((Adaptation of RP between Laarke and the dwarf, Frekial. This takes place mere hours after Battling for a Dwarf, despite my delay in posting.))
Laarke stepped out of the torrential downpour and into the Comb and Wattle Inn. In the still of the deserted tavern, the water from her rain-logged cloak dripped with an aggression that pierced the quiet. The woman pushed back her hood with her uninjured arm and looked around. A man, likely drunk, snoozed by the fireplace, and the young night keeper of the tavern stood behind the bar, gripping it nervously, watching a lone dwarf. The dwarf. The reason she was here. She watched as he downed an ale, wondering if she had done the right thing in letting him go. The axe with which he’d killed the man lay sheathed by his side within reach and her eyes traveled along its worn handle. Why had she let him walk away? He was like a hay bale near open flame.
She tore her eyes away from him and stepped over to the bar, wordlessly sliding a few coins across the worn wooden surface as was her wont. And the tavernkeep reached out to take them as he always did. But tonight he hesitated, blue eyes flashing upward with annoyance as the dwarf waved an arm.
“One more ale for the lass over here,” the dwarf called.
Laarke’s eyes, too, flashed annoyance, but only the tavernkeep could see. The dwarf had called her ‘lass’ earlier that eve and it had very nearly worn her mercy through. She wasn’t sure why the appellation bothered her so much, but she didn't have time to consider it now; the tavernkeep’s fingertips rested on the coins she had procured, and he raised a brow in silent question. She shook her head, gesturing for him to take them. She would pay for herself.
As the man set to finding a clean mug, Laarke allowed her gaze to flit back to the dwarf. He looked to be starting on his third ale already, and not particularly interested in slowing down. When the tavernkeep nudged her elbow, she took the ale he offered and let her feet follow her eyes to the dwarf’s side. But she hesitated to sit, pausing instead to take a slow sip as she watched him.
Again she wondered if she’d decided rightly. Seeing him sitting in this tavern alone made her realize that she’d been wrong about her own reasons. It had been out of sympathy, not mercy, that she had made that decision. She looked at him now and saw a lonely foreigner from the east with a past filled with violence through no fault of his own; a lonely foreigner not unlike herself.
But she had never killed a man already rendered helpless.
"You going to stand there all night?” the dwarf under consideration asked with a grin. “Sit down! Enjoy some ale with me!” He cheerfully beckoned her closer and raised his cup. “Don't worry,” he laughed boisterously, indicating her cup, “it's on me; or rather… on the dead man, ha!”
Yes, shout it from the rooftops, she thought wryly as he took a healthy swig. It was lucky that the only people there to overhear were a tavernkeep friendly to her and a drunkard still asleep. "Might want to keep it down about the 'dead man,'" she murmured evenly as she slid onto the bench across from him, "and I've already paid for this.” She raised her drink and tried to smile but got distracted by a pang the movement produced in her injured shoulder. She quickly hid her face in her drink, taking the opportunity to watch him over its rim as she took a long-drawn sip.
"So, I suppose we haven't introduced ourselves, seeing how you unjustly tied me up,” he continued, seeming not to have noticed. “However: water under the bridge, ey?” He chuckled and waved a hand dismissively.
You’re one to talk, she thought. If he’d stopped throwing fists when she’d asked him to, she’d have had no need to force him out of the Prancing Pony in the first place.
“Name’s Frekial,” he continued, oblivious to her thoughts. “Dwarf through and through." He raised his mug to her then took another swig.
“Laarke," she responded simply, lowering her mug to the table. She cradled it with both hands, waiting for him to say more. He had invited her here, and that implied a purpose.
"Aye,” Frekial seemed unperturbed by her laconicism, “so, Laarke: I'm guessing since you're here and not home with some unfortunate lad, I take it that you aren't fancying anyone."
Excuse me?
He gulped down the rest of his ale. "Oi, another ale!"
Laarke raised a brow, well aware that she looked a good deal older than she was... certainly past the age of frivolous snogging, or whatever it was Bree-land youth were expected to do when they ‘fancied’ someone. "No,” her tone was a little harsh, she realized, “those times are past."
Those times never happened, she corrected, internally.
"It's never too late, lass!"
Laarke felt her mouth begin to purse itself. She tamed it into neutrality in time to avoid scowling up at the tavernkeep as he approached.
“Excuse me, will you also be renting a room?” The tavernkeep’s voice was soft as he carefully watched her face. He was holding Frekial’s drink, but his question was addressed to her.
Bless him, always so polite. She gave him a small smile as she declined the room with a shake of her head. Then, hopefully, "Stew, if you've any left?"
The corner of his mouth twitched into a hint of a smile as he nodded, and her eyes rested on the back of his head as he moved toward the back.
~~~
“Aye,” the dwarf’s voice pulled her back into the common room, “so what's to be done with those men we jailed? Think I can have a few words with them?"
Laarke paused, taking a pull of her ale as she mastered the rush of annoyance that had unexpectedly flooded through her. "I don't know for certain," she finally said. "I think they're like to be held a while, maybe put in the stocks for a day or two. You might be able to talk to them then. But..." Another sip. "You might want to lie low awhile."
“Aye I intend to do that, yet I still require a few things here before I set off again. It is easy to ask but quite difficult to obtain.” Tilting back his head, he downed the entirety of his newly acquired ale in a few large gulps. “Another one!” he yelled at the tavernkeep, and Laarke contained an exasperated sigh: the man was standing right there!
He looked up from the task of carefully setting Laarke’s stew down in front of her and stared at the dwarf for a moment. Then quietly, with a glance spared her way, he nodded and headed back to the bar.
Laarke tore a bit of bread from the chunk he’d given her. Again her shoulder complained. "What are these things that bring you to Bree?" she asked casually.
“Well you see,” he looked around the room, eyes lingering on the drunkard by the fire, “I’m fixing to go back to Mordor.”
What?! Laarke’s arm dropped heavily to the table, abandoning its previous task of dunking bread into stew.
“So, I need a group that’s well suited for the task,” the dwarf continued.
“You want to go back?”
“Aye, I do,” he stared at his now empty cup, his voice somber. “Truth be told I only remember so much about my life. Now,” Frekial glanced up for a moment, “I might not be the brightest dwarf but I know this: I can remember my name. I remember what I’ve done in Mordor.” His eyes went back to the ale. “But I do not remember anything before that. No idea to where I come from, what family I have. Nothing comes to mind.”
He looked up at her again, and this time his eyes held her own as his voice grew graver yet. “I intend to travel back to Mordor in search of answers of my past.”
She stared. For once, she barely noticed as the tavernkeep reached past her shoulder to deposit a pitcher of ale in front of the dwarf. The man moved back to the bar, blissfully ignorant of what ‘Mordor’ even was. “Is there nowhere else you can search, first?" she asked after a dumbfounded pause.
“Sadly there isn’t,” he grunted, pouring himself another drink. “Perhaps along the way I may find something, but it would only make sense to go back to where it all started.” He downed the ale and poured another.
After a moment, she turned back to her stew. "Hard to get a group that will go to M-.. there… willingly," she said, schooling her face and leveling her voice even as she stumbled over naming ‘Mordor’ aloud. "Are you in a rush?" she asked as though discussing a trip to the market.
“The sooner the better.”
She scooped up a bit of beef with her neglected piece of bread.
“Oi, why don’t you come along with me? You look like you can handle yourself well.”
Not a chance, she thought. But still she felt the beginning of an idea bloom and shoveled up a large spoonful of stew to give herself time to think. She chewed, came to a decision, swallowed. Perhaps two birds could be killed with one stone.
"I've worked hard to make a life here," she said finally, hesitating a moment to look at the dwarf again, "but I might be able to help you, if going back is what you really want."
“What a shame,” he replied, disappointed. “But how can you help me?”
"Find you a group, in a roundabout fashion," she said, taking another bite of stew. Again she chewed, came to a decision, swallowed. The longer she thought about it, the better the idea seemed. "There's a fellow, name's Anarthan," She chased the stew down with a sip of ale. "He's looking for people to go with him on some kind of a rescue mission. Not to That Land but," she took another bite of stew to consider her words.
“But?...” Frekial prompted.
"Might be the kind of people you need, if you're to have a chance of convincing anybody to go There with you."
He sat in uncharacteristic silence for a while, thinking. “This... Anarthan,” he finally spoke again. “Is he reliable?”
Laarke had taken a particularly large bite to finish off her stew while Frekial considered, and it took her a while to finish chewing... Not that she was in a rush. "I'll be honest," she finally said, looking up to catch Frekial's eye. "I barely know him. But the man's a Ranger. That's got to mean something.” As she used a piece of bread to clean her bowl, she wondered if Frekial knew what a Ranger was.
“I see,” he answered, as if he could hear her thoughts. “I know not much of rangers but if you think he is a capable man, then it is something to consider.” He downed his sixth ale of the night but nudged the pitcher toward her rather than pour himself another.
“Lass, are you sure you don’t want to come along? Living a life here may be nice for now, but it’ll not be long before something happens, I fear.” He looked away. “What is it? I do not know, but it’s a feeling of uneasiness.”
She chuckled dryly, staring into her empty bowl. "Not sure I'd call life here 'nice,' but it's better than what I left behind." She paused. "No," she shook her head, "I'll be staying here. But it's good of you to want me along." With an internal start, she realized she was still absent-mindedly mopping out the bowl and stopped.
"As for the other question, I've had good dealings with Rangers in the past, if few. This one..." she finally looks up. "I'm not sure how he'd react to knowing you to be from Mordor. Not that there are many who would react well." She popped the stew-tinged bread into her mouth.
"Perhaps it's not much of an option,” she shut her mouth and chewed, ending her unusually long string of words.
Frekial watched her for a moment. “If that’s the case where is this man now?”
"He'll be in the Pony," she chuckled dryly, remembering that Frekial had reason to avoid the place. "Tomorrow morning. He's offering two silver as payment."
“In that case I will go and speak to the man,” the dwarf straightened a bit. “Tell me: how many fellows have you sent to this man already?” Laarke held up two fingers, and he nodded slowly in response. "So what are you going to do now lass? It may be possible that this will be the last time we will speak for a very long time."
Laarke shrugged slightly. "Stick around here," her eyebrow quirked as she looked at him. "Nothing exciting."
“I see... well thank you for your help lass, surely this will not be forgotten. It is unfortunate that I may not be around to ask those bastards anything about tonight; however, that is another matter for another time.”
She nodded. She didn't have anything in particular to say.
“Well lass,” he stood with a sigh. “I’m pretty beat up after today and I’ll probably head back to my room for some rest. You’re invited of course!”
She raised a brow skeptically.
“I only jest but do be careful going home,” he laughed.
Laarke nodded, sipping her ale. She didn't find the jest humourous, but neither was she offended. In any case, she recognized it as a friendliness on his part and reached another decision. "I'll be looking into what happened tonight," she said, thinking about the two ruffians recently confined to jail. "In case you return to Bree."
"Well in that case I shall leave that up to you,” Frekial nodded. "Surely I will be back in Bree again, assuming nothing goes wrong on the way to Mordor." His tone was joking as he turning away, but that did not assuage her in the least.
It will go wrong in Mordor. Grimly she tilted her head back, finishing her single, solitary ale of the evening. "Be careful," she said, watching him make his way into the back.
~~~
She stared in the direction the dwarf had gone a moment longer, then her eyes drifted toward the bar. He was watching her as he often did, and as his eye caught hers her lips twitched into a momentary smile. Then her thoughts took a dark turn and she quickly looked away, reaching out to pour herself a second drink, wincing slightly as the movement pained her shoulder. She realized, somewhat vaguely, that she would have to have somebody look at it.
Tomorrow, she thought, as she stared into her drink. I’ll do it tomorrow. It wasn’t the first time she’d gotten hurt on the job.
Movement flashed at the corner of her eye, telling her that he too had turned away. Ignoring the pain in her arm, relishing it, even, she lifted her cup and drank. Had the dwarf yet been there, she could have competed with him for speed.
