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Middle-earth Adventure Journal! - 15
🕑 Added 2025-09-20 14:59:32 +0000 UTCChapter 15: "Gruel"
Night deepened. Most guests at the Golden Wheat Sheaf had retired, with only one or two windows still showing light.
The storeroom was among them.
In the lamplight, two men sat at a table, drinking while conversing in low voices.
The younger man set down his cup, saying: "Bakus has such a foul temper—just because of that morning kick, he had to take people out for ambush."
"Hah!" The older man chuckled, revealing two buck teeth: "Listen to their nonsense! Bakus wants that elven sword, and swore he saw a pure gold crown set with gems just lying in their boat—claims those folk returned from the Barrow-downs with countless treasures."
"Moreover, someone aboard was injured—they'll surely visit that disagreeable old crone in Thornfield. Otherwise, who'd go mad with him in the dead of night?"
"They're quite fortunate then." Greed and envy flashed in the younger man's eyes—whether referring to Bakus or Aedric's party remained unclear.
Then he gulped his ale irritably: "It won't be so easy though. Though we two didn't go out this morning, we could see through the window—that fellow with the elven sword is no easy mark."
With these bandits' limited knowledge, they naturally couldn't recognize Mithreleth as Rivendell craftsmanship. But their proprietress Barbara could, having warned the remaining men to guard the inn well and not cause trouble with Bakus.
"No matter." The elder waved dismissively, saying softly: "When Bakus left, I had him take the Black Thorn crossbow. For insurance, I coated the bolts with poison the sorcerer lord provided—just a scratch brings combat incapacity within minutes. Rest assured."
"Had there not been too many folk this morning, we'd have settled them then."
Crossbows proved far more useful than bows for ambush and surprise, requiring little training. With diligence, one could achieve good accuracy within a month or two. Bakus favored that crossbow and had practiced extensively.
"So we just let them have everything?" the younger man asked urgently.
"Certainly not." Buck-teeth reached for sausage from the platter, chewing contentedly while saying indistinctly: "Mmm... after they succeed, surely they must share with us? Once we have money, who'd remain in this godforsaken place watching the Shire?"
The younger man immediately beamed, nodding as he gulped ale, suddenly remembering something: "What about those brats locked in the cellar? And that cook—surely we can't kill them all?"
"Kill them and be done." Buck-teeth spoke casually: "Once we leave here, they're useless anyway."
The younger man's face showed regret. That cook called "Gruel" possessed excellent skills—his pastries and soups were the finest he'd ever tasted. Killing him seemed wasteful.
Yet he didn't object. Setting down his cup, his eye caught the window, and his expression changed drastically as he leaped up.
Crash! Window glass shattered as cold light shot in like lightning, piercing the young man's chest.
He cried out and toppled onto the table, eyes slowly losing luster, replaced by gray dimness.
Buck-teeth showed an incredulous expression—that was his poisoned crossbow bolt from the window. He instinctively thought his companion had betrayed and murdered him.
"Bakus, what are you doing?" Shouting, he turned to see an agile figure push through the window and leap inside.
The arrival was certainly not Bakus, but that morning's young man bearing the elven sword.
"You?!" Buck-teeth instantly understood everything—the ambush had failed, and someone had returned for revenge!
"Bastard!" Cursing, he ducked to grab his weapon. Just turning, he felt his back grow cold.
A gleaming sword point protruded from his chest, red blood dripping to the floor.
Swish—Aedric withdrew Mithreleth and immediately departed.
Their conversation had been quite soft—even pressed against the window, he could barely hear half. Yet that half sufficed for Aedric to sentence them to death in his heart. Thus, he showed no mercy when striking.
Only that so-called "sorcerer lord" concerned Aedric somewhat—whether it was the same one commanding orcs to kidnap elves remained unknown. He'd nearly been devoured by orcs! This debt belonged to that sorcerer.
However, killing two lackeys mattered little—they likely knew nothing anyway. That proprietress required careful interrogation.
Aedric didn't enter the inn through doors, instead nimbly climbing out the window. Not understanding interior conditions or remaining numbers, rather than charging into the hall blindly, he preferred lurking outside to await prey.
Enemy in light, himself in darkness, wielding a crossbow for surprise attacks—no better choice existed. Only careful identification was needed to avoid killing guests—from daytime observations, they were all innocent.
Yet his feet barely touched the ground when window-smashing sounds came from overhead. Looking up, a figure leaped from the third floor—that voluptuous form was surely the daytime proprietress.
After landing, she rolled several times to absorb the impact before running toward the stables without looking back. Her form was light and nimble, like a fleeing beast.
Soon horses whinnied, followed by hoofbeats pattering like raindrops. When Aedric reached the entrance, only two black shadows remained galloping southward through the night. Riding one, leading another.
"Quite swift indeed!" Aedric spat in annoyance, returning toward the storeroom.
With double horses, pursuit might last until next nightfall. Forget it. Better search those two corpses instead.
The inn now bustled as guests emerged from rooms, checking for losses to their goods.
When Aedric re-entered the storeroom, another person was present—that morning's timid cook. Now his face showed none of that fearful, cowering expression. Instead, he regarded Aedric with perfect calm, gripping a foot-long dagger whose sharp blade gleamed coldly in lamplight.
He said: "I didn't expect you to return."
Aedric sheathed his sword, asking: "To the inn? Or here?"
"Both."
Aedric smiled: "I also didn't expect you were the one who warned me."
While desperately fighting the bandits, he'd had no time for thought, only wanting to eliminate enemies quickly. Only after everything ended did he recall whose voice that had been.
"No need for thanks. I could see you were capable, so I hoped you'd entangle or even eliminate them. That'd give me rescue opportunities while reducing troublesome opponents."
Having spoken, "Gruel" also sheathed his dagger, crouching to search the two corpses.
Aedric didn't move, asking: "Are there other enemies in the inn?"
"None left. You killed two; another two were killed by me. As for proprietress Barbara, you should've seen."
Speaking thus, Gruel found keys on Buck-teeth, then limped toward the corner.
"You're injured?"
Aedric asked puzzledly.
"Bakus did it." "Gruel" explained without turning: "When they attacked the inn, the proprietor struck Bakus with an iron pan cooking mutton, scalding his face with scars. Since then, Bakus especially hated Hobbits. Local regulars couldn't be mistreated, but your companions were outsiders, so..."
"Ah." Aedric understood completely, then watched Gruel curiously.
A cook who could follow bandits undetected despite injured legs showed excellent stealth and tracking abilities. Moreover, after warning him and tripping Jug-ears, he'd returned early to the inn, secretly killed two bandits, and reached the storeroom, preparing to eliminate two more.
Also quite ruthless.
"Stop staring—lend a hand." Gruel gripped an iron ring, trying to lift connected floorboards, but couldn't budge them despite full effort.
Hobbits naturally possessed little strength.
Aedric stepped forward, easily lifting the boards with his right hand.
Bang—damp, moldy odor wafted up as Gruel unhesitatingly jumped down. Soon he raised a pale-faced, pained little Hobbit with both hands.
"Help." Aedric caught the child one-handed while pulling Gruel up, then watched silently.
Such moments often held tragic, sorrowful stories.
"Daisy's the proprietor's last child. They killed the rest of the Golden Wheat Sheaf family and forged contract documents, keeping her to control the inn's only outsider—me, the cook—making passing travelers believe the inn was safely purchased."
Gruel had no mood for storytelling, explaining causes and effects in few words.
Aedric asked, "What do you plan now?"
"Daisy needs treatment. I know a good doctor in Thornfield—I'll leave immediately. You..."
Before Gruel finished speaking, the outer hall erupted in chaos with rising shouts.
"Proprietress? Hands? Where's the cook? Someone tell me what happened here!" A dwarf's booming voice filled the entire inn, mixed with other voices:
"What the devil happened in this cursed inn?!"
"Everyone be careful—I smell blood."
"My horse is gone! Someone tell me where my horse went!"
Aedric recognized that last voice—the grain profiteer.
Gruel showed helplessness, crouching to carry Daisy before pushing open the storeroom door into the hall.
Facing the agitated guests, he resumed his courteous smile, clearing his throat loudly: "Everyone, quiet please—listen to me, listen..."
Unfortunately, Hobbit voices proved too small, having no effect in the clamorous hall. Guests continued shouting like five hundred ducks in a pond, creating maddening noise.
Gruel stood open-mouthed, feeling profound helplessness.
Suddenly—BANG!—a great crash. These "ducks" fell silent as if throttled, looking toward the storeroom.
Gruel also turned. Aedric kicked open the door, right hand gripping brilliant Mithreleth, left hand holding the sinister Black Thorn crossbow. Weapons lowered, he strode over with great steps.
When he reached Gruel's side, the hall had completely quieted. Everyone watched the tall and short figures, showing grave, fearful, or thoughtful expressions.
At least they closed their mouths.
Aedric didn't know why this cook called "Gruel" wouldn't simply leave but instead took time explaining to guests. Yet this didn't prevent him from offering small assistance—simply put, maintaining order.
Gruel cast Aedric a grateful look, then turned to say gravely: "Everyone, proprietress Barbara and her hands were all bandits. Two months ago, they slaughtered the Golden Wheat Sheaf family and then controlled Daisy, forcing my cooperation."
At these words, the hall grew even quieter. All stared wide-eyed—they'd been staying at a bandit den!
"However, with Master Aedric's help, we've eliminated most of them. Only proprietress Barbara escaped. The inn ceases operation from now—please depart after daylight. Any unpaid room and meal charges are waived."
Hearing "free," most guests departed. They were merely resting here—uninjured with goods intact, having neither need nor reason to investigate inn happenings. The only problem: future travel on this trade route might require different lodging.
Soon the hall emptied considerably, leaving only the grain merchant with several hands and guards.
"We lost a good horse!"
"Barbara took your horse. She's the fake proprietress here, but she's really just a bandit. You'll find her south of here if you want it back."
Aedric retorted irritably, seeing the man's frown while his own gaze sharpened. He deeply disliked greedy, money-obsessed profiteers who recognized coin over reason!
Should the fellow prove unwise... Aedric's eyes moved, considering whether to capture the leader first by controlling the merchant, or strike like thunder, downing the two armed guards?
In mere eyeblinks, the merchant's guards hustled the grain merchant away ignominiously. Faint consoling words drifted back:
"Boss, forget it."
"If we lose men, compensation could buy several horses."
"This trip, if we complete it safely, such losses can certainly be recovered."
Bang! Guest room doors shut tightly.
Gruel sighed in relief, turning gratefully: "Thank you, Master Aedric."
"No courtesy needed—mutual assistance." Aedric raised his brows, replying with feigned lightness: "We must also depart."
His left arm had numbed nearly beyond feeling.
Gruel surveyed the inn once more, gazing wistfully at the kitchen before nodding: "Aye."
The three then left the hall, taking the inn's donkey from the stables and heading toward Thornfield along the road.
On the way, Aedric and Gruel chatted briefly. Mainly because Gruel spoke little, using few words beyond necessary explanations.
However, Aedric still learned some information. Morgan Gray-shadow, nicknamed "Gruel." Possessing dual bloodlines of Took and Brandybuck families, he'd served as Shire border guard in early years, resigning from boredom after several years to wander the wilds.
During this time, he'd killed orcs, killed bandits, and even followed Rangers distantly into the northern Ettenmoors, encountering trolls at close range. Compared to most Hobbits, his courage was extreme.
Yet that one time, Ranger and troll combat proved too intense, affecting spectating audiences. A flying club struck Morgan, forcing immediate battlefield withdrawal followed by an arduous escape to the Shire, where he collapsed roadside before Golden Wheat Sheaf family members found him.
Since then he'd been a cook for nearly ten years.
Look at such fortune. Aedric clicked his tongue enviously, looking up to see the eastern sky faintly whitening like pale milk tinting half the heavens.
A compact village stood ahead atop a small hill, surrounded by dense thorny barriers. They had arrived.
