A continuation of this story, meaning it is entirely unreliable and biased.
Theothar was not entirely sure if he was supposed to talk about this encounter with anyone. Not that he really wanted to talk to anyone in general or about anything, but he was not sure if he was not supposed to inform those involved with him of this new role. Thusly, he kept his mouth shut and did his duties, waiting to confirm what this new role meant.
When the innkeeper-elf showed up to his kitchen with a complete stranger, Theothar was already prepared for the worst. The blind Man was helped to a seat and the partial, tedious explaining of the approaching journey begun.
"Is this he? Is this the Man? Come, come. Let me feel his hands. Then I shall know for sure."
Theothar felt the distinct, uncomfortable tension fill his posture. He could never bear to be so close to others, especially if those others were strangers that were in conspiracy with the Silvan. He knew this must have been some sort of test.
"I am Cynraede." The Man said as he removed the fabric that was shielding his unseeing eyes. "Since I cannot look upon the face of the master of the forge. I ask to feel his hands so that I may know he knows a forge and the heat therein."
The Dalesman probably could not have been more uncomfortable in this very moment. But he knew what the forces he was playing with were, he accepted this deal, he accepted being in service of the mysterious forces that gathered in this inn. So as obediently as he did everything he was told to, he took off one of his gloves and laid his hand upon the stranger's, waiting. He felt the stranger's old and weather fingers passing over the uneven, scorched scars that covered all that was the Man's skin.
He hated this above all else. The deformed and disgusting reality that was Theothar's skin was laid out to be poked and prodded to their delight. He refused to look up at the Silvan, refusing to witness the sick delight that must have been planted on the other's face after successfully having placed him in this position.
"No, no...", said Cynraede as he felt the scars. He removed a finely wrought smithing hammer and slipped it into Theothar's hand. It was no small thing, this hammer, a true artifact of a time long passed. Theothar found his eyes crossing the lines of the otherworldly tool with such concentration that for a moment he forgot how his hand laid in the other's, vulnerable and exposed. Closing his palm around the hammer, the old Man started felling Theothar's hands once more. He squeezed the hand before he burst into roaring laughter, "I have found my forge master!"
Breaking free from the grasp, Theothar aligned the tool against his shoulder, marveling at its craftsmanship.
"You are to go to Rohan, Theothar, in two weeks' time or so. That is where the forge lies waiting for you.", came the explanation from his employer. This was not their deal. Why did he even assume the leader of the Windswept would honour their deal? He protested, but this protest was soon shut down. "This is where your skills are needed, my friend. This is why I bid you leave, if so you wish."
Theothar could never be accused of being far too chatty or too dramatic in his reactions. But to go to Rohan? He only vaguely even knew where that was, never had seen it with his own eyes; never had any interest in it at all. But his opportunity… If he were to reject the opportunity now placed before him by this dark and secretive organization and their associates, would he ever find work again? Would he stay washing dishes in this loud and unpleasant inn for the rest of time? It was not like he did not try to find work in Bree before, but he was well aware no one in their right mind would trust their forge to a person whose skin was visibly burned. Theothar noted this with cruel, cold logic, and the answer that followed was fittingly brief and removed, “I’ll go.”
With the hammer resting on his shoulder and the decision made, he turned and left the two mysterious figures to go back to their plotting and scheming; the sound of rhythmic, measured footsteps carrying the silhouette of the, now former, dishwasher away from the kitchen and back into his room where preparations would begin.
Theothar reasoned that even if no decision would be made on who he owes this news to, he would still need to inform Sir “Cromwell”. After all, if someone brings you to Bree with the justification that you need to aid them in some secret mission, you would probably need to inform them if you are leaving Bree and cannot complete this mission. It was not like he knew how this mission was proceeding or if his aid was still needed and, most fortunately for this “Cromwell”, Theothar did not seem to capacity to even consider that this entire mission business was perhaps just a ruse to get him out of Dale and into a place where he could potentially build a future for himself. Such thinking was sentimental and therefore Theothar had no interest in it.
His companion seemed most enthusiastic about the news, and after much talk of seeing the world for yourself and getting out there and seizing the opportunity which Theothar barely listened to, “Cromwell” took it upon himself to stick his nose into all the preparation. There was talk of supplies and ‘clothing matching his new station’ and ‘stocking up on Breelandish food so he does not miss it over in Rohan’ and a multitude of other things that mostly just served to give Theothar a headache. It was he who could not accept the fact that Theothar was not planning on speaking to Aearrien about the departure.
After a desperate attempt at arguing his point that the whole gesture would be utterly useless, the obedient young man found himself with two glasses of whiskey in his hand and dressed all fancily at the doorway, staring down at the bored expression of the Ranger as he approached her.
The drinks caught her attention before he did and she was clearly glad to see the glasses. He wondered how she is still in the service of the Silvan after she clearly just sits and pretends to watch the door while she drinks. For such a terrifying, secretive organization, Windswept sure had some odd members. Then again, Theothar thought to himself, it was not like he knew anything about her abilities. Or, in truth, about her in general. That did not stop him from seeking her out every other day. It was a routine and thus it was reassuring.
Still, seeing her face now made him so highly uncomfortable. He suddenly started feeling as he did when she first forced him to sit down and drink with her, in a different but equally detested inn. He felt a growing need to get out of this situation despite knowing there was a notable lack of logic to explain this tension. Aearrien was odd and thus would sometimes, however rarely, have quite the illogical outbursts.
Hopefully, this time, that would not happen. Hopefully.
