The lone path comes to an end

Since the discovery of what really happened the day his mother was killed, Yarassi had held any from his Birth-land of Rohan at arms length, preferably further. Just one he knew from Rohan he trusted, the barmaid, cook, and seemingly general manager of The Prancing Pony Inn, Cymaru. She had never taken offence at his dislike of speaking his native tongue. Never either had she tried to persuade him otherwise that his distrust was something misplaced. She, like the very few others he trusted, simply accepted his ways and in turn for this he would without question place his life in stead of hers – though of the latter he would never speak. A young girl though, who had begun to be seen quite often working alongside Cymaru approached him one eve. There was no doubt in her eyes, although her nervous manner would have led many to think otherwise. She strolled up towards him, took a seat alongside, and placed a small tankard of milk upon the table beside him, keeping her own in her hand. For a short while he stared off across the Inn, before finally turning to face her. It would turn out that this child, barely yet a woman, desired to be taught to ride. Yarassi explained that it was not his place to do so. That it was a Father’s requirement to teach his children the skills of a rider. And that Yarassi does not drink milk. The conversation drew on though as she missed, or simply ignored, his attempts to talk her away from him. Her questions growing more impatient, or more personal. Why for instance did he drink so much? Why did he sleep in the wilderness? Why do many a Dwarf or Elf who pass through the Inn know him well when many a man knows not even his name? Why did the Dwarf who seemed drunk call him Shadowbow, and then apologise? His answers it would seem could not come fast enough, nor did they seem to be full enough explanations for her. A curious child with a mind for knowledge can be a nosey distraction, one that Yarassi neither needed nor looked for. The passing of five nights was enough, so he thought, for her to find another who would teach her to ride… But no. Minding his own business as he usually does, laying the warm numbing blanket of drink around his heart as he sat in the Inn, she approached him just moments after she walked through the door. Another long conversation and still he could not shake this girl’s determination that it was he who must teach her to ride in the absence of her Father. With a somewhat narrowing glance as he looked to Cymaru, he reluctantly agreed, but the cost to Eoryn would be significant – the price was she was to leave him alone for that eve, until he had drunk his fill and the warmth of wine and ale had calmed his sorrows enough for him to sleep. The next few weeks saw a change in Yarassi that he was barely aware of. At times he caught himself speaking Rohirric, his accent growing stronger as he slipped in and out of his Birth-tongue. He even felt a smile upon his lips. Not a smile placed upon them in falsehood though. No. He smiled genuine smiles from time to time, something he had not done for some time; unless drunk or glaring down the shaft of an arrow before feeling the light and silent release for it to find its mark. The teaching of this young rider had changed him much more than he would ever have allowed, or ever have desired. Other folks of Rohan she knew became known to him, and slowly Yarassi began to exchange a slow nodding bow of his head with them in passing. Names were learned and faces began to be recognised by him. The passing of three new Moons seemed to pass him by quicker than ever before. His drinking had become less and less, and he spent less time simply wandering the woodlands or taking to his mount for want of riding for lands he had not yet looked upon. All of this and more he realized as his gloved fingers turned the door knob before he took his first silent step inside the house where other Riders of the Riddermark gathered. The changes in him, and the end of a path he once followed alone, he now knew was her doing as his fingers slipped back the dark hood that covered his face and he looked out upon a room filled with Riders… Riders who looked upon him as Fellow, Friend, and Brother.