(Continued from "A Finch's Beginnings: A Man Named Bên - Part the Second")
The stench of sulfur filled his airways and nostrils as he pounded across the brownish-green soil on the eastern edge of the swamp of Malenhad. The muscles in his legs burned with exertion even as the fear-induced adrenaline flooded his body. Behind him came the roars and growls of not one, not two, but three fire-worms.
Bên cursed inwardly and outwardly as he felt one of his ragged shoes split down the sole under his foot. And, of course, the year-old child, his daughter, was unaware of the danger, resting peacefully in a poppy-milk-induced sleep, held tightly to his body in the makeshift wrap of threadbare cloth that he was more than grateful to have tightened before he set out from the Valley of Horror. What he was not thankful for was the fact that he could feel his energy running out fast. He had faced the hard decision of whether to give most of what edible 'food' he could find to himself or the child. In the end, he chose to take the most for himself as he was the one carrying her. But even that seemed to fail him now as he felt the hunger gnaw at his stomach. His body had already been in poor shape back in Carn Dûm.
But, as he continued onward, feeling the fiery breath of the worms behind him he saw a face in the black rocky cliff ahead of him. Or did he? As soon as it appeared near a crevice it was gone again. But, it was hope enough, he decided, for he was nearly spent. With the last of what he had to give Bên charged forward, a loud semi-hoarse yell of pain escaping him as he felt the muscles in his legs scream and the lack of pure oxygen mixed with whatever foul smelling gas Malenhad produced burn in his lungs.
He gained little ground on the terrifying, scaled beasts behind him but it enough. As he neared the cliff, the crevice in the rock grew wider to reveal that it was indeed a path of some sort. In the back of his mind he had a clear thought that Averill had never mentioned such a place here. But, with nowhere else to turn, he continued on through the crevice and down the path, which seemed well-used and not untended... And then stopped short when he was met with a small entourage of very small men with busy beards and stocky limbs.
"Please..." was all Bên managed to say before he collapsed to the side as his body gave out. Before his vision went dark, he could hear the pained growls of some sort of beast dying and the panicked cries of a baby...
"No, that's definitely a female Mannish baby... I think. It's strange seeing a person be this large already at this stage of life."
"Can't be more than two if you ask me."
"Oh, since you are the 'expert' on Manlings."
"I'm just saying--"
"Look here! That there is a brand; what did I tell you?"
"Hmm... Slave get from the Angmarim."
"And likely a pair of runaways from the-- NOT THE BEARD!!!"
Bên first felt something soft like fur underneath him as he slowly came to awareness. He could feel that he was lying on his back. Something was bound around his right foot and a straw-stuffed pillow rested under his head.
The sound of a very young child's laughter echoed through the air.
He slowly opened his eyes to see.... clear sky above him? And stone walls surrounding him. A pelt made of warg fur rested underneath him and around his foot was a makeshift bandage. He must have cut his foot on something out in the swamp when his shoe - which was placed near his side, neatly patched up with thread and other materials - had split.
A few coughs escaped him as he attempted to sit up. Though most of the gas had escaped his lungs, he still felt a slight tingling feeling in his throat. A thick-fingered hand rested on his shoulder and he looked up to see an aged small man - No, he remembered the tales, though they were so foggy in his mind now; borne of a time long past where he was sure he bore a name he could never remember. A dwarf stood next to him and helped him sit up more comfortably. The dwarf was silent as he checked Bên over this way and that, bushy brows drawn together. After awhile a grunt was heard as the dwarf nodded to himself, gave him a sturdy pat on the shoulder and trudged away.
His attention was then drawn to the source of the childish laughter. A handful of paces away, the child was sat down upon another, smaller pelt of fur, free of the swaddle, though not at all shivering in her own ragged and torn smock which revealed the red brand she bore on her left hip. About her was a gaggle of dwarves of varying hair colors - the one with an exceptionally long, red beard holding said beard up and away from the child, who had her small arms outstretched, fingers grasping for it.
"Make her stop!"
"Aw, it is kind of cute..."
"You're only saying that because it's not your beard!"
"She's a Mannish child, she doesn't know."
"In fact, I think she likes it."
Eventually, one of the dwarves pulled an iron key from his pocket and dangled it on its chain in front of the baby, who was almost instantly entranced by the object. She laughed in delight and began to swat at it, making it swing back and forth, much to the relief of the red-bearded dwarf.
Bên stared at the child, feeling something tugging in his chest. Perhaps the gas of the swamp? But the feeling seemed to grow more nagging as he watched the child play and smile. He had never seen a child smile before. Or, if he had, he no longer remembered it. But, he thought once his mind seemed to clear, this was no mere child. She was his daughter. His only daughter. Likely the last remnant of Averill in this world by now. She had his hair, her mother's eyes and fire...
She was smiling. His daughter was smiling.
His daughter...
"You feeling better now, lad?"
Bên blinked as his attention was grabbed by the aged dwarf with the bushy brows again, holding out a wooden bowl of herbaceous smelling water to him. He took the bowl and sipped at it and seemed a little stunned that it did not taste foul but rather sweet and pleasant with an undercurrent of some sort of spice.
"... Yes. Thank you," he replied to the dwarf with a meek bow of his head, missing the way the dwarf frowned slightly at the gesture.
"Hmm... Welcome to Gabilshathûr. Mind telling me why you were running and who you are?"
