Where jewels drive the dark away, and night becomes as bright as day, an honest end from an honest start, for wealth is found inside the heart.
The two Dwarves stood atop the proud spires of Jarnfast, looking over the rolling hills of bronze and brown. The day slowly drew to a close, the Forge died down to a quiet hum of only a few smiths working, deflating the bellows and cooling the heat for tomorrow’s shifts. Lines of Durin’s kindred waddled between their stone dwellings and the Halls of Respite, some making their way further down to the Brewery, while others returned for a quiet evening with their family.
“Look upon it, son.” Gurrni spoke softly, resting both hands upon the unsharpened top of his axe, Karak-Grim. “We built a fine realm here, in the Iron Hills. Better than we could have hoped for, once we fled from the Burned Holds. An honest life, of peace and plenty.” He ran a hand over his mighty beard, tapping his fingers upon his gut a few times.
“As mighty as Khazad-Dum, Pa?” The beardling perked up, tugging at his father’s sleeve.
“No, no, not as mighty as Dwarrowdelf, son, for we are not guided by the hand of The Deathless. But as best as we could do, with what was given to us.”
Dalbran crossed his hands in front and lifted his gaze to look upon the stoic visage of his father. He was a very important dwarf, Gurrni, Captain of the Grim Hammers, Slayer of Gormtrhung, Honoured at Azanulbizar. He was a war hero, who, if Dalbran was to trust uncle Erri and uncle Bif, held Kheled-Zaram on his own from dawn to dawn. So mighty was his stand, and so dauntless he fought that he was named Ironhelm, for his helmet was said to be the only part of his plate that was unscathed.
“You should have seen it, son. The Great Gate of Khazad-Dum.” Gurrni’s voice softened, his fingers tapping lightly upon the face of the battleaxe. “Tall pillars of carved stone, and mighty doors wrought from obsidian, lined with gold and mithril. And above them, the stern features of Durin, watching down upon all who dare intrude into Dwarrowdelf.” He sighed and set his weapon against the gantry of the watchtower. To Dalbran, he seemed like this indomitable mountain, clad in tempered steel, the armour lines in fine Cirth, bearing the many honours he had earned during the Great War, but the beardling was always drawn to his father’s face. It held no wrath or ire, his lines were furrowed and sharp, yet his eyes beamed deep blue, and not once did Dalbran find any hate in them. They were two finely cut sapphires, glimmering beneath Gurrni’s thick brow. The Dwarf never spoke out of turn, or in a heightened voice. He commanded respect from all the beards under his command, yet to his sons, he was as tender as loving as their mother, and stern as Grandfather Grimgi, when he needed to teach them a lesson. And now, as he spoke, even Dalbran could feel a deep sorrow, a great hurt in his father's tone, be it for the loss of Khazad-Dum, or, more likely, being within hands reach of it, and not being able to set eyes upon its inner halls.
“Perhaps, one day, when all our other realms are reclaimed, when we find our kin in the East and the lost clans, we shall march again, and take back Khazad-Dum from the Enemy.” Gurrni said somberly, and turned to the little dwarf. “Come, son. There is something I wish to show you.”
The two descended the stairs of the watchtower and crossed into the dwellings on the far side of Jarnfast. Their home was a simple one, not ostentatious or gilded like that of Val Goldenhand or Vorg Shieldstone, but all knew that it was home of Gurrni Ironhelm, for upon the slab doors, stood a sigil of a tall, grey stone, crowned in starlight. It was Kheled-Zaram, and Mirrormere. From within, there was a clattering noise, followed soon by a torrent of cheerful laughter. “Lads, careful now! You know Okrii is easily tired, careful!” Valaya chimed, waving a long wooden spoon at the four beardlings. She turned and beamed as Gurrni and Dal entered the home, before blowing a strand of palatine hair from her features. “There you are! I was about to go and find Bif, ask him if he dragged you to plugging the tunnels again, dearies!” The Dwarrowdame shuffled towards them, pecking the old dwarf on the cheek, before bending down to look upon Dalbran. “Hazkal! You’ve been out the whole day; you must be famished!” Her hand went to rustle the mane of flaming hair upon his head, with a smile as warm and soft as summer’s breeze. Dalbran thought her to be the fairest and kindest of all, as pure as loving as a fresh mountain spring, and even in his later years, he would still remember her as such, dressed in white and gold, her emerald eyes looking to him with pride and joy. “One moment, ma! Pa wants to show me so-” The beardling was cut off as his brothers dashed past him, knocking over a round plate of thinly sliced cheese, chasing a small, raven-haired dwarf. “Get him, lads! Get him!” Dirrun cried out, and pressed onwards towards his quarry. Dalbran knew this game too well. Gobbsnatch. Okrii, the black-mane child the others were chasing, bore a long, cresting nose, fashioned out of wood, and covered in chipped green paint. “Not, not the ha- Watch the hair, Daurr!” Donnorin called, and pushed past his brothers. The three ginger beardlings kept giving chase across the house, sliding under oak tables, hopping on the stone benches, and knocking aside anything and everything in their path. Dalbran wanted to join them, greatly, but he was a small beard on an important task! His father beckoned, and lead him to his room. Behind them, the laughter and noise of four dwarven children kept raging, joined on occasion by Valaya’s giggling, and some kind reprimand on making sure they don’t tilt over grandfather Grimgi’s favorite mug.
Out of all the halls in their home, Gurrni’s Chamber of Armaments was the smallest of all. It was a square room, barely wide enough for Gurrni to turn, yet in it were stored dozens of the father’s tools of war. Axes, hammers, crossbows, pauldrons, shields. They all bore signs of battle, but there was one thing that caught Dalbran’s attention the most. A single opal, lined in thin gold wire, fashioned into a weave of leaves that spread from the jewel. He had not seen this before, Dalbran, yet even he knew it was of Elvish make, for it bore not the simple and hard lines of Dwarrow-craft.
“Gorm-baraz.” Gurrni said in a low tone, his voice filled with reverie. “The Old Oath. Do you know how it came to us, lad?” Dalbran shook his head in answer. “It hails from a now lost land, Eregion, that laid west of the Misties, in the footholds of Khazad-Dum. The Elvish smiths who dwelled there forged bonds of friendship with our kin, and it remained unbroken until The Shadow loomed over that land. This...” he pointed towards the jewel. “This belonged to my father, and his father before him, but it was wrought by our ancient ancestor, Grim Hall-Warden. You see, son, Grim was a warrior of renown, and a great smith to boot. Once, in his travels, he was set upon by a pack of Orcs, in the night, and even though he fought mightily, he knew his doom was fast approaching. Yet, before the final blow was struck, he was saved by an Elf, of Noldor blood, who came to his aid. Araeder, was his name, and he became a close friend to Grim. Upon his return to Khazad-Dum, so thankful was the Hall-Warden that he swore an oath, over this very jewel, that he shall teach his children to be kind, and just, and to look past any grudges and quarrels with the Eldar, for they had saved him, when the dark was poised to take him. Thus, the gem was shaped by the hands of Durin’s Folk, and its crown bent by the Elf-Smiths of Eregion, as a lasting bond between Grim and Aeraeder.” Gurrni finished, and clasped the gem gingerly. “So, as I was taught by my father, I teach you now. The truest of all treasures is not measured in gold and jewels...” He knelt, placing a hand on Dalbran’s shoulders, his eyes soft and kind. “But in friendship. Remember that, my son, as have we all of the line of Grim Hall-Warden.” The older dwarf smiled, and brought the gem to Dalbran’s hand, clasping it closed.
“Truest of all treasures, Dalbran., is found within the heart.”
