The main purpose for my being in Bree was to purchase a horse from a Gondorian trader who saw me race last year in Rohan. It was utterly impossible for me to know at the time what a peculiar experience my errand would turn out to be.
Finding a place to stay was an unusual challenge. The mayor’s daughter was being married, and though it surprised me to know the stuffy little outpost had a mayor, it baffled me more that there were no vacancies anywhere.
My first hour was spent going from one inn to another and being referred elsewhere. Soon I decided on another strategy and simply checked each and every house and shop that I passed. As my confidence level was waning, I climbed a tall set of stairs to an old house with the curtains drawn. There was a dainty sign pointing to the door with the words ‘Wide Open For Business’ written in Westron and Sindarin, though the Sindarin actually read ‘Open Wide Here Business For You’. I had no need to knock, for the door was opened for me by a young man with a thin mustache as I approached the porch. I bowed my head in thanks and continued, realizing only after entering exactly where I was. I had no intention of entering a brothel, but under the circumstances I asked my question anyhow.
“I am attempting to locate a reasonable room for the duration of the week. By chance, do you know where I might find one?”
“We ‘ave rooms right ‘ere,” offered the matron of the house before she spat on the ground and stomped her foot down hard, scraping the roach from her dainty shoe onto the rung of a chair. “An’ each comes wif a girl in’nit to warm yer bed.”
“I was thinking of something a little more conservative,” I said, and the matron could not help laughing. It seemed very unlikely that I was going to find a place indoors during my stay, but then the matron scratched something onto a coarse scrap of paper she pulled from the cleft of her bosom and held it out to me with a sly grin.
I came forward, still cloaked and hooded, and took the note. On it was written a pathetic figure by Elven standards, but it would have been a small fortune for a more common man to pay. Considering the lack of available choices, I was willing to give it a try. “This is a very reasonable nightly rate,” I said, and the matron shook her head. “Tha’s the price for the week. Paid in full, in advance.” Another roach scuttled out from the counter, and before it could run back for cover the matron was scraping it off to join the first.
“Perhaps I should ask to see the room first.”
The matron motioned to one of the scantily clothed young women sitting on the winding main staircase wearing a defeated look. “’Oneypie, take this gentlemahn up t’yer room.”
I was helpless to prevent what happened next. This poor lady, Honeypie as the matron and the other prostitutes called her, was subject to the taunting and teasing of her peers for being of more worth as a roommate than a whore. Despite this the woman curtseyed low before me and in a soft and timid voice instructed, “This way, please, sir.”
“’Oney!” called out the matron as we began to climb the stairs. “If’n the master requires ennathing- enna-thing- you give it to ‘im.”
“Yes’m,” she replied, but I turned around and said, “I will not require anything but the room.” Then I pushed back the hood and my dark braids cascaded down. Revealed to all of them were my pointed ears. There was a pause, that sort of gasping silence I have become used to from mortals when they realized exactly what I am.
“’Oneypie,” spoke the matron again, “you make sure you give him ENNAthing ‘e wants.”
It was not the reaction I had hoped for from the matron. Either she was not aware of how respectable we Eldar are, or else she had met only those who do practice such lascivious behavior. Nevertheless, it did shut the other women up.
We climbed to the third story of the building and a door was unlocked and opened. The key was handed to me. Within, I found the room to look pleasant enough, with tall windows covered by burgundy drapes and a large bed with an ornate metal frame, as well as a table and a few chairs.
“To your liking?” asked the matron, who had followed us up.
“I think it will do,” I said slowly, checking about. Despite first appearances, I would take no chances. I examined things a little closer, and checked in the closet and beneath the bed.
“Them roaches stays downstairs,” the matron informed me. “No mice neither. We’ve got a big couple cats up ‘ere takin’ care of ‘em.”
I was eager to rest. Deciding the situation could have been much worse, I paid the matron. I could handle a few roaches and the occasional mouse for a few days. I then went back downstairs to see to my horse, who would be staying in the small barn behind the brothel. Once she was stabled, I returned and went straight to my room. What I found was slightly shocking. Waiting in the darkness, timid as a newborn fawn, Honeypie knelt in the center of the bed. Her hair was down, making a soft honey-colored sheet on either side of her head. She was unclothed; her crystal blue eyes trained on a purple patch of the quilt she was on.
I did the best I could in such a situation. First, I counted to ten- such displays of beauty still affect me! Then, as calmly as possible I said, “Well, I believe it to be no coincidence that we are to share a bed for the next few days, for I, too, prefer to sleep in the nude.” Hurriedly I stripped off my clothing and crawled into the bed, startling the woman a bit. “Good night!” I announced before drawing up the covers. I gave it a little while and then faked a few snores. It seemed to do the trick, for she joined me after a few minutes, curling up to sleep as well.
The next day I woke to find a warm body pressed delightfully against me. One of Honeypie’s arms was draped over my chest and her cheek rested upon my shoulder. I waited until the sun fully rose before I wiggled out of her grasp. A note slid under the door asked me to join the household for breakfast, but I declined the offer. Instead, I found I was in need of a cold bath, which I hastily took in one of the communal washrooms of the brothel. I tried not to think of what the faded stains on the towels likely were, and then went into town.
Wearing a hood up over one’s head gets more looks than pointed ears. Either way, most people are caught staring at me. The solution I had to this was to wear a slightly tattered cap that hides my identity. I took my breakfast at The Ruddy Rooster and then traveled down the road to John’s Pub to nurse a few beers and eavesdrop. This technique I actually learned from Haldir: Sit right at the bar and drink a beer. No one suspects an Elf would be drinking an ale or stout, and no one expects one to sit at the bar. Immediately the assumption is that there is simply a very tall man with an ugly hat sitting at the bar. So far, it has yet to fail me. The agreement I had made with Darthen, the horse trader, was to meet with him on the third of the month at The Lame Duck. I had planned to spend the majority of my time there, but it was one of the three main buildings being used for the mayor’s daughter’s wedding. Instead, my day was spent perusing the market for a few trinkets to bring home to friends and family. I took my supper at Terse Advice, which is a small pub that boasts the employment of professional jesters and a magician. The food is not up to fine dining standards, but the price you pay for it is to keep the entertainment available. Despite the cost and lack of seating, they are a total success. I always arrive early to ensure I am able to find a seat.
After the show ended, I drank my way through half a bottle of spiced rum with the aid of the magician and left him with the rest. As I ventured back to the brothel with my purchases in a cloth sack, I paused at a street peddler to buy a bag of roasted pecans. The doorman was missing when I returned, and I entered to find the large central room crowded with tables of men playing cards. Harlots danced on the tables, sat on laps, or were in some cases otherwise occupied. This was the case with one young blonde who was knelt before a young man. She was pulling off his boots while he kneaded her bared breasts in his hands. Next she untied his breeches as he scooted forward and leaned back, and—
“Hey, you! Git! This here’s a private engagement what on the account of my son.”
“Benjamin, ‘e’s good. ‘E’s rentin’ the luxury apartment up stairs fer the week, what on account a’ yer son’s marriage takin’ up all the available inns.” The matron gave me a wink and made a motion with her hand for him to let me pass.
“Well, then, on the account of our displacing of you, come and join the party!”
I would have quite happily gone upstairs and hidden with the book I bought in town for the rest of the evening, but Benjamin was already steering me to a table with a few open chairs.
“Boys, we’ve got another for the table. John, deal him in. That’s Eorrin, cousin of mine from the south. Johnny’s my second born, and Torrel here, he’s related somehow to the bride.”
“Uncle,” spoke Torrel as he patted his knee and pulled a giggly red-head into his lap.
“And your name, friend?” Eorrin asked.
And here I had a quandary, for so often when I travel I adopt the name Torrel as my guise. How unfortunately coincidental it should be for me to end up in such a situation! I could not use my own name, for some years earlier I had been arrested here in Bree, while on a diplomatic mission with Thranduil. I could not hesitate long or leave the question unanswered. The first name other than my own was that of a friend of mine in Rivendell, but I dared not use his name in full. So, I answered, “Fin,” and hoped this would suffice.
It did, for they were half to mostly drunk already. Chips were given to me, as well as an explanation. “Blues are ten, whites are one. Every one you have at the end of the game, you get to have one of these hussies suck you off. Every ten, it’s a fuck, and fifty, you do whatever you want- tie her up, up the arse, whatever you like.”
I just nodded and checked my cards. I felt sick already, and my only reason for staying was to try to win their chips to keep them from having any- not that I suspected it would stop them.
Benjamin joined us, sure of himself that he would be winning a good number of our chips. A dozen hands later, after loosing all of them, the father of the groom stood and said loudly, “I think I’ve had enough of this. Who’s up for another game?”
There was a hearty agreement among the men, and soon they had organized a game that was purely based on desire. One man at a time was blindfolded and then ran about grabbing at the women as they ran around. Their escape was blocked by tables and the other men.
Some of the men blindly managed to pin a girl down and grind against her, while others would tear off an article of clothing or get a few swats in on one of the girl’s rears. Now and then, one would catch their quarry long enough to spill himself in his pants.
I took myself to the short bar tucked in one corner where the doorman now served drinks. Over the next twenty minutes I continued to talk myself out of the idea of gelding the entire lot.
“Come back, Fin, you’ll get a turn, too,” said Benjamin as he attempted to pull me from the stool.
“No thank you,” I replied. I ordered whatever was strongest, hoping it might settle my churning stomach. Sharper sounds were heard minutes later, and I looked to see one of the men had removed his belt and was using it to beat one of the women across her backside. His blindfold was tilted so that he could see his target and another man had taken hold of the prostitute’s wrists when she tried to get away. I looked to the matron, sensing her worry. Picking up my glass, I crossed the room and whispered to her, “Do you want me to stop them?”
“I cannot afford to ‘ave any of them covered in welts,” she answered. I had a hunch, had it been some nameless group she would have broken things up, but ruining the fun of the mayor’s soon-to-be son-in-law was a matter altogether different indeed.
Strolling over, I casually came to the man holding the woman against her will, patted him on the shoulder, and pretended as if I was going to take his place. I then tugged her away, and she followed my lead, escaping off to the side with her housemates. “You still want her to be able to sit, right?” I asked in a joking sort of tone. What I really wanted to do was punch all of the teeth out of his mouth.
“If she can kneel, crawl, beg, and lay, I’ll be fine,” he answered to the laughter of the others.
“She will be unable to do anything soon if you hurt her. So stop using your belt,” I advised.
“And start using your prick!” called out one of the partygoers.
“I hope it gets caught in a door and snaps like a twig,” I mumbled, only after I walked away from the disgusting bunch and only for the matron to hear.
“There’s someone upstairs waitin’ on you,” the matron informed me. When I asked who, she whispered, “’Oneypie.” I finished my drink and then climbed the stairs. The men were all engaged in debaucherous acts and it occurred to me that most were married, and one was going to take such sacred vows the very next day. The thought made me grip the rail to steady myself. My other hand clutched my stomach.
“The lad’s havin’ trouble holdin’ his liquor!” shouted one of the men.
“And, he seems to have a bedtime!” called out another.
I set my jaw and hurried up the remaining stairs. I had to pretend it did not bother me so that I did not go back downstairs. They were not worth it. It was just this sort of thing that got me into trouble last time.
When I entered the room, I found one curtain pushed aside. A shaft of moonlight illuminated one spot on the bed, where Honeypie lounged, looking at a small item in her hand. As soon as the door opened, she tucked it away and looked upon me with a less frightened look than the day before. “What did you just hide?” I asked as I closed the door.
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing at all.” Sitting up now on the bed, she looked like an innocent beauty, so different from the tramps in the main room below. “I have no intention of taking it from you or teasing you about it. I was only curious.” I removed my hat and realized that I didn’t remember to bring up my sack when I came. “Just a moment,” I apologized, but I opened the door to find the doorman about to knock.
“I believe this is yours.”
I thanked him with kind words and a few coins. Once again the door was shut. I turned to find Honeypie holding the item again, a tiny sketch of poor quality. “My father. He died in debt, that is how I came to be here. I was sold to pay his loans; I was fourteen.” The rest of the story tumbled out, from the early death of her mother to the fire that killed her father and burned his bakery to ash. She showed me the dark markings on her back, scars from beatings she received while being trained at another brothel.
Only one question remained when she was done, and I was reluctant to ask it but I did. “Is your name really Honeypie?”
“No. Lady Nora, the matron, she named me that. My name is really Claire, but I actually prefer the fact that the men who come here do not use my real name when... well, you know.”
Sadly, I did. I pulled my sack onto my lap and searched the contents, pulling out the roasted nuts. “Do you like pecans?”
We ate the treat as I shared a few stories of my own with her. After a while she snuggled against me, and told me how she felt secure and protected with me around, revealing it was something she had not felt since her father’s death. Then she yawned, and I yawned, and she yawned again, then laughed, then I laughed, then I yawned, and at that point we decided to call it an evening.
We crawled into the bed, naked just as the night before. This time, Claire nestled against me right away. Her fingers combed through my long hair and with a sigh she said, “You are so beautiful.”
“You flatter me,” I replied, daring to touch the golden hair. There was an immediate attraction between us yesterday, one I was still afraid to admit. “Claire, how old are you?”
“Three months and nineteen years,” she replied.
Suddenly, the real meaning of my being here is clear. Horses can wait, but a lady so young with such a heartbreaking story did not deserve a life such as this. None of them deserved it, really, but I did know that some of them had chosen to sell their bodies. It was obvious that Claire would not have willingly become a whore.
Somehow, I knew she was my purpose for being here. Somehow, I would find a way to rescue her from this place. I could only pray that I would not fall in love.
