Arkenstone
Radsvinn, Lord of Khazad-dûm
was not easily over-awed, but the object that lay on the table was fit to
deprive even a Dwarf of coherent speech.
“Re.mark.able,”
he managed at last. “Astonishing. And it was made you say?”
“It was made. I should know,” his guest replied.
Radsvinn traced the object again with his
fingers, still with reverence, but this time with a more observant quality to
his touch. He bent forward also,
narrowing his eyes, as he studied the casing.
“You will not be able to imitate it,”
the other remarked, in a tone shaded with irony. “Even if you could recreate the casing, and
none of us ever knew how it was made, even if you could do that, you could not
catch the same Light. That is gone.”
The Dwarf lord accepted the verdict
with a sigh. “Astonishing,” he said
again. “And you are quite sure
this is what you wish? It would be a
gift beyond all recompense.”
“I am sure. It’s no use to me, and your people know how
to care for treasures. As for
recompense: your skill in healing burns is well worth an heirloom.” He looked down at his left hand, scarred but
fully usable again. “All I ask is you
keep quiet about this meeting.”
“No-one has ever said the Dwarves
cannot hold their tongues when needed,” Radsvinn
said. “Besides, there is no need to
court trouble. Wars have been fought for
this Jewel, I have heard.”
“They have,” the Elf said grimly. “Fortunately the Oath did not say we could
not give the Stones away.” Radsvinn, examining the gem again, offered no comment. By Dwarvish standards unbreakable oaths of
blood-thirsty vengeance were perfectly reasonable things, so he would not have
felt inclined to criticise even if his guest had not just presented him with
the worth of a kingdom. “Still there
might be others who feel rather strongly about where it should be bestowed,
even if they have no right to a say in the matter.”
“It will be an heirloom held in secret
by my line,” the Dwarf King promised, “never spoke of at large, until perhaps
generation on generation has passed, and its origins are entirely forgotten.”
The Elf smiled a little without much
humour. “It’s quite a shame I’ll never
know what the Valar would make of a Silmaril in the care of Dwarves.”
The only Vala the Dwarves felt any
trust for was Aulë. As for the
turbulent, and now to a large extent defunct, Elf-House to which Radsvinn’s guest belonged; their reputation was not
precisely trustworthy either, but it did speak of an unusual (for Elves) degree
of affinity with his own kind.
“Where will you go?” he asked, with
real interest.
“Somewhere far enough that Beleriand
is not even a name. I have rather too
much of a reputation, and I could never be mistaken by those who know the tales
for anyone but myself.”
“A judiciously spread rumour or two
will help to cover your tracks,” Radsvinn
observed. “As well as concealing where this
is bestowed.”
“I leave that to your judgement – with
my thanks.” He rose,
lamp-light striking copper sparks on his long hair. Dwarves were fortunately fond of ceilings
much higher than they needed. “May your
heirs guard the Stone well! Misfortune
has a way of following when one of these is mislaid.”
~~~~~~~~~
{Several millennia later}
The being known in this part of
Middle-earth as Gandalf did not return immediately to his tent, but stood a
while with his eyes fixed thoughtfully on the evening star. His memory wasn’t what it used to be. In fact he couldn’t even remember what his
memory had been like. So he really
shouldn’t trust too much to what little he could recall of a certain Elf’s
party headwear.
He’d not seen the Arkenstone
Thorin had talked so much about before. The tale was it had been dug up in the time
of Thrain I, but how much were tales truly worth?
Air, Sea and
Earth.
Earth could, after all, mean a number of things. Maybe he should raise it with Elrond if he
went back by Rivendell…. Or maybe not. Elrond
was still a bit touchy on the subject of Silmarils.
No, it must be pure fancy! A trick of aging eyes. Stay too long in Middle-earth and a mallorn started to look as fine as Laurelin. All the same, that Arkenstone
was making him uneasy. He’d be glad when
the business was settled.