The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Alcarillo]

Alcarillo swallowed his mouthful of bacon, dabbed at his mouth with a napkin, cleared his throat, and when the elderly hobbit woman seemed to be losing patience, spoke.

"I have not seen the innkeeper all morning, madam, but I'm sure that one of the servers could direct you to her," he answered. Remembering to be courteous, he said "Please, have a seat." Alcarillo gestured to an empty chair at his table. "My name is Alcarillo Nession, and I'm from Harlindon. Are you hungry?"

Alcarillo was finishing his breakfast, but still felt it was rude to be eating in front of her while she ate nothing. Alcarillo pushed his half-eaten plate of bread across the table towards her. "Here, have some bread."

[Nerindel]

Lúrëaelda's return

A low sun shone bright in the clear blue morning sky, as Lúrëaelda rounded a the hill that led to the Green Dragon inn. The road was dry and small dust clouds rose in his wake, leaving a thin covering on the deerskin boots that covered his feet and half way up his calf. As the familiar sounds and smells of the inn reached this ears and eyes he looked up, his unusual piercing yellow eyes glistening in silent recognition at the familiar sight of the green dragon hanging almost welcomingly over the door.

A single voice coming from the rear of the inn caused the Silvan Hunter to freeze, his dark grey skin paling as he recalled the admonishments of the inns Cook the last time he had arrived at the inn. As he remembered it he had been innocent in the whole incident, but still Ms Vinca Bunce was not one to upset especially when it came to food and the payment thereof.

“No, surely she will not remember,” he swallowed shaking his head and turning away from the busy kitchen sounds and facing again the welcoming entrance of the inn. It had been sometime since he had left and as well as being a little taller than before he was now more sure of himself. A lot had happened since his last visit some good and some not so, but in all that time one image had burned in his memory.

A wry grin reached his lips as he ran a nervous hand through his dark cropped hair, disturbing the thin silvery braid from his shoulder so it fell down his back over the dusty hide jacket that covered the garb of an elf of Eryn Lasgalen, would she even remember me he wondered fleetingly. Then adjusting the bow and pack on his shoulders he pushed open the green door and stepped inside, his eyes hopingly searching for the friendly warm smile of the Dragon’s innkeeper.

[Larien Telemnar]

Larien smiled when Eothen mentioned being one of the rohirrim. She recalled an adventure she had had a few years ago in Rohan. She had the privilage to meet the King and many of the soldiers and captains. She wondered if she had met this man before.

Her smile faded quickly when she remembered the consequences of that adventure, though. One of the very events that had led to her sitting at that table with this stranger in the Shire.

‘My Lady...’ She looked up quickly, remembering her manners, hoping he had not noticed her attentions wandering off. The Stranger's voice trailed off, a look of uncertainty crossing his face. I hope I haven't offended him in some way. She worried to herself.


‘And what is your name, my Lady? Are you from around here?’

Larien's face flushed with embarresment when she realized she had forgotten her manners and failed to introduce herself.

'Forgive me sir!' She cried. 'I am Larien Telemnar. I am a traveller, going from one place to another- but there was a time that I lived in Rivendell, as the adopted daughter of Lord Elrond.'

[Pivli]

Violet sat down on the offered chair; perched, that is, like some small green bird, on the seat’s edge. ‘The fellow is nice enough,’ she thought to herself, ‘but Violet you don’t really know him now, do you?’

His offer to share his bread with her, however, melted her reserve somewhat, and she smiled at him. ‘Well, now that would be quite nice,’ she said, scooting herself back in the chair.’

The elder hobbit loosened the ties on her black and beflowered bonnet and set it carefully to one side of the table. She patted her graying curls, hoping they had not got all wild and flyaway when she removed the hat.

‘My name is Miz Greengage. Violet Greengage. Live up by The Pool,’ she said, introducing herself. ‘Very nice to make your acquaintance Master Nession.’ Violet glanced about the room, hoping to see someone who looked as if they were in charge.

‘I wonder - might I have the pot of jam, there, too, if you don’t mind?’ she said as he pushed the basket of bread toward her. ‘And one other, small request, if you don’t mind. I haven’t been into town in a great number of years. Who is the Innkeeper these days?’

[Seth Cotton]

Éothen smiled back to her, being in a pretty good mood. He fiddled some with his hair, spun the hair around his fingers as they went on talking. It was a habit he had as long as he could remember. The woman then exclaimed as Éothen had asked for her name.

'Forgive me sir!' She cried. 'I am Larien Telemnar. I am a traveller, going from one place to another- but there was a time that I lived in Rivendell, as the adopted daughter of Lord Elrond.'

For a moment he thought she looked sad, into deep thoughts of sorrow. And that she after this statement returned into them. Éothen nodded slowly at her. He didn't know what to say.

'Lady Telemnar.' He said, nodding again, 'I guess you have great experience in travelling to distant places?' He grinned slightly, but only felt stupid as she saw she was unhappy. Her expression spoke of a sorrow long forgotten that had returned as they spoke. He was curious, wondering what once happened to her.

'Lady Telemnar..? Is something wrong?' he asked, sounding worried. He leaned closer and glanced at her. She did not smile, Éothen was growing nervous and afraid of maybe have insulted or brought up something he shouldn't have.

[Folwren]

Wren reached up and took the handle of the wardrobe. Ginger smiled down at her and then they both pulled at the doors. It came open with a reluctant squeak and they swung the doors back to the wall behind it. Wren searched the dim insides with bright, expectant eyes as Ginger reached forward and opened drawers and pulled out different dresses and aprons to go with them. Wren’s eyes got brighter and brighter as Ginger pulled out more. Finally, the hobbit stopped what a triumphal ‘Aha!’ and held out a dress that looked like it might possibly fit the small form of the girl.

Ginger helped Wren take off her first dress, worn from the constant travel and use and with the dirt of the road clinging to it’s folds, and put her into the new outfit. She did up the buttons in the back and then put an apron about her and tied it in the back around her waste to bring the dress in (it was, of course, to wide for her there).

“Does it look pretty?” Wren asked, looking down at herself as well as she could and turning about to make the skirt swirl. Ginger smiled and led her with gentle hands to the mirror at the other side of the room. Wren nearly squealed for joy when she saw her reflection. She had not looked so nice for weeks, she knew. The dress was almost fit perfectly, and her hair was done up admirably. She turned to Ginger and took her hand with excitement and began pulling her back towards the door. “Can we go down to the kitchen and show Tim? He’ll like the new dress and he likes blue, too, so he’ll like the ribbons...”

She didn’t wait for an answer and hurried out with the hobbit in tow. In a minute, they were back in the kitchen. Tim and Aman were just walking back in through the door and Wren let go of Ginger’s hand and ran to him.

“Look, Tim! Ginger did up my hair all nice and found me a dress, and see, look, she even let me have blue ribbons for my hair and she’s real nice, Tim. Can we stay? Please, can we stay?”

Tim surveyed his little sister carefully with a small smile on his lips and a fond light in his eyes. Her last question brought a little stronger smile and he looked up at the others in the kitchen briefly. Then, turning his look back to his sister, he answered. “I don’t know yet, Wren. It’s not up to me. We’ll see what comes.”

[Larien Telemnar]

'Lady Telemnar..? Is something wrong?'

Larien looked up suddenly, bringing her mind out of the memories of the past and tried to conentrate on the future. She gave a half-hearted smile.

'Forgive me sir. It seems as if I have returned to the road leading to the past, a place I often find myself these days.' She looked down at her hands uncomfortably, her fingers rubbing against the cloth of her skirt, as they always seemed to do when she was anxious. Perhaps I should tell tell this stranger my troubles. She thought. Perhaps he will not think ill of me.

She glanced at him to see a look of concern on his face, his eyes sincere and kind. After a short moment of deliberation, she resolved to tell her tale at last.

'I have only told the fair people at this inn about the early events of my life, bu only one other knows of my guilt, and the events that happened only within the last few years. I am the daughter of two Hobbits who wer travellers. One night while travelling through the misty mountains they were ambushed by Orcs. I was just an infant, so it was an easy task for my mother to hide me. Lord Elrond of Rivendell was travelling through the mountains and found me, took me home and raised me as his own daughter.' Here she paused to take a sip of her tea.

'I lived there for many years, untill the War of the Ring. I was lurking in the shadows during a council that was held, concerning Isildur's Bane. I thought to aid Middle-Earth in some way, so I ran away, against my father's wishes. A friend went with me, a young Elf by the name of Tyaro, as well as a few others. We had travelled to Rohan ten years before that, and decided that we would travel there first. After travelling to Rohan, we wandered about, fighting small bands of Orcs. One night Tyaro and I were seperated from our group, and were attacked by Wargs.' Here a small tear trailed down her cheek. 'We tried to fight them, but there were too many. Tyaro knew there was no hope of defeating them; he had already been mortally wounded, so he hid me in a rock clef- against my wishes- and drew them away. I can still hear his screams at night.'

Her voice trailed off as the tears streamed down her cheeks. 'I could not fight after that, so I sent the rest of our band away, back to Imladris.'

She gave a weak smile through her tears. 'Forgive me, sir. I should not be troubling you with this tale.'

[Seth Cotton]

Éothen sat speechless and baffled by her story. He wasn’t sure of what to say, if it would sound stupid, heartless or even mean? He decided to remain silent for another moment, maybe she would say something. She cried, not a sound, but he saw the tears roll and he felt a bit uncomfortable with the situation and he looked down in the table.

‘I am s-sorry...’ He started, thinking it must sound really stupid. His way of saying it, his words of choice. The tone in his voice that sounded more like someone who has nothing better to say than that. He felt guilt and rubbed his head a little innocent.

‘I am really sorry to hear about your dear friend, my Lady...’ He continued and sounded more comfortable as the tensed situation began to ease and he felt more confident. She had almost stopped crying, yet she was still sad, no doubt of it. ‘Still it seems to me you are afraid of something?’

Maybe it was stupid of him to ask further more about it. Perhaps it would just make it worse, he would probably just bring up more darkness and sorrow. Even though it wasn’t his intention it seemed inevitable to him. He knew how it was to lose a friend, he had lost many. He thought of her as a brave person to actually talk about it; talk about the sorrow she felt. That was a braver thing than fighting a hundred orcs.

Éothen, for one, would never speak of such things. They were still strangers to each other but she must have built up a lot of confidence for Éothen which made him feel a little bit better and he even smiled, but stopped abruptly as he realised how dumb he must look. He sighed deeply; not even the sun outside helped. The shadow was lying over them as a covering of sorrow. No sun would take it away.

‘Maybe we should speak of something else...’ Éothen said a bit melancholy. He glanced at her and then made a quick glance outside at the fine weather. ‘Would you join me for a walk in the garden instead? Maybe it will make things better?’