Small Village Northwest of the Elven King's halls
18 Gwirith Year 29, Fourth Age
 

"I'm tellin ya, dey all left! There innit no elves dere no more. Dey awl sailed away or where'er dey go."

Brigus narrowed his eyes at the drunk trader sitting across the table. The wiry old man was little more than a peddler, traveling town to town. He claimed to have come from West of the Great Wood, headed for Laketown, Dale and the surrounding villages to sell his wares.

If what the trader said about the elves was true, then maybe Brigus had just discovered his key to an easier life, a life he would much rather have than the hard work forced upon him just to survive. And all because of bad luck. If only…

But wishing the fire hadn't happened would not change his life. Besides, he hadn't really enjoyed farm life either. It was still a lot of work, and Brigus would rather spend his time in other pursuits. And the only way to ensure that would be to strike it rich.

The elves had treasure. Everyone knew that. Loads of it. And if they'd abandoned their Halls, it was doubtful they'd taken it all with them.

He'd heard about the Lonely Mountain and the dwarves and how even the carved stones were plated in gold and set with precious stones. The elves weren't much different when it came to treasure. At least that Elvenking was rumored to love it. And if dwarves coated their walls with treasure, it was very likely the elves did too. And they wouldn't have taken the walls with them if they left, now would they?

He smirked. "How do you know the elves are all gone? Mebbe only some of them left, or perhaps it's a trap to lure people to them. I've heard tales of how they take lost people in as prisoners and hold them for ransom."

The drunk across the table took another long drink from his mug and set it down, wiping his mouth with the back of his shaking hand.

"I dunna know nuthin' about that ransom stuff, but I saw 'em leavin'. With my own eyes, I saw da wagons and da horses and da elves all headed West. Lots of 'em. Passed 'em on the Elf Path on my way to Dale, I did."

"Maybe it was just a few of them. I've heard there are hundreds of elves living in the Elvenking's Realm."

"I don't know about hundreds, but there was a lot of 'em I saw leavin'! Never seen so many people traveling altogether like, and I've traveled mah whole life." He took another sloppy drink of ale and wiped his mouth. "Now, mebbe there be one or two left. I ain't sayin' dere ain't. But I even saw dat king of theirs, too. So tell me, who would stay if even da king was leavin'? Hmm?"

"How do you know the king was with them? You could have seen anyone. I've heard they all look alike."

"Heard 'em, one of 'em, call him that. Tried to sell my wares to them, I did, but they brushed me off right quick. And one of 'em called another 'my king' and bowed and they moved along right down the path without buying so much as a single bar of soap!"

The trader went to take another swallow of his ale, but the mug was empty. He slapped it down onto the table and leaned forward. "Now, ain't that what ya wanted to know? Pay up!" He smacked his hand flat against the table.

Brigus would have rather learned more, but it was clear the trader knew nothing else. He tossed the man the promised coin, stood and left the drunk, who was even now waving for the barmaid to bring him another ale.

He strode across the room and out into the night, his mind awhirl with thoughts of departing elves, their treasure and never having to work another day in the blazing sun for a few coins. He deserved it, after all he'd done, working all these years beside their Pa, only to lose everything, including his Pa, to that fire.

His little brother had high hopes for a new life, wasting his time working for other men and chasing the girl from the farm beside theirs. Torel talked about marriage and family and rebuilding the place. But to do so would require money. More money they either of them could make as a hired hand.

Brigus had no desire to settle down with a single woman when a few coins could buy him a night with any of the tavern wenches. He worked, too, to earn those coins, but he hated every minute of toil in the sun for other men, the sweat pouring off his brow, stinging the various cuts and blisters he obtained from hard physical labor. There had to be an easier way to make money. He'd already tried gambling, and lost more than he'd won.

But if he had treasure, now, that could buy him whatever he wanted. Maybe even his own tavern full of wenches and barmaids. Then he could drink his fill and bed as many maids as he pleased and people would look up to him instead of looking at him with pity. He could even build Torel and their mother a nice house and let his brother have the farm if he so wished. He could save them all just by using his cunning.

He just needed to investigate a bit more, maybe ride to the next town over and see if they'd heard anything about the elves leaving.

And if it were true, and the elves had left, then he would round up a few men he trusted, maybe even Torel. The boy needed to become more of a man. And together they would find those Halls and take whatever the elves had left behind. Even a single large gem could set him up for life. He just had to find it.

And nothing would stand in his way of having what he wanted. He'd see to that.

  To Be Continued….