Yet another promising vein of ore! Gelilthor worked it, imagining already the shield she would make once she returned to the surface.
She sang as she swung her pick, of Aulë and the miners of Eldamar. And other songs, that seemed to echo in the stone itself, songs she’d learned among the dwarves of Khazâd-dûm. Though in her clear alto, the dwarven songs sounded strange, lacking something of their power.
But a sense of unease grew, and she abruptly stopped. Something else was in this mine.
Listening carefully, she crept back to the small chamber, positioning herself by the entrance of the open area she’d taken up residence in. Were there orcs in this area of Ered Luin? There hadn’t been when she’d been here last, but that had been almost three centuries ago.
Her spear was back in Duillond, not that there would be room in this narrow cave to maneuver it well. She readied her pickaxe as the sound of tramping feet came closer, noisily making its way towards her.
“Qualmë cotumonyain!” She cried as they came almost upon her, moving with lightning speed to block the entrance, her pickaxe raised high and ready to strike.
But instead of the foul cries of orcs, surprised Khuzdul exclamations of “Durin’s Beard,” and something that sounded like maybe, “What in the world is that?” stopped Gelilthor’s pickaxe in mid-air, as three very surprised dwarves stumbled backwards, raising their own pickaxes with as much dignity as they could muster.
But dwarves recover quickly—even an unexpected tall blonde pickaxe wielding Elf could not delay them long, and Gelilthor quickly had to raise her pickaxe again in defense as they rushed at her.
In the narrow passage, only one of them could come at her at a time, and she had the advantage of leverage, and greater maneuverability in the chamber. All the same, Gelilthor found herself utterly occupied by holding them off for a few moments before she found the opening to speak.
“Are you Longbeards?”
“The better question is what are you, and what are you doing in our mine?” growled the dwarf in the back, grumpy not to be able to get close enough to take a swing at the Elf.
“Gelilthor of Rivendell,” she replied evenly, “This is a mine of the Elves of Ered Luin, and I have often been here in this age of the world. I would ask your own business.”
Seeing that she was only fighting defensively, the dwarf in front backed off, almost into his companions. Warily, Gelilthor once again lowered her pickaxe, and stepped backwards, allowing them into the chamber.
The dwarf who seemed to be the leader, of venerable age, with a grey beard richly decorated in bronze jewelry, eyed her, “By Durin’s beard, it’s an Elf. Perhaps the dwarves have indeed delved too greedily and too deep as some say if we’re uncovering such creatures in the depths of our mines!”
He blinked quickly and recovered his manners, although still showed some annoyance at getting interrupted. He bowed politely, gripping his pickaxe firmly, “Svankroth of Thorin’s hall. And my companions, Thonivi and Sagarod.”
Gelilthor bowed in return, “I apologise for my rude greeting. I had not known that dwarves now used this Elven mine, and feared to be set upon by orcs.”
Svankroth laughed incredulously, “An Elven mine? Nay, no Elves even dwell near here!”
Thonivi cut in, “Almost two hundred years ago, this region did belong indeed to the Elves, but they no longer live here and ceded the mine to us.”
Gelilthor nodded slowly, “And I have not been here in almost three centuries. It seems much has changed. I assure you, I only intend to finish my work, and mean no disturbance to you.”
The dwarf called Sagarod, the youngest of the three, taller than the rest interjected, the anger in his voice belying his polite bow, “Do the Elves now think they can freely use a dwarven mine uninvited? We may allow it, but trespassers should expect no such courtesy.”
Svankroth spoke up, “If you give us a third of what you have uncovered, we will allow you to take with you the rest of what you have discovered in our mine.”
Gelilthor raised her eyebrows, “You ask a heavy price for my labour. Yet your words are true, and I would make you what recompense I can, it is easy for me to forget how quickly things may change in a short span of time. And at the very least, I owe you something for nearly denting my pickaxe with your heads! Who is your leader, for I will speak directly to him?”
The dwarves looked awkwardly at each other, “Well we are from Gondamon, and so perhaps you could speak with the leaders there.”
Thus it was that a great axe was forged by Gelilthor, the weaponsmith of Imladris, and gifted to the leader of the mining expedition, Svankroth of Gondamon. In return, the Elf finished her work, spending several more weeks in the dwarven mine, before tarrying longer among the dwarves of Ered Luin. Other than the ore used for the axe, only a tenth of her yield was in the end given to the dwarves, though thereafter, she sought other mines to work.
And so also, the Elf from Imladris learned three new Khuzdul curses that day, and the three dwarves of Ered Luin learned that of all the terrors that can be found in the deep places of the earth, perhaps the worst are the Noldor.
