The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[peral]

Sharya had only just finished her breakfast when she saw the young girl enter the common room and walk up to the bar. Definitely from Rohan she decided. No where else did they have lovely flaxen hair like that. She got up and tentatively made her way up to the girl, who was by now, looking curiously around the room at all of the patrons who were gathering. Sharya wanted so much to know what another human girl was doing here in the land of halflings. What had brought her here? What strange mission was she out to accomplish? Her nervousness was quite unfounded for as she approached, the girl immediately smiled at her.

"Hello."

"Hi," began Sharya, "I saw that you had just arrived and thought I'd come over and say hello."

The girl laughed. "Yes, indeed, I'm just waiting for my breakfast."

"Then, pray, come sit with me and we can talk, for I'm curious to know what another mortal girl is doing here in a village of halflings."

The girl laughed again, "Of course." As they took a seat, "By the way, I'm Tulip."

"I'm Sharya. To be quite honest with you, it's quite a relief to see someone who is my height." Then she looked curiously at Tulip, "What brings you here? So far away from your home country, Rohan?"

The girl looked surprised, "How did you know I was from Rohan?"

"Your hair. No where else in Middle-Earth does there exist such beautiful golden hair except in the land of the Riddermark."

"I suppose so, my hair has always been my pride and joy." She paused for a moment, as if to contemplate her hair. "Anyway, I'm here looking for a woman by the name of Aman. I have just heard that she is the innkeep here."

"Yes, she is indeed. And look, here comes your breakfast now."

Ruby brought over the tea and with a slight bob asked, "Would you be wanting anything else, miss."

"No thank you, I'm-" here she looked at Sharya, "Don't you want something to eat as well?"

Sharya shook her head. "No thank you, I've already eaten my breakfast."

Tulip nodded to her and shook her head at Ruby, "Well, do you have any scones?"

"Yes, miss, honey covered ones. I shall bring some out for you."

"Thank you."

Sharya smiled as she watched Tulip tentatively sampling her tea.

"Ooh! It's sweet!" she exclaimed.

Sharya grinned amiably at her. Perhaps this week wouldn't be so bad after all, she mused.

[Nurumaiel]

"Have you finished your breakfast?" Falco demanded.

"No," Marigold replied choosing to ignore his gruff tone. "I've just barely begun." She looked down at his own plate, and then to him, very disapprovingly. "You haven't eaten anything yet," she said. "You ought to. You didn't eat much of anything yesterday. I suppose the ale was filling enough."

"Don't be impudent," said Falco. Of course she hadn't finished yet. But he was impatient. He needed to send her off to find Miss Buttercup so he could go buy her some clothes. As for his own breakfast... he didn't want to eat it. He didn't feel like eating it, though of course he would never admit that he was grumpy and somehow felt as though it would be an act of humility to eat... that he must remain on a pedestal of pride, and eating would be contrary to that pride.

As for Marigold, she scowled darkly at his reproval. Had she been impudent? No, of course she hadn't! But maybe... it had been clever to mention the ale. He had had so many mugs, all full to the brim. But was she being impudent? She didn't want to be impudent. It might mean that she got out of the wrong side of bed... or was it on the wrong side of the bed? Or... was it from the wrong side of bed? This was getting to absurd. She would have to ask someone who knew. Maybe Mr. Headstrong knew, but she wouldn't ask him.

Well, whether it was out of, out on, or out from, she didn't want it to be the wrong side... not with her. That meant you were grumpy. Could she, sunny Marigold Baker, be grumpy? Her father had never liked to see her grumpy. And if she was grumpy (which she was certainly not!), why? She had been so bright and happy that morning when she let the sunlight in through her window. Maybe it was because she had seen those dark clouds rolling up as they entered the common room for breakfast. Or maybe Falco's mood was affecting her own.

She wouldn't let it! She had to be cheerful. To contradict his mood, for one reason. She didn't want to be in the same mood as him. And for another thing, to change his mood. Maybe her mood would affect his.

Little Marigold smiled cheerily... or tried to. Falco scowled.

[Child of the 7th Age]

By the time that Bella awoke, Cook had been up and about for several hours cleaning up the mess in the kitchen left from the night before and making sure that the guests at the Inn had ample fare for breakfast. True to her word, Cook had left the stranger two small pots hanging from a hook over the small hearthfire in the parlor: one with honeyed tea and the other filled with chicken soup, which many healers swore was a good remedy for all manner of ailments and woes.

Bella sat up on the sofa, yawned, stretched, and glanced around the room. She put her feet on the floor and unsteadily stood up, hanging on to a nearby night table to steady her balance. The events of the night before were no more than a misty haze. Bella remembered falling asleep in the back of the wagonbed, and recalled that several lads and a young hobbit lass had come outside to help her. She even had a vague memory of being carried inside the Inn and laid out on this sofa, with the whole process being supervised by someone who went by the name of "Cook".

Filled with curiosity to see where she was, Bella ran to the parlour window and looked outside. Just a few feet away was a road filled with all manner of folk who were no taller than herself. This strange sight filled her with extraordinary delight. Beyond the road she could glimpse well ordered fields boasting an assortment of crops, sheep and cows scattered over adjoining pastures, and the whole scene hemmed about with thick hedges and rolling hills. It was just as Cami had described. She had seen very little travelling in the back of the wagon underneath the straw and heavy canvas covers. This was the first real glimpse of the Shire she had gotten. Bella promised herself that someday she would go and visit Tukborough, which was where her father had spent his youth. And also to the Marrish from which her mother's people hailed.

Her own clothes had disappeared, but someone had kindly thought to provide another skirt and tunic, and a cap to tie upon her head. The woman dressed quickly, then sat down and poured herself a cup of tea. She filled a second mug with chicken soup. She had finished off the soup and was about to start on the sweet tea when there was a sharp knock on the door. "Do come in," she promply replied....

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger pays Miz Bella a prompted visit . . .

There were shushed whisperings just outside the closed door and scuffling as someone was pushed nearer. ‘G’wan, now,’ someone’s hushed voice urged. ‘Her name’s Belladonna Took . . .And remember . . . ask her where she’s from.’

Ginger knocked softly on the door to Cook’s parlour, hoping she wouldn’t be heard. Miz Bunce had stepped out for a moment to give some instructions to the lads who’d come to bring the benches and tables back into the Common Room. Buttercup, curious, about the stranger Cook had taken in last night, had convinced Ginger this was something she should do. She’d handed the young Hobbit a small stack of books they’d found half hidden under the straw in the wagon, telling her she should give them to the woman.

‘Do come in,’ she heard a clear voice say.

Certain the woman would hear her heart pounding, Ginger pushed the door open carefully and peeked in. The woman gave her an encouraging smile, her eyes twinkling beneath her capped grey curls. My goodness she looks just like my Granny!

Ginger blushed and came a little closer, bobbing a small curtsy as she laid the small stack of books on the table next to the woman’s seat. ‘Your books, Miz Took. The last of them.’ She looked at the other books piled on the table by the sofa. It was more books than she’d seen in all her young years.

‘My gosh!’ Ginger said, forgetting she’d been sent in by Buttercup to ferret out information. She picked up one of the more slender volumes and leafed through it carefully. On one of the pages was an ink drawing of some stern faced man in a winged helm. He held a sword in one hand and seemed to be looking far off . . .

‘Oh, my,’ Ginger said running her finger down the page, ‘who’s this, ma’am? Did you know him’ She turned a curious face to the elder Hobbit. ‘Can you read this to me?’