Zurri
The Lonely Mountain was not so lonely of late, for it was thriving. Deep within, the great forges were at full capacity, their fires burning bright and hot. The clammer of dwarven craftsmanship and mining echoed all throughout the halls, and the short, bearded residents of Erebor had begun to heal after their many tragedies; the great dragon Smaug, Sauron's assault, and the loss of King Dain II Ironfoot and Dale's own King Brand. Now, the miners bantered as they burrowed under the reign of Thorin III Stonehelm, and cheered as they produced their finest finds and works. The restoration of hope had begun.
But not all the dwarves were so happy and content. In the halls of greater splendour stood a small gathering of natives, who were wrestling with some unwelcome and deeply disturbing news. They were all garbed in colourful robes as befitting lords, save for one, who was wrapped in leathers that were crafted for travel. A dwarrowdam she was, however, and it was she who spoke first, directing her words to a young dwarf who had his back to her.
"I bring word from the Bree-Land, a land of menfolk that lies far to the west, in Eriador. It is your father. By his own account, he is nearing his end..." said the messenger, letting her words hang in the air uncomfortably.
A sickening silence followed for a time, and the dwarrowdam could not control her fiddling fingers. Though full grown, she was much younger than most in the party, and still yet felt anxious and sorrowful, pitying the young dwarrow who stood before her. When the response eventually came, her beard bristled and her spine tingled.
"How long does Yurri have?" spoke the one being addressed in his dark, guttural tones.
The messenger blinked and stammered for a time, and elaborated further in a negotiating tone after many false starts, "Well, it is my belief that is not sickness that grips him, per say, or injury that maims him. It is merely age that's caught up with him, and it's causing his legs too... well, he is now reliant upon a cane. I have had others watch over him from afar for many years now, as you have instructed, but there is little I or anyone else could do for him, now. Though... perhaps you should be with him, at the end. He shouldn't be alone."
The young dwarf stood silently, having still not turned around to face his companions. Instead, he chose to march away, his footsteps echoing throughout the stone halls. He rounded a corner, and did begin his stride into the stone corridor nearby. The other dwarves in their company looked most shocked at the response, and whispered and murmured to one another in light of the drama that unfolded before them. Only the dwarrowdam was brave enough to give chase.
"Tahalda, do not waste your breath, young one. That one's as fiery as his father!" one of the party called after her. But it was of no use, she had to speak to him. She had to make him understand. She kept going until the protesting voices of her kin faded away, and sure enough, she started to gain on the one she sought.
"Come now, come now, stay yourself! He is after all, your father! Zurri! Halt!" Tahalda called after him firmly, half-running down the halls so she could grip his arm.
Zurri wheeled around, and the torches of Erebor did illuminate his features. His brown eyes blinked tears. Blonde hair sprouted from his head, forming clean waves that framed his handsome features. His beard was shorter and more modest than what most dwarves wear, but it was thick and sandy coloured also. Zurri's voice broke as he spoke, "Why should I spare yet another helpless thought on him, now? He witnessed Erebor laid low in his youth by Smaug, he fought at Moria, he fought as one of King Dain's five hundred! But where was he when our king was slain, right at our gates?! He needn't have fought - just his support and presence would have been enough!"
There was a long pause between them, and a mutual understanding was forged. They both knew how Yurri had chosen to spend his elder years during The War of the Ring, and it was one of their greatest disappointments. The look of regret stamped itself on both of their features as the silence drew out, marred with the crackling of the wall-mounted torches that surrounded them.
"I...he... well, he must have-" began Tahalda.
"He sat in a tavern, near the edge of the western world" Zurri bitterly finished, tears sparkling in his eyes. "He was free from the cruelty of this war. I heard Dale was kind to him, in his youth. Where was he, when King Brand fell? You know what he has become, Tahalda. You're a smart dwarrowdam... you needn't be told."
More silence. The dwarf and the dwarrowdam stood facing one another, but only one of them had started to reconcile with their loss of hope. After planting a kiss on the cheek of Tahalda, Zurri had begun walking away into the darkness of Erebor again, though this time, less charged by rage.
"One might say he did all his fighting all those years ago. That... that he did his time, mayhaps" Tahalda eventually spoke up.
Zurri stopped in his stride, and was rooted to the spot.
"He saved my mother, Hadhilda, from the inferno. He took an arrow for my dear uncle, Ungulfa, at Moria. And there're numerous tales of how many orcs he did slay at Erebor over the dispute of our treasure. He's not a perfect dwarf, but he tried his best many times where it truly counted. He earned his rest... if one could call it that..." she spoke gently, and she stepped forward now to once again hold Zurri's arm. She felt his temper cool.
"He shouldn't be alone", Tahalda repeated, locking her gaze with Zurri's own.
At dawn the next day, Zurri rode for Bree-Land, as Tahalda watched on from the battlements of Erebor. She wouldn't see her love for many months, but she was content in that. She wouldn't see Yurri ever again, and a tear rolled down her cheek. The sun rose on the horizon, and the bright light of day emboldened Zurri in his fleeting travel.
