The Green Dragon Inn - Part 8

Horse and rider had traveled through curtains of light, silvery rain for all of two days. Approaching the grassy outskirts of the Shire, the clouds that’d been looming above for days, even weeks, had faded into vague purplish streaks that hovered above the settling sun and its sanguine aura. Upon nearing the the quaint pub, the rider mumbled a command upon a whisper to the dapple-grey steed, and the beast haulted abruptly, whining and tossing its head. With a pat on the rear flank, its master handed off the reins to a rather undersized stablehand and mounted the rickety steps of the Green Dragon Inn.

Once inside, he hooked two gloved fingers beneath the embroidered edge of his cloak to flip it behind a slender shoulder, so it framed his rather gaunt figure. The same hand rose to pull back a dampened hood, revealing sharply defined features, a thin mouth, and cropped tresses of raven’s black that jaggedly bordered eyes of marble-grey, a trademark of the men of Gondor. The sudden wave of warmth brough a slight curve to his lips, and he took a seat near the oaken counter to the back of the square room, snaking his way fluidly through the bouncing couples on the dance floor and the haphazard drunks scattered throughout the tavern.

Once off his feet, he removed his gloves from long-fingered hands, crossed with callouses, and caught the eyes of a stray barmaid in his own, offering a polite smile as she approached. “Hot water?” he raised his dark brow inquiringly. She nodded blithely and was gone with the flare of her skirts. The Gondorian sighed, orbs of sea-grey wandering to perch upon the band of tireless musicians in the corner. The merry tunes they managed to pluck out on their hollow instruments brought a boyish grin to his face and he tapped a booted foot along to the sprightly rhythm. Perhaps he would enjoy his stay in this place.