It is dark. Not because it is a night time - it is always dark around this place. But it also happens to be a night. Only a few earth crystals are shedding their dim light through the window, barely enough to draw out the contours of a dwarf lying on his back in the bed. He is not asleep, he is thinking.
After some time, which could have been some 30 minutes or as well a few hours for him, Halgrun sits up on the verge of the bed and looks out of the window. That name... it is familiar. He sighs, takes a candle from the dresser nearby and goes towards the fireplace, where a few coals are still glowing faintly. After having lit the candle he walks to the bookshelf and reaches up to take a ragged looking volume from the top. He thumbs through the pages which are full of text written in a language he does not understand, and stops. Here it is - Elgfrid. And here... again the same name. Elgfrid... Elgfrid... He sighs again and slides with a finger across the many books on the shelves, already knowing he will not find it in any of those. It does not sound like a dwarf name, not quite an elf name either. Could be a Man? The few he had met in Bree earlier had different, simpler names. Bree... Suddenly a stream of thought is triggered in his head and that which he was looking for comes forth, dragging along with it an unwelcome memory. Yes... he remembers.
The Scholar's Stair archives - that is the place where he has seen the name. The amount of records that was destroyed on that day was terrific: scrolls and volumes of high academic value fed to the flames in front of his very eyes. He wades towards the bed and lies down, staring at the ceiling gloomily. But that cover on which he recalls to have seen the name Elgfrid... it was on the shelf when saw it, it could be still there. As much as he loathes that place it seems there is no other choice: he must go back. There should be a trade caravan heading that way the coming moon, I should get ready to go along with it. There must be something. Perhaps something that could at last bring some clarity in this riddle. That thought gave his troubled mind a bit of relief, and soon the sleep took over.
* * *
He closes the door and sits in the chair at his desk. War. This is pressing news. Once the army marches down to Noglond it will not take long till the roads and their sides will be infested with the unwanted folk, those scouting and those fleeing alike. Mahal help the traders who must be treading those paths then. There is no time to wait any more, I must depart tomorrow.
* * *
He did not sleep much that night and had packed his travel pack hours ago. It wasn't a lot: some books at the bottom, one jar with salted fish and pickled vegetables in another, a small loaf of bread, a piece of cloth for bolster and a pair of socks. He was going to rent a pony from the stables after all - with light weight and a good steed he'll cross the borders of Shire by the day after tomorrow, or tomorrow evening if he is lucky, replenish the supplies in a local tavern, and he'd be in Bree before the end of the week. Having put out the fire and taken the lantern, he set off.
A friendly face greeted him at the stables: "Going for a travel, are we not?" asked Wíli the stable-master, with a smile as bright as the fresh-fallen snow. Clearly his business is not of the kind which would let itself be hindered so easily by the war - all of the ponies were gone and the stack of fresh hay awaiting the arrivers was bigger than ever. At the brink of war anything that might help avoid (or at least get away from) the troubles it brings is naturally welcome among many. "As you can see," he waved happily around him, "my steeds are currently unavailable. If you could wait for a bit however... I have a new lot coming - they should arrive this evening."
Halgrun thought about it. As much as he'd like to have a beast carry the burden instead, he cannot wait much longer. Perhaps he'll be luckier at Gondamon and get some beast from there.
"As you wish," said Wíli. "Although I would not go out there alone if I were you. A group of dwarves came here asking for ponies some ten minutes ago. They left on foot, if you hurry you might catch up."
Halgrun found the group tarrying near the stairs at Frerin's Court. "Hold now, I need to deliver something first! Don't go wandering about, it will not take long." said a dwarf with a walking cane to the others. He then turned around and examined Halgrun from head to toe briefly before limping upstairs in a fast pace. Apparently it wasn't one of his best days.
Halgrun looked around among the dwarves who had gathered there. Most were silent, puffing on a lit pipe-weed and thinking, or contemplating morosely on their misfortune. A few of them however had decided that some war-mongering is hardly a reason to lose their high spirits over, and were currently drinking mead while having a discussion on how long the walls might last once the enemy arrives with those rumoured war machines. A red-haired short dwarf wagered on five minutes: "Aye - that is if we're lucky!" He lowered his voice and continued in a more conspiratorial tone, "I met my old friend yesterday at Rúnulf's - he's one of the Sabâj, you see. Of course he didn't want to tell me anything, it was all secret. Fellow is a stiff beard, but after a few pints I got him softened up and..." He moved closer and lowered his voice even further, "... he told me there are huge things, behemoths as big as the tavern hall that spit out fire and metal! No joke!"
Halgrun sighed. Just look at us... Hah! Sneaking away in the dark, like some thieves. Have we not sworn to protect our kin from whatever ill may come? Have we so easily forgotten about our vows to lend our axes to the fight, should the need arrive? He looked up the stairs and sighed again. The dwarf with the cane was now having a conversation with someone; it looked like Hilfar, but it was too dark and too far to tell for certain. Then again, of what use would I be had I stayed? I know next to nothing about healing, poisons, or anything useful at all to be frank. I have never been good with an axe either. Hah! I would probably pose more of a threat to myself and those beside me than to the enemy. I'd be nothing but another problem to worry about to my kinsmen who are already burdened with problems.
Those self-loathing thoughts did not make him feel any better about what he was doing.
The limping dwarf returned and gave a gloomy stare at the laughing three by the stairs. One of them was now telling the others some anecdote which they all found incredibly funny. He poked them with his stick and exclaimed, "Alright, get up! We don't have time to sit here all day, it is dawning soon."
"Aye, master Bolin."
The group then started moving, hurried by their self-proclaimed leader, but it didn't take long until they had to stop again - the main gate was closed. "What is this...", muttered Bolin and pummeled on the gate with his cane.
A shout came from above: "Who's there? The gate is closed for the night!"
"Closed!? It is always open!"
"Aye, but now it is closed. Because of the War. Safety Precautions." Lazy thumps from behind the wall indicated the guard was coming down from his post.
"What? So a group of... " Bolin looked hesitantly at his fellows. "... merchants are not allowed to travel any more?"
"Merchants, eh?" The guard appeared and looked at the beards who had gathered there. "Had I not seen some of you before I might even believe that." Then his eyes stopped on Halgrun. "Ah, you too."
Halgrun had also recognised him - it is his cousin Holgi. A few moments had passed in silence, while they exchanged thoughts which they preferred not speak out loud, or did not know how to put into words. Finally Holgi looked away and grunted, "Mh. Go then." He went back up and turned the crank to open the gate.
Bolin and the others gave Halgrun slightly confused glances while the gate clinked to move upwards, but they did not know what to make of it so they said nothing. Once the gate was sufficiently open they went through and walked off into the night.
