Bree-land and Khaki (Song)

Khaki. Click here to listen
A song of peaceful, civilised beauty with a thin layer of sickness.

Of Bree-land

The return to Bree, like most things in Ryheric's life, was unplanned. A private rebellion. Somehow, it felt right to do the very opposite of what Nine and Cwennie presumed he would do after the fateful departure from Gondor months earlier. There was no clearer message than actions.

They expected everything to be just like before.
"No." Said his footsteps westward into the sleepy, peaceful hills of lush green grass and quaint forests. It had taken months of travel, and walking out on what he had won from ... Well, he wouldn't think about that bloody business for now. He had not yet taken the chance to digest what it all meant. While outwardly Ryheric kept the same airs and visage, everything had changed for him.

Not Bree-land, though. The country kept its aura of khaki. Sleepy, beautiful and tragically layered with sickness. The sickness came from the people, particularly in the town. Nothing life threatening, but enough to create that ugly bile haze, like an oil slick upon an otherwise pristine rock-pool. These peaceful folk had every reason to rejoice, to revel in what they had at their disposal. Freedom, peace, home and hearth, love. Instead, almost all of them were dissatisfied. Jaded, bitter or cynical. 

It was difficult to fathom, and Ryheric had never been able to relate to the quirks of those mindsets. So he had intended to pass through the land swiftly after recuperating. Then he had encountered Greengrove.

Visiting Greengrove and Silverstream

Greengrove. Ryheric had an innate trust for the forester, a phenomenon never before experienced by the warrior. If Ryheric had ever had a family, or a true father, he might have understood the style of trust better. As it was, he had no such reference. That left him with an uncanny feeling of peace in Greengrove's presence. Even when Greengrove gripped Ryheric by the shoulder and shook him in animated demonstration, Ryheric took it without reaction or tension. He'd fought men for less.

Greengrove had contributed (among others) to the recovery of Son of Mouse. Lame horses were often put out of their misery, and the fate of Kacis weighed on Ryheric heavily at the thought. So, when Greengrove the horse healer had stepped in, it was more than a relief. It was peace of mind. Ryheric returned the gesture by looking in to a mystery for Greengrove. Greengrove was better with matters of forestry and growing things than subtle enquiry among townsfolk and woodcutters.

One thing led to another, and Ryheric was put on the spot. His help was requested, ongoing. Unprecedented, and it perfectly interfered with his swift departure from Bree. He didn't know why he agreed, but Ryheric was a creature of instinct and immediacy. So the agreement was made. He would stay longer around Bree, until he had this mystery at least underway on behalf of the goodly forester.

A day came when Greengrove invited Ryheric and two strangers from the Pony to visit his abode. They traveled together to Knotwood, not far from Bree proper. Therein, Ryheric met Silverstream. An ethereal woman. Ryheric was never sure if she was really there, or just part of a pleasant hallucination. She was garbed in a dress of pale washed colours like a glittering lake, shimmering like fish scales. Her manner was warm, her cooking was delicious and her voice was silvery like a bell. She reminded Ryheric of a gentle dove.

Good company was had, and Ryheric was glad for the peace and contentment. However, he found himself stricken by overabundance. Too much love at once, too much comfort at once, the food too perfect, the fire too warm, the company aggressively selfless. Some part of him ached to sink into it like a soft mattress. Let it happen. Trust, lean. The other part of him remembered he'd slept on an actual bed with posts and a mattress only twice in his short life. 

Overfed

This level of comfort was foreign to him, and the crowding amplified it. Too many colours. So much blue, bright, pale and dark, it felt like he would drown in it.

Yellow surrounded the svelte, vivid-eyed girl. It shone brightly through the way she watched him so intently. The way she noticed every detail. The way she wanted to know more. Flickering here and there to oppose herself were shades of mauve, brown at the edges. Thus it seemed, in sporadic moments, like she wanted to dart away like a forest doe. Or like something was hurting her. Perhaps she was as restless as he was in the circumstance.

Navy clung firm about the dwarf, solidarity and easy, steadfast resolve.

Scintillating electric blue, bursting pinks, whites and reds shot through Greengrove like a wild, racing aurora. Give, excitement, flippance, hunger and need. 

Silverstream, meanwhile, was veiled in a pale indigo that perfectly matched the light of her dress's shimmer. Ryheric was certain her colour would have been a base-line powder blue, if the lady was not so concerned for the pleasure of her guests in that moment.

Too many colours, too much abundance. Ryheric took his leave of the house, as politely as he could. He did, however, stay for dancing in the garden. Then further hours, by the road in shelter from the rain. 

The Heart Longing to be Loved

The little dew flower turned out to be a warm mauve, in the end. Fragile, and under that awful spell just like all other Bree-landers, where khaki encircled her like a vulture waiting to jade all else that might be brighter. So jaded, so little recognition for her own striking presence. If only she could see herself as he did. It would be neither the first nor the last time he wished it.

"I won't forget you. Cross my heart."

At their parting, a slender fingertip made the symbol across her breast, and he watched her reluctantly go. Very unlike the darting doe he'd expected, and more like a lingering woman who would truly miss him. It moved him to pity, and his gaze lingered in the direction she had left for a long time before he reminded himself of the futility, for he had shut his heart. 

Why invite further torment upon such a heart that longs to be loved? Yours doesn't. You will die on a sword, anyway.

Of the Road

He was glad to see Cwennie. She was more outgoing than he had seen her in a long time. She was Cwennie of the Road now. Maiden of tales. The best archer he had ever known. Yet for her quietitude and reluctance to kill, he was sure her skill was the best kept secret of Middle Earth.

In two weeks she would depart on her journey. One for fate and freedom. At least, Ryheric liked to think it was for the latter. He'd go with her, until the day came he would part from her, and she would need to let the man go to his solitude. Her treasure in this journey was much the same as his when he had set out from Bree the first time.

He knew that without understanding it or giving it a name, she was looking for the colour gold. He hoped to see her find it, before they parted.