The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[elf-girl-63]

Aranel stamped her feet at the door of the inn and slowly pushed it open. She shook her long dark hair out of her face and stepped inside. The rain had just about stopped as she reached her destination- The Green Dragon. The inn had been recommended by a mysterious traveller who was on their way home. She couldn't remember his name but he'd been very brooding and very reluctant to share any information during the night that they'd camped out together, but she was pleased with the recommendation. The inn looked to be very comforting.

It was decorated in a typically hobbit fashion, yet with enough space even for the tallest of travellers. Aranel smiled to herself and made her way over to the bar. A stout hobbit was stood there, eyeing up the woman although with no hint of surprise on her face. She was obviously used to new and unusual visitors- even those dressed in plain clothes but with... certain airs. Aranel was somewhat glad, she did not wish to be talked about.

Nodding her head, she smiled again and stuck out her hand 'Good afternoon, I am Aranel. I wondered if I could possibly have a room for a few days?'

The woman turned to a get a guestbook and Aranel suddenly felt a terrible huner pang. 'Excuse me. But I would I be able to get some food as well?'

[Nurumaiel]

Falco was slightly taken aback by young Camille's proposal, but charmed by her frank, intelligent manner of speaking. She had a way of thinking and talking like an older hobbit, but she still retained the simplicity and sweetness of a child. Oh, yes, he was indeed charmed. All remnants of his former ill mood were vanquished, and he smiled at her.

"A very admirable proposal," he said. "As it happens I am very fussy about the cleanliness of my clothes, and I was worried of how I was to keep them fresh and bright. The rain has dirtied one of my outfits already, and... why, I did not notice it before, but the rain of this day has slightly dirtied this coat as well!" He looked at it in genuine surprise, and wondered why he had not noticed it sooner. Perhaps his worry for Marigold and his suspicion of that Big Folk fellow kept him blind to it until now.

But the Big Folk fellow? Where had he gone? And, come to think of it, where was Marigold? Ah, yes, that young woman stranger had carried her up to her room. But... Falco was not nearly as suspicious of the young woman stranger as he was of the Big Folk fellow, but still he did not like to leave Marigold alone with one he did not know very well.

Camille was looking at him, as if expecting him to go on. He coughed and regained his previous train of thought.

"I have no cart, I fear... all I had was a pony, which kicked me off and ran away. But I wouldn't be opposed to carrying your brother here... as long as he wouldn't mind if I stopped and rested a bit every now and then. Regrettably I am not as young and strong as I used to be." He glanced towards the door, and thought about Marigold again.

"Now, my dear Miss Camille, when you've finished your lunch, perhaps you'd like to come meet Marigold. There have been no other hobbit lasses her age around the Inn, and though she seems happy enough in the company of elderly hobbits like me, I'm sure she would very much enjoy the company of one her own age."

[Annalaliath]

Annalalaith stepped into the inn; she had had a long journey behind her. Her mud spattered cloths were hanging limply about her for the rain and her cloak had not done much for keeping her dry. She shook off the cloak, as it stuck to her other layers of clothing as she waked to the bar. Her long dirty blond hair hung limply about her obvious Elvin features. But her keen steal blue eyes were bright as ever, and always attentive to the smallest action, or beauty that could be found.

Although this place was small, being made for Hobbits, she liked it. She noticed the other patrons sitting at their drinks and food and wondered what they were thinking. After ordering what ever the nightly meal was and some ale she sat in a corner by herself. Took out an old battered book, pages covered in drawings and sketches, which she started to flip through, taking a sip from her mug now and again, she pondered the events of the last time she had come.

[Noinkling]

Benat makes his way to Derufin's

Benat picked up his walking stick where it leaned against the window frame and walked to the pegs near the front door where his cloak hung. ‘Come, Cullen!’ he called to his canine companion. ‘Cook’s told a fellow named Derufin we’ll come help clear the downed trees from the edge of the Inn’s yard.’ Benat drew his cloak over his shoulders and shrugged it into place.

Opening the Inn door, he ducked down a bit and stepped onto the porch. Two strides brought him down the steps. Cullen bounded out behind Benat and circled him, wagging his tail. ‘This way, fellah,’ called the man, walking briskly toward the groundskeeper’s cottage.

[Mithalwen]

It had taken Mithalwen longer than she expected to get Marigold ready. It had been quite a task to persuade her she should have a bath since Marigold claimed she had had a good wash that morning, and only the addition of what Mithalwen told her were "special elf herbs as used by the queen herself (who everyone knew was the fairest lady in the world)" had convinced her. They would ensure she would wake with few aches from her fall.

Then while the hobbit maid bathed, Mithalwen had realised one of the dresses was missing. She did not want to be away from Marigold for time it took to find it and so attempted to conceal it's absence a while by telling her she should wear the red dress " for it is the most cheerful colour for a grey day". As Marigold's hair dried she managed to persuade it into ringlets rather than wild curls and scavenged a piece of ribbon to keep them off her face. All in all, the elf was proud of her handiwork as she helped Marigold back down stairs. Her clear voice could be heard before they turned the corner and came back into the view of those in the common room.

"Now Marigold, you can show Mr Headstrong, Miss Aman and Mr Snaveling .. " cursing herself for mentioning them in the same breath and hoping it wouldn't prompt Marigold to develop her earlier theory, " how pretty you look.... oh they seem to have gone.. well you can show Mr Headstrong anyway ..that is most important since he gave you the dress" she added wondering where the Dunadan and the innkeeper were.

Marigold walked selfconsciously towards her benefactor who now seemed to have the company of another hobbit girl. While Marigold was distracted she whispered to Falco "I seem to be missing one of Miss Marigold's dresses ....... I must have left it behind .... I am sure I had them all ... anyway the other things are safely in the press in her room".

Really the child did look sweet in the red frock and it set off the single pearl necklace nicely.... she wondered if she should offer to shorten it.. but then that was another issue she was avoiding... how had Marigold come into possession of her wedding gift?

[samsmyhero]

Falowik had traced the outline of both of Denegal's feet onto a rough piece of parchment procured from the inn, and was now busy cutting out the leather. They had certainly received some odd looks as they had passed through Bywater looking for the tanner. The old hobbit had grinned, seeing Denegal's red slippers, and seemed somewhat disappointed that his friends were intent on reshodding the young soldier. But he was happy enough at the coin jingling in his hand as the three left his shop.

Upon returning to the inn, Denegal had stood just long enough to let Falowik trace his feet, then went in search of an axe. Now that the rain had stopped, he was duty bound to get onto the dismembering of those trees. Falowik and Uien had settled themselves comfortably in one of the empty stalls of the stable. Though the day was still chilly, the warmth of the horse' bodies were enough to keep the place warm and snug. Denegal felt the sharp caress of the wind as he turned the corner of the inn. But he knew the work ahead would certainly keep him warm enough. Ths sun was making a brave attempt to ward off the clouds that still flitted across the sky, and its rays felt good on his face.

The Cook had said the trees were near the groundskeepers' cottage and had pointed the way to him earlier that morning. Making his way along the path, Denegal became aware of a loud panting and bold footsteps behind him. Turning, his eyes widened in alarm at the sight of a huge man and an equally huge dog trotting at his side. The giant also stared at Denegal, but his surprise was a source of amusement – the curly toed red slippers, of course!

"Good day to you . . . friend." Denegal offered, hopefully. "I'm in search of the groundskeeper's cottage. Do you know if this is the way?"

[Nurumaiel]

Why Falco leaned over to whisper in Mithalwen's ear he couldn't say. He was supposed to be suspicious of her, but he was murmuring low to her, as if confident of her. Perhaps Camille had put him in an excellent put, or perhaps he had been slightly warmed by Mithalwen's own whispering. But whatever the reason, he did indeed lean over to her, with a reassuring smile, and whispered a reply.

"Don't fret about Marigold's dress, Miss Mithalwen," he said. "It's safe and sound, and I believe it is in the kitchen." He paused for a moment, and made a move as if to straighten up, but lingered in his leaning position a little longer to say, in the same low tones: "I'm going to be gone briefly this evening to help a young boy get to the Inn... I wonder if you would mind watching out for Marigold while I'm away."

Ah, so he was suspicious of her, and he asked her to watch Marigold again... and he wouldn't be in the Inn. Last time Marigold had been left alone with this young woman, she (that is, Marigold) had fallen from a horse. What madness possessed him to ask again? Why did he suddenly feel as if he ought to trust this young woman? He was quite irritated with himself, and gave her no time to voice either assent or dissent, for he immediately turned to face Camille and Marigold, who had been gazing curiously and rather shyly at each other.

"Miss Camille, I should like you to meet Miss Marigold Baker. And, Marigold, my dear, this is Miss Camille." He had been determined to ignore the young woman in the introductions as his penance for trusting her to watch Marigold again, but he felt it would be rude, and so added, in a rather grudging tone: "And, Camille, this is Miss Mithalwen."