The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Nogrod]

So it was a positive answer. This man in front of him really was the son of the “One that runs at dusk”. The son of the “Owl’s eye”... If I just could improve a bit and hold my mouth also when relaxed and comfortable after a beer or two!

Rían felt like he had quite consciously pushed his head straight into a beehive – if there ever was such a large one to accomodate his head. He kind of smiled inwardly to his lousy metaphor. Maybe he was just poking a bear that was just coming off from its’ hibernation... What a fool he was! As long as he could remember, he had just slipped this once, wanting to make sure he could be in peace, just for this night, to assure some relaxation after all those days, weeks, and months of being alert, tense and on guard all the time. And on this night, of all creatures on Middle Earth, he had literally crashed into the son of “Grimgor Bearhand”, and on the top of it all, bought him a beer and insisted on his company, then revealed his knowledge of him & his own identity! Stupid, stupid, stupid!!! A way out of this? None to be seen at the moment. I would have to come up with something, and quickly! I could so well had just made my apologies and go out to have my pipeful! Or why couldn’t I just have had some nice small-talk about the Beorning life-style and the weirdness of other cultures, thrown some jokes familiar to both of us, drank my pint and excused myself with all the best wishes to a fellow-Beorning? Then I could have rejoined Falar, Naria & others. They seemed nice folk. At least they didn’t seem to him like people in the midst of trouble, where Rían now found himself in.

Rían had thrown himself into a troll’s cave, and could not come up with a way out. The narrow stare of Grimhorn didn’t make him feel any more comfortable. It was, like this guy was just pondering about the wealth of his knowledge. There should be only the right words now. He should get over this one, for he surely knew, what was it like to meet his father. This giant propably didn’t expect this knowledge with him, yet. He would have to hold that back as long as possible.

“Well, I just thought the same, you kind of said... There sure aren’t many Grimgors around. But how can I add together the name of Grimgor and the famous name of the “Owl’s eye”? That you must have asked yourself. Well...” Immediately Rían realized, that he was as a fly in a spider’s web, by moving boldly to reach out, he had just entangled himself even tighter in to the net!

Grimhorn seemed concentrated on him. He had raised his eyebrows, clearly waiting for Rían to continue. But suddenly, there glimmered a dim light of hope! Maybe this cavetroll had just forgot Rían’s introductioning of himself! Maybe Grimhorn didn’t quite know, who he was? This was desperate, he knew that, but nothing else came to his mind at the moment.

“... Well. My father, you propably won’t know him, was a kind of a seer”. Rían tried now to avoid the name “hermit”, by which his father had been known all over the Beorningland. “He once told me to revere the “One that runs at dusk”, and at a same time Grimgor Bearhand, for they are the very same man. Now that is what my father told me. The name of Grimgor hasn’t meant much to me over the years, but the stories of the “Owl’s eye” I surely have heard, many times. And yes, I have now made the connection. But I can swear to you, with a beorning’s word, that I’ll never mention this to anyone. Rest assured, you can count on my word.”

Rían took a glance to check, that no-one was listening to his speech. Grimhorn noted his care. For a moment they were both silent. Grimhorn stared at him, clearly in his thoughts, Rían was just wondering, what this grin meant this time. He tried to lighten the situation – and possibly turn this giant’s mind to somewhere else.

“Care to taste this one?”, he asked, “It’s Old Boff’s. Very good stuff indeed”. With these words, he offered his pipe towards Grimhorn.

[Enedhilion]

I feel no cheer, even though it is right here next to me...in ALL of it gloriousness...

"I have no time to chat, Outrider. They are after me. That is all I can speak for now.", I reply.

"Tis' alright. All I want to know is what is your identity and who pursues you?", the Rohirrim asks.

"I am Beriothien, of Belfalas. That is all you need to know. And I havn't a clue. A horde of minions is on my tail. I shall confront them at dawn. I know not of their location, only of their direction. They come from the northeast, travelled around the tip of Eryn Lasgalen. No time to chat...no time to chat..."

[Caunwaithon]

Originally Posted by Enedhilion

I feel no cheer, even though it is right here next to me...in ALL of it gloriousness...

"I have no time to chat, Outrider. They are after me. That is all I can speak for now.", I reply.

"Tis' alright. All I want to know is what is your identity and who pursues you?", the Rohirrim asks.

"I am Beriothien, of Belfalas. That is all you need to know. And I havn't a clue. A horde of minions is on my tail. I shall confront them at dawn. I know not of their location, only of their direction. They come from the northeast, travelled around the tip of Mirkwood. No time to chat...no time to chat..."

I sit up in my in the booth, arms settling on the table, armor creaking lightly, and the chainmail clinking.

"Berethion....of Belfalas. Protector of Belfalas. I Am Caunwaithon, and I am from the very northern borders of my people, Fangorn Forest."

I pause for a while, thinking with my left hand around the mug, right stroking the beard.

"I will not let you fight this foe alone, Ranger of the North. I do not think my companions will either. I wait for Janthor, a dwarve of the Lonely Mountain, and one I have not met yet, Kilon Ith'o. If you wish it, stranger, you have my spear."

I set back down again, and talk in a more friendly tone.

"Well, Ranger, I won't presume, but I think you're like me. You don't like to fight on an empty stomach, aye? Let's get somethin' to eat. I haven't had anything but jerky in quite a while."

Then I look to my left, and see a dwarf chatting with the beautiful bartender.

"If you'll excuse me one moment, ranger, I believe this is Janthor here...."

I get up, grabbing my helm and putting it in the crook of my left elbow, coming upon the dwarf, who has his back turned to me.

"Excuse me, Master Dwarf, but would you happen to be Janthor of the Lonely Mountain?"

Janthor set the mug down ,empty now.A few stares were drawn at the Dwarves drinking speed,but Janthor paid them no mind.

"Excuse me, Master Dwarf, but would you happen to be Janthor of the Lonely Mountain?" He heard a man say.Turning to face him,Janthor still had to look up,even though he was on a chair.

"Aye, that I am lad!" It took him awile but he eventually relized who it was."How are you doing my friend! Its been awile.Well get that blasted helmet off! I could hardly tell you from the other soldiers in here."

A second of slight and awkward silence passed between them.Janthor didnt know why he hadnt offered Caunwaithon a drink.After all dwarves were known for their merry times in the taverns.

"Would you like a drink? I saw you chatting with that ranger over there.Hope it went well.The stories suggest that if it dosnt your in trouble."

[Enedhilion]

Seeing this man's new accomplice, I decide to speak up.

"I am sorry...Spearman. This is my fight, and my fight alone."

I felt a little unnerved, and I began to stand.

"Now if you will excuse me, I need rest."

I am struck with another memory. I begin to feel saddened.

"No matter how many there are...this is my fight. They took something away from me...that I can never have again. I shall return the favor, with their lives."

[Caunwaithon]

I smile at the man, recollecting of our conversation.

"Ha! This man might be a ranger, but I have a Dwarven warrior by my side!"

I pick up the ale put upon the bar, and lift it up.

"For old friendships, and that they shall not die!"

I toss the ale back, washing it down my throat with some difficulty. Well, alot of difficulty. But I do not show it, and I am proud for this.

"Come, Janthor. I will show you the man I wish to help."

I pick up a wooden plate a block of cheese upon it, and a loaf of dark bread, walking once again towards the dark corner. But the man meets me halfway, in a manner of refusal.

"I am sorry...Spearman. This is my fight, and my fight alone."

the man slowly stands up from the table and begins to walk away.

"Now if you will excuse me, I need rest."

he walks out of the tavern, without sound escaping forth from his bootheels.

I nod my head towards Janthor, and smile.

"Well then, nevermind, it seems as if we will need to find our own quest."

I set the wooden plate down, and pull a straight-edged knife from a sheath on my belt, cutting into the cheese and sitting down, biting into the sharp, aromatic white half moon cheese.

"So...how goes the lonely mountain? Does your kingdom do well?"

[Enedhilion]

Suddenly, Beriothien bursts through the doors.

"They have found me! I have no idea how they found me......YOU! OUTRIDER!", I call to the Rohan rider.

He glances over to me. I guess I caught his attention.

"Aid me and I will follow you on your quest!", I call to him again.

"Yes I suppose.Moria is still in goblin hands though.Blasted creatures!One day though we will retake it in Balins honor!"

Janthor looked up as the doors swung open hitting the wall as they did."They have found me! I have no idea how they found me......YOU! OUTRIDER! Aid me and I will follow you on your quest!"

"Calm down lad.Who's found you?"

A figure of small stature and a steady walk,made his way over the slight hillside and through the trees.A rugged and worn down cloak wraped the dwarves shoulders.The grunting and slight mumbling he emmited could be heard a good distance.In his right hand,griped tightly and being used as a walking stick,was an axe,a common weapon of his kin.Underneath the cloak,a leather vest worn over a simple black tunic.Chainmail leggings and straped leather boots covered his legs.All that rested on the dwarves head was the hood of the cloak,though it did little to hide his facial features.The long brown beard could be seen from nearly every angle,not that Janthor wanted to hide it anyway.

Finaly arriving at his destination,Janthor put the hood of his cloak down and looked around.This was a lively place for sure.Not like the parties back home,which usualy involved brawling,and rivers of ale.Turning his attention back to the door,Janthor barged into the room.The smells of pork and ale,mixed with the warmth of the fire seemed to blast the dwarf.

Janthor inhaled deeply and sighed with a slight laugh.It had been a long journey and he was long over due for a good drink.Relizing he hadnt closed the door he turned,shuting it swiftly.As he made his way to the bar he had to push his way through several times.Though this was hobbit territory,many stoped here as they went through.He was small but proud and didnt mind showing it either.Others though had to be reminded that other,shorter inhabitants dwelled in Middle Earth.

Arriving at the bar,he noticed his axe was still in hand.Standing it up against the bar,he pulled a chair over and climbed atop it.He barely stood at arms length on the chair.

"Could a dwarf get a drink around here?" Janthor said in his booming voice.A women,who had prieviously been cleaning mugs came over.She greeted him with a warm smile,and didnt seem to mind Janthors brash attitude.

"Right away master dwarf.Ale correct?"

"Aye,lass.Many thanks."

She had been gone only a few seconds befor returning with a full mug of ale.She set the mug down in front of Janthor befor turning to fill another patrons order.Janthor gripped the mug with both hands befor bringing it to his lips and taking a long drink.Upon completing the mans order she returned.

"Might I ask what brings you here? Dont get many dwarves these days."

Janthor removed the cup from his lips and set it on the bar.

"Oh nothing,nothing at all realy.Just getting out of the mountains a bit.To tell you the truth,you wont find many dwarves who want to get out of the mountain.Glorious homeland,no doubt.Even a dwarf wishes to see the outside lands once in awile though."

She gave a warm smile befor opening her mouth to speak.But befor the words could come out,she was summoned by yet another patron.

"If you'll excuse me."Sighing she made her way over to the customer.

He shrugged befor bringing the ale to his lips once again.

[Thinlómien]

Grimhorn took the pipe and had a smoke. "Good", he agreed shortly and after a while he handed the pipe back to Rían, who had obviously wanted to change the subject of the discussion. Grimhorn wondered why. This wasn't his favourite topic, but he had a reason. Why would this young man so fiercely avoid the topic of Grimhorn's father? That was something Grimhorn didn't understand. Unless the boy knew more than he let on...

"Well, Sundryboy, I probably missed what you were talking about. Swearing? What is there, that is not to be spoken about? My father is a man long dead. What is there, that you promise not to talk about?" he asked and paused for a while. Before the young man could answer, he added: "For I see no reason for being silent about my father; I wouldn't surely introduce myself as "the son of Grimgor" if there was something shameful or horrible in his name, or would I?" The lie slipped easily from his lips. Too easily, he told himself. I am getting too used to this; more used to than is honourable to be.

He knew that he knew a good deal more about Rían's father than the man probably assumed. Uneasily, he wondered if Rían knew as much of his.

[Dimturiel]

"What reason brings me here?" asked Aniriel and stood silent for a few moments as if pondering on the meaning of these words,"Well, it was not exactly a reason but more a...well, a sort of whim. Yes, this seems the right word for it. I have heard a lot about this place, and one day I just decided to come here."

She paused remembering her mother's astonished face when she had told her she was leaving. Smiling at the memory, she continued:

"My parents never really agreed to let me go. They tried to talk me out of it. But, in the end, they had no choice but to give in. I think they knew in a way that it was not totally my fault. I just felt that I had to come here and I knew that I would not have any peace if I did not. But maybe these feelings run in the family. My brother used to have such whims, too."

Aniriel's thoughts went back to a day not long before the Great War, when her brother had announced that he would be going with Prince Imrahil's army to aid Minas Tirith. Their father had told him not to go, that he was too young for war, and that battle was bound to come to Dol Amroth, too. And, when it came, would he not rather die near his mother and his sister than far away from them? But Aniriel's brother was adamant.

"I am sorry that my decision has to be different from yours." he had said. "You know that I would rather be with you in my last moments; yet I cannot remain, I am sorry. I feel that if I do not go there I shall lose my peace for ever."

[Lasbelinion]

"My brother used to have such whims, too," Aniriel had said.

"Going off to war is hardly a whim!" Callë's eyes clouded for a moment, recalling her own losses. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. 'Sorry to have gone all grim on you for a moment. She sipped slowly on her ale.

"I never had any brothers. All sisters in my family. Four of them plus me. Near drove my mother mad when we'd get to bickering, for we are quite different in temperament. My father of course called us all his darlings and never could quite understand why mother had so many complaints." Callë grinned, remembering a scene or two from her earlier years, "Of course, they are all married off now. With fine, fat little babies of their own to fuss over."

She took up her apple half and bit off a piece. "What about you? Just the one brother?" She munched on her mouthful of apple. "Did he find his peace . . . serving in the war . . .?"

[Koobdooga]

'Thorin Oakenshield is much revered among the Dwarves of Khazad-dum!' Ibun said, raising his mug in a toast. 'Here's to Thorin, King Under the Mountain!' He drained his mug in a single draught.

'I'm on a journey westward, myself, to The Blue Mountains. It is said that some of our kin established themselves there after the foul shadow overran Khazad-dum. But now that we have cleared out their lairs and have started putting their wreckage to rights, our King has sent out messengers to those of our scatterd Folk, telling them they are most welcome to return.'

He dug into the pocket of his vest and found his pouch with pipeweed and pipe all neatly tucked inside. 'Good stuff! This Shire pipeweed. Better than I found in Bree, at least. Help yourself, if you'ld like.' Ibun fixed himself a pipeful and sat back in his chair to enjoy it.

[Wiscott]

Baldin grins as he reaches for some of the weed. "Thank ye," he simply states, before filling his pipe for a second round. Musing for a minute on the smoke drifting up in front of his nose, he turns back to Ibun.


"I was just pondering where to go from here in my own journey. I had thought of goin' as far west as Hobbiton, to bring the route of the olde troupe to its beginnning. From there, however, I have as yet formed no set plan. Mayhaps I will journey to the Blue Mountains myself; I believe I have some kin there. Or I could make my way south and east to Khazad-dum; it 'twould be fair to look upon the works of my ancestors, and I am of a mind to help in the rebuilding myself. In any case, I have no great desire to go back to Dale and the Lonely Mountain so soon, and after so little adventure." The nearby fire of the lamps glimmered in his eye for a moment as he uttered the last phrase. As if in continuation of the thought, Baldin took some materials from his light pack and began to polish the broad blade of his halberd.

[Dimturiel]

"Did he find his peace...serving in the war?"

How strange this sounded, Aniriel thought. She knew too many things about war to think that no feeling of ease could come from it. Yet she had never been in a battle, never knew what really happened there. And her brother had told her many times that she could not understand such things, and that maybe it was better for her not to.

"Maybe he did find his peace." Aniriel answered . "He returned changed, though. I could not clearly say in what way. He seemed the same cheerful lad, but sometimes there was something in his voice or in his eyes that did not belong to him. Well, 'tis said that no one comes unscathed from such a battle. My brother had fought bravely, I was told. Fiercely, even. But he was wounded and I doubt not that, had it not been for Lord Elfstone's healing skills, he would have died. He is now one of the King's messengers. He spends most of the time in Minas Tirith or on the road on one errand or another..."

Aniriel paused. She took a bite from her apple half, watching Calle, thoughtfully. She seemed one to whom she could tell many things without regretting later. And also, she wanted to find many things about her, too. She had never met someone from Dunland before.

"So," she continued after a few moments of silence, "You said that you had four sisters, Calle? I would have liked a sister, too. Are you the youngest of your family? I am, you see. My brother used to tease me a lot when we were little. I did not like it much, then, but now I confess that I sometimes miss those times..."