Yesterday was largely pleasant, though a few moments were as ugly and harsh as anything I’ve ever known. Strangely, I don’t feel the same insecurity, the same regret, as I have on previous occasions. Could it be that I’m finally coming into my own identity, as Fate rakes me over the coals more and more? Am I finally finding my own voice? Losing my fear of offending others?
The day started off typical enough. The morning was pleasantly cold, enough to stir the blood, but not so much as to be bitter. The sun is creeping over the eastern hills a bit earlier each morning, which pleases me greatly. A faint, distant harbinger of the springtime still weeks away. My work at the stable passed without any incidents worth noting. No matter how many hundreds of times I perform the same tasks with these horses, I never grow weary of it. I love them dearly, consider them my friends (of a sort), and every day that I live is simply further assurance that I was born to care for these creatures.
I went into the market in the afternoon, and treated myself to a satchel full of freshly baked seed-cakes, thinking they would make a lovely companion for my evening tea, and I’d have enough to share with anyone who happened to join me. But just as I had dropped my coin into the baker’s palm, I heard a voice over my shoulder, deep and pleasant, and faintly familiar. My heart sank even as I turned to find the handsome visage of Seaver staring back at me. Recalling the grating nature of our last encounter, I greeted him carefully, but his manner was easy and friendly, and I soon relaxed, offering him one of my seed-cakes, which he readily accepted.
The conversation which followed was enigmatic, to say the least. He smiled, he joked, he chuckled, and so did I. More than once he flirted, and I know that I blushed, as I can no more stifle that part of my personality than I can stop the sun from rising each morn. I marveled to realize that his flirtations didn’t unnerve me as they might have before. Perhaps the depth and breadth of my love for a certain man has given me…a confidence (?) that I didn’t have before. Where I would’ve trembled, and fallen to girlish pieces under the stare of those blue eyes and the pointed comments, no doubt targeted to stir the color in my cheeks, I felt nothing but a pleasant flattery. My heart was unmoved. Thank Béma. At least…unmoved in the sense that I felt any temptation to feel something towards him beyond polite friendship, and the familiarity of being kindred. For I did feel other things as we spoke, and it is those things, I fear, which caused him to look hesitant and perplexed a few times. In the end, in fact, as we were about to part ways, I made a mistake. I stepped over the line. I showed a bit of my heart, and it seemed to offend him. Stupid, clumsy Bryn…will you ever learn when to open up and when to remain hidden? Why did you think you could say such a thing to this man? What do you know of his ways, his beliefs, his choices? Just because we both come from the seed of Eorl doesn’t mean we have anything in common…does it? I want to believe that we must have some common thread between us…some distant glimmer of brotherhood, wherein we can stand eye to eye and understand each other. Our interactions thus far, though, have made me doubt that this is possible. I must leave him to his life, and carry on with mine, and try not to care. Though I am very bad at not caring.
I entered the Prancing Pony not long after, having taken what was left of my seed-cakes home with me (I gave Seaver a second one as a light-hearted “reward” for standing and enduring all my questions). I saw him standing at the counter, alone once again, still clutching the bottle that seems to be ubiquitous about his person. I went and sat alone, not wishing to encounter him again after having upset him…again. Aallan approached shortly after and sat with me, which was a comfort. I questioned Aallan about whether I had ever offended him with my words, wondering if I were just a brash, abrasive person without realizing it. He assured me I was not. I glanced over my shoulder to see the man himself now lurking behind us near a post, soon joined by a dark-skinned woman. As he had told me himself, his female acquaintances are numerous, and he does not tie himself down to any one of them. Why this saddens me so, is hard to say. Well, no, I know why it makes me sad. But I don’t want to think on it just now.
I hesitate to go on, as I would have to mention the woman who has cast a pall over my life recently. However, I will not shrink from the truth, and the truth is that Nex walked over to myself and Aallan, and greeted us in her usual, flowery manner, before proceeding to pointedly demand to know why I disliked her. She claimed that Daerist, the toymaker, had told her this, which I know to be false because Daerist doesn’t know me, apart from a few words in greeting we shared months ago. Nex was just as present around the hearth that unfortunate, recent night, long before Daerist even approached. And while my dislike for her is quite real, I have never said or done anything to her that would give her cause to accuse me of such. So, I dismissed her comments, and refused to engage her in her usual maze of words. She then began asking me where my beloved was, saying she wished to speak to him, which I find to be utterly ridiculous, though I answered her politely and honestly. Aallan, to his credit, tried to gently hint that he had regretted his previous encounter with her, and quickly spun an excuse for us to leave. I knew he was trying to spare me from being around her, though I felt no compulsion to flee her presence, finding her annoying and pesky, but not fearsome anymore. She quickly changed her tune from flirtatious to insulted, and began demanding that he apologize for trying to kiss her on the night he had visited her home. At that point, we had both had enough of her, and we did decide to leave.
After a quiet little supper at home, I made my way back in the evening, knowing I would find my beloved at the inn. And sure enough, the moment I walked through the door, my eyes found him. I made my way to his side, basking in the light of his smile, the two of us greeting the doctor, Raven, who was standing at the counter nearby. I inquired after his well-being, and he mentioned that a house he had bought had suffered a fire. Poor man…as if he doesn’t have enough to deal with, what with patching up half the town on a nightly basis, it seems. He seemed to be calm and pleasant, however, so I will conclude that all is well with him, and I am glad.
We then heard a voice shouting our names, and I saw Aallan and Cesistya sitting across the room, with none other than Nex, which utterly baffled me. No doubt she had approached them, as is her manner, lurking about like a vulture, waiting to see who she might accost next with her shallow flattery. In hindsight, we should have remained apart and never approached that table. I don’t want to recall every detail of what took place next. I will say that my dear friend, Baldmar, approached us, greeted us, offered a fresh bundle of honeycakes, and then spoke of his work in eliminating goblins and brigands from the surrounding countryside. And Nex, that viper, decided that this was her moment to stir up more trouble and dissension. She accused Baldmar of being a murderer. My hand quakes with fury to even write the word. If there were ever an honest, noble, selfless, genuine man of my knowledge, it is he. She went on to make preposterous assertions that brigands – the very same brigands who murder, rape, kidnap, and burn homes and property - were just “refugees trying to survive”. The idiocy was so vast and so mind-boggling that I could hardly comprehend what I was hearing. Aallan piped up then, boldly reminding her that he is a thief, though he only steals what has already been stolen, and he returns what he can to the peoples of Bree and the Shire. Naturally, she turned her condescension on him next, calling him “no better than a brigand”. By this point (and I have already recalled more than I wish to…damn it, Brynleigh), I was incensed, and stood up, declaring that she was not permitted to insult my friends, and that she needed to leave the table. I felt my beloved stand behind me, holding me lightly, as if he thought I might spring on her. She quickly descended into self-pity and feigned offense, and all her politeness melted away, revealing a bit of the true nature of the spider within. She thought she would make a few more parting accusations towards Aallan, loudly claiming that he had “forced himself on her”. I confess, I lost my temper at that point, and yelled just as loudly that he couldn’t have done so, since it was she who had wished to seduce him, going so far as to invite him home with her, and it was he who had fled her presence. Sadly, it also seems that she had decided to try and sink her fangs into the sweet, gentle Cesistya, who sat miserably through this entire affair. Nex bid Cesistya to follow her as she left, and the four of us all bade the elf maid to be cautious. She reassured me in the gentlest manner, and I felt my concerns ease somewhat under the calm composure of her smile. She is, after all, a wise and prudent woman, and I must trust her. We said our goodbyes then, as the fervor of my anger had left me quite exhausted. I noticed, just as I was about to turn away, that Baldmar’s fist was on the table, and the wood was bent and slightly splintered beneath it.
As soon as we were outside, my darling acted as if little had happened, and began asking me about my trick of calling Jack to my side with nothing but a whistle. Looking back now, I think he was trying to distract me from the ugliness that had just taken place, and I love him so dearly for doing so. I happily launched into a story about Jack’s Mearas bloodline, and then began telling him the story of Eorl and Felarof, and by the time we reached home, my mood was quite happy again. He told me of a dream he’d had…I won’t record it here…though I smile now to think of it. We said our goodbyes…or, we tried to. Somehow, my dress wound up torn, and he was carrying me into the house. I confess, I was afraid, not of him, but of what might’ve happened next. Perhaps he saw the anxiety in my eyes, for he simply carried me into the bedroom and tenderly tucked me into bed, before settling himself next to me, above the covers. He asked if he might stay, for he didn’t want to leave, and in that moment, I didn’t want him to go. I bade him stay, he wrapped me in his strong arms, and I slept the most peaceful sleep I can ever recall.
