Bifur
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Bifur was running.
Running fast, faster than he ever had, cousin Bofur at his heels. Shrill piercing screams drifted rent the still mountain air before everything seemed abruptly muted. Faster, faster, faster his mind panted as he ran, naught but a shovel clutched in his work-weathered hands. Bifur would swear that he could slowly feel his heart drifting away like a balloon with a cut string.
Bofur was breathing heavily behind him, his pickaxe fisted tightly in his hands. Dimly a thought flitted across the forefront of Bifur's mind. What were two dwarves, not skilled in battle, going to do against whatever had attacked their entire village?
But it didn't matter, not really. His family was down there; His mother, brothers, sisters, aunts and uncles as well as his cousins. The young and the old, the strong and the weak. Each of them had a precious place in Bifur's heart and he wondered what had become of his wife and newborn child.
Bifur ran faster.
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The village was in disarray.
Nothing moved. Carrion birds had yet to descend. Everything was still, peaceful.
The first body they cousins stumbled over was old Garth, a miner with one eye. Well, now he had no eyes for a goodly length of spear had pierced the socket and been driven out through the back of his skull. His corpse was twisted over a low stone fence just outside the village, mouth still opened wide, mid-scream.
The next was Dilna. She had been running when an axe was thrown leaving a horrible gaping maw of wound that ran the length of her back. She was face down in the dirt, limbs spread-eagled. She had been six. Her mother was several metres behind, her head wrenched so severely that she looked up at the sky, even as her front pressed into the ground. Her eyes, so startling blue, were glazed and stared in abstract terror.
After that there were more bodies, and Bifur threaded his way amongst the corpses carefully, trying not to disturb the dead. His heart was pounding so fast that he thought it might run away and leave him behind. Bofur moved to a burned shrub and upheaved the contents of his stomach. He was pale with a pale sheen when he returned to Bifur's side.
They reached the very centre of the town where there was a stone statue of a dwarven lord. Thus far they had been in control of themselves mostly, trying to shut out emotions until everything was over and done with.
But then Bifur saw her and his body seized.
She was sitting with her back against the leg of the statue, her arms cradling a small bundle. Her head was lowered so that her hair shrouded her face.
Bifur's steps were jerky and unsteady as he walked towards her, like he might fall at any moment. He heard Bofur moan in despair from behind him. He reached out to stroke the hair away from the still figure's face, his hands shaking uncontrollably. Her eyes had been gauged out as if by claws and a crimson bloodstain bloomed across the pale green of her dress.
His wife.
Bifur bit back a strangled sob and undid the wrappings from about his small child. His son. Tears flowed freely, tracking into one another and falling from the tip of his nose. Brusquely he brushed them away.
The babe had something forced into its mouth, as though to stop its crying. Bifur went to draw it out, but froze when he realised that it was actually the handle of one of his wife's kitchen knives, which he had lovingly carved away at for many hours.
Bifur dropped to his knees and drew the dead babe into own arms, cradling him softly and rocking the small body with the due amount of gentleness. The tip of the knife scratched his arm through the blankets and drew forth a small rivulet of blood but he cared not. He pressed his forehead against his wife's and tenderly kissed her blood stained nose as broken sobs racked his body. He did the same to the still figure that he clutched desperately in his arms, wishing beyond all hope and miracles that they could come back to him.
His son hadn't even been blessed with a name yet.
Bifur did not want to go on like this, not alone, not so tortuously alone. If you have to go, then let me come with you, he begged silently.
"Bombur!" he heard his cousin cry from behind him and Bifur's eyes flicked up to see Bofur kneeling over the prostrate, rotund form of his red-haired brother. Even as he watched, Bombur blinked his eyes slowly and half-raised a hand to his forehead. Bofur gave a peculiar shriek of joy in wrapped his arms around his brother in a rub-crushing hug, half-crying and half-laughing as he pressed his face into Bombur's shoulder.
Bifur knew that he too should be looking for survivors, even if he wished to remain where he was for the next two centuries. So numbly he returned his son to his wife's arms and kissed them both once more on the forehead.
"Please wait for me," he murmured softly in his wife's un-hearing ear before he rose to his feet shakily. He surveyed the area around him with a closed field of vision, not wishing to see that which he had to eventually.
He had taken two steps to the left, away from his brothers, when a cackling bout of laughter echoed through the empty buildings. Bifur whipped his head around so fast that the world blurred.
Four orcs stalked into the village, weapons bared and foul looks on their foul faces. Bifur felt his blood begin to boil at the sight of them. A rear-guard.
By some diving miracle the orcs hadn't seen Bifur yet and stalked towards his cousins without a care in the world. The brother's scrambled for weapons but Bifur didn't bother. He just ran hard and fast towards the foul creatures that had taken his family away from him.
The first cried out and stumble from a blow to the kidney region and the next took a heavy booted foot the knee, the joint popping horrendously as it jerked out of place.
"Get outta here, the both of ye!" He roared at Bofur and Bombur for they were not fighters, and they were too young to die like this. Bombur looked ready to bolt, though he was yet unsteady on his feet, but Bofur looked indecisive. But when their older cousin roared at them again they fled, shooting terrified looks over their shoulder as Bifur fought with all the fury of a rabid dog.
He punched, kicked, broke bones and carved flesh when he finally had a weapon in his hands. But there were four and he was one, and one who was fighting with nothing but untold fury and the mad drive that comes from a grief-stricken dwarf. Bifur was screaming a wordless battle-cry when he spun managing to disrupt some of the force of the axe blow that was striking down towards him.
Bifur couldn't stop it from piercing the skin and splitting the bone beneath though and he staggered back, thoroughly dazed as all feeling dropped from his limbs. The world swam in shades of grey and purple and his head felt unconscionably heavy. The knife dropped from his lifeless fingers and he dropped to his knees, the whole world off kilter.
Vaguely he was aware of when the remaining orc gurgled at fell backward with a pickaxe embedded in its chest, but he could see nothing else.
"Bifur!" Bifur? What's that? He knew this should be something that he should know but the dwarf's entire mind seemed to have turned to swamp gunk. He wondered who was yelling. Why were they yelling?
"Bif!" He swayed on his knees and felt for sure that he was going to fall only he couldn't do anything to save himself. Fortunately a pair of hands planted themselves on his shoulders and forced him to remain where he was. Why though? He just wanted to lay down and rest…
"Bifur! Bifur look at me!" But the word's didn't make sense, they were just white noise in his ears. Whoever was yelling wavered in the forefront of his vision but he couldn't tell who or what it was. Whoever it was, the cursed vehemently before roaring in Kuhzdul. "Bifur keep your damn eyes open! Mahal preserve us!"
For some reason the words slowly filtered into Bifur's dim brain and began registering, little lights turning on in a few places. But for the most part it was still dark.
"Bifur! Bifur can you hear me!? Please, Bif, answer me!" the words were so desperate and pleading that Bifur reached into the deepest recesses of his being and forced a reply, cursing himself when all that came out was a rough grunt.
The movement shifting something though and a blistering pain went right through him from the very top of his person to the ends of his beard. His eyes wavered again, but he could almost recognise the form in front of him.
"B-Bo…" was all he could manage, but the hatted dwarf nodded his head so vigorously that Bifur absently feared that it might pop off. He was amazed to see tears rolling down the other dwarf's cheeks. Something told him that it wasn't something that was supposed to happen.
"It's alright cousin… we-we'll be alright. You'll –you'll be fine." Bofur told him, stumbling over the words as he tried to stop himself from fully breaking down in front of his dazed and beleaguered cousin. "Bombur'll be back soon with help."
Bifur went to nod absently, his chin descending to his chest but Bofur's hands shot out and forced his head to stay still.
"It'll be fine, Bif, they'll – someone will fix it, promise," the choked words were so forced that Bifur couldn't be sure who the other was talking to. He knew he needed to comfort him though; that was what he did as the eldest. But it was hard, the words just wouldn't come.
"Strong," he eventually grunted, the word slipping off his tongue in fractured Khuzdul. He reached out with an unsteady hand and tapped the other in the centre of the chest. "Always."
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A/N Like it? If you do pretty please review! It would serious mean the world to me! I'm just trying to bring a little light to the enigma that is Bifur. This features the world's fastest edit so please excuse any mistakes!