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

Secret jewel

I did not have much time to dwell on the absence of my beloved, as I was needed in the chamber of Mazarbul. I dressed quickly, fearing I was already late to my desk. Though I saved time not needing to comb my beard, I still found myself running down the empty halls unkempt — boots untied with laces slapping my legs while frantically replaiting my scholar's braids. By the time I had reached the more inhabited parts of Khazad-dûm, my braids were beaded at least. I crouched to tie my errant laces before continuing into the Chamber.

Making my way to my desk I noticed that I had lost the attention of all of the male dwarves: aside from the grunt of a return greeting I was paid no heed. It was quite strange. I pondered briefly if it was the new braid or some sense they had that I was smitten with another, but that was silly, the braid was small and no one had so much as looked in my direction. Shrugging, I picked up my quill and started my work for the day. I was rudely reminded by the distracting itch, that the lack of interest was probably because I had shorn my beard. To have a cut beard was a source of great shame, which would explain the reluctance to speak or make eye contact. Dwarves generally only cut their beards if they had suffered a defeat, lost a loved one, or as punishment for crimes. My fellow scribes likely thought me a criminal as I was no warrior nor had any family. Though last night I had felt grief worthy of destroying my beard, I regretted it as soon as I awoke. I dearly hoped it would soon grow in so I no longer looked so disfigured, although it would be nice to not have to worry about it smearing the ink of my documents for a while.

As if to rub salt into the wound, some of the bills of sale I had to transcribe were for the royal wedding. I sighed as I pulled out a small knife to sharpen my quill, this would be a long day and I would relish none of it. I hoped Nain would keep his promise and talk to his father about our situation. And that Durin would be amenable.

After what was an eerily quiet day, near the end of my shift there was a disturbance in the hall, causing all the scribes to stop their work. Two of the royal guards entered, searching for someone. They were quite obviously the royal guards because their plate armour was gold, and their chain true-silver — the less lofty guards wore plate and chain of iron, or even armour of leather for guards who had less dangerous or prestigious assignments. These guards had angular helms with four points on them, reminiscent of Durin's crown, and long cloaks of dark velvet. We all looked around at our fellow scribes, trying to determine who had committed some crime against the royal family. I was shocked when they ended their march on either side of me, behind my desk, though I seemed to be the only dwarf in the room who was surprised. "Lady Eilíf, you will need to come with us," the one to my right said, as they both hooked an arm around mine, unceremoniously hefted me from my desk, and guided me from the hall through a parade of stares. I was very cross; I would be the topic of gossip for weeks.

Though I thought it better to not make a fuss.

The trek was a long and silent one, through the busiest areas of Khazad-dûm. Every hall we walked through fell into a hush, even the trade hall merchants halted their transactions, as if speaking would have them hauled off as well. I fervently wished I was able to disappear to avoid the gazes of contempt — I knew what it must look like, a shorn dwarf being lead by the royal guards — I was likely now branded a thief at very least, perhaps even a murderer. The guards were not discourteous, though they kept their silence and were not overly gentle. They allowed me to walk of my own accord, and as we entered less populated areas only one guard continued to lead me by a firm grasp on my shoulder, though the second remained nearby as we walked. I had the oddest sensation that my arrest and parade of shame had been orchestrated for some purpose. I wondered if Nain had approached the King and it had gone ill, perhaps I was being made an example of.

I did not know the area I was now being lead through. I did note, however, that we were not near the holding cells. If my sense of direction was to be trusted, we were somewhere near the throne room, perhaps a few levels down. We passed briefly through a darkened passage, which held a long spiraled stair — Could that be the Endless Stair? I thought that to be a myth — and arrived on the other side at a well-hidden yet ornate door. The guards opened it and shoved me into the yawning darkness, shutting me in. It was black as pitch, more so even than the stair well. Maybe I was, in fact, being imprisoned in some little used part of the city where I would not be found. I turned to pound on the door and demand my freedom, but my yells were abruptly cut off by a hand covering my mouth and pulling me down what now, as my eyes adjusted, seemed to be a darkened corridor. I grabbed its thick wrist and forearm and tried to rip the hand away while planting my feet, trying to twist out of this vice-like grasp. I felt warm breath upon my ear in a gruff whisper, "Hush, my Jewel." In shock I stilled in his grasp, allowing him to drag me around a corner into a lighted part of the hall.