Dwalin regarded the young elf over the lip of his wine-cup: Feveren was perched on a low cushioned stool, his legs crossed and his feet unshod. He was gazing once more out at the vast Hall of Kings, chewing his lip. His elbows rested upon his knees; one hand was cupped around his wine, the other idly wound a lock of his long hair around a slender finger. His mind, it seemed to the old dwarf-lord, was wandering in a forest far away.
   'Feveren son of Gladlin, Green-elf of Eryn Milbar,' he said loudly, and Feveren started from his reverie. 'You have told me your name and whence you hail, and a great deal more besides; but twice now you have dodged aside from telling me what brings you hither from your woodland realm? Perhaps you will tell me now? Third time is the charm, they say!'
    At the word "charm" Feveren's eyes flicked to his wrists and Dwalin smiled to himself, for he knew something of magic trinkets. 'Come, tell me your tale,' he said, 'lest I am at last led to suspect that you are indeed a secret scout -- or spy -- for your elders, who seek news of the changing world!' He winked at Feveren with a twinkle in his eye.
   The elf-lad laughed. 'Nay!' he cried. 'I am no spy! And to my shame, beyond my greenwood home my woodcraft grows dim and I often lose my bearings, which is no mark of a skilled scout!' He gave a small shake of his head. 'Alas, I am easily lost... as much within the confines of my mind, as on solid earth!' He swallowed a mouthful of wine and wiped his lips with his hand. 'And my purpose is a simple one: a last promise made to a departed friend who was ever closest to my heart: to discover those lands of tale and song whither my kin removed after the ruin of Beleriand, a long age ago.'
   'That is no small task,' said Dwalin doubtfully. 'The inner lands are wide and perilous! And you travel alone?'
   'The birds and beasts are my friends,' Feveren replied with a grin. 'I am never alone.'
   'Be that as it may, in these dark days even the creatures of the wild may prove treacherous.' Dwalin sighed and gave Feveren a sad smile. 'I deem you are unaware of evil, lad,' he said. When the young elf looked to protest, he added, 'Or I should say rather, you are not yet accustomed to beware of it.'¹
   'Because I am untried, you mean?' Feveren frowned.
   Dwalin lifted his hands to allay the elf-lad's affronted look. 'Nay, I speak not of your callow youth, young Feveren,' he said, 'but of your simple, unstained heart. I know not what merry life you left behind, but I deem the shadow of the Black Hand has not yet fallen over Harlindon, its forests least of all! Your people lead a sheltered life still, far from the cares of the world outside; long has Lindon been proof against the devilry of the Enemy, but for how much longer, I wonder?'
   It was Feveren's turn to sigh. 'Alas,' he said, 'already some of my folk speak of passing into the West, for rumour of a Shadow in the East has indeed reached our ears, and many fear it is the return of the Elf-bane of yesteryear.' He shook his head. 'But I will not flee across the Sea! Not yet. Though I hoped for just a merry jaunt, and knew not of the peril in the lands east of Ered Lindon ere I reached the Lhûn, I shall not be turned back now!'
   'You are bold, I grant you that!' nodded Dwalin over his wine-cup. 'But not fearless, which bodes well.'
   'But surely an adventurer should have no fear?' Feveren said.
   'Fear will keep you from recklessness, lad, though you walk heedless into peril,' replied the dwarf-lord. 'But courage will overcome your fear.'
   ‘But where shall I find such courage?’ asked Feveren. ‘That is what I chiefly need.’²
   ‘Courage is found in unlikely places,’ said Dwalin. ‘Be of good hope! On our quest we found courage in our fellowship, thus I say to you: do not go alone! Take such friends as are trusty and willing.'
   The young Green-elf nodded earnestly. 'Two travelling companions I have already,' he said. Glavror and Gwedal were indeed trusty and willing; that they were not Incarnate never entered his mind. 'How many were your company?'
   Dwalin looked at Feveren askance. 'Have you not heard the tale of the Quest of Erebor and the downfall of the Old Worm?'
   'Alas,' replied Feveren, 'I have heard only the grievous tale of his sacking of the Lonely Mountain, no more.'
   The old dwarf looked crestfallen. 'Among my kin it is a tale of renown!' he said, but before the young elf could offer any words of comfort, Dwalin answered: 'There were fourteen of us, and Gandalf. You have heard of Gandalf the Grey, no doubt?'
   Feveren chewed his lip and said no word.
   'The wizard?' Dwalin hinted, wagging his brow.
   'What is a "wizard"?' asked Feveren in bewilderment.
   Dwalin was silent for a time. Finally he said, 'There is no simple answer to that, lad!' He scratched his bearded chin. 'I guess he did not wander further west than his beloved Shire,' he muttered into his beard.
   Feveren opened his mouth to ask something more, but he thought better of it.
   'Beware!' Dwalin warned him, 'We were a large enough party and yet still we came to grief, and more than once! It was good fortune on our part that Gandalf insisted on bringing Bilbo along.'
   'That is a strange name,' said Feveren. 'Is he another dwarf?'
   'Nay,' answered Dwalin, 'one of the Shire-folk. A hobbit.'
   Feveren's eyes widened. 'I have heard that name before, yet I know not what a "hobbit" is!'
   'There is no simple answer to that, either!' the dwarf replied with a fond smile of remembrance. 'They are halflings and hole-dwellers...'
   'Like rabbits?' Feveren broke in, astonished. 'Or badgers?'
   'Nay,' Dwalin answered with a chuckle. 'A hobbit-hole is certainly no burrow! At least not the comfortable home of Mr. Bilbo Baggins.' He paused for a moment in thought. 'They are chiefly food-growers who work the fields on either side of the Old Dwarf-road to the Mountains. You would like them, I deem, for they are a merry folk, fond of food and drink; and they share your disdain for footwear! Mayhap your road will lead you passed their green and rolling land -- the Shire it is named -- and you will find your answer there.’
   The elf-lad had seen that name marked on his map, but he made no sense of it. Trann it was in the elvish tongue, but dividing the living land into regions of authority and commerce meant nothing to one of the wild and wandering woodland folk.
   'It may well be so,' he said, 'for my feet follow wherever fate may lead them, and they brought me to your door, after all!' He deftly unfolded his legs and waggled his toes merrily at the dwarf-lord.

   Dwalin was unamused, and he quaffed down his wine like ale. 'Now I think on it, I cannot deny it irks me that you have never heard the full tale of Smaug's downfall, for my part,' he said gruffly. 'Though I lay no blame on you, lad, for I am unsurprised it came not to your secluded wood; but you have met Longbeards on your road, yet you say none spoke of it! Has Erebor fallen out of memory for Durin's Folk in the Blue Mountains?' He shook his hoary head sadly, and gave a small hiccup.
   'You said it happened seven and seventy years ago. Perhaps it is too soon to be legend, and too old to be news?' Feveren laughed.
   Dwalin looked sourly at the young elf. 'What of the Battle of the Five Armies thereafter and our victory on the field? Have you heard tell of that, or is it also forgotten?'
   Feveren briskly shook his head, yet he wondered why Athal his Firebeard friend had not shared with him the epic ending of this Longbeard tale.
   'Still can I hear the cry, "The Eagles are coming!" ere the Great Eagle came with his mighty folk upon the wing, and together with the doughty Skin-changer turned the tide!' the old dwarf recalled fondly.
   'The Eagles?' exclaimed Feveren with delight, spilling his wine in his ardour. 'And a Skin-changer! A worthy tale, indeed!'
   'Indeed!' Dwalin nodded fervently, and the light of memory shone in his eyes once more. 'And they also both aided us upon our long road to the Lonely Mountain,' he said. 'Alas, that I have no time for storytelling, but it is my hope that you will yet hear the tale, though from other lips.' Dwalin sat in silent thought while Feveren licked his dripping fingers, his eager eyes never leaving the face of the old dwarf. 'Indeed, it seems to me that your road will lead to Rivendell in the end, perhaps even by the same path followed by our Company, and as I recall, Bilbo planned to write it all down in a book when he returned at last to Bag End.' He looked doubtfully at the elf-lad. 'I would send you on to Hobbiton to seek him out, if only you could read its pages!'
   'But I can read!' Feveren remarked with a grin. He pointed with his damp hand to the inscription carved into the stone above the Steward's head. "Son of Thrain" is graven there, or so I guess, for some of the runes are strange to me.'
   Dwalin's snowy brows lifted  in astonishment. 'That is the Angerthas Erebor, made from the Long Rune-rows of Moria!'³ he cried. 'But I thought the runic writing was now forgotten by all save Dwarven-folk and loremasters... and it is my guess that you are no loremaster!'⁴ The elf-lad laughed and shook his head, for into his mind had come the memory of Thavroniel in Celondim.
   'My people name them the Angerthas Daeron, and they came to us from Doriath of old,' he replied. 'But few of my kin were stirred to learn the art, nor did fortune oft give them the chance.'
   Feveren rose and padded over to his heaped belongings tucked behind the throne, where he rummaged briefly in his pack before returning with his journal in his hand. Opening its worn covers, he showed his handiwork to the dwarf-lord.

   'Behold, my humble chronicle!' he crowed, as he laid it in the hands of the curious dwarf-lord. 'Because we learned this art from the Iathrim,' he told Dwalin, 'we therefore write -- as well as we are able⁵ --  in Grey-elvish, and not our woodland tongue. Most favour elf-letters over runes, but not I! For scribing with a reed-pen⁶ I deem them best, for I scrawl my letters and -- see here! --  my hand is better with the runic pen-form. O! and I can write in Westron, too, if I must.' He returned to his perch upon the stool, beaming proudly.
   'Durin's Beard!' exclaimed the old dwarf as he cast his eye over the long rune-rows that ran across the page. He marked that it was made from paper and not vellum. 'You are full of surprises, Master Elfling!'
   Feveren smirked at him, so he said, 'It seems the tales of your folk are false, for I thought you rustic and unlettered. I beg your pardon!' He stroked his bearded chin in thought. 'But tell me,' he asked, 'is it true, though, that Green-elves light no fires, and eat no meat?'⁷
   The elf-lad laughed. 'It is true that in ancient days, in the greenwoods of Ossiriand, my forebears lit no fires in the dark of night; for after Denethor was lost on Amon Ereb, they lived ever in wariness and secrecy in the protection of their rivers, forsaking the Wars of Beleriand.'⁸ He reached for another seed-cake. 'It is also true that we do not hunt, for birds and beasts are our friends; trees also, therefore we do not hew them.'
    'It seems your folk are friends with your whole forest!' said Dwalin. 'But you are a Wood-elf, though Elves of any kind are strange folk!'
   Munching on his cake, Feveren winced as he unwittingly bit his tongue!
   'And do you dwell like birds in the tree-tops?' Dwalin asked.
   Feveren sat for a moment, chewing in silent thought. 'Sometimes, I suppose,' he said, swallowing his mouthful. 'But not like the tree-homes of the Galadhrim in the tales of Lórinand... Lothlórien, I mean! For I have slept upon tall talain, and cradled by leafy branches; in soft hammocks hung from tree-boles, and on grassy swards of green upon the forest floor; under tent-roofs of woven cloth, and beneath the glittering stars. For we are wanderers amidst our fair greenwood, of no fixed abode.' He gave Dwalin a wide toothy grin.
   'You have no deep-delved fastness like the Elvenking's Halls in Mirkwood, then? Where dwells your elven-lord?'
   The Green-elf boy laughed once more. 'My people have been kingless since Denethor son of Dân fell in the Elder Days!⁹ Formally, Gil-galad Ereinion once ruled over all Lindon, then rulership passed on to Cirdan the Shipwright, the Lord of the Havens. But we count neither as our master!'
   'But your tribe must have a chieftain, at least?' Dwalin was learning much from the talkative young Green-elf, strange though the ways of his folk seemed to the dwarf-lord.
   'We have the council of elders,' answered Feveren with a shrug of his slim shoulders. 'Of their secrets I cannot speak.'

   Dwalin leaned back on the high stone throne with a sigh. 'I thank your for your candour, lad! It is most refreshing to receive so informal a guest, whose mind is not bent on politics or trade, or constrained by courtly courtesy!' He barked a short laugh. 'But alas! the day is growing old and I have duties I must soon attend, but you are welcome to rest again in the green-house tonight if you wish; I think I better understand your choice of bedchamber now! And ere I bid you farewell, what boon would a young Green-elf of Eryn Milbar ask of the Master of Thorin's Hall?'
   'My heart now yearns to hearken to the full tale of the Quest for Erebor!' laughed Feveren, 'but time flows on and your beard is growing!' His face grew serious. 'Therefore... if it is not over-rude... perhaps you might resolve a question that beset my friend and me in the spring of our childhood?'
   Dwalin nodded warily and stroked his long white beard, pondering what may have troubled the young elf's mind for a span of years, and what indeed the wayward lad might deem "over-rude"!
   'In our tale of the Fall of Doriath,' Feveren began, 'it is told that there were but two Dwarves of Nogrod who escaped the Guarded Realm after Elu Thingol was slain, and when they told their grievous tale to their kin...' His voice faltered, and Dwalin nodded encouragingly. 'Well,' he continued, looking down at his hands, 'it is said that in their wrath and sorrow they wailed and... tore their beards!'¹⁰ The young elf glanced up at the dwarf-lord, his fair elven face torn between distress and mirth. 'Is this indeed common among your folk?'
   For a moment Dwalin's bearded face froze, and Feveren's heart misgave him. But then the dwarf snorted through his large nose, and slowly he began to chuckle. With a sudden splutter his mirth burst forth in raucous laughter, and he pounded his hand upon his knee while tears of laughter ran down his bearded cheek.
   Feveren's heart was glad that the old dwarf-lord took no affront, but he was somewhat alarmed by Dwalin's uproarious response! At last the dwarf sat wheezing back. 'Hammer and tongs!' he gasped, 'I have not laughed like this since the day Bombur found he had become so fat that he could not move himself from his couch to his chair at table!¹¹ So this is the great question that has vexed your poor heart since childhood!' He wiped his eyes with his hand and sighed. 'But you have been forthright with me about your folk, thus it is only fair that I am not false with you,' he said. 'My folk do not fear death, for Mahal the Maker cares for us and gathers us to Mandos after we perish; yet we mourn the passing of our kin and thus do we show our deepest grief and sorrow, or wrath! But I deem you beardless folk could never understand such a deed!''
   'O!' exclaimed Feveren, abashed. 'Among my kindred it is held that in dying Dwarves but return to the earth and stone whereof they were made!'¹²
   'Like trolls!' said Dwalin wryly, and his bright eyes shone beneath his bristling brow. 'Alas, such haughtiness is only to be expected from your kin, for in their aloofness it is oft their wont to err thus!'
   The young elf said no word, for in his dealings thus far with his Elven-kin outside his clan, he knew this often to be true.
   Mistaking his silence, Dwalin said, 'My pardon, lad, I meant no affront. Friendship we have found today, and as friends I would have us part. But know this: in the days before days, Mahal made the Seven Fathers, the first of our race; and while he made them stone-hard, he did not make them of stone!'
   'Friends shall we ever be, O Master of Stone!' Feveren assured him, touching his hand to his heart. 'But the fault is mine: my mind was elsewhere, for I was giving thought to the Elven-tale of our beginnings, wherein it is told that the First Elves were made from the flesh of Arda, and slept in the womb of the earth beneath the green sward.'¹³ He gave a short laugh and a shake of his head. 'Folly it seems to my mind for my kindred to think thus of the Dwarves!'
   'It would ease my heart if more Elves shared your mind! For with you, son of Gladlin, I deem even a nogoth niben would be safe from harm!'¹⁴ Dwalin stood up from his seat upon the tall stone throne and bowed to the young elf. 'Ever at your service, Master Elfling!' he said with a wry smile behind his long white beard, and a sudden warmth and gladness touched Feveren's heart. Lithely leaping up, he bowed low in return, and smiled heartily at the old adventurer. 'May your beard grow ever longer, father!'¹⁵ he said.

*      *      *

1. Ósanwe-kenta

2. The Lord of theRings, "Three is Company"

3. "The Elves of the West indeed for the most part gave up the use of runes altogether. In the country of Eregion, however, the Alphabet of Daeron was maintained in use and passed thence to Moria, where it became the alphabet most favoured by the Dwarves. It remained ever after in use among them and passed with them to the North. Hence in later times it was often called Angerthas Moria or the Long Rune-rows of Moria. As with their speech the Dwarves made use of such scripts as were current and many wrote the Fëanorian letters skilfully; but for their own tongue they adhered to the Cirth, and developed written pen-forms from them."
   - The Lord of theRings, "Appendix E: Writing and Spelling"

4. "The Longbeard Dwarves therefore adopted the Runes [...] and they adhered to them even far into the Third Age, when they were forgotten by others except the loremasters of Elves and Men."
   - The Peoples of Middle-earth, "Of Dwarves and Men"

5. "[...] little is now known of the Silvan Elvish. The Silvan Elves had invented no forms of writing, and those who learned this art from the Sindar wrote in Sindarin as well as they could."
- Unfinished Tales of Numenor and Middle-earth, Appendix A, 'The Silvan Elves and their Speech"

6. "The simplest pen would have been the cut reed (easily obtained and cheap), although such pens do require more attention to retain a sharp edge to the nib and provide a clear impression."
   - Writing and Allied Technologies in Middle-earth by Lester E. Simons

7. "In a valley among the foothills of the Mountains, below the springs of Thalos, he saw lights in the evening, and far off he heard the sound of song. At this he wondered much, for the Green-elves of that land lit no fires, and they did not sing by night."
    and
"Now the Nandor, the Green-elves of Ossiriand, were troubled by the coming of Men, and when they heard that a lord of the Eldar from over the Sea was among them they sent messengers to Felagund. 'Lord,' they said, 'if you have power over these new-comers, bid them to return by the ways that they came, or else to go forward. For we desire no strangers in this land to break the peace in which we live. And these folk are hewers of trees and hunters of beasts; therefore we are their unfriends, and if they will not depart we shall afflict them in all ways that we can.'"
   - The War of the Jewels, "The Later Quenta Silmarillion: Of the Coming of Men into the West"

8. "In Ossiriand dwelt the Green-elves, in the protection of their rivers; for after Sirion Ulmo loved Gelion above all the waters of the western world. The woodcraft of the Elves of Ossiriand was such that a stranger might pass through their land from end to end and see none of them."
   - The Silmarillion, "Of Beleriand and its Realms"

9. "But the victory of the Elves was dearbought. For the Elves of Ossiriand were light-armed, and no match for the Orcs, who were shod with iron and iron-shielded and bore great spears with broad blades. And Denethor was cut off and surrounded upon the hill of Amon Ereb; and there he fell and all his nearest kin about him [...] the Green-elves lamented him ever after and took no king again. After the battle some returned to Ossiriand, and their tidings filled the remnant of their folk with great fear, so that thereafter they came never forth in open war, but kept themselves by wariness and secrecy. And many went north and entered the guarded realm of Thingol and were merged with his folk."
   - The War of the Jewels, "The Grey Annals"

10. "Then great was the wrath and lamentation of the Dwarves of Nogrod for the death of their kin and their great craftsmen, and they tore their beards, and wailed; and long they sat taking thought for vengeance."
   - The Silmarillion, Quenta Silmarillion, "Of the Ruin of Doriath"

11. The Lord of theRings, "Many Meetings"

12. "Aforetime it was held among the Elves in Middle-earth that dying the Dwarves returned to the earth and the stone of which they were made; yet that is not their own belief. For they say that Aulë the Maker, whom they call Mahal, cares for them, and gathers them to Mandos in halls set apart; and that he declared to their Fathers of old that Ilúvatar will hallow them and give them a place among the Children in the End."
   - The Silmarillion, "Valaquenta: Of Aulë and Yavanna"

13. "While their first bodies were being made from the 'flesh of Arda' the Quendi slept 'in the womb of the Earth', beneath the green sward, and awoke when they were full-grown."
   - The War of the Jewels, "Quendi and Eldar: The legend of the Awaking of the Quendi (Cuivienyarna)"

14. "The Petty-dwarves. The Eldar did not at first recognize these as Incarnates, for they seldom caught sight of them in clear light. They only became aware of their existence indeed when they attacked the Eldar by stealth at night, or if they caught them alone in wild places. The Eldar therefore thought that they were a kind of cunning two-legged animals living in caves, and they called them Levain tad-dail or simply Tad-dail, and they hunted them. But after the Eldar had made the acquaintance of the Naugrim, the Tad-dail were recognized as a variety of Dwarves and were left alone [...] Indeed it was
one of their grievances against the Eldar that they had hunted and slain their lesser kin, who had settled in Beleriand before
the Elves came there."
   - The War of the Jewels, "Quendi and Eldar: Elvish names for the Dwarves"

15. The elves had brought bright lanterns to the shore, and they sang a merry song as the party went across.
   “Don’t dip your beard in the foam, father!” they cried to Thorin, who was bent almost on to his hands and knees. “It is long enough without watering it.”
   - The Hobbit, "A Short Rest"

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