The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Arry]

Moving Alistair to the kitchen

Gil came running after Ginger, motioning for his friends to follow. They knelt down by the man and looked him over. ‘Doesn’t look too good, does he?’ said Tomlin, as they rolled him over slightly looking for blood.

‘Name’s Alastair’ the Innkeeper said. ‘Says he’s a Ranger from up north.’ The Innkeeper had brought over a clean, wet bar rag and handed it to Ginger, who’d begun wiping the man’s face with it.

‘Let’s take him to the kitchen,’ said Gil, indicating his friends should each take a limb and help hoist the fellow. ‘Cook’s got some medicines I’m sure can bring him round.’

[Envinyatar]

Lending a hand

Derufin saw the flurry of activity as he made his way to the bar to get another pitcher of ale. Calling out to the Hobbits, he told them to take the Ranger's legs while he carried the man's upper body. Zimzi held the kitchen door open for the little band and their burden, then followed them through.

She went to the cupboard where Cook stored her medicines and got out the vial of smelling salts. Directing them to lay the Ranger on the long table, she uncorked the bottle and held it beneath his nose, waving it back and forth.

'Alistair!' she spoke softly to him. 'Wake up!'

[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

[Noinkling]

Tevildo within his sights . . .

Cullen raised his head from his plate of stew and looked closely at the white haired cat who was ambling among the table legs. There was something about the creature that raised this great hound's hackles. His eyes widened, and he growled low in his throat. He bared his teeth, curling back his lips as he took the cat's measure.

Benat reached down and put a restraining hand on the dog. 'Now you leave the nice little kitty alone,' he said gruffly to Cullen.

'Nice little kitty, my hind leg!' growled Cullen. He laid down, resting his head on his paws - the picture of obedience. But his gaze tracked the offensive furball as he pussyfooted about, begging scraps.

[Huan]

The Players arrive

‘There she is!’ cried a clear voice from the road that passed by the inn. Talan stood up from the cart seat and pointed toward the Green Dragon. Her dark hair was cropped short; the breezes ruffled them slightly as she threw back her hood.

‘Whoa up, there, Flint.’ ‘And turn in there, Jasper!’ came a deeper voice as the pair of geldings pulled at their traces and turned the wagon onto the dirt lane leading to the inn. Gwynn pulled at the reins, slowing the horses’ pace. He was twin to his sister, dark hair cropped as hers. His eyes though were hazel with glints of gold in the light where hers were grey as granite.

The two were of similar size. Gwynn was a hair taller; his frame a little larger. Talan was as fit as he but more slender. Their mouths were wide and generous with smiles. And both were lissome, moving with an assured gracefulness. Both wore breeches and soft leather boots and thin tunics of fine spun wool from the looms of Lindon. In their bulky dark blue cloaks, hoods pulled up to overshadow their faces they looked the same.

‘The Dragon!’ chirped another who stepped fleet footed by the wagon’s side. He was dressed in a motley of greens and browns and his fair Elven hair fell down his back in a long plait woven with ribbons of various colors. From his belt he drew a silver pipe, and putting his lips to it blew an intricate melody, an enchanting weave of notes that rose and fell beneath the bright stars. ‘There! She is made tame within my little net of song,’ Emlin laughed, putting his flute back into its case.

Behind this trio came another wagon, smaller in size and pulled by two sturdy ponies, Cobby and Hal. ‘Think they’d never seen a proper inn before,’ Rowan Foxburr said to her brother Tolly. ‘Well, think of it,’ he returned, urging the ponies on with a light flick of the reins. ‘The inns of Lindon are those of Elves or Men. Too melancholy on the one side, too rough and churlish on the other. And our travels through the southern parts of the Shire have shown them only the small establishments. Pincup’s been the largest town we’ve been to and its Flowering Beech is hardly more than a little watering hole for the locals.’ He turned to her and grinned. We’re here in Bywater and Hobbiton, Rowan. Heart of the Shire! Home of the Dragon and her tasty ales!’

Rowan grinned back at her older brother. She pushed back the hood of her brown cloak and smoothed back the stray chestnut curls from before her ears. Her brown eyes caught the moonlight and glinted with pleasure at the thought of a nice hot bath and a soft bed with a feather quilt. Not that their little cart was uncomfortable. It was built like the Big Folks’ cart, a little house on wheels, and had a little door at the back with a set of steps that folded down from it when they were camped. It was a snug little thing, holding all their belongings. But hot baths and food other than cooked by her own hand were a rarity as they traveled, and she relished the idea of indulging in some luxury.

Tolly was two years older than his sister. They were Hobbits from the Tower Hills, from a little holding where their parents raised sheep and goats and grew a good sized garden. His eyes, too, were brown. His hair, also, though a lighter shade than Rowan’s. They had been traveling with Gwynn, Talan, and Emlin for a year now, providing the music and sound effects for the puppet shows they played for crowds along the way. Gwynn and Talan were the puppeteers; Emlin the singer and story teller for the plays. It had been an interesting journey so far. Much had been learned and much laughed over.

The Big Folk and Emlin had been together for a number of years. They had welcomed the addition Rowan and Tolly and had been gracious in their instruction. At the moment, the two Hobbits could not imagine themselves doing anything else.

The two carts were brought round to the stable; the little lamps that hung from the corners of their roofs’ eaves were blown out. Master Meriadoc took the horses and ponies in hands with a promise of warm dry stalls and a nosebag of oats for each.

It was Emlin who opened the door for the others, holding it wide as they all passed through. They stood blinking in the bright light of the lamps and the fire until their eyes adjusted. Then Gwynn spied a table big enough to hold them all and led his troupe toward it.

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik stirred in Uien's lap and looked up, a question in his eyes. She hushed him. "Many hours must pass before dawn, Lauréatan," she whispered, caressing his brow. He sighed, smiling, and passed back into sleep.

Her Elven awareness heightened by his wakefulness, Uien sensed another Elf not far away, coming near. It was the burned one, he whom Falowik had named Lithmirë. He stopped suddenly, drawing a harsh breath, and labored away from them, his mind tightly shut. Uien sighed. There was much she could do for that suffering one, even though his hurt was worse than Falowik's had ever been. She let it pass. That one was not ready to be aided. She was not sure she could heal him, though that was her art, but she knew that she could assuage his pain. But only if he wished it.

Her awareness of that Elf, approaching the Inn, brought yet another Elf within her perception. Mithalwen was in a corner of the Common Room, writing. She also seemed closed. Uien sighed. A day ago Uien had called her "heart's friend", but this day that had just passed Uien had given her what was commonly known in the world of humans as 'the brush off'. 'I must go and make it right.' As she was about to lift Falowik's head from her lap, she sensed that Mithalwen was hiding from her! Then she would stay away. A tear slipped from her eye and she let it fall.

She looked up and saw that the hawthorn tree was still there. 'Do you see all the darkness that has not faded with the passing of the Dark Lord, hawthorn?' She did not speak her thought. Then she looked down at the Man who loved her. His face was peaceful. She thought it beautiful, though other Elves would think her daft or fallen to quaintness, but they did not know this one whom she knew. He had opened his heart to her, and had accepted all the difficult darknesses that were in her own heart. She smiled and bowed her head over his face, her long golden hair catching the gleaming stars as it fell around his face, and she kissed his brow. He stirred briefly, and the faintest echo of a smile passed his lips.

She was on the Swan ship with the Lady of Lórien as it floated down the Silverlode to meet the three small boats of the Company of the Ring. She held in her hand one of the cloaks, the one made for the youngest of the Halflings. She had worked hard at the brooch that would clasp it at his neck, and had wondered what the fate of this cloak and brooch would be.....

[Firefoot]

After a hearty supper, Thistle sat back in her chair. She and Peony had maintained light conversation throughout the meal, and while the lass's enduring cheerfulness was slightly irritating, it was also contagious. The combination of good food and conversation had improved her mood considerably so that she had almost forgotten about the two insolent lads who had run into her and waved to her from atop the furniture respectively.

Noticing the darkened sky through the windows, Thistle realized the day was drawing to a close and that she had best be getting home. "It was nice chatting with you, Peony, and thank you for your company. However, I'd best be getting on home, as it's getting rather late. You're from around here, you said? Perhaps I'll be seeing you around."

"Yes, perhaps," Peony answered with a smile. "Good night, then."

"Good night, lass." With that Thistle levered herself to her feet and, picking up her cane, thumped her way towards the door. On her way she passed some people carrying a tall man into the kitchen, and she hmph'ed. "Too much ale, no doubt," she muttered to herself. Men who drank more ale than they could take were another one of the many things she could not stand.

She pushed through the door, leaving the Inn behind for the night. "A tad too chilly," she murmured absently. Never happy without something to complain about, that was her way. "And not even the moon shines to light the way..."

[Gwydion]

"Wha... Where am I?" Alastair moaned. His vision was fuzzy, but clearing quickly. His forehead felt wet and there was a strange smell hanging in the air. Alastair tried to move his arm, but his wound twinged painfully when he did. Slowly he moved his arm to it's former position and waited until the pain subsided. He looked around and realized he was laying on a long table.

"Thank you for your help. I have an old wound from an orc, but I think I can clean it on my own." Alastair moved his arm to try and see his wound and gasped in pain and fought nausea. "Nevermind, I think I will need your help after all. But first may I have some sleep?" Someone agreed and helped him walk to his room. He layed down and pulled a thin blanket over his body and slipped into a fitful sleep.

[Arry]

Gil greets the players . . .

As they’d aided the stricken Ranger to his room, Gil noted a group of newcomers had just entered the Common Room. Two of the Big Folk, who looked to be brothers, a fair haired Elf dressed all in greens and browns, and a pair of Hobbits. The male Hobbit appeared to be about his age, he thoughts and the female just a little younger. Her brown eyes had regarded his face for a moment then passed on. But in that moment he managed to blunder into Buttercup, sending them both crashing to the floor.

‘Off me, you oaf!’ cried Buttercup, pushing him from atop her legs and standing up. ‘Now look what you’ve done! Cider all over my blouse and skirt!’

Gil scrambled to his feet, hearing the none too subtle laughter of his friends. He apologized profusely and promised Buttercup he would take her place in serving the cider and ale until she could clean herself up. She gave a miffed hmmmph! as she twitched her skirts and stomped off to the kitchen.

‘Take a seat lads,’ Gil told his friends. ‘I’ll bring round some ale for you all and some cider for the little lads.’

He was as good as his word, hurrying to the bar for a fresh pitcher of ale and one of cider, along with a stack of mugs. He made his way round the room filling mugs and taking orders and suffering the good-natured ribbing of the Green Dragon patrons.

And all the while, his eyes flicked often to the group of strangers he’d seen come in.

Soon, he came to their table, handing out ales all around as requested. And taking their orders for something to eat and plenty of it, if he pleased. He smiled, nodding his head yes to their directions and questions. When the chatter of their orders had died down he paused for a moment, before turning away. ‘My name is Gil Tussock,’ he said. ‘And those,’ he indicated with a pointing of his finger toward where Tomlin and the others sat, ‘are my band members and my two young nephews. We’ll be playing in a little while. I hope you will stay for a tune or two.’ He looked at the oddly mixed group and grinned. ‘And perhaps you will join us if you’re in the mood. You are the players up from Pincup aren’t you?’

[piosenniel]

Cook remembers to answer the door

‘Never rains but it pours,’ muttered Cook as she served up bowls of stewed coney and taters for the servers to take out to the guests in the Common Room. There’d been a faint knock at the kitchen door and then the rather dramatic entry of Gil and friends along with Derufin carrying in the limp body of a man. Ranger, it had turned out to be. And none too clean by the looks of the table where his clothes had left dirty marks on the freshly scrubbed surface.

Well, he’d left . . . before she could clean and dress his wound; his rescuers trailing out the door behind him. Leaving her to clean the table after him. And now there was Buttercup fretting and fuming over her cider soaked apron and clothes. She was sponging away at them, quite ineffectively when Cook ordered her up to her room to change into clean, dry ones. ‘Be faster,’ she called after the grumbling Hobbit. ‘And change that look on your face while you’re up there, Miss! I’m sure Master Gil apologized. He’s a well mannered lad at heart. I don’t want you scaring the customers off with a soured frown.’

She’d almost forgotten that someone had knocked at the door earlier. Balancing the stirring spoon on the stew pot, she wiped her hands on her apron and reached up to tuck her errant grey curls behind her ears. ‘Goodness gracious! I hope the poor dear left standing there has not gone off in a huff.’ As quick as her legs could carry her she came to the door and opened it.

There was no one there. The step was empty. She was just about to shut the door, when she heard the faint rustle of someone’s cloak. And then a tall figure stepped up onto the little porch, looming over her.

Cook stifled a gasp and put her hand to her heart to keep it from leaping out her chest. ‘Land sakes, Master Lithmirë. You scared me half to death! Come in! Come in! You’ve not missed supper. And I’ve put together some of your tea herbs for you.’ She motioned him to follow her to the table the Ranger had recently vacated and bade him sit down. ‘Just let me brew some up in a little pot, then we’ll have a bite to eat together.’

She poured the hot water in the pot and set it in front of him, along with a cup. ‘I’ve spoken with Granny Oldbuck,’ she said, keeping a steady patter of conversation going. The Elf was a quiet one, and rather skittish. Best to keep a stream of calm words going. ‘She says it’s fine if you come up to her place and poke about in the woods round her house. I told her we might come up tomorrow . . . that is if you’d like to . . .’

[Esgallhugwen]

Falowik and Eswen talked for a brief while before Falowik ventured back outside to check on Uien. They cannot be parted for long can they? she thought, wondering what a love like that would feel like if she could be so lucky.

She had long finished her miruvor, her strength was no longer stretched and thin. Eswen looked about her, not wishing to become involved with the other patrons she watched them passively.

A larger group of newcomers were being served dinner, Lithmirë was no where to be found. Hobbits scurrying about and an assortment of men and those of her Kin were sitting down to dinner as well.

She sighed and took up her saddle bags to her room, moving lightly and swift before anyone could tell who or what had passed.

Eswen sat on the bed gazing into the small crackling fire, you should have told him how you felt, now it is too late and he is gone, she moved to the window and opening the latch she cunningly crept onto the roof of the Green Dragon.

Thinking back on her dark journey, she held a dagger in her hand the ebony twin of the ivory set she had given to Lira.

What is my purpose?

But there were only stars and silence to answer her.

[Kath]

After finishing her meal and her letter Astilwen headed out of the Inn to escape the commotion within. She walked around the grounds admiring the beautiful plants and flowers as she breathed in the refreshing night air. She gave a wide berth to the elf woman and the man who were lying together under a large tree as they looked peaceful and she had no wish to disturb them. She did give the tree a closer look however, as she had seen it on the way in and it now appeared to her to be in a slightly different place. Dismissing the thought with a shake of her head she continued walking.

Coming to a hobbit sized bench on the far side of the Inn she sat down and tilted her head back to look up at the stars. They were exceptionally beautiful as the night was so clear and every separate star could be seen. As she tried to find some of the constellations her father had shown her as a child her attention was diverted by the sudden flash of starlight reflected by something on the roof if the Inn. Standing up on the bench Astilwen saw another elf woman sitting on the roof, with a dagger in her hands. She looked pained and deep in thought, twirling the dagger as she stared up into the sky.

Before she was really aware of her actions, Astilwen called up to the elf
"Hello? Are you alright ma'am?"

For a moment she was unsure if she had been heard, as the elf gave no sign that the words had reached her. Then, as if coming out of a trance, she lowered her eyes a little towards Astilwen.

[Lasbelinion]

Dinner with Mistress Bunce

Lithmîrë sipped at his tea, watching Mistress Bunce move about the kitchen tending to this task and that. The stew was stirred, and portions of it served up in bowls for the diners in the Common Room. One of the servers, Buttercup, he heard her called, came down from her room, and putting on a fresh apron, picked up the tray of food to take it out. He wondered as Mistress Bunce stopped her, hand on hip, her foot tapping expectantly. There must have been some problem earlier, he thought, because the lass flushed guiltily, then put a smile on her face before leaving the kitchen.

He took another sip, the brew easing the pain that shot through his scarred cheek and arm. Whatever the Hobbit had put in it was doing its job and quickly. He found himself giving a half smile as Mistress Bunce chattered on to him. Her back was to him; she was slicing some bread to fill the baskets for the tables. The flow of words was light, requiring no answer on his part. Soothing, almost. And he wondered if perhaps they held some Shire magic that infused the pain relieving tea with greater power.

‘I should like to do that,’ he said, startling the Hobbit for a moment, so that she grew quiet and turned to see if it were he who had indeed answered. ‘Granny Oldbuck’s woods,’ he went on, referencing his remarks. ‘If you can take the time to show me, that is.’

Before answering him she plunked a generous serving of stewed coney with vegetables in front of him, along with a basket of fresh sliced bread and the pot of butter and another of honey. He nodded at her, waiting to pick up his spoon until she had seated herself.

[Gwydion]

Alastair awoke later in the evening, drenched in sweat. Alastair ruffled his hair and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and thought about his dream. He had been dreaming of his encounter with the band of orcs in the Misty Mountains and of how he recieved his wound. Thinking of his wound Alastair got up, lit a candle and walked over to his belongings. "Now where did I put it.."he murmered to himself. "Aha!"he annonced to the air as he pulled a pouch from his knapsack.

Opening it, Alastair rummaged around for a moment and pulled out athelas leaves and strip of leather. Humming a tune to himself he silently chewed the leaves. After a few moments he spit the leaves onto the leather and applied it to the wound under his arm. Alastair checked the poultice, pulled on his jerkin and walked to the door with his pipe in hand. Yawning, he opened the door and nodded to the innkeeper and walked outside.

Alastair noticed an elf laying on the ground with a man beneath a tree. Alastair leaned up against the wall and lit his pipe. As he smoke he slipped deep into thought.

[Esgallhugwen]

Esgallhugwen thought she heard the resonance of a small voice direct it's attention to her. She looked down slowly from the stars her eyes re-adjusting to the darker shadows.

A small form was standing upon a bench looking up at her, Eswen was not mistaken when she realized it was a Hobbit. " I'm quite alright, thank you young Hobbit, I'm simple reminiscing of things long past", she looked up to the stars again for a brief moment, then looked back down to the Hobbit lass.

"Not that theres any danger but what are you doing out here alone?"

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik slept on.

"Hello? Are you alright ma'am?"

Uien heard the words and cast her thought toward the speaker. No, the words were not directed toward Uien. A hobbit lass spoke them; she was standing by the Inn, looking up on the roof. Who was there? Eswen! Uien sped her thought to her friend.

What is my purpose? echoed back to Uien.

" I'm quite alright, thank you young Hobbit, I'm simple reminiscing of things long past." Eswen paused moment. "Not that theres any danger but what are you doing out here alone?"

Uien smiled. Let the lass and the Elf woman converse. Still, she sent a thought. 'Of what purpose do you think, my friend?'

[piosenniel]

‘Please, go ahead and eat, Lithmîrë,’ Cook said, putting her napkin on her lap. ‘Don’t let it get cold!’ She picked up her own spoon and took a generous mouthful of the savory broth and vegetables. With her buttered bread, she scooped a bit of coney onto the spoon and ate it next. ‘This was my mother’in-law’s recipe. The women knew how to cook coneys, I’ll give her that. That and she raised her boy to be a fine man.’ She took another bite and chewed thoughtfully. ‘Of course, I couldn’t help but improve on both of them a little bit . . . the coney and her son.’ Cook laughed at her own joke, and was gratified to see what might pass for a grin perch fleetingly on her dinner guest’s face.

‘We can go up and see Granny Oldbuck sometime after breakfast tomorrow. The girls can see to the serving of it and the clearing up.’ She drizzled some honey on her bread and took a bite, using the crust of bread to emphasize her points as she went on to talk about their trip tomorrow. ‘Now Granny Oldbuck’s an odd duck, some would say. But I find her company quite enjoyable. No *****-footing around and being polite for her. She says what she thinks outright, and let the chips fall where they may. You won’t find her judging you by your looks . . .’ Cook glanced Lithmîrë’s way, hoping he hadn’t taken offense. ‘But she’ll surely judge you be your actions. Wise old woman. As true a friend as you can have if she takes a liking to you.’

The Elf had worked his way through half of his serving. Cook, not asking if he would like a bit more, simply brought the small pot over and dished him up a fresh helping. She refrained from poking him in his ribs since they were only just getting to know each other. But, she did mention to him that he could stand to put a little more meat on his bones to her way of thinking.