The works of Men will never cease to amaze me.
It’s perhaps a bold and sweeping statement, but I have long since lost track of the number of times that one sentence has come into my thoughts since seeing Dale some few days ago. The death of Smaug, and the great battle, still seem so close in my mind. When last I set my sights on Erebor, there simply was no Dale any longer - only the remnants of a dragon’s destruction. Now, it thrives, it grows, and the race of Men simply carries on as if it was always ever so. And perhaps to some of them it was, with the deeds of that day known only as stories. But, whether it is something that the Bardings (as I am told they call themselves now) think about actively, to see this city live again, like a forest regrown from a fire, fills me with awe and worry, joy and sorrow, in equal measure.
For all the glory of old Erebor, of the Halls reclaimed that have stood now for an Age or more… For all the awe they must inspire among the Men who wake up every morning to see those great gates on the horizon above them, still I cannot help but hold Dale as an achievement almost to itself. Burnt to the ground, it sprung up again, new shoots and saplings that quickly became sturdy and strong. Which is not to belittle the work of the Dwarves, by any means - the steady trickle of trade between the two has been a constant in my wanderings through these young streets. Dwarven goods line the stalls of Men, or are loaded up onto carts bound for Lake Town or lands beyond. The Dwarves themselves walk through the streets, buying and selling, talking and drinking, under the shadow of a mountain that has returned to life in what feels like the blink of an eye.
Between the two, though, I wonder… Will we ever reclaim our own lost lands? To the Dwarves, Erebor was never lost. To them, even Khazad-Dûm is not lost (my own misgivings about delving into the latter aside, which I feel are shared by most of my kin...) Their works exist to be reclaimed. To Men, nothing is lost. They come back, rebuild, carry on, time after time after time. They grow, too; far faster than any other race among the Free Peoples. But what of the Elves? What of Gondolin? Of Doriath, Eregion, Nargothrond and all Beleriand? What of Eryn Lasgalen, that even now is half-lost to us? Will I one day walk again atop Amon Lanc, no longer Dol Guldur, in air unstifled by loss and corruption? Will the land that Men call “Mirkwood” be green again? Will the Firstborn reclaim and rebuild, before we are all gone West or faded away?
Or will that work fall to younger hands?
For my part, I still feel called eastwards and to the Forests, at least for now. The Sea was beautiful, and its song still pulls at the heart; sometimes stronger, sometimes lesser. But the Shadow over the Forest will only grow if we do nothing, if we abandon our homes and leave our allies to face it without us. It may be that the wise among us are right, and that our time here is ending… But we owe it to those who will come afterwards to endure, for as long as we still have a part to play, and we owe it to ourselves to follow their example in reclaiming, if not rebuilding.
And yet, in spite of this grim reality and these sombre thoughts, recent events have yet again found a way to prick me with a sense of lightness, good-humour, and, more importantly, hope. As full of apprehension as I am to be back in these lands (and especially to be facing the thought of going under the mountain for the first time!) it was almost uncannily well-timed that I should find the familiar face of Maurr sticking out of the crowd in Dale, of all places, earlier today, drawing attention to himself in that same way he often does (though thankfully, fully-clothed this time).
I must not be the only one nervous at the prospect of Erebor, but what a good lesson it was in not delaying overlong! Maurr was quick to inform me that he had been sent to retrieve his promised Maddoct, one way or another, the latter having remained behind to visit with his adopted family. I’m sure that most of Master Maurr’s boast of carrying Maddoct up the mountain if necessary is specific to their relationship (and yes, I am wholly convinced he was serious, in spite of his obvious glee. He is Maurr, after all)... But I’d rather not find out that I was wrong; I will go before I can risk being sent for, just in case.
But! That’s hardly the important part of that revelation, is it? A family! And a family of Men, no less! By all reports, it sounds like they must take after their ‘uncle’ Maddoct - especially the little one, Lee - in that they are gentle and kind, inquisitive and spirited. Indeed, when we finally found Master Maddoct, it was all he could talk about at first. Just seeing how his face lit up in telling us about them nearly persuaded me not to press him on his delay… Nearly, at least. Luckily, he took Maurr’s and my (admittedly gentle) prodding in good spirits; with the promise of Maurr by his side, I suspect that meeting Bóurr and his wife (I must make sure to learn her name from one of them before we meet…) seemed far less intimidating than before.
I think it was said by a wise Man that Dwarves make light of burdens. I wonder whether he knew how true that was in more ways than the obvious one. Certainly, a day spent in the company of Maurr and Maddoct has lifted some of the weight from me for a time, and sharpened my resolve. While I’m no more at ease with the prospect of the coming journey and what might come up than I ever was, after seeing that pair happy and excited, it now seems at least… Somewhat hopeful.
(Though I may still need to find a generous glass of Dorwinion red beforehand. For luck.)
