I finally have a few moments to pen a few words…it has been a most tumultuous few days to say the least. I am sitting in the window seat of our room in the Pony as I listen to Cyndwin, her breathing deep and measured, sleeping soundly in the chamber behind me. She always sleeps like a trusting little girl…it is very endearing.
She is inordinately proud of the markings she had recently done in the manner of her people…a warrior’s band around one arm and two small horseheads upon her wrists, along with other smaller marks. She clearly viewed them as a rite of passage, and was so intrigued by the process that she has apprenticed herself to the artist, a worthy fellow called Dunmor, so as to learn the art. This is in addition to her studies to learn to read and write in the common tongue. Her curiosity and thirst to learn knows no bounds.
The last few days, after the upheaval of my sister’s visit to Fille with news of Cilyniton and the difficult discussion that then took place between myself and the daughter of Gondor soon after, have been marked by many strange meetings, some of which have the air of importance about them.
Among them is the girl Ynigma, a gifted young artist of Breeland birth. I had seen her on several occasions gliding silently about the Pony while seeking to go unnoticed within her hood, and admired her skills with a pen. Her portraits are most remarkable. It was clear from the first time I observed her that she was suffering from a lack of protection and guidance in the harsh reality that Bree can often be for those who are alone. That is a more and more common situation as the ripples of war reach even quiet Bree with greater force.
As we spoke most recently, I resolved to take the girl under my wing as best as I could and shepherd her as she so clearly needed and wished me to do. As such, she may play a larger role in subsequent diaries. I know the Banshee would simply say this is another of my foolish risks, but to be honest I do not give a damn at this point what my sister would have to say. I must hold to my own purpose and sense of how best to serve Elbereth’s will in this waning age. My recent conflict with Fille and its resolution which left us closer than ever made that crystal clear to me at last and I am done apologizing for the choices I have made…and have yet to make.
Another interesting meeting of late, in many ways the polar opposite of young Ynigma, is a stately lady of Gondor named Gwaedhiell, who like most Gondorians of my acquaintance in Bree has been attempting to hide her origins. In her case she has been obscuring her noble birth (somewhat ineffectually) lest her family drag her back to Minas Tirith and her odious official duties. After carefully making sure she was not of Dol Amroth, lest she pose some threat to my Fille, I was drawn to her sad tale of familial duty and lost love and her clear sophistication and grace, which is often hard to find in the tumult of the Prancing Pony. She certainly was not blending in as was her desire and despite what she thought were suitable efforts. Since that first meeting on a bench before the Inn I have found myself conversing pleasantly with her on a regular basis, though she has not done any better at blending into the common Breelander crowd despite my earnest advice that she call herself simply “Gwen”.
She is most often accompanied around Bree by a gentleman of her own lands called Kristophor, who I had seen for some time lurking about the Pony before her arrival and had assumed he was a fairly typical type due to the company he seemed to keep. However I have found he is quite singularly devoted to the Lady Gwaedhiell’s welfare which is highly commendable, for reasons of duty as well as other noble emotions which I can easily understand. There is a tragic air about the two of them as well as a powerful sense of their mutual attraction whenever they are close to one another…what shall come of either of those conditions has yet to be seen but I am keeping my eye upon them.
Both of these descriptions cause me to smile even as I pen them, so dear are both the subjects…however my third description for this entry fills me more with a sense of curiosity and more than a little dread.
The other day after spending an afternoon in the Shire assisting some of the little folk Fille, Cyndwin and I returned to the Pony before Cyndwin took her leave to see to her apprentice duties. This left Fille and I in the main chamber along with our goat who was a gift to me from my dear Fille. As I sat by the fire and played with our quite well-mannered goat, whose name is Gen, a most striking woman entered the Inn. Luxuriously dark of skin and hair, wrapped in azure robes and adorned with golden jewelry of an exotic nature. However, when she spoke to Barli her voice had the smooth tones of what seemed to be a Gondorian accent despite her appearence. This fact alone drew my attention, all the more so as she seemed to be somewhat vexed concerning our goat being in the main room of the Inn and said as much, quite vocally.
This is course upset Fille to no end as she is a very protective mother, I tried to sooth her but she and the woman were soon bickering back and forth over poor Gen.
I admit I was quite amused by the entire situation until a strange expression came over her lovely face and, while staring at Fille, demanded to know where she hailed from.
Fille immediately tensed as I did and replied "...I work for a Breelander here. Haywood is his name" while frowning. This did not satisfy the woman so I stepped in.
I said “Like all these days, she is from everywhere and nowhere at once...such is the nature of dark days and burning roads. For the moment, her answer is half right...she is from Breeland where she learns her trade...as for the other half...she is with, and from, me.”
The woman raised her eyebrows though her face was strangely emotionless, "From you? Are you a glorified body guard?" and she laughed harshly. She was clearly trying to anger me, which I was not willing to allow and simply smiled.
"Perhaps...if so then I am her bodyguard and her pathfinder and her oracle and her acolyte and her devoted servant.” I said, and this seemed to confuse the woman but also seemed to give her a sense of satisfaction for some reason.
Fille then demanded to know where the woman herself was from, and she confidently responded that she was from Gondor which for a moment froze us both until she continued "Yes the white city" with a grimace in her eyes. Clearly she spared her home no love.
Even though she was not of Dol Amroth, the news that she was from Gondor shook Fille to the core and she retreated with our lovely goat.
We kissed farewell as is our custom and the dark woman seemed surprised as Fille left the Pony, but I turned to her and introduced myself to her amnd asked for her name.
She simply sneered and said "Daughter of Gondor is all you must know Xanderian. I do not trust in those so easily...especially those around Bree."
I shrugged, opening my mind to the strange swirl of doubt and possibility that surrounded the woman. “As you wish....though be careful, as the game you play may not be the one you think it is. Your sky is clouded and filled with deceptions, Daughter of Gondor...and few of them are of your own creation. Do you truly know who is being fooled?”
The woman laughed, a low rumble resonating at my words, "I do not believe in tricks of the mind, elf. Are you the witch they talk about round here, a huntress who reads minds?"
I nodded softly…searching her eyes for any hint of her true nature. “Perhaps...many things are said...and often times what one believes in is of the least consequence.'
This enraged the woman who gathered her bags and barked at me, her voice sharp and tense. “I am not your pupil Xanderian the Elf, I do not need to be taught of what to believe or its consequences. If anyone should be considering consequences, it may be you.”
I considered her statement and nodded, overwhelmed with a feeling of dark destiny about the woman. "Perhaps that is so...but I feel one day what I feel that you believe, and what I feel its consequences to be, may be of vital importance to you...your road feels very familiar to me...and close at hand”
The woman strung the bags to her belt, clearly having had enough of the conversation. "Perhaps you are right. Perhaps our roads will cross once your elf eyes regain their sight from smoke blinding them." She turned to the door ready to leave but my voice stopped her
“Remember that smoke seldom affects only one...and that it also tends to change the very appearance of the world around you. Do not assume that what you know is the truth...or that truth is what you know. Until we meet again, stranger of Gondor...”
She gave my one more look of distaste, her eyes falling on Lovelorn at my belt and walked out.
Since then I have been unable to get the sense of both doom and danger that surrounded the woman out of my mind…especially as they felt like doom and danger for both HERSELF and ourselves, which coupled with her clear rage with Fille and myself…as well as poor Gen, made her all the more unnerving
The only thing I am sure of is…we will be seeing a great deal more of that mysterious woman.
As Cyndwin is waking I must bring this to a close and find her a bit of breakfast….then we shall seek out Fille and complete our planning. I think it is all to the best we shall be out of Bree for a bit.
