The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Araréiel]

Araréiel wandered into a clearing, staring at the building in front of her. In the distance, she could see two walking together, looking very much in love. How she missed that feeling, how she ached to feel it again. But no, her love was stolen from her a long time ago, and now she felt alone. A lone Elf, uncomfortable in this place, not sure where to go.

Her deep plum velvet gown, which had once been immaculate, was now tattered from travel. Leaves decorated her hair, let loose to keep her ears covered. Such a far cry from the noble home she had grown up in. With a sigh, she heaved her sack up on her shoulder, the linen sack carrying all she cared to hold onto in this world. A few books from her ada, a few articles of clothing. A piece of parchment her beloved had once inscribed a poem on for her.... Her beloved who had been taken away.

Ada never approved, and all because Caranturion wasn't a prince...., she thought bitterly. Now I'm alone.

Never would she desire to find her family, to go back to the very beings who took her life when they took her lover away.

The sight of the two creatures so in love opened the wound still so fresh on her heart after all this time. Summoning up all the willpower she could muster, she held back her tears and forced one foot in front of the other. Once inside the inn she would buy some food, some drink. Her travels have exhausted her. Perhaps they could point her to a place to buy a room for the night.

Step after step brought up leaves and dust, her skirt catching the occasional small branch. Reaching out, she put her small hand on the handle of the door and took a deep breath. No matter how often she entered inns and pubs, she was still shy. No one had been kind to her in so long that she was coming to fear being around anyone. But she was hungry, so she pulled the door open and retreated inside.

[piosenniel]

The planning begins . . .

All signs of fatigue fell from the two Hobbits as they took in Cook’s last words. One of the other servers called in through the door from the Common Room that more plates of chicken and vegetables were needed, as additional guests had come into the Inn. And Buttercup, not taking her eyes from Cook called back to the server that they were tied up at the moment, and could she see to the guests herself. Cook raised her brows at Buttercup, who took no notice, and sat forward on her chair.

‘Now let me just get this straight, Cook. In a week’s time . . .’ ‘Or less,’ commented Ruby, who was leaning forward also, all ears. ‘Or less,’ continued Buttercup, ‘Zimzi’s mother and father and two brothers will arrive from Mithlond.’ Cook nodded ‘yes’, as Buttercup went on. ‘And the reason they’re coming is that their daughter, sister, is to be wed . . .’ ‘To Derufin,’ said Ruby, finishing her friend’s sentence.

Buttercup wriggled in her seat and smiled smugly at Ruby. ‘Didn’t I predict this would be happening ? As far back as when they left!’ Ruby snorted at her crowing, ‘We all knew this was coming. I just wish we’d known a little sooner. Derufin’s one of our own . . . and Zimzi’s soon to be one, too. We’d like to make sure the place is in tip top shape when they arrive.’

Cook got up and rummaged in one of the drawers. She pulled out a piece of paper, one of the many she had, to jot down recipes as they came to her. She opened the cupboard just above and there was her inkwell and quill. ‘No time like the present,’ she said, sitting back down at the table. ‘We’ll make a plan and get to it early in the morning. With a little elbow grease and a dash of spit and polish we’ll have the Dragon looking quite respectable . . . the sort of place you wouldn’t mind having a daughter make her home in.’ The three Hobbits drew their chairs close together and began making their to-do list. Buttercup sighed, happily, as Cook's quill flew over the paper in her familiar script. ‘Nice to have her back,’ she thought to herself. As if in agreement, Ruby nodded her head and smiled at her friend. Oblivious to the both of them, Cook nattered on with directions on what needed to be done, and in what order.

Derufin bent his head to whisper in Zimzi’s ear. ‘Let’s leave the ladies to their planning – they don’t really need us.’ He took her by the hand, drawing her out the door. ‘We’ll go for a walk . . . to the Pool, perhaps . . . see if the ducks are still about.’ Zimzi was just nodding her head in agreement, when Cook’s voice rang out, stopping them both in their tracks.

‘Make sure it’s just a walk, you two! Master Derufin, you know I’ve promised Zimzi’s parents I would keep an eye on you both until they arrived. A little handholding is fine, but no canoodling!’

Derufin and Zimzi’s faces were the perfect picture of conformance. ‘I give my word to you, Mistress Bunce,’ assured Derufin, a smile softening his features. He raised Zimzi’s palm to his lips and kissed it lightly, then grasped her hand in his own. ‘The thought of canoodling will not enter my mind.’ ‘Nor mine,’ added Zimzi, shaking her head solemnly.

Cook looked at them, one eyebrow raised in appraisal of their sincerity, then sighed, remembering the days of her youth, and sent them off. She handed the pen to Buttercup for the taking of notes and directions as she and Ruby inspected the pantry and cooler for what would be needed for the upcoming festivities.

The server came in as before, requesting that more food be brought out to the Common Room. Buttercup did not raise her eyes from her list, but merely pointed with the quill's feathers in the direction of the stove and the serving plates.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Hearing the commotion in the kitchen, Aman excused herself from Soronume after serving him with supper and a drink. No other customers were immediately clamouring for the Innkeeper's attention, so she slipped away into the kitchen. It would probably be some of those nosy Farburrow boys, Merrimac's cousins, or second cousins, or some other relation...they had a habit of sneaking into the Inn and pilfering biscuits. The problem was that they were actually astonishingly bad at it - Aman caught them every time almost without exception. When faced with the furious (and slightly amused) Innkeeper, they merely protested that she was going to give them to Merrimac anyway...and the lad didn't need any more biscuits, they would go to a far better cause strengthening the surprisingly skinny Farburrow trio. Unamused, Aman usually shooed them out, but let them escape with a biscuit or two - safe, at least, in the knowledge that they would never make it as any sort of professional thief.

Rolling her sleeves up menacingly as she approached the kitchen door, Aman heard a whoop of delight and gritted her teeth - no doubt they had found Buttercup's cakes made in preparation for tomorrow. Well, if they thought they would have Buttercup Browlock's finest carrot cakes, they had another thing coming.

Bursting through the door, Aman put her hands on her hips...and her mouth dropped open. There, before her, stood three figures she had almost forgotten the sight of over the past long weeks.

"Cook! Derufin! Zimzi!" she gasped, looking from each to the other, genuinely flabbergasted at this secretive and surprising back entrance. "When in Arda did you arrive?!"

[Bombadil]

The Elf had been wandering all night in this strange place. He had much love for the history of things, and much wanted to visit bag end and other historical places form the great tale of the ring. As he roamed around Hobbiton he came across a delightful looking inn by the name of The Green Dragon Inn . It was time for a rest he thought to himself.

As he stepped in he smelled the burning wood of the fire, and overheard tales and lore which brightened his heart. The hobbits who were sober looked at the elf as if he was unwelcome, but they were pretty much accustomed to such folk by that time. Eryndil, lover of forests he was named; for he did not dwell in one place but travelled from forest to forest. He was clad in green, as ever he was. For this many called him Galendor, the green lord.

Eryndil moved his grey eyes from person to person, and was happy to find an elven lady sitting down- though she looked rather sad. Slowly Eryndil approached her and asked, "Hello m' lady, may I ask why you look so distraught?"

She looked up at him with the same pain-wrought face she had when Eryndil first saw her. "I am Eryndil Galendor, and you?" She seemed to try and squeak out the words, but grief overcame her once again. Eryndil's concern was apparent. "Tell me my lady...what ails you?"

[Araréiel]

She felt taken-aback, shocked to be noticed. Even the Innkeeper scampered away without seeing her. She willed the tears to not fall. "I-I-I know not of where I am heading, nor where I am heading, o-only that I never wish to return home." Araréiel glanced over her shoulder, feeling the need to be certain that he was really talking to her.

When she remained quiet afterward, Eryndil softly asked her, "My lady, please tell me your name."

A tear slipped from her eye, followed by another. Araréiel searched her sack for a cloth or something to dry her eyes. A hand appeared before her, a handkershief held out to her. "Thank you," she said, taking the kerchief to dry her eyes, embarassed that she should cry in front of a stranger. Yet, somehow, she also felt she could tell him more now that he had seen her tears.

"My name is Araréiel, and I am from Eryn Lasgalen. I left home because my family sent away the one I loved. I am of noble blood, and he wasn't. He was but a servant in my father's home. But he loved me, and I, him. So I left. 'Tis better for me to be out and alone rather than surrounded by comforts and those who wish me unhappy. A cage is a cage, even if it is gold."

Her desperate, pale, lilac-blue eyes stared imploringly into his, but for what she was desperate she prefered to not think about. She longed for affection, affection she had deprived of so long, and she dared not to hope to find it again. Her soul starved for someone who understood her, accepted her and what she felt rather than those whom had previously surrounded her, expecting her to be someone she was not simply because of her station in life. The heart does not choose who it loves, just as hers had not chosen to love Caranturion and could not be forced to love a royal or another noble.

Araréiel dropped a hand to her lap, clutching the kerchief with her other. For the first time in a long time she felt calm, as if maybe, just maybe, she were in the presence of a kindrid spirit. The Elf before her appeared to be one who had many travels, perhaps had seen excitement and far lands while she had seen nothing extraordinary. "From where do you come, and to where do you head, my lord? Or may I call you...Eryndil?"

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EDIT by Pio:

Please note the Inn Facts at the top of the page. The forest your character is from is no longer called Mirkwood - it was renamed after the War of the Ring to Eryn Lasgalen.

Thanks!

[Envinyatar]

Derufin was nearly out the door when he heard the familiar voice call out his name. He turned, as did Zimzi, and grinned a bit sheepishly at the Innkeeper. Then, much to her surprise, the smiling man moved quickly toward her and lifting her up in a bearish hug, swung her wildly about about, her feet flying. Her face a bit red from this abrupt show of affection she gasped out for him to put her down.

Zimzi shook her head at the exuberant gesture and put her arm round Aman’s shoulders as her feet settled onto the floor of the kitchen. A bit wobbly from the spin, Aman was glad to be guided into a chair near her by the kitchen table. ‘We’re quite happy to be back at last,’ the young woman said. ‘As you can well see,’ she went on, giving a look of mock sternness to Derufin. ‘You could get her a little something to drink, I think,’ Zimzi said softening her look a little.

‘I think, really, that we should all have something to drink,’ chuckled Derufin, leaning down to whisper something in Buttercup’s ear. The Hobbit ran down the stairs to the cellar, and returned quickly with a very old and dusty bottle of Old Winyards. Ruby pulled the good crystal stemware from the locked cupboard and polished them quickly with the clean side of her apron.

Cook had by this time poked her nose out from the pantry, and spying Aman had lavished almost as fierce a hug on her as had Derufin. ‘Oh, my dear girl,’ she said, sitting in a chair near her. ‘You have no idea how happy I am to be back in Bywater. And sitting here in my own kitchen.’ She leaned near the Innkeeper. ‘I had heard, you know, that there had been a disaster take place. But I have to say, it looks just as I expected to find it on my return – quite well taken care of and all in order!’

POP!

Derufin had pulled the cork from the bottle, drawing all their attention now to him, as he poured a generous portion for each, and asked Zimzi to pass them round. He raised his glass, once everyone had theirs in hand, saying, ‘Here’s to The Green Dragon! Long may she hold sway in the heart of the Shire!’ He turned then to Zimzi and saluted her with a nod of his head. ‘And here’s to my precious jewel, Zimziran,’ he went on in a softer voice. ‘Long may she hold sway in my heart.’

Zimzi smiled widely at his words and gave him a wink and a toast of her own. ‘May we grow old on one pillow, my dear.’

A round was drunk and another poured, as Buttercup leaned in toward the slightly bewildered Aman. ‘You must have guessed by now . . . they’re going to be handfasted very soon . . . this week in fact, as soon as her parents and brothers arrive . . .

[nynnd1]

Bredan stirred from his sleep on the front lawn of the inn, he did not mean to drift off, but he had not known peace of mind and body like he felt at the moment. Bredan rolled to his right, still not completely awake, his eyes still seeing a distorted image of what appeared to be two people sitting together, embraced in love, it brought back feelings that Bredan had towards Aman and what he had felt for Iolet. He shut his eyes tight to try and force some life into them, and the grass tickled his ear, making him jump up. Bredan noticed the two lovers shock at this man who had sprung from the ground as it seemed.

“Hallo. What a lovely night.” Bredan said looking up at the sky. The couple nodded in shock at the man from Gondor.

Bredan brushed himself down and made sure he looked presentable, he still had his travelling clothes on as he was prepared to leave that night on his pursuit of the wildmen. Bredan looked at the grass where he had just slept, it was unusual in the fact that, where most lawns flatten when laid upon for a while, this grass seemed to bounce back and maintain perhaps the loveliest shade of green Bredan had ever seen, and that was a lot to say as Bredan grew up near Ithilen. Bredan also noticed that he felt more refreshed then he had after sleeping in the bed of the room he had at the Green Dragon, it was as if the grass had some magic about it, he then remembered part of the story of the fellowship, where the companions dwelt in Lothlorien, with the elf queen. Master Sam had got some soil from her, maybe the grass had some of this magic in it. Bredan could have stayed looking at the grass all night, and probably day as well, if it were not for the sounds and movements his stomach was making. Bredan’s senses were suddenly split, his sight was on the exquisite grass of the shire, but his sense of smell and his hearing were now directed towards the inn, it smelt and sounded like supper time, Bredan could already hear songs and bits of poetry, so doing a little jig he wandered to the inn.

Opening the door Bredan stepped in. Although his main priority was to eat and settle his hunger Bredan was in the mood for company, scanning the room he found that his eyes were not picking up anything, he was not blinded, it was just his sight was not picking out anything particular, just looking around aimlessly, Bredan found that his ears were what was attracting him to people for who he was hoping to dine tonight.

Bredan found himself drawn to the voice of a man at the bar, he looked at the direction his ears were willing him and noticed a man with dark hair to his shoulders and a worn out cape on his lap.

“You’re voice is very comforting and you’re songs intriguing, would you mind a bit of company for supper?”