The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[littlemanpoet]

Falco Boffin had stood by his word, or run around, would be fairer to say, for a crowd gathered near the hearth fire to hear the tale Eodwine had promised to relate. The Rohirric king's messenger's cup had been refilled, and the crowd quieted. Eodwine began.

"The Mouth of Sauron was not destroyed at the end of the War of the Ring. He was wounded and weakened, but he survived. He fled Mordor and traveling north, passed Rhun to the east, the Iron Hills to the north and east, and the Grey Mountains to the north. He snuck past Carn Dum and settled among the northernmost of the Hills of Evendim. There he built his keep, and gathered hirelings, and spread his influence and power, such as it was.

"He spread his influence as far as the ruins of Annuminas on Lake Evendim, and Fornost to the east, and toward the Misty Mountains, the Ice Bay, and Ered Luin to east, north, and west. When the builders and masons came north from Gondor to rebuild King Elessar's home in the north, they were captured and imprisoned, serving as slaves to keep the Master's fields tilled and beasts fed. The Master he styled himself, but he kept another name closer to hand in his fortress. And if his slaves became useless or tried to escape, they were sent to the Master where a fate worse than death awaited them."

Eodwine took three swigs from his ale mug and glanced from face to face among the crowd, his own face dark with memories he was about to relate.

"I was the last of those captured, and my fate would have been the worst, for I tried to escape and failed, too weak to get far from my captors.

"And what fate could possibly be worse than death, you ask? I shall tell it this way. The Mouth of Sauron was no Ring wraith, but he had his life from the sorceries of the Dark Lord, for he was thousands of years old. When Sauron passed from Middle Earth, the Mouth of Sauron weakened almost unto death, but at last discovered a means by which he could survive, for lives of men. He drank the blood of living men. He built himself a black temple after the manner of the one his Master had erected on Numenor during the Second Age.

"In this temple he called himself Herugor, Lord of Horror. On a black altar he laid down his victims. He cut them at both wrists and ankles with a knife poisoned with a curse as well as potions to keep wounds bleeding open. The blood would flow and gather in a moat around the altar. Herugor collected the blood in a chalice, and drank the full cup down once each night. With spells, this drink gave him life for another day.

"The curse in Herugor's knife tied the ghosts of his victims to that temple. Herugor had enslaved a fallen Maiar, whose power was unguessed; but this evil Maiar fed upon the ghosts of the slain. This was the fate worse than death.

"And I was spared, for on the night I lay on the altar, Herugor's knife at the ready, Falco Boffin and Falowik Stonewort and Finëwen and others came to my rescue. Through Falco's cunning and stealth, and my desperation, and through the courage of these others, Herugor was wounded by his own knife and was himself devoured by the evil Maiar. Maybe that being dwells there still, we know not, for we did not stay. Dark is my tale, but it has a good ending, for Herugor, who was known as the Mouth of Sauron, has passed, as did his Master before him. Drink your ale cups with a good heart, for the Kings of the Fourth Age rule now, and another evil has been smitten to the core."

"Hear hear!" members of the crowd yelled, and raising their cups, drank a toast to the age of the Kings.

[piosenniel]

Drink your ale cups with a good heart, for the Kings of the Fourth Age rule now, and another evil has been smitten to the core."

"Hear hear!" members of the crowd yelled, and raising their cups, drank a toast to the age of the Kings.

Zimziran shivered in the shadow of the steps. She had come half-way down from her room at the top when she heard the man called Eodwine telling of his rescue from horrors unimaginable. And if his tale be true then to the north evil still lurked. Too close for her comfort. The fire’s soft shadows that danced round the room below her became darkened and sharp as small blades jabbing into the light. She closed her eyes and hugged her knees tight to her chest.

‘There were other Kings,’ she murmured, rocking herself gently to and fro, ‘now lost beneath the western sea.’ Images of tales her mother had told of men’s folly and greed returned to her. ‘Great Kings of men . . . and they were no proof against shadow when it had gathered its strength.’

Buttercup had come softly down the stairs and now crouched beside the huddled figure. Her hand reached out to the woman’s arm, drawing her attention outward from the dark reverie. ‘You look half scared to death, Zimzi! What’s got you all at sixes and sevens with yourself?’ The Hobbit peered down through the posts lining the edge of the steps; she had heard nothing of the story by the fire, but gathered that something had been said to frighten the poor woman. Taking Zimzi’s cold hand in hers she gave it a pat and called to one of the serving lads who passed by the bottom landing.

‘Matty, you run and fetch Mister Derufin . . . and be quick about it. Tell him his Zimzi has need of him.’

She leaned close to Zimzi, saying she would just sit here with her ‘til her Mister arrived. Then, standing up, she peered over the stair railing toward the fireplace and called in a loud voice to the crowd swigging their ales below.

‘Enough dark tales for a dark night, you lot! Has anyone a cheerful song to share with us now?’

[Amanaduial the archer]

"What about you, Buttercup? Let's have a song from you!" Aman called out over the sound of the ground, grinning at the hobbit. Buttercup whirled around to glare at the Innkeeper where she leant on the bar, but Aman simply winked at her. "Ah, g'on, Buttercup!"

The crowd soon picked it up. "She sings?"
"Aye, she sings. A fair sweet voice, Miss Buttercup Brownlock..."
"Let's hear a pretty song from a pretty hobbit lass - go on, Buttercup!"

The hobbit server cast a despairing look at Aman and her eyes flicked downwards as she inclined her head minutely towards the step below her. Aman frowned slightly in askance, and in reply Buttercup mouthed a single word. Zimzi.

Aman raised her eyebrows and turned to the crowd, straightening and holding up her hands as she came around to the other side of the bar until they fell quiet, the ready crowd ready for some event. "Hey, hey, all of you - 'fraid Miss Buttercup won't be singing then..."

There was a great 'awww!' from the crowd and laughter, along with occasional whoops of encouragement. Aman paused, catching the eager eye of her victim, then continued, and held the crowd in her steady grasp for a moment longer, a ringmaster of the highest degree. "...but don't forget, she isn't the only one in the Green Dragon who can beat out a fine tune."

"What, you'll be singing for us, Mistress Aman?"
"Well, that's one thing Pio never graced us with!" More laughter followed and Aman grinned and laughed with them, shaking her head.

"Not me! Why, have all of ye forgotten one of the fairest voices to this side of the Shire? For shame, all of y'!" Turning, she gave Ruby a boost onto one of the tables. "Ladies and gents, I present to you, Miss Ruby Brown!"

The clapping and sprinkled whoops from the crowd doubled and someone with a fiddle was jostled forward. After hasty whispered conversation with the fiddler, Ruby nodded, satisfied, and began to clap out a beat for the crowd, and Aman noticed the number of eyes she was deliberately catching in the crowd and the shameful amount of winks she was sprinkling over them - Cook would have her guts for garters if she could see! As the fiddler, a round face, basful looking hobbit tween took up his place next to Ruby and, readying the rather battered and patched darkwood violin, he began to play tentatively the first few bars of the song, the crowd sounded their approval again. The fiddler paused, then started up again with more conviction.

With all eyes on the musicians in the centre of the room now, Aman was safely out of the spotlight and she took a curved route around the side of the room to the stairs where Buttercup had sat down beside Zimzi, her little face creased anxiously. Aman folded her skirts up and took a seat on a few steps below, looking up at Zimzi as she reached out a hand towards the woman's where it lay limply in her lap. "Now, what's the matter, darlin'?" The woman's glazed, sad expression worried Aman and she rubbed the other's hand gently. "Zimzi?"

"Miz Aman?"

Aman turned at the voice to see Tom Cotton standing behind her unsurely. When he noticed properly that she was not alone, and took in Buttercup's worried expression, he flushed. "Oh...oh, s-sorry, I'll...I didn't realise you were busy, I was just wondering about...sorry, I'll go-"

"No, Mr Cotton, it's ok. One moment, please." She turned back to Zimzi and looked concerned into the woman's eyes again, then glanced at Buttercup and nodded approvingly. Standing, she straightened her skirts and came down to Tom, beckoning him over to the bar.

"You'll be wanting a room for the night, Mr Cotton? Aye, well, I think I may have something else to offer you..." Ducking behind the bar, Aman turned and straightened up, looking Tom up and down again as she withdrew the logbook from underneath the bar. Laying the thick, leather bound ledger carefully on the bar, she she leant forward onto the bar to be more at his level. "Tom, you said you had been looking for work as a gardner recently, and Uien was impressed with your knowledge - and she is someone who knows. And, well, we haven't had a steady gardener for some months now, although there is much that can be done with the Inn garden, so I was wondering - what would you say to becoming gardener at the Green Dragon Inn?"

[Umwë]

“What would you say to becoming gardener at the Green Dragon Inn?" Tom didn’t know what to say, he was both surprised and happy. Aman stood leaning over the counter looking down at him and smiling. He looked up at her and smiled. He stuttered “W-well, that w-would be an honor to b-be a gardener, f-for this Inn, m-miz Aman... t-thank you!” He blushed and looked down in the floor. This was maybe the best thing ever happened to Tom so he sat down on a stool standing close to him.

“I c-can start a-at any time, miss, I mean...” He paused and looked up, his hair tickled in his eyes again and puffed shook his head a little. Tom thought of his old father that once was a gardener, and Tom couldn’t wait to tell him. His hands were shaking and he felt a tear rolling down his cheek, he quickly removed it, he didn’t want Aman to see it. He snuffled and picked up his handkerchief, but noticed it was red of blood. He put it back in his pocket and snuffled again.

“Thank y-you, miz Aman. This means a lot to me... Aye..” He said and bowed deeply and almost hit is head in the counter. “I will not disappoint you!” He looked up and smiled to Aman and then bowed quickly again. This time he didn’t watch out and he hhit his head in the counter. “Ouch!” he exclaimed and took two steps backwards and rubbed his head. He giggled and walked to the counter again.

He took a look around himself and saw that many now were returning to their rooms, as it was getting very late now. And the common room was almost empty. He waved over to Anja and Ana that still sat in the corner together. They waved back, but Anja still looked concerned. Tom couldn't stop wondering what was wrong. He tried to not think so much about it and turned back again to Aman.

[Envinyatar]

‘Miz Zimzi needs you,’ panted Matty, quite out of breath. He had run from the Inn and spent several frantic minutes in search of Derufin.

Derufin grinned at the lad. His Zimzi needed him, did she? There was something in Matty’s face, however, that made the smile slip from the man’s face. And now he crouched down, a frown creasing his own. ‘Did she send you, Matty? What did she say?’

‘Oh. It weren’t her Master Derufin. It was Buttercup what sent me to fetch you. Miz Zimzi is sitting on the stairs. Had a spell of some sort I think. Miz Buttercup is sitting on the stairs with her.’

With no ‘pardon me’, Derufin took off sprinting for the Inn. Cook growled at him as he left muddy tracks across her kitchen floor and banged opened the door to the Common Room in his haste. The music and Ruby’s song barely registered as he made for the stairwell. Aman and Buttercup stood up and made room for him as sat down beside Zimzi. His arm slipped about her and he drew her head against the comfort of his shoulder, his free hand seeking hers.

‘What’s frightened you, my own dear heart,’ he whispered, pulling her into the circle of his protection.

[Aniriuq Raevla]

Anja waved back at Tom.I need to rest.She thought sleepily.She was overcome by a yawn that cracked her jaw.She looked back at Tom,who looked very pleased about something,and the inkeeper.Anja tried to remember the innkeepers name as she taped her fingers on the table.What was it....Ah yes,Aman....i think.....She yawned once more and and looked to Ana.

"Well,it's been nice to have you for company Ana,I appreciate it. Again,i'm sorry if I alarmed you with my behavior tonight. Well,it's getting pretty late,and I need to get some rest. So if you will excuse me."Anja got up and streched."Oh,and thank you for the bread.Good night,perhaps we shall meet again in the morning."

Anja walked away from the table and towards Tom and Aman."Pardon me,"She said,nodding to Tom in greeting. She grinned at him. His face was full of delight,and whatever had happened to him to make him so happy,Anja was glad of it. She gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder and turned to the innkeeper.

"If there are any left,I would like to have a room for the night,please."

[Lalwendë]

The room was very smoky and warm and Jinniver was sitting back in her chair feeling contentedly full and very sleepy. She had bought herself two ales at the bar, to avoid going through the trauma again. She had wondered whether two would be enough, yet it was a little too much, as the ale was a strong brew. A tiny vein in her forehead throbbed and the inn seemed very noisy all of a sudden.

She had spoken to three old gaffers on their way out of the pub. They had stopped by and bought several bunches of her flowers, “Probably for their wives, so they may hope to get away with coming home so late and so merry“, thought Jinniver. They had smelled very strongly of drink, and one had held onto the table throughout, as though he might fall to the floor at any moment. With a little of the money she had made, she bought some sweet smelling pipeweed, which she was now enjoying.

A man standing by the fireside was relating a tale to a crowd gathered around him. It was not hard to hear him, but Jinniver leaned forward all the same, as it was a dark story concerning the northern lands, away up the Greenway. He told the tale with a look of horror on his face, and she was fascinated. She loved to hear such stories; her father had been fond of reciting them, particularly on stormy nights, but since the dark days he much preferred a comic rhyme or a tale of romance.

Jinniver had missed these thrilling tales and rhymes. When the man mentioned the cursed knife she jumped, and seeing her old dagger lying on the table, pulled it back towards herself. She kept tight hold of the dagger until the story ended, scared, yet excited at the same time.

She was one of many who toasted the man when his story was through. Enlivened by the toast to the kings, the crowd was soon calling for a song, and Jinniver wished she was bold enough to offer up one of the old verses she knew. She went a little red at the thought of standing up in this room, but thankfully a few of the hobbits struck up a song. She sat quietly, savouring the sights and sounds of the inn, as the time would soon come to sink into that feather bed.