Iron Stars

Chapter 3: The Ranger at the Inn

TA 3018
Bree

     The journey to Bree went by swiftly. The eagle, Faryen was a fast flyer and knew the passes through the mountains well. His huge wings beat the air, carrying them high over the land. Across her back was her blade, allowing both her hands to hold on. Before long the village came into view, smoke rising from chimneys and the distant sound of people talking below.

     "If you could set me down in the forest, that would be great" she said to the eagle, leaning closer to its head.

     Banking hard, Faryen landed surprisingly softly by a large oak tree. Quickly, the elf unstrapped herself from the great bird and then took her bag. Taking her blade, she rubbed the eagle's neck, smiling softly.

     "Thank you my friend. May the wind forever be at your back till next we meet" she said, stepping away as the eagle launched into the sky, the wind from its wings, beating against her face and fanning her red hair.

     Turning, she set off for the village using her blade as a staff and pulling her hood up. Under her hood was a sharply defined face with piercing silver eyes that missed nothing. Burn scars scattered the skin around the eyes, while a vicious scar ran through her left eye and down across her lips. It was not simply the face of a warrior but of a survivor. For that reason, she often wore her hood, not wishing for questions.

     The trees stretched high above her and she smiled at the life she could see in their branches. The light streamed through the leaves creating a green glow to the world. She could see clouds moving in and the scent of rain not far off. Birds chirped quietly, telling their fellows of danger and food, assuring none fell as winter came. Some leaves scattered the ground, barely crunching under her silent feet.

     She soon arrived at the gate and knocked on the door, glad it was still light out. The gate was tall and made of dark wood but it looked relatively sturdy. Not against an army per se but a kick from an angry lady wouldn't do much. The door had two slots, one for men and another for hobbits which she found rather interesting.

     The watchman opened a small gap in the door and studied her. "You a Ranger or something?" he questioned, his beady eyes falling on her hooded face.

     "If that title works for you, yes. I have business in Bree to attend to" she responded, wishing not to reveal anything.

     The watchman opened the door, grumbling under his breath, "Alright sir, no funny business now," he told her.

      Nodding, the ranger set off for the inn ignoring the man's rudeness. She supposed it made sense, her clothes were dark and travel worn and she didn't show her face. She had a bow and quiver strapped on her back and blades attached to her belt. A wicked double bladed sword extended across her back but to the common viewer, it looked more like a walking stick. As for being assumed as a man, her scratchy voice explained that. You didn't survive numerous battles without getting some permanent damage.

     Rain started falling as she walked, causing her to grumble. It was just her luck. The drops didn't reach her through the thick cloak but the cold wind on her face was uncomfortable. The inn looked cheery though it did stink of unwashed men and ale. The sign swung in the wind creaking slightly as she entered, approaching the bartender.

     "What can I do for ya, sir?" asked the man, cleaning out a glass which looked filthy enough she'd rather just get rid of it.

     "Just here on some business, I'll only be here a night" she told him, deciding not ask for any drink that needed a glass.

     The man nodded and handed her a key to a room which she gratefully took. In response she handed over a few coins before nodding farewell. As she stretched her hands out from under her cloak, the man noted that they were heavily scarred. Specifically, her right hand had been severely burned and been wrapped in bandages. Her left hand had lost its pinky finger and little scars both of burns and blades lightened her tan skin.

    People quieted as she walked by, noting her weapons and fearsome appearance. From how she walked to how she responded to their eyes, spoke of a warrior, someone who had seen battle many a time. Ignoring them, she approached a man sitting at a corner table smoking a pipe.

     He looked a lot like her, he had weapons on his person and also had a hood over his face. His boots were splattered with mud as were his clothes but she knew straight away who he was. For like her, he had a regal bearing to him, an strangely elvish bearing for a mortal man.

     "Can I help you?" he asked as she sat beside him. He too seemed to be studying her, noting her weaponry and hooded face.

     "I believe you can, Strider. I am a friend of Gandalf's who sent me here to assist you with a pair of hobbits," she responded in a low voice, crossing her feet.

     "How do I know you are a friend and not a foe, stranger?" he questioned, not without reason.

     She handed him a small pipe, one of the secondary ones Gandalf seemed to always have. The warrior was convinced he kept them for this express purpose. "Gandalf gave me that to prove my allegiance, Aragorn."

     The Ranger stared at her, evidently surprised by her knowledge of him. Finally he nodded and gestured for two ales to be brought over. "I'll admit it's helpful to have an ally though I would like to know who you are besides that."

     "You may call me Ruinancalë."

Word Count: 970