The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[the guy who be short]

Éodear looked around with increasing panic. This didn't look like Bree. This didn't look like Bree at all.

Why oh why hadn't he stuck to the North-South road?

Infact, why hadn't he taken a map?

Or, for that matter, provisions. He hadn't dined properly for days, and had only been discouraged from eating his horse, Lassemista, by the realisation that this would somewhat hinder his pace.

Well, he thought, at least it's civilisation. That means food.

Thus, Éodear found himself at the entrance to the Green Dragon Inn in Bywater, as the stableboy had placed it. Not wishing to appear a complete imbecile, Éodear had smiled politely, nodded, and wandered to the door.

As he opened the door, the smell of freshly baked bread invaded his nostrils. He almost broke down into tears. Food! Shelter! Ale! Food! And was that a fellow countrywoman at the bar? He took a seat near the door, and started emptying his pockets in search of anything that could pass as currency.

[Dunwen]

Still shaking her head in amazement at finding the Woodlock children safe and sound at the Green Dragon, Widow Rosebank went downstairs and into the Common Room. It was shortly before lunch, and the room was filling up with hungry customers, while a combination of delicious odors permeated the air. They leaked out through a door to one side; somewhere behind it was undoubtedly the kitchen. And in the kitchen would be the inn's Cook, one Miz Bunce, whom Widow Rosebank had been directed to speak to.

Focusing her mind on her main goal, business, the Widow barely registered the happy chattering around her about "a party tonight" and "free ale". Ebba Rosebank regarded her drygoods business not only as a livlihood for herself and her family, but as a challenge and a pleasure. Nothing made her happier than to present her customers with just the right cloth for their needs, or to see someone's face light up at the sight of a perfect gift for a loved one. She enjoyed the chance to handle the few luxury materials her customers required, too. She believed in dealing fair with folks, and the Bree-folk, Big and Little, knew that they could get good value for their silver at Rosebank's Drygoods.

Lately, however, Ebba had started listening to the tales of the travelers who came through Bree and wondering what it would be like to see a Real Mountain or the Great River away in Gondor. She was sure she was too settled to travel far, but if she could do a bit of business in the Shire once or twice a year, that might get her out her rut. This Fair at the Green Dragon sounded like a fine way to introduce her wares. She hoped it would all work out, but first she must talk to the Cook.

While most Big People would have found the idea of getting permission for something from a Cook to be laughable or insulting, Ebba Rosebank was Bree-born and bred, and knew perfectly well the high regard Hobbitry had for good Cooks. Miz Bunce would take careful handling, especially right before a meal, but she had come prepared. She patted the pocket of her skirt, wherein rested a few items she thought might be useful to a skilled cook.

[piosenniel]

Lilly, Violet, and Cook

‘Here, lass! Let me open the door for you!’ Cook hurried up the single step and onto the small back stoop. Pushing open the kitchen’s back door she ushered the other two women in. Lilly, first, who made quickly for the table to deposit her basket and then Violet who walked more slowly, the tip of her blackthorn cane tap-tapping across the floor.

‘Go ahead and sit down,’ Cook said, motioning toward the table’s chairs. ‘I’ll just pop these pans of rolls into the oven so they’ll be fresh and hot for lunch.’ Vinca whisked the clean towels off the rolls and inspected the plump rounds of dough. Satisfied that they had risen to her satisfaction, she brushed their tops with melted butter and placed them on the oven racks.

She turned over the sand filled timer, then, and walked over to where the two women were talking. ‘Let’s see what you and your Gran have accomplished with this year’s plums, Lilly,’ she said, taking one of the wax sealed pots from the basket.

Lilly fetched a knife warmed in hot water for her to loosen the seal, and a spoon for the contents. Cook placed the big basket on the floor and had Lilly fetch a plate of scones left over from the breakfast meal.

Miz Violet, for her part, had her dark eyes fixed on Cook’s hand as she prised up the wax and then dipped the spoon into the thick, purple red concoction. ‘Oh my!’ Cook exclaimed, heaping a bit of preserves on a wedge of scone. ‘You’ve outdone yourselves this year! There are bits of toasted walnut in here, aren’t there? And isn’t that just the faintest hint of lemon I’m tasting against the sweet?’

She passed the scones to Violet and Lilly, sliding the pot of plum preserves across after she’d added just a wee bit more to her own flaky morsel.

[Folwren]

Tim was busy in the stables. Two new horses to be put up had arrived almost at the same time, and one of the riders had asked him to groom his mule. The animal needed it, too. He was hot and sweaty, particular where the harnesses of the cart had been. He had taken him to water first and had been just about to lead him into the stables when another horse trotted up. He tied the mule up quickly to the ring on the barn’s wall and hurried forward to take the horse’s rein’s.

Being thus occupied with them, he found himself unable to held Fordogrim Chubb with the ale as he had promised. Tim certainly intended on rushing back out there just as soon as he’d finished up in the stables and washed his hands. And in little time at all, he finished the job with the horse and mule, and headed back out. He took his place beside Fatty and began again to fill mugs.

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Wren, kneeling beside a large chest (compared to her), dug through the contents thereof. Her eyes were bright and she’d practically forgotten the trouble of a few minutes ago. There were other things to occupy her mind now.

“What sort of party is it, Ginger?” she asked. “Will there be dancing as well as music? There used to be dances in Bree that we would all go to. Tim and I would play with the other kids around there, who would all come. Do you think that Hanson and Woody who were here last night will come again?”

Ginger laughed at Wren’s excited chatter and pulled out a lovely looking dress that she had just dug out. “What do you think of this one, Wren?” Wren lifted her head.

“It’s pretty!” she said, smiling broadly. “I think you should wear it.” Ginger chuckled again and Wren turned back to her searching. A moment later, she bounded up to her feet, holding out a little, blue dress in front of her. “Look, look!” she cried, skipping excitedly to Ginger’s side. “This one might fit me perfectly!” It certainly did appear to be a well made, human child’s dress, and one that may fit Wren’s slight figure.

[Rose]

Rose paused for a moment at the rise in the road. She loosened the clasp of her russet colored cloak, pushing the hood back from her flushed face. It had grown warmer as she’d trudged along; the noontime sun was generous with its warmth and growing more giving with each step. Her short dark curls were in disarray from the hood and several stray ringlets lay plastered against her brow. She brushed them back with a hurried gesture and shrugged the front sections of her cloak behind her shoulders. Her worn leather pack lay snug against her back, another source of uncomfortable warmth.

The Green Dragon was very near. Just a very short distance and she would be turning up the path to the inn proper. And what was that happening in the front yard, she wondered. There were a goodly number of Hobbits with mugs in their hands and a number of casks round which they were gathered. Her deep blue eyes lit up at the sight. She was thirsty after her long morning's hike.

A short time later, the Hobbit lass had crossed the yard and climbed the steps to the little verandah. Two Dwarves sat in wooden chairs a little to her left. There were mugs in their hands she could see, and their beards wagged up and down as they spoke with one another. It was a funny sort of sight and she bit her bottom lip, holding back a laugh that threatened to escape. One of the Dwarves glanced her way and she looked away guiltily, hoping he had not taken her stare as rudeness on her part.

[Koobdooga]

‘Your pardon, Miss,’ said Ibun, rocking his chair back down so that it now stood on all its legs. He sat his mug down on the flat top of the porch railing and stood up. ‘Is there something we can help you with?’

The Hobbit lass’ stare and the blossoming stain of red on her cheeks as she turned quickly away made him curious. That and the hint of a smile she had smoothed from her lips.

[the phantom]

As Meri emerged from the stable, a small coin purse thudded into the dust between his feet.

"Be sure and keep my horse well, Stablemaster."

Meri looked up at the speaker. He was wrapped completely in a black cloak. All that showed were his fine black riding boots and his face. His eyes were grey, and a lock of black hair trailed down just to the left of his eyes and then curved back to disappear into his hood. He was fair of face, and tall, and the hilt of a sword showed above his right shoulder.

He dismounted with ease, and began walking with firm steps towards the door to the inn. Meri opened the coin purse and his eyes grew wide. "I promise I'll take excellent care of your horse!" he called after the stranger. The stranger turned, nodded, opened the door and disappeared into the inn.

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Ruby Brown ran straight into the stranger as he entered, spilling the two drinks she was carrying onto the bottom of his cloak.

"Oh, goodness, I'm sorry! Oh sir, just-"

"If you wish to atone for your mistake just toddle off and get me a mug of whatever you spilled on me. It smells quite good."

Ruby nodded in agreement. "Aye- it does. It's fine ale, the best in the Shire if I may say so," she said as she produced a towel from the back of her belt and began mopping up the spill. "What's your name, sir?"

"Belegund," he answered as he removed his hood. "I come from Minas Tirith."

As he surveyed the room, he saw a man of Rohan seated by himself at a table nearby. "I'll be sitting at this table here near the door," said Belegund. "When you're done cleaning that up, bring me my mug of ale." As he spoke, he noticed that the man from Rohan seemed to be searching for currency. "On second thought, bring two mugs."