s gaze, lit in red and orange glow: the Lord of the Blue Mountains and his five most trusted smiths. Motionless, now silent, they awaited the first strike of his hammer.

At the Elf’s side lay an armory of tools: blunt and rounded, bulky and fine, made to break material and then coax it into elegance. There were shelves packed with raw materials, dull metals and stubborn stones, the dusky potential of unpolished gems. If he needed more, Eldarin need only ask: mute workmen would fetch more supplies, borne by a private cart track whose length terminated at the Lord’s personal forge.

All this limitless choice, and before him, a bare anvil. A blank canvas.

In Imladris, Eldarin’s mentor had once spoken of the terror of the blacksmith's first stroke: of beginning creation from empty possibility. The first stroke could paralyze an inexperienced or insecure smith. It could keep him up at night, stumbling down endless branching paths of thought, second-guessing decisions he hadn’t even made.

There were ways around it: to strike impulsively, almost at a guess, and chart a course from there. Or to chill one’s mind to frigid stillness, analyze the first step without emotion or vanity, and proceed with confidence.

But Eldarin could not act rashly, nor could he divorce himself from emotion. He could almost feel Haluin’s flagging breath on the back of his neck. He felt the unfamiliar tingling of doubt, a feeling he had not experienced at the anvil since his novice days.

When Lord Olafur ordered him to begin, he stood still and let the confusion and indecision sweep over him. He leaned into it, letting it press him down and prod at him. The maelstrom came and went in a matter of a few moments. Eldarin had only to blink and it disappeared. Now his sight was clear. He knew what he must do.

There were times, on his most successful projects, when Eldarin needed nothing more than imagine an object into being. He could rearrange the materials in his mind, and his hands would simply follow suit, acting as mere accessories to his imagination.

This was not one of those projects. He felt every strike of the hammer, every lick of the forge fire against his bare skin. The sound of each blow against the metal reverberated incessantly in his head.

But soon Eldarin realized that there was more than a mere echo in the room. Across the chamber, Olafur stood working at his own station. He was mimicking each of Eldarin’s movements, constructing a miniature metallic arm of his own, built to the dimensions of a dwarf. With each note Eldarin struck against metal, a companion tone soon followed it. When Eldarin paused to consider his work or fetch new material, Olafur paused as well. The dwarf lord never raced ahead of him, never anticipated the next step of the process.

As he trained all his energy on the project at hand, Eldarin found a strange comfort in the call and response between him and Olafur. He was not alone in the darkness.

They performed a duet of iron and steel, Eldarin at the lead. The other smiths watched in a sort of reluctant awe: attempting to deny their wonder at the Elf’s skill. Hours bled by, and with each moment that passed Eldarin seemed to grow in focused desperation. Sweat coursed from him as it never had before. Emotions and memories, joyous and painful, fed and sustained him. They flowed from heart to hand and into the work itself.

Time became immaterial in that darkened chamber. It did not matter: Eldarin imagined he would spend whatever remained of his life at that anvil, pouring himself into the metal. And praying that it might not all be in vain.

---

As prince of the realm, Ossi had a numbing array of regal duties to tend to every day. He was not especially dutiful about any of them.

But now, with his mind fully entranced by the mountain’s newest arrivals, he had abandoned all pretense to caring about sub-councils or socializing with nobility. He could only think about dying Elves, and mysterious rangers, and taciturn old soldiers sitting in dank little cells.

So as the hours accumulated into days and still nothing emerged from his father’s private forge, Ossi grew restless. Taking the steps two at a time, he climbed the dark and lonely passageway up to the throne room, then descended the great stairwell down to the royal forge.

Standing at the sealed entrance was Frors, his father’s attendant. The old dwarf stared upon Ossi placidly while the prince caught his breath. Behind the thick metal doors, they could hear the sound of two hammers singing in time, one falling shortly after the other.

“I don’t suppose you would grant me a peek inside?” Ossi gave a practiced grin.

Frors shook his head. “Only the Lord and his guests are to be granted admittance.”

“Am I not considered a guest?”

“My Lord abhors distractions. And you are his greatest one.”

“Frors, my old fellow! Who trained your kindly tongue to heave such insults?”

“No insults. Simply facts.” Frors had barely flinched all this while, standing at easy attention with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Well what have you heard? How goes the project?”

“What use would I have for such gossip, Master Ossi?”

“You have been in there! Do not feign ignorance with me. You could never allow my father to labor for so long without checking in on his condition.”

“My Lord has shrugged me off as a nuisance. A _distraction_. I am not to disturb him until his work is complete. His gave this order yesterday.”

Ossi snorted and threw up his hands. He was so frustrated he let them hang confusedly in the air for a moment before slapping them against his thighs. He turned away, looking forlornly up the staircase toward the throne room. “Well that is very much like my father, isn’t it?”

Frors gazed at him from beneath heavy eyelids like a patient grandfather, waiting for the prince’s flaring of temper to pass. “Yes, I suppose it is a pity that I cannot witness the spectacle that the other smiths were describing an hour ago…”

Ossi spun about. “What?”

“Yes, my prince. Your father’s guests apparently do not have the same endurance as Lord Olafur or the Elf. They have left the chamber at intervals to fetch food and drink.”

The prince approached him cautiously. “And?”

“Upon their last excursion, they seemed rather convinced that the Elf was nearly spent. He has worked without pause all this time. With terrible intensity, even from the beginning. His labor nears its completion, they say, but he has little more to give.”

Now Ossi remembered Eldarin’s words to him at the healer Vorik’s home: _“Take what you will from me, only save him."_

The prince began to shake his head. “He is throwing himself away, isn’t he? The fool! He shall require attention as soon as he is done. I must return to Vorik’s…”

He was talking to himself now, forgetting Frors, turning to hurry back up the staircase.

“Take care, my prince!” called the old dwarf after him. “Some may begin to suspect that you harbor some manner of concern for these Elves.”

But Ossi, for once, did not bother with a retort. There was no time…

---

By the time Prince Ossi returned with Vorik in tow, the doors to the forge had been thrown wide open. The other smiths had vanished.

Inside, Frors was sitting beside Lord Olafur, who was laid low with exhaustion, the attendant assisting his ruler with a canteen of water. No one had yet bothered with Eldarin, collapsed beside his anvil in a pool of his own sweat.

Vorik and Ossi rushed to the Elf’s side and together managed to prop him up. The healer had brought his own supply of water, and with the prince’s help managed to coax some down Eldarin’s throat.

“How is he?” asked the prince, gripping Eldarin’s left shoulder to keep him aloft.

“Not so far gone that our water will be of no use to him — and that is all that matters! Now help me carry him.”

The Elf was pure dead weight, and they struggled to get him up off the ground. But just as they hoisted Eldarin upon their shoulders, they heard a whisper.

“It is… it is…”

“What?” Ossi shook the Elf, even as Vorik grunted for him to stop. “What are you saying?”

“It is… complete.”

And then the two dwarves stared, dumbfounded, at what they had managed to overlook until now: the metal arm, full and complete, displayed before them on Eldarin’s workbench. The surface shown golden in the forge fire light, and the fingers splayed open in an inviting gesture, as if waving hello.

Eldarin let out a low, quiet moan, then shuddered and fell still.


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## chrysophalax (Dec 10, 2013)

Druri was bathing Haluin's injured arm in herb-infused water when Ossi had come tearing into the front room of Vorik's home. He had then heard urgent murmuring and the old healer had reappeared with a strained look on his weary face. "I must go. It's Eldarin."

**************

They had had a rough night with Haluin. Only two days prior, he had at last opened his eyes and asked for water, to Vorik's relief. Druri and the Rangers had gathered around his sick bed in wonderment. "I knew it! I _knew_ he would pull through." cried a delighted Druri.

"Aye, young master. It is well known that elves are notoriously hard to kill." said Eldred with amusement in his voice and even Hurod cracked a smile. 

"My apologies to you all. It seems as though Jokim's words are proving true enough" Struggling to sit up, the elf looked about him. "Where is he? Where is Jokim?" Looks were furtively exchanged. Haluin's eyes darted around the room. "Where is Eldarin?"

Clearing his throat, the young dwarf laid a gentle hand on Haluin's right shoulder. "Eldarin's gone to speak with Lord Olafur and Uncle...well..."

"Is he alright, Druri? Tell me he has done nothing rash." Hurod snorted. "'Nothing rash', he says." Eldred glared at his brother, as Haluin turned his anxious gaze upon the Rangers. "What do you know? Tell me!" he hissed, eyes narrowing.

Druri jumped in before either of the men could speak. "He's been taken prisoner, Haluin. Uncle attacked one of the guard captains so that we could get you back inside to Vorik. There was nothing else to be done." Haluin's eyes went wide, then he tried to get out of bed. Both Rangers, acting as one, barred his way. Druri stood beside him, grasping his good hand. "He helped to save you, Haluin. Don't you see? You were so near death...so pale..." Haluin watched as a tear rolled down his friend's cheek. He pulled the lad to his chest in a firm embrace, while the brothers watched the elf warily.

"I'm still here, Druri Elf-friend. " the elf murmured softly. "Namo has no use for me in his Hall just yet, I'm afraid. 

Druri pulled away from his friend abruptly, swiping at his tears as he did so. "Don't joke about it, Haluin! You're my best friend and you almost died!" he growled. In the face of such emotion, Haluin held up his hand in a gesture of peace. "Forgive me, Druri. Your uncle has called me fool more times than I can count and for just such reasons as this." He sighed heavily as he lay back on his pillows. " Forgive me." 

"Forgiven, of course!" cried Druri, squeezing his friend's hand. "Are you hungry?" The elf shook his head but Vorik had other ideas. "Good day, friend elf! My lady wife has made you some wholesome broth for you to sip...and believe me, she will set the place about our ears should you refuse!"

Haluin grinned. "Then by all means bring me some. I have no desire to cause more disaster, at least...not today." he said with a wink and Druri laughed. Vorik set a tray across his lap and Haluin's stomach growled as the rich, meaty scent wafted up to his nostrils. Carefully, he picked up the cup and brought it to his lips. His eyes closed as he held the warm liquiid in his mouth for a moment, then swallowed. "Delicious! Please thank your good lady for me. This should have me back on my feet in no time!"


*****************

That day and the next found the elf and his companions talking, filling Haluin in on everything that had happened while he had been ill. 

"When will Druri be let out?" he asked. "And where is Eldarin? He has been gone far too long. What if Olafur has locked him away too? He will go mad shut up here, underground! He is not like we elves of Eryn Lasgalen, who live in caves fashioned by our own hands. Vorik, tell me. Where is my brother? He would not leave..." Suddenly, Haluin grabbed his wounded arm, wincing. "Where is my arm?" No one answered and all the pieces fell into place. "No..." Only another elf would know the enormity of the sacrifice that Eldarin was making on his behalf. "No!" Flinging aside the fur that was covering him, Haluin got to his feet. Vorik gasped. "I've never seen such resilience! So it's true what they say of the elves..."

Eldred made to grab for Haluin but the elf slipped away from his grasp. "Tell me where he is! I will not allow him to throw away his ea for me, do you understand?" Vorik and Druri looked at each other in alarm. "No, master elf, I do not."

"Elves pour their _fea_-their souls, if you like, into the greatest of their works." replied Eldred solemnly. "Haluin's new arm would certainly qualify as such."

"He has already given far too much. This could kill him!" cried Haluin as he made for the door. "Will one of you help me, or must I find him myself?"

More quickly than Druri would have given him credit for, Vorik dashed in front of the elf, barring his way. "I will not allow you to ruin all my hard work. Your friend labours to return you to full health, would you have him give all for nothing should you relapse?" Haluin snarled. He knew they were right, but he couldn't bear the thought of what Eldarin was doing. Giving, always giving. It brought him to tears. "I will stay." he whispered and he fell into evil dreams from which they could not wake him.


*********************



"Make room, make room! Eldred, Hurod, help us with him, eh?" gasped Vorik as the two dwarves came in, carrying an unconscious Eldarin between them. Quickly and efficiently, Hurod scooped up the elf in his arms while his brother cleared away some extra linens and basins from the only other bed in the room. Hurod laid Eldarin down on it but it was so short that the long legs of the smith hung over the end. Greta came dashing over to see to her patient, while Druri tried to watch what was going on, even as he was drying off Haluin's arm. Sighing, he sent a prayer of thankfulness to anyone who was listening that Haluin was now sleeping quietly.

With great care, he slid off his stool and peered in over Vorik's sholder to look at Eldarin. The normally robust smith was barely breathing and his skin had taken on an ashen hue. Hectic patches of red seemed to have been dashed across his high cheekbones, giving him the appearance of having been slapped. "Never seen anything like it, lad." whispered Greta called to Vorik for hot water and towels. "He's fevered. See how he sweats? He'll need water."

"I'll fetch it!" said Druri as he dashed off to the cistern at the back of the room. Greta smoothed away the strands of hair that were stuck to Eldarin's forehead, sighing. "These elves, they are doughty friends indeed. I will do what I can for him."

Forgotten by the doorway to the sick room was Ossi. Slightly dazed by his dash through the great halls, he watched with fascination as two of the best healers his father's realm had to offer were fighting to save-what? Enemies? Criminals? Nay, surely these beings were neither. Not if their actions were anything to judge them by. And what of Jokim? His conscience pricked at him. What if one of his friends died and he were not here to lend support?

Slightly, the dwarf prince came to a decision, clenched his jaw, then slipped out of the room. He would free Jokim, if only temporarily and damn the consequences!


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## Ghorim (Feb 6, 2014)

“Come on then, hop to! Up, up, up!”

Ossi was pounding on the door to Jokim’s cell, without bothering to glance inside to see if the prisoner were standing right beside the door or even awake. The prince had just navigated a tense conversation with the commanding jailer, and wasn’t much in the mood to take things slowly.

Finally he swooped his head in front of the barred window, to see Jokim staring at him almost nose-to-nose.

“Aye, sir?”

The prince recoiled slightly. “No backtalk! Raise your right hand.”

Jokim raised a brow, but did as he was told. The prince raised his right hand as well, and then began to speak in a galloping stampede of words.

“Do you, Jokim, humbly admit remorse for your actions at the Eastern Gate, acknowledge the harm done, commit to future penance and swear to do no further harm to the realm or its people, under threat of censure, banishment or death, as determined by the duly designated rulers of the Blue Mountains, forever may they tower?”

“Sir, beg pardon…?”

“Backtalk! Do you swear it?”

In truth, Jokim had missed about half the words that had spilled from the prince’s mouth. So instead of gauging their worth, he had to measure Ossi’s sincerity by reading his face. It was no easy read. He took a chance.

“I swear it, sir.”

The prince gave a short nod. “Then by the power entrusted in me by the realm and its ruler, I hereby release you from your present sentence and relegate you to house arrest, to be served at the home of Vorik the healer until further notice! Jailer! Keys, now!”

It took a fair deal to knock Jokim off his guard, but this did it. “Sir! I am in your debt for this amnesty…”

“Not amnesty. You are still awaiting trial. Just in better appointed surroundings.” Ossi glanced down the hall. “Where are those confounded keys? Jailer!”

Jokim pressed against the door and clutched the bars. “What is the matter, sir?”

Ossi leaned in and dropped his voice to a deep hiss. “Those Elvish friends of yours are as brittle as autumn leaves now. The one nearly killed himself forging a new arm for the other, and now they are both dancing with death. You need to be there, or else…” But now the jailer was approaching in a storm of jangling keys and grumbled curses, so Ossi drew back from the door and bit his tongue.

The jailer opened the cell, and out stepped Jokim. He bowed before the prince. “It will be a great pleasure to serve as your lieutenant, sir. But if I may request… could you not also be so generous as to place the merchant Kabur under house arrest? Surely he is of no further threat to the realm, sir.”

The prince flashed red, but the moment passed. “Well. If Vorik can fit another head into that overstuffed hut of his, perhaps that could be arranged. But Jokim?”

“Aye, sir.”

“If you plan to serve as my lieutenant, you need to learn one thing. Any time an idea pops into that stone-thick skull of yours, and I happen to agree with it, all the credit goes to me, understood?”

“Understood, sir.”

Prince Ossi nodded, half smiling, and turned on his heel to face the jailer. “Jailer. I believe I’ve just decided to make the same offer to the merchant in the next cell. Lead me to him, would you?”


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## Ghorim (Feb 6, 2014)

Four sets of eyes shot to Prince Ossi as he strode through the door: Vorik, Druri and the rangers were having a minor meal at the table while Greta took her shift at watching over the Elves. They all started and shouted when Jokim and Kabur filed in next.

Druri leapt to his feet. “Uncle! And Kabur too! Prince Ossi, you freed them!”

“No-no-no, little tadpole. I have merely transferred them to a different cell. House arrest, you see, is very different from…”

But no one was listening to him. They were all rising from their chairs, bellowing and laughing, clapping the two newly returned prisoners on the shoulders. Druri took a flying leap and wrapped his uncle up for a hug. Jokim caught him, but with an audible “oof!”

“Quite excitable, aren’t we?” he muttered, dropping Druri. “Haven’t had enough to occupy you here?”

“He has been extraordinarily helpful with our patients, in fact,” said Vorik, standing with his hands on his hips. He looked drained and drawn, bruised rings about his eyes, which blinked just a little too frequently. 

“We can both attest to that,” said Eldred, elbowing Hurod. “He has usurped the both of us as Vorik’s chief assistant! I feel rather redundant, myself.”

“Well if you so desperately need to feel useful, there’s a whole mountain of bedsheets that needs cleaning!” Vorik had turned to give Eldred a squinty glare, but soon felt Jokim’s hand on his shoulder.

“Vorik… how are they?”

The healer sighed and turned, rubbing at his right eye while gazing at Jokim frankly with his left. “They are both sedated, fighting their separate fights. Greta is keeping an eye on them now.”

“May I join them? May I speak to them?”

“You… may.” Vorik had considered the thought for but a moment. “The two of them clearly feed off one another, even while unconscious. You might have the same effect sitting with them. More scholarly fellows than I have scoffed at the notion, but these are the sorts of things you notice after years spent at people’s bedsides: presence matters. Even those sleeping or dumb to the world can sense it, and it often speeds their recovery to have a loved one near.”

“I thank you friend. Perhaps you could grab some sleep while I tend to them?”

Vorik laughed and shook his head. “You should remember this, Jokim: I don’t grab sleep. _It_ grabs _me_, wherever I may be found. So if you should walk out to find me facedown beside the hearth, do not act surprised. My body will give me a sound whack on the head when it is time for me to rest.”

“Fair enough.” Jokim glanced down to Druri and ruffled his hair a bit, but the boy seemed to shrug off the familiar gesture. “It gladdens me to hear that you are proving so useful to our friend Vorik.” He leaned forward in a low bow and whispered in his nephew’s ear. “See if you can’t tend to Kabur a bit, eh, lad? I believe the stay in the dungeons upset him. He worries for his family.”

Indeed, the merchant had drifted backward after all the jovial slaps to his shoulders and currently sat near one of the windows, gazing out forlornly at the guards who stood watch over the front door. Druri nodded, and although he seemed to hunger for some greater acknowledgment, accepted his assignment.

Jokim made his way into the miniature infirmary that housed the two Elves. A mismatched pair of footrests had been dragged in from elsewhere in the home to accommodate their spindly legs. Two candles lit the room, casting long and quivering shadows. It felt like its own world, ghostly and detached from the warmth of the den.

Greta’s face hung illuminated in the darkness, and she stood as Jokim entered. 

“May I have a moment with them?” Jokim had removed his hood and held it in his hands.

“Ten minutes.” Greta was curt, but not harsh. “And you will let me know immediately if their conditions change in any possible way.”

Jokim bowed his head, and stepped aside to allow her to pass back into the den.

Then he sat on the stiff wooden chair that Greta had just vacated, facing both beds. From this position, he could not properly see their faces, just the soles of their feet. They breathed in and out, in ragged call and response. Their quiet hum filled the room, and the sounds of muted conversation from the den seemed to fade away. Jokim felt his own breathing slowing, matching theirs.

“Well.” His voice sounded harsh and discordant in the quiet of the room. He cleared his throat and glanced down at his knees, rubbing a hand along the worn fabric of his trousers. He realized that he hadn’t changed his clothing in a good week or more. When had been the last time…? But no, it was not important. He was avoiding the matter at hand.

“Well.” He had to say something. “Where am I to begin? And would it even matter? I wonder if you can hear me.” He glanced up from his knees and searched for signs of life, but there was none save the drone of their breathing. “I am in your debt. That must be said. Several times over, I am in your debt…” He paused again, feeling tied up and useless. Moments passed, and no words came. 

“Haluin.” Jokim sat up in a jolt, almost surprised by the words as they began to emerge from him. “When we met one another again… outside of Mirkwood. I said that we ought to have remained apart… it was a fool’s words that passed through me. I was… not myself. I had carried things with me all those years after we parted ways. Forgotten I was carrying them, in fact. And they seized at me… I spoke rashly. Not the first or the last time for that, of course… but it was wrong. You ought to know that.”

He snorted. “Well I suppose you already knew that, but were just being polite in not reminding me, eh?”

He half expected to hear a laugh and a rejoinder in return, but of course there was only that solemn silence in reply. Jokim sighed and tapped a hand against his knee. But now he could feel more words bubbling up inside him, unanticipated, eager for release.

“I… well, there are some things I shall never understand about Elves. You know that full well, the both of you do. Your fascination with the sea, for instance… or your insistence on treating trees like people! Well, that is neither here nor there. But… all this time I have been in your company… there are things I have learned. Things I might not have otherwise noticed — and not simply things about the wilderness or tracking or the stars. But… ways of thought, ways of treating others. And it has changed me. For the better.” He lowered his head a bit and chuckled. “A _Khuzd_ like me hangs around for enough years and he becomes hardened… _gnarled_. He sees the patterns of the world and expects them never to change. But then he meets some other… or some _others_… who tell him that no, this is not so, that there is another way to be. Well, you would forgive an old graybeard some confusion, would you not?” He smiled, looking between their prone figures. “And quite confused I was! Why would an experienced warrior care so much for a stripling of a young dwarf? Why would a smith abandon his home and livelihood to care for a kinsman he barely knew? And yet the answers were there…” He shook his head, leaning back in the creaking chair and clasping his hands over his lap. “I have _learned_. As has Druri. Druri especially."

Jokim fell silent, not knowing whether his words had found appreciative listeners, or if he had simply been babbling alone in the darkness. He stared at the shadows cast along the floorboards and walls as they swayed and jittered. The minutes bled by. His time with the Elves would end soon.

“It is possible…” Jokim began, very quietly. “That I may never speak with you… either of you… again. I suppose I have said all that need be said. Other than ‘thank you.’ Simply, thank you. Not much to offer in parting, is it, but there it is.”

He could hear Greta’s footsteps approaching the door. Jokim stood very slowly, and now he could see both of their faces clearly: lost in the haze of sleep, expressionless. He continued to stare at them even as he heard Greta stop outside the door… heard her knock gently… heard her open the door. A shaft of light shot across their beds. It felt like waking up from a deep reverie.

“Jokim, it’s time…”

The old dwarf nodded.

“Goodbye,” he whispered, and turned for the door. He did not look back as Greta shut it behind him.


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## chrysophalax (Mar 25, 2014)

Forgotten on the workbench that Eldarin had used, lay Haluin's new-forged arm. It gleamed like obsidian, lit by firelight as it lay dormant now, it's fingers splayed as though reaching out for something. Beckoning.

Measured footsteps entered the dwarf lord's smithy and paused. _Eerie._ thought Olafur as he gazed upon the arm. Slowly he approached it, as though it would suddenly rise up on its fingertips and bolt in fear. _Eerie, yet beautiful. Surely such work has not been seen in Middle Earth since the days of Durin himself!_ 

Slowly he caressed the arm, flexing the minute joints of each finger, carefully studying the way in which each intricate join moved, almost of its own volition. A thought began to grow in Olafur's mind as he lifted the arm from the bench and he smiled to himself as he turned, bearing his burden to the house of Vorik.


*******************************************


"My lord! By all means, enter!" cried Vorik, waving Olafur into his increasingly crowded front room. "Greta! Some ale for Lord Olafur, if you please!"

"I do NOT please!" she yelled back. "I'm trying to keep Eldarin with us. Serve him yourself!" 

Lord Olafur raised an eyebrow, but offered no further comment as he scanned the room. Huddled in a corner, sat Kabur, nursing his own pint of ale and mumbling to himself ot anyone else who would listen. Two men came and went, bearing armsful of what smelled like soiled linen and then there was his own son, talking avidly with the one who had apparently started the whole debacle. "Father!" cried Ossi, startled. Lord Olafur scowled at the familiar form of address in front of strangers.

Clearing his throat, Ossi began again. "Lord Olafur, this is Jokim, late of Erebor that was lost to Dragon fire. Jokim, Lord Olafur, my father."

Jokim looked long and hard at the dwarf lord, then clapped a fist to his heart. "My lord, I thank you."

"Your "freedom" was my son's idea." rumbled Olafur. Jokim eyes glittered darkly. "I was referring to what you carry, my lord. My friend has great need of it. I would not have his companion die in vain."

Olafur glared. "Die? Who speaks of dying? Vorik, report! What goes on here?"

The weary healer made his way over to Olafur bearing a large tankard brimming with frothy ale and set it on the nearest table that had a clear space. "Tis true, my lord. The elf Eldarin seems to have given the last measure of his strength to aid his kinsman. I cannot wake him." 

Olafur thrust the arm into Vorik's hands. "Here, take it! If this saves the one, then the other will surely recover, is that not so? I would not have all that knowledge lost, Vorik. Not for all the riches in Middle Earth!"

A sharp intake of breath made Olafur turn. The look in Jokim's eyes almost made him regret he had. "Are you saying you want them to live merely so that you can exploit Eldarin's gift? The dwarf was aghast, appalled. "You would _use_ him?"

"He offered, I accepted." replied the dwarf lord quietly. "I don't see the problem."

Angry beyond words, Jokim clenched his fists and stalked into the elves' sickroom. For the first time, he wished that they wouldn't survive. Greta was there at Haluin's bedside, carefully washing his wound. "It has healed, Jokim. I don't understand why he won't wake. No fever, no infection..." she threw the washcloth into the waiting bucket in frustration. "I do not understand it!"

"Elves! These creatures were not made from the mountain's bones as we were, but, as Haluin has told me repeatedly, they were sung into being, if you can believe it! What can anyone do with such beings?" Jokim replied sourly. he stalked over to Haluin's bed and roughly took his good hand. "Haluin, listen to me! Enough is enough now, you must wake! Eldarin is in danger and you must help him. Wake now, you fool, or all will be lost!" Greta gasped as Jokim shook haluin's shoulder roughly, desperate now and Haluin cried out in pain, even as he slept.

Suddenly her eyes went round as saucers and her mouth made a soundless cry. A firm hand spun Jokim around and he found himself staring into the blood-shot eyes of Eldarin. "You will not harm him!" snarled the elven smith as he shoved Jokim aside. Jokim shouted aloud and Druri, followed by both Rangers and Olafur piled into the small room. 

There they stood aghast as they saw Eldarin, pale as milk, grasping Haluin by the hand, soothing the frightened elf as trhough he were a child.

"He...but...weren't they both...Greta?" babbled Druri as they all stood gazing at this unlikely scene. She spread her hands and shrugged, then caustiously leaned in close to Eldarin. "Are you alright, lad? You both gave us a turn, you did."

"Aye, good lady, I am well. But what of Haluin?" he asked as he gazed down at his friend. "His heart races too fast. "

"I...I am here, _mellon-nin._I hear what you say." said Haluin, his voice gone harsh with disuse. "Someone hurt my shoulder...I heard voices...I saw...I saw...Tirion. It is beautiful, Eldarin...beautiful..." He closed his eyes wearily as a tear ran down his cheek. "Why did the Valar show me now?"

"Shhh, quiet, now and rest." whispered Eldarin as he dragged a chair over to Haluin's bed. He looked up at Greta, his eyes shining. "Thank you, good lady for saving my brother. Now he has another chance with...wait! " He whirled, franticly looking around. "Where is the arm??"

Olafur came forward. "Here, smith. I believe you owe me."


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## Ghorim (Dec 22, 2014)

“Ha!” Eldred tipped back his chair until its front legs dangled high in the air. “This is what I imagine a White Council meeting would look like. Well, save for the Elves in dressing gowns.”

With a series of gruff announcements, Jokim had managed to cram all the denizens of Vorik’s overstuffed home into the infirmary.

A few of them were fortunate enough to have actual chairs to seat themselves upon, but the rest had to improvise. Hurod had somehow folded himself atop a dwarf-sized kitchen stool. Druri sat cross-legged on a footrest pilfered from the living room. And Kabur teetered precariously atop a creaking keg from Vorik’s stores.

Greta clicked her tongue at Eldred. “Four legs on the floor! Always!”

“Hmm!” The ranger seemed to wind up to deliver a salty retort, but the glare of Greta’s eyes in the candlelight prodded him to lean forward and resettle his chair.

“Now that we have the pleasantries out of the way, perhaps our ringmaster Jokim would care to tell us why he’s herded us all in here?” Ossi was leaning sourly against the doorframe, his traveling hood pulled over his head. Of course, it never rained or gusted inside the mountain. But the prince often preferred to walk its avenues with his face and identity concealed.

Jokim glanced round the room, his thick eyebrows wiggling as he drew a scowl. “It is for the sake of these two, m'lord.”

He nodded to the pair of Elves who sat, propped up in their beds. Even in the wan candlelight, they looked almost like themselves again. Haluin continued to flex the fingers of his new arm out of habit. Eldarin’s eyes were averted from all the rest, and he barely seemed to draw breath as he sat there, hands clasped in his lap.

“And for the rest of us, besides. We have all been stewing in our own despair for too long. Alone we wander lost, but together we might find strength and fellowship. And a solution.” Jokim rose to his feet. “Yesterday, the Lord Olafur delivered the gift of Haluin’s arm… but wrapped in ill tidings. He would extend his agreement with our friend Eldarin into perpetuity, working him until he can work no longer.”

“You need not grandstand on my behalf,” Eldarin said quietly. “I made my choice, and I do not regret it, for the life it spared. I accept this fate.”

“_Tor-nin._” At last, Eldarin glanced up at the sound of Haluin’s voice. “I am grateful for your sacrifice, as I am for the stars and the sea. But I do not believe our dwarvish friend is ready to accept the trade you have made with the lord of this realm. Jokim is building to something.” Haluin glanced to his old comrade with a weary glint of amusement in his eyes. “Are you not?”

“Better it be spoken directly then. We must help Haluin and Eldarin escape.”

A murmur rippled through the tiny room, but Jokim clapped his hands. “It is unacceptable that any friend of mine be kept as a thrall, to a dwarf lord or otherwise! We must find a way to slip both of these Elves out of the mountain. I turn to the lot of you to help me discover how to do it.”

Ossi shifted his weight off of the doorframe, shaking his head. “I knew I had cast my lot with a madman! Jokim. It is not possible, not without detection and not without a row of a fight. And even if the Elves do scrape through the gates, those of you who aided in their escape will be bound for a lifetime spent laboring in the blackest, deepest pit my father can find.”

“Tut, tut!” Eldred waved a finger. “You forget, you are in the company of two rangers and two Elves. That’s four masters of _stealth_. And I hear tell that the little beardling here is a promising spy himself.” Eldred gestured to Druri, who beamed. “Now you give me and my brother three days. We can slink off by night through Vorik’s rooftop, study the guard patrols, record the shift patterns of the soldiers who guard the Eastern Gate, and then…”

“You know, you would do well to follow your brother’s example and play at being a mute.” Ossi tore off his hood in impatience. “You do not have three days, for one! My father was rather sickened at seeing _two_ foreign races living in this abysmal little hovel.” Greta clambered to her feet and began to roll up her sleeves. “Ahem. Sorry, m'lady.” Greta sat, barely appeased. “But the point remains: he wants the rangers deported tomorrow, and I am to do the deporting.”

Eldred and Hurod exchanged glances.

“Secondly, I can report that Eldarin’s new living quarters are well on their way to completion. My father wants the Elf living in his royal sanctum, adjacent to the forge. As a pet. He shall not allow him to tarry here much longer and play the convalescent.” Ossi slashed a finger at the air. “And once he gets you that close to his breast, you shan’t be escaping. I do not care if you have an invisible cloak… a herd of trained oliphaunts… an arsenal of magical weaponry! The Lord Olafur does not…”

“Excuse me.” Everyone turned to take in the humble form of Druri, sitting proudly on his footstool like a little throne. “Prince Ossi, maybe we ought to talk about how to make my uncle’s plan work, instead of pointing out all the ways that it _cannot_.”

More than one person in the room immediately had to stifle a chuckle at the prince’s expense, whose jaw hung limp in an incredulous expression.

“Hear, hear!” Vorik smiled and rubbed his hands together. “I say: what if Greta and I were to fix up a sleeping draught and mix it into some tea. Then we offer it to the guards, and…”

Jokim shook his head. “No, no. A fine start, but it only gets us out the front door. Our main test is at the Eastern Gate. We have humiliated Barulin once already. He will be sure that not so much as a beetle passes through his gate undetected.”

“Is there not a Western Gate?” Eldred offered.

Greta shook her head. “Too far. We’d have to traverse miles of tunnels, which don’t offer much room for concealment.”

“Ahem.” Kabur cleared his throat. “I could have my wife fetch my mule cart again, and then…”

“My apologies, my dear merchant,” Eldred said, “but as daring as your effort was to whisk us all in here, it was a once-in-a-lifetime stroke of luck. Those mules have probably been caught and put to slaughter for high treason, besides...”

Kabur blanched.

“Hang on a moment.” Druri was stroking his little fuzz garden of a beard, deep in thought. “Prince Ossi, you said the rangers have to leave tomorrow?”

The prince eyed him suspiciously, not looking to have his authority undermined again. “Indeed they do.”

“Well what if we dress up Haluin and Eldarin in the rangers’ cloaks…”

“No, no.” Ossi made sure this line of thought didn’t go anywhere. “This is not some storybook adventure, child.”

“Half a moment, sir.” Even as he rumbled at Ossi’s treatment of his nephew, Jokim maintained his respect. “Let the lad finish.”

The prince snorted and glared at Druri.

“Well… eh… I didn’t have much more than that.” Druri rubbed the back of his neck and gazed at the floor.

“You know, you could be onto something.” Greta said. “I doubt the guards escorting them would recognize one overgrown foreigner from another, so long as their hoods were pulled up high and tight.”

“Ah, but again we reach the problem of the Eastern Gate,” Vorik said, placing a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “And Barulin.”

“Prince Ossi, sir,” Jokim said. “You know Captain Barulin better than any of us. How can we manage to best him a second time?”

The prince shook his head. “Surely you are not involving me in this inane…”

“Sir.” Jokim’s voice cut through the room and hit Ossi square in the chest. “I am afraid you have already involved yourself in our inane affairs. We are a bit of an odd group, you see, and prone to misadventures. Unfortunately, by taking such an avid interest in us and paying us the favors you have, you now share that fate. Now please. Help us this one last time and you shall only have my nephew and I to deal with henceforth. What can we do?”

Prince Ossi blinked and realized that everyone’s attention was now squarely on him. “What can we do?” He wasn’t sneering anymore. He finally took a moment to consider the question. “What can we… what can _I _do…”

He pondered for a moment, before a tingling sensation began to overtake him. “Wait.”

“Aye?” Jokim and everyone not confined to a bed seemed to inch one step closer to the prince.

“A preliminary hearing.”

“A what, sir?”

“A preliminary hearing. I could call one tomorrow… easily… to begin your trial, for breaking into the mountain in the first place. You, Jokim, and you, Kabur would have to attend to hear your charges read.” Ossi clapped his hands. “And as the aggrieved party, so would Captain Barulin!”

The room erupted in a buzz of excited cross-talk.

Vorik did not look entirely convinced, and polished his spectacles with a half-frown. “Barulin’s absence guarantees us nothing, however. Surely he’s trained his lads to at least pay attention to the people they’re admitting and releasing from the realm.”

The prince sighed. “Then allow me to be on hand to distract them with some official-sounding words.”

“And when your father finds out, m’lord?”

“Hmm.” Ossi lowered his gaze and shook his head with a chuckle. “I am less than mud to him already. What could possibly stain _mud’s_ honor, eh?”

The prince looked up when he felt a sturdy hand on his shoulder.

“M’lord,” Jokim began. “Someday I shall begin to fathom the kindnesses you have shown me and my companions. I thank you wholeheartedly. My debt to you is redoubled.”

“Hmm.” Ossi mumbled. “Someday I hope to fathom it myself…”

“But we have yet to truly hear from two important voices.” Jokim turned to face the infirmary beds. “Haluin, Eldarin. What say you?”


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