I have been here now for... I do not know how long. It feels like a lifetime has passed since I traded the house of Baecere for these draughty, crumbled ruins. The view here is beautiful, a sight to behold in any weather and at any time of day. I feel safer here, high atop my hill, out in the open in the middle of nowhere, than ever I did within the walls of Bree, but I miss the comfort of that house. I miss being able to shut out the world and hide from the people in it.
I cannot do that here. This seems to be a popular place and I have seen many come and go. Usually, they are couples seeking a pretty place to lend atmosphere to their romance. One has been a wanderer who hides as much as I do, yet do so where people can see. Yet another is Baradar who has taken it upon himself to come by when he can and provide me with things that I cannot get for myself. None of those people, however, have been like him.
I saw him in the Prancing Pony a few times; a large, scary looking man with black hair and one eye. He never said anything, but he always seemed watchful, wary and yet somehow without fear. He found me here some time ago and cautioned me to hide from the danger to come.
I watched him fight, there in the centre of the ruins. He and another man. It was brutal, bloody and I was petrified. I kept quiet like he said. I stayed out of sight, but I saw what happened. Afterwards, when the second man had gone, I came out from my hiding place.
At first, I thought he was dead. He lay so still, so silent, his body face down on the crumbled stone floor whilst his blood ran away in rivulets. As I reached out to touch him, he rolled over and looked at me. I patched his wounds using my small sewing kit and strips of cloth from his cloak for what else could I do? I could not leave him to die there, nor let him go on his way with his terrible wounds untended. I did not expect him to thank me. I did not expect him to come back.
He did though.
He came back a few days later with what I thought to be one of my past tormentors. His captive, bound and gagged, swaddled in dark cloth to prevent me seeing what lay beneath. I thought it a person, he told me it was. He told me that it was one of those who had hurt me so badly in times past and that I could either take my revenge or else he would kill him. He gave me a club then but I... I could not do it.
It has never been my way to hurt others. I do not want to hurt anyone or have anyone become hurt on my behalf. Yes, those men damaged me, but revenge is not the answer. That would only turn me into something as bad and low as they are. I could not hurt the captive, but I did not want him to do it either. I tried to stop him, but he is so much bigger and stronger than I. I tried to hold him back, but he plunged his blade into the figures neck anyway.
It was only afterwards that I found out it had all been a trick. The captive was a dummy; a man shaped of straw. He said it was a lesson for me. He said he had done it to prove to me, for me to prove to myself, that I was not so fearful and wretched as we both thought. I had stood up to him, had I not? I had tried to stop him, so I had some strength at least.
A lesson, he said, but that is not what it was for me. It was a reminder that I should trust no-one. It was a reminder that people decieve and trick others even when they have no reason to. It was a reminder that the man before me was not a good person, not a gentle person, but rather the one I first thought him to be; a scary man best avoided.
Why, then, does he fascinate me so?
I do not know his name. I have met him only twice and on each of those occasions he did something to frighten me. Still, he promised to return again and I find myself welcoming it. Why?
What is it about this man that I wish to know, to see? I cannot work him out. He is a complete mystery, but instead of shrugging it off like I would with so many others, I feel the need to figure him out. Even now, I listen for footfalls and hope it is him, whoever he is.
