The Book of Mazarbul

by Soledad

For disclaimer, rating, etc. see the Introduction

Author's note: Just remember, my Dwarves rarely look like those movie caricatures of Peter Jackson's. Especially not Bifur, who is, after all, female in my interpretation, and quite a pretty one by Dwarven standards.

Accordingly, my Dori, who was canonically the strongest Dwarf of the Company, is a much more impressive character than the effeminate hairdresser of the movies. Glîrnardir, my generous canon beta, suggested John Rhys-Davies as a template for Dori, since he has a vaguely oriental look to him without the ridiculous Gimli make-up, and BlackLocks have supposedly awakened in the East. We imagine them with elaborate hairdo and beards, along the line of the ancient Babylonians.

Dori's extended family is also my invention, although part of the bloodline has been conceived by Glîrnardir. More about Uruktharbun, Thorin's city in the Blue Mountains, can be read in my other story, "If You Wish Upon A Dwobbit".

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Chapter 12 – Dark Legacy

But Lóni was not called to Balin's presence in the following days… or weeks. Lofar had ample time to copy the records he deemed useful, for Balin sat in council with his brother and with quite a number of important members of his mother's Clan for several weeks to come.

The time of seclusion for the newly wed Ori was barely over when Balin called a full Clan meeting… not to his own mansion but to Dori's home. The eldest and most prominent male of the BlackLocks in Erebor he might be, but the Lady Ai was the new Clan matriarch, and therefore all decisions concerning the Clan had to been blessed by her.

And the possibility of another mad quest, this time one to re-take Khazad-dûm, was very much Clan business, even if the other Clans did not realise it. Not yet in any case.

As much as Dwalin steadfastly refused to have any part in the foolish undertaking, as he called it, he could not refuse to take part on a full Clan meeting. So he went with his brother, grumbling and cursing under his breath, and with them was Burin, Balin's only son and heir, yet not Dorin son of Dwalin who had pledged himself to the LongBeard Clans upon reaching the age of maturity and had thus nothing to do with any Clan business of the BlackLocks.

Apart from Balin and Dori's family, both of which were surprisingly numerous if one counted in the household members who were also Clan, several other prominent Clan members followed the summons of their elder. There was Dólgthrasir, the guard of the Front Gate, then Hilgir with his sons Hedinn and Helgi as well as his brother Sigarr; also Haugspuri and Otkell and half a dozen more whom Flói, who had not spent much time with his clansmen before, barely knew by their names.

The Dori who welcomed them to the great hall of the mansion of his family looked very different from the decent yet seemingly simple BlackLock warrior that had followed Thorin Oakenshield on the Quest of Erebor all those years ago. Had their esteemed burglar, the Hobbit Bilbo been present, he would have had a hard time to recognize the Dwarf who had once lent him his spare hood and saved his life from the Wargs.

During the years in-between Dori had filled out considerably, becoming the living image of his legendary father, Orin Glowhammer: the same round head, the same exotic features, accentuated by the slightly slanted indigo eyes and the artfully braided and curled blue-black hair and beard, both decorated with gold filaments and mithril beads. He was huge – for a Dwarf, that is, even for a BlackLock, who, after all, were the giants of Mahal's Children – with the heavy shoulders and great arms of a stone-mason (which he was by trade), a barrel chest and the strength of a cave bear.

Unlike earlier, his attire, too, clearly showed both his noble lineage and his respected standing at King Dáin's court now.

He was wearing an exquisitely detailed tunic of woven leather strips in various shades of plum, grey and mauve. His over-robe was deep plum velvet with a suede yoke. His regal outfit was completed by a dark purple cloak that looked almost black in the light of the cold-lamps, with a collar made of the fur of the grey squirrel, its wide sleeves lined with heavy, pale gold silk and trimmed with the same woven leather strips as his tunic.

A Man (or a lesser Dwarf) would have staggered under the weight of those clothes, but Dori wore them as easily as a light cotton shirt. He looked much more warrior-like than in his youth, and also a great deal more venerable; and Flói was reminded by the sight that this imposing Dwarf came from a cadet branch of the first BlackLock Father's line and was a distant cousin of Thorin Oakenshield himself.

He hadn't been invited to join the Quest of Erebor without a sound reason.

His younger brothers, Ori and Nori, were similarly (and just as richly) clad, and even Nori offered an impressive sight, now that he had returned to the traditional BlackLock fashion to wear his hair instead of that silly starfish hairdo he used to sport during the Quest. And the Lady Ai simply looked like one of the legendary Queens of old, in her richly embroidered robe of purple velvet and brocaded gold silk.

After Dori had spoken the time-honoured words of welcome, they all got seated around the long marble table in the middle of the hall. Dori's sons, Orin and Ari, served ale and honey cakes with their own hands, as the servants of the house were from other Clans and thus not allowed to be present, Dwarves being a secretive lot, even among themselves.

When they had all had their traditional refreshments as Dwarven hospitality demanded, Dori turned to Balin askance.

"Well, Balin? You wanted to speak to the Clan as a whole. What happened?"

"Nothing so far," answered Balin thoughtfully. "However, Óin has come to me with a matter that we need to discuss among ourselves."

"What kind of matter would that be?" asked Lady Ai; or rather Lady Aurvang, in her function as Clan matriarch right now.

"A foolish errand!" muttered Dwalin angrily under his breath but Balin gave him a warning look.

"Peace, Brother! You have already told me – repeatedly and in no uncertain terms – what you think about the matter. Allow me to present it to the rest of the Clan without trying to influence their judgement beforehand."

"You have our attention, Eldest," Lady Aurvang leaned forward in her chair. "Present your case. We shall listen without judging – for now."

The Clan matriarch having spoken, the other Dwarves fell silent at once, listening to Balin explaining them everything about Óin's most recent journey with great interest. Especially Ori seemed excited about the news; as a scholar, he found the reappearance of a Fire-mage and a Rune-smith fascinating.

When Balin came to the part about trying to re-take Khazad-dûm, however, quite a few of their clansmen seemed to share Dwalin's opinion. Including Dori and his lady wife.

"You cannot be seriously planning something like that," said Lady Aurvang. "We have already tried it once; it nearly wiped out the rest of our race."

"I know," replied Balin mildly. "I was there."

"The Orcs were strong and numerous back then," reminded them Dólgthrasir, also a veteran of that terrible battle. "They are neither, now."

"We cannot know that for certain," argued Dori. "Just because our merchant caravans have not been attacked so frequently in the recent decades, it does not mean that it would be safe to enter Khazad-dûm. Even without taking Durin's Bane under consideration."

"That is true," allowed Balin. "But if Durin's line decides to make another attempt to re-take their ancient home, we have an obligation to help them. We as the Clan; and our family in particular," he added with a sharp look in his brother's direction.

Dwalin's only answer was a derisive snort.

"You are being ridiculous, Balin," growled Nori. "An entire Age long has our Clan done its best to redeem our people for the betrayal of Hodur the Cursed.(1) This constant struggle for atonement has to come to an end ere it gets us killed to the last clansman."

"'Tis easy for you to speak," said Balin tiredly. "You have not descended from the BlackLocks of Naragbabil. The legacy of the Cursed One is a debt that our line will carry 'til the Remaking. Be grateful that your line comes from the trustworthy people of Nargubraz who have never allied themselves with the Dark Lord."

Nori shrugged. "That was more than three thousand years ago. The other Clans have long forgiven you – forgiven us – for it. Never did they blame our entire people for the cruel deeds of one misguided King. Besides, what does it matter now? Naragbabil is long gone, destroyed by the Were-worms of the Last Desert, who devoured its last King, together with his Ring, and the handful of survivors scattered all over Middle-earth. Who is still there who could pay their debt to Durin's House?"

"I am," replied Balin stiffly. "And as I am also of Durin's House, through my father, I have a double obligation where Khazad-dûm is concerned."

Dori shook his massive head in exasperation. "'Tis madness, Balin. You shan't stand a chance, not even with a Fire-mage on your side. Durin's Bane…"

"According to Óin, this particular Fire-mage has already faced Durin's Bane," Balin interrupted.

"That is what the mage says," corrected Dwalin. "We know not if it is true."

"Why should he die?" asked Ori in surprise.

"He is of the Nulûkkhazâd(2)," growled Dwalin. "Mayhap he wants revenge for the ways his forefathers were treated in the past."

"Unlikely," said Ori. "Apparently, he was accepted and treated well in Khazad-dûm. Well enough that he would be willing to face Durin's Bane again. And perchance he will have better luck at the second try, now that he has grown older and much more powerful; not to mention the strength the Dragon Ring of Narvi might give him."

Dori stared at his brother in shocked surprise.

"You are not planning to take part in such a mad undertaking, are you?" he asked.

"Why should I not?" returned Ori. "I have achieved everything there is for me to achieve in Erebor. There are no new challenges for me, and I am not old enough to stagnate yet."

"You were supposed to take over Lofar's work, once he grows too old," reminded him Dori.

"Which can take another hundred years or more," shot back Ori. "Their entire family is all but indestructible. Besides, I do not wish to sit around idly, waiting for him to die. I respect him too much for that. But that would not be my only reason to go."

"Enlighten us," said Lady Aurvang quietly.

Ori turned to her and inclined his head in respect.

"My lady, I am a scholar; more than I have ever been a warrior," he said. "There is knowledge buried in the deep halls of Khazad-dûm; knowledge that our people have lost when they had to flee that great city. I would like to find that knowledge again: the old legends that have faded to almost nothing in the centuries gone by; the secrets of many a craft in which we can never reach the skills of our forefathers."

"And mithril, of course," commented Hilgir, grinning.

Ori shook his head. "For you – for many others of our folk – the call of true-silver may be the deciding factor. For me, 'tis the promise of knowledge; and so is for Óin, I assume."

"Which is but another form of greed," pointed out Balin. "The same greed that lured the Elven-smiths of Hollin into the trap of the Dark Lord and led to the creation of the Great Rings that brought naught but sorrow for those who bore them. Yet I understand you well – one scholar the other one – and I would welcome you and your mate, should you choose to come with us."

Hearing that, Dwalin made a disgruntled sound.

"You cannot be talked out of this mad idea, then?" he asked.

"I have not decided yet," corrected Balin. "Like Frár and the Lady Yngvildr, I want to meet this Fire-mage first. And I want some proof that we have got at least a faint chance to succeed."

"There is no chance!" growled Dwalin. "The only thing you shall see on this Quest is your untimely death!"

Balin shrugged indifferently. "We all have to die sooner or later, Brother, and I have already lived long enough. It has been a good life and I have few regrets."

"That means no need to throw your life away foolishly!" snapped Dwalin.

"I am not planning such a thing," replied Balin. "But I do intend to try again to reclaim the ancient mansion of Durin's House if I see the smallest hope that if could be done; for the sake of my father's people as well as for making amends for my mother's line. For that, I shall give my life gladly."

"And I shall join you," promised Ori.

"You are both mad!" declared Dwalin angrily.

Balin laid a placating hand upon his heavy shoulder. "I know you disagree with me, Brother, but please understand that I need to do this… if I decide that it can indeed be done. I am the eldest of our line; it is my duty to fulfil Clan and family obligations. I understand that you do not want to have any part of this; it is good so. One of us has to survive, to carry on Father's line and legacy – and Dáin would need you when I am gone, taking with me both Ori and Óin. He will need a scholar of his own blood at his side."

"I am not a scholar," protested Dwalin.

Balin smiled at him benignly.

"You know almost as much as I do," he said. "You just do not realize yet. And the rest you can learn from all the books and scrolls I shall leave behind for you. You will do just fine, as always."

"I see that your mind is made up," said Lady Aurvang. "As our Clan stands in the debt of Durin's House, I shan't attempt to talk you out of it – and should any others from the Clan wish to join you, I shall not stand in their way."

"I wonder if anyone else than my benighted brother would be foolish enough to join them," muttered Nori nastily.

"I would," said Dólgthrasir promptly.

"So would I," Hilgir joined him and both his sons nodded in agreement.

Haugspuri and Otkell exchanged thoughtful looks. "We shall think about it," said Otkell finally.

The others shook their head, including Dori and Nori.

"I have participated in one mad Quest," declared Dori. "That is enough for one lifetime."

Nori nodded repeatedly and empathically. "I wish you would reconsider, Brother."

"I shan't," replied Ori simply.

"'Tis your right and your decision," said Lady Aurvang; then she turned to Balin. "However, I shall see whatever proof you may have that this task is doable, Eldest. Otherwise I will not condone it and those who join you against my ban shall not be allowed to return here."

Clan matriarchs rarely intervened with male business; only if they saw the entire Clan endangered by their actions. However, they did not condone suicide missions, either. Mahal's Children never had the numbers that they could have irresponsibly put any lives to risk.

Balin inclined his head regally yet respectfully. "Of course, my lady. Óin promised the Lady Yngvildr to orchestrate a meeting between her and the Fire-mage. I believe it would be good if more of us could be present."

"Agreed," Lady Aurvang looked at her husband. "You shall go; it will do you a wealth of good to set a foot out of the Mountain. I shall make my final decision after you have given me your report about this meeting."

When Dori had left with Thorin Oakenshield to reclaim Erebor, she could not forbid him to go. She had been his wife but not the Clan matriarch yet. Now that she had the power to dispose of the comings and goings of her husband, she did not hesitate to use it as was her right.

"I await further details as any of you may provide them," she added for the others, and with that the meeting was unmistakably adjourned.

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"What did Balin mean about our Clan being in the debt of Durin's line?" asked Flói. "And who was Hodur the Cursed?"

Ori looked at him in surprise. "Have you never been taught the history of your own Clan? You come from a family of respected warriors!"

Flói shrugged. "True; but as you know, I was but a babe on arms when my parents – and several of their siblings and uncles and cousins – fell in the Battle of Azanulbizar. The elderly relatives who took me in saw into it that I had enough to eat and learn to wield a hammer, but that was all they could do. Besides, they died right after I had come out of my last growing pains. I have been on my own since I was but a stripling."

"I know that, and I admire you for having done so well for yourself," Ori said. "I just thought you might have picked up a thing or two about Clan history nonetheless."

Flói shook his head. "I was too busy with surviving."

"A shame," said Ori. "But we can educate you still. So what do you want to learn about first?"

"Hodur the Cursed," prompted Flói.

Ori sighed. "Not somebody we would be proud of, I must admit."

"Who was he?" insisted Flói.

"He was the firstborn son and heir of Lothur, King of Naragbabil at the end of the Second Age," explained Ori. "You must understand that many of the BlackLocks at that time had truly fallen deep. They were greedy, immoral, selling their services to the best offerer. Hodur son of Lothur, young and cruel Prince of Baldur's House, proclaimed himself Mahal Returned and killed his father; and as soon as he became the Lord of Naragbabil, he pledged himself to Sauron's case."

This insult to the Maker was too much, even for the worldly Flói. "He dared!"

"He did," said Ori grimly, "and thus Durin's Folk committed their first and only kin-slaying at Dagorlad, against these renegade BlackLocks. Durin IV himself killed Hodur in single combat, despite their differences in age, strength… and size. The legend says that Durin was a head shorter than the evil young BlackLock King."

"And Balin and Dwalin descended from this traitor?" asked Flói in shock. "That must be a heavy burden indeed."

"Nay; they descended from King Lothur's sister, the Princess Godvur, who married the chieftain of a lesser BlackLock clan," explained Ori.

"And your family?" insisted Flói. "I know you are related to Durin's line from afar, but do you also have blood ties to the Cursed One?"

Ori shook his head. "It is as Balin said: our ancestor was Ymir, the lord of a lesser BlackLock realm under the mountain range bordering Khand. When it fell, Ymir fled to the Grey Mountains and gave his sister-daughter Ymrís to King Náin of Durin's House – as a wife," he added empathically, because he was well aware of the Ages-old malevolent rumour that Princess Ymrís would have been the LongBeard King's concubine.

"So that is how you are related to Thorin Oakenshield!" realized Flói.

Ori nodded. "Several branches apart and only from the side, though. We descend from Ymir's son Ydur, who sired Yrin, who in turn sired our father, Orin Glowhammer. Or do you believe the Lady Ai would have bonded with Dori, were we truly royal bastards?"

"You still have royal blood in your veins, from two different lines," Flói was duly impressed.

"So do many Dwarves; too many for the amount of it to really count," laughed Ori. "Besides, Ymir may have called himself King, mostly because the Clan no longer had one when he became Lord of Nargubraz, but that was a self-acclaimed title, not true royalty. I am certain he could count back his ancestors to some insignificant cadet branch of Baldur's House, like half of our clansmen, but that hardly entitled him to be called King. Had Naragbabil not been destroyed centuries earlier, he would have had to pledge loyalty to the true royal line. Not that I would really mind having descended from a lesser chieftain, and neither does Dori."

"But if your family had no part in the betrayal, why do you feel obliged to join this Quest?" asked Flói, understandably confused.

Ori smiled. "I feel no obligation from the side of my BlackLock ancestors," he explained. "But I am also of the House of Durin, however distantly related, and Khazad-dûm is the place where Durin's throne always stood. The place where he would return to one last time; and when he returns, his great city should be cleansed and rebuilt. That is an obligation I feel very strongly."

"You… but not your brothers, apparently," said Flói.

Ori shrugged. "Aye, well, Dori has other obligations now that are just as strong… if not stronger. Should Balin truly leave, Dori will have to take over responsibility for any remaining Clan in Erebor, seeing as he is now the life-mate of the Clan matriarch."

"And Nori?"

"I fear he has not fully escaped the dragon-sickness," admitted Ori glumly. "He still yearns for more power and greater riches. 'Tis better if he stays here where Dori can watch over him."

"I wonder why would Warmaster Dwalin so adamantly refuse to join his brother's Quest, though," went on Flói. "I always thought they were close."

"They are," agreed Ori. "Very close, in fact, as only brothers blooded together in battle can become. But that is Dwalin's problem, you see. He was close to Thorin as well; they were as close as brothers. Losing our King hit him hard, much harder than he would allow anyone to see. I doubt that he could bear losing Balin, too."

"But there is a much greater chance to lose Balin if he is not there to protest him," pointed out Flói logically.

"Mayhap so," allowed Ori. "But losing somebody on a far-away Quest or see them being slain on the battlefield with one's own eyes is a different matter."

"And yet you are willing to follow Balin on a Quest that could easily end in disaster," said Flói.

Ori sighed. "True enough. Let me show you something, though."

He stood to retrieve a heavy, leather-bound tome from the niche where he kept the books and scrolls he was currently working on; small things of personal interest that were not for the royal library. He laid the book on the table and carefully wiped the beautifully decorated wooden cover free of the thin layer of dust it had collected.

Flói looked at the book with interest. The corners of the cover were encased in bronze filigree and in the middle of it stood the title, written by a skilled calligrapher in red ink with the ancient cirth runes:

Dark Legacy

The Legends of Clan BlackLock

Collected and illuminated

By Ori Orinul (3)

Flói forgot to breathe for a moment. He had always known that Ori was extraordinarily skilled with both pen and brush – Dwarves no longer used quills but finely cut pens made of steel, gold, silver or mithril, though the latter had become extremely rare since the fall of Khazad-dûm – but this was the first time he actually got to see one of Ori's works.

"You wrote this?" he asked in awe.

"I wrote up the legends as the elders have told them for uncounted generations, and I draw the pictures," corrected Ori. "This is what I have been working on during the years since we returned to Erebor. It is almost done and will be added to the Clan library before we leave. Read it, if you want to know more about the secrets of our forefathers… and why we have to join Balin's Quest."

~TBC~

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(1) This particular period of BlackLock history has been conceived by my Dwarf beta, Glîrnardir, and is used with his generous permission.

(2) Petty-Dwarf

(3) Dark Legacy will be a story of its own, eventually. When I've finished a few of my never-ending WIPs. If I live long enough to see that day.