The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Mithalwen]

"I had thought to learn from whom I had heard of the handfasting; but it was not you. And we are kindred, though our peoples are severed by time and fate." Mithalwen listened to Uien and could not imediately place her accent - Lorien or Eryn Lasgalen ? She wondered the for the manner of speech was similar and it was long since she had had dealings with the silvan folk.

"Indeed it was not for my arrival here was by chance - my horse cast a shoe and we needed shelter from the rain two nights since - I knew nothing of the handfasting until I arrived......kindred .. yes.... we elves are so few in these latter days, this side of the Sundering Sea; there is small need to make the old distinctions .... Nevertheless I deem you must be from either Lorien or the Woodland Realm for if you dwellt in Imladris or Lindon, surely we would have met already."

Mithalwen paused for the waitress had brought a pot of tea and took their orders. She sipped at the infusion to which she had added neither milk nor sugar or honey. She had drunk this before at Imladris - the long residence of Dunedain and the hobbit Bilbo had added some variety to the usual elvish fare- and as she sipped she studied Uien and Falowik across the table. Clearly these inns were the place to hear unusual tales.

[Ealasaide]

Seamus

Unable to obtain rooms in the crowded inn and still less able to pay for them anyway, Seamus and Owen had spent the night in the common room, stretched out in armchairs before the fire. Exhausted from the day’s excitement, Shimshin, too, curled himself into a little ball in Seamus’ lap and slept soundly through the remainder of the night, a little silver-colored whistle clutched tightly in his small fist. As the common room began to return to life the next morning, Seamus awoke first. Trying not to wake Shimshin in the process, Seamus reached one of his long legs out across the hearthrug and gave Owen a gentle kick. Owen stirred, crossing his arms stubbornly across his chest.

“I told you he didn’t mean to take it!” he muttered angrily. Seamus grinned and gave his friend another nudge with the toe of his boot.

“Oy! Wake up!”

This time Owen sat bolt upright and glared around the steadily-filling common room for a long instant before coming to the realization that he had been dreaming. Catching sight of Shimshin still curled safely in Seamus’ lap, Owen sighed and slumped back into his chair. “Is it morning already, then?” he asked, blinking owlishly in the direction of the kitchen.

“It is indeed,” answered Seamus.

“Have we got enough money for breakfast? Whatever they’re cooking in there smells monstrous good.”

Seamus shrugged, then reached into his coat. After mining around for a while in the depths of his pocket, he withdrew his hand and deposited the whole of his funds on the small table that stood between the two armchairs. It amounted to three coppers, a button, and a few tufts of lint. Owen stared sleepily at Seamus’ accumulated funds, then dug into his own pocket. A few seconds later, two more coppers and an empty peanut shell had joined the pile on the table. The two young men stared at the meager pile with long faces. Then, Seamus shook his head.

“I daresay, if I’d known we were this strapped, I might not have been so fast and loose with those ha’ pennies yesterday,” he sighed.

Owen gave him a sideways look. “What ha’ pennies?”

“Oh, I gave those little chaps, Willie and Nick, a ha’ penny each to watch Shimshin for us while we played yesterday.”

“Oh...” Owen let out a sigh of his own. “Well, they were capital little fellows. I suppose it was worth the investment. Aside from that one brooch, I don’t think Shimshin got into much trouble. He’s got that little whistle there, but it doesn’t look to be worth much. Just a bit of tin, I expect.”

Seamus looked down at the whistle still clutched in the monkey’s hand. “I suppose it belongs to one of the little hobbit fellows. If we left it with the innkeeper, I’m sure she would see that it found its way back to them right proper and all.”

“I suppose so.” Owen sighed again as one of the Green Dragon’s serving girls whisked past them to another table bearing a plate piled high with fresh sausage and eggs. Seamus’ gaze followed the plate attentively, too, until it landed at its destination in front of a rather portly hobbit, who grinned and poured hot maple syrup thickly over the whole pile. Sighing in unison, the two young men pushed themselves regretfully to their feet. They had a long way to go yet to reach their destination and knew that the luxury of the inn’s fine breakfast was more than they could afford. They had come to the handfasting in the hopes of earning a bit of spare change by plying their trade as musicians, but in the end had ended up spending more than they made. Without speaking, both young men knew that discretion dictated they beat a hasty retreat before they spent even more.

Seamus lifted Shimshin, who awoke at once and scrambled agilely up Seamus’ shirt to his accustomed perch on the tall man’s shoulder. Once Shimshin had settled in, wrapping his long tail loosely around Seamus’ neck for balance, Seamus reached out and pocketed his share of the money on the side table and waited as Owen did the same. Then, exchanging a sorrowful glance, for they had both enjoyed their brief stay at the Green Dragon very much, the two young men picked up their rucksacks and their instruments and left through the inn’s front door. On their way to the gate, they dropped back around to the kitchen door, where they stuck their heads in and thanked the cook and the innkeeper both for their kindness and hospitality, asking that they say good-bye to Gil and the rest of the band for them, as well. Seamus gave the innkeeper the whistle Shimshin had stolen. Smiling at their story of how they had ended up with the child’s toy, the innkeeper promised that she would see that it was returned to Willie and Nick at the first opportunity.

Seamus and Owen thanked her again and took their leave. Within minutes, they had regained the open road and were on their way, the Green Dragon Inn sinking slowly into the distance behind them.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Falco’s food was still untouched, and Snaveling was having a difficult time keeping his eyes from the Halfling’s plate. Still, he heard enough to know that the little fellow was more than a bit suspicious of him, and Snaveling wondered if perhaps Falco knew more about him than he was letting on. Snaveling was sure that there were still rumours about the Shire of the rogue who tried to burn down the Green Dragon, who stole a bag of gold and who had nearly been ejected from the whole place for violent and disorderly conduct. He searched the face of Mr. Headstrong but saw in it only a generalized dislike for and distrust of outsiders. Strangely enough, this was comforting to the Man of the south.

“My business is personal,” he replied casually. “I am in search of a traveling companion, a Ranger woman called Roa. She and I have become separated. I don’t suppose you would have any news of her? A tall woman with red hair and green eyes? She may have passed through some part of the Shire a few weeks ago.”

Falco twisted his face and thought for a bit. “Can’t say as I have seen anyone like that,” he replied.

Snaveling, grateful for the opportunity to redirect his attention from the elder Halfling (who disconcerted him) as well as from the plate of food (which tormented him), turned to Marigold and asked her the same question. The lass looked surprised that he would be asking her such a question, as though she were all grown up and likely to know of the comings and goings of the Big Folk. She pursed her lips and with a great show of concentration thought for a long time before saying, “I don’t think I’ve seen any Ranger woman like that.” Her eyes brightened at an idea. “You should ask Aman!” she said gaily, “She knows most everything that happens in these parts!”

Snaveling’s face twitched involuntarily at the mention of the Innkeeper’s name and he said only, “That’s a good idea, Mistress Marigold. Perhaps I shall speak with her.”

A light movement at his elbow drew his attention to Ruby standing by the table. “Good morning, Mr. Snaveling,” she said. “Did you sleep well?” Snaveling caught the tone of the question and knew that she was well aware that he had been sleeping in the stable to avoid paying for a room.

“Yes, thank you,” he replied. “I found my accommodations as comfortable as always.”

“Can I get you any breakfast?”

Her question caught him off guard and Snaveling was momentarily flustered. “Well, yes, I would but…as it happens…I am a bit short of funds at the moment. In fact, I have no money at all! I don’t suppose, perhaps, I could get something on credit?”

Ruby looked doubtful, saying. “I don’t know. I think that there might be something in the accounts from your last visit…” For the first time Snaveling remembered that in his haste to depart the Inn, and thus avoid a confrontation with Aman, he had neglected to pay for two nights lodging and several meals.

Now genuinely embarrassed he tried to make light of it. “Well that’s all right, Ruby, it’s all right. I am sure that I can make shift for myself today. Perhaps I shall speak with Miss Aman about some kind of arrangement… In the meantime I wouldn’t dream of asking you to extend me any more credit!” Ruby seemed relieved at this and curtseying, she walked away. Snaveling turned back to Falco and Marigold, dreading the direction the conversation might go at this point, and certain that the Halflings would see him now only as a beggar.

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen's sharp elven ears caught the substance of Snaveling's conversation with Ruby. She pitied the man and if he had not been in company and she distracted by her own kindred she would have bought him breakfast. She had no great riches but she had more than enough with her for her journey - she did not expect many demands on her purse when she left this place.

When Ruby brought food for herself and her companions Mithalwen spoke softly to her. "Take a full breakfast to the man they call Snaveling - I will pay". She had paid for her own board and her horse's keep in advance but slipped coins into Ruby's hand "this will be sufficient? "

"More than, Miss, I'll get you change "....

"Deduct it from what else he owes ..... but please do not tell him who paid - I would not embarrass him", said the elf.

Her grey eyes were serious but inwardly she felt a glimmer of amusement that a lord of men was being funded by her honest craft. Yet we do not all receive good preparation for the lives we are to lead she thought...and it may save him from a further lapse into crime. She knew Uien would read a lot of her thought and smiled. She smiled again moments later when plates of food and a steaming mug were placed before Snaveling though she had to rely on sound since she dare not turn around to watch.

" Don't worry it is paid for - just don't question it " she heard the hobbit waitress 's words to the man.

Mithalwen returned her attention to her companions. "I have not been to Imladris so recently but I am on my way there now - and I have not been to Lothlorien for a very long time indeed. However my mother is of the Teleri so we are akin from afar. She too passed over sea and age of the world ago. The separation is hard but still I do not feel ready to make the journey myself yet". Mithalwen saw the sorrow in her companion's eyes but did not know how much to make of it - most elves carried the memory of some grief from some point in their long lives. Her own she had learnt to cover well, though Snaveling had managed to catch a raw nerve the night before. But the grief of Uien seemed more recent and extreme. she wondered what had prevented the journey.

[piosenniel]

Everyone

Please make sure you are familiar with the Inn Facts at the top of this page.

Mirkwood has been reclaimed by the Elves and is now called Eryn Lasgalen.

Thanks!

~*~ Pio

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger could feel the heat creeping up her neck; soon she would be as red as her copper curls, or redder. She swallowed hard, trying not to stammer as she spoke. ‘Begging your pardon, m’am,’ she began, as her fingers slid the offered book back toward Bella. ‘But I . . . well . . . it’s just that . . .’

Bella looked over at her, a patient smile on her face. She had picked up the book, and held it lightly in her hands, looking as if she might hand it back to her. Ginger get hold of yourself! the young woman told herself sharply.

‘It’s like this, Miz Took,’ Ginger said, taking the book and opening it up to the picture she had first asked about. ‘I would like very much to read this book. And this Tuor looks to be very brave. Handsome almost as Big Folk go.’ She traced the winged helm, wondering about the new king who wore one. ‘And bless you for thinking I’d take good enough care of it that you would lend it to me. But the honest truth is I can’t read the words on the pages.’

Miz Bella’s eyes widened at this, but before she could make a comment, Ginger plunged on. ‘That is . . . I can write my name. And I can do numbers. I have to; sometimes my Da and brothers need help with the lists for the vegetables and pigs they’ve sold. And, oh, I can recognize most of the things we sell when they’re written. It’s a short list really, and I memorized them. But unless the words about Tuor are all sows and boars and taters and carrots and such, I can’t make heads or tails of them.’

[Nurumaiel]

"Well, well, you have no money," said Falco, and his tone clearly implied the rest of his unspoken thoughts: this great fellow of the Big Folk, those Big Folk who thought they owned the Shire and everyone in it, was poor and shiftless and could get no work. Falco went on, speaking gruffly, but with a little twinkle in his eye that was directed towards Marigold. "I suppose you would consider it beneath your dignity to accept any assistance from a foolish little hobbit like me, but... I'm well-to-do, in fact, very well-to-do, and I can hardly find enough ways to spend my money. I would not dare let you leave the Shire and think that we hobbits were not willing to help one who is in need. In short, young man - " Falco felt superior with that adjective " - I will offer to pay whatever you owe, as you cannot do it yourself."

Marigold's little heart thrilled at Falco's gracious offer, and she felt that, despite all his grumpiness, he was not such a mean old hobbit after all, for she had been thinking so that morning. Feeling that somehow she must try to give this Man a good impression of hobbit kindness, as well, she leaned towards him, tugged at his sleeve, and gazed up at him with big earnest eyes. "Mr. Snaveling," she said, wondering why he had such a very odd name, "I am very sorry I called you awful yesterday. I don't think you're awful. I think you're a very..." What was he? She could call him 'nice' when she didn't know him very well yet. "I think you're a very interesting Man," she said, and, to make up for the deficiency of words, she gave him what she considered her charming smile of good-will, and sat back again in her chair.

[littlemanpoet]

"Nevertheless I deem you must be from either Lorien or the Woodland Realm for if you dwellt in Imladris or Lindon, surely we would have met already." Mithalwen sipped her tea, adding nothing. Uien added a dollop of honey to hers. Ever since she had first tasted Shire honey she had never been able to say it nay.

Falowik listened to the two converse as he cut into his ham and eggs with relish.

"You speak the truth. We have never been to Lindon, though we have passed through Imladris twice in the past four months; but we stopped there only briefly, I am sad to say. I am from Lothlorien. My lineage is Sindarin, but I have not followed my kindred over sea. I was unable to go with them." Uien's face darkened slightly, at a memory that Mithalwen could not read, but it was unpleasant; that was easy enough to read.