I have often heard of people keeping journals to confide in these silent friends never to betray a secret, of their secret hopes, fears, desires, loves and hates. Never been one to try it myself. It is just in my nature to fear that even if hidden in a place none knows but I, a journal would somehow be found and the mere thought of that--
I've always kept my feelings and secrets my own, hidden in the depths of me. There is nobody else I can trust but myself. However, since I have made my way to Bree and found a place in its shadows, many things have happened and sometimes a pain grabs my heart, no doubt the pain of all the saturated feelings I've been keeping inside for so long. With recent developments, I cannot have that hold me back and so I have decided to give this a go. So. Here you are. A booklet of parchments I had for new melodies that came to mind to write down originally. But then I need not write down notes, every note that comes to mind I remember forever and writing melodies down for others fond of music to play well..I have always had a feeling I will not live long, in fact, that I'll be gone before I've even well begun to tread the paths of life. And after I'm gone, what do I care of anything. So, instead I've turned you into a journal. You will be my only friend. The only one I can trust outside myself. The only one I will let in on a secret or two because I don't have to threaten you with slashing your bloody tongue out if you think of telling. Not that you have one to cut out, that is. I need a place to vent, so to speak, without anyone being able to see and exploit my weaknesses. I need a friend I know will not betray my trust. And so here you are, you damned, strange collection of parchments that will from now on be invaluable to me.
Let me start by telling you about recent events. I will not delve into my past. It weighs heavy on my mind as it is, no need to weigh you down as well. Also, I'd like to believe just as easily as I will turn a page here when a page is full, so I have now turned a new page in my own life. The one before it is scratched out. I tried to make something of it and I failed. Miserably. So I crossed it out and turned a new page and now...I begin again. I may just as bloody well fail again. But I'll be damned if I won't give it one last go before I give up.
So let me begin with making my way to Bree. Because of some events from my past that made me who I am today, I was forced to flee Gondor, my home. There are beauties In Gondor that are like no other, beauties my heart will always pray to feverishly. But if anything is not among its beauties, it is its people. Not the supposedly honourable or noble types, not the rats. They all smile at you with a dagger with your name on it hid behind their backs. The only difference is how forthcoming they are about their intentions. I cannot even begin to harbour the thought that I may never see Gondor again, its soil is in my blood and soul. But its people. Perhaps in times of old there were those of honour, or so I was taught. Perhaps. The ones I knew and left behind, though, the mere thought that I will never see those faces I've damned so many times again.....makes me smirk. But look at me go on about the past again when I said I will leave it where it should be--behind me. Right. So under cover of the night, an old ally of mine, I made my way to Bree.
I knew enough of Bree to not be completely lost when I found myself there. I was not surprised to see Bree, at least the town itself, has no beauty like Gondor, or even Rohan do. In fact in daylight Bree is ugly and filthy. And yet it is its brutal honesty about what it is that I damn well like. Gondor and Rohan promise beauty and honour but hide ugliness and betrayal. Bree is ugly, filthy, unworthy and unexceptional in any way. Except in its brutal honesty about what it is. It promises nothing and it delivers nothing and that is a change I find to my liking. I knew of Bree from books but knowing Bree in person was a different thing. In books I learned its history and that of its surroundings but that hardly told me anything of what goes in places of shadows the books do not speak of. I was not surprised that even though Bree looks nothing like a noble's playground, it has its share of them. And I knew that every town that has its nobles, has its rats. One and the same, really, only in different ways of presenting themselves. I mean rats and I mean.....rats. Like me.
Trust me, I have known every crooked vein that runs through the body of Gondor. I have seen every dark corner, every back street, every shadowed hall, every lonesome rooftop and I have crossed paths with every rat, lost soul, damned spirit and unscrupulous charmer that frequented them. I knew their ways well, but not well enough. That is why I am here, after all. Here, in Bree, and here, hurt and alone. My point is I know well the ways of the dark side of any city and town in theory and yet as I made my way to Bree, I had to learn the particulars of Bree from scratch. Strange how there was a time long ago I thought twice before descending into the underworld when these days it is the only thing I can think of to do.
I walked under the cover of nights the streets of Bree, I suspected where the rats were gathered and I made wise of the crooked ways of Bree. New faces, same bloody ways. I learned quick enough. But I refused to join any one bloody bunch of rats. Never again will I be at someone else's mercy. I observed but remained on my own. There was only one brief interlude that changed this for a short time. You see, simply playing my harp, besides calming me and soothing my soul, makes one observe much around them when certain parties do not think they are being heard. Soon I learned a hub for whatever was going on and all sorts from nobles to rats, was the Prancing Pony inn, standing right in the middle where crossways meet. So I played there and I listened. So it went for weeks. As I said. Different faces, same ways. All scheming and planning. Nothing I haven't seen and heard before in Gondor. Nothing to surprised me, nobody there was of any value, noble or proud rat, but the information they gave away so freely was.
Then one night, playing as usual, I noticed a lad. I've seen many men, trust me, handsome and charming but take crooked over handsome and as for charm, well, I know to well how to use it myself to not see through it. This lad was neither particularly handsome, nor did he try to pull all eyes to himself in an effort to impress. He simply sat on a bench at the table calmly, by himself. And yet he was the only one since I'd been in Bree that drew my glance for reasons other than gathering information to serve me well. He was not handsome in the sense that women would flock to his side at first glance as I see so many times and pity them because they have no idea there is nothing behind the face, if a handsome face is something that appeals to you. I have always preferred a scar or two and saw beauty in flaws, not flawlessness. Not that I ever saw any lad that I lingered my gaze on. I'm wise enough to stay away from what fools call 'love'. But then I never had to make an effort to stay away. There was nothing that would stir me so that I would have to fight it. But this lad drew my glance.
He just sat there by himself, with no striking features and yet I saw beauty in his face. His languid ways differed from the usual wild and loud riffraff of the inn and I was so intrigued I decided to approach him. It is not in my nature to be impulsive as I know well how badly it can end, but this was an impulsive move on my end. I sat by him and engaged him in conversation. I wanted to know why he appeared so different, who he was. He was friendly and easy to speak to. He told me his name and I told him mine.....another thing I never do. Not my true name, anyway. We spoke for awhile and I learned the lad, like me, was a minstrel by training. I kept looking at his face, trying to understand what it was I liked about it so much. Suddenly, he did seem handsome to my eyes. I liked his smile and his warm eyes. I liked how his hair fell down his brow. I liked how calm and self-sufficient he appeared to be. I liked how he spoke. I found myself intrigued by the lad. I figured he could not have been much older than me, he seemed young, though there was wisdom in his words. We spoke for awhile until he told me something I did not expect from someone like him. He was a sellsword.
I am not easily surprised anymore, I've seen it all but to hear this soft-spoken, intelligent lad tell me he was a sellsword was unexpected. I knew sellswords before, by appearance more or less, as the thieving crowds were my crowds back then. The sellswords I knew were rough, strong-bodied, menacing, always tense. You knew one when you saw one. This lad was nothing like this. He did not appear of extreme strength or of a kind that is quick to draw a blade. He appeared a bit scrawny, with a friendly smile and wink. Even more than his appearance he was nothing like the sellswords I knew in manner. He was not rough, rowdy and flirtatious. He was calm, soft-spoken, intelligent and witty. Something about him made me speak to him like I never do to anyone. About what I really felt. About having no purpose, nobody to trust. He listened and proposed I join the company of sellswords he was in. As I said, I promised myself I would never join any band or company of rats again, not under somebody else's command. Maybe it was the night, maybe the drinks we shared, maybe I just liked his smile. But I agreed. He welcomed me and told me I'd meet more of them soon. That they'll be around. I did not see any others of the bunch, but I did see him again. And I didn't mind, really. I liked spending time with him. He showed me the Halls of the company of sellswords he was part of and he tried me in sparring. He was impressed by my skills with blades and I was impressed by his ability to disarm me. But after that day, I did not see anyone else from the bunch, nor him. And suddenly, memories of betrayal returned. Promises I made to myself never to join any bunch under someone else's leadership surfaced. And for whatever reason I agreed to join, I knew it was the right thing to do to be back on my own before another damn blade was stuck in my back. Better safe than sorry.
So I retreated and stayed on my own again, though I knew bloody well I would not be able to survive on my own easily. Then an idea crossed my mind. What if I could make sure I was not alone, and also that I was under the command of none? I will never trust anyone in leadership again. I only trust in myself still. So why not take leadership of a bunch of rats myself? As time went on I came across thieves, sellswords, blades for hire, charlatans, actors, minstrels, fortune-tellers, wanderers, all sorts. And like me, none of them felt they belonged. None had direction. All of them, like me, had a past and none, like me, seemed to have a future. They all, like me, lived by night, walked in shadows. And so I thought I might lead these fellow wanderers in the night myself and create a name for ourselves to be whispered through Bree in the night. A name for the lost and the damned that came out by night. Having walked the circles of thieves, con artists, sellswords and mercenaries, I believe I could lead them well. Perhaps, this would be something to live for, to strive for. Night would be our ally and we would work by night, always, because night always falls. If it doesn't, there is no more place for those of us in the shadows. We are night people and I have dubbed this as of yet small circle 'Night Must Fall'. Though I refer to it simply as 'Night'.
I am careful who I choose into this company of shades I have decided to lead, so the process of finding those I might trust one day is slow and precise. Two men I crossed paths with have swore their loyalty to me already and though I trust nobody, they appear to me as men I would like to trust. One is a middle-aged man. He is a sturdy, weather-worn man, a mercenary from days of old. He has great skills with weapons and is quite intelligent though he will have to learn to treat me as his captain, not a wench from an inn. I believe I can mold him into a useful addition to my own little band of rats. The other man, lad, I should say, is young, about my age it seems. He is exceptionally handsome, no doubt using it to his advantage and quite flirtatious as well. But, as with the former one, he will have to learn I am his captain and he will need leave the charm at the doorstep, instead showing me the respect I demand. He is a skilled lad, with weapons and with his charm, a thief, he says. He as well will be a valuable addition to the band, I believe. And so, Night fell and the rats came out.
Now you know why I can't let my old wounds affect me. I now lead a band of misfits and outcasts, those of shadow and of night that like me, choose coin over people. Coin stays your friend forever. Lose one, gain another. People. Ha. I have purpose now, I am scheming constantly through Bree trying to find a place for Night within. I hardly have any time to have a drink still and my thoughts are well occupied by my endeavours. Sometimes, on a rooftop, when I have a moment to myself I play and I think of my past and future. And sometimes,- he- comes to mind again. I will not write his name -just- in case you are found by some wrong hands. I can still see his smile and his eyes. Hear his voice. I have not seen him since the time we fought and I have no doubt I was just another face to him. But his face stayed with me, damn if I know why. He did not look like a sellsword but he looked like he knew how to take care of himself so I trust he's alive and well, wherever he is. Oh listen to me ramble. There are things to do and matters to take care of. I have to spend more time weaving the Night and less time crying my bloody heart to you. I feel better now and yet somehow strange. Nothing a damn drink can't remedy. Off I go to weave the threads of Night and you keep my secrets until I come to you again. I should write again soon enough, everything happening so fast. Remember, you little silent sod, sun does not have to rise, people do not have to keep an oath, death does not have to wait, but always, night must fall.
