Herein are the Annals of the House of Dygfór as told by Helvari, Son of Anvari. The following descriptions of the events surrounding his kin are traditionally told orally by eldest son to eldest son, but in rare agreement may be transcribed into Khuzdul to preserve the tale for generations to come. Upon significant payment by an elderly man presumed to be from Lake-town; the scribes of Erebor have henceforth attempted to translate the annals to the common tongue, as best could be expected, though not all words easily translate.
The reader will note that the dwarrow herein make limited reference to their women until more modern times, and that recent events are described in greater detail, perhaps as living memory, which is to be expected of both the Dwarvish culture of storytelling and verbal recollection of a people's history.
In the year TA 2676, during the reign of Thrór, Son of Dáin, King Under the Mountain; Dygvari, Son of Dygfór, was born at the side of the Dwarf-road in the Iron Hills. His family were travelling west to east as part of a trading caravan between the great cities of Erebor and Járnfast. His beard was said to be dark red, as rich as the iron of the hills to which his mother looked when first holding him.
As he aged, Dygvari spent less time with the trading caravans and more residing at the family's ancestral home in Erebor. It was there in Erebor that Dygvari learned the art of prospecting and steadfastly honed his craft over many years. After coming of age, Dygvari became a master prospector leading a team of well reputed miners to seek rare gems in dark places.
Exiled in TA 2770 by tyrannical Smaug, the Worm of Dread; Dygvari, his wife, and their compatriots became wayfarers. Dygvari was aged ninety-four and knew that the time was coming when he should consider an heir. He set up a small caravan, trading trinkets for coin, until settling upon the Blue Mountains far to the west.
Four years after settling into their new surroundings, Helfór, Son of Dygvari, was born to a delighted mother and father. Helfór was to be their only son and thus heir. Finding his place in the newly built and substantially smaller abode took no time, and Helfór's parents felt assured that their family was nestled safely in the protective snows of the Blue Mountains.
Being the only son of Dygvari, Helfór initially followed in his father's footsteps and learned what he could about prospecting the mountains. As he and his parents aged, Helfór moved beyond his teachings into refinement of ores. Later, as his skill grew, Helfór became a member of the local guild of weapon-smiths.
It was during this time of prosperity for the family that Dygvari, aged two-hundred and forty one, was taken by Mahal to the great Halls of Mandos. For though the family resided in a more unassailable location, the well respected dwarrow had reached a venerable age and a fever that would once have nary bothered such a stout fellow did swiftly overcome him.
So it came to pass in TA 2866 that Helfór, Son of Dygvari, at the age of ninety-two should birth his own heir, Anvari. Four years later, their second son was born and given the name Dygvi. The two brothers grew together in the small family home, causing quite a ruckus for their parents no doubt. Every evening their father would regale them with romantic stories of their ancestral home in Erebor, as well as unusual tales of Dygvari's wayfaring days - each time becoming more elaborate and enchanting.
Upon coming of age, Anvari, Son of Helfór, elected to follow in the footsteps of his father and practiced the art of weapon-smithy every day that he could. He learned prospecting and refinement, and studied caravan routes. After many years in training, and a few trading on routes between Ered Luin and the Shire, Anvari was also accepted to the local guild of weapon-smiths at Thorin's Hall.
Dygvi, Son of Helfór, being the younger brother of the two, did not feel a pressing need to uphold the family tradition of weapon-smithy, especially since it had only become a practice so recent in memory. He elected to travel eastward, spending significant time in Bree, Rivendell and Caras Galadhon before eventually reaching the origin of his family.
In the city of Erebor during the reign of Dáin II, Son of Náin, King under the Mountain; Dygvi, Son of Helfór resettled at the family home around the age of one-hundred and forty-five. He began by working as a baker, learning what he could about bread, pastries, and pie, combining ideas with those he had learned during his travels. As his expertise flourished, Dygvi furthered his pursuit into other cooked foods, including exquisite meats and vegetable medleys.
Two summer winds had passed since Dyvgi departed eastward, and in the knowledge that his elders were safe in the kind snowy blankets of the Blue Mountains, Anvari, Son of Helfór, came to the decision that the time had come for him to venture beyond the borders of Ered Luin.
Anvari hoped he could reach Erebor within two years, and preferably before the much celebrated Durin's Day, that he may see both the occassion and his family residence in what he considered to be reasonable time.
Prior to his departure, Anvari's yasthûna had been blessed with pregnancy, though this was unbeknownst to Anvari - for such things are not widely announced in Dwarven custom nor did his yasthûna wish for him to stay home and forgo the journey to Erebor, owing that she believed the journey to be his uhgurênâd.
After much preparation, celebration, and feasting, Anvari, Son of Helfór, left the Blue Mountains with his beast of burden, Brynja. They travelled south and eastward from Thorin's Hall through Ered Luin, in the direction of the distant Shire, taking refuge in towns and taverns as Anvari could find and afford. The autumn turned to winter, and the last of the leaves fell from the trees.
The journey took longer than Anvari anticipated; in part because the weather was becoming ever more grisly, and also owing that he would regularly stop at caverns and rock faces to source ores and gems which could be traded handsomely for coin. Along the way he observed members of a Dwarven regiment as they performed their drills and thought well of their sturdiness.
As the winter hardened, his trusted Brynja, carrying the precious resources he relied on for financing his journey, fared less well than he had hoped. Anvari had bought some feed from a dwarf by the side of the road and though Anvari was sure the feed had been tainted, he could not prove such a belief.
Brynja, Bearer of Weight, Trusted Gem Keeper of Ered Luin, Servant of Anvari, his pack mule, succumbed to the weather and illness from within. She was buried with honour near the banks of the Lhûn, along with a sizable number of gems in recognition of her service.
Anvari, Son of Helfór, does not speak about the days, weeks and months that followed, only that two summers later, he arrived in Bywater, a village nestled in the Shire. The Shire was experiencing a wonderful summer, with a cool breeze and warm air that must have reinvigorated his spirit, either that or the ale Hobbits brew had something to do with his improved outlook. Nonetheless, Anvari's grief must have been overcome as he would often talk fondly of the weeks that followed.
A festival of some kind was taking place and the village was abuzz with activity; Anvari would often mention the wonderful foods that were on offer, and the array of musicians who merrily played their instruments for all to enjoy. Of particular interest to him was the ingenious way Hobbit's stored ice deep underground, bringing it up to the village when they wished to create cooling refreshments and thus making hotter days more bearable.
It is in the Shire that Anvari saw members of the same Dwarven regiment that had caught his eye in Ered Luin, as a troupe of travelling musicians. He was duly impressed by their ability to woo their audience, and must have enjoyed the occassion greatly because he continues to hum some of the tunes to this day.
During his stay in the Shire and his travels through the lands west of Bree, Anvari, Son of Helfór, must have fared well with the sale of the few remaining gems he was carrying, as he would not concern himself with monetary issues for quite sometime thereafter.
As the summer days grew shorter and the winds began to change to autumn once again, Anvari knew that he must press on, for he was already more than two years later than he had planned. He parted company with the Shire-folk and set out for the bustling village of Bree, far to the east over the Baranduin, a river which Hobbit's amusingly call, owing to it's colour, the Brandywine.
Anvari had been keen to reach Imladris, far to the east; he heard many good things about the hospitality of the Elven folk there and hoped for a good rest. His rest would have to wait, as his journey through the Trollshaws took far longer than he could have anticipated and was far more perilous.
Though not all is entirely known of what happened during Anvari's time east of Bree or in the woodlands west of Imladris, he had made special mention of a cave to the north, filled with an untold number of trinkets and gems. Though Anvari, Son of Helfór, may still yet tell of more adventures, it is known that he spent just over two years exploring and making slow but steady progress onwards until he arrived at the fabled home of the Elves.
It was more than four years after leaving Ered Luin that Anvari, Son of Helfór, was greeted with the most majestic of scenes he could have imagined. Elves were playing gentle welcoming music, the harp particularly caught his ear. The waterfalls gave the air a crisp and clean fragrance, and the light broke gently through soft clouds to cause the water and buildings to glisten with an unearthly beauty.
However, another beauty caught his eye amongst the Elves. It was his yasthûna, who had been transported by waggon, accompanied by his father and the family guards. Helfór, Son of Dygvari, had known that Imladris would be a most likely resting point for his son and did not wish to waste time reuniting his son with the only jewel that could touch his heart.
It was in Imladris that the couple were to stay for the remaining days of the pregnancy, and whilst no doubt there was a desire for Anvari to continue his voyage, none of them could escape the happiness of the moment or the need to keep his family as safe as possible, for a Dwarven pregnancy a time to be closely guarded.
When the eventful day came to pass, the Elves charged with looking after my mother presented my father, Anvari, Son of Helfór, with me, who he dutifully named in front of his own father, Helvari, Son of Anvari, Son of Helfór. Then came the news that shook our family to the core.
It took my father many days to recover, and the Elves in our company could not fully comprehend the outpouring of emotion from my father, his father, or their guards. They mistook it for grief, but no further from the truth could that be, for it was to be found that I, Helvari, Son of Anvari, had a nan'ith; an event considered to be rarer than mithril itself, and unheard of in the history of our family.
Thus it came to pass that Anvari, Son of Helfór, and his yasthûna, named my sister Helfír, Daughter of Anvari.
Though not all Dwarves stick so ardently to tradition these days, mine did so at that time, and not without good reason. It is custom for Dwarf women to undergo a time of solitude away from their husband after giving birth, which worked well with Anvari's desire to keep his journey of self-discovery in momentum. It is also custom for Dwarf children, especially nathîth, so uncommon as they are, to be kept hidden from the outside world.
We do this both for tradition and to protect the family line, thus ensuring it's longevity. For we have many enemies who would like to see nothing more than an end to all Dwarves.
The family decided that in line with tradition and especially in light of the birth taking place outside of Dwarven territory, it would be prudent for all to relocate to Erebor by waggon, asking the Elves to make no record of their stay or the outcome, and for Anvari to continue on his way, rejoining the family at a later date.
Forty eight years after those dramatic events occurred, my grandfather, Helfór, Son of Dygvari, died aged two-hundred and forty. Helfór had been a year younger than his own father when he too was called to make the journey to the Halls of Mandos.
Helfór had been on a routine patrol near Erebor, keeping our borders secure, when a group of Orc over-powered his troupe with a surprise attack. We Dwarves do not call this a dramatic event, or even a sad death, we call this a glorious battle and victorious death; for though his life was laid to rest that day, his companions were victorious and not one orc survived to tell the tale.
I wish my father, Anvari, Son of Helfór, had been in Erebor at that time to explain to me our customs, our family traditions, to bury his father in the tombs along with his great axe and a collection of fine gems. Though not uncommon, it is with some sorrow that I have yet to meet my father since the time of my birth. He is still on his way to us, we hope, having taken so many years. According to his letters, he has been called to take part in many battles, aid many folk, and even called back to Imladris on occasion.
Though he is not with us, his presence is still felt, as my mother never let's us forget our bloodline. Our family bond remains strong, even if we are separated by vast unimaginable distances. I know that one day, Anvari, Son of Helfór, my father, will arrive at to Erebor - his ancestral home, and by Durin's Beard we shall be reunited again.
It is the death of my grandfather and absence of Anvari, Son of Helfór, from the family home that has made me feel the need to record into this ledger as much historical record of our family as I can recount. Should something happen to Anvari, the burden of the family will be on my shoulders, and I feel I am far too young to remember and recount all these details to a future heir, if indeed I should be lucky to have one.
I am also wary that having become a brewer and tavern keeper, breaking with the family tradition of working precious metals, my life may be at risk to an equal or greater amount of that my father faces each time he enters a battle or reaches a new town. For who is to say whether the next patron through the door will be friend or foe, peaceful or vengeful. Will they bring good tidings or will they seek to undo the peace of our house?
The world is becoming ever more dangerous. It seems there are more battles our kinsfolk are drafted to fight every day, that more beards are lost than gained, and that war could soon be upon us all.
In one of Anvari's more recent letters, he wrote to us of suspicion that someone may be trying to stop him from reaching Erebor, and that it was imperative that I keep my mother and sister safe, though I have no doubt my sister is more than capable of keeping herself safe!
Nonetheless, I am inclined to remember the events told to me by Helfór, Son of Dygvari, about my father and his trusted beast of burden, Brynja. Could Anvari's suspicion of poison in the feed all those years ago have been true? Or were they the grief-stricken emotions of a Dwarf looking for vengeance against the unconquerable bite of winter?
Perhaps we will never know the answer to that question. Perhaps there is no shadow following my father and it is just his grief of loss, his damned delay, and a desire to be reunited with his family against all odds.
What I do know is that when my time comes, I, Helvari, Son of Anvari, may not have an heir, as new sons are becoming rarer and rarer among our people. Therefore I am forced to write these events, for an heir or for the preservation of our name.
As each day I am separated from my father passes, it becomes ever more important to keep some form of record that our people existed. That we were here in Erebor, under the mountain, westward where it is blue, and eastward where the river runs red. That we are the House of Dygfor, in life and death, one of many in Erebor, unique in our own way, united with our kinsfolk by our tarâg.
Helvari, Son of Anvari, Son of Helfór.
Transcribed to parchment in TA 3017, during the reign of Dáin II, King Under the Mountain.
