At the Mercy of a Burning Coal

Disclaimer; I do not own anything of Tolkien’s (regretfully) and I’m sure you’ll all be able to distinguish which characters are mine, and which are his.

Lathwen continued tending to the fire for another minute or so, turning around only when the door creaked open, then slammed shut. She saw a figure in a grey hooded cloak walk in, drawing silence from the men of Bree. Her grey eyes tried to pierce through the tavern’s dimly lit room under the hood of the stranger, but they failed. Silently as she could, Lathwen crept into the kitchen and pushed past the other staff that was buzzing happily about their lives. That is, their lives when they weren’t in this horrid place.

Silently wondering about this stranger’s origin, Lathwen tied up her hair in a braid and walked out with a serving tray, the cook telling her which table that it belonged to. As she wove her way through the crowds, Lathwen realized that the stranger was now sitting in a corner booth, alone, and by the looks of things, trying not to draw attention. Lathwen walked over to a table where a bunch of rowdy and mostly drunk men sat, arguing fiercely about some poor fellow.
“— ‘ee’s crazy I say! Loony!”
“ Dang right ‘ee is! Comin’ back in the beginnin’ of da fall, expectin’ us to work for ‘im after what ‘ee did! No siree!”

Lathwen cleared her throat impatiently, and for a moment, all of the men’s bloodshot eyes focused on her. “ Your meals.” Lathwen said firmly, not bothering to add in a ‘sir’. They were all drunk, they wouldn’t notice. Quietly, she began serving them, looking at the stranger out of the corner of her eyes. Suddenly, she gasped and almost spilled the pints of beer on the men who immediately started complaining loudly about how hard it was to find good staff these days.

Lathwen straightened, looking squarely at the stranger. Odd as it seemed, she thought she had just seen his cloak shimmer and merge with the shadows so that he was invisible. She shook her head at her foolishness and took the tray away, bearing it back to the cook who was looking slightly worried.

“ What is it Rosemary?” She asked the girl of age twenty or so. Rosemary pushed stray pieces of hair back from her face as she said, “ I do believe the master’s gotten himself acquainted with the ale!” Lathwen laughed loudly and said in an amused tone, “ Serves him right…I hope he embarrasses himself.” Still giggling, she walked away with another tray into the corner of the room where she served two stately looking men who thanked her politely. As always, Lathwen smiled at them and started toward the kitchen door when she overheard hearty laughter.

“ From Gondor you say? I had business there once…with the healer woman…Dolithiel!”

Lathwen froze…her uncle. A smooth voice replied back, but Lathwen couldn’t understand what it was saying, but she knew it was a man. Her uncle practically shouted again, “ What do you mean I don’t have to? It would be my pleasure to tell you son!” Lathwen watched as her uncle reached across the booth table and patted the man’s shoulder…she couldn’t help smirking as the man recoiled.


Her uncle belched then said, “ You’ll be like the son I never had! Always wanted one of course, but all I got were stinkin’ grandkids. Anyway, I was in Gondor because I had to get rid of my niece’s inheritance.” Lathwen dropped her tray, and all went silent. The stranger’s head whipped around, and he stared at Lathwen who was standing there with her eyes wide in surprise.

Her uncle chuckled and went on, “ Eh, go back to your talkin’ people! I’ve got business to work out.” As everyone went back to their chatter, he fixed his watery eyes on Lathwen and said, “ You girl…get back to the kitchens.” Lathwen sighed in relief because he hadn’t recognized her.

He turned to the stranger and continued, “ So, I gave the inheritance to Dolithiel and made her promise to get rid of it, under the painful punishment of death.” At the last word, he pounded his fist against the wooden table.

Spit flew from his mouth as he continued, “ I placed guards with her to make sure she wouldn’t spend it…there may be a time when I need to retrieve such valuables. So, I came back within a week and the guards said that she had given the stuff to a male who was passing through the city…and he promised to keep it safe until I needed it.”

Her uncle belched loudly again as Lathwen picked up her tray slowly, but didn’t move from her position in the shadows of the corner.

“ And its been with him ever since! Clever of me ain’t it son? Ain’t it?! And the funny thing is that she’ll never guess! She’ll never…she’ll…she won’t…ever…e’vr…” Her uncle slumped on the table and began to snore very noisily while Lathwen fled to the kitchen’s where she found the staff still with shock.

Rosemary shook her head at Lathwen and said, “ Well I’ll be! He never mentioned he had a niece!” The others proceeded to comment similarly, and a bubble of chatter rose. Lathwen shrugged and pushed her way through the kitchens into the backrooms where she shared her quarters with the servants.

Quickly she went through her meager bag of belongings and drew out a grey cloak, different from the stranger’s cloak in some way; even if similar in color, and clasped it about her neck. She took in a shuddery breath and placed a small bag full of coins in her pocket.

“ Mother, I promised you never to bend or break…and I haven’t. I won’t let him torture me like this any longer…you have my word.” She whispered as she slipped out of the back entrance and walked down the sunlit dirt road at a quick pace.

Tears slipped down her cheeks, despite her attempts to hold them back. Images of her sweet, gentle mother and her auburn hair flooded her mind. A lullaby her mother used to sing came to her mind.

Close your eyes, my love, my own
My precious child, mo storing

Dun do shuil, a run mo chroi
Is gheobhair feirin amarach

The summer’s come with warmth and sun
The grainy leaves are growing
Softly sleep while watch I keep
The breeze is gently blowing

The tears pricked her eyes again, blinding her vision as she saw her father working in his shop, his strong forearms pounding on metal. She remembered the exact sound of the clanging that could be heard from across town. She put her hood up and stopped the tears, her throat thick with grief. She stood outside of a small house for a moment to catch her breath before continuing down the road toward a pawnshop nearby. It was a favorite rendezvous of many of the seamy types, but an interesting place at that.

A couple years before she had formed a very vague plan in her mind…one about her escape. Of course, she couldn’t fulfill it because her uncle had threatened death upon the others she held dear. Now however, the ones she held dear were dead or far away to where her uncle’s long arm of terror couldn’t reach.

Lathwen stood outside the dusty pawnshop, looking inside its dirty windows before putting on a determined face and walking inside. She was shocked to see that the place was empty of customers. A wiry man who walked with a slouch popped up from behind the counter. At first sight he reminded Lathwen of a weasel…slimy and just as clever. She couldn’t, and wouldn’t, trust him.

“ It’s closing time missy!” He said in a voice as oily as his hair. Lathwen stood firm and jingled her pouch of gold around, “ Pity,” She said breezily, “ I had a good offer.” She knew that her words combined with the sound of gold would change the man’s mind. She had experience in such ways because she had lived here for so long.

The weasel-like man leaned on the counter and eyed her suspiciously. Lathwen didn’t put down her hood, but she was sure he could see her face anyway, so it didn’t really matter. “ What is it you want lass?” He asked in a rough tone. Lathwen’s chin shot up…a stubborn habit. “ I want a bow and a quiver full of arrows…that is, a bow and quiver full of arrows that *are not* defective in *any* way.”

The man’s eyes glittered at the prospect, “ You drive a hard bargain,” He said with a dramatic sigh, “ It’s so hard to come by such things these days.” Lathwen stepped up to the counter and said, “ Nevertheless, that is what I want.” Her voice was calm and confident. Perfect if you were dealing with these types.

The man ‘harrumphed’ at her and said, “ How ‘bout if they’re defective in design?” Lathwen didn’t blink an eye, “ Show me.” She demanded. The shopkeeper nodded and ducked into the back room. Seconds later he brought out a beautiful bow made of white oak and razor sharp arrows in a tough leather quiver.

Lathwen looked at them with a raised eyebrow. The bow was somewhat fancy, silver tipped and flowers carved on it. The quiver was plain, no embroidery or anything…and the arrows seemed strong, sturdy…Lathwen guessed that they came from some rich noble fallen on hard times. They were very well made.

Though she didn’t have experience in such things, she often heard her uncle talking loudly before going on a hunt with some of his fellows. They often commented on good quality bows they had seen at the market or even at this pawnshop…and that was how Lathwen knew *what* made a good quality bow.

Lathwen jingled her bag of gold again, “ How much?” She demanded. The man’s eyes glinted with a greedy flash of light and he said, “ All of it.” Lathwen argued back, “ One third.”
“ Half.”
“ Done.”

However skilled she was at recognizing well-made bows, she had poor bartering skills, but by the look in the man’s eyes, she saw that it was a bit overpriced. Lathwen counted out the coins and the man pocketed them gleefully, handing her the bow and arrows. Lathwen put her hand on the counter to stop the man from going, “ These better not be defective in *any* way, or you will be sorry…I give you my word.” The shopkeeper swallowed and shook his head defensively. “ They were given to me by some lady in silk lass…revenge on her husband she said.”

Lathwen chuckled dryly, without any humor. She’d heard stories about this man, and she knew that he wasn’t to be trusted. “ I’m sure. But it doesn’t matter who gave them to you…it matters if they work or not. Good day.” With that, she turned around and walked out of the shop, her wares in hand.

She stepped outside with a sigh of relief, feeling the adrenaline rush drain away. Lathwen put the quiver on her back, and carried her bow. It was evening now, and the sun was setting. She shivered, imagining her uncle’s fury when she got back. This time though, she would be ready to face his wrath, and she wouldn’t be afraid. She wasn’t going to let him do this to her all of her life…she was setting out for her inheritance.