Elves and Dwarves, oh my!
Jan. 22nd, 2004 10:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thrihyrneTwo stories in three parts
Part One- Elves
Our friends were not unearthly beautiful.
The Elf leaned back in the chair, leather-shod feet crossed on the nearby desk. Long pale fingers idly twirled an exquisitely formed chalice, its contents mostly imbibed. Close to the Elf’s shoes there was an equally intricate jug with more wine should the drinker care for more, but the immortal’s interests were currently focused on a book cradled in his lap. Legolas focused on the runes, alternately staring, then turning pages, none of it making any sense whatsoever. He lifted the silver cup to his lips and drained the last of the wine, then placed it gently on the table, lowering his feet and the front two legs of the chair to the floor. His pale eyes lit on the jug, and he leaned in to pour himself a half-chalice full, resituating the ancient text on the wooden surface. After another swallow, he rested his elbows on the desk, index and middle fingers pressed against his temples, gazing incomprehensibly at the yellowed pages.
The combination of wine and warmth from the nearby fire had little effect on the Elf, and he turned to greet the visitor whose steps he had heard approaching for some time down the stone corridor.
"Gimli!" Legolas was warm in his welcome.
"Legolas?!" the Dwarf was less effusive in his exchange. "What are you doing? This is, this is - " He tripped over the words until he saw the book on the table. "Who showed you to my library? And where did you find that?" He jabbed a sturdy finger at the leatherbound tome. "That is the only surviving copy of Narvi’s original writings. You had best be careful."
Legolas raised his eyebrows and then gazed at his arms and hands, which were not actually on the pages. "Though
nothing like Lothlorien, we do have some ancient texts in Mirkwood, my friend, and I know how to read a book without abusing it."
Gimli’s dark brown eyes looked at the book, currently untouched, then at his friend. A small smile caused small creases to form at the edges of his mouth, barely visible amid his thick auburn beard. "Yes, I am sure you are right. I apologize for assuming otherwise."
The Dwarf moved in closer to look over Legolas’ shoulder, his eyes scanning the writings.
"What does it say?" Legolas asked, perplexed, waving his fingers above the ancient parchment. "These stick-like symbols are incomprehensible. Does each figure stand for a letter, or a-" he said a two-syllable word in Elvish that sounded like gulls’ wings skimming the water, "or an entire word?"
Hearing the Elvish word, Gimli raised his eyes from the book. "A letter or a what?" he queried. "I did not understand your word. And those are runes, they are not like-sticks."
"Stick-like," Legolas corrected him, then found himself under the brunt of an accusatory glowering stare. He said the Sindarin word again, but its translation remained elusive. Leaning back into the chair, Legolas said, "Techtar. Vowel." Looking quickly around him but not finding what he wished for, he gazed back at Gimli. "Do you have paper and ink?"
"Of course I do," was the deep-voiced response. "Are you going to try and teach me Elvish? I thought you wished to be able to read the words in front of you. Though even if you master that, you still would not be able to understand all that is spoken around you here in Erebor."
Legolas’s normally taciturn face bore a thinly veiled haughty expression. "No, Gimli, the lessons in our language would take a lifetime. And all of the Dwarves with whom I have met during our time here have spoken the Common Tongue, or your Dwarf-speech. I have not heard any secret whisperings in a third language, and my hearing is far greater than that of mortals."
To his surprise, Gimli laughed, an unexpected throaty sound which filled the small room.
"Come, Legolas!" he chuckled, taking the Elf by the elbow. "We need not come to blows over words you could not begin to hear." Still smiling, he nodded his head toward the door. "There is a royal feast going on and your absence has been noted." After walking a few steps, he turned his head and said, "Bring that wine with you, should you care for it. We will be having ale."
Legolas took one last quizzical glance at the ink scratchings on the pages, sighed, then picked up his chalice and jug and followed the Dwarf up a stone passageway, leaving the merrily cracking fire behind him.
The Dwarf leaned back in the chair, leather-shod feet crossed on the nearby desk. Short stocky fingers idly twirled an exquisitely formed gold snifter, its contents mostly imbibed. Close to the Dwarf’s shoes there was an equally intricate decanter with more cordial should the drinker care for more, but the engineer’s interests were currently focused on a book cradled in her lap. Narvi focused on the runes, alternately reading, then turning pages, assessing the writings that had been penned by her own hand. She lifted the delicate cup to her lips and drained the last of the zhikomir, then placed it gently on the table, lowering her feet and the front two legs of the chair to the floor. Her dark eyes lit on the decanter, and she leaned in to pour herself a half-goblet full, resituating the newly-bound text on the wooden surface. After another swallow, she rested her elbows on the desk, index and middle fingers pressed against her temples, gazing intently at the stark white pages.
The combination of liqueur and warmth from the nearby fire made her rather sleepy, and she turned in shock at the visitor whose silent steps she had not heard approaching down the stone corridor.
"Celebrimbor?!" Narvi was startled as she greeted the visitor.
"Narvi!" The Elf was warm in his exchange.
"What are you doing here?" The Dwarf exclaimed, almost knocking over the cordial. "The other engineers have gone to bed hours ago. Who showed you to my library?"
Bright teeth gleamed in the fireglow as Celebrimbor smiled, his hair neatly combed, intricately braided plaits falling over his shoulders. "I am here to find out why our chief Rockwright is not at the celebrations. There is but one who can appreciate both song and stone to such great depths, and his absence is missed keenly."
The Elf’s eyes, a most disconcerting shade of amythest, looked fondly on the Dwarf, then to the book on the desk. "Though it is but short time to us, I know that two years distanced from most of your kindred has taken its toll. You have kept notes?"
Narvi shut the book, blushing slightly, grateful for the relative dimness of the room. "Of course," she replied, gruffly. "I cannot speak for the Elves, though I can now speak in your language." The Dwarf stood at full height, hands defensively placed on hips. "This project has been one that comes along only once in many generations." A passing look of regret traversed her features, though none but another child of Aule would have recognized it. "We Dwarves have a long history of writing, and the intricacies of these doors warranted the details being put down for those who come after me."
Celembrimbor walked silently toward her, his gaze still focused on the brown leather cover, its branded runes painted in with gold, an external indicator of the value of the contents within.
"May I look at it?" he asked, reverently.
Narvi was ambivalent. That she felt a deep respect for this Elf who had worked with her for day upon day, month after month, over two years, was unquestionable. But they did not - could not - see eye to eye, in any sense. The Dwarf wavered, Celebrimbor gracefully towering over her. For all of the famed farsight of the Elves, there was a staggering amount to which this Noldo was blind.
Pride, however, won out.
"You may," Narvi replied. "Though I do not expect that you can read any of it. The drawings I am sure you will recognize." She chuckled, running her skilled, calloused fingers over the familiar etchings. "But perhaps you would care to pore over it tomorrow. You say that your errand was to come and find me. Here I am. I would be glad to join you and the other carvers."
The Elf bowed, then waved a long arm toward the door. "We artisans of the mountains need to raise our voices together. These seamless doors should be lauded by all craftsmen, whether Elf or Dwarf, who have brought them into being."
Narvi smiled as she reached out for the small snifter and tossed back the cordial.
"To the craftsmen who brought them into being."
Celebrimbor was unsure why that statement was funny, but he placed an affectionate hand on the Dwarf’s shoulder, which was shaking with mirth. The two walked up the stone corridor to the blazing bonfires outside under the stars.
Part Two- Dwarves
I keep to myself such measures as I care for, daily the rocks accumulate position.
Narvi had never felt cold like this. Though wearing layers of linen, leather and wool, much less the self-insulation of warming body hair, the Dwarf was chilled to the bone. She was grumbling to herself every other step, teeth chattering in the frigid wind, sure that the King had sent her not because (as she knew) she was by far the best engineer in Khazad-dûm and, therefore, the most logical choice to send to look for an Elvish counterpart that could both be endured for months on end, but someone that the other masons would tolerate taking suggestions from. No, Durin had sent her because he felt that she would be charming.
"Proxgróg!" she swore, remembering her appearance with the King. His manners had been impeccable, to be sure, but deep within herself, Narvi knew that he was getting his vengance because she had shown no interest in his son, and Durin had wished for exactly such a match. Pulling the cloak more tightly, the Dwarf contemplated other choices that she could have made. It wasn’t that Thwalin was unattractive, nor was he unskilled. Truth be told, his bronzeworks seemed to be half-alive, his very breath somehow pounded into each cup and shield. It was more that he was a poorly cut gem. She knew that in the right hands he would be fiery indeed, but she was not interested in being the tools involved to hone him.
As she mulled this over, Narvi also acknowledged that she had been sent because her knowledge of Elf-speech was at least passable. But now, her bright orange braids full of ice and her eyebrows freezing even under her tawny hood which signified that she was a high-ranking member of the stonemasons, she wished she were back in her workroom, the feel of silver under her fingers. Her ability to plan out large, carved structural projects was second almost to none, but when she could, her passion was to work with silver. Not as pure as mithril, but silver was more pliant, less harsh. It responded under her delicate hammers and incessant humming, almost as though the metal could hear her love for its substance. From time to time the Dwarf discovered that she was jealous of the Longbeards who wore hoods of dark green, the Silversmiths, but she had made her choice.
Looking up, Narvi could see the houses of Ost-in-Edhil not far in the distance, and was grateful.
Should you have read the snippet, here are the sources of the poem bits at the beginnings of part one and two, which make me feel all shimmery to have found at all. And obviously they aren't my writings!
Our friends were not unearthly beautiful.- from "Ideal Landscape" by Adrienne Rich
I keep to myself such measures as I care for, daily the rocks accumulate position.-from "I Keep to Myself Such Measures. . ." by Robert Creeley
I don't know what it is about writing, especially in regards to Tolkien fandom and my obsession with cultures. Perhaps that's why I keep writing about the juxtaposition of such different races becoming friends despite themselves; contrasting their cultural norms and understandings makes for such fun potential misunderstandings and then reconciliations. Plus there just isn't a lot of Dwarf-fic out there, which saddens me. What I find so fun about this particular story is how it is somewhat mathematical (or numerology-oriented, to swipe a word from another fandom!)-oriented: the stories are parallel on one level. The words are almost exactly the same, yet inverse, in part I, and will do so two times more as the stories evolve. They are also inverse- while both focus on one Dwarf and one Elf, the situational relationships within the story will again be inverted, yet involve the same number of focal characters. And it's two stories, yet three parts, ultimately 6 vignettes, yet paralleling the relationships between Elves and Dwarves across (literally) thousands of years of time. I just love to work on things like this. It makes me happy. Except that I need to get a better map that will show me where the Elvish city in Eregion is in relation to Khazad-dum so I can know how long it would take a Dwarf to walk there.
I keep thinking that someday I'll either run out of ideas, or burnout (highly likely), or try to write something other than fanfiction. All of those options seem somewhat paralyzing. Guess it would be back to knitting for me.
