Day 13 of exile
Shire! Beautiful, serene, rural and evergreen Shire! I finally made it! The winter is mild here and perfect for a homeless dwarf. Without even a scrap of copper I have resorted to fishing with my home-made pole. To think I'd fancy fishing of all people, but I do. It is an equable way of spending an afternoon, it's even meditative at times. And for me that just what the healer ordered. The large ones, like pikes and catfish, I barter for ale at the local inn. The small ones I cook. Thankfully mushrooms grow in abundance here, albeit dried out and worm eaten at this time of the year. So the Shire has been kind to me, except for a farmer or two who set their dogs on me. Now finally the turmoil inside me has settled down and I can try to write things down.
Sarnur...I knew going in it was a bad idea but family ties ought to count for something. I was wrong. The gentle soul, full of warmth and mischief, that once was my father was finally purged. Replaced by the delusions, dogma and antics of a raving madman. It's like some sickness gradually grabbed him as he rose to power. Yet I could not foresee that he would publicly ridicule and disown me. Stripped of everything but my undergarments I was physically thrown out of Sarnur and left to the mercy of goblins. Kicked and poked by what felt like hundreds of spears, I was driven down the Orodost stairs. If I had not jumped I am sure they would have killed me at the bottom. Lucky for me I landed in a grove of snowcapped fir trees.
Quickly I made it across the valley towards the abandoned guard house. There I had left my backpack with some spare clothes and a small axe. I knew I could not remain in Ered Luin. Goblins prowled the mountains. Down in the valley Longbeards now patrolled, both equally likely to kill me at sight. So I sneaked, crawled and swam my way down the valley. Suddenly in the early morning haze appeared Gondamon. The mighty ever watching stronghold with its tall spires now blocked my path. To the south Rath Teraig, crawling with goblins. To the north and in the forest, Dourhand camps. I decide to take my chances following the north treeline.
It was past noon when I heard a booming voice. My blood froze! It was a Dourhand guard wondering why I was not at the assembly. When he asked my name I promptly answered, thinking the news of Lord Glúmir's son had not reached him. He had surprise written all over his face and for a moment I thought I'd succeeded. But a few seconds later his eyes glowed with greed and malice. He suddenly charged me like a crazed boar! The rest is a blur but we must have struggled for quite a while. The next thing I remember is standing over him, watching this dwarf slowly die with a gushing wound in his neck. I was paralyzed. When it was obvious he was dead I searched him for food. A piece of moldy bread, a small crude wooden box and a blood soaked piece of paper was all I could find. Suddenly I heard voices so I grabbed the items and ran.
It was night when I found the River Lune. I washed the blood off my hands and decided to swim under the great bridge. Past the bridge appeared a tiny island in the middle of the stream. Exhausted I crawled out of the water and collapsed into a restless sleep.
Birds chirping and jumping around in the tiny tree above me brought me out of my nightmares. It was late in the afternoon. The bridge loomed over me and on the other side of the river, perched high above, lay Duillond. Famished I ate the bread while fingering on the wooden box. I flicked the lid open and inside lay three strands of hair, neatly tied together with ribbons. My heart sank as I realized this were keepsakes from the poor dwarfs family. With tears falling I unfurled the crumpled piece of paper and to my astonishment it had my name on it.
Clearly my father was not happy that I had escaped as he obviously offered gold for my capture. Dead or alive!! My arse of a father did not care if I lived or not! Maybe one day I can return the curtsey! The events that led to the death of that dwarf now cleared. He must have recognized me and saw an opportunity for a reward. And thus a way out of poverty and the means for a better life, for himself and his family.
The calmness of the Shire is astonishing. The hobbits go about their daily businesses with out fear or worry. I would like to stay, but Dourhands has been spotted just south of Needlehole. I must continue on my journey to nowhere. But one thing I know for certainty; I will never again kill another dwarf, be it Longbeard or Dourhand. By Mahal, the father of all dwarves, I swear this!
