Star-Crossed

Chapter 33

“Tell us what you know about the dwarf runt!” One growled. She sputtered, coughing up water.

“Speak!” With a crooked gin she looked up at them.

“He’s bloody brilliant in bed.” Beuren choked, giving them a sly smile. The first one to talk, Warford, she thought the other man called him, took a handful of her hair, smashing her nose into the edge of the barrel then shoving her head under the water. Pulling her head back above the surface she gasped for air, coughing, losing her footing a bit in the muddy earth below.

“Let’s try this again…”

“No, no, I’ll talk.” She said between coughs. “You can go and tell Azog…”

“Yes?” The second man, Norvin, said.

“Tell the Master what?”

“That he can kiss my ass.” Norvin’s fist met her cheek with a nasty sting afterwards, and then her head again was shoved under the water again. She had to stand on her tiptoes, barely able to touch even while doing that, both hands trying to push Warford’s hands away from her hair.

The rain poured down, a violent torrential down pour at that. Thorin made his way through the main street of Bree, though, that’s really all there was to Bree. He saw the sign, The Prancing Pony. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than nothing. In the shadows along the side of the tavern, he saw two men standing next to a barrel, he thought it odd that they weren’t trying to get out of the rain and were both uncloaked and dripping. But what caught his attention was the female voice. He crept closer, watching the biggest man throw a punch the leaner one dunking a woman’s head under the water.

“What are you doing?” Thorin boomed, keeping his face hidden under his cloak. The men jumped, releasing the woman and running past him into the street and out of sight. She yanked her head out of the water, stumbling backwards and slipping on the mud, landing with a loud thud into the watery muck below, coughing violently. Rolling to her side she spluttered and coughed up more water, gasping desperately for air. No amount of water could have washed away the blood gushing from her broken nose. Thorin stepped forward and offered her his hand. She was on her hands and knees now, still panting for air.

“Which way did they go?” She growled.

“East towards…” She leapt to her feet, pushing past him, her shoulder colliding with his. He turned and watched her chase after the men, she seemed very familiar to him, but he shook it off, not believing in coincidences, what were the chances of meeting Beuren in Bree.

Once she’d tracked down the two men, she ambushed them, knocking them both out and carving a B onto the right side of their chests. It was her way of saying ‘bring it on’ to Azog without having to track him down. If these idiots followed him as they said they did, they’d have one helluva time explaining how someone as small as her took them both out, and let’s not forget that it was a woman!

She slid her knife back into her boot and started back towards Bree. She saw Gandalf’s tall pointed hat ducking into the inn. Making no hurry, she started towards the Prancing Pony, panting for air that she’d been deprived of between her drowning incident and her excessive running; she was both tired and breathless. She mentally thanked the stranger who’d helped her, and regretted that she hadn’t had time to properly thank him.

Pushing open the door she saw Gandalf sitting at a table with his back to the bar. She knew him better than that; he never sat like that unless he had to. She still had her hood up, Beuren pushed past the drunken men, dwarves, and hobbits. She sat at the table right next to him; it was in the shadows, out of the way. The barmaid came over.