She had managed to escape the house again and headed straight for the Prancing Pony. She ran across the square and up the steps to the door. It opened suddenly and a tall man came striding out, nearly knocking her over. She drew herself up haughtily, not deigning to wait for an apology and entered the inn. Once inside the door, she looked around. It was such an exciting place! All manner of folk stopped there, whether to drink an ale or stay a night or two. At the moment, the Pony was nearly deserted, just a handful of Breefolk scattered around the room, chatting amiably and pulling at their ales. There was a female minstrel, playing a blithesome melody in front of the hearth near the bar. Lieve walked past her to Barliman Butterbur, the innkeeper. 'Good afternoon Mr. Butterbur,' she said politely. 'I'm expecting a letter. Have you heard anything?' The innkeeper looked up from the glass he was polishing and shook his head. 'Not today Miss Averay, I'm sorry.' Lieve nodded at the innkeeper. 'Thank you sir,' she said and went to sit beside the fire in the big common room.
As she gazed into the flames she thought of her brother Dalgaroth, out somewhere with the Bree guard, patrolling some village or town. They had had their arguments and teased each other mercilessly growing up and on occasion they still did. But they were as close as a brother and sister could be and she missed him terribly. He could always be counted on to take her part in an argument with their parents. She thought of her mother, a tall, handsome woman whose only concerns were her looks and reputation. If she knew her seventeen year old daughter was sneaking out to visit the local inn, reputable or not and hear the stories of complete strangers, she would probably have a fainting fit, her only defence against indecorous behaviour. Lieve giggled softly at the thought, then frowned and sighed. It wasn't easy being the daughter of one of the wealthiest merchants in Breetown. People thought it was, she did have the finest clothes, the best food, servants, education, but there was no freedom in her life. From dawn until dark, she was constantly harried by her mother or the servants. 'Lieve,' her mother would comment, 'how do you ever expect to find a respectable husband when you keep putting your elbows on the table.' Or, 'Averay is a respected name in these parts and you should hold your head up in pride that you carry the name,' or, 'Do sit up straight Lieve, stop slouching like a pile of discarded clothes.' It wasn't fair. Dalgaroth got to go on exciting trips, ride horses, learn to fight with a sword. Not that she wanted to learn to fight with a sword, but he had the choice at least. She on the other hand was mostly confined to the house, unless she had lessons with Mr. Willow or was allowed to check the barrels at the Pony for her father. It was so frustrating being a girl. She wasn't allowed to do anything! Well, she was allowed to sew, which she hated with a passion. The needle would prick her finger and go in at the wrong place so her stitches were all haphazard. She thought about her father. His dark hair was starting to grey and there was a permanent furrow on his brow as he constantly tallied up and tallied up, profits and losses, goods and merchandise. He thought a woman's place was in the home and her mother was certainly the woman to confirm his idea, but Lieve was so indescribably bored with it all. Every day was a repeat of the day before, the same people, the same comments, the same work, the same lessons, boring, boring, boring!
So she would escape to the Pony whenever she was able just to relieve the monotony of her life. She told her mother it was to see if her brother had sent any letters. Her mother suggested she send a servant to fetch any letters, but this was one of the few instances that permitted Lieve to leave the house legitimately and she wasn't about to let it be taken away from her. Often she combined the 'fetching letters' with a lesson at Mr. Willow's and so was able to stay much longer in the Pony than anyone suspected. Mr. Butterbur seemed to understand and never told her father about her prolonged visits to the inn so she tried to show her gratitude by helping in little ways, like bringing her own mug back to the bar or making sure the fire was stoked up. There was a small risk of being caught by her father, who delivered winebutts and other goods to the Pony, but it was one she was willing to take and she usually had a good excuse handy. She didn't often have money but she would buy a cider whenever she was able and very occasionally someone would buy her a drink. People were often surprised that such a richly dressed creature could have so little coin with her. But where was she to get it? Her father took care of all her needs and her mother bought items on account which her father paid for later. There really was no need for a girl her age to be carrying about any coin at all in their opinion.
Her truancy was usually rewarded by seeing new faces, hearing an exciting story, or even a new melody. And the stories she heard! Lieve did not believe half of them, but they were fascinating to listen to. Her bright, tawny eyes would fix on the speaker and drink in his or her words rapturously. Perhaps she unwittingly encouraged them to exaggerate their tales by her innocent, wide-eyed fascination. She looked up, suddenly aware that some time had passed, but how much, she wasn't sure. She stood up, brushed off her dress and walked to the door. 'Goodbye Mr. Butterbur, thank you for having me!' she said, opened the door and walked out. As she shut the door behind her, she saw to her satisfaction that the light was just beginning to fade and there was no danger she would be late for dinner. She hurried across the square to the big townhouse she lived in, opened the door and slipped inside.
