Prologue: Rumours in Bree
The common room of the The Prancing Pony was crowded that evening. Travellers from every corner of Eriador filled the benches, while the smell of pipe-weed and roasting meat drifted through the air.
I sat quietly near the hearth, content to listen rather than speak.
At a nearby table, two Elves spoke in low voices. Most of the room paid them little attention, but their words soon caught my ear.
"...surely it is only a tale," said one.
"A tale, perhaps," replied the other, "yet old records speak of Little Folk who wandered far beyond the mountains."
The first Elf shook his head.
"Hobbits west of the Misty Mountains are common enough. But a village hidden in the East? I find it difficult to believe."
The second leaned closer.
"Believe what you will. The records mention a settlement called Lyndelby. It is said to lie somewhere east of Weathertop, beyond the wild lands and the mountains."
"Lyndelby?"
"A hidden valley. Protected for centuries. Some claim Elves once watched over it."
The first Elf laughed softly.
"A hidden valley of Elves? There is only one place that sounds like."
The second nodded.
"Indeed. If answers are to be found, they may lie in Rivendell."
Before I could hear more, the innkeeper called for fresh ale and the conversation drifted elsewhere.
Yet the words remained with me.
East of Weathertop.
A hidden valley of Elves.
A lost Hobbit village called Lyndelby.
The next morning the Elves were gone.
Most would have dismissed the tale as fireside gossip.
I could not.
Gathering what supplies I could carry, I resolved to travel east and learn whether Lyndelby truly existed. If fortune favoured me, others might join the search before the road reached Rivendell.
