Belenos
It was quiet in the kitchen at this time of day. Fafnir was out in the settlement gardens looking for vegetables for the evening meal. Nasi and others were out hunting. Some, like the old jeweler and the little mother, well, who knew where they were. For now Eilif had the room to herself. Well, other than the few wounded who still lay in the pantry that had been made a temporary infirmary. Even they were quieter now. For a while there had been daily burial details as more succumbed to their wounds. Now those who were left looked likely to recover and often spent their afternoons napping as their bodies worked to mend themselves.
Glancing in their direction as she worked on the mending in her hands, she thought she could not blame them for their afternoon sleep. Their dreams seem less troubled at this time of day than the ones that came in the dead of night, often causing them to toss fitfully or worse, wake screaming. She turns her gaze back to her work, thankful that at last her vision was clearing sufficiently that she could feel useful again. It gave her hope that soon it would return to normal.
Normal. Her hands fell idle, as she thought about that. Would their life ever be normal again, she wonders? She glances around the great kitchen, the kitchen that had regularly fed the legions of single dwarves of the settlement. It had always been noisy, busy, wafting with the scent of baking, roasting meats, savory stews, fresh breads. Would this great room ever echo with a multitude of voices again? Voices arguing cheerfully over a game of dice, the price of a weapon, or just who did the best in the training hall that day. It was hard to imagine it ever would. Still, they say that Khazad-dûm was nearly habitable again. If even Khazad-dûm could rise from such utter devastation then surely Gamilfûn too might rise from the rubble?
Even so, Khazad-dûm had not been rebuilt overnight, and it had taken a lot more than the pitiful handful of survivors that there were at Gamilfûn at the moment. There were barely enough to bring in fresh meat and even that was in scant supply lately. Eilif tugged thoughtfully on the twin braids of her beard. Word had flown fast around the small group of survivors about the elven king's offer. In normal times it would have seemed preposterous. But then in normal times it would not have even been made. What were they to do? Her head aches from the question as her mind repeats it yet again. Lately it had seemed to be a ceaseless refrain. What to do? What was best to do? Wearily, intending to rest her eyes for just a moment to ease her headache, Eilif lays her forehead on her crossed arms on the table. Those in the infirmary were not the only ones whose sleep was still disturbed late at night.
Unnoticed, the mending slides from her lap onto the floor at her feet. The kitchen is silent other than the quiet crackle of the fire that always burns at the hearth, and an occasional rustle from the pantry as one of the wounded turns in their sleep.
The screams! By the Maker, the screams never cease. Shrieks of pain and despair! The earth shivers beneath her. Fire and smoke! With a start Eilif wakes, shuddering, from her dream. Yet the earth still trembles beneath her feet, the screams still echo in her ears. "By the Maker, no!" Without thinking Eilif is on her feet and running for the door. Her forward momentum is halted by an earth-shattering roar. Heart hammering, she swallows hard, forcing down her fear. Her nightmare has returned in the flesh. She knows what foul beast gives voice to that roar. "Wait. Think, Eilif, think!" she exhorts herself before whirling to one of the side pantries that had become their weapons storeroom. Rummaging quickly she selects a plain but sturdy blade with good balance. Satisfied, she hurries from the kitchen, her feet pounding on the stone down the long corridor, her footsteps guided by the harrowing shrieks from far above.
Eilif is forced to pause and steady herself with a hand against the wall as the stone all around her resonates with a mighty tremor, and grit falls from the ceiling into her hair. Again the air is rent with blood curdling roars from the beast, and a hot blast of air pummels her as it gushes down the corridor. "Fire-breath!" she gasps, realising that if she had been faster, had yet turned the corner ahead, she would have been directly in its path. More cautiously now, she moves forward. Slowly she edges to the corner, peeking around in time to see a long tail snaking around in the far room. With relief she realises the dragon seems to be making for the outside. Cautiously she steps forward, her eyes watering from the smoke, her nose stinging from the foul sulpherous odor that lingers in the air.
As she enters the main chamber all around her is blackened and charred again. More rubble has fallen, and there are splatterings of bright red blood here and then on the masonry but no bodies. She swallows hard on the bile that threatens to rise in her throat as she realises why there are no bodies, and her gaze is tight and hard as it is drawn to the mountainous body that stands just outside the ruined entrance of Gamilfûn. Standing there as though it had a right to. Standing there roaring its rage to the world, its maw open and raging with fire-breath, senselessly destroying everything before it.
From where she stands, she can see the forest beyond the dragon. Incredibly as she watches, two small figures dart from the treeline. Together they stand, so tiny and frail, and face the monstrous creature. Drawn in morbid fascination she quietly creeps closer. What were they doing? Were they mad? But no, as she watches, calmly one takes aim with his bow. The figures are too far away for her to see the flight of the arrow, but she knows it is launched as the archer drops his arms to his side, and together the two stand and face their fate. Against all odds the arrow strikes a telling blow, for the fetid creature begins to topple. Thinking perhaps she can help in its destruction, she darts forward only to see it fall, its long neck snaking as it spews forth a last gush of deadly fire - fire that spurts directly towards the archer and his companion. The archer, whom she now recognises as, too, the one who stands by his side. Fire rushes over them, and they fall. The sword clatters to the stone floor, and a cry bursts from her lips "Nasi! Fafnir! No!!'
> Next
Glancing in their direction as she worked on the mending in her hands, she thought she could not blame them for their afternoon sleep. Their dreams seem less troubled at this time of day than the ones that came in the dead of night, often causing them to toss fitfully or worse, wake screaming. She turns her gaze back to her work, thankful that at last her vision was clearing sufficiently that she could feel useful again. It gave her hope that soon it would return to normal.
Normal. Her hands fell idle, as she thought about that. Would their life ever be normal again, she wonders? She glances around the great kitchen, the kitchen that had regularly fed the legions of single dwarves of the settlement. It had always been noisy, busy, wafting with the scent of baking, roasting meats, savory stews, fresh breads. Would this great room ever echo with a multitude of voices again? Voices arguing cheerfully over a game of dice, the price of a weapon, or just who did the best in the training hall that day. It was hard to imagine it ever would. Still, they say that Khazad-dûm was nearly habitable again. If even Khazad-dûm could rise from such utter devastation then surely Gamilfûn too might rise from the rubble?
Even so, Khazad-dûm had not been rebuilt overnight, and it had taken a lot more than the pitiful handful of survivors that there were at Gamilfûn at the moment. There were barely enough to bring in fresh meat and even that was in scant supply lately. Eilif tugged thoughtfully on the twin braids of her beard. Word had flown fast around the small group of survivors about the elven king's offer. In normal times it would have seemed preposterous. But then in normal times it would not have even been made. What were they to do? Her head aches from the question as her mind repeats it yet again. Lately it had seemed to be a ceaseless refrain. What to do? What was best to do? Wearily, intending to rest her eyes for just a moment to ease her headache, Eilif lays her forehead on her crossed arms on the table. Those in the infirmary were not the only ones whose sleep was still disturbed late at night.
Unnoticed, the mending slides from her lap onto the floor at her feet. The kitchen is silent other than the quiet crackle of the fire that always burns at the hearth, and an occasional rustle from the pantry as one of the wounded turns in their sleep.
The screams! By the Maker, the screams never cease. Shrieks of pain and despair! The earth shivers beneath her. Fire and smoke! With a start Eilif wakes, shuddering, from her dream. Yet the earth still trembles beneath her feet, the screams still echo in her ears. "By the Maker, no!" Without thinking Eilif is on her feet and running for the door. Her forward momentum is halted by an earth-shattering roar. Heart hammering, she swallows hard, forcing down her fear. Her nightmare has returned in the flesh. She knows what foul beast gives voice to that roar. "Wait. Think, Eilif, think!" she exhorts herself before whirling to one of the side pantries that had become their weapons storeroom. Rummaging quickly she selects a plain but sturdy blade with good balance. Satisfied, she hurries from the kitchen, her feet pounding on the stone down the long corridor, her footsteps guided by the harrowing shrieks from far above.
Eilif is forced to pause and steady herself with a hand against the wall as the stone all around her resonates with a mighty tremor, and grit falls from the ceiling into her hair. Again the air is rent with blood curdling roars from the beast, and a hot blast of air pummels her as it gushes down the corridor. "Fire-breath!" she gasps, realising that if she had been faster, had yet turned the corner ahead, she would have been directly in its path. More cautiously now, she moves forward. Slowly she edges to the corner, peeking around in time to see a long tail snaking around in the far room. With relief she realises the dragon seems to be making for the outside. Cautiously she steps forward, her eyes watering from the smoke, her nose stinging from the foul sulpherous odor that lingers in the air.
As she enters the main chamber all around her is blackened and charred again. More rubble has fallen, and there are splatterings of bright red blood here and then on the masonry but no bodies. She swallows hard on the bile that threatens to rise in her throat as she realises why there are no bodies, and her gaze is tight and hard as it is drawn to the mountainous body that stands just outside the ruined entrance of Gamilfûn. Standing there as though it had a right to. Standing there roaring its rage to the world, its maw open and raging with fire-breath, senselessly destroying everything before it.
From where she stands, she can see the forest beyond the dragon. Incredibly as she watches, two small figures dart from the treeline. Together they stand, so tiny and frail, and face the monstrous creature. Drawn in morbid fascination she quietly creeps closer. What were they doing? Were they mad? But no, as she watches, calmly one takes aim with his bow. The figures are too far away for her to see the flight of the arrow, but she knows it is launched as the archer drops his arms to his side, and together the two stand and face their fate. Against all odds the arrow strikes a telling blow, for the fetid creature begins to topple. Thinking perhaps she can help in its destruction, she darts forward only to see it fall, its long neck snaking as it spews forth a last gush of deadly fire - fire that spurts directly towards the archer and his companion. The archer, whom she now recognises as, too, the one who stands by his side. Fire rushes over them, and they fall. The sword clatters to the stone floor, and a cry bursts from her lips "Nasi! Fafnir! No!!'
> Next