Days of Peace by bunn

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Deep They Delved Us

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The long chain of the mountains stretched misty blue and faint purple far into the south. Above them, three mighty peaks towered against the clear morning sky, snow-tipped and distant, high above the holly and the birchwoods of the lower slopes. The leaves of the birch trees were turning gold at the edges. Autumn was coming.

“Now what?” Galadriel demanded, turning the slim gold bracelet on her wrist a little nervously.

“Now we wait,” Celebrimbor told her. “It may take a while for our message to reach their king. My friends tell me that the main city is on the other side of the mountains. This is just the back door.”

“So we wait by the back door until their King has time for us?” Galadriel’s bright eyes shone in amusement. “For how long?”

“Until they decide it’s time. You won’t rush them: there’s no point trying, and it might cause offense. They will take a while to consider our message, I expect. I think it would be as well to set up our camp. I think we will be here for several days.”

Galadriel gave him a considering look. “Very well then. You are our expert on these Dwarves. I’ll follow your suggestion.”

Celebrimbor nodded politely and went away to his own people, to give orders about setting up his own camp a little to one side of Galadriel’s. She was, officially, the leader of this expedition. She was the daughter of the High King in Tirion, after all, and Celebrimbor’s House was famously dispossessed.

But Celebrimbor had brought more of his people with him than Galadriel had, partly because a good number of them, if left unsupervised in Lindon in company with elves who had once been of Gondolin, of Nargothrond and Doriath, would certainly get into arguments.

Here in the wilds of Eriador, he could probably leave them for an hour or so without trouble. Even those who had been with his uncles through every one of their kinslayings were unlikely to end up in a fight out here, and he thought that he had spotted something out of the corner of his eye that might bear investigation.

Once his people had begun setting up tall white tents and banners showing the star of his house upon the flat grassy land above the stream, he wandered away quietly up the stream that ran swift and noisy among the red rocks. He stopped from time to time to look at the wet and shining pebbles washed up in the shallows, until he came into the shadow of a low red cliff. He looked up.

“Good morning!” he said, in Khuzdul to the young Dwarf who was lying on the low clifftop, peering over the cliffs down towards the Elvish camp. The Dwarf jumped and stared at him. He bowed politely. “Celebrimbor son of Curufin, of the House of Fëanor, at your service,” he said.

After a long, wide-eyed moment, the Dwarf got up and bowed back politely enough.

“Narvi, of the Longbeards, at your service and your family’s,” he said, noncommittally, in Sindarin. Or was it he? The voice was lighter and clearer than Celebrimbor had expected, and looking more closely, he realised that this was one of the rare women of the Dwarves, and alone outside her city, which also was most unusual.

“I am delighted to meet you, Narvi,” Celebrimbor said, following her example and switching to Sindarin. “I have not met many Longbeards. Long ago, I knew some of the Broadbeams of Belegost and Firebeards of Nogrod, but those cities fell in the great war.”

Narvi thought about that. “Is that where you learned our language? I didn’t think any of the Lanky Folk could speak it.”

“Yes,” Celebrimbor said. “I was permitted to learn it in Belegost, when I stayed there with my father.”

“You went inside the city?” Narvi asked him, in obvious surprise. “I didn’t think Lanky Folk did that, either!”

“Some of our people have lived underground,” Celebrimbor said “Nargothrond was an underground city of the Elves, that the Broadbeams helped my cousin Finrod Felagund to build, perhaps you have heard of it? It was built along a series of very fine caverns where limestone had been worn by water running. It was very beautiful.”

“I have heard of the Felagund of Nargothrond,” Narvi said, her dark eyes bright with interest.

She sat down again on the edge of the cliff with her feet dangling over the edge, so she was only a little above Celebrimbor’s head. Her strong legs were bare between her boots and tunic, and covered in a sort of fur, the same colour as her beard, he noticed with interest. “I didn’t know Felagund was one of the Lanky Folk! I thought he was one of us.”

“Not surprising, if you had not met him. He was close in friendship with a good number of your people.”

“I didn’t think the Lanky Folk had cities, either,” Narvi said thoughtfully. “I thought they just wandered around in the woods, singing.”

“Some of us do that too,” Celebrimbor said, making sure to keep his face very polite and serious. “But my own people, the Noldor, prefer to live in cities, as a general rule.”

“Noldor. Is that a different sort of Lanky Folk?”

“The Noldor are... like a family. As the Broadbeams and the Firebeards and the Longbeards are families, each with their own cities, we have the Noldor, and the Sindar, and the Nandor. All of us are Elves, and are called Eldar because we went into the West. And the Noldor are called Amanyar too, because we went beyond the Sea to Aman.”

“And Elves, who are Eldar and Amanyar, are Lanky Folk?” said Narvi, with the determination of one intent on understanding.

“I’m not sure,” Celebrimbor said seriously. “I’ve heard your people call Men the Lanky Folk, and they are not the same as we are. Although I can see from your point of view that we are all roughly the same height.”

“Isn’t it a good thing that I’m up here?” Narvi said with a grin. “I may be the first person to study you at eye-level. Who knows what mysteries I shall discover?”

Celebrimbor laughed. “I think Men would probably say they had studied us at eye-level,” he said in Khuzdul. “And we have certainly studied them! For us, you are the mysterious ones, with your secret cities and your language that you are so reluctant to teach to others!”

“We did try teaching it!,” Narvi exclaimed in the same language. “The Lanky Folk said it was too hard! So we learned their languages instead.” She thought about it. “Or that’s what I was taught, anyway. Do you think it’s true? You learned it. I mean, you do have a peculiar accent. But then, so do the Broadbeams from the Blue Hills, and the Stiffbeards.”

“My family have always been particularly interested in languages,” Celebrimbor said, without going into detail about whether he was speaking of the Noldor, or of the House of Fëanor in particular. “Is my accent like that of the Broadbeams? It should be, but I have not had much chance to practice speaking Khuzdul recently.”

“It’s not quite like the accent of the Blue Hills,” Narvi said. “But you do speak it very well,” she said, encouragingly.

“Thank you,” Celebrimbor said gravely. “I hope you will correct me if I say something incorrect. I would take it as a great favour.”

“Would you? You are strange.”

“Yes, I am. I am a very long way from my home in the West beyond the Sea, and I don’t know much about this land,” Celebrimbor said. “I am hoping to learn all about it, and about the Longbeards, but I do not wish to cause offence.”

“Hm,” Narvi said. “All right then. I will tell you if you are being rude!” She thought about it. “I’ve never talked to any of the Lanky Folk before. Am Irude?” Celebrimbor was impressed. From a young dwarf, used only to speaking with her own people, it was a perceptive question.

“Not at all,” he said. “You are very friendly. Though I think to be strictly correct, it might be more tactful to say ‘Elves’ rather than ‘Lanky Folk.’ I think my cousin Galadriel, who leads our people here, might prefer that.”

“Elves. Hm. So you are not Lanky Folk, but Elves, and Eldar, and Amanyar, and Noldor, and House of Fëanor, and son of Curufin, and you are also Celebrimbor. You do have a lot of names.”

“I do. Where I come from, names tell you who someone is, and most people are a good many things at once. As you are Narvi, and a Longbeard, and a Dwarf.”

“Yes,” Narvi said, non-committal. Then she grinned at him confidentially. “I will tell you another name then, since you have told me so many of yours. I am Narvi, daughter of Bolthorn, who is a cousin of the king. Is Galadriel the name of your king?”

“No. Our king is... The High King of the Noldor in Middle-earth is called Gil-galad, but he has not come with us here.”

“Our king is called Durin,” Narvi informed him. “He lives in the city, of course, not out here in the west.”

“So I understand from the people of the Blue Hills. We have sent him messages. Gil-galad lives beside the Sea. Galadriel is his cousin, a lady of the Noldor who is the daughter of the High King beyond the Sea. She is Finrod Felagund’s sister.”

“Your leader is a woman?” Narvi was clearly surprised by that.

“Yes.” Celebrimbor looked up at her thoughtfully. “I did not think the ladies of your people went outside the cities.”

“There are some silly rules about that for wartime, I think, but it’s been hundreds of years since we were at war. My father is working near the Western gate at the moment, and I had to come too. It’s several days walk from here to the city.” She looked sadly at him. “The western end is terribly dull,” she confided. “There are only a few sleeping rooms, a goat farm, some pigs, and one little copper mine. And it’s not even very good copper! They have much better copper mines under the city. You Elves are the most interesting thing that has happened here for months.”

“Sometimes copper mines produce more interesting minerals once they are more fully explored,” Celebrimbor suggested.

“That’s what my father says!” Narvi said. “I hope he’s right. If he goes back without a good find of minerals, it will be very bad for his reputation.” She looked a little sheepish. “I should be helping him, really. That’s supposed to be why I’m here. But he saw I was bored, and said I could take a day’s holiday. I thought I’d come and have a look at the... the Elves, and then work on some of my own designs.”

“What do you design?”

“Stonework mostly, at the moment. For pillars and walls. I made a pillar-capital that was approved for use in the Third Hall last year. But then we had to come here,” Narvi said, and sighed. She must be older than he had thought at first, since she was producing stonework for public display. The Longbeards seemed to be a little taller and less broadly built than their western cousins, that was what had confused his eye: he was used to dwarves that were broader in the shoulders once they were fully grown.

“So you are drawing out designs ready to make up? I do a lot of that too,” Celebrimbor told her. “I have a book of them. They started as a set of ideas for various walls and buildings in my home in Tirion beyond the Sea in the West. ”

“Beyond the Sea where the lord Mahal lives?” Narvi thought for a moment. “Tirion is the name of your mountain, is it?”

“No, Tirion is the city. It’s not inside a mountain, but on a hill-top.” Celebrimbor hesitated. “I have met your lord Mahal, long ago,” he said. “We call him Aulë. My father studied with him. So did Galadriel.”

Narvi rolled her eyes. “Oh come on. You’re making that up. First Felagund’s sister, and now you have met Mahal himself?”

Celebrimbor shook his head. “Not at all. You said yourself that Mahal lives beyond the Sea.”

“I suppose so, but... Mahal? Really?”

“Yes. Honestly and truthfully.”

“Oh.” He was not sure if Narvi was convinced, but if she was not, she politely did not say so.

“I probably won’t be going back to Tirion for... various reasons,” he told her. “I used a lot of the designs in Mithlond, instead — that’s our king Gil-galad’s city by the Sea. It’s good to have a reserve of ideas noted down.”

“I shall have more than enough to build my own city, if my father insists we stay here in the desolate West much longer!” Narvi said. “Though I have come up with some new things while stuck out here in the middle of nowhere. That’s why I came out today. I thought I’d try drawing some representational ideas from the World Without. Trees and flowers and so on. I expect everyone in the city will think they’re terribly quaint and rural, but I like them.”

“My designs often include trees, too,” Celebrimbor told her. “We Elves like that sort of design a good deal. Perhaps we are quaint and rural by the standards of Khazad-dûm... You know, I was a little surprised to see you here all alone out here. Usually we see your people only in companies.”

“Oh, it’s quite safe. It’s not far to the back door, and there are almost never any wolves around here. Anyway, I have my axe. I made it myself. I’m quite proud of the balance, it’s light to carry but has the weight in just the right place to cut without effort.”

“May I look at it?” Celebrimbor asked. Narvi drew back, pulling her legs up over the cliff edge and suddenly looking wary.

“Tell you what,” Celebrimbor said. “I will show you my sword. I made it myself.” He drew the blade slowly, waited for a moment, then went over to the cliff and handed it up to her, hilt first. She looked at him cautiously for a moment, then took it and weighed it in her hand. “Nicely balanced,” she said, waving it experimentally. “Too long for me, but I like the way it fits into the hand.”

Her fingers were shorter and wider than any elf’s, but finely shaped, and her hands were large enough to hold the hilt easily. They looked strong and she held the sword and weighed it in her hand with a competent, measuring look. Interesting. You so rarely saw Dwarf women that Celebrimbor had had little idea what to expect from one, but clearly Narvi at least was well used to weapons.

“Does it have a spell on it?” she asked, rubbing at the back of the blade with a broad thumb.

“Several, “ he told her, and listed them. Some of them she knew, though they had to discuss for some time to find out which terms they had in common. The words they used here in Khazad-dûm were not quite the same that he had learned in Belegost.

“That’s another thing I didn’t know then,” she said after a while. “I thought it was only we who made spells! The Lanky Folk... no, you said that wasn’t tactful. What do you call the other sort? The ones who live in the wooden villages by the river?”

“Men?”

“Men. They aren’t much good at spells, my father says,” Narvi told him.

“Some of them are,” Celebrimbor said, thinking of Numenor. “But from what I hear, there are few who can say they rival the smith-work of your people. That is one reason we have come here. The Noldor also delight in making. We hope to live for a while in the land between the rivers Glanduin and Gwathló, to learn from your people.”

Narvi looked thoughtfully at the sword in her hand. “We don’t make anything quite like this,” she said.

“It would be a dull world if we all made things the same,”Celebrimbor said. “And there would be so much less to learn!”

Narvi nodded. Then she took the axe from her belt and handed it down to him. It was a simple thing, not obviously richly patterned or inlaid, but finely made to do its job, with no unnecessary flourishes, every ounce of weight in exactly the right place. It fitted into his hand as a near-perfect extension to the arm. He weighed it in his hand and felt the edge cautiously.

“I see what you mean about the weight,” he said, with honest admiration. “It’s beautifully balanced.” He gave it back to her, and received his own sword in return.

“I should go back to my people,” Celebrimbor said. “They will be wondering where I am. Would you like to come and meet Galadriel?”

“It might be a bit improper,” Narvi said thoughtfully. “My aunt might think so. But then, if your leader is a woman then nobody could carp at me for visiting her. It would be a politeness, really. Or at least, it would be if she were one of us, and if she is the Felagund’s sister then she almost is. And you say she studied with Mahal?”

“Truly,” Celebrimbor said. “I am sure she would be very pleased to tell you about him. I am afraid she does not speak Khuzdul yet, but she is very eager to learn about your people.”

“Hm!” Narvi said. “Well, if Mahal Himself has spoken with this Lady Galadriel, surely I should greet her too.”

“I’ll tell you about the time I met him, as we walk down to the camp,” Celebrimbor said. “I was too young to study with him myself, I fear. But I do remember meeting him.”

By the time Celebrimbor had been old enough to go away to study, none of the House of Fëanor had anything to do with any of the Valar any more.

But this merry young person, with her enquiring mind, elegantly curled beard and beautifully made axe, was nothing to do with that. She was entirely of Middle-earth, with no old shadows of guilt or grief or rebellion hanging around her. She did not remember war and destruction, only peace and joy and the art of making.

She had looked at the star of Fëanor that Celebrimbor wore on his shoulder, and had not even winced.