The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Alaksoron]

Jean's conversation with the tall stranger abruptly ceased. Both leaned back in their chairs. They had been, quite without realizing it, hunched over the table in their effort to keep the conversation from unwelcome ears, whispering oh so quietly with their heads together. The stranger dismissed Jean with a wave of his hand, and Jean stood to leave, pulling up the hood of his cloak. Silently Jean made his way to the door and went out.

The stranger waited for the server to bring his wine. With it in hand, he made his way to the table where Faragorn was sitting. When he passed rather close to a certain table, the candles went out as he passed. Fortunately, the table was unoccuppied. Without waiting for an invitation, he set down across from Faragorn.

"Your name is Faragorn. Yes? How about you start by telling me why you are here in the Shire, Faragorn." He took a sip of his wine and started to unbuckle his heavy steel gauntlets, tucking them behind his swordbelt. Underneath his hands were still covered by black leather gloves.

The man's voice was quiet, his speech proper, but his tone demanded an answer. Faragorn casually peered deep into the man's hood but could make out nothing. The man's face was shadowed too much by his cowl.

[Gorothlammothiel]

Soronume had now been sat quietly for some time. He had been watching, as he had become accustomed to and now thoroughly enjoyed, all the inn's actvity. The man who had been only a few paces behind him when he entered the inn had conversed with others, but either now seemed to have grown tired of the conversation or was afraid of where it would lead, as he had quickly made his leave from it.

That wasn't the only group however, there was a larger group in the middle of the room, another sat listening intently to a song that had just been finished, but sung with such emotion, Soronume was not surprised the voice's beholder was almost brought to tears.

However, as intent was Soronume was watching those that filled the inn with it's warmth, he seemed to have gone unoticed himself. That he didn't mind. Friendly as he was, he did carry mystery to his character, introverted but not shy. Soronume knew that he fell into shadows when he desired to, and could also when he didn't. He didn't believe that this was the time to be alone, his journey of late had provided him with ample solitude.

He turned to the bar, looking for someone to serve him a drink, he didn't want anything more than water or similar however. The strong stuff certainly wasn't for him. Soronume noticed Aman running about the inn, as usual. He wondered if she remembered him from his last visit, though he would not be surprised if she didn't, it was some time ago.

As he waited to be served, he saw another solitary figure making way to the bar...

[Faragorn]

Faragorn thought for a slight moment, not understanding his place. The demanding voice of this ‘shadow’ made him wonder where his place was in this conversation. Apparently this stranger not only was curious about him, but he had obviously been spying for only one person knew of his name, and that was Peony.

The stranger seemed to be making himself comfortable, as if waiting for a long answer. Faragorn wouldn’t please a stranger just yet, but to keep him questioning. “Yes, that is the name I am called,” He said with a very calm voice, “but before I start answering any questions I shall ask you one. What is your name, if you’d be so kind to tell? I haven’t got the time to be guessing away for I have some thinking to do and you, whatever your name is, are stalling me from that. So may I receive a name?”

Faragorn felt something very strange about him. It was as if another presence was among him. This made him feel rather uncomfortable, but since he had no reason to leave he did not do so.

[Eowyn Skywalker]

Willow looked around the room. There were so many people there now, and more coming. The evening was coming soon, she knew it by the lessened light... it seemed as if the day had went by so fast, but yet, she was still so tired. The party from the day before hadn't done much for her, either. Now, the yong Hobbit was so tired, she felt that she could've collapsed there, and slept. So... tired...

In fact, the pure sleepiness was pushing at her so much, that she didn't even feel hungry, even though she had only ate two or three smaller meals that day.

There were so many people...

The same panic that had taken her the day before hit her, made even worse by her need for sleep. She made her way to the bar, and took a cup of tea, and stumbled towards the room that she had aquired much earlier. The thoughts of sleep crowded her deeply out, and Willow had barely finished her hot drink before she collapsed into the low set bed, not even thinking to change into her undergarments, or make the blankets.

All she wanted was sleep, and Willow Overhill didn't care that it was still mid day, and supper had not get even came. She fell into a deep sleep, and just hoped that she could wake up when the time for supper came. But after she fell into her bed, she could hardly move. What's wrong with me? was her dull thoughts as she fell into the world of dreams.

[Alaksoron]

The stranger looked up at Faragorn's clipped tone. "Your place is to answer questions and not ask them. There will be a time for questions and a time for answers. But this small thing will I grant. My name is Falkor Alaksoron. Do not wonder that I know your name, for my ears are everywhere and you did not exercise caution in the giving of your name. Rather, you said it quite loudly, or loudly enough, and my man overheard.

"One more thing: Do not esteem yourself high enough to speak shortly to me, or you may lose your tongue. I am forestalling you from thinking, you said. Ha! You had better start thinking quickly. Now answer my question, and do not lie to me for I shall sense it immediately."

The man leaned back and took another sip of his wine, waiting to be answered. Faragorn sensed a faint strain of impatience from the man. The man was apparently making himself comfortable and showed no intention of leaving Faragorn to himself. Rather, he lit a pipe and prepared for a long wait.

[Faragorn]

Faragorn became agitated, yet was delighted at the thought of people interested in him. No man had ever threatened him, nor would this man if he knew what he was capable. But Faragorn wasn’t going to let that get in the way, for he realized that Falkor could make just a great of companion compare to a foe.

“So – you want to know of my business in the Shire. Well, I am a vagabond seeking for peace. My life has been full of death. Never had I gone a day without an image of people being slaughtered going through my mind. If that sounds strange to you, you may find it stranger that I know of you. Yes, that’s right. I know all about you.”

Faragorn looked deep into Falkor’s black eyes as if looking into an endless pit. “You were born in Rivendell and lived in Rohan for twelve years, true?” He grinned, now staring deeper and deeper into his eyes.

[Sirithheruwen]

Lily and Posco were continuing to talk, but Twylight didn't feel like listening much. Excusing herself silently, she made over to the bar to get a cup of tea. To her chagrin, Marcho was still sitting there, an empty mug of ale in his hand. Twylight looked around vainly, but the only open seat was between a dark and travel-worn man and Marcho himself. Trying not to meet his eyes, she motioned for a cup of tea. While it was being made, she examined the man next to her. He had a cut on his right shoulder and her garments were stained in many places with congealed blood. His hair was dark and shoulder length. She was keen to see what his face looked like, but his back was to her. She excepted her tea.

Behind her, a feeble cough broke the silence between Marcho and herself. She swiveled her head slightly to see if it was him. It was now her turn to sneer. Turning back, she let her eyes wander into the depths of her tea, trying her best to ignore Marcho.