Chapter XI: At the Prancing Pony
As usual, Nerwen got up early; after a delicious and plentiful breakfast with Tom and Goldberry, she took her leave, accompanied by their blessings, and after mounting Thilgiloth, she headed northward, with Calad flying high above their heads.
Following Tom's directions, Nerwen kept the Old Forest at her left, skirting it at a safe distance, while on her right side she had the mounds of the Barrow-downs.
This was an ancient land, a remainder of a kingdom of Men vanished innumerable years ago, where tombs had been built of past kings who thought themselves so great as to be remembered throughout eternity, and who instead had been forsaken in the ruthless and relentless flowing of Time. It was believed that the wights of these ancient kings haunted the Barrow-downs, but if that was the case, Nerwen didn't fear them for sure.
When they arrived at the northern end of the Old Forest, the Istar and her two kelvar friends stopped for lunch and an hour's rest, then they resumed the journey – terrestrial and airborne – northeast to get to the Great East Road. Finally, as evening drew near, they came to Bree; the town was located at the foot of a hill, rising exactly at the crossing of the Great East Road with the Old South Road, another important track that, from the fallen city of Fornost in the north, arrived far in the south to Tharbad, and then went on through Dunland to the Gap of Rohan and to the Fords of Isen, a road now scarcely travelled and heavily covered in grass, which gave reason fo it being called Greenway.
Before arriving to the West Gate of Bree, Nerwen halted and called Calad telepathically:
My friend, maybe you'd feel uncomfortable in town: would you rather stay and wait for us outside it?
I don't know, the answer came, filled with uncertainty, To be honest, I have never tried to enter a town. Do you think it dangerous for me?
It could: some individual with few scruples could think about capturing you for taming…
Better dead than a prisoner! Calad cried indignantly. Nerwen sent her a feeling of comfort and protection:
Don't worry, if you stay next to me, nobody will dare even to think about it; but feel free to decide on your own if you wish to venture in town or not. I don't want to force you in any way.
Calad seemed to think it over.
I'm curious, she confessed finally, and I trust you: I'll come to town.
Fine, then, Nerwen approved, Better we show up together: I have no falconry glove, but I can use my cloak.
She rummaged in her saddlebags and took out a light summer cape, the colour of moss; she wrapped her left forearm in it and then held it out.
Come, perch here, she invited the bird of prey. Calad came down, radiating some hesitancy: it was clear this was a new experience for her. Lightly, she laid her feet on the offered arm, closing carefully her razor sharp talons around Nerwen's wrist, protected by the fabric of her cloak.
Hold on tight, if you feel uneasy, Nerwen exhorted her, then signalled to Thilgiloth she could go on, and the Chargeress started to pace; the gate was open – the Men of Bree closed it only by night – nor was there any guard to stop those entering town, which proved this was a peaceful and friendly place.
Following Gandalf's directions, the Istar proceeded along the main street, actually the Great East Road; where it sharply bent southwards, ending up exiting the town through the South Gate, and here stood the inn that had been recommended to her, The Prancing Pony. It was a huge building with two wings going backwards from the street, forming an inner courtyard accessible through an arc in the main façade. A large wooden sign, with a small white prancing horse painted on it, hung over the street, next to the entrance door under the arch.
Nerwen got off her horse and gave the bridles to the groom who had promptly arrived, a young Man with red hair; the Chargeress showed some sign of nervousness: she still hadn't completely overcome her natural mistrust toward the strangers, but she had begun to control herself, at least with those Nerwen could trust. The Aini sent her anyway a calming thought, but she nonetheless instructed the young groom to treat her with the utmost care. Then she placed Calad on the saddle and told her silently not to fly off Thilgiloth until she returned for her.
T here was no one behind the desk in the hall, but a tiny brass bell was placed in plain view on the top; a note with ring me written on it was stuck by a corner under its rim, in the case someone wouldn't understand its purpose. Nerwen shook it vigorously; she almost hadn't set it back again, and a panting man arrived, tall and chubby, with a tawny great beard and hair and grey eyes.
"Here I am!" he cried in a jovial tone, "Goldwheat Butterbur, at your service, lady."
"Hullo, Mr Butterbur," the Aini greeted him, taking a sudden fancy to him, "I'm Nerwen the Green, and my old friend Gandalf the Grey recommended your inn."
"Old good Gandalf!" the landlord laughed, "It's about three generations of Butterbur – no, wait, with me, it makes four! – that the Grey Pilgrim passes here now and then, never forgetting to stop at the Pony. It's an honour, Lady Nerwen. Do you wish only to dine, or to sleep, too?"
"To sleep, too," she confirmed, "and also a nice bath, if possible."
"I've got some rooms with a private bath," Butterbur said, "They are more expensive than the others, but service is included. Besides, they're large enough to allow you to eat in them, if you have no fancy to come in the common room."
"Fine," Nerwen accepted; she hadn't had a proper bath since she left Círdan's house, "And I need also a shelter for my mount; also I carry a hawk with me."
"If it's well trained and doesn't soil around, you can keep it in your room," the landlord said, "but I have no perch."
"That's fine, I'll wrap the back of a chair in a cloth and have her perch there."
"Very well. I'll get someone to take you to your room, then."
Butterbur turned toward a shelf and took a bell, bigger than the one placed on the desk; he shook it forcefully and rather long, and some moments later a boy arrived, a lanky lad with a curly mop the same colour of the landlord's.
"Go and call immediately your sister Mina," Butterbur instructed him, "then run for the lady's luggage and carry it to room number 12."
"Yes sir!" the lad cried, vanishing in no time. Butterbur smiled in his beard:
"My son Amaranth," he revealed to Nerwen, "Quick as a pixie, and also very clever. Like his sisters Jasmine and Rosie. They all took after my wife Violet, fortunately," he laughed uproariously to make it clear it was a joke, "Ah, here you are, Mina… Take Lady Nerwen to room number 12 and then help her with her bath."
The lass, some 4 or 5 years older than Amaranth, was a brunette, unlike her father, but possessed his same grey eyes; she smiled at Nerwen and addressed her a slight curtsy.
"Mina, at your service, lady," she introduced herself, "Please follow me."
"Wait, let me go get my hawk. Oh, in this regard… where can I get a falconry glove?"
"There's Bob Lichen, the leather-goods manufacturer," Butterbur answered, "He's not far from here. Tomorrow morning I'll give you directions."
Nerwen thanked him, then she stepped out the door of the inn and headed for the courtyard, where meanwhile Thilgiloth's bridle had been tied to the fence in front of the stables; Calad was still perched on Nerwen's saddle. The bags were no longer there, as Amaranth had picked them up.
"A magnificent specimen, lady," the redheaded groom said in an admiring tone, coming out from the nearest box, "Never seen such a shining coat."
Thilgiloth snorted, flattered.
"Thank you," Nerwen answered the youngster. Vain horse, she spoke in a mental undertone to the Chargeress, amused; Thilgiloth snorted again, louder, sharing her friend's amusement.
The Maia wrapped again her forearm in her summer cloak and had Calad perch on it. Then she gave a silver coin to the groom:
"A thorough currying and then the best oat you have," she recommended. The youth examined the coin and his eyes widened: it was a positively generous tip.
"I'll see to it, my lady," he assured her, beginning to take off the Chargeress' harness already.
"Relax, you're in good hands," Nerwen reassured Thilgiloth.
Yeah, I think so, too, the horse replied, I like him, he has gentle manners.
Nerwen got back into the inn with Calad on her arm, then followed Mina upstairs. The room, as Butterbur had stated beforehand, was large and furnished with old but well-kept furniture; a wide canopy bed, with two nightstands at its sides, dominated it, leaning against the wall opposite to the door, with a chest at its foot, where her saddlebags had been placed; furthermore, there were a dresser, a desk, two well- stuffed and apparently very comfortable armchairs placed in front of the fireplace, and a small table of polished wood with two massive chairs.
Nerwen was about to put down Calad on the back of a chair, when she perceived that the hawk was sending out a feeling of uneasiness.
My friend, is there something wrong? she asked mentally.
I think I don't like to be indoors, Calad answered, apologetically: after all, it was her who had asked to come into the dwelling of the two-legged beings; but Nerwen understood perfectly her reasons: one cannot expect a wild animal, used to the freedom of an unlimited space, to feel comfortable inside a building.
No problem, don't worry, she therefore answered; the room was provided with a terrace looking over the courtyard, and Nerwen went there, placing Calad on the balustrade. The bird of prey opened shortly her wings, as to feel the free air, then she exuded a feeling of satisfaction at the change of venue for her perch.
Mina had followed her guest's movements; returning into the room, Nerwen noticed her interrogatory expression.
"Calad doesn't like enclosed spaces," she explained, "Far better if she stays outside."
"But won't she fly away?" the girl objected, perplexed, "I see she has no jesses to tie her…"
"Actually, I don't use these things," Nerwen answered, "Calad stays with me out of friendship, and it's only because of friendship that she comes back to me each time she flies, that's the reason I don't need to tie her to a perch."
"I see," Mina said, not less perplexed as before but favourably struck, "A very interesting concept…," she stopped mid-sentence, "Forgive me, lady, I'm forgetting myself: here's the bathroom," she opened a door to the right of the entrance, showing a room with floor and walls covered in white, green and blue majolica tiles and equipped with a large copper bathtub with supportive pins shaped like lion paws.
"I fetch you some towels," the girl said, "We have lavender, rose, calendula and honeysuckle-scented soaps: which one do you prefer?"
"Calendula," Nerwen chose, thinking the fresh fragrance of that yellow flower very apt to the summer heat, "Can you prepare a bath for me before dinner?"
"Sure, we have hot water in the kitchen anytime, and by this hot weather there's no need of much… unless you wish otherwise, of course."
"No, no, a lukewarm bath with this temperature is just perfect…"
OOO
Author's corner:
Holy Valar, I didn't think that arriving at the Prancing Pony – like Frodo with his three companions will do 78 years from now – would thrill me so much! I imagined Goldwheat Butterbur as Barliman's grandfather, very similar in his chubby looks, but less distracted LOL
Short transition chapter: I promise that the next will be more significant both in length and in substance. Indeed, a meeting taking a totally unexpected turn expects Nerwen, and will confront her – for the first time full force – with the influence the quality of Middle-earth exerts on her…
Many thanks to the priceless ColdOnePaul for his careful editing!
Lady Angel
