After breakfast, Yggdrasil’s stout and burly figure gradually drew further away, eventually disappearing around the corner of the street. Balin remained standing before his door, his gaze locked onto that empty street corner for a long time, his heart churning with complex emotions he had never felt before.
He looked down at his large, callous-covered hands and thick knuckles. For years, they had been accustomed to the cold touch of a battle-axe, the heaviness of pushing open the city gates, and the steady weight of a shield held firmly forward during every conflict. Protecting this city had long become a part of his life, as natural as breathing.
He loved the boisterous laughter of his comrades in the tavern and the morning routine of receiving a cup of hot tea from the baker lady during patrols. He remembered Old Hans the blacksmith, who would raise a mug and shout, "A toast to our guardian!" every time he saw Balin. He thought of the girl who had gotten lost in the market years ago; he had carried her home on his shoulders, and now she was a young woman who would still blush and call out, "Uncle Balin!" whenever they met.
This was his life—stable, grounded, and filled with the honor and responsibility of being needed. This security was once his everything.
However, the intimate hours spent with Yggdrasil the night before, and the tender vow they shared at dawn, were like a stone cast into a still lake, stirring up thousands of ripples in his heart.
"Am I truly content to spend my entire life within these city walls?" Balin asked himself.
He recalled Yggdrasil’s face under the candlelight. He had been unable to resist asking, "You fellow, your head is always full of strange ideas we've never heard of... where on earth are you from?"
Yggdrasil had laughed then, his deep eyes reflecting a trace of nostalgia and loneliness. He had answered softly, "A very distant island nation in the East."
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Then, like a child hearing an adventure story for the first time, the man’s eyes had lit up. He gestured excitedly with his hands, saying, "Balin, Balin! Just imagine—in the legends of my homeland, there are cities of elves built to fly in the sky! If our home were up there, wouldn't we see a different set of clouds every time we opened the window?"
Then, he had playfully poked Balin’s rounded belly with a finger, adding with a mischievous smirk, "And what about singing crystals? If we chipped off a small piece and made a wine cup, would the cup sing a drinking song by itself?"
As Yggdrasil spoke, his eyes shone like two bright stars. His stout, burly frame swayed slightly with his excitement, and even his rounded belly seemed to dance happily along with him.
It was that unshielded, purest sense of Curiosity, Playfulness, and Aspiration that acted like a warm key, unlocking the rusted door labeled "Longing" deep within Balin’s heart.
"If I resigned from my post as a guard and embarked on an adventure with him..."
The thought flared up in his mind like a sudden wildfire. What kind of life would that be? No longer walking the same stone path day after day, but treading upon moss and soil unknown to any man. The air would no longer smell of city bread and blacksmith coal, but of forest dampness and the chill of distant snow-capped mountains. They would share roast meat by a campfire under strange stars, and he would hold Yggdrasil tight, witnessing the landscapes from his beloved’s "homeland legends" with his own eyes.
A voice in his heart said: Stay, Balin. Here lies your honor, your roots, and the home you’ve protected your whole life.
But another voice whispered: Go, Balin. Your heart has already followed that dwarf out the city gates.
These two voices pulled and collided within his mind. His armor was heavy, as was the weight of his duty. Could he easily lay down his battle-axe? Could he simply walk away from the comrades and citizens who trusted him?
Yet, could he endure every future morning, drinking that cup of tea alone, imagining Yggdrasil in some far-off land, seeing sights he himself would never behold?
The tug-of-war between inner longing and reality’s responsibility grew intense. Balin let out a heavy sigh, a sound filled with the crushing weight of an impossible choice. He turned and walked back inside. The wooden door that had so recently opened for his lover closed slowly behind him, letting out a dull thud that mirrored his current mood.
