I know not what to say, twice now have I expected damaging confrontations. I write hastily to sum up goings on because although my work is diminishing it is not yet diminished enough for my tastes.
Potentially wounding words there might have been and at least some form of anger or reprisal directed my way and twice I have been disappointed by my expectations. A good thing, you might say.
It has been a strange couple of days. Upon ascending the hill my proposed conversation with the Dalesman and the Captain's daughter did not take too long to turn into farce. As I swung the door to the hall open, crept inside. Sat in the room's centre was that petty and spiteful Ranger. He did not look up, I do not think he knew I was there.
I decided that I would call another night, if he was there then someone I would rather not, would be too and I have nothing to say to that woman that wouldn't perhaps upset my dear friends. No, whilst I was there avoiding the current holder of the sigil I decided I may as well indulge a nightly visit to the late Captain's grave. Not the one whom absconded. The founder. The father of the friend whom I had come to see. I would not be there long, I would simply say my piece to the old man then be about my business. I had informed the guardsman patrolling the grounds of the hall to simply bid my friends visit me to discuss their celebration. He said he would inform them when he had come back from his break. So far so good.
I had an evening planned simply by the fire, bottle of the Umbarian rum I had smuggled out of Gondor with me. The sale of such is proscribed with the war on. I was about to bid my late old friend goodbye. No doubt looking down from the stars above. From one of the many fires blazing within the halls of ancestors.
But as I was due to turn and take my leave I heard the sound of the door nearest the hall. The Dalesman and the soon to be confounding pup they had brought back from my travels. I barely had the time to inform the man of the purpose of my visit before he spoke.
Don't go in there, he said. For apparently the Captain's daughter no doubt in her confrontation of that damned Ranger and his woman had been told that I was in love with the woman I had known since childhood. She is still spinning that tired old yarn. At the time she spun it, my childhood friend and I had not even shared a bed. A ridiculous assertion I had thought I had put to bed in the Lone Lands. The Ranger's woman had certainly shared my tent in Ost Forod since so why bring that up the Spymaster's encounter with her now after all this time. Pitifully attempting to sidestep the fact that she consciously abandoned my friendship on the say so of that man no doubt. I would not care but her mentioning of my childhood friend posed an entirely new development. The prospect of the Captain's daughter and her fiery temper. She was raging, he said.
The brief farce that nearly landed me in full receipt of it had begun. No sooner than I even had a chance to address her husband a shout came from the hall. There was no time to deliberate upon a course of action. I had but a split second's moment to react. I could either stay and brave the confrontation I was told was likely to occur or I could bolt. I opted for the latter.
A split second later and I darted behind the tent assembled nearest rather than risk being seen either running down the road or the hill past a neighbouring home and garden. My heart pounding in my chest. I had already been dreading the visit to see my childhood friend. A shouting match was far removed from that warm fire and Umbarian rum I had envisaged.
I simply decided to remain behind the tent crouched down to wait for them to leave. The Dalesman to his credit was an outstanding performer. I'm beginning to like him further when the mood takes me but more on that later.
Young pups are oft excitable creatures, full of enthusiastic vigour. I remember as much from my father's dogs. Indeed, they can be endearing in the right circumstances so I am told. Those eyes tempting treats. Useful companions in all manner of fashions, From hunting to guarding property. Herding sheep, aid for the blind. I had briefly held ownership of my father's hunting dogs in Bree before selling them shortly after he died. One particular specimen he had left me quite fearsome indeed, befitting of the man. It shadowed him everywhere faithfully but did not take as much of a liking to me. In my years owning wagons I did business with a breeder in Combe. Took one or two contracts transporting them in cages to the Watchmen of Ost Guruth in her stead. Useful companions, indeed.
Though I much prefer the company of my cat. A gift from my childhood friend.
Far less demanding of my attention as it is. They do not pine for you when you leave for starters. I fear I have embarked upon a tangent. This young and vigorous pup, was not endearing at all in these circumstances.
In fact, not at all. For the slobbering, and barking and bouncing animal did all that it could to arouse my dear friend's attentions. Rather than leave me to my hiding spot it decided at that moment in time that acquiring my attention was the sole purpose of it's mind numbing, bone crunching, tail chasing, furry animal chasing existence. Much to my displeasure. Oh it must be squirrels. My newfound best friend in that moment the Dalesman implored. Squirrels indeed. How I wished for the company of fluffy squirrels in that moment. I feared that the game was up. So there was this beast. Jumping at me, footsteps swiftly approaching. But in the nick of time my Dalesman friend managed to call the pup to his side and lifted him from the ground. Much as it still struggled to get away. The fates must have been for me that night. I had escaped the wrath of the redhead. My peaceful night beckoned me.
For further safety I ducked into that tent. They spoke of the Ranger's woman, of my childhood friend. I was certain I had got away without detection but I could not shake the thought that she might not be able to wait to get home to fill her insatiable appetite and that I would find my new best friend pushed within the tent before he could protest. Fortunately. This did not happen. I was home free. Or so I thought.
Traversing the paths of the village in the cold night air, almost at my front door. Having acknowledged my new guardsman. I had a sudden thought. What possessed me to act upon it there and then I do not know. The butterflies in my stomach given me by the thought, resurfacing. My feet acted almost as an independent agent. I did not want to after the subject matter which had led me to flee the hall from my friends. following the job interview. But I did nonetheless. Clutching my rum in hand. I set to walking up the hill once more. Past the masked man's house of curiousities. No one in sight, no one had seen me. Only the flickering street lamps faintly illuminating the way, I lingered there in the garden, and then upon the doorstep. What was I doing there. I suppose at the very least I had to break news of what I had learned at the hall but I had intended to finish my paperwork in it's entirety before even contemplating arrival here. I did not have long to question myself further.
For there was my childhood friend upon her doorstep, dressed as if she had not long returned from riding. My mouth opened, and then it closed. For there were no words...
(There is a large smudge of ink underneath, staining whatever further words he had begun to wrote. uncharacteristic of the man's neat and careful way of writing. Meticulous as it usually is. His writing would have grown slightly messier toward the end. Then halt altogether.)
