There came a day when Redwick left the Riddermark and Snowbourn that he was so fond of to return Bree-land where he wished to see his friends and companions once more. Though, what he found was more than what he expected and with Therwen tending to his daughter Erline with all her Redwick often lacked the close companionship he once had with her, though he continued to love her and Erline all the same. For he knew that there were a difference between a lover who is a stout shield-maiden and a mother. With Erline Therwen had not the time to persist her work as she once did, therefore it was Redwick's task to see that his woman and his child are fed. It was a strange thing for anyone to see, but Redwick was motivated for this task. He believed that it was all a great trial that he will best, the trial of becoming a man, yet he also wished to prove it solidly.
They got a house in Bree-land, that Therwen had paid for. Redwick believed that it was only one strand of hay in the entire stack that he missed on his task, and that the rest he would be able to grasp firmly. And o, how he did! The Red-Robin began to spend more hours where he would make coin and that was on Mr.Goodman's farm. Threland, the Bree-lander in all his feather-hatted fame. He was the Moon-fox, for he had pale white hair even if he was not yet old. Though he was a good natured man, hearty, loving, a good companion through and through even if his wits were dim more often that not. For these reasons Redwick and Threland got a long quite well, and Redwick being his farm-hand realized that he should have paid more attention to his father's ramblings about seed, tilling, harvesting, and all those other farming related things that nobody important cares about.
When Redwick had free time he would take his bow and send arrows into a tree, honing his skill and sharpening his aim. He began to take a greater interest in shooting, and he recognized it as a good way to pass time when he would not receive Therwen's attention. Of course that and drinking.
Actually...
That and drinking at the same time. Some believe that his aim is better when he's drunk, but who can ever tell when he's not drunk is the overly complex mystery that not even he could probably solve, even if he were good at solving mysteries that did not include finding ale, for he may just be able to sniff it out from across the room.
As I was saying...
Redwick took a greater interest in his bowmanship, for after he had his fun in the Riddermark there was a sparkle of enthusiasm within him. Perhaps one might believe it to be a blood-lust, but Redwick is no evil person and would not INTENTIONALLY harm anyone that were not a threat to him or his companions. Instead his desire for slaying orcs as though it were sport grew stronger with the the sport's inconsistency in the Bree-lands. Alas that the Rangers bows be swifter than his, and it would ever be their bows that slay any orc before Redwick would ever find it. Though, what does Redwick know of the Rangers? Perhaps he may know a bit, and believe a bit from tales that Alfknutr shared and from some conversations that he had with Archer(Who was even taller than the stretchy barmaid in Bree). In his mind Redwick knew the Rangers were good of heart, but to his disappointment their deeds in keeping Bree-land clear of evil things will ever be unknown to both he and the folk of Bree-hill and other lands where the defenseless folk now dwell safely in Eriador.
Ah, Alfknutr! Redwick's most beloved friend, the Elf-Knot, the tale-spinner and once crewman of a ship named the Busty Maiden - so Alfknutr claims. What misfortune came upon Alfknutr in those days were a queer thing, unexpected and undeserving - no doubt. Unless folk truly were offended by his finding of a ship wreckage rather than a giant turtle in the bay Forochel where the Lossoth dwell in ice-cold temperatures and lights hang within the sky like beautiful flourescent ribbons.
Alfknutr's beloved steed Fram was coldly slain by one of his own companions. A fiery fierce woman who called herself a the Fire-Drake, or was it the Ice-Drake? All the titles of The Mead Company-folk are indeed very confusing, but for those who are more familiar with the name Skjalddis shall know her. A tall blonde woman who was swift on aggression and somewhat short on wisdom. Now, Fram fell upon Alfknutr's leg and Redwick's best friend was left immobile for several months to come. Though, Redwick was held at home by the demands of Therwen who needed him more.
But ere Fram was slain Redwick had heard unexpected news from Vallen, who was Alfknutr's woman. She said that she could not wed to Alfknutr, and that she had to go to Rohan to right this. However, Redwick was uncertain of her going on such paths alone, he did not doubt her- well, he doubted her a bit and thought of this as yet another way to prove his manly prowess and the fact that he can make wise decisions. Thus he went with her to keep her safe and to show her the ways that he took. However they did not get very far until Alfknutr another man who came in swift pursuit. It was by the Last Bridge where Alfknutr spoken Vallen to her sense and Redwick thought to himself "...Women," for it seemed to him that the company of women among men brought queer changes! When they went to the Dead-man's dike all seemed well, and the companionship between the more trusty were as hard as stone, but once the women became part of their group it was like a hammer brought down unto that stone, crashing it into many many sad little pieces that could no longer be seen if you scattered them amongst the grass.
Now, in the days to come Redwick learnt that he were so suddenly deprived of his best friend. Alfknutr left Jarnsalr to return to his kin-folk in the North and this brought sadness to Redwick's heart. He worried that he would never again see Alfknutr, and that his friendship with him had been severed like a chicken's head ere he was prepared for cooking.
It was in this that Redwick found more motivation. He wished to be looked up upon by man: His wife, his father, his friends, even all of Middle-earth if he could help it. And the only way to do this is to create such a tale that Alfknutr will hear from his home-land and rise from whatever rocking chair his crippled self may be sat into whilst he claimed that he knew of Redwick, the Red-Robin, the bowman of Snowbourn, the Renowned drinker, the farmer, the father, the husband... The almost-better-titled than Osyth.
THE RED HUNTER!
