I never needed poison. I never needed to hide. I never needed the pseudonym of Mrs. P. I never needed any of these trappings. No, indeed. Sometimes the pen is mightier than the poignard, and so I used it upon Hathostaran, and I will use it here to tell the tale.
I never saw the man, not once. Not even from afar. For all I knew, he was dead to me. But I knew of his dealings and caught wind of his interactions with my friends. I knew he was trying to scare them, frighten them into submission so that he could get to me, or so that he could cause chaos wherever he went. Either one was pleasant to him.
I knew people from the Scholar's Stair archive, and better yet, I knew they would help me make pamphlets, which I distributed among the citizens of Bree. It was delicious to write.
The So-Called "Lord" Hathostaran, Recently of Dol Amroth: a Man of Bad Reputation
A long title, yes, but pleasing to me nonetheless. And the subject matter of the pamphlet was no less so. I went on to describe in detail the things which the man had done during his time in Dol Amroth, as well as in the Gondorian army. The gross mistreatment of prisoners, the sadism, the sparking of fear for political gain, the sheer delight he took in setting up people against each other for nothing other than his amusement. I wrote about his moral failings, his affairs, his attempts to bring me back to Dol Amroth against my very will. All in all, exposing him for what he was was the most delicious aspect of it all.
And the Archive disseminated the tracts, left them in the Inn, left them by the Boar Fountain, in the Town Hall, throughout the markets, and young children handed them out to passersby. It was lovely to know that what I had written had captured the imaginations of the gossip mill of Bree-town, and had made them question the visiting of the Gondorian lord.
He had come for business, but no businessmen or women of reputable character would trade with him. In effect, he was ostracized from the quaint town because of himself. It was all he, though I had made a campaign against him.
A few days later, I heard that he had left town, never to return, his proverbial tail tucked between his legs. It pleased me.
On that day, I resumed my more elegant attire, resumed my elaborate coiffure, resumed my job as a gardener, and resumed my life. I defy anyone to make such an attempt again.
