“My daughter will not marry an urchin! A son of a coward! A clueless beardling whose own father left him behind for a mad-dwarf's cause!”
Val’s words cut like a dagger to the back, the point twisted between his ribs, and piercing into a dark, locked corner of the Dwarf’s soul, and tugged at his greatest fear.
His blood boiled. He felt rage swell in his gut, and before he knew, he was pushing his way past the merchant’s guards. A flutter of voices rang after him, hands grabbing at him, trying to pull him back. Too late, though.
Dalbran headbutted the first guard, sending the dwarf to the ground. “I am one of the Five Hundred! This will not stand, you faithless thin-beard! Come down and look me in the eye!” The veteran was now pouncing on the second guard, pulling at his helm and twisting it free. He closed in, striking the helmless dwarf across the jaw, before throwing him down the steps. “Come, Val Variksson, Foul-Tongued! Face me!” He kicked at the final guard’s gut in, then followed quickly by grabbing the arm which held the axe. Dalbran brought the dwarf’s arm across the knee, the blade falling limply onto the stone with a loud *twang*.
“Say it.” Dalbran’s hair fell over his brow, his eyes narrowed and dark. “Say it. Say it!”
“H-How dare you, you mad bastard! To strike a dwarf in his ha-” Val’s words were cut off by a loud slap.
“You insulted Gurrni Ironhelm, Honoured at Azanulbizar and Erebor!”
“A mad-dwarf, greedy and honourless! Who left his own sons to starve!”
Dalbran stepped on the merchant’s chest, pinning him to the ground. He hadn’t even noticed when he raised the axe high above his head. A moment passed between them. The ginger dwarf drank in the fear in the merchant’s eyes, he felt life surge again through his at his blood boiling within his veins, the familiar feel of an axe in his hand.
“Dalbran!” Bini broke into the room, her fair beard braided in long ropes of gold and silver.
“Stay out of it, my bonnie! He insulted my kin! He insulted Gurrni!”
Val crawled at Dalbran’s boot, as if begging for mercy.
“Please, Dallie. It won’t bring anyone any good.”
The axe fell with a heavy thud once more. It clanged down the steps, bucking and bouncing against the stone.
Val breathed heavily, catching breath as Dalbran stepped off, his eyes losing the raging fire behind them.
Bini rushed to his side, placing a gentle hand onto the ginger’s shoulder. “Come, leave him be. He is a bitter old dwarf, there is no approval he shall give us.”
The merchant rose, grinning. “A coward breeds cowards, then, Dalbran? Did you have not the guts to bring that axe down? Never sheathe a blade unless you mean to bloody it.”
The fire was ablaze again.
Dalbran lept, tackling Val into the mighty throne he had built within his hall. One blow after another befell the merchant, Dalbran’s knuckles changing to crimson and purple. Val laughed a wicked laugh, spitting teeth and blood. “Look, Bini, a beast unchained!”
The Gurnisson roared, bringing his forehead down against the other dwarf’s nose, cracking bone.
“Curse be on you and your ancestors, curse be on your hall and beard, Val Variksson, Poison-spitter! Thinbeard!” He fumed again, teeth gritted. “Your hands shall never grasp gold again!”
Dalbran reached down, pulling the merchant’s hands onto the slablike throne, pressing down with all his might. He reached across his belt, pulling the blacksmith’s hammer from it’s hold, and bringing it down onto Val’s hand. “May your word be know as your hand, broken and weak.”
What followed he only recalled as a blurr.
“The crime of raising a hand against one ‘s kin is the utmost dishonour, fellow Longbeards...”
“Exile, exile him!”
“...exiled, untill he can undo his foul deeds, and bring back honour to his kin, and that of Val Variksson, so that he can be welcomed to our halls once more...”
“...I will wait, every dawn, from the highest tower...”
He recalled five dwarves, taking the ink and needle to his skin. Drawing scritps and designs unto his flesh. Writing upon his body this most burdening of oaths.
His flowing mane of ginger, now shorn and shaven to a single, tall crest. Two axes, to keep him company. His trusty goat to carry him across the world.
And in his heart, a yearning for home, a pining for his beloved, and a heavy burden, to carry into glory, or obscurity.
