Finally had a moment's rest to actually sit down and get some writing done, although the chapter was far from finished it has at least given me a starting point to work from. Doesn't mean it didn't take me weeks to put everything together with every 10-15 minute sessions I have to work with...
While my main character is a minstrel I haven't got the faintest talent in writing my own poems and songs, so unless someone feels up to the challenge to write some for me (hint hint) I'll leave it up to your imagination. Call me lazy and whatnot, but rather that than kill you all emotionally with my second grade rhyming sense.
For this chapter I'd like to imagine Ranel singing the Village Lanterne and Home Again both by Blackmore's Night (without the Electric guitar solos and such, of course). Feel free to check them out while reading this chapter.
Enjoy another chapter that sets the mood in Dale.
When Ravens Fly
Chapter IX: The Three Kegs
A sound ... Familiar ... Reminiscent of a time long passed ...
The chuckling river, idly carving through the forest landscape of lush greens, sparkled beneath the clear Spring-time sun in a mesh of gold and silver. Diamonds in a river of molten gold. Branches snapped below her weight when she slipped through the undergrowth; weaving around ancient and tall trees of the olden days when the world was still new.
The sandy banks appeared through the bushes, the forest thinning to a clear until it opened up around her. A lute's haunting beauty beckoned her forward, and she knew he would stand there across the river.
Where he always stood.
... Waiting for her.
The pale yellow light had turned a deeper orange, and the shadows crawling across the white-washed walls grew ever longer with the approach of evening. It took several long and quiet moments before Ranel awoke; at first she stirred only, rolling over on top of the bedsheets before nodding off once more.
She smiled in her sleep; the pleasant dream, the memory, something she did not wish to part with yet ... Head buried in the feathery pillow she clung to the blurred image of a face she could never forget.
The small window, ajar, allowed the cooling breeze to creep inside. A chill rolled over her bare skin until she could no longer ignore the discomfort brought in with it. Rubbing her eyes, yawning, she stared up onto the ceiling and slid her fingers further down over her brow.
Damp tangles met her touch.
Ranel listened to the stillness around her, ears picking up the chirps of a bird likely resting beneath the rafters of the inn. Another joined in, faintly and from afar, possibly some houses away, until both were suddenly cut short by loud laughter that welled up from below her window. The boisterous chortle carved through the evening air sharply, breaking the comfortable peace otherwise filling the secluded courtyard.
The noise rolled over the walls of the room.
The air was fresh and clean as she breathed in deeply.
The first visitors of the night had arrived, drawn to the warmth inside and to the ale offered by the innkeeper; rest after a long day of either work or pleasant leisures. Men usually found an excuse to drink either way, she mused with a small smile.
The last flashes of her dream sank back, disappearing, into the darkness of her past.
Ranel sat upright on the bed, a chill running down her spine when her long, still damp, hair fell softly against her back. She quickly gathered her clothes, strewn about the room, and dressed herself afterwards; fumbling to remove the heavier items from her belt, leaving only her coin purse and the small blade hanging off her hip, she settled onto the mattress again.
It creaked below her weight.
She slipped on her shoes and then proceeded, with a frown marring her features, to remove the worst patches of caked dirt from her skirt. It proved a challenge as most were dried into the fabrics, leaving hideously obvious stains of reddish-brown that would not disappear despite her best efforts. She scrubbed a few moments more on a particularly eye-catching spot until, in the end, surrendering with a frustrated stomping off feet against the wooden floorboards.
She huffed in resignation.
Did she really have to pay for more water to clean her clothes?
Finally fastening the cloak over her shoulders and picking up the Lebethron lute, the minstrel was ready to find work for the night. The matron had left a heavy iron-wrought key on the small bed stand – and it served the only reason why Ranel did not drag around all of her possessions. She would have had one too many beatings with a troll's club if stupid enough to leave anything in an unlocked room, and so the object had spared her from aching muscles and a stiff neck come morning.
The metal was cold in hand; the door closed shut with hinges whining. A thud in the quiet hallway. When Ranel had heard the soft click of the bolt sliding into place, she slipped the key down into one of her shoes.
It gnawed uncomfortably, cold and raw against her ankle, but it was the safest place on her person. Prying long-fingers could easily, subtle as night overtaking day, slip it off her belt or weave their way through pockets.
With an odd tilt to her walk, shaking and rolling her foot every few steps in an attempt to nestle the key into a more agreeable spot, she followed the narrow hallway towards the voices and sounds coming from below. The boards of the staircase creaked in complaint below her feet, her hand running over the smooth banister while her eyes adjusted to the room.
Although the logs in the fireplace were ablaze and every wax candle lit, dripping tendrils onto the floor, the dark wood of the low-hanging ceiling and boarded walls left the tavern room in a shadowy dimness.
Where the tables had been unoccupied upon her arrival earlier that day, several were now taken; a large group of men, seven or eight of them, had pulled two together close to the fire, their talk loud and rambunctious over foam-topped pints of ale. Full beards covered their faces, leaving only small eyes to shine through beneath bushy eyebrows, and teeth bared in laughs or shouts.
More than anything they reminded Ranel of the men living along the East-West Road. Pelt-traders and hunters that spent more time within the forest and scaling high cliffs than with other people. Gruff in appearance but kind at heart.
Though the merry group was likely just regular workmen from Dale enjoying an evening of rest, light haired from the ever-burning touch of the sun upon their faces. Her eyes moved from the group, shifting across the other guests. A lonesome figure, one you would come across in every tavern setting, looked ready to spring from his chair; on edge and dangerous if provoked, with sword sheathed but always close at hand. The plate in front of him looked untouched and his gaze was trained on the large group with veiled suspicion.
Ranel knew who to approach if she wished to trade news of the world.
While shady in looks from top to bottom the lonesome travellers were seldom to turn down company. If approached in an orderly mannerly. And only if the company was to provide worthwhile information in return, that is. She had often planned travels or altered destinations based off of stories exchanged in shadowed corners.
Strife and conflict between young Lordlings over lands and inheritance.
The gossipy servant rumours of wedding bells.
Howls, so very resembling the hunting cries of a warg pack, echoing through the deep forests of old.
A bundle of corn-yellow hair swept past her field of vision, drawing her attention from the cloaked figure. The girl, with a pink blush over round cheeks from hectic work to and fro the kitchens, paused mid-step and regarded Ranel wordlessly. Then, blinking once, twice, the girl opened her mouth to speak. "Ya the one that arrived this morning, Miss?"
"I am, yes," she responded, assuming the girl was the matron's daughter who had prepared her bath water previously. Ranel nodded in the direction of the tavern room, adding, "Room enough or are you expecting more this evening?"
The girl shrugged, fidgeting for a better grip on the tray in her hands.
"Barely anyone comin' around here, and ya as much a guest as they are. So go right ahead, Miss, and I'll be there with ya in a moment. The name's Edild, by the way, if you need anything during your stay." Ranel thanked her with a small smile, but the barmaid had already passed the counter, slipping out into the kitchen behind to replenish the empty tankards.
Ranel found a quiet spot some distance from the rowdy group.
Shifting onto the bench until her shoulder brushed the wall, she turned her gaze once more to her surroundings while loosening the lute from her back. Breathing deeply her nostrils were filled with the air so very rich in smells – heavy with sweet-burning pipe weed, ash from the embers and crackling logs of the fireplace, and spices mixed within roasted meats.
While the loudness of the bigger company, and the hooded figure, too, had caught her interest at first, it was the pair of merchants that halted her gaze in its wanderings. If she was to turn a profit that evening it was vital to first and foremost know her audience; not only who held most coins, but also who would be most prone in departing from them upon hearing her songs. It was not uncommon that those of high stature and wealth were the least inclined to share their riches with others.
She could not help but to, amused, imagine it was the very reason they stayed well-to-do.
Young, and drunken, men would likely pass coins of silver and gold once the lute started its tune and her stories began to unfold. They were the safest bet, yet perhaps luck would shine upon her and the merchant pair would follow suit.
Flecks of mud spotted the frayed edges of the pair's traveling cloaks as well as their heavy leather boots; the inner clothes, hidden partly behind the dark green fabrics, were sturdy – of practicality suited for the road – yet not without some detailed touches to the seams and embroidered swirls of flowers. Belts of fine, costly materials, and with silver trimmings encircling the handles of their swords.
Elbow on the table top, resting her chin gently against curled fingers, she regarded the men with an eyebrow faintly raised. One, with creased lines of age upon his face and deep-set eyes, moved in his seat and revealed a familiar crest across a broad chest.
Silvery white treads embroidered over forest green; the mark of the Lossarnarch – Vale of Flowers.
They were traders from the southern region of Gondor, a peaceful and quiet place renowned for their fertile lands and orchards. They usually only had dealings within their own fief and at rare times the horselords, selling fruits of such sweetness there was seldom known any better than the ones from the flowery vales of Arnach.
Perhaps they saw enough profit to be had if a new route was to be opened. Dale would be a mere stepping stone to gain access to not only Erebor, but from there the Iron Hills ruled by Dáin Ironfoot off to the east.
It was difficult to turn from the lure of Dwarf gold.
The barmaid returned, balancing large pints and plates of food on her tray, and she stepped to the large group with a smile. The men seemed to know her quite well, and she lingered briefly for a chat – it was naught but friendly banter, showing the girl was too young to be approached in any other way.
Ranel glanced away when the girl turned, instead preoccupying herself with the dark wood of the table beneath her fingers.
Footsteps creaked close by.
"What can I get ya, Miss?"
Looking up, tugging loose hairs behind her ear, Ranel slowly returned the smile with one of her own. "The same as them," she said, nodding towards the group and the slices of pink-roasted meats, vedgetables and buttered potatoes she could spot over broad shoulders. "It smells too delicious to pass up on, so I thought I'd ought to try it as well. And some ale with that, thank you."
"Right away," the girl responded, nesting the tray below her arm while wiping her free hand in the apron. Then she turned and left to check if the merchants were content. They declined the barmaid's offer to refill their near empty wineglasses, and so the blonde returned to the kitchen.
It did not take long before the barmaid came back, quickly placing a full plate in front of the minstrel; Ranel smiled thankfully, inhaling deeply and felt her stomach growl in response. She felt unusually starved.
She was about to dig in when she noticed the barmaid lingering at the table.
Hands, rough from work, fidgeted and wrung the coarse fabric of the aron. Ranel glanced up, eyebrow raised in query. "Excuse me, but is there something else?"
At first the girl remained silent, wringing her calloused fingers in the apron, but then the barmaid breathed deeply. "May I join ya, Miss?" Edild waved a hand towards the other guests, then spoke again with a tone of apology. "They won't need me for a while."
Ranel, eyebrow raised in mild amusement and curiosity, smiled.
Then the minstrel gave a nod, interest piqued at the sudden request. "Go ahead. I do not mind the company." The barmaid slipped into a seat on the opposite bench, blue eyes never leaving the other woman's for even a moment. Regarding her with clandestine interest, she imagined the girl could be no more than fifteen or sixteen; cream-coloured skin without many a blemish apart from a soot covered chin and papir-thin, darkened circles beneath her eyes from morning work.
Edild likely had no trouble finding a handsome suitor in the years to come.
Allowing the other to settle, Ranel dug into her dinner with quite the appetite and soon her mouth was filled with the salted taste of meat.
"I hope you'll excuse my boldness, Miss, for it is naught but curiosity."
Dismissing the worry with her free hand, she peered up from her plate through lowered eyelashes to the barmaid. It was not uncommon that she sparked the interest of young women, so seldomly used to the outside world – a world that was usually bedtime stories of dangerous places and dangerous men. Although the attention was without the same reverence mingled with apprehension that usually befell the northern rangers and stragglers, though minstrels equally knew of the roads of Middle-Earth well.
Ranel swallowed a mouthful. "It's fine."
"Ya wouldn't possibly have a husband lookin' for ya back in Gondor?"
Perplexed at the unexpected question, spluttering, Ranel shook her head. "Not that I am aware of. May I ask why?"
The girl leaned closer, elbows against the table; lowering her voice a notch upon her next words and a compassionable gleam in her eye. "Your secret would be safe with me. It isn't the first time I've seen a face painted black and blue like yours," she explained and scratched her cheek sheepishly. "Usually after ... falling down the stairs, if ya get what I'm saying?"
Still rather shocked, almost speechless, Ranel slowly came to understand what the girl was trying to hint at. "I did not run away from any husband, abusive or not." She spoke, indignation lining her tone of voice, while quickly pulling her lute into view. "I am a wanderer turned to Dale after hearing stories of the dragon's demise. Nothing more, I can assure you."
"I apologize, Miss, it was not my intention to be rude," Edild immediately muttered, ears ablaze and eyes downcast. The cracked and rough fingers once more worked their way across the apron. "I wouldn't have held it against ya in the slightest. It's not–," her voice dropped an inch further, "–uncommon around these parts, I'm afraid to say. I could only imagine it would be no different in a big city like Minas Tirith."
Ranel at first looked for a few moments soundlessly, then, heaving a sigh, responded tentatively. "I did not leave Gondor due to any man. This–" She gestured towards her bruised face, flinching at the mere memory of her beatings still vividly fresh against her skin. "–was the courtesy of a bandit I encountered on my way through The Wold."
With a gasp at the words, the barmaid's eyes shimmered with renewed interest – though not entirely without uneasy concern. For she likely knew the outcome of such an encounter. Her gaze flickered over the minstrel. "Did he ..." But before she could voice any further questions, Ranel cut her off with a small smile as she shook her head. She had been spared such a fate.
"I'm glad to say he's lying dead back in Rohan."
"My! The Valar must've certainly held a saving hand over ya, Miss."
Ranel let out a laugh. "That, or it might just have been the Dwarven company I was traveling with."
"Dwarves? Really now!" The girl exclaimed, all the more shocked as the story unravelled. "That is quite fortunate to have such great protection on your journey." With a soft smile, remembering the comfortable presence granted by her kind companions, Ranel agreed with and nod and another mouthful of meat.
"Indeed," she said.
A quiet fell upon them; and Ranel used the moment to thoughtfully mull over the earlier conversation, while finally filling her stomach to settle her hunger. It was a queer topic, so seldomly spoken of in the open. More often it was whispered gossips passed between greying women with nothing else to spend their time on.
"When you say it is not uncommon ... for a husband to harm his wife so ..." She trailed off, unsure how to finish her question without coming off as being nosy, and instead chose to regain silence. Ranel pulled her tankard of ale close, and sipped the sweetly rich and golden liquid at her loss of words.
She felt uncomfortable, but it seemed the young barmaid was glad for the company.
With a shrug of her shoulders, sending blonde curls tumbling down, Edild carefully explained with little warmth to her tone. "Let's just say my father tended to find comfort in his bottles, and a drunk man is often an impetuous man. He raised his fist rashly." Her blue eyes flashed, yet otherwise her calmness was not betrayed. "He did little at home except drain the kegs or spew words of hurt – mum handled everything even back then, and that's no secret to anyone!"
"What happened to your father?"
"Never did find 'im after the winged serpent attacked. And good riddance, I'd say!" The girl spoke with vehemence. "Can hope he was crushed beneath the falling beast or swept away by the current down the River Running, never to be heard of again. Only decent thing Smaug ever did." She waved out towards the dim room. "Now we're set up shop here and doing much better than before."
Ranel ran her fingers against the rough surface of the tankard. "I would offer my condolences, though I feel they were to be wasted. Is it but you and your mother that run this place?" The barmaid gave a nod.
"The new lord was kind to grand buildings to those of us who lived in Lake-town first and foremost, before all the newcommers flocked to the city. Gave us all roofs over our heads. All profit made these first years will be entirely our own, and only then will we pay taxes to ensure our well-being." Her tone, previously laced with years of old hatred, was now filled with warmth. "Many lost their lives then, but it also brought a new start for those of us that remain."
A call came from across the room, forcing Edild back to her work; the girl stood, thanked Ranel with a smile and stepped towards the large group. Watching the other for a moment longer, the minstrel turned her attention to her dinner.
It was hard to fathom the great changes brought upon the people of Lake-town, forcefully tearing them from their homes in a devestating storm of ash and flame. They had struggled to rebuild and settle in old ruins, during the freezing winter months; starving and injured, yet still, in the end, prevailed.
Hardships brought forth the unyielding will of Men, to fight and rise up once more, just as it had years and ages before. The struggles of both the Northmen and the Dwarves of Erebor would in times to come tell tales of a returning Dawn after the dark.
They would no longer cower beneath the mountain forever in fear of a slumbering beast of old.
She swirled the foam around in the bottom of her tankard, brow creased in deep thought.
The shadows grew long and thin as evening turned to night; the golden-white rays dimmed to a darkened blue closing in, until only the flickering flames illuminated the tavern room. Ranel had long finished her supper.
Edild had returned once to refill the then empty tankard and to take the plate, though she had not lingered to continue their conversation. More customers paid the establishment a visit and soon the place was blooming with voices, forcing both barmaid and matron to weave in between the stocky frames of workmen. The room was hazy with pibe smoke and hot against her face, with so many people clumped together the evening cool had made way for a humid, stuffy air.
She wiped her brow, brushing strands of hair from her eyes and looked out over the tavern.
After an hour or two Ranel knew it was time; she picked up her lute and slipped from her seat. With practiced steps, making her way across the floor, she had earlier picked out her targets and now steered directly towards them; nested between two rowdy groups, enjoying their fifth pints or so, were a couple of tradesmen resting for the evening.
The minstrel ducked below a hand waved about in the air, swinging a mug around a wide breadth in an engaging story that roused a great cackle from his friends. Ranel had waited for an opportune moment when the ale had flown for a while, but not long enough for drowsiness and disorderly behavior to set in over clouded minds.
The men wore humble clothes, fading in comparison to the lavishly embroidered garments of the Lossarnarch merchants – who unfortunately had retired to their rooms earlier – but still it spoke lengths to her about their standings. Hair, grey at the roots; wrinkled lines of age and harsh weathers; but their hands were without callouses, unused and without roughness of work.
They had gold, but were not too fine as to not part from it.
She took to an empty chair at their table, smiled at their inquisitive and baffled stares, and spoke lightly and with amusement in her voice. "Good evening, Sirs." Ranel bowed her head in greeting. "Is it not a waste to pass such a fine evening without a little music?" Resting the lute in her lap and pulling it into the men's view, her fingers strummed the taut strings. "Would you not agree?"
Her eyes danced over all three traders, making use of their puzzlement as her gaze rested briefly on each of them; assessing which story would suit their tastes the best.
A tragic love, torn apart by war and strife?
The wild torrents of a river carving through green hills?
Kings and queens in castles of stone and rock?
No, she thought pleased, something else. Yearnings of home ...
"Miss," one of them finally spoke, setting aside his mug to face her properly. "I am not sure we would make a proper audience for your songs. A pretty woman like you would find these young men much more accommodating." He motioned out towards the other tables. The corner of her mouth tilted into a wry grin, but she remained unmoving in her seat. He scratched his stubble beard sheepishly at her steadfast gaze, then cleared his throat.
"Now, now, good Sir," she said, "I much prefer to entertain fine company such as yourself."
Ranel left them no room for argument.
She moved into an upright position in the chair, fingers trailing ghostly touches over the strings until settling at their base. Then, humming, began to play a gentle tune of a home left behind but always waiting for a return to its hearth.
At first her voice was but a soft undertone, drowning in the roaring sea of rowdiness, but slowly, surely, the song gained power and the voices stilled into silence. Ranel carried on without pause, a smile upon her features.
From the corner of an eye she watched the crowd, adjusting herself easily according to what she observed.
It did not take long before the inn's merry guests overcame the somber quiet; with offerings of coins Ranel accepted requests, all becoming increasingly more jovial until she spent the remaining part of the night playing drinking songs with several shouts accompanying her lyrics.
Feet trampled against the floorboards.
Ale was passed around, toppled over, spilled.
The blonde barmaid rushed about, cheeks flushed, in a hurry but with a delighted gleam in her eyes at the many customers. Rising to its full height in the dark sky, the moon peered down through a cover of hazy clouds when the guests finally, wobbling and lurching from wall to wall, began their unsteady walks home.
Ranel had finished her last song a while before and retreated to the courtyard for a breath of air.
The wind had stilled, quieted until only a faint rustle of leaves whispered in the darkness. A stark smell permeated the enclosed space, where drunken men had relieved themselves in shadowy corners. She stretched, massaged her aching fingers, and took one final look up onto the stars above.
The Valacirca gleamed, repeatedly fluctuating bright and faint through the cover of clouds, high to the north. Seven stars deeply set in a midnight blue veil encompassing the world. Bright, unreachable. Beautiful.
"The crown of Durin," she whispered before slipping back into the building through the open door.
Many candles had burned out, the chairs strewn about the room and Edild shuffled about; the girl collected empty tankards, wiped down tables and returned everything to their rightful places. But she looked up as Ranel, wiping her brow with a stained sleeve while resting her hip against a table.
"We haven't been this busy in a long time," she conversed honestly.
Ranel gave half a smile. "Hard work?"
"Aye, but good to see business thriving. Hope ya will be staying here for a while, Miss, I'm sure ya can earn a pretty penny too."
With a short nod in agreement, tugging a loose hair behind her ear, Ranel moved towards the stairs. "I intend to do so. At least for bow. But good night, Edild." Climbing the steps, one hand weighing the purse in her belt, the minstrel knew she would sleep well that night.
"Good night, Miss," the barmaid called from downstairs.