The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Kransha]

Please do not remove this post space - thanks!

~*~ Pio

[starkat]

Gwenneth smiled her thanks and quickly gathered a basket full of bread and followed Ginger out into the dining room. With a smile the elf maid began making her way around the tables.

Stopping to say hi to several of the patrons had put her a few minutes behind Ginger. Deciding to pick up the pace a little, the young elf almost ran into Ruby. “I am sorry Ruby!”

Ruby waved the apology off with a smile and Gwenneth sighed happily. She returned to the kitchen and set down her empty basket. “What is next?”

“Why don’t you help pour,” Cook said.

Gwenneth nodded. As she did so, loose hair fell into her eyes. “Oh bother.” It only took her a few moments to tuck the loose strands behind her ears and she picked up a pitcher of cider and returned to the dining room.

[Noinkling]

Tolly tied his napkin round his neck, in an effort to keep the new green vest made by his wife clean. Blossom . . . Her sweet face with its dimpled smile floated into his attention followed closely on by that of his little pudgy-faced son and his one-toothed grin. “Home soon,” he thought to himself. “Just a day or two to see to my business here. Then Benny and I will fly home.” The thought of his sturdy, well-fed little pony ‘flying’ made him chuckle. Top pace for the stubborn beast was the quickened trot from path to stable when the promise of a warm stall and a nosebag of oats was the end prize.

The stew was delivered, and set carefully before him. Tolly smiled up at the serving lass, nodding appreciatively to her as he picked up his spoon. He tucked into the rich concoction of chicken, vegetable, and fat chunks of tater all in a savory broth. Mouthfuls of stew alternated with chunks of bread, spread thick with butter and jam.

Another lass came round with a pitcher of cold cider, and Tolly, his mouth full, signaled for a refill. She had just finished topping off his mug, when he’d managed to swallow his rather large bite. “My compliments to the Cook, if you will, lass,’ he said beaming at her. “Good fare, it is!” He leaned closer to the lass as if sharing a confidence. “And just as tasty as any my old Mam served in her day!”

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger bobbed a small curtsy to the Hobbit. ‘Oh, my pleasure, sir! Cook will be happy, I’m sure, to know her stew stands in the company of your Ma’s. But who shall I say has given his compliments?’ The Hobbit wiped a trace of jam from his chin and laughed. ‘Tolly,’ he said in reply to her question. ‘Tolly Greenhand of Greenholm, lass.’ She left him to the rest of his meal, saying in parting that if he really wanted to give his compliments he would call for another bowl of stew. ‘Oh, and don’t forget, there’s apple cobbler to think on for dessert. Made by my own hand,’ she added blushing a bit at her boldness. ‘And clotted cream to go with it.’

She hurried off, then, leaving the happy fellow to consider how he might work in both her suggestions. Hands raised and fingers crooked at her as she passed among the tables. Both her pitchers of cider were soon down to the dregs. She was just making her way back to the bar for a refill, when a large table of local lads called her over, clanking their mugs together as they called for another round. Ginger held up her pitchers, shrugging her shoulders as she mouthed to the noisy crowd that they were empty. They hooted and laughed saying she’d best get back to them soon. ‘Cold cider and a pretty face to serve it!’ called out one of them, causing her cheeks to color at the cheeky words, and the bold looks of the others.

From behind her, came a familiar voice, a welcome voice. ‘Here, now, lads! I’ve plenty of cider to fill your mugs!’ The faces of the Hobbits fell as Ferdy stepped up to the table, then one by one cracked into grins and laughter as one of the lads called out in a resigned manner. ‘You’re no beauty, though. Ah, well, the drink will have to do.’

Ginger stammered out a whispered thanks as Ferdy passed near her, filling mugs . . .

[Nurumaiel]

The fragrant scent of supper drifted to the table where Posco and Lily sat, and both drew in the beautiful smell with peaceful smiles. Posco did not take his eyes off her, for he thought she was too sweet for words, and he wanted to remember any and every moment they spent together, in the case that he would see her again as Mrs. Tommy Banks. He studied her hair, her eyes, her cheeks, her little nose, her smiling lips, and he didn't realise that the supper was being served, until she asked him, with a laugh, if he were at all hungry, and if he would like something to eat. And then he sprang to his feet, bidding her stay where she was, and he was not gone long before two bowls of chicken stew were placed on their little table.

"Is it anything like your mother's food?" Lily asked.

"I have to say it isn't," said Posco, with a regretful smile. "It's very good, and I'm very hungry, but my mother is, after all, my mother, and I can't say that anyone cooks better than she does." He paused in his eating, and watched Lily daintily sip at her stew, and he wondered if someday he would sit across from her every day, or if Tommy Banks would be the happy hobbit who enjoyed such.

"Yes," said Posco, hurrying on, for he did not want to dwell in despondent thoughts about Tommy Banks, and he recalled to himself that he was the one who had asked Lily to give that lad a chance, for it was the best thing to do. "My mother is a splendid cook, like most hobbit mothers are. Perhaps you'd like to stay for a day or two at my family's home? It might be a wise thing to have them meet you."

[piosenniel]

‘Tolly Greenhand, you say? And from Greenholm.’ Cook nodded her head at the name. ‘Didn’t by chance mention why he’s come to Bywater, has he?’ Ginger shook her head ‘no’, saying she hadn’t thought to ask. ‘Well, now, that’s alright; you’re new at this serving business.’ She grinned at the lass and chuckled. ‘You’ll learn, though, if you mean to stay on here, that a wealth of information can be gathered in drips and drabs with quick, friendly little questions as you’re slipping a plate of food or a full mug of drink before a patron. I like to keep a thumb on what’s happening, so I depend on you all to be my eyes and ears.’ She handed Ginger a tray filled with more baskets of bread and sent her out the door.

‘Tolly Greenhand,’ she said quietly into the empty kitchen . . . save for the old tabby who raised one eyelid for a second, then drifted off again. ‘I wonder if he’s come to see the mayor on some business. Distant cousins of a sort if he’s from Greenholm,’ she mumbled, turning the thoughts in her head. Cook pulled one of the big pans of apple cobbler from the warming oven and began cutting it into generous portions. Her curiosity got the better of her and she dished out a bowlful, then filled a small pitcher with clotted cream.

‘Well, now, I guess I’ll just deliver dessert myself to the fellow who likes my cooking so much . . .’

[Arry]

He liked the way she’d slipped him a shy smile as she whispered her thanks. Her nose crinkled at the bridge as she did so and her eyes crinkled up, too at the outer edges. What a sweet face she has he thought to himself, watching her walk back toward the kitchen.

Two or three of the thirstier lads at the table cleared their throats and scraped their empty mugs along the surface of the oak table. One of them, following along with Ferdy’s gaze, was about to comment on what a pretty thing she was to look at, when he saw the look in the Ferdy’s eye as he turned back to pour the cider. Others round the table raised their brows and nodded their heads knowingly. ‘See you at the dance, then, shall we, Ferdy?’ winking at him as the golden stream flowed into his mug.

‘Well, I believe you will,’ returned Ferdy, topping the last lad’s mug.

‘And not with a pitcher in your hand, either, if I have the right of it,’ the other continued. He raised his mug to Ferdy, who acknowledged the truth of the Hobbit’s statement with a grin. The others at the table cried out in a merry manner, ‘Hear! Hear!’ and drank deep to their fortunate fellow.

Ferdy laughed outright and making a mock bow, went back to the bar to refill his pitchers.

[Nimrodel_9]

The door swung open. Keleth, son of Damon, of Gondor stepped inside the inn. He took off his hood, shaking the water from his shoulder length, light brown hair that had soaked through. Slowly he closed the door, then made his way to the bar to ask for a room to stay in. Then he went to the corner and sat by himself.

Keleth had traveled long and far from Gondor, his home. Though he had lived there all his life, he had never felt like he belonged. So, he resolved to traveling alone in the wild. Now, far from his home, he still felt like a black sheep among the white.