Daughter of the Dark (War of the Rings: Books 1-3)

Strangers

Lyraelle's POV

"I'll have another pint, and whatever else you're offering, sweetheart." I rolled my eyes as I went to get the man his pint.

"M'name's Roan, like the horse. My mama knew I would grow to be a stallion one day." I scrunched up my nose in disgust. The man before me was no stallion. He was just like the rest of my customers. Loud, obnoxious, sleazy, without manners...I could go on and on...

I felt his beady eyes watching my every movement as I got a pint glass from behind the counter and went to go fill it up.

They always stare. Maybe it was because I kept my face hidden as much as possible, or maybe it was because of my eyes. I had been told by many over the years that my eyes had a tendency to make people nervous. In my opinion, it was the only thing about me that stood out; other than my ears, and that was just the way I preferred it. In fact, I kept my auburn hair braided down my back and covered up as much as I could for the very purpose of not standing out. Just your average half elven girl...yup, that was me. Nothing special here!

As I scraped off the top layer of foam from the pint of ale, I glanced back to see that Roan was still gazing at me. I had seen that look in almost every man that met me. Another reason why I did my best to cover up as much as possible. But unfortunately, it never seemed to stop them. I just wished that Barli would let me wear my hood while I was working but he insisted that I refrain from wearing it while I was behind the bar. Something about bringing in more business. If it wasn't for the fact that I needed a place to hide out for a while after my latest adventure and because of a favor to my favorite grey-haired wizard, then I wouldn't be here at all.

I sighed and walked back to the man and started to slide his drink over to him. The next thing I knew, he had snaked out his hand and grabbed my wrist.

"Why d'ya tease, cover'n your face like that," Roan said. I leaned back as far as I could to get away from his alcohol infused stench. As I did so, I caught sight of a man sitting in the corner of the room, smoke curling from his pipe. How had I not noticed him earlier. So he's allowed to wear a hood and I'm not? I knew I was pressing my luck with Barli even with the outfit that I was wearing but that didn't stop me resenting the stranger. I looked more closely at the man, choosing to ignore Roan; who was babbling about who knows what, as he tried to convince me that a night with him would change my life.

He didn't look like the typical man of Bree or any of the normal visitors. From the look of his travel-worn cloak and mud stained boots, I guessed him to be a Ranger. I had known quite a few back in the day, but as the years grew long, their numbers had dwindled and the ones remaining were focused on protecting the borders. I helped whenever I could, but much like the men of the North, I did my very best to avoid the company of others. It was too much of a risk. My father had his spies everywhere and if any of them reported the slightest hint of my location to him, the place was likely to be nothing more then dust and burnt ashes by the morrow.

So how did I find myself working at the busiest bar in Bree? Don't ask me, ask the crazy old man who had requested my presence here. Something to do with the impending arrival of four hobbits who would need my help. I had zoned out for the majority of his explanation. What can I say, he liked to speak in long-winded riddles. All I remember was that I was supposed to protect a group of hobbits and make sure they made it to Rivendell safely. Apparently, one of them was carrying something important.

A particularly rough yank on my arm brought me back to my senses.

"Y'don't want him! 'Mm the one ye should g'home wit' later," Roan said, winking at me as he stroked my forearm with the hand that wasn't currently attached to my wrist. He was squeezing so tight at this point that I had a feeling that it was going to bruise by morning time. Ugh, as if I need any more bruises.