Found:
I arrived at Erebor in the latter half of the afternoon. The first thing that struck me about the place was the stairs. So many stairs. Stairs upon stairs with more stairs thrown in. You'd think such a creative people might add a ramp or something just for a little variety, but no. More stairs! The weather is warm enough, my leg and back aren't paining me at the moment, so it was little issue to climb them, but still...
I came across him playing his bagpipes about three-quarters of the way up. Hugs ensued. I suspect that he was glad to see me. He took me inside and... he was right. Thorin's Hall had been impressive but this... this was something else entirely. The ceilings could barely be seen; so high were they that the light did not reach so far. Columns and statues, so lovingly carved, lined the mile-long hallway into the hold proper. It is rich and beautiful if a little too geometric for my tastes. Everything is so straight, so angular. There's barely a curve to be found, even further in where the careful carvings give way to something more natural. This place must have taken centuries to construct - if, indeed, that construction will ever be considered finished - and I find myself wondering how people so short can make columns so tall. Ladders? Scaffold? Or do they simply stand on one another's shoulders - a vast pile of dwarves reaching up into the darkness with the artisans on top?
I think I prefer the latter notion.
He's changed. His beard flows now. Gone are the braids and trinkets he used to wear. It suits him, though, this more free and less vain look. He wears blue now; something about his standing as a guard or warrior? I'm not sure which.
He says that war is coming. His axe is needed here. That tiny part of me that can still feel anything but fury, it worries for him. I've never had many friends by design, but I would sorely miss this irrascible dwarf were he to fall in battle. It's his job to outlive me, dammit! As it should have been with...
Other changes include a much more relaxed bearing and, it would seem, that he has learned how to flirt. Adorable, if a little odd. I've never been flirted with by a dwarf before, and I never would have expected it from the usually more conservative Balnirar.
Strange how my ability to do so has waned whilst his has grown. There's clearly something wrong with the world.
He offered a sympathetic ear, but I don't know what I can say. Even the thought of Rowan right now makes my blood boil and that makes me feel guilty because I know that he didn't choose to die. He doesn't deserve my ire but... he does. It's a vicious circle of guilt to anger to guilt and back again!
My dear dwarrow has offered to help me work through some of this in the form of sparring. Now, I'm not one for unnecessary violence, and I'm all too aware of the fact that a dwarf could simply flatten me in a contest of arms, but... he's right. I need something to hit and he is a willing punchbag, though he mocks me for refusing to go to the armoury for a blunted blade. I'd rather have weighted sticks - something of a similar length and heft to my kukri. I don't much care if I win or lose - in fact, my loss is almost completely assured - just as long as I get to pummel something.
That's a matter for tomorrow, though. Today, we talked and drank. Well, he drank and tried to talk me into drinking. I stuck to my water. In my current mood, I suspect the disinhibiting effects of alcohol would result in my taking a hammer to half the bloody statues and either end up dead at the hands of my hosts or else kicked out and banned from returning. Either way, not a risk I should take at the moment!
In other news, we have now established that dwarves do, indeed, have hairy arses. And hair everywhere else, apparently. I find myself imagining a naked dwarf to be little more than a large puffball of coarse fur. Like bears with flat faces. And an axe. Axe-weilding flat-faced. bipedal bears. Who drink a lot. Drunken axe-wielding, flat-faced, bipedal, brewing bears?
Now, that's an interesting mental image to have stuck in my head when I sleep upon the cold stone tonight. He did offer me the bed, but it's designed for someone two feet shorter than me.
Come to think of it, I'd best get some rest. For tomorrow, I get my arse handed to me.
