I have been reading through my diaries and logbooks of my many years as a merchant and as I compile them into a singular entity, I find myself reminiscing more and more. I have met many creatures along the road and have established many friendships with a fair number of folk, mostly Dwarven, numerous Men. A fair number of Hobbits and to my own surprise and many of my kinsmen's dislike, a handful of Elves as well. These friendships were founded in between happenstance and necessity, for a merchant must be liked wherever he goes. Though, not for the life of me had I expected the events to transpire as they did, that fateful trip to the Grey Havens. On the way home, me and my kin found ourselves with a young human apprentice. A young lad named Pedhaer, who clearly was off in a bad way. As his Elven guardian had explained, the kid had lost his entire family a short while before. I reckon there was more to the story than just that, given how the lad looked to the Elf, but I do not inquire into Elven business.

We took the lad with us. He proved himself useful quick, laying low any doubts that Krufrem, Thrad, Frum and I had harboured originally. The kid proved to be intelligent and a good worker, if a bit quiet. We blamed that on his prolonged stay with the Elves, who aren't very talkative themselves, and it wasn't like we minded the lad being of the silent sort. He did speak when needed, but otherwise none of us were talkative either. Men and Hobbits love to chat wherever they go. Dwarves are quiet on the road. Even this close to the Blue Mountains, our beloved home, we knew better than to make a fuss above ground.

It was the end of one of our longer trips. We had gone all across the lands, going as far as Fornor and Amon Sûl to trade with the Rangers stationed there. They are few in number, but they are good trade partners. We had passed through Bree and had kept going south. We even came close to Tharbad, although we were part of a larger convoy there. While traders, especially Dwarven merchants, are a welcome sight to the folks living beyond the Greyflood, there are enough dangers there to quickly kill a small group. Then we had looped back, towards the Shire and the Gulf of Lune, stopping by the Grey Havens for a final round of dickering and trading trinkets before making our way back home to Buzra-Dûm. We received a warm welcome from our families. Pedhaer made a subtle attempt to stay behind with the wagons but none of us would have it. While it was uncommon for a human to be an apprentice to a Dwarf, we knew of his story and could not help but feel pity for the lad. Aside from that, we Dwarves have a reputation to uphold in regards to hospitality and we did. Even though the lad was terribly young by our standards, we taught him how to drink. Not much, not by a long shot, but enough that after a while he excused himself with emotions better left untouched swimming in his eyes.

As soon as he had left, the rest of us resumed our discussion on how to deal with him. We had taken him in largely out of pity, aside our indeed existing need for hired help, but now we were rather at a loss of what to do. In the scant few days it had taken us to travel from the Grey Havens we had been able to draw up a measure of the boy's character and we did not find it wanting, even if he were a bit too Elven by our tastes. In the end we decided to treat him like we would any other young Dwarf. With that properly settled, we began to drink properly and did not stop until the candles were burnt out.

Over the next months we saw the young lad change from boy to man. And a proper man he was becoming too. While he lacked the natural affinity that all children of Mahal possessed, he revealed to have keen eyes and a Dwarven heart. He grasped the basics well and while his arm was not as strong nor as steadfast as ours, he tried and learned and did not complain when the heat of the forges washed over him for hours on end. Other than that, he had shown interest in our militia training. At first there was a lot of anger over that. Not over his age, but over his race. It was true. Pedhaer had not our stocky built, nor could he run around wearing the armour Dwarves were comfortably, but as we began to debate over it, he himself interjected and joined the discussion. While he was forced to converse in Westron rather than our own tongue, which made him less convincing, the boy defended himself well, vowing himself to learn, to adapt, and not to complain. Thumlun, our captain, put that to the test. Repeatedly. For years on end. It wasn't until he came home one day with a badly broken arm that we rose up in protest.

Oh, we also taught him to drink like a Dwarf over the years. That cannot be overstated. I taught him the hidden tricks of smithing. I never bothered with the larger tasks, but with things that required a swift hand and a keen eye he seemed to have no trouble. They happened to be the sort of tasks that most proper smiths abhor, so I did not begrudge handing them over to him. Krufrem, ever the loud-mouth, showed up our culture, taking him deep into the city and far underground, showing him the wonders of our architecture and breweries in equal measure. Thrad taught him how to wield a crossbow and how the mechanics behind it worked, as well as how to properly wield an axe, even though there were some hiccups as Pedhaer quickly outgrew his teacher, not in skill but in height, and it is not easy to teach a human to fight like a Dwarf. His most important lesson, perhaps, was to teach the boy how to hold a shield. It is easy to strap a shield on your arm and consider yourself safe, but us Dwarves have long since perfected the art. Frum, our self appointed historian, took him to the libraries. We hold our ancestors in high regard, as well as our victories and he once confided in me that Pedhaer hid it well, but within the boy burned a bright fire whenever the killing of Orcs was mentioned. Frum, having found himself a brother in arms for his interest, spent many an evening recalling the stories of old, of our greatest victories and our most humiliating defeats to his very attentive one man audience.

Thinking back, it was strange he got as much done as he did. Between training, learning the crafts, our histories and the finer appreciation of ale, he somehow found the time to be productive as an apprentice as well. It amused us all. He was very human and as such kept running into human issues, things that were so obvious to us we never bothered explaining but were invisible to him. How you could discern the quality of ore. How to manipulate a crossbow so it would last a thousand shots without deforming. How to grip your axe for a quick, low blow. How to make a torch that didn't blind your eyes to the dark. He was a good man, Pedhaer, by the end of it, when the call came in.

Khazad-Dum had been reclaimed by our kin and we, along with many others, made for the road. Pedhaer came with us. We would be the first group, as we had been getting ready to set out regardless. Our stocks had been fully replenished over the years and none of us could resist the chance to visit that sacred place, to see the Endless Stairs, to cross the Bridge. Our hearts yearned and burned and we set off, along with a score of others.

At first all went well. We kept our guard, eager and excited as we travelled past the Shire and Bree along the Greenway. We went south, into Eregion and slowly made our way there, seeing surprisingly few beasts along the way. I remember the laughter of Frum as he said that the expedition must have slaughtered them all. If only that had been the case.

Less than two days out disaster struck us. Our scouts barely got a warning out, their shouts cut short by cruel blades as Wargs and Goblins streamed out of the forest by the dozen. We formed our ranks around our wagons, held fast and withered the assault. Frail arrows shattered across our armour. Mended swords broke on our shields and flesh and muscle split under our axes, but the Goblins were relentless, stoked by a fury we had never known them to possess before. Wargs gathered and charged us, one clustered group of defenders at a time, breaking the line. We tried to make a push, but there were too many Goblins around us. The surviving bands slowly began to walk towards one another, linking up where possible. We knew the battle to be lost long before the day ended, even as Pedhaer stood behind us, a monument of calm in the raging storm, his crossbow hefted above our heads as his bolts slew any Warg within reach. It is no lie when I write that none of us would have made it out if it had not been for him that day. The beasts relied on numbers to overwhelm us, appearing from between the Goblin ranks like wraiths, overrunning us before we could put up a fight. Pedhaer stood taller than us and Goblin alike and called out warnings, overseeing it all, using his height, for which he had so often been ostracised, to keep watch over us all.

After many hours of fighting we were all exhausted, but we had reached the forest proper. We didn't know how many of us were still left, if any other groups were alive as well and had been pulling back, step by step, towards Khazad-Dûm. We did not think of the wealth we left behind, or our life's work going up in flames as the Goblins danced around our plundered wagons. We prayed to our forefathers, turned and ran. It did not take long before the Goblins realised we had no intention of staying to fight and their attention shifted away from their loot and towards us once again.

It became a disorganised melee. I saw Krufrem go down under a Warg, Thrad and Pedhaer rushing to his aid and slaying the beast, but not before my lifelong friend's throat had been ripped open. There was no time to mourn, for more Wargs and their infested riders were gaining upon us. Thrad Thrad was next, tripping over a root just as two more beasts appeared. Pedhaer fired his crossbow and the one beast fell down as Thrad struggled to get up. Then Frum was there, shield locked in place and axe in hand, shouting at us to run. The Goblin riding the infernal creature stabbed him with a crude spear and while it failed to penetrate his armour, it did save the beast from a killing blow. The Warg sank its teeth into Frum's shoulder, who howled in pain while I could only watch, helplessly, urging Pedhaer and Thrad to run. I saw tears streaking down Pedhaer's face, but he obeyed. Thrad did not, however. He picked himself up and launched himself at the Warg, slamming his large axe through the Goblin's leg and into the side of the beast just as more Goblins began to stream into the clearing.

I do not know what happened to them. I never saw them again. All I hope is that they died bravely and quickly.

We did not get much further before we were intercepted once again, but this time fortune smiled on us, for we heard Dwarven horns in the distance. The soldiers of the expedition were nearing! The garrison of Khazad-Dûm was coming! All we had to do was make it through this was reach them. I still held hope that we would be able to go back, to save Frum and Thrad. Instead I turned and saw Pedhaer throwing aside his crossbow and drawing shield and axe in its place, one dead Goblin behind him but three more fast approaching. I ceased my retreat and ran back to him. The Goblins failed to kill him, tired as they were, they were no match for a man trained by the Dwarves, who could endure exhaustion far better. When I joined the fray, the Goblins were caught off guard. I killed the first and in that moment of distracted Pedhaer killed a second. The third, in typical fashion for those creatures, turned and ran. So did we.

Somewhere in the frantic rush I lost sight of him. It is a cause of regret that has stayed with me till this day. I reached the line of Dwarven warriors sent out from Khazad-Dûm shortly thereafter and begged them to go into the forest, to find Pedhaer, Frum, Thrad. They refused, instead holding their ground in the clearing as the handful of survivors linked up with them. At the time I was too distraught by worry to see why, but in the end I understood. Only two dozen warriors had come out of Khazad-Dûm. Taking the city had been more costly than any of us had imagined and they had to use their manpower sparingly, even more so as the Goblins had become enraged and were bent on extracting bloody vengeance.

Only seven of us survived that attack and we were brought to Khazad-Dûm, where Balin greeted us warmly and bade us welcome. This is my home now. I have lost friend and family to the foul Goblins, their bodies defiled. I will stay here and lend my axe and skill to Balin's command and extract a bloody revenge for those I have lost.

For Krufrem. For Thrad. For Frum. For Pedhaer.