The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Nurumaiel]

The handsome couple was wed. Falco Headstrong was silent throughout, dwelling in the present and once every so often thinking of the past. Did he have any regrets that there had been no such hand-fasting for him? Yes... he did... but she had married one of the best hobbits in the world. Why had she loved him? Because he was a good, noble lad. Perhaps she also loved his poetical ability, though she would never marry him because of it. Falco would not have thought to marry her under a bower of lilacs.

When Derufin bent and kissed his bride, Falco pulled himself wholly from his musings and took up the whistle of little Marigold's father. He wished for a moment that Fosco were with him. Fosco had also played the whistle, and they had made such a combination of ringing music with it when they played together. But, ah well. He had these talented lads with him. They surely knew the song. No need to break the moment by telling them. And the last line would be cut out... it was too sad.

He played the intro... soft, sweet, and melodious. It was a beautiful and fitting song for the couple just wed.

Oh, the summertime is coming,
and the trees are sweetly blooming
where the wild mountain thyme
grows around the blooming heather.

Will ye go, lassie, will ye go?
And we'll all go together to pick wild mountain thyme
all around the blooming heather.
Will ye go, lassie, will ye go?

I will build my love a bower
near yon pure crystal fountain
and on it I will pile
all the flowers of the mountain.

Will ye go, lassie, will ye go?
And we'll all go together to pick wild mountain thyme
all around the blooming heather.
Will ye go, lassie, will ye go?

The lads joined him with instrument and voice, singing soft in the verses and rising slightly during the chorus. When their voices faded their music went on, playing sweet and low.

This was the happy tale beginning. When he had asked her, "Will ye go?" she had said: "I will."

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Hazel Longholes trudged along the road leading into Bywater. Her feet and the hem of her skirt were dusty and her arms ached from the several awkwardly shaped and bulky bundles she was carrying. She stared steadily at the road as it passed by under her bare feet, pausing only to look up and note that her three children were still grouped around her. Yes, there they were: Mari the oldest holding little Yarrow's hand, and eight year old Bryony trotting ahead like an eager puppy.

You got yourself into this, Hazel Smallburrow, she scolded herself, when you married that Merlo Longholes from so far off. You always knew no good would come of all this moving about, and look at you now. A simple visit to your old mother's house turns into a four day journey. And those children, always into something or other, they are.

"Amaranthis Longholes!" She paused in her internal grumbling to reprimand Mari. "You keep hold of Yarrow's hand, now. Wouldn't have liked it if I'd lost you when you were his age, now would you?" Mari, looking properly chagrined, clutched her little brother's hand and pulled him along behind her. Yarrow's red-brown hair stuck up erratically as his little feet scurried to force his chubby body to travel at his big sister's pace. "We'll stop up here at the Green Dragon." Hazel informed whichever of her children were listening. "Tis a respectable place, and comfortable enough, from what I've heard."

Sounds of music and laughter drifted down the path toward Hazel and Bryony turned around and bounded back toward her mother, looking excited. "Mama, they're having a party at the inn, I saw all the ladies dressed up fancy and dancing!" Her round face was flushed from all her bouncing and her short golden hair flew out around it in haphazard wisps.

A party at the Inn? Well that might be nice Hazel mused, the lure of a hot cup of tea and a comfortable chair overcoming her sense that it might be impolite to drop in on a celebration. I surely wouldn't mind a rest and some civilised conversation. Perhaps we'll even stay a day or two. Handing off the bundles to Mari, she swung Yarrow up onto her hip and forced herself to a slightly faster pace. "Well if you want to see the pretty ladies at the party, Bryony, we'd best be getting over there."

[Mithalwen]

The handfasting ceremony had interrupted the conversation with Snaveling but Mithalwen continued wondering about the dunadan. Unwittingly he had stirred age old memories in the Elf. As a child she had watched the Numenoreans arrive and although Snaveling cut a sorry figure in comparison with his ancestors he was still of that people, distinctive even now among the men of Middle Earth. He came from Minas Tirith; when she had been there it was named Minas Anor, the first White Tree of that city had been new planted by Isildur and she had stood in in its courtyard and watched the sun set with ... but she stopped her train of thought ... she had surpressed those memories for a long time and today was a day for celebration.

Her ear caught a familiar tune; the words she knew for it were a song of men she had learnt sometime. The melody was haunting and sweet and she sang, her voice rich and resonant.

The water is wide, I cannot get o'er,
And neither have I wings to fly.
Give me a boat that will carry two,
And both shall row, my love and I.

O, down in the meadows the other day,
A-gath'ring flowers both fine and gay,
A-gath'ring flowers both red and blue,
I little thought what love can do.


I leaned my back up against some oak
Thinking that he was a trusty tree;
But first he bended, and then he broke,
And so did my false love to me.


A ship there is, and she sails the sea,
She's loaded deep as deep can be,
But not so deep as the love I'm in;
I know not if I sink or swim.


O, love is handsome and love is fine,
And love's a jewel while it is new,
But when it is old......

Mithalwen's voice tailed off realising that these lyrics were also not fitting for the day and was glad to hear the music turn to a dance tune ... she wondered if she could persuade Snaveling to dance with her - he at least was tall enough not to make her look ridiculous and he too looked in need of distraction from his thoughts..

[Envinyatar]

‘Look,’ said Derufin, stopping in midstep as he noted a familiar mop of grey curls a few couples away. ‘It’s Cook! And she’s dancing with the spice tradesman from Tuckburrough, isn’t she?’

Zimzi craned her neck, laughing as she spotted Cook’s smiling face. ‘I think perhaps Aman had better keep any eye on that. Otherwise she’ll be cooking the meals for the Inn!’

‘You know,’ continued Derufin, maneuvering Zimzi toward the dessert table, ‘it’s been a long time since breakfast. And look, there’s our cake all sort of waiting for someone to take a slice out of it.’ He gave her a quick squeeze about the waist, 'What do you say?’

[piosenniel]

‘I declare, Miz Bunce,’ said Otho Bracegirdle, grinning at his dance partner, ‘you are as light on your feet as a down feather in a spring breeze.’ He twirled her about as they sashayed together and then stepped away in the pattern of the dance. Back together again, their arms linked they stepped forward three steps and then back again two.

Cook’s eyes twinkled. The meals all done, the rest of the day off, and a suitable partner to dance with. She glanced from the corner of her eye at Otho. She’d always found him a welcome visitor when he’d bring his wares through Bywater. How delightful to find him such an agreeable dance partner, too. She’d have to keep an eye on him, though, she thought. She’d caught him looking at her in a way that . . . well . . . she found a bit too overfond. A diversion was needed.

She saw Derufin and Zimzi making a beeline for the cake table. ‘Oh, I say, my dear Mister Bracegirdle, it looks as if the happy couple is going to cut the cake. Wouldn’t want to miss out on it, now would we? Especially since I made it.’ She motioned for him to follow.

Otho stood for a moment with a pleased look on his face at her departing form. He straightened his vest, grinning, and followed after . . .

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling had never been happier for a marriage ceremony to begin for it interrupted the conversation and obviated the necessity of either answering or avoiding the hobbit lass’s question about Aman. As the ceremony went forward, Snaveling noticed the Innkeeper but she was too involved with the proceedings to notice him. All for the good he thought. A presence behind him made him turn and he saw Mithalwen looking at him contemplatively. She smiled and he knew that she had been attempting to sound the hidden depths of his conscience. But he had learned much from the King, including how to keep is thoughts shrouded from those who would seek them. He had always been able to hide himself in this manner, but the King had taught him ways of more effectively preventing unwanted intrusions.

At last the ceremony was over and the couple moved aside, happily beaming at all those about them. The groom, whom Snaveling finally, and for the first time, recognised as Derufin, passed within a few arms’ lengths of him, but the former stablemaster clearly did not recognise Snaveling, so distracted by joy was the newly married man. The crowd became noisy and animated once more, and soon there was singing and dancing. Snaveling was just about to seek the solace of his stall in the stable – for he still had not paid for a room – when he once more caught sight of Mithalwen looking at him. She advanced with her hand out and had she struck him a blow she could not have surprised him more than when she asked if he could dance. So thunderstruck was he by the request that the truth slipped out of him before he could prevent it. “Indeed, after a fashion. I learned a few dances before I came away from Minas Tirith.”

“Good!” the Elf said happily, “then let us take a turn together!” and before he knew it, Snaveling was dancing upon the green grass with a tall Elven lady whose grace surpassed his own as a beech tree does a humble stalk of straw. At first they attempted a simple country quickstep like that being traced out by most of the others, but Mithalwen quickly saw that Snaveling was hopelessly lost. She asked him what dances did he know and Snaveling, somewhat embarrassed, suggested that they attempt a formal waltz. “I know how out of place such a dance may seem here,” he explained, “but I learned only courtly dances in Minas Tirith. There are no country balls in the court of Elessar!” The Elf assented gaily and taking her hand he led her about the field in a dance that he had learned from one of the Queen’s waiting women. The memory led him back to the last time he had danced this very pattern and he soon found himself lost in memory.

“You dance well. For a Man that is,” Mithalwen said somewhat teasingly.

“I was taught well,” he replied.

“You are remembering having danced this step before.”

Snaveling was not surprised by her statement. “Indeed I am. But do not be offended for the last time I followed this pattern it was with the Queen herself. In token of her Lord’s friendship with me she deigned take a turn about the floor at the Midsummer’s ball.”

Mithalwen’s eyes widened slightly. “A high honour indeed, and a rare one. Although not, I think, so unusual. I hear that the Lady Arwen has ever been courteous to the Dúnedain.”

“That she has, but I must tell you that I am not of the Dúnedain myself. That is an honour I cannot claim.”

“But you said that you are kin to the Lord Elessar. I had thought that all such relations were descendants of Númenor that is lost.”

Snaveling was quiet for a moment before answering. “I am of Númenor, lady, but I cannot count among my ancestry either Elendil or any that fled the wreck of that city with him. There are other men of Númenorian blood in Middle-earth and from them have I sprung.”

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Owen and Seamus had relaxed considerably after finding their little charge in the hands of Seamus’ young acquaintances. Of course it was only to be expected of the spider monkey that in such boisterous company, and given the fine music and food, the poor soul was bound to become a bit lively and hard to manage. It must be forgiven him, really…not held against him by any means. Otherwise, they’d not be any better than that loutish man, Shimshin’s former master, who had kept him imprisoned in a stout birdcage stationed in the most remote corner of a dark and uninteresting cobbler’s shop, now would they? It had seemed at the time rather providential that they should be thrown into the company of this rather disagreeable man, given that not only Owen’s boots developed a hole in while he and Seamus had been in that particular town, but Seamus’ footwear also required immediate professional attention. Yes, they had been right in to freeing the little captive.

“This has gone off far better than I had hoped,” Owen whispered to Seamus, as band paused in their playing to watch the couple slice a beautiful and quite bountiful cake. “No incident to speak of. It seems our little Shimshin is learning how to behave like a proper guest after all!”

Seamus tucked his rebec under his arm “Not quite,” the tall man said patting his pocket and pulling out a beautifully crafted brooch. As he rolled the ornament face up in his palm, both his and Owen’s eyes widened considerably. “The scamp dropped this in my pocket earlier, and I had not the heart to see what was until now. I suppose I was hoping it might be something a little less valuable, like a piece of toffee. It is heavy though!” he said putting it in Owen’s open palm.

“The little imp’s got first rate taste, doesn’t he?” Owen said shaking his head sadly. “What are we to do Seamus? We can simply pretend this hasn’t happened.” He handed the brooch back to his fellow musician.

“Of course not,” Seamus said. “It’s elven, by the look of it. But elven made doesn’t mean elven owned, does it?”

“It would narrow the crowd down a bit if it did.” Owen said looking around. “Do you think we should give it to the proprietor of the place, or just pin it on and wait for someone to claim it? And how do we explain with out getting ourselves or Shimshin in trouble. It’s all very well to say we found it, but what if he turns up with another?”