AN: Major time skip in this chapter as many characters will be referring back to these in conversations and I don't want it to become repetitive. Ideally, the focus of this story will be on the dwarves, not the elves.
P.S. This chapter was not in the draft, but the muses won.
Chapter 4 - Side Quest
Excitement and anxiety filled Fíli as he prepared his bags one last time.
Bilbo had gone to the Gamgees to employ them to look after the Smial while they were gone.
"I'm not sure about this," Fíli said as Glorfindel steadied the pony.
The elf smiled at him, running a soothing hand over the energetic mare. "Be calm child, she knows what she is doing and she wants to fall less than you do."
Fíli glared at him, "You're going to walk the whole way, aren't you."
Glorfindel smiled, "I believe your father will enjoy it less than you. But there are always dangers on the road and I would not like to risk either of you in taking longer than we need to travel."
Sure enough, when Biblo joined them he sighed at his pony, "Is this really necessary?"
Glorfindel's laugh sounded like the awakening of morning songbirds with the cadence and personality of a babbling brook.
That elves loved songs and poetry was no mystery to Fíli when they themselves seemed to be born from songs inspired by nature.
Fíli couldn't remember if he appreciated such things when he was younger. Sometimes, he remembered songs, songs that sank into his bones and fortified his heart.
But he couldn't remember the meaning behind the words used aside from the rare songs that lingered in his memories in the common speech.
He was pretty certain his family had been from Erebor for the name brought him hope and longing.
And his fear of dragons was too deep set.
Glorfindel touched his cheek, pulling him from his distant memories. "Are you ready, nin réd?"
Fíli smiled at being called his son. Glorfindel didn't acknowledge grandchildren. To the elf lord, Fíli, his father, Bilbo, and Bilbo's mother, Belladonna were all and would forever be children.
His children.
That what it meant to be Glorfindel's child was to be showered by love and affection, Fíli couldn't argue with the honour.
"Yeah," Fíli said, looking toward Bilbo who was eyeing up his chestnut pony as if it were a carnivorous mountain lion. "I'm ready to see the world."
Bilbo caught Fíli's gaze, smiling widely.
Bilbo had travelled to Rivendell many times and Fíli couldn't help but feel that he was going to discover who his adoptive family truly was beyond the shelter of the Shire.
oOo
Fíli didn't know what to expect from elves but he learned rather quickly that they weren't all like Glorfindel or Lord Elrond.
Nor Lady Galadriel who was a power unto herself.
No, most elves were silly. They greeted Fíli with songs rhyming his and Bilbo's names with the oddest of things.
Bilbo Baggins ate all his scones.
Fíli Baggins, was he born from stone?
Will he stay for spring flowers?
Will they dance when the rains do shower?
Bilbo, Bilbo, how we've missed your laughter.
Fíli, Fíli, shall we hear you singing?
After, after so much laughter,
Shall we please hear you singing?
It was an odd greeting, and even for hobbits who liked songs and dancing, there was a cleverness to the elven songs, clever and not entirely meant to please.
Fíli had the sense that if he had been a bit older, the lyrics might have been a tad meaner.
But the plotting look on his father's face told him that this too was a game, a game of wit and words.
Fíli began to understand why Bilbo always spoke so fondly of the elves. For as much as the hobbit loved his comforts, his was a mind too curious and too adoring of challenges to ever be too content in the Shire.
Still, Fíli found the elves strange as if they belonged to a song outside of his hearing range, as if their feet moved to a drum beat he could not feel.
In many ways, it was easier than living with just hobbits. He got to wear shoes again when he wanted and though he still was ever aware of the sound of his steps, it wasn't anywhere near as difficult as living with hobbits that could downright vanish when they wished to.
And when he grew tired of the elves waxing poetic, coming up with silly songs, or engrossed in epic tales of old, he always had Bilbo to relax around or his best friend, Estel.
Estel was like no other human he had ever met. He was kind and quiet but just as competitive as Fíli with a sense of exploration that didn't always get them both grabbed by the ear when they made it back home.
When Estel travelled to Lothorian Fíli, Bilbo, and Glorfindel followed.
When Estel went to Rohan, Fíli and Bilbo accompanied the young Ranger.
Estel and Fíli were at most times inseparable. They rode horses together, they learned history and languages together, and they trained daily with swords.
Until that was, an Elven Master Smith, Master Dalphia, took Fíli under his wing, and he found himself in the forge for as long as was allowed.
Bilbo, Estel, Glorfindel, and Dalphia had to unite to pull him away for breaks.
Fíli could not deny it was as if an addiction had taken hold of him, but it was so much more than that, it felt like he could breathe more deeply and hear more clearly. The metal and the stone sang to him, resinating in his bones. Nothing ever made more sense, never was he more himself than when he was in the forge.
And Dalphia, who was practically family as she was one of the ladies of Glorfindel's house, taught him everything she knew sans the elvish runic magic she knew. She claimed the dwarvish magic he possessed inside himself was more than enough to imbue the metal with his intentions and blessings.
Weapons were his favourite and while he preferred more geometric lines as it felt that was better suited to some metals, he knew his designs were somewhere between dwarvish and elvish. The books in Elrond's library provide plenty of examples for inspiration.
But Fíli was the son of a hobbit, and he was never too proud to forge horseshoes. In fact, he got quite skilled in blacksmithing for them. Elves and Roherrim loved their horses, Estel especially.
So Fíli learned and the horses learned to trust him and his shoeings.
His Master gave him a blade when he advanced beyond that of a beginner. It was not large and flashy. It was a blade that fit within his boot, stained brown-like leather with a matt finish. The handle of it even seemed to be made of wood. It seemed to be nothing special, but it wasn't the look of it that was notable but its functionality. It was strong enough to be driven into a cliff face without chipping, could withstand intense heat, and was sharp enough to cut through leather like butter. The symbols were invisible unless under a burning flame.
It was an unassuming weapon and tool as well as entirely brilliant. Something small enough to be overlooked, something that his enemies would regret underestimating.
Much like a hobbit, Master Dalphia told him. A blade forged for a Baggins.
Fíli smiled, for as much as he was proud to be one of Glorfindel's sons, Bilbo was the father of his heart.
oOo
Frerin inspected Kíli's masterwork.
It was traditional to either keep or give away your first masterwork depending on if their Master had crafted for them their primary weapon or not.
In this case, Frerin had taught Kíli his craft in woodwork, but he had not built him a bow.
Frerin, like Dís, preferred axes. He was no archer to understand the needs and desirable comfortability of a functioning bow. In recent years, Frerin's speciality lay in the architecture of ships and decorative woodwork. Thrain would have been furious in his middle child's profession; if he had been around to care.
Kíli's bow was a thing of beauty. Made from the timber of a red oak and an orange osage, it was velvety soft to the touch and the stained leather was woven into a beautiful and durable grip.
The carvings were inspired by the traditional designs of Ered Luin that depicted the ocean and the ravens of Erebor.
He ran a finger over the bowstring, treated to perfection.
Frerin handed the bow back to his nephew, "Let's see it."
Kíli grinned, taking the bow and reaching his quiver.
The targets were hung from the trees, the sea breeze setting them all spinning.
Elves were better archers for their superiority of eyesight. However, no dwarven archer had ever been accused of a lack of skill or dedication.
Kíli didn't miss a single target and his bow was as lovely and enviable as it had been before the strenuous work put through it.
While not a master of his craft (and all who practised remained apprentices to their art), their prince was officially a craftsman.
oOo
Twenty years had passed since Glorfindel had first brought Fíli to Imladris.
He went to Lothlórien as Elrond always worried about his daughter when she crossed the Misty Mountains.
"We must make peace with the dwarrow," Lady Galadriel said.
Glorfindel tensed, "My lady–"
"It is on your account that is to be done," Lord Celeborn said. "Fíli Baggins was adopted into your lineage. He is a dwarf and while we understand your reluctance to reestablish ties to Ered Luin is understandable, however, it is the dwarves who journey from the Iron Hills."
Glorfindel sighed, "You would like us to escort them over the Misty Mountains."
It wasn't a question.
"They avoided the Green Way where the Darkness grows," Galadriel said. "Bilbo has spoken to me of his fears that they have no one to trust Fíli's safety with. Much goodwill could be bought with a simple night of food and rest."
"Lord of the Golden Flowers," Celeborn coaxed with deceptive humbleness. "Time moves differently for them. Fíli is a strong and capable warrior, he has learned the art of the smith from our own like a fish to water, and soon he will be of his majority. Neither yours nor Bilbo's guardianship could keep him from rejoining his people if he so wished."
Glorfindel bowed his head, "I understand."
Though he hated it. The crimes that had been done to Bella, Bilbo, and Fíli were not things he could, or would ever, forgive.
But his little Fíli was growing up and it was his right to discover who his family had been before they were taken from them.
oOo
Dain Ironfoot, Lord of the Iron Hills, did not love to travel.
In fact, he rather hated that his cousins lived so far away when they had been neighbours before the Sacking of Erebor.
That they couldn't even take the quicker path through Mirkwood…
No, they had to go the long bloody way round.
Moria was lost to them as well, so they couldn't even take the quick path through the mountains, they had to go south through Rohan.
He and eight of his soldiers who had relatives in Ered Luin were making decent progress through the Brown Lands on their rams.
They hadn't run into any trouble they hadn't been able to handle until they were passing by the woods of Lothlórien.
Dain had his axe in hand when the tree lovers dropped from the branches.
Fifteen elves.
All of them with varying shades of blonde hair, one in particular shone like freshly polished yellow gold.
Dain held up his hand to stay his own soldiers, "State your business!"
One of the elves stepped forward, bowing deeply, "Lord Dain of the Iron Hills, the Lady of the Lothlórien welcomes you and your kin to rest and feast and to cross the mountain pass above Moria."
Dain barked a laugh, "Oh yeah? What a load of coal dust."
The elf touched his hand to his heart, "I am Haldir, upon my word and that of the Lady's, we only wish to improve relations between our peoples."
"Quite the change," Dain said, not bothering to hide his disdain. "We've heard of Glorfindel's threats against my cousin's people."
The one named Haldir winced, looking over his shoulder to the bright haired elf who sighed at being singled out.
"I am Lord Glorfindel," the elf said, stepping forward, the others parting in respect.
Dain paused.
Oh Mahal, did he want to snap, but he knew Thorin had been furious about this debacle and had been trying for years to find someone with whom they could make amends.
Thorin was going to owe him big after this.
"It is my understanding that one of ours harmed one of yours?" Dain asked, restraining his hostility towards these pointy-eared buggers.
"A dwarf murdered my daughter during the Fell Winter," the elven lord said.
Dain winced, his anger melting away as he dismounted his ram, "My sincere condolences."
"I learned of her murderer three years afterwards, when I went to Ered Luin, I was mocked by the guards and was shot at when I requested an audience with their king."
Dain bowed his head and his soldiers dismounted behind him. "Then the fault lies with us, however, you should know, my cousin, Prince Thorin Oakenshield, imprisoned those guards."
The elf lord bowed his head, "Then come rest, and you can take with you to your crowned prince tidings of peace."
Dain suppressed a sigh, though he was amused by this turn of events. Not only would his cousin Dís be surprised but he was certain someone would lose some coin over Lord Dain being the one to resolve a diplomatic issue with the elves.
oOo
The feast was grand for Lady Arwen, Lord Celeborn, and Lady Galadriel, as well as Elledan and Elrohir were planning to accompany the dwarves over the Misty Mountains.
Gandalf and Glorfindel's presence on the royal trip to Rivendell assuaged many worries.
Still, Haldir insisted on accompanying them which Glorfindel was gladdened by for each harsh word or over loud guffaws from the dwarves tightened a fist around his heart.
Fíli was coming of age and if he chose to follow the dwarves, Glorfindel knew he would not be welcomed in their halls, nor likely would Bilbo be.
His sweet Bilbo who was no elf but who still sparkled with the light of Valinor. When he had brought Belladonna and Bilbo to Imaledris no one had doubted their relation to him.
If some of that magic had rubbed off on Fíli, well surely that just proved that love was the greatest magic.
Yet Glorfindel knew that his little Fíli was too curious by half.
"Oi, Golden Flowers, I thought this arrangement was to make peace? You look as if I ought to worry about sleeping tonight," Dain called.
Glorfindel let out a long breath to steady his sanity as he looked at the creature that would be the cause of splitting his family, "The memory of elves is without reprieve, it leads me to wonder what the dwarves remember of the Fell Winter."
Dain snorted, coaxing his mount forward. The goats were the only mounts capable of handling the mountain pass. The youngest dwarf had given his ram to Galadriel but Arwen had refused. She walked beside her grandmother in trousers with her hair pulled back and her brothers trailing behind her.
Galadriel had her eyes closed, a slight smile on her lips as she listened to everyone and everything.
"The Fell Winter was hard on many, my cousin's family especially," Dain said. "After the Battle of Azanulbizar and the disappearance of King Thrain, many of the nobility of Ered Luin grew discontent. There was a minor revolt by Lord Sozan and his sons. First, they caused a cave-in during the wee hours where –had they succeeded– would have taken from us Prince Thorin and Prince Frerin, several of his cousins and brothers-in-law. They failed, of course, all of them far more skilled in rock song. But it took them a while to dig themselves. By then Princess Dís, her consort Mori, and her two sons Princes Kíli and Fíli were attacked. Yes, the Fell Winter was difficult for many."
Glorfindel wasn't sure that he could breathe.
Prince Fíli?
Of those present, only Gandalf and the dwarves did not know the might of such revelation.
"Did Princess Dís survive?" Arwen asked.
"Aye," Dain said, in a single word crushing Glorfindel's hopes that he had any right to keep Fíli among the elves. "But I reckon sometimes she wishes that she hadn't. Her husband Mori died from his injuries, and though her eldest son Kíli recovered, her youngest was taken for ransom on, what I assume Sozan believed the off chance the royals lived to avenge themselves. Fíli was just a wee thing then. But that winter was treacherous and Sozan's attempt at escape was to be his and the prince's doom. Thorin found nothing but weapons and bloodied clothing in the snow."
Glorfindel looked away, shame filling him.
Bilbo had asked him to get a message to Ered Luin, to Thorin's Halls.
Glorfindel had lost a daughter but the dwarven princess had lost a husband and a son.
And Kíli…
Two brothers had lost each other when unknown to both, the other lived.
Fíli would be going home to his uncle's halls before the final harvest.
"Our condolences," Lady Galadriel spoke. "Much grief can steal from us. The loss of a child is unparalleled."
Dain grunted in response.
Celeborn sighed as they reached a plateau on the mountain, they were more than halfway up. "We should rest here for there will be no rest till we pass the peak."
"What is this place?" Arwen asked. She brushed some snow away with her foot to reveal black marble, polished by hands now long returned to stone.
"The Morning Gate of Moria," Celeborn said.
"Is there a door?" The youngest dwarf asked, rushing to the cliff wall, hands searching.
Glorfindel smiled despite himself, the Light bless the young.
Dain landed on the ground with a thud, "Aye lad, but it's going to be arranged so it's directly facing the centre of the platform. This was a greeting place for the summer solstice."
The lad and two other dwarves rushed over to the stone wall, eager hands brushing away the snow and rock dust that gathered along the gate.
Soon a sparkling arch revealed itself, the wings of an eagle were outlined in glowing silver engraved across the door.
The Sindarin letters made Dain grumble about the elves sticking their noses into everything and everywhere.
"What does it say!?" The lad asked excitedly.
"Here we greet the sun and the children of Munwë," Gandalf translated with a smile, stretching out his legs as he sat.
Galadriel hummed, "Perilous it is to enter yet perilous it is to stay. To kill or be slain is to invite a darker shadow."
Dain sighed, "Does she always talk in riddles?"
"How would you open this?" One of the dwarves asked.
"Magic," Elledan said without further explanation, drawing a snigger out of Elrohir.
Arwen slapped her brother's arm before she explained, "It's activated by a secret word."
"Do you know what it is!?" the dwarfling asked, growing ever more elated at the ancient dwarvish gate.
"Wherever you fare, till your eyries receive you at the journey's end!" Gandalf called in the common speech. "May the wind under your wings bear you where the sun sails and the moon walks. Which is of course the proper parting among the Eagles of Manwë."
"Aye but what out of that is the password?" Dain asked the wizard who only smiled at him from around the stem of his pipe.
Suddenly, the rams took flight and none of them were quick enough to grab their reins.
Or maybe they were, but they were all too busy, elf, dwarf, and wizard alike, in drawing their weapons.
Ideally, when being attacked by orcs, trapped on a mountain sound was not an ideal location.
"They're coming from both sides!" Haldir called.
The panic on her grandchildren's faces seemed enough to make up Galadriel's mind. Instead of fighting the orcs that closed upon them, she cried out in Sindarin, "Sails!"
The stone doors opened on silent hinges, the dwarves didn't need urging, and it was Glorfindel and Haldir who shut the doors behind them as the orcs banged on the impenetrable stone.
"Did they hear the shouted password?" Dain asked into the suddenly silent darkness.
Gandalf lit his staff, "It would be best for us to not stay here to discover if they did."
"Who remembers the way?" Arwen asked.
"I believe I do…" Gandalf said, sounding not at all sure.
"I'll not let you get lost, wizard, but you have the light, so you'll have to lead," Dain said, sounding less annoyed than he had when he had first been greeted on the edge of their elvish realm.
oOo
Days passed in the dark without distinction to count save for the dwarves' uncanny internal clocks that told them if the sun had risen or set.
Glorfindel felt the tension rise with every step he took.
It wasn't until he saw the growing light in the distance that he halted, fear numbing his limbs as he stared at the silent glow of firelight.
Be brave, Galadriel whispered in his mind as one of the dwarves kicked a piece of scrap metal down the steps.
The sound was thunderous as it broke the relative calm they had been travelling in.
In answer to the disruptive sound of metal scraped against stone, an unholy roar shook caverns.
Glorfindel wanted nothing more than to run, but the whip of fire that lanced the chasm before them was aimed right at Dain.
It was Arwen who threw herself forward, the tip of the whip wrapping around her wrist.
"No!" several of them called, but Glorfindel moved first, taking hold of the whip with both hands as he called his power to himself.
The light in him grew, calling to Arwen's. She, the Evenstar, held her ground, her light bursting into visibility as they tested their strength against the Balrog.
His hands burned when he first grabbed the whip, but it cooled as their power disrupted the flames.
Starlight was cold.
Mithrandir yelled his own spells, white light bursting from his staff, joined soon after by Galadriel and Celeborn.
Elledan and Elrohir held onto Glorfindel and Arwen as they miraculously rested the whip out from the evil's grasp.
For a time, firelight and starlight balanced against each other on a knife's edge. The Balrog bellowed its rage in an earth-shattering sound as the elves and the wizard held onto their shield, a wall of light that the monster could not cross.
But a shield could not fell a beast. Glorfindel's heart broke that he would leave behind his sons to give his life again to defeat this familiar fire.
oOo
Dain had rarely felt so… humbled.
So useless.
Watching the fire demon barring down against the shield of near-blinding light, he knew that destruction would always prove easier and more dangerous than upholding a defence.
All walls broke.
All shields faltered.
However, Dain also firmly held to the belief that no cause was lost, no fight decided until the living pulled themselves from the rubble.
Dain gripped his favourite axe with both hands, his precious axe that was edged with mithril. He took several steps back from the edge of the platform to build up a greater force as he spun. Releasing his single offence, his axe soared from his hand with every bit of power that he possessed, it shimmered through the elves' shield of light.
That's when the strangeness began.
That white light of elven grace (as Dain was realising that elven lords and ladies didn't come by their titles without merit of spirit) seemed to warp around the axe.
The mithril of Dain's axe captured that light, the elves gasping as if their breath had been gutted from them as shot toward the belrog like a shooting star.
The impact of his axe with its borrowed starlight struck like a thunderclap, shaking the very foundations of Moria.
And like lightning in the dead of night, the burst of all-encompassing light left darkness in its wake, pierced through by the shattering of the axe its light sputtering out in a shower of sparks as the Balrog screeched. Its flames dimmed like iron submerged in water as it fell backwards into the abyss it had been clawing its way out of.
Dain's vindictive satisfaction in delivering the final blow to the Balrog of Moria, Durin's Bane, could never be overstated enough.
oOo
It was perhaps the way of the world, in one of those rarity of moments when good things overcome old mistakes.
As the Balrog fell, its fires burning as hot as magma, collapsing the mithril mine woken from, ash dust as rich as any volcanic soil settled. No dwarf nor orc would ever dig up this soil, none would dare.
And if they did dare, they would find nothing but Balrog glass that would chip, choking and blinding anyone fool enough to continue.
Yet neither the light cast by the elves nor the heat of Balrog was night entirely lost.
Where mithril was invaluable, a material without equal, it was common quartz that captured the Light of the Evenstar.
As the Passage of Dain fell into darkness, a light seemed to pulse from crystals in the ceiling, rippling outward as sparks catch in a dry bed of pine needles.
Those sparks of light grew and faded with the pulse of a heartbeat.
"Arwen!" Glorfindel called the maiden back to the waking world. She opened her eyes with a gasp, and waning light burned bright, taking on a light of their own as the quartz, rose and smoky, clear and opaque bloomed like a river of stars.
Only in these halls would the quartz sing for the starlight, their value belonged to this place, not beyond it.
Every dwarf and every elf watched as the caverns grew with glimmering starlight.
"Mahal," Dain breathed.
Glorfindel collapsed beside Arwen.
"Galadriel!" Celeborn cried as he caught his wife in his arms, even as he himself collapsed to his knees.
Haldir caught Gandalf as they fell together. Elledan and Elrohir laid down beside their sister.
"What's happening?" Dain demanded.
"It's a gift," Glorfindel said, his head swimming with exhaustion. "Light calls to light, and this is the birth of light. It was born of our power and your will, the others are feeling a sympathetic reaction. Once it settles those stones will burn forever with a light of their own."
"What?" the young dwarf asked.
"Alright dearies, it's not safe to stay here. Grab an elf and the wizard," Dain ordered his soldiers who had no trouble carrying their elven comrades.
Dain carried Arwen, gently pulling her over his shoulder, not protesting when she buried her face into his hair, clinging to him.
Glorfindel didn't enjoy being handled by a dwarf like a sack of potatoes, but considering the last time he had faced a Balrog the result had been death, he rather felt as if they had come out on top this time, burned hands or no.
He wasn't sure if it was light or bellows of the Balrog that kept the enemy away but they were all grateful to make it to the western gate without encountering any more trouble.
oOo
Dain and his company carried the elves away from the mountains until the sunset and they made camp in as safe a place as they could find.
Gandalf was the first to recover, pulling himself against a tree trunk to smoke.
Galadriel rested her head on the wizard's lap, Celeborn draped himself over her side while Arwen curled into her arms. Elrond's twin sons laid over their legs while Haldir and Glorfindel rested slumped against the wizard's other side.
Dain couldn't help but stare at the sleeping elves. He couldn't remember ever seeing an elfling, but he imagined if he had they would have looked like this sleeping puppy pile of lords and ladies.
Gandalf smiled at him, "I believe you can safely tell Thorin that the friendship between the dwarrow and the Rivendell and Lothorien has been renewed."
Dain snorted, "I think we owe them more than we did before."
The wizard rested a hand on Galadriel's hair, "I believe friendships are not born from debts but forgiveness and the shared goodwill for another. You will find that neither Lady Galadriel nor Lord Elrond are of the same mind as King Thandruil."
"I didn't see them jumping to help the dwarves of Erebor," Dain said because he really couldn't help himself.
Hadn't he already filled is diplomatic quota for the century?
"King Thror, nor Thrain, were particularly welcoming after Thandruil's failure to uphold his alliance," the wizard stated mildly.
"So you are on our side?" Dain asked.
"I'm on the side of Middle Earth. We are strengthened together."
Dain sighed, "But aye, I'll share with Thorin the good news. I still don't think it will sit right that Lord Glorfindel helped us."
"Tell Thorin Oakenshield that if he sends his people to assist the Rangers and elves in helping guard the Shire, Glorfindel will forgive them."
Dain rolled his eyes, "What is it with the Shire that has everyone so rallied up? The halflings don't have enemies."
"The hobbits have almost no protection of their own and they grow more than half the food for everyone west of the Misty Mountains," Gandalf said. "Why wouldn't the enemies of men, elves, and drarrow target them?"
Dain's lips thinned but he nodded, "Aye, I'll tell Thorin to help the halflings for our new elvish friends."
"I would also advise you both to not attempt to reclaim Moria, without the Balrog…"
"The orcs and goblins will spawn like the mutated insects they are," Dain finished for him.
"I fear it," Gandalf admitted softly. "I think you would have more luck against Smaug."
Dain barked, "Not likely, wizard. Not bloody likely."
It wouldn't be for another few decades, until Erebor regained her strength, and the enemy was driven from the Green Wood would a party returned to Moria.
And where the Evenstar Quartz shimmered, beneath them, plants grew. Particularly in the rich soil where the Balrog fell, where grew a field of golden flowers.
It became a favourite meeting place of elves and drarrow where they gathered in friendship for the many ages to come, beneath a dwarvish mountain of stone and an elvish sky of stars.
oOo
AN: Thoughts, chinchillas, or feedback, pretty please?