The Rangers' eyes repeatedly darted between Miriel and the mutilated corpse. A numb silence fell over the men, as each attempted to process all that he was seeing. The brutal manner in which the man had been killed was quite revealing. The pieces of the puzzle were starting to fit together, forming a disturbing picture of Miriel's past. It now seemed evident to all the Rangers that she had suffered some horrific sexual abuse at some point in her young life. That would explain her enmity at their first meeting on Amon Sûl.
"He won't hurt anyone ever again," said Miriel, her tone just as calm as calm could be.
The men remained speechless as the mob rapidly neared the scene. The glow from their torches and lanterns could be seen as the mob marched down the street. A cacophony of voices cried out for vengeance on the one that had had the audacity to attack one of their own, especially a young, defenseless girl. None were yet aware that the current Slayer had exacted her own form of revenge on the villain.
Before the Rangers could do much of anything, one by one, the villagers popped through the hedge, gasping or shrieking when they set eyes on the ravaged body. Their reaction was not unlike that of Miriel's friends – stunned disbelief. At that moment, the attack on the Bree girl dissipated from the townsmen's minds, instantly replaced by the horrific nature of the sight before them.
"She did it!" shouted one of the villagers, pointing his long, accusatory finger at Miriel.
"You think?" she shot back. For Eru's sake that must have required a great deal of deduction on that villager's part! she thought. Not only was she soaked in blood, but she also continued to clutch the "murder" weapon in her hand!
Nearly twenty villagers had passed through the gap in the hedge, swarming the area. Never before had any of the Bree-landers witnessed such a ghastly "crime." Quite a few ran back through the bushes, retching.
"You have some nerve to speak like that," chided a short, stout man with messy brown hair. "Do you know who he is?"
Miriel would have loved to have answered that question, but at that moment, the Constable finally sprang through the tall hedge. "Let me by! Let me by!" he demanded, pressing his way through the crowd.
"It's the Constable!" someone else yelled out. "Let him through!"
The blood instantly drained from the Constable's face the moment he set eyes on the body. He pursed his lips so tightly that even they, turned white. He tried to put up a brave front but looked visibly shaken.
"Reed Thornberry," he said with a sigh. "I might've known."
"Restrain her before she kills again!" one of the men shouted, actually stepping behind another villager in case the Slayer decided to spring forward and attack more with her knife. The man he hid behind wasn't very happy about being used as a shield. He quickly left the area, slipping back through the tall bushes.
"I'm not going to hurt anybody," said Miriel. "I've stopped a crime."
"You hacked a man to pieces," shouted the same man who had insisted that she'd kill another. He seemed bolder the further away he was from her. "She's a threat to the town, Constable. An outsider. Lock her up! Lock her up! Lock her up!"
Somehow, that one man had gotten several of the townspeople to chant along with him.
"Miss," began the Constable, "You'll need to come with me. We have to sort things out. Surely, you understand I cannot just let you walk away from here." The middle-aged man blotted the sweat from his brow with a folded handkerchief.
"Get the weapon, Constable!" shouted that same irritating man. "Get the weapon before she kills again!"
Miriel glared at the man before looking down at the knife clutched in her crimson-covered hand. She then bent down, (a motion that sent most of the villagers reeling back in fright), used the grass to wipe the blood off the blade and turned the weapon over to the Constable, ready to face the consequences of her actions.
The dull sound of clanking metal came from within the crowd. A tall fellow with short, dirty blond hair then stepped forth from the mob; in his hands, he clutched a set of iron manacles.
Once again, the Constable spoke kindly. "It's just a precaution, Miss. I have to think about my people here. I can't risk anyone else getting… hurt."
Miriel complied by holding out her arms, allowing the tall man to put the restraints on her. From within the crowd, she heard Elrohir's faint elvish voice, saying, "No."
The Slayer was hauled through the hedge. When she reached the other side, the Constable took hold of her left arm while the tall man who had placed the manacles on her wrists, clutched her right arm. The street was teeming with people - men, women and children. Indistinct murmurings came from the throng as Miriel was escorted down the road. The townspeople backed away when she neared them, fearing that she was some sort of monster. Many had not yet heard the true account of what had transpired other than that an unknown girl had hacked off Reed Thornberry's head and genitals, an appalling crime by anyone's standards. There were some in the crowd that cried out for Miriel's immediate execution.
With her adrenaline rush waning, the Slayer found herself becoming tired, sleepy even. A dull throbbing began to manifest itself at the back of her head.
When they passed The Prancing Pony, Miriel could see the guests, along with the proprietor and his small staff, gathered in the courtyard. Their facial expressions mirrored that of nearly all the townspeople - mouths agape, eyes wide, with a combination of horror and disbelief. They too, had yet to hear the entire story and didn't know what to think of the blood-covered girl with whom most had danced that night.
The Slayer was led further down the road until she was steered into a building off to her left. Only the Constable, his subordinate and Miriel entered the structure. The sudden bright light within the room hurt the Slayer's eyes. She squinted in response. Her eyes were not given a chance to adapt to the brilliant glow within the chamber, as the Constable directed her quickly across the room. He grabbed a lantern from a nearby table, as they went down a short corridor, then through a door, where they immediately descended a set of spiral stone steps.
Except for the lamp, the place was dark and windowless, the air cold and musty.
"Watch your step," warned the Constable. "The stairs can sometimes be a bit slippery."
At the bottom of the steps was a small antechamber, no larger than 10x10, the ceiling low. Being taller than her jailors, she had to stoop down so as not to strike her head on the stone ceiling. To her immediate right was a single cell, the face constructed from iron bars that stretched from ceiling to floor. In its center was a door, also fashioned from metal, with a large lock. The other three walls appeared to be wrought from the same stone that surrounded them. Beyond the bars, Miriel could see a crudely built bed set against the far wall. The bedding looked to be stuffed burlap.
The Constable took the key and fit it into the lock. "You may go, Heathertoes," he said to his underling.
"But, sir, I don't think it's wise to leave you alone with… her," said Heathertoes, his tone riddled with doubt. He looked Miriel over with a wary eye.
"Go. Find out how the girl is," replied the Constable firmly. The cell door creaked open, as the Constable shifted his gaze to Miriel. "I do not think she will be any trouble."
Without being told, Miriel stepped into the cell. She would not argue, nor protest. Whatever punishment the Constable deemed appropriate, she'd willingly accept.
The moment the door swung shut with a clang, Heathertoes took off, hurrying up the stairway.
"Sit! Sit!" said the Constable, pulling up a stool and sitting on the freedom side of the barred barrier.
Miriel sat on the "mattress". There was no doubt that the burlap was filled with straw, moldy straw by the smell of it. She leaned against the stone wall, shuddering at the sudden coldness that penetrated her body.
"So tell me now, Miss…, er, um," he stammered. "What is your name? And where is it that you're from?"
The Slayer moved her rear closer to the edge of the bed, finding the wall too cold. She hoped that by doing so, the chill would pass. "My name is Glossien," she lied. "I hail from the south, but the wars forced me up to these parts. I now dwell with my uncle, Halbarad of Archet." She remained poised, speaking as if she were telling the truth.
By the looks of it, the Constable couldn't tell that her statements were false. Instead, he continued with, "Now then, Glossien. Tell me, what happened."
Though she had lied about her identity and the reason she was in Bree-land, Miriel told the truth about all that had happened from the moment she had stepped out of The Prancing Pony in need of fresh air, to the odd noises that had caused her to investigate their source. She expressed no emotion as she spoke, her voice never wavering until she got to the part where she had discovered what was taking place behind the hedge.
"He was raping her, Constable," she revealed, her voice finally cracking with emotion. "How could I do nothing? I had to stop him. I had to stop him by any means that I could."
The Constable's jaw dropped. Immediately, he looked away, shaking his head. He had no idea that Juniper had been raped. She had said that she had been "attacked."
"I did not know," he uttered softly. "She used the word "attacked", not… not…" The Constable found himself unable to say that word.
Miriel quickly regained her composure, locking her steely eyes on the man. "And what would you expect her to say, Constable, in the presence of so many men? To speak of something so private, so intimate, so deplorable." The Slayer shook her head. "No. There is no way she could reveal such a horrific thing. Not at that time."
The Constable bowed his head and began to rub his forehead with his short, thick fingers, saying, "Oh, dear," repeatedly.
The Slayer watched him, wondering if this revelation would change things. Would she still be seen as some villain, as some of those in the street had viewed her? Would they demand her death, or would they grant her immunity from such a drastic form of punishment? That remained to be seen.
Silence fell between them. Within the bowels of the jail, she could hear the Constable's breathing echoing against the stone walls. She watched him intently, waiting for him to make some type of pronouncement of her doom.
At that time, she gave no thought to her friends, who waited outside along with many villagers. Already many more people were assembling, having heard the alarm bells, from far and wide. Armed men hastened to Bree from the surrounding townships that comprised Bree-land: Archet, Chetwood, Combe and Straddle. Their numbers swelled those already in the street, desperate to hear news of what had happened.
The five Rangers stood some distance away from the growing mob, talking amongst themselves. "What will happen to her?" asked Elladan gravely, looking at the sizable crowd with dismay.
"I do not know," answered a worried Halbarad. "We never questioned Miriel about what had happened?"
"She killed a man. That much we know," remarked Gúron.
"She did more than that," added Elrohir. "She… she dismembered him."
"And I'm sure Miriel felt that she had good reason to do so," said Aragorn, eyeing the crowd.
"I'm not denying that, Estel," replied Elrohir defensively. "My concern is how the townspeople will view her actions. Deaths in that manner do not happen in these parts. My fear is what they intend to do with Miriel."
Aragorn's hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword. Feeling the weapon in his grasp brought him comfort. He looked at his fellow Rangers. "If the people do not do the honorable thing… then we will. We will not leave Miriel imprisoned."
They had all agreed that if the Constable refused to release Miriel, they would do whatever was necessary to get her out.
The Constable mumbled incoherently under his breath. Miriel couldn't make out what he was saying, but by the look on his face, something troubled him deeply.
"What happens now?" she finally asked.
"I don't know."
"You don't know?" she repeated. "You're the Constable. I've told you the truth. If you don't believe me – talk to the girl." As soon as she had suggested that, she had her doubts. If that girl was anything like Miriel, the last thing she'd want to do is talk to anyone about what had happened.
"I believe your account of events," he said, meeting Miriel's gaze for the first time since having heard her version of all that had transpired. "But, it's complicated." His face was lined with worry. Already, dark circles had formed beneath his eyes.
"Complicated?" she said aloud. "How can things be complicated? I killed a predator, a man who took pleasure in preying on the young and helpless."
"You do not understand," protested the Constable brashly. "You do not understand the people involved. The influence that – "
The Constable stopped speaking mid-sentence. The door at the top of the stairs had flung open, bathing the steps in light. Someone was rapidly descending the steps. The Constable rose to his feet. "Mister Mayor, sir."
The Mayor stopped at the foot of the stairs, locking his eyes on Miriel. He did not immediately speak, but stared.
"I was just questioning the girl, sir," explained the Constable, "Trying to get to the bottom of the story. Things are far worse than – "
"She's covered in blood," observed the Mayor. "Go fetch some water and a cloth. And do something about that crowd outside. They're getting too rowdy for my liking. Tell them to go home or they'll face the consequences."
The Constable nodded curtly. As he went by the Mayor, the Mayor grabbed his arm, halting him. He had a brief conversation with the Constable. Even though the men were only steps away, their voices were so faint that Miriel couldn't hear a single word said. Their hushed verbal exchange ended with the Constable handing over the key to the cell before carefully climbing the stairway.
The Mayor came over to the cell, fitting the key in the lock. "I'm sorry about this," he said apologetically. "It was merely a precaution." He swung the door open. "Now that I've heard the whole story, I beg your pardon."
Miriel was baffled by the Mayor's comments. "Pardon?" she found herself saying.
The Mayor retrieved the stool and lantern, setting both before Miriel's bed. He took a seat, his eyes more closely examining the girl in front of him.
The Slayer watched the man closely. His round face showed the first few wrinkles that come with age. His short, brown, wavy hair was flecked with grey. However, his eyes were what she focused on. They clearly revealed the Mayor's pain and sorrow, not to mention that they were red and puffy, as if he had been crying.
"Are you alright?" she asked, puzzled by her concern for the Mayor.
The Mayor went to speak, but paused. His bottom lip quivered and his eyes began to well with tears. Taking a deep breath, he then said, "The girl you saved – Juniper. She's my daughter."
Miriel's jaw dropped. That wasn't something she had expected to hear. The man broke down in front of her, burying his face in his hands, sobbing. She reached out, wanting to comfort him, but when she noticed that her hand was still caked with blood, she quickly withdrew it.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, finding herself becoming teary-eyed.
The Mayor raised his head, wiping his eyes dry. "Sorry," he said. "You saved my daughter's life. If not for you… " His words trailed off. He closed his eyes and took another deep breath, trying to compose himself. His eyes slowly opened. "If not for you, my Juniper would probably be dead."
"How is she?"
"She's been traumatized, of course. I'm afraid that she may never recover from this."
"Just give her some time," replied the Slayer softly. "She just needs time."
The Mayor pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose. After folding the cloth and stuffing it back into his pocket, he continued, "I know what you did to Reed Thornberry. Whilst I don't disagree with your mutilating his body – I feel it was just! – not all the townspeople feel the same way." The Mayor paused, collecting his thoughts. "The Thornberrys are a very influential family in Bree. Very wealthy, powerful. There are many here under the senior Thornberry's employ. They are the ones screaming loudest, the ones seeking your… " His words trailed off again.
"Who is it that decides my fate?"
He looked her directly in the eye and answered, "I do."
At that moment, Heathertoesreturned, carrying a clay pot of water and a cloth. Without saying a word, he gave the bowl to the Mayor and then headed back up the stairway.
"Please! Wash up," instructed the Mayor, handing the vessel to the Slayer.
She placed the container on the floor. Soaking the cloth, she squeezed out the excess water and then began scrubbing the blood from her face.
When the Mayor was sure that Heathertoes had gone, he continued. "Reed Thornberry had never been a very nice person. His parents had a tendency to overindulge him. Any time he got into trouble, they bought his way out." He glanced up at the ceiling. "Barkley, er, the Constable, unfortunately dismissed the charges too many times. But, I reckon that none of us thought that Reed was capable of taking things this far."
He shifted his eyes back to Miriel, watching as she rubbed the blood from her fingers. The Mayor leaned a bit closer, as if not wanting any to overhear his next question.
"How is it that you were able to overpower a man of Reed Thornberry's size?" Since he had first set eyes on Miriel, he had longed to ask her that question. "You're just a girl." Bewildered, he shook his head. "You don't look much older than my Juniper, and she's only fourteen."
"Fourteen," said an alarmed Miriel, her stomach feeling as if it was twisting into knots. "How tragic for one so young to… " It was now her words that trailed off.
The Mayor wasn't about to let his question go unanswered. "How was it that you were able to subdue him? You may be tall, but you do not look strong, not strong enough to defeat a man as big as Reed Thornberry."
"When one witnesses such atrocities taking place, one is capable of doing great feats," she replied.
The Mayor shook his head in disbelief. "That may be true, but I cannot see how one – a girl, no less – can muster such strength as to not only restrain a man larger than she, but to also cut off his head. I hate to admit it, but it sounds like witchcraft to me."
Miriel snorted. "I can assure you, Mayor, I am no witch nor am I in league with any. I cannot explain where my sudden strength came from, but I'm most pleased that it came to me when it did. I offer no apologies for what I have done, and I can say with certainty, that if I were to come upon such a scene again, I would do exactly the same thing."
The Mayor believed her. He felt an instant sense of relief. "I cannot express my gratitude enough for – "
"Mister Mayor! Mister Mayor!" screeched Heathertoes's frantic voice as he flew down the stairway, nearly slipping down them at the halfway point. He hugged the wall, regaining his balance, then continued his rapid descent down the smooth stone steps.
The Mayor leapt from his seat. "What is it, Heathertoes?" he asked, his tone as urgent as his underling's.
"It's the townspeople, sir," he declared breathlessly. "They refused to leave until they had heard news of what had happened. Once the Constable told them, they marched over to Master Thornberry's halls, demanding that he leave Bree at once."
"Is that so?" the Mayor responded, somewhat coolly.
"They're saying that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, and that Master Thornberry is as much a monster as his son. What do we do?" The man was in all out panic.
The Mayor crossed his arms, his face wrinkled in thought. After a few seconds, he answered, "Let them be." He then turned and settled back down on the stool.
"What?!" asked a flabbergasted Heathertoes.
"You heard me. Let the Thornberrys be run out of town. We don't want their kind here." The Mayor spoke with such authority that Heathertoes turned on his heal and darted up the steps.
Miriel was somewhat surprised by the Mayor's decision.
"Apple doesn't fall far from the tree, indeed," he muttered. He then looked Miriel in the eye. "We'll be better off with the lot of them gone. They've wielded too much control over the goings-on in this town for far too long. Good riddance, I say!"
The Slayer didn't know how to respond to that. Still uncertain of her own fate, she turned her attention back to her hands and worked on trying to get the blood out from beneath her fingernails.
"It seems the tide has turned," remarked the Mayor, watching Miriel intently. "It sounds like the townspeople have a better understanding of what has transpired and more than likely view your actions somewhat favorably."
Miriel met the Mayor's gaze.
"I will let you go free."
Miriel heaved a heavy sigh of relief.
"However, I fear for your safety," the Mayor was quick to add. "As I had said, there are many in Bree who are under, er, were under Master Thornberry's employ. I have no doubt that there will be some that will seek retribution for their loss. When things settle down, I will release you into the custody of your kinsman, but I'm afraid that it would be in your best interest not to return to Bree-land ever again. I do not have the ability to protect you," He took a deep, shuddering breath, "when I cannot even protect my own."
Being in a jail cell for even a short time had convinced Miriel that this was no place for her. She was ever grateful for the Mayor's decision.
"You are a just lord," she replied. "And I thank you."
"It grieves me to banish you from our lands," he said sadly. "My heart tells me that my people would be much safer if you stayed."
At that moment, a woman shouted from the top of the stairs. "Rowlie? Rowlie? Are you down there?"
The Mayor glanced over his shoulder. "Yes, dear." He looked back at Miriel. "My wife. Excuse me, will you?"
"Of course," she answered with a nod of her head.
The Mayor took off up the stone steps. Just beyond the threshold, he and his wife conversed. Their voices were so faint that Miriel could only make out a word here and there. After several minutes, all fell quiet.
Then, someone began to slowly descend the stairway, the footfalls much softer than the Mayor's or his underling's. Miriel watched the shadow on the wall until a cloaked figure came into view. The hood was pulled low, concealing the person's face.
Once the unknown visitor had entered the antechamber, the hood was pulled back.
Miriel rose from the bed. "Juniper." She immediately recognized the battered girl.
"I had to see you," the Mayor's daughter said, rushing into the cell. She took Miriel's hands, holding them within her own. Juniper's right eye was swollen shut, the tissue around it now deep purple in color. "I had to see my savior face to face, to thank you, for saving me."
"There's no need," replied Miriel. Seeing Juniper up close like this, the Slayer couldn't believe how young she looked. She barely looked her age. "You should be resting."
"I couldn't, not until I spoke to you," insisted the young girl. Juniper's one good eye examined Miriel. She couldn't help but notice the Slayer's gown soaked with blood. "It's true then, what they say?"
"Who's they?" queried Miriel, confused by the girl's question.
"The townspeople. They say that you… that you cut my attacker's head off," she said with hesitation.
"I did."
Then, speaking in a whisper, she said, "And they say that you cut off his… er… um… " Juniper's words faltered. Amidst the bruises on her face came a pinkish hue. In her mounting discomfort, she shifted her gaze to their hands. Apparently saying the word "penis" was too embarrassing for the young girl. Regardless, the Slayer knew what she was trying to say.
"Yes, I did that too."
Juniper continued. "And is it true that you had placed… it...in his mouth?"
"Placed is not the word I would use. Lodged is the more appropriate word."
The girl looked up at Miriel, her left eye widening in surprise.
"It took some effort, but I managed to lodge it down his throat," said the Slayer point blank.
Miriel watched as the corners of the girl's mouth slowly turned up into a smile. "I'm glad that you did that. Is it wrong that I feel that way?"
"No," answered the Slayer, shaking her head. "In my eyes, it was just."
"Yes, yes it was," she answered, her smile beginning to waver. The anguish of the girl's torments returned to her face.
"What happened, Juniper? How did something like that happen in a town like Bree?" The girl did not immediately respond and Miriel thought that she might've overstepped her bounds by asking such a question. "On second thought, you don't need to answer that. Forget that I mentioned it."
"No, it's alright," Juniper answered. Breaking eye contact once again, the girl looked at the stone wall beyond Miriel's shoulder. "He… he seized me from behind," she began, speaking hesitantly. She then shifted her gaze back to the Slayer. "I was coming back from my grandmother's house. She's been ill. I hadn't realized how late it was, and… and knew that I had to get back home. It's something I've done hundreds of times before. But, this time, this time I was seized from behind. Before I could scream… he clamped a hand over my mouth and dragged me through the bushes. I tried to fight… but he was too strong. He threw me on the ground." She paused, becoming tearful. "I was so frightened. I kept trying to fight… that's when he put his dagger to my throat. I was petrified. I-I thought I was going to die. He started pulling at my dress… tearing it… doing horrible things to me."
Tears trickled down the girl's face. She let go of Miriel's hands, and unbuttoned the first few buttons of her top. "He bit me," she said, revealing the teeth marks on her breast.
Miriel grimaced. By the looks of the wound, the teeth marks would become permanent scars.
The girl then quickly buttoned up her top. "That's not all," she went on, sitting on the edge of the bed. "When I still refused to uncross my legs, he sliced them." She hiked up her gown, revealing a bandaged thigh. "He cut me from here to here," she said, motioning from two points on her leg, which measured about ten inches long. "That's when I stopped fighting… that's when I… submitted."
Juniper desperately wanted to be strong in front of Miriel. She hastily wiped away her tears on the arm of her sleeve. "Mother says that they'll more than likely leave scars. But she doesn't understand about the scars… "
"I do," answered the Slayer, sitting beside the girl. "I understand how deep they go, how the deepest ones can't be seen with the naked eye." Then, speaking in a mere whisper, she said, "Only we can see them."
A perplexed Juniper locked eyes with Miriel. "We?" she queried.
Miriel slowly nodded her head. She then carefully pulled down the neck of her dress, which had hidden the hideous scar that had been engraved on her own chest.
The girl gasped. "You?" she said, shocked.
The Slayer quickly covered the Eye again. "Yes, me," she faintly replied, feeling a sudden lump in her throat. Miriel felt that she should say more, but the words just wouldn't come out.
Juniper tenderly took Miriel's hands in her own again, finding that her connection with her savior instantly deepened. In some strange way, hearing that she wasn't the only one to suffer so made her feel better. However, she couldn't imagine any man taking advantage of this young, strong woman seated beside her. Juniper had witnessed her strength first hand, and had never seen a woman so strong. She couldn't help but wonder how her savior could have fallen victim to such an attack. She found that quite alarming.
Furrowing her brows, Juniper stammered, "H-How could such a thing happen, to you? I saw you overpower Reed Thornberry with such ease. You were able to subdue him, single-handedly."
The lump in Miriel's throat felt like it had grown double in size. Even after all this time, her own ordeal was not the topic of a conversation she wanted to have, with anyone. Juniper's hands remained clasped around hers. Miriel lifted her arms, turning them slightly. Her eyes shifted to her wrists. The girl's eyes followed her gaze.
"I was drugged and bound," she revealed, her voice cracking as she spoke.
Juniper focused in on Miriel's wrists and could clearly make out the scars burned into her savior's delicate, porcelain white skin. A look of utter horror came to Juniper's face.
"They came in friendship, when I was in need," continued the Slayer softly. She looked back at Juniper, her eyes welling with tears. "But they turned out to be monsters guised in manly form."
"They?" Juniper gasped, aghast at the thought of having more than one attacker.
Miriel inhaled deeply, forcing herself to swallow that lump in her throat. "You are stronger than you realize, Juniper," she then said, regaining her composure. "For you can speak of your ordeal, when I cannot."
Juniper knew by the tone of her savior's voice that she would say no more about her own past torments.
"Sleep easier tonight, for the monster is dead," added Miriel. "And any others that happen to cross my path will perish in like manner."
Speechless, the girl threw her arms around the Slayer, hugging her tightly. Not only did she believe her savior's words, but she also felt a sense of relief in knowing that there was someone out there with the strength and skill to hunt down sexual predators, punishing them justly.
"Thank you, for saving me," said the muffled voice of Juniper, unconcerned that her face was buried in Miriel's blood-splattered garments.
"I only wish I could've gotten there sooner," answered Miriel, stroking the girl's long hair.
The girl pulled out of the embrace, and looked up at the Slayer, her one good eye wide with admiration. "But you came. And that's all that matters. You stopped him and for that I will ever be grateful."
At the top of the stairs, just beyond the threshold stood Juniper's parents, holding one another. They had overheard the conversation below. Silent tears streamed down their weary faces, for neither one had heard the tale of their daughter's rape in its entirety. They couldn't help but think that some higher force had appointed Miriel to be outside The Pony at that precise moment in order to rescue their daughter. Divine intervention, some call it. Undoubtedly, this stranger, from parts unknown, had helped Juniper in ways that no one else could've. And for that, they were thankful.
A few minutes later, the Constable returned, having thrown his hands up with the whole villagers versus Thornberry fiasco.
"There were a few scuffles, Mister Mayor, but it seems that Master Thornberry and his folk see that they can't resist the will of the townspeople – too many of them, I suppose. Mistress Thornberry is quite distraught," he continued, plopping down on the nearest chair with a heavy sigh. "Lost her son and now being evicted from her home." He shook his head consolingly. "Poor thing. Now there's a mob surrounding her home demanding – "
" – You sound far too sympathetic towards the criminal's family," interjected the Mayor's wife, Ivy, her narrowed eyes boring into her husband's underling. "I hold to the belief that you're to blame for things."
"Me?!" exclaimed the Constable, his eyes widening.
"Yes, you," she replied in disdain. "You've seemed more concerned with fattening your purse than dealing with crime! How much money have you made from Master Thornberry to look the other way when his son broke the laws of this land?"
The Constable bound from his chair, angered by the woman's accusations, no matter how truthful they may have been. "How dare you," he huffed, spittle flying from his lips.
"Oh, I dare," answered Ivy, a sudden burst of rage and courage coming from deep within her. She attempted to charge the Constable but her husband immediately restrained her, grabbing hold of her by the shoulders. The sudden jolt caused much of her brown hair to escape from her bun, falling like a curtain over her round, ruddy face.
"If you would've done your job properly, none of this would've happened," she barked, struggling to brush the loose strands of hair behind her ears. "My daughter was raped! My Juniper was brutalized! And the man responsible has broken the law repeatedly, but you've always looked the other way. You're unfit for your position! You should be stripped of your office and thrown out of Bree with your master."
"Calm down, honey," the Mayor said, trying to soothe his wife's frazzled nerves.
The Constable felt threatened by the Mayor's wife. He knew that she wielded considerable influence over her husband. Normally, she was a rational woman, but under the circumstances, she was now far from rational. Anxiety had now replaced his wroth. Barkley knew he had to appeal to his and the Mayor's long friendship if he was going to be able to put this incident behind them.
"Rowlie," he began, addressing the Mayor by his first name, "surely you're not going to allow Ivy to continue to speak to me in that manner? Does our friendship mean nothing?" The Constable was nearly pleading with the Mayor.
The Mayor bit his bottom lip. His friendship with Barkley went back to childhood and though he too was traumatized by what had happened to his daughter, was Barkley really to blame? It wasn't like he, himself had committed the crime.
Ivy twisted out of her husband's grasp. His silence spoke volumes. She glared at the Constable. "Family always comes before friendship," she hissed. "And I will speak to you any damn way I please." She then turned, facing her husband. "And don't tell me to calm down. Our daughter was raped!" She spun around, facing the Constable again. Waving her finger in Barkley's face, she added, "You're a coddler of criminals! A disgrace to the office you hold!"
That was enough for Barkley. Instead of being empathetic toward the woman's pain and sorrow, he snapped. "You have some nerve speaking to me in that way," he growled, his nostrils flaring in his ire. "You speak of fattening my purse, of my taking money from Master Thornberry." He snickered. "Pray tell me: where do you think your husband got the extra money to buy you such extravagant gifts?" he queried in disgust, pointing to the beautiful dwarvish bejeweled necklace strung around her neck. "He is the ultimate authority in Bree. If I profited, so did he. Isn't that so, Rowlie?" He turned a defiant eye to the Mayor.
The Mayor pulled out his handkerchief, blotting the sweat that suddenly covered his face. "T-that was different," he stammered. "Reed's crimes were never this… this extreme."
Ivy glowered at her husband for a moment or two before turning her wrath back to the Constable. In her mind, Barkley was to blame, not her beloved husband. "You're the highest law enforcement officer in Bree, not Rowlie."
The Mayor was relieved that his wife was directing her rage at the Constable instead of him. He hastily nodded in agreement with all that she had said. "That's right, Barkley. You're in charge of law enforcement, not me."
"Oh, I see how it is," replied Barkley snidely. "You want me to take the fall for this. Funny how you showed so little concern when it came to the other… mmm - what was it you called them? - peasant girls, I believe it was."
SMACK! In her fury, Ivy slapped the Constable hard across the face. "How dare you utter such lies about my husband," she said, seething.
"Oh, I dare," he replied, mockingly repeating her earlier words verbatim. "I gather that your husband hasn't been so… forthcoming, about the goings-on in Bree." The Constable's demeanor totally changed. He no longer bothered to conceal that fact that he had been bought and paid for by Master Thornberry.
"There have never been any rapes in Bree, until now," declared the Mayor.
"That may be so, but there have been other… incidents," revealed the Constable.
Livid, the Mayor growled, "You lie," as he stormed over to Barkley. The Constable's eyes widened in fright. The Mayor more closely resembled a raging bull than a docile politician. Rowlie snatched the badge of Barkley's office from his breast pocket, taking with it a part of the Constable's shirt. "You're fired!" he bellowed.
At that precise moment, the door flung open, and Heathertoes entered. He stopped in his tracks when he laid eyes on the two men standing before him. He blinked several times, thinking that the sudden bright light had created some type of illusion.
The Constable stamped toward the door. "Outta my way," he grumbled, deliberately bumping into Heathertoes with his shoulder as he passed him by.
Heathertoes looked confused. "What's going on?" he asked in his bewilderment, rubbing the sudden soreness in his shoulder.
"You've been promoted, Heathertoes," replied the Mayor, slapping the badge into the man's hand. "You're now Constable of Bree."
Heathertoes didn't question the Mayor. He happily took the badge, removed the piece of fabric from the pin and stuck it on his own shirt.
"Your first duty as Constable is to bring in the girl's family," informed the Mayor.
"The girl, Mister Mayor?" queried Heathertoes, having no idea about whom the Mayor was talking.
"The girl downstairs, in the jail," replied Rowlie, sounding put out. Who else could he possibly mean? "They're lingering outside, are they not?" He didn't bother to hide his annoyance.
"Oh, that girl," answered Heathertoes, recognition coming to him at last. "Yes, sir. They're there. Though a couple of them are Elves and can't be kin - "
" - That's beside the point," the Mayor snarled through gritted teeth. "Bring them in." He pushed the Constable out the door then slammed it shut. He immediately turned to his wife. His tone changed. His expression softened. "Barkley lied, Ivy. I swear to you. I did not see this coming. Reed Thornberry had never demonstrated this type of behavior before now. Barkley's a desperate man." He gave his wife a reassuring smile. "Perhaps you should take Juniper home," he suggested. "I think it's best that Glossien and her folk be on their way while the villagers are south of here. We've had enough carnage to last a lifetime."
Ivy studied her husband for a moment. He looked haggard, so very tired. With a nod of her head, she turned and disappeared down the corridor.
The door to the building opened once again. In came Heathertoes, followed by Miriel's companions. Though the newly-appointed Constable was a tall fellow (by Bree standards), these men towered over his lanky form. Their presence alone intimidated the Mayor greatly. When all had entered, the door closed, shutting out the night.
"Who here is Glossien's uncle?" he queried, his eyes going from man to man.
Halbarad stepped forward. "I am."
The Mayor gulped, wiping away more sweat that glistened on his face. He felt incredibly small and insignificant. "Your niece is to be set free," he announced. "However, the crime she committed is… rather disturbing in nature, and has created such an uproar in Bree that's not been seen before."
Halbarad went to speak, but the Mayor continued. "I'm not saying that Reed Thornberry didn't deserve what he got." He lowered his voice. "He did. In my eyes, the punishment was just! But frankly, it's in the best interest of all that Glossien leave Bree at once. The Thornberrys are very wealthy and influential and I fear some sort of retaliation against your niece."
The Rangers were relieved to hear that, but maintained their composure, showing no emotion either way.
"Many of the villagers are near the South Gate, banishing the entire Thornberry clan from Bree. I suggest that you all take the West Gate out of Bree. There'll be fewer people there."
"If we're to depart these lands in haste," replied a grim-faced Halbarad, "then I must return to my home in Archet to gather what things we'll need for the road. We are ill equipped to travel."
"Not a problem," said the Mayor. "You and any others of your group may return and collect what things you need, but Glossien must leave the borders of Bree as swiftly as may be. I cannot deal with any more bloodshed tonight."
"There will be no more bloodshed tonight," answered Halbarad. "At least, not on our part." A muffled noise toward the back of the room drew his attention. He could make out shadowy forms on the wall. "Where is my niece?"
The Mayor followed Halbarad's gaze. Looking over his shoulder, he saw his wife with her arm draped around his cloaked daughter's shoulders, exiting the building through a different door. "That's the victim," the Mayor said, shifting his eyes back to the burly group of men. "She wanted to meet your niece, to thank her." The Mayor looked at Heathertoes and gave a slight nod of his head.
Heathertoes understood the Mayor's unspoken command. He too wanted these Rangers out of the place as quickly as possible. He went downstairs to get Miriel.
The men remained quiet; their eyes locked on the back wall, waiting to see the shadows of the Constable and Slayer. Only minutes later, they saw a bright light bobbing down the short corridor. Both Heathertoes and Miriel popped out around the corner.
Miriel didn't know how her friends would react now that they had had time to digest all that had happened. Her eyes swiftly scanned the Rangers. Even from across the room, she could see relief in their eyes, relief and sorrow.
Elladan dashed to her side, undoing the clasp of his cloak as he took his long strides. "Put this on," he uttered, wrapping the garment around her. The Half-elf felt that it was imperative to hide her bloodied gown from those still loitering outside. As he helped garb her, Halbarad and Aragorn spoke softly to one another in Sindarin, formulating their course of action.
After perhaps a minute or so, Halbarad, Gúron and Elrohir left the building. They were going to race to Archet, gather everyone's belongings, and would rendezvous with the others at a place that they had agreed upon.
"It's time for us to go," said Elladan, drawing the hood of the cloak so that it covered the Slayer's face. He wrapped a protective arm around her, ushering her towards the door.
As they passed the Mayor, Miriel stopped, reached out, and took hold of the Mayor's arm. "Thank you," she whispered. "My prayers are with you and your family."
The Mayor nodded, watching as the girl and her companions departed. He took a deep, shuddering breath, exhaling slowly. He then took off, following the strangers, wanting to make sure that no trouble happened to them on their way out of town.
They walked on in silence beneath the moonlit sky. They encountered only a few of the villagers straggling around in this part of town. Many, having heard what had happened, had fled to their homes, barring their doors, preferring to be confined within the safety of their stone walls. Yet, a still greater number of people were congregated outside Master Thornberrys halls, refusing to leave until the entire Thornberry clan were expelled from their close-knit town.
Aragorn and Elladan remained vigilant, intently listening for every sound and watching for any movement from the corners of their eyes. They could hear faint shouts coming from the south, but mostly heard the Mayor's labored breathing as he struggled to keep up with the Rangers' pace.
Miriel kept her head bowed, her gaze fixed on the road. With each step, her leg peeked out from beneath the cloak. She could see the splotches of dried blood that covered the once beautiful blue material, although in the moonlight, it looked more black than red. She did her best to ignore it, trying to focus on anything else.
A couple of times she stumbled, but Elladan was quick to keep her on her feet. His arm remained wrapped around her shoulders, his hand firmly gripping her upper arm. Her adrenaline rush was long gone, now replaced with fatigue. Nearly all of her muscles remained tense, tense to the point where they hurt. The only part of her not suffering from exhaustion was her brain. Thoughts and images flooded her mind to the point that she felt like she was drowning in them.
The rape of Juniper flashed in her mind, then, slowly she saw the girl's face morph into her own. Then, she watched as the face of Reed Thornberry turned to that of Dúilin's, one of her rapists. Even worse was when she saw Dúilin's face transform into that of Denethor's. Unbeknownst to Miriel, she let out a soft whimper as these horrific images rushed through her mind.
"You alright?" asked Elladan, his tone riddled with concern.
Miriel attempted to answer "yes" but the word was stuck in her throat. She forced herself to push that awful imagery out of her mind. Her thoughts shifted back to earlier that night when things were pleasant and happy. Who would have imagined that things would have taken such a dire turn?
Halbarad, that's who. Where that thought had come from, Miriel didn't know, but as she thought about her Watcher and how he had always been against her leaving the cottage, she couldn't help but wonder if Hal had the gift of foresight. Could it be that he had foreseen what would happen if she came to Bree? To her, that seemed quite plausible.
It then occurred to Miriel that if she was banished from Bree, did that mean the others were too? Had her actions resulted in Hal's being evicted from his home like the Thornberrys? Her stomach felt woozy at the thought.
"I'm sorry how things turned out. You take care now," said the Mayor to Miriel before turning and heading back to his home.
Having been so preoccupied with her thoughts, the Slayer hadn't realized that they had already passed through the West Gate. She felt like she was in a daze. It took her several seconds to process the Mayor's parting words. When she turned to say good-bye, the wooden gate was already closed and locked. Her banishment from Bree had officially begun.
While Miriel was trudging along with Aragorn and Elladan, the Thornberrys were being forced from Bree via the South Gate. Others that had relied on Master Thornberry for their wages also went into exile with him and his family, including Barkley, the former Constable. In coming days, he would act as Master Thornberry's envoy, selling off the family's holdings in Bree to fund their new endeavors. They were a bitter bunch, vowing revenge on those responsible for, not only allowing their son's murderer to go free, but also the besmirching of the family's good name and reputation.
Master Thornberry would not live to see that day, but his heirs would. During the time of the War of the Ring, these vindictive people would be the ones responsible for sending the ruffians into Bree, who would take great pleasure in wreaking havoc on the community, even to the point of killing some of their inhabitants…
