They finally found a place to rest. Within one of the ruined structures within Carn Dum, the two were huddled around a small fire, draped in their traveling cloaks.
“Ye know, for a Elf-Warrior in a shoddy piece of plate, yer not too bad, laddie.”
“Laddie? I am older than you, dwarf. I have told you this.” Cardanith lifted a brow, then brought the bowel closer to his lips. The soup was strong, thick, but he had not eaten anything in days, and even this dwarrow-make food would do well to nourish him.
“Maybe a wee bit too shiny, and taller than good manners dictate but... not bad. Though I don’t understand how ye sneak ‘round in all that silver. Is it to blind yer foes?” Dalbran straightened his mustache, lifting his boots closer to the fire. “Baaah, umgak, me boots are all worn out. Look!” He pointed the curling sole of the boot, from which poked a bloodied, dirtied toe. No doubt from when the dwarf kicked down the Forge-Captain just hours earlier. “Should’ve worn me fightin’ boots, for sure. They get heavy after travelin’, but they can cave in a foul-skin skull like no other!”
Cardanith closed his eyes, and held back a sigh. He unclasped his helm, placed it beside him, and returned to his meal. “Perhaps, dwarf, if you focused more on the task at hand, and not on complaining about the state of your footwear, we could find our quarry faster.” The Noldo licked his lips, placed the empty bowl aside, then set about cleaning his spear. Producing a small, rounded whetstone, he dragged it along the spear’s edge in long, rhythmic strokes. Dalbran, on the other hand, placed the tube of his pipe between his lips, and took a hefty puff. “Bah, don’t tell me what to do, Shiny. We’ll find ‘em, the drengbarazi. Don’t ye worry yer wee silver head ‘bout it.” Cardanith stooped his head at the remark, choosing to tend to his armaments. “I know not if it’s vanity that gives you such belief, dwarf, or madness.”
“Madness? Nonsense, laddie. Why weep and moan when ye can just get on with it, eh? I’ve seen Ithilwe and Galtharian sob so many times I think I’ll have to stuff a sock in yer mouth if ye start doin’ so. Besides... we either get to ‘em, or we die tryin’.” The dwarf nestled further into the wall, crossing his feet. “And I’m not exactly keen on dyin’. Yer not keen on dyin’, I hope?”
There was a pause to the Noldo, for a moment. Perhaps, Dalbran’s response took him by surprise. He reached into his pack, and pulled out an apple, Taking the skin with his dagger, he placed a slice into his mouth. “No, I am not keen on dying. Not... at the moment, at least.”
“Well! Then I suppose ye stop worryin’ ‘bout it. They know we’re comin’, the gobbos and the manlings. Foul-skins too. There’ll be a fair few scraps before we get to ‘em.”
“I am aware of it.” Cardanith carved the apple once more, then bit down. “I’m surprised, you know. You have yet to call me something truly insulting. Kinfe-ears is what I’ve heard the most.”
“Baah, ye really are pouty, aren’t ye, Card-laddie? Why’d I, in Durin’s Magnificent Beard, call ye somethin’ like that? Ye’ve not called me naugrim yet.” Dalbran shrugged.
The Noldo paused mid-bite. “Naugrim? How do you know such a term?”
“Been called that, Azul-Kang. Back when I was passin’ through Mirky-Wood. Gave that wutelgi quite a thrashin’ afterwards.”
“I see.” Cardanith returned the knife to its scabbard. “I fought with Durin’s Folk. Stout-Axes too. Stout warriors, most of them.”
Dalbran ran fingers through his beard, then released a long puff of smoke from his lips. “Course ye have. Elgi age and all that.”
“Indeed.” The Noldo rested his arms against his knees, thinking. “Elf age, and all that. I suggest you get some sleep, Dalbran, Son of Gurrni. A bloody dawn awaits us tomorrow.”
“Aye, that it does, laddie. Kick me in the side if anyhtin’ comes bargin’ in the night.”
“Aren’t you going to take second wa-” Cardanith turned to the dwarf, who was, already, fast asleep. “Nevermind, then.” He rose from his seat, his helm held at his side. With a few steps, he reached the edge of the vast pillar they hid in. Before him, rose the jagged towers and wicked walls of Carn Dum. Even now, sundered, crumbling, the whole place reeked of evil. Of cruelness and the dark. Cardanith sighed, deeply, his eyes closed. There was a longing to him, a feeling of a burden around his shoulders that should have been there, but wasn’t. A burden of a thousand oaths, calling to him. Somewhere, in that swirling mist, amidst the dust and ash, chained in rusted iron, was the Mantle. And, as the dwarf put it, he was not keen on dying, not until it draped over his shoulders once more.
