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The Light of the Sea

Second Age. 1697 – Eregion

This story begins much like many during the second age of middle earth. It began in fire and horror. The elven realm of Eregion was falling and death had made its home amongst its immortal denizens.

For a young boy, not even twenty summers old, it was the end of everything he had ever known. His people were dying and he didn't know why.

Many short evil things had come to his family's home. Father and his armies destroyed them all but more came, more than he could count. The creatures were so foul they made him sick to even look upon them. Muddied skin, fangs and twisted features made them a terrifying sight to behold. These creatures could only be orcs, abominations created by Morgoth.

In the night they had attacked. His father had left first to the walls. He did not return. The city fell quickly after that.

They were fleeing now. His mother carried him close to her chest. When she had snatched him up and began carrying him he was surprised. His mother had always been so tired and weak that she struggled to move some days. Now she moved like the wind was at her back.

He watched behind her shoulder as their home burned to the vile chants of those monsters, the black speech of a hundred thousand voices clawing at his young ears. Reaching up with his small hands he clasped them over his ears as tears spilled out from his eyes.

His mother was fleet of foot and soon crossed league after league leaving the sight of their burning home far behind. A glance across her shoulder showed two others from their household that the boy was familiar with. They were family retainers, skilled in both sword and bow, running alongside his mother in escort. They wore gleaming silver mail and belts that shimmered in the moonlight. Twelve they had numbered, now they were the only ones left, the rest had been slain guarding the rear as they fled.

Where would they go? He had never left home and did not know much of the world outside the city other than what he had learned in his studies. He was too young yet to go on adventures. Around them the forest began to thin as it gave way to bald rocks and more desolate lands. Towards the mountains?

The distant howl of some animal brought his young heart into his mouth. He felt his mother increase her pace, her breath coming more harshly in his ear. The two warriors shared a glance before slowing their pace and were soon out of sight.

The sound of growling and clashing steel filled the night air as they began fighting their pursuers. This wasn't like the tales at all. The bed time stories of Eärendil the Mariner were nothing like this. Even still a child his sight was great enough to see them die facing their enemies. They did not flinch but it was not a heroic death. It was quiet and unknown to all but his own far seeing eyes.

The creatures redoubled their pursuit. They were clearer to the boy now. Giant ugly wolves with demented riders laughing as they chased down their prey. Their bounding forms were fast, faster than his mother.

She dashed free of the forest and began charging up a rocky slope, her breath was coming fiercely now. The boy could feel his mother's strength slowly ebbing away. It was not a few minutes after they began climbing before the enemy emerged out of the darkened forest.

One slip and they fell, the jagged rocks battering his back. The young boy stared into his mother's silver eyes as they widened in horror. Her body curled over him but he could see what was coming. The image of a fanged maw closing around his mother's shoulder would stay with him forever.

The wolf monster ripped her away from him and flailed his screaming mother left and right. The boy could only stare in petrified horror as the creature viciously thrashed. The wolf finally lost grip of its prize as the arm violently came free with a spray of blood.

His mother tumbled three times before coming to a stop not a foot from the boy. He stared with frozen panic. She looked at him, her fair body utterly ruined beyond help, tears pouring from her eyes.

"R-Run! Run now!"

The scream was filled with desperate energy and fear. It was a spike of driven fear into his heart, like a searching hand he felt it squeeze his heart. He took to his feet and fled up the hill as fast as he was able.

He was small still and couldn't run very fast. Around him he heard the laughter and jeering of the evil things that had mortally wounded his mother. He hated them. Never before had he felt such a feeling. It was like a burning seething thing rearing from the depths of his soul.

He did not make it far before a strong blow sent him tumbling to the ground. Spinning onto his back he watched as they slowly closed in around him. The riders snarling faces filled with unnatural hate, their jagged teeth dripping with blood and slime. How could these thing be allowed to exist? Fear boiled up from his heart as he kicked away from the inevitable.

This was it? To be born only to die?

"Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!"

The battle cry was fierce and full of seething wrath. It came from a dozen voices from behind the boy. Before him the fell riders twitched and turned to give flight, their gleeful looks turning to fear.

With wide eyes the boy watched as huge goats with heavily armoured riders bounded down the rocky scree slope. Their gleaming weapons different to that of his peoples'. Instead of curved elegant swords they wielded tall spears and thick axes. Their hard edged plate armour was a mix of copper colours and gleaming silver. The helmets they wore were terrifying, showing only their fierce eyes to their enemies.

In a clash of flesh meeting steel points the evil creatures were driven off with no casualties. Hundreds of more riders appeared passing the boy by as they galloped down the hill.

Before the boy even had a chance to stand a heavy hand gripped him by the scruff of his neck. Grabbing hold of the nearest thing in his panic he found himself gripping the horns of one of the goat mounts.

"Calm yourself lad! It's alright now!" The voice was gruff and weathered, not at all like the feathery tones of his own people.

Glancing up over his shoulder he saw a man? No, dwarf! His mother had told him of the small people. Great miners and craftsmen of the mountains. They were friends of his people. This dwarf was helmetless and his face was coated with an enormous red beard, it was unlike anything the boy had seen before.

Deep golden eyes regarded him, "What is you name boy?"

"C- Calaeron…my m-mother…!" The boy could only stutter his response as he struggle to regain himself.

As soon as the shock wore off he began to cry. His mother was dead, killed before his eyes, she was the one that had raised him. His father had always been busy in his workshops but his mother was the one everything had resolved around. He was saved only moments after his mother was slain. It wasn't fair!

"The she-elf is dead Lord Tulvar…" The voice came from near the bottom of the hill where a dwarf was kneeling by his mother. The boy could barely stand to look, his gorge rose and he vomited over past the flank of the mount. A few heavy pats nearly knocked him from the goat as the dwarf tried to comfort him. "My l-lord…It is Lady Nemiril!"

"…I see…gather her body, we will take her back. She deserves a proper burial." One armoured hand seized the reins of the mount while the other was clasped around the boy's middle. The dwarf stared off to the horizon, "Drali the battle is lost. We make for Khazad-dûm!"

The dwarf named Drali remounted and pulled a large horn from his satchel. The deep thrumming sound echoed across the hills and mountains twice.

"You come from an important line boy. Weep not for you mother for she has saved you where many have died!" The brisk tone of the dwarf was cutting but truthful in its own way. Many of his people had perished this night. He should be grateful to be alive but all the boy felt within was a pit of boiling hateful despair.

"Your father was friends with Durin III, my king. He could be persuaded to grant you safety within our great halls! Your people fight a great battle, they will have no time to protect a mere child now." The boy could only nod dumbly. Soon the craggy cliffs gave way to smooth edges and great walls made with fine precision stonework.

The walls were swarming with activity. Dwarven warriors tending weapons, armour and shifting supplies. Large stables for keep their mounts were also thrumming with action with mounted soldiers leaving and returning from patrol. It was so different from what the boy was used to that even in his grief he noticed.

Entering the stable Lord Tulvar quickly dismounted pulling the boy with him. His feet met the ground roughly.

"You can walk no?" Short nod followed by a slight sniffle ensued, "Good, now follow me."

It was a short walk before the pair were now facing a seemingly blank stretch of smoothed rock face.

"Mellon!"

Before the boy's eyes the featureless cliff split in two and large stone doors smoothly opened without any obvious mechanism. The boy squinted at the movement. He could feel something here, his father had a hand in its making. His touch was deep within. The feeling made a few more tears pour from his already red eyes.

"Welcome boy to the dwarven kingdom of Khazad-dûm…"

The halls of the dwarves were immense. They stretched off for miles at a time. Illuminated with great smokeless lamps hung from the cavernous ceilings causing the veins of precious metals and gems to glitter like the night sky.

The boy expected to feel closed in, claustrophobic, yet these halls felt warm, welcoming and safe. There were so many dwarves here, everywhere in this place. Some were mining, others were working on the stone craft of the walkways, trading with their fellows or simply playing games. Down below the carved walkways the boy could see the flash of hot steel and the wrath of molten gold.

The stone here felt different from Ost-in-Edhil where he had lived all his life. The stones there are been filled with the same feelings he had gotten from the west gate into Khazad-dûm. Inside was a different matter, this place had been inhabited for a long time, longer than any place he knew of from his studies. The stones could tell stories, the feelings in them were manifold and ancient beyond words. In a way the mountain kept the dwarves it was not the dwarves keeping the mountain.

Still he was used to the outdoors and the stars of the night sky. It would take time to feel at home here. It had been a day since they had entered the mountain city and he could not stop thinking about his family. They were dead. He knew it in his heart for certain. His mother before his eyes and his father far from his sight.

He had heard whisperings from the dwarves in the common tongue. A great evil had risen in the east and had swept away the Men of middle earth in a rising tide of slaughter and destruction. Only the Elves yet resisted in the far north defending what little they could. They had barred the gates and sealed the entrances. None could enter the city of the dwarves now.

The thought brought fury and sadness of equal measure in his heart. As much as he was grateful to the dwarves he could not help but question why they sat in their mountain watching the world fall around them. Yet he could not blame them either, his people were dying and did not have an impregnable fortress like this to retreat to. He could imagine that if they could his people would likely hide as well.

That such evil was allowed to exist was strange to him. Did the Valar not care? Why was this allowed to continue? Were they not meant to protect the races of middle earth? He resolved to find the answer.

By the end of the first day they had reached the first travel point of the western fringes. They boarded a 'grapple barge' as Tulvar called it, a form of easy travel in the city. They were rather bulky in size and ran along a series of thick tethered cables that stretched out across the chasms with impunity. The carriage was approximately ten feet wide with room for twelve to be seated. With several carriages they could move considerable supplies or people across the city quickly.

The ride was surprisingly smooth allowing Calaeron to sleep for the first time since the sudden flight from home. His dreams were dark and full of shadows, the image of his mother being mauled thrashed in the forefront of his mind. Thankfully one of the dwarves had woken him from the night terrors when they came.

When they reached the heart of the city Calaeron was still feeling exhausted. The stress and grief of the last few days had not faded and he doubted it would even after years had gone by.

"Your mother's body will be transported to the centre, there you can decided on what burial you desire her to have…" The red haired dwarf was more solemn now that he was free from the tumult of battle. What did he wish to do with her body? Did it even matter now? Her spirit had already fled to the Halls of Mandos, the body was only a remnant of her true self and would soon disappear turning to naught but dust…

"I wish to see her…body." Tulvar glanced at the boy out of the corner of his eye, "It will be gone soon…I want to collect what little will remain…"

The dwarf proceeded to mutter rudely about 'elves' and their strangeness. Calaeron could not bring himself to feel offended while his thoughts were so black.

"When you go before King Durin remember he can easily send you back princeling or no." Tulvar watched as the boy barely responded to the warning, "I have heard word from the court that Master Narvi will speak in your favour, you are lucky indeed to have such a patron of the arts on your side. He is a master craftsman without equal in these halls!"

"Then I am grateful that he would speak on my behalf." Calaeron stared dully for a few moments before frowning. He wondered who would take him in, would he be free to wander for decades without connection? A mere shade haunting these glistening halls? Perhaps like his father before him he could learn the crafts? After all this was a city of dwarves who were arguably unmatched in middle earth now that Ost-in-Edhil had been destroyed…

When they disembarked Calaeron could not help but stare in awe of his surroundings. The centre of the city was sheathed in fine marble so smooth it had a mirror like quality. The cavernous ceilings were encrusted with artistic designed with leaf gold and jewels which like the natural caves glistened like the night sky. The surrounding buildings carved from the rock looked strong enough to last until then end of time. This was Tulvar explained was Nud-melek, the eastern most section of the city and also the oldest. It was here that the majority of dwarven nobility stayed overseeing the day to day running of the vast metropolis.

Around him he could see thousands of dwarves going about their business. Some were workers, and others wore fine livery, he even wondered if he spotted the elusive dwarf female, the dress certainly seemed to suggest this! The central plaza Calaeron and Tulvar were walking through seemed to be a meeting place of sorts where he could see the oldest dwarves playing games and discussing things in their native tongue.

Having seen the truth before his eyes Calaeron could only come to the conclusion that this had to be the largest city in middle earth. From his studies he knew that the elven kingdom of Lindon was powerful and consisted of the majority of the elven race. But being here seeing the wealth and grandeur of the dwarves first hand he could not help but question which was the most powerful race of middle earth.

The dwarves had not truly faced the wars of Beleriand, both Nogrod and Belegost were destroyed but their people for the most part survived the experience. Many elves did not. Truly much of the elven race had been destroyed during those wars meaning those that remained in middle earth were mostly Avari or the remaining exiles of the Noldor. Calaeron feared that if the Enemy had truly arisen again, Morgoth or some other antagonist, then he doubted his people's ability to win against them alone.

"Come along princeling, the King awaits." Tulvar as always was pushing forward briskly.

The throne room of King Durin the third was grand indeed. Above Calaeron could see ornate smokeless lamps hanging at even intervals. The floor glistened with what seemed to be gemstones, but how such an absurd use of wealth could be possible he could not even begin to answer. Vast columns, two in a row, dominated the long hall punctuating the sheer depth and size. At the very end was a tall throne inlaid with gems and with what looked like white gold. Above was a massive statue, of whom Calaeron could only assume was Durin, the original one that is.

Sitting on the throne was a very old dwarf with an ornately woven white beard. His dark intelligent eyes glinting astutely behind fierce eyebrows. Arrayed around him were what seemed to be nobles, there were three groups which seemed to be divided. One group seemed to nearly all red headed with large fiery beards with darker skin much like Tulvar's. The next seemed to have shorter brown beards with a much paler complexion. The last seemed to be a mix of both and showed an element of dominance over the other two groups. Clans perhaps?

"I see Lord Tulvar returns…is it a surprise to anyone here that he failed to do anything other than bring back this single elven boy when he was given an entire army?" The voice came not from the King but from a much younger dwarf sitting brazenly not a few steps from the white gold throne. He was surprisingly blond haired and stood out starkly amongst his fellows. Tulvar stopped and bowed, Calaeron followed suit.

"Thor Enough …you are not King yet!" The old dwarf scowled down at his insubordinate son, "Tulvar I was disappointed to hear you had failed in your expedition…please report on your actions…"

"Of course my King!" Calaeron could nearly hear the capital letter, he watched as the son Thor narrowed his eyes, "The truth is simple. We arrived late. The city had already fallen when we managed to sortie to aid them. This attack has caught the elves off guard as well. They have all begun to flee for Lindon."

"And the enemy?"

"No one knows yet. The few elves we encountered before this lad here didn't know anything either. But we know it must be a powerful enemy to summon at the very least thirty thousand orcs with more likely on the way…" There were several grunts and sighs from the surrounding nobles. The numbers were startling to say the least, Calaeron had seen their numbers but he couldn't quite grasp the size of the numbers. To him it had been an uncountable mass.

"I see…" The dwarf king sat back his dark eyes lingering on the ring on his right hand. He pulled the thing off to look closely at it. He glanced from the ring to Calaeron, "Boy…give me your full name…"

"I-I am Calaeron, son of Celebrimbor of House Finwë." He could not help but wince. His voice sounded so very small in this grand hall.

"Well Calaeron…your father gave me this Ring…a token of our friendship he said. It would be unjust of me to deny you the hospitality of the dwarves. However I cannot force my people to care for you…" The King made a side along glance to a particular dwarf off to the right with a gesture to come forward.

"Master Narvi here has agreed to foster you until you come of age…" The dwarf that stepped forward was broad with a dark grey beard with ferocious eyebrows, his eyes were light grey in colour and seemed to carry an aura of laughter.

"Thank you my King, come along young Calaeron it is time to leave." The dwarf chaperoned him through the hall and out onto the outside plaza. One backward glance showed the King frowning at Tulvar as discussions turned to dire subjects.

"You come on the back of a grave storm child. I grieve for your mother and father they were both good friends to me." His hand squeezed Calaeron's shoulder, "Know that I will raise you as best as I know how. Now I understand you wished to visit your mother?"

Calaeron could only smile with tears in his eyes. He had suppressed his feelings of late, Tulvar was not exactly the most sympathetic dwarf. Grasping his hand forward he captured the older dwarf's hand within his own. Narvi smiled at the act.

"Yes."

"Well then follow along, there is but one place she will reside."

Master Narvi led him by the hand through a series of corridors and halls. It wasn't long before they entered a very long maze like structure that was covered with inset coves. Across the plaques he could see dwarven names inscribed in their language. A mausoleum?

"Now Calaeron, this is the tomb of my ancestors. All Dwarves back to the first age that have lived in these halls have been laid to rest here. It is a great honour for anyone not of dwarf kind to lay eyes upon it…" It was immaculate. The smooth black marble coupled with ornate engravings made it a labour of love. Truly the dwarves knew how to care for their dead.

Elves…were not so caring. The spirits of elves always fled to the halls of Mandos, called by the Valar or so the story was. Only those of great houses or that had great deeds assigned to their name were afforded anything remotely similar. To the elves what remained was merely a shell of that which remained behind, a remnant only worthy of grief. It was something that elves tended to shun. Calaeron could understand why. It was painful beyond thought.

They emerged into what he could only assume was a mortuary. There were several dwarves managing the various casks. A quick nod from Narvi and a long slim wooden cask was pulled from the wall. A moment passed as it was opened and ashen face of his mother was revealed. A hand covered Calaeron's shoulder as he felt tears enter his eyes.

His eyes trailed over her. Her mauled arm had been reattached but the vicious marks of teeth gouging into her dress remained. The blood was still thick upon her form. He was thankful in a way, he did not wish the dwarves to see his mother's form.

"Can I have a moment alone?" A few nods silently echoed around the room before Calaeron was left to his thoughts.

"Nana…I miss you…" He touched he cheek as he felt for anything that remained. Her once bright silver hair was lank and diminished. Little of her remained, her spirit had fled he knew it with certainty. He hoped she was happy. Somehow in that moment he knew he would never again meet her even by the reckoning of immortals. Tears slipped out again as he opened a small pouch.

"Begrudge me not Nana…I wish one small thing to remember you by…" Breathing out he caressed his small hand above her body. As if the world conspired to help him her body slowly turned to dust. The mauled dress slowly crumpled to rest in a thin mound of dust. A natural process for the Eldar. Their bodies were not long lived after they were gone, as if their bodies finally felt their true age after life had left them.

Gathering the dust he secreted the small pouch in his tunic. One way or another he would always carry it.

Venturing out into the main hall he put on a strong face. Sighting Narvi he went back to the dwarf's side.

"You are finished then? I am truly sorry young Calaeron it isn't fair that you should face this when so young." The dwarf looked truly pained at the thought. The boy couldn't help but feel touched by the concern. It wasn't often that dwarves felt badly for the elves.

As they began the long walk back to the transport barge Calaeron could not help but wonder what to call his new guardian. He did not want to be too personal, yet he felt drawn to this dwarf all the same.

"Master Narvi…what should I call you?" Narvi watched as the boy's dark red hair swayed slightly as he turned his gaze toward him, dark eyes stared up at him with an innocent sparkle. Even after all he had seen innocence still clung to this boy.

"Well certainly not 'master' Narvi!" Calaeron watched as the dwarf hummed as he thought deeply, "Call me Uncle, young Calaeron! It is only right as my friendship with your father was strong indeed."

"As you wish…Uncle Narvi." Calaeron could not help the smile that gleamed across his face. His heart still ached from the loss of all he knew but he could always make new connections with those around him. Grief would pass and he knew his family still existed even if they were parted.

"Come now Calaeron I will show you my home such as it is!" The boy smiled as he followed along at a quick trot, his small hand engulfed by his new guardian's paw-like hand.

Down into the depths of Khazad-dûm they travelled. By Durin's way they passed to where the master of mithril had made his home…

Authors Note:

Yep You guessed it Benevolent Scriber has struck again. Yet another story this time with an entirely different genre and premise. (Yeah I know I'm flighty I'm sorry _) Now I know Middle Earth has some fierce canon which I am intimately familiar with. I will be seeking opinions through this. So please let me know if you have any ideas sparked by this!

As for Khazad-dûm I've never really seen a story go into detail as to what it was like before it got trashed by angry fiery and ugly down below. Hope you liked it!

Also for future plans please discuss what you think about Maedhros and his abdication of rights to the royal house of Noldor? What do you think Celebrimbor's status actually was?

Please read and review.