The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Firefoot]

Lily gaped after Posco in hurt astonishment, her mouth working silently. She did not know whether she wanted to yell, cry, or kiss him. He had seemed pleased to see her, and yet he spoke up with an "I did not want to see you." If she had been confused before, then she was even more befuddled now. He walked off toward the Inn without a backward glance.

Lily looked down at the flowers she held in her hands and jerked them down upon her head in frustration. She stormed off in the opposite direction with a muttered, "Men!" It was something she had heard her aunt say, but she had never really understood it until now. So he expected she was going to check on her pony? Oh, she would, and then he would hear what she had to say! Luckily, Clover was stabled near the end of the shedrow so she did not have to interrupt those further down the aisle. As she had expected, he was bedded down with clean straw and had fresh hay to eat. At least this part of my life is running normally, she thought wryly.

With an absent pat on his nose she left Clover to his breakfast. Lily took her time getting up to the inn. (Let him wait.) She collected her thoughts as well as she could, most of which were a jumbled mix of "how could he", "what in Middle-earth does he mean by that", and "how did I fall in love with him...". She reached the inn door and shoved it open. She saw Posco sitting alone at a table, and went over to join him. He smiled slightly at her, but she was not about to be put off.

"Now you had better explain yourself to me, Posco Brandybuck, or I will be angry," she said, her eyes glittering dangerously. "Speak plainly!"

[Witch_Queen]

Cree looked at Fáinu, she hadn't heard a word about Hama or Adu. As far as she knew they were still in the Shire. "Fáinu, I haven't heard from Adu or Hama since yesterday. I have no clue where they maybe." Her mind began to wander again. She knew that she needed a short leash on her mind but welcomed the chance of curiousity. Everything was still not making any sense to her. Why would Fáinu want to go to Rohan, unless for some reason he has "feelings" for Adu. She knew what the race of men were like. After all her old love Grimm was the only man she actually cared for besides Hama. She noticed that the look in Fáinu's eyes were not normal.

"Fáinu, you don't trust Hama, why?" She figured she caught him off guard. Nothing he could say now would suprise her. Cree had seen many things in her short life. She sat back in her seat and looked at Fáinu waiting for an answer she knew he would have to clarify.

Hama is a good man. Perhaps a better man than the King of man. Hama will not allow anything to harm Adu and won't hurt her himself. The only thing that Adu can't be protected from is herself. For we ourselves become our worse enemies. Looking ahead, after so many years, I have seen so many people become their own exicutioners.

[Nurumaiel]

Posco's mouth fell open and he pushed himself away from Lily as far as he could, which was not far, for his chair confined him. Every ounce of shyness that she had dispelled over the past few days swelled up in him again, and he could not speak for it. No words came to his lips, only the fear that she was speaking too loudly and would be overheard, only the thought that she was frightening and imposing and so much of a stranger. Where was his gentle Lily, the one he had loved, the one who had born with him patiently through all his difficulties in speech when other girls would just walk away laughing? Unless they became angry with him, as Lily was now. This could not be Lily, this lass. Lily had always smiled encouragingly at him when his shyness and sometimes his honesty confused and entangled him, and now she was angry. He could not think of what to say to her, anymore than he could think of what to say to the Elf that was dining at the other table.

He reached up and pulled the brim of his cap down so his eyes were hid, and he studied the floor intently. 'Please, Miss Lily,' he said, and then he was lost. Please what? What was he to say to her? What did he want her to do? Calm herself? That would be foolish to ask. And he'd have to admit that she had made him frightened and shy, and she would be even angrier. He glanced up at her again, and her eyes were smouldering. There, all hopes were gone! He had returned to the Inn in hopes that she was not angry with him, and she had smiled at him kindly and spoken to him warmly. All deceiving him! She was angry at him. This could be nothing but anger.

He stood, abruptly, and his cap fell from his head. He grasped it as it tumbled to the ground, and he fumbled with it confusedly, looking everywhere but at her. His eyes fell on the table; he saw their breakfast had been served. 'Please, Miss Lily,' he said again, and this time he had a request to make of her, 'sit here and eat your breakfast. I must go outdoors and get some fresh air.' Now her eyes would be even angrier, certainly. She would hate him, surely. He did not look at her as he fled from the Common Room.

Outside the door he stood taking deep, shaking breaths. In the space of a few moments his own dear Lily, smiling and kind, had changed into a girl filled with anger, demanding for an explanation. Had he not promised to give her one? He could hardly speak now. And come to think of it, he could hardly breathe now. He put his hand on his chest and then immediately to his eyes, for to his annoyance he found them hot and stinging. Why was he so compelled to cry? She had not frightened him so very badly. No, she had not frightened him very badly, but she had scared all hope away. She was angry with him. She did not love him. He had feared as much. The moonlight had been playing tricks with her, and by it she had been compelled to confess love for him.

The tree that she had climbed the previous evening was not far; he staggered towards it as if he was drunk, rubbing frantically at his eyes with one hand and clutching his heaving chest with the other. It was so difficult to breathe! He felt as though someone had planted their fist in his stomach and knocked the air out of him. He must calm himself, or he would have no hope of either breathing or resisting his urge to weep. He climbed to a high branch in the tree, pressing himself against the trunk so he would have support, and also so he would be better shrouded by the green leaves.

So this was it! He had sacrificed his sanity by staying with Aunt Malva, and sacrificed his peace of mind by letting Blanco go off without him, and all to find that Lily was angry with him. Not only angry with him, but so angry as to speak in hot tones and act as though she cared nothing for him. Truly she did not. She could not. If she cared for him she would not shout at him so when she knew he was a timid sort of fellow.

A timid sort of fellow! Bitterness sprang into his heart. Well, it was no surprise she did not care for him, when he was so meek and shy. Didn't the lassies like to have strong hobbits who they could depend on a bit more? 'No doubt,' said Posco to himself, 'Lily would have preferred it if, when she had been shouting at me, I had stood imposingly over her with a stern, angry look in my eye, and then fallen upon her with passionate kisses, exclaiming on how beautiful she was when she was angry. Well, I don't do that, and the hobbits I've seen that have are fools who break the lass's heart the next day.' He swiped furiously at his eyes. The tears were leaving, and he could breathe steadier now.

'What would she want in a husband?' he demanded to himself. 'If she wants a hobbit who would love her in a quiet manner, one who will work to provide for her and her children, one who will defend the home with courage and strength if it is in danger, then she has me. If she wants a hobbit who would loudly proclaim his love for her through song and poem and passionate embraces, one who would care more for society and parties than the prospect of raising children, and one who would be rich enough to hire hobbit guards to defend the home rather than himself, well then! she can go home and search for such a hobbit, but she won't have him in me. If she wanted such a hobbit I would not marry her no matter how much she pleaded, for I would make her uncommonly unhappy.'

He paused, and reflected upon her angry manner and flashing eyes of only a few moments ago. 'She can't abide my trouble with talking,' he said, but this time directing his speech not to himself but to a little bird who had perched on the branch and was gazing at him with an inquisitive, rather nervous eye. 'I say things honestly, but I never can express them right for I'm not one for talking, and it always makes folk upset. If it upsets her, too, she might as well forget her little idea about marrying me, for I would be constantly offending and hurting her, without the least intention of doing so.'

His head fell wearily against the tree and his hands dropped, startling the little bird. He watched it flying away, and he sighed. 'My one hope of ever being happily married was that I would meet a girl who was gentle and quiet, but fun-loving too; a girl who would not speak very loudly because it startles me; a girl who would be patient enough to bear with my shyness and awkwardness; a girl who would encourage me with smiles and kindly looks. Lily seemed to be all of this, and I loved her. Now she is loud and angry, and impatient with me. But, confound it all!' he burst out passionately. 'I love her still!' And he looked miserably up at the sky.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman couldn't breathe as her head whipped around to stare at Snaveling, her hand coming up short in front of the horse's muzzle and her breath catching in her throat. "You...you would..." she struggled for breath and looked back at the horse, the most beautiful of it's sort that she had ever seen and gaped at Snaveling in a most unladylike manner. "Snaveling, I couldn't possibly take such a gift."

"Why not?" he replied, simply. Aman gave a short laugh. "Snaveling, he is..."

"Please do."

Aman looked across at him, uncomprehending, puzzlement in her eyes, and also a little hurt. Snaveling, this isn't fair: why mislead me with such a gift when I know it is not me who you love...

"Amanaduial, you showed me kindness when no one was prepared to, not even Roa, even when you did not need to. You could have thrown me out or handed me over to the Shirriff of the Shire, or to the Bree council - but you did the opposite. You actually tried to understand me. No one has ever done that before!" Snaveling's emphatic words almost laughed and he smiled widely across at her.

"It was the king's gift to you..." she replied softly.

"Aye, and not the first or last, Aman. This...this horse, this magnificent creature, is the finest steed I have ridden, the finest steed almost anyone could ever claim to have ridden. Think, Aman," Snaveling's voice was honeyed and smooth, wonderfully persuasive. "the finest horse in the West, descended from the line of the Meeras. Given to you, by me."

Aman had forgotten how to breathe as her eyes lingered on the horse, then, trembling, reached towards it's face. The beast watched her sombrely, great dark eyes conveying more than human intelligence, before it reached forward and deigned to touch her hand. His fur was soft as silk on leather and when he snorted Aman felt the breath of the Lords of the West sigh across her fingers.

"Who could name such an animal..."

"You." Given to you, by me...By me...." Aman turned to look back at the Man as he leaned nonchalantly against the side of the stall, his arms folded across the fine material of his black shirt as he watched her, a tender half smile on his darksome features, cast as they were half in shadow. His eyes glittered mischieviously although the stables were not dark, and Aman saw every complex facet of Snaveling both simplified and amplified in that instant into one perfect being as she watched him. He smiled again, blinking and breaking the spell back to reality - but only slightly. "What do you say, Mistress Rohan," he drawled softly, using the name he had once called her. "Will you accept my gift?"

Aman didn't reply, watching him with a delighted secret smile on her impish features. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back slightly, trying to remember the song that nagged at the corner of her mind: the song Snaveling had once sung, in a happy moment months ago in the Inn. The words crept around her mind and she grasped a few, her voice strengthening from a hesitant hum to a pleasant murmur as she sang the familiar, old tune:

"A thousand suns will stream on thee,
A thousand moons will quiver;
But not by thee my steps shall be,
For ever and for ever...."

Snaveling had straightened up as she sang, his face dawning with a thousand suns in recognition and he moved forward slightly, his lips moving in time with hers. As he came towards her, Aman's hand moved up to his face, and his inadvertantly did the same. Eyes closing slightly, Aman's head tipped on one side as Snaveling leant his face down towards hers...

The great whinny from behind made Aman leap and spin around to see 'Falmar speed out of the stable. A thousand ferocious mental curses flew after the horse - and after only a split-second's hesitation, so did Aman, her skirts held up about her as she pursued the mare. "'Falmar! Rochfalmar!" Her cries did little to mute the whirling of her thoughts, a mad flurry of hope and regret and panic at what had almost happened there, and always the song in the background.

And here by thee will I sing and sigh,
For ever and for ever...

[Hookbill the Goomba]

"I know not," replied Fáinu, "Something about his seems queer to me. It is unsettling. But now, I am jumping to conclusions, many have their own business to attend to."

He sipped his ale and looked Cree in the eyes and smiled. Until now he had made not definite plans for the future. There was a lot of trouble in the north according to Dwaline, there would be much for Cree and himself to do there, rather than sit in an Inn all day.

"So, you are truly unafraid of whatever fate?" he said after a long silence, "Do you not feel that your strength would be better spent elsewhere? Do not think that I don't value our friendship, for I do very dearly. But I must know, what do you think is your fate?" he knew he could not answer to the question himself, but wished to know if Cree had any ideas,

"Do you thin your days shall be spent following me into peril? Me, a lonely wanderer and betrayer of kin and companions." Smaugs words were coming right out of his mouth, as if he now believed them more than ever.

[Firefoot]

Lily was shocked that Posco had walked out on her again. Maybe he really didn't want to see her! But why, then, had he told her to meet him at the inn? Her first inclination was to go out and follow him to get everything straightened out right away. She even made a move to follow him, and then she realized that it would be exactly the wrong thing to do. He was shaken up, clearly, and would need time to regroup.

She tried to step back from the situation, see it from his point of view, and figure out what she had done wrong. He had been sitting up here, waiting for her, presumably. Then she had stormed into the common room and demanded... Lily stopped there, for she knew that was precisely her error. What had happened to encouraging him, being understanding? He was so shy, that of course he would freeze up and try to flee if she came at him angry. It was her own fault, and she knew it. It was that temper of hers... it could get mighty fierce, as she had shown Marcho their first night here. She wondered what Posco would have thought if he had seen her then. Most of the possible outcomes made her wince. An apology was in order, she knew. As soon as he was ready.

But wait. If she waited until he was ready, she might well wait until her dying day. No, she would have to go to him, but where had he gone? Surely he had not left? Lily feared it might well be so. She was no hungrier than she had been earlier, and abandoning all thoughts of waiting for Posco there she hurried outside. She did not intend to find him just yet, but she would not let him leave under her very nose. They would understand each other, Lily determined. She was relieved that the road was empty for a good stretch in either direction; he was still here somewhere. She sat down on the steps leading up to the Inn door to think and wait.

First of all, mused Lily, he must understand that I am not angry at him, and all I want is to talk things out. I will need to bring him back out of his shell, most likely. Trust is a precious thing to gain, and not easily regained once lost. If she had severed that, Lily knew that she would have a lot of ground to cover again. She wouldn't give up, though, because if he did love her, it would be all worth while. She could only hope that he did, for she had given her heart over to him, whether he knew it or not, and the thought of him leaving for ever wrenched inside of her. All seemed hopeless to her, but as surely as Lily had a temper, she had ambition to match, and she had set her goal for nothing less than marrying Posco. Did he not realize that she loved him, even after admitting it straight out? Patience, she told herself. She did not like being patient. Alas that perhaps the most important virtue she needed was the one she lacked!

Finally she could stand the waiting no longer. Lily got up and dusted herself off. She did not see Posco anywhere nearby, so she decided to head back to the stables. A glance inside showed her he was not there. On a hunch, she looked back around where she had found him earlier. She was sorely disappointed to find the space empty save for the tree she had climbed yesterday and a robin poking around in the ground for worms.

"Posco, where are you?" she said outloud, a tone of dispair in her voice. Maybe he had left, and she had missed him. With a sigh, she turned around to go back to the inn. He had said he would come back, or at least it had been implied. She would have to trust him.

[Nurumaiel]

Posco heard Lily calling his name, and words sprang to his lips. He forced them away, closing his eyes, trying to pretend she was not there. Things were bad enough as they were; he would not make them even worse by seeing her again. It would be too risky. He might say something to make her even angrier. Yet, as he reflected upon it, he had not heard anger in her voice but worry and despair. Very well! He had known that girls were curious creatures, or at least his father always said so, but this was quite shocking. Was she repentant? Was she worried that he was angry? What was she? Maybe she was trying to fool him, trying to bring him out so she could speak angrily with him again.

This was too much!

Posco burst into laughter, and moved himself carefully along the branch until he was closer to the edge. Rustling the leaves loudly, he called softly down, 'Lily! I'm up here; come along up yourself!'