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Glossary for Dwarf words

Amad = official word for mother

Ama = mommy

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Thank you all for reading and following my story!

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Chapter 4

~X~

Nearly five years had passed since Sier had run from Erebor. And in that short amount of time, her life had been changed forever. As she sat in her chair, sewing the final buttons on a fine garment commissioned by a patron of the tailor shop she worked at, Sier thought back to all that transpired since that fateful day.

~X~

The caravan had traveled for many weeks, the slow moving wagons and those journeying on foot made the time seem even longer. Not that Sier was anxious to get to any place in particular, but the farther and faster she got away from Erebor the better. It took at least a week before she stopped looking over her shoulder, half expecting to see the royal guards in hot pursuit, eager to drag her back to stand trial. But that fear never came to pass, and soon Sier applied her thoughts towards her future, and not what she had left behind. Before her lay a whole wide world of possibilities, and she intended to make the best of them, despite her shameful circumstances.

Perhaps living among men would be best, for at least there she would never have to explain to anyone why she was alone…and would remain so for the rest of her life. She would keep her disgrace a secret, and do her best to find as much happiness as she could.

During her travels, she had made the acquaintance of a kind family, Omer and Maewyn, with their two little ones, Tia and Mace. They were heading for small city in Rohan called Himros, located at the base of the hills of Emyn Muil. Omer's brother, Rogan, had recently become master of the town, and offered to set him up with a shop where he could ply his trade as a tailor. Keeping her identity a secret, or at least her gender, had not lasted long and soon Maewyn guessed the truth, offering the small dwarrowdam both comfort and friendship on the journey. And when the human woman saw how well Sier could sew, her stitches straight and even, she and Omer had suggested taking her on as an apprentice when they arrived in Himros. Thinking it was the answer to her prayers, Sier readily accepted, happy to have a home and to be useful once again.

Yet not long after they arrived, Sier realized that her troubles had only just begun. Several months into her employment, she began to notice that her clothes were fitting a bit snug and the strange stomach flu she thought she had, turned out to be something else entirely. Once again, Maewyn was the first to notice Sier's distress, and as she held the sobbing dwarrowdam to her chest, the truth came spilling out. Sier was careful not to reveal any names, keeping the identity of the dwarf responsible for her situation a closely guarded secret. For not only did she not wish to slander Prince Fili in any way…she now feared what would become of her, should he ever learn about her condition. She was carrying the child of the crown prince of Erebor! A potential heir to the throne! Well, in retrospect, that was highly unlikely, seeing as how the babe had been conceived out of wedlock, and she was not sure what the laws were concerning illegitimate offspring. Still, a dwarfling was on the way, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Nor, she soon came to realize, did she want to.

With Maywen's support, a story was concocted to salvage the dwarrowdam's fragile reputation, stating that her husband, a lowly foot soldier in the dwarf army, had been called to arms far away. In hopes of being nearer to where he might be stationed, Sier had moved to Himros, giving credibility to her reason for living in a city of men. Granted, seeing a dwarf - much less a pregnant female - living and working among humans was a bit of a shock. Especially since many still believed that dwarf women did not truly exist, but that they sprung out of the rocks from which they were said to have been created. But as time went on, Sier was accepted, and became part of the quiet little community. Under the tutelage of Maywen and Omer, her sewing skills continued to improve and soon her services were highly sought after. It felt good to be of assistance to the human couple who had so generously taken her in, especially now that there would soon be another mouth to feed.

As Sier grew larger, she could not help but imagine what her life might have been like had this child's sire truly been a simple soldier like she led everyone to believe. It hurt her heart to think that her little one might never know its father, never understand why he was not around. The plan had been at some point to announce that she received word that her husband had been killed in battle, effectively making her a widow. Still, it seemed important to first substantiate her marital status for a while longer, before the tragedy should take place.

Yet the day her little one came into the world, Sier feared that she could no longer go through with such a farce. For after one look at her beautiful little son, with his blond tufts of hair and his bright blue eyes, staring up at her with all the trust in the world, she knew without a doubt that he deserved to someday know who his true father was. He was so perfect, so small and helpless, and the idea of ever causing him an ounce of pain by lying to him was now impossible.

"You deserve better, my little one," she whispered as she leaned down to kiss his downy head, tears of love mixed with sorrow streaming down her cheeks. "You deserve the truth."

"What shall you call him?" Maywen asked, having stayed at Sier's side throughout the long and arduous birth. "You have a fine, healthy son. One destined to bring you great joy…his name should reflect that."

"His father should be here to help me choose the name his son will carry," she whispered, unable to take her eyes off the face she now adored more than she ever thought possible. She could tell that he would favor Fili in appearance, and she only hoped that the far-away prince would approve of the name she now chose. And with that thought in mind, she gave him one that linked him to his sire for all time. "He shall be called Flinn, after his father's father," Sier announced "And he shall bear this name with pride."

By dwarf law, Sier knew she had a few years to figure out how to go about reuniting father and son. For according to custom, the mother was given complete control over the lives of her children until they reached their fifth year. Mostly since dwarflings were still considered infants up to that age, dependent on their mothers for all their needs and care. Yet when a son turned five, the father would then take on the responsibility of educating the lad in the history of his ancestors. It was also then, during a traditional ceremony, that the father would weave into his son's hair his first braid, presenting him with the official clasp of their family line. It would be then, and not before, that Sier would inform Fili of the existence of his child…yet she found she dreaded that moment more than anything.

What would Fili say? How would he react? Would he shun Flinn…or worse yet, take him away from her? Countless times Sier could be found staring down at her sleeping child, tears streaming down her cheeks as she tried to imagine what kind of life lay before him. He was not to blame for his situation, no more than either of his parents, yet she feared that Flinn would be the one made to suffer. He deserved a fine home, a happy life and a father to teach him all the things a dwarf should know. Yet, until his fifth year, Sier would covet her time with her precious son, showering him with all the love she had to give…for fear that on the day he learned who is father was, it would all come to an end.

~X~

"Ama, Ama!" Flinn cried, his stubby little legs moving as fast as they could as he came barreling into the shop where Sier was working. "Can I go with Mace to the master's house to play?" he begged, tugging on her sleeve. "Pleeeeeeease?"

Sier had been so lost in her remembrance that it took her a moment to reconcile the infant son in her mind with that of the rambunctious four year old before her. Dwarf children sprout quickly, then settle in to age at a much slower rate than human children. In fact, she knew that by the time Flinn reached his maturity, the boys he now played with would be old and withered. This was yet another reason she felt she needed to reintroduce her son with his own kind. Still, she had several more months before she needed to think about such a journey. And in the meantime, she saw no harm in allowing the lad to play with his friends at Master Rogan's home. He had done so many times before, with and without her being present, and she knew Rogan to be a kind and generous father himself. She felt safe in letting Flinn go.

"I promise to look after him," Mace, Maywen's youngest child, assured her as he stood in the doorway holding a wooden sword. "I will stay with him, and bring him home safe."

"He may go then," she nodded, giving eight year old Mace an appreciative smile. Her words also earning her a wide grin from her son, one that stole her heart away each time he flashed it at her. It was his father's smile, she was certain of it. "But stay with Mace, and do not make a nuisance of yourself," she instructed, running her fingers through his tousled golden locks, now falling just past his shoulders. Little Flinn reached up on his tippy toes and kissed her cheek in gratitude, before grabbing his own little wooden sword, and raced for the door. "And remember your manners!" Sier called after him, smiling fondly as he waved back in compliance. He really was a fine lad, one she was proud of.

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Thorin Oakenshield looked up at the hills before him, taking in a deep cleansing breath before mounting his pony once more. It felt good to get out of Erebor once in a while, something he had not done for several years. Affairs of state were always pressing upon him and excursions such as these came few and far between. Still, Fili was coming along nicely, having taken on more responsibility over the last five years and admirably handling all tasks assigned him. He truly would make a fine king one day.

Thus Thorin had no qualms about leaving his sister-sons in charge during this trip to forge alliances, taking with him Balin, Dwalin, Bofur and young Ori. At first he had been pressured to take a contingency of guards along for protection, but after they learned that Dwalin was going along, no one seemed to make too much of a fuss. Besides, this was meant to be a peaceful negotiation, and Thorin knew he would welcome a little bit of swordplay, should they come across a band of robbers or orcs. It had been quite some time since he had acted as a warrior and not a king.

Word had reached Erebor that a rich and plentiful vein of coal had been found in the hills of Emyn Muil, and there was hope that a treaty to mine and trade for it could be formed with the master of the nearby town. The Lonely Mountain might contain gold and precious gems, but the forges and cook stoves of Erebor needed coal to keep the fires lit, and a fresh source of the much needed fuel was indeed worth bargaining for. Fili and Kili had offered to make the journey themselves, but Thorin had chosen to take the responsibility upon himself, heading south to petition this Master Rogan of Himros personally.

As they rode into the small city of men, earning odd looks and outright stares, Thorin did his best to appear cordial, yet all the while he remained alert and his hand never left the pommel of his sword, Orcrist. They had sent word ahead, yet when no reply came by the scheduled time of their departure, they knew they might be heading into untested waters. What if this Rogan had no wish to deal with dwarves, or to part with the coal Erebor so desperately needed? Thorin was prepared to deal generously with this leader of men, having learned his lesson, that of valuing gold over the needs of his people many years ago. On the bloody fields during the Battle of Five Armies, Thorin had sworn never to allow the gold sickness to warp his mind again. Thus far, he had kept that promise.

After asking for directions from a somewhat flabbergasted merchant, the small company of dwarves arrived at the home of Master Rogan, dismounting just as a tall, blond haired human in fine clothes and a handful of servants came down the steps to greet them.

"King Thorin, I presume," the man began, not appearing in any way upset by their arrival. "I am Rogan, master of Himros, and I bid you welcome. Please come inside and partake of what hospitality I have to offer."

"Then you did indeed receive my message telling of our coming," Thorin surmised.

"I did indeed, yet far later than I am sure you intended," Rogan informed him. "Your letter was sent over a month ago, yet arrived only two days prior, for the caravan meant to deliver it was warned of bandits and took a much longer, yet safer, route to get here. Still, I welcome your presence as well as your offer to do business together. For our city is small and we have very few trained in the ways of mining, though it would be a shame to let such a rich, and tradable commodity go to waste."

"It would indeed," Thorin nodded, liking this man's openness greatly. Perhaps negotiations would go smoothly after all. "I am anxious to discuss a few matters, and then perhaps take a look at what we will be bargaining for. I have brought with me my head supervisor, in charge of all mining operations in Erebor, for that express purpose," Thorin stepped aside and allowed the scruffy dwarf with the unusual hat to come forward, offering a polite bow.

"Bofur, at your service," the miner spoke proudly.

"Rogan, also at yours," the master replied returning the bow in kind. He was very thankful that he had made the acquaintance of at least two dwarves in his past, allowing him to know the proper way to respond to such an introduction. "And I would be more than happy to see you receive a tour of mines of Emyn Muil, but first, I insist you take some refreshments and rest yourselves. For I assume your journey was long and dusty," Rogan offered, extending his hand towards his home. "My servants will see to your ponies."

"What are you offering, ale or wine?" Dwalin spoke up, dismounting and coming to stand beside Thorin, his massive arms crossed over his chest, giving Rogan a quizzical look.

"My captain of the guard, and chief of security, Mister Dwalin," Thorin introduced, then turning to the other two, also now at his side. "Also with me, my chief councilor, Lord Balin, and our court scribe, Ori."

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance," Rogan assured them. "And to answer your question, Mister Dwalin…I have both. Now please, come inside and take your ease."

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It did not take long for Thorin and Balin to realize that the master of Himros was as anxious to make a deal as they were, and could rest assured that the journey had not been in vain. At least it wouldn't be, as long as they could get Dwalin to stop scowling at everyone and acting so suspiciously. Thorin swore that he was eyeing each servant who came into the room as if they were a possible assassin, out to murder the king. Still, Thorin understood that protecting him was Dwalin's job, as well as his sworn duty, both as his captain and his friend, and the large tattooed warrior took the assignment to heart.

Balin had been the one to handle much of the negotiations, with little Ori frantically scribbling down every detail and figure discussed. He had been overjoyed to be asked to come along on this adventure, and he too was taking his job very seriously. Bofur interjected with a few questions now and then, but left most of the talking to Thorin and Balin, preferring instead to concentrate his attention on all the different wines and food items placed before him.

When at last satisfied with the preliminary negotiations, Rogan stood and offered to call for his foreman to take whoever wished to go out to inspect the mines. After the tour, he insisted that they return and share dinner with him, inviting them to remain as his honored guests for the remainder of their stay. Thorin was highly pleased with how smoothly things were going, and had just turned his head to tell the master this, when he was suddenly attacked from the side.

Instantly, his hand reached for his sword, Dwalin and Balin doing the same. Even Bofur took hold of his mattock ax and Oin grabbed his slingshot – all having had their instincts honed for battle during their long journey to reclaim the mountain. Yet it was not a pack of orcs or a band of assassins that had ambushed them in the hall, but a small group of children – four young boys holding wooden swords and playing at battle. When they saw who it was they had accidentally run into, they all stopped instantly, stepping back with looks of fear and embarrassment on their faces.

"Anders!" Rogan scolded, causing the oldest of the four to look down in shame. "What have I told you about playing around the meeting halls? Especially when we have guests visiting."

"Sorry, Father," the boy offered, while his comrades too displayed their remorse. "We did not mean to disturb you."

"Please forgive them," Rogan offered in apology to the king and his men. "They are young, and they meant no harm."

Yet before any word of acceptance could be spoken, the smallest of the group pushed his way forward, his blue eyes wide with excitement and a huge grin on his face.

"You're dwarves!" the blond headed youngster announced, ignoring the scolding look upon the master's face, as he practically danced around with delight. "You're all dwarves…just like me!"

Thorin, Balin and Dwalin could not believe their eyes, for standing before them, his blond head barely reaching their knees, was the spitting image of Fili when he had been a dwarfling. Bofur and Ori, who had not known the prince at such a young age, could still clearly see the striking resemblance. A million questions went racing through the king's mind, but for the life of him he could not find the words to ask a single one, and so he just stood there - staring open-mouthed at the little dwarf before him.

Rogan, seeing the shock in his guest's eyes, did his best to defuse the odd situation by further introductions.

"Allow me to present my son, Anders," he began, placing his arm across the first boy's shoulder affectionately. "The others are Mace, my nephew, and the son of my foreman, Donin," as he spoke each name, the boys in turn gave a nod of respect, yet when he went to identify the final lad, the little blond dwarf beat him to it. Stepping forward he bowed low at the waist, just as his mother had taught him.

"Flinn, at your sur-bus," he spoke out, as clearly as his childlike vocabulary allowed, straightening up and beaming with excitement as he looked upon the faces of the first male dwarves he had ever seen. However, the reaction he received from his very proper introduction, was the last thing that little Flinn expected.

Dun,dun,duuuuuun!

Hmmm, wonder what our five big, tough warriors are going to do and think now?!

Anyone hazard a guess?

Also, I know that dwarves age slower than mankind, but what dwarf mom wants extra years changing diapers? So for my story, they grow at the speed of a man-child until they are walking and talking - around age four or five. Then they slow down and start growing like a dwarf. OK?

Guest Reviews:

Mjean: Yep, I told you I borrowed the whole "made of stone" idea from the amazing Kaotic312! and I hope more check out her story. Did make me really have to put my thinking cap on to figure out a way to make Fili a dad though, ha ha.

Laura: I am glad you like it, and I very much plan to continue! Working on chapter 24 as we speak...er...as I type. ha ha.

Aranel Mereneth: Yes, he could sure use a nice big hug right about now. Our poor little dwarf felt so guilty.