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Eilif shivers a little in the chill early morning air and lifts her gaze to the sky. The sun shines a watery light upon the clearing in front of Gamilfûn; its golden rays turning the smoky haze that lingered over the settlement a sickly sepia. She awkwardly hefts her pack upon her shoulder as she steps through the ruined entrance, her footsteps muffled by the thick layer of soot that coats the ground. The fetid stench of the dead dragon threatens to choke her throat, but she hardly casts the rotting carcass a glance as she makes her way to the waiting cart. Dragons aren't so scary when you have taken your knife to one. She smiles humorlessly at the thought for, ever pragmatic, she had made time in her packing to strip some scales from the creature. It had been awkward work with her injured arm, but dragon scales were far too valuable to a weapon-smith and armorer to pass up the opportunity.
Eilif grunts as she shoulders her bag of personal belongings onto the cart, hearing the timbers creak at the added burden. Well, if it can carry Adelstienn's casks of ale well enough, it should cope with the meager belongings of their small group of survivors, she thinks. The cart is old and has clearly seen many years of steady service - the woodwork dented and scuffed, the metal faded - but apparently strongly built and sturdy enough even now, despite its appearance. Pausing to catch her breath, she turns to survey the clearing. An early morning breeze whiffles through the trees, swirling the soot into flurries around the legs of the dwarves gathered there and obliterating the footprints left by their booted feet. Leaning there against the cart she is struck by how easily any signs of their passing disappears.
Eilif's gaze turns to the blackened forest around them. It would recover soon enough from the wildfire the dragon had caused and not long after that, unless like Khazad-dûm it was rebuilt, a little at a time the forest would slowly recover Gamilfûn too.
Adelsteinn watches the others loading their personal belongings into his cart, avoiding looking at the dragon corpse. He had packed his own things into the cart as well, and could clearly see the last keg of ale up at the front of the cart. "The last of my brew," he thinks to himself. He also went down to the treasury and secured the Gamilfûn store of gold. He left behind many treasures in the storeroom, some recovered from the remains of Belegost and Nogrod, which fell when the world was changed long ago. Those heirlooms would have to remain. The cart could not hold bulky relics. If he ever returned, he might consider bringing them forth to the light, but since Gamilfûn is sharing the fate of those great cities of old, then they might as well remain. But now he watches the packing, making sure they have not forgotten anything. He thinks that this is not what he expected when he became an elder, to be solely responsible for the remains of their community. Putting his hand to his head, he also thinks an ale would be very helpful just now.
Once more Aztryd shoulders her pack. It has been half a lifetime since she left Ibirgathol; maybe half a year measured by the sun. Little Nizl no longer fits hidden within her pack. Indeed, Nizl and her wrappings take up most of the space in Aztryd's pack, with Elwing's forgotten cloak tucked around her. "You've grown, magpie," she croons to Nizl. "How are we going to keep you hidden when we get to places where there are outsiders, eh? I don't think you will be quiet for them. At least," she adds, judiciously, "you are in one piece, and that is more than some people can say today."
Yet, in spite of her worries, Aztryd is glad to be gone. She said farewell to the halls of Gamilfûn once, when she was married. These stone walls were empty when she returned with Elwing -- empty of all the people who mattered to her, all the people who knew her. They hold nothing more for her, now. She keeps a wary distance from the hulk of the dead dragon as she makes her way across uncleared rubble, out of the ruined gates, and joins the small company beside their single cart.
Nasi's nostrils curl as he crosses the clearing towards the loaded cart. He wonders if he'll ever forget the stench that assails him now. The backs of his hands burn and itch against the bandages as he raises one to shield his eyes from the low early morning sun. The horse and cart look like children's playthings next to the monstrous bulk of the decaying dragon. Nasi's steps falter as he draws level with it, and he stands staring, despite the stench of such close proximity, still hardly able to believe he had killed such beast.
Fafnir emerges from the entrance to Gamilfûn, one hand brushing at his newly shortened hair, eyes red-rimmed and mouth a tight line. Beneath the shirt, the burns itch and pull at the gauze that has been soaked in honey and herbs and bound about them, to keep the scabs from healing to the linen or the shirt. In the predawn chill, he had brought out his own backpack and placed it firmly and deeply within the cart, so that none would notice him stagger a little from the weight. He would admit no weakness, not even to the dark-skinned Nasi, and Fafnir was not yet ready for any to know what was packed away, amongst his few possessions of shirts, pants, and small clothes.
He had followed Adelsteinn this morning, hanging back, trailng behind, but when he saw in which direction the brewer was heading, Fafnir doubled back and struck his own course, where the pickings were readily to be had, easier to store, and, Fafnir, felt, more welcome at a trading post than relics of forgotten glories. The only concession to his vanity was the sword at his side. "Old Copperpincher won't miss it," he murmurs, patting the dwarf-sized blade at his hip. "And it has elven writing upon it," Fafnir whispers; though, in truth, that was the claim of the previous owner and not a fact proven by anyone. Fafnir pulls up alongside Nasi, a small smile coming so easily to his lips at the sight of the face of the ernest stonemason. His eyes follow Nasi's gaze, and he places a hand upon Nasi's shoulder, leaning in, "Maker's pinkie," he swears, "but it as magnificent dead as it reeks." He presses his lips to Nasi's ear and whispers, "Come, Handsome, DragonSlayer, let's join the others."
Eilif watches the little mother crooning to the babe and feels a strange tug at her heart. Aztryd took such joy in the child. For a moment she wonders what it would be like to carry a babe, raise it and cherish it, but then she snorts at such foolishness. Such isn't for the likes of her. Tearing her gaze from the small family, she lift her eyes she again to the sky. The smoke haze persists, despite the breeze, but the sky beyond is clear. It is a good day to travel at least, she muses until her attention is drawn by the nervous snorting of the cart pony. Pushing herself away from the cart, she moves to the pony's head, speaking to him soothingly as she strokes his velvety neck. The poor thing was a lather of sweat.
When they had tried to lead him outside that morning, it had needed only one whiff of the rotting corpse for him to roll his eyes and shy so badly as to nearly overturn the cart. It was only by blindfolding the terrified beast and with Eilif cooing reassuringly to him that they had managed at last to get him beyond the entrance. She had stood with him watching the dawn break, keeping him calm while the others had returned inside to fetch belongings. Now, although carefully upwind from the dead dragon and standing obediently, the poor animal shudders regularly with fear.
Adelsteinn sees Eilif struggling with the pony and moves forward to help steady the cart. He looks back to the others with a questioning eye. The stench is quite unbearable even upwind from the dead dragon. As the pony settles enough he ventures away from the cart. "So we are all packed and ready to travel to whatever fate awaits us ahead?" He never expected to say such words. He is still amazed how a couple short days brought an end to a settlement that had endured the centuries.
> Part 2
Eilif shivers a little in the chill early morning air and lifts her gaze to the sky. The sun shines a watery light upon the clearing in front of Gamilfûn; its golden rays turning the smoky haze that lingered over the settlement a sickly sepia. She awkwardly hefts her pack upon her shoulder as she steps through the ruined entrance, her footsteps muffled by the thick layer of soot that coats the ground. The fetid stench of the dead dragon threatens to choke her throat, but she hardly casts the rotting carcass a glance as she makes her way to the waiting cart. Dragons aren't so scary when you have taken your knife to one. She smiles humorlessly at the thought for, ever pragmatic, she had made time in her packing to strip some scales from the creature. It had been awkward work with her injured arm, but dragon scales were far too valuable to a weapon-smith and armorer to pass up the opportunity.
Eilif grunts as she shoulders her bag of personal belongings onto the cart, hearing the timbers creak at the added burden. Well, if it can carry Adelstienn's casks of ale well enough, it should cope with the meager belongings of their small group of survivors, she thinks. The cart is old and has clearly seen many years of steady service - the woodwork dented and scuffed, the metal faded - but apparently strongly built and sturdy enough even now, despite its appearance. Pausing to catch her breath, she turns to survey the clearing. An early morning breeze whiffles through the trees, swirling the soot into flurries around the legs of the dwarves gathered there and obliterating the footprints left by their booted feet. Leaning there against the cart she is struck by how easily any signs of their passing disappears.
Eilif's gaze turns to the blackened forest around them. It would recover soon enough from the wildfire the dragon had caused and not long after that, unless like Khazad-dûm it was rebuilt, a little at a time the forest would slowly recover Gamilfûn too.
Adelsteinn watches the others loading their personal belongings into his cart, avoiding looking at the dragon corpse. He had packed his own things into the cart as well, and could clearly see the last keg of ale up at the front of the cart. "The last of my brew," he thinks to himself. He also went down to the treasury and secured the Gamilfûn store of gold. He left behind many treasures in the storeroom, some recovered from the remains of Belegost and Nogrod, which fell when the world was changed long ago. Those heirlooms would have to remain. The cart could not hold bulky relics. If he ever returned, he might consider bringing them forth to the light, but since Gamilfûn is sharing the fate of those great cities of old, then they might as well remain. But now he watches the packing, making sure they have not forgotten anything. He thinks that this is not what he expected when he became an elder, to be solely responsible for the remains of their community. Putting his hand to his head, he also thinks an ale would be very helpful just now.
Once more Aztryd shoulders her pack. It has been half a lifetime since she left Ibirgathol; maybe half a year measured by the sun. Little Nizl no longer fits hidden within her pack. Indeed, Nizl and her wrappings take up most of the space in Aztryd's pack, with Elwing's forgotten cloak tucked around her. "You've grown, magpie," she croons to Nizl. "How are we going to keep you hidden when we get to places where there are outsiders, eh? I don't think you will be quiet for them. At least," she adds, judiciously, "you are in one piece, and that is more than some people can say today."
Yet, in spite of her worries, Aztryd is glad to be gone. She said farewell to the halls of Gamilfûn once, when she was married. These stone walls were empty when she returned with Elwing -- empty of all the people who mattered to her, all the people who knew her. They hold nothing more for her, now. She keeps a wary distance from the hulk of the dead dragon as she makes her way across uncleared rubble, out of the ruined gates, and joins the small company beside their single cart.Nasi's nostrils curl as he crosses the clearing towards the loaded cart. He wonders if he'll ever forget the stench that assails him now. The backs of his hands burn and itch against the bandages as he raises one to shield his eyes from the low early morning sun. The horse and cart look like children's playthings next to the monstrous bulk of the decaying dragon. Nasi's steps falter as he draws level with it, and he stands staring, despite the stench of such close proximity, still hardly able to believe he had killed such beast.
Fafnir emerges from the entrance to Gamilfûn, one hand brushing at his newly shortened hair, eyes red-rimmed and mouth a tight line. Beneath the shirt, the burns itch and pull at the gauze that has been soaked in honey and herbs and bound about them, to keep the scabs from healing to the linen or the shirt. In the predawn chill, he had brought out his own backpack and placed it firmly and deeply within the cart, so that none would notice him stagger a little from the weight. He would admit no weakness, not even to the dark-skinned Nasi, and Fafnir was not yet ready for any to know what was packed away, amongst his few possessions of shirts, pants, and small clothes.
He had followed Adelsteinn this morning, hanging back, trailng behind, but when he saw in which direction the brewer was heading, Fafnir doubled back and struck his own course, where the pickings were readily to be had, easier to store, and, Fafnir, felt, more welcome at a trading post than relics of forgotten glories. The only concession to his vanity was the sword at his side. "Old Copperpincher won't miss it," he murmurs, patting the dwarf-sized blade at his hip. "And it has elven writing upon it," Fafnir whispers; though, in truth, that was the claim of the previous owner and not a fact proven by anyone. Fafnir pulls up alongside Nasi, a small smile coming so easily to his lips at the sight of the face of the ernest stonemason. His eyes follow Nasi's gaze, and he places a hand upon Nasi's shoulder, leaning in, "Maker's pinkie," he swears, "but it as magnificent dead as it reeks." He presses his lips to Nasi's ear and whispers, "Come, Handsome, DragonSlayer, let's join the others."
Eilif watches the little mother crooning to the babe and feels a strange tug at her heart. Aztryd took such joy in the child. For a moment she wonders what it would be like to carry a babe, raise it and cherish it, but then she snorts at such foolishness. Such isn't for the likes of her. Tearing her gaze from the small family, she lift her eyes she again to the sky. The smoke haze persists, despite the breeze, but the sky beyond is clear. It is a good day to travel at least, she muses until her attention is drawn by the nervous snorting of the cart pony. Pushing herself away from the cart, she moves to the pony's head, speaking to him soothingly as she strokes his velvety neck. The poor thing was a lather of sweat.When they had tried to lead him outside that morning, it had needed only one whiff of the rotting corpse for him to roll his eyes and shy so badly as to nearly overturn the cart. It was only by blindfolding the terrified beast and with Eilif cooing reassuringly to him that they had managed at last to get him beyond the entrance. She had stood with him watching the dawn break, keeping him calm while the others had returned inside to fetch belongings. Now, although carefully upwind from the dead dragon and standing obediently, the poor animal shudders regularly with fear.
Adelsteinn sees Eilif struggling with the pony and moves forward to help steady the cart. He looks back to the others with a questioning eye. The stench is quite unbearable even upwind from the dead dragon. As the pony settles enough he ventures away from the cart. "So we are all packed and ready to travel to whatever fate awaits us ahead?" He never expected to say such words. He is still amazed how a couple short days brought an end to a settlement that had endured the centuries.
> Part 2