Birth of the Blade

4

We rode through the night, only stopping once at a small inn to refill our water skins and get a horse for me to ride on and then again to let the horses rest. We had left the cart behind in the shire. I was exhausted and hadn't eaten in some time when dawn came. 

"Do not slow down, Helravae," Gandalf called me. "We are nearly there."

"We are nearly where, Gandalf?" I asked, my voice surely muffled by the wind as we galloped. "You have not answered any of my questions."

"All in good time."

We continued until about midday, when we stopped to eat.

"Where are we going, Gandalf?" I asked, beginning to chew on a piece of bread. "I can see we are heading North, but-"

"We are going towards a village in the Northern part of Arnor." He replied. 

I stopped, swallowing hard. "Up North? What business do we have in Arnor?"

"There is someone we must find."

"Who?

"You have met him before, but you may not remember him, but come, we must away."

I groaned but pulled myself onto my horse. I had ridden extensive distances before but never at this pace. 

"We can't be far now," I observed. "We have probably already travelled 20 miles. How much further?"

"About another 20, maybe a little more. We can rest when we arrive." 

We spent that night in an inn, and I was thankful not only for the chance to sleep in a bed but a proper meal. This time Gandalf encouraged me to keep my hood over my horns. Hobbits may be suspicious people when it came to outsiders, but there was nothing like men regarding races they didn't know. 

"I'm going to get another drink," I sighed, standing up, "do you want anything?" Gandalf was staring out of the window. We sat in the corner of the room, where it was a little quieter. He didn't say anything but instead waved me off. He seemed to be deep in thought.

I walked up to the bartender. "A pint of ale?" 

He nodded and began to pour one for me when I felt an arm around my shoulders. "Just an ale? She'll have a mead!"

I glanced to see a man, probably a couple of inches taller than me, with a red face and a big beard. I felt my skin itch with caution. I tried to move out of his grasp, but he pulled me closer to him.

"Come on, sweetheart!" He roared. "Have a little fun!" The men that seemed to be his friends laughed behind him. They were all clearly drunk.

My eyes were darting for the bartender, but he was off somewhere else, distracted by something. Not that he would be reliable with helping me. "I'm sorry, I'm not here to." 

The man moved his arm around my waist. I bristled with anger. "Come on, love, live a little." He gave my waist a little squeeze.

Don't do anything rash, a voice inside my head told me. One move too quick, and your hood will fall. I wanted to burn him where he stood. 

I tried not to look at him, to ignore him, not to give him that satisfaction. But somehow, I felt my eyes move to take him in, and I saw his gaze pointed directly at my chest. I knew it was somewhat prominent, but I wore a lot of clothing. It wasn't exactly like there was much to look at now. 

"Take your hands off me," I said, reaching around to pull his arm from my waist.

"Oh, a feisty one! I like her!" He only gripped me tighter. He began leering at me, his other hand reaching for my chest. "I think I'll keep this one."