'Indeed, if it were not for the Beornings, the passage from Dale to Rivendell would long ago have become impossible. They are valiant men and keep open the High Pass and the Ford of Carrock. But their tolls are high,and like Beorn of old they are not over fond of dwarves. Still, they are trusty, and that is much in these days.” - The Fellowship of the Ring, Book II, Chapter I, Many Meetings
The wind howled and boulders tumbled in the high mountains, snow as thick as mist floating in the air and making the cruel path even harsher for the travelling company consisting of five dwarves, two hardy goats and a shaky wooden cart. Through the cold fog of snowflakes there was a clear gap between two large snow covered peaks: the High Pass of Rivendell.
“There it is, I think, Master Odsi!”, one of the silver bearded dwarves bellowed out as he pointed ahead with the riding crop that helped move the goats on a bit quicker when needed. The younger dwarf raised his head from its position of watching every step of his careful feet, his fur lined hood catching in the wind and blowing back against his shoulders.
“Then let us move on quick, before the ale starts to freeze over,” he let out a small laugh which caught on the wind, and the small fellowship moved onwards along the rocky twisting path.
The path always seemed longer in the winter than it did in the summer, thought the dwarven brewer, as he trudged onwards up the incline with his good hand gripped tightly to the cold leather reins of the exhausted goats. He swapped the lead to the other arm, hooking it over his forearm as the lifeless metal mould of the left hand just remained still as ice as his lively fingers searched his belt for a small flask of strong drink.
Though just as he raised it to his mouth, a rumbling shout alike thunder startled him and made him drop it to the snow below.
“TOLL!!!”, the echo repeated as the words bounced down the path. The goats bleated in reply as their legs kicked up the snow, the dwarves rushing to their axes as they looked around, though all they got in reply was another shout of the word.
“By my beard, what is that?!” the youngest dwarf of the company, Orlab, asked out as he got as close to the cart as he could.
“One of those Beornings,” answered red bearded Kargrim as he looked ahead, and lowered his weapons, to which the others did the same, “Just remember manners, is what my father told me, they’re easy to anger… and not too kind to us dwarrows.”
Marching down the path lumbered a great man, wrapped in thick warg furs and in his hand a great wood cutting axe, about the size of a Bree-lander if one were to compare. He wore no hood, and dark thick hair blew backwards and in his thick beard ice and snow littered within. His eyes narrowed as he came closer to the cart, and a growling voice spoke out;
“Dwarves… travelling at a dangerous time of year…” he stated, shooting a glare at a dwarf who tried to speak, “Made less dangerous… by me. Pay me and you can pass… if not then you will be sent back… without your precious beards.”
Kargrim raised his bushy brows in surprise, though Odsi was first to speak out, thankfully.
“Yes, yes, Master Beorning! To which we are very grateful, very grateful indeed,” He did a small bow for emphasis, “We can offer you some coins, or perhaps a couple of jewels?”
He received no reply for the large man had now made his way down to the cart to inspect it, and to the dwarves it sounded like he struggled to breath for every exhale brought out a small growl, and his fists were clenched tightly around the wooden shaft of the axe. A large hand outstretched and tore the weather-proof covering that hid the goods, he did not care for dwarves nor their belongings, and none of the dwarves had the courage to confront him, so they let him carry on.
Eight kegs were vertically arrayed in the back of the cart, along with other necessities for travelling and survival, each of them stamped with the mark of Iron Ale Brewery. Though soon enough, only seven kegs remained in the cart for the Beorning had hoisted one out, and turned to head back up the track, carrying it easily under his arm.
“You may pass… the toll is paid.”
Without any more, the large man was off once again disappearing into the blinding snow, and it wasn’t much longer before the slightly scared dwarves were continuing on the way, hearing nothing more save than a few deep roars that echoed on the wind later that day.
