The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Nurumaiel]

Falco Headstrong had been listening to the music. At first he tried to pretend it did not interest him, but slowly his feet drew closer and closer, and it was not long before he was tapping his foot and smiling, nodding in appreciation. He had heard the Sailor's Hornpipe, and recalled the days as a young lad when he had danced to that tune. He had danced to many a tune that day, but he had one favourite. Perhaps he could get the musicians to play it.

And that monkey! Tsk, tsk! How absurd, to think a monkey could dance well!

An idea sprang into Falco's mind, and for a moment he forgot he was a dignified and well-to-do old hobbit man. No, no, he didn't forget! But he remembered that just because he had been out in the rain the night before didn't mean he had to retain his sour mood. He remembered the last hand-fasting he had gone to. He'd hadn't considered it beneath his dignity then.

"Here now, boys... and, er, girls," he said to the musicians, stepping to them with a twinkle in his eye. "Your monkey knows how to stamp his feet, but why don't you watch a real hobbit dancing? Do you know The Maid Behind the Bar? If so, strike it up, and I'll dance for you better than any hobbit in the Shire can."

[Ealasaide]

Ealasaide's Post

As the songs they played grew faster and more complex with each start, Seamus' long, thin fingers fairly flew over the fingerboard of his instrument, his bow dancing merrily over the strings. Shimshin turned a merry dance as well at the front of the stage until suddenly mid-step he leaped off the platform and disappeared amid the small group of spectators who had gathered at the base of the platform to watch. Startled, Seamus nudged Owen who looked back at him with wide, equally startled eyes. He had seen Shimshin’s departure as well. It still being mid-song, neither of them wanted to throw down his instrument and pelt after the monkey, but there was no telling what sort of mischief the little guy could get into if left unsupervised. Seamus let his eyes search the crowd as he continued to play. When the song ended, he and Owen both dropped their instruments and climbed off the stage.

“Shimshin!” Seamus called softly. He looked under the stage. “Pssst...pssst...pssst.. Shimshin!”

Behind him, Owen peeked around the edges of the ladies’ skirts, making the same soft pssst sound. Finally, empty-handed, he rejoined Seamus at the foot of the stage as, above them, the band set into a lively rendition of The Maid Behind the Bar. A middle-aged hobbit took up the dancing where Shimshin had left off.

“Say, have you got any cashews?” asked Owen at his elbow. Both of them knew that cashews were, above all else, Shimshin’s cherished food of choice.

Seamus turned his pockets out and shook his head. “Not a one.”

“Maybe the Cook’s got some for the party,” said Owen. “I’ll go ask.”

“Good idea!” rejoined Seamus. “I’ll keep looking for him. If he’s up a tree or something, the cashews will be sure to bring him down again.”

As Owen disappeared in the direction of the kitchen, Seamus dropped to his hands and knees, looking up at the scaffolding under the stage. Seeing no sign of Shimshin there, he rose once more to his feet, this time turning his blue eyes toward the large oak that shaded the gate. “Shimshin!”

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Hilde Bracegirdle's Post

It had turned out that the inn hadn’t had the cashews necessary for luring a small spider monkey from his hiding place. And cook had informed him quite firmly she’d be needing all the hazelnuts she had. So Owen had turned to pleading a bit until, the hobbit matron had reluctantly given him a small handful of stale walnuts. “Don’t be wasting them now, she warned. I don’t have many left and it’ll be another few months before they are to be found again at market!”

So Owen and Seamus had both combed the yard holding out the less than tempting morsels and looking for Shimshin to no avail. It was just then, as Owen contemplated eating a walnut himself, that he remembered the toast that had graced the table at breakfast. And quickly he jogged back into the Inn to find Ruby, rather then braving the inquiries of the cook, and finding her he ask quiet sweetly for spoonful of amber honey in a clean saucer - as if it were quite natural request this time. He did not mention that his charge had gone truant, nor that he had deep misgivings about having brought the creature into such a fine establishment, though it was ever forefront in his mind. But instead he made some pretense of having a sore throat, simply smiling and saying ‘no thank you’, when the perplexed assistant and truly thoughtful hobbit insisted on offering him tea.

And so Owen returned with a cup of fresh tea and a saucer of honey, both of which he set on the edge of the stage. It seemed that Seamus had gotten caught up in what was happening on the stage. Shimshin was nowhere to be seen.

[Lalwendë]

As soon as Jinniver saw Snaveling she knew she had to speak to him. The incident with the money had left her feeling deeply embarrassed and she was determined to clear it up. She quite surprised herself at her boldness but the thought of having behaved incorrectly was too strong to succumb to her natural reserve.

She was shocked to hear that he now had no money, and her cheeks went red thinking of how she had thought him a likely source of easy income and taken those coins for the pipeweed. What had happened to him? Had he been robbed? Or had he come off badly in some sort of wager? Her curiosity got the better of her but he skilfully avoided her questions. She was about to try and wheedle some information out of him when she saw Aman approach. Snaveling’s face went white and his mouth fell open.

Jinniver busied herself with twining ivy around the bases of some of the tea roses, but her ears were trained on the conversation between Snaveling and Aman. Several times she twisted the ivy stems too tightly and snapped them as she was so engrossed in what was being said nearby. She stole a few glances and ended up getting a tiny thorn stuck in the end of her thumb. There was the same awkwardness between these two that there had been a few nights before in the inn, but somehow their behaviour had turned frostier, and Snaveling did not have the same proud demeanour he had possessed before.

She was glad when they broke apart as the cut in her thumb was now bleeding quite badly, but she worked for a few minutes more, for the sake of appearances, before she made for the well, where she carefully bathed the small wound in the cool pure water. Her head was spinning with what might have been passing between the innkeeper and the man she had thought of as a nobleman, and she knew she ought instead to have been concentrating on the flowers. Realising she needed a smoke, she stopped and filled her pipe, leaning against the edge of the well. As she savoured the pipeweed she blew out a few smoke rings and relaxed a little. She was determined to find out what was going on, but she also wanted to enjoy this day, and she was not without a little pride as she thought of Zimzi’s face when she would see the new garden.

For a moment, Jinniver thought of how her own handfasting might have been like this all those years ago, but she didn’t dwell on it for long; she knew now that it would have been nothing of the sort. It would have been no merry day in Bree, she would have been carried off to some horrible place and then forced to hand over her father’s farm. Her brother, for all his faults, had been right to stop it from happening, and she reflected on how lucky she had been that dark night in Bree, managing to save not only herself but her father and their home. The sounds of the band practising came to her ears then, and she felt a sudden urge to sing along. She finished smoking her pipe, and set off back to the inn, humming along with the music and thinking about how she would go and put on her best dress soon and join in with the fun.

[Sapphire_Flame]

Baradil walked up to the inn, which was in the middle of a most extraordinary amount of activity. He hadn't expected it to be so busy! He caught the attention of a passing woman and asked her what was going on.

"Preparations," she replied, "for the handfasting of Master Derufin and Mistress Zimzi."

"Indeed?" Baradil couldn't help feeling a bit pleased. He rather enjoyed festivities and parties. "Is there any way I could be of assistance?"

"There are some tables still to be set up, and the kegs to be brought out."

"Ah, I could certainly help with that." He grinned, and headed into the inn to find the tables to be brought outside.

[Envinyatar]

Sakal grinned at the Innkeeper. ‘Oh, he is quite safe, I assure you. Cook has him in hand.’ He winked at Aman as they turned up the small worn track to the kitchen’s back door. ‘He is sleeping off the . . . small . . . . party we had last night. And Cook has dosed him with willowbark tea, I think . . . hoping to settle his stomach, steady his legs, and return the size of his aching head to normal. And all before my sister catches wind of what’s gone on.’

As they neared the door, they were stopped short by the sight of Merry and another Hobbit trying to maneuver a large metal trough through the entryway. They had it turned on its side, but the size of it made it unwieldy and it kept banging against the door frame. Sakal excused himself from Aman and went to help. He took one end while the Hobbits took the other and with a few groans and grunts and scraped fingers they got it through the door and into the kitchen. Aman stepped through after them, watching as the three sat it down near the stove under the direction of Cook.

‘Planning on making a little home brew for the party, Miz Bunce,’ asked Sakal, his brows raised questioningly.

Cook glared at him and told him she wanted no more talk about drinking and such at the moment. Instead she directed him and the two Hobbits to start fetching buckets of water for the rather large pot she had already started over the cook-hearth fire. She called for Buttercup to fetch a stack of towels and a sturdy scrub brush . . . and, oh, yes, one of the large bars of soap from the closet. ‘And the rest of you,’ said Cook, nodding at the others in the kitchen, ‘if you don’t mind can you please take your food and drink to the Common Room, or better yet outdoors where the party will be. I have some work to be done.’

Aman watched as the others exited the room, and Cook locked the door behind them. Curious, she dared a question. ‘Just what are you planning on doing with the tub and the water, Miz Bunce?’

Cook motioned for Sakal, and his brother who’d been summoned to the kitchen by Ruby, to follow her into her room. ‘Well, Miz Aman, I plan on getting that featherbrained fellow lying in there on my bed cleaned up and brought round. He stinks to high heavens and his stubble looks as if it could nick a Dwarf axe. Best you leave us to it. But there is one thing you could do if you would. Go back to his room in the stable and ferret out the nice clothes, suitable clothes, he was planning on wearing this afternoon.’ She disappeared into her room, followed by the two brothers. Aman heard her call out as she did so. ‘Oh, and lock the door, dear, on your way out . . .’

[Nimrodel_9]

Keleth went back inside the Inn to see if help was needed in moving the tables outside. Once inside he saw a man he hadn`t met before. He made his way over to the man to speak with him.

"I`ll help you," he said and moved to lift one end of the table. Together they moved the table outside and into place. After setting it down Keleth smiled and extended his hand. "My name is Keleth of Gondor, by the way."

[Sapphire_Flame]

Baradil shook Keleth's outstretched hand. "I am pleased to meet you, Keleth. I am Baradil, also of Gondor."

Keleth smiled. "Indeed? What region?"

"Emyn Arnen. I am a member of the White Company." He nodded back to the inn. "Perhaps we should continue with our duties while we talk, lest we be reprimanded for being neglectful." They started back toward the inn.

"What region are you from?" Baradil asked as he and Keleth retrieved another table.