The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Larien Telemnar]

The Hobbit jumped at a voice next to her. She looked at the other Hobbitlass and smiled faintly.

"I'm so sorry, I did not see you. Yes please, and thank you." She looked down at her hands for a moment. Say something anything. She's being friendly. You can't be shy forever. You're not at home anymore. She thought, swinging her feet back and forth uncomfortably. She finally resolved to say something.

"I am Larien, who might you be?" She asked, thinking how boring a conversation starter that must be.

[Lasbelinion]

One’s own thoughts seemed to flee in the presence of Cook. It’s as if she wove magics with her words. Though not the sort as his kindred could, but of a simpler, more mundane variety. It was an earthy sort of discernment that took one out of consideration as a central point, a solitary point and instead placed one firmly within the fabric of the Shire. And here he was. In the Shire.

We’ve all got our problems don’t we? And luckily most can find a way to the other side of them.

Where would that leave me, he wondered to himself.

He watched her as she smoothed out the tablecloth and brought out the sweets and the tea. With a few light words she directed his help. He rolled her requests about in his mind. He did not find that they rankled. Not orders from master to slave. An underlying assumption of being on the same footing, of camaraderie smoothed the edges.

Does she chide me with her talk of the woman and the man? Should I have been more forthcoming, less given to judgment without all the facts?

Lithmîrë covered his quandaries with sips of the refreshing tea. The warmth of it and the closeness of the bower as the trees blocked the breezes made him raise his hand, unthinking to push back his hood.

‘Tell me about the places you gardened. What sorts of plants did you grow there? And how did you find the soil?’ he heard her say. Before answering he looked closely at her, gauging her reaction to his scars.

[Primrose Bolger]

Talking to Larien

‘Larien. That’s a lovely name. I’ve not heard it before.’ Ginger poured a small mug of cider for herself and sat down. ‘My name’s Ginger Gamwich. From Hobbiton, not too far across the road. Mostly I work in the kitchen, helping Cook. But right now everything’s ready for supper, so I’ve got a break for a while. You don’t mind if I sit with you, do you?’

One of the other servers, Buttercup, came by and left a plate of little plum tarts for the two lasses. Ginger took one and passed the plate to Larien. ‘You planning on staying for a little while,’ Ginger asked as she munched on the sweet. ‘There’s going to be the Spring Faire in less than a week. Right here at the Inn. Or are you just passing through?’

Gosh, Ginger Gamwich you needn’t be so nosy right off! She sighed and took a sip of her cider, hoping she hadn’t sounded too nosy.

[Larien Telemnar]

‘Larien. That’s a lovely name. I’ve not heard it before.’

"Thank you." Larien murmered as Ginger poured a mug of cider. "Yours is very nice, too." Another Hobbitlass placed a plate on their table. Ginger passed it to Larien after taking one for herself. Larien smiled shyly and took one as well.

She listened quietly as Ginger asked her a few questions.

"I- I do no know if I will be staying. I though to visit The Shire before returning to...." Her voice trailed off and she smiled ruely. "Yes, I believe I will be staying. The Shire is a pleasant place, I belive I shall enjoy living among my own people for a while. What is this "Spring Faire" You talk about? Is it some kind of contest, perhaps for archery?"

Larien smiled and felt the tension she was feeling begin to fade as she relaxed and decided that Ginger was a fine young Hobbitlass. Perhaps I have made my first friend here. She thought.

[piosenniel]

Lithmîrë and the pot of salve

Cook dipped down for a moment and fished about in the basket she’d set at her feet. Somewhere, near the bottom she supposed, was something she had been waiting for the opportune moment to bring out. ‘Oh, I know it’s in here somewhere,’ came the muffled and slightly exasperated voice beneath the edge of the table.

Her hand made purchase on the rim of the pot (it had slipped under the two towels she’d wrapped the flask of tea in). ‘There we go,’ she said shoving her bonnet back into place as she straightened up. With a small nod and an encouraging smile, she scooted the pot across the narrow distance that separated them.

‘Now, please don’t think me too forward, Master Lithmîrë,’ she said, gesturing that he should open the pot. ‘I couldn’t help but notice earlier that your hand looked like it had been burnt. And a while ago, from the scarring. My late husband was a soapmaker. When we were first married there was an accident. He was boiling down the mixture and he slipped from the stool he was standing on at the kettle’s edge. My stars! What a burn he got on his arm; the one that slipped in. Anyways, to make a long story shorter, I had to cobble up a number of salves and lotions to help him out along the way. Couldn’t heal it up, of course. The lye water and hot grease had burnt too deeply. But it did ease up the pain of it and kept the scars from making the limb so stiff.’

Cook gave resigned sigh as she surveyed the scars on the Elf’s face and arm. ‘Wish you’d come through Bywater sooner; that it hadn’t gotten so bad as it must be by now.’ She cocked her head at him and hesitated, wondering how he would take her next question. ‘Are you using tincture of poppy in your tea?’

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger noticed the Hobbit hesitated about where she’d come from. She’d learned, though, even in her short time working at the Inn, that it was better to let those hesitations lie. Perhaps Larien might offer more of an explanation at a later date, but for now, Ginger decided it would be best if she were left to her secrets. Best stick to safer subjects.

Taking a sip of cider, Ginger launched enthusiastically into an explanation of the Spring Faire. The Inn and its yard would be all decorated up with ribbons and streamers. And little lanterns would be hung in all the trees. There’d be lots of booths set up with all sorts of interesting things to see and buy or trade for. Lots of tables, too, with all sorts of cakes and cookies and pies to eat. And vote on . . . ribbons were given out and many of the ladies in Bywater and Hobbiton would be competing for them.

‘There are other contests, too,’ she went on. ‘Archery is one of them. Do you know how to use a bow? I never learned.’ Without waiting for Larien to answer, Ginger continued. ‘There’s axe throwing, too, and other woodsmen skills. And there’s a big tug-of-war. Foot races . . . Gosh, it all goes on for a couple of days. Oh, and at night, there’s music and dancing.’ Ginger grinned thinking about how Ferdy would be escorting her this year and she’d have someone to dance to all the music with.

‘So what do you say? You can walk around with me and my Ferdy. It’ll be fun!’

[Larien Telemnar]

Larien listened as Ginger explained the Spring Faire, thinking how exciting it all must be. Perhaps I shhould go. I need to get to know my kinspeople. She thought, smiling at Ginger's last question.

"I would love to accompany you, Ginger. I do know how to use a bow, but not as well as some people I know. Who is Ferdy?"