“How long will it take?”
The dwarf’s beard glowed orange in the light of the forge as he bent forward, dark eyes intensely focused on the shield in his hands. It was almost twice his size, but he hefted it around with ease. His burned and callused hands inspected the large dent, and he raised an eyebrow as he raised his head and looked up at the dishevelled elf.
“What have you been doing, Limiriel?”
She shrugged, meeting his eyes with a wolfish grin.
“I had to use it to get down a mountain in a hurry.”
The dwarf snorted, rolling his eyes and turning back to the shield.
“Three weeks. Maybe four if you want the silverwork redone.”
*
She had arrived like a storm, snow swirling as drew up at Erebor’s gate. The new captain of the guard did not know her and arrested the lone elf immediately. Smiling, she let them clap her in irons and spent the trip to Dain’s rooms complaining about their chosen route. The now-curious guards waited while the commander escorted her inside.
They were all astonished to see her come out minutes later, ale mug in hand, grinning broadly and marching straight past them in the direction of the ale hall.
The commander trailed, looking twitchy and confused. His men did not have the heart to ask him what had transpired.
*
Grey eyes wandered around the roaring, bustling forges. Dwarves went about their business, those working nearby giving the visitor furrowed looks.
“Three with the silverwork. And-“ she raised a hand to cut off the dwarf’s oncoming protests, “I know you can do it, Garanorn.”
“I do not even have any mithril to work with,” he exploded, throwing his hammer down on an anvil. “I am not a wizard!”
“Better yet, my friend, you are a dwarf. I’ll buy the drinks tonight,” she cajoled, hopping off her perch – a half-finished statue in greenstone – and knelt to meet the disgruntled dwarf at eye level. “In all of Arda, I would have no one else do this for me.” The hard glint went out of her eyes as she put a hand on his shoulder and met his glare with a soft smile.
“Pah!” He shoved her hand away and turned to the fire, rolling his eyes again. “I will finish when I finish.”
As she wandered out of the heat and away from the roar and clang of the forges, Limiriel’s shadow of a smile was decidedly smug.
*
“Twelve and… five. Pay up, khazad.”
Groans went around the crowded table as dwarves parted with their gold. Limiriel bounced the bag that was given to her and made a face.
“Oh, come now. Short changing me, good masters?”
More muttering and clinking.
“And that, gentle folk,” she pushed the remainder of her winnings off the edge of the table and into the bag, “is how elves do it.”
“You mean cheat?” The red-haired dwarf next to her sniffed.
Limiriel raised an eyebrow down at him, pushing the low chair back and stretching her legs out. “It is difficult to cheat in a game where I do not see the dice, Master Thern.”
“There is no other explanation for a pointy-eared spy winning!”
Drink had made the dwarves bold. Bold, but dull. She smiled cooly and picked up her fire whiskey with a shrug.
“And what, good sir, am I spying on? An ale-hall of muddled smiths with less than half an orc-brain between them? Perhaps to report to the Lady Galadriel the secret recipe for dwarven ale?”
Silence followed. Then someone snickered, and within moment the dwarves were roaring with laughter. Rolling her eyes, she finished her drink and stood.
“For your good will – a round on me!”
Cheers erupted as she left a handful of gold on the table and made her way out.
*
“Kidizthzanât!” *
A gaggle of younger dwarves approached her, their leader boisterously running ahead. His friends stood back in awe as he fearlessly came to stand before Limiriel, crossing his arms and throwing his head back to look up at the elf. She planted herself, mirroring her challenger expressionlessly.
“Lís.”
“Lady Limiriel.”
They studied one another for a long moment, then the dwarf began to chuckle and stepped forward. Limiriel grinned and knelt, meeting the extended hand.
“I see your father has finally allowed you to clasp your braids.”
Lís shrugged, hand flying to his hair. “My bear was the biggest killed for the midwinter celebration. He had to let me.”
The elf stood, chuckling silently. She looked over to the half-dozen dwarves staring at her and inclined her head.
“Zai adshânzu ra barafzu.” **
They all looked at one another and bowed politely. Lís rejoined them, looking smug as he waved to Limiriel and pranced away, the rest of them following more slowly, throwing looks over their shoulders and muttering among themselves. There would be talk of the tall visitor for many weeks. Limiriel wondered how many more would muster the courage to talk to her in the coming weeks. Perhaps to curse her, perhaps to ask of the wider world, perhaps to talk of a time now nothing more than legend…
* Goldhair
** At your service and your family's
