The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Amanaduial the archer]

"Then you begin to see the ways of the Shire, dear Zimzi." The group in the kitchen turned to see Aman leaning in her usual position against the doorway, wearing riding gear and holding a large, serious looking wooden box tucked under. Buttercup smiled and beckoned her in before turning back to the beautiful vase of lillies in front of her, plumping them up and arranging delicately the wide, snowy bells of their blooms.

Zimzi cocked her head onto one side as Aman approached, her smile questioning. "Where was it you left to so early this morning, hmm, Aman?" she asked curiously. The Innkeeper merely smiled mysteriously at her and winked, then laid the large box flat on the table, turning to Buttercup. "Where is Cook?"

"Cook? Why, I'm not entirely sure...she went back out a while ago to talk to some more of the goodwives about..." she trailed off, waving a hand vaguely, her eyes staring into midair, then looked back at Aman. "Would you like me to call her?"

"No!" Aman started suddenly, hands up in front of her, eyes wide, before she gathered herself. "I mean...well, I don't want to bother her, you know, not when all is so busy and..." now it was the Innkeeper's turn to trail off. Buttercup raised an eyebrow and let her eyes flicker down to Aman's garb. The Rohirrim woman grinned ruefully, brushing her windswept hair back with a gloved hand and nodded. "Exactly. Cook has never really...approved of my riding clothes," she said carefully.

Ruby chuckled, shaking her head. "'Never trust a woman wearing leather', that's what she's always said," she laughed, reaching for the wooden box and opening it to reveal about a score and a half of fine, rusty red apples nestled neatly and tightly in straw nests. Smiling approvingly, she murmured something about alerting Miss Bunce and bustled off.

Zimzi stood back, arms crossed, looking skeptical. "Much as I like apples, Aman...do you mean to tell me that you have been riding since the crack of dawn merely to get some?"

Aman wagged a finger at her in mock sternness. "Ah, do not underestimate the value of a good harvest of apples, Zimzi!" She grinned teasingly then shook her head. "Alright, so maybe that wasn't exactly what I was riding for... Come, help me escape Cook before she sees me wearing my riding clothes!" She leant forward and took Zimzi's hand firmly, leading her furtively out of the kitchen. Looking back, she rolled her eyes at the other woman. "Never trust a woman in leather indeed! Come, Zimzi, I need to show you something."

As Aman led the other through the Common Room briskly, Zimzi paused, pulling back slightly although she seemed quite happy to go along with it - after all, she had been simply going along with other people's plans all morning. "Aman, you are being rather mysterious this morning, and that's saying something as you've only been here for five minutes. What is this about now?"

Aman flashed a smile back at her as they reached the bottom of the stairs, letting go of the other's hand. "A gift," she replied softly.

Zimzi hesitated at the word, her brow crinkling slightly. "A gi-...Aman, I'm not sure...I mean, before the handfasting..."

Aman shook her head impatiently. "No, no, this is...well, it is a gift more to you than to Derufin. It is not my single gift for the handfasting, of course, but is something...special..." she stopped, looking at Zimzi with troubled eyes before she clapped her hands worriedly. "Oh, come on, Zimzi, please - Miss Bunce will skin me alive!"

~*~

Zimzi having gone along with the Innkeeper's plan, Aman led her up the stairs to her own room, but when they reached their destination, she stopped the other before she went in. Biting her lip like a child about to give another her Christmas present, she beamed and bid Zimzi close her eyes. The woman looked at her incredulously, but she begged her to do so. Eventually, the other did so and Aman darted into her room.

Crossing the sparsely furnished room briskly, she stopped at the foot of her bed, where a large, deep chest sat: Aman's treasure chest. Beaming to herself, Aman knelt in front of the chest and opened it carefully. Reaching in, past the various pieces of paraphenalia which were scattered over the dark wood, the drew out a slightly battered cardboard box, about a foot long and several inches deep. She paused over it, her fingers lingering above it, before she leapt up and walked back to the door, opening it and leading in her victim. In the quiet of the room, she took of the lid of the box and guided Zimzi's fingers onto the object that laid within.

Zimzi's brow furrowed as she ran her fingers over the surface, attempting to work out what it was, before her eyes suddenly opened wide in surprise as she worked it out. Carefully and slowly, she pulled it out, standing to behold Aman's gift in it's full glory: a beautiful ivory white dress, the material soft and smooth, as finely made as any material anywhere in Middle Earth. The curved v-neck was adorned with a simple, delicate pattern of mallorn leaves, matching the pattern at the end of the wide, sloping sleeves which ended at the elbow, with the long undersleeves a slightly darker shade of dove grey. The fitted bodice gave way to a flowing, unconstricting skirt, which seemed about the right length for Zimzi.

Zimzi looked up at Aman in shock, holding the dress out from her by the shoulders, speechless. The Innkeeper smiled bashfully, and shrugged a little, looking away. "I found it among the clothes in the attic, and it seemed somewhat finer than the others. I couldn't have worn it myself - it's a little too long, see, about your length, and once I consulted a few of the hobbit goodwives, gave it a spruce up, you know, embelished the leaf patterns a little..." she trailed off, her green eyes meeting Zimzi's deep brown ones again, anxiously.

"Aman, I-" Zimzi stopped, her eyes fixed on the dress, before she turned it to hold it up to herself, measuring the length.

"It cleaned up well, and what with the light colour, and the season, and the joyfullness of the event - well, it seemed suitable, you see," Aman gushed on awkwardly, admiring the dress with her head on one side as she stepped forward nervously, taking one of the sleeves in her hands, the dark leather of her gloves a stark contrast against the soft, light material as she swung it slightly, fidgeting. "It is a fine dress, no mistake - but you don't have to wear it if you don't want to, of course, it was merely an idea, you know, a thought that-"

"Aman..."

Zimzi's voice halted Aman's onslaught and she looked back at Zimzi, biting her lip nervously. "Do you like it?" she said nervously.

Zimzi didn't reply immediately, simply laughed and came forward to embrace Aman tightly, the dress held between them. Aman returned the embrace gladly, giving a great, contented sigh of relief as they parted. Zimzi studied the dress again, running an eye over the detail and finery embedded in the elegant, simple design. Her brow crumpled slightly suddenly and Aman felt her pulse almost stop at the sight. She nodded towards the neckline of the dress and Aman scurried around to see what it was that she was looking at.

"What is that?"

Aman peered closely with her keen eyes to see what Zimzi meant, then saw the tiny, perfectly embroidered runes she referred to: two words, one on either side, each no bigger than the width of a little fingernail. She took a moment to work it out, then realisation dawned and she smiled shyly. "It's elvish..." she murmured.

"What does it say?" Zimzi was bursting with impatience and Aman stole a quick glance back at her teasingly, then grinned. "It simply says 'melde' - love, or beloved."

Zimzi looked back at Aman, then laughed delightedly, swirling around with the dress pressed against her. Aman watched, a small smile on her face as the other woman came to face her. She nodded, satisfied. "I wasn't sure what it would be like," she said, softly. "Wasn't sure whether the light colour would look well against your dark skin..." she trailed off, looking back at Zimzi and nodding slowly. "But I see that you match it just as you match Derufin: each complimenting each other, matching, counterparts...in short, perfect." She smiled widely, putting her hands on Zimzi's shoulders as her hands were full. "You and he deserve so much happiness - I am glad you have found it together."

She sighed, seeming to come out of her reverie. Opening the door, she jerked her head towards it. "Come - I need to change my clothes, and downstairs Buttercup will be wondering where you have got to."

Zimzi nodded, carefully folding over the dress as she came to the doorway. Pausing, the looked down at Aman and smiled again. "Thank you," she murmured, then left.

[piosenniel]

Buttercup had come up the stairs to the top room on the right, thinking to lend a hand to Zimzi. They were in the midst of cleaning the small pair of rooms just below the attic, in anticipation of the arrival of Zimzi’s parents. The Hobbit called out her name as she came to the landing, but heard no answer in return. Creeping to the doorway, she stood watching quietly as the woman looked at herself in the silvered mirror that hung above her dresser.

Zimzi had slipped on the dress that Aman had given her as soon as she’d gone to her room. The hem of it brushed the ground as she turned this way and that, the skirt twirling about her legs like a soft cloud of white appleblossoms.

‘Oh, that’s beautiful!’

Buttercup grinned as she wiped her hands on her apron and picked up the hem of the dress in the back. ‘Let me bear your train, m’Lady!’ Zimzi swirled about, laughing; Buttercup following in her wake.

‘I say,’ came the booming voice from the landing just outside the door. ‘What are you two doing up here?’ Cook’s eye caught the broom and dustpan leaning against the stair banister, and the mop sitting unused in its pail of soapy water in the corner. The sound of giggling met her as she neared the door to Zimzi’s room. And two grinning faces, stacked one above the other peered round the door frame.

Buttercup slipped behind Zimzi and pushed her out onto the landing. The woman came to a stop just outside the door, her cheeks reddening as Cook looked her over. The Hobbit peeked around Zimzi, whispering. ‘Doesn’t she look pretty! Miz Aman gave her the dress, she told me. Just today!’

An odd sound came from Cook, a quavery sort of ‘Oh, my!’ her eyes seemed a bit misty as she signaled for Zimzi to turn about. ‘Let me see the back, dear.’ There was silence as Zimzi twirled slowly, coming back at last to face Miz Bunce. ‘Lovely! Just lovely!’ She smiled up at Zimzi. ‘Miz Aman, you say. Well, I’ll be. Isn’t she a wonder!’ ‘And that despite her bent for those leather riding clothes,’ she muttered under her breath.

Cook shook her head, changing the mood as she pushed Zimzi back toward her room. ‘Enough of being stargazey, ladies! There’s work to be done.’ She fingered the soft material of the dress, her expression softening as she did so.’ With a sigh she pointed to the broom and mop. ‘The sooner the tasks are finished, the closer the day for wearing this will be.’ She turned back toward the steps, calling out over her shoulder as she started down them.

‘When you two are finished you can come down and help me with the apple tart. Someone’s left me a nice box of them . . . winesaps, I think. The fellows working on the cottage will be coming in for supper this evening. I was thinking a tart and custard would be nice for them . . . and ham, I think, with taters and some of those nice snap beans from the garden . . .’

Her voice trailed off as she turned down the next section of the stairs. Zimzi hurried out of her dress and hung it in the closet, a small bouquet of fragrant lavender dangling down from the hanger on a thin ribbon. Her every-day dress back on, she tied a scarf about her hair, and took the broom that Buttercup handed her. ‘You sweep,’ the Hobbit said, squishing the mop up and down in the sudsy water of the bucket. ‘I’ll follow after with the mop.’ She reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out two small apples. ‘Not all of them need go in the tart,’ she said winking at Zimzi, as she threw one to her.

The swish and slosh of broom and mop were punctuated by the crunchy sounds of teeth meeting the crisp flesh of the sweet-tart apples . . .

[Saurreg]

The Silvan swung open the oaken door of the tavern and stepped in the soothing embrace of warm dry air. The establishment was crowded with members of various races and came in different shapes and sizes. All were engaged in merry banther and feasting. The aroma of fresh confectionery, scent of strong steaming beverages and musky odor of tobacco smoke lingered invitingly in the air. Ascasir Culcollo smiled wiry to himself and made his way towards the bar through occupied tables and chairs.

Ascasir sat himself on a bar stool, removed the hood of his dark grey travellers cloak and called out aloud,

"Innkeeper! I say innkeeper! Would you be so kind as to provide this wayfarer some simple sustenance so that he might be able to break his fast?"

[Aniriuq Raevla]

Anja finished her breakfast and ordered some tea. She stuck her hand into her pack and began to search for something. Where is it....

"Aha!" She pulled out a small book. Its blue cover was stained at the corners,and was falling off. She ran her fingers gently up and down the spine,smiling. It was a childrens' story book,the first book she had ever read. Her father had given it to her at the age of five,and had taught her how to read. She still took it out at times,when she was bored,and just stared at it,bringing back long lost memories....

The maid brought her the tea,and she began to drink it,laying the book on the table and letting her eyes wander around the room. A drwaf was sitting at a table,telling some story to a group of hobbit children. The elf maiden and the man had been joined by another,and they were chatting casually. She turned back to her table to see that her tea was almost finished. It would be time for her to leave soon,but not before she had read a couple of pages out of her book.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Inside her study, near the bar, Aman visibly jumped at the sound of the brash voice through the half open door, turning guiltily. Taking a deep breath and steadying herself like a guilty child. Half running to the door, Aman called through the door curtly. "One moment please, sir!"

Not waiting for the elf's response - he had sort of started about, looking for the whereabouts of the Innkeeper's mysteriously disembodied voice - she ran back over to her desk, fist tightly locked over the item in her hand. Pulling open the top drawer of her dark, oak desk, she uncurled her fingers, and the item in her palm dropped down from them, entwined on her forefinger and middle finger. As it twisted down from her fingers, swaying from her fingers, the light from her wide, study window caught the silver and the object glinted suddenly in the sun. Aman smiled, the silver gleaming in her green eyes, then came to at the sudden sound of laughter from the Common Room. Carefully depositing the object in the drawer, she closed it and proceeded back into the Common Room.

Smoothing her newly donned dress, she crossed to the bar behind the newcomer, an elf, new to the Inn. "Good day, sir - what can I get you?"

The elf looked slightly startled to see that the Innkeeper was female, and Aman smiled as she ducked under the bar and waited.

[Saurreg]

Ascasir was mildly surprised that the innkeeper was a female - and a beautiful one at that, with sparkling green eyes. Regaining his composure, he grinned at the young maiden and inquired eagerly,

"Did I do it right? Was that the way to act and say in mannish taverns? Loud and imposing, no?"

Sensing that the alluring atani was puzzled, Ascasir hastily continued in his clear but noticeably excited voice,

"Forgive me if I was wrong, for that was what the men of Ithilien taught me during my brief stay there. They said that was the way to act to be served. I even used the exact worlds!"

Ascasir beamed proudly whilst leaning fowards, staring at the innkeeper.

Such lovely green eyes...

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman wrinkled her nose as she smiled, laughing at the elf's strange, small delight - a member of the race of Ancients, delighted over such a childish thing.

"May I say, sir, that you are lucky that you chanced upon an Innkeeper less, shall we say, volatile than others you might find. Besides, this is hardly a 'mannish' Inn," she laughed. The elf looked slightly confused, but didn't seem to mind, simply smiling and watching her with a half smile on her pale features. Slightly embarassed by his intent gaze, Aman looked away bashfully, a wave of brown hair falling over the side of her face as she fiddled with something beneath the bar.

"Ehm...anyway," she stammered, looking up again. There was something about the unblinking, unwavering examination of those sparkling grey eyes that made her a little nervous although she wasn't sure why. Looking directly back at the elf, she regained her composure. "You wished for some refreshments, sir? What can I get you?"