The Seventh Star Inn

[piosenniel]

Rôg

The last part of their journey, from Druadan Forest to the White City, had been a pleasant one. There had been much to see and discuss as they passed on the outskirts of the forest, making their way to the thickets of Grey Wood. ‘We can pass through these,’ the old man had said. ‘It will be safe for you to do so. No poisoned arrows to be wary of.’

Late autumn held the woods in thrall. Birds were few, just the hardy souls who had not as yet gone south to warmer climes. Or those brave ones who staked their claims in these trees year round. Ravens and crows – their raucous tale-telling echoing off the bare trees as the travelers passed.

Three days of travel had brought them to Gondor, and to an Inn the old fellow said was comfortable, the owner discrete. ‘The ale is good,’ he’d said. ‘And wine and other spirits from Elessar’s kingdom find their way to the cellars of the Seventh Star. Possibly something from your homeland.’

Rôg smiled within the folds of his brown hood, pulling his cloak more tightly about him as a chilly breeze gusted. He would be glad to leave these northern lands with their promise of increasing cold. And gladder still to be spending the night in the warmth of an Inn.

‘Come,’ he invited, holding the door open for his companion. ‘We’ll find a table by the fire. I’ll see if they have the spiced wine you favor.’

The old fellow’s eyes glinted with anticipation, his face wreathed with a merry smile. Twitching his cloak about him, so as not to catch on the roughened frame of the door, the old man entered, his staff thumping loudly on the wood, small swirls of dust floating up from each footstep.

Rôg entered close behind, shutting the door firmly against the outside cold. His nose wrinkled slightly at the musty smell; his eyes narrowed at the layers of grime and dust.

‘So, this is the Seventh Star, eh, my friend,’ he murmured softly to his companion as they seated themselves at a table near the small, crackling fire. ‘And the ale, you say, is good?’ Rôg propped his feet on the nearby hearth, relishing the feel of the welcome heat through his boots. He pushed back his hood as he leaned toward the flames to warm his hands. The flickering fire caught the small gold stud that winked from the top inner curve of his left ear. Shoulder length black hair fell forward, brushing across the olive plane of his cheek.

‘Shall I get us something to drink then?’ he asked after a few moments, sitting back in his chair. ‘And perhaps something to eat?’

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 5:10 AM December 10, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]