The lord of silver fountains,
The king of carven stone,
The king beneath the mountain,
Shall come into his hold,
And the bells shall ring in gladness,
At the mountain king's return,
But all shall fail in sadness,
And the lake will shine and burn.
Cestai loved books. She had dedicated her entire fifty years of life to refurbishing and tending to the books in the old dwarven library. Knowledge, Cestai had learned, was really the only exciting thing in this blasted mountain.
The old kingdom of Erebor had, no doubt, once been an interesting, lively place. But now, with all of it's cheer, and music, and laughter gone, it was definitely lonely.
Despite the lack of contact with other living beings, Cestai had made sure to educate herself well over the last few decades. Her father didn't seem to care whether or not she learned how to read fluently, or how to write well, or even how to speak eloquently, but Cestai certainly did. Once she had finished reading the books on language, she went on to read about history. And then botany, and then architecture, and then animals and then so many other topics, all of which Cestai found utterly fascinating.
Perhaps it was her isolation that made Cestai believe that reading about the various types of animal dung was absolutely intriguing, but all there was to be said about Cestai's intensive reading, was that she was never bored.
Or, she never had been bored. Now, forty years after she had picked up her first book, she found herself looking around at the shelves of old dwarven volumes, and couldn't find a single one that she hadn't yet read.
For the first time in her entire life, Cestai was bored. Extremely bored.
"I've read you, I've read you, I've read you…" Cestai strode through the library, pointing briefly at each book and determining whether or not she had already read it. Which, of course, she had. She had read every single book in this massive library, and had even learned how to read ancient Dwarvish and ancient Elvish and every other type of ancient language so that she could read the old scrolls in the foreign section of the library.
Sighing, Cestai slumped into one of the red chairs that decorated the corners of the library and watched the tiny particles of dust float down and rest on the tops of the old furniture or on top of the shelved books.
As she watched the dust settle, Cestai found herself wishing, not for the first time, that something exciting would happen to her. After years of reading books about the outside world, she longed to visit a place outside of her closed-in mountain, to battle an orc, or to speak to an elf, or to gaze upon the city of Minas Tirith.
But every time she approached her father about visiting the outside world, he shook his head so vigorously that the entire mountain rumbled a little.
"No, Cestai," her father would say, his voice stern. "The world outside of this mountain is dangerous. You must never leave here, do you understand?"
"Yes," Cestai had always said, bowing her head, finding it best not to disagree with him. Her father, as a fully grown dragon, was at least a hundred and fifty feet tall, and Cestai, as a cross between a skin-changer and a dwarf, was only the size of a slightly taller dwarrowdam. What made her look even less significant was her slenderness, a trait that had been passed down to her from her mother, or so her father said.
The result? Cestai looked like nothing more than an auburn-haired, amber-eyed, twelve-year-old human girl. Which is exactly what everyone wants to look like when they're supposed to look like an adult.
Now, however, Cestai would have given anything to visit the outside world that her father spoke of as being so dangerous. Even facing an army of angry goblins would be more interesting than sitting here in this dusty library for the rest of her life.
All of a sudden, a great rumbling noise trembled beneath her, causing Cestai to jump. After years of prolonged silence, any sudden noises still frightened her.
"It was probably just a piece of stone falling, or something," Cestai told herself, her heart pounding.
Carefully, she crept out of the library to alert her father to the noise. But the dragon was nestled deep within his mountain of gold, and she knew there was no use trying to wake him. Biting her lip, Cestai contemplated running back to the library and barring the door, but decided on investigating the noise instead.
What's the worst that could happen? She tried to dismiss her doubtful worries from her head. You're probably just overreacting. Just a piece of stone falling, like you said.
Cestai left the Great Hall where her father was dozing, and slunk to the back corridor, where she was pretty sure the sound had come from. This was strange, because the corridor went on for awhile, and then ended at a smooth wall of stone. A dead end, Cestai knew, was all that was at the end of this passage.
But she decided to keep going anyways. Silently, she crept along the corridor, keeping her back pressed to the slick stone. She could hear voices up ahead, soft voices, that sounded joyful. Or was that just her imagination? Carefully, she positioned herself in the shadows so that she could hear the voices more clearly, but could not see anything or be seen by anyone.
"I can't believe it!" one voice said.
"Hush," another voice scolded. "You'll wake the dragon!"
The dragon? Cestai was utterly puzzled. Were they talking about her father? And how did these people even get into the mountain in the first place? Her father had told her that all passages and entrances leading in or out of the mountain had been sealed off a long time ago.
"After so long," a different voice spoke up. "We're actually here. I just can't bring myself to-"
Cestai accidentally moved her foot a little to the left, causing the sole of her shoe to scrape loudly against the stone floor. Inwardly cursing herself, she waited, hoping the owners of the voices would just dismiss the noise.
"Did you hear that?" the first voice asked, and Cestai heard a scuffle of boots as someone stepped nearer to her.
"Was it the dragon?" A new, fourth voice, now.
All of a sudden, a bright light illuminated the passage, and Cestai found herself able to see the people who had been speaking. A group of… dwarves? They were all wearing adventuring clothing, and held weapons in their hands. The one who was holding the bright lantern had a white beard and, judging by his age, seemed to have been the owner of the second voice.
Unfortunately, now they could also see her.
"Who are you?" the dwarves asked her, their perplexed, suspicious voices sounding in unison.
Cestai opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out.
"Speak!" a dark-haired dwarf with a sterner face than the rest of them spoke out. Cestai couldn't help but recall a drawing she had seen once in a book, of the prince of Erebor, Thror's grandson, when she saw him. But they couldn't be the same-could they?
Thank you for reading! 3 I'd like to thank all of you who followed and favorited and reviewed this story even on it's first day of being just a wee, baby story. You guys are the bessssttttt!
Also, just to clarify, since Cestai is half-dwarf, she is fifty years old in terms of dwarven time. So, as you may or may not know, being fifty years old as a dwarf is considered to be pretty young (young adult). The average lifespan of a dwarf is around 250 years, to give you an idea.
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