Chapter Twenty-Eight: At the Sign of the Prancing Pony
The road seemed incredibly long, and to Mélanyë, stretched on forever. She followed it just as Lyria had told her too, but after two days of seeing the same road with mostly the same landscape around it, she began to worry. She thought that maybe she was on the wrong road, or that it was going the wrong way. The greatest anxiety came when, on the third day, she still hadn't reached the bridge. At first there was momentary panic, but then she decided to walk for another day. The Ranger had longer legs than she did and so it may take her longer to get there.
As it turned out she was right. By lunchtime on the fourth day she found the river. She didn't know it, but it was the Greyflood, the very same river that is called 'Brunien' in Imladris. If she followed it as Lyria had told her to, she would arrive home within a few days. As she stood on the bridge, however, doubt took her. She sat on the wood planks and tried to decide what to do.
She looked east down the river, picturing the House of Elrond in the far distance and trying to imagine what would happen if she returned. Would there be welcoming arms and 'we missed you's like Lyria had said, or would she be scolded and locked again in her room? She sat for a long time, but the more she thought about it, the more the second possibility seemed likely.
Just as evening began to set in she turned, sitting instead facing the road north. What awaited her there? Lyria hadn't said what lay to the North, but she guessed that the Shire was close by. She remembered visiting there long ago when she was a child. It was a happy place filled with smiling people with grass, flowers and tall trees. It then occurred to her to run there, to hide in the Shire and perhaps become one of them. At the time she felt that she would be much happier there than Imladris, and so when the sun rose the next morning she continued on the road, travelling further north, and away from her home.
This time, however, the road seemed much more daunting. She had no guide to say how long it would take to reach the Shire, and worse yet, her lembas were running dangerously low; enough for two or three days more at most. At last she did run out, and she began to worry. She had no idea where she was headed, but knew that it was important she get there before she starved.
She then decided to travel mostly at night, since the sun was extremely hot and made her journey seem much harder. When the sun came up she would find whatever shelter was available, usually a tree, and sleep beneath her Lorien cloak, praying that it kept her safe.
Each day saw the same endless landscape that seemed to go on for miles, and the horizon just became farther and farther away. She then began to feel a weight of hopelessness and despair creep into her soul. No one would ever find her - Elrohir and the others would never know what happened to her and she would die out her alone. Then she saw it.
Far far ahead, on the edge of her vision, she saw shapes. It was several days of more walking before the shapes took the form of houses. With a cry of relief she began to run for them with every last ounce of strength she owned. Ever so slowly they became larger, until several nights later she stumbled into the small town.
She approached the front gate hesitantly, suddenly fearful of her new surroundings. What if these people were like Rachun and Mutoh? Nevertheless, hunger and fatigue won out over trepidation and she approached the guard. Her hand found her sword at first, but then she thought to herself, 'what good is a weapon if you're too weak to wield it?' She let it go and instead pulled her cloak tighter around her and the hood over her head.
"Who are you?" said the guard. Mélanyë noted the hostility in his voice and almost turned around and ran away. She swallowed her fear and spoke.
"Nánye úna," she said. The man looked at her strangely and only then did she realize she's spoken in Quenya. She tried desperately to remember the Common Speech, but only a few words came out. "Lost… need…food?" The man's expression immediately softened and he crouched in front of her.
"Are you all alone, little one?" he said. Mélanyë belatedly realized that he thought she was a child. She nodded and he guided her in through the gate. "Down that street there's an Inn called The Prancing Pony. Inside you'll meet Barliman. He can help you." Mélanyë nodded and thanked the man, but she was half way down the street he'd shown her to before she realized she'd again spoken in her native tongue. It was becoming harder and harder for her to remember other languages as she became more fatigued and so she couldn't even read the letters on the sign that featured a picture of a horse on its hind legs. Gratefully, she stumbled in.
She was immediately surrounded in a dim smoky atmosphere in which everyone she saw frightened her. She walked slowly and cautiously through the crowded bar, clutching her hood and cloak tighter around her and scanning the room for danger. She jumped about a foot in the air when a loud voice greeted her from behind.
"Can I help you, lass?" it said. She slowly turned to see a large round man staring at her. She searched her memory for the words to answer him in his own language.
"Looking for…'Barliman'?" she said haltingly. The man smiled.
"Well you've found him! Mr. Barliman Butterbur at your service!" he said proudly. She barely heard his declaration as she sighed in relief. She felt the moment she saw him that she could trust this man to help her and so allowed herself to finally let go. Barliman watched in dismay as the girl collapsed into a heap at his feet.
"Nob!" he shouted as he knelt to scoop up the girl into his arms. As he did her hood slid back from her face revealing her pointed ears. "An elf?" he wondered. Nob knelt then, staring at the girl in wonder. After several shocked moments Barliman blinked and looked up at the hobbit in front of him.
"Well don't just stand there, fetch the doctor!" he cried. Nob quickly got up and ran out of the bar as Barliman picked up Mélanyë and carried her upstairs out of sight of the gawking patrons.
Mélanyë lay in peaceful dreams as Barliman spoke with the doctor. Nob was anxiously hovering over the girl and straining to hear what was being said.
"How is she?" The doctor sighed.
"Well, she's dehydrated, malnourished…there's some injuries that suggest she's been in battle. Where did you find her?" Barliman shot a worried glance in Mélanyë's direction.
"She just walked into my bar. I think the gatekeeper sent her." The doctor nodded.
"Well, it seems she's had quite the adventure," he said, "from the way she's dressed, with all those weapons…" he paused and spoke in a hushed tone. "There's something else, but…no, I should tell her when she wakes."
"You can tell me." The two spun around at the deep voice behind them. Somehow, a tall dark haired elf had entered the room without them knowing. He strode forward and the two men found it impossible not to notice the long sword at his side. They backed away.
"Who...who are you?" asked Barliman.
"My name is Elrohir, son of Elrond. Mélanyë is one of my kin." A sudden understanding reached the two men and they visibly relaxed.
"Well that's good then," said Barliman, but the doctor stopped him.
"Wait," he said, "If you two are family, then I would like to know how such a young girl was allowed to go off on her own like this!" Barliman thought for a moment and then demanded the same from the tall elf.
"So would I," said Elrohir. "Myself and several others have been searching for her ever since she ran away several months ago," he said. "I heard that she had been seen wandering in the lands near here and so assumed she would find her way to Bree. Now," he put a strong hand on the doctor's shoulder. "What is wrong with her?"
"Nothing," he said. "That is, she's not sick. She's pregnant." Elrohir stepped back a pace in disbelief. He looked from the doctor to the small figure on the bed, slowly shaking his head.
"Are you certain?" he asked. The doctor nodded. "How did this happen?" he whispered.
"The usual way, I suppose," said Barliman, who was promptly scowled at by the dark elf. With a heavy sigh, Elrohir took a stool from a nearby table and sat next to Mélanyë's bed. Sure enough, he did see a small bulge in her middle and he rested his head in his hands. After tense moments of watching the elf, the others one by one, left him alone with the patient.