Everything belongs to JRRTolkien
Warning: Light description of violence
This is part of a two-shot. It is also a companion piece to my fanfiction 'To become a dwarf.'
The first part can be read without reading my other fanfiction 'To become a dwarf' as everything described here happen before the events of said fanfiction. It can be read independantly.
Everything was silent.
The darkness around was hiding any enemies from his eyes. He didn't like that.
He remained still on his bed. If there were any enemy lurking around, he would be able to fool them like this; they would believe he was still asleep. For several long minutes he remained motionless. He waited. He was patient. He waited for his enemies to make the first move, waited for them to make that mistake. He was ready, waiting for them. Even without his spear, he was still deadly. As soon as he had awoken, his hand had grabbed the short wooden sword that was always under his covers as he slept. He wasn't completely defenceless.
For several more minutes he waited.
No one attacked.
With a huff he jumped to his feet and opened his door in a swift movement.
No one was hiding behind it.
Grabbing his wooden sword with two hands he silently made his way to the kitchen.
Images, no, memories, of violent battles crossed his mind.
He remembered the smell of blood in the air, the iron taste on his lips. He remembered the feeling in his arms when with one large sweep he would cut a goblin's head, gut an orc or smash a skull. He felt the slight tremor in his hands at those thoughts. It was the same before a battle. Anticipation. There was no other way to put it. He was a warrior, a soldier, a mercenary. He remembered. He was one of the strongest. He remembered the circles of bodies around him when the battles ended, the slight tremor in his limbs when the adrenalin ran out, and the fear in his enemies' eyes.
He remembered the smell of death.
It stank.
He was in the kitchen now. Sniffing around, he couldn't find any specific smell in the air.
But still, he could remember the death around him, the blood on his spear and his face, the strength in his arms. He even remembered the strange feelings that came once battles were over. Pride because he was alive, because he was strong. Tiredness too. But it had been awhile, hadn't it? Or maybe it hadn't. He couldn't remember.
He was a warrior. He was one. There was no mistaking this. He could feel it. He could remember it. Where were his blades? Where was his spear?
An axe…
Something tingled slightly in his head as he quickly made his way to the corridor leading to the other rooms.
An axe…
Suddenly memories assailed him. Goblins. Goblins and orcs were attacking the caravan. Breathing heavily he strengthened his hold on the wooden weapon. He huffed in annoyance and narrowed his eyes while images and sounds whirled around in his head.
He remembered… there had been a little lass. The merchants they were protecting had taken with them a little girl. Dwalin had groaned and grumbled when he had seen that.
Bifur let his back hit the wall of the corridor as memories flooded his brain. He groaned as he grabbed his hair tightly in his fists. The wooden sword fell to the floor and clattered loudly in the silence of the night. His head was pounding painfully and he groaned once more as he slowly slid to the floor. There, in the middle of the night, his memories came back to him too strongly to ignore them any longer.
"Oy, what's their name again?" Dwalin called at him.
Bifur shrugged and threw his pack on his back before grabbing his long spear. He always felt better once he had his spear in his hand.
"How should I know?" Bifur huffed. "You're the one who took the mission's orders." Quickly he walked to the taller warrior who was waiting for him near the small road.
They were going to another men's town. They were supposed to meet with merchants and they were then going to escort them to another town in the southern regions. It would take a while probably to go down south, but the merchants paid well and they would most certainly be able to find another group to escort when they would make their way up north again.
"If I'm asking…" Dwalin grumbled, clearly annoyed.
"If you're asking, it's because you stupidly lost the parchment." Bifur smirked smugly at his companion.
The both of them had known each other all their lives. They had met when they were still lads.
Bifur's mother had died young and his father had just joined her in Mahal's Halls, when he met Dwalin the first time. Bifur had just arrived in Thorin's Halls. Before then, his father had been one of the few dwarves who lived in the outskirts of some men's city. His father was a good artisan and in the south, his talents had been recognized and appreciated by the men. Bifur couldn't remember living among any dwarvish Halls in his youth. But when his father had died, he had been young. So young that he couldn't possibly live on his own.
Thankfully for him, his father had been respected by some honourable men down in the south. When the dwarf had been killed during some raid against their town, those men had agreed between themselves to follow the artisan's dying wishes. Bifur still had family, up north, in a dwarvish settlement in the Blue Mountains. The men had discussed between them while a young, barely twelve year old dwarfling sniffed and cried silently in the background. And they had brought him to the dwarvish settlement in the north.
As he walked next to Dwalin, Bifur remembered how, one crispy morning, the very short and young dwarfling he had been back then, had appeared at the massive gates of Thorin's Halls with two tall men escorting him.
The huge doors were carved but once they stepped inside the halls, they only saw a natural cavity that led to a corridor. They kept going further, passing by dwarves who were starting their day. Most of those seemed to be working on carving the mountain. Bifur didn't have the time to look around too much as he was led to another hall were several dwarves were waiting. Half hiding behind the two men, Bifur observed the people around them while the men explained why they had come. As his gaze was trailing over a few older dwarves, Bifur saw another dwarfling further back. The other boy was half hidden in the shadows and Bifur noiselessly made his way there. He could tell that this other dwarf was older than him, but it didn't matter for the young dwarfling. Soon enough he learned the boy was called Dwalin and the two of them started to play with small wooden swords until a loud lady dwarf arrived, almost running, two young dwarflings following behind her, holding each other's hands. That day, Bifur met his aunt for the first time. He also met Bofur and Bombur who soon became as close as brother to him. Bombur's kindness and Bofur's natural cheekiness helped the quiet Bifur to adapt quickly to life in the Halls. And Dwalin, well…Dwalin became his comrade, his friend and the two of them were soon found practicing swordsmanship together.
Years, decades even, had passed since then. Now they were all adults. Bombur was on his way to become chef of the main kitchen. Bofur was working very hard in the mines. And Bifur himself was now a strong warrior and a mercenary for Thorin's Halls. Even after so many years, Bifur was still really close to Bofur and Bombur. Ever since his aunt had passed a decade or so ago, he and his two brothers had lived together. And his friendship with Dwalin hadn't changed. The two of them were often sent together in mission. They worked well together. They knew each other well.
"I didn't lose it." Dwalin gruffly said, stirring Bifur away from his memories. "And stop behaving like your cousin."
Bifur didn't even bother to reply. He simply snickered and started walking. Dwalin immediately matched his pace. They weren't in too much of a hurry. Still, this lost parchment might prove to be a problem if they couldn't find it, or at least remember the merchant's name. Bree wasn't really a big town, but it would be annoying to have to look for the merchant without his name.
They kept walking in companionable silence until the town's gate appeared in the distance. They were about to discuss how to find the merchant when they realized that someone was waiting at the town's entrance with a cart. Exchanging a glance the two dwarves decided to wait until they could speak with this person. It might very well be the one who had hired them.
Not even fifteen minutes later, Bifur and Dwalin were feeling rather lucky as the man had indeed been waiting for them. Quickly, as per usual, Dwalin gruffly started to review their hiring contract while Bifur waited, leaning lazily against his spear.
The merchant, Robert, was to be escorted with his son to a small town not too far from the western border of Rohan. Bifur didn't say a word but he eyed the lad. He seemed young but not young enough to be considered a kid. The lad even had a short sword at his side. Bifur highly doubted that he would properly know how to use it, but it was better than nothing. They only had to escort those two. It would take some time, but Bifur didn't mind that.
He frowned and turned as he thought that he had heard some noise coming from the cart, but Dwalin's loud voice distracted him.
"We weren't hired to go in this direction." Dwalin was saying angrily.
"Please, understand, no one wanted to escort us there." The merchant was saying, clearly impressed by Dwalin even though the dwarf was barely reaching his shoulder.
"And with reason." Dwalin gruffly said as Bifur made his way in their direction.
"But it's closer." The merchant sounded like he was pleading now.
'What's going on?' Bifur signed quickly and discreetly in Iglishmêk.
'Fake details.' Dwalin briefly replied similarly while still glaring at the merchant.
"Dunland is infested with goblins. There's no good road to go near the mountains. We'll have to cross the wild." Dwalin groaned. "This isn't the same as what you hired us for."
"But to go to Rohan, you have to go near Dunland. We just want to stop in Dunland." The merchant said and his face reflected that he was getting anxious.
"Why do you want to go there so much?" Bifur finally decided to participate in the discussion.
"My…my wife died and we have nothing left here. I can't stay. Our only chance is to join some of my cousins. They are trying to settle in Dunland, near the mountains. There I'll be able to build a home, have some land… Please."
Dwalin and Bifur exchanged a glance. Bifur sighed and rubbed his forehead with his hand.
"Please. I'll pay you more." The merchant finally added.
Without a word Dwalin turned his back and stepped away, signing to Bifur to follow him. Bifur frowned and glanced at the merchant's face. He was pale with dark circles under his eyes. His look when Dwalin turned away was desperate.
"Wait here. We need to discuss." Bifur said before following Dwalin who had stopped twenty meters away.
When the two warriors faced each other, Bifur knew immediately that Dwalin was hesitating.
"We'll have to cross the wild." The tattooed dwarf immediately said. "It's not a mission for two dwarves. We should be at least three."
"We won't have to leave the road until late in the journey." Bifur replied evenly. "We can follow the Green Way and the North-South Road as we had planned." He tilted his head, thinking. "Do we call for reinforcement?" Bifur asked unconvinced, one look at the merchant was enough to tell the man wouldn't have enough to pay for three of them as an escort to Dunland.
"We should be at least three." Dwalin sighed and rubbed his eyes in annoyance.
Bifur glanced at his friend. Wordlessly they seemed to agree and without adding anything they both walked back to the merchant.
"We'll take you to Dunland." Dwalin said gruffly, though he thought it was a bad idea.
"Thank y…" The merchant started to say but Dwalin cut in.
"The amount will be the same as previously stated. We leave now."
The merchant nodded and, almost frantically, finished to prepare his cart while his son helped him.
Bifur and Dwalin waited patiently on the side.
"It's a bad idea." Dwalin muttered.
"Aye." Bifur agreed.
"We sure we want to do that?" Dwalin grunted.
"Aye."
Dwalin huffed but didn't say another word.
Soon after, they departed. It wasn't until much later that evening, when they finally stopped to prepare their camp, that they started to really doubt this mission would end well. They were just starting to gather wood for a fire when they heard a giggle. A very girly giggle. The two dwarves exchanged yet another glance and both frowned. Following the sound they stepped closer to the cart. Robert's son was currently trying to shush something that was hidden under the large blanket that covered the merchant's belongings.
When the giggle came once again, Bifur groaned and Dwalin immediately grabbed the blanket and shoved it aside, revealing a little girl who had been hidden during the whole day.
"You brought a kid and didn't tell us?" Dwalin bellowed angrily.
Immediately the merchant ran to them. The girl hiccupped and started to cry.
A girl. A little girl on such a trip. Bifur couldn't believe it. It was madness. Trying to settle in Dunland was stupid, but going there with a little child was even worse. The kid wouldn't survive in the harsh environment Dunland had become.
"It's my daughter." The merchant started to explain.
"That's not the point." Dwalin growled. "We had a contract for an escort of two people. Now it's two plus a child."
And the child was a girl. Bifur frowned. Humans were really careless with their children and their women.
"I can pay…" The merchant was starting to say when Dwalin angrily retorted.
"That's not the point. Are there any more surprises? Tell us now!"
"No, no." The merchant quickly shook his head.
After groaning loudly, Dwalin stepped away angrily. Bifur looked at the merchant and his family. Slowly he shook his head.
"You should have told us." He simply said before going after Dwalin.
That evening and the following days, the dwarves kept to themselves. They were hired to escort, so they escorted the merchant. The road wasn't really good, but at least they didn't encounter any trouble on their way. After several days, they crossed a vast plain where some ancient ruins could still be spotted not too far from the road. Dwalin and Bifur didn't waste any time. Neither of them felt comfortable with this mission.
Bifur frowned every time he would see or hear the little girl. He didn't like the thought that the merchant would endanger his family in such a way. Girls had to be protected. This one was completely defenceless. If she had been older, Bifur would have at least showed her a few defensive stances, and maybe he would have given her a dagger even. He didn't think that women were weak, after growing up with his aunt no one could think that. But he thought, like many dwarves, that women were precious and were to be protected. Protection could mean many things, but to Bifur it meant that women should know how to defend themselves.
He sighed.
He was a warrior. What did he know about these things? For him everyone should be able to defend himself. Sometimes he wondered if he would be able to do anything if he couldn't be a warrior. Well, he knew a bit about what his father had been doing but not much. He wasn't an artisan at heart. He was a warrior. Always had been. He wouldn't be able to be happy if he were to live a life similar to his father's.
He liked the warrior's lifestyle, the thrill of danger, the adrenaline rushing in his blood. He even liked the constant training when there was no mission. Sparing, and always aiming to become better, faster, stronger. That was his life. That was what he did best.
He knew he was a good warrior, he probably was among the best in the Halls. He wasn't being pretentious. It was just how it was. Dwalin was taller than most and used twin axes. He was strong, deadly and had a good sense of battle. He had great instincts. But Bifur had something else. When he fought, Bifur was free. There was something in him that was never free, unless he was fighting. When the rush of the battle started, it would break the dam that maintained him otherwise prisoner. Only when he was fighting could he be truly himself.
The odd thing was that Bifur wasn't otherwise an angry or aggressive person. No. Actually he was a rather calm dwarf and a life spent growing up with his brothers, Bofur and Bombur, had made him enjoy cheekiness and jokes from time to time, though not to the same extent as Bofur. Bifur was a quiet dwarf, and he loved a good laugh, but when it was time to fight, it was as if he became another dwarf altogether.
As he kept an eye on the hills ahead, he suddenly heard a noise. Without hesitation he grabbed his spear more firmly and slowly made his way in the direction the noise had come from. Dwalin quirked an eyebrow at him, but Bifur silenced him with one word in Iglishmêk.
'Noise.'
The afternoon had been exactly like the previous ones. Nothing had happened during their journey so far. They had left the road to cross the wild, but until then, nothing even remotely alarming had happened. They were actually quite close to the mountains, and that meant close to their goal. Once they would reach a small river, a few miles away from the mountains, they should be in sight of a human settlement. They were so close, yet clearly their luck had run out. As Bifur swiftly arrived at the other side of the hill and saw where the noise had come from, he immediately realized that their afternoon wouldn't be quite as peaceful as the previous ones had been.
Without any hesitation he grabbed one of his small throwing axes and with one swift move with his left arm, he threw the light weapon directly into the chest of one very ugly goblin. Unfortunately the second one just had the time to blow his horn before his head was cut off from his shoulders by Bifur's long spear's blade.
"Scouts!" Bifur shouted for Dwalin before grabbing his throwing axe and walking back to the cart and the merchant.
"Scouts? What scouts?" Robert said, clearly alarmed.
Bifur ignored him and walked to Dwalin, who was already grabbing the girl and throwing her under the blankets in the cart.
"How many?" Dwalin gruffly asked.
"Two. The second one blew his horn before I got him."
"You're getting old. Can't take care of two goblins quickly anymore?" Dwalin gruffly said as he grabbed one axe in each hand.
"Nah, I was getting bored and wanted some action." Bifur replied naturally.
This sort of banter was rather usual between the two of them. It was their own, weird, way of making sure they were both ready for what was to come. They knew each other well, this was nothing new for them. At this moment, they could only hope that the goblins wouldn't be too numerous for them to handle. Both Dwalin and Bifur were pretty certain that they were both able to survive another battle. The problem always came from the people they were there to protect. More often than not, one of them would make a mistake that would cause his death or worse, one of the dwarves'. Hopefully this wouldn't happen that day.
"You stay under there and don't you dare make a noise!" Dwalin growled in the direction of the cart.
"You know how to use this?" Bifur asked the lad, looking at the sword hanging on his belt.
During the whole journey, the lad hadn't even unsheathed the blade once, which led Bifur to believe he didn't really know what to do with it. Even when he didn't need to use his blades, Bifur would still sharpen or clean them every day. It was what any true warrior would do.
"Erm…" The boy, Tom, looked completely lost.
"Well, you'll have to learn fast." Bifur gruffly added before turning to face the merchant. "Do you have any weapon?"
Bifur barely managed not too laugh when he saw the merchant take out a simple metallic club. His laugh wouldn't have helped in any way. His attention was caught by a shriek and he immediately turned his back to the cart. The goblins were coming.
"Stay at the back of the cart and protect it!" Dwalin ordered the merchant and his son. "I'll protect the front and the horse." He added, more for Bifur than for the two humans.
Bifur didn't reply. His mind was now focused on the battle to come.
Silently, he waited.
Then the usual thrill he was expecting started to slowly grow in his chest. He grinned as his eyes caught sight of a goblin on top of the hill. Instead of tensing, his muscles relaxed. He was ready. He wanted it. His hold on his long spear was firm. A light tingle cursed through his fingers and up his arms, making his grin wider.
He was ready.
The first goblin was swiftly killed by Dwalin who didn't even seem to truly bother thinking about it. Behind it, a dozen or so of the creatures were already running at them in a messy assault. Without hesitation, Bifur jumped right in the middle of the goblins rank and started to swipe his spear right and left masterfully, killing in a few moves several goblins. More seemed to pour down on them, coming from behind the hills. Dwalin had no trouble holding his own, near the cart with Robert and Tom nearby. Meanwhile, Bifur was wrecking havoc in the goblins' ranks. Even though he seemed to be in a dangerous situation, Bifur knew he didn't risk much at the time. He was used to fight in such a way. He was a master when it came to use a battle spear. His weapon had a long and very sharp blade at its top. Bifur had also asked the blacksmith to add a heavy metallic part at the bottom. This way he could use both end to hit his enemies.
With another swift move, Bifur decapitated one goblin, hit another in the stomach, and finally gutted a third one. He was always moving, always turning or sidestepping. His enemies didn't know where to aim or hit. Bifur felt great. Little by little he broke free of the invisible restraints that hindered his moves. He was faster still. His attacks became even more unpredictable. He was free, but controlled all his moves perfectly.
The goblins surrounding him were even starting to step back. They were starting to understand that this particular dwarf would be tough to kill.
Then a different shriek pierced through the battle haze and caught Bifur's attention. Immediately his gaze narrowed on the cart.
Dwalin was still at his position, fighting near the cart, defending the front and the horse. But the merchant and his son, who were supposed to defend the back, had moved away. They had let the goblins push them away from the spot they were supposed to keep. That wasn't surprising considering that neither was a warrior. Dwalin would hold his place until he died or could safely go elsewhere. The same went for Bifur. But the merchant and his son weren't trained warriors. In a second, Bifur saw that one goblin was already starting to climb the cart after having removed the blanket hiding the girl.
In another second, Bifur took the decision to step back and go there. The girl needed protection and if the goblins went on the cart, they would have an advantage on Dwalin. Bifur couldn't let the girl be killed, and certainly wouldn't let Dwalin be stabbed in the back by a stupid goblin.
Leaving his position was dangerous because it meant piercing through the goblins rank again, and that would leave him vulnerable for a moment. There was no other way though, so Bifur started to act. With one swift sweep, he cut one goblin's arm and forced two of them to jump back. With one quick attack he pierced another creature in the chest before tugging violently back and using the momentum to hit a goblin behind him in the face. He was just about to gut a goblin when another piercing shriek distracted him.
The goblin was now on the cart and was slowly making his way towards the little girl.
Bifur swore and stepped in their direction, not paying attention to the goblins surrounding him for a second.
The moment he concentrated again, a goblin appeared out of nowhere in front of him.
Then he felt something odd. It started by a shock, a rather violent one, in his head. He felt it in all his bones and staggered backwards. He swayed on his feet but managed to keep standing. The next thing he was aware of was the blood gushing on his head, blinding his left eye. Oddly enough he didn't feel any pain. No. But a sudden rush of adrenaline pumped in his veins. His whole body was tingling, energized to a point he had never felt before.
Bifur looked at the goblin who was smirking. Weirdly enough, the smirk disappeared slowly and the goblin started to look afraid. Really afraid. As he took a step, Bifur felt all the restraints he had break at once. He saw red. Almost literally. His vision, significantly diminished as he could only used his right eye, narrowed on the goblin in front of him. Bifur felt an anger he had never felt before invade his chest and expand quickly. He let out his rage in a terrible cry before he charged. For the first time in his life, Bifur was free of all restraints, but he wasn't sure he was in control anymore.
For an indiscernible amount of time, every single fibre of Bifur's body was completely focused on the battle, on the blood he drew from the goblin, on the death he distributed around. He wasn't a dwarf anymore. He wasn't a warrior. He was death. His only purpose was to kill. His only goal was to gut, decapitate, slice and stab every ugly creature he could see. He was the blade of his spear. He lived for the fight.
When his last enemy fell, Bifur looked around, searching for another prey to kill. As he found none, he felt suddenly completely numb.
All the adrenaline that had rushed in his veins seemed to disappear in a second. All the purpose that was driving him vanished. There was no more fight. Bifur had nothing left to do. What was he now?
He remained motionless, standing at the back of the cart.
Around him he could hear voices. He felt movements.
Then he heard exclamations and a shout.
But still he remained motionless. He still felt numb. He still didn't have any purpose. What was he without the fight? Nothing.
Then a face he seemed to know appeared in front of his right eye.
The dwarf was clearly horrified and spoke quickly, but Bifur didn't quite catch what he had said.
Bifur's ears were ringing. He felt nauseous too. Something wasn't right, but he couldn't seem to find out what the problem was. Somehow he couldn't seem to focus much right then. He tried to shake his head, in order to clear his thoughts, but it felt wrong. Something was wrong. Had his head always been so heavy? Why did he keep bleeding?
The other dwarf was still in front of him, speaking loudly, but Bifur had difficulties concentrating. He battled against himself and managed to finally focus on the man's words.
"Bifur? Bifur can you move?" Dwalin's voice sounded different, horribly worried.
Bifur had to concentrate hard to make out any sense in what Dwalin was saying. He didn't know what was going on, but suddenly it took a lot of effort to simply distinguish words in the series of sounds pronounced by Dwalin.
"…r'sup men." Bifur mumbled, trying to reassure Dwalin that he was alright.
His mouth felt dry suddenly and articulating these words was already an achievement. It had taken him more strength than a good fight would have. Bifur felt a bit lost. He didn't understand why his mind was suddenly so troubled, why thinking seemed to have become so hard.
He saw Dwalin's face pale a bit. This wasn't a good sign. Dwalin was a warrior and he shouldn't have this look on his face unless he was worried.
"What did he just say?" The merchant asked Dwalin, though Bifur didn't understand any of it at the time.
"Move back." Dwalin barked at the man and his son, before he turned to face his old friend again. "Bifur, you are speaking in Khuzdul right now." He told his friend in a lower voice. "We need to take this axe out of your head." He mumbled for himself.
Bifur shuddered for a second, not having truly paid any attention to what Dwalin had just said. He was feeling terrible but he somehow remembered that he had a mission to accomplish. Shuddering he strengthened his grip on his spear and started to walk in the direction the cart had been going before the ambush.
He had a mission to finish.
He had a mission.
Behind him, Dwalin was feeling more scared than he ever had. The warrior had no idea what to do. By all accounts, his friend should be dead. Yet, the other dwarf was currently walking, slowly but walking any way. In a few long strides, Dwalin arrived next to his friend and asked him once more to stop, they had to take care of this injury now.
"Mission." Bifur grunted in Khuzdul.
Dwalin stopped dead in his track.
He had no idea what he should do right then, but he knew perfectly how stubborn a healthy Bifur could be. He had no doubts that his friend wouldn't change his mind. Still he had to try. Quickly, Dwalin stepped in front of Bifur and extended his arm, trying to grip the axe. Instantly Bifur jumped back in a defensive stance, his spear firmly held, his one good open eye narrowing on Dwalin.
Dwalin immediately saw the potential danger. He knew Bifur well. He had no doubt that if he made the wrong move right then, Bifur would see him as a threat and attack him. Slowly, Dwalin raised his open hands, showing his friend he wasn't an enemy. Bifur grunted and started walking once more.
Dwalin didn't have any other choice by to follow him. Quickly he turned to face the merchant and he barked orders.
"Put back the blanket on top of the child. We keep going. Now."
"Are you mad?" The merchant exclaimed. "We've just been…"
He couldn't finish because in a second Dwalin had stepped towards him and grabbed his collar. Forcing the merchant to bend down to be face to face with him, Dwalin growled in the man's surprised and worried face.
"We keep going now. Or we leave you behind. Your choice."
A quick nod was all Dwalin needed to let the merchant go. Bifur was still staggering slowly away and Dwalin kept an eye on him, feeling horribly anxious, almost afraid. It didn't take long for the merchant's son to convince the horse to leave the bloody battlefield behind. Soon enough, they were all behind Bifur who little by little managed to walk faster.
No one exchanged a word for the rest of the day.
That night, Dwalin tried once more to convince Bifur to remove the axe that protruded from his forehead. The warrior kept batting his friend's hands away, as if it were mere flies. He groaned and grunted in Khuzdul until Dwalin gave up. That night, Bifur didn't really sleep. He dozed off a bit, but he kept jolting and jerking at every noise he heard. In his mind, everything had turned messy. His thoughts were hidden in a foggy whirlpool, or so it felt. Pain was slowly throbbing from his head but thankfully the blood had stopped seeping from the wound. Bifur felt exhausted, but at the same time it seemed that shots of adrenalines were still coursing through his veins, keeping him awake and on edge.
Dwalin didn't sleep either. His worried eyes didn't leave his friend's for a second. Dwalin was afraid that at any moment, Bifur would fall dead to the ground. He could only hope that his friend would survive the return journey and that Oin and Dís would be able to heal him.
The following day, in the afternoon, they arrived in a small settlement.
The merchant was warmly welcomed and soon enough, Dwalin and Bifur were on their way back. Dwalin hadn't wanted to stay even a night there for several reasons. The fact that the men couldn't help but stare at Bifur, had been but one of them. Maybe it was because of the stares, or maybe for some other reasons, Bifur was nervous. Dwalin could see it. When Bifur started to strengthened his grip on his spear, Dwalin immediately decided to leave the men's settlement. It wouldn't do to let his friend go on a rampage there.
The journey back was exhausting and terrible for both friends.
Dwalin couldn't get more than two words out of his friend, no matter what he tried, nothing seemed to get Bifur out his dazed state. The fact that the words were all in Khuzdul wasn't really a good sign either. Bifur was in a weird state. Sometimes he felt almost numb, as if he was floating in some faraway cloud. Some other times he would feel this same thrill that he usually felt before a battle. The beast was still free, looking for a fight, waiting for blood to be spilt. But there was no prey to attack, so it put Bifur on edge.
Dwalin didn't know what to do or think.
Seeing his old friend in such a state unnerved him greatly. It scared him even.
But the worse was still to come.
Once they arrived back in Thorin's Halls, things turned rather ugly.
Dwalin managed to lead Bifur to the healing wards. As he walked past a pale, wide eyed Gloin, he quickly signed in Iglishmêk, asking the guard to look for Bofur and Bombur and to find Dís. Bifur was completely numb and followed Dwalin without question. They walked in the wards, slowly, where Oin met them in a stunned silence.
"Come sit here Bifur." Oin managed to say, though his shock was obvious.
Wordlessly, Bifur staggered to sit on the bed Oin had pointed at him. Shortly after, Dís arrived. Thankfully, Bifur wasn't paying attention, or he would certainly have grown restless at Dís' reaction. The princess' eyes grew wide and she paled, one hand slowly going up in front of her open mouth. It was obvious to all that she was horrified by the sight of the axe in Bifur's head.
Shortly after, three more dwarves burst in the healing wards.
"Bifur!" Bofur cried out as he saw his cousin on the bed.
The miner stopped abruptly, his face turning paler than ever at the sight before him. A strangled gasp was all Bombur could let out. His hands started to shake and Dís had to help the round dwarf to a chair. Bofur was completely frozen on the spot.
"Bifur?" He squeaked, his voice similar to that of a scared child.
"Calm down everyone." Oin managed to say in a soft tone, though his face betrayed the fear he felt. "We need to stay calm, right Bifur?"
Slowly, the healer walked to his patient. Every dwarf in the room was silent and frozen as they observed the scene unfolding under their gaze.
As soon as Oin stepped closer, Bifur grew restless. Once Oin made to take a closer look, all hell broke loose. Bifur violently pushed Oin back and jumped back to his feet, shouting angrily in Khuzdul.
"Stop him!" Oin ordered. "He's going to injure himself! Hold him down!"
In the end Bofur, Dwalin and Gloin had to physically restrain Bifur. The injured dwarf became violent whenever the healer approached his head and the axe protruding from it. In the back of the room, Bombur was sniffing, rubbing tears away from the corner of his eyes while Dís was busy preparing ointments to put on Bifur's injury.
"Bifur, please, calm down." Bofur pleaded his voice heavy with emotion while he struggled to maintain his hold on Bifur.
In the end, it was decided that Bifur being still alive, they would only cut the axe as much as possible, but they would leave the embedded piece in place.
Just as he had surprisingly turned violent, Bifur became suddenly completely catatonic. He lay unresponsive in his bed, and no one knew what was going on in his head.
"We should carry him to his room. He'll probably feel better there." Oin grumbled with a frown.
"Don't you need to keep watch on him?" Bofur weakly asked.
"There's nothing else I can do for him." Oin shook his head forlornly. "We may as well make sure he's comfortable."
Silently, he gestured for Dwalin and Gloin to grab a stretcher. Carefully, with Dís, Bofur, and Oin's help, the two warrior placed Bifur on the stretcher and carried him home.
Once all the other dwarves had left, Bombur and Bofur sat in silence by Bifur's bed. Both dwarves had been shocked by the sight of their cousin, their brother, with an axe in his forehead. Bofur had barely managed to gather his strength when he was asked to help restrain Bifur.
Now, night had fallen and Bifur was asleep thanks to drugs that Oin had forced him to drink.
Bofur looked at his cousin, his brother, and was suddenly brought back to the moment when their mother had died. Tears gathered in his eyes and Bofur sniffed before grabbing Bifur's arm and letting his head fall down on the mattress. Bombur wasn't saying anything. Bofur knew that his brother would never judge his weakness. As he wept, Bofur prayed, begged Mahal to let his cousin live. Oin had said that it was possible Bifur had survived all this time but would suddenly crash down dead. Bofur feared such an outcome. He knew Bifur's profession was a dangerous one, being a miner wasn't exactly safe either, but this didn't mean he wasn't suffering when he saw the state his cousin was in.
As Bofur softly wept, Bombur placed a hand on his older brother's shoulder. His kind heart was throbbing with pain. Bifur was the oldest among them. He was, had become, their oldest brother. Seeing their strong brother lying deadly pale in this bed was terrifying him. He felt a large lump forming in his throat and started to weep too.
"What are we going to do?" Bofur softly murmured.
Bombur shook his head, his eyes shining with unshed tears. He had no idea what to answer.
All night long, both brothers stayed there, not exchanging any other word, silently crying and praying for their cousin's health.
In the morning, Oin didn't make any comment about the red, puffy eyes both brothers adorned. The healer made sure that there was no infection in the wound, he feared that the dirty blade would poison Bifur's blood.
Days passed and Bifur was still completely unresponsive.
On the fourth night, Bofur and Bombur were awoken brutally by their cousin's shouts. They rushed in the room to find Bifur had thrown a chair against the wall and was using what had been the chair's legs as makeshift weapons. He was fighting invisible enemies wildly, shouting in Khuzdul.
"Bifur!" Bofur exclaimed, eyes wide with shock and concern.
"Bifur, what's going on?" Bombur said at the same time.
"Khayamu!" Bifur shouted before wildly stabbing some invisible enemy.
Bofur and Bombur remained dumbfounded for a minute before Bifur's wild gesture sent a candle in Bombur's direction. Bofur dived under Bifur's wooden weapon and tried to stop him, only to be hit in the face.
"Bifur calm down!" Bofur shouted.
"You shouldn't shout!" Bombur exclaimed.
"What the bloody hell do you know?" Bofur spat angrily while jumping back to avoid Bifur's next attack.
"Khayamu!" The injured dwarf repeated.
"Bifur." Bombur managed to speak normally. "Bifur here, it's me Bombur. I need you."
"Bombur?"
Bofur held his breath as Bifur slowed down and looked wildly around.
"Bombur! Bombur!" He shouted, looking for his youngest brother, his opened eyes not seeing the dwarf in front of him.
"I'm here. Bofur is here too. We're alone. Just the three of us." Bombur softly said, trying his best to remain calm.
"It's just us, just the three of us." Bofur managed to speak in a low, calm tone. "Come on brother, come back to us."
"Bombur? Bofur?"
"Aye, it's us." Bofur's voice was once more heavy with emotion. "It's just the three of us."
Bifur mumbled and let his arm fall at his sides. Slowly, Bombur and Bofur approached him. Cautiously, Bofur embraced Bifur and let out a relieved sigh when the older dwarf let him. When he felt Bifur place a hand on his shoulder, Bofur couldn't help but let out a chocked sob. Gingerly Bombur embraced them both as Bofur held tightly on his older brother. Bifur seemed to be absent. His body was here, but his mind was far away. It broke Bofur and Bombur's hearts.
It took Bofur and Bombur a long time to calm Bifur down completely. Bifur kept jumping to his feet randomly, jolting without apparent reason. None of them managed to go back to sleep. In the morning, Bofur was even sporting a blackening bruise on his temple.
It was the first of many nights that would be spent in much a similar way.
Soon enough, Bombur and Bofur realized that mentioning the axe to Bifur unsettled him. It seemed that the older dwarf didn't understand what they were talking about, or maybe it sent him back there, in the middle of the attacking goblins. In any case, it made him nervous so Bofur and Bombur avoided mentioning the weapon that wobbled on his forehead.
But other problems soon arose.
One of them being money…
Bofur had to spend long hours with Bifur. The older dwarf just couldn't be left alone, and Bofur didn't wish to abandon his cousin in their house. Bombur's job was safer and brought them a bit more money than Bofur's, and Bofur was able to manage Bifur more easily, so Bombur kept working while Bofur stayed home with Bifur.
But soon enough they started to struggle.
Bifur was simply unable to realize what was happening on his own. He was oscillating between an unresponsive state and an aggressive one. Well, he wasn't aggressive per se, but he would sometimes be lost in his memories and would start to fight against ghosts that haunted his mind.
One night, Bifur awoke in a startle. He lay in his bed, waiting for the shriek to resonate in his head, but nothing came. Mind numb he sat and then stood, stumbling to the door. When he slowly opened it, he realized that there was a light coming from the kitchen. He knew instinctively that it was the middle of the night. Bifur wasn't completely brainless, but concentrating on others was very difficult. It had become almost painful to listen to others, to try and make out what they were saying. But that night, oddly enough, he didn't have too much trouble to make out two voices discussing softly in the kitchen.
"How's he doing?" Asked a man that Bifur couldn't seem to recognize right then.
He didn't even try. It was too painful. He could barely understand the words that were spoken. He didn't have any difficulty to recognize his brother though.
"No changes, well, not much." Bofur sighed in a defeated tone.
Bifur remained in the shadows, hidden in his room, observing everything easily as the door was ajar. Bofur was hunched over the table, his head held between his hands. The second dwarf appeared behind him and simply placed a hand on Bofur's shoulder.
"He's alive." The dwarf with a complicated hairdo said.
"Aye." Bofur nodded with a sniff. "Thank Mahal, he's alive."
Bifur felt sad, though he didn't really know why he would feel this way. Perhaps it was the simple fact of seeing his brother so exhausted and sad. Bifur shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, struggling to keep his focus on the discussion as he could feel a growing numbness overcome his mind. The unknown dwarf spoke, helping Bifur unknowingly as the injured dwarf managed to focus on the voice, pushing away the numbness for awhile.
"How are you managing?"
The question was asked on an even tone. There was no judgement there. Somehow, Bifur knew this dwarf. He had seen him before, quite often actually. A voice in his mind whispered that he was one of Bofur's closest friends. Bifur had to shake his head once more to go back to the discussion.
"Not good. I couldn't go to the mine at all in the last weeks. Bombur works extra hours, but there so much one dwarf can do." Bofur replied tiredly.
The second dwarf hummed and the next sound Bifur heard was a soft thud before Bofur reacted.
"What's this?" He whispered looking at the second dwarf.
"Take it. You need it more than us." The dwarf said in a shrug.
"I can't!" Bofur whispered with a frown. "Where did you get it anyway?" He eyed the second dwarf suspiciously.
"Does it matter?"
"Nori…" Bofur sighed.
Feeling slightly dizzy, Bifur staggered slowly back to his bed.
The following morning, the crippled warrior was sitting in his room, looking absentmindedly at the remnants of yet another chair he had broken. As he was focussing on a piece of wood, his mind suddenly was overcome by a memory. A very old memory. In an instant, Bifur was back to being a little dwarfling, observing his father working. His father had been an excellent artisan. When Bifur had once asked him to teach him, instead of giving him a piece of metal to carve, his father had given him a piece of wood.
"Bifur?" Bofur asked softly. "Bifur, I need to go to the mine. I can't stay with you today. Will you manage? Will you stay here?"
Bifur was barely aware that Bofur was talking to him. Absentmindedly, he nodded. But as Bofur left their home, Bifur suddenly stood and went to the kitchen. He mechanically grabbed one of his sharp knives and took one of their simple metallic plates out of its cupboard.
Silently, Bifur sat.
Wordlessly he started to focus on the plate, carving dwarvish design all around its edge and then in the middle. Once it was done, he stood and grabbed a second one. Then a third. Then he finally decided to grab the whole pile.
As he focused on the carvings, his nerves slowly started to settle. The thirst for blood that had been awoken weeks ago in a battle against goblins was slowly pushed back in its restraints. The warrior slowly settled. The dwarf slowly started to come back to life. He wasn't just a warrior. He was a dwarf, a brother, a friend. He was Bifur. He could find a purpose once the mission was completed, once the battle was over.
That night, when Bofur and Bombur came back, they found Bifur still sitting at the table, carving a pot. All their plates were now carved with dwarvish designs.
"What in Mahal's name…" Bombur softly said as Bofur let out a low whistle.
"Didn't know you had it in you, Bifur." Bofur murmured as he looked at one of the plates.
"This is good." Bombur was clearly impressed as Bofur nodded.
The two brothers turned to look at Bifur. The dwarf let out a sigh and sat back, looking at his work.
"Caku men rasp?" Bifur looked at the two younger dwarves, asking them how they were.
Bofur opened his mouth, completely shocked. In the past weeks, Bifur had never spoken to them. The only words directed at them were said during his panic attacks and didn't seem very consciously pronounced. It was the first time since he came back that Bifur was actually talking to them.
Hope burst into Bofur's chest as he broadly smiled.
"Gamut-ai menu." Bofur chocked out before laughing. "I'm good, Bifur. I'm really, really good right now. Everything will soon be really good."
Bombur smiled too and immediately busied himself in the kitchen, preparing Bifur's favourite food. At the table, Bofur was telling Bifur what he had done that day, embellishing the events as he always used to do before.
Closing his eyes, Bombur could almost believe that everything was back to normal. As they ate that night, the two younger dwarves complimented Bifur again on his craft.
A few weeks later, they sold some of the carved plates.
Soon, the carved plates started to actually sell really well and Bifur was busy carving all day long.
But more than his new found aptitudes, what surprised and rejoiced everyone was that Bifur seemed to get a bit better. It was as if working on those plates helped him to settle back in his life in Thorin's Halls. Everyone was glad.
Everyone except Bifur.
The more his mind came back to him, the more he became aware of what had happened. Bifur wasn't stupid. He knew he wasn't functioning properly anymore. He knew he wasn't able to pronounce any words other than in Khuzdul. It wasn't something he did on purpose either. He knew he couldn't be a warrior anymore. Who would hire a dwarf who awoke every night screaming, sometimes even violently fighting against enemies that just weren't there?
The first time Bifur tried to train once again, he almost immediately lost his mind completely. All the restraint broke at once and Dwalin struggled terribly to fight him off. If they hadn't been using wooden swords, it was highly possible that Dwalin would have been gravely injured. After that spar it took Bifur a week of peacefully focussing on his plates, before he could settle once more.
Bifur wasn't glad.
He felt crippled.
Diminished.
He wasn't a warrior anymore.
What was he now?
A barely functioning dwarf.
Mahal had decided of his fate, there was nothing to do anymore. He only had to accept it. Bifur worked as an artisan now. The warrior was gone, coming back to life a few more times in spars against Dwalin. The artisan kept suffering from panic attacks and nightmares. And Bifur accepted it.
"Bifur!" A voice called him. "Bifur, it's alright. It's alright Bifur, no one's attacking us. It's just us." Bifur knew this voice. "Come back to us, Bifur."
Slowly, Bifur blinked.
He realized that he was sitting on the floor near Bofur's bedroom's door. His cousin was crouching in front of him, leaving a short distance between them for safety. Bofur knew better than to come too close and risk becoming Bifur's target. Bombur was standing a bit further away, he was holding a candle.
Bifur took a shuddering breath and grunted. He nodded to let his cousins know he was out of his memories.
Slowly standing up, Bifur realized that he was shivering.
"Are you cold?" Bofur asked worriedly, his usual cheekiness gone from his face.
"I can prepare something to eat, to warm you up." Bombur immediately added.
His two brothers were often behaving this way when he had an episode. Thankfully this time, he hadn't started to destroy anything in the house.
Bifur's skin tingled. He knew very well what was going on. He wanted to get free. He hadn't spared with Dwalin in a long time. He hadn't spared with anyone in a long time. Every time he had tried, he hadn't been able to restrain himself for more than a few minutes. He was on edge more often than not. Concentrating on the carvings wasn't helping so much anymore. Years had passed since the accident and Bifur didn't believe he would be able to get any better than he was now. He knew who he was. He still couldn't speak common, but he had stopped trying. His friends and family understood mostly what he wanted to say, though sometimes they had trouble translating some of the oldest words that came through his mouth.
Bifur followed Bombur and Bofur to the kitchen. He was a completely broken dwarf. He couldn't even speak normal Khuzdul. No. He was speaking one of the oldest forms and no one knew the reason why. Bifur was in a forlorn mood as he sat near Bofur.
He couldn't be free anymore.
He was a broken dwarf.
He was a warrior no more.
The second part will be updated in a few days at second part will be more closely related to my fanfiction 'To become a dwarf' and will contain spoilers of said fanfiction. I would recommend reading 'To become a dwarf' before reading the second part of this companion piece, but well, everyone is free to do what they want. :)
I hope you enjoyed this. Let me know what you think.