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Old 11-30-2008, 07:06 PM   #17
Durelin
Estelo dagnir, Melo ring
 
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Join Date: Oct 2002
Posts: 3,121
Durelin is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.Durelin is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.
Kórin expertly filled mug after mug from large barrels of ale, pausing in her work only to take a drink of her own or to chat with a friend or friendly face. She paid no heed to whether or not she was refilling this dwarf’s mug for the fourth or fifth time, nor if the two mugs that dwarf carried were both for him or not. Today was Durin’s Day, and they were celebrating the fifth such day in Khazad-dűm, home and stronghold of their ancestors, reclaimed once again.

Kórin, who had never excelled at any craft she had been instructed in, largely because she had no interest in them, was among those who took up brewing (once again, for some) since Balin’s people had settled in and restored the Twenty-first Hall to a comfortable neighborhood. And most of them had been storing more than they had been offering for months, in anticipation of this day. For five years now dwarves once again dwelt in Khazad-dűm, relighting some – if only a fraction – of its forges.

The gathering area in the middle of the hall – a sort of town centre now – was filled with people, laughter, music, delectable smells, and the smoke of pipeweed. Kórin sang along with a nearby group who played on fiddles and flutes and sang:

“The world was young, the mountains green,
No stain yet on the Moon was seen,
No words were laid on stream or stone,
When Durin woke and walked alone.
He named the nameless hills and dells;
He drank from yet untasted wells;
He stooped and looked in Mirrormere,
And saw a crown of stars appear,
As gems upon a silver thread,
Above the shadow of his head.

The world was fair, the mountains tall,
In Elder Days before the fall
Of mighty Kings in Nargothrond
And Gondolin, who now beyond
The Western Seas have passed away:
The world was fair in Durin's Day...”


Kórin let the others continue without her when she caught sight of two familiar faces amongst the crowd, and called out to them, “Good day, Master and Missus Silverfist! Isn’t it your Tív and Tíva’s birthday today, too? What a party they’re gettin’! Tell ‘em I wish ‘em a good one! I don’t suppose I should offer them a full pint, but what about yourselves?”

~*~

Kór had not been back to get another ale from his sister after she had shoved one at him when he helped her roll barrels into the centre of the hall. He had barely touched his ale, as since then his hands had been busy upon his harp’s strings. He played mostly familiar tunes today that those celebrating could sing along to, such as songs about the Lonely Mountain – both the dragon’s coming and the return of the king under the mountain. It was hard to believe that it was five years ago now that there had been another such glorious return – and one that Kór himself had witnessed.

Kór heard some lively flutes and strings from across the hall, and when he heard them strike up the tune of Durin’s song he began to play along with them. Though only pieces of the words echoed to where he sat, garbled at this distance, he filled in the rest without thinking, running the words through his head as he played, absorbing their meaning and pouring that out through his fingers. It certainly felt that Durin was alive this day, and though he was not, Kór played to awaken him.
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