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.

[Mad Baggins]

Mira started and looked up. Dear me, I've dozed off! she thought, rubbing her eyes. She looked over at Ferran and saw her nodding off as well. My, these late nights are getting to all of us, it seems, she mused. Lily noticed her startled look at grinned mirthfully. Mira winked at Lily and yawned, stretching. She got up, going over to the bar for some tea. When she got back, Lily and Willow were chatting. Mira sat down and took a sip of tea.

"Well, Lily, Willow, what were you two talking about while Ferran and I took our little nap?" she asked, smiling. She drank some tea and felt the smooth, hot liquid course down her throat. It warmed her stomach and woke her up even more. Taking a look out the window, Mira saw the rainstorm had subsided and the sun was peeking out through a break in the clouds.

[Eowyn Skywalker]

Willow smiled at Mira, who had awoken. The late nights had been catching up to them, she thought with a yawn, happy to have something to take her mind off of the painful memories that she had forced herself to recall when speaking with Lily. Lily was sipping on her tea, and they had been talking quietly, about really nothing much, just enough to keep her mind off of the past. "I'm sorry, Mira," Willow said, with an appology in her voice. "Did we wake you?"

"Oh no," Mira answered, going to get herself some tea, fitting for them, as the day was chilly. Listening, Willow became aware that the rain had paused, with a break in the clouds, seemingly. It would be good to see the sun again, perhaps, if it stayed with the pause in the cloudburst. And besides, Willow had noticed that the rain seemed to rather bother Lily, though Willow didn't mind it, even though it had been raining when her parents had died...

Willow shook her head hard, getting the sudden thoughts from her mind. Fear and shadows and darkness... they always seemed to jump up to haunt her at the worst moments, causing her to act different, and startle anyone who could ever be a friend...

In fact, she was rather startled to find that she had slept peacefully that last night, with the fair taste of sunlight on her face wakening her, and not the old nightmares, and fears. They were all too often, she thought, stiffling a cough with her hand, and feeling up the pretense that nothing was wrong.

"Well, Lily, Willow, what were you two talking about while Ferran and I took our little nap?" asked Mira, smiling, and sipping her tea.

"We weren't really talkng about anything," Willow answered. "How was your nap?"

She regretted the words the moment that they had came out of her mouth, the mere stupidity of them hitting her hard. Willow sighed, and rested her head in her hands. "I'm sorry, Mira," she said softly. "I guess I'm just not thinking today."

Oh well, at least the rain had stopped for the time. Outside, there was a silence, and that bothered Willow nearly as much as the steady rainfall.

[Firefoot]

Lily sighed with relief as soon as the sun came out and the rain stopped, for a time anyway. It put her in a much better mood. I really should start trying to change that. The weather shouldn't have so much affect on my mood, she thought. Mira awoke, and got herself a cup of tea. Everybody dozing off was starting to make Lily even more tired. She wasn't very accustomed to such late nights.

Mira returned with her tea and asked what they had been talking about. Lily followed Willow's lead and said nothing of what most of their conversation had really been about. Lily was still thinking about it. Suddenly something Willow had said came back to her. I arrived the day of the party, and didn't know anything about the fire until then.

"Earlier you said something about a fire. Is that what the party was about? I was wondering this morning, but I completely forgot about it," said Lily. She remembered the new-painted sign outside, and it made sense now. "What happened?"

[nynnd1]

Bredan awoke, his eyes bleary and head in pain, to much ale to early in the morning, but then he remembered why he had started to drink in the first place, he remembered well talking to Aman, and then Snaveling interrupting and spoiling the moment. He remembered the confrontation that he had with Snaveling, the man seemed a lot taller and dignified to Bredan then he had before, but then again he couldn’t see straight, but that didn’t matter, he could have just hit him, but where would that get him, in the Shire and with Lady Aman, he could tell that she was requesting him to back off, so back off he did, to his room to lay down and sleep it off.

Bredan swung his legs round to the side of his bed, his body felt slightly numb. He held his head in his hands, thinking of his journey from Gondor, till he got attacked and robbed, all he had left was his sword and sheath, his clothes and the ring hung from the chain that Iolet had given when he left Gondor, there was only one way they would get that, and that was if Bredan was dead, which he wasn’t, although he felt it right now. Bredan felt the ring hanging from his neck, he took it out and looked at it, remembering Iolet’s dark beautiful eyes, set in her beautiful face, he wiped the tear from his eye. He had argued so much when she told him that her husband had found out about them, she cast him away to save him, this he only really understood on the long journey from Gondor to the Shire, and although he loved her, Iolet’s heart belong to her husband, it would never be Bredan’s.

Bredan looked out the window, his eyes were hurt by the beams of sunshine that shot straight to his eyes, he looked away, slowly getting up he undressed and went to get washed and clean. Coming back to the window after his wash and clean he felt a lot better and happier, and cleaner about himself, coming to terms with his trouble and his heart just mending, but the view from the window, the countryside of the Shire rolling on for what seemed for ever, with the odd structure breaking the landscape and casting shadows from the sun, the view was so different to that of Minas Tirith, it reminded him of Lady Aman. His mind went back again to the morning, during his drinking binge, he had a lot to apologise for, and an apology would probably have to go to Snaveling, if he got an apology from Snaveling first, for interrupting his conversation with Lady Aman, and if Bredan could know more of this Snaveling then perhaps his mind would be made up whether to like him or not.

Walking into the Inn Bredan felt some stares coming his way, strolling up to the bar he saw the young Hobbit lass, the one that had served him during the morning, he strolled up to her and leant on the bar to make the comment personal to her.

“Hello, I am Bredan of Gondor,” he said with an apologetic look on his face. “I just wanted to apologise for my attitude and behaviour this morning, I had no right to be so impolite, I promise it will never happen again and hope you will receive my sincere apology” he shot a smile to her at the end of the sentence.

“Your apology is accepted, Bredan of Gondor.”

“Do you know where I may find Lady Aman, I wish to have words with her.” Bredan asked extremely politely.

“I believe she has just popped out the back she will be back in a moment.” Replied the Hobbit lass, equally politely.

“Will you tell her that I would like to see her in my room, and may I have a Tea to take there please.” Bredan asked

“Certainly” the Hobbit said.

Bredan waited for his tea, thanked the Hobbit lass again and retired to his room, to wait for Aman and work out what he would say to apologise to her.

[Alaksoron]

A tall, cloaked figure enters the inn. His black cowl shadows much of his face, but his eyes are clearly visible as they dart back and forth across the inn. He does not appear to see what he is searching for and murmurs something unintelligible under his breath.

Silently he takes a seat in the corner, lights a pipe, and orders a pint in a raspy, grating whisper. He appears to wait, most patiently, and his seldom movements are executed with a certain wolfish grace, like a coiled viper about to strike.

[Kitanna]

Peony saw the man come into the inn. He looked mysterious and he took a seat in the corner. She rose from her own seat and headed over.

"Hello there," She smiled reaching out one hand for a handshake and using the other to wipe a strand of red hair out of her, "May I sit with you?"

[Eowyn Skywalker]

Lily had asked a question, something about the fire. Willow sighed, she was too tired to really think straight, the overly late nights had caught up with her. Slowly she got her bearings straight, and sipped at her tea. "I really don't know what happened," she answered, stirring her tea throughtfully. "I wasn't here, though I was in Hobbitton while they were rebuilding. So, I'm afraid I cannot answer that."

The girl sighed, and looked around. The rain had stopped, that much was sure, at the sun had peeked out from beneath the dark, and heavy clouds, though they still hovered at the edge of the horizon, threatening, and looming, a darkness ready to strike. It bothered her in a manner, though Willow was quite happy that the rain had receeded for the time.

She sat back from looking out of the Inn, and sighed. She was tired of being cooped up, though she would never let it show, not when she was as tired as she was, and yawned. For a moment, her eyelids threatened to fall shut on her, and Willow wouldn't've minded. No, not minded, but she was in an Inn, during mid afternoon. It wouldn't look good for her to be a-sleeping the day away.

Willow forced herself to smile through a yawn. "Yes, the fire was what the party was about, though," she answered to the earlier question. "T'was indeed."

She smiled, and quirked her head, as her sleepiness continued to work it's way up on her.

[Arwen Eruantale]

The maid seemed nice enough, obviously of Elven descent. Her grey eyes matched the still billowing sky, but held a kind earnestness that it did not. A few almost golden strands of her long hair slipped over her shoulder as she bent her head to her ale.

Niara was still ashamed that she had been caught unawares, and struggled to let it go...The maid new nothing of this internal struggle. And Niara answered softly, still praying for her long dormant smile to waken. "I--"

A tall figure, bathed and hidden in a cloak so black it could hide him from even the moon herself, swept across the room-- and into the corner directly across from her. His piercing eyes had met hers for a split second as he passed..

Regardless of this distraction, she continued without pause, her eyes never leaving the lady before her long enough to warrant disinterest. "I know not how long I shall stay." She said. "I may leave tonight... But for the moment, any traveling I might do is purposeless."

The Man in the corner sat, now with a pipe. Much as she had always imagined the great King Elessar had sat once, as a Ranger. She watched the server bring him an ale. His eyes were all that was visible from the black inside his cloak. Cold. Yet he was alone, much like herself.

But for the company of the lady with her, Niara would at once have retired into the shadowy comfort of her own cloak and hood. But she could not. She missed such times as she had had long ago. Parties around fires with cloaked figures....Mugs of ale...pipes and smoke...stars....

She pushed back a dark strand of hair, it had strayed across her forehead and caught itself on an eyelash. She had always lamented that they were so long, and almost unnaturally dark, they framed her blue eyes almost as if she had painted them like the evil men of an age past.

She took a sip of ale and, pulling her cloak closer around her, returned her attention to the lady --and The Man-- across from her...

[Sirithheruwen]

Twylight stepped tentatively into the Green Dragon Inn. Even though it was none too bright outside, she still had to blink several times to get her eyes adjusted to the smoky interior of the inn. She was very much alike to the elves in appearance: She had a tall, slim frame and long light-colored hair. Her eyes were speckled gray set in a fair, unblemished face. But there was one difference. The inner light that seemed to shine forth from within the skin of those of the fair Elven race was missing.

She eyed the many people sitting around, laughing, conversing, and generally having a good time. No one noticed her entrance, and for that she was happy. Twylight had never welcomed the attentions of others; instead she loved more silence and peace and solitude.

Taking a seat by the door, she wrapped herself tightly in her midnight-blue cloak, as if to evade the eyes of everyone in the inn. With a jolt, she realized that the eyes of a man across the room were on her. He was wrapped in a black cloak, slightly weatherstained at the bottom. It seemed as if he were talking to the red-haired woman standing next to him, but his eyes were upon Twylight. She shivered and turned away.

[Firefoot]

"Oh. Okay," Lily said. A fire. She knew firsthand the terror of fire, and was glad she hadn't been there to witness it. In fact if Willow hadn't mentioned it, she never would have known. She had hoped Willow would have some more information for her, but she didn't push it. Willow looked awfully tired, almost ready to doze off again right where she sat. Mira, too, seemed only seconds away from dropping off. Lily stifled a yawn. Actually, a nap didn't sound so bad right now... If I don't do something now, I'll probably be the one to fall asleep. She hardly thought falling asleep in the middle of the Common Room would be the best idea in the world. Lily took another sip of tea, even though she figured it would just make her more tired.

She sat back in her chair lazily, surveying the other patrons of the inn. Mostly they were chatting in groups of two's and three's, but there were a few who seemed happy to be sitting by themselves. The whole general mood of the Inn was much more quieter than it had been yesterday, as if everyone else was also still recovering from the party last night.

Lily leaned forward again toward the table, not even bothering to hide her yawn this time.

"I'm awfully tired," Lily said. "And you look it, too. I'm thinking we're not going to be getting much in the way of intelligent conversation right now. What do you think? Perhaps a walk would be nice, as long as the clouds have cleared?"

[Lhundulinwen]

Lalanie knew she shouldn't stop at the inn; she had so much farther to go, but it had been many weeks since a good pint... Pushing her way through the door, she was surprised that no one even looked up; the Shire really was absorbed in its self, she thought with a smile. Most everywhere else, especially in Bree, her green cloak and honey eyes usually attracted unwanted attention. Her boots made a small clicking noise against the floor, but it seemed rather loud in the subdued inn.

Sitting down in a corner booth, Lalanie kept her hood up and her clock on. She ordered a pint, and eyed the small groups around her. No one paid attention to the dusty women in the corner, which was perfectly fine with her. Putting her feet up, sipping her pint, Lalanie decided that maybe it was time to spend a little bit of time in the Shire.

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal walked into the Inn. She had been away for a while, but not for reasons anyone but possibly Adu would understand.

Angry was no where to be found. All of his belongings still remained at his residence, but not him. If he had left on his own, his favorite pipe would be missing but it was still exactly where he had left it. She had been searching and living alone once more. She had finally given up.

She realized now that a human and a hobbit would never have the same point of view. They would never be together, never have children, and never marry. It was only a silly, worthless dream of hers.

She knew that Hama was still away, heading towards Rohan to take over her father's position as General. He would be a better general then Dorian was. Yet, it didn't explain Adu. She thought that she would be here, but there just wasn't any sign of her.

The gloominess of the now breaking storm had caught up with her heart. She just couldn't come out of it and she wasn't sure she wanted to.

All of her dreams, all of her happy thoughts, everything that had happened since the death of her father had all gone away. Her hopes and dreams of starting a family and marry a man that she loved was out the window. But she would not leave the Shire. She would maintain Angry Brandybuck's house, but she would not stay once he returned. She would move on in that aspect.

She wondered if the Shire people would allow her to build a home of her own. She pondered the thought as she sat down at one of the tables.

[Alaksoron]

The stranger gulped down the last of his ale and set down the mug with a heavy thud. He raised his head slowly to regard the red-headed hobbit standing over him. Belatedly he said "Certainly. Be my guest. I do not mind at all. Can I buy you a drink? I don't believe I caught your nam-......."

His attention was diverted by a new arrival to the inn. Not bothering to finish his question he took a long drawl at his pipe and fell once again to mutterings. No one else seemed to notice the weather-cloaked Elf-like apparition that so raptly held his attention.

[Alaksoron]

So. At least two others than the red-headed woman standing by his table (she still had not taken her seat) had noticed him. The Elven woman (he assumed she was Elven, though the light of the Valar had left her face) had immediately turned away, wrapping herself in a midnight blue cloak that had undoubtedly cost too much to be used for traveling long distances. His stare had that effect on many people, unfortunately. He was aware that his eyes were cold, a result of the violent life he had led.

The dark-headed woman with long lashes, however, was different. She met his lingering stare with an equally intent one of her own. "Easterling?" he wondered.

He turned to the red-haired woman still tarrying at the corner of the table. "Are you going to stand there forever? You asked to sit here. Sit." Without waiting to ask her he ordered two mugs of ale.

[Mad Baggins]

Through the frowziness of her sleepy state, Mira heard someone (it sounded like Lily) say something about going for a walk. With a great effort, she roused herself and said sleepily, "Walk? That'd be good right now. Just thing to wake me up." After rubbing her eyes and yawning, she opened them to see Lily looking at Willow, waiting for her response.

"Pardon me...going for a drink," Mira mumbled, still half-asleep. She got up and walked slowly to the bar. Once there, she asked for a cup of coffee. "Strong coffee, please," she added. She was served a steaming black cup, and she drank it in a few gulps. It flowed down her throat, a scalding, wonderfully energizing liquid that woke her up almost instantly.

Mira ambled back to the table where the others sat and plopped down in her seat. Looking expectantly at Willow, she said, "Well? Are you coming?"

[Kitanna]

Peony slid into the chair across from the man. "Sorry, I was waiting for you to finish your thought. You ended your sentence so aruptly. Is everything all right?"

Peony smiled and thanked the hobbit lass who brought the ale for them, "Thank you for the ale sir, but I do not even know your name." She smiled to him and took a small sip out of her mug. Peony waited for him to answer.

[Alaksoron]

"I am a friend. For now you can call me Jean. True, that is not my name, but you could hardly expect me to give my name to someone I just met in a tavern on foreign ground. And I suppose it is useless for me to ask you your name?"

The stranger, or Jean as we should call him now, seemed to be feeling more comfortable now, or maybe it was the ale, but he tossed back his hood. His complexion was dark, with the front of his head shaved and a single long braid in the back as thick as a child's wrist falling down his back past his shoulders and disappearing down his cloak.

He glanced briefly in the direction of the blue-cloaked Elf-woman while putting out his pipe with his thumb before turning to face his companion.

[Kitanna]

Jean drew back his hood, revealing a long braid down his back. "Useless to ask my name? Never! I give out my name because it makes people seem like friends instead of strangers." She smiled and took another sip of ale. "My name is Peony Minyatur."

Jean took his pipe away from his mouth for a moment and took a sip of his ale. "And may I ask where you are from Mr. Jean?"

[Bombadil]

Iadarion smiled as he read the sign for The Green Dragon. He had heard much of this merry place. It would be a perfect destination to end his day after travelling through the rain during most of it.

He had been on an errand to the Old Forest, from his current home in Eryn Lasgalen - and decided to explore the lands of the Shire before his return. As he stepped in, the few who noticed his odd appearance were thrown offguard by his graceful movements that modelled the quiet stream flowing through the endless forest. But this image was quickly shattered as Iardarion jumped in the air to click his heels and give a cheer for the Shire. Some gave the green-cloaked, yellow-booted creature disapproving looks, while others laughed and applauded his joy.

"Hey dol, to all!" he yelled and at last sat down in an empty booth. He drew the long blonde hair from his face, and glanced around the Inn with a smirk on his face - delightfully smoking the Old Toby pipeweed he had purchased on his way up from the South. He thought for a moment of buying a pint for all, but decided not to possibly come off as intrusive to the halflings around him. Folk in these parts weren't as accepting of such queer behavior.

[Sirithheruwen]

Twylight could still feel the man's gaze burning at her back now and again, like the sun racing in and out of the clouds in the outside world. She was beginning to regret turning away so hastily. He hadn't meant her any harm, as far as she knew of anyways. What if he had also noticed her shudder? Her fearful glance? But her secret...that was too dangerous. If the news of her secret spread, she could fall into the wrong hands and she could do nothing about it.

She sighed, summoned up all of her courage, preparing herself to turn around and meet the man's eyes. Just as she was about to turn around, a cheerful female voice spoke out beside her. It was a hobbit lady, one of the serving maids.

"Is there anything I can get you m'am?"

Twylight stared blankly. Finally, as the maid was beginning to look a little nervous, she held up a slender finger, motioning for the hobbit to wait one moment. Rummaging in a little bundle at her side, Twylight came out with a scrap of parchment and an odd rock that had not before been seen in the Shire. Putting rock to paper, she wrote:

My name is Tw- she paused, and abruptly crossed it out. She tried again:

I would like to arrange a room here at the Green Dragon. Do not worry, I can still hear you. My throat...it hurts. I cannot speak at the moment.

The maid nodded, still looking a little unsure. But all the same, between writing and speaking, they got something worked out and Twylight secured her room. She just hoped that no one else had noticed her odd behavior. With another rubbing of the rock, she finished off the last bit of parchment with this closing:

Thank you very much. I'll motion to you when I am ready to go. Do me a favour, miss, and don't tell anyone about this okay? Thank you.

[Alaksoron]

"Well. Peony. Where am I from? I have spent the last twelve years in Rohan, but I was born in Rivendell. And where are you from? Are you native to here?"

'Jean' finishes his second ale but does not bother to order another. Gradually, too slowly to be noticeable, the raspiness had worked its way out of his voice till only a slight grate remained. He begins to drum his fingers on the table.

[Feared Half-Elf]

Elkamia noticed Niara glance at the cloaked man in the corner, but chose not to react. Sometimes that was best, as experience had taught her long ago. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and thought for a moment.

"I know what you mean." She replied. "I was travelling aimlessly for a while. I've developed a liking for the road after all that business with the Ring. But I was heading back to Mirkwood, and stayed some time at Minas Tirith on my way back. I'm fairly good friends with Elessar, in a way. I turned up here two weeks ago, but the Inn caught fire that night and I've been here since then, helping to rebuild it. I'm thinking of moving on soon, I get bored staying in one place for too long, unless I'm in Minas Tirith. I could never get bored of that place." She sighed, remembering the white walls when they were almost destroyed by orcs in that huge battle, and took another sip of her ale.

[Bombadil]

Iadarion had noticed a piece of parchment slowly drop to the ground beside him. He picked it up and it read:

I would like to arrange a room here at the Green Dragon. Do not worry, I can still hear you. My throat...it hurts. I cannot speak at the moment.


Thank you very much. I'll motion to you when I am ready to go. Do me a favour, miss, and don't tell anyone about this okay? Thank you.

He became very interested in this mysterious parchment, and looked to the table where it had dropped from- to see a fair lady, who he thought to be an elf, sitting quietly and looking very nervous.

Although Iadarion was worried about his intrusiveness before, he couldn't resist but to sit down with this lady and buy her a pint.

"Here you go lass." He said, not sure whether her look of surprise was of good or bad nature. "Maybe this will help your throat. The name's Iadarion, you?"

[Kitanna]

Peony raised an eyebrow to Jean. Did she really look so small to be taken for a Hobbit? "A native of here? No, I was born and raised in Minas Tirith."

Jean was drumming his fingers on the table and she found it quite annoying, but she didn't want to seem rude so she tried to ignore it. "You say you spent time in Rohan? I love it there, very beautiful country."

[Lhundulinwen]

Lalanie knew that she was going to get drunk if she didn’t stop on this pint, and she’d feel it the next morning. She may be able to stay in the Shire for a little while, but no longer than a week or two, or she wouldn’t have time to make it back to Rivendell, and from there winding through small villages and towns back to Gondor.

She let the hood fall back. Her brown hair looked odd, she knew, with her pointy ears and hazel eyes on such a medium height, slightly stocky, frame. Her ancestry was, politely put, slightly odd. Only a drop of elven blood wound through her veins, from somewhere in the very distant past, somewhere in the forgotten elderdays, but she had inherited the trademark ears. She never met her parents, but that had never bothered her. Why should it? She thought to herself. Her father had died in battle as knight of Gondor, shortly after her mother had died giving birth to her in Rivendell. Her first, most found years, were spent at Rivendell. She was taught with the other boys since there were few girls her own age at that time there. She had learned sword play and how to use a bow and arrow. Of course, she was forced to learn how to sew, and the ‘womanly arts’ too. She was happy at Rivendell, even if she did have to sew.

But when she was about twelve, her father’s family had decided that she shouldn’t be raised in “the wilderness,” so they took her to Gondor. But they weren’t exactly the kind of people who liked children. Whatever the reason, she was sent to The House of Healing to be raised there. She hated it. Lalanie was never the gentle type; but working there she learned some gentleness. But soon she missed her friends and being able to just run. Or maybe it was the ugly dresses; then again, it was probably the simple reason that she felt like she couldn't be herself.

Lalanie sighed. She picked up her small satchel and her green dusty cloak and went to get a room for the night, ignoring any eyes that happened to follow her. No one moved to follow, but just in case, Lalanie fingered her curved blade under the cloak.

[Nurumaiel]

"How fortunate can a poor hobbit get? It stops raining when we reach the Inn! Couldn't it have been sunny while we were walking and then started raining when we were indoors?"

"You're always complaining. At least we got here."

The voices could be heard from outside, and as the door swung open four wet hobbits were revealed. Two of them stopped just outside to wring the waters out of their cloaks outside the Inn; one wrung the rain from his cloak inside the doorway, glaring defiantly about him; and the fourth walked innocently in without wringing his cloak at all, his round face brightening at the sight of the warm drinks. The first two stepped inside, frowning in disgust at the third. Those first two looked almost exactly alike in features, but were almost opposites after that. Both had brown curls, but one had neatly combed his while the other had left his in tangles. Their faces were similiar... jolly and cheerful, but one had round, red cheeks while the other's cheeks were thinner (though not overly thin; he was a hobbit). Another distinction was that the second's face bore a thoughtful, shy expression while the first looked open and entirely sociable. They were dressed very nicely in bright colors, but one had kept his clothes in very neat condition while the other's outfit was splattered with mud and torn in several places. Their twinkling blue eyes, however, did not differ in the least.

The third hobbit had a grouchy expression on his rather handsome face. He seemed older than the other two, at least by a little. Brown hair of a dirty color fell over his face and he smoothed it back in an annoyed fashion. His eyes were also brown and he gazed about him in a hawk-like fashion. He seemed to come from a family of considerable wealth, judging by the richness of his clothing. The clothes were dirty with mud and rain, however. It seemed to aggravate him, for whenever he looked down at himself he frowned. His nose was long and sharp, his eyes narrow and also sharp. He was rather tall for a hobbit, and he had an altogether frightening air about him.

The fourth hobbit, now sitting contentedly nearly the fireplace with a mug of beer in his hand, warming his toes, was very odd to look at. His hair was a very light brown, so light it was almost gold, and his blue eyes were vacant and expressionless. Nay, that would not do. It was not as if he were a half-wit, but there was something entirely innocent about him. He radiated gentleness and kindness, and the look on his face clearly told he expected everyone to do the same. He smiled brightly whenever he saw anyone looking at him, and a very lovely smile it was. His features were almost feminine. His hair was longer than the other hobbits, his face pale and pretty with a little pink in the cheeks. How often his features had gained laughter from the other hobbit lads. He seemed younger than his companions, perhaps just barely out of his tweens. His innocence and simplicity were attractive and strange.

"Hello, everybody!" cried one of the hobbits in a loud voice. Many eyes turned towards them. It was the first hobbit, the sociable-looking hobbit who had groomed himself so well. The second hobbit, the shy and mud-splattered hobbit, blushed deeply and murmured softly, "Please, Blanco, don't be so noisy. There are people here."

"I know." The first hobbit, called Blanco, turned a rather surprised face to the second. "If there weren't people here, Posco, why would I say hello to them? It doesn't make sense."

The other hobbit shifted uncomfortably under the gaze of the many beings. "Yes, I know, Blanco, but they aren't all hobbits." His eyes widened considerably and he dropped his voice even lower, saying in a barely audible voice, "Big Folk."

"I like Big Folk," said Blanco in the same loud voice. "I'm going to make friends with them all, just you wait and see."

"You two are absolutel fools," said the grouchy looking hobbit. "If you had any sense you'd go get yourselves a drink and sit by Bingo. Go now." He scowled fiercely at the two hobbits until they went, muttering about 'Old Grouchy Marcho.' He scowled at their backs and then went to sit by the the fourth hobbit, who had called Bingo. His face softened when he was greeted with a cheerful smile. "Hello, lad," he said.

"Hello, Marcho," the gentle hobbit said. "It's so lovely here. The fire is very warm."

"I don't know if that walk in the rain was good for you. I know you get sick easily."

"That's all right; I don't mind. It doesn't make me unhappy, so you don't need to worry. As long as everyone else is pleased, so am I." He smiled that sweet, innocent smile and sipped at his drink. "This is quite delicious," he said. "Would you like me to go get you one?"

"No, no, it's all right, Bingo. I can get one myself. Sit and rest a bit. You were quite tired after our walk."

"It was good exercise," said Bingo, but he obeyed and sat quietly, gazing about him and sipping thoughtfully at his drink.

[Alaksoron]

'Jean' abruptly stopped drumming his fingers on the table and started to rise to leave. "Rohan. Yes, beautiful land and excellent horses."

"If you'll exscuse me, I'm going to check on my horse." He rose to go to the stables. "Care to come along?"

[Eowyn Skywalker]

"Hmm?" Willow shook her head sharply, to clear out the sudden mist that had taken over her mind. She glanced over at Mira, who was looking at her, with a question, or something in her eyes. She struggled to stand up, her tiredness not helping her in the least.

Trying to remember what had just been said, Willow rubbed her eyes. "Oh yes. A walk." She blinked hard, struggling to regain control over herself; her body pleading for nightfall to take her. "Yes, I think a walk would indeed be what I need," she replied.

Steadying herself by grabbing the table, Willow stood up, and stretched herself out, as she normally would when tired. Looking around the Inn, she noticed that they were not the only tired ones out there. Seemingly, night would have to fall quickly, for the slight rainfall hadn't done much for the tired folk around. "All right, Mira, Lily, let's go," she added, even in her state of tiredness, a sense of command taking in over her. She was, at times, a leader, though not all the time. More rightly, she was stubborn, and thick-headed. She wasn't about to let herself fall asleep there, not again. It was bad enough to drift off into a slight nap, but to actually fall asleep wasn't nice.

Willow led the way to the cloak room, knowing well enough that the other two hobbits would follow quick enough anyhow, as Mira had waken herself enough with another hot drink, and Lily was the least sleepy of the bunch anyhow.

She picked up her cloak, and pinned it around her shoulders, looking around for the others to follow her out the door, and into the cool mists that still hovered outdoors, though the clouds had cleared, and the rain was gone. The day had fallen into a shadowy mist, and through the sunlight, piercing rays would light the darkness, and highlight the shadows. Willow couldn't wait to see what the day would offer in the misty grounds of the Inn.

[rutslegolas]

Harold Brandybuck had gone out of his little Shire to a far off country called Rohan and now he was back after much time,he was sore and needed a drink so he went to his local Green Dragon Inn after perhaps a year or so he thought.

It was mid-afternoon he went and sat at the bar and ordered a pint of ale ,he wished he had never gone to Rohan but now he was back and he nedded news about his dear Shire .

So he started talking with a nearby Gaffer about what was happening in the Shire ,the Gaffer wasa most amused when he heard that Harold a Hobbit had gone to a far off country called Rohan.

And they talked over a pint of ale about the happenings in their beloved Shire.

[Kitanna]

Peony smiled, rising from her own seat. "Of course, I promised a visit to my own horse after my ride this morning. If you do not mind I have to get an apple. I will be right back."

Peony left Jean for a moment and caught one of the hobbit lasses as she was heading for the kitchen. Peony asked her to bring back an apple for her. She only had to wait a moment before the young hobbit returned with a shiny red apple. Peony thanked her and returned to Jean. "Shall we?"

[Kransha]

The usually jocund, emerald green eyes of Tobias Hornblower the Third, were suddenly immersed in a frosty silence, a reserved melancholia. His sharp, hooked nose was turned down as he let his stubbly head of long, unkempt strands of mahogany hair tempered with aging gray fall without heed onto his face. He nursed his dented tankard daintily, caressing the rim of the cup with his scrawny, gnarled index finger, emitting a very slight, whirring hum that filled his quivering, sharp ears. He sighed deeply, his ridiculously clothed just puffing out majestically before slumping back in upon itself, deflating the area that occupied the roomy confines of his sequined golden vest, the last thing that had actually remained intact since his arrival. His breeches were torn, tattered at the legs, his shielding frock was covered with the caked blotches of dried mud and all the miscellaneous straw that could cling to them. His overcoat was covered, for the most part, with the saliva of the homicidal animals who inhabited the Green Dragon stable, who were apparently out to get him.

It had barely been a day, not that Toby cared, since Snaveling and Roa left the Green Dragon Inn for the south, headed to the grand white city which Toby had only heard about. He vaguely remembered his withered fingers tracing the etched pictographs of old lore volumes unearthed from the chasms of library shelves that dotted the innards of his ample plantation back in the Southfarthing, most dusty relics that had survived since the age of his distant relation, Tobold Hornblower. He had read those tales with sagging eyes, festooned with wintry tedium as he left the records absent-mindedly behind. How he’d hated those things back then, the grandiose cities, looming with their terminating, towering pinnacles far from Eriador, tales of daring folk he’d never meet battling incomprehensible monsters he’d never see. But now, now he wanted all that. Light came at a price, and that price was more than curiosity, it was necessity. Toby Hornblower did not want to leave the Shire, he needed to leave the Shire, and yet both conflicted. He would be loath to leave his newfound home, but he had to, he simply had to.

But what was his home, anyway? When he arrived for a ‘brief’ stay at the inn of the Green Dragon, an unimposing little structure with a warm, flickering hearth-fire and plenty of ale all about, he’d hoped to leave the place as soon as his stumpy little legs could carry him. But now, now he couldn’t even tear himself from here to return to his sisters, brothers, cousins, nieces, and nephews in Longbottom. If he relocated yet again, would he find a new home away from them too? He could still remember, though, the days when he was with them, sitting in a swaying old seat of gilt oak wood on the porch of his pipeweed plantation, watching with a skeptical scowl as his younger relatives frolicked vivaciously through his crops. He’d almost taken a cane to them once for stepping on a surplus of his favorite Longbottom Leaf. The hobbit had been a monstrosity, an old coot who only his sisters and brothers could love. He remembered their faces, some tanned from days in the sun, some pale with the smooth complexion of polished porcelain, some a mixture of each. He missed them. He hadn’t even realized he really missed them until now. But, he was home.

As Toby’s gaze managed to yank itself sideways, he looked drearily upon the new arrivals. There were hobbits, men, elves, all the same. Toby saw the same familiar glow reminiscent in their looks and did not hesitate to scowl again. He was not antisocial, though the look of him spoke otherwise, he had seen what there was and life was a monotonous regularity, but he loved it all the same. Slowly, as he looked down at his murky reflection in the ale, his mouth opened, as barely audible words began to form on his lips. He’d never sung a song, Toby Hornblower, never in his life. He’d only heard a few worth remembering. One had been sung by Snaveling, but he felt unworthy to recite that beautiful, preternatural ode. The only other tune he’d ever committed to himself was something sung in tandem by his eldest niece, still young. He could see her, sitting on the lap of her father, not yet of age herself, and reciting back to him the song she’d just learned, her own gentle hazel eyes and fiery hair sparkling with the residue of pure, untainted happiness. He knew the words, he knew the tune, and he finally knew what it all meant.

Hey-ho, where e’er the wind blows,
The ships, they may come, the ships may go,
But e’er there’s a log to make the fire glow,
Wherever I am will be home.

Hey-hum, t’were the moon or the sun,
And the trees they may sway and the rivers may run,
But e’er there’s a pipe and a tankard of rum,
Wherever I am will be home.

Hey-har, in the light of the star,
‘Neath the blackest of skies and the mountains afar,
But e’er there’s a smile and some ale on the bar,
Wherever I am will be home.

Hey-hee, oh, whatever I see,
If ‘tis Bywater, Tuckborough, Buckland, or Bree,
As long as warm faces are looking on me,
Wherever I am will be home...

[Firefoot]

Lily got up, stretched, and followed Willow to the cloak room. She was relieved to be getting out of the Inn's common room, which was getting more and more crowded and was starting to seem a bit stuffy to Lily. She was more accustomed to the fresh air of nature than the close quarters of an Inn. She found her dark blue cloak among the others and put it on as she walked over to where Willow and Mira were waiting.

When they got outside, Lily took a deep breath and let it out. The air had the fresh, newly-washed feel of the end of a rainstorm. It was cooler than it had been earlier, though not unpleasant, and everything was wet from the shower. Dark clouds in the distance held the possibility of more rain later, but for now the sun was shining, causing the droplets on the grass to glisten softly. Lily felt refreshed and more awake already.

They wandered down the path in comfortable silence. Lily heard a bird singing happily somewhere nearby. She smiled. She wasn't headed anywhere in particular and was content to just enjoy the companionship of friends and the pleasantries of the outdoors.

Dîm Silverrage

Just as Lily and Willow heard the bird singing the content morning tune, another entity heard the the same cheerful song. The grass surrounding the dirt road was wet and green, and the trees were humming with cicadas. From aways off, could be heard the sound of cart wheels rumbling along the rough track and the clickity-clockiting of mule-hooves.

As the cart's noises slowly advanced on the two lasses. Just bearly over the sound of the cart and donkey, a baritone voice humming a foriegn tune could be heard from the same direction.

Finally the cart rounded the last vegitation-covered mound and came into sight. Clicking along the road tetiously, the sad-looking mule pulled the rickity cart along. Exhaling a long negative grunt, it grueled along. The driver, a dwarf puffed on a pipe with some newly added weed all the way from the Iron Hills.

By the looks of the dimunitive being, he was very young for a dwarf, maybe sixty years at the most. His eyes were young and icy blue, and no signs of age (not including the blond beard hiding his chiselled features) were upon his face.

The dwarf wore a worn green tunic with a soft leather-armor vest studded with dull metal forged in Eriador. Upon his head sat a torn grey warg-hide-lined cap. The traveler wore a dark brown cloak coated with a thick layer of wax to repel water and large black boots crusted with dry mud.

In the cart was a few packages covered by canvas a circular wooden sheild with an iron band surrounding it. In the middle was painted a red dragon flying in a circle. Below it was a lone mountain. The Lonely Mountain to be exact. Sitting next to the shield was a dirty sword with a bit of black blood stained upon it. At one time, it might have been a beautiful elegant weapon, but now it was only a tool for flaying, hacking, and slicing. Adjacent to his melee weapons, stood a quiver with arrows and bolts, and a small crossbow and a crude bow. If an elf would even get a glimpse of these long-range weapons and he or she would pale in horror.

This particular dwarf was named Dîm Silverrage, son of Janoin and Isilda Silverrage. Dîm was always a dwarf who had a lust for travel, adventure, and violence. Growing up in the Iron Mountains, defending his home from Orcs and men allied with Sauron, he was a well seasoned warrior, but with an optimistic and kind side to almost everything and everyone.

Dîm left home about three years ago for travel and adventure, promising to bring home treasures and stories the dwarves of the Iron Hills have never heard or even thought of before. He had travelled for a long time and now had many stories and plenty of treasures. The downside was Dîm had wander-lust, a disease diagnosed in many travelers. The dwarf had forgotten the meaning of home and family. Now he contently roamed Middle Earth, going and travelling as he pleased.

As the cart met up to Willow and Lily, he tipped the faded and torn blue cap upon his head and smiled with his pipe to one corner of his mouth, showing off his cheery dimples.

"Good day to yeh, lasses" Dîm exclaimed happily to the two ladies, puffing a few in the statement.

[Sirithheruwen]

Twylight was staring off into space. The door to the Inn beside her banged again and again with people coming in and out, but she didn't notice very much. Every now and again the voices in the crowded room would swell up in a shout for another ale or a call for a song, but by the time the words reached her ears, they meant nothing.

Shaking her head, Twylight began to reach for that spare piece of parchment. With a low gasp, she realized it wasn't there. Her suspicions were immeadiatly pinned on the dark man in the corner, but when she turned, he was still sitting in the exact same place with the red-haired lady.

Gazing around the Inn, she noticed a man with a stocky frame sitting not too far away. He had a merry face with roundish red cheeks. He reminded her of a song sung to her long ago about a man by the name of Tom Bombadil. But that was impossible, if the song was true, for Tom never left his little area of land.

All of a sudden he stood up and began to walk over in her direction. Belatedly, she saw a scrap of parchment in his hand - her scrap of parchment. Frantically, she motioned to the serving hobbit, but the man seemed not to notice. Her eyes got wider and wider as he sat down at her table. He said something about hre throat and introduced himself. Just then the hobbit lass walked up.

"M'am?" She questioned, gazing at the new arrival curiously.

"Two ales, please!" the man said without a pause, sending the hobbit on her way.

Twylight's lifeline was gone, and she was left alone with the man.

Gulping visibly, Twylight stared at the man, her face was set impassively in stone.

[Mad Baggins]

Mira sniffed the outdoor air, crisp and clean, and her head cleared instantaneously. She, Lily and Willow ambled down the path, none of them speaking, just enjoying the rainwashed grass in silence. She shivered a little and pulled her cloak closer about her, the air chilled by the rain.

How beautiful the land is after a rainfall, Mira thought, letting her mind drift away upon the cool, misty air and sunny sky. Her reverie was interrupted by a young-looking dwarf who greeted them: "Good day to yeh, lasses."

Mira shook her thoughts away and looked at the dwarf, whose blue eyes twinkled merrily. She considered his cart and the mule towing it and curtsied, saying, "Good day, sir. How are you liking this lovely morning? Beautiful, isn't it?" As she awaited his reply, she unconsciously moved toward the mule and began stroking its forehead and its whiskery muzzle.

[Nurumaiel]

Blanco and Posco joined their friends by the fireplace, chuckling in delight over their newly-acquired mugs of beer. Blanco peered into Bingo's mug and shook his head in a gesture of despair. When would Bingo learn how good ale was? He never would drink it, but was forever sipping at hot tea. Hot tea was good, of course, but when you were at a bar... It was funny the way the two of them had met. Blanco had been walking along by the Brandywine and had seen the oddest little hobbit sitting by the water. It had been Bingo, who confessed he couldn't swim. Blanco had pointed out to him the dangers of sitting so close to the water when he couldn't swim. Bingo had been quite surprised. Bingo had always been ignorant and innocent. Blanco had invited Bingo to come have tea with him. They had just become friends after that. That had been a year ago.

Posco nudged his twin brother (for Blanco was his twin brother) and pointed across the room with wide eyes. "See, Blanco, there are Elves here."

"How interesting," said Blanco. "Perhaps we should make their acquaintance."

"Oh no!" Posco cried in alarm. "They're Elves."

"Then we'll just sing a rousing song, shall we? What was that song I just heard? Very good song... hum dee dum... it went like so...

"Hey-hee, oh, whatever I see,
If ?tis Bywater, Tuckborough, Buckland, or Bree,
As long as warm faces are looking on me,
Wherever I am will be home."

Posco buried himself deep into his chair next to Bingo, hoping not too many people were looking at his brother. When the song ended he breathed a sigh of relief that the ordeal was over, but Blanco paused a moment, drew his eyebrows together, then smiled and kept singing.

"Hey-hood, this ale is good
and puts me in such a cheery mood
all I lack is a fine plate of food
and then wherever I am will be home."

He looked immensely pleased with himself when he finished and Bingo applauded him with a wide smile. Marcho scowled deeply. "How many times have I told you this... you are absolutely no good at writing songs." Blanco frowned back at him and then smiled at Bingo. At least someone appreciated his fine talent. What was Posco looking so embarrassed about? Really, his friends were all quite hopeless! Even Marcho, who was the eldest of them all. And Bingo, the youngest, was the one with sense. How odd the Shire was.

Posco crouched miserably in his chair and hoped none of the Elves had heard the song. Blanco was constantly humiliating himself in front of hobbits, and that was bad enough, but with Elves it was unbearable. What about the poor hobbit whose song and been so brutally mutilated by his foolish brother? Bingo was the only one in their little company who was safe to be around.

[Arry]

Ah! There it was!

The sun had broken through the clouds as he neared the path that would take him up to the Inn. A fine mist shimmered about the building and its grounds. Alwin blinked his eyes in wonder at the sight. Something out of faerie, it looks . . . he thought, leaning on his blackthorn stick. He had been gone a while, taking a friend to her homeland, and now was traveling through, bound north beyond the long river.

‘Wotcher lookin’ at, Sir?’ piped up a small voice at his side. Clive, it was. Or rather, Jack as he preferred to be called, thinking it made him seem more manly. Eleven years old and full of himself . . . Jack squinted hard at the building down the little lane. Ordinary enough, he thought. He looked up at his companion; the old fellow had that faraway look in his eyes, same as when he told Jack stories.

‘Come, Grandfather!’ he urged the old man. ‘Kiera said I was to watch over you. Keep you safe and the like.’ He tugged on Alwin’s grey cloak, smiling as the old man focused his blue eyes down on him. ‘Here you are, all standin’ in the mud and mist and such. The air’s still chilly from the rain. And I’m hungry. Aren’t you?’

Alwin chuckled at the boy’s insistence, reaching down his gnarled hand to ruffle the sandy-haired head. Looking back at the Inn, he saw the spell was broken. The Green Dragon stood sturdy and shining after the rain’s washing. Smoke angle up lazily from the main chimney giving promise of a cheery fire within. A sudden breeze brought the smells of the afternoon’s meal. The heady aroma of some rich soup enticed his nose and set his stomach rumbling.

‘Right you are, then Jack! I’ve a mind to put my feet up by the fire – a mug of spiced wine in one hand and a bowl of soup by the other. You run ahead, if you will, and find us a table close to the hearth. I’ll be there directly.’

The old man smiled fondly as the boy trotted off, calling out to him as he neared the Inn steps. ‘Mind you knock the mud off your boots, lad!’