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Chapter 4 – Proposal

The mine was returning to life. Tragedy had struck, and for a moment it had been uncertain. Was it a deathblow, or a temporary setback? But by the next morning, dwarves were already recovering—planning. The morning sun did not dawn on a wake. Nobody shivered in the cool mountain breeze.

There was work to do.

A group of miners, led by Sten, were standing outside the mine, examining the collapse and planning how to proceed. Would another quake hit someday? If so, the supports would have to be strengthened, and measures would also have to be taken in case something from inside tried to get out. Murderholes, moats, barricades. Plans were being made at increasing rates.

Three cook-pots bubbled at the center of the camp, and words of sympathy were exchanged with every meal served. But the gazes were no longer sorrowful, they were hard, like a quenched sword slowly being drawn out of the cold water. Sentries were changing their shifts, some walking to bed and others to patrol, and their watch had never been more vigilant.

Even those who had nothing better to do were energized. In front of the feast hall a group of young dwarves practiced spear-forms, thrusts and formations, in the hope of one day descending down that dungeon—Merrick’s Grudge. A proper name for a dungeon, that. It lit fire in their hearts.

Only one person in the camp could have been said to be lazing about, and his name was Thors. Thors the adventurer. He was not outside in the camp, leading the effort, but inside his tent, fretting at a mirror of all things.

The mirror was hand-sized, but Thors had hung it up from the tent’s ropes, and was now running a comb through his ashen beard, getting rid of any unsightly tangles. Satisfied, he eventually set the comb down, and began fretting over his attire. Usually, he would stick to practical, quality clothing and never take off his enchanted breastplate. Comfortable linen on the inner layer, then strong leather on the outer, strong enough to stop a goblin’s arrow.

But was that proper? His trip today was no casual jaunt, he was going to do serious diplomacy with a neighbouring clan. He had a quest for that too—ensure you are respected—or whatever the wording had been. He was a leader now.

...How did dwarf clan leaders dress again?

Thors shook his head and began pacing in front of the mirror. This isn’t like me, I don’t worry like this. Father dressed practically. I’ve visited them before—they dressed normally, it’s the damned frontier! He sighed. He knew why he was acting like this. It was the purpose of the visit. He wanted to put it off, after the disaster last time. To talk of mar—

The young dwarf winced. It had come up on his last visit, and he had messed up big time. Marriage. Aren’t I too young for that?

But gradually, as he stared into the mirror, he calmed down. His face wasn’t the face of a fresh adventurer anymore. It was a face that bore scars, and he could remember the story behind each and every one of them.

After the first, a gash on his forehead from a trap he had barely survived, Thors had acted like a fool. To tell the truth, he had been excited about finally getting a proper scar, then paraded it around, making sure his hair never covered it. The older adventurers had only wryly shook their heads, and eventually, he took the hint. These days Thors didn’t focus on the scars, but neither did he hide them. They were just one part of him, like any other. He was who he was.

So I will go as I am. And he might honestly need the enchanted breastplate, seeing how he had left things last time. Decided, Thors put away his mirror, quickly tied his long beard into the two braids he always kept it in, and then stepped outside of the tent. He would need to stay the night there, so he would need to take—

“Hey boss, need help with anything?”

Thors blinked. An enthusiastic young dwarf was waiting right outside his tent, eyes shining. His name was... Kjarr. One of the first ones who joined my grudge.

The lad hadn’t lost anyone close to him in the tragedy, but Thors hadn’t been surprised he had thrown his lot in. He could recognize the shine in that eye. “Have you been waiting here all morning?” Thors asked, amused.

Knarr hesitated for a moment, perhaps for the first time noticing that he was being a bit pushy, but then nodded. “Sorry if it bothers you, sir. I was a hauler, but ain’t no hauling to be done yet, so I thought...”

“—That I might have some task for you to do?” Thors continued, hiding his grin.

The young dwarf nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! Don’t worry boss, I’ll make myself useful!”

Thors regarded the other dwarf, lost in thought. Was I like this back then? It was a powerful thing for the young, to feel like they are in a story, to have someone to follow. He could send the lad off to practice axe-swings or the like, but it felt like a waste. I suppose a proper leader doesn’t travel alone.

“Then you’ll be helping me today!” Thors said, tapping Knarr on the shoulder. “We’ll be visiting the Silvervale mine today. Run an off and tell... Margrit and Sten that I’ll be gone today and back tomorrow, then get packed.”

I really need to figure out a proper chain of command, but that can wait. Thors watched Knarr run off, then began making his way out of the camp. I wonder if he would make a good assistant...

The first half of the journey was a boat ride down the river Torne, which ran about a mile away from the mine, right in the middle of the valley. It was a shallow and narrow river, not big enough for any proper ships, but for the rowboats the expedition used? Perfect. Thors and Knarr rowed silently, swapping who was on the oars every half hour, or to be more exact, whenever Thors noticed the lad’s face growing strained.

Even though it was a pleasant journey, Thors still kept his eyes on the landscape, ready to act if any signs of danger arose. This wasn’t the dangerous part of the frontier, yes. There were several other dwarven settlements between Thors’ own and the goblinmounts from which most nasty monsters came. Still, the wilderness was never safe, especially when one was in the middle of a body of water. Wolfspiders and the like were crafty bastards, often setting their webs along rivers that smaller boats frequented.

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They had to slow down every time the river made a big bend and took their time manoeuvring between any rocks jutting out, but the two were still making good time. Thors tried to keep his mind on the journey, but inevitably it wandered to the destination, and increasingly he worried over what awaited him. He had made some critical errors on his last trip to Silvervale, and he wasn’t sure whether he would face a warm welcome. It was a misunderstanding—surely she’s cooled down by now.

It took a few hours to reach the point where the river Torne joined the larger Velvet river, which flowed all the way from the proper dwarven lands up north. It was a busy trade river, bringing the southern dominion’s wares to foreign merchants.

Thors checked that no other ships were on the way, then rowed over the river, landing on the other side. He reached out, grabbing hold of a tree right by the water’s edge, then instructed Knarr to hop off and take hold of the boat. Once the lad had a stable grip, Thors followed him to shore, and together they pulled the vessel to land.

The forest and brush brought a welcome shade from the midday sun, and Thors took a moment to stretch out his hands, working out the tension from a few hours of rowing. “Alright lad—What do you say to a lunch break before we continue on?”

Knarr mimicked Thors’ stretching. “Margrit gave me sandwiches to take along for lunch. Do we eat them now? How long do we need to walk, boss?”

“Those sandwiches sound perfect! break them out,” Thors replied, already taking his waterskin out. As he drank greedily, his eyes roamed the mountains ahead of them. “Silvervale is a bit further out than Merrick’s Grudge, but they don’t have a navigable waterway. We should still make it during sunlight. See that clearing over there, a bit forward?”

Knarr looked forward, leaning over the river to get a clear view, until he spotted a wooden construct floating ahead. “Is that some sort of pier there?”

Thors started walking forward. “Exactly so. Silvervale has a trade ship come by every other week, and that’s where they exchange goods. We could’ve docked there, but we’re leaving the ship unattended, so it's better that it's a bit hidden. The path to their mine starts from there.”

Merrick had made a deal that the same ship would also bring supplies for his own expedition, and Thors had come fetch the goods several times. There hadn’t been much work suited to him at the mine, so he had volunteered to handle a lot of the work that required travelling around.

While Thors had his mind in the past, Knarr was hesitating. “Err—boss. Can I ask—why are we heading to silvervale anyway?”

Thors froze on the spot, dropping the sandwich Knarr had given him. A bead of sweat formed on his forehead. “Just some business dealings—” he said, eyes locked forward and voice lacking its usual sureness. “Going to see about my possible... marriage.”

Knarr raced up next to him. “You’re getting married? To who?”

“Whom. It’s not decided yet—just a possibility,” Thors said, suddenly marching forward at full speed, sandwich forgotten. “Her name is Aina. Youngest daughter of the Silvervale patriarch.”

“You’re getting married to someone like that?” Knarr’s eyes were shining. “How’d it start? Saved her from a pack of monsters?”

Thors laughed. “No! We’ve met only three times. Two of those were here, when the ship came. We got to talking, shared some stories, the usual business.”

Knarr wasn’t deterred. He was keeping up with Thors’ rapid march, almost getting ahead. “So two times were here, but the third is when the magic happened, right?”

Magic was one way to put it. Thors really didn’t want to think about what had happened during that third time. He still cringed internally whenever he thought about what exactly he had said. Can I distract him with some stories?

“Say, Knarr, do you know how to deal with a nest of wolfspiders?”

Thors managed to distract the other dwarf and eventually their pace calmed, until the walk along the path was almost pleasant. It was a continuous low chatter going throughout, mainly Knarr asking questions about adventuring and Thors answering, but it was a fun sort of dynamic—one that Thors hadn’t done that often.

The path snaked through sparse forests, occasionally rising up higher in the valley to dodge a thicket, then coming back down to dodge a cliff. Gradually, they rose higher and higher as the path switched from one valley to another, the forest growing sparser around them. But inevitably, like the hawks circling the mountain peaks above, Knarr came back to the question Thors was avoiding.

“So, that third time, what exactly happened?”

Thors stopped, having just crested the last hill before Silvervale. He could already see the smoke curling up from the settlement, only a few miles distant. Couldn’t he have stayed distracted just a bit more?

Still, they were almost there, so Thors figured it was futile to avoid the topic any longer. He nodded forward, indicating the small settlement nested midway along the hill ahead. “Our third meeting was over there, in Silvervale proper. She invited me to visit to discuss some trade, and share news.”

Knarr’s eyes were instantly shining again. “Now that’s a proper invitation for a tryst! She was sounding you out, all sneaky-like!”

Thors began walking down the path, eyes not moving from the settlement for one moment. “That’s what I thought too, and I wasn’t opposed of course...”

“How did it go?” Knarr interrupted, eager to get to the point.

“Fine! The start went fine. I met her father, discussed some business, then we had dinner and she asked me—”

“—to marry her?” Knarr filled in.

Thors winced, shaking his head. “No—she asked me why I stopped being an adventurer.”

It had been a simple error from Thors. A simple, fatal error. He had spent too long away from dwarves, traveling foreign lands. He had forgotten a few key facts of dwarven culture.

See, when foreign men and women talked, especially humans, there was a certain playfulness to it. Humour was important, and Thors had been a young dwarf man, of course he partook in such talk. And women often tended to ask that sort of question—“How long will you keep adventuring?” It was almost instinct, Thors had developed an automatic response to such questions.

“How did you answer?” Knarr asked, excited at a grand romance.

Thors turned to him with the eyes of a dead fish. He lifted up his hand, wiggled his missing pinkie, then repeated what he had said that night. “Why, if I lose any more fingers, where will the wedding ring go?”

Then after saying those words, Thors had winked.

Knarr missed a step. His eyes began shining brighter than ever before. He spun, pointing a finger at Thors.

“So you were the one who proposed to her!”

Yes, that was the difference. Dwarves took talk of wedding rings much much more seriously than other races. What Thors had said was on the same level as mentioning that one had been forging a ring recently, and was searching for a finger to put it on.

But the worst part—the worst part by far—was what had followed. Thors could still remember the scene vividly. It had been in their feast hall. The night outside had been dark, but the crackling firepit enveloped the room in warm light. They had been seated by one of the windows, a majestic moonlit landscape in view. Few others were eating that late. Rabbit stew.

Aina had been seated right in front of him, an easy going smile framed by fiery hair. She had the feel of a proper frontier woman—someone who wouldn’t be out of place punching a wolf in the face or milking a goat.

But then Thors had said those words.

The conversation had stopped, and her face had gone stark red, and for 10 seconds, she’d only stared blankly. Then her gaze had slowly focused, until she looked Thors in the eye—judging. Then she had taken hold of Thors’ hand, nodded, and said yes.

Why did she say yes? Thors found himself screaming internally, still weeks later. She had taken his mistaken proposal entirely seriously, and said yes! He couldn’t wrap his head around it. Wasn’t it far too soon? You can’t get married that fast!

It had all fallen apart when Thors realized his error. The others in the feast hall had seen him, and when Thors had begun trying to explain, that it was too soon and all, Aina had been...

Thors shivered. He had ended up escaping into the night and navigating back home under moonlight. Not one of his finest moments.

But here he was, marching right back into the maw of the beast. He needed an alliance, and quite frankly, this was his best shot. Thors had done a lot of thinking since then, on what he should have done differently, and what he could do next.

Thors stared at the settlement ahead like a convict stared at their executioner. Knarr was pestering him for more details, but Thors barely heard him. He was marching to the gallows, and could only pray the hangman was feeling merciful.