After bidding her friend farewell, and after a bone-crushing hug, Linwen turned resignedly to re-enter the Inn. Her fingers tightly clutched the pouch containing the precious root. Her first instinct was to conceal it. She was inexperienced in matters of matrimony and childbearing, but she felt certain that Bregor was one of those men who would seek to have a son at the earliest possible opportunity-if not as a matter of fatherly love, then as a matter of satisfying his male ego. She did not know Bregor well, but something in his manner made her wary of him. His loudness, his boasting, and his sense of entitlement indicated to her that his ire might be easily roused. She did not want to be on the receiving end of his anger or potential violence. She slipped the thondluin into a small pocket she had sewn into the skirt of her dress-pockets were not a standard feature of women's clothing as far as she knew, but she had long ago sought to right the injustice of unequal pocket distribution between the sexes by adding them to her wardrobe wherever possible.
Linwen began to head to the back door of the Inn, still occupied with making sure the pouch was not visible, when a shadow fell across the ground in front of her. She took one step backwards involuntarily and looked up, somewhat startled, to see the dark-haired Ranger she had observed inside the main room. "Yes?" she questioned, and she was unhappy to hear her voice break slightly. What is wrong with me? she thought. She was not regulating her reactions as well as she normally could. The wedding clearly had her on edge.
"I am sorry for the interruption," he said in a low voice. "My name is Strider." The man cast a glance at his surroundings quickly, as if anxious not to be overheard.
"What is it that you need? Directions?" Linwen asked, desirous of appearing like a normal and well-adjusted person, and feeling that she was still missing the mark somehow.
"No, thank you," he said kindly, shaking his head. Linwen just then realized the idiocy in asking a Ranger if he needed directions. Strider continued quickly, "but I could not help overhearing you and your friend." His grey eyes caught hers with an apologetic expression, his brow raised slightly. "You were speaking of thondluin; do you mean to take it?"
Linwen felt her face flush involuntarily. There might be other uses for the root, but she could not help thinking that this man probably knew what she needed it for. Her next words came quickly: "Why would you need to know that? Forgive me, but I do not know you at all." Linwen hoped the irritation she felt was evident in her tone.
"You are right; it does not concern me," he conceded softly, "but I felt I should warn you." Linwen prepared to defend herself, vehemently if necessary; who was he to lecture her? But the man continued without pausing, perhaps sensing her ire. "Blue-root has some unpleasant effects when ingested. Nausea, headaches…You should brew some galasring along with it."
Linwen paused and furrowed her brows in momentary uncertainty. She knew of the plant; it had a sharp, peppery smell when bruised, and she had a vague memory of her mother using the small green leaves in her tea when she felt ill. But Linwen was mostly taken aback at the man's seemingly benign gesture when she had prepared for a challenge.
When she failed to reply, Strider continued hesitatingly, "I-have some with me, if you would like to-"
"No, no, there is no need," Linwen said hurriedly, shaking her head and raising her hands into a "stop"-gesture. "But I appreciate the advice. Strider, was it?" He bowed slightly. "Well, thank you, Strider," she said in an "I'm-going-now"-tone. Standing in dark inn-yards and talking to men she didn't know was not an activity with which Linwen often felt comfortable.
She extended her hand. Strider shook it briefly, catching her gaze with his eyes for a moment, and said simply, "Farewell." After a beat, he added, "and, congratulations." She was struck by the appearance of thoughtful concern in his expression as he uttered the word, as well as the sense of his warm hands enclosing hers. Before she could register these impressions properly, he had turned away and had begun striding towards the road.
Linwen looked down at her hand, flustered. Apparently, even a simple conversation now is enough to unhinge me, she thought self-deprecatingly as her heartbeat returned to its normal speed. Her final reflection upon turning towards the inn's back door was simple: Men are odd.