The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Alcarillo]

Alcarillo took careful note of the inns along the road. He did not want to sleep by the roadside and let unexpected weather soak his belongings, or find that the horse he had borrowed from a friend was stolen. Alcarillo would find it very awkward to tell Nárello back in Harlond that his horse was now gone, with a new rider or wandering the wild.

"Do you fish, Master Nession?" Miz Greengage asked.

Alcarillo's mind returned to the conversation at hand. "No, I'm afraid I don't," he answered, "I was never very fond of eating fish. My sister's husband, however, is a fisherman. He eats nothing but fish every day." Alcarillo nibbled on the last slice of bread. "He's taken me out on his boat numerous times. One time we ran out of food, and had to fish over the side of the boat. That was one of the few times I have eaten fish willingly." Alcarillo smiled at the fond memories of sailing the great sea. "Those were the days before the Shire was founded, before your folk came over the mountains, if I recall the words of the books in my study correctly." He finished the last of his tea.

It must still be mid-morning, he judged by the light through the windows. Alcarillo felt that he should leave soon if he wanted to reach the next inn by sunset, but Miz Greengage was an interesting character, and he was enjoying their conversation.

[Angel_Queen]

Ravon walked through the front doors of the Green Dragon. She had been absent for a while. Ravon and Lewis had finally returned from their trip to Rohan. She still wasn't sure if getting married in Rohan was the best idea. After all none of her family was there. But her mother had sailed from Middle Earth many years ago leaving Ravon to take care of herself.

Just before the doors closed Ravon heard a thud and turned to see that her husband had been hit by the massive doors. Attempting to hold back a laugh Ravon opened the door the rest of the way. "I'm sorry dear I forgot that you was even back there. My mind wondered off for just a second." Amongst all the shouts inside the inn Ravon still couldn't help but tend to her other half. "Lewis are you ok?" Despite all the years Lewis had spent fighting, Ravon knew that the force behind the door must have caused some sort of injury. A glimmer of crimson red liquid told Ravon all she needed.... Lewis' nose was bleeding.

Aicanara walked into the Green Dragon, hood still drawn up over her. Shaking back her hood, she let her dark, long hair fall carelessly down her back. He grey eyes scanned the room. She stood tall, with pale skin, the trademark complexion of an elf. She tucked her hair behind pointed ears and walked over to the innkeeper.

"I need a place to stay for a while. Would you be so kind?" Taking her key from the innkeeper, she gathered up what little stuff that she had brought with her and made the journey to her room.

Setting down her things, she took of her cloak completely, hanging it up on one of the convienient hooks on the wall. She turned down the bed, and assured that her steed would be safe in the stables, fell on to the bed and fell into a deep, much needed and much deserved sleep.

[Hiriel]

Crouched over slightly to avoid detection in the dusty pall of mid-morning , Lara Stonetoe trotted towards the Green Dragon Inn. She was in a state of half-elation and half-terror as she approached the window of the building from the back, not daring the door. After all, Fred’s bet had said nothing about actually going in, both of them not even near their tweens yet. She’d be in such trouble. And as bored as her mother had been lately, she did not relish the prospect of getting caught as she might have done otherwise, just to see the jumpy old busybody blast off, like the tales of Wizard Fireworks her gammer sometimes told.

Licking her lips which had somehow withered, whether from the heat or the nerves she couldn’t tell, Lara had to jump up several times, bobbing like fish bait in the Brandywine, to get a firm hold of the dusty window ledge. But even though her limbs were shaking like mad, the view inside was worth it. Oh, Fred was going to be so jealous when she told him about it! There was an elf accepting keys to a room, great gaffers alive, a real elf! Standing calm yet proud, her great ears pointed skyward, her eyes full of, well, it was something Lara couldn’t quite put words too. Starlight, but more brilliant, and more delicate. She even forgot to think how horribly jealous Fred would be, and how chicken he would feel for brushing off the bet when she got home and told him all about it.

Forgetting her earlier fear and squinting till her eyes were almost a line of wrinkles, she peered deeper into the tavern to find several hobbits taking their ease and, bless the Thain, another elf, in light conversation with a hobbit her mother knew, Miz Greenbow or Greenfen or Greengage or somersuch. Was it possible for some creature so high as an elf to be talking pleasantly to normal hobbit gentlefolk? Lara’s mouth opened slightly, struck with the wonder of it. But by now her limbs were tired and her neck wheezed, whining in complaint of the angle she was using to look. “Well, it wouldn’t be such a risk to take a peek through the door, she thought, licking her dry lips again. “ My legs are sore, and it’d put Fred right in his place, too! This seemed to be far more convincing than her still nervous feelings on peering into a place meant for hobbits twice her age, and so she crouched below the sightline of the window, and feeling increasing foolish at her care, crept towards the front door.

Her worry was for naught, however, for as she slunk towards the door, two other big folk (she wasn’t sure if they were men or elves, having never seen so many tall people together in one place before) made to enter it. Lara, gasping, clubbed, ripped her body backwards, clutching to the corner of the wall, but lost her balance in the bargain. The slighter of the two made it in the door fine, but she tripped into the big wooden frame just as the second made to enter it, knocking him flat.

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger sees to Barnaby and notes the accident in the doorway

Ginger turned away from the Hobbit’s table to get him another half pint of ale. Barnaby, as he had told her his name was quite the drinker it seemed. And the writer, to boot. She wondered how fast his quill could get if fueled by enough ale. ‘I’ll look round for Aman,’ she called back to him as she hurried off. ‘And send her to you when I’ve found her.’

On her way there, she saw Buttercup hurrying up the main aisle toward the door. Ginger paused for a moment to see what made her friend go at such a pace. Well, there it was – a dark haired Elf bent over one of the big folk males who lay sprawled on the Inn’s porch. And as the Elf shifted position for a moment, Ginger could see the man’s nose was bleeding.

Ruby ran past her, on her was to help also. ‘That’s Ravon, the Elvish lady there,’ Ruby told her quickly. ‘And the big man is Lewis, from Rohan.’ Ruby hurried on as Ginger made her way to the bar.

‘What a thoroughly odd morning,’ Ginger mumbled to herself. Seeing no sign of the Innkeeper behind the bar, she quickly pulled a couple of half pints for Barnaby. ‘May as well keep him occupied for a bit,’ she reasoned, taking both the foaming mugs back to his table.

[Pivli]

Violet gave her table companion a rather disbelieving look as he told her he didn’t fish. Lad or lassie alike in Bywater, all had a bit of fishing line stuffed in one pocket or another, just in case the opportunity presented itself. And not eat fish! Why no wonder the Fair folk were so skinny! Passing up crispy fried trout served up with taters and onions. Violet simply could not fathom it.

She was about to make some remark, when her sharp old eyes caught sight of a familiar face peeking in at a window. The Stonetoe girl! Violet chuckled to herself. ‘Up to some mischief, I suspect, with that Fred.’ The face disappeared as quickly as it had risen and Violet’s brows raised wondering what the girl thought she was doing.

‘Would you excuse me, Mister Nession,’ she said quickly, leaning on her cane as she leveraged herself up from the chair. ‘I see one of my dear friend’s children out on the porch. Needing some attention, no doubt.’ She bowed her back a bit, working out one of the many kinks that came and went on her aging body. Her knees creaked a little and protested the call to movement.

‘Lara! Lara Stonetoe! Is that you, girl?’ she called out as she started toward the door. Two of the serving lasses from the Inn went running by her nearly knocking her down. ‘Sorry, Miz Greengage. Big Folk accident,’ one of them hurriedly explained. And sure enough two large figures loomed in the doorway, one with a bloody nose. ‘Must be those big old boots they wear. Makes them trip,’ she thought looking at the tableaux.

‘Lara! Is that you lass? Come in and have a little bite to eat, won’t you?’

[Koobdooga]

A server has taken his order. Ibun Lodestone leaned back in his chair anticipating the first fine stream of Dragon ale as it cascaded down his throat. The Dwarf’s hopes for a quick delivery of victuals and drink dried up as he noted his server, Buttercup, go sprinting up toward the Inn door. Turning slightly in his chair, he noted the source of her rush. An Elven lady and some man with a bloody nose. Ibun’s eyes glittered with amusement, wondering if the man had made some ill remark to her and she’d clouted the oaf. His brother’s wife, he chuckled to himself, was just as likely to do that to her husband and sons if they acted out of line with her. But then he noted the lady bent toward the man in a concerned way, fussing over him and such.

Ibun turned his attention away from the scene and glanced about the Inn. The bar, he noted, was untended. And no server passed near where he sat. Hefting himself up from the oaken chair, he stumped purposefully toward the ale barrel behind the bar. No one seemed to be tending it or hurrying over to see what he might need. There were clean mugs on the shelves beneath the bar top and he grabbed one of them. As large a one as he could find; then, filled it from the barrel.

Aaah! The foamy brew coursed over his parched tongue and down his throat to hit his belly with a satisfying splash. ‘’B’lieve I’ll just have another!’ he said to no one in particular. ‘Save me a return trip.’ He sucked the foam from his mustache, not wanting to waste a single drop of the blessed refreshment. Pulling the handle on the barrel once again, he filled the tankard to the brim then carefully picked his way back to his table. ‘Twill tide me over till the food arrives, at least!’

With a sigh of pleasure he resumed his seat.