The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[piosenniel]

It is a fair evening in the Shire.

The lamps are lit in The Green Dragon.

Supper is now being served - roast lamb, taters, garden fresh green peas with butter. Apple-Brown-Betty for dessert.

Plenty of ale, wine, tea, and cold, clear water from the Inn well for parched throats.

[Primrose Bolger]

‘Oh Sir!’ returned Ginger, seeing the gentleman was certainly eager for news of his friend. ‘I’m sorry to be of no help to you. But I’ve only just come to the Inn for this week.’ Rebalancing the tray of Apple-Brown-Betty on her hand, she hurried on with her explanation. ‘There’s to be a handfasting here at the Inn, come the end of the week. Many of us lasses have been sent in by our mums to help Cook out.’

She saw his expression fall at this bit of news. ‘There’s Ruby . . . there by the bar – pulling half-pints for the thirsty fellows. Ask her. If anyone should know about who’s come and gone through the Inn it might be Ruby Brown.’

Fallon and Gil, a few half-pints themselves under their loosened belts, had both taken their napkins from their collars and were waving wildly at her as their tablemates cheered them on. ‘Sorry, Sir,’ she said again, giving him the briefest of bobs as she stepped away from his table. ‘I’ve some lads with sweet-tooths wanting their dessert.’

[Firefoot]

"Miss Lily," said Blanco. "Would you tell me exactly how you feel about my brother?" Lily felt herself go cold. The question was not completely unexpected, but it hit her hard just the same.

"I... I love him." The words, though not loud, were easily audible in the silent barn. Lily did not wait for his response. She had been almost to the door when he had called her back in, and a few steps she was outside. Letting the door swing shut behind her, she fled. She did not return to the inn, but rather around the other side of the barn. There was a large tree, with branches low enough for her to swing herself up among the leaves. She sat there in a fork in the branches, gasping for breath. She was not sure why she had reacted so strongly, but somehow the question had seemed so bold, so personal. Had she really been so afraid of his reaction that she had needed to get away that quickly? Deep inside, she knew the answer was yes. Then, being so flustered she could hardly think clearly, she had offered the bluntest answer she could now imagine. The words were true, of course, but admitting them out loud in such a way had awaken something deep inside her.

Lily wasn't sure how long she sat in the tree, but she knew if that Blanco and Posco would come looking for her if she was away any longer, if they hadn't already. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she pushed off from the low branch and landed lightly on her feet. Lily knew her only real choice was to return to the inn, and she steeled herself to walk around the far side of the barn. Neither of the twins were in sight, so she went alone up to the Inn and prepared to walk inside.

[Nurumaiel]

As the evening shadows fell, Lily left the stable and left Blanco alone. He stared blankly at the door, and he then he promptly sat down on the ground. Oh, he had known it, surely he had known it, and he had known it for some time. But he had always dared hope that perhaps she did not love him yet, for maybe then there would be a chance. There was no chance now, for she loved him. And when a lass loved a lad, she did not change her heart. Love did not change. Was it not so? Yet... at one time, had he not loved the brown-eyed lassie, the sweet little Marigold Hilldweller, who loved him well? No, but he just had a fickle heart, and as the realization came to him that very heart sunk. He was fickle. Maybe he would love another girl tomorrow, and forget Lily. He could never be happy in marriage. He would love a girl and marry her, and then he would one day stop...

Oh, oh, oh! but hadn't Lily been the sweetest, kindest, gentlest little thing he had ever seen? But Marigold was sweet, and kind, and gentle as well, and he had brought her flowers, and she had lifted her large brown eyes up to him, with the golden-brown curls falling on her rosy cheeks, and his heart had beat fiercely, fiercely! Flittings of a song came to his mind then, a song he had sung of Marigold as he sat in the moonlight by the Brandywine dreaming of her, and they pained him....

Dear are her charms to me,
dearer her laughter free,
dearest her constancy...

Her constancy! Marigold was the very soul of constancy! She had loved him for so long, and had more than likely always trusted that he loved her, and small blame to her for that. He had gone off before, and she had always been there to see him off and wish him well, and the first to run out to greet him at his return. Would the most charming hobbit lad in the land come to sweep her off her feet, she would continue to gaze unwaveringly at him, at Blanco Brandybuck, loving him as much as ever.

When, like the dawning day....
Love sends his early ray....

What makes his dawning glow
changeless through joy and woe?
Only the constant know...

Only the constant know. Oh, he would never know, for he was not constant. At this time he should be thinking of Marigold, and Marigold alone, even though Lily was beautiful and kind. Marigold was probably thinking of him this very moment, with all trust, and he was weeping that Lily loved his brother!

Truth is a fixed star...

Yes, but what was the truth? Did he love Lily? Oh, yes, yes, he did! Did he love Marigold? He had loved her, yes, but he did not any longer. Then why, why did she keep coming to his mind? Constant Marigold! Oh, would not everyone be happy if he could find it to be true that he loved Marigold? Lily could marry Posco, and he could marry Marigold, and all would be well. But he did not love her, not any longer. And as he thought of this another song came to his head, and it said:

In constancy to her I love -
the girl I've left behind me.

'Would that I did,' he moaned, 'would that I did love her!' And he bowed his head and sat in silent misery.

[Envinyatar]

Pushing back his chair from the table, Derufin smiled as he looked at his Hobbit companions. ‘You would think,’ he murmured to himself, watching them hail the new serving girl, Ginger, ‘that as big as I am in comparison to them, that I could out eat them.’ He chuckled as the lads hands went out for the bowls of dessert, and at their clamor for the thick sweet cream to pour atop it. ‘By the One, I’m no match even to keep up with them!’

Andwise, too, had moved his chair back from his place and waved off the offer of something sweet. Interesting, though, thought Derufin, how his voice gentled as he spoke his refusal and gave his thanks for the offer. Something was going on, he mused. Since Cook had had her private little conversation with Andwise, he seemed more thoughtful. And the man could not help but notice how his gaze often went from the girl to his son and back again, as if her were considering something in a new light.

The Hobbit pulled out his pouch of tobacco and offered the Stablemaster a pipeful. Filled, tamped, and lit, the smoke from the pipes curled upward together in lazy spirals. Derufin’s eye fell on the fellow who had spoken to Ginger, wondering what he was about – what did he want of her. His gaze lingered long on him, watching as the man’s eye swept round the room, then was cast downward as if brooding.

Derufin pulled his attention away from the man and watched the others in the Inn. There was Buttercup, flirting outrageously with some of the regulars; there was Ruby, smiling as she filled the mugs for thirsty Hobbits and Men. And there, a bit pale behind the fading red stains on her high cheekbones was Aman. She moved through the crowd as always, that certain air of self-possession evident in her actions. Or so one who hadn’t known her long would see . . . but the laughter at some Hobbit’s witticism seemed a little forced tonight; her eyes too bright . . . and he wondered if it was that she held back tears . . .

[Amanaduial the archer]

The Innkeeper grinned widely at one of the regulars as she delivered another ale to him, and he attempted drunkenly to flirt with her hopelessly. Aman laughed with him and pretended to scold him. Luckily, he was too drunk to realise that her laugh was slightly strained. Walking back to the bar, Aman cast her eyes around the room lightly, checking that the denizens of the busy room seemed content, for now at least. Her eyes caught on Snaveling and her step faltered slightly, before she looked away, holding her head high. As she avertd her gaze from the raven haired man, her eyes caught those of another: Derufin. For a moment, they held, and he cocked his head onto one side through the haze of pipe smoke in front of his face, his dark eyes searching hers. Aman returned the gaze for a second, then turned away, walking back to the bar, ignoring his concerned look.

What does he know? From the look of Snaveling now, he would think him a respectable man, as they all do: when he came first he was nothing of the sort, a ruffian, mistrusted by all...nearly all... Aman recalled how she had listened to Snaveling and shown him kindness, where Roa had shown him only spite. Did that count for nothing?

Ringing the bell at the bar, she called, "Supper ending now, ladies and gents, last orders for food now please!" Closing her eyes for a few moments, she felt the ache in her limbs and her head: she had not rested since she had come in from riding from the East Road, and from several hours riding her limbs were stiff and protested. She needed to sleep...

No. He might see it as defeat. He would not defeat her, he and his precious ranger woman. And so she kept on, not aware of how far she was pushing herself, mentally and physically - but it was noticed by the stablemaster, watching her with his still eyes, and the black Numenorian on the other side...

[Beserker_Warrior]

Bakathirin walked into the Green Dragon Inn.It was a peaceful,quiet morning.There were hobbits walking around and serving people breakfast,ale,and other types of food.He did not pay close attention to any of these details.He was looking for a man from the north, a ranger,as he was. This man's name was R'iven.

Bakathirin did not see him at all,in any corner of the inn and so he turned and walked outside. Bakathirin was 6 feet,6 inches tall( 2 meters).His face and head were cloaked ,but if one looked closely they could tell that he had dark brown hair and a kingly face. There was an unearthly glint in his eye as one who has great knowledge and prowess. He had a noble stature and yet he was weary. He carried a sword forged by the great elvish smiths, a curved knife given to him by Elrond before his departure and a bow of the Galdrim given for valor in the fight against Dol Guldur. Yet for all his weapons from many different places of the world he was from Eryn Lasgalon.

For many long years he had worked along side humans and elves against the evil power of Sauron.Now that fight was over, but there were still evil things in the world as their always would be and because of these evil things he was looking for R'iven, Bakathirin carried news of an uprising of evil on the borders of Buckland.The ents , led by Treebeard were starting to clean up the filth of Saruman,the elves had cleansed Mirkwood now Eryn Lasgalon and now this! Why would R'iven not be at the appointed place at the appointed time.

After roaming the city looking for Bakathirin R'iven gave up the search and turned to go back to the inn when he bumped into someone "Oh forgive me I .... !Bakathirin were have you been I 've been scouring the town looking for you! What news has Suefenel sent with you??"

[Nurumaiel]

As Posco wandered back towards the stable after unsuccessfully searching for his sister and Hal, he saw a faint rustling in one of the trees that stood nearby, and he paused, gazing earnestly up into its depths. There was no further movement or noise, and so with a shrug he moved towards the stable. As he drew near, however, he glanced back at the tree and he was more than a little surprised to see Lily spring lightly to the ground. It was curious that she should be out here rather than searching in the stable. And if she and Blanco had finished their searching, why should she be here and not Blanco? Posco was intrigued, and he desired to ask her, but as he stepped forward to call to her he drew back with a blush, too shy to raise his voice so high.

Lily glanced about her, in a searching manner, and she moved then towards the stable, yet as she approached it she did not enter but turned her steps and went around by the far side. Posco followed, and as she began to turn the corner and direct herself towards the Inn, he raised enough courage to call her softly. She turned, and her face brightened, and her rosy cheeks flushed, and for a moment he felt dizzy gazing upon the loveliness of her face. But, with a countenance that betrayed nothing of his feelings, he approached her, and offered her his arm, saying, 'Miss Lily, before it grows too dark, would you care to stroll about the grounds with me?'

[Firefoot]

Lily took his arm gratefully, replying, "A walk would be just the thing. Thank you for asking." Her voice was a good deal more composed that she was at the moment. The heat was going out of her face, but her thoughts were still frantic. How much did he see? Oh, dear, I thought no one was nearby... Posco said nothing of it, and she began to hope that he had only seen her going up to the inn. She was calming down as they walked though, and she was comforted by his presence. It was exactly what Lily had wanted, and neither of them said anything for a while. Then Lily knew she must say something soon, for if she waited too long it would be time to go back inside and she might not have another chance.

“Posco?” she said softly. Her heart was hammering; she wondered how it was possible that he could not hear it. Seeming to sense her mood, Posco replied in kind. “Yes, Lily?” She looked over at him, and saw that he too was watching her expectantly. It’s not too late, you can say something else, she thought, and promptly dashed it. It was now or never. She whispered, “I love you.”

[Nurumaiel]

Posco felt the blood rush to his face, and he stopped in his tracks, turning to her in utter amazement. When she saw the expression on his face she paled, and stared desperately up at him, as if waiting for some proclaimation of doom to fall upon her. Quickly her took both her hands in his to reassure her, and he vainly sought for words to say in his mind. She loved him! It was too beautiful, too joyous to be true! She would be willing to be his wife, she wanted to be his wife. His eyes flamed with love as he gazed down on her, and he thought how easy it would be to bend towards her and touch her lips... but, no! It wasn't proper. He had known her only a day, and even if he loved her in that short a time, it wasn't custom to become engaged to a girl in that short a time, or even tell her that you loved her. He wanted to tell her, but he could not. She'd be made a laughing-stock in front of all her friends, and an object of scorn among others, and he couldn't have that. And as for himself, well! His mother had always raised him by the strictest code of honour. 'Never, Posco dear,' she had said, 'marry a lass, no matter how much you love her and she loves you, unless you've known her a good amount of time already. A sufficient amount of time, dearie, to know that you really do love her and that you will all your life. You don't want to be sorry later. And it will bring shame to you and to her, Posco dear, if you marry the girl after knowing her only a little while, because it isn't natural.'

The thoughts sped through Posco's head as Lily looked expectantly up at him, waiting for his reply. He saw that she was waiting, and he did not know how to reply in a seemly fashion. She waited, and waited some more, and at last, seeing nothing else to say, he stammered out in a confused manner, blushing in his shyness, 'Do you? Well, that's very nice, Lily.'

[Firefoot]

Lily wanted to sit down and cry right there. She had been sure that Posco had loved her too, and so she had offered her heart to him, and he had broken it. For if he did love her, why hadn’t he said so? Her lower lip trembled, and she blinked rapidly to get rid of the tears welling up in her eyes. Why, Posco, why? How could you do this to me? her mind cried out. She was confused, terribly confused. All his actions and words to her contradicted this new message. Be bold, Marcho’s letter had said. Be patient. The words came unbidden to her, and for a moment she had hope. Could it be that she still had a chance? She did not think so. And how to recover from so great an admission? She fumbled about for something to say. She found nothing, and so she turned again and began to walk. Posco fell into step beside her.

I am sure Blanco will be thrilled, she thought bitterly. Then she realized how negative she was being. ‘There is nothing that hard work and determination can’t get you,’ her father used to say. Was it true? she wondered. She was heart-broken and hopeless, but she had to try. But where to start...

“It’s a lovely night,” noticed Lily wistfully. She was thankful for the dim light, for it hid her wince. Where had that come from? That was really profound, she thought sarcastically. How do you expect to win his heart like that?

[Nurumaiel]

'Why, yes, Lily, it is a lovely night,' said Posco, and he fidgeted restlessly. He had an idea that he had said something wrong, and that Lily was upset, but he did not know why. He always heard his father talking about how girls grew sentimental when it came to confessing love, but somehow he could not imagine this plague falling upon Lily. She walked a little away from him now, her little hand no longer on her arm, and her sweet eyes no longer looking up at him. His heart sank within him. Why was it that, after just confessing to love him, she turned coldly away from him like this? Perhaps she had just said it because she had been inspired by the dusky twilight that had descended upon them. That would be a shame, indeed! Maybe she was cold towards him now because she wished to make clear without words that she had not really meant what she said. He began to feel despairing, but he did not want his sorrow to overwhelm his courtesy, so he moved a little away from her so as not to impose himself upon her.

They were going towards the Inn, and Posco realized that he had not eaten yet. Then again, he realized that he could not eat even if he were hungry. His heart and mind were in turmoil. The only thing he could possibly desire was a mug of ale. Lily was standing in the doorway, and the light from within fell upon her and him, and he gazed up at her with adoration which he attempted to hide. Touching his forelock politely, he said, 'I bid you good evening for the present moment, Lily. I'm going to go search for my brother. I hope I shall see you when I return.' For a moment he suspected that he saw tears flash in her eyes, but with the light behind her it was impossible to tell, and all he was certain of was that she had turned and gone within, closing the door behind her.

Posco slowly turned away and made his way to the stable, too upset for musings. Thoroughly convinced that Lily did not really love him, for she had behaved so distantly towards him after her confession, he could do nothing but dwell sorrowfully upon this. Poor, silly lad! He did not understand in the least the heart of Lily, which was like the heart of any other lass in the world. When a girl steps out of comfort and goes so far as to tell a lad she loves him, when by all rights he should be the first to say it, she does not expect her statement to be answered in a way that is not likewise, and if the answer is not a similiar statement she cannot fall back to her usual cheery self. Posco knew nothing of this, but merely felt certain that Lily did not really love him.

Posco crossed the stable floor and stood before Blanco, who still sat silent and miserable. 'Blanco,' said Posco, 'I am very unhappy. Lily told me that she loves me and I think she's changed her mind now.' Blanco had resolved not to look at his brother, but at these words he looked up in utter amazement, and managed to stammer, 'She's changed her mind? Impossible!'

'Well, after she said it she started acting very odd,' said Posco. 'She wasn't happy and cheerful like she usually is, but she was polite... too polite, that is, for she's always been courteous. And she walked farther away from me then she used to, and she didn't say very much.'

'Why, what did you say to her?'

'Nothing, except that I agreed that it was a lovely night.'

'No, no, I do mean,' said Blanco earnestly, 'what did you say to her when she told you she loved you?' And he stood up, gazing anxiously at his brother.

'Well, I told her it was a very nice thing,' said Posco, 'and I wanted more than anything to say I felt the same towards her, but I couldn't when I'd known her only a day.'

'So you just said it was nice?' said Blanco, and his voice was strained. Posco nodded, and Blanco promptly struck out at him and hit him in the jaw. Posco sat down very quickly, and blinked up at his brother. He touched his jaw uncertainly, and then he said, 'Blanco, you've never done anything like that to me in your life, at least not since we were very small.'

'No, I didn't,' said Blanco, sitting down sorrowfully in front of his brother. 'And, Posco, I tell you I'm sorry now, but I couldn't help it. I'm so miserable at myself and so angry with you.'

'But whyever are you angry at me?'

'Because you've probably hurt Lily's dear little heart.'

'Oh,' said Posco, and nothing more. He could not understand it. Surely Blanco was wrong, for he had said nothing unkind to Lily. Vaguely he realized what sort of answer she was expecting, but he set his jaw (though it did cause him a little bit of pain, considering the blow that had just been dealt to it) and shook his head. He should not answer correctly, at least not yet. He would explain to her if he must, but he could not make any promises until he was certain he loved her. Absolutely certain.

[starkat]

Gwenneth had finished her dinner. Being alone, she had time to think. Her travels so far had been interesting. The rangers, elves, and hobbits that she had met had told interesting tales of their homes and of their travels.

The young elf maid got up from her table and headed outside. She decided to wander around the Inn grounds for awhile. After a few minutes, Gwenneth took a seat under a tree and looked up at the night sky.

I wonder what my family is doing. Right now everyone must be gathered around for storytelling or singing. Her thoughts flew to the note she had recieved not long after reaching the Green Dragon and the meeting with one of her brothers. Father wants me to come home and cut my journey short. I am not ready. My journey through these lands has just begun.

A tear slid down the elf's cheek. Her love for her family was real, but she was young for an elf and wanted to travel more before she left Middle Earth. Voices drew her attention and she watched as two hobbits went there seperate ways after a walk.

Gwenneth returned her gaze to the night sky and sighed. The conversations that she had taken part in today had kept her from missing her family and from thinking about her conversation with her brother. Her thoughts turned to her time in the Shire and she smiled to herself.

Relaxing a little, the young elf decided to stay where she was for a little while. The sounds of the Inn could be heard as well as the sounds from the stables. Gwenneth reached her hand up to the jewel she wore around her neck and she leaned back against the tree.

[Firefoot]

When Lily entered the Inn by herself, she did not feel like joining the jovial crowd in the common room. She could see that Marcho and Bingo saw her enter because they had tried to wave her over, but she pretended not to see them and hurried up the stairs on the other side of the room. The tantalizing smells of food followed her up, but she cared not for food right then. In fact, she felt sick. Posco had gone after Blanco, which was understandable, but all he had said was "I hope I will see you when I return." What was that supposed to mean? She wished she could sleep, but she was much too restless and despite the busy day she did not feel tired. For the first time since that morning, she looked down at herself. Her dress was splattered with mud, and there was a small tear in the hem. Her hair was tangled, and the wreath of flowers Posco had given her... it was gone! Panicked, she looked around the room as if it might have fallen off there. It must have fallen off when she climbed into that tree, she realized. It was like the last brick that broke the cart, and Lily fell down onto the floor right there and sobbed. Not loudly that anyone downstairs or in adjacent rooms could hear, but the soft, heart-wrenching tears of someone who is utterly hopeless.

When no more tears would come, she chanced to look up and saw Marcho's letter lying on her little dresser. She felt the inclination to burn it, or at least rip it to tiny shreads. Something stopped her, however, and she put the letter into her bag where she would not lose it. Suddenly she laughed. If things really were as bad as they could get, they could only get better. She did not know how they could, but certainly they would not get better while she sat up here. It strengthened her resolve, and the first step would be getting herself cleaned up. She changed her dress; it would have to be washed and mended later. She brushed out her hair as well, and washed her face with the water in the basin. She now felt much better, and returned downstairs into the Common Room.

She spotted Peony and Hal sitting together in at a corner table first, and Lily felt a wave of jealousy that she quickly subdued. She did not want to interrupt them, as they seemed very comfortable in each others' company. She saw Blanco and Marcho sitting together at the same old table by the fire, and since they were the only others that she recognized, she walked over there.

"Is everything all right?" asked Bingo. "Where are Blanco and Posco?"

"You mean they haven't come back yet?" asked Lily. "We got separated from Hal and Peony, and Blanco insisted on looking for them. We split up, and when Posco and I got back here we saw no sign of Blanco so Posco went to find him. They should be back shortly." She had purposely dodged his first question, and Marcho seemed to sense this by the look he gave her, but he passed over it in silence. She was not terribly keen on spilling her troubles out to them, and half-wished that she had one of her good hobbit-lass friends from Bree here to talk to, or perhaps her aunt. She felt slightly homesick, but that was a futile wish. Besides, if she went back to Bree she might never see Posco again. There was little more conversation between them, and they settled in to wait for the twins to return.

[Witch_Queen]

Count was glad to be out of the stables and in fresh air. "Steady Count." Adu said as she stroke his mane. Adu was in a better mood though the day was to her just beginning. She turned as she heard someone say that supper was being served. She still didn't feel like going back inside. The air felt good to her and nothing else mattered. Fáinu was right beside her and Adu knew that perhaps everything would be ok. "Fáinu what do you know of fate. After what you have said it seems like fate has turned her back on you." She couldn't keep her mouth shut. Though she meant for it to sound serious she knew instead it sounded cold like her heart.

Adu kept on riding until she noticed that she was alone. She turned Count around. "Fáinu, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it the way it sounded. Its just... Oh never mind. I'm going to say something that I will regret. Just know that I'm sorry about that." Adu felt bad now and she knew that unless Fáinu let her know that everything was ok that she would hate herself for the rest of her life. Adu dismounted from her horse and walked over to him. Her grey eyes reflected his face and her soul. Count walked behind Adu even though she didn't have her hands on the reigns. Adu swore she over heard Fáinu say, "Adu, your eyes are the window to your soul. I understand what you mean." Instead Adu realized that deep down inside it was herself telling her that.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

"Fáinu, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it the way it sounded. Its just... Oh never mind. I'm going to say something that I will regret. Just know that I'm sorry about that."

Fáinu leaped up upon his horse and looked at her.

"There is nothing to forgive." he said with a smile, "I only tell you what it is I feel I can see in you, I may be wrong, but then I may be rite, who can tell?"

He moved his horse, (Grey mane) forward and nodded as if to ask her to follow. They had not gone far when Fáinu thought he saw a fire in the corner of his eye. Sharply he turned his head and saw that a farmer was making a bonfire. Adu saw that Fáinu had his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Fáinu’s face was pale and Adu thought he had seen something that had haunted him. soon he turned and smiled at Adu, then drew his sword. It was long and pale; the blade glittered in the little light that was about. There were runes on the blade, but the light was dim and Adu could not see them clearly. one set of runes went from the middle near the hilt upwards, another set was just above it in a curved shape.

"This, " Said Fáinu, "is Anganárí, the iron flame. I found it in the lonely mountain. When I heard that Smaug was dead, I went there and met Dwaline. While walking through the halls I saw this sword, broken into five peaces and a part of the hilt was missing.

'Why has this sword not been fixed?' I asked,
'It is an elvish sword' replied the Dwarf, 'your smything of swords is different to ours, it is difficult for us to re-forge any elvish sword. You are welcome to it.'

I picked it up and saw that the runes going upwards read; 'Falokrist' that is 'Dragon cleaver'. I thought that it was fate telling me that this sword had come to me to live up to its name."

He paused and re-sheathed the sword. Adu then saw that the hilt was silver and had yet more runes and a picture of a flame in the centre. The grip was purple and at the end was a green gem.

"I took it back to Rivendell and asked the smiths to fix it." he continued "They did so, and the scalars told me that it was probably made in the second age, and used to slay Dragons in the far north before the Dwarves were driven out. However, they did not think the name was fitting any more and so named it a new, Anganárí, and this name is in an ark shape above the original name." he paused and looked over at Adu, who looked slightly confused, "I know it dose not seem to have much to do with anything, but I feel that one day, perhaps, Anganárí will re claim its name of old. I always felt it was fate that lead me to find it... then again, perhaps I am wrong."

They stood in silence for a while. Fáinu left his sword alone and seemed to smile as stood there, no direction in which to ride did he have in mind, in fact, he did not know if he wanted to leave and return to Imladris as he had been bidden. He did not know what to do... as usual.

[Lalwendë]

Jinniver had joined the noisy supper table occupied by Andwise, Derufin and the hobbit lads; two of the hobbits sat on either side of her and spent most of the meal trying to make her laugh. Now they were holding a smoke ring blowing contest and mocking each other with ever more ridiculous insults. Jinniver had spent suppertime with a smile on her face because of their antics and now she couldn’t help but start giggling. The two hobbits cheered when they saw they had succeeded in amusing her and bowed their heads in mock honour. “Miss Cornthrift, your smile is as beautiful as sunrise after a rainy night” said one and the other topped it by saying “And your laughter is like the sound of birds at dawn”. Jinniver laughed even more and toasted the hobbits as they all drained their tankards.

She looked around to see if anyone was coming by to refill drinks. She didn’t want to go to the bar herself as she had taken a little more drink than she knew was good for her, and she recalled her clumsy episodes of the previous evening all too well. This was strong ale, and it had got the better of many men who had drunk less than she had. But she did want at least one more drink, as she was loathe to leave such good company.

Aman soon passed by the table bearing a large pitcher of ale, and she refilled her tankard. Jinniver thanked her kindly and Aman nodded gracefully. Jinniver was immediately struck that there was something out of place about her. ‘Her smile seems forced, and though she looks jovial enough, her eyes say that she is unsettled.’ Jinniver watched the innkeeper move through the smoky, raucous room. She recognised distress when she saw it.

She noticed Aman seemed to falter as she passed by a richly dressed, intimidating looking man; his bearing was proud, and she felt almost too humble to look at him, but the ale had conquered her normal reserved self enough to allow her to take him in. Then out of the corner of her eye she saw Derufin giving the innkeeper a meaningful glance. ‘Well, there’s an interesting tale in that’ thought Jinniver to herself. Taking up the offer of a pinch of tobacco for her pipe, she chatted to the hobbits next to her while she watched to see what would unfold between these three. She hoped that she was not staring, and each time she took a drink, she peered curiously over the top of her tankard.

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

Adu looked to the left, down the path leading to the Dragon. She had heard hoof beats coming up the path and her heart skipped a beat. The sillhouetted outline of a man loomed into view, he wore Rohan armour, with a ornately decorated helm. As the lantern light from the windows shone onto his face it revealed a weary expression, just as four more shadows came into view, they too were clad in Rohan armour. Adu looked at the closest, she saw the cloak flap in the wind, she saw the legend on it. It was of an eagle rampant inside the circle of a garter, the crest of the Haukrson family, Hama's family!

She saw his face as he removed his helm slowly, the general's plume flapped in the breeze and she saw Hama's rugged features in the darkness. Adu choked back a sob of happiness as she ran to him. He dismounted and stood, receiving her as she came, and embracing her with equal gusto as she embraced him.

His four guards dismounted and led their horses and Hama's to the stables. Hama led Adu inside with one arm around her neck. As he entered the Green Dragon he was greeted by a gasp. Many people knew the heraldry he bore was the mark of a general of Rohan, and the hobbits, who knew little of such things, simply becase of his imposing build and stern face. He sat down and called for the barmaid. When she came, she meekly took his order for two pints of ale, roast lamb, potatoes, carrots and peas, with Apple-Brown-Betty for pudding. Hama's ale came soon, and as Adu looked at him with admiration he drank it with the air of a man who has not adequately drunk for days. He finished it in under a minute and called for another one.

Fainu entered and sat down next to Adu, he looked at Hama with a slight frown that quickly disappeared as Hama returned the frown with one of his own, and narrowed his eyes. Adu, sensing the conflict quickly said, "Hama, I went searching for you, you were not at Rivendell on your return." Hama grimaced and said quickly, "I did not come via Rivendell. The remnant of Dorian's loyalists is exactly as I feared. They are maniacally loyal to the dead man. I knew they would be waiting at Rivendell, so I did not come back that way...I'm surprised ou did not see them there." Adu cast her thoughts back, yes, if she rememreed rightly there had been riders there bearing Dorin's crest and asking about Hama...

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Fáinu sat there and looked at Hama, as if inspecting him. He was slightly suspicious of him, but he smiled and fained appreciation. He sat silently while Adu and Hama talked, but he noticed that as the converse continued, he felt forgotten. Slowly he went to the bar and bought a drink, he only drunk half of it and then stood there thinking. he was debating in his mind what he should do.

Perhaps now I should leave. Adu is happy, and I have done my deity.
Is that all it was? Deity?
No, I don't suppose it was. For I may have known her, but a little while, I feel she is a dear friend.
What of this Hama? Dost thou not trust him?
I know not. From what she hath said, he seems an honourable man.
That may be yet to be seen.
Then should I leave, or stay?
Stay a while, if it seems though art not wanted, or needed, then thou mustst depart.
I suppose so.

Fáinu looked sadly over at the table; Adu was smiling happily as she spoke with Hama. This gave him a feeling of rejection, he had felt this before, and hated his brothers all the more as the memories came flooding back... he did not know why, but he found that his good hand was resting on his sword hilt, while his other was clenched, though it hurt him.

[starkat]

The sound of horses coming up the path woke Gwenneth. She watched as the men dismounted and entered the Inn. I must have fallen asleep. I guess I am more tired than I thought. The elf rose and dusted herself off and returned to the Inn.

Walking up to the bar, Gwenneth asked for a glass fo tea. She had discovered that the tea in the Shire was wonderful thanks to one of the people she had met in the Inn. Turning her back to the bar, the young elf maid watched the various interactions of the patrons with a smile.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling sat in brood, his hunger forgotten in the wake of his failure with the barmaid. Nothing had gone right since his arrival – Aman, so long held in his memory as a dear friend – was now distant and confused in her manner to him. The first person he had approached for news of Roa had given him nothing, and as he looked about the Inn he saw little hope of better. Save Aman and one or two of the serving maids, there was nobody here that he recognised, not even Tobias Hornblower. A smile crossed his lips at the memory of his friend, and he swore that first thing tomorrow he would seek out the old hobbit. But the matter at hand was still more pressing – whom could he ask for news of the Ranger woman? There were several likely candidates in the Common Room. One, a man, had been glaring at him with suspicion since Aman had left Snaveling by the fire. Such a look did not sit well with the man of the south, and he made note of it for attention later…

Another woman caught his eye however. She was small and difficult to overlook, even in the crowded Inn, for her hair was almost like the colour of Roa’s. She sat alone at a table and also looked at Snaveling from time to time, although where the man was hostile, she was merely curious and even sought to hide her interest. Snaveling had spent a lifetime upon the fringes of human society, however, and knew what it was to be spied upon by those who did not know or trust him. Not so long ago, he would have either slunk away from eyes like hers, or looked for some mean way to pay her for her interest. But the time he had spent at Elessar’s court had done much to correct the abuse and neglect of his years in the waste. Smoothing his face with a courteous smile, he rose and crossed the room to the woman.

He felt the eyes of the man following him as he went, and again thought to himself that he would have to look into the meaning of that look…soon.

Standing politely by the table of the woman, Snaveling introduced himself and asked if he might sit. The woman appeared to be a little alarmed by his action, but indicated that she would welcome the company. As he sat, Snaveling noticed for the first time that the woman bore about her the signs of a long night the day before – he too knew all-too-well the strength and effect of halfling ale, and he could not quite hide the smile at the feeling of solidarity. If the woman noticed the smile, she did not comment on it. Instead, she put out her hand in a frank manner and introduced herself as Jinniver.

Snaveling took the hand and returned the gesture in the politest manner, as taught to him by the Chamberlain Lorant. He could feel the rough skin of the woman’s years spent in hard work, and he knew by looking at her that she was well travelled. Excellent: it boded well that she might have news of the Ranger.

“I do not think that I have seen you before,” Jinniver said, “but you seem to be known to the Innkeeper, and the Inn would seem to be known to you. Have you been here before?”

“Yes, a long time ago,” is all he answered. Once more, he found that if she were unaware of his history with this place, it would be for the better.

“May I ask what brings you here again?” she asked, her eyes quickly flicking to where Aman was working. Snaveling pretended not to see.

“I am looking for a friend of mine,” he said, and went on to describe Roa. He did not reveal why he was looking for her, or why it was so important for him to find her. “You would appear to have travelled a good deal, lady,” he concluded. “Is it possible you have seen her?”

Jinniver shook her head and said, “I’m afraid that I don’t know any Ranger woman by that name. Red hair you say? That I would remember” and she laughed lightly. “No, Mr. Snaveling, I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”

Snaveling lapsed into quiet for a moment, despair already threatening to overcome him, even though his search was yet so young. Once more he felt the eyes of the man upon him, and he knew that soon his story would be known throughout the Inn. Places like this have long memories, and it was only a matter of time before everyone knew the truth. He decided that it would be best to find out as much information as he could now about the people at the Inn – particularly that man. Using the most inviting tone he could muster Snaveling said, “Well I am sorry to hear that, but I am sure that she will turn up. I wonder if I might thank you for your pains by buying you a pint of ale, or perhaps some wine? I have been away for a while and would very much like to know about the people staying at the Dragon.”

[Witch_Queen]

Adu's heart fluttered as she saw Hama. She didn't want to believe that she actually stayed in Rivendell now. She looked back and remembered the black cloaked man who asked about Hama. She also remembered his face. It was the face of the one man she despised all her life in Rohan. Dorian's right hand man.She was never really fond of him. He had always associated Adu as Dorian's little elfmaidden. Adu had wanted to dispose of the man but Dorian wouldn't allow it. He had always threated Adu about harming any of his soldiers. She wasn't allowed to even fall in love with anyone of them. Deep down inside Adu always thought of herself as a prisoner and not a soldier. Adu smiled and came back to the situation."Hama, I shall always remain loyal to my general. I am suprised though that you came with an escort. Its not like you to stand out like that. I take it that Eomer was only happy to give you Dorian's position." Adu noticed that her new friend had left. She didn't want either of them to hate or dislike each other. Fáinu had been there for her while Hama was gone. Hama had been there almost all her life. Adu no longer considered her life in Eryn Lasgalen important now. It was the life she made in Rohan.

She motioned for Fáinu to come back and join them. Adu was happiest when she had both her friends. "Hama I am glad to serve you and no other man." Her words stuck in her mind. I am glad he is back. Without him I would always be miserable. Hama is what makes my life worth living. Thank you Fáinu for everything.

[Lalwendë]

The noble looking man who she had been stealing glances at left his position and made his way over towards her table and to her great surprise, he introduced himself. Jinniver took in the beautifully tailored clothes and the dark eyes of the man and felt a lump rise in her throat. She was glad of the courage the ale gave her as her nerves started to tense; she was not accustomed to noble people introducing themselves to her. She had seen many unusual folk passing up and down the Greenway and into Bree, but there were few who gave the impression of being important, and these imposing people never deigned to talk with a mere nurserywoman beyond buying flowers from her. Yet this man had smiled at her in a friendly way and was courteous, and her false courage and respect for courtesy urged her to return his warm greeting.

His formal greetings were so refined that she would have blushed when he took her hand were her face not already reddened by the merriment and the ale. Bolstered by the beer, she immediately pressed him with a veiled question as to how he knew the innkeeper but he merely indicated that he was known at the inn. She rephrased her question, and was more direct this time. Instead of any mention of the innkeeper, he instead began to press her for knowledge of another young woman.

He was looking for a young ranger woman he described as having red hair. That was clearly not Aman, but why all the knowing glances between the two of them? How many young women were there who had an interest in him? What was his game? She perceived that there was more to his questions than met the eye. The man had an earnest look about him when he described the woman. Jinniver had seen rangers, it was unavoidable if you lived by The Greenway; sometimes they would stop by to obtain supplies from their farmhouse, but she could not recall having seen a red-haired woman. She laughed a little as she thought about the situation. A nobleman, sitting in a hobbit tavern, asking a nurserywoman about rangers?

Her lack of an answer seemed to disappoint the man, and he looked towards Derufin, who was stealthily watching him from the corner of his eye. Jinniver felt a sudden rush of disappointment that she could offer no help to the man. She did not want him to get up so soon; she was finding this situation all very intriguing, and, she had to admit, he was interesting in himself.

“Well I am sorry to hear that, but I am sure that she will turn up. I wonder if I might thank you for your pains by buying you a pint of ale, or perhaps some wine? I have been away for a while and would very much like to know about the people staying at the Dragon.”

"Mr Snaveling," she looked into his dark eyes and smiled. These eyes had held a little suspicion at first, but there was a lighter sparkle to them now that he had spoken. The name seemed to belong to someone other than a lordly man. "An ale would be my choice, if you are so kind as to offer."

Snaveling made to get up and go to the bar, but Jinniver stayed him with her hand. She started a little as she realised she should probably not have made such a gesture. "I am sorry. But do not trouble yourself. I am sure that Aman or one of the hobbit lasses will be by in a moment." She felt sure that Aman would not be coming by, but she could see a hobbit making her way over, as the lads were noisily shouting for more ale.

"What would you like to know?” she asked, thinking about the curious glances that had been thrown between Snaveling, Derufin and Aman. "I am but staying here a while, until a task is through, but these fine folk have made me welcome." She motioned towards the company at the table. "At the end there, that is Master Andwise, and these are his lads, and there is Derufin."

Snaveling looked across, barely moving his head as she motioned towards the man who had been watching him. He waited until she continued talking, not wanting to make it obvious that he was enquiring about people who for all he knew may be her friends. She did not continue straight away, but paused and gazed expectantly at him, as though waiting for him to ask further. He did not ask, so she carried on cautiously.

"He is the stable master. And a good man too. He is to be married soon and I am working for him, preparing a garden", She halted, aware that she had maybe said too much. She had been about to say that Derufin seemed to be held in regard by those at the inn, including Aman, but now she guessed that Snaveling would be able to put the pieces of the puzzle together for himself. She thought about changing the subject, not feeling comfortable with being asked questions herself, and then a memory struck her.

"Mr Snaveling," Jinniver blurted out, "I have remembered something." His eyebrows raised and he turned his attention from Derufin back to her. "There is, or was, one red-haired ranger. At least, my niece saw one some weeks ago, amongst the trees at the edge of our land. Whether it was a man or a woman, I don’t know”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, and then she asked, out of concern, for he looked troubled, “Who is this woman to you?”

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Fáinu saw Adu looking at him and so he went back to the table and sat down silently. He tried not to make himself look too noticeable; he saw Hamas men and thought they were hostile. He moved his hand away from his sword hilt and looked at Adu, then at Hama.

He said nothing and looked about the room. He felt that he was only staying out of politeness, and that they only kept him there for the same reason. Hama seemed to take little or no interest in him, save that perhaps he saw him with his hand on his sword.

He looked back at Adu with uncertainty. He still felt like was unneeded baggage that Adu no longer wanted. In a way he was happy for her, but began to remember all the terrible things his brothers had done. He knew they were wicked, but felt he could not betray them.

He stared into his mug as Adu and Hama spoke of 'old times' and of Rohan. Fáinu had never been to Rohan, and had been advised not to go thither. The nearest he'd ever been was Lothlorien, and that was still far from it.

[Envinyatar]

Derufin caught Buttercup’s eye. The lass was across the room, just extracting herself from a table of Hobbit lads who appeared well into their cups. With a slight nod of his head, he motioned for her to come over. She gave a wave of her hand to her admirers and wove her way to his table. He drew her close, his chin flicking toward the man now talking to Jinniver.

‘Who’s that one?’ he asked in a low voice. ‘Do you know him? What’s his story?’ Buttercup’s eyes fell on Snaveling. ‘He seems too fond of the ladies,’ Derufin went on, his attention on the man’s conversation with his new friend. ‘Does he bear watching, Buttercup? Or is he just some harmless drone seeking the attention of any queen?’

Buttercup drew back at Derufin’s sharp words. It was unlike him to judge someone so harshly and especially one he had not yet met. His furrowed brow stayed her own scolding remarks; the look of concern on his face prompting her to tell him what she knew of the man. She took the stable-master aside, away from the prying consideration of the Hobbits at his table. Gestures punctuating phrases, she told him the story of Snaveling’s last visit, giving at last her own opinion of the man. ‘Not the sort we wanted in the Inn when he first arrived,’ she began, her brows raising. ‘Him or his friends. Carries some great secret about him, I know that. Though what it is I haven’t been able to ferret it out. Ruby either, for that matter . . .’

Derufin listened closely to Buttercup’s version of the man, filtering out her conjectures as he gleaned what facts he could. Aman’s name seemed to be mentioned fairly often in the narrative and he wondered if Snaveling’s appearance had brought in the dark clouds that scudded across her features in those momentary lapses of her public face.

‘And anyways, that’s what I know . . .’ ended the Hobbit, looking up to see what Derufin thought. His face was a noncommittal mask as he thanked her for the information. She frowned at his silence. ‘Bring me an ale, luv,’ he said after a long pause, a grin lighting his face then. ‘I’ve gone dry listening to you.’ She smiled and shook her head, his teasing manner restoring the easy balance between them. ‘And take two to the table where Master Snaveling sits, one for him and Mistress Jinniver. My compliments to the lady, say.’

Buttercup hurried away. He watched her as she brought the ales to Jinniver’s table. Derufin nodded to the woman and then to her companion as they looked toward where he stood. Yes . . . he will bear some watching . . . he thought. His eyes slid away from them to where the Innkeeper stood.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman noticed Jinniver, the traveller, sit down beside Snaveling, and noted the sheen around the woman's eyes. Drink loosens tongues, certainly, and awakes curiousities that otherwise would have stayed quiet and humble. Now she sat beside Snaveling...why, her hair, reddish in the warm light, like even to Roa's...

Aman stopped herself immediately this time. Taking a deep breath, then walked swiftly out of the Common Room, watched with interest by a few, but not heeding their glances. Entering the heavy wooden door beside the bar, she pushed it closed behind her, slipping into the calm quiet of her office. Leaning back, she rested her head back against the cool wood of the door and sighed deeply.

The Innkeeper didn't use her bedroom that much really: sleeping was not much more than a guilty snatch in this occupation, and she had gotten used to it over the time she had been at the Green Dragon - it was like having expectant mares or training colts every day. When the Innkeeper merely wanted a few minutes to herself, it was barely worth her while to go up to her bedroom on the second floor, and at the busy times of the day around mealtimes and in the evening, it would be impractical, not to mention rather selfish, to run away to the stables every ten minutes. So her 'office' was a godsend: of course, she did occasionally use it to do work, but the Inn's accounts were usually pretty much non-existant. Besides, it would mean listing everything there: and to list presents where the peeking eyes of Ruby and Buttercup could see them...well, you may as well tell the whole world. It somewhat spoiled the surprise. Most of the time, this room was simply Aman's way of getting away, and she had used it for various purposes since she came here. Taking aside and talking to unruly customers, for example...

Opening her eyes but not lowering her head, Aman glowered underneath her eyelashes at the spot by the fireplace where two soft, slightly battered chairs slouched on the hearth. The fire hadn't yet been lit, but Aman could all too well visualise the scene of those months ago when she had taken aside a spiteful customer after he had deliberately knocked over a dozen red wine bottles, sending them crashing to the stone floor of the cellar. And she had reasoned with him. Firelight playing on noble features, dull black hair like the feathers of an injured raven, melancholy words of a harsh faraway life spilling from moody eyes and flat voice to be illuminated in the room, illuminated in the sight of the Innkeeper...

Crossing the room, she ran her hand across the softened leather of the nearest chair's back contemplatively. Yes, she had talked to Snaveling in here, several times - she had tried to understand him and had found more depth than she maybe would have liked to contemplate. But that was the blessed trouble with him! Frowning, Aman dropped into the chair and crossed her legs as she glared venemously across at the opposite chair where Snaveling had sat. Oh yes, he sat there, he recounted tales the ranger woman would never had wished to listen to, would never, because of her loyalty to Elessar, have wanted to listen to or believe, words of a land Aman knew little of - kings and traitors and the beautiful white tree of Gondor. Roa would not have had a word of it, firm and...and stubborn in her beliefs. Jealously reared up nastily in Aman again. It had been Aman who Snaveling had talked to, not Roa! But...

...but now she came to think of it, Aman realised she maybe had ignored it. The niggling doubt planted it's feet firmly in her mind and determined, with the help of Common Sense, to grow there. She pondered on the thought uneasily. Yes, Snaveling had spoken of Roa - and when he had returned, Aman had been unwilling to see what was plainly in front of her, thinking, hoping that it had been her he had returned for. And maybe...well, maybe that was a little of it: not a vain thought, merely a reasonable one - but also a slightly deflating one. Snaveling had spoken to Aman yes, but he had spoken of Roa. He had spoken to [i]Aman.

"True love has not the words." Where had Aman heard the saying? She couldn't remember, but realised now that yes, it was true. How stupid of her! She stood abruptly, turning and pacing for a few steps on the rug in front of the fire. Yes, Snaveling had spoken to Aman - because he had chosen her as a friend. Nothing more, but certainly nothing less. And that had involved the man of South giving her his trust, something which did not come easily to him. And when he had come back now, she had thrown it back in his face!

"Fool..." Aman murmured softly, throwing her head back again and wincing. Grinning to herself ruefully she gave a small shot of laughter and dropped her face forward into her heavy hands and shook her head as she realised how blind she was. Foolfoolfool...

There was not a second to lose. Crossing the room purposefully, she put a hand on the doorknob meaningfully: she had wasted time now, she had thrown back trust...but she was quite resolved that jealousy, in this ridiculous form, would not block out getting it back now. Let him have his thoughts of the ranger woman: it was not she, but Aman, who was here now.

Taking another deep breath, Aman opened the door and, stepping behind the bar, she pulled a foamy pint with practised speed, then, as an afterthought, she drew a small glass of cider from one of the barrels. As she wove her way through the crowded throng, those who observed her carefully would have noticed that the shadows of before seemed to have inexplicably melted away in the light of the Inn. Approaching Snaveling, she cleared her throat and pushed the drinks across to both Snaveling and Jinniver. Smiling slightly, she crossed behind the man and put a hand on his shoulder as she passed, whispering softly into his ear, "Welcome back, Snaveling," before she moved on through the room.

Aye, let him have his thoughts of her. It is I, not she, who is here now...

[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.

[Kransha]

If Toby had not already been circumspect in his every movement, and wary in the extreme, the sock of seeing Snaveling materialize before him might’ve killed him with the shock of it. The look, fresh and warm, of his old comrade’s face brought light to his own, and a ready smile with it. Snaveling looked strangely different, in his garb and merry gait. He looked stately, well-off, and regal in his own way, which brought a newfound happiness to Tobias Hornblower. His eyes gleamed momentarily as he returned the look of his friend, embracing him in a rush of confusion, happiness, and relief. Of all people who might sympathize with him now, of all the people in the land of Eriador, he was the one who Toby had most desired to see. Almost eagerly, forgetting his terrible position, Toby, half with the assistance of a boisterous Snaveling, was escorted to another, more brightly lit and central table. He flung himself, almost weary but still in a festive mood, into an open chair, thanking his lucky stars about the happenstance. As his mouth ran uncontrolled, he at last formed a structured sentence, though it was still garbled in excitement.

“Snaveling…” he paused, looking up and down the length of the man, “Snaveling, you devil! I thought you were in Gondor?”

He would’ve said more, but just then the hobbit, awestruck, was interrupted by the worst possible thing imaginable: the ale-bearing innkeeper. The only thing that would’ve been worse would be the local Shirriff, or maybe his sister Opal (he really, truly, disliked that woman). It was not, though, that he disliked Aman. On the contrary, he was very happy to see her, he just wasn’t happy about her seeing him. He masked his ill looks well, not successfully, but well. Snaveling certainly noticed, but it was impossible to tell what Aman with thinking. That was one of her many talents, being able to look one thing and look something completely different. Even Snaveling, who’d led a shaded life since he stepped in the Dragon, could not accomplish such a feat. But, none of this mattered. Toby couldn’t think; his mind was a whirling blank, which was much more confusing than a simple, motionless blank, or a whirling something. He’d been found out, at least to some extent, but he had to again remind himself that he was still among friends here, still with companions. At last his mental faculties settled long enough for the Halfling to hear Aman question him about supper. Moving involuntarily, as if he were blinking an eye, he responded without thought or hesitation.

“No,” he said, politely, fitting a smile to his features carefully, a master at work, “no food, thank you. I’m really not hungry right now.”

He was starving. Toby hadn’t eaten in a day and a half, the longest he had ever gone without victuals. He couldn’t conceal the speed at which he guzzled the ample mug of ale Aman place before him. Whatever residue dribbled down his fuzzy chin was promptly slurped up in a very crude manner. Taking a number of exhausted breaths, Toby nearly slumped forward, catching himself on the table, and then sunk below the rim again, his fervent attitude shrinking and evaporating in the presence of the merry innkeeper. As soon as he’d seen Snaveling, he’d immediately been struck by the urge to confess all, but now he certainly could not. He had to wait until she left, then he could tell Snaveling. He would know, he would understand. As much as he trusted the innkeeper, this was a biting secret she would surely be averse to hearing. She’d find out in less than a week anyway, but until then, Toby preferred to keep his friends his friends, and be as honest with them as he could. Unfortunately, he had thus concluded that his need for lies, and for petty thievery, was nearly pathological, but he’d get past that. There was no crime he could commit now that would be villainous to outmatch that done already, but no one knew this…no one here, certainly.

“What brings you again to the Green Dragon, Mister Hornblower. No doubt you have an interesting tale in store.”

She’d boxed him in, he was trapped like a rat. He couldn’t tell her the truth, but he had sworn not to lie. He fumbled about verbally for a second, his tongue twisting from side to side in his mouth wordlessly. He raised a shivering forefinger, with a verbose look on his face, but stuttered incoherently instead of speaking. Aman smiled politely, hovering nearby, a mixture of a tranquil dove and a watchful hawk. He had to think of something, neither a lie nor truth, but could not. His usually sharp mind failed him. He looked around, nervous eyes flitting back and forth madly, from Aman, to a contented Snaveling, to a relatively unfamiliar woman who Toby had never met. She seemed genuinely intriguing, though somewhat simple, but her hair color and well-framed face brought back a second familiarity. He was reminded of someone, especially by that hair, but could not place the image. He did not let his eyes linger too long on her, as did not wish to rudely stare. Instead, the murky eyes nestled in his wizened face wriggled around uncomfortably, avoiding contact. At last, something came, pathetic as it was. “I was…” he paused, thinking furiously, “was…just walking about and decided to drop by…

It was a terrible lie and he knew he could do better. So he did.

“I mean, I was in the area…because I’m on my way to visit my cousin in the Northfarting. My cousin, Petunia Proudfoot, is a mighty fine Hobbit lass, a wee bit older than me, but she’s gotten sick. The physician sent us a note that she detracted a very rare disease after a picnic this winter with some relatives. They fear she’ll be abed for a few weeks, and thought she could use a younger fellow around the house to help her. She’s not all there in the head, you see, and the sickness doesn’t help. As one of her most prosperous relatives, I was delegated to go, get her affairs in order for her, straighten up the place, and use some funds to hire a helping hand. She’d do well with a helper around, she would, so I’ve come up from Longbottom and am headed north, though I don’t have a mandatory arrival time. Since it’s a very long trip, it is, and since I don’t need to be there for a few days more, I up and decided I’d stop off here and rest for a day…or four…Yes, that’s it.”

The whole speech sounded ridiculously contrived, and Aman knew, even though Toby had poured every last ounce of his habitual skill into it. Her smile remained gentle and calm, though Toby could tell that her mind’s wheels were at work. He smiled haphazardly, and fell back, defeated by the situation, into his chair. Aman nodded, at least trying to look understanding. Toby could only hope that she didn’t press the matter, or that she’d be distracted by something. Though Toby made himself look comfortable and content, he was on the edge of his seat, and, beneath the table, grubby fingernails scratched anxiously at old wood, making an irksome sound that was probably audible to all at the table. There was nothing that Toby could do but hope that the innkeeper, who he really wished he could speak to honestly, would leave the premises.

[Witch_Queen]

Cree and Avalon
Cree sat in the chair beside her old friends. It had been a while since Cree had seen Fainu and all she could think of was how much fun they had together. Cree remembered her trips to see him in Rivendell when her father would go talk with Lord Elrond. No matter what she had to go with her father. Cree would always make an excuse for why she had to go. Cree turned to face him. "Fainu what have you been doing since you left? When my father died I really needed you, but when I went searching you were no where to be found." Her words were sincere. She could tell something was wrong with him.

Perhaps he doesn't trust Hama. Why not? Hama is a good man. He was there for me when I needed him. Finally Cree decided to pull the hood from her cloak away from her face. She thought now since she was in the company of friends it was ok for her to show her face. After all she still knew someone was out there looking for her. Even after all these months Cree still felt guilty for her father dieing.

Cree stood up to get her a mug of ale when suddenly she felt dizzy. She knew once againt that her episodes were back. It was for some reason when she was around the hobbits that this happened. Avalon sat perched on a near by chair unitl she noticed something was wrong with Cree. Cree fell back in her seat when she failed to keep herself stable. Avalon hopped over to Cree's pack and got out a package and handed it to Cree.

Opening the package Cree placed a few pieces of the herb in her mouth. Even though the taste wasn't plesant still Cree knew it was what she had to do now. For her episodes to stop Cree was forced to eat the small plant.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

"Fainu what have you been doing since you left? When my father died I really needed you, but when I went searching you were no where to be found."

Fáinu thought for a minuet, he did not know how much of the story he should tell. He thought he owed it Cree to tell her as much as he could.

"After the incident with Smaug, I went back to Mirkwood." His voce lowered, "There I found that no one knew me, They said I looked alike to one they knew, but none knew who I was. As soon as my wound was attended to I set off to find my brothers. I went to Rivendell and was told that they dwelt near the foot of the Misty Mountains. When I found them they too did not recognise me, I thought this very strange, but something told me that I should not reveal my identity. There I dwelt for a time, I joined their company and helped slay many orcs and Goblins that came down from the mountains. I gained much prises, to my surprise."

Fáinu took a large draft of his ale, to clear his thought, plus he was slightly nervous about the next few parts. He placed his mug upon the table and then continued.

"Soon news came that Smaug was dead." he shook his head, "I decided to go off and see if it was true. I was asked by my brothers, Tautlinta and lenda, leave to go, they bid me do a few errands in the grey mountains. Eventually I came to the Lonely Mountain and there I found my sword. I took it back to Rivendell and it was re forged. Then I came back to the house of my Brothers, However, when I attempted to continue my life in the company, I was betrayed.

"One day When Walking in the forest, I was waylaid by a servant of the house, swiftly I threw him to the ground and held my sword at his neck. Then, my brothers saw me and they banished me for attacking this servant. I know now that it was a plan they both concocted, for I found out of some of the wicked things they did while I was away. Murdering innocents calling them Orc friends, when they were not.

"I came back to Rivendel again, and stayed until the War of the ring. When that was over Elrond began to ready himself to leave, he gave a few words of advice to all and then departed. I followed the lead of Ellodan and Elrohir for a while, Soon they asked me to take a message to Cirdan in the grey havens. I went and came here. Now, there you have it."

He drew a sigh of relief and looked over at Adu, he was glad that she had asked him to stay and keep her company. Now Cree had come back. One thing that bothered him was how she alone of all people had recognised him.

[Witch_Queen]

Cree and Avalon

The white crow looked at Fainu. It seemed like Avalon wasn't sure what to think of Fainu. Cree layed her hand on the crows back. The feathers were soft under her hand. Cree could recognize Fainu's face from any wheres. After all she would never forget her friends. Her grey eyes rested on his face. "Fainu everything will be ok in the end. Though I am surprised to see you here. When did you arrive?" She was happy to be with an old friend. She could remember the last time she had stayed at the inn was with Grimm. He held her heart. Now he had left her when she needed someone.

Fainu, I know how you feel. It seems like you don't know if Hama can be trusted. He is all Adu has now. Neither of us know if we should trust man again. Yet they are the hope of Middle Earth. Men have a reason for being here. Fainu in the end it will come down to man once again to save Middle Earth from itself. Suddenly Cree remembered something her father had once said about her mother. Cree, your parents are from Rivendell. That is the only reason why I continue to take you with me on my journeys. If only we could find them, then perhaps you can discover the reason why they left you.

Cree no longer cared about her actual family. To her Eryn Lasgalen was her home. Rivendell was so far away and yet so close to her heart. "Fainu do you remember when we first met. It seems like only yesterday that we were riding through Rivendell. Oh how I miss those days. Back then we had no cares in the world. We were young and to us forever seemed so far away." Cree loved to remember her early life. For her there was never a "childhood."

[Hookbill the Goomba]

"Fainu do you remember when we first met. It seems like only yesterday that we were riding through Rivendell. Oh how I miss those days. Back then we had no cares in the world. We were young and to us forever seemed so far away."

Fáinu was not sure what to say. So much had happened, he was forever changed, in face and mind. Rivendel he could not return to save once, he had to deliver Cirdan's reply to Elodan's message, then he had nothing planed, but to wander and find he knew not what.

"Indeed, I remember those days. Though now it is but a far memory." He looked sad, and dishevelled; "I fear I will never have such joy again, for the pain of the dragon wound will haunt me for ever. and the curse of Smaug will follow me, even, I fear, to Aman."

His words were heart felt, it was something that had plagued his sleep for a long while. He had thought his old life was gone, all accounts of Manstarmin were gone, to the rest of Middle Earth, he was dead.

Still he thought that this meeting with Cree was strange in many ways, not least that she knew him as Fáinu, rather than Manstarmin. All seemed odd to him, it seemed that his life had turned around the minuet he entered the Green Dragon...

"I do not think I shall ever be able to sleep," he said as he looked out of the window, "not while there are dragons in the world." he said this last part quietly, only Adu heard him, she did not understand what he meant, she had not heard tell of Dragons in the world for a long time.

[piosenniel]

GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS:

It is the 4th Age, year 12. By the Shire Calendar it is year 1433 S.R. (Shire Reckoning).

King Elessar is on the throne of the Reunited Kingdom of Arnor and Gondor.

Mirkwood has been reclaimed by the Elves and is now called Eryn Lasgalen.

Paladdin Took, Pippin’s father, is Thain of the Shire. (Thain is an honorary title for the military leader of the Shire. The title has been held in the Took Family since the position was first established in 3rd Age 1979 with Bucca of the Marish as First Thain.) Paladdin Took dies in year 13, and will be succeeded by his son, Peregrin, ‘Pippin’, Took.

Samwise Gamgee is Mayor of the Shire, having succeeded Will Whitfoot in 1427 S.R.

The Innkeeper, in the Green Dragon Inn of this forum, is: Aman – a young woman from Rohan.

Before her, the Innkeeper was Piosenniel, and before her it was Dwarin, the Dwarf.

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Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

Buttercup Brownlock, Hobbit – not married – kitchen assistant and maid

Vinca Bunce, widowed, Inn Cook (character played by Piosenniel)

Derufin, the Stablemaster (played by Envinyatar)

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Ongoing characters from outside the Inn:

Halfred Whitfoot – local Shiriff from Bywater and Postmaster for this area of the Shire; his pony’s name is Dumpling.

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Please Note:

No 'SAVES' are allowed in the Inn (except for modifications needed to be made by the Moderators or Innkeeper).

With the exception of the Innkeeper and the Moderators, no OOC (Out Of Character) comments are allowed in the Inn.

Only the Innkeeper, Amanaduial, or the Moderators move the timeline for the Inn forward.

Visitors to the Inn will need to read the posts that come before theirs to get an idea of what time it is in the Shire, what the weather is like, and what is happening.

No violence is allowed in the Inn or on Inn grounds.

Please be familiar with the rules for the Inn and Games in The Red Book of Westmarch, the first topic in the Shire.

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About Elves in Shire RPG's:

Please use this description from Tolkien when crafting an Elf:

Return of the King – Appendix F: Tolkien’s description for the Quendi (The Speakers) – the name given to the Elves by themselves after they first awoke in Middle-earth.

“They were a race high and beautiful, the older Children of the world, and among them the Eldar were as Kings, who now are gone: the People of the Great Journey, the People of the Stars. They were tall, fair of skin and grey-eyed, though their locks were dark, save in the golden house of Finrod; and their voices had more melodies than any mortal voice that is now heard . . .”

Please use this as a guideline for describing your Elven character’s appearance.