The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling gazed at Tobias in wonderment, but not surprise, for he had come to expect the unexpected from his small friend. Still, the gift of a house to call his own was beyond his wildest imaginings. He fell silent before the gift, not knowing what to say. But in that moment there arose in his mind’s eye once more the image of his hunting lodge in its secluded valley. All his life he had sought this place, looking for a way to retire from the world and cut himself off from all human contact. That had always been his greatest wish and most fervent desire, but somehow, the idea of neat little home in the middle of the busy, populated land of the Halflings did not seem quite so bad… Even as he thought this, there was a rustle in the leaves about his lodge as of a great wind blowing through the valley. A storm of dust and dead leaves was blown about the scene, obscuring the lodge and the patio, the valley and the distant hills that gave their shadowy protection. Snaveling closes his eyes the better to see the home that he had carried in his imagination all the long years of his wanderings – and to bid it farewell.

When he opened his eyes again they were clear and happy. “Tell me,” he said through the thickness of his throat, “how many rooms does that house have?”

Toby looked at him and twitched his nose like a curious rat. “Five,” he replied. “Why?”

Snaveling smiled. “It’s perfect. I cannot thank you enough my friend, so I shall not try.” He sighed deeply and fought back the prickle that he felt at the corner of his eyes. “I have spent my life leaving one place for another, but never before has departing brought such a sadness. It is as though I would weep for joy – I am saddened to leave, but it gladdens my very heart that I have cause for such sorrow.” Toby smiled at him and bit back his own tears. In silence, Snaveling knelt to the floor and hugged the elderly hobbit to his chest. He held him like that for a long moment before pulling away. A sudden impulse came to him, and acting upon it without thinking he took the small amulet from about his neck and handed it to his friend. “Take this,” he said, thrusting it into Toby’s hand. “It is the only truly precious object that I possess. I gather that it is worth quite a bit of money. I can never repay your kindness and friendship, but I can replace the money that I…borrowed from you, and it should go some way to deferring the costs of that house.”

Toby tried to hand the amulet back. “No, no; I cannot accept this. It is the only thing you have of your home land!”

“This is my home,” the Man of the South replied. “Keep it, in token of that, and as my oath that I shall return for it someday.”

From behind him, he heard a small voice calling out his name. Turning, he saw young Pimpernel at the door of the Inn. “Mister Snaveling, sir,” he said breathlessly as he rushed forward, “begging your pardon, sir, but I’ve been sent by the Ranger Woman Roa. She says she’s found a horse for you sir, but that it will take time to saddle it. She’s eager to leave as soon as can be, so she’s bid me tell you to meet her at the bridge as soon as you can!”

Snaveling looked at Toby once more, and then across the room at Aman. The Innkeeper smiled at him and Snaveling bowed to her in response. He swept his eyes across the Common Room and saw the signs of the recent labour, some small portion of it his, that had gone into making this place. “Run back lad and tell Roa that I am on my way. I am ready to leave.” Pimpernel ducked his head and flew out the door.

Snaveling bent and picked up his pack, then strode from the room without looking back. He crossed the yard quickly, but when he got to the gate he paused for a moment, his hand on the gatepost, and then turned to look back. The Green Dragon Inn was lovely. It’s freshly carved and fitted timbers glowed with the warmth of the place and from the little chimneys all about its gables and eaves there poured the smoke of its happy denizens. Through the windows he could hear the sounds of the people inside as they carried on their conversations. But a wind came up from the south, stirring his cloak and beckoning him away. Turning once more he walked down the Road and soon left the Inn behind him.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman's eyes followed Snaveling out of the door, but as it began to close, she looked away quickly, fumblinh beneath the bar. She gave a small, short gasp a exactly the same moment that the door shut, and closed her eyes, letting the breath out quickly.

It would be easier if you had a heart of stone, Amanaduial. Taking in every waif and stray... Kneeling behind the bar, her fingers searched between the glasses for some imaginary item, busying herself with nothingness to cover her upset. Straightening quickly, she smoothed her dress in a sharp movement, then glanced around to see where Ruby was. Catching the hobbit's eye, she signalled towards the bar. Something about her expression must have made the hobbit realise the Innkeeper's seriousness, and she nodded before scurrying over to Buttercup to ask her to cover the floor while she dealt with the bar.

Not casting another look back, Aman forced herself to walk only at a brisk pace out of the busy, bustling room and into the quiet solitude of her study. As she shut the door behind her, muffling the sounds of the Inn to a steady, quiet murmur, she leant back against it, dropping her head back and closing her eyes. Beren, Lúrëaelda, and now Snaveling... Too soft, Aman, too quick to love those who will only leave...and everyone leaves...

A sudden idea seized the Innkeeper and her eyes snapped open. Taking only a split second to think about it, Aman made up her mind and spun around, walking very quickly from the room and, reaching the stairs, she took them two at a time but moving quietly, so those who did not look up did not notice anything curious - although of course she must have been a rather desperate sight. She didn't care much though, not now - she had to get up as quickly as possible, before it was too late. Reaching the attic stairs, she sped up them, her feet sure on the rungs of the ladder, and it was just as well at the speed she was going. Darting to the window, she pushed it open and swung out quickly. Using the same method as before, but at about twice the speed, the Innkeeper was on the roof in less than a minute.

Steadying herself, her arms out to the sides, Aman rose slowly into a standing position. She was able to see for miles and miles all around, but her startling green eyes were fixed only in one direction, on one figure. A man, clad in fine black clothes, his dark hair falling over his shoulders, lean body held straight. Even as she watched, the sunlight seemed to glint off his amulet chain - or was that only her imagination? No matter - she knew the figure easily from his stance and clothes.

"Snaveling!"

Her voice rang out in that direction. The man didn't pause, maybe not hearing, so Aman called again. "Snaveling!"

He paused, slowing to a halt, then swivelled around the look...upwards. She grinned, glad he had guessed. Holding her hair back with one arm, she held the other hand high and steady.

"Farewell, man of the South! I hope that we shall meet again, whether on this path or that which comes after this life. Farewell, Snaveling!"

The man contemplated Aman steadily, and at this distance, even Aman's sharp eyes could not pick out his expression. Then he held a hand high back at her, and called something back, more quietly than she had, but with a voice dignified and warm, although the words were whipped away. Then, as Aman bowed carefully to him, an overdone gesture, he returned it ironically, then after a second, he turned and continued on his way, his head held high. Aman breathed deeply in the high air, watching his back, her eyes shaded against the sun. Shivering a little, she looked up at the sky and saw the forebodingly cloudy sky. It would not be an hour before the rain came, and what rain it would be to look at those clouds. Taking a last glance after Snaveling, Aman fixed this last glimpse in her memory, then descended from her high perch, her lookout, back to the Common Room. Straightening her hair, her dress and her head, Aman of The Green Dragon returned to her duties.

[symestreem]

Symestreem returned with her cloak. As she opened the door, the old fear hit her.
People. They were everywhere. The room was full of them.

Her legs seized control of her and she turned, stumbling as she ran. The wet cloak tripped her up and she fell on her face. Fire lanced through her forehead, and blood from a gash dripped into her eye. She picked herself up and ran.

I have to get away. I have to get away. Must get away. She felt hunted like she had so many times before. The cloak tripped her up again, and she dropped it. She was still running, blinded by her fear. Her legs burned, and her breath rattled in her chest. She had to keep running. Away, always away.

She tripped over a tree root and fell again. The air was knocked out of her like someone had punched her with a giant fist. The blood on her face mixed with dirt to make a grotesque mud that stung like strong brandy. She rubbed her eyes clear and looked around. No one was after her. At least for now... Could she get far enough away by nightfall? Could she ever get far enough away?

She got up and kept running, ignoring the stitch in her side and the pain in her leg.