Wealth. Rings. Lordship. So the horseman promised, for but the price of gossip, or a trinket—a "least of rings" stolen from Him They Name Not in Gondor. Dwarves waste no words on circumlocutions, but they mark numbers: thirteen's unlucky; seven, blessed; three's no chance; four... four is death.
Dwarven lore holds the world ends when the Harbingers ride at night, bringing war to the earth's quarters. Thrice the horseman leaves unanswered, ere Dwarves depart for Rivendell. For death is coming—the earth groans, its bounty sickens, fear flowers. Death is coming: the fourth calling, the last calling, and then...
"...[F]ind this thief... and get from him, willing or no, a little ring, the least of rings, that once he stole." —"The Council of Elrond," FoTR, 235.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.