The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger yawned as she climbed the stairs to her little room at the Inn. It had been a glorious day, in her opinion. Mistress Zimzi had been so pretty in her gown with the wreath of flowers on her head that Ginger and the children had made. And Mister Derufin had looked so handsome; and how sweet was he, the way he looked at his new missus and held her hand so fondly. Ginger blushed, remembering how the couple had sought her out especially to tell her how lovely the sugared violets were that she had made for their cake.

And then, of course, there was her own Ferdy . . . she shivered and hugged herself as she danced about her room. She supposed she could call him that now . . . her Ferdy. For he had declared his feelings for her, and hadn’t he made sure there was no one else should dance with her! She grinned, thinking how she might see him tomorrow. She’d overheard Mr. Banks tell Cook they lads and he would help with the hauling and cleanup of the Inn yard the next day.

In the chill of her room, Ginger flung off her party clothes hastily, letting them fall where they would, and shrugged into her warm flannel nightgown as quick as a wink. She dove under her quilts, burrowing down beneath them to get warm. Her little head had barely hit her pillow when she yawned again and closed her eyes. She was soon asleep, a smile creasing her little face as she fell into dreams of dancing in a beautiful dress with a wreath of flowers gracing her curls.

[piosenniel]

Please note: I'll be moving time ahead in the Inn to morning at about noonish Pacific Time, U.S. today.

Please get any night in the Shire posts done that you need to get in before then.

Thanks!

~*~ Piosenniel

[Nurumaiel]

Little Marigold's steps had begun to slow, and her eyes became mild and dreamy. Falco, who had to his great annoyance found that he was huffing and puffing, knew exactly what was wrong and was more than a little pleased for it. After all, it wouldn't do to overwork himself. Ah, in those old days! He could dance longer than any other lad... except perhaps Fosco. Fosco had a perpetual store of energy.

"Well, now, it's been a lovely little party," said Falco, "but you must be wanting your bed."

"Oh," said Marigold, attempting a light, airy smile and succeeding only in looking comically distressed. "I don't have anywhere to stay."

"Of course you do," said Falco. "Why, I'm a rich hobbit and I'll get you the prettiest room at the Inn." He glanced about him as he spoke. The party was already dispersing, and many of the tweenagers were already gone to bed. How odd it was that they, the most energetic of all hobbits, should be gone while he, old and stiff, and Marigold, just barely out of babyhood, were still dancing! But she had not wanted to stop once she started. She hadn't been able to dance very often, she said. Only every so often when her mother was in a laughing, light mood.

Buttercup came to take the little girl away, and Falco went with them to survey and pay for the room. It was a pretty room, though perhaps not the prettiest. It was small and homey, with a little bed and table, and flitting curtains at the windows. She could see the garden from those windows, and when he left her she was sitting by them, gazing out with dreamy eyes while Buttercup made up the bed.

He went out again for one last drink with the lads, and another song, and then, bidding them all good night, he tramped off, wondering vaguely if it were unhealthy for a hobbit of his age to stay up so late and drink so many mugs.

His room, which was right next to Marigold's, was also comfortable, though it was not much bigger than the little girl's. It didn't matter very much to him, however, whether it was big or not. He needed a room for the nights, when he wouldn't care if it was large or small. He'd be out first thing in the morning to see if those young musician lads had come back.

As he closed his eyes he could hear Marigold softly singing in a childish little voice through the walls, and he thought of how very talented young Caity was with her whistle. And then he was asleep.

[Nurumaiel]

It could not be said that Falco Headstrong was generally an early riser, but neither could it be said that he was a late riser. He rose when he felt like it, and what he felt like highly depended upon the events of the previous day. Perhaps it was odd that he rose at first daylight the morning after a party, but it was not unusual of him. Sleep was not something he could easily take and hold when his toes were still tapping and his mind still turning over and over the excitement of the day.

Little Marigold was always an early riser. She never wanted to miss a moment in a day, she said. A day was such a lovely thing, full of surprises just waiting around the corner. What if she slept late and one of the surprises came? She would miss it entirely, and that would never do! No, it was altogether best to get up early and miss nothing, absolutely nothing. Besides, the world looked so beautiful at first light. The rays of the sun were soft, golden, and mellow... not at all the kind of sun that beats down with no mercy to burn little noses unprotected by a hat. As Marigold skipped out of bed that morning she paused in front of the little mirror that hung by her bed and touched her nose. Yes, there was some red on it. No wonder! She had been out in the sun all day. But was there ever a day where the sun didn't find her skipping under his rays?

The only bad things about mornings, Marigold reflected, was getting out of bed. You had been snuggled down under the blankets for hours and hours, and then you had to get out of that warm shelter. But when the day was so sunny as this, where did the cold come in? It was banished to sulk with the darkness until night, when the both of them would come creeping up. And besides, that flannel night-gown Buttercup had fetched out of the old chest was so warm and snug! And the ruffles around the neck were too dear. Almost like her old night-gown at home.

Her little feet touched the floor, and she pattered across the wooden boards to the window. The curtains were drawn aside, the window opened, and the sunlight let in. Marigold leaned out and down, dropping her head to kiss the flowers good morning. Her tangled golden curls fell about her flushed and rosy cheeks. A young hobbit lad, walking up the road, saw her, and reflected that she was the perfect image of childhood... healthy, happy, bright-eyed, smiling... with that inexpressible charm that is in all children.

Marigold spent a few minutes by the window, drinking in the morning, and then she turned and went to the little set of drawers by her bed. She had stored her few little belongings there the night before. The comb was brought out, and she sat on the edge of her bed, patiently working through the tangles. Her eyes studied the ribbons lying across the tabletop. Buttercup must have left them there the night before. Buttercup was such a kind, sweet hobbit. Marigold plaited her hair behind her, tying a pretty bow at the end, and looked at herself in the mirror. Her little cheeks were pink, her eyes were sparkling, her lips were turned up in a smile, and her hair was tied neatly back, with only a few wisps of curls escaping around her ears. Perhaps she was not tall and slender and gorgeous like Zimzi, she reflected, but she wasn't so very bad-looking.

She met Falco Headstrong in the hallway, for they both left their rooms at the same time. His face was sour and his teeth set. There was no logical reason why he was in a bad mood, for clearly he was... he must have merely 'got out on the wrong side of bed' that morning. Marigold paused. Or did you 'get up from the wrong side of bed?' Ah well, it didn't matter. Falco Headstrong had done it, anyway. She would have to cheer him up. But he spoke before she could bid him a cheery good morning.

"You're wearing the same clothes you wore at the party," he said, rather sternly.

"I don't have any others," said Marigold, "except for my muddy clothes. When those are clean again I'll wear them."

"You shouldn't have only two dresses," said Falco. "It's not right. I'll go buy you some clothes today."

"You don't have to," said Marigold, with a little flash in her eyes. She was only a little girl yet, but young and old succumb to that thing called pride, that thing that bids them receive no help from others.

Falco's eyes softened somewhat, though his face was as stern and set as ever. "Well, well, my girl," he said, "I must pay you in some way, for you lent me your father's whistle."

"I don't want to be paid for it. I didn't do it for reward."

"But," said Falco, with a brief flash of a teasing grin, "I don't accept charity either. Now!" He took her hand, which she didn't mind too much, even if he were very grumpy. "Let me take you down and get you some breakfast."

Shaeowyn awoke to the unhappy snorting of her black mare. "Oh, Windungen," the woman sputtered as she bolted from the hay where she had spent the night. Rubbing her aching limbs and eyes ruefully, she muttered about indulging too much in the 'women's punch.' "I must get you some grain to eat, and then see about my own breakfast," she said, putting her arms around her favorite companion's neck. Her dark brown hair held streaks of sunlight interspersed with the creeping grey. It curled wildly about her once pretty face; matted as badly as her horse's midnight colored mane.

"I must find the Innkeeper to see about your grain, and fetch more water for you also," she called to her horse as she shut the stall door securely behind her. She could not remember the names and occupations of the people swirling through the party's evening; she felt alone and somewhat afraid. Animals had always been more steadfast and honest friends, and she seemed to have a special gift for gaining their loyalty; sometimes even their protection. But she brushed her discomfort aside and strode purposefully into the Green Dragon's breakfast scene. Looking about with keen green eyes, she caught sight of the kind woman who had come to her aid the evening before. "Ruby, would you be able to spare a moment," Shaeowyn spoke loudly over the happy morning noises.

[peral]

Sharya woke up with the sun shining brightly into her eyes. She sat up almost immediately and struggled to remember where she was. Of course, the Green Dragon Inn in Hobbiton. She sighed and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. She staggered over to the basin and splashed water into her face. This woke her up sufficiently for her to think straight. Her head was throbbing and she thougt back to what she had drunk the night before. "It couldn't have been that strong," she muttered. She heard her stomach rumble loudly. Of course, she hadn't eaten any dinner the night before. She pulled on her only dress, a cream colored gown that was already stained from long wear. She would have to see about getting another dress.

Sighing, she looked into the mirror and tried to make her tangle of curls slightly more presentable. With one last wistful look at her reflection she headed down to the common room to see about breakfast.

The common room was already filled with people, halflings and other races alike. She walked over to one of the waitresses and tapped her on the shoulder. "Excuse me, how should I go about getting breakfast?" The girl turned around and smiled, "If you just go and sit down, I can get something out for you as soon as possible." Sharya nodded, "Thank you."

As she sat down, she looked around the room at the other patrons of the inn. There was a boy with a younger girl which looked as if they could be related. The others didn't catch her attention as much but her observation was interrupted by the same girl who she had talked to earlier coming up to her and setting a tray with a huge plate of eggs and Shire ham before her along with a basket of scones with a saucer of blackberry jam beside it.

"Will you be wanting tea with that as well?" the girl asked.

"What type of tea?" Sharya asked warily for she was well acquainted with the not so delectable types which she had experienced before.

"Just normal tea with honey," the girl answered.

"Yes please." And with a nod, the girl left the table, presumably to get the aforementioned tea.

It was only now that Sharya realised how hungry she was and she dug into the breakfast with a vengeance.

[piosenniel]

~*~ GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS ~*~

It is the 4th Age, year 12. By the Shire Calendar it is year 1433 S.R. (Shire Reckoning).

King Elessar is on the throne of the Reunited Kingdom of Arnor and Gondor.

Mirkwood has been reclaimed by the Elves and is now called Eryn Lasgalen.

Paladdin Took, Pippin’s father, is Thain of the Shire. (Thain is an honorary title for the military leader of the Shire. The title has been held in the Took Family since the position was first established in 3rd Age 1979 with Bucca of the Marish as First Thain.) Paladdin Took dies in year 13, and will be succeeded by his son, Peregrin, ‘Pippin’, Took.

Samwise Gamgee is Mayor of the Shire, having succeeded Will Whitfoot in 1427 S.R.

The Innkeeper, in the Green Dragon Inn of this forum, is: Aman – a young woman from Rohan.

Before her, the Innkeeper was Piosenniel, and before her it was Dwarin, the Dwarf.

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Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

Buttercup Brownlock, Hobbit – not married – kitchen assistant and maid

Vinca Bunce, widowed, Inn Cook (character played by Piosenniel)

Derufin, General handyman/jack-of-all-trades round the Inn (played by Envinyatar)

Zimzi (Zimziran), wife to Derufin; a skilled potter from Lindon(played by Pio)

Meriadoc - Stablemaster

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Ongoing characters from outside the Inn:

Halfred Whitfoot – local Shiriff from Bywater and Postmaster for this area of the Shire; his pony’s name is Dumpling.

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Please Note:

No 'SAVES' are allowed in the Inn (except for modifications needed to be made by the Moderators or Innkeeper).

With the exception of the Innkeeper and the Moderators, no OOC (Out Of Character) comments are allowed in the Inn.

Only the Innkeeper, Amanaduial, or the Moderators move the timeline for the Inn forward.

Visitors to the Inn will need to read the posts that come before theirs to get an idea of what time it is in the Shire, what the weather is like, and what is happening.

No violence is allowed in the Inn or on Inn grounds.

Please be familiar with the rules for the Inn and Games in The Red Book of Westmarch, the first topic in the Shire.

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About Elves in Shire RPG's:

Please use this description from Tolkien when crafting an Elf:

Return of the King – Appendix F: Tolkien’s description for the Quendi (The Speakers) – the name given to the Elves by themselves after they first awoke in Middle-earth.

“They were a race high and beautiful, the older Children of the world, and among them the Eldar were as Kings, who now are gone: the People of the Great Journey, the People of the Stars. They were tall, fair of skin and grey-eyed, though their locks were dark, save in the golden house of Finrod; and their voices had more melodies than any mortal voice that is now heard . . .”

Please use this as a guideline for describing your Elven character’s appearance.