The breakfast was better than the dinner. Nothing could have been much worse than the previous night's dinner, but being worn as the soles of their shoes then, Legolas and Gimli had swallowed their remaining pride, as well as the stale rolls with the aged sauce that tasted like death itself, and the fruit that was most likely a week too far past ripeness. It was sustenance, and sustenance was nothing to simply pass by without a care.

Breakfast was simple, the rolls being fresher, the fruits that were served being sweeter, and Gimli risked grabbing a small bit of rum before hitting the road. He admitted that it was the best that he had in a while, or else his standards were lowering after being forced to live off of nuts and berries and roots for the past weeks as he wandered about in the wilderness with an Elf. He mostly blamed the Elf.

The dining area of the inn was a spacious room crowded with many tables made of oaken boards, most of which were empty given the early hour. Spindle-legged stools encircled the tables, the floor slats scuffed with the telltale marks of the stool legs repetitively scraping against the varnish. The walls were also wooden, decorated with banners of previously colourful and now faded cloth, the tassels at their ends frayed from age and abandonment. The strands of said tassels had once been a rich gold, the woven threads now coming undone, sad remnants of the past.

The Elf and the Dwarf had managed to find themselves an adequate table next to one of the small porthole-like windows, dusty pale light filtering in through the thick glass. The windows could hardly been seen out of, as the ocean wind had shellacked a layered crust of sea salt onto the panes. They still served the purpose of letting light in, and allowed the visitors their privacy. The tipsy chorus of bad singing came from the other side of the room, where a cluster of men still had yet to finish the drinking game that they had started the previous night.

"A beautiful tune," Legolas commented absent-mindedly around a mouthful of hard roll. "Too bad they are more drunk on beer than a Dwarf on gold."

Gimli growled under his breath. "Watch yourself, pointy-ears," he warned.

"Hmm?" Legolas had been staring out through the window, paying no mind to the Dwarf that sat across from him. He took a swig from the mug next to his hand, marveling at the same time how far he had fallen from his Elven customs of small sips from the wine glass. Ah, but when one was adventure called, what did tradition and delicate table manners mean to anyone? As if trying to prove this to himself, he took another large bite from the roll and washed down the wretched aftertaste with another gulp of whatever was in the mug. It was neither beer nor water, perhaps a mix of both. Whatever it was, it was far better than the thought of having to taste those rolls into the next week.

Gimli grunted "Never mind. Never was there so Elven an Elf, nor one so far from it, as you."

"I shall take that as a compliment, Gimli." He turned his gaze back outside the window, and Gimli lost himself in thought as well, thinking about feasting on meat instead of shriveled forest pickings until a massive crash caused the both of them to whip around in their seats.

It was a woman. At least, it sounded like a woman because whoever it was had been wrapped in a dark cape, but her voice that was currently shouting bloody murder at someone was certainly high and shrill enough to be female. However, it had weight and boldness to it that many an enraged member of the female species lacked. Three men strode into the inn after her.

The first one was shaped like a wine barrel, with a large wide torso and a small head firmly attached to a thick neck, and trunk-like legs ending in feet that were disproportionate to the mass of the man that they had the unfortunate job of supporting. The second looked like he had been shaped out of bendable wire, all bone and lean sinew. His face closely resembled that of a rat, nose pointed and long, dark glittering eyes, mouth twisted in what was most likely a smirk, save for the knife wound that ran from his cheek to his chin in a disfiguring line of thick scar tissue. The third was none other than the shifty Crowfoot.

Legolas jumped to his feet. It appeared as though the men were harassing the woman, and she had come to the one mildly safe and civilized place in the area, only to have been followed by them.

"Easy there, laddie," Gimli muttered. "Don't waste your chivalrous breath. Methinks the lass can hold her own."

Legolas bit down on his bottom lip. There was that instinct built into his bones that commanded him to aid the damsel in distress, but it appeared as though the damsel was not in as much distress as he would have thought. Whoever she was, she was smart enough to have hidden a long, thin blade within the folds of her heavy cloak. The cloak was crusted at the hems with salt from the sea, and it glistened strangely in the dim light of the inn.

"I told you maggots that I prefer to eat in peace!" she shouted, and in that moment she had captured the attention of everyone dining—Legolas, Gimli, the bartender, a serving girl, and the hoard of singing drunks.

The Dwarf grinned. "This is going to be good."

"Come on, missy, the ship don' leave the docks 'till quarter past," the barrel-chested man griped, and then with most elegant precision, he let out a rather impressive belch.

"What have you been drinking, Gibbins?" the woman questioned in disgust. "Your own swill?"

"Now tha' is goin' a bit too far, Ree," he yelled, deep baritone filling the dining hall.

"Is it now?" She fingered the long knife in her grip, and the men all exchanged wary glances, like they knew this woman was more than capable of defending herself. The way that she held the knife—a long kitchen blade it appeared—was proof enough that this was no maiden to mess with. "The captain would be inclined to agree with me on the matter that it is not going too far whatsoever. As for you, Wilkins, Crowfoot, I have half the mind to gut both of your sorry rotting innards out onto the floorboards, but the innkeeper has done such a nice job keeping them clean."

"Just don' get too caught up in makin' small talk with the locals," Crowfoot advised the young woman, 'Ree' by the sound of it. What kind of a name was Ree?

"Worry not, Crowfoot. You should really be watching where you step, instead of worrying so much about me. I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself. You on the other hand...you make a barnacle look intelligent."

"Be on time, Ree," Wilkins of the rat face said for his parting words. "And be on your guard. Crowfoot here said that there's an Elf and a Dwarf bunking here. Real queer folk, he called them."

"Like you care."

"But I do!"

"Kiss my boots, you lying cow! Now get out, all of you lot, before I whip your hides!" Her last words came out as a commanding scream. The men all gave rapid apologetic bows of their heads before quickly scampering out the door they had some through only a minute before. If you have never seen a troupe of grown men scamper, then I must say that you have been missing out. The rest of the inn went back to their business, as though this were a day-to-day occurrence, but Legolas jumped at an opportunity that he had seen. The young woman had transport. A ship, it seemed. The men that had been bothering her were obviously sailors.

The young woman walked over to a table a few over from Legolas and Gimli and yanked out a chair, swinging her legs over the wooden seat. The serving girl came up to her and asked her if she wanted anything. A hand raised from inside her cloak as if to say, 'nothing, please', but when the serving girl left and returned a few minutes later with a steaming mug of something that smelled like spice tea, it became apparent that she had said something. She unpinned the dark sea-worn cloak and threw it over the back of the chair, revealing tanned skin from much exposure to the sun, hair that crossed between brown and blonde that was more blonde and streaked pale from the sun as well. Her eyes were the earth green of the forest, but had a wild spark in them. Her sun-bleached hair was mussed from being kept under her hood, as well as tossed about in the salty wind. She looked...wild. Free.

"I am going to go over and ask her—"

"You go do that, laddie," Gimli interrupted. "Be careful with her. She seems a bit of a wild woman, if you get my meaning." He winked. "I'll be right here when you come back. I'm thinking about grabbing another one of those rolls from that serving girl, now that I mention it."

"Good then." He walked towards the young woman, noticing that the drunken singers were casting him strange and suspecting glances. Ree, if that was really her name, was drinking deeply from her mug of spice tea, and the scent of honey lingered when the smell wafted in his direction. The girl had good taste. From her mannerisms and the way that she had conversed with those men, she seemed to have some of the sea in her blood as well. She didn't register his presence, so he gently tapped her shoulder. She started, and snorted out some of the tea, spraying a fine mist over the table's surface, as well as all over the Elven Prince.

"Sorry, sorry!" Legolas pleaded as the woman let out a short round of hacking coughs.

"What—do-you—want—?" she rasped when she could speak again. She stopped short. She had recovered enough that her vision was clearing up from the reactive tears that came with coughing. Her eyes widened. She gave the tall Elf in front of her a scrutinizing once-over. Quite tall, but not stocky. He was lean, and he looked strong. Noble, that was the word that came to mind. Broad shoulders, narrower waist, all components of a warrior's figure half covered up by loose and plain garb. His hair may have once been straight, but like hers, the sea had tousled the locks. He had thrown his long golden tresses into a messy braid that draped over his shoulder, and he had piercing eyes that bored into her own. Her gaze rested a little longer on his tapered ears than anything else.

"You—you're the Elf that those idiots were talking about," she stuttered.

"Aye, I am," he confirmed, brow furrowing. "You have a ship, then? My friend and I seek transportation for...adventurous purposes."

She wiped her mouth with her forearm. Beneath the cloak, she wore a stained white shirt, belted at the waist with braided strips of leather. She had scuffed boots on her feet, and slightly baggy trousers that were stuffed into her boots at the ends. The kitchen knife that she had been wielding earlier was sitting on the table without a sheath of any kind. It was only a foot of naked steel built for cutting through tendon and muscle and bone, but it could do more than slice dinner meats. Legolas knew that much. From his experience, it was much easier to kill a man than it was to kill a deer. Perhaps that was because when given the choice of fight or flight, which could become life and death in some cases, the deer would choose life in flight, and most honorable or stupid Men chose death in fight.

"Adventurous purposes, you say? An adventurous Elf traveling with a Dwarf of all beings? I think that I may have finally gone mad from bunking next to those three buckets of filth you met earlier."

"I have been labelled as partially insane by my kinsmen," Legolas promised her. The young woman stuck out her hand. It was long-fingered, with hard callouses at the tips, like his, although his covered his entire palm and fingers from handling swords, knives, and the bow, while hers came from lashing down ropes.

"Ree Witherwind," she said forwardly, and Legolas gripped it firmly. Shaking hands was not in the Elven tradition, but Men had established the custom as a way to occupy the other's better fighting hand upon meeting. Fewer people died during introductions that way. Elves had no need for such things; kinslaying was a grievous deed not done in thousands of years.

"Legolas Thranduilion," he replied, and shook her hand once. Her hand went limp within his.

"What is the Prince of the Woodland Realm doing on the Sea?" she queried, voice quiet and laced with distrust.

"I have been all over Middle Earth, dear Ree, and I have yet to sail the sea. It is the one great adventure that I have yet to have, other than Death. And I think that both of us would agree that the latter is not the best option."

Ree gave him a smile, more of a mischievous smirk than anything. "Then welcome aboard, Master Elf." She squeezed his rugged hand. She then described the route taken to their ship. Then she gave him one final smile, and delved back into her own thoughts, clutching her mug in her own calloused hands.