All Roads Lead Home

[chrysophalax]

Anger boiled within him as Eldarin stalked along what seemed miles of corridors on his way down to the kitchens. What was the woman playing at? Mentally, he shuddered at the thought. What must Haluin be thinking? One of his own tried to kill him out of spite. Unthinkable!

Descending the stairs, his mind taken up with questions, he could hear Elrond's cook raising her voice and slamming pans about. "What?! That newcomer and his dwarves are proving more trouble than they're worth! Tell me again, now...who has accused me of poisoning that Haluin and I'll go to Lord Elrond, I will!" He ground his teeth. Could nothing remain secret for more than a moment?

Two young elves who served in the guest chambers and several others from the sculleries were gathered round as she held forth, eyes gleaming. Secretly, they loved nothing better than when Cook went into one of her rants. A young elf with long, bright hair bound back with ribbon leaned closer to her friend, whispering and giggling, then froze. All of them froze.

"What's the matter with you lot? You look as though you've seen..." A quavering voice said. "It's Eldarin, ma'am..." and they made as though to scatter like leaves in the wind, but an imperious voice called out, "Hold!"

"Eldarin, is it?" Turning, the older elf turned and fixed him with a wary eye. "Is it you then that has cast these rumours about? See here, youngling..." She waved a wooden spoon at him, hand on hip. "If my lord hears of this..." Eldarin swept his gaze over the young elves who were attempting not to cower in the corners, then looked down at her, his face stern, but the light of mirth in his eyes.

"Good lady, I seriously doubt that you have harmed our guest, have no fear. However..." Again, a sweep of the eyes, "however, I have set guards at each of the scullery doors and all of your staff wil be questioned, along with the servants I see here from the guest wing. Interesting that I find two of them here just now." She raised the spoon again and he stepped forward, took it gently from her and laid it down on the wooden counter. "I swear to you that your work will not suffer, nor dinner for the master and his guests be late. I shall be swift!"

"See that you are." she mumbled as she snatched up the spoon and marched off with several of her assistents trailing behind like ducklings in her wake. Eldarin crooked a finger at the two servants he had referred to earlier and they came forward meekly enough, one of them fiddling with something in her pocket.

Always having been good with names, he greeted them solemnly, then brought them through the scullery and along the hall that led down to the apple cellar below. There, the two women sat themselves down on a low bench, while Eldarin leaned back against the wall, then ran a hand through his hair. "Yloris, Idriel, I watched you as Cook was talking and you seemed to think this was amusing." His eyes hardened. "I can assure you, it is not. A guest under Lord Elrond's protection very nearly came to harm because someone brought him tainted food. I will determine who it was, is that understood?"

The one called Idriel began to shake and the other two looked at her curiously. She drew her hand out of the pocket concealed in her gown and slowly opened it. In her palm lay a jewel, glittering fitfully. "I heard a voice in a dream, Master. It told me that the Mirkwood elf would be healed and I would be rewarded if I could do just one thing, remember a recipe that I would be told. It said that the lady would reward me if I did this thing...and here, this was on my pillow when I awoke after the dream. Is it not beautiful?"

"May I?" Eldarin plucked the jewel from her hand, turning it that way and that, then dropped it with distaste in her palm, then sighed. Of all the people in Imladris that could have been chosen to carry out such a deed, it would have to be Idriel. She had been born sickly and as she grew, her mind had remained young, never more than a child. When given the simplest of tasks, she would smile happily and run to do it.

Wearily, he ran his hand over his face. How could accuse her? Damn the Mirkwood witch!


*********

Angrily, Haluin cast aside his coverlet and rose from his sickbed. Neniel would answer for what she had done and before Tilion had finished his course across the night sky, if Haluin had anything to say about it! Hastily, he dragged his clothes on, scarcely aware that his tunic hung loosely open as he made his way along the twisting corridors toward the lord of Imladris' rooms. As he walked, Haluin could feel himself grow cold at the memory of Druri's frightened face and how even Eldarin had been momentarily taken aback by his outburst. Some premonition of death had gripped him, there was no other way to put it and had Druri come to harm...

His good hand clenched into a tight fist. Nay, Neniel! If there is justice still among our people, you will be denied yet again. I will not have you harm those to whom I have pledged friendship. His eyes flashing like flint-conjured fire, the injured elf finally fetched up before the door of Elrond's personal study. Inside, he could hear low voices murmuring, then silence. "Enter, Haluin, for the night is chill."

The door opened, swinging open soundlessly to reveal a smallish room with a warm fire burning cheerily, giving a warm glow to the oak-panelled walls, with their beautifully carved moldings standing out in bold relief as they outlined the edges of the painted ceiling. " A lovely room, my lord. Even Thranduil's study does not rival it." Elrond merely waved Haluin to a seat, then settled back into his own high-backed chair, his eyes fixed keenly upon Haluin.

"I am quite certain you have not come to comment on my choice of decor. Is it something urgent that causes you to interrupt me at this hour?" Haluin sat rigid in his seat, but did not flinch. "Aye, my lord. As you have no doubt heard, the young dwarf, Druri was nearly poisoned earlier today. I ask that you set a guard on the elves of Eryn Lasgalen for the duration of their visit." Elrond steepled his fingers. "Poisoned, you say? I have heard no such accusation. What I have heard though, is that it was you who asked for this so-called tainted food in order to throw suspicion onto the lady Neniel." His eyes glowed like obsidian in the firelight. "Tell me why I should not grant her request and hand you over to her for justice, outlaw of Mirkwood. I have healed you, fed you, cared for you and your dwarvish companions and now you come to me with demands instead of gratefulness. You disappoint me, kinslayer."

Feeling his face drain of all colour, Haluin took a deep breath, fighting to control the shame, anguish and rage that rose up in him at Elrond's words, which had fallen like a lash upon his heart. "My lord, forgive me if I seem ungrateful for all that you have done. I ask that you lay no blame at the feet of my companions, for they came here only out of desperate need, for my sake and Jokim's. I have asked for guards for the simple reason that I believe Neniel to be capable of anything, even the death of an innocent in order to get to me..." Elrond sat forward so swiftly then, that Haluin drew back reflexively. "Has it always seemed to you that you are all she thinks of? Are these not corrupt thoughts on your part?"

"Corrupt...? Nay, my lord! Ai, how can I convince you? It is my arm that is broken, not my spirit, nor my mind! My lord, she has tried more than once to have me brought low and, barring that, she has asked for my life. You are right to call me kinslayer, for so I am, to my eternal shame, but...I am not a liar! My word is true, my lord and-and I ask not for them to be watched for my sake, but for my friends, who are innocent of any wrong-doing. I will not have them come to harm because of me! And, if you wish me to repay you for your..."

"Enough, Haluin, enough! My lord, let this go no further. Lindir's suspicions are groundless and his prejudices abhorrent." Haluin whirled in his chair to see Eldarin watching him from the deep shadows of a window seat. The tall elf rose and came to stand next to Haluin as he gazed across at Elrond as though awaiting a judgement of his own. "I see you have a formidable champion, Haluin of Eryn Lasgalen! Forgive me for pressing you thusly, but there came to my ears certain distasteful rumours and I find it fortuitous that you chose to visit me this evening, for I have learned much that needed learning. Eldarin, take our friend back to his room and see that he is undisturbed. The next day or two will be most trying, I fear."

Outside in the corridor, Haluin confronted Eldarin fiercely. "Why did Lord Elrond accuse me...me? Do you believe I am capable of such a thing as well, or has your kindness been merely a dumbshow?

Facing Haluin squarely, the taller elf answered softly, "I was against Lindir telling my lord of his groundless suspicions from the first, and yet, as you see, he chose to. My lord saw his chance to determine whether or not you were indeed true. I...regret that you think I acted falsely." He searched Haluin's face, but his eyes met only a closed expression. "You should return to your duties, Eldarin. You need not trouble yourself, I can find my way." With that, Haluin walked back the way he had come without a backward glance, feeling once more both lonely and alone.

 

[Ghorim]

Jokim had not officially served as an infantryman for a century... maybe more. But the particular rhythms of that martial lifestyle had worked their way into him, almost unnoticed. They established the patterns of each day, formed the bedrock of his rigid self-discipline, and drove him onward... every marched step of the way.

So when he awoke on the second morning after the Elves had carried him into Rivendell, Jokim arose like a young recruit preparing for a sergeant’s inspection. The room was pure shadow when the dwarf opened his eyes, but he could sense the coming dawn. His bare feet swung up and over the side of the bed, kicking off the covers and planting themselves firmly upon the orange rug that adorned the spare floor. He stood in a fluid motion, stretching out his arms with a soft groan.

The dwarf then swiveled his hips, lowering his hands and crushing them into fists. He threw a quick pair of punches, testing the muscles. Jokim scowled. A day of bedridden sloth had him feeling sluggish. But it was early yet. He worked his lower half next, stretching his legs, squatting, standing, lifting up the knees as high as they would go. Every motion flowed with barely a sound. Druri slept on, curled up nearby on his cot.

After he had worn in his body to his satisfaction, Jokim turned an eye to his traveling pack, which now sat slumped against the side of the fireplace. There was one set of clothing he had yet to wear on the journey thus far. Today, it felt somehow appropriate to don it.

Jokim had intended to preserve his Iron Hills dress uniform until he reached the Ered Luin. He would wear it for his initial meeting with his commanding officer, in order to make a sound first impression. Strange... he hadn’t spared many thoughts on the goal of this journey since it began. A strange new life awaited him in the west, but too much still lay unfinished for him to consider those possibilities.

He pulled on the jacket first, wrapping himself in its muted blues and fastening the iron buttons one at a time. The collar stood tall and stiff, the cuffs thick and smooth. It all made him look a few years older, accentuating the tiny hints of advancing age that had been sneaking into his mannerisms over the past while. Jokim studied himself in the mirror, suspicious of the authoritative-looking figure that was reflected back at him through the shadows.

The pants came on next, and the belt. The dwarf pulled a rag from his pack, spat a healthy puddle into it, and set to polishing his boots for a few minutes. Still the room lay dark and undisturbed, just his breathing and Druri’s droning in the blackness.

Finally, Jokim rose, straightened out the tangles of his beard, and headed for the door. He was ready for war. But when he pulled open the door and turned out into the hall, the dwarf caught a glimpse of Druri’s sleeping form. The torchlight from the hallway lit upon the lad’s slumbering face, and gave Jokim pause for a moment or two. That was his lad... his responsibility.

With a stifled sigh, Jokim shut the door and went in search of Haluin’s room.

---

Once he found it, the dwarf had to face down an Elvish attendant who was guarding Haluin for the night. Jokim verbally disarmed the fellow as he might a foe in battle. Aye, he was allowed to be up and about. And aye, Haluin was permitted to see visitors now. The Elf looked up and down the hallway for support, but none appeared. He stepped aside, and glumly motioned for Jokim to enter.

Haluin’s back was to the dwarf as he entered to the room. Jokim’s stalled his approach for but a moment. Then he crossed the floor, and tore open the drapes at the far window. Dawn light flooded the room. Only then did Jokim turn, to see Haluin now sitting up and staring at him.

“Good,” Jokim said. “You are not dead, it seems. Although... as I have heard it... you have been behaving like an invalid on his way to the grave.”

The dwarf leaned back to sit on the broad windowsill, resting his hands in his lap. Haluin said nothing, his gaze drifting to the tranquil forest scene that lay just behind the glass.

“Spare me all this,” muttered Jokim. “These... theatrics of guilt. Guilt cannot change the past or find you solace. It is a useless circle... of pining and empty hope. Your friend is dead, Haluin. You cannot reach back and stay your own hand, not even with all the guilt and tears you can muster.”

His words were bare, unadorned by any outbursts of passion or anger. They simply sat in the air, heavy and ominous. Haluin, for his part, made no more attempts to hide his gaze from his friend, and let all of his weariness and uncertainty show without speaking a word.

“I would not have you crawl while you yet have the strength to stand tall,” Jokim continued, his arms drifting up to their comfortable, crossed position. “Enemies stand at your gates, and they seek nothing less than your life. Today, in council with Lord Elrond, they will make their charge. Where will you be then? Holed up in bed, coddled by your quilts?”

“No!” said Haluin, unable to stand this reprimanding any longer. “What do you take me for?”

Jokim smiled vaguely, rising from his seat. “Forgive me... but your spirit needed a bit of prodding.”

The Elf laughed one of those bitter laughs that Jokim had grown accustomed to hearing. As well as they knew each other by now, there were still centuries of Haluin’s life that Jokim did not fully grasp. In the dwarf’s mind, those sorrowful laughs provided his only, brief glimpses into the Elf’s murky past.

Haluin stood, but slowly, unveiling his full height only by degrees. “You are a clever one this morning, Jokim, but do not assume to see all.”

“I see only what I can from this lowly vantage point of mine,” Jokim smirked. “But even that is enough to grasp the importance of today. You must be prepared to fight with all of your strength this morning, with no regrets to restrain you.”

“There will always be regrets...”

“Then bury them.”

Haluin glanced down at Jokim... and for the first time in what seemed awhile, gave an honest smile.

 

[chrysophalax]

Annoyed as he was by Jokim's prodding, Haluin saw the sense in what the dwarf said, albeit more causticly than was perhaps necessary. Then bury them. Sage advice and yet, more easily said than done. Nevertheless, Haluin smiled at his friend, glad of his support.

"Have you broken your fast yet this morning, Jokim? If not, your company would be most welcome."

The dwarf hesitated momentarily, thinking of Druri, still abed, then remembered that he would have Eldarin to eat with and nodded. Haluin reached across to the table next to his bed and rang a silver bell. The door opened and one of his attendants looked at him curiously. "My friend will have his breakfast here this morning. " He shot Jokim a sly glance. "And make sure there are no "sickening sweet pastries", just honest bread, porridge and some bacon, if you would." She nodded, then vanished, chuckling.

"Finally you've given up your sweets, Haluin? About time!" The elf shrugged in mock defeat. "I bow to superior wisdom. Now, shall we eat out on this splendid porch? I feel the need of sunlight on my face today."

Together, they opened the doors that led out onto a porch over-looking the easternmost part of the vale as it cut its way towards the hills that dotted the Wild. Now, with the approach of autumn, the trees were brilliant, their colours riotous and they filled Haluin's heart with hope. Inhaling deeply the scent of fall, he sat himself down on a bench and rested his good arm on the oak railing, the smooth, solid surface tactile and reassuring.

"Today Lord Elrond holds his council. Will there be justice, do you think?" Well aware of the irony behind that question, Haluin chuckled softly. "Ah, yes...justice. Justice for whom, I wonder?"

Jokim's brows came together almost audibly. "Enough, elf! You'll work yourself into a fit of depression deeper than the bowels of Khazad-Dum if you keep on. We need to talk strategy here, not wax poetical. Do you know that she-elf came to visit me? She liked me not one bit more than I did her, if you take my meaning." He looked at Haluin somberly. "You have interesting enemies, elf."

"Aye, that is one way to describe her. Bloody-minded is another." Haluin's clear grey eyes took on an icy hue. "She thinks that Elrond will side with her, that she will be able to persuade as many as she can that I am indeed a monster, as she failed to do once before. I despise her for involving Culuin and Cerilin in this!" he ground out, his fist clenching and unclencing in anger.

Jokim gripped the elf's shoulder hard, fingers digging into muscle. "Good, good! Get angry! A fire in your belly is what will see you through this. Durin's Beard, I can't stomach her and her scheming!"

Just then, their breakfast arrived and Jokim sat down across from Haluin, still grumbling under his breath. It was plain he still had a number of thoughts yet unvoiced on the subject.

After eating a few bites in silence, they looked at each other and said. "We need a plan." Haluin's smile was predatory. "Well said!" Quickly, he sobered. "It may be that Druri will be called upon at some time to speak, Jokim. I would not have you ignorant of that. You see..." he paused and Jokim waved his knife encouragingly. "An attempt was made to poison me yesterday." The knife went still.

"A tray of sweets I have only tasted in Eryn Lasgalen was brought to my room while Druri and Eldarin were with me. The servant has said that I requested them, but I did not. To my knowledge, sweets of that sort are eaten only among my...the people of Thranduil." He omitted telling Jokim of Druri's own escape. It would serve no purpose to have a maddened dwarf about the place just now.

Said dwarf's face now resembled nothing more than a rapidly moving storm front as he leaned forward intently. " Are you saying she meant to poison you here, in Elrond's house? Is she mad?!"

"Nay, my friend, obsessed, desperate." Pushing his uneaten food away, Haluin sat back heavily against the railing. "Glad am I that I refused her long ago! A pity Daeron did not as well." Jokim opened his mouth to berate him again, but Haluin forestalled him. "Easy, my good dwarf. I am not slipping into despair, merely stating a fact. Now, help me prepare."

 

[Ghorim]

Nothing remained on the table save for stray crumbs and soiled silverware. The sun had fully dawned, but was more of an annoyance than an encouragement. Jokim squinted off its hungry rays as he eyed Haluin appraisingly. The dwarf had spun his chair around, and now straddled it backwards, leaning forward upon its back with his arms folded over the top.

So far, this had been the extent of their strategizing... an uncomfortable and questioning silence. But suddenly, something sparked in Jokim, and he rapped a fist upon the wooden backrest.

“Daeron does not enter into any of this.”

“Excuse me?” Haluin had grown used to interpreting Jokim’s blunt, clipped statements, but this one pricked enough to sit him up in his seat.

The dwarf nodded, seeming all the more convinced despite the Elf’s confusion. “I made this mistake when arguing your case before Lord Elrond. I spoke of how you struck your friend out of fear, not malice. But I failed to see... none of that matters!”

He stood, wiping off his uniform’s tunic and his beard as he pushed the chair away. “Thranduil made his judgment in your original case many years ago: you were banished, but not executed. We cannot look back and change his ruling. The sole thing that should concern our attention is your return to Mirkwood. That is the crime for which these Elves believe you must die.”

Haluin pondered these words, hand to chin. “So... I need only convince Lord Elrond that I meant no ill will in visiting the woods one final time...”

“Exactly!” Jokim clutched at his belt and puffed out his broad chest. “And here is where you will outmaneuver Neniel. She will attempt to boil your blood and turn the debate to Daeron’s death. She’ll seek spectacle... a shouting match, if she can orchestrate one. But you will not succumb to her schemes.” The dwarf marched a few steps forward until he stood right before Haluin’s face. “You will speak calmly, simply, honestly... but with conviction... about your recent visit to the woods.”

The Elf smiled, reaching out to pat Jokim’s shoulder. “I am glad you are taking your coaching duties so seriously, my friend.”

The dwarf’s expression didn’t so much as twitch, and he cast Haluin’s arm aside with a stiff shrug. “Hold the pleasantries until after your name is cleared. We have more to discuss.”

“Ah!” Haluin threw up his hands. “By all means, commander... continue.”

Jokim leaned in a bit more. “Culuin... and Cerilin. That is the next matter.”

Haluin considered correcting his friend’s slightly off-kilter pronunciation of the two names, but wisely kept silent.

“Eldarin and I have discussed these two already. He says their hearts are not behind this hunt.”

“Not nearly so much as Neniel’s,” Haluin replied with a nod. “And whose could be?”

Somehow, Jokim produced a chuckle that sounded both grim and playful. “I do sometimes wonder whether she has a life of her own to manage.” The traditional scowl returned. “So, then... when you address Elrond, take the time to speak to those two as well. Their resolve is already brittle. They know you too well to wish death upon you. If you can break one of them... just one... force him to renounce Neniel’s cause in front of everyone... then you will have won the day.”

“You make it all sound rather simple,” Haluin leaned back and cast a wry look Jokim’s way. “Her will presses at their backs, and it will not be so easy to break.”

“And what if they were to hear of this poisoning attempt?”

“For all I know, all three of them conspired on it.” The color fled from Haluin’s face as his gaze fell.

Jokim gave the Elf a quick slap to the shoulder. “Now, now! No such thoughts. Tell me this... do you have proof that your food was poisoned?”

Haluin sighed. “Lindir investigated the matter personally.”

“And?”

“He seemed more convinced that the poisoning was a tale I dreamed up to save my skin.”

“Ach!” Jokim stomped a boot down with such force that the entire balcony rattled. “It amazes me how even those with an eternity to learn can be such fools!”

Haluin laughed aloud, rising from his bench in a nimble leap. “Perhaps they only require a stricter teacher.”

“Ah... I will gladly teach that pompous waif a lesson or two, without compensation.” Jokim looked half-ready to track down Lindir, yet half-desperate to rein in his temper.

“Come, come...” Haluin moved lightly over to the double doors, casting them both open before turning back to send Jokim an eased look. “One way or another, he too will have his say at the council. And if he has discovered the truth, he cannot ignore it. For the now, let us conclude our planning. You have given me a fair number of thoughts to chew upon. What say we spend however much time remains before my grand trial with your nephew and Eldarin? That should settle everyone’s spirits.”

The dwarf drew a deep breath, filled with autumn chill and the strange smells of the Elvish forest. Now Haluin was telling him to relax? Well... if that didn’t beat all! Here Jokim had thought that this Elf was on the verge of giving in, but now the fellow was referring to his “grand trial” with a wink and a sardonic smirk. What had changed?

“Perhaps I just amuse him that much,” Jokim thought.

Finally, Jokim approached Haluin, the first few steps falling reluctantly, but soon speeding up as he thought of spending some uneventful free time with Druri. As loath as the dwarf might be to admit it, perhaps he did need an hour or so to unwind.

 

[chrysophalax]

With Jokim away, Druri had breakfasted with Eldarin, listening eagerly to the elf's tales of his travels in the Wild. The world, he was finding was much more fiercely complicated place than he ever could have guessed, populated by peoples he had never of. Rangers, talking trees, trolls that turned to stone in the sunlight, even little people shorter than himself, with hairy feet and laughing eyes. He was entranced,fascinated, alive with curiosity and when Eldarin told him he might be able to see some of these wonders, he had whooped with delight.

The elf smiled, then leaned forwardly over his toast conspiritorially. "Would you like to see something I've been working on at my forge?"

Druri's eyes shone. "Can we go now? What is it?" The questions spilled out, making Eldarin laugh as he flung his cloak about his shoulders. ""Yes and you will see when we get there, Master Druri." Truth be told, Eldarin had been near to bursting with wanting to tell Haluin what he been planning for him ever since they had known he would survive his injuries. Eldarin, warrior that he was, couldn't imagine not being able to defend himself or his lord's realm due to a debilitating injury, so he had determined that he would do what he could to aid Haluin's return to full strength.

Two elves, shirtless and gleaming with sweat, looked up from their labours as the two companions entered the smithy. "Mae govannen, young master." called the one working the bellows. "Druri, is it not?" "Aye, Gildor. This is my new charge, Druri, nephew of Jokim." Quickly, Eldarin slipped his cloak of and rolled up his sleeves. "Druri, these are my friends, Inglor and Gildor. They have been working with me to complete this!"

From a shelf just to the side of the entrance, Eldarin took down a box and set it on a bench, then opened it with a flourish.

Druri gasped. Partially wrapped in a soft woolen cloth, there lay an arm, gleaming with a soft, silvery glow as the light of the forge's flames caressed it. "May I-may I touch it?" Eldarin nodded, unwrapping the limb so that Druri could lift it out easily.

It weighed almost nothing, yet as he moved the articulated fingers gingerly, Druri could feel the strength of the metal as if it spoke to him through his hands. Whenever light glanced from its hematite-dark surface, it shone like moonlight, ethereal, yet he knew it was neither silver nor that most coveted substance, mithril. "Eldarin...what...?"

"Have you ever heard of an elf named Eol? No? Well, he was one of the greatest forgers our people have ever known. Many have claimed his soul was foul, corrupt, but I have never held such an opinion. For me, his work spoke for itself and I have studied all I could of his methods. It is said he worked with metals from a dying star that fell to Arda and that he created new metals, making his swords nigh on indestructable with wills of their own. I have endeavoured to emulate his work and...have created this for Haluin."

Carefully, Druri set the arm back in the box, quenching its glow with the cloth before reluctantly closing the box. "I've never seen anything like it, Eldarin. How will it work?" Eldarin glanced at Inglor before answering. "He will be able to slip it on and it will form itself to his arm, the articulations are so fine it will virtually seal itself in place. Then, he will have to learn how to make the fingers respond to the commands of the small muscles in his wrist. I believe he is determined enough to learn quickly and, with the magick we have imparted into it, he will be whole again. At least, that is my wish for him."

The elf glanced down at Druri and turned away, embarrassed by the look on Druri's face. "Nay, I have done nothing to merit..."

"Shut up, Eldarin!" All three elves stared at the young dwarf in surprise. "Don't go all modest here! What you, Inglor and Gildor have done is-is-I don't kow what it is, but I do know that Haluin would probably fade away without it. You have saved him, again, and that is nothing to go all shy about!" He crossed his arms over his chest, looking for all the world exactly like his uncle. "Elves..." he grumbled.

All three of them burst into peals of laughter. Druri only quirked an eyebrow and his meagre beard bristled. Eldarin wiped his eyes, then rolled his sleeves back down while Gildor replaced the box back on its shelf. "I think we should return before your uncle comes seeking you, Master Druri. I beg you, not a word of this until after...yes?" Relenting, Druri relaxed, his lips curving into a small grin. "As long as you promise to take the credit!" Eldarin threw up his hands in surrender. "As you will, young Master." Turning to the others, Eldarin said, "Let this be a lesson to you. Never show modesty in front of a dwarf!"

*******************************************


Lindir hissed. That was the third time he had nearly singed his fingers! Why are my hands suddenly so unsure? he wondered as, carefully, he set the glass bowl aside in which sat what remained of the supposedly poisoned sweets. Thus far he had detected nothing that would have caused even a mild case of hiccups, to say nothing of containing fatal ingredients. Angrily, he pushed the lot aside and sat down to contemplate his findings.

No poisons, no irritants, nothing unusual whatsoever! What is Haluin trying to do? What does he hope to gain by these outrageous accusations? He resented having to set aside all his other duties at Eldarin's request on behalf of a patient, who, frankly, he disliked intensely. However, the healer was nothing if not meticulous and for a patient to come under threat while in his care was unthinkable. Not only was he outraged by Haluin's hasty allegations, but he was annoyed on behalf of the elves from Eryn Lasgalen, who, in his estimation, had more than satisfactory cause to pursue Haluin, from what he gathered from whispered snippets he had overheard spoken among the elves who looked after their guests, (not that he ever put stock in gossip!). Simply put, the facts seemed to point to Haluin lying to save himself.

Allowing himself a tight smirk of satisfaction, he set about tidying up, before setting quill to parchment. Eldarin has put his eggs in the wrong basket this time. he thought smugly. This was not the first time the smith had lorded himself over others and Lindir would be pleased to be the one to put him in his place.

 

[Ghorim]

“And just where have the two of you been?”

Even as it leaned to one side, Jokim’s broad figure seemed to fill the entire doorframe that led into his room. He shot Druri one of his familiar, avuncular expressions: a skeptical frown, with one eyebrow raised slightly higher than the other, as if anticipating a fib.

Druri drew a deep breath, warming up for a giddy description of Eldarin’s forge and the magical works it contained. But then he saw Haluin peering over his uncle’s shoulder, and his mind locked up. With his breath still held in, Druri hurriedly tried to determine a way by which he could tell the truth and still avoid giving away Eldarin’s precious secret.

Just as he was starting to turn blue, the smith spoke up for him.

“We were touring the innards of my forge, Master Jokim.”

“Ah. Well... what say you, lad? Is it up to snuff?”

Druri had exhaled heavily as soon as Eldarin spoke, and took a quick breath to reply. “Of course! Nearly as good as any of ours.”

The uncle chuckled, with the Elves echoing in laughter. “It must have some fair merit, in that case.” Jokim turned an eye to Eldarin. “I’d much like a look at it, myself.”

Eldarin gave a slight bow. “It is but a humble place of work.” Druri was giving him an annoyed look, which the Elf perceived instantly. “That is to say...” He rose back to his full, intimidating height. “... Rivendell boasts other sights that you ought to take in first.”

“Which waterfall will it be, then?” Jokim gave a disinterested sigh.

“He has not yet seen the Hall of Fire,” Haluin suggested.

“What’s that?” Jokim shifted his weight off of the doorframe, squinting at Haluin from over his shoulder.

Three sharp clicks sounded from Eldarin’s tongue. “Indeed not. Nor have I shown it to the youngling. How remiss of me. Come, you all must have the tour.” He whirled in a nimble flash of robes and started down the hallway, spindly legs eating up space as he went.

“And where exactly have you been hiding this great hall?” Jokim was still staring at Haluin, addressing him as if this were somehow his doing.

The Elf shrugged. “Right under your nose, as usual.”

---

Unlike Druri, who had taken to their leafy accommodations with a curious zeal, Jokim had never let his guard down from the moment he awoke. Maybe it was the army of trees outside his window, hemming him in with their maze of shadows. Or the ever-present sound of rushing water, which seemed to conceal malicious whispers just beneath its surface. Jokim kept looking over his shoulder, expecting to catch something unexpected. He saw nothing, and his unease only grew.

Yet all of that tingling dread washed away when he set foot in the Hall of Fire. Stone! At last, stone! And yet it was not stone the way the Khazad would have fashioned it. As with much of Rivendell’s architecture, the hall had been designed to mimic the surrounding forest. The columns rose from the floor as sturdy trunks, their arches groping branches that scraped the ceiling.

The fireplace stood out as the only foreign presence in the room, dominating the far end of the hall. A healthy blaze illuminated the entire space, seeming to blot out even the sunlight that filtered in through the windows.

“You must experience this place at night before you depart, my good dwarves.” Eldarin’s stern voice shot up into the arched ceiling overhead, finding a home amidst the rafters as it reverberated to and fro. “... When music swells from wall to wall and poets leap from verse to verse.”

“Hmm...” Jokim planted himself at the room’s center, where a spiraling series of tiled circles found their terminus. “Listen to those acoustics!” He placed a fist to his navel and hummed a deep note. The sound seemed to bloom all about them, causing Druri’s neck to swivel around in circles as he tried to follow the tone.

Jokim turned one eye from the ceiling to Eldarin, who stood gazing up with arms crossed. “You Elves must have borrowed some of this design from our folk.”

“Why do you say that?”

“It is what he always says.” Haluin had leaned himself against a column, some distance apart from the others. “By his reckoning, the Firstborn have not had an original thought in ages.”

“Hmmph...” Jokim gave a half-chuckle, half-grumble and shot Haluin a wry look. “I only say that because our music halls in Erebor had a much similar architecture. The ceiling is all very smooth and circular, as you can see. No right angles. It gives the sound a chance to breathe.” He hummed again, louder and higher up his register this time, demonstrating the effect.

“You have a fine voice, master Jokim.” Eldarin studied the dwarf closely, as if trying to determine if that singing had really been his. “Tell me... did you ever sing in one of your folk’s concerts?”

Jokim snorted, and this sound too blanketed the hall. “Never that! Only around the fire from time to time... when the lads needed another voice for the blend. I did...” he paused, appearing uncertain if he wanted to complete the thought. “I did play in a military band, for a spell.”

Eldarin’s eyes lit up, and Jokim immediately regretted having mentioned it. “What instrument?”

“Well... I hardly see why it...”

“What instrument did you play?” To everyone’s surprise, the demanding question came from Druri, who had stomped right up to his uncle with a serious look on his face. “You never told me about that.”

Jokim cleared his throat. “Well... it was a long time back, you must understand. In Erebor, during my first infantry assignment. I played the fiddle. There were... ah... three of us fiddlers, as I recall. The other two fellows were far more experienced. I just played the backing melody, you see.”

“Can you still play?” Druri’s eyes and voice were welling up with a horribly childlike hope, leaving Jokim little choice in the matter.

“Well... ahem... I don’t see why not...”

Haluin clapped his hands sharply, eliciting a little jump from Jokim. “Fetch this one a fiddle, then!”

“Now?” both Eldarin and Jokim asked the question, with varying degrees of incredulousness.

“Why not?” And finally Haluin seemed at ease enough to approach the others, to become fully a part of their odd little group. “It would lighten the mood.”

His sly grin transferred itself to Eldarin, and the smith soon went off down a side corridor in search of the instrument.

Jokim stroked his beard in a short burst of annoyance and glanced between Haluin and Druri. “See, now, what you two’ve gotten me into?”

Haluin gave a light snicker. “And now the slayer of the Great Warg frets over a little recital before friends?”

“Not friends alone...” Jokim glanced about the hall. “Every floorboard and tile has an ear in these parts.”

“Then the whole building is in for a treat, I’d imagine.”

 

[Ghorim]

Jokim found himself gazing along the body of the fiddle, with a look so intense he might as well have been aiming the sights of a crossbow. The fingers of his left hand curled over the neck, gingerly touching down on the strings in a long-forgotten embrace. He brought up the bow, holding it high like a sabre as he examined it against the light. And then, with infinite care, he lowered it to meet the strings just north of the bridge.

The dwarf glanced up from his precautions to see Druri, Haluin and Eldarin seated patiently in chairs not three feet away, staring at him with inviting expectation. Jokim sighed and lowered his chin, pressing the instrument to his shoulder. He made his first draw in years, striking out a reassuring C note, before working his way gradually up the scale and then back down again.

The instrument’s tone was absolutely pure, and Jokim raised his head in surprise. “A fine instrument...”

“Yes... do be careful with it,” said Eldarin from his seat, hands laced in front of him. “It is older than you are, I believe.”

This remark pulled another scowl from the dwarf, but he quickly lowered himself back to business. He started with a C again, but this time used it as a launching point for a lilting waltz pattern. First sawing out long, resonating notes, and then plucking out little groupings of three, Jokim coaxed the strands of melody out from the instrument. They hovered in the air, feeding off of the hall’s natural acoustics to sustain for precious additional seconds.

Jokim’s right foot began to tap in time to the song. Then his left. His body started to sway subtly, and soon he was moving in a compact little circle, dancing a waltz with an invisible partner. With eyes now closed, the dwarf was overtaken by memories... of the old band, of the summer nights they spent playing to whooping crowds in Dale, of learning this very song from his friend Dhal.

So inspired was he, that he leapt a full octave for the final note, a long, piercing wail that Jokim held as long as it would last. And then he opened his eyes.

His three companions were standing... for they were no longer alone. Lord Elrond and two of his attendants stood behind the small row of chairs, with the great Elvish leader staring curiously at the dwarvish fiddler. Jokim immediately disengaged himself from his playing position, and bowed so low as to let his beard scrape the floor.

Elrond seemed to step through the chairs, and came right up to the dwarf. The Elf Lord extended his hands, into which Jokim instantly placed the fiddle and bow. Once filled with the strains of the dwarf’s playing, the hall now only heard the crackle of its namesake in the fireplace.

“... And we shall hear more of your talents later, Master Dwarf.”

Jokim lifted his head in confusion.

“... But for now, there is business we must attend to.” Another long moment of silence followed. But then, in a whipping flourish, Elrond lifted the instrument and struck a perfect imitation of Jokim’s final high note. Only the dwarf saw the smile that followed.

“Come. Follow me.”

And they all did, as if entranced.

---

A spiraling staircase led up to the sprawling terrace, where morning sun cast the shadows of leafy branches across the ground. Nine chairs sat in an orderly half circle, three of them already filled. Neniel, Culuin and Cerilin stood upon the arrival of the others, forming a neat defensive front together. Jokim and Eldarin stared right back at them, while Haluin and Druri averted their glances.

The two dwarves and the two elves sat themselves on the opposite end of the circle. Elrond took the center chair, and Lindir appeared soon after to sit at the Elf Lord’s side.

Within a few moments, the wordless dance had ended, and all of the involved parties sat facing each other. Gazes shot here and there, each participant trying to read the intentions of the others. Elrond stood amidst the silence.

“We are gathered today... to discuss the curious case of Haluin of Eryn Lasgalen.” The accused Elf lifted his head at the sound of his name. “He is a kinslayer. His red braid tells us that much.” Elrond’s gaze drifted down the row of chairs to the opposite end of the terrace. “These three accuse him of violating the terms of his past banishment.”

The Elf Lord sat. “I have entertained several arguments already — both for and against his life. Now I would have each side present its final case.” All those gathered scrutinized Elrond’s tone and words, searching to divine his leanings. But his speech flowed with barely an intonation. The dry monotone proved all the more unsettling; everyone found themselves on edge.

“I would have his accusers speak first.”

Neniel stood in a fiery flash, but Elrond held out his hand. “No. I have heard your views in great detail, Neniel.” She reacted as if slapped. “For the moment, I would reserve this forum for those whose voices have not yet been heard.” Elrond also gave a warning glance to Jokim, who looked ready to leap to Haluin’s defense at any moment.

Now those eternal grey eyes found their way to Neniel’s escorts. “Culuin... Cerilin. Which of you will speak first?”

As surprised as anyone else, the two Elves exchanged a glance. Which of them, indeed?

 

[chrysophalax]

As Cerilin stood to speak, Haluin's mind began to drift. It made little difference to him now what the elves had to say. The long separation from his kind had given him a taste for adventure, for experiences and cultures elves normally held themselves aloof from and he found himself daydreaming, thinking back over decades of friendships come and gone, of places seen and fondly remembered.

But not all. Not all the friendships have gone, it seems. he thought as he glanced fondly over at Jokim, his face as unreadable as stone. Haluin's grinned to himself. I think I shall enjoy hearing what you have to say when it comes your turn, old friend. I have the feeling these elves have never heard an irate dwarf before!

The image of Jokim on his feet, berating Haluin's accusers nearly made him laugh out loud and it was only by taking firm control of himself that he managed not to. Culuin shot him an acidic glance, but Haluin merely looked back at him serenely. He was long past caring now. All he wanted was to explain himself and be allowed to continue on eastward with his friends. After all, wasn't losing the use of part of a limb punishment enough?

"...and while it is true that he was known as one of our greatest archers save our prince, Haluin became a kinslayer and was banished. Why should he then return, my lord? What was the reason behind such a mad decision? As you can see, he now consorts with Edain and naugrim. What is he likely to do next? It is more than obvious he has become unstable and needs to be..."

Eldarin stood abruptly. "Needs to be what?" he growled. "Put down like a rabid animal? Have you no compassion, you of Mirkwood?", deliberately using the common term of Thranduil's territory. "He wished only to say farewell to his homeland! From what the youngling has told me, he never attempted to speak with any of you. Where then is the harm? Look at what he has done since! He nearly gave his life on the Redhorn to save his companions. Is that the act of a madman?"

"Sit down, Eldarin. Let our guests speak." said Elrond in a quietly authoritative voice. The smith bowed his head stiffly. "Yes, my lord. Forgive my outburst."

"Pray continue, Cerilin. You were saying...?" The elf's face had gone slightly more pale beneath the concerted glares facing him. "I-there is nothing more I have to say, my lord, save that the lady Neniel demands justice."

Again, Haluin had to control a burst of laughter. How like you, you cunning fox! Blame it all on someone else when you find the wind blowing the wrong direction. All eyes fixed on Elrond to see who he wold have speak next.

"Master Lindir, I believe you have some findings to present?"

 

[Ghorim]

The coarse wool of Jokim’s uniform rustled as he shifted in his seat. He watched with an indignant scowl as Lindir rose and bowed before Elrond.

“Indeed I do, m’lord.”

Lindir’s solemn, self-righteous tone sent the dwarf’s eyes for a roll. And then the Elf bowed to Haluin’s accusers.

“Perhaps not all gathered here have heard of last night’s incident...”

Jokim’s right hand dragged along his face. That bow was indication enough. Lindir thought the Mirkwood trio innocent.

Why not lick their boots while your head is drooped so low, Lindir?

“... But Master Haluin claims a dessert tray that we served him had been somehow tainted. Of course, we take all such accusations seriously...”

One at a time, the dwarf wrapped his fingers around the knobby arms of his chair, squeezing his frustrations into the polished wood.

“... And so I began the arduous process of testing the samples...”

Through the lengthy descriptions of chemical processes that followed, Jokim found his ire only rising.

Why does Elrond let this blowhard have his say before Haluin? Surely he knows...

Suddenly, Jokim felt a jab at his left shoulder. He whipped his head around to see Haluin, giving him that ridiculous child’s grin which seemed to light up his face at only the most peculiar moments. The dwarf’s jaw gaped in an uncomprehending stare, but the Elf’s message quickly dawned on him:

Relax!

Jokim tilted his head back, and allowed the briefest hint of a smile to cross his face before he returned to watching Lindir parade his knowledge about.

“... And so, all my efforts produced no evidence of contamination. Therefore, I’m forced to conclude that our guest was either sadly mistaken, or else... well... it is not my place to speculate.”

“Not your place?” Eldarin was visibly restraining himself to his chair. “You have done nothing but speculate in our private conversation, Lindir, and with Lord Elrond as well. Why not let the rest of those gathered in on your theory?”

“Eldarin.” Elrond held up a single hand, and the smith instantly knew his lord was threatening an ejection. Eldarin bowed his head, the hand lowered, and Elrond’s attention shifted over to Haluin. “What have you to say?”

Haluin almost shrugged, but thought better of it, shaking his head instead. “If I was mistaken, then I apologize for any uproar it might have caused. But I know that I did not order that dish. And we all know that it is not a delicacy that any denizen of Imladris would recognize. When I saw it, and smelled it — in that moment — I became convinced that something was amiss. That is all I can say.”

Elrond turned to Neniel and her cohorts, and for a moment a question seemed to rest on his tongue. But instead he turned back to Eldarin. “You were present when Master Haluin received this food?”

The smith nodded, his expression set and grim. “I was. Haluin seemed confused as soon as he set eyes on the dish. The youngling here...” Eldarin nodded toward Druri, “... was there as well. He reached for one of the sweets...” In an instant, Jokim tensed up all over again. “... But Haluin knocked the entire plate aside, and seemed gripped by hysterics. I held him down, and only then did he explain his suspicions.”

Again, Elrond gave a glance to the Mirkwood delegation as he settled back into his chair. “These, as Lindir said, are not trifling accusations. Regardless of how the rest of our discussion proceeds this morning, I will see this matter settled before any of our guests depart these borders. However... if, for the moment, nothing can be proven in either direction, I would suggest that we return to the matter at hand.”

“M’lord...” Eldarin stood, though knowing that he risked reprisal for continuing to speak out of turn.

“Yes?” Elrond’s attention settled once again on the smith, his patience not yet spent.

“If you would entertain this discussion a moment or two longer, I would call upon a pair of witnesses to contribute their testimony to the matter.”

“And who would those be?”

“Our head cook... and her assistant, Idriel. They are the ones who prepared and served the dessert to Master Haluin.”

Elrond considered the proposal for a silent moment, appearing to gauge the value in drawing out this investigation any longer. Eventually, he offered a somewhat wary nod. “Lindir... fetch the both of them. We shall see what they might offer to our deliberations.”

Lindir and Eldarin both bowed, one out of obligation, the other out of gratitude. The healer stalked off, offering the smith a scowl as a parting gift.

With a stay in the debate, murmured conversations cropped up on both sides of Elrond. But Jokim found himself unable to tear his glare away from Neniel, convinced that she had nearly murdered his nephew in her schemes to destroy her enemy.

Haluin poked at the dwarf again, but this time he did not respond. Neniel was staring back at him, aloof and mocking, a twinkle of laughter dancing in her dark eyes.

 

[chrysophalax]

As he watched Lindir's departing back, Haluin mused. This is ridiculous, all of it. Jokim has been delayed long enough by this farce and I, well...I have nothing left to lose now, have I?

Settling back comfortably in his chair, his mind finally at rest, his eyes drifted over the faces of his former friends and family, then further around the circle to where Elrond sat patiently waiting. Haluin felt a twinge of envy as he looked at the ancient elf sitting so unperturbed in their midst.

How does he do it? He has endured horrors that would have driven me mad and sadness which would surely have consumed me, yet there he sits, presiding unnecessarily over a council he has no need to. It is no wonder, to my mind that he is considered one of the greatest among us. My question is; why does he concern himself with so petty a matter?

As if in answer, Elrond turned his head and fixed Haluin with a look so piercing, the younger elf swore later that his very fea felt the force of it. Peace, Haluin. Speak what is in your heart. You will know what to say.

Shaking his head as if to clear it, Haluin glanced quickly around to see if anyone else had noticed, but aside from a raised eyebrow from Eldarin, the others seemed to have been oblivious.

He mulled over this extraordinary occurrence until Lindir returned with the two elf women from the kitchens, neither of whom seemed best pleased. They stood just behind Lindir's chair, the younger twisting her hands worriedly in her skirts, while the cook glared at the lot of them as if her time would be best spent elsewhere.

"My lord..."

Lindir scowled as Haluin stood at the same time as he, uttering the same words. They both turned to Elrond, who nodded his assent to Haluin. Angrily. Lindir steppde forward. "My lord, I have returned with witnesses crucial to discovering the truth behind what happened to this...unforunate in our midst. Surely you will allow..."

"Peace, Lindir. Indeed I will allow any to speak concerning this unfortunate happenstance. However, it is Haluin's turn just now. Haluin? Pray, continue."

With no little sputtering and muttering, Lindir sat down heavily in his chair and attempted to glare holes through the injured elf who stood now in their midst, his shoulders back and head held high. This was his moment and he intended to make the most of it.

"My lord, my friends...good elves of Eryn Lasgalen. " He bowed to each in turn, gathering his thoughts. "I beg you to consider my words, for they are my only defence. It is admittedly true that I returned to the trees of my homeland, many decades after my crime. It is not true that I spoke to or conversed in any way with anyone other than the trees, to whom I was bidding a final farewell before turning my face to the western lands.

For the last sixty years I have journeyed with men and discovered that nobility lives still in their breasts. Among the men of Rohan I found friendship, deep and true and among the men of Gondor, the House of Elendil prospers yet. Yes, I have even befriended one of the Children of Durin and found there strength and honesty beyond price.

Some of you who sit in judgement of me may frown on my actions, yet what else would you have me do? If you who once called me kin know me at all, then you know well that I give my hand freely to all who have need of it, whether it be in friendship for a time, or for aid.

I have found among both men and dwarves, compassion, companionship, humour and openness. It would seem that Iluvatar's gift of death has given them the capacity to live life, to experience it as we never can...with all their hearts!" His eyes shone with fervour as he spoke.

"Therefore, my lord, I ask that you set me free. I will wear hundred, a thousand such braids as this if that is what you require, but set me free to live life with my friends such as it should be lived. Not cowering in the darkness of the trees like frightened children!"

He turned and looked Cerulin in the face. "What will you do when the Dragon comes? The same thing you did when Dæron and I went with the others of Thranduil's guard to spy out the Necromancer? Say you felt unwell and spent the day shivering in your cave?"

Neniel shot to her feet, as did her brother, but before they could do anything, Elrond stood and cried out, "Enough!" in a thunderous voice, causing everyone to stand rooted to the spot. "All of you. Return to your rooms. I will tell you of my decision this evening in the Hall of Fire. Until then, I command the opposing parties to stay separate from one another. Is that understood?"

 

[Ghorim]

Haluin disappeared into his room shortly after Elrond’s heated dismissal of the council. He spoke only briefly of a need for rest before departing his friends’ company, and the look in his eyes seemed fixed on distant concerns. They let him go, with only sullen nods toward the Elf’s back as he strode away.

His departure left Eldarin to play host to the two dwarves.

“The forge, perhaps?” The smith glanced back as he led them down the spiraling stairs, back to the Hall of Fire.

“Let’s have a look,” Jokim said. “The lad seemed rather impressed.”

“It would be my honor to show you,” Eldarin bowed his head. Jokim said nothing.

And indeed, he said nothing more as the Elf led him around the workroom. The forge fire still burned, and the projects sat half-finished, carefully laid to rest on shelves. Jokim worked his way around the floor at a stately pace, stopping now and again to examine Eldarin’s works. The Elf kept waiting for a remark, even a grunt of derision or approval, but the dwarf only stared sternly at the objects, occasionally glancing back as Eldarin continued his spoken tour.

Strangely enough, Inglor and Gildor always seemed to find something to busy themselves with on the opposite end of the room whenever Jokim approached. He moved like a storm cloud borne by swift winds, glaring at them from under stiff eyebrows so that they could not concentrate on their labors. Druri opted to follow the two young apprentices, standing on the tips of his toes to watch as they tweaked and tinkered with the glowing hot metals.

Eldarin found himself trying to stay in front of the elder dwarf as they circled about. He quickly realized why: he wanted to see Jokim’s eyes, to read his every facial expression for some glint of approval. To think, after all the centuries of toil, he still cared so deeply about one dwarf’s opinion.

“Well, no more trinkets, then!” thought Eldarin. “Let him see my best.”

So out came the box with Haluin's metallic arm, and once again he unveiled it in as dramatic a fashion as possible. Jokim stood a few steps away, hands clasped behind his back.

“You’ll recall our discussions on this piece,” said Eldarin, turning it slowly so the dwarf could see it from every angle.

“Of course,” Jokim inclined his head and then craned his neck to follow the contours of the limb with his eyes.

Druri bounded over to his uncle’s side. “Is it not incredible? Eldarin told me there’s magick inside of it, and that it’s made of metal from a star, and it’s indestructible...”

“Now, now...” Eldarin laughed nervously. “I never said...”

“You work quickly.” Jokim took a few steps toward Eldarin, who froze. The dwarf extended his hands, and the Elf seemed to incline his whole body to hand over the arm. “You had this idea as soon as you heard of Haluin’s injuries?”

“Well...” Eldarin stepped back, giving Jokim the space that he seemed to wordlessly command. “My imagination stewed over it for awhile. But once the concepts come to me, I must see them into being. I worked throughout the night...”

“Haluin shall enjoy this,” Jokim was staring down the piece lengthwise, from elbow to fingertips. “Aye... you must present it to him tonight.” The dwarf brought it back to its case, gingerly placing it inside and wrapping it with the cloth like a grandfather tucking in a slumbering infant. His eyes shot up to Eldarin. “Good work. Now, let us eat.” And out the door he marched, without so much as a second glance about the forge.

Eldarin found himself blinking to regain his bearings in the dwarf’s wake, and he looked to Druri. “Does he always...?”

“Always,” the lad nodded with a knowing smile. “Don’t worry, he just gave you his highest praise.”

“That relieves me more than you know...” Eldarin glanced to his assistants, who were watching the scene curiously, and nodded for them to go back to work.

“Coming?” came an annoyed call from far down the path, and Eldarin and Druri both found themselves rushing out after Jokim’s voice.

 

[Ghorim]

The midday meal proved a delicate negotiation.

“After that business last night, you expect me to let him eat even a morsel of your kitchen’s food?” Jokim seemed to have sprouted an extra foot to shove his face straight into Eldarin’s.

So, a compromise: the food came from Rivendell’s kitchen, but with Jokim there to supervise. Unfortunately, that created another problem, as the cook was convinced that the dwarf’s beard would somehow shed its tiny hairs into her stew for that evening’s banquet. And so, a compromise to the compromise: Jokim stood at a proper distance, out of arm’s reach of the ingredients, watching with exacting attention as each dish took shape.

He left the kitchen muttering under his breath about what he’d really like to see done to that Elf’s stew.

Out they went into the forest, where Eldarin promised the dwarves a scenic picnic. Jokim seemed to visibly deflate at the idea, but for Druri it had the opposite affect. Eldarin had to squelch his laughter as he watched the youngling walk the path into the valley’s depths, his head swiveling from side to side and up and down in search of new sights.

The Elf had grown used to traveling these walkways with fellow ancients, who knew every step of the woods as common knowledge. They no longer remembered anything of its mystery.

So Eldarin explained the names of the trees and the calls of the birds to the eager-eared youth, while Jokim marched behind. The old soldier kept his eyes locked to the path, following its bends and gaps as it descended into a deep haze. Autumn had flecked the leaves with daring yellows and flashing reds, but it all passed him by without thought. Eldarin glanced back to him once, and saw the same look in the dwarf’s eyes that he had seen in Haluin’s earlier that day. Distance.

The pond where they were to dine had been Eldarin’s refuge in younger, more confused days. It did not offer the most dramatic vista in the valley, but the Elf knew of no place more restful and secluded. By the time their long walk carried them to its banks, the afternoon sun was hitting the pond’s water just right, casting the area in a warm glow.

“I would catch fish here from time to time,” Eldarin explained, laying out a blanket for them to dine upon. Then the food, one plate at a time, appeared from the basket that he had cradled under his left arm: fruit and bread and cheeses, and a loaf of lembas especially for Druri. He noticed a smile on the boy’s face from the corner of his eye and glanced over. “What’s that grin for?”

“Oh... well, when you mentioned fishing... I remembered one time when my father took me down to the Laketown. The fishermen were just coming back with their haul for the evening. They had these huge nets...” Druri extended his arms as far as they would go. “... And they were about to burst from all the fish the men had caught. And the fish were still flopping around, too, when they dumped them into the bins.”

“Well, I never claimed such skill. I threw most of my catches back, in any event.”

Jokim sat and leaned back against one of the sturdy trees whose branches stretched out over the water. He would have gladly left them to their conversation, but Eldarin turned on him.

“It must have been a fine place to live... Erebor, that is.”

The dwarf sensed a hint of sympathy behind those words, and instantly recoiled. “I had the fortune of growing up there, aye. But it is lost and bespoiled now. The time to mourn it has passed.”

“You do not ever stop to think of your home?” Eldarin knelt, but kept Jokim squarely in his sights.

“It does no good, looking back on these things...” Jokim quickly ripped off a hunk of bread for himself. “Besides, it has not been my home for many years. I left it just before I came across Haluin.”

“Oh yes... in the Rohan, correct?”

“So he’s told you everything already, has he?”

“Very little, in fact.” Eldarin gave a typically Elvish smirk as he picked up an apple. “I do, however, get the impression that the two of you served together at arms for a spell.”

“Perhaps we did...” Jokim attempted to hide his response behind a mouthful of loaf, but Eldarin’s hearing picked up quite clearly.

“Did you fight in many battles?” Druri inched just a bit closer.

Jokim sighed, knowing the lad would demand to hear everything. “A few. Those were troubled times for the realm... the Dunlendings thronged at the borders and sought to flip the lands upside-down. Somehow I fell in with Haluin, and one of the Rohirrim, an old brute named Hengist. We became a bit of a unit unto ourselves... a Man, an Elf and a Dwarf.” Jokim snorted. “We were very much the King’s pet project, and an object of popular lore. The court minstrels wrote a song about us, as I recall. But we were simply there to keep order in the lands.”

“A song!” Eldarin took a loud bite of his apple. “How did it go?”

“Ask Haluin. He has the memory for those sorts of things...”

“But I suppose that time together brought you all quite close...”

“Battle tends to do that, aye.”

“Why did you part ways, then?”

“Hengist was the one holding things together, as it turned out...” Jokim shifted where he sat, and stared off across the placid water as he chewed up the rest of his bread. Eldarin and Druri waited, as birds trilled lazily overhead. “Well, he took a nasty blow in a skirmish, and never quite recovered from it. That was that, in a sense. The Dunlendings had gone off to lick their wounds for a spell... they would be back later, of course. But Haluin and I decided to go our ways right then. ‘Twas only by chance that he stumbled upon me and Druri on our march, sixty years later.”

“Perhaps your reunion came about for a reason?” Eldarin arched an eyebrow, his half-eaten apple forgotten for the moment.

“Hmm! I take it you mean something supernatural. Your folk seem to place great stock in spirits and fates! But there are only events... only facts. I take mine as they come.”

“So what should happen, then, if our friend Haluin is found guilty and tossed into the hands of his accusers? Shall you accept that?”

Eldarin, or some part of him, knew he was pushing the dwarf with that remark. But he did not anticipate the formidable look that Jokim shot back.

“Then let them try to take him,” Jokim said, cool and unperturbed. “Let them try.” The dwarf grabbed an apple of his own and took off half of its surface in one bite.

Eldarin stared back at him. Jokim did not blink. No, he was not bluffing, Eldarin was certain of that...

 

[chrysophalax]

All attempts to calm his mind met with stubborn resistance as Haluin paced the confines of his room. Patience had never been among the many virtues he considered himself possessed of and now he felt caged, forced to reflect on the myriad miniscule decisions that had brought him, now, to this hour when his fate hung in the balance... a balance held by strangers the elf wasn't certain he could bring himself to trust.

I told them nothing but truth. he thought wretchedly as sat staring at the wall as though the answer to his fate would suddenly appear, emblazoned on the wood in letters of fire. If Lord Elrond chooses death for me, there is nothing for it but to accept. On the other hand, should he choose to banish me from all elven lands...what will I feel?

A faint ache stirred in his chest at the thought. It wasn't as if he hadn't faced that prospect before, so why did the thought trouble him now? Holding his injured arm close, Haluin rose from the side of the bed and walked to the large window which looked out over the vale. Soft afternoon light filtered through the trees, dappling the grass beneath them, lace-like.

He leaned against the carved wood of the window frame, drawing strength and warmth from it, his senses inordinately sharpened. A slow smile spread across his lean face, for in the distance he could see Jokim stumping along ahead of an earnestly gesticulating Druri, as Eldarin strode beside the youngling, bearing a basket and a large, cloth-covered parcel, his head inclined as though listening intently to all that Druri was saying.

As Haluin watched the trio make their way across the grass toward the great house, a complex brew of emotion welled up within him. Envy,sadness. relief, loss...fear and something indefinable, something he refused to put a name to clawed at him, hissed at him, shook him to his core.

In a flash, all that he stood to lose was thrown into sharp relief before him. If Elrond found him guilty, he would be stripped, not only of his life,which he had never held in high regard, but of those who had, somehow, become precious to him.

White-knuckled, he clutched the windowsill, cursing himself silently. Following Hengist's death, Haluin had hidden behind wards of bitingly sarcastic humour, never allowing anything or anyone to gain a foothold on the slippery wall that was his loneliness. He cursed Eldarin for his kindness,for his willingness to aid them despite discovering that Haluin was a kinslayer. Now, all the pain of caring had returned, fangs and claws sinking themselves heart-deep.

Gritting his teeth, Haluin turned from from the window. I will not give in to this! Where his hand hung withered throbbed now, sharply, as he tried to make a fist. It's not his fault. The fault, if any, is mine for defying my king's will. Drawing in a deep breath, Haluin steadied himself, trying to reach for a hope he really didn't believe in. It may yet be that I will live and we will go on together to Ered Luin and then...then I will discover what kind of life a cripple can make for himself in the Wild.

The knowledge that the Havens would be forever be closed to him drew a wry chuckle from him. The Valar must have known this would be my fate, to fill me with such wanderlust. Seems I am to be another Maglor, doomed to walk the confines of Middle Earth until Iluvatar tires of his game.

A sharp rap on the door brought his head up, startled. Already? So be it. A sneer marred his face as he squared his shoulders. "Come."

Lindir opened the door and entered the room, a closed expression on his face. "Haluin Gilmirion, you will accompany me to Lord Elrond's study." Haluin looked at him long and hard, as though to read his fate in the Healer's eyes, then inclined his head and followed Lindir as he was led through the covered walkways to hear what was to become of him.

 

[chrysophalax]

The door closed softly behind him as Haluin moved into the comfortable warmth of Elrond's study, trying in vain to hide the smug grin on his face when Lindir had been told, quietly but firmly, that his presence would not be required. The Healer had shot him a venomous glance, but bowed nonetheless to his lord before leaving the room, his back uncomfortably stiff, it seemed to Haluin.

Once more his vision, hearing, even his sense of smell seemed to be heightened as if in mockery of his predicament. Why is it only now that I notice that Lord Elrond has a fondness for oatmeal and honey soap? How fine the carvings are on his balcony railings! Haluin's mind darted from one thing to the next until the gentle sound of Elrond clearing his throat brought the elf's attention back to the present task.

Graciously, Elrond gestured for Haluin to take a seat, but Haluin politely declined. "Thank you my lord, but I prefer to stand. And, if I may...I thank you for all you have done for my companions and myself. Regardless of your decision, I owe you my gratitude...and my life." He bowed deeply, then rose and taking a deep breath, looked Elrond in the eyes. "What is your will, my lord?"

"You are brave, Haluin. None can deny that. You are also a stalwart friend, if the words of your dwarven companions are to be believed." Elrond turned and walked to his bookshelves, his long fingers ghosting over the leather as he contemplated his next words. "It seems you have also won the loyalty of one of my best warriors, who's word I have never had cause to doubt."

Haluin could feel a cold thread of sweat begin to trickle down between his shoulder blades. "My lord..."

Elrond turned swiftly and fixed him with a cold stare. "This has not been easy for me, young Gilmirion. Thranduil is a trusted ally and friend and Neniel was...persistent."

Haluin closed his eyes as his stomach clenched. "I...understand. Tell me then. How long...when..." He couldn't finish. He thought he had been ready to hear it, but reality was proving a harder burden to bear than he had anticipated.

"Before dawn breaks on the morrow, you will be taken to the westernmost border of Imladris. You are now and forevermore banished from all lands under the control of the Lady Galadriel and the Lord Celeborn, King Thranduil, Cirdan the Shipwright and myself. Should you enter any of these lands again, wittingly or unwittingly, your life will be immediately forfeit. Any of the Eldar who aid you from this point on will also have this Doom fall upon them. These are my final words on the subject."

Haluin's eyes flew open and his breathing faltered. I will live, but I am accursed, tainted. "It is...more than I deserve, my lord." he whispered, suddenly finding his voice without strength.

Sorrowful eyes looked into his own as Elrond once more bade Haluin take a seat. This time, he did not refuse. "Nay, Haluin. You do not deserve the punishment I have been forced to mete out to you. One with your courage and strength of will should be praised, not condemned! Yet...you have broken faith with your king and Neniel was within her rights to call for your death, petty though her reasoning was for doing so." Elrond turned away with a gesture of disgust on his face. "She and her kinsmen have already begun their journey back to Eryn Lasgalen. I made it clear that...justice would be served without their supervision." His hand reached out and gripped Haluin's fiercely. "You will not leave without all that you need to endure your journey, Haluin. Remember, tomorrow your Doom will fall, but not until then. So take what solace you will from that with my blessing."

Gratitude shone from his eyes as Haluin stood, still grasping Elrond's hand. "I thank you once more,my lord. Your kindness to Jokim and Druri far outweigh the burden I must now bear. Now, I must find them and tell them...and say my farewells."

 

[Ghorim]

They had arrayed themselves perfectly for the ambush: Druri, seated on the final inch of Haluin’s bed, ready to spring up at the Elf’s first appearance, Jokim, standing beside his nephew, a pensive eye on the door, and Eldarin, leaned against the wall right beside the entrance. He heard Haluin’s footsteps first.

“Be ready...”

And so when Haluin opened the door, he was instantly engulfed on three sides: Eldarin to his left, Jokim to his right, and Druri standing directly in front of him, already asking: “Well?”

Haluin gave a bewildered look over his assailants, seeming to admonish them each in turn for their impatience in invading his room and setting up this trap. His gaze settled on Druri, one eyebrow arched.

“Well, what?”

“Don’t be that way, Haluin!” Druri stomped a boot on the floor, but before he could continue, Jokim’s hand had clapped down on his shoulder. The gesture instantly silenced the boy.

“Come, Haluin...” The Elf had heard that fatherly tone from Jokim before, and its presumptuousness never ceased to amuse him. “We know who you were just speaking to. What did he have to say?”

“Oh... him...” Haluin parted the others as he walked across the room toward the window. Of course he was leading them on, with that same insufferable, sarcastic manner he loved to hide behind. But then he turned, saw his three friends staring back with tense concern etched over their faces, and something broke in him. The irony and distance drained from his face, and his features crinkled into an exhausted smile. “He said... I am free to go.”

All of the coiled tension that had built in Druri burst at once. With a whoop that shook the windowpanes, he ran straight at Haluin, who barely had time to brace himself before the young dwarf hugged him about the waist. The lad’s legs just kept churning, spinning them around and around in circles like a top, narrowly missing furniture as they went.

Haluin laughed. Not a chuckle, not a snicker, but a full-bodied, musical laugh, the likes of which Jokim had not heard from him in years. The dwarf looked to Eldarin, and for some reason felt compelled to clutch his arm and shake it. “Well... how about that?”

“Indeed! But I believe you had best rescue Haluin from your nephew’s enthusiasm...” Eldarin nodded to the dancing partners, who were still stumbling about.

Jokim smirked, marched over, and with a quick tug pulled Druri off. “All right, lad, that’s enough! You’re going to crush the breath out of him.”

Sure enough, Haluin was wheezing a bit as he lowered himself into a chair beside the fireplace, holding his sides and continuing to heave silent laughter.

“So what does Neniel have to say about all this?” Jokim cast one broad arm over Druri’s shoulders to keep the euphoric lad in check.

“I would not know,” replied Haluin after a few deep breaths. “She and her companions have already departed.”

“Ha!” Jokim smacked his hands together in a thunderous stroke. “And that news couldn’t have come soon enough!”

“But what is your punishment, Haluin?” And then the air seemed to leave the room. The others turned to Eldarin. He did not relish in casting a cloud over the celebrations, but he sensed something unspoken, and it plucked at his nerves.

Haluin took another breath... and seemed to hold for as long as he could, clinging to the little time that remained before he replied. The smiles faded. The silence turned sinister. And then there was nothing left to do but explain his fate.

---

Some hours later, Jokim and Druri were readying themselves for the banquet. The Elves had lent Jokim a coarse brush, and so he deployed its bristles against the thick tangles of his beard. Druri shared the room’s mirror with him, dutifully grooming the downy curls that coated his cheeks with a small comb.

“How much longer before I have a beard like yours?” Druri locked eyes with the reflected image of his uncle.

“It can vary...” Jokim winced slightly as he plowed the brush through a stubborn knot of hair. “But in ten years, your beard should be equal to any Man’s. And in twenty, it shall be respectable enough for a Dwarf.”

“That’s too long to wait...” Druri plucked at the hairs with his fingers, as if trying to pull them out further.

“Patience!” Jokim gave a final tug with the brush before setting it aside. “You’ll find a full chin of whiskers is both a boon and a burden all wrapped up in one.”

Druri scowled, far from appeased by those words. He turned away from the mirror, hopping up to grab a seat on the dressing table and face Jokim. “So then... once we leave...”

The clicking of his uncle’s tongue interrupted him. “Get down from there.”

“Aye, sir...” Druri mumbled, and slipped back down. “But I must know... where are we headed next?”

“Through the foothills of the Misties...” Jokim clasped hands to hips as he looked down on Druri. “Our last challenge of the march, I should hope. Your guard should be raised from the moment we leave this haven... the second leg of this region is just as dangerous as the first, though less steep. After that, however... once the lands flatten out, it should become a more pleasant stroll. Through Bree, and perhaps the Shire as well... you might have the chance to meet a Halfling or two.”

“I will?” Druri practically gasped.

Jokim chortled. “Aye, lucky you!” He took his nephew’s arm and led him toward the door. “Come... supper awaits.”

But Druri halted their progress halfway to the door. He found himself staring at the floorboards again. “Uncle... I don’t see how we can feast and sing and laugh... knowing about Haluin...”

“Haluin lives, does he not?” Jokim smacked the lad’s arm, which perked Druri’s chin upward. The uncle smiled. “Tonight we celebrate life. Tomorrow we deal with its particulars. Now come, already! We are late enough as it is.”

This time, Druri made no effort to shrug off the rough hands that bore him into the hallway.

 

[Ghorim]

They heard the music as soon as they shut the door behind them. Throbbing, soaring, swelling against the walls, it seemed to beckon them closer. Suddenly there was a question of what sort of Elvish madness these two were stumbling into, and uncle and nephew exchanged a glance before soldiering on.

Upon seeing it for a second time, the Hall of Fire seemed completely reborn to them. Three long tables filled the space, populated by Elves of all descriptions. Up until this point, Jokim and Druri had been relatively sheltered from the bulk of Rivendell’s population, holed up as they were in the recovery wing of Elrond’s house. Now, however, dozens of new faces had appeared out of nowhere, joining together in one song.

The melody spiraled ever upward, with its sights set on the clouds, before coming back down to earth and beginning its ascent anew. Two groups of musicians sat opposite each other at the front of the hall: lutes, woodwinds, fiddles and viols all atwitter with activity. The two bands bounced notes off of one another, one group playing a straight melody while the other crafted spirals of harmony around its counterpart.

At the front of the hall, the fire seemed to blaze brighter than ever before, casting a parade of flickering shadows over the walls and ceilings.

Nearly everyone present in the hall was singing and clapping along; evidently it was a popular tune. They sang in Elvish, of course, a language that Jokim had always dismissed as formless and hopelessly airy. So he ignored the words and focused his efforts on dragging a thunderstruck Druri over to their table. He spotted Haluin standing on the tips of his toes and waving his good arm, trying to catch the dwarf’s attention amidst the throng. There next to him were two open seats, and Jokim realized that they were positioned within arm’s reach of Lord Elrond, who stood at the head of the middle table.

Pleased to see his friend caught up in the festive spirit, Jokim returned the wave. He could feel the eyes of the Elves lock upon him and his nephew as they marched past.

“You’re late!” Haluin shouted, pulling back each chair in turn for the dwarves to sit.

“Well, I see the meal has yet to be served. So we’ve missed nothing of import!” Jokim patted Haluin’s shoulder as they passed each other.

“I thought you were an appreciator of fine music, Master Jokim!” That was Eldarin, leaning over to rib the dwarf.

“I’d hesitate to call all of this wailing a fine example of anything!” Jokim cast a superior grin Eldarin’s way.

“I think it’s grand!” offered Druri, who was already clapping in time. “What’s the song about?”

“Friends and fellowship, things your uncle could stand to learn a bit more about,” said Haluin, giving Jokim a bump. The dwarf returned it gamely, and then folded his arms as he waited for the song to subside. After a few more minutes of repetition, the final note struck, and once the applause faded, Elrond motioned for those gathered to sit.

“I see our two truants have arrived.” He gave a kindly look to the two dwarves, as peals of laughter followed. Druri sunk into his seat a bit as everyone seemed to look his way at once. “It is not often that we are so honored by the presence of Aulë’s children in these lands. Please do take the time to introduce yourself to them, should you have the opportunity. They are on a march to the Ered Luin, and if I know the Naugrim, they are not likely to tarry in one place for even a moment longer than necessary.”

“We shall simply have to take them prisoner, in that case!” Eldarin’s suggestion drew another round of laughter, and Jokim sent a slow-simmering glare his way.

“I do hope we are past such unpleasantries by now, Eldarin.” Elrond, as always, was especially patient with the smith, such was their trust. “If we wish to detain our guests, we shall simply have to do so by our hospitality.” And with that, the Elf Lord clapped his hands, summoning a phalanx of servants and kitchen assistants armed with steaming bowls of stew.

“There’s what you’ve been waiting for, Jokim.” Leaning forward on the table, Haluin turned to face the dwarf. “Now tell me, shall you complain about the Elvish food all night long, as well?”

“We shall see, Elf.” Jokim yanked his napkin off of the table and spread it over his lap. “But I am in a charitable mood tonight.”

Listening from his neighboring seat, Druri couldn’t help but burst out grinning as the old banter between his uncle and Haluin returned. Suddenly, everyone was starting to seem comfortable again. Maybe Jokim was right. Maybe they could simply celebrate their lives tonight, and tomorrow... well, maybe then they could start to make sense of things.

 

[chrysophalax]

Venison stew, flanked by baskets filled with fresh-baked loaves of oaten bread eventually led to platters piled high with trout, their scales flashing rainbow-like in the gleam of myriad beeswax candles lighting the Hall from end to end.

Druri, who as a small lad had been witness to many a dwarven feast, had never seen the like as course followed course, each providing new delights for his senses. The scent of roast pheasant mingled with the heady aroma of mead, beer and the tang of miruvor, the wine favoured by the elves and he snickered to himself as Haluin kept leaning over, trying to get Jokim to try some. The resulting sneer his entreaties met with each time almost caused Druri to choke on his own pint of beer.

By the time the trays of honeyed pastries and fruit-filled tarts arrived, the entire company had become more than a little merry. Eldarin was up and trying to dance with one of the elven lasses playing a flute, sowing momentary dischord amongst the musicians. Jokim rolled his eyes as he downed another brimming mug of beer, blithely unaware that his own foot was tapping out a sprightly rhythm of its own.

At last, finding himself unable to sit in his seat any longer, Druri got to his feet and began to caper about, clapping his hands enthusiastically. Instantly, the musicians, having seen Eldarin off, began a lively tune well known to among the elves, who began singing ever more loudly with each successive verse.

Only one among them sat still on his bench, scowling. Lindir the healer had been most displeased by his lord's verdict, even though he was ignorant of the accompanying stipulations Elrond had meted out to Haluin. To him, any elf who consorted with naugrim deserved punishment...harsh, decisive punishment, in this case, death. The fact that Haluin had been allowed to live showed a flaw in Elrond's character and this...this feast was a parody, a mockery of the justice he would have dispensed had he, Lindir been present.

The glares sent Haluin's way by the healer were not lost on Jokim, however. While watching his nephew try to sing along with every song, he had noticed Lindir's face and it was not in a festive mood! Discreetly, he nudged Haluin as he sipped his beer. "Don't look now, but you seem to have an admirer." The sarcastic tone in Jokim's voice was not lost on Haluin's miruvor clouded senses. "Ah, you must mean Lindir. I am not surprised, in fact, I'm delighted!" Recklessly, Haluin stood to his feet and raising his goblet high, called for silence.

"Good elves of Imladris!" The music diminished swiftly, gracefully to the faintest pianissimo as Haluin began to speak. "On behalf of my friends and I, I wish to thank Lord Elrond, indeed all who have given us refuge and respite after our travails upon the Redhorn Pass." Murmurs of approval greeted this statement and all present reached for their goblets and mugs. "In particular, I wish to express my gratitude to Lindir, without whom I would never have truly understood what friendship is."

The stunned look on the healer's face was priceless and Haluin smiled smugly into his goblet. Yes, Lindir...without a fool like you to show me how a friendless person acts toward others, I never would have known how fortunate I am. Pleased with himself, Haluin downed the contents of his goblet in one, then made his way over to Eldarin. "Give this to the musicians, if you will. I think Jokim will remember it." Eldarin put up his hands. "Nay, mellon! I'll not be party to whatever scheme you have in that head of yours." "Coward!" Haluin hissed as he turned his back on Eldarin, then headed for the players, who were just preparing to take a well earned break.

Fishing a piece of parchment out of the depths of his tunic, Haluin knelt down next to the harpist who led them and whispered his request, then hummed a few bars of a song, repeating them several times until the harpist was satisfied his players had the way of it. "It will be our pleasure, Haluin Gilmirion. I trust you will enjoy our rendition!" His twinkling with mischief, he smiled. "I'm certain I will, as will my companion, I have no doubt!" With that, he returned to his seat and refilled his goblet. If he was going to leave his people and his friends behind, he was going to do it in style!

 

[Ghorim]

Quite unexpectedly, Jokim found himself holding court over a legion of admirers at the hall’s center table. They were all of them youths, born after the age of friendship between Elves and Dwarves had passed.

None had ever seen one of the Naugrim so close before. So they crept timidly from every corner of the hall, bunching together in groups of two or three to overcome their innate fear of those sharp eyes... that thick scowl... that beard.

Jokim sensed the younglings coming, and had hoped ignoring the lot of them would eventually send them scurrying back to wherever it was they came from. But then one got up the gumption to ask him a question. The dwarf tried to grunt it off, but Eldarin was there to prod him into an honest answer.

After that, the dams burst, and Jokim’s ears were flooded with query after query. Before he knew it, he was explaining the style of axe he used in battle, comparing Erebor to the Iron Hills, and even refuting a few pesky myths about his people.

“Aye, our women have beards,” he growled at one girl. “And why should that be so strange, eh?”

She recoiled, along with half of the group. Jokim grimaced at his own temper, and was about to mumble an apology when the sound of a familiar song pricked up his ears.

What was this...? That grating, jaunty melody... the growing din of woodwinds... the clip-clop rhythm, sounding like the trot of a horse... no! It couldn’t be!

Jokim stood slowly, eyes cast toward the musicians at the front of the hall. From a swirl of dancing Elves, the figure of Haluin emerged. A grin the size of a mountain range stretched over his face.

“You all must excuse me for a moment,” Jokim murmured to the group of young Elves, who were trying to follow his gaze. “I have... other... business.”

He set out at a steady march to the dance floor, and the younglings scattered in his wake like birds fleeing before an oncoming carriage.

“Haluin!” Jokim called as he neared. The Elf stood just at the edge of the ring where dancers leapt and twirled. “You can still stop this.”

“But why would I? It’s such a delightful tune.” Haluin laughed and spun away from Jokim just as the song’s opening lines were about to commence. The dwarf pursued in a fit of irritation, but a dancing Elf managed to blindside and sweep him up into the heat of the dance. Jokim tried to disengage, but in an instant he had been passed on to another Elf. And so they flung his stout form about the dancing floor, as the musicians began to sing:

"Out on the plains,
Three riders seen!
One short, one tall,
One in-between.

When mounted up, they look unsteady,
But come battle they're more than ready!

With weapons drawn, as bold as kings,
They ride to fight the Dunlendings.
A Man, an Elf, a Dwarf: a team,
Defenders of the Rohirrim!

The first, Hengist, a warrior bold,
His strength a legend often told,
With mighty blows he hacks and cleaves,
To sweep away brigades like leaves.

Next Haluin, with merry eye,
Who could shoot gnats out of the sky,
His arrows sing their deadly tune,
And leave the battlements in ruin.

The last, no taller than a child,
But with his axe he fights like wild.
Called 'Jokim,' with a bristling beard,
A name and face most dreadfully feared.

They came from lands split far apart,
But through their deeds, they forged one heart.
A Man, an Elf, a Dwarf: a team,
Defenders of the Rohirrim!"

Jokim had not heard any of this nonsense for over sixty years. And although he cringed at every merry note and every forced rhyme, he could not help but remember: The colors of the autumn festival, where he and Haluin and Hengist met. The misfit camaraderie that somehow glued them together. The pitched battles, fought under sun and moon, as bodies fell in the chilly air.

The Elves bore Jokim along effortlessly, incorporating him into the design of the dance without his even realizing. By the end of the song, Jokim had been tossed straight into Druri, who had been jigging about the whole while. Haluin slipped in from nowhere to join them. When the final note struck, the three stood at the center of floor, alone, surrounded by a circle of grinning dancers.

“A spare cheer or two for our heroes!” called the lead musician, and the feast goers complied in force. “Take a bow, Masters Haluin and Jokim!”

Jokim looked content to stand rigid, but Haluin pressed a hand to his friend’s back and pushed him down. The dwarf rose, looking exasperated at all of this Elvish pageantry. He noticed Lord Elrond standing tall amidst the crowd, watching the proceedings with that peculiar intensity of his.

Druri tugged at his sleeve. “That was the song, wasn’t it?”

The lad’s face had flushed red from all the beer and wine he had guzzled that evening. Jokim frowned. Only his second night of drinking, and the lad was intent on earning himself a headache in the morning!

“Aye, of course it was. More hideous than I remember it...”

“Pay your uncle no mind, Druri,” Haluin cut in. “He’s still bitter about that one line... how does it go? ‘The last no taller than a child...'”

“It’s not simply that,” Jokim snorted, taking Druri by the shoulder and leading him back to the table. “The melody is absurd, the lyrics leaden...”

“And there’s not enough mention of your prowess with the axe!” Haluin laughed.

“Am I the only one not yet drunk tonight?” Jokim muttered to himself. Up ahead, the group of young Elves awaited his return. Jokim halted his approach. Clearing his throat, he pushed Druri out in front of him.

“Have you all met my nephew, Druri? He loves to answer questions.”

 

[Ghorim]

Jokim had enough experience with drink to know when Druri was finished for the night. He figured it out before Druri, in fact.

“Come along, lad. Your head is ready for the pillow.” Jokim tugged his nephew down the hallway back to their room.

The bawdy music from earlier that evening had given way to Elvish poetry: sprawling odes to the land and the water and the sky. Druri’s head had started to dip during the last reader’s verse, and so Jokim wordlessly pulled the lad from his chair.

“But uncle... I’m not tired yet.” Druri tried to half-heartedly pull back in the opposite direction, but every time he stalled his uncle seemed to grow more stern and forceful.

“I’ve heard that tale before...” Jokim let go of the lad’s wrist to open the door once they reached the bedroom. And then he stood, pillar-straight, and pointed into the dark chamber. He would not forcibly shove Druri inside. His nephew would have to choose whether to obey or disobey.

Druri looked back down the hallway. Then he turned unsteadily to face his uncle’s grim expression. With a miniature grunt, he acquiesced, and trudged past Jokim into the room.

“How much longer can we stay here?”

“It is Haluin’s choice...” Jokim said. “Here, you take the bed tonight.” He directed Druri away from the cot where the lad had slept the night before.

“Hmmm...” Druri plopped down on the mattress and rubbed his head drowsily, seeming to anticipate the hangover to come. “What do you think he’ll want to do?”

“We’ll make our plans tomorrow. Now hop to it, lad. Take off your shoes, and then under the covers with you.”

Druri flailed at his boots incoherently for a moment or two before Jokim sighed and helped to pry them off. He then circled the bed, tucking in the covers at each side.

“I’m still not sleepy,” Druri said dourly, staring at the ceiling with arms folded over his chest.

Jokim smirked in the dark and pulled up a chair. “A deal, then. You close your eyes, lie still, and don’t say a word for five minutes. If you’re still awake after that, I’ll take you back to the Hall of Fire.”

“Only five minutes?” Druri lifted his head off the pillow. Jokim nodded. And so Druri’s head crashed back down, the lad excitedly squeezing his eyes shut, knowing full well that he could best his uncle’s challenge.

Three minutes later, he was snoring.

“A noble effort, lad,” whispered Jokim as he crept out through the bedroom door. “A noble effort.” Then he shut it behind him, marching back down the silent hall.

---

Only a few devotees still sat around the great festival hall, encircling a poet who made his stand near the grand fireplace. His booming tones echoed off the walls, filling the space with visions of fiery battle and valiant heroism.

Haluin sat off on his own at one of the abandoned dining tables, toying with a silver spoon that lay in an emptied bowl of stew. Jokim plopped down in the opposite chair. The Elf glanced up, and the two exchanged weary grins from across the table. For several moments, they said nothing.

“How do you feel, then?” Jokim leaned forward, hands clasped in front of his chin.

Haluin considered the question. “I feel...” he glanced to the poetry circle, then back to Jokim. “Like me. And a great while has passed since I could honestly say such a thing.”

“A burden has been lifted, then?”

“And another lowered in its place. But this one I can carry.”

“With help.”

“Of course." A pause. "And how do you feel, Master Dwarf?”

“Me? Chipper. Positively chipper, Master Elf. I could set out at a full march tomorrow morning, but I fear the lad will need more time to recover.”

Haluin chuckled softly and dropped the spoon. “But let it not be said that young Druri did not enjoy himself tonight. I am glad to see him no longer so sullen as before.”

Jokim looked away for a moment. “He... he could use more occasions like this one, you are correct.”

A question stalled in Haluin’s throat. It was best left unasked until later. “You ought to rest up as well, Jokim.”

The dwarf snorted. “Ought to...”

A resounding cry from the front of the hall cut him off:

“As morning burst,
The banners flew,
Pale green, deep red,
And lightning blue.”

Jokim cradled his head in his hand and spared a glance toward the orator. “Blowhard...”

Haluin shook his head with a grin, but noticed Eldarin striding their way. The smith bowed beside the table. “Good evening, sirs. Am I interrupting...?”

“Not in the least,” said Haluin, tilting his head. “What news, then?”

“Well...” Eldarin rose, clasping his belt with both hands. “If you would follow me, Master Haluin, there is something I would like to show you.” His eyes darted to Jokim, who smiled broadly.

Haluin picked up instantly on that brief exchange. “Ah! So the two of you have conspired on a surprise of some sort?”

“Nae.” Jokim stood with a quick shake of his head. “This one was all Eldarin’s doing.”

“Hmm...” Haluin pushed back his chair, smacking his thighs once he stood. “Well! Lead the way then, master smith!”

The three left the Hall of Fire together, words still tumbling through the air at their backs.

 

[chrysophalax]

A sickle-shaped moon rode high in the night sky above them, brilliant silver against gossamer black as Eldarin led the way down the winding stair toward the smithy below. Haluin inhaled deeply as though to somehow breathe in the memory of Imladris and make it a part of himself. He had drunk deeply, joyfully at Elrond's table and now, every scent, every sound engraved itself on his soul and he sighed with longing as he looked about him.

Ah, Elbereth...if you can hear me, grant me strength for the journey and let me not fall into despair. he prayed fervently as they made their way silently across the dew-covered grass. Eldarin lit the lamp hanging by the smithy's door, then gestured for them to enter.

As the golden glow of the lamp revealed the orderly interior, Haluin felt drawn to touch and inspect several of the swords and pieces of armour that lay on a large table against the far wall. Reverently, he picked up one after the other, testing their balance, admiring the engraved scrollwork. So caught up was he in his inspection that he startled when Eldarin cleared his throat gently.

Turning, he found himself greeted by amused looks on the fces of his friends. Embarrassed, he set down the sword he had been holding and straightened. "Forgive me, I-that is, they're beautiful, Eldarin. It is no wonder Lord Elrond values you so highly." Wistfully, his hand trailed once more along the gold-etched blade of a longsword. "You are a true artist, mellon nin.

Eldarin bowed his head at the compliment, then reached for a box on the shelf at his shoulder. "I have something for you, Haluin." More than that he couldn't bring himself to say as he opened the box, then stepped back even as Jokim crowded forward.

Surprised at Eldarin's generosity, Haluin curiously approached the box and removed the cloth covering its contents. His eyes widened, then flew to meet those of Eldarin. When Haluin didn't move, Eldarin stepped forward and lifted the dark metal arm from its resting place. "Fool of an elf, take it!" barked Jokim suddenly. Both elves raised elegant eyebrows at him, then Haluin reached out to stroke the metal.

"When did you...? Why, Eldarin? Why put so much of yourself into this creation when I could have, should have, been sentenced to death?" "Do not ask me for reasons, Haluin. Take it. Wear it. Live, mellon!" His throat gone dry with emotion, Haluin began to unwrap his left arm. Jokim took over after a few moments, grumbling to himself as the elf fumbled with the cloth. "Just my luck to have one of the only helpless elves for leagues in any direction! This contraption of yours had better work, Eldarin, or I fear for his safety!"

Feeling himself totally unworthy of such a gift, yet grateful beyond words, Haluin stretched out the remains of his arm as Eldarin carefully slipped the new one in place. Haluin gasped as he felt the the minute joints conform to the shape of his arm and hand, becoming almost one with him. He grimaced as he tried to bend his near-skeletal hand for the first time since the attack and the others watched with concern. The withered muscles and sinews burned as the arm moved, first slowly, then after a few minutes, attempting more intricate movements.

The black arm gleamed darkly from elbow to fingertip as Haluin opened and closed his hand, then picked up a cup as easily as if he had been born with it. He threw back his head and laughed aloud, then gripped Eldarin in a mighty embrace. "You have given me back my life, indeed! I cannot even bring myself to feel guilt now, only elation!" Winking, he turned swiftly and gripped Jokim's shoulder. "You knew, did you not? Ah, you wily fox..." Stooping, he embraced Jokim as well, who patted him stiffly on the back, then harrumphed into his beard. "Of course, I knew. Eldarin knows a trust-worthy dwarf when he sees one! What of it?"

Haluin threw up his hands defensively. "No offense meant, old friend! Druri,as well?" Jokim threw out his chest. "He knew, of course. The lad can keep silent when he has to." Overwhelmed, Haluin squeezed Eldarin's shoulder again in gratitude and Jokim coughed none too loudly. "Before you two go all soft again, I think I'll take my leave." He fixed Haluin with a steely gaze. "We have much to discuss in the morning, master Elf." "Aye, Jokim...in the morning. Goodnight to you, rest well...you and Druri." This last was said softly and Jokim paused for a moment, then grunted and departed for his room.

Silence filled the smithy as Eldarin watched, marvelling. The arm had molded itself effortlessly to Haluin's injured limb as thouhg it were living tissue and he was tempted to ask if Haluin could feel anything with it, but he knew that that would be impossible. The arm would obey Haluin's muscular impulses and if they no longer existed, it should eventually obey his thoughts. The wonder was, it already appeared to be doing that!

"I cannot thank you enough, Eldarin...truly." "There is no need, mellon. When I heard your story and saw the way you had fought to defend your friends...how could I not do all that I could to restore you? In any case, you will leave us soon and you must be able to defend yourself, no?"

"Aye, Eldarin." Haluin said sadly. "Soon..." A hand closed on his shoulder comfortingly. "Then you cannot leave without a proper weapon, can you?" Moving to the table where Haluin had been admiring the swords, Eldarin picked up the longsword and brought it over to him. "Read it." Etched into the blade was the word GALVORNION. "You are no longer the son of Gilmir, mellon, but the son of the black metal, a fitting name for a fugitive, don't you think?"

Unable to speak, Haluin embraced him again, then fled out into the night, sword in hand to face a new life alone.

*********


A sentry leaned against the trunk of a large oak overlooking the Ford of Bruinen, part of the small contingent sent by Elrond to make certain the elf Haluin made it safely across the ford, the western border of Imladris. It went without saying that, should he attempt to return he was to be shot on sight.

Earlier, he had been given a pouch filled with dried fruit, herbs and a small flask of miruvor by Elrond himself, a gesture which touched the elf deeply. He had bowed, then paused, his eyes searching those of the elven lord. "I know that I no longer have the right to ask this of you, but...my lord, I ask that you not tell my friends of my departure. I will hope to join them as they leave, but I cannot be assured we will meet again." Again, a pause, a breath.

"Will you see that they are armed properly? It would ease my mind to know that elven steel stands between them and whatever dangers might try to thwart them on their journey." Elrond stroked his chin thoughtfully. "And what makes you think Jokim will accept such gifts?"

Haluin's answer was swift. "If they come from Eldarin's forge, he will accept."

"As you wish, Haluin. Now go and though I cannot give you my blessing, know that I hold you in high regard and that I grieve with you." With that, they parted, as the birds began to stir in their down-lined nests. Haluin wondered what Jokim's reaction would be, then decided it would be a thing best not dwelt upon as he walked into the chill currents of the Bruinen, to the sentry's great relief.