The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Morgul Queen]

Post 2

Please check your PM's.

~*~ Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[Boromir88]

Fastrod sat up in his room, lying on his bed. He was happy they still had room available, and his only concern now was getting a peaceful night sleep. He wouldn't be able to do that, his mind kept going back to those people standing outside the inn when he came in. They were dressed rather poorly and didn't have an inviting look on their faces, especially what appeared to be their leader.

He didn't know how long he had been laying there, just trying to get a little bit of sleep before the big party tomorrow, but his mind just kept going back to those people. There was something not right about them. He noticed they were coming in as he was going up to his room. He couldn't exactly put a finger on it, but for some strange reason these travellers reminded him of the dark days in Bree, some 10 or so years ago. Strange things were happening in Bree then, and it all started with that little hobbit coming to the inn, Fastrod remembers because he was there that day, like he was everyday. Ever since those little folk came into the inn, evil things began growing in Bree, he thought. He would never forget the time when them thieves had made their way into Bree, and began to stir up trouble, and oddly enough, these travellers today reminded him of that.

Tiredness overwhelmed Fastrod, and he finally fell asleep, and not once did he stir. He was quite comfortable in the soft bed, and cozy, warm room, and slept through the rest of the night.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Hawthorne sighed wearily and lowered her body onto one of the benches that stood near the hearth fire as she stretched out her aching feet and wiggled her toes. She was definitely ready for bed. For the past three hours, the young Hobbit lass had been sprinting repeatedly from the Common Room to the bedchambers at Aman's bidding. She had made sure that each of the late arrivals had proper bed linens, a stack of fresh towels, and an ample basin of water set inside their sleeping quarters. Even in her earlier sojourn at the Inn, she could not remember a time when things were so busy in the middle of the night.

The guests had continued streaming into the Dragon well past midnight. Some of them were last minute arrivals for the handfasting that would be taking place the next day; others had encountered troubles on the road and were desperately searching for a place to sleep. Aman had even sent a few travelers down the lane to the Ivy Bush, which by now was also overflowing with bodies. They’d gotten to the point that, if additional guests came pounding at the door, they might need to ask some of the travelers to double up and share their quarters with complete strangers. Not a pleasant thought, but such things were not unheard of in a district that boasted only two Inns. She herself would need to consider the possibility of sharing a room with one of the newcomers.

Hawthorne had been so busy with her chores that she had paid little attention to the actual guests arriving. They were just an endless queue of visitors who needed linens and water as quickly as she could bring them. There seemed to be a surprising number of Elves, certainly more than were usually evident in the Shire. But it was not the Elves who stood out in her mind. It was that strange group of big folk who had come in earlier from the courtyard and been assigned a room in back of the common dining area.

What surprised her was not the guests themselves, but Huan's reaction to them. When one of the travelers had walked by the spot where Huan was supposedly sleeping, the hound had sprung up and uttered a low guttural sound from deep within his chest, far more fearsome and meaningful in intent than the sport he'd had earlier with Tevildo. A few minutes afterwards, when Hawthorne had taken a stack of towels down the hallway to the room where the strangers were staying, Huan had insisted on trailing along and standing close by her side. Hastily leaving the towels, she had latched the door and gone back into the corridor. Behind her, she could hear leering voices and comments. She couldn't make out the exact words that were being said, but the tone of the conversation made her feel nervous.

Still seated at the hearth fire and trying to collect her wits, Hawthorne found herself feeling oddly despondent, a mood that was not at all like her usual resilience. Aman walked over and gently nudged her to go to bed, saying that the worst of the inpouring of guests was surely over. With Huan sticking close to her heels, Hawthorne made her way back to her room and, with a caution that was totally unlike her normal careless behavior, placed the heavy fire poker near at hand to her bed and carefully secured the latch for the night....

[Fairleaf]

Nighttime was the best time to move about she’d found. Most of the two-legged creatures slept then, or if they did chance the darkness their eyes betrayed them and much passed unnoticed as they floundered in shadows.

With those thoughts in mind, Fairleaf had carefully removed the lanterns the Hobbit and Elf had placed in her boughs and set them gently on the ground. She’d wondered if she should take the others from the trees near her, too. Not wanting to be hasty, she’d looked the lanterns over quite carefully. The candles, she noted, were walled away from the limbs they hung on by the little glass panes. Even in a strong wind, the flames from the tapers would not reach the precious leaves and wood. The pale moonlight pushed wanly through the colored glass, throwing ghostly jewels along her leafy arms. Fairleaf smiled, patting the bark of the tall fir next to her. This will look lovely with the candle’s light leaving little gems on you she assured the tree.

Her leaves trailed along the branches of the other trees in this little stand as she moved round the edges of the yard and toward the back of the Inn. She’d been wanting to see the gardens she’d glanced. They were lovely . . . just as she thought. Vegetables in one, and herbs in another, and everywhere little patches of flowery color. And at the edges of the garden area were berry bushes and a strawberry patch, all now bare of fruit, waiting patiently for spring.

A further exploration brought her to the oak tree that stood by stable. Big and strong, it looked, and very old. I remember well a young Ent who’d be quite happy to see you prospering so well she whispered as her leaves rustled over his smooth bark. The stable, of course, was made of good sturdy wood . . . she regretted the trees who fell to the axe for this purpose, but on closer inspection she saw how well it was maintained.

Night lingered on as she moved across the Inn grounds. The scent of night-blooming flowers pulled her across the grass until she chanced on a snug little house built up against the birches and oaks and elms. It stood empty, smelling of paint and new sanded wood. Empty and waiting. She moved about the cottages’ front yard where there were large plantings of flowers of all sorts. Set out for the pleasing combination of their colors and for their scents. Someone who knew these plants well had laid them out and planted them with a deft hand a keen eye. I wonder if this someone is still staying in the Inn? Might be I would like to see what sort of creature this someone is.

Slowly, enjoying the sights and scents of the night, Fairleaf made her way back toward the back of the Inn, her rooty toed feet squishing through the mud. She’d spied a small stand of trees near the far edge of the stable where she could hide during the day. It would afford her a good view of the gardens in the sunlight and leave her a fair view of the front yard where the day’s celebration would take place. She sighed to herself, settling in next to a tall paper birch.

This is a very nice place. I think I should like to stay here for a while . . .

[Firefoot]

Willy Burrows could take it no longer. He had been waken up countless times throughout the night by the plethora of folks travelling past his farm on the way to the Green Dragon Inn, just up the road. He had to know what the big fuss was all about, and so, quiet as only a hobbit can be, he opened his window and slipped out, dropping a short way to the ground. He waited a minute to make sure his ma and pa had not heard, and then stole out to the road.

He had never been to the Inn before, though he had gone past in numerous times. His ma was deadset that he was not nearly old enough to be frequenting inns, but at eight years old Willy was fully confident that he was old enough to do as he pleased. Not that he would actually enter the Inn, not at this time of night; his ma would find out as surely as ponies eat hay. Instead, he crept along to the side of the Inn, careful not to be seen, and tried to get a look through the window. Willy found in frustration that his two-foot-four frame was slightly too short. In despair, he cast around for some way to see in. His eyes lit upon a stack of fire wood nearby. He snagged three blocks off the top and stacked them just so underneath the window. He balanced carefully and was able to get his eyes and nose over the window sill.

Willy stifled a delighted shout at the sight as his eyes went wide at what he saw. There were Big Folk in there, as he had heard from his bedroom, and some of them were Elves! For the early hour the Common Room was quite busy, from what he could see. The Inn staff was dashing about, trying to find room for the steady stream of visitors. The only bystanders appeared to be a dog (Willy liked dogs) and a pair of cats. Cats, in Willy's knowledgable opinion, were boring unless they were riled up. Then they were a good bit of fun.

Willy realized that in his excitement he had hoisted himself even higher on the window sill and was now in grave danger of being spotted. He lowered himself back down to his stool of logs, forgetting how precarious his position was. He slipped from the logs with a crash, scraping his elbow and cutting his knee. For a moment, he froze. Surely someone would have heard and would come out to investigate. Then, reguardless of his injuries, Willy darted to his feet and started sprinting pell-mell back towards his farm, though he stayed off the road in fear of being recognized. Unfortunately for him, he was watching backwards and not forwards and he ran smack into a tree just past the stables and landed flat on his back. As he rubbed his throbbing, dizzy head Willy heard a voice, strangely deep yet certainly feminine.

"And where are you so hasty to be going, little one?" Willy looked up, thinking he was hallucinating. The tree was talking to him!

"N-no where," he stuttered. "Wh-wha - who are you?"

[Fairleaf]

She’d spoken aloud, and hadn’t meant to. It was just that her attention was elsewhere when the small creature caromed into her trunk. And now her hasty reaction had made him look up at her. Fairleaf closed her eyes and stood very still, as still as the tall thin copper beech that stood beside her.

Easy does it now . . . she hummed to herself as one of her limbs reached into the branches of the elm that stood on her other side. One of the Inn’s hens had escaped being cooped up earlier in the evening, choosing instead to fluff herself out in a cozy little pile of leaves where one of the elm’s branches met the trunk. A safe, and cozy little place she was sure the hen had thought. Not to be, though. Not to be.

My apologies, little mistress . . . Fairleaf murmured, her leafy fingers insinuating themselves beneath the unsuspecting chicken. With a quick, gentle nudge, the drowsing bird was pushed from the elm limb, falling in a squawking mass of feathers and flapping wings toward the prone form of the small, fallen creature below . . .

[piosenniel]

Cook was just covering the crockery bowls filled with yeast dough with clean cloths and setting them on the hearth when the door to the kitchen inched open and a cloaked Hobbit lass poked her head in. ‘Come in, girl,’ said Cook eyeing the stranger. ‘No sense shouting across the room to each other.’ She put down the last covered bowl and motioned for the Hobbit to be seated. ‘Out late, eh? Not from round these parts, I think. Leastways, these old eyes don’t recognize you. And what be your name?’ she asked, pouring the Hobbit a cup of hot tea.

A few sips later, and she had found out several pieces of information about the girl. Her name was Caity Brandybuck; she liked to travel . . . and under the moonlight, to the surprise of Cook, who thought the night was meant for sleeping soundly in one’s own bed, though she kept her opinion to herself for the moment; she’d seen the notice for volunteers nailed near the Inn door; and well, she’d like to know if the flute/pennywhistle player was still needed.

‘Well,’ said Cook, seeing the hopeful look in the girl’s eyes. ‘I should think they will still be needing a player. Can’t have too many making music, in my opinion. Makes for better dancing, don’t you think?’ Cook sipped a bit on her own mug of tea, and brought out a small dish of thick, crisp oatmeal cookies to stave off the beginning hunger in her grumbling belly. She pushed the plate toward Caity

‘It’s young Gil you’ll want to be seeing. He’s a local lad. Won’t be in til breakfast is served. He and his friends will be playing for the party today.’ She eyed the wet, bedraggled state of the Hobbit. ‘You know, we’re putting up the volunteers while they’re here to help with the party. Let me just fetch Ruby; she’ll show you to a room. Get a good night’s sleep. Come down to the Common Room for breakfast then, later. Gil will be here, with Tomlin, Fallon, and Ferrin.’ She waved Ruby over who’d just come down from her room and was yawning. ‘Take Caity here back to one of the small rooms. She’s come to play for the party.’ Before they left she called out, as an afterthought. ‘You don’t by any chance sing do you? Be lovely to have a female voice with all those lads . . .’