All Roads Lead Home

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."

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."

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.

“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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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?”

"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.

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...

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."

“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.

"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."

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.”

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.

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.