Thalion Faer, Doltha Hún

Wind whips around the stone tower of Orthanc. The black silhouette is a solid void in the cloudy sky surrounding it. Up the tower, up past the stone walls on the perimeter, the paths and trees, up to the top where an old man sits; curled in a ball. A moth floats by, lifted by the breeze and carried towards the life form. The man reaches his hand out, uncovering his face while he encases the moth in a claw.

It is Gandalf the Grey, frozen and hungry. He whispers in a foreign language to the moth resting in his palm; it hears him. It waits for the final words to rise from the old man’s throat and fly off his tongue until it joins them with the wind.

Time shifts.

The old man sits up suddenly, for his in the presence of another. Saruman the White, healthy and statuesque in his white robes and great staff, stands over his prisoner like a God. Words are exchanged, thrown about like arrows dipped in poison. They lather the air with tension, and with a leap Gandalf the Grey is up and off the tower; falling.

An eagle catches his fall, and the two of them glide away from Saruman, away from the great tower of Orthanc and towards the place he knows his duty will resume…

My head snapped up and I gasped in a breath. I shook the images from my mind, focusing on the road and on Feredir. His pace had quickened and we were nearing Bree. The rain pelted down on us both; drenching us. It was accompanied by a cold north-bound wind that chilled me and ruffled the leaves on the trees encompassing the road. My hood was pulled far over my head, which was down and close to Feredir’s neck.

“Linta, Feredir.” I commanded. Faster.

His pace quickened and the water resting on the gravel road began to splash up with each trot. When I leaned close to him the air was not so horrid; but it was something he did not seem to mind. He had survived many a storms in his time, and I had not a doubt in my mind he would be doing quite alright this time.

My eyes scanned the upcoming landscape and came upon two things: one being the door to the town of Bree, and the other being four small figures scurrying across the road and hiding just inside the tree line. I told Feredir to stop, and he slowed down to a trot, stopping just before the spot where the four figures had disappeared to.

They were too small to be adults, yet no children could possibly be left alone at this time or place. I slowly turned my head and peered into the forest. I made the outline of a few figures amongst the trees. Dismounting Feredir, I crept closer to the trees. I heard whispers and came to the conclusion of the race. Hobbits. I smiled, pulling down my hood and pushing my hair back behind my ears.

“For four Hobbits, you’re quite terrible at hiding.” I remarked lightly, and watched as the four little males came into view. They had relief painted on their face. “Were you expecting someone else?” I asked. They exchanged fretful glances between one another before settling their gaze on the on closest to me. He had dark brown hair, curly just like the others. His eyes were a striking blue, and his expression was slightly sad.

“There are strange folk about, and from a distance you greatly resembled one of them.” He remarked in as quiet a voice as he could push out over the din of the rain.

“I do apologize if I frightened you, little masters.” I said honestly. “What are your names?”

“I am Frodo…Underhill.” He said. I caught the hesitation in his voice while my brain searched for any recollection of a Frodo. “These are my kinsman, Peregrin, Meriadoc, and Samwise. We are of the Shire and are headed for the Prancing Pony Inn.”

“The Prancing Pony? Well If it’s big folk you’re running from I’d gladly escort you there. I’m in need of housing for the night.” I announced. They all nodded their heads gratefully and followed close behind me as we came upon the gate.

I knocked hard on the wooden door. There was a moment’s hesitation before a small square of wood was opened, revealing the squinted eyes of the gatekeeper of Bree. He scrunched up his face, surveying the hobbits and I.

“What do you want?” He asked suspiciously.

“We are headed for the Prancing Pony. My children and I would very much like to get in and out of the cold, if you don’t mind sir.” I said, putting an arm around Frodo’s shoulders to aid in my act.

“Alright young miss, come on right in.” He said, unlocking the gate and letting us in. “I meant no offence. It’s my job to ask questions this late; there’s queer folk about and you can’t be too careful.”

“Thank you, sir.” I said, ushering the hobbits ahead of me into the town. The Prancing Pony was close, the golden sign rocking back and forth on its pole in the wind. I kept the hobbits close to me as we pushed through the scattered crowds of people; their eyes drifting to and away from us. Travelers were common; women were not. Least likely of all women with hobbits. Or hobbit-children. Whichever they saw when they looked at our group.

“Wait just inside the door; I’m just going to find a stable for Feredir.” I said, waiting until they entered before leaving them. I quickly pulled Feredir over to the closest stable, carefully backing him inside and tying his reigns to the provided post. “I shall return in the morning, friend. Do not fret, whatever should happen.”

Leaving him, I made for the Prancing Pony, musing at the warmth as I walked inside. Pulling down my hood, I saw that Frodo and his companions were already seated and drinking. The bartender gave me the same double-take as most people did, but smiled warmly nonetheless.

“What can I get for ya, my lady?” He asked, his rough mustache jumping with each word.

“Have you any rooms available for the night?” I asked while removing my coat.

“Yes ma’am. We’ve got a few nice, cozy single rooms left. May I mark ya down for one?”

“Yes please.” I said, smiling. He shuffled around until he located a piece of parchment and a pen. Dipping it in an ink well, he looked up at me.

“Yer name?”

“Vanya, Maethoriel.” I pronounced carefully and slowly. He squinted when it came to writing my last name, to which I replied “I do not think there will be any other women named Vanya staying here tonight; my first name should suffice.”

“Right.” He remarked, chuckling. “Whenever yer ready, just come ta get yer key.” I nodded, walking over to Frodo and the others. Taking a seat beside Frodo, I placed my coat across my lap and wrung out my hair.

“Have you gone at the ale already?” I teased, evoking shy laughter from the bunch. “My name is Vanya, and I should like if you weren’t so frightened of me.” The bartender came by, handing me a pint which I gratefully sipped from.

“Where do you come from, Vanya?” Peregrin asked.

“Well, Peregrin, that should depend on what you mean.” I began. “For the place I was born in and the place I traveled from is not one in the same.”

“Where do you come from?”

“Fornost, in the realm of Arnor.” I replied.

“And where were you born, my lady?” Meriadoc asked.

“I was born in the realm of Gondor, but that was many years ago.” I replied, a hint of sadness peaking into my voice that I had not intended. They nodded in acknowledgement, and I turned the attention away from me. “Frodo, do you by any chance know of a hobbit named Bilbo? Bilbo Baggins? He spoke of a nephew named Frodo, and I wondered if you may know him. Bilbo spoke so fondly of him.”

“You know Bilbo? You’ve met him?” Frodo asked, a sudden hope filling him up. I smiled.

“Only once. You know him as well, then?”

“Yes.” He replied quietly. “He’s my uncle.”

“That was a wise decision, my friend.” I praised. “Concealing your name. Although anyone with a relation to one such as Bilbo hasn’t much chance to stay hidden for long. The most famous of Hobbits, he is.”

“That man has done nothing but stare at you, Mr. Frodo.” Samwise muttered to his friend. They all turned their heads in unison to eye the man they spoke of. I simply flickered my eyes up once before retracting my gaze. The man looked like a ranger, the type of men I was used to running into in Fornost. He was clothed in dark robes with his hood pulled over his head, and a burning pipe in his mouth.

“I’m going to get another ale.” Peregrin announced, sliding off the bench and marching confidently towards the bar. I watched as he scrambled onto the stool and a number of men surrounded him, amused. I smiled at the sight.

“If it is not my business you may say so, but what brings you four to Bree?” I wondered aloud. They again exchanged glances, and again the duty of talking fell onto Frodo. I was glad they knew how to be careful when traveling alone.

“We are here to meet a friend of ours, Gandalf the Grey.” He announced. My smile grew.

“And you know Gandalf as well!” I exclaimed. “You have quite the wonderful circle of friends, dear Frodo.”

“He was supposed to have arrived already though, and this is not the most wonderful place to stay a while.” Samwise said gruffly.

“Fret not, he will walk through that door soon enough.” I smiled. I wanted to lighten their hearts. Frodo looked preoccupied, as if in a trance. Suddenly he got up, and began pushing through the crowd towards his friend Peregrin.

“Mister Frodo?” Samwise called after him. The three of us looked on as Frodo reached Peregrin, had a small scuffle and fell to the ground. Out of his hand flew a small golden ring, and the whole population within the inn was looking on as it fell back down to earth. It landed around his finger, and in an instant he was gone. I looked from Samwise to Meriadoc, who both sported the same look that I had.

“Wait here.” I said stiffly, getting up and beginning to push my way to the bar.