A heavy heart in Bree

It had been a while since he had set foot inside the town of Bree, and his heart was filled with a loathing several leagues before he reached the gate, a loathing he was trying to keep at bay by wearing a false smile upon his lips. Even Haeleth his mount dipped her head and slowed herself to a canter, her ears pulled back in protest at the quality of stabling on offer. The finely crafted leather reins creaked softly in his grip as he turned the horse away from Bree, the slightest of movements bringing horse and rider to a halt as they faced down the Great East Road. He had half a mind to nudge his heels and bring Haeleth around, leaving the town behind and heading back into the wilderness from whence he had came, but there was little left for his wanderings now, and the town did at least offer some shelter from the rain that could be seen heading down the Greenway. Reluctantly, horse and rider made slow progress through the gate of Bree… Yarassi didn’t much care for the stable-hands in Bree. They had no real understanding of horses, and to a man of Rohan their actions and mutterings could be seen as a mild insult, but it was only his understanding of his mount that led him to know she would take pleasure in offering a small bite or a light kick to the first stable-hand bold enough to lay but a hand upon her. Resting the saddle and tack that was his Father’s before him upon the tack racking he turned before leaving the stables, whispering in a tongue seldom heard to come from the lips of Man. Haeleth flicked her head in reply as a slight grin crept from the corners of Yarassi’s mouth. “She can look after herself, but best the stable-hands learn that for themselves” he thought to himself as he began the walk up the hill through Bree-Town. Only once did he receive comment as he made his way towards the Prancing Pony Inn. The usually comment about his attire. A comment lacking in intelligence and knowledge that made reference to a “Black Rider”. It used to be a common occurrence, but most Bree locals and regulars know Yarassi wears black in mourning, and not through a wish to be the focal point of a child’s dim-witted remark or need for attention. Something that did not take long to explain before the over dressed Man wearing armour enough for a small army was sent upon his way - all the more wise for his too-eager mouth and the gently explanation is had brought him. “Bree never changes… The sickly sweet stench of bribery, corruption, and the desires of those who seek attention and lack honour hangs all too heavy in the still air of this town” he thought to himself as the sound of the burbling waters from the Boar Fountain faded softly behind him. The worn stone steps of the Prancing Pony Inn were dotted with small spots of rain as he climbed them, his eyes fixed upon the door with a blank stare. That once familiar door still creaked as he pulled it open and the heavy and smoke laden air from within greeted him like a long lost enemy. It took more will than he thought to step inside and let that door close behind him. Stepping inside and moving away from the door he paid no attention to those around him. Aware of where the people around him were, and aware of their movements, but not caring one bit for who they were. His attention was fixed upon a small section of the floor. Just a single short length of the ground where two faint marks blended in with all of the others marks and dents on the well trodden floor. He stood motionless for a while, his bright blue eyes offering not a blink as the corners welled slightly with tears that he would not let fall. Just a patch of floor in the Pony to many it might be. But it is the spot where she was standing when he first laid eyes upon her. The woman that made his heart complete, the love that made him feel like never before, the wife who now rested in peaceful death, but lived on within his heavy heart. Two years to the day she had stood there, but for Yarassi it felt just yesterday… A yesterday that felt like a lifetime.