Dwarf-centric drabble; just enjoying it
My dear koshweasley asked for a drabble set at the Prancing Pony, and I [not unsurprisingly] found myself drawn to the Dwarvish element of this; just wanted to put it out since I don't doubt there's nowhere for me to find a place for this, Dwarvish-centric and short. But if you like my stuff, and might have a wee interest in the more hirsuite of JRRT's folks
this might work for you. No foul if you don't. I just resonate more to Dwarvish culture than Elvish, or more nearly, Rohirric.
Below from "At the Sign of the Prancing Pony," LotR: Fellowship of the Ring
"On the benches were various folk: men of Bree, a collection of local hobbits (sitting chattering together), a few more dwarves, and other vague figures difficult to make out away in the shadows and corners."
* * * * *
"Dark news, there is," Glavin said, puffing importantly on his pipe, fingers intertwined in his goldsmith's plait. "And these new Shire-hobbits will tell the true tale." His olive eyes lit up, the flecks in his pupil like metal newly smeltered.
Only his companion from the Lonely Mountain picked up on this, of course, a lesser-known silversmith, newly out of her apprenticeship. Behind her beard, she scowled. Men of Bree, rural hobbits; they knew nothing of their culture, of what her people prepared for, diligent and secret. Crows had informed them in the past; they'd told a new tale:
TO ARMS.
Below from "At the Sign of the Prancing Pony," LotR: Fellowship of the Ring
"On the benches were various folk: men of Bree, a collection of local hobbits (sitting chattering together), a few more dwarves, and other vague figures difficult to make out away in the shadows and corners."
* * * * *
"Dark news, there is," Glavin said, puffing importantly on his pipe, fingers intertwined in his goldsmith's plait. "And these new Shire-hobbits will tell the true tale." His olive eyes lit up, the flecks in his pupil like metal newly smeltered.
Only his companion from the Lonely Mountain picked up on this, of course, a lesser-known silversmith, newly out of her apprenticeship. Behind her beard, she scowled. Men of Bree, rural hobbits; they knew nothing of their culture, of what her people prepared for, diligent and secret. Crows had informed them in the past; they'd told a new tale:
TO ARMS.