Sun Spots (short story collection)

Precious

Authors Note - Challenge was a fantasy based on the Lord of the Rings Trilogy but only using one of the actual characters - Gollum.  Plus Precious had to be anything except a ring, and there are three quotes in bold.

Word count was between 1600 and 2400 - this is 2396 (not counting this note!)!

The dwarf, Drokkur Stonecutter, sat outside the guardhouse, his red bushy beard catching the last rays of the sun as he polished his axe. There might no longer be armsmen to train, but that wasn't going to prevent him from looking after his own weapon.  

The slanting light picked out the dust in the courtyard, a courtyard that once would have been swept as clean as Milady's best china plate.  

There was no disputing it, Whitehorn Hold had seen better days. The blue slate roof was cracked in places, the moat, once filled by fresh mountain springs was dry and covered with weeds. The ancient drawbridge, so long left down that Stonecutter doubted it could ever be raised again, threatened to give way under anything heavier than a single horse and cart. 

Perched atop a mountain at the head of Durin's Pass, for centuries the castle and the town below it had been a bustling waystation for travellers; humans, dwarves and more rarely, elves, anyone leaving Eriador to venture forth into Rhovanion. Stonecutter remembered great caravans of horses and wagons arriving from the lowlands, to set up camp for a couple of days, do a little trading and replenish their supplies of food and water. Then they would be on their way, winding a rainbow ribbon along the pass until they reached Durin's Bridge then the steep climb up, passing below the sentinel of Ironfist's Fortress, before the slow descent to Rhovanion. 

All that had changed with the coming of the trolls. 

In one blood filled night, a band of trolls had attacked the fortress, killing every man woman and child within, and setting up camp in the ruins. Normally not the brightest of creatures, this band had been led by the largest troll any one had seen, with an intelligence to match. Since that night, the Pass had been blocked and no-one had been able to get through to Rhovanion. Many had tried, including bands of armsmen from Whitehorn Hold itself, but all failed. The trolls were immovable. Eventually the caravans stopped coming and travellers found other, if much longer, ways into the next country. 

That had been the start of a long decline for Whitehorn and all those who depended on it, and the caravans, for a living. 

Which was why Stonecutter paused in his task. The sound of hooves galloping over the cobblestones was unmistakeable. Who could be coming to the Hold after all this time, on horseback and at such a pace? 

He rose to his feet and went forward to meet the stranger, his axe held at the ready in one hand. He turned briefly and frowned, as a young man came swiftly forth from inside the Hold to join him.  

"Who comes, Stonecutter?"  

Before he could answer, a man rode into the courtyard and dismounted quickly to stand before them. He was of middle age, his features harsh beneath black hair tied in a knot at his neck. 

He wore a livery of dark grey, a sword at his side and a bow slung across his back. He looked from one to the other for a moment and then addressed them both, speaking in urgent tones. 

"I am Aradiel, here on the King's business. I must see Lord Maloduard immediately. Can you take me to him?" 

"I am sorry,sir, my father is not well. He sees no-one." 

Aradiel turned his gaze on the speaker, a touch impatiently. He saw a boy, not yet quite a man, wearing dark brown trousers, with an embroidered shirt. His short blond hair framed delicate features, presently bearing an expression of curiosity mixed with regret.