"...the very treasures you seek..." by hennethgalad

Chapter 1

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   The chestnut groves of Thargelion had fallen away as the Dwarf Road climbed the lower slopes of the Ered Luin. The Ascar had parted ways into myriad rushing streams, hissing over boulders and hurrying down through narrow beds carved in curves in the rich strong grasses. The sharp bite of snow on the wind blended with the scent of the great pines that towered about them, and Galadriel gazed eagerly up to where the Road cut through the peaks. After the long, and painful leave-taking from Beleriand, spirits were low throughout the column, and only the dream of the unknown lands ahead drove them on.
   The endless rolling slopes of the uplands had worn their patience. Each hill, seeming to lead at last to the feet of the mountains, had instead dropped them into another valley, and another, steeper hill to climb. The mountains were far higher than they had imagined. The children of Doriath, and even the wild wood-elves who had followed them, bewildered by the vastness of Beleriand, grew fractious with fear, and tested the patience of Galadriel.
   But the summit of the Road was near, and on the shoulders of the mountain, prepared by the vanguard, a camp awaited them; many bright pavilions spread across the land like fields of strange flowers, and the smoke of cookfires rose into the cloudless sky. Far above them, the blue white glare of snow lay, draped on the peaks like white cloth on weapons. The setting sun behind them cast their shadows towering above their heads as they climbed the last steep slope.
   Galadriel blessed the Dwarves, whose tireless labour had paved the broad path, and carved the bones of rock aside to ease the passing of their wagons. No weeds grew between the cunningly fitted flagstones, and the Elves moved with all the speed that the implacable peak allowed.

   

  An embassy awaited them. Celeborn, who had ridden with the vanguard, stood beside four richly clad Dwarves, two of whom bore standards. As Galadriel smiled, the tallest of the Dwarves stepped forwards and bowed, after the manner of the Dwarves. His beard was shining ruddy gold, his armour gilded, his bare hands glittered with jewelled rings, and a ruby of great magnificence hung on a stout gold chain at his throat.
   "Welcome to Nogrod, lady Galadriel, sister of king Finrod Felagund, dearest friend of the Dwarves.
  I, The Firebeard of Firebeard, Bin-marak, welcome you in the name of my people. May your onward road prove as quiet as your journey here." He paused, and gestured to the shorter, sturdier Dwarf at his side. "This is my kin, Ori Broadbeam, who greets you on behalf of the people of Belegost, with whom our ties are as close as those of the same birthing.
I bear gifts to you, fair lady, though no jewel could match the brightness of your eyes, and your hair outshines the very gold we treasure so foolishly. Welcome !" He opened the casket he bore, revealing a sparkle of gems, brighter than a bowl of fresh fruit, glinting in the last rays of the sun.

   "Stars shine upon this, the hour of our meeting. I am Galadriel, of the House of Finwë, and I thank you for your gifts, and for your welcome." She smiled confidingly "But most of all I thank you for the marvel of your Road, which made the climb so much less tiresome !" She gestured to her ladies, who came forwards bearing richly woven cloth, threaded with gold and silver, which they presented to the Dwarves.
"Accept these tokens of our gratitude and friendship, which will outlast the malice of the Enemy."

 

   As they feasted the Dwarves in the large pavilion, Galadriel watched in amusement while Bin-marak charmed Celeborn. The Dwarf was delighted to find that he was older than the Elf, and took gleeful pleasure in assuming a fatherly air, and dealing out good advice. Ori was quiet, thoughtful, and finally spoke softly to Galadriel.
   "May I ask your destination, my lady ? I do not wish to intrude, and it is not the policy of the Dwarves to interfere in the business of others. But my great-grandmother helped your brother to build Nargothrond, and we still sing his praise by the hearth. Indeed, I... well, I would wish to see the lands of the East for myself, for duty has kept me at the rockface, as we say in Belegost, and I have yet to see the wonders even of Khazad-dum."
   "Alas, none who march with us have even seen across the peaks of these mountains. For though my brother Finrod has visited your halls, neither he nor any of his folk are here.
   We have no destination in mind, it may be that we shall return to the wandering ways of our elders, and the wild wood-elves. But my heart yearns for a home, a garden, and to find joy among friends. I myself will seek such a place, though all who follow now should drift away. It is the wish of our hearts, Celeborn and I, to bear a child, in peace and beauty, for the sake of our kin.
   But tell me of Khazad-dum, for the name is familiar to me..."
  Ori spoke at length of the glory and splendour of the mighty Halls in the heart of the Misty Mountains, and of the Road which passed through them, bored into the rock, allowing passage to the mysterious East. Galadriel thought of the Annon-in-Gelhyd, the dark tunnel in the Erin Lómin through which the Noldor had passed, carving the passage smooth as they came, into Beleriand at the rising of the Sun. She remembered the star of Fëanor, carved on the rock wall in the depth of the earth. A vision came to her, of the starlit march of the Elves, into the West, in the train of Oromë, in the morning of the world, and the thought that they had crossed here, at this very pass, stirred her heart. She turned to Ori with a strange, eager light in her eyes, and smiled as the Dwarf shrank back, blinking.
   "My friend, I would ask a boon of you, of your people."
   "My lady, the wish of the sister of Felagund is a command to me !"
   Galadriel breathed in deeply. "Very well, then I would ask that my people be allowed to mark our passage, not only this Eastward march, but also to remember those who led us Westward, before the rising of the Sun and the birth of the Moon. I would carve the standards of our kings on the face of the mountain, beside the Road, that all may know that we too passed this way in peace." She paused, and sipped her wine, then told him of the star of Fëanor in the tunnel. "It seems fitting that we balance the darkness in the heart of Fëanor with the light of the mountain tops where you dwell among the clouds."
   "My lady" said Ori with a laugh "I would that it were true. But this is only the second time that I have climbed this path, since my home is in Belegost, where alas I see little of the clouds, or even the sky. I fear we may be closer to your Fëanor than to your wood-elves, who are altogether strange to us. For a Dwarf, the hearth is the heart of the home. To live without the warmth and companionship of the flame, which we hold sacred... Forgive me, I speak of that which is forbidden...
   But your boon is easily granted, lady Galadriel, and may we offer our own masons to aid in your work ? I myself will show you a place where your Elven marks may be easily made, and clearly seen.
  Indeed you honour us, my lady; you do not shun us, as many of your kind have done, nor hurry by as though we were beasts of the field, but seek to mark your friendship with us for all to see ! Mahal smiles upon us all !"

 

  Galadriel awoke in the starlight, and wrapped a cloak around her shoulders. Celeborn slept, his arm flung above his head, his silver hair spread over his shoulders, the white sheet draped across his hip, tangled in his long legs. She smiled, her hands itched to stroke the pale gold skin, smooth and warm, lost in dreams...
   But the mountains called to her, she must see the East, she must be there when the sun rose, she must see the land lying silently, far below at the feet of the Ered Luin.

   The air was bitingly cold, bringing grim memories of Helcaraxë to her, making her shiver from the horrors of that endless night, the darkness itself the chiefest burden of the Children of the Light. The few who recalled the ages of starlight shrugged off the darkness, but to those raised in Valinor it was a shock from which they seldom fully recovered. Galadriel forced her breath to ease, and listened to her heart slow from its anxious hammering to a sedate march. She sighed, and walked silently up the last slope to take her first glimpse of the unknown lands.

   In the darkness she could see little, the ground seemed close beneath her feet as she stood on the turn of the Road, where it began to wind its way across the Eastern face of the mountain. But as the light began to rise like the tide up the Eastern sky, she understood that those were clouds spread at her feet, and through them, still in black darkness, far far below lay the floor of the great valley spread between the ranges of mountains like flesh between bones.
   The light grew, the sky faded from black to deepest blue, the stars were lost as the blue became richer, clearer, and wisps of high grey cloud glowed red in the rays of the unseen sun, as the land below revealed itself through the thinning carpet of clouds.

   Galadriel almost stepped back, her stomach turned in shock; the great falling depth marked by the steepness of the high slopes of the mountain. The land far below was green, the dark green of the pines blending into the bright green of the lowland trees, and here and there, marking an onward Road, the road to Khazad-dum, lights twinkled like tiny fireflies, the lights of hearth and home, the lights of the Dwarves.

   Even these faded as the clouds melted away, and the light filled the sky. She saw the rolling hills, the silver thread of a river, and a glint as of a metal plate, in the North; a lake, she thought, a destination that all could see, that all would choose to find. She felt the passing of a tension she had been unaware of, the decision had made itself. There would be no fractious meetings with frightened Elves, wanting to stop, or go back, or turn aside to North or South; for as the sun rose, the lake gleamed in the burning light, shining like a Silmaril in the Sun.
   She smiled, here indeed was treasure, let the sons of Fëanor quest in vain, she was already richer far than they could ever be, driven to madness by the sickness of their father...
   Here in the quiet of the East she would raise her child and cherish the memory of Valinor the fair. It was her dearest wish that Finrod and the others would join her, crossing the mountains and moving farther into the unexplored lands of the East, the land where Cuiviénen had lain, where the fatherless had awoken in the starlight, the true home of the Elves. But she knew that Finrod would never leave Nargothrond, where so many halls and carven images had been formed by his own hands, chipping away at the unyielding rock to fashion it for his dwelling and delight.

  The light of the Sun burned into her eyes through the thin mountain air, behind her the voices of the Elves rose in song, and she joined in the Song of Welcome to Arien in her chariot of gold. The golden clouds had vanished, and the rich embroidery of forest and mead, hill and dell, spread out before her feet like the choicest of gifts. Her heart sang with her spirit, her fears cast behind her like her shadow, as the fresh wind from the East blew her cloak and her hair streaming out behind her. The dawn seemed to be the beginning, not merely of the day, but of their new lives, beyond Valinor, beyond Beleriand, beyond all her kin and all that she had known...

   Celeborn was beside her. He took her hand in his, singing with her, and together they faced the East, and the nameless lands their folk had crossed so long before. When the song ended, Celeborn turned towards her. His pale blue eyes shone in his fair face, she reached up her hand to touch his cheek and they smiled and gently kissed. Then Celeborn spoke.
"Come, my lady, for while you watched, the artists have laboured at your back, and would have you see their work."

   On the rock, facing South, overlooking the road at the height of the pass, the three signs of the three Kings of the Eldar were marked out in careful charcoal. Ingwë in the centre, as high King, with Finwë to his right and Olwë his left. Galadriel smiled at the rayed sun of grandfather Finwë, and secretly longed for the day when the sons of Fëanor should pass this way, and see what the other children of Finwë had wrought.

   But as the masons, cheered by her enthusiasm, began to grave the images in imperishable rock, before even breaking their fast, a strange deep sound, echoing and grinding, mingled with hammer and chisel, and all heads turned.
   The North facing slope split open, a mighty gate was revealed, and Bin-marak, The Firebeard, stepped forth with a group of aproned crafters and masons.

   "The blessings of Mahal upon you, my lady ! We of Nogrod offer what assistance we may in your labour ! We know these rocks like the fingers of our hands, and would be honoured to work alongside the sculptors of the Elves once more. "
Galadriel put her hand to her chest and inclined her head, then smiled delightedly at Bin-marak.
   "A hidden door ! What a marvel ! Truly, the skills of the Dwarves are without compare. Our people will be privileged to work with you, for it is clear that we have much to learn from you, and, perhaps, a little knowledge of our own to share with you.
   Though you have welcomed us for the sake of my dear brother, it is my hope and dream that this labour should mark the beginning of a long friendship between our people."