The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Fáinu sat there and looked at Hama, as if inspecting him. He was slightly suspicious of him, but he smiled and fained appreciation. He sat silently while Adu and Hama talked, but he noticed that as the converse continued, he felt forgotten. Slowly he went to the bar and bought a drink, he only drunk half of it and then stood there thinking. he was debating in his mind what he should do.

Perhaps now I should leave. Adu is happy, and I have done my deity.
Is that all it was? Deity?
No, I don't suppose it was. For I may have known her, but a little while, I feel she is a dear friend.
What of this Hama? Dost thou not trust him?
I know not. From what she hath said, he seems an honourable man.
That may be yet to be seen.
Then should I leave, or stay?
Stay a while, if it seems though art not wanted, or needed, then thou mustst depart.
I suppose so.

Fáinu looked sadly over at the table; Adu was smiling happily as she spoke with Hama. This gave him a feeling of rejection, he had felt this before, and hated his brothers all the more as the memories came flooding back... he did not know why, but he found that his good hand was resting on his sword hilt, while his other was clenched, though it hurt him.

[starkat]

The sound of horses coming up the path woke Gwenneth. She watched as the men dismounted and entered the Inn. I must have fallen asleep. I guess I am more tired than I thought. The elf rose and dusted herself off and returned to the Inn.

Walking up to the bar, Gwenneth asked for a glass fo tea. She had discovered that the tea in the Shire was wonderful thanks to one of the people she had met in the Inn. Turning her back to the bar, the young elf maid watched the various interactions of the patrons with a smile.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling sat in brood, his hunger forgotten in the wake of his failure with the barmaid. Nothing had gone right since his arrival – Aman, so long held in his memory as a dear friend – was now distant and confused in her manner to him. The first person he had approached for news of Roa had given him nothing, and as he looked about the Inn he saw little hope of better. Save Aman and one or two of the serving maids, there was nobody here that he recognised, not even Tobias Hornblower. A smile crossed his lips at the memory of his friend, and he swore that first thing tomorrow he would seek out the old hobbit. But the matter at hand was still more pressing – whom could he ask for news of the Ranger woman? There were several likely candidates in the Common Room. One, a man, had been glaring at him with suspicion since Aman had left Snaveling by the fire. Such a look did not sit well with the man of the south, and he made note of it for attention later…

Another woman caught his eye however. She was small and difficult to overlook, even in the crowded Inn, for her hair was almost like the colour of Roa’s. She sat alone at a table and also looked at Snaveling from time to time, although where the man was hostile, she was merely curious and even sought to hide her interest. Snaveling had spent a lifetime upon the fringes of human society, however, and knew what it was to be spied upon by those who did not know or trust him. Not so long ago, he would have either slunk away from eyes like hers, or looked for some mean way to pay her for her interest. But the time he had spent at Elessar’s court had done much to correct the abuse and neglect of his years in the waste. Smoothing his face with a courteous smile, he rose and crossed the room to the woman.

He felt the eyes of the man following him as he went, and again thought to himself that he would have to look into the meaning of that look…soon.

Standing politely by the table of the woman, Snaveling introduced himself and asked if he might sit. The woman appeared to be a little alarmed by his action, but indicated that she would welcome the company. As he sat, Snaveling noticed for the first time that the woman bore about her the signs of a long night the day before – he too knew all-too-well the strength and effect of halfling ale, and he could not quite hide the smile at the feeling of solidarity. If the woman noticed the smile, she did not comment on it. Instead, she put out her hand in a frank manner and introduced herself as Jinniver.

Snaveling took the hand and returned the gesture in the politest manner, as taught to him by the Chamberlain Lorant. He could feel the rough skin of the woman’s years spent in hard work, and he knew by looking at her that she was well travelled. Excellent: it boded well that she might have news of the Ranger.

“I do not think that I have seen you before,” Jinniver said, “but you seem to be known to the Innkeeper, and the Inn would seem to be known to you. Have you been here before?”

“Yes, a long time ago,” is all he answered. Once more, he found that if she were unaware of his history with this place, it would be for the better.

“May I ask what brings you here again?” she asked, her eyes quickly flicking to where Aman was working. Snaveling pretended not to see.

“I am looking for a friend of mine,” he said, and went on to describe Roa. He did not reveal why he was looking for her, or why it was so important for him to find her. “You would appear to have travelled a good deal, lady,” he concluded. “Is it possible you have seen her?”

Jinniver shook her head and said, “I’m afraid that I don’t know any Ranger woman by that name. Red hair you say? That I would remember” and she laughed lightly. “No, Mr. Snaveling, I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”

Snaveling lapsed into quiet for a moment, despair already threatening to overcome him, even though his search was yet so young. Once more he felt the eyes of the man upon him, and he knew that soon his story would be known throughout the Inn. Places like this have long memories, and it was only a matter of time before everyone knew the truth. He decided that it would be best to find out as much information as he could now about the people at the Inn – particularly that man. Using the most inviting tone he could muster Snaveling said, “Well I am sorry to hear that, but I am sure that she will turn up. I wonder if I might thank you for your pains by buying you a pint of ale, or perhaps some wine? I have been away for a while and would very much like to know about the people staying at the Dragon.”

[Witch_Queen]

Adu's heart fluttered as she saw Hama. She didn't want to believe that she actually stayed in Rivendell now. She looked back and remembered the black cloaked man who asked about Hama. She also remembered his face. It was the face of the one man she despised all her life in Rohan. Dorian's right hand man.She was never really fond of him. He had always associated Adu as Dorian's little elfmaidden. Adu had wanted to dispose of the man but Dorian wouldn't allow it. He had always threated Adu about harming any of his soldiers. She wasn't allowed to even fall in love with anyone of them. Deep down inside Adu always thought of herself as a prisoner and not a soldier. Adu smiled and came back to the situation."Hama, I shall always remain loyal to my general. I am suprised though that you came with an escort. Its not like you to stand out like that. I take it that Eomer was only happy to give you Dorian's position." Adu noticed that her new friend had left. She didn't want either of them to hate or dislike each other. Fáinu had been there for her while Hama was gone. Hama had been there almost all her life. Adu no longer considered her life in Eryn Lasgalen important now. It was the life she made in Rohan.

She motioned for Fáinu to come back and join them. Adu was happiest when she had both her friends. "Hama I am glad to serve you and no other man." Her words stuck in her mind. I am glad he is back. Without him I would always be miserable. Hama is what makes my life worth living. Thank you Fáinu for everything.

[Lalwendë]

The noble looking man who she had been stealing glances at left his position and made his way over towards her table and to her great surprise, he introduced himself. Jinniver took in the beautifully tailored clothes and the dark eyes of the man and felt a lump rise in her throat. She was glad of the courage the ale gave her as her nerves started to tense; she was not accustomed to noble people introducing themselves to her. She had seen many unusual folk passing up and down the Greenway and into Bree, but there were few who gave the impression of being important, and these imposing people never deigned to talk with a mere nurserywoman beyond buying flowers from her. Yet this man had smiled at her in a friendly way and was courteous, and her false courage and respect for courtesy urged her to return his warm greeting.

His formal greetings were so refined that she would have blushed when he took her hand were her face not already reddened by the merriment and the ale. Bolstered by the beer, she immediately pressed him with a veiled question as to how he knew the innkeeper but he merely indicated that he was known at the inn. She rephrased her question, and was more direct this time. Instead of any mention of the innkeeper, he instead began to press her for knowledge of another young woman.

He was looking for a young ranger woman he described as having red hair. That was clearly not Aman, but why all the knowing glances between the two of them? How many young women were there who had an interest in him? What was his game? She perceived that there was more to his questions than met the eye. The man had an earnest look about him when he described the woman. Jinniver had seen rangers, it was unavoidable if you lived by The Greenway; sometimes they would stop by to obtain supplies from their farmhouse, but she could not recall having seen a red-haired woman. She laughed a little as she thought about the situation. A nobleman, sitting in a hobbit tavern, asking a nurserywoman about rangers?

Her lack of an answer seemed to disappoint the man, and he looked towards Derufin, who was stealthily watching him from the corner of his eye. Jinniver felt a sudden rush of disappointment that she could offer no help to the man. She did not want him to get up so soon; she was finding this situation all very intriguing, and, she had to admit, he was interesting in himself.

“Well I am sorry to hear that, but I am sure that she will turn up. I wonder if I might thank you for your pains by buying you a pint of ale, or perhaps some wine? I have been away for a while and would very much like to know about the people staying at the Dragon.”

"Mr Snaveling," she looked into his dark eyes and smiled. These eyes had held a little suspicion at first, but there was a lighter sparkle to them now that he had spoken. The name seemed to belong to someone other than a lordly man. "An ale would be my choice, if you are so kind as to offer."

Snaveling made to get up and go to the bar, but Jinniver stayed him with her hand. She started a little as she realised she should probably not have made such a gesture. "I am sorry. But do not trouble yourself. I am sure that Aman or one of the hobbit lasses will be by in a moment." She felt sure that Aman would not be coming by, but she could see a hobbit making her way over, as the lads were noisily shouting for more ale.

"What would you like to know?” she asked, thinking about the curious glances that had been thrown between Snaveling, Derufin and Aman. "I am but staying here a while, until a task is through, but these fine folk have made me welcome." She motioned towards the company at the table. "At the end there, that is Master Andwise, and these are his lads, and there is Derufin."

Snaveling looked across, barely moving his head as she motioned towards the man who had been watching him. He waited until she continued talking, not wanting to make it obvious that he was enquiring about people who for all he knew may be her friends. She did not continue straight away, but paused and gazed expectantly at him, as though waiting for him to ask further. He did not ask, so she carried on cautiously.

"He is the stable master. And a good man too. He is to be married soon and I am working for him, preparing a garden", She halted, aware that she had maybe said too much. She had been about to say that Derufin seemed to be held in regard by those at the inn, including Aman, but now she guessed that Snaveling would be able to put the pieces of the puzzle together for himself. She thought about changing the subject, not feeling comfortable with being asked questions herself, and then a memory struck her.

"Mr Snaveling," Jinniver blurted out, "I have remembered something." His eyebrows raised and he turned his attention from Derufin back to her. "There is, or was, one red-haired ranger. At least, my niece saw one some weeks ago, amongst the trees at the edge of our land. Whether it was a man or a woman, I don’t know”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, and then she asked, out of concern, for he looked troubled, “Who is this woman to you?”

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Fáinu saw Adu looking at him and so he went back to the table and sat down silently. He tried not to make himself look too noticeable; he saw Hamas men and thought they were hostile. He moved his hand away from his sword hilt and looked at Adu, then at Hama.

He said nothing and looked about the room. He felt that he was only staying out of politeness, and that they only kept him there for the same reason. Hama seemed to take little or no interest in him, save that perhaps he saw him with his hand on his sword.

He looked back at Adu with uncertainty. He still felt like was unneeded baggage that Adu no longer wanted. In a way he was happy for her, but began to remember all the terrible things his brothers had done. He knew they were wicked, but felt he could not betray them.

He stared into his mug as Adu and Hama spoke of 'old times' and of Rohan. Fáinu had never been to Rohan, and had been advised not to go thither. The nearest he'd ever been was Lothlorien, and that was still far from it.

[Envinyatar]

Derufin caught Buttercup’s eye. The lass was across the room, just extracting herself from a table of Hobbit lads who appeared well into their cups. With a slight nod of his head, he motioned for her to come over. She gave a wave of her hand to her admirers and wove her way to his table. He drew her close, his chin flicking toward the man now talking to Jinniver.

‘Who’s that one?’ he asked in a low voice. ‘Do you know him? What’s his story?’ Buttercup’s eyes fell on Snaveling. ‘He seems too fond of the ladies,’ Derufin went on, his attention on the man’s conversation with his new friend. ‘Does he bear watching, Buttercup? Or is he just some harmless drone seeking the attention of any queen?’

Buttercup drew back at Derufin’s sharp words. It was unlike him to judge someone so harshly and especially one he had not yet met. His furrowed brow stayed her own scolding remarks; the look of concern on his face prompting her to tell him what she knew of the man. She took the stable-master aside, away from the prying consideration of the Hobbits at his table. Gestures punctuating phrases, she told him the story of Snaveling’s last visit, giving at last her own opinion of the man. ‘Not the sort we wanted in the Inn when he first arrived,’ she began, her brows raising. ‘Him or his friends. Carries some great secret about him, I know that. Though what it is I haven’t been able to ferret it out. Ruby either, for that matter . . .’

Derufin listened closely to Buttercup’s version of the man, filtering out her conjectures as he gleaned what facts he could. Aman’s name seemed to be mentioned fairly often in the narrative and he wondered if Snaveling’s appearance had brought in the dark clouds that scudded across her features in those momentary lapses of her public face.

‘And anyways, that’s what I know . . .’ ended the Hobbit, looking up to see what Derufin thought. His face was a noncommittal mask as he thanked her for the information. She frowned at his silence. ‘Bring me an ale, luv,’ he said after a long pause, a grin lighting his face then. ‘I’ve gone dry listening to you.’ She smiled and shook her head, his teasing manner restoring the easy balance between them. ‘And take two to the table where Master Snaveling sits, one for him and Mistress Jinniver. My compliments to the lady, say.’

Buttercup hurried away. He watched her as she brought the ales to Jinniver’s table. Derufin nodded to the woman and then to her companion as they looked toward where he stood. Yes . . . he will bear some watching . . . he thought. His eyes slid away from them to where the Innkeeper stood.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman noticed Jinniver, the traveller, sit down beside Snaveling, and noted the sheen around the woman's eyes. Drink loosens tongues, certainly, and awakes curiousities that otherwise would have stayed quiet and humble. Now she sat beside Snaveling...why, her hair, reddish in the warm light, like even to Roa's...

Aman stopped herself immediately this time. Taking a deep breath, then walked swiftly out of the Common Room, watched with interest by a few, but not heeding their glances. Entering the heavy wooden door beside the bar, she pushed it closed behind her, slipping into the calm quiet of her office. Leaning back, she rested her head back against the cool wood of the door and sighed deeply.

The Innkeeper didn't use her bedroom that much really: sleeping was not much more than a guilty snatch in this occupation, and she had gotten used to it over the time she had been at the Green Dragon - it was like having expectant mares or training colts every day. When the Innkeeper merely wanted a few minutes to herself, it was barely worth her while to go up to her bedroom on the second floor, and at the busy times of the day around mealtimes and in the evening, it would be impractical, not to mention rather selfish, to run away to the stables every ten minutes. So her 'office' was a godsend: of course, she did occasionally use it to do work, but the Inn's accounts were usually pretty much non-existant. Besides, it would mean listing everything there: and to list presents where the peeking eyes of Ruby and Buttercup could see them...well, you may as well tell the whole world. It somewhat spoiled the surprise. Most of the time, this room was simply Aman's way of getting away, and she had used it for various purposes since she came here. Taking aside and talking to unruly customers, for example...

Opening her eyes but not lowering her head, Aman glowered underneath her eyelashes at the spot by the fireplace where two soft, slightly battered chairs slouched on the hearth. The fire hadn't yet been lit, but Aman could all too well visualise the scene of those months ago when she had taken aside a spiteful customer after he had deliberately knocked over a dozen red wine bottles, sending them crashing to the stone floor of the cellar. And she had reasoned with him. Firelight playing on noble features, dull black hair like the feathers of an injured raven, melancholy words of a harsh faraway life spilling from moody eyes and flat voice to be illuminated in the room, illuminated in the sight of the Innkeeper...

Crossing the room, she ran her hand across the softened leather of the nearest chair's back contemplatively. Yes, she had talked to Snaveling in here, several times - she had tried to understand him and had found more depth than she maybe would have liked to contemplate. But that was the blessed trouble with him! Frowning, Aman dropped into the chair and crossed her legs as she glared venemously across at the opposite chair where Snaveling had sat. Oh yes, he sat there, he recounted tales the ranger woman would never had wished to listen to, would never, because of her loyalty to Elessar, have wanted to listen to or believe, words of a land Aman knew little of - kings and traitors and the beautiful white tree of Gondor. Roa would not have had a word of it, firm and...and stubborn in her beliefs. Jealously reared up nastily in Aman again. It had been Aman who Snaveling had talked to, not Roa! But...

...but now she came to think of it, Aman realised she maybe had ignored it. The niggling doubt planted it's feet firmly in her mind and determined, with the help of Common Sense, to grow there. She pondered on the thought uneasily. Yes, Snaveling had spoken of Roa - and when he had returned, Aman had been unwilling to see what was plainly in front of her, thinking, hoping that it had been her he had returned for. And maybe...well, maybe that was a little of it: not a vain thought, merely a reasonable one - but also a slightly deflating one. Snaveling had spoken to Aman yes, but he had spoken of Roa. He had spoken to [i]Aman.

"True love has not the words." Where had Aman heard the saying? She couldn't remember, but realised now that yes, it was true. How stupid of her! She stood abruptly, turning and pacing for a few steps on the rug in front of the fire. Yes, Snaveling had spoken to Aman - because he had chosen her as a friend. Nothing more, but certainly nothing less. And that had involved the man of South giving her his trust, something which did not come easily to him. And when he had come back now, she had thrown it back in his face!

"Fool..." Aman murmured softly, throwing her head back again and wincing. Grinning to herself ruefully she gave a small shot of laughter and dropped her face forward into her heavy hands and shook her head as she realised how blind she was. Foolfoolfool...

There was not a second to lose. Crossing the room purposefully, she put a hand on the doorknob meaningfully: she had wasted time now, she had thrown back trust...but she was quite resolved that jealousy, in this ridiculous form, would not block out getting it back now. Let him have his thoughts of the ranger woman: it was not she, but Aman, who was here now.

Taking another deep breath, Aman opened the door and, stepping behind the bar, she pulled a foamy pint with practised speed, then, as an afterthought, she drew a small glass of cider from one of the barrels. As she wove her way through the crowded throng, those who observed her carefully would have noticed that the shadows of before seemed to have inexplicably melted away in the light of the Inn. Approaching Snaveling, she cleared her throat and pushed the drinks across to both Snaveling and Jinniver. Smiling slightly, she crossed behind the man and put a hand on his shoulder as she passed, whispering softly into his ear, "Welcome back, Snaveling," before she moved on through the room.

Aye, let him have his thoughts of her. It is I, not she, who is here now...

[Arry]

Andwise leaned back in his chair with a satisfied sigh. Ginger had come round once more, and he’d let her sweet-talk him into taking some dessert this time. Once done, he’d discretely unbuttoned the last button on his vest and loosened his belt a little. Time for another pipeful to settle it all together, then he and Ferdy would be on their way home. He scooted his chair to the side and tipped it back, resting his feet on an empty bench next to him. ‘We really should come here more often,’ he thought to himself, surveying the hubbub of the Common room. ‘The fare is excellent!’ He sent up a small prayer of thanks wrapped in a smoke ring for the Inn’s Cook. ‘Yes,’ he thought, comfortably patting his stomach, ‘and I’ll bring Mother. She’ll be glad of some female company, rather than her two stodgy menfolk.’

Ferdy sat joking with his friends. They were all a bit tipsy; speaking louder than necessary and each of them feeling himself to be a most clever fellow. Andwise chuckled to himself. Ferdy had apparently enough ale in him to give him a bit of Dwarf courage. As Ginger had passed by with the tray of desserts, he’d given her a bold eye and smiled at her. And despite the ribbing of his cohorts, he’d managed a word or two to her. Ginger had blushed, but held her own at whatever the young fool had said. And, my stars, if it didn’t look like she had given back as good as she got from him. She’d trounced off, red curls bobbing, and then stopped for one moment and turned to give a quick smile and a saucy wink to Ferdy. Andwise grinned and nodded his head at her retreating figure. Ferdy’s pals slapped him heartily on the back, teasing him about his boldness. ‘And about time, too, you boring old trout,’ he heard one of them say to his son. ‘You’ll wind up like old Mr. Baggins . . . dancing at other lads’ weddings and never your own!’

At the word ‘wedding’ Ferdy spluttered into his mug, choking on a mouthful of ale. Andwise came over to him, as his pals successfully whacked him on the back, and tapped the boy’s shoulder. ‘Time for us to be heading home, son. Going to be an early day tomorrow if we’re to get everything done as is needs doing before the handfasting.’ He eyed the other lads meaningfully as well. ‘And you lot . . . I expect to see you at the cottage early as well. That room won’t get done by itself, I reckon. Can’t do the cabinets and mouldings til it is, either; now can I?’

The young Hobbits all groaned at the truth of the old fellow's words. They wobbled up out of their chairs, made sure to pass by Buttercup and say their fond farewells, then arms about each other they managed to make it to the path leading home.