A mirror.
He felt the grooves and inlays of the cuirass as he polished in the dying light of the Hadar sun. For weight reduction, Thara told him, though the craftsmanship and attention to detail was clear.
The right side of his back ached with the effort; Arcadia had done their best, but three arrows was a tall order for any healer. Resting a little, he placed the armour to the side, orange rather than the dull grey of steel as the sunset shone through a bay of snow-white mist.
The tree of Belegost, pale white upon the backdrop of black and misty grey, had surrendered to the elements weeks prior. The foragers suggested it be cut down into firewood, something about white lumber burning fierce. He thought of his refusal for the tree to be foraged, laughing slightly at the thought of such a defence for a bloody tree.
Whispers of bad omens crept steadily through the town like the bay of mist after that. Perhaps they were right. Belegost had claimed leagues upon leagues of land from the likes of Valorian, Wyvern, Hollandt, killed countless mystery knights in helms of steel and capes of every colour imaginable.
And yet, an impending emptiness loomed inside him, like the arrow once in his back. They'd won every battle, every war… so why did the thought of their achievements bring no joy?
The final light of the sunset, as if knowing his mood, gave out, the bay gradually transforming to a black mass that stretched as far as the eye could see in almost every direction.
It was time to leave.
Glancing a final time across the bay, William rose, packing his kit for maintaining armour and hoisting the cuirass over his left shoulder. The bay was a short enough distance from the main hold, but with a mount why walk? He was in safe lands he knew, allies not five minutes away from the bay should an attacker attempt to assault the mountain, but the eeriness of wind whispering through dark trees never failed to raise the hairs on his neck.
The warm light of the town lifted his spirits slightly, as the cobbles clacked under hoof through the streets towards the bridge. The townspeople barely acknowledged his arrival, nor the deep, reverberating sound of the meeting horn that rung across the mountain range as he crossed the spruce bridge. Bad omen indeed, he thought.
His presence at the gate was noted by the guards on the duty, the gate groaning and creaking as it opened to let William in. At this time of night, banter between him and the guards was inevitable- some joke or other about his cuirass, probably.
Except this time. The gate was silent, save for his steps on the stone floor as he strode past the gate.
"Nothing funny to say lads?" He asked in a joking tone as he passed the entrances to the guard houses flanking the iron gate.
His voice rang out to silence, with no response from the guards. That made him halt.
"Is… something wrong?"
"They're waiting inside for you, m'lord" one of the dwarves called out in reply.
His heart quickened at that, as he walked with haste towards the Elder meeting table.
Instead of the three familiar faces, he was greeted by the sight of a dozen arguing figures, voices raising higher and higher as he approached the table. He locked eyes briefly with Dothrak, buried between two arguing Humorrin, with an annoyed look on his face. William observed the bickering group a little longer, before intervening.
"What in Void's name is going on?" he asked, ensuring his voice was heard by all members of the "meeting".
"Your leader is a traitor, THAT'S what." replied one of the Dwarves.
"You watch your words, Bjorheil, you watch them carefully!" screamed another, next to Dothrak.
Dothrak gave a drawn-out sigh, which managed to calm the arguments down momentarily.
"I should have sounded the horn sooner, William. Put simply, the mines are dry, and the fields can no longer grow crops."
He'd heard of this before. Farmer's Blight he'd heard it called back in Dragenthal- when the ground could no longer bear grain or root, regardless of how much tilling was done. Yet, it created more questions than it resolved.
"And how does this make you a traitor? Unless you killed the ground singlehandedly like you'd kill a man with that axe."
That reduced the tension of the room slightly, with some grinning and others turning away to hide their smiles. The humour, seemingly, was lost on Dothrak.
"No. What makes me a "traitor", is my suggestion to relocate."
This took William aback. The mountain was a dwarf's pride and joy- everyone knew that, from high lords to children in swaddling clothes. And yet, the more he thought about this idea, the less mindless it seemed. The relocation would, hopefully, alleviate the thoughts he'd had on the bay. And, if the fields could no longer be tilled, how would Belegost be fed? He chose his next words carefully.
"Do you… have a place in mind? Somewhere in Hadar?"
"You cannot be going along with this!" shouted a Dwarven woman from somewhere to his left.
"It's madness. Madness and stupidity," echoed another, older sounding dwarf from his right.
"Is it? I am not so sure," William retorted.
"Look around you. We have no allies in this war. We are fighting on 3 separate fronts, holding land we can't possibly hope to keep, with soldiers we cannot possibly hope to feed now that the fields are barren. We may win a battle here, a skirmish there, but how long before you think our enemies cooperate to take this mountain? We will lose. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but we will lose. And how many more dwarves will die for a rock then? How many dwarves, like Dothrak, like Thara, like Dv… Dvorin."
He shouldn't have said those words. But they needed to be said, sooner or later.
"You… you swore an oath to protect us. Coward." said the dwarf quietly in reply.
William could feel his anger, his sarcasm boiling upon hearing that. He opened his mouth to reply with equal venom, stopping only as he saw Thara's disappointed look at what he'd said, at Dothrak's eyes evading his. He knew what he wanted to say, and he knew why he couldn't say it. Choosing his words as carefully as he'd ever done, William spoke in a slow tone, replying to the dwarf.
"I… swore an oath, yes. To protect Belegost. Is Belegost a mountain, or a people? Does the stone, and blacksteel, matter more than the farmers, and fisherman, and soldiers around you?"
The dwarf considered that for a moment, thinking on his reply.
"I… had not thought of that. I suppose… we're a people and a mountain."
He could hear that not everyone agreed. Mutters of Ailor foolishness, and of his stubbornness and arrogance was rife through the meeting table. He tried to ignore them, speaking directly to Dothrak.
"Where are we going?"
Dothrak looked up from the table, giving a single word answer.
"Essalonia."
The word rang through his head like a helmet struck with a hammer.
Sand, and war, and where he'd lo-
No. Not here, not now. He had caused enough strife for one day. Dothrak continued.
"A camp has already been made, thanks to our seafarers. East coast I think, if the water boys got their directions right this time."
That got a laugh out of the shipwrights and captains. He should've let Dothrak do the talking- he was far better at it.
He couldn't say for sure, but the tone of the meeting was softening. Laughter was more common now, rather than shouting.
"We should discuss the details later, but for now everyone should start packing and organising their belongings. It's as Arnyn, and Dvorin would have said: We are a people, not a mountain, and I hope you see you all on the… what's the word in Common, frontier?"
As with all lengthy discussions with dwarves, the topic swiftly turned to food and drink. With most of the dissenters having either left the halls or calmed down, for once that night there was a unanimous decision.
Grog, grub, and lots of both.
TL;DR William rages out, Dothrak pleases the crowd, Thara designs a nice cuirass, Belegost moves to Essalonia, dwarves eat food, and I write a 1400 word lore post.
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