Guests are not unwelcome, but their sudden presence can be unnerving.
Enjoy!
Chapter 2 The Grey Pilgrim
"Identify yourself," Eywn called through the door.
"An old pilgrim in need of respite."
Taking in the visitor's response, Eywn weighed her options. His voice was sharp, but not unkind. She was always taught to welcome strangers if the need was great. He wasn't begging for sanctuary, but he did sound like he needed a place to rest. Eywn's hesitance to allow others into her home almost made her tell the man to keep moving, but her heart wasn't entirely made of stone. His use of the word pilgrim surprised her. Not a traveler, not a tradesman, a pilgrim; what does that make of him?
"If I let you in, how do I know I can trust you."
"You can't be sure…I may be the most untrustworthy person you ever meet…but how could you know?"
"I am inclined to tell you to move on…that this house is closed to strangers, but I am willing to offer you a meal if I know you won't try to harass, harm or murder me or my companions." Eywn's voice was sharp and unyielding. She had learned from her father that she needed to be calm when faced with a difficult situation-calm and steady.
"A meal would be most welcomed, if it were offered by someone who wasn't in the habit of lying."
"Who says I'm lying?" Eywn's sharpness was not vocally wavered, but internally, her mind was reeling. Who was she talking to?
"I am…" The man was stubborn, she'd give him that; but Eywn knew how to counter it.
"Perhaps you should move on then…"
"And miss the chance to share a meal with an excellent cook? I wouldn't dare."
"What makes you think I can cook?" The scent of her pie crust wafted from the kitchen and distracted her momentarily.
"The fire coming from the smoke stack. On this summer day, only someone who bakes would have the sweltering heat of an oven going. If we could continue this conversation without the presence of a door between our noses, I would be most pleased."
Eywn hesitated. He was observant and clearly not one to cross. However, his teasing nature came out. He was certainly sly, but he didn't use it for malice. After about a minute of silence, she heard the man start to shuffle his feet on the porch, the wooden planks creaking as he turned. He was about to leave.
"Wait!" she called. Against her better judgment, she unlatched the door and opened it a crack. A steel grey eye appeared in the small space. Eywn was tempted to take a step back, but she wasn't going to let up. Only her strength to push back the door stood between her and the man outside the door now.
"Am I allowed in, or are you going to keep staring at me through the crack in the door?"
Eywn pulled the door inwards further, so she could get a better look at the man. Her first impression was how ancient he looked. He wasn't bent from age, but his eyes and wrinkled face betrayed the years he had on him. His hold on the walking stick seemed to be merely an act. It wasn't a crutch, but a tool.
"The last time a beggar came by, his intentions were of a more sinister nature." She said, her stance still wary.
"And yet you allow another beggar," he chuckled at this word, "onto your porch?"
"I wasn't taught to fear men, I was taught to be cautious and read them. I see no evil in you."
"That is quite a skill. I've had my share of evil, but not done by my hand. May I ask the name of the lady of the keen eye?"
"May I ask the name of the grey pilgrim first?" Eywn resisted the urge to smile at his name for her.
"Certainly, I am known by many names, but those who call me friend also call me Gandalf the Grey."
"Hence, Grey Pilgrim." She said, gesturing for him to enter her house. Avel took position between her and the stranger, but his growl was replaced with a soft whine. He didn't sense any evil in the stranger either. As Eywn let him in, her grip on the sword did not tighten, but it was not lowered. Gandalf swooped into the house, taking of his hat. He was very tall and the hat only added a closer proximity to the ceiling. His hair was just as grey as his clothing and beard. Grey Pilgrim, indeed.
"Exactly. Now, would we be able to discuss who you are over a cup of tea. Although the days are long and hot in this summer weather, my mind would be more at ease drinking something stronger than river water."
"I have a bit of ale left from my caravan friends, if that'll tie you over until the tea is ready."
"You are friends with the northern caravan?"
"The best. They've been my supplier for several years."
"For one originally wary of my presence, your tongue seems to have loosened quite a bit." His eye twinkled with amusement at Eywn's gaping stare.
"I am answering your questions. By entering my house, I have given you a chance at confidence."
"That is quite a threshold…if it offers such confidence. I'll take some of that ale, if it's not too much trouble."
"None at all. My name is Eywn, by the way. My threshold offers many things and if you're a pleasant guest, a meal won't be far behind."
"Better than the alternative; I'll do my best to behave to keep your favor, Miss. Eywn."
Letting him see her smile for the first time, Eywn gestured for him to head towards her kitchen. Her home wasn't large by any stretch of the imagination, but it was spacious. Designed to provide space for her caravan friends on their nights of rest, she made use of the space with many places to sit and relax. Her drawings and the art of several artistic traders made the living space roomier. Gandalf either chose to ignore the scattered apples or didn't notice Avel's misconduct from before. Her possessions weren't exactly placed in a "proper place;" she was often the only one to see them anyways. What were a few apples scattered across the swept floor? Avel followed the two down the short hallway and settled on a cushion near the window. He didn't lay down like usual, but sat, alert to the presence of the stranger. Gandalf smiled at the dog and offered a pat on the head. Avel happily accepted the touch.
"Please, sit while I get you that ale." She gestured towards her previously occupied chair. He rested his hat on the table and took a seat. She heard him sigh with pleasure. He must've been walking for ages before finding her house. As she bustled around the kitchen, her gaze returned to his. This wasn't a move of suspicion, but rather curiosity. His tall, lanky figure stretched out in the chair, his hands resting on knees that were concealed by long billowing grey robes. The stains of traveling through the wild were almost embedded into the robes; it seemed like they were meant to be there.
His eyes were gazing around the room, taking in the silence that had permeated the walls long ago. There was enough by way of furniture and possessions to show that she had made this her home, but it wasn't excessive. There weren't many voices treading through these halls and Gandalf seemed to sense it. Although Avel the dog provided means for companionship, he knew it had been ages since she was in the company of others. As she set the kettle on the fire, he coughed.
"You mentioned companions during our talk through the door."
"I did…you see Avel, right?" Gandalf chuckled, patting the golden retriever's head.
"Not exactly what I was expecting," he murmured to himself, looking up to see Eywn pull out a mug from a cabinet.
"Would you announce to a stranger that you were utterly alone?" she began to pour the ale into a mug. Satisfied that it was full, she turned to return the pitcher to its place.
"Strength in numbers is a smart thing to feign, but even smarter to practice."
Eywn stopped her actions and turned to him. He was staring at her, his eyes still glinted with amusement, but there was also a touch of curiosity.
"Well, I do have Avel... though overall let's just say that I prefer solitude" she replied, handing the mug to Gandalf.
"We are kin in such a preference," Gandalf said, taking a long sip of the ale. "My compliments to your supplier; he brews a fine ale."
"It's only for special occasions…and specific recipes. This adds a flavor that I've found few other liquids can provide." She poured more into his cup, noting how quickly it disappeared.
She let him nurse his ale and returned to the pie in progress. A small breeze through the window had cooled the crust significantly. She would be able to add the pie mixture and the ribbons of crust soon. Eywn stirred the berry mixture, offering a chance for the flavors to mingle further.
"What kind of pie will you be making?"
"Blueberry. The first of the summer harvest came this week. They are by far the best I've had to work with. I'm hoping foxes won't disturb my garden like they did last year. I had to rely on other means for pie interior."
"What kind of pie is your specialty?"
"That would be my pecan pie in the fall…if I can get the means for it. Those beauties are hard to come by and my pecan pie is most coveted by the caravan's customers."
"I would love to sample such a delicious treat…if I were here during that season."
"Go to any town then and you'll know which caravan holds my pecan pies." Gandalf chuckled at the image of a horde of townswomen buying up pies like wildfire.
Eywn poured the berry mixture into the crust before returning to the oven. She added several logs to the fire in the underneath compartment, kindling the flames to be larger. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she worked the flames. Gandalf sat in silence as Eywn did her work, which pleased her. After so many years of working in silence, it would only throw her off to have someone talking during this delicate process. She grabbed the small lump of dough set aside and rolled it out. Taking a knife, she cut it into ribbons and fashioned the doughy ribbons atop the berries. Reaching for a canister of sugar, without looking, she grabbed a handful of the granules and sprinkled it over the ribbons. Giving it a final look over, she picked up the pan and guided it to the oven. The top door was still closed and before she could set the pie down again, Gandalf was on his feet, opening the oven door for her.
"Thank you, Master Gandalf," She said, placing her creation into the oven. Closing the door, she sighed with relief. The pie's fate now rested with the oven. Setting the water timer to an hour, she leaned against the counter rubbing her hands free of the sugary granules. Her floor was already littered with the crumbs and spills of her exploits. An evening sweeping would be in order.
"How long have you been out here? By yourself?"
"A few years…I don't try to keep track, but there are some days I refuse to forget."
"Of days before or after coming to live here?"
"Both… mostly before. My days here are pretty routine."
Eywn filled his mug again and sat beside him. Her preferred chair was more comfy than the one she currently occupied, but it was only polite to offer the best chair to a guest. Avel moved to rest his head on her lap again. She began to pat him methodically.
"and you spend your days…"
"making goods for the caravan. We have an arrangement." Eywn didn't see it necessary to elaborate, but Gandalf seemed keen on prying.
"A decent one, if you've chosen to continue living alone in the middle of the wild."
"A necessary one. I don't like the company of large groups. A town would be too much for me."
"I am truly sorry to hear that. Companionship is a blessed gift." That's where he was wrong.
"I have to disagree, but I do find your company a nice break from the silence."
"How often do your caravan friends come by?"
"Every few months…sooner if the weather is favorable. I should be seeing them very soon."
Gandalf looked at the young woman with a piercing gaze. It wasn't unkind, but he seemed curious as to her choice in companionship, or lack thereof. He could see trouble and pain filled in her eyes and face. There was a reason for her isolation and it clearly was one with a joyless story. He didn't want to drive her away and chose instead to ignore those prying questions that were filling his mind.
"My travels leave little room for long-term stays…though I've made friends in many unexpected places. The Shire, further west, is one of my favorite places to go as of late."
"I've heard of it…a green country full of holes in the ground that are just as filled with little people. Halflings…I think the caravan traders call them. Silly stories of parties around a massive tree; families filling their homes with curly-headed children and their stomachs filled with massive amounts of food, it all sounds peaceful."
"The Shire is certainly known for its peaceful nature. One of the purest places I've come across in my travels, but that purity is tainted with what I like to call a Tookish inquisitiveness. Sadly, that inquisitiveness is being stamped out as of late. Isolation is key for Hobbits, not unlike yourself."
"Hobbits…now that's a name I haven't heard. They're only called halflings, or curly-headed folk, at least from what I've heard." Eywn's hand strayed to the long brown locks that had as much life to it as a frying fish. She envied Maywn's curly brown hair, a gift from their mother.
"I've come to be quite attached to them and their ways…not to mention their pipe weed. Old Toby is some of the best I've ever sampled." Gandalf chuckled, as he pulled his pipe out of one of the many folds, "would you mind if I indulge…" he gestured to the pipe.
"Sure…just don't burn my table. I'm rather fond of it." She smiled at him as he lit the sweet smelling mixture in his pipe. Taking a long puff on the pipe, he closed his eyes in bliss and let out a large smoke ring. It framed Eywn's face for a moment before dissipating into nothing.
"I haven't caused any fires that were unintended as of late so your table has nothing to fear."
"I am relieved" she was glad that she had let this strange pilgrim into her home. He was pleasant enough and did not pry into obvious questions he had bubbling in his mind.
"Have I proven myself a decent enough house guest to have earned a meal?"
Eywn started a moment, having been gazing at the man and his pipe. She moved to stand, sputtering, "of course…I am sorry. I usually don't start supper until later, but I can make an exception. What would you like? My stew is almost too far gone to be a decent enough meal; I've got fish in the cellar waiting to be fried…I've got a few slices of bread…."she began to ramble, causing Gandalf to laugh. Eywn returned to her seat, curious at his laughter.
"You are very much like a hobbit, very particular about the food they keep. I would be happy with some fried fish, if it isn't too much trouble and some blueberry pie if it isn't waiting for a special occasion."
Eywn had long since decided she would indulge in this one creation for the sake of her guest. She had plenty of supplies left for another pie.
"I'll go further than that…you haven't lived until you try my pie with my special homemade sweet cream…and carrots to go with the fish. Those beauties have been waiting for a chance to be grilled."
She made to stand again but Gandalf stopped her. "Please, if I could trouble you for some of more of your time, I would be happy to wait a while longer. I wouldn't want to break your schedule."
She shrugged. "It's alright. I don't want to keep you. The grey pilgrim must have a grand adventure he needs to attend to. I am merely a hostess along the way. We can talk, while I work."
"If it pleases my lady, I would be happy to. My adventures, while grand as any, are on my own time. As I always say, a wizard is never late, nor is he early; he arrives precisely when he means to." Gandalf expected Eywn to chuckle, smile too. He didn't expect her face to turn into a horrified stare.
"A wizard…you're a wizard?" she asked. Fear grabbed at her heart. Avel sensed this and let out a low whine. Eywn heard of wizards and their dangers. While she had come to see this man to be a kind hearted old man, the fact that he was a wizard made her hesitant.
"I am, as I always have been, a wizard. Is that a problem?" his question didn't sound offended, but stern. Whatever she had heard of wizards, petty and those of a higher caliber did not instill a sense of comfort in their presence.
"No...it's just…I've never met a wizard before. I've heard stories of them…nosy creatures who butt into people's lives without regard for the safety of those people." She wasn't accusing, it was simply what she had been told and Gandalf recognized this.
"I wish I could disprove what you've heard, but we wizards do invest in the lives of others…but depending upon the wizard, our degree of caring can be very great."
"I don't doubt that…my town likes to embellish stories of wizards who visited years ago and how they almost caused the destruction of the entire place. They would mockingly say the wizard's purpose was "for the wellbeing of the town," but those who grew up hearing those stories that occurred only a generation previous were lead to believe that such an impression of wizards was permissible."
"I imagine there were other things your town did that warranted such a lifestyle change as this." Gandalf gestured to the house. Eywn looked at the scrubbed wooden table. Her eyes closed for a moment, as if passing through a memory.
"You can say something like that…It wouldn't be untrue." She took in a long deep breath. Pushing her thumbs into the bridge of her nose, Eywn pushed herself away from such thoughts.
"I won't pry…but as it is my prerogative as a wizard, according to your folk, I wouldn't be unwilling to listen." Eywn refused to look up, but took in another deep sigh. This was why she didn't have visitors. They always led to this discussion, whether she intended to or not.
"It's nothing…my own problem from long ago. I don't take much stock in the word of my people and I apologize for my reaction to your telling me that you are a wizard. My mind often forgets it is my own to decide the opinion of others. I'm sorry."
Gandalf felt a twinge of pity towards her. She was clearly troubled by a past that did not want to leave the confines of her mind, but her silence on such matters showed that it was not something she was entirely at peace with, as much as she wanted to deny that fact. He reached a hand across the table towards hers. Without waiting for her permission, he took it into his own and squeezed. She didn't pull from his grip, nor did she return it. She took in the touch and realized it had been months since anyone had placed a hand in hers. She always shook Ros's hand once he was done delivering the supplies, she would take the grubby hand of a child into her own for the fire dances, but this foreign hand was the first in a long time that took her hand in comfort. She looked up at the wizard and smiled. Relief; there was relief in her eyes.
"Do not say sorry for nothing. I hope my actions have given you a genuine look into what a wizard can and, in my opinion, should be."
"You have been kind so far, and I appreciate your words. I have grown complacent in the silence. I suppose I needed this unexpected visitor, a wizard, nonetheless, to pull me out of that rut."
Gandalf held onto her hand for a moment longer before returning it to the mug. He took a deep drink.
"You have been a most generous host. Your ale alone is enough to permit me to say that."
Eywn smiled again, her eyes warming in the presence of the grey pilgrim.
Thank you for reading. Many Blessings! ~Eylanan
