Return to the North [ Lord of the Rings x Silmarillion ]

Inn at Bree

“Is everyone packed?” Eldarion asked this as he walked up and down the hallway connecting the two rooms the group had stayed in.

A week had gone by, a week since their first step inside Imladris. Glorfindel had given Fëalas the all clear yesterday, and today Eldarion decided it'd be best for them to get moving. He could feel something horribly wrong was happening in the North. And they needed to get their to aid them.

Everyone was ready, their packs all together and their goat laden with food stuffs and clothes. It was winter, and the North would be cold by the time they reached there. Glorfindel told them to expect another three weeks’ travel to Annuminas. The plan was simple- go west on the East-West Road until Bree. From there, they were to take a direct route north and east to Annuminas. There was a small portage way style road that ran that way, and Eldarion decided to try it.

“We’re all ready,” said Aderthon as he loaded the last food pack onto their beast of burden. “Shall we?”

Glorfindel bowed to them. He smiled. “Farewell, my friends. We may meet sooner than you think, but for now, may Elbereth guide you.”

“You as well, lord,” Eldarion said with a bow. “We are in your debt.”

He chuckled lightly but waved farewell as the group left Rivendell. They traveled hard for many days. By the end of the third day, they had left the Trollshaws behind, crossing over the Last Bridge. The East-West Road was well taken care of once past the Bridge. It made going easier.

Along the way, the company ran into a group of dwarves on their way to Eregion and Moria with messages from Ered Luin. They camped together for a night, trading stories. The company refused to give up their true names, but few questions were asked in either direction.

By the ninth day, they reached Weathertop. In the end, the group elected not to climb it. Many of them wished to see the ancient monument, but they did not want to draw unintended attention.

So by the fifteenth day from Rivendell, they saw a settlement by midday.

“Bree!” breathed Fëalas. “It's Bree!”

“Indeed,” Eldarion nodded with a small smile. “We shall rest at the Prancing Pony tonight.”

They reached the town by evening. The dying light of day cast dark shadows around the place. The gatekeeper let them in, curiously glancing at the pack-goat, but asking few questions.

He directed them towards the inn. “Old Barliman will give yah some rooms.”

“The sign at the Prancing Pony!” Fëalas squeaked giddily.

“Stay out here while Aderthon and I speak to the Innkeeper,” Eldarion told them.

He and Aderthon walked into the inn, wiping their feet on an old mat. They walked to the counter and waited to be helped.

“What can I do for yah?” said an old man with no hair but a scraggly white beard on his face. “Who have we here?”

“We would like four rooms please,” Eldarion said. “All for big people. We are messengers from King Elessar heading North.”

“Of course, of course!” He grinned. “Old Barliman is happy to have yah! I'll send old Nob to take care of your steeds. The rest of your company is welcome to come in. I'll show yah to your rooms!”

Aderthon grinned and retrieved their companions. Barliman Butterbur looked at them in amazement but shuffled along to take them to a set of rooms. Once that was done, he invited them to join the company in the tavern.

“We will, thank you!” Aderthon nodded.

Eldarion raised an eyebrow but laughed at his enthusiasm once Barliman Butterbur had left. Everyone left their packs in their respective rooms before congregating in Eldarion and Aderthon's.

“I'm going to the tavern,” Aderthon said. “Anyone else coming?”

In the end, Eldarion, Círeth, Fëalas, and Elboron all agreed to go with him. The others were tired and wanted rest, and had no desire to go sit in a loud, smelly, smoke filled room. In the tavern, the guests stopped speaking upon seeing the newcomers enter, but only for a split second. Before too long, the noise level returned to normal as the group slid into a large booth. What the group didn't realize was that a special pair of hobbits was in the room.

“I still think we should visit Gondor soon,” Pippin frowned to Merry as he sipped his pint. “It's about time! It's been years since we were there.”

“I do wish to see Rohan again,” nodded Merry. “I want to meet the Prince. Elfwine, Éomer said his name was in his letters.”

The two friends chugged down their beer together. Nostalgically looking around the bar, remembering how they had met Strider that fateful day thirty-six years ago, they looked at the patrons.

“Hold on,” Pippin frowned, furrowing his brow. “Who are they?”

Merry turned around and glanced at the company. He looked confused.

“They are too fair to be human, but they are not elves,” Pippin added.

Merry nodded. “Let’s go ask them!”

The hobbits stood from their table, standing almost five foot, huge for the little people (thanks to the Ent draughts). Curiously heading towards the booth of the company, they cleared their throats to interrupt the conversation.

“Excuse me, good people,” Merry smiled. “We wished to welcome you to Bree!”

“Thank you, master,” bowed Eldarion, responding even before turning to see them. “Who do we have the pleasure of speaking with?”

“I am Meriadoc Brandybuck, and this is Peregrine Took.” He bowed low. “And you are?”

“The Merry and Pippin?” gasped Fëalas. “From the stories our parents tell?”

“Who might your parents be, lady?” Pippin looked in confusion, for few outside the immediate people he had been in contact with, at least outside the Shire, new of his involvement in the tales of the ring.

“Míril and Elrohir,” replied Aderthon, smiling. “I am Aderthon, and these are my sisters Círeth and Fëalas.”

“I am Elboron, son of Eowyn and Faramir.”

Finally Eldarion spoke, grinning. “I am Eldarion, son of Aragorn and Arwen. Truly it is an honor to meet you, for we have heard much of you!”

Pippin and Merry were flabbergasted. The past was suddenly caught up with them! They had so many questions, for all of them!