Treebole and Dan escorted the wagons back to Bree. Their folk welcomed the train home with almost tearful relief, but listened rather skeptically to stories of golden towers and silver trees and magic gates.
To Beomann's surprise his father seemed even less enthusiastic about rebuilding the cities than Gil had been. "We don't want a lot of outsiders tearing up the Wild and making trouble. We've had enough of that!"
"Dad! This would be the Rangers." Beomann protested, scandalized.
Butterbur had the grace to look embarrassed. "Well of course that's a little different, no offense meant."
"Naturally they want to live like decent folk again," Mrs. Butterbur said, with a kindly smile at Dan, "who wouldn't, the poor dears."
"Perfectly understandable you'd be concerned, Mr. Butterbur," Treebole said with a straight face but a fugitive glint of amusement in his eye, "given what's happened here lately. But I promise you the Dunadan's thinking of proper settlements of respectable folk following the King's Law, not camps of brigands or tramps, and none near enough to Bree to crowd you."
"Wutherington would be the closest and it's more than twenty leagues away as the crow flies." Dan put in encouragingly.
"Just think how good it will be for business, Dad," Beomann added, "what with people travelling back and forth between the cities and all."
"That would be all to the good." Butterbur admitted. "But the idea takes a little getting used to, if you take my meaning. We don't like change here in Bree, 'specially since it's mostly for the worst - or has been."
Treebole smiled wryly. "Well if it's any comfort to you, Mr. Butterbur, we're none to sure how we feel about it either. It's been quite a while since we lived like 'decent folk' and it's going to take some getting used to for us too." ***
Beomann just couldn't seem to settle back down to the hum-drum life of Bree. It wasn't that he yearned for white marble cities with golden domes, the very air fairly stiff with magic - far from it! What he couldn't stand was the thought of all the things going on out there somewhere; battles being fought, cities rebuilt and a kingdom being reborn with him knowing nothing about it and having no part in it at all.
His father saw his discontent and it worried him. "We should never have let him go," he told the Missis, "who knows what ideas it's put into his head?" But he, Butterbur, was getting some odd notions of his own these days.
Part of him wanted Bree to stay exactly the way it was, just as he'd told Treebole. Yet somehow he couldn't forget the vision Silverlock's song had shown him; the fruitful, golden land with tall cities and tall Kings to guard it. If Strider - the King he should say - could bring those days back again surely it would be a good thing? Dimly Butterbur forsaw the possibility of a larger, more prosperous Bree. No longer a lonely island of habitation lost in the Wild but an important center in a greater realm.
It was more than a month since Dan and Treebole had disappeared into the Wild, on patrol they said, and neither they nor any other Ranger had been seen in Bree since. The lack of news was driving Beomann half mad.
"And they have these lamps," he told his mother and sisters early one morning as they swept and scrubbed the common room for another day's custom, "glassy globes in silver cages. Perfectly clear by day but at night they glow all silvery-blue. And they hang them from the trees lining the streets and in the parks to light them up at night."
"Dear me," said his mother, "how does anybody get any sleep then?"
"Oh it's not so bright as all that." Beomann assured her. "And it's very pretty to see, like little moons caught in the branches of the trees."
"Hmmm." Ishbel Butterbur straightened to give her son a thoughtful look. "Pretty maybe, but it doesn't sound very homey to me."
"It's not." he agreed ruefully. "I'm glad to have seen the Kings' City but I wouldn't want to live there!" he meant it too, every word, and his mother knew it and was satisfied.
"I'd like to see it too." Lusey, Beomann's youngest sister, said suddenly.
Her mother frowned at her, then smiled. "To tell the truth so would I. Maybe someday we'll let Beomann take us there." and all four of her children looked at her in amazment for Ishbel had never gone farther than the Forsaken Inn, nor wanted to. Not even to the annual fair at Hoarwelling.
The outer door opened and Mr. Butterbur hurried to the counter to greet the first customer of the day. "Longbow!"
Beomann dropped his broom and rushed around the bar to see for himself. All Rangers were tall, topping the Bree Men by a half head or more, but Longbow was a real giant, the tallest Man Beomann had ever seen, and carried a bow as long as he was, hence his name.
"Has there been any more trouble with the Hill Men?" he demanded, "and have they started the rebuilding yet? And is there any word of when the King's coming home?"
Longbow looked at him in astonishment and his father clucked his tongue. "Now, now, Beomann, what kind of greeting is that? At least let the Man sit down before you start pelting him with questions."
"That's all right, Mr. Butterbur." Longbow assured him, smiled kindly down at Beomann. "I'm afraid I don't know any more about the state of the northern frontier than you, my duty lies in the south and the east. Nor do I know when Aragorn plans to come home, soon I hope. As for the rebuilding, that's why I've come, to meet Gilvagor and Aranel and inspect the sites of Wutherington and Sudbury."
"Gil's coming here?"
Longbow nodded. "Bree is a convenient meeting place for us. They should arrive sometime today."
"That's nice," Butterbur said, perhaps a little to heartily, "always a welcome for Rangers here." Longbow had the courtesy to betray no surprise at this startling new sentiment. "And what is your right name?"
"Belegon son of Belecthor." the Innkeeper's face congealed and he added quickly. "But Longbow does very well."
"No, no, Belegon it is." repeated to himself under his breath. "Bel-e-gon, Bel-e-gon. Right, got it."
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