The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[piosenniel]

‘Oh, aye, there’s a booth for quilts, Violet. And I’ve no doubt there’ll be room for your quilts. Lovely patterns you use, as I recall.’ Cook smiled and nodded her head. ‘I remember trading for one of your little ones one year. All blue like the sky in summer . . . that was the borders. And daisies in all sorts of colors quilted in the blocks.’ Vinca chuckled, her eyes glinting as if the quilt hung in the space before them. ‘An all over you’d quilted little ladybugs in your fine stitching, trailing from one block over another. And scatterings of leaves as I recall.’ Her gaze moistened a bit, then blinked back to normal. ‘Gave that one to my little granddaughter.’

She poured them each a small swallow of dandelion wine, taking out two of her small thin crystal flutes to do so. The ladies held the glasses up to the light from the kitchen’s window. It swam through the sweet, golden liquid in a lazy way, just as summer sun light does through a summer’s day thick with promise.

‘To last summer!’ said Cook, clinking the rim of her glass lightly against Violet’s. ‘And to the next!’ laughed Violet, lifting the glass to her lips.

Cook sat down for a few moments – her cookie dough could wait for the while. The ladies fell to talking about previous fairs, gossip mostly, and not all of the favorable sort.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Fatty and Gerdy Chubb

The ale was disappearing quickly into the greedy mouths of those who crowded about the display and Fatty was hard pressed to keep the mugs moving quickly enough to satisfy them. He cast an anxious eye about for his brother and cousin. Fordogrim was still locked in conversation with the Innkeeper – if conversation it could be called for the mistress of the Inn had been standing there looking at the diminutive hobbit for a long time without speaking, presumably meditating upon her reply – and Gerdy was nowhere to be seen. “Hoy, there, Mister Chubb! Another mug of the Gold if you please!” Fatty poured out another frothing cup and passed it to the hand which belonged to the voice. From across the yard he saw the boy Tim who had gone to stable the ponies with Gerdy. He was walking across the yard as though in search of someone but Fatty, who was beginning to feel as though he were being buried by empty mugs, cajoling fists, and jostling elbows, was well past the point at which politeness was his primary concern.

“Master Tim!” he cried, and then again, even louder when the stableboy failed to hear his voice above the commotion about the wagon, “MASTER TIM!” This time he saw the lad perk up his ears and look his way. “WHERE HAS MY BROTHER GERDY GOT TO?” Tim looked about and shrugged, then pointed to the stables as though to indicate that the hobbit might still there. Fatty turned back to his customers, now openly grumbling.

As if on cue his brother emerged from the stable and began walking slowly toward where Fatty was now almost being utterly overwhelmed. Some of the customers, impatient with waiting for their free sample, were stepping over the bar and helping themselves. “Gerdy!” Fatty cried, “Get over here, lad and lend a hand!”

Gerdy looked at his right hand before replying, “I can lend you two brother, if I can have them back when you’re done needing them. I’ve only just come from tending to the ponies and have yet to inquire about rooms for ourselves. That nice Master Tim spoke highly of this here Inn and said that we were sure to be made welcome. He also asked how long we’d be staying so I gave that some thought, but I’m not sure I got it precisely the right way around. The way I see it…” By this point he had come close enough to Fatty for his brother to thrust a couple of empty mugs into his hands and roughly turn him about to face the customers, so the conversation was soon cut short. The two brothers fought on, but the crowd was clearly getting the better of them. Neither of them knew how much longer they could hold on without reinforcements. They cast many a glance at their cousin, wondering when he would be done gabbing with the tall woman and get back to something useful.

[Folwren]

Tim stood leaning against a tree by the front of the inn. He watched the two Chubb brothers, handing out the ale as quickly as they could fill the mugs. The two hobbits seemed hard pressed and desperate for help. Tim chuckled slightly and straightened himself up. He was just the size of a hobbit, maybe a little taller, and figured he'd be able to do the work they did just as easily.

He walked around the crowd of free takers to where Fatty and Gerdy stood behind the casks of ale, working as quickly as they could. Tim stepped up beside Fatty.

"Here," he said, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows, "I can serve from this cask."

Fatty gave him a glance that looked as thought he doubted that Tim could manage a tap, but Tim had already taken one of the mugs and filled it and handed it off to someone reaching for ale. He flashed the hobbit a grin and took another mug.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman stared at the hobbit, amazed at his audacity, then simply laughed - she couldn't help it. Something about the hobbit's showmanlike manner was comical, despite himself, yet in his chirpiness he also seemed so totally sincere. Throwing up her hands, she held a hand out - and down - to Fordogrim and shook his firmly. "An excellent businessman that you are, Master Chubb," she conceded with a grin. "I don't suppose I really have much of a choice..."

"But a wise choice the remaining option makes anyway, Mistress Innkeeper," replied the hobbit, flashing her a grin.

"It's Aman, thanks - 'Mistress Innkeeper' makes me sound rather like a grim-faced, middle aged spinster - and if you say a word to that end, Merry, I shall have your guts for garters!"

The Innkeeper directed the last threat at the hobbit stablemaster who had approached the pair while they were talking. Merry simply gave the Innkeeper an innocent smile, then a wicked wink, and was rewarded for his pains by a quick swipe at his head. Ducking under her arm, Merry put on a face of mock hurt, but couldn't help laughing. "Oi, I didn't say a word, did I? See that, Master Chubb, an abusive employer, that's what she is! An abusive-"

"Ah, shush shush!" Aman grinned fondly at the stablemaster. Drawing herself up grandly, she adopted a superior expression. "Has the common stablemaster something to merit our attention and valuable time?"

"Only to ask if Aman would like to grace me with her prescence in getting these horses in - but then, Aman seems to have gone missing, who is this haughty trollop left in her place, hmm?"

"Ooh, I'll clap your ears such a swipe that you won't know the ringing from your own doorbell for a week!" Aman swiped once more at Merry, still laughing. Shaking her head, she replied, "Is Tim not with you?"

"Aye, 'course, and a grand lad he is too - I merely wondered. Unless, of course, you'd rather get back to that pile o' paperwork up in your rooms there..."

Aman winced, adopting a pained expression. "I shall pretend I didn't hear that, for my sake rather than yours. No, I should go and catch up with Cook - can't leave her with those hobbit goodwives all evening, their tongues would go black from all that gossip! It was a pleasure doing business with you, Master Chubb," she added, turning back to Fordogrim. "And may I bid you a good day, and may it be a prosperous one for us both!"

"I'll toast to that, aye!" Chubb agreed, holding up a hand as if toasting her with an ale mug. Aman grinned back and turned to wander across to the verandah on which Cook and the other hobbit women perched, twittering their busy, busy words excitedly, and wondered what she had got herself into with this diminuitive showman of a business-hobbit.

[Dunwen]

"Excuse me, m’am . . . I’d like to introduce you, but I guess I forgot to ask your name."

Ginger had to repeat her request. Ebba shook herself out of her shock and finally answered the hobbit. "I'm Widow Rosebank. From Bree," she said faintly, looking at Wren all the while. Ginger wondered what was wrong with the lady. She looked like she'd seen a wraith.

Ignoring Ginger, Ebba spoke to Wren, who was herself very uncomfortable under the widow's scrutiny. In a gentle voice at odds with her normal brisk manner, she asked the girl, "Your name is Wren Woodlock ? And you have a brother?" At the child's frightened nod, Ebba said, "Bless me, dearie, but we thought you two were dead or carried off by wolves or some such thing. I didn't know your Ma and Da well at all, but I've done business with your landlord nearly fifteen years. Right worried he was when he couldn't find you after your folks died."

Tears filled the girl's eyes as she realized this rather alarming woman was from Bree and knew who she and Tim were. "Please don't take us away from here, ma'am," she begged. "We like it here."

"Why, who said any such thing," exclaimed the Widow, regaining some of her usual spirit. "It will be a load off your landlord's mind to know you're both safe and well, but you look like you're doing just fine right here." She looked at the tearful little girl, and added quietly, "You and your brother are welcome to come to me for a chat any time." Looking at the hobbit, she said, "And so are you, Miss Ginger."

Still shaking her head in amazement, she left the two of them alone in the hall and made her way downstairs. She still wanted to speak to Miz Bunce, but she'd give a great deal to know how those two youngsters had ended up at the Green Dragon.