Nerwen the Green and the Search for the Entwives #wattys2019

Chapter XIII: The Song of the Spring

Chapter XIII: The Song of the Spring

The morning after, Nerwen went early downstairs for breakfast, as she usually did; this time it was Mina, the one who waited on her. Back in her room, the Maia sat down to read, but she could hardly concentrate, because the memory of Thorin's extraordinary blue eyes distracted her constantly. At last, she gave up and, trying to calm down, she got out of the inn to take a stroll in the pleasant streets of Bree. Workshops and stores overlooked the main street, where many people, both Men and Hobbits, walked along it in both directions.

Nerwen looked around and decided that she liked Bree; it did not possess the serene atmosphere of the Shire's villages, but it was a pleasant place nevertheless.

She came back in time to change her clothes, putting on her riding attire that she had cleaned the day before, consisting of a short tunic, breeches and boots – she hated riding in a skirt – and then she headed for the stables, where she saddled Thilgiloth personally. Calad flew down from the balcony of her room and waited, perching on the nearby fence.

Nerwen was tightening the girth when Thorin arrived, riding a beautiful white and black speckled pony. With his height, just a little shorter than Nerwen's, he could easily ride a horse, but clearly he preferred otherwise.

He nimbly got off the mount and approached her, leading the pony by the bridle; taking her hand, he bowed to kiss it.

"Good morning, Nerwen," he greeted her, straightening his back again. His lips had just brushed the back of Nerwen's hand, but nonetheless she felt goose-bumps on her skin.

"Good morning to you, Thorin," she returned his greeting, managing somehow to keep her voice steady, which threatened to tremble. By all the stars of Varda, she never thought a Dwarf, even if so charming, would affect her so deeply, with only a simple kiss on her hand!

Their eyes met, as if it had so often happened the day before; but unlike before, this time they stayed locked, as if incapable to get off of each other, some kind of enchantment fettering their gazes.

The world around them disappeared.

"I brought you your picnic lunch, lady," Amaranth's peppy voice interrupted them. Startled, they abruptly diverted their gazes from one another.

"Thank you, Amaranth," Nerwen said, even if she would gladly strangle him. Then she realized that the poor boy was only trying to do his job and couldn't possibly know anything about what was going on between her and Thorin, and therefore she couldn't possibly blame him for the interruption. She accepted the bag he was holding out to her, but Thorin took it gently from her hands.

"I'll take care of this," he said, shouldering it. Nerwen noticed that, in spite of the temperature, he wore a fur stole, making his height, already remarkable for a Dwarf, even more imposing; a couple of stiff leather bracelets covered his forearms, from the back of his hands to the elbows, and hanging from his belt, he carried a sheath with a long dagger. Prudently, he had chosen not to go out of town unarmed and vulnerable: after all, one can never know who or what he or she can meet, around the world, even at a short distance from home.

The pair both got on their mounts and went out in the street; Thorin turned to the right, followed by Nerwen, heading for the Western Gate; they rode slowly in the middle of the road, in order not to inconvenience the pedestrians, who walked on the sides. Like the day before in the inn's common room, a number of persons greeted the Dwarf: clearly, the master smith was well known, in Bree.

When they got out of town, they turned north on the Greenway, now side by side so they could chat. Calad flew high in front of them, gliding in lazy circles but staying alert in her self-appointed role as sentinel.