The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[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.

[littlemanpoet]

As twilight slowly gave way to dusk, to dark of night, Uien sat before the Hawthorn tree, allowing herself to dream, and the tree to be free from her observance. Eyes unclosed, she dreamed from memory.

She was one of Galadriel's maidens, sewing the cloaks the eight remaining members of the Fellowship would wear. Lorien was home, Caras Galadon her beloved city in those many years leading to the War of the Ring. She had been stricken with grief at the news that the grey pilgrim had fallen in Moria.

As they sewed, she looked to the Lady of Lorien. She was herself a young elf lass of a mere two hundred or so years, the last babe of Lorien. To sit with She who had been in Valimar, who had crossed wills with Féanor, sat at the feet of Melian of Doriath, had known Luthien the fair, and had seen the dimming of the Light across three Ages, was like a being a seedling beside the eldest mallorn, a puddle beside an ancient fountain. And these thoughts did little to express the greatness of the Lady.

Galadriel looked at her maidens with eyes that knew all their thought with but a glance, for she could read the hearts of anyone, and her maidens had no secrets from her. Yet this was no troubling thought, for the Lady's wisdom taught her maidens much, and never betrayed their thought to others. It was like sitting at the feet of the very gods of Valimar.

Uien had been amongst those in the house of Lord Celeborn when the Fellowship had first come to them. She remembered the Ringbearer, whose grief at the loss of the Grey Pilgrim was plain for all to see. She remembered how the Lady had looked into the hearts of each of the Fellowship, and how the servant of the Ringbearer had blushed so quickly. She and many others had smiled, for he had been thus revealed as true to his master. She had been struck with wonder at the words of the Dwarf, who had become famous already in the brief span of years that had passed since the end of the War, for his wealth and unselfishness; the Lady's word had proved true, as well it might. Then there was the man of Minas Tirith, whose hard eyes quickly looked away from the Lady. Many in that chamber frowned and boded it ill. Then there was their kin...

Someone tapped her shoulder. She withdrew from her memory and looked up and behind. It was Falowik. She smiled. The memories would always be there.

"Yes, my love?"

"It is getting late. Is this where you wish to spend the night?"

"Aye, Lauréatan. Come rest your head upon my lap and sleep well this night."

He knelt beside her, his eyes shining with unshed tears. His voice was gruff. "It has been a long, hard day, my fair one. It is good to see you whole again." She smiled. He lay down in the bower, resting his head on her lap. She caressed his brow, and soon he was asleep.

Then there was their kin, Legolas from the court of Thranduil....

[Lasbelinion]

The lights from the kitchen windows shone like beacons in the falling dark. On silent feet Lithmîrë made his way toward them from his hiding place. Wary of any that might see him, he crept from pooling shadow to shadow, stopping often to sense any who might be near.

His head ached with a fierce, sharp pain, made more insistent by the burning torment of his face and arm. They throbbed increasingly, the damaged nerves raw. His little supply of herbs to quell the agony was depleted, and the dose he’d had in his morning tea had been too long ago. He focused on Mistress Bunce’s promise of helping him to replenish his stock as he made his way back to the Inn.

Lithmîrë’s breath caught in his throat as he noted the two figures near the hawthorn tree. The Elf who had chased him and someone who lay sleeping on her lap. He pulled up his hood and gave the two a wide berth, closing his mind hard against any intrusion from her.

Long it seemed until his steps brought him to the kitchen door. He hesitated as his hand reached for the knob, thinking perhaps he should not barge in. Raising his fist, he gave three soft knocks, then stepped to the side of the little stoop to wait in the darkness for someone to answer.

[Gwydion]

The door to the inn opened and the dark of the night was briefly peirced by the light inside the Green Dragon. A tall rugged-looking man strode in through the door and quietly closed it. The stranger had dark, wild looking hair that reached to his shoulders and bloodshot, indigo eyes. His clothes were worn from use and the wear and tear of life outdoors.

His leather boots silently padded across the floor. "Innkeeper", he asked in a surprisingly gentle voice, " may I have a pint of ale and some supper?" The innkeeper nodded approval and gave the stranger supper,a stewed brace of conies, peas and two large biscuits which he covered in a generous heap of butter. As soon as the man finished buttering his bread and readying himself to eat he dove into his food like a man who has not eaten in a few days. The innkeeper gave a small chuckle and slowly walked away. During the course of the meal a man asked the stranger some questions, was he passing through, and other such things. These questions he answered with one or two words. Eventually the stranger revealed his name.

" I am Alastair son of Aronwÿ, a ranger from the north if you must know." As he spoke he had been slowly raising his voice and by the time he had finished evryone in the inn was staring at him, but they quickly looked away. "Forgive me for my actions," he asked of the innkeeper and said nothing else for the remainder of his meal.

After he had finished his meal he pulled out a simple pipe of willow and began to smoke. He began to look around the room, scanning each person before flicking his eyes to the next person. Alastair noted that the inn was very diverse and how the occupants got a long. Alastair leaned back against the counter and as he did he winced and gasped as the floor began to sway in front of him. He knew he should have waited longer before journeying again. Silently he cursed hiomself before sliding into darkness.