When a Dwarf is sent to war, he pines for home, his heart is sore
Though never was such bravery, nor strength of arms or weaponry!
Erebor. Finally, Erebor.
Dalbran remembered very little of the march. It was all a blur, of long days spent in rhythmic strolling, and quiet nights, with good friends and kin. There was never any song, though. No poems or revelry, but simple, huddled conversation around the myriad of campfires. No Dwarf dared to bring up the upcoming battle, nor what they were about to do.
And thus, the Five Hundred reached the Mountain. Many of the younger Dwarves rushed up the hillside to see for themselves the splendor of Erebor, to behold the might of their old Realm. The older beards, though, hardly did so. Many of the veteran members of the company had served at Azanulbizar, not unlike Gurrni. Perhaps, it occurred to Dalbran, they all saw this as a repeat of the Great War.
“There they are, lad.”
Gurrni’s voice was brought to a low hush, giving away only a few tones of bitterness, and regret, perhaps. Before them, across the grass-tuffed plains, one could make out fires, in the distant gloom. Thin figures, hovering, like wisps of smoke or fog, moving about in the night. Elves of Mirkwood.
“Pa, can I uh... can I ask you something?”
Dalbran found little strength in his voice. Surely, weariness had taken hold of him after such a long march. But that was hardly the only cause.
“Ask away, son.”
“How... Are you not afraid? That you won’t return home, to Ma? To little Daurr?”
At that, Gurrni’s posture shifted. The old Dwarf hunched, shifting his weight to rest fully across the shaft of his battle-axe. There was hesitation to him, Dalbran saw it, perhaps even hurt. But his father gave an earnest answer, as he always did.
“Am I afraid? Every time. But what choice do I have, when the King calls? When a realm of ours is there, for the taking? Yes, I am afraid... Mostly of what your mother will do to me if I return home late, or injured.” A chuckle escaped him. “But I am afraid, aye.”
Dalbran paused, drawing a step closer to his father. He tapped two fingers against the pommel of his axe, hesitant, anxious.
“I’m scared, Pa.”
A moment without an answer. Then, a kind hand on Dalbran’s shoulder.
“Good. I would be worried if you were not. Fear is good, fear keeps you alive, but you must not let it take hold of you fully. We will all come out of this whole, you understand that?”
In that moment, Dalbran wanted to give his concerns voice. How could Gurrni know that? Surely, he could not gleam the future. But, this was his father. This was Gurrni Ironhelm, Honoured at Kheled-Zaram. If anyone knew of war, it was him.
“I will not let you down, Pa.”
“I know you won’t, son. You’ve grown to be a fine Dwarf, I have no doubt in you.”
Gurrni shook the other’s shoulder lightly as if offering comfort.
“There is one more thing you should remember, lad.”
He lifted a hand, his finger drawing across the distant lines of the Elvish camp.
“We do now what we must. What is asked of us. But they... they are not the enemy, Dalbran.”
Confusion reigned across the young Dwarf.
“But... they want Erebor.”
“Yes, true, they want it. Or, more precisely, they want what is hidden within it. But they are not the enemy, nor are we theirs. There will be no true victors tomorrow, I fear. Do what you must, Dalbran, my lad, but do not let your hand to unneeded cruelty.”
“But...”
“I do not wish to hear it. There is only one enemy, Dalbran, and he is vile. Show mercy where you can, and it will not be in vain. They are soldiers, as are we. They heed the orders of their Kings and Lords, as do we. There is little difference between us, save for the uniform on our breast, and the tone of our banners. Do you understand that?”
Dalbran took a long pause, letting a slow, sharp burst of air escape from his nostrils.
“I... will do as you ask, Pa.”
“Good, good. Now...” Gurrni tapped his hand once more, before nodding towards the Dwarf camp. “Go find some rest, lad. You will need that, most of all tomorrow. We are to be in the vanguard.”
The young Dwarf bowed lightly, turning to trudge down the rocky outcrop.
“Oh, and Dalbran? One more thing.”
Another pause.
A heartbeat.
“You’ve trained long and hard, lad. Follow your gut, and stand by my side.”
A nod was all Dalbran offered in return.
At that moment, he truly believed Gurrni’s words, that they would go through Erebor whole and unhurt. After all, he was Gurrni Ironhelm, how could he be wrong?
“I will, Pa. We’ll get through this unscathed.”
