Éadrandr smiled as the shadow of the East Gate passed over him. It was a mixed smile, that at the surface showed a man happy with returning to Bree, but it masked a nervousness. The Northman's hands jostled with the reins as his mount tramped into Bree with a cacophony of clomping hooves on cobbled stones. The steed was new to him, only taken from Viduward in Rhovanion for his return journey West, after his beloved Fleotend had died but a few days short of Éadrandr's home town. Fleotend, "Swimmer", so called because as a foal he was found separated from his herd being backed into the River Running by a pack of wolves, saved only by the timely intervention of Éadrandr's compatriots. Letting out a soft sigh, the rider spared a glance to the sky before looking ahead at the busy mid-morning hub bub of Bree's Market Square.
The figures and shapes of Men, Halflings and Dwarves blurred in and amongst one another darting between carts and stalls. His visit home to Viduward in far off Wilderland had been his first in many, many years and his first since the birth of his son - Hjortr. Hjortr Dirk Roseberry, after the fashion of Bree-Land naming, was bore by Joy Roseberry a Breeish woman and Éadrandr's beloved wife. It had been his dream to raise any child of his in his home land of Rhovanion, something he believed would never come into question, however he and Joy did not agree. A short gust of wind circled above and down into the square, a reminder that Autumn had arrived in ernest and Éadrandr nodded to his well timed return. Finding a space by the Boar Fountain and climbing down from Hrothwyn, the Northman let out a frustrated sigh followed by a groan as he reaches up to touch his stiff shaulders, gently rolling them.
"You're old, Éadrandr." he mutters as he runs a hand toward the bridle of his steed and begins to march toward the Prancing Pony.
"Drandr! I see that you're back. Master Barliman needs a somewhat decent carpenter to take a look at a number of tasks for him... I have told him to perhaps stay clear of you! Ha!" Drandr closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, he needed no guidance to know that it was Bob, one of the Halflings on Barliman Butterbur's staff.
"Forgive me, Master Bob, but I remember not when it was that I had hired you as my assistant?" Replied Drandr, a small smile forming on his lips."Or have you still yet to recover from your head injury?"
With that Bob about-faced aburptly on his heels and marched away from Éadrandr and toward the door of the Inn. Noting his victory and making sure to add to the total tally of the on going verbal war between Man and Halfling, Drandr made his way to the West Gate of Bree.
***
Gently pushing the gate open and guiding Hrothwyn through, Drandr stepped no further. The horse protested as his grip tightened around the bridle, pulling at the bit uncomfortably.
"Huh?... I am sorry, Hrothwyn. I am just nervous." Drandr said softly in his native tongue, the horse seemingly to understand offering a reply in a snort.
The day's dying light bathed the family home in an orange hue, highlighting the yellowing leaves of the nearby trees. The single story home, topped with expertly placed thatch Drandr noted with pride, seemed unfamiliar however. It's garden had become disused, the path unswept, but more importantly no lights could be seen from the windows. Drandr suddenly felt cold as his stomach tumbled and turned, his palms grew moist as he slowly stepped forward, letting go of the bridle. Approaching the living room window his gloomy reflection ominously filling the glass, narrowing his eyes Drandr peered in, he did not need long to see that the hearth had not been used in some months. None of Hjortr's toys. None of Joy's knitting bundles. None of the candles lit. None of the tell-tale signs of a dwelling being used. Drandr cursed and made his way around the house, keeping the tips of fingers against the wall as if he feared the home itself would leave.
Coming the bedroom window, Drandr's heart lurched in his chest as he rested his hands on the window sill. The bed laid empty and bare, though the rear of the house was bathed in the darkening shadow of the end of the day, the bed without bed covers could be easily seen. He spun and doubled over, breathing in deeply to calm the bubbling anxiety that now rose to an intense grip about his body. Éadrandr the Northman wanted for very little during his years living this side of the Mountains of Mist, and wanted for nothing after his meeting with Joy Roseberry. Her deep brown eyes, vivid with the nature of caring for others, had helped to calm his wild thoughts. Her dark, black hair, an exotic mantle not found back in his Eastern home, framed her beautiful face of pale, soft skin seemed so ethereal to him that he had thought he would only touch air should he caress her cheek. It was a union met with sneers from some of the Bree townsfolk, but for most it was one of balance and love.
Éadrandr drew himself up and marched toward Hrothwyn, the steed startling for a moment at her master's fast approached. Grabbing his haversack, throwing it open, his caloused rough hand delved in and rummaged. Turning once more, arm arched back to throw.
"Master Ed! Master Ed!" Éadrandr shuddered and cringed, he had allowed the Bree folk to shorten his "much too long and fancy" name to 'Drandr' but nothing more, or less. His angered him.
Storming around to face the voice, Éadrandr replied,"YES, MISTER CARTER!? What is it?!"
"I, uh, was asked by Miss Joy to let you know she had, uhm, gone to live in Bree while you were away, is all..." With his task done, Mister Carter left his garden wall that lay just a little above head height on elevated ground North of Éadrandr and Joy's home.
Heaving with a deep, long sigh, Drandr brought his head down and opened his fingers slowly. A toy horse for his only son...
