Under Granite Skies by AdmirableMonster  

The lights in the chamber were dim.  Lofar pushed their glasses up their nose and tugged at their beard.  Damn nuisance, this particular case.  There was no reason for the timing on it to be as short as the petitioners wanted, but they supposed that there was quite the fortune at stake.  They resented it, though; Lofar did not like working late into the night, with the daylight shafts dead black squares above them and the smoky red glow of the torches the only illumination to see their files, unless they wanted to switch on the lamps.

But their lover was asleep, a tight huddle in Lofar’s bed, and they were over-sensitive to light.  Lofar had to admit that they did find that cozy, the soft steady sound of Lendalwed’s breath.  And it was unusual: Elves needed less sleep than Dwarves, so it was a rare treat for Lofar to be awake when their lover was not.

A thud outside.  Unusual, particularly for this hour.  Lofar frowned and rose to their feet, uncertain how to respond.  They were a little outside the main body of the settlement, here, deeper in Khazad-Dûm, nearer to the mountain’s roots.  Before this last inheritance argument had been so irritatingly dropped in their lap, they had already planned this vacation with Lendalwed, and they had been in mood to reschedule it, even if it necessitated a few days’ additional work at the beginning.  Now—

There was no reason to jump at shadows, Lofar told themself sternly, but they reached for a sturdy dagger and tucked it at their belt before they made their way over to the door, opening it just a crack so that they could peer out.  

A pair of bright yellow eyes caught theirs in the dimness.  Lofar swallowed, tightening their grip on the knife.  “Who’s there?” they asked in the common tongue.  The owner of the eyes made a tiny, fearful noise, like a kitten making a very small mew.  The eyes blinked but did not move away.

Well, whatever it was did not seem terribly dangerous.  Lofar glanced back at their sleeping lover, frowned, and then stepped cautiously out of the door, closing it gently behind them.  They sat down cross-legged, putting the dagger away, and rested their hands in their lap.  “Well, whoever’s there, would you mind some company?”

Blink, blink.  The owner of the eyes did not move closer, but they did not move away either. Lofar frowned slightly, then patted themself down to find some pieces of cram still tucked away in their belt pouch.  Lendalwed often became nervous if they didn’t have ready access to food, so Lofar had taken to carrying some with them wherever they went.  Not that Lendalwed didn’t carry their own snacks, but Lofar liked taking care of them in subtle ways sometimes.

“Hungry work, being out this late,” Lofar commented, breaking off a corner of the cram and chewing it loudly.  “You know, it’s a tradition of my people for travelers to share some waybread if they meet unexpectedly.”

Carefully, they broke off another piece of the cram and set it gently at their edge of their reach on the stone ground.  Then they sat back and took another exaggerated bite.  “Tastes good.”

After a few moments, a shuffling, scratching noise began.  The eyes moved closer, and a thin, furry arm stretched out of the darkness to grab the cram.  Lofar held very still.  The sound of rapid munching followed.  It was over very quickly.

“Are you very hungry?”  They fetched out their other piece of cram and set it down a little closer to them.  They had expected either claws or fingers, not a knobbly, misshapen hand like that, but there was still no indication of a threat.  

More nervous shuffling.  The dim circle of torchlight illuminated a pale, thin face surrounded by a heavy, tangled mane where the short fur on the rest of the body lengthened into hair.  Whatever they were, they wore the ragged remains of a tunic belted around the middle with a birds’-egg blue ribbon.  They crouched, staring at him, as they shoved the remaining piece of cram into their mouth.

The door opened behind Lofar.  Lendalwed stumbled over them, a slim dagger dropping from their hand with a clatter as they fell to their knees.  Lofar swore, hurrying to get to their feet.  Lendalwed rolled to the side, grabbing for the knife, but the creature with the eyes got there first, snatching it up and holding it out in a shaking, clawed hand.

Not good.  No time to panic or to freeze. Lofar let their eyes widen as they stared past the creature’s shoulder into the empty darkness, pointing with a trembling finger as if they had just spotted a much worse threat.  The next moment, the shame caught up: not only was this the coward’s option (but what else were they going to do, dive for the knife?), but it was also foolish.  There was no way the creature would fall for such a transparent ploy.

The creature fell for the ploy, turning around with a soft growl, and Lofar dove for the knife.  They missed, clumsily plowing into the creature’s wrist, but it was enough: the creature dropped the knife, and a slim hand came out of nowhere as Pengolodh regained it.

“Don’t!” It was stupid to put themself between the two of them—this creature with claws at the ends of its fingers and the sharpened teeth of a predator, and Pengolodh, who had lived through the fall of Gondolin and the rape of Sirion—but they did it anyway.  Pengolodh darted backwards in surprise, and the creature danced away as well.  “It’s all right,” Lofar signed to Pengolodh.  “I’m all right, it’s not attacking us.”

“Orc,” Pengolodh signed clumsily, hands shaking.

Orc?  What was an Orc doing here?  Not that Lofar had ever seen one.  “Whatever it is, it’s hungry,” they said.  “It’s just hungry.”

For some reason, the creature hadn’t scrambled away into the darkness yet.  It stood there, breathing hard, with its yellow eyes glowing.  Then, as Lofar gingerly stepped back slightly, it put out a hand, palm up, and tapped it with the other, then brought its hand to its mouth, fingers pressed together.

Pengolodh gave a great, shuddering sigh, and carefully belted the knife at their side.  “It’s hungry,” they signed in agreement.  “I’ll go see what we have.  I think we have some dried meat and berries from the journey.”

Lofar clasped them on the shoulder, briefly, then kissed their cheek.  Pengolodh favored them with a watery smile and then disappeared back inside.  Lofar turned to the creature, mimicked the gesture, and then sat down to keep them company.  This might be a complex situation, but figuring it out could wait till the morning.  In the meantime, a new friend needed sustenance.

Chapter End Notes

Dwarves, in my head, don't really do gender.  My headcanons for Pengolodh are that they use he/they pronouns in languages that have gendered pronouns, but Lofar is used to thinking in Khuzdul, which in my headcanons does not, so they refer to all characters, including themself as they/them.  Call it a translation convention.

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