A wild child. An untamed wench. Rule-flouter. Heartbreaker.
Those were just some of the things they said of Averill in Bree-town. She had always been one to do as she pleased and damn the consequences. Her parents would find her missing from their home and hearth more often than not and, when she was found, it was often in some sort of mischief or trouble.
Neither the soundest and harshest discipline nor numerous threats would stop her. Averill was born to be free. She was surely made for more than just tending to a hearth, tied down by a husband and child. And yet, she often thought that there was more to life than the sloping farmlands of Breeland and the endless nights of idle conversation over drinks in the inn of the Prancing Pony. Whatever distractions and dalliances she carried on instead of doing as her parents wished, they did nothing to satisfy that craving for something more. Surely there had to be something better than this.
And then one evening, after two days of being missing from home since the eve of her nineteenth birthday, she returned in her usual state; thoroughly drunk on cheap ale and looking very much like she had gotten into some sort of trouble that no upstanding girl of law-abiding parents would partake in. She was met with the cool but concerned stares of her mother and father, who had waited for her. There was no ignoring the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach when she saw them sitting calmly before the hearth, hands folded in their laps in the way parents do when they are about to say something dreadfully serious.
“You’re getting married.”
Three words; that was all it took to shatter the illusion that she could continue on as she had been with nothing to stop her. Yet, despite the encroaching emptiness she felt carrying on in this way, a hot fire burned within her at the idea of not being the master of her own fate. Harsh words she would not and could not take back were the weapons she used to fight back against the unfairness of it all. In return her parents still sat there, looking either unmoved or resigned, and informed her that they had set up a good match for her with a local blacksmith who was kindhearted and patient; someone who would be able to put up with her and perhaps tame her as she settled into the role she was always meant for. The match would be a private affair and the date was set for the end of the week. One week for her to make herself ready. One week until they could wash their hands of her.
Averill went to her bed that night shedding hot tears of bitterness and rage. How could they do this to her? Why did they not even try to understand? Why did it always come back to doing what was expected? Could no one see the yearning for something greater in her wild beating heart? Was this truly all there was to be for her?
No, she decided. If there was to be no happiness for her here then she would stop trying to carve it out in this place. She would seek it elsewhere.
She bided her time over a handful of days, speaking not a word to her parents and refusing to cower under their melancholy stares. In her silence she planned. In her feigned obedience she gathered. In her display of resignation, she made ready. And, on the evening before her arranged wedding day, she disappeared in the dark of the night like thief.
Like a bird who had just escaped its cage, she fluttered from one place to another; familiar haunts where she could take her pleasure. Houses of her ne’er-do-well friends who would shelter her for brief periods of time. Until, at last, she came upon the house of one, Keir Culpepper; a man who had been both a source and the cause of many of her most troublesome exploits. She either ignored and missed altogether the way the look in his eyes evolved from shock to hunger as he greeted her on his doorstep with a kiss. It was always an easy thing between them; no questions asked, no answers given, and, therefore, no great trouble was long pondered on.
He readily took her into his solitary home in the northernmost parts of the Bree-fields and listened thoughtfully as she regaled him with her plans to leave the boringness of Bree behind her to seek her fortune and her new life somewhere else. The look in his eyes remained ever hungry, though she took no notice of it, even as he gave her smiles with his lips and encouragement with his words. One night after lounging together before the fire, he kissed her again and told her that he would very much like to leave his own less than satisfactory life in these lands behind and join her on her adventure. In fact, he told her, he had many connections with folk far and wide who could help them along. With many words as sweet as molasses he bolstered her enthusiasm and made her feel seen and heard for the first time in her life. With all the surety of one moonstruck by the lure of adventure and perhaps even something akin to love, she placed her hand in his and counted him as her dearest friend.
As spring waned into early summer, she never thought much of the fact that her parents hadn’t come looking for her.
They set out one early morning towards the Old Greenway Fort where Keir had said a contact of his, well versed in the lay of the lands outside of Bree, would be waiting for them to exchange supplies with them, after which they would set out on their own. However, upon arriving there, the man waiting for them was not one of Keir’s usual companions that Averill had seen him with in Bree-town. The figure was hooded and cloaked in strange garb that was red in color. There were no supplies to be seen with him, only a beleaguered looking mount. She watched in confusion as the hooded man greeted Keir with a bow and then tossed a hefty looking bag towards him that jingled with coin. Money for their adventure?
Keir opened the leather bag and inspected the considerable amount of gold contained therein, biting upon one coin with his teeth. After a moment, he finally nodded, smiling in such a sinister way that sent chills down her spine. Before she could even react, two more hooded and cloaked men in red emerged from the overgrowth about the fort and seized her arms. Like a wildcat she fought them, biting and scratching where she could, yelling for Keir to stop them. But her ‘dearest friend’ merely looked at her coolly and shook his head. He took their supplies that they had brought with them, including everything that she had taken with her from home, and walked away in the direction they came, not even bothering to look back and see the expression of horror blooming upon her face.
After a long while of continuous struggle she found herself bound hand and foot, silenced by a gag, and tossed over the mount like a sack of grain.
“Silence, chattel!” barked the first man as he began to lead his mount upon the road. “Otherwise, I’ll have you dragged the whole way. You had better obey or it will go badly for you. Well…” The man chuckled darkly to himself as his fellows followed in suit. “More badly than you’re likely to have it. So, say good-bye to all this, as you’re likely to not see it again.”
It was only due to the gag that her screams of terror and rage could not be heard over all of Breeland...
(To be continued.)
