The Unread Visions of a Higher Dream II: The Light Under the Mountain by Prackspoor  

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I.2

Celebrimbor and Annatar are brought before King Durin and Celebrimbor reunites with numerous other friends from his time in Khazad-Dûm as a welcoming party is held.

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*

Annatar followed Celebrimbor’s lead as they made their way to the dining hall. While they walked Annatar couldn’t help but note the excellent design of the architecture: as long as you were walking in an area meant for guests, all important hallways were easily found, and all of them inevitably led either to the exit or to one of the great halls where Dwarves and their guests alike gathered to talk, sit by the fires and read, or just to spend an evening in the company of others, listening to city gossip and strange tales from other corners of the world, which travellers brought aplenty.

When Annatar mentioned as much to Celebrimbor, the elf only laughed. “Of course! As Narvi once said, 'You'll always know exactly where you are in a well-built Dwarven dwelling. They are clearly designed, straightforward and practical, and none of that looping, labyrinthine nonsense you Elves are so fond of. As long as you remain in an area where you are meant and allowed to be, you'll always know where you are going. The only people who get lost in Dwarven houses are slinkers or thieves, and that is not something that I would call a flaw in architecture, wouldn't you agree?' Of course, the point about Elven architecture stands to be argued, but I cannot find fault with anything else he said.”

Together they followed a torch-lit hallway whose walls were lined with mosaics depicting the heroic feats of the line of Durin the First, until they came to the entrance hall. There, Celebrimbor turned left with the sure-footed certainty of a son returning to his family home after years on the road. They passed an intricate marble fountain, upon which stood an eight-foot-tall statue of Durin the Deathless, and entered the Western Dining Hall.

Although it was one of the smaller halls, it was still ornate and well-appointed. Dozens of bronze braziers chased the chill of being belowground from the air, and the stone walls were hung with tapestries in ruby-red and gold, as well as silver and black. Two rows of long trestle tables were aligned alongside six great fireplaces on the long sides of the walls, and a third connected the long tables at their further ends, forming a row of seats of honour. There was also a high table at the northern end of the hall, which stood empty, and two smaller doors that led off behind it: one leading presumably to the kitchens, the other likely a private door for the king to make his entrance and his exit whenever and as discreetly as he wished. Behind the high table, a great bronze clock hung on the wall, with a great pendulum swinging below it while the cogwheels were playing out their intricate dances: turning, interlocking, parting, all according to a system too vast and too complex for any casual onlooker to comprehend.

They had barely set foot through the door when Celebrimbor was hailed by a group of Dwarves – and one elf, to Annatar's surprise – who rose in greeting and immediately welcomed him into their midst.

Annatar stood back, watching with a half-smile as Celebrimbor found himself surrounded by his friends, not wanting to disturb the scene by getting too close to it.

It was like watching a fish move through water: Celebrimbor could barely turn as fast as his old friends wanted to greet him. He shook their hands and greeted them in turn, remembering names even after centuries of absence and memorising the names of those to whom he was being newly introduced. Annatar watched with quiet fascination as Celebrimbor switched effortlessly between Sindarin and Khuzdul, then turned to greet a Noldorin kinsman in Quenya, all without ever breaking stride or hesitating in his words. Here he was asking after Dwarven relatives and the goings of projects, there he was answering enquiries after his own well-being and laughing when one of the Dwarves made a jest at his expense.

It was at once strange and startling to realize that there was a whole world that belonged to the elf, of which Annatar knew nothing. When he thought of Celebrimbor, he thought of high spires, cluttered worktables bathed in sunlight, ink sketches on parchment, and the open blue sky. And this was only logical, because Ost-in-Edhil was Celebrimbor's home, but this – Khazad-Dûm, the mountains, the stone above their heads, the fire-sheen on veins of bronze and mithril in the walls – was a part of the elf as well that could not be separated from him without destroying the whole.

Annatar inclined his head to one side, regarding his friend contemplatively – his face, his expressions, and his movements, every single one of which revealed to him only the smallest bits about a Celebrimbor he had not known before. It was like examining a diamond under a microscope and discovering that it had ten times the facets he had initially believed.

Just then Celebrimbor turned around and when his eyes found Annatar's, there was a brilliant light in them, radiant like his smile, his face, his entire demeanour – proud and happy and utterly delighted.

“ – and this is my friend, whom I have brought with me today: Annatar Aulëndil, of the Western Shores. He has been pestering me about wanting to see Khazad-Dûm for over a decade now, so I brought him along with me this time.”

A hushed silence fell over the circle of Celebrimbor's friends. Apparently, the metaphorical rumour mill in the kingdom was as well-oiled as any actual apparatus in the mines. News of their arrival must have spread like wildfire – and with it, too, the wariness of a Maiarin guest.

A dwarf with brown hair, clad in reds and blues was the first one to speak up. He crossed his arms, eyeing first Annatar and then Celebrimbor. "Granted, you have always been a strange one, Kurfi. But to call one of Mahal's own people your friend! You certainly haven't learned to keep less strange company during the time you were gone.”

Celebrimbor appeared unperturbed by the apprehension of his friends. “Not to worry, I would not have brought him with me if he did not know how to behave. I have it on good authority that he doesn't bite – most of the time.” He winked at Annatar, who raised both eyebrows pointedly in response.

There was a brief pause in conversation, during which the entire hall was oddly silent, until the dwarf with brown hair uncrossed his arms, moved forward, and bowed slightly to Annatar.

“Well, if the king has allowed him in here, and if Kurfi trusts him as well, that's good enough for me,” he said gruffly. “Floki, Son of Grimur, at your service. Second foreman of the foundries of Khazad-Dûm.”

Annatar stepped forward and bowed slightly. “It is my pleasure to meet you. Annatar Aulëndil, at your service. I did indeed come here with Tyelperinquar, though I must inform you that I do not always keep such bad company. I usually travel alongside marauders and highwaymen, and their manners are comparably impeccable. Furthermore,” he added, with a glance at Celebrimbor, “I can assure the assembled company that anyone who ever managed to provoke an Ainu into the highly theoretical scenario of biting him would have thoroughly earned it.”

There was a brief, uncertain pause after these words – and then Floki suddenly roared with laughter. “Hear, hear!” He turned to Celebrimbor. “Well, Kurfi, your Ainu seems well-mannered enough, though you must admit that if there is anyone walking this world who would – theoretically, of course – manage to rile one of the Holy Ones up enough to bite him, that would be you; and if his teeth are half as sharp as his tongue, you better watch out for yourself!” Floki made a gesture at his companions. “Now, before we forget our manners entirely, Kurfi, you may remember Alfin and Lassi, both cousins of mine, twice removed. They have been overseeing the mining in the Deep Paths, ever since Lofi of the Longbeards retired.”

Two younger Dwarves stepped forward and bowed, first to Celebrimbor, then to Annatar, exchanging the traditional greetings. After them came Throndur, son of Thróin, master of the goldsmiths; Ólin and Órin of the Merchant's Guild; Rúni, a dark-skinned dwarf hailing from the Iron Mountains, who was apparently a master both of geology and architecture, which seemed to be two trades that went hand in hand in a kingdom like Khazad-Dûm; and many others, all of whom wondrously knew Celebrimbor of Eregion well enough to address him on an informal, given-name-basis.

Annatar watched and listened as what had heretofore been merely names and titles in Celebrimbor's tales of Khazad-Dûm gained reality and solidity before his eyes with every dwarf who stepped forward and bowed, revealing progressively more about this unknown part of the life of his friend whom Annatar had thought he knew so well.

At some point, his and Celebrimbor's eyes met over the heads of their hosts. With the quiet pride and welcome in the elf's eyes, the understanding passed between them that, like everything else he possessed, Celebrimbor was showing Annatar this not in order to gloat, but in invitation – an offer so that the joy found in those memories and experiences might be even greater for being shared between them now.

*

Even though Durin had not yet made an appearance, most of the Great Houses and Heads of Guilds of Khazad-Dûm had already come to attend the feast, and to his delight, Celebrimbor recognized many of his old friends among them.

Seeing the Dwarves he had befriended and worked alongside for so many years, though, also left him with a strange aching in his chest. Even though the turns of the last centuries had passed in the blink of an eye for Celebrimbor – immersed in his city, his studies, and his work with Annatar as he had been – he had been gone for a long time even by the measure of Dwarves.

To see that the friends who had once lived and worked alongside Celebrimbor remembered him still and had come here to welcome him back was wonderful. All the same, though, Celebrimbor could not help but notice that time had left its mark on his old friends. Not all of those he had once known were alive to greet him today, and the Dwarves who had been young while he had stayed in Khazad-Dûm nearly six centuries ago had grown old with the passing of the years.

It was therefore with both joy and sadness that Celebrimbor took the once strong and sure hands of Baldur, Master of the Library of Khazad-Dûm, clasping his friend’s bony fingers between his own.

But when the librarian looked him up and down, the piercing gaze of his blue eyes showed that they had not been dulled by the passing years, and that the mind behind these eyes remained as sharp as ever.

“Celebrimbor Curufinwion,” Baldur said. “That I would be granted an opportunity to meet you once more fills me with joy.”

“The joy is mine, Baldur. It has been too long since I last saw you – but certainly not too long since you last chased me from the library because I was talking too loudly.” Celebrimbor laughed and the eyes of the old dwarf crinkled.

“I assumed you didn’t miss that particular part of your stay with us,” Baldur replied. “I just hope your memories of us are otherwise fond enough that you look back kindly upon your days in Khazad-Dûm.”

“Very much so,” Celebrimbor said. “I did not know how much I missed Khazad-Dûm until I set foot under the mountain once more. I am glad that I did not come a day later than I did; I have been away from the mountains for too long already.”

“Indeed,” the old dwarf said. “Your absence saw many winters come and go; those who were young back then have grown old, and the old ones have passed away. You have been gone for a long time, Curufinwë – not by your measure of years, perhaps, but certainly by ours.”

Baldur must have noticed Celebrimbor's stricken face, because the dwarf touched his forearm softly, but with a surprisingly firm grip. “Grieve not for those who have passed from this world. Our destiny may be different than that of the Eldar, but even for us the end of a life is not the end of our road. Our brothers and sisters sleep the Long Sleep in their tombs of stone, and after this world is ended, they will wake and begin their great work of rebuilding the new one, alongside the kings and queens of the next world.” Baldur gave him a wistful smile. “But let us not talk of death and departure. Tonight is a night of renewed friendship and merriment.”

“And, I might add, a night of Dwarven hospitality,” Floki added, who was readier than most Dwarves to contradict an elder. “Which means none of that Elvish melancholy and long-winded speeches about regret for times long gone by, now. By Mahal, Baldur, more often than not you sound like a Noldorin exile yourself.”

Baldur glared at Floki, while a few other Dwarves threw quick glances at Celebrimbor to see whether the comment had angered him, but Celebrimbor was far too amused to take offence. He had indeed felt reminded of one of the melancholy speeches of Teserias of Tirion, which the old scholar gave to whoever just happened to be in his immediate vicinity whenever a bout of longing for his lost home overtook him. Of course Celebrimbor knew better than to say so aloud. However, a side glance at Annatar, who met his gaze with an almost suspiciously blank expression, told him that they both had been thinking of the old scholar and his melancholic ramblings. Both quickly looked away again and schooled their features into the serious expressions that were expected of them.

“– the lad came here to get away from Elves,” Floki was saying in this very moment. “I don’t think you'll be doing him a favour if you kept talking to him in their vein all evening. You're going to chase him off again!”

“No one's going to chase me anywhere,” Celebrimbor intervened quickly, before Baldur could give his own, doubtlessly heated opinion on Floki's views. “I've come here to stay – for a while at least – and you'll have to try better than that if you want to get rid of me again. Just remember that you tried dropping a bellows counterweight on me once, Floki, and I still stayed for twenty-one more years after that and became your friend.”

“Well, at that point you had been asking for it,” Floki grumbled.

A rush of outrage and excitement went through the group at this revelation. Annatar leaned close to Celebrimbor's ear, not taking his eyes off the commotion. “Can I ask?” The amusement was clear in his voice.

Celebrimbor grinned. “Later. After a few rounds of drinks the contest inevitably comes down to who is able to present the best anecdotes to his table. I have little doubt that it will be any different tonight. For now let us just say that Floki and I initially had our differences, but as you can see, we eventually managed to sort them out just splendidly.”

Annatar rolled his eyes. “Why do I have the feeling that this 'sorting out' between the two of you involved pickaxes?”

“What do you take us for?” Celebrimbor asked, feigning indignation. “We are reasonable people.” He shrugged. “And moreover we are both smiths, so naturally we were using hammers.”

At Annatar's incredulous expression, Celebrimbor had to fight to keep the laughter out of his voice. “Using them in order to underline a few more important points in an honest heart-to-heart, of course,” he added, after a deliberate pause. “Nothing more; no one except a few rough casts and two bellows were harmed.”

“You know,” Annatar said after a pensive pause, “It is things like these that lead me to wonder what kind of character you were before you settled down as a master of the Mírdain, promoting a life of peace and quiet studiousness in favour of whatever you had been doing before.”

“Well, what a coincidence,” Celebrimbor replied with an amused gleam in his eyes. “I have been wondering the same thing about you – what type of character you were before you decided to content yourself with studying alongside us in Ost-in-Edhil and occasionally scaring the wits out of your apprentice classes, that is.”

“I am a creature of many layers,” Annatar replied offhandedly.

“Yes, I can see that,” Celebrimbor replied, amused. “Still, we are going to postpone discussing my past until the time comes when you tell me of your youthful indiscretions – I'm sure even the Ainur have those, or something comparable at least. Then let us determine who was the greater troublemaker!”

“Are you sure you want to turn this into a contest?” Annatar asked, eyebrows raised. “You should pick your battles better, Tyelperinquar – choose fights that you can actually win.”

“Oh, so you are saying you were a troublemaker?” Celebrimbor asked.

“You have no idea.” Annatar grinned back at him, slow and dangerous.

“Ah, good thing I did warn the others that you might bite, then,” Celebrimbor said lightly.

Annatar looked like he had a retort ready at the tip of his tongue, but just then Durin entered through the main doors, and a hush fell over the hall as the king and the four dwarves accompanying him passed through the hall and headed for the high table.

“It seems we'll have to finish the introductions later,” Floki said. “Come, the sooner we finish the formalities, the sooner we can sit down and have a proper talk over a few tankards of ale.”

 

Their group walked over to the tables, where Celebrimbor and Annatar were assigned two seats on the outer table of honour, while Durin sat down at the centre of the table. His son, Laurin, took the seat to the king's right and his nephews sat down on his left. Celebrimbor could feel dozens of eyes resting on them, particularly on Annatar, and not all of them were friendly.

When Durin III had opened the gates of Khazad-Dûm to the world two hundred and fifty-four years ago, this move had not gone over without opposition from within the kingdom itself. The more conservative houses especially had spoken out against allowing foreigners into their sacred halls, maintaining that only Dwarves could be trusted enough to be granted entrance to the realm. A few centuries later, the distrust of outsiders had generally made way for a certain sort of polite wariness around foreigners – but the Khazad had only ever needed to get used to Elves and Men visiting their halls.

Now, though, they were being presented with one of the Ainur – and one of Aulë's fellowship at that – which was bound to be new fuel for the old conflict between Khazad-Dûm’s conservative and progressive factions. What with the political and theological implications of the Maia's presence, and the lack of forewarning for his visit alongside Celebrimbor, the issue would certainly be complicated. Celebrimbor had of course considered the possibility that Annatar’s arrival might raise some eyebrows when he had planned his journey to Khazad-Dûm. However, in the face of the sombre looks he was receiving now, he had to admit that a few centuries’ absence from the mountains might have led him to misjudge the current political climate – especially considering that he was used to Ost-in-Edhil's approach to strangers, which was about as casually cosmopolitan as it came. But, as Fundin had told him earlier, Khazad-Dûm was not Ost-in-Edhil.

Annatar bore the hard glances directed his way with impassive grace. Durin appeared remarkably calm as well, but his watchful gaze wandered down the rows of tables, and his nephews were obviously on the lookout for any trouble brewing. By inviting Celebrimbor and his Maiarin companion up to the table of honour, the king had made his stance clear: both Celebrimbor and Annatar had been accepted as guests of honour under the mountains, and were to be treated as such, with all the respect and courtesy that the laws of hospitality demanded.

Dwarves, however, while fiercely loyal, bore their loyalty not to a name, but to age, experience, and above all, principles. As such, any opposition would not be afraid to call out even their king on a perceived fault. Perhaps not right now and in front of foreigners, but certainly at some later time, behind closed doors and in the privacy of being amongst their own kin only, they would.

Celebrimbor wondered how Durin would breach the issue tonight. For breach it he must, he thought, if the king did not wish for discontent to grow behind closed doors and in whispered words.

As he thought as much, Durin raised his hands and what little clamour had risen among those in the hall subsided until all eyes were on the king; the hall was so silent that one could have heard a pin drop.

“Sisters and brothers, all of you who have assembled here tonight – I welcome you,” Durin began. “Custom demands that I introduce the new guests you see beside me, but judging from the expressions upon your faces, I see that this is likely unnecessary. I shall do so nonetheless, not least because the introductions will precede the explanation you likely demand and deserve. Here is Celebrimbor, Son of Curufin, who is an old friend of ours and kindred in spirit, and here is Annatar Aulëndil, who is his friend and colleague, working alongside him in the City of Elves.

“I need only look into the faces of you who have assembled here, my blood, my kin, to understand the thoughts upon your minds this evening,” Durin continued. “I see curiosity and welcome, openness and wonder.”

“But I also see you thinking of trust given and broken, of friendship lost and regained, of faith shaken and restored.” His voice was solemn but not grim. “When I look into your faces, I see the memories of our ancestors, far older than even the Elder Days. I see you thinking of the pride of our race: the magnificence of Khazad-Dûm, and the home we have made for ourselves under the mountains – a home not bestowed upon us, but made by us and for us to do with as we alone please. I see caution, I see anger, and I know the reasons for such concerns. And I want you to know that these feelings are neither ignored nor discarded.”

And just like that, Durin had gotten right to the heart of the matter, as was the nature of Dwarves. Where Quendi would have made long, elaborate introductions, Durin had done away with pretty embellishments and sunk the scalpel of his words right into the wound before it could fester.

“You wonder, Why has our king allowed one of the Western Spirits into our realm? and you wonder this in anger and doubt,” Durin continued. “And although you have not voiced these thoughts aloud, I hear you. Your king hears you. I, as much as any one of you, have considered the fate of our race, because the memory of a king is always the memory of his people as well. Our history has taught us to be cautious, to look with wariness at the hand that is extended in an offer of friendship; for was it not the hand that made us that also raised itself against us, to nearly destroy us? We are named the Unintended, in the old language of the Powers, and this perhaps illustrates best our original standing in the world – not unwanted, but not desired either. Irregulars, outsiders, those-who-were-not-meant-to-be-and-yet-are.”

Durin let his gaze glide over the assembled dwarves. “I have not forgotten the bitterness, I have not forgotten the fear. And when one of Aulë's fellowship stepped over the borders of my realm today, I, too, thought of Mahal, who is our maker and our father, and who almost became our doom. I remember our history. I know of the need for caution.” He paused. “But a king's duty is to the shaping of the future as much as it is to the remembrance of the past.”

“Remembering the past means upholding the demand for justice for wrongs once wrought against us. Justice demands that I turn away the Powers as they have turned away from us. And yet justice alone is not the measure by which a wise man does right, by his friends and enemies alike.” He did not quite look to where Celebrimbor and Annatar had been seated as he said this, but the effect was much as if he had.

“It was not justified for Celebrimbor Curufinwion to bring Annatar Aulëndil here, and yet I will not say he did wrong,” Durin said, as calm as he had been from the beginning. “For he meant well and he intended this as a gesture of friendship and trust. Although learned in our ways, it cannot be expected of one of the Eldar to truly grasp what bringing one of Aulë's fellowship into a Dwarven kingdom means to the Khazad.”

Only years of strict training in court etiquette and countenance allowed Celebrimbor to hide a flinch and a grimace at this. Well, I deserved that one, he thought.

Durin still did not look at him as he continued speaking, nor did his demeanour give any indication what he had said was intended as anything other than merely stating facts. “In the same vein, Annatar Aulëndil claimed to have come here to experience for himself the marvels of Khazad-Dûm – neither as a master nor as the emissary of a Power of the West, but merely as a traveller, a craftsman, and a friend.

“Why should that be enough, and how do we know he speaks true? you might wonder, even if politeness forbids you from saying it aloud. How can our king look upon him and welcome him in with open arms after all that has transpired between the Powers of the West and the folk of the Khazad?” Durin asked, looking at the assembled Dwarves in the hall. “Let me share with you, then, the counsel I held with myself, so that you might better understand the reason for my actions here today.

“Like you, I believe that blind trust is folly. Where a bridge connecting two shores has been torn down, trust must be regained before friendship can be built anew, and this is not achieved merely by speaking pretty words. Ancient wisdom claims that actions speak louder than words, and this counts twice for our people; for we do not forgive easily, and we never forget.

“And yet, I know of no deed that would speak louder and with more honesty of the desire for reconciliation than one of the Powers of the West coming here to our doorstep – not pompous and with brash demands, but driven by curiosity and a thirst for knowledge of our world and our people.”

“Blind trust is folly, but so is clinging to old grudges in the face of an offer of friendship. When Celebrimbor Curufinwë and Annatar Aulëndil stepped before my throne I looked closely at both of them, so I might uncover any hidden intentions they had. But when we spoke, their words rang true and they showed all the respect and politeness that is due to our people, our sacred halls, and me as your king.

“A deed is one thing, an intention is quite another. I considered both when I made my decision to allow them to stay,” Durin said. “Like the All-father saw our worth and reconsidered his order to Mahal to destroy us, I looked at our guests and reconsidered the courses of action available to me. Today I choose not to seek the justice we might demand for past wrongs, but to build a future from a new beginning between the Powers of the West and the Khazad. These are my reasons, and if anyone would challenge them, I bid them step forward now.”

No one moved, no one spoke up.

Celebrimbor fidgeted, tensed to get up, slackened, waited for someone else to get up, waited a bit longer, then pushed through his nerves and rose. Suddenly, all eyes in the hall were on him, and although he was used to speaking before great groups of people, today he felt pushed down by a weight he did not usually feel when giving a speech.

He looked to Durin, who waved his hand, allowing him to speak.

Celebrimbor turned back to face the hall. “This is customarily the part where the guest thanks his host for his hospitality,” he said. “But I fear that this evening I must preface my thanks with an apology. I have been told that it has been many long years since I last lived here, and that there are more than a few things I must have forgotten – and more still that I have never grasped fully, if tonight is any evidence. What I do remember, though, is that there is an old Dwarven proverb that says sincerity does not need many words.”

Celebrimbor stopped here, because now came the delicate part, and he had to be careful with how he worded it. “In that vein, I will keep it short and to the point: my intention was never to hurt or to insult, and what King Durin said about friendship is something I wholeheartedly agree with. However, I am aware that intentions neither justify nor excuse the deeds that accompany them. I should have conferred with you on this matter. I did not, thinking that because my actions seemed harmless to me, they would be harmless to you as well. It was ignorant and short-sighted of me to do so. I looked at a matter of Dwarven importance through the eyes of a Noldo, which is bound to end in lacking understanding. I should have known better than to do this, and for that I apologize.”

The assembled Dwarves were watching him intently, but their faces betrayed no emotion. Celebrimbor forced himself to stay silent once his apology was complete. He did not appeal to their long-standing past friendship like he would have done at an Eldarin court. He did not mention the works and projects Khazad-Dûm and Ost-in-Edhil had completed in their joined efforts, and stressed their shared successes in the past. He did not plead with them to understand his side, for either they would see his reasons in their own time, or they would not see them at all.

Being able to admit having done wrong was a trait treasured among Dwarves, and uncalled-for self-defence was regarded as incomplete, dishonest remorse, as well as an attempt to wriggle out of an unpleasant situation.

And so the silence stretched on. Celebrimbor could feel the weight of more than two hundred gazes, some friendly, some expectant, and some grudging and appraising. On a table to his left, he could see the two patriarchs of the Houses Bristlebeard and Blackhammer whispering to each other, now and then throwing dark looks to where Celebrimbor was sitting. It had him feeling deeply uncomfortable, but he knew that he had brought this upon himself.

“Thank you, Celebrimbor Curufinwion,” King Durin said at last. “We accept your apology.” And he motioned for him to sit.

“Forgive me, my king, but I am not done yet,” Celebrimbor said, an embarrassed grin on his features.

“Eldar and verbosity, a marriage made in Aman itself,” someone seated below exclaimed and a part of the left table erupted into laughter.

“Go on, then,” Durin motioned, unperturbed by this sudden outburst of mirth.

“I still have not thanked you for your hospitality,” Celebrimbor said. He turned around and motioned for Annatar to hand him the two boxes – one velvet, one wooden – that they had brought with them. In lieu of giving them to him, Annatar rounded the table and went to stand in front of Durin right next to Celebrimbor.

“We appreciate you sharing your food and shelter with us, King under the Three Mountains,” Celebrimbor said. “And we do not come empty-handed to accept such grace and friendship. To show our appreciation for your hospitality we brought gifts that we hope you will delight in and find useful in many endeavours.”

Celebrimbor bowed as he handed King Durin the small velvet box. He felt his heart beating strangely against his ribs when the king reached for it and opened it, revealing a silver ring inlaid with three little emeralds.

Durin considered it for a long time before touching it, and Celebrimbor wondered whether he could see the nature of the gift he had been given.

“A ring for a king of the Khazad¹, intended to capture the steadfastness of the stony hearts of the mountains, and the grace of the mithril in its veins,” Celebrimbor said.

The king held up the ring so that the emeralds caught the light. “A handsome gift!” he announced to the hall. “Fit for a king and the sons who rule after him!”

“Into it went the greatest efforts of the Guild of Jewel-smiths,” Celebrimbor said quietly, only for Durin, Annatar, and him to hear.

Into it went the labour of my hand and my heart, he thought. And our shared vision of the world.

Celebrimbor could feel Annatar's burning gaze on him and he knew that although he had not spoken these words aloud, they had still been heard.

“I see,” Durin said softly and let his hand sink again. “Yes, I think I do see it now.” He looked at Celebrimbor, then at Annatar, and carefully placed the ring back in its box. “What about this?” he asked Annatar, gesturing at the wooden box he was holding.

Annatar bowed slightly as he handed it over. “Construction plans for an efficient hydraulic engine for vertical shaft drills,” he said. “In the hopes that they may be useful, and that their craftsmanship may, perhaps, be considered adequate for your purposes and standards.”

Celebrimbor would have snorted if it weren’t for the seriousness of the occasion. Annatar had designed the drill himself, and he was not a creature to sell his own works short – mainly because he knew that everything he created was excellent and of indisputable quality. To see him feign humility was quite bizarre and very amusing, mainly because – intentional or not – the proud Maia was so very bad at it. But there was also another, greater part of Celebrimbor who felt grateful to his friend for being so perceptive of the delicacy of the situation, and accepting the restraint it called for.

“I am certain they will be,” Durin said, taking the box from Annatar's hands. Louder, for the hall, he said, “Great gifts for a great kingdom! The friendship and generosity with which they have been given will not be forgotten!”

He stood and reached over the table, clasping both Annatar's and Celebrimbor's hands in a gesture of thanks, as was customary after the giving of hospitality gifts.

“But let us not prolong the formalities any longer. We have heard your words, and we have seen your gifts and your goodwill,” Durin said. “Now, though, it is high time that we proceed to the pleasant part of the evening – sit down.”

Someone behind them rang a bell and then the food was brought in, and at the same time, all of the tables erupted in heated discussions, recapitulations of what had been said, and speeches in favour or against Durin's and Celebrimbor's points.

Celebrimbor sat down heavily and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. “Thank the stars that's over and done with.”

“Was it that bad?” Annatar asked with a smirk.

Celebrimbor tipped his head back a bit while a young cupbearer filled the wine goblet for him. “Let us just say that there is a reason why I decided to stay far away from politics and grand speeches,” he murmured.

Annatar laughed quietly as he raised his own goblet to drink. “A wise decision – politics are for windbags, and words alone have not changed the world in a very long time. Besides, while you have a way with words, you do speak best with your hands.”

Celebrimbor sputtered and very nearly spilled some of his wine. “Now that is a sentence that opens itself up to misinterpretation if I ever heard one.”

“You are welcome to misconstrue it all you want,” Annatar replied with a wink, leaving Celebrimbor to wonder once more this day what had put his friend in such high spirits.

*

The feast progressed in mirth and merriment, with rich and savoury dishes being served in one course after another. Soon, though, after everyone had eaten enough to last them through the next three days, many of the attendants had a mind for drink and song and talk, and quite a few of the guests left their initial seats to talk with a friend here, then walk to a table over there and share a joke with colleagues sitting just a bit further down the table.

Quite a few of the Dwarves excused themselves early and left, most notably among them the glowering heads of the Houses Bristlebeard and Blackhammer, but most of the other Dwarves seemed to have taken Durin's speech and Celebrimbor's apology to heart and let go of any grievances Annatar's surprising arrival had provoked. Celebrimbor was not so naive as to believe that the last word on the matter had been spoken, but all in all, he was glad that their welcome had gone over as smoothly as it had.

After the tables had been cleared of the desserts, Annatar and Celebrimbor left the dais. While Annatar was being greeted by a few heads of other noble houses, Celebrimbor went in search of Fundin, which ultimately proved to be a futile endeavour. The steward was nowhere to be seen, and after roughly half an hour of fruitless searching Celebrimbor reluctantly accepted that he would likely not be able to talk to Fundin tonight.

So Celebrimbor went back to where he had left Annatar and quite soon afterwards they found themselves hailed by Floki, who waved them over to the table where he, Baldur, and other Dwarves of the group who had initially welcomed them had found a seat for their number.

“Ho, Kurfi, Aulëndil, over here!” Floki motioned for Celebrimbor to take a seat next to him. “We must finish our conversation from earlier, since we were so rudely interrupted by formality and etiquette! Do you have your goblets? Good! Come on then, sit down!”

“Shall we?” Celebrimbor turned to Annatar with a raised eyebrow.

Annatar grinned wolfishly. “By all means. I cannot wait to hear the story about how you almost got a boulder dropped onto your head.”

Celebrimbor ran a hand down his face. “I should have known better than to mention this in front of you.”

“You should have. And that's what you get for not listening to your good sense.”

“It would be too much to ask that you'd simply forget about it, I guess – for friendship's sake?” Celebrimbor inquired without much hope.

“I never forget about anything,” Annatar replied evenly. “You do not get second chances with me, Tyelperinquar, especially as a friend.”

“Oh, stop being so overly dramatic,” Celebrimbor rebuked playfully, and took a seat next to Floki, while Annatar sat down on his other side.

The Dwarves finished introducing themselves, and afterwards there was something of a brief, awkward pause in which no one knew what to say next. Initially, the Dwarves and the few odd foreign elves kept a bit of distance to Celebrimbor and Annatar, engaging them in polite, yet slightly stiff conversation. They were sitting closer to Celebrimbor, while Annatar was given a respectful berth by his seat neighbours. The greater part of the questions were aimed at Celebrimbor as well – there was much talk of Ost-in-Edhil, of the new pipe-lines between the mountains and the city, an upcoming joint project of both realms, and of course the progress of the bells for the great clock tower in the Elven City, which Khazad-Dûm was proud to provide.

When the conversation turned to the ventures the Gwaith-i-Mírdain had undertaken under Annatar's guidance, it drew the Dwarves' attention quite effectively.

“Those are quite the marvellous works you have occupied yourselves with. The ring you gifted the king was especially fine,” Throndur said, setting down his tankard of mead and regarding Celebrimbor with a steady gaze from under his dark brows. “There seems to be no shortage of time and ideas in Ost-in-Edhil if you can focus fully on working on gems and sciences instead of forging weapons.”

“The amenities of peaceful times,” Floki snorted. “At least you'll have a lot of pretty necklaces and mathematical theorems to throw down from the walls at your enemies if you ever were to be besieged.”

“I like to think we built the city walls better than to make that necessary,” Celebrimbor replied wryly.

“Let's see about that,” Floki said. “We should bring our great drill to your walls and test out just how well they're faring against a bit of advanced engineering.”

“Just as well,” Celebrimbor said, regarding his fingernails. “When do you plan to start drilling? I shall write a note to myself to expect the breakthrough of your glorified screwdriver a decade later.”

“Glorified screwdriver?” Floki echoed. “This drill has been fashioned after the construction plans of the Great Drill of Báshing-zě itself! If you weren't a friend and an elf at that – which excuses some of your remarks, but not all by far – I would tell the king to throw you out from under the mountain for that.”

“And my aunt Galadriel would have done much more than that if she were still ruler of Ost-in-Edhil and able to hear the manner in which you were speaking of the walls she raised,” Celebrimbor said pointedly.

“Would she have?” Throndur said, while Floki was muttering something in the background that sounded suspiciously like “See, this is why I tried to drop a boulder on him.”

Throndur did not pay the other dwarf any heed. “I have heard stories of a great Elven enchantress who resided in Ost-in-Edhil, but I did not know that she was your aunt and that she built the city as it stands today,” he continued. “I thought it had been your work.”

Celebrimbor shook his head. “No, I did not found it. I came … later. By that time, the foundation stones for Ost-in-Edhil had long been laid down. I merely joined my efforts to theirs to continue building, and lent a hand where help was needed.”

“Humble as always,” Órin said from the other side of the table. “No need for false modesty, Curufinwë. We all know that it is thanks to you that Ost-in-Edhil stands as the fortress of knowledge and architecture that it is today.”

Celebrimbor lowered his own goblet of wine. “I only finished the work my aunt and Lord Celeborn had started. And I had help every step along the way; if it had not been for the jewel-smiths and their willingness to raise the city up alongside me, Ost-in-Edhil would not be more than a cluster of stone buildings under holly trees.”

“Do not sell yourself short,” Floki rumbled. “Loath as I am to admit it after what you said of our drill, everyone on this side of the mountain knows this much – that while it was your aunt who laid down the foundation of Ost-in-Edhil, it was you who breathed a soul into the place, bringing together the people who would realize the plan you had for the city and its future.”

Celebrimbor looked at him. “We have made a home for ourselves in Eregion. It was a communal effort, and the vision of a people, not that of any one man or elf.”

“And yet it is you who leads the Mírdain now,” Floki pointed out.

Celebrimbor set down his goblet, the good-natured banter gone from his tone. “I neither lead nor rule the guild or anyone else in Ost-in-Edhil, nor did any strife for power take place between my aunt and me. The Lady Galadriel had just as important a part in building Ost-in-Edhil as I had and when she left, she did it of her own free will. I would not want either her contribution to the building of the city or her authority questioned.”

The dwarf seemed to notice that he had touched upon a delicate subject, because he raised his hand in an appeasing gesture. “I meant no harm, friend,” he said. “Though you must admit that under your lead – do not interrupt me, you are the acting representative of Ost-in-Edhil, whether you like it or not – the city changed a lot during the last few centuries, and you with it.”

Celebrimbor blinked, not quite sure how to respond to this sudden turn of the conversation, this move from bantering to serious, from factual to personal, and he felt put oddly on the spot.

“He is right, you know,” Baldur suddenly said to his right. “You're a different man now than you were then.”

When Celebrimbor turned to give him a puzzled look, Baldur gave him a small, wistful smile. “I still remember the lost youth who came to Khazad-Dûm a long time ago, having wandered here and there on the Gulf of Lune, searching for a place where he could belong.”

“I was hardly that young anymore,” Celebrimbor said, trying for a light-hearted tone, but his smile wasn't entirely genuine.

“In body and mind, perhaps. But you've grown in spirit,” Baldur said. “And there are other things that have grown within you.” The old dwarf looked him in the eyes. “You left us drifting like a leaf on the wind, but I see that you have roots now. Like a strong tree, or even a mountain, perhaps.”

Celebrimbor did not know what to say in response to this, but when he turned his head he saw that Annatar had been following the exchange with an intent, pensive expression. He met the Maia's eyes, and for a brief moment, everyone and everything else seemed to be far removed and faded, until Annatar averted his gaze to take a sip from his wine and the world with all its colours, sounds, and smells returned.

*

From here on out – not least thanks to the generously provided wine – the conversation quickly returned to other, more light-hearted matters. Inevitably, the talk came to the initial adversity between Celebrimbor and Floki during the Noldo's first few years in Khazad-Dûm, which, as serious as it had been back then, provided ample grounds for amusement today. Celebrimbor was surprised to learn that their fight in the forges had attained a somewhat legendary reputation among apprentices, and that neither the dent in the floor caused by a five-hundred-stone counterweight nor the incinerated bellows in the northern corner had been fixed or replaced until today.

“Oh, we still use them for demonstrative purposes,” Floki waved it off. “To distinguish between inappropriate conduct that will merely earn you a master' scolding, and histrionics that will get you banned from the forges for at least three months.”

“Good to hear that we at least managed to provide a bad example,” Celebrimbor said with an embarrassed grin.

Eager to steer the topic away from his behavioural missteps, not least because Annatar had been wearing the expression of a cat who had found the cream for the entirety of the last half-hour, Celebrimbor asked about the drill Floki had mentioned earlier.

“It's greater than anything you have ever worked on, that's for sure,” Floki said. “We used it as a means to dig the vertical main tunnels, and we've made good progress thanks to the new adamanit bits you suggested in that letter you sent the first foreman some twenty years ago. If you want to, we can take you both down to the Deep Paths so you can see it for yourself.”

Celebrimbor shared a look with Annatar, who raised one eyebrow and looked back expectantly. “Yes, we'd like that,” he said, turning back to Floki. “We would like that very much.”

*

Midnight came and passed, and eventually, even the most hardy feast-goers found that it was time to go to bed and recuperate for a while. Durin and his nephews had retreated hours ago, leaving the dais empty.

Celebrimbor and Annatar were among the last ones to exit the Western Dining Hall, but eventually even they made their way back, heading slowly in the direction of Celebrimbor's chamber.

Celebrimbor did not question his friend coming along – Annatar did what he wanted, and if he had gotten it in his head to accompany Celebrimbor to his doorstep, he would not say no to that.

They walked down the hallways at a leisurely pace, nearly shoulder to shoulder, when Annatar suddenly drew himself up straighter and leaned a bit closer, a slight smirk on his face.

“So – Kurfi?” he asked.

Celebrimbor chuckled. “That must have been on your mind for the duration of the entire evening now, am I right?”

“By now you must know that anything to do with your past misadventures and youthful indiscretions is of supreme interest to me.”

“More of interest even than the splendour of Khazad-Dûm and its inhabitants?” Celebrimbor inquired.

“Would you claim that you are less interesting than either of those?” Annatar replied, his voice low and teasing.

“Oh, Annatar, the only thing I would claim is that I am the worst person to ask when it comes to answer the question of how interesting I might or might not be,” Celebrimbor replied, running one hand through his hair. “Let other people be the judge of that. Even so, I am flattered.”

Annatar mouth quirked upwards. “So?” he demanded, adding, “About ‘Kurfi’?”

Celebrimbor threw him a side glance. “It's a nickname. A Khuzdul version of my Quenya name. They gave it to me during my first stay here under the mountain.”

Annatar pondered this for a while. “A great honour, no doubt,” he said.

“Quite. Few enough outsiders ever made it into the hidden cities back then, and even today only very few are regarded with enough kinship by the Khazad to be granted a name in their language,” Celebrimbor replied quietly. “Names are even more important to them than they are to the Eldar. The Khazad have true names that they keep secret from everyone outside their closest family. With outsiders, they only ever use their outer names and even those they never change – they are their roots, marking them as the descendants of a lineage and showing everyone where they belong. Without their names, they consider themselves to be just leaves on the wind.”

“Didn't Baldur say something to that effect earlier?”

Celebrimbor frowned. “Did he?”

“He was talking about your first stay here, I believe.”

“Ah.” Celebrimbor nodded. “Yes, he was. Drifting like a leaf on the wind was the expression he used.”

“He did not exactly make it sound as if it was something desirable,” Annatar commented.

Celebrimbor gave Annatar a wan smile. “Probably because there is nothing stranger and scarier to a Khazad than to be uprooted and drifting.”

“You must have appeared very strange to them, then.”

Celebrimbor looked up. Annatar's face was half-illuminated by the sheen of the torches on the walls, and the fire was dancing in his eyes. The Maia's gaze was no longer amused, but pensive and searching.

Celebrimbor averted his eyes again. “I suppose I must have,” he admitted.

“Is that why they keep calling you by your father-name despite everything?” Annatar asked.

Celebrimbor jerked his head up and gave him a sharp glance.

Annatar actually took a half-step away from him and lifted his hands in a placating gesture. “Forgive me. It wasn't my place to ask.”

Celebrimbor blinked, belatedly realising what kind of expression he must have been wearing just now for Annatar to react like that. “No, I am – sorry. I'd just … I'd rather not talk about it right now.” He gave Annatar a tired smile. “Let's save it for another day.”

Annatar glanced at him askance. “Of course,” he agreed. “Some other day.” For a few moments, the only audible sound were their echoing footsteps as they continued down the walkway.

“So,” Annatar suddenly spoke into the silence. “What was the exact expression Baldur used in that idiom? Sîm yavhna zulimor zelkomenon?”

“Close,” Celebrimbor replied absent-mindedly. “Sîm zulimor yavhna zelukhomenon.² Zelal doesn't reduce its verb stem in the present participle, it's an irregular k-stem, therefore – wait.”

Celebrimbor stopped dead in his tracks, staring at Annatar.

The Maia took a few more steps, and when he noticed Celebrimbor was no longer beside him, stopped and turned around. “What?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Why are you asking me this?” Celebrimbor said.

“Why do you think I am asking you, if not because I wanted to know?”

“Because you– ” Celebrimbor interrupted himself when everything fell into place. “You don't know Khuzdul?”

“It is a language spoken only by a very limited number of speakers in isolated linguistic enclaves,” Annatar said. “I told you once that I have never had the chance to befriend any Dwarves in my life, thus I also never had the opportunity to study their language.”

Celebrimbor stared at his friend, baffled at first – then he threw his head back and laughed. “So that's why you were so silent during the feast! And here I was, wondering whatever could have had you acting so reserved for the entirety of the evening! I should have known that the only thing that could have kept you from engaging in discussions with the assembled gentry of the Khazad was not knowing Khuzdul in the first place.” He caught up to his friend, the smile making way for a pensive expression. “But then again, you obviously understood parts of it.”

“I did.” Annatar shot him a thin smile, and they resumed walking down the hallway. “It is, after all, distantly related to Valarin and the lexical similarity is small, but there. Besides, I've lived alongside a few Dwarves in Ost-in-Edhil, which allowed me to pick up some things here and there.”

Celebrimbor blinked. “Oh,” he said. “I just assumed – ” He interrupted himself, shaking his head. “But why didn't you say something? We've been talking in Khuzdul for the greater part of the evening. If I had known, I would have asked my friends to speak Sindarin!”

“Thank you for your consideration, but I would have spoken up for myself if I had wanted to. I was able to understand about half of what was being said, and the rest was a fine exercise in concentration and puzzling out the language.” Annatar smirked.

“That, and you're much too proud to admit to not knowing Khuzdul at a table full of Dwarves,” Celebrimbor added.

Annatar was silent for a while. “That too,” he admitted at last.

Celebrimbor chuckled. “This is an extraordinary day – not only did we cause a political scandal by introducing a Maia to the king of Khazad-Dûm, but no, my friend Annatar also admits to not knowing something and he is being honest about it!”

“I am certainly glad I was able to act as your primary source of entertainment today,” Annatar said dryly.

“Ah, don't give me that look,” Celebrimbor said cheerfully. “It's rare enough that I get to tease you for not knowing something, and you do it all the time! Besides, you don't think I'd let you come to Khazad-Dûm and leave without giving you a chance to learn Khuzdul – if you want to, that is.”

Annatar gave him a side-glance. “Is that yours to decide?”

“It is not some secret language reserved for a chosen few initiates to study,” Celebrimbor told him. “Of course you could learn it. I told you about the library of Khazad-Dûm; I am sure we'll find something suitable for you there.” Celebrimbor tapped his chin thoughtfully when an idea suddenly occurred to him. “Until then, though, I might have just the thing for you to quench your curiosity.”

They both walked to Celebrimbor's room where he opened the door and waved Annatar inside. It was cool, so Celebrimbor lit a fire in the fireplace before changing into more comfortable clothes. Meanwhile, Annatar set a pot of water to boil over the fire and when Celebrimbor returned from the bedroom next to the living space, just in the process of pulling the ornaments from his hair and undoing his braids, two steaming cups of dark minty tea were waiting on a table between the two armchairs before the fire.

“Thank you,” Celebrimbor said, surprised. “You didn't have to.”

“You're welcome,” Annatar said, handing him one of the cups. “Now, what was it you wanted to show me to tide me over until I finally get to see the Great Library of Khazad-Dûm?”

Celebrimbor smiled. “I was thinking of keeping you occupied with the help of my own private library. I'm afraid it doesn't hold a candle to its great sister, but it should be better than nothing.” He stepped up to his two shelves, which were crammed full of books of all ages and sizes. “Now where did I put it – ah, here.” He pulled out three books, one more booklet than tome, bound in green linen that had become grey and dusty with age.

He carried them over to the fireplace and sat down in one armchair, Annatar following and taking a seat in the other.

Celebrimbor set down the teacup and carefully opened the booklet, feeling a strange twinge in his chest when his own inexperienced handwriting looked back at him from the pages. Annatar leaned closer in order to get a look at the contents of the book as well.

“This was my first Khuzdul textbook, including writing lessons in Cirth,” Celebrimbor said quietly, tracing the strokes of ink with his finger. “My father gave it to me when we were living among Dwarves during the campaign of my uncle Maedhros to rally the free peoples of Beleriand against the Enemy in the last great battle of the First Age. He considered it a matter of propriety and respect for us to learn their ways and language, so he wrote this for me.”

“I brought it here with me when I left Nargothrond,” Celebrimbor added, scrolling through the pages. “I was afraid I had forgotten too much after learning it too fast, and it helped me quite often during my first weeks here. My father and my uncle made several annotations on idiomatic and colloquial language, as well as technical terms and Dwarven etiquette, in addition to the vocabulary and grammar explained here. It is not comprehensive, but it contains a great many things no grammar book can provide.” The pages rushed under his fingers and the motion sent the words on the pages dancing, the neat Cirth of the main text body, the spiky Tengwar of Curufin’s handwriting, and the more slanted, flatter scratch of Maedhros' hand in the margins coming together in a great blur.

Annatar was silent, but when Celebrimbor looked up from the page, he did likewise and for a moment they just looked at each other, neither intent on breaking the silence.

“You can have it,” Celebrimbor said and handed the booklet to Annatar, who took it and carefully turned a few pages with a slight frown. “I expect it won't take you more than a day to memorize everything written in it, but you can keep it as long as you want.”

“I'll be very careful with it,” Annatar said quietly.

Celebrimbor leaned forward and took the second and third books. “These are two other books I brought here with me and they were my primary reading material during my first few months here. This is a grammar book on Khuzdul, containing any and every grammatical quirk that you might think of encountering and then some. I wager not even Dwarves know all of the peculiarities mentioned in there.” He smiled as he handed it to Annatar. “Phonetics, syntax, principal verb forms, conjugations, declensions, tenses, and sundry.”

Annatar took the book from him and laid it down in his lap. “And the last one? The 5,000 most important words of Khuzdul?”

“Not quite,” Celebrimbor said. “10,000 words, including commentary on etymology, phonetic shifts, and dialectal differences between the three great branches of Khuzdul.” He handed the tome to his friend.

Annatar raised both eyebrows, and started to leaf through the last book while Celebrimbor watched him, taking slow sips from his tea. After some time, Annatar closed the book and looked up. “Not exactly what I would call light reading.” He leaned back with his own tea cup in hand. “And you know all the words in there?”

“I don't know if I remember all of them today, but I did know them back then,” Celebrimbor replied. “I told myself that if I was to live in Khazad-Dûm as a refugee it would be on the condition that I wouldn't make a fool of myself by not even knowing the language of Dwarves. I could suffer to be a barely-tolerated Eldarin vagabond, but I would at least be an educated barely-tolerated Eldarin vagabond.”

“Back then I spent my days working and my nights studying, down to the obscurest parts of the language. It kept me occupied through the late hours and didn't leave me with a lot of time to think about myself, which was what I needed at the time, I guess.” Celebrimbor paused. “However, as many details as I knew back then, I'd be surprised if I had retained everything. If you want to, though, I would be happy to let myself be quizzed as soon as you're sure about your Khuzdul. And then we can see who has the better memory: you, after having had a few days to learn a new language – or me, after having had nearly six hundred years to forget most of it.” He smiled wryly.

“Is that a challenge?” Annatar said.

“What else?” Celebrimbor replied. He finished his tea and stood. “But not a challenge for tonight. You'll forgive me, but I find the trek and the wine are making themselves noticed.” He yawned. “Feel free to stay here and read as long as you like – I am going to bed.”

Annatar gave him an unidentifiable look, then nodded. “Good night then. And thank you for the books.”

“You're welcome.” Celebrimbor smiled at his friend before ambling into the adjacent bedroom. Instead of lighting the hearth there he left the door open so that the heat of the fireplace in the sitting room could warm the bed chamber as well, and he spent some time watching the sheen of the flames playing on the open door and listening to the sounds of Annatar slowly turning pages, until he fell asleep at last.

---

1 It is not certain which kind of ring is mentioned here, and whether it is Thror's Ring itself, one of the Rings of Power that Sauron and Celebrimbor created for the Dwarves, or a mere predecessor thereof. While it is possible that the ring mentioned here is the artefact that would later become known as Thror's Ring, there are a few indicators that speak against this. For one, the events described above are estimated to have taken place around the year 1550 S.A. While the Elves and Sauron had already begun working on Rings of Power around fifty years ago, the Great Rings were not created until 1590 S.A. This indicates that the technique of creating magic rings in general might not have been perfected at the time these events took place. Furthermore, it is said of Thror's Ring that the power it had over the Dwarves “was to inflame their hearts with a greed of gold and precious things, so that if they lacked them all other good things seemed profitless, and they were filled with wrath and desire for vengeance on all who deprived them.” (LotR, Appendix A, III Durin's Folk) However, there is no indication that this ring in particular was corrupted by Sauron, either because he still held no evil intent towards Elves and Dwarves at that time, or because he didn't consider it worth his while to corrupt a prototype.

2 sîm = adv. “like”, zulim(û)-or → contracted to: zulimor = khuzd. “on the wind” (ablative loc./instr.), derived from a Proto-Quenyan root of the Valarin word for “Sulimo” = breath, breeze, yavhna = the leaf, nom. fem. c.f. Yavannah, zelukhomenon = “drifting” pres. participle (active)