Firelight at Mirrormere
Narali reached the edge of Mirrormere as the light of afternoon softened across Dimrill Dale. The lake lay still beneath the shadow of the mountains, its dark surface reflecting the pale cliffs above so clearly that the water seemed deeper than it truly was. Near the shore the broken stones of an old ruin rose from the grass, little more than the remains of a low wall and the circle of an ancient hearth. The place had once offered shelter to travelers passing between the mountains and the eastern lands, though many seasons had worn its stones smooth with weather. Narali paused beside the ruin and studied the valley a moment before deciding it would serve well enough for the night.
She had only begun gathering wood when the barking reached her from somewhere near the lakeshore, sharp and determined in a voice far too small for the courage it carried. Narali set the branches aside and moved quietly through the grass toward the noise. As she neared the reeds beside the lake the barking grew louder, joined by the low snarling of something larger circling nearby. When she parted the brush she found the source quickly enough and understood the strange confrontation unfolding along the shore.
A tall, gangly pup stood with its legs planted wide on a flat stone beside the water, the creature all hair and limbs, its coat a tangled gray mass that seemed determined to grow in every direction at once. Despite its awkward shape the pup barked furiously at two wargs pacing just beyond the reeds, placing itself stubbornly between the predators and a trembling bear cub that blinked at the commotion without the slightest understanding of its danger. The cub attempted to climb a narrow tree and slid back to the ground again in confused protest while the pup continued its furious challenge. Narali studied the strange little defender for a moment before stepping forward.
The wargs lost interest once steel entered the argument, Narali driving them back quickly as the sharp edge of her axe and the sudden appearance of a determined dwarf proved more trouble than the small creature had been worth. The wolves slipped away into the brush with low snarls, leaving the pup barking triumphantly at their retreat. The bear cub, freed from danger it never truly understood, wandered toward the lake in search of more interesting distractions. Narali watched it go before turning her attention to the ridiculous defender who now regarded her with bright satisfaction.
Narali returned slowly to the ruined shelter beside Mirrormere and set a small fire within the ring of old stones. She had barely settled beside it when the rustle of grass announced her new companion’s arrival, the gangly pup trotting into the firelight as though the matter had already been decided. He flopped down beside the warmth with the careless confidence of a creature entirely certain it belonged there. Narali studied him for a moment before shaking her head.
“You have chosen a strange road,” she murmured quietly, and the dog answered by thumping his tail against the grass in cheerful agreement.
Later that evening the pup vanished briefly into the tall grass beside the lake. Narali assumed he had wandered off in search of mischief until the creature returned proudly dragging a rabbit nearly as large as its own body. The offering landed squarely beside the fire with a soft thump while the pup looked up at her with unmistakable expectation. Narali examined the rabbit, then the dog.
“Well,” she said quietly, “you are either very foolish or very generous,” and the pup wagged harder.
Narali cleaned and cooked the rabbit over the small fire while the valley settled slowly into night. The dog watched every movement with intense interest until she shared the meal between them. When the food was finished She leaned back against the broken wall and studied the ridiculous creature sprawled beside the firelight. After a moment she spoke again, her voice softer now.
“Kibilzaram,” she said at last, and when the pup lifted his head she added quietly, “It suits you.” The name felt too large for such a creature, and Narali shortened it with a faint smile. “Kibi.” The little dog thumped his tail again and curled happily beside the fire.
Night deepened over Mirrormere while the stars gathered above the mountains. Narali eventually rose and walked to the edge of the lake where the dark water reflected the sky with quiet perfection. The old song of Durin returned to her then, half remembered from dwarven halls.
The world was young, the mountains green,
No stain yet on the Moon was seen,
No words were laid on stream or stone,
When Durin woke and walked alone.
He named the nameless hills and dells;
He drank from yet untasted well
He stooped and looked in Mirrormere,
And saw a crown of stars appear,
As gems upon a silver thread,
Above the shadow of his head.
The reflection of the stars trembled slightly as wind crossed the water, and for a moment the scattered lights rested above the dark outline of her head in the lake’s mirror like the crown of stars the song described. Narali stood watching it for a long while as the valley settled deeper into quiet around her.
The northern road called to her then with the promise of dwarven halls and familiar stone, yet the thought did not bring the comfort it once might have. Too many years of her life had already been spent beneath stone that did not welcome her, and the memory of iron doors closing behind her had not yet faded from her thoughts. The open sky felt different now. Sunlight held promise as the melting snows turned to warmth, flowers dotted the distant meadows beneath the shelter of golden trees that rose in a sea of reds and golds. Wind moved freely through the grass and the lake carried the clean taste of mountain water.
Yet Mordor remained in her thoughts.
If Sauron had fallen, the prisoners of that land might now wander the ash plains with no one left to guide them. Narali knew too well how many had been taken east and never returned. She had survived where others had not, and that knowledge settled heavily on her thoughts. Another truth troubled her quietly; one she did not wish to dwell on but had learned to consider carefully now as she weighed the risks before her.
She was not certain she could bear the voices again beneath the stone halls of Erebor or Gundabad. The whispers had followed her through Moria, speaking with knowledge that reached too close to wounds she had carried for years. If such voices lingered beneath other mountains she was not yet ready to face them again. Narali returned to the fire and sat beside the sleeping dog while the valley lay quiet beneath the stars.
Kibi whined softly and snuggled closer to her leg, sleep calling him to open fields full of rabbits and butterflies. Narali thought of Krok then, watchful and loyal, and of Ronhus’s quiet strength whose presence had often steadied the chaos of her mind. She remembered Dzbog as well, grumpy yet resolute, always present regardless of the task before him, and irrepressible Rompli, outspoken and loud, more given to sudden outbursts peppered by the word violently yet secretly terrified of books.
She touched the necklace she had made after finishing their gifts, tiny charms of stone and gem that clinked softly at her throat, each one a reminder of the way she had seen them. Narali realized with a sudden pang that she missed them all.
South led to ash and unfinished suffering, and Narali stared into the embers for a long time after that thought settled in her mind. The southern road carried many burdens, and she told herself plainly enough what those burdens were. If the shadow had truly fallen, then someone who had endured the prisons of that land might yet help those who remained lost there. That reason alone would have been enough for the road she had chosen. Yet another thought lingered quietly beneath it, one she did not care to examine too closely.
The voice in Moria had spoken with a familiarity that refused to leave her thoughts, and despite everything she told herself about lies born of shadow some small and stubborn part of her wondered whether the answer to that voice might still lie somewhere in the ruined lands to the south. She did not speak that thought aloud, and Narali let the embers fade while the night deepened around the lake, keeping that question buried where it could trouble no one but herself.
The next day the pair, Narali and Kibi, walked past the high walls of Caras Galadhon. She had no desire to enter the Elven city, though if she closed her eyes she could imagine Heledrion and Eldanith. The cheerful elf and the golden haired sailor, chatting amicably as always.
Narali eventually stepped aside from the road and knelt beside a fallen stone where the path bent southward. From her pouch she withdrew a small scrap of parchment and the stub of a pencil worn nearly to its end. She hesitated for a moment before writing, knowing well enough that Ronhus would notice her absence and wonder at it. He deserved an answer, even if the road she now followed might carry her far beyond the reach of easy messages. When the words were finished she folded the parchment carefully and weighted it beneath a small stone where travelers would easily see it.
Ronhus,
As you suspected, I am going back. It is time I stopped running and face whatever is there. There is no peace in prolonging it. Lord Aragorn needs help and I intend to give it. If your path winds south, know I hope it crosses mine.
— Nara
Narali rose slowly and brushed the dust from her hands before tightening the strap of her pack. Kibi stretched beside her and shook the morning dew from his tangled coat before trotting ahead down the road with careless enthusiasm. Narali followed at a steadier pace, her eyes lingering once on the golden trees behind her before turning south again. The road stretched onward through quiet lands toward places few would willingly choose, yet her steps did not falter.
Together they walked on, the gangly gray dog leading the way toward the long road and the shadowed lands beyond.
