I've never been one for writing much. I don't much care to have to deal with my thoughts twice - once in my head, then again on paper. But Aelf always said he wanted me to write a book about our years together. Our adventures and such. I never intended to, and I don't really intend to now. But he's been on my mind lately, and I found this battered old book behind the dresser in my room at the Pony. It was empty, no words in it, no name on it. So I may as well put it to use.
There's no point in going over the months since Aelf died. A lot of sitting, drinking, and staring at walls. So we can skip that for now.
I've been trying to make myself get out into the common area of the inn more. Maybe meet some folk, share a drink. I'll have to find work again soon. That much is plain and certain. The money me and Aelf piled up between ourselves has served me well, and it'll last a while longer, but it's a fool who spends all he has without working to earn more. I know he'd be disgusted with how I've been using my time. I know what he'd say. And he'd be right. Time to get back to living, Aldwyn.
Last night, I was sat out there with my ale and a bowl of something or other. There was quite a party of folk about, talking and making merry. Some gloomy looking fellows hunched up against the wall, too. I didn't see this particular lass come in, but I saw her sit down at the table next to mine. I was shoved into the corner, and she looked like she hoped to hide in the shadows, same as me. I finished my supper and she was still sitting there, staring into her mug. I thought about Aelf. I thought about my promise to get back to life and stop lumping around. I thought that the only way to get back to the high times of traveling and adventuring is to take the first step outside of myself. So I asked her if she wanted to have her drink at my table. She looked over at me and shrugged and then came on over.
I think we must've talked half the night. She was a Bree lass, I could tell from her speech, though her hair was an odd color, a bit like mine, in fact. She had a right nice bow that she apparently made herself. I asked why she was sitting and drinking alone, when there were some people nearby that seemed jolly enough. This is where this story gets interesting. She didn't want to talk about anything at first. It was like trying to get a stubborn mule to move. I didn't rush her, just sat and waited and had another ale and watched her. She didn't look up for a solid hour. When she finally did, her face was like a dog that had been kicked one too many times, and her eyes were begging for something, but bless me if I knew what it was. She finally started blurting things out in this odd way, stammering bits and pieces that didn't fit together at first. I slowed her down and told her to breathe and back up and start from the start.
It's not my place to share her tale here. And even though she talked till the sun was about to come back up, there was much that she didn't tell me, simply because there wasn't time. But by the time she got towards the end, and the tavern had emptied out, and old Butterbur was snoring behind the bar, I started to understand why she had that look in her eyes. And I told her this: When a person's done or said something to hurt another person, and they're sorry for it, they owe that person to look them in the eye and say they're sorry out loud. None of this garbage about sparing feelings and being better off staying away. That's a coward right there, that is. A man owns up to his actions, and his words, and unless he can look her in those sad eyes of hers and apologize, he's a bloody damn coward.
I don't think my little speech brought her much comfort. She only looked all the sadder after it. She said she was going to get a room and try to sleep a little before going on her way. I asked where she was headed, but she wouldn't say. I asked what her name was, and she wouldn't tell me that, either. I asked if she would at least stick around long enough to have supper with me the next day, and I'd pay for it. She gave me an empty smile, but she said she would.
I've never written so much in my life. My hand aches. I hope you're pleased, Aelf.
I'm promising myself something else now. After I see the lass again, I'm going back to Adso's. It's been nigh on a year and a half since I was there, but maybe they'll remember me. Maybe they'll have word about work to be done, goods to be moved. I won't know unless I try. And it's time to give life another go.
