A storm gripped the townsfolk of Bree. The harsh, merciless rain whipped the faces of those who sprinted and splashed their way to shelter as the moaning of the vicious winds told blatant intentions of impending aggression. Sturdy tree's bowed lowly to the unforgivable brutal winds, and seemingly all who lived in this town of thieves cowered and fled as willingly as cattle, all of them acknowledging the vicious weather as a master of their very being. All it seems, accept for one.
As the waters of the nights storm flowed like streams through the crevices between the roads cobbles, a man's worn boot pressed on, his stride seeming to be one that could persist forever, to the farthest reaches of this world. Past rolling trading carts, whose horse and driver seemed to be regretting arrival, and past gutters and open plumbing that bled the nights rain. A flash sounded and lit up the town to brief screams from the faint hearted. The fringes of the walkers cloak were engrossed in mud, and this man had come far, for the rest of his garb was one of flimsy craftsmanship, once fine. A kind and frail voice called out from the shelter of a low roof, partially drowned by the furious rumble of the following thunder that rippled through the streets and lanes, imploring the man find shelter. It was only when the face turned, and the second blast of a bright bolt struck down from the sky to cast white light upon the walkers worn, rugged face, that the voice of advice and reason was extinguished. An influence of behaviour that the harsh storm had failed to achieve.
A sign gifting The Prancing Pony it's title, swung back and forth, creaking with each vigorous sway as beads of water spiraled down the flat surface of the sign. Up the steps the man went calmly, weaving between the folks of a crowd who so desperately sought shelter. They clambered and they yelled, impatient in waiting, yet this man found his way through, and within. The warmth engulfed him from the dancing fires, and he parted his matted, wild hair with both hands to reveal a pair of deep hazel eyes, which traced the room of merry folk who were fortunate to find the bright flame of fires first. Men shimmied merrily past one another, most of which had ales in both hands, making use of their time in the tavern. Yet this man did not come to drink. Nor did he come for shelter. He came for another reason. A darker reason. A reason which no song from the bards of Bree-land could ever sing merrily of.
He pressed on slowly through the roaring crowds, few seeming to recognize him, and vitalizing their efforts of making space for his passing. Fewer men would mumble different names to the passing myth, but they would never give him cause to raise his gaze.
'Frederickson...Cobblefoot...Ferrin...Rogerson...Peterson...'.
To all these titles he ignored, for he no longer used any of them. But one mans word, gave him cause to inflict his attention upon him, and bare this expression with a frown to indicate a mans fatal mistake.
'Partallion...' the young, clear voice quipped.
The voice came from a framed man, with black as night hair that spiraled in curls downward to frame his round face. A grin had crept to the speakers full lips, visible through his lightly trimmed beard, and his olive, young eyes twinkled with amusement. The man named Partallion, did not smile. He strode forward, separating commoners with a quick barge of his shoulder, and with a quick stroke had the throat of the spoken man in his clench. The speaker spoke through rasps as his back met the hard wall harshly.
'Hey...hey hey hey! Come on now pal, what ills you!?'
His words were met with an answer of a hushed venom, as Partallion hissed his insult so that the commoners would hear no sound from him.
'With I? Surely you! You know better than to shout a mans birth name such as mine. Such as ours! Some folk of this town know our deeds'.
'They know nothing of us', the younger man retorted in the clench of a filthy glove, 'our deeds are but rumors of few, works of fiction to scare the milk drinkers!'
The older man stared down his brother with great anger, though looked to be repressing it's growth. He snarled, with a low growl releasing him. His frown that darkened his features remained, and he gave a shake of his head to his brother, the man he held without affection. His eyes told the cold story of a dark truth, and the younger brother with curly dark locks looked aghast, as the flesh like color from his face drained, replaced with the whiteness of despair. He spoke with his youthful voice, dread, understanding, and sorrow burdened within him.
'You did it didn't you?' he asked as if the air was winded out of him.
The older brother raised his gaze, and then his hand jolted to his brothers shoulder garbs, dragging him forth and throwing him roughly into a waiting chair, much to the youngers protests. A hobbit nearby was upon a stage, recounting the events of a fiction to all who would listen. Today it was many due to the thundering storm, and the two brothers were flanked by crowds of people watching on toward her. The older brother sat with the other slowly, a grave expression about his face, lowering himself into the sea of audiences.
'Well?' the younger brother asked with worry. 'What happened? Did you get him?'
'I did' answered the older, bluntly and roughly. 'What about you? Did you fulfill your end of the deal? Did you kill 'er, Thayalengir?'.
The man with curls raised his handsome head, frowning as if moodily offended, taken aback, 'What happened to not naming our names eh Tygus? N'its Thay!'
'Jus' answer the damn question' he retorted with an abrupt snap, clearly not in the gaming mood.
Thayalengir's ploy to avert the subject had failed without style. He rolled his hardened jaw to the left, staring to the table as he let his thoughts take him. The older brother, having been named Tygus, simply looked to the boy, his look of cold anger reflecting his prediction of the answer. Thayalengir mumbled his answer guiltily.
'Not yet.'
Tygus stirred, his own jaw rolling to one side as his nostrils flared with disgust. To this Thay acknowledged immediately, and hastily elaborated.
'It's not that easy! She's not well, she's no threat! She walks in the Chetwood with no one to name friend! We don't need to do this Tygus!' Thay's voice was of blatant protest and plea, his brows meeting in an up curled crease.
'So, father were roigh'. Yer really are summi' Thay, makin' me trapes up north ter take care of yer problems. But when i' me! No such luck eh!'. Tygus scoffs unceremoniously, his hands picking at the wood violenty, eyeing them with both hazel eyes madly, as if wishing he could do more with his hands. His voice was far from kind, and stirred menacingly in spite.
'Tygus! So what if she go' through your system! She ain' got nothing to say about us! She doesn't even remember my face from those days! Whose to say she remembers any of it?!' Thayalengir pointed to the table, his tone attempting to adopt the trait of a persuasive sound.
'All yer di' was feedin' em, Thay. Yer weren't the one with whip in 'and, nor did yer ge' yer pleasures from their kind. She's a slave, whose bled through the cracks of our system. His voice was lowered dangerously, and he ran his tongue over his front teeth, dead behind the eyes as a greater power began to take hold. One of anger.
Thayalengir shook his head defiantly, looking saddened by his brothers words.
'I will not do this Tygus. She won't talk!'.
Tygus snarled a cold mans snarl, and raised a finger slowly to his cracked lips, his eyes telling the threat of danger. Thayalengir fell silent, like a dog with his master. Tygus then placed both bloodied cut hands upon the round wooden table, and leaned forwards with a slow creak of the wood that was his chair. He spoke in a slow, low groan.
'Yer beddin' 'er?' he said with much venom, to which Thayalengir's face immediatly dropped. He stammered.
'I-...no-no. By all brother! What villains haunt you to give you such ill thoughts?'
'Well yer seem moigh'y protective o'all this! Summi' fishy goin' on, n'its more than loike the smell from 'er bits! She ain' the firs' I asked yer kill for me, an' when yer told me tha; yer foun' 'er even insigh' o'Bree...this is a big opportunity...coulda taken us years!'
Before Thay could voice his disapproval, there came roaring cheers from the crowd as the hobbit finished her story. She bowed, and hopped off from the stool, and the audience began to disperse, shuffling along in search of other interests.
'Ge' i' done' Tygus growled menacingly as the others moved around them slowly.
'Brother, when did your spirit lose its light?'
'We're slavers Thay, if yer thinkin' tha' you yerself could commi' deeds worthy of some hero type, think again'.
'I already am. I am telling you. No. No more brother'.
The brothers narrowed their eyes to each other, with Tygus clenching a thick fist. Thayalengir mustered his bravery, though here and there it quivered, evidenced by his twitching features. Tygus broke his stare to gaze around, determined to keep their argument a secret. Like many times before, they must mask this issue with another, but very firmly resolve this conflict immediately, lest Tygus lose his authority. His voice was a mere murmur, his head leaning towards Thay's, as Thay's was to him.
'So...wha's the reason be this time eh?'.
Thayalengir's eyelids dropped with anger and disappointment, looking to him dully. His hand lazily wafted to a half full tankard that was set upon the table, the contents of which gushed over the cracked wooden surface and splattering onto Tygus' lap. Murmurs and giggles sparked from the crowd. Thayalengir then spoke with ice like tones, leaning forward to mutter as Tygus raised his head in rage.
'Looks like I spilt some ale on you'.
Tygus dove over the table, just as Thay did seconds after, their hands forming fists to strike another. Thay however, was too late. His head arched back from the punch, gasping as he was thrown back into the crowd, who pushed him back forward into the newly formed ring. A few more punches were exchanged, and Tygus was dominating, most of the blood upon his fists not his own.
'Se' this roigh' lad...'
Kill her Thay thought Tygus.
'I ain' apologising!' retorted Thayalengir, spitting blood from his mouth.
He masks his words with a false denial. He's refusing to kill her thought Tygus, and so he charged, his face meeting Thayalengir's harsh fist, their true conflict thought to be a common bar brawl by the cheering crowd. They grappled, they fell, their vocabulary limited to curses. Tygus sat atop him, sending a punch to his face.
'You owe me!' he exclaimed, greeting him another fist.
I saved your life killing your pursuer!
'I owe you little!'.
I never requested you kill my pursuer, Tygus concluded his words to mean.
The crowd jeered with open amusement, 'Ere go awn! Ge' 'im another ale!' they thought their words to mean.
Another punch, another muffled grunt.
'It's just a bloody spil' ale yer sof' plums!' called a mockingful voice in the crowd, her words spewing in the sounds of laughter.
Tygus eyed around, fist raised but still. They all laughed, all the onlookers, stronger in numbers and unafraid. Even those who fell victim to his schemes who knew his false names peered to gain a good luck, unphased and lacking of fear. He snatched up a groaning, downed Thayalengir, and dragged him outside.
'Ooof!' exclaimed Thay, has his arse was introduced to the cobbles harshly, laying beneath the arched roof sheltering the horses. Tygus knelt in front of his brother, the shame of their brawl having made him remember himself.
'We ain' twelve anymore'.
'You were the one tha' hit me first!'
Tygus slapped his brother hard but casually across the face.
'What did I jus' say, eh?' responded Tygus casually.
They stared at each other, offering no gifts but hateful expressions as the rain cascaded down around them. Thayalengir lay, an Tygus knelt, and he spoke with a low tone as the door they barged through creaked shut behind Tygus, 'You don' mention our names o' birth again, yer go' i'?'
Thayalengir retorted moodily, as if striving to be difficult, 'Why, what are all the people you have abused calling you these days, hm?'
Tygus sat dangerously still before answering irratably, 'Rookwood...reckon i'll 'ave ta' change tha' now though eh...'
'I still have a hard time wandering why you picked that girls name all those years ago! Kelly, was it?!...'
The brothers looked to each other, and for a moment they laughed as they once did when they were young.
'Seventeen years n'yer still goin' on abou' tha'...' he murmured with amusement as he offered a hand. Thayalengir accepted it, and rose to his feet, grinning slightly.
Tygus raised a finger, purple and swollen from their brawl, his hazel eyes dim as the smile faded. He spoke dully, his tone flat, business like suddenly, their moods changing as often and as quick as the weather would, but not this day, it would seem, as the rain persisted to hammer down around them.
'Yer gonna off this wench?' he asked lazily.
Thayalengir's smile was vanquished just as quickly. He stared to the floor in thought, and then forced a weak nod, 'Jus' give me time...', he answered weakly.
Tygus clenched his jaw and sent another slap his way, Thayalengir now baring the harsh signature of a red hand print to his face.
'We're gonna mee' down in Beggers tomorra, and yer gonna bring 'er 'ead. Aren' you.' said Tygus, the purpose of threat in his words and intonation.
Thayalengir raised his saddened gaze to Tygus, his olive eyes gazing into the brown. His bottom lip quivered, and a sniffle escaped him as tears welled up in his eyes, whilst undergoing the motion of a clear nod.
'I will'.
