Prologue
This tale picks up after the Moria expedition, described here. After the discovery of mithril in Khâzad-Dum, something went terribly wrong, driving his party apart, Hilfar was forced into exile. His path led him deep into the mountains where he was about to face the coldest winter any dwarf had to endure.
Chapter 1
1.
"We cant go on much longer!" shouted Rorin, one of the Hrimbarg guards. "We need to get back before nightfall!". Rorin and Nyr had been patrolling round the settlement for a few hours, hoping to find some game along the way. Nyr nodded "Lets call it a day, wind is getting stronger by the minute, snow is coming!". Rorin suddenly pointed in the snow "Look tracks!". Vague tracks were leading to no particular direction "These are dwarf boots or are they from a man?". Nyr inspected them "Hard to tell, the wind covered most of it, must have been a day old". Curiosity made them follow the tracks a bit longer than they should.
"Hold it, look!" Rorin burst forward to a dark heap in the snow. Nyr followed and both inspected a half frozen dwarf lying motionless in the snow. Nyr checked the neck for a pulse "He is alive.. barely". Rorin looked around but failed to see any other signs of life "What fool wanders about alone in these parts..". Nyr beckoned Rorin "Help him up, we need to get him back to a fire". Rorin found a backpack amidst the snow "I wonder what story this fellow has to tell". Both started to lift the dwarf from the snow "My this one is heavy..". After two steps they put him down again "We best drag him by the shoulders, or we are corpses ourselves if we do not hurry!".
Slowly but steady Rorin and Nyr dragged the unknown traveler to the warm fires of Hrimbarg.
2.
The Elf, Hwesta Maltaquesse, pulled an arrow from the dead warg's body and looked around warily. Nothing but the wind, blowing snow across the frozen landscape in billowing puffs, disturbed the peace now.
The stark beauty of this place had called him from his far home in Lothlórien. It was true what the Dwarf had said - The Misty Mountains, once seen, never forgotten, a memory that would forever pull you back. He cleaned the arrow and replaced it in the quiver before moving on, his soft leather boots leaving no track on the snow.
He thought about that Dwarf. On a fine day in midsummer, he'd come to the borders of the Golden Wood asking to trade. Skegrym Finnvariul was unlike the few other Dwarves that Hwesta had met, being more interested in herbs and oils than ore, and his knowledge of plants from Hamal and beyond was formidable. Winning the respect of Elven scholars was no easy task for a Dwarf, yet he'd done so. Hwesta recalled their plant study forays now with pleasure and even a touch of nostalgia. It was from Skegrym that he'd heard about these Misty Mountains, of how the rising sun struck molten gold and ruby on the icy crags, of fabled mûmakil with brazen tusk rings, and darker things too, lurking in hidden caverns. Ever eager to explore new lands, Hwesta had set off for Rivendell not long after.
The wind lashed his face: a storm rose in the high peaks. Even an Elf would find it hard to survive in such weather. Skegrym had said there was a Dwarf haven in this area - Hrimbarg. He'd ask for shelter there.
3.
"Is he going to make it?" Both looked down on him as he lay motionless on the bed. They removed his boots. "Oh that does not look good, the frost ruined a toe or two.. That is going to hurt. We best let him warm up for a night, if he still lives..".
Rorin sat down and grabbed the travellers backpack. After some rummaging he found a journal "well, well..". He looked at the runes on the cover describing "DFTC mine record".
Rorin skimmed through the pages and read a few entries "Othrikar? Hmm-hmm, its a trademaster by the looks of it, Nyr, going by the name of Hilfar". Rorin kept reading through the pages muttering under his breath. "By my beard, these records are about Khazad-Dum!". Nyr walked up to him looking intrigued. A few pages further he was reading out loud "... the goblins have overrun our mining camp, we lost many good dwarf down there. .... Our fortune has turned for the better, word has reached mithril was found, a single column of it! .... And there it was a single column of pure mithril".
They both looked at eachother "Could this be true?". Both tossed a look at Hilfar and his bacpack. Immediately they turned his backpack inside out, but found nothing. They checked his ragged clothes but found not a trace of mithril. Nyr grumbled "oh well, what else is in that journal? What are his last entries?".
4.
"Will you two persist and leave that poor dwarrow's things be!", shouten Meltrild as she stepped out of the area they reserved for cooking food. "Have you no shame?!", she stresses in a nagging voice putting a large dodgy smelling cauldron on the robust wooden table. Meltrild shook her wrinkled head at Nyr and Rorin giving the two a profound foul look. "I would think to expect better from you two... but experience has taught me otherwise, now go get Sigbert at the stables so we can start with eating!" - "Eating?", shivered Nyr, "so you've made some food then", uttered Nyr with clear disdain. Nyr had hoped the old dwarven woman was still asleep, as she usually did for the majority of the morning and noon. Nyr made little secret of the fact that he despised her. He had often said to old Meltrild that she was to old for chopping wood, to loud for catching animals, to frail to pick herbs, and the only thing she could do was cook and even then her cooking tasted like a badgers breakfast.
"You ingrates!", shouted Meltrild, "years I've looked after you lot, sowed your wounds, mended your clothes, fed your bellies!", her voice heightened to a shriek. "Who says we need you here!", argued Nyr loudly, "you useless old hag! It's the same gruel everyday, never a piece of meat!. - "And who's fault is that?!, squeeked Meltrild, "you couldn't shoot a deer if he handed you his arse on a platter!"
That was the queue for Rorin to very slowly sneak out to get Sigbert at the stables. "there they go again" he sighed to himself, "everyday those two are at it... Mahal help us".
The argument was so loud no one noticed the soft grumbling sound made by Hilfar.
5.
"Traitor!" Kandrals axe was raised high above his head "Traitor, I slay you here and... ". The axe buried deep into Hilfars foot. A surge of pain struck through his body. His father Ullfar stood there watching "there is nothing wrong with a simple life son... " the dissapointment in his fathers eyes cut deeper than the axe. A foul laughter filled the air, louder and louder, so loud that his head started to ache. Stormhand sat opposite of him laughing viciously.
Coughing, and all went black again.
Snow, endless white plains. Tracks in the snow, leading far beyond the horizon. Every step in the snow hurt as if walking on nails. A face of a man, scarred and rough features led him on. Ploughing endlessly through a perfect white landscape. Dark shadows started to cover the white blanket. Shades of giants, clothed in rags surrounded him. The man had vanished, the tracks were lost, the mountain giants approached. Run, run!
With a grumble Hilfar slowly sat up. There was an unsettling pain in his foot. With a pounding head and a hazey sight he tried to make out where he was. His mouth was dry and was barely able to speak "where am I?".
6.
Rorin snuck out of the endless squabble between Nyr and Meltrild. The door opened heavily as a winterstorm was pushing on the other side. Rorin covered his eyes as the heavy snowfall started to cover his dark beard. He saw Sigbert taking cover against the wall, trying to keep as dry as possible.
"Dinner is served!" Rorin yelled close to Sigbert his ear. The storm was gaining strength making any normal conversation almost impossible. Sigbert nodded slowly, Rorin noticed a concerned look upon his face. Sigbert nudged Rorin and gestured he should peer in southern direction. Rorin yelled "WHY!?". Sigbert roared in return "WE ARE NOT ALONE". The wind carried his words away as soon as he uttered them. Rorin hardly saw anything through the heavy snowfall. After a minute he could make out the contour of the southern snowheap. "I SEE NOTHING!".
Sigbert pointed past his nose, Rorin peered in the appointed direction. When the wind lay lower for but a second he saw the shape of a man towering over the snow. He held his breath as he followed the tall figure slowly move out of sight. Sigbert roared "YOU SEE NOW?". Rorin muttered silently "giants..."
7.
The Elf stood quietly in the driving snow and waited for the Dwarves to see him. They turned, but they saw the giant first. Hwesta wasn't worried about the giant, who seemed eager to go on his way. On swift feet he came behind the Dwarves and cupped his hand around his mouth.
"No light of stars, or moonlight fair, can breach these icy veils. Yet more beautiful than the aeglos do I find it in your land,' he said, almost in the Dwarf's ear.
8.
With their attention fixed on the moving giant they never noticed the light footed elf sneaking about. Sigbert felt a slender hand cover his mouth and a whisper reaching his ear. Shocked by this unexpected event Sigbert froze at the spot, making sure to make no sudden movement. Rorin turned around slowly ready to head inside when he noticed a long dark figure holding poor Sigbert.
Rorin drew his weapon and with a stout bellowing voice he pointed his sword at the stranger "LET HIM GO, OR YOU HAVE ME TO ANSWER FOR!".
9.
Hwesta released the Dwarf at once, though he kept a wary eye on the other. "I seek only shelter in this storm," he said loudly, hoping his words would carry past the howling wind.
The other Dwarf held his sword steady, ready to swing. His eyes held nothing but conviction; this was not one to back down.
"Skegrym Finnvarriul told me in the Golden Wood of this place, this Hrimbarg! Hwesta yelled. "Skegrym, the merchant from Thorin's Halls!"
10.
Sigbert quickly scurried close to Rorin, trying to see who snuck up on him. Rorin was puzzled for a moment and started to speak with Sigbert "By Durin, its an elf!". Rorin despised elves, his father always spoke ill of their kind, and Rorins opinion was simply a copy of that of his father. But in truth, this was the first time he actually met one. Sigbert was scared yet tried not to show it " the golden wood? A powerfull witch resides there. He will put a spell on us!".
Rorin his brows furrowed "BEGONE, You SPY of the WITCH! YOUR kind is UNWELCOME!". Rorin nudged Sigbert "quickly get Nyr out here, go!".
Sigbert quickly ploughed through the increasing snow to fetch Nyr. Rorin was still pointing his weapon at the elf bellowing him to leave.
11.
The Elf regarded the angry Dwarf steadily, his eyes shining like distant stars in the whirling snow. He knew the Dwarves wouldn't stay out in this storm for long. He just hoped their traditional vows of hospitality extended to him.
Past Hrimbarg, an ever-deepening dark advanced across the icy plains, and wargs and goblins fled in terror. Hwesta leaned forward, suddenly on high alert. The wind shifted - now coming from the east, now coming from the west, now battering down like a waterfall of shrieking sound, drowning out whatever the Dwarf was still yelling.
"This is no natural wind..." the Elf said. "Something fell has sent it..." He turned an urgent gaze upon the Dwarf. "If you value life at all, let us get inside now!"
12.
"... or I'll stick this sword in your..." Something changed. The storm shifted direction, and again. The wind came down upon him, straight from the sky " what sorcery is this!?".
Rorin dropped his sword and covered his face from the strong wind and snowfall. A foul sound filled the air. Rorin the fearless, struggled to reach the door. Thin shards of ice appeared making cuts in his cheek and ear. Pounding on the door, Rorin screamed " let me in, LET ME IN!!"
13.
The room was dim lit, and there was shouting further in the hall. Hilfar could see the walls were of dwarrow make which was a pleasant sight after all that he went through. The pain in his body was not easy to bear, with some hesitation he dared to look at his foot. Two smallest toes were blackened and completely numb, the rest of his foot was red and swollen.
He saw a dwarf argueing with an elder lass "they dont look like Dourhands.." he assured himself. He saw a bottle of water and reached for it. Slowly his memories returned, jogging his mind Hilfar tried to recollect what were his last memories. The endless tracking of the mithril wagon from Moria to the foot of the mountains was clear in his mind. But then he remembered spending his last money to hire that good for nothing mercenary. Afraid to climb the mountain alone, this man accompanied him for a long time fending off prowling wolves along the way.
Hilfar remembered that snowstorm where they lost track of the wagon, here the mercenary left Hilfar on his own, judging the pay was too low for his service. Vague memories remain of wandering aimlessly on the mountain summit. "They must have found me".
Hilfar his attention turned to the door, another dwarrow entered asking for Nyr to come outside, but he was still caught in an arguement. Not a few minutes later there was a pounding on the door again someone begging to enter, one of dwarrows opened the door and found a very desperate dwarf with some fresh cuts on his face. As soon as the door opened the storm burst inside as well. Chairs were blown over, blankets and various notes and other items were blown across the room. Someone yelled "Close the door!". "I cant!!" Now three dwarrows were pulling the door. Hilfar saw a long and slender individual slip inside and helped pull the door to a close.
The room turned silent and was very dark. The dwarves lay exhausted on the ground "what was that...?"
14.
Past the blinding ice storm, the Elf saw the door to Hrimbarg opening, but very slowly, as if some vast and invisible hand were trying to keep it shut. He sprang to help, and together he and the Dwarf managed to make an opening just large enough to squeeze through. The Dwarf rushed forward, desperate to get inside. Hwesta pushed him from behind as the fury of the storm smashed into them both, and they stumbled into the heat and light.
Not for long that heat and light...BANG out went the lights as the storm ripped through the hall, and all the heat was sucked away in an instant. Hwesta hauled on the door with the others as they struggled to get it closed.
And then it was very dark, and very cold. Outside, ice and wind blasted at their refuge, but the door was made by Dwarves, and the door held. Hwesta looked around, seeing dimly with his Elf eyes what Dwarves could not. The hall was a jumble of overturned chairs, tables, scattered papers, plates, and more. He was sorely outnumbered, and there was a foul food smell that even the storm hadn't cleaned away. A fire crackled briefly in a side room, casting shadows across the walls.
He backed slowly until he was against the wall, his razor sharp knives ready to hand. Yet he did not draw them. Let these Dwarves speak first, and he would try to reassure them of his intentions. And then, they would all have to face the fact that something strong and malevolent was out there in the snow...
End op chapter 1.
