The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Huan]

‘M’lady?’ Emlin drew near to Teluyaviel who now sat alone on the bench, a half drunk mug seemingly forgotten clutched in her hands. His gaze followed hers as she looked after the young man and the woman now dancing to the lively tune the Halflings played.

And who would want to leave such a one as she to sit alone? he wondered, his eyes taking in her enchanting face; studying it for a brief moment before she turned her attention to his presence.

‘May I join you?’ He nodded at the cup she held. ‘Would there be more of that? I am quite parched.’ He smiled as his gaze swept round the yard, taking in the lively festivities. ‘It is thirsty work – this making merry in the Shire.’

He sat in silence with her for a while, sipping at the lemonade she gave him. ‘Your brother has been quite forward, quite plain, in his speaking to me. Explaining how you two have come here, how he intends to take you back to Lindon on the morrow, and what boundaries he has set about you – what boundaries he does not wished crossed.’

His slender elven fingers tapped lightly against his mug, a counterpoint to the dance’s melody. ‘And what of you, my fair Lady of the Last Autumn? Have you, too, set a leaguer about your self?’

He held his breath, but briefly, wondering if he had been too bold.

[Undómë]

The light from the little lanterns that hung in the trees about the yard played about his silvered hair. Emlin’s face was cast half in shadow as he spoke to her. She could not read his features; she dared not yet seek his mind, unsure as she was of the intention behind his questions.

‘A leaguer, Master Emlin. What a curious choice of words. But then this night has been a most curious one for speech.’ Her voice trailed off, considering his question more fully. ‘Melian’s leaguer, that is what I think of when I hear that word. That none could pass into her fair country without her knowledge. And so she held back the Shadow from Thingol’s realm.’ She laughed, surprising him, she thought with such a merry assessment of so serious a subject.

And he seemed serious enough, this Elf of Lindon, though he spoke in a light voice. Something hangs on my answering . . . she thought, her grey eyes considering his demeanor. He speaks lightly, to be sure. But perhaps that is his own defense against what reply he might receive.

‘But you are no shadowed creature, or so I would deem you. Though, and let me be plain spoken in this matter, I find your presence disturbing . . . disquieting, more like. It puts me on edge in a way both unsettling yet enticing. And I have no girdle the like of the enchantress of Doriath which I have set about me.’ She was quiet for a while, collecting her thoughts.

‘We have only met but once before. Earlier in the evening. And yet I feel as if you press closely in against me . . . like and unlike my brother. For despite our differences, Tindomion is a comforting presence. But you . . . I have no experience, no words within which to capture you.’ She fell silent again, then touched his wrist lightly with her fingers.

Speak to me, Emlin . . . mind to mind, will you not? That I might hear your questions, your words, without the subtleties and defenses with which your lips might cloak them . . .

[Farael]

Losse was as good a dancer as she had said and Farael was not really a good match for her skills. He did not intend to dance for too long anyway. Just as soon as they jumped into the dancing area, Farael started making his way towards a little drunken hobbit who was dancing really merrily. The good man was barely half Farael's height which suited him well. Taking Losse along with him, he got close enough and in what seemed an accident, got tripped by the hobbit's foot and fell to the floor, pulling Losse down with him. There was a moment of confusion in which he made a minor change as he helped Losse up. Acting really embarassed he muttered something about maybe being a little too tipsy for such a good dancer and started making his way back to Teluyaviel, with his little prize secured in his fist.

It was not without surprise to find her talking to the same elf he had seen before. "Smart man you are, Farael..." he told himself "seeking your petty revenge you let Telu alone and... but no, she is an elf and he is an elf. You should not interfere." He sighed then, having completely forgotten Losse who was not too far behind and walked up to Teluyaviel "Excuse me, M'lady, I would not want to... interrupt you. I just wanted to give you back what belongs to you" with a bow and a smile he offered the hairpin she had given to Losse before. While helping her up, he had changed the expensive, well crafted hairpin fora simpler one he had borrowed from an unsuspecting hobbit. Forcing a smile to his lips, Farael bowed again "Now I shall leave you two alone if you wish, Teluyaviel. It was a mightly pleseant night in your company so far but I should not keep you away from your own people"

[Huan]

Her touch, light as it was, made him gasp. Emlin stifled his reaction, but could not avoid the next when her thoughts gently touched his. He was glad for the interruption as the man came near and spoke with Teluyaviel. It gave him time to order the sudden tangle his thoughts had got into.

Emlin waited as the man gifted her a pretty, jeweled hairpin, watching the interaction between the two. The man had a soldier’s bearing and Emlin wondered that he would withdraw so readily. ‘I am no warrior, yet I would not retreat given a prize as fair as she,’ he thought to himself. He nodded at the man as he made to go.

‘M’lady,’ Emlin said, offering her his hand as he stood. ‘Perhaps it would be better if we walked about and spoke. My thoughts have suddenly gone all topsy-turvy. I’d rather they not frighten you with their incoherency.’

[Tevildo]

Tevildo was doing a nightime perambulation of his regular haunts in Bywater and Hobbiton. He'd already been down to Bag-end and paid his respects to the tiger colored feline who was the boss of the place responsible for keeping Samwise and his brood in line. Then he'd stopped off at the Proudfoots' orchard to check out a nest of mice. They had apparently been told of his approach and had managed to hide inside a hollow log whose opening was too narrow for him to do anything more than reach in with a single paw and blindly grope about with his claws, coming away without a single prize.

He was feeling rather grumpy and wanted to do some mischief. He'd picked up a cold somewhere during the day that made his nose run and his eyes water. He liked playing tricks on the stupid two-leggeds and was searching for a place where he could make a grand entrance. As he padded down the road that led from Hobbiton to Bywater, he noticed that several hobbits were heading towards the Green Dragon, talking excitedly about a party that was happening there. As he rounded the curve in the road, the sound of music and of two-leggeds talking quickly assailed his ear.

How wonderful! Tevildo loved a party. Perhaps he could snatch a bit to eat. Cook made the finest fish fry in all of the Shire. Or, better yet, he could cause a spot of trouble and get everyone to look at him. Slinking in to the party grounds, he could see an assortment of hobbits, elves, and men: some dancing, others eating, many talking with each other. A few hobbits were laughing over some private joke, but many of the other partygoers seemed extremely solemn, engaged in weighty conversations.

First, he sidled up to one of the large tables and caught a lovely odor coming from a steaming bowl. He managed to stick his nose inside a goodly pot of Cook's chicken stew and was thoroughly enjoying himself when a rude person came along and chased him away.

I'll show them!

Tevildo's purr had disappeared, and, in its place was a threatening growl. He eyed the main table where the desserts were sitting. That looked like a good target, but it might be risky. A large Elf with a grim face was standing at one end. Then he saw a smaller table where several female figures stood close by. There was a fine white tablecloth and on top of that a large bowl of punch and a smaller one of nuts. How perfect! All he had to do was get his claws into the tablecloth and the whole thing should come tipping over, punchbowl and all, perhaps splashing skirts that the two-leggeds were wearing.

With a single bound, Tevildo leapt. He landed half on and half off the table, his body hanging over the side and his tail lashing menacingly back and forth. The weight of his body--he was definitely a fat cat--dragged on the cloth. Slowly, the contents of the table inched over to the edge until Tevildo and the cloth went hurtling into the air and the brightly colored punch sprayed in all directions.

[Arry]

‘Don’t need any planning!’ Hanson whispered, his eyes lighting up with mischief. He pointed to where the cat and punchbowl were flying through the air. There was a loud crash and the punch fanned out, splashing a great number of the partygoers. The attention of most of the crowd turned to the soggy fiasco.

‘Come on!’ said Hanson, pulling on Wren’s hand. Tim and Woody followed after.

The table on which the cakes sat had a lovely tablecloth that hung over the sides and ends; making it, for all practical purposes much like a secret cave beneath. The four children sneaked along the side farthest from the party area. One by one, each ducked beneath the table. The light from the candle lanterns in the trees threw a soft glow through the white cloth.

‘Now here’s what we do,’ explained Hanson, who had done this once before at a gathering held up by the party tree. One would stand by the table, keeping watch. One would spy out an easy to grab cake, and pass it down to the two beneath the table, along with some spoons.

He looked to where the mess around the punch bowl was being sorted out. Surely no one would notice if they borrowed a small pitcher of milk, too, to pass round. ‘Woody . . . you and Wren go fetch some milk for us first. Then we’ll bring the cake under when you’ve got back.’ He looked at Tim with a grin on his face. ‘Me and Tim’ll spy out the best cake while you’re gone.’

[Undómë]

She smiled up at Emlin and took his hand. ‘My wrap, if you don’t mind. I’ve left it on the verandah railing. Would you mind terribly fetching it for me? I really don’t want to run into my brother at the moment.’

Teluyaviel watched as Emlin wove his way through the crowd. She was glad for these moments to herself. Like him, she found herself perplexed, her thoughts . . . not exactly confused, just pushed into new channels.

What exactly did he mean to say to her? They had only met this evening. And that by chance, not design.

She picked one of the small flowers from the vase on the table and twirled it about in her fingers, the rhythmic motion focusing the direction of her thoughts. There was something so . . . she could not think of the exact word.

‘Meldo . . .’ she whispered to herself . . . ‘dear friend . . .’ She smiled, thinking of Farael.

‘Melda,’ she said aloud, trying another word on her tongue. A random breeze made her shiver a little. Telu’s brow furrowed as she thought on it. ‘Melda . . .’