Thorin’s Hall Inn was quite populated, considering it was barely afternoon when Hellrien walked in. A band of musicians had gathered in front of the bar and performing to a cheering crowd in the middle of the floor. Nobody paid any attention to her. Two or three dwarves burst out in a peal of laughter a little farther.
Rúnulf behind the bar recognized her. Hellrien had been a regular customer in Thorin’s Hall Inn, she had even had a room in the back during the first months when the Sworn Brotherhood barracks had still been under construction.
”Miss Hellrien! Back already!”
”Or at last, Rúnulf. What’s with the musicians? Some festival I don’t know about?”
”’Dwarves Night Out’”, Rúnulf rubbed his palms together, unable to hide his satisfaction. ”It’s going to get crowded tonight. Do you want something to eat? Or drink?”
”Strong ale, Rúnulf. In a big pint.”
”Erm… Bombur’s Beard Lager?”
”Fine.”
”Just a moment.”
Hellrien pulled herself a stool and sat on it. The stool was so low that her knees were on level with her mouth. Sitting on dwarven-made stools always made her feel ridiculous, and she guessed she looked just as ridiculous as she felt.
Rúnulf set the frothing pint in front of her.
”Is there something else I can do for you, miss?”
”Yes there is”, Hellrien replied. ”What can you tell me about what happened… with the Sworn Brotherhood?”
Rúnulf grabbed a clout and began to wipe the bar, averting Hellrien’s eyes.
”Didn’t they tell you?”
”I would like to hear it from you, Rúnulf.”
The dwarven bartender shrugged. ”You remember the troubles you had a few months back, right? It caused a lot of concern with the Durin’s folk here, and those who had been opposed to letting Dorvairse build his headquarters here in the first place got more grist for their mill. We don’t want to become the center of Sauron’s attention here in the Blue Mountains, if you know what I mean. We knew approximately what was going on, because word gets around. We knew Dorvairse and his wife had been taken in Fornost, and that most of your people went over there in an attempt to rescue them. Then you were sent away… weeks passed by, Hellrien, but they never came back. Nary a word of what might have happened, nothing. Lord Dwalin holds Dorvairse in high esteem, but he was under a lot of pressure from those who said they had had enough of your mannish, fickle ways. And nobody liked that old Dúnadan who had seemingly taken over things in your garrison… arrogant bastard! Finally Dwalin had to give in to the reality of it… and Hellrien, I know it must come as a shock to you… but they must all have perished, how could they not? Otherwise we would have heard of them already, after all this time.”
Hellrien chewed on that for a while. She knew Rúnulf was right, had to be right. She sipped her ale.
”And my old room?” she asked. ”Can I still have that?”
Hellrien regretted her question immediately after she had asked it, seeing how Rúnulf lower his head and began wiping the bar even more rigorously than before. It had to be the shiniest bar in the whole Middle Earth already. Hellrien resisted the urge to stop his hand and point it out to him.
”You can stay the night”, Rúnulf said reluctantly, ”but Hellrien, why would you want to stay here a moment longer than that? Your friends are all dead – I’m sorry, but that’s the truth of it. Or left, the few who were still here. And your kind is not exactly very popular at the moment. You will see what I mean if you linger. You would not be happy here – our ways are strange to you, as are yours to us! You will always be a friend to me, Hellrien, and you are always welcome to my Inn as a guest – but your home is not in the Blue Mountains. You should seek the company of your own kind, build a home somewhere you belong.”
Hellrien didn’t have anything to say to that. She sipped her ale in silence, listening to the musicians.
