As the sun slowly progressed along the morning sky, casting its first magnificent golden rays along the Brougham neighbourhood in Bree-land as though it tried to paint the landscape itself. Most of the inhabitants were not yet up, giving the impression of a peaceful, quiet start of a day and in so contributing to the tranquil portrait created by dawn itself. In the near vicinity of Fountain Street, only one individual stirred. One would assume this person to be an occupant, if not the owner, of to be precise 3 Fountain Street. A Woman, to be sure, judging by the silhouette, were one to approach. Upon closer inspection still, this Woman seemed, perhaps to some, unusual. Battle-hardened would perhaps be the best term to be applied in her current state. Grey eyes reflected memories of times past, tinged with a hint of melancholy, though not per sé sadness, looked out over the lake that was situated deep below the rockface that supported the dwelling behind her as a breeze tugged playfully at a few rebellious strands of aubrun hair, seemingly determined to have it interfere with her field of vision.
A thin scar lined her left cheek, a silent but solemn witness to the battles this Woman must have seen in her days, although at first sight, she did not appear to be all that old yet. Perhaps mid-twenties at a rough guess. Her physique reminisced of military training; indeed, her entire stance seemed to exude it. Were one to venture another guess, an educated one at that, one would probably conclude this Woman to be, or have been, a shield-maiden. Although, strangely mayhap, her direct features did not seem to have her hail from Rohan, where such Women were perhaps a little more common. No. One with knowledge of the race of Man, would put her from the Dale lands.
“So much has changed since last I was in the South… so many familiar faces, now untraceable…”, she muttered to herself. Soon, her companion, a veteran of the war like her, would awaken and she would return to business as usual. They had come here on an errant, and he, Adaron, had found it peculiar that she owned a house in these parts. But he had known better than to question her on it. They were, after all, nothing but colleagues, soldiers in arms.
He knew nothing of her previous endeavours in the South. The mercenary life she had lived with the Northwind Free Company. The Dwarf who had once seen her as nothing short of her being his own daughter. Nor of the Elf who had tried to court her on more than one occasion, much to her own dismay. It all seemed but a distant, fading dream now. But in these hours, the early hours of the dawn, she was allowed to remember, and remember she did. It was both a curse and a blessing, but she never forgot…
A brief glance upward to the never failing sun brought her thoughts back to the here and now, though. Thoughts of daily tasks, such as the preparation of breakfast. Tomorrow, the dawn would once again be hers, reminiscing would have to wait until then.
