Chapter Text
Another loud cry echoed in the corner of the front hall.
Two of his kin who escaped from the pursuit raised their voices. They had torn their beards before the King, wailing for vengeance since their returning.
An elderly he was, who could not march again to the field. But his ears could hear, his eyes could see. He glanced across the empty hallway from a belcony on the other side, and found his kin dropping hammers and levers of minecart, issuing from upper stairs and lower bridges. They gathered to hear the pleading of their kin, who had brought ill tidings a few days ago.
The wailing became louder. At the great assembly, the King was wavering his long hammer in front of the crowd, declaring war. When winter came, the King would take all warriors to assail the one elven kingdom that boasted with such a claim: a kingdom that would never fall.
'Our kin in the north refused to join us.' The King cried aloud, 'So we shall refuse to share our victory! This fight, we shall let the elves repay all! Their gold shall be ours!'
The shouting which filled the entire hall kept surging until it hit the cavenous arches. Laterns of crystal were shaken by the echoes alone.
One young dwarf came by and recognized him. The apprentice of his smithies paid respect to the master, then gazed at the crowd.
'The northern folk had most dealings with the elves. They took pearls from them. They built mansions for them. Their warriors joined the Union. But what came of it? Their King died fighting a war not of his own. Many warriors never returned to their home.'
Their King again raised his voice.
'Nay! The elves broke our trust. They abused us, robbed us, and expelled our kin. Their lies lured us there, but they refused to pay! They have no power to take what is ours to make - great crafts out of our own hands. We rebelled against them and killed their demanding king. They instead slaughtered our craftsmen. Almost all of them! We must revenge! Now an army must be assembled to take their leaderless caves. Never would a mere Girdle stop the edges of our axes! Here I command you to take up your weapons!'
'But the elves were once friends. We made many weapons and shared many skills.' He murmured.
The young dwarf turned away from the stone post and looked at him.
'We have one debt to take. A debt of blood they owed us. Friend? Time has changed, old master.'
He did not retort.
One elf had told him, those haughty outlanders slew their own kin to take the ships. They were proud, rude and cruel. Other elves who lived in the closed forest act the same way: they demand but never pay.
He did not believe that then, for there was at least an elf who was polite and kind. That elf brought his son to learn; gifts were brought along for exchange. That elf also recognized and honoured his skills. Together, they visited the tower beside the lake, places for living and roads for trading. And in return, the elves visited his smithies and deep mines under the mountain, and climbed the stone walls of hidden fort overlooking the eastern plain.
In a time when he was still young.
Now? He glanced at what was discarded at the gate. Before victory, no one wished to touch those rustless chainmail, the sheen of which had already been stained by blood of his kin.
'Are there any weapons in storage? There is no time to make one of my own!' The young one asked. His voice was succeeded by drum beats from the other end of the hall, a signal to summon all their kinsfolk. The crowd before the King gradually dispersed into surrounding stairs and passages leading to various chambers, where warlords would dispatch supplies and armors by orders of the King.
He hesitated.
He knew of some unused weapons. Those long swords and short knifes were untimely made for exchange with the elves. Some of them were forged in common ways, others with tremendous efforts.
None of these crafted weapons was delivered after the War. The northern citadel has fallen; the tower beside the lake was left to ruin, the mansions of his folk destroyed. Those elves, though they were good fighters, were at last overrun by the Enemy and escaped to the south. No news of them was ever heard. The northern kinsfolk also suffered a great defeat; few went abroad after they retreated to their own mansions. The road cut across the plain became dangerous then. They were not supposed to send such a company to the elven kingdom, if not being invited. His old age was approaching, thus neither did he walk alone for many years. Yet he could still work in the smithies and delve into lore and crafts, hoping to meet again those elven friends who had once spoken with their Maker.
'There are some left.' Finally he told the young apprentice, 'They were forged for the elves, thus were placed in a storehouse of the back hall. That is the room beside the fifth entrance at the fourth hall.'
On hearing that those weapons were made for the elves, the young dwarf first frowned with distaste, then raging flame was kindled in his eyes.
'I shall take revenge by the very weapon forged for them.'