Yesterday I arrived in Bree, and my first action was to take almost all of father's scrolls and books to the local archives. The scholars there thanked me greatly and rewarded me with a small amount of coin, less than I had hoped for, yet I shall comfort myself with the thought that surely father's collection will bring benefit to the local people.
Motte certainly seemed relieved to find me emptying the saddle bags, however, they will be filled again, though hopefully nothing returning to them will weigh as much as those books.
After this duty had seen itself fulfilled, I went to secure myself an over night stay in the Prancing Pony. Entering the smoke filled common room almost had me choke and made my eyes water. It felt an intimidating experience, this many strangers in such close proximity, and the humming and buzzing of so many voices. It almost made my head spin! Had forgotten such could happen to me. Only once did I enter that Inn before, years ago, accompanying father, on what errant has fallen from my memory.
It had to be braved though, also as that Inn felt a wise place to inquire about merchants, hopefully traveling the direction of my own destination.
The information I ended obtaining was less then encouraging. The times are deeply troubled, and trade with the South has declined to an almost stand still. I knew it has not been well for a long time, but to find it basically dead meant no opportunity to travel along side a caravan.
Needless to say, this, combined with warnings spoken to me about my impending doom should I attempt to undertake the journey alone, did not aid restful sleep. I woke feeling like a cart had rolled over me repeatedly, despite the fact that one man had come to vaguely offer me assistance by agreeing to meet me 4 days from now in another Inn, located a day's journey from here, in the Lone Lands. At first it appeared a good alternative, but after mulling it over (while desperately trying to find my way into sleep), I realized the dangers of trusting a complete stranger of no known reputation to me, far away from any aid, traversing the wilderness. Nay, I concluded this to be no valid alternative at all, without wishing to accuse the man of any sinister intentions. He very possibly is a good and honorable man with no ill on his mind, but with no definite guarantee for this, I shan't place my trust likely.
On waking, the despair of my dilemma befell me with immediate force, and my heart felt heavy and my mind tortured. Yet father's wisdom that aid will find its way to us, often when least expected, has proven true. I had just finished dressing myself, when a knock on the door pulled me from my darkened thoughts. One of the Inn's employees (his name is Nob, one of the hobbits working at the Inn), informed me I had someone wishing to speak to me, waiting in the common room. Curious, yet not allowing myself to give into unwarranted hope this might be a South traveling merchant after all, I left my room to find out who possibly could be interested in my plight.
Nob led me into the common room, which during the morning hours appeared almost abandoned, compared to the evening before, with air breathable, the noise bearable, and then Nob pointed at the furthest out of the way corner table.
At first all I could make out was a man with a hood pulled deep over his forehead, shadowing his features, his clothes considerably worn and quite muddy. My heart sank even lower, judging this encounter to certainly be a fruitless one, before even one word had come to be exchanged. Just about everything about the hooded figure rang warning bells within me, yet when the man looked up, showing enough of his face to allow recognition, my spirits soared and despair turned to joy! The night preceding I had carefully inquired about those men, many simply refer to as rangers, but none I had come to speak to had known anything about them, or been willing to reveal information about them, so they had possessed any. Yet here my hastening steps were leading me to one of those mysterious men, father had always spoken of so highly, and even better - I myself knew this man!
As the most surprising probably could be regarded that I did still remember him, even though I had been but a child, maybe of 5 or 6 tender years, when he had come to visit father, the first and last time I was to meet him. Father though seemed to have known the man from the past, and they had exchanged heartfelt words of greetings. I had ended sent to bed, an order which I had dutifully obeyed, but about an hour into my sleep I had woken again, only to overhear father telling the man that he was not in a position to break up tent and leave, as I was now part of his life. The man had shown understanding for this, even though he had appeared saddened. I was so very young, but assumed the man had asked father to come with him, probably so father could grant him aid, and I felt a sting of guilt that I apparently was the reason for father's inability to comply.
Almost 20 years have passed since that night, however, the man I found sitting on that corner table seemed to have barely aged a day, still appearing only in his 40s.
Dunedain blood. Father had taught me much about the lore and history of these men, and he had held them in great trust and highest esteem. They do not age quite like we lesser men do, but a great calamity has befallen them, and their kin has come to exist in far smaller numbers, many living nomadic and away from sight.
On my approaching, the man granted me a warm smile and then bade me to sit down with him. He informed me that news about father's passing had reached him, and extended his condolences to me. He spoke that he had indeed been on his way to see me, to ask if I was in any need of assistance. Alas he had found the hut abandoned, and after spending some time recalling memories of the past, sitting next to father's grave, he had himself come to Bree in the early morning hours. How news about me staying at the Pony had reached him, he did not convey to me, and I was not going to pry, but next he revealed to me that he had heard of my wish to travel to Gondor, and that he was indeed supportive of this plan. Gondor, he explained with a solemn expression, was facing great perils, and that these perils were to only grow further. Healers, he said, were in desperate demand in the South, and as the vessel into which father had poured all of his knowledge, my own longing to reach the White City collided in the most fortunate ways with the needs of the people of Gondor.
"This means, child, we shall offer you one of our trusted men to guide you and if need be, protect you with his life on your journey. Preparation still have to be made. I am sending a messenger out to inform my kin. I am not certain yet who we will send to accompany you, but no matter who will be chosen, you will travel safe in the knowledge that your companion can be trusted. A man has recently arrived from the South. This is how we have come to know how dire the need in Gondor truly has turned."
These were the words he spoke, or near enough, recording them while my memory is still fresh, and he has asked whether I wished to meet my travel guide here in Bree, or whether I preferred to travel to the borders of the Shire instead, this obviously adding to my overall journey time. I declared my preference to rather leave Bree. My heart is so restless, and being stuck in this town fills me with discomfort. I have voiced the desire to see the Old Forest, as I wish to search for a rare herb, which I believe might grow there. This longing of mine was met with some rejection on his part, but I assured him I knew of the dangers this particular forest posed, and eventually he agreed to let me find my way there. He has given me direction to a hide-out, sometimes used by his kin, and I am confident I will find my way there just fine, and that the forest will not cause me too many grievances.
"You are your father's daughter." He then exclaimed with a smile. "Did you know that him and I shared a childhood? His family was not of our kin, but they lived with us, and all which your father taught you about the wilds, my father once upon a time taught him. This is how I know I can trust that you know how to keep yourself safe, even though you are a woman and not of our blood."
I had not known this detail, but it joyed me greatly to hear it.
Tomorrow I shall leave Bree. I do not know if I will find much time to continue filling these pages, but I certainly wish to try. Maybe one day I shall have children of my own, and this journal can become their bedtime story. A thought which fills my mind with heartfelt laughter!
