[Kransha]

Creeping…creeping like the rat he’d been, creeping about was all he could do now. As he waded through a misty evening, a gentle slope appeared before him, turning slowly into a building that sat plastered against a cool night sky, just as the sun set below the horizon. As he looked upon it, he saw a strange familiarity in the place in the distance, a refreshing splendor not possessed by grandiose palaces and towers. It had a homely grandeur, the kind that one’s home might have after a long stay elsewhere. The Green Dragon was not his home, certainly not, but it had been an ample substitute, and would hopefully accept his entry again.

He’d gone there, some time ago. Not long ago, in fact. He was the place’s benefactor, to a degree. He’d given 11 (or was it 10) gold coins to the innkeeper, Amanduial…Yes, Aman, that fine lady of the Dragon, he remembered her. Again, he chided himself, it hadn’t been that long, really, not at all. He’d rented a room, and then there was the fire, and then the rebuilding, and then the party, and then Snaveling left…Old Snaveling, the rogue whose shadow he’d so loved to occupy. Good friends they were, but Snaveling was in Gondor with the fair maiden called Roa. After Snaveling left, he had no reason to stay. There was Aman, of course, and the new friends he made. He remembered Posco, Bingo, and Blanco (and one other whose name escaped him), the hobbits who he’d associated with briefly after Snaveling’s departure. Then, he’d, in a most uncharacteristic fashion, slipped out unceremoniously. He did not want attention drawn to himself, and had even neglected to say goodbye to Miss Aman and his colleagues. Now, though, through a most bizarre string of events, he was back. It seemed ironic, actually. When he’d come first to Bywater Road that day, he’d peddled his family fortune in pipe-weed for bed and breakfast, not knowing he’d be booked for an extended stay. Now, he already knew his stay'd be extended, and he certainly wouldn’t be peddling pipe-weed.

The same small and weathered figure strolled briskly down Bywater Road, pulling his frayed brown cloak around him as best he could. He picked up his pace as he neared his destination, on one side of the path. He walked in and over to the opposite end of the Green Dragon Inn, dodging awkwardly past several small tables and people of various sizes and shapes, and sat down contently. He fumbled momentarily with the innards of his outfit until he came upon what he was searching for. With an elegant, if not exaggerated flourish, he whipped out a surprisingly long pipe, a merry glint in his eye.

He let his heavy garments fall back and relished the glowing warmth that filled the room, compared to the caustic chills outside. His body sagged in the chair as he relaxed in the fire’s light. He laid his arms on another table that sat in front of him and sighed deeply, scratching at his wizened face with rough-skinned fingers. He glanced with his tired eyes around at the establishment, taking in what sights there were to see. He smiled as warmly as the fire and turned back to his pipe. The old hobbit could use a drink right about now, after a long period without any liquid sustenance. His head darted back and forth, scanning the room, his grey-brown strands of unkempt hair flailing lawlessly. He was, for some reason, hesitant to buy a drink. One of his hands went quickly to a coat pocket and dug around until a look of impatient irritation crossed his face. Grumbling to himself, he resumed his bird-like watching of the inn around him. He would’ve proceeded to get a drink, except for the pestering fact that he had no money.

Just as much money as he had to his name at this very moment, a fact that hadn’t left him for hours.

Pulling a very tattered cloak’s frayed edges up to his trembling ears, Tobias Hornblower the Third of Longbottom trudged towards the comely structure called the Green Dragon. The stable sat open, with its master at the gate, tending to one of many weary, but unruly creatures. Toby had no horse, though, but would settle for a home in the stable if he had to. As long as he was unseen, even by Amanduial. At this point, he eve could not trust her…not now, at least. Toby knew she would probably understand, but he didn’t know how fast news traveled anymore. He was probably ahead of it, but he simply could not be sure. He had to lay low, travel incognito, and all those silly things that he had told his nephews in stories. He reflected, only momentarily, on the fact that it might be a long time before he saw his dear little nephews again. Next time, they might not be so eager to hear his stories. They’d think he was lying. He’d made too many mistakes, and they were costing him, but they had been most inconvenient in their timing. Just when Toby arrived home a changed hobbit, he’d been confronted with a horrible realization.

And now he was here…

Now, as he thought of old Snave, The elder Hobbit reckoned that it might have been easier to head to the small, semi-isolated home that he had promised to the former brigand, Surely Snaveling wasn’t living there, and Toby knew every nook and cranny of the place. But, they would find him there if he fled, as the Southfarthing would be scoured by some authorities of a sort. That was why he was here, in Bywater. The town and country road, unpaved but highly trod upon, lay south of the foggy fields where the Four-Farthing Stone lay; marking the centermost point of all the Halfling lands. Word of the dilemma would be dispatched first from Longbottom to Tuckborough and the Great Smials, issued as a dark proclamation to the Thain of the Shire. He’d send searchers and messengers to the four corners of the Shire, each Farthing in turn, by the route of the local Shirriffs. They’d head to the Dragon last, as it was not in a town of its own. Bywater was barely a village, by the standards of such communes, and was not as high in regard as Buckland and the other populated regions of Hobbit-land. But still, the message and its carriers were ere behind him, hot on his heels as hounds to a fox. He was the fox, the wicked, villainous, traitorous vermin that had done such horrible wrong that had rent apart his life.

The Hafling did not even know now, why he had done such a thing in the first place. It had been long ago, years, before his arrival and departure from the Dragon. It had been his fault, wholly his, and he couldn’t deny it. He was a greedy, wretched old fool back then, a fool who lied and stole, and was deceitful in his dealings. He’d made a mistake which, now, he could not even fathom the depth of. It was a terrible thing he’d done, and he wanted desperately to be able to pin blame on another being, but such action would be selfish folly. It was, as he told himself again and again, his fault entirely. He dodged and he conspired, he schemed and planned, but all was for naught. The Green Dragon would know within a week of his wrongs, and he’d be found. He knew the Thain was just and true…but still, he could not help but imagine that his future, in the event of his discovery, would not be a happy one.

He scurried in, his hairy, leather-soled feet sliding along the gravelly road as he arrived at the inn threshold and darted in without the mildest hint of pomp or flourish. He whisked his cloak up, pulled his coat tighter still, and, as the vague light of the evening sky turned to warm, colors dancing on the walls. The chilly howl of weak winds turned into buzzing chatter in the inn, and the open spaces, wide and stretching over plain and field were transformed rudely into dense, claustrophobic crowds. His hooked nose and sharp ears twitching furiously, his thick brow furrowing, the Hobbit rushed in a mad dash towards the nearest, deepest crowd of people and disappeared a moment later into it. His heart called out to him forlornly, beseeching him to at least take a sideways glance at Amanduial, who was surely somewhere in the common room, but he remembered that he simply could not take the risk of letting her see him and try to strike up conversation. He didn’t want to have to lie…again…He never wanted to have to lie for the rest of his life. That was what had gotten him into the situation in the first place. Closing his eyes and shaking his head, Toby hurried onward doggedly, dodging nimbly past. He wouldn’t look, he promised himself that…He refused to look.

He pulled off his heavier cloak, which had been tightly wrapped around his sagging shoulders, and neatly folded it into a cloth bundle which he tucked studiously under his arm. He took another impatient breath, sitting down on an aging stool. He laid his hand out on the bar, slowly moving towards a loaf of bread, his fingers practically tip-toeing across the wooden surface. With his free hand, he adjusted his shirt collar and smoothed the wrinkles from his bright green vest ceremoniously, maintaining a façade of dignity. His head leaned sideways, towards the woman. “Do things like this occur here often?” He whispered out of the corner of his mouth to the innkeeper behind him as he watched the girl and the man. He didn’t hold a very high opinion of such boorish and rude men, such as the one in front of him. Even though she had obviously tried to steal something from him, undignified behavior wasn’t justified by that. It momentarily occurred to Tobias that he was thinking hypocritically, but he ignored the thought and continued inching his hand towards the bread loaf. The innkeeper turned her gaze now, and Toby’s hand and arm, like a swatted serpent, flinched and pulled back.

Aman raised an eyebrow at the hobbit leaning on the bar in front of her, although the gesture was, of course, lost on his back. And some instinct told her that he might be about as good at paying off credit as the scores of other hobbit men who had passed within the last two or three years and were thereby a blot on the Inn's accounts. In answer to the hobbit's question, she figured she had to give some sort of reply. "Well, not so you'd notice mind, sir. But then, the Dragon isn't exactly your conventional Inn."

Unconventional indeed! The place was a madhouse! A smile almost came to Toby’s cold lips, but faded before it was born there. Shaking his head again, as if to relieve himself of the memory, Toby cleared his way on sprightly strides through the cacophonous mass, and towards the shadowy threshold of the stairwell to the inn’s second level. It would not be hard for Toby to locate and empty room. Suddenly, the masses swayed, much to Toby’s chagrin. Cursing loudly under his breath, Toby turned, trying to worm his way to the location. An opening came soon, but with it, a horrific realization. Near the stairs was a great open area where the milling crowds had not congregated. And, lo and behold, in the open space walked Aman, just as she’d been that wintry day, walking about briskly from table to table. Veering confusedly, Toby practically leapt in the opposite direction. He searched frantically for an empty table, snaking forward and back, until he found one in the room’s darkest corner. Pouncing upon the rickety chair and wrapping himself in layers of clothing, hoping and praying that Aman did not notice the trembling hobbit in the corner with a gaudy, tassel-covered coat over his now gray-haired head.

Humming quietly to himself, he avoided getting too near anyone as he made his way into the depths of the inn to find a room. It had been a long day for him and he would look forward to some rest after the journey from Longbottom. As he passed, he took notice of the other inn residents in their various situations. Though some of these folk piqued his curiosity, he thought it better to avoid contact with them. Even though the innkeeper was nice enough, he stood by his belief that men from the south had no place in any of the four Farthings of the Shire. He grumbled about this under his breath as he tried to find an empty room. He would get something to eat after some well-deserved sleep.

Oh, how he wanted to sleep and to dream of better things, but he’d be getting no sleep this day.

In his misery and haste, he did not notice the fellow sitting a table away with his back to the hobbit, who might’ve seemed more than a little familiar if glanced at a second time.