To steady herself, Linwen took a deep drink of ale and cast her eye around the room, eager to fix upon some source of distraction. Luckily, there were ample. The end of summer had brought Rangers in from the Wild who had used up their scant rations and needed to resupply their stocks of provisions before winter's cold truly set in. The Inn at Fornost provided a welcome respite from their travels: warm beds and cold ale. Many of the Dunedain had relatives within the town's limits as well, and welcomed the chance to see them—though few of the men were married. Their responsibilities took them far and wide, and it was difficult to establish a permanent residence. It was a lonely life with few chances of reward or recognition
Linwen was no man-chaser—in her experience, most males were violent, dim-witted, and emotionally stunted—but she could appreciate the rare fine specimen when it presented itself. She supposed the pursuit was no longer an activity she could embrace, but the perusal was certainly an option still. There were a few such specimens tonight: one broad-shouldered man, short and unassuming, was sipping his drink contemplatively on his barstool. Linwen wondered what he was thinking about so contentedly. Another Ranger, dark-haired and with a strong jaw, caught her gaze for a moment and his eyebrows furrowed concernedly. He had kind eyes.
Doubtless, any man would appear kind this night, when compared to the buffoon next to me, Linwen thought. Bregor's comments still intruded on her thoughts. Tonight, distractions would not suffice. She felt a growing need to distance herself from said buffoon, and excused herself from the table, citing the need to freshen up. Bregor was deep in his stein of ale and either did not hear or did not care.
Sticking to the wall to avoid wading out into the throng of bodies, she made her way to the hallway at the back of the main room. This hallway curved around to the right, lined with doors that led to various rented rooms, and ended in a heavy oak door with a large bolt locking it from the inside. Linwen lifted the bolt, swung open the door, and felt a cooling breeze meet her face, which had felt warm from the ale and the heat of the main room's fireplace.
The Inn's side door opened onto a cobblestone path to the stables, as well as a small grassy area separated from the main road by a split-rail fence. The raucous sounds of the Inn receded as Linwen headed towards the edge of the grass. A hard lump stuck in her throat. She rested her elbows on the sturdy fence and her forehead on her open hands, gulping in a few uneven breaths. Her face felt hot.
The thoughts she was dreading to acknowledge threatened to take over her mind. The thoughts did not appear as coherent ideas; they manifested as nerve-wracking images and uncertain impressions. Thick fingers grabbing her thighs. His hot breath on her neck. His hands forcing her head downwards.
Linwen squeezed her eyes shut, trying to shake herself free of the impressions. A few tears stuck in her lashes. Did all young wives feel this way? Why was she so terrified of an activity people had been practicing since the creation of men?
Indeed, she had practiced it herself. At 19, she had spent a summer fancying herself in love with a young farmer's son, and they had been intimate more than once. She had found it exciting at the time, as is the case with most new experiences. Looking back, however, she viewed the activity as lackluster. If Linwen was honest with herself, she'd had far more success giving herself pleasure than the young man had had with her.
In any case, with the farmer's son, there had been anticipation. With Bregor, there was only fear.