The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Dwaline nodded at Avalon and cleared his thought. Taking a deep drink of ale he turned his attention to John again.

"Cree, the elf who once was Avalons accomplice, has gone off to far off lands." He cracked his neck and leant forwards, "She went with an old friend of mine, Fáinu, who is cursed by a dragon. Or so he thinks. They are going to the grey mountains to seek a Dragon. Rumours have grown there of a fiery death that has swept the land. Fáinu in the hotness of his heart made it his business to go off in search of it, thinking it a dragon.

"Cree, who apparently had known Fáinu from a long time back, insisted on going with him. She knew it a dangerous mission and so did not let Avalon get caught up in it. That is how I read into it." Avalon nodded slightly. "And as for sticking my nose in places," sniggered Dwaline, "I have been doing that since childhood. Call it a hobby, or more an addiction now. Collecting news has always been my joy. But now I am old and rambling."

The Dwarf peered into John's eyes and smiled, "You wish to keep you’re history and identity secret? That is fare enough; many do the same for their own reasons. But this dream of yours..." John turned sharply towards Dwaline detecting some thing in his voice, "It interreges me. I may not claim to know the minds of men, or elves or even Dwarves. But I know one who does. Tell me of it and I shall tell him. Perhaps you shall know the meaning of it."

[piosenniel]

Notice of Time Change in the Inn

It is now early evening; the skies are clear.

~*~ Pio

[piosenniel]

~*~ GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS ~*~

The Green Dragon Inn is located in Bywater, just off the Great East-West Road.

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; Man from southwestern Gondor (played by Envinyatar)

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

Meriadoc - Stablemaster

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+

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.

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EVERYONE

Please be familiar with The Red Book of Westmarch which gives the rules for posting in the Shire RPG's and in The Green Dragon Inn.

Thanks!

Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[piosenniel]

TIME IN THE SHIRE

It is now early evening.

The skies are clear, no more rain.

Cook will soon be putting the finishing touches on supper.

~*~ Pio

[peral]

Sharya made her way down to the kitchens. The sky outside was darkening and she smiled when she noticed the lack of any rain. She needed to find the innkeeper, what was her name again? Aman or something. Yes, surely there was some hard labour that they could offer her for a meal or something small. She didn't know what customs they had here or how they would respond towards her just out of the blue asking for a job, but she had to try. She touched her money pouch again and felt the few lowly coppers that jingled in it still. Yes, she needed money and fast.

She needed to find the innkeeper, but where would the innkeeper be? She touched Ruby on the shoulder gently and when the girl turned around she asked, "Could you tell me where to find the innkeeper?"

Ruby looked slightly taken aback, but nonetheless answered promptly, "I do believe Miss Aman would be in the kitchens now, at least, that's where I last saw her." Sharya thanked Ruby and quickly headed to where the girl was pointing.

The kitchen was clean and Sharya began changing her previous opinion on the state of the area where food was prepared in bars and inns. She could find no apparent fault in the cleanliness of this kitchen. She saw Aman standing in the corner.

She approached her and being met with a questioning look, tentatively asked, "I was wondering, if it was possible, if I could possibly find some sort of work." Then seeing the look on Aman's face she quickly added, "I can do any sort of work, just need to tell me to do it and show me how to."

Aman looked at her thoughtfully. "Perhaps if Ms Bunce," she said indicating the cook, "has anything that she needs or wants help with. But you'll have to ask her yourself."

Sharya took a deep breath and swallowed a few times before approaching the cook who was watching over a colossal pot of food, no doubt the dinner that would be served soon in the Common Room, that she herself would most likely partake of later that evening.

"Ms Bunce, I was wondering, if you had anything that I could help with, for perhaps a meal or two," the words came out in a huge rush, and she could only stand back and wait for an answer.

[Arry]

Music in the Inn . . .

‘Oh no, please!’ laughed Ferdy, holding up his hand at Aranel’s questions. ‘Even Hobbits have their limits with food and drink . . . and thanks to your generosity, I’ve reached mine!’ He stood up from the table, collecting the plates and cutlery to take to the kitchen when a commotion came up the aisle behind him.

‘Leave those for now, Ferdy,’ cried Gil, followed close by Tomlin, Fallon, and Ferrin. ‘We’re going to play a bit of music, there near the corner of the fireplace. Ferrin’s Da has made him a new hand drum and he’s itching to try it out.’ Gil paused for a moment, looking over at Aranel. ‘And bring your friend, if she’s so inclined,’ he said aloud, grinning at the woman. In a hushed whisper he said as an aside, ‘Looks as if she could do with a bit of cheering up, doesn’t she?’ Gil turned back to Aranel. ‘Come now Miss; join us if you will.’

While Ferdy and Aranel found seats near the impromptu stage, Gil and his companions took out their instruments. Tomlin and Fallon both played the fiddle; Gil, the concertina; and Ferrin of course took out his new pride and joy, his hand drum. Aranel looked at Ferdy, an implied question of what might he play. ‘My hands!’ he said laughing as he clapped them together in a syncopated rhythm. ‘And my feet, too, keep the main beat . . . or dance as the spirit strikes.’

Gil gave a squawk on his concertina, drawing the attention of the diners and drinkers. ‘Ladies and gentlemen and good Hobbit friends and neighbors. Don’t put down your forks or cups of ale and cider, but enjoy our little bit of music to make it all the sweeter.’ Ferrin began the beat, then Gil turned round to face the fiddlers for the opening chords, turning back when it was time for the words to meet the music.

I've been a wild rover for many a year
I've spent all my money on whiskey and beer
Now I'm returning with gold in great store
And I swear that I'll play the wild rover no more

And it no, nay, never

‘Clap your hands four times here,’ whispered Ferdy to Aranel

No, nay, never, No more
Will I play the wild rover
No, never, no more

I went into an ale house that I used to frequent
And I told the lady my money was spent
I asked her for credit and she answered me nay
Such a custom as yours I can get day


And it no, nay, never
No, nay, never, No more
Will I play the wild rover
No, never, no more

And out of my pocket and pulled sovereigns bright
The landlady's eyes opened wide with delight
She said I have whiskey and wines of the best
And the words that I said were only in jest

I'd go home to my parents confess what I've done
And ask them to pardon their prodigal son
And if they'll caress me as oft times before
Then I swear that I play the wild rover no more

The fiddlers stepped forward and played a verse and chorus once more. Then the instruments dropped out and only the voices of the four lads rang out.

And it no, nay, never
No, nay, never, No more
Will I play the wild rover
No, never, no more

Will I play the wild rover . . .
No, never, no more . . .

There were shouts for more, and the banging of mugs on the wooden table tops in approval. And several voices called out songs they wanted the little band to play.

‘Tis thirsty work,’ Gil called out with a wide grin on his face. ‘And many the songs you want to be hearing.’ He looked round the room. ‘Now, who will stand us to a wee bit of drink to keep our pipes clear and our fingers nimble?

[Envinyatar]

Supper for the hungry woodcutters . . .

‘Good work, men!’ Derufin leaned on his long handled splitting maul and surveyed the stack of split firewood and the sawn logs still to be split and some done further into kindling. A good half-day’s work on the morrow and the Inn would be set for several months. Denegal had gathered up the saws and Benat the axes, and both men were now putting them on the cottage porch, in readiness for the next day’s work.

Zimzi had brought out a large towel for each of them and a cake of soap to be shared. ‘Wash up at the pump,’ she directed the three. ‘I’ll just fetch my cloak, then, and we can go over to the Dragon.

The full supper crowd had not shown up yet, so they were able to take a table near the fire. Zimzi fetched them a pitcher of ale and three mugs and a mug of cider for herself. Derufin offered round his pouch of Old Toby and soon there was a spiral of sweet smelling smoke wreathing the heads of the three men. Ginger stopped by the table asking if she might take their orders. Supper was nearly ready . . . stewed coney, mushroom pie, buttered carrots, crusty bread with sweet cream butter.

Derufin looked hopefully at Ginger, who grinned impishly back at him. Zimzi looked from one to the other, her brows raised, a small smile dimpling her cheeks. ‘And spice cake with lots of plump raisins and thick, vanilla icing for dessert . . . just as Cook promised, Mister Derufin!’ Ginger said, laughing.

Everyone gave their order, then settled back comfortably to enjoy the hum and buzz of the Inn and the pleasure of each other’s company.

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik and Uien found Denegal with Derufin and a very big man with whom the first two seemed quite friendly. They sat at an empty table.

"There you are, Denegal!" said Uien, and turned to Derufin. "Good day to you, Master Derufin. How does married life suit you?"

"Well enough, you can be sure," the man beamed back.

"'Tis no surprise, but I am glad to hear it." She glanced at the big man. "Good day to you. I am Uien of Lorien, and this is Falowik Stonewort of Bree."

"Well met," the man smiled. "I am Benat.

Falowik stepped forward. "We have a small gift for Denegal." He produced a brand new pair of leather boots. Nothing fancy to look at, but sturdy and well made they were. Denegal's eyes widened. "Try them on, Denegal!" Falowik held them out.

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen had gone with Mr Headstrong to Camille's house (Marigold had been well enought to be left briefly under the kindly watch of the inn staff), and having briefly examined Rory in the privacy of his own home she had born him back to the inn. She had considered taking the gentle Aeglos, but she knew that Falco was unlikely to approve of her letting any hobbit child ride any horse so soon aftwer Marigold's accident. Besides the distance was short and the frail child was a slight burden to the elf.

"Can you help him miss?" , the mother had asked, not quite believing that her humble home had been visited by this exotic being. Mithalwen found it strange to be treated with such awe - amongst her own people she was quite unremarkable and the last time she had spent much time with mortals it had been Numenoreans of the generation of Elendil and his sons, who were not fazed by the mere presence of the Eldar.

"I would speak with another of my kindred back at the inn before, I say for certain - but I think I may be able to help even if if I cannot heal". The boy was not paralysed, but his limbs were weak and slightly distorted. Mithalwen hoped that maybe with calipers and strengthening exercise Rory might be able to walk, maybe in time even the limbs might take a better alignment as they grew - but that was what she needed to consult Uien about - the healer would have a better idea of mortal development. Mithalwen knew she could construct the braces - if the smith would lend her his forge ... or rent it to her. She sighed. Although she had some tools with her, she hadn't the right materials and these would have to be paid for: another unexpected expense. Now only she begrudged that wastrel Snaveling the meals she had bought him. It was clear that the boy's family would be hard pressed to pay for the iron and leather she would require.

Maybe the smith would let her pay in kind. Though he could shoe horses well enough himself she knew and she doubted that these rustic folk would have a call for the fine work she excelled at, but she perhaps should try. Either that or she would have to take measurements to Rivendell and the boy wait for her return. That would not be ideal - for such things need to be tailored precisely to the owner with many fittings. That would take time and to prolong her stay at the inn would also cost money. If necessary she could camp she supposed, like Uien and Falowik. She had some silver wire in her baggage - maybe if she made some jewellery she might find some buyers - just simple items that would not stretch a hobbit purse too far and would make enough pennies to finance her stay. It was a possibility at least.

Such were the elf's thoughts as she returned the inn. She was glad that Mr Headstrong and the boy's mother had occupied each other in conversation during the journey, and that Rory was still too much in awe to ask as many questions as his sister. Though the damp day had faded into a clear evening (Mithalwen thought briefly and slightly ruefully that it would have been a good night for travelling, had she not let herself get involved in the plight of various mortals), nevetheless the light and warmth emanating from the fires and lanterns of the inn were welcome - especially to the hobbit child who stirred with excitement as he saw them. The elf had noticed how much colder the family's home had been - it did not bother her much but she knew that such things affected mortals more.

The common room was a lot fuller than when they had left both with local hobbit folk and it seemed some new travellers. Mithalwen was pleased to see Uien and having placed Rory gently in the windowseat that marigold was happy to share. She went over to the table where she sat with Falowik and another mortal man. She greeted Them all openly but saved the details of her mission for silent communication with Uien "Uien, you are a healer , may I have your counsel...?"

[Nurumaiel]

Though Falco did not show it, he was very annoyed, and even slightly angry. He was angry with himself, for having ever relented as much as he did to the Elf, but he was angrier with her. His mood, which had been improving, had once again grown sullen and grumpy. When he had arrived at the home where Camille dwelt with her family, and seen small Rory looking from one to the other, unable to walk, he had felt his heart go out to the boy, and had blessed Camille for giving him the task of bringing her brother home. And then that Elf had taken two long strides and lifted up the boy in her arms without a word. It was more than Falco could bear. He wanted to carry little Rory to the Inn. Camille had asked him to do it.

There was no doubt in his mind that, if he were a little boy feeling so grievously wronged and going to his mother for consolation, she would have looked at him with a gentle little smile, saying: "Now, Falco, don't you think that is just a wee bit ridiculous?" Perhaps she would think so, and perhaps they would all think so, but to him it was no small matter. He had wanted to carry that frail little body up to the Inn. It was partly because Camille had asked him, Falco Headstrong, to do it, and he had agreed, but it was more because of his constant longing to help the little weak things. That longing would have merely made him regret that he had not moved to help before the Elf, but he experienced anger rather than regret, because he felt he should have been the one. He had been asked.

Conversation with Rory's mother had helped him refrain from his sour looks towards the Elf, but even that pleasant conversation had been a slight wear on his nerves. He could not casually converse, but he was compelled to cautiously converse. He wanted to say nothing of his plans for helping the family, for fear of making her stiffen at the thought of receiving 'charity.'

When they arrived at the Inn he was pleased to see that, after placing Rory next to Marigold on the window-seat, the Elf left. Now Falco would take full advantage of the situation. He would make up for having his duty stolen from him. He would sit by Rory, talk to Rory, play with Rory, and he would not leave Rory's side for the rest of the evening. He would make sure he was always there first to attend to Rory, even if it meant he had to scamper like a hare to match the Elf's long, graceful steps. Come to think of it... that Elf had stopped him from helping that Big Folk fellow by helping him herself. Would she never let him, Falco Headstrong, show an act of kindness? Was she so jealous of letting others be kind?

"It's not me," he muttered viciously, crushing the thought that flashed through his mind. "I'm not in the least jealous of the kind things she has done. If she went and did something of her own accord I would be very pleased that she had done so. But she has only ever stepped in front of me to do what I had already offered and agreed to do."

"Now, Falco, don't you think that is just a wee bit ridiculous?" came a gentle voice, echoing softly from his past.

He grit his teeth, and before going to the window-seat to sit with Rory and Marigold, muttered: "No, Mother, I don't."

[Envinyatar]

‘I have heard,’ said Derufin, leaning toward Benat, ‘that you hail from north up the Anduin. I’ve never been farther north on that river than Minas Tirith.’ He drew his index finger through the puddle of condensation left on the wooden surface of the table by his mug. ‘It’s a wide river there, with some swift currents that run in the middle channels. But for the most part it runs lazily down to the bay between widening banks. What is it like, further north . . . much the same?’

Zimzi drew her chair closer to Derufin’s. She too was eager to know about the place where such a giant of a man hailed. She had come from Lindon, and Bywater was the furthest east she had ever come. Derufin leaned back in his chair putting his arm about her shoulders and pulling her near in a comfortable embrace. She snuggled in against him, her dark eyes on Benat’s face. ‘Is there a Missus at home?’ she asked, thinking how lucky a woman would be to have such a strong, gentle man with such merriment in his eyes. ‘Someone waiting for your return?’

[Witch_Queen]

Jon was surprised by the dwarf's words. "My dreams are mere children dreams. Nothing more nothing less." Jon looked down at his mug. Empty he thought to himself. "If you will excuse me I am in need of a refill. Can I get you one while I'm at it?" Jon wanted to pull the hood back over his head but didn't cause he didn't know whether or not he would see Aman. The dwarf nodded his head and Jon picked up the other mug and headed for the bar. "News you say.."Jon thought he head a very familar voice. Jon turned to see an elf setting at the bar talking to Aman.

Jon thought about going on back to the table and forget about the ale. But his throat was dry and no doubt that the dwarf's was too. "Excuse me... I really do hate to barge in on your conversation...But could I get a refill." Jon looked at the inn keeper a smile across his face. He turned to the elf, gently nodding his head.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Dwaline followed John with his eyes. As he seemed to interrupt another conversation, a slight feeling of curiosity began to come over him. Avalon noted this and fluttered upon his shoulder. Dwaline glanced at her and she saw a small glint in his eye. Almost as if he was formulating a plan of action.

Avalon whispered something into his ear and Dwaline nodded. John tarried by the bar for a while, before Dwaline called over, "John, ask for the strongest stuff they have." Dwaline smirked as John cocked his head to the left and then shrugged.

[Nurumaiel]

Why, she acted as if she could read his mind. And that wasn't right. Of course, she couldn't... but if she could, it wasn't right. Falco had seen enough of old maid hobbits prowling around into other people's business, and what would happen if they could prowl into other people's minds? Was his face so very expressive that this new Elf woman could read his thoughts? It was annoying. He looked at the ground to keep his face hidden from further mistakes of expression.

It was an unfair question, that's what it was. "I don't mind them helping," he thought, colour mounting to his cheeks as he reflected on how honest he was about to be with himself, "but I want to be able to take care of the poor little lad. I never had any children of my own, though I always wanted them. It was my delight to take care of Marigold, but it would be wonderful to take care of a boy like Rory who will someday be a fine, upright young laddie. It helps me to pretend that I do have little sons and daughters of my own." The crimson spread further on his cheeks. That was so sentimental. How in all the Shire could he actually say that to all of them aloud, if just thinking made him feel so humiliated? And if he didn't say that, what else could he say? No, thank you very much... that would never do. Yes, thank you! would be just as bad. They would think they could continue to shove him around. They were so much taller and all that, and it was easy to brush him aside to tend to the poor hurt little children themselves. And they were so much taller than he that they wouldn't be able to see how much he wanted to take care of the children himself.

"I... don't... know..." he managed to stutter out. It sounded odd, but what more could he say? Neither yes nor no was the proper answer, the answer he wanted to make, but the proper answer... he could not say it. He wasn't a crusty old hobbit who couldn't smile for fear of being thought sentimental, but to tell them that... oh, it would be too much. Even the most open of hearts would blush.

"I don't know," he murmured again, and looked in a disappointed fashion at the ground.

[Envinyatar]

‘Please . . . be our guest!’ Derufin pushed back his chair and stood up. He reached out his hand to clasp that of Anyopâ. ‘Yes, welcome,’ said Zimzi, turning to smile at the newcomer. She reached for an empty mug and poured some ale for him, setting it down at the place next to her.

‘We’ve not ordered yet,’ Zimzi continued as Anyopâ sat down. Derufin held out his pouch of pipeweed. ‘Don’t know if you smoke, but if you need a pipe, there’s an extra in the outside pocket.’

Buttercup came to the table with a fresh pitcher of ale. ‘Cook says she’ll stand you lot to three pitchers for the table and dinner all around for the work you’ve put in.’ She cast a look about the table and its occupants. ‘though I doubt she knows the numbers have somehow swollen.’

Derufin gave her his best smile and pulled her to one side. ‘I’ll square it with Cook if there’s a problem. For now just feed my guests and keep their cups filled.’ Buttercup rolled her eyes at him, then laughed, and went back to the kitchen to fetch supper for the table.

As he sat back down, Derufin saw Zimzi had leaned in close to Anyopâ and was looking at something . . .

[Arry]

Ferdy and Aranel

‘Pardon my saying so, Miss,’ said Ferdy, laying his fork down by the side of his plate. ‘But it seems to me as if you’ve barely said enough, not “too much”.’ He handed her his napkin nodding at her tears. ‘No need to salt the soup with them, if you get my meaning.’

He watched as she wiped them away. ‘Seems like you’ve gotten to do what you felt you needed to. So why are you unhappy?' 'If you don’t mind my asking,’ he added hurriedly. He wondered to himself if she was sad because she’d been so long away from her family. He knew that he would be. But then, he reminded himself, his family had always stood solidly behind him.

The face of his Gammer rose up fondly in his mind. She’d pack him a lunch and give him a kiss and a few words of care, saying how she’d always be thinking about him. Then she’d send him off, as would his Da, saying she’d hope to see his face again. It would never happen, though, Ferdy thought; his roots were too firmly planted in the Shire.

‘Do you miss your family, Miz Aranel?’ he asked quietly.