[Arry]

A quarter year’s journey . . . . . . SA 1697

They had had to take the long way round. The West Gate was shut fast and boulders and trees and whatever the foul servants of Sauron could find had been thrown against it, in an effort it seemed, to break into the Dwarves’ stronghold. But the Doors of Durin, secured by Elven spell and the craftsmanship of the Dwarves, had held fast.

Over the spine of the mountains they made their cautious way, their path often deviating from the shortest route as they avoided the unsafe places where remnants of Orc and other might still lurk. There were too few of them to stand against an attack. Of the twenty who had stayed to fight alongside the Elves, only eleven now remained, still led by Rori Ironfoot. And when at last they reached the Dimrill Stair, their hearts grew lighter. There lay Kheled-zaram, below; still and smooth were its waters, and the encircling mountains stood guard about it, within and without.

There was wonder in the faces of the guards who stood watch at the approach to the eastern gate. They hailed their road-worn kin and sent a runner back to the gate that those long thought perished with the Elves had come home.

Many were gathered in the great hall that formed the eastern entryway. Looks of hope turned for some to cries of joy as they saw their family member and rejoiced. For others, the hope was short-lived, and tears streaked the now grim faces. Many of the returned companions stepped forward to console those who had lost men, giving comfort with words as they might.

Skald was eager to be away to the Stonecut Hall at the western end of the caverns. Eager to see his family once again, to put down his weapon and his armor and to put on his thick leather apron and take up the tools of his trade. But most of all, he wished to see his father and Riv. He had asked for news of them, but the answers were vague – most of those gathered more concerned with finding their own kin or what had happened to them.

Less than two days longer, and he and Bror had traversed the long route from the east to west gate. It was very early in the morning when they arrived; none were stirring yet in the great hall. Flinging their packs and weapons on the floor of the entryway, they hurried quickly to the kitchen, hoping to find some.

‘Riv will be there,’ chuckled Skald. ‘Making his third cup of tea, I’ll bet. And staring into the fire. He never was a hurrier . . . our brother. He’ll be waiting for Unna to come up and cook his breakfast.’ Skald paused and turned Bror at his side. ‘Eggs, if you have them,’ they began in sing-song imitation of their brother’s usual morning request. ‘And don’t break the yolks, please. And if we don’t have eggs, then mush with honey and milk. And four slices of thick, toasted bread.’ They were laughing as they entered the kitchen.

It was Viss who looked up from his cup of tea at them – a look of utter disbelief on his face. He set his mug down shakily on the table and got up quickly, his chair clattering to the stone floor as he rose. His face, they noted was more lined and care worn, and there were tears in his eyes as he stumbled toward them. ‘My sons, my sons,’ he rasped out in a voice heavy with relief at the sight of them. Taking them both in his outspread arms he clasped them tightly to his chest.

Others of the family had come into the kitchen to see the source of the commotion; they, too, surrounded Bror and Skald, touching them often, making sure they were really there. Little Leifr ran to clutch at his uncles’ legs, his mouth bowed up in a great smile.

Unna was the last. She transferred the wriggling Ginna to her grandpa’s arms and put a hand, then, each to Skald and Bror’s faces. ‘Oh, more than welcome are your faces . . . my heart . . . our hearts are bursting with the joy of your return,’ she said to them.’

Skald looked toward the door, and not seeing the face he expected to have come, too; his brow furrowed. ‘And where is Riv?’ he asked. ‘He’s not abed yet, is he? The sluggard!’ Unna’s eyes clouded at his question. And Leifr, Skald noted, looked sadly toward his mother.

‘Come,’ said Viss, once more in control of himself. He pulled out two chairs and sat down motioning for his sons to take a seat. Unna gathered up the two little ones and retreated, as did the others of the Stonecut clan. When the kitchen was quiet, and only the hiss and pop of the fire in the grate remained, Viss spoke.

‘It was like this,’ he began, his eyes fixed on the worn, familiar surface of family table, as if seeing the field of battle once more . . .

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Five years later – Skald’s workshop . . . . . SA 1702

It was the turn of the new year. News had come from a company of Dwarves passing near the edges of Lorien. Men had come to the aid of the Lindon Elves. Men in great ships from across the western sea. They had pushed Sauron south and east out of Eriador and at the Gwathlo River they had overcome his army. Sauron, it was said, had escaped and now hid himself away within the walls of Mordor.

Viss sat on a chair that Skald had brought into his workshop especially for him. A thick bear hide was thrown over it, cushioning the aging bones and joints of the elder Dwarf. Ginna, now almost five years old sat on his knee. Her dark eyes swiveled from her uncle to her Grandpa and back again as they rehashed the news that had traveled from the eastern halls.

‘He’s a bad, bad man,’ she pronounced at a lull in the conversation. ‘I hope his mountains fall on him!’

Skald looked from her to his father, his brows raised. He wanted to agree with her; the anger and the sadness that surrounded Riv’s death had barely dimmed in these intervening years. It was still a sharp pain that crept up on him at time and took his breath away at the memory of it.

Unna had come to the doorway; she had brought the mid-day meal in a covered basket for him and Viss. As he looked away from Viss toward Ginna, thinking on what to say to her, he saw Unna looking at him expectantly. And he nodded at her, a half smile acknowledging what was needed here and now. It had come easier now, these times when he was called to put aside his own feelings and consider how the oldest brother should act . . . how Riv would expect him to act. Skald wondered if there would ever come the time that he did not first reflect on what his brother would do.

I’m trying my best, Riv. I’m stepping up . . . as you asked me to . . . and as best I can.

He scooped Ginna up in his arms. ‘He is a bad man, little one. But let’s leave what happens to him in the hands of Mahal and those who can strike the blow needed to make him stop his badness.’ He tickled her a little, getting a high squeal of laughter in return. ‘Let’s think of something happier to hope for,’ he said setting her back down on the floor.

‘Well, I’m hoping Unna has made those thick ham sandwiches with smoked cheese, sliced thin. And that good mustard I saw her putting up just last week.’ Viss chuckled deep in his chest and picked up the corner of the cloth that covered the basket. He smiled, seeing just the sort of sandwich his belly was clamoring for.

Leifr, now a gangly lad of ten, glared at his sister as he entered the workshop behind his mother. ‘Well, I know what I’m hoping for!’ he said sticking his tongue out at Ginna from behind Unna’s back. ‘That you turn into a lizard and get stuck in a hole somewhere!’ Ginna had inherited her family’s love of practical joking, and though she was half the age of her brother, she was much better at thinking up pranks than he was.

Ginna hmmmmph’d at him, her eyes lighting up at the thought of getting back at him. ‘Well, I have a new wish. And one much nicer than thinking about that Sour-One.’

Unna stifled a laugh and urged her daughter to go on.

Drawing close to her mother, Ginna put her small hand on Unna’s swollen belly. ‘And I hope,’ she said loudly, looking directly at her brother. ‘I hope that I get a brand new sister. Then me and her are gonna get you good!!!!’

Leifr protested, folding his arms over his chest. He glared back at his sister. ‘That’s not fair!’ Skald put his hand on Leifr’s shoulder and bent down to whisper in his ear, bringing a grin to the boy’s face.

‘Yes, it could be a new sister,’ Unna laughed, looking at Ginna and coming to stand by her less-than-a-year’s-turning husband. She slipped her hand into Skald’s and gave it a squeeze. ‘Or it could be a little brother.’ She nodded reassuringly at Leifr. Unna smiled mischievously and put Skald's hand on her belly. ‘Or it could be both!’

Cries of ‘No fair!’ rang out at this announcement, from both Ginna and her brother.

‘Hush now! Grandpa’s got something to say!’ Viss’ voice boomed out above the sibling argument. He held up the basket and patted his own belly. ‘Grandpa is hungrier than an old cave bear!’ He put on a fierce face and swung his head back and forth much like a bear might do, his eyes flicking from Ginna to Leifr and back again. His voice rumbled from deep in his chest. ‘Now, let’s get to eating these good sandwiches . . . before I have to eat the two of you!’