The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Arry]

Ferdy

‘G’wan, Ferdy,’ Gil urged him. ‘Get Ginger a piece of cake and a cup of cider. The boys and I will play a nice tune for you in a little while . . . you can ask her to dance . . . Shoo!’ He gave Ferdy a little nudge in the direction of the desserts . . .

Following Gil’s advice was easier said than done. Oh, to be sure, the getting of the cake was simple enough, he thought . . . a nice large slice with a number of the yellow candied violets on it . . . he fancied her in yellow, he thought, craning his neck once again to catch sight of her . . . she was pretty, like those tulips his Gammer liked to grow . . .

‘Cake, sir?’ one of the servers said prompting him out of his little daydream. Ferdy felt a flush creeping up his neck as he accepted the plate.

Now to grab a mug of cider from the drinks’ table. Luckily the neither the sight of the little pottery mug or the color of the liquid sent him into any flights of fancy . . . though, the mug was quite full when he picked it up and he sipped a bit off the top to keep it from spilling . . . a small smile creased his face as he thought it might be nice to kiss someone who’d just drunk some of this . . .

Cook was at the table, retrieving her own drink when she saw him. ‘Master Ferdy,’ she said, causing him to look up guiltily. ‘Enjoying the Inn’s fine cider? Made from the finest apples in the Shire.’ She took a sip of her own. ‘Enjoying the party?’

Well, here’s a pickle, he thought casting a quick glance to see where the object of his affection had gone off to – Cook is making small talk! Long planted manners got the best of him and he chatted with her for a few moments. Luckily, one of her dance partners, Ferdy could not recall the name, came to claim her.

With as swift a step as the bouncing liquid in the mug would allow, Ferdy made his way over to where Ginger stood. She had moved near the little platform where the band was playing and stood tapping her foot to the music. He was almost to her, when some bold lad offered her his hand and pulled her into the swirl of dancers.

Gil, noting his friend at the edge of the stage, shook his head . . .

[Primrose Bolger]

Minto is introduced to Caity . . .

Minto Chubb had asked her to dance. Not asked her, really, more like he just grabbed her hand and pulled her along. His family’s place edged on her family’s and they had been friends for many long years. He was like a big brother to her, but close enough in age that they got into and sometimes out of many scrapes together.

‘Got to help me, Ginger,’ he confided in a low voice as he maneuvered her to the other side of the dance area. He twirled her about once, then nodded toward a group of people standing on the edge of the dancing crowd. ‘See that lass over there? The one with the curly, sandy brown hair.’

Ginger made him slow down a bit and took a good long glance at the Hobbit he’d indicated. ‘Yessss?’ she prompted, wondering what he was up to.

‘Well, I was wondering if you knew who she was?’ Minto returned.

Looking him up and down, Ginger gave him a laugh and a nod of her head. ‘Well, I just might. But who is it wants to know?’

He wanted a dance with her, he told Ginger. Just hadn’t quite worked up the courage to ask her. And would Ginger mind introducing them. He put on his sweetest smile and grinned at her.

‘Her name is Caity,’ Ginger said, recalling when she’d come to the kitchen to ask about the notice for musicians for the party. ‘Caity Brandybuck, I think. She came to the Inn just before the party. Traveling . . . by herself.’ Ruby was an endless source of information and had shared the few tidbits she knew with the other workers in the Inn one night at supper. ‘Come one, then,’ she went on, pulling him off the dance area. Minto pulled her to a stop for a moment as he ran his fingers through his unruly mop of dark brown curls, tucked his tunic in neatly into his breeches, and took a deep breath.

Introductions were made, and after a few pleasant remarks were exchanged, Ginger withdrew, leaving Minto to his own devices. She walked slowly round the dance area and found Ferdy on the opposite edge of it, a plate of cake in his hands. A perplexed look on his face.

‘Ferdy?’ she said, stepping up behind him and tapping him on the back . . .

[THE Ka]

Rasputina had been relieved to just hear from Zimzi and Derufin that the gifts were lovely to them, and now she felt one quest complete. Now, the couple wished to know more about their compasses. They were unique to the outer world, for none of this kind had left her forest.

She explained that, these devices were unique with the owner and would only serve them and no other. The couple was concerned about, the fact that if their children inherited them would they serve them as well, or would their power die with them?

Rasputina hesited to answer. Very few of her people needed to pass on to their children these objects, for, when they ran from their burning lands to Eryn Vorn they had brought much or if not all of their mineral valuables in case they needed to trade with others. It never came to this and so, they were left with quite alot of free time and materials. Some though, wished to keep some of their older traditions and did not request a compass for a child but, passed theirs on.

At first, she explained, their children did not know how to use the compasses. They would not respond to their calls, or spin for them. Soon, by chance, some had come apon something interesting. The devices would not respond to some ways of communication but, they could be fooled to doing so. The compasses did not only read their dials but, also their owner's thoughts. If the children thought the destination, similar to how their parents would, the compasses would work. Soon, some of the more creative devised a ryme system that could be used by the children. Now, the children's parents still lived which helped greatly with their problem. To trick the devices to be used by their offspring, the parents all thought of an individual ryme, that the compass would come to identify with its owner and no one else. Now, the parents taught their children the ryme and as if they too were the owner's of the compasses, the devices would work for them just as well.

So, she told them, If they wished their children to come to own these compasses, they would first, have to think up their own ryme. Then, they would have to use it as much as they could when they sought direction. Then, they must only tell their children only what the ryme was. Thus, passing on the compasses without having to worry about it refusing their decendants.

They had also asked if her people lived close to the sea. She told them about her home. Eryn Vorn was a heavly wooded cape that stood out into the Great Sea south of the mouths of Baranduin. She did not mention her favorite cliff face - for some reason, she wanted to protect it's secret existance. She told how her people were forced to flee here because of the deforestation done by Numenoreans from Lond Daer and either side if the Gwathlo. Her kin thought kindly these people only so much, and on this matter they only could see the desire for power that Numenor lusted after. After this, few of her kin spoke of the event and gave thanks to the Valar and Eru for letting them survive. Even though, not all hope was lost, soon her people came to know 'The Dark Forest' as well as their old home and could think of no better land.

Now, Rasputina paused as her tale was done and waited for her listener's response...

[Envinyatar]

Listening to Rasputina’s story . . .

‘Rhymes,’ mused Zimzi. ‘I like that idea.’ She rolled the orb in the palm of her hand, thinking. ‘When I was young, my mother taught us the history of the lands around us and of our family by rhymes. It was very effective, especially for a dunderhead like me who could never remember the names of places, much less where they were, or why they were important.’ She tapped her fingers of her free hand on the table. ‘We can keep a journal as we use the compasses . . . yes, that would work.’

Derufin gave Zimzi’s hand a squeeze as Rasputina began to speak of the Numenoreans. He knew that many people’s history of injury does not diminish and that old grudges die hard even though ages have passed and the particulars of a story have faded. Zimzi’s family was from Forlindon, from a small place called strand near the haven of Forlond. In hazy strands of history, her family traced its way back to those who had fled eastward from Westernesse. It was a terrible thing to have happened to one’s people, to be pushed from one’s home by the greed of others.

Zimzi listened closely to Rasputina’s story, her heart heavy for old wrongs. And when the woman had finished speaking she was silent for a moment. ‘This is more than a gracious gift,’ she said, placing the compass on the table between the two of them. ‘From you and from your people to me and to my children yet to come. We will cherish them, Derufin and I. And perhaps someday we might have the pleasure of visiting your homeland. In truth, it really is not that far from here, is it?’

They passed a little while longer in pleasant conversation. Then the band began a song they had promised to play for the couple. ‘Come with us to the dance floor,’ Zimzi urged her. They are playing a circle dance . . . a fast moving one . . . lots of fun. Come join in if you will.’

Derufin stood, holding out his hand to Zimzi. ‘Yes, come,’ he said, nodding toward the dance floor . . . you needn’t have a partner . . .

[Child of the 7th Age]

NOTICE OF TIME CHANGE IN THE INN

It is now late evening in the Shire. The sun has gone down. The stars are out, as well as a fat, pearly moon. The little lanterns have been lit that were hung in the trees about the yard.

Many of the families with children have headed home. But the younger crowd, as well as the older, unencumbered by little ones, are still at the Inn. It’s a quieter crowd with much sitting about with mugs, smoking pipes, and gossiping.

The little band is still playing and a number of the young ones are dancing.

~*~ Pio

[Encaitare]

Caity had been looking about for possible dance partners, but most of the lads her age were either already thus occupied, or partaking of the delicious cake. She had been hoping that maybe there would be someone standing upon the rim of the dancers as though he wanted to join in. She twirled a bit of hair about her finger as the song ended.

The next one, I'll ask someone, she thought. She then chided herself, Yes, but that's what you said the last song as well.

She was just about to get really irritated at her hesitance when two people approached her. One was a hobbit who Caity recognized as Ginger, and the other was a lad she did not know. Ginger was pulling him along by the hand; the dark-haired boy looked a tiny bit nervous.

"Hello; it's Caity Brandybuck, right?" said Ginger. Caity replied in assent. "Well," the other girl continued, "I don't think we've been properly introduced, so I'm Ginger Gamwich. This is my friend, Minto Chubb."

"Good evening," said Minto politely.

"Good evening," Caity returned. "It's a lovely party, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes," said Ginger. "Just look at Miz Zimzi there; doesn't she look beautiful?" Caity and Minto said that they agreed. Then there was a moment of rather awkward silence, which Ginger finally broke. "Oh, I think I see Ferdy over there. It was nice to finally make your acquaintance, Caity!" With that, she was off, heading in the direction of a hobbit holding a piece of cake.

"So, er... do you know the couple?" said Minto, trying to make conversation.

"Actually, not at all," responded Caity with a wry smile. "I only came because I heard that the band needed an extra member."

"I heard your song before," Minto told her. "It was very pretty."

Caity blushed, then realized that she was blushing, which probably only caused her cheeks to redden more. "Thank you, that's so kind of you to say."

As a new song began, Minto asked, "Would you like to dance?" Caity happily accepted and they stepped into the group of dancers and swept along as the band played and sang:

In the woods there grew a tree
A fine, fine tree was he

On that tree there was a limb
And on that limb there was a branch
On that branch there was a nest
And in that nest there was an egg

In that egg there was a bird
And from that bird a feather came
Of that feather was a bed
On that bed there was a girl

And with that girl there was a man
And from the twain there was a boy
From that boy there was a man
And for that man there was a grave
On that grave there grew a tree

[Child of the 7th Age]

Hawthorne sat and watched as the dancers twirled across the floor, her right foot tapping rhythmically in response to the spritely beat. The evening had been joyous. Zimzi and Derufin were so clearly in love that it was impossible not to be happy for them. A few hours before, she had sprung atop a table and vigorously danced the Springel-ring with one of the local lads, but now she was content to watch quietly while reflecting on everything that had happened that day. At least she had not disgraced herself. She had assisted with the party preparations and the Inn was still standing, which was a great deal better than the last time she'd visited.

After the handfasting ceremony, she had chased away a few rascals from the wagon bed who were attempting to remove the canvas in order to pry inside where the toys were hidden. Later, she and Mayor Samwise had passed out these presents to all the children who had come. There had been a vast array of mathoms to distribute: little metal cows that "mooed" when you yanked on their tails, young hobbit dolls that looked so lifelike you half expected them to cry, tambourines with jingling bells and long winding ribbons, along with a number of hobbit-sized fiddles and horns, and an assortment of intricately carved wooden figures. The latter were mostly representations of Elves. Hawthorne wondered where these had come from, since they didn't seem to be the sort of thing a dwarf craftsman would attempt. One of these figures, a representation of an Elf maid with flowing skirts and gentle face, had looked so lovely that Hawthorne had tucked it into the pocket of her skirt.

The children had hooted and hollered and tussled a bit over who got what until Mayor Samwise had stepped in to control the situation with a kind but firm hand. Everyone had finally agreed to behave and shake hands. Now the children were off in clustered groups, playing with their toys on the floor of the Common Room and on the steps that led up to the Inn's front door.

Hawthorne knew that the large cuckoo clock was still in the back of the wagon. She had decided to wait until the next day to present it to the couple. There were so many well wishers crowding about Zimzi and Derufin, and so many presents to be handed to the couple that it seemed better to wait for a quieter time.

The party was still lively, but a few of the families with younger children had left. They had collected their capes and hats as well as their little ones, along with the now empty dishes that they'd brought with them for the supper, waving good night to the other guests. Hawthorne stood up, stretched and yawned, wondering if she should cut short her celebration and turn in upstairs. Her thoughts were interrupted by the approach of two young lads who tugged insistently on her sleeve.

"You must go with us. Now!," one lad urged her. "Come to the wagon. You have to see."

She shook her head and laughed, thinking the boys were hoping to get some additional mathoms that had been left behind in the wagon. "No luck, lads. Sorry, but all the toys have been given out. I know the clock is still there. But that is for our young couple."

"It's not toys," the older of the two insisted. "It's a lass. Not a young lass, but a missus, though a tiny sprig of a thing even for a hobbit. More like my mother, actually. And she seems addled."

Intrigued by this description and wondering what was going on, Hawthorne sprinted out to the stables where the wagon was parked. From across the yard, she could see that one corner of the canvas had been thrown back to reveal a shadowy figure, a hobbit on her knees who was grabbing onto the side of the wagon, and wobbily trying to pull herself up. Whoever the stranger was, she made one last mighty effort and then failed, sinking back into the straw, apparently unconscious, and narrowly missing hitting her head on the clock.

"Quick," yelled Hawthorne to the hobbit at her side. "Go inside, and have one of the big folk or the older hobbits come and help. Perhaps the stranger's hurt or sick. I need someone to help me get her inside the Inn."

With that the lads took off.