The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling made his way into the Common Room slowly, his stomach beginning to roar already. The smell of freshly baked scones dripping with butter and honey had brought him from his dreams, and the smell of frying bacon had dragged him from the straw of the stables. Now that he stood amid the tables he realised how hungry he was and lamented again the loss of his purse. He looked about to see if Mithalwen had come down yet, for he felt sure that he could borrow a coin or two from her for his breakfast. (His newfound wealth had not yet removed his lack of scruples when it came to borrowing money.) The Elf was nowhere to be seen, and the rest of the people there were strangers to him, but for the little hobbit lass who had cried at him yesterday when the cake had splattered across his chest. She looked at him again and made a sour face but then turned away, blushing. Snaveling was about to move along in search of the kitchens – where he knew he could count on Cook to give him some provender gratis just to get him out from underfoot – when the elderly hobbit sitting across from the girl looked his way, attracted, no doubt, but the little girl’s sudden change in mood.

As the Halfling glanced at Snaveling, the Man noticed two things. First, that the hobbit was in a terrible humour for some reason – and judging by his complexion it probably had something to do with the festivities of the night before. Second, there was a large plate of food before the Halfling that he had not touched, and which he showed little signs of wanting to eat (and again, Snaveling noted his complexion). The Man had spent too many years a beggar to have a few months of finery and wealth overcome a lifetime’s habit of making shift when needed, and he had spent too much time learning the ways of the King’s Court not to know how to please when needed. Meeting the Halfling’s gaze he smiled broadly and stepped toward the table. “Good morning,” he said amiably. “I do not believe that we have made our introductions. I am Snaveling,” and he stuck out his hand.

The Halfling paused before returning the gesture, saying gruffly, “I’m Falco Headstrong. Pleased to make your acquaintance,” sounding all the time as though he was not pleased for anything of the sort. “This here is Marigold,” he said indicating the lass across from him. Snaveling bowed to her in the grandest manner he could. “Yes, she and I have already met, in a way, and it is on her account that I have approached you. Please, Mistress Marigold, accept my apologies for my clumsiness of yesterday. At the time, I believe, I upset you and may have even given you a sharp look. May I join you for breakfast?” he asked quickly, his eyes inadvertently slipping to Falco’s still untouched, but rapidly cooling plate of food, “So that we can talk of merrier things and drive away the unpleasantness of our first encounter?”

[Nurumaiel]

Marigold blushed to the very tips of her ears and set her eyes upon her plate in a stare as Falco gruffly bid the Man sit down. He was the very same Man who had ruined her cake and mussed her clothes the day before. Her eyes dropped farther and she looked down at her skirt. She see the slight stain from the cake icing. But she had called in an 'awful Man,' and she hadn't apologised to him for it yet. Her mother was always telling her that she ought to make amends with those she bore in ill will before letting the day fade into night. But it was so hard to apologise. And he had done the greater evil. He should be the one to apologise.

But he had apologised, and very grandly. Marigold sat in stony silence, feeling miserable because she wouldn't tell him she was sorry for calling him awful without any excuse for not doing it.

As for Falco, he was feeling annoyed because Marigold didn't say anything. She was the talkative (too talkative, at most times), cheery little hobbit... why didn't she say something to this Big Folk fellow? No doubt she knew how awkward he, Falco Headstrong, felt with this Big Folk fellow, and she was deliberately leaving him in the dilemna. No doubt!

"Here, now," said Falco, gruffly. If he were to speak he would not have to sound 'all creamy milk and pretty flowers,' as Fosco had always said. "What are you doing here in the Shire?" Now, that sounded very rude, as if this Big Folk fellow was tramping about where he had no right. Falco was not in the mood to be polite, but his good upbringing forbade him to be rude.

"I do mean," he said, "do you have any business here?" After his earlier words, that didn't sound very much better. Falco softened his voice considerably, though he felt gruffer and gruffer inside. Why did he have to give any consideration to this Big Folk fellow, anyway?

Marigold had just resolved to apologise and become friends with the Man was Falco began speaking. Perhaps the Man would be driven away by the gruff questions. She hoped not. If they did she would follow him (while pretending she wasn't, of course), and then apologise where no one could witness her humiliation. Why hadn't she just called him a 'Man' in the same tone of voice, rather than an 'awful Man?' Maybe she wouldn't be obligated to apologise, then.

"What brings you here?" said Falco, trying to amend his statement and finding that he had lost the eloquence for words that came when he was singing. "Perhaps you are just sight-seeing? I shouldn't blame you if you were; the Shire is such a lovely place." That sounded a little bit friendlier. But in the midst of his words Falco had no doubt that this Big Folk fellow was a murderer hiding himself in the Shire to escape justice. No doubt at all!

[Arry]

‘Step lively now, lads,’ came the all too cheerful, and awake, voice of Andwise as he pulled his little wagon up to the stable. There were moans and groans as eyes pried open then snapped shut again in the bright light of morning. True to his word, Andwise had collected them from their warm beds and brought them back to the scene of last night’s festivities.

Gil clambered down from the wagon, jostling his companions on the shoulders as he did so. Tomlin tried to pull his cap lower over his eyes and ignore the signal, but Fallon grabbed it off his head and sailed it down to Gil. A short scuffle ensued, as tempers flared a bit. It was soon forgotten as Andwise called out, ‘Come on! Breakfast first and then the tables.’

‘I could use a plate of eggs and ham and something sweet,’ said Gil as they entered the door to the Common Room. Ruby heard his declaration and hmmph’d at it. ‘I see that saucy look in your eye! Only sweet you’ll be having this morning is tea with honey and scones with jam.’ Gil winked at her, causing her to laugh.

‘Large pot of tea for us,’ said Andwise, leading the way to a table. Ferdy nodded his head yes to this, as did the others . . . save for Ferrin, who waved off the offer of tea. ‘Half pint for me,’ he said in a gravelly voice, his chin resting on his hand. ‘What?’ he rasped out as the others raised their brows at his request. ‘Bit of the dog that bit me last night . . . that’s what I’m thinking I need this morning to set my head straight.’

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen had gone to bed late and risen early. The excitement and exertion of the previous day had made few demands on her elvish constitution and the sight of stars on a clear night were as refreshing as sleep. Nevertheless she had retired to her tiny chamber under the roof for a few hours before rising with the dawn and after dressing in her plain grey garb rather than the fine gown for he previous day she had spent a few hours tidying up the yard. She did not know where many of the things went but she had done what she could - gathering things together. Then the smell of breakfast became irresistable. Mithalwen washed her hands at the pump and wandered into the dining room.


She saw Snaveling - and she went to speak to him. "Tar Corondir, I had hoped you might join me for breakfast but I see you have company - perhaps we will speak later. " Mithalwen then looked across the room, prompted by some instinct and saw an elf sitting with a man. She had noticed them yesterday but had not had the opportunity to speak with them.... Going to Uien and Falowik's table she said in her own tongue "May I join you? I believe you would speak with me "

[Atarah]

Tulip was glad of Sharya's company. She'd spent many weeks on the road alone, even though she was just a child. The fact that Sharya was also of the race of Man could only add to Tulip's joy at meeting her. She had been quite shocked when her new friend had instantly recognised that she was from Rohan, but then she had smiled to herself as Sharya pointed out her hair colour. Of course her hair would identify her as being from Rohan. She should have covered it better, but then why did she need to? She wasn't hiding from anyone.

The smell of freshly baked scones alerted Tulip to Ruby's return. A quick exchange of thank you's and Ruby went back to serving. Tulip sipped at her wonderfully sweet tea as she watched Sharya take a hot scone, the smell making her forget the breakfast she’d already eaten, only drop it again. Tulip giggled.

"Careful. They'll be hot."

"I just discovered that," replied Sharya with a laugh. She sucked her finger to stop it burning. "I hope they cool down soon. I'm starving."

"But you said you'd already had breakfast." Tulip put down her tea and tentatively poked at the nearest scone. They weren't very hot at all. "You must have sensitive hands." She picked up the scone she'd poked and began spreading some thick honey on it.

"So what is your business with Aman?" Sharya asked, thinking that the term “business” seemed appropriate even though Tulip was still young. She seemed to be very grown up for her age. Even her eyes looked grown up, maybe even wise.

Tulip added a large dollop of cream to her honey-smothered scone. She thought it a childish thing for her to do, then scolded herself for forgetting she was a child. Sometimes she got so carried away with acting grown up that she forgot her age. She contemplated what her answer to Sharya's question should be. If she told her friend that her mother had died, she'd have to put up with another bout of sympathy, and that would only lead to tears. She had to stay strong. If she let anyone here see that she was still mourning her mother's death after nearly a year they'd treat her like a child no matter how grown up she acted. No, she thought, I won't tell her that part just yet.

"I have to deliver a letter from my mother," she finally answered.

"She sent you all that way to deliver a letter?" questioned Sharya.

"I-" Tulip hesitated. She'd never thought about that before. Why had her mother sent her all the way to the Shire when a messenger could just have easily delivered the letter? "My mother thought very highly of Aman," she said quickly. "She would have liked to deliver it in person, but as she couldn't she sent me in her stead." Tulip looked down at the scone on her plate, her appetite suddenly gone. Why was she here?

[littlemanpoet]

"May I join you? I believe you would speak with me." It was Mithalwen, the Elf woman Uien had hoped to find.

Uien smiled. "Yes, please, sit with us," she said in Sindarin. She switched to Common tongue to say, "Have you eaten yet?"

"No." Mithalwen sat across from Uien, the Man on her left.

Falowik looked up at her not without a little awe in his face, for he had not understood the Elf woman's speech, but had been moved by it; not quite the same way it moved him when Uien spoke that way, but only by a small measure. There was something about her that was outside his ken; something in the music of her speech that brought unbidden thoughts of wind and sea, blue sky and grey shores. He stared openly, lost in the moment.

The Elf woman took little notice of the rude Man, but exchanged searching, not unfriendly gazes.

Falowik felt far beyond his depth.

After a few moments, Uien sighed and said, "Nor have we. Let us break our fast together."

Falowik wondered what communication had passed between the two Elves in that gaze.

"I did not sense you in the inn moments ago," Uien said.

"I was in the yard cleaning. What do you wish to speak with me about?"

"I had thought to learn from whom I had heard of the handfasting; but it was not you. And we are kindred, though our peoples are severed by time and fate."

[Child of the 7th Age]

Bella smiled broadly at Ginger and gestured for her to sit down on the bed so they could look at the book together. "You like history then?" Bella queried, as she pointed to the picture of the stern faced man with the elaborate winged helm on his head. "This is a fine volume that I acquired the last time I was in Minas Tirith. Look here. There is a picture of Tuor wearing the armor and helm that the King of Gondolin had made for him. The helm was of Noldor steel overlaid with silver and had swan wings that protruded out on either side. You know," chirped Bella enthusiastically, "that Tuor's helm was the ancestor of the winged helms that the men of Numenor used, and even of the winged crown that King Elessar wore at his coronation. The wings in the crown of Gondor were said to be of pearl and silver, and to resemble the wings of a sea bird."

Ginger peered intently at the pictures that Bella showed her, but remained very quiet, since she was awash in a flood of names and places that meant little to her. Not to be deterred, Bella warmly pushed the book towards Ginger. "There's no reason for you to wait for me to read it to you. Why don't you borrow it for a bit? You'll be able to read it on your own. You can return it to me whenever you are finished. I am hoping to stay here for a while."

There was an awkward silence before Ginger responded.

[peral]

Sharya looked at the girl in front of her, she seemed to have fallen silent. She was worried, had she said something to offend Tulip? She really hoped not, it wasn't easy for her to make new friends and Tulip and her seemed to share something that helped them get to know each other almost immediately. She remembered what her own father had said once: Whatever happens, don't offend anyone and make enemies. She knew the consequences of making enemies. One was on her trail now, hunting her, but she didn't want anyone to know that. it was her secret, and her's alone.

She felt pensive, thinking about her father and thinking about the rest of her family still in Gondor always made her thoughtful, if not slightly moody. She hoped that Tulip wouldn't notice her sudden uncommunicativeness, but the other girl seemed to be otherwise preoccupied. Sharya didn't want to be the first to break the silence, so she waited for Tulip to begin speaking when she felt like it.

[Mithalwen]

"I had thought to learn from whom I had heard of the handfasting; but it was not you. And we are kindred, though our peoples are severed by time and fate." Mithalwen listened to Uien and could not imediately place her accent - Lorien or Eryn Lasgalen ? She wondered the for the manner of speech was similar and it was long since she had had dealings with the silvan folk.

"Indeed it was not for my arrival here was by chance - my horse cast a shoe and we needed shelter from the rain two nights since - I knew nothing of the handfasting until I arrived......kindred .. yes.... we elves are so few in these latter days, this side of the Sundering Sea; there is small need to make the old distinctions .... Nevertheless I deem you must be from either Lorien or the Woodland Realm for if you dwellt in Imladris or Lindon, surely we would have met already."

Mithalwen paused for the waitress had brought a pot of tea and took their orders. She sipped at the infusion to which she had added neither milk nor sugar or honey. She had drunk this before at Imladris - the long residence of Dunedain and the hobbit Bilbo had added some variety to the usual elvish fare- and as she sipped she studied Uien and Falowik across the table. Clearly these inns were the place to hear unusual tales.

[Ealasaide]

Seamus

Unable to obtain rooms in the crowded inn and still less able to pay for them anyway, Seamus and Owen had spent the night in the common room, stretched out in armchairs before the fire. Exhausted from the day’s excitement, Shimshin, too, curled himself into a little ball in Seamus’ lap and slept soundly through the remainder of the night, a little silver-colored whistle clutched tightly in his small fist. As the common room began to return to life the next morning, Seamus awoke first. Trying not to wake Shimshin in the process, Seamus reached one of his long legs out across the hearthrug and gave Owen a gentle kick. Owen stirred, crossing his arms stubbornly across his chest.

“I told you he didn’t mean to take it!” he muttered angrily. Seamus grinned and gave his friend another nudge with the toe of his boot.

“Oy! Wake up!”

This time Owen sat bolt upright and glared around the steadily-filling common room for a long instant before coming to the realization that he had been dreaming. Catching sight of Shimshin still curled safely in Seamus’ lap, Owen sighed and slumped back into his chair. “Is it morning already, then?” he asked, blinking owlishly in the direction of the kitchen.

“It is indeed,” answered Seamus.

“Have we got enough money for breakfast? Whatever they’re cooking in there smells monstrous good.”

Seamus shrugged, then reached into his coat. After mining around for a while in the depths of his pocket, he withdrew his hand and deposited the whole of his funds on the small table that stood between the two armchairs. It amounted to three coppers, a button, and a few tufts of lint. Owen stared sleepily at Seamus’ accumulated funds, then dug into his own pocket. A few seconds later, two more coppers and an empty peanut shell had joined the pile on the table. The two young men stared at the meager pile with long faces. Then, Seamus shook his head.

“I daresay, if I’d known we were this strapped, I might not have been so fast and loose with those ha’ pennies yesterday,” he sighed.

Owen gave him a sideways look. “What ha’ pennies?”

“Oh, I gave those little chaps, Willie and Nick, a ha’ penny each to watch Shimshin for us while we played yesterday.”

“Oh...” Owen let out a sigh of his own. “Well, they were capital little fellows. I suppose it was worth the investment. Aside from that one brooch, I don’t think Shimshin got into much trouble. He’s got that little whistle there, but it doesn’t look to be worth much. Just a bit of tin, I expect.”

Seamus looked down at the whistle still clutched in the monkey’s hand. “I suppose it belongs to one of the little hobbit fellows. If we left it with the innkeeper, I’m sure she would see that it found its way back to them right proper and all.”

“I suppose so.” Owen sighed again as one of the Green Dragon’s serving girls whisked past them to another table bearing a plate piled high with fresh sausage and eggs. Seamus’ gaze followed the plate attentively, too, until it landed at its destination in front of a rather portly hobbit, who grinned and poured hot maple syrup thickly over the whole pile. Sighing in unison, the two young men pushed themselves regretfully to their feet. They had a long way to go yet to reach their destination and knew that the luxury of the inn’s fine breakfast was more than they could afford. They had come to the handfasting in the hopes of earning a bit of spare change by plying their trade as musicians, but in the end had ended up spending more than they made. Without speaking, both young men knew that discretion dictated they beat a hasty retreat before they spent even more.

Seamus lifted Shimshin, who awoke at once and scrambled agilely up Seamus’ shirt to his accustomed perch on the tall man’s shoulder. Once Shimshin had settled in, wrapping his long tail loosely around Seamus’ neck for balance, Seamus reached out and pocketed his share of the money on the side table and waited as Owen did the same. Then, exchanging a sorrowful glance, for they had both enjoyed their brief stay at the Green Dragon very much, the two young men picked up their rucksacks and their instruments and left through the inn’s front door. On their way to the gate, they dropped back around to the kitchen door, where they stuck their heads in and thanked the cook and the innkeeper both for their kindness and hospitality, asking that they say good-bye to Gil and the rest of the band for them, as well. Seamus gave the innkeeper the whistle Shimshin had stolen. Smiling at their story of how they had ended up with the child’s toy, the innkeeper promised that she would see that it was returned to Willie and Nick at the first opportunity.

Seamus and Owen thanked her again and took their leave. Within minutes, they had regained the open road and were on their way, the Green Dragon Inn sinking slowly into the distance behind them.