The dwarf leaned his back against the wall and slowly let himself slide to the floor. He was weary, more weary than he had ever been, even through war and dragon fire.
He had finally proven that the stubbornness of dwarves was stronger than any onslaught of winter and had fought his way through blizzard and drift to Ost Forod in the fairer clime of Evendim. From there it was easy enough to make his way to Breeland, with only evil spirits, orcs and wargs to hinder his way. But the journey had told upon his strength, and as he reached the small village of Arrowhaven his steps were slow, though their steadiness did not waver. Glancing across the rivulet that divided small community, he took note of the charred wreckage far off on the hill beside the waterfall that cascaded down the rocky hillside. He knit his brow, but continued to walk in the opposite direction. Dire things had happened in his absence, but the first thing to do would be to speak with Milady. She would have news of all these things and more.
It surprised him then, to see lady Alkawen waiting at the gate of the Manor, a grave but patient expression on her beautiful face. Dwimmer let his pack slide to the ground and briefly took a knee in front of the stately elf.
"My lady...you summoned me..."
"I did, Dwimmer, there is a matter which touches upon the Order, and most particularly upon Fairlain..."
The dwarf felt his knees weaken, and not just from weariness.
"My lady! What has happened? My wee lassie.... "
"...is alive, Dwimmer. But she has been hurt, gravely hurt."
"I must go to her!" Dwimmer's eyes went to the Manor house and his feet would have soon followed after if the Hiril had not placed a gentle but insistent hand upon his shoulder.
"I ask you to wait, Dwimmer. There is an able healer with her, her Father..."
Dwimmer reeled back from Alkawen's touch.
"Father!" The confusion and rising anger was evident on his face. "Father! How... when that child has had no one....no one! And only now this "father" is springing up from nowhere? Who is he? Am I to give place to a shadow from the past, when he has never dried a tear nor soothed a single hurt? I will go to her..."
"You will not, Dwimmer." Lady Alkawen's voice took on a depth that rang with the echoes of time, and her eyes shone with a light beyond that of the sun. The brilliance of them hurt Dwimmer's eyes and he stepped back, shielding his face. After a moment her voice gentled once again, and the dwarf looked up into the blue eyes that gazed on him with sad compassion.
"She has seen too much strife, Dwimmer...to have a battle fought over her bedside will only harm, not heal. I ask you to wait."
He felt like a mountain that had been over-delved and hollowed to the point of collapsing in upon itself.
"My lady...", he said, helplessly.
"I have a charge for you, Dwimmer. I wish you, first of all, to rest and gather your strength once again. But then I would have you fashion a healing stone, such as the father's of Erebor... such as Celebrimbor himself would have fashioned. I know you possess the knowledge for this", she smiled at the Dwarf.
She continued, "In the time it will take you to accomplish this thing, you will see Fairlain again, I promise you."
Dwimmer stood for a moment, taking in her words, then with a heavy sigh, he bowed and took up his pack once again, turning to trudge down the hill to where the guest house stood.
He slept for two days, exhaustion and grief taking their toll, but when he woke he set his worries aside and turned his thoughts to the task he had been given. The stone...the stone itself needed to be flawless even before the facets were cut and inscribed each with a healing rune. Dwimmer racked his brain, then with a cry of triumph grabbed his pack and rummaged around the lining at the bottom. Drawing out a small object wrapped in a bit of shammy leather, he removed the covering to reveal a large gemstone. He had found it in Eregion, in the rubble surrounding a ruined, elvish forge...a large and perfect Beryl, an elfstone of light green which seemed to glow with a life of its own. But the setting....this was no less important, for it could enhance or dull the stone's brightness and thus weaken its blessing. Dwimmer grabbed his cloak and headed towards the village vault. What he had imagined in his mind's eye would take every resource he had, but nothing else would do.
Gathering up what riches he had, he headed into the larger city of Bree and there sought out a dwarf he knew traded in the materials he needed. Then the work began, painstaking and consuming, as he carefully shaped the stone, perfect cut by perfect cut. And when the gem echoed and glowed with a brilliant light, he then etched on each facet in the finest of lettering a rune of either healing or blessing. For Dwimmer there was nothing in this world except the thought of his work and his little lass. He did not see the day and the night. He did not see the guests of the manor house take their farewells of Hiril Alkawen. He saw only the lights of the elfstone in his hand and the task before him. He prepared a fire of Mallorn wood, and using a technique known only to the craftsmen of Erebor caused pure gems of adamant to run as molten glass with which he inlayed the runes which spelled "Men lananubukhs menu " upon the face of the gem. When this was done, he took the same fire and melted the small amount of Mithril he had purchased from the dwarf in Bree. He fashioned both a chain and a setting from the precious metal, gossamer-like and unbreakable. And then his task was done.
The main chamber of the manor house was dark save for the glow of a warm fire which burned in the hearth . As his eyes adjusted to the dimness around him, Dwimmer saw Hiril Alkawen standing a little ways from the fire. She smiled at the dwarf and beckoned him to approach.
"She rests now, Dwimmer, but she will come join us soon. You have done as I asked?"
Dwimmer bowed, " I have, my lady."
"That is well then. You also have earned some rest, I think."
"I'll bide here, lady, if it's all the same..."
The dwarf leaned his back against the wall and slowly let himself slide to the floor. He was weary, more weary than he had ever been, even through war and dragon fire. He closed his eyes and did not hear when the silent footsteps came up beside him. It was only when Fairlain gently wrapped her arms around him and laid her head upon his shoulder that he woke from his half -sleep.
"Oh!...Oh, my little lass!...." and putting his arms around her shoulders, Dwimmer wept.
After a moment he stifled his tears and held her away from him, surveying her face in the half-light. Her face and limbs appeared whole, yet there was something in her eyes that tore at the dwarf's heart.
"Are ye well then, lass?" his hand reached out to gently stroke her hair.
"Well enough, yet...." her sapphire eyes filled with tears and words failed her as the diamond droplets ran down her cheeks. She moved away from him and pulled down the neck of her shift. There the ugly image of the lidless eye stood out from the white skin beneath it. "I am cursed", she said in a voice that was no louder than a breath.
Dwimmer stood very still. When he looked into Fairlain's eyes once more it seemed his own burned with the deepest fires of the earth and the light of the stars combined. Silently, he took the elfstone in his hands and fastened it onto her neck where it lay atop the hated mark. Tenderly taking her face in his hands, he gently kissed her forehead, and looking into her sapphire eyes once more, said
"You are not cursed....you are...LOVED!" and with that, he folded her into his strong, dwarvish arms.
And in that moment, though neither could see it, it seemed the both of them were bathed in a pure light that swirled about them in a soundless echo of song. When they looked again the mark was gone and the wound healed, leaving only the elfstone that winked and smiled in the light of the fire.
