The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[littlemanpoet]

In the windless, growing twilight, the pink and white flowers of the hawthorn tree fell fluttering onto Uien’s hair. Her smile grew. She could not be completely sure, but the signs were there. A root tripping a fleet footed Elf maiden, leaves whispering in no breeze, a very bouquet of flowers falling all at once.

Uien loved all trees above all growing things, for they graced the land with beauty and were for the Elves a remembrance of Fair Yavanna. Uien had never been to Valinor, and now would never go, but she had received the fair memory of that holy one from Lady Galadriel, and could not forget, nor would she. Above all trees, even the mallorns of Cerin Amroth, the Elves loved the shepherds of trees, who from them had learned speech and much lore.

So Uien was not sure, but she guessed, and so she smiled as she had not done in many a day or year. She could feel and smell this tree's way, and it was that of gardens rather than woods, and it - no - she, was a Lady tree. Uien chose not to even think the name that this one's fair kind went by, for she felt the secretiveness of this one.

"I shall not betray your secret, fair hawthorn maiden," she said, and smiled. "Twilight is above all times most precious to me, and I will remain here to share it with you. Then I shall dream sleeplessly through the night, as is the way of Elves. I shall not be watchful. If you are not here in the morning, I will not give chase, and will carry your secret in my heart for all time that is given to me in Arda, and tell no one unless you say otherwise."

Uien touched the bark of the hawthorn, feeling the slow rhythm of the life within, and she was glad. Even if her guess was wrong.

[Strider]

The golden afternoon had quickly faded into the kind of night eternalized in poems and ballads--the air was warm and sweeter smelling that it had been earlier, and the indigo sky seemed to chime with the twinkling timbre of hundreds of thousands of stars. Inside the Green Dragon, the ellon sat upright and poised upon his rather uncomfortable wooden stool, lithe fingers splayed over the severe drop of his knees.

Grey gaze lay quiescent, yet not altogether heedless or unobservant, upon a freshly doled out bowl of Cook’s stew currently being emptied at an ungodly rate by a random regular. His first thought was disgust, regrettably as is with all the conscious living, for the ways that were not his own. The wisdom he happened to acquire over the better part of the Third Age and then some, however, allowed him to set aside such feelings of revulsion and replace them with an almost childlike fascination for the quaint mannerisms of the Shirefolk.

After watching the same inn guest wash down his supper with a healthy swig from his pint, the elf began to wonder what was keeping his own order from arriving. Lifting an imperial brow in an expression of query, he allowed his eyes to drift across the common room in search of the barmaid who had so warmly welcomed him. It was at this time that he briefly met the gaze of the elf-maiden Larien, awkwardly trailing behind a stout company of kitchen volunteers with a serving dish hanging loosely between her sinuous fingers.

She intrigued, baffled, and disheartened him all at once. The elves were known for the way their pride shone through their every movement, their very presence. The autumn years had induced a certain bittersweet air about their existence, but always was their dignity preserved. Yet this elleth moved without said bearing, though there was some remnant of grace that whispered dark riddles about the past, about what had once been. His curiosity piqued, the elf reallocated his eyes to remove the impression that he was staring (for he was), and made a note to speak to Larien after his hot water came.

[Arry]

It was Tomlin on the porch of the Inn, waving to him, that Gil had seen as he turned into the little dirt lane leading up to the Dragon. ‘Come down and help me with the cart and pony,’ Gil cried as his friend grinned down at him. ‘I’ve got Ferrin and Fallon with me. We could use a hand unloading the instruments.’

‘And we’re here, too, with Uncle Gil!’ piped a small voice from the recesses of the back of the cart. Willy and Hanson poked out their faces over the top of the seat and waved at Tomlin.

‘They heard in their class that the players from Pincup were passing through.’ Gil nodded at the two boys, giving them a raised brow and then a smile. ‘Pestered me something awful and their Ma until she let them go.’ The two little brothers grinned wickedly at each other, then shrugged their shoulders as if it really wasn’t any of their doing.

‘I’m hungry!’ Hanson called up to his uncle who now stood on the top step of the Inn. Gil looked down at them and sighed. ‘And didn’t you just eat before we left?’ he asked, shaking his head. Willy spoke up in defense of his littler brother. ‘But that was a while ago. And really we were too excited to eat . . . well as much as we usually do . . . and besides it was stewed eel with onions, our Da’s favorite . . . and well, we just don’t like it all that much.’ ‘Too bouncy on our teeth,’ Hanson confirmed. ‘And those onions always get so slimy!’ He shuddered, as if to emphasize his distaste.

‘Right then,’ Gil said, motioning for the two to come on up the stairs. He held the door open for them, telling them to go on in and find a good table for the six of them. ‘And don’t be flirting with Buttercup,’ he called after them as they disappeared into the common room. ‘Or you’ll have to square it with Tomlin, here.’

[Esgallhugwen]

It grew utterly dark before her, the fading blue of the sky pulled back to reveal a void adorned with the silver of stars, who in their cold silent vigil were witness to the history of Middle Earth throughout its ages. She looked across the expanse of sky naming constellations and seeing some whose names she could not recall, for they seemed foreign to her.

The celestial beings glowed with unnatural light, brighter and brighter, blinding Esgallhugwen until the lights extinguished leaving her in a starless abyss. She dare not call out into the darkness, thus she searched with her mind.

A faint whispering came to her sharp Elven hearing. Dare she take a step?

She reached out farther with her mind, groping in the dark for a sign of the sound.

Silence.

"Tread softly Dark One, you may wake the light", Esgallhugwen's breathing stopped, her heart slowing to that deadly rythm she knew too well, pounding hard and ready.

"What do you speak of? I am no Dark One"

A penetrating gaze seared through her and the voice scoffed, she could feel it's hot breath on her face. "What is it then that is inside of you Firstborn? Or do you know yourself?".

Esgallhugwen stepped back unnerved by the voice's knowledge, she quickly set up a barricade for her mind. None shall enter.

"I am not here for me, I come searching for a friend, an unearned evil has been wrought upon her, I seek to right it"

"Very well. Perhaps another time you will care to be enlightened, and perhaps then it will be too late, you have yet to see your full purpose".

Walls of razor ice began to descend from above, hitting the floor only to leap up as flame. Eswen's pale face glowed red against the fire's light. She heard crying.

The flames were climbing fast and on the other side of the blazing wall she could make out the trembling form of Uien.

So hot yet it freezes.

"Uien!", Esgallhugwen called, "come to me, leave this darkness that another has cast upon you", Uien looked to her with livid fury burning in her bright eyes, she seemed to shake something off continueing along the black path.

"Uien Inglorion", Esgallhugwen seemed to grow in height, shadows clinging to her form, drawn to her by something within. Uien turned to face her the fire diminishing, "come to me, Uien".

Eswen heard the familiar foot fall of Falowik walking back into the Common Room with an ale in hand. "Where is Uien?", Eswen asked sipping on a small glass of miruvor to recover her strength.

Falowik sat across from her and smiled, "sitting by that hawthorn tree, waiting for it to do something I reckon", Eswen nodded. "You're not suprised by this?", Falowik inquired taking a healthy sip of ale.

The Elf shook her head with a faint smile, "that tree is more than a tree, mellon, speak no word of this to another. Her secret must remain as such".

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen's swift long steps soon brought her back to the inn. Her hours at the forge had been well spent and her tasks had been accomplished. Now it was time to go. She wondered whether she would b e able to slip away without fuss. She shrank from another encounter with Uien after her strange behaviour and she did not wish to tarry to hear Hearpwine laud his own prowess as a musician. Her decision had been made during the afternoon. She would not continue her journey immediately but go home ot the havens. Some instinct called her and besides there was another reason.... a possibility she had not made up her mind about, something that Toby Flaxman the had suggested, but it would do no harm to delay her journey to Rivendell a little.

She slipped round the back of the building to the stables and the paddock where her grey horse Aeglos grazed she summoned him with her mind. He was dusty and grass stained but Meriadoc the stableman appeared and offered to groom him. and so Mithalwen passed in to the shadows of the common room for what she expected to be the last time. Getting paper & pen and ink from her luggage and scraping together enough pennies for a tankard of cider, she found a private corner and started to write.

[Noinkling]

Benat clapped Hob on the back, nearly sending the Hobbit flying from his seat. ‘Dwarven spirits get that same reaction from every first time drinker,’ he laughed. ‘And, sorry for nearly knocking you down. Just wanted to get you breathing again, Master Hob.’ The big man smiled so ingratiatingly that it was impossible not to forgive him his hasty actions.

Another tot of the fiery drink was poured, then Benat stoppered the bottle and set it to one side. His gaze was caught by Gil and his friends as they came in the door, their instruments in hand. ‘Music!’ he cried with delight, nodding to where the fellows were just making their way to a large table guarded by two young children. He drank down his drink and grinned as he placed the small glass carefully on the table. ‘You know, I am feeling so good this evening, having had such a wonderful day and now finding myself in the company of good friends, that I might just stir my bones a bit this evening and show you how some real dancing is done.’

He looked about the ring of his companions, many of whose brows were raised as the image of Benat and most likely Cullen, too, rose dancing in their minds. ‘Bears are often seen dancing in the moonlight in my lands,’ he said putting on a serious face. ‘And in a very tasteful manner, I might add. Light on their feet, too.’ He glanced about the room his eyes coming to rest at the rather small dance area. ‘Though I hope my exuberance does not cause much damage to the nearby chairs and tables.’

His companions sat in a somewhat uncomfortable silence, not know ing exactly what to say. He laughed aloud, breaking the tension. ‘Only joking, my friends!’ he said, slapping his thigh to emphasise the point.

[Tevildo]

Padding forward on dainty velvet pads, Tifil (Bridhon) Miaugion, otherwise known as Tevildo (Vaardo) Meoita, slipped underneath two of the long-leggeds and gently squeezed inside the door. The place did not look much different than it had before. He could smell the enticing odors that were coming from the kitchen, and a hound or two was hanging around the Common Room along with the tabby that belonged to Cook.

Having no wish to tangle with Cook, Tevildo cut a wide path around the dozing cat that was curled up contentedly before the hearth. Another dog was halfway through a bowl of stew. The cat flung the canine a contemptuous look, but was careful not to interfere or cause any further trouble. He could not see his friend Mushroom anywhere. The grey tabby was undoubtedly home at Bag-end. And the offending table, which he was still certain had once spoken to him, had been unceremoniously removed from the entry hall and placed in an unknown location.

His own circumstances had altered. As he had done a dozen times before, Tevildo had elected to shift "owners". He had dumped Allie and Heather Brandybuck, two hobbits from Buckland with whom he had lived for some time, and instead exchanged them for an Elf, a road wanderer and scout from Lindon who went by the name of Turon. Tevildo had hurried ahead of his master, but he expected that the latter should be coming along the road and arriving at the Inn sometime before the next morning. Both he and the Elf had encountered a run of bad luck in the depths of the great forest far to the east.

His own reason for rushing ahead on the road was the stable of the Dragon. Cook and the Innkeeper kept the inside of the Inn immaculate, free of all mice and other vermin. Outside, however, was different. Tevildo had found many a fat mouse sneaking inside the stable through the chinks in the boards. These would be his for the taking later tonight.

Meanwhile, perhaps he would try to panhandle a bowl of milk. If that hound had managed to beg a bowl of stew off of Cook, surely he could turn up a bit of milk either from the Inn staff or one of the patrons sitting and having their dinner. Tevildo began to make the rounds of the Common Room, going from table to table while looking as appealing as he could. In view of his silky long white coat and soft little purr, this was not too difficult. For all his normal fierceness, he now looked exactly like a puffy furball who was used to spending his afternoons on the lap of a fine lady.