To me, Bree is a typical Mannish settlement; loud, odiferous, and chaotic. Prosperity magnifies these effects and to my Elfish sense they are nearly unbearable. Rather than wallow in my own disdain, however, I find it useful to stick to the task at hand, and on this occasion, it was to seek information concerning the Dunedain’s sudden interest in discussing with Cutch Crane his family history.
Bree is situated at the crossroads of two ancient roads. Ages of traffic have worn the stone pavers into the ground, making them appear a natural feature, as if products of the Music of Creation itself. Many tribes of Men have traversed them over the millennia, as have I while escorting kin-pilgrims to the West. The current settlement of Bree nestles the crossroad upon the ruins of a bygone race of Men, the Edain, but the nature of the place is not much changed. Mortals scurry and bustle, argue and gossip, and toil and profit. Still, there is a primal charm to their wildness, and with some resolve I can feel at ease here. It behooves me, however, to maintain a modest presence, as the reactions of Men to Elf can be quite varied.
The Prancing Pony is the social hub of Bree, being prominently located near the highest point in town. Barliman Butterbur is the proprietor of the tavern and an important figure in town, despite his rather unassuming rustic demeanor. He has clever instincts and sensitive ears, making him a good source of information. Undoubtedly, the Dunedain rangers find him very useful to their purposes; one wonders if the questions they ask him also reveal details of their own murky machinations.
Invariably, one finds a Ranger or two lurking about the place, keeping eyes and ears open and mouths shut, hovering in the shadows, senses reaching out like deft fingers into the activities about them, hungrily gathering morsels of information. Later, they share these tidbits with their fellows over secluded campfires in the dark.
Greyhood, as he has allowed me to name him, looked up as I approached his usual ranger perch near the back door of the tavern. We’ve established a ritual; I will state a fact that is sure to interest him, and he will enter a quiet exchange with me. He regards me with some reservations, as do I he, but over the years we have found each useful to the others interests which have never yet seemed to conflict; often they’re complementary.
“Crane got his letter”, I muttered.
Greyhood nodded, obviously understanding the wealth of information those four words offered. “Yes, so I gather’, he answered, barely above a whisper. “Few other things could drag him away from his Red Elf and their brood.”
I cocked my head at his slighting comment. “Many have found them to be good friends”, I insisted with an unwavering gaze.
He searched my face for a moment, then shrugged. “No doubt”, he answered in a tone that offered neither argument nor agreement. “Not all of your kindred have proven so.”
“Gilmorwen’s reputation still stains the opinions of the Dunedain of the North?”
Greyhood blinked. “A few, not many. Crane has little to fear as long as he and his stay straight.”
“Why drag him out at all?”
Greyhood peered at me, lips together thin and tight. “He will get his answers in Esteldin.”
“Might it have something to do with his grandfather’s House? One could deduce that from the records here in the Scholar’s Hall, should one venture past the King’s Folly.”
The ranger shifted his posture, his brow thickening over uncertain eyes.
I nodded. “Very well. I will be with Crane and his son at the orphanage, in case you or your…brethren are curious”, I finished with a sarcastic grin, to which he showed his own.
Previous--> First, to Bree
Next-->Wise and Beautiful
