I felt like this story needed a prologue! {Sorry to those who read part 1 first}. This entire story will have a prologue, followed by three main 'parts', and an epilogue. (I will be posting part two later this week)
The Charms of the Dwarves: Prologue: They Came From the North
Far off in the distance something catches your eye, a slow moving trail of tiny dots just over the horizon. You squint in the mid-morning light, shading your eyes with your hand to try and get a better view, but from this far away they only look like ants walking single file down the hill. The day is just beginning, and there is much work to be done in the village, so you tell yourself not to be distracted so easily. Then something glints in the sun, as if a jewel were being held up to a light and spun around, creating many silver prisms that dance in the air. You can no longer ignore this, someone, or something, is approaching the village.
You drop your pales of water where you stand and run to tell your father. Though as you near the cottage, you notice many others are gathering in a circle near the gates, pointing and muttering.
"What's going on? Who are they?"
There is no answer from anybody, and people are clearly afraid of the oncoming strangers. You keep an eye firmly fixed on the procession, clearly outlined figures now, with heavy coats and boots and swords swinging at their sides. These men are like nothing you have ever seen before; small in stature, fierce in expression and arrogant in their stride. They are almost at the gate, there are at least ten of them, and they look weathered and worn, carrying large satchels filled with weapons and wealth still shining in the sun. You look to your father who is now standing next to you.
"Who are these men, father?"
He grimaces and spits at the floor.
"Dwarves".
You have been given the chore of tending to the gardens, one which you are very pleased with, as you have had your share of milking cows for the week. You take your shoes off and sit on the ground, ready for the task ahead, when all of a sudden you are distracted by foreign voices. You sit on your knees to look over the fence, and there they are, the dwarves, bargaining with your father.
"I would be very grateful for any work you have to give us, for we have barely eaten or slept and have been travelling for days, finding nothing along the way. We have found that most have now forgotten how to give dwarves hospitality."
This dwarf must be the leader; he looks dark and formidable, a most stern disposition. You father has his arms folded, you have never seen him like this, no doubt torn between sending these untrustworthy folk away yet knowing the village could greatly benefit from their hand.
"It is true that we have much work to be done here, but how much and how long that will last ten capable dwarves, I do not know. As for a place to lay your heads, we only have the barns, but food we have aplenty for those who are willing to put the work in to produce it."
The stern dwarf sidles from foot to foot, mulling over what he has heard. Then looks up and smiles.
"We are happy to sleep in a barn; we have slept on rocks long before now, and this talk of food makes us eager to get started. As soon as we have finished the work, we will be on our way. We are looking for a few decent nights rest at the most. Do we have a deal?"
"Deal. What is your name?"
"My name is Thorin Oakenshield, Son of Thrain, and these are my close friends and relatives".
"Welcome, Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain to our village, may your stay here be merry and fruitful."
The day has slipped into dusk, and as you finish watering the last of the plants, the sun dips under the hill. After the dwarves had finished their deal, they scattered to different places around the village, and you haven't seen one since. Ready for supper and sleep, you put your shoes on and begin to walk home. The breeze is warm and fresh on your skin, yet feels different somehow.
As you look up, you catch a glimpse of one, a dwarf, chopping wood behind the one of the barns. Curiosity brimming over, you decide to sneak up and have a closer look. Tip-toeing behind the barn, you slowly tilt your head to see around the side, the dwarf none the wiser of your position. He is small and dark like the leader, but younger and happier in his manner. His muscular arms glisten from the depth of his labour, and as he chops the last of the wood, he looks up to the sky, letting the sweat run down his temples. You suddenly breathe, realising that you hadn't for some time, and quietly walk away for fear of him finding you out.
You arrive home a little late, trying to think of an excuse, but no one asks. Your sisters are squabbling over their dinner, your father is asleep in his chair, and there is a kitchen to tidy. Wanting nothing more than to rest, you walk straight into your room, wanting to escape it all. Collapsing on your bed, the moon shines in through the window, bathing the room in a dreamy haze. You try to sleep, unable to even consider eating anything, and close your eyes.
You can see him, his arms rising up to cut the wood, the logs breaking apart in an almighty collision. You can feel yourself becoming warmer, damper, and you slip your hand underneath the blanket to release yourself of all this newfound desire. Rest comes swiftly this night as you think of him working, and of him sleeping on his bed of hay not far from you.
They came from the north, the people are saying, and you wonder how long they will stay.
4
