The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Folwren]

Wren sat with her legs crossed before her, a kitten in her hands upon her skirt. The new girl she had met, Mirrelle, also had a baby cat in her lap, and they spoke in hushed voices. Both of them had ceased to cry and Wren found that Mirelle was really quite a nice girl. She wasn't surprised. Most girls were nice, she thought. She didn't notice when Tim stuck his head up above the loft the second time. Nor did she take stock of him as he quietly withdrew again and climbed silently back down the ladder. But, at the bottom, when he slipped abruptly and fell with a crash against something that caused another great bump and smack, both she and Mirrelle were very suddenly aware of his presence.

They both jumped and the kittens extended their claws in fright. "What was that?" Wren cried, pulling her finger away from the kitten's paw. "Ouch. Tim, is that you?"

Tim lay in the straw and dirt of the barn floor, two buckets almost on top of his head, and another at his feet - one which used to hold water, but now didn't because it was all on him. He heard Wren call down to him, but he didn't answer. He kept his mouth firmly shut for fear of crying. Not only had the fall been entirely unexpected, but he had been hurt, and one on top of the other makes even the best boy cry. He had fallen and his chin had been rammed hard against the one of the rungs of the ladder. His jaw snapped shut and his teeth caught the end of his tongue. He could taste blood in his mouth, and there was a lot of it.

"Tim?" Wren called again. She pushed the kitten off her and crawled to the edge of the loft. Peering over, she tried to look down and see, but all that was visible in the bad light was Tim's white shirt, and almost as white face. "What are you doing? Are you alright?"

There was a rather lengthy pause, and then he rasped out a gruff and hoarse - "No."

"What's wrong?" Her voice was sharp with sudden anxiety (she was just a little girl and thought some great damage could have been done). He raised his hand and gingerly touched his face.

"My tongue's nearly bit off and my nose is bleeding." He spoke with difficulty now. It hurt horribly and he blicked back tears of pain.

"Oh, no! You're tongue's gone? Get Cook, Tim! No, you stay there, I'll get her!" She scrambled for the ladder and before he had quite gathered his wits, she reached the ground. He tried to speak, but even if he could have clearly, she wasn't listening. She fled out the door and across the lawn, blindly and without care or notice she ran through the inn yard and the guests standing therein and in through the front door. She barged into the kitchen, but finding no one there, she barged back out and looked about her in desparation. But at that moment, the hobbit she was in search for entered the Common Room from the stair way, followed by an elf. Wren hardly saw the second person as she darted forward.

"Oh, Cook, there's been a horrible accident or something! Tim fell off the ladder to the loft and bit off his tongue! He said he did, and his nose is bleeding to. And he's crying. He didn't say he was, but I know it." How Tim was supposed to have told her his injuries without a tongue, Wren really didn't stop to think about. It was too late to be so technical anyway. She was sure that it was serious and she was equally sure that Cook would agree with her completely.

[Undómë]

Tindomion


The Elf stared at the distraught girl from behind Cook. Not that it mattered that he stood behind her. Though a Hobbit of some substance, still she was quite tiny in comparison to him and he towered over her like some tall beech tree over a modest little rose bush.

‘I’ll come with you,’ he whispered, leaning down close to her ear. ‘I’m not going to face my sister and her . . . intended . . . without you. And besides, I think I might be of some help.’

He ran upstairs quickly to retrieve something from his room, and was back in a trice.

[piosenniel]

‘Bit his tongue clean off, did he?’ Cook raised one brow at Wren as she went on. ‘And he told you that, eh? The boy’s a nine day wonder!’ She called for one of the servers still in the common room to run down to the cellar and fetch a fist sized piece of ice from the lead lined box. He was to bring it to the stable quick as lightning she instructed him.

‘Now you come with me, Miss Wren, to the kitchen. We’ll just get my box with salves and herb powders and such.’ The girl and the Tindo kept well on her heels as she scurried into the kitchen. She let the Elf carry the wooden chest while to Wren she handed a cup and several clean linen napkins from the table linen shelves.

Now wounds to the tongue do bleed freely, so Cook was not surprised to see Tim’s shirt front covered in blood. She looked toward Wren, hoping the girl was not the fainting sort. She seemed steady enough, but Cook asked her to fetch some cool clean water from the pump while she inspected Tim’s bruises, lumps, and wounds.

‘The nose isn’t broken – that’s good.’ She gently prodded at it, all the while talking to him. ‘Probably have a black eye to go with it.’ She took his right hand and made him pinch the bridge of his nose firmly to slow the trickle.

‘Now that’s a good lad,’ she went on, tipping his chin up and looking at the cut on his chin. ‘Won’t that be a handsome bruise,’ she said, dabbing it gently with a cloth dipped into the bucket Wren had run in with. ‘Not too deep, but you might have a scar from it.’ She smiled at him, thinking how in later years young women would find such a scar most intriguing.

She took the ice the server had brought in and bundled it in two of the napkins. ‘You hold this to your cheek and eye with your other hand, Tim. And open your mouth please and let me see that tongue.’

‘Ah hah . . .’ and ‘hmmm . . .’ she said, making him hold it up so she could see the underside. ‘Wren, give me a mug of cool water and Tindo that twist of blue colored paper in the chest – there on the right side. Can you give it to me?’

Cook poured a few sprinkles of the powder into the mug. His nose by then had stopped bleeding. She placed the mug in his right hand and bade Tim take a swig, swish it around his mouth and spit it into one of the empty buckets near him. It was slightly astringent and though it would keep the deep bite from becoming infected she knew it might be hard for him to keep it in his mouth for long while it took effect. ‘Count to fifty, Tim,’ she instructed him, ‘so the remedy can take hold.’

[Folwren]

Fifty seconds! Tim said to himself. The wash was bitter and his face screwed up at it. But after the first sting it had caused to his poor, mangled tongue, it soothed the sharp pain and he decided to try to keep it for as long as Cook directed. All the while, though, he kept shooting dark glances (that weren't seen because of the darkness of the barn itself) at his sister. It was entirely unecessary, he thought, for all this fuss to be made about him.

Nonetheless, his hand clutched the ice to his face as the doctoring hobbit instructed him. He had acquired a fierce headache in the few minutes between Wren's departure and the rescue parties return. He looked up for the first time at the elf who had followed Cook out. He had been aware of his presence, but hadn't hardly dared to look at him. Elves were few and rarely seen in Bree, or at least where he had lived in Bree, but he had heard great things about elves and he had no doubt that every elf in the world, so long as it was a he, would have seen great and terrible wars, known many secrets, both dark and light, of the past, and been so wise that he could answer every question. Tim never bothered his head about the girl elves, and he probably would haven't have been half as awed by the presence of this one if it had been Tindomion's sister instead of Tindomion.

He finished the counting and spit the nasty remedy into the waiting bucket. Cook thankfully had a cup of clean water ready for him when he finished and he took it carefully, though gratefully, in his free hand and rinsed his mouth again.

"Am I goi'g to be alrigh'?" he asked clusmily, looking back at Cook.

[Nogrod]

Farael seemed to be agitated, mainly just trying a smile, patting Rían back to his arm. There clearly was something wrong here, but Rían didn’t want to go on pressing the matter further. A man in trouble trying to help another. That would certainly only lead to more trouble... Farael excused himself politely and turned to go. “Take care of yourself, my friend!” Rían called him. Farael nodded.

Rían turned to the desk and ordered two pints of the famous local brew called Qwuinnesh. It was creamy and almost black, and the pouring of it to the pints took a while. Just a good time have some thoughts arranged.

Now that he came to think of it from this perspective, there clearly was something in his childhood that just didn’t sit right. After they had been driven from their home in Mirkwood by the Owl’s eye and his companions, they had lived for a while up north, near the river. He had been too small then to have any clear memories, not to talk of understanding. For instance: who were they living there with? All he remembered, were the shabby conditions, and the old teethless man who smelled terrible and grinned very unamiably. He had feared that man almost as much as he feared the Owl’s eye. He remembered the old man now, pretty vividly. If he were to enter from the door right now, Rían would panic immediately.

Then they had been forced to leave that place too. He didn’t exactly know why. His father had really never given an account on that. But that had been the beginning of their wandering life. They were on the move constantly. As Rían looked at that part of his childhood from this perspective, it seemed, as they were some runaways: always avoiding public places at normal hours, coming in and getting out of towns during the night. And what about the people they lived with those couple of days at the time – or the meetings with all kinds of strangers! That was the time Rían learned to be invisible. He was not wanted anywhere, but his father still carried him with. He was totally ignored by others – and even by his father, when there were heated discussions. He learned to help that ignorance by ceasing to exist for times. That was also the time, he noted, that he wasn’t just one, but that there were a few of him indeed. They had talked about his ability to vanish from the world with his father sometimes at the later years, and he had been quite proud of his boy. But of the second matter he had never talked him about. He hadn’t talked about that to anyone.

Rían got the pints and paid for them. Then he got towards their table. Grimhorn seemed to be deep in his thoughts, puffing the pipe occasionally. How many things there are that I should remember? How much have I forgotten during my adult years as a performer in the southern lands? At least for now, some things from this childhood had appeared to him, come back to him as all that nightmarish stuff and those odd circumstances. It was frightful.

He came to the table and passed the other pint over to Grimhorn. Then he sat down. He raised the pint in the air, as to propose a toast. As Grimhorn reached out for his, Rían said in a low voice, so that just Grimhorn could hear it: “To the memories, even if they are quite painful at times.”

[Undómë]

Tindomion


Tindo watched as Cook deftly searched out the boy's wounds and took care of them. And he saw the wry face the young man made as he followed Mistress Bunce's directions on the gargle she'd given him. Tindo could almost feel his mouth stinging as the poor fellow complied.

'Am I goi'g to be alrigh ?' Tim managed once the rinse was done.

Before Cook could answer, from the pouch that hung at his belt, Tindo drew out the small silvered flask he'd brought. The etched traceries of leaves upon its mirror surface winked in the soft light of the barn's lanterns. He unscrewed the little silver cap that also served as a small cup of sorts and let it hang from the flask's neck by the finely worked filigree chain.

He looked toward Cook and then at Tim, saying, 'Miruvor. A cordial of the Elves. Just a few drops have restorative properties for us. And I'm thinking your aches and pains might be eased by it.'

Tindo put a mere two drops of the clear, colorless liquid into the flask's cap and handed flask and cap over to Tim. A clean and pleasant fragrance suffused the air about the little group.

'Go ahead, put down your ice pack for a moment, and put the miruvor in your mouth. It won't hurt, I promise. And I think soon you will feel better . . .'

[Thinlómien]

Rían walked slowly to the table. He seemed to be buried deep in his own thoughts. Quietly, the younger man raised his pint. Grimhorn raised his own in response. "To the memories, even if they are quite painful at times", Rían said in a low voice. Grimhorn just nodded. They drank in silence.

Grimhorn wondered if the young man could read minds. Memories... What else but memories had all the evening been about?

For a long while both men just sat and drank in silence. Grimhorn offered Rían his pipe back and he accepted it.

"We were talking about Radagast the Brown and Greäw the Pretender, right?" Grimhorn asked and turned his dark gaze to the readhead, waiting for him to take the floor.

[Witch_Queen]

Adu's return

Rohan had always seemed busy to her... But when it came to the Shire Adu had always remembered the peaceful place where she had changed her life. Adu always thought she would just go back to what remained of her home in Eryn Lasgalen and make a life for herself. The only reason she had stayed in Rohan was for the man that now held her heart. The only problem Adu had seen was that she didn't know if her feelings were returned.

Hama was her General now, and Adu gladly followed him anytime duty called. She was the only female that served Rohan, in fact she was the only elf. Adu never cared what others thought, she only had to worry about what was going to be the next order she was given. She turned looking at the man beside her, "Hama shall we continue on?" Hama nodded his head in agreance.