Nerwen the Green and the Search for the Entwives #wattys2019

Chapter XII: Blue Eyes

Chapter XII: Blue Eyes

The following day, after a relaxing bath, a delicious dinner in the common room and a peaceful sleep in a soft bed, Nerwen showed up at the desk in the hall, looking for Butterbur. Called by the ringing of the bell, the landlord arrived, out of breath as he seemed to be constantly.

"Good morning, lady, do you wish directions to go to Master Lichen, the leather manufacturer?" he asked, reminding her request of the night before.

"Exactly. Besides, I'm looking for the Dwarf smith, Thorin: do you know him?"

"Sure! Master Thorin is the best smith in Bree-land, both for weapons and for furnishings..."

The landlord explained then where Bob Lichen lived, and where Thorin's forge was located. With his ample directions, Nerwen found immediately Lichen's workshop, where she ordered a falconry glove; the artisan took her measures and told her he could manufacture it by nightfall, and if she wanted it, he could deliver it where she was staying; Nerwen gave him therefore the name of the Prancing Pony and gave him a generous down payment.

At this point, she headed to Thorin's smithy, located in a side road on the southern quarter of Bree. Like for the leather manufacturer, Butterbur had given very clear directions, so she had no trouble in finding it.

From the forge came a perfectly regular metallic beat. Nerwen didn't want to enter the workshop without permission and therefore called in a loud voice:

"Hey there, I'm looking for Master Thorin!"

The beat didn't cease.

"I'mcoming!" a baritone voice arrived from the inside. A few other beats, then ahissing sound told the Istar that the piece in the works had been immersed in cold water. A moment later, on the threshold of the workshop appeared a Dwarf, unusually tall for his race, with a long, wavy black mane, streaked with some white locks; an aquiline nose dominated a noble face, surrounded by a short and well-trimmed beard; but it were his eyes – of an intense bright blue – that struck Nerwen with the force of a maul, piercing her through and through. For a moment, she felt breathless.

"Greeting," the Dwarf said, "I'm Thorin."

"Greeting to you, Master Thorin," she answered, forcing herself to breathe again, "My name's Nerwen, and I bring you a message from our mutual friend Gandalf the Grey."

"Really?" Thorin asked, not hiding his surprise, "Gandalf's friends are my friends: please, come in."

He stepped back from the threshold and Nerwen moved to follow him inside the workshop; just indoors, Thorin turned to the right and walked through another door, entering the house. She followed him closely and found herself in a clean and well-lit kitchen, which they crossed heading for the next room, a dining room, and finally in a parlour. The house, furnished in a simple style, looked very well kept, being a bachelor's abode. In a corner, Nerwen noticed a small and elegant harp in golden-painted wood.

"Please sit down," Thorin pointed to a well-stuffed armchair, "Can I get you cider, or wine?"

Reminding the Dwarves' passion for another drink, Nerwen smiled and asked:

"May I have an ale?"

"Sure!" Thorin replied, disappearing quickly in the kitchen; he came back shortly after with two ceramic tankard. He placed them on the small table next to Nerwen's armchair and sat down on another armchair.

"To our friend Gandalf, then," Thorin suggested, rising his mug.

"To Gandalf," Nerwen answered; she took a sip, finding the light beer agreeably cold.