Tears of Mirrormere RPG

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Kór followed Onli's summon immediately, but the freshly appointed deputy of Náli stopped when he noticed his sister raising as well. He hesitated. It was not his post to care whether somebody follows them or not, however, Onli had witnessed part of what happened at the council and he was not feeling very sure as to whether it is wise to bring Kórin back with him. Onli was very careful. This was his first task in his new post, and already the risk arose - or that was at least one possibility in his mind - that he might displease his superiors by bringing this woman along, or, by not preventing her from following.

However, he was not so keen on starting an argument with Kórin either. He wanted to bring Kór to Náli as soon as possible to please his superiors. Well, he could always stop her later if she followed him and he was ordered to deal with her. Onli could not prevent himself from smirking, but he put on a stern face again immediately. It just crossed his mind that perhaps if he were ordered to deal with Kórin, it might again help him prove his abilities.

"Follow me, Kór," he said aloud; and turning around, he made his way to where Náli was awaiting them.

[Dimturiel]

The Dwarves were ready to set out to battle. Bain was with them, his axe held tight in his hand. Vaguely he was wondering how his entire world could turn upside down so suddenly, and he berrated himself for not thinking at least once in those five long years since he had lived in Khazad-dum that such days might come. He should have been expecting this. In spite of the fact that he considered himself a decent fighter, he felt unprepared.

Suddenly, he spotted Nisa, but before he could think of what he should say to her, she had flung herself on him, begging him to take care of himself. Then she abruptly let go of him again, apologizing for her behaviour. But Bain was far from being angered by it. Indeed, he was actually warmed by the hug, and he thought he could see clearly now what this battle was about, and realized that he had reasons enough to fight and win, and return afterwards. He smiled at Nisa.

“Do not you go on thinking about death and the ending of days of peace, my Nisa,” he told her. “Have hope and wait for my return. I must go now, but do not worry: I will come back to you sooner than you think and then we shall have peace and good days and life once more.”

[Thinlómien]

Trór had asked him if he wanted to go and look for Óin and he had chosen to stay. Like he had told Trór, he'd be of no specific importance there but he could be of use with erecting the defenses. And what he had not told Trór was that he was getting old and he did not want to get wearied before the fight. Besides, he was not as worried of his old friend as Trór seemingly was, he knew Óin was clever as a fox and able to cope with any difficulty. He was more worried of how Óin would take the news of Balin's death.

"The most efficent would be to pile those stones here as a wall. I'm only troubled we don't have the time." Brambor's deep voice brought Ori back to the present. The old lieutenant was a veteran in building defenses and thus appointed to take care of the task. He was quick-witted and steady as a rock, exactly the right man to do the job. Ori was there merely to advise him if needed and to represent Trór's rule. He was mostly sheepishly nodding to the old veteran's points, but now he actually opened his mouth to speak.

"I suggest building it from there to there instead," he said, "it will protect the city almost as well and will need far less work."

Brambor surveyed the surroundings carefully and nodded then, seemingly pleased. "That will do," he said. "Svetr! Bratr! take your men and start heaving those stones!" Immediately, a few dozen Dwarves started moving the stones.

"I'm glad there is such strong will to protect our city," Brambor said in a soft voice. Ori nodded. There was not much else to say.

For a while they watched the Dwarves working, then Ori turned to the veteran again. “I do not think I’m needed here anymore. I will seek out Lóni or Náli and see how they are progressing.” Brambor nodded. “Good. I will send you a runner if there’s something you should know.” Ori nodded and with a slight bow, turned and left.

He walked towards the gates. There was a familiar figure leaning against the wall, barely visible in the shadows. Upon hearing Ori’s footsteps, it lifted its head. In the dim evening light, the blue eyes reflected the same grief that Ori knew was in his own eyes.

[Groin Redbeard]

They continued on. The wind was blowing harder and the snow swirled in masses before their eyes. The warriors were spread out in a long line to survey the ground for evidence of Orcs or Óin. Trór marched alongside Frar.

The march was slow and unsure, the warriors hesitant to go any farther in the blinding storm. Trór and Frar knew that they were at a disadvantage: they were blind in the storm the Orcs could smell. However, for a time this threat was ignored—Óin had to be found.

A shout was presently heard from down the line and a halt was ordered. A Dwarf ran to Trór holding something close to his chest; Frar stepped forward and the Dwarf handed the object to him. Frar gave a harsh whisper and bent his head to examine the object while the Dwarf responded.

“What’s the matter Frar?”

Frar turned and hesitantly held out the mysterious object. Trór’s eyes widened in disbelief; he dropped his spear and quickly snatched a box from Frar. It was Óin's tinderbox; Trór held it tightly breathing hard in disbelief.

“Where was this found?”

“It was stuck in some mud not far back, my lord,” the soldier responded. “There were Orc footprints are all around it.”

“Any sign of Óin?”

“None my lord.”

Trór was silent at the response. The box filled his entire gaze, remembering how closely Óin held on to it. It was at this moment that Trór despaired of the search and bent his head while the tears flowed down his cheeks. Óin was dead, and what was worse, his noble body was being defiled by the Orcs. I have lost my king and my councilor; must I lose my friend as well? What an unhappy fate is mine! And in a great voice, he raised his head and cried his friend’s name. Silence followed his cry as he looked around uneasily to see if it would be answered.

“My lord,” it was Gror: the messenger from King Dain. Trór had forgotten that Gror was charged to his service, and that meant following his lord wherever he went. Trór gave a half turn as Gror came forward. He stopped.

“My lord, Oin is capable of taking care of himself in these situations. His valor is well known in Erebor and I’m sure he can get himself out of this Dale without our help. We are wasting precious time; you should be leading your warriors in the city. Nothing can be availed by searching for Oin blindly out here; he may very well be waiting for your lordship upon our return.” Gror had spoken more boldly than was usual, but he was in a grave circumstance and Trór needed to see that.

“No Gror, Óin is not waiting for us: he is dead. Óin would never leave his tinderbox like so—he must be…” A loud cry was heard close by and Trór turned to see one of his warriors fall with a large dart in his neck.

“Orcs!” Officers immediately began to bring the long line of warriors in a compact group. Their lines were now two rows deep and curved to meet attacks on three sides. Shields were easily un-slung from their backs and against them the Orcs’ arrows could not penetrate. Masses of arrows and small spears were hurled against the Dwarves, but against the hard steel of their hauberks and shields the arrows had little effect. Great Uruks could be seen in the swirling snow, some with bent bows but mostly wielding great scimitars. As the arrows came in less frequent volleys the Uruks could be seen advancing; soon the arrows stopped and loud shrieks erupted from the Orcs. Trór could not discern their numbers, but it was a band the size of his own at least. The Orcs sprang forward without order, each of them screaming in their dreadful language. The Dwarves gave a tremendous yell and swung their Mattocks’ as the Orcs hit their lines.

It was no more than a skirmish but it was a desperate struggle. One side motivated by conquest and treasure and the other side motivated by the defense of their home and for their fallen lord, Balin. Many of Trór’s warriors broke rank and swung their weapons with good effect deep within the swarm of Orcs. Trór stabbed swiftly with his spear as the Orcs came at him, his strong arm thrusting his spear through shield and armor.

The Goblins had seen the raven on Trór's helm and they strode with long weapons to pierce him. If not for the heroic protection from Gror, Trór's prowess in battle would have been in vain, for the darts rained most thickly about him. A hobgoblin grabbed Trór's spear and yanked it from his grasp. It was then that Trór threw off his shield and wielded his axe. With Gror close by his side, Trór broke rank, and with a swelling yell, was followed by his warriors and so great was their indignation that many piles of Orcs lay about them.

Throwing himself against shields Trór bore down his enemies and cut the taller Orcs at the knees. Trór's axe swung swiftly, hacking with as much ferocity as he could muster (the extent of which drove him blindly mad). He had tried to catch a glimpse of Frar, but was constantly distracted by the onslaught of Orcs. Trór could only pray to Durin that Frar and his warriors was not in trouble.

~~~~~~~~~~

Nali

“Poor Vigdis.” Nali muttered to himself.

There was a sadness in her eyes that matched those of Balin’s closest friends. Vidgis had done fine work with the new passages and with restoring those pillars of beauty which the Orcs sundered in their long stay. Balin had never spoken of her to him personally and Nali would never assume of anything betwixt the two, but Vigdis had spoken of Balin to him several times in their conversations. Perhaps she could not help it, perhaps she needed to confide in someone, perhaps she did not realize what she was saying at the time, but Nali knew that Vigdis was fond of her lord. He wondered if she would be just as fond of her new lord. Nevertheless, she will make a splendid burial tomb, the kind that dedication and love can create when combined.

“My lord!” Onli was not standing far away, and true to his task, had brought Kór.

“Good, a small task for thee, yet executed well enough. In-fact, thou hast exceeded my instructions.” Nali cast a sour glance at Kórin. He sighed heavily. “I believe I summoned for thy brother’s service, not thee personally. I have given thee a chance with Lord Trór but if thou art looking for more trouble or a boon I am afraid that I shall be of little assistance in granting either.”

Nali paused. His hand was raised to dismiss her, but the motion never came. Tread carefully, old dwarf. No need to cause a scene over nothing. Best hear her out first, no harm in that. His eyes softened, no longer having that concentrated piercing look. He stroked his chin several times before abruptly asking:

“Why hast thou come? Thy brother is the only dwarf I hath need of for the present.”

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

A soft sound of footsteps roused Óin from his silent thoughts. He did not know how long had he been standing there in the corridor. He looked up and his eyes met Ori's. They were just standing for a while, then the younger Dwarf slowly paced towards the weary scout, and about a feet from him, he stopped. They still looked into each other's eyes. There was silence, until Óin spoke:
"How?"

"An Orc. We killed it," Ori replied. Óin nodded, but they both knew that whatever number of Orcs they could kill, it is not going to bring Balin back. There was once again silence and Ori gazed into the darkness towards the gate. Suddenly, he spoke again, more softly now.

"The last thing he saw were the depths of Kheled-zâram."

Óin sighed, but bowed his head; it seemed as if some weight fell off of his shoulders. There was a long silence again, when both the old Dwarves were lost in their memories.

Then suddenly Óin remembered. "Fool!" he muttered to himself. He turned and grasped his friend's arm.

"Ori," he said. "I have seen the Orcs. They are coming. A huge army. Who is the leader now? I have to tell them."

"Trór. But there's also something you should know - he was worried, and he took some men and went looking for you. They should be sent a message that you've returned safely."

Óin's face turned pale. In his mind, he envisioned the host of Orcs marching through the falling darkness and snow, and Trór and his company walking right into their arms. But he immediately dismissed it. He only found a bit uncomfortable - no, not really uncomfortable, just strangely unusual - the idea that Trór with his troops were searching in the darkness and snowstorm only for him.

"I believe in Trór," he said comfortingly, partially to himself. "He will return. But who is his deputy now, then?"

Ori furrowed his brow. "Trór didn't name anyone," he said slowly, his voice betraying no emotion or opinion. "We had better seek out Lóni and Náli at least, they have been arranging things here."

Óin fingered through his white beard. He lifted his back from the wall.

"Let us go and find them, then."

[Durelin]

Kórin had never been angrier than she had been today, and it was starting to seem like every dwarf who thought himself important was doing his best to belittle her. She should not have been the least bit surprised at Nali’s treatment of her arrival alongside her brother, but part of her had believed that he would not turn away any dwarf in this time of need. Foolishly.

“I have given thee a chance with Lord Trór but if thou art looking for more trouble or a boon I am afraid that I shall be of little assistance in granting either…”

His words were like salt on a wound, only Kórin did not feel hurt so much as slighted and demeaned. He had so nobly given her a “chance” to what? Gain Trór’s favor? Be a good dwarf? And of course he expected her now to either act out of spite like a child or beg for his help.

“I am not looking for anything, sir,” Kórin began, trying reasonably to keep her voice calm but putting little respect behind the title she addressed Nali with. “I am here as another axe. I am sure even Lord Trór will not be so upset about receiving two soldiers when he only demanded one.”

Of course, he had never referred to anyone as a soldier or a warrior, he had only spoken of cowardice. Showing what he truly thinks about the people he now leads, she thought darkly.

Once again she ignored Kór’s gaze, though her brother only looked at her curiously. He knew quite well that Kórin had given him but a small piece of her encounter with Trór. She had always had a temper, but he had rarely seen her this angry, and she had never held onto it like this. He would easily admit that Nali’s initial words were rude, but he could see that they had affected Kórin a great deal. And she was not one to let words hurt her.

As surprising was that she managed to hold her tongue quite well, though she certainly seemed angry enough to throw all thought and caution to the wind.

[Thinlómien]

She did not return to the kitchens. Vyra would not be there, nor would Adela, the kitchen girl she had just met. There would be just some people she did not know, and she did not feel like talking to strangers now. She decided to head home.

She walked the corridors to the craftsmen's quarters. She took a turn left, walked for a while and stopped. Slowly, she picked the heavy key from her belt and opened the door, then stepped in and closed the door behind her.

Her apartment was more like a room than a house. There was nothing unnecessary there. A small, neatly made bed. Two chests, one for her most prized tools and her weapons, one for clothes and other personal belongings. A chair and a table with a bright oil lamp, a short piece of candle and a tinderbox on it. A small fireplace and a cupboard with very limited household equipment. She hardly ever made her own food, it was not something she liked doing or was good at, like most of the other craftsmen, she ate at the public kitchens.

Even in the pitch dark she knew her way to the table and managed to light the lamp. Then she walked to the cupboard and took the bottle of rum and a small wooden mug she had had since being very small. She smiled at the silly carvings on the mug and poured just enough rum to cover its bottom. She put the bottle back to the cupboard and went to sit on her chair. The bright, almost cold light of the lamp started to bother her. She took the tinderbox and lighted the candle, then put off the lamp. Normally, she only used the candle if she had run out of lamp oil, but now she preferred the weak, warm glow to the heartlessly efficient lamp light.

But of course, candlelight brought back memories. The still, solemn features in the candlelight, the hint of a smile playing on his face. The yellow glow on the white beard, the kingly rigidness, all draped in red, his colour. That image would haunt her forever, she knew. She drank her rum in one gulp. It was better to go to sleep now. She took the glass back to the cupboard and returned to put out the candle.

Then, another memory. The same candlelight, this time in a small room with a wooden roof. The glow playing on her unbraided hair, him by the doorstep. He had come late, later than was customary or appropriate. Dressed in red as usual, his hand stroking his white beard, he had apologised for the hour and pleaded her help. Flattered and excited, she had quickly cast her black cloak on herself and followed him to the darkness. They had walked the tunnels together and he had...

The flame was extinguished with a hiss. She did not want to remember more now. She brought the tips of her fingers to her lips. They hurt, she had managed to burn them. Burn them while putting out a candle the first time after she had turned ten. Pitiful, she told herself.

She made her way - just a few steps - to her bed and crawled in. She could feel tears running down her cheeks. No, not now, girl. Calm down. Now, you will sleep. Sleep, a refreshing nap. Then you will wake up and start working and remember. You will pour all your memories to the stone. But now, now you won't cry, now you won't remember. You will sleep, you will forget, you will let it be.