Hamlet Thriving (Black Lake book 2)

Chapter 22
Braes

~

The spinster elf hen, Gadewyn, was completing the packing of her few belongings I believe when her brother escorted me into the cottage. The female glared at me, as though I’m the root of all evil. But the mean glint in her eye made her look particularly enticing. She indeed has spirit, as her brother said.

“And what is it you’re here snooping about for?” she challenged me, pointing a petite finger at me.

The sister in-law jerked a look at the two of us before hastily excusing herself for some important task outdoors, dragging her mate with her.

I said, “Take that anger out of your voice, hen. There’s no need for it. I’m not the one who insulted you.” Felt weird dropping my Southern idiom. I placed my fists on my hips, feeling ready for battle, if need be. Some peace takes some battling, I imagine, to be worthwhile.

“I don’t take to anyone telling me what to do,” she said.

“Then I’ll change the subject,” I said.

“And you think that will mend all?”

“I would ask you what there is to mend between us, but I’m changing the subject. Have you heard of the Black Lake Valley?”

She had opened her mouth to respond to my previous statement. She stood that way, her face failing to catch up with my second question. I smiled as her brows rose and fell a twitch as she considered my query. “Do I look like an uneducated fool?” she asked.

This is a challenging hen.

“Of course I know of the valley. And of course I know you’re the proprietor of a proper inn there. Get to your point.”

I sat at the tiny kitchen table, uninvited. A pause was needed. I looked about the sitting room. The cottage was well appointed, though Gadewyn’s brother and new mate were still establishing their home. It didn’t have the quilts hanging from the walls yet, nor unnecessary doodads they would eventually collect on every surface. There’d be decades of quilting bees and birthdays in the future to accommodate that. Furniture was moderately lacking. They’re good elves, in no hurry.

Gadewyn didn’t join me at the table. She continued standing where she was, her full knapsack hanging from one hand, one fist planted on a respectably, female-shaped hip. She had changed from the dress and smock she wore earlier. The soft leather vest she wore arranged her other assets well. I liked her even more in her riding attire. The soft leather of her boots reaching to her knees was very dramatic, with their gold buckles. A simple, tan-colored blouse tucked loosely into tight-molded, black-dyed leather pants, further accented the figure I enjoyed watching walk up the path earlier.

“I don’t like how your eyes are taking me in.”

I smiled. “I guess I was a little obvious.”

“The sun rising is obvious. If it reached down and shook you out of your bed, that would be more like your leer.”

I laughed. After a moment, the hint of a grin made its way to her face. Maybe it didn’t insult her being gawked at by a male.

“Your sense of humor and use of words would be appreciated by the ogre and troll hens who help me run my Inn. You must come visit with me, and see what you think of my Valley.”

“Your valley, is it? I must come. I don’t have a choice?”

“I guess the Valley actually owns my heart. On the other matter, I extend an invitation. You certainly have a choice.”

She stood quietly for too long, making me uncomfortable in my chair. Maybe I wiggled about. Her glare began to make me feel I’d gone too far. Much too fast. But didn’t I need to be assertive, considering she was packing to leave?

“Did I err? Are you not free to do a bit of traveling on your own?” I asked.

She lifted the small pack, threading one strap over her shoulder, and crossed her arms. “You were presumptuous. But I forgive you. Why would I wish to travel south, what would it be, four days, to get to your valley?”

“Less than three on a good mount,” I said. “The rolling hills here in the North are pretty, but until you see the Valley—”

“Pretty? Ballads have been written about our lands,” she said. Some of the earlier irritation returned to her face.

“If you’re afraid you might fall in love with another place, you wouldn’t wish to travel South with me.”

“You’re a pompous one.” She puckered up her face, but I could tell the anger wasn’t sincere. I hoped.

“I’ve been called much worse. You should hear what my late, good friend Jear the troll snarled at me.”

She unfolded her arms, pushing her fingers into the pockets of her pants. She looked down at me like she studied for an exam.

“Odd to hear an elf referring to a troll as a good friend,” she mumbled.

“I’m the godfather of three orclings,” I said.

She tilted her head back and laughed. “That’s right. And I remember you almost started a war by befriending goblins. You may burn in hell for that, elf.”

“Hard to imagine,” I said, “befriending anyone who has never harmed anyone would be a cause for being damned. I’ll take that particular risk every day.”

She unslung her pack and let it fall to the floor. Twirled around one of the dining table chairs and straddled it, across from me, arms over the chair’s back. She challenged me to explain what made the valley so special. At home I’m considered one of few words, but as I described the Black Lake Valley, the words flowed easily.

I described the Inn the dwarf and trolls created out of nature as though with majic. Told her of my friends, their personalities, the antics of orcs and daemons, the first-standoffish trolls, the Lake, the mountains, and babbled on about the younglings of the Hamlet, before finally concluding with the awesome dragons who bonded with the community’s two-legged inhabitants.

My ears burned and cheeks prickled when I realized the sun was probably barely still peeking through the woods on its downward descent, and Glendin and his mate sat fifteen feet away in the sitting room listening to my rambling. Never noticed when they reentered their home. Never once did Gadewyn or her brother or sister in-law interrupt me.

I stood, maybe abruptly. “I’ve talked on like quite the fool.” I strode toward the open door. Stars dashed in front of my eyes. No doubt from standing too quickly. The frame of the door jiggled a little and I reached out to make it stop. It was just my vision swimming.

“And what would I do at this make-believe land you tell me of?” Gadewyn asked. Maybe her first words in an hour.

I turned, the dizziness passing, slowly.

“I’ve not lied.”

Her expression didn’t change. She continued studying me.

She asked you a question, you dolt.

“You may enjoy the Inn for as long as you like. Visit. Join the bees or checker tournaments if you wish. Throw a line in the Lake if you’re so bold. We’re building up quite the library. If you like our Hamlet, you may make yourself a resident. There are challenges to fill a life, and those you’ll find in the Valley the most rewarding. Work with me in the Inn.

“Else,” I continued, “I’ll engage Lucas and Iza to return you home. I promise the flight on the back of a dragon is worth the trip South, by itself.”

After a long moment a shiver traveled up my back. Say something, hen.

“When do we leave?” she finally asked.

I smiled, and took a deep breath. “You look packed. First light?”

~

The heavy morning fog and the forlorn call of an owl as I approached the cottage made me think of a story I was once told that began with a similar kind of setting, overshadowing and even bigger thought. A bit dramatic, yet meaningful. Am I starting a new trek with someone who might become my mate? Would she instead break my heart? Or could she become another good friend?

There would at least be another elf in the the Valley, if only for a short time. That by itself remained a comforting thought. My mount and the filly I purchased the previous night to carry the other items I emptied from my home, whinnied. I pulled myself from my thoughts to see Gadewyn walking her mare from the back of her brother’s cottage.

She wouldn’t be one anyone would have to wait on. That’s pleasant.

“Good day, Master Braes,” she said.

“Good day, Gentle Gadewyn.”

Glendin joined her, and attached a larger pack to her saddle. “Are you sure you wish to do this?” The brother whispered to her.

She didn’t answer his question, that I heard, unless it was in Glendin’s ear when she gave him a hug. “Stay well,” I did hear her say, as she stepped away from him.

Glendin’s mate strode from the cottage, hands clasped in front of her. When Gadewyn mounted her mare, she gave her brother’s mate a gentle wave and kneed her horse. Gadewyn passed me without ceremony, or a glance, and I hurried to turn my horses about to catch up.

We rode silently until the sun burned off the fog, as though the gloom made it inappropriate to speak, the forest requiring quiet. The rays of the sun warmed us, and we both peeled out of our light jackets.

I asked Gadewyn to tell me about herself. She glared at me as one would expect from an elf for such a request. What was I thinking? I had grown used to talkative trolls, humans, and daemons that couldn’t move a checker piece without sharing their thoughts about the quality of their last meal, how they expected to beat you, and how badly they needed to relieve themselves after the game is over—as though that’s a proper topic for discussion. I summarized that thought for her.

Two decades of that culture made elven reserve unsettling to me. Company now means conversation. I’m used to the yackety females in the kitchen. Since it appeared Gadewyn wasn’t up to volunteering a thing, I asked her specific questions to get past her discomfort in sharing. She didn’t balk—what else was there to do but sway with our saddles—but wasn’t overwhelmingly open. To counter her failure at elaborating, I asked more probing questions. With each new query, she gave me a look of irritation. But she did answer, to a degree.

By late afternoon it must have dawned on Gadewyn that if she didn’t share on her own, her traveling partner would continue pestering her. So the conversation transitioned to a more two-sided one.

I interrupted the first day of our journey earlier than I normally would have. If I’d been traveling alone, would have ridden until the sun set, then camped off the trail. Instead, I stopped at an inn to put up my traveling companion in a bit more comfort.

After settling, we met in the public room, shared a tall mead and sliced roast. Either the long day’s ride, or the majic of the meal opened up the elf hen a bit more. I laughed more than I would have expected over the little stories she told about herself and her brother, memories of aunts and uncles, before turning the tables and asking about the Valley again.

It was a subject I was eager to delve into. Our empty mugs collected on the table as the tiny dining room emptied of other travelers. I was getting used to being called “inn keeper” and “giant lover” by Gadewyn. And, I found not speaking with the Southern accent I’d acquired, not so abrading. Would I lapse back, after a few days at home? Home. Yes. The Valley is home.

~

The sound of parting guests in the hall outside my room did little to encourage me out from under my sleeping fur, after the uncountable ales we’d finished off the previous night. Only my eagerness to be on the road got me downstairs. Gadewyn joined me minutes after I sat down. The proprietor plopped down a platter of cheese and bread in front of us. Gadewyn ordered tea. The grizzly old man grumbled, obviously in a foul mood for being kept up so late the previous evening.

His own fault. He could have run us off whenever he wanted last night, this morning. It was his greed for a few coins for the ale we sloshed, that has him exhausted. I considered the pain that shot from one temple to the other—as I am to blame for my own discomfort.

Gadewyn wore a similar expression as me I figured, with tired, droopy eyes. She hadn’t bothered to re-braid her hair. A day’s riding and tossing on a hard sleeping bench drew plenty of wispy locks glinting in the light sneaking into the lodge through the open door and two small windows high on the one wall.

“What?” she asked, looking over her shoulder. She turned back. “What were you looking at?”

“Nothing,” I said.

“Liar. Elf bulls can’t lie to save themselves. Tell me, or I won’t speak to you for an hour.”

“So that’s where we are in our relationship,” I teased, “making threats?”

“Did I hint we have a relationship? Oh, I have a headache,” she complained, interrupting herself. “Since when does accepting to visit a place imply a relationship?”

“Do you refuse me your friendship, hen?”

“Depends on what it’ll get me for the day.” She smiled. “I did tell you I’m competitive, didn’t I?”

“I don’t recall,” I said slowly, “that ever came up in conversation yesterday.”

“Well.” She rubbed her forehead. “Most everything else did. You’re the nosiest elf I’ve ever met. You ever consider there are things you shouldn’t ask a female?”

“Just getting you prepared for the other hens who flit about the Inn. I don’t have any interest in you otherwise.”

“That’s good to know. I wouldn’t want to be led on.” She turned and glared at Grizzly behind the bar and yelled, “What about my tea?”

I smiled, thinking how much the elf hen reminded me of Eina, who rules the roost at home. They would either love or despise each other with a passion that would be entertaining to watch. I imagined Gadewyn standing on a trollish chair, fists on her hips, glaring up into the giant’s face, both of them snarling, unwilling to back down.

It was going to give Sylvia, Gladys, and Bick so much joy to watch. Such opportunity to gossip. I’m glad my place is in the lobby.

It occurred to me that the hen might choose to take over running the desk, if she did decide to stay. The customers would likely enjoy her countenance more than mine. But it’s my realm. I glared back at Gadewyn, scrunching up an eye.

“What?” she snapped.

“Might you have an interest organizing activities for the visitors to the Inn?” I asked. Just an idea that fell into my head. Didn’t want her stealing my job.

~