Dust and Ashes by Artano

Dust and Ashes

Despite the summary, this work is intended to be less about the characters and more a sort of tribute or in memoriam to the end of a life, a kingdom, and two people groups.

Created for Orctober in response to the prompt 'broken glass'.

Mîm's white hair rustles in the breeze, fluttering against the cracked, blackened cobblestones beneath his head.  Water rushes by in the river at the bottom of the steep ravine a few yards away, and as a bird chirps in the rushes, a ray of sun shines though the parting clouds, crowning Mîm's head in a halo of light.  In the peaceful scene, one would almost assume the old Dwarf was sleeping, if not for the bright crimson blood mixing with the soot on the charred cobblestones, staining them a dark rust and the wizened man standing over him, his sword still dripping.

Behind the Dwarf, the doors to his kingdom gape open to dark halls.  Broken by fire years before, pieces of carved stone lie scattered on the doorstep.  Here a bird rises from the ground, wings frozen mid beat, beak pointed towards the sun.  There a flower curls up a carven pillar, petals shattered in the dust.  Among them lie fractured blades and splintered shields, the last remnant of the final stand of the Elves that had futilely defended their home in the face of sword, spear, and dragon's fire.

Heedless of these, Húrin cleans his sword of Mîm's blood and steps past the fragments of past civilizations and lives, entering the gloomy halls beyond.  Here too, remains of past grandeur glimmer among the ash and dust, broken windows allowing him to pick his way through the fallen statues and past the cracked fountains.  Shards of colored glass twinkle on the floor, testament to the craftsmanship of the Dwarves and Elves who had crafted the chambers and hallways of the underground city.

Húrin passes through the entrance hall, making his way towards the Great Hall where once Mîm, and then Finrod, and finally Orodreth had ruled the kingdom.  Mîm's people had begun it, and each king had expanded it until its roof vaulted into darkness above, with rich carvings adorning the walls, many carved by Finrod's own hand.  So when the city had fallen to the armies of Morgoth, Glaurung had claimed it as his treasury, for it was the most beautiful room in the city, and one of the few that could hold a dragon of his size.

Soon Húrin enters the Great Hall, and he stops short, dazzled by the wealth laid before him.  Huge mounds of gold and jewels, both raw and crafted into the most beautiful silverware, jewelry, statues, and other ornaments glinted in the sun streaming through windows far above.  The finest works of the Dwarves and Elves, and even some of the Petty-dwarves before them had been gathered from all parts of the city, brought here as Glaurung's reward for breaking through the gates and delivering the city into the army's hands.  But despite the magnitude of the wealth and artistry before him, Húrin's eyes skim past it, searching for the one item he had come here to claim.

Sorting slowly though the piles of riches, he finally finds his prize on a pedestal near the throne.  For a long moment, he stares at the intricate necklace, the finest work of the Dwarves set with the jewels of the Elves, glimmering like countless stars among the gold tracery.  Then he reverently lifts if from its place and wraps it in a spare rag, placing it inside his bag for safekeeping.  With one last glance around the gloomy hall, he heads back the way he had come.

Reaching the entrance, he stares stonily down on the body of the dwarf who had long ago betrayed his son.  Such was a fitting end for a traitor such as him.  Here he had begun.  Here he had ended.  From dust had his people risen, to dust they had all returned.  Stepping over the lifeless body, Húrin continues his journey, away from the broken memories and shattered stones slowly decaying in the darkness of the ruined city behind him.