Disclaimer: I own none of Tolken's work, nor any of the characters except for Faelwen and, later, her bodyguard/close friend, Rion. The rest of the characters are owned by some incredibly talented writers/ role players/ friends on a game I play and were created through the use of RP.
Side note to the RP people: If this drives me insane, I'm blame you :P
The hour was late; the sun had not touched the horizon, nor blessed the earth with its light for many hours. The night was cold and starless, clouds, full of the seas icy spray which poured down over the land; echoing against the roof of Dain's Inn. The inside was lit by many flickering candles and the roaring flames of the fire place, casting a warm glow over those sheltered within from the storm. For the hour and time of year, Dain's was oddly empty, shielding only four souls from the rain.
A glass of golden liquid slid across the table before me and I looked up into the soft brown eyes of my companion. "Whiskey, get it down you Fael, it'll warm you up." Bahamus, was the widow of a Gondorian merchant, trading the goods that he had obtained to the men of Minas Tirith and Osgilliath... Until a thief with a blade had taken his life. Yet the events of the past had not hardened her heart against the mortals of Middle Earth.
I downed the glass and slid it back to her for a top up, at which she sighed quietly.
There was little to no conversation between us under the protection of the Inns roof; the silence had me on edge, my hand drifting absentmindedly to my hip where my sword, Ringil, rested.
The door let out a low, creaking moan; the wind howling and rain thundering against the floor like a chorus of drums, masking the footsteps of the hooded figure entering.
I watched him curiously, trying to figure out his profession. If not for the quality of his cloak, I would have thought him among the Rangers of the North... But something about his posture, the way he carried himself so surely... "Assassin," Bahamus whispered, knowing where my mind was going.
The male discarded his dampened cloak on a table in the corner where little firelight reached; running a hand through his dark hair and, dropping a bag of money on the other side of the counter, took up a glass and a bottle of Dain's best wine. A regular here then.
He struck up his pipe, taking a seat and watching us each in turn. Bahamus, with her sin kissed skin, dark hair and eyes; over a male with cold, chilling eyes (long ago identified by us as a thief) and his smaller, giggling female counter part. She was not an elf or dwarf, yet not of mankind either... yet likely very drunk. His gaze then landed on me and left quickly.
"Drink that and take that scary look off your face." "Scary look?" I asked, accepting the whiskey she held out with a raised eyebrow. She shook her head with a light laugh: "the one you use in battle of when arguing with someone who does not meet your approval." I sighed, closing my eyes and listening to the rain against the stone and wood; forcing myself to relax. "It's this storm..." She laughed gently, the sort of warming laugh a mother gives to a child who says or does something overly innocent. "Oh, Fael, you do not know how to be still. If not for the rain we would be out, stalking an Orc pack or hunting deer in Lorien's woods, fighting and betting for glory in Gondor... my friend, Mellon nin, plainly do not know how to stop."
A chair scraped the floor sharply, the cold eyed male staggering towards the assassin who, himself, stood ad reaching for his blade. I did likewise with a whisper, "I may get a fight this night after all." "I shall stand by you."
Yet, as I stood and swords clashed she grabbed my arm, anchoring me in place. "What's wrong? Let me get in there!" But she shook her head, nodding to the attackers partner poised, not to join the fight, but watching... waiting. "Watch her, not them. We couldn't decide what she was or guess abilities. I can not trust you not to be stabbed in the back by her." I sighed: "You are always the voice of reason." "A voice which you yourself greatly lack."
A cry sounded, drawing my attention back to the males. The attacker was now pressed firmly against the bar in attempt to defend himself, a gash spilling blood from his ribs across the tan of his shirt. "Elrohir..." His name passed her lip as no more than a faint whisper yet I caught it; so did the assassin from his change in posture, a name known to us both...
"Elrohir the Damned"
To Bahamus' credit, her puzzlement was well concealed, yet my blood had turned to ice as his eyes found my own.
"You. You know."