"Must you go?"
Fili held the weak hand in his own. "Yes, Istrabar."
Her eyes, very bright in her pale face, were lifted to his. "Why do our people love gold so much? It brought the dragon, Fili."
"It is not for gold I go, Istrabar, but to aid my kin."
The Dwarven-lady shook her black head. "Alas for the folly of these days! When we treasure gold more than lives, and jewels more than love!"
"I will ever treasure the sapphire of your eyes over any sapphire I ever mine." he whispered earnestly.
Istrabar sighed. "But they are longer lived than I. I do not wish you to go, Fili, for I fear you will never see me again. My weakness grows daily, even though I am of the Dwarven race, and hardy though my folk be, I am not."
"You will live." His voice was filled with calm assurance, yet a note of desperation showed harsh beneath.
She smiled faintly at him. "I may. Your chances of death are far greater than my own, duzkak." (love)
"Dor-izril." (Little jewel) he whispered and held her close.
"Now go." she said. "And may Mahal be with you!"
"And with you, Istrabar." he said.
That was the last she ever saw him, striding confidently through the carven marble passageway, and out into the bitter storm that would claim his life.