Home, Cold Home - Short Story

Thorim was getting the last things that he would need in his backpack from his father’s chest when something caught his attention. In the bottom of the chest was an old and very fine mug made of wood. The young dwarf felt the rough but fine wood as soon as he picked it up. He saw the wooden carving of a bear’s siluette with mountains around and felt like holding an ancient relic from a long forgotten kingdom. He tried to leave the old mug in the chest, along with all the memories about his father, but he couldn’t just leave such a big part of his life behind. He took the mug with the Frostbeard symbol in his hand and, after a short glance, put it in his backpack. His cabin was full of memories about his youth, he had grown up between and around this walls and the ghosts of the past were still going around the house in front of his own eyes. Thorim felt the nostalgia pressing his chest and an urge to stay and follow the clan’s advice came to his mind. But just to think about staying as a regular blacksmith, fighter or hunter like many dwarfs before him made him sick.

Thorim was a dreamer. The kind that knows how crazy and dangerous his dreams are and doesn’t care about it. He knew that the life was not a role to fill in a clan or a family, but the achievements that we tell to our grandsons and granddaughters, the adventures that we lived and the dreams that we accomplish. Those thoughts made Thorim’s strength return and gave him the guts to face the world, no matter what. With determination in his hearth and a dream in his mind, Thorim opened the door to face his biggest fear. He was ready to face the people that helped his father rise him and tell them they were wrong, and that we will leave them to follow a foolish dream. We was walking calmly to an event that will change his life.

“You’re not good at it, boy. Just forget it and go back to your duties” said the Dwarven leader while he put another rabbit leg in his plate. “You have the strength of a blacksmith and the agility of a great hunter.” The black bearded Dwarf said and then pointed the rabbit leg in his hand towards Thorim, “Don’t waste that talent, you are just wasting all your father’s efforts”. Just the mention of his father make Thorim felt sad and hopeless, and a mix between nostalgia and anger grow inside him. They were in the common hall of his clan, along all the respected dwarfs of the clan. This place was made to show all the deeds of the clan member’s. Thorim saw the heads of monsters and dangerous animals in the wall and even some beautiful weapons that were put there because no one was good enough to wield them. Everything around him felt big and scary. “It’s already decided, Reggron. I’m not here for your permission but for your approval” said Thorim remembering the speech that practiced so many times before while tried with all his will to not sound terrified, and he was. “Bah! You are old enough to do with your life whatever you want, even waste it as you are doing now. But I would not approve it, I won’t betray your father’s memory like that”. Reggron said moving his cup of beer in his hand while splitting some in the table. “If you want to waste your life go on and leave. Maybe you’ll find some glory when a tundra yeti kills you in battle”. Thorim knew that there wasn’t any word that he could say to change his mind. He knew it from the beginning and felt like a fool for trying it anyway. He make a small bow and headed toward the exit door. “And what is your plan then? Where would you go? You are not and adventurer like your father was!” Scream the angry leader after he stand up. “You don’t have what it takes” snarl the dwarf to himself while he dropped in his chair. He knew what he just heard was true. He didn’t have a plan or anywhere to go, not even a clue. He knew that we wasn’t the great adventurer like his father was, but he was tired to live in his father shadow. He wanted to live his own story, find out who he was and what his destiny was. This thought made his blood run faster. Ignoring his former leader, Thorim walked towards the dark and silent tundra. He felt the eyes of the dwarves on the hall looking at him in search of an answer, but gave none. He walked without any further thought, like his life depended on it, knowing we was walking in the mist of the unknown. And we wasn’t sure why, but he liked.