Forsaken
Eriador, Autumn 3007 T.A.
In the end, he spent only one night at the Pony, sitting alone in the corner, calmly ignoring the occasional evil eye cast in his direction. Aye, well, he never looked his best when he came this way, and the weather had turned at the start of the week. He sat waiting, with supper and pipe, watching the door. A party of dwarves, thick-cloaked and heavy-booted, arrived. They took the seats next to him and went about their business noisily, as dwarves are wont to do. A little before midnight he gave up on Halbarad, and slipped off to bed. Nobody saw him go.
The following morning, he set out quietly, but in haste, leaving payment for Butterbur behind the counter as usual. No need to draw attention to himself. A watery sun rose not long after. He strode east along the Road in fair spirits. The sky was clear and there was still one last chance of supper and a smoke beside the hearth before the emptied lands that lay between him and the Last Homely House.
Soon enough the clouds gathered and, mid-morning, it began to rain.
Halbarad came from nowhere, out of the rain and the mist. Fell into step beside him. After a couple of miles, he said, "Sorry I'm late."
They walked on a few more miles. "Blasted rain," he added.
Strider nodded beneath his hood. They went over another hill or two. "Last Inn before sundown?"
The rain went on falling steadily. "Aye," said Halbarad, eventually. "I'll drink to that."
Sundown, he'd said, not that the sun showed her face again that day. In the fading light, they trudged along the Road, two tired men ready to sit and eat and sleep. Cresting the hill, they saw The Last Inn, nestled below. As they drew closer, a crow flapped up from the low thatched roof. Strider shivered, and said softly, "No lights."
They came off the road onto the path. The gate hung on its hinges. Everything was very quiet. Up close, they could see that the windows were shuttered, and the door closed. Halbarad said, "I'll check round the back."
Strider tried the door. A futile endeavour: the place was locked up, empty, the owners gone, their livelihood forsaken. Another building left to fade into the grass; another sign of the long fall into nothing. The rain was lashing down now, and, suddenly, it became too much: the immediate task, the greater one, the sheer improbability that their labours would bear fruit. Halbarad, coming back round the building said, "Locked there too. All gone a while by the looks of things." When his Chieftain did not reply, Halbarad put his hand against the door. "I can open this."
Inside was dark. They threw off cloaks and boots, got a small fire going in the hearth, and began to dry. Halbarad went rummaging behind the counter. "Here," he said. "This cask isn't empty."
So, there was ale, at least, and a roof, neither of which were to be taken for granted these days.
They pulled two chairs over to the fire, lit pipes, drank, and smoked. Halbarad smiled at him. Halbarad, dourest of men, trying to cheer him up. "Come back here after, Estel," he said. "When it's done. When the King's Peace stretches from Fornost to Pelargir, and the roads are open, and the lands are full and free. Drink," he said, lifting his mug, "to the North Kingdom, to the South Kingdom, to the fairest of Queens, and the glory of the West."
And Elessar did.
Altariel, 4-5 April 2019