An entry today filled with violence and mystery...but the damning of new light too. Today a passing matron in the street stared hard at me, then whispered to her companion that Bree always used to be such a quiet, pleasant town but it is no longer...I am forced to agree I think.
First of all, I spoke with Fille at the Pony last night when she had finished her labors. After our joyous and tender greetings she assured me that the Wolfslayer had not taken offense and my clumsiness (which Fille pretended she had not even noticed, so kind she is to me) and that she had resolved the situation that was troubling her concerning the boy. This was a relief, though I never heard the true import of that matter but as it is resolved it is of no consequence and all is well. I considered asking my dear Fille what had happened with the woman the Wolfslayer had mentioned who seemed to be the very face and form of her dead mother, who she had spied in the Pony...but I opted to leave that matter rest for now. As Fille so often tells me, I enough cares on my mind.
Even had I not restrained my curiosity, other matters would have driven it from our minds as we murmured to one another by the fire in happy converse, we attracted the attention of two vagabond rangers, or so they styled themselves. I was inclined to inquire of their business as they both seemed a bit the worse for wear, when a man stumbles from the back rooms of the Pony, soaked in blood and near to swooning. In fact, soon after he tried to make for the door, he did indeed swoon and slid wetly down the wall, leaving a deep crimson stain in the plaster. Truly, Barliman does have the devil's own time keeping this place clean, even were I a saint.
I asked the man if he needed aid, which I suppose must have seemed a bit silly as he was spurting blood from at least one wound to his chest and could no longer speak. Fille, being of a far kinder nature then myself rushed to his side and immediately called for a healer in the room but none was at hand. Fortunately, one of the two ragged rangers said he knew some small healing arts and took the man into a side room to tend his wounds.
Fille quite understandably was most concerned...not just for the stranger's health but her own secrets. If an assassin stalked the rooms of the Pony he must indeed be seeking something so why not her? Beyond that after our encounter with the mysterious Southron woman she is quick to see danger, which I feel is all to the good as it will help keep her safe.
After a time the ragged ranger returned and said the man would live and was even awake which was remarkable and showed I had underestimated his skill, for I thought without a proper healer or a sage of my own people well versed in the greatest of the healing arts, the man was doomed. Fille begged the ranger that she might speak to the man and he consented...at which point I stated that I would accompany dear Fille on her errand of mercy. I feel this caused the ragged ranger to take offense, feeling I did not trust him...which of course I did not. At any rate, as if with possible assassins lurking I would let a strange warrior lead Fille away into a darkened room, out of my sight.
In due time we spoke with the man, a common enough fellow who seemed local to me. Fille gently enquired of what had befallen him and in a weak voice he informed Fille that he was from Trestlebeidge and had come seeking aid with an Orc attack. Now Orcs? As he read quietly in a back room of the Pony, he claimed a man in blue armor, bearing a black star sigel and adorned with many daggers stabbed him three times for no reason and ran away into the night. He of course may have used the rear door of the Pony to escape without being seen, but all in all I found the entire story to be somewhat incredible. However I saw no reason for the man to lie, and to stab himself to make his talk more believable. Fille struck upon the blue armor as perhaps denoting an assassin of Dol Amroth, hence her father. I am unsure...the star is not a device of Gondor, but rather as the endlessly clever Fille pointed out, of the rangers of the north...as the mysterious healer seemed to be. Could there have been a connection? What dark business were those two dark, ragged rangers seeing to in Bree? This mystery is unresolved and I fear will be a shadow on dear Fille for some time as she is so distraught over the unanswered questions, but it may have some bearing on some of my other news as well...as mysterious assassins are suddenly as thick on the ground in Bree as are the shipless pirates it seems.
The other news I have also touches upon a great mystery but also upon a dawning light which I pray to Elbereth will drive away so many of the shadows which have formed around and within me.
Yesterday morning I was surprised to find the elderly Dame of Ingfled in the courtyard of the Pony in some distress. Ingfled is a sweet local girl I have come to know somewhat in passing, though her speech at times is most difficult to understand...and her mother is even harder to make sense of, as she seems usually to be angry. At any rate the Lady Arahen and myself made her acquaintance previously, thought she seemed most unsure of speaking with elves. I can understand such caution concerning myself for I am a rough huntress but surely even the aged of Bree can see the stars of the first dawn gleaming in the eyes of the Daughter of Orodreth, fairest of a fair folk.
At any rate the worthy Dame had returned to the Pony in great upset due to the fact her grown son had not returned home for two days and she was greatly concerned for his welfare The son was Ingfled's brother who I had often seen scolding Ingfled in the way an older brother will caution a young sister who tends to tarry in ale houses too much. There was clearly great love between them, but that love was strained as Ingfled sought to become a woman and her brother felt more and more the weight of adulthood on his shoulders compel him to restrain her.
As the Dame told me her sad tale of woe despite Ingfled trying to silence her, the Lady Arahen herself came forth, having risen from her rest, and quite graciously came to stand with me and bestowed upon me such signs of favor that I blushed for them. I fear the crowd of local folk kept me from showing her appropriate honors in greeting but she was very kind and considerate of the situation and did not seem offended. In fact, as she heard the tale of Ingfled's missing brother she was deeply moved and consented to assist in the search. Beyond that, wonder of wonders, she had such words of praise and favor for myself that I was near speechless. In my days in Imladris I would see those Nolder of her dignity and station at times feasting in Rivendell...but none would ever speak to me beyond a simple thanks for providing and dressing the game on which they feasted...nor would I expect them to. That she would take such an interest in me shows what a pure nature this beautiful daughter of Orodreth possesses.
As I attempted to collect myself from all this attention from the Lady Arahen, feeling like a farm girl who had stared too long into the sun, Ingfled told us a strange and ragged messenger had come into the farmstead before her brother disappeared bearing a letter which the boy alone read. Once he had finished it, he went into their cellar for a time in silence, then rode out without speaking a word...not to be seen again it seems.
After this news of a deepening mystery I had a dark feeling come upon me which the Daughter of Orodreth clearly shared for Lady Arahen resolved to go with the Dame to see what might have been in the cellar to cause the boy's behavior...and expressed a genuine and sweet confidence in my humble skills to defend her upon this mission. Truly when she stated this, I knew that should the Dark Lord himself descend upon her with all his fell Nazgul in a line and the hosts of Isengard behind them I would fend them all off with my last breath lest she be harmed in any way.
At the farmstead the Dame brought forth an aged casket, holding a local sword, somewhat rusted, of fair craft, and a pile of letters. Upon review it seemed clear that these letters were reports of unsolved crimes, proving that in his youth the father of Ingfled and her brother had been a Watcher of Bree, and poor Ingfled had never been the wiser. Could that fact, or the specific crimes there detailed, have been at the core of the mystery? Could it involve this mysterious blue-clad assassin? Why had Ingfled's brother gone forth without a word? Could the ragged rangers be involved?
I hope I will be able to say more with certainty in my next entry.
