I certainly never thought I'd be in this position. Aelfnod dead, I've wandered one side of this country to the other, I've gone back home and come back north again instead of staying there, and now my biggest worry is keeping someone alive who should be happily married instead of a young widow. How did my life become this? What happened to the days of sitting in the seat of a wagon with my best mate beside me, lumbering over the long roads, drinking ourselves to sleep in strange taverns, shady deals with tradesmen from far-off lands, and not giving much thought to things like family, or the future? I miss those days.
I'm not complaining, even though it certainly sounds like it when I read back over these words. Change is part of life, after all, and things began to change for me the moment I came north and found that Éohard's daughter was in Bree. I watched from afar as she struggled to find her place in the world. I wish I could've helped more, but what help would a troublesome old git like me have to offer? Once I heard she was married, I knew she'd be all right, and it was time to hit the road again. Only, that's when things began to go wrong. That's when we ran into a pack of orcs near Trestlebridge, and the filthy beasts took my only friend from me. And then I just stopped caring. I don't remember half the days that I lived through. I remember lots of ale and mead and sleeping in odd beds.
All right, enough of that. I won't sit here and beat myself up over the foolish things I've done. It's been heartening to feel like I have some purpose again, though I wish it were under any other circumstance than this one. I forgot what it was like to worry until I found her, half out of her mind with grief and well on her way to dying. And now that I know, or at least I'm pretty damn sure, that she's not going to die, it feels good to have another person to worry for. I don't know how much help I've been, or how much I'm being, but I'll keep going until she can look me in the eye and tell me she's all right and doesn't need me anymore. I don't really want to think about that right now, though.
The Prancing Pony is as seedy as ever. Poor Butterbur! I enjoy a laugh at his expense whenever I enter and see folk acting like asses, as if they own the place and he doesn't. The man would do well to get himself a sturdy club and start using it on folk who want to get drunk and start fisticuffs in the corners. Not three days ago, I went in for nothing but a drink by the fire and sure enough, old Barliman's standing there muttering while these two fellows are scrapping at the other side of the room. I gave the man my sympathies and drank most of my mead in the back. A day or so later, I overheard talk of a bakery nearby, and I thought of Brynleigh, of course, and how damn thin she's gotten, and thought some bread and rolls and such might cheer her.
I asked about town until I got the address of this bakery, and paid it a visit earlier this evening. The place itself was charming and warm and smelled divine. The lass behind the counter was affable as anything, and called herself Owena. She put together a right fine basket of things when I told her what I needed, and I gave her a few extra coppers for her trouble. There was a fellow standing near the counter who seemed a friendly sort and we exchanged a few words. Another young lad was offering free tarts, and seemed nice enough in his own right. What caught me off guard a bit was the conversation overheard by a young dark-haired lass and an older redhead as well as a dark-skinned fellow behind me. Talk that would make a sailor blush, as they say, and I found it rather uncomfortable, as did the younger lad, judging by the look on his face. Still, my business was not with them, but with the friendly baker, and doubtless she was far too busy waiting on folk to pay much mind to the nonsense across the room. I thanked Owena for her kindness, and nodded - somewhat sympathetically - to the other two men, and then took my leave, but not before the dark-haired lass had spit half her tart onto my sleeve. Still not quite sure how that happened.
I'll take the basket over to Brynleigh first thing in the morning. And I'll have to make sure I pay the bakery another visit before my time in Bree is done.
