All Roads Lead Home

The morning light did nothing to ease Haluin's normally untroubled mind. Their conversation of the night before had him wondering, not for the first time, if he weren't just the slightest bit impulsive when choosing his companions.

Can it be that my desire for fellowship so outweighs my common sense that what Eldarin said can be true? Hengist never failed me in his friendship. Never once did he betray my trust, nor doubt my loyalty. Why then, nay. how then is he so embittered toward them? Surely he cannot subscribe to the ridiculous notion held by so many of our people that we are set apart, set above all other races and creatures that grace the beautiful lands of Arda? Nay, this I will not believe!

Inside the inn he could hear people stirring about, breakfast orders being shouted by the landlord and sharp replies from the cook as Kip and Grub scurried about, desperately trying to stay out of trouble. Marlo and his lads had just come down, laughing boisterously at the young hobbits' antics.

"Come on, Burter, give the lads a moment to breathe! The sun's just now peeping her head above the trees yonder." said Marlo cheerfully, waving his first pint of the day in the direction of a blazing sunrise.

"Garn! The young 'uns are fiends of the first order, Marlo, don't let yer good self be fooled! They's lay about like a lizard on a stone rock all day if I di'nt keep both me eyes well peeled!"

Above, Haluin heard the first stirrings of life in the room the dwarves shared and sighed deeply. Soon our journey will end. Eldarin has told me that if we continue on unimpeded, we will reach Jokim's new home in two to three weeks. And what then, I wonder? Ah, I cannot think on farewells just now. With that, Haluin rose from his place on the doorstep and slipped inside, gesturing to Kip as he did so.

The young hobbit blinked and looked over his shoulder. "Me, sir?" The elf nodded, smiling and Kip hurried to join the tall elf by the fire. Haluin squatted down so thet would be eye to eye. "We leave this morning, Master Kip and I have a business proposition for you. My dear friend Jokim was clearly taken with your brew and, if you're willing, I would like to place an order for fifty casks of your finest to be sent to either Belegost or Nogrod, I cannot remember which city it is that my companions will settle in. I will be certain to check before we depart. Payment will be sent once the casks have arrived. However, I am willing to pay for haulage and for your time spent away from the inn. If this is acceptable to you, I will speak with Master Burter to see if all can be arranged. What say you, my good hobbit?"

Kip's jaw had dropped open at the words "business proposition" and had remained so as the elf continued to speak. Hastily, he wiped his mouth on his shirt sleeve and knuckled his forelock. "Sir-I-I don't rightly, that is to say, are you certain? I mean, my brew?? I-yes!" He grabbed Haluin's hand and wrung it enthusiastically, all the while grinning like a fool.

"Done then!" replied Haluin as he stood to walk over to where Burter had been eyeing them curiously. He greeted the elf warmly, waving him to a seat at the bar as he did so. "G'morning to ye, Master elf! What can we serve ye?"

Haluin leaned across the bar, gestured for the landlord to come closer, then began whispering his plan into his ear. Disbelief, incredulity, then a flash of greed crossed Burter's face and the negotiations began in earnest. For nearly half an hour Haluin and Burter hemmed and hawed, each not wanting budge and inch until at last, all was settled as Haluin pulled from his pack a small, but heavy sack. "This is to prove I mean what I say, landlord. I have no need for the wealth I have at my command. Take this and give half of it to young Kip in front of me. It will more than pay for hiring a temporary replacement, so that you will lose nothing by his absence. Take it or leave it, as your people say."

The weight of the sack and the glitter of the gold within convinced Burter at last that he would indeed lose nothing by letting Kip pursue his foolishness. The two shook hands and Burter called the hobbit over, who promptly fainted at being shown the contents of the sack.

"Now what have you done, elf?" boomed a voice from the bottom of the stairs.

Haluin turned away from the voice as a lump formed in his throat. Nothing I would not do for you a thousand times over, my friend. I hope you will enjoy this gift for many years to come.

The four travelers crowded in tight around Eldarin’s breakfast plate, staring down at its contents in curiosity. Jokim’s beard dangled perilously close to the eggs, prompting Eldarin to push him backward.

“Mind your whiskers, Master Dwarf! I do intend to eat off this plate once we are through.”

Jokim, grumbling, hung back from the table to stuff his beard into his belt, allowing Druri to slide into a prime vantage point at Eldarin’s left elbow. The lad knelt upon a chair to get a better look at the plate.

“Now…” Eldarin glanced between his companions to ensure he had their attention. “This makes for a crude map of our route, but it will do.”

“Oh!” Druri nearly hopped out of his chair, nodding like an eager student. “I see it now. The eggs are the sea to the far west, aye?”

“Indeed. Well spotted.”

Druri beamed. Back when his uncle had borrowed that dusty old map from the Hall of Records before their departure from the Iron Hills, Druri had stayed up late every night committing every border, mountain range and city to memory. It had been an incredible tapestry of foreign names and new frontiers for his imagination. Every morning when they broke their fast, he quizzed his uncle about those strange words… Gondor, the Anduin, Angmar, the Shire.

But he had stared most intently at their destination: the Ered Luin, crouched on the far end of the realms, with all that sea lying beyond them. What would it be like when they finally got there?

Now, Druri realized with a start, the answer lay just beyond the horizon.

Eldarin pointed to the plate. “And the, ahem, potato wedges here are the northern and southern ranges of the Blue Mountains, on either side of the Gulf of Lhûn, which I have illustrated with this bit of egg yolk here…”

“Yes, yes.” Jokim interrupted, leaning back in. “We’ve gathered as much. Now what is the point of this little guessing game?”

“The point,” Eldarin continued, unruffled by Jokim’s brusque tone, “Is that we must avoid the tip of the Gulf, where the Grey Havens lie. For Lord Elrond’s decree still hangs over Haluin and I. Should we stray too near the lands of Cirdan the Shipwright, our lives become forfeit.”

“So we must take the long way around.” Haluin looked pensive at Eldarin’s right side, slouching with both of his elbows on the table.

Druri picked up on the Elf’s mood and frowned. “Don’t worry, Haluin. We’ll be careful.”

Haluin glanced up to him for a moment, offering a slight smile of appreciation, but Eldarin was already continuing.

“It should not present any great challenge. We simply use the Far Downs for cover…”

“Those bacon bits, you mean?” Jokim squinted.

“Yes, the bacon bits. And now this is the moment when you prove your worth, Jokim. Where have the dwarves settled in the mountains? North or south of the Gulf? Where is our final destination?”

“Yes,” Haluin turned to the dwarf. “Are we bound for Belegost or Nogrod?”

Jokim shook his head. “Neither. Both of those great strongholds were lost in the War of Wrath, when the sea split the mountains and drowned the wealth of the dwarves. Some of the survivors resettled in the range south of the desolation, while most of the others struck east for Khazad-dûm. But now that settlement, the crowning jewel of our folk, is lost as well.” He snorted, and his face turned dark. “Any student of our people’s history will know that we never find peace in any one spot for long.”

The dwarf fumed amidst shadowy thoughts as the bustle of the Golden Perch carried on about them. After a few silent moments, he continued. “The northern passes remain unsettled. We head south. That is where the Broadbeams and Firebeards stoke their hearths, and a small number of Longbeards from Erebor have joined them since the Worm’s descent.”

“Uncle and I are Longbeards,” Druri cut in proudly, pointing to the auburn-hued tuft that passed for a beard on his chin. “They say we’re the fiercest in battle, and the best smiths.”

“You are of Durin’s Folk?” Haluin sat up a bit and stared at Jokim. “You never mentioned…”

“A minor branch of the line.” Jokim spoke quickly, as though the mere thought of status and inheritance annoyed him.

Druri, of course, remained oblivious to his uncle’s tone, and prattled on. “Mother once said that my grandfather Jurgan was a great general in the Grey Mountains, and trusted adviser to the king.”

Now Haluin leaned all the way back in his chair, an incredulous smile on his face. “Jokim, son of Jurgan! Ha! After all these years, I am still uncovering these secrets about you. To think that I have been traveling alongside royalty and been none the wiser!”

Jokim flushed red. “Royalty! I am about as royal as the denizens of the stables next door, you gangly oaf!”

“Well,” Haluin laced his hands behind his head, metal over flesh. “Let it at least be known that it was you who compared himself to a horse’s hindquarters, not I.”

Eldarin and Druri sniggered, and the jest managed to make even Jokim realize how ridiculous this argument was. He bit his tongue and straightened himself up again, salvaging a bit of pride after the outburst. “Well, at any rate… we shall cut south, as I said. From there, the East Gate of the realm is not hard to find. In past times we might have hidden it from the outside world, but now our folk have need of all the trade we can find. The main road splits off and leads right to it, or so I am told.”

“So…” Eldarin picked up the table’s pepper shaker and began to sprinkle it along their proposed route. “We depart from the fruit salad, cut south along the bacon bits, until we reach the potato wedges.”

“And steer clear of the egg yolk,” Haluin added.

“Indeed,” said Eldarin, spearing the egg with his fork and popping it into his mouth.

Haluin managed to relay directions for the ale shipment to Kip just before they left. There were many other farewells to be made along the way.

Burter the innkeeper gave them a warm wish of good luck, and Marlo proved especially thorough in thanking the four adventurers for their assistance.

“The offer stands, Haluin: join our merry band and you’ll see riches beyond your wildest dreams!”

The Elf laughed and gave a bow. “I am most humbled, Master Marlo. But I would fritter away my fortune, I fear, on dalliances and disasters. Should we ever cross paths again along the road, however, I owe you a song!”

“Hmm, I grudgingly accept. May we meet again soon!”

And shortly thereafter, standing in a row in front of the Golden Perch, Marlo and the Merrymakers struck up a sendoff song as the Elves and dwarves went on their way. Burter watched from inside the inn, but Kip and Grub stood outside in the cold alongside the musicians. They took off their aprons and waved them over their heads in farewell.

The two busboys were the last thing the walkers saw of the Golden Perch before it disappeared behind the rolling hills.

---

Eldarin and Jokim took the lead as they began the final leg, with Haluin and Druri following a short ways behind.

At the front, Jokim leaned in toward the Elvish smith. “You wouldn’t happen to know why Haluin would want to hand over a small fortune to a Halfling busboy, would you?”

“I haven’t the slightest.” Eldarin spoke with the deadest of inflections, leaving Jokim to grunt and ponder to himself.

At the back of the line, Haluin scratched his head. “I had always assumed your uncle was a Firebeard, what with those red whiskers.”

Druri shook his head. “Oh no. Our beards have some red in them, but Firebeards are really red. You’ll see when we take you underground.”

Haluin pursed his lips and looked down at his excitable young companion. “If only I could be so sure of that as you, Druri. I believe I have been most fortunate to befriend you and your uncle, as most dwarves are not nearly as friendly toward my folk. I fear your kinsmen would sooner pour burning pitch on me and Eldarin than let us set foot within their hallowed halls.”

In response, Druri’s eyes gave a little flash, instantly reminiscent of Jokim. “Don’t say that, Haluin. Uncle and I will get you in. The Elves let us stay in Rivendell as long as we wanted, so we owe you a debt of hospitality. And dwarves always repay their debts.”

Haluin smiled down at him. “All the same… part of me does not wish to drag out the farewells any further than they need last. It might be easier to see you and your uncle disappear into that blackness, rather than stay indefinitely as your guests. I… could never bring myself to leave, I fear.”

The Elf looked suddenly ancient and sad in that moment, his juvenile exterior melting for a moment as his true age showed. Druri felt a sudden gust of empathy for Haluin, stronger than any he had felt before. Haluin’s sadness was his sadness.

Druri looked to the ground as it passed beneath their feet, then his gaze shot up and he blurted out: “Don’t leave, then.”

“What?”

“Don’t leave. You could help us hunt for food on the surface, and… and… Eldarin could be a smith again. He could make weapons, and teach apprentices, and defend the realm, just like he did in Rivendell. If you can’t be around Elves anymore… we could take you in.”

Oh, child! You know nothing of this world, only generosity!

Haluin had promised himself a stone face for these final days, as Jokim and Druri slowly slipped from his hands and back into the ways of their people. But hearing Druri’s voice then, so strained with faith and earnestness, brought tears welling dangerously close to Haluin’s eyes.

“Druri…”

“And if anyone said you couldn’t stay, I’d hit them as hard as I could, just like Uncle taught me. Or he’d order them to go away, because he’s going to be an officer, and…”

“Druri.” Haluin stopped walking, and Druri halted with him. The Elf sighed, looking off to the south and west, where the peaks of the Blue Mountains would soon come into view. “It cannot be. It simply cannot be. Eldarin and I have a calling in these lands. I treasure your friendship, beyond all else. But you have your place, and I mine.”

“No.” Druri balled his hands into little mallet fists, shutting his eyes tight and rabidly shaking his head. “No, no, no!” Then he lunged forward and struck Haluin in the midsection… just like Jokim had taught him. The Elf lurched forward and coughed, just as Druri embraced him in an ironclad hug.

Haluin, dimly aware that Jokim and Eldarin had stopped ahead and were staring back at them, draped his long arms around Druri. The wind was blowing hard out of the west, whipping straight through them. Still they clung to one another.

They stayed like that for a long while, silent, until Druri abruptly let go and went dashing ahead, wiping at his eyes.

The first hard snowfall of the year descended on the party during their first night out from the Golden Perch. Haluin had emerged from their makeshift shelter of birch boughs and blankets into a crystal-grey world.

Trying not to disturb the dwarves as they slept, he soundlessly made his way, wooden bowl in hand, to see if he could possibly salvage some late-hanging sloes. A drop or two of sloe wine on a fine winter night will not go amiss! he thought. I doubt the cold will have affected them much, after all.

Luck proved to be on his side, for he came to a small copse he had spotted earlier, as the sun was making her way to the horizon. There they stood, a small grouping of five trees, still sparsely laden with the deep purple fruit. Deft fingers made quick work of them and shortly he found himself ready to rejoin his companions. A small lump formed at the base of his throat at the thought and, for just a moment, he considered fleeing into the fast approaching dawn.

No! he berated himself curtly. Cowardice is not the answer. This time, you must face the consequences of your rash behaviour. Now and for the rest of your accursed life!

Purple drops dotted the snow and Haluin's eyes grew wide as he held his hand up to find the fingers gloriously wine-stained. Shaken, he carefully set the bowl down in the snow, lest he hurl it to the ground in anger.

Longing such as he had never felt before filled him near to bursting as he stood, taking in every rustle, every faint note of early morning birdsong, the mewling cry of fox kits buried snuggly in their den. Elbereth, why must I be parted from my friends, from my kin...ah, even denied lasting peace beyond the Encircling Sea? He sighed. "Am I truly so evil a being to be thus denied?"

"Nay, mellon-nin, not now, not ever." Haluin sighed again. " So you say, Eldarin, and yes, not for the first time. Forgive me, tor-nin. I do not wish to belabour the point so much...it's just-"

"Unjust, you mean. Elrond's judgement of you was unjust, which is why I chose to leave his service. Well-one of the reasons."

Haluin grinned at that, scooped up berry-filled bowl, then looked Eldarin directly in the eyes. "I have decided something."

The smith's demeanour became wary. "Oh?"

"Aye! I wish to see the Grey Havens, even if only from afar. Druri would love to see such a marvel as Cirdan's harbour, possibly more than I myself!"

"Do you realise the danger you would put us all in, Haluin? Have you learned nothing?"

Haluin took a step backwards, so startled was he by his friend's reaction. Eldarin strode forward, in order to press his advantage. "I have come to know you well, son of the Greenwood and I know what you would say to persuade me, and yes, it will be every bit as dangerous and more if we attempt it. Cirdan has no need for guards in his domain, but I assure you, Lord Elrond's elves will be on the alert for us, without doubt!"

Haluin replaced the bowl in the snow. "Is this how you intend to carry on, Eldarin? Forever cautious, never truly living?" He could feel the anger building between them now and it saddened him, even as it goaded him. "I will not be coddled, like one of the elders among Men. I know well enough that my actions have brought me...nay, us, to this pass, but if I must be condemned to become a second Maglor, then I beg you, let me find what pleasure I may, lest I too go mad!"

In that moment, Eldarin could gladly have throttled Haluin, but pleading look in his eyes stopped the smith before he could even think to move.

Instead, he turned on his heel and snarled, "Come, we must hunt something for breakfast. Your friends will be hungry, I'm sure."

Silently, Haluin followed, not entirely certain if he had indeed made his point. He supposed he would find out soon enough.

Jokim crawled out from the shelter, some half-forgotten dream fading from his memory. He felt a jolt as his bare hands sank into snow.

As he rose to his feet, he cradled his back, sore from a restless night of half-sleep. He never slept well on the road. All this open, naked space left him feeling exposed. Even with the Elves seemingly up at all hours of the night, Jokim insisted on taking regular shifts at watch. And when he lay down to rest, a constant prickling sensation kept him from drifting too deep. He’d open an eye, assess the surroundings, ensure that Druri was safe at his side, and then fall back into a foggy doze.

The Elves were nowhere in sight that morning, and Jokim again felt the sheer expanse of the land around him. The snowfall had swallowed the hills and skeletal trees whole, and even in the early darkness they cast an eerie glow. A patch of dawn colored the eastern skyline, and beneath it shone a smattering of morning lanterns, lit by the farmhouses of the Shire.

But out where they had made camp, there was only a queer silence, as if the land were holding its breath.

Jokim laced his fingers and extended them as far over his head as he could, groaning and leaning back slightly as he felt a few satisfying pops along his spine. He went through his usual collection of morning stretches, allowing his body to slowly warm to life. For a moment, his mind wandered west, to the Blue Mountains and thoughts of his new home.

He inhaled a bracing gust of winter wind, shut his eyes, and suddenly found himself there: the clang of blacksmith’s hammers in his ears, the sturdiness of stone under his feet, the smell of roasted lamb shanks and cinnamon spice in the marketplace…

Then he opened his eyes and saw the two long shadows approaching the camp. Jokim let his breath go in a sharp sigh, fully expecting Haluin to hurl a jest his way for getting caught with his eyes closed. But there was only the morning’s silence, and for half a moment the dwarf imagined that it wasn’t the Elves at all, but two strangers headed his way. He had taken a step toward his axe, lying partially covered in the snow, when the lead shadow raised its right arm in greeting — it was Eldarin.

Jokim returned the salutation, but was already looking past him to examine Haluin. Whereas Eldarin moved at his usual strident pace, his companion seemed to be slinking along behind, head lowered and face clouded.

Another quarrel. Jokim recognized it immediately. It’s not even dawn and they’re already at it.

He scowled, but wiped his face clear as the Elves neared. “Good hunting?”

“Enough to silence our bellies,” said Eldarin, throwing two furry carcasses onto the snow beside last night’s burnt out fire. He spoke in a clipped tone that suggested he had no appetite for conversation.

“I had thought of taking a jog this morning.” Jokim turned to Haluin as he spoke.

“In all this snow?” Eldarin snorted as he drew his knife and set about his grisly work.

“Perhaps a walk, then.” The dwarf was staring hard at Haluin now, who finally seemed to wake up and take the hint.

“And perhaps you might require some company. Unless I am needed here, mellon-nin?”

Eldarin shook his head without response. Jokim didn’t wait for the silence to linger any longer than necessary. He started off at a brisk pace, which Haluin matched. They retraced the footprints that the Elves had left in the snow on their foraging expedition, leading toward the ghostly trees that lined the road.

Jokim waited until they had gone a certain distance before speaking. “I must say… I am used to being the first one awake, ever since my childhood. You and Eldarin continue to put me to shame. I rise at dawn and think myself a sluggard.”

He gave a covert glance at Haluin to gauge his reaction, and noticed the faint stirrings of a grin. “You need not feel ashamed. I believe I would sleep until midday, if I ever had the luxury.”

“Ach, never that! I cannot stand to slumber late. Sleep is a useless thing; it holds a fellow back from all that needs doing.”

Haluin stretched his metal arm, which appeared to be growing stiff in the cold air. “I would not go so far as to say that. What are our endless toils without dreams to grant them meaning?”

The dwarf clapped his hands. “Now where is a quill when you need one, eh? That could pass for poetry in a beer hall.”

Haluin raised an eyebrow. “You are unusually sprightly this morning, Master Dwarf.”

“Well.” Jokim cleared his throat. “I figured you could use some good cheer.”

“Ah. I see.” Haluin turned away, to watch as the white lands turned pale orange beneath the rising sun.

Jokim waited a moment, handpicking his words one at a time before he spoke them. “I sense a… discord… between you and the smith. It is not my business how it started, but I would see it finished, if I could.”

“I thank you for your concern. But it is indeed our matter to settle.”

Jokim could sense his friend pulling into himself again, into that sullen place where he would let no one else enter. So the dwarf pressed.

“I puzzle over the pair of you at times. You resemble one another in many ways, and yet it is as if you were both forged from different materials.”

“Perhaps so…” Haluin still had not turned back to face Jokim.

“Had you ever considered… traveling apart from him, if but for a time?”

“What?” Haluin looked back, over one shoulder and between his long sheets of hair.

“One month from every year... spent apart. Time for each to pursue his own goals and find solitude. It is merely a suggestion, and unasked for, besides. Make of it what you will.”

Haluin said nothing, and their boots continued to crunch through the snow beneath. But Jokim could almost see the idea rattling around inside the Elf’s head.

Suddenly, Haluin laughed. “Imagine if we had spent every day of the past 60 years in one another’s company.”

Jokim smirked and gave a slight tremor of a laugh. “I would rather not.”

Already, though, the Elf’s expression had turned serious. “But Jokim… I ought to inform you of what it was Eldarin and I disputed this morning. It… concerns our traveling route.”

Another detour, Jokim thought, but held back his judgment. “Go on.”

“It would mean very much for me to behold the Grey Havens once again. Only from a safe vantage, of course. Eldarin worries about the shadow of Lord Elrond’s decree, and rightfully so. But…” A pause. “It is difficult for me to put into words so that you might understand.”

“I believe I do, in fact.” Jokim folded his arms over his chest. “I would risk a dragon’s wrath to behold the Lonely Mountain one last time. Or the stony spires of the Grey Mountains, where I was born. You seek a memory for a keepsake.”

“I do.” Haluin nodded, and gazed upon his friend closely.

“You must understand, however, that Druri’s safety outweighs all my other feelings on the matter. I have not forgotten the Downs.” Jokim gave Haluin a frank look, but kept a neutral tone. “If you can assure me that we shall not be accosted by Elves or otherwise have our safety threatened by this new route, I shall grant my approval.”

Haluin sighed. “If I could but make such a promise. But I will say that the risk falls on my and Eldarin’s heads alone. Even if we were spotted — and we would take every precaution in the name of invisibility — they would want nothing to do with you or your nephew.”

“They would if I resisted your arrest.” Jokim spoke flatly. “And do not deceive me otherwise: I would not stand idly by as they hauled you off to your death.”

“I…” Haluin paused, trembling a bit… perhaps from the cold. “I am both honored by your loyalty and frightened by it, Sir Jokim.”

“As it should be.” Jokim put a firm grip on Haluin’s elbow. “Now let us return to camp.”

As they turned around, the sun shone fully in their faces. The lands seemed different now. Awake, alive, frozen but inviting.

Travel apart. Solitude. Jokim's words burned as though branded into Haluin's mind and he almost gasped from the pain of them as the pair made their way back towards camp. Round and round they coursed in his head until he found himself clenching his fists so hard that he gouged nailprints into his palms which began to bleed.

Meticulously, Haluin began to relive every moment spent with friends. How and why had they parted over the ages and what had been his role in the parting? These two questions sat like crows on his shoulders, pecking, stabbing, screaming raucously over and over. Unwittingly, Jokim had found Haluin's deepest fear and given it its head.

Upon their return, they stopped short, gazing quizzically at the sight before them.

Eldarin and Druri were wrestling and the smith was obviously losing. His hair was plastered wetly across his face, whilst Druri held him firmly in place by sitting on his back, twisting Eldarin's thumb for all he was worth.

"Fighting over gets to skin the conies?" chuckled Jokim as he strode toward them.

"'Morning, uncle! No, he's already done that, see? They're roasting on the spit and near done! No, this is over where we go next...and I won!"

With a grunt, Eldarin took advantage of Druri's momentary lack of concentration to heave the youngster off of him and, with a dignity only sorely wounded pride can muster, slowly stood and proceeded to shake the snow from places snow has no business being.

Haluin burst out laughing and not even the smith's frigid gaze could silence him.

"I must congratulate you, youngling. We Firstborn are rarely caught out in such a manner. Perhaps some of our methods are rubbing of on you?"

"Or maybe he's just stronger." Jokim growled. "So what's this then, smith? Why should there be a change is our planned route? Have we now added toast to the bacon bits and whatnot?"

Eldarin's eyes flashed to Haluin, seeming momentarily confused. "I thought it best to inform Druri of a possible change...and my reasons against it." he added darkly.

"I still don't see why! When will I ever get the chance to see such a wonderous place again, uncle?" he asked plaintively.

Haluin came forward then and knelt in the snow next to Druri. He took him by the shoulders and squeezed tight. "My young friend, it was but a passing fancy of mine, to see the Havens. It was wrong of me to suggest it for the danger is indeed to great." He turned with a look of apology to Eldarin, who swallowed, then turned away. He knew what this had meant to Haluin.

"What? No! Uncle..."

"Calm yourself, lad. For once this mad elf has seen reason!" mumbled Jokim as he went to inspect the hares. The smell of meaty juices dripping into the fire was making his stomach rumble.

Druri struggled against Haluin's iron grip for a moment, then his shoulders sagged in defeat. "Why, Haluin? Why have you let them have their way?" his voice began to quaver and he cleared his throat harshly.

"Because I did not think, youngling. I thought only of the adventure...not of my friends and the danger I might be leading them into. A failing of mine, it would seem." he said softly. "Listen now. I would never and will never risk your life needlessly. You are a true friend, young Druri and I would have you with me all the days of your life if I could. Alas..." he drew a steadying breath. "This vow I make to you..and to that grizzled old greybeard yonder, that I will always be at your side when I am needed and that I will be at your service, good sir, all the days of your long life."

Druri threw his arms around Haluin's neck, hugging him fiercely. "And I and mine will always be at yours, I swear it!" he whispered into the elf's ear.

"If you're quite finished, breakfast is burning!" Barked Jokim as he began banging pots around, more for the sound than anything else. He was proud of his nephew and yes, even of Haluin, but it would never do to show it.

The smith slipped back into their makeshift shelter in order to change his clothes...and to think. Haluin had finally, hopefully, learned to think before acting and it had cost him. Eldarin had seen the pain in his friend's eyes and now he wanted nothing more than to make that pain easier to bear. Perhaps one last excursion would do the trick? The smith grinned to himself pulled on a clean tunic. Hobbiton might be just the ticket!

The final route, short as it was, would not stop changing. But for once, Jokim stifled his grumbles. He had come to learn that all Elves, even ones as stolid as Eldarin, came with an impulsive streak. Their plans stayed open-ended, always fit for revision.

So now they were bound for Hobbiton, which the dwarf did not recall seeing on Eldarin’s breakfast plate at the Golden Perch. Well, Jokim could tolerate that, given the instant effect the town’s name seemed to have on the party’s morale. The group’s entire bearing shifted, as if swung by a stiff breeze, with Haluin and Eldarin apparently reconciling and Druri acquiring an extra bounce to his step. The lad had become quite fond of the Halflings — their homespun simplicity, their folksy music, and their healthy appetites most of all.

Jokim did not necessarily object to his nephew’s rather un-dwarvish proclivities, but he made silent note of them. The lad would need to change, for his own good. Adjusting back to underground life would prove all the more difficult should Druri ever grow accustomed to cozy hobbit holes or Elvish greenery.

I needn’t be rough with him, Jokim thought as he watched Druri practically skipping through the snow ahead. But I must guide him back, one pace at a time.

Some chuckling from Haluin distracted his thoughts. Of course, he first imagined that the Elf was snickering in Druri’s direction. But glancing over, Jokim saw that the Elf’s gaze was directed further up the road, into the white distance ahead. The dwarf squinted, but saw nothing.

“What is it?”

Haluin shook his head. “You shall see in a moment, once your eyesight catches up.”

The Elf exchanged a winking glance with Eldarin, and it was all Jokim could do not to roll his eyes. But indeed, it was not long before Jokim spotted the butt of the joke — or, rather, heard it. There came a steady stream of grunts and curses, rolling over the hills like an angry tide. Every distinguishable word was in Khuzdul.

Haluin had been staring at Jokim, anticipating his reaction. When the dwarf grimaced and snorted, the Elf laughed again.

“What is our friend saying?”

“What you might expect.” Jokim spurred on his pace, passing Eldarin and Druri and taking the lead. Now he saw the yellow blob in the near distance — blinding bright yellow, a color he’d only seen worn on one occasion.

As they approached, the situation became clear: Kabur, the dwarvish merchant from Bree, had led his covered cart of wares straight into an icy rut. The back left wheel had sunken into the snow, and looked as though it may have cracked from the mishap. The merchant had a pair of cart mules who looked quite uninterested in helping him out of his plight, but that did not stop Kabur from cursing them up and down and heaving his considerable weight into the back end of the cart. He had cast aside his thick winter furs, which like his yellow tunic had become stained with mud, snow and sweat from his labors.

When he turned around to face the approaching party, his round face was cherry red. Not only was he sweating in rivulets, but his skin was practically steaming with heat in the cold air.

“You!” he gasped, still leaning heavily on the motionless cart as he slid down into the snow. “All of you!”

He looked utterly perplexed, staring at this unlikely group once again and floundering to make sense of them.

Jokim gave Haluin a warning look — he could smell the jest coming, in this case — and stepped forward. “Greetings, Kabur. Might we be of some assistance?”

Kabur appeared to snap back into his senses and groaned his way back onto his feet. “Ah! Of course, friend Jokim! A fine fortune that you should discover me in these straits.” He made an inviting gesture, and so all four travelers approached to aid him. Kabur scowled and then waved them back. “No-no, no-no! I do believe Jokim and I can handle this alone.” He stared at the Elves. “The last thing I need is aid from… er… anyone else.”

Jokim scowled a bit and looked back to Haluin, but his friend nodded him in Kabur’s direction. So the two dwarves set to pushing now, but the wheel was caught fast. With Jokim putting his back into it, the cart showed some signs of giving. But it was overloaded, its weight sunk deep into a mixture of sucking mud and hard stone.

“It seems…” Jokim began, stepping back for a moment. “We shall have to unload your goods and then hoist it out.”

“No!” Kabur’s brows were kneaded into angry lumps. He was single-minded, driven mad with frustration. “Another go and we shall have it; I can feel it coming!”

Haluin suppressed a sigh, looked to an equally exasperated Eldarin and Druri, and then began to creep around to the far end of the cart as the dwarves continued to huff and shove. The Elf made his way to the mules, which each gave him a stink-eyed gaze as he neared. But placing his good hand to each of their scruffy manes in turn, Haluin began to whisper…

A few moments later, the mules gave a powerful, united tug at their restraints. That jolt, combined with some dwarvish horsepower from behind, sent the cart staggering out of the mud and back onto the trail. Down went Kabur into the brown snow, while Jokim caught his balance just in time.

Kabur, laughing between his panting coughs, scampered back up. “What did I tell you, eh? We had it all along.”

But Jokim was staring ahead to Haluin, whose expression told all: “You can thank me later.”

They offered to let Kabur ride along in the cart and rest from his exertions, but Haluin made the mistake of taking up the mules’ reins. As soon as the Elf made the motion, Kabur elbowed his way back to the fore and insisted on marching at the head of the group.

Still, for all his girth, Kabur was yet a dwarf, and did not tire easily. He set a brisk pace, and even his obstinate livestock decided to obey it. They reached Hobbiton by the afternoon.

As they entered the township, Kabur began nodding at a large mound of snow up ahead.

“Never mind an inn. We can stay there. I’ve been before. Most hospitable!”

And indeed, the mound didn’t even have a sign with a cheeky name out front. It was, the travelers discovered, nothing more than a friendly and well-appointed hobbit hole, with a round red door peeking out from the snowdrifts. Haluin and Eldarin exchanged a worried look, wondering if they could duck comfortably inside.

Kabur marched right up to the door, knocked, and before long was introducing them to the proprietress of the home, Miss Cordelia Boffin. She uttered a startled “Bless me!” upon finding three dwarves and two Elves at her doorstep — a most unexpected party. But soon she was sizing them up with a look of wry amusement, deciding to run with this odd hand the fates had dealt to her.

Cordelia was strapping and buxom, even in her late middle age. Her husband was known only as “the regrettably late Mister Boffin,” and her children were full-grown, with homes of their own to care for. But until their time came to inherit the old Boffin family hall, Cordelia had decided to turn it into a cozy bed and breakfast for passersby. She could not stand the cold, clammy silence of a widowed household, and so she spruced up the hallways and many rooms of Boffin Hall with potted flowers and patterned drapes and all manner of gay decorations — the sorts of things her husband could never stand.

She chatted up her lodgers relentlessly, even the surly dwarvish merchants who only dropped in to escape from thunderstorms. But she pampered even the grumpiest of them, insisting they take second helpings at every meal she prepared for them. Kabur was a welcome sight — perhaps the only dwarf she’d ever met who reciprocated her hospitality with genuine warmth. And the sight of a dwarvish youngling immediately ignited her dormant maternal instincts, so much so that she was soon fixing a mid-afternoon snack of cheese and crackers especially for him.

As for the Elves, she approached them with a reverential caution, checking in again and again to ensure that her ceilings weren’t too low (they weren’t), the hall wasn’t too cold (it wasn’t) and that they could find a comfortable place to lie down for the night. That last point proved a bit of a challenge. Cordelia eventually hit upon the solution of shoving two beds together at the feet for each Elf.

The five travelers took their time to settle in. Kabur had to lead his mules to a neighboring stable, the Elves and Druri went wandering through Boffin Hall’s winding central corridor, while Jokim carefully laid out his Iron Hills military uniform on his bed, ensuring that it had not become overly wrinkled or soiled since he last wore it in Rivendell.

They were the only guests lodging there that day.

“As soon as the first snow falls, the Shirefolk seize it as an opportunity to hibernate,” Cordelia explained.

Kabur appeared to have a similar plan in mind. Once his mules were seen to, he sank into a chair beside the hearth and produced his pipe. Cordelia sensed his chilly exhaustion, and before he could even object she had warmed a pan of water for him to stick his bare feet in, and wrapped him up with a pillow and blanket. Jokim stumped back into the main hall and installed himself in the neighboring chair.

By that time, Druri and the Elves had finished their inspection of the grounds, but the young dwarf was hopping at the chance to explore Hobbiton proper before the sun set. Jokim gave Druri a good long look before granting his permission, just to remind the lad that he held the power to clip his wings should any mischief ensue.

“You need not trouble yourself with leaving your chair, Sir Dwarf,” Haluin told Jokim with a faux regal air. “Eldarin and I shall ensure that Master Druri does not disturb the peace.”

“Hmm.” Now Jokim turned his leery eye on Haluin. “And since when have you been a responsible caretaker?” But he did not get up.

Once they had left, Jokim noticed Kabur staring at him as he blew his little smoke rings toward the hearth. The merchant lowered his pipe and canted his head back to regard Jokim. “Not that it’s any of my business…”

“I’m sure it isn’t,” Jokim grunted.

“… But you do appear to trust those… companions of yours a great deal. Allowing them to escort your nephew?”

“They have proven worthy of far greater tasks than that.” Jokim hunkered down in his chair. He remembered all too clearly the look Kabur had given the Elves when they first met in the Bree marketplace, and then again that morning…

“Perhaps so. But why do you travel with them in the first place, I wonder?” Kabur’s tone grew a bit pricklier, probing Jokim’s defenses.

“I did not choose either one of them for companions, if that is what you wish to hear,” Jokim said. “I set out on this march expecting no other company than Druri.”

“So they’ve kidnapped the two of you, then?” Kabur clamped the pipe stem between his teeth and puffed. “Is that it?”

At that moment, Jokim saw the ridiculousness of the conversation spread out before him. He had nothing to defend, nothing to hide from, least of all veiled accusations. So he unclenched his muscles, and sat up taller in his chair.

“I don’t suppose you’ve ever seen battle. Ever killed?”

Kabur chuckled and cast a fat smoke ring toward the ceiling. “Oh no. Much too cowardly for that sort of business…”

“Well. Take this bit of advice from one who has been there. When you are in the thick of the melee, you do not much care if the fellow watching your back is tall or short, or what stock he comes from, or what tongue he speaks. As long as he protects your flank, you come to trust him absolutely. So it was with me and Haluin, many years ago. Another quirk of fate, you might say.”

The merchant’s flippant, laughing expression had faded, and even his puffing slowed to a trickle as he reevaluated Jokim. “Fought together, eh?”

Jokim wasn’t looking at him. “I judge fellows on a clean scale. Haluin and Eldarin have fared rather well on it. And that is all there is to tell.”

They sat silently for a spell, with Kabur trying to think of something to say. But just as the words were reaching the tip of his tongue, Jokim stood.

“All that being said, I do not necessarily trust them to stay out of trouble. I shall return shortly.”

He left Kabur stuttering, swiveling in his chair to get a word in, his hairy feet still soaking in the pan. But Jokim was already at the door, bowing to Cordelia in his courtly way, and heading out into the snow.

A crystal clear night, as autumn teetered on the edge of winter in Hobbiton proved to be a rare sight indeed for young Master Druri. Smoke curled enticingly into the night air, invoking in his mind merry families with their tables piled high with any number of delectable dishes, just waiting to be savoured.

"Haluin! Haluin, look!" he called excitedly and both elves responded by ceasing their current conversation. "Yes, Druri, what...?" The young dwarf was nearly dancing on the spot as he pointed upwards. "Ah, yes...Menelmacar! Well spotted!"

"No, no...look!" Both elves glanced at each other, then strained their eyes, curious to see what had taken the lad's attention so completely. They scanned the darkness and upon finding nothing unusual after the moon has shifted slightly in his course, were forced to admit defeat.

"Well? Can you tell me what it is?"

Haluin laughed as he replied. "You have me this time, youngling. I see nothing untoward above us, nor do I hear anything that shouldn't be here. What is it that you see?"

Druri stood momentarily agog, then began waving his arms. "All that! Up there!They can't possibly all be stars, can they? The sky is nearly white with them, or...whatever it is."

"Ahhhh, I see!" chuckled Eldarin. "Druri, what you are seeing is what Men call so crudely, the Milky Way. Few places upon Arda so clear a sky that one can see it this clearly, but yes, they are indeed stars, innummerable and unending. Beautiful..." he murmured. " You should see them from Beleri-." Suddenly, he fell quiet, not wanting to see the pain he could feel radiating from his companion. "I am sorry, mellon. Forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive." he whispered as he turned to face a bewildered Druri.

"Come, young one! What else would you see this fine night? As you know, we are now approaching what seems to be the main center of Hobbiton. Is it curious how they love living in holes in the ground, rather like you and I,eh?"

Eldarin snorted delicately, but Druri was intrigued. "You, Haluin? I thought all elves lived in fine mansions, like Master Elrond." "Nay, hardly! My folk dwell in caves, much as you did yourself, though I daresay, our dwellings have not the workmanship of your peoples'. Then there are the elves of the Golden Wood. They live high in the mallorn trees and their dwellings are known as flets. Iluvatar made my people are very adapable, my dear dwarf."

Druri gnawed on his lip for awhile as they walked, lost in thought. He listened to the elves, murmuring together in their melodic tongue and he sighed, knowing how much he would miss them.

Finally, as they stopped atop a small hillock above Hobbiton town square, Druri asked. "Why does Kabur act the way he does around you? It's almost as though he...hates you. Elves, I mean."

"He speaks from ignorance, Druri." replied Eldarin grimly. "As have I, in the past." He knelt down so that he could look the smaller dwarf in the eye. "I am as guilty as he when it comes to believing that all people from one race are all the same. Your uncle and yes, even you have taught me that a being as old as myself can learn new thoughts and I-I wish to thank you for that." Haluin's fingers closed on Eldarin's shoulder, squeezing tight. The smith closed his eyes for a moment, then grinned up at him before getting to his feet.

"Maybe Kabur will learn a thing or two from you as well, before we part company." said Haluin, smiling. "You have become quite the ambassador, Druri. You should be proud!"

Druri ducked his head, then grinned up at them. "I believe that both of you are my friends. That is all I need to know. In fact, I- get down! Now!" he cried as he pushed Haluin to the ground. Eldarin dropped as well, his ears catching the sound he had dreaded hearing for miles, the sound of elvish singing.

“Druri! Druri!”

Jokim stood, hand on hip, in the center of Hobbiton’s main square, lit by the sleepy glow that seeped through the windows of hobbit holes. His companions’ trail, at first outlined so neatly along the snowy paths, had gone muddled and then vanished altogether.

He had taken it for a jest, and a poor one at that. But he did feel just a bit foolish, wandering in the cold and honking his nephew’s name like a mother duck. A few moments before, a bundled up Halfling had opened his door to complain about the noise, but the sight of a seething dwarf prowling the grounds had sent him scurrying back inside.

Now, having hollered his fill, Jokim stopped to listen. And then he heard it, so close at hand that it caught him off guard: the frilly tones of Elvish singing, with hoof beats for rhythm. They swept down the road, three riders in hard grey cloaks. As they drew near, they stilled their harmonies. Jokim watched as their flashing eyes honed in on him, the blunt and solitary shadow in the center of the road.

And strangely, his first thought was of his axe, sitting propped up in his room at Boffin Hall.

They reined up just in front of him, tall and imperial upon horses bred to a fine sheen throughout the generations. They were silent, and Jokim was happy to match them. He studied their faces, harsh and lean faces that defied easy reading. The rider on the far right had his hood drawn up, and Jokim could not discern his features amid the night’s shadows. As for the other two, he did not recognize them. But the way they peered at him so keenly, he suspected they knew him. They were coiled, expectant.

The dwarf gave them each a pointed glare. “What, then? Were you expecting a welcome?”

The rider at center gave a smirk, but it seemed more of a reflex than an admission of humor. “I think not. Least of all from a Naugrim. And what brings this one out, wandering the avenues of Hobbiton beneath stars and moon?”

‘This one,’ Jokim thought, his indignity burning red. As though I were not standing here before him.

“I seek my nephew,” Jokim said flatly. “He is likely up to some mischief.”

“A nephew? We had heard tales of a beardling and his nephew traveling alongside a pair of the Firstborn,” said the rider on the left. If Jokim could guess, he would peg him as the younger of the two identifiable Elves. “Is this he before us?”

Jokim snorted, but gauged his response for a moment. Perhaps the others' trail had gone cold for a reason…

“Well, do you see any other Elves about here?” He did not have to feign the annoyance in his voice.

The younger Elf smiled — and this was a genuine smile, but with a glint to it that lit Jokim’s alarm. The rider glanced back over his shoulder, and made a show of following the road with his eyes. Following the gaggle of footprints, now sullied with horseshoe marks but still visible, up to the point at which they ended near where Jokim stood. He looked back up to meet Jokim’s gaze, one eyebrow arched in that air of smug amusement that came so easily to his folk.

“No. Indeed, I do not see a one.”

Jokim expected them to leave then. But they did not budge, and the crackle he sensed in the air began to intensify.

“Perhaps the Naugrim could inform us of a suitable spot to overnight?” That was the center rider, again dancing around the issue of Jokim being directly in front of him.

“Yes, where are you staying?” The younger Elf leaned forward ever so slightly.

Jokim glanced over all three of them again — especially the one of the right, whose silence struck him as off — and then refocused on his interrogator. “A hole, back along the road.” He folded his arms. “But you would not like it. There is another dwarf there, in addition to my nephew and myself, and I’m told our snoring is atrocious. Besides, if I were you, I would worry about accidentally bashing my fragile head on the low ceilings.”

The remark did not go over well. The riders made some curt pleasantries, spurred their mounts, and went on westward. Jokim made an attempt to glimpse the hooded rider as they passed, but saw nothing. So there he stood, listening to the hoof beats recede into the night, and waiting for the call that he somehow knew was coming…

“Jokim!”

The dwarf looked up — up, of course! — into the boughs of one of the many, knotty trees that lined the main road. As he squinted, he could make out a pair of tall shadows emerging, and a short one clinging tenuously to the trunk.

“So that’s where you hid, eh? I wonder how you got the little one up there.”

“He is an able climber, when supplied with a bit of a push, of course.” It was Haluin’s voice. “If we drop him, will you catch him?”

“Naturally.” Jokim strode up to the tree, set his feet and extended his arms. Down came Druri, with a suppressed yelp, into his uncle’s steady grasp. The Elves dropped down shortly thereafter, with Eldarin casting worried glances westways up the road.

“Well,” Haluin was attempting to stay cheerful, but his face was ashen. “You did a commendable job, Jokim, but…”

“Do they suspect?” Eldarin cut in.

“Judging from their looks, it is a matter beyond suspicion.” Jokim placed Druri back down on his feet. “They know you are here.”

“They may double back.” Eldarin glanced to Haluin, in search of a thought. “We could move on tonight, off the beaten trail…”

“Half a minute!” Jokim waved his arms. “Now I suppose you hid yourselves for some good reason. But this cannot have anything to do with Lord Elrond’s judgment, can it? Blood and pus! ‘Hobbiton’ has the word ‘hobbit’ in it, for Mahal’s sake. It is not Elvish territory.”

Haluin sighed. “Do not forget, my friend, that there are those who may wish us ill under any circumstances, and that Elrond is not master of all our folk.”

Jokim lowered his gaze and stewed at the snowy ground. “Well, I am not much one for fleeing. I understand your caution, Eldarin, but I do not sense they were spoiling for any sort of tussle. And if it came to that, there are three of them, and three of us.”

“Four!” Druri bellowed.

“Three.” Jokim held fast. “I am leaving you and the merchant out of the count. At any rate, we are headed back to the dwelling regardless, so let us continue this discussion there.” He eyed Haluin. “I believe any final decision, however, rests with you.”

"Ah, the wanderers have returned at last!" chuckled Cordelia as she heard the door creak open. I must have that seen to! she thought even as she listened to Kabur's non-commital grumbling by the fire. The sound of stamping feet and hands being chafed sent her bustling about, putting the kettle on and setting the table with fresh bread, butter, honey and cheese for a late night snack.

"My lady, you do yourself more than proud by showing us such generosity!" cried Haluin as he skimmed a finger lightly over the honey pot. He then stopped her mid-bustle by taking her hand and kissing it lightly. A small choking sound from the direction of the fire made Jokim turn, only to catch Kabur glaring at the lot of them.

"Must he be so..." "What, Kabur?" growled Jokim. "So Elvish, if you must know! With his airs and graces, all of them false..."

The energy in the cozy sitting room changed in an instant as all the occupants froze. Haluin quietly escorted Cordelia into the kitchen, confident in his friends' abilities to redress the situation. He figured without Eldarin. As soon as they had disappeared around the corner, he was towering above Kabur, glaring down at him with fury in his eyes.

In a trice, Cordelia slipped her arm through Haluin's and whisked him away with her into the kitchen. She began to hum tunelessly as she gathered cups and saucers, plates and knives. As he watched this miniature whirlwind of activity, Haluin listened intently to the heated conversation in the parlour.

"Where are your manners?!" Jokim ground out. "We are guests and guests have an obligation to their host or hostess to be civil." He turned on Kabur, pushing him back down into the chair from he had risen. "Never insult Haluin again in my presence. He may be a trial at times, but has suffered more than you know and has, as I have said before, proven to be a good friend. Am I heard?"

Kabur turned his face away and spat into the fire. "Heard." he snarled. "But I warn you, you trust them at your peril!"

"What do you know of peril or mistrust, Kabur?" asked the smith through clenched teeth. "Your people, yes, I can understand, but you, what have you suffered? Do not confuse the pain and old griefs of past generations with that of your own life here and now. To do so is folly of the grandest sort!"

"Stand aside, Jokim. Let me up. I would answer this fool in full."

"Do they always bluster, so, dwarves?" Haluin nearly jumped, then looked down into a pair of wise, kind eyes. "I fear so, dear lady. Yet this one...he is unlike my companions, who grumble from habit mostly. Kabur has been wronged in past, I'm thinking. Jokim will soothe his feathers, no doubt."

"Aye, you're right there. He's a good 'un, is Master Jokim. You did well to fall in with him. What of your brother though? He seems a bit fiery." "My brother? Ah, yes. Eldarin...he's a bit over-protective at times on my behalf, Eru knows why, with all the trouble I've caused him..."

A warm, chubby hand patted his. "Now, now. I'll not have any guest of mine mopin' about in my home! Lay your worries aside for a time, Master Elf and tell me of your adventures! What have you seen out in the wide world? What have you done?" She cocked her head as though listening, then winked up at him with a twinkle in her eye. "I think they're sortin' it out, any road."

Haluin needed no further urging. Within moments he had her laughing, her apron covering her mouth as tears poured down her ruddy cheeks. Even the arguing in the parlour stopped when Haluin began singing that song and Jokim clapped his hands of his ears, groaning. "Durin's beard, not here too!" he bellowed. Druri began chuckling as he watched his uncle grinding his teeth in mock agony, then he started wiping tears from his own eyes when Cordelia, who turned out to be quite musical, joined in on the chorus in a voice so high only bats could hear her and a stray dog outside began to howl mournfully.

"Elves." grumbled Kabur.

Boffin Hall, like any well-appointed hobbit hole, had nearly half of its rooms devoted to food and drink. There were, of course, the pantries, larders, a sprawling kitchen, and a wine “cellar” (not an actual cellar, of course — that would require stairs to climb). But then there were the rooms where food was meant to be consumed: a master dining room for heavy meals, pleasant little nooks intended for small nibbles and desserts, and in the far back of the manor, a tea room, where an army of overstuffed chairs crowded about a round oak table.

So when Cordelia called the group to evening tea (some short while after her mismatched duet with Haluin), this was where she led them. The room was irrepressibly jolly: yet another hearth cast long shadows and friendly glimmers across the room, while a curling candelabra overhead showered further light. A lumbering cabinet with glass doors displayed all of the Boffin estate’s teaware, every porcelain and metal piece bedecked in some floral pattern or other. Paintings of flowers and blue-skied landscapes covered the walls.

By contrast, the procession that marched in looked positively dour — Haluin being the lone exception. Kabur’s round face was still flushed red from the argument in the den, while Jokim looked like he’d rather be anywhere else than these frilly surroundings. Eldarin was taut and tense, his mind divided between the mysterious Elvish riders and the insolence of the dwarvish merchant. Druri, who knew no form of subtlety, was glaring at Kabur every chance he got.

Seemingly oblivious to their moods, Cordelia arrayed them around the table like a little girl arranging her dolls: Haluin and Eldarin on the far side (crammed and cramped into hobbit-sized chairs), and the dwarves all in a row on the other, with a vacant seat for her in between the two parties.

“Now just make yourselves comfortable and I’ll be right back with the tea,” she cooed, giving Haluin an extra smile before ducking out of the door.

And then a dead, weighty silence fell between the five travelers.

Haluin glanced between the others, as if attempting to ascertain who was the most miserable. He couldn’t resist making a remark.

“What a finely decorated room.”

No one responded, save for a protracted exhale of air from Jokim’s nostrils. Haluin smiled his way, Jokim shook his head, but just then the sound of jangling silver came bouncing down the hallway. Cordelia returned to the room holding a tray, miraculously laden with a full teapot, six cups and saucers, sugar, honey, and cakes and crackers and forks, knives and napkins. Haluin watched with concealed amusement as Jokim’s stomach visibly twisted itself into a knot at the sight of this spread, which Cordelia began laying out in front of them as quickly as she had prepared it.

Soon all five of them had a miniature repast at the ready. Cordelia took up the sugar bowl herself and waltzed around the table, taking requests for lumps. Jokim and Eldarin wouldn’t bother with any, Haluin asked for one, Druri for two. At last she came to Kabur.

“I’ll take two, good-sized, healthy lumps, if you wouldn’t mind,” he rumbled, arranging his girth in preparation for the meal.

But Cordelia walked straight past him.

“Eh…?” He held up a fat finger to get her attention, a confused look furrowing his face, but she paid him no mind. She deposited the sugar bowl in front of Eldarin, at the opposite end of the table from Kabur.

Then she sat herself down in front of her own plate, cradling her teacup with pinkie raised. “So! How’s the journey gone so far?”

Haluin laughed and began telling a good-natured version of the adventure, beginning with his chance encounter with Jokim and Druri. Kabur, meanwhile, stared fixatedly at the sugar bowl, as if trying to will it across the table to his side. He wasn’t much one for reaching, or getting up from a seat once he had dented it with his rump, which made the situation all the more intolerable.

“Eh… excuse me, brother Jokim...” He nudged his neighbor at the table. “Would you mind passing the sugar?”

“But Master Kabur!” Cordelia cried, interrupting Haluin mid-sentence. “I do believe Master Jokim would have to make quite a reach to fetch the sugar.”

Everyone stared at her, even Druri, who already had a piece of cake dangling out the corner of his mouth.

Their hostess smiled, with a poorly concealed satisfaction. “You ought to ask your friend Eldarin to pass it.”

“My fr…?” Kabur’s voice sputtered short. He wouldn’t even utter the word in reference to the Elf. “Well, if you insist on this silliness, I’ll just fetch the bowl myself.” With a grunt and some strain, he pushed back his chair and began to stand.

“Master Kabur!” Cordelia’s tone boomed, and her guests swore they could hear the teaware rattle in the cabinet. “And here I thought you a gentleman! I will not tolerate such rudeness at my table. Now ask him for it!”

Kabur froze, his hands clutching the chair’s arms and his elbows bent in preparation to stand. He looked at her, looked at Eldarin, scowled, but relaxed back into his chair with some reluctance.

“Elf…” he began.

“He has a name,” Cordelia chided.

“Eldarin.” Kabur grunted out the name with all the formality of a belch.

“Go on.”

“Eldarin. Pass the sugar.”

“Ask him nicely.”

“Eldarin.” Kabur grit his teeth. “Pass the sugar. Please.”

“There you are.” Cordelia smiled, her old matronly manner returning. “Not so hard, was it?”

The Elvish smith had taken in this entire exchange with barely a flicker of expression, and he did not so much as twitch his lips as he took up the sugar and handed it to Haluin, who handed it to Cordelia, who jollily plopped two fat lumps into Kabur’s cup.

“Now!” she proclaimed, setting the bowl down. “No one ever raised Cordelia Boffin to be a fool. I know what’s been going on between the lot of you, and won’t have it fouling up my home.”

None of the others even bothered with their tea as she continued.

“When I was raising my son and daughter, they were known to quarrel over the tiniest thing. Who got to take a bath first, or the silliest little toys — things they wouldn’t even touch unless they knew the other one wanted to play with it! And when I sat them down to make peace, I always had them do the same thing: each had to pay the other one compliment.”

She glanced around the table, stern and reproachful. “Haluin. Eldarin. Kabur. Say one nice thing about each other.”

Kabur gave an incredulous snort. “Lest you forget, I am no child of yours!”

“But you are my guest. And to stay under this roof, you must follow my rules.”

The merchant frowned and bit his lower lip. “Well… why don’t they have to do it?” He nodded to Jokim and Druri.

“They aren’t the ones who seem to have their beards in a tangle about breathing the same air as Elves. Now no more hemming or hawing!”

“Well… they ought to go first.” Now Kabur nodded to the Elves, arms folded across his chest.

Eldarin stirred. “As I recall, it was not us who paid the first insult in this matter. That was your deed, and so let it be you who pays the first compliment.”

Haluin waved his hands. “A compromise! I shall take the first plunge, then Kabur compliments me second, then you, Eldarin, compliment Kabur third, and finally he returns the favor. Fair?”

At opposite ends of the table, Kabur and Eldarin made their grudging signals of assent.

Haluin nodded. “Fair.” He turned to Kabur. “Master Kabur. You have a most excellent and resplendent beard. It does a credit to your race.”

“Well… thank you.” The merchant seemed genuinely taken aback, stroking his curly beard in self-admiration. But his expression soon hardened when he realized it was his turn. “Haluin…” He glanced over to see Cordelia glaring at him, then quickly looked away. “Eh… Haluin. You have…” He looked the Elf up and down, but his gaze caught on the glint of the firelight reflecting off Haluin’s metallic arm. “… A piece of excellent craftsmanship dangling from your left shoulder. Although I suppose that is more a compliment to your friend here.” With obvious dwarvish pride, he clamped Jokim on the shoulder. “For only a Khuzd could forge something so intricate.”

Haluin stared back at him for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed. Even Jokim could not help but smile ruefully at Kabur’s ignorance.

Once Haluin calmed himself a bit, he smiled at the bewildered merchant. “Master Kabur! You were instructed to pay me a compliment, not Eldarin.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Kabur frowned, anticipating an Elvish trick.

Haluin held his left arm forth for all to see, flexing the elbow joint and letting the fingers dance for a moment. Through excruciating efforts — always at night, always on his own, when the dwarves were asleep and Eldarin was elsewhere — he had taught himself to use the metal arm as skillfully as living flesh.

“My good dwarf… this is Eldarin’s handiwork, and his alone.”

“But surely…” Kabur stared at Jokim for support, but his neighbor took great pleasure in shaking his head.

“Haluin does not lie. It is Eldarin’s craft, not mine.”

Now Kabur stood, leaning across the table to study the arm more closely. Entranced, his eyes danced over the fine articulations, the tiny plates that simulated long Elvish fingers, the complex joint work at the elbow, and the perfect symmetry with Haluin’s right arm. Even with all of his prejudgments still in tow, he could not overcome the innate love of fine craftsmanship that every dwarf carries in his heart.

Haluin stood, too, and walked around the table so Kabur could see it up close. “You may touch it, if you wish.”

Kabur could not say no, and reached out to run his hands along the smooth surface. “My word… what material is this made of?”

Haluin smiled broadly and nodded over to where Eldarin sat. “At long last, I believe the two of you have something to discuss.”

Long into the night Kabur and the elves sat talking, as first Haluin spoke, telling once again the tale of how he and the dwarves had been assailed in the mountains and of Jokim's heroism (at which time Jokim grunted and departed for his (in his opinion) overly soft bed. Druri, meanwhile, decided to embellish the story.

"I was terrified, but not Uncle! That ugly beast had Haluin by the arm would've dragged him off to feed her young, doubtless! But Uncle, was having none of it and killed the great beast without even getting short of breath!" Pride glowed in the youngling's eyes, as he wielded and imaginary axe around Cordelia's sitting room until even Kabur gave up a gravelly chuckle.

"As well it should be, young beardling! We dwarves never let down a comrade-in-arms. Never!"

Then it was Eldarin's turn to submit to Kabur's scrutiny. At first, the smith was reluctant to be questioned so closely, as the desire for secrecy is ever foremost in the heart of a true craftsman, but soon he couldn't resist relating to a fellow admirer of the art some of how he had created such a marvel.

"But what gives it such life? Surely this comes nearer sorcery than skill! He moves it as though it were a living part of him." marvelled Kabur in hushed tones. Haluin smiled as he deftly twirled a silver teaspoon between his fingers, flipped it in the air, then caught it without looking behind his back.

"In a manner of speaking, it is alive, my good dwarf. Between the life force that Eldarin imparted the metal with that went into the creation of this arm, and my own will, it functions nearly as well as before I was maimed."

"Ah, that is the great secret-this...imparting? Sadly, I fear that Aule gave us no such gift."

"Do not blame Aule, Kabur. It was Iluvatar who commanded him to let your people sleep again, until such time as it was deemed for your people to rise once more. Perhaps it could only be give once? I do not know, but from the craftsmanship I have seen over the ages by your people, you have no need of it, for all know that there is no finer artistry upon Arda than that crafted by dwarvish hands...and hearts."

Both Haluin and Kabur stared at Eldarin as he spoke and Druri felt a tear run down his cheek.

"Fine words, elf. Fine words. I actually believe that you mean them." With that, the merchant stood to his feet and bowed low. "My house is at your service, if at anytime you find yourself in need."

Eldarin smiled and clasped Kabur's hand warmly. "And I, at yours, friend Kabur. May it always be so between our peoples."

The sound of a jaw-cracking yawn drew their attention to Druri, who was attempting to mask his sleepiness and failing miserably. "Up with you, Master Druri! After the tall tales you've told tonight, you deserve a few hours rest before we head west tomorrow. Alas that this will be the last delicious breakfast we will consume until-"

"Until we reach the Blue Mountains! There you will see dwarvish hospitality in abundance, Haluin. You'll see!"

Haluin winked at Eldain. "Oh yes, I can see it now. Eggs and kram, kram sausages, toasted kram with nettle honey. Kram-" Suddenly a sofa cushion caught Haluin in the face and when the elf made a mad grab for the youngster, Eldarin stepped in. "Enough tor-nin! You will bring the house down around our ears. Let the lad rest. Run for it, Druri!" he cried and the youngster gave a whoop, disappearing down the passage toward his bed and sleep.

"So the morning will see you on your way westward? I wish you luck in your journeys then. May your blades never dull!"

"And may your beard grow ever longer, Kabur. We part as friends, I think." "Aye, friends." replied Kabur as he held out an arm for them to clasp before heading each to their own sleeping area.

The next morning would begin the final push to the Ered Luin.

So many goodbyes.

First to Kabur, who for the next couple of days would attempt to stir Hobbiton's sleepy inhabitants into purchasing his remaining stock. Then to Cordelia, who handled the entire affair with a magnanimous grace, even though the departure of her new guests obviously pained her.

“Come back any day: rain, sleet or snow,” she said.

These were routine farewells — each one the natural consequence of “hello.” And yet something about them struck a melancholy chord in Haluin. Perhaps because they foreshadowed the final goodbyes that now loomed so large in his mind: Jokim and Druri, disappearing into some slate-gray mountainside, down into shadow.

Would they ever see each other again?

Druri seemed certain they would, and Jokim exuded a quiet confidence for reunion. And yet Haluin could not be so certain. The sudden appearance of Elvish riders the night before had tightened Eldarin’s nerves to pure tautness. He would do his best to cover their trail as they approached the Blue Mountains, he said, but after that he and Haluin would have work to do. And strange paths to travel, ones seldom trod by Elves or any other free folk. Through winding passes and nameless forests, with only the wind and scuttling, unseen creatures for company. So they would wander until they felt it safe to return to green and populated lands — but how long would that be? Neither Elf could say for sure.

Haluin found himself hovering closer to Jokim on the first day of the final leg. The dwarf, as always, proved more perceptive than his gruff front suggested, and slowed his pace to match Haluin’s. They made poor time that day, and the day that followed, but did so in a companionable silence that superseded idle chatter.

Then the mountains appeared on the western horizon, so suddenly that it seemed a great cloud of fog had been hovering there this entire time, only to be lifted in a violent gust. Jokim stopped to admire the vista, Druri at his right arm. Haluin watched his companions react to the sight. Druri clapped his hands and balled them into little fists, jumping up and down even as his uncle clasped him tightly. Jokim’s face barely twitched, but by a dwarf’s standards it was a fireworks display of emotion. Something stirred in him at the first glimpse of those snowy peaks, which glowed bright blue in the morning light.

A tingling, a sense of home.

Haluin pondered Jokim’s expression deep into the night. The image would not fade from his memory — the dwarf’s eyes in particular. How sad they had looked, if only for that first moment! What had it meant? But this reverie ended abruptly sometime after midnight, when Jokim himself came stumping up to take one of his thoroughly unnecessary turns at watch.

Haluin was sitting on a short and stubbly plateau, thrust out from a high hill at a flat angle. The perch provided a grand view of the eastern foothills that led up to their larger siblings, the Blue Mountains. The peaks seemed closer now, glowing a deep indigo in the night, silhouetted by what might have been tendrils of fog creeping in from the sea.

Jokim sat himself beside Haluin, his beard fluttering in the light winds. There was no fire for them to share — Eldarin had concealed that in a small hollow farther down the hill, where Druri now slept in a curled ball while the smith watched over him.

Haluin expected more silence from his friend, which he would not have minded. But Jokim spoke, nodding to the mountains.

“There is a certain holiness about them, is there not?”

Haluin glanced over. “I sense it. Though I suppose I am not as attuned to it as you or Druri.”

Jokim huffed in what might have been a laugh. “Your folk seem to think of the Khazad as if we had no bond with the natural world. Simply because we do not fondle trees or blabber on and on about the starlight. But stones speak, too, if one knows how to listen.”

“What do they say?” Haluin drew his knees up close to his chest.

“It is not words that they speak.” Jokim tried to straighten his beard, but the wind continued to run its fingers through it. “It is more akin to… a vibration. When you stand within the mountain, it surrounds you, lifts you. Even when the blacksmith’s hammers go silent for the night, there is music in the air.”

Haluin smiled, watching Jokim’s self-serious expressions. “Such high-flown sentiments! And yet I always knew you had a poet’s soul, friend Jokim.”

“A poet’s soul!” Jokim snorted, paused, then gave a full laugh. “No, I fear that is Druri’s burden, not mine.”

“Why should it be a burden?”

The dwarf shook his head. “Our folk have our poets and our minstrels, without a doubt. But I would rather Druri first taste the fruits of honest labor and then decide which life he prefers.”

“You worry that Eldarin and I have rendered him an Elf?”

“Did I say that?” Jokim gave a great harrumph. “No. I have glimpsed his mettle on this march of ours, and he is dwarf through and through. He has not complained once on this entire journey. Not once, for lack of comfort or food, though I’ve seen the hunger etched on his face most days." He paused. "However. His head seems tethered to the clouds at times, and he is prone to drifting off into whimsy. In our realms, with the work we demand, that cannot suffice. I would see him tempered in hotter fires, to prepare him for adulthood.”

Haluin paused before responding, for he knew that Druri’s upbringing was one of Jokim’s most jealously guarded possessions.

“Your goals for the lad are to be commended. But what hotter fires could there be than the loss of one’s family, one’s friends? You know full well all that the lad has undergone and overcome in so short a life.”

Jokim leveled a scrutinizing gaze on Haluin, but one that seemed to grant permission to continue.

“I see Druri’s imagination as a strength, not a weakness. I am an Elf, of course, and my word is suspect, even as your friend. But to see his love for life, even after all that it has heaped upon his shoulders… he is a marvel. You wish to steel him further for whatever is to come, and in that you have my full support. But take care that in doing so you do not snuff out the spark that makes him your nephew. Perhaps there is a poet in him after all. Or something greater still.”

Jokim glanced back to the mountains, and pondered those words for some time. The fact that he had not snarled an immediate retort seemed to bode well, or so Haluin thought.

“I would not have his peers think of him as soft,” Jokim finally rumbled.

Haluin laughed. “And what of it? Why, you seem intent on parading Eldarin and me through the tunnels in a grand display of friendship between the races. What will your peers think of you? And yet the thought does not seem to ruffle you in the least.”

“Not in the least,” Jokim repeated flatly. “And if others should take umbrage, I shall ruffle them a great deal.”

The Elf shrugged. “Let them say what they will about Druri, then. As long as he keeps true to himself, he has nothing to be ashamed of. However, we are both discounting the possibility that Druri takes after you of his own accord, and becomes a great warrior to be feared and admired.”

Jokim did not share Haluin’s mirth, and said nothing. The Elf fell silent, studying Jokim and struggling to read his energy. The dwarf cleared his throat, and looked off, away from the great mountains.

“Actually, I believe I would steer him clear of that path, if I could.”

Haluin bit his tongue, lest it set to wagging with all the questions that Jokim’s remark had prompted in his mind. The dwarf had spoken it in such a way that seemed to close the subject.

The Elf looked away for a time, but still felt their conversation unfinished.

“You know, you need not lose sleep like this to keep watch. Eldarin and I can handle such duties unassisted.”

Jokim shook his head. “I do not mind it. I enjoy the company.”

Then he turned and looked, with a frankness that took Haluin aback, and smiled. And then Jokim returned his gaze to the mountains, falling back into a meditative silence as if not a word more need ever be spoken between them.

Indeed, there was silence until near dawn, when Jokim stood and marched off down the hill to help pack up the camp. Haluin watched as he disappeared into shadow.

Eldarin looked up as Haluin descended from his perch to help with breakfast. His contribution? A fat partridge that he had shot on the wing only moments before.

"A delicacy at this time of year, mellon-nin!" he called with a grin. " Make certain you do not over-cook it. Jokim will not thank you for it." A snowball whizzing past his head was Eldarin's only reply as he reached for his knife. "Beautiful plumage...a shame, really."

"Now, now, not so glum, Eldarin. Soon our friends will be ensconced in their new home and from the sound of it, if Druri has his way, we may finish out the winter there in comfort."

Eldarin snorted. "Comfort, say you? Of course! You are used to the cramped quarters of Thranduil's Hall, but I am not. Nothing could be further from the truth." he murmured as he quickly cleaned and feathered the bird, despite not having a pot of hot water to assist him.

"Come, tor-nin. Why is the prospect so repellant to you?"

The smith set his knife down, sighing, then looked at Haluin very carefully. "It is not repellant to me! Nothing so dramatic. Say rather...wearing. I am not a cave-dweller, Haluin. When I look up, I prefer the open sky above my head to a mountain of rock which says nothing to my soul. I cannot- ah, it makes no difference. If I must endure it, I must. But for your sake alone." As with all things in my life now, it seems. came the thought.

Haluin narrowed his eyes at the tone in his friend's voice, but chose to say nothing. He had learned that whenever Eldarin became moody, it was best to leave him to himself for a time. So, silently, he watched as the smith prepared the group's breakfast, using the time to learn more about the elf who had chosen a life in exile over the life he had always known.

He is not so different from Jokim, now that I think on it. The only difference seems to be, that he was forced to give up his all that he had known, so that his nephew would have a normal life in the halls of Ered Luin. Whereas, Eldarin...he has forsaken all, for friendship. But why? And what makes two such opposites act so selflessly? Am I capable of doing the same?

Suddenly fingers were snapping in front of his eyes, startling Haluin from his revery. "Go and get the others, day-dreamer. Make yourself useful!" Haluin blinked up at Eldarin for a moment, then jumped off the boulder he'd been seated on and went in search of the dwarves.



"How long can they stay, uncle?" "Why don't you ask them? They're delicate creatures, elves. They'll probably perish if they're without the sun for more than eight hours."

"No, twelve!" came the laughing voice of Haluin from behind a leafless beech tree. "Druri, lad, it 's not yet been determined that we'll even be welcomed. Let us not put cart before horse, yes?"

"Not determined? But, uncle...I-I thought-"

Jokim flashed Haluin a stony glare from beneath his formidable brows before addressing Druri. "Look here, lad. It's not up to us. The council will have the final say, but I'm certain that when they've heard all that we have to say, they will be allowed to stay, for a time." He turned and growled at Haluin. "Now what did you want?"

"Breakfast is, ah, ready, Jokim. That is all." With that, he melted back into the wintry forest without a sound. Jokim sighed. " I shouldn't have been surly to him, Druri. Haluin is deeply grieved and I fear it will only worsen."

"And he isn't the only one, uncle. You think that because I am young that I have no eyes, but I see clearly that when they leave, his will not be the only heavy heart. That's why I want them to stay! You two have been comrades and after that, friends for a long time and friendship always comes with a price. Haluin fears that this will be your final parting, you do know that?"

"Aye, lad. I know. but I also know that there's many a good year left in me yet, so let's go cheer up our long-eared friend and make it clear to him that he'll have to put up with us for far longer than he ever dared hope!"

Theirs was no longer a straight march, but a steady ascent. The incline was subtle at first, but grew sheerer with each stride. The mountain peaks no longer loomed on the horizon, but somewhere overhead, shrouded by clouds and the legions of evergreen trees that jutted from the earth like spearheads. All was white and gray, snow and stone, cold and silent.

Jokim took the lead. The harsher the route, the swifter he seemed to move, as though he were making a descent and not the other way around. In those rare moments when Druri caught up with his uncle, the lad could see that familiar glow in Jokim’s eyes: the same fire that had raged in the Redhorn Pass, when Jokim had attempted to will them all the way to Rivendell on his own. He could smell home — they both could.

After all, the track was no mystery to discern. The farther they traveled up the mountainside, the more trodden it seemed with boot prints and cart tracks — the noisy evidence of traveling dwarves returning in droves to the mountains for the winter.

“It appears as though our friend Kabur is a straggler,” said Eldarin, amusing himself as they walked along by attempting to parse the many narratives written in the snow. “He is late for the great migration.”

“And Jokim as well,” Haluin nodded to the stout form not so far ahead, cutting along the path with fierce, whipping strides. “Though he seems eager to make up for lost time.”

“Too eager, you would say?” Eldarin had heard the note of disappointment in his companion’s voice.

“I… cannot place any blame in this matter,” Haluin said, looking up into the overarching pine branches. “He is so close to his goal, and with it comes safety. He and Druri have had none since I lashed myself to them, I fear.”

“Mmm. Perhaps.” Eldarin paused. “And yet I do not see a weary traveler making a final burst toward hearth and home. No. I see a soldier marching to battle.”

“Battle?” Haluin eyed him curiously.

“He would have to tear the dwarves’ gates down himself to allow us entrance. And I believe he just might attempt it.”

Haluin gazed ahead, watching that broad, hunched over back retreating into the mountain woods, and clenched his jaw.

“He just might…”

---

By degrees, the path narrowed until only a single cart could navigate it at a time. It began to twist, turn, and switch back upon itself, climbing ever higher. The route was unprotected on one side, dropping off into the dead white below. The mountain winds raked against every inch of the terrain, forcing the travelers to earn each stride.

Haluin knew they were nearing the gates when the tree cover suddenly cleared — even in the thick snow, he could glimpse the stumps where the dwarves had cleaved the evergreens in the name of firewood. Gritting his teeth all the harder, he made a dash ahead to catch up with Jokim. He passed Druri along the way, and still had enough levity to smack the lad playfully on the back of the head as he went by.

But when he leaped in front of Jokim, barring the dwarf's advance with outstretched arms, Haluin's face had drained of humor. He shouted above the incessant howling gale.

“Jokim!”

The dwarf stared up at him, one hand clamping his traveling hood in place as the winds sent his beard tumbling about.

“Haluin! This can wait.”

“It cannot!”

Jokim’s eyes had gone cool, and he shrugged at his heavy pack. “Wrong though you may be, let us at least step out of the wind so that we might hear each other speak!”

The dwarf pulled him into a minor alcove within the cliffs that stood along the protected side of the path. Not far behind, Druri made a sprint forward as if to join them, but Eldarin caught him by the shoulder and pulled him back. The young dwarf shook at his grasp briefly, but then went still. Neither said a word as they waited amid the winds.

Within the alcove, Jokim raked some of the clumps of snow out of his auburn beard, before realizing that the white stuff had coated his eyebrows as well. “Speak quickly. We cannot tarry in such weather.”

“What do you intend to do at the gates?”

“I shall gain entry for the lot of us. Now! If that is all you needed to know…”

“It shall not be so simple, as you are well aware.”

“Hmm. Nothing worthwhile is. But this is not worth discussing! Now come…”

“Jokim.” Haluin stepped into his way again. “Why did you make this journey?”

The dwarf narrowed his eyes and knitted his brows in a formidable display of annoyance. “You know the answer. No riddles.”

“I can only guess at it, in fact. But I would say that this… new station of yours. You are seeking it not for the sake of your own honor or prestige, but to safeguard Druri’s future.”

“As I said. You know the answer. Now let us continue on!” The dwarf pressed forward, straight at the Elf.

“We are not finished.” And then Haluin proved once again that he could stand toe-to-toe with even an irate dwarf. His face glowed in a flash of old Eldar strength, and suddenly he seemed to stand just a few inches taller. Jokim frowned, but took a respectful step backward.

“I do not know what manner of grand speech you have planned,” Haluin continued. “But if you step forward as a friend of Elves, it could stain your reputation in these mountains. Enough to deny you an officer’s rank.” He let that last remark hang in the air, and watched Jokim carefully mask his reaction to it.

“If not for your own sake, think how that might affect your nephew.”

“And what, exactly, are you proposing?”

“I do not need to glimpse the heart of the Ered Luin. I do not need the dwarves’ grudging hospitality, and least of all do I need you to endanger your station for my sake.” Haluin put his hands on Jokim’s shoulders. “Have I not already done as much to Eldarin? Pulled him from his home, stripped him of his rank and honor? All in the name of feeble tokens of friendship. I cannot do the same to you. We can say our goodbyes now, go our separate ways…” He trailed off, then noticed Jokim was glaring at him.

“Are you done?” The dwarf was trembling, Haluin realized. Not from cold, or grief — but from a muted rage. The Elf stepped back, nodding his head.

Jokim’s voice came from deep in the back of his throat, very stern and steady, barely audible, but still repressing some great torrent of feeling within him.

“Whether or not our final parting lies ahead, you shall not know me much longer, son of Mirkwood. So allow me to have my say. Forgive yourself. Forgive yourself Daeron, forgive yourself Hengist, forgive yourself Eldarin. Companions may come and go, but you always must live with yourself. And if you cannot forgive that fellow, there is no way to move forward. Instead, take a moment to consider that there are those in this world who care for you deeply, who would sacrifice all on your behalf. Why blame yourself for that devotion when it is so much easier to accept it with open arms, eh?” Jokim reached out and grabbed one of Haluin’s hands, clutching it tightly. “You are good, Haluin. As you ever have been. Whatever happens at the gates shall not change that. There shall be no sad partings between us, not yet! We go to the gates together, as friends.”

Haluin was frozen, staring at the dwarf in a vague wonderment, but Jokim didn’t allow the moment to last. He shoved ahead, still gripping Haluin’s hand and pulling him along like a dumbstruck child.

Jokim signaled to Eldarin and Druri, and allowed them to catch up before speaking.

“What say we bang on the door together, eh?” He gave Druri a half-shake, half-hug and pushed him ahead.

Eldarin stood behind, still and mute between the furious white waves, attempting to read Haluin’s face in search of what had passed between him and Jokim.

But the tear already had fallen, already frozen, just one droplet of ice lost amid countless others on the mountain slopes.

The eastern gate to the Blue Mountains stood at the end of a long, narrowing pass, dug by dwarvish picks and shovels in a prior age.

An army would need to be driven by madness or certain starvation to attack it. The long approach to the gate resembled an extended practice field for defensive crossbowmen. Flat, vertical cliff walls on either side offered no footholds and no cover. The gates themselves seemed to have the whole weight of the mountain behind them: broad, arching slabs bookended by rune-scarred pillars and adorned with the official seal of the Ered Luin.

Borne by the winds, the snow had become trapped in the pass and billowed about in swirling patterns, obscuring the gates ahead in a frozen fog. On first approach, Eldarin could see the notches along the curved gate wall to allow for crossbow perches. But there was no sign of any bricklaying in the rest of the facade: no bonding mortar or external ornament. Solid rock, carved from the mountainside itself.

“Halt!”

A single sentry must have spoken the order, doubtlessly from somewhere behind the gates. But in the cramped confines of the pass, the word echoed and resounded with the force of a stone giant’s bellow.

The four travelers obeyed, but Jokim took an additional step forward to present himself as leader. They were somewhat shielded now from the wind, though it yet shrieked overhead, so Jokim had a moment to straighten his posture and beard for their unseen interrogator.

“State your name and purpose!”

Westron words, but salted with a thick Khuzdul accent, heavy and coarse with its consonants.

“I am called Jokim, son of Jurgan, late of the Grey Mountains. I come to you as a kinsman and ally.” He bowed deeply, removing his hood without thought for what he might reveal underneath it.

Silence. Jokim narrowed his eyes, trying to read where the sentry might be posted. Likely enough that he was conversing with a superior officer between his booming reports.

They’ll be trying to make sense of the Elves just about now… Jokim thought.

“State the purpose of your contraband!”

Jokim paused, somewhat amused by the choice of words. Then he peeled off his traveling pack, held it theatrically in front of himself, and dropped it in the snow.

“Search my possessions if you suspect me of smuggling. Otherwise, as your friend, I have nothing hidden to declare.”

A longer pause this time. Jokim resisted the urge to glance back at Haluin and Eldarin. In this moment, gamesmanship was half the battle.

“Your Elvish driftwood!” A different voice called out this time. Less accented. “Where did you come across it?”

Now Jokim could barely stifle a chuckle. “It came across me, good sir! The first one outside the forests of Mirkwood, the second along the Redhorn Pass of the Misty Mountains! Without their aid, I would not stand before you today!”

“Start at the beginning!” This new interrogator did not waste any time. “Whence hail you? What purpose brings you to this realm, and with such a strange assortment in tow?”

“A soldier I am, by trade! I have served in the armies of Thrór and Grór, kings of the Lonely Mountain and Iron Hills. I dwelt in the latter’s realm when the Worm descended upon Erebor. My nephew here, Druri, was not so fortunate. He came into my care an orphan. Nearly one year later, a friend offered me a new post in your infantry by way of a missive. I come here to state my claim to it.”

“You have conveniently left out the role two Elves might have played in such a lark!”

Jokim huffed, and to those three standing behind him it seemed both a laugh and a grunt.

“Hear me!” he called, extending his arms wide. “You seem a reasonable fellow! I am not fond of raising my voice, and the both of us shall go hoarse ere long from shouting over this wind! Allow us entrance so that we might swap tales face-to-face!”

“You and your nephew may enter. That is no cause for negotiation.”

“A negotiation you name it, already! Then you sense my purpose! I seek haven for all four members of this party!”

“You shall not have it!”

Jokim lowered his arms, placing hands to his hips. “You drive a hard bargain, guardian! But what are we dwarves if not hagglers, eh?”

Listening to this entire exchange with a dampened expression, Haluin felt his eyes widen. Jokim sounded more amused than he’d ever heard the old dwarf sound before.

By Eru… he is in his element! Haluin shook his head in wonder.

“You offer a counter-proposal?” This second sentry still had a marked coldness about his speech — this was hardly a cordial affair. And yet there seemed in his words a hint of suggestibility, not the mechanical tones of the first voice that had shaken the pass.

“Come down here, with us!" Jokim shouted. "Let us talk this through as equals. That way you might come to know these two friends of mine whom you dismiss as kindling!”

This time there came a long pause, a full minute with only the wind for company. Jokim’s posture remained erect. Confident. They were deliberating. That meant a concession was forthcoming.

Finally, an answer.

“Await our arrival! We shall emerge shortly.”

“We.” Jokim finally turned back to his companions. “You see? They are preparing our welcoming committee.”

Haluin shook his head. “You are absurd, Jokim. They shall welcome us by hurling us down the slopes!”

The dwarf shrugged. “We shall see. Be charitable, and a surprise might be your reward.”

When the gates did open several minutes later, with the titanic crank and grind of unseen gears, a grim mass of figures emerged. Spears and halberds stuck out from their herd like quills from a porcupine. Their armor and shields bore the dusky blue coloring that heralded their home realm.

It was difficult for the travelers to pick out individuals from a distance, especially with the snow dancing through their vision. But the figure at the head of the formation was impossible to miss. Unlike the half-dozen others, he wore no helm. And his beard, a vivid crimson explosion reined in by elaborate plaiting and silver ornaments, announced his presence immediately.

Druri tugged at Haluin’s sleeve. The Elf glanced down at him.

“You had asked earlier,” Druri said, nodding to the group’s leader. “That is what a Firebeard looks like."

Jokim kept a critical eye on the infantrymen as they approached.

At first all he could hear was the ever-present wind and the mechanical dirge of the closing gate. But once the slabs slammed shut and the stone echoes faded, he could hear the sound of the welcoming party rumbling ever closer.

They moved in unison, their marching count unspoken. Disciplined. The formation was tight and orderly. If provoked, Jokim knew the infantrymen would collapse in upon themselves, interlocking shields to form a solid wall. His old infantry officers called it “the tortoise form,” although younger comrades had jokingly called it “the hedgehog” on occasion. They would use it to ward off the first round of blows, and then spring forth with spears thrusting and axes hacking.

At some point through the ages, dwarves had earned the reputation as berserkers in battle: mindless aggressors fond of splashy attacks and vainglorious charges. But the foundation of their infantry was staunch defense, followed closely by a devastating counter-punch.

This group seemed to grasp that — their red-bearded leader in particular. He may as well have been wearing a visored helmet for all that his ruddy face let on. He brought his troops to a halt a good ten paces away from the four travelers.

“Before we proceed any further…” He was speaking in Khuzdul, but Jokim recognized the Firebeard's voice as the second that had called from behind the gate. “Instruct them to disarm.” He nodded to the Elves.

Jokim stopped just short of telling the Firebeard to order the Elves himself, knowing that he had to pick his battles.

“Haluin, Eldarin.” Jokim turned partially, but kept his eyes on the commander. “Our hosts would feel more at ease if you were to remove your weapons.”

Eldarin seethed, but he and Haluin exchanged a long look. Then, item by item, they placed their weapons in the snow: bow and quivered arrows, sword, several daggers.

“Step forward, all of you.” The lead dwarf called, in Westron this time.

Dutifully, the travelers approached, leaving the Elves’ weapons behind them and out of reach.

“Halt.” The Firebeard had a crisp, sergeant’s bark, but Jokim suspected he bore a higher rank. The leader spared two lightning quick glances at a pair of his subordinates. “Search them.”

Again, Jokim forced himself to hold his tongue as the infantrymen, one quite young and the other quite old, rifled their hands along the Elves’ bodies, making no effort to come across as gentle. Druri started to growl as a guard dog might, but Jokim silenced him with a glare.

Having found nothing, the two guards returned to formation, snapping exactly into their previous positions. Their commander was silent.

“Are you satisfied?” Jokim ventured, trying to keep the conversation in Westron this time.

“Never that.” The Firebeard still spoke in Khuzdul. “I am called Barulin, and I am captain of the East Gate. The realm’s safety is my concern, and satisfaction on that score breeds carelessness.”

“I respect your dedication, Sir Barulin.” Jokim bowed slightly, maintaining the dwarvish tongue. “But these two are of no threat to you or our kin.”

“Convince me.” Barulin folded his arms. “And more than that, convince me that they would not go telling tales of all that they would see behind these gates.”

“I am indebted to both of them.” Jokim gestured behind him. “For guidance along the trail, and care that I received in Rivendell when I lay near death. Eldarin, the fellow who stands on your left, was a member of the party that came upon me after I had lost consciousness in the Redhorn Pass. Haluin, the Elf on your right, was gravely injured as well, and my nephew pushed past the brink of exhaustion. Without Eldarin's aid and the healing skills of his Lord Elrond, all three of us would have met our ends in the Misties.”

“You and your nephew ought to have traveled as part of a greater party.” Barulin spoke flatly. “That way, you never would have become dependent on the aid of strangers.”

“Be that as it may. I owe the debt of life to both Elves. And a dwarf must always repay his debts, to anyone, or risk dishonor.”

Here Druri sprang forward, all of his pent up indignation carrying him. “I too owe the debt of life! You must allow our friends to pass so that we may repay them.”

The guard captain did not so much as glance at Druri. “Again, it is no fault of mine that you have allowed yourselves to be taken in by Elves. And in repaying your debt you would put others at risk.”

“We would not.” Jokim’s tone began to heat up now. “For Haluin is not some mere stranger I crossed along the path by chance. I fought alongside him in the Riddermark 60 years ago, and his arrows spared my neck on many an occasion.”

“And what sort of farce is that?” Barulin frowned. “Do you expect me to believe that a dwarf and an Elf fought as comrades among the Southern horsemen?”

A silence fell, but Druri began murmuring something to himself, his head lowered.

This, finally, drew the gate captain’s attention. “Speak up, boy, if you would be heard!”

Druri tossed his head up, a flame beneath his eyes, and cried out: “Out on the plains! Three riders seen! One short, one tall, one in between!”

The lad had expected a dramatic reversal from his recitation, but the best he got from Barulin was a look of perplexed annoyance. “Is that gibberish supposed to mean something?”

Suddenly humbled, Druri became a child again, folding his hands into little fists and rubbing them together nervously. “Well, it’s a song, you see. Written about my uncle and Haluin and their friend Hengist, many years ago.”

At this pitiful sight, Barulin finally allowed himself a bark of a laugh. “I have not heard it.” He turned to his pack of guards with a smirk. “Have any of you?”

The guard captain had intended the question to be as flippant as possible, but a gray-bearded veteran at the back of the formation pounded a fist against his shield. “Sir!”

Barulin turned round to face him. “Soldier. Permission to speak.”

“Sir…” The veteran paused, considering his position for a moment. “Sir, I do recall a song of just that sort. About three heroes. I heard it at Bree. The Prancing Pony, many years prior. Some horsemen had gathered in the corner, and they were singing it loud enough for the whole town to hear.”

Barulin’s face remained stony and skeptical. “And do you remember the names of these three heroes?”

The veteran hesitated again, but felt the pressure of his commander’s gaze. “I remembered the dwarf’s name: Jokim, sir. And the other two in the story were a man and an Elf. Haluin and Hengist sound… familiar. I could not say for certain.” And with that he clamped his jaw shut, looking duty-bound and miserable.

Jokim had to leverage all of his willpower to keep from whooping aloud, and a quick look at Haluin revealed a similar repressed joy. Finally, that bloody song had served some use!

Now Barulin wheeled back around, his mood tempered but unbroken. “Heroes of song, then? A source of pride for you both, perhaps. But it does not alter my mission. Elves are not permitted beyond these gates.”

Jokim moved to strike while the momentum was tilted in their favor, however slightly. “But captain. In times of old, in these very mountains that we stand upon, were Elves not guests of honor in our halls? Given seats beside our Lords, trusted with many of our greatest secrets? And even in the ages that followed, when Khazad and Elf-folk grew cold toward each other, did we not still name friends among them?”

“These strangers may be friends to you.” Barulin nodded to each Elf in turn. “But that does not bind the rest of our folk to declare amnesty. They cannot enter.”

“Excuse me.” Eldarin spoke, and the entire block of infantrymen tensed. All eyes turned to him, most of them glinted with suspicion. “I have not understood most of the pleasantries exchanged in this matter. But I fear some breath may have been wasted on my behalf. For you see, I have no great need to see the halls of the dwarves, though I am a smith, and the legends I have heard of your workmanship tantalize me with their scope. In truth, while Jokim and I consider each other capable allies, Haluin is his truest friend.” He placed a hand behind his kinsmen, and gently pushed Haluin forward. “I recuse myself from this debate. You need only consider admitting one Elf to your fine halls, sir guardian.” And with that, Eldarin bowed deeply, and took a step back.

Jokim gave the smith a short look of amused appreciation, but again made a quick turn at Barulin. “Does this sway you, then? One Elf. For one night. Allow me to show him the same hospitality he has shown me at every turn.”

This time, Barulin had to pause to consider. This was progress. “One Elf is the same as any other,” he finally concluded, speaking in Westron. “And just one is likely enough to steal — objects and secrets both.”

“Then bind my hands.” Haluin stepped forward, now. “Bind my hands, so that I might not steal your treasures. Blindfold my eyes, so that I might not glimpse your realm. Post guards, if I frighten you so. It does not concern me.”

For the first time, Jokim's confidence appeared to waver. He turned to Haluin with a scowl. "You need not..."

The Elf shook his head. "I could tolerate such indignities, should they render our hosts less fearful."

Barulin raised his brows ever so slightly, and his eyes flashed at the Elf’s implicit challenge of his bravery. He looked to Jokim, continuing in Khuzdul for the moment. “And what would you do with him? Where would you take him?”

“I would lead him to the home of my friend Vorik. He is a healer in this realm, and a friend from my earliest days. ‘Twas he who offered me my new position.”

“And there the Elf would stay?”

“Haluin said it best, sir. Post guards at Vorik’s door if it allows you to sleep better at night. We only wish to say our farewells in a place of comfort. Remove his blindfold and bonds once we enter the home, that is all I would ask.”

“Hrrmm.” Barulin glanced between Jokim and Haluin in thought.

Jokim slapped his hands together. “As I see it, the haggling is done from our end. We have made every concession to placate your concerns. Now lend one to us. Grant my friend sanctuary.” He extended his hand, expectant. “We are agreed?”

Barulin stared at Jokim’s hand, but made no effort to extend his. “If we were to allow an Elf entrance, the final decision would rest with a higher station than mine.”

“By all means, then. Discuss it. We shall wait.” Jokim stepped back, rejoining his nephew and the Elves.

The guard captain gave one last dull-eyed survey of the group, lingering on Jokim the longest. He gave a little nod to his fellow dwarf, but its purpose was unclear. Then he turned to his guards. “Company, return!”

And at a double clip, they retreated back to the gates, which opened as they approached and promptly closed behind them.

The four travelers stood in a long silence after that, but Druri wouldn’t let it last. He ambushed Haluin with one of his characteristic bear hugs, squeezing the Elf’s waist with a strength that ought to have belonged to his uncle. “They’re letting you in! They’re sure to!”

“Now, now! It’s far too early to begin celebrating!” Haluin laughed, patting the lad’s head with one hand while trying to pry him off with the other.

While they wrestled about, Jokim walked straight to Eldarin and clapped him on the elbow. “Another debt that I may never repay you, Eldarin. Your sacrifice swung the tide in our favor.”

The smith gazed at him wryly. “What sacrifice? The sight of dwarvish architecture might have moved my heart, but the smell of dwarvish hides surely would have turned my stomach!”

Jokim stared at him intensely for a moment, but then threw back his head and laughed loudly enough to shake the mountain gates. “Did you hear that, Druri? Let go of Haluin! It is Eldarin who deserves your attacks. Go on now, defend your people’s honor!”

With an eager grin, Druri did as he was bade, charging at Eldarin and entering into a flailing melee with him. Jokim stood back with Haluin and watched, the two laughingly cheering on their kinsmen in battle.

And from behind the mountain gates, standing in a crossbowman’s perch, Barulin watched this mirthful scene with a curious eye, stroking his beard in thought. “Hrrmm…”

Then he turned to descend the stairs, his path bound for the High Council’s chambers.

The thought of leaving Eldarin in the cold all alone did not sit well with Haluin. Even as he watched his friend wrestle with Druri, his eyes never left the retreating backs of the dwarves. If only they knew what kind of Elf he was, surely they would allow him entrance?

"Enough, young one." he said firmly and Druri ceased instantly, glancing at Haluin uncertainly. "Forgive me. I was only..." "Nay, quiet yourself. I must speak with your uncle now, Druri." He gave the lad's shoulder a squeeze, then moved to join the older dwarf where he had been sitting, watching the antics of his nephew.

"What do you make of this, Jokim...truly. You know that I would suffer any amount of humiliation in order to see you among your people once more, but Eldarin? He mistrusts those who are not Firstborn at the best of times! Surely this will only convince him that his prejudice is justified." The elf sighed heavily, his eyes filling with sadness at the injustice of it all. "Why must we be forced to endure this, merely because in the past our ancestors fell out? How many lives were lost then because of mistrust, envy and greed...on both sides?"

Jokim harrumphed into his beard. He knew only too well the harsh words and possibly harsher treatment that Haluin might be forced to bear when they entered the mountain fortress and he also understood Haluin's concern for their comrade. While he and Eldarin had not always seen eye to eye, Jokim would never say a word against the smith, for he had seen the depth of loyalty and care he had bestowed upon each of them and most especially the doomed wanderer, Haluin. The wrongness of the situation made Jokim grind his teeth in frustration. His people were better than this!

"I don't know what to say, my friend. I had figured on a certain amount of negotiation and stubbornness, but this?" He reached over and grasped Haluin's forearm, gripping it tight. "You don't have to do this, you know. They're only trying to goad you into acting the way they think all elves act, crafty and shifty, completely untrustworthy... Ah, Durin's Beard! If they only knew you the way I do!" he growled, driving his free hand into the log upon which he sat.

All three stared at Jokim solemnly. Rarely did the older dwarf display this much emotion and the elves looked at each other in concern.

Haluin pulled away from Jokim in order to kneel in front of him. His knees sank into the slushy snow and for once, the fastidious elf took no notice. "As I said earlier, I would do anything for you, for any of you! I owe each of you more than my paltry life is worth, therefore do not fret for my sake, my dear friend, for so I believe you to be. You have reached your goal and, well, most of us are in one piece!" he chuckled ironically. "Be glad! Druri will now grow into the stout dwarvish warrior he was meant to be, no longer to be "tainted" by elvish ways and you will live out your life where you should, among those who understand you, among friends. Is that not what you have desired these many months? Let them do what they will with me. It matters not, as long as you receive the respect and rightful place here as you should. If they refuse you this..." The elf's eyes flashed ominously, "then they will have us to answer to."

Eldarin came up to stand behind Haluin and placed his hand heavily on his sword. "Agreed."