The Green Dragon Inn - Part 5

[Esgallhugwen]

Esgallhugwen was in a deep sleep, dreamless which she hadn't had in a very long time, years it seemed. That aided in her collapse at the bar, but also she had barely eaten anything wholesome for a very long time as well, she only ate enough to keep her alive but not to keep her strength up.

A hobbit was stoking a small fire in the room to keep it warm enough to try and break the Elf's fever, a little pot of soup was kept warm by the fire as well. The fire crackled gently embers burning brightly as the Hobbit sat on a tiny stool, she couldn't help but have the feeling that she was being watched.

When she turned to the Elf laying on the bed, two sparkling grey eyes looked back at her. The Hobbit lass gave a cry jerking from her stool sending it rolling across the room. 'Oh! well... your up then, I'll leave you to your room, theres soup in the pot by the fire, a bowl and spoon on the tray on your dresser' the Hobbit smoothed out her dress trying to act as if she was totally calm and unstartled. Flicking off bits of dust that weren't there.

She stood the stool back up and before she left the room she said 'if you'll be needing anything else just give me a shout' then she was out the door.

Esgallhugwen was still for a few more moments thinking it was slightly funny she had so easily scared the poor little Hobbit. She pushed herself off the bed no longer able to restrain the hunger that stirred in her stomach.

The soup smelled very good, she ladeled out a heeping spoon into the bowl. Bits of chicken and chunks of vegetables steamed in the golden broth. The smell might have been slightly revolting to an Elf that was not used to being half starved in the wild, running, and who never did a thing in their lives eating always the very finest of foods. But to a starving Elf it was all one could ever ask for, the smell was actually quite intoxicating.

Esgallhugwen scooped up the soup feircely, odd for an Elf but she was with no other company and could not be bothered with proper manners and ettiquete. Your horse...your horse is worried about you and all you can worry about is stuffing your face with hearty Hobbit food? She stored that thought in her head as she was downing her third bowl of soup. At least my horse is fed! she retorted at the voice.

Hobbit servings, Elf servings; it did not matter much to her, she had never felt this hungry before but that was because she finally got the rest she needed and was no longer numb to her body being hungry. Surely if you keep this up you will become as fat as a Hobbit! Then all your weight will pull you down and make you short like one! the voice laughed inside her head.

Esgallhugwen finished off the small pot, but was surprisingly not weighed down by the food though it was very hearty. She unpacked a few more of her things and pulled out her sheathed sword that was strapped to her pack.

She traced her fingers along the engravings of the silver white blade, the clapsed the ebony black hilt. Esgallhugwen began to manuever herself in practise positions, the sword cut through the air without making so much as a swishing sound. The air could not decrease it's speed because there was no fricton between the two.

The sword was well crafted for her use only, prepared to be forged and given to her by her Mother. Her Mother Menelariel had given her many of her belongings before she passed on. In a secret ceremony she had given Esgallhugwen such things that would be needed in the time ahead.

'Nárkir, a sword with which to fell your enemies and strike fear into their hearts, Dúrlin the dark bow it's arrows sing swift and true like eagles upon the air. And for you Esgallhugwen Elenglin, I have crafted this pendant, let it be a symbol for courage and hope when the path seems dark or misleading, for my time upon this earth is waning and you can no longer seek me for advice. These are dark times indeed but you have no reason to fear...there is greatness and strength in you that will aid many in this dark time.'

Esgallhugwen sheathed her sword once more, never seeing how she had ever left it in this room alone when it had saved her in the past. She fastened the buckle about her waist just below her belt and picked out two daggers from her pack, they had thin metal scabbards.

She felt less vulnerable with her cloak on and once more shadowed herself in it, never going to make the same mistake as to remove it again so everyone can stare at you, especially since you made a scene at the bar. But her strength was renewed thanks to the food and she would never let her strength fail her again.

She cleaned off her boots of the caked on mud before she headed downstairs. Esgallhugwen searched out Lira among the staring eyes, some gave her harse looks others tried to look down but peeped out of the corners of their eyes, while others still looked at her as if she was some poor beast waiting to be slaughtered.

[ August 19, 2003: Message edited by: Esgallhugwen ]

[Beren87]

Beren watched the innkeeper as she strolled out of the stables, and into the night beyond. The elf's comments still ligered in his mind, as it attempted to wrap itself around their idle subtlety. Suddenly a light of thought erupted into darkness of his steadily thinking mind, amid the events of the day which were running through wanderingly. Suddenly he realised why his nerves tightened as they had, he was finally alone with the innkeeper, for the moment anyway. He raced with some interesting comment to engage her with, to catch her attention.

"Aman! I've just remembered, I'm to be moving into the spare bedroom of the stables, alongside Derufin. I'll be needing linens to adorn the bed, as I've only a blanket that was left in the room." Beren spoke the words in a rush, happy to have thought of a comment. Suddenly he realised what he had just said. He was alone with the lovely innkeeper, his once chance to show her that he was not a traveling buffoon who's skills were limited to that of curing bumps begotten from coatracks, and he had wasted the moment on linens! "I don't mean to trouble you farther that is, being as how hectic the situation seems to be this evening..."

"Oh, don't concern yourself with that, it seems to always be this busy in the Inn, no matter what season it is." She smiled at him, the white gleam puncturing his nervousness. "Come on in with me, and I'll see what I can find. I doubt they've all been used recently, the Inn isn't completely full of guests, at any rate."

He smiled at her, still following along the beaten-dirt path to the door of the Inn. The stables weren't far away, but they were both going slow, enjoying the serenity of the night, and perhaps, the company of each other.

[littlemanpoet]

"Very well, Sir. I will return shortly."

It was trouble brewing, he could feel it. People are trouble, be they Man, Dwarf, Hobbit, or Elf. Then leave and be free of it. He remained by the tree. One did not leave lodestones easily.

His eyes were closed when she returned, a rod of light coming toward him, capturing his awareness. She had chosen, and gone out of her way, and spoke now many words to coax and cajole; and none of her words were bitter to the ear. Not a one. A scamp? Queen of scamps then. The fresh smelling soap seemed fitting of this Queen.

He had never been more afraid in his life. And never more willing to be so. I do not lightly take what others pay for. And now she had placed him squarely amid just such a choice, and knew what she did. He could see it in her eyes. He would not take. Not lightly. But these would not be paid for by another if he did not take them. She offered freely of her own. He would take, not lightly.

It was not in Falowik's mind to tax Vanwë's patience, forcing her to hold the bundle between them. Twice he chose to reach and take, but his arms did not obey. Long schooled were those arms and hands in keeping close to side, for near the body they could not be struck away. But she offered freely, openly. Why? Mere succor. Her eyes, her face, bespoke nothing less. Her eyes did not leave his. He could not take his eyes from hers as she humbled herself to kneeling before him. Almost the King of scamps he felt. They were kindred somehow, though Man and Elf. He chose to reach a third time. His hands closed around the bundle, careful not to offend by touching hers.

"My thanks, Fair One." His voice choked and he looked away, and pulled the bundle from her hands. "Please -" He needed to not be seen, the dam having cracked ever so little. But he could not ask her to leave. Kindness. Even thinking the word cracked the dam yet further. He turned away from her and made to open the bundle and spread it over him. The knot in his throat did not go away. Nor did she, yet.

[Imladris]

Lira silently withdrew into the shadows as Beren approached Aman in the stables and began to converse with her. She smiled at the man and woman and began to absently stroke Merkaliel, whose white coat glistened in the the light of the rising moon. Merkaliel whickered softly to Lira and the elf leaned her head upon the horse's neck, and breathed deeply. The pleasant smell of hay and oats tickled her nostrils and the good fresh smell of horse brought her mind back to the days she had spent in Imladris. Strange that the smell of a horse could remind her of that fair dwelling. "What do you think, Merkaliel," she whispered. "What is the most beautiful place we have been?" Lira softly began to sing in her soft enchanting, haunting voice:

In Mirkwood, the forest green, lives an elvish kingdom fair,
Under shelter of mighty trees are royal feasts with food and wine to spare.
Beauty thrives there, and evil has no place there
For the spiders have been driven back and n'er a one is left in their black lair.

Lothlorien, the golden wood, alas for beauty faded.
Elanor flowers no longer fall to ground, its grief is not abated.
No longer is the presence of the lady seen or felt or heard,
Deserted it is save for the sound of a wand'ring bird.

Rohan, land of plains and grassy fields, realm of the horse lords great and tall,
And Eomer, King of the Mark, dwells in splendour in the Golden Hall.
King Elessar, in Gondor, rules with noble wisdom upon his long awaited throne.
In Rivendell, elves still sing of times forgetten, of lore in haunting tones.
The Shire, home to the little folk, is yet covered with grass green and fine,
And Hobbits remain in blissful solitude, untouched by the hand of Time."

[Amanaduial the archer]

Linen?! He's going to talk about Linen?! Aman didn't say anything to Beren as he spoke, then she saw the faint self-rebuking expression flit across his face, and almost laughed. She wasn't the only one who had thought it then. As he began to stutter something else out, Aman smiled at him, waving his apologies away.

"Oh, don't concern yourself with that, it seems to always be this busy in the Inn, no matter what season it is." She smiled at him once again, inclining her head towards the Inn. "Come on in with me, and I'll see what I can find. I doubt they've all been used recently, the Inn isn't completely full of guests, at any rate."

Beren ducked his head, smiling back, still somehow a little flustered, and they began to walk, quite slowly, enjoying the cool night air. He was a funny character, to be sure, so awkward sometimes, but at other times so self-contained. She turned her head to look at him in the darkness, half his face highlighted by the moon, catching the lines of his bone structure and the colours of his hair. As if sensing Aman was looking at him, he turned his head to look at her. She looked straight at him, their eyes meeting, and he returned the smile...

...before going straight over forwards as his foot caught in a hole in the road.

Aman's hand shot out, catching him as he fell, but he straightened up himself quickly, muttering something, and Aman could see his bright scarlet blush even in the half light of the moon. Smiling to herself she continued walking as the man brushed himself down, shaking her head. How very Beren...

"Come along then, Beren." She spoke briskly, but not unkindly. The moment was gone, but hey, the rest of their time was moments...

[Elora]

Vanwe was both startled and pleased as Falowik accepted the bundle from her. His voice altered subtely as he spoke his thanks. She did not know whether it was his choice of words or the timbre of his voice. He turned away after, a word of pleading falling from him. She did not understand. Fair One? Surely not her, a castaway raised in a desolate village and reviled for what she was! Yet before she could demur, she felt something shift.

It was not that Falowik said "Please," but rather how he said it. Something was wrong, she sensed, but then something was right. Never had she heard that note, delicate and yet vivid, in a voice that addressed her. The Elf leant closer, reaching past her learnt caution. Her hand stretched before her as though she had no reason to fear. It alighted on Falowik's shoulder.

Something was wrong, and then something was not. She felt a quiver beneath her touch, a shock. She leant forward still, beyond her past and into her present, her pale golden hair falling fowards as she moved like a curtain lit by moon.

"What is it," Vanwe whispered to Falowik. She was perilously close to this Man. When she felt his hand close around her fingers, fear did not flare through her. She remained where she was.

"Please, tell me?" Something was right. She did not know what. Only that his fingers encirled her own, and that his voice chimed in her mind. "Thank you Fair One. Please..." If her voice held it's own note, she did not question it. He could push her away. That would be the least of what he could do.

Slowly, as though struggling hard with something, he turned his face back to hers. "I can help," Vanwe murmured softly and she smiled for she thought that she could. She did not know why, only that she trusted as did he and that she could.

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik felt a touch on his shoulder, gentle, warm. He had never felt such warmth, and it shocked him, for her hand was shapen fire touching ice; and the ice melted to the touch, puddling quickly. He could not let this happen! But he could not afford to make it stop.

"What is it?" How could someone made of fire speak with a voice so fleshly warm? So it was with the Elves. His hand came up and clasped hers. Folly, old man, 'twill only lead to more pain. Her hand was warm but he could not face her.

"Please, tell me?" No, he could not speak it. It was foolishness. He had already allowed too much. Tell her to go away, old man. He formed the first word in his mouth but could not release it. He did not want her to stay. He did not want her to leave. He did not let go of her hand. Kindness. Could she be trusted were he to speak it? The warmth traveled into his chest. Slowly he turned toward her.

To tell her what? Speak what? He did not know what lay in him so deep, having frozen him into ice for all these years.

"I can help." Help with what? He did not know. Maybe he did not need to know. Her eyes and her face shown with the fire inside her, with a sureness, a deftness that could not fail. He opened his mouth to speak, not knowing what his words would be. Of a sudden his mind turned to the impending arrival of horses and stablemaster. Derufin could return at any time. Falowik became aware of his hand on hers, of how close her face was to his, how they two would appear to one coming near. He pulled his hand away, glancing off west, back to her.

"You - you have helped enough already, Fair One. My thanks." He looked meaningfully to the west once more, and turned from her. "Please leave me now." He felt her pull back as though stung. She stood and backed away. The light in her faded, though a lodestone she remained. It was no good. He had done as he always did, spurning all people, all trouble save that which lay within his own heart; but that trouble he knew well enough. Maybe he could take the sting out of this one, though, for she did not deserve such pain. He turned to face her one last time. She had begun to turn away.

"Vanwë-" She stopped and looked back, the moon catching the strands of her golden hair. "I will use the soap." He turned from her. Why had he said just that? It was all he could manage. It would have to do. And he would keep his word. He heard her quiet steps for a few paces, and then no more.

You're a fool, old man, the stray horse could take the stablemaster all night to find. It had been too much, more than he could allow himself to feel alone, much less before this Elf woman who read him all too well, it seemed. You need to be more careful, old man. With those comforting words in his mind, he drifted off to sleep.

[ August 20, 2003: Message edited by: littlemanpoet ]

[Imladris]

Lira finished the song of whose words she had made up on the spur of the moment. It was a foolish song, ill sung, ill worded, yet it was true, in a sense. Weariness washed over her and she realized she had not rested for many hours...she did not count the cat nap she had taken earlier on as "rest." Softly, as the elven lady leaned against her horse, nose and eyes buried in the soft mane, silvery mane, a dream came to her, stepping softly into her and taking possession of her mind.

But why do you wish to leave, Middle-earth?" Lira asked her father and mother softly, gesturing widely about her. They stood in the sun lit land of Ithilien and the birds sang merrily around them, quite oblivious to the distressful child below them.

"It is not as if we were darting away like an arrow to the Valinor," her father protested, patting Merkaliel affectionately. "We'll linger on...first visiting the Old Forest, maybe converse with birds and flowers," he went on lightly, his eyes twinkling. "Then we'll drop by Lothlorien and lament that it's golden beauty will slowly fade away until it, too, will no more exist, and then we'll meander through Mirkwood --"

"Not if I know you, my love," interjected Mother. "He'll probably wander from one end of Mirkwood to the other, and then re-visit his old haunts and Thranduil's realm."

"Liralwen," her father interrupted, calling Lira's mother by her full name, "you will enjoy it just as much as I. After that, we'll drift down towards Imladris and listen to merry elves sing under the stars and hear stories told beside a frolicking fire. The whole trip should take six or seven years, especially if we don't rush through the land. And then we will journey to the Grey Havens and wait for you upon the shores of the Blessed Realm."

"Whilst we're gone, you can stay here in Ithilien, marry, and raise a family," Liralwen suggested.

"Or you could just suddenly change your mind while we are traveling, journey to the Grey Havens and meet us there when we reach the lovely spot," her father said hopefully, nodding earnestly.

Lira stared wretchedly at the ground and watched a butterfly flit from flower to flower before she answered, "I am sorry, father...but I cannot find it in my heart to leave just yet. So much has happened and the darkness has just now departed. It is as if an eternal spring has fallen upon the land. But we shall meet again, father and mother, either upon the shores of the Valinor, or in the Grey Havens," said Lira smiling.

"We'll send word, Lira, when we reach the Havens," said her father.

"Namarie!" they cried to each other before they at last disappeared over the ridge of a hill.

Lira awoke with a start and saw that the moon was yet shining; silver pools dimpled the land around the stable. In the night, cricket bards could be heard chirping their mournful tales. It had been seven years, drawing nigh to eight, since that meeting, and no word had come.

[ August 20, 2003: Message edited by: Imladris ]

[Esgallhugwen]

Esgallhugwen broke off from one of the stares that was especially cruel, she could see it in his mind Nothing but trouble... those Elves and thinking they can just barge into a quiet place and start making a fuss, nothing but withchery and deception that was back there, always pulling stunts, their probably the heathens and ruffians everyone is talking about, always skulking around in the shadows!

She could not sense Lira in the Inn so she headed out the door, just as she opened it Aman and the man Beren came in, Esgallhugwen exchanged glances with the two. Aman seemed a little shocked that the Elf was already on her feet and walking about after what had happened earlier with all the commotion and strangeness.

Outside she could hear singing that she recognized in her dark dreams before they vanished. She halted almost dropping the daggers she had gripped in her hand, those haunting words bound her in a spell before she could break them and continue on her way.

Lira stood by her horse the moon shining on both of them, Esgallhugwen did not want to disturb but walked over lightly into the moonlight. The silver scabbards glistening like crystals in her cold white hand. Her eyes sparkled briefly under her hood.

'Lira' she said smoothly as Lira woke with a start, she looked over and smiled 'so you are up are you sure you are alright? What happened?'. Esgallhugwen walked closer, 'I'd much rather not talk about that at this time, since the darkness has left me for a while yet'. She held the daggers aloft in her hand towards Lira 'take these... I noticed that you carry nothing on you for protection, and these I can spare, also take them as a sign of our friendship, you were there when I fell... but who was the one that was inside of me, I must thank them as well'. Lira didn't seem to know what to say at first so Esgallhugwen walked over to Morsereg and comforted him.
And so she sang:

Of days of olde the Elves would sing of greatness and of good. But soon all treasures sank from them and turned to stone cold ash.
All have passed, but few who stay have not lost hope in days of shadow.
Light will come again one day, so she said to me. I could not see it.
Is the light hailed by mortal ones alone when the immortal are ever in sorrow?
She has passed but her body is left in mortal lands... forever.
Hope and courage she gave to me to aid when paths mislead.
I fear I will never gaze upon Luinhith again, do not despair for the light of hope and good has come again.

[ August 20, 2003: Message edited by: Esgallhugwen ]

[Elora]

Vanwe stood still in the moonlight as Falowik gave her that small ease to sooth the earlier sting of his withdrawal. The moonlight shone on her face as her perplexed expression relaxed into a pleased one.

"Thank you, Sir Falowik," she softly said. Falowik fell silent again, wrapped in his private reverie that she had intruded upon far too many times that night. OF course he had pushed her away. He could have been far rougher. The small fragment of braided leather that she had left on a table in the inn was testament to that.

"May the Watcher grant you rest this night," she said softer still, glancing up to the star she had named. It shimmered, bright and remote. With that, Vanwe turned and walked back to the stables, hair fluttering behind her as she retreated. It was getting late and she had already offended enough for one day.

Vanwe made her way through the darkness of the stables, finding the ladder that led to her loft. She scaled it, mind full with many things, and went straight to the candle that sat dark on the chest of drawers. She was too restless to sleep. Candle lit, Vanwe pushed open the hay doors to let in the night and the stars.

She stood there, looking out over the inn and trees and then turned back to the candle. She carried it to a stool that sat by the wall and set it down nearby. Vanwe folded neatly to sit upon that stool, skirts pooling around her and she retrieved a small block of wood. It had but the barest of shapings on it.

She pulled out the simple, serviceable belt knife and glanced once more at the stars. The Watcher was still there, brilliant amid the other gems of light. She let it fill her eyes and her mind, then she took her knife and started to work on the wood. By flickering candlelight, the rough shaping took on more detail. The colour of the wood grain was revealed, layer by layer. With some polish, it would shine with it's own earthly light when she was finished.

As she carved and shaped, Vanwe's mind ranged wide as she pondered scamps, vagabonds and soap. Perhaps, if he was still there in the morning, she would apologise for her overboldness. It had to be the unwatered wine on an empty stomach, she reasoned. She paid no heed to the faint glow in her cheeks as her thoughts turned as they would.

[ August 20, 2003: Message edited by: Elora ]

[Envinyatar]

Moonset, nearing dawn

‘Falmar was gone . . . The words echoed in his head, making it ache. She had asked him to care for her mount until she returned. And now the horse was gone . . .

Derufin slumped in the saddle, it had been a long night, with many miles covered. He was dead tired. Reins slack in his hands, he let the horse take the lead in negotiating their slow way back to the Inn. It was nearly moonset when they reached the stable. The Inn and yard were quiet, though from the thick stream of smoke he saw pushing upwards from the kitchen’s chimney, he knew Cook would be up and finishing the last of her baking before catching a few more hours of sleep.

The hens in their coop were quiet as he passed and even the rooster slept still. Derufin dismounted in the yard and led the chestnut as quietly as he could into the stable. Only the muted jangling of the bit and bridle being taken off and hung up on the stall post broke the peace of the other horses and ponies. Derufin wiped down the charger, keeping a soft, running commentary going on his actions. He needed to do that, as much to calm the horse as to calm himself. A fresh bucket of water, some sweet hay, and a blanket over the back to guard against chill and Derufin considered the job done. He stepped out of the stall, latching the gate securely and stood for a moment leaning against the cross post that held the saddle.

He considered whether he should go to bed or see what Cook would let him rustle up for himself. Supper was a dim memory, if not a complete phantasm of his imagination. Had he eaten? He could not remember.

Cook was just glazing the last of the sticky buns for breakfast when he walked in. So intent was she on the application of the sugary concoction that she did not hear him enter, and she stifled a scream when he called her name and nudged her on the shoulder.

‘Don’t ever do that again, you misbegotten man!’

He stepped back quickly as she took a swipe at him with the long handled wooden spoon she was using to stir the glaze. Droplets of sugary goo plopped themselves against his shirt, and he scraped a few off with his index finger, running an appreciative tongue over them. She pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and pushed him toward it. He stood there in an exhausted daze.

‘Oh sit down, sit down,’ she chided him, putting a plump sticky bun on a plate and pouring him a cup of hot tea. ‘You look all done in.’ Derufin took a gulp of the scorching liquid and left the bun untouched . .

[Imladris]

Lira, as she listened to the song Esgallhugwen sang, inspected the daggers. Silver vines encurled about the scabbards, their silver sides glimmered in the moonlight. Girding one about her waist, where it hung gracefully and clanked gently against her hip, Lira packed the other in a saddle bag. "Esgallhugwen," Lira murmured, taking the elf's hand in hers, "I thank thee for thy gift of friendship."

Turning, Esgallhugwen by her side, Lira tugged her pale yellow hair, the hair streaked with white and murmured, "Esgallhugwen, I am afraid. All is not well, I fear, with my parents. They told me that when they reached the Valinor in six or seven years, they would send word to me. I told they in Ithilien that if a message arrived to send it off to the Shire, but I have received nothing. The road was still black when they departed...I fear they may have never reached the Havens."

A sad silence fell and Lira, with a soft, sad laugh, shook it off and said, "Come with me. I must see the Mistress Innkeeper."

[Elora]

Uien (formerly known as Vanwe) stretched her fingers as she set the carving down. It was a rough lump of wood no longer. Her thoughts had not allowed sleep, and she did not miss it in truth as she was filled with an energy. Brushing a some fragile shovings away with a gentle hand, she blew on the carving and studied it critically.

Slowly, piece by piece, she was improving. It had been an ambitious project, to uncover a star in a block of wood. It glowed with a foresty radiance, the grain alight and satiny. Some polish would not go astray either. Perhaps Aman had some to spare in the attic. Uien cleaned her belt knife and sheathed it. Smoke rose from her candle in a curling plume, the candle now burnt out.

Uien stood, stretching fluidly with a feline liquid grace. She had been sitting on that stool, carving all night. She walked to the open hay doors, to the very edge. Her bare toes wriggled over the edge of the floor as she looked out at the sky. It was grey now. Morning was coming. She tucked her hair behind her ears, trying to keep it from the playful fingers of an early morning breeze. It ruffled her hair relentlessly nonetheless.

The stars had started to fade, all but a determined few. Uien smiled up at her namesakes and turned back to the loft behind. An early start would get the work done faster, and Derufin had had a long night. She collected her wooden star and dropped it in her pouch as she walked back to the ladder. Uien did not decide what to do with it until she reached the lower stables.

Quietly, she crept into Derufin's empty lodgings and deposited the star next to the crane. She ran a gentle finger fondly over the graceful sweep of outstreched wings. It wanted to soar, she thought. With that, Uien left to begin the day's work. There was water to fetch, feed to set outk, hay to change and rake. The horses had to be set out to pasture, and that was only the beginnings.

As was her habit, Uien sang softly as she collected empty buckets that hung at the back of the stables and started to haul water to the day pastures. Horses, familiar with her morning singing, whickered at her as she passed.

"Soon, my friends, soon," she replied with light good humour. "I haven't even gotten the grain out yet." Her song floated out with her from the stables to the well, empty buckets swinging from both hands. A mist hung closely to the ground, thick and white. It would a hot day, she sensed, as she walked through it.

[Esgallhugwen]

'Lira, mellon' Esgallhugwen placed her hand on Lira's shoulder gently 'I would not despair, for despair is for those who see the end beyond all doubt. You say they left in dark times? Perhaps evil has not befallen them only the messenger has been waylaid, or perhaps they sensed that some evil had befallen you and had therfore not sent any messengers thinking that it was folly. Much are the strange chances in the world when paths mislead in times of shadow.'

It had now been Esgallhugwen's turn to try and rekindle some hope that her parents were yet alive, though she knew not whether they had left for Valinor thinking that Lira had been taken by the shadows, or that indeed they had not passed to the Grey Havens at all.

She noticed another Elf now preparing feed and singing. The presence was familiar, but she went along with Lira to find the Innkeeper Aman. There would be time to speak with her later perhaps when she was not busy with her duties.

Esgallhugwen felt odd trying to give hope when she had barely little herself. But she felt it the right thing to do, it was the least she could do. The world was harsh she knew that plain enough, but courage and hope are like fire in dark places so her Mother often said when darkness had encroached upon their small kingdom.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Dawn

Aman, horse mistress of Rohan, sped across the plains of Rohan, a dark, wild steed beneath her, his warmth right against her legs, no sadle stopping her from blending completely with the magnificent animal, newly broken in, another of her proud, early triumphs...

Sitting, her back against the side of the windowseat in her room where she had gone to sleep still clothed, Aman, Innkeeper of the Green Dragon in the Shire, awoke with a start as her cheek slipped off her hand, her elbow slipping from her knees (her feet were on the window seat) where it had rested. Looking around the lightening room, Aman took a moment to realise Meldo, the dark steed upon whose back she had sped through her dreams, was nowhere near. Rubbing her warm cheek lest her hand had left a red mark, the Innkeeper leant her head right back against the side of the window seat, letting it loll slightly to one side so she was looking up and out at the sky. The stars had gone in now, and the sky was alight with the beautiful hues of the slightly cloud streaked sky, impatiently awaiting the sun as it came up over the horizon, letting the light of the new day pour like liquid wonder over the Shire. But it wasn't Rohan.

Letting her legs fall from the window seat over the side, Aman turned away from the window into her room, standing with a sigh whilst rubbing the errant sleep from one green eye. The night had passed all too quickly, and with it the dream, the dream of Meldo, the beautiful bay, her pride and joy. A wild one he had been, one of the geldings who roamed, untrained, across the plains until one of the horse masters dared to try to capture them. Her first stallion...

Shaking her head, Aman began to prepare for the day. The dream had been too brief, it was true, but maybe it was better that it hadn't come at all.

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik woke with the rising sun. He did not remember his dreams, much less if he had had one. No, there had been a dream, of an Elf woman, fair and kind, no, and angel who was fire beneath flesh. Falowik stretched and discovered a blanket wrapped around him. No. It had not been a dream. Uien. She had been real, kneeling before him, offering this very blanket. No, she had offered more than the blanket: the fire inside to heal and make whole, but first to scrub raw. He had not been ready for that. He had no plan to be ready for such a thing any time soon.

There was soap. He could smell it. He had made a promise. He would see it through, even if he stood off from her today. He rose, bundled everything up, and went down to the stream. It was a cool breezy morning. It was a secluded spot Uien had told him of. He had to just about peel the clothes from his back, and decided that they needed a good washing, too. He pulled out the soap and went to work.

After the suds had washed downstream, he peered at his reflection and saw what he had not seen for years: a clean face, though marred by stubble, and golden hair, the color of yellow fire. So had he been born, and so had he been named: Falowik, gold fire. It didn't look all that bad. He turned from his reflection, blurred as it was by the current, found a round rock, and rubbed at his shirt and trousers with soap in one hand and rock in the other. The grime sloughed into the stream and flowed away.

He heard someone singing lightly nearby. He left off scrubbing sunk to his neck in the water, backing to the bank, hoping not to be seen.

[Elora]

She could smell soap, and she smiled. He had promised and Falowik was a man of his word as well as the honesty she had sensed the night before. She heaved the filled buckets and emptied them one by one into the trough to fill it, a smile on her face despite the weight. A burden made light by something ephemeral. The sky was rosy overhead, delicate streaks of colour stretching through the lightening sky. The clearing Falowik was in would be beautiful by that light, she thought as she emptied the last bucket. She was pleased he would enjoy it as she had.

Uien continued to sing as she moved through her tasks. She also recalled how nervous she had been of discovery. A private man, Falowik would not be at all pleased with the thought that she was about to intrude. Still the thought brought an amused twitch to her lips. Next to be done was the feed bins in the day pasture. She emptied grain into a wheelbarrow and wheeled it out with a shovel resting atop.

The bins which hung from the fence rafters were filled in short order, Uien's song shifting into a new one. Birds added their voices. They knew when the grain was set out at the Green Dragon.

"This is not for you," Uien said to the watching birdlife. A crow alighted on the fence, fat and glossy black and studied her. "Don't take too much then," she cautioned it as it cocked its head. The empty wheelbarrow was wheeled back and the now impatient horses were eager to see the birds did not steal their breakfast.

She lead them by halters to the pasture, the birds reluctantly winging away except for the bold crow who cawed as a horse snorted at it, oblivious to the blast of warm expelled air. The birds were replaced by horses, whose heads filled the bins. She'd have to wait until they'd had their fill and refill them a little later in the day.

For now, she latched the gate and dusted off her dress. The trough was the closest water, the stream being already occupied. As she passed nearby on her way to the trough, where water sparkled and invited her to wash her hands, she smiled.

"Good morning, Sir Falowik," she called lightly. "I hope your tree guarded you well last night." She wondered if he frowned or smiled as she plunged her arms into the trough to wash the grain and horses away. Nearby the stubborn crow continued to watch her, as though she very well might produce some grain from nowhere. A row of horses swished their tails in pleasure as they ate the grain. It cawed at her as she splashed water in the dawn light.

"May I not even have the trough, Master crow," she inquired. "You had the grain bins, and Falowik the stream." The crow watched, eyes bright and dark, beak sharp and agile. It cawed again, as if by reply.

"I most certainly have gone mad, talking to birds as I do. Then again, I do sing to horses," Uien mused aloud, shaking her head and splashing water on her face. She straightened, turning to watch the sky continue to lighten, she wondered what golden-haired Falowik made of the dawn and of people who spoke to birds and sang to horses. The crow cawed again.

Uien picked up her song as she drew clean morning air into her lungs and embraced the day and whatever it would hold, the clean herbal scent of soap drifting to her with the rememberance of a too brief yet warm touch. As she stood, it occured to her that it would be poor indeed to allow the road to claim Falowik on an empty stomach, if indeed the road would claim him that day.

A fluttering of dismay waved through her at the thought. No, it simply would not do. Uien took a breath and ventured cautiously towards the nearby clearing. There was silence, no splashing.

"Falowik," she called softly. Had he already left, without so much as a word? He owed her nothing, Uien well knew, but still she hoped he had not left. Hoping she was not speaking to fresh air, with her gaze trained on a spray of foliage immediately before her lest it wander to something else, Uien pushed on.

"Breakfast will be ready soon. You're more than welcome to join me if you wish." Uien heard silence and the trickle of the stream as it wandered between its banks. "Cook's making sweet buns. They're very good," she added by way of reassurance.

Uien studied the fern leaf in the pool of sunlight in which she stood intently. Perhaps she was mad, intruding as she was if Falowik was there or else inviting the uninhabited trees to breakfast. Sweet buns and lunacy. There were worse fates for an Elf, Uien mused and she smiled faintly at the thought. Valinor, for example, held no Falowik nor an inn named the Green Dragon. Perhaps she was fortunate to have become lost when she was.

It was a new thought for Uien. Until that moment, she had accounted the events of her interrupted journey to the Grey Havens as misfortunate ones. Certainly, some experiences that arose were ones she did not care to repeat. But then, some she found she had a liking for, such as the one right now.

"I'll wait for you by the well, Sir Falowik" she offered and started to turn away and leave the sunny patch that she had stood in as her mind took its wandering path, darting through memories like a silvery minnow in the tide.

[ August 21, 2003: Message edited by: Elora ]

[Tinuviel of Denton]

Reynion groaned. His head was near bursting, what with the irrepressible Morlathion pressing ale on him most of the evening, and his own desire to escape the memories of the ruin of Greenwood. It had taken a great deal longer for him to go under than usual, perhaps because it was Shire ale, and not Dorwinion wine. His leg was lying on the floor, and he distractedly wondered just how it had gotten there.

He looked around. Morlathion seemed to have disappeared sometime ago, for there was only an overturned mug to mark that the so-clumsy elf had ever been there. This morning, that was how Reynion preferred it anyway. If he'd had any real friends, they would likely flee in from his mood when he woke with a hangover. Still, the headache (he did not get sick, thank Elbereth) would serve to keep his mind off of the faces of the elves who had died when Greenwood fell.

He bent over to reattach his wooden leg, and nearly knocked his head against the bar. He sat up slowly, careful not to jar his head anymore than it already was, then bent again to reach the polished wood. The leather straps didn't seem to want to go into the buckles, and he was seeing double. It looked like it was going to be one of those days.

[Imladris]

The comforting words of Esgallhugwen did relieve Lira's concern a little. The singing of another Elf maiden further drove the shadows away...what was her name? Lira had heard it once before when it had been uttered casually. It was Uien. Lira flushed a little when she realized that she had never once gone over and spoken to the elf maiden. She would have to do it, when Uien was not so busy. Lira sighed as she sensed something, as if Uien was deep upon the path of memories, both good and bad.

As Lira glided toward the inn, Esgallhugwen by her side, the ugly elf wondered what she would say to the Innkeeper. She was frought with indecision, whether she should leave the inn and seek her parents at the Grey Havens, or help the Innkeeper. Lira muttered in irritation as she realized that she still didn't know the Innkeeper's name. Ah well.

Suddenly, Lira knew what she would do and a happy, though almost a sad sort of smile, flitted across her face. She would ask the Innkeeper if she could stay for a few weeks and help and, when the inn had a lull in the customers and was not so busy, she would depart for the Grey Havens.

She saw Aman coming down the stairs, ready to begin the duties of the day, and Lira quickly intercepted her. "Mistress Innkeeper," she said, hoping the Innkeeper would not be bothered with her persistent offers of help, "do you have anything that Esgallhugwen and I could do to help you in any way?"

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman, coming down the stairs, winced as the man lying on the floor jarred his head on the bar, one of his legs seeming to be twisted at an impossible angle. Ah, no, his was a wooden one, she remembered seeing it last night. But how had she managed to miss him when clearing up last night? Guiltily, the Innkeeper remembered walking along the path and through the grass nearby with Beren, talking and laughing, kicking up the dew - she hadn't exactly been vigilant about the Inn...

She was about to go and help, whether with kind words, a helping hand, or a thrown bucket of water she hadn't decided, when the door opened - a mystery, as it should have been locked. Yes, Aman distinctly remembered locking the door...ah, Uien must have gone out in the early morning or something.

The elf, who she recognised as Lira, the elven girl who had complimented her on her horse-handling skills the night before, nodded to her politely, and Aman returned it. Esgalhugwen, beside her (looking much better than the last time Aman had seen her, lying pale and gasping in a bed upstairs, tended to by Vanwe), did the same. The Innkeeper grinned despite herself - they were like a couple of hens, bobbing the farmyard.

"Mistress Innkeeper," Lira paused, apparently psyching herself up, and due to her nervous expression, Aman decided not to interject that she didn't have to call her that every time, as it might further put her off. Lira seemed to take a deep mental breath before continuing quickly, "do you have anything that Esgallhugwen and I could do to help you in any way?"

Aman clicked her fingers, irritated - not with Lira, but with herself. She had, once again, forgotten, what with all that had happened last night. The girl seemed instantly to deflate, and seemed about to bid her a good morning and leave, so Aman spoke hastily.

"No, no, nothing like that. In fact, I think I was about to reply last night, before all the kerfuffle - no offence meant, of course," she addressed the last mark to Esgalhugwen, who smiled obligingly. Lira looked slightly less nervous, but not much. "I talked to Cook - sorry, that's Ms Vinca Bunce, works here also - about this, and it turns out I could actually do with a hand, although I'm not sure it would be enough for two extra sets of hands. I very recently came back from the Prancing Pony, in Bree, and have procurred several wines - there is a celebration coming up, the naming ceremony of the previous Innkeeper's two newborns...but there are also years of old wines still down in the cellar. Now, it would take me several solid weeks - and Eru knows how many flattening hangovers," shd added with a grin. "- to get all of them tasted, classified, and labled. It would be good to have some help in that quarter. Oh, and one of the waitresses is going away for a few days, so help there would be appreciated as well. Also...actually, yes, also, there is the matter of a set of rooms which need to be refurbished upstairs for Pio - that's the previous Innkeeper - when she comes. What do you say?"

She paused, watching Lira's features, then clicked her fingers again, remembering what else she had meant to say. "Oh yes - and the name is Aman." She added with a grin.

[Nerindel]

As the new day began, a tall and slender elven woman rode into the courtyard of the Green dragon inn, her shoulder length golden hair shone with the light of the suns first rays. "I think we will stop here today friend," she whispered to the grey elven mare, patting its neck lovingly.

She dismounted and lead Lintaer to the stables, the stable doors where closed she looked at the mare and shrugged. There was a bucket and some hay next to the hitching post outside the stable. She hitched Lintaer and taking the bucket she looked around for somewhere to fill it, on a small hill next to the inn see saw a well. "I'll just get you some water," she smiled stroking the mares fine silvery mane, she laughed lightly as the mare muzzled her affectionately.

She skipped lightly across the courtyard swinging the empty bucket in her left hand, whistling lightly as she went. Kneeling down on the damp morning grass she gently lowered the wooden bucket attached to the well, once filled she pulled it back up and emptied it into the larger metal one she had brought from the courtyard, she lowered the smaller bucket once more and used the cool fresh water within to wash away the dirt and grim of her journey, as she did her hand traced the thin pink line across the left cheek of her dark weathered, but delicate face. She shuddered as the memories of the mission that had brought her the scar flashed through her mind and memory of the elf who could never look on her without the torment of the same mission plaguing him, stood out sorely in her mind. she missed him so, and her heart ached to see him, but she had not seen him since he left Mirk...no she would never call it that, Greenwood shortly after the great war. a single tear fell down her cheek, she brushed it away and pushed those fateful memories to the back of her mind.

Then lifting the now heavy bucket she slowly made her way back to Lintaer. The mare lightly nickered her thanks, She smiled and affectionately scratched the mares ear. "Now to see to myself she laughed, I will be by later to see if you are housed comfortably, now be nice to the stable staff she winked jovially, The mare snorted and stamped a hoof as if offended by her words. With one last loving pat, she made her way to the inn.

She paused at the door, wondering what this day would bring. and with a deep breath she pushed open the door and made her way to the common room. She removed her dusty cloak and hung it on a peg next to the door and made her way to the bar, adjusting the strap on her herb satchel she perched herself gracefully on a stool in front of the bar.

"Can I get you anything!" a middle aged, stern looking, hobbit woman asked. She smiled warmly and asked "if it was possible for her to get a room in the inn?" "Of course, of course!" the hobbit woman now grinned, pushing a large guest book in front of her and handing her a beautiful blue quill, She delicately scrolled the letters of her name 'Taurëwen'. "Good, Good" the hobbit woman nodded taking both the quill and book, placing them back under the bar and handing her a medium sized dragon headed brass key. "up the stairs and second on the left, but I hope you will stay down for breakfast" the hobbit woman said eyeing her up and down although she thought the slender elf didn't eat. "That would be lovely," she smiled " I Should make you aware that I do not eat meat, but anything else would be fine" she smiled earnestly as the woman's face again seemed stern. "And can I get you anything to drink" the woman asked politely, "Elder flower tea if you have some" she smiled hopefully. The woman's stern look again fell away at the unusual request, but she grinned proudly and said "yes, I do" Have a seat and make yourself comfortable and I will have someone bring your breakfast.

Taurëwen nodded her thanks and turned to find a table, her eyes widen and her heart skipped a beat as she came face to face with the elf she only moments ago thought about ..... Rey she whispered, tilting her head slightly making sure it was really him and not a figment of her imagination.

[Tinuviel of Denton]

Reynion mentally traced the patterns in the wood of the counter top in a futile attempt to get his mind off of his headache. It wasn't working. The patterns blurred and shifted, seeming to rearrange themselves into new ones. It made his eyes hurt. He shook his head, and rubbed his temples. Someone seemed to whisper his name and he turned, expecting to see Esgallhugwen or Lira, or even no one at all. Instead, he saw Taurewen.

She looked exactly as he remembered her, but he had the feeling that he didn't exactly fit the image she would have carried. It had been years of nightmares, and years of drinking in futile attempts to expunge those nightmares. He knew that he must look haggard and worn. Unconciously, he tried to straighten, to look less weary and more like the confident elf she'd first known.

Eru, why is she here now? I must look terrible, I haven't been sleeping well, I haven't been eating, what must she think of me? he thought, somewhat panicked. He blinked several times, trying to make certain that his eyes were not playing tricks on him.

"Tau-Taurewen?" he managed. "Is it really you, or am I delirious?"

[Beren87]

Beren lay in bed, his head pounding with pain. He had heard the sqwak of the roosters, at sun-up, knowing he should be out there tending to the garden. But somehow the noise had thrown a goose-downed pillow over his head, instead of trousers on his backside. The sun beamed in the open window, alerting his eyes to the cloudless day outside.

"Now I remember why I don't drink Ale..." he muttered to himself, shielding his eyes from the blinding light.

He arose from the bed finally, knowing he'd have to work double to do as much as he should before lunch. Yet the memories of the night before, flashing through his mind, were more then enough compensation for any labor throughout the day. He could almost feel the dew-laden grass, could almost hear the sweet sound of her laughter...

Except, his head pounded at the memory of any laughter, as the ales he had drank in celebration to himself struck back back with a vengance. He groaned as he dressed, his eyes squinting to see. He was certainly going to need coffee this morning, if he was ever going to get moving.

[ August 23, 2003: Message edited by: Beren87 ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman heard a muffled thump behind her, then a slow groan. Beren was up then. Turning, a cup of coffee, prepared in anticipation of this, in her hands to face the man who stood, rubbing his head, on the stairs.

Approaching, she held out the coffee, and he took it gratefully. "Good mornng, Beren," She said softly, so as not to hurt his head. The gardener murmured something in return as he sipped his coffee, sitting on a stool at the bar to drink it. Aman couldn't help but grin slightly as she turned away to take tje order of the next customer who had come to the bar the order breakfast - seems none of the men who stayed long term in the Green Dragon were able to get by completely without a hangover.

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik worked the rock and soap on his trousers, close to ripping the fabric, for the heat in his mind found its way to his arms. The beauty of the morning went unnoticed by Falowik as he raged and mulled, his eyes upon his chore.

She had to know he had no money for breakfast, sweet buns or hamshanks or what have you. Why 'Sir Falowik'? There was nothing about him that could suggest nobility. She had seen him for what he was, a needful, beggarly excuse of a man, and had given him things of her own. It meant that he was in her debt twice over: once for having taken things unpaid for; second for allowing her to know him in ways she could use to her advantage. He had bought trouble. The 'Sir Falowik' was a smear. It had to be. How else could he explain the lances of hot irritation he felt within upon hearing the name? But she had shown nothing but kindness, or so it had seemed to him in his weakness. What enchantment had she cast over him? He would have to be more careful.

And how was it that she came so near on this morning with him at such a disadvantage? What purpose did she hold in secret? I'll wait for you by the well, Sir Falowik Why? He could leave and never return and so be free of all this new trouble. No, he could not leave; he owed her too much.

Falowik finished cleaning his clothes, climbed out of the stream, dried, and clothed himself, and walked slowly, reluctantly, to the well to pay a little bit on his debt.

Uien was not at the well. A sigh of relief escaped him. He brought up the water filled bucket and cupping his hand, drank his fill. It might be all he filled his stomach with until he could find what little the earth offered to one whose eyes were trained to it.

"Good morning, Sir Falowik," said a voice lightly behind him. It was her. Rage at the falseness of the title lanced inside him like a hot knife. He steeled himself.

"Good morning, Lady." He turned and faced her, his own face set hard. Her smile was open and free, her bearing glad and winsome. At first. The smile left her eyes and lips, though she kept a semblance of it in place.

"I see the soap's virtue has done its weal upon you. Your hair is gold to match your name. Falowik. 'Malnar' in my speech." She seemed made of human flesh today, not at all a being of fire. Perhaps it was the power of the sun. Or maybe the night had brought an enchantment.

"I am in your debt, Lady. Name a way I can repay you." The semblance of a smile disappeared and her brow furrowed.

"You owe me nothing."

"You gave me a bundle from your possessions." Her eyes dimmed with disappointment, Falowik supposed. "And you know of me as no other does." Her eyes filled with compassion; he did not want that from her. She took a step toward him, her hand reaching to touch his arm. He backed away. She stopped and gazed at him, then let out a breath that seemed like a resignation.

"If pay me you must-" she lifted up her arms to the sky and turned one full circle "-then delight in the day! Let that be your payment."

"It changes nothing." His voice was harsh. He turned away from her, in the direction of the front doors of the Inn.

[Imladris]

Lira smiled in gratitude at the jobs Aman had offered her and, as soon as Aman was done serving the guests, said, "Thank you for your offer. I would be glad to sort the wines" -- sorting the wines in Thranduil's halls flashed through her mind -- "and I would not mind waitressing and making the room for Pio, unless Esgallhugwen would like to do some of those duties. Where is the wine?"

Aman led her into the room and Lira gazed with delight upon the many barrels of wine, all waiting to be sorted and tasted. As she tasted the first, a warmth kindled in her blood and tingled her toes.

Sorting was a happy chore, for it gave one time to be alone, to think of the world in general, and to meditate upon a problem. Lira went to it with a good will, very happy that she did not get drunk easily. She remembered the fun she had had with the other elves who helped with the wine business, the splash of water as they pushed the empty barrels into the rushing water that carried it down to the men of Dale. That was such a long time, when she still had lived in Mirkwood, when the thirteen dwarves had been there...when she had been very young.

[Envinyatar]

‘You look like you been ground up in Sandyman’s Old Mill,’ said Cook, pushing the sugared bun back toward him, glaring all the while. He picked it up and took a small bite to satisfy her, but she was having none of his mannish tricks. ‘I know you’re not going to rest like you should, so get some food in your belly to carry you along, you stubborn fool.’ She watched while he went through the motions of eating, his mind leagues away.

The bun finished, she poured him another cup of strong tea with honey, and laid a plateful of scrambled eggs in front of him. ‘Go on,’ she chided, ‘Beren collected those eggs from the hens just yesterday. You wouldn’t want to waste the fruits of his labors, would you?’

Her mothering was having the desired effect on him. He finished up the eggs. His appetite picking up halfway through the plate, he also managed a rasher of crisp Shire bacon, two slices of toast with thick strawberry jam, and a slice of melon. Sitting back in his chair, a fresh cup of tea cradled in his hands, he gave her the ghost of a smile. ‘No need to thank me,’ she said, sipping on a cup of her own. ‘Things always look better on a full stomach . . . leastways that’s what my Gran always told me, and I’ve always found it so.’

Soon, she was back at the stove, making platters of eggs and bacon for the guests at the Inn and directing Ruby and Buttercup in the making of toast and cutting up more melon. Derufin took the opportunity of this activity to slip out the back door. Buttercup winked at him as he did so, and cleared his dishes away with a wave of her hand.

It was too late to sleep now, or so he reasoned as he made his way to the stable. Uien had been up, he noted, and taken care of the horses. ‘Thank the stars,’ he thought to himself, ‘that her wandering feet brought her here!’

He stopped at the pump in the yard and drew himself a bucket of water for washing. No sense in inflicting the aftermath of his night’s hard ride on any who came near him. The sun was warm on the east side of the stable, and he was hidden from any who might come into the yard by a hedgerow that shielded him from view of those coming in from the pathway to the Inn. Stripping his shirt off, he bathed himself, washing away the dust from the road and the layer of sweat from his ride. His hands, as he soaped his face, brought him the message that he needed a shave. He reached in the open window of his room and grabbed the kit bag on the table near his bed. ‘I’ll have to do this blind,’ he chuckled to himself, hoping the razor would be kind enough to spare him any nicks. And indeed, there was only one tussle with the blade, and that near the small scar on the left of his jaw. And it was small, and quickly stanched with pressure. As a last measure he washed his hair. His old shirt stood in as towel and he dried himself off, pulling his clean hair back at the last with a thin leather cord.

Finished, he dumped the water along the hedgerow, and rinsing the bucket, left it to stand near the pump for someone else’s use. ‘I’ll wash this later,’ he told himself, rolling his dirty shirt into a ball and tossing it in a corner as he returned to his room to put on clean clothes.

Uien had been there, he noted. Picking up the star from the table he turned it carefully in his hands. What a gift she has . . . is . . . he amended, setting it next to the crane. He looked at his own rough hands and sighed, thinking how clumsy they were in comparison. Still, they are what I have, and they will have to do, won’t they?

Dressed, and ready for the new day, Derufin inspected the horses for any needs. The Inn pony had thrown a shoe, and he replaced it with a new one, giving Nettle an apple from the basket for good behavior. Satisfied, there was nothing more urgent, he retrieved his own carvings from under his cot and went out to the yard, to sit on the bench beneath the great tree.

The sturdy little wooden ship was finished, her mainsail bearing the pennant of the six-pointed star, affixed with linen thread borrowed from Ruby. In her hold were the figures of the crew he remembered from her stories, and some of the creatures she had spoken of they had met on their travels. Though often, he recalled, she had been exceedingly vague, as Elves can be, on the details of those encounters.

Taking out his knife, he began roughing in the outlines for the two of the last three figures he wanted to do. The smell of fragrant cedar shavings curled around his boots and clung to his lap as he worked. A boy of twelve years he thought, smiling to himself, just on the edge of young manhood . . . and his twin sister, her mother’s beauty already shining from the features of her face.

Lost in thought, and the feel of the wood as it turned in his hands, the cares of the day slipped away with the passing hours.

[piosenniel]

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img] NOTICE OF NEW GAME OPENING [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img] ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The Lingering Darkness – Ealasaid, Elora, Nerindel, Snowdog

The Discussion Thread for this Game is open now to take on characters.

Check it out HERE

Please read the proposal carefully, see what characters are needed, and craft a well thought out Character Description and a First Post for the Game.

Should be an intriguing and interesting game!

~*~ Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[ August 23, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

Sighing, Novardaion looked up at the sign of the Green Dragon. Looking disapointed he looks inside to see many hobbits hving a jolly time as they are drinking their ale. He sighs again.

"another country inn, I wish I was back home"

He thought back to the golden forest of Lothlorien, where he was merry and didn't have to travel the land alone. Having been accused for stealing jewerelly from the lady of the wood Galadriel he was banished for life.

He walked up to the bar and took a seat.

"A pint of your best ale barman"

[Dynaviir]

Dynaviir turned in his bed. The heat, unbearable, screamed at him, warning him to turn back. But he couldn't, not now. It was too far. This had to end now.

"S-Show yourself, you coward!"

The flame shined on his sword as he stood on the cliff. His sweat dripped from his forehead. He could barely move. He watched in terror as the beast rose before him, eyes like diamonds. He clutched his pendant with his free hand. This was it. If he failed now, all hope was lost.

He gaped in awe at the size of the fangs, at the red, scaly skin, unpiercable, and indestructable. The flame roared all around him. The creature rose up in front of him, and roared Fire, heat and intensitypoured down onto him. He dived to his right, bearly missing the flame. The heat burned him and he screamed. He fell down. His sword was burning, but he couldn't let go.

Then suddenly, out of the flames, a woman screamed. Somehow all the energy he had returned to him, and he leapt up. Just between the flames, somewhere, the women's eyes stared at him, fixated. He stared at her, horrified, as she burned.

He lifted himself and ran towards her. This was all for her. He couldn't live with himself. He had to save her.

He leapt off the rock and dived into the flames. The heat burned him, but he didn't light. He landed twleve feet below and kept running. He ran towards her.

"HANG ON!!" he screamed. "DON'T DIE!! NOT NOW!!"

She screamed in pain as the flames burned her alive. He ran to her and wrapped his arms around her. He couldn't bear this. Tears ran from his eyes as he stared through the blackness into her eyes, shining clearer and wet with tears. She cried, and she couldn't stop. Suddenly, she let go. She couldn't hold on anymore. The flame pulled her away. He screamed as he watched her figure engulfed in the blackness, ripped apart and pulled away. She reached out to him, screaming his name, tears flowing wildly. He ran for her, but she was too far. And then she fell, and was ash, and she spoke no more.

He stared in terror at where she had stood, and then he closed his eyes and screamed. Then suddenly, the flames took him. He choked. And in the darkness that ensued, he looked above him. Two naked figures, cloaked only in the night, stared down at him, laughing, with cruel voices. And then slowly, one of them sank down to him in the flames, and stared at him, smiling. Dynaviir fell back, the ground gave way. He knew who it was. And as he fell, he watched again as the images of the dying woman tore his mind apart.

Then Dynaviir woke in his bed. Panting, sweating. He realised he held the pillow, so tightly by his side, close to him. His eyes were wide and the pillows were wet. He reached out to his chest and grabbed his pendant. He pulled it to him. And then he collapsed, and he wept with sorrow.

[ August 23, 2003: Message edited by: Dynaviir ]

[Elora]

Uien recognised something painful in Falowik's face as he told her that nothing had been changed. She knew that longing and how bitterly it can twist all that follows in its wake. She knew what it was like to be trapped by circumstance and woe. Before she could practice caution or wisdom, she was speaking as her thoughts unfolded within her. Gone was the earlier good cheer. It was a fragile thing that faded in the face of other weights, her own and otherwise.

"I am sorry, Falowik. There is much I would change were I able," Uian said in a voice low and sorrowful. The stench of burning flesh arose as she stood there, the screech of iron and orcs, the bite of their fingers, the pain, endless pain there in the darkness beneath the mountains...

"What would you have changed," she asked, for surely if there was a way to lessen a burden he carried by way of remedy for the offence she had caused, she would do it. Uien raised her gaze from the grass by the well to where Falowik stood, frozen. He spun, face hard still and anger stamped on his face. Uien was still too lost to know her peril. She had seen faces stamped with such anger before, yet she did not stop herself now.

Falowik was presented with the rawness of her words. She was the same Elf, but what lay beneath the surface had slipped free in the morning light. Her eyes were windows of torment escaped from and yet not left behind. Belatedly Uien came to realise what she had said and she pressed fingers that shook slightly across her lips to stem the flow of words. Falowik was frowning at her.

"Who are you," he asked of her in a strained voice.
"It does not matter. Noone," she said softly, shaking her head as if she could forget it all. She dropped her hand to her side and her eyes to the grass once more. It was hard now to form the words, but she did.

"If I have caused you offence with my impertinence, good sir, then accept my humble apology. I will do all that I may and all that you permit to redress..." Uien dared but a brief glance up to meet Falowik's gaze, stricken as she was. "I... I have to go. I have troubled you too much," she whispered.

With that, Uien sketched a humble curtsy as best she could in her worn dress and all but fled to the stables, hair streaming behind her like a pennant on the wind. Uien blindly grabbed the nearest broom and began to frantically sweep the nearest stall, a veritable whirling storm of frenetic activity - anything to keep the other things at bay. Dust rose in a cloud around her, old straw scattered hither and thither, as she pushed it away with her broom urgently.

Uien paid little heed to the progress she was making nor to the tear of regret that traced a lonely path down a flushed cheek. In the midst of the cloud of rising debris, Uien murmured a single statement that barely floated over the sound of her sweeping out of the stable doors.

"Foolish as you are, it is no small wonder they left you behind." Many things could be changed, but that was one truth that could not be altered no matter how many times she tried to pull or prod at it or tear it apart. No matter if she buried it under another layer of dust or if she forgot for am=n all too brief sweet moment on a moonlit night.

[ August 24, 2003: Message edited by: Elora ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

After an hour and a bit of labelling and checking the first few shelves in the wine cellar (which seemed, in a twisty way, to extend backwards or down forever - Aman and Lira could only hope there weren't beverages stacked all the way back!), they stopped for a break, and were about to go upstairs to Cook to see if they could find a snack for elevenses - a tradition in the Shire which, both agreed, was not a bad one.

Aman put down the bottle of fine red 1425 from Buckland with a sigh, after redoing its label on parchment in her spidery black handwriting and securing it onto the bottle. Smiling at Lira, she straightened up, and was about to ask the elf is she was ready, before a cry, muffled by the floor, hit her ears. Lira didn't seem to have noticed particularly, humming a soft tune to herself, but Aman held up a hand.

"Listen," she murmured. Lira looked up, inclining her head, and sure enough, a moment later another cry came. This time Aman was almost able to distinguish words, but because of the well-carpeted and thick floors of the Inn, she wasn't quite able to understand them.

The sound had come from straight above them, and without another word, the Innkeeper gathered up her skirts and ran as fast as she could while trying not to slip up the narrow stairs, past the bar, ignoring the bemused look of Cook and Esgalhugwen, who Aman had sent to cook to give her something to do, and up the main stairs. She walked silently down the corridor, listening to any noise, and sure enough, there it was a sleepy muttering, then a gasp, coming from a room on her right.

Aman knocked carefully on the door. "Excuse me, sir, are you alright?"

Inkeeper's comment: Novardaion, welcome to the Downs, and to the Dragon, but the Innkeeper is Aman, a young woman from Rohan. Note to all: I will be away for a week until next Sunday. Thankyou

[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 early to mid morning (breakfast is still being served) of a pleasant mid-summer day in the Shire.

[piosenniel]

Nazgul

Please check your PM's (Private Messages).

~~ Pio, Shire Moderator

_____________________________________________

A reminder for everyone:

It is a pleasant morning to mid morning in the Shire on a mid-summer day

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik watched the Elf woman flee to the stables. You fool, thinking only of your debts! He had caused her pain and seen it in her eyes and by her shaking hand at her lips for that brief moment. An urge had arisen suddenly in him to declare all wrongs righted, all debts paid. He would rise to her aid and protection, to shield her from all the evils of the world. Fool, useless fool! Banish yourself to the wilderness, the sooner the better!

"No, fair one, you have not troubled me too much," he said so that only the breeze could hear, "only I could do that." He thought to run to the stable after her. He could not, for he had already made a ruin of any good thing that might have been, and he could not face her now. If only things could be different. So spoke his heart, though his mind could not form the words so. Instead, her words came back to him: What would you have changed? He did not know. The past was dead and gone. Himself he could not change. His life as a wanderer was fixed, once this trouble with the captured man was dealt with.

No.

Something was changed. He realized it the moment he came to himself and discovered that he stood yet by the well, staring into the stable. He had found a Light, and it was in the stable, and it was all the Light he knew. It had given him warmth where before had been a heart made of ice. And he cared about that Light as he had cared for nothing in years. Who are you? He had his answer already. She was Light. But now he was hungry to learn who this being was that came to him as Light, little knowing that she did, holding such power for hope, fragile as a day lily?

I will do all that I may and all that you permit to redress. He would permit anything that she thought of. He owed her that much, and gladly. She would come nigh again, and he would let her shine; maybe he could find ways to blow upon the coals, as it were, that she might shine the brighter.

He walked to the front doors of the Inn with a lightened step, and went inside. He still had no coin. Maybe he could offer to work for his food? He would see about that. And there was the matter of the man Eodwine, and his finding, and of clearing his own name of suspicion in that regard, though that meant less to Falowik than it had. What meant more was seeing that Light, and if it could be, making it so that she shone bright when he was near.

You old fool, he said to himself lightly, thinking of anyone in this way. But his heart was light with it, for his purpose was good and laid upon one other than himself, which it had not been for many a year.

He walked up to the bar and waited for the eye of one of those who worked here to land upon him.

[Esgallhugwen]

Esgallhugwen was guided gently inside the kitchen by Aman to see if Cook could give her some work to do. Lira and Aman had gone down to the winecellar for a while until a cry broke out up above.

Esgallhugwen looked a little bewildered as Aman raced up the stairs to see what was wrong.

Horrid images raced through her head at the cry. 'Fire!' Esgallhugwen uttered, Cook gave her an odd stare. Fire, she shuddered, lucky for her the fire in her room had been only a small Hobbit fire or she would not have gone near it. A large fire would not suit her at all, too many memories, the pyre that her home had become and the orcs used large fires to heat their blades and other torture devices... slashing her and beating her with the hot crude metal. Aside... aside, push it back, beat it back with the light!

Going back to the Inn kitchen, she stood by Cook waiting patiently to see if she had any duties that Esgallhugwen would be more than happy to help out. She needed something to keep her mind busy.

[Elora]

Uien let the rake rest in her grip and looked around the stable interior. The clean, sweet and simple scent of fresh straw wafted upon the air. She could hear the steady, rhythmic sounds of a knife on wood nearby. Derufin was carving, she realised, whilst she was out making all manner of noise. At least she had not disturbed him and that was a small comfort.

Also, the stable was cleaned and the fodder baskets for the night were stocked and waiting. There was nothing more to be done. She could not hide and skulk inside the stables any longer. Even this foolishness had to end. Uien replaced the rake and dared to venture back out into the sunlight of the Inn yard. Falowik was nowhere to be seen. This did not please her, even given her earlier impertinence, boldness, insensativity...

The list of wrongs rolled through her mind. Uien sighed and looked over to the tree that had watched over him during the night. Falowik had folded the blanket carefully and lodged it in the branches. Perhaps he was not gone afterall, Uien wondered. No, for he was a rare honest man and he would return the blanket to someone. Uien's spirit lightened a little.

She gazed up at the inn until her gaze was captured by the garden bed that ran along the porch on both sides of the front steps. Lavender, daisies, tulips and daffodils all nodded, but they were not alone. Adventurous grass had made forays into the bed, and the grass was not the only explorers trespassing. The idea of soil around her fingers was immensely appealing to Uien. The gift of nurturing life was so scarcely given, and Uien had seen too much of it robbed from the world.

Soon enough, Uien was on her knees before the outer corner of one garden bed. Her deft fingers worked nimbly as she tended the plants and soil. It had been her mother's habit to sing to the plants. Perhaps, for all Uien knew, her mother did so in Eldamar. What plants must grow there, round glittering Tirion? She did not know that either, and perhaps never would.

The Elf woman began to sing her mother's song to the flowers of the Green Dragon Inn, and to it's tidy hedges and vines that draped the porch rail posts. The sun was warm on her head and back as she worked and the morning was serene. Her thoughts untangled and smoothed further.

It was as she was tending a golden daisy bush that Uien paused. She cupped the bright blooms in her hand. "Laureä," she murmured, for the blooms were golden like Falowik's name and appearance. An idea for a beginning to the redress she owed him began to form. Uien picked a spray and rose, dusting soil from her skirts where she had been kneeling.

She crossed to the tree with the blanket nestled in its boughs like fruit. There she laid the spray of flawless blooms on the blanket. A beginning and a promise that she would somehow mend her error. Uien brushed the petals with the tips of her fingers gently, smiled at them and then returned to the garden. There was much to do and she had much to think on.

Onwards Uien went, singing as she bent over the garden, tending this and then that, smoothing the soil and soothing that which grew within it. By the time she had worked her way across the length of the garden beds, Uien felt a little calmer. It was easier to push the darkness aside in the sunshine of the morning. In the evening, there were the stars she so loved and the night.

Between now and then, she had to eat and find the hobbit that had accompanied Falowik. There was something she needed to say to the fellow that may also ease Falowik's lot after the trouble she had seemingly added to it. Uien stood, brushed the dirt from her fingers and wondered how to determine where Falowik's suspicious hobbit companion had bunked for the night.

"In the hobbit sized rooms," Uien murmured as she pondered. "Perhaps Aman will tell me should I ask." But, of course, to do that Uien had to venture inside. With skirts laden with soil, hands dirty, and Cooks wrath over another missed meal, Uien realised that this would prove more difficult to undertake than may appear. Besides, would the hobbit listen to anything she had to say when she looked as though she had recently rolled her way through a roadside ditch?

Uien knew that answer and she went in search of the solution. She needed to clean up in order to do anything else of value that day and that stream would serve well.

[Nerindel]

there was a moments silence where neither elf spoke but just regarded each other with uncertain eyes, then Reynion straightened slightly "Tau-Taurëwen?" he stammered slightly. "Is it you, or am I delirious?" he went on. She laughed lightly at the fact that the both thought the same thing. "No, my old friend you are not delirious" she said placing her hand on his arm to confirm that she was real and not some figment of his imagination.

"I am about to have breakfast will you not join me" she smiled hopefully. As he nodded his assent she slipped gracefully from the stool and made her way to a quiet table next to an empty open fire. As they sat down a younger hobbit than the one who had served her came up and placed in front of her a large bowl of mixed oats and fruits, drenched in ice cold milk and a plate with the plumpest blueberry muffin she had ever seen, then as the serving hobbit, placed down her tea, she inhaled deeply. She always loved the smell of freshly brewed elder flower tea.

As she looked up she saw the young hobbit woman enquiring if Reynion would like anything for breakfast. "Just coffee" he told her briskly. As she looked at him across the table a thousand questions flooded her mind; why did he leave?; why did he not say goodbye?; where had he been?; why had they had no word of him.......but as she looked into his grey eyes, she saw that his pain still lingered. "It has been a long time my friend and I have missed your company dearly" she lowered her head and filled her spoon with cereal so he could not see the pain in her eyes as she spoke.

[elf-girl-63]

Nuinyulma stepped over the threshold of the inn. It was much unlike her home in The Wood of Green Leaves where it was cool and calm. The inn was hot and almost frenzied with chatter in several different languages. The early afternoon outside was warm; but inside a fire burned gloriously as Nuinyulma made her way to the bar. Her brown hair was thick and long and it glittered in the faint light as she made her way past the staring eyes of several men.

"Excuse me, I'd like a room for a few days," she said softly to the bar maid.

"Of course, ma dear. Will you be taking lunch and supper today? And breakfast on the morrow?"

"Yes. I think so. Thank you so much."

The elven-maid left the bar to go to a corner of the bustling room where she pulled up a chair and then removed her cloak to wait for the food which had been promised. She had not long to wait and before a plate of steaming roast potatoes, vegetables and chicken was laid before her along with a note pressed into her hand which read 'Please be aware that fighting is not permitted in The Green Dragon Inn. Your room is ready just ask myself (Ruby) when you are needing it'

Nuinyulma blushed. The sight of her bow, arrows and small silver dagger had obviously caused a stir. However, ignoring the stares she quietly ate her meal, savouring every mouthful- it was a long time since she had eaten such wonderful food.

After her meal, she sat listening to the folk talking about this and that- of small importance but nonetheless interesting. She smiled quietly to herself at the sight of a man by himself at the bar was joined by an pretty maiden and two men tellign each other stories of old or discussing King Elessar and his elven queen. Eventually, her body reminded her she needed sleep after going with little for so long, so she took her empty plate back to the bar and was led up to her room by the bar maid. It was beyond her satisfactions yet Ruby still had apologised confessing iot was the smallest room they had but the only one left.

As soon as she was settled, the pretty young elf fell into a deepest sleep since she had had since leaving her home.

[ August 25, 2003: Message edited by: elf-girl-63 ]

[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 mid morning going on noon of a pleasant mid-summer day in the Shire.