The music was so beautiful, and the sky so clear and serene, and the gentle rushing of the water behind him, and the bird song, and the smell of the grass, and the...
Snapping out of his momentary daze, Furley looked about himself, and smiled. This was the first time in god knows how long, that he'd properly smiled, and forgotten himself for a moment. Not on guard... no worries or responsibilities. And, somehow... it had been a dwarf playing a harp in an elven town that had beguiled him so.
Returning his focus to the real world, he began to muse on the journeys they had all taken together and in life to get to this point. The Company had formed of people from a variety of backgrounds and histories, yet somehow they seemed to gel rather well. Everything had finally fallen into place, but their journey hadn't been easy.
What the Company didn't know, though, was the importance of the caravan they had escorted. Since the last one had gone missing, they were on the edge of financial ruin, and if they lost this cargo, then there would be no way that Furley could pay their creditors back; and since it was his and Percyvael's name on the licence, it would definitely not end well for them. In fact, he'd probably get a less amiable visit from his old foe, Ida, or someone of that ilk.
This Company, though, had become just that. Company. A band of misfits thrown in the same cooking pan to create one hell of a hotpot. From the drill sergeant Kildwin constantly yelling and dishing out pushups, to the regulars like Commander Altheric, and his oldest friend, Deorla, they had all become a unit and brought individual talents to the table.
But they were unaware just how close to the edge of the cliff they all were. From coming together like they have to the threat of being disbanded due to lack of funds. They had made it to Rivendell, but only just. Surviving several threats including a troll attack after the Commander had led them through the Trollshaws in the dark. Heh... Deorla hadn't taken too kindly to that, and they'd concocted a plan to ensure it never happened again. But they'd made it nonetheless.
Now their hopes hinged on a successful market, though he doubted their success here. No Percyvael and his golden tongue, and Furley hadn't exactly gotten off on the right foot with the Elvish Guardsman, or whomever he was. But they had to sell their stock, or it was game over.
He couldn't tell them... but he almost had. He'd stressed at the dwarf when he'd refused to give up his weapons to the elves. "Give up your sword or there won't be a Company to be sergeant of! That's an order!". How he'd hated himself for that slip. If they sold their goods, then they were back onto a decent footing, but that felt like a big "if" right now. The HQ had been ransacked, which led to extra expense to replace, and left the Company vulnerable to vultures either wanting to drive them out of business or wait for their reaction. Show weakness and they would be targeted; show too firm a hand and they'd gain a poor reputation and would likely lose any custom they already had.
Furley felt like he was slowly sinking underwater, and the weight dragging him was this cargo. All he had to do was sell it off and it'd stop dragging him to the bottom. The responsibility he felt to the staff always niggled at him, and the fear of failure, letting them down and worst of all, losing them and being almost completely alone in the world once more terrified him. But bearing that weight was what made him who he was, and he had to buck up and grow a broader set of shoulders, and, more importantly, keep paddling till he dragged them all ashore.
Sighing, he mused. If it all went a*se over t*t, he could always return South to the Wold, and die on a spear rather than a knife in the dark by some debtor. But the thought of the South troubled him again.
He had heard a rumour that those who had ransacked the HQ may have taken off South, though it was only one lead of many. He wanted to chase it desperately, but knew it wouldn't be the only thing pulling him in that direction, and there was other leads to follow closer to home, but this one niggled at him for some reason.
Breathing out, his head clearing, his mind thought of something. Or rather... someone.
Ashwyneth.
Smiling to himself, looking about him again with a more clear vision, he decided his next course of action. When he went back to Bree, he would seek her out and ask her opinion on matters. She always knew his mind better than he.
If in doubt, Furley, always ask a woman. "Thanks for that one, mum!" he whispered to the sky, chuckling at the age old advice he had once been given. That Ash always knows the best thing to do, he mused.
