The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[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..."

[Ar-Pharazon]

“How strange and unnatural the simple things are too me,” spoke Belecbor quietly to himself, as he arrived in front of the Green Dragon. A great revelry had commenced for the evening, and many were gathered in celebration over the days end. No war had been won, or kingdom saved, just the rewards of a day’s hard labour.

“You will find the greatest bliss for life in the Shire,” he had been told by a man who had travelled eastward after the Great War. “It has the spirit of a kingdom, and the richness of a farm. No great worries or troubles follow you there.”

Belecbor had finally learnt what that man had meant; this place was what he had longed for in the depths of himself, after so many years of hardship. His long hair greying did not seem so grey and nor his scarred faced seem so marked; those many battles with Corsairs and Harad seemed but a distant memory,

As he looked around Belecbor felt out of place here, wearing the garb of a knight under Angbor in a place of relative peace. Under his travelling cloak, he felt his light elvish steel mail and sword, was unwanted in a place like this. Yet, many of the folk here seemed too have travelled from many different lands, and wore and assortment of items.

“Greetings stranger from the west,” said one of the Hobbit maiden’s. “Are you in need of anything?” She looked up at the tall and strong man, as a child looks at a parent, and yet this was not a child, but a woman of some years. For a man who has never really seen a hobbit up close, tis a strange experience at first.

“Many thanks, madam,” Belecbor replied. “But, I do not require anything at this time.” The hobbit maiden nodded and moved on.

Looking around the yard, Belecbor noted an empty table near the edge of the party and took a seat there. His thoughts pondered on what he would do first, when another hobbit maiden approached him.

“Welcome,” she said. “Would you care to leave your arms with us and rest for awhile, it is not comfortable to carry all that steel at all time.”

Belecbor looked at her; there was innocence and kindness about her that he had not seen in many. “Nay,” he spoke. “I am quite comfortable as I am.” Although this land was a land of peace, Belecbor was not quite ready to put down his arms yet.