[nynnd1]

Bredan was pacing up and down his room, it had not been as long as his mind was portraying since he spoke to the hobbit maid, asking her to tell Lady Aman to come and see him, but it felt so long. Bredan started to feel trapped, he glanced to wards the window. He looked out at the beautiful landscape, it had changed colour since he last glanced upon the majestic land of the Shire. Bredan than noticed the mass of dark cloud forming in the sky. His heart started to feel heavier.

He started to think that maybe she would not forgive him, and surly, if someone was in the bad books of Lady Aman, whom everyone in the land respected and loved, than everyone would follow suit. Just as Bredan had been chased from Gondor, he would be chased from the Shire.

Bredan was thinking of packing when he realised that he had no stuff to pack, all he owned was about his person, his clothes and deeply treasured items. He looked at his clothes and his heart was weighed down yet more, his roomer got darker, and it seemed to him smaller as well.

He looked at the ring Iolet had given him when they parted, and Bredan fled. Many times on his journey it had comforted him but it’s power seemed to had left it now as it made him feel worse than he already felt. Bredan than picked up the sword, it was the only thing that he had from his parents, he did not know who his father was and his mother died at child birth, nobody else seemed to know either, or they did not want to know, but he had always felt that people were weary of him, there was so many questions that Bredan wanted to be answered, and the only lead was a sword that had been given to him at birth, and Bredan still remembered clearly all that was said of the sword, ‘this sword has been handed down to you through lineage’, that was all Bredan had known.

He looked back upon his forming years and remembered joining the army of Gondor as soon as he could for two reasons, so he would have shelter and food, and he wanted to be like the heroes in the stories he used to eaves drop on when other children’s fathers used to tell them. But he had lived through the time of his favourite tale, the destroying of the ring, he had been eight at the time and his favourite was Sam the brave. But once again Bredan looked out of the window and saw the dark clouds, his heart dropped.

He lay on the bed and tried to relax, until he drifted into the world of sleep, maybe he would find comfort there.