The new King, Tymorth, son of Daumere, sat on his throne as the first door was being put into place. Surrounding him were the gifts from the farm collectives that would feed not only his own kingdom, but had become the vital part of trade and the wider economy of the continent. They were all a reminder, that all Kings would never be able to have such impact as their greatest leader. It was this idea that had sent previous kings searching for a quest to rival it, only ending in their warriors to return, defeated, with their King on his shield to be buried in the Tomb of their kin.
The rough face of the young leader perused the hoard, each a reminder of the connections with the Kingdom that he would have to carefully manage, but also to the links outside the natural barrier that kept them safe from the farthest of enemies that might threaten mankind. There was the usual collection of gold, weapons, treasures from the past that to the right holder would have them giggling with glee to hold such vestiges of history in their hands. The axe that slay the last goblin Grute that entered the natural barrier, heralding such honour that it was the mightiest of Goblins to have marched through the kingdoms of man all those years ago. But to the casual passer-by, it was a half rotten handle that had barely kept its shape along with a heavily oiled axe head to attempt to keep it from ruin. The box it travelled in had been rebuilt countless times, one day it will only be a piece of metal, that if the label got lost, could easily have been tossed away.
What caught the young King’s eye first, was the comb, hand delivered by the Dwarves that live just outside his Kingdom. As jovial relations are with them, the threat they could pose was always in mind. All villages knew the horror that a dwarven attack could bring, every family had tales of what they had witnessed, who they had lost. The Border Wars was not just a story, it kept the warriors well trained knowing a friend can easily become an enemy, and a line in the ground does not mean the same to another as it might to you.
There were a collection of tokens, but the dwarf, who had been dressed in ceremonial clothing and armour, at least for that was what his advisor had told him they were dressed in. The rumours of the Dwarf skill at metal work and fine jewels appeared to be fairy tales from what he saw in their clothing. But those of the Hammer and those of the Smith were different to the Border Dwarfs. To their kin they were seen as wild, untamed and ones to be avoided. The emissary from the Dwarfs of the Hammer had delayed their trip for 3 days, to simply make sure there would be no time for them to meet, or even be in the same land as each other if possible.
His accent was strange, but one that was understandable to the young King. ‘Greetings young King,’ Was this an attempt at insult for meeting a freshly crowned head? ‘You have a strong line behind you and your ancestors will be proud. The runes speak of a strong arm for an axe, or a sword if you prefer. A steady shield we see in your future, one that protects not just you, but those behind you.’
It wasn’t until his uncle made a sign to do something that the young Kind realised that they were all waiting for him to respond. ‘My thanks to you, emissary of the Dwarfs.’
‘I am not an emissary of the Dwarf. I come from my own kin and we are here to welcome you to your new seat. I see that you will have to add some elements of the world to your learning in between your weapon, and farming, lessons.’
The mottled grey of chainmail and the wolf skins on top might look more for show than those standing behind the Dwarven figure, but the shining axe by his side and shield held on his back made it clear that he could use them if required. The young King looked at the dwarf, now testing the water with the him, the warnings of how he should be with them, and not to anger them was clear, but if his uncle was to be in charge, he would be doomed to be a King in name only.
‘I can see that we both need lessons, one of my understanding of the dwarven kin and kingdoms, and for you,’ a moments pause to collect a breath, it was only a moment but the stories of the young boy in front of a dwarf in the wars and the rapid changes that can happen in a blink of an eye, a slice of an axe, a moment can appear to feel a long time when there is suddenly one in front of you not attempting to hide slight insults to you. ‘For you, I feel we need to explore more how we shall talk to each other. We do not call our leaders young or make fun of them in front of others. It can be seen as rude and challenging.’
It had slipped out. His uncle visibly froze to hold his hand back, the phrase had almost been written on every wall in each village, never challenge a dwarf. The young King held his gaze and waited for what would be coming. In the middle of the throne room stood the dwarf chosen to represent the dwarfs who were called wild by their own kin, with 6 ceremonial guards to follow. Each with gilded weapons but the steel was there to fight if needed.
‘I knew you would be a good choice for this Kingdom!’ The laughter echoed around the room with a sigh from the guards at the door who heard every word. ‘I told our chief that you were a good one, your father always spoke of you kindly, but said you had a stubborn streak that was not to be tested.’
With the abrupt laughter, came an about turn, and they left.
No one spoke until the King’s uncle came to speak but the first words were the Kings. ‘Before you try to lecture me on how to talk and greet these dwarves into my kingdom remember, I am the King that makes the call to the villages to put down their seeds, and pick up their swords. I am the one who sits and sees the first shield come in from the war. I am the one who needs to not flinch when an axe holder is there in front of me. Leave my side now uncle. I will call for you after the moon has gone.’
Slowly the room filtered out, the entourage of his uncle followed, allowing the King’s own guards replace themselves elsewhere to guard down the corridor, leaving the new King and his personal aid to review the gifts they had been given and the great catalogue could begin for the start of his reign.
‘You didn’t need to be so hard on your uncle there Tymorth.’
‘What would you have me do? Let him order me around in front of everyone?’ His eye were drawn to the Goblin Axe, the history of the great deeds always were a reminder to a new king. The long corridor for all visitors past the archways. A reminder to the new bearer of the throne that there could be a door added to each to show their great deeds. Or, as the axe whispered to all that held it in their possession, their actions can leave behind stories when they themselves have passed to be collected by one of the family.
‘So what did the dwarves bring?’ Ja’Mar was always interested in symbolism, the idea of a gift being given had to have a meaning. He always wanted to find something that had a meaning to the person he was giving as opposed to the large golden jewel encrusted pieces that people might choose to give. The small objects often had pride of place, jewels were to be hidden away if possible.
The idea of these dwarves giving a gift to a new king was rare, his father was given a chest of items, an axe made by their blacksmiths, but it was designed for a strong warrior meaning his father could never weald it. His childhood disease stopped him from being able to use both arms properly. To those that live by what they produce, it was a mark of dishonour that took many years to repair as they had made the gift, finely balanced to excellent detail, but the choice of metal meant it was wrong.
When Tymorth was born, they attempted to bring a small gift, a toy that their young would play with, to make them grow up to be strong warriors. Not many knew, but he still had it in his most prized possessions, but never dared ask anyone how he was meant to play with it. It would be ignorant to ask his father as he should know, and to ask anyone else would reflect on his father failing to teach him.
‘So here we have the most unknown community around, giving you a light axe, I guess they didn’t want to repeat the last time.’ His eyes spoke with fondness of the past King, a beloved leader to his people and a personal mentor to Ja’Mar. ‘Interesting, they have given a comb, I guess this is to welcome you to manhood when you decide to grow a beard of quality. Dwarves like a good beard, tells a story by how you plate and decorate it.’
He passed the comb over to Tymorth. The weight was light but strong to sort out what must be messy beards for them. They always seemed to glisten in the light from the torch light. The oils they used must resilient to heat or that would cause a problem in itself.
‘What else have they given me then?’
Ja’Mar had already laid out the items to review and record. Writing was a skill not all got to learn, but one that he liked to use whenever it was possible to. ‘Let me see. We have the comb, the axe, a series of 5 golden coins with some markings on each. A map of our border with them on hide. I guess this is a reminder that they honour the treaty. Looks to be the same. Might be worth having someone check it for fine details.’
Tymorth was listening but the way comb was shaped. It fit into his hand as if it was made for him. There were numerous finger points for when it motioned the combing of a future beard, if he were to grow one. “Say what you will about the Border Dwarven Kingdom, but they mighth produce the best beard combs in the Kingdom.”
“You know they use the bones from their enemies to show how they have conquered them, meaning our grandparents from the Border Wars?”
“Well that ruined that gift from the King.”
Carefully, the comb was placed down next to him as he pushed it over the Ja’Mar to add to the pile for sorting and storing. Each gift would have to be responded to properly to make sure no slight was given to those who have joined in the celebration of a new King.
The returning of a bone from someone who was killed in combat, the Dwarfs had been said to have different traditions, this was one that might need to be explored further.
S J Lister. Author 