Take My Pain Away

Chapter 1

She flinched away from the human as he tried to make contact with her arm. "Don't touch me!"

"Come now, little dwarf, I mean you no harm."

"You know naught of harm, man of Rohan." The dwarrowdam straightened to her full height of 4'10", quite tall for a female, and looked up into the man's eye. "You need to be more wary of who you try to touch. There is much you do not know of in Middle Earth."

Abrâ was passing through Rohan on her way to Bree to meet with Incànus*. She had decided, perhaps incorrectly, to stay a day in the village located where the Entwash and Snowbourn meet. A day to refresh her pony and acquire necessary supplies. She should have kept moving. The people of Rohan were not accustomed to seeing dwarves.

It had taken her a week to get to this particular village. She had travelled from her home in the hills of Ered Lithui, through the Dead Marshes and, skirting the base of Sarn Gebir, crossed the grassy plains to the conflux of the two rivers.

Now all she wanted was a meal, some ale and a good nights' sleep in a soft bed. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the man once again reach for her arm. In a flash she drew the dagger from the belt at her waist and laid the flat of it against the man's forearm.

"I mean what I say, human! Do not touch me."

The man looked pointedly at the dagger, his face flushing red. His hand moved toward it when, from nearby, a voice shouted, "Dougal! Leave the lass alone!"

A woman was crossing the floor of the crowded pub; her red hair was like a mane about her face, which was growling like a lion. She huffed to a stop beside Abrâ's stool and took Dougal's ear in her left hand.

"Pardon my dunderhead of a husband, miss. He is simply curious about dwarves." She turned to her husband and started to drag him away. Abrâ could hear her berating him all the way back to the kitchens, "How many times do I hafta tell you to leave the customers alone? You big oaf!"

Abrâ turned to the bartender, eyes wide. "Is it always like this around here?"

"No, lass," he shrugged. "Dougal'll not have seen a dwarf before. He doesn't come from these parts." The bartender passed a plate of mutton, potatoes and carrots toward Abrâ, who quickly put both hands in her lap.

"Thank you," she nodded to the bartender before tucking into her meal. She signaled for another ale and carefully pushed another piece of gold across the top of the bar.

***

Early the next morning she led the pony by its bridle as she perused the stalls of the market. She purchased food, a sturdy blanket and a wide brimmed hat. She was on the edge of the market, repacking her saddle bags when she spied a stall of leather goods. She wandered over and ran her eyes along the gloves; she fingered a few finely tanned pieces before she spied a thicker pair.

"Might I see those?" she asked politely as she pointed at the gloves.

"My dear girl," the shopkeeper drawled, "surely these would be preferable?" He had in his hand a beautiful pair of dun coloured gloves, dainty and covered with beadwork.

For a moment Abrâ allowed herself to admire the beautifully worked gloves, before she shook her head clear and said firmly, "No, the thick ones please."

The shopkeeper shrugged and held out the plain black gloves.

"Please put them down," she said.

Once again, he shrugged and laid them down in front of her. She picked them up and examined them closely. She checked the seams before trying them on. 'Will these work,' she wondered.

She put the gloves on, reached out her hand and put her finger to the skin of the leather seller. Almost instantly, she hissed in pain and drew back her finger. No, these would not do. She removed the gloves, smiled and placed them on the counter before turning back to her pony.

"Come, pony. Let us be on our way."

*Gandalf - a name acquired in his travels near Harad