The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Witch_Queen]

Cariâthwen looked at Seleven with amusement and she couldn't help but smile at the tale of adventures. "In my many years of life I have not had many adventures. I have so much life still ahead of me and I will probably spend the rest of my time wondering what would have happened if I would've left with my family." Cariâthwen went on telling Seleven about how she would spend days away from home listening to Koibur tell of his many adventures. The talk of gold and treasures amused her. "I would fall asleep beneath the star filled sky every time he would tell his stories." Cariâthwen didn't like to say that Koibur wasn't a good story teller but he would get off on a tangent about any and everything.

"When my mother decided to leave Middle Earth I was not given the pleasure of journeying with her. I was sent away, told that I must find some way to atone for my past cirmes against the elves. To my mother being friends with Koibur was a crime against her people. Plus I would never had been at home with the other elves." Cariâthwen paused looking down at her soft white hands. Her voice now seemed hollow.

Still with her vision on her hands Cariâthwen proceeded with her tale of adventure. Once her mother had left Middle Earth, Cariâthwen returned to the place she thought of as her home. Koibur had taught Cariâthwen everything about reading and speaking the other languages she might encounter on her journey. She fell asleep one night only to wake up the next morning alone. Koibur had left her a message in dwarvish runes telling her why he had left. Exploring more of the "camp" she saw that Koibur had left his favorite horse which was due to have a colt in a few more months. "I was left alone to take care of Thistle. Thistle didn't last long after she gave birth to a healthy colt."

Cariâthwen told of how she raised Thorn from a colt into the magestic creature he was now. Koibur had always said that if Thistle's colt was a male he would name it Thorn. But had the colt been female her name would had been Cari after Cariâthwen. "I have rode all over the place in search for someone to talk to. I spent the past few years on my way from Gondor where I spent time with my dear cousin." Cariâthwen finally looked up from her hands to see that Seleven's eyes were still open. "Agh! My tales must be boring you. All I know is loss and suffering. Nothing more nothing less."

[Hookbill the Goomba]

"I have rode all over the place in search for someone to talk to. I spent the past few years on my way from Gondor where I spent time with my dear cousin." Cariâthwen finally looked up from her hands to see that Seleven's eyes were still open. "Agh! My tales must be boring you. All I know is loss and suffering. Nothing more nothing less."

"Oh, not at all," said Seleven with a smile, "you've had a rough time, that is clear, but as you said, there is still so much of life left for you to live." He placed the pipe on the table and cleared his throat. "So Thorn is a horse, but with a Dwarvish name, is he? A Nice name, I like it, much better than Linú, my horse, he seems to think I'm some kind of extra baggage the way he throws me around. Good grief!" He laughed at the memories.

Cariâthwen smiled at him as he told her of these things, but Selven continued, "So, you have been to Gondor? I lived there for most of my life. Delightful country since the fall of Sauron, still a little unrest with what remain of the Haradrim, but that is so small, very few tales are told of it. I used to be a captain of a watch tower on the south of the Anduin, good solid job, very little trouble till that wretch Smilog came along." he grumbled and picked up his pipe again.

The smell of hobbit food was drifting through the air, soon, even those who were not hungry felt the need to buy some of the Green Dragon's fine food. Even Seleven felt that he should at least try it, if it tasted half as good as it smelled, then it would be fantastic. "Would you like some food?" he asked Cariâthwen with a smirk.

[Koobdooga]

The two Dwarves made their way to Ibun’s table. Ibun motioned for one of the servers to approach. ‘A pitcher of ale, if you please miss!’ he said as he gestured for Frór to take a seat. ‘We’ve got a lot of chin-wagging to do and our throats will get dry as dust.’

Buttercup came out of the kitchen with Frór’s order and looking about for him, finally spied him with Ibun. She placed his pork pie and salad before him along with a foaming mug of ale. The other server had by this time returned with their pitcher of ale and set it on the table between them.

Ibun picked up his fork and tucking his napkin into the neck of his tunic began eating again. Between mouthfuls he asked where Frór was bound; what brought him through the Shire. ‘As for me, Master Frór, I am bound for the Blue Mountains, just beyond the western boundaries of the Shire. It is said that a number of our kin have forges there. We have not heard from them in a score of years or more. It is hoped they are still alright.’

[Rune Son of Bjarne]

As soon as the pork-pie and sallad was set on the table, Frór started too shouffel down the food in a most disgusting way. But Frór could not care less, seldome had he been this hungry.

With a mouth half full of food, he replyed Ibun : Well it seems like fortune finally looks my way, for up until this very moment my jurney has been most unpleasant. You see master Ibun, I my self is heading for the Blue Mountains and quit right you are, some of our kin does have dwelings there. My cousin Náin is amongst them, but to our great greef we have not heard from him in years, but if you do not mind me asking. What do you seek ther witch you do not have allready in the glories halls of Durin?

[Folwren]

‘Wren, dear,’ Cook said, as she counted the number of bandage rolls left in chest then closed its lid securely, ‘why don’t you just go out and fetch your brother. Tell him Master Meriadoc would like to speak with him.’

‘Yes, ma’am!’ Wren said over her shoulder as she turned to go out the door. She ran as swiftly as her feet could carry her to the garden behind the inn. Tim sat among the tomatoes, one arm wrapped around his knees and his other hand working faithfully away at the stubborn weeds. Wren trotted up the path and stood beside her brother, her face beaming, and her hands clasped behind her back. He knew the stance and without looking up, spoke.

‘What?’ he asked with hardly any interest in his voice. ‘You look about ready to burst.’

‘Cook says - that is, we get - I mean, Meriadoc the stablemaster wants to talk to you!’ She turned and ran off, stopping several paces away to add over her shoulder, ‘He’s in the kitchen waiting.’ Tim sat up and stared after his sister, wondering what in the world had gotten into her. With a puzzled expression on his face, he rose and followed her to where she’d disappeared inside the Inn kitchen again. He paused outside the door and brushed his hands off as best he could and then, drawing a deep breath, entered.

‘You wanted me, sir?’ he asked , approaching the hobbit who still sat by the table.

‘Are you Tim?’ Meriadoc asked, casting a critical eye over the lad. Tim, aware that he was being sized up, lifted his head a little bit and stepped towards him.

‘Yes, sir. Tim Woodlock. Wren’s older brother. She said you wanted me.’

‘Yes. Well. I’ve had something of an accident, lad,’ the hobbit said, softened somewhat by Tim’s polite address. Tim glanced at the propped foot and back at Meriadoc’s face and the stablemaster continued. ‘Cook has pressed me to get help until I am better. Your sister here says that you know a bit about horses. Rode a lot when you were at home and helped with the farmers around. What would you think of running the stables, under my watch, until I am up on my feet again?’

Tim was speechless for a moment. He searched the hobbit’s brown eyes carefully, hardly believing his ears. ‘You mean...stay here and help?’

‘Well, you’d be doing most of the work. Cook doesn’t think I can even stand up on the blasted foot!’ Tim blinked. ‘Mind you,’ Meriadoc went on before Tim could make a proper answer, ‘it’s no easy work. There are horses coming in and out of that stable constantly.’

‘Oh, yes, sir, I understand!’ Tim said, suddenly coming to himself and finding his tongue free again. His face flushed with sudden excitement and his eyes shone. ‘I would love to! If you really need me, I think I could do it. I mean, I know a lot about horses...I can brush them and saddle them, and I know how to feed them and - and clean their stalls and all that. There was a-’ but he stopped himself and started off on another track, one more fitting, he figured. ‘Thank you very much, sir. I’ll do it for you. I’m sure I can manage it. I’ll work real hard.’

Meriadoc’s face softened to something close to a smile. ‘I’m sure you will, lad. Well, Ginger’s come up with these crutches,’ he went on, looking at the unwieldy things that were propped up next to his chair. ‘Guess I’ll get used to them while I show you the rounds.’ With a bit of Tim’s help, the stablemaster got to his feet and they went out to the stables together. Wren remained in the kitchen, for the first time since her parent’s death completely excited and happy.

[Arry]

Gil choked on his mouthful of ale, spluttering as he attempted to swallow it. He blanched at the sound of the familiar voice then red stained his cheekbones as he turned to face its source.

And there she stood, the original reason his mood had fallen so far into a funk. There she stood, unaware of the discomfort she had . . . was . . . causing him.

Wiping the foam and dribbles from his lips and chin with the sleeve of his tunic, he grinned sheepishly at her. He stood up hastily, knocking his chair over, and croaked out her name. ‘Rowan!’ The effort of talking brought on a round of coughing.

[Alcarillo]

Alcarillo had now sat for many minutes alone. Miz Greengage had run off, and so Alcarillo amused himself by watching the many visitors to the inn come and go. He was amused by great diversity of people: halflings (or as he learnt that they called themselves, hobbits), dwarves, men, and even other elves like himself. Now that the many dangers of the wild had passed with Sauron, many more travelers were on the roads, seeking adventure.

Alcarillo's mind drifted through thought after thought. I would like to visit this place again, he thought, it really is pleasant here. After a few more minutes of sitting and thinking, Alcarillo stood, and decided to bring his pen down from his room upstairs. He moved through the guests, and towards the creaky stairs. The voices faded and soon he was in the small rented room, where his belongings sat on the bed. His arm dove into a knapsack, and he retrieved a slender wooden box. He slipped this into a hidden pocket of his cloak and went back to the common room.

Alcarillo resumed his place at the empty table, where he produced the wooden box and the red notebook from their hiding places. Inside the box was an elegant pen, which he removed and laid before him. He returned the box to his cloak, and opened the notebook. He would draw the common room. Alcarillo was a fair hand at sketching people, and considered himself to be a better than average artist. And so Alcarillo flipped his small book to a blank page and began.

With each stroke of his pen the picture became more and more complete. He added in the sillhouettes of visitors and shaded in the walls. Soon it was completed. With nothing else to do, Alcarillo made up his mind that it was time to leave. He crept up to his room and gathered his belongings. He came back downstars, and placed a handful of golden coins on the table he frequented. Then, with one last look at the faces in the common room, he walked into the sunshine outside.