Aztryd wraps Nizl in her own cloak for now, to keep off the chill, and puts her to her breast, meager fare as that likely is tonight. "Those folks don't seem ones to be sisterly, and let me talk and feed you at the same time, do they? Only one 'sister' we've met yet, and she's ... well, for one thing, she looks less fit to walk than I am. And that Adelsteinn ... oh, magpie, you will meet ones like that. I met ones like that in Uzerbog's councils, I did." She doesn't bring herself to call Uzerbog 'my husband.' "Usually it was the youngest 'Elders' who were so jealous of their own honors. And then it would be my job to manage them. As it will be your job one day, likely enough. Feed their hungry hearts with soft words and smiles and extra bows, while you pass the mead and the ale and the cakes at Council. Most of them grow out of it soon enough. Most of them."'
Nizl drains her meal from Aztryd's body all too quickly. At least it is enough in her stomach now that she drowses quietly. Aztryd gives the linens one last rinse -- in no way a proper laundering -- buttons her tunic, gathers her things, and by the meager light of the oil lamp heads back toward the kitchen.
Fafnir looks back over his shoulder as the brewer drains his brew. He gives one more look back at the young male at the first and gives a small shake of his head, turning his back and moving toward the table and Adelsteinn. The smell of stale and long soiled linens is slowly dissipating, but his nostrils flare and he holds a sleeve up to his nose. "Shall I refill that, Elder?" he says, making his tone smooth and solicitous. Reaching for the tankard, he says to the others. "That smell has liked to put me off all thoughts of supper for a bit. I should like to feast upon the incredible tale that Aztryd has told us." He cast a quick glance toward the one female in the room and winks as though they alone know a secret. "Giant swans, and elves in the hallways." He then raises his glance to see if the dwart sent to feed the elf has returned from his duties of housing and feeding her. "And what are we to do with an elf, of all things?" He extends his hand further towards Adelsteinn's tankard and gave the Elder a respectful tug of his forelock. "Begging pardon for my saying so, but we are all the better for having you here among us to sort this all out, Master Brewer. Dark times ahead, and we are well served to have your wisdom."
Eilif gives a small smile of relief at the lanky dwarf's suggestion that supper be delayed. Even where she still stands the smell of cooking meat still assails her nostrils, and she moves as casually as she can to take a seat at the table to ease herself further away from the fires. She'd much rather the slight chill in the air at this distance than endure her churning stomach any longer. "I have never yet met a female like this one. Disrespectful, haughty, neglectful of her babe, tall tales and staggering. Was she drunk, perhaps?"
Adelsteinn waves his hand in front of his face as to ward off the smell. He then drains the last of his brew from his tankard and hands it to Fafnir. "Much appreciated," he replies. "My wisdom I can count on after a drink, but these tales make my head stiffen. This Aztryd, and an elf too? We have traded with their kind but why would one show up here after... this?" He waves his havd around towards the destruction. "I suppose we have to wait for our errant dwarf to return and provide some sound evidence for Aztryd's tale." He turns to Eilif. "Disrespectful, arriving without a scratch on her. Where was she during all of this? Drunk with the swans and elves? Perhaps you are right, Eilif."
Nasi rubs his chin thoughtfully for a moment, as he continues to stare into the fire, his hand rasping against his beard. "You may be right. I did catch a whiff of something from her even above the odor of that poor child, but it was not like the good clean aroma of the brews of our Adelsteinn. It was stronger, harsher somehow." He shrugs and moves to join the other at the table, flinching again a little when he bends to sit as the movement puts pressure on his wound.
Fafnir walks back from the other side of the kitchens, a full tankard in his hands and passes it off to the elder, choosing that opportunity to slide in next to him on the bench. Rubbing the side of his face thoughtfully, he looks over at Nasi. "A strong smell, you say? Perhaps that is her swan you smelt." He pauses and then looks over at the Elder, his eyes full of concern and dares to place a hand atop the other's arm. "Yet, Elder, the truth be told, Aztryd is here, and with an elf to boot. So, something of the wild story is of fact and not fancy." He hears a moan from the pantry and turns his head briefly. Swinging it back, he sweeps a gaze about the table. "And another thing for truth, Elder, she was dressed warmly and well. And our supplies will not hold out forever."
Adelsteinn takes a drink from the tankard Fafnir gave him. "Our supplies will not hold?" He turns towards the pantry and thinks he should take stock as elder. He knows those here depend on his decisions, and he should have the necessary knowledge. "I will take stock of our pantry, and while I am at it, I'll bring up another keg for our fancy guests." He rises and beckons to one of the more stronger stout dwarves to accompany him to the cellar.
 |
| Hjalmarr |
Hjalmarr limps the last few yards to the open kitchen doorway. Light, at last, and the sound of voices. He'd begun to think he was the only one left alive after the disaster. He scrubs at his eyes with filthy hands. Roaring and fire and a cave-in: he feels lucky to be alive, but not at all lucky in the bruises and bumps that cover him head to toe after hours of digging his way past the rock slide that had trapped him in a side-tunnel. And with only a broken, discarded pickax to hand, too! He grunts. His jewel inspector's tools had been no help at all. His mother, the Maker rest her, would have given him such a shake if he'd wandered into the tunnels without a proper axe when he was young.
He winces as he puts his weight down on his injured left foot. Didn't he have enough aches and pains in old age without having rocks fall on him with no provocation? He should be resting in front of the fire now, with a tankard of ale and supper on its way and young fools to grumble at, not covered in mud and bruises. Even his favorite red cloak is in need of serious repair. He staggers through the doorway, hoping against hope that he's found someone alive, and with sense.
Nasi begins to turn at the sound of footsteps behind him and catches himself in mid-movement. He just manages to stop himself from raising his hand to hold his wound, despising the obvious weakness this would have been. His brow furrows as he notices an elderly dwarf leaning against the doorway. Has he seen him before? There were so few survivors, clustered here in the community kitchens, but Gamilfûn had been a large bustling community before the attack and Nasi had been inclined to keep to himself. Now he found himself in a small group of strangers. Shrugging he turns back to the table. As with the elf in the hallway, it was none of his business.
Eilif notices the dark dwarf beside her turn to look over his shoulder and flinch. She hides the sympathy she feels for she knew he would not thank her for it, but so many carried grievous wounds since the attack. She turns her head to follow his gaze but try as she might, she can only see a hazy figure at the door. She drops her chin and turns back to the table too. She had not been able to see clearly ever since the attack. Without clear vision she had nothing, for a Smith needed to see well for their work. What did it matter who was at the door? What did any of it matter any more?
Fafnir reaches for the tankard Adelsteinn and pulls it across the table in front of him. He exhales, his eyes narrow for a moment in irritation. I go all the way across this kitchen to fetch him his ale, and he decides to go count barrels at the first mention of administrative considerations, Fafnir thinks. He looks up and over at the other two sitting on the other side of the table. Clearly, neither of them are thinking of more than their next meal and bandage change. Fafnir's expression relaxes then, and he reaches for the ale. So, he thinks, feeling the first flush of self satisfaction, I shall just have to help Master Brewer see his duties and choices clearly, shan't I? And as he brings the tankard up to his lips to drink, he looks up to see Eilif turn her head and another, elder dwarf stagger in. Maker take it all, he thinks to himself. Another tottering old gaffer? Is he an elder as well?
Aztryd returns to the kitchen, carrying the cleaner and happier Nizl. Another bedraggled dwarf stands in the doorway, and she nods neutrally to him as she passes. She glances around the kitchen in some confusion. The elder is missing. In his absence she moves to the table where the other dwarves are sitting, and addressed the company at large. "Thank you," she says in a formal tone. "That was much welcome. We have been traveling since dawn, without any break."
Lost in her own thoughts, Eilif had not noticed the return of the little mother. She gives a small shake of her head to clear her morose self-absorption. Her lips curl in an ironic smile at Aztryd's words. "So it seems she has manners after all," she thinks.
Nasi looks up briefly from his contemplation of the worn and scarred tabletop. So the newcomer was back. Less odoriferous at least and the babe had finally ceased its squalling. As long as it stayed quiet and he got his meal soon, Nasi didn't care if they'd flown in on one of the legendary Manwë's eagles itself. He'd not been hunting outside in the cold all day to sit around with an empty belly while some stranger spun stories. He snorts through his nose in annoyance and returns to his contemplation of the table. Peace? What was peace any more?
The young woman brushes past Hjalmarr and he grabs onto the edge of the doorway to stay upright. A small, motley group of dwarves is clustered around one of the tables further into the kitchens, all seemingly involved in their own affairs. None of them seem to be the usual cooks here at this time of day--not that he knows exactly what time it *
is* by now. His eyes track immediately to the fire and the bench beside the table. With a heavy sigh, he pushes off from the doorway and heads towards the small group, trying to mask his limp.
"Is there room on that bench?" he grits out as he gets closer. His throat is too dry and he doesn't sound like himself in his own ears. Seeing a mug of beer on the table, he grabs it and downs half of it in one swallow, leaning on the table for support.
Fafnir watches the elder dwarf, eyes narrow, taking in the bedraggled state for any clues about the importance of the person. He nods curtly as Aztryd enters and joins them and half rises as he keeps his eyes trained on the newest arrival. "So," he says as he continues to rises. "Tell us about your heroic journey, Aztryd. I should like to hear more about your miraculous transportation to our sorry ruins and our sorrier state." Yet all the while he is rising from his seat, eyes on the older dwarf. Well, I should help the old gaffer, he tells himself. If he is important, he should thank me later. If not, well, I shall need an assistant as I am assisting our esteemed Elder, and he may suit.
No sooner than he rises, the older dwarf is limping towards the group at the table. He remains, nearly out of his seat, as the old, bent wizened figure hobbles towards his end of the bench and grabs the ale he had poured for Adelsteinn. He opens his mouth to protest and nearly reaches out to snag the tankard back before he remembers himself. "Why," he says smoothly, damping his temper. "You have quite a thirst. Have the rest and a seat, old one. Tell us your name. "He forces himself to sit down, biting back a comment. Temper, he tells himself, does naught but turn a belly.
Eilif squints her eyes to focus as the figure from the doorway hobbles to the table. That way of moving, the voice, they were familiar. She blinks rapidly and raises her hand to her head as her eyes begin to water from the strain of trying to see more clearly.
Aztryd settles onto a bench at the table, as the older dwarf does likewise. "My journey … yes … the whole tale would take many a night to tell. But today's travels …" Where should she start this story? "I had found myself living with some Elves for a while. Decent enough sorts, but I did want to get back to my own home. They let my borrow one of their swans to ride. Yes," she says, anticipating a skeptical comment, "for these elves do ride on giant swans. And you can go out to the front gate yourself and see my mount, if you wish.
"But it is a long ride, and I have been flying since dawn, as I said. Only to find that you are in dire straights here, yourselves."
Nasi looks up again as the dwarf from the doorway staggers into view. His jaw drops as the stranger simply grabs the Elder's brew and scoffs it down. This time his snort of disgust is accompanied by a grunt for emphasis. His attention turns to the young mother as she takes a seat beside him on the bench and again spins her tale. His dark eyes are piercing, and his voice is a deep rumble as he asks, "And what would any self-respecting young mother be doing living with elves? Where is your husband? And why would elves need to fly on swans? Are their own legs no longer good enough for them? Giant swans, no less? I've never heard of such a beast." He leans forward, his elbows on his knees and looks at her steadily, "Are you sure you are not fevered, little mother?"'
"So,"Fafnir says, eying his ale in the hands of the sooty dwarf besides him, "You and this elf mounted the snowy back of this fabled and rather large swan...for large it must be, and together returned here." He turns his eyes to Nasi, watching how the other nurses his side, and notes the harsh tones in his voice. But he turns back to the little mother with a face as soft as cream. "No doubt soon we should break your fast and ours with what food we have." He rests a hand upon the table. "And besides yourself, the elf, and that sweet child, did you bring aught else home? Supplies? Gold? Riches? For elves are rich with jewels and other things wrought by the hands of dwarves and sold to them for a pittance."
Hjalmarr sinks gratefully onto the bench. Ahh. He sighs in relief as he takes the weight off his feet. "Good beer," he remarks. The skinny dwarf beside him looks vaguely familiar. Some sort of administrative person, maybe? He doesn't have the look of a proper craftsman. And the woman across the table in the armor looks rather like that customer of his from a few months back who was far too knowledgeable about mithril seams. Though if it is her, she didn't have that gash across her face at the time. Not, of course, that he looks like his normally prosperous and well-groomed self, either. He wipes mud from his mustache in disgust. "I am Hjalmarr, master jeweler," he answers the skinny dwarf. "Who're you?" He eyes the red-haired woman in the conversation about Elves. "And did somebody mention roast swan?"
Eilif nods to herself as she recognizes the name spoken. Yes, she remembers the old fellow. She'd had dealings with him now and then when she'd wanted jewels for the hilts of some of the fancier blades she made at times. It would be just like that wily fellow to survive. "Roast swan? Giant swans. Swans you can ride and swans in a sack in the pantry. It would seem our world is full of swans, old father. Which one would you like roasted?"
Fafnir turns to the older dwarf, his brown eyes studying the other's face. Master jeweler? He gives the other a smile and then bows his head slightly. "We are glad you perished not in the attack, Master Hjalmarr. Thank the Maker, we have two with many, many years of experience upon which we may draw in this time of crisis. Master Adelsteinn has gone to personally check upon our stores, so concerned is he for the welfare of our people. Across from us is the brave little mother, Aztryd, who was telling us of her exploits amongst the elves of some land or other. " He turns his head and gestures toward Nasi. "There is the brave and stalwart Nasi, and beside him is the beautiful and gentle Eilif. The majority of those who survived are resting in the pantry, which we have converted into an infirmary. We though this the best place from which to recover and stage a defense if attack comes again." He looks over at Aztryd. "I hope once the fair mother has finised her tale, we might hear of your own, Master Jeweler." He addresses Hjalmarr, but his eyes were resting upon Aztryd. Is she telling us the truth, he wonders.
"My 'husband' is a drunken lout, for all his rank, and if he comes to meet the wrong end of the Maker's Hammer, it will be too good for him," Aztryd snarls. She continues through gritted teeth. "He tried to throw the child across the room, he did. And that I would not have."
Taking a deep breath, she tries to collect herself. "Aye, those Elves are rich enough. Not many of them, but a fine palace of stone, with plenty of jewels and worked-stuff indeed. Though mostly elf-made, to my eye, in a very old-fashioned style. And if I had known how things stood here, we would have brought more provisions."
Nasi nods as though considering deeply Aztryd's story. He looks down a moment as he thinks and then raises his eyes to hers again. "So this swan you rode, that carried both you and an elf, it could have carried more provisions too? By the Maker, this is a mighty swan indeed." He glances over his shoulder at Eilif and asks quietly. "Do we still have some of that herbal draught you have been using to ease the fevers of the wounded? I think we might have need of some."
Eilif turns to look at the dark stone-mason as he speaks to her and then glances over his shoulder at Aztryd. Her story certainly did sound like something from a fevered mind. Children were so cherished among the Khazad. What father would do as she claimed? She narrows her eyes thoughtfully as she regards the little mother. Or more to the point, perhaps what had she done to provoke such a thing? Had she been unfaithful? Questions whirled in her mind. She nods and says quietly to Nasi, "We do, should it be needed."
"I should rather roast swan than riding swans," says Hjalmarr to Eilif. "Though the larger the swan, the more roast, eh?" He eyes the small group as Fafnir introduces them and frowns over his beer. "Mayhap too much for those that survive." He nudges Fafnir. "Beautiful and with an excellent eye for jewels, she is, but as warlike as any Dwarf I have known in my long life. Though Eilif, at least," his eyes flicker towards Aztryd, "would not throw a babe."
Fafnir leans forward at Aztryd's words, his eyes widening slightly, and the breath catching in his throat. Throw a child? Did he hear right. He turns slightly, feigning interest in the other's words while his mind turns over and over what Aztryd was saying. Even his own da never did more than the occasional back handed slap. He looks back to Aztryd. "Your husband tried to hurt the child?" he asks, and for a moment, all pretense is dropped. "He was with the elves, too?"
Aztryd snorts at the memory of her former husband. "He did, indeed. When he had had a mug too many. Or at least he cared not who or what he hurt, and that came to the same thing, as far as mattered for the child. And no, he was most certainly not with the elves. I was getting myself and the child as far away from him as I could. And then getting us back here, to my old home."
Nasi turns to look at the speaker across the table. This one was not like so many others he had met in his lifetime here at Gamilfûn, nor any other Khazad he had encountered upon his journeys to work on other settlements. He is built different, for starters. Taller. Finer in his build. But he also has a sharp mind. Nasi smiles. Because he himself is mostly quiet, others often think him dim, but he misses little when he sits quietly with his fellows. Yes, this one, this Fafnir, he has a quick wit and a sharp mind. Let him dig the truth from the one beside him. With a nod of acknowledgment to Fafnir, he turns his attention back to the mother and her story.
Eilif nods to Hjalmarr at his words, ignoring the throbbing in her head the moment causes. "Aye, war-like when it comes to getting a fair price for a fair product, but you are right.." her voice lowers, and there is a hint of wistfulness in it as she continues. "I.. I would never throw a babe. And I can make an especially sharp blade to use on those who would. " She turns to consider the little mother thoughtfully. Was she telling the truth, she wonders? Had her husband really done that, or is it all part of a fevered imagining?
"Let us sup, then!" says Hjalmarr, thumping the table. "While Eilif sharpens her blades, let us dull our hunger."
> Next 
Manwe looks thoughtfully at Aule. He appears to be totally controlled by the influence of the chamber. The Lord of the West thinks that he should be the one to convince Aule to come out of the chamber, and he must do it himself and alone. Perhaps without the influence of Eonwe, who is obviously at odds with the Maker. If he were alone, he might succeed in convincing him to come. He turns to Eonwe. "My herald, please escort the Lady Nienna to the upper floor. You need not be concerned for my safety. You and Nienna must both respect my authority in this."
Eonwe stares at the Maker for a few moments more, his gaze unwavering, although when Aule yelled out his "No!" the very stones here beneath Mandos seem to shudder in answer. He slides his gaze over to the Vala of Compassion, standing there, half clothed, her hand dropping from the motion of reaching for the Smith. The Chief of the Maiar looks at her expression, but cannot decide for himself what is writ there. Then, dropping his gaze, he lifts blue eyes to meet the gaze of the Lord of the West. "My Lord," he begins, and lifts his hands, palms up as though to beseech the Lord of the West. "I would for all of Eru's creation to not leave your side," he murmurs, his voice soft, gentle. Then as he watches the face of the Lord he has served and serves still, he clears his throat and speaks again. Dropping his hands to his side, it is the voice of the Herald who speaks, who answers his Lord as he has always. 
Nienna frowns, unwilling to be parted from Aulë, unwilling to directly disobey her King. For a heartbeat she hesitates. Two heartbeats. Once again she reaches out a hand toward Aulë. Her eyes wide, she says in a plaintive whisper, "Will you not come, dearest?" Yet Aulë's eyes are not on her at all. With pained eyes, she steps bleakly past Eonwë, toward the hall beyond.
Manwë turns to the Maker. He hears his anguish in his voice. Aulë always was sure of voice, but Manwe sees now the torment within him. He thinks for a moment as the others depart, and they are left alone. Manwë's curiosity and gentle side is revealed. "Why do you not want the chamber destroyed?" He desires more knowledge as to how his evil brother managed to corrupt two Valar and a Maia. Such knowledge may prove useful in the future should any more of Melkor's old devices surface again. Plus his memory flashes back to the evil flowers. The Maker has a lot of explaining to do. "This is your chance to speak up."
