An hour later, The Prancing Pony was only slightly more full but twice as loud, and Rowan's laughter sounded above the deep masculine racket surrounding her.
"Come, Rowan, you should come with us one day. We'll take you down The Green Way, toward the warm south. You waste your young face up here in the north." Rowan smiled and gleefully shook her head. Alden and his companions came to the Pony every few months on their way to Rowan-never-knew-where. The world outside Bree was too vast for her to keep track of all the places that travelers mentioned; she imagined it as a vast compass with The Prancing Pony at the center, stretching out to points far past the horizon and just as untouchable.
"And where would you take me, then? What would I see? Nothing too terrifying, I hope?" she teased Alden.
"Oh, no, certainly not, my dear." The older man flashed a not-so-secretive grin at his companions, and his brown eyes twinkled. "We'll only take you down The Green Way a piece until the crossing at Tharbad...you have heard of Tharbad, no? A ruined city on the hills, with pieces of stone falling into the river and onto the road from once grand mansions. The only way to cross is to walk along these chunks of ruin over the rushing waters...you would not be concerned about ghosts, would you?" Alden stroked his short, slightly graying beard as though seriously envisioning leading Rowan through this land of perils. "After that, a week or so on The Old South Road will bring us to Fangorn Forest. No concerns about that, I take it?"
Laughing, Rowan replied, "Certainly not, good man!" Alden loved to scare her, or pretend to. "After serving fellows like you lot for ten years, not even your Fangorn could frighten me!" This caused a roar of laughter from the men, as she gathered their empty mugs and dishes with feigned cockiness and carried them on a tray toward the kitchens. She enjoyed joking with Alden and the others, but part of its bittersweet fun came from the knowledge that she would never leave Bree. She wondered about the wider world, but had so little actual information about it that she couldn't do much more than wonder. Tales tall as mountains reached her ears every night working at the Pony, but she automatically dismissed them as half-truths and wild exaggerations. Bree was where her life had begun, and she had always assumed it was where her life would end. She did aspire, though, to making that life a little better than it was now. Perhaps she would run the Pony one day.
Still slightly grinning, Rowan carried the tray of mugs into the long, dark hallway that led around the back of the bar into the kitchens. The grin faded completely, however, when she glanced up to see Morton walking toward her. Recovering, she forced her face to look pleasant and mildly happy as she watched him tromping down the hall. A nasty smirk on a red face returned her gaze, and his gait betrayed both that he had already consumed a lot of ale and that he was looking forward to something.
"Hello, Morton," Rowan said as she tried to pass him quickly.
"Hello, dear." His pudgy hand on her arm stopped her. Her own cramped hand reminded her how many mugs were on that tray, but her stomach told Rowan what Morton would say next. "I think it's the right time for some music, don't you?"
"I'm not singing tonight, Morton." She tried to walk away, but his arm prevented her from trying too hard without losing the tray.
"Sorry, I didn't mean that as a question. I meant to say that it's time for some music, so put those away and then do what I pay you for."
Now she turned to face him and steadied her stance. She had been preparing for this. "No, Morton. You pay me to take orders, serve the customers food and ale, and clean your tavern and your inn from floor to ceiling, and I will only do what I am paid for. I am never going to play that trick on these people again just so you can have a few more coins in your pocket. Barliman wouldn't have wanted it, and neither do I." A bit breathless at the end, Rowan thought, but overall well put. Morton hadn't interrupted, which surprised her, and now she made sure to look right in his eyes and set her jaw.
"Are you finished?" he slurred with apparent boredom.
"I am."
The tray, the mugs, and the dishes came crashing to the ground as Morton grabbed both of her arms and pushed her against the wall. His face was almost touching her cheek, so that she could feel his hot, boozy breath on her ear and the slight brush of his stubble on her skin.
"Now listen closely, you," he whispered. "You're going to do exactly what I want you to do, for one reason. Because I know what's under here." One hand released her left arm as the other compensated by holding her right more tightly. It firmly yanked back the thick lock of red hair she always kept so strongly pinned down to reveal the delicate point at the top of her ear.