Ibun's Perspective

 If the world had come to turn its backs on us, we would turn our backs on them. They say not much is known of the petty dwarves, that’s only because no one bothered to ask. Our stories are plentiful too. Our songs were different from what you know, instead of the thrum of a harp or a flute or whatever you Noldor…Sindar...Edain..? What are you anyways? No, that doesn’t matter right now. Our songs were composed with the crunch of grass against feet, of your obnoxious snores in the night as we crept around your encampments. Don’t look at me like that, us Petty Dwarves don’t prefer the ash of the forge and the bubbling lava blistering at our skin. We could very well if we wanted too! But what is there around to forge? Stone? Gravel? Bah! It seemed like nature was punishing us as well, mocking our inadequacies or perhaps our dwindling numbers. We’re smaller than most, but plenty as tough. It didn’t matter that we had few friends. We were fine. I was fine. It was me, father, and Khim. And though I found them annoying as they called out to me ‘Ibun when can you go fetch some roots!?’ ‘Ibun stop leaving your pebbles on my side of the cave!’ what I wouldn’t give to have that chaos back. Me, Khim, and father. That’s all I needed.

Good things don’t last. 

The road ahead was steep, crumbling stone and bright crimson Sergon flowers in bloom that were meant to be enjoyed by the small and agile, not the clumsy bumbling giants behind. Although you Noldor do have a nasty talent for stealing away things that never belonged to you. Our home, was called Sharbund, or at least it was until the elves decided the sound of it wasn’t delicate enough on their ears. What? Yes I know Neithan was a man, that doesn’t matter now, let me finish my story! Father didn’t even want to bring them home, they forced us. They shouted loudly, threatened my father until he wept, (and do you know what great accomplishment that is? Bullying an old man, heart weak and broken from kin lost and orcs all around. Valiant heroes, they truly are), had us sitting in the rain and cold all night, one of them even had the gall to call us an orc-kin. AN ORC-KIN! Bastards the lot of them! 

I still remember how they grumbled, all of us climbing and walking for what felt like forever in a nightfall so dark I could barely see my own hand in front of my face. T’was funny though, watching the outlaws stumble over themselves like babies through musty echoing waters and the cries of bats all around. All the while, my mind drifted to Khim. He’d have an absolute fit. He wasn’t good with company, to be fair I wasn’t either. He was a weaker one y’know. Cried too easily, couldn’t run a mile to save his life. Thats why father usually had me luggin all the shite back home. He was wise though, knew how to keep all the grain and roots lasting all winter, knew the rumble of earth when orcs were near and we all had to keep our mouths shut until they passed by, knew how to argue with such logic that the only response you could sputter out was ‘I’m your big brother, you have to listen to me’. And what was he going to say about this all? A group of bandits, no, worse, armed bandits being led right back home? If the brooding one called Neithan hadn’t killed me Khim absolutely would. I was already practicing how to explain it to him. ‘They were threatening us’, no he’d call us a pair of halfwits, or ‘We took pity on them’, no no that was somehow even more stupid, if all else failed ‘Listen to your big brother’ would work wouldn’t it? No, probably not, but this, like all other things would pass and when snow melted it would go back to being me, Khim, and father like it always–

“KHIM!”

They say the world’s end would come at the hands of a dark lord. Flames and growls of anger and vitriol spilling over the land. They were wrong. 

When had he come out?

The world’s end sounded like the wailing of a broken father, desperate pleas and the gargle of blood, echoing in your ears because your brain simply refused to accept what your ears and eyes so forcefully shoved down your consciousness and

Me, Father, and Khim.

Eyes wide and crimson spilling down his chin with a torch dropped and extinguished like life onto damp cave stone with a poor guileless look like the poor idiot hadn’t even realized what had just happened to him and why were his eyes turning hazy and clear? Why did he collapse so quickly to the floor because even though he wasn’t as strong he still shouldn’t have fallen so quick because he was my brother and my fathers son and the last few of a legacy so dear and and and 

Ah, the white winter sweater mother spent nearly seven months knitting when she found out she was pregnant with him before she left us. He wore it so much it stained brown, so why was it turning crimson?

The shaking and gasps echoing across the cave walls so violently you didn’t even realize they were your own breaths until you had nearly doubled over with trying to sprint across jagged rock not caring if they were cutting your feet because he was right there and he needed you, or was it that you needed him and you promise that you would never toss your pebbles on his side of the cave ever again and how would you ever survive when the world took so much from you and now it was taking again and it was taking him and please please no not him anyone but him even yourself but not him so please

“Ibun, would you like to hold the baby?” My mothers voice warm and melodic flashing in my head like a memory forgotten but still always there, the cooing of a bundle so tightly wound I doubted there was even a child inside because who’s to say some other hadn’t switched out my baby brother with a bundle of cloth while we all slept? And still, as I held him with my own tiny hands, unwrapped cotton to see that even though the little thing hadn’t even opened its eyes it still reached for me, wrapped its small hand around my pinky, still smiled in a way that had my heart seizing with guilt and kinship because even back then I knew something so fragile didn’t deserve the life of running and hiding we lived. I held him now again. His eyes were still closed. He was no longer so tiny. I reached for him. He didn’t smile.

Me, Father, and