The girl was known to the world as Sairona. It was not her original name, of course. That one had been taken from her by her step-mother when she was still but a child, just old enough to remember that she had once been held another name, but not old enough to be able to recall it now. The moniker bestowed upon her at birth had, like everything else in her short life, been a subject of contention with the woman who had raised her. It had existed only at the woman's sufferance and stripped away as yet another show of power. To the child, it should have been a basis for identity, but to the adult in charge it had been just another way to assert her authority and prove in no uncertain terms that the youngster was helpless.
Almost a year had passed since Sairona had fled that toxic environment, slipping away into the night with little more than the clothes upon her back, a necklace that was rightfully hers and a letter she had no way to interpret. Now, she stood upon the outskirts of Rohan, her clothing of slightly better quality but becoming frayed with wear and the ravages of the life she had taken up. She had little to show for it. The coins in her pocket were low value, the few trinkets she had scraped together from the barrows she had passed had yet to be sold and, much more pertinently, she was still as cold and hungry as she had been upon the night of her departure.
Stopping before a tavern in the dim twilight, she slipped a hand into her pocket, pulling free the tokens within. A silver and five copper. It would not be enough for a meal and a bed. Not for the first time, she considered the sale of the garnet, sapphire and platinum necklace that she carried. Not for the first time, she discarded the notion just as quickly. This thing, this beautiful string of jewels, was the only connection she had to a mother she would never meet. It was the only reminder that her life could have turned out so much differently, her only source of comfort in the cruel, harsh world in which she had lived for so long.
With a soft sigh of resignation, she forced her feet forward, Maybe the proprietor would be kind, offering a smaller meal. Something was better than nothing, after all. Placing her hand to the door, she pushed it open, squinting her eyes against the bright lights within. She tried to conduct herself with confidence, she wanted nothing more than to project an air of assurance. False though it would have been, she would be less likely to attract the wrong kind of attention that way. Yet, despite her best efforts, she found that her chin dipped lower than she intended, her gaze avoiding everyone.
"What can I buy for this?" she asked, holding out her upturned palm as she reached the bar.
The tender stared down at the few coins upon it. He sucked in his cheeks, hissing out a long, low sigh. "Not much," he told her.
"Oh, I... nevermind," she mumbled out, head lowering further as she turned to leave.
"Wait," the tender commanded, leaning over the bar to catch hold of her wrist. "I'm not without pity, girl and you look like you need some kindness right now. Tell you what; find a quiet corner and wait. When the tavern closes for the night, I'll see what leftovers we have for you."
Surprised, Sairona turned again, looking up at him with uncertain gratitude. The man leaned back, his hand loosening its grip at her unusual appearance; skin too dark and eyes too pale to belong to a native, yet the few locks of hair that showed beneath her hood were very red, almost impossibly so. There was a brief flash of something in his gaze, an unidentifiable thing that caused her heart to stop and her throat to tighten. Would he change his mind now? Would he run her out of the place?
"Aye, go on," he nodded, wafting his hand in the general direction of the corner.
Too desperate to look a gift horse in the mouth, Sairona nodded her understanding and made her way over to the area indicated, carefully skirting around the patrons as she went. She sat there, silent and hunched, doing her best to blend into the shadows whilst all around her men made merry in their cups. An hour passed, maybe two, before someone bothered to notice her.
"'Ey there, missy!" a large burly man called to her, a grin plastered dumbly across thick lips belonging to a reddened face. Unfocused eyes settled dubiously upon her. ''And who might you be?"
"Just a traveler," she mumbled.
"Wha's'at?" the man boomed, thick blonde beard swaying in the opposite direction to the sway of his body. "Speak up now!"
She repeated herself a little more loudly, feigning a firmness of voice and stance that she most certainly did not feel. Luckily, the mans attention was pulled away by a joke told across the table. Sairona cringed inwardly. The laughter, loud and obnoxious, left her feeling vulnerable and exposed. Pressing herself further back into the corner, she hunkered down and waited.
One by one, the patrons left the tavern, passing through the doors to go home or heading upstairs to rented rooms. One by one, the place emptied. The waitresses gave her speculative looks as they cleaned and swept, pinching out the candles until only one was left alight. Soon, even they were gone and she was alone with the tender.
"Here," he spoke gently, coming to sit next to her. The proffered plate held upon it several items of food, leftovers from the days cooking as promised. He placed a tankard next to it; water, clean and sparkling in the dim light.
"Thank you," she whispered, tucking ravenously into the food.
The tender watched, an amused smile tugging at his lips as she ate. "What's your name?" he asked when she was done.
Sairona cringed inwardly. She couldn't tell him that! What if word made its way back to those she had fled? What if they heard and came to reclaim her or the necklace? What if..?
"Well then, little Silver," he spoke, flicking his fingers toward her eyes in explanation for his choice. "You're an unusual girl. Strange looking, but pretty."
"Uhh.. thank you?" she sputtered, discomforted by the compliment.
The tender smiled, his hand raising further to brush his fingertips against her cheek. She flinched backwards. He pressed forward.
"Nothing is for free," he murmured, moving inexorably toward her. "And you are so beautiful..."
Frozen now, knowing what he wanted from her but fearful of allowing it, she just stared. If she had realised this would be the price for a meal, if she had recognised that glint in his eye, she would have left long since!
But this wasn't like those other times, was it? He wasn't acting hostile or out of derision or scorn. This wasn't a punishment inflicted. This was... different. His lips against hers were warm and soft, his touch light and gentle. If she closed her eyes, if she pushed away her trepidation and concentrated on what she felt now, in this moment, she could almost fool herself into believing that this man cared. There had been so little of that in her life, so little that felt good or tender. A lie it might be, told by his body and accepted by hers, but she needed that. When he wrapped his arms about her, picking her up bodily to carry away into the loft room he called his own, she did not resist.
In the hour before dawn, as the suns first light brought a blush to the darkened skies, she gathered her belongings and crept from the room. The girl, once known to the world as Sairona, had been left behind in the corner of that tavern. The girl, once known as Sairona, had entered the tavern in the dim twilight, but the girl who strode away was altogether different in demenor.
Silver, she mused as her worn boots pressed the dewey grass stalks down into the soft soil. I like that.
