B2MeM
Challenge: “Wouldn't Barliman Butterbur be astonished to have
the High King come striding in for a glass of 'proper
fourteen-twenty'?”
Format: short
story
Genre: friendship
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Characters: Aragorn,
Faramir, Butterbur
Pairings: none
Summary: Aragorn
returns to “The Prancing Pony” as King and introduces Faramir to
Butterbur’s best ale.
The characters are the property of the
Tolkien Estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this
story.
Return
to the Prancing Pony.
For 
elenbarathi
Ignoring
the curious gazes of the villagers, Aragorn and Faramir strode up the
steps and into “The Prancing Pony.” Their guards made to follow,
but Aragorn insisted that they wait outside.
As they entered
the familiar common room, Aragorn was overwhelmed by memories. How
long ago was it since he had first set foot here? Sixty years? It was
seventy more like, or even more, since Halbarad had first brought him
here to sample Butterbur’s ale.
The thought of faithful
Halbarad made the tears prickle in his eyes. It was the cruellest
twist of fate that he had been slain before he could take his
rightful place as friend and advisor to his King. Aragorn blinked
away the tears as he led Faramir to a table in the shadows set
against a wall. The very place where he had sat with Halbarad so many
years before. The tables and chairs were unchanged apart from gaining
more chips and scratches over the years.
“Are you well,
mellon nîn?” asked Faramir.
The King forced himself to
smile. He had lost one friend and adviser but found another he had
come to love as dearly maybe even more so. He just could not but help
wishing sometimes that both men were at his side. “This place holds
many memories from long before you were born, some happy, some sad.
But I didn’t bring you here to listen to tales of my youth, ion
nîn. You are long overdue in sampling Butterbur’s fine ale.”
“So
you have been telling me ever since you planned this visit to your
Northern Kingdom.”
“It is the best ale in both
kingdoms.”
“Better than the Dragon’s Breath you favour
at home?”
“Better even than that. The recipe has been in
the Butterbur family for generations. Old Barliman’s grandsire was
brewing it when I first came here. “
As if in response to a
summons, a small plump man appeared. He was red faced and bald
headed. “Good afternoon, sirs,” he said. “What may you be
wanting?”
“Two mugs of your best ale, please,” said
Aragorn.
“Will you be preferring the private parlour or be
staying here in the common room?” asked Butterbur. “It’s pretty
quiet here at the Pony today what with the King visiting and all. The
village is full of all manner of queer folk.”
“We will
stay here in the common room,” said Aragorn.
Butterbur
looked at him closely. “Begging your pardon, sir, but you look
familiar, though your name slips my mind for the moment.”
“I’ve
been here before,” said Aragorn with a smile, though he made no
move to enlighten the innkeeper.
“Will you be wanting
anything else with your drinks, sirs?” asked Butterbur.
“No,
thank you, I brought my friend here specially to sample your best
ale.”
“Very well, sirs.” Butterbur bustled away.
“I
thought he would remember your name,” said Faramir.
Aragorn
laughed. “Old Butterbur would forget his own name if folk weren’t
shouting for him by it all day.” He stretched out his long legs.
“Ah, all I need is my pipe and I could be a young man again!”
“You
do not need a pipe to be young. Think what your lady would say not to
mention how it would make me cough!”
“Peace, Faramir,
those days are gone now. I was careful to bring you here early before
the common room fills with smoke. In the evenings, the common room is
so smoky from the fire and pipe-weed fumes that it is hard to see
across the room.”
“I would not enjoy frequenting northern
taverns often then. I would struggle to become accustomed to them.”
“It depends where you are brought up.”
“I suppose so,” Faramir said rather doubtfully.
“I
think a few more customers are arriving,” said Aragorn. “Prepare
to be the object of their curiosity.”
A group of men who
looked like farmers entered. Aragorn recalled how they would come to
the “Pony” after selling their beasts at the market and celebrate
with Butterbur’s best ale. The newcomers took a table at the far
side of the room, but their eyes never left Aragorn and Faramir. They
started muttering together in low tones. Aragorn grinned at them. The
farmers hastily looked away, but still kept stealing glances across
the room.
Butterbur returned, balancing two full glasses on a
tray and placed them in front of the King and Steward. “Here you
are, sirs,” he said. “It came to me who you remind me of,sir,
it's that Ranger, Strider, or what he might look like after a bath
and dressed in fine quality clothes.”
“Your memory does
not fail you, Barley,” said Aragorn. “I am indeed
Strider.”
Butterbur’s eyes grew wide. “Strider!” he
exclaimed. “The wizard and the little folk said you’d left
rangering to be king, hundreds of miles distant, so you’ll be far
away in your great castle drinking wine out of a golden cup, not
sitting here in my bar!”
“I am indeed here in your bar,”
said Aragorn. He sipped his drink and sighed contentedly. “You beer
is just as good as I remember it.”
“The King here at the
Pony! Well, I never did!” Butterbur bowed awkwardly then sat down
heavily on a nearby chair, then jumped up again. “Begging your
pardon, sir.”
“No offence is taken,” said Aragorn. “Did
my friends not tell you I would return one day? I’m a man of my
word. You can put as sign outside now, saying the King comes here for
your best ale. ”
“I shall indeed, sir,” said Butterbur.
“Well I never did. I don’t doubt it, sir, In all my born days,
I’ve never heard the like of this!”
“You have other
customers waiting to be served, Barley,” said Aragorn. “Deal with
them, then come and sit with us and tell me about how things are in
Bree these days and I’ll introduce you to my friend.”
Barliman
appeared to notice Faramir for the first time. “Next you’ll be
telling me he is a prince or something!”
Aragorn laughed.
“He is Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien in fact.”
“Well,
I never did!” Butterbur repeated. “I’m going to fetch Nob in,
cleaning the stables can wait for another day.” He bustled
away.
“What do you think of old Butterbur, then?” said
Aragorn.
“He is quite the character. He reminds me a little
of good Dame Ioreth.”
“Indeed. They could both talk the
hind leg off a donkey,” Aragorn replied then turned his attention
to Faramir’s still untouched glass. “You haven’t tasted your
ale, Faramir. Drink up, then we can have another glass before we have
to be on our way.”
Faramir eyed the ale suspiciously. “I’ll
drink it as not to hurt the old innkeeper’s feelings, but you know
I am not very partial to ale.”
“I promise you, you will
like this. It puts many a so called fine wine to shame.” Aragorn
raised his glass and drank deeply then licked his lips
appreciatively.
Faramir took a cautious sip then another and
another. He smiled contentedly. “It is good,” he said. “We must
come here again.”
Aragorn burst out laughing.
“What
is so funny?” asked Faramir a trifle indignantly.
“You
spoke the exact same words as I did when I first tasted the ale
here,” Aragorn replied. “I have missed this fine northern brew. I
am thinking of asking Butterbur to send a regular supply to Gondor.”