The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Arry]

Home before the rain begins . . .

The door swung open at the back of the room, pushed open even further by the quick gust of wind that thrust itself against it. Curls of cold air swept into the entryway, heavy scented with the promise of rain. Andwise leaned back on the door and closed it quickly as the disgruntled calls from those tables nearest the door grew in number. He looked about for Ferdy and the lads, his eyes squinting in the brightness of the room. Ah! There they were. And it looked as if Gil and the others had spent the evening playing and singing for the crowd. Some tall, light haired man stood with them, a smile on his face.

‘Who’s that?’ asked Andwise, flagging down Buttercup as she passed. ‘Man from Rohan,’ she answered. ‘From where Aman hails,’ she went on seeing the blank look on his face. ‘Ah! Horse country!’ returned Andwise, who had consigned that far off and foreign land to a picture of long rolling plains and herds of great horses such as the two Miz Aman had now in the stable. ‘Sings, does he,’ he asked hanging his cloak on a peg by the door.

‘Yes, and quite well too,’ she answered walking with him to where the fellows were talking with the bard. She leaned in close to Andwise, her voice low. ‘Though not as well as Tomlin, I’m thinking.’

Andwise laughed and clucked his tongue at her. ‘Now you be careful of those music makers . . . break a girl’s heart, or so I’ve been told.’

Buttercup sniffed and put on a disbelieving face. ‘Well, we’ll just see about that now, won’t we?’ She grinned, putting her arm through the elder Hobbit’s arm and brought him up to the little group.

‘Twas a lovely song, Hearpwine,’ Gil was saying, breaking the silence that had fallen over the little group. ‘And better yet, we’ve not heard it here before. Makes my cheeks burn to even think we sang for you. Our voices are untrained and rough, as are many of our songs. Nothing fit for great halls such as your King might have. Lucky to have you making his music for him and not us.’

‘Interesting instrument you have there,’ remarked Tomlin, eyeing the man’s harp. ‘I can recall only one or two others who traveled through with one. Though none of them played anywhere near your level. Would you mind if I . . .’

The last of his request was not made, as Andwise approached saying he had brought the cart, and perhaps they had better be going home soon. ‘Going to rain soon,’ he said by way of explanation, and the boys have a ways to go home, as do I.’ He nodded in greeting to the Man. ‘Perhaps they can see you tomorrow, Master Hearpwine . . . though, first off, we’ve a need to finish that shed for Miz Peony as promised.’

‘I’ll just be a moment, Da,’ said Ferdy, heading off in the general direction of the kitchen. ‘Aye,’ Andwise laughed. ‘You’ll be needing to see to Ginger. A moment, no more, if you will. I really am tired this evening.’

The lads packed up their instruments, and gave farewells to their new acquaintance, Hearpwine, and to others of their friends and neighbors at the Inn. Ferdy was back quickly, waving a last good-bye to Ginger. He stopped briefly at Miz Bracegirdle’s table, taking leave of her and Willi, and saying he hoped she had enjoyed the song. To Willi he said he would look for him tomorrow in the late afternoon. ‘You can help us with the puppets,’ he reminded him.

There were grumbles again as the Inn door was open and the chilly wind blew in. Gil was the last one out the door, the worn leather sack that held his concertina slung over his shoulder as he headed to the cart and to home.

[Firefoot]

Having been distracted by Ferdy's farewell, Thistle did not notice Willi's precarious position, and neither did Ferdy, apparently in some hurry to leave. She allowed that his song had been "fine, fine," with a nod of her head.

She turned back to Willi once Ferdy had left. She wasn't particularly thirsty, but how could she refuse the lad after he had so politely asked? He was right; the cider was quite tasty. So she replied, "Yes, some cider would be right nice... can you reach, or do you need help?"

"I've got it," he assured her, leaning a little bit further so as to reach her nearly empty glass.

The next events happened too quick for Thistle to process immediately. Willi had started to tip the pitcher to pour when it seemed that he had finally leaned across the table too much. The chair on which he was standing slid backwards and Willi fell, dropping the pitcher. The pitcher shattered and sticky cider spilled everywhere, including on Thistle and Willi. Upon first instinct, Thistle grabbed a napkin, which already had some cider on it, off the table and almost began attempting to dry herself. The full comprehension of what had happened dawned on her a moment later and she dropped the napkin, pushing herself up from her seat. She could hear the thump of Willi hitting the ground resounding in her head. Was the lad all right? Had he broken anything, or hit his head?

She hobbled around to the side of the table as fast as her cane and old legs would permit. By the time she reached his side, Ginger had already knelt down beside the lad.

Genuine concern filling her voice, Thistle asked, "Is he all right?"

[Nurumaiel]

Marigold was curled up on the window-seat, and she watched the departure of the boys through bleary eyes, drowsily waving and blowing kisses. Then she sighed, folded her arms, and dropped her head, staring absently across the room. Occasionally she would reach up and brush a lock of hair out of her eyes, and soon those very eyes began to close, as she wondered if the tall man would sing any songs.

Falco bent over her and saw that she had fallen asleep. And he couldn't blame her. He himself was more than ready for bed, after the song-playing with the lads. He remembered Uien's kind words, but all the same he could not help but feel relief that Mithalwen was not there to carry Marigold off to bed. He put her arms about her and lifted her up. She started, and clutched frantically at him, and then she went limp again. "It's just you Mr. Headstrong," she murmured. And then, without opening her eyes, she turned her head and called: "Good night, Rory!"

Falco carried her to her room and tucked her into bed. She lifted her head for a moment to tell him good night, and then fell aganist the pillows and began to breathe softly and steadily. Falco softly crept to his own room.

He could hear the wind rustling through the trees, and as he looked out the window he saw the lantern on Gil's cart as it disappeared around the bend. He reflected for a moment on Camille, Rory, and their mother; on the musicians; and on the man from Rohan. And then he thought of Marigold, with her sweet little ways, and her shining eyes that recalled to him the days of his youth. He turned and went to his bed.

"At least," he said, after opening one of the drawers to make sure the tin whistle that had belonged to Marigold's father was still safe, "there are lads like Gil and Tomlin and the other boys who can keep on singing the old songs, when I'm growing as old as the songs myself."

[Child of the 7th Age]

Miz Bella sat by herself at a small table in the corner reflecting on everything that had happened earlier in the evening. The night had been a busy one. She had managed to slip in a word to Reggie and Daisy's parents that they were welcome to come to her room in the morning and make arrangements for the children to attend school. She had also talked briefly with Marigold and reminded the little lass to speak with Master Headstrong if he wished to have her join the other children in the classroom.

Before leaving the Inn with Rory, Lily had promised that her daughter would return to help Bella clean the schoolroom and set out the tables and chairs along with all the other supplies that the young hobbits would need. Despite Lilly's assurance that Camille would be happy to help, Bella suspected otherwise. A look of profound annoyance had flashed over Camille's face and was just as quickly masked when she was speaking with her mother. Then the lass had abruptly stood up and stomped off towards the kitchen. Bella wondered if she had unknowingly said or done something to offend the young lass. She could not think of anything, but some hobbits were more sensitive than others and could take umbrage at even the smallest thing. She resolved to be more careful and try to mend fences when Camille showed up to work.

Overhearing some conversation at the next table that centered on puppets, Bella made a mental note to try and run down those fellows the next day and find out what they had meant. Perhaps there was a group of puppeteers who would be putting on a show at the Inn. Or, even better, perhaps the puppets could be used by the children to help put on a show themselves. She had never tried her hand at making a puppet, but how different could it be from the dozens of items that she had carved over the years?

The Elders in the New Lands had taught her how to use sandstone and wood and skillfully carve these materials to create a hundred different birds and beasts. She was not especially good at singing or dancing as so many hobbits seemed to be, but she could craft images of living things that looked so real it was easy to forget they were only copies. This was the main reason that she had spent time with the Dwarves in the region of Dale, hoping to study some of the handiwork that they had produced. Their work was clever but quite different from what she had learned over the seas. The people of the northern islands brought a certain reverence and seriousness even to the smallest of their creations that was simply lacking in the toys that she had seen in Dale. Camelia Goodchild had once told Bella she should look for such purity in the work of the Elves, particularly in those things crafted by the Noldor, but she had no idea how or where to find such Elves, and many of them had already left Arda.

There was something sad about that. With a sigh Bella stood up, intending to head to her room when she saw a young lad take a tumble off a chair. She thought of running over to help, but there were a number of others crowded about the lad, and they seemed to have the situation under control. Still tired from her adventures of the day before, Bella slipped out into the corridor and wearily headed back to her room for the night.