Small bits of stone had found their way into the wrinkles of noVus' aging features. Dusk hung in the halls, as a cloak in the clouded hours of darkness, yet the illumination as only can be found within a true dûm of Middle Earth. A smile shone upon his weary face and something inspired him to drop his anvil and hammer. At times such as this, he would cease from his work; that which was his pride, to hearken to mind the reason he was here. Such inspiration to stop his efforts would come suddenly, yet not unbidden. It was then that he would bask in the greater task being performed.
But the need for such a reminder was not that which caused noVus to stop.
Through the ebony darkness, a piercing shaft of blue, in dazzling brilliance pierced through imperceptible sources, only to refract again, and again. Its’ effect was to create a million pinpoints of light throughout the dwarves mines beneath the Iron Hills. For it was night on the surface of Middle Earth now, and the mansions here reflected that darkness, yet bringing the stars and their dim illumination to these great halls. The mighty race seized it as they would with their many tools, as skillfully as they handle their axes that they carry into battle. They played with such light here, on the stone of these halls, capturing and casting radiance throughout.
But even this effect, this sight that greeted his eyes was not that which caused noVus to stop.
What caused him to stop was the sound of a horn. The horn,
Khuzdûlinbar, which reverberated throughout the halls. Thus signaling that no other races of Middle Earth were within this dûm. Here, was heard a song sung by Dwarves, and for Dwarves alone. And thus, the chant began which reverberated off of carved stone with strength and dominance. A song, passed unto them only slightly changed, from a time before the world was changed.
Khazâdua duntua dovo Groru!
Felûmkh furouri!
Tokhoi forzhâkh!
Fekhaild men felak!
Felak meni gundukhi
Gathol !
Gathol !
Fulâkugund ai-mênui khdailind Gabilgathol!And in the distance, a delayed mighty and ominous refrain. Down the light rooms of another section of the halls, was heard another company of Dwarves sing in choral accompaniment of a refrain in the Common Tongue
You Dwarves who have followed Gror!
Mark your strike!
Before it lands!
Strike your hammer!
Hew your stone
A Fortress!
A Fortress!
Build unto your race a mighty fortress!
And again the thundering, resonating song began, echoing from halls of stone and rock. With words in a language that could be displayed as a treasure, but protected as closely as one of gold.
And noVus again smiled to himself, reflecting on the majesty of these halls. The fortress that Dwarves built here. This glimmer of freedom and beauty in deepening dark times. Mansions, that by their very existence demonstrated that no how powerful the great and fear-inspiring Enemy was, his lair had come naught; and remained now as a dwelling place of free peoples.
Stepping back, he looked upon his labors for that day. The wall that noVus faced did not show any wear of hammer or of mighty strokes. To the untrained eye, or indeed that of peoples other than the Dwarves, it may appear simply as pure rock, unadulterated and uncut. The artistry lay in what such rock brought to the whole, to the fortress itself. The cuts that he had laid upon that surface brought reflections and refractions of light to other spaces and surfaces within the halls of Gror, to the stronghold within the Iron Hills. It had brought the stars to the mountain halls.
Understanding his labour had not been in vain and that to continue would only tax his mind, and bring the possibility of wayward further work, it was time to cease and retire. It was time to visit his father, soVun, son of raVar.
* * *
“Please, shut the door behind you my son.” noVus knelt before his father, as soVun leaned against divan stamped of granite, iron and silver.
soVun paused, speaking of naught for many moments. noVus would not submit to presumptuousness, and allowed his father to speak first.
“It is with you, my son, that I must bebother a task. I have grown too old, yet not with regret or lament do I think upon how I have spent my years. It has been for the prosperity of our people here, and it of such matters that I must speak to you now," soVun said. "You have heard, of the attack of
Rakhâs upon the fallen company of our people returning with trade from our kin in Erebor?” the aged Dwarf asked.
“Yes father.”
“I, and others have concluded that something must be done. The Enemy grows in strength. We are isolated in our halls here to the East, and we soon may see the day he launches a final attack here,” soVun said. “I have already spoken with your Uncle Bober. We wish to send you forth in company with our kin, to succor for aid of our folk of Ered Luin. It will be an arduous journey, but sorely needed. If they have prospered in peace, see what aid they can send us. Your cousins Forlan and Torlan will accompany you. It has been agreed that your mothers family will be represented in this company by Noran," soVun stopped, and sighed with downcast eyes.
"What is it?" noVus asked.
"noVus, we ask if the opportunity arises and bids you, to travel to Rivendell, and seek the counsel of Elrond, wise among the elves, with keen foresight."
"The elves?" noVus said, amazed. "The elves who would steal from our mightiest treasures? Elves will say both no, and yes when going to them for counsel? Indeed, the elves . . . " noVus questioned, stuttering.
"Yes, the elves son," soVun smiled. "Specifically, Lord Elrond. He has the gift of foresight, and we believe that he has turned his will and thought much to the gathering darkness in the south. He may have some word of our plight here. Indeed, any word may aid us in further decisions. Our brothers in Erebor also soon travel to hear what he may tell them. Great need calls for greater sacrifices. The dwarves are proud, yet great in our pride is doing what we must, in order to survive through the strength of our will. By your iron will, may you endure their kind."
soVun continued, "But your task must be set in secrecy, speed, and reaching Durins’ folk in Ered Luin. Perhaps you can be united with our kin from Erebor at Rivendell, perhaps not. I leave these matter and decision to your company"
Reaching down on the other side of the divan, he brought up great heirlooms. “Take these; baldric, buckler and axe. Our fathers wore them, when Gror led us to these mansions yore, and I now give them to you as boon. Use them well, if the need arises. I bid you farewell, noVus, son of soVun, son of raVar. May we be reunited my son. I wish you a quick return, as I cannot foresee many remaining years to my life.”
“Do not speak thus father,” noVus replied, bowing his head.
“Keep faithful to your task, as you have in your toil in this, our
dûm, and we may yet see our reunion” his father replied.
