The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Atarah]

Tulip was drenched from head to toe in water. After Sharya left she had gone outside, being careful to go the opposite way to her friend lest the temptation to follow her became too strong. Tulip had walked quite a long way by the time it started to rain and she tutted at herself for not remembering the clouds above. She turned back toward the Inn, but didn't change her pace as she was already soaked through anyway. Something in the corner of her eye made her stop and turn. Could it be? Yes! It was an enormous puddle, one of the biggest she had ever seen. Forgetting her constant want to act grown up, she ran full speed at the puddle and jumped at the last moment. There was a large splash as she landed in the puddle and muddy water covered her white dress from the waist down, turning it a dull brown colour. Tulip laughed as she played in the puddle some more, then skipped back to the Green Dragon Inn, jumping in every puddle she set her eyes on.

When Tulip got back to the Inn her dress was caked in mud and she was incredibly cold, but happy none the less. She stood in the doorway for awhile, taking in who was there and what was happening. By the looks of things it was lunchtime, and her good friend Sharya was back. She walked to her friend's table and took a seat, noticing an odd mark on the table surface.

"Hello again friend," Tulip said with a smile. She looked at Sharya's food and decided she'd order some food after she caught up with Sharya. "So, did you get everything done you needed to?"

[Mithalwen]

Snaveling look anxiously at her and Mithalwen, shook her head. Seeing that she had increased rather than alleviated his anxiety, Mithalwen spoke. "She isn't dead Tar-Corondir, and she has no broken bones or I would not have moved her thus. She fell only when Felarof stopped, tempted by the plants in the kitchen garden. But it is a long fall for such a small child and she fell on rough and stony ground - she hit her head I fear" the child's sweet face was marred by scratches and already there were signs of bumbs and bruises forming. "Take her from me - we need to get her inside ".

Mithalwen passed Marigold into Snaveling's arms, and slipped from Aeglos's back. she found that her legs were unsteady beneath her, so frightened had she been for the child's safety and was glad that the stableman, Meriadoc, emerged from taking his lunch opportunely and she entrusted both horses to him.

She was glad to hear a murmur from Marigold as Snaveling carried her into the inn. the child was coming around. Snaveling set her down on a long padded bench under the window and Mithalwen gently examined Marigold's wounds. "Wake up miss Marigold, you are safe and sound" ..she was rewarded by a faint and slightly groggy smile.

Mithalwen reckoned that the child would need a hot bath, a good meal, and yarrow to treat her wounds. Then an early night would probably put her right. She sent Snaveling to ask the kitchen about hot water and if they had the herb though its use was more medicinal than culinary and when she sensed a presence behind her she thought it was him returned.

[Sett]

A horse trod along the east - west road with a man of gondorian origins jumped off as he pulled the horse to the front yard of an inn called the green dragon. He then noticed a stable and walked up to it.

“Hello there”

“why hello there strange one I am Meriadoc the stable keeper.”

The gondorian gave the horse up and threw the stable master some gold coins. He walked up the inn via the path. Upon entering the inn he was instantly greeted by Sherman and Therengol who shot up from their seats like lightening at the sight of this man.

“my fellow kinsman I bring word from Gondor” replied the man

Sherman and Therengol speeded up as they approached him and dragged him to the bar. They both were eager to speak with him but the others could tell that they were below him in terms of rank.

“This is an urgent visit. I must warn you that the ship is a trap set up by the corsair. They thought we were going send more than you four but alas we have not and you are going to your death.”

“tell me where is Galither for I wish to speak with him.”

The two men shared blank expressions which quickly turned to guilt. In which time Falmir came down the stairs as well.

“Earlingthor!” exclaimed Falmir

The engaged a conversation between the four of them about their mission and the dangers they were facing. The two men revealed that Galither had left earlier on and had said about scouting the area. Earlingthor grabbed the three of them and brought them out of the inn. He was not impressed by what had been going on and forced them all onto the horse and to find Galither.

“I am going back to gondor now and have no more to say on the matter. You are not to go near the extraction site nor are you required to stay in this area once you have found Galither which you will do if you value life then you shall bring him back alive.” Earlingthor revealed

“But but” cried the three men

“go now! More orders will be waiting for you at bree. Goodbye and count yourselves lucky I have come to stop you or you may be riddled with arrows but a few days from now

[Child of the 7th Age]

Miz Bella was looking decidedly better than when she'd first been carried inside the evening before. Her unruly curls were firmly pushed behind her ears and held in place by a bright green ribbon. She was wearing a maroon dress with a grey sash tied around her waist, a garment that Cook had kindly deposited on one of the armchairs for her to try on earlier that morning. Although a bit pale, Miz Bella was beginning to regain her strength and good nature. Still, she was extraordinarily slender for a hobbit. It looked as if a good wind could blow her away.

Bella had been seated at the table leafing through a number of books when she head foorsteps approaching in the hallway. She called out a welcome and scurried forward to open the door.

Seeing the large tray of goodies in Cook's hand, she quickly made space for the teapot and toast on the table and pushed a chair over for her guest to sit down. Then she poured two cups of honeyed tea and offered one to Cook. "You are too kind. You really needn't have done all this. I'm quite sure you have plenty of guests and duties to keep you busy. I just don't know what to say. But I at least wanted you to know that I do have money to pay for my room and meals, and that I certainly don't want to push you out of your own parlor."

Before Cook could open her mouth or ask another question, Bella had whisked over to the corner where some of her clothes from the previous night had been haphazardly tossed onto the floor (an occurence that was quite unusual for Cook's parlour). She picked up the ragged skirt out of the pile and began to work at the threads with her nimble fingers. She undid one seam and a number of coins that had been hidden came bouncing out. "There's more where this comes from," assured Bella, pointing to the other clothes on the floor, "but I hope this will hold me for a while."

"Hold you?" piped up Cook. "This will do more than hold you. It should keep you comfortable for quite a while."

"I'm no good with money. It's all looks the same to me," Bella shrugged her shoulders and laughed. "You see most of my life I lived with folk who traded goods in an honest manner but had no coins at all. But before my parents sailed west, when they were still trekking over the wide earth, Mother had several Dwarf friends who taught her how to dig in caves or quarries or abandoned mines and come up with gemstones. She was so good at it they would tease and say she must be a dwarf in disguise. Father had no feel for the thing. He would spend the day hunting and digging and wind up with nothing. But he did learn how to cut and polish the stones that Mother found. She kept one or two for herself but they sold the rest as they passed through the towns. Over the years, they traded for a number of gold pieces that eventually passed to me. I try not to use them except in very tight times."

"But I've talked too much. And I haven't explained the reason I wanted to speak with you. I am thinking of settling here for a bit. I've never lived in the Shire so perhaps it's time for me to come home. I need some honest work so I can make my own way. I have no kinfolk at all, or at least if I do, I don't know them and they have never met me, and probably they would prefer to keep it that way. Ginger said something to me this morning that started me thinking. Father told me about the dame schools: how hobbit ladies would teach the little ones in their homes their basic numbers and letters, and keep them occupied while the parents were off doing other things. I'm wondering if you have a school like that in these parts, or if you think there would be a need for such a place. I would not expect to make a great deal, just enough to keep a roof over my head and a meal or two. The parents could pay me with pennies or some produce from their gardens."

"The only problem is," added Miz Bella with a sigh, "is that I have no burrow of my own. And I have no idea where I could find suitable lodgings for such an undertaking...."

[peral]

Sharya smiled weakly at Tulip's question. Oh, if only you knew, if only you knew.

"Yes, actually, I did manage to get quite a few things done, except..." she looked down at her dress, "get new clothes, which really, I shouldn't have expected to be able to do in a village of halflings." Here she gave Tulip a strange look. "What happened to you?" here she indicated Tulip's dress.

Tulip laughed. "I was playing in the rain and it was fun, if only you were there too."

Sharya laughed. "Oh, I wish I could have joined you, but this is my only dress and I have to preserve it until I get another one, which might not be for awhile. That is," she added, "until I find the time, or rather, can be bothered to make myself a new one." Then she looked up. "Oh, your food is here. I'll let you eat first," she smiled, "and give myself time to finish my own.

Tulip laughed, but dug into her food as heartily as Sharya looked to have dug into hers.

[Noinkling]

Benat and Cullen

The door to the Inn swung open, and for a brief moment the grey light of a rainy afternoon penetrated the lowlit interior of the common room. There were mutterings as the cold wind swept in and admonitions of ‘Someone shut the door, please!’ One of the servers put down her tray on an empty table, intending to shut the door. Her steps faltered as she neared the open door and heads turned again as darkness filled the entryway.

A giant of a man stood there, his long brown cape blocking the light from the outside. He turned sideways and ducked his head down a bit to enter. He stood blinking for a moment in the entry way, his dark eyes adjusting to the lower level of light.

‘Come in . . . sir,’ the server said in as firm a voice as she could muster. ‘The wind and rain bring a chill to the room. Close the door if you would.’

The man nodded, and turning back to the door began to shut it. ‘Come, Cullen,’ he called out, as he did so, leaving just enough room for a large, grey coated dog to pad in. The two made their way to one of the bigger tables near the front window, the one with a wide, sturdy oak bench.

The patrons along the path to their table eyed the man and dog as they passed. The dog was nearly as tall as a Shire pony, with a short, wiry, dark grey coat. His tail was long and had he wagged it at all would have swept the Hobbits on the nearby benches from their seats. His eyes were as dark as the man’s, and took in the surroundings in an intelligent manner. His nose twitched with the inviting smells of the Inn and its inhabitants, cataloguing them.

His master was taller than any man or Elf for that matter. A homespun tunic was tucked neatly into his long black breeches which in turn were held up by a fine woven, broad rope belt. On his feet he wore not leather boots, but rather some made of thick boiled wool, impervious to the wet; dark blue they were and came to the middle of his calves. In his hand was a stout oaken stick, for walking, many supposed, or perhaps a weapon, too. None other was seen about him. The hood to his cape was thrown back revealing a head of thick dark hair. Removing his wet cloak, a single, long dark braid could be seen, snaking down his back to his waist. And in front was an equally long dark beard, the mustache of it framing his generous mouth, which was now curved in a smile at the server.

‘I’ll just take your cloak . . . sir, and hang it by the door to dry, if you don’t mind,’ said the server, emboldened by the fellow’s seeming good-nature, and the fact that the dog had come up to sniff his her hand and had given it a friendly lick.

‘Lay down, Cullen! And mind your manners,’ the man said, directing the dog to the spot near the table. ‘My name is Benat, little Mistress,’ he said, then, turning back to the server. He handed his cloak to her, chuckling a bit as she handed it on to two of the taller male Hobbits she motioned over. They struggled with the heavy, wet thing, and managed to secure it on one of the pegs by the door. It trailed out a bit and they tucked the extra length of it to the side so no one would trip on it.

‘Now what can I get for you, Master Benat,’ the server asked. ‘And for your companion?’

‘Some ale, if you please, little Mistress,’ he said, his eyes twinkling at the thought of a good drink. ‘And bread, and cheese.’ He declined the offer of a bowl of bean with ham soup, saying that it was not his pleasure to eat meats of any sort. She looked at him a bit oddly, then shrugged her shoulders. A good sized bowl of apple cobbler, though, was agreed to and the server turned toward the kitchen to fetch the fellow’s order.

‘One last thing,’ he said, once she’d delivered his food, and asked if there would be anything else he required. ‘Might you know where Master Bilbo Baggins lives? I’m the grandson of an old acquaintance of his. I’ve brought him a pot of honey from my Granda’s bees. He was quite fond of it, or so the old story goes.’

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling rushed into the kitchen, desperate to help Mithalwen in taking care of the lass Marigold for he felt responsible for what had happened. Feralof, though no longer his horse, had been his mount for many a week and thus he should have been able to better judge what might happen with him. He also accused himself bitterly for not properly watching the girl more closely, but quick at the heels of this accusation he felt an angry justification rise up. I did not even ask to be made her caretaker! I was just landed with the lass; how could it be my fault if she goes and gets herself hurt by doing something so foolish as mounting a strange horse? There is…no-one who could blame me. Oddly enough, he realised that there was only one person he was particularly afraid of condemning him: the Innkeeper.

He reached the Kitchen and all other thoughts left his mind. There was no sign of Cook but Buttercup was there, busying herself with the cleaning up from lunch. “There’s been an accident,” he began, carefully, deciding that for his own sake it might be best if he were to leave the precise details a bit vague for the time being. “The lass Marigold has had a fall and is quite overcome. The Elven lady Mithalwen has sent me to fetch hot water and something called yarrow, that she believes will help the girl. Do you have any?”

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger and Benat

‘Begging your pardon, sir,’ said Ginger, stepping up close to Benat once he’d asked his question of her. ‘Did you say “Mister Bilbo Baggins”?’ Benat nodded his head ‘yes’ as he chewed on his bread and cheese. ‘Well, sir, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but he’s no longer with us.’

Benat lowered his half gnawed bread to the plate and looked questioningly at Ginger. His shoulders slumped and he looked quite dejected.

‘Oh, no, sir,’ Ginger protested stumbling over her words. ‘It’s not that he’s . . . well, you know . . . though he might be, he was awfully old. But really we don’t know, you see . . .’

Benat shook his head, a perplexed look on his face, giving every indication he did not see.

‘My stars, let me just try to untangle my twisty tongue and get it out right for you.’ Ginger pushed back the hair from her reddened face and began again. ‘It’s not that he’s gone and died before you got here. He disappeared, when I was just a wee one. Went off with his nephew, Mister Frodo Baggins. Off west, it was. Took a fancy to go sailing, the two of them did. And packed it in here in the Shire and took off with some of the Fair Folk. Haven’t seen hide nor hairy toes of either one of them since.’ She was going to add that Mayor Sam saw them off, but she held her tongue, thinking that perhaps Benat did not need to know everything at the moment.

Ginger filled the man’s tankard with ale from the pitcher she was carrying. He was quiet, and she wished, upon seeing his saddened face, that she had more comforting news to tell him. A sudden idea brightened her face. ‘You just sit here and relax,’ she said, patting the man on his arm. ‘I’ll go fetch Cook. She’s sure to know something as can help you.’