The Elendilmir by pandemonium_213

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Chapter 27: Spirits of Amber

In order to obtain a diamond and mithril from the Longbeards, Sámaril agrees to teach the Dwarves an unusual art that will allow them to extend their gold stores for trade, and Láki introduces Sámaril to a form of Dwarven relaxation.

Thanks to the Lizard Council for encouragement and feedback. Please see End Notes for glossary, background on Sámaril's art and more acknowledgments.

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Durin appeared less a Dwarf than a bearded toad burdened with gold chains. The king leaned against the arm of the black granite throne, croaking unintelligibly to the brown-bearded Dwarf who stood next to the high seat.

“Sámaril of the Gnomes, approach the throne!” commanded the king’s chamberlain, his surprisingly mellifluous voice rebounding off the high vaults of the throne hall.

Step by step, I ascended stairs of polished stone until the chamberlain signaled for me to halt just below the upper dais. He leaned toward the king who made a dismissive gesture with a shaking hand. Durin squinted at me through red-rimmed eyes, their whites tinged with a pale yellow cast, and spoke, his grating voice trembling with effort:

“You are known to us, Gnome, as is your purpose. You seek our mithril and our gems. In exchange for these, you offer your knowledge. But our people are the most skilled craftsmen in Middle-earth. What can you bring to us that we do not already have?”

I knew the question was moot. The Dwarves would not have entertained my request had they not believed I would be able to give them something in return.

“Indeed, your folk are acknowledged masters of stone and steel, my lord,” I said. “But unlike you, I have knowledge of the deep arts. I know that your gold stores for trade with Men are dear. There is a way in which you might extend the use of that gold, thus keeping more for yourselves.”

Durin’s ring caught the light when he motioned for me to continue. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end when memories of the crafting of that ring and its companions threatened to bubble up to the surface of my thoughts. I shoved these back into darkness.

“We wish you to tell us more,” he said.

“Gladly. What I propose is a means of plating thin layers of gold over other more common metals.”

“We already possess great skill with gilding. You offer us nothing new.” He waved his hand in dismissal, the ring glinting again in the lamplight.

“It is not gilding I propose, but plating by a method that uses the spirits of amber.”

“’Spirits of amber’? What do you mean?”

“If one rubs an amber rod with fur, sparks are generated. The Wise believe these sparks are akin to lightning. The curwë I propose to use harnesses the spirits of amber in a controlled manner. With certain salts and metals, the spirits of amber may then be used to drive a layer of gold upon another metal,” I explained.

“Is this dark magic?” the Dwarf-king asked, his eyes narrowed even more until all that remained were watery slits beneath his heavy silver brows.

I considered my answer carefully for it was in fact Aulendil who taught the technique to the smiths of Ost-in-Edhil. Thus many might consider it to be evil simply by association with him. However, we had applied the craft to decorative items only, from small chests and vases to the golden domes of the city’s buildings, and never for Aulendil’s more heinous work. For that, he had required solid gold.

“Like any curwë, it can be used for good or evil purposes." I replied. "In my hands and yours, my lord, it is not dark magic, but the process itself is perilous."

“A means of conserving our gold sounds like good magic to me!” Durin then emitted a disturbing series of croaks, which I realized was laughter when his chamberlain smiled.

“You will work with Láki,” said Durin, “...but you must demonstrate your method’s utility before we will give you a diamond of the quality you require.”

“I agree to these terms. And the mithril?”

“That is still subject to negotiation.” With his gnarled fingers, the king gestured to me to come closer and closer until I leaned over to hear his whisper. His fetid breath –- saturated with the odors of death and decay -- assaulted my senses.

“I desire something else, Ringmaker.” His imperious tone now turned to supplication. “Might you craft more?” He waggled his finger. “More rings?”

“No, my lord. That I cannot – and will not -- do.”

The king frowned, and for a moment I feared that Brethilion and I would be immediately escorted to the East Gate and tossed out, but then his ancient visage softened with resignation. “We understand, Master Sámaril.”

Then Durin whispered to his chamberlain who called Brethilion to approach the throne. The king gestured for him to lean in close and whispered to him. Brethilion nodded and said, “Very well, my lord. I will speak to your servants and make arrangements.”

We were then dismissed and told to join the other Dwarves at the feast prepared in the adjacent hall.

“What was that all about?” I asked Brethilion while we walked together behind Láki and two other Dwarves.

“The king wants me to examine him, but I hardly need to do so to see that he is very ill. He’s jaundiced, palsied, and he retains fluid in his tissues. The stench of this breath tells me that his kidneys are failing not to mention that most of his teeth have rotted. That thing on his finger has extended his life far longer than its natural span. He must be nigh on to nine hundred years old. What did he ask of you?”

“Besides asking for a way to further hoard their gold stores? He asked me for more rings.”

Brethilion shuddered. “That’s the last thing they need.”

We entered the dining hall, lit by gold and silver lamps and decorated with artful carvings and tapestries on its walls. The Dwarves filed in, taking their places before pewter plates and tankards on a long table already laden with many platters of roasted meats, fowl and fish. Here and there were baskets of bread, but not a vegetable or a piece of fruit was to be seen.

Brethilion shook his head. “Not even an apple. No wonder the Dwarves have such awful cases of piles! Make sure you take that a spoonful of the oil I gave to you if you do not wish to suffer the same. Take it every damn day. Or for whatever passes for a day in this black hole.” Then he clapped me on the shoulder and with fringes of threads shimmering around him, left my side to take his seat at the table.

~*~

Brethilion and I quickly fell into the rhythm of our respective servitude with the Dwarves. While I consulted with Láki, explaining the basic principles of the curwë as I understood them, drawing diagrams and listing materials I required, Brethilion was off tending the injured and the ill. He revised the crude amputation of the miner. He stitched up lacerations, set broken bones, and enthusiastically described the various lung ailments found among some of the miners which allowed him to apply remedies and palliatives used during the siege of the Barad-dûr when the fiery mountain's vapors afflicted both Men and Elves.

"They have even taught me the names for black lung and grinder’s disease in their own tongue. Imagine that!" he effused. “A few of the metal workers are afflicted with an odd malady that I have never encountered before among Men and certainly not among our folk. The Dwarf healers say that the lungs of those who have died from this illness are covered with thousands of small fleshy tumors. Strange! Very strange! But fascinating, don’t you think, Sámaril?” Whether I murmured my agreement or ignored him, Brethilion continued his narratives of his work. Then he would be called away to another part of the Dwarven realm to disappear for long periods of time.

Láki and I first set to work on the most critical component of the gold plating process: ensuring our safety in the work areas. The Dwarves had designated a series of connected chambers with ventilation shafts that opened up high above onto the mountainside, but I proposed to put fans in place, to be driven by gears turned by water so air would always be drawn away from the plating tanks. The curwë of the spirits of amber and the plating process used toxic salts, among them malinaqualmesingë. This yellow salt was mildly poisonous in itself, but if exposed to acid, it produced fumes fatal to Elf, Man and Dwarf alike; care would be needed to make its complex with a gold salt. Other noxious vapors were produced during plating, so along with the workers, Láki and I set our muscle to constructing the gears needed to drive the fans.

After one long day of wrestling with gears, fan blades and levers, I grimaced when I rubbed my sore shoulders. Láki, wiping the sweat from his brow, said, “I know just the remedy for stiff muscles!”

“Something other than ale?”

“Oh, yes! Come, Master Gnome! It’s off to the sauna we go.”

“The sauna?” I said, walking beside Láki but slowing my stride so we remained apace. “What is that?”

“You mean to say no one brought you to the sauna during your previous visits? It is a most relaxing place. You will see.”

We reached an enclosed stairway and began an ascent that led higher and higher, broken only by occasional landings where tunnels and doorways led off to other parts of the Dwarven realm. When at last Láki turned off from one such landing into a hall, both of us were breathing heavily. I followed him down the corridor to a large door, opened by the sleepy Dwarf attending it, which brought us into an antechamber where another Dwarf sat at a counter with a closet full of boots behind him.

Láki sat on a stool and pulled off his boots, indicating that I do the same. He handed our footwear to the Dwarf at the counter, who set these on a shelf alongside many other heavy leather shoes. Then Láki led me to a large room where Dwarves – all men – stood or sat in various states of undress.

We walked to a long stone bench where Láki sat, gesturing for me to sit beside him, and he proceeded to strip down to his loincloth. I followed suit, and like him, folded my clothing and placed the pile on an empty space among the many shelves lining the room. Then Láki untied the strings of his loincloth and placed the garment alongside his folded clothing. Gulping silently, I also removed my loincloth, hoping that my sudden onset of modesty was not apparent.

“This way, Sámaril,” Láki said, his deep voice jocular. He led me to another door from which steam billowed every time a naked Dwarf emerged or entered the unseen room beyond. He picked up a linen towel from a neatly stacked pile near the door, and I did the same

Stepping across the threshold, I walked into a wall of warm, humid air. Diffuse yellow light illuminated the large chamber filled with clouds of fragrant steam that billowed up to the unseen ceiling. Pink marble columns, their capitals obscured by the warm fog, marched along either side of the chamber. Benches – cedar, I surmised, by the wood’s odor and color – lined the chamber and on these lounged many naked Dwarves.

I had to avert my eyes for a moment. Naked Dwarves never failed to shock me. Pelts of coarse hair covered their chests, shoulders and backs. Their vier lolled from dense nests piled in their crotches; Dwarven male parts were at least commensurate with those of Elves and Men – and just as varied -- lending the appearance of rather notable virility in relationship to their short stature.

Láki and I sat side by side on a vacant bench. He sighed, closed his eyes and leaned back against the cedar-paneled wall. Aware that not a few curious Dwarves glanced my way, I looked with keen interest toward the ceiling of the chamber, hoping to avoid eye contact and also to avoid assessing Dwarven hammers and making an inevitable comparison. When the clouds of steam thinned a little, the capitals of the pink stone columns caught my eye. I stared for a while at these and then dropped my eyes to their bulging bases. I stifled a rising chuckle: the columns had been carved to resemble phalluses. Aulendil’s assessment continued to be accurate: the Dwarves exalted the male principle.

My almost adolescent bemusement of sitting among huge erect penises and my self-consciousness of being not only the tallest – by far – but also the least hairy – by far -- of the sauna’s patrons disappeared when the steam worked its magic on my stiff muscles. Sweat poured down my back, chest and limbs and with it, the weariness of hard labor.

Láki and I spoke idly of our tasks for the next day while I watched a Dwarf with a towel wrapped around his hips ladle water onto a pile of rocks artfully stacked on top of a nearby iron stove, one of several in the chamber; steam billowed from the hot rocks, thickening the air. I noticed a few Dwarves exiting the steam room through an arched tunnel, and then returning, flushed and bright eyed.

After some time, Láki stretched and shrugged his broad shoulders. “I am thoroughly cooked. Come, Sámaril! On to the next stage.”

Again I followed Láki, this time to the arched tunnel. We walked a short ways through it when I felt the temperature drop rapidly.

“Where are we going?”

“Outside.”

“Outside? Are you mad?” I blurted. “We must be high up on the mountainside here. There will be snow and…”

“That is the point!” Láki grinned wickedly. “I thought the Gnomes were strong folk, but if you rather not venture outside...”

My pride now ruffled, I replied, “No, I will try this. What do I do?”

“Run out upon the snow, roll around on it a few times, and then come back in. That is all. It is most invigorating!”

Shaking my head with disbelief, I steeled myself when Láki opened the thick wooden door, letting in a blast of frigid air; gooseflesh immediately rose on my damp exposed skin. Láki let out a whoop when we darted out into brilliant sunshine but fearsomely cold air. Several Dwarves wallowed around on the snow, looking like small bears against the white field. I flung myself onto the snow, applying every bit of discipline I possessed to keep from shrieking while my muscles contracted, and my stones tried to scramble back into my body. After rolling over several times, I stood and ran back to the door, but before I entered the tunnel, I turned and looked up at the sapphire blue sky and then down at the land –- lost Eregion -- that faded away into the West.

“Well?” Láki queried while we sluiced tepid water over our bodies in the lavatory, the last stop before we returned to the dressing chamber. “What did you think?”

“It was...” I paused, noting that in spite of the shock of the cold, my muscles were revitalized, and my skin gleamed. “You are right, Láki. It was invigorating. I have experienced nothing like it before,” I said while I toweled off.

Láki beamed, his big teeth white against his red lips and black beard. “Excellent!” he declared. “Excellent! So there is something new under the sun even for an Elf. Let’s dress and find some ale, Master Gnome. I will make a Dwarf of you yet.”

I guffawed in response, but happily followed my colleague into the dressing room, finding myself suddenly in great need of amber ale.

~*~

Time passed, but I had little awareness of its measure while Láki, his men, and I prepared for the gold plating. I delved deep into my memories of my work with Naicasir, the master chemist of Ost-in-Edhil, when I had assisted him and his apprentices to harness the spirits of amber needed to drive the plating of metal on metal: setting up the fans, assembling the vats and crafting the components required for the task – large glazed earthenware jars, copper sheets bent into half-cylinders and unglazed ceramic cups to fit within these, and rods of zinc, all shaped to nest within the larger jars. With Láki and his apprentices’ assistance, and guiding them just as Aulendil had guided Naicasir, I would duplicate these for the Dwarves.

I worked closely with Blesi -- the Dwarven chemist -- who formulated the various salts required to generate the spirits of amber and for the plating itself. Thankfully, Blesi, possessed of a quick mind and good instincts, was familiar with many of these salts from the Dwarves’ masterful work in metallurgy. He also took pains to train those who would work with the salts how to handle them properly and protect themselves although he had long ago lost much of his sense of smell due to the many chemicals he had been exposed to over the years. He also devised means to treat and dispose of the waste that the process would generate, again calling upon his formidable experience with the leavings of his craft.

My labors were interspersed with visits to the sauna where hairy Dwarven bodies no longer gave me pause and likewise, they became inured to my relative lack of body hair. I stretched out naked in the sunning chambers alongside them, absorbing the rays of the sun that climbed back into the spring sky in the outside world. Camaraderie with my Dwarven collaborators was further forged and tempered though the collegial meals we took together in the common dining hall.

However, when I returned to my quarters, I was alone with my thoughts. I had seen nothing of Brethilion for weeks and in spite of his irascibility, I missed his company, the one connection to another of my kind. Off in the mines that lay some twenty-five miles to the south, a miner’s lamp had ignited a pocket of fire damp, causing an explosion that had killed several miners and grievously injured more. The Dwarven healers had summoned Brethilion to aid them.

“Burns!” Brethilion had exclaimed while he inspected his surgeon's kit and shoved even more medicines and dressings into a pack to the point of bursting. “Burns and crushed limbs on a dozen miners. Lacerations, I’m sure. A ghastly business, but I suppose I’ll have more case histories to add to my notes on Dwarven medicine for all that’s bloody well worth. Rather an obscure field for an Elf to study.” He had hoisted his pack over his shoulders and had his kit in hand. He had looked at me for a moment, and then gave me a rare smile which brightened his face so much that one might even call him handsome. “Well, Sámaril, don’t poison yourself with all that shite you and the Dwarves are fooling about with for your golden ventures. It will take me days to get back so you’re on your own. Wish me luck!” He had spun on his heel and was gone.

Thus I missed Brethilion’s sometimes grisly descriptions of his work, the filthy jokes that the Dwarf-healers told to him and his reminiscences of the war of the Last Alliance and even earlier, of the Nírnaeth Arnoediad that had claimed the lives of so many including Culinen’s mother and her unborn child who would have been Culinen’s brother.

I occupied myself with writing in my journal and by treading the paths of waking dreams, but these all too often took me back to the days I had spent in Elerina’s company in the orchards, on the moors and in the Hall of Fire. Invariably, the memory of my cold farewell to her and the pain in her blue eyes consumed the happier ones. Tossing and turning on my bed in the pitch dark, I willed these memories away with only limited success and sought the oblivion of true sleep, only to have her reappear in my dreams again.

~*~

The day came when we were ready to test the gold plating prototype. That morning Láki and I assembled the earthenware jars that would yield the spirits of amber. First, we placed a curved copper plate in each of six jars. Within the circle of the curved copper, I lowered a ceramic cup in which I then placed a solid zinc core, its cross-section shaped like a star. Carefully, I poured white vitriol dissolved in dilute acid into the ceramic cylinder that surrounded the zinc core, and then poured a solution of blue vitriol in the outer chamber that held the copper plate. Next I connected the jars in series with wire attaching copper plate to zinc core and lastly, a pure gold wire that led from the zinc core of the sixth jar to the copper vase to be plated.

Using tongs, I carefully lowered the vase into the vat of the solution, heated by smoldering coals stacked around it, in which the salt of gold made with malinaqualmesingë was dissolved. Then I linked the wire leading from the vase to the jars containing the spirits of amber.

Láki and the other Dwarves peered into the vat of gold salts while another stirred the warm solution with a wooden paddle.

“Now what?” asked my colleague.

“We wait, and he stirs.” I said to Láki and the apprentice with the wooden paddle at the plating vat.

Hours passed while three of Láki's apprentices took turns stirring the gold salt solution and I checked the progress of the plating. At length, I asked the young Dwarf to remove the paddle from the solution. When the surface of the fluid stilled, I peered at the vase. At my signal, Láki disconnected to wire leading to the series of earthenware jars, and I fished out the vase with wooden tongs. When I held it aloft, there was silence for a moment, and then the Dwarves simultaneously exclaimed their wonder. All were eager to examine the gleaming vase.

"We must rinse it before handling it," I cautioned, transferring the vase to a vat of cool clear water. Once the vase was thoroughly rinsed and safe to touch, the Dwarves passed it among themselves, scrutinizing the gold surface.

Láki ran callused fingers over the shining gold. He nodded with satisfaction.

“We will request an audience with the King and the Guild of Smiths,” he said. “I believe you shall have a diamond in your hands soon, Master Gnome.”

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Chapter End Notes

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Some comments on Durin's ring: canonically speaking, the Rings of the Dwarves did not extend their life span. This strikes me as inconsistent with their effects on Men and Hobbits because Dwarves -- for all their fortitude -- are nonetheless a race of mortal humans (at least in my 'verse and viewed through a life scientist's lens). Although the Dwarves were later secretive about who bore the ring that Celebrimbor allegedly gave to Durin III, I figure at this juncture (with Sauron seemingly out of the picture and the One Ring lost), Durin IV is more open with his possession of it.

curwë (Quenya) -- technology

Thanks to Moreth for suggesting that the craftsmen of the Noldor may have understood and applied the principles behind batteries and electroplating. Because of JRRT's "canonical" allusions to certain 19th and early 20th century technologies in The Silmarillion and The Lord of the Rings, I figure this is fair game.

Elektron is the Greek word for amber, named so because of the sparks generated from it when fur is rubbed on the material as Sámaril describes. Hence Sámaril’s term – spirits of amber -- for electricity. I think it sounds like an “alchemic” term.

If I’m vague in describing the precise mechanism and arrangement of a Daniell cell, it's because I’m trying to keep this from sounding too much like an elementary physics class and it’s already careening dangerously in that direction. Here’s a good article about John Daniell and his invention and a brief description of of the Daniell cell from Answers.com:

“The Daniell cell proper consists of a central zinc anode dipping into a porous earthenware pot containing zinc sulfate solution. The porous pot is, in turn, immersed in a solution of copper sulfate contained in a copper can, which acts as the cell's cathode. The use of a porous barrier prevents the copper ions in the copper sulfate solution from reaching the zinc anode and undergoing reduction. This would render the cell ineffective by bringing the battery to equilibrium without driving a current.”

Blue vitriol = copper sulfate (sulphate for you Canadians and Brits)

White vitriol = zinc sulfate

Thanks to Darth Fingon for gamely coming up with a Quenya name for potassium ferrocyanide: Malinaqualmesingë = “yellow death-salt.” As Sámaril notes, the salt is only mildly toxic but when it's exposed to acid, it releases hydrogen cyanide gas which is deadly. Also thanks to Darth for his quip that led to the motif of the columns in the sauna.

Thanks to Surgical Steel for her overall suggestions (medical and otherwise) and specifically for those of the various diseases and injuries that might afflict the Dwarven miners.

Black lung -- coalworker's pneumoconiosis

Grinder’s disease: silicosis

The strange disease with tiny lumps (granulomas) in the lungs that Brethilion describes may be berylliosis.

Nírnaeth Arnoediad -- Battle of Unnumbered Tears

vië (s.), vier (p.) (Quenya) -- "manhood" (wink, wink, nudge, nudge)