Seriously thanks for the feedback as always!
Also, since I do not believe in my knowledge in Khuzdul, there will only be used phrases and words occasionally throughout the entire story; so whenever there are only Dwarves present within Erebor, they will obviously be speaking in Khuzdul, but it will be written in English to make things a whole lot easier on me.
I haven't written this much dialogue in ages.
Enjoy!
When Ravens Fly
Chapter XIII: The Blacksmith's Family
When morning dawned it was not long before Fíli stirred from a fretful slumber.
The air was cold as the fire had lived and died during the night; he watched, with half-lidded eyes, the arching grey slipping into black shadows on the ceiling. No sounds reached the chamber through the solid rock walls, lined with heavy tapestries, and so he lay there for many long moments. Thinking, throat dry.
But as he waited – tested – to see if sleep would claim him once more, Fíli found himself wide awake. Shifting, and rolling over; flipping the heavy woolen covers until they were rolled up next to him. He could not postpone the day any longer. And so he came to his feet, stretching carefully to avoid the still aching injury, before crossing the cold floor with long and purposeful strides.
Streams of light, pale yellow beams, filtered through the small openings above; keen eyes peered into the dimness, hands knotted together for warmth, as he came to a pause at his desk. The flat sheet of paper glowed white and held his gaze, and so he watched the letter with little idea of what to do with it. Brow furrowed in deep contemplation until he heaved a sigh.
A blacksmith, he thought, knowing well where the Dwarf family was to be found. Following the sloped corridor leading from the marketplaces, wide enough for carts and waggons heading back and forth, he would reach the workplaces of every craftsman in the city. In the houses cut from the mountain, where the road to the entrance and the railways from the mines met. Following the familiar sounds of anvils and hammers; bellows and sizzling of heated metal.
It would be no trouble to pay the Dwarf family a brief visit during his princely duties. An inspection of the workers' well-being? Albeit it sounded most of all like a poor excuse – which, in fact, he was well aware – Fíli had taken it upon himself to deliver the letter. And as such he would fulfil his duties without complaint. Having made up his mind he dressed quickly.
Strapping on his weapons, the daggers and the sword; and tugged the letter securely into a silk-lined pocket.
Then he left the room.
The corridor was brightly lit, torches aflame to fill the air with golden warmth, and Fíli paused as his gaze landed on a figure. It was sitting crouched on the stone floor, head rested against pulled-up knees, leaving only dark brown hair sticking out. How long his brother had been waiting outside his room, Fíli did not know, but neither was he much interested in knowing the reason as to why.
Proven time and time again, the results would likely put Fíli in heaps of trouble. He carefully, quietly, pressed the door shut behind him. But the soft click echoed and amplified down the hall, until he felt every single Dwarf within the mountain could hear it.
Stiffening into attention, Kíli's head shot up and immediately trained on the older Dwarf. "I've been waiting for you!"
Fíli pulled a face, yet soon after with a sigh greeted Kíli. "What brings you here this early, dear brother? The day has barely begun, and the sun yet risen above the valley." He stepped closer and offered his assistance with an outstretched arm; they clasped hands and Kíli was pulled to his feet with little effort.
The younger Dwarf dusted off his trousers and shirt.
"I had a hunch you would be skulking about this early morning. Delivering letters and all," Kíli mused, a grin clear across his features. From the corner of an eye Fíli shot him a look; choosing to ignore the jab he instead began down the corridor.
Kíli followed.
"Am I not right?"
"No," he responded curtly, "I was planning on an early breakfast."
"And then delivering a letter?"
A servant fluently stepped aside, mid-bow, when the princes passed and the conversation was put on hold; they nodded a greeting good-naturedly, but otherwise minded their own affairs. Once more out of earshot the oldest brother answered. "You are awfully committed in my affairs. Do you have nothing else to pass your time with?"
"I take a shared responsibility in making sure the letter is properly handed over."
"Of course you do," Fíli responded dryly.
Making their way through the mountain, they followed the familiar sound of life until they were no longer alone. The corridor opened, widening into a large chamber through great oaken doors. A low murmur of voices hung heavy in the air, mixed into an incomprehensible mash of noise. Rows upon rows of pillars continued ahead into the dimness, holding up the roof lost in the shadows high above. Carvings adorned the stones, cut in deep circlets and swirls, and lit by hundreds of sconces.
Tapestries hung on both sides of the room, in vibrant colors and dyes brought in from all over Middle-Earth. A large, open fireplace roared with life on a dais – the length of five full grown horses – placed in the centre of the grand hall. The burning fire was shielded by metal screens and did little to light its surroundings.
It did, however, create a stifling warmth.
Rolling heat brushed against his face when he entered.
Servants hurried about with trays, setting and clearing wooden tables with breakfast, and many Dwarves were already settled in; most were soldiers, either half-asleep from the night shift or clear-eyed and ready for the daily patrols. Great oval shields rested against the benches, spears and bows put aside, while mugs and meats were passed around.
Pages and couriers slipped in and out of the crowd, bringing with them messages or running other errands for their lords and ladies. Dwarflings tumbled about in play; the older ones creating mischief beneath the tables, tying shoelaces together or pilfering pastries where no one was looking.
The grand hall was sensibly positioned in the very heart of the mountain.
Here passages and corridors led to every corner, level, and deep in Erebor. To the marketplaces, the forges and mines; the barracks and training grounds. Palaces, academies and foundries. Several hundreds of mouths were fed here daily, and the kitchens bustled with life and work from early morning to late night. Carts upon carts of firewood and coal was brought in; not to mention cows and chickens, boars and swine; carrots and potatoes, grains and wheat from the surrounding farmlands. Salted fish from as far away as the Gulf of Lune.
All who pulled their weight and did a hard day's work were welcome to dine in the hall.
Most often it was soldiers, starved for food and company, that gathered here.
But amongst the polished armor, helmets, and weapons; swords, and bows and quivers; Fíli also spotted noble families. The grand hall was often used for more unofficial business; gossips and intrigues, settling the outcasts of high society; dinner invitations and what gowns to wear and not to wear. They stood out in silken dresses and tunics woven with silver and gold treads.
Gradually they advanced, but although Fíli exchanged a nod with some of the men seated, they did not slow their steps. The voices quieted around them, making his booted steps clear in his ears. As of late, Fíli seldomly dined with the men and took his breakfast at his desk. Rarity was to him now a dinner without work.
He had missed the thrum of life.
Doors swung open as servants carried in food, revealing the large kitchens beyond. Massive stoves, running the length of floor to ceiling, billowed smoke and heat into a mesh of pots and pans. It was a hectic jumble, orderly chaos with smells and noises.
While Dwarves cherished their crafts; the blazing furnaces and the deepest depths of the mines; they truly came together around food. Laughter welled up. Plates were passed around and ale sloshed with the shouts of toasting. The finer ladies enjoyed their wine and daintily picked at their favored foods, while great amounts of roasted meat were devoured as logs in a fire by bulky warriors.
An empty table caught his eye, and he slipped into an unclaimed seat on the bench.
It did not take long before full plates were placed in front of them, and tankards foam-topped shone golden in the sconce-light. Fíli could feel eyes on him, hungering to strike a conversation with the princes of Erebor, but propriety kept them at bay; one was not to approach unless first invited – much to his relief.
He wished to enjoy his morning meal in jovial peace.
"So," Kíli spoke with a mouthful of seasoned potatoes. He swallowed, then proceeded, "Did you bring the letter?"
If only they were not in the presence of others, Fíli would have smacked his brother so that his undoubtedly empty skull would have reverberated throughout the hall. Instead he exhaled sharply, eyes flickering to their surroundings. "Fine! Yes, I did bring it with me. Are you satisfied now?"
Kíli shrugged, less than enthusiastic. "I guess."
Burying his face in his hands, Fíli pressed hard against his brow and prayed to Mahal for patience – seemingly something he did far too often as of late. He knew there would be no way around now, and the younger Dwarf would latch on to him for the rest of the day. A less than silent observer, judging his every move and action; spewing snarky remarks and irksome pokes, knowing well it would rile up the older brother.
How Fíli looked forward to it ...
The princes finished their meal, pushing aside their plates, and leisurely enjoyed the last droplets of ale in the warmth and mild light of the great hall. Fíli could feel the press of the letter in his pocket. His fingers curled around the tankard, drumming absently.
His gaze glanced out over the crowd, lingering on familiar faces and nodding his acknowledgments. He knew many from his time living in Ered Luin; Firebeards and Broadbeams, and many of Durin's Folk previously exiled by the dragon Smaug, now once more returned to dwell beneath the mountain. Back when he had been just an heir of Durin, not the future King under the Mountain ...
The heavy air of smoke and smells filled his nostrils as he inhaled deeply. He took one last, long sip of ale, then rose to his feet. Kíli peered up but soon after mirrored his actions. "Are we going now? So soon? You certainly are eager."
Fíli shot him a dry look. "If you continue your incessant need to be annoying, I will tell uncle you are more than willing to keep the ladies of court company. In fact I will tell him you insisted."
His brother blanched, all color draining from his face as he held up both hands in surrender. "Peace, brother, I yield."
"I deem that wise," Fíli mused.
The princes stepped through the opened doors side by side, a most welcome quiet passing between them.
While most knowledge from the olden days was lost in time; where axes could slice through any metal and the Mithril mines of Khazad-dûm granted armor impossible to penetrate; the blacksmiths of Erebor worked relentlessly in honing their skills. The cavern, in which Fíli and Kíli found themselves, had become the gathering point for all Dwarven masters of the Third Age.
Houses of dark stone, with balconies and large windows, ran along the cavern walls. Here lived the families close to their workplaces, and often a blacksmith's child – be they boy or girl – would in time follow in the same footsteps as the father. Clangs filled the open space; jarring on the ears of those unaccustomed to the unchanging sounds.
Large crucibles filled with molted iron gleamed red in the far end of the cavern, and many Dwarves operated the heavy chains, pulling and slacking in order to control the turns.
Fíli watched as the scorching hot metal welled from an open hatch, spilling out into a thin mold. Steam took shape, billowing out as tendrils of grey fog ran across the floor. He knew the purpose of the metal plates; they would be shifted onto waggons and carted off to be used in the fortifications of the entrance.
Meanwhile, many other blacksmiths had set up shops in their own homes, tinkering with smaller items.
The princes continued further in, following the road past houses and open squares. Fountains and sculptures. Lamps, burning oil, hung from the cavern roof and made the polished stones shine beneath their feet. Although the sounds spoke of the hard labor, the sights showed the life also present. Woven carpets hung out to dry in the warm air, thick, brightly colored in reds and yellows; toys strewn about and left until their next use.
A young Dwarrowdam perched on a bench, scrubbing away on a washboard and with water splashing about in her rigorous movements; a cot, blankets wiggling about, at her side and within arm's reach.
Fíli approached, clearing his throat carefully to make his presence known; hands clasped behind his back, he gave a smile when she turned her attention to him. They were immediately recognized, but he swiftly motioned for her to remain seated. "Your highness!" She squeaked, fumbling to wipe her hands in her skirt. "How can I be of assistance?"
"We were hoping you could offer us directions," he said pleasantly, "–for we are looking for a Mister Frár, and have been told he works as a blacksmith."
For a moment her brow furrowed in thought, gaze turned sideways in an attempt to remember the name. "Frár? Oh yes, arrived little more than a month ago with his family. I know of him," she responded; then she pointed further down to where the road forked. "He lives just off to the side. Fifth or sixth house to the left if I'm not much mistaken."
Inclining his head, Fíli thanked her for her time.
He could feel the Dwarrowdam's eyes on them as they followed the road, curious as to their purpose, and the story of their visit would likely be shared with both husband and neighbors; princes at her very own doorstep! But soon they turned and were out of sight. The new street looked much like the previous; and he counted each house they passed, separated by low stone-enclosures barely reaching his chest. Ahead, a pair of small legs dangled back and forth from the wall, and the Dwarfling spared them no attention as Fíli paused next to her.
The fifth house on the left, he thought and glanced to the one next to it; the lights in the sixth house were out, seemingly none were at home, and so he looked back to the child. If luck was with him, this was the right house. Her legs had stopped, but she showed no other indication to have noticed them. The brown-haired Dwarf stepped closer, then leaned against the wall; a grin widened across his features.
"What a pretty doll you have there," Kíli commented.
She mumbled a thanks, chubby fingers fussing with the straw-doll's red dress as if to make it look presentable.
"What's her name?"
"Nelly," she answered, now tugging at her bangs in a child's timid behavior. Clearly feeling some discomfort, yet not enough to shy away from them, she glanced curiously towards the pair of princes; first at Kíli, a small smile tugging at her lips, but then her gaze rested on Fíli. She turned the doll towards him. "Would you like to say hello to her?"
"It would be my pleasure," he smiled and gave a deep bow. "It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Lady Nelly."
The child's smile widened a notch, but then she shook her head. "Nelly is no Lady. She's a friend."
"But with such a pretty dress, surely she could be nothing less than a princess!" Kíli stated incredulously, gasping. "Which would make you a fine noblewoman to take care of her, am I not right?" This earned him a giggle. "Tell me, fair maiden, what is your name? Without a doubt it is as beautiful as the princess' own."
"Lóna," she mumbled shyly. "At your service."
The brothers exchanged looks.
"Fíli–"
"–and Kíli–"
"–at yours," they both finished in chorus and with matching bows, much to the child's delight.
Lóna clapped her hands in excitement, beaming at one brother to the other.
Fíli took a step closer. "Would you happen to know where a Dwarf named Frár lives?"
"Yes," she nodded, then looked back towards her house. "He's my adad."
Hiding his eagerness, glad to have found the right place without any trouble, he smiled at the little Dwarfling. "Is your father home by chance?"
She shook her head. "But amad is. Do you want me to get her?" Before Fíli had a chance to voice his consent, Lóna had already jumped from the wall, doll securely tugged beneath her arm, and darted through the door. The brothers waited politely, glancing about at the empty street with subtle interest. Somewhere further down the road the soft tune of a fiddle weaved into the air, drowned out by the overwhelmingly ear-splintering anvils.
The door was pushed open, and a Dwarrowdam appeared with Lóna marching ahead, pulling at her mother's apron in her hurry. "Slow down, little one," she spoke affectionately, yet none the less indulged the insistent tugs of her daughter. But when she raised her gaze, eyes falling on the princes, she froze mid-step and yanked Lóna to a halt. "Your Highnesses!" She flushed. "Nola, at your utmost service."
She curtsied deeply, keeping her head lowered and waited for them to address her.
Fíli, feeling flustered, quickly broke the silence. "Madam, please raise your head," he said.
The Dwarrowdam rose, yet her hands fidgeted with her apron in her unease. She had likely never had royalty standing outside her home, let alone imagined she would ever, even in her wildest dreams, come face to face with members of Thorin Oakenshield's company. He had not meant to put her on edge, and he attempted to smile reassuringly – although the paleness of her face marked his efforts to be of little use.
"We are not here on official business, but rather to hand over something to your husband." He pulled the letter from his pocket and held it up for her to see. "May we enter?"
Still rather flabbergasted, the Dwarrowdam stepped aside and motioned towards the entrance. "Of course, your Highness, do come in."
Passing the pair, Fíli entered the house and found himself in a small, packed but homely living room. Lamp-light bathed the room in a dim glow; a pot bubbled away over the stove, the lid rumbling, and the warm air smelled of freshly baked bread. He stepped further inside, allowing his brother space, and soon after the Dwarrowdam and her daughter slipped inside.
"If you'd please," she waved towards the round table in the middle of the room, "–have a seat."
"Thank you," Fíli responded. He pulled out a chair and settled; the wood was old, nicked and worn down from time and use, but well-kept. They had likely brought it with them when they returned to Erebor. A vase, holding boldly colored cup-shaped flowers, was placed in the middle. The Dwarrowdam, Nola, stood to the side; unsure of what to do next. The Dwarfling was nowhere in sight.
Kíli, too, sensed her discomfort and – glancing about the room – spoke his interest. "I see many items native to the Blue Mountains. Did you live there previously?"
"Ah, well ... yes," she stumbled for words, wringing the apron between her hands. "–but the last years we spent on the road. My husband worked some in Belfalas. We were in Dol Amroth when we heard the news of the dragon's demise. Of course we packed our belongings immediately and returned to Erebor." She stepped across the room towards a second door. "May I offer you something to drink? Ale? Wine? I do have water boiling for tea, as well," she offered.
"Tea would be most welcome," Kíli said.
With a nod, she picked up the pot from the stove and disappeared through the door.
Soon after they could hear the clanging of plates and cutlery, marking Nola busy at work. Meanwhile Fíli stole another look about the Dwarves' home; he rarely paid such unofficial visits to their people, least of all stepping foot into their private rooms. Pillows lined the broad windowsills, creating additional seating arrangements; crates and shelves with thongs and hammers lined one wall, with broken bellows and mending-tools scattered across a small table in the corner.
Children's books stood stacked close to the stove, and a small, open chest revealed heaps of dolls and clothes.
A weapon-stand stood by the door, and here two axes rested close at hand.
Fíli shifted in his seat, voicing his appreciation when the Dwarrowdam returned. Jugs of mint tea was placed in front of them both, soon followed by a basket of biscuits; Nola carefully pulled out a chair and sat down promptly. While he wished to know more about the family, Kíli on the other hand preoccupied himself with the warm beverage and sniffed with satisfaction.
"Do you happen to know when Mister Frár returns?" Fíli asked, ignoring his brother's antics.
"My husband and son have been putting the last finish on an order throughout the night. They should be returning soon." She answered. "May I inquire about your visit, my Lord?"
Fíli slipped the letter across the table to her. "A mutual acquaintance asked us to deliver this to you and your husband."
Turning the letter over in her hands, curiosity painted vividly across her features, she returned her questioning gaze to Fíli.
"She traveled with you from Minas Tirith, if I am not mistaken?" He elaborated. "A minstrel by the name of Ranel." Upon hearing the name, Nola's face lit up in recognition and delight, yet long before she could put her feelings into words, the tiny Dwarfling emerged from another chamber and dashed to the table. Tap, tap, tap, tap!
Barely able to poke her nose above the wooden edge, the small child clambered into a chair.
"Ranel?" She asked, eyes lit with unveiled excitement.
Her mother quickly stilled her, placing a hand calmly on the child's shoulder. "She was indeed our companion on our journey, and we parted ways close to Dale. We had not received word from her since." Her hands smoothened the letter over the table. "We knew not she was an acquaintance of your Highnesses."
Fíli cleared his throat. He could not quite tell the Dwarrowdam the complete story, lest he wished to mortally humiliate himself. "Our paths crossed upon several occasions in Dale, and our conversation fell upon your family."
"How is she?" Nola asked.
Small hands reached across the table, fingers sneaking over the wood while glances were shot towards the Dwarrowdam. Kíli, elbow leisurely rested on the table, looked towards the child and, with his free hand, subtly pushed the biscuits closer.
"She has no trouble earning a living," the younger brother said. "Her songs bring many to the tavern where she resides. In fact, I would think her voice is far more suited at court than between drunken men."
Lóna chewed quietly, large eyes watching them with interest.
Shifting in his seat, eyes on the folded letter, Fíli was stuck with restlessness; was his duty not complete?
The letter had found its rightful owner, and he did not need to linger while they read the contents.
Surely work awaited him.
He swiftly finished the tea, hot in his mouth with spices and warmth, and motioned to rise. "Perhaps it is best we be on our way again. Thank you for your hospitality," he said kindly, inclining his head. "We shan't be taking up any more of your time, Lady Nola."
Kíli opened his mouth to argue, but Fíli silenced him with a single look.
His task was done. Now he needed not concern himself with the minstrel anymore.
"There really is no rush, your Highness," Nola interjected as she, too, stood. As if hearing her own tone, fretful she might have sounded insistent, she lowered her voice as she continued. "My husband and our family owes her a great deal, and our children care much for her. Frár would surely like to thank you personally for delivering Ranel's message. Will you not stay a while longer?"
He hesitated, confliction pulling at his gut tightly, for certainly he understood her view. Dwarven customs and honor meant their departure now would break all decorum; for the Dwarrowdam, she had not properly seen to her guests nor expressed her gratitude. And they would turn down an offered courtesy upon which they had first accepted. Rubbing his beard, Fíli's lips were pulled thin in quiet thought.
"Perhaps some lunch?" She offered hopefully.
"Lunch sounds wonderful," Kíli agreed from the side, still firmly remaining in his seat with little evidence of him even considering getting up.
Suppressing a sigh of defeat, the oldest prince nodded shortly. "I accept the offer. But I do hope we are not interrupting your day."
"No, no. Not at all," she fussed, "I do enjoy company."
And so, having returned to his seat once more, Fíli had his mug refilled and watched his brother set the table. While Nola passed out plates and goblets, setting down bread, butter, and cheese; Kíli assisted the little Dwarfling. With a face drawn into a somber mask, never betraying the mirth pressing on, the prince placed a tiny fork and knife in front of the doll. "For you, my Lady," he said solemnly.
"Don't forget to fill her glass," the girl reminded him.
"Oh, yes. Right away." At that point it took his combined willpower not to laugh out loud. Fíli, upon creating eye contact with Kíli, cocked an eyebrow; his brother seemed unsure, glancing from the very small toy glass stuck between his fingers to the jug of wine on the table. He had been set on an impossible quest.
"You should not keep a lady waiting," the light-haired Dwarf remarked.
He received a heated glare in return.
The front door clicked open and a figure stepped inside, saving Kíli from his predicament. Both brothers looked up upon the newly arrived; eyes widened and shifted from one to the other, mouth opened and closed; no words came out. Then the door was firmly shut closed again. "Lóni is home!" Lóna called out to her mother, oblivious to what had just transpired.
A panicky voice reached them through the door. "Father, there are princes in the living room!"