Just as a preface, my dwarves live longer than the ones that Tolkien thought up. So everything that he originally thought up belongs to him and Peter Jackson who made the movies, but the ages and some of the traditions are my own which I have created bits and pieces of other peoples interpretations. So, please don't harp on me if you come across something that is not exactly accurate to what Tolkien depicted.
T.A. 2845
The bright golden light sparkled and snapped around the hand that seemed to shine from. It moved like a mist, and yet it had a body, being able to take the forms of different things. It flickered like a flame, eating up the energy that it was given like water to the dry ground. It seemed to have an energy all it's own, bright, protective, healing.
"So, you just have to believe in it, pull it from deep within yourself, and then it's just there," the musical voice directed, the golden light twisting and turning around their hand and up their arm.
"I've been able to do some of that, but do you know what you personally are able to do with this light? This power?"
"I'm not entirely sure," Mariam said, the golden light receding back into her hand like it had never been there, "But I think there is the possibility that is could do a lot of healing. It seems to be connected to the life around us, nature, and all living things."
"Quite fascinating, I'll have to give it a try sometime," Thennil chuckled, looking down at the shorter girl, who was still practically a child compared to her mother's people. She had given her all the knowledge she could about this gift, and found that she herself possessed something similar, though it was not as strong as it was in Mariam.
"I don't think that you should use it to often, or a lot, it could be draining, and that would be bad, especially if you are in the middle of a battle," the child speculated, turning aside to look at one of the many flowers that grew among the gardens of Imladris.
She had grown since they had come to the hidden valley, blooming in ways that even her mother had not known were possible. She had grown taller, taller than her father, which had surprised her mother, though not quite as tall as an elf was. Rather she was close to the height of a shorter woman among the race of man or a very, very tall dwarf. She had progressed when it came to her mother's language, having only spoken the Common tongue, Kuzdul with her father, and a few words of Sindarin when she felt inclined. Here in the valley her studies had increased, and she took on many languages, even learning some of the words that the yrch used, though Thennil tried to prevent that as much as possible. She had also convinced the Twins to teach her archery, fencing, and hand to hand combat as she put it, all within the matter of a few years. Now, she was one of the most accomplished fighters of Imladris, even though she was considered a child. She had never been out on a patrol, no matter how much she begged Glorfindel and Thennil, her mother had stated that she would only be allowed once she had succeeded in beating both of the Twin and one or two of the other guards that she hung around. She had yet to best the Twins, but had taken down two of her friends among the young warriors, using very unorthodox means, but doing it none the less. She had become very good at improvising. She had indeed grown, if her father had been around, he would not have hesitated to keep her locked up in her room. She had turned into quite the beautiful young woman.
She had taken after her mother with her golden hair, looking quite like a fountain of the metal poured down her thin body like a fountain. It's texture was silky smooth, but with dream like waves that fell down over her shoulders easily. Her emerald green eyes sparked with mischief and joy, much like her father's once had. She was pale like her mother, though took after her father in regards to working up a heathy glow of red on her cheeks when she worked hard at something. She had become skilled with her hands, not just welding weapons, but weaving cloth and sewing beautiful clothes. She was known for her unconventional style, her tunics being layered and falling almost to mid-calf, but being loose enough to enable her to move swiftly when she was on the training field. Her companions called her Pen lhûg, or little dragon, so fiery was her spirit when they egged her on. She was quite entertaining, and many times the ellyns decided to gather at the field even after they were done to see the sparring that happened when Elladan or Elrohir, and even Thennil would sometimes participate in with her, just for fun.
Mariam was not the only one that had grow when she came to the hidden valley. Thennil had grown in character, wisdom, and courage. She had been immensely nervous about meeting her siblings and family again. She had avoided them for nearly three hundred years, and the whole time she had felt that it was her fault that their mother had left, sailing across the sea. She had blamed herself over and over again, telling herself that if she had just been sooner, quicker, more astute, and had followed her instincts that she would have been able to save her.
The day that they had arrived back in Imladris she had almost been more afraid of what people, and her family, would say about her than Miluiel had been about the comments she would get about her short marriage. The whole way down the path she had been fidgeting internally, her mind flicking from one thought to the next faster than the speed of light. She knew that her horse, Arion, could sense her unease, and in turn that made him antsy. He placed along after the other horses, his feet lifting high like a show horse. They had sent word before to let her father know of their arrival, but they had been so close that they hadn't gotten a return note, causing her to worry all the more. Trotting down the path and across the bridge, they passed beneath a waterfall before entering the courtyard. They had been met by a silent crowd, all waiting with bated breath for the arrival of the lost ones, as they had been called in their first few years. She had initially scoffed at that name, for none of them had ever been really lose, just wandering, learning more about their world. Miluiel and Mariam had dismounted and were engulfed in a group of their distant relations, second and third cousins. She had sat atop her steed, hesitantly lifting her eyes to those of her family, fearing the judgement and hatred that she felt that she would see in their eyes. Though their faces remained stoic, she could seen the sorrow, joy, grief, and relief swirl in their grey eyes, the most president of their emotions though was happiness. She had been utterly puzzled, even for all her years of wisdom, that they could be so forgiving. She had dismounted slowly from Arion, and made her way up the steps to stop before her dark haired father. All the emotions that she had been feeling, all the regret, had nearly vanished when she saw the pride and joy that she could feel from her father. His eyes had taken on a glassy look as she had traversed the steps to the top, his prodigal daughter finally finding it in herself to return to him.
"I have come home, if it pleases you for me to stay," she had whispered, glancing up at him then down to the stones repeatedly.
"I would have it no other way," he had replied, voice filled with emotion.
"My old rooms are still available? If not I'm sure that Miluiel and Mariam would mind me bunking with them, I've done it-
"Your rooms have been ready and waiting for you, nín randir," he had said, sweeping his hand toward the archway, "We have waited a long time for your return, my iell."
She had nodded, and looking to her friends, went and helped them find the place that they would call home. She had regained some of her courage that day. Once she had retired to her quarters, she had been accosted by her two younger brothers, a maraud of questions pelted upon her after they had squeezed the life out of her with their tight embraces. The wanted to know everything that had happened to her, who she had met, but mostly, why she had left. Elladan and Elrohir were ashamed when she admitted that she had felt like everyone, them inperticular, blamed her for what happened to their mother. They had begged her forgiveness for not expressing themselves when they had had the chance, knowing that it could have saved her all the grief and heartache that she had gone through in the years they had been separated from one another.
"So you met the dwarf king?" they had asked, amazed that she would associate herself with the dirty thing.
"I dreamed of his kingdoms destruction by the dragon, of course I met King Thror, though he was not so keen on meeting me after I brought him my message."
"What did he do?"
"Told me that I was never to set foot within his fortress until the day he died, he threatened to kill me if I came within two-hundred yards of the front gate as I was exiting his throne room," she had said, a mischievous glint in her eye.
"And did you ever?"
"Aye, many times, though his guards never saw me, I was always careful to dress appropriately." They snickered.
"You saw him come, didn't you?" Ellandan had asked.
"Aye, he was great and terrible, his stomach glowed yellow when the fire built within him and it was like the strongest flame we have ever made multiplied a thousand times. It was hot, hotter than any summer day here or in Lorien; many of the people and dwarves that were not even close to the dragon had burns from the great heat, it was an awful sight to behold."
"Why did you not flee? You could have gone to Mirkwood to seek refuge from the dragon's fire?"
"And leave the dwarves to their fate? Nay, I learned long ago that foresight comes with a great responsibility, it was a small price to pay to be able to protect them, to bring them comfort in their time of need."
"But King Thranduil didn't help, why should you?"
She had nearly spat on the ground at the mention of the elvenkings name, "He would not subject his people to the dragon fire, and so left the dwarves to perish in darkness and doom. I was give gifts, why should I keep them to use only for my own people when so many other's would benefit from them? No, I brought them the warning, I was not about to leave them to die when I was responsible."
"You are better than us, sister."
"You will learn compassion, it just takes time," she had told them, standing as she heard the small footsteps of her young friend tripping down the hall.
Not long after, she found Arwen sitting among the white climbing roses at the far end of their mother's garden, pretending to read a large book about the First Age. She had been able to tell that her sister was not reading the words in front of her, her eyes had taken on a distant look, and her mind was far away. She had settled down on her sister's right side, her skirts rustling softly as they brushed against the bench. Slowly she had taken the book from her sisters limp hands, taking them in her own, and drawing the silvery grey eyes to her own. No word had to be spoken, everything that needed to be said was read in the other's eyes. They each knew how much the parting from their mother had done to each other, and the guilt on Thennil's part Arwen had let her know was unfounded. She was never the one to blame, not even if some of the elves though that it was behind closed doors. She offered encouragement in the form of a tight embrace, tears falling from both of their eyes as all the pent up emotions began to trickle then spout out from deep in their hearts.
Arwen had guessed that it was misconceived guilt that had driven her older sister away from their small family. She had questioned her brothers about their actions, digging deep to find the root of the problem that everyone else seemed to have glazed over. Once she had found the reason that her sister had fled, she had tried to send messages to her through those that traveled through Imladris, hoping to reach her somehow. None of them ever made it to her with all of her wandering. Arwen had been filled with grief, mourning the time that had been snatched away from her with her sister, knowing that it could never be replaced. As the years had passed, she had become resigned to the fact that her sister might never return; that they had driven her away from her refuge. She had taken to haunting her sisters rooms, cleaning them like she would be back any day, her love and hope felt deeper than any feeling a human could have. Her sister was the closest thing connecting her to her mother aside from her father, and it pained her to know that they were separated from one another.
Their father had lost the mischievous look that had sparked in his eyes when his wife had been with him, he had drawn back into himself, slowly, but not fully, healing the broken threads of the bond with his wife. He had taken less and less interest in the training field, unlike before where he would sometimes spar with one or all three of his children while his wife watched from the sidelines, cheering. Many of the places that Celebrian had spent her time he avoided, but as time went by the pain became more of a numb reminder that she was not with him. He had known that Thennil would leave him at some point after her mother's leave-taking, and it hurt him deeply at how soon it was after their return that she disappear from his house, it was as if she had never lived among them.
He never said it in so many words, but when she returned, he had felt that a part of his wife had returned with her to him. Her personality at times along with some of her characteristics reminded him of his departed wife. Many times he could see her laughing when his daughter let joy bubble forth from her heart, her voice, and even the way she walked reminded him of Celebrian. She brought back many memories, and the pain began to recede from him, though it never disappeared entirely.
Many days would find her sitting in one of the window seats of his study, reading one of the many books that he kept there. After spending so much time traveling, fighting, and watching over the dwarves she had found herself thirsty for the knowledge that could be found in the musty tombs of the library at home. And after seen the golden light that surrounded her young friend, she became more curious than ever. She searched the most dusty tombs, reading about the powers that her ancestors had had when they lived in Aman, and how they had used them. She had sent letter after letter to her grandmother, filled to the brim with questions about the powers. Steadily she had learned about that golden glow, and what it could be used for. She had gone for a few years and spent time under her grandmothers instruction and teaching, sucking up all the information like a sponge to bring back and tell Mariam.
When she had learned as much as she could, she had taken to teaching the girl the head knowledge about her gift. Each day they had set aside time to go over the information that she had collected, and tried applying it to things. Sometimes these escapades turned into disasters, which was why they had taken it into the outdoors by the request of her father and Miluiel, fearing that they would bring the house down with one of their experimentations. The duo had merely laughed at them, and fled the words of caution from the two.
Today they had attempted to make one of the wilting flowers grow, and had succeeded spectacularly. The flower, though tended by the best gardeners among their people, refused to reach up towards the light, it's leaves and blooms drooping, nearly touching the ground. They had started to sing, what sounded close to a nonsense song, but in reality it was the song that came from deep within them, pulling the energy from them and transferring it to the flower in a gold and copper glow from each of their hands. Mariam seemed to be able to summon it from herself with more ease than her teacher, it was almost natural. Thennil assumed that it was harder for herself because it was a forgotten power among her people, even her father could not totally understand it. Slowly, before their eyes it had straightened, it's blooms reaching up towards the sun, the wilted leaves uncurling and sucking in the warm light. It had been extremely fascinating to watch, and have a hand in.
"So, when do you think I can go on patrol with Elladan and Elrohir?" the girl asked, bouncing back from looking at the flowers.
"Not quite yet."
"I've beaten many of the guards, and almost bested Elrohir the other day, don't you think I'm ready?"
"No."
"Why? I've got experience, and I'm doing well in my studies, what else is there to learn?"
"You aren't old enough yet, give it a few years."
"You were only a few years older than I am when you went on your first patrol. Why do I need to wait longer, I'm practically an adult by Adar's standards."
Thennil chuckled as she threw an arm around her prodigal child, "You may be almost as old as I was, but I was only able to go because the world was less threatening than it is today."
"I can take care of myself, no one would have to worry about me, I could do it."
"It's not just about being able to take care of yourself or what age you are, it has a lot to do with maturity. Elrohir was able to go on his first patrol before Elladan because he was more mature, while Elladan was still quite reckless."
"So, I can be mature."
"Yes, key words can be, but you aren't always mature. It has to be a consistent thing."
"The twins aren't consistently mature, they play pranks on people all the time!" the girl argued.
"While that may be, in general they are more mature when they make decisions that have consequences."
"So when will I be able to go on patrol?"
"Giver or take twenty years."
"What?! I'll be almost one hundred! That's so old!" she whined.
"What am I then, rotting in my grave? I'm nearly three thousand years old." She teased the girl, tickling her. Mariam giggled loudly, as the long fingers found her most ticklish spots. Squirming, she wiggled out from the tight embrace that Thennil had held her in.
"You're an elf though, I'm just a half breed," they sobered.
"You are nothing of the sort! Who told you that?" Thennil demanded, grabbing the girl by the shoulders.
"Nobody..."
"Someone had to have said it for you to repeat it. Now, tell me who called you that?"
"One of the ladies down in the markets..." came the hesitant answer.
"Why did you not tell your mother or I? Or Lord Elrond? We could have set them straight!"
"I didn't want to cause trouble," the girl mumbled, looking at the ground, "But aren't I one?"
"You wouldn't have caused any trouble. And no, you are not one."
"Then what am I? I'm not an elf, and I'm not a dwarf, so what am I?"
Drawing the girl into her arms, she led her to a seat beneath one of the great oaks that grew along the garden edges. She waited a few second for her to adjust her skirts before taking her hands and looking deep into the innocent eyes that begged for answers.
"You are Mariam. Daughter of Miluiel of Imladris and Tilrim of Erebor. Swordswoman. Healer. Student. Teacher. Hope and Joy. You are an amazing young lady, and never let anyone tell you different or bring you down with demeaning words. You come from strong bloodlines on both of your parents sides. You were a princess in your father's eyes," she paused, reliving the memories that rushed through her mind.
"Did you know that was what he called you before he died? His little Princess, and you mother was his queen. Nothing could sway his feelings and great love for you." Slipping a hand into her pocket, she pulled out a small pouch. She opened the top and poured the contents into the white palm of her hand.
"What are these?" the girl asked, peering closer.
"These are family beads, made by your father. I haven't found the right time to give them to you, but perhaps I was just waiting for this moment," she said reaching forward and cupping the girl face.
"What do they signify?"
"This one- she picked up a small chunky bead with leaves etched into it with the smallest emerald embeded into the silver and gold-is a family bead. It shows what clan you are from and what your father's craft was. It would be put into your hair from a strand in front of your left ear." she looked at the girl, asking with her eyes if she might braid her hair. Mariam nodded, sitting so that she was facing her elder. It did not take Thennil long to remember what and how Tilrim's family braid had looked like, she had a very good memory. After finishing the braid, she took the bead and unclasped it before snapping it on to the chunk of hair.
That was how they spent the rest of the afternoon. Each bead Thennil would explain the design, the reason for it, and the placement that it had in Mariam's hair. It wasn't long before the girl had five braids strewn throughout her locks. Going all from memory, Thennil had told her the detailed stories that went with each braid, and how each signified a different stage in her life. She explained that normally she would have worn a child bead, one that had nothing on it but a small jem, along with a youth's bead, which had the family sigil, or crest, on it. Her father would be the one to braid them into her hair, but as he was not here, and her mother had not spent much time learning about the bead traditions, she had taken on the responsibility. She also explained the beliefs of the dwarves regarding One's to the best of her ability, but her knowledge of what actually happened was spars. Overall, she explained that hair brushing and braiding was extremely important.
"So kind of how elves only let someone who is a close family member or a very, very good friend are allowed to touch another's hair purposely?"
"It is similar, but not quite the same. It is a massive offense to a dwarf if another touches another's hair, especially a females hair, on purpose or on accident without the other's consent."
"Oh. So don't touch anyone's hair if you can help it?"
"Pretty much, penneth."
Standing up from the bench, Mariam hurried over to one of the birdbaths that were scattered all over the garden, leaning forward to see herself in the water's reflection. She traced her fingers over the five beads that now hung in her hair, a proud smile gracing her features. After spending a few more moments admire herself, she turned around and rushed into her Aunts arms.
"Thank you so much," she whispered, hugging tightly.
"It was nothing, penneth."
"I want to be just like you when I get older." she stated, pulling back and gazing into her aunt's eyes.
"No, you grow up and be you, Mariam. Don't be like me, there is so much more out there than what I have experienced." She said, running her hand through the girls hair before the youngling ran off into the garden.
"Go find an adventure."
Please Review! And thanks to all of you who have reviewed, I really do appreciate it. See ya soon!
Robin