It's a good thing that Jack awoke me before dawn this morning, though I was irritated at first with his incessant stomping and snorting outside the door. The fair weather has him restless and wanting to move about, and though I snapped at him to take his gargantuan black and white hide away from the house, I have to feel rather grateful now, as I have much to record here before I start my day's work.
Oh, where to begin? I think I must've encountered half of Bree last night, in the space of just a few hours.
Stepping into the Pony, it was already quite crowded, and while there's a certain... energy... to the air, when it's packed full like that, it does wear me out after a while. I lingered at the counter, trying to find space to elbow my way in, when I spotted Aallan at a table, poring over some piece of parchment, though he cast his usual audacious wink in my direction. At the same moment, who should brush behind me but Master Belodin, who immediately bellowed his enthusiastic greeting and invited me to sit with him for a talk. I persuaded him to join me at Aallan's table, as I wanted to see my red-cloaked friend, and he was most agreeable, bringing us all tankards of ale a moment later. Bless his dwarvish heart, it would probably shock him to learn that Brynleigh of Rohan doesn't drink ale, or any other strong drink. I accepted the cup graciously and thanked him, and hoped he wouldn't notice that I didn't taste it. I managed to excuse myself for a cup of tea at some point, but Belodin and Aallan were so engrossed in tales of orcs and someone named "Sharkey" and other things I know little about, that I don't think they noticed my departure much.
This brings me to a point where I feel deep regret. Belodin showed us that he had been wounded in his "adventure", and I had insisted that he let me take a look at the cut later in the evening, and... I just plain forgot. I feel awful. I shall have to beg his forgiveness the next time I see him.
Another strange thing happened as we were sitting there, chatting. Two strangers approached our table, a man and a woman. The woman looked very..."tough" is the word that comes to mind. She introduced herself as "Linn". The man was tall and broad and had a look about him that struck something uncomfortable within me, though I couldn't pinpoint it at first. Linn said that her companion, whose name was Strygath, had been casting his eye at me and wanted to meet me, and asked if they could sit with us to hear Belodin's tale. I have never been so approached in my life! I could barely speak, and I know my face must have turned a dozen shades of red, but we politely invited them to join us. I didn't dare look at Aallan, and I quietly thanked Béma that Conrob wasn't present. Strygath kept throwing looks at me, and though he seemed pleasant and harmless, the attention made me uneasy, as I dislike being the focus in a group of people, I'd much rather fade quietly into the background. My self consciousness only grew worse when Strygath made some teasing comment that caused Aallan to move closer to me. I appreciate Aallan's protective, chivalrous nature, and I didn't wish to offend him, but I finally had to excuse myself entirely. I had missed much of Belodin's story and the conversation in general, which also bothered me greatly.
Amid all of this, who should I see crossing the room like a phantom, but the sandy-haired man again. Alone once more, taking the solitary chair by the post in the back of the room. I only had a moment to regard him, but my curiosity remains piqued. Someday, I will learn that fellow's name, and perhaps gently draw out of him whatever sad tale makes him wander about looking so forlorn and lost.
Moving on with my story! I "escaped" outside, only to find that a miserable, ice-cold rain was falling, and I hadn't brought a hood or hat with me. I thought of toughing it out, but relented instead, retreating back under the eaves of the Pony's back porch. Wouldn't you know it - not ten minutes later, Strygath appears out of the kitchen door, using the excuse that he wanted to step outside for a smoke of his pipe (as if dozens of folk don't smoke inside the inn?). And then, I see a splash of red walking past, and it's none other than Aallan. I may be mistaken, but I felt him fairly seething with protectiveness, and I was right back in the same, uncomfortable spot, stuck between the two of them. Strygath continued with his pointed comments, the last of which I felt was rather inappropriate, and I had to excuse myself yet again, deciding to simply go home. Aallan stopped me, offering an apology, and producing something that startled me; a Simbelmyne blossom, which he called "Evermind". Where he got it, I can't say, but he tucked it into my hair before I could say anything. The gesture, of course, melted any irritation I might have felt towards him. As I moved past Strygath to descend the porch steps, he leaned over and muttered a last comment into my ear, something about me having the face of a goddess, which set me blushing anew, and I could do naught but hurry away.
I retreated home successfully, without further accosting, and spent some time in the large, empty sanctuary hall, reading a book by the fire. I didn't hear the door open or close, and I didn't hear any footsteps, but suddenly I heard my name spoken in a fair voice. I looked up to see our elven guest, Naegilrond. I greeted him, he sat with me for a time, and we had a most pleasant conversation. Odd, for two such different folk; he the elegant, graceful, immortal elf, and I the young, awkward (albeit well-meaning!), and very mortal Rohirrim. He pinned his eyes on me the entire time, which was rather unnerving, though not unpleasant. He thanked me again for looking after his wounded horse, though I assured him it was my pleasure to do so. He then offered me something rather amazing; if his steed were agreeable, before they depart, he would like to see if his horse would permit me to ride him! Knowing my love for the animals, and knowing I had never been near an elven steed, let alone ridden one, I was quite astounded and utterly flattered! We shall see if his horse (and forgive me, I've forgotten its rather long, elvish name) is amenable to the idea when the time comes.
After a bit more respite in the blissfully peaceful hall, I made one last trek to town for the night, hoping to run into a certain, balding prospector. The common room of the inn didn't reveal him, so I wandered down the back hallway, only to stumble upon little Chrysanthe and another hobbit, who was later introduced as Avilona or "Lona". I was inquiring after Chrissy's condition, and she mentioned something about venturing out with someone I hadn't heard of, to a camp, and being attacked by brigands. What on earth? I wanted to scold her for even leaving the inn in her current state, but I tried not to. We were interrupted anyway, by some man shouting from one of the bedrooms for everyone to be quiet, which turned out to be a healer tending to the wounds of the man Chrissy had been with. Aranglin happened past us shortly after, and stayed to observe the mayhem, as well as Aallan reappearing. The healer hollered again, and I went to see what he needed, which was for all of us to move further away from his room, I assume so that he could concentrate on whatever he was doing. We obediently retreated, I fetched some tea for poor, weary Chrissy, and we stood musing about what had happened. Eordion appeared then, along with Aeruthuil, who I haven't seen in ages, and which felt rather awkward, as the sight of him instantly flooded my mind with the memory of Tothrandir. Gods, what a blow... I've put those memories so far behind me...
Aallan had been trying to show me this mysterious piece of parchment he was carrying around all evening, though we kept getting interrupted. We slipped to the back stoop, thinking it would be private, but who should be lurking out there but a very drunken Ruevir. As we were trying to assess just how intoxicated he was, as he seemed alarmingly lethargic, my dear sweetheart finally appeared behind us. The three of us poked and prodded Rue, which drew the expected cantankerous, self-loathing response, but I think at this point, we're all so used to it that it doesn't have much affect anymore. I brought him some bread, hoping he would eat, and we took away the bottle of whatever drink he'd been nursing. Poor lad, the more angry and self-destructive he becomes, the more I just want to cart him off and help him, protect him, and care for him. Foolish of me, perhaps, as he might just as willingly stab me in my sleep, given the chance.
And there... finally... the night ended. Not a bad evening, but my goodness, it seemed every time I blinked, I was running into someone else. I could use a quiet evening at home soon, I think.
