The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger laughed at the man’s antics. There were few who could ‘get round’ Cook she thought, but he seemed to be one of them. The two of them were just finishing up the baskets of bread when Gwenneth peeked in through the kitchen doors. Ginger’s eyes brightened and she smiled at her friend, motioning for her to come in.

‘Here’s the one who made you that pretty bouquet, Cook,’ she chirped, pushing Gwenneth forward. Cook thanked the Elven maid and offered her a chair while they worked.

‘Oh, I don’t think she’ll be needing a chair, Miz Bunce,’ laughed Ginger. Cook looked at the two of them, awaiting an explanation.

‘Gwenneth wants to help out. She’s already helped in the gardens, and I thought maybe she could help me with serving the meal tonight.’ The Elf nodded her head ‘yes’ at her friend’s explanation.

Buttercup and Ruby had come in and begun setting out bowls on the large serving platters. ‘We’ll take all the help we can get,’ they laughed. ‘Why don’t you two take a couple of serving trays and hand round the baskets of bread and butter and jam? Along with the spoons. We’ll bring out the bowls of stew and the mugs. Then you can go round with us and pour out teas or cider or ale . . . whatever is needed to wash down the meal.’

Ginger handed Gwenneth a serving tray. ‘Well, shall we get started, then . . .?’

[Noinkling]

Talk rose and fell in the common room, the rhythm of it comforting him as he leaned forward toward the fireplace, warming his chilled hands. Tolly was from a large family and suppers were much like this at the big burrow in Greenholm – the sharp voices arguing their points blended with others at the table chuckling over some small jest. And still others, talking in low persistent whisperings of their problems. Beneath it all the sounds of mugs meeting the wooden table top as they were set down and the clatter of spoons against their sides as honey was stirred into the tea. Soon he knew, there would be the clack and scrape of cutlery against plates and bowls when the food arrived. And the satisfied noises of those enjoying their meal.

‘And what a meal that will be,’ he thought, sniffing the air appreciatively.

Something savory assailed his nose as did the hearty scent of fresh baking. His stomach growled as one of the lasses set down a basket of bread at his table along with a crock of butter and a small pot of blackberry jam. It was all he could do not to pounce on it. But, remembering his manners, he grinned at the server as he sat back in his chair, waiting for the main course to arrive.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman made the announcement that supper was soon to be served and began taking orders from those around her who called for them, including a comfortable looking gentlehobbit nearby who smiled benignly around him happily. She grinned at the way he seemed generally happy with everything. Tobias was suddenly brought sharply to her mind, and she snapped her fingers at her forgetfulness. She needed to inquire as to what decision Tobias had come to and, more importantly of course for any in the Shire, what he would like for supper.

Making her way discreetly to the study, Aman slipped in through the unlocked door, the question of supper on her lips...before she stopped dead. It was empty. The Innkeeper stood with her mouth wide open in the study door, her hand frozen on the doorknob as she dumbly tried to comprehend exactly where Tobias and Snaveling had gone. She wrung her hands worriedly and desperately checked behind the door. Nope: they were definitely gone. "This is bad..." Aman murmured quietly to herself as she remembered what Snaveling had suggested: that he and Toby take flight from the Shire and from Toby's plight, flying South to the lands of Rohan or Gondor. If Toby had gone with this idea, had gone into self-inflicted exile from his own people...Aman closed her eyes and shot a quick prayer to whatever deities might be listening. Please let him not have taken up this foolish idea with Snaveling...

Closing the door, Aman glanced furtively around the Inn to where the Thain's men had gone back on their pledge and were steadily drinking toasts to just about everyone and everything in the immediate vicinity. She raised an eyebrow. It was unlikely, then, that the trio had noticed the man and the hobbit depart. But by the gods, they had done it quietly!

Trying to put these thoughts to the side, reasoning logically that she could not do anything about it now, Aman made her way into the kitchen as Derufin was leaving, conveying a handful of stew-covered bread to his mouth. As she passed, Aman leant forward and snatched the mouthful before it could reach the stablemaster's mouth, and he gave an indignant cry as Aman ducked past him into the kitchen, laughing and blowing him a meat-and-potato kiss as she door swung shut behind her. Finishing the mouthful hastily, Aman took out her notebook and began to relay the meals to Cook and Ruby. "The Inn is quite busy tonight, quite a fair amount of meals: there are-" She paused, stopping dead for the second time in as many minutes, as a distantly familiar smell assaulted her nostrils over the familiar cooking smells of the kitchen. She twisted in a slow pirouette towards the fireplace and jerked backwards slightly as she saw it's smug occupant. She raised an accusatory finger to point like a bringer of doom towards the mat in front of the fireplace where a cat sat purring smugly.

For a moment, she didn't speak, then she raised her eyebrows and said slowly, "Cook, are you aware that your cat appears to have gone back in time several years and...changed it's coat?"

Cook laughed, half in relief that Aman had not been more annoyed at the cat's appearance, and she turned back to serving out stew from the cast-iron, military-size cauldron. "Ah Miz Aman - no, this is a newcomer. You're all in for taking in waifs and strays, so I took in one of my own. And he seems to appreciate my cooking very well, unlike some," she added, winking conspiratorially at the cat.

"Miz Bunce, there is not man, hobbit, elf or any other manner of being within a hundred acres of the 'Dragon who does not appreciate you cooking." She paused and frowned, giving Cook a puzzled, questioning look. "And as for taking in waifs and strays, what is that supposed to mean?!"

Cook bustled busily, smiling to herself. "Oh well, you know how it is Aman...that nice elven boy some time ago; Snaveling, before he was all spruced up from the West-"

"On second thoughts, no, don't change the subject!" Aman interrupted indignantly, although she was half smiling. She looked back at the cat. "That is not your cat. Yet it is sitting on that rug as if it owns it and everything within a hundred miles of it. There is definitely a more than proportionate share of smugness around that feline..."

Ginger, who had just returned from the Common Room bearing a now empty tray, laughed at Aman's tone. "Oh come on, Aman, what have you got against that cat?" She stooped to scratch the cat's head as she passed, and it's purring increased to such a level of smugness that Aman half-expected it to produce a pipe and sit back comfortably, one paw against the mantlepiece. "Aren't you exaggerating a little?"

"I am not," Aman replied darkly, "a cat person."

There was a moment's pause, then all three of the servers burst out laughing before they went back to their tasks. Aman and the cat eyed each other warily, at a stalemate, before Cook sent Aman on her way laden with trenchers of mouth-wateringly delicious smelling stew. The Innkeeper glared at the cat grudgingly one last time. In reply, the feline simply gave a smile, settled back down on the rug and purred smugly once more. With a cry of exasperation and 'they'll take us over!', Aman swept once more into the Common Room in disgust.

[Kransha]

Please do not remove this post space - thanks!

~*~ Pio

[starkat]

Gwenneth smiled her thanks and quickly gathered a basket full of bread and followed Ginger out into the dining room. With a smile the elf maid began making her way around the tables.

Stopping to say hi to several of the patrons had put her a few minutes behind Ginger. Deciding to pick up the pace a little, the young elf almost ran into Ruby. “I am sorry Ruby!”

Ruby waved the apology off with a smile and Gwenneth sighed happily. She returned to the kitchen and set down her empty basket. “What is next?”

“Why don’t you help pour,” Cook said.

Gwenneth nodded. As she did so, loose hair fell into her eyes. “Oh bother.” It only took her a few moments to tuck the loose strands behind her ears and she picked up a pitcher of cider and returned to the dining room.

[Noinkling]

Tolly tied his napkin round his neck, in an effort to keep the new green vest made by his wife clean. Blossom . . . Her sweet face with its dimpled smile floated into his attention followed closely on by that of his little pudgy-faced son and his one-toothed grin. “Home soon,” he thought to himself. “Just a day or two to see to my business here. Then Benny and I will fly home.” The thought of his sturdy, well-fed little pony ‘flying’ made him chuckle. Top pace for the stubborn beast was the quickened trot from path to stable when the promise of a warm stall and a nosebag of oats was the end prize.

The stew was delivered, and set carefully before him. Tolly smiled up at the serving lass, nodding appreciatively to her as he picked up his spoon. He tucked into the rich concoction of chicken, vegetable, and fat chunks of tater all in a savory broth. Mouthfuls of stew alternated with chunks of bread, spread thick with butter and jam.

Another lass came round with a pitcher of cold cider, and Tolly, his mouth full, signaled for a refill. She had just finished topping off his mug, when he’d managed to swallow his rather large bite. “My compliments to the Cook, if you will, lass,’ he said beaming at her. “Good fare, it is!” He leaned closer to the lass as if sharing a confidence. “And just as tasty as any my old Mam served in her day!”

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger bobbed a small curtsy to the Hobbit. ‘Oh, my pleasure, sir! Cook will be happy, I’m sure, to know her stew stands in the company of your Ma’s. But who shall I say has given his compliments?’ The Hobbit wiped a trace of jam from his chin and laughed. ‘Tolly,’ he said in reply to her question. ‘Tolly Greenhand of Greenholm, lass.’ She left him to the rest of his meal, saying in parting that if he really wanted to give his compliments he would call for another bowl of stew. ‘Oh, and don’t forget, there’s apple cobbler to think on for dessert. Made by my own hand,’ she added blushing a bit at her boldness. ‘And clotted cream to go with it.’

She hurried off, then, leaving the happy fellow to consider how he might work in both her suggestions. Hands raised and fingers crooked at her as she passed among the tables. Both her pitchers of cider were soon down to the dregs. She was just making her way back to the bar for a refill, when a large table of local lads called her over, clanking their mugs together as they called for another round. Ginger held up her pitchers, shrugging her shoulders as she mouthed to the noisy crowd that they were empty. They hooted and laughed saying she’d best get back to them soon. ‘Cold cider and a pretty face to serve it!’ called out one of them, causing her cheeks to color at the cheeky words, and the bold looks of the others.

From behind her, came a familiar voice, a welcome voice. ‘Here, now, lads! I’ve plenty of cider to fill your mugs!’ The faces of the Hobbits fell as Ferdy stepped up to the table, then one by one cracked into grins and laughter as one of the lads called out in a resigned manner. ‘You’re no beauty, though. Ah, well, the drink will have to do.’

Ginger stammered out a whispered thanks as Ferdy passed near her, filling mugs . . .

[Nurumaiel]

The fragrant scent of supper drifted to the table where Posco and Lily sat, and both drew in the beautiful smell with peaceful smiles. Posco did not take his eyes off her, for he thought she was too sweet for words, and he wanted to remember any and every moment they spent together, in the case that he would see her again as Mrs. Tommy Banks. He studied her hair, her eyes, her cheeks, her little nose, her smiling lips, and he didn't realise that the supper was being served, until she asked him, with a laugh, if he were at all hungry, and if he would like something to eat. And then he sprang to his feet, bidding her stay where she was, and he was not gone long before two bowls of chicken stew were placed on their little table.

"Is it anything like your mother's food?" Lily asked.

"I have to say it isn't," said Posco, with a regretful smile. "It's very good, and I'm very hungry, but my mother is, after all, my mother, and I can't say that anyone cooks better than she does." He paused in his eating, and watched Lily daintily sip at her stew, and he wondered if someday he would sit across from her every day, or if Tommy Banks would be the happy hobbit who enjoyed such.

"Yes," said Posco, hurrying on, for he did not want to dwell in despondent thoughts about Tommy Banks, and he recalled to himself that he was the one who had asked Lily to give that lad a chance, for it was the best thing to do. "My mother is a splendid cook, like most hobbit mothers are. Perhaps you'd like to stay for a day or two at my family's home? It might be a wise thing to have them meet you."