The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Dimturiel]

"A clean bed and a cleaner coscience.", Heather had said. A clean bed, that he could obtain easily, especially at this inn. But a cleaner conscience? Now most of all his conscience felt anything but clean. Heather, of course could know nothing of this. But he had recieved so many accusations, even when he deemed himself to be innocent, that he had come to regard almost every speech as an attack. Still, he hid his suspicions, knowing that they were wrong and unjust. He even managed to say:

"Your father is a very wise man, if he thinks thus." But then he stopped. Heather had seemed to become thoughtful when she had spoken of her father. Had he also, unwillingly, touched something that would make Heather feel as he had felt when she had told him about the clean conscience or about the wonderful adventures that he must have had during the journey from Dale?

"I am sorry." he said quickly. "If I am wrong when saying that your father is wise. I should not speak of what I know nothing. As for my journey here, well, Heather, I cannot deny that I did have some adventures, although I would not go as far as too call them wonderful. Not when...not when they have left me so tired."

Not when their devastating consequences weight so heavily upon me, he had wanted to say, but he had checked himself and continued on what he thought to be a much lighter note.

[Nogrod]

This last wording of Grimhorn started to ring some bells in Rían’s mind: “And speaking about how beornings are losing their own culture to foreign ways surely doesn't make one a hater of anything un-beorningish.” He started to have some flash-backs from his memories from the very early days of his life. Something he hadn’t remembered for a long time. He had prepared his pipe while Grimhorn was talking, and had just lit it when Grimhorn ended his ponderings. He took a long inhale of the smoke and leaned backwards again, thinking as mightily as he could. There were just too many thoughts going on simultaneously, one way and the other, to third and fourth way... He was baffled, and tried to ease the situation by taking a sip from his pint. But that was empty. He smiled uncomfortably, and suggested: “Maybe I’ll get us the next pints? I think my head needs some clearing now – and I think yours will too? And our discussion calls for continuing. I’ll go and get them, for I think it’s my turn now. You take this pipe for the time being, as a notion of trust and friendship.” With that he offered his lit pipe to Grimhorn, then rose, nodded, and took off from the table.

This is just madness! Should this be the night when I start to untrust my own father? The one that had always cared of me, who had taught me so much, who even sacrified himself for me? Oh, this is madness indeed! But still he couldn’t ward off the images of those strangers sitting with his father during the nights of his childhood, or those places and people they were sheltered by, when they were on the run at his teen-years...

At happenstance he popped into an eerily frozen Farael on his way to the serving-board. “Farael, how good to see you again! – although I also see, that you are not so happy in this moment.” He studied his just acquainted comrade with some suspicion. “What is it now? Where’s Naria? Or your friend I met when I came in here, I don’t remember his name... or these elven fellows? Or that rascal-lady I saw you with sometime ago” Rían poked Farael gently to the chest, and forced him to look at his eyes. “C’mon man. What’s the trouble?” As Farael still seemed quite absent, he continued:

“Well, as you see, I have a friend there – we have some kinship matters to talk over to”, he pointed to the huge read-haired giant someway to their right. Farael could not help but notice the Beorning puffing the pipe at the table. "I quess our talk is a talk of life and death, but if you insist, I could be ready to turn the subject-matter for a while. I’m getting us the next round of ale. So if you have nothing better to do, why don’t you join us?” With that, he patted Farael to the shoulder and waited for his answer.

[Dairym]

Heather nodded thoughtfully. “My father is wise--at least, I think so.” Loving too, as much as he could be. She could understand that at least.

Ravennar puzzled her. His light talk seemed a glassy reflection that hid dark, troubled currents. Maybe it was the way he sat so stiffly in the comfortable hobbit chair, or the tone of his voice--or maybe it was nothing at all. Heather sighed. She was groping in the dark, and so far had only made both of them ill at ease. It was time for a change of subject.

The perfect answer wafted to her nose from inside the inn. Heather sniffed appreciatively. “Mmm, that hobbit food smells wonderful. In the Shire supper is a cure for all ailments. Are you hungry?”

[Dimturiel]

"I am famished." Ravennar laughed. "I am also tired of cram. You know, the cakes that we of Dale take on long journeys. One tires easely of them. But I should be unfair, were I not to add that it is very good when it comes to keeping you on your feet on long journeys. Yet a change is needed. Wait here, I will bring us both some food."

He left, and soon came back, walking slowly, carrying a tray laden with food in one hand, and a chair in the other. He put the tray on the table, and gave the chair to Heather.

"Sit down."he told her."It is better like this. This is all the food I could bring, I hope you will enjoy it."

He smiled, and for the first time that night the smile came from his heart, rather than being a mere convention. In spite of himself he was starting to feel good and at ease. "Well, lad," he said to himself, "enjoy yourself while you can. Payment for this may come sooner than you think."