Chapter Four: On Graves
Laughter, is indeed a strangeness in itself, and oddity we can not truly contemplate. At times, laughter is a sign of happiness, and joy, at others - It is to respond, precipitate, to a joke, a crudeness of sorts, then at other times it is a thing that appears when once is strongly influenced by his mug at a tavern.
Then, the grim laughter - One, a double-edged sword, which seems fruitful and kind on one side of itself, and as cold as a steel blade piercing one's heart, on the other side of itself. The laughter that took place in the stone location, with the stone table, and the two stone dwarves - With their twig-like brother, and friend, was this type of laughter. For what was muttered by Garmorn, in the blaze of his, and Tórunr's drowsed drunkenness, was truly as painful and uncalled for as one could expect it to be - Like the feeling of a hatched being shoved into your back, or when you've been told you must have a certain part of your body removed to avoid infection, or even like when your older brother, and dwarrow-kin, had said something to offend you so deeply.
It was at that instant, after the hard laughter of Garmorn and Tórunr, that Argmorn stood up, determined to speak for himself, and not be cut off again either, by Tórunr, -or- his brother.
"You two. Always you two. Always the great Dwarrows of this damnable place... You think you're so strong, so hench, and so divinated with your cursed presence!", Argmorn began, his face more stern that it had ever been. Ever. Garmorn began muttering something under his breathe, which was now weighty with the stench of cold ale, "… Watch it boy, or --", this time... Strangely, it was Garmorn whom was cut off - Him who was forced to listen to some rant, or some joke, him who was stared at by the invisible patrons of their table. Argmorn continued, rather strongly and confident with himself, "Or what? Hm? What? What can you do, except drink yourself into an early grave? So what? What brother, dearest in ales, what can you do? Fight me? No, no, no... As odd as father is, he would never allow that. Get me to leave? How so, this isnt your area, as much as you do come here every day to overdose yourself in the ales and beers here.", strangely - Though insulted, Garmorn's face was stiff, and showed no signs of any emotion. No fear, no anger, no sorrow.
Argmorn continued, again, but this time Garmorn refrained from speaking -Tórunr, still staring, his face shocked as he wondered if this was simply the alcohol taking hold of his senses, "You come here. Every. Single. Day. You drag me along too, forcing me to listen to your bloody words, which are, they themselves, drowned in your beer! But no more, no longer will I be held like some whim of yours, no longer will I heed your damnable words, and lack of intelligence. You and your drunk friend, can drink yourselves to death, for all I care.", Argmorn - Noting how good it felt, this sense of power and freedom to say and do what he willed, not what Garmorn willed, now said something, proud, in Khuzdul, the tongue of the Dwarves.
"Ishkhaqwi ai durugnul", "I spit upon your grave".
That was when Tórunr, now fierce instead of confused, spoke. Not allowing Argmorn to say anything, suddenly Argmorn realized how weak and feeble he had become again. "You shut it boy! Ye have no idea whom yer speaking to, and how ye' choosing to speak to him! So shut it. If ye talk, again, if I hear yer breathing, again, I'll rip that cursed tongue out of your bloody head, and force it down yer throat, to choke you! Then we shall see who spits upon who's grave, darn - I'd even piss on yer grave for you!" - Silence fell, as Tórunr poured another mug of ale, which he gave to Garmorn - Who sat, sullen, staring, expressionless, at Argmorn. "Here, Garmorn, take the ale and wash away the sorrows of being related to that dog!", Tórunr was clearly infuriated, and overwhealmingly angered at the presence and words of Argmorn, who now sat awkwardly silent, trying his best not to make any eye-contact with Garmorn.
Suddenly, after a good deal of time, of drinking on Garmorn and Tórunr's side, and sitting, waiting on Argmorn's side, Tórunr spoke, starting rather low, and difficult to hear. "Tell me, boy, who was it that spent a decade looking for yer father!? Tell me, who was it that saved yer from the depths of Moria? WHO WAS IT THAT HAD TO PUT UP WITH YER UN-DWARFLINESS!?", suddenly he realised he was shouting, so calmed himself down with a long gulp from his mug. Garmorn watched, still sullen, as Tórunr began speaking, it sounded almost practised and recitable. "When yer ran away, it drove yer father more mad than he is now, crazier, his senses took leave of his darn body. Ye kept speaking about heading to Khazad Dum, to help reclaim the place, none of us expected you to actually do it---", he was cut of by Argmorn:
"EXACTLY! You never expect me to do ---"
Tórunr, spoke sharply "Do anything. No, because yer never will. Yer a damnable weakling-son of a noble lord who never taught yer anything.", he pulled out a dagger from his boot, and layed it on the stone table - This was a clear threat, that was reinforced by Tórunr saying grimly: "Now, if yer want me to keep true to m'words. I will get right to taking yer tongue.", but Garmorn never said anything, never showed any shock. Tórunr continued, "Never expected yer to do anything. No, ye' was a weakling, ye was afraid of wolves, and bears - How would we picture ye -ever- fighting goblins and orcs!?", at this point - Argmorn had lost all hope of himself gaining confidence when speaking to Tórunr, or even Garmorn, he fell completely silent. One could swear he even stopped breathing. "But ye' proved us wrong and ran away in the dark of night, heading far, to the East, through the Shire, through Bree town, and Chetwood, through the lonely lands before the great Mountain, through the shaws of the Trolls, south of Rivendell - And you got to Moria, where our bretheren were, trying to enter themselves. Nigh months, that took ye - And Garmorn. GARMORN was the one right behind yer, chasing, trying to catch ye' from making the stupidest mistake of your life", Argmorn though to himself 'Isnt listening to you, the stupidest mistake of my life', but he dare not speak his mind.
"It was GARMORN who trekked through the endless dark of our ancient home. And it was Garmorn who took yer lifeless little twig of a body, all the way back. So you can shut yer mouth about what Garmorn can do. Will do."
"It was Garmorn who saved ye and yer damned father."
Tórunr fell silent.
Garmorn still looked sullen, on at Argmorn, his face still expressionless, his eyes - unblinking, he hand, not moving to drink the ale poured for him nigh ten minutes ago. 'Ishkhaqwi ai durugnul', he thought.
'I spit on your grave', he thought.
