Tennis With An Elf and A Dwarf by Grundy, Raiyana

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Concerned Dwarf’s reply

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Dear Carweg,

 

Whilst the notion that you might be able to regrow limbs did not enter my mind – and now that it has, I am slightly horrified by the thought; would the limb regrow from the stump like a small child’s, or grow back in stages until it reached the natural end point… Do not answer that. 

 

My apologies – the above was written when I returned from a guild feast, and not entirely sober. 

I am, however, pleased that the chair – and we love that you named it after adad, he would have loved that, too – might be of use to your people. I assume you do not build limb replacements for such injuries? Of course, not all injuries are suited for such inventions, but the freedom of movement afforded by the return of a lost leg cannot be understated.

As for the Midwinter Celebrations, I must report that my sibling was not chosen to sit among the Thirteen – though I am proud to say that several commissions came in for work similar to the box displayed. As for your question, I am wondering how much or how little I might tell you, but I do not think the celebration falls within the realm of Deep Lore, which is forbidden to outsiders, much as our language – I am quite proud of my Elvish, in fact, and that is why I am the one replying to your letters. 

Very well, I suppose this pertains more to the history of my people, and perhaps it is well enough that you might know, sharing stories of other kindred among yours. 

When Mahal – I believe he is Aulë, to you – created us, he did so with joy, granting to us the excitement and pleasure he takes in crafting new things, in developing skills and purposes, and so we revel in the glory of creation in honour of our Maker. It is our history that he speaks to us still, in the yet unformed dreams of pebbles, and in the hearts of some who have grown into the shapes he once envisioned for them, for that was the Doom of Eru upon us when the Maker interceded for his Children to be allowed a place in the world, that we must grow as all folk and beasts do, giving parts of ourselves into the making of new pebbles. 

The Thirteen Firsts were, as the name implies, the first of my kind to awaken beneath the mountains where now our clans dwell – seven clans for seven mountains spanning the world as we know it. It was their honour to awaken to the Maker’s face, to reveal in his Way our purpose, our joy and our souls.

I shall not tell you their true names, for that, surely, is not for the ears of an elf to hear, though you will recognise them by the names of the clans they created: 

My own lineage would be Firebeard, named for the shade of red in the beards of our First and the heat-resistant skin of their bodies which is found mainly in our clan, making us well-suited to the forge and kiln. Nearest to us, the Broadbeam awoke, and they are mighty in arms and unparallelled in their sense of stone; great miners and carvers. Further East, you would find the Longbeards, gem-cutters and smiths of the finest most delicate works we know. Beyond their mountains, I know of the Ironfists, whose steel is of the highest grade and whose weaponry is unmatched in strength. I have not met any of my kin from farther still, though I know I should find the star-charters and glass-makers among the Stiffbeards, and fine builders and masons where the Stonefoots dwell and the Blacklock clan boasts better chemists than any other. 

The Midwinter Craft fair honours the skills the Maker granted us, and his presence within our crafts; the King chooses not thirteen of the best objects by any criteria I can see, but rather thirteen that show the breadth of our skills – the lowliest apprentice might as easily be chosen as the most venerable master. The makers of the Thirteen are seated at the King’s table for the grand feast that marks the end of true winter, and the crafts chosen are later – with much ceremony and chanting of ancient verses that I will not reveal to you – gifted to the maker; the fiery heart of our mountain accepts them willingly, bringing echoes of our joy to the Makers Hall – I think they have other customs in Mountains that have not revealed their naked heart so, for ours is the only one I know of with such a heart and temper, and many believe that this is why we awoke here – who better to live in a Mountain of Fire than those it will not burn? 

The balm you have sent me is indeed marvellous, though I should be most fearful spending so long a time above the stone as you must surely have in your journey – it is an uncomfortable feeling to venture out where the protective arms of the Stone Mother canot shield you – and perhaps I might implore you to send more pots? It seems to do more good than what we receive from the herbalist traders of Thargelion – I do not know the ingredients, but yours has a different smell, which I found quite pleasing.

To that effect – and also because I am fair proud of how this batch came out – you will find this not a letter, but rather a crate; I am trusting that the straw and cloth we wrapped within and around the pots will ensure a minimum of breakage. If it does, I might be able to expand my export of them beyond Thargelion, where they see much enjoyment; the clay found there is of such an inferior quality that I consider it night unworkable, and it seems Master Nestril agrees, or so the trader who facilitates our dealings claim. 

The design is one of my own making – and if I am honest, and in a letter between friends, I don’t see why I should not be, I could present them as a Mastery and earn my chain with ease. Only I have no desire to leave my Master – I am content where I am, and old Lugo pays me well to stay by his side instead of striking out on my own. 

As for Thargelion itself, I am told it is a fine steading, if too open for any good dwarf’s soul – it sets upon plains, with clear views on all sides, and that is too much sky for anyone but an Elf, I feel. If your enquiry is motivated in a desire for trade, I should think it would be welcome – they are well rich in cattle (do you eat meat?) and so do trade in leather and horn, as well as others. Also, they have much knowledge of smithing learned at our Master’s side, so their blades and steel is well-made, and that is no small praise coming from our smiths. 

They value the goods that come highly, willing to pay good prices for them – the roads are not without dangers, though the horse-elves employed to guard it are diligent in their duties; the caravans employ guards for the journey, though it is rare for loss of life to be reported. They are also not so haughty in their dealings with us as your people, it seems; I have heard that a couple have even been invited to stay within the Mountain for a time and that is a great honour for any outsider. 

As I said, I am personally most familiar with Master Nestril, who is the steward overseeing the halls of Healing – I make many of the ceramics needed for medicines and potions made there – and I shall happily write you a letter of introduction if you would wish to visit; I daresay the Noldor might also have techniques unfamiliar to you, as yours would be to them. 

I must end this letter soon if it is to make the next caravan, so let me close by announcing the safe Naming of my nephew this past moon – he is to be called Hafgir, and already shows promise as a herald if the strength of his screams are anything to go by. 

Your friend,

Harga