[Durelin]

Tareth had only stuck his head in his father, Huneth's shop to tell him that he had found his way to travel. He had talked of seeing the world countless times with his parents, but they never had taken him seriously. He had expected surprise, but not this.

He was seated at the table in his mother's kitchen, in their house above the shop, on the long wooden bench he had built himself. His mother was more than a bit surprised. She squabbled - as Tareth heard it - on and on about dangers, leaving his father alone with the work in the shop, and she had to bring up marriage.

"Why can't you be satisfied with the good life I and your father have worked so hard to give you? Why can't you just settle down with a nice young girl and take over the shop? That's what you need. A wife. One that's strong enough to settle you down. To housebreak you!" His mother, Tari was her name, finally paused for a moment, catching her breath. She was fuming. Her face was bright red and she had her hands on her hips. This was not mock severity like with Egwene, this was true outrage. But, Tareth had lived with her for too many years in his mind, and he could pick her up, kicking and screaming, and lock her in her cellar so he could escape. He could, but he wouldn't. Instead he stared at the table top, trailing his finger along the age lines in the wood. Taria stared down at him, eyes squinting in anger, lips pursed. It seemed she always had him sit for these types of discussions, probably so she could achieve looking down at him.

"Are you even listening to a word I am saying? Look me in the eye boy!" Tareth obeyed, if reluctantly, and stared at her with a bland expression, which only made her angrier. "You give me one good reason why you should go on this...this..." she stuttered in disgust, trying to find a nasty word for the journey. She failed. "quest. Quest? Who are you to think you can go on a quest? What is even the point? It's a walk in the woods boy, except you have much more of a chance of getting killed!"

Tareth smiled. "Well, mother," he said, emphasizing the word, mocking her. "I can give you two good reasons. One, I am a grown man and can decide on my life by myself." Taria opened her mouth to protest but he quickly silenced her, his words cutting out anything she was going to say like a knife. "If I am old enough to marry, I am old enough to live as a man." He paused, staring at her defiantly. "Second," he began more calmly, "I have always wanted to do this, you know that ma." He hoped calling her by the familiar name from her children would make her a bit happier. "I am going to go. You can't do a thing to stop me. I will come back, and then you can talk about marriage all you want."

It had to work. He had never let her say anything on that subject, running out the door as soon as he heard the word. Now he promised she could talk about it, scheme about it all she wanted. But, just as she couldn't keep him from staying in Bree, she couldn't force him to marry anyone. She wouldn't think of that, though. "I suppose you are a man. And you've grown so-" He cut her off with a sharp, "Ma!"

"I'm sorry, Tareth, I know." Finally she smiled, her eyes twinkling. "I'll be waiting when you get back. Maybe even with your wife." He winced and she grinned wider. "I'll miss you, but...well, I do want you to do what you want."

"Ma, I promise, when I get back, I'll take over the shop, live here, everything." He left out marriage on purpose, he still was sure he could avoid it. Somehow. "Now, I've got to go."

"Oh, but you need to take some food with you!" she cried, rushing to her cupboards, then down to the cellar. He waited patiently and gathered up his things. A pack with rope, a pouch of water, and his hunting knife. His bow was ready to be hung across his back and he wore his old brown cloak. When his mother returned with food wrapped in an old shirt he didn't bother to see what she had given him, but immediately stuck it in the pack. After goodbyes leaving his mother crying, he strolled down the stairs into the familiar heat and smells of a blacksmith's shop.

He found his father forging a shield. "Ah, Tareth. I see yer all ready to go. You take care of that there axe, ya hear!" He smiled, much like his wife, and looked Tareth in the eye. "You take care of yerself." Tareth was surprised, his father didn't question his leaving at all. "But, da...you're okay with me going?"

"Well," he began, his smile growing, "I think if you got past yer old ma, I'd think you'd be having a right to go." He chuckled, putting down the shield for a moment. "I'll see ya when ya get back, and then ya can work the shop yerself." He rose, hugging him goodbye and then patting his shoulder said, "You can't get away from this place as hard as ya try. You'll be back."

"I know," Tareth replied, "I know. I will be back." Still grinning, Huneth went back to his work, he was just about done. "This here is fer ya. I thought ya'd like it. And need it someday. It looks like ya will now, huh." Handing over the shield, Huneth smiled at Tareth staring in amazement. "Th-thanks. I will need it." He grinned and hugged his father again, not caring how old he was. "I will miss you. But I will be back with a hammer in my hand before you can miss me! I promise!"

Tareth felt good. His goodbyes were over and excitement lay ahead. But, he had to remember, there was also danger. Too much, as he would soon find out. He decided it was time to got back to the inn. He'd say goodbye to Egwene and Bode, and have one last tankard. Then he'd see about these people he was traveling with. He had the feeling they wouldn't have a lot in common with him. But, he always had bad feelings. How bad can they be? As in if answer, thoughts bubbled up into his head, A lot. They are probably all from Rohan and Gondor, and warriors at that! You're a blacksmith from a boring little town called Bree, and you're going to the Harad! "Yes I am," he said out loud.

[ April 27, 2003: Message edited by: Durelin ]