I saw Tothrandir in the market a few days ago. I think he must have seen me and crept up behind me, for I suddenly heard his voice, turned around, and was face to face with him. It's strange, the sight of him sends me immediately back to my early days in Bree, when I was just a lonely, unsure girl who was unbearably smitten with this tall, dark stranger with the gentlest grey eyes I'd ever seen. In a way, I dislike the effect he has on me. I don't want my husband to see the look on my face and mistake it as me being in love with another man. But I cannot help what comes over me when I glance at Toth. I feel myself becoming that girl again, soft-eyed and soft-spoken, as if under a spell. Aye, me.
Tothrandir shared some things with me that I am still pondering on in my heart. I had asked him, long ago, what it was that made him first approach me in the Prancing Pony. For he had walked over to me one evening, introduced himself, and promptly invited me to speak with him in private. He shared with me that first evening as if he already knew me somehow, though I didn't think much of it at the time, and he gave me a gift; an elven necklace of blue glass beads, the same color as my eyes. I thought he was simply a kind and astute soul, who perhaps saw a glimpse of a kindred spirit in this lonely newcomer from another land, and wanted to be welcoming and gracious.
It turns out that he did know me. For when we met a few days ago, he recounted a story of how he had wandered after his wife's tragic demise, and his steps had led him to the Mark, and there he had met a horse breeder, and his wife and daughter, who was only a child at the time. I, of course, don't remember this at all, but he remembered a girl who had "true potential" with horses, as he put it, and "the most remarkable blue eyes". He recalled my name, and when he saw me in Bree, all these long years later, he knew me.
I asked him to forgive me. For my foolish haste. For the letter I left for him in Ost Guruth. For being so short-sighted. For causing him what I know must have been immeasurable hurt. Though at the time, it seemed there was no other course to take. I knew he would forgive me, for his heart is nothing but goodness. But the words still needed to be uttered aloud. And now a long-held burden is lifted from me, and I am glad.
There was one thing he said during our conversation that has plagued my thoughts ever since. But I won't speak of it. Nor write of it. Not yet. I must trust that it was harmless, and perhaps I misunderstood it.
I can't help but turn my thoughts now to the man who continues to plague our steps, every time we venture into town. Richard. Evil man. I don't use such a word lightly, for I am reluctant to think ill of people, but he has proven himself to be the most wicked, cunning, hateful soul. Following us about, like a haunting demon. Taunting anyone who ever dared be friendly towards his son, goading them into attacking him, and then threatening them with the Watch. Dear Dufr reappeared a few nights ago, the dwarf who loves Aallan like his own son, and my husband was forced to recount to him the tragic news of Aallan’s arrest, sentencing, and banishment, for I couldn’t speak of it. Richard dared to appear just then, and a scuffle ensued between them, with Richard stabbing Dufr in the gut, though thank Béma, his life was spared, thanks to the quick skill of Cesistya. I drew my own blade, and would gladly have run it through the man’s chest, for I confess, in the heat of the moment, I wanted nothing but to strike Richard down, though my beloved held me back.
He appeared again last night, as I sat with my friends in the inn, and again, he lingered near us, taunting us. Dryn, Aeglorond, and Kris surrounded him, along with a small hobbit-lass that seems to have a strange enmity towards the man. Thankfully, they did not come to blows, but it was all I could do to hold fast to Ces’ hand, and I hope I didn’t squeeze her poor fingers half to death. I had comforted her just before, as she grieved for the child who had died, and now she turned to comfort me, and kept me grounded, though my heart bled for the awful, ugly words Richard spewed about my husband.
How I wish that man would just leave Bree-town. What keeps him here, now that his son is banished and gone? Does he really take such purpose and pleasure from tormenting its citizens?
