[Folwren]

Bror leaned back away from the gleaming and shining edge of his axe. His eyes studied the curving blade with the utmost scrutiny. With a grunt of some satisfaction, he bent forward again and continued to sharpen it. It had been fortunate enough to send a few orcs to their death this last excursion, and for that, at least, Bror was pleased.

A young, piping voice hailed him from the door way. ‘Skald said you’d be back!’

Bror turned his head and smiled broadly as his nephew walked in. ‘Well, well, Leifr! What are you doing here?’ He lowered the axe to his knee and watched the boy approach him.

‘Mami said that I could come down and watch you fix your axes until supper,’ he replied, ‘then to tell you that you are to come promptly to the kitchen, wash up, and join us.’

‘Your mother said that, did she?’ Bror asked, another smile coming to his face. ‘Well, I guess I’d better obey orders. But this axe needs finishing up first. Sit down, my lad.’ Leifr did as he was bidden and Bror took back up his weapon and the sharpening stone. They were both silent for the first few careful strokes and a cold ringing resounded with each one.

‘Did you meet any orcs this time?’ the child asked after a pause.

‘Yes, indeed! In the valley below the gate. We beat them sorely. Not a single of them left to carry any of their measly news to their leaders.’ A strange light flickered in his eyes an instant and then went out. ‘It was only a small group. But enough,’ he added in a muttered tone to himself. ‘There,’ he said the next instant, ‘that’s finished. Let’s go promptly to the kitchen, then. Supper won’t be quite ready, but I’d like to see everyone as soon as possible.’ He stood up and hung the axe carefully in its place and then came back and took Leifr’s waiting hand.

They walked through the bright halls and corridors. Bror greeted people as he passed, everyone going home after a day’s work. At the door of the Stonecut halls, they met up with Skald. The brothers greeted each other warmly and clasps hands, and then they all went in together.

‘I figured you’d be back today,’ Skald said as they entered the kitchen.

‘Then you figured correctly,’ Bror replied, grinning. ‘Hello, Unna.’ She waved to them from the stove and continued her work. Bror stopped and watched Skald go to her to get his homecoming kiss and a few sweet, quiet words passed between the two of them. He barely stifled a sigh and then turned his glance towards the doorway as Ginna came running through it. She gave an excited exclamation and came straight to him. He caught her up in his arms, laughing.

‘I put a great chunk of ice in Leifr’s bed last night,’ the girl whispered in his ear first thing. ‘You should’ve heard him yell and holler.’ Bror concealed his smile and glanced briefly towards Leifr. The boy was busy setting the table and hadn’t heard.

‘Thought that one up all by yourself?’ he asked, in the same quiet tone of voice. She nodded, a wide grin on her face. ‘Good for you,’ he said. ‘Now go help your brother.’ He set her down and she scampered off to lend a hand. Whether she ended up being more of a burden than a help, Bror didn’t wait to see. Skald was approaching him again and they were soon in close conversation.

The meal was wonderfully good (as only Unna could make it, Skald insisted) and everyone present enjoyed it. Bror was asked how the scouting had been and how far they had gone and other such details. Since the battle in Eregion, there had been many orcs wandering over the mountains and there were often parties of Dwarves going out and skirmishing with them.

Bror went with those scouting parties rather often lately. Skald had asked him why some time ago, and he had simply answered, ‘Because of Riv,’ and that seemed to have been enough. At least, Skald hadn’t asked again or argued with him. Bror didn’t know what else to do. Skald had Unna and Leifr and Ginna, and another one on the way. But Bror was too young to have a wife yet. . .but still, coming home, and being with them all again was always better than the long marches, and the hot, bloody battles, regardless of how many orcs he killed himself. Yes, the return was always better than the going away.

When they had finished the meal (and it took a rather long time), Bror whispered something to Leifr, and the boy went off immediately, coming back in a moment with Bror’s harp cradled carefully in his arms. His Uncle took it from his hands gently and quietly tuned it. Then he played simple, quiet melodies until Unna was finished cleaning.

Most of the lamps and candles were blown out, and the fire was the main source of light left. Skald sat smoking his old pipe, and Unna mended socks without the need of extra light. The children sat on the ground before the fire, and Bror said in the shadows just on the edge of the flickering light.

‘This is for you, Unna and Skald,’ he said. ‘You’ll remember this one.’ His fingers felt the familiar strings in the darkness and he played softly in the stillness an old song. The introduction lifted Unna’s head and he caught the glimmer of her eyes in the firelight as he began to sing.

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. . .

An image of his brother rose in Bror’s mind. Life may continue, and happy times come again, but he would never be forgotten. A soft melancholy smile came to Bror’s face as he continued.

. . .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 . . .