When Tinnurion came back he was followed by a she-elf. Her hair was a pale blonde and it glowed a natural light. Curious to find such a beauty in a gloomy place like this. I worried that the she might join in the conversation, but my worries quickly faded when to my surprise they put a good portion of salted pork in front of me. It was presented on some cabbage, as if the elf thought it might entice me in becoming a green-eater like him. HA! He even had ale! Sloshing peacefully in a small keg, engraved with a symbol of a perched raven. This was Ereborian elixir! My mouth suddenly felt remarkably dry as I remembered I hadn't had anything to drink since those last drops of wine.
"I am always prepared for dwarven guests. Please, take your fill."
"Careful what you wish for elf."
"Tinnurion, please."
"Careful what you wish for Tinnurion, for if I have my fill, you had better start thinking about replenishing your stores!"
"I am counting on it Nyr", he quipped.
And so the elf surprised me with a meal fit for an honest dwarf. Sure, I could have had some eggs, sausages, and a roast too maybe, but this was the heartiest meal I had had in many months and more generosity than I had received from any elf upon the road. Together, we ate and drank and talked many hours of the night and at some point I felt compelled to sing a song and the elf seemed to thoroughly enjoy it. Then, when the middle-night was upon us, the great wear of my journey finally caught up with me and I suddenly grew very tired. As I felt my eyes closing, I briefly wondered where my host was hiding, for he was seemingly not in the room with me anymore. But I lacked the strength of will to contend with my tired eyes and so I lay down before the hearth and fell into a deep sleep.
In the morrow, I woke to the sound of a smithing hammer hitting the anvil, and for a brief moment I deemed me back in the halls of my fathers. But a quick look around the room freed me from that illusion. The walls were made of entwined roots and from the ceiling hung dimmed crystals not of dwarven make. Tinnurion was nowhere to be seen, but I assumed that it was he who was hitting the anvil, so I got up and walked through the house into the garden. Little did the sun pierce through the canopy of his home; so much so that I deemed it much earlier than it was, for in truth it was near midday when I found him by his smithy. A fire burned brazenly as he was beating some form of black iron with a shiny hammer; the unmistakable glow of mithril! A wonder to behold, for not often had I set eyes upon a mithril trinket such as that before.
"Lovely hammer you have there Tinnurion."
The elf ceased his beating and doused the metal in the flame as he turned and said:
"I see you have started to call me by my name master Nyr. There is hope yet", he said.
"Only a fool's hope, elf", I quipped.
But Tinnurion looked not amused. I wondered if I had gone too far in my jesting.
"Does your mood change with the rising and the setting of the sun, or did I truly offend you?"
Tinnurion looked at me with different eyes. They seemed less friendly somehow. I waited for a response, but one never came. His eyes turned to his smithy and the steel he was tempering. In that solemn moment I too turned to a more serious mood, for the thought of a quest needing completion came up strongly in my mind.
"We need to talk about something."
I had my satchel in hand. "A matter of great secrecy and importance."
The elf did not seem to be impressed with my wording. He continued with his smithing.
"Mind if I continue my work whilst we speak?", he asked.
I was annoyed that he did not understand the importance of my quest. "Of very great importance", I urged as subtly as I could.
He looked at me curiously and then turned to his smithy once more. I grew impatient.
"I do believe now you will tell me just how you got your hands on those evil relics in your satchel."
I felt unpleasantly surprised that he already knew what I was about to reveal. How did he know?
"You looked into my satchel?!"
Tinnurion turned and lay down his hammer. It glittered like a star. He put his gloves aside and said:
"I saw the satchel and I looked inside and I saw books clearly not written by your hand but by one much fouler", he said more quietly. "For I recognise black speech when I see it. How came you by these evil relics and why have you brought them here?"
I was annoyed to say the least, but I could only grumble, for the elf seemed suddenly very serious and I did not like the look on his face.
"These books are indeed written in black speech and I came thousands of miles this way to look for you so that you could reveal their secrets to me."
Tinnurion was cleaning up his working space. Did he really have to work while we were talking?
"And why do you want to do that?"
I frowned. "Because I need to know what they say. For chronicling purposes..."
Tinnurion looked at me with a frown of his own. "Dear master dwarf, I like you very much, but if you start lying to me in my own house, I would rather have you leave. I did not show you my hospitality for you to be dishonest with me about you coming hither."
I felt exposed and realised there was no fooling this elf. If I was to discover the books' secrets, I was to tell the entire truth. Yet I knew not for sure if I could entrust him with the task I was appointed.
Reluctantly I answered: "Fair enough master Tinnurion. You have indeed shown me great hospitality and I would not dishonour it. Hence, I will tell you what truly brings me here. It is not like you would not have discovered my purpose after translating it."
Tinnurion nodded. "No offense taken Nyr, please, continue."
"I was appointed by his lordship, the King of the Firebeards, to journey far to the east into the black land of Mordor. With the Dark Lord gone, many treasures now lie unguarded in his realm and many more hands are willing to take them. My king appointed me with the task to retrieve whatever treasure I found, but bade me to look in particular for something that could mean the beginning of a new age for dwarven kind. The secrets of ring-forging."
Tinnurion listened attentively and I noticed he wanted me to continue.
"So I travelled many miles to the land of Mordor and faced many dangers. I found some treasure to which I lay claim in my king's name. But finding the ring-lore proved far more difficult. When at last I found these books and escaped with my life, I knew that I had found some well kept secrets. But the books are written in black speech, which I cannot read. If I am to discover the true value of these texts, it might be put to great use back home."
Tinnurion weighed my words carefully and seemed to take a long time to give his response. He took one of the books and carefully opened them. He looked inside and pondered in silence. Then, after some time, he looked up and said:
"I cannot translate these texts for you."
I felt suddenly angry. "What? By Durin's beard why won't you translate them? Are you still in a fuss over me lying? I have not come all this way to be brushed off like a dog looking for scraps!"
"I did not say I don't wish to translate them for you, I said I cannot translate them."
"What rubbish?! You have lived ages, you are wiser than any dwarf, and Fruni had me believe you once spent many long years in a prison called Angvand!"
"Angband"
"Angvand, Angband, whatever the place was called. I know you can read Black Speech."
"Dear master dwarf, I indeed spent more time in the company of orcs and other vile creatures than I had ever hoped to. But it has not given me the means to read Black Speech. Very few orcs even did, and if they did, they all spoke a different corrupted variant of their own. The language as such was not invented by Morgoth either, but by Sauron and I only ever met him as Annatar a very long time ago.."
I was thoroughly disappointed. All this effort, this entire search, only to find the most trusted elf incapable of reading the texts.
"Not even a single word?"
"Maybe a word or two, but nothing that might give you an idea of what these texts are about."
"Then who should I turn to if not you? The pesky elves of Rivendel? The orcs themselves? Are there any at all who I can trust who can read these words?"
"Perhaps, though I cannot tell with certainty. The elves of Rivendell have a vast amount of knowledge. If any should know, it should be they. But they cannot be trusted Nyr, they will take these books from you with or without your consent. You may take my word on that."
I looked down in disappointment.
"Then all was for naught! I have failed in my quest and have brought shame to my king. That I should return empty handed!"
"But you will not return empty handed my friend", Tinnurion said curiously. "You carry something in your pockets, some treasure you found in Mordor, aye?"
How did he know?
"How did you know?", I asked inquisitively as I grabbed the jewelled goblet of the uruk from Durthang from under my garments. - Aye, I like to keep something of treasure on me. It keeps me calm.
"This is no ordinary goblet my friend, and I bet the treasure you hid at the forest's edge will shown the same signs."
I was honestly curious, though still a little shaken by the bad news. And how did he know I had buried my treasure at the forest edge?
"This is Moria-forged. Made in the golden days of the ancient city by master craftsmen whose secrets have long been forgotten. Worth a king's admiration beyond reckoning."
I took the goblet back and looked at it with more admiration than I had before.
"How does dwarf gold find its way into such a vile place as Durthang?", I asked with honest curiosity.
"The treasures of Moria are manifold, but those laid bare by the orcs of the mountains were taken and brought to Mordor as tribute to Sauron. No doubt many valuable trinkets of your people still lie hidden there. But you, Nyr, have uncovered them, and by doing so you have done your people a great service", the elf explained. "One which might restore the honour of the line of Stouthammer for many years to come."
Tinnurion looked at me rather curiously.
"The line of Stouthammer ends with me, elf, and its memory will fade away in time. A bit of gold, Moria-forged or not, will not change that. But imagine if I were to lay bare the secrets of ring-forging, now that is a feat worth being remembered for."
A troubled look appeared on the elf's face.
"We would forge rings out of a desire to do good, to bring this world back to the splendour of the first age! Who would deny us that? Sauron is no more, as you say, so why fear the secrets of the dead?"
"Because they are a relic of his evil nature, Nyr. You must understand, it was by Sauron's will, and his alone, that these rings held power, and all of them were bound to the One and remained so till Sauron was destroyed. Even the lesser ones", he said as he pointed to my hand. "Though many were made with a desire to do good, they remained the result of some foul sorcery and because of that they corrupted its wearer, whether by small measure or not."
I looked at the ring around my finger. "You mean to say this is a ring of power?"
"A lesser one, made as an essay in the forging of greater works. Forged in the renowned ring-forges of Eregion by Noldorin craftsmen. In fact, the ring you carry once belonged to me, before I gave it away."
I looked at him suspiciously. "Are you trying to find reason to take it from me? I shall have you know that this ring is my family's most precious heirloom and I shall not part from it!"
"But have you never wondered why that is?, Tinnurion asked.
"Because it is the symbol of our house and has been passed on through the ages!", I said proudly. But the elf shook his head.
