Journal - Twigman

Where the hells do I even begin with this?

I met Elias Dimheim first back in Minas Tirith, in one of the stores. I was peddling some book I won in a bet, the archivist wasn't interested, but I saw this odd, wispy boy buying one before me, so I decided to stalk him and see if I can't sell the book to him instead. Good thing I did, since apparently it's been his father who took the old huntsman's eye and his son - ever lovely Deremir - took that personally. Saw him cut the boy's eye, so I decided to teach the little shite a lesson about picking on people half his size. The fact I wasn't much broader back then was irrelevant, I had the drop on him and after getting a foot up the arse, he didn't feel like fighting back. Typical with those bullying others for a living.
That fight sure came in handy when I had to deal with mercs later.

That's how I met him. First impressions aside, we were friends since. Sort of - I visited between scrounging for scraps. I knew he was more interested in his books and his father's lessons, but from time to time, we spoke either way. He pretended to care about my scavenging, I pretended to care about the books and medicine. We got so good at it that somewhere between the pretending, we actually began to give a damn. I think - to this day I can't get a read on the guy. But we became friends. Through him, I met his brother Marcus, and through that git - a few girls. Took a liking to one of them, so much I started working and earning myself some silver. I then bought out a forge for an evening, smelted that crap and made a pendant out of it. She laughed in my face and buggered off.
Today, I'd laugh, back then, I went to get drunk. Then gave the chain to my mom, so she'd have something to remember her son by. At least something I made still is in Gondor, buried six feet deep with the owner.

He's always been nose deep in books. When his brother has been popular with the ladies, Twigman wasn't really much worse, though he never noticed the flutter-eyed gals  making sweet eyes. I wasn't bad looking myself, but much more unkempt and then I joined the militia. There, mister twigpuncher himself, Deremir, joined as well. Cut my bloody face in two with a halberd during a "training session". Seems that spooked him to hells and back. So did my fist in his face. Twigman's father helped me out with that, calling it even between me and his son - fair enough. Both of us got a scar, though mine was a bit larger.

Few years later, I left and almost forgot the man, but here he is now, same place as me. Small world.

Still don't know what to think about him. The man's brother had an ego issue, which is why I never could stand him for long. Elias doesn't have that. If anything, the bastard has the opposite problem, getting himself down, thinking he means nothing and his father's the big shot. Sack of bull.
Think that's the expression we were talking about the other day, the one that made me laugh in the end. Got to mention that to him.
Back on topic. Sack of bull - he's done plenty, healing people, learning crap and even studying that orc corpse I got him. Still no idea why I did that, but it made the man happy, so it worked out. On that note... he's still terrible at social. Worse than me, and that's saying a lot. But unlike me, he's trying. And figuring the damn thing out, one bit at a time.

Everything's so damn logical with the man. Even when we were attacked by the roots, he chalked that up to tiredness and hallucinations. Quite how did he explain the rend in my armour with those is anyone's guess. He refuses to accept illogical even if it were to smack him in the face. For a grown man, he's also painfully naive. Been led on by the nose by that Blackburrow lass for ages, though it's likely the broad led herself on as much as the man. I know the type - flawless, never at fault, whatever she says must be true, even when it makes no damn sense. Either way, he's naive and feels that weird damn compulsion to help others at the cost of his own mood. That night, when he came to my smithy exhausted, he's talked plenty. I saw it then - he worries about others and how others view him over anything. Doesn't want a scandal because of that daft gal, but also doesn't want her to suffer either. And he won't let himself rest either. Damn git cares too much.

I enjoy spending time with the sod. He doesn't get offended by my bitter sarcasm, or the nickname Twigman. If anything, he apologises to his patients for me and the dandyman - thought I didn't hear that, but I ain't deaf. He spends time with that man, pretending to himself he does that only to further his own goals. But I can tell he wants company, doesn't want to be alone. Hells, I can relate to that. He wants company so much that he invited me - ME, damnit - to their next hunting trip. And by Denethor's wrinkly ballsack, I actually will.
When did he, of all people, become a good example?