***
Rivendell saw three more departures the next day. Estel, upon discovering Kathryn missing, also left but quietly, with only a few soft words to Arwen, returning to the wilderness. Legolas son of Thranduil, having received council he deemed enough to be of great help to his father, left for Mirkwood. He was intending to stay another month, but suffered a change of heart, after receiving news of a renewed attack upon the southern borders of his land. But he had seemed subdued before the news, after a quick but earnest talk with Estel. Soon Arwen left too, to see her grandmother, Galadriel, and once again resided in the golden woods of the mystical Lothlórien.
***
Slouched in her saddle, bending to the cowing gusts of wind and whippings of rain, Kathryn persisted on. Under the looming dark clouds that filled the sky, a cluster of lights marked the town of Bree. It was nestled in a semicircle around a hill, and not that far away. Her chilled, water- drenched body had gone past the stage of shivering. With numb fingers she pulled her hood further down across her face.
By the time she reached the East Gate, the dismal clouds had been replaced by a near pitch black. The gates had shut; Kathryn swore a collection of particularly foul oaths she had attained from her long travels. With the picture of camping outside in this weather in her mind, she trudged up to the gate with little hope. Loudly she knocked, pounding the tall wooden structure with as much strength as she could muster after her wearisome journey.
Someone seemed to stir in a lodge beyond the gate, and Kathryn heard the squelch of boots in mud come towards her. A shutter in the gate opened and two suspicious eyes shadowed by bushy eyebrows blinked through.
"What do you want, and where do you come from?" he asked gruffly.
Kathryn laughed with relief, "Well good sir, consider this, what would you be wanting in a town when it's freezing and pouring rain in the wilderness?"
"I'm not here to play guessing games, stranger." He barked.
She sighed resignedly, not wanting to spend a moment longer outside, "Ai! I would like to stay in the inn here; I could go further tonight but am weary to the bone and have someone to meet here. If I told you all the places I've come from we'd be here 'til dawn. Does that answer you?"
"A stranger, with a rather strange accent, dresses like a Ranger." Kathryn's sharp ears caught the gatekeeper saying softly to himself. He stared at her darkly for a moment, then slowly opened the gate and let her lead her horse through. "There's queer folk been about, though you are one of the less strange, you seem a little more friendly than most. I'll take you as good enough." He went on as she halted a moment at the door. "What might your name and business be, might I ask?"
"My name I shall keep, I wish just to find a warm bed and supper. May I be permitted to find them?"
"It's my business to ask questions after nightfall. Now through with you! If you want an inn The Pony will suffice, but it's unusually full this eve."
"My thanks." She smiled as warmly as she could in her frozen body, wondering why he was so suspicious. She hunched her shoulders trying to keep the unease from creeping down her spine. Kathryn rode up a gentle slope, passing tall houses whose second stories leaned over the street. A large signboard of a fat white pony rearing up on its hind legs marked the inn of The Prancing Pony. It looked homely enough from the outside. Lights peeked out from gaps in heavy curtains, and the raucous noise of many cheerful voices singing a bawdy song echoed out onto the street. Kathryn smiled and left her horse in the yard under the archway, leaping up the steps to the doorway. There she met a short fat man with a bald head and a red face, puffing from dashing zigzags between rooms. He wore a white apron, only slightly dirty from wiping some table or something of the sort.
"Greetings!" He shouted absentmindedly over his shoulder as he bustled back into the common room, "Just a minute, if you please!" then he was lost in the coarse laughter and smoke. Punctual to his words, he did return, wiping his hands on his apron. Then, as he got a chance to look at her appearance, he failed to mask a suspicious scowl. Kathryn was surprised - the innkeeper looked good-natured enough.
"Good evening." He said reluctantly. Kathryn threw back her weather stained hood, and her hair tumbled out with it in golden brown locks. The innkeeper looked surprised and slightly abashed.
"My apologies, good mistress, for a minute I thought you were." He was interrupted by a shout from the common room. "Half a minute!" He yelled back. "Yes, what was I saying.? Anyway, welcome to the Prancing Pony, Barliman Butterbur at your service! What may you be wanting?"
"A single room, not too big but cosy and stabling for my horse if you please." She smiled.
"Yes of course! There now! Now I remember: what I was saying was from your garb a moment ago, I half mistook you for one of those Ranger, those strange wandering folks. Well mistress, I beg your pardon fully!" He gave her a dimpled grin.
"Alas, dear Barliman, I perhaps may still be regarded as what you Breefolk call Rangers. But tonight the only home I know is this one and the only drink I know is beer! I'll go to the common room." She laughed merrily in an elvish fashion, so foreign that Barliman cocked his head, obviously trying to catch a thought from one of the ones streaming in through one ear and out the other. Then she remembered secrecy would be best and pulled her hood once again over her head, then disappeared, like Butterbur, into the smoky, laughter-filled room.
With her hood once again shadowing her face, many of the Breefolk tried to ignore her, and they would shrug uneasily when she walked by. Finding a solitary corner half in the shadows, she leaned back in a chair and called for a beer. Soon however, a couple of plucky hobbits and a few curious men had gathered around her, eager for news from the world. Every now and then, when they thought she wasn't watching them, they tried to peer into the depths of her hood, but she always kept it in check. After satiating their interest for news, she was then asked to tell a story.
"Well let's see, a tale you want? Hmm." She stretched her legs, thinking. "What kind of tale? A merry one perhaps."
"Tell us about elves!" One particularly adventurous shouted out. Kathryn laughed, "Well yes, perhaps, little master!" She roved her memory. "I will sing one of their songs, of Gil-galad, an elven King, and try to render it in the Common Tongue, nevertheless it will be poor in comparison to the elvish tongue in which they sing. So be kind!
"Gil-galad was an Elven-king. Of him the harpers sadly sing: The last whose realm was fair and free Between the Mountains and the Sea.
"His sword was long, his lance was keen, His shining helm afar was seen; The countless stars of heaven's field were mirrored in his silver shield.
"But long ago he rode away, And where he dwelleth none can say; For into darkness fell his star
"In." Kathryn stopped, and cries of protest arose. "Nay, 'tis a dark tale and I forgot 'twas so. My apologies." They clamoured for another tale, and Kathryn was about to oblige them, when three small newcomers entered the room. They looked around, frightened by the tall shapes towering over them, then chose a table to the side of the room, uncomfortable from the interest in which they were received with. Kathryn's crowd left her with a chorus of welcome for the new arrivals. Left to herself again, she settled back into a more comfortable position, watching.
Rivendell saw three more departures the next day. Estel, upon discovering Kathryn missing, also left but quietly, with only a few soft words to Arwen, returning to the wilderness. Legolas son of Thranduil, having received council he deemed enough to be of great help to his father, left for Mirkwood. He was intending to stay another month, but suffered a change of heart, after receiving news of a renewed attack upon the southern borders of his land. But he had seemed subdued before the news, after a quick but earnest talk with Estel. Soon Arwen left too, to see her grandmother, Galadriel, and once again resided in the golden woods of the mystical Lothlórien.
***
Slouched in her saddle, bending to the cowing gusts of wind and whippings of rain, Kathryn persisted on. Under the looming dark clouds that filled the sky, a cluster of lights marked the town of Bree. It was nestled in a semicircle around a hill, and not that far away. Her chilled, water- drenched body had gone past the stage of shivering. With numb fingers she pulled her hood further down across her face.
By the time she reached the East Gate, the dismal clouds had been replaced by a near pitch black. The gates had shut; Kathryn swore a collection of particularly foul oaths she had attained from her long travels. With the picture of camping outside in this weather in her mind, she trudged up to the gate with little hope. Loudly she knocked, pounding the tall wooden structure with as much strength as she could muster after her wearisome journey.
Someone seemed to stir in a lodge beyond the gate, and Kathryn heard the squelch of boots in mud come towards her. A shutter in the gate opened and two suspicious eyes shadowed by bushy eyebrows blinked through.
"What do you want, and where do you come from?" he asked gruffly.
Kathryn laughed with relief, "Well good sir, consider this, what would you be wanting in a town when it's freezing and pouring rain in the wilderness?"
"I'm not here to play guessing games, stranger." He barked.
She sighed resignedly, not wanting to spend a moment longer outside, "Ai! I would like to stay in the inn here; I could go further tonight but am weary to the bone and have someone to meet here. If I told you all the places I've come from we'd be here 'til dawn. Does that answer you?"
"A stranger, with a rather strange accent, dresses like a Ranger." Kathryn's sharp ears caught the gatekeeper saying softly to himself. He stared at her darkly for a moment, then slowly opened the gate and let her lead her horse through. "There's queer folk been about, though you are one of the less strange, you seem a little more friendly than most. I'll take you as good enough." He went on as she halted a moment at the door. "What might your name and business be, might I ask?"
"My name I shall keep, I wish just to find a warm bed and supper. May I be permitted to find them?"
"It's my business to ask questions after nightfall. Now through with you! If you want an inn The Pony will suffice, but it's unusually full this eve."
"My thanks." She smiled as warmly as she could in her frozen body, wondering why he was so suspicious. She hunched her shoulders trying to keep the unease from creeping down her spine. Kathryn rode up a gentle slope, passing tall houses whose second stories leaned over the street. A large signboard of a fat white pony rearing up on its hind legs marked the inn of The Prancing Pony. It looked homely enough from the outside. Lights peeked out from gaps in heavy curtains, and the raucous noise of many cheerful voices singing a bawdy song echoed out onto the street. Kathryn smiled and left her horse in the yard under the archway, leaping up the steps to the doorway. There she met a short fat man with a bald head and a red face, puffing from dashing zigzags between rooms. He wore a white apron, only slightly dirty from wiping some table or something of the sort.
"Greetings!" He shouted absentmindedly over his shoulder as he bustled back into the common room, "Just a minute, if you please!" then he was lost in the coarse laughter and smoke. Punctual to his words, he did return, wiping his hands on his apron. Then, as he got a chance to look at her appearance, he failed to mask a suspicious scowl. Kathryn was surprised - the innkeeper looked good-natured enough.
"Good evening." He said reluctantly. Kathryn threw back her weather stained hood, and her hair tumbled out with it in golden brown locks. The innkeeper looked surprised and slightly abashed.
"My apologies, good mistress, for a minute I thought you were." He was interrupted by a shout from the common room. "Half a minute!" He yelled back. "Yes, what was I saying.? Anyway, welcome to the Prancing Pony, Barliman Butterbur at your service! What may you be wanting?"
"A single room, not too big but cosy and stabling for my horse if you please." She smiled.
"Yes of course! There now! Now I remember: what I was saying was from your garb a moment ago, I half mistook you for one of those Ranger, those strange wandering folks. Well mistress, I beg your pardon fully!" He gave her a dimpled grin.
"Alas, dear Barliman, I perhaps may still be regarded as what you Breefolk call Rangers. But tonight the only home I know is this one and the only drink I know is beer! I'll go to the common room." She laughed merrily in an elvish fashion, so foreign that Barliman cocked his head, obviously trying to catch a thought from one of the ones streaming in through one ear and out the other. Then she remembered secrecy would be best and pulled her hood once again over her head, then disappeared, like Butterbur, into the smoky, laughter-filled room.
With her hood once again shadowing her face, many of the Breefolk tried to ignore her, and they would shrug uneasily when she walked by. Finding a solitary corner half in the shadows, she leaned back in a chair and called for a beer. Soon however, a couple of plucky hobbits and a few curious men had gathered around her, eager for news from the world. Every now and then, when they thought she wasn't watching them, they tried to peer into the depths of her hood, but she always kept it in check. After satiating their interest for news, she was then asked to tell a story.
"Well let's see, a tale you want? Hmm." She stretched her legs, thinking. "What kind of tale? A merry one perhaps."
"Tell us about elves!" One particularly adventurous shouted out. Kathryn laughed, "Well yes, perhaps, little master!" She roved her memory. "I will sing one of their songs, of Gil-galad, an elven King, and try to render it in the Common Tongue, nevertheless it will be poor in comparison to the elvish tongue in which they sing. So be kind!
"Gil-galad was an Elven-king. Of him the harpers sadly sing: The last whose realm was fair and free Between the Mountains and the Sea.
"His sword was long, his lance was keen, His shining helm afar was seen; The countless stars of heaven's field were mirrored in his silver shield.
"But long ago he rode away, And where he dwelleth none can say; For into darkness fell his star
"In." Kathryn stopped, and cries of protest arose. "Nay, 'tis a dark tale and I forgot 'twas so. My apologies." They clamoured for another tale, and Kathryn was about to oblige them, when three small newcomers entered the room. They looked around, frightened by the tall shapes towering over them, then chose a table to the side of the room, uncomfortable from the interest in which they were received with. Kathryn's crowd left her with a chorus of welcome for the new arrivals. Left to herself again, she settled back into a more comfortable position, watching.