The Past That Blinds (1 of 3)

With a few grunts and groans the man’s arm slams down upon the wooden table, toppling his mug of ale which splashes all over the table causing drips to start trickling to the wooden floor. Around the scene the crowd of spectators roared with laughter raising their mugs high, whooping and jeering at the fact that this overly-sized man could not beat a woman no taller than five foot was apparently hilarious. But, It’s obvious that his size isn’t muscle, his beer belly hangs out over his rope belt that holds his earthy brown trousers up. His arms flap around like small blubber wings under the short sleeves of the tan coloured shirt he wears. Opposite this man with bushy black beard and almost baled head I am sitting in total relaxation, grinning appreciatively at my opponent’s flushed face and tense shoulders as even more bets were called over the crowd’s heads.

“Again!” the man shouts across the table at me, spit flying from his mouth as his fist crashed to the tabletop with drunken frustration rumbling my mug of ale. “I let yer’ win – I’ll nee be so lenient ‘dis time!” He puts his mug upright on the table then holds his arm back up as an open invitation for me to take another shot. I sigh in mock exhaustion picking up my mug to take a drink, wiping a stray hair from my face with the back of my wrist, then taking a gulp from my mug and wiping a slight dribble from my chin with my free hand.
“Maybe I should call it a night and be on my way? I don’t think I’m up to the challenge.” I play. A groan of disapproval comes from the crowd amid shouts of protestation.
“Listen here, lass! Yer’ not leaving ‘dis table ‘til ‘d round is up!”
“Well, if you insist”
And so I complied. Setting my elbow on the table stretching my fingers as I took the man’s hand in mine once more. I hold back a grimace at his hand being slick with sweat, his face still flushed red with perspiration forming on his brow.
“Ready?” the young man refereeing the arm wrestling asked. I nodded firmly, never letting my stern glare falter as I stared at my opponent. “Now!”
My challenger pushes against my arm. For a moment I resisted, beads of sweat rolled from the man’s face, and then I relaxed and let my arm slam into the table.
“It seems you were right after all,” I said, and I lean back in my chair, taking a long drink from my mug, exhaling and now breathing again I look to my opponent who’s face is burning red. “You’re just too strong for me.” I say infuriating him even more. The man springs to his feet with his teeth bared, sending his stool flying backwards. He stood looming over me for a long moment as loud chanting verses of encouragement reared up all through the tavern, most in my favor.
“Yer’ din nee even try! Again!”
One of the crowd members, a fairly muscular man with long busy light rowan hair and beard to match, retrieves the man’s stool and forced him to sit back down upon it. He did so with a huff and a puff. I tilted my head while circling the top of my mug with my finger and shrugged my shoulders in response.
“Very well” I said, seating myself properly once more. My lips curled into a grin with barely-hidden amusement as we positioned our arms for a third time.
The young referee gave the clue to start, and at first neither my arm nor that of my opponent moved even by an inch, but then the man’s hand began to slowly get closer and closer to the table as I push against him until at last it crashed against the wood splashing in the spilled ale. I win.

Within the explosion of cheers that followed I rose to my feet, downed what was left in my mug before placing it on the table the crowd cheering for me, I stretch my arms behind my lower back before I tap the referee on the shoulder as I walk past him. I proceed through the crowd with a cocky smirk on my face. The only reason I won this man is because I have the strength of both; dwarves and elves. But that story is a long one, one I shall not tell at this moment in time. I collect my winnings as I walk towards the door stopping about half way from it. I look back to my opponent; the man was still seated at the table frustrated that he has just been beaten, he grabs his mug and threw back his head only to find that just a few solitary drops remained. He slams it down on the table and pushes it away from him in frustration sending it flying.
“I’ll tell you what. Have one on me,” I called back to him, throwing him a coin that landed with a small clang on the table. I smirked as his face flushed with angry humiliation and the crowd cheered again, then carried on towards the door as I tie my pouch onto my belt, having my shoulder punched in a brotherly kind of way by one of the lads I pass. I push the door open into the chill night air.
It was entirely dark in the street save for the silver light of the moon and stars, and light escaping some windows from the tavern and nearby houses. It’s all but quiet if not for the dry dirt crunching beneath my knee high fur boots as I made my way back towards where my horse is tethered. I sing softly to myself as I go, giggling a little at my merriment.
“Hey! Ho! To the bottle I go.
To heal my heart and drown my woe.
Rain may fall and wind may blow,
But there still be many miles to go–”
Suddenly I hear a louder crunch of dirt that had not come from me, and as I turn in surprise I abruptly find myself with my back to the ground with an intense throbbing pain in my temple and the feel of someone heavy on top of me. I manage to kick my attacker off myself only after he had succeeded in hitting me numerous times in the face and in the gut, punching the air right out of me. I scramble to my feet, ignoring the pain and the fact that blood was oozing down my face now.
“Yer' filthy cheat!” roared a voice which was slurred and violent. I recognize this voice before I recognize the face that rushes into the light from a nearby window - My drunken opponent from the tavern. By this time he had already rushed at me again and caused us both to topple once more to the floor in a tangle of limbs as we rolled around, kicking and punching each other, this continued on for a short while and although painful, I couldn’t help but laugh at being in yet another drunken fight with another drunken opponent. We roll over and now I’m on top of him punching him while his hand is pulling my hair with his other hand around my throat.
“That is no way to treat a lady,” rumbled a mysterious voice from ahead.
Both my opponent and I freeze, my left hand on his throat pushing him to the floor while my right fist was raised in preparation to break his nose.
I look up in front of me confused, I recognize the voice but not the shadowed figure a few feet before me.
In that brief moment the man beneath me pushed me off of him, and I landed on my back with a groan. I laugh out of amusement. I look to this mysterious man and he stepped forwards into my field of vision.
“Gandalf,” I say surprised, one eye closed to stop blood dribbling into it.
The drunk rose, stumbling, to his feet nearly falling backwards in a few wobbly steps and staggered this way and that towards Gandalf, almost tripping over as he totters past me. I roll off my back and pull myself to my feet.
“I suggest you return to your home, before you get hurt,” Gandalf said politely.
“Are yer' threatening me, old man?” my opponent slurred, jabbing a finger at Gandalf, teetering forwards and back on the spot. Hardly intimidating to a wizard.
“Oh no, I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“What are yer' going t’ do? Beat me with yer' walking stick?” the man continued, as if hearing a completely different reply.
“You’re going to get yourself hurt,” Gandalf said seriously.
“Go on and try and hit me,” the drunk said, apparently oblivious to the fact that Gandalf was in no way threatening him, opening his arms at his sides as an invitation to be hit.
“He won’t,” I say as I gripped his shoulder and spun him to face me. I punched him square in the face, so hard that the man’s feet left the floor before he fully fell to the ground in a heap. “But I will.”
I took a deep breath and met Gandalf’s eyes with a small prideful smile, rather pleased with myself. Then I shook my right hand.
“Ow. That hurt more than I anticipated.” I giggle
“Still getting yourself into trouble I see,” Gandalf said with a disappointed look on his face while holding his staff with both hands, leaning against it.
“Well, I need to have something else to do other than drink.” I say looking up at him
“And that is precisely why I am here. I believe I have something that may interest you – something other than gambling, drinking cheep ale from cheap taverns and getting yourself into fights.”
“I contest that statement,” I pause, pointing at Gandalf in mock outrage keeping a serious face. “ ... It’s hardly cheap in there – have you seen the prices?” I say with a smile, unable to be serious any longer.
Gandalf chuckled before he became serious. “Now It’s a dangerous task–”
“I’m in.” I say wide eyed “Let’s go.” I say before letting him continue. The very mention of danger and I’m in.
Gandalf raised his eyebrows either surprised at my recklessness or insulted that I didn’t let him finish talking, I couldn’t tell. I smirked, and then, slightly unsteadily, I began to once more walk towards my horse, my head spinning from, not the ale but the fight.
“Aren’t you going to clean yourself up first?” Gandalf asked, as he followed casually.
“I can do that later.” I say but planning on cleaning myself up once we’ve gotten to our mounts.
There is a short silence before he speaks again, and not sounding too pleased with me.
“You’ve changed. And not entirely for the best, I must say. ‘Lady’ Chase” he says with a slight bit of emphasis.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve been called that, Gandalf” I state, the surprise of it slowed my walking speed down for a moment.
“No matter how many years you’ve spent living in the wild and roaming from town to town, drinking and fighting in taverns along the way, that is who you are, nothing can change that, you can’t just run from it.”
I refrain from replying not wanting to go any further into the matter, I put the past behind me.
We get to our steeds and I get a cloth out of my saddle bag and start wiping the blood off my face as Gandalf mounts his horse. After cleaning my face I splash it with water still dizzy from the pulsing in my forehead.

“So which way are we heading?” I ask, as I pull myself into the saddle after a number of failed attempts, one of which involved trying to mount the saddle backwards and another throwing myself off the complete other side. “You can tell me more about the quest on the way.” I say starting my pony into a walk towards the edge of town.
“It’s good to see you have not entirely changed. We are to go to The Shire.”
“The Shire?” I muttered to myself, pausing with slight confusion in the motion of seizing the reins. “I thought you said this task was dangerous?” I say looking round to him
“It is,” Gandalf said simply as he rode past me.
“But what’s so threatening about Hobbits?” I asked. After a few moments thinking about the dangers of Hobbits, which I thought of none, I urged my pony into a slow trot in order to catch up with the wizard. He merely chuckled and walked on, with me following curiously behind.