The Princess of the Iron Hills

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the 'Lord of the Rings' and 'The Hobbit' world, which are trademarked by J.R.R Tolkien. The story here is my own invention, and it is not purported or believed to be part of J.R.R. Tolkien story canon. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line.

Thank you, J.R.R. Tolkien, for Middle Earth

The Newborn

In the depths of the Iron Hills, lived a dwarven King with the name Gror. He had a son, which bore him the greatest fear for he wasn't married yet. The dwarves weren't fond of marrying, for they were busy, mining all the time, extracting gems and quenching their thirst of gold and jewels of all kind. And in the time being, Nain, the son, was quite single, so his Father inquired and found him a bride, his son married a woman of good name and nobility that was chosen particularly for the legacy of the family to never end and his line to be preserved. And in that year, a boy was born followed by two girls in the later years. The boy was named in Dain, the girls named Borga and Naessa.

This story tells tale of the princess Naessa in particular, and an adventure that she quite never thought real, in places she was never to be allowed to venture. Let alone with the company of all together odd folk.

But let's explain the manner in which the first born was treated and what exactly happened in the year of Throin and Dain's birth.

The day that Prince Thorin was born was a splendid day for all the dwarves, King Thror, King under the mountain, brother of King Gror, held the Price within his arms and swung his axe on top of his crown allowing some water from a nearby fountain inside the hall cover the baby's body like a blanket of cleansing droplets, in a practice of the dwarves with a born baby to bring good luck. The celebrations that followed made the most splendid of dwarves mightily wonder and gawk at the amount of gifts given and the food that the King held in feasts. The men of Dale, who dwelt near Erebor, the city of Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain, shared the joys of the people, making splendid magical fireworks and played music non-stop. Merrymaking has gone on for weeks, many would protest though, saying months, as legends has stated. But whatever the time that has passed, it has passed for quite a long time. King Gror was very happy indeed, but was alarmed when he saw the perils of not having a second Prince soon, so he urged his son to find a Dwarf woman to up raise a Prince with, and so does Hulda finds her way into this story. They were happy in this mareaige, for she was a woman of good nature and doesn't possess a dwarvish stubbornness, at least not as her husband. She bore a prince by the end of the first year of their marriage, making the Dwarves merrier and hopeful for another prince (and feasts). And the Queen had a baby by the end of the second year. The King held feasts like never before, and King Thror was not very pleased with his brother's extravagance. But wise as he is, being the oldest of them and with a finer ways in showing his riches, he decided it wouldn't be appropriate of him to ruin his brother's merry mood and happiness so instead he sent him a set of magical toys from the finest toy-makers in Dale and gifts innumerable and of high taste, and a promise to visit soon.

The celebrations didn't end with a wish undone, or a feast uneaten, or a song unsung. When he visited, Kings Thror and Gror had a plenty to talk about, of how mightily grand it is to have a grandson, and to discuss the various other things that brothers talk to each other about. The King visited the young Prince in his hall, wrapped around many sheets of exotic silk and cotton, his huge marble eyes shined like the gems he had encrusted on his bed, he looked at the grandson for quite a long time and grew fond of him. He saw in his eyes the pureness and kindness of his father and remembered the old man and found tears in his eyes trickling to his beard, he sniffed and coughed slightly, then gruffly said:

"Well, he looks like a healthy lad, and he's got some clear eyes, I can see the future in them…"

"And the past, reminding us of the old days", said Gror, choosing not to take notice of the redness in his brother's eyes so as not to hurt his pride.

"Our Dad lives on through him," he looked at his brother an put his hand at his shoulder, "take good care of him brother"

"You got my word"

The brothers embraced each other, and on the next day they were saluting on the gate of the Kingdom, after wagging their beards and wishing all the good for both the newborns, King Thror departed.

Life was good in those days, no wars between goblins and dwarves or the usual "misunderstanding" with the Elves. It went well for that year, both the lads growing as healthily and fondly as ever. Hulda was very appreciated at the moment she gave birth, everyone loved her.

But not for ever, said a voice inside of her. Well to be accurate, it was somewhere around her. It was in the air of the endless dwarven halls, that she heard that voice. It was evil and hissing, but it wasn't the nagging voice at the back of your head, it was never heard before by the ears of the dwarf or any race in those times for that matter, so she was quite shook when she heard it. That day was the day the King Thror visited them. She, as a woman, was not allowed to step out of the Gaur, the women premises, so she looked out of her window. Then the voice said, they liked you only for the prince, they'll forget you soon…

She whispered, eyes averting from the brothers,

'What should I do, then? I want them to like me'

The evil voice, as well as you, if you were overhearing this conversation, understood that the Queen has a deep desire for others to admire for she lacks self appreciation, and he chose to manipulate it quickly. The Voice is not a good creature, it's a bad one when it wants to be and good when it chooses to be, which is very rare and happens because of planned reasons. It said pleasantly:

'Well, having more children, of course. The King will be pleased with more off spring'

The Queen thought that was absurd; after all, the King has a perfectly healthy heir, and doesn't plan on raising any more princes.

'But… the King doesn't want more princes'

'Oh, don't worry m'child. The future is readable to me; you won't be having princes …but a princess. Oh, how delightful', snortedthe voice in an excited, deep gurgling voice.

The idea of a little girl to have was equally not making sense, why would the King like her… but then she thought that it was a perfect idea, since Fathers are drawn more to their daughters than sons. And then they would praise her again, more fondly this time.

'Are you sure, they will like me again?' said the woman, waiting for an assurance to her thoughts.

'Yes', it said hissing.

The voice travelled underground as the Queen sighed with relief. It traveled faster than time to its territory, abiding by the farthest dungeon, away from dwarven eyes, and waited. It planted the seed, now it waited. Oh how it waited and longed for the prized one…

And the days went by, and the Queen contemplated the arrival of a little princess so early, but then she saw how everyone was drifting away, but she wanted to believe that they still cherish her, just like how they did at home, but they didn't. And when she made a decision not to trust her good voice no more, she became a different person. Anybody around her could feel it, smell it in her soul. It became bitter, and while everyone was smiling and being happy, she would be seen smiling but her eyes shone differently, hatred of everything, well, everything but the King. And at the second year of their marriage she bore a princess. The Kingdom was happy, everything fell into place, and they loved her back. But how come she felt differently now, she couldn't feel it, but the hatred was whisked and curled into the ripples of her soul. She needed assurance, another type this time… that this feeling was going away, so she whispered into the gloom:

'Voice, are you there?'

The voice yawned: 'so I have been, throughout the years', he said this uncaringly. The voice can move quickly from the dark, scorching depths that Dwarves don't bother to look into, it likes to live in the hottest, furthest place from the living as possible. The Queen's room was soon filled with his presence, she said again, with a shaken voice:

'Why do I feel that all this is pointless?'

'Oh, m'child,' the voice said, ' don't be worried, after all this is a common feeling when bearing a child, you feel sick, tired, confused , irritated easily ,so on and so forth'

'Anger? No, you don't understand, it's more like hating everything, like you want everything to vanish…' she paused for a minute, her speech was unintelligible as she was talking very fast indeed, 'and I see all are liars and deceivers, they HATE ME, they all want to HURT ME'.

The voice disappeared after this one final yell, he knew that he ought not to be here anymore…

And as she said those last words so loudly her maids bolted in to check in on her, and while she panted and held her hands on her forehead, all those feeling of hatred were pouring in her gut like molten iron, and she couldn't help it. In a few seconds she fainted.

The Queen kept sleeping for three days; her skin was bright red in the first two, scorching to touch, but in the third day she became her pale self again. And while the maids where changing the wet cloth that was placed on her forehead, the voice came back; he looked with his hollow eyes on her unconscious body inquiringly and murmured, then got off as quite as death and faster than light. The queen was fully recovered when the skies were clear on a day of May. She was cleared of the illness that overcome her soul but, as she was going to discover over the years, that they were passed on to the child. The day next was the day she delivered the sad child, this princess, to this cruel world. The world that is going to hate her forever, judge her and make her believe their hallucinations of a conspiracy just around the corner are real. And while the baby was cleaned and washed and given to the King, not a whisper did it make, not a sniffle, or crying sound that the newborns make while they were introduced to the world was made, it was silent as mourning. And this is how a princess was born, and how she is condemned to be hatred in its ugliest forms.