[Arry]

The months since the trip to the Elven city with those from Lorien had been quiet ones. Stay at home ones. Safe ones, for the most part, save for the reports that came in with increasing frequency telling of more Orcs and other foul beasts that crept like a dark blight west from Mirkwood and Sauron’s black lands, and south from the old tunnels in the northern Misty Mountains . . . all heading toward Eriador. The Dwarves had gathered themselves safe inside their halls. Venturing out only if great need called them. There was plenty for them to do at their own forges . . . and truth be told, they liked their own company best of all . . .

His niece was born a month after their return from Ost-in-edhil. It was a joyous event, the birth of a fine, healthy baby . . . and doubly blessed in that it was a little girl. Ginna, she had been named, her father holding her high above his head in the great hall that all might see her and give welcome. Her dark brown curls had glints of red that lay deep within them; her big, dark eyes glittered like faceted obsidian beneath the bright lights of the glassy lamps set round to light the room. She was a welcome gift and for a long space of time the joy of her coming pushed back the shadow that niggled in the background thoughts of Stonecut family.

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‘Ach! You’ll pull out my beard little nieceling!’ Skald sat in the oaken rocker by the fire, his feet propped on the raised hearth. The baby, now four months old, lay on a little quilt spread out along his leather clad thighs, her dark eyes catching the light from the crystal lamp above. Little stars glinted in the inky darkness of her pupils, as she watched with rapt attention the movement of her uncle’s face above her own. Skald’s beard had come near enough her fat little fists for her to entwine her fingers in it. And she wriggled and cooed as she yanked on the hairy toy.

‘You know,’ he said softly to her as he gently disentangled his beard from her hands. ‘You know you were almost called Dagny, don’t you? Your mami wanted to name you after one of the long gone aunts of hers, her favorite. But your papi, Riv, he’s my big brother, you know, he took one look at you and said your name was Ginna. “Enchantress.” ’ The baby’s eyes followed the nodding and shaking of Skald’s head and the smiles that creased his face as if she understood his every word. ‘It’s a good name, that one,’ he went on, letting her wrap her sturdy fingers about the thick little finger of each of his hands. ‘You’ve certainly enchanted your old uncle, here.’

He raised a brow and putting on a serious face, snorted at a sudden thought just come to him. ‘And don’t think when you get a little older you need to be trying your magics on any of the young bucks that come hanging round, hats in hand. No dimpled smiles or peeking looks from beneath those long lashes of yours.’ Skald hmmmph’d and nodded at her. ‘They’ll be having to pass my inspection before they get in arm’s length of you, little Gem!’

As if in protest at the unfair boundary he’d declared, Ginna puckered up her little face and began to fuss. Her legs and arms stiffened out and she let out a wail of complaint. Unna, hearing her daughter’s howl, scooped her up from Skald’s lap. She cuddled the little one against her shoulder, rocking her gently until the protests subsided. ‘Never tell a woman what she can and cannot do, brother-mine,’ she said, her mouth curved up in a smile at him. ‘We don’t tend to take that sort of thing well, at any age.’

‘Well, then, I’ll try to remember that, m’lady ,’ Skald answered, an abashed grin bowing his lips at the corners. ‘Nonetheless, the young scamps will have to get by Riv and Bror and me before they go bothering her with their calf eyes and such!’ Unna laughed quietly and shook her head at him.

Skald rose from his chair and fetched a cup for Bror and himself. Taking the ladle from the hook hanging near the hob, he dipped into the small kettle of mulled wine and poured them each a generous portion. His younger brother had sat near him and the baby, playing some soft melodies on his harp. Between the two of them, they had learned a number of lullabies and little songs that Ginna seemed to like. Bror’s head was bent over as he listened closely to the quiet notes his fingers plucked. Skald’s back was to the inattentive musician as he fixed the potation and stirred the steaming cups with a small wooden spoon.

‘Put your harp away and have a drink with me while Unna puts the baby to sleep,’ Skald said, placing a cup in front of his brother. ‘Riv should be done soon. He’s finishing up some helmets for the Hardhammers; setting them with those blood red beryls he and his crew got from one of the lower mines. He’ll join us, I’m sure, when he comes up.’ Skald set an empty cup on the hearth near a chair he’d drawn up for his older brother. His own cup he picked up, and raising it to Bror, winked, saying, ‘To your good health little brother!’ He took a large swig and swallowed it, his glittering eyes on Bror.

His guard down, the youngest Stonecut brother, set his harp carefully on the floor beside him and picked up his mug. He joined Skald in a big drink. No sooner had the warm liquid hit his tongue than he spluttered, turning red in the face at the vinegary taste, and spit it back into his cup.

‘Gotcha!’ Skald laughed aloud, and was as quickly shushed by Unna from the corner where the cradle stood. ‘Oh, here!’ he said, clapping Bror on the back as he continued to sputter. Skald dumped the contents of the sour drink down the sink, and in full view of Bror, ladled him out another. He handed it to him with a wink and sat down in his chair, rocking back as he thrust his feet toward the coals. Bror glared at him as he sipped the undoctored drink, trying to drive the sour taste from his mouth. Skald laughed again, this time quietly and shook his shoulders.

‘Oh well,’ he sighed, grinning a little at his brother’s discomfort. ‘I suppose I shall have to be on the look out now, won’t I . . . for some payback trick of yours . . .’