Deep in the mountains, a dwarrow and his wife sit at their table by the hearth while three dwarrow children run about, brandishing wooden swords and picks. Supper has been abandoned, growing cold on copper plates. The scent of ginger hangs in the air, which is bright and warm by the fire. Trundle, a healer, and his wife, Garnet, also a chef, have given up their attempts to regale their wild children with old Dwarven tales and now smile sweetly at each other while they share stories with each other instead. An intoxicating sense of nostalgia washes over them both while Wife begins her first story.
The Dwarrow King Ildred was the greedy kind, as Dwarrow kings tend to be. Silver and gold, mystical mithril and gemstones as big as your head cannot quench the thirst Gold Fever makes, but that never stopped him from trying. It didn't stop him from celebrating his riches, either, before the fatal portion of the fever could take hold. Every fortnight, on Firstday, he would host a party in the Great Hall of Eonden. One hundred guests would come without fail to feast on game traded with the elves. They would have dinner rolls, mince pies, and venison. Some would eat roasted vegetables with their delicate puddings. Others would dip hocks in gravy, and swirl sweet sticks in ale. Piping hot syrup would be poured over vibrant fruit. Baked goods sat on pedestals, too pretty to eat. Spongy yellow cakes with colorful coal-tar frosting and soda bread and puff pastries and tarts tantalize the party-goers with delight.
When everyone had eaten and drunk their fill, King Ildred would command that the procession begin. Servants dressed in winter garb, dark parkas and fur-laced boots, depicting exotic animals would enter, laden with platters of gold, silver, mithril, and any gems discovered in the mines.
The whole act was justified by bringing morale to the people, but it was just a way of showing off. King Ildred hoped to find fulfillment in his riches, but could not because of his greed. Therefore, he grew terribly jealous upon seeing his people find fulfillment in one thing: each other.
As awed as they were by his riches, the guests were even more captivated by another attraction: a woman that came to perform one night. King Ildred watched as men he knew since childhood ogled the mysterious woman. Although her beauty was considerable, it was not her most fetching aspect. The woman, Holda, sang with no peer.
Thou come from a faraway land
Bearing gifts for mine father,
(Gifts for mine father)
Bearing gifts for mine mother
(Gifts for mine mother)
And for me,
Thy hand
Thou come from a faraway land,
Bearing gifts for mine father,
Tapestries of histories
Old but not forgotten,
Livestock and burdock,
For burns and butter, churned.
Thou come from a faraway land,
Bearing gifts for mine mother,
An apron laid over the oven,
Emblazoned with our crest,
Clothing and wreathing,
To wear and welcome, declare.
Thou come from a faraway land,
Asking for mine hand,
And offering thine.
Such a sweet offer,
To share, together, our lifetime.
Nay, I say. Nay.
For mine heart be free;
You shalt have no power o'er me.
Leave me to mineself
Greater company than any Man, Dwarrow, or Elf.
Applause erupted at the end of the song. Holda bowed graciously as Ildred tapped his foot impatiently. Soon, the noise died down, and she began to make her way off the stage. Then, just as her silvery shoe touched the floor below her platform, someone shouted "Encore!" The skin beneath her auburn beard turned rosy, and Holda hurried back to her spot. Panicked at the thought of losing his subjects' attention and admiration for the rest of the night, King Ildred did the first thing that came to mind; he threw himself at her feet.
"Holda! Oh, beautiful Holda!" He cried. "I must have you for my own, so you might sing to me so prettily every night."
Holda was left speechless, but the crowd grew even louder.
"Wouldst thou take mine hand in marriage?" Ildred prompted.
"Oh, yes!" She clasped his hands tightly, tears of joy springing to her eyes. "A thousand times yes!" Here, King Ildred had to pause. "What about your song?" He asked.
"It's just a song." She tittered. Ildred could not bring himself to care any longer. He had her right where he wanted her: under his royal thumb.
................
Holda had been born into wealth, but lost it at the tender age of three when her parents died in a fire. It was an embarrassment to their dwarrowhood, mainly claimed, before learning that it was to save a young dwarrow trapped in a mine shaft. An elderly aunt stepped in to raise Holda. She sent her away to negligent daycares and uptight primary schools, and finally to a finishing school. The matrons there were harsh, and her classmates cruel. Little of her sense of self worth survived intact. After graduation, Holda returned home to find that her aunt had gambled away the family fortune. Still, she took care of her distant aunt in bitterness until she passed away two years later. Then, with no prospects for marriage, Holda had to beg in the streets.
One day, a young dwarrow approached her with a yarn to spell. When he was a wee child, his father had brought him to the mines to meet his father's boss. Bored and overlooked, he'd gone into the mines to explore and slipped off a ladder into a shaft that turned out to be an exhaust channel. His leg had broken, so he'd been unable to escape when smoke had started filling the shaft. Fortunately for him, a pair of kind dwarrows had found him and rescued him. Tragically, they succumbed to numerous burn wounds and excessive inhalation of smoke.
He had heard, once, that the couple had had a child, and always wondered what had happened to her. Then, yesterday, an acquaintance mentioned seeing her near here, and he'd gone looking.
Cienna, that was his name, couldn't stand the thought of his saviors' daughter begging. Business was bad, but he would allow her to serve tables at his inn, anyway. Holda was very grateful.
Travel well suited the likes of Man, but provide good ale, and a Dwarrow inn would never be empty. Cienna's inn did not provide good ale, and it never would. Holda's singing, as she was wont to do during slow hours, drew patrons in, again and again. It also drew the eye of Cienna. He fell in love with her through her songs, the ones she learned in finishing school. So, he gave her a stage to sing on, a teacher to polish her voice, and, eventually, his hand in marriage. They never had much money, but for the first time in her life, Holda was happy. Then, tragedy struck again.
The fire that had taken her parents' lives had had an effect on Cienna as well. Every year, he grew direly ill, from the smoke inhalation, presumably. In his one hundredth year, Cienna fell on final time to his affliction. Holda was left, childless, and lost in a business world she barely understood. After much thought, Holda decided to pursue her singing career.
She earned fame through long hours of incredible effort. They left her lonely and longing for company. In a short time, she was singing before the king, himself. When King Ildred proposed, Holda thought of how lonely she was, and how many times she had lost everything, and how the only time in her life that was truly happy was when she was married, and she said yes.
Once again, fortune was unkind to Holda. She supposed, being betrothed to a king, that she'd be sitting in the lap of luxury. Servants would be at her beck and call, and the subjects would adore her. All meals would feature delicious food, and her clothes would be made of the finest silks. The marketplace would be overrun by dwarrows seeking to glimpse her personage. For all intents and purposes, she would never want for anything again.
For the first several fortnights, all this was true. Then, as the king drew more jealous of the attention Holda received, more and more time was put into preparing the king's nightly serenade. Holda spent her days indoors. Meals were skipped, and often a change of clothes went unnoticed while she memorized new songs that the king requested. She felt like a prisoner.
The king himself was distant, when he wasn't dismissive. Some nights, it almost seemed like he didn't care for her music at all. By the time one year had passed, Holda had not learned much of anything of the king's person at all. So, Holda decided to cut off their engagement. This infuriated the king, and Holda soon found herself thrown into a private cell deep in the dungeons.
The cell was spacious for one person, but dim and dank and dirty. The stagnant air tasted stale, and the stone floor was rough and cracked. A silent guard came by once a day to give her moldy bread and water. She lost weight very quickly.
It took a long time, maybe a month, judging by the number of times she was served a meal, but Holda managed to cry until she could cry no more. She was silent for a time after that, but she thought about how life had taken everything from her. Most of it wasn't her fault, but there was one thing she'd offered up on a silver platter: her voice. The king hadn't ordered her silence, but she still did it. There was no one to hear her this deep in the dungeons, but she could sing, anyway. It wasn't like the rocks would complain.
Holda, slouched against a wall, remembered the song she sang at King Ildred's feast, and began to murmur it to herself. As the song progressed, she grew louder and louder.
Thou come from a faraway land
Bearing gifts for mine father,
(Gifts for mine father)
Bearing gifts for mine mother
(Gifts for mine mother)
And for me,
Thy hand
Thou come from a faraway land,
Bearing gifts for mine father,
Tapestries of histories
Old but not forgotten,
Livestock and burdock,
For burns and butter, churned.
Thou come from a faraway land,
Bearing gifts for mine mother,
An apron laid over the oven,
Emblazoned with our crest,
Clothing and wreathing,
To wear and welcome, declare.
Thou come from a faraway land,
Asking for mine hand,
And offering thine.
Such a sweet offer,
To share, together, our lifetime.
Nay, I say. Nay.
For mine heart be free;
You shalt have no power o'er me.
Leave me to mineself
Greater company than any Man, Dwarrow, or Elf.
Such sorrow and remorse, but also pride was evoked by the song that the stones themselves trembled and wept for Holda. Grinding and scraping, the stones made thunderous noise as they pulled apart. Flabbergasted, but curious, Holda stood and approached the newly formed passage. The entrance was dark and foreboding, but a light, flowery scent drifted up to her nose on a warm breeze. Steeling herself, she walked down the passage, several minutes on wobbly legs, before sunlight pierced her eyes. Blindly, she kept walking. There was no telling when the guard would notice her absence. In due time, her eyes adjusted, and she came upon open air. Indeed, she had left the mountain and the dwarrow society behind, and discovered a secluded meadow full of sun-touched lillies.
"That was the first time anyone's ever used that ancient Dwarvish power to connect with and move rock, or so the story goes," finishes Garnet.