Chapter 3
1.
"What are we to do!?" Sigbert was almost in a state of panic. Rorin directly pointed at the elf again tossing with accusations. The dwarves were in an uproar, all were shouting something but none were listening.
Hilfar tried to intervene "maybe we should..,"
"But the elf knows more, maybe..."
Hilfar gave up as the commotion endured. He grabbed his walking stick and stumbled towards the elf. This one looked different than the elves in the grey havens, but he could not really point out what. It were the eyes of the elf that made him feel uneasy. Hilfar put up his market smile, as if he was about to sell the elf trinkets "Master elf, Hilfar at your service". Hilfar bowed his head and cringed as his foot touched the floor. "Would you be willing to share with us what eh... thing.... is out there, and why?".
2.
"it's an evil I tell you! And it's at the hands of this elf that it's here!", shouted Meltrild at the top of her old lungs as she ever so carefully climbed back up from on her knees, moments later shaking her walking stick frantically.
"Oh, will you hush you old hag!", replied Nyr "and let the elf talk!"
Silences followed as all gazed at the elf awaiting a reply.
3.
They didn't know what had come, yet, even had they known, it would not have availed them.
Hwesta leaned against the table and faced the Dwarves. They were afraid. He saw it in their eyes, in how their hands strayed without conscious volition to axe and shield. He was also afraid...and that was a rare thing.
He made his decision and spoke. "Over 1000 years ago, the Witch-King sent wights out into the world, to inhabit the bones of the dead, and bring terror to the enemies of Sauron. One such has found this place."
Cries of confusion filled the room. Hwesta waited patiently as the Dwarves went from bewilderment to anger, hurling insults at this Elf who, they were sure, had brought doom upon them. Gradually they quieted, and then there was only the wind's mindless howling.
"It said "Akallabêth", a word I thought never to hear on this side of the Sea. It means 'the Downfallen' in Adûnaic, the language of Númenor." He fell into reverie, gazing at something only he could see. "Oh Mar-nu-Falmar... Atalantë..."
4.
"Falmar? Falmar? Falmar Brimbeard the trader that visits Gloin's Camp every other month?" Meltrild shouted in a every rising screech, "I knew that foul Falmar Brimbeard was up to no good, that's the last time I order any goods from him". At which she violently shook her walking stick again.
Everyone rolled their eyes at Meltrild's comments.
"Gadra allâkh Mahal hefsu binhas" Nyr said to himself in a very soft mumble (ensuring the elf would not hear his speech) shaking his head, facepalming again at Meltrilds comments. "For the love of Mahal, the elf isn't talking about Falmar from Gloin's Camp... let the elf speak you daft women! What do you mean with "Oh Mar-nu-Falmar... Atalantë"... and tell us more about this business of wights... what are they doing here... what do they want... speak on!
5.
"Wights..." Hilfar gasped at the thought. He always thought they were just tavern gossip. In the prancing poney there was always rumor about some haunted barrows. He always used to go far around that area, taking no risks to disturb the dead. Them he remembered the ghostly apparations he faced long ago when he brought ale kegs to Zigilgund. They crossed the dead fields with his father and Throngur, never before was Hilfar so scared.
Now he had to face such horror again... "Mahal save us.."
6.
"You call yourselves dwarves!? The elf tellin' ghost stories and you all shiver, pah!" Rorin crossed his arms. "Sigbert, Nyr! Gear up! We are going to show that Wight what we are made of!"
Hilfar interrupted "this is not a foe you can fight with an axe...". Rorin stepped dangerously close to Hilfar "You have no say in this stranger! You should be glad we dragged you out of that snow! And what do you know about wights eh?" Hilfar looked quite small under the presence of Rorin. Meltrild started defending Hilfar poking her stick on Rorins chest.
Rorin smacked the stick aside with his hand "Sigbert, Nyr come on! Dont just stand there! For the love of Mahal grab an axe!!!"
7.
The Elf watched them for a time, while debating how much to tell them. It would not serve them to be terrified out of their wits, not here in this unforgiving land. Finally he came forward, until he was but an arm's length away from the Dwarf who seemed to understand what they faced.
"You speak wisely. This is not a foe we can fight with an axe!" He faced the others and raised his voice so that all, even in the back, would hear. "You will know from your history that 7 rings of power were given to Dwarf Lords in ancient times. Four were consumed in dragonfire. Thráin II also bore one, but in the dungeons of Dol Guldur this ring was taken from him. This much we know in Lothlorien."
"But there were other rings. The Elves received three. And nine were given to Men, of which 3 were gifted to Lords of Númenor."
Hwesta leaned forward to look into Hilfar's eyes. "These men of Númenor were made wights, and one of them is here. Who among you is he seeking, and why?"
8.
Hilfar looked into the elf eyes, unwillingly. It felt as if he was searching his soul. With great effort he managed to break eye contact. "N-not me, I only t-trade with the living.. " muttered Hilfar.
Rorins patience had run thin "Enough! Keep your serpent tongue still elf, I will deal with your ghost myself!". Rorin grabbed a broad shield from the rack and pushed Sigbert aside who was trying to stop him. Rorin opened the door and marched outside into the storm.
9.
The winter storm whirled around Hrimbarg. Rorin tried to see through the heavy snowfall. He could feel the metal plates of his armor slowly turn ice cold. With shield raised he made his way to the gate and looked around looking for something unusual "its all nonsense...".
Rorin bashed his axe to his shield "Come on, show yourself!". A shade shifted in the distance. Rorin peered at it as it took shape. "Ah there you are!".
A shrill voice reached his ear "Give to me...". Rorin shouted "you can have my axe in your skull!". The shade shifted and took shape again "Give it to me..".
There was a certain dread emitting from the wraith that increased by the minute. The cold voice was louder almost shrieking " The amulet, Give it to me...".
Rorin suddenly knew what the wraith wanted "Never! Over my dead body!". An explosion of sound erupted from the Wraith. Rorin covered his ears as the shriek burned his ears. Even those inside felt its power.
Rorin quickly grabbed the axe from the snow, but the wraith vanished. He mustered his courage untill he saw the shapes on the horizon. The dead march now on Hrimbarg
10.
A few moments earlier inside...
Nyr hesitated. He didn't want to be branded a craven coward, yet on the other hand... there was some sort of dangerous spirit that very likely could easily kill them. And chances were their axes wouldn't do much damage to a spirit to begin with.
"Well... uhm... I don't know", said Nyr pulling his gaze quickly away from Rorin, "you see... if this is a spirit, what is an axe going to do?" Nyr tried to look tough, but all could see the look in his eyes, fear filled and wriggling to get out of the situation.
"Hilfar is right, of course he is right... ", Meltrild smiled at Hilfar giving him a generous wink, "he's very clearly the only dwarrow with some sense around here, and this time Nyr .. FOR ONCE... has a point... if this is one of them dreaded spirits of the old tales... your axe won't do it any harm Rorin", she said rather calmly as she walked to the big kettle ready to poor all another bowl of her ambiguous porridge-like stew-soup.
"Oh, what do you know of it", said Rorin shrugging his shoulders. "You picked a fine time to side with Meltrild Nyr... a fine time", mocked Rorin. "We don't have time to discuss this, get your axe! If it can be seen it can be slain!", shouted Rorin and waited, yet none reacted.
"If that's the way it is going to be... I'll head out on my own!" and Rorin marched out into the snow, axe and shield at the ready.
End of chapter 3
