This is filler so people can dot in if they wish.
The Market Square of Dale is rarely empty. Wagons and stalls of every shape and color constantly fill the massive stone square, selling goods from every corner of the world, from the Blue Mountains to the far lands of Rhun to the East. Those who speak of the great market of Dale no doubt refer to the constant activity in the city's heart. However, today the square has managed to be even more lively than ever, for the Gathering of Five Armies and the Festival of Dragontide have begun! The air is filled with the ringing of bells and the sound of laughter and song while the scents of dozens of delectable foods drift on the breeze. Occasionally a cheer goes up as one of the many contests and shows declares yet another winner. And visitors from all across the lands have come to bear witness to the festival of the decade.
Wulfgith gently gave a pat to Swiftkiss's neck as she said goodbye to her faithful mare. She couldn't ride the mare through the city with it packed full of people here for the festival. Though she knew she was leaving her in good hands, as those she came with where also of Rohan and while they where here to sell steers no one from Rohan would dare sell another's horse.
With that done she headed into the festival with her traveling companion, Celebhend. The elven man had been a friend of sort of her mother and she couldn't deny he seemed an alright sort. "I wonder how much mead they had to make to even begin to prepare for this." Wulfgirth commented to Celebhend as she pulled her long mithral hair over her shoulder to work on the braid she had put it in long before now. While she may have left Swiftkiss behind Wulfgith did not leave her father's blade, leaving it at her hip as always, nor the bow of her mother's kin strung with her mother's own hair, leaving it wrapped over her body with the quiver on the other hip. Her dagger, more a tool than a weapon to her, was kept down in her boot. Dressed an any Rohirrim shieldmaiden, Wulfgith was easy to pick out but it was obviously her hair that would draw the eye first and foremost.
Doderic walks lightly down the street, tipping his hat to any of the folk that give him a strange look. His shield bounces lightly on his back, and a small sword hangs loosely at his waist. Every so often, he stop to grab a snack and refill his mug at a cart while taking a look at all the grand and beautiful trinkets for sell.
Hah! I can't believe it. I made it here just two days ago! What luck I have! I must say the food is divine! Well, not quite as good as a well cooked hobbit meal, but close enough, and quite different to boot! You see him take out a small notebook whenever he tries a new food and jot several things down into it. As he merrily hops along, he spies Celebehend, one of the strangers that had possibly saved his life that night. He stops a moment, gives a curious look to the elf, before recognition sparks. Well! I'll be, what are ya doin' out here? How was Atheriel last you saw her? She left before I awoke those many years ago now. Ah! You must try this... fresh water eel I believe they called it. On a stick! He makes mention of the elf maiden that had walked him home after the group had made short work of the small orc band near the shire before almost thrusting a stick skewered with a whole eel into his face.
wonder if this fair lady is his wife or some sort. Best not to ask, would be rude.
Returning to the other Rohirrim the horse that he had been given for the trip, Celebhend walks easily beside Wulfgith. A small smile on his face somehow avoids being the typical haughty expression of many elves, rather it is open and friendly, showing true enjoyment at the sights of the festival.
Celebhend has hair of nearly the same color as pure gold, and his eyes are the colors sheen of mithril. Dressed in shades of white, blue, and green, he presents a striking image. Across his back rests a quiver with an integrated bow case. Though not the great bow of his people, a bow worthy of the elves of Lorien rests beside the peacock-fletched arrows. On his hip is a sword in a green-enameled scabbard with a small shield also clipped somehow to the scabbard. Upon the shield, a field of green with a stylized mallorn leaf is expertly painted.
He chuckles softly to Wulfgith's question, responding in kind, "Is it any wonder the game was so scarce as we neared the city?"
Suddenly, Celebhend finds himself accosted by a hobbit of all things! A moment of confusion until the words spark memories and he responds in the common tongue, "Doderic? Doderic Took?! You look much more prepared for the road upon this meeting! It is good that you are well. When last I spoke with Atheriel, she was setting out with some message for our cousins in the Mirkwood." He pushes the eel aside gently, "Greetings and introductions first, my small friend, eels afterward."
Celebhend turns to Wulfgith, with a slight bow, "May I have the pleasure of making known to you Doderic Took, a Hobbit of the far Shire. A connoisseur of fine foods, teas, and beverages of all sorts." He turns back to Doderic, "Doderic Took, I introduce to you Wulfgith of the Rohirrim, as well as Lothiriel of the Galadhrim."
Doderic gives an elaborate bow and tips his hat Quite the pleasure, your beauty rivals that of the waterfalls of Rivendell. Doderic Took, Gent' of the shire, at your service.
He turns back to Celebhend. Yes! The shield I got from my uncle, I don't quite remember why he had it, but it was something about his bucklander grandmother's family. Ah! my sword I bought from a traveling dwarven merchant before I left. I believe his name of Bain. Or something to that effect. And I am glad she does well. I must thank you again, not sure if I would have managed to sneak away that night.
The crowded marketplace is littered with small merchant stands, offering goods of any kind. Most stands are human-run of course, but at least a quarter of them has a dwarf offering the goods the longboards are well famed for: chain armor, swords and juwlery of finest craftsmanship. A few dwarven merchant also have goods of more joyous nature to offer: fine music instruments, filigrane toy figures made of silver and tin, depicting various participants of the battle of the five armies - all are fully movable!
One dwarven merchant stand might draw your attention in particular, for the simple fact that most of the dwarfs goods obviously origin from far away, far beyond Dale and the Lonely Mountain.
There is small cask of 'Old Toby' pipe herb lying beside a basket filled several fine pipes that a trained eye will immediately recognize as being Hobbit-made together with a barrel of finest Bucklebury ale.
There is, of course, a shelf filled with fine juwlery and dwarven instruments, but also a small stack of Lembas waybread, covered in the traditional Mallorn leaf and fine elven whine bottled in Thranduìns Hall.
At the other end of the stand, half a dozen great glasses filled with fine golden Beorning honey and several bottles of mead are on sold, together with expertly skinned furs of three wolves and a couple of boars.
Behind the stand, a large collection of carpets with foreign pattern and motives lay on display.
But the center of interest, is located upon an extra desk. There, the dwarf has arranged several dozen of the toy figures that must be a new dwarven creation, since you never saw their like before. The assembly of tiny figures, creates a model of the famous battle for the Lonly Mountain.
From time to time, the dwarf will produce a complex-looking key from his pockets and use it on one of the toys - like one would wind up a clock. The toy then awakes to a short life and take a couple of steps and swing his weapon against an enemy (never against an ally!) before stopping again.
Every party of the battle has at least one figure on display: dwarves, elves, orks, humans, several hobbits, a great bear and even a huge figure for the fearsome Smaug! Tiny streams of smoke rise from its nostrils and his wings are spread wide – keen eyes might even notice a miniscule blank area on the dragons belly: the place where one scale came loose and where Bards black arrow has stroke and killed the beast.
Every time the dwarf does animate on of his figures, the crowd around his stand cheers and one or two of the marvelous figures are bought by wealthy parents for their kids - or their own amusement.
"Wa... Hobbit, Shire?" Wulfgith asked with a small look of confusion, though it turned into a blush when the short man paid her a compliment. Then it hit her! "Holbytlan!" Wulfgith said with a gasp and a surprised look upon her face. "Our King just recently said they where nothing but tales and stories for children! Yet here I am speaking with one." She said with a hearty laugh. "Well met master Took!"
"Would you join us for the time? I've a few questions if you don't mine me asking?"
Hartgard the Quiet steps through the streets of Dale, his eyes looking all around. He has never in his life seen so many people, and so many different peoples. Nor so many buildings. It is a far cry from the Beorning villages of the Anduin Vale.
The Vale. Will I return?
At first glance, he appears the archetype of a Beorning warrior. Half a head taller than the Dalemen around him, if not more. A thick black beard with grey streaks, and broad shoulders bearing a great axe. Dismissive of armour bar a helm at his side. But looking more closely, it is plain to see that his face is scarred, his clothes are weathered, and his weapons have seen hard use.
And then his shadow falls upon a dwarven stall.
That...is familiar.
He sees the dwarf, busy with a customer, and waits to speak.
"Is that you, Baìn, Son of Naìn? It is I, Hartgard."
Having just sold another of the toy figures (a miniature Dale bowman) to a wealthy mother of three children, Baìn turns around to face the towering Beorning.
It is Baìn, that much is clear for Hartgard. But the dwarf certainly looks different than at the time you were sharing a fire in the wild.
Back then, the dwarf was heavily armoured with a long chain armour and massive iron helmet as well as considerably armed with a viciously looking weapon, looking like a cross between a halberd and a pickaxe.
But now, the dwarf wears expensive looking clothes of heavy red and grey fabric, proudly displaying the hammer and anvil sigil of the dwarven kingdom under the Lonely Mountain.
His braided black beard is held together by golden bracers with tiny rubies worked into the polished surface and several golden rings with gems sit on the dwarfs broad fingers.
Brown eyes lock on the hardened warrior, clearly searching his memories for a match until recognition dawns on the proud features of the dwarf.
"Hartgard! Of course, it was ... nearly six years ago, wasn't it?
That cold night near the Carrock, where we met and you and your men invited me to share your campfire.
Now this is really a gathering of folks from far away!
Come here and share a horn of mead with me, friend.
I bought it from your folk, half a year ago and its taste is simply marvellous."
Hartgard steps in next to the counter.
"Aye, it has been near six. And I would not refuse a horn of mead, especially from folk of good character."
He takes the horn and sups deeply.
"Ah, but it is good to taste the Vale. My thanks, Baín. I take it that business goes well for you and your kin?"
Baín may notice that while Hartgard was a little taciturn before, there is a gloom there not present those years ago. And he is far more scarred.
Doderic gives a smile and leans forward a bit as he speaks, hands in his pockets. Well, I can quite happily say that I am quite real, and very here. As are the others back home! Though we hobbits do tend to keep to ourselves, less trouble about that way you know. When offered to join them he speaks up. Well quite certainly M'lady. The mores the merrier I say and all that. Its my first time traveling, so I want to see it all. Everything dear Bilbo speaks of, and more!
"Aye, they are going good.
It certainly helps my trade that you and your people keep the northern passes open and guarded.
I have been to the west far more regularly than my father due to your people and the people there have lots of interesting goods to sell as you can see.
You will never forget your first pipe of 'Old Toby' weed and a lot of my kin and several noble men of Esgaroth and Dale pay huge for even small amounts of it.
And the kingdom under the mountain is flourishing you see, King Daìn has great visions and they are shape into reality with every swing of the pickaxe, every fall of the hammer and every moved rock.
You just wait, give my people a few more years to work on it and the Lonely Mountain will be the mightiest fortress of the North."
The dwarf stops to take a bag of coins from an old man in exchange for a bottle of elven whine.
"Oh, excuse my manners, Hartgard but you asked for dwarven work and you can't know how dangerous that can be.
We longbeards love to talk about our works and undertakings and it is dangerous to ask us of them, if you are not prepared for it, for we will just go on about it.
Enough about us for the moment, how are things going in the vale?
Excuse my direct questions, but ... you look like things have been rough for you lately?"
Hartgard goes quiet for a moment.
"Some of my folk have enjoyed the weed from the west, I have not yet tried it myself. And both the King under the Mountain and near the mountain are doing well, judging by all of this.", he says as he looks around.
He takes a sip of the mead, and then the words start coming. At first a trickle, then a torrent that had been held back for too long.
"In truth, it has been some time since I have enjoyed simple camaraderie. The Stoneclaws...the Stoneclaws are no more. One brutal ambush, where I thought to speed their escape by battling a cornered troll. But warg-riders came for them all while I was occupied. At least I got their bodies out of that damned place! I had to leave the Vale then, to hunt the goblins and their steeds. And eventually, not so long ago with the aid of elves of Mirkwood, I slew them all. But I could find no peace even in that victory. So I have left the Vale, to see if other climes will rekindle what is missing. I fear that I may be over-grim for such a day, I will cease my rambling."
Hartgard takes another sip.
"Only first time traveling?" Wulfgith asked with a smile as the group began to walk once more. "This is my first time being so far but not my first time traveling. My mother took me to see her land once." She explained with a shrug.
As they walked and spoke, Wulfgith still looked around she noticed the crowd of people around one stall though as they approached the area it seemed to calm down and mostly move along. She scanned the merchant's booth only to stop upon seeing Lembas bread. "Huh... didn't expect to see that here." Wulfgith said more to herself than her two companions. She brought them over to the booth and pointed it out. "Look Celebhend, Lembas bread! What do you think this is doing so far?" Wulfgith asked, she turned and noticed the dwarf who likely ran this booth speak to a large man whom she had to do a bit of a double take to be sure she saw, and went back to looking at the other items. If the merchant was busy she would wait her turn. It was only polite after all.
The face of the dwarf darkens visibly as Hartgard tells his tale.
"Even the greatest revenge cannot bring back those who are avenged - my folk learnt that lesson in front of the gates of Khazad-dûm.
My father told me, that most that returned felt like you.
They got their revenge on the goblins, but the dead where still dead and many dwarves have fallen during the battle to revenge them.
But, nevertheless, revenge on those filthy goblins and all that are allies of them, is a noble deed.
I judge it good, that you left the Vale and set out.
You need to see some other corners of this world, to keep your mind from milling over your losses.
Come here, sit down on my small chair and have a pipe of hobbit-weed.
It is oddly relaxing to sit down and blow rings of smoke into the air..."
Just as he produced a small chair from under the stand, he looks up at Wulfgiths exclamation.
Turning to face her, he seems surprised.
A Rohirrim ... shield maiden from the look of it ...
An Elf and a Hobbit.
Now this is an unusual group!
Now what is with the hair of that woman ... it certainly is unusual for a human.
More like that of an elf ...
It reminds me of someone I once met ...
Wulfgith moved around her friend's and began to look down the long table of items. The young warrior marveled at some of the little toys. "I feel like I've seen something like this before... back when I was small." She said as she stood fully and shifted so that one of her hands rested upon the guard of her blade, though in a none threatening manor, and the other fell to hold the bowstring that cut across her body from shoulder to hip. "Tis a long shot, but tell me have you ever been to Rohan?" She asked the merchant, Baìn.
The dwarf is clearly thinking hard and fast, then an idea, or a memory? is clearly dawning on his face.
"You're from Rohan ...
Let me see that Blade of yours, please..."
Celebhend turns to Doderic with a wink, "Surely this is not quite your first voyage, eh? Though further than Bree, I think."
When Wulfgith spots the merchants stall, Celebhend follows her over, "Indeed has it traveled far. Doderic, unless you have had the excellent good fortune to sample Lembas before, you have never had traveling food such as my people make under the Mallorn trees. Lothiriel look, I think it is entirely authentic. How came it here I wonder."
The maiden before him seemed hesitate upon the dwarf's request. After all this blade was all she had left of her father. But she felt confident that if he tried to take it she could run him down. Normally she'd remove the whole belt but it had her quiver on it today so she pulled the blade of its sheath and handed it respectfully to Baìn. "Be mindful please. It was my father's." She explained.
Totally absorbed by the talk with the Shield Maid, Baìn totally ignores the semi-question of the Elf for the moment.
He takes the offered sword with great care, nosing absent-minded at the woman's last sentence, starting to murmuring to himself.
"Thrice folded stainless steel...
double-edged and optimal balances ...
Hand guard made of steel and inlaid with gold and silver ...
Hilt wrapped in best Dalish leather ...
Pommel reinforced and tipped with a small gem ...
It is on of him, no doubt...
But which one ... Where is it ...
There!"
He is clearly reading something out loud that is written at the underside of the hand guard in the most tiny and filigrane dwarven runes any of you have ever seen.
"The Blue Mountains ...
Winter 2940 ... Third Age ... Middle Earth ...
Forged by ...
Naìn Longbeard."
At this point, he lets the sword sink down a few hands width, clearly in awe and respect.
"It IS my father's last one.
He sold it in Rohan ...
To your ... Father?
Then ... You are that cheeky little girl from back then??
My, my, you have grown into a fine young Lady!"
And with a fluid motion, the dwarf bows his head before her, offering her the sword back.
"Baìn, son of Naìn the merchant, to your service.
Keep this sword in honor for it is the last one my father ever made.
He finished it no more than a year before his death in the battle of the five armies."
Wulfgith had taken a moment to look back to Celebhend when he commented about the Lembas bread being real. "If you want to know for sure, buy one and take a bite." She said with a small grin. "If any would know it would be you."
Though her attention swiftly went back to the dwarf that had her sword. He seemed to be muttering something as he read the underside of the guard. Honestly she was shocked anything was written there! However it wasn't till he address her once more and Wulfgith's cheeks turn pink in embarrassment. "You?! You where that dwarf I? Oh well... I'm amazed to see you again." She respectfully took her sword and returned it to her sheath. Wulfgith daughter of Wulf." She said, though when she remembered what Celebhend had called her she swiftly added, "Or Lothíriel daughter of Calanril. Both are true and I will answer to either."
Hartgard nods at Baìn's words.
"Aye, perhaps travel will be for the best. And I will accept your kind offer of the pipe."
As he begins to move towards the chair, he turns and sees the odd group. The conversation flows swiftly, especially with the coincidence of the blade of Baìn's father's make.
And then he gets a good look at the elf.
"Celebhend? You have not changed much, if at all. But I suppose that is usual for your people. It is I, Hartgard of the Beornings."
Doderic shakes his head. Ah, a travel to Bree is hardly worth being called a travel! I understand that more now that I am here. Let me tell you, I almost thought about getting shoes on my journey. hehe, Almost.
doderic smiled. He at met Bain once before.
Ah! Bain I believe if my memory still serves me well. You probably don't remember me but I believe we met in Bree I think it was?
What is that? She has two names...?
And one of them really sounds like that of an Elf...?
"Welcome to Dale, Wulfsgith, I take it you are the first time in the north?
You will have a lot to see, I can guarantee you.
Not the least of it..."
At this point, Baìn shouts a few sentences, clearly intended to draw in customers, as well as answering some of the questions of the strange group he half-overheard.
"Come here and see Baìn the Merchants goods, collected from all around the world!
Specialties from folk you never even heard of brought to you on this day of joy and celebration!
Taste the prized Beorning' mead!
Ever wondered what Elven way-bread looks and tastes like?
Come to Baìn and buy a crump of true Lembas-bread - bought from the guardians of the golden forest!
Complete your collection with the last model of Smaug the Cruel.
Come here and see Baìn the Merchants goods!"
Taking a sip of bead to oil his voice, he returns to Wulfgith with a smile.
"So ... How does your father fare?
Since you bear his sword, I take it he has retired from his duties in honor, yes?"
Wulfgith smiled as she stepped a bit to the side and listened to Baìn call out to the people as they passed.
I wonder if he got that Lembas bread after he left Rohan... must have paid a fair amount for it. They don't just give it out to anyone. Or well at least they don't give how to make it...
When he turned his attention back to Wulfgith, her face turned sullen. It always pulled at her heart to speak of her father, his death still firm in her mind after all these years. It had been a large turning point in her life, not only did she lose her father but soon after she was taken from her home in the long grass hills of Rohan to the woods of her mother's people. Her mother was never the same either... His death had been a catalyst for change in so many ways. Finally she crossed her arms and answered "In a way... he died some years back."
Celebhend glances over at the stocky man, not many humans had the height of an elf, but this one was within a handful of centimeters of Celebhend's own 2+ meters. Something about him had nagged at Celebhend until the man addressed him by name, "Hartgard? By Leaf and Star! It is you... How have you fared these last few years? This is a most strangely fortuitous day. Each of us here is known to at least one other of us! The chances that all of us would meet here in Lake-Town are so unlikely, I cannot help but suspect the will of the Valar in it."
Hartgard turns to Wulfgith.
"Though we be strangers, I offer my condolences for your loss."
And then he replies to Celebhend.
"It is. I found the slayers of the Stoneclaws with the aid of some of your kin, and we put an end to those goblins and their wargs. I found little peace in the act though. I have wandered looking for some. And it is strange and fortunate that our group are so connected. We should speak more. Have ye accommodation? I am only arrived in Dale today."
There's also the Lake Man's Rest down closer to the docks, where many of those who travel the river and Long Lake take a meal and lay their heads when they're staying in Dale. They always have fresh fish caught from the lake and further down river.
Finally, there's the Drunkenstone. Set on the north side of town, the place is the home of the finest ales and beers, many of dwarven make. The name is a deliberate play on the legendary Arkenstone and some dwarves find the joke in bad taste, but others take it in good humor.
Of course, taking a room at any of the inn's in festival time can be an expensive prospect and many people simply camp in the wide, dry fields on the west side of the city.
With a smirk towards the Elf, Baìn answers.
"There is the Drunkenstone...
Best place in town to drink a nice and strong dwarven brew.
You could get a bed there as well.
If you find a travelers-in, I would recommend the Lake Men's Rest.
Or the Missing Scale, for those of you who value soft beds and Noble clientele above everything else.."
"Surely there is somewhere to set up a tent if those are filled? Although the Lake Men's Rest sounds a good suggestion."
"Of course you can camp out of town if you wish to ...
But I guess it would do you good to sleep a few nights in a proper bed.
I will pay for your bed, you earned it, Hartgard."
Hartgard looks genuinely surprised but soon regains his composure.
"You are most generous Baìn. I will not forget it."
Wulfgith thanked Hartgard for condolences of her father, though she made no more mentions of it for the time.
"I am here with a group from Rohan. I don't know if they have made accommodations, but I don't mind walking along with you all there." Wulfgith said with a shrug. "Might have been a fair idea to ask if I was suppose to find my own logging or not before I left." She laughed.
Celebhend nods thoughtfully, "Any of these would be acceptable to me as I had planned on taking a room in town if one was to be found."
After a moment, Celebhend speaks once more, "Left to my own devices, I would take a room at Lake Men's Rest. I have often had an excellent night's rest in such a house."
"You could always come stay with us." Wulfgith said with a grin. "I know you love Rohirrim hospitality." She said as she prayerfully elbowed Celebhend.
Hartgard stands quietly, but enjoys the banter of the pair in front of him.
Celebhend chuckles, "I do enjoy the Rohirrim; once they are used to me they are most welcoming. I think I saw Gúthwinë nearly smile in my direction the day before last. But in all seriousness, I value the hospitality of the Rohirrim, and I expect that I will spend more than one more night amongst you. But tonight will I enjoy an actual bed. And a warm bath. And a meal cooked not over a campfire."
"A warm bath does sound wonderful." Wulfgith agreed with a nod. "The ride was long, and a chance to bathe without someone shouting at me to be done or the water hasn't already gone cold would be welcomed... but oh well, life goes on." She said with a shrug of her shoulders. "I knew what I was getting into becoming a shieldmaiden."
With Bain's offer, the dwarf closes up his stall for the moment and guides the group down toward the harbor. The grey stone road isn't quite as packed as the market square, but the group of five still needs to move slowly, picking their way through the crowd with caution. There are a few waves as they move past other stalls, either from merchants who seem to recognize Bain or from those who are simply being friendly to those who are obviously guests in their city, but they have little time to chat as customers come and go. The Merchant's District and the docks are quite lively, with every quay filled with a boat loading or unloading passengers or cargo for the festival. Things are a bit rowdier away from the central square and the group sees a few sailors who seem to have enjoyed the festival too much already, leaving them pink faced and swaying ever so slightly as they laugh and make merry together.
Finally, they come to the inn. The Lake-Man's Rest is a three story affair, made of grey stone with a shingled roof. The sign hanging out from the door proudly declares its name and an image of a man paddling a boat is painted just beneath. Inside, the common room already has a fair few patrons, enjoying a meal or a drink with their friends on the first day of the festival. One group of loud young men laugh and shove each other playfully in one corner. The innkeeper smiles as your group enters the building. "Good morning all," he says with a jaunty wave. "What can I do for you on this fine day?"
Celehend makes a slight bow, pressing one hand to his heart, "Mae govannen, innkeeper. Have you rooms available, and perhaps a meal and a hot bath?"
Hartgard tries to keep gruffness from his tone.
"A room, food, and a bath for tonight, should they be available."
+++ Back at the market +++
True to his word, Baìn waves for a boy not older than 14 on a neighbor merchant stand. The small framed boy with short brown hair hurries over as fast as his short feet can carry him.
"Karl, remember that time when I told you that soon you would be able to manage a stand on your own?
This is today. Keep a good eye on my goods while I lead these fine men and women to the Lakeman's.
Keep in mind that the prices for the bigger figures are three times those of the smaller ones and that the rarer ones are twice the price on top of it.
Make good use of your chance boy and note down all sales in my book as I have teached you.
I'll be back in a couple of hours."
+++ The Way through town +++
Many merchants greet the dwarf during their walk, but the hobbit, Elf and Rohirrim clearly draw more attention.
People step aside once they notice a dwarf approaching - the mutual respect between the dwarves of the Kingdom under the Mountain and the men of Dale well visible.
During their walk, the dwarf points out several of the more important attractions in Dale with a proud tone. You may notice that he always names the maker of each work plus the respective dwarf or dwarven family he or she was trained by.
So either he is only pointing out those remarkable pieces that where made by dwarven-trained craftsmen or most High-Grade builders had indeed been educated by the dwarves of the Lonly Mountain.
+++ The Inn +++
Baìn greets the Inn keeper by name and a slight bow.
"Good fortune, Master, I have brought with me a couple of travelers from far away this day.
I know some of them and we have a lot to talk about.
Tell me, Master, is the dwarven room in the basement already taken? If not, could you be so kind and send a boy to fetch my belongings from the Drunkenstone?
And one more thing, add Mister Hartgards room on my account as well."
The innkeeper smiled and nodded his head to him. "Ah, good evening Master Bain. Glad you made it back for the festival. The basement rooms are indeed open. One of the few rooms I have left, to be perfectly honest. Would your young friend like a dwarf room as well?" The man nods to Doderic politely. He stops and steps back to the kitchen door. "Parr! Put the dishes down. I need you to run to the Stone and fetch Master Bain's things!" He turns back and looks over the group for a few moments. "Actually... Would you lot mind terribly sharing one room? It might be a bit tight, but I'll give you a fair price for the troubles." Regardless of the party's answer, he ushers you to a table and brings out a plates loaded with potatoes and carrots and a large cut of fried fish for each of them along with a tankard of their choice of drink. "The baths are in the back of the first floor. They'll be heated up a bit later in the day. We usually don't keep them full all day."
Wulfgith gladly joined her new friends at the table and paid for her own lunch. She ordered mead to drink and when they had settled in a bit more she looked to Celehend. "If I can get him to allow me to use the bath without buying a room, would you mind if I stored my things there while bathing?" She asked. "I'd rather not leave them so far away if I can help it."
"That will be acceptable.
If I remember correctly, the dwarven room is quite large after all, intended to take up a small group of wandering dwarves."
Knowing the way, Baìn will lead the way down a staircase to the room.
Sharing a room with a Beorning, an Elf, that little girl from back then and a hobbit.
This day sure got unusual really fast, by Durins beard!
--- Through Town ---
Hartgard is visibly impressed by the works. Though there is a niggle at the back of his mind.
He turns to Baìn and asks:
"What do you make of the skills and works of the men of Dale? The ones not stemming from Dwarf training?"
--- The Inn ---
"Quarters together will be fine. I have slept even closer in the wilds."
Well, this was unexpected.
When Wulfgith orders the mead, he nods:
"Honey and cream are the basis for the best of Beorning diets. You are on to a good idea."
+++ In Town +++
Baìn appears caught at Hartgards question.
"Well, how do I put this ...
We dwarves have a particular mindset.
If you make something, make it to last for ages.
Not only for your or your children's lifespan, but for their grandchildrens as well.
I miss that mindset in many - not all! - of the works of craftsmen that were not lucky enough to secure an aprenticeship with one of ours."
--- In Town ---
Hartgard nods.
"Clearly, the dwarves are responsible for much good work. I find it bes to approach with a fair mind and humility. Too much pride can be the ruin of a man, even for the best of reasons. Now, what was that song..."
Hartgard ceases speaking. The song...the song will not come to him.