An odd camaraderie had settled over the group, and Bainith was not entirely certain what the purpose of the quest was. There had been some whispers of a shovel between Gilgladen and Feorsyer, and something about making a point of something that he did not entirely listen to or understand. On the other hand, he was developing a headache over Yucca's latest sudden great idea, involving the ugliest hat ever and adoption by a Dwarf. Nevermind that she had a perfectly good gammer and gaffer, she wanted to be a squire like Sterco so that she could go to Moria. Bainith was not certain whether the image of Yucca running into Moria on a pretty little pony holding a large white orchid was more frightening to him, or more ridiculous.
Somehow, he had ended up in Michel Delving with them. His only intent had been to pick up produce from his mentor (in retribution for the pies that her fox friend had destroyed). When he left the warm comfort of their little piece of four-poster heaven, Bainith whispered a few promises of a swift return to the darkling one who presumably was sleeping once more under pale blue silken sheets and a cozy canopy. It went without saying that swift returns did not often include long rides to foreign lands and persuit of foul beasts in order to safe a Dwarf, or do whatever it was that they were attempting to do, which Bainith was still a bit confused about. It may well have been that the bizarre headgear that Yucca insisted upon wearing had caused his brain to shut off, or at least, dull his senses so that he did not simply yank her from her mount, march her to her gaffer, and insist she be locked in a room until the wedding.
While plans were made, armor gathered, and a sword was given to Yucca, Bainith strayed his mount further and further from the group until he was conversing with a shopkeeper about the price of spices and how much honey he had room and coin to buy. All the while, he hoped they might actually forget he was there. Part of him wanted to go to watch after Yucca, but after the discussion earlier, and the harsh words he had spoken, he began to notice a little rift had formed between them, and he did not know if he really wanted to cross back yet. At some point he knew all would be mended, but they had never really had much of an argument, not yet, and the part that was upsetting was not that Yucca was showing a lack of remorse -- in fact, he could tell with certainty that she was sorry. The trouble was that she did not quite understand why she had earned glare and his silence.
Really, nothing she had done here was out of line, and he knew he would be writing a letter that would rival one of hers later. But an incident in Rivendell still had him ill at ease. It was when he had returned to collect a few things he had left there when he and Valanyonnen had gone hastily to Falathlorn that he overheard a conversation most distressing to him. He blindly reflected upon it again as he repacked his gear to accommodate fifteen pouches of herbs.
Bainith went right to the stables, hoping that the room he had been in had not yet been emptied, and that the few belongings he had forgotten would be there. What he did not expect as he approached the door was the irate tone of his mentor berating a scullery maid. He listened for a few minutes, and in that time learned that no one on the cleaning staff had wanted to take care of this guest room, if it could be called that, and that Zhie was quite livid to discover that after well enough to be taken from the healing wing of the Last Homely House, that one of the house maids had taken the linens and had them burned.
Initially, Bainith wondered if it was because he had some infection to cause such worry, but at the tone of his mentor's voice became angrier, he realized what the fuss was about. He had brushed off the idea earlier as to why he was put into such a remote room in Rivendell, still content to believe that the guest rooms in the house were simply full. Now that the truth was confirmed by the arguments from the maid, he slunk back down the stairs, not wishing to hear any more utterances of words and phrases such as 'unclean', 'misguided youth', and least of all 'reason why his parents abandoned him'.
That last part still troubled his mind as he recalled the sparks that shot out of the windows as he mounted his horse and hurried away, miscellaneous items forgotten. He did miss his blue feathered hat, but at least, he reflected as he buckled the sack and slung it over his shoulder, he had thought to leave the farming hat that Valanyonnen had made him in his vault in the Shire, so it was safe.
The sound of someone calling his name brought him out of his thoughts, and he mounted his horse and rode the short distance back to the others. They were all speaking proudly of their intentions on this quest, of the great battle that would happen, and how far they would journey. Bainith pulled back on the reigns of his horse as the others began to race off in the direction of the Dwarven-lands.
It only took a few moments for them all to circle back around, four to one, all staring at Bainith. What had seemed like a good idea, a way to prove himself before his peers, now seemed like a horrible idea. He had been gone long already, far too long by his measure, and he shook his head as someone asked if he was coming with them.
"I am having second thoughts," he admitted. "The distance is so far..."
"We will be back before you know it," someone insisted.
"I..." Bainith's gaze danced about, landing on Yucca. She sniffed her flower innocently, and he knew it would be even more confusing for her to understand things with what he was about to say. "I promised Valan... that is, I think I need to go back."
Yucca looked concerned, the giant flower swinging wildly about. "Are you still hurt, Bainith? I thought you were better now."
"I am very well, Yucca," he said, moving and twisting both wrists to show her that he was quite able to go into battle again. "But I..." Bainith looked about at the faces staring at him expectantly. In front of Yucca and Gilgladen he would have no trouble speaking, but Thraindan was another story, and he was unsure yet about Feorsyer. While it seemed that either the man was ignorant of the earlier discussion, or else was kind enough to feign ignorance, there was still that uncertainty of how people would react.
It was just about that moment that Bainith Proudfoot really and truly stopped giving a damn about what others thought of him. Yes, the words he had heard in Rivendell had hurt. Yes, there were certain places he knew not to go to, and certain people he knew not to talk to. But the alternative, to tiptoe around and let people pretend whatever they wanted so that they felt better was no longer going to do.
"I miss Valanyonnen." He paused, just to take in the reactions, and found them more or less neutral. "He and I do not get a lot of time together, and I disappointed him, and myself, when I went to Thorin's Hall. I am also a little tired, and I do not think I would do well in battle right now. However," he added before anyone could object to that, "Zhie is yet near Falathlorn, if she has not gone to Rivendell again, and I can seek her out and ask her to aid you."
The general consensus was that this was a great idea, even acquiring some clapping from Yucca. Bainith nodded, wrote down the information regarding their destination, and headed back to the homesteads, anxious yet relieved.
