Eldarion lay, crying bitterly into his pillow. He had just been sent to bed early after a stern talk from his father about representing the dignity of Gondor, not conforming to lower standards of behavior, self control, and so on and so on. Eldarion understood all of that, but it was hard when he had a dwarf pinching his elbow and kicking his shins under the table.

It was the first night of three nights of feasting to celebrate the completion of new steel and mithril gates at all seven levels of the city of Minas Tirith. The dwarves had wrought them in the nearby hills with impenetrable strength and intricate beauty, a work of nearly three years, during which Eldarion had watched dwarves come and go through the city.

He had never eaten with them before, however, and it was not what he expected. Oh, the food was a delicious mix of the traditional favorites of both Gondor and the Dwarves, and the meal had started elegantly enough, with words from his father the King, from Master Gimli and others, but soon the clatter had become deafening and Eldarion wondered how hands that carved minute, precise patterns in steel could have so much trouble aiming food into the mouth.

To his left, Eldarion's parents seemed unsurprised and ate with their usual grace, as did his two older sisters. To his right though sat a red-bearded, red-cheeked dwarf named Ordin, one of the chief craftsmen, who thought it extremely funny to bother a ten-year-old Prince. Ordin's timing was immaculate. He would bump Eldarion's arm just when he was raising a spoonful of stew, reach over and mix food on Eldarion's plate (which was a practice Queen Arwen had specifically taught him to avoid) while Eldarion was busy defending his legs from a splash of red dwarvish wine, and all perfectly calculated so the King and Queen were looking away during the offense but looking back to see the reaction. Master Gimli, sitting across the table, didn't help at all-roaring with laughter and adding comments like, "impressive, young prince!" when Ordin belched.

Eldarion's friend Elboron was throwing potatoes back and forth with dwarves at another table, and his parents didnt seem to mind, but King Elessar's raised eyebrows became glares, and glares became terse reprimands. Of course, Eldarion could have explained that Ordin was bothering him, but he didn't want to be whiny and it seemed, somehow, like that would be letting the dwarf win. And so, when Ordin snatched a slice of roast from Eldarion's plate and he (calmly, he thought) tried to get it back, his father had escorted him out.

Then came the lecture, during which Eldarion had said very little, and here he was, alone in his bedroom while far below he could hear the faint strum of dwarvish lutes being tuned and dessert was probably on the tables.
Eldarion sighed and stopped his tears with well-practiced self mastery. He reached up to his bookshelf for a volume of dwarvish folk-tales, the next best thing to hearing their songs. He opened it and settled back into his pillow.

Heavy steps in the stone hallway, and a knock on the door. Eldarion didn't want to talk to anyone, except maybe his mother and this wasn't her. Master Gimli opened the door and entered unbidden.

"I'm sorry lad, we didn't expect your father to send you away before the pies and music. Why didn't you tell him it was Ordin's pestering?"
Eldarion shrugged, but he tried to smile and asked, "What are they singing?"

"Of Smaug the Terrible and the Battle of Five Armies, and they are eating good things as well. Here, I brought you a blackberry pastry." Gimli extracted from his front pocket a sweet-smelling, buttery dessert.

"Thank you, Master Gimli...but I think I am supposed to be missing them."

"What? But this isn't your father's pastry. It's my pastry, from my own plate, that I want you to have. King Aragorn wouldn't want you to turn down a gift."

Eldarion thought about this, but decided that from the way the pastry was hidden in a pocket, Gimli had probably brought it up without the king's approval. "I had better not, Sir. Thank you none the less."

"Come now, I told Aragorn all about Ordin and he said himself I should bring you something."

"Truly?"

"Of course! Is that dwarvish you're reading?"

As Eldarion bit into crispy blackberry sweetness, he held up his book to Gimli.

"'Narvi and Celebrimbor'! That is a tale I have heard and sung many a time. Do you like it? How long have you known dwarvish?"

"I like it, sir. I also have a translation to the common tongue," Eldarion said, pulling another book down, "so I compare them to figure out the parts I don't understand, and I can't speak or understand spoken Dwarvish as well as I can read it."

"I can help you with that, little prince, why don't we meet and speak together once in a while?"

"Tomorrow?" Eldarion asked eagerly in Dwarvish.

"Yes." Gimli chuckled.

Eldarion pulled a folded paper from within his book. "And could you also help me with-"

"I hear the singing lad, if you like our tales you can't miss that, let's hurry downstairs!"

"No Sir!" Eldarion answered in horror, "King Elessar sent me to bed for the night!"

Gimli rolled his eyes. "He knows Ordin stole your roast. He isn't wroth with you anymore."

"But he told me to stay in my rooms, Master Gimli."

"Well, he told me that you are welcome to come back."

Eldarion was doubtful. "He doesn't usually change his mind."

"You could come down to the hallway to hear the song, that is, not back into the feast. The defeat of Smaug is historical, boy, educational, hurry along!"

Eldarion took his half-eaten pastry and followed Gimli, pressing, "Are you sure my father said I could come down?"

"Yes, yes, I have excellent hearing. Keep up."

The sounds of a drum, lutes, bass and baritone oons and voices became clearer as they walked. Though still shorter, the young prince's half-elven legs kept up easily with the battle-worn dwarfs stocky ones. Soon they were in a passage along the dining hall. Eldarion could see through the arched windows the backs of the King and Queen. His empty seat beside the King was filled by Prince Faramir, who had come to Minas Tirith to see the gates and attend the feast, and was now busily writing something. A few dwarves on instruments sat in the middle of the hall, while most of the dwarves around the tables sang along. Others smoked long pipes or sat as if asleep. Men and ladies of Gondor listened enraptured, as did Eldarion. He knew the story well, but the dwarves' deep voices and many harmonies wove it into lifelike color and magic.