Bearded

Chapter 9

That evening she sat with Trug at her kitchen table. The remains of their meal lay strewn about them. Trug had 'found' a small unopened cask of ale from a street party and brought it with them.

Now Trug looked at her with hurt in their eyes. "I don't mind you and him having bed-sport, but if you had wanted Dwarrowlings why didn't you come to me? You know I am seeded."

Shit. Everything was going wrong.

"I know you only lie with other seeded Dwarves and yes, I know, we could have used other means, but I just didn't want things to change between us. I did not know how to bring it up with you."

You can blurt it out to Gloin but not your closest friend. What's wrong with you? The words hung, unspoken in the air between them.

"I'm sorry."

Trug was walking with the incense around the small room. They had drawn the mark onto their forehead for protection from elvish magic as they spoke. "This Elf, what's the benefit of bewitching Gimli?"

"Well, to have some sort of sex slave or something. How would I know?"

"Well, isn't he already a prince?"

"That's what they are saying. He's Thranduil's get. Not the heir, but still a prince. So what?"

"So, if he's a prince he already has servants and probably many other Elves ready to lay on their backs for him. Why would he want a Dwarf?"

"They are hundreds and hundreds of years old, I've heard. Thousands even. They've probably all shagged each other by now in that forest. Bored. That's what it was."

"Well, if he was bored, why not go to different Elves, or even Men? Why enchant a Dwarf." Trug slowly took a sip of the ale, as if it would help them come up with answers.

"I suppose it's a kink. Like how you always like to keep your boots on even though your sheets end up filthy and sometimes ripped. He fancies a Dwarf and obviously no Dwarf would go with him willingly."

"The question is why are you getting involved? There are plenty of other Dwarrow who will sire Dwarrowlings on you, and who aren't under a spell."

They're still hurt.

"You're still hurt, aren't you?"

"Is it because it took me so long to finish my apprenticeship and that I have no status?"

This shocked Gudrun. "Trug, you know it's not those things. I just don't want to weigh you down with parenthood. You've said it before that 'little pebbles in your boots are not something you want'. It's a choice that's right for me, and I want you in my life as the friend you've always been, not struggling to be a parent with me and come up with money for apprenticeships and that sort of thing. You're right. With Gimli there won't be those worries about finances. He can choose how involved he wants to be. Look, even if he stays with the Elf, that's not off the table. The Elf is hardly going to give him Dwarrowlings, is it?"

"Gudrun, I don't know what you are playing at, but it's a dangerous game."

Trug took another gulp of his drink then sat back, resigned. Once Gudrun's eyes lit up with that light of determination, nothing would throw her off course.

888

By lunchtime, Gloin acknowledged to himself that he was too distracted to be of any use in the office. He hoped he would find Mili at home and that she had not gone to the glass-blowing studio.

Her craft was a strange one for a Dwarf. Of course, much of what she produced was practical in nature; glass panes to let in the light but keep out the rain and cold from the many small openings which had been made in the mountain over the years, and mirrors to bounce both natural and torchlight around the mountain. Her delight though, was in the twisting ornaments she made, delicate things catching and bending the light. They did not last long of course. So many smashed and only a few precious, favourite pieces had survived the years, most of them the ones secure behind a glass-fronted cabinet. She was never upset when they broke. She said that was the nature of things and to enjoy the beauty of it while the moment lasted.

When he reached their home, Mili was in the kitchen sharpening knives. He would rather she have been writing, or choosing pigment or something less sharp as he broached the topic of conversation.

He tugged at his beard.

Then Gloin reached out and put a hand over Mili's. "Amrâlimê," he began, clearing his throat. "One of Gimli's friends came to see me this morning."

"Oh?" She continued polishing.

Baruk Khazâd, he thought to himself. "She wishes to offer Gimli azlâf for the sake of Dwarrowlings."

There was a long pause before she spoke. "But Gimli is wed, and you know Legolas would not want that." Her expression was touched with a ghost of pain.

"That Elf is no spouse to my son. They are not wed." Despite the chill in the room he continued. "In fact, it would be good for the lad, might help him return to his senses. Wouldn't you want to see a Dwarrowling about the place?"

Now Mili spoke in a matter-of-fact tone as if she were discussing nothing more unusual than an order of coal, needed for a furnace. "You know our son. Once his mind is made it will not change. He wants this Elf."

Gloin now took on a placating tone, he did not know whom he was begging. Maybe himself. "If he keeps the Elf in the background, in private, they can continue. In private. He can visit him in Mirkwood from time to time. Here, under the mountain he can have a Dwarf by his side. A decent Dwarf. Or even without a Dwarf by his side, if he wants, they can just share Dwarrowlings. He can still live a normal life. Isn't that what we've always wanted for him, for him to be happy?"

"The Elf makes him happy. You can see that."

"The Elf sows nothing but discord."

"Gloin, why would Gimli have told the Elf his Name?"

Fuck

Gimli had not told him this. Why would he have done that? To share his dark name, which only Gloin and Mili and Gimli knew. And now this Elf.

Enchantment.

A voice at the back of his head tingled. But would Mahal have permitted an Elf to steal the dark Name of one of his children with strange magiks and enchantment? Does he not watch over us? Gloin did not want to think about all this. He went to his room and decided to look at paperwork for the rest of the day. Some important trades were coming up and he wished to be as prepared as he could be.

Notes:

Baruk Khazâd, a war cry meaning 'the axes of the dwarves'
Azlâf means betrothal but I have taken it to mean other kinds of arrangement too.
Both phrases from

"Pebble" referring to baby dwarves is an invention of HattedHedgehog on tumblr!