***Disclaimer*** Okay, though none of the people or situations in this particular chapter directly relate to Tolkien's books, they'll lead up to it in the next few chapters. Anything you find in Tolkien's books wasn't my idea. Bah. Don't sue me.
Kara leaned her cheek against the rough bark of a tree and breathed in the soft, friendly night air. Pain throbbed in her temples and clutched at her chest. The starlight shone down gently on her---the only gentleness she did not fear to accept any more. Warm breeze stirred the fabric of her dress, making her cloak rustle as well. Inside the brightly glowing windows of her parent's tiny cottage, the rest of the family chattered and laughed. Kara's heart throbbed with envy and exhaustion. She no longer felt as if she could join in with that laughter, expected to be quiet, any words replied to with screams or blows.
Kara had a hard time convincing herself that her aunt and uncle weren't being unreasonable any more. But then, reason didn't seem to have a very strong hand in her life any more. So, when everything inside Kara began screaming "Unjust!" she believed it.
Tears quivered in Kara's eyelashes and splashed down on her cheeks. Her heart felt weak, as if to beat once more would almost be too much. She loved her family. They had done much for her. But the good didn't, couldn't outweigh the bad. As the blood rolled over her tongue from her split lip, Kara realized that she was old enough to know that.
Slowly, the hot glow on Kara's cheeks died down. Still she soaked in the cool evening breeze, gaining strength for what she knew she needed to do. Her eyes rolled to the darkened horizon.
She had heard from travelers of things to the east and west, of the Shire, where Hobbits inhabited their cozy hobbit holes, where the great Bilbo Baggins had once resided, where Gandalf the Grey wandered in and out of disrepute, always mending relations with his awesome fireworks.
She heard of the dwarfs, deep in the mountains, where they forged gold, iron, silver, and bronze into things of beauty. She had heard of their deep-throated singing echoing through the halls of stone when the day's work was done, singing of their ancestors and their greatness.
She also heard the legends of elves, the fair folk, and had even learned a few words of their language. She wanted to know more, wanted to be elsewhere to see if there was another way for her to live. If not, she would return quietly and take whatever punishment was offered to her.
Kara pushed away from the tree, giving it a fond stroke and inhaling the starlit night once more. God, she murmured softly, I know there is something better than this out there, something better than this in me. No answer poured down from the heavens. She didn't expect it to, simply stepped out from under the shelter of the tree and ducked around the house. The back door opened with a loud squeak. She dared not look at the main room where her family was gathered.
"Kara, tomorrow I want you to clean the house, okay sweetie?" Kara resisted the temptation to shudder at her aunt's calm, agreeable tone, swallowed a scream of "Don't you EVER call me that again!" and choked out a raspy "Yes ma'am." The door to the room she shared with her cousins creaked loudly as she pushed it open with her fingertips. Slowly, she rolled her clothes into a thick blanket, more worried about waterproofing than cleanliness. Her other pair of boots were slung around the roll, and her belts looped around it to make straps. the few other items she owned were placed in her pockets or tucked into the roll. She had no money.
Last of all, she clipped over her neck her most prized posession--a silver-etched cross. Its design was queer, simple and ornate at the same time, heavy and yet delicate. It was strung gently on a braided leather cord. She threaded her stubby fingers around it and took a deep breath. It reminded her, wordlessly, that there was Provision out there for one such as her.
Quiet as a whisper, Kara dimmed the lights in the room by snuffing a few candles and slid open the window. Thump! The bag landed outside. Kara slid out after it, landing lightly on her feet and yanking the skirt of her dress after her. This attire would do for now, she reflected, but once she got out of the town, whenever that might be, she'd have to change to her breeches and tunic. With energy, she looped the pack over her back and stepped out onto the road.
Kara walked for a while, expecting something to have changed. Nothing altered, save for every breath she took seemed to be cleansing something from within her that had been there too long, poisoning who she was. Fear and pain did not diminish. Uncertainty still dogged her every step, but those steps were light. As her cottage disappeared behind her, the soft glow of the town, still awake and busy, met her eyes.
The local tavern was rather tame, as taverns go. Most of the people there were travel-weary or work-weary, just trying to find a little lighthearted relief through ale and song. The barmaids were neither busty, nor were they whores. They were mostly six foot tall women who had worked on farms all their life and could bundle most of the tenants out of the door without breaking a sweat. Kara was always sure to give them a wide berth when she met them in town, but they were welcoming enough when she slipped through the door and dropped her pack on one of the hooks.
The room was full. Some of the men were dancing. Others were drinking. Some were looking around the room suspiciously. There were always a few that enjoyed being dramatic. A few women tenants drifted around, either welcoming men when they advanced or brushing them off. All in all, a typical tavern.
Kara tightened her belt a little, feeling her dagger press comfortingly against her hip. She had another one stashed in her boot. She may be young, but she was no fool. The first time she saw a brawl erupt in one of these places, she had spent the little money she chanced to have on the set she currently carried. Then, through the kindness of strangers, she had gathered a basic understanding of how to use them, as well as her fists.
Kara chose a seat near the fire but still in the shadows and with her back to the wall. She wanted to take no chance that anyone who knew her would see her belongings and guess what she was doing. She dropped her pack, then headed to the bar to see if she could get an idea where to head next.
Mistake number one.
The bar was packed with the more drunk men of the bunch. Kara very much doubted any information she would get from them. Nevertheless, she pulled herself up onto a stool and shoved the half-drained ale aside, making a few drops splash onto the counter.
Mistake number two.
Kara felt a rough tap on her shoulder. She turned around to face the roughened face of a hunter (if the bow and arrows he carried were any indication). His breath smelled a little of alcohol, but his speech was clear and his eyes blazed.
"You're in my seat, wench."
Kara stared at the man, blinking. The bartender piped up, "Leave off, Hound. Ye've na been 'ere, an' there's an empty one just there." Hound took no notice of the tender, continued to glare at Kara. Kara shrugged and slithered out of the seat.
Mistake number three
The heel of her boot caught on the stool leg, and Kara went flying, taking the stool with her. Those at the tables grew silent. Those at the bar laughed loudly.
A drop of blood trickled from Kara's nose, and the wound on her lip re-opened, but otherwise she was unhurt. Placing her palms on the floor, she made to push herself into a standing position. Before she could get herself off the ground, however, rough hands jerked her to her feet and pushed her back against the bar. Several of the more sober tenants stood, but all those wonderful valkyrie barmaids seemed to be on break.
"Brilliant, oaf. You've broken my stool and spilled my drink. Get me another of each." Kara shrank under his almost amused, but somehow brutal expression. He was used to bossing women, or children, or both.
"All right..." She extended her hand. "Give me the money for the drink."
"Nah. You pay for it." A pause.
"I'm sorry...I have no money, sir."
"Bah! Anyone who dresses like that has money to spare."
"I tell you, I have nothing!" His hand flew back, the flat of his palm aimed at her face. A few people were shoving their way through the gawking crowd, but they were too far away.
Something in Kara snapped. Indignantion and deprivation of justice flared up in her, red-hot. She lost all reason why she should allow his hand to smash into her cheek. All she knew was that she hurt, that she tasted blood, and that she could defend herself. Unbidden by her, her fingers crept around the knife in her belt. Their grip tightened, and her hand flew to the man's throat. Her other arm shot up and blocked the blow, then shoved his arm down away from her. The blade pressed into the man's throat. A trickle of blood slid from under the knife.
"If you ever raise a hand against me again, I'll kill you." She hissed at him. Two black eyes met hers. She read no fear in them, only caution. Unsurprised, she pressed the knife in a little deeper. His collar was now soaked with blood. The bartender and maids were suspiciously absent. A few people now reached them. Hands closed over her arms and wrist and pulled her away from the attacker, while three men held his arms behind his back and yanked him out of the crushing crowd.
Kara forced her arms to relax and took a deep breath, releasing her grip on the dagger to a nonthreatening two-fingered hold.
"You can let me go now."
Kara leaned her cheek against the rough bark of a tree and breathed in the soft, friendly night air. Pain throbbed in her temples and clutched at her chest. The starlight shone down gently on her---the only gentleness she did not fear to accept any more. Warm breeze stirred the fabric of her dress, making her cloak rustle as well. Inside the brightly glowing windows of her parent's tiny cottage, the rest of the family chattered and laughed. Kara's heart throbbed with envy and exhaustion. She no longer felt as if she could join in with that laughter, expected to be quiet, any words replied to with screams or blows.
Kara had a hard time convincing herself that her aunt and uncle weren't being unreasonable any more. But then, reason didn't seem to have a very strong hand in her life any more. So, when everything inside Kara began screaming "Unjust!" she believed it.
Tears quivered in Kara's eyelashes and splashed down on her cheeks. Her heart felt weak, as if to beat once more would almost be too much. She loved her family. They had done much for her. But the good didn't, couldn't outweigh the bad. As the blood rolled over her tongue from her split lip, Kara realized that she was old enough to know that.
Slowly, the hot glow on Kara's cheeks died down. Still she soaked in the cool evening breeze, gaining strength for what she knew she needed to do. Her eyes rolled to the darkened horizon.
She had heard from travelers of things to the east and west, of the Shire, where Hobbits inhabited their cozy hobbit holes, where the great Bilbo Baggins had once resided, where Gandalf the Grey wandered in and out of disrepute, always mending relations with his awesome fireworks.
She heard of the dwarfs, deep in the mountains, where they forged gold, iron, silver, and bronze into things of beauty. She had heard of their deep-throated singing echoing through the halls of stone when the day's work was done, singing of their ancestors and their greatness.
She also heard the legends of elves, the fair folk, and had even learned a few words of their language. She wanted to know more, wanted to be elsewhere to see if there was another way for her to live. If not, she would return quietly and take whatever punishment was offered to her.
Kara pushed away from the tree, giving it a fond stroke and inhaling the starlit night once more. God, she murmured softly, I know there is something better than this out there, something better than this in me. No answer poured down from the heavens. She didn't expect it to, simply stepped out from under the shelter of the tree and ducked around the house. The back door opened with a loud squeak. She dared not look at the main room where her family was gathered.
"Kara, tomorrow I want you to clean the house, okay sweetie?" Kara resisted the temptation to shudder at her aunt's calm, agreeable tone, swallowed a scream of "Don't you EVER call me that again!" and choked out a raspy "Yes ma'am." The door to the room she shared with her cousins creaked loudly as she pushed it open with her fingertips. Slowly, she rolled her clothes into a thick blanket, more worried about waterproofing than cleanliness. Her other pair of boots were slung around the roll, and her belts looped around it to make straps. the few other items she owned were placed in her pockets or tucked into the roll. She had no money.
Last of all, she clipped over her neck her most prized posession--a silver-etched cross. Its design was queer, simple and ornate at the same time, heavy and yet delicate. It was strung gently on a braided leather cord. She threaded her stubby fingers around it and took a deep breath. It reminded her, wordlessly, that there was Provision out there for one such as her.
Quiet as a whisper, Kara dimmed the lights in the room by snuffing a few candles and slid open the window. Thump! The bag landed outside. Kara slid out after it, landing lightly on her feet and yanking the skirt of her dress after her. This attire would do for now, she reflected, but once she got out of the town, whenever that might be, she'd have to change to her breeches and tunic. With energy, she looped the pack over her back and stepped out onto the road.
Kara walked for a while, expecting something to have changed. Nothing altered, save for every breath she took seemed to be cleansing something from within her that had been there too long, poisoning who she was. Fear and pain did not diminish. Uncertainty still dogged her every step, but those steps were light. As her cottage disappeared behind her, the soft glow of the town, still awake and busy, met her eyes.
The local tavern was rather tame, as taverns go. Most of the people there were travel-weary or work-weary, just trying to find a little lighthearted relief through ale and song. The barmaids were neither busty, nor were they whores. They were mostly six foot tall women who had worked on farms all their life and could bundle most of the tenants out of the door without breaking a sweat. Kara was always sure to give them a wide berth when she met them in town, but they were welcoming enough when she slipped through the door and dropped her pack on one of the hooks.
The room was full. Some of the men were dancing. Others were drinking. Some were looking around the room suspiciously. There were always a few that enjoyed being dramatic. A few women tenants drifted around, either welcoming men when they advanced or brushing them off. All in all, a typical tavern.
Kara tightened her belt a little, feeling her dagger press comfortingly against her hip. She had another one stashed in her boot. She may be young, but she was no fool. The first time she saw a brawl erupt in one of these places, she had spent the little money she chanced to have on the set she currently carried. Then, through the kindness of strangers, she had gathered a basic understanding of how to use them, as well as her fists.
Kara chose a seat near the fire but still in the shadows and with her back to the wall. She wanted to take no chance that anyone who knew her would see her belongings and guess what she was doing. She dropped her pack, then headed to the bar to see if she could get an idea where to head next.
Mistake number one.
The bar was packed with the more drunk men of the bunch. Kara very much doubted any information she would get from them. Nevertheless, she pulled herself up onto a stool and shoved the half-drained ale aside, making a few drops splash onto the counter.
Mistake number two.
Kara felt a rough tap on her shoulder. She turned around to face the roughened face of a hunter (if the bow and arrows he carried were any indication). His breath smelled a little of alcohol, but his speech was clear and his eyes blazed.
"You're in my seat, wench."
Kara stared at the man, blinking. The bartender piped up, "Leave off, Hound. Ye've na been 'ere, an' there's an empty one just there." Hound took no notice of the tender, continued to glare at Kara. Kara shrugged and slithered out of the seat.
Mistake number three
The heel of her boot caught on the stool leg, and Kara went flying, taking the stool with her. Those at the tables grew silent. Those at the bar laughed loudly.
A drop of blood trickled from Kara's nose, and the wound on her lip re-opened, but otherwise she was unhurt. Placing her palms on the floor, she made to push herself into a standing position. Before she could get herself off the ground, however, rough hands jerked her to her feet and pushed her back against the bar. Several of the more sober tenants stood, but all those wonderful valkyrie barmaids seemed to be on break.
"Brilliant, oaf. You've broken my stool and spilled my drink. Get me another of each." Kara shrank under his almost amused, but somehow brutal expression. He was used to bossing women, or children, or both.
"All right..." She extended her hand. "Give me the money for the drink."
"Nah. You pay for it." A pause.
"I'm sorry...I have no money, sir."
"Bah! Anyone who dresses like that has money to spare."
"I tell you, I have nothing!" His hand flew back, the flat of his palm aimed at her face. A few people were shoving their way through the gawking crowd, but they were too far away.
Something in Kara snapped. Indignantion and deprivation of justice flared up in her, red-hot. She lost all reason why she should allow his hand to smash into her cheek. All she knew was that she hurt, that she tasted blood, and that she could defend herself. Unbidden by her, her fingers crept around the knife in her belt. Their grip tightened, and her hand flew to the man's throat. Her other arm shot up and blocked the blow, then shoved his arm down away from her. The blade pressed into the man's throat. A trickle of blood slid from under the knife.
"If you ever raise a hand against me again, I'll kill you." She hissed at him. Two black eyes met hers. She read no fear in them, only caution. Unsurprised, she pressed the knife in a little deeper. His collar was now soaked with blood. The bartender and maids were suspiciously absent. A few people now reached them. Hands closed over her arms and wrist and pulled her away from the attacker, while three men held his arms behind his back and yanked him out of the crushing crowd.
Kara forced her arms to relax and took a deep breath, releasing her grip on the dagger to a nonthreatening two-fingered hold.
"You can let me go now."