I own nothing. Just love Tolkien.

First time with the dwarvish language so if anyone had any tips feel free to send them my way. I always felt that Maedhros wouldn't hold anything against the dwarves. He and his brothers seemed to have good relations with them, except for Caranthir. But really, who ever got along with Caranthir except for Haleth? I hope I am not putting too much back story in here. I would love to get someone to help me proof read so if anyone knows how to approach someone to beta read for me, please let me know. I feel like I miss a lot of mistakes. I hope you enjoy. Reviews are loooooove!


~oOo~

Maedhros stepped out of his tent and took in the early morning air. The light of Vása was just starting to appear in the dark morning sky, giving off a soft pink glow from behind the hills of Amon Ereb. He stood outside and admired the last lights of Elentári winking out with the coming of Arien as he waited for Thannor to return. He had arrived from his patrols just moments ago and now wore no armor, just his tunic and breeches. His riding cloak that normally lay about his person was now draped over a chair in his tent, leaving his right arm exposed. The lights of Varda had always helped him to forget his deformities. That and there was no one around at the moment. His eyes scanned the horizon for any sign of movement along the hills. When he finally found what he was looking for in the distance, he gave pause. Thannor was returning but he was also accompanied by more than the elves he had left with. They were escorting a group of about ten to fifteen figures between them. Maedhros would have dismissed them for more refugees from Ossiriand, but this group was different. This was no lost band of displaced wanderers found in the wild. They were dwarves. It looked to be a group of nine men and five women . . . or twelve men and two women . . . or it could be all men or all women, Maedhros would not know until they came into the camp. The Gonnhirrum could be a difficult race to tell apart up close and all but impossible from a distance. It was the beards. He decided that he would wait until they made their introductions before assuming. Judging by the manor of the companies approach, he felt that there had been no trouble when Thannor had come across them. Their gait was swift, but casual and at ease. It had been some time since he had dealing with Aulë's people. While they are sturdy and fierce fighters and had hate for Morgoth and his creations, relations between their peoples were seldom now, since the sack of Menegroth. They must have some need to allow Thannor and company to escort them into camp so willingly. Perhaps seeking supplies or are looking to trade for provisions while they travel. He called to Nidthor and instructed him to make materials ready just in case. While many of his peoples did not care for the Naugrim since the death (or murder, depending on who you were talking to) of Thingol, Maedhros would trade with them still. Thingol had become a fool who should have returned to the rightful owners what never belonged to him long ago. And the Naugrim? Well, everyone knew of their obsession with anything that shines. It seemed only typical that they would create a gift so beautiful that they would end up coveting it for themselves. In his heart though, Maedhros knew the fault was not theirs alone. The obsession was not brought on by their own making. No, that obsession had been made centuries ago and filled with the purest of lights that was capable of creating the darkest of compulsions. Maedhros turned and entered his tent. He walked over to the chair where his cloak lay and swept it about his shoulders. No need to alarm anyone with his disfigurement. He then retrieved his boots and slipped them back on. Always one for propriety, he thought with a slight smile. He stepped out into the full morning sun as Thannor approached the tent.

"My lord, we came across these Naugrim near where the Thalos meets the Gelion. They are seeking minor provisions as they travel north."

The slight disdain in Thannor's tone made him reassess the nature of their escort. If they had been forced to accompany Thannor then this could become most unpleasant very quickly. Maedhros regarded the group of dwarves that stood behind Thannor. Ten males and at least four females and all armed to the teeth. One of the women(?) had an axe strapped to her back twice as large as any of the men. By the looks of their clothes they had been traveling for some distance. The distrust in their eyes as they looked about the camp was obvious and they made no effort to hide their contempt. Maedhros felt it would be best to diffuse the situation quickly. He crossed over to their group and lowered his head as he spoke.

"Huglgla baruk Khazâd. Who among you may I call èzùkhas of your company?"

Maedhros looked up as he finished speaking and found it fascinating how a race of peoples so small could make it appear like they were looking down upon you. One of the dwarves stepped forward and dropped the blade end of his sword into the ground, resting his hands on the hilt as he spoke.

"I am Starrak, son of Thomek and I lead here, though there is no need to call me chief," he said as he regarded Maedhros a little more closely. "To whom do I speak who has such familiarity with our tongue." Maedhros noticed how this was not a question.

"I am Maedhros, son of Feanor. This is my camp and I welcome you." Starrak blinked when he heard his name and nodded his head.

"Ah yes," said Starrak. "Barazel." This caused a slight stir with the company of dwarves behind Starrak. Maedhros suppressed a smile. Barazel, he thought, red-of-red. They are Azaghâl's people. Never were very clever with their naming. Azaghâl, first ruler of Belegost. He was a loyal ally, a fierce fighter, and a great leader to his people. Maedhros had saved his life, and more importantly his treasure, from the Enemy some time ago. In gratitude, Azaghâl had given him his helm made by the greatest of dwarvish smiths, Telchar. Maedhros remembered the dragon upon it gleaming in the sun when he gave it to – the sudden pain that shot through his right arm was so intense that he grasped his forearm before he knew what he was doing; his face tightening with pain. Stop thinking of the past, he thought vehemently to himself. He glanced at Starrak to see the dwarf squinting at him curiously. Maedhros, who had some understanding of the nature of dwarves, pulled his cloak back revealing the stump where his hand used to be at the end of his right arm.

"Forgive me," he said, "old wounds." As Maedhros pulled the cloak back over his arm, several of the elves that stood by glanced away or turned their heads all together. Whether out of repect or revulsion, Maedhros did not know nor did he care. Starrak, on the other hand simply harrumphed in acknowledgement while the dwarves behind him chuckled.

"Askad ubùrûsh," he said unimpressed. "The shadow pain. Yes, Yes, I know this." He reached down and lifted the leg of his trousers and tapped his sword on the wooden peg leg beneath them. One of the male(?) dwarves behind him came forward to show off his prosthetic arm that was fitted with a hammer on the end. The reactions of the elves around them elicited more laughter from the dwarves. Looks as if I am amoung equals, though Maedhros dryly. Wonderful. At least the tension is broken. He stood up straight before Starrak and spoke again.

"Welcome Starrak, son of Thomek. If you and your party have supplies that need replenishing, I offer you whatever I have. I invite you to join me in my tent so that I may find out any news from the road."

"Thank you Barazel. I accept your offer." Starrak then turned to the dwarves behind him and spoke in Khuzdul and iglishmek, the dwarvish sign language. They nodded and relaxed their stance but still looked on the elves with not so subtle contempt in their eyes. Starrak signaled to one of is men and they followed Maedhros into his tent. The tent was not overly large. Maedhros did not carry much when on these forays into the wild, so as to make travel that much quicker and easier. But it was large enough to accommodate a table with chairs. He had a space laid out with food and wine for his guests. The two smaller chairs he had set out were brought for when Maglor would come with the peredhil. He felt they would suit the dwarves just fine. Maedhros gestured for them to take a seat and began to pour some wine. As they got settled he took this moment to study his guests. Starrak was a broad dwarf, much like the shape of the majority of his people. He took off his helm to reveal a full head of grey hair pulled back into a loose braid. His beard, which was also solid grey, fell down to his waist and covered the majority of his girth. He wore a shirt of mail underneath a leather jerkin and a belt that strapped over his shoulder and was covered with knives. And all of this was covered under a thick traveling coat of fur that reached almost to the floor. His companion had long white hair pulled back at the nape of his neck. And, in a surprising turn to Maedhros, no beard, just two long sideburns that grew somewhat small and scraggely down in front of his ears. He was almost evenly matched in dress with Starrak except instead of a sword, there were two large axes strapped to his back. Two little mobile armories, thought Maedhros. After they had made themselves comfortable, Maedhros handed them each a goblet and took a seat across from them. Thannor took up post just inside the tent at the entrance. Starrak took a deep gulp of his drink and spoke first.

"I thank you for your hospitality, lord Maedhros. It is not a common thing between our peoples in this day and age. Allow me to introduce to you my wife, Belmaea. I hope 'tis no bother that I brought her with me."

Maedhros made sure to control is expression very, very carefully. He was glad that Thannor was standing behind them and out of their line of site.

"Of course not, master Starrak. You are both very welcome." He turned to Starrak's wife and bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement. "My lady." Starraks wife guffawed at the term.

"You will call me Belmaea, good sir. No need for your fancy airs." She chuckled to herself as she drank her wine. Starrak simply smiled into his cup and stared at Maedhros.

"Of course, Belmaea," Maedhros said politely. "You are of Thrár's tribe, yes? Tell me, what brings you this far from Belegost and have you any news from your travels?"

This question brought both dwarves to a halt in their laughter. Belmaea looked at her husband and said nothing. Starrak simply stared at Maedhros for a moment before he spoke.

"You know, my father told me great stories about you." If Maedhros was taken aback, he showed nothing. He simply allowed Starrak to talk. "You'd not know this, but he was a part of the guard you aided with our King Azaghál."

And that is how the next hour or so went. With Starrak telling stories of how his father rode out with their king and the mighty prince of the Noldor that came to their aide. He remembered when his father rode out again with their king to answer the call for the last union of dwarves, elves, and men against the Enemy. Maedhros knew this union well. Belmaea would occasionally interject, telling Starrak that he had it all wrong and correct a name or date of a certain event. They talked of battles past and allies that were lost. It was not lost upon Maedhros that they never once touched upon the topics of the treacherous acts of the dwarves of Nogrod or the evil of the kinslayings. And for this Maedhros was grateful. It was several carafes of wine later before Starrak, who was very red in the face by this point, even began to touch on why they were traveling. They were coming from the coast, from the Isle of Balar. They had been engaged in work for the High King Gil-Galad and Cirdan the shipwright. They were assisting the high lords with their armories. They were the last few of their kind who would come into contact, or much less offer service to the elves. A nasty business dealing with some of those sindar as far as Belmaea was concerned, but good money. Orcs roamed freely and unchecked through most of Beleriand making travel through there perilous for most. But Starrak said that his group were not like most and knew that if he could make it to Amon Ereb, that there were still points of safety there and some paths not as dangerous. Not the choice he would have preferred mind you, taking such a dangerous road, but they had need for haste to return to Belegost, what with the summons that they carried and a war coming. It took a moment for Maedhros to realize that Starrak had abruptly stopped speaking. While the wine did not affect Maedhros in the least, the constant droning of Starrak's voice had lulled him into a semi-conscious state. He suddenly realized that the dwarf had let something slip in his rambling. Belmaea had nearly choked on her wine and sat there with wide and wary eyes that darted between Starrak and Maedhros. Starrak simply put his cup down and said nothing. Maedhros let the silence hang in the air for a moment before he spoke.

"What war."


~oOo~

Maedhros stood at the entrance of his tent and watched the party of dwarves head off into the distance. The parchment in his hand bore down on his person heavier than any chain in Thangorodrim. Starrak had stood and stared at Maedhros defiantly, letting him know that he would tell him what he wanted him to know and nothing more. He went on to say how he was in Balar when the summons had come to the High King Gil-Galad. How it bore the seal of Eönwë himself, chief of the Maiar, herald and banner-bearer to Manwë. It announced the coming of the Valar to Beleriand and summoned now all Elves, Men, Dwarves, beasts and birds unto his standard who did not elect to fight for Morgoth. He said that Gil-Galad then released him from his task so that he may deliver this summons to his own people. Starrak had stated how he had thought this would please the High King, but instead he said Gil-Galad only had a look of sorrow. This is where Starrak gave pause and looked to Maedhros with genuine remorse; all trace of defiance was gone from his eyes.

"I am sorry Barazel, please believe me when I say I am sorry, but . . . the Valar have decreed . . . none of the Noldor in exile may join. Not even the High King himself."

Maedhros stood in the mid-morning sun and stared into the sky. Starrak was right. The High King of the Noldor would not join. He would remain dispossessed, constantly reminded of the failure and ruin he had brought to his kin. Maedros looked down at the parchment in his hand and called out to Thannor.

"Strike camp. We leave within the hour." He turned and retreated into his tent.


~oOo~

She could hear music again. It surrounded her, wrapping around her, covering her in calm and snuffing out the nightmares that tormented her endlessly. There was no pain, no fear. She felt herself float with the music as it cradled her in a gentle embrace. She wanted to touch it, to hold it. She almost thought she could. She struggled to open her eyes. She wanted to see it moving around her. She was sure she would be able to. Where were Evon and Dannil? They should see this too. Her eyes fluttered and she fought to focus. Through the haze she saw a figure standing over her and reached out thinking that perhaps this was the source of the music she heard. The figure turned and she was confronted with a brilliant light that seemed so familiar. She felt what she thought was a hand on the side of her face and forced herself to focus. It was then when she saw the eyes. Those eyes! They were silver and gray held the light of thousands of stars in them. She felt as if they looked into her very being. As she began to focus slightly, she could start to see a face around those eyes. She reached up and gently brushed her fingers along the cheek of the being before her. It was a beautiful face. Far too beautiful to be real. This is not real, she thought. This is a dream and I do not want to wake. The hand that held her face moved away and the vision before her pulled back, leaving a sort of emptiness in its absence. Just a dream, she thought again. She closed her eyes and the music wrapped itself around her once more until a sleep free of dark visions took her to rest.


èzùkhas - dwarvish for "Chief"

Barazel - dwarvish for "red-of-red"

Huglgla baruk Khazâd - dwarvish for "hello axes of dwarves"