Post by Tallaith on Nov 3, 2009 20:22:51 GMT -5
First of all, I want to say that this is meant to move along some stories involving both Cay and Lea, and of course Brendur. It was also very, very hard for me to write this because I didn't like doing this to my character, but what can I say? Shit happens.
This post is a bit different than what you could call my normal contribution to text-based RP. There are some pretty nasty themes here, so if you're easily put-out, don't read any more. Learn what you will from heresay.
This story begins on the same day that the Kinship ventures into Goblin-Town. You may see me logged on and playing as Leasung, but IC she's held prisoner in an encampment until Brendur returns to resolve things. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do to run a Kin.
The poor little lass looked just miserable, the hostler mused as he took the reins of the hired horse from the young lady. She was soaked to the core, despite her oiled woolen cloak, in this cold, foggy evening.
"Looks like you could do with a hot bath, hot cider, and hot bed, miss."
Leasung scanned the rain-slicked and crumbling walls of the Ranger fort known as Esteldin. The rain was quickly freezing; a long droplet coursed down the peak of her hood and plopped
on her frigid nose. She watched her breath smoke in the fading afternoon, counted to four to collect herself, and turned to the stableman.
"It looks like you could do with some schooling in manners. Your opinions are best kept to yourself in the company of your betters." She grabbed her traveling bag from the now-wide-
eyed man, turned on her heel, and began to stalk across the muddy courtyard.
"Wait! Ye fergot this!"
She grudged the man with a sigh as she turned back, her well-practiced cool demeanor dropped and shattered as soon as she saw the woven pannier in his hands. The little basket had been strapped to the rear of the saddle and it proved her exhaustion that she had not noticed it's absence on her own!
"T-thank you." She took the basket and flipped the man a few pieces of copper. She knew he grinned as he watched her set it down with all the care of one handling a priceless piece of crystal; she opened the lid and a little creature sprang out with a gleeful yip. "My dog, you see."
"Aye, um. I see." The man nearly fell over his own heels as he skipped back from the attentions of the horribly ugly little animal. The dog sniffed around in a frenzy, cocking it's leg on everything in sight.
"Pikell! Stop that!" The dog ignored his mistress, but did not let her stray from his sight, as he began circling the encampment.
The stableman shook his head with a quiet laugh as the little princess and her putrid dog melted into the foggy darkness.
Leasung spent the remaining hour of daylight skulking from fire to fire; as soon as she thought she recognized a face or that her presence was noticed, she moved on. She whiled away the last of her silver this way, passing from one meager vendor's lean-to shelter or tent to another. She cherished the fires they kept more than the coarse bread and sour ale she bought. Pikell had more than his share of both, dancing around her mud-clumped boots with the bright grin only an idiotic, stinky dog can sport without shame.
The grey day disolved at last into a sodden night. The rain had not slackened and now it froze as it fell, crystalizing on everything in the ruins and giving the whole place the sheen of adamant. The vendors began to close their businesses for the night. Only a tinker and an ancient woman hawking beer and clotted soup stayed on duty to serve midnight travelers.
Leasung's stomach was a clump of ice as she watched the courtyard ready itself for bed. She had trapped herself in this lonesome place; she would be blessed to pass the night in any
more comfort than could be found in a haystack behind the stables. She wasn't even sure how to find him, or precisely what she would do when she did.
She spent most of the long, solitary ride here thinking deeply on that, and a few other matters. Leasung wouldn't allow herself the comfort of the truth. She'd rationalized her hasty actions; she spent every step of the road to Esteldin telling herself she cared no more for the man she left behind than she cared for the nameless boy who served the mead at the Prancing Pony.
Finally, the girl and her dog found a relatively dry corner in a stall just vacated by a cobbler. She curled up behind the embers of the dying fire, the mongrel wrapping himself around her ankles, the pair barely noticable in the dark nook. A casual glance would reveal her as the crouching figure of perhaps a young boy, draped in an icy and colorless cloak.
The evening ached forward. Leasung hugged her knees tightly, gripping her own body as a buoy to carry her through the worst moments of her life. She watched the rain's gentle, inplacable fall beat the sorry fire down to nearly nothing and before the last sparkle of life left it, she made a decision.
Her hands trembled in both cold and horror as she found a scrap of paper in her bag. She found a singed stick in the guttering campfire and dashed out a note:
Brendur-
I made a mistake. I am in Esteldin. Please come.
-L.G.
Her body was stiffened and throbbing with cold and weariness as she gathered her things and made her way from the marginal heat and light of the fire to the mailbox. She dropped the letter in the slot before she could change her mind, hot tears thawing tracks down her cheeks. For an instant, she clawed at the opening in the box, hoping she could snatch the letter back.
Pikell seemed to find this amusing, skipping and bouncing between her feet, wetting the mailbox's post very thoroughly. Leasung spared him a smile out of habit. She was surprised,
honestly, to see him acting so chipper after his strange supper last night. He'd swallowed half of a handkerchief, a bronze earring, and that ridiculous bit of pretty cloak-pin Ceallian gave her. She had no choice but to wait and see what he passed in time; she knew of no healer who would tend to the dog on promises and credit alone.
She realized, as she peeled off half of a fingernail she'd torn against the iced metal, how foolish she truly was. She watched the little dog gnaw his hind paw, pausing for breath only long enough to pass wind. He would have no more supper from her until she knew exactly what her next steps would be; but he still loved her, depsite her flaws, and this hurt her deeply. She cradled her head on the mailbox, her arms folded on it to serve as a pillow as she finally began to cry like a little bairn.
"Pardon me?"
Her mind was so dull she didn't even muster a squeak of surprise at the low, cultured voice. She whirled away from the mailbox, her face deeply sunk into her cloak as she turned to face the darker corner of the courtyard. She barely noticed the dog scamper off into the shadows without so much as a token offer of a protective growl.
"Pardon me. I believe we know each other."
Leasung froze, her heart throbbing in a wild, frantic rhythm. She spoke softly, without turning back to the dark man. "Do we?"
The man spoke in flawless Rohirric now. "Yes. We do. Before we speak of business, perhaps you would like to rest and refresh yourself?"
Leasung answered sharply, if for all intents politely, in her own tongue. "No. But thank you. I am just leaving." She turned, her eyes on the toes of the stout boots Brendur gave her not long ago. Her first step was cut short as her forehead bumped into the man's chest.
"Odd." He continued in Rohirric as his hand fell to her shoulder in a firm clamp. "I had a letter from you. Another business venture, perhaps?" His grip tightened just enough to make her curl her toes. "What would your grandmother think? If she knew she raised a young lady so disposed to lies?"
Leasung finally glared up at him hotly. His dark face and black hair nearly melted into the night; regardless, she felt herself thaw somehow, deep in her belly, just from his closeness. He towered nearly a foot and a half over her and she knew that his ankle-length cloak, made of the best wool to be found, concealed a bristling arsenal of blades.
"Now." The man's voice was a smooth, comfortable purr. "Are you sure you would not like to have some hot food and put on some proper clothes?" He was too well-bred to betray his distaste of her state with expressions or tone of voice, but she knew him well. She read his eyes. Either she could comply, or she would pay for her rebellion.
"Of course. How could I refuse such a kindness?" She surrendered easily. So easily her face flamed in shame.
He laughed and steered her across the courtyard. His stone grip on her shoulder kept her from falling as her boots skidded in the freezing slushy mud. She did not question how he knew of her arrival; she yielded to him as he led her to the massive pavillion, cast high on a ruined ledge of an ancient balcony over the fort.
The morning brought feathery snow to Esteldin, masking the pitted, rock-hard frozen mud of the courtyard below. Leasung had watched the first few flakes spiral down as she washed in
nearly-iced water, her bath made private by three men, turned carefully away, holding up blankets near the cistern.
The dawn sun was pale and sick, barely making itself known in the fog of misty snow. Her teeth chattered as she slid into a dress the same color of this strange light; he had brought some of her things from home. She remembered this gown, and the silver girdle, though she had never worn them. Gifts he brought her from his own homelands in the south.
The rough, thick silk did not offer her enough protection from the cold to stop her shivering. The trio of men escorted her back into the expansive pavillion as soon as she was dressed; she learned when she awoke that she would not be given a pair of shoes or a cloak. Why would she need items for travel, if she was planning to stay in this palatial tent?
The three men did not speak to her and seemed to barely dare glances in her direction. They were faceless, ageless, nameless. His men in every way. She let them herd her through the
passages made of tapestry and fur and draped blankets, into the central hall of the pavillion. He was already there, breakfasting with his advisors near the abundant central fire.
Leasung let herself be pushed silently down onto a stool beside his chair. She took what he gave her from his plate and mindlessly ate and drank; everything was distilled for her now
into a game of distraction. What could she do to occupy her mind, so she would not have to think about the reality of her life at this moment?
After a long while, long enough for her back to develop a coiled ache from perching on the stool, he dismissed the men to tend to their morning business. Only the trio of guards, who
moved near the doorway of the large room, an ancient man seated behind a stack of ledgers and an abacus, and his personal footman stayed behind.
He turned to her with a soft smile. "Lytling. You are losing weight. Your grandmother would not be pleased."
Lytling. His pet name for her. She grated her teeth in a demure smile as his soft words degraded her into no more than a silly, careless child. "Aye. I do not have the comforts of home."
"What would people say, when I take nothing more than a bundle of sticks and straw, to be my wife?" He shook his head with an indulgent laugh. "We will change that. You will have
only the best once again."
She somehow managed another smile without shrieking.
The footman refilled his cup. The dark man drank slowly, seeming to relish in making her wait. She hoped her face didn't betray her anxiety over his next words; she could almost count the moments between his breaths as she leaned forward, only a fraction, towards him.
"I know what this business of yours is. Do you think I am a fool? I have eyes in Bree-Town, and everywhere else." His tone remained civil, soothing, polite, in every way. "I have interests in many, many types of businesses. Some I would not expect you to understand, as a lady. Others, they are so dangerous or fragile that I prefer to tend to them through many other people. This 'business' of yours relates to a 'business' of mine. The diversion of gambling is very profitable to men of breeding. And I think I know why you are here."
He set down his cup and placed his massive hand in her lap, covering both of her own small hands neatly folded there. "Have you met Master Richard? He is my financial counsel, you could say. He travels with me everywhere. Three times a day, at the least, I meet with him to speak of my business matters. Every day. As we have done for the past nine years."
Leasung was unsure what he wanted of her, but she offered the ancient man, who nodded at the mention of his name, a blank smile. "Brem holca, eie leord."
He seemed pleased with this, patting her hands tenderly. "Your dowry, Lytling, was very substantial. I am sure you are aware that it compromises nearly one third of my worth now; your grandmother could have bought you your own small kingdom if you had been a boy. Richard has had his work made for him in managing these funds. So you see, my care and esteem for you is not just as a man cares for his future wife. You are a source of great wealth for me. I cannot let anything happen to you."
Leasung watched his lips move. She watched the tiny creases at the corners of his long, black, ladylike eyelashes when he blinked. She played the game, the game, the game... How many eyelashes can you count, Lytling? To not hear what is plainly being said?
"So.. back to what I spoke of. My work here. You know much, I take it, about the Copper Hat Lads and what they do based on your recent.. 'friendships.' They are only a tiny part of my many enterprises, and until now have done my work for me well and without intervention. I am connected so distantly with their dealings I am held accountable no more for what they do than the average farmer who drops his silver at their tables. I send them gold, they spend it however they like, and in exchange, I have special access to their sport and I recieve returns from what they make.
I in no way tell them what to do, interact with them face-to-face, or question how they run their business. All I know of the Copper Hat Lads is told to me in gold. I am a financier. Do you understand? I am no common criminal. I am a gentleman with more coin to gamble than the average card-player. I play their games on a larger scale."
Leasung nodded slowly, peeking up to him for only an instant from beneath the loose fall of her dark honey hair. She couldn't do it! She was finally here, with him, and had her entire future, all the security she could want, right before her, to be bought with only a few words! But.. if she spoke them aloud, where was her freedom? She swallowed dry, sour spittle. Perhaps he only wanted to hear himself speak and would not ask anything of her.
"You see, Lytling, how strange it is for one such as me to even be here? In this gods-hated camp, surely the coldest and murkiest place in Arda to be at this season? This is no place
for people of our breeding. I hate every moment I spend here, and you know as well as I that three and a half weeks have passed now with my pavillion cast in this shite-pit of a place. Why? Do you know why I am here?"
She made no movement or sound, now staring at his hand laid like a blanket over hers. He didn't care if she acknowledged him or not. She counted the miniscule hairs on the backs of his knuckles. Odd. Not many people had hair on the same joint as their fingernails. His nails were neatly trimmed, perfectly cleaned and shaped. Hers.. were not.
"Someone has been tampering with my things, Lytling. No man of any mettle likes that, or tolerates it. If I were a simple farmer and an intruder was stealing our grain at night, would you want me to sit back and allow him to do so, and us wanting for bread in the winter? Of course not! And if I were this same farmer, and my neighbor wished to lay hands on my wife, would I permit him to do so? Hardly! Do you understand, Lytling? I am no farmer, and you will not be a farmer's wife! Any slackness in their moral code can be accredited to breeding, to allow such tresspasses. But we, we of pure blood.. We are to be examples. Tell me. Tell me you understand."
She murmured nearly silently in Rohirric, "Yes." She always lapsed into her own tongue when she was tired, or hurting, or scared, or worried to distraction. She admired the perfect earth-colored arches of his fingertips laid against the ivory of her own skin.
"Where is he?" His massive hand tightened suddenly on her own, grinding the bones of her fingers together in a grip so tight she felt her joints squeal and spark into firey balls of pain. "I read the letter you wrote to him. And put it back in the post, in case you do not use your best judgement. He will come to me, but you can make this so much easier. And even redeem yourself, Lytling. Where is he? Where does he camp outside of the gates of Bree, where the Watch will not let me reach him?"
She whimpered. He was a thunderstorm lumbering on the horizon of a summer dusk; heat, sweet and lulling breezes of delicious comfort, and always, always the promise of an explosion. Sometimes, the storm passed by. Others, it struck and wrought itself out in furies unmatched by any other weather. She clenched her teeth on her lip to still herself from speaking, and shook her head. She squeezed her eyes closed.
"He will be here as soon as he gets that moronic letter. Mind you..." She tried to stop her shrill scream of panic and pain as he stood, his hand still locked on both of hers, and lifted her with him. He raised her high above the floor, her toes dangling around his knees when she finally broke, panting like a hurting animal, and opened her eyes to meet his, "..I know all there is to know about the two of you. I am not pleased. You are worthless to me
now. I cannot even trust you to keep your legs closed?!"
He seemed to swallow down his temper as he let her hang before his face like a trapped coney ready for slaughter. His tone deepened, mellowing back to his normal polite purr. "There is no forgiveness for one like you. But somehow I must find a way... I cannot return the dowry to your grandmother. I cannot repay what was paid for you because I lost it all in my dealings with the Copper Hat Lads! No one will touch them now because of this
nonsense! Because of this man," he spit the word bitterly, spraying her greying face, "I may lose my fortune! Even when I find him and punish him, it is not enough. He has touched my things and broken them!"
His hand spasmed on hers; she felt something pulverize in her left palm as the bones finally gave way. She didn't feel herself hit the floor when he dropped her, staring up at him from behind the netting of her hair. He towered, wheeling and lurching, through her vision like a giant in a nightmare.
"I have a solution to this. I have had three weeks now to plan. And knowing that you lay with him like a whore makes this enjoyable, really. You like to pretend to be a whore? Is that a pleasant diversion now for young ladies with the best breeding?" He didn't bother to lean closer so she could focus her fading attention on him. She could read the expression on his face by his now-undisguised tone of contempt. "If you are anything more to him, he will come here to fetch you. While you wait, you can see what it is like to be a whore. They will not kill you, mind you. Or mark you badly. I still have to take you as my wife, you know."
He waved to the trio of guards waiting on the other side of the fire. She barely saw the movement, though, as her vision faded and returned in sparks and stars, then failed again. She heard, "Take her..." before she finally passed out.
"Four days is enough, surely."
The footman, the third, or perhaps fourth now that had served him during his adult life, nodded before patting his master's face with a hot, damp silken towel. He set aside the silver tray of shaving tools and knelt to help the man into his boots.
"Four days. If he were in Bree-Town, he would be here by now. Where is he?" He mindlessly arched his foot to allow the servant to immaculately lace the boot. "Send for her."
The footman cleared his throat. "She cannot travel. The reports at fourth-watch said as much. Placing her on a horse would kill her, they are sure. Lord, your men are starting to speak out against the Copper Hat Lads. Perhaps you can smooth this over before words become actions?"
He laughed, a sound that warmed the souls of all who heard it. His laugh was his best feature, aside from his smile. He could win the world's favor with a rich, healthy chuckle.
"What do they say? Truth, now."
The footman was the model of efficiency as he began to dress his master. He spoke as he swiftly, but never too swiftly to make the man feel as if he were rushed, produced a shirt, a vest, and an overcoat and helped him into the garments.
"They say what the Lads do to her is cruel. She is.. was.. is.. beautiful, highly born. No one wants to see a young lady like her treated.." He trailed off, unable to continue with any kind of description. Instead, "You know. Your men want them to stop. They think of themselves as a different class, a better sort of brigand, sir. To them, the Lads are low. This only makes them lower, and they resent that their actions are encouraged and rewarded. There may be a riot."
The huge man nodded as he held out his hand for his cloak. A guard near the entry of the private chamber immediately, silently, provided him with a fox-lined mantle. "Ready my horse. Find the leecher, a wise-woman, perhaps two. And some clothes."
"Your morning meeting, Lord?"
He waved this off. "We will meet after the mid-day meal. This is why these people are paid. To work, to think, at times, without my permission. Aye? Bring some food and wine as well."
A single moment was enough time to change an entire life. Souls were created and extinguished in only a second. Scholars and holy men debated this truth endlessly. He thought of himself as being rather kind, spreading such a violent and passionate
transformation out for this stupid girl, over four days.
The Copper Hat Lads did their work well. If she ever regained her wits enough to speak in whole sentences again, she would be so broken in every manner that his whims would command even the pace of her heart. He grinned as the healers did their work silently, only occasionally breaking their speechless race to exchange whispered instructions.
The dark man crossed one leg over the other knee. He should have brought something with him to do while he waited; he loathed to waste time when he could tend to business, looking
over ledgers or composing replies to an endless torrent of letters.
"Has she said anything about where her cloak pin is? Pewter, some bright bit of glass in it, or so the reports say."
The man squatting next to his chair shook his greasy head, spitting a gob of black off to one side. "No. We ast her every way we could. Never said nothin' bout where that went to, nor how it worked. Said somethin' bout wantin' her dog. Thass all."
"And you would have told me if she said anything about where he is." He sighed, cracking his knuckles inside his snug leather gloves. "Who did that to her face? I said, very, very plainly, her face was not to be marked."
The man shrugged. "She did it herself. Before we took off tha manacles, her hands was swellin' so bad she mighta lost that left one if we kep' 'em on. No point in it, really. She ain't moved since that first night enough ta run off. Started beatin' herself in tha face with them chains, though. We put three stitches o' waxed gut in that eyebrow. She coulda bled out from it. An' cracked a bit offa one o' them front teeth. Won' hurt her smile, I wager." He stood, his own grin baring snaggled, brown shreds that he likely considered teeth. "If she finds much ta smile 'bout."
He didn't reply to this, one of the healers taking his attention as she knelt by his elbow. She was perhaps a few years older than her patient and his eyes strayed to the way her slim torso moved beneath her filthy shift.
"Lord, do not move her for at least two days. We have bound and poulticed her as best we know to do. She... will not have children. The hurt was too much. I am sorry." The lass shrank back as she shared this, as if afraid he would backhand her.
He rewarded her, instead, with a brilliant, though deeply grieved, grin. He resisted his amused smirk as the lass lost her wariness and leaned towards him, almost worshipfully. He
dropped his gaze, a watery tear appearing at the corner of his eye, as he offered her the speech he'd prepared.
"Believe me. When we find the bandit who took her, took her in her sleep, out of her own bed! When we find him, he will pay for this a thousand times over before he faces justice by any man but me. Tell everyone you meet. Tell your village, the people in Esteldin, every single person you see. Tell then what a man named Brendur Holst did to this lass. Tell them how he took her from her caravan, raped and beat her for days, then cast her out as if she were nothing more than rubbish, at the very doorstep of the Copper Hat Lads' safehouse! If not for their kindness and quick-thinking, she would be dead, you know. Tell everyone that
I will pay twenty gold pieces to whoever brings me Brendur Holst alive, to my pavillion in Esteldin! Can you do that, Lady?"
The girl's eyes were huge in horror and sorrow. "One man did this to her? How can anyone be so.. so cruel! Aye, we know that name! Some say he killed a Ranger. We will find him, never doubt us common, plain people. We have our ways! I swear to you, I will tell everyone I see. Everyone will be looking for Brendur Holst."
He nodded, apparently struggling to keep a smile on his lips to fight back the tears, but in reality battling only a fit of uproarious laughter. He actually had to hide his face in his hands to conceal his grin until he had himself under control. "Two days, you say?" He lifted his face, his eyes watering in what he hoped looked like sorrow. "She can be moved to my pavillion in two days?"
"Aye, no sooner. And *if* she ever mends entirely, it will take many months, or one of *those* healers and then still perhaps weeks. There is no one like that around. Perhaps you could find one in Esteldin? Those of us here in the countryside make the trip when we have to. Only an hour's walk, you see." The lass paused, looking back to where her companion, a knotty crone, was pulling clean woolen blankets up over the girl's figure. Only the poor creature's hair was bright and lively now; they had scraped clots of blood and caked filth from every inch of her clammy flesh. "That's for her body. She may never be right in the
head. I've never seen someone live after... this much. You are blessed if she even speaks again. I am so sorry."
"Thank you. Thank you so much. Here." He found a few coins in his pocket and passed them to her, trying not to smirk as she gasped over the hot gleam of gold before dropping them down
her bodice. "Come to my pavillion, over Esteldin, in two days' time. To see to her again. Leave instructions with my own leecher, but he is meant to tend to soldiers, not ladies."
"Of course. Thank you. And.. Valar bless you. Bless you for your kindness."
He waited until the guard whispered to him that the healers were well past the gates and on the path back to their own stinking hamlet near the river. He stood, tugging his clothes
perfectly straight again, and stepped to the tiny clump of woolen blankets on the floor.
All he could see was bedclothes and tangled hair. He wrinkled his nose. "Find a flat cart. Large enough to move casks. And a rope bed, loosen the frame and pad it well. Bring her to the pavillion before nightfall."
The guards ducked and bowed and retreated from the shed. He clasped his cloak around his throat and looked over the hut. "They should burn this place down. Blood cannot be cleaned
from clay walls or dirt floors. It will always stink."
The silvery rain and snow fell gently on his shoulders as he rode back to Esteldin to wait.
This post is a bit different than what you could call my normal contribution to text-based RP. There are some pretty nasty themes here, so if you're easily put-out, don't read any more. Learn what you will from heresay.
This story begins on the same day that the Kinship ventures into Goblin-Town. You may see me logged on and playing as Leasung, but IC she's held prisoner in an encampment until Brendur returns to resolve things. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do to run a Kin.
The poor little lass looked just miserable, the hostler mused as he took the reins of the hired horse from the young lady. She was soaked to the core, despite her oiled woolen cloak, in this cold, foggy evening.
"Looks like you could do with a hot bath, hot cider, and hot bed, miss."
Leasung scanned the rain-slicked and crumbling walls of the Ranger fort known as Esteldin. The rain was quickly freezing; a long droplet coursed down the peak of her hood and plopped
on her frigid nose. She watched her breath smoke in the fading afternoon, counted to four to collect herself, and turned to the stableman.
"It looks like you could do with some schooling in manners. Your opinions are best kept to yourself in the company of your betters." She grabbed her traveling bag from the now-wide-
eyed man, turned on her heel, and began to stalk across the muddy courtyard.
"Wait! Ye fergot this!"
She grudged the man with a sigh as she turned back, her well-practiced cool demeanor dropped and shattered as soon as she saw the woven pannier in his hands. The little basket had been strapped to the rear of the saddle and it proved her exhaustion that she had not noticed it's absence on her own!
"T-thank you." She took the basket and flipped the man a few pieces of copper. She knew he grinned as he watched her set it down with all the care of one handling a priceless piece of crystal; she opened the lid and a little creature sprang out with a gleeful yip. "My dog, you see."
"Aye, um. I see." The man nearly fell over his own heels as he skipped back from the attentions of the horribly ugly little animal. The dog sniffed around in a frenzy, cocking it's leg on everything in sight.
"Pikell! Stop that!" The dog ignored his mistress, but did not let her stray from his sight, as he began circling the encampment.
The stableman shook his head with a quiet laugh as the little princess and her putrid dog melted into the foggy darkness.
Leasung spent the remaining hour of daylight skulking from fire to fire; as soon as she thought she recognized a face or that her presence was noticed, she moved on. She whiled away the last of her silver this way, passing from one meager vendor's lean-to shelter or tent to another. She cherished the fires they kept more than the coarse bread and sour ale she bought. Pikell had more than his share of both, dancing around her mud-clumped boots with the bright grin only an idiotic, stinky dog can sport without shame.
The grey day disolved at last into a sodden night. The rain had not slackened and now it froze as it fell, crystalizing on everything in the ruins and giving the whole place the sheen of adamant. The vendors began to close their businesses for the night. Only a tinker and an ancient woman hawking beer and clotted soup stayed on duty to serve midnight travelers.
Leasung's stomach was a clump of ice as she watched the courtyard ready itself for bed. She had trapped herself in this lonesome place; she would be blessed to pass the night in any
more comfort than could be found in a haystack behind the stables. She wasn't even sure how to find him, or precisely what she would do when she did.
She spent most of the long, solitary ride here thinking deeply on that, and a few other matters. Leasung wouldn't allow herself the comfort of the truth. She'd rationalized her hasty actions; she spent every step of the road to Esteldin telling herself she cared no more for the man she left behind than she cared for the nameless boy who served the mead at the Prancing Pony.
Finally, the girl and her dog found a relatively dry corner in a stall just vacated by a cobbler. She curled up behind the embers of the dying fire, the mongrel wrapping himself around her ankles, the pair barely noticable in the dark nook. A casual glance would reveal her as the crouching figure of perhaps a young boy, draped in an icy and colorless cloak.
The evening ached forward. Leasung hugged her knees tightly, gripping her own body as a buoy to carry her through the worst moments of her life. She watched the rain's gentle, inplacable fall beat the sorry fire down to nearly nothing and before the last sparkle of life left it, she made a decision.
Her hands trembled in both cold and horror as she found a scrap of paper in her bag. She found a singed stick in the guttering campfire and dashed out a note:
Brendur-
I made a mistake. I am in Esteldin. Please come.
-L.G.
Her body was stiffened and throbbing with cold and weariness as she gathered her things and made her way from the marginal heat and light of the fire to the mailbox. She dropped the letter in the slot before she could change her mind, hot tears thawing tracks down her cheeks. For an instant, she clawed at the opening in the box, hoping she could snatch the letter back.
Pikell seemed to find this amusing, skipping and bouncing between her feet, wetting the mailbox's post very thoroughly. Leasung spared him a smile out of habit. She was surprised,
honestly, to see him acting so chipper after his strange supper last night. He'd swallowed half of a handkerchief, a bronze earring, and that ridiculous bit of pretty cloak-pin Ceallian gave her. She had no choice but to wait and see what he passed in time; she knew of no healer who would tend to the dog on promises and credit alone.
She realized, as she peeled off half of a fingernail she'd torn against the iced metal, how foolish she truly was. She watched the little dog gnaw his hind paw, pausing for breath only long enough to pass wind. He would have no more supper from her until she knew exactly what her next steps would be; but he still loved her, depsite her flaws, and this hurt her deeply. She cradled her head on the mailbox, her arms folded on it to serve as a pillow as she finally began to cry like a little bairn.
"Pardon me?"
Her mind was so dull she didn't even muster a squeak of surprise at the low, cultured voice. She whirled away from the mailbox, her face deeply sunk into her cloak as she turned to face the darker corner of the courtyard. She barely noticed the dog scamper off into the shadows without so much as a token offer of a protective growl.
"Pardon me. I believe we know each other."
Leasung froze, her heart throbbing in a wild, frantic rhythm. She spoke softly, without turning back to the dark man. "Do we?"
The man spoke in flawless Rohirric now. "Yes. We do. Before we speak of business, perhaps you would like to rest and refresh yourself?"
Leasung answered sharply, if for all intents politely, in her own tongue. "No. But thank you. I am just leaving." She turned, her eyes on the toes of the stout boots Brendur gave her not long ago. Her first step was cut short as her forehead bumped into the man's chest.
"Odd." He continued in Rohirric as his hand fell to her shoulder in a firm clamp. "I had a letter from you. Another business venture, perhaps?" His grip tightened just enough to make her curl her toes. "What would your grandmother think? If she knew she raised a young lady so disposed to lies?"
Leasung finally glared up at him hotly. His dark face and black hair nearly melted into the night; regardless, she felt herself thaw somehow, deep in her belly, just from his closeness. He towered nearly a foot and a half over her and she knew that his ankle-length cloak, made of the best wool to be found, concealed a bristling arsenal of blades.
"Now." The man's voice was a smooth, comfortable purr. "Are you sure you would not like to have some hot food and put on some proper clothes?" He was too well-bred to betray his distaste of her state with expressions or tone of voice, but she knew him well. She read his eyes. Either she could comply, or she would pay for her rebellion.
"Of course. How could I refuse such a kindness?" She surrendered easily. So easily her face flamed in shame.
He laughed and steered her across the courtyard. His stone grip on her shoulder kept her from falling as her boots skidded in the freezing slushy mud. She did not question how he knew of her arrival; she yielded to him as he led her to the massive pavillion, cast high on a ruined ledge of an ancient balcony over the fort.
The morning brought feathery snow to Esteldin, masking the pitted, rock-hard frozen mud of the courtyard below. Leasung had watched the first few flakes spiral down as she washed in
nearly-iced water, her bath made private by three men, turned carefully away, holding up blankets near the cistern.
The dawn sun was pale and sick, barely making itself known in the fog of misty snow. Her teeth chattered as she slid into a dress the same color of this strange light; he had brought some of her things from home. She remembered this gown, and the silver girdle, though she had never worn them. Gifts he brought her from his own homelands in the south.
The rough, thick silk did not offer her enough protection from the cold to stop her shivering. The trio of men escorted her back into the expansive pavillion as soon as she was dressed; she learned when she awoke that she would not be given a pair of shoes or a cloak. Why would she need items for travel, if she was planning to stay in this palatial tent?
The three men did not speak to her and seemed to barely dare glances in her direction. They were faceless, ageless, nameless. His men in every way. She let them herd her through the
passages made of tapestry and fur and draped blankets, into the central hall of the pavillion. He was already there, breakfasting with his advisors near the abundant central fire.
Leasung let herself be pushed silently down onto a stool beside his chair. She took what he gave her from his plate and mindlessly ate and drank; everything was distilled for her now
into a game of distraction. What could she do to occupy her mind, so she would not have to think about the reality of her life at this moment?
After a long while, long enough for her back to develop a coiled ache from perching on the stool, he dismissed the men to tend to their morning business. Only the trio of guards, who
moved near the doorway of the large room, an ancient man seated behind a stack of ledgers and an abacus, and his personal footman stayed behind.
He turned to her with a soft smile. "Lytling. You are losing weight. Your grandmother would not be pleased."
Lytling. His pet name for her. She grated her teeth in a demure smile as his soft words degraded her into no more than a silly, careless child. "Aye. I do not have the comforts of home."
"What would people say, when I take nothing more than a bundle of sticks and straw, to be my wife?" He shook his head with an indulgent laugh. "We will change that. You will have
only the best once again."
She somehow managed another smile without shrieking.
The footman refilled his cup. The dark man drank slowly, seeming to relish in making her wait. She hoped her face didn't betray her anxiety over his next words; she could almost count the moments between his breaths as she leaned forward, only a fraction, towards him.
"I know what this business of yours is. Do you think I am a fool? I have eyes in Bree-Town, and everywhere else." His tone remained civil, soothing, polite, in every way. "I have interests in many, many types of businesses. Some I would not expect you to understand, as a lady. Others, they are so dangerous or fragile that I prefer to tend to them through many other people. This 'business' of yours relates to a 'business' of mine. The diversion of gambling is very profitable to men of breeding. And I think I know why you are here."
He set down his cup and placed his massive hand in her lap, covering both of her own small hands neatly folded there. "Have you met Master Richard? He is my financial counsel, you could say. He travels with me everywhere. Three times a day, at the least, I meet with him to speak of my business matters. Every day. As we have done for the past nine years."
Leasung was unsure what he wanted of her, but she offered the ancient man, who nodded at the mention of his name, a blank smile. "Brem holca, eie leord."
He seemed pleased with this, patting her hands tenderly. "Your dowry, Lytling, was very substantial. I am sure you are aware that it compromises nearly one third of my worth now; your grandmother could have bought you your own small kingdom if you had been a boy. Richard has had his work made for him in managing these funds. So you see, my care and esteem for you is not just as a man cares for his future wife. You are a source of great wealth for me. I cannot let anything happen to you."
Leasung watched his lips move. She watched the tiny creases at the corners of his long, black, ladylike eyelashes when he blinked. She played the game, the game, the game... How many eyelashes can you count, Lytling? To not hear what is plainly being said?
"So.. back to what I spoke of. My work here. You know much, I take it, about the Copper Hat Lads and what they do based on your recent.. 'friendships.' They are only a tiny part of my many enterprises, and until now have done my work for me well and without intervention. I am connected so distantly with their dealings I am held accountable no more for what they do than the average farmer who drops his silver at their tables. I send them gold, they spend it however they like, and in exchange, I have special access to their sport and I recieve returns from what they make.
I in no way tell them what to do, interact with them face-to-face, or question how they run their business. All I know of the Copper Hat Lads is told to me in gold. I am a financier. Do you understand? I am no common criminal. I am a gentleman with more coin to gamble than the average card-player. I play their games on a larger scale."
Leasung nodded slowly, peeking up to him for only an instant from beneath the loose fall of her dark honey hair. She couldn't do it! She was finally here, with him, and had her entire future, all the security she could want, right before her, to be bought with only a few words! But.. if she spoke them aloud, where was her freedom? She swallowed dry, sour spittle. Perhaps he only wanted to hear himself speak and would not ask anything of her.
"You see, Lytling, how strange it is for one such as me to even be here? In this gods-hated camp, surely the coldest and murkiest place in Arda to be at this season? This is no place
for people of our breeding. I hate every moment I spend here, and you know as well as I that three and a half weeks have passed now with my pavillion cast in this shite-pit of a place. Why? Do you know why I am here?"
She made no movement or sound, now staring at his hand laid like a blanket over hers. He didn't care if she acknowledged him or not. She counted the miniscule hairs on the backs of his knuckles. Odd. Not many people had hair on the same joint as their fingernails. His nails were neatly trimmed, perfectly cleaned and shaped. Hers.. were not.
"Someone has been tampering with my things, Lytling. No man of any mettle likes that, or tolerates it. If I were a simple farmer and an intruder was stealing our grain at night, would you want me to sit back and allow him to do so, and us wanting for bread in the winter? Of course not! And if I were this same farmer, and my neighbor wished to lay hands on my wife, would I permit him to do so? Hardly! Do you understand, Lytling? I am no farmer, and you will not be a farmer's wife! Any slackness in their moral code can be accredited to breeding, to allow such tresspasses. But we, we of pure blood.. We are to be examples. Tell me. Tell me you understand."
She murmured nearly silently in Rohirric, "Yes." She always lapsed into her own tongue when she was tired, or hurting, or scared, or worried to distraction. She admired the perfect earth-colored arches of his fingertips laid against the ivory of her own skin.
"Where is he?" His massive hand tightened suddenly on her own, grinding the bones of her fingers together in a grip so tight she felt her joints squeal and spark into firey balls of pain. "I read the letter you wrote to him. And put it back in the post, in case you do not use your best judgement. He will come to me, but you can make this so much easier. And even redeem yourself, Lytling. Where is he? Where does he camp outside of the gates of Bree, where the Watch will not let me reach him?"
She whimpered. He was a thunderstorm lumbering on the horizon of a summer dusk; heat, sweet and lulling breezes of delicious comfort, and always, always the promise of an explosion. Sometimes, the storm passed by. Others, it struck and wrought itself out in furies unmatched by any other weather. She clenched her teeth on her lip to still herself from speaking, and shook her head. She squeezed her eyes closed.
"He will be here as soon as he gets that moronic letter. Mind you..." She tried to stop her shrill scream of panic and pain as he stood, his hand still locked on both of hers, and lifted her with him. He raised her high above the floor, her toes dangling around his knees when she finally broke, panting like a hurting animal, and opened her eyes to meet his, "..I know all there is to know about the two of you. I am not pleased. You are worthless to me
now. I cannot even trust you to keep your legs closed?!"
He seemed to swallow down his temper as he let her hang before his face like a trapped coney ready for slaughter. His tone deepened, mellowing back to his normal polite purr. "There is no forgiveness for one like you. But somehow I must find a way... I cannot return the dowry to your grandmother. I cannot repay what was paid for you because I lost it all in my dealings with the Copper Hat Lads! No one will touch them now because of this
nonsense! Because of this man," he spit the word bitterly, spraying her greying face, "I may lose my fortune! Even when I find him and punish him, it is not enough. He has touched my things and broken them!"
His hand spasmed on hers; she felt something pulverize in her left palm as the bones finally gave way. She didn't feel herself hit the floor when he dropped her, staring up at him from behind the netting of her hair. He towered, wheeling and lurching, through her vision like a giant in a nightmare.
"I have a solution to this. I have had three weeks now to plan. And knowing that you lay with him like a whore makes this enjoyable, really. You like to pretend to be a whore? Is that a pleasant diversion now for young ladies with the best breeding?" He didn't bother to lean closer so she could focus her fading attention on him. She could read the expression on his face by his now-undisguised tone of contempt. "If you are anything more to him, he will come here to fetch you. While you wait, you can see what it is like to be a whore. They will not kill you, mind you. Or mark you badly. I still have to take you as my wife, you know."
He waved to the trio of guards waiting on the other side of the fire. She barely saw the movement, though, as her vision faded and returned in sparks and stars, then failed again. She heard, "Take her..." before she finally passed out.
"Four days is enough, surely."
The footman, the third, or perhaps fourth now that had served him during his adult life, nodded before patting his master's face with a hot, damp silken towel. He set aside the silver tray of shaving tools and knelt to help the man into his boots.
"Four days. If he were in Bree-Town, he would be here by now. Where is he?" He mindlessly arched his foot to allow the servant to immaculately lace the boot. "Send for her."
The footman cleared his throat. "She cannot travel. The reports at fourth-watch said as much. Placing her on a horse would kill her, they are sure. Lord, your men are starting to speak out against the Copper Hat Lads. Perhaps you can smooth this over before words become actions?"
He laughed, a sound that warmed the souls of all who heard it. His laugh was his best feature, aside from his smile. He could win the world's favor with a rich, healthy chuckle.
"What do they say? Truth, now."
The footman was the model of efficiency as he began to dress his master. He spoke as he swiftly, but never too swiftly to make the man feel as if he were rushed, produced a shirt, a vest, and an overcoat and helped him into the garments.
"They say what the Lads do to her is cruel. She is.. was.. is.. beautiful, highly born. No one wants to see a young lady like her treated.." He trailed off, unable to continue with any kind of description. Instead, "You know. Your men want them to stop. They think of themselves as a different class, a better sort of brigand, sir. To them, the Lads are low. This only makes them lower, and they resent that their actions are encouraged and rewarded. There may be a riot."
The huge man nodded as he held out his hand for his cloak. A guard near the entry of the private chamber immediately, silently, provided him with a fox-lined mantle. "Ready my horse. Find the leecher, a wise-woman, perhaps two. And some clothes."
"Your morning meeting, Lord?"
He waved this off. "We will meet after the mid-day meal. This is why these people are paid. To work, to think, at times, without my permission. Aye? Bring some food and wine as well."
A single moment was enough time to change an entire life. Souls were created and extinguished in only a second. Scholars and holy men debated this truth endlessly. He thought of himself as being rather kind, spreading such a violent and passionate
transformation out for this stupid girl, over four days.
The Copper Hat Lads did their work well. If she ever regained her wits enough to speak in whole sentences again, she would be so broken in every manner that his whims would command even the pace of her heart. He grinned as the healers did their work silently, only occasionally breaking their speechless race to exchange whispered instructions.
The dark man crossed one leg over the other knee. He should have brought something with him to do while he waited; he loathed to waste time when he could tend to business, looking
over ledgers or composing replies to an endless torrent of letters.
"Has she said anything about where her cloak pin is? Pewter, some bright bit of glass in it, or so the reports say."
The man squatting next to his chair shook his greasy head, spitting a gob of black off to one side. "No. We ast her every way we could. Never said nothin' bout where that went to, nor how it worked. Said somethin' bout wantin' her dog. Thass all."
"And you would have told me if she said anything about where he is." He sighed, cracking his knuckles inside his snug leather gloves. "Who did that to her face? I said, very, very plainly, her face was not to be marked."
The man shrugged. "She did it herself. Before we took off tha manacles, her hands was swellin' so bad she mighta lost that left one if we kep' 'em on. No point in it, really. She ain't moved since that first night enough ta run off. Started beatin' herself in tha face with them chains, though. We put three stitches o' waxed gut in that eyebrow. She coulda bled out from it. An' cracked a bit offa one o' them front teeth. Won' hurt her smile, I wager." He stood, his own grin baring snaggled, brown shreds that he likely considered teeth. "If she finds much ta smile 'bout."
He didn't reply to this, one of the healers taking his attention as she knelt by his elbow. She was perhaps a few years older than her patient and his eyes strayed to the way her slim torso moved beneath her filthy shift.
"Lord, do not move her for at least two days. We have bound and poulticed her as best we know to do. She... will not have children. The hurt was too much. I am sorry." The lass shrank back as she shared this, as if afraid he would backhand her.
He rewarded her, instead, with a brilliant, though deeply grieved, grin. He resisted his amused smirk as the lass lost her wariness and leaned towards him, almost worshipfully. He
dropped his gaze, a watery tear appearing at the corner of his eye, as he offered her the speech he'd prepared.
"Believe me. When we find the bandit who took her, took her in her sleep, out of her own bed! When we find him, he will pay for this a thousand times over before he faces justice by any man but me. Tell everyone you meet. Tell your village, the people in Esteldin, every single person you see. Tell then what a man named Brendur Holst did to this lass. Tell them how he took her from her caravan, raped and beat her for days, then cast her out as if she were nothing more than rubbish, at the very doorstep of the Copper Hat Lads' safehouse! If not for their kindness and quick-thinking, she would be dead, you know. Tell everyone that
I will pay twenty gold pieces to whoever brings me Brendur Holst alive, to my pavillion in Esteldin! Can you do that, Lady?"
The girl's eyes were huge in horror and sorrow. "One man did this to her? How can anyone be so.. so cruel! Aye, we know that name! Some say he killed a Ranger. We will find him, never doubt us common, plain people. We have our ways! I swear to you, I will tell everyone I see. Everyone will be looking for Brendur Holst."
He nodded, apparently struggling to keep a smile on his lips to fight back the tears, but in reality battling only a fit of uproarious laughter. He actually had to hide his face in his hands to conceal his grin until he had himself under control. "Two days, you say?" He lifted his face, his eyes watering in what he hoped looked like sorrow. "She can be moved to my pavillion in two days?"
"Aye, no sooner. And *if* she ever mends entirely, it will take many months, or one of *those* healers and then still perhaps weeks. There is no one like that around. Perhaps you could find one in Esteldin? Those of us here in the countryside make the trip when we have to. Only an hour's walk, you see." The lass paused, looking back to where her companion, a knotty crone, was pulling clean woolen blankets up over the girl's figure. Only the poor creature's hair was bright and lively now; they had scraped clots of blood and caked filth from every inch of her clammy flesh. "That's for her body. She may never be right in the
head. I've never seen someone live after... this much. You are blessed if she even speaks again. I am so sorry."
"Thank you. Thank you so much. Here." He found a few coins in his pocket and passed them to her, trying not to smirk as she gasped over the hot gleam of gold before dropping them down
her bodice. "Come to my pavillion, over Esteldin, in two days' time. To see to her again. Leave instructions with my own leecher, but he is meant to tend to soldiers, not ladies."
"Of course. Thank you. And.. Valar bless you. Bless you for your kindness."
He waited until the guard whispered to him that the healers were well past the gates and on the path back to their own stinking hamlet near the river. He stood, tugging his clothes
perfectly straight again, and stepped to the tiny clump of woolen blankets on the floor.
All he could see was bedclothes and tangled hair. He wrinkled his nose. "Find a flat cart. Large enough to move casks. And a rope bed, loosen the frame and pad it well. Bring her to the pavillion before nightfall."
The guards ducked and bowed and retreated from the shed. He clasped his cloak around his throat and looked over the hut. "They should burn this place down. Blood cannot be cleaned
from clay walls or dirt floors. It will always stink."
The silvery rain and snow fell gently on his shoulders as he rode back to Esteldin to wait.