The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[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!”