The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[starkat]

Gwenneth caught a glimpse of Aman out of the corner of her eye and walked up to her. She set the small boquet next to the innkeeper and headed off to meat Ginger.

I hope I am not too late. I would really like to help. Not seeing her Hobbit firend anywhere, the young elf maid headed for the kitchen. I hope Cook does not get mad at me. Gwenneth knocked on the door and peeked inside.

[Lalwendë]

Jinniver, whose face had softened into tears when Pegram made his cutting speech, began to smile when the two Hobbit lads knocked the contents of the pitcher onto him. She hid her face as best she could beneath her old shawl, her cheeks reddening with suppressed mirth.

Pegram, who had been studiously ignoring the two lads until he got his early, and rather sticky, bath, now pushed his chair back in horror. He drew himself up to his full height but the lads were gone before he could get to them. “Why”, he thought. “I ought to wring their impudent necks for this.” But no words of anger came from his mouth, as he caught sight of his sister, obviously trying to hide her mirth. He was, in quick succession, angry, embarrassed, and finally, hurt.

He made an attempt to brush the dark glutinous ale from his breeches; there was little he could do about the shirt, so he pulled his cloak across the stained area. Feeling the eyes of the other man watching him, he sat back down quietly and attempted a forced smile.

“Of course,” he said, after clearing his throat. “It is to be remembered that Jinniver is a fine nursery woman. A fine woman. And I find it fitting that she has been taken to the hearts of the folk around here.” His words were addressed to the wall, as he could not and would not look anyone in the eye. His nose twitched with hurt pride.

Jinniver felt a little worried after what had happened. Much as she hated her brother’s high handed way with her, she did not like to see anyone’s feelings hurt, not even his. But she was grateful for the moment of peace which the mishap had brought to her. Finally gathering her thoughts after his surprise arrival, she wondered whether he would insist that she come home again, and what she would say to that. This was something she would never consent to, and as she knew it might involve something of a fight, she determined to construct her words carefully.

She kept the shawl over her face and watched him over the top of it, her pale eyes bright, yet a little misty as she thought of the fight she felt sure would be coming. Why her brother could not simply let her be was beyond her. So she may have been foolish when she was young; this she knew all too well, but wasn’t she grown since then? And the world changed?

Pegram’s irritation with his sister’s behaviour began to grow again, and he glowered as he sat facing the wall, thinking about how she was behaving. She was not even dressed appropriately, and was even drinking, in the common room of a tavern. The least she could do was seek a private parlour where a woman might sit respectably.

He had suspected this from the moment he received the letter that very morning. He had been at the farm, arranging an early morning delivery for their father, and had intercepted the messenger. As soon as he noticed her lodgings were in a tavern, he had saddled up his horse and ridden off as fast as he could go, dropping the letter into his father’s surprised hands. There was no way Pegram would even contemplate any risk to his sister, not since what had happened to her. Unable to articulate what he felt, he turned his head towards her, with a look of contempt.

[Envinyatar]

The man was angry and indignant, Derufin could see. But not just from the foolish antics of the two Hobbits. Though, he has every right to be thought Derufin, shaking his head in disapproval of Ferrin and Fallon’s handling of Pegram’s comments. Most of the man’s resentments seemed to focus on his sister. Derufin, having listened to him and watched his actions, did not feel her to be in physical danger. And she seemed capable enough, resolved enough, to take care of the verbal assaults herself.

‘Glad to have met a member of Jinniver’s family,’ Derufin said, rising from his chair and nodding courteously at both of them. ‘I’ll take my leave of you good folk, if I may.’ Both pairs of eyes were on him, and Jinniver nodded back. ‘I’ll see you, then, tomorrow, Jinniver. And I’ll have the lads rounded up to help you.’

He hurried to the kitchen, calling out for Cook. She and Ginger stood near the stove looking down at something – a cat. The feline had apparently finished eating and now rubbed itself against Cook’s ankles as she stirred the stew pot. He grinned seeing her smile of pleasure at a meal well appreciated. Derufin watched as the cat exited the kitchen, soft paws padding across the floor in a determined manner.

‘New mouser?’ he asked, sidling up to Cook and looking longingly at the rich concoction of chicken and taters and vegetables. Cook hmmmmphd in mock irritation and gave him a generous taste from the stirring spoon. He winked at Ginger who was just starting to slice up the bread in thick chunks for the baskets on the table. ‘I was just wondering,’ he began. ‘No, hoping, really, that you could see your way to filling a small crock with some of the stew and letting me have a loaf of bread to go with it.’

‘A whole crock?’ asked Cook, eyeing Derufin’s tall, lithe frame. She poked him in the side, cocking an eyebrow up at him. ‘You intend to eat this all yourself,’ she went on. ‘Wouldn’t want to see it go to waste.’ She fetched a small pot with a tight fitting lid and began ladling the stew into it. Ginger, at a nod from Cook, wrapped one of the crusty, whole loaves in a clean towel to go with it. Derufin had opened one of the cupboards and found the plates of cookies put away for dessert. ‘How about a few of these?’ he asked. ‘Best spice and raising cookies in the Shire,’ he added, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek as a large handful found its way onto a clean napkin for transport.

‘Now, none of that buttering me up,’ sputtered Cook, adding a small jar of strawberry jam into the lidded basket she had gotten out to put the pot, bread, and cookies in. ‘Mind you don’t get that bread wet if the rain starts up. Put it under your cloak.’ He gave her another peck on the opposite cheek and fairly ran out the back door.

‘Where’s he going off to,’ asked Ginger as Cook closed the door behind him. Cook shook her head, chuckling as she walked back to the table to help with the bread. ‘Gone off to see his lady love . . . Mistress Zimzi. Going to bribe old Amaranthas into letting him spend some time with her, I reckon. Lucky for him the old lady is quite fond of my chicken stew.’

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger laughed at the man’s antics. There were few who could ‘get round’ Cook she thought, but he seemed to be one of them. The two of them were just finishing up the baskets of bread when Gwenneth peeked in through the kitchen doors. Ginger’s eyes brightened and she smiled at her friend, motioning for her to come in.

‘Here’s the one who made you that pretty bouquet, Cook,’ she chirped, pushing Gwenneth forward. Cook thanked the Elven maid and offered her a chair while they worked.

‘Oh, I don’t think she’ll be needing a chair, Miz Bunce,’ laughed Ginger. Cook looked at the two of them, awaiting an explanation.

‘Gwenneth wants to help out. She’s already helped in the gardens, and I thought maybe she could help me with serving the meal tonight.’ The Elf nodded her head ‘yes’ at her friend’s explanation.

Buttercup and Ruby had come in and begun setting out bowls on the large serving platters. ‘We’ll take all the help we can get,’ they laughed. ‘Why don’t you two take a couple of serving trays and hand round the baskets of bread and butter and jam? Along with the spoons. We’ll bring out the bowls of stew and the mugs. Then you can go round with us and pour out teas or cider or ale . . . whatever is needed to wash down the meal.’

Ginger handed Gwenneth a serving tray. ‘Well, shall we get started, then . . .?’

[Noinkling]

Talk rose and fell in the common room, the rhythm of it comforting him as he leaned forward toward the fireplace, warming his chilled hands. Tolly was from a large family and suppers were much like this at the big burrow in Greenholm – the sharp voices arguing their points blended with others at the table chuckling over some small jest. And still others, talking in low persistent whisperings of their problems. Beneath it all the sounds of mugs meeting the wooden table top as they were set down and the clatter of spoons against their sides as honey was stirred into the tea. Soon he knew, there would be the clack and scrape of cutlery against plates and bowls when the food arrived. And the satisfied noises of those enjoying their meal.

‘And what a meal that will be,’ he thought, sniffing the air appreciatively.

Something savory assailed his nose as did the hearty scent of fresh baking. His stomach growled as one of the lasses set down a basket of bread at his table along with a crock of butter and a small pot of blackberry jam. It was all he could do not to pounce on it. But, remembering his manners, he grinned at the server as he sat back in his chair, waiting for the main course to arrive.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman made the announcement that supper was soon to be served and began taking orders from those around her who called for them, including a comfortable looking gentlehobbit nearby who smiled benignly around him happily. She grinned at the way he seemed generally happy with everything. Tobias was suddenly brought sharply to her mind, and she snapped her fingers at her forgetfulness. She needed to inquire as to what decision Tobias had come to and, more importantly of course for any in the Shire, what he would like for supper.

Making her way discreetly to the study, Aman slipped in through the unlocked door, the question of supper on her lips...before she stopped dead. It was empty. The Innkeeper stood with her mouth wide open in the study door, her hand frozen on the doorknob as she dumbly tried to comprehend exactly where Tobias and Snaveling had gone. She wrung her hands worriedly and desperately checked behind the door. Nope: they were definitely gone. "This is bad..." Aman murmured quietly to herself as she remembered what Snaveling had suggested: that he and Toby take flight from the Shire and from Toby's plight, flying South to the lands of Rohan or Gondor. If Toby had gone with this idea, had gone into self-inflicted exile from his own people...Aman closed her eyes and shot a quick prayer to whatever deities might be listening. Please let him not have taken up this foolish idea with Snaveling...

Closing the door, Aman glanced furtively around the Inn to where the Thain's men had gone back on their pledge and were steadily drinking toasts to just about everyone and everything in the immediate vicinity. She raised an eyebrow. It was unlikely, then, that the trio had noticed the man and the hobbit depart. But by the gods, they had done it quietly!

Trying to put these thoughts to the side, reasoning logically that she could not do anything about it now, Aman made her way into the kitchen as Derufin was leaving, conveying a handful of stew-covered bread to his mouth. As she passed, Aman leant forward and snatched the mouthful before it could reach the stablemaster's mouth, and he gave an indignant cry as Aman ducked past him into the kitchen, laughing and blowing him a meat-and-potato kiss as she door swung shut behind her. Finishing the mouthful hastily, Aman took out her notebook and began to relay the meals to Cook and Ruby. "The Inn is quite busy tonight, quite a fair amount of meals: there are-" She paused, stopping dead for the second time in as many minutes, as a distantly familiar smell assaulted her nostrils over the familiar cooking smells of the kitchen. She twisted in a slow pirouette towards the fireplace and jerked backwards slightly as she saw it's smug occupant. She raised an accusatory finger to point like a bringer of doom towards the mat in front of the fireplace where a cat sat purring smugly.

For a moment, she didn't speak, then she raised her eyebrows and said slowly, "Cook, are you aware that your cat appears to have gone back in time several years and...changed it's coat?"

Cook laughed, half in relief that Aman had not been more annoyed at the cat's appearance, and she turned back to serving out stew from the cast-iron, military-size cauldron. "Ah Miz Aman - no, this is a newcomer. You're all in for taking in waifs and strays, so I took in one of my own. And he seems to appreciate my cooking very well, unlike some," she added, winking conspiratorially at the cat.

"Miz Bunce, there is not man, hobbit, elf or any other manner of being within a hundred acres of the 'Dragon who does not appreciate you cooking." She paused and frowned, giving Cook a puzzled, questioning look. "And as for taking in waifs and strays, what is that supposed to mean?!"

Cook bustled busily, smiling to herself. "Oh well, you know how it is Aman...that nice elven boy some time ago; Snaveling, before he was all spruced up from the West-"

"On second thoughts, no, don't change the subject!" Aman interrupted indignantly, although she was half smiling. She looked back at the cat. "That is not your cat. Yet it is sitting on that rug as if it owns it and everything within a hundred miles of it. There is definitely a more than proportionate share of smugness around that feline..."

Ginger, who had just returned from the Common Room bearing a now empty tray, laughed at Aman's tone. "Oh come on, Aman, what have you got against that cat?" She stooped to scratch the cat's head as she passed, and it's purring increased to such a level of smugness that Aman half-expected it to produce a pipe and sit back comfortably, one paw against the mantlepiece. "Aren't you exaggerating a little?"

"I am not," Aman replied darkly, "a cat person."

There was a moment's pause, then all three of the servers burst out laughing before they went back to their tasks. Aman and the cat eyed each other warily, at a stalemate, before Cook sent Aman on her way laden with trenchers of mouth-wateringly delicious smelling stew. The Innkeeper glared at the cat grudgingly one last time. In reply, the feline simply gave a smile, settled back down on the rug and purred smugly once more. With a cry of exasperation and 'they'll take us over!', Aman swept once more into the Common Room in disgust.

[Kransha]

Please do not remove this post space - thanks!

~*~ Pio