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Kellin's Tale: Steady Hands	By : NiaraAfforegate Category: +G through L > Lord of the Rings Online, The Views: 888 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is set in the universe created by Turbine, with permission from Tolkien Enterprises. I have no affiliation with either, and no such permissions. No money is made, and no ownership of LotRO, its universe, or related media is claimed.

Chapter List
- 1-Kellin's Tale: Steady Hands
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This is part of a series, though stands alone in its own right as a collection of tales. This entry will contain the stories of Kellin, Runekeeper. Until such a time as his tales are ready, this will contain some simple backstory for Kellin.

For those wondering, there is very little chance that this colletion will contian any smut, I appologise to those who are seeking raunchy hairy dwarf sex, but neither of my two dwarves seem to be overly interested in such, so it likely won't happen.

Please do give me any and all comments or criticisms you mgiht have, I welcome them.

-Niara

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A Runekeeper's Chronicle: Steady Hands

Placeholder: The History of Kellin

Still far too young to be allowed to make his own decisions, it was in secrecy and with excitement that a young Kellin joined the expedition to Dale and Erebor, in the wake of the downfall of Smaug. Young enough that he refused to admit to himself both how much he would miss his parents, and how it pained him to defy them so, it was with a determinedly forward-looking gaze that Kellin arrived in Dale with the rest of the expedition.

It wasn’t long before the luster of the adventure wore off, however, as the reclaiming and rebuilding of the dwarven halls under the Lonely Mountain was far from bloodless, and by no means a certain task. Kellin himself was no fighter, and the other dwarves he was with were more wont to treat him as a child underfoot than a companion.

Where he could, he busied himself, instead, with research and learning. He had always had a scholarly bent, and a keen interest in the histories of his people, and it had in fact been the chance to witness the reclaiming of a kingdom long lost that first spurred him to defy his parents and join the expedition. While the reclaiming of the old halls did indeed stir something profound within Kellin, he was much more deeply touched by all that surrounded this; the expansive, far reaching halls, empty and silent, fallen and disused, the signs of a kingdom lost in a way that they could never truly hope to recapture. Even a successful reclamation would still be a pale comparison to the glory that once was; they would be a new settlement, nestled within the husk of a far greater one, impossible to rebuild. Witnessing this, and feeling it first hand, cut Kellin to the core in a way that removed all of the shine from what they were doing and undermined any of the glorious claims of successful forays.

Seemingly unsuited to the warrior’s way, Kellin returned to the trade he had been apprenticed in under his mother, that of the healer and salve-maker. Mixing salves and draughts, preparing poultices and tending the wounded brought him some measure of peace for a time, but day by day the keen eyes that had always looked outside the immediate picture saw more and more that stirred the discontent in his breast. Each day he found himself tending to wounded and injured dwarves, dwarves beaten and broken in combat, sometimes even beyond his aid. Once more he felt keenly that his people were diminished, and diminishing, struggling vainly to recapture an unobtainable peak lost to them, and paying a steep blood price for it every day.

As a young scholar he had learned of all of these things before, but being present first hand, experiencing the sacrifice and cost as more dwarves slipped beyond his ability to save sparked a fiery rage in his heart, against the world and the fates that had led his people to this. No matter that the reclamation was going well, Kellin’s ire rose with every injured and wounded dwarf he treated, and every fresh batch of potion and salve he needed to make, as the last was always used up too swiftly.

The other healers started to avoid him when they could, as his frustration and anger radiated off him in a way that made everyone around him physically uncomfortable. A frequent trail of savage and venomous mutterings followed him wherever he went as long as he reflected upon the poor fortune of his people, and though his voicing of such was never more than a whisper, still anyone near hear heard and could feel the full fury of his emotion behind it.

All of this culminated in the final pushes of the reclamation, when a night of heavy combat saw countless injured dwarves and men pass beneath his hands, far too many of whom he was unable to save. Though their losses were heavy, the reclamation pressed on regardless, the dead mourned, but placed aside in the face of the clearly more important task of more fighting, as Kellin felt his other kinsmen seemed to think. His sad and angry frustration at the situation peaked, and would not leave his mind. The next morning he was assigned to mixing more salves, having run through their remaining stores the previous night, but even as he started, his hands shook with the barely contained emotions raging though him.

It was the sound of crashing pots and breaking earthenware that alerted nearby dwarves to a problem, but none dared venture beyond the doorframe when they looked into the room in which Kellin had been working. The walls and floor were splattered with various different hues of salve and potion, steaming and bubbling gently in places where there was enough of it to do so. Broken jars and containers littered the floor, some of them seemingly melted, others shattered. Kellin himself was still standing at the central workbench in the room, mixing stick in one trembling, white-knuckled hand, the remains or one of the larger mixing vats gripped in the other. Hot tears streaked his face, while he stared down at the bench in front of him, shaking all over. It was a few minutes before the remains of the morning’s salves, coating the room, had cooled enough from their boiling state for others to venture in, but still most seemed to want instead to wait for Kellin to emerge on his own. The young dwarf, however, remained where he was, without moving, lips pursed as though afraid to say or do anything more.

It was, in fact, an old man who had been staying in Dale who first dared approach, and though some dwarves muttered about allowing his pet raven into an area where they prepared medicinal products, they allowed him in. Picking through the shards of broken jars, the old man placed a hand on Kellin’s shoulder and whispered something to him, making the dwarf look up at him with a scowl. Try as they might to overhear, none of the other dwarves nearby could make out anything about the hushed conversation the followed between them, but the result was the pair making their way out of the temporary infirmary and away into the streets of Dale. Kellin returned to his kinsmen later in the afternoon, calmer, and carrying a small curved stone, slightly larger than his hand. It bore a series of dwarven runes along four of its facets, with the fifth being completely smooth and blank.

He told his companions that he would be no use to them as a healer unless he took care of a few other things first, and that he meant to set out in the morning. The halls under the Lonely Mountain had all but been reclaimed, and the rebuilding was beginning in earnest. Looking back as he left Dale, Kellin promised himself to start afresh, and realized he would always think of Erebor now as his home, from where he began this new life. The road would take him first to his old home, to make amends with his parents and tell them his story, before heading to Thorin’s Gate, there to study the old runes and learn the care and control that the power of word and sign required.

He studied the craft of runes as the old man had suggested for several years, learning the power that a sign in the right place or words spoken with the right will and direction behind them could have, until the Dourhand problem sought to drive a wedge between the dwarves and the elves of Ered Luin. Rather than keep to his studies, Kellin set out. His masters urged that their art was a subtle and passive one, and that he ought to stay, study, and ensure that the conflicts of the world could not intrude upon their home. Kellin, however, disagreed, and with a determined fire in his eyes and a small smile on his face, he left, saying only that he was going to give them a talking to they would never forget.
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Kellin's Tale: Steady Hands