I fear that I have been a poor diarist but much has happened since my return to sordid, sweating Bree...yet in some ways very little. Either way I have been distracted and therefore left these pages woefully empty for too long. I have set aside time now by the fire in the Pony to amend this, despite the continuing stares from Barli as if his scowling at the back of my head could make me begone.
Cyndwin and I have taken up our old rooms here at the Pony again for a time, which is somewhat nostalgic and she has taken a special pleasure in basking in each memory as it has presented itself, often with a happy laugh or sidelong wink. So little time has really passed but she is so different from the untested girl who first stumbled into the Pony, dusty from a long road and filled with fear and grief. Just thinking of the increasingly firm, confident set of her eyes and shoulders in recent days fills me with love and pride in her anew. I cannot wait to soon ride beside her as she returns to her kin to set the past to rights with a strong, wise hand.
For me the memories here in Bree are indeed sweet as well...but often tinged with other, more melancholy rememberings....but I do not wish to dwell over long on such things here. In days past I have already inscribed much dark, twisting verse rank with such feelings, thankfully immediately consigned to the flames before any could witness my wretchedness.
I have had several encounters with the mercurial, dashing Hawke in my time returned which has pleased me greatly, even if much of the time he seems annoyed by my presence and attentions. In his case I take such as an indication of his affection. It has pleased me as well to watch the blossoming accord between himself and young Audea the Songstress, she who tastes like mead. Of course neither clearly sees it yet, stumbling about in the dark of their hearts and mutual misgivings. I expect in due time they will stumble upon the truth of their feelings for one another, if such is meant to be. In the meantime I have tried my best to push the virginal Songstress in the proper direction, even kissing her to illustrate to her confused sensibilities what loveplay entrails...though I am not sure how effective that was.
Concerning Hawke, it seems he has again encountered rough misfortune as is his way. I will not put the details to paper here as it is not my story to tell, but the past, like a specter, ever reaches out to ensnare the present. He was assaulted badly by agents of his bloody foe who should be his dearest friend and left shamed and battered in its wake. If it would not anger him for me to step in those ruffians would have breathed their last as soon as I heard their names, however sweet Hawke is too sick with pride to allow that. He told me that the Songstress who tastes like Mead had come upon him at the conclusion of the episode much to his shame and consternation, so I must speak to her of it and see what she beheld. There may be something I can do to ease the urchin's path.
I have also had occasion to while away time by the fire of the Pony while awaiting Cyndwin, who has had many tasks to attend to. There have been fewer travelers then I recall, and the general mood has been much as I have found throughout Bree, with a heightened fear and dislike of foreigners or any that seem unlike the local population. I cannot say I have ever felt welcomed in Bree, but now walking the streets I am often met by hisses or catcalls, or even direct threats to my person by the rustic locals. This is of course a bit absurd as with a large enough quiver I could slay much of Bree and the surrounding farms in a night...but it is troubling none the less. Clearly the hard work of the servants of the enemy has been bearing bitter fruit in Breeland.
Despite all this there have been folk of interest to meet. A local trapper called Cutwil for instance,who claims to hail from noble Gondor yet whose speech bespeaks more the deep wood than Minas Tirith. He is a bit stolid and quick to anger yet of deep moral standards it seems and of noble if simple purpose, taking great pains to express to me how fierce in battle he is. I hope I was able to mask my fond smile, but he was being quite adorable, like a pup growling to drive the wolves away.
Another man of interest was called Thadirin I believe, a grizzled and weary veteran of wars abroad. His manner is much as I remember of aged campaigners riding to war with their sons...harsh and gruff to intimidate as once his strength would have while he tends the horses and guards the encampment. Yet he seemed to have a softer side, well hidden beneath his bluster.
Lastly I must remark upon dear Ally, properly Alwynna, a local lass encountered first by both Cyndwin and myself in the Pony. We were both drawn to her immediately due to her similarities to our Fille. In fact when I first beheld her in the shifting light of the fire I was overcome with the vision of my dear friend on the day I first met her, standing there in the shadows just as friend Ally was, looking so ill at ease and defiant and uncertain. I nearly wept to see her there and the lack of Fillegedhiel of Dol Amroth was like a blade in my side for a moment.
Dear Ally, fair of face and form, is suffering from too many suitors but none that catch her fancy, and a Dame mother who loves her perhaps too well and at once seeks to defend her maidenhood against all casual swains while securing for her the best match possible to surrender it. Meanwhile the girl herself simply wishes to spread her wings and see the wide world around her. A wish so fervant she even entertains the notion of joining a mercenary band to speed her escape from homespun Bree into the tumult of the age.
She certainly seems to captivate both Cutwil and Thadirirn, though like little boys they hide their attraction; the trapper by acting as a stern older brother and the veteran by being dismissive and insulting. It was quite amusing to watch. Dear Ally however has her own ideas as she has made clear to myself and both Cyndwin and I are eager to aid her in gaining her freedom without offending those who love her too deeply. Time will tell.
I have graver and stranger matters to relate, concerning a man I call the Harbinger and his mentor, the memory of which even now fills me with awe and dread. That I will save for my next entry.
However in closing one other thing in the Pony struck me as strange. As Ally and I sat upon the rug discussing the nature of love and her hopes for the future, the trapper and the veteran enquired of what we spoke. I told them we spoke of love and loss and as they joined the discussion I had occasion to note my love for the brave Cyndwin. When they enquired after who this may be I proudly informed them that she was a Shieldmaiden of Rohan. This filled them both with horror, decrying such an affection as unnatural and scandalous, after which they refused to discuss the origin of their reaction save for demanding more ale. It saddened me to see then that there is still such enmity and mistrust in the common folk of Ered Luin for the Horsemasters of the Riddermark. I had known they were not well liked in Bree but to call those of the Rohirrim unnatural seems to me the work of the Enemy again, dividing our forces against one another.
Hopefully such prejudices will not undermine the war effort...I must be vigilant and report such things to the Masters of the Host, perhaps they would wish to take action. For now, I grow weary and must bring this to a close. I hope I will not allow so long to lapse between entries again, but I am ever undependable it seems...just ask my sister.
