The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Arry]

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

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

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

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

[Kransha]

Creeping…creeping like the rat he’d been, creeping about was all he could do now. As he waded through a misty evening, a gentle slope appeared before him, turning slowly into a building that sat plastered against a cool night sky, just as the sun set below the horizon. As he looked upon it, he saw a strange familiarity in the place in the distance, a refreshing splendor not possessed by grandiose palaces and towers. It had a homely grandeur, the kind that one’s home might have after a long stay elsewhere. The Green Dragon was not his home, certainly not, but it had been an ample substitute, and would hopefully accept his entry again.

He’d gone there, some time ago. Not long ago, in fact. He was the place’s benefactor, to a degree. He’d given 11 (or was it 10) gold coins to the innkeeper, Amanduial…Yes, Aman, that fine lady of the Dragon, he remembered her. Again, he chided himself, it hadn’t been that long, really, not at all. He’d rented a room, and then there was the fire, and then the rebuilding, and then the party, and then Snaveling left…Old Snaveling, the rogue whose shadow he’d so loved to occupy. Good friends they were, but Snaveling was in Gondor with the fair maiden called Roa. After Snaveling left, he had no reason to stay. There was Aman, of course, and the new friends he made. He remembered Posco, Bingo, and Blanco (and one other whose name escaped him), the hobbits who he’d associated with briefly after Snaveling’s departure. Then, he’d, in a most uncharacteristic fashion, slipped out unceremoniously. He did not want attention drawn to himself, and had even neglected to say goodbye to Miss Aman and his colleagues. Now, though, through a most bizarre string of events, he was back. It seemed ironic, actually. When he’d come first to Bywater Road that day, he’d peddled his family fortune in pipe-weed for bed and breakfast, not knowing he’d be booked for an extended stay. Now, he already knew his stay'd be extended, and he certainly wouldn’t be peddling pipe-weed.

The same small and weathered figure strolled briskly down Bywater Road, pulling his frayed brown cloak around him as best he could. He picked up his pace as he neared his destination, on one side of the path. He walked in and over to the opposite end of the Green Dragon Inn, dodging awkwardly past several small tables and people of various sizes and shapes, and sat down contently. He fumbled momentarily with the innards of his outfit until he came upon what he was searching for. With an elegant, if not exaggerated flourish, he whipped out a surprisingly long pipe, a merry glint in his eye.

He let his heavy garments fall back and relished the glowing warmth that filled the room, compared to the caustic chills outside. His body sagged in the chair as he relaxed in the fire’s light. He laid his arms on another table that sat in front of him and sighed deeply, scratching at his wizened face with rough-skinned fingers. He glanced with his tired eyes around at the establishment, taking in what sights there were to see. He smiled as warmly as the fire and turned back to his pipe. The old hobbit could use a drink right about now, after a long period without any liquid sustenance. His head darted back and forth, scanning the room, his grey-brown strands of unkempt hair flailing lawlessly. He was, for some reason, hesitant to buy a drink. One of his hands went quickly to a coat pocket and dug around until a look of impatient irritation crossed his face. Grumbling to himself, he resumed his bird-like watching of the inn around him. He would’ve proceeded to get a drink, except for the pestering fact that he had no money.

Just as much money as he had to his name at this very moment, a fact that hadn’t left him for hours.

Pulling a very tattered cloak’s frayed edges up to his trembling ears, Tobias Hornblower the Third of Longbottom trudged towards the comely structure called the Green Dragon. The stable sat open, with its master at the gate, tending to one of many weary, but unruly creatures. Toby had no horse, though, but would settle for a home in the stable if he had to. As long as he was unseen, even by Amanduial. At this point, he eve could not trust her…not now, at least. Toby knew she would probably understand, but he didn’t know how fast news traveled anymore. He was probably ahead of it, but he simply could not be sure. He had to lay low, travel incognito, and all those silly things that he had told his nephews in stories. He reflected, only momentarily, on the fact that it might be a long time before he saw his dear little nephews again. Next time, they might not be so eager to hear his stories. They’d think he was lying. He’d made too many mistakes, and they were costing him, but they had been most inconvenient in their timing. Just when Toby arrived home a changed hobbit, he’d been confronted with a horrible realization.

And now he was here…

Now, as he thought of old Snave, The elder Hobbit reckoned that it might have been easier to head to the small, semi-isolated home that he had promised to the former brigand, Surely Snaveling wasn’t living there, and Toby knew every nook and cranny of the place. But, they would find him there if he fled, as the Southfarthing would be scoured by some authorities of a sort. That was why he was here, in Bywater. The town and country road, unpaved but highly trod upon, lay south of the foggy fields where the Four-Farthing Stone lay; marking the centermost point of all the Halfling lands. Word of the dilemma would be dispatched first from Longbottom to Tuckborough and the Great Smials, issued as a dark proclamation to the Thain of the Shire. He’d send searchers and messengers to the four corners of the Shire, each Farthing in turn, by the route of the local Shirriffs. They’d head to the Dragon last, as it was not in a town of its own. Bywater was barely a village, by the standards of such communes, and was not as high in regard as Buckland and the other populated regions of Hobbit-land. But still, the message and its carriers were ere behind him, hot on his heels as hounds to a fox. He was the fox, the wicked, villainous, traitorous vermin that had done such horrible wrong that had rent apart his life.

The Hafling did not even know now, why he had done such a thing in the first place. It had been long ago, years, before his arrival and departure from the Dragon. It had been his fault, wholly his, and he couldn’t deny it. He was a greedy, wretched old fool back then, a fool who lied and stole, and was deceitful in his dealings. He’d made a mistake which, now, he could not even fathom the depth of. It was a terrible thing he’d done, and he wanted desperately to be able to pin blame on another being, but such action would be selfish folly. It was, as he told himself again and again, his fault entirely. He dodged and he conspired, he schemed and planned, but all was for naught. The Green Dragon would know within a week of his wrongs, and he’d be found. He knew the Thain was just and true…but still, he could not help but imagine that his future, in the event of his discovery, would not be a happy one.

He scurried in, his hairy, leather-soled feet sliding along the gravelly road as he arrived at the inn threshold and darted in without the mildest hint of pomp or flourish. He whisked his cloak up, pulled his coat tighter still, and, as the vague light of the evening sky turned to warm, colors dancing on the walls. The chilly howl of weak winds turned into buzzing chatter in the inn, and the open spaces, wide and stretching over plain and field were transformed rudely into dense, claustrophobic crowds. His hooked nose and sharp ears twitching furiously, his thick brow furrowing, the Hobbit rushed in a mad dash towards the nearest, deepest crowd of people and disappeared a moment later into it. His heart called out to him forlornly, beseeching him to at least take a sideways glance at Amanduial, who was surely somewhere in the common room, but he remembered that he simply could not take the risk of letting her see him and try to strike up conversation. He didn’t want to have to lie…again…He never wanted to have to lie for the rest of his life. That was what had gotten him into the situation in the first place. Closing his eyes and shaking his head, Toby hurried onward doggedly, dodging nimbly past. He wouldn’t look, he promised himself that…He refused to look.

He pulled off his heavier cloak, which had been tightly wrapped around his sagging shoulders, and neatly folded it into a cloth bundle which he tucked studiously under his arm. He took another impatient breath, sitting down on an aging stool. He laid his hand out on the bar, slowly moving towards a loaf of bread, his fingers practically tip-toeing across the wooden surface. With his free hand, he adjusted his shirt collar and smoothed the wrinkles from his bright green vest ceremoniously, maintaining a façade of dignity. His head leaned sideways, towards the woman. “Do things like this occur here often?” He whispered out of the corner of his mouth to the innkeeper behind him as he watched the girl and the man. He didn’t hold a very high opinion of such boorish and rude men, such as the one in front of him. Even though she had obviously tried to steal something from him, undignified behavior wasn’t justified by that. It momentarily occurred to Tobias that he was thinking hypocritically, but he ignored the thought and continued inching his hand towards the bread loaf. The innkeeper turned her gaze now, and Toby’s hand and arm, like a swatted serpent, flinched and pulled back.

Aman raised an eyebrow at the hobbit leaning on the bar in front of her, although the gesture was, of course, lost on his back. And some instinct told her that he might be about as good at paying off credit as the scores of other hobbit men who had passed within the last two or three years and were thereby a blot on the Inn's accounts. In answer to the hobbit's question, she figured she had to give some sort of reply. "Well, not so you'd notice mind, sir. But then, the Dragon isn't exactly your conventional Inn."

Unconventional indeed! The place was a madhouse! A smile almost came to Toby’s cold lips, but faded before it was born there. Shaking his head again, as if to relieve himself of the memory, Toby cleared his way on sprightly strides through the cacophonous mass, and towards the shadowy threshold of the stairwell to the inn’s second level. It would not be hard for Toby to locate and empty room. Suddenly, the masses swayed, much to Toby’s chagrin. Cursing loudly under his breath, Toby turned, trying to worm his way to the location. An opening came soon, but with it, a horrific realization. Near the stairs was a great open area where the milling crowds had not congregated. And, lo and behold, in the open space walked Aman, just as she’d been that wintry day, walking about briskly from table to table. Veering confusedly, Toby practically leapt in the opposite direction. He searched frantically for an empty table, snaking forward and back, until he found one in the room’s darkest corner. Pouncing upon the rickety chair and wrapping himself in layers of clothing, hoping and praying that Aman did not notice the trembling hobbit in the corner with a gaudy, tassel-covered coat over his now gray-haired head.

Humming quietly to himself, he avoided getting too near anyone as he made his way into the depths of the inn to find a room. It had been a long day for him and he would look forward to some rest after the journey from Longbottom. As he passed, he took notice of the other inn residents in their various situations. Though some of these folk piqued his curiosity, he thought it better to avoid contact with them. Even though the innkeeper was nice enough, he stood by his belief that men from the south had no place in any of the four Farthings of the Shire. He grumbled about this under his breath as he tried to find an empty room. He would get something to eat after some well-deserved sleep.

Oh, how he wanted to sleep and to dream of better things, but he’d be getting no sleep this day.

In his misery and haste, he did not notice the fellow sitting a table away with his back to the hobbit, who might’ve seemed more than a little familiar if glanced at a second time.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Jinniver’s vague tales of a red-haired Ranger were not much to pin his hopes on, but they were all that he’d found in the weeks he’d spent in search of Roa, so he clung to them as a drowning man to wood. Her question, however, knocked him from his calm triumph at the small victory. Who is this woman to me indeed? he wondered. He had spent many a long night pacing restlessly about the mountain paths in pursuit of just such a question. On the whole journey back to Minas Tirith they had hardly spoken a word to one another, so full of judgement and anger was she, and so ashamed was he. And upon their return, Roa had seemed to seek to avoid him, even as the others at Elessar’s court took him into their welcome, if not their hearts. At the first possibility she had taken another assignment to the north and disappeared early one morning without so much as a leave taking. That had hurt him deeply, and he had cursed her at first, bitterly and at great length. The King, seeing his distress had merely said, "I know what it is to be denied the heart’s desire. I cannot offer counsel, but perhaps there is some comfort in knowing that yours is not an uncommon tale." Snaveling had thanked the King as prettily as he could, and for the only time since he had met him, cursed the name of Elessar under his breath as the sign of a fool.

"Oh," he replied to Jinniver’s question airily, "she is a friend and a companion. I was in her debt for a time, and even though the debt is repaid, I find that I wish to make some greater…recompense." He fell silent, and the woman knew that he would say no more on the matter. Shifting her tack somewhat, she inquired into the comings and goings of the south. In his time at the court of Gondor, Snaveling had learned much of the ways of the noble Men who were thriving there and he was able to satisfy her curiosity on many fronts. She was particularly interested in the renewed interest in herb lore and husbandry that had flourished in the lands to the south of the White Mountains. "Indeed," Snaveling said as he took a careful sip of ale, "with the renewed trade in the south, and the comings and goings between Eryn Lasgelan and Ithilien there are so many new plants coming to Gondor that the farmers are having trouble knowing where to plant them all. I’ve heard that there are some among the Rohirrim who are trying to cultivate pipeweed!"

Jinniver laughed, "Oh dear, that will upset the hobbits so – to know that someone other than a halfling is growing their pride and joy!"

"I doubt they have much to worry about. I have tried wine made from the grapes of Rohan, and while they are unexcelled warriors and bards, there are not farmers in Rohan who can match the folk of these parts!"

At that moment a serving maid arrived with two more pints of ale, sent, she explained with a withering and knowing look cast directly at Snaveling, by the stablemaster. Hiding his surprise, Snaveling turned to where Durefin sat, his eyes still upon Snaveling, and raised the mug in token of thanks. The men smile at one another thinly, and Snaveling knew that there would be a reckoning of some sort between them. He wondered what Aman was to this man – according to Jinniver, he was soon to be married…had Snaveling not known this he would have been sure what was going on.

No sooner had Jinniver and he expressed their mutual delight at the gift than Aman herself appeared at the table, bearing yet more drink. She dropped them in front of the pair and then moved off before Snaveling could say a word to her – although what he hoped to express was beyond him. The light touch that she gave him, accompanied by the surprisingly intimate whisper, sent a chill of apprehension through him. He moved to stay her, to ask her to join them, but like some spirit of the place she was gone again and Snaveling was left grasping at air.

Jinniver’s eyebrows shot up at all this as she buried her already flushed face in the tankard of sent over by Derufin. She did not make any comment on what had transpired, but Snaveling knew that she was bursting with curiosity to find out the full tale. Once more putting on a smile, Snaveling turned to the woman saying, “Even if you’ve not been here long, you will have already – I am sure – made the acquaintance of my friend Aman. I say ‘my friend’ for it is the only word I can find for her, although she is far more dear to me than is usually meant by that word.” Seeing the look in Jinniver’s eye he decided to complete the sentence. “I had…difficulties…when I was here last, and almost alone among the people of the Inn, Aman was willing to extend a hand to me rather than spurn me from the door as I deserved.” Even as he spoke his mind was working along a parallel track. Aman’s manner had been conciliatory and friendly, for which he was glad, but there had been something in it that unsettled him. That touch, the feel of her lips so close to his ear – it had all been…meaningful…in a way that Snaveling feared meant trouble ahead for them both. His mind turned to the gift he had thought to present Aman, but he began to wonder if that would be such a good idea. To shower her with such a lavish token might be taken the wrong way…

Jinniver’s head nodded. “Well, you’re right Mister Snaveling, I’ve not known Aman long but she is s remarkable woman, remarkable indeed! Your past here sounds as though it was troubled. Was Aman really the only friend you had here? Surely there were others who you want to see again now that you are back?” She was fishing for more information, Snaveling could see that, but as she was no longer plumbing the waters in which he sought to hide his feelings for Roa, he did not mind.

“Well, yes, there is one other rogue I would dearly like to see again,” he said, polishing off his ale and beginning with the cider. “An elderly Halfling gentleman of the Southfarthing. When I knew him he was a scoundrel and a crafty, sharp nosed cheat. But his heart was…I almost said ‘made of gold’ but that’s not right, for if his heart were made of such stuff he’d have it out and smithed into coins to buy beer and pipeweed in a moment!” Snaveling laughed and threw his head back. His chair moved with the force of his hilarty and bumped the chair behind him.

“Watch where you’re crashing about, Man!” a rough and weary voice croaked at him. Snaveling froze, and for a moment Jinniver thought that he was having some kind of a seizure. Her surprise was multiplied tenfold when the Man leapt to his feet and whirled upon the Halfling who had grumped at him. So purposeful and focused was he, that she feared he meant some harm to the old hobbit, but bending down Snaveling embraced the Halfling instead. “Toby!” he cried out with a joy so pure and total that it made Jinniver smile, even though she had no idea what was going on. “Tobias Hornblower you old villain! Why seeing you is more than I had hoped for this night!” Letting down the hobbit once more, Snaveling looked into the elderly gentleman’s face and immediately the Man’s whole demeanour altered from one of joy to shock. “But by friend, whatever is wrong? Come come, join Miss Jinniver and myself. I will buy you a pot of ale and you shall tell me what weighs upon you so heavily!”

[Witch_Queen]

The return of Cree and Avalon

Her black hair hung loose around her face. Cree's gray eyes locked on the door of the Green Dragon. It had been awhile since she had last set her eyes on the inn. Avalon was perched on Cree's shoulder and let out a schreech of aproval. Cree placed her right hand on Avalon's small head and began to stroke the birds feathers. "I know, it does feel good to be back." The last time Cree was at the inn was with Grimm. That seemed so long ago for her. After leaving the Inn Cree and Grimm took seperate paths. For her the road lead to a far off land.

Cree had been searching for the man that killed her father. Everything was the way I thought. My actual father is no longer alive and the man I knew as a father is still dead. His murderer goes without punishment. Cree walked over to the doors and opened them. The sound of merriment flooded her ears. It had been so long since she had been around hobbits. For Cree hobbits were marvelous creatures. She admired their homes. Eryn Lasgalen was so far away and was in the past. Unless she found a reason to go back, Cree decided that perhaps she would never return to the land she grew up in.

Looking around Cree noticed that there was many new faces. Faces that she didn't recognize. Her cloak settled down as Cree closed the door. Avalon gave her screech of greetings to everyone before Cree could find a table. Looking around Cree thought she recognized a familar face. Walking over to the table that Adu and Hama was setting at, Cree realized it was her old friend."Fáinu, is that you?" The figure turned around. "I haven't seen you in so long. After the incident causing your hand to be burned I haven't even heard a single word from you."

Suddenly memories from her life in Eryn Lasgalen came back to her. The two of them would ride horses together. Ocassionally when Thranduil would be meeting with her father, Cree would always talk to Fáinu about the weather and life itself. She always thought that her friendship with Fáinu would last for all her life. Yet the day he left tore her up inside. "Fáinu, why didn't you come back for me? I have wondered what had happened to you." Looking at his hand Cree realized that the burn still hadn't healed completely. Reaching to her side Cree could still feel the pain of her previous episodes. The pain of her side could never surpass the pain of her broken heart.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Fáinu was rather shocked and astonished to see Cree. He had done so much since he departed from her. He thought she had forgotten him. He smiled and stood to meet her. he bowed low as is the manner of the Eldar.

"I am sorry," he said, "News had to be brought to my brothers, I felt it fit that I did it myself." he paused that was indeed a mistake then continued, "Though many misadventures, I returned only once to Rhovanion, though I came over the grey mountains rather than through Mirkwood."

Fáinu turned to Adu and smiled as he sat back down, "I see that there are many reunions today." he said to her, "is this not a good omen?" He then beckoned Cree to sit with them.

Seeing Cree made him think back to that Black day, the words of Smaug echoed in his ears and the pain of his wound returned. As Cree sat down Fáinu's mind wandered to and fro about his history, and they were not happy thoughts. But he smiled non the less, though now and again he remembered his suspicion of Hama, he did not yet trust him.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Hearing the familiar name, Aman stopped dead and spun around in astonishment. Her eyes widened as she saw it was Snaveling who had announced the name, and that he was indeed right - the man's old partner in crime, simultaneously one of the Inn's benefactors, was indeed sitting once more in the Inn. Aman's face broke into a grin and she clapped her hands delightedly. "Toby! Toby Hornblower, welcome back!"

Toby winced as the Innkeeper said his name so loudly and looked around guiltily into the shadows of the Inn, but Aman didn't notice as she hastened over to the bar and pulled him a drink. As she pushed it across the table to him, Toby patted his pockets half heartedly and his face assumed, out of habit, the mock-astonished, half guilty expression of one who has no money and well knew it before the drink was poured, but Aman waved a hand as he began to protest. "Fa fa fa - Tobias, please, it's on the house - naturally, after your gift at your last visit."

The hobbit looked like he would say something, then paused and, flicking a weary smile at the Innkeeper, he took a deep pull at the drink then, with a satisfied sigh, settled down a little in his chair - a little too much maybe, the Innkeeper mused: his chin was barely over the table top. Passing it over, Aman grinned questioningly at both Snaveling and Toby. "Seems an unexpected coincidence in this reunion - but a glad one, I am sure. Would you like some supper, Toby?"

[Lalwendë]

Snaveling did not answer Jinniver’s questions in the way she had hoped; he deflected them skilfully. ‘It was all I could have expected,’ she noted to herself. ‘This is clearly no fool’. She had already taken in the fine clothing he wore, which brought to mind her recent dreams of finery, and had decided he must have travelled from the south. She pressed him for news of Gondor, half thinking that this might lead him into revealing something more. But when he began to talk of plants and farming she almost forgot about the hidden story she wanted to unearth, and fell into easy and familiar conversation.

Her sense of ease was soon jolted when Buttercup arrived bearing mugs of ale. A gift from Derufin. As she looked up to motion her thanks to Derufin, she caught the look in the eyes of both men. It was cold and measuring. A memory of the lack of caution in her distant past swiftly came into her mind. Jinniver felt a slight chill creep down her spine. She had the sensation that she may have stepped into a situation which was too complicated for her, and began to regret her curiosity. Why hadn’t she stayed closer to more familiar company this evening? She hoped that Derufin might not be thinking badly of her; after all, she was being employed by him. But she looked at Snaveling, who smiled warmly again, and knew she could not simply turn her back on him. He was thoughtful, and she admired his manners and besides, he had much to say that was interesting. She had never thought to meet such a lofty figure who cared for farming.

As Jinniver tried to make sense of her confusion, Aman suddenly appeared and brusquely placed two more tankards onto the table. Jinniver tried to hide her face as Aman gently touched Snaveling’s shoulder and whispered in his ear. The man, as noble as he might be, caught his breath and faltered for a moment and Jinniver took this in. It was a gesture she felt she ought not to have seen. She suddenly did not feel quite so drunk as she had been; her quick thoughts were sobering her up. ‘Well,’ she thought with a sense of realisation ‘It might not be proper for me to be seen sitting here with this gentleman, so familiar and all, but I cannot leave now’.

Snaveling relaxed and made a joke about an old rogue he knew. His laughter was deep and hearty and his seat jerked backwards almost throwing him off balance. She almost laughed, but then caught her breath with fright when he leapt up like a dog after a hare and grasped hold of the hobbit he had crashed into. She thought he was going to strike him, but instead he gave him a heartfelt hug, and her sense of relief was so immense, she started to laugh aloud.

Aman came across to greet the hobbit warmly and she brought him an ale. Jinniver watched expectantly with her mouth slightly open and one eyebrow raised as she watched the hobbit expertly avoid the question of payment. She knew he'd get away with it, she had the measure of his game. 'Now, there's a slippery fish, ' she said to herself, thinking of other characters she had known who had this expert skill in working their way out of their obligations. 'But how could he have wormed his way into being one of Snaveling's associates?'

She got out a pouch of pipeweed and offered it to Snaveling and Mr Hornblower, hoping to hear some more interesting tales, though she knew only too well that rogues of Mr Hornblower's type were not to be trusted lightly.

[starkat]

Gwenneth placed her empty glass down on the bar and sighed. Looking around at all of the reunions made her feel a little sad.

The young elf remembered that she had left something in her room. Walking into her room, she picked up a letter that she had tucked away and sat down on the bed to begin reading.