This is a difficult entry to complete, and I must do so hurriedly lest events outpace my humble pen.
This morning, I called upon the room of the Lady Arahen in the Prancing Pony soon after dawn to bring her bathing water and linens should she so desire them. She had already awoken when I had knocked and bid me enter. She was reclining in the first morning light, having begun to eat the fruits I had left for her morning repast during the night. She was overwhelming in her radiance and for a moment I could not move, let alone speak.
As we were in the privacy of her chambers I was able to fall to one knee as was appropriate for the first time and give her a greeting and pledge as befits her station and lineage and she was most generous to me once again, gracing me with the most kindly indications of favor. It was growing clear to me that in many ways she, despite her great familial dignity, had also been longing for the close companionship of one of her own race and she had felt within me a kindred spirit, as I had within her. Despite my great love for Fille and my devotion to other dear friends here, I confess I had begun to despair of forever more feeling like an outsider amongst my own people. To spend time with such a great lady of the Noldor who seems to feel the same as I and wishes to forge common cause with me lightened my spirit beyond compare.
That feeling was not to last, I fear, for as I knelt there in quiet converse with the lady there was a knock upon her chamber door. At first I dismissed it, assuming it was Nob on some trivial matter, but the Dame of Ingfled announced herself, her voice weak and pained. She sounded so troubled that the Lady Arahen immediately bid her enter, and when we saw her, so haggard and drawn, we knew a mighty blow had struck the aged woman's soul.
In a broken voice she bid us to come with her, and confessed she had not the heart to tell poor Ingfled as of yet but she had indeed found the body of her son Ackerely, Ingfled's benighted brother. The Lady Arahen bid us accompany the old woman and we set forth, leaving Ingfled in the main room of the Pony none the wiser of the hardship that had overtaken her kinsman.
The old woman led us with halting steps to the ruins of the village of Archet, where we did indeed find the remains of the noble Yeoman, a single dagger still thrusting from out of his chest. As the old Dame wept the boy's name in the dust the Lady Arahen and I set to work with our skills and craft and learned much from the scene. It was clear that the man had been beset by many foes, for the scene was in a terrible jumble, perhaps 6 men had beseiged the Yeoman, perhaps more...all booted as if from the wilderness. It was also clear from the track that here had not been a battle, but rather a discussion, with the Yeoman held immobile before them by force or threat. Then amidst the boot tracks were the prints of several hounds or wolves, thought certainly not wargs which matches several deep gashes on the Yeoman's legs and arms. The threat of these beasts had held him at bay, and then they had brought him down with a savage attack.
The dagger's thrust was direct and straight, meaning he had been stabbed through the heart once he was already on the ground, held by the beasts. This was no death in battle, this was an execution, and the body was left in Archet on the open road for it to be found and it's message understood.
In the dead man's pocket was a note, which he had clearly written in a meticulous, untrained hand before arriving at this grim rendezvous. He outlined the fact that he had joined a band of outlaws when but a boy and bored and full of fire. At first the band seemed to mainly be about petty theft and mischief, but over the years it had grown stronger and darker until he grew unsure of his place amongst them. When finally he learned of his father's past as a Watcher he could not bear to bring him shame, and requested a meeting to inform his masters that he was done with brigandage and their company. In the letter, he explains that he feared that meeting to go ill, but that he loved his parents and above all his sister and regretted all that he had done to bring them worry and shame. He hoped that should he not gain his freedom that this letter would serve as his epitaph, and no doubt his murderers had left it on his person so as to make certain that any who would seek them or betray them would be warned of their lethal intent.
The letter was heartbreaking and laid waste to all of us and in time the Daughter of Orodreth left us to report this incident to the Watchers, using her high standing to smooth the matter's complexities and to ensure that the boy would not be further disgraced. I walked slowly with the Dame back to the Pony where we told the grim truth to the poor Ingfled, who denied the truth at first then fled in disbelief and horror. I followed as best I could, and though but a simple Bree lass she led me a merry chase until she alighted on the edge of a pond in a place called Straddle, I believe. There she wept her poor heart out as I held her, and I wept with her for the injustice and waste of it all, and pledged there and then that in her brother's stead I would tend her as a loving older sister, and see to her safely and future happiness as he would have. I also swore a terrible oath to bring those who had foully used and discarded poor Ackerley to justice, once and for all, for their crimes.
In time I led her back to the Pony in a slow funeral procession where she sought to compose herself with drink, as is the custom in these regions, until she finally withdrew to sleep. Poor child.
I then remained and brooded, by the fire, where I still remain. I miss my Fille, and the dear Lady Arahen, and am feeling so very old yet newly born all at once. I long for their companionship and tender care after my soul as I despair here, my tears wetting my ink.
Why must these things forever occur, following me like a storm of crows? Why must the innocent always die for the negligence of the wise and mighty?
