The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Larien Telemnar]

Larien listened, fascinated with the Bard's voice. It was as if Ulmo himself had blessed this man with the sound of the sea, the words flowing over his tongue and gracing the ears of all who would hear.

She blushed as he complimented her on her voice, once again rubbing the hem of her cloak. When he sang his song, one the Shire-folk knew well, she found herself smiling and humming the tune.

She was taken aback when he told her not to call him 'Lord', but rather 'friend'.

'I would be honored to call you friend, Hearpwine.' Standing, she curtseyed. As she drew herself up again, she noticed another enter the tavern.

The other seemed to float, as if carried by the very air she breathed. Her flowing blonde hair streamed around her as she gracefully strod to the back of the room. Larien noticed her try to brush some mud from her robes as she sat down. After a moment, she brought out a small book.

Larien knew it would not be polite to interupt the lady, as she seemed to want her privacy, yet she couldn't help herself. This other lady reminded Larien of her Grandmother Galadriel, who had traveled across the sea. She missed her so much, and wished to meet this golden lady. She smiled at Hearpwine, excused herself for a moment, and slowly made her way to where the other sat. She stood there a moment, then cleared her throat.

'Excuse me, M'Lady, but I could not help but notice when you walked in. I am Larien, may I sit with you. For a while, anyway.'

Larien you fool. What could such a small and insignificant one such as yourself offer one so truely graceful and stately as her? Mentally, she sighed to herself. Long have I wished to be a true Elf. Now I wish to be truely a Hobbit, yet I belong in neither world. Why am I hear, bothering this lady?

Without knowing it, she started to back away, hoping, by some chance, the lady had not heard her.

[piosenniel]

Cook took a few more turns round the floor, then as the song ended she walked back over to the table where Lithmire sat and plopped herself down in a chair. ‘Goodness, that was fun!’

She noticed he was looking a little uncomfortable and asked if perhaps he would like to go back to the kitchen. She was going to set out the supplies for making bread for the next morning.

‘I hate to be a wet blanket on our pleasant evening,’ she said to him. ‘But I have to get up quite early, and so must be off to bed.’

[Envinyatar]

‘We should go, Derufin.’ Zimzi stifled a yawn and pulled her shawl up more securely round her shoulders. ‘We told my brothers we would meet them just southwest of Greenholm. And I still have a little packing to do.’

Derufin fetched her cloak from the pegs by the front door to the Inn and said their good-byes to friends about the room. He settled her cape on her shoulders and shrugged his own on.

Bending down to pat Cullen on the head, Derufin gave the hound a scratch between the ears and the last bit of a tart Zimzi had left on her plate. ‘I hope we’ll see you when we get back,’ he said to Benat. ‘You are staying for the Faire, aren’t you?’

[Lasbelinion]

Lithmîrë followed along behind Cook, holding the door open for her as she trundled along with the tray holding the teapot and the now empty plate of cookies. He left her to her measuring bowls and stirring spoons and flour and leavenings saying that he thought he might go off to his own rest now and then tomorrow be off to see that old Hobbit woman about laying in a stock of medicinal herbs.

He waited while Cook went to her room to fetch a stack of squares of material to bring to the old granny. And nodded as she instructed him on what purposes he was to tell the older lady the material was for. Quickly, too, Cook wrapped up a number of jam tarts in a clean linen napkin and told him to take them along with him.

With a nod to her, he left through the back kitchen door and disappeared into the night.

[Arry]

After a few more songs, Gil and his friends invited the traveling musicians to sit down and have a drink with them. The rather large group pushed three of the tables together and rounded up enough chairs for themselves.

Buttercup came round and brought them all mugs and several pitchers of cold cider. She was also persuaded by a pleading smile from Gil to fetch a basket of bread and a plate of ham and cheese. Playing music and singing was thirsty work. And being Hobbits, there was always room for a little something to fill in the empty corners.

[Folwren]

“No, it wouldn’t be right! An inn’s not for kids like us. We can’t go in there.”

“Look, Wren, we don’t have much choice. You’re always worrying about being proper, but I say that tonight, it doesn’t matter. Besides, the folks’ll be nice. Chances are we won’t even be noticed and we can sneak away to a corner by the fire. It’s going to get too cold tonight to sleep out again.”

Wren clutched her shawl closer about her shoulders and shivered as she looked up at the sky. She didn’t like the idea of going into an inn at night. But perhaps he was right. She always was shy of people, big or little, and right now, she should forget about being shy. Still...

He extended his hand to the latch again and she caught his wrist.

“Please, Tim, not tonight.” He merely shook his head, opened the door, and walked in, pulling her gently in after him.

“Just don’t say anything,” he muttered in her ear. “I’m tall enough to pass off as a grown hobbit, and if you keep your mouth shut, they might think you’re older than you are, too.”

Wren didn’t answer, but her heart sank. So much for coming in unnoticed. There weren’t as many people in the room as they had hoped, and there was no singing or dancing. It might have just ended. A large group sat almost directly in front of them a few turned their heads as they entered.

Tim halted sharply just inside the door to avoid colliding with two people leaving. He stepped aside quickly and pulled Wren over with him, muttering an apology. Then, as quickly as he could, he led his little sister towards the fire.

[Arry]

Hanson tries to strike up a conversation with Wren and Tim

Hanson had his fill of cider. The grown-ups were talking and he had grown tired of listening to them. His little five year old mind was drifting away from the conversations at the table and toward finding something fun to do. His gaze flicked to his older brother, Woody, who at the age of eleven was trying desperately to be thought of as more grown up than he was.

Woody was following his Uncle Gil’s lead and he laughed when Gil did and every so often threw in a comment when he could. He was rewarded for this by smiles from Rowan and claps on the back from her brother.

Hanson took the opportunity to slip off his chair while everyone was talking about something the Elf had done and walk quietly away from the table. He waved to those he knew in the common room as he passed and made his way to the fireplace. He liked to sit on the raised hearth and swing his legs with the heat from the fire keeping his back toasty.

A girl and a boy, bigger than she was, were also making their way toward the fire. Hanson climbed up on the hearth and looked about the room. Their Ma and Da must be outside taking care of their cart and pony. He wondered where they came from. They weren’t Elves – they didn’t look like his friend Neviel. And they certainly weren’t Hobbits. They must be Big Folk . . . like Derufin and Zimzi. But not all grown up like them.

He looked at them curiously for a moment, then hopped down from the hearth to the floor. Never one to be shy, Hanson walked up to where they were sitting by the fire.

‘Hello!’ he said, smiling at the both of them. ‘My name is Hanson. Hanson Boffin. What’s yours?’ He sidled onto one of the empty chairs as he waitied for their answer.