MeowthTL
patreon
Middle-earth Adventure Journal! - 41
🕑 Added 2025-10-06 17:33:50 +0000 UTCChapter 41: The Ruffians of Bree
Morning broke with bright sunshine. The dwarf caravan stopped at Bree's entrance, and Glóin raised his right hand to thump his chest forcefully. "Aedric, we must part ways here. Thank you for all your help on this journey. If you ever get a chance to visit the Blue Mountains, I will treat you to the richest beer and most delicious roasted meat!"
The dwarves still had goods to deliver to Archet in the northern region of Bree—a copper mine that needed large quantities of quality ironware, purchasing half a year's worth at once. One of the few substantial orders from the Blue Mountains.
The dwarf also nodded to Morgan. "Morgan, thank you for the delicious food you cooked for us on the road."
After departing from Buckland, their relationship had grown much closer—from traveling companions to good friends. Morgan had accepted an invitation to serve as the caravan's cook, a paid position. Unfortunately, the journey from Buckland to Bree only took two or three days, making many dwarves reluctant to part.
Jerky that made cheeks ache from chewing, bland vegetable soup, and bread harder than bricks—they naturally wouldn't complain about such fare. But who could resist truly delicious food?
"There will be opportunities in the future," Aedric replied, nodding before waving goodbye to the dwarves and watching them leave. Gimli kept looking back, his face showing clear reluctance. Whether he missed Morgan's cooking or preferred adventuring with Aedric was unclear.
"Morgan, let's go." Aedric called out, leading Radish toward Bree's west gate.
On the road, he had chatted with Glóin about this place. As the westernmost human settlement in Eriador, Bree town sat on the western side of Bree-hill, surrounded only by a few miles of farmland and developed woodland. From afar, it looked like an isolated island in the wilderness.
However, it had excellent transportation—the East-West Road and the Great North Road intersected here. Though humanity had long declined in the North, this place remained fairly lively. Many caravans heading south and various wanderers stopped here. Some dwarves visiting relatives in the Iron Hills and Blue Mountains also passed through, though in recent years such visits had become increasingly rare.
"You two." Seeing arrivals, the gatekeeper blocked their way. He had a loud voice—a brown-haired human with an honest face, appearing in his thirties or forties, shorter than Aedric by at least a head but very stocky with a decent standard of living. He wore ordinary gray linen clothing with a long knife at his waist.
"Where are you from? What brings you to Bree?"
"Hey, Old Derry, don't you recognize me?" Morgan stepped forward.
Ten years ago, he had spent time in Bree. Back then, Derry was already guarding the gate. Surprisingly, ten years later, it was still him.
Derry frowned and looked him up and down several times but couldn't place him.
"Me, Morgan. Morgan Gray-shadow. The Hobbit who fought with Bill Ferny, nearly blinding his right eye, and ended up paying a gold coin in compensation."
"Oh! I remember now!" Once specific events were mentioned, Derry suddenly recalled, slapping his forehead. "So it's you! Haven't seen you in almost ten years, have we? You've changed considerably. What, coming back to settle accounts with Old Bill?"
"No, no, that's all in the past," Morgan waved dismissively. "These ten years I switched careers to become a cook. This time I'm back to buy a house from the mayor. Maybe I'll open a restaurant." He pointed behind him. "This is my friend."
Aedric smiled and nodded at Derry.
On the road, he had thought it over—adventures and commissions weren't guaranteed to always appear. Usually, it was best to have a legitimate business as cover. When adventures came, they'd adventure; when not, they'd run a shop to avoid eating through their savings.
His team seemed perfectly suited to opening a restaurant. He had some money—probably enough to buy a decent house. Morgan was an excellent chef. Aedric had received years of education and could keep accounts. Luna was an excellent archer who understood wilderness survival—she could hunt game in nearby forests, practicing archery while saving considerable meat expenses. Then hire a server for cleaning, and everything would be complete.
To appear more credible, he even wore the fine clothes the Took family had rushed overnight to deliver to Buckland.
"You're going to compete with Old Butterbur!" Derry joked with a laugh, referring to the town's most famous inn, the Prancing Pony, which belonged to the Butterbur family. He stepped aside to clear the path. "Go on, go on. Though the mayor seems quite busy lately—probably can't spare time to see you."
The approaching person was an acquaintance, and the young man behind him led a decent horse, wore a circlet with a pale golden gem, had gem-studded boots, and wore a black tunic with exquisite gold-thread embroidery on the right chest—a large tree emitting faint golden light. A wealthy person. No need to obstruct such people.
"Thanks for the heads-up." The Hobbit waved and entered the street with Aedric.
Not far away in a corner, a hooded figure took advantage of the gatekeeper's distraction, nimbly climbed over the hedge, and vanished behind street houses in a blink. That was Luna. Aedric noticed and smiled faintly, turning his gaze toward the town.
Looking ahead, about a hundred stone houses belonging to humans stood tall, mostly situated on the hillside overlooking the road. On higher hillsides were roughly the same number of smials—round little windows all facing west, belonging to local Hobbits.
It was mid-morning, and the open ground at the hill's base bustled with activity, much like a small marketplace. Since Bree town was centrally located with nearby villages not too far away, local residents brought seasonal fruits, dried tobacco leaves, hunted game, and various processed foods and sundries to trade here.
On a hillside platform stood a table where two helmeted guards sat yawning boredly, with two rust-spotted spears leaning beside their chairs—clearly not well-maintained, perhaps never even used.
Aedric led Radish through the bustling crowd. His unfamiliar face plus luxurious clothing immediately attracted countless eyes and whispered discussions.
By the roadside, a young man with blonde hair and thin lips brightened and walked over. His small eyes squinted, face plastered with a seemingly enthusiastic smile as he struck up conversation. "Young sir, first time in Bree, isn't it? Need any help? Harry is happy to serve you."
Aedric didn't answer, continuing to lead his horse, but his path was blocked. Morgan waved dismissively in disgust. "Not needed. Clear the way quickly."
These people—he knew them all too well. They appeared to warmly greet travelers but were actually a gang of thugs active in Bree. Once engaged in conversation, they had countless methods to extort outsiders. Because they had connections with the guard captain and didn't much bother locals, town residents turned a blind eye.
Ten years ago, he'd interfered and ended up paying a gold coin before slinking away from Bree. That's why the gatekeeper asked if Morgan was back for revenge.
"All right, all right." Harry's smile didn't diminish. "No help needed is fine. I have a treasure map found at Deadmen's Dike. I'm sure you gentlemen would be interested."
Without waiting for refusal, he pulled out parchment from his breast and unfolded it before Aedric. In the sunlight, the map's patterns were very clear—impossible not to see.
To the west, a moon sinking into a forest. The East-West Road in the middle, spanning the entire map. A small town in the west, labeled "Bree" in Common Speech. In the middle, a mountain range running north-south. The southernmost peak showed a fortress labeled "Amon Sûl" in Sindarin—Weathertop in Common Speech. To the east, a rising sun.
The map's blank spaces were occupied by strings of text—flowing, elegant, and continuous, like drifting feathers or ocean waves.
"This...?" Aedric didn't understand the text's meaning, but judging by its completeness, it shouldn't be random scribbling. "Could this be Quenya?"
Deadmen's Dike. About a thousand years ago, people called it Fornost Erain—the capital of Arthedain, one of the three great northern kingdoms, north of Bree about one to two hundred kilometers away. Since the Angmar Wars ended, it had been abandoned. People thought it was haunted and called it Deadmen's Dike.
However, Arthedain's kings were also descendants of Númenóreans. In the Second Age, Númenóreans befriended Aman's elves and learned to use Quenya. Could it really be a treasure map?
"Isn't this Bill's old scheme?" Morgan glanced at the map, his expression full of mockery. "He was selling this map ten years ago. Nobody could read those words. What, you're doing it now?" He waved his arms like shooing flies. "We're not buying. Move aside quickly."
"Ha!" Harry grinned mockingly. "This is a treasure map. You've already looked at it. Think you can just say you won't buy? Five gold coins—remember, dwarf-minted gold coins. If you don't pay, you're not leaving today!"
Such maps cost next to nothing—buy cheap parchment, get a quill, find any barely literate resident willing to scribble, and half a day produces a pile. Cost never exceeded three copper coins.
"Extortion?" Aedric frowned, instinctively gripping Mithreleth's hilt, then immediately realizing this wasn't the wilderness surrounded by onlooking residents. The disgusting fellow before him wasn't an orc either. Couldn't just casually kill him with a sword.
He clicked his tongue in extreme displeasure.
"What?" Harry acted unafraid. "Planning to draw your sword and cut me down?" Then he raised his voice. "Everyone come look! This outsider looked at my treasure map, refused to pay, and is about to draw his sword! Is anyone going to do something?"
Surrounding townspeople didn't speak. They knew what sort of Harry was, merely pointing and whispering privately. Some quietly warned, "Outsider, this guy's a scoundrel. Just give him some money. Otherwise you really won't leave."
Five ill-intentioned fellows blocked them, completely surrounding Aedric and Morgan—clearly accomplices. The two guards nearby showed no intention of getting up, instead watching the commotion with interest.
"Boss," Morgan looked up, saying softly, "How about we give them some money, then settle accounts after seeing the mayor?"
Aedric shook his head and smiled, revealing neat white teeth. He handed Radish's reins to the Hobbit and removed his elven cloak. Morgan accepted everything, his expression shifting from tension to relief.
Recently traveling with straightforward dwarves and respectable Hobbits, Aedric always treated people politely with a constant smile. Morgan had almost forgotten—this was someone who, after being ambushed, would turn back to ruthlessly eliminate all threats.
"How could I pay money?" Aedric muttered very quietly. "Once these types get something once, they'll latch onto you and pester you endlessly. If we want to stay in Bree long-term, we need to make an example!"
Then he turned around, stuffing his right hand into his breast, smiling. "Five gold coins, right? I have them. Want them?"
Harry was overjoyed. He'd only made such an exorbitant demand seeing the other dressed well, never expecting agreement! "Yes! Yes!"
Harry nodded repeatedly, eyes fixed on the right hand emerging from the other's breast. When opened—completely empty.
"You're mocking me?" His face changed as he prepared to curse, only to see that hand getting closer and closer—close enough to clearly see the thick calluses on the palm.
The slap echoed across the marketplace. Harry felt half his face instantly go numb, his entire head buzzing. Losing his footing, he fell and rolled twice on the ground, tasting copper in his mouth. He spat out three bloody molars consecutively.
"This outsider hit me?" Harry stared at the teeth in blood, unable to process what happened.
Surrounding exclamations arose, followed by cheers! "Well done!" "Teach these scoundrels a lesson!" "They bully people every day!"
The nearby accomplices reacted quickly, surrounding them. Two even pulled out gleaming daggers.
Aedric wasn't polite either, drawing Mithreleth and using the flat of the blade to knock and slap, felling several ruffians in just a few moves. Continuous wailing filled the air.
Then he pulled two envelopes from his breast and said to the guards hurrying over, "This is a letter from the Master of Buckland to your mayor. Please deliver it." The guards froze in place. "Oh, and another one—written by the Shire's Thain. Deliver that too."
"Certainly, sir, please wait," the two guards' expressions changed as they accepted the letters with beaming smiles.
