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‘I don’t know how you’ve done it all… incredible. Just incredible.’
Dwalin’s brow creased at this comment, and he let out a sigh through his nose as he reached for his ale.
‘Brund, not again-’ he muttered to the dwarf sitting opposite him. He knew Brund was drunk in a good mood, and that was why he was complimenting him so, but sometimes his exaltation of Dwalin’s deeds was embarrassing.
‘No no no,’ Brund slurred, with a wave of his hand. He closed his eyes and swayed a little, his pint precariously dripping ale down the sides, and Dwalin reached out a hand to his friend’s arm to steady the huge dwarf in his seat before he slumped sideways a bit too far.
‘LEGENDS!’ he roared suddenly, and the bar collectively groaned as the red-headed dwarf stood at the table, supporting himself with a hammy fist and the other waving his flagon over Dwalin’s head- showering him in a few drops.
‘Look at those scars- jes’… jes’ look at them!’ he proclaimed, his voice dropping to a whisper at the end as he leant in a bit further, and Dwalin wrinkled his nose a little at the stink of ale coming from him. It was still another four hours to the tavern’s closing time.
‘You’ve already spoken to everyone about my scars thrice this night, they don’t need to hear yer voice anymore,’ he said, looking over his friend as he wobbled, his beard glistening with spilled drink. In some ways it amused him, but really, this was getting too much, and he knew that he would soon he escorting Brund out at the behest of the barman.
‘No no- no’ that one,’ Brund said pointedly, as though it was incredibly obvious that Dwalin’s distinguishing mark was not the scar he meant. Dwalin was about to point out that his ‘legendary’ claw-mark (so called that at least once a day by Brund) was the only visible scar on his head, when a short finger jabbed under his eye, above his cheek.
And then Dwalin remembered.
‘THAT ONE!’ Brund roared, and a man behind him almost choked.
The scar Brund was pointing at was usually unnoticeable in daylight, but when the candles hit it just right, it looked like a deep gouge.
‘Surely got in the Battle of Azanulbizar itself, surely that woulda bled so! Lewk at it- musta needed stitches an all t’ heal, but nay, I bet you carried on fightin’, though the blood were in yer eyes ‘n down yer face. A goblin was it? An orc- nay, doesn’ matter! That- THAT-‘
‘Brund,’ Dwalin said quietly.
‘A mark of a true warrior! A LEGEND- if I say so m’self. A true man of Durin himself- hailed be the good Father’s name- and ALSO-‘
‘Brund.’
He was trying not to spit out his drink, but suppressing his snorts were getting harder as he watched Brund try to clamber upon the table, slipping off again with a mighty thud back onto his arse. He raised his mug to his lips and spat out his mouthful there, burying his face in the rim as he completely folded, feeling tears starting to well.
‘B-Bru-‘
‘That fuckin’ hurt. AS I WERE SAYIN’- and tha’… tha’ one! LOOK! Fine dwarves, who drink in this tavern tonight- LOOK!’
Even though Dwalin was now face down in his folded arms, it didn’t stop his companion from tapping his skull where the other claw mark he’d quite forgotten about for many years was.
‘ANOTHER BRAZEN ORC TRIED IT ON W’ THIS FELLA! DID HE TAKE IT? DID HE?’
Dwalin was shaking, trying to gasp for air but finding his lungs had forgotten they were meant to take it.
‘Brund- y’ better hush you- you crazy bastard…’ he trailed into helpless snorts, clamping a hand down over his lips as a giggle appeared from somewhere.
He could feel the barman behind them; Brund’s exclamations of ‘brave fucker had the pig’s eye out, I know it!’ turned to pleas that he wasn’t drunk at all, and Dwalin knew it was time to leave.
He hauled his friend up by the sleeve of his tunic and out into the open air, Brund still cursing the barman’s name whilst using Dwalin’s body as a prop.
‘Actually, Brund, the one on me head is from Fili throwing toy soldiers at me when he didn't want to take a bath,’ he said, half dragging the other dwarf through the mud. Brund would have forgotten the whole thing by the morn, but he felt better knowing he was setting the record straight. It had hurt, and getting Fili into the soapy water had been a battle to go down in the great annals of their people- but he didn’t think the child was as bad as the orc who had nearly cleaved his face in. Well, not as big, at any rate.
Brund sniffed, and Dwalin had to peer at his face to see if he was still awake. He felt the dwarf shake his head at him, mumbling something about Dwalin being a terrible liar.
‘No’ lying, old friend. And this one's from Kili in his biting phase.’ Dwalin pointed to the gouge on his cheek, wincing as he recalled the chunk the little toddler had taken out. The blood that had run down his face had near blinded him, whilst Kili had screamed (and then he was nearly blind and deaf), but he had the fortune of being in Dis’s home. And the misfortune of her laughter as she cleaned him up.
‘An’ I bet you mean to tell me that tha’ big one on yer face was Thorin throwin’ a chess piece at yer mug in a hissy fit?’ Brund slurred, and his hand slipped down to accidentally grab Dwalin’s beard- earning him a shove back.
Dwalin went silent, and Brund drunkenly chuckled to himself as he staggered off back to the flat above the apothecary that he rented.
Actually, his words hadn’t been so far from the truth.
Not that he’d ever know that one, of course.