III III III
:::
It appeared that most of the inn's guests had not risen yet, but Anne could still hear the murmur of voices from somewhere downstairs, and then the distant sound of a door being thrown shut. A sole candle that had nearly burnt down flickered in its bracket, emitting a low, irregular hissing noise. Anne had already been shown where the latrines were by Rosalin the night before - for what she was now rather grateful.
As she crossed the courtyard, a small door that appeared to lead to the kitchens was pushed open. Bustling out came a rather young looking Hobbit, who was carrying a bucket full of vegetable scraps and eggshells. He grinned at Anne and bowed to her, but looked somewhat bemused when she asked him where she might be able to get a basket for her clothes. Anne then was told that, naturally, if she had washing to do, clothes to be mended, or generally anything that needed taking care of, she simply was to hand it to one of the servants.
Anne thanked him and hurriedly escaped through the archway and onto the main street, before the Hobbit could offer to take the clothes from her there and then. They were mostly underwear in varying stages of shabbiness, and the last thing she needed was for the entire inn – and thus, if her assessment was correct, soon the entire town – to know what she tended to wear underneath.
Deciding that there was nothing to be done right now, and that she would just have to think of something later, Anne hurried in and then upstairs to take her clothes back to her room for the time being. Once back outside, she began to wander up the street, taking the direction they had come from the night before, vaguely thinking of having a look around the little gardens and fields south of the town. She soon realised, however, that the way was quite a bit longer than she had thought. Also, she quickly became a bit tired of the stares and odd looks she was given by the occasional Bree-lander passing her by, and therefore she turned around after little more than half an hour. Shivering, and drawing together her cloak against the morning chill, Anne slowly made her way back towards the inn, staring left and right at the old brick houses, archways, and the small yards and little gardens as she went. She had the strange sensation of feeling completely out of place and yet oddly at home at the same time. When she reached the inn, Anne spontaneously decided to make a detour to the stables and visit Dûrfang and Peg. She bent her steps towards the courtyard, at the back of which the long, low building housing the guest's horses and ponies was located.
Anne pushed open the heavy double doors and stepped into the comparative warmth and the twilight of the barn. It smelled of hay and animals, and there was even a sweet, slightly sour note in the air, which she identified as the scent of ripe apples. Peering through the gloom, she could just make out the familiar, tall outline of Dûrfang at the very end of the long row of stalls, next to a shaggy, grey pony. Dûrfang raised his head as Anne walked towards him, and made a noise that sounded like hr-hr-hr-hrm, and which he usually made when Legolas approached him. Once she had reached its stall, the dark-brown horse snorted into her face by way of greeting. Peg was still fast asleep next door, with his dark and white backside turned at the door.
"Sorry, but it's just me," Anne said quietly to Dûrfang, when the horse looked at her expectantly. "You were hoping for him, weren't you?"
The stallion snorted, and then made a long neck trying to sniff Anne's cloak in waist height. Anne dodged the searching nose, while stroking the horse's magnificent head.
"But seriously," she muttered. "Make sure you look out for him, will you? I don't know the details about this Rhun trip, but somehow I don't think it's going to be a Sunday stroll."
Dûrfang stopped trying to sniff her pockets, raised his head and made the hr-hr-hr-hrm-sound again.
Anne laughed. "What was that?" You mean you like me better than him anyway? Well, I can sort of see where you are coming from, him being him and all that, but still. Just try and... keep an eye on him all right? Yes, yes, I know – he can be quite a handful and I'm sure no one knows that better than you, but let's face it: you are probably the more sensible one out of the two of—"
"As much as I hate to interrupt your plotting..."
Anne, who had jerked horribly at the first couple of softly spoken words, took several deep breaths before turning around. Legolas was standing in the doorway, leaning against a beam with his arms folded, a small drawstring bag slung over his shoulder.
"You cannot sneak up on people like that," Anne said accusingly. "It is possible to die of such a shock, don't you know that?"
The Elf raised an eyebrow. "Indeed," he said, sounding thoroughly unconcerned. "And how exactly would one achieve that? You still appear to be in excellent health." Unfolding his arms and straightening up, he took the bag from his shoulder, and started walking down the aisle towards her. "I doubt that you are in such a danger, but as it were – it was not my intention to 'sneak up' on you."
"Oh, of course not!" Anne sighed, who was, with difficulty, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at the Elf, who had reached her now and was unlatching the door to his horse's stall.
"He heard me, did he not?" said Legolas, indicating Dûrfang with his head, while taking a brush from the drawstring bag and starting to work it across his steeds softly gleaming neck.
"He saw you, is more likely, I think," said Anne. "I was standing with my back to you, as you might have noticed.
"I should say that you might be a match for him," Legolas retorted. "His eyesight is quite bad."
"Really?" Surprised, Anne looked around at the stallion, momentarily distracted by this piece of information. "I never noticed anything."
"Yes, he is almost blind on his left eye," the Elf murmured, now pulling his long fingers through the blackish-brown mane. He then glanced down at Anne. "That should give you an advantage even."
Anne crossed her arms and frowned at him. "Will you stop comparing me to him already, he is a horse!"
"But then, I suppose, human eyesight is also rather poor," Legolas continued as if he had not heard her, while turning his attention back to his horse.
Anne tilted her head, considering him through narrowed eyes. "You are in unusually good spirits this morning, aren't you," she asked suspiciously.
"Not particularly," Legolas retorted as he started to walk slowly around Dûrfang, letting his strong hand glide down each of the horses long, slender legs.
Anne put her elbows on top of the stall door, resting her chin in one hand, and looked quizzically at the Elf.
"Really? It seems to me like–" She paused as a sudden thought occurred to her, and her eyes widened. "Did you hear from that Maeren Blackthorn person?"
"Oh yes, she sent word to the inn this morning," said Legolas absentmindedly.
"And?" Anne prompted him after several moments of silence. "She is going to help you then?"
"No."
Anne's elbow nearly slipped off the door. "No? She won't come with you? Why not?"
"I am sure she has her reasons," muttered the Elf, now examining a small abrasion just above one of Dûrfang's front hoofs.
Anne let her arms sink down and stared at him, incredulous. "That's it? You came all the way here because you need that woman's help… then she says no, pretty much on a whim, I might add – or at least so it seems to me – and you just… you just accept that?"
Legolas straightened up and looked at her levelly. "What would you have me do?"
"I don't… well, you could…" She trailed off, realising that it was hardly her place to argue.
"But then it was all for nothing," she muttered, lowering her gaze at Dûrfang's head. "It seems like such a waste of time."
Legolas stepped around the stallion, towards the stall door, and, with his hand still on the horse's neck, he looked at Anne, somehow making it impossible for her not to return his gaze. Even in the semi-darkness of the barn, his dark grey eyes seemed to give off their own light.
„I do not consider it a waste of time," he said calmly. "I came here to speak with Blackthorn, and also to do a friend a favour. However, had not been for you, I probably would not have come here at all."
Anne stared at him for a moment, not knowing how to respond to this. Legolas turned back towards his horse and bent down to gather up the brush and bag from the ground.
"I am sorry," Anne finally mumbled awkwardly.
"There is no need," said Legolas, while stowing the brush in the bag once more. "I did not say it was your fault, merely explained that my coming here was mainly because of you.
Anne, who had been staring at Dûrfang's constantly moving ears, swallowed to get rid of the strangely dry feeling in her throat, and looked up at the Elf. She found that he, in turn, had been watching her, but as soon as their eyes met he dropped his gaze, and went to pick up the halter and saddle, which hung next to the door.
"What will you do now then," Anne finally asked as she watched Legolas, who now began saddling his horse.
"My plans have not changed. I shall continue on my way."
„Oh." Anne hesitated for a moment. "Are you leaving right away?"
Legolas' hands seemed to stop in mid-movement and, for a moment, hover above the straps of the saddle girth. The next second, however, Anne was already sure that she must have imagined it.
"No," said Legolas placidly, while his fingers nimbly buckled the girth, before he flapped down the saddle-skin.
He then turned to look at Anne, and his face was bearing merely the ghost of a smile. Still, the difference was startling; somehow, it made him look much younger, and the shadows around his eyes and his cheeks seemed to lessen. Despite the fact that Anne had not known him for very long, she felt as though, in moments like this, she might perhaps be catching a glimpse of the person he used to be.
"There are some things I need to take care of first," said the Elf now. Friends, who are very dear to me, live close to Bree. Since I am here I would like to make sure that they are safe."
"So, you think it is true what they say?" Anne asked, while feeling ridiculously flattered that he would share something personal with her for a change. "Maeren Blackthorn, and the gatekeeper last night – I thought he, at least, seemed… well overly suspicious, so to speak."
"Perhaps not so much," said Legolas. "Last night, a group of travellers from Swanfleet in Dunland arrived, shortly after us. They say that they were ambushed less than a day's journey southeast from Bree; they lost two men and nearly all their horses."
"That's horrible," Anne muttered, aghast. "But they… wait — you don't think they could have been the same who attacked Pippin? But we were much further away from the town."
"More likely is that they were not the only ones around this area," said Legolas slowly, while regarding Anne with a strange look on his face. "Also, of course, the people from Dunland may not have told the truth about where and when they were attacked."
"But why would they do that? Why lie?" Anne asked, frowning.
Legolas made a strange movement, a sort of shrug and shaking of his head at the same time. "Either way, it does seem to cause enough reason to worry, would you not agree?"
"I suppose so, yes," Anne said cautiously. Apart from the fact that he had not answered her question, she had a strong feeling that the Elf had not told her everything he thought on the matter. Resigning to the obvious – that she was not going to get anything else out of him, she remembered her original motive for the question. "So you will return here once, before you leave?" she asked, slightly annoyed with herself for how anxious her voice sounded.
"Yes," said Legolas, turning away from her again and busying himself with the saddle once more. "You should go in and eat some breakfast." Once again, there was an unmistakable air of dismissal in his tone, though his voice was neither harsh nor cold.
"Er, all right," said Anne. She wanted to say something else, but for some reason could think of nothing that would fit the situation. She therefore aimed a smile at the Elf, which she had a strong feeling he had not seen, and left the stable, her throat feeling uncomfortably dry again. Adding to this, she noticed as she walked through the courtyard again, there also was a strangely tight sensation in her stomach, which she ascribed to hunger.
Anne was still so occupied with said unpleasant feeling, that, when she walked down the passageway behind the entrance she nearly ran headlong into Rosalin, who was carrying a pile of what looked like tablecloths and tea towels. While apologising to the maidservant, Anne suddenly became aware of several raised voices from the main parlour. She noticed Rosalin, who had waved off her apology with a smile, wincing at the sound of the angry male voices, and looking warily in the direction of the parlour.
"What is wrong? Did something happen?" Anne asked curiously.
"What? Oh, no, nothing is wrong," said the servant slightly distractedly, while shifting the stack of cloth in her arms into a more comfortable position. "It's just… oh well –" Again she eyed the entrance to the parlour apprehensively and then looked around as if to check whether there was anyone else around who might be listening, before leaning in closer to Anne and continuing in a low voice. The fact that she did not really seem to know what to think of Anne obviously did not mean that she could not gossip with her.
"Did you hear about the group from Swanfleet who arrived yesterday also? Well, it seems that they have had quite a bit of trouble with those brigands before already, so now the Dunlanders want to go and hunt them down. They are angry because none of the townsmen are willing to go with them. "
"But weren't two of them killed during that attack?" Anne asked, remembering what Legolas had told her. "Surely pursuing those people will be very dangerous?"
"Oh, of course it will," said Rosalin, looking rather sensational than troubled. "But they are so furious… they say that they want to reclaim their animals, but Master Butterbur, Blackthorn and the others believe that they are mainly seeking revenge for their dead comrades."
"Blackthorn?" Anne said, astonished. "Thy asked Maeren Blackthorn to come with them?"
"What?" Rosalin looked puzzled for a moment. Then she gave a short, tinkling laugh.
"Oh, no, I'm not talking about Lady Maeren," she said, and her tone made it rather clear that she thought Maeren Blackthorn to be anything but a lady. "Aldwyn Blackthorn, the chief of the border guard - I believe she is a niece of his. Anyways, I believe, they think that the Dunlanders might try to stir up—"
A shout from inside the parlour caused her to jump. "Oh dear, I really need to be going!" she muttered, and hurried through the passageway and the double doors. Curiously, Anne followed her. The parlour was not exactly crowded – compared to the way it had been last night. However, there was still a fair number of chairs occupied, both by men and hobbits; Anne spotted a group of haggard- and disgruntled-looking men, who had to be the people from Dunland. Perhaps it was not a very fair, or unbiased observation, but, somehow, they all seemed quite menacing; an impression that was intensified by the fact that most of them were wearing long, vicious-looking knives at their belts. Rosalin, it appeared had not gotten very far – she obviously had been on her way behind the counter, but found the passage blocked by a particularly burly figure, whose face was largely obscured by a wiry tangle of dark-grey beard. Said individual had apparently been in 'conversation' with the Innkeeper. Butterbur was frowning, but he also looked slightly harassed, and Anne had the impression that the discussion had been in full swing for quite some time already.
"Begging your pardon, but if the stout men of Bree possess some spark of decency, they will come to help – that's all I'm saying," the bearded man growled, flashing his eyes at Rosalin, who bowed and scurried past him with a muttered "If the masters will excuse me… much work to do–"
To Anne's slight alarm the man now turned to her instead.
„Don't you agree?" he barked.
"Er," said Anne.
"Leave the lass alone, Rooklar," one of the man's companions called over from their table - though rather half-heartedly.
"Smoke out the lot of them, as soon as you've found the holes they're hiding in," said the man named Rooklar savagely. He then eyed Anne, as though she might be hiding one of said brigands underneath her cloak.
"Plenty of foreigners coming through these parts of late. And not just strangers… queer folk, if you know what I mean, and a whole mighty lot of them, too! Them Elves turning up in strange places, or so it is said. But then, I saw one of them myself this morning, coming down from the rooms as if it were the most normal thing in the world."
"Unnatural, that's what it is," one of the other men chipped in. "What sort of dealings could those strange folks possibly have with common, hardworking, honest people I ask you! We don't go meddling in their business, and they should do the same! After all, there are spies of the Grey Feather everywhere, and it is said that they walk in harmless-looking disguise—"
"If you may call those long-shanked, outlandish secret-mongers harmless, that is," a third man, who had a fresh, and vicious-looking cut across his left temple, muttered darkly. "What with the unnatural and dangerous business they are said to be involved in, if half of the stories are true."
"Dark and evil magic, some might call it!" another one threw in.
"Ah, now, but I wouldn't go that far," said Butterbur, who looked very uncomfortable by now.
"Be that as it may," Rooklar now growled. "All those strangers like Dwarves and Elves and whatnot, who usually keep to themselves, suddenly walking among us like normal people – this can only come to a bad end, you mark my words!"
"Uhm, excuse me," said Anne. "But what is the Grey Feather?"
They all stared at her. After a moment, Butterbur gave a little cough and muttered:" Ah, well... really I don't think this should be spoken of in front of—"
Rooklar, however, snorted and shook his head.
"Are you saying you have not heard of the Order of the Grey Feather? Where on earth have you been these last few months?"
Completely sealed off, with one of the unnatural, long-shanked secretmongers, Anne thought, and then tried to remember whether Legolas had ever mentioned something about a feather or an order. She felt like something was stirring at the very back of her mind, but had no idea whether it was the memory of anything real, or merely her subconscious mind associating the man's words with something completely unrelated. She was just about to as what exactly this Order of the Grey Feather was supposed to be, when someone called her name. She looked around, and to her immense relief and delight, her eyes found Pippin; he was waving, while leaning around the Hobbit next to him at the small corner table, where she had not spotted him before.
Not at all sorry to escape the angry men, Anne aimed an apologetic smile at them, and with a hurried "Excuse me – just saw a couple of friends over there," she made her way across the room towards the table where the Hobbits were sitting and sharing what looked like an opulent breakfast. Anne was greeted very politely and at once urged to sit down in one of the two last vacant chairs, before she had found the time to even take off her cloak. She was just gratefully accepting a piece of buttered and honeyed bread from Pippin, when she heard another unexpected voice.
"Well, well, if it isn't the young Miss who is, to all intents and purposes, not travelling with the Elf."
Anne turned so quickly in her seat that she nearly dropped her honey-dripping piece of bread into the lap of the Hobbit sitting next to her.
Maeren Blackthorn meandered around the bench of a neighbouring table, and sat down in the last empty chair, directly opposite Anne.
"Uhm," said Anne. "Good morning… lady—"
She faltered when the hobbit next to her snorted. The other woman gave her a lopsided smile.
"Call me Maeren," she said. "I believe I can truthfully say that I am not exactly considered a lady by most of this town – be they my friends or not," she added dryly, giving the Hobbit next to Anne, who was still sniggering, a haughty look. She then smiled at Anne in a manner that reminded the latter why she had mistaken the other woman for a man at first. Had this certain smile been 'worn' by a man, it would have been one of those, which seem to have the sole purpose of causing young women to swoon over them.
"Begging your pardon," Maeren said smoothly. "But what did you say your name was again?"
Anne frowned. "I … I didn't."
The smile did not fade from Maeren's face – rather she managed to frown at the same time. "That was a bit dull, now," She said, sounding almost disappointed.
"Now, now," Pippin threw in half-heartedly, and rather thickly through a mouthful of scrambled eggs.
"It's Anne," Anne said through gritted teeth. "And I don't remember you introducing yourself either."
„Indeed!" Maeren laughed, sounding rather amused than offended. "But then, you already knew my name. Friends beware! This one has a sharp tongue. You spent too much time with the Elf, I should think," she added towards Anne.
"I suppose, I can't argue that," Anne muttered. "I don't think it made me sharp-tongued, though."
"No, indeed," said the Hobbit named Hal. "Also that's hardly a thing that Maeren should reproach someone else with. 'Seldom those are without flaw who judge the other first', as we say here in Bree!"
"You just made that up!" another one of the Hobbits chimed in, but was ignored by Hal, who waved an impatient hand and continued.
"As for sharpness of tongues, Maeren here is such as none could rival – or if there is someone, I have yet to meet them. But please, Miss Anne, don't heed her words all too much – for on the inside this one has a heart as gentle as anyone could wish for. It just pleases her to tread on people's toes; some of them may deserve it, while others may not, and sometimes – for a lack of the former – it hits those who don't deserve it a bit harder than necessary, if you follow me. But despite the 'sharp-tongue-ness' she's really all bark and no bite."
Maeren glowered at the Hobbit.
"You better heed your own tongue, or you shall be the first one to be bitten," she said while brandishing her fork at him.
Anne did not know whether to laugh or not. While she was still not quite ready to revoke her initial impression of the other woman being rather haughty and wilful, these friendly, good-natured and merry Hobbits obviously liked Maeren and seemed to think highly of her, which – in Anne's opinion – spoke in the other woman's favour.
Apparently the subject of her thoughts had noticed Anne's pensive expression. Maeren frowned and tilted her head while looking at Anne, her face suddenly guarded.
"Do I have something on my nose?" she asked testily.
"May I ask you a question?" Anne blurted out.
Maeren seemed taken aback for a moment, but then she inclined her head and waved her hand in a mockingly inviting way. "Go on, then."
"Well, it's… about your decision regarding Legolas," Anne said, dimly wondering what on earth she was doing. "It's just — well, if I understood correctly, you are heading east as it is. Why would you not..."
Anne paused, uncomfortable aware of them all looking at her. She was not exactly sure how to ask this, and now wondered – rather belatedly – if it was not a question too personal. She did not get the chance to regret her headiness, for, at that moment, there was a deafening crash behind them, causing her to jump. The noise was followed by a furious exclamation:
"Mind where you're going, will you!"
Anne turned in time to see Rosalin bend down, red-faced, to gather up several cups as well as the shards of something that looked like a couple of broken plates, while Rooklar, the burly Dunlander with the dark beard, whom the maid had apparently just run into, was glowering down at her.
"No, no, please do not trouble yourself," Rosalin muttered to Anne, who had, without thinking, crouched down to scoop up a few pieces of the broken dishes from underneath her chair.
Anne stood up and made to hand the shards to the serving maid, but before she could do so, someone grabbed her roughly by the shoulder, and pushed her to the floor once more; she cried out – more out of surprise than because of pain – and looked up at Rooklar, who had planted himself in front of her, and whose face was contorted with rage.
Anne was so perplexed that all she could do was open her mouth and mutely stare at the man. She vaguely registered that the room had gone deadly quiet, as if everyone was holding their breath. She wondered dully what they were all waiting for, and why nobody was doing something.
The Dunlander, who was now pointing his knife at her, made a growling noise like a provoked beast, and his face twisted into a grimace that actually might have been a grin. "The audacity!" he spat. "You were having a right laugh at us, I bet!"
Anne had not the faintest idea what was going on. Her eyes fell on Rosalin, who stood, seemingly frozen in mid-motion, a few paces behind the angry man in front of Anne. The servant's face reflected the incomprehension that Anne was experiencing herself. Then, however, Rosalin's expression changed suddenly; her eyes widened, and her lips opened, forming a silent 'oh'. Anne thought she saw understanding dawn on the girl's face, and then – though she could not think of a reason why – something else, that almost looked like fear.
Anne's brain felt like it had gone slightly numb as she stupidly looked around at the people sitting or standing about her; she vaguely noticed that, while the hobbits from her table were, like everyone else, staring at the scene in shock, Maeren Blackthorn's expression on the other hand was merely thoughtful.
Anne did not dare struggle against the grip on her shoulders – not with the blade of the knife so close to her neck. Instead, she focused on the man in front of her; surely she had, unknowingly, said or done something to offend these people – some sort of blunder that she could not know about. She better had to quickly clear up the misunderstanding, whatever it had been caused by. She attempted a calm and reasonable tone – which, admittedly, failed slightly due to her shaking voice.
"Forgive me, but... I- I don't understand—"
"'Don't understand', indeed! " Rooklar hissed. "You people are not content with murdering and plundering, you seek to humiliate us as well!"
"What– what people, "Anne spluttered, who was now getting increasingly nervous by the untamed aggression in the Dunlander's whole demeanour.
"You show some nerve, I have to hand it to you! But perhaps you are just mad or stupid!"
Anne winced and instinctively tried to squirm back when the man suddenly grabbed at her neck; all he did, however, was to grasp the leaf pendant, which had slid out of the neckline of her dress.
"Asking us about the Grey Feather," Rooklar growled, while letting the pendant, which Anne had thought looked like a leaf, dangle in front of her face, "while openly wearing this filthy sign of theirs!"
:::
III III III
AN: There actually isn't so much I need to say, other than I'm sorry about yet another cliffhanger ;) Also I hope the cut between 22 and 23 turned out halfway decent; I didn't like doing it, but as you can now see, both parts put together would have been some ten thousand words. You may think Anne seems a bit fickle and distracted in this chapter, but, after all, she is suddenly in a strange town, surrounded by strange people, and has NO idea what to expect.
The name Hal (one of the Hobbits at Pippin's table) is another loan from Tolkien's works. In case someone's interested – Hal, was a Hobbit from Overhill who claimed to have seen an Ent in Northfarthing, although the Hobbits called them 'Tree-Men', or giants back then. Also, he was a cousin of Sam's ;)
Last but not least, thanks so much for reading this story, and for telling me what you think about it! (And despite me taking so much time, too!) THANK YOU!
(Oh, and a little extra thanks to the wonderful, creative and talented 'Juli68' for the beautiful cover he made for Astray. Sorry it took me so much time to realise there actually is an 'Image-Manager-function' now. :-* )