The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum - View Single Post - The Green Dragon Inn #11

Lalwendë · 07-22-2004, 02:20 PM

The room was very smoky and warm and Jinniver was sitting back in her chair feeling contentedly full and very sleepy. She had bought herself two ales at the bar, to avoid going through the trauma again. She had wondered whether two would be enough, yet it was a little too much, as the ale was a strong brew. A tiny vein in her forehead throbbed and the inn seemed very noisy all of a sudden.

She had spoken to three old gaffers on their way out of the pub. They had stopped by and bought several bunches of her flowers, “Probably for their wives, so they may hope to get away with coming home so late and so merry“, thought Jinniver. They had smelled very strongly of drink, and one had held onto the table throughout, as though he might fall to the floor at any moment. With a little of the money she had made, she bought some sweet smelling pipeweed, which she was now enjoying.

A man standing by the fireside was relating a tale to a crowd gathered around him. It was not hard to hear him, but Jinniver leaned forward all the same, as it was a dark story concerning the northern lands, away up the Greenway. He told the tale with a look of horror on his face, and she was fascinated. She loved to hear such stories; her father had been fond of reciting them, particularly on stormy nights, but since the dark days he much preferred a comic rhyme or a tale of romance.

Jinniver had missed these thrilling tales and rhymes. When the man mentioned the cursed knife she jumped, and seeing her old dagger lying on the table, pulled it back towards herself. She kept tight hold of the dagger until the story ended, scared, yet excited at the same time.

She was one of many who toasted the man when his story was through. Enlivened by the toast to the kings, the crowd was soon calling for a song, and Jinniver wished she was bold enough to offer up one of the old verses she knew. She went a little red at the thought of standing up in this room, but thankfully a few of the hobbits struck up a song. She sat quietly, savouring the sights and sounds of the inn, as the time would soon come to sink into that feather bed.

07-22-2004, 02:20 PM	#529
Lalwendë A Mere Boggart Join Date: Mar 2004 Location: under the bed Posts: 4,737	The room was very smoky and warm and Jinniver was sitting back in her chair feeling contentedly full and very sleepy. She had bought herself two ales at the bar, to avoid going through the trauma again. She had wondered whether two would be enough, yet it was a little too much, as the ale was a strong brew. A tiny vein in her forehead throbbed and the inn seemed very noisy all of a sudden. She had spoken to three old gaffers on their way out of the pub. They had stopped by and bought several bunches of her flowers, “Probably for their wives, so they may hope to get away with coming home so late and so merry“, thought Jinniver. They had smelled very strongly of drink, and one had held onto the table throughout, as though he might fall to the floor at any moment. With a little of the money she had made, she bought some sweet smelling pipeweed, which she was now enjoying. A man standing by the fireside was relating a tale to a crowd gathered around him. It was not hard to hear him, but Jinniver leaned forward all the same, as it was a dark story concerning the northern lands, away up the Greenway. He told the tale with a look of horror on his face, and she was fascinated. She loved to hear such stories; her father had been fond of reciting them, particularly on stormy nights, but since the dark days he much preferred a comic rhyme or a tale of romance. Jinniver had missed these thrilling tales and rhymes. When the man mentioned the cursed knife she jumped, and seeing her old dagger lying on the table, pulled it back towards herself. She kept tight hold of the dagger until the story ended, scared, yet excited at the same time. She was one of many who toasted the man when his story was through. Enlivened by the toast to the kings, the crowd was soon calling for a song, and Jinniver wished she was bold enough to offer up one of the old verses she knew. She went a little red at the thought of standing up in this room, but thankfully a few of the hobbits struck up a song. She sat quietly, savouring the sights and sounds of the inn, as the time would soon come to sink into that feather bed.