Sulûn (The Falling) [Tolkien Dwarf FanFic - Third Age]

Mysterious packages

Since that night, my life continued much as it had -- furious writing by day and locking myself in my room at night, all peppered with the unwanted attention of every dwarf in Khazad-dûm who wanted to boast his superiority to the fairer sex, but in truth to all the others crowded around. The only difference was now I lacked the solace of quiet crafting in the evenings, I spent them mulling over the events at the pools -- haunted by the memory of his eyes, almost black in the dim light, and of the droplets of water glittering like adamant studding the dark skin of his arms. Strong arms whose unyielding embrace I longed to lose myself within. But this was folly. I did not know the identity of my handsome mystery dwarf, nor did I believe myself capable of facing him even if I could seek him out.

I never did return to the pools, sacrificing my nicest robe and my carved wooden beads, not to mention my stealthy shoes. I couldn't face the possibility of another confrontation, though I knew it unlikely that the mysterious dwarf with the fierce eyes would linger. I was ashamed of the fear I harbored of that place, of that dwarf. I kept the blue bead in my pocket at all times, keeping the memory of my mother close to lend me her strength and bravery.

My braids now hung in front of my shoulders, knotted at the ends: a constant reminder of my cowardice. These naked braids managed to catch even more attention from my would-be suitors, but at least it was a change from the empty boasting. I fielded many offers of beads to adorn my plaits -- gold and silver, studded with gems, whatever I should desire -- every dwarf seeking to prove his worth, his ability to provide. Not one asked of how I lost my previous beads, I suspect none noticed the beads I previously wore, they were hardly fine work worth notice. My plaits were only noticed now because they lacked any sort of adornment and in our culture this was unusual. The lost beads being wooden was also unusual, dwarves tended to reserve precious metals and gems for adornment of hair and beard, but not nearly so grievious a misstep as nothing at all.

None of the offers swayed me. I wanted my beads or none at all, though I lacked the courage to claim them. I disgraced myself.

---

A few, long weeks had passed since that fateful day at the bathing pools. On a morning unlike any others in recent memory, I had a peaceful stroll to work alone. I arrived at my desk in the Chamber of Mazarbul to find it devoid of the usual gathering of dwarves. Pulling my stool from under my desk, I noticed a packet neatly wrapped and resting upon it. I sat quickly, and placed the bundle in my lap, glancing around to ensure my arrival had not yet been noticed. The chamber was fairly empty this early, only a few scribes sat along the opposite wall scratching away on their parchment. Assured that I would not be interrupted by some dwarf's war story spoken at me, I began untying the twine that held the packet closed. The twine was rough in my fingers, but tied in a cunning knot that pulled free easily. The packet was wrapped in simple, undyed cloth, but of a very fine weave -- my mind began racing at the possibilities of this high quality cloth, with a bit of dye I could fashion a fine garment from it -- why was it being wasted as mere wrapping? I unfolded the fabric away, revealing a stack of clothing.

It was my stack of clothing, the ones left at the pools. At least, at first glance it was, but I noticed that my beads had been altered. Within the carved areas now sat inlays of jewels: amber, turquoise, and onyx with thin bands of gold between them and the wood, which was freshly waxed so it shown warmly in the light of the chamber. I held one bead to my eye reverently, admiring the intricate work before placing them aside on the lip of my desk and furthering my investigation. My robe's beading now extended from the collar, down the edges that wrapped and tied around my waist where at least half of it wouldn't even be seen, all the way around the hem. Oh! Even on the edging of the sleeves. The black glass seemed to have been replaced with more tourmaline, the hem and collar now encrusted with almost every color of this jewel in a geometric pattern near the seams which broke apart as it spread further into the gold fabric, the blacks, reds, and greens changing to pinks and golds as the beading encroached farther until the beads were all gold, adding sparkle to the fabric but otherwise invisible. It was exquisite. The beaded edge was now wider than the length of my hand, it was as if I were looking at how I had envisioned the robe when I first began work, but more -- taking my design to the utmost richness. Even my simple undershirt had been embroidered intricately in the same lace-like patterns as the rocks hanging from the ceiling of the bathing pools, in a similar natural color as the fabric, to add texture to the garment though it was by design always unseen. It was all so decadent, and well above my station as a lowly scribe.