War Is No Place For Women

The man’s arm slams down upon the wooden table, toppling his mug of ale which splashes all over the table and drips trickled to the cobblestone 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 was apparently hilarious. Opposite this man with bushy beard and balled head I am sat in total relaxation, grinning appreciatively at my opponent’s flushed face and tense shoulders even as 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 ‘den – I’ll not 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, wiping a stray hair from my face and taking a gulp from my mug.
“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, then I simply can’t refuse.”
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 sweat 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 with all his might. For a moment I let it hang there, 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. “You’re just too strong for me.” I say taking a deep breath after a long drink. The man sprang 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.
“Yer’ din nee even try! Again!”
One of the crowd members, a fairly muscular man with long busy 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 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 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 stretched my arms behind my back before I tapped the referee on the shoulder as I walked past him as I proceed through the crowd with a cocky smirk on my face. I collect my winnings as I walk arrogantly 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 off the table.
“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, and then I carried on out the door and into the chill night air, having my shoulder punched in a brotherly kind of way by one of the lads I pass.
It was entirely dark in the street save for the silver light of the moon and stars, and the light escaping windows. It’s all but quiet if not for the dirt crunching beneath my boots as I made my way back towards where my horse was tethered. I sang softly to myself as I go, dancing 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 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.
“Yer' filthy cheat!” roared a voice which was slurred and violent. I recognize this voice before I recognize the face, but once I saw him in 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.
“That is no way to treat a lady,” rumbled a mysterious voice from somewhere behind me.
Both I and my opponent froze, him pulling my hair with one hand whilst the other was fixed around my throat, and me holding his pushing him against the floor with my left hand while my right fist was raised in preparation to break his nose.
I look up in front of me confused, I recognize the voice so I look back over my right shoulder to see the shadowed figure of one whom I could only see a silhouette.

In that brief moment the man beneath me pushed me off of him, and I landed on my back with a groan. He must have shoved me with some force too, for he pushed me away so that I was now lying on my back toe to toe with him, I tilted my head backwards to try and make out this mysterious man, looking back as far as I could. He stepped forwards into my field of vision, it is Gandalf who has appeared to me, seeming to be upside down.
“Gandalf,” I said surprised
The drunk rose, stumbling, to his feet and stumbled this way and that towards Gandalf, almost tripping over me as he staggers past. 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, hardly intimidating to a wizard.
“Oh no, I wouldn’t dream of it. Master dwarf”
“What are yer' going t’ do? Beat me with yer' walking stick?” the man continued, apparently oblivious to the fact that Gandalf was talking back.
“You’re going to get yourself hurt,” Gandalf said seriously.
“Go on and try and hit me,” the drunk said, opening his arms at his sides as an invitation.
“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 eye with a small prideful smile, rather pleased with myself. Then I shook my hand.
“Ow. That hurt more than I anticipated.” I giggle
“Still getting yourself into trouble I see,” Gandalf said matter-of-factly.
“Well, I need to have something else to do other than drink.” I say with a wobble
“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. Let’s go.” I say before letting him finish. The very mention of danger and I’m in.
Gandalf raised his eyebrows as I smirked, and then, slightly unsteadily, I began to once more walk towards my horse.
“Aren’t you going to clean yourself up first?” Gandalf asked, as he followed casually.
“I can do that later.”
“You’ve changed. And not entirely for the best, I must say.”
“Which way are we heading?” I asked through a huge grin, and I pulled 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 it on the way.”
“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?”
“It is,” Gandalf said simply as he walked past me, pulling his horse not stopping. “But what’s so threatening about a Hobbit?” I asked. After a few moments thinking about the dangers of Hobbits, which I thought of none. I pushed my horse into a slow trot in order to catch up with the wizard. He merely chuckled and walked on, with me following curiously behind.