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:=| \
|E| My companions are fond of stories, and of flowered prose: |
'=| bright and sinuous, full of sentiment. Theirs are not the /
| granite-voiced chronicles of the great mountain, nor the wild |
! hymns of a hillside brewery. |
| |
| I was fond of letters in the homeland, and have since |
| acquired some little understanding of silvan word-art. I will !
| attempt, then, a testimony in their own manner: a prose-hymn, |
! for myself as much as those after me. I will write in a |
| mannish tongue, that my words be easily read. |
! !
| Forgive, O reader, the hard words of a dwarf! I cannot |
| crown myself with flowers. |
| ____________________________.-._______________________________ |
! `'` !
| the testimony |
! of Thulin Ironfist !
| ____________________________.-._______________________________ |
| `'` |
| I: Foundation |
| |
| My father was Arzûd, and his father Arzûn: both of the old |
| Ironfist stock, black-bearded with broad, bony hands. My |
| mother, Theln, was lineless: a dwarf of tripartite heritage, |
| Ironfist, Firebeard and Blacklock. (She it was who named me, !
| for my father ceded her the right: an uncommon gift.) My !
| claim to blood-continuity, then, is tenuous. Nevertheless, as |
| I am sole offspring of my father, and my beard is black like |
| his, and my knuckles ridged with bone - for these reasons, I |
| bear the ancient surname. Ours is a declining people. |
! |
| Shall I tell first of my fathers' deeds? In the grim |
| years of Thráin, when the dragon slept still under Erebor, my !
| grandfather Arzûn marched under Náin to Azanulbizar. There he |
| joined the final charge, descending with mattock and shield on |
| a valley choked with death. Three orcs Arzûn killed when the |
! dwarf in front of him fell, and (young as he was) his feat was |
| met with rejoicing upon his return. No burnt dwarf was he. |
| !
| A lifetime my grandfather spent in the armorer's craft, |
| taking a wife in due season: Doren Ironfist, a mason, and well |
| they lived and loved. Three children Doren bore, and Arzûd |
| the youngest. When a century after the battle at Azanulbizar, |
| Thorin Oakenshield cried aid from the mountain, the dragon's |
| grave - then my grandfather marched again to war, under Dáin !
| Ironfoot, son of Náin, and killer of Azog. His two sons |
| marched with him: Arzûd my father, Dorn my uncle. Together |
| they bore the masterworks of Arzûn's forge. !
! |
| How my grandfather fought that day! He was a tower of !
| iron, an effigy of the god! Ancient, close to death, he |
| committed himself to the front line: a sacrifice in his great |
| age. The orcs broke his knee, and he kneeled to hew them - |
| broke his arm, and he drew sword to pierce them - broke his |
| rib and he raised visor, to blow bile in their eyes. |
| |
| "The Eagles are coming!" cried Tharkûn, grey wizard. And they |
| drove a spear through my grandfather's skull. |
| !
| How my grandfather died! Never could the enemy pierce his !
! armor. My father rejoiced through his tears. |
| ____________________________.-._______________________________ |
| `'` |
| My father Arzûd was a quiet dwarf. He spoke only at need, |
| and then with a soft voice, preferring to speech a subtle |
| gesture of hand or head. A scrivener in the halls of power, |
| he spent his days over parchment-rolls and graver's marble. I |
| was a child, almost an infant, and he held me before the great |
| rune-pillars: pointing out each mark, voicing for me the names |
| of the dead. I could never read his eyes. |
| !
| For one thing only would my father break his silence: the |
| hymns, the oral histories of our people. On the third and |
| seventh days, at the thirteenth hour, he sang for me in the |
| ancient tongue: of mighty dwarves; of strongholds and |
| treasures, raised and wrought, abandoned and lost. I learned |
| of great Mahal, who fashioned the seven Houses in love and |
! rebellion - who sets us apart in death from the halls of men, |
| that he may raise us to labor in the new age. I learned of |
| Longbeard delvings, in Khazad-dum and the Lonely Mountain. I |
| learned of their labor under the Iron Hills, the armoury of |
| our people: a mining-settlement given nobility, its overseer |
| a lord. I learned of things wrought in the Blue Mountains, |
! in Gabilgathol and Tumunzahar, by Broadbeam and Firebeard - !
| my mother, Theln, would join us in these latter hymns, proud |
! of the red in her hair. Smith-Telchar, she claimed, was a |
| Firebeard! My father believed him a Broadbeam. Always they |
| argued the point, and our home-chambers swelled with laughter. |
| |
| On rare occasions, when he deemed me old enough, my father |
| would sing instead of the wars, the great slaughters of our !
| people. In this way, I learned of the siege at Menegroth, |
| wrought by grim dwarves of Tumunzahar - the death of Azaghâl, !
| Lord of Belegost, who drove a knife into Glarung's belly - the |
| ruin of Khazad-dum, when Durin's Bane woke in the depths of |
! the earth. Last of all, my father sang of the War of Dwarves |
| and Orcs, in which my grandfather earned his first glory: |
| |
| : Azanulbizar, your vales were red and dim : |
| ! in the aching sunlight, ! |
| ! ! |
| | Azanulbizar, we shed our blood, our blood for you, | |
| | | |
| | Azanulbizar, your vales were crimson grim | |
| | over halls abandoned, | !
| ! ! |
| ! Azanulbizar, we gave our dwarves, our dwarves to you; ! |
| : We burned our dead for you. : |
| |
| Well I treasured our hymns, joyous and solemn! I sung |
! them in chorus when I had well learned them, and I have sought |
! ever since to translate them into the Westron tongue - to find !
| words like unto the burning words of my father. I could never |
| read his eyes. |
| ____________________________.-._______________________________ !
| `'` |
| My father wanted me to follow him, I think. A scribe, a |
| chronicler he would have made of me: still and steady, safe in |
| the deepest halls. In candle-light I would copy our laws, and |
| recount (perhaps thrice in a lifetime) the deeds of our |
! immortal heroes, smiths and soldiers. In gentle obscurity I |
| would live out my days, falling asleep at last until the Maker |
| claim me. What use would great Mahal have for me then, in the |
| making of a new world? |
| |
| It was my mother who first saw my discontent. Ill pleased |
| with obscurity, I aspired (fool that I was!) rather to the |
| names written in towering marble, inlaid with glimmering !
| silver. I craved immortality, and (as I approached my |
| twentieth year) I began to seek it in death. I approached the |
| Sentinels, the grim guards of my people, in hopes of joining |
| some drake-hunt, of losing myself in the pursuit of the axe. |
| My mother was horrified when she found out. She apprenticed !
| me then to Dorn my uncle, a tool-wright and jeweller of much |
! skill. Better a smith, she declared, than a soldier. |
| |
| Well I love my mother! She saved me that day from a |
| wretched fate. |
| ____________________________.-._______________________________ |
| `-` |
| II: Apprentice |
| |
! I apprenticed, then, under Dorn. If the war had made my |
! father silent, it left no such mark on my uncle: he was a |
| loud, hot-blooded dwarf, as fierce in mirth as he was in ire. |
| The forge filled with his voice when he worked, with the same !
| war-songs my father knew well - but Dorn sung them, not with |
| reverence, but with wild contentment. His voice was large |
| like his belly, strong like his arms. He walked with a limp |
| in one ankle, and he would have been a soldier still, if not |
| for that wound. !
| |
| Dorn's forge was a busy one, and I was not his first |
| apprentice. Dwarves labored at the bellows, the wire die, the |
| student's anvil, with hammers, chisels, and molds of every |
| kind. Only Dorn was permitted to use the great anvil at the |
| room's heart, with its prongs and slots for cunning lengths |
| of steel, its rack of fine tools hanging from chains overhead. |
| There the master-smith called orders to his apprentices, |
| tended to their errors (there were not many errors,) and |
| practiced those crafts that only a master-smith knows. His |
| was an iron rule, and he taught us well. |
| |
| I began under Dorn's second, a distant cousin of mine, |
| Magínn son of Nagánn: a dwarf like a chisel, tall and thin, |
| with a hard, blunt edge to his words and deeds. I did not |
| much like Maginn, but I took well to the work given me: |
| bellows at first, then nails, then wire, and (eventually) the |
| bars of stacked iron, which are hammered again and again into !
| grim, burning billets of steel. The elder apprentices made |
| use of these billets, and I saw with wondering eyes the shared |
| work of our hands: knives, picks, and axes, with blades like |
| oil flowing in water, shadows coiling in the tempered metal. !
| Our craft came alive in the light of the flickering coals. |
| ____________________________.-._______________________________ |
| `-` |
| Dorn was pleased with my progress, but I longed above all |
! to win similar pride from my father. Each day, at the twelfth |
| hour, I presented him with some trinket I had made, some mark !
| of my learning: a nail, a fire-tong. Each day, at the twelfth |
| hour, he took the thing I had given him. He lifted it, |
| gently - tested its weight - held it before his eyes. Each |
! day at the twelfth hour, he gave back to me, wordless, the |
| thing I had made. I could never read his eyes. |
| |
| Five years passed in this way. Before long, I was learning |
| under Dorn himself. |
| ____________________________.-._______________________________ |
| `-` |
| How was I to know then, O reader, that my studies were to |
| be cut short? There was a king under the Mountain again, and |
| he was a hill-dwarf at that. All should have been well... but |
| the apprentices began to talk of evil things above. Men of !
| the wain-riding folk, with whom we once held uneasy peace, |
| were gathering again in force - tribes that once warred with |
| each other were drawing together now, stirred by some distant !
! fire. Heralds from the hillocks entered our city, speaking of |
| warriors with spears and swift horses, raiders seeking wealth |
! from our people. |
| |
| Instead of bands for wagon-wheels, our forge began to turn |
| out shields... instead of fine belt-knives for merchants, my |
| uncle began to fashion swords. He did not sing at his labor |
| anymore. |
| |
| Instead, he muttered. |
| ____________________________.-._______________________________ |
| `-` |
| "So many weapons," my father whispered one evening, as I |
| crouched before his chair. His hands shook with the weight of |
| my latest offering: a war-mattock, heavy and sharp. Its blade |
| glimmered red under the candlelight. !
| |
| "Father, we make nothing else," I said, surprised. "There is |
! war in the west." |
| |
| He passed my work back to me, and set his hands in his lap. |
| I turned to leave. |
| |
| "Beauty and violence," I heard soft behind me - I turned, |
| shocked. His eyes did not meet mine. He spoke half to |
| himself. "Always together now." |
| |
| I stood there, bound. Still he did not raise his eyes - but |
| now he spoke to me. "They are not the same. Please, please -" |
| he raised his head, his voice - "they are not the same. |
| Never." !
| |
| I took my mattock, heavy and sharp, and fled the room. Tears |
| stung my eyes. |
! !
| "Never." |
| ____________________________.-._______________________________ |
| `'` |
| I entered into my uncle's smithy the next day, and he was |
| not there. Magínn labored over the great anvil, pausing now |
| and again to speak an order to some apprentice. My bowels |
| coiled when I saw him there. |
! |
| "Where is Master Dorn?" I asked. |
| |
| "Gone," snipped Magínn. "He marches west with the Steward's |
| soldiers, to die in our defense." |
| |
| No words left my mouth. Magínn's voice sounded dim in my !
| ears - he was telling me to weave maille for a haubergeon. My |
| eyes turned toward my shaking hands. I heard myself say that |
| I could not. |
| |
| "Relieve Drumi at the bellows, then," he said, frowning - "He |
! will draw wire today." I turned, trembling, to take my place. |
| Maginn called out orders, and the apprentices moved to their !
| new labors. |
! |
| Forgive me, O Dorn my uncle! I could not follow you |
| into death. Your rest is with strange dwarves in a strange |
| land. |
| ____________________________.-._______________________________ |
| `-` |
| I left home the next day. My bag was light, and my company |
| furtive: dwarves from every family, grey-cloaked and frail. |
| Some were too old to fight. Some, too young - or with child. |
| |
| Some were simply afraid. |
| |
| Forgive me, O reader. I will not speak of that journey. |
| ____________________________.-._______________________________ |
| `-` |
| III: Wanderer |
! |
| In truth, O reader, I do not remember the last days of my |
| long flight west - I remember only waking in a pub, deep in |
| the waning city of Belegost. What few treasures I had |
| borne when I started out were long gone, save only my family |
| medallion: a grubby thing, the silver tarnished and soiled |
| during my travels. The necklace hung before my eyes, its |
| image marred by my terrible headache... |
| !
| ...and then the chain pulled taut, as someone tried to wrest |
| it from my neck. |
| |
| I roared - or rather, I choked - and lurched upon the |
| would-be thief! Luckily for me, he was feeling the night's |
| drink as sorely as I was, and neither of us had much stomach |
| left for struggle. We un-knit ourselves a minute later, |
! groaning and clutching our bellies. It took all my strength |
| then not to vomit on the spot. |
| |
| When our bowels were settled somewhat, we began to speak. !
| It was in this way that I met Edelhard. |
| ____________________________.-._______________________________ |
| `-` |
| Edelhard was a wild-looking dwarf, with thin, sinewed |
| limbs and a great mass of red hair, spilling from his head and |
| face: the unmistakable crest of a Firebeard. He was, I |
! learned, the outcast of his family branch: friendless, |
| homeless, and fond of strong drink and petty violence. His |
| lip was bloodied, and his clothes torn. He had fallen, in |
| short, into a state as sorry as my own. His story told, I !
| told mine, and a kinship soon grew between us. We rejoiced in |
! our shared blood on my mother's side. |
| |
| Aggrieved by our mutual degradation, Edelhard and I |
| resolved to better our fortunes together. We took up petty |
| labors in the city, work only a desperate dwarf would do: |
| vermin-hunting in basements and dim alleys, with cudgels in |
| hand and wooden planks strapped like shields to our arms. |
| Once we had some coins saved for supplies (we spent overmuch |
| still on beer,) we began to wander the Blue Mountains, seeking |
| baubles and animal pelts in the ruins and caves surrounding |
| Belegost. We found little enough, but enough yet to support |
| our strange new trade. Each of us looked out for the other, !
| and in this way we survived much peril. |
| !
! Belegost was no place for an Ironfist, we decided, and no |
! place for Edelhard. At the first opportunity, we packed our |
| meagre bags for the eastern road, and dedicated ourselves |
| wholly to a life of wandering violence. Already there was |
| violence enough to sustain us, in those brooding years !
| before the great war began in truth. Strange, dangerous men |
| walked the roads of Eriador. We took pride in our ability to |
| kill them. |
| |
| What adventures we had, as we pressed farther and farther |
| east! We stumbled across allies now and again in our journey: |
| dwarves and elves on the roads, of like mind unto our own. |
| Three or four we would go, warring in the grim places of the |
! world - not killing bandits now, but goblins and strange, |
| slinking beasts. We wrested armor and weapons from forgotten |
| halls, girding ourselves with silent history. In this way we |
| found strength in the wilderness, in the swelling gloom of |
| Mirkwood. |
| ____________________________.-._______________________________ |
| `-` |
| A creeping shadow fell on Edelhard, as we struggled for |
| riches under that terrible forest. He began to delight more |
| and more in our brief moments of slaughter, giving up his |
| axe for a small, sharp dagger - the better to feel the blood |
| of his enemy. He strayed farther and farther on the road, |
| concealing himself from us so as to hunt in silence. When he !
| fought beside us, his laugh took on the tinge of madness. |
| |
| One day, he leapt into the trees and did not return. |
! |
| Ah Edelhard - brother in war - magnificent, ridiculous |
| dwarf! I returned to Eriador without you. Sometimes I see a |
| glimpse of red in the bushes, and fancy that you are with me |
| still. |
| ____________________________.-._______________________________ |
| `-` |
! IV: Smith |
| !
| Alone and bereft, I made my way back over the Misty |
| Mountains. I stumbled somehow into Rivendell, into the House |
| of Elrond, and there in a quiet place I nursed my wounds, body |
| and spirit. My days were happy, for a time. |
| |
| I was not the first dwarf to pass through Rivendell in !
| those troubled days, but surely I was one of few. Still, the |
| elves of that valley recieved me with kindness, and when the |
| shadows grew long before the twilight, I would trade songs |
| with some few of them. I sung of Durin, of the Mirrormere |
| where great Mahal crowned him with stars. I sung of ancient |
! Khazad-dûm, where Durin made the bones of the earth his home - |
| deep under the mountains, rich with mithril. The elves, in |
| turn, sung of their own dealings with that city: of noble |
| Celebrimbor, who established his smithy beside the River |
| Sirannon, and aided Narvi in raising the Doors of Durin. Here |
| was a tale not often sung in the homeland! |
| |
| With an eager heart, I questioned my hosts further. In !
| those days, I learned, there was a great friendship between |
| the smiths of our peoples. A guild-house they kept in the |
| chief city of Eregion, and there they fashioned such |
| smith-craft as will never be equalled in this world, not until |
! all things are remade. Jewels and truesilver were their |
| play-things. |
| |
| "What became of those mighty smithies?" I asked. |
! |
| "Destroyed and abandoned," the elves told me. "The Enemy |
| decieved them all, the craftsfolk of Eregion - brought war to |
| their city, and took Celebrimbor for a captive. They raised |
| him dead as a banner, against the beleagured host of Lord |
| Elrond." |
| !
| "He is dead!" I cried. "Then there is nothing left of his |
| labors?" |
| |
| "Survivors in Imladris, and... spirits in the rubble," one |
! said in a low voice. "It is said that some few have returned |
| to that broken place, and practice their art there still." !
| |
| Then and there, I resolved to seek out myself the broken |
| capital of Eregion. Perhaps there was something yet there for |
| a wanderer-once-craftsman. |
| ____________________________.-._______________________________ |
| `-` |
| I will not speak here, O reader, of my days among the |
| hidden heirs of Celebrimbor - he who bound with sigils the |
| gates of Khazad-dum. I will say only that I have spent some |
| years now in their company, and that my craft stands strong |
| upon the rock of their wisdom. I have made finer things these |
| past years than ever I did in the hill country, my home. |
! Perhaps you have seen already, O reader, some trinket of mine, |
| some ring or braclet - a cunning circlet, an oiled blade. |
| These are the marks of my practice, the rich bounty of my !
| labor. If I gain nothing else in life, still I will be |
| content. |
| _____ |
| ~T.I~ |
| |
! _ ___..,,,..___ ____ |
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| ' `-._\_ \%. ,%/ _/_.-` " |
| ''":EEE:"'' |
| ``` |
| ____________________________.-._______________________________ |
| `-` |
! : . : . : . . : : . : . !
Author
Topic: ___/The Writer's Apprenticeship\___ (Read 314879 times)