Old Friends and Past Ties

The road had been long. He was weary, and his muscles ached, but the journey South was almost pleasant. The weather had been kind, he'd avoided the attention of brigands and warbands, and the Golden Hall of Edoras was always a welcome sight.

Furley wandered into the tavern, ready for ale and a warm bed. He was cold, he longed for the fire, and for anything that would help him forget. The roads were long when there was naught but your own thoughts for company, and he needed something to soothe him.

No sooner had he wandered to the bar, than he saw her. Deorla. Like seeing a ghost from his past. "What the devil are you doing here?". She turned to appraise him, looking him up and down, then her reply took him aback. Cold, unforgiving, yet so like his old friend it almost made him smile.

"Who are you?".
"Furley", he replied.
"Oh, I thought you'd died" she sneered.

Why did she think him dead? Who thought him dead? He gladly accepted his order of mead from the barman, then signalled for two more. "Dead tired", he brushed it off. "Dead inside, perhaps, but very much breathing. Although, perhaps it's better that way if they think me dead. We made enemies, Deo. There's unfinished business North".

She didn't pay much heed to that. She was travelling, and had come from the North, but as was her norm she still wasn't welcome. She'd bought a house in Edoras, which was unlike her. Was she finally planting roots?

"You should come round to mine, we'll catch up properly". He smiled, and accepted the invitation.
"Gladly, but not tonight. The road was long and my back is stiff. We'll speak again when I am rested".
"I'll be in town another week, it'll be good to talk".

They left it there, and he headed to a room upstairs, tossing a coin to the barman as he did. There was always a room available for him here. When he got upstairs, he unfastened his sword, and propped it by the bed before removing his boots and laying down.

If Deorla could find new opportunity here, then perhaps he could too. He looked at his sword, remembering his promise that he would not wield it. But what was a promise if Daphnee wasn't here? Was she gone forever? He felt constantly torn between holding onto the past and moving on to a different future. He just couldn't leave his past behind knowing he hadn't turned over every stone.

He was at a crossroads. He could head East to Dale, stay in Rohan, or he could head North, one more time. If he turned back North, perhaps he'd take a spear... thus keeping his promise still, and that way he wasn't giving up hope on his friend.

Furley thought about his meeting with Deorla. It would be good to catch up, and he had questions. Why did they think him dead? What did she know? And what was her purpose here?

Sighing, he reached into his bag, and once again picked up his map of Eriador. He traced his finger along select points, muttering to himself; "could be there. Haven't checked here yet".

The meeting with Deorla was a welcome distraction. One he was looking forward to. Even if only to take his mind off the North a little while. Perhaps she'd be able to find him a decent spear...