Fic: The Elf Maid and the Dwarvish Prince

[caitri]

NB. Composed as an addendum to the story of Gimli and Legolas in the Appendices.

The Elf Maid and the Dwarvish Prince

It is said that in earlier times that there was another such pair of friends, although they were not borne of battle. In the last days of Eregion when the children of Eru and the children of Aulë had not yet come to their strife, a minor daughter of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain was chance acquainted with a Dwarvish prince from Mount Gundabad in those days before it fell to the orcs.

This prince was a great craftsman among his people, and had traveled to his kinsmen of Moria for a time. It is not known how he and the Elf maiden knew one another, but his gifts to her were great and many. Though it is well known that Dwarves are great jewel-makers, he bestowed no gems on the girl, but instead curiosities of puzzle boxes, and finely wrought codices, and it is even said a volume of tales carefully translated from their original Khuzdul into Quenyan. For her part, it is said that though she was the daughter of smiths, she herself had some gift in tongues and drafting, and other such cunning work.

The two were near inseparable, but the inevitable day came when the young prince returned to his mountains. The Elf maid mourned greatly for a time, and eventually gathered her courage for the long and arduous trip abroad to his halls. There she met his wife and children, and was feasted in his warm and glowing halls. With his own hands he gave her comforting hot draughts of tea and bowls of good hearty stew, and played songs on his lute. And so it was, the two of them taking turns in the seasons to visit one another, like unto certain other old tales.

But then there were the differences between the children of Eru and of Aulë; the Dwarvish prince felt his days grow short, and knew his body would return to the stones from which it is said that the Dwarves will awaken one day. But the Elf maid was wroth with him, and bid him go West with her that the final hoar frost not touch his heart. “But I am mortal, dear heart,” he said with a laugh, “and I’ll not have any of your immortal bullshit.” (He was very rude, even for a Dwarf, and especially for a prince.) 

It is not known what she replied, but it was like to be equally rude, in its fashion, but a peculiar deal was struck, that on his death his ashes would be placed in a clever and intricate box, and she would have leave among all his descendents to visit them ever after. And so it came to be so. When he died the Elf made thought her own heart should seize up and shrivel and die in its turn, or else all her light should leave her in peace. But Gods are never as kind as they claim to be, and great though her love seemed to her, it was not enough for her to die peacefully. And so she did as she promised, visiting his mausoleum as of a holy pilgrimage, year unto year.

It is said that when Gundabad fell, perhaps she was there, and so found the peace she had sought, for she was never seen again. But in the halls of her kinsman, one can still see the craftsman’s clever treasures, and remember those days when Elf and Dwarf called one another friend.