The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Farael]

" It would please me to know how a countryman found his way out here."

"Well Losse, your 'profession' does make me feel a little uncomfortable, specially because it's because of thieves that I find myself in this inn." Answered Farael, "My father is a merchant and I decided to join him after serving some time in the army. I wanted to travel yet my father made sure I was kept out of harm's way. Him and I arranged that I'd join the family business if I was allowed to travel to distant lands. He was trying to get some pipe weed from the hobbits' lands and so I came here to see if I could get a good deal. Some other merchants sent people this way and so we were a little group of men carrying two carts with some goods and a good deal of money. At one point I saw tracks that looked orkish to me and I decided to follow them. They lead me nowhere, but by the time I joined up with my group they had been assaulted by bandits. Not orcs, but humans. The others went back, I pressed forward hoping to find the thieves yet after a week of searching around I decided I had lost their track and came here for a break. Not a really exciting story, but that's why I'm here"

He felt more than 'a little' uncomfortable about Losse. He had always thought thieves were evil, wretched people that had no friends other than their illgained goods and gold. Yet this thief was both friendly and more than just a little charming. "I'm getting hungry again," said he "how about we grab some more food? I have never had such a great meal as today!"

[Nogrod]

Now this was a cracker! Rían had learned to act, to wear many faces, during his life. That skill also included being able to read others’ play, behind their masquarades, when they were playing. But this giant here! He seemed to be as confused as he sounded. Could it be possible, that he had no idea about the other side of his father? No, it just didn’t seem to make any sense. But still, there was not a sign of a cunning liar making his moves. This man was a mystery. Rían remembered the stories of that famous Gollum-creature, and his ordeals.

Well, he had to make his move now. Any move. Grimhorn was staring at him, questioningly. Rían took a long puff from his pipe and leaned forwards, like wishing to address his words to Grimhorn only. The giant saw the idea, and leaned himself a little forwards too.

“It would bee foolish indeed to call a man of your proportions a fool, but I do have to ask, whether you have been raised in a barrel or something? You say you are a beorning, and you surely look like one. But still you kind of let me understand, that you have never heard the stories about the “Owl’s eye”! Or, if you are the son of Grimgor indeed, that you have never been able to see these two as one person. Well, be as it is. My father may have been mistaken – which he rarely was, but anyhow. The “One that runs at dusk” burned my home when I was five years old. We had to run for our lives, my father and me. We ran the whole night. I remember it, even though I was just a kid back then. I’ve had recurring nightmares about it ever so often: burning fire, the shouts, the running, branches hitting the face, slipping into the mud, actually an owl singing in the night, the sounds of the forest at night... And I remember his grin, that I truly remember, even though I saw it only from a distance.”

Rían was about to continue his remembrances, but Ruby interrupted his train of thought, bringing them the pints Grimhorn had ordered. Rían nodded to Ruby, receiving his pint, and waited for Grimhorn to pay for them.

[JennyHallu]

"I'm getting hungry again," said he "how about we grab some more food? I have never had such a great meal as today!"

Losse laughed, gray eyes catching firelight as she tossed her long locks, once again adorned with her new pretty. "Any meal I didn't cook is a great meal, Farael," she said with a chuckle. "I am sorry to hear of your bad fortune, though I am thankful that neither you nor your companions were injured. I suppose I understand your nervousness about me a little better now. I am a very good thief, no doubt about that, not even vanity." She walked toward the table where she'd left her stew. Forgotten, it still sat there on the table. She leaned toward it and sniffed. Still good...but definitely cold. She left it there and grabbed a trencher on one of the tables in the center, heaping it with bits of this and that. She cheerfully fought with a hobbit for the spoon to a large dish of mushrooms and won, adding a large helping to her plate before surrendering it back. Farael cheerfully trailed in her wake, grabbing a platter of his own as he watched her dance through the crowd with eyes alight.

Losse was charming, and she knew it. Her voice was sweet and musical, her eyes laughed only slightly more often than she did -- and her laughter was certainly ringing out over the party tonight. She had almost forgotten the lightness of her purse by the time she sat down, laughing merrily with sheer joy. She kept the conversation light, putting her best foot forward in an effort to show Farael her intent was to gain a friend, talking as she ate, and punctuating her speech with clever sleight-of-hand, her nimble fingers keeping both Farael and anyone who happened to catch a sight of her antics with her coins and bits of fruit.

"Really, I've never stolen a copper from anyone who couldn't afford the loss, I swear it's true." She'd switched from ale to a light and sweet dandelion wine, the yellow liquid sparkling in its glass.

Farael looked at her doubtfully. "I thought you said you earned a living as a thief."

She grinned. "Well, thievery's my career, and it's fun. But I couldn't live with myself if someone suffered too much for my fun. So I've always had something to fall back on. My last winter I spent in a tiny inn in Minas Tirith, really just a tavern. I sang for my supper in the common room, and danced for my board on a street-corner. It's only been in summer that I've really depended on thievery for a while now. Easier to forgive myself for a bad haul when I don't have to sleep in the snow." Her eyes turned serious for a moment, and she decided, helped along by the admittedly mild wine (Why did I get wine? I know I talk too much when I drink wine...) to tell the rest of her story.

"I picked the wrong man to start my season off with. That's when I decided that I'd be better off far from home and hearth. Not that I've spent all that much time having a home and hearth, so it's no great loss!"

[Thinlómien]

Grimhorn payed the pints cursing by himself. The boy must have sensed that I had become so sure about myself! he thought. The time of the peace offer had floated by, and it couldn't be helped.

Grimhorn knew that his father's friends had jokingly called him the "Owl's eye" and "the one that runs at dusk" after a very old country legend of a madman warrior with unchallengable strength. Nonsense folklore, he thought, that's what it is. Still, he couldn't help wondering if the nicknames came from a reason.

And this hermit Sundry! He had believed himself a seer of somekind and most people had thought him mad. Now Grimhorn wondered if he had "seen" old Grimgor Bearhand to be an incarnation or something of "the one that runs at dusk". And taught that nonsense to his son.

Anyway, Rían Sundry was the case now. "I think we're speaking about different "Owl's Eye"s. That was quite common knowledge that the friends of Grimgor Bearhand called him the "Owl's Eye" and "The One That Runs at Dusk". Those names, as you must know, belong to a madman of an old silly legend. So who are you talking about? A mythological warrior madman or Grimgor Bearhand, an honoured warrior? Or are you trying to tell me that they are the same thing?"

Well, you have to rest somewhere, and it may as well be here.
May as might...but I don't like stopping. 'Specially on a night like this. Lovely.
Not when you're this hungry, it isn't. Anyway, there's no need for you to be travelling in the dark. Not like you're running anywhere.
That isn't funny.
I thought so.
Aaaaah...talking to myself...! Stoppit!
An'...? It bothers you this time?
Maybe...no, I guess not.
Not aloud, why should you care? Meanwhile, you're blocking the door.

It was true. Peri was blocking the door, and probably unwisely considering the number of people present likely to need to walk through it at least once that night. If somebody were to shout "fire" just now...think how I'd be trampled! An odd thought, it made her laugh aloud.

Brilliant, that.
M'beginning to think I've heard enough from you tonight.

The first result of Peri's outburst was that almost no one noticed it. Logical, seeing as the inn was full of happy, laughing, talking, dancing people mostly minding their own business. The second result was that her unhealthily pale skin blushed somewhat pinkish, anyway. She could feel it starting at the base of her spine, a rush of hot blood that made the bright room in front of her spin crazily. She stepped carefully sideways through the door, keeping a shoulder against the wall. Deep breaths slowly returned her natural pallor.

Shame...you're lovely when you're terror-stricken.
Oh, well, I'll have to make a point of trying it more often.
W'll don't bother now. Not much at all you can do to to look any better tonight.
Wait...was there a joke in there somewhere?
You look like you've been travelling days through fields and ditches.
Ye-es... Ashamed to be seen with me, now?
Guess not. Should I be?

Peri sank to the floor, gathering the muddied edge of her long...blue? grey? The dress was worn 'til the color was hard to determine, ragged at the hem that just touched the top of her boots. Well, and ragged fairly everywhere else, too. But she was mostly looking at the hem. Resting her head on her knees, she practiced looking like a part of the wall.
Yes...yes, you probably should be ashamed.
H'shhh...just rest. And maybe you can fall asleep a while before anyone notices you. H'shhhhh...

Dreamless dark took her instantly.

[Nogrod]

“If I get your meaning right, you are trying to tell me, that an old silly legend just materialized to burn my home?”, Rían asked, behind his words, dead serious now. “I don’t know what was there between your father and mine, but I know, it was a man who grinned just like you and had the stature like yours, who burnt my home and whom we run away from – and whom my father called with both names: as Grimgor the Bearhand and as the “Owl’s Eye” or “The One That Runs at Dusk”.”

Rían noticed, that the pitch of his voice had climbed up a little too high, and so his voice was breaking. He tried to ease himself, taking a long sip from his pint, trying to sort out his head. What is this all about? After all the years of hide and seek, I’m sitting here in front of a man whose father has been one of the main reasons to my life’s tragedy. And what am I doing? Squeaking like a pre-teen! He had planned this one so many times! But where was his action now?

He leaned back again, trying to appear secure – which he truly wasn’t! His wits seemed to have deserted him totally. What to say, how to continue? Attack or defence, action or reaction? Keep talking or do something?

In the end he opted for some more talk. He needed time now, and if he could make the giant talk, he would have it. He could think.

“Well, you have not done any harm to me, either I to you. Let’s talk this over like sensible human beings. Tell me about your father. Maybe we can work this out together?”

[Firefoot]

“So, do you?” repeated Gróin. Lily hesitated. Perhaps it would not hurt… she did enjoy dancing, after all. Maybe… maybe it would even help, if Marcho did not spot her. Or Posco. At least, she thought bitterly, they would not mistake the Dwarf for some new lad of hers.

“Well… why not?” She smiled slightly and stood. Gróin led her over to the open area which had been cleared for dancing. She was glad that there were several others dancing there, as it meant she would not stand out so much. The lively tune was familiar to her, and she realized that she was actually looking forward to this. “Have you ever danced to hobbits’ music, Gróin?” she asked. He admitted that he had not, and Lily grinned. “Well, then you are in for a treat.” Her happy laugh could almost be heard as completely carefree. Keeping an eye turned to Marcho (who, thankfully, was paying no attention at the moment) and the quiet inn, she now led Gróin out into the dance.

She fell into the rhythm quickly, stepping, whirling, and dipping. For his part, Gróin seemed talented enough, and if the Dwarvish style of dancing was not quite so light as the Hobbits’, he still picked up the song quite well. A fleeting thought passed through her mind: if only I was here just to enjoy myself and meet new people…! But then it escaped her memory like a dream half-remembered at awakening. Why ought she to fret so much over a lad who had apparently forgotten her? And as she threw herself into the dance, she realized that she almost did not care.

[Witch_Queen]

She walked out of the stables, her black hair blowing freely in the wind. It was only a short time ago that she was in Rivendel with what elves remained behind. Fáinu had gone on to the Shire, atleast thats what the note had said. One of the elves told her what happened. Evidently she had a "spell" and almost lost her life because of it. Cree's journey from Rivendel was olong and lonely. Cree could barely remember everything that happened.

Cree was no stranger to suffering. All her life Cree searched for the truth about her father's death and now she knew.

I killed him, no wonder everyone thought I was dangerous. I don't want to believe it anymore. All my life I have wondered if I was indeed a victim. My life has been a lie, I killed the only person that truly ever cared for me.

Cree could hear waht sounded like a crow squawking. She knew imediately who it was. "Avalon!" The departure from the Shire had meant leaving her friend behind. NOw she was back and wasn't leaving for a long time. Cree could hear waht sounded like people laughing and music playing. "A party?" Cree's life had changed but as far as her life at the Green Dragon Cree was always happy to celebrate with everyone else. At the Green Dragon Cree's trouble no longer existed.

Cree's cloak reflected that of a Rivendel elf not of Eryn Lasgalen her home. Cree's cloak would have to do after all she wasn't going back to the land she left behind. Cree walked to the front yard of the Inn. "Avalon should be around here somewhere." Cree figured Fáinu wouldn't be expecting her to be here so soon. If it wasn't for her stubborness she would still be in Rivendel couped up in bed. She was fine now. She had suprised everyone when she "woke up" and almost jumped out of bed. The elves that took care of her had told her to go back to bed, that she needed her rest. But she wasn't going to waste time when she had to get back to "her home".

Cree walked around the party looking to see if she might spot the white crow. "Maybe if I found Aman she might know where Avalon is." Not seeing any sign of either Avalon or Aman, Cree went inside the inn searching for familar faces.

[Thinlómien]

I can't believe this! That lad is pulling my leg! But though he was no reader of minds, Grimhorn could see that Rían was dead serious. He wasn't playing, this time.

My father, Grimhorn thought. He was astonished to find out how much it hurt after all these years. All these years of secretly knowing that everything wasn't like it seemed to be, he reminded himself. At some level he had known that there was something wrong with his father.

Then his mood changed. Why do I accept all the lad says as truth? His father was a big liar, so isn't he quite probably a liar as well? But again, there was too much pain in his voice. He might have been mistaken for the man. Seen what his father had wanted him to see. It was a frail hope, but Grimhorn clinged to it.

Then he came back to his senses. That wasn't probable, so he shouldn't use time in that idle dreaming. Maybe he could ask Rían, if he was sure it was Grimgor Bearhand he had seen. But it wasn't the most important thing. The most important thing was that there had been hostility between Hermit Sundry and Grimgor Bearhand. What and why was it, was the matter. I knew my father well enough. He wouldn't have burned a man's house without a reason. I wonder what reason did Hermit Sundry provide him...

Grimhorn would have liked to talk this over with someone, but Rían really wasn't the ideal guy. There were too much personal feelings tangled to this matter. If there was someone neutral, or someone on the same side with him, who could solve this and talk the matter over.

Then he realised how childishly he was thinking. There wasn't anyone else. It was Rían Sundry who he would solve this matter with, no one else. They needed each other's help to find out the truth. Neither could do it alone. He had to accept that he needed Rían's help. And he needed to accept that his father did what he did and it couldn't be changed anymore.

"Now you make sense, master Rían. However painful it is, we need to talk. You say let's begin with my father, and I agree it's a good idea. Then we could move on to yours and see what there was between them and what was this "Owl's Eye"-thing of your father's."

Grimhorn took a big gulp of beer and asked: "What would you like to know about the man your father called "The One That Runs at Dusk"?"