All Who Wander Are Not Lost

Chapter 12

This chapter is not quite what the muse wanted it to be, but I'll brush it up later. So, without further ado, Chapter 12!

The years after the dragon were brutal. The Dwarves wandered Arda looking for a place to call home. Some went to the Iron hills, others took up living among the men, becoming blacksmiths, carpenters, stone masons, or architects.

Thennil wandered among them, seeing the grief that they felt for their lost home and dead family members. It reminded her much of her own loss and the grief that she still felt. Many times she would find herself hunting to provide for the many hungry mouths that were among those that followed Thror south. It broke her heart to see so many children without their parents, all alone in the world.

Winter had come upon them, unkind and cold. Though the dwarves were a hearty people, not overly prone to the cold, but they did not have the warm clothes that they were accustom to. Using the knowledge that she had, she had gone away to trade with the men in their villages, using what coin that she kept on her person. It was barily enough to get what was needed. With the consent of some of the dwarves who trusted her because of what she had done, giving even when it seemed that she had nothing to give, she took a small group and led them to one of the Dunedain elvish settlements. They were welcomed with open arms by the people there, homes were quickly built to house them, and when spring came, it was if they had always lived there. Though the relationship with the elves that dwelled among the Dunedain was a bit strained, relationships began to blossom.

It was on one of the beautiful mornings a few years after she had led the group of dwarves to the Dunedain settlement that she returned to the village, eager to see how her friends fared. She was immensely pleased to see many new huts had been added, and buildings that looked to be shops where the dwarves could continue their work. There were many more children than she remembered, and not all of them looked distinctly dwarfish, or human. As she made her way along the main path that led through the village she noticed that the relationship between the elves and dwarves, though not perfect, was a least bearable. The strain that could be seen when she left the village was not as evident, and it made her hope that perhaps the differences between the two races might be alleviated within the near future. Wandering down the lanes, she came across the marketplace, filled to the brim with people.

The noise was almost deafening, as if the whole town were there. It was music to her ears, for the voices were filled with joy and from different places she could hear the boisterous laughter of the dwarves mixed amongst the soft tinkling giggles of the human women. Scattered in a heater-scelter patter were stalls filled with different products; her ears picked up the ringing of hammers on metal and the scraping of a knife against wood. The scent of fresh herbs met her nostrils, and she breathed deeply, closing her eyes for a second to enjoy the feeling of life around her. Everywhere people were chatting, bargaining over items, asking questions about products, gossiping, and making jokes. Her heart was filled with satisfaction, knowing that she had helped lighten the grief that had possessed their hearts at the loss of their home and people. Her efforts had not been in vain.

Glancing around, she slipped like a shadow among the people bunched up together, taking care to avoid stepping on the many children the seemed to pop up out of thin air. She ducked behind a stall, and noticed through the crowd, a single hut situated farther away from all the others along the tree line. Instantly she was curious, why would someone build their home so far away from everyone else, unless they wanted to keep to themselves? Creeping through the throng of people, she snuck behind the last hut and peered at it. She could see that the building was kept in immaculate condition, and the architecture. The architecture reminded her of her home in Imladris, leaves and vines carved into the wood of the doorpost, curling around to follow the wall of the house, bending and weaving. The windows were tall and rounded, and a breeze made the curtains sway, the fine fabric looked to be woven by one of her people, but she couldn't be sure.