The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[piosenniel]

~*~ GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS ~*~

The Green Dragon Inn is located in Bywater, just off the Great East-West Road.

It is the 4th Age, year 12. By the Shire Calendar it is year 1433 S.R. (Shire Reckoning).

King Elessar is on the throne of the Reunited Kingdom of Arnor and Gondor.

Mirkwood has been reclaimed by the Elves and is now called Eryn Lasgalen.

Paladdin Took, Pippin’s father, is Thain of the Shire. (Thain is an honorary title for the military leader of the Shire. The title has been held in the Took Family since the position was first established in 3rd Age 1979 with Bucca of the Marish as First Thain.) Paladdin Took dies in year 13, and will be succeeded by his son, Peregrin, ‘Pippin’, Took.

Samwise Gamgee is Mayor of the Shire, having succeeded Will Whitfoot in 1427 S.R.

The Innkeeper, in the Green Dragon Inn of this forum, is: Aman – a young woman from Rohan.

Before her, the Innkeeper was Piosenniel, and before her it was Dwarin, the Dwarf.

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Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

Buttercup Brownlock, Hobbit – not married – kitchen assistant and maid

Vinca Bunce, widowed, Inn Cook (character played by Piosenniel)

Derufin, General handyman/jack-of-all-trades round the Inn; Man from southwestern Gondor (played by Envinyatar) - AWAY AT PRESENT

Zimzi (Zimziran), wife to Derufin; a skilled potter from Lindon(played by Pio) - AWAY AT PRESENT

Meri - Stablemaster

Tim Woodlock - Stableboy; Wren - his younger sister: humans, originally from Breeland (characters played by Folwren)

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Ongoing characters from outside the Inn:

Halfred Whitfoot – local Shiriff from Bywater and Postmaster for this area of the Shire; his pony’s name is Dumpling.

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Please Note:

No 'SAVES' are allowed in the Inn (except for modifications needed to be made by the Moderators or Innkeeper).

With the exception of the Innkeeper and the Moderators, no OOC (Out Of Character) comments are allowed in the Inn.

Only the Innkeeper, Amanaduial, or the Moderators move the timeline for the Inn forward.

Visitors to the Inn will need to read the posts that come before theirs to get an idea of what time it is in the Shire, what the weather is like, and what is happening.

No violence is allowed in the Inn or on Inn grounds.

Please be familiar with the rules for the Inn and Games in The Red Book of Westmarch, the first topic in the Shire.

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About Elves in Shire RPG's:

Please use this description from Tolkien when crafting an Elf:

Return of the King – Appendix F: Tolkien’s description for the Quendi (The Speakers) – the name given to the Elves by themselves after they first awoke in Middle-earth.

“They were a race high and beautiful, the older Children of the world, and among them the Eldar were as Kings, who now are gone: the People of the Great Journey, the People of the Stars. They were tall, fair of skin and grey-eyed, though their locks were dark, save in the golden house of Finrod; and their voices had more melodies than any mortal voice that is now heard . . .”

Please use this as a guideline for describing your Elven character’s appearance.

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EVERYONE

Please be familiar with The Red Book of Westmarch which gives the rules for posting in the Shire RPG's and in The Green Dragon Inn.

Thanks!

Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[piosenniel]

TIME OF DAY

It is now a fair night in the Shire; the stars are out.

There is a large party in the Inn's front yard - tables are loaded with food, desserts, drinks. Several barrels of ale have been tapped, compliments of one of the Hobbit brewmasters.

There are tables and benches scattered over the front lawn. Twinkling little lanterns hang from the trees. To one side of the verandah there is a little stage set up for the musicians and a large area cleared for dancing.

[Glirdan]

“You’re quite welcome, although I thank you as well, Gróin. I have enjoyed your company very much tonight. And… if I do not see you again tomorrow, good luck to you. I hope that you find your love.” After a few more words, they parted. Gróin headed for the Inn to check in for the night. He walked slowly towards the Inn, glancing about, making sure that what he saw earlier really was just his mind playing tricks on him. He was frightened yet excited at the same time. "It couldn't have been her, not here. But I really wish it was... I miss her so much..." he thought to himself.

As he walked, he thought back to what just happened when he was getting the drinks. For the person he thought he saw was none other than the love of his life, Sarin. But the probability of her being here, in the Shire at Inn was slime to none. True, no one knew what had happened to Sarin. What Gróin didn't tell Lily was that Sarin had disappeared. She ran away from home to find Gróin and was never seen again amongst her people. Gróin felt terrible for he blamed himself for the cause of Sarin running away.

Gróin was so immerssed in his thoughts that he payed no attention to his surrounding and when he got to the Inn door, the only reason he knew he was there was because he walked right into it. He hit it so hard that he fell backwards onto the ground. A few people close by laughed at him as he got up. Gróin even laughed at himself. "What better way to make new friends then by running into a door." someone behind him said. He turned around to look at the speaker, but no one was there. "But, I could have sworn I just heard someone..." Gróin thought to himself. He shook his head and got up off the ground. "Well, maybe the person who said it went inside." he thought and he pushed open the door and ran right into someone else. "Oh! I'm sorry!" Gróin cried. "I'm just so clumsy today. Are you all right??"

[Thinlómien]

“I think she’ll be alright,” the boy had said coming down the steps. “I say, I’m sorry for being short. She surprised me with her crying. I’m sure you could’ve helped. . .but I think Wren’s got it under control. Do you. . .um. . .do you have a horse I need to take care of? I’m the stableboy here and if you do. . .how long have you been here? Can I help you with anything maybe?”

"Nice to meet you", Brith said remembering her manners. "I'm Brith. From Gondor. I arrived less than hour before the party started."

"My horse Grayday is over there", she said pointing to the other end of the building. "I think he's just fine at the moment - you can of course check him, if you wish - but I'd be glad if he'd be fed and such at the morning." She hiccuped. "I'm not.. erm.. sure if I'm... awake very early tomorrow morning", she added, stammering a bit.

[JennyHallu]

"Our plans were to purchase goods here in the Shire, and sell them in Minas Tirith. It is said that the King has a great liking for the goods of this land..." Losse paused, wracking her brain for some other solution but finding nothing. Her voice showed her disappointment plainly. "And then someday, after the profits from this journey had led to other journeys and more profits, I was going to buy a little land just outside the gates of the city and build a little Inn, like this one."

She exhaled as though deflated, and her hands came back to lay despondently at her sides. "I thought it a very good idea, a moment ago, but I don't suppose it will really work." She turned suddenly to Farael, her grey eyes fixed on his. "I'm sorry," she said, and fell silent. She had really allowed herself to grow very hopeful in a short span of time concerning the idea, and while patience came easily to her in her work--there the prize lay before her and was assured.

[Thinlómien]

If the Valar allow you one indeed. And they won't if you're going to make me your enemy, Grimhorn thougt darkly. Unconsciously, his hand gripped his big axe.

Grimhorn forced himself to relax. The familiar, gentle voice echoed tesingly in his head. That temper of yours is like a teenage boy's, my dear. You should really try to control it, my raging bear. But now it wasn't the time for sweet memories.

Memories. A strange thought come to Grimhorn. This is all about memories and past generations. Memories. How easily they can be altered!

Anyway, Rían was too angry now. To tell him that his memories might have been altered was not the wise thing to do. After he had got angry, there would be hardly any reasonable discussion ever. Ever.

And besides, Grimhorn himself did believe the tale. He hadn't known his father as well as he maybe should have, but he certainly had known his temper.

Grimhorn decided to be honest with the man he still regarded as a lad. "You said my father burned your home and I trust you're not lying. However he didn't do that without a reason."

He sipped his beer. "Without a good reason", he added taking another sip. "And the Radagast the Brown issue surely isn't one."

"Really, one wizard. They are powerful folk, it is said. And I don't disagree." Again, Grimhorn took a sip.

"I hold Radagast the Brown in great esteem", Grimhorn told Rían. "But all I can say about Greäw the Pretender is that he got the death he deserved and not too early."

He remembered the rumours he had heard as a child of Greäw being eaten by bears. A death most unhonourable for any beorning. Eaten by his own kind. Though there were theories that being eaten by sacred animals was a great blessing, but no one had really took those speeches seriously. Especially after Greäw doing what he did. A shame.

"But my father surely wasn't that interested in petty magicians. He was a respected warrior, held in esteem in the society and had a farmhouse of his own to look after. He wouldn't have wasted his time in people pretending to hear or see something that does not exist."

"If he had something against your father, that wasn't surely the petty magician issue, I assure you. And speaking about how beornings are losing their own culture to foreign ways surely doesn't make one a hater of anything un-beorningish."

What was this all about? If we only could contact the spirits of the dead all would be solved. But that right is denied from us and the living ones are left to solve the problems of the deceased ones.

[Folwren]

"I'm not. . .erm. . .sure if I'm. . .awake very early tomorrow morning," Brith said.

“Oh, that’s fine,” Tim said, sticking his hands in his pockets as they made their way absently towards the door. “I’ll be up to deal with all the horses. That’s my job.” He smiled to the darkness, rather proud of that word. “I can deal with your horse, too.” There was a pause. They came to the open air and Tim looked about him. There were still a few people on the inn’s front lawn, but there seemed to be less dancing and more talking.

He turned to Brith again. “Well, I’d better be leaving you. Have a good night, and don’t worry about your horse. I’ll see to him.” He waved slightly as he walked away from her and then returned his hand to his pocket and headed back towards the lawn.

He looked about him, hoping to see someone he knew or could talk to, but there was no one about. The hobbit children had all been taken home - not a surprising thing, considering the hour. He shrugged and contented himself with grabbing an apple and a couple slices of cheese and then headed back towards the barn. Holding his food with one hand, he carefully climbed the ladder to the top, but once there, he stopped awkwardly. Wren was still with Mirelle, and he didn’t know quite what to do.

[Lhunardawen]

"Don't worry, I've got my way once tonight. It's your turn to choose."

Much as she wanted to, Tilionwen couldn't hold the glare long enough to make Astilwen feel slightly guilty. After all, her aching muscles notwithstanding, she had fun. She was not really much into dancing; as a matter of fact, she used to try and avoid the act as best she could. The only time she would completely lose herself in it was whenever she and her sister were alone. Then they would dance like crazy, as if they did not have a care in the world. She recalled one time when they were both having a bad day and wanted to feel better, and they had the house to themselves since their father had supposedly gone to some place. She clearly remembered the indescribable expression of confusion in her father's face when he got back home earlier than he - and her daughters - expected, and found them lying on the lawn outside their house. They were rubbing their tired legs and groaning in pain, yet at the same time laughing and trying to catch their breath.

"What are you two doing, lying down there?" There was a tinge of concern in his voice; he obviously noticed that his beloved daughters were feeling some discomfort. Tilionwen and her sister responded with even louder guffaws and a mischievous "Nothing, father," and exchanged winks. Their father threw up his hands and conceded, then sat down to join the two young ladies.

"Tilionwen, are you okay?" Astilwen's concerned voice suddenly cut into her reverie, which she did notice she was already quite lost in. "I'm sorry if I forced you to dance. You didn't have to-"

"No, no, it's not that." Tilionwen quickly held the hobbit's little hands, looked into her eyes and smiled sincerely. "I had a wonderful time dancing, don't you worry." She took a quick glance at her feet, feeling suddenly ashamed. "Do your feet still hurt?"

"A bit, but I'll be just fine," Astilwen replied reassuringly. "But what was it? You looked a bit...glum for a moment. Do tell me."

Tilionwen knew better now than to keep things to herself, after having discovered the hobbit's power to convince. "It's nothing," she said, letting go of Astilwen's hands and slowly looking away. "I - I just remembered my sister. We used to dance quite a lot together back then. Apparently ever since she died I've lost practice, since I can't recall stepping on her feet too much before." Tilionwen chuckled awkwardly.

"How about you?" she jumped in after a moment's silence, not wanting to give Astilwen the chance to feel sad for her. "Do you dance a lot? And," she smiled half coyly, half teasingly, "have you been stepped on too much ever in your life?"

[Undómë]

Tindomion

‘Stuffed shirt?!’ Tindomion shook his head at Cook and gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Am I to be schooled by a Halfling now as well as my own flesh and blood?’

He was on the verge of sinking into a pool of self pity when his eye caught the half smile playing about the Hobbit’s lips. Try as he might, he could not muster the indignation, much less the anger, it would take to put Cook in her place. He chuckled, the thought occurring to him that perhaps it was he who had been properly put in his place.

‘By the stars and moon! You women must have your way, I see!! And what is worse is that ‘stuffed shirt’ might seem an appropriate epithet for my attitude of late.’

He turned his fair grey eyes on her for a moment. His lips formed a moue of final exasperation. ‘I am all played out with this.’ He leaned toward her a frown clouding his fair features. ‘Mother me for a brief moment, Mistress Bunce. What shall I do?’

[Huan]

Emlin leaned forward, whispering in Telu’s ear as the woman turned round to speak with the man. ‘We are called; we must go.’ He nodded toward where the little group of traveling players had finished the set up of their little puppet theater and now stood motioning for him to join him.

They had saved a little seat for Telu at the front, drawing her to it with eager hands as the two Elves arrived. Rowan gave Emlin a wink as he joined them behind the scenes. ‘And aren’t you the sudden and swift-winged suitor!’ She laughed as his fair face turned a shade paler.

Rowan took up the star-shaped little lantern that hung from a stick and lit the candle within it. ‘Play the song, Emlin she whispered as she raised the star to one side of the puppet stage.

The curtains opened and as the music ended, Emlin’s voice began to set the scene.

Of the march of the host of the Valar to the north of Middle-earth little is said in any tale; for among them went none of those Elves who had dwelt and suffered in the Hither Lands, and who made the histories of those days that still are known; and tidings of these things they only learned long afterwards from their kinfolk in Aman. But at last the might of the Valinor came up out of the West, and the challenge of the trumpets of Eönwë filled the sky; and Beleriand was ablaze with the glory of their arms, for the host of the Valar were arrayed in forms young and fair and terrible, and the mountains rang beneath their feet . . .

The trumpet rang out amidst the trees behind the stage. Figures of light and figures of darkness moved on the little stage. And though they knew how it would end, how, indeed, it had ended, still those gathered about the play called out to those warriors of light to be wary of the Orcs, the Balrogs, and the Dragons and they shivered in their seats at the mention of the Dark One’s name.

So did the story of the Great Battle, the War of Wrath begin, on a fair night in the heart of the Shire . . .


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Italicised quote from The Silmarillion; "Of the Voyage of Eärendil"

[Thinlómien]

Brith had wished the stableboy goodnight and goodbye. The boy, though surely at least couple of years younger than her had made her feel stupid. Most people with even the slicest bit of self-confidence made her feel stupid.

Apart from feeling stupid she felt lonely. Now that she had came out from the stables she didn't want to go back to her horse. She would just have felt more stupid. Besides, she didn't want to disturb the two girls.

Brith missed her friends. Gentle Tendrilla and the lively twins Eleria and Elrigor the most. She hadn't had good company of her age for a long time. On the way, most people were older than her and were driven away by her unfriendly sulking attitude.

And that attitude was the one that was overcoming her right then. She was feeling the world was against her. Last time she had felt so was four years ago, in her deepest teenage crisis.

Though she was tired and a bit drunk, she decided not to just sulk and lay on the ground. She felt that it would have been stupid. Avoiding being stupid was a big part of Brith's life nowadays.

So she decided to re-enter the party grounds. There was still time till dawn and she needed company and friendly atmosphere more than rest. Or, so she thought, making her way slowly to the party grounds lingering outside watching the stars, yawning.

Just before reaching the party grounds a fear overcame her. What if she'd do something stupid out there? Or what if she'd feel even more alone with lots of people around her?

She took a deep breath and walked in, trying to smile.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

"As we marched," Fáinu said, "a loud roar was heard, like a hurricane filled with fire. A Bright flame leaped up into the air. I flung myself on the ground, as the burn on m hand seemed to grow in agony. Then we saw it..."

The elf closed his eyes and placed one hand over his face, the memory was too clear, the sound still rung in his ear. That creature had been his bane and his blessing, but the tale was still too painful for him to fully recall in its entirety. Cree sighed as she too recalled the painful call of the Dragon as it flew overhead, its black wings spread apart like thunderclouds.

"I-" stuttered Fáinu, "I remember little else of what happened after that. We saw it fly over and my hand burned like the fires of a Balrog, I could have sworn that I saw the bandage burst into flame. I threw myself to the ground and covered my ears. It was due to some quick thinking on the part of Killi that saved us, for seeing my anguish; he firmly placed a hand over my mouth, as I was about to cry out.

"Fundin, the older of the two, dragged us all into a small cave and watched as the beast flew over and over. I think it knew we were there, that creature must have brought news back to it." Fáinu thumped the table with his fist; "so much could have been achieved otherwise." he sighed and drained his mug. "We waited till the monster returned to its hiding place before we moved again and my wound hurt less. Cree seemed strangely calm about the situation, yet ever; her hand was at her sword hilt.

"The day passed without another sound from the Dragon, yet still forth from the pit came black smog. We saw that it was beginning to descend and would soon fill all the valleys in the area, Fundin and Killi were little worried, Dwarves, after all, like the dark: 'Dark, for dark business' as Kilo often said. The land was becoming more treacherous, where the Dragon had obviously had some battles, sword remnants were scattered around and blood stained much of the rock. As we walked under twilight, we heard movement in the rocks above us, Cree saw, with here keen eyes, two figures stooping from a ledge. 'Goblins', she whispered to me. As swift as we could, we all drew our weapons and stood back to back.

"After hearing some screeches and laughter, there appeared two Goblins coming up the stairs and three more coming down from the rocks above. They came onto the ledge and laughed in their horrible voices that seemed to make our bones shiver. Cree and I backed up against a wall that was to the right of them and pointed our swords towards the Goblins. Killi and Fundin stood before us, axes in hand.

"'What have we here?' snarled the largest one who seemed to be the chief, 'some elves, and beads.' He spat at the Dwarves and laughed.

"'Looks that way chief,' said one of the other Goblins, 'shall we cut ‘em up for the dogs?'

"'Not yet, Malgrot!' cried the chief, 'We’ll have a bit of fun with them first!'

"'What do you want?” asked Fundin, 'We have done you no harm!'

"'Shut up!' cried Malgrot, 'I’ll stick a hole in your belly, Beard!'

"'Shut your mouth Malgrot!' cried the chief, 'Gelrop, Mogrol, take them to the dungeons! The boss will fry 'em up nice.'

"'Aye chief!' said Mogrol as he advanced upon us followed by his companion with filthy blades pointed towards the Dwarves. I struck first, with my sword, disarming Mogrol with relative ease, and then Fundin leapt up into the air before landing behind Gelrop and cutting off his arm.

"The two Goblins looked dumbfounded at their chief and Gelrop began to cry out in pain. Mogrol backed away as he saw blood drip off my blade and Cree pointing her sharp sword towards his neck.

"'You filthy maggots!' cried the chief, 'Lipnot, Malgrot, kill them!' the next two Goblins tried their luck and failed in a similar manor, but I refrained from removing limbs this time. The chief growled and howled as he drew a long and dirty blade from its scabbard and advanced towards us.

"'Stay back!' commanded Cree, 'I do not wish to slay thee, but if you force us into combat we will not be held responsible for you being marred.'

"'I shall slay you,' bellowed the chief; you filthy rats! Bring your little face to my blade.' Killi and Fundin swung their axes with grace as they had long been trained to in the peace of the world. Without too much trouble they managed to bring the chief to his knees.

"'Flee if you value your foul skin!' cried Cree as she held her blade to the Goblin’s neck, 'take your men and never assail any again!' the Goblins took flight with limping steps. But before they got too far, they all fell with arrows in their backs."

[Dimturiel]

Ravennar had gone to the inn's front yard. He felt attracted to the joy that was there, to the things that seemed in the same time both new and familiar. There had been a time when he too had laughed and danced and enjoyed every moment of his youth, but that time seemed now to belong to someone else's life. What had happened to him? That was what everyone that knew him best was asking. The others, however, were doing everything they could to show their dislike. And now, he thought, now after all this, no one would ever stand beside him in Dale. And he knew well that it was no more than he deserved.

A cool breeze started blowing. Ravennar leaned back in his chair and let the pleasant wind carress his face. He closed his eyes. Maybe he would fall asleep and forget all his worries. Maybe he would awake and find himself still at home. He would renounce his foolish arrogance then, yes, he promised, he would...

[Dairym]

Heather Gorsebloom hovered at the edge of the dancing, enthralled. Bright lanterns cast a cheery glow against the clear summer night and illumined the face of the friendly inn. The carefree folk that reveled there whirled by in an intoxicating stream of color and motion. Heather hummed and swayed with the music, a dreamy smile on her lips. Its merry tune soothed away her weariness and tugged at her feet.

The Breelander half-danced, half walked across the yard. She twirled--nearly colliding with a hobbit dancer--and tripped, falling in a jumble of skirts and unruly brown curls onto a chair and its startled occupant. Heather found herself face to face with a blue-eyed youth not much older than she.

"Oh!" Heather scrambled off his lap onto the grass. "I'm sorry--I didn't see--I mean, I was..." She bit her lip and fell silent, wondering what to say.

[Dimturiel]

Ravennar was painfully brought back to reality. Before he could understand what had happened, before he could even realise where he was, he found himself face to face with a young girl with curly brown hair. She seemed embarrassed as she mumbled her appologies. Ravennar smiled, slightly amused.

"It's allright," he said quickly, "No harm done. You did startle me, but, who knows? Maybe I should have been startled. Would you like to join me?" He looked at her expectantly.

He did not know what he wanted. A part of him wished that he would be left alone, left to be able to sink again in that peaceful reverie, but another part yearned for conversation, for another presence beside him. Loneliness was not the solution to his cares, he knew that. The desire to be alone had actually brought him in his present plight.

[Dairym]

Heather nodded shyly and rearranged herself into a more comfortable position on the grass. She wasn't entirely sure if his smile was for or because of her, but she returned it anyway.

"'Tis a lovely night. I'm Heather--of the Gorseblooms, near Chetwood." She looked sideways at the young man as she waited for an introduciton. He seemed pensive on this festive evening, almost sad. Perhaps he would tell her why.

[piosenniel]

Cook stood, hands on hips, and gave the Elf sitting so mournful looking on the bed a once-over look. “Well for one thing, you can get up and wash your face a bit, tidy your hair so it doesn’t look so wild, and put on a fresh tunic. She turned about while he accomplished these tasks she’d set him.

‘Now my old Gammer always said that if you don’t feel happy inside, your our outside shows it, too. And it goes both ways.’ She looked up at him as he towered over her, his brow furrowed. ‘Smooth out your brow and put a smile on those grim held lips.’

‘No . . . a bit bigger, I think. And let’s see just a bit of teeth. So as you don’t look like someone grimacing as he holds back the contents of a sour stomach!’

She led the Elf downstairs, instructing him that they would find his sister and see to getting things smoothed over. ‘And no grumbling under your breath, laddie! We are going to be pleasant and speak lightly.’ She glanced back over her shoulder at him as she made her way down the stairs. ‘Come along now!’

[Witch_Queen]

The arrows silently and quickly crept through the air until they found their prey. Cree’s memory was slowly becoming clearer and clearer….. The arrows that had killed the goblins came from her and not the others. Avalon squawked, Cree knew what the white crow wished to know. Fáinu looked at Cree, she knew what the two of them was waiting on. Avalon squawked again. “I know Avalon, you wish to know which one of us fired the arrows. At first we had thought that it was Fáinu but he was never willing to admit to it. I knew I had released one arrow but after taking an even closer look I was the one to kill the goblins as they were fleeing for their lives. Goblins are goblins… Even a child knows that a goblin is not going to keep his word…”

“We had no choice….” Fáinu looked at Cree… “What do you mean “we”? You were the one that fired the arrows.” Cree let out a little chuckle. “Your right, I had no choice, if the goblins escaped then they would go back to their “master” and we would have been fried up… Personally I wouldn’t taste that good….” She leaned closer to the table so the other two could hear her. In a whisper she said, “Rotten meat…” Cree sat back up in her chair laughing all the way. She picked up her mug only to realize she was out of ale…. “OH BOY!”

Her two companions looked at her, their faces blank but showed some concern. She turned the mug upside-down, “My mug is empty!”

[Dimturiel]

Ravennar smiled more widely, trying to make his figure more aproachable, to get rid of his thoughtful mood. And he knew all too well that he was more than able to do that. Ravennar had rarely shown what went on in his heart. He could be storming and raging inside himself, but on the outside he was always calm. Only those that knew him best had realised his srategy, and were not taken in by his appearence anymore

"I am Ravennar." he told Heather, "And I come from Dale."


And I should not be here at all, he wanted to say but he stopped. Why should he say that? It was not something to be proud of, not when so many could suffer from his foly. Also, his errand had to remain a secret known only to those concerned. And, the way things had gone so far, it was likely that even they would not know it. No, he should not shout his blunders in every corner of Middle-earth, it would only make matters worse than they already were.Therefore, he continued in a casual tone:

"Indeed, it is a fair night. Fairer than many that I have seen. The stars are bright and the air is cool and wholesome. What could one want more?"

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Fáinu raised an eyebrow. This was unusual. But it was not unheard of. Cree was renowned at Thranduil's halls as a deep drinker; most wood Elves were from that area. He shook his head and drank some ale, but it tastes bitter in his mouth, maybe the memories were having an effect on him, or maybe he was catching a cold.

"The cold steel blade," he muttered, but Avalon heard him and stared into his eyes, "yes, I remember what happened next. All too well." His voice sank and became dark, as he clasped his chest, "We should have known! Those-" he swore, "-goblins and their ways. They had a scout with them that we did not see, he must have taken news to the Dragon, and he knew we were coming... He knew." Fáinu rose quickly and dashed out of the door.

Cree and Avalon followed him, they saw him leant forward over a patch fence. Blood came from his mouth and he shivered. "It burns!" he said over and over. Fáinu looked at his hand and saw the burn return, the others saw nothing. In his mind, Fáinu could see the flames cascading around his hand and fingers. He cried out and wreathed on the floor, Avalon streaked and pecked him on the leg. Fáinu drew his knife and looked to stab the bird, but he stopped, and fell back, his eyes glazing over and his breathing returning to normal.

His eyes opened onto the warm light of the In several minuets later, a few old gaffers shook their heads and spoke of the strangeness of Elves. Cree gave to Fáinu a warm cup of tea and brought some toast, the elf sat up and drank it slowly. "I am sorry," he said, "I fear, this may happen again one day. That is why-" he stopped, "-never mind... I shall continue the story."

Avalon sat up and seemed anxious to hear more. "We travelled the rest of that day and night, seeing no sign of more Goblins, or the Dragon. Fundin and Killi lead the way up a steep climb towards the great basin, wherein lay the Dragon. The climb was a hard one; many of the footholds were far too small, even for the Dwarves. The rock fell apart in our hands, and we were conscious that they made a loud sound as they fell, so we had to be extra careful.

"Eventually we came above the climb and could see a small ridge ahead of us, behind which was our quarry. All we could see at that time was smoke, but we could smell the Dragon, oh yes, that vile worm..." Fáinu stopped himself, "So we climbed on top of the ridge and lay down to look into the basin.

"The ground was black with hard rock, whether the rock was black to begin with or the flame of the Dragons had turned it so, none could tell or dared to find out. Geezers were dotted around everywhere and the land seemed to be a barren wasteland. Smoke filled the air and we had to try hard not to cough for the stench was wretched. The air was stifling hot, and so we took our cloaks off and put them in our packs, these we left behind the ridge, taking only our swords, shields, bows and arrows. The blackness of the land made everything seem all the more dreary and horrid, this was how I imagined Mordor. But this was merely a small jest compared to that land.

"Cree and I went first, holding our shields before us, and keeping our Elven eyes open for anything unusual. But the main thing that confused me was the fact that there was no sound, the land lay in a deadly silence..."

[Dairym]

“Ravennar,” Heather murmured to herself so she wouldn’t forget. It was an odd name, but she liked how it rolled off her tongue.

Ravennar smiled a little wider and seemed to forget his preoccupation. “Indeed, it is a fair night. Fairer than many I have seen. The stars are bright and the air is cool and wholesome. What could one want more?”

“A clean bed and a cleaner conscience--or so my Da would say.” Heather smiled, but a little corner of doubt tugged at her mind. Why had her father let her go now, of all times? Why so abruptly? Was it to clear his own conscience?

Heather thrust such puzzling questions aside and looked up at Ravennar. “You journeyed all the way from Dale?" She could hardly imagine such a distance. "You must have had some wonderful adventures.”

[JennyHallu]

Losse stayed still, quivering slightly, unaware of Teluviel's and Emlin's departure, waiting for Farael to say something, anything. But he didn't, just stayed firm, frozen, not even meeting her now-tearful gaze. With a strangled sob, she shot away like an arrow, running helter-skelter through the crowds of party-goers, knowing she was making herself conspicuous, and not caring.

She fled to the safety of the near-empty inn, knocking into a hobbit and an elf in the doorway, and choking a one-word apology through tears. Uncaring, she pushed on, and found herself in a deserted common room. Eyes burning, she chose the table in the darkest corner and slid into the booth, clasping her arms around her knees and sobbing with absolute abandon, sure that no one would look for her or find her here.

[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."

[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 . . .'

Malerion Longleaf --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Malerion Longleaf had been travelling for over a year after the depature of the Shadow in the East , he travelled everywhere except in this strange Land of the Hobbits ,in which he had at last arrived , he had never seen hobbits before but he wanted a place to stay , so he entered this Inn called the Green Dragon.

He had given his horse to the stableboy who looked on the 6 foot elf wearing silver vambraces and a green cloack with awe. Malerion then stepped into Inn and was surprised to see some many people in the hall. Malerion had never seen so many people of different races together in one place chatting away happily.

Malerion was very hungry and weary from his travels so he had a meal of cram and bread with some soup and after driking some wine decided to chat with someone. He saw that there was a big party going on in the outer grounds and went outside.

Beside him there were some dwarves chatting happily, but Malerion mostly kept away from dwarves , 'Weird creatures they are' he thought. Then he looked towards the bar and saw that an elf was pouring Miruvor down a hobbit's throat who seemed injured , he decided to go and talk with the elf .....

[Witch_Queen]

Cree could tell by the look on Fáinu's face that he was still in some pain. "Fáinu I believe that is enough about the journey for now. 'Tis getting late and before we know it one or both of us will be falling asleep. So I would say its about time to see someone about getting a couple of rooms for the night. The tale of our travels can wait until morning can't they?" Cree figured Avalon would still wish to hear about the "fabulous" travels of Fáinu and Cree, the cursed elves, but the crow would have to wait.

Cree remembered the silent wastelands that Fáinu had previously mentioned. Deep down inside she was terrified, even now after the fall of the dragon her bones were still colder than ice. Cree had followed Fáinu into the dragons land, she knew the risks and still she took them. Cree had made sure that the shields didn't shine at all. Everyone had agreed that even the faintess light hit "metal" of their shields there would be a shimmer. The group wasn't willing to take any chances.

Cree's sword Nehima was always faithful to her. The sword always seemed to find its mark in the right place. The dwarves had their axes in hand, hidden quite well behind their shields. Cree had never known dwarves to carry shields but she knew the company she was in at that time was not usual. Cree always felt that the dragon was close by but always when the journey came to turning a new corner or going around a new boulder, the dragon was never in sight. She figured the final confrontation with the dragon would've happened at day break. The time for the dragons death finally came... Finally when the sun shone on the back of their necks and was preparing to settle in its own bed for the remainder of the day did they find the gigantic fire breathing creature they hunted.

Cree suddenly realized that she had been talking to Fáinu and Avalon. What she thought was a memory was her dreaded flash back to what had happened. Instead of her staying quiet while she "relived" the past, she was telling Avalon more of what had happened. "Indeed it seems that the story must continue for I have kept the "tale telling" going."

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Fáinu nodded his head, "I think that the tale must be told. I do not think that I shall sleep until it is done." he drained his mug and stared out of the window, wondering how to describe his feelings at the time.

"The horror of a Dragon's den is enough to make the blood turn cold, even that of the servants of Sauron, I would guess. Bones lay all around, the smoke of burning hovered ever in the air, and there was ever the reek of the Dragon. That smell would turn the hardiest men away, but we were a strange few, driven by powers, I suppose, beyond us. My sword felt heavy in my hand, and the dwarves seemed to be showing fear like I had never seen since the destruction of Dale.

"We halted about the centre of the basin and covered each other’s backs, I scanned the surroundings and could see a cave from which a light was emanating. Along with it, came smoke in great clouds, and the reek was even more potent there, seeming like the stench of death. So, slowly, we entered the cave, weapons poised and hearts heavy, thinking that this battle may end too swiftly.

"However, we found the source of the light and the smoke, it was a great bonfire surrounded by rotting bodies. It made Killi sick. It was a trap! Swiftly we dashed out of that place, but there at the entrance to the cave was the Dragon." Fáinu clenched his fist and shuddered, then with his other hand, removed the dirt-ridden bandage. The scar was white and smaller, but still visible and a marring on his otherwise fair elven skin.

"Tall and terrible that beast was! With eyes like a raging fire, wings like onto that of the fell beasts of the Nazgûl and teeth that made our swords seem blunt. Its scales were black and stronger than any weapon we possessed, and his belly was protected by a great armour plating. There was no hole in this armour, like that of Smaug the terrible, it seemed that he knew well that tale.

"'Hail, Fáinu, son of Háinu' he said, Háinu being the name given to my father by Elrond. 'Thou hast come for revenge, so I hear! Fool! Fool! Thrice a fool! get you gone, dost thou not know death?' he mocked us with many curses before blowing his terrible fire. Luckily the shields prevailed and Killi and Fundin dashed out, casting throwing axes at the great beast. It merely laughed at them.

"Orcs came then, from hiding places and deep holes. Yet Killi and Fundin slew them as they came nigh, until they began to come thick and great in number. I leaped into the battle and hewed the heads of many Orcs, before the Dragon wiped them out in an attempt to get to us. It cursed us again, and as it did so, Cree fired arrow after arrow at the creature's head, but to no avail.

"The creature rose into the air and made a swoop for our heads, but as it did so, Killi leaped upon it's back and began to dig his axe into the straps that held the Dragon's armour on. With an almighty crash, the plate fell off and landed in the centre of the Basin, yet in fury, the Dragon cast Killi away and he was impaled on a great spike. Then anger took hold of Fundin and he threw his great axe at the Dragon, yet his thrust was too hasty and went amiss. The dragon stuck him then with a mighty swoop of its arm and he fell next to his comrade.

"Summoning up all courage, Cree bent her bow and shot towards the Dragon's belly, and it indeed hit. Yet the Dragon seemed unmoved and unhindered by this strike. Horrified, Cree drew her sword and dared the Dragon to face her. This I knew was folly, and as the Dragon landed, I leaped upon its back and attempted to hack its head. In its fury, it struck Cree down and threw me off into some dead thorn bushes. Wasting no time, I rose and dashed towards the Dragon, but it stared me in the eyes and I was frozen.

"Too well I remember that time. Unable to move, even to lend aid to my hurt comrade, Cree. I cursed the Dragon thrice, yet it laughed and taunted me with its eyes, setting a ring of fire about it and me. The creature picked up Cree and threatened to break her before my eyes. I still could move not and my rage began to grow."

"Then help came unlooked for, as Fundin was not dead, and he cast with all his might, a single axe at the Dragon. It smote him in the eye and the freezing curse was lifted from me! I then leaped on top of the squirming dragon and plunged my sword deep into its heart. The flames it let fly must have been seen in Dale! Yet in its pain, I was thrown off and lay broken bonded, nigh to Cree. Yet, a madness took me in that hour, I wanted to make sure the beast was dead indeed. Though Cree awoke and attempted to aid me, I cast her away saying 'Get away from me! I need no ones help!' For this, I am most deeply sorry." Cree nodded, "So I took up the sword from the belly of the Dragon, and readied myself to thrust it through the other eye of the beast.

"Yet, in its dying moments it said onto me, 'with this deed, thou recovers from one curse, and receive another anew! Woe to you, Fáinu son of Háinu! Ever you shall wish for death and find it not. Mandos shall not take you, nor shall any ship bare you across the sea! And as for your friend, this Cree, ever know that because of thee, she indeed has a share in this Curse!' at these words, I hacked at the Dragon until it was utterly dead."

Fáinu looked at his hand and remembered what happened next with fonder memory. "The deed done," he continued, "the quest complete. I rose and removed the bandage, to see the cursed hand. I saw with my own eyes, the flesh being healed and the skin returning. The burn was gone and all that remained was a fell scar. Fundin came to me and aided me, for many of my bones were broken, I came to Cree and offered her aid, regretting my earlier words, for they were made in wroth."

[Kath]

Astilwen had opened her mouth to apologise for bringing back even more painful memories to Tilionwen, but was cut off.

"How about you? Do you dance a lot? And, have you been stepped on too much ever in your life?"

Blushing the hobbit pointedly avoided answering the last question, as well as the knowing looks that Tiliowen was sending her way. Her history with Tom was very much history now, and she didn't relish bringing it up again. She knew it wasn't really fair to keep things from her new friend, as Tiliowen had shared so much already. She made a deal with herself, if Tiliowen brought it up again she would tell all, but if not she'd stay quiet. For now she'd answer the other, much safer, question.

"I dance quite a lot yes. Where we live, my family that is, there's usually a small party at least once a fortnight, and everyone living nearby is invited. We use the field behind our hole and eat and dance from dusk til dawn, or whenever we collapse! I've been teaching my little brothers how to dance recently, they tend just to fling themselves about and while that's fun they're getting too big to be able to do it safely!"

She wondered for a moment whether bringing up her family and her brothers would be hurtful to Tilionwen, but the woman didn't seem bothered by it at all. On the contrary, she seemed to be enjoying hearing about them, so Astilwen continued.

"Sam, that's my eldest little brother, he had only ever danced with other boys before and you know what boys are like, bashing into each other and yelling. At one of these parties he danced with our next door neighbours daughter, and knocked her over. She landed quite hard and had to go home, so my mother decided it was time he learnt to dance properly, and that's where I come in. Of course, he isn't exactly best pleased about it, and takes no small amount of pleasure in pretending to forget his steps and knock me over, but he's a good kid at heart and he is improving."

Astilwen hadn't noticed the smile that had spread over her face as she spoke about her family, or the light that had appeared in her eyes. Her memories were fond and she found that she very much enjoyed talking about them with someone, especially someone who was listening with such honest interest. She just hoped Tilionwen hadn't noticed her earlier evasion.

[Folwren]

Tim slowly extended his hand and accepted the flask of Miruvor from Tindomion's hand. His eyes still fastened on the elf's face, he carefully lifted it to his lips, touching it as little as possible as he placed his mouth to edge, and allowed only a little bit of the liquid to trickle into his mouth and over his tongue. It had little taste, but it seemed to cool his burning tongue and calm the fierce pain that had begun to come back again after drinking the water. He lowered it and began to hand it back, but Tindomion wouldn't take it.

"Nay, lad, you'll need more than the tiny bit you took. Drink some more." Tim was hesitant, but he obeyed, and after taking another small sip, he handed it back, and this time the elf didn't refuse his own flask. He put it back at his belt and Tim thanked him slowly and carefully, the task being made difficult with his tongue.

Wren stood leaning with her back to the ladder watching the entire thing. She thought Tim lucky to get so much attention, and especially from the elf, but she didn't exactly envy his position. Hearing him talk convinced her that he must be very uncomfortable. There seemed to be a pause on the doctoring as Tim stood in involuntary silence and Cook put away her nursing kit, and Wren took advantage of it.

"Can we go to bed now?" she asked, impatient and tired now that the excitement appeared to be over.

Tim turned and looked at her. The idea was a good one, but there might be a problem. There was a girl still up there and he couldn't sleep in the loft so long as she was there. In a moment, he decided that he would sleep in one of the empty stalls, and that was a good solution to the problem.

"Yeh, you go up an' go to sleep. I'll sleep down here." She turned large eyes towards him.

"Why? Whatever for? There's still plenty of room up there." Tim just shook his head. It hurt to talk much. Wren didn't move an inch.

[Dairym]

The tray displayed an array of good, homely food of all sorts, light ale, bread, soup and mutton garnished with--of course--plump brown mushrooms. The next few minutes they spent demolishing the food as only the young and hungry can.

Heather sipped from her mug, studying Ravennar over its smooth brown rim. He was nearly as tall as the rangers; his long legs stretched under the table. Intense blue eyes animated a face that might otherwise have been carved of stone. But when he smiled the stone had melted, if just a little. Heather decided he could look rather nice, if he wished.

He looked tired and dusty and travel-worn, but not so much as she’d expect from someone who’d just traveled halfway across the world. Maybe he owned a horse. She sighed at the thought of that luxury.

Heather smiled ruefully at Ravennar. “My feet are wishing Bree had a better cobbler. I suppose it’s a good thing my journey is halfway over.

Not if you change your mind, a small, teasing voice whispered in her head. Not if you go to Eryn Vorn. Heather twisted a brown curl around her finger. Hobbiton was the crossing of the ways. West led the road to the Tower Hills and the sea. And south… South lay her secret hope. She would have to choose by morning.

[Witch_Queen]

Cree could remember the time in which she was being held by the dragon. But what Cree had done after the dragon's death was still a bit fuzzy. After the dragon had been slain Fáinu had walked over to check on Cree and offer her his help. "Fáinu and still to this day what I did next doesn't make any since to me." Cree could feel Avalon's stare on her. "I knew what had happened, Avalon, that is as far as the dragon being killed and everything. But when Fáinu offered his aid.. it was like something had taken control of me... Whether it was the curse or not I still do not know." Cree looked at her friend. She couldn't believe that she had attacked the only person that had seemed to care about her.

"Instead of letting Fáinu help me I attacked him. If it wasn't for the pain I was in I fear what would have happened. I'm sorry Fáinu, I didn't mean to attack you. Not then and not now." Cree's rage had never been like that before, but she knew deep down inside something had triggered the rage. "The journey back is still a bit fuzzy. All I know is that we traveled for a few days, being careful of the danger that still surrounded us. Yes we did spend some time mourning the death of Killi, but we had to be swift when it came to leaving the dark lands." All Cree knew was that she had fallen asleep in a dark place only to wake up and find herself in Rivendell surrounded by strange elves.. But no Fáinu.

[Dimturiel]

At first, Ravennar dirrected all his attention to his plate. This was the first real meal he had in a long time. But it could have been worse, he knew that. He was lucky he did not lose his food, when he lost his horse. And lucky he had not lost something else also, he thought grimly.

He looked up when Heather had spoken and smiled again.

"So your journey is halfway over?"he asked. "Then I wish you good luck on your road, wherever that may be. But are you travelling alone? Why so? True, the roads are safer than they once were, but foreign paths are made to be trodden in company, not on one's own."

"And yet you went all the way from Dale on your own," a reproachful voice inside him said. True, and look what this did to him, he thought. Wherever Heather was going-and he did not feel like asking, he sensed he would bring her into a difficult position by doing so- she did not deserve to feel all the pain and frustration that he was feeling now. He doubted not that he himself deserved them fully, they were his punishment and he had no choice but to accept them. And now, the only thing he felt he had to do was warn others against repeating his mistake.