At the Mercy of a Burning Coal

Disclaimer; I don’t own Tolkien’s characters *sigh* but I’m sure one day…oh, you’re still there? Never mind…

Lathwen shivered as the cold breeze blew, her thin dress doing nothing to block the wind. She wrapped her cloak around her, still clutching her bow. A black fear coiled in her stomach as she thought of her uncle’s rage when she got back…that is, if he was still awake. He might be knocked out from all of the ale.

Lathwen ran faster as the tavern came into view, like a beacon to the lost. She scurried into the servant’s quarters through the back entrance, breathing a sigh of relief to be in the stifling warmth once more.

As she looked around the dimly lit quarters, she saw that no one was there but she. Quickly, she went over to her little corner and stuffed the bow and arrow in a secret hideaway carved into the wall. It had been there ever since they (the other staff) could remember Rosemary told her once. Lathwen smiled wryly as she saw the collection of dust and cobwebs in there. Apparently nobody had seen a use for it. She took off her cloak and closed the hideaway, walked timidly into the kitchen.

Rosemary caught sight of the wary little lass and she boomed, “ Come child! The master is asleep, no need to be frightened!” Lathwen felt the weight lift from her shoulder’s as she walked more confidently to the cook’s side. Rosemary shoved a tray at Lathwen and said, “ Table four. Scared off have the customer’s he did! Miracle this place is still running after all the times this has happened before…miracle I stayed to, though sometimes I wonder why…”

Lathwen rolled her eyes, having a feeling that the familiar speech was coming on. Rosemary often preached about why or how she stayed here to the other staff, especially the new ones. Lathwen remembered her first time here, and frowned slightly as she went into the dining area to serve the men sitting there.

She gasped silently as she saw an arrogant and flighty looking girl, perhaps no older than herself, perched on a man’s knee. She grimaced slightly as the man planted a sloppy kiss on the poor lass’s cheek. Lathwen wondered silently how she could stand it…if she ever married, it would be to a reliable man, not some drunkard who was a regular at the tavern and had already tied the knot with the ale. But maybe there weren’t any respectable men left in the world…who could say? Certainly not Lathwen, she’d never been outside of Bree.

Lathwen mentally slapped herself as she went back to the kitchens. She had forgotten to ask for a map! What a fool she was! She should have realized that preparing a run away took more time than this! She’d need provisions, a horse, a map, and lots of practice with the bow…but maybe she could learn on the way to Gondor. She dismissed that notion almost immediately…there would be enemies outside of Bree, or even inside, and if she couldn’t fight, she couldn’t escape…if she couldn’t escape, she couldn’t live…and from then on it would all go downhill.

She sighed as Rosemary absentmindedly loaded up her tray again, speaking rapidly to a younger boy who was looking like a caged wolf. Listening in for a moment, Lathwen almost lost it…the poor boy, it was…the speech. Lathwen put the pints of ale in front of two very short, hairy men. At a second glance, Lathwen saw that their feet didn’t touch the ground. She frowned…they weren’t hobbits (to hairy) and they certainly weren’t men (definite differences) so they had to be…dwarves? The fairy tale short men who dug for gold? But it couldn’t be! There were no such things as dwarves!

Lathwen rubbed her temple and noticed that the fire was getting low. She hurriedly returned the tray to Rosemary who was still babbling on to the now frightened looking boy. Grabbing an armful of logs, she silently walked into the dining area again and positioned the wood in the fire. She crouched beside it, occasionally blowing on it and poking at with the poker. A movement at the door caught her eye and she turned.

Lathwen’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. The cloaked man was still there! And another man (or whatever they were) in an identical cloak was at the door speaking quickly with the cloaked man. She frowned as the stranger hurried out the door, leaving the cloaked man to eat his meal in peace at his booth. She distantly heard the sound of footsteps, and then hoof beats as the man left the tavern by horse.

“ Troublemaker?” Asked a voice behind her. Lathwen stood up from her crouch and turned to face a customer who was red in the face, looking quite drunk. Her eyes darted to the table where the flighty girl was looking on, quite pouty.

She glared at Lathwen who merely raised an eyebrow and turned back to the man, “ Perhaps. But it is none of your concern sir. You’d best be going back to your wife.” However timid and scared she was around her uncle, Lathwen was not shy at all when it came to strangers’, as oxymoronic as that may seem.

The man’s face turned purple as he pointed a beefy finger at Lathwen and roared, “ You! How dare you speak to me that way wrench!” Lathwen put a defiant hand on her hip and said coolly, “ I’ll speak to you any way I want drunkard.” The man looked as if he was going to explode, and Lathwen silently hoped his liver would burst from temper.

The man let out a bellow of incomprehensible swears as he rushed at Lathwen, arm raised for a punch. Lathwen’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline, as she speedily grabbed a nearby customer’s dinner plate and hit the man’s fist with it’s flat part. Food splattered the man’s clean shirt and breeches, but unluckily, it did not block his mouth or unlock his common sense. The man growled and swung to face her again, charging as he hollered at her. Lathwen merely stepped aside, ignoring the angry customer’s complaints about spilled food. The man slipped on gravy, chicken, and peas, and fell to the ground.

The tavern was in an uproar, the customer’s standing on chairs and tables, throwing food at each other, guzzling ale, shouting and laughing in a drunken way. Somewhere angry, some amused, and some had fallen asleep on the table and were unaware of the strange happenings. Lathwen looked about and noted that the stranger in the booth was watching, arms crossed, long legs crossed at the ankles.

“ QUIET!” A very loud voice bellowed, drawing silence from everyone in the tavern. The silence rang with an air of apprehension and fear. A man strode heavily into the room and snarled, “ WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?! YOU ALL WOKE ME!”

The drunken man on the floor got up, covered in a meal and spoke angrily, “ This serving wrench goaded me beyond my patience. I was going about my business, asking her a simple question when she attacked me with her foul tongue!” He jabbed his finger furiously towards Lathwen who had managed to stay clean. She trembled slightly as her uncle fixed his livid gaze on her being.

Venom ran through his voice as he said maliciously, “ Lathwen. I should have guessed. Thirty lashes and no food or water for a week.” Her uncle stalked toward her, grabbing the dog whip he kept in the corner. Lathwen backed up a few steps but then willed herself to stop. She would take the punishment quietly, no cries of pain or sadness…nothing that would please him.

But an image of her mother sprang to her mind, and she picked up the plate from the floor and said in a firm voice, “ No!” Her uncle stopped dead in his tracks, his face paling. He gaped like a fish, but shut his mouth with a snap. He frowned at her and hissed in a deadly quiet voice, “ What-did-you-say?” Lathwen stood firm, “ I said ‘no’.”
“ YOU WILL NOT DISOBEY ME WRENCH!”
“ YES I WILL!”

The silence was like pressure, and all you could hear was Lathwen’s ragged breathing and her uncle’s own furious gasps. Her uncle made a move toward her but Lathwen screamed, “ NO! TO LONG HAVE YOU TREATED ME THIS WAY UNCLE! NO MORE WILL I SUFFER UNDER YOU!” A gasp went throughout the room, and then babbling started. Lathwen turned to the doorway to the kitchen where the servant’s were, gawking at her, eyes wide. “ And yes, before you all ask…I am his niece.” Her uncle shouted a swear at her, his face turning puce. Lathwen’s breathing sped up as energy pumped through her. She threw the plate as hard as she could at her uncle, and it struck the arm holding the whip.

“ I PROMISED MY MOTHER BEFORE SHE DIED THAT I WOULDN’T LET ANYONE HARM ME! BECAUSE OF YOU, I WAS FORCED TO BREAK THIS PLEDGE! IT’S YOU’RE FAULT UNCLE!”
“ SHUT UP! YOU’RE NOTHING MORE THAN A SERVING MAID! A WEAK, TRAITOROUS FEMALE WHO SHOULDN’T BE HEARD, OR SEEN!”

Lathwen shouted back, “ WEAK? IS THAT WHAT I AM?! YOU TELL ME HOW I COULD SURVIVE FIVE YEARS OF LIVING UNDER YOU AND STILL BE WEAK! I HATE YOU AND EVERYTHING YOU STAND FOR! I’M LEAVING UNCLE!”

Her uncle paled even more (if that were possible) and said, “ Where would you go? You have nowhere besides here wrench! You will stay and serve me!” Lathwen’s eyes were lit with a defiant fire as she said, “ I have nowhere else to live, correct…but I do have somewhere to go.”

“ Where?” Her uncle asked, his voice nothing more than a whisper. Lathwen sneered at him and said, “ To get my rightful belongings…I’m going to seek out my inheritance.” Once more a buzz filled the room until Lathwen’s uncle said, “ You don’t know where it is you…you…idiotic female!” Lathwen smirked and said, “ You shouldn’t drink so often uncle.”

She ran out of the room, and into the kitchen where a thousand hands pressed on her, voices demanding to know the whole story. Lathwen struggled through them and into the servant’s quarters where she put on her cloak and grabbed the bow and arrows out of the secret hideaway. Quickly, she took the leather bag, which held her belongings and ran outside through the back entrance.

Breathing hard, she stopped only to sling her weapons onto her back along with her leather pack. She ran as fast as she could down Browning Lane, and around the corner to the barn.

She knocked frantically at the Ragwart’s door, and their son came out, the burly smith’s apprentice. Her irregular breathing had calmed slightly and she asked, “ Please…can I…see…the horses?” Their son grinned toothily and said smoothly, “ Fine…you’ll be Lathwen, right?” Lathwen nodded, following the strong youth to the barn.

Lathwen wondered if people came at regular intervals to see their horses in the dead of night, or if there was some other reason he was helping her. A wisp of a thought crossed her mind, and she suddenly knew the reason. She smiled, deciding to play on it so she could get away faster.

Lathwen walked closer to the boy’s side, grinning shyly at him, batting her eyelashes. He rewarded her with a wink as he pulled open the barn door, muscles rippling.

The barn was large and sturdy, and it held many horses. Lathwen gasped as she stepped inside and walked down the aisle, looking at the many fine mares and stallions held there. Casually walking closer to the son, she asked, “ So…which one’s the fastest?” The son took Lathwen’s hand and pulled her across to the other side of the aisle where he showed her a white mare with a rusty red mane and tail. Lathwen gasped and squealed, “ Oohh! She’s beautiful!” The son nodded and twined his other hand with hers and said proudly, “ She’s got stamina to….her name’s Rosethorn ‘cuz she’s stubborn, but a real beauty.”

Lathwen looked shyly up at the lad through her thick black eyelashes and asked, “ Can I sit on her, just for a minute?” The son looked hesitantly at his house, then back to a coy Lathwen and nodded. “ All right…but just for a moment.” Lathwen smiled radiantly and kissed the lad on his cheek and said thank you. He looked shocked, but pleased as he saddled up Rosethorn and helped Lathwen onto her. Lathwen smiled as she saw that the saddlebag was filled with, what she hoped to be, food and water.

Lathwen sat sidesaddle and walked Rosethorn around for a minute, getting the feel for her. Then the son glanced back nervously at his home and offered a hand to help her get down. “ You’d better go.” Lathwen sighed and reached down, “ You’re right…I should.” But instead of taking his hand, she pushed him away so he fell down.

Lathwen wheeled Rosethorn sharply and cantered out of the back entrance, which was left open. The lad shouted after her, making a big ruckus. Cursing the noise she made, Lathwen rode quickly and fearfully out onto Lavender Lane and rode away to the far side of town she knew to be the way out of Bree.

If she had looked behind her at all, she would have seen a figure in a cloak following her on a midnight black horse.