A/N - I did another challenge, and here is the result. Professor Tolkien owns all, I just made up the Dwarf in the story. Enjoy!
Hope Lives in the Heart.
The clash of metal against metal echoed rhythmically in the fire-lit room of Faran the Dwarf. The smelting fire was scorching, but familiar and comforting. The short broadsword blade was taking form beneath the skilled hand of the Dwarf, and the work was a blessed relief from the dark happenings outside Erebor. Faran returned the sword blade to the heat, and then pulled it back and resumed shaping the metal.
Faint pounding sounds echoed all through the rock passageways in the Mountain, sounds of other forgers hard at work. The battle for Erebor was about to begin. Easterlings had been sighted marching North, and the Men of Dale had been taking refuge in the Halls of King Dáin Ironfoot. As the forges worked, King Brand and King Dáin were working on a defense strategy for the mountain.
Faran and the others had been making weapons and armor for weeks in preparation for the battle, and there was a distinctive gravity about the Dwarven city. Three times a messenger had come seeking to turn the minds of the Dwarves to Sauron, and three times he was turned away without an answer.
The Dwarves would be controlled by no one. It had been that way since the beginning, and though the world changed about them, this one thing did not. Sauron was always angered by their resilience, and his wrath would be heavy-handed.
Faran shaped the fine edge on the sword blade. After inspecting it closely, the Dwarf placed it outside the door to be taken to the armory for sharpening. Faran blessed it to take many an enemy's head.
The Dwarf would not likely find battle unless the fighting was taken into the Halls. Faran was a woman, and her skills would be in repairing weapons, armor, or injured Dwarves. She was young, yet not too young to have seen the glorious return of Dáin to Erebor, and the company of Men, Dwarves, and Elves battle for the greatest treasure since the grandeur of Khazad-dûm. She witnessed the Battle of Five Armies, a war spurred by vengeance. Since that time, Faran and her family had stayed in Erebor, rebuilding the splendor of the past.
Splendors that could so easily taken away.
Faran glanced down the Hall and saw a runner coming along for finished weapons. She ducked back inside the room quickly and pulled out her next project. There had been little time for breaks in the past few weeks, but the Dwarf sat for a quick drink and slice of bread. Her father, Kulir, always said a half full stomach is twice better than an empty one.
"Keep your beard out of the forge fire, and your hammer hand off the mug. There will be no drinking until we have won," he said to her as he left with the defenders.
Stalwart as always, Faran had no doubt Kulir would take down many enemies, be they Orcs or Easterlings. The Dwarf stood again at the forge. The unworked metal came out red hot, and the shaping began anew. Faran fell back into the rhythm of smithing.
She wondered what new life might await her people should they win the battle for Middle-earth. Long ago had Gimli left with his father Glóin, and not long after their departure, Glóin had returned without his son. He had left on a secret adventure that Glóin would not tell anyone but the King and trusted advisors.
Faran turned the deformed lump of metal over and returned it to the forge.
'Leave it to Gimli to go on some mission. He is a strange one,' she thought.
Though she secretly wished to have gone with the small troupe of Dwarves sent for advice from Lord Elrond. How she wanted to see the lands west of the Misty Mountains!
The lump of metal was placed on the anvil and the beat fell in time.
'I wonder where he is,' Faran thought.
Faran carried a secret love for the Dwarf, one that she knew would likely not be returned. She had fallen for Gimli long ago when he came to her, injured in battle and seeking aid. He was attractively sturdy, with a full beard the color of sandstone and garnet. She found they both enjoyed the leisure hobby of setting precious stones in anything they deemed fit. After the resettlement of Erebor, Gimli and Faran had created new or refurbished gemstone articles found in the horde Smaug guarded.
Her love grew in secret, while only friendship kindled in his heart. Faran would have Gimli or no other.
The metal was reheated, and pounding resumed. The forgers worked long into the night, and were replaced by rested Dwarves. The shift work system worked well for the industrious Dwarves, and the stock of weapons and armor grew to meet the need.
All too soon, the battle for Dale started.
Faran and many others were called to heal the battle injured. The Dwarven and Dale women worked together, giving aid and comfort to the men. More than a few had no hope of survival, and many more than that would not be battle ready for months. All manners of wounds were seen in the mountain infirmary, many more than Faran ever wanted to see.
Just when things seemed like they couldn't get worse, the Dwarven King Dáin and King Brand were brought in. Silence fell over the great room.
Dáin's son Thorin III Stonehelm came forward and knelt by his father.
"Let me through," a voice called, obvious to Faran that he was a Man.
Bard II pushed through the crowd and fell to his knees by Brand, "No! Father!"
"My Lords," a Dale Captain said, "The Easterlings are forming to besiege Erebor. They will attack soon."
"These halls were reclaimed by the blood of our people," Thorin said as he rose, "They will be defended to the last man."
Bard bowed his head and closed his father's eyes.
"The time for mourning has not yet come," Bard said gravely, "This battle will last longer than we had hoped."
The care givers were barely aware that more than a week had passed since the fall of the Kings. Bard and Thorin were crowned King of their own respective lands. Since then, the amount of injured steadily rose, and room was running short.
Faran helped a Dwarf, who called himself Bomli, to a low bed. His shield arm was badly cut, and sword cut in his iron hose had nearly taken his leg clean off. Faran feared it would have to be removed.
For all his pain and injuries, Bomli was surprisingly blithesome. He laid back and allowed her to dress the wounds, not whimpering or crying out at all.
"The Darkness has gone," he said, "The light shines again. Never I thought I would be happy to see the bright sun, but it drove fear in those dark men and we have driven them back. Some say Sauron has fallen."
"Sauron has fallen?" Faran repeated, "I would drink a keg to that."
"We would all drink a keg to it. I think we all will. Though, my leg might not," he said, glancing down at the useless appendage.
"We might have to amputate. It will not be pleasant," she said, examining the wound.
He laughed, "It is nearly gone now. It would not be much more unpleasant than the first stroke."
Faran left him to find helper. One to hold them down, the other to cut. It had become routine by then. But if Sauron was gone... Perhaps the end was near. Maybe she would see Gimli soon. The Dwarf smiled for the first time in days.
Bomli was right. Sauron had fallen, and his allies were dispirited. They had no leader now, and no reason to continue the fight. They left, driven to the east by Men and Dwarves.
King Thorin III and King Bard II sent emissaries to Elvenking Thranduil, who responded with his own. The Elves of Mirkwood and Lothlórien had driven away the Orc attacks from Dol Guldûr, and the Lady Galadriel had thrown down the walls of the evil tower and cleansed the land there.
The news was beyond great, and word spread quickly. All who heard breathed a sigh of relief. A great evil had been routed from Middle-earth.
The most surprising news came in the form of the upcoming crowning of Aragorn. Gondor would have a King again, something even the oldest living Dwarves' grandsires did not remember. Thorin and Bard sent emissaries to Gondor for the crowning ceremony.
Faran continued taking care of the injured for many weeks after the battle was over. The battle might have been over, but the battle for life in many would still be lost. It was long before the infirmary hall of Erebor was quiet.
Many months passed with no sign of Gimli. She feared he had been lost in the battles, but she had no way of knowing where he was. Even Glóin did not know.
One day in October, as Faran worked in her small shop, a familiar voice echoed down the hall. She dropped the necklace she had been working on and ran to the hall. There was Gimli, travel-stained but no worse for wear. His beard was still as gloriously red as she remembered.
"Gimli, son of Glóin," she said sternly and he turned at her voice, "Where have you been? The ale hall seems not the same without your gruff voice echoing around."
"Faran, dear Faran of the Forge," Gimli greeted her with a huge grin, "Such are the sights I have seen that I would go again, only if I had not the dangers to worry over. I have heard some of the troubles here. Let us make up lost time over a foaming mug and hot roast."
They talked long and were interrupted often, as Gimli was well-known and dearly missed by the Dwarven kingdom.
Faran was most surprised to hear of an Elf Gimli had befriended. She had little tolerance for Elves, especially their woodland neighbors. The only reason most of Dáin's folk were not openly hostile toward them was because of the Battle of the Five Armies. But a friend of Gimli was a friend of Faran.
"I did not lie when I said I would go again," Gimli said.
"I believe you, but will you stay a while? You have been gone so long," Faran said.
Tugging lightly on his beard, the Dwarf leaned close, "There are caves in Rohan, behind Helm's Deep. The Glittering Caves. It is a sight beyond reckoning, and took the words right from the Elf's mouth. Even I was nearly speechless, but for the promise to return with a handful of Dwarves to make it into a sight that would enchant both mortal and immortal eyes."
A small smile formed on Faran's lips, "So you will go there. Who will you bring?"
"Only a few. There will be no mining, no gem-setting. Just slight adjustments to nature. Perhaps a light shaft in the right spot, if the rock on top is not too thick. It is a task worthy of the skill of Dwarves. Skills developed by gem-setting..." he trailed off.
"Your invitation is accepted, Gimli," Faran said.
Perhaps there was still a chance for Gimli's heart to change. She would take that chance, and the opportunity to marvel at the world outside Erebor.
Faran raised her mug, "To Gimli, soon-to-be Lord of the Glittering Caves."
"Aye, I will drink to that," Gimli said.