Jamie and the Dwarves, Part 4

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A few weeks after meeting Fyrlaf, Jamie is working in the forge when a messenger arrives with important news, and Gunnar has some presents.


Jamie tapped the hot metal one last time, then mentally crossed his fingers and dunked it in the barrel of water standing nearby. Steam rose in billows as the water churned to a boil, and when it subsided, he pulled his creation back out. It was shiny. It was perfect.

. . . It was lopsided. Dammit. Well, he could still use it as a letter opener, maybe, even if it wouldn't make a very good knife. He shrugged sheepishly at Gunnar, who'd been standing nearby in case Jamie made any life-threatening blunders on his first solo metalworking effort. "Think I should try heating it back up and fixing that?"

"Not unless you'd like to temper the steel again, lad. It's good enough, for a first effort, and only a few weeks into the learning–-I'll have a few things to say tomorrow about keeping an even heat and an even pressure, mind you, but for now let's put a hilt on it." The dwarf grinned. "Maybe later I'll show you my first knife. Bent at a right angle, it is. I use it for breaking seals on my letters."

Jamie chuckled. "Great minds think alike, I guess."

A knock sounded at the door to the workshop, heralding the entry of a dwarf Jamie didn't know, who wore the badge of a messenger. "Lord king," he said, panting slightly, "tidings from Dvalin. Urgent tidings."

Gunnar's glance sharpened. "All right, then, Ornvari, calm down and give me your message."

The messenger–-Ornvari, apparently–nodded and stood a little straighter. "Three days ago, one of King Onarr's stonemasons reported what he described as a goblin, hiding in the old mine tunnels. He chased the creature off, but it's been spotted several times, and while it's small enough, and green enough, all who've seen it agree that it couldn't be a goblin, and it hasn't tried to destroy anything–-but they haven't been able to lure it in, either." The dwarf's eyes flickered to Jamie, who'd frozen absolutely still. "Remembering you'd asked to be informed of anything unusual, I brought the tidings as quickly as I could."

Gunnar nodded. "What of it, Jamie? Could this be one of yours?"

Jamie's throat worked; dry already from the forge, and now there was a huge lump in it. "Y-yes. Or I think so. My . . ." Well, Sarah wasn't here to gut him for it, dammit. "My brother. Is short. And green." He peered desperately at the messenger. "And bald?"

"So the masons said." Ornvari agreed.

"That's Miles. God, and he's hiding, he must be so scared . . ." Jamie frowned. "I have to go get him. As soon as I can." He looked over at Gunnar. "Can I leave tonight?"

The dwarf-king pursed his lips thoughtfully. "You'll be going on to look for the others, from there, I expect?" At Jamie's frantic nod, he stroked his beard. "I'll want to send you off bright and early tomorrow morning, then–-we'll fix you up with supplies, and I've a few gifts to bestow." He flicked a glance at the messenger, who bowed himself out.

Jamie drummed his fingers on the anvil. "That's soon enough, I guess. Can we start packing now, anyway?"

Gunnar chuckled. "Aye, we can. Follow me, lad–-I mentioned gifts, and a few of them are close by."

Jamie, curiosity piqued around his pounding worry for Miles, followed Gunnar through the forge into a room he'd very seldom been allowed into before . . . the king's personal armory. Weapons and armor studded the walls, most of them forged by Gunnar himself, and Jamie had always figured that any history museum curator on Earth would trade any three vital organs for a look.

What drew his eye this time, though, was a suit of chain mail, carefully arranged on a stand in the middle of the room. It was plain, unadorned and utilitarian like nearly all of Gunnar's best work . . . and it was human-sized. Eyebrows climbing, he reached out to brush his fingers across the links of silver mail, across the smooth, dark green linen surcoat. ". . . For me?"

Gunnar beamed. "Aye, it is. Been working on it now and then for the last month or so, knowing this day was coming. No virtue in it past the steel itself, but you'll not find a better coat that's not already being worn by an Aes, and I'll sleep better knowing you've got something between you and a blade. It's a hard world out there."

"Thanks." Jamie shook his head. "'Thanks' doesn't even . . ."

"Well, enough of that," the dwarf said gruffly. "You're a good lad, and we'll miss you here. Now, the surcoat's blank just now, but as you're leaving tomorrow, if you've any device you'd like on it, there's time."

Jamie traced the surcoat again, thinking. ". . . A cat? Just a regular cat. Black." He tapped the cloth over where his heart would be, when he put the armor on. "Right here."

"An odd emblem, that."

"Not an emblem." Jamie smiled wistfully. "It's a reminder."

"Well, then," Gunnar said gently, "I'll have it done right away." He turned to the display wall, considering. "You'll need a weapon, as well–-and I know you told me you've little in the way of a warrior's training, but even if it's just to warn off the fainthearted . . ."

"I've done quarterstaff, a little," Jamie said. "I'm not what you'd call talented, but I don't drop it on my foot or anything."

Gunnar grinned back at him. "I have just the thing, then."

When he turned away from the wall and came back to show Jamie what he'd chosen, Jamie's jaw dropped. It was a quarterstaff, forged of some smooth black metal; the grip was dark leather bound with silver, and the ends were fashioned in the shape of snarling wolves. Gunnar grinned and handed it over–-it was much lighter than Jamie thought possible from a solid metal pole, and the balance was perfect.

". . . This is way better than . . ." Jamie shook his head. "I don't have the skill for this."

Gunnar snorted and took the staff back. "Train yourself up to it when you get home, then. Until then, it'll compensate; this staff will strike true, and strike hard, as long as you've the courage to wield it. And one more thing." The dwarf stepped back and raised the staff over his head. "I was a great traveller in my youth, as I think I've told you–one of my journeys took me past the place the Fenris had been chained, and when I returned here I made this." Powerful wrists flexed, the staff became a whirling blur over Gunnar's head . . . and a low howl rose, echoing around the room and raising the hairs on the back of Jamie's neck.

The howl died as Gunnar stopped the staff, a proud smile on his face. "Took me months to get the proper tuning, that did."

Jamie shook his head in wonder. "Amazing. I have a friend turns into a wolf–-wonder what she'll think of it."

Gunnar handed the staff back to Jamie. "Keep it by you wherever you go, and you'll get the chance to ask her. It'll shrink down if you want it to–-I'd tuck it in your sleeve when you don't want to look armed."

"I'll remember. Thanks."

Gunnar smiled wryly, and took a medallion on a chain out of his pocket: forged steel, engraved with a hammer and anvil, and the clan-runes of Eitri. "There's this as well. Show it to any dwarf in Asgard and they'll aid you, unless they're forsworn and outcast." His voice took on a formal tone. "Clan-friend I name you, Jamie Danielsson of Midgard. Harm done you is done to the children of Eitri, and help given you is given us. Where you walk, so walks the clan, and your honor is as our own."

"The clan's honor is mine," Jamie managed, completing the formula. "And, um, wow."

Gunnar snorted and clapped him on the back. "You'll do well, lad. Let's see to the rest of your gear."


And the next morning, Jamie's finishing up his packing when Disa stops by for one last gift, and Jamie completely misses the point.


Jamie adjusted the hang of his cloak under the bulging pack, then hitched his shoulders. Good enough, at least for now. Adjusting the straps had been kind of a pain–-he'd had to remember to allow for two layers of clothing, the armor's under-padding, the armor itself, and the thick cloak–-but it looked like he'd finally managed to let them out just enough. He shrugged the pack off and dumped it on the bed, then did a last circuit of the room, making sure he hadn't forgotten anything.

He turned at a knock on the door to see Disa slip into the room, looking uncharacteristically nervous. He smiled. "Hey. I'll be right down, just checking on a few last things."

"Oh, well–-I just wanted to say my goodbyes now, is all." She sat down on the bed. "It'll be formal, the leavetaking, and I wanted . . ." She sighed, digging around in a pocket. "I have something for you."

Jamie laughed and came over to sit next to her. "What, more presents? I'm not gonna be able to walk, at this rate."

"It is not very large." She brought her hand out of her pocket, and the gift winked in the firelight: an intricate silver bracelet, serpentine strands twining around each other, stylized animal heads and paws looping over and under, etched with delicate runes and all coming together to grip a deep, translucent blue star sapphire larger than Jamie's thumbnail. "My father made this for my mother, when they were courting, and when she died, she passed it to me, and now I give it to you." Disa smiled sadly. "Do you have enough of our tongue to read the inscription?"

Jamie craned his neck. "'However far I travel, my love is with you; the heart knows no distance, and yours is the star that will always lead me home.' Disa, I can't take this. It's too–-I mean, if it was your mom's, and–-you have to keep it, it's gotta mean the world to you."

She managed a glare. "Refusing a gift once offered insults the giver, Jamie. You would not want to insult me, would you?" Taking his hand, she folded his fingers around the bracelet. "And you have been very long away from your Kitty; you will need something special, if she is to forgive you for the worry you've caused her. Take it with my blessing. Please."

"Well, if it'd insult you not to." He smiled. "Disa, I'll never forget everything you've done for me. You've been the best friend I could have asked for–-I wish there was some way I could visit, or something, after I go home. I'll miss you."

"I will miss you, too." Reaching up, she kissed him on the cheek. "Remember me, and be happy, and that is all I will ask for." She stood abruptly and went to the door. "The car is ready to take you to the clan-hold of Dvalin, whenever you come down. I will see you there."

"All right. Probably only be another minute or two." Jamie paused, looking at her curiously. "You OK?"

She smiled wanly. "Farewells are always difficult. Come down when you are ready." She slipped out of the room as quietly as she had entered, and Jamie regarded the doorway curiously for a moment, his thumb tracing the bracelet's coils.

Shrugging, he slipped it into the oilskin bundle with his letter to Kitty, and secured the bundle under his shirt. One more reason he had to get home and see her again.


And, finally, Jamie's round of reunions begins, when he arrives at the clan-hold of Dvalin and lures Miles out of hiding. The dwarves fall all over themselves to apologize.


Jamie had spent most of the first day admiring the workmanship of the tunnel and the car he was riding. The tunnel was perfectly smooth--even the rails, carved out of the stone floor rather than laid, were flawless and showed no sign of wear. The car was richly decorated, its iron chassis inlaid with gold and silver in intricate designs.

Designs that, no matter how intricate they got, still looked fairly boring once he'd looked at them for the seventeenth time. He spent most of the second day worrying about Miles--the message had said he'd hidden in the played-out mine shafts. Had he been there for two months?

The car finally pulled to a stop in an underground hall very similar to the one he'd left from; armored dwarves waited on the platform.

Jamie stepped out of the car, making sure the clan-token King Gunnar had given him was visible. "The children of Eitri greet the children of Dvalin," he said, in careful Dwarvish. "I am Jamie Danielsson of Midgard, called friend by Gunnar of the line of Eitri."

The dwarf in charge stepped forward, nodding. "I am Onarr of the line of Dvalin, and I greet you. Clan-friend of Eitri is clan-friend of Dvalin, and so will it ever be." Then he grinned, white teeth flashing in a dark beard. "Gunnar's Midgarder, by the Hammer and the Spear. I've heard good things, lad. Very good things. I hope we can help you."

Jamie smiled back, rubbing the back of is neck. "So do I. It's my kin you have here--or I hope so, anyway, and the first I've heard of any of them since I got here."

Onarr nodded. "This way, then, Jamie Danielsson, and may today be well-forged for you."

The dwarves led Jamie down into the tunnels. After maybe half an hour's hike, they came across an intersection of three different tunnels; the dwarf-lights were dim here, and Onarr's companions lit torches to brighten the gloom.

"It's here we've spotted him most often," Onarr explained, "when we can catch a sight of him at all."

Jamie nodded. "He's good at hiding. Could you leave me a torch, and pull your men back? I don't think he'll come out unless it's just me."

This was easily accomplished, and soon Jamie found himself alone in the tunnel, holding the torch high and straining his eyes trying to pierce the gloom.

"Miles? Hey, buddy, can you hear me? It's Jamie." He grinned ruefully. "No, really--sorry about the beard, they don't have razors. Come on out if you can hear me, kiddo, I'm gonna need your help to find everybody else."

Silence reigned for a while, until a small voice called back out, edged with doubt - and hope. "Miles is not dreaming? It is really Jamie?" His voice was a bit hoarse from time of silence he'd imposed himself since his arrival in this strange world and the less than happy welcome he'd received.

He had climbed down from the series of ledges he'd been using as a hideaway, each leading to another and the safest way he'd found to avoid the people who lived here and yelled when they saw him. This put him just close enough to see the boy he thought he recognized, standing in the pool of flickering light - the beard wasn't much of a problem really for Miles, who was looking straight into Jamie's eyes instead.

It really was him.

With a tired sigh of relied Miles scrambled down the rest of the ledges to the ground, nearly tripped and falling in his haste, tearing the knees of his grimy and tattered jeans. Jamie was here. "Miles safe now," he kept muttering as he finally reached the ground, pausing only once - the others were still nearby, but standing back and Jamie wouldn't let them hurt him anyway. The little boy broke into a sob before hurtling forward, arms outstretched.

Jamie dropped to his knees, jamming the torch in a handy rock crevice, and caught Miles in a close hug. "It'll be okay now, kiddo. We're gonna find everybody and go home."

Miles knew better than to think it'd happen right away, at the wave of a magic wand. But he wasn't alone anymore and if Jamie was here that meant others were too. Maybe even... "Want mama," he sobbed, hiding his face in Jamie's shoulder, clinging for all he was worth, very much a little boy who didn't have to be brave in the dark anymore now that someone older was here to take care of thing.

"I know, Miles. We'll find her, I promise." Jamie just held him, then, until he quieted, sniffling a little himself.

"You want to get something to eat?" he asked finally. "I know these guys look scary, but they're nice when you get to know them, and they make some pretty good food."

"Miles know," he wiped at his face with his sleeve, merely moving some of the dirt around a little. Jamie didn't need to know about the grubs, although Miles had thought they tasted much better than the ones he'd sometimes scrounged up when at the freak show. "One of them left food out for Miles," he whispered lowly.

"Well, that's good. We'll see if we can't get you something a little more like a meal, though--and a wash, huh?" Jamie grinned, then stood, keeping one hand firmly on Miles' shoulder, to look at the dwarves.

"This is my brother," he said--in English, for Miles' benefit, and because he was fairly sure at least Onarr would understand it. "I ask hospitality for us both, in the name of the friendship between Eitri and Dvalin."

Onarr stepped forward, and bowed deeply. "Hospitality I grant freely, in the name of ancient friendship." He bowed again, to Miles. "And I beg your forgiveness, lad, for frightening you."

"Miles not goblin!" the little boy blurted out in the dwarf's language no less, one arm very firmly wrapped around Jamie's leg and showing no inclination to let go. He blinked once then remembered his manners, giving a small bow in return. He wiped at his face once more than sighed and gave up - he knew he was only spreading the grime about, really.

Onarr smiled ruefully. "No, that you're not, and I won't forget again. No goblin would learn our tongue so quickly, for one thing."

He only understood the basics really, but if Miles knew anything, it was that knowing the language was very important, when lost in a strange land. "Miles listened. Miles learned." He sighed as he leaned, tired. The small but oh so broad man before him had a deep, rumbly voice, which Miles found oddly soothing now that it wasn't shouting at him.

Onarr winced slightly--possibly remembering some of the things Miles had been listening to--and turned slightly, inviting them up the passageway. "The best of my hall and table await you both; I hope it will make amends for the slight, and give you a better opinion of the hospitality of the Dwarves."