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A Return...
With a hand still tightly bound in an old bandage, a grim faced Elf sat in the corner of the Inn. How long he had been there, none could guess. His eyes were full of memory and wonder, so many things had passed his sight, yet it was not all good. The Elf held in his hand a large mug of Shire ale, he held it aloft towards a picture of a Green Dragon, hanging on the wall.
"Here’s to you," he said quietly, "may you rot." he laughed heartily and drank deeply. Some Hobbits eyed him and shook their heads. Those crazy outsiders were at it again; they decided and paid no more heed to the Elf.
Fáinu's adventures since he was last in the Green Dragon had not quite gone as planed. Cree had been helpful; there was no denying it, yet ever as the road had gone forth, a foreboding had gone with him. Leaving her in Rivendel had set his mind at ease. Dragon’s spells were terrible things; surly the Elves there had the skill. Or at least, more than what he had.
Leaning back he produced a long wooden pipe from his coat and lit it, the tobacco burned and he puffed out several smoke rings. Most refreshing. Since the Dragon burn, he had never smoked. But now, he was free. Or rather, free-er. The dying breaths of that foul creature, that deceiver that-
This wasn't helping. Nor was the ale, as he came to think of it. The sound of the party outside, encouraged him to go and see what was what. So he rose and looked out of the window. The happy folk seemed so far from the troubles and wars... and Dragons. But one thought remained in Fáinu's mind: "This bandage is itchy."
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