CHAPTER 6 – Fili Meets a Blacklock (and Forgets how to Dwarf)
Translations:
*Azsâlul'abad - The Lonely Mountain, Erebor
*U'zugh Zardel - Warriors of (U'zugh) Magic of all Magic (Zardel)
*'Azn'abbad - The Mountains of Shadows
*Ûdãr - wizards/shaman, magic users, plural
*Khazad-dûm - Dwarrowdelf, Moria
*Sharmêl - Scars of all Scars
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It took a year and some months, and the deaths of seven of their travelling companions before the orcs finally lost their trail.
The group that was finally given the go-ahead to make for the Iron Hills consisted of the Blacks: Harilaos and Victor, Master Alastor, Sirius, Andromeda as the new Head of the Black family, her husband Remus and their two grown children Nym and Nev, Harilaos' friend Mia in service as the Noble family scribe, and two recently orphaned underage dwarrow, Denis and Colin from one of the distant branch families. Then there was Rôn and his family: his brothers Brynjaal (whom everyone called Bill), Perseus, Fredrik and Jorge, his sisters Charli and Gyni, his mother and Harilaos' adopted Aunt Moli, Moli's recently deceased husband's sister Amelia and her daughter Sussan.
These twenty-one khazad had been travelling another half a year generally northwards, when a raven brought a new missive from Lord Dain. Dain's cousin, Thorin son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain (currently without his mountain), could use the assistance of a few good U'zugh Zardel on his quest to reclaim Azsâlul'abad. In return for the service of the best soldiers from the extended family, the dams, children and civilian dwarrow would find refuge in Thorin's Halls in the Blue Mountains, whether the quest was a success in the end or not.
A quick family conference had the group changing their heading, to put them on an intercept course with the expected path of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield.
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Thorin Oakenshield, King of all Khazad, was feeling very 'unkingly', having just been stripped of all weapons and armour, shoved into a smelly sack, and piled roughly with his similarly bound kinsmen, by a trio of trolls. Sure, mountain trolls were brighter than cave trolls, having developed some form of primitive language even, but still, trolls.
What Thorin wouldn't give right now for a few more experienced soldiers amongst the company, then they likely wouldn't be facing death via troll dinner, in which dwarf was on the menu. He glared at the three troublemakers he was blaming for this whole fiasco – Baggins, Kili and Fili. OF course, his glaring was completely ineffective, since both the hobbit and Kili were watching as the trolls seemed to argue amongst themselves in their grunting language, and Fili appeared to have passed out. To be fair, the young dwarf was piled with his face stuck right over Gloin's recently un-booted feet – that stench would cause almost anybody to faint.
The agitated grunting of the trolls and the steady crackling of the fire beneath the spit-of-dwarves was interrupted by the hoot of an owl, followed by a screech, two owl barks, then a 'krek'. A bright flash of light split the night, and when Thorin could see again, one of the trolls had sprouted arrows through its eyes, and unfamiliar dwarrow were charging into the troll camp.
A pair of red-haired twins ran on either side of one troll, holding a spiked chain between them, tripping the beast, and causing it to crash ungracefully to the ground, where it was swarmed by darker haired khazad, attacking while it was defenceless.
Three younger dwarves ganged up on the other uninjured troll. One young looking dwarf swung at the back of the troll's knee with a stone staff he carried, duck-and-rolled to the side as it stumbled and then placed his hands to the ground as the troll tried to regain its footing. Tattoos and ritualistic scarring lit up in a vibrant red down his exposed arms, and the earth itself began to move. A smaller dwarf with black hair, grabbed one of Fili's swords sticking up from the pile of confiscated weapons as he ran by, leaping up upraised sections of rock created by his dark-haired companion, and jamming the blade up the tolls nose.
"Go Rôn!" He shouted, clinging to the back of the troll's neck, the troll's attempts at removing the small attacker keeping it from removing the sword.
The third of their group was as red-haired as the twins with the chain, and taller and bulkier than the other two. He followed his fellow's path up the rock and swung a large Warhammer at the base of the sword, driving the blade into the troll's brain, killing it.
The troll teetered unsteadily and fell. The young dwarf clinging to the beast's neck leaped clear and rolled his landing, having to scramble to his feet to avoid the enraged, blind rampaging of the troll with arrow shafts in its eyes. Thorin watched as the dwarf, barely more than a boy really, brought one hand towards his face, and promptly blew fire at the troll, sending it screeching and lumbering in the other direction.
Another group, including yet more red heads, had dowsed the campfire and heaved the dwarves of the Company off the spit, and had begun untying whoever was within closest reach. Fili was dragged away from Gloin and seemed to be rousing finally.
The last living troll was eventually brought down by a middle-aged dam, who fired a heavy-duty crossbow bolt at point blank range through the back of its mouth while it was still screaming from having been set on fire.
Once all the trolls were deceased and had stopped moving, further Blacklock dwarves moved out from amongst the trees, lead by a stately looking dam, who announced, "Which one of you is Thorin, son of Thrain?"
This was the scene Gandalf walked into.
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Three dead trolls, a destroyed camp, thirteen half-dressed Longbeard dwarves, a shell-shocked hobbit, and a smattering of fifteenish or so unknown dwarves. They looked like Blacklocks.
Gandalf remembered one of the Blue wizards was rather fond of that particular tribe and Saruman had been on the warpath about the Blue apparently teaching some of them runic magics a few centuries or so ago, but couldn't remember which istari it was, or what his name might have been.
"Which one of you is Thorin, son of Thrain?" One of the new dwarves asked, a dwarrowdam if Gandalf wasn't mistaken. In fact, there were a number of female dwarves amongst this group of troll-slayers, which was rather startling. Usually, the dams weren't seen outside of the mountain.
"That would be me." Thorin stepped forwards, dressed, armed, and feeling appropriately kingly once again. "And who would you be, to have been in the right place to lend such aid as you have?"
Balin and Dwalin stepped up on either of Thorin's sides, appraising the newcomers. The dwarrowdam their king was speaking with was on the tall side of average, but still appeared less than, standing so close to the giant of their race that was Dwalin. She had a serious type of face and looked of middling age. Her hair colour was undefinable, as it was entirely covered by a headwrap – a custom the Blacklocks had picked up from their mannish neighbours in Harad, but it could be assumed it was as dark as her neatly trimmed beard. Her skin was the golden tan common to the Blacklock dwarves, and her eyes expectedly dark.
She was flanked on one side by a scarred dwarf of similar age, with greying brown hair tied back entirely in several thick braids, and bead decorated dreadlocks in his beard. He was of a height similar to Dwalin, but bore none of the same bulk, and seemed to favour a long staff as a primary weapon.
Her other side was taken by a younger dwarrowdam, who couldn't have been much passed her first century, with attention-grabbing pink hair that darkened into a natural dark purple near the roots. Her beard was cut short, and had geometric patterns carefully shaved into it. She bore a great resemblance to the first dam, highly likely her daughter.
All of their clothes were travel worn, but obviously of high quality, and they each wore a decent amount of gold jewellery.
"I am Andromeda, daughter of Orion, son of Albus, Head of the Noble and Bless-ed House of Black." She waved a hand in the general direction of another young dam that had come close, and was promptly handed a folded parchment, which she passed to Thorin without looking. "Lord Dain sent us."
Thorin looked down to the parchment he had been handed. It was indeed a missive from Dain, addressed to the woman in front of him, advising that Thorin would be needing some assistance from the Black's soldiers and U'zugh Zardel, and could offer their civilian family refuge in Thorin's Halls in return. The dwarf king passed the document to Balin to read over.
Trained dwarrow soldiers would be a boon on this quest, Thorin was thinking, even before reaching the mountain. And U'zugh Zardel even more so.
Thorin had heard plenty of rumours regarding Lord Tuomas taking over the Shadow Mountain forcefully from his younger nephew Ivan, after the suspicious death of Lord Marko. At the meeting with the representatives of the dwarven kingdoms, it was all anybody could talk about. Mostly due to the fact that the main strength of the Blacklock army, the Warriors of all Magic, had abandoned the mountain shortly after the take-over, taking as many of the civilian population as they could with them. The U'zugh Zardel were supposed to be a rather religious bunch and killing the previous ruler in order to usurp the throne would be seen as an act against the Will of Mahal, so it was no surprise they up and left.
Of course, none of the other Lords admitted to having even seen any of these high-powered defectors, much less having taken them in as they undoubtedly did, when Lord Tuomas' representative asked. Blacklock soldiers were renowned for their high levels of training, and the Battle Magic trained soldiers even more so. Only the Ironfist's still maintained a force of U'zugh Zardel, though theirs were more sages and the odd assassin, rather than the battlefield ready troops 'Azn'abbad had boasted.
"How many of your company here are Ûdãr?" Balin asked, interested.
"All of us." Andromeda answered with an insulted frown.
"Ah. My apologies, I did not mean to cause insult." Balin deflected, "We do not have many at all with magical ability among the Longbeards."
"Not surprising there. With the loss of Khazad-dûm and Azsâlul'abad, food especially would have been more limited. Magic use and development in young khazad requires an incredible amount of not just food in general, but a carefully balanced and monitored diet." The dwarf next to Andromeda spoke up. He reminded Thorin rather acutely of some of the tutors he'd had as a pebble. "Excuse me, I didn't introduce myself. Remus, son of Berus, bonded of the Lady Andromeda, at your service."
"You wouldn't happen to be a teacher or tutor of some sort, would you?" Dwalin asked, obviously re-living the memories of the same tutors as Thorin.
"Why yes, I am." He smiled mildly.
"How many of your number are U'zugh Zardel?" Balin, ever the strategist, inquired.
"Four." Andromeda stated. "Alastor of the Mad-eye, Sirius Wargslayer, Victor Stonefist, and Harilaos the Dragon." As the first two names were mentioned, two dwarrow stepped forward.
The first was a heavily scarred, aged soldier with one natural blue eye and one gemstone replacement in a vivid blue with black runic arrays dotted across its constantly in motion surface. Tattoos and battle scars covered what little of his skin was visible, his greyed hair entirely bound in dreadlocks decorated with mostly ivory and bone beads. His beard was kept minimal, and he had lost a leg at some point, so walked on claw-footed prosthetic.
The second was very typical Blacklock in colouration, aside from his pale grey eyes, his tanned skin making quite the contrast. His black hair was also dreadlocked, and his black facial hair styled in a distinctly mannish 'goatee'. Like his predecessor, he carried a stone and metal staff for his weapon and gave a roguish grin as he bowed.
When no one else stepped forward, the Blacklock dwarves turned to face where many of the younger members of their group had congregated near to Fili and Kili.
"Victor, Hari, front and centre!" The one named Sirius shouted. While his shout attracted the attention of the entire younger set, two dwarrow left their conversation with Thorin's nephews and approached as ordered.
"Victor, son of Victor, journeyman U'zugh Zardel, at your service." The taller, older, and gruffer looking of the two bowed to Thorin, easily picking him out as the leader of the Longbeards from his braids.
"Harilaos, son of," The dwarf Thorin had seen spitting fire at the troll began his introduction.
"Hey, isn't that the name of a Balrog?" One of Thorin's company interrupted.
"It's a star." Harilaos argued flatly, like he'd had this very same conversation multiple times before.
"Sure, a star that was named for a balrog." Another commented, likely Bofur.
"I wanted a star name for my wee lad," Gloin joined the conversation, "That's why my wife and I chose Gimli. Now that's a good dwarfish star name."
"Why would your parents name you after a balrog-star?" And that was Kili, adding his two coppers worth.
The younger dwarf seemed to be getting more and more annoyed as the conversation went on.
"My adoptive parents chose it because it's the only star that contains my birth name." Harilaos sighed irritably, tucking a loose deadlock behind his ear, displaying more of the Sharmêl down the right side of his face. The topmost rune was shaped like a bolt of lightning. With a deed name already at his apparent age, Strength and Power was indeed suitable.
"Aye, and what do these adopted parents think of those mighty impressive scars you're sporting?" Gloin questioned frowning. The devoted father in him had quickly taken note of the lack of years the soldier before him had under his metaphorical belt.
"They were killed by orcs when I was three. I've never been able to ask." In the ensuing silence, Harilaos' eyes flicked back to the king. "Your Majesty." He bowed to Thorin, then excused himself from the conversation, and the presence of the nosy Company.
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Fili finally came around, after a few moments of breathing unsullied air at last. Big noses meant a powerful sense of smell, and while that was great when determining the direction you wanted to go inside of a mountain, or letting you know when dinner was about to be served, it was not such a blessing when presented with unwashed boot-feet.
Mahal, did Gloin not pack any clean socks or something? Because that was horrific, he thought to himself.
Fili redressed in his armour, and noticed he was missing one of his swords when he overheard one of the unfamiliar dwarves ask, "Whose sword did I borrow?" Sure enough, the un-named khazad was indeed yanking Fili's sword out of one of the dead troll's skulls.
"That would be mine." The golden prince answered, and the other dwarf turned around with Fili's sword in hand.
The dwarf was on the shorter side, probably of a height similar to Ori and Nori (when he didn't have his hair in it's usual gravity defying spikes) and had a leaner build than most dwarrow were known for. His hair was black and bound up in innumerable waist length deadlocks decorated with ivory beads, his skin a golden tone common to the eastern khazad tribes, and his eyes were the colour of the jade stones they mined there. He was dressed in layers of cotton and light wool fabrics in shades of dark grey and black, topped with an open robe that was almost wizard-ish in cut and length. His leather boots lacked a fur lining and came up passed his knees. The hand holding out Fili's sword was scarred and covered in runic tattoos, and similar designs peeked out above the scarf around his neck and up to the line of his jawbone. His beard was little more than a dark stubble and was bisected irregularly on the right-hand side by the Sharmêl he bore.
Fili stood speechless. The dwarf waited for the golden prince to either take his sword back, or say something at the very least.
"Sorry about the troll bogies, I guess?" He eventually said, pushing the hilt of the sword into Fili's hand, turning away to answer as one of kin summoned.
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Nori was standing behind the king with his brothers when the U'zugh Zardel of the Black family were introduced. When the one named Sirius shouted the name 'Hari', he breathed in sharply and tightened his grip on Dori's wrist. He would have preferred Bofur or Bifur, the two Broadbeams were the only others outside of Dori and Oin who knew about Nori's lost son, but his best friend/regular drinking buddy and his sometimes-bedpartner were standing on the other side of Gloin and Oin, and out of reach.
Nori had made sure to keep any mention, or even thoughts, of Hari well away from Dori and his house since that argument forty or so years ago. Bofur was an attentive and compassionate ear, who brought Nori out for a few ales every year on the anniversary of Hari's birth and never seemed to get tired or impatient with the red-haired dwarf's on-going mourning. And Bifur had seen Nori with his hair out often enough to have noticed the braid that said he'd had a child returned early to Mahal, had asked the child's name, then promised to add the little one to his regular prayers and left the issue further alone.
Nori couldn't verbalise just how much the two dwarves' acceptance meant to him, so he didn't. He did, however, take a smaller cut from any illegal mining ventures he facilitated that involved the part-time toy makers. That vein of emerald they'd unearthed last year could have netted Nori a much higher profit than he'd taken, but he did value certain people more than any gold or jewels, and Bofur and Bifur were two of them.
The dwarf that answered to the nickname like Nori's son's name was a short, lanky young thing, with typical Blacklock hair and skin and bright green eyes. Quietly Nori wondered if his son would have grown up to look like the lad in front of him, or if the red hair prominent in the 'Ri family would have come through.
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When Dori heard the name 'Hari' and felt Nori's hand squeeze around his wrist, he held his breath. Nori had been so careful about what he said, and what emotions he showed when he visited, since that argument. It hadn't even been one of their loudest, nor longest, but had probably driven the largest wedge between the brothers yet. Dori still loved his brother with everything he had, even though he didn't understand what went on in that star-shaped head most of the time.
Dori barely breathed as he heard the young dwarf speak to their King and Company. There was a distinct slowness to his Westron and a roll on several consonant sounds, giving away he'd probably grown up speaking Khuzdul and Harradic, rather than Khuzdul and Westron like the Longbeards. When the youth's eyes flicked to Gloin, standing next to Dori, the white-haired dwarf bit his tongue.
Those eyes were incredibly, incredibly familiar.
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Next chapter, Hari and Nori actually interact, I promise... hopefully... My characters don't seem to want to move the storyline along at the pace I originally intended to. So we're unfortunately stuck with world-building and character line-of-thought. Sorry.
For anyone interested, I imagine Andromeda in this fic as looking like somewhat of an older version of Harnaam Kaur, a United Emirates model. Feel free to check her out.
-Vengeance