The sky wept over the rooftops of the sleepy village. Heavy clouds brooded close to the chimneys, sending their soot-colored mists into the alleyways while rain pattered softly and steadily. Tiny rivers churned between the cobblestones, carrying away the town’s filth, at least for a brief time. The townsfolk themselves carried on beneath the grim, grey blanket, their heads down and shoulders hunched.
The windows of the Prancing Pony inn were flung open to catch whatever breeze might deign to cool the warm, damp rooms within. Despite autumn’s imminent arrival, the air was still mellow, not yet kissed with the crisp freshness that would bring relief after summer. And rooms filled with bodies, laughter, food, and drink, could get rather stuffy. Patrons entered, shaking off the rain with a chuckle or a frown, stomping their feet and gathering round the low-burning hearth to dry out as best they could.
Away from the fire, in a corner where the light did not fully reach, two figures were sat on opposite sides of a small, square table. The man was enormous, broad and thickly constructed, with watchful eyes and a bristling beard. His forearms were exposed beneath rolled-up sleeves, and the muscles knotted and pulsed every time his hands moved to grasp his tankard. Across from him sat a woman, her age impossible to pinpoint. For though her skin was pale and smoothly taut around the line of her graceful jaw, her eyes seemed like those of an old crone. They sparkled with clarity, yet held no joy, none of the mirth or hope of youth. The man’s clothing was well-made, but worn in places, and stained with the soil of hard, outdoor labor. The woman’s supple figure was encased in a dress of black, spun through with golden embroidery, and not a single thread was loose along the hems.
“You’re sure you don’t want anything to drink?” the man rumbled in a deep, bearish tone.
“No,” replied the woman, whose eyes did not linger on her company, but drifted over the room with cool disinterest. “I prefer to keep my senses untainted.”
The man grinned, making his bearded cheeks puff outwards. “Not everything here will set you drunk, my lady.”
Her ochre eyes darted briefly to his face, and a hint of a smile appeared and then vanished. “If I wish for refreshment, I will get it myself. But I thank you for your kindness.”
“What was it you said you did for a living again?” he asked, both of his big hands wrapping around his own cup.
“I did not say,” she replied, with another faint grin. “I am an herbalist, of sorts.”
The man hesitated, absorbing her answer before commenting. “That’s a mighty fine dress for someone who picks plants.”
“It is, isn’t it?” said the woman, glancing down at her lap as she ran her hands over the silky fabric. “I’ve had it a long while.”
“Not likely you bought that here in Bree,” the man pressed, though his voice remained low and quiet, and his demeanor was gently curious, not hard with suspicion.
“You speak rightly,” she said, turning to regard him directly. Her hands moved together, the fingers enfolding gracefully.
Her large companion brought his mug to his hairy lips. “So, where did you come from?” He watched her over the rim of the tankard as he sucked down a mouthful of ale.
The woman shifted slightly in her chair. Her gaze dropped a few inches, as if she were examining his chest. At length, she said softly, “It will not do for you to inquire much about who I am or where I am from. I will be glad to sit and offer conversation of the sort of politeness that is expected. But if you insist on digging any further than that, I will leave this chair to a more open woman, who would doubtless provide a freer sort of banter.”
The man’s hand was lifted up, palm outwards, in a gesture of calming. “No, no, no,” he murmured. “No need for that. I won’t pry. I swear it.”
The woman’s shoulders softened a bit, and she lifted her chin to meet his eyes evenly once more. Her expression was serene and cold. Prepared.
A few minutes of silence passed, wherein the pair appeared to be studying each other in a mute exchange. Finally, the man turned to look out the window beside their table. The street beyond was dark, and it smelled a little of horse manure in the rain. “Beautiful view, eh?”
Caught off guard, the woman smiled, and for a moment, the veneer vanished.
