Valar Rising

Chapter One: Rian

Dense rain scattered the pebbles on the walk leading to the Inn; darkness felt like a warm blanket around the shoulders of the woman striding toward the entrance to The Prancing Pony. Rian leaned against the archway in front of the door upon reaching it, her head protected by the hood of her cloak. She had every intention of waiting right there, away from the roarus laughter and drunken voices coming from the lively tavern, but a familiar voice called out to her.

"Rian, come inside. You'll be catching a cold any moment now, and Mister Gandalf will not be pleased in the slightest. He's due back tonight, you know." The voice wafted from the cracked door, a sliver of light piercing the evening cold.

"I know," Rian nodded, knowing Butterbur meant well. He did his best to watch out for Rian's well-being, especially with the threat of Gandalf's impending arrival. "I will come in for a bit of dinner soon."

Butterbur, who had poked his head outside the door sighed and smiled.

"I'll have a table ready near the hearth with soup and bread."

"Thank you."

Rian dug her toe into the ground. She hated being a burden on Butterbur. She hated that he felt responsible for her whenever Gandalf was gone. He had cared for her whenever she was in Bree for nearly ten years, watching out for her and making sure she ate. Having moved through so many homes in the village, it was nice to know there was always someone caring, but the way he acted made her think he didn't view her as capable, despite her age.

Once inside, Rian admitted it was nice to step out of the drizzle and sit close to the fire. The soup was hearty and the bread warm, their simplicity welcomed on this rainy evening. Sometimes she regretted feeling as though Butterbur was treating her like a child, not wanting to harbor any negative feelings toward the generous innkeeper. He was only doing what Gandalf had asked, after all. But regardless of her regret, she still felt like a burden.

Gandalf was a different story. She wasn't a burden to him. No, he made her pull her weight when he took her with him on his errands across Middle Earth. The first time he took her outside of Bree he taught her how to gather wood and make a suitable fire. He, along with several Rangers who sometimes accompanied them, taught her to hunt and prepare food. She knew which plants were safe for eating and which she should leave alone. She knew how to heal basic wounds, how to re-set a broken arm, how to push through the pain of an injury and could keep going.

She didn't feel useless when she was with Gandalf or the Rangers. But useless didn't even begin to describe how she felt while spending time in Bree. Gandalf insisted she come back here whenever he was leaving on an errand he deemed "dangerous" for her. Bree was where she grew up, but it was not her home.

Rian looked around the room as she whirled her way through her thoughts of Gandalf and the Rangers. The Inn was filled this night with a somber group. The rain had doused the moods of travelers, and the men of the town came in only for a heartening drink before continuing home in the dark. Rian couldn't decide if she liked it this way best, the quiet and private feel. More often than not the main floor was bouncing with laughter and music and messy drinks, an environment Rian felt comfortable in. She would sit for hours and speak with travelers about their most recent trades, or with Rangers about their skirmishes in the west.

She had stories of her own from her travels with Gandalf and the Rangers and weeks in the Shire. The usual company loved to hear about the Hobbits and their ways. Her stories were often met with rounds of laughter and calls for more drinks, but occasionally there would be those who frowned upon her adventures, thinking a woman had no place on the roads of men or among strange shire-lings.