The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Atarah]

Elentari sighed as she leaned her head on her clenched fist. Had people really forgotten who she was. She guessed mortal's didn't have as good a memory for remembering faces as elves did. Oh well, she thought. I'm sure someone will talk to me eventually.

She sighed again as she moved from the bar to a table tucked away in a fairly dark corner. She pulled her hood over her eyes, something she had heard King Elessar used to do at the Prancing Pony when he was a ranger of the northern lands. She wondered if any of the people in the Green Dragon would rise to be a great hero. She smiled as she remembered why she was here - there was little left in the way of adventures in Middle Earth.

[Azaelia of Willowbottom]

"My name is Valin Stormfist. And as for the mushrooms, I could go for some as well. Eh, what's your name lass? And what's a young hobbit doing her by herself?"

The girl hesitantly said, "I am Peony Underhill...And as for what I'm doing here, well, I live here in Bywater, so it is not far to walk. The Green Dragon has some of the best food in all of the Shire! It's also a great place to watch people, there's always so many different people here!"

As she was talking, the mushrooms had arrived. She watched Valin take a few, but decided she was not going to let him get away with eating the whole plate, so she dug in, remembering to eat somewhat politely in front of the stranger.

[Larien Telemnar]

A Hobbit walks quietly into the inn, her dark blue cloak covering her body, which was short for even her race.

She surveryed the roomed quickly, and after a moment, settled at a table in a dark corner. She lit a pipe, then quietly watched the patrons of the Green Dragon. She absently fingered the hem of her cloak as she watched the merrymaking taking place around her. Secretly, she felt jealous, wishing to join in. No, I can't. I know nothing of the people here. What if I offend them.... She thought.

Unbeknownst to her she had withdrawn further into the corner.

[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

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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.

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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]

It is mid-noon now in the Shire. The sky is a glorious shade of blue; the sun is shining bright and warm on the Inn.

Lunch is done. Most of those in the Common Room are relaxing with a mug of their favorite brew and a good smoke.

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Just a reminder:

The storyline at the Inn must stay within the Inn or on the Inn grounds. Characters can tell others in the Inn about their adventures, but they cannot go outside the boundaries of the Inn and participate in adventures.

--- The Red Book of Westmarch/Rules for posting in the Shire

[piosenniel]

Cook and Lithmîrë


‘Well, there you are! My stars! I had forgotten how quiet you folk can be.’ Cook trundled into the shady little bower and put her basket on one of the chairs set by the little table in the center of the grass. The bright mid-afternoon sun filtered through the leaves if the trees, dappling the area.

She swept the few leaves that had fallen on the table top off and directed Lithmîrë to get out the little tablecloth and put it on the table. Once done, the cups and little plates were put on along with some fireweed honey and the tray of tarts she had packed in the basket. Indicating that he should go ahead and be seated, she poured them both a cup of lemon thyme with ginger tea and passed him the honey.

Nice lady, Mistress Zimzi is,’ she said in a light, conversational tone as she passed the tarts to him. ‘Wedded our stablemaster, Derufin, just a bit ago. And now they’ve settled down in the groundskeeper’s cottage there. She’s from Lindon, that one. An artist . . . with clay. Master Derufin’s our all around handy man. Fine man. Happy now and I’m glad of it.’ She shook her head gently as a sad thought crept in. ‘Fought in the war there in the east. Had a wife and two little babies back then. Found they were killed by Orcs when he was away.’ She shivered a little and took a deep breath. ‘Goodness, I didn’t mean to be so gloomy. We’ve all got our problems don’t we. And luckily most can find a way to the other side of them.’ She took a generous dollop of honey and stirred it into her steaming tea.

‘Enough of that, anyway.’ She settled back comfortably in her chair and munched on a tart. ‘Tell me about the places you gardened. What sorts of plants did you grow there? And how did you find the soil?’

[Arry]

Woody and Hanson head home

Gil was waiting at one of the tables in the common room, just as he’d promised. Willy and Hanson came tearing out of the schoolroom, their slates in hand. Hanson climbed up onto a chair near Gill and surveyed what his Uncle had been snacking on. Fresh, crusty bread and slices of good Shire cheddar. Along with a mug of ale.

‘The cheese and bread, you can help yourself to,’ Gil said, ruffling his nephews curls. ‘But your Ma would skin me if you come home smelling of ale.’ He motioned for a server and asked for two mugs of cider.

Woody sat opposite Hanson and took a slice of bread and some cheese for himself. He laid his slate in front of Gil, showing him the picture of the party tree he’d drawn. Both the boys chattered on about what they had learned that day, ending with the recitation of what they could remember of the new song the class was writing for the Spring Faire.

‘Master Hearpwine is helping us with it,’ Hanson said in a muffled voice, his words coming round a large mouthful of cheese. ‘What are you doing for the Faire?’ he asked, swallowing it down with a gulp of cider.

‘The lads and I are putting on a puppet show for one thing. Complete with music and all. We haven’t quite figured out a story yet, though.’ Gil brushed away a smear of bread and butter crumbs from Hanson’s cheek.

‘Hey, what about the story of Mister Bilbo and the Dragon?’ offered Woody. ‘That would be exciting, don’t you think?’ Hanson clapped his hands, eyes shining, and agreed with his older brother.

‘Not a bad idea,’ said Gil, smiling at the enthusiastic two. ‘Maybe your class could help make some of the props for it. Bright shiny stones for jewels, and a few little boxes painted up to look like treasure chests . . .’

Hanson’s eyes went wide at the thought of helping. ‘And what about skellytons?’ he asked. Woody nodded his head and grinned at the idea. ‘There must have been some in the cave from people the dragon killed. I’ll bet I could draw up some good ones.’

Gil and the boys finished their snack, all the while making plans for the play. He promised to let them know tomorrow what Tomlin and Fallon and Ferrin thought of the idea. Once done, the boys gathered up their cloaks and slates and followed Gil to the cart tied in the shade of the Inn’s oak tree. They were quiet for the most part on the short trip home. It had been a long day and what with the food and cider, they were soon drowsing on the seat of the cart, their little heads resting heavily on Gil’s thighs.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine sought the Common Room and the comfort of a large tankard of ale to recover from his first experience of teaching. He had never thought of how exhausting it would be. Somehow, he had imagined that it would be so much easier to be the master than the student, but he was beginning to realise that the reverse was the truth. The constant questions and points being raised, the need to maintain some semblance of order, and – most of all – the youthful energy of his charges had drained him mightily. To restore himself he quickly downed the ale, and then bid the barmaid bring him another. He cast his eye about wonderingly for the pretty Innkeeper, for he had always been attracted to lovely maidens, but she was nowhere in sight. He longed to speak with her of home.

To pass the time he pulled forth his harp and played the melody upon it that went with the song the children had prepared. This quickly refreshed his spirit and before he even made the conscious decision to do so, he was singing the words they had composed:

Ruffian, spare our Party Tree!
Touch not a single bough!
In youth it sheltered me,
And I'll protect it now.
'Twas Samwise Gamgee’s able hand
That placed it near his cot:
There, ruffian, let it stand,
Thy axe shall harm it not!

That graceful mallorn tree
Whose glory and renown
Are spread o’er land and sea,
And wouldst thou hew it down?
Ruffian, forbear thy stroke!
Cut not its earth-bound ties;
Oh spare it for us Hobbit folk
Heed our warning cries!

Join me then dear friend,
Underneath its silvery bark.
Golden hours we shall spend
Till morn gives way to dark,
Sampling platters sure to delight
The hungriest in the Shire.
As hobbits marvel at the sight
Of a fat pig o'er an open fire.

And when we’ve said good-bye
And when the party’s done
Then to our little beds we’ll go
To dream of all the fun
The friends we saw, the games we played
The food and dance and song
Oh, Party Tree, we love you so,
We’ll see you soon ‘for long!

It was a good song, if a bit uneven in style. And there was the matter of the sudden break in the middle as the song shifted from cries against the ruffians to a party. Perhaps he could compose a new stanza commemorating the defeat of the ruffians and the beginning of the Shire’s renewal…?

He took another pull at his ale and thought about it.

[Larien Telemnar]

Larien listened as Ginger explained food from the Shire, which didn't sound all that hard to make.

‘Chicken and taters and carrots and conies. Ham and bacon in the morning with eggs and toast. Thick soups. And lots of mushrooms. Then of course there’s the sweets . . . just enough to tuck in around the empty spaces left after a meal.’ Ginger went on. It doesn't sound too hard to prepare, I suppose. I'll just have to wait and see. Larien thought.

Ginger introduced Larien to the people in the kitchen, Cook and Ruby. She nodded and quickly set her mug down out of the way and tied an apron around her wait, then headed over with Ginger to make the biscuits. They fetched the ingredients and began to work. Ginger asked Larien if she could grease a pan, so Larien set to work at that.

Larien thought about Ginger's earlier question about food where she came from and bit her lip, contemplating if she should tell her. She is my friend now, I suppose I should give her the benefit of knowing a little about me. She thought.

'You asked me about the food where I come from, it's a little different there. I've lived in a few different places, but mostly in Rivendell. It's much different there. I like it here, though....." Her voice trailed off and she set to greasing the pan with a vengance.

[Envinyatar]

The bargain was sealed with a last mug of ale before the four men went out to the back yard outside the Inn’s kitchen door. Derufin grinned at Anyopa as Benat and Hob began to split and stack wood. ‘They’ll have it done in a trice,’ he whispered as he passed by with an armload of wood for the woodshed. ‘A round of Dwarven spirits is small price to pay for a little rest for ourselves this afternoon.’

He called out a word of challenge to the Hobbit and the Beorning, saying what laggards they were, and how two mere men were going to beat them at this contest . . .

[Primrose Bolger]

Ferdy had only a moment to stay before he had to go back to work. He’d given her the bouquet of lupine and witch-hazel and they’d had a cup of cider together . . . all under the watchful eye of Granny Oldbuck. Ginger could tell he was wanting to ask her something but he hemmed and hawed until the very last moment as he got up to leave.

‘Well, of course, I’ll go to the Spring Fair with you,’ she said laughing as he mumbled the request quickly toward her. Before he was even out the door she was planning the new skirt and blouse she would make to wear.

Tucking one of the small sprigs of witch-hazel in her coppery hair, she poured a last cup of hot tea for Granny Oldbuck and went out to the common room to see if there were anything she might do. Preparations for supper were all done, and she had some time on her hands.

There were several new faces as she made her way between the tables. A Dwarf and a young Hobbit lass were engaged in conversation and the sharing of a generous platter of mushrooms.

And there in the corner sat another lass. ‘Not from around here,’ Ginger noted to herself, taking in the unfamiliar face. Bright sun from one of the Inn windows poured in, lighting up a section of the room. The Hobbit, though, she noted had settled herself in a gloomy corner of the Inn. She was smoking a pipe, her eyes darting about at the rest of those in the room, and all the while, she seemed to be nervously fingering the hem of her dark blue cloak.

‘What’s got the wind up her?’ Ginger wondered. She picked up a pitcher of cider and a mug and made her way back to the corner table, stopping every now and then along the way to top off other customers’ drinks.

‘Hello, there, Miss,’ Ginger said, placing the empty mug in front of the Hobbit. ‘Welcome to the Green Dragon. May I offer you some cider?’

[Larien Telemnar]

The Hobbit jumped at a voice next to her. She looked at the other Hobbitlass and smiled faintly.

"I'm so sorry, I did not see you. Yes please, and thank you." She looked down at her hands for a moment. Say something anything. She's being friendly. You can't be shy forever. You're not at home anymore. She thought, swinging her feet back and forth uncomfortably. She finally resolved to say something.

"I am Larien, who might you be?" She asked, thinking how boring a conversation starter that must be.

[Lasbelinion]

One’s own thoughts seemed to flee in the presence of Cook. It’s as if she wove magics with her words. Though not the sort as his kindred could, but of a simpler, more mundane variety. It was an earthy sort of discernment that took one out of consideration as a central point, a solitary point and instead placed one firmly within the fabric of the Shire. And here he was. In the Shire.

We’ve all got our problems don’t we? And luckily most can find a way to the other side of them.

Where would that leave me, he wondered to himself.

He watched her as she smoothed out the tablecloth and brought out the sweets and the tea. With a few light words she directed his help. He rolled her requests about in his mind. He did not find that they rankled. Not orders from master to slave. An underlying assumption of being on the same footing, of camaraderie smoothed the edges.

Does she chide me with her talk of the woman and the man? Should I have been more forthcoming, less given to judgment without all the facts?

Lithmîrë covered his quandaries with sips of the refreshing tea. The warmth of it and the closeness of the bower as the trees blocked the breezes made him raise his hand, unthinking to push back his hood.

‘Tell me about the places you gardened. What sorts of plants did you grow there? And how did you find the soil?’ he heard her say. Before answering he looked closely at her, gauging her reaction to his scars.

[Primrose Bolger]

Talking to Larien

‘Larien. That’s a lovely name. I’ve not heard it before.’ Ginger poured a small mug of cider for herself and sat down. ‘My name’s Ginger Gamwich. From Hobbiton, not too far across the road. Mostly I work in the kitchen, helping Cook. But right now everything’s ready for supper, so I’ve got a break for a while. You don’t mind if I sit with you, do you?’

One of the other servers, Buttercup, came by and left a plate of little plum tarts for the two lasses. Ginger took one and passed the plate to Larien. ‘You planning on staying for a little while,’ Ginger asked as she munched on the sweet. ‘There’s going to be the Spring Faire in less than a week. Right here at the Inn. Or are you just passing through?’

Gosh, Ginger Gamwich you needn’t be so nosy right off! She sighed and took a sip of her cider, hoping she hadn’t sounded too nosy.

[Noinkling]

Benat cast a knowing glance at Hob. ‘We’ve been had, you know.’ Cullen raised his head as his master gave out a deep rumbling laugh.

Pushing his damp hair back from his face, Benat shook a finger at the two men. ‘Best you bring a large stack of coin! I’m feeling might thirsty!’ Cullen punctuated the declaration with a loud Woof!.

'I'll meet you three later in the common room,' he called out as he started round the side of the Inn toward the front door. 'Need to wash up a bit and find a fresh shirt.' He waved at the three as he disappeared around the corner.