The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling fought down the sudden rush of glee that threatened to mar his features with a look of triumphant malice. Valthalion! The young Ranger who, alone among those whom he had met on his first stay at the Inn, had remained steadfastly against him. While the others had shown him grace and mercy, Val had withheld from Snaveling all but the harshest tones. And now he was back from the wilderness, clearly unaware of Snaveling’s new status, and the Black Numenorean took pleasure in how news of this would discomfit the young man. He wore a mask of indulgent friendliness as he took the younger man by the hand, noting its dirtiness and the weariness that hung about the Ranger like the rags that had been his clothes. “To tell all that has happened to me these months would be a long story, my young friend, long indeed, and I shall not bore you with an overlong recitation. Let us sit and obtain you some refreshment and I shall fill you in on what I can before the day is too far advanced!”

They found a small table and Snaveling beckoned to Ruby, who brought Valthalion a small tankard of ale and some simple food leftover from breakfast. Thanks to the generosity of Hearpwine, Snaveling had finally acquired credit at the Inn and was able to exclaim quite grandly that he would pay for the Ranger’s meal. As Val tucked into his food, Snaveling explained to him how Galadel Vinorel and Roa had uncovered Snaveling’s true heritage. He told how they had recognised his amulet as the work of vanished Numenor and the device that it bore as the sign of the King. As he proceeded in his tale Val’s eyes grew wider and wider with surprise until the young man interrupted him with a cry. “You? The heir of the last King? Impossible? The Lord Elessar is the true King!” His eyes flashed with a familiar passion. Snaveling put out his hand to quell the boy’s ire.

“I did not say that I am heir to the throne of Gondor. That belongs to the line of Elendil from which high descent I do not come. My ancestor was the nephew of the last King of Numenor, and it is from him that I claim royalty. My land is now a vanished realm, buried beneath the sea, and my throne has become the plaything of fishes of the deep. I am, however, kinsman to the Lord Elessar, and he has done me the honour of embracing me and calling me cousin. He has acknowledged my ancestry and in token of that granted me lordship of a rich vale upon the southern flanks of the White Mountains.”

“But then,” Valthalion gasped, as though he had not been listening to what Snaveling had just said, “You are a Black Numenorean! You are the King of the Black Numenoreans! You are the mortal enemy of my Lord…and you say that he has met with you and called you his kinsman? How is this possible?”

“Roa stood by me when I met with Elessar the first time, and she avouched for my claim. None of the good that has been done for me would have been possible were it not for her.” Snaveling could see the young man’s face as he spoke of Roa, and he knew that the young man remembered her well.

“Roa,” Val replied slowly, “what has happened to her? I would like to see her again, if for no other reason than to hear her account of this…transformation of a man I took for a rogue into a vanished King!”

Snaveling let Val’s less-than-flattering description of him pass without comment, saying only, “I do not know where Roa is. I had hoped that perhaps you might have news of her, for I have come North once more with the particular desire to see her again. But come, if you cannot tell me of her, perhaps you can tell me of yourself. I well remember that you and I were never on the best of terms, but perhaps we can change that now that we are both the sworn friend of the King.” Snaveling could not resist one last boast to the lad about his kinship with the King: “He and I spoke of you once or twice when I was in Minas Tirith, and he asked that if I heard word of you or your companions that I would tell you from him that your efforts are noted by him with appreciation and love.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hearpwine bowed as low as he could to the Halfling who presented herself to him as the teacher. She nodded her head in return. “Greetings my lady Hobbit,” he began in his politest terms. Uncertain yet of how to behave in the Shire he had decided to adopt the manners he had developed for the court of Edoras, confident that such courtesy would not be unwelcome, if a bit out of place. The advice of his master, Eorcyn, flashed through his mind ’Tis always better, lad, to be more courteous than less when speaking with new folk in a new place. It’s always easier to become more comfortable and easy with them as acquaintance grows than to try and make up lost ground once you’ve affronted them.

“I am Hearpwine, son of Aethelstan and bard to King Eomer of the Golden Hall and I would like to offer you my services in the education of these children. I know ballads and tales from all the lands between the mountains and the Sea and I would gladly teach them to the little ones in return for hearing from them, or yourself, or their parents, whatever songs might be known in this land but nowhere else! But before we discuss the details of my proposal, might I ask your name Lady Teacher, for I am but newly arrived at the Inn and woefully ignorant of its denizens!”

[littlemanpoet]

Uien had been busy at her cutting, sitting near the garden, when the green door opened. She looked up absently, but her glance stayed. Out walked an Elf. He looked familiar. Was he also from Lorien? He seemed occupied with his thoughts, and they were closed; Uien forced herself not to probe his mind, not until and unless they made acquaintance. He walked around the Inn and out of sight.

Uien looked to her carving; nothing as yet could be seen clearly from the shape slowly forming beneath her knife. It was small and without sharp edges, whatever it was.

She heard footsteps come from the fields behind the Inn, and stop to her side, casting a short shadow toward the undying lands, where she had chosen never to go. She looked up. It was Falowik, of course.

"How was your walk?" she asked in a calmed voice.

Falowik smiled, showing his relief at the peace he saw in her face. "Good. I needed it. How is Kírsul?"

"He is well, and would be off and away. He needs to run in the open. Not just in this fenced pasture of the Inn."

"I know," Falowik said, and crouched on the balls of his feet by her. "What are you carving?"

Uien looked down at her work. "I do not know .... yet. She pointed at the green door with her knife. "I saw an Elven man come out of that green door. He may be from Lorien. He looked familiar."

Falowik's face was unreadable. Uien chose not to probe his thought. He said, "So many Elves in the Shire. I wonder what the Hobbits think."

Uien smiled. "I do not know. Most likely they think it too out of the ordinary, and wish us gone."

Falowik smirked, then looked carefully into her grey eyes. "Do you know what was ailing you?"

"No, but I think that maybe this carving may reveal that which lies within my heart."

"I am eager to see what it is."

"While I carve, maybe you could ride Kírsul in the pasture."

"I shall do that." He smiled for her once more, rose, and walked toward the stables.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Chuckling softly, Miz Bella turned to face the Bard, extending her hand in welcome and trying to speak in the same formal manner as he had done, "Master Hearpwine, your words are fair and your offer fairer still. Perhaps you will be interested to learn that I am as much a stranger in these parts as you are. I too am new to the Shire, for I have lived most of my life in a distant place over the sea, far west of here, that some have called the New Lands."

"As to my own name," she continued, "I am Miz Bella Tûk, daughter of Hildifons, whose name appears in the genealogies of the Red Book. And I warmly welcome you to our class. I would be most grateful to have you give some instruction to the children. Only I fear I could pay you little in return. We are only now getting started and I must use the rest of the morning to teach the children a few letters and numbers. Later this afternoon, or tomorrow if you would like, we hope you will agree to return and share some of your fine songs with us, and perhaps a tale or two about life in Rohan."

"Does that sound to your liking? Perhaps you might teach the children to sing a song or two? We might even work on preparing a public performance at the Inn, unless you think that would be too difficult for such little ones."