It had been about fifteen days since Krimgar had passed through the southern gate of Bree for the first time in his life, riding his old grey mare, whom his mother called Ash. He arrived with a sense of unease that cast a shadow over his spirit, and he did not have an easy time in the early days. But over the course of those two weeks, the young man began to get involved in the goings-on in Bree and to adapt to the thriving life of the large settlement.
On the one hand, he forced himself to work at Three-Farrows, despite the embarrassment he felt at being there. With his old tools and a few pieces of ore and gemstones he’d managed to get during his journey to Bree, the young man sought out a quiet corner where he could cast bronze and forge some beautiful pieces of costume jewellery. He went there for several days, trying to ignore the clatter of hammer blows, the sound of wood being worked and the loud voices, so he could focus on his humble craft. He spoke to no one until, on the third day, a man with chestnut-coloured hair and a friendly demeanour approached him. It was Miradan, a regular craftsman at Three-Farrows with years of experience in jewellery-making. The kind man offered to sharpen his tools, gave him some useful advice on setting the gems and, above all, gave him the confidence to feel a little less alone in that bustling crafting hall.
He also spent quite a bit of time wandering around Bree, getting to know the town and its inhabitants, marvelling at how many people of such diverse backgrounds there were in that large settlement. There were a good number of dwarves, but also hobbits, which struck the young man as odd. In Swanfleet, the hobbits lived in their own little homes dug into the hills of Stoor Valley. And yet, here they wandered about just like any other resident, having adapted to the scale of a city of men.
But what struck him most was the day he saw a pair of elves riding majestically on their mounts through the market square. Instinctively, Krimgar went on the defensive and withdrew from them. In Mossward, it was said that they were magical creatures, with powers beyond human comprehension, and that they neither aged nor died of old age. Over the past few weeks, the young man had cursed them inwardly out of envy and resentment. In the grief that afflicted him, he wondered why the Valar favoured some with immortality whilst allowing others, like his mother, to die. When he saw them face to face that afternoon in Bree, he could not fail to recognise them. Not only because of their slender physiques, their exquisite garments and their pointed ears, but because of the innate air of magnificence they exuded. Conflicting emotions welled up within Krimgar: both suspicion at their fortunate existence and fascination at witnessing their majestic passage. He would never forget that fleeting encounter for the rest of his life.
But during those two weeks, Krimgar had felt most at ease when he left the city and explored the surrounding countryside. Bree-land was a land of gentle hills covered in green vegetation, dotted here and there with the ruins of times gone by. It was a beautiful setting and a pleasure to wander through. And he was a country lad: walking amongst the bushes, watching birds, hunting small beasts and examining rocks for minerals was where he felt most at ease. And that morning he had decided to explore Bree-land in search of silver veins, setting off through the south gate and heading west.
Bree was not ravaged by Uruks like those who were harassing his homeland from Tharbad. But, lured by money and trade caravans, it was said that numerous bandits were hiding in the region’s forests and ruins. So Krimgar, who was well-built and quite strong but no warrior, preferred not to skimp on defence. Before leaving Swanfleet, he had purchased various pieces of bronze armour in Lhan Garan to protect himself. The piece he wore with the greatest pride was a heavy breastplate of hardened bronze, forged by elves, as he had been told. He had travelled to Bree wearing this armour, the very same armour he had just donned at The Prancing Pony, ready to explore the surrounding countryside.
Sitting alone on the bed in the communal room where he was staying, he ate a piece of fruit and a hearty puff pastry that he had bought the day before. Krimgar preferred to avoid the great hall, as during his first two days in Bree he had got rather drunk in public and was now ashamed of it. Fortunately, he hadn’t got into a fight with anyone during those two days. But his habit of belching loudly when he drank, his zigzagging gait when drunk, and the fact that he’d knocked over a stool as he walked past it (for which he’d been told off by a nearby farmer) are memories that now tormented him. The young man couldn’t stop thinking about the impression he must have made on others and that no one would want to share a table with a foul-mouthed young southerner with a Dale accent.
Krimgar walked into the inn’s great hall, ready to set off, clad in his armour, his helmet and gloves still in his hands. He didn’t like heading out into the countryside without being well-stocked with food, so he approached the bar where Barliman was serving a couple of dwarves some mugs of ale. He looked at their thick beards and his mind drifted back to the past, to his dwarf friend Skardí. But as he watched them, lost in thought, a woman’s voice behind him brought him back to the present.
-Good morning, sir. I’m Sansa, the barmaid. Would you like a drink, my lord? -she asked politely.
Krimgar turned towards the woman in surprise and recognised her. He’d seen her around the inn before, though he’d never exchanged a word with her. He’d noticed her auburn hair and how confidently she moved about the large hall. Without harbouring any hope, he’d imagined himself chatting animatedly with her, a fantasy he’d hoped would remain just that. But now she was speaking to him, and he could see up close her beautiful features and the intensity of her gaze as she looked straight at him.
The young man couldn’t manage a confident reply: Er… Hello… I just want to buy some food for… for Barliman -he managed to say, pointing towards the innkeeper. Although afraid of upsetting her or making a bad impression, he quickly corrected himself and said: But, if I order a drink, may I ask you a few questions?
The young man couldn’t think anything better to say. To his relief, Sansa replied with a nod: Of course, my lord.
A smile spread across the redhead’s face, and he said straight away: Great! In that case, I’ll have a Barliman’s Best -he affirmed with a nod.
Sansa nodded and replied briefly: As you wish. With swift efficiency, the woman made her way over to the barrels alongside the innkeeper.
Krimgar looked around for somewhere to sit, away from the rest of the crowd. He spotted an empty table with dirty plates left by previous diners and went over to sit down and wait for the waitress. His mind began racing as he thought about what sort of conversation he might have with Sansa, watching from a distance as she poured the jug of beer.
When the drink was ready, the woman turned to look for the young man, who beckoned to her from his table to get her attention. With a confident stride, the waitress approached him and set the beer down on the table, giving a polite curtsy. Krimgar paid for the drink straight away, leaving a few pennies as a tip, which she appreciated.
-Well, then… I’d like to ask you a few questions. Would you like to sit down? -he asked, reciting from memory the phrase he’d formulated in his head to break the ice.
-Um… -she said, crossing her arms for a moment. I have other customers, sir… but I’ll answer all your questions.
Krimgar lowered his head slightly, feeling embarrassed. Of course she wasn’t going to sit down with him! He was a young, unknown stranger and she was the woman who worked there. His first impulse was to apologise: Oh… I understand, I don’t want to bother you.
The woman uncrossed her arms, adopting a less defensive posture. But faced with his silence, the young man felt compelled to continue speaking.
-It’s just that… I’m looking for a good master jeweller. I’ve come to Bree to learn this marvellous craft, but I want to learn from the best -he said, speaking at breakneck speed. Do you know of any man or dwarf who might be suitable?
Sansa pauses thoughtfully for a few seconds before replying: It is said that dwarves are particularly skilled in this art, my lord. They have a quarter here in the town.They’ll surely be able to help you -she advised. Or you could try the crafting-hall in the centre of Bree, near the great fountain.
Sansa’s reply encouraged Krimgar to speak with greater confidence: I’ve been working at Three-Farrows these past few days. It’s certainly a place teeming with craftsmen! But I don’t know where the dwarves’ quarter is. Where may I find it? -he enquired.
-You’ll find it near the town hall, sir -said the waitress curtly.
-Thank you! I’ll ask around there to find it -he said, nodding gratefully.
The conversation was drawing to a close, but Krimgar wanted to keep talking to her. He had no idea what to say, so he blurted out the first thing that came into his head: And… one last question. What’s your name?
The waitress grimaced and replied in a somewhat reluctant tone: My name is Sansa, my lord. I’m the barmaid.
The woman immediately turned round and walked over to another table with customers, leaving Krimgar alone with his still-untouched beer. The young man took a deep breath and took a big gulp of beer. On the one hand, he felt like a fool for the way he’d spoken to the waitress. She’d introduced herself by name at the start and he felt stupid for having forgotten it. But on the other hand, he felt a certain joy at having spoken to her. In his head, he was replaying every part of the conversation during the few minutes it took him to finish the pint.
A short while later, Krimgar was already walking in the morning sun, heading away from Bree. He was in good spirits and couldn’t say why. He fancied spending a quiet, peaceful day, a hassle-free foray into the fields of Bree-land. So, unlike on other days, the young man decided not to hunt any beasts. He kept his distance from the wild boars and bears that inhabited those lands. He also avoided approaching places where there appeared to be human activity. He couldn’t be sure whether it might be a trading caravan camped there, a small village or a band of criminals.
Throughout the morning he made his way westwards, coming across the sparse ruins of an ancient city. His intuition urged him to search the whole area, from the vicinity of the carved stones to the rocks covered in vegetation and earth. And his efforts were rewarded, for the young man found several silver veins which he joyfully began to chisel away at. Whilst creating jewellery was a fine and delicate craft, requiring attention and creativity, obtaining the raw materials was a task of brute strength and endurance, breaking up the minerals and loading them onto his basket all day long. Krimgar enjoyed both with passion.
He stopped at midday to eat on the top of a bare hill, from where he could see the whole surrounding area. But there was one part of the landscape that particularly caught his eye, a place he had seen in the distance before. On the other side of the road leading to the Shire lay a vast, dense forest of immense, dark trees. He had seen it in the distance over the past few days, and it was not a place that invited one to venture in. Rather, it looked like an intricate natural fortress that the roads of Bree-land skirted around so as not to have to cross it.
But curiosity had been gnawing at Krimgar all afternoon. And that day he was feeling particularly energetic and optimistic, so he decided to go and have a look. He had no desire to take any risks, but he reasoned that a quick peek up close wouldn’t do him any harm.
He was in high spirits as he walked down the hill and crossed the road to the Shire, whistling cheerfully with a full stomach. But as he drew nearer to the edge of the great forest, his spirits began to sink. These were no ordinary trees; their roots were immense and deeply gnarled. These trees must have been centuries old. But it wasn’t just the age of the trees: the place seemed utterly wild and far removed from any human, dwarf or hobbit activity. He saw no paths worn by foot traffic leading into the forest, nor any stumps of felled trees on its edge. That unsettled him. Although his head told him it was just a forest, something inside him made him stay on his guard.
At last he plucked up the courage to venture into the interior, moving slowly and with great caution. At that moment, he regretted wearing his armour because of the metallic clanking it made as he walked; though, on second thought, he was glad to be protected in that wild grove. As soon as he had gone about ten metres in and left the green grassy plains behind him, the air became very humid. The smell of damp earth and vegetation was intense. The immense trees, the large roots and the uneven ground meant he couldn’t simply walk wherever he pleased. Krimgar felt he was entering a dangerous labyrinth. He looked up; the dense branches barely allowed him to see small patches of sky. It was daylight, and yet the young man found himself in semi-darkness in that place. Some strange noises he didn’t recognise made him stop dead in his tracks and crouch behind a fallen log… or perhaps it was a huge root. Krimgar tried to go unnoticed as he crouched there, all his senses focused on the gloomy forest.
His heart was beating fast and his breathing was rapid. Inside him, the fear that was beginning to grow was battling against his reason. Silently, he gripped with both hands the heavy rowan mace he used for protection on his journeys. He told himself there was no danger whatsoever. That if there were any beast or enemy, he would face it head-on or flee with all his might. He remembered what his father Vemund had told him when he was a child: “The animal that flees is the prey; observe cautiously to decide whether to flee or attack.”
For a few minutes he lay still and silent, waiting to see if there was any movement in the forest. A light breeze was blowing, rustling the leaves, but along with that whistling sound, Krimgar could hear noises he was unable to identify. His gaze began to scan his surroundings carefully, seeking a sign of life within that forest. He saw some tracks left by a wolf or a similar creature. If there were wolves, there was also prey for them. That reassured him: this forest, like all the others, was home to wildlife.
Feeling a little more confident, the young man stood up and, without moving from the spot, began to look at his surroundings. After a few minutes of scanning the damp twilight, he detected no sign of wolves, which reassured him a little more. Cautiously and trying to be as quiet as possible, he took a few steps towards a nearby rock. It was an elevated spot that allowed him to see a little further into the surroundings. There he positioned himself, motionless and silent, watching.
And he saw in the distance what at first appeared to be branches or vines hanging from trees. Perhaps thinner or lighter than usual, swaying in the wind. Until he saw something that set him straight: a huge black spider climbing slowly and hypnotically across them. They weren’t branches but cobwebs. And as he realised this, he noticed that many of the trees near him were also covered here and there with those cobwebs.
This made Krimgar even more nervous. The spiders were black and he was in the semi-darkness. What if there was one above him, ready to attack him by surprise? He looked up, but a narrow patch of sky dispelled that notion. What if they were creeping up through the dense undergrowth? Perched on the high rock, Krimgar narrowed his eyes to spot any movement from dark arachnids amongst the plants on the ground.
But what he saw frightened him even more. For, instead of spiders, the young man stood petrified for a few seconds as he watched small roots emerge from the ground beside some trees.They moved with the suppleness of a snake and the vigour of an eel. As soon as he realised that the great tree next to him could move its roots at will, panic seized Krimgar.
At that moment, he didn’t stop to think whether he was hunter or prey. Without a care for the noise he was making, the young man fled at full speed, covering the dozens of metres that separated him from the safe green plains of Bree-land. When he finally reached the road to the Shire once more, he allowed himself to stop and catch his breath with difficulty. He turned round, gazing from a distance at the sinister forest. Nothing came out of it to chase him. Krimgar breathed a sigh of relief, still trembling slightly. He didn’t know what that forest of all-too-lively trees was, but he certainly had no intention of going back in there.
The young man spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the countryside north of Bree, dotted with farms and close to the river, searching for more mineral veins. He hadn’t been in that area in the preceding weeks, and the mental map of the region he carried in his mind grew ever more detailed. By the time the sun began to sink below the horizon, laden with the raw materials he had gathered and weary from a full day outdoors, he decided to return to Bree. The light had only just faded from the sky when Krimgar passed through the city’s great northern gate.
Even at night, the town of Bree was bustling enough to surprise Krimgar. Once the sun had set, Mossward was a quiet, dark place where the only sounds were those of the guards patrolling with their torches and the occasional call of an animal. But in Bree, people continued to move about the streets under the light of the lanterns, chatting loudly in inns or shops and passing through the city gates under the watchful eyes of the guards, whilst others slept in their homes.
The first place the young man headed for was Lalia’s Market. The building, teeming with exclusive traders, was open late. But Krimgar wasn’t looking to buy anything there; rather, he had something to leave behind. Protected by sturdy iron bars, a guard kept watch over the belongings that citizens wished to keep safe. The minerals he had acquired were what Krimgar stored there, along with other personal belongings he treasured in that place. Only then did the young man allow himself to go and rest.
When he entered The Prancing Pony, he glanced around quickly to see if Sansa was there, but her shift must have finished and he didn’t spot her. He went straight to his dormitory, took off his armour, washed himself with the buckets of water and changed into his leather clothes. Feeling more comfortable and somewhat refreshed, he made his way to the fireplace in the common room to have something to eat. He didn’t know anyone there, so he pulled up a chair by the fireplace, not far from where a man was gently strumming a lute, and sat alone, eating whilst lost in his thoughts.
The flames in the fireplace caught his eye whilst, in his mind, he wondered if he was doing the right thing. Over the past few weeks, he’d made a bit of money selling some rings and earrings he’d been forging, as well as the wild boar and bear skins he’d hunted. At least he could support himself without having to go to Beggar’s Alley just to scrape by.
On the other hand, the jeweller Miradan was kind, but he was certainly not the master Krimgar needed to hone his skills. Feeling somewhat restless, the young man wondered whether the master jeweller he needed could be found in Bree. For if there wasn’t one here, he wondered where he would have to go to find him. Perhaps to other cities in the north or east, beyond the Misty Mountains? Perhaps to one of the mountains where the dwarves dwell and forge their jewellery? Wherever he went, he would have to save up to buy a new mount. His old mare, Ash, was struggling to bear Krimgar’s weight and didn’t have many more journeys left in her. But one thing Krimgar was certain of was that he wasn’t going to go to some elf-hole to ask them for anything.
The clink of two beer mugs as a man and a woman happily toasted one another caught his attention. For a moment, he felt the urge to order a beer and, even if on his own, join in the festive atmosphere of the taproom. But he soon recalled the embarrassing moments of his drunken binges and dismissed the idea at once. In fact, he decided to get up and leave the taproom to avoid temptation. At first he was going to go off to bed, but then he remembered Sansa’s directions regarding the dwarves’ quarter. Glad to have remembered the idea in time, the young man changed course towards the door and stepped outside, breathing in the fresh night air.
Krimgar had walked past the town hall on numerous occasions over the past two weeks. As he made his way from the inn to the town hall over the next few minutes, he spotted a dwarf in black robes walking briskly uphill. Without hesitation, he approached him and asked for directions to the dwarves’ quarter. The stranger gave him precise directions to get there, though the young man asked him a second question: whether he knew a master jeweller. The dwarf shrugged, saying he’d only recently arrived in the city.
The redhead nodded with satisfaction. At least he knew where to find the place. But before he said goodbye, the dwarf asked him in turn if he knew anyone who could tan animal hides. Krimgar said he could do it and, at the dwarf’s request, agreed to help him. The little traveller was in a hurry and, as Krimgar had nothing better to do at that moment, they agreed to set off together straight away for Three-Farrows.
Although not quite as busy as during the day, the crafting hall in Bree did not rest at night. The man and the dwarf looked for a suitable place to work. From a bulky rucksack, the traveller took out several hides and laid them on the table, whilst Krimgar took out his knife and prepared the vats in which to soak the hides. The man began to treat them whilst the dwarf sat down nearby to wait.
For several hours, the two strangers stood there chatting amongst themselves. Krimgar mentioned that he had recently arrived in the city from Swanfleet, and the dwarf said he had too, but kept his place of origin to himself. That didn’t bother Krimgar, as the man’s character reminded him of his friend Skardí: wary at first, but a good friend once trust was established. So it was the young redhead who did most of the talking during that whole time. He told him about the knife he’d inherited from his father and how he’d learnt the art of tanning leather from him. He spoke of his family and how his parents were from Dale, though he himself had been born in Swanfleet. And he assured him that, of course, the young man much preferred the company of a dwarf to that of those strange elves, which brought a smile to his companion’s face.
Without realising it, Krimgar had talked non-stop during those hours more than he had spoken in the whole of the past two weeks in Bree. It seemed the young man needed a comfortable setting and pleasant company to loosen his tongue, and both conditions were met at that moment. That was the first time Krimgar hadn’t felt out of place in Bree, and it wouldn’t be the only time.
The young man finished the job when there were only a few hours left until dawn, exhausted, whilst his companion dozed off in short bursts, sitting on the floor of the crafting hall. When he finally handed over the tanned hides, the dwarf thanked him with few but sincere words. He said they would be useful for making his own pieces of leather armour.
The dwarf rummaged in a pouch on his belt where coins jingled, and this surprised Krimgar. It had been such a pleasant time that he hadn’t even thought of it as a job to be paid for, but rather as a pleasant time spent in the company of a friendly soul. When the dwarf took Krimgar’s hand in his calloused one and placed three gold coins in it, the young man’s eyes widened in disbelief, unable to say a word. That was double everything he’d saved up to that point, a veritable fortune. The dwarf thanked him and wished him blessings on his journey, patting him on the arm as an extraordinary gesture of warmth. Krimgar also managed to say goodbye, thanking him effusively.
The dwarf spun on his heel and walked away, leaving the young man somewhat dumbfounded. Krimgar pocketed the coins, still trying to make sense of this stroke of luck he’d had. But after standing there motionless for a minute, an idea suddenly struck him. Krimgar ran out of Three-Farrows in search of the dwarf. The cool air of the summer dawn greeted him. He made his way to the centre of the street, looking in all directions, hoping the light from the streetlamps might give him a clue as to where the stranger was. But he wasn’t there, and, at that moment, he couldn’t work out where to find him. Krimgar lamented inwardly, for he’d been so at ease with him all night that he hadn’t even asked his name.
The young man sighed and assumed that it would be down to chance if their paths were to cross again. He turned towards the market square and made his way through the now quiet streets of Bree back to the inn. He was still taking in everything that had happened during that long day, which had been quite different from the previous two weeks. Not only because of the gold coins, but also because of the fear he’d felt in that gloomy forest and because he’d been able to speak to the barmaid, Sansa.
That was the first night Krimgar slept peacefully, free from any worries that had been plaguing him, sleeping for many hours until the following midday. He couldn’t quite put his finger on the reason, though it was most likely because Bree was gradually ceasing to feel like a strange place to the young man.
