𝐍𝐘𝐌𝐌𝐑𝐈𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃 ━ lord of the rings

Nineteen: On the Water

The river's depths were veiled in obsidian, defying the prying gaze of any who dared peer beneath its sombre surface. A sinuous wind, not dissimilar to the stealthy advance of a jaded serpent, slithered through the craggy bastions that stoically guarded the water's edge. They warded the barge away from the shores, though how exactly Bard managed to steer between their jutting peaks in the vengeful mist that sat on the cool water's surface was beyond his passenger's comprehension: time-worn faces of stone bore the scars of eons past, their silent vigil haunted by the veils of fog that clung to their rugged countenances, weaving an otherworldly tapestry that danced with every whispered sigh of the chilling breeze.

Concealed by the dust of a darkness not caused by the light of day but of the depressing overcast of clouds that silenced the sun's sweet rays, Nymmril watched with some amusement as the dwarves went about their miserly grumblings, pooling together a meagre mountain of coins.

"Why the furrowed brows and murmured grievances?" he questioned, his tone light with amusement. "What worth has gold when you are surrounded by such great fellows?"

"Nymmril, my lad, you are far too unversed in the ways of this world," came Gloin's gruff reply.

The coming laughter danced through the air like a fleeting whisper. "Perhaps you are correct," the young man conceded, a gentle smile gracing his features. "But I find there are greater treasures to be found in camaraderie and adventure than in piles of gold."

His words, though spoken with sincerity, fell upon deafened ears. The dwarrow's face was fixed on the dwindling coin pile. It was a noble sentiment that Nymmril had, but some lessons could only be learned through the crucible of personal experience. After all, they were on a quest to retrieve stolen gold from a dragon! Money, perhaps above even honour, was the driving force for this adventure. For all Nymmril's camaraderie with the dwarrow and little hobbit, he knew that the lure of gold held sway over even the admirable of folk.

"Easy words for one who's never known the harsh realities of poverty."

As the conversation shifted, the skin-changer sighed. "You speak true," he admitted, "I have never borne the burden of destitution. Beorn sustained our lives by the bounties of the land and the creatures that dwell within it."

Nori, ever the pragmatist, stooped forth as Bard haggled with his kin not far down the way. "A dignified life, no doubt," he mused. "But one ill-suited for a dwarf, I fear."

Nymmril's laughter bubbled forth once more. "I did notice that the wide-open prairies seemed not to enchant you all."

"Aye, it's unnatural, that's what it is," Gloin cut in. "No sane dwarf spends his life out in the open."

"Be that as it may," Nymmril agrees. "But having been confined in the elven halls for half a moon cycle, I don't find myself eager to be beneath the ground once again."

Nori grunted. "You cannot compare those dreary tunnels with the wealth and warmth of a dwarven mine, my friend!"

"Indeed?" Nymmril raised an eyebrow, his gaze flickering over the rest of the group gathered on the barge. The dwarrow were huddled in a tight circle, their precious hobbit trapped in the middle. His voice carried a hint of nostalgia next he spoke; "Perhaps a dwarven mine does hold its own allure... But there's a certain freedom to be found under the open sky."

Bard's arms were folded over his chest, a thoughtful expression etched upon his weathered face. Shadows canvassed the rugged lines of his features as he watched the lion-boy, his keen eyes missing nothing amidst the gathering mist.

"What're you doin' there, bargeman? Making eyes at our Nymmril, are we?" Dwalin's gruff voiced rumbled through the air, breaking the din. Bard glanced down at the tall dwarf, raising a crooked eyebrow.