Frankly, my Dear
:
III III III
Morning dawned grey and a little hesitantly over Bree, a gradual change from darkness to twilight, as if the daylight was uncertain whether it was its time yet. The storm had not abated, and when Anne drew back her curtains and stared apprehensively out into the wet gloom beyond her window, she was greeted by the rather depressing sight of the rainswept street. The roofs of the surrounding buildings looked like they were shrouded in thin vapour where the mist of rain hovered over them. In the street, the cobblestones were shining with wetness, between them were muddy ruts, and deep puddles had collected along the road. The glass of the windowpanes was rough and unevenly thick, making the world outside appear blurry and slightly distorted, which somehow only added to the drabness of the view. Anne had lit a few candles, having discovered them, as well as a tinderbox inside the small drawer on which the washing bowl stood, and their faint glow only emphasised the dimness outside. The heavy clouds formed an unbroken, grey roof, just as dense as it had been the previous evening.
Anne unlatched the window; perhaps because of the prolonged rain the old wood seemed to be even more warped than yesterday, but after some tugging and shoving it swung open, the small glass-panes rattling softly in their frames. Cool, fresh, air filled the room, carrying in the smell of rain and wet earth and the faint, musky-sweet scent of dying foliage. Autumn was approaching fast. The prospect of travelling in this weather was not exactly a pleasant one. Not that it even was a certain prospect, Anne thought sardonically. Unsurprising, the night of fitful sleep had not miraculously brought her any closer to a decision as for whether she should stay in Bree, or leave with Legolas and Maeren Blackthorn.
For a while, Anne gazed moodily through the curtain of rain. A little bit further down the main road, she could just distinguish somebody making a dash across the street, holding an empty basket over their head for protection as they went. Suddenly feeling very thankful for the roof above her head, Anne watched the person reach the relative shelter underneath an overhanging roof and then hurriedly disappear through an open door and into the building. She hugged herself against the chill from the cool, damp air, but made no move to close the window. If she were to leave Bree she would, once again, have to go without the luxury of a warm bed, comfortable chairs, a roof over her head, and – most momentously perhaps – a certain degree of privacy. Possibly, for quite some time.
Anne sighed, rubbing her upper arms while wondering who on earth she was trying to fool. It didn't matter how much she might miss a soft bed or a warm meal. If she stayed here, she would regret it – she knew that with startling certainty. There was also a small part of her that simply resented the idea of having to put herself at the mercy and taking advantage of the generosity of yet another stranger. Anne was vaguely aware that this showed a severe lack of logic on her part. Either that, or her qualms concerning Legolas in that regard had lessened quite considerably. There was a small, timid voice at the back of her mind, telling her that she would be merely delaying the inevitable for a while by leaving the town with him. She chose not to think about that for now, though.
A gust of wind found its way underneath the overhang of the roof, spraying her with cold rain and carrying a couple of wet leaves with it. One of them got stuck to the windowsill, from where Anne peeled it off and let it drop. Distractedly, she wiped off her fingers and watched as the leaf tumbled down towards the muddy street below, while recalling the Elf's words to her from last night.
"In a way, you are my responsibility, and therefore I cannot leave you in this town, if there is a chance of any harm coming to you – not unless it were your explicit wish."
The statement had left her with mixed feelings; being called his responsibility made her, once again, feel like a hapless child he was forced to drag around with him, someone weak and helpless, unable to take care of themselves. Sadly, she also couldn't deny that there was some truth to this assessment. On the other hand, having someone express this sort of protectiveness towards her – no matter what the initial reasons might be – caused a strange, warm feeling to flood through her chest. Perhaps this was in part because she had been abandoned, for lack of a better word, at least twice before. Neither of those times had been anyone's fault, of course, and the first one – the death of her brother – she didn't even remember. With a weary, frustrated sigh, Anne dragged her mind back to the here and now.
Legolas had told her that he would take her with him unless she wanted to stay. In the same breath, however, he had also made it clear that he wasn't exactly happy with the prospect. That was discouraging, to say the least. Anne realised that she needed to ask him, one more time, what he really thought on the matter. She loathed the thought that he might have offered this because of some perceived sense of obligation or pity. He would not go back on his word, of that much she was sure, but he had now been given some time to consider the situation. If asked, perhaps he would tell her that he really did think it better for everyone involved if she stayed in Bree. She needed to know for sure, if only for her own peace of mind.
Feeling that she had – to some degree at least – reached a conclusion regarding her next step, Anne finally pulled the window close and, shivering rather more violently than before, turned to get dressed. If she wanted to speak to the Elf, preferably without an audience, she had better find him as soon as possible. She was halfway through her quick morning wash, when there was a knock on her door. She hastened to dry her face on a small cloth. Then she hurriedly rightened her undergarments and finished buttoning her dress, before she straightened up and told whoever it was to come in, wondering if it might be Legolas or even Pippin. Instead, however, it was the Landlord.
"Begging you pardon, young Miss, I trust I'm not disturbing you?"
Anne assured him that he was not.
Butterbur nodded and said, "Only I heard noises and thought I'd see whether you're out and about yet. Master Took asked me to tell you that you are awaited downstairs, as soon as you were up and ready. You'll be finding them in the same parlour you had your supper in yesterday. They asked for breakfast to be served in there, rather than with the main company."
Anne nodded and thanked Butterbur, who then excused himself. She watched him go before closing the door and, with a sigh, turning towards the mirror and her washing bowl once more. So, she was awaited. Of course, neatly separated from the other guests, which didn't exactly come as a surprise. As for whether this had been initiated by Pippin or Legolas she could not guess, but they were obviously not taking any chances. Perhaps they suspected her to start a fight with someone else if given the opportunity, Anne thought, feeling slightly mutinous – but then she berated herself. Pippin probably just wanted to spare her the unpleasant experience of having to eat breakfast in the main parlour while being given unfriendly looks from all sides.
On the other hand, Anne thought while giving her reflection a wry look, perhaps she was just being utterly self-centred, and the decision had nothing to do with her whatsoever.
She quickly finished her wash and combed out her hair; she really needed to ask Mr. Butterbur whether she could buy a comb or brush here, and how much it would cost. She still had a few coins from Carrockton, which, despite her protests, the Rolling Barrel's landlord Dorlas Dockleaf had pressed into her hand with a gruffly mumbled "Not another word," on the day of her departure. Anne had contemplated giving them to Legolas, but then quickly realised that it wasn't nearly enough to even cover her share of their lodging at The Prancing Pony. Knowing that he was likely to scoff at such an attempt anyway, she had ultimately abandoned the idea.
The clothes she had washed the day before were still a bit damp, so Anne left them where they were, hung her washing cloth over the rack as well, and carelessly tied back her hair before leaving her room and making her way downstairs. She had just reached the foot of the staircase, and was about to turn into the passageway that led to the parlour Butterbur had mentioned when she heard an all too familiar, angry voice from behind the doors that led to the main common room.
"... should have expected this, I reckon!"
Anne stopped dead in her tracks, unable to keep herself from listening, after she had identified Rooklar's deep, rasping tone.
"And what exactly is that supposed to mean, Master Rooklar?"
Anne didn't recognise this second, much calmer voice – the one of whoever Rooklar was arguing with. She was sure that it wasn't Butterbur, though.
"What it means?" Rooklar echoed derisively. "You think I don't know what you Breelanders secretly think of my people? Dunlendings, they still hiss behind our backs! The people of Swanfleet had nothing to do with what happened during the war! You think there were no victims on our side as well?"
"What I may or may not think about your people plays no part in my decision whatsoever -"
"The muck it doesn't, Blackthorn!"
"Indeed it doesn't," said the other man with some emphasis.
This had to be the man Rosalin had told her about, Anne realised with a pang, the captain of Bree's border-guard, and Maeren Blackthorn's uncle. He now continued speaking in a respectful but firm tone.
"I assure you, Sir – no one here is in any way belittling what you have endured, nor would indeed begrudge you your demand for justice. You must understand though, that I cannot risk any more lives by sending men after your attackers."
"And how many lives exactly were you forced to risk so far?" Rooklar's voice was heavy with contempt. "That's another reason why you will not help us. You people aren't nearly scared enough."
"You are wrong." The other man's tone was still calm, but a distinct edge had crept into it now. "Do you really think that we had no squabbles near our borders to deal with, as well as our share of losses? Why do you think it is that people are so reluctant to trust strangers these days, and why everyone is so cautious?"
"You're not cautious enough," Rooklar growled. "You didn't see what those animals did to my men, and perhaps you'd better be glad for it."
"Perhaps," Blackthorn conceded.
There was a pause, and then a soft, barely audible sigh before he went on. "It does not, however, change my decision. Neither can nor will I send any of my guards with you. Did not the rest of your group decide to travel on westwards? Will you really go back to the east by yourself, in the vain hope of chasing down ghosts and shadows who, no doubt, have long gone by now?"
"You won't help, then what concern is it of yours?" Rooklar retorted. "I'm not under your command. You won't keep me from doing what I deem right!"
There was another short silence before Blackthorn spoke again.
"That is true, I am afraid. I hope you will heed my words all the same, though."
Anne had but seconds to react. There was the sound of heavy footfalls on the other side of the door, and she hastily retreated a couple of steps, just as it was pulled open; a tall, dark-haired man, dressed in russet and dark-green, emerged. Blackthorn looked to be in his fifties, with a stern, weather-beaten face and a sharp, keen gaze. He barely gave Anne a second glance, but merely tilted his head in a short, shallow bow, then swept past her and disappeared around a corner, his cloak billowing behind him. Anne stood there for a moment, hesitating and biting her lip. Legolas wanted her to apologise to Rooklar as soon as she 'had the chance'. She had the chance now, even though – in her opinion – one might argue that he had just as much reason to apologise as she did. Still wavering, she looked longingly down the corridor, in the direction she had been about to go, and then back at the common-room door, which had fallen shut again.
Perhaps now was not the best time for this. From what she could tell about this man by now, he had quite a temper on him at the best of times, and one could only anticipate that he would be in a decidedly bad mood after his plan had been thwarted just now. With a sigh, Anne turned around to face the door again, trying to steady her resolve. There was really nothing for it. Legolas wanted her to do it, and she wanted Legolas to take her with him. Yes, it was rather selfish thinking on her part, but she had – in a detached sort of way – realised a while ago that this was something she was apparently prone to at times. She would not put it past the Elf to simply leave her here, because she had not done as he had asked. Not knowing if this 'chance' would present itself again, she had better get this over with.
Tentatively she pushed at the door and peered into the room – half hoping that the Dunlander might have already left through the main entrance by the counter.
Of course, she had no such luck.
The embers in the large fireplace were low and the light in the long, low-ceilinged room was dim. The scrubbed surfaces of the tables and benches shone faintly in the weak daylight, and in the air hung the smell of stale beer and lingering pipe-smoke.
Rooklar was standing at one of the slightly grimy-looking windows, staring outside where blurry figures were hurrying past every now and then, and seemingly lost deep in thought. He didn't appear to have heard her enter. When Anne took a few cautious steps towards him, he turned around, though. He had changed into cleaner clothes, and his beard was now clipped very short, making him look much younger than before. The black, unruly hair was the same, though, just like the smouldering fire in his eyes, which first widened, and then became narrow as he recognised Anne.
She cleared her throat. "Master Rooklar, I…" She hesitated, realising with some despondency that she had not even a clear idea of how to phrase her apology. Not wanting to give him a chance to react – to storm off, for example – she took a deep breath, and then quickly pushed on with her purpose.
"I am sorry," she blurted out.
He just stared at her for a second, his eyes narrowing even further. Anne almost began to hope that he might storm off. She could tell Legolas that she had tried, then, but – alas to no avail.
He didn't storm off. Instead, he seemed to have found his voice again, even if it sounded a bit croaky.
"What?"
Anne suppressed a groan; she had better do this properly – there was no turning back now.
Directing her gaze to the frayed, claret-coloured rug on the floor, she went on, "I wish to apologise for what I said yesterday... for how I spoke to you. It was wrong of me, and I know that what happened to you and your people must have been terrible…"
She faltered again, not knowing quite how to put this. "I am sure it's only natural to want to find someone to blame," she finally said cautiously, while trying to school her features into something resembling polite demureness. "In any case -" At last, she looked up at him, finding that he was still staring at her. "I apologise," she repeated.
There was a moment of silence. Slowly, the expression of stunned disbelief on Rooklar's face changed into a mirthless sneer.
"You apologise?" he echoed quietly. "You call that an apology?"
Anne stared back at him, more than a little taken aback. Whatever she had expected his reaction to be, this certainly wasn't it. Admittedly, she had thought him to be far too self-righteous in his anger to pay much attention to her endeavour anyway. All right, perhaps her display of remorse had not been entirely genuine, but that notwithstanding, she felt he was also missing the point a little.
"To be fair, I was not the one who started it," she said slowly, frowning a little. "You did draw your knife and pushed me to the ground," she then added as an afterthought, feeling that it needed to be pointed out.
He obviously chose to ignore her reminder.
"I don't know who told you to do this," he replied in an angry hiss, "but if you think I believe a single word of your condescending prattle, you are even more out of your mind that I thought!"
"I didn't mean to be condescending!" Anne was now becoming angry in her turn. He did not know half of what she had been through, she thought indignantly. "I have lost things too, I know how –"
"You know nothing!" he spat. "I don't need the pity of some spoiled, ignorant wench – if that's indeed all that you are!"
The hatred and despite in his eyes was so intense that Anne actually took a step back, feeling a chill spread through her gut. She winced when he began walking in her direction – but he merely strode past her, yanked the door open, and disappeared through it without another glance at her.
Anne was left standing alone in the empty, dimly lit common-room, shaking, and feeling a distress that she could not quite explain to herself.
:
When Anne arrived outside the little parlour, her stomach was still churning and her hands trembling slightly, but then she was distracted by the low murmur of voices from within; it sounded distinctly like more than two people. Then someone laughed, and Anne could have sworn that it was neither Pippin nor Legolas. Uncertain, and not wanting to just barge in – especially if she had got the wrong room, she knocked cautiously.
"Come in," Pippin's voice sounded from inside the room.
Anne opened the door and was immediately greeted with the warmth of the merrily crackling fire and the aromatic scent of burning pine cones. She had already started to say 'good morning', but then she had a clear view of the inside of the parlour, and she paused in surprise for a moment, her hand still on the door handle. There were already six people in the room, which was thus very nearly crowded.
Apart from Pippin and Legolas, sitting at the round table were – perhaps most noticeably – two Dwarves. They were quite formidable figures, considering they were shorter than her by about a head or so. Stern-faced and bearded, they were both clad in fur-trimmed, hooded cloaks, one of them brown, the other blue. Their eyes were dark and solemn, and their bearing very stately. While the one dressed in blue was so greyed that his beard looked like a mass of curiously supple iron, the other one appeared to be considerably younger; his beard was a dark auburn, and he was more slender and taller by a few inches, perhaps. Their hair seemed to be a few shades lighter than their beards, although it was mostly hidden underneath embroidered, tight-fitting, caps. They wore broad, jewelled belts, and resting next to each of their chairs were rather impressive looking axes, which Anne suspected she would not have been able to lift if her life depended on it.
Rather less spectacular, there was also a brown-haired man she had not seen before. He appeared to be in his mid-twenties, perhaps a few years younger than Anne was herself. He was good-looking, in a self-assured and slightly cocky sort of way, and he bore such a striking resemblance to Maeren Blackthorn, that Anne immediately assumed that they had to be at least distantly related. He was standing slightly to the side, leaning against the wall with the ghost of a smirk on his face, and was now regarding Anne with barely concealed curiosity.
The sixth person in the room was Maeren Blackthorn herself. She was standing at the table, carefully studying a map that had been unrolled there and weighted down with cups and what appeared to be Pippin's bag of pipe-weed. She looked at ease and concentrated, her fingertips resting lightly on the lower edge of the map. Contrary to the day Anne had first met her, she was clad in a dark green dress today, unadorned and very simple in style, and her hair was wound into a knot at the base of her neck. Even though she was dressed differently and standing with her back half-turned to the door, Anne recognised her immediately. In part, this was due to the other woman's height, but there was also something about her posture that was unmistakable.
"Ah, good morning, Anne," Pippin said, glancing up from the table where he had been showing or explaining something to the others by way of brandishing his pipe and battering the spot on the map with its mouthpiece. "Although 'good' is arguable, I suppose. Too wet and too early for my taste." The Hobbit was clad smartly in fresh, clean breeches, an immaculately white linen shirt, and a russet waistcoat, with a matching jacket on top.
"Er, yes," said Anne, glancing from one to the other and trying very hard not to stare at the Dwarves too much. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb -"
"Nonsense, nonsense," Pippin cut across her briskly. "Just as well that you're here, it is high time for... ah, splendid, perfect timing, Tostig!"
The slightly pimply youth, who had welcomed them upon their arrival and served their supper the night before, had appeared in the doorway behind Anne. He glanced at her, and then about the room with something akin to mild alarm, apparently at a loss as to whom to address. Pippin took pity on him.
"We could do with some breakfast now," he told the young man jovially. Then he glanced from Maeren to the Dwarves, and back again. "You are sure you don't want to join us?"
Maeren shook her head. "No, no. Thank you, but there is still much to be done. We had better get back to it once we're through here."
"Well, if you are sure." Pippin turned back towards the young man hovering in the doorway. "Only the three of us, then, it would seem," he said, indicating Legolas, Anne and himself. "And please make sure to bring some tea and water as well, I'm not one for wine or beer in the morning."
Once young Tostig had bowed and, with thinly veiled relief, made his exit, Pippin motioned for Anne to finally come to the table. The rest of the assembled crowd was now also muttering greetings or inclining their heads, although Anne noted that neither the Dwarves nor the young, strange man were smiling, or indeed looking particularly pleased by her appearance. None of them were introduced to her, but Anne was still too distracted to spend much thought on this. The Dwarves, after solemnly bowing their heads in Anne's direction, had begun a quiet conversation amongst themselves; they were speaking in what she assumed had to be their own tongue, somehow ponderous-sounding, and slightly guttural, with long vowels and strongly aspirated consonants. The brief smile that Maeren gave Anne seemed slightly guarded but genuine, however, and Pippin was grinning affably as he, with an effortlessness that belied his small size, pulled out a chair for her between him and Legolas.
The Elf was dressed in grey and night-sky-blue wool this morning, and apparently too warm for the cosiness of the fire-heated parlour; he had rolled up both sleeves of his shirt to the upper arms, and unfastened the top clasp of the half-sleeved leather jerkin. The dark clothing made his skin appear as white as polished marble. He was sitting in an uncharacteristic slouch, his long legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles, one elbow leaning on the table and his chin resting in the palm of his hand, the other arm draped loosely across his hips. Part of his hair was tied back into a slightly messy knot, but the majority was loose, falling down his front and across his pale forearm in a shimmering cascade to pool in his lap. He was staring at whatever Pippin had been pontificating about, but when Anne sat down at his side he turned his head towards her, and the visible corner of his mouth curled upwards slightly, before he returned his gaze to the map. Anne took this as a sign that he must be in a better mood than last night. For some reason, she was very glad that she had already done what he had bid her to do, and tried to speak with Rooklar – never mind the irrefutable disaster that had turned into.
Pippin had started talking again, indicating and circling several areas on the map using his pipe, with Maeren Blackthorn commenting every now and then. Anne wasn't listening; still shaken from her encounter with Rooklar, she was now feeling almost desperate to talk to the Elf. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to leave this town, and with it all the mess that had come about here. It was a rather cowardly notion perhaps, but she could not find it in herself to truly care.
It suddenly shot through her head that perhaps Legolas really had changed his mind. Perhaps he had already decided for himself – and thus for her – that she really should stay here? That small, and somewhat persistent voice in her head was reprimanding her now – arguing that staying in Bree might not be the worst thing. Only that she did not believe it.
Anne felt anxiety flare up and a strange coldness settle in her stomach. Shocked by her own reaction, she told herself that it wouldn't matter. Even if it was true, she had been doing perfectly fine without the Elf before they had met. Well, perhaps not perfectly, but that was beside the point, and had nothing to do with him. If she wanted to return to the east and to Esgaroth, surely there would be other opportunities for that in the future. Probably.
Anne glanced at the Elf; she knew that she couldn't interrupt them now, that whatever they were talking about was presumably slightly more important than her idiotic, and thoroughly self-induced panic. Anne's impulse control, however, was such that it probably might be called mediocre at the best of times, and in this moment it was all she could do not to start tugging at his sleeve like a four-year-old. Whether he had somehow sensed her inner turmoil or simply noticed her staring at him, Legolas turned his head to look at her once more. For a moment, he regarded her silently, his brow furrowed. Anne swallowed, and was on the verge of saying something – or maybe apologising, although for what, she had no idea – when he beat her to it, his voice quiet and oddly gentle.
"We may talk after breakfast."
Anne blinked like an owl and then nodded. Her agitation slowly subsided, to be replaced by a vague sense of embarrassment. She probably had the air of someone who was slowly but steadily heading towards a nervous breakdown. Legolas kept his gaze on her face for a moment, his expression one of mild scrutiny, as if to make sure that his words had gotten through to her – then he turned his attention back to Pippin.
When Anne did the same, she found, to her dismay, that both the Hobbit and Maeren had fallen silent and their eyes were on her, confirming her vague suspicion that she might appear a tiny bit unhinged. Maeren cocked an eyebrow but said nothing. Pippin coughed and glanced at Legolas, before speaking again.
"Anyway," he said, addressing Maeren once more, "that is all I have in terms of advice, but you'd be well-served to heed my words in this matter; Doderic is a reasonable fellow, his prices are fair and his wares – for the most part, I should add – of good quality. Not that you seem like the type to be easily pulled over the barrel, though, if you don't mind me saying so."
Even as Maeren acknowledged this with a soft laugh, the young man who resembled her so, loudly cleared his throat and pushed away from the wall, glancing from Maeren to the Dwarves.
"I will excuse myself then and begin with the unloading." His voice was slightly hoarse and sounded even younger than his appearance suggested.
Maeren waved a hand at him. "All right, you can start with the barrels, just be careful not to damage the seals. Butterbur said it was all right to put everything in that empty stall at the back of the barn, if it's only for today."
The young man muttered something inaudible and, with another appraising glance in Anne's direction, left the room.
Maeren turned to the Dwarves, who were now rising from their seats and seizing their large axes from where they leaned against the chairs. "You can leave everything with him, he will handle the payment as well."
They bowed to Maeren, and Anne couldn't help but gawp as they then proceeded to sling their axes across their backs with a disconcerting lack of effort, and secured them with belts.
"Oh, and Nithri," Maeren added meaningfully, addressing the older Dwarf, dressed in blue, "please make sure he stores everything properly this time."
The Dwarf solemnly bowed his head. "We shall see to it, Lady," he said courteously in his deep, rumbling voice.
After they had left, Maeren turned back to Pippin, who had taken his seat next to Legolas.
"As for heeding your words, I think I will," she said, scrutinising the map again. "You say it is no more than a few hours ride from Tharbad?"
"For a Hobbit's cart with a decent pony, yes, so you might make even better time," Pippin said. "Though, I can assure you that Doderic and his wife won't let you leave without a meal, some sharing of news, and plenty of talk, so you may want to stock up on Shire-gossip and plan an extra day all the same. Of course, I don't know Legolas' opinion on this."
"I was not under the impression that it carried much weight," the Elf deadpanned.
Maeren raised her eyebrows, and seemed on the verge of saying something, but Pippin laughed out loud before she had the chance to do so.
"Now, don't be sulky, Legolas," the Hobbit admonished good-naturedly. "Miss Blackthorn is a merchant, you can hardly expect her to drop everything, and take shortcuts on her usual routes. She has customers waiting, after all."
Legolas straightened up, resting both arms on the table now, tossed back his hair, and somehow managed to convey the perfect impression of patronising lordliness. "I did not say a word. Perhaps I bit back a few, but I shall not complain."
"No, but you're itching to, I know that expression of yours," Pippin countered, his expression shifty. "It's the same one you had in Lórien, when Aragorn insisted upon that whole blindfolding business. Nor did you bother much with any 'biting back' neither, then. A 'folly' you called it, if I remember it all correctly."
The Elf acknowledged this with a dismissive flick of his long fingers. "And a folly it was, albeit a necessary one."
Tostig returned then, accompanied by a Hobbit servant. They were bringing plates, candles and trays with food and several jugs, and quickly laid the table. Shortly after them, Rosalin arrived, carrying another tray with Tea and cups. Maeren Blackthorn took her leave in order to oversee the unloading of her deliveries.
Breakfast was simple but good, even though hindered somewhat at first, by the fact that Rosalin was intent on pouring their drinks for them. She seemed rather disappointed when Pippin sent her away, but positively glowed with pleasure when Legolas thanked her with a restrained smile. Blushing crimson, the girl excused herself with a bow that was rather a bit lower than decency allowed. Perplexed, Anne couldn't help but gape at the fairly generous view, whereas the men – both Hobbit and Elf – didn't notice, or pretended not to.
The food consisted of round loaves of brown bread sprinkled with sunflower-seeds, butter and honey, luscious-smelling blackberry-pie, a large bowl of slightly salty porridge, as well as goat milk cheese and eggs, boiled and cut in halves. Apart from jugs with water and the tea that Pippin had requested, there was also beer and a pale-golden, fragrant wine.
Both the Hobbit and Elf advised Anne against drinking the water. Despite his own obvious misgivings, however, Pippin encouraged Anne to try the beer, assuring her that it wasn't strong, and poured her a generous amount of the light-brown beverage. The brew was indeed rather weak – thin, lukewarm and slightly sour. While thanking Pippin and pushing the cup away from her, Anne tried to ignore the unpleasant tingling in her jaw-muscles and did her best not to make too much of a face; apparently she failed at this because Pippin started roaring with laughter, and Legolas chuckled quietly through his nose while watching her expression change. Perhaps it was the Hobbit's company that managed to draw these reactions from him.
Anne decided to forego the wine in favour of tea, although she noticed that Legolas did not. He didn't touch the beer, however, but when Pippin jokingly commented on this, the Elf admitted that – had it been a better brew, like the one you would be served in Rohan, or those made by Dwarves or Hobbits – he would have preferred that over the sweet and insipid wine, which this one apparently was.
Pippin laughed out loud. "Not for breakfast though, I expect."
"No, but even then I might be tempted, were the alternative something like this," the Elf demurred, while turning the goblet in his slender hand.
"Yes, yes, that's very much a 'ladies' wine'" said Pippin, and Legolas agreed.
Anne found their assessment a little presumptuous. Raising her eyebrows, she was just about to point out that Legolas was the only one drinking the wine, when – perhaps fortunately – they were interrupted by Butterbur, who poked his head into the room to ask whether they might want anything else. They said no, and once the landlord had left, Legolas excused himself, saying he had to take care of a few things.
When Anne made to rise as well, he motioned for her to stay seated. "Finish your breakfast, there is no haste. I shall be at the stable."
Anne nodded and sank back onto the cushioned seat, attempting to look at ease. When the door had closed behind the Elf, she turned to Pippin, who had watched their short exchange while sipping his tea. He now sat down the cup and helped himself to another piece of bread.
"You seem a bit ruffled this morning," he said casually. "Are you still worried about him?" He indicated the door, through which the Elf had just left, with a jerk of his head.
"Not really," said Anne; then, not wanting to sound too blasé, she added "Not about being told off, I mean. He didn't seem angry anymore."
"No," said Pippin while reaching for the butter, "like I told you, he isn't one to bear grudges, especially since he knows that you are contrite."
"Does he know?" Anne asked with a weak smile.
"He does," Pippin said simply. For a second it seemed like he might say something else, but then he started buttering his bread instead. "Also, he has other things on his mind," he added after a moment. He looked faintly amused now, and Anne remembered the part of their conversation she had actually paid attention to.
"What is Tharbad?" she asked curiously.
"A city, south-east of here," Pippin said, between bites. "A great, and rather old one in fact. It was destroyed several hundred years ago, and is still being rebuilt." He glanced up at her. "So, what is it, then? If you don't mind me asking."
Anne lowered her own cup of tea, which she had just been about to drink from. "What do you mean?"
Pippin peered closely at her face; his eyes were a rather piercing blue, and very keen, and Anne realised in an instant that he wasn't one to be fooled easily.
"What left you in such a state."
Anne lowered her gaze, embarrassed by his rather accurate assessment. She decided to tell the truth – or at least part of it. "You know that Legolas asked me to apologise to that Dunlander?" When Pippin nodded, she went on, "Well, he was in the common room, when I came downstairs. He was alone, and I thought that I'd better get this over with... so I apologised."
The Hobbit raised his eyebrows. "And?"
Anne smiled wryly. "It could have gone smoother."
To her surprise, Pippin burst into soft laughter. "Well, that seems to turn out to be your general device, as far as Bree is concerned."
Anne huffed a sigh. "Not just for Bree, I'm afraid."
"If it's of some consolation to you, I didn't expect that fellow to react very reasonable to any sort of approach. And to tell you the truth, I don't think Legolas does either."
Anne stared at him, taken aback by this. "Then why would he ask me to apologise in the first place?"
"You'll have to ask him," Pippin chuckled.
Anne wearily rubbed her eyes. "I think I will pass on that."
Still chortling, Pippin took his pipe from his waistcoat pocket, as well as a handkerchief, and something that looked like a very dull, miniature dagger. It appeared to be made of silver, and the finely wrought handle was crested with a beautifully detailed carving of a tree, crowned with stars and inlaid with white stone. The Hobbit spread out the handkerchief and began cleaning his pipe with the silver thing.
"Have you decided what to do, then?" he asked, his voice more serious now.
It took Anne a moment to realise what he meant. "Yes, I think so," she said slowly. "I don't want to stay here." Somehow it was a relief to say it out loud, she realised. Then she snorted. "It must seem rather ironic, wanting to return to where I started from."
Pippin shook his head. "I shouldn't think so if it feels like the right thing to do. It's your home, after all."
He did not seem surprised, although there was something in his expression that Anne could not quite place – like a flicker of unease. Nevertheless, she felt a rush of gratitude towards the Hobbit.
"I feel a bit guilty for causing Legolas even more trouble, though," she admitted, hoping that Pippin might have something encouraging to say to this.
Pippin gazed shrewdly at her, as if he guessed at her thoughts. "Trouble or no, feeling guilty about it won't help," he said firmly. "Make your peace with it, I advice, and I'm saying this as someone who's had his fair share of dealings, and trudging alongs with folks bigger than myself, most of them mightier, and some of them wiser."
Anne couldn't help but laugh at his no-nonsense manner. "You are right, I suppose."
"Of course I'm right. And I might add that I've done a good deal of trouble-causing to those mightier and wiser people, too."
Anne looked at him curiously, unable to suppress a grin. "You have?"
"Well, I won't go into details, if it's all the same to you, though I wager that Legolas could tell you a story or two about me, if he were of a mind to do so. Suffice it to say that I have given the odd grief to him, as well as to some others, and that's the truth. It's no use to fret over things that are over and done with, nor over others which you can do nothing about. Besides, Legolas offered to take you back with him, which he wouldn't have done if it were a problem. Well, I reckon he still would have, truth be told, but that's not the point."
"I'm grateful he has, even though, he might already be regretting it. Taking him up on it will not endear me to him, I'm afraid," Anne said, attempting to sound serene. "And he didn't think much of me to begin with, I might add."
"Now, you're doing him an injustice, speaking so," Pippin chided, though there was the hint of laughter in his voice. "Legolas is not so petty as that. And as for him not 'thinking much of you' – I wouldn't know one way or the other, even though that might not be what you want to hear from me -"
Anne straightened up, her cheeks reddening, and opened her mouth to protest, but the Hobbit wagged his pipe-cleaner at her, by way of bidding her to let him continue.
"Now, now," he said with a knowing smirk, "don't think I cannot tell if someone's fishing for a little reassurance. Like I said, I wouldn't know, but I can't really see a reason why he might think ill of you."
"I didn't say ill, I said not much," Anne clarified, wondering how to steer them away from this topic. "I can't count the times he's called me a child, or bothersome, or meddlesome -"
Pippin laughed at this. "Ah well, but to him, almost all of us mortal people are like children. I've heard him call grown man such, far older than you, and he did so with fondness."
"Well, it wasn't with fondness when he called me that, I can assure you," Anne said drily, causing Pippin to chuckle.
"Anne, you must not forget that he is a warrior and statesman, and what's worse, an elven one at that. While I know for a fact that he can be charming when he chooses to be, dealing with young women is not a skill that is usually expected of him. What is more, these are serious times and people may harden their hearts after certain..."
Pippin trailed off, lowering his gaze to the pipe in his hands. His voice had become sober during his last words, and now he looked slightly dismayed, as if he had not intended to speak thus. Anne frowned, and was about to ask what was wrong, when a thought struck her.
Does he know? Does he know what happened to him?
"Certain what?" she prompted uneasily. "What do you mean -"
"Oh, nothing, nothing – just thinking of something else there for a moment." Pippin cleared his throat, and his voice was a little too cheerful when he spoke again. "Anyway, it's good that you were able to make a decision. You didn't have much time to think things over, I expect."
Anne nodded, slightly startled by the change of topic. "Right. I mean, no – not really."
"Well then," Pippin said businesslike, while gathering up his belongings, "you should go and find that charming Elf, and tell him of his luck."
"Very funny," Anne muttered, still feeling disquieted, but realising that the Hobbit did not plan on telling her anything else.
Pippin laughed, sounding very much like his jovial self again. "You may tell him I said to be kind to you."
"Yes, I'm sure that would go over well."
"He might yet surprise you," Pippin countered, while getting to his feet. "Well, I have arranged with Tostig to have a peek at a few ponies, so I will see you for lunch, no doubt. Mind you stay out of trouble."
With that, a wink and a grin, he left her alone.
:
After leaving the parlour herself, Anne crossed the passage that led to the common room and the stairwell leading to the upper storeys, while debating whether to try and track down Legolas in his room, or search for him in the barn instead. She settled for checking his room first, and made a sharp turn for the stairs; there, she nearly ran headlong into the Elf, who, now wrapped in his cloak and carrying his bow, was just descending the last couple of steps.
He exclaimed something in his own tongue while grabbing her arm to stop her from toppling over backwards before switching to Westron. "Where are you off to in such a haste?"
"Oh, I'm not," she said, making little sense. She straightened up and, in her relief to have found him so quickly, gave him the friendliest smile she could muster. Perhaps it was a little too friendly, because he eyed her a bit warily while releasing her arm, as if afraid that she might jump at him like an overexcited dog.
"You wished to speak with me," he said in a, for him, rare instance of stating the obvious.
"Yes, but if you are busy -"
"No – now is fine." He motioned for her to step into the hall ahead of him.
When Anne realised that he was heading for the common room, she jerked to a halt, afraid that Rooklar might be in there again. She indicated the side entrance that led to the courtyard and the stable. "Can we not go outside?"
The Elf followed her outstretched hand with his gaze. The door stood ajar; the rain was coming down in straight, grey sheets now. He glanced back at her, frowning slightly, but apparently decided to indulge her this time. Once they had reached the short flight of stairs outside, where Rosalin and the other maidservant had been sitting and gossiping on the night of their arrival, however, Legolas stayed her with a hand on her arm. He studied her, his brows knit together in mild displeasure, as if only now registering her appearance properly.
"Where is your cloak?"
Anne looked down at herself. "Er – upstairs?"
He shook his head. "One might think that you are purposefully trying to fall ill. Go fetch it."
"Oh, it's fine," Anne lied, while feeling goosebumps erupt along her neck and arms underneath the thin linen dress, "I'm not cold." Now that she had actually managed to grab a hold of the Elf she felt rather unwilling to let him out of her sight, as silly as that might be.
Legolas sighed and then reached up to unfasten his own thick, grey cloak. He pulled it off and dropped it unceremoniously onto her shoulders, where it settled heavily and still warm from his body. He pre-empted her embarrassed protest with a wave of his pale hand, and led her down the steps and underneath the broad overhang of the inn's thatched roof, where they were relatively sheltered from the rain. Lush green and wine-red ivy grew across one side of the whitewashed wall, and also an exuberant rambler rose. A few late blooms, both shell-pink and pale as milk, still clung to the thorny stems, their petals flaccid and browning at the edges, and their heavy, sweet scent hung like vapour in the rain-soaked air.
They were quiet for a moment, the only sounds the gentle pattering of the rain and the odd, muffled voice from the main street, the heavy thuds of hooves in the mud, and the rhythmic creaking of wheels, made by a passing cart. Anne stared through the curtain of rain that was constantly dripping from the roof's eave, and across the unevenly cobbled courtyard, which was empty apart from them. On the far side, close to the stable, stood a lone, slender maple, already clad in its autumn garb of bright yellow and deep red. Someone had dropped an apple core on the ground near it, and a flock of excitedly twittering sparrows had gathered around and were picking away at the remaining fruit. One of them hopped closer towards the inn, plumage puffed up against the rain, its tiny black eyes fixed upon Legolas. The Elf gazed back at the small grey-brown bird, as it cocked its head with the black-masked face and chirruped merrily.
Somewhere above them, a window was slammed shut and the sparrows immediately took flight, abandoning the apple core. Anne had jumped as well; she pulled Legolas' cloak, which had started to slip off her shoulder, more tightly around herself. It was soft against her neck, and smelled faintly of peppermint and pine needles.
She glanced at her silent companion. Legolas seemed to be lost in thought and was staring out into the courtyard as well, his gaze strangely unfocused, as if listening to something only he could hear. He had not re-shouldered his bow; it was leaning against his chest, and he absently ran his hand down the snow-white wood of the upper limb, gently plucking at the string with his slender fingertips.
In the drab light, the Elf's face seemed distant and very pale, the full lips near bloodless, and the shadows in his eye sockets and underneath his cheekbones looked darker, somehow. With an almost painful jolt to her stomach, Anne was struck by how weary he looked – how old, despite his ageless appearance. His expression was eerily vacant as if he himself had gone, leaving his body behind.
A sudden, and undefined fear gripped Anne; without thinking she reached out and grasped his free hand, wrapping her fingers around his; she had expected them to be cold for some reason, and was almost shocked to find them warm – smooth, firm, and alive.
Legolas startled slightly, and turned his head towards her with a frown, his eyes focusing on her face. Anne was ridiculously relieved to see him move.
"What is it?" he shifted, angling his body to face her, while eyeing her with something close to faint alarm. "Are you unwell?"
"No, I... you seemed -" Anne stopped herself, recognising how crazy she would sound.
"Yes?" he prompted, his frown deepening.
"You…" Anne swallowed, then finished weakly, "you seemed preoccupied."
He looked faintly puzzled, then he lowered his eyes. Following his gaze, Anne remembered belatedly that she was still clutching his hand. Before she could let go she felt his palm tighten around hers momentarily, his fingers long and white against her smaller, slightly more suntanned hand.
"I am right here," he said softly, as if in response to her unspoken thoughts.
His grip relaxed again, and Anne realised that he was waiting for her to release him. She hurriedly did, gripping the edge of her borrowed cloak instead.
"Yes... right," she said eloquently, avoiding his gaze and thinking that – with any luck – she might only appear a little mad. Casting around for something to say, she remembered their initial reason for coming out here.
"I spoke with Rooklar."
He tilted his head and his lingering frown was replaced by what appeared to be genuine surprise. "Already? When?"
"Before breakfast." Anne avoided his gaze, focusing on the courtyard. A magpie had claimed the apple core, and was alternating between picking at the remnants, its long, black tail feathers bobbing, and eyeing the two of them with blatant distrust.
"It… wasn't a great success," she admitted.
"Hmm," he said, his expression once more unreadable.
Anne didn't know what Hmm meant, but he didn't look surprised. She eyed him quizzically, distracted from the awkward situation from before. "You didn't think it would be," she stated, remembering Pippin's words.
He inclined his head in concession. "Taking into account what I heard of this man, I did not expect him to be overly forthcoming."
"No," Anne muttered, "he called me an 'ignorant wench', and that he didn't need my pity." She threw Legolas a furtive glance. "Even though one might argue that he has just as much reason to apologise as I do."
"No doubt about that."
Anne looked at him in surprise. "Then why—"
"Because Master Rooklar is none of my concern," the Elf interrupted her pointedly, though there was no harshness in his tone.
For a moment, Anne took in his words, while staring across the courtyard; the rain seemed to be lessening, and the magpie, carrying away the last of the apple, fluttered up into the maple where it settled on a swaying bough with its loot. Anne took a deep breath and turned back towards the Elf.
"What should I do?"
He darted a glance at her, giving a slight shake of his head, and she clarified, "Where should I go?"
Legolas frowned slightly when he realised what she was asking, and turned around to face her fully. "That is your choice to make."
"Yes, I know -" Anne could hear the hint of desperation in her own voice. "- and I know that you have other, and far more important things on your mind, but what if it were your -"
"I cannot decide such a thing for you," he said firmly.
"I'm not asking you to decide, only for your opinion," she all but pleaded.
Legolas sighed. "Why does everyone assume that I know what is best? 'Only' my opinion, you say, even though that is no small thing in such a matter but rather a heavy burden – one that I shall not shoulder willingly."
Crestfallen, Anne returned his calm glance for a moment. When she felt her cheeks heat up with vague shame and frustration, she looked away, her gaze straying towards a nearby rooftop beyond the wall of the inn's courtyard, where two or three crows had alighted, cawing and clicking, and shaking water from their feathers, their sleek, black bodies stark little silhouettes against the pale sky.
Then Legolas spoke again, more gently, "Do not expect so much of me, Anne. I cannot see the future, and I would not have you make a decision like this based upon my counsel."
Anne nodded, still staring at the crows; they had settled, perched on the roof's ridge, and seemed to be peering right down at them. "I know it would be more dangerous to go back east now," she muttered. Perhaps, she thought, that was why he didn't want to advise her one way or the other.
"You would be safe with me." It was a matter-of-fact declaration, and the Elf's tone was so neutral and impassive that he might as well be talking about the weather. It was a bit of an odd thing to say too, Anne thought, because surely even he couldn't confidently make a promise like that. Somehow she didn't care, however; hearing it made her strangely happy.
"The plan was for me to stay here," she said nonetheless.
"Yes."
She scraped at a bit of mud around a cobblestone with the tip of her boot, working a small pebble free from the damp earth. "It would be much easier for you if I stayed here," she stated, stubbornly willing him to contradict her.
He slung his bow over his shoulder and leaned back against the wall. "I will not deny that."
She glanced up at him, found him watching her and lowered her eyes back to the ground. The pebble came loose and she kicked it away. "Then I should stay here."
"Do you wish to?"
Anne hesitated, but found that she couldn't lie to him. "No."
The crows on the rooftop gave a series of shrill alarm calls before taking to the air once more. Flapping ponderously at first, they headed towards a group of tall firs beyond the building and disappeared from view. Anne stared after them, and then turned back to the Elf, who had remained silent and was watching her calmly, his arms folded. "No, I don't want to be left here."
He studied her for a moment, looking as unfazed as ever. If he thought her choice of words to be odd, he did not let it show. "Very well then."
"That's it?" she could not help but ask.
He glanced at her while reaching to the back of his neck and untying the string from his hair. "What else would you have me say?"
"I don't know," said Anne, feeling slightly irritated, not least because she knew how unreasonable she sounded. "I just don't want you to be annoyed with me."
"Why would I be annoyed with you?"
She shrugged. "For having to protect me. If advising me is a burden, then surely taking me with you must be one, too."
His shrewd gaze lingered on her face for a moment. "I might not have much wisdom to offer, but I know my limitations. That burden is one I know how to bear," he said simply, and began tying up his hair once more.
"I don't think I understand you very well," Anne muttered, though her sulkiness was half-hearted at best; despite herself, she felt reassured by his dispassionate statement.
Legolas made an oddly hoarse sound, like a soft huff of laughter, as he nimbly wound the long tresses into a knot. "To be sure, I have been told so before," he said while peering up into the sky. The heavy rain had turned into a misty drizzle, and the clouds, while still thick, were more opaque white than grey. "You should pack your things."
"Oh, well, I never unpacked most of them," Anne said sheepishly.
Legolas shot her a knowing glance, but apparently chose not to comment. "Well then, occupy yourself otherwise. Help me ready Dûrfang if you have nothing else to do."
Belated relief swept over Anne now as she followed the Elf, who was heading towards the stable. She would leave. She didn't have to stay in Bree on her own. Somehow she didn't mind the rain and the cold so much anymore, nor even the prospect of travelling in it.
"I thought you wanted to leave in the afternoon," she said, falling in step beside Legolas, and trying very hard not to sound too giddy. "Why ready him now?"
"That poor beast is not used to being in a stall and will be more manageable if he gets some exercise now. He becomes fidgety and unruly if penned in for too long." Legolas turned his head to glance at Anne over his shoulder. "Quite like you, in fact, if yesterday is anything to judge by."
Before Anne could think of a reply to this, the Elf narrowed his eyes and indicated her with a jerk of his chin. "Now fasten that cloak properly, lest you catch a chill and my munificence will have been for naught."
Anne did as she was told, while biting her lip in order not to smile like an idiot. Her chest felt strangely light and she was more optimistic than she had been in days, if not weeks, although the irony of this wasn't completely lost on her. The moment she had entered this town, everything had started to go wrong, or at least so it felt to Anne. There was a small, gently tugging voice at the back of her mind reminding her that quite a few things had decidedly gone wrong before she had come to Bree.
Anne chose to ignore it.
All of a sudden, she remembered Pippin's worried face, how he had evaded her question regarding Legolas and how troubled he had looked for a moment. Something about her wish to accompany the Elf had bothered him, somehow.
I'm too self-centred, she berated herself. If Pippin is worried about Legolas, it's probably because they are friends and about to part ways again.
A brief, wet flurry of wind whipped the rain into Anne's face and caused the maple's boughs to sway. Leaves, caught on the breeze, sailed down like small, gaily coloured kites. One of them clung to the back of the Elf's head for a second, a bright speck of scarlet and gold against his dark hair, before tumbling to the ground.
Whatever might happen from now on, Anne was convinced that she would be safer with Legolas than anywhere else. That the 'anywhere else'-part would, at some point, become inevitable was something she was happy to shove to the back of her mind for now. Anne wasn't sure when exactly it had happened, nor was she oblivious to the irony and possible foolishness of it, but the fact of the matter was: she had come to view the stern, solemn Elf as the epitome of safety, to the point that it probably bordered on something close to delusional.
Only it isn't, she thought as she glanced up at the Elf's familiar figure walking a few steps ahead of her, broad-shouldered, long-limbed, and slightly too tall for comfort.
He had even said so himself, albeit in not so many words; as long as she was with him, she was safe. Also, and almost more importantly, he wouldn't leave her, if she asked him not to. That small voice from before was whispering to her again, pointing out that there might be something vaguely twisted, misconceived, and unhealthy about this way of thinking, but it was all right. Anne was becoming good at ignoring it.
III III III
:
Author's Note:
To anyone who has been following this story when I first started publishing it in 2010, and might find their way back here: I cannot even begin to apologize enough, especially given the amazing encouragement and kindness I received from you guys, even years later. Thank you so much. Also, thanks to those who send PMs to ask whether I was okay – forgive me if I never answered. It has been a strange and insane time with countless stuff happening all at once, to the point of absurdity. Or in other words, life just happened. I have been working on this story sporadically throughout the last couple of years, and more intensively for the last six months or so. Large portions of it are written now, including the last part and lots of the middle, though most of it not quite in a publishable state. However, at least it got to the point where I feel confident to update again. I'm also currently revising all the previous chapters; those that are done have a note at the top.
On a different note:
I am going to up the rating from T to M, which, honestly I should have done, to begin with. I didn't want to do it simultaneously with this chapter since I wasn't sure if the story might then not show up in some people's list anymore – I have no idea how these things work on this site. This doesn't mean that the tone of the story is going to change dramatically, but things will get a little grimmer throughout the next two arcs. There were already a few scenes, f. e. in the chapters Collision and The other Side, that might not belong in a T-rated story, and I don't want to have to 'tone down' anything, or break the rules. So, as of Chapter 27, the rating will be changed.
Sorry, I got one more:
An extra bit of dialogue was added to the conversation between Pippin and Legolas at the end of chapter 25. It was supposed to be part of this chapter, but I simply couldn't fit it in. Unfortunately, I have a tendency to write scenes without a clear idea in mind of where they should go, and then end up having to piece them together like a jigsaw puzzle. The dialogue isn't super important, and part of it is just plain fun silliness, but does get referred to again in chapter 27. Anyway, the added piece begins after: "It would not be the first time." - for those who might wish to skip the rest – and ends with: They both fell silent after this. (Hope there are no breakfast references in there anymore.)
Chapter 27 is in the works, though not quite finished (I got distracted writing the epilogue - yeah, please don't ask...) Thanks SO MUCH again to everyone who read, followed, favourited and reviewed so far, as I couldn't PM some of you. If you have questions, complaints, suggestions, critique to offer, or if you spotted any mistakes, please let me know.
I hope you are all well!
I'm sorry, this was so long, I'll move it to the end of the chapter later on. As before and always, your input and thoughts are immensely appreciated.
Especially since this is my first posting in such a long time, I would love to know what you think.