The Account of Donhelm Graymare

“And so I ended up at the court of Dáin, king under the Mountain!” Ghralin, the famed, dwarf storyteller and archivist looked satisfied and leaned back on his chair, his hands folded across his belly. After a moment he leaned forward again and took a deep draught from his battered old tankard, which was filled to the brim with that kind of brew that only madmen and dwarves could swallow. The men around the table were dumbfounded by the story they just heard. The youngest spoke up eagerly: “Come on Ghralin, tell us another story, please?” Eotháin asked. A couple of the other young lads joined in, pleading to hear more from this old dwarf. Smiling, he put down his empty tankard and said enthusiastically “Very well lads, very well. I shall tell you the story of The Horsemaster!” Now knowing another story was on it’s way, the gathered men around him waited anxiously to hear how this one would go. “I shall tell you this tale of how a simple Rohan man …, ” Ghralin looked in the eyes of the young men around him whilst speaking further. “… became a leader!, a warrior!, a man who inspired many to great deeds…! Donhelm Graymare is his name and I am proud to call him my friend.” One of the young men, more worldly wise and confident than the others, known as Beneloth, looked doubtful. "Donhelm Graymare is just a boaster and whoremaster my father says! He also said that he stole..." he immediately fell silent when he noticed Ghralin’s very angry stare. “I do not know your father, but I do know Donhelm Graymare! Now if you can hold your tongue better than your ale boy, you might learn something here!" He said in a very short tone. Beneloth blushed furiously and his friends laughed at his embarrassment. Ghralin looked away from the young man and cleared his throat. "So where was I before I got so rudely interrupted? Ah yes, Donhelm Graymare! He hails from Aldburg in the Eastfold where his family has bred the finest steeds for generations. It is the particular breed of ashen colored horse they breed that has given them their name. Donhelm had always had a love for the horses of his family and did his work in the stables with so much enthusiasm and respect for these animals, that those around him soon began to call him Horsemaster, a title not easily attained among the Rohirrim, I can assure you!. For both men and animal saw how he loved his horses, knew them and cared for them deeply, some say even more than of any of the many women in his life! It is even said that one of the Mearas, the wild and proud horses of the Rohan plains, came to the Graymare estate once and bowed down in front of Donhelm out of sheer respect for the man that has shown so much dedication to his brothers and sisters." The young men around Ghralin looked in awe, the Mearas were noble animals, held in the highest respect in Rohan. Ghralin coughed and went on with his story. "A proud and handsome lad he was in his youth, younger brother to Alduin, who one day left to deliver a horse to Trestlebridge, as was done every six months, for their was much trade between that town and the Graymare estate, but would, as fate determined, never return to see his family nor his younger brother, who loved him so dearly.” For a moment Ghralin stopped, this was very familiar for the men around him, as nearly no family was spared of tragedy these days. “Alduin was slain by the hands of a vicious orc, Khranakh the Vile, in the old dwarf kingdom of Moria. Though take in mind my young friend that Donhelm did not learn of his fate until much later and I will tell you what happened when he received the news later. Growing restless and concerned, Donhelm pleaded with his father to be allowed to search for Alduin. After many angry conversations eventually his father relented and allowed Donhelm to leave his home in search of his brother. He traveled to the north, which was known to house many a deadly creature. It was there that he met the famous dwarf, Thorstyn Evernight, a sturdy and valiant guardian of his race, who apparently was in the same situation, desperately seeking a loved one. They joined forces and as time progressed they formed a bond, which has rarely been seen between a dwarf and a man. Don’t be fooled though, although their cause was the same, these two fine warriors could not differ any more! Ghralin continued his tale with a twinkle in his eye. "When one comes into a city and asks about Donhelm, it is usually not his fighting skills people remember, especially not the ladies!” Ghralin winked and smiled as some of the younger lads immediately knew they just found their hero. “At that time in his life Donhelm Graymare was no longer the handsome lad he once was…” Ghralin smiled as he thought of his friend. “In fact he had lost an eye when hunting bears in Bree-land and ever since has worn a patch over the wound, but his charm and velvet words could subdue the coldest woman in a matter of minutes, don’t let there be a doubt about that! He gained a reputation as a womanizer in many a city or village which had enough women walking around to satisfy his needs. He gained an additional scar from a vexed husband who had suspected his woman of an affair with the “Whorsemaster” as some jealous men call him…” At this point Ghralin gave a knowing look to Beneloth who squirmed under the gaze. “Although Donhelm never knowingly bedded a married woman! or so he tells me at least!” Again a wide smile appeared on the dwarf’s face. “ From two of many, many such liaisons he had a beautiful son, Aeradin and a daughter, Killandra, who he from time to time still sees. Brave and bold is Aeradin who certainly looks like his father, although his hair is as black as the deepest of the dwarven mines. Fair and spellbinding is Killandra, who possesses her fathers charm and a beauty which leaves men gasping in awe. Her skill with a sword makes sure that she receives no unwanted attentions!" Ghralin chuckled to himself as if remembering some joke. "But enough about this, I shall not speak of his love life publicly, although I see on the faces of many of you, that a detailed explanation would have been most interesting!.” Ghralin laughed again and whilst doing so a couple of the younger lads who knew he was talking about them, suddenly blushed and became nearly as red as Beneloth. Ghralin smiled warmly at the young lad who was eagerly listening now. "Tales can be heard and misheard Beneloth, and I hope you may carry this version with you from now on!" Ghralin laughed "Donhelms legendary tales with women would make up a book on their own and perhaps if we have more time one evening I will part with some of them! but for now, let us concentrate on other aspects of this extraordinary man!" The Dwarf now warming to his task, took out a small pipe and some tobacco from his pouch. as he filled it, he continued to speak without looking up. “Donhelm is a hard fighter, fixating on a goal and reaching it by any means possible. Although a legendary fighter, strength and skill are not his prized assets. Above all else he values honor, both from himself and from those around him, as the highest virtue someone can have. Death before dishonor! He is known to cry whilst running into battle. You may wonder how this man could be bested in battle and I would tell you that I have not yet met the man or beast who could do that, But!!!” Ghralin leaned forward and his voice dropped to a whisper: “Even the toughest and greatest of dragons have a weak spot and so does Donhelm!” . Eotháin slowly put his cup down and leaned in “It must be his blind eye, is it not master Ghralin? He could be taken unawares if his head was turned!” Ghralin smiled again at the young man. ”No my friend you misunderstand me. I did not mean a physical weakness, and to answer your question, no it is not possible, Donhelms head moves quickly at all times in battle, he is like a fell demon against the enemy!” Ghralins eyes show a spark as he remembers being alongside Donhelm in the Ettenmoors. “No Eotháin, his one weakness as it appears to me is his love for family and friends. They are sacred to him and I know he still grieves for his brother’s passing, it is because of that sole reason that he went into the fell deeps of Moria. To avenge Alduin.” With a deft flick of his hand Ghralin sparked his flint off the edge of his tankard and held the flame to the pipe, taking in little puffs of the weed. After a few seconds he seemed satisfied that the pipe was alight and taking a long draw from the stem, he blew out a smoke ring perfectly round which grew in size until it enveloped his audience. The young men laughed at this. "Settle down young sirs or I will forget my place and have to begin again! Now where was I? Ah yes! Overcoming his fear of dark places, and once again wishing to spare harm to those he loved he begged the members of his kin not to go with him. But the unfinished tales are no ordinary band of warriors! oh no! The bonds between these few are deep and strong and more blood has been shed between them for each other than I care to tell!" Ghralin lowered his pipe for a moment and looked at the young men around him. ”If you should find yourselves friends and companions half as worthy as those in the unfinished tales then you may count yourselves deeply fortunate indeed!” Ghralin extinguished the pipe and put it on the table. ”Oh my, my throat is dry from all this smoking and talking!” he grumbled, and then grinned as a large tankard of the dwarven brew was put before him. He took a long swallow and wiped the froth from his lips with his long, grey beard. “Now where was I again?.. Gah! I shall not lose my place this time!” Ghralin was trying to remember where in the story he had gotten to. “Aaaahhh, yes! Donhelm had asked his companions not to go into Moria and they had all refused. sensing the only one who would listen to him would be his beloved horse, Donhelm whispered into the ear of his mare and sent her galloping south toward home, carrying letters to his family. When she had passed out of sight Donhelm turned back to his friends and together they entered the mines of Moria…” Even after the darkness had crept into them and it was only a shade of it’s former glory, the glimmer in Ghralin’s eyes still told a story of love and awe for the most ancient of the dwarf kingdoms. “Many adventures befell them in those dark places and I will not tell you of all that passed, at least not till we are in sunlight!" A shadow seemed to pass over Ghralins face as he spoke. "Suffice to say that when at last, after enduring the long dark of Moria, the time came and Donhelm found this orc, Khranakh the Vile. Needless to say he was so blinded by anger that the creature stood no chance! Those that witnessed the fight, shall say that the orc received back in ten fold, all the pain and grief he caused so many others. Donhelm charged in and Khranakh could only try to defend, so fierce was his attack. My friends, believe me when I tell you that it was myself, Thorstyn and Dellannan who had to combine our efforts to pull Donhelm away from the corpse, as his blades continued to rend the body of the orc. Essea at this time had stood by and let Donhelm vent his rage with no expression on his face and then when he sensed that the time was right, nodded to us three to move in. It was Essea then who came and held Donhelm, as his body shook with tears and anger. It was Essea alone who led Donhelm away, quietly reassuring him and talking softly to him.” The young men looked silently at the table as Ghralin spoke. The Dwarf gave them a moment to ponder the scene. He took another drink and then continued. ”And so Alduin was revenged and the one who killed him paid a heavy price. But as I say Donhelms weakness is his deep love for his family and friends and I think that It is the loss of Arduin that makes him keep his cousins, Essea and Althred, close to him at all times. He does not want the same fate to befall them as that of his brother. Only time will tell if he will be able to keep protecting those he loves so dearly. For heroes are just normal people doing extraordinary deeds! And that, he does my friends, that he does.” Feeling rather proud of himself being able to remember all this after having emptied many a tankard so far he ended his story. “And so finishes, for the time being, the tale of the Horsemaster. If you should see on your travels a tall ,scarred, one eyed warrior sitting atop a beautiful, gray horse then bow deeply my friends! Bow deeply, for this man fights not for glory nor riches. but for honor and freedom! And those are things which no true warrior gives up except with his life!” With those words Ghralin stood up. “Now if you excuse me lads, the night grows long and the shadows are at their strongest! I have a warm bed waiting for my old bones! The young man, Beneloth, stood up as the dwarf finished his drink. ”Master Ghralin?” Ghralin looked up: “No more questions please lad!! Let this old and tired dwarf rest!” ”Please!” said Beneloth. “where did you meet this Donhelm Horsemaster?” Ghralin laughed softly. ”It was in this very tavern my friend and indeed at this very table where a young lad and his brother sat listening to my stories as they rested on their journey from Trestlebridge to Rohan.. I distinctly remember Donhelm was as unbelieving as another young man not so far away from me now!” Ghralin winked at Beneloth and made his way out of the smoky room towards his bed for the night.