The Highwayman
Prologue
Dreams are an odd thing. Anything can happen. You could save the world, fall in love – You might even make a friend. But the most special dreams of all are the ones that aren't quite so imaginary – the ones that might be real.
Hannah is only six years old the first time she meets the strange man with the funny hair. Only, he's not really tall enough to be a man - not really, not like Uncle Vernon is. He's barely five foot tall, but later she decides that it's okay because he's nice, and nobody is ever nice to her.
She's crying because she doesn't know where she is, and she's scared. The last thing she can remember is going to sleep in her bed in the cupboard under the stairs. Oh, she'll be in so much trouble – she's not supposed to wander off. The man steps forward, and she flinches - Uncle Vernon doesn't like it when she cries, and she thinks that the strange man won't either. But then he's in front of her, bending down and wrapping her in his arms and he's telling her not to cry, switching back and forth between English and another language.
He's warm and kind and brushing away her tears, and mumbling to her in this strange language. It sounds harsh and unforgiving, strange and foreign, but it's the way he speaks it that makes her relax, like he thinks he's holding something made of glass, something easily broken – and in a way, he is. It's in this moment that she realizes that she's not alone. So she burrows into his warmth, eyes closed tight; her little hands are scrabbling for a hold on his strange and rigid shirt. He sings to her in this other language, and suddenly it feels like it makes sense. It's not scary at all, it's just strong, and Hannah wants to be strong more than anything. She wants to not be afraid, so she listens, and then she sleeps.
When she wakes up in the morning, she's back in her cupboard under the stairs, and she is alone. The nice man is gone, and she thinks that it was just a strange dream. Oh, but it was a nice dream.
As time passes, it becomes little more than a memory, fading into just one more of those strange things that she can't explain; but she never forgets the sound of his voice singing her to sleep, and sometimes, when she's lonely, she catches herself humming the tune to herself and she smiles.
He's only eighty-five when the first dream happens – battle ready, and of age, but still barely into his adulthood. One minute he's drifting off to sleep after a long lecture from Dori about his bad habits and lawless ways, and the next – he's staring at a tiny man-child.
Boy or girl? He thinks to himself, utterly baffled. At that age it seems, gender is hard to tell, and in this case, it's even harder because the child is a tiny thing dressed in clothes far too big, its hair is short and unkempt – barely reaching its shoulder blades in knotted snarls. It's crying, he realizes, eyeing the tiny face that is screwed up in a wail, bright green eyes filled with tears. In that moment all he can see is his little brother Ori, crying as they bury their mother.
He steps forward and the child flinches, shying away from him instinctively and he feels his heart clench. No child should fear like this, not even a child of man. He is a Dwarf, and they value children highly due to the low birthrate of their kind. Every child should be prized, but this one looks like it has been thrown away like an unwanted pup.
Slowly and carefully, he lifts the child into his arms and holds it close, whispering to it in Westeron, and then later in his own language – Khuzdul, the language of the Dwarrow. Normally the tongue of his people is guarded jealously, and kept amongst only those who are born to the stone, but Nori knows the child is too young to really remember it. The only lullaby's he knows are in Khuzdul – ones that he has heard Dori sing to Ori hundreds of times before. The Westeron translations make little sense anyway, and so when he sings, he does so in Khuzdul.
Tiny hands pull at his shirt as the child curls in closer to the warmth of his chest and Nori feels strange all of a sudden because this tiny creature doesn't care that he steals from people, or that he lies and cheats, and it's a relief. It's a relief to not be judged for doing what you need to make sure your little brother can be warm at night and eat properly, because no matter what Dori says, they're barely surviving as it is. So he sings to the child, rocking it steadily the way he's seen Dori do when Ori has a nightmare, the way he remembers his mother rocking him, and slowly the child drifts off to sleep.
He sits there a while, holding this tiny bundle with its too-large clothes and tangled hair, and he knows he'll never admit it, but he likes feeling needed, he likes being wanted, and one day he wants to do this again – he wants a family of his own. But until then, he'll keep this one safe.
When Nori wakes up, it's to the clatter of Dori cooking breakfast, and the patter of Ori hurrying through their home. He lies there for a few hazy moments, remembering the strange dream where he comforted a crying child. But then he has to get up and get on with the day, so he shoves the memory to the back of his mind and does what he does best. He lies and cheats and steals. He makes sure Ori has the things he needs and that Dori never has to anything dishonorable, and late at night, he remembers what it feels like to be wanted, and he smiles.
AN
Please note that this fic was not directly inspired by Tsume Yuik's "This Dream's on Me". However, it did spark the memory that contributed to it. The Inspiration for this fic was Alfred Noyes poem "The Highwayman" and a very long shower.