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He had just been about to agree with Riv when Bror spoke up. Skald’s sudden confidence that they had fulfilled their promise and now were done . . . and best of all would soon find themselves safe beneath the Misty Mountains once again . . . was shattered.
He worried the side of his bottom lip between his teeth. Perhaps the self-inflicted pain would drive the away the words he did not want to hear.
‘I want to stay.’
Four small words, one concise statement. One horridly wrong statement.
No, wait, he thought. Perhaps this is the horrid joke he threatened to pull on me. Not funny! Not funny, in the least, little brother! ‘You can quit the joking, now,’ he was about to say when he raised his head from the close scrutiny he’d been giving the dusty toes of his boots.
And there was Bror, looking at Riv, his face as serious as the tone of his voice as he went on. Blathered on, rather . . . for by now Skald’s mind was in a panicky whirl and words stood out here and there amidst what seemed complete gibberish.
‘home . . . safe . . . return . . .’ mixed with ‘dark army . . . bright city . . . one more time . . .’
Skald tried to focus on what his fool of a brother was saying; to understand the reasoning behind the choice Bror had made. His gut was tight with alarm at this turn of events; his heart beat wildly in his chest. Mouth dry, he could barely speak. He could feel Riv looking at him, the weight of his older brother’s expectations lay heavy upon his shoulders.
No escaping this dilemma, sick to his gut as it made him. What he desperately wanted to do was to gather both his brothers up and hurry them back to the family hall. Safe . . . alive . . . and staying that way until the turn of years and old age took their natural course. But, short of binding Bror with a rope and hauling him back to the West Gate like a sack of barley thrown over his shoulder, this nicely wrought ending was not going to happen.
‘What would Riv do?’ a part of his mind asked, looking for some framework to base a decision on.
And still another part, one more despairing, and perhaps a bit cynical, laughed harshly that he’d even asked the question. ‘You’re no Riv. You’ll never fill his boots. The fact that you even ask that question finds you wanting.’
Bror’s gaze had dropped away from Riv’s face as he finished speaking. A storm of conflicting emotions warred in Bror’s face for a moment, then were hidden as he looked away. In that moment, Skald understood what he must do. Stepping nearer to Bror, he put his hand on the younger man’s shoulder in a show of brotherly camaraderie.
‘Not to worry, big brother,’ he said to Riv, in a voice more hearty than he felt. ‘You go home and give my niece and nephew a bear hug from me . . . and another from Bror, here.’ He clapped his younger brother on the back and forced a tone of lightness into his words. ‘Tell them their Uncles will be home soon as can be . . . with stories of great deeds and the day won for the Elves.’
Others of the Dwarves were calling to Riv. They wanted to be off while there was daylight still to show the way. Riv seemed to hesitate, but Skald waved him on, saying not to worry. He and Bror could look after each other, he said in as assuring a tone as he could muster.
The brother’s clasped each other’s arms in a farewell. Then Riv was off, his big, broad back growing smaller as his figure disappeared into the distance. Skald stood near Bror watching for a long time as Riv drew further and further away.
Aule keep you safe til our return! he called softly after him. And then as an afterthought he added, And Bror, too. And me . . . if you would . . .
The two brothers turned from their little vigil and returned to those Dwarves who had chosen to stay. They were about twenty in number and all had that first rush of nervous anticipation upon them as they spoke of the nearing battle. Plans were made as to who would be leader of their group. Then, he and another presented themselves to Lord Elrond’s tent, giving a formal pledge of their assistance to the Elves.
All that was left then was to wait for orders to march to be given . . . and then the battle itself to begin . . .
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