"Heave!" A stocky dwarf shouted as a group of about a dozen dwarves pulled on a thick rope. The gate rose slowly, a cloud of dust rising from the ground where it had fallen days before. The dwarves grunted and groaned with the effort, their muscled arms rippling as they pulled with all their might.
Kalan watched and gave a satisfied nod when the gate rose into place. The damage that had been inflicted on the mountain was severe, but not entirely beyond repair. Soon, Kalan hoped, the mountain would be returned to its former glory. For now though, it was enough that it was able to withstand another siege. They had to be prepared... Because while Kalan hoped his friends would succeed in the south, if they did not the enemy would be at the gates once more... And this time, no help would come.
With a heavy-hearted sigh he hurried through the gates and into the mountain. He had been put in charge of the rebuilding of the mountain by Thorin Stonehelm, a young and brash dwarf from the Iron Hills who was the late King Dain's son and was soon to sit on the throne of Erebor. Thorin had been told of Kalan's importance in the battle and had immediately sought his assistance; A fact that Kalan was beginning to rue.
It wasn't that he didn't want to help. It was more the fact that a great deal of authority had been given to him, and most certainly had not wanted that.
"Kalan!" A nervous looking dwarf exclaimed as he trotted over. "We need more stone in the west hall! Some mighty rough damage was done to it. The right corner caved in and there's not enough rock to fill it in."
Kalan pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes in exasperation. "Go talk to head-mason Bror about it. He'll get ya what ya need."
The dwarf nodded gratefully and ran off, presumably to do what Kalan had suggested.
A silence had pervaded the mountain ever since the battle. Dwarves usually sang or talked with one another when they worked, but their losses had been so great that most of them were still in mourning. None had escaped the battle without losing someone close to them... not even Kalan. His heart still hurt when he thought about Caledorn. Though the elf had always been cold and distant, Kalan had always thought of him as a friend. After all of their adventures together, it was difficult not to.
"For what it's worth, I think you're doing an excellent job leading the repair efforts," Edhael stated with a kind smile as he nodded to Kalan from his spot atop a pile of rubble. "How are you faring?"
"Ach, I'm doin' alright lad! Lots of work to keep me busy!" He exclaimed, forcing a smile as he subtly wiped a tear from his eye. Thinking of Caledorn had made him even more sorrowful than he had thought.
"Aye, that there is," Edhael replied, strumming his lute absentmindedly. "I should think that the elves would be more than happy to assist with the repairs when they return!"
Kalan chuckled at that. "You tree-squirrels still hate us. Besides, your own kingdom will need repairin' of its own, I reckon."
"You sell yourself short, my friend! Not to make a pun," Edhael cleared his throat awkwardly. "I'd say it would be of mutual interest for our people to work together in this case. After all, who can make gates as fine as the dwarves? And who could enchant them as well as the elves? No, my friend, I am certain I could convince King Thranduil to cut a deal with your new leader."
Kalan tugged at his beard thoughtfully. "Might be worth a shot! I'll see what that little firebrand Thorin thinks!"
"You do that!" Edhael laughed lightly. "Oh, and before I forget!" He pulled a small lute from behind his back. "I made you this. A sort of token of our friendship! Though I don't doubt we shall see much of each other in the coming years."
Kalan looked it over, admiring the craftsmanship. "You elves still manage to impress me from time to time! Thank ya kindly lad, I shan't forget it!"
As he wandered away he strummed the lute thoughtfully. Maybe elves weren't so bad after all.
===========================
Rukil awoke slowly, his head throbbing with pain. His nostrils were greeted by the scent of lavender, which he assumed was to cover up some other, less pleasant odor. With a groan, he carefully sat up, observing that his entire torso was covered in bandages.
He couldn't quite remember what had taken place, but he knew there had been a battle. And, if the strange dwarven banners hung on the carven stone walls of the room were an indicator, he was far from home.
To his surprise, a slight of build red-haired woman entered, carrying a tray with water and food on it. She smiled when she saw that he was awake, the relief clear in her expression.
"You've been asleep for quite some time," She said, setting the tray down beside him. "We almost thought you would never wake."
"Well, they can't take me down that easily," He replied, attempting to hide his confusion. "Though I can't quite recall who they were."
"You don't remember?" The woman replied, her eyebrows furrowing. "Word is, you fought one of those Ringwraiths. They say it was seen fleeing the area where you were found."
"I remember a shadow... Nothing more," he replied, shrugging apologetically. "I don't believe I've introduced myself. I am Rukil, by the way."
The woman smiled. "An introduction was not needed. Tales of your adventures and bravery have been spreading like wildfire among Dalefolk and dwarves alike. I'm Astrid."
"It is a pleasure meeting you, Astrid," Rukil replied with a bow of his head. "The kindness and hospitality of your people will not be forgotten."
Astrid's cheeks reddened slightly at the praise. "Nor will the heroism of yours be forgotten by my people. Were it not for you, the mountain would have surely fallen."
"My people have been preparing for this war for a long time," Rukil replied graciously. "Yours were not so fortunate. It was a storm that seemingly came without warning to you all."
Astrid nodded. "Aye, it was. We lost many good people... including our king."
"I am sorry to hear that," Rukil said, genuine sorrow in his voice. "We in Rhun had heard tales of Brand, and respected him greatly. I had looked forward to meeting him after... after all of this." He trailed off sadly.
Astrid looked at him with mournful eyes. "He would've liked that."
After a moment of solemn silence, Astrid rose to leave. "I should tend to the other patients. I'll be back soon though, I hope that we may be able to speak again."
Rukil nodded and smiled. "I hope so too. Farewell for now, Astrid of Dale."
================
As the days went by, the two saw much of each other and a friendship soon blossomed between them. They would talk late into the night, when the rest of the mountain was fast asleep. Astrid told Rukil much of the people of Dale, and in exchange Rukil shared stories and tales of the mysterious East, where the men still rode upon dragons and wyrms and the fields went on and on in endless waves of green.
"You should see it, m'lady," Rukil murmured, an intense gleam in his eye. "The cities there are carved into the very mountains. Not like dwarves cities though. These have balconies on the mountains' edge, overlooking the vast valleys below, and thousands of windows let in the crisp mountain air. To reach the cities, one must travel along the pass of Rana'kar, a perilous road that hugs the side of a massive chasm. Many have plunged into the depths below, never to be seen again. Those that make it arrive in a veritable paradise."
Astrid leaned closer, her voice barely above a whisper but her expression one of awe. "Have you been there?"
Rukil nodded, his expression one of longing. "I have. I and my retinue made the pilgrimage once, in an effort to gain allies in the region. It is an experience I'll never forget." He smiled faintly, giving her a fond look. "Perhaps one day I shall have the honor of showing it to you myself."
"I would love nothing more than that," Astrid replied, returning his smile. "Once the war is over, I would gladly go."
"Then it shall be so," the prince said, taking her fair hand in his own rough one. "You shall see the wonders of the East with me."
Astrid beamed. "I look forward to it."
==========