It is said by some that until the dead is laid under stone and Mahal issues the call to Mandos, the soul sleeps in the body, listening, waiting.
If that is literally true, Maurr Bóurrul doesn’t know. He is not unique among Dwarves in concerning himself more with practice than belief, more with this world than the next. But while he stands guard in Maddoct’s stead, giving the amradshomak the chance to eat and speak to Kithri in the other room, he looks down at the large form just barely covered by his cloak and contemplates the possibility.
“Hey,” he finds himself saying underbreath, so that it won’t carry above the crackle of the fireplace. He leans in; “Hey. Are you still there? … If so, I ought to say some things, while we’re alone.
“You guessed right, you know. You were the foe I was after… ‘cause you’d really pissed me off. Backing off from a challenge, fine. You were injured—so was I. Fresh out of the healing house, feeling sorry for myself, like I was never going to do anything as well as I once did and no one was ever going to fight me as an equal—got me all excited and then pulled it out from under me. Disappointing, but fine, whatever. Sensible, not like a dumb hot-head lad.
“But then you went and hit Maddoct. And that’s bad enough as it is. Somebody hurts Maddoct, that heart of gold, I’m like to fly off the handle regardless. Pick on him for being a pansy, even worse. But pick on him for being a pansy and ‘cause he won’t fight back? That’s foul. That’s a coward and a bully’s move, and I hate nothing like I hate a coward and a bully.
“So I wanted to have it out. Maddoct’d never fight back to defend his feelings—just take it and soak it in and go home and cry. So I wanted to fight for him. Remind you what it’s like to have someone fight back, what happens when you pick on someone who doesn’t immediately crumble. And kick your arse, if I could, because you deserved it. … But,” and now Maurr softly chuckles, “you know… that, I probably couldn’t do.
“I love the grapple, and I’d get in a friendly tussle every chance I could, back in the unit. And I was strong, then, but—I didn’t have weight, I didn’t have reach. And usually, I lost. And that was before a Troll crushed my hand and the healers sawed it off and I spent two months almost dead ‘fore they sawed off my wrist, too. No way in earth I could beat a bloody battering ram; you’d pound me into the dirt as your opening move and that’d be that. I guess that’d be enough to satisfy Maddoct’s honor and my grudge but…” He laughs again. “Not as well as if I made you work for it. And that not as well as if I won. ‘s why I got serious about my training, with Maddoct and Oakbeard and such. I wanted to be ready to face you ‘fore we left for Durin’s Day.”
He pauses, smiling sadly. “But then this started.”
He says no more for a long time, and then—infringing on what is proper, turns and sits gently at the edge of the bed. Disrespectful to the dead that may be, in some eyes, but at this moment he really feels it: that Yurri is, instead, sleeping, resting deeply before he takes that long journey West.
“... I don’t hate you, though,” he continues at last. “Never hated you. You’re a right arse, selfish, a pain and an overgrown babe… but still, you’re still a Dwarf. You’re still a Dwarf with his good and bad, his intelligence, his feelings. And…” he sighs. “I don’t know what happened—to divide you from your son and the mountain, what landed you in a puddle of ale in dirty Bree-land. But,” he says even more softly, “it must’ve been bad. And it must have hurt, and it must’ve been heavy to bear. And I’m sorry you went through it, whatever it was, and that nobody helped you bear it. And I…”
Again he sighs. “After I heard you were going, I hoped… I thought maybe I could reach you, give you something to do and someone to look after, by asking you to train me. And—I’m sorry it didn’t work out. Tumunir’s…” He runs his hand back through his hair. “He’s also… carrying a weight. Driven out by… some wound, some mistake, and also alone in a puddle in Bree-land because of it. And I didn’t want to shut the door on him, you know? When he barely let me open it in the first place. … Plus,” he chuckles, “he was my roommate. He knew where I slept…” Trailing off, he shakes his head. “So it didn’t work out. ‘s a shame.
“But I’m glad you let me be here in the end. And I’m glad you showed your weakness to Maddoct and let him be here, too. ‘Cause you’re still a Dwarf, Yurri. And no Dwarf, no matter how much of an arse and a fuck-up, should be alone.”
With that he falls into a long silence, looking away from the covered form, at the wall. Then:
“I’m glad to have met you, arsehole. And I’ll take your words to heart. ‘Cause… I’m sure ‘t’s not what you went through. But after it—happened to me, I… I-I think I get it a little. The temptation to make enemies. ‘Cause you’re always angry. Always resenting life and all the pretty people who get to live theirs uncrushed, judging you. Wanting to be selfish, whine and yell to make everything about you ‘cause—‘t’s not fair—”
He inhales sharply, blinking fast. “—‘cause somebody, somebody ought to care.
“... I get it. A little bit. And I know that alone doesn’t make it all right. And maybe I couldn’t make you feel it before the end, failed you in that regard. But—I was here. I understood a tiny, tiny bit. And I remembered that you were still a Dwarf and that you still mattered.”
He looks back at Yurri and falls quiet again for long seconds, minutes. Then he leans forward, towards the covered head, and adds, very low:
“But you’re still an arse. You’re still a coward and a bully, and I’m still not satisfied. Till we have it out and my fists say my piece and your face gives it a listen, we’re not good, and you’re not forgiven.
“So, arsehole. Rest up in the Halls of Waiting. Patch up your wounds, grow back your hair, fill up at the feasting table, whatever it is that Dwarves do there. And get ready. ‘Cause I am going to spend my seven score remaining learning all about the grapple and how to crush the foe who’s stronger and bigger. And when I walk through Mahal’s gate, first thing I’m going to do is lay you on your arse.
“Get ready for it, Yurri. It’s going to happen. And after it does, then—then we can be friends.”
