In their absence, Part 2: The Silver Tongue...
It has been a full day now in Bree, I did not stay the night in the Pony, for the inn has eyes and keen ears. I am most used to sleeping under the ancient ruins around Bree Land, so nothing has changed I suppose...
Gazing up at the bright stars as I lay under an old ruined fortress with naught but the clothes on my back and whatever travelling rations I may have taken with me brought me to days long ago when I'd routinely do this sort of thing. But never mind that now, I have some news to write down here...
As I leaned against one of the wooden pillars of the Prancing Pony, enjoying a well deserved ale, I caught up with my good ol' friend, Ruevir... Once again, he was skittish and rather afraid of me, though he approached me still. He stood on the other side of the pillar as if he was afraid to look at me. He told me rather confidently that his fellows had found the abode of Ulfey the Witch... Disturbing news indeed, though I knew that they found no trace of her, for she is still with the company.
The rest of that day was rather uneventful, the locals gossip of rowdy sea faring folk that have recently taken a liking to the Prancing Pony as their stomping ground, though I am not concerned about that. I spent a good few hours in deep thought in a quieter room of the inn, as I stared in its crackling flames I imagined that an ambush started by the locals against my kin could happen. We are skilled fighters and travel unseen by most if we choose, I do not wish to spill innocent blood and can only hope that our company pass through Bree Land unnoticed.
The next day I caught Ruevir in the Prancing Pony again, this time he was with another, a woman, Edonea I believe her name was...
As I entered the inn the two took off into the back rooms rather swiftly, of course I followed them both, remaining under the cover of the shadows I crept behind them silently until they came to one of the quieter back rooms, there I stood in stillness as they talked about me directly.
Ruevir span a tall tale indeed, I must give credit to the lad, he's one for tattling a tale, I stood by in amusement as he explained to the woman his recent encounters with me. I am used to being called many things, a ruffian, a bandit, a brigand... But murderer and killer I am not!
I confronted the two, swiftly moving into the room like a snake in the grass, Ruevir gave his usual response, and that was to panic and tremble like a child!
I attempted to talk to Edonea but the fool boy interrupted me. Judging by his clenched fist and stance it seemed as if he was ready to punch me, I did not want to waste time on petty conflict so I eased his tension with soft words.
I've found that if the situation required it, I can ease people's tensions and nerves with my voice, people comment often on my 'strangely soothing' voice, I am quite unsure why people find it so pleasant to listen to... Perhaps my slight Sindarin accent could be the reason. Nevertheless I successfully eased the tension in the room and tried to explain in a more calm way that Ulfey and our kin meant no harm...
For a moment, the two seemed willing to see some sense, I am no murderer and Ulfey is no evil 'witch'. But as soon as I left the room and my presence waned from their flighty minds, Ruevir instantly dismissed my words as 'magic'... To think that simply convincing a fellow into sense is some sort of dark power... I fear this has only made the lad more stubborn in this little charade. I am at my wits end with the runt. If we meet again, I fear one of us will throw a punch, and if a fight does break out, it's obvious who's going to win. The lad has no muscle on him, his skin is sickly and his voice breaks awkwardly like a child's. Though will I really stoop as low as to punch a young adult over something as petty as this? Nay. I shall keep to my own and learn as much as I may from his constant ramblings.
Silherenya shimmers faintly as if the blade was content at the current moment, I have been studying this sword for some time, often gazing upon the finely crafted metal, watching its dazzling shimmer beside the hearth, I am trying to learn to understand this blade, for it seems to me that it has a personality of its own. Much like the weapons crafted in elder days, I feel it has some sort of hidden power imbued into its elegant blade, I know that it is my sword... It answers to me.
Though I wonder still, should I have stayed with the company? What will they think when they see me now? Will they be angry that I left with such short notice or will they understand? Will they see me as a changed man? If so, will they find me as warm as before? I fear I grow cold much like the long nights that await me. And there's only so much ale can do for a troubled man.
