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I remember a happy day beneath the Mountain. I was but a child of ten years. My mother took me for the first time to the gem-cutter’s cavern, and held my hands beneath hers on the tools as we shaped the rough jewels. For the first time I knew the joy of creating beauty with my touch.
That night, Smaug came.
With wind and fire he invaded, driving us panicking into the night. He took my home from me. Do you know what home is to a woman of the Dwarves? It is our bedrock, our foundation, our roots deep as the roots of the mountain. When I left my home it was as if the ground turned to sand constantly shifting under my feet. When I lay down to sleep I felt the earth tilt and tremble, and there was no solidity to be found anywhere. Through our years of wandering I learned to keep my balance amidst the constant unsteadiness, but without my home, I could never be truly stable.
For a hundred years I have endured thus. When we came here I even managed to carve out a secure enough place that I was able to master my body to my will, force it to accept a husband, even come at last to fertility that I might conceive. For I needed sons.
You are young now, my Fili, my Kili, but you will grow. When you come to maturity, you will join my brother when he returns. He dreams of gold, but I know that is the least the worm stole from us. I will teach you to hunger and thirst for retribution. And when you have spent your toil and blood, and the dragon lies writhing in his death throes, then will your mother be avenged.
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