Shadows of Us by Artano

Shadows of Us

The title comes from the lyrics of the song

"Thank you for the report, I am grateful for your people’s help."  Finrod's voice sounds foreign to his ears, too steady, too even for the anxiety wrapping around his throat and threatening to suffocate him.  Breathe, he reminds himself.  The Greater Dwarf leaves, and he stares blindly at the door.  This city was supposed to be a refuge for his people.  He had expanded it so there would be enough room for every single person, so they would finally be safe, far from the deadly ice flows of the Helcaraxë and hidden from the fury of Morgoth's forces.  He had lost so many people, so many friends and followers left behind on the ice.  But he had thought they were finally safe here.  A sharp laugh escapes his throat.  Little had he imagined that danger lay so close to home, with those whom he had counted his friends.  But now the Petty-dwarves, not content with the wealth he had given them in exchange for use of their lands, were plotting to murder his people and claim the remainder of their riches. 

He stares at his desk, his mind racing.  He could not risk moving to a new location and starting over.  They had spent so many years building this place into the hidden stronghold it is now.  If they left, they would be exposed and all their effort would be for naught.  Yet he could not ignore this threat: the Petty-dwarves had built these halls and could get to any part of them, to places where Elves were unable to go.  If they wished to harm his people, they had a decided advantage.  Finrod’s expression hardens.  And he could not let that happen.  He would have to eliminate the threat before they could harm his people.

Finrod pulls a blank piece of paper towards him and dips his pen in the inkwell, a brief pang twisting his heart.  Mîm would never forgive him for this.  But he would never forgive himself if any of his people were harmed.