It was still dark. Dawn was perhaps an hour away, and Lindovor could hear his footfalls crunching on the frosted cobblestones. He wore a heavy cloak, a small pack of provisions and his lute slung over one shoulder. As soon as he delivered these medicines from Newbold Leafcutter, he would be out the main gate and be heading north.
Strange that a poor scholar would impoverish himself even more to help the forgotten dregs of humanity. Stranger still that Lindovor would offer himself as errand boy. He made a scoffing sound at the thought, a puff of warm mist rising from his breath. His grandfather would not have approved: "degraded", "common", "menial" were the words the man would have used. Lindovor felt his jaw tighten, then he thought of his mother.
She had been the fairest daughter of a noble house, schooled in all the graces yet endowed with a natural gentleness and kindness that shone above her peers. In her father's eyes she could do no wrong until...until it was found she had fallen pregnant by a common soldier, one of the guards of Minas Tirith. The ancient father had fumed in anger, saying he would hide her away until the child was born then have it taken far away so none would know of the family's shame. In that moment, the lord of the House of Aerion discovered that his daughter carried twice the fire in her heart as he. She would not hide, nor would she give up her child. It did not matter that none would now marry with her, for her heart was fixed and she stood upon her own nobility. She disdained any suitors who would overlook her disgrace in order to better their position. Of the soldier, nothing was said except that he had been exiled from the White City, and when Lindovor was born his mother cradled him in her arms and called him by his father's name.
The sky had begun to lighten as Lindovor wended his way through the makeshift shelters and pitiful cook fires of Beggar's Alley. He heard a set of footsteps echoing his own. Without looking behind him, he quietly placed his hand on the dagger he wore at his belt as he stopped at a broken down hovel and knocked upon the entrance several times. Two eyes peered at him from the shabby door that cracked open.
"What d'ya want?" came the suspicious voice of a woman.
"You are Bess Bogthorne?" he asked. The woman grunted in assent, but opened the door no wider.
"Leafcutter sent these herbs for you. You're to make them into a tea..."
The woman's arm shot out as she snatched at the pouch in Lindovor's hand. "Aye...I know, I know..."
He reeled back at the woman's abrupt movement. Ungrateful wretch, he thought as she was closing the door. Just before her face disappeared entirely he heard the words "Thankee..." and then he was alone once again.
With a sigh and a shrug, Lindovor turned to make for the western gate and once again he heard footsteps echoing his own. He wheeled around quickly, hand on dagger. He saw nothing in the alleyway behind him. Again he started on his way, but suddenly felt a tremendous blow to the side of his head which knocked him to the ground. His blurred eyes saw a dark figure looming over him in the half light. He struggled for breath, scrabbling with his boots to find a foothold and gain his feet once more. In the darkness he saw the figure raise an arm and he cringed against the blow...yet it never came. He caught sight of a bright thing moving through the air, catching at the dark figure and throwing him backwards where he could do no harm. Lindovor lay back, his head still swimming from the blow and bright points of light dancing in front of his eyes. It seemed he saw stars....
