[Ealasaide]

As Rochadan led the last of the waiting horses inside to be groomed and stabled for the night, he found himself giving the dusty animal more than a second glance. The bay gelding was very, very familiar to him, almost as familiar to him as his own horse. With a sudden and knowing smile playing on the corners of his mouth, he reached down, loosed the cinch strap, and lifted the well-worn saddle from the animal’s broad back. There, just as he had a expected, he found a large “B” embossed into the leather.

“Bragorn!” he said aloud. It had been a long time since he had seen his old friend, in fact, since before the dragon. Rochadan went about the rest of his chores quickly that he might get to the common room and find the Gondorian messenger and have a few minutes to sit down and share news with him, catch up on old times, before the dinner rush of new arrivals to the inn. He hurried also because he knew Bragorn’s character very well and was aware that the fellow would be hard at work bothering the serving girls. Rochadan knew that Bragorn never meant any harm by it, but he could be a tremendous annoyance.

Finishing with the horse and saddle at last, Rochadan jogged to the front door of the inn, and went in. Sure enough, there sat Bragorn with a goofy look on his face, showing his shoulder to Kannah. As he watched, Kannah snapped the back of the messenger’s head with her dishcloth and spun away in a rustle of cheap silk. The messenger erupted into laughter, calling after her that even if she couldn’t fix his shoulder, he still wanted his bread and cheese. Rochadan pulled out a chair and sat down opposite his old friend.

“Greetings, great messenger and terror to all unsuspecting women,” he said amiably. “You’re almost as bad as the dragon. How long have you been in Esgaroth?”

“Rochadan!” exclaimed Bragorn. He half-rose from his chair and, in his exuberance to embrace his old friend across the table, upended what remained of his beer. Not having anything with which to clean up the mess, he just let the puddle stand on the tabletop and set the heavy - but now empty tankard - upsidedown in its center, where it presided over the conversation like a moated fortress in miniature. “You are still here!” continued Bragorn without missing a beat. Grinning broadly, he flopped back down into his chair. “You know, I asked that lovely creature if you were still about somewhere, but I don’t think she ever told me. As for Esgaroth, I only arrived here this morning. Official business, you know, so I had to attend to that first, but this was my first stop afterward.”

“Did you have any trouble finding the inn?” asked Rochadan. “It’s all so different since the town was moved and rebuilt.”

“None at all,” Bragorn assured the stablemaster. “But it was a little disorienting when I first arrived...kind of like Esgaroth but not Esgaroth at the same time. I must say you’ve done an admirable job of rebuilding. Such wild stories we’ve heard in the south about your dragon and the great battle at the foot of the Lonely Mountain. I take it you were there in the middle of it?”

“Quite,” answered Rochadan with a rueful smile. “I feel almost disloyal saying it - the inn has been quite good to me - but it was nice to be in the saddle again with a sword in my hand. To be honest, while I enjoy my life here, I miss the excitement of battle.”

Bragorn’s wide, cheery face sobered. “Well, if it’s that sort of excitement you are missing, there’s plenty to go around in the south,” he said grimly. “Do you remember Bonden?”

Rochadan nodded although he hadn’t heard the name in very a long time. “Big fellow - face like a baboon? He had that roan horse that liked to bite.”

“Exactly.” Bragorn nodded. “He was slain by orcs outside of Ithilien last year. Killian, too. I’m not sure what is happening across the river in the east, but it seems that there have been more and more orcs about lately. The roads grow ever more dangerous, especially for our sort - couriers and messengers, that is. Truth be known, we could use a man like you.”

Rochadan’s expression darkened. “Killian and Bonden were both good men, good fighters. How did it happen?” Both men had been particular friends of his. He could recall in years past sharing many a meal and friendly drink with them both. Bonden, if he remembered correctly, would have left behind a wife and three children.

Bragorn shrugged. “Ambushed on the road is all I can guess. Killian was pierced with so many black arrows that he looked like a pin cushion. Nothing was ever found of Bonden but bones and his broken sword. In both cases, their message bags were gone. In fact, I‘ve had a few close calls myself. All I can say is that I thank Eru daily for my dash of good luck and a fast horse.”

“Luck and a fast horse,” echoed Rochadan quietly. “Sometimes that’s all it takes.”

Bragorn nodded. “Let’s have another round and drink to our fallen comrades.” He raised his hand and, catching the attention of the innkeeper, gestured for two more ales.