The Green Dragon Inn - Part 5

[Tinuviel of Denton]

A tall elf walked into the Inn, swathed in a cloak that hid his body, but especially his left leg. He limped a little, with a slight clopping sound when he put his left leg down; he leaned on a solid oak staff. The hood of his black cloak was down, showing black hair braided in a no-nonsense style and weary grey eyes. His eyes scanned the room, observing several other elves, though none he recognized.

He stumped over to the bar and leaned on the counter, though he did not sit down. It was a bit disconcerting to watch him move, for though most elves are graceful, seeming always to dance, his movements were awkward and stiff.

One of the little hobbit waitresses came up to him, wanting to know what, if anything, he would like to drink and if there would be any food for him this day.

"Wine," he answered. "Dorwinion red, if it wouldn't be too much trouble."

"I'll see what I can do," she promised, and bustled away.

The elf looked around once more, then shut his eyes. It was a pity that he recognized none of the patrons of the Inn, for company would have been welcome. The faces of dear--and not-so-dear--friends, all d.ead, were pressing very close. As there was no one whom he knew, he would fall back on his secondary plan. Drinking himself into a stupor. It usually worked well enough.

[Phrim]

Tad Bushytop hungrily eyed the heaping mound of assorted foodstuffs that now sat before him. He had been at the Dragon before, and knew that the food was indeed top-rate; it was reputed to be one of the finest kitchens in all of the Shire. But the portions he received today were beyond generous; he might not be hungry again until dinner, possibly. This meal would certainly be a great start to a delightful trip.

The server Ruby kindly refilled his already-drained mug of ale, tarried for a while, then retreated to another portion of the inn. Completely engrossed with his meal, Bushytop barely took any notice of her until after she left. A thought struck him then. She was lingering and his table for an abnormally long period of time, wasn't she? He thought harder, and was able to recall seeing her expression out of the corner of his eye--a curious look, as if she was expecting something, and yet hesitant at the same time. His curiosity was piqued. Continuing to eat his meal, he scanned to room for signs of the departed server. Sure enough, she was in a distant corner, silently staring at him with a pensive expression. Eye contact was made, and, embarrassed, Ruby looked away quickly.

Bushytop was confused. He thought to himself, "Now what could this be all abou--!!" Suddenly, all thought stopped, as he realized that he couldn't breathe! Apparently he had been paying so much attention to Ruby's odd behavior that he completely neglected that he was chewing food. His expression went blank; he was thinking of everything and nothing all at once. Somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, he vaguely recalled his mother warning him about not letting his mind wander at the dinner table. In his rapidly blurring vision, he saw Ruby, now looking incredibly worried, starting to dash directly at him, and then tripping over an unseen obstacle. He heard a loud crash, and felt the impact of a body on his chest. Next thing he knew, he was lying on ground, covered in his dinner, and... breathing. He was breathing!

"...Mr. Tad?" asked Ruby hesitantly, having gotten up, seemingly unscathed from the incident. "Are you... okay...?"

"I'm... I'm fine," said Bushytop, still in shock over what just happened.

Ruby broke into tears. "I'm so sorry!" she sobbed. "I've ruined everything!"

Bushytop propped himself up with his elbow. Aside from the mess of food on himself and his clothing, he seemed no worse off for all that has happened. "No... m'dear, you just saved my life!"

"I... I..." Ruby stammered, bewildered.

Bushytop got up, and made some feeble attempt to clear the wreckage. "M'dear," he continued, "I am deeply in your debt, not only for the mess I've caused in this unfortunate little accident, but also for the very life I still cling to. For the former I will gladly pay, but as for the latter, if there's anything in my power that this little hobbit can do for you, just name it."

"Well..." started Ruby, looking suddenly shy. "My, uhh, I mean, Buttercup and I were wondering if we, uhh, I mean you could, possibly, maybe, bring us back some of Laureli's wedding cake?" Ruby blushed and looked away.

"Why certainly, m'dear!" said Bushytop jovially. "I'll bring you back a good ol' hunk, they won't mind in the slightest! It's the least I can do."

Later, Bushytop had changed his clothes, had a fresh meal, and settled up with the innkeeper (paying for the damaged dishes, at his insistance). No worse off for his near-death ordeal, he merrily headed for the door, ready for the next leg of his journey, and armed with a new story that he could talk people's ears off when he arrived. As he opened the door, he took one last glance, and saw Ruby smiling at him. He gave her a wink, then headed on his way.

[Esgallhugwen]

Deciding that she had had enough sleep to keep her through the day she threw on her cloak once more sensing something may be afoot and feeling comfortable veiled anyway. She strode down the stairs in search of Lira, as she came to the counter a loud clatter arose. A Hobbit had fallen over spilling food on himself while the server apoligized repeadily.

Esgallhugwen turned aside noticing an elf next to her with weary grey eyes, she sat by him ordering some cider while he drank his wine. She waited for Lira to notice her after she was done asking the Innkeeper if they both could assist if ruffians came about.

[Imladris]

Aman glanced up, surprised, and said, "I am sorry, but your services are needed as of yet. Thank you for asking."

Lira smiled at her and bowed. She rather liked the inn-keeper and thought her rather pretty. She drifted from the kitchen and glanced about her. Many more people had wandered in and Lira suddenly felt rather lonely. Most people had a tragic tale to tell like Esgallhugwen. Some had dark pasts that they preferred not to talk about, also like Esgallhugwen, Lira mused as her blue eyes roved the room. Others had interesting tales to tell of their roving lives, tales of horrific battle, of leering orcs, of intrigue and betrayal and treachery. She was rather uninteresting, she thought with a small laugh. She rather liked it because...well because she was a normal elf, an elf who had lost her secret love to the arrow of an orc. Deep sorrow filled her soul as she remembered him, remembered his fair elven face still and cold, his kind grey eyes closed in the sleep of death, his slender fingers still gripping his bow, the bow from Lothlorien, those fingers that would never strum upon a harp again, his voice that would never sing in fair melody beneath the stars. He had died and he never knew of her love for him so it wasn't as tragic as it could have been, she thought, biting her lip. She remembered running swiftly towards him when he fell, grasping his hand, her tears carressing it, and he asking her to sing to him for her voice brought joy into his heart, like a flower opening in the faint light of day that was covered by the dark clouds of war.

A crash woke her from her muse and staring about her, she saw a hobbit upon the floor, his food over and around him instead of in him and Ruby apologizing profusely. Glancing around the room, she saw the familiar cloaked figure of Esgallhugwen and a smile flashed across her face. Beside her was another elf, weary with sorrow and a long day's journey. A wooden staff stood beside him, a tankard of wine before him. Lira glided over to them, eased herself down beside Esgallhugwen and said, "Greetings, Esgallhugwen. I hope you rested well? Our services are not needed as of yet." Then turning towards the other elf, she said, "I am Lira of Ithilien and this is my friend, Esgallhugwen. What, prey, is your name?"

[Tinuviel of Denton]

When the little hobbit brought his wine, Reynion drank most of the glass in a single swallow. It burned, but the feeling was welcome. It was a feeling, that was what counted. It was also a feeling that had nothing whatever to do with the faces he couldn't keep from his memory. So many...

He was aware of the eyes of others on him, watching him quaff this wine as if it were water. He also didn't care. They could think what they liked of him; it had never bothered him before and it wouldn't start bothering him now. At least most people didn't remark on his astonishing capability to consume liquor.

He especially saw the younger elves tonight. The ones who shouldn't have even been on that ill-fated mission. Even the one who had annoyed the life out of him. It was strange, but d.eath seemed to instantly confer the status of a beloved friend on those one barely tolerates.

He took another drink. This was most definitely not helping. The wine of Dorwinion was usually potent, allowing him to forget for a little. This was a little disappointing. He lifted his glass again, hoping that this would be the one to bring oblivion.

It wasn't.

___________________________________________

A voice interrupted his reverie, saying, "I am Lira of Ithilien and this is my friend, Esgallhugwen. What, pray, is your name?"

He glanced to the side. "Reynion," he answered morosely. He shifted a little, finding it rather uncomfortable to stand so long, but preferring discomfort to the stares and whispers that were sure to come if he sat. He shook his head. No matter his mood, his manners needn't be so rough.

"I crave pardon, Lira, I am not good company just now. I have had too much to drink, early as it may be for such, and have too many memories for pleasant conversation. Pray, tell me more of yourself." He hoped that would be enough to salve any wounded feelings.

[ August 05, 2003: Message edited by: Tinuviel of Denton ]

[piosenniel]

Green Dragon Inn Facts:

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.

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.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+

Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

Derufin, a Man from Ethring in the Ringló Vale, is the stablemaster and general handyman/jack of all trades for the Inn.

Vinca Bunce, Hobbit – ‘Cook’ – widowed runs the kitchen

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

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

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+

Ongoing characters from outside the Inn:

Halfred Whitfoot – local Shiriff and Postmaster; his pony’s name is Dumpling.

Amaranthas Bolger – very old, crotchety Hobbit from Hobbiton, nicknamed ‘The Dragon’

Piosenniel – Elven, Innkeeper prior to Aman; married to Mithadan; has two children: a twin boy and girl; as yet unnamed infants.

_____________________________________________

It is now late afternoon of a pleasant mid-summer day in the Shire.

_____________________________________________

Caligon sat in deep thought. He was tired from his journey and wished only to be left alone. He looked burdened with worries and concerns that no man his age should have yet to carry. Quite suddenly someone began speaking to him. He looked up, but found it hard to focus his mind and his sight on the person. Finally, he saw that it was a young woman.

After guessing correctly that he was from Minas Tirith, she asked, "Perhaps, if you do not mind my intrusion, you would give me news of that region?" Caligon did, in fact, mind the intrusion. He looked at the girl with an expression of both aggravation and confusion.She wants me to tell her news from Minas Tirith? I have not the energy, thought Caligon, not wanting to relate so much news to the girl. She must have read his thoughts, for she spoke again, "My father... I want... I wish news about my father. His name is Eodane. He is a delegate to Minas Tirith from Rohan. Do you know him? Is he in good health?"

Caligon allowed himself a little smile. He was quiet relieved. "Indeed, I know of your father, though I do not know him personally. He was in the City when last I was there, some two weeks ago. And as far as I know, in fine health." After hearing the news the girl was very relieved. Caligon allowed himself another little smile. Noticing the young girl was still standing, he asked her to sit, and after doing so, Caligon inquired as to her name. "It's Laurie," she told him. "My name is Laurie."

She was quite beautiful, and something about her touched Caligon deeply. Something stirred deep in his soul. It was such a subtle thing, however, that he hardly noticed it at all. It was more of a thought, a feeling in the depths of his heart, or an idea in the back of his mind.

[ August 05, 2003: Message edited by: Dyrnwyn, Sword of Flame ]

[Beren87]

Beren meandered through the garden of the inn, idly pulling weeds out of the illkept garden. Sure, he wasn't really supposed to start until the next morn', but he sure didn't have anywhere else to be. He continued through the straight rows, reaching the fence surrounding. The corral could easily be seen from the corner, it's horses running freely inside.

He leaned upon the fence with one arm, propping himself up to watch Derufin at work with the horses, brushing their manes. Suddenly remembering his talking with the cook earlier in the day, he opened the gate to the garden, walking over to the corral's fence, hoping to attract Derufin's attention with his presence. Derufin, however, seemed quite lost in his own thought, not even looking up to the sound of the crashing gate door.

"Oy, Derufin!" Beren called out, his hands cupped over his mouth. "I'll need to speak with ye when you're done there! It's about that extra room in your stables!"

Derufin nodded in Beren's direction, an obvious gesture of acknowledgement. Taking this as evidence that he should wait, Beren went back to the garden, further examining the tool shed, and the equipment he would be encountering tommorrow.

[Chathol-linn]

“Thank you, Talia. That is a good idea, to look for Derufin. But I do not know where he went. Perhaps we should ask the Innkeeper? I have heard her name is Aman. She would be in the common room, I think. If I were her, I would want to know about that necklace .”

Just then they heard a shout; it was some fellow calling Derufin’s name. Talia and Willofain looked around and saw a man standing near the tool shed. “Why, there is that man that I followed from Bree! He is the one whom Orcs set upon. He fought them off until one fled and then he fled himself. I do not know his name. – Did you say you are from Gondor? He speaks just as you do. And he seems to be calling for Derufin. What shall we do?”

[Imladris]

Lira smiled at him gently, hoping to raise him out of his evident despondancy and said, "Reynion, you need not crave parden from me. I was born in Greenwood, but I travelled often to other elven lands, especially Lothlorien. The Elves there tought me much: herblore, tracking, but they mostly told me their history. I was at Rivendell when the Nine Companions set out and shortly after that I journeyed back to Mirkwood. All was dark when I returned and fear and sadness had settled over our fair realm. Then the attacks came and many fell. After the War, I came to Ithilien, for Prince Legolas had a colony there. I was going to go to the Grey Havens, but I decided to tarry here instead."

Lira glanced at Reynion. He was sad...most elves were sad these days. A dark tale and grievous times haunted their memories. She wondered why those Elves did not leave for the Valinor where maybe their grief would be somewhat appeased.

"Well, perhaps it would be a good idea if we followed him some more," Talia said, grinning. "Although it would be helpful if we knew his name."

She walked up to the man. "Good afternoon. My friend here followed you from Bree, I don't know if you knew or not. Also, as it happens, we're looking for Derufin too; we must talk to him about something very important."

-Talia Forthbound-

[Orofaniel]

Orofaniel had just entered the Green Dragon Inn. It was very cosy and the atmosphere was merry. Hobbits, humans, eleves and dwarves were sitting at small tables with pints of ale, and food. They were eating, chatting and laughing.

Orofaniel got to the desk and asked if there was a room for the night. "I'm so tired, do you think there is a room here for the night?," she asked tired.

"Of course there is a room for you," said the woman and handed her a key.

"Thank you, and have a pleasent evening," Orofaniel said to the woman.

"You too, dear." The woman said as Orofaniel walked over to a table. She wanted to have a quick bite before going to bed.

As soon as she had seated she gave a small sign to the servant. "So, what can I offer you, my dear elf?" The hobbit asked?

"Oh, I just want a pint of ale, and some food, thank you." Orofaniel replied while looking at the hobbit.

[Tinuviel of Denton]

Reynion managed a weak smile. "Greenwood did you say? How odd. I hail from Greenwood myself. I wonder that I didn't recognize you." Well, perhaps it was not so odd. He'd always kept to himself, even before the mission that had cost him his leg.

He winced. Better stop that train of thought before he followed it through to conclusion. Thoughts of that mission always made him want to drink. It had started out all right, but toward the end...things had gotten very bad.

He missed the woods. They had always been his safe-haven, away from the demands of his father and the censure of his peers. He had never really wanted to leave, but the growing numbers of spiders had forced him to the 'civilized' areas of the wood, and his father had done the rest. Sometimes he wondered if it wouldn't have been better if he'd been one of the ones left behind.

[Esgallhugwen]

Esgallhugwen shifted slightly on the stool her bow clad once more to her back. She sipped on the cider, grey eyes sparkling in the dark of her hood as Lira told her story once more to Reynion as she had to her the other night.

They both hailed from Greenwood, but had to go away for one reason or another. Esgallhugwen had never been outside her own village before treachery came about in that land. She clenched her teeth slamming back the rest of the cider.

Esgallhugwen would not succumb to the emotion again, especially in such company of Hobbits, Dwarves, Men, and other Elves.

Why do you continue to plague me foul dreams... have I not suffered enough with the reality of it! Is there still vengence to be sought? I think not, all perished that night, am I to be like the Rangers who remain hidden in shadows but deal out justice to the orc kind?

She actually smiled slightly at the thought of it, that was the life she perhaps should take ... and maybe she could bring Lira a sense of adventure. Esgallhugwen sat silent between the two Elves, listening intently to the sounds around her.

[ August 05, 2003: Message edited by: Esgallhugwen ]

[theWhiteLady]

Laurie sat for a moment, looking at the man before her, uncertain whether or not to continue their conversation. His eyes were tired, but for a moment they had sparked with annoyance; she could easily imagine how they might flash with anger should she press her presence upon him. To her surprise and relief, however, he smiled and extended his hand. “My own name is Caligon and I am a captain in the White City.”

Before she had a chance to speak or raise her own hand in greeting, they were interrupted by a large crash. Twisting in her chair, Laurie was greeted with a strange sight: a very disheveled hobbit covered in what looked like the remnant of his meal, his chair fallen next to a broken mug, and beside it a red-faced server was picking herself up from the floor. Neither seemed injured, just a bit shocked, and Laurie looked quickly at her companion, wondering what he must think.

“Strange place, this,” he commented dryly, turning back around. “Strange, perhaps, but most certainly the best inn for miles around,” the young woman spoke defensively. “I suppose one could call it a crossroads for travelers. Each person who stops here has a tale and each story is as various and beautiful as the leaves upon a tree.” Laurie paused before adding quietly, “Most are sad.”

The two sat for a moment in silence, listening to the murmur of conversation that surrounded them. It had a warm sound, low but reassuring, and occasionally accented by laughter. Laurie closed her eyes, enjoying the peace and companionship found within its tone, and allowed her thoughts to roam for a moment. She was too timid to ask now, but later she would most certainly have to inquire after Caligon’s story. What business did a captain have in the Shire, anyway? It might prove very interesting indeed, if he would but trust her enough to open up.

Caligon’s voice broke through these musings briskly. “Do you know where I could inquire about a room?”

Laurie opened her eyes, a bit startled, and replied, “I am not sure, but that young hobbit-lass who, er, was helping that other hobbit would be sure to know.”

“Thank you,” Caligon rose and bowed to his companion. “It was a pleasure, but now I must seek rest.”

Laurie rose as well, smoothing the folds in her white dress and tucking a stray strand of golden hair behind her ears. “I wish you a peaceful and refreshing sleep then. Perhaps we may speak later and you can give me more tidings of Gondor?”

“Perhaps,” Caligon replied, his smile fading slightly. He bowed his head once more and started to walk between the tables toward the kitchen. Laurie sat back down, watching him retreat across the room. Her gaze was drawn away, however, by a feeling that there was something just a tad bit out of place in the picture before her. It struck her only after a minute’s close scrutiny: the inn itself had not changed, as she had first thought, but there were now very many elves gathered at the bar and nearby tables.

‘How strange!’ the young woman thought. ‘And in the Shire!’ Her eyes could not help but watch their graceful movements and her ears strained to catch their musical voices. The legends of elves, and their deeds, never failed to fascinate her and Laurie lost herself in wonder as she gazed into their ageless faces.

[ August 06, 2003: Message edited by: theWhiteLady ]

Caligon left the table, and walked toward the Hobbit-lass that Laurie had pointed out to him. However she, and the other Hobbit fellow in the floor with her, seemed to be quite concerned with some other matter, so he decided not to bother them.

He made for the kitchen with a backward glance at the table in which he had been sitting only moments ago, and at the girl who sat there still. He felt a strange saddness at leaving her, and wanted to go back, but he was too tired to go back, and indeed he didn't want to tell her he'd changed his mind after making it up to retire for some rest. He shrugged off the feeling, and continued on to the kitchen.

He poked his head inside the door, but as he did so he thought that asking one of the cooks where he could find a room may not be practical. They'd be busy preparing the food,he thought,and wouldn't want to concern themsleves with me.

He looked back at the Hobbit waitress he was originally told to speak to. She was getting up off the floor and the Hobbit with food all over him was leaving. Caligon walked over to her, looked down, and said, "Excuse me." She looked at him, strangly at first, then smiled. "Yes," she said, "How can I be of assistance?" Caligon smiled back. "I'm from Minas Tirith, and new in the Shire. Could you please show me where I can get a room for tonight?"

[ August 05, 2003: Message edited by: Dyrnwyn, Sword of Flame ]

[Esgallhugwen]

Esgallhugwen turned to face Lira 'they are not in need of our services as of yet perhaps because the ruffians were scattered away by the Gondorian man they call Beren, for now; but something draws near, and for all it's worth it may be the ruffians again but they may not be the orcs or goblins that we are percieving them to be' Lira looked a little saddened at Esgallhugwen's news.

She lowered her voice so that at least no mortal ear could hear though she couldn't be sure of the other Elves including Reynion, who sat beside her consumed with the tankard in front of him. 'I fear that I too may be part in this shire talk, for last night I passed through Bree much like a horrible wraith or so I read from the many drunk mind's of men at the Prancing Pony' she took a breath looking round at the comings and goings of the inn.

'In the dim light of that place my cloak looked as if it were black and Morsereg was a fearful beast to look upon, I did not concern myself with this for I did not want to be halted or questioned, now though I find a friend in you and I feel you should know incase something falls upon you that is my doing' Esgallhugwen looked at Lira her grey eyes glinted slightly with the afternoon sun.

[RoA_Gil-Galad]

Morlathion strolls calmly into the Shire, muttering to himself about all the worries and troubles of this age. He is looking for an inn where he may recieve food and lodging while he rests his tired feet.

His eyes soon spot the Green Dragon Inn, and it appears to be crowded, so it can't be that bad. He stroll towards the door but doesn't enter that way. Instead, he enters by falling through a window.

"Stupid rocks... Stupid window..." And he begins cursing them even more vilely under his breath. He returns to his feet and begins brushing off all the glass off his clothes. He turns around, but with all the commotion, nobody appears to have noticed his unusual entrance.

"May I help you, sir?" inquires a voice from behind him, and he jumps, startled. He quickly turns to a small hobbit lass standing next to him.

"Oh, yes, um, terribly sorry about the window. I am quite clumsy, even though I am an Elf. Don't know how I ever survived my archery training. Oh, yes. The window. Now, um, I am willing to replace the window if you give me a reasonable price. And I also require food and lodging for about a week."

"I'll talk to Vinca about the window. Now, over here for your dinner please..." as she leads him over to a table already occupied by two small hobbits. "Now, what would you like for dinner?"

"Um, anything green. And I'll have an ale."

He turns to face the two hobbits facing across from him, one of whom is gazing at him.

"Um, hello. I'm Morlathion. I'm an Elf from Rivendell." He extends his hand across the table to shake, but accidentally knocks over a cup of ale that was obviously left there by the previous guest.

"Oops. Sorry about that..." He starts quickly to clean it up.

[Envinyatar]

Derufin bent to the task of repairing one of the lower rails of the corral, the third this month. A fractious horse had come down hard on it earlier in the day, before the owner could get it under control. Another one of the Big Folk horses not schooled to being handled by any other than his owner. ‘Perhaps I should put up a sign,’ he muttered to himself, ‘not that it would do any good.’ He envisioned the announcement nailed to a post as the riders entered the path up to the Inn: “Untrained horses to be tied at the picket line on the edge of the yard only.” Not that it would do a bit of good. Owners of such horses were not ones to take note of such announcements, and if they did, were usually of the opinion it did not apply to them.

Done! He stepped back to admire his handiwork. Two of the Shire ponies dropped there heads over the new rail and snorted as if in approval. ‘Right, then, lads, I’m done here. I’ll see to you later.’ The two stamped their hooves, and one shook his head at the man. Smiling, he reached into his vest pocket and fished out a couple of small apples he kept just for this purpose.

He heard his name called, just as he handed the apples to the waiting ponies. "Oy, Derufin! l need to speak with ye when you're done there! It's about that extra room in your stables!" Derufin nodded to Beren, and watched as the other man wandered back to the garden.

An hour later and one of the horses seen to about two new shoes, Derufin washed his hands at the pump and went in search of Beren.

[Esgallhugwen]

Esgallhugwen and Lira turned quickly at the sound of glass breaking. An Elf just came through a window, why he didn't use the door was most curious. When he sat he had spilled a mug of ale.

Quite clumsy but the two Elf friends could not but stare at him trying to lift up their spirits and get along with the merry folk. For Lira that would be no problem, Esgallhugwen was an entirely different story, whose lack of trust and shadowed figure struck a dark cord among many of the tenants.

She smiled lightly at the Elf though he wouldn't have known due to her dark green hood covering her pale face. Lira giggled slightly her blue eyes shining with joy. He apoligized as he quickly cleaned up the mess before him; the Hobbits being a bit annoyed by the clumsy presence of the good natured Elf.

[Imladris]

Lira tried to stifle her giggle as she watched the elf from Rivendell, whose name apparently was Morlathion. She wondered if she should invite him to their table but wasn't sure if Esgallhugwen and Reynion would like that. Esgallhugwen...what was it she had said, about causing fear in Bree?

She glanced quickly at Esgallhugwen and whispered, "What dark past are you hiding?" She stared at her and pleaded with her blue eyes that she answer her question.

[Esgallhugwen]

Esgallhugwen's will and power was strong but she could not withstand the blue pleading eyes of her new friend Lira. 'I have done no fault in Bree but perhaps word has gotten out over the short years of what became of my village' she stopped short smelling something in the air.

'Darkness was there that is of the most trecherous and foul until the fire, but enough of that the word of ruffians about may be in part because of me and my presence among this land unsettles many; as it seems to me from the actions of others'.

Esgallhugwen could hear the neighing of the horses in the corral over the bustle of the inn. 'For now you see me cloaked once more, saving people from my gaze in case it brings upon them sorrow and the utmost grief or even fear, for which I did not care of sooner in the day when I was uncloaked as little if any were awake' She looked back over to the clumsy Elf Morlathion, Esgallhugwen stood asking Lira if she had wished to go over to him so he would not be alone with the little people, if he welcomed their company.

They bid Reynion farewell and perhaps that they should speak again if he so wished. Lira walked ahead with Esgallhugwen close behind in shadows.

[Arestevana]

He rode into the forest, avoiding the first few trees and ignoring the slight rain that fell around him. His horse was moving quickly, but he was forced to slow as the trees became thicker and the woods grew dark. The rain fell harder, threatening to hamper his sight further. They were now moving very slowly, horse and rider, and were once again restrained from a faster pace as clouds began to scurry across the moon. The wind picked up, hurling the rain in all directions, drenching man and animal alike. The rain fell faster, harder, and thunder rolled across the sky. Now it was storming. The wind whipped through the trees; stripping branches, shredding leaves, snapping stems made brittle with an early frost. He rode on, through sheets of blinding, drenching rain. His mount reared as lightning struck a tree nearby, and he fell to the ground. lunging forward, he tried to catch the horse, but only succeeded in frightening in further. The animal took of, leaving him alone and with no idea where he was.

Randir rolled over in his sleep, but did not wake up.

A figure approached, almost invisible in the heavy rain. A woman on horseback. Megilien. He tried to stand, felt pain shoot through his bleeding leg, knew it was broken. The rider came closer, closer. She reined in her horse and stared down at him, seemingly untouched by the rain. He watched her face, rivers of rain water streaming down his own. She knew, and she would make him pay. Swinging down from the horse, the woman drew her sword. He closed his eyes, waiting for a sweeping blow to end his life. The sound of steel meeting bone never came, but a small moan escaped the man's lips as the blade slid between his ribs with deadly silence.

Randir woke with a start to find that he was tangled so thoroughly in his blankets that he could hardly move. Remembering his dream, Randir shivered, wondering how it was possible to feel so cold on such a warm afternoon. In a sudden surge of panic, he drew his sword and cut himself loose. Immediately feeling quite foolish, he sheathed his sword and looked out the window.

It was late afternoon, nearing evening. Randir knew he had slept for only a few hours, but he felt much better for it, and knew he should be off again. It would not be safe to stay in one place until the trail grew cold. Or until that elven lady quit following him. Randir shivered again. Then he shook his head, tried one last time to forget the dream entirely, and, on losing, went downstairs to see to the growing complaints of his stomach.

Several minutes later, Randir was seated at an empty table with a tall mug and a bowl of soup. It was good food, and he was very hungry, so the man finished it off in a matter of minutes. Handing the bowl to a hobbit lass who came to collect it, Randir turned to his mug. He took a long drink, briefly aware that someone had joined his table. Setting down his mug and glancing up, Randir was hard pressed to avoid choking. It was Megilien, and she looked extremely irritated. He immediately looked back at the table, pretending he hadn't seen her. The elf said something short and clipped in a language that definitely wasn't Westron. It was most likely high-elven, and, while it didn't sound like she was cursing, it didn't sound very polite. However, since he didn't know what she was saying, he thought it made quite a lot of sense to ignore her. Megilien spoke again, this time in Westron, and now it sounded rather a lot like she was cursing. Since Randir knew it would be both rude and childish to simply walk away, he added a polite "Good Evening, Miss" before doing so.

[Elentarimir]

Megilien lurked around the room while Randir slept. She knew he could not avoid her forever, and she also knew that she would make sure she was still here when he came back out.

When Randir finally appeared in the room, Megilien watched him. She muttered "You scum," under her breath; she was beginning to realize who she had in front of her. When he didn't react, she realized that she had spoken in Quenya, not Westron. She switched tongues quickly, and muttered a curse under her breath for being to stupid to think he might know the High-Tongue.

Randir noticed her. He nodded politely and gave her a quick "Good afternoon Miss" the tried to dodge her. "Oh, no you don't!" she told him, and quickly stepped in front of him. "You don't get away from me so easily. I want to know your business, and I won't stop until I find out!"

[piosenniel]

Buttercup was disgruntled that Falco had left without a word to her, though it helped a little that he had not said farewell to Ruby, either. Perhaps when old Mr. Bushytop returned from Laureli’s wedding with a slice of cake for her, she would have sweet dreams with Falco as the principal figure in them. Her thoughts drifted of down these pleasant avenues when she heard the voice of someone speaking to her.

She blinked her eyes a bit to drive away the conjured visions and looked up at one of the Big Folk, looming over her. ‘What a tired face, he has,’ she thought to herself. ‘Must have come a long hard way to the Inn.’ Her eyes took in his thin leather breastplate and the sword that hung in scabbard at his belt. ‘A warrior . . . like Derufin,’ she murmured, recalling something the Stable-master had once said to her when she asked him what he had done before coming to the Green Dragon. ‘I was a warrior, little Mistress,’ he had said, a faraway look in his eyes, ‘with no enemies now to battle save my memories.’

He introduced himself as Caligon, and inquired after a room for the night, saying he was new in the Shire. She had him sign the Guestbook, and took his three copper pennies. ‘Follow me, if you will, good sir,’ she said, taking a key from behind the counter. ‘Just up the stairs here are the Big Folk rooms. I have one that faces east or one that faces west – which do you prefer?’

[piosenniel]

Cook was not pleased to be interrupted by one of the servers and asked to go out to the Common Room. She was in the midst of supper preparations when the serving lass had come in telling her one of the Fair Folk had fallen through the Inn window and then managed to knock over a pint of ale on another customer’s table. ‘A Clumsy Elf?’ she snorted. Why today of all days, had such a one felt compelled to come to the Inn. The Innkeeper was gone for the day. Derufin was distracted, Ruby and Buttercup were still mooning over that Falco fellow – that left her to deal with daily bumps in the routine of the Inn that came up.

‘He wants something green to eat, you say?’ she asked, washing her hands, then wiping them on her apron. ‘Was he anymore specific than that?’ The server shook her head ‘no’. ‘Right, then – let’s go out and see to this Elf.’

She sailed through the kitchen door and into the Common Room, the server following close behind. Ruby, she saw, was cleaning up the glass with a broom and dustpan, and two of the locals had engaged the Elf in conversation as he sat at their table. They clutched their tankards firmly in their hands, as his hands gestured wildly, illustrating some point.

‘Morlathion, is it?!’ Cook asked, coming to stand beside him. She looked him up and down. ‘Vinca Bunce, here. I’m the Cook at the Inn. I understand you’ll be wanting lodging for a week – that will be a silver penny, by the way. And Ruby over there with the broom will see to getting your key and showing you to your room.’ Ruby nodded at him, saying she would bring the guest book for him to sign. ‘Our handyman, Derufin, can fix the window – you’ll have to square the cost with him. You’ll find he’s a fair man, I think.’

‘Now – about that “something green to eat” you requested. Supper will be out in an hour. There’s a cassoulet of green summer squash sliced thin and cooked with butter and dill and green onions. Is that what you’re meaning?’

She folded her arms across her chest, awaiting his answer . . .

The Hobbit woman took Caligon to the counter and, after paying her three copper pieces, had him sign the guest book. She then took him up the stairs to the 'Big Folk' rooms and asked him if he prefered a room facing East, or a room facing West.

"I'd prefer an Eastern view, good madame. I always enjoy watching the Sun rise in the morning." She gave him a bit of a queer look. "I, uh... I awake early," he said. "East room it is, then," she said, and unlocked the door.

They both walked inside, and Caligon unbuckled his sword belt. He lay the sword and belt on a chair against the wall by the door. "Do you have any other luggage, sir?" the Hobbit-lass asked. "Er, yes... I do. It's in the stables with my horse. It'll be fine there for now. I'll go and retrieve it later. Thank you very much," Caligon said, with a polite little smile. He was much too tired to go and get his things just then, and didn't want to be a bother to anyone.

"Alright then, good sir. My name is Buttercup. If you need anything, just come down stairs," said she, with a smile. Buttercup then handed Caligon the key, and walked out of the room shutting the door behind her.

Caligon removed his breast-plate and his shirt-linens, and lied down on the bed. In mere moments he drifted into unconciousness.

[RoA_Gil-Galad]

Morlathion looked around confusedly. He wasn't the greatest about talking to somebody who's property that he had just destroyed.

"Um, yes, here you go... A silver penny!" He said while fumbling around in his pocket. "And where may I find this handyman? Oh, and that meal will do as long as there's no meat in it. Now, if you will please excuse me, I am off to go find that handyman."

He rises from his chair, not intent on finding Derufin, but on meeting a pair of Elves that seemed to be meandering towards him. He started off in their direction only to catch his foot on a chair and fall halfway to them.

He muttered some curses in Quenya as he rose to his feet and dusted himself off. He looked around and found that he had lost track of the other Elves. In fact, he had just turned around and had his back to them.

[Ancalagon_the_Black]

A dark figure slipped up the path to the Inn door. A hand reached out and opened the door. The figure slipped into and shut the door behind it. It then slid into a dark corner and seated itself at a table. A hobbit server noticed him and cautiously made his way over.

The figure proved to be a man. This fellow was wearing a think green cloak clasped at the throat by a polished silver brooch. Beneath the cloak he openly wore a tattered leather jerkin, fastened up. Bronze, rusted chain mail peeked out and fell to his elbows. Under the mail he wore a blue, water-stained shirt. A brown leather belt spanned his waist and supported a muddy sheath. He wore a black pair of leggings and high black boots, old and worn.

He also had shoulder length brown hair covered by a hood. Green eyes peered from under his mass of hair. His face sported no beard. The only distinguishing mark about him was a long purple scar that ran from the center of his forehead to his ear.

This hobbit, after surveying his visitor, said, "How may I help you, Mr...?"

"Kavekh. I am Kavekh."

[Tinuviel of Denton]

Reynion sighed as he looked around and the fact that Lira and Esgallhugwen had left finally registered. He supposed that his company was not the brightest. Not the brightest, Reynion?, he asked himself sardonically. You know very well that if it were possible, you'd leave your own company in this mood.

It was a vicious cycle. He had left Greenwood--no, it was Mirkwood now--because there were too many memories there. Not to mention his reluctance to live solely on the charity of his father. He would travel for a while, and the memories would fade a bit. Then he'd wake up some morning in a cold sweat, the last moments of his friends playing over and over in his mind. That's when he'd discovered the solace in wine. Before, he'd drunk no more than was necessary for courtesy, but when the nightmares began to grow worse and worse, he got drunk one night through a well-meaning bartender. The hangover had kept him from thinking about the d.ead for more than a day and the nightmares didn't come back for almost a month. He thought he'd found the answer to his problem...until the nightmares came back, worse than before. So he got drunk again. And again. And again.

He rubbed his temples. All this was not doing any good, neither for his memories, or for his mood. Not to mention the impossible pain in his left leg. He paid for his drinks, and pushed away from the bar, a bit unsteadily. He turned, planning to go outside and see if the air would clear his head, but tripped over Morlathion and fell sprawling on the floor. His staff went one way, his left leg another. His wooden left leg.

Reynion sat up, cursing, and scrabbled for his two supports. The other elf tried to help, but Reynion waved him away, furious with his own clumsiness and with the leg for not staying on. He reached for the staff at the same time as the other elf, and their heads smacked into each other. This did not improve Reynion's mood. Still cursing, he managed to pull his leg to him and stand up with the help of a nearby stool.

[Arestevana]

Randir heard her curse, try as she might to disguise it. He realized it was directed toward herself, in irritation, rather than toward him. 'Probably for letting me get away' he thought, as he brushed her aside with a light greeting and did his best to escape.

"Oh, no you don't!" Randir sighed; caught again. Megilien wasn't finished with him, it seemed. "You don't get away from me so easily. I want to know your business, and I won't stop until I find out!" Randir frowned at her and touched his sword hilt, hoping she could be frightened into leaving him alone. She wasn't, choosing rather to rattle off several more sharp phrases in that Quenya of hers. Though he didn't speak Quenya, Randir knew the Grey-Elven speech well enough, and decided it would serve to frame his comments. He was agreeing, if not politely, with her, genially adding something about stubborn elves. Megilien reverted to Westron, furious with him.

"Stubborn?" she asked, her voice quiet and horribly cold. "I have asked you your business and you will not tell me the truth. Again and again I ask, and still you avoid me. Stubborn? Yes. And I will remain so."

Randir glared at her, hardly able to keep his voice down. "But why must you ask? Is it of such importance to you that no traveler walk between the wilderlands and the sea unless you know why he walks? Or," he asked, his voice dropping to match hers, "Is it that you fears to return to Ithilen empty-handed, knowing you have failed your quest?"

Megilien's face, already elven-pale, went white. She said nothing, and Randir, hoping she was momentarily shocked into stillness, ducked around her and left the inn. As soon as he had cleared the doors he began to run, reaching the stables just as Megilien appeared in the doorway. He was pleased to have surprised her so, but, he realized, it was more that she had not expected him to admit the truth than not knowing at all. That she knew, he had no doubts. It was what she knew that worried him.

Ducking into the stable, Randir made straight for his horse. He threw open the gate to Hara's stall and began wrestling with her saddle blanket, knowing he would do better not to hurry, but unable to slow himself. He had just finished saddling his horse when Megilien caught up, standing in the doorway looking perfectly calm and not as if he had done anything unexpected. Randir winced, loooked up, and with a failing attempt tried to match her expression. Warily he asked "What do you want?"

[Esgallhugwen]

Just as Lira and Esgallhugwen were in close proximity with Morlathion he had tripped over his seat and if that wasn't enough Reynion had gotten caught up in the fall as well and was now on the ground cursing. His wooden leg flew out from under him. Lira gasped a little shocked but Esgallhugwen seemed unphased by the occurence.

While Morlathion tried to help Reynion their heads smacked against eachother, sending both into further curses and annoyance with their own clumsiness. Lira went over to Reynion as he pulled himself up on a stool, he tried to wave her away but she insisted on helping him and that it would be no trouble for her to do so, Esgallhugwen reached out her hand in helping the clumsy Elf back to his feet.

'You may get in much trouble here if you do not have others to watch out for you' Esgallhugwen said with an Elvish lilt in her low voice. She stood before him waiting for a reply while Lira continued to fuss over Reynion.

[Tinuviel of Denton]

Almost helplessly, Reynion allowed Lira to assist him onto a stool. He sighed. What was it about having a wooden leg that made women of all races suddenly want to treat him as a child. It didn't help that most of the room was staring at them, nor that his head was ringing from the unintentional blow from Morlathion.

He took his leg from her, not without a protest on her part, and began to refasten it. The straps were not cooperating, and his fingers weren't either. He almost cursed, but decided that he'd done enough of that, thank you, this afternoon. Not to mention that it would only draw more attention. It was one thing when people disliked him, but another to be stared at, as though he were a creature in a menagerie.

"Can I help you with that?" asked Lira, concerned that he couldn't handle it, no doubt.

"I think I can get it," he replied absently and tugged at another piece of the leather. Finally, it was starting to fit together and with a last pull, the leather cup snugged tight against what was left of his thigh.

[Novnarwen]

A few hours had passed when finally the rich little hobbit sat down. Drunk, but still rich he seated himself at the end of a table. Stirru and Folw who had waited for this for a long time, both smiled and Stirru made his first move. He paced towards the hobbit, sat himself down and waited.

The hobbit turned his head, checking out the new man who had seated himself so close to him, the hobbit felt uncomfortable. "Watch yourself, silly," the hobbit snapped, sipping his ale. The little fellow had drunk far too many of them and seemed to be in another 'world'. Stirru gazed at him, trying to figure out an insult. "Well, little one. You have a big mouth for being so small," he said pointing at him. The hobbit grew angry and turned his head again.

From the corner of Stirru's eyes he could see his companion smiling in the dark. At the same time Stirru held his eyes on the money in the hobbit's pocket. They lay there so nicely, waiting to get picked up by a man like Stirru. He looked at the mug standing at the table. "I am not going to sit here, waiting to get insults right into my face from a... a..... STRANGER!" he cried out making a jump at the bench. Stirru made his final move. He made his finger small and when the hobbit rose he seized his pocket gently. A couple of coins rolled into his hand and he closed it making a small poke into the hobbit's chest.

"Yeah, just go. It's not like I enjoyed your company either," he snapped looking at the hobbit making his way to another table. Stirru slid the coins into his pocket, time to get a room, he thought.

[Elentarimir]

"What do you want?" Randir asked. The terror in his voice was only slightly masked, and Megilien could see right through it. She threw back her head and laughed. It wasn't the type of laugh that you would hear at a joke, but a shrill, high, cold laugh, the laugh of someone who knows that the person in front of them is half-terrified.

"What do you want?" Megilien imitated in a babyish voice. "Oh, since you've guessed my business already, then you know what I want." She stepped forward and laid a hand on her sword hilt, scaring him further. "I want you to come back to Ithilien with me, and I'm not taking 'no' for an answer!"

Randir made to spurr his horse out of the cell, but Megilien grabbed the horse's head. All Elves had a way with horses, and Megilien was no exception. It halted, and would not move. Megilien grinned wickedly up at Randir. He had revealed himself for certain with that comment about Ithilien, for this mission was top secret business.

But Randir gave no sign of coming quietly. "Stubborn indeed," Megilien muttered in Quenya under her breath. "Very well," she added to the man, switching back to Westron, "if you willing not come on your own free will, my Lord Faramir has given permission to use force."

Randir blanched. Megilien watched his face contort with fear, and allowed herself an evil smile. She moved her swordarm to the hilt, and prepared to draw, as she took a half step forward. The horse whinnied and shied back, but didn't move towards Megilien, as she advanced on Randir. "Now," she said quietly, "you'll be coming with me!"

[RoA_Gil-Galad]

Morlathion turns to speak to the new Elf that approaches him. He could not exactly understand what she meant at first, but then he go it.

"Does this mean that I am likely to be attacked here? I may not seem it, but I'm actually quite good with my sword."

He draws his sword and does a couple moves, but slips on an ice cube and his sword goes flying into the table in front of one of the Hobbit lasses. He blushes madly and goes to retrieve it.

"Oh, um, hi, Ms., uh, Hobbit Lass? Sorry, don't know your name, and you don't seem keen on giving me it, so I'll just take my sword and leave now..." as he backed away slowly. He turns back and returns to the other Elves.

"Sorry about that. Oh yes, my name is Morlathion." He extended his hand to shake.

He turns his head towards the man with the wooden leg. "Oh, yes, sorry again about that, too."

[Tinuviel of Denton]

Reynion felt like laughing for the first time in months. No, years really. Morlathion was so clumsy and good-natured, it was impossible to dislike him. Even if he'd been the reason that Reyn had ended up on the floor in the first place. Still, his antics almost made him smile.

It was odd. Years ago, he'd have made some sort of cutting remark. Probably something touching on Morlathion's intelligence, if not altogether offensive. That, however, had been before he lost his leg. It seemed unfair to make fun of others, now that he'd had something of a taste of it himself.

The younger elves stared as he passed, watching him limp along the corridor, pointing and giggling. Reynion tried to ignore them. Really, how was it different from the former looks of superiority from the nobles? Like Gilbereth.

He winced away from that thought, and all memories associated with it. This was no time to think of such things, it was a party, a celebration. So why did he feel so miserable?

Reynion shook his head, suddenly realizing that the other elf had said something to him. "I beg pardon, what was that, eh...Morlathion?"

[ August 07, 2003: Message edited by: Tinuviel of Denton ]

[Beren87]

Derufin slowly came around the south corner of the shed, eyes avidly searching for the figure known as Beren.

Beren glanced to the side, noticing the comer into his garden. He had been tapping new six-pennys into the side of the shed, hoping that they would help to slow the onset of time.

Rising from his kneeled position, Beren looked onto Derufin, one hand over his eyes to shade the delicate appendages from the sun. He leaned the hammer up against the wall, leaving himself a mental note to pick it up before going inside. The clouds looked ominous in the distance, their dark forms threatening rain upon the Inn.

"So then, what was that about my room?" inquired the stablehand, an inquisitive look in his eyes.

"I was just wondering if you still needed a roomate, of sorts. It'd be a slight cheaper then renting an room at the Inn, if I'm to settle here. So, is the offer so open?" Beren leaned his shoulder against the shed, waiting for Derufin's response.

[RoA_Gil-Galad]

"I was apologizing about tripping you... I'm deathly clumsy. Shot myself in the hand once with my bow. I don't know how I ever got top marks in archery class. My father fainted when he found out. Let me buy you a drink."

He walks over to the bar and orders an two ales. He returns and hands one to the Elf with the wooden leg and keeps one himself.

"Hope you like ale. Only thing that I could think of. Well, cheers."

He puts the wooden cup up to his mouth but drops it almost immediately. He brings a hand up to his lip, and when he brings it away there is blood on it.

"Damm... Never knew a splinter could be that bad."

He brings a piece of cloth from his pocket up to his lip and starts speaking again, though it is slightly muffled through the fabric.

"I haffn't caught youw names ye. Oops... Sowwy..." He repositions the cloth. "I haven't caught your names yet."

[Tinuviel of Denton]

Reynion looked at the ale with distaste. It wasn't that he mistrusted the quality of the beverage, it was that he never drank the stuff. Although wine, in his usual amounts, was probably worse for him.

"I haffn't caught youw names ye. Oops... Sowwy..." Morlathion repositioned the cloth. "I haven't caught your names yet."

"I'm Reynion," he answered. "This is Lira and her friend is Esgallhugwen. And you're Morlathion. I think the entire Inn must have heard you earlier." That wasn't too hard. If he could keep the conversation at this level, maybe there would be no need for more wine this eve. He shied away from that thought trend quickly. Then something Morlathion had said registered.

"You shot yourself in the hand with your bow!? How in Arda did you manage to do that?" He'd gotten no few nicks when he was learning his knives, and many bruises learning the sword (not that he could use it anymore anyway), but injuring one's hand seemed rather improbable.