Chapter VII: In the Company of Mithrandir

In the evening of the second day they were playing bookworms, Mithrandir stretched his aching shoulders and back, and said:

"My eyes are so tired I see double… I need a nice smoke of my pipe."

Nerwen stared at him, confused. She saw him rummaging in his belt-pouch and pulling out of it an odd item, long and curved, with a kind of small cup at one end; then, he produced a smaller pouch, from which he got out a pinch of what looked like some kind of desiccated and shredded herb. Its aromatic smell surprised her:

"What is it?", she asked therefore, intrigued, referring to both things.

"This is a pipe", Mithrandir explained, "Look, this is called stem, and this, burner. And this is pipe-weed, a plant that grows only this side of Belegaer. I learned about it through the Hobbits, skilled growers and consumers of this herb."

Nerwen's interest as an herbalist awoke immediately:

"And what's its purpose?"

Mithrandir, busy stuffing the pipe burner, paused a minute before answering.

"What's its purpose?" he repeated, pensively, "Hum… to smoke, of course."

Nerwen had no idea what he was talking about:

"…to smoke?"

"Yeah, you know…", the Wizard squirmed, looking for words appropriate enough to explain a notion to a person who didn't even know the premises, "I might as well show how this works to you", he supposed. He took a thin wooden stick, lit it on the flame of the nearest candle, then he approached the flaming end to the pipe burner and began to draw air from the stem; soon enough, the pipe-weed became ember, and Mithrandir began emitting smoke from his mouth. His look of manifest satisfaction made Nerwen realise he found this activity very agreeable.

"Come, try it", he said, handing her the pipe, "Draw the smoke into your mouth."

Intrigued, the Maia did what she had seen him doing and drew air from the stem. The smoke filled her mouth, and instinctively she blew it back out through her nostrils. Mithrandir felt upset:

"Good gracious, I needed months to figure out how to get the smoke through my nostrils without any risk of choking!"

"It just made sense to me", Nerwen said, rather surprised by his reaction; she sniffed the aroma, "It smells good!" she said.

"That's fine," he mumbled, still a little sour about the easy way his old friend had done something he struggled for a long time to learn, "It's Old Toby, one of the best varieties of pipe-weed."

Then he realised the complete pointlessness of his irritation and went back to his usual good cheer.

"But this, you're not able to do," he chuckled, drawing in more smoke; he curled his mouth in a funny face that made Nerwen smile, but then her smile turned to an expression of utter marvel when the smoke took the form of a flying seagull, which flew away fluctuating before dissolving in the air.

"How did you do it?" she asked.

"You need much practice," Mithrandir answered, his wounded pride finally satisfied by Nerwen's evident admiration, "If you like, I'll teach you…"

OOO

Several days passed; Nerwen learned the Common Speech from Mithrandir by extracting the knowledge from his mind, and continued to study, in the books provided by Círdan and with him, too, the customs and traditions of Middle-earth. She also engaged in the activity called pipe smoking so frequently to the point Mithrandir made a pipe for her, very similar to his own, with a long curved stem, and gave her part of his personal reserve of Old Toby; the Aini learned also how to create with the pipe smoke some simple forms, like flowers, trees, animals, but she never matched his old friend's skill – not in the limited time they stayed at Círdan's home.

The moment they had to leave was drawing nearer, when one afternoon the Wizard made her a request:

"Could you deliver a message for me? It's on your way and you'd spare me a long detour…"

"I'd love to help you, if I can," Nerwen accepted immediately.

"On the way to Imladris, you'll pass through the town of Bree," Mithrandir said, and she nodded: she had seen its location on the maps, "There lives currently a friend of mine, a Dwarf who works there as a smith. His name is Thorin…"

"Thorin Oakenshield?" the Aini interrupted him, marvelled.

"Yeah, precisely," he confirmed, marvelled in turn, "How do you know him?"

"I read about him in a history book in Khuzdul," she explained. Mithrandir's eyes widened further from the additional dose of surprise:

"You speak the language of Dwarves?"

Nerwen realised she hadn't told him so far; but they had had to speak about so many things, in those few days – years, centuries of adventures and misadventures, especially from his part – that she really hadn't thought about it.

"A gift from Aulë," she explained, "to make me more agreeable to his favourites, in the same way Entish made me agreeable to the Ents, at the time."

"An excellent idea," Mithrandir approved, recovering from his amazement, "I know only a few words in Khuzdul; even if the Dwarves honour me with their friendship, they're very jealous of their speech and don't teach it to anyone fluently. What do you know about Thorin, then?"

"That he is the legitimate heir to the throne of Erebor, destroyed by a dragon called Smaug, and that he earned the sobriquet of Oakenshield during a terrible battle at the gates of another Dwarven realm, Moria", Nerwen told him, "I would've never imagined a prince and great warrior like him making a living as a smith…"

"Unfortunately, the few survivors of the realm of the Lonely Mountain lost everything, in Smaug's attack," Mithrandir explained, "and for a living, noble or not, they must do what Dwarves do best: miners, smiths, jewellers. Some are mercenaries… even Thorin had been, sometimes; but because, besides a sword, he uses very well also hammer and anvil, in peacetime he devoted himself to the forge. For some years now he has lived in Bree, where his work is greatly appreciated."

"I see," Nerwen said in an undertone, feeling sorry for the fate of such a noble prince, deprived of his homeland, his possessions and his heirloom, and forced to a humble – even if honourable – work to make his living, knowing his decimated and exiled folk had to do the same, after having been great and mighty and renowned everywhere.

"What's the message?" she asked at this point.

"Please, tell him these exact words: the moment has almost arrived, Thorin Oakenshield. Gather the companions we spoke of and get ready with them to the accomplishment of the mission. He'll understand what it is."

"Very well," she nodded, and repeated word by word to make sure she had understood. Mithrandir approved.

"I thank you very much, my dearest friend," he concluded, "You have given me a huge favour."

"My pleasure, believe me," Nerwen reassured him, smiling at him affectionately, "No need to thank me."

In response to her statement, Mithrandir hugged her gratefully, then he took a step backwards to watch her intently from head to toe with his bright grey-blue eyes, so intensely he almost made her feel uneasy.

"Is there something wrong?" she asked him therefore, frowning. He nodded slowly:

"Your look is too… luminous," he said, "One can see immediately you're not an ordinary Elda. I recommend you to cloud a little your true nature."

"I agree," Nerwen accepted, not having thought about it up to now, but then immediately she remembered her faithful travelling companion, "I suppose it's better doing the same for Thilgiloth…"

"It's surely advisable she takes on the look of a normal horse of Middle-earth, even if stunningly beautiful", Mithrandir confirmed, "If they ask you, say she comes from the land of Rohan, which is famous for its horses, therefore they'll mistake her cleverness for simple training, for the accuracy of which the Rohirrim are well renowned."

"Thanks for your advice," Nerwen nodded, "Better I do it immediately, so I won't need to think about it at the last moment…"

She walked away a few steps, then she closed her eyes and focused on her appearance; she imagined a veil forming around her and wrapping her completely, passing through her clothes to lay on her skin and hair, not missing a single square centimetre. Mithrandir saw her look change subtly, losing the characteristic luminosity of the Ainur – Valar and Maiar – to develop a more worldly appearance. Now she looked like a normal female Elf, but after a few more moments, the characteristic pointy ears of this race became round, and finally he was in front of a human woman.

Nerwen re-opened her eyes.

"What do you think of it?" she asked him. Mithrandir examined her closely from head to toe, then he came near and looked into her eyes: she resembled through and through a human female, except for the ancient wisdom perceivable in her gaze, which no obscuration could ever cancel however.

"Very well," he answered finally, "but tell me, why did you choose the appearance of Men? You could easily look like an Elda…"

"I'll have to deal with Dwarves," she answered, "and it's well known they don't have great love for the Elves: I've thought it therefore better to look like a human. Besides, also the other Istari have this appearance: I simply stuck with it," she concluded, smiling. Mithrandir nodded:

"I see… And it won't be a problem for you to be accepted by the Eldar, even if you look human, because they'll be able to see through your veil with no great difficulty. Well done," he approved.

OOO

A few days later, Gandalf the Grey and Nerwen the Green took their leave from Lord Círdan and Lady Eärwen: the two Wizards would journey together beyond the Tower Hills, and then they would take the Great East Road until the fork to Sarn Ford, where Mithrandir would turn southwards, while Nerwen would continue through the Shire until arriving at Tom Bombadil's land.

Gandalf mounted a splendid brown bay, with black mane and tail, called Lagordonn because of his swiftness and colour; Thilgiloth, even though she had been obscured, kept her magnificent snow-white coat, shiny like silk, and her black eyes, glowing with intelligence.

The first evening already, when they camped, Nerwen felt weariness, particularly on back and shoulders; a feeling that she, as a complete Maia, would never have experienced. Even her derriere was quite beaten and, while stretching, she groaned. Gandalf glimpsed at her, worried:

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, it's just weariness: I'm not used to it… As Ainur, we wouldn't feel it, in Aman. Even when I went visiting Melian in Doriath, it didn't happen."

Gandalf smiled, understanding his old friend's uneasiness:

"To accomplish our mission, we've been diminished," he observed, "and we haven't all our maiarin capabilities anymore… I too, needed some time to adjust. Let a few weeks pass and then you'll get used to it, too…"

OOO

A few days of travelling later, after crossing the Tower Hills, Nerwen and Gandalf reached the Shire's borders.

"The Shire is a peaceful and cosy land," Gandalf told her, "and there aren't any dangerous animals such as bears or wolves. You can easily sleep outdoors, but you'll find many inns down the road; when you'll arrive near Bywater, I recommend The Green Dragon. When you'll arrive in Bree, I recommend The Prancing Pony, the owner of which, Goldweath Butterbur, is an old acquaintance of mine: name me freely, when you get there. And his wife Violet is an outstanding cook."

"Very well," Nerwen nodded, "As we cross the Shire, what can you tell me about the Hobbits?"

"They are discreet and modest people," Gandalf answered smiling, "of ancient origin, but nobody knows anymore where they came from; they love peace, tranquillity and the well-cultivated land. They are quite coy with the Tall People, as they call Men; they have very sharp hearing and sight, and even if, because of their love for food, they have a tendency to plumpness they are surprisingly agile and quick, and are able to vanish rapidly and silently at the arrival of people they don't want to meet… There could be dozens of Hobbits here around, and we would neither see nor hear them, if they don't want to make themselves seen or heard. They are very fond of parties, and love laughing and singing and dancing. Among them I am particularly renowned for my ability with fireworks…" he made a vague gesture in the air, "They don't know my true Istari nature," he concluded. He paused, suddenly wistful, "Yet," he went on slowly, "under their mild and well-fed appearance, Hobbits hide a surprising resilience and a considerable temper. It's difficult to frighten or kill them, and their love for good things is due to the fact they can do without, if necessary, in order to resist hostility and adversity… The courage of their race awakes slowly, but is worthy of the greatest deeds of Elves and Men."

"I see you think greatly of them," Nerwen mused. Mithrandir nodded to confirm:

"Yes, there's more in them than meets the eye. They're not adventurous, and indeed they rarely leave their borders to go out and explore the world; however there are a couple of families among them – that because of this are of ill reputation – that during their history proved themselves particularly reckless and brave: the Tooks of Tuckborough and the Brandybucks of Buckland…"

OOO

Some days later, they arrived at Michel Delving on the White Downs, the largest settlement of the Shire and, even if not officially, its capital, being it the abode of the Mayor who, as Gandalf had explained to Nerwen, was elected each seven years and represented the highest authority in the country. Here they would go separate ways, because Gandalf was taking the road to Sarn Ford, where he would cross the river Baranduin, or Brandywine as the Hobbits called it, while Nerwen would continue on the Great East Road toward Tom Bombadil's land, which was beyond the eastern border of the Shire.

Caracoling on the wide dusty road, they ran into a number of Hobbits, who got out of their way, but who anyway made sure to address them a nod of greeting, displaying simultaneously cautious and polite reactions, exactly the way the grey Istar had described them.

Even if it was just halfway in the afternoon, the two friends, reluctant to say goodbye to each other after having been apart for such a long time and a great distance, headed for the biggest inn of the settlement, The Bold Rooster. Leaving the horses in front of the door – not fearing they could be stolen because theft was not in the Hobbits' nature, nor would they be able to ride them because of their small seize – they entered the hall, bowing to come through the round door, painted a bright yellow. Mithrandir had to take off his hat, but even so, with his height of 1.80 m, he had to stay a little crouched in order not to bang his head against the ceiling; unlike him, Nerwen could stay upright, being about twenty centimetres shorter than him.

Mithrandir shook the small bell, placed on the counter to call for service, and a few moments later a strong-built middle-aged Hobbit arrived, sporting a curly brown mane and big hairy feet.

"Well, if this isn't Gandalf the Grey!" he cried, "It's been a long time now you haven't come this part of the Shire."

Gandalf looked closely at the Hobbit.

"Tobold Hornblower!" he said at length, his lips curving into a smile, "Nice to see you. The last time you were about to marry: how's Gardenia?"

"Very well, thanks. We have three children, two girls and a boy, all healthy and pretty."

"I'm glad to hear it. This." Gandalf went on, half-turning to his companion, "is Nerwen the Green. Do you have two rooms for us?"

"Sure!", the innkeeper nodded, "Our beds are too short for you Tall People," he went on, addressing directly Nerwen in an apologetic tone, "but I'll see to a pallet with clean and soft covers making a valid substitute."

"It'll be perfect," Nerwen reassured him; during her long life, she had occasionally slept in far worse conditions.

"We need also a shelter for our horses," Mithrandir added.

"We'll put them into the pony corral and give them our best fodder," Tobold declared.

The two Istari took then possession of their rooms and freshened up, and later met again in the common room, by this time still empty. They ordered a carafe of cool beer and sat at a table, of course Hobbit-size and therefore rather small for them, especially for Gandalf. But they were in the Country of the Halflings and had to make themselves comfortable the best they could.

"My heart is heavy," Gandalf confessed to Nerwen, not hiding his sadness for the now impending separation.

"Are you worried about me, my friend?" she asked him. The Wizard shook his head:

"No, I know you'll be perfectly safe, guarded by animals and plants in every place you'll go. No, it's the awareness I won't see you again for who knows how many years, which makes me sad."

"It makes me sad, too." Nerwen admitted, "but this time they won't be by far as many years."

"Your Second Sight is telling you this?" he enquired, looking at her with his bright eyes; after his arrival in Middle-earth, this ability had almost completely faded away, in him, like many others. The Maia nodded:

"Yes, it is. Even if it's not clear to me neither the when nor the where, I saw clearly that we'll meet again two times, the first one in a short time, the second much later; but the second time we'll never part again. This makes me think we'll accomplish our tasks by then, one way or another."

"You comfort me greatly," Gandalf stated then, "because sometimes I doubt I'll be able to accomplish something and I feel frustrated…"

"Never doubt the path you walk in the name of the Valar," Nerwen exhorted him, placing her hand on his and squeezing it strongly, "Even if sometimes it looks dark or you think you lost it, persist. The Grace of the Valar is with you and won't abandon you."

Encouraged, Mithrandir addressed her a smile.

"My dearest friend, you'd be able to hearten this table!" he declared emphatically, tapping lightly his hand on the table top, "And this quality will surely open for you doors that are normally closed for everyone else", he added, "Hum…" he grumbled then, "I need my pipe."

"Good idea," Nerwen approved, turning and rummaging in her pouch to pull out what she needed. While outside the afternoon waned, the two Istari smoke together, and Gandalf didn't miss the opportunity to amaze and amuse his friend, creating more and more complex forms with the smoke of pipe-weed.

OOO

By dinnertime, the common room filled up with both the inn guests – not many, to be honest, not being it the time of the Free Fair of Mid-Year – and external patrons. Nerwen and Gandalf ate in a secluded corner, targeted by many a glance, intrigued, but not insistent, as it was in the discreet nature of the Hobbits; and finally they retired for the night.

OOO

The following day, the parting moment arrived – now inevitable.

On the crossway where the Great East Road forked in the road taking to Sarn Ford, Mithrandir hugged Nerwen strongly, towering over her with his tall stature, which was accentuated by his pointy hat.

"Good luck, Nerwen the Green," he said solemnly, "May the Grace of the Valar be always with you."

"Thank you, Gandalf the Grey," she answered, equally solemnly, "May the stars shine upon your path."

With a last embrace, the two old friends parted, then each mounted on his or her horse and took the chosen road, Nerwen eastward and Gandalf south-eastward.

OOO

Author's corner:

Of course, Nerwen couldn't go around Middle-earth with too much a different look than the other Istari! If these have a human look, the same must have she.

I know I promised to fully respect Tolkien's canon; however, to find a way to make Nerwen meet Thorin the way I wanted it to, I had to change some details, such as, for instance, the fact that Thorin and Gandalf knew each other for some time and had already begun to make plans to conquer back Erebor, while in the appendixes of The Lord of the Rings is clearly stated that the two meet out of chance in Bree on March 15th, 2941, meaning just a little more than a month before the beginning of their great adventure. Frankly, this seems to me hardly credible: how can Thorin trust Gandalf so much to entrust him with the organisation of the re-conquest of the Lonely Mountain, if he barely knows him? (I humbly ask the Professor's pardon, but this is an inconsistency I really cannot stomach…) Besides, at this time Thorin didn't live in Bree, but in the Ered Luin, or Blue Mountains, with his sister Dís and his nephews Fili and Kili, and a few hundreds of Erebor Dwarves.

Passage chapter before the beginning of the Great Adventure: from the next one, we'll jump right into the story (somebody will surely say: about time! LOL), and we'll begin to meet in rapid fire already known characters like Bilbo, Tom Bombadil, Thorin Oakenshield, Elrond and many others, and some brand new ones. It won't be easy nor granted, and Nerwen will face not only physical dangers, but confront also the influence that the quality of Middle-earth will exercise over her on an emotional point of view, as Yavanna warned her, and this won't be easier than confront bandits, orcs, werewolves and such…

I was very sorry to part from Gandalf; but he has to accomplish his task, while Nerwen hers.

Thank you to all those who follow me, and an even bigger thank you to those who leave a comment!

A very special thank you to ColdOnePaul, who edited this chapter! My English may be good enough, but it's far from perfect, so his help is very welcome and priceless!

Lady Angel