Estateillio

Mithril

• "The wealth of Moria is not in gold, or jewels, but Mithril", Gandalf explained as the fellowship encountered a vein of the precious ore shimmering gently in the magical light and he dared to let it illuminate a bit of the dark chasm next to them, highlighting more spots were the metal was exposed, "Bilbo had a shirt of mithril rings that Thorin gave him."

• "That was a kingly gift", Gimli stated, like the others in awe of the raw wealth displayed to them. "Yes", the wizard agreed, "I never told him, but its worth was greater than the value of the Shire!"

• "When I was younger and Moria still Khazad-Dûm and full of life, it was less valuable, though it held more meaning. Mithril was the biggest gift a dwarf could give you and if it was still raw ore, it could be seen as the biggest compliment, for they judged your skills to be good enough to forge Mithril", Estateillio added, "The Ithildin in the gates of Moria was created from parts of such gift."

• "Indeed. Mithril is the hardest metal to work with", Gimli agreed and the elleth nodded: "But also the most rewarding. It makes for the best armor and weapons, light but very durable, blades stay sharp forever and rarely break, even if it is an alloy only, and even armor with only thin plates is protective and allows for a lot of movement."

• "There is little enough of it as it is, no need to waste it on a full plate armor", Gimli grumbled and Estateillio smiled: "You forget, master dwarf, that I am from a long gone age. It was normal that, at least those of my kin who crossed the great sea, had full Mithril equipment, for there was an abundance of it in Valinórë whence they came, and if they died it was given to their children or others. We also acquired much through trade with your kin in Belegost and Nogrod."

• "Does that mean you have some as well?", Pippin asked enthusiastically and the elleth tilted her head: "I do, but I did not inherit it." "How did you get it then?", Merry inquired, glad to have found something to distract him from the stuffy air and the darkness.

• "I made it myself. I and... a friend helped the dwarves of Khazad-Dûm a few times in some battles and skirmishes, saved some lives and the Mithril was given to us as a sign of gratitude and friendship. We decided to put it to good use", she recounted, a sad smile playing on her lips.

• "Do you mean Lord Elrond?", Merry asked, for of course the hobbit had seen how close the two elves were. "My cousin does not like fighting, he would have seen no use in such armor", the elleth replied and Pippin, having realised what his cousin was trying to do, questioned: "Who's it then? Do we know them?"

• And Estateillio closed up, tensed and a dark look hushed across her face and with a clipped voice she spoke: "She's dead." And she walked just a little bit faster and the others hurried to follow her, Aragorn assuring the two hobbits quietly that it was not their fault, just a touchy subject and that they best not mention her "dead friend" again.

• And hidden in the shadows of her cloak, she twisted a silver and white ring, (because no matter how much she tried to move on, she never could. Another death, another loss, another future that could never be, not like she had hoped, not like she had imagined, a death that she might have prevented had she paid more attention, had she tried harder).

• Her mood was still sour when the fellowship decided to rest in a small room, from which three doors lead farther into the depths of Moria.

• And Estateillio barely listened to the others as she tried to gather and order her thoughts again, because she had not expected the memory alone to unsettle her so deeply - but then again, she never did, she always thought that she had finally made her peace with it, but then the blow came and she was shivering and crying again, not wanting to be alone.

• She managed though and when the fellowship walked on she was in a well-enough state of mind to function properly again and so she focused on her surroundings, trying to discern threats and keeping an eye on the balrog - which was closer now, though thankfully still fast asleep.

• And eventually they entered a great hall, the high ceiling held up by massive columns, and Gandalf amplified his small light and declared: "Behold the great realm and dwarf city of Dwarrowdelf!"

• Which was a misconception, because Dwarrowdelf, or Khazad-Dûm, was spread through the mountain and this hall was just a place made for large gatherings and feasts. But it was still magnificent to behold and Sam says as much: "There's an eye-opener and no mistake."

• "Of course it is, master hobbit. This hall had to hold hundreds of Khazad and still allow room for dance and brawls", Gimli explained, "the great hall is the heart of each dwarven kingdom."

• And Estateillio perceived his wistfulness and she searched around for any threats and found none in hearing range and then she spoke: "That it was. There was music here almost all the time and laughter."

• And then she started humming quietly, a low tune as was typical for dwarven songs, and Gimli recognised the melody and joined in and once again the hall was filled with music and it chased away the darkness, if only for a bit:

The world was young, the mountains green,
No stain yet on the Moon was seen,
No words were laid on stream or stone
When Durin woke and walked alone.
He named the nameless hills and dells;
He drank from yet untasted wells;
He stooped and looked in Mirrormere,
And saw a crown of stars appear,
As gems upon a silver thread,
Above the shadow of his head.

The world was fair, the mountains tall,
In Elder Days before the fall
Of mighty kings in Nargothrond
And Gondolin, who now beyond
The Western Seas have passed away:
The world was fair in Durin's Day.

A king he was on carven throne
In many-pillared halls of stone
With golden roof and silver floor,
And runes of power upon the door.
The light of sun and star and moon
In shining lamps of crystal hewn
Undimmed by cloud or shade of night
There shone for ever fair and bright.

There hammer on the anvil smote,
There chisel clove, and graver wrote;
There forged was blade, and bound was hilt;
The delver mined, the mason built.
There beryl, pearl, and opal pale,
And metal wrought like fishes' mail,
Buckler and corslet, axe and sword,
And shining spears were laid in hoard.

Unwearied then were Durin's folk;
Beneath the mountains music woke:
The harpers harped, the minstrels sang,
And at the gates the trumpets rang.

The world is grey, the mountains old,
The forge's fire is ashen-cold;
No harp is wrung, no hammer falls:
The darkness dwells in Durin's halls;
The shadow lies upon his tomb
In Moria, in Khazad-dûm.
But still the sunken stars appear
In dark and windless Mirrormere;
There lies his crown in water deep,
Till Durin wakes again from sleep.

[《◇》]
Here's the next chapter, hope you enjoyed!
I fear this is a filler chapter as well, I hoped I could at least have them find Balin's tomb in this chapter, but Gimli and Estateillio practically begged me to include another one of Tolkien's awesome poems, so here we go.
AT