The day had progressed, and the light had slowly faded until the merry laterns of the little Inn had become a source to the lowly shadows of the dusk. As if in mourning for the spent Sun, the muscians had abandoned their jovial dancing tunes for a more settling, peaceful air.
Long fingers curling about the tarnished mug of steaming water he’d ordered, the Gondorian looked on as couples cleared the tableless area of the Common Room that was the dance floor, and retreated to their own mugs of whatever it might be. Sighing contentedly, he shifted his eyes about the room, his interest peaking as grey orbs washed over men, hobbits, elves, all gathered in this place called the Green Dragon Inn. That same wry smile painted across thin lips, the young man’s eyes wandered elsewhere to rest upon the great stone hearth and the crimson flames coiling and recoiling at its core.
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