The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Koobdooga]

‘And what sort of adventure do you look to have, Master Baldin?’ asked Ibun. He watched with interest as Baldin worked over his halberd with his polish cloth. The weapon was a delight to look at; the craftsmanship superb. And the way Baldin worked over the blade spoke much of the closeness, or so it seemed to Ibun, between the wielder and the weapon.

The weapon he favored was his double-bladed axe. His brother had made it for him many years ago. It was well weighted with an edge so keen he often said that it would split a a single hair as easily and neatly as it would cleave an Orc head.

‘Very nice blade . . .’ he said, tamping down a new bowlful of pipeweed. He nodded at Baldin’s halberd. ‘Be more than welcome in Khazad-dum. Still rooting out those last few nests of foul Orc in the deeper caverns . . .’ Ibun sat back in his chair, his legs stretched out, one ankle resting on theother. His gaze drifted slowly round the merry scene about him.

[Lasbelinion]

Callë laughed, a deep and merry sound. She slapped her thigh as if she had just heard the funniest thing ever. ‘Oh my goodness, no! Not the youngest!’ She shook her head, her generous mouth bowing up into a huge grin. ‘Sorry . . . I’m the middle daughter in my family. And glad of it!’

She lined up five pieces of cheese on her plate. ‘Now these two are my older sisters,’ she said moving the first two pieces, the ones to her left, forward. ‘Anni and Alli; born just a year apart. And being the first two, my mother had a lot of time and energy to put into their upbringing. They are much like her . . . and in fact they seem more like her sisters than her daughters, now that they are older.’

‘And these,’ she went on, pushing forth the two on her right, ‘are my two younger sisters. Britta, two years younger than I and a spirited little filly as her Rohan husband calls her. And wasn’t that a scandal in the family, the whole village, really. Marrying a man of the Mark – ancient enemies of we folk of Dunland. My mother took to her bed for weeks, certain she would die of embarrassment.’ Callë rolled her eyes and sighed in a dramatic manner.

‘Beryl, the gem of my father’s eye, is four years younger than I. Mother was determined to make a suitable match for her, and did so at last – the marchwarden’s youngest son. Poor Father! He would rather she had not married at all. She is much doted on by him, even now.’

Picking up the middle piece of cheese, Callë held it in the palm of her hand. ‘And here I am. In the middle and quite wonderfully ignored for the most part. As long as I stepped not too far outside the social boundaries my Mother fancies for herself and her brood, I was free to explore the village and surrounds on my own, make friends with all sorts of people in the village and critters in the small forested area near us. A ghost child . . . that’s how I often thought of myself.’

Callë gathered the cheese up and stuffed them into a bun. She munched on it, swallowing the mouthful down with a healthy swig of ale. ‘At any rate . . . there they all are, married and happy for the most part I think. And good for them, I say!’ She raised her mug in salute. ‘And here am I, traveling north, free as a summer’s breeze. And very happy, in my own way.’

She sighed, a well satisfied sigh, and pushed away her now empty plate. Sitting back in her chair, she gave Aniriel a smile. ‘What about you? I’m traveling purely for my own pleasure. Is it the same for you?’ She thought not; the women seemed to have some secrets hidden behind her eyes. But she kept her own counsel, wondering what Aniriel would say.

[Dimturiel]

Aniriel had listen to Calle's storry fascinated. She envied Calle for the freedom that she had always had. It had not been the same in her case, of course. And how could it have been? She was the only daughter of an important person in Dol Amroth. There were laws that had to be followed, barriers that could not be broken. And her parents were very strict, especially her mother. Not that they did not give her love or rob her of all freedom, no, of course not!. But she still yearned for a different life, a life in which she could go wherever she wanted and talk to whoever she desired.

Her thoughts where enterrupted when Calle asked her if her journey was due only to pleasure. Something in Calle's voice told Aniriel that she suspected that it was not so. Well, she should have forseen this would happen. She could not hide her secrets for ever, not in an inn full of people. She wondered if she should tell Calle everything, or if she should restrain herself, for the moment at least. In the end she decided to tell the truth, or, at any rate, part of it.

"Pleasure brought me here," she began, "although, not only pleasure. There were other things as well, grim things you could say. Or maybe grin is too strong a word for it. But anyway, something happened and I had to leave. No, wait!" she added wanting to prevent Calle from interupting. "Do not missunderstand me. I did not shame my family in any way, I was not even tempted to do it. But there were some things that went wrong for me. I thought then that I had to go, nay, I needed to go. I did not tell my parents this, though. All that I told them was that I had always wanted to travel, and that, now that the war was long over and the roads were safe, I should do it. I do not think they believed me, though." She added as an afterthought. "My mother made me promise that I would return."

[Wiscott]

Glancing up from his work with a grin, Baldin replies, "Aye, my adventures tend to shorten a few orcs, and that is to my liking. But often I find that one who looks for adventure is the one whom adventure finds, and many times the adventure that finds him is not the one he was looking for. Who knows what adventures may befall a dwarf between here and the mountains?"


Baldin falls silent, focusing once more on his weapon. After thinking for a little while, he makes up his mind. "Ibun, my good dwarf," Baldin says, "the idea of bringing some Moria orcs down to size appeals to me. I shall make my way to Khazad-dum, after completing my journey to Hobbiton and making provisions while in the Shire."

[Firefoot]

Lily had settled her weary Clover in the stables and was now venturing outside into the party. She did not wander blindly into the middle of it, however; she remained in the shadows beneath a large tree, scanning the party for Posco. It would be no good if he saw her. Many people had gathered for the festivities, and the company was every bit as varied as Lily remembered from her last stay at the inn. She had begun to think that perhaps Posco was not here at all; after all, he hated large crowds, and viewed this prospect with despair and relief alike. She would not have to hide, but she did not know how she would ever find him otherwise. Just as she was about to emerge, she spotted him all the way across the lawn with another hobbit, Marcho, she thought. He faced away from her, and away from the table of food as well – an excellent prospect as she now realized that she was quite hungry.

She cautiously moved out into the heart of the party, blending in with the crowd, she hoped. She would load up a plate of the delicious-looking food and find some new people to sit down with, all the while keeping her eyes and ears open for some news. Always keeping people between herself and Posco, she wandered over to the food table and found herself some dinner and a cup of cool cider. Just as she was looking around for someone to sit with, a Dwarf turned around and bumped into her, causing her cider to slosh over the edges a bit, but causing no further harm.

“"I'm sorry, miss, I'm just in a rush to eat. I haven't eaten in days. I'm Gróin, Gróin Redplate. And you are?"

She made herself smile at him. “My name is Lily Thistlewool,” she answered, “and while I have not eaten in days, I have not eaten since breakfast, and hard riding makes for hungry work.” She nearly bit her tongue at this; just display her urgency for the world to see, why didn’t she? “But I was just looking for a place to sit down – perhaps we could eat dinner together?” The opportunity could not be passed up. Sitting alone would simply be too conspicuous.

Gróin nodded. “That would be well.” He started to move towards Posco’s table, and Lily thought fast. “I think there are more open tables over here,” she said, indicating the opposite direction. This was absurd, as there were plenty of open tables in both directions, and Gróin looked at her rather strangely but followed her without questioning. Lily picked a table in the middle, well blended into the party. The pair sat down, and Lily quickly started off the conversation, eager to take the focus off herself. “So, Master Gróin, I take it that you have just arrived here? Might I ask what brings you to the Green Dragon?”

[Glirdan]

"My name is Lily Thistlewood," the lady had said “and while I have not eaten in days, I have not eaten since breakfast, and hard riding makes for hungry work. But I was just looking for a place to sit down – perhaps we could eat dinner together?"

"That would be well," he responded and made towards another Hobbit sitting at the other end of the yard.

“I think there are more open tables over here,” she said, indicating the opposite side of the lawn. He was rather confused by this sudden change in where to sit and looked at her with a strange expression in his face. None the less, he followed her to where she was heading. He didn't feel like being alone in a country he didn't know. They sat down and he was Gróin was just about to tuck into his dinner when Lily abruptly asked “So, Master Gróin, I take it that you have just arrived here? Might I ask what brings you to the Green Dragon?”

"Well, yes, I have just arrived and I'm quite happy to have found this wonderful Inn. Green Dragon you called it?" He looked around the lot towards the Inn and saw the sign which was hidden from view by the crowd of people in front of the food table which was set up right in front of the Inn door. "As for my travels. I'm just wandering the country on my way to the Blue Mountains. Thought I'd take in some scenary before heading to the place of my kin," he said, thinking back to when he was just a young Dwarf when he and his family would travel to the Blue Mountains for family visits. He remembered when he and his cousins used to play hide-and-seek in the vast mansions of the Blue Mountains. "How about you? What is it like here in this peaceful country? Have you been on any travels?"

[Nurumaiel]

Silence had fallen on the table of Posco and Marcho, with the former growing more tense with each passing moment, and the latter growing more annoyed. Posco had realised from the first how futile it was to seek Lily in such a far away place, and now he was beginning to see how ridiculous he was for coming up with such a ridiculous scheme. Having Marcho as his companion made things no easier. If his brother Blanco had been there, he would have been constantly cheering him up, quite confident that Lily would come. But Marcho could do nothing but express his doubts.

"I think," said Posco, standing up abruptly, "that we ought to go inside. Everybody else is out here, and it would be a bit quieter indoors."

"They've probably locked the door," said Marcho.

Posco sat down again. Perhaps they had done exactly that. With everything to do outside, perhaps they didn't want the bother of looking after the Inn itself. Yet how peaceful it would have been indoors! And Posco stood up again.

"I'm sure they haven't locked it up," he said. "After all, there are plenty of people attending this party who will find their beds in there, and might not want to stay up too late."

"Everybody stays up late at a party," said Marcho. "They'll come staggering in drunk, I'm sure."

"Lily won't," said Posco, rather absently, for he was occupied with plotting out how he could get to the front door as obscurely as possible.

"Lily won't be anyhwere," said Marcho, "except in Bree, where she belongs."

Posco sighed a mournful sigh, and left the table. To his great relief, Marcho didn't follow him. Perhaps in the quiet of the abandoned Common Room, he could rekindle his hopes that Lily would come. If he could just have that hope for a few days... maybe at the end he could gather enough courage to go to her home. But for the present time he shuddered at the thought. Just imagine if her uncle opened the door.

Alas, the Common Room was not quite as empty as he had hoped. Apparently not all visitors to the Inn were enjoying the party. A lone hobbit, his travelling cloak still wrapped about him, sat by the window, gazing out at the bright lights and merry dancers. Posco considered leaving, but decided that the company of one hobbit was preferable to the company of many hobbits and other stranger things. He attempted to make his way unheard the opposite side of the room, but the stillness did not allow for even the slightest noise to be unnoticed.

The lone hobbit turned about to see who had entered, and instantly was on his feet, hurrying towards Posco. He took him by one hand, and then the other, and laughed heartily.

"Posco, my dear brother!" he said, releasing one hand to clap the poor confused Posco on the shoulder. "Why, don't stare at me as if I've come out of the Old Forest with a legion of hideous creatures behind me! Don't you recognise me?"

"Blanco," said Posco, and his rather weak smile was accompanied with a sigh.

"I was afraid Marcho would kill you," said Blanco, "so I told Mother I was just going to follow you, because I fancied a bit of adventure myself. Where is Marcho, anyhow?"

"He's sitting at a table out there," said Posco, with the faintest of gestures. Oddly, he felt his heart sinking within him, despite his previous thoughts that Blanco would be welcome company. Marcho was a grumpy old hobbit, but at least there was only him. Posco did not want to have an audience witnessing his meeting with Lily. And least of all he wanted Blanco to be there. He had an odd feeling concerning Blanco and Lily.

Of course Lily loved him. There had never been any doubt about it. She had loved him more than that Tommy Banks, whoever he was. But ever since their first visit to the Inn, the visit that had brought Posco and Lily to meet and love each other, Blanco had not been quite so attentive to Miss Marigold back at home. He would smile kindly at her, and he would speak with her, but his head wouldn't turn to watch when she passed by him, and he would no longer sit by the Brandywine composing poems to her golden-brown hair.

Was Marcho the only reason Blanco had come to join his brother? Could it be that another besides Posco longed with all his heart to see Lily again? Posco looked desperately at his dishevelled self, and then to Blanco, who, as usual, was perfectly neat and tidy. And no longer did he wish for Blanco's company.

[Kath]

Astilwen couldn't help but smile back as Tilionwen's face lit up. She didn't know quite what she'd done, or if she'd done anything at all to help this poor woman. Just talking might have been the catalyst that finally allowed her to free herself from the fear and sadness that had plagued her sanity for so long, but whatever the case, she certainly looked happy now. She was very glad to hear that Tilionwen would be returning to her father. She could imagine how much the man must be missing both his daughters, and the joy he would feel knowing that one at least was alive and relatively unharmed.

"Why, I seem to be forgetting my manners! I have never asked your name. And while you're at it, I guess it's your turn to tell me your tales. Anything to cheer me up; I never want to go back to that miserable life again."

"I'll be glad to try! My name is Astilwen. I'm from the Shire so you'll know the old tales I'm sure, of the famous travellers and the battle. Those have been told so often now the walls probably know them!"

She was grateful to see Tilionwen laugh at the comment, and hastliy set about recalling amusing stories from her home. She soon had the other woman in fits with a tale of her little brother, who had once been sitting at the garden gate playing a game with some sticks and stones, when an older hobbit had passed by and bent down to see what he was doing.

"I'm playing war." The little hobbit had said. "Would you like to join in?"

The old hobbit had agreed and had sat down to take the opposing side. The two had been playing for a good hour or so when Astilwen's mother had returned. Unfortunately, she rounded the corner just in time to see the old hobbit play-beating her youngest son over the head with a stone. Filled with motherly outrage she had pulled the poor hobbit to his feet, picked up his cane and chased him down the road with it screeching,

"How do you like it?!"

Astilwen herself always laughed when she remembered the story, and did so now, getting out the ending amidst giggles.

"When she finally found out what had really happened she went round to the poor things house and apologised. We made him cakes and sweets for weeks until he finally came back and said he'd enjoyed the whole event, that it had been the most excitement he'd had in weeks!"

She lost her voice as the laughter overcame her, and the two sat for a while chuckling to themselves. Astliwen's mind wandered for a moment, and she stopped laughing as a new question formed.

"But when will you leave? I don't wish you to go but if your father lives a long way off you will have to go soon or travel through the winter."