Wave Runners Lasniniar Collection

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

New Digs

Barlo slipped out of Iarion and Lodariel’s hut shortly after dawn, taking all his belongings with him. He and Paige had been staying with the couple for a few months now. Lodariel had taken Iarion’s offer to put them up in stride, but the hut wasn’t large, which meant there was little privacy. After he had caught Iarion and Lodariel returning from the woods hand in hand with bits of leaf and twig tangled in their disheveled braids and clothing a few times, he decided it was time to find a place of his own.

That was easier said than done, of course. Even though he wasn’t quite like any of his own kind, Barlo was still dwarf enough to yearn for a home beneath the earth. A few caves were scattered about Melaquenya, but they were already inhabited by Light Elves who had once been Earth Elves. They were more welcoming of him and Paige than most of the other Light Elves, and Barlo spent a lot of time touring their caverns and working with them in the smithy, but he still didn’t feel right settling among them. Besides, their caves were all close to the heart of Melaquenya, which meant they were far from Iarion’s hut on the southern border. It was Paige who had finally solved his dilemma.

“What about all those hills to the south of the forest?” she had asked one day when she and Barlo had left the hut to give Iarion and Lodariel some time alone.

“The Rolling Hills?” Barlo frowned. “What about them?”

Paige rolled her eyes. “Why not pick one of the bigger ones and dig a home inside? That way we would be underground, and close to Iarion.”

“Hmm.” Barlo chomped his beard. “It wouldn’t be the same as stone, of course, but it would be far better than those flimsy huts the elves seem to favor. That’s actually a good idea.”

Paige tossed her braids over her shoulder. “Naturally.”

That had been several weeks ago. Iarion, Paige, and Lodariel had all taken turns helping him dig out several chambers beneath the mound Barlo had chosen. Lodariel seemed especially enthusiastic about the idea, confirming Barlo’s suspicions she was feeling crowded. Now it was in the final stages, and Barlo was clearing out the last of the debris and putting the finishing touches on the furnishings he had created. He couldn’t believe it had all come together so quickly. He knew he would never have been able to get so much digging done if he wasn’t so close to the gentle warmth of the Quenya. Although it rarely snowed in the temperate midlands, the rest of Middle Lasniniar would be covered in frost by now. He opened the freshly varnished oak door and stepped inside to survey his work.

The sitting room at the front of the home was the only area to have a window. All the rooms boasted ceilings high enough for an elf. The kitchen was smaller and more primitive than the one he had once shared with Narilga, but it would suit his purposes well enough.

I’ve never been much of a cook, anyway.

Beyond the kitchen, a sloping hallway led deeper underground to three sleeping chambers: one for him, one for Paige, and one for guests. Each had its own privy. All the rooms were sparsely furnished for now, but the essential pieces were there. He opened his pack and placed his blankets on the bed in the first sleeping chamber. He fiddled with the woven rushes on the floor before nodding in satisfaction.

This is my new home.

A lump formed in his throat. If Narilga had been there, she would have been full of advice on what colors to use, or what should go where. He closed his eyes, remembering another time, when he had been Chief of Clans at Dwarvenhome, with a wife and three happy children. It was so long ago now.

In hindsight, he was glad Paige had insisted on coming with him. He couldn’t imagine moving into a new home all by himself—not yet anyway. He had never lived alone. Paige’s cheerful presence would make the transition to this next phase in his strange, second life easier.

Enough moping. Time to get to work.

Hours later, Barlo had moved on to the exterior, putting a final coat of varnish on the shutters. Paige had come by to help, but she was already off again, searching the forest for some finishing touches for her room. The elves did seem to take more kindly to her youthful exuberance than Barlo’s solid presence. She already had a few decorations that had been made by some of them.

Barlo was so focused on his task, he almost missed Lodariel’s approach. The lean elf woman stood with her hands on her hips, her stubborn chin raised and her red-gold braids streaming over her shoulders as she surveyed Barlo’s domain.

“It’s really coming along,” she said, giving the hillside an appreciative look.

Barlo put down his brush. “We’ll be moved in tonight.”

A brief flicker of relief crossed her features. “Iarion and I have been happy to have you and Paige as guests—”

“But we’ve overstayed our welcome,” Barlo said, holding up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Don’t worry; I understand. Your hut wasn’t meant to house four people long term, especially when two of them are a couple.”

Lodariel’s green eyes filled with relieved gratitude. “Thank you.”

“I hope you don’t feel that me moving here is invasive,” Barlo said, suddenly realizing he had never discussed the matter with her. “Iarion is my best friend. I mean, you’re dear to me as well...” Barlo fumbled for the right words. “I mean, we’ve been through a lot together, and you’re a very special lass. My point is, I would never want to come between you.” He flushed, silently cursing his awkwardness.

Lodariel shook her head with a smile. “Don’t be ridiculous. I have always known how close you and Iarion are. I would never put him in a position where he had to choose between us. After all, who better to understand than me? I love Iarion dearly, but Daroandir will always be my twin.”

Barlo felt like a dolt for worrying. Lodariel and her twin brother, Daroandir, had experienced several lifetimes together before coming to live in Melaquenya. Their bond was closer than anything Barlo could imagine. Lodariel read the understanding in his expression.

“You see?” she said. “I could never choose between him and Iarion. So I would never do anything to come between you two, or Daroandir and Silvaranwyn. I may have a jealous streak, but I doubt you’re doing the same kinds of things with Iarion I am.” She raised an eyebrow and Barlo blushed even harder.

“That’s what I thought,” she said. “Not that I’m against that sort of thing, but I would like to think you would at least try to include me. I did used to be a Wild Elf, you know.” Barlo’s eyes bulged at the suggestion, provoking a wicked chuckle.

“Anyway,” she continued, finally taking pity on him, “none of this has anything to do with why I came by. Is there anything you need? I’m going foraging, and I thought you might want something for your new larder.”

“Well,” Barlo said, trying to figure out how to ask his question without offending her sensibilities. In the end, he settled for his usual bluntness. “Is there any way I can get some meat around here? I know Light Elves don’t eat it, but dwarves weren’t meant to live without at least a little flesh in their diet.”

He felt bad asking because he knew Lodariel’s offer to forage for him was a generous one. Over the course of her current and previous lives, which had spanned Ralvaniar, and Middle and Southern Lasniniar, including some visits to the north and southwest, she had acquired a wider knowledge of herbs and plants than any other elf alive. But regardless of what enticing flavors she used, Barlo had actually lost weight since his arrival in Melaquenya. No matter how many tubers or berries he ate, he never felt full.

Lodariel frowned in confusion. “Why don’t you just hunt?”

Barlo shook his head. “Dwarves aren’t hunters. At least, we haven’t been since we settled and made allies. We get foodstuffs in exchange for weapons and metalwork from the human cities.”

“I see.” Lodariel twined one of her braids around her fingers as she considered. “Well, I won’t hunt for you. Now that I’m a Light Elf, I can’t, unless it’s a life-or-death situation. I can show you how to build some snares though. I was an expert hunter, once upon a time.” She gave him a serious look. “But you cannot hunt within the borders of the wood. Any bloodshed within Melaquenya would be a perversion.”

Barlo gave her a solemn nod. “I understand.”

“Good. You should be fine hunting here in the hills. There’s lots of small game, even at this time of year. Would you like me to show you now?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.

Barlo shrugged. “It doesn’t have to be right now. Why? Is this not a good time for you?”

Lodariel seemed to measure her next words before speaking. “Nothing personal Barlo, but you smell. You’ve been rooting around your new den all morning and working with varnish. You need a visit to the baths.”

Barlo felt his cheeks starting to redden again. “Baths? What baths? I’ve been wading in the river every night since I got here.”

“Iarion never told you? There are some springs in the forest. All the elves use them for bathing.”

“No, he kept that tidbit to himself,” Barlo said in an even tone, silently promising to give his friend a smack upside the head the next time he saw him.

“Well, he’s there right now, if you want to check them out.” Lodariel gave him the directions.

Barlo fixed the coordinates in his mind. “Thank you.”

“Oh, no, thank you,” Lodariel said with a wry smile.

Barlo cleared his throat. “That bad, is it?”

“Let’s just say the sooner you find the baths, the better.”

Barlo set off for the forest, cursing Iarion under his breath.

Lodariel’s directions were easy to follow, and Barlo soon heard several voices chatting in Elvish through the trees. Hoping they wouldn’t view his presence as an intrusion, he stepped into the clearing. The open space held several pools with soap root growing around the edges. Curls of steam wafted from the water’s surface. Barlo eyed the pools longingly, taking several moments to notice the group of elves who lounged in the water of the largest pool. As one of the women shifted, some of her more noticeable attributes rose above the water, informing Barlo that none of the elves were clothed. He knew it shouldn’t have surprised him, but it discomfited him nonetheless. Dwarves were nowhere near as casual with their nudity.

Just as he was considering stepping back into the trees before anyone noticed him, he heard Iarion’s voice call out in greeting.

“Barlo! What are you doing here?”

The elf levered himself out of the water, wrapping his lower body in a towel. His white locks hung limp around his dripping shoulders.

“Ah, Lodariel suggested—quite strongly—that I take advantage of this place,” Barlo said, trying to keep his wandering eyes where they belonged as the other elves in the pool turned to watch. “Maybe I should come back another time.”

“Don’t worry about them,” Iarion said, waving a hand toward the other elves. “They’re very friendly, and have no problems with dwarves.”

“Uh, that wasn’t exactly what I was worried about.” Barlo couldn’t imagine parading naked in front of an audience, and an elven one at that.

“Oh,” Iarion said, looking down at his towel to Barlo’s fully clothed state and making the connection. “Oh. Here, take a towel and change behind that bush. We can soak in a separate pool. I don’t know what you’re concerned about anyway. Your entire body is practically a rug.”

Barlo hesitated, but the water did look very warm, and he was suddenly aware of the strong odor he was emitting. He took the proffered towel and ducked into the bushes while Iarion said a few words to the others in Elvish. Barlo was too flustered to attempt a translation. He hoped it was something along the lines of: “Don’t mind him. Dwarves are just better endowed than we are, and he doesn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.”

He doubted it though.

When he emerged from the bushes, Iarion led him to a pool a short distance from the one that was occupied. He removed his towel and slipped into the water. Barlo did the same, but only after making sure his back was facing everyone else until his lower body was submerged. Unfortunately, the bottom was deeper than he thought. He flailed his arms, trying to keep his head above the water and move closer to the ledge. Iarion surreptitiously guided him to a shallower area where Barlo’s feet could touch the bottom. Barlo realized there were worn rocks beneath the water around the edge of the pool, which seemed to form natural seats. He chose one of the higher ones and settled himself.

Designed for an elven child, no doubt.

Iarion sat a short distance away in one of the deeper seats, submerged up to his chin. He watched Barlo with a smile.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this place?” Barlo demanded. “I’ve been wallowing in the river like some kind of savage.”

“I didn’t tell you because you can’t swim.” Iarion’s lips twitched with suppressed mirth.

Barlo sighed. “Well, I suppose that makes sense. But you could have at least given me an idea of what I was missing!”

He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, reveling in the heat as it worked its way through his aching muscles. The water felt good, but he realized he couldn’t fully enjoy it until he was clean. He ducked his head under the water for a moment, and pulled some of the nearby soap root to start scrubbing his skin, hair, and beard. Once he was satisfied, he dunked himself again and settled back on his perch, his beard sodden against his chest. Iarion’s eyes were closed. He appeared completely relaxed and oblivious of Barlo’s ministrations. Several moments of comfortable silence followed.

Barlo uttered a satisfied sigh. “I could get used to this.”

“I was afraid of that,” Iarion said, his eyes still closed.

Barlo frowned. “What do you mean?”

Iarion didn’t respond until Barlo sent a splash his way. The elf opened his eyes.

“Well, the only people allowed in here unaccompanied are those who can swim,” Iarion said. “Children must be tested before they are given permission. We can’t have anyone drowning.”

“So? I can bathe with you, can’t I?”

Iarion gave him a pointed look. “Every time you want to bathe, I have to come with you? You’re my friend, Barlo, but I don’t think we need to be lifelong bathing buddies.”

“But I can’t swim.” Barlo shook his head. “I’ve never met a dwarf who can.”

Iarion shrugged and closed his eyes again. “Then I guess you’ll have to dunk yourself in the river on the days I can’t come with you.”

“Well that’s hardly fair,” Barlo said. “Bathing in the river was all well and good before I knew about this place, but I hardly want to go back to doing things that way now, do I?”

“I guess you’ll have to learn how to swim then.”

“But I can’t! Iarion, dwarves aren’t built for swimming. I can’t even get on a ship without getting seasick.”

Iarion opened his eyes and shook his head. “Sailing and swimming are two different things. You’re not afraid, are you?”

Barlo spluttered. “Of course I’m not afraid!” His mind shied away from a memory of falling into the ocean with his armor still on, sinking toward the bottom. He would have died if Iarion hadn’t been there to save him.

One of the elves in the other pool called out something to Iarion in Elvish. “Excuse me,” Iarion said, slipping out of the pool. He crouched by the group of elves to speak with them for a few moments before returning.

“What did they want?” Barlo asked.

“They overheard our conversation,” Iarion said. He and Barlo had been speaking Common, which many of the Light Elves understood. “Most of them don’t believe you can learn how to swim. They’ve decided to make it a wager.”

“Most of them?”

“All right, all of them except for one optimistic lady over there.” Iarion gestured and the woman waved.

“What about you?” Barlo asked, stung. “Surely you took my side.”

“Oh, I bet against you too,” Iarion said with a deadpan expression. “There’s no way a stick-in-the-mud dwarf like you will even try to swim. I tried to warn her, but she wouldn’t listen. I think she liked the long odds.”

“A stick-in-the-mud?” Barlo demanded. “Aside from the First Father, I’m probably the most adventurous dwarf that’s ever lived! I bet you haven’t seen any other dwarves soaking alongside elves with everyone’s naughty bits hanging out.”

“Barlo, don’t even bother. You already said it yourself. There’s no shame in it. Dwarves can’t swim.”

Barlo knew exactly what Iarion was doing, but his pride still demanded he accept the challenge. He rose to his feet, no longer caring who saw what above the water.

“Then teach me,” he growled.