*splayed open upon the desk before her lay the blue, leather bound book, its bindings still new and protesting at being held open, the only sound in the room being that of the scratching of quill to parchment and her dog whimpering in its dream filled sleep.
Women, they have bought destruction and ruin, razed towns, slain men in their dozens, won crowns and held more power than the highest lords of any realm...all with a smile. The blood not on their hands but upon those who suffer their silken gowns, their soft spoken words. Some women are more practised in the ways of men than others. A girl would shed her clothing, lay with a man in hopes of gaining some standing in Arda, but a woman...a woman need not please a man with her body, only to smile, to be a confidante, to be coy, to give the hope that one day she may be his..and when that day arrives, allow him to believe he has won his prize, which of course he has not.
There are too many girls in the muddy town of Bree, their reputation as filthy as the streets they grace, but women..they are rare. I have no tolerance for the girls, snapping, snarling, little rats who become jealous the moment a man of their fancy speaks with me, but I cannot be held responsible for the boredom they bring these men. There are those in pretty lace dresses, perfect of hair and of face, but how very dull! Where is their mind? A man will succumb to any wish if you stimulate the mind, and then..even more tiring..the women who would like to appear like men, an equal, good with blade and fist, drinking ale as if water, spouting threats as if it impresses anyone...only a queer man would wish to sleep with his brother. A woman is never an equal to man..she is more.
Only five women shall I make note of here..no..six for it would be inappropriate of me not to pass judgement upon myself as I have done to others.
Mother..So full of hatred, mistrust, yet so very wise. Never have I met your match in strength. You have shown me the true nature of people, you have honed my skills, you have given me something that no other person could, my own identity, not some petty, foolish dream of how a woman should be.. ribbons, submission, a life worth naught. Your experience has been invaluable.
Hildwyn..Bitch mother of my brother, you may have given me your mark, but you gave me something else. The fire that heated the brand is not as hot as that which burns within me. I hold hatred for you, for you and your kin, and were it not for Arithem...
*finding her teeth clenched and her grip upon the quill tightening, she pauses to sip from a goblet. Forcing a slow, calming breath, she continues..
Maritha. Ahh a true woman at last! Strength and spirit, carrying herself like a woman and with the respect in herself to not suffer fools, and oh and how she loves the bard...For all her complaints of him, I do believe she finds him amusing. He knows not to anger her, for the pan at her side is a dangerous weapon, and who needs a blade with such a sharp tongue? Should she wish to pursue a certain merry man romantically, I feel her tolerance will be challenged!
Taala..another who is quite fond of the men, not only Scarlocks. Why the men sought to capture her I do not know, and when in questioning, they were not entirely certain. She is a contradiction and..a girl. The captains words of her were far from flattering, yet he holds a slight paternal love I think. I on the other hand wish nothing to do with the creature, she is an irritation, claiming to wish the merry life then biting and scratching at her captors, and how foolish to speak ill of me...telling your father, the dawn, that I am a poisoner? I would so dearly like to know how you obtained such information for none I know of have told you..ironically, your father seems untroubled by my apparent profession..Daddy does so like me.
Nellye! A woman of the Dawn and one whom I have taken a recent interest in..for she protects me, her and Geirdrifa...to the point she would take up arms against her own little group of ragtag sellswords. Yet, you are vulnerable. The man who insisted upon speaking with you, treating you as a possession, he is your weakness. You are a strong woman, beautiful and with the ability to strike down any you wish, so why tolerate this man? He is unworthy of you, any man who addresses another in such a manner is unworthy.
Myself..the strongest critic I have is myself..though mother comes close. I am a poisoner, there..I confess, may the guard lock me aw-..
*pauses to laugh then continues
..away for my terrible crimes..oh, oh yes..I make poison for the guards! They do so like the potency of the poisons..the orcs and brigands scream louder when it seeps into their black blood. Of course, a barrel or two is used for more..private..matters, but the guards do so love me, they would not wish to lose such an advantage. I have not slept well of late, sharing a home has been difficult for me and I find my mind wanders to somewhere else. The bard and I both seem uncomfortable with such an arrangement at times and we have shared uncomfortable words...ah another woman..Kenaz? The one he shall always love. I know little of her, only that she is still in his mind. I cannot speak of this for another dwells in mine..Yes, it is very, very possible to have affections for more than one. The bard will make the sacrifices, he will step away from his comforts, he will say the words which the other will not. Mother..I tried, I tried very hard not to hold affection for any, oh if only there were a tonic I could formulate, one to make one unaffected by such feelings. Now I am sounding weak..I am not..I will not be..I do not dance to others, they dance to my words, the illusion I give. I will make the blood burn of any who would attempt to harm me. Power starts with a smile.
