Heyeveryone! I’m glad you’ve stopped by to read this story. This part is just an introduction explaining a few things about the dwarves so the story really begins next chapter. If you have read my other stories, you probably are thinking, another story! Why can’t you just finish one at a time? Well I have no excuse, this idea just came up on my long weekend and I started writing… Don’t worry I’ll keep up with my other three. Thanx again for stopping by…

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the lord of the rings characters but I do own the original dwarves that are not in Tolkien’s writing and of course Hêth (pronounced Heath). Also the locations are strictly those of J.R.R. Tolkien. General history, and time periods also belong to him.

Note: All attempts will be made to stay in canon however any deviations have been made with a purpose and a plan. When Tolkien describes women dwarves as so alike to dwarf-men in look and appearance… I take that to mean the women had beards, were short, burly, and probably no better looking than the men… Also Mahal is the dwarvish name for Aulë, the dwarves creator.

Prologue

It is said by the dwarves, that they are indeed the firstborn. For Aulë who is called Mahal in their tongue, wrought them long ago when Middle-earth was still darkened. Mahal greatly desired Children to whom he could teach his lore and crafts. And because he was unwilling to await the fulfillment of Ilúvatar he made them in secret. The Seven Fathers of Dwarves he hid in a hall under the mountains in Middle-earth.

Mahal taught the dwarves a secret language which they keep secret and speak it to no other race than them. Now Ilúvatar knew what was done the moment it was complete and he asked him why he had done such a thing. Mahal pleaded with Ilúvatar and was humble before him and therefore he had pity on him and spared his creations.

Mahal was grateful and said, “May Eru bless my work and amend it!”

 But Ilúvatar was unwilling that the Dwarves should come before the firstborn of his design, the elves. So he caused the Dwarves to sleep under the darkness of stone and said, “…But when the time comes I will awaken them, and they shall be to thee as children; and often strife shall arise between thine and mine, the children of my adoption and the children of my choice.”

And it was as Ilúvatar had said and many quarrels arose between the races of the two firstborn, the elves and dwarves. But, they lived for the desire of Aulë’s crafts and lore, and lived long under mountains in search of jewels. For Mahal had made them strong, stubborn, and fast in friendship and in enmity. They suffer toil and injury far more hardily than any other speaking peoples; and live far beyond the span of men.

It is said by the dwarves, that in the end of their lives Mahal will gather them to halls set apart in Mandos; and that Ilúvatar will give them a place among the Children in the end. So that they may help Mahal to remake Arda after the last battle. The secret language that they treasure is a reminder of their Maker’s purpose and plan and they hide it in the depths of their souls and speak it to no man… save one.

Hey guys, on to chapter one, where the real story begins! For disclaimer and junk please see the prologue.

Chapter 1.  Renewal

The sparks from the anvil flew around the room in rhythmic bursts, like short-lived fireflies, shining for a moment brightly and then extinguishing, melding with the darkness around them. There was no other light save a small lamp which was burning the last of its oil.

The room was large, made entirely of stone and filled with smithery tools. A hot furnace stood in the middle of it all, glowing faintly within, lit by hot embers. From that faint light one could barely see the intricate designs that decorated the pillars around the room. Dwarvish runes were carved deeply into their bases.

The only smith in the room pounded away at the unyielding metal with blows fiercer than a dragon’s tail. Her face was covered in beads of sweat as her short, burly arms went up and down with the hammer in a regulated pattern.

The door to the great dining hall swung open and light filled the room along with the sounds of dwarvish merriment.

“What’s this Dìs? Still at work? Come and have a cup of mead will do you some good,” the dwarf-man said holding his own cup up with a faint chuckle.

“Leave me to my work and go make merry, I’ve no need for a cup when I’ve a hammer to comfort me,” Dìs answered her voice a low sound, cold and hard as the rock around her.

“Now Dìs you’ve been working here for many days, years for that matter, beating out your anger on the metal. What happened to the merry lass you used to be?” the dwarf asked his voice somewhat slurred due to the intake of ale.

Dìs looked up her face still flaming from her work, “She died Borin, the day my husband, my brother and my sons did at the hand of orcs far away from here”

“Dìs that was nearly forty-eight years ago…”

“You should know me better than that Borin. It was but a day… a day ago every day of every month of every year…”

Borin’s drunk features showed no understanding. Dìs laughed ironically and turned again to her work.

“Be off with you, drown in your cup of mead Borin. Mahal knows I wish I could,” she added the last part quietly as the door closed and the noise was blocked out. She put her work aside; he had ruined her appetite for it.

Quietly she put aside the tools and her smock and left her work where it was. She smoothed out her wrinkled jerkin and pants and slipped her green cloak on. Dìs left through the back door, to avoid Borin and his merry group in the great hall, and joined the other dwarves who were on watch.

She tucked her dark, brown, beard into her belt and walked to her self-assigned post near the lower entryways into the hills. The other Iron Hills stretched on into the night, past the dark, blue, jeweled sky. They shone as if the mountains finest diamonds had been cast carelessly upon a blue velvet cape and tossed about.

Fili loved the stars… He loved to watch them sparkle like the diamonds his father mined and call them by their secret dwarvish names. Kili had enjoyed the real rocks better. He believed only in what he could hold in his hand. Her sons had been gone so long, but she could still remember them so clearly.

It was as if they had just left that morning with their uncle Thorin to visit a place called the Shire and hire an expert treasure-hunter. She could still see the excitement in their eyes when they had talked of the plan to take back the lonely mountain from Smaug, cursed be his name. They had reclaimed the mountain soon enough, but then block-headed Thorin had the sense to start a war and suddenly her whole family was stripped away.

“I will take care of your sons sister, I promise they will not come to harm while I still breathe… But they are adults now, you can’t keep them in the nest forever, they have made their decision,” Thorin had said with earnest over a cup of ale, sitting at her table.

Fili and Kili died trying to protect their uncle. Not the other way around. She had not forgiven her brother yet, even after forty-eight years she could not do it. It was if Thorin himself had killed her sons and her husband…

A sudden, tiny, audible, wail interrupted her thoughts. She looked around briefly to see if anyone would sound an alarm or go check on the noise. Nothing happened and Dìs dismissed it as a figment of her imagination. It was getting cold, and she pulled her cloak tighter around her stout body. The sound came again, echoing briefly against the side of the iron hills.

With a sigh she made her way down the steep stairs outside, entered a door to the lower levels, down another broad flight of stairs and cautiously went out a side door to the outside ground level. The wail was nearer now and Dìs glanced around finally resting her gaze upon a low-lying shrub common to the area.

Upon further examination, she saw a small bundle of white ragged cloth, it was moving. Another small wail came from it and a small leg emerged out of the cloth. Dìs gasped and toed the object gently, almost afraid to touch it. The object rolled over and the blanket uncovered the tiny thing.

Dìs stooped down and stared at the tiny creature. It was a baby. Its tiny fingers grasped at her boot. He was indeed bigger and less wrinkled than a dwarf baby, and was undoubtedly human. A tuft of blond hair adorned his head. His eyes met her eyes and he gave out a curious gurgle.

With strange, motions long-forgotten, she picked him up roughly and wrapped the thin blanket around his naked body. “Shh, shh… now,” she said quietly as he cried suddenly.

She cradled him for a moment and stood up with a worried glance. She was afraid to look at it, finally she looked down. He smiled up at her and grasped her beard with his small hand. Dìs found herself smiling back. If dwarves are quick to anger they are quicker to friendship, loyalty, and love. Once gained it is hard to lose.

Subtly, she entered the mountain again and made her way to her chambers on the highest floor. Scarcely a person could be seen this late. They were all snoring soundly in their own beds or drinking in the hall next to the large fire. She hurried past everything clutching her new-found treasure tightly.

“Dìs, what is that you have there?” a voice called, reverberating loudly in the large hall. Dìs knew without turning that it was Borin, very drunk, and very inquisitive.

“My son… don’t you know my son Borin?” she called back running forward almost tripping over her own feet, at which her bundle wailed. She quickly reached her own quarters and entered. They were large for a widow and a formerly childless woman. There were two bedrooms in the back, a sitting room and a small room with a table and a small supply of milk for the times when Dìs didn’t feel like taking the effort to eat, or sit with the other dwarves in the large dining hall.

Gently (for a dwarf) she laid the babe on a fur rug on the floor and removed her cloak, placing it on a nearby hook. With much effort she bent down and picked the baby up again.

“Dìs, what are you thinking taking in a child, human no less, at two-hundred and two, your to old for this,” she muttered to her self rubbing the lower half of her back and walking slowly to the back bed room.

She was already regretting her hasty decision; she looked at the baby and still felt it was right to do. Still she had acted quickly as was her nature, and at the very least, much controversy would come of it. With a sigh she stopped in the small dining room area furnished with a small table formed out of the rock of the ground and to benches made the same way, firmly planted in the ground, as they were made out of it.

Dìs could still remember her husband designing the rooms, planning out the layout and drawing plans for the furniture. Unique runes and intricate designs covered the two thick legs of the table and the benches. A blue, wool blanket hung from the wall nearest to it. Grand designs made of silver, diamonds, and mithril formed the dwarvish sign of their family in the center. It had been made in the lonely mountain by her husband’s father long before Smaug had driven them out.

Her mind returned to the original task and she quickly put some milk in a small pan over the fire, sitting opposite of the table. She always left it burning out of habit, and some royal worker or other would feed it when she stayed in the smithery for long periods of time. It along with many bright lamps and the separate fireplaces in both rooms lit her quarters adequately to see by.

With a burst of inspiration, Dìs hurried holding the baby in the crook of her left arm, to the unused bedroom opposite her own. She opened the large oak door slowly taking a lamp from a shelf outside the room. It lit the room dimly and she set it on a stone shelf. Tiredly she knelt down next to a trunk on the floor made of a deep-colored wood. Thorin had given it to her after coming back for a visit from a strange country far south of them.

Opening it the smell of history engulfed her. Old things lay here, and she hesitated on searching inside, almost afraid of the festering feelings she would evoke, the one’s she had tried to smother for so long. A small noise from the baby urged her free hand forward. Solemnly she pulled out each of the items and set them on the ground. They were belongings from her sons and her husband. However most of the trunk was filled with supplies from when her sons had been babies.

A soft leather jerkin roughly the new babies size was placed on the rug, and soon a small baby drinking pouch and a rough, wool blanket and some linen diapers followed. With great strength she laid aside the items and shut the trunk with a decisive thud. There would be no more scabbing wounds reopened tonight. She left the box of memories to the darkness and hurried out to check on the warming milk.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dìs smiled, the steady intake of breath from the little one beside her was comforting, like the steady sound of her hammer against the metal. Accept this was quieter, gentler, more human… How in one night, could such a small thing change her life? She felt no anger, no wrath, and no grudge. Tonight she felt even Thorin could be forgiven for taking her family away, for going away himself.

“Hêth shall be your inner name little one. Renewal, for you are indeed mine,” she whispered to the stillness around them, “Of course the elders must vote on your outer name though I’m sure it will be Lîm, for Nori has put that name forth four times now, and it hasn’t been excepted yet…” she trailed off, feeling embarrassed at talking to the sleeping babe especially in the inner language that she had been taught as a child. She almost felt guilty for speaking it to the babe, but she resolved that he should hear it now that he had his inner name.

“But Nain will certainly have something to say on the matter… He will not be happy…”