Rurmur was back among the Eglain, ready to help them and the wizard Radagast to find out who was responsible of awakening Evil in those lands. And the only way he knew to get information from enemies was to beat them until they dropped a hint of what was going on. Which was were the problem lied: the gaunt-men who were supposed to know something were powerful wights, able to summon more wights to their help – Rurmur had already had a close encounter with one of them and was not looking forward to more. In the end, things turned out to be simpler than what he thought: careful preparation and a rush on the gaunt-man was enough to beat him down before he could summon too much help.
The effort paid, as now Rurmur and Radagast knew who was responsible for everything: Ivar, a very powerful Gaunt-Lord, who had crossed Rurmur’s path in the past too. It was down in those Barrows near Bree, when Rurmur was chasing the Witch-King – the Nazgul had company and one of them was Ivar. But the question of why Ivar was here and what was he hoping to achieve was still not answered and Radagast was clueless. Their best hope to find out more now lied in whatever scholars the Eglain had – they should know more about these lands and what power they could hold.
One of these scholars lived in a marsh to the South – luckily a normal one, filled with crawlers, neekerbreekers, swampflies and muddy water, not blood-red pools like the Northern part, where the wights were. Rurmur took advantage of the trip in that direction and made a small detour to a forest nearby. Not because he loved forests – what Dwarf could say that? – but because he had heard some trolls had camped in there. He considered his duty to kill the tough buggers, which he did in the end, though not that easily as he had originally thought. They were big and strong, those trolls, and they were hitting hard, very hard. However, this dwarf was particularly resilient under his heavy armour and shield, and no troll could beat him down easily. Or at least, not quickly enough, as Rurmur’s axe was sharp and used with great skill too. Still, some encounters were close ones and Rurmur considered himself lucky he did not have to fight two trolls in the same time.
In the end he found the Eglain scholar, who was not very helpful – he only knew the lands have been the scene of fights between wights and the old people living there, out of which something still remained… some restless shades moving between ruins. Rurmur would have prefered to deal with live people, but in the end those shades proved helpful in their own way: they had once been proud Arthedain, one of the mighty Men realms in the North. They had however done nothing to protect the Lady of these lands – they were referring to her as the Red Maid – and for that they had been cursed to this undead state. The one having cursed them was that merry fellow Rurmur had met in the Old Forest close to Bree, the one who could easily dispatch wight lords back to their grave by singing. Having witness his power, the dwarf could imagine this Maid had been powerful too – and yet she had been beaten and now she was controlled by Ivar somewhere in the Northern marshes. That was enough to give Rurmur an idea of the power of the Evil he had to face – not a rejoicing thought, that was sure.
Luckily he had on his side a Wizard – granted, a somehow distracted one – and maybe the Arthedain Shades could be persuaded to redeem themselves by helping with the task too. However, first thing first, he had to start cleaning the Southern marsh, where only simple wights were to be found, no Gaunt-Lords or other maids…
Resting is good for old dwarfs, but only when accompanied by a cold beer. Which could not be found in this Eglain camp, much to Rurmur’s despair. The Eglain were very fond of crafting, toiling all day long around forges and workbenches, to the point where even the dwarf started to take an interest in it. During his long life he had played with various smithing tools and he was now flirting with the idea of working the metal again, as a pass time.
However, while crafting could be a hobby, it was definitely not one to be done sober. Rurmur could not envisage toiling near hot forges without a sip of cold ale from time to time. So he said goodbye to the Eglain, promising them he will return soon, and moved back to Bree for a short crafting session and some cold Moor-boar pints from the Pony.
Crafting was going well – the beer was helping a lot – and Rurmur was starting to feel like an expert in metalsmithing. In fact, his skill was so impressive that one other crafter told him about a guild for smiths that has been created by… the Dwarfs of Thorin Hall! This was too good of a pretext to be ignored, so Rurmur quickly traveled to Ered Luin to visit his friends.
The guild however had to wait, as the first thing done by Rurmur was to go and have a chat with Dwalin, the Lord of the Halls. From him, Rurmur learned that things were under control now in this part of Middle-Earth, though rumors of the Evil now at work elsewhere have started to appear even here. Dwalin was very pleased to hear that the old Dwarf was now on a quest to hinder the Enemy’s plans and his enthusiasm was lifting Rurmur’s spirits more than anything else.
After promising Dwalin he will be back with more stories from his adventures, Rurmur went and checked that crafting guild. They were indeed skilled and he felt he could learn a lot from them. Not to mention that the Forge Halls there were magnificent, one of the best places to smith in all the world. Rurmur was sure he’ll return there for more crafting, but in the future, as now his heart was yearning for adventure again.
The chat with Dwalin has reminded Rurmur of a task unfinished in the Lone-Lands, where, together with the wizard Radagast, he was supposed to put a stop to an Evil raising wights from their graves. On his way back, he stopped again in Bree – more Moor-boar beer, which turned out to be a fortunate event. He met there another dwarf who tought him some interesting tricks, including how to shoot a bow. Rurmur knew he will always be an axe and shield warrior, but he also knew a bow will come in handy at his old age: he could now make the enemies come to him instead of having to chase after them.
The dwarf also told him of some Men to the North of Bree in need of his help, so Rurmur thought it’s worth the detour, if only to check that area too. Not much can be said about it, though: he went, he saw, he killed a few orcs and protected a bridge. Now it was time to get back to the serious stuff, the Eglain and Radagast were waiting for him.
After a few more beers – to keep him happy while in the no-beer camp – he made his way back to Ost Guruth. It was time to kill some wights, find out who was behind all this and put an end to it for good!
Rurmur’s mission was simple: hinder the Enemy’s plans wherever he goes. In this particular case, he was in the Lone-Lands to the East of Bree, searching for an elusive wizard, Radagast. He had already helped securing Amon Sul, a ruined watchtower that was about to be occupied by orcs, but the evil lurking in these lands seemed to have a different focus. And the wizard was the key and Rurmur had problems getting to him. Apparently he had isolated himself in a secret camp of the local tribe, the Eglain. These were a hard people, living in a dangerous area and trying their best to survive. They were not friendly to strangers, especially dwarfs, so Rurmur had to help them for a while before being let into the secret of Radagast’s location.
Journal entry: Killed goblins, orcs, half-orcs, wargs and spiders. Moved to Ost Guruth, the main Eglain settlement – they seem to be fond of crafting, but in dire need of someone to kill the evil creatures outside their fort. Bloody axes, they don’t have a tavern!
Radagast was indeed hiding (studying he called it) in a tower in the Eglain settlement of Ost Guruth. And when Rurmur brought the conversation around the Evil lurking around, he seemed to be aware of it and even to have an idea of the actual source. The wizard seemed in touch with the nature and was feeling that the land itself was being turned to evil. Of course, he was too busy sitting in his tower, so it was up to Rurmur to go out and investigate.
Rurmur’s search for the source of evil in those lands led him to a marsh nearby. A red marsh, hinting so badly of blood and old battles that Rurmur, despite his long lifetime of adventures, could not help but shiver. From the marsh, Rurmur went to some ruins nearby and found there wights, LOTS of wights. He hated the dead still walking and even more the undead who didn’t know the state they should be in, so he killed lots in there, to the satisfaction of both Radagast and the Eglain folks.
The latter were definitely feeling more and more friendly towards the dwarf that was protecting their fort. Yet Radagast was still unhappy and felt the wights were being awaken by a power. He asked of Rurmur to go see if some Gaunt-Lords can be found among them, as they were the ones able to summon lesser wights. The Dwarf had no need to go and check in order to answer the wizard: he had met one of those gaunt-lords and he had not enjoyed it – they were able to summon more and more wights faster than he could kill them. Tough buggers to take down, that was sure.
The idea of going and killing several Gaunt-Lords and their wights in an attempt to find out more about the Power behind all this was not appealing to Rurmur. As for the Eglain, there was now talk of killing Trolls in another marsh to the South. Between wight lords and trolls, Rurmur was having problems making a choice. And yet a third option seemed more appropriate: why not rest for a while? After all, at his age, too much adventuring can be bad for the health.
Journal entry: still no bloody beer to be found in this camp! Hmpf!
Amon Sul. Or Weathertop as it was now called. The tallest of the hills in that area, offering a huge view over the lands and the road. A perfect place for a watchtower, which was what others have thought a long time ago, judging by the ruinds on its top. Rurmur was slightly uneasy when looking at it. He was not afraid of heights, but he prefered mines. Mines are easy to defend against attacks, though, to be fair, fortifications on heights too. The problem is when the enemy gets them and you have to take them back: they are easy to defend… by the enemy.
Which was precisely the case now. Candaith and Rurmur had left a very large party of Orcs go up the slopes and now, under the cover of the darkness, they were moving on taking back the hill. They were hoping the Orcs have not had the time to organize defences and were not expecting an attack, especially one mostly on the covert side. Rurmur was feeling brave, confident in his strength, which he knew from first-hand experience that it was greater than the orcs’. He had recently acquired a huge two-hand axe and was itching to bathe it in orc blood.
There were plenty of orcs to kill as they made their way up the slope and things were going just as they should. Candaith, however, was feeling too bold and thought they should split up and try two different routes to the hilltop. Rurmur was not so sure about it, but not out of worry for himself – after two sweeping cuts from his great axe the orcs were half beaten. Not to mention he had had a lifetime protecting others during combat and he knew just how to draw the enemy’s attention on himself. Which was precisely the problem, the Ranger would have been by himself, without the Dwarf to protect him.
But the Ranger was stubborn and they split up to take two separate ways to the top. Countless orcs have fallen that night under Rurmur’s heavy blows with not even a scratch on his old armour. To be fair, the dwarf was cautios too, lighting fires to draw a patrol out when approaching a more crowded camp. Near the top he had to deal with two lieutenants, a more powerful orc and then a warg-master, accompanied by his huge beast. Big warg or not, they too fell under his vexing blows and sweeping cuts.
Near the very top, Rurmur met Candaith again… wounded and unable to continue the fight, of course. Stupid Ranger! It was up to the dwarf alone to enter the final camp and deal with the remaining forces! Said forces were not much though, a few orcs and their boss – not many, but fierce and swarming around him. They managed to land a few hits on him, but nothing his heavy armour could not withstand. His axe quickly ended that fight, though, with his final breath, the orc boss called forward… a troll! Rurmur hated those big buggers and for a short moment hesitated whether to take out his shield to be able to resist the heavy blows he was about to receive. But in the end there was no need, as he knew how to use his axe to parry the enemy’s blows quite efficiently and soon after the last enemy on Amon Sul was dead too!
The next morning, smoking a pipe in Candaith’ camp, near the fire, Rurmur was very pleased, like he had not been in a while. A key strategic location had been prevented from falling into enemy’s hands and the victory was complete, there were no subsequent threats in view, at least for now. Not to mention the stubborn ranger’s wounds were not serious and he seemed to recover pretty fast. Not bad, not bad at all, for a night’s work.
He knew he’ll soon have to start looking for that old wizard again, but at least for now, he could relax for a while.
Ironically enough, Rurmur was enjoying his hangover. Or, to be precise, last night’s heavy drinking had helped him figure out what he wants, what role he wants for himself in these new developments. To put it simply, Evil was at work again in Middle-Earth and the good and innocent were in dire need of protection. Angmar was active again and its Witch-King was having its lieutenants rising armies or waking evil powers everywhere around. While the Lord of the Nazgul himself was busy chasing four hobbits carrying something of great value to the Enemy. Luckily enough, these hobbits were being led and protected by a ranger, which seemed reassuring enough for the old wizard listening to Rurmur’s synthesis.
Gandalf, for that was the name Rurmur knew the wizard as, was listening carefully to what the dwarf had to say. He seemed to think the hobbits were in good hands, but also in need of his help. And if he was going on that quest, who was left to hinder the Evil’s actions, to federate the defenses of the innocents? The only answer possible was standing short in front of him, old and tired and with an angry look – possibly just the hangover’s effects – on his face.
“This burden I place upon you in the name of the Free Peoples of Middle-earth: Hinder the Witch-king’s plans, if you may. Whether east or north, I bid you good fortune.”
“All by myself? Are you kidding? Do you know how old I am?”
“Not as old as I, but that is not the point. You will find help wherever you go, you just have to look carefully. And have faith, hope still exists!”
“Hope! How do you know that?”
“Let’s just call it a wizard’s hunch. And, as a thought, you should start by looking for another wizard, friend of mine, Radagast his name. He’ll help you – if you can find him, that is. Farewell now, Master Dwarf. I’m sure we’ll meet again!”
“Hmpf!”
And so Rurmur went, not really knowing whether to trust the wizard’s hopes, but aware of his responsibilites as protector of the Free People. He was experienced now and he knew the answer of the difficult problem of finding Radagast: ask the Rangers – they seemed to know everything about anything. Indeed, while Radagast’s exact location was not known, Rurmur at least got directions to another Ranger who might know more and who was to be found in the Lone-Lands to the East of Bree.
And so Rurmur left the town of Bree and its inn, the Prancing Pony, with its great beer and merry patrons. The Lone-Lands were a deserted place with plains and hills and no mountains in sight, which was disturbing for the Dwarf. They were a perfect example of the Evil now spreading across Middle-Earth, as they were packed with all kinds of nasty creatures. There were no inns and ales anymore to record in his travel journal, so Rurmur had to find another pass-time to log in it:
Journal entry: Killed some Goblins in a marsh. Killed wolves. Killed Goblins. And crows. Goblins again, with wargs this time. Found an Inn, forsaken in this lands! Its ale is not great, but it’s there! Killed some Half-Orcs and then some Goblins again.
After a while, Rurmur managed to find the camp of the Ranger he was looking for, Candaith his name. He did not know Radagast’s exact location either, but he could find out… if Rurmur was willing to help him with an Orc problem. In Rurmur’s experience, the solution to any “Orc problem” was simply killing them, and this time was no different. These orcs seemed to be on to something, however, and after killing some key elements in their camps, Rurmur managed to find out what. They were preparing to move in force to occupy a strategic position, the top of the tallest hill there, Amon Sul. Not only this would have meant a lot of trouble for all the areas around, but Gandalf himself had been on that top a few nights before. Or so a rune left behind on the hill’s top and the lightnings seen there during that night seemed to indicate.
There was something important about Amon Sul, and Rurmur and Candaith agreed: the orcs should not be allowed to occupy it!
One old Dwarf against four Nazguls – for Rurmur it was obvious he will not stand a chance in such a confrontation. However, his goal was not to fight them, but to divert their attention from Strider and the hobbits. Ideally they should not even be aware those hobbits are no longer in the Shire, but to do that he had first to find out their whereabouts. And that was easy, as the area around Shire and Bree was full of Strider’s friends – one of them was bound to have seen something.
It turned out that one had indeed seen the Nazguls as they were looking for the hobbits. And it even seemed that the nearby settlement of Buckland had been under attack the night before too. Dreading the carnage he will find there, Rurmur slowly made his way through that village. Everything seemed to be in order and at the place of the attack one hobbit, slightly fatter than the average – which is saying a lot, was clearly shaken. But he gradually become more sure of himself under Rurmur’s assurance that everything was going to be alright until he even started to boast:
“Not a thing did they get from me! When the Shiffiffs came, they made me tell them about Frodo and the others going off into the Old Forest, but I didn’t say a thing about the Enemy’s Ring… ”
The Enemy’s Ring! While Rurmur did not know many details about it, he knew enough to realize Strider was right: the fate of all free peoples might depend on keeping those hobbits out of harm. And this particular task was suddenly put at risk when he realized his conversation with the fatty hobbit had been carefully listened by some birds. It is not easy for a dwarf with an axe to kill birds, but he tried his best to protect the secret. Unfortunately, he failed as 2 birds escaped and flew into the nearby forest – who knew who will be listening to their chatter there?
With a bitter taste of failure, Rurmur returned to the Prancing Pony to get Strider’s counsel. Which proved to be quite on the unreasonable side: Rurmur was supposed to go and find the two birds in the forest. He knew he had somehow failed his quest, word of the hobbits whereabouts was now loose, but that was an impossible task. Yet Strider seemed optimistic, as apparently a strange creature was living in the forest, one that knew everything that was happening there.
So Rurmur gave it a try, going in the forest and looking for some signs of birds or strange creatures. And that forest was a tough one for a Dwarf to be in! Forests were not usually the kind of place most loved by dwarfs, that’s sure, but this one was very strange. There was a feeling of pressure, the air was still, no sunshine was passing through the leaves. It was almost like being in a cave – which Rurmur liked, but a a cave made of trees – which Rurmur hated. He was definitely feeling more grumpy than usual, which only made the contrast even greater when he met the fellow Strider was talking about. Old he was too, but all similarity was ending there: he was joyful and singing and dancing, with colourful clothes and smiling eyes. Yet he was helpful, as he pointed Rurmur in the right direction to take to find those two bird spies.
“Luckily the birds are out of the forest, I’m glad to be out of it too!” was muttering Rurmur while making his way out of the trees. And then he stopped and swore loudly – he was surrounded by burial mounds! He was not enjoying at all this current mission and that was putting him in a very bad mood. So when he found the two birds and their master they were spying for, he killed them without any second thoughts. And yet he could not rejoice, as before he died, the birds’ master had confessed the location of the hobbits was now known by the Lord of the Nazguls!
Rurmur hated wights, his point of view was that dead creatures should stay dead, while undead ones should die and stop making a fuss. But he had a job to do and made his way to the biggest barrow. Swearing even louder than before, he entered it – he could not stop thinking how ironic his recent adventures were. Instead of being in a nice proper cave, he was either in a closed heavy-air forest or finally underground… but in a tomb! Luckily for his mood, the tomb was not empty and there were many evil creatures to kill – that was always cheering him up.
Rurmur fought his way deeper and deeper in the barrow. From time to time he got a glimpse of the Nazgul and he rejoiced when seeing he was followed by Skorgrim – the corrupted Dourhand he had sworn to kill. Finally, he was getting close of putting his hand on that Evil Dwarf… or the axe through his head, to be more precise. Unfortunately, before he could engage them, they vanished through the backdoor of a very large room, leaving behind them… a very nasty looking Wight.
It will be weeks before Rurmur will be able to sleep without nightmares about the fight against that Wight, down there in the tomb that was its domain. Twice Rurmur was close to kill it and twice the Wight laughed and regained full strength. Luckily for the tiring dwarf, that odd cheerful creature from the Old Forest came and… simply sent the Wight back into its grave. Rurmur would have been quite annoyed with the apparent ease with which the Wight had been dispatched, but he was too busy being relieved and enjoying the fresh air once outside the tomb.
Yet annoyance or relief were not the predominant feelings as Rurmur was making his way back to Bree, frustration was. Every single time, the same thing was happening: a fight was won only to reveal a grimmer future. The Wight had revealed that the Lord of the Nazgul, the Witch-king of Angmar, knew where the hobbits were and intended to pursue them. While in the meantime the Pale Dwarf was going to the North to gather an army while the other Wight was going to the East to awake a dreadful power. War was about to start and a tired old Dwarf could not do much about it…
Journal entry: all troubles of the world fade away after 10 pints of moor-boar beer!
“Hey, inn-keeper! Another pint of moor-boar!”, Rurmur yelled.
Sure, alcohol was never the answer, but it was definitely helping. He was not happy and, which is worse, he got only himself to blame. He wanted one last big adventure before he died and when it looked like his current adventure would mean death, he got cold feet. What kind of Dwarf was he? Anyone can be brave when goblins are involved, or even when the enemies are Dourhands. And being afraid of facing a Nazgul is just common sense. But a Dwarf should hold his ground and never give up, especially one he has sworn to protect the innocent! And yet… pushing forward, fighting a Nazgul?
“There you go, Master Dwarf!” said Barliman putting the pint of ale on the table. “Oh, I’ve just remembered, that silent fellow you were talking to a few days ago left word he’d like to see you in his room”.
Rurmur drank his beer and went to check on Strider, wondering what else that ranger wanted from him now. Did he not make it clear that he just wants to rest for a while? It was a different Rurmur that came back to the main hall after a while. While before frustration and anger could be read in his eyes, his face was still and calm now. But it was only a mask, as his voice and hands were slightly trembling when he quietly addressed the inn-keeper again.
“A glass of your strongest liquor, Mr. Butterbur. And leave the bottle next to it!”
For the chat with Strider had shaken the poor old Dwarf to his bones. There were nine Nazguls roaming in the area, and they were all looking for something of great value, carried out from the Shire by some hobbits. While Rurmur did not know the nature of that something, Strider had made one thing clear: if the Nazguls get hold of it, then all hope is lost for the Free People. He could not let that happen, not after all the years spent in guarding the innocent against Evil. So while Strider took upon himself to escort the hobbits out of danger, it was the job of this old tired (and slightly drunk) dwarf to stop the Nazguls or at least to make sure they don’t know where the hobbits are. Noone can do that sober!
With a loud burp, Rurmur stood up and smashed the glass on the table, startling the other patrons in the Prancing Pony.
“Baruk Khazad!”, bellowed Rurmur, startling everyone again. He took up his axe and shield and with a nod to the inn-keeper he opened the door and left. There were not many who heard his whisper as he was going out “Khazad ai-menu, I’m going to war”.
Not much can be said about Rurmur’s voyage from Thorin’s Hall in the Blue Mountains to the village of Bree. He went across the Shire where things were peaceful and Hobbits were happy. And after having crossed the Brandywine bridge and the mostly empty fields to its East, he arrived in Bree, at the Inn of the Prancing Pony. Quite an eventless trip – except the few brigands that quickly learned that an old Dwarf is not such an easy prey. In fact, even the travel journal that Rurmur was keeping did not contain much about this trip.
Journal entry: Left Thorin’s Hall Inn, I’ll regret the Bombur’s Beard Lager they sell, it was very good. Stayed at the Bird & Baby Inn, the Blagrove’s Brown beer is quite strong. Slept at the Golden Perch where I tried the wine for a change – when chilled is very good with the fresh fish courses. Stopped at the Prancing Pony. Stars of Old Cider is not that bad, considering I’m not a cider lover. The Moor-boar beer however is excellent.
Rurmur was not in Bree for the beer, though. He wanted to find out more about Skorgrim’s location, the corrupted Dourhand captain who had caused a lot of trouble in Ered Luin. While he was asking around in Bree, he quickly learned that some of the fields and forests around the village were infested with Orcs and brigands coming from the South. They were not much trouble for a serious Dwarf who knows his business with an axe, so Rurmur took the time to help the people of Bree with a few tasks. He was regularly checking in at the Prancing Pony, hoping he will find more about Skorgrim’s location. And verifying whether the beer was still good, just to be sure.
And one day he got lucky. The innkeeper told Rurmur that one of Rangers, going by the name of Strider, had checked in at the Pony. From the ranger, Rurmur learned that Skorgrim was conspiring with some wights, but to what ends, he did not know. And of course, it was up to Rurmur to find out more. It takes a lot of courage to attack a brigand’s camp at night and challenge the wights there, but Rurmur was stubborn enough to not stop until he got to the end of things. His attack at night was successful and he even managed to dispatch one of the wights, though the corrupted Dourhand managed to escape.
Strider thought the brigand’s hideout was worth investigating for more clues, so Rurmur went to Combe, a village nearby. Together with a Hobbit constable from that village, he attacked the brigands in their own hideout, which proved fruitful. While Skorgrim slipped through his fingers again, Rurmur managed to get some valuable information out of a dying brigand. The Dourhand was in the service of Angmar and he was not more than a puppet in the hands of a Nazgul! Angmar – there were few places more evil than that and Rurmur hoped he’ll never have to go there. As for the Nazgul… brave as he was, shivers were still going down Rurmur’s spine at the thought of facing one of them.
Rurmur was in a dark mood as he was feeling this adventure might be too big for him. But he could not quit, not like that, he had his pride after all. Being old has its advantages however, and one of them was knowing that the best thing to do when things look grim is to have a pint of ale…
Journal entry. Short break after fighting some brigands at the Comb and Wattle Inn. The Beakbreaker’s Ale goes down very smoothly when cold. Moved back to the Prancing Pony for more moor-boar beer. That’s a funny name!
Goblins. The mountains have always been full of them, though somehow even more nowadays. Fighting them in deep places under the mountains was part of being a Dwarf. And Rurmur had lost track of how many he had killed over the years. His king, Dain II Ironfoot, had asked of him to go and help the Dwarven outpost in the Blue Mountains, as they were having some goblin problems. And there he was now, though he couldn’t really understand why the Dwarfs in Thorin’s Hall were needing his help. After all, any serious Dwarf who knows his way with axes can chop some goblin heads…
And yet the Goblins were not the biggest problem. While investigating a theft from the armory, Rurmur finally understood. The Goblins were not acting alone, they were partners with… Dwarfs! Sure, not the serious, hard-working, tribes of the Longbeards, they were Dourhands. But still, Dwarfs teaming up with Goblins to do mischief! Evil was indeed at work in Middle-Earth and things were not looking joyful. And since the Dourhands could not be brought to reason, Rurmur had to reluctanly fight them off too…
And yet the Dourhands were not the biggest problem. The situation in Ered Luin was even worse, as the Goblins and Dourhands were preparing something against the Elves living in one of their refuges nearby. And this was happening now, when finally a fragile alliance had been made with the Elves. Needless to say, the pointy ears were so full of themselves they couldn’t be bothered to understand the difference between a real Dwarf and the small corrupted Dourhands teaming up with Goblins. It almost looked like what the Dourhands were aiming at was setting the Elves and Dwarfs against each others once again… but to what purpose?
Rurmur had to use all the diplomacy he could master, but in the end he pulled it off. A joint effort of both races, led by Rurmur himself, went and fought the Goblins in their outposts of Rath Teraig. They suffered a few losses, but victory was theirs and the Goblin and Dourhand forces were scattered and leaderless now. The shaky alliance seemed stronger again and there was finally peace in the halls of the Blue Mountains, which was not bad for a few weeks’ worth of effort. Rurmur was lazily smoking a pipe and was quite content with himself. After all, adventuring is good, but having a rest in a tavern afterwards is even better.
And yet something was not feeling right and maybe the biggest problem was yet to come. Someone had stirred those Goblins into action and had corrupted the Dourhands’s captain, Skorgrim. Not to mention that this latter had not fallen in Rath Teraig and was still there somewhere, preparing for a next attack. And Rurmur was itching to go, rattle him out and give him a good shield bash on the head. But where to go?
The answer came from one of the rangers – those strange silent Men roaming the wilderness, Langlas. He had an idea that the corrupted Dourhand had went to the East, across and past the Shire. And thus Rurmur took leave of Dwalin and the other Dwarfs in Thorin’s Hall and took the road again, continuing his adventure. After all, Ered Luin was safe, it was time to help others too.
There is no easy way to describe Rurmur. Some things are obvious at a first glance, while others can be discovered only after sharing some adventures together. The second most obvious thing about him was that he was a Dwarf: short, stocky and hairy. The first most obvious thing, however, was that he was old, very old. The long white beard, the tired i’ve-seen-it-all look and the feeling of grumpiness emanating from all his moves were strong hints in this direction. It was thus easy to jump to conclusions and none of the young Dwarfs were curious enough to try to learn more about him. And how wrong they were!
Sure, Rurmur looked grumpy. But it was only because he spoke only when needed. And sure he looked old, and he actually was old, even for a Dwarf, almost 250 years of age – some were even calling him the Undying… However, what most seem to miss was that he was an old warrior, still alive. He had been in more battles than many of the young restless Dwarfs around him will ever be in together. And he has survived them all.
Because Rurmur was a survivor. The old grumpy Dwarf slowly moving around the halls was a fierce warrior on the battlefield, when dressed in his armour and carrying his heavy shield. He was so fierce that he usually acted like a magnet for the enemies around, making them trying to defeat him first. And none has ever succeeded, for Rurmur could take a beating, never tiring, always standing his ground.
After so many battles, Rurmur was thinking of retirement. He had seen them all, the big battles of his lifetime. At Nanduhirion, at the gates of Moria, he was only 29 years old – young for a Dwarf, but old enough to carry a shield and see first-hand the horrors of war. And of course the Battle of the Five Armies, where he had followed Dain II Ironfoot, his king, once again. But those were the big battles, of which tales are told. There have been countless more in the deep depths of the Earth, where Dwarfs needed to protect their halls against the incessant attacks of goblins and orcs. And after all this endless wars, Rurmur was thinking that maybe time for retirement has finally come.
And yet… Rurmur was looking at his old rusty armour and a familiar tingling was in his bones. Maybe, just maybe, he had enough strength for one last adventure? Maybe, just maybe, there was still need of a ferocious Dwarf that hold no fear in the face of Evil? And then, just as Rurmur was thinking these very thoughts, a message came that he was summoned by his king, Dain Ironfoot.
“Rurmur, my faithful companion, I am glad to see you again”
“So am I, my king. I have heard you need my services once again”
“I do, Rurmur, I do. And yet, after all you have done, I feel ashamed to ask you to go to war once again. No, don’t look offended, you know what I mean. And I know very well you will never consider retirement when there are fights to fight. And trust me, Rurmur, there are, even too many of them. It looks like Evil is stirring again all over Middle-Earth.”
“Where am I needed the most, my king? And when do I leave?”
“I see the passing of years has not diminished the fire of your spirit, my old friend”, Dain smiled. “It is a long way from Erebor to Ered Luin, but I think our relatives there, in Thorin’s Hall, are in the most need of some battle-hardened Dwarf. When do you think you could leave?”
“Tomorrow at dawn, my king. Farewell!”
“Farewell, my old Rurmur! May that we meet again…”
And thus Rurmur, the old Dwarf, set off for a new adventure. Probably his last…
Epic Adventures of an Old Dwarf 