The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[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.

[Eowyn Skywalker]

Willow turned at the sound of wheels grating over the rough dirt road, and grinned at the sight of the dwarf coming down the road to the 'Dragon in his heacy cart. Dwarves had been a common enough sight in the Shire before, it didn't shock her to see him arive. "Good day to yeh, lasses," the dwarf greeted.

"Good day, sir. How are you liking this lovely morning? Beautiful, isn't it?" asked Mira, smiling softly, as she moved over to stroke the mule that pulled the dwarves cart.

Willow smiled, and bowed slightly. "Good afternoon, master dwarf," she said, a smile on her face, as the coolness from the rainfall waking her fully though, in the back of her mind, a sleepyness still tugged, and threatened to cause her a yawn, and again, she wished that night would come all the more swiftly. "I am Willow," she said, in way of an introduction. "These are my companions, Mira, and Lily. Welcome to the Green Dragon."

There were birds in the distance, though Willow listened to them only faintly, as they were still away in the distance, and she had other things to worry over at the moment. The clouds had cleared away, though, if one was to look beyond the trees that clustered near around the Inn grounds, they would see that the dark clouds still loomed on the horizon, threatening once again to release their contents upon the land. But for now the day was fair, and flowers began to peek their way from little crevices, and birds hovered in the sky, searching for the worms that would be drawn to the ground by the dampness.

There was still a chill though the rain was gone, and Willow found herself tucking in her green cloak around her, to keep the warmth in, and the chill out, though on her face, the mist was refreshing indeed. The walk had been a fine choice.

"And what do they call you, master dwarf?" she inquired politely.

[Alaksoron]

'Jean' walked briskly to the stables and made his way to a stall where a fierce-eyed gray stallion was prancing. Once again 'Jean' began to mutter under his breath, sounding angry. The stableboy had not even bothered to remove the saddle! Jean did so, dusting off a new blanket before draping it across the gray's back. Amongst a few frustrated expletives, Peony heard 'Jean' call the boy "little Curufin".

'Jean' produced a brush from inside his saddlebags and began to groom the horse expertly. After a moment he began to speak, almost as if more to the air than to Peony. "My father was a marvelous equestrian. He taught me horsemanship, including to ride barebacked. His name" referring to the horse "is Storm. I purchased him in Rohan. He has carried me safely for many years, and there is no truer horse in the Riddermark."

'Jean' put the brush away and dumped out the bucket of dirty water the stableboy had shoved in the stall, refilling it with a fresh flask from his bag. 'Jean' fed Storm an apple, and began to caress the stallion's long face, whispering to him softly in fluent High-Elven. It seemed to have a calming effect on the fierce prancer. Peony was sure if anyone else had come near that horse they would have benn bitten- or trampled.

Dîm cracked his neck on impulse. No longer something he did when he felt like it, it was a habit. Icy blue eyes shimmering in contrast to his golden beard he puffed a cloud of smoke from the mahogany pipe resting in the corning of his full lips. Watching it rise up into the moist cold sky, it was swept away from a cool breeze, chilling the dwarf.

"Some call me Silverrage, others Dîm, but you may call me Dîm Silverrage, or Dîm for short. Doesn't really matter to mehself really." the curious-acting humanoide riddled.

Dîm Silverrage snuggled down into the seat of his cart and shuffled his toes around in his leather boots, trying to remain comfortably warm. The breeze that blew one of his recent puffs of smoke(seven more were already made and gone in the mild gail after that) blew through the trees, yielding the cicadas buzzing tune and the solo of the songbird.

Turning back to the women below him, he let out another burst of smoke and shifted his face into a quizzical smile, eyebrows cocked up ward. His dwarven facade looking amusing, he spoke in the raspy and deep, but young sounding, voice.

"And whom do I have the pleasure of meeting on this fair day?", The dwarf questioned(with two more puffs)

[Kitanna]

Peony looked at Jean's stallion, Storm. It was a fine horse indeed. She went over to Surefoot's stall and fed the mare her apple. "I wish I could say Surefoot here was a horse of the Riddermark, but alas she was bred in Minas Tirith."

Peony stroked Surefoot's face. "Not one of the fine Rohan horses, but she has been a true friend to me for many years."

[Firefoot]

"And whom do I have the pleasure of meeting on this fair day?" asked the Dwarf. Lily frowned so briefly that unless one had been watching her they would have missed it. Didn't Willow already introduce us? she thought. Oh, well. Maybe he didn't hear.

"Nice to meet you, Master Dîm," Lily said, smiling once more. "My name is Lily, and this is Willow, and Mira." She surveyed Dîm up and down. He looked young for a Dwarf, but well-travelled. His cloak was worn and travel-stained. His cart was heavy-laden, presumably with packages from his travels. Lily had met several Dwarves in Bree, most of them journeying to and from their mines in the Blue Mountains. Some of them were good and polite folk, but others of them were down-right rascals. She deemed Dîm to be of the former group. Lily felt rather sorry for his mule though, pulling that heavy cart all by itself, and probably for long distances. She scrached the mule's whiskery nose, and when she stopped, he nudged her for more. Poor guy. Hopefully Dîm will be staying at the Dragon for a while - then he would get some rest, she thought.

"I suppose you will be staying at the Green Dragon, Master Dîm? Will you be staying long?" asked Lily. As she waited for his answer, she wrapped her cloak around her tightly against the chilly breeze that came up, bringing a heavier mist with it. I suppose it will rain again soon, she thought sullenly. It's not raining now, be thankful for that.

[Arry]

Jack scraped the mud off his boots as best he could, then pushed on the heavy oaken door with both his arms. He turned for a brief moment and waved back at Alwin, grinning broadly as the old man motioned him on with a shake of his walking stick. He paused for a moment in the entryway, letting his eyes adjust to the dimmer light of the Inn.

There to his right along the wall was the big stone fireplace. Two large logs crackled and popped against each other, driving away the earlier dampness of the day. To one side he saw a number of Hobbit men, five in fact. There were smiles on their faces, and a sense of camaraderie in the way they greeted and spoke with each other. At one point one of them began to sing, his efforts greeted with a range of acceptance by his mates. And over there was an interesting looking fellow, green-cloaked and yellow-booted. A big smile wreathed the man’s features, hidden now and then by the generous cloud of smoke from his pipe.

‘Well, this looks like a pretty fair place old Alwin’s brought us to!’ he said out loud, to no one in particular.

A polite cough at his elbow drew his attention, and turning he found himself face to face with one of the serving lasses. Buttercup, she said, smiling sweetly at the young boy. And what would the young master be wanting at the Inn she continued.

‘That table over there by the fire – the one with the chair by the hearth. And cider for me please,’ he said, his eyes lighting up at the thought of the sweet drink. ‘Oh and a bowl of that soup I can smell all the way out here from the kitchen . . . and bread with some honey.’ Jack blushed as Buttercup as she laughed at his enthusiasm. ‘Will that be all, little master,’ she said grinning as she took him to the table and settled him in. ‘Or will you be saving any room for a slice of the apple tart I just saw Ruby take from the oven?’

‘Apple tart,’ he squeaked, his eyes gone wide. ‘Oh, yes please! I’m sure I’ll have room.’

The door to the Inn opened wide, and Alwin stepped in, blinking like an old owl. Jack stood up on the seat of his chair and waved him over. ‘Why it’s Master Alwin,’ said Buttercup, smiling as the older man approached. ‘Nice to have you back, Sir . . .’

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal got up from the table and headed out to the stables. She just didn't know if she could stay anymore. She wanted to look at the horses, to get a sense of freedom.

She walked in and noticed others, but didn't give them much thought. She went over to a horse that she had seen before and stroked its face softly. She over heard someone talking about a non true Rohan horse, but she didn't care. She had no other reasons to fear people from Rohan since her father's death. It just wasn't important any longer.

The disappearance of Angry Brandybuck made her incredibly sad. She had to wonder if he was with his parents and his parents-whom she had already met-had taken him and brought him back home. She was sure that it was it. They hadn't been very happy with the thought of a human woman staying in his hobbit hole, but they had been furious with the fact of their love for each other. Or that is what Crystal had originally thought. She had thought that they did love each other, that they would marry and live happily ever after. She had been wrong.

"Crystal?" A deep voice asked her as she stood there. She turned, her eyes widening. Arty, her Arty was standing there. Alive! There was no way possible. She had seen her father kill him when he was just a lad, almost pushing Crystal over the edge of sanity. Yet, there he stood all grown up.

"Arty?" She asked him, not wanting to believe what her eyes saw. He nodded. She stepped backward and hit the wood of the stall.

"How can it be? My father killed you!" She said in shock. He smiled and stepped forward. He took her hand in his.

"He didn't kill me. He wounded me. He thought he killed me as well. Bartholomew even thought I was dead. He has no idea. I heard you were residing in this place, this Shire as they call it. I had to come and find you since your father was killed by me." He said quickly.

She swallowed hard. The death of her father had come at the hands of her love? The man that she had always thought about each and everyday.

"How did you pull off being supposedly dead. And how did you kill my father?" She asked him, totally bewildered.

"I don't know how I pulled off being supposedly dead, but I saw him and decided to take out my revenge. He separated us, I shall never forgive him for that."

"Do you have any idea what I have been through, Arty? Do you? I have been grieving your death for years. I still have. I continuously think about you and wish that my father hadn't done what he had done. You don't realize how angry I am at you. Besides I have moved on."

There was a deep silence that came over them. He looked at her in shock and there was the thread of hurt that she knew all too well. His eyes were the same shocking blue that they always had been and his hair that chestnut brown she loved so much. He had become a man in the time that she had thought he was "dead." He had grown up and she had to wonder if he was thinking the same things about her. She had changed, had grown up during his absence. She had gone through so much since she had thought her father had killed him, and yet here he was in front of her. And she had just told him she had moved on.

In actuallity she hadn't in her mind. Yes, she and Angry had talked about getting married and things of that nature-but she had always had to fight to keep Arty from her mind. Two men, both named Arthur and both with a nickname -she had no idea what to do.

"Who is the lucky man?" He asked her softly.

"A hobbit."

His eyes widened, "A hobbit?" She nodded.

"Why a hobbit? Why?" He asked her angrily.

"He acted as if he loved me."

"As if he loved you. Where is this hobbit. I'll fight him for your hand."

"He is not here, Arty. He has disappeared and I can not find him."

"Why? Did he leave? Did he decided that you were not good enough for him?"

"I don't know. There was nothing taken from his home."

"And you know that how?"

"I live with him."

"Unmarried?!"

"Yes."

"That's blasphemy against all your morals, Crystal!"

"Well I thought you were dead! Besides I had an illness. He saved me from dying!"

"But he's a hobbit!"

"What do you care?!"

"I care because I love you still, Crystal!!"

"WELL MAYBE I STILL LOVE YOU!!!!!!!!"

The arguement stopped. They stood in front of each other, just looking at each other. Tears welled up in Crystal's eyes. Arty took her in his arms and held her as she cried. He kissed her forehead gently.

"I love you, Crystal."

"I love you too. Don't leave me again." He nodded as he just held her. They were together once more, nothing would drive them apart not even the hobbit if he ever returned.

[Sirithheruwen]

Twylight was already beginning to feel less uncomfortable around the strange man. The blood had stopped pounding in her ears and she was able to catch the man's name - Iadarion. He also mentioned something about being the son of the river and forest, but she didn't quite catch all of it because she was thinking. She decided to trust Iadarion, and she treated him with a smile.

She came out of her reverie to hear him say, "So, tell me of yourself."

Twylight didn't know what to do. She couldn't speak, but she didn't know how to get that across. She pointed to the piece of parchment full of her long, loopy handwriting with a question in her eyes. She hoped he knew what he was asking for. She couldn't communicate with him any other way. What if she pretended not to understand...no...she trusted the man, even though her brain was telling her not to. She felt comfortable around him, like she had never felt around anyone before.

With a grin, he pulled a large sheet of parchment out of a pack on his back Twylight hadn't noticed before. She took out her rock and began to write, smiling as she did so:

My name is Twylight. It's very nice to meet you, Iadarion.

[piosenniel]

Buttercup

Buttercup looked the old fellow up and down. A little worse for wear, she thought, too long on the road. But nothing that a bath, a soft, warm bed, and a change of fresh clothes couldn’t cure. And Jack . . . where had Alwin picked up the little urchin, she wondered.

‘We wondered where you’d gone off to, Sir,’ she said. ‘Some saw you on the edges of Hobbiton heading south I think they said, with some little companion. Is this he?’