Khazâd = dwarves
Nâthu Mahal = daughter of Aulë
gamzûna = she that is fierce
kharm = sword-brother
l
Then
Emery lets out a sigh of relief as she enters the tree line. Even after two years she still hasn't gotten used to living underground. Not that it's unpleasant to finally be inside the Blue Mountains, but she often misses the little house she first lived in with her family. Another family lives there, now. Thorin and his family moved into the royal living quarters the moment they were carved and furnished. Tari, Flika, Fili and Kili had a bit of an adjustment period without having the sunlight or the smell of the outdoors as their daily companions, but for Thorin and Dis it was like stepping into a pair of old comfortable boots. Emery thinks she may have the worst of it, not having been built for underground dwelling. Though she seems to do better when she finds a moment alone to secretly turn from a wolf into a damling.
After the first five months underground, Emery couldn't take it anymore. She snuck out of the mountain and out of the town and nearly cried when she inhaled a great breath of fresh forest air. Since then she's made it a point to sneak away every now and then.
She walks a few miles into the forest and settles beside a nice tall tree with large roots good for sitting on. She slides her pack off her back and sets it on the ground beside her, then reaches inside and pulls out a sketchbook and pencil box. She never had much opportunity to draw while in the foster system or while disguised as a wolf, but since she's been coming to the forest, she's been restarting the old hobby. Flipping to a fresh sheet, she begins tracing the lines. Many straight ones, some curved ones, lots of shading. Soon an image of a cozy library with a comfortable-looking reading nook takes form. She's always liked the idea of having a personal library, but for many reasons never tried to build one. The most obvious being the keeping of her secret, the more practical being that she already has a bag that stores and provides every book she could ever want.
While rubbing her finger on the page to smudge some lines, a little bobcat mewls from the root beside her. She looks over and smiles.
"Well hello there, Oscar," she says scratching behind his ears. He leans into her hand and purrs. She first met this bobcat in her wolf form the second or third time visiting the woods. He was a bit skittish of her at first, until she produced some catnip and fish. Since then he's happily greeted her every time she visits. He arches his back and walks under her hand so that she pets his back, then turns around and repeats. She happily spends the next few minutes petting him, until he freezes and his ears perk up. After a few seconds, he scampers off. She doesn't have time to wonder what chased him away, because a voice sounds from several yards away.
"Twenty-nine years." Emery jumps and turns, seeing the unreadable face of Dwalin son of Fundin. Oh no. Ooooh no. This is bad. This is very, very bad. "Twenty-nine years you have lived among us, eaten with us, played with our children, and gained our trust. Twenty-nine years you have deceived us," he says in a dangerously low tone. She doesn't know what to say. Because despite her intentions being good, he's right. "Well? What have you to say?" She's confused at first, because knowing him as she does, she's surprised he would give her a chance to defend her actions. Then she remembers, she's a child, only forty-six, the developmental equivalent of a nearly-eleven-year-old human. Despite his rough exterior and outward no-nonsense attitude, she knows he has a soft spot for children, as nearly all dwarves do, children being so precious to the Khazâd. So, carefully considering her words, she opens her mouth.
"I know you have little cause to trust me, but please believe me when I say my only intent is to watch over the line of Durin, as I was charged." Emery notes that while her general American accent hasn't changed, her wording has been influenced by the people she's lived with nearly three decades, but the thought is short-lived and her attention is quickly brought back to the moment by Dwalin.
"Charged by whom?" he demands.
"You won't believe me..." she says softly. He tilts his head, giving her a look she's seen many times directed at her dwarrowling friends, a look that makes any child admit the truth. She sighs and pulls her hair out of its ponytail. Pulling her family braid to the front, and looking down at it, she simply says "he did." She looks back up at Dwalin, who's eyes narrow slightly as he seems to debate something in his head, before he slowly steps forward. Once he's close enough to make out the details of the shining and faintly glowing bead decorating her braid, he stops short and his eyes widen.
"Nâthu Mahal," he whispers. Thankfully, she's picked up enough Khuzdul by now to understand what he said. She softly shakes her head.
"Not a daughter, at least not a real one. He adopted me into his family shortly before sending me here." He doesn't respond, but looks up from the bead and stares at her, as if trying to find something. After a few uncomfortable minutes, he finally speaks.
"How old were you when you first came to us?" She tells him that she was seventeen. This answer does not make him happy. In fact, it does the opposite. "Seventeen! Mahal would send so wee a child on a mission to protect?!" A bit stunned, she chuckles once against her will and shuffles her feet, then explains.
"My protection won't be needed for some time. He knew this. He sent me here many years early so I might get to know the people I am charged to protect." Her explanation seems to satisfy that particular concern, but apparently raises another.
"Many years early? So my cousins are to face mortal peril, something so dangerous, our creator himself would interfere?" He asks lowly. She nods. "If this danger is so great, why would he not give his own protection, why send someone in his stead?" Luckily, she herself asked Aulë that question once, several years ago.
"The Valar have great power, but even they are limited. Eru limits what they can influence in mortal lives, because whatever actions they themselves take in Middle Earth have heavy consequences in the lives of those that dwell here. From my understanding, it was a costly act to send me here. Only Tulkas and Yavanna supported his decision." He huffs lightly. "If I'm honest, I half expected your first question to inquire as to why they would send a dam." He scoffs.
"You've seen how rigorously Flika and Tari train, Dis's own lessons were just as intense. She is a force to be reckoned with, even I struggle to match her in a spar. Tama is no weakling either, and my wife Kraita was possibly the greatest gamzûna who ever lived. Lasses can be quite as capable as the lads," he says.
"Oh I well know," Emery replies. "One can't live among dwarves as long as I have and not know. But even as capable as they are, dams are still considered too precious to risk without great cause. It's one of the reasons I...well, to be honest, it's one of the reasons I've hidden my true form all this time. How can I complete my task if I am forbidden to be present at the crucial moment?" At this point, Dwalin has begun pacing slowly. He paces for a while, not looking at her. She doesn't interrupt him. After several minutes, he stops, still looking ahead of him rather than at her.
"How much training have you had, lass?" His question startles her, and she stammers her response.
"N-none, but I've been practicing what I've seen in Tari and Flika's lessons." He looks at her incredulously.
"Is that all? And you expect to be able to act as a divine guardian with naught but what you've taught yourself?" She blinks.
"I honestly haven't thought very much about it, I've always figured it would be unnecessary as I would be a wolf when the time comes."
"And if, for whatever reason, that is not an option? What was your plan then?" She doesn't reply. She doesn't need to. Her silence and suddenly pink face are answer enough. He harrumphs. "Saturday next, return here after the lads are abed asleep. First, you will tell me everything there is to tell. Then, we shall see how dire is your need for training and where we'll be starting." Completely baffled but not about to refuse, she nods her agreement. "And while we're at it, you best tell me your name." He looks at her expectantly. It takes longer than it should for her to speak, but she hasn't said her own name in nearly three decades, a baffling thought.
"Emery. Emery Willows." He nods and turns to leave. Suddenly she becomes very worried. "Will you tell anyone?" she calls after him. He did say she was to return to the forest after the boys are asleep, so they at least will probably remain ignorant. Thorin, however, is his kharm, his closest friend, his brother in all but blood. She would be more surprised if Dwalin didn't share such an enormous secret with him.
"...I will not, for now at least. Not until I've heard the entire story. I will decide then what to tell and to whom," he answers and continues walking away, back toward Ered Luin.
l
Now
"No thank you, Dori. A little red wine for me, I think," Gandalf says as he steps from the table into the hallway. He turns as Nori passes him, causing him to bump his head into the chandelier. He straightens it, then begins to count off the dwarves on his fingers. He says Ori's name as the dwarf himself has a bowl of tomatoes wrenched from his hand by a frazzled hobbit. Poor Bilbo, now dressed in his day clothes, has been trying unsuccessfully to wrangle the assault on his pantry.
"Not my prize-winners, thank you," says the hobbit, barely keeping his frustration contained. If one were to look hard enough, they might see steam pouring from his ears. As he turns back to the pantry, Bifur speaks to Gandalf in Khuzdul.
"Yes, you're quite right, Bifur. We apper to be one dwarf short," comments the wizard.
"He is late, is all," Dwalin says from his little corner where he's nursing his tankard. "He traveled north to a meeting of our kin. He will come." Gandalf grunts as Dori calls from beside him.
"Mister Gandalf, a little glass of red wine, as requested. It's got a fruity bouquet," he says, handing the tiny glass to the wizard.
"Oh, cheers," he says as he swallows the wine. He looks down at his glass, unpleased to find the one sip was all that had fit in the tiny goblet.
The next minute, Emery finds herself lying under the table. The dwarves are careful not to kick or step on her, but even the less familiar ones have all met her many times before and are used to it. As always, Fili and Kili slide a plate stacked with food toward her and scratch her ears before sitting up and returning to their own plates. As she's happily chewing on a chicken drumstick, she hears the thumping of footsteps and Fili's voice offering ale to his fellow dwarves. Halfway through her meal, there's sudden silence, but for the sloshing and gulping sounds amplified by the acoustics of the tankards. She rolls her eyes at what she knows is coming. Surprisingly, Ori's belch reigns loudest and longest.
l
As Bilbo follows several dwarves and the wizard to the hallway near the kitchen, Emery seeks out the friend she hasn't yet had a chance to greet. Finding him leaning against the wall, once again sipping from his tankard, she nudges his shoulder gently. He turns and looks up, giving her a fond smile.
"Haven't seen you in a long while, Lassie," he says jovially. He lowers his voice so the others don't hear, and says, "How have you been, Miss Emery?" In response, she huffs, rolls her eyes, and looks in the direction of her boys. He chuckles. "Oh aye, Fili and Kili can certainly be a handful. Have you been practicing in my absence?" She nods. "Good lass. I'd hate to see a goblin's blade stick a landing because you went and got lazy," he jokes. She rolls her eyes again and bumps her leg into his shoulder.
"Excuse me. I'm sorry to interrupt, but what should I do with my plate?" She hear's Ori's polite inquiry from down the hallway as Kili walks out of the kitchen to stand beside her holding his pipe. Fili eagerly steps toward Ori and takes the plate.
"Here you go, Ori. Give it to me," he says and throws it to Kili, who in turn tosses it behind him to Bifur at the sink. Emery gets an excited glint in her eyes. It's time for the song. She's heard many like it, of course. Many young dwarves learn to play this game after they begin learning to throw knives. It's fun, but it also improves their aim and teaches them to coordinate with each other so they can fight more effectively together. And the songs are usually very similar, with jokes about making messes and damaging the tableware to tease their mothers or whoever crafted the set. Fili, Kili, Tari, Dolit and Gimli have sung these particular verses together many times, needing only to add Bilbo's name.
"Excuse me! That's my mother's West Farthing pottery, it's over a hundred years old! And-and can you not do that? You'll blunt them!"
"Oooh, do you hear that lads? He says we'll blunt the knives!" says Bofur mischievously. And thus the song begins. As dishes fly and dwarves sing, amusement shows itself plainly in Emery's eyes. Even Dwalin joins in, tapping his feet as he passes plates in front of Bombur and bouncing cups off his head. Balin by now has participated in this game so many times, and absentmindedly tosses plates behind him. At some point, Bofur pulls out his flute to play along. By the time the song is finished, the clean dishes are piled neatly on the table, much to Bilbo's surprise. Gandalf gives Bilbo an amused look, as if to say "See, what did I tell you? Quite a merry gathering indeed." Their laughter is cut short, however, by a pounding at the door.
"He is here," says the wizard seriously.