An old man in a gray cloak sat at a corner table at the Prancing Pony. A lazy snake of smoke eased off the long pipe. A tankard of ale made company with bread and cheese and a pointy blue hat of unknown provenance.
Gandalf soaked in the bustle of the tavern’s evening crowd.
Men of Bree, many of them regulars, caroused around the rough hewn bar. A few other men, travelers, were keeping to themselves at a table near the far wall. A pair of dwarves in traveling clothes drained a few tankards of ale, talking intently. Down from the Grey Mountains ,they were expecting counterparts from the small dwarf settlements in the Blue Mountains.
A smattering of hobbits bustled in from the hills above town, claiming a table facing the bar. They too were regulars and were celebrating the half birthday of one of their own. Another tankard and they would break into song.
The hobbits reminded him of the Shire, where he was bound, after long journeys to the east and south. It was his favorite part of Eriador and restored his spirit.
Truth be told he was tired. He was long in Gondor, from South Ithilien to the River Lefnui far to the west. The realm was at peace. Men could tend to their lands, bring in crops and livestock. The East was quiet.
He’d made his way back north up the Anduin with a stop at Rhosgobel, home of Radagast the Brown. They shared some of Radagast’s fine ale, fresh baked bread and clover honey and spoke of Elder days across the Great Sea.
As to current days, Gandalf could see that his fellow wizard continued to withdraw into the world of the forest and its inhabitants, closing off the wider world beyond. It was opposite that of Gandalf who roamed the limits of the lands, endlessly curious.
And he was now curious about the Shire. As in decades past, it would be a social visit. A certain family of OldBucks, led by Odofur OldBuck, would be where he paid call. Other Bucks might fancy by. Unlike some other hobbit families, the Bucks were indifferent to the disapproval of others for their eccentricities and guests from outside the Shire
Gandalf tapped the ashes from his pipe. He rose, made his way past the now singing hobbits, up the stairs to his simple room with a soft bed. He would stay a few days, poke around Bree and environs.