The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Owen retrieved his bladder pipe from the common room, and letting the door slam behind him, returned to find Seamus and the hobbits already milling about on a platform hard by the Inn’s verandah. Seamus had his rebec out and stood to one side holding it up to his ear, trying to tune it over the noise. Shimshin capered happily about his feet with excitement. It was a bit of a crowd, Owen thought, happy to note that a few elves had joined up as well. But as he stepped up onto the platform he looked dubiously at it. It was one thing to build a stage quickly so that hobbit musicians might not be lost among the dancers, it was quite another to furnish one sturdy enough for a growing group of hobbits, men and elves. And this one had appeared so suddenly Owen feared it might have all the strength of a mushroom sprung up from the lawn overnight.

But walking gingerly about on the creaking boards, Owen looked curiously at all the instruments. Holding his the pipe to his lips, it’s fragile bladder crackled softly as it filled, and he idly fingered the chanter as he nodded to the those he walked past. When at last he rejoined Seamus and Shimshin, he nudged the former, pointing to an elf who held so great a fiddle she had let it rest between her feet. “There Seamus, see what your rebec could have become had you left it on the vine a bit longer!”

Seamus shook his head. “Looks like we have a fine group here. It should be a good day I think.”

“Yes, but the proof is in the playing, eh?” Owen replied. And as if on cue the hobbits started playing ‘Sailor’s Hornpipe’ while gathered around a pretty young girl all dressed in green and cream, and who held a rather interesting penny whistle. Owen and Seamus quickly joined in, to Shimshin’s delight. And the monkey ambled about the platform before breaking into an appropriate dance.

But the next song was an even faster one, and the bladder pipe player was pleased to see that the kegs had begun to be brought out. It was thirsty work, and he did so relax with a bit in him.

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik had lost count of how many breaths he had taken, waiting at the counter, waiting and waiting for someone whose face he recognized. Not a one. At least the music made it bearable. He glanced at Uien, who had been smiling and swaying to the rhythm of the music.

"Maybe all our friends are gone," he said to her.

She looked at him, her smile unwavering. "You have lost patience."

"It has been.... over half an hour, as the hobbits would say. My stomach is beyond growling."

"Your tone makes up for it, Laurëatan," she laughed. "I will go into the kitchen and see what I can find."

She walked through the door to the kitchen, leaving Falowik to drum his fingers on the counter or on his belly, wondering if he really wanted to be here.

[Nurumaiel]

"Look how hard they're working," said the golden-haired girl, skipping back and forth. "Look how beautiful they're making everything. I think it would be fun to help them, don't you? Except... maybe... it's very nice to watch. Perhaps I would ruin something, and if I were helping, you know, I couldn't watch as easily."

"If you want to help," said Falco Headstrong, "go ask. You'll have plenty of work piled atop your young shoulders, no doubt. No doubt!"

The girl gazed dubiously, and then she tripped off to find someone to ask. She didn't know who would help her, but she supposed somebody would... and then she would help them.

Falco Headstrong put his back to the wall and folded his arms as he watched the activity about him. They wouldn't ask her to help, she was so little. She'd have to ask herself. But no doubt someone would ask him. No doubt! Grudgingly he admitted to himself that he wouldn't mind very much, but in all the hustle and bustle he hadn't been able to find the Innkeeper and get himself a room. He was still in his wet clothes, which were now drying stiff and dirty, to his disgust. Perhaps the work wouldn't matter too much, as he was already dirty, but he still didn't want to.

He wondered who was to be married. He'd been to a few weddings before. He liked to see the happy people, the crying parents, the joyous and nervous groom, and the sweet, rosy-cheeked hobbit bride. He'd been invited to quite a few weddings, he reflected with some smug pride. He was popular in his little home amongst the young people, for he would always upon up his full purse to help the couples just starting out, and floundering, and finding poverty stealing upon them. Yes, he would help them, and others, if they weren't too proud to accept his generosity. Can't a hobbit have the pleasure of helping a friend without being told coolly: "No, please don't trouble yourself, I couldn't possibly, and I'll manage," when it was as plain as daylight that they couldn't manage? Hobbits nowadays! And hobbits from the past. When had any of his neighbours been willing to accept help?

But when they did it would get around fast that he, Falco Headstrong, had helped, and it would make him well-liked, so he was invited to funerals and weddings... especially the weddings of friends of a young married couple he had helped. He looked forward to this wedding. He wondered if the young lad would be one of those easy, self-confident hobbits, or one of the blushing, shy hobbits, or one of the hobbits not at all shy but nervous that something would go wrong. In any case, the hobbit bride would be happy and blushing, sweet-faced and full of love for her own dear one. And maybe if they were poor they wouldn't be so object to taking from him in the bright rays of their happiness that blinded them to all else. After all, hobbits had to stick close together and help each other out.