The Pony grows dark and silent as the hours of an icy cold night creep ever closer to the dawn as I pen these words. Yet beyond these quiet rustic walls, in the star dappled sky and shadow crossed fields I hear voices, I hear whispers. Signs and portents swirl like inky clouds above us, filled with names muttered in stone halls beside sapphire seas. My heart is aflame with anxiety, yet with a growing sense of excitement. Whatever else the voices say, their speaking can mean only one thing...The waiting is drawing to a close and our foes come forth to grapple.
Plans for departure from Bree quicken, and I know better our hopes of gaining haven in Imladris. At the very least the question we bring with us will open doors, and perhaps my past service will sweeten more memories then I had expected. Cyndwin I know is excited to visit Rivendell again and her anticipation is enough to still my own misgivings regarding the Last Homely House. As always, her smile and her faith are enough to banish my darkest fears and steel my heart.
I have also received more word from Fillegedhiel. It is clear from her notes that she is hastening her pace towards Breeland as she is now quite certain her steps are being shadowed. This leads me all the more to conclude that she returns now due to being menaced by some force currently unknown and that she cannot yet speak of. Based upon this assumption, as well as concerns over Hawke's situation, I have begun listening to whispers on the cobblestone streets of Bree, and it seems more and more that the Breeland Guard are indeed in league with some worthies of Dol Amroth and may prove to be troublesome. My own observations have shown me that they do seem to be spending more time of late watching the gates in and out of the city. While that is surely in the scope of the Guard's duties, I have never seen them to be terribly diligent in the past, yet currently their eyes seem to be everywhere. For what or for who do they watch?
A quick hand and sharp eye are not just useful in battle, and a bit of care allowed me to relieve one guardsman of his beltpouch while he lounged. Hawke would have been proud of me. Within the pouch I indeed found a pair of silver coins from fair Dol Amroth, minted by the Docks and a note, saying "Arongil promises more for results". Now I have a name...but who or why this man of Dol Amroth is paying guards for "results" in humble Bree I have yet to see....but no doubt soon will.
Speaking of Hawke, he has begun training harder, while also lending more time to his lute. Both pastimes are serving him well, for this past night, Hawke the Minstrel stood surrounded by ladies, all who gazed upon him much as wolves smile upon a wayward lamb. There was myself, and a charming, dark haired Breelander called Small Finchley who was most enamored of Hawke, and a proud Maid of the Vales whose name I did not hear but who has a cousin or perhaps brother that is teaching her how to be intoxicated, and Hooded Ryn, a newcomer to Bree with many tragic secrets hidden beneath her velvet hood. It did my soul good to see my Urchin basking and preening before such attention
This all occurred just a few days after another local woman, a farmer called Daphnee, in casual discussion clearly expressed interest in Hawke though seemed to assume we were wed, at which point I assured her we were not but that I could vouch for his virility and physical charms. No doubt she also will now seek him out for she looked positively faint from my descriptions of his manliness. No doubt his nights will be busy until we depart sad, sordid Bree.
Before Hawke was pleasantly surrounded, I had allowed myself, perhaps foolishly, to speak of darker matters to a small party. In a shadowy back room at the Pony I sat with friend Addie who I have mentioned previously and a swain whose name I did not retain but who looked at young Addie with such longing as if she were the last flower of Lorien. Joining us was my friend Taphreille, a half-blooded refugee from the East whose courage and loyalty I have already gained faith in, and somewhat belatedly a curious Longbeard of gentle and courteous demeanor called Bild, Son of Bourr.
At first I was concerned the Son of Bourr may be in league with our enemies, for I sensed no malice within him yet great deception whose nature eluded me. However on reflection I concluded that I did not believe he meant harm, and if he did, he could be tracked to his masters and slain then.
To this assemblage I spoke of the history of the River Lune, and the founding of Kheledul, once Thorin's gem before falling to Dourhand corruption. Then I explained the role these Dourhand play in service to Angmar, which is itself in service to the Enemy, plying relics and arms and knowledge and slaves along the Greenway to Carn Dum right beneath the noses of proper Breelanders, then across the Misty Mountains to the fields of war themselves, even unto the towers of Barad Dur and Minas Morgul, giving ancient power to raise fell shadows and bastard half-orc armies to fill their ramparts.
I told only a fraction of what I knew, yet my listeners were horrified by this knowledge, which they had only ever heard as rumors mumbled in alleyways, never having seen the city that exists beneath the city of Bree and the bloody commerce that fuels it. Both Taphrielle and Addie were deeply affected, clearly having stories of their own that have yet to be told. Dear Taphrielle was filled with rage and swore to return to Angmar at once to pursue the strands of this twisted chain and spoke of a Bounder that she needed to inform, but who remained nameless. Addie, however, looked as if I had stepped upon her grave, visibly shaken to the core by the information she grew pale and nervous to the point of excusing herself. My heart ached for her pain, cloaked in the mystery of her reticence.
Bild, Son of Bourr looked horrified to think of other Dwarves, however corrupted their blood may be, partaking in such foul business and swore to me his support as a brave Son of Durin, which I gladly accepted. As Xandilif has often told me, "It always pays to have a Dwarf in your business."
And so I look out the frosted window as I listen to the voices in the sky and the shadows whispering warnings and alarms and taunts. Perhaps the pitiful spirits of the Gladden Fields have followed me here to Bree. Where ever the voices hail from, their words make more and more sense, as two names rise above the coursing din. Mans...and now Arongil...all while my sister flies to my side, bidden or no, and despite her harsh purposes I am glad she will be with me.
Soon, very soon, we shall be at war again.
