Most of the Rangers melted back into the darkness of the wood as Finduilas led us along the road. We walked our horses while the few remaining Rangers took up the rear.
"Where are you heading?" she said.
"Lindon." It wasn't an outright lie. "Though I suppose we must ride to Bree to restock."
"Why would you suppose that?"
"Tharbad was in a state of ruin the last time I was here."
"Oh? And when was that?"
"A little over a century?"
"A lot can change in a hundred years, Siriondil. Especially in a place like Tharbad." She smiled. "You will find all the provisions you need here."
As we neared the Northgate, I noted how the walls had been rebuilt. I'd heard that the orcs of Moria had invaded Eriador just after I had left and that they had breached the walls and destroyed what was left of the city.
Finduilas explained that she had business elsewhere in the town and that she would meet us at an inn called The Broken Blade later. We walked through the gate and an ostler met us at the nearby stables.
"How is your cheek?" I said when I saw Aglahad's face under the lamplight.
"Nought but a scratch," he said. He dabbed the cut then showed me his fingertips. I watched him as he stroked his horse's neck. "Maelor, Bronweg," he murmured. He had grown fond of the horse over the last three years or so. But having been sired and reared in Rohan, I wasn't even sure if Bronweg understood Sindarin.
As we walked along what used to be called the Kingsway I noticed that much more of the outlying ruins had been given over to small plots: low earthen mounds around and on which grew wheat and vegetables. Elsewhere, goats and chickens and geese were held in small pens. The smell of manure pervaded the streets.
As we moved further into the city, the Kingsway became lined with timber-framed two- and three-storey houses, shops and taverns with thatched roofs. I was reminded of Bree and the other towns of Arthedain. Most of them had been built on the dark granite foundations of the ancient city.
I nodded to the few townsfolk we passed: mainly Haladin farmers and Arthedain Rangers and the odd Dwarf. Aglahad was gawping up at the buildings on either side as we passed up the main street.
"This is all new to you," I realised. We hadn't seen much of the city when first we passed through together.
"It is a strange place. Half-ruined, half-abandoned. How do they live here?"
"They live here because they must. Not everyone can live in gleaming white towers by the sea."
He gave me a strange look and I smiled at him. We walked across a marketplace towards the sign of The Broken Blade. I half-remembered the place being called The Seven Swords but perhaps that had been a few streets away.
Aglahad had insisted on wearing travelling clothes similar to those of the Rangers. He had started to draw stares from them as we neared the inn and I could sense that he was keen to change into something less conspicuous.
After settling into our chambers and a quick wash, I made my way down to the tap room. A fair Haladin maid greeted me and asked what my pleasure was while I found a seat in an alcove opposite a large window. I looked out onto the yard where a few lamps hung from the trees, shining green through a fine rain. It reminded me of the first time I came to Tharbad. But that was a different place in a different time.
I started as the maid brought me bread and cheese and a flagon of wine.
"Oh, I –"
But she was already gone, dissolved in the crowd. Ale was the strongest thing I drank in those days. I sniffed the flagon before half-filling my goblet. To my consternation, it was good wine.
I glanced about the room as I cut the bread. There were three Rangers huddled together in their black cloaks at the other side of the fireplace. A couple of Dwarves entered the tap room. They pulled back their hoods and shook off the rain; they were indistinguishable from each other but for their cloaks, one blue and one green. As they turned towards the chambers Aglahad appeared in the doorway and bumped into them. After much bowing and excusing they parted and Aglahad made his way across the room towards my table. He had changed into his blue tunic and grey hose.
"They were – Dwarves," he hissed, looking back.
"Real Dwarves, just imagine it."
"Forgive me. I have never –"
He trailed off when he noticed the flagon. He poured himself a goblet and charged mine.
"You remind me of the first time I left home."
"Yes," the boy sighed, "I have heard it. At the first rising of the sun. You journeyed south to the Firth of Gelion."
"But I have not told you the first time I met a Dwarf. After my first journey I came north, to Doriath. I was in the service of King Thingol for a while. The Dwarves of Belegost were allied to Thingol in those days. They built Menegroth, you know."
Aglahad was chewing on a hunk of bread and glancing around the room.
I rolled my eyes. "Another tale for another time, I suppose."
"The place is filling up," the boy said with his mouth full.
I glanced towards the door at the group of Haladin that had just entered. After hanging their cloaks they grouped around the counter, shouting out their orders, laughing and joking. The two Dwarves reappeared, dressed in soft, clean robes, their hair tied back and their beards brushed. The cellarman placed two tankards of ale on the counter and bent over to say something. They both threw their heads back guffawing then took up their tankards.
A Noldo of Lindon who I hadn't yet noticed stood up from his seat in another darkened alcove. He strapped a lute across his back, finished the last of his wine and walked towards the door. He passed the Dwarves, who were making their way past the Haladin to a small table by the hearth.
Presently, the maid brought us a whole roast chicken, unasked for. Aglahad straightened up and his eyes widened. "Aah! Such hospitality from such a pretty maid."
"There'll be no extra helpings for flattery," she said with a wry smile. "Savour it and be thankful."
"Thankful we are, mistress -?"
"Mrs," she said firmly. "Butterbur."
"Thalion is my name, Mrs Butterbur."
"I'm sure it is," she said and winked at me.
The boy had been using this silly alias since we left Dol Amroth. I smiled at Mrs Butterbur knowingly then she walked off.
"Why couldn't you have picked another, more modest name?"
He frowned at me and tore a leg from the chicken.
I suddenly felt like putting the boy in his place. "It is well that your breastplate is gone."
"It was an heirloom of my family," he sulked.
"And I am amazed that your father allowed you to bring it with you."
"Perhaps I will find another when we reach Belegost."
"Keep your voice down!" I hissed.
I couldn't help noticing one of the Dwarves turn his head towards us with narrow eyes. He turned back to his companion and murmured something but I couldn't read his lips through his long moustache. They sat low in their chairs, smoking and staring into the embers of the fire.
"No one needs to know our purpose, Aglahad. Towns like Tharbad attract all manner of folk, some less savoury than others."
"I shall speak like this from now on," he whispered before grinning and quaffing his wine.
One of the Dwarves rose and took up their tankards before returning to the counter. The other stuffed his pipe and looked about. His black beard glinted with silver ringlets. I nodded politely when he caught my eye.
He returned the gesture and raised his pipe. "You smoke?"
"Not for many centuries. I lost the habit after Beleriand was lost and the fields of Arvernien with it."
"I am in venerable company."
I smiled, unsure as to the manner of his comment. I detected a hint of Erebor in his accent but thought it rude to tell him so.
"I have tried galenas," Aglahad said. "But I had no taste for it."
The Dwarf again held up his pipe. "The weed of the Shire is far more superior. Longbottom Leaf, Southern Star. Like to try?" He half stood and reached out his hand, showing us a leather pouch.
"I have no pipe," the boy said.
"Take a pull from mine," he countered. Now he was scraping his chair over the stone floor towards us. At the same time, his companion returned from the counter with a tray of tankards. Up close, I could see that he wore a large silver earring.
"You don't meet many Gondorians this far north," he said. "Not these days."
"I am from Belfalas," said Aglahad.
"Then you will have heard the tale of the Carpenter of Tarnost," Earring said.
"Tarnost?"
"An intriguing tale," Ringlets said. "Perhaps you would lend an ear while I tell it."