Heart of a Dragon

Chapter 5: Winter has Come.

The Company straggled through the bushes, grimacing at the squelching mud that pulled at their boots. Elerìna led Rochallor along, her hood up to hide her slight frown as she examined the tall wooden gate before her.

Gandalf strode forward purposefully, and rapped on the door with his staff.

A wooden slit slid open, and a suspicious eye peered down at them, a motley crew of thirteen Dwarves, a Hobbit, a Wizard, and a Dúnedain Ranger.

'Who is it?' he demanded. 'What do you want?'

'Gandalf the Grey and his fifteen companions.' Gandalf said, very clearly. 'We wish to stay at the Prancing Pony for a night.'

The man's gaze fixed on Elerìna's star-shaped brooch with a pronounced frown.

'All right then.' he mumbled, caving in to Gandalf's expectant look and sliding the slit shut.

There was a jangling noise as the man fumbled with his keys, and the narrow door swung open.

'Welcome to Bree.' He said, before standing back and letting them pass.

Elerìna glanced behind her, and she saw the man peering at her with a squinted eye, looking away quickly when he was caught. She let out a small sigh and followed after the others.

Bree was the chief village of the Bree-land, a small inhabited region in Eriador. The Men here were typical of their race—brown-haired, broad, cheerful, and with that startling independence of will. Luckily for Bilbo, they were familiar and friendly with Hobbits, since a large number of Hobbit families resided in Bree-hill, as it was called. And fortunately for all Elerìna's companions, they did not mind Dwarves, Elves, or any other inhabitants of the world around them than was usual with normal Men.

As a matter of interest to Elerìna—for she was a great lover of history and lore—according to the Bree-folk's tales, they were the original inhabitants, and descendants of the first Men who had wandered to Númenor. It seemed curious to her that her own fragile race of Men was capable of enduring for so long, that when Elendil the Fair returned to Middle Earth with his sons Isildur and Anárion, the Men of Bree still remained. (1)

They remained, but the tales of the old Kings and the West-land had faded into the grass along the years, until they retained none of the noble blood of their lineage.

Elerìna mused this as the Men of Bree stared at the unorganised jumble of travellers making their way to the Inn. Even though they were friendly with most, they were still unused to having many visitors to their town, and they had a particular wary dislike of Rangers.

Even as she tugged her hood further over her face, she still heard the wary whispers that greeted her since the first time Elerìna had set foot in Bree.

'Winter has come! Winter has come!'

It was sweet relief to step through the door of the Inn of the Prancing Pony, or the Pony, as it was affectionately called in Bree. The Dwarves easily made their way to the bar, while Gandalf and Elerìna found the owner of the Inn to arrange their accommodations. Balin remained outside with Glóin to look after the ponies.

'Butterbur!' Gandalf said pointedly to a short fat man with a shiny pate and scarlet face, who was bustling around—through one door to the next, ducking under arms of his visitors with a tray laden with tankards of frothy ale.

'Just a minute, if you please!' Butterbur shouted, disappearing into the throng of people.

Elerìna offered Gandalf a slightly amused look at the antics of Mr. Butterbur, owner of the Prancing Pony. He shook his head and watched Butterbur return to them.