There were many paths through the mountain tunnels and as the descendant of Durin and Dorin, as the king, had to know them all, not merely to be wise, or as the King of the Mountain, but ere any grow lost in his halls, that the blood of DSsurin might find them. And honestly Dorin enjoyed the privilege of accessing the quiet places to oversee his ancient home - even as the last of the plague victims' bodies were cleared. Burned by Mount Ngorogoro. Sent into the flames of the forge the strengthen the pride, that their bodies not remain to sicken more, and instead offer strength to the remaining smiths, but many had fled. And it felt, in the darkest of night, his kingdom had fallen.

He still remembered the darkest nights. The illness as he sent the healthy to flee the disease. He recalled laying, still and quiet in the silent dark, only the cries of the dead and dying filling the halls of Dvergrheim. Only some of Clan Surtr remained., Dorin had forced himself to seek answers. He'd found help too. Someone affording how to stymie the spread. And... to his regret, he needed the remains of clan Surtr. And he swore to himself Clan Surtr, whom lost many sacrificing their wellness and lives for their kingdom.... The Clan of the Forge would not be forgotten. Durin's sons of Fire would be honored and his eyes flicked Ashul deposite the last of the fallen into the forge, and looked away into the whole of Fbergrheium.

Good things happened too. DSorin found a queen, a Queen fit for seeing to the kingdom. Already he witcnessed plans made, plans to add to the great ancient walls of Dvergrheium as a new space was cleared and prepared, gilded iun gold already catching the lights of the forges, as paws etched and painted. A shining space to honor Clan Surtr and to allow access to their tunnels and fdens celebrating the sons of fire. A promise he kepot fervently.

The ochers and stones set into walls, puigments and colors were lit in the moonlight raining in through a hole above Dvergrheim. The nigh-0polished stones of the floor captured the moonliught in an eerie dance, beautiful and quiet. Noi longer was Dvergrheim filled with cries and weeping, coughing and disease. No, noiw there was hope and promise as the dwarves began to return home. Seeing the clans mingle below was peaceful. Seeing the people show joy and hoipe as the clans joined in kinship to look after one another was heartening to the dwarven king. He recalled a time once, long ago, he wished to see the world, where duty felt like a shacxkle, and now it felt instead warm and light as he heard voices calling and laughing. Thewy were not yet prepared for the world beyond. They were not yet prepared for returning to their traditionalk or new dens. No.

Pain was still too frsh and Dorin was astonished how bold his pride was. How instead of shattering under pressure, the Dvergr flourished into kindshipo and supported one another, How the dwarves afforded one another hope, and afforded one another compassion. But oh, the losses.

Dorin sighed. No. He dare not focus on that. His paws flexed in thought. He watched his kinsfolk, the children of stone, oh. He watched them, and nodded curtly. No.

No.

No more despair. Dorin determined. H3e recalled his father's words. Let the people rejoice when the night has passed. And the night was passed. And he brought a wife, and new blood. One paw raised in finality, and slammed a stone down, a bellowing cry from his ledge above the Sons and Daughters of Durin.

"Let us prepare feasts, my bropthers! For night has passed, and the stones yet sing with our voices! A wredding feast for my wife!" Dorin cheered. And a xry rang fropm below.

From the Children of Stone.