Act III, Part XV: Of Fruni the Dwarf
In the Misty Mountains, Tinnurion came upon a wounded dwarf named Fruni, who had fought a mountain troll in the defence of his dead father, and who carried none other than Thangrîm, the lesser ring of power he had once parted with and which then had come into the possession of Fróthi. Tinnurion knew then that this was a descendant of that very same dwarf. When he made himself known to the dwarf, Fruni was wary of him, but he quickly learned that Tinnurion was friendly, despite his looks. The elf mended his wounds and offered to preserve his father’s body using salves he had made, so that he could bring him back home and give him a proper burial. Fruni was very grateful and accepted his offer to aid him in bringing his father home.
A long journey followed, during which elf and dwarf bonded. But Tinnurion also tried to warn Fruni about the ring, and what danger lay in wearing it. Fruni would not heed his advice, for the ring was to him a proud heirloom, passed onto him by his father. He could not part with it and refused to believe that it was some evil relic.
Truthfully, Tinnurion wanted to help Fruni see wisdom, but in turn he lacked the wisdom not to desire it for himself. The Eldar do not usually desire material things, but Tinnurion no longer held the wisdom of his people. Whatever evil had been the cause of the ring’s making and the reason for his parting with it so many years ago, he now believed that he had a better chance to resist it. The desire was too great, for the ring could divulge secrets on the fading of the world and give him power over it. And who knows what other secrets he could have discovered. It was not wisdom that eventually halted these thoughts and stayed his hand, but pity. Pity for Fruni and his late father. His love for dwarven kind had not left him in all these years, even when in other matters he had become more course. Hence, he abided by Fruni’s choice.
They travelled far to the lands of Ered Luin, mostly by day, which did not come easy to Tinnurion, but they were pressed to bring Fingar’s body home and Tinnurion did not know how long his salves would preserve his father’s body. Along the way he witnessed the changes of the land under the sun, which he greatly lamented. All of these trials made it a most trying journey to endure. The only journey that had been more trying, was when long ago he had escaped Angband and with little strength had had to find his way home. But seeing the dwarf so determined made him equally determined, and with the occasional sip from his phial filled with Suithond, he eventually made it to the Blue Mountains and the halls of Fruni’s kin.
Here Fruni saw to it that his father would get the proper burial he deserved. And as was the way with dwarves, he had a stone coffin made and a beautiful tomb to lay him to rest. Many of the dwarves here were not set on Elves, least of all one so strange as Tinnurion, and they were not afraid to show it. These were Firebeards, members of a house that had lain at odds with Elves since long ago, and they were less wise and more stubborn than their Longbeard kindred. But Fruni would not have it, and he chided them for their lack of tolerance and hospitality, saying that it greatly dishonoured his late father, and so they quickly ceased their insults. Before Tinnurion left, he offered Fruni a whistle made from dark walnut.
'If ever you need my aid, follow in the footsteps of Thorin and take the elf-path into Mirkwood. About ten leagues in, stop and face south. Blow the whistle as hard as you are able, and I will come.'
With those parting words, Tinnurion took to the road. They would not meet again, but the whistle would find its use still.
