The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Firefoot]

Lily had settled her weary Clover in the stables and was now venturing outside into the party. She did not wander blindly into the middle of it, however; she remained in the shadows beneath a large tree, scanning the party for Posco. It would be no good if he saw her. Many people had gathered for the festivities, and the company was every bit as varied as Lily remembered from her last stay at the inn. She had begun to think that perhaps Posco was not here at all; after all, he hated large crowds, and viewed this prospect with despair and relief alike. She would not have to hide, but she did not know how she would ever find him otherwise. Just as she was about to emerge, she spotted him all the way across the lawn with another hobbit, Marcho, she thought. He faced away from her, and away from the table of food as well – an excellent prospect as she now realized that she was quite hungry.

She cautiously moved out into the heart of the party, blending in with the crowd, she hoped. She would load up a plate of the delicious-looking food and find some new people to sit down with, all the while keeping her eyes and ears open for some news. Always keeping people between herself and Posco, she wandered over to the food table and found herself some dinner and a cup of cool cider. Just as she was looking around for someone to sit with, a Dwarf turned around and bumped into her, causing her cider to slosh over the edges a bit, but causing no further harm.

“"I'm sorry, miss, I'm just in a rush to eat. I haven't eaten in days. I'm Gróin, Gróin Redplate. And you are?"

She made herself smile at him. “My name is Lily Thistlewool,” she answered, “and while I have not eaten in days, I have not eaten since breakfast, and hard riding makes for hungry work.” She nearly bit her tongue at this; just display her urgency for the world to see, why didn’t she? “But I was just looking for a place to sit down – perhaps we could eat dinner together?” The opportunity could not be passed up. Sitting alone would simply be too conspicuous.

Gróin nodded. “That would be well.” He started to move towards Posco’s table, and Lily thought fast. “I think there are more open tables over here,” she said, indicating the opposite direction. This was absurd, as there were plenty of open tables in both directions, and Gróin looked at her rather strangely but followed her without questioning. Lily picked a table in the middle, well blended into the party. The pair sat down, and Lily quickly started off the conversation, eager to take the focus off herself. “So, Master Gróin, I take it that you have just arrived here? Might I ask what brings you to the Green Dragon?”

[Glirdan]

"My name is Lily Thistlewood," the lady had said “and while I have not eaten in days, I have not eaten since breakfast, and hard riding makes for hungry work. But I was just looking for a place to sit down – perhaps we could eat dinner together?"

"That would be well," he responded and made towards another Hobbit sitting at the other end of the yard.

“I think there are more open tables over here,” she said, indicating the opposite side of the lawn. He was rather confused by this sudden change in where to sit and looked at her with a strange expression in his face. None the less, he followed her to where she was heading. He didn't feel like being alone in a country he didn't know. They sat down and he was Gróin was just about to tuck into his dinner when Lily abruptly asked “So, Master Gróin, I take it that you have just arrived here? Might I ask what brings you to the Green Dragon?”

"Well, yes, I have just arrived and I'm quite happy to have found this wonderful Inn. Green Dragon you called it?" He looked around the lot towards the Inn and saw the sign which was hidden from view by the crowd of people in front of the food table which was set up right in front of the Inn door. "As for my travels. I'm just wandering the country on my way to the Blue Mountains. Thought I'd take in some scenary before heading to the place of my kin," he said, thinking back to when he was just a young Dwarf when he and his family would travel to the Blue Mountains for family visits. He remembered when he and his cousins used to play hide-and-seek in the vast mansions of the Blue Mountains. "How about you? What is it like here in this peaceful country? Have you been on any travels?"

[Nurumaiel]

Silence had fallen on the table of Posco and Marcho, with the former growing more tense with each passing moment, and the latter growing more annoyed. Posco had realised from the first how futile it was to seek Lily in such a far away place, and now he was beginning to see how ridiculous he was for coming up with such a ridiculous scheme. Having Marcho as his companion made things no easier. If his brother Blanco had been there, he would have been constantly cheering him up, quite confident that Lily would come. But Marcho could do nothing but express his doubts.

"I think," said Posco, standing up abruptly, "that we ought to go inside. Everybody else is out here, and it would be a bit quieter indoors."

"They've probably locked the door," said Marcho.

Posco sat down again. Perhaps they had done exactly that. With everything to do outside, perhaps they didn't want the bother of looking after the Inn itself. Yet how peaceful it would have been indoors! And Posco stood up again.

"I'm sure they haven't locked it up," he said. "After all, there are plenty of people attending this party who will find their beds in there, and might not want to stay up too late."

"Everybody stays up late at a party," said Marcho. "They'll come staggering in drunk, I'm sure."

"Lily won't," said Posco, rather absently, for he was occupied with plotting out how he could get to the front door as obscurely as possible.

"Lily won't be anyhwere," said Marcho, "except in Bree, where she belongs."

Posco sighed a mournful sigh, and left the table. To his great relief, Marcho didn't follow him. Perhaps in the quiet of the abandoned Common Room, he could rekindle his hopes that Lily would come. If he could just have that hope for a few days... maybe at the end he could gather enough courage to go to her home. But for the present time he shuddered at the thought. Just imagine if her uncle opened the door.

Alas, the Common Room was not quite as empty as he had hoped. Apparently not all visitors to the Inn were enjoying the party. A lone hobbit, his travelling cloak still wrapped about him, sat by the window, gazing out at the bright lights and merry dancers. Posco considered leaving, but decided that the company of one hobbit was preferable to the company of many hobbits and other stranger things. He attempted to make his way unheard the opposite side of the room, but the stillness did not allow for even the slightest noise to be unnoticed.

The lone hobbit turned about to see who had entered, and instantly was on his feet, hurrying towards Posco. He took him by one hand, and then the other, and laughed heartily.

"Posco, my dear brother!" he said, releasing one hand to clap the poor confused Posco on the shoulder. "Why, don't stare at me as if I've come out of the Old Forest with a legion of hideous creatures behind me! Don't you recognise me?"

"Blanco," said Posco, and his rather weak smile was accompanied with a sigh.

"I was afraid Marcho would kill you," said Blanco, "so I told Mother I was just going to follow you, because I fancied a bit of adventure myself. Where is Marcho, anyhow?"

"He's sitting at a table out there," said Posco, with the faintest of gestures. Oddly, he felt his heart sinking within him, despite his previous thoughts that Blanco would be welcome company. Marcho was a grumpy old hobbit, but at least there was only him. Posco did not want to have an audience witnessing his meeting with Lily. And least of all he wanted Blanco to be there. He had an odd feeling concerning Blanco and Lily.

Of course Lily loved him. There had never been any doubt about it. She had loved him more than that Tommy Banks, whoever he was. But ever since their first visit to the Inn, the visit that had brought Posco and Lily to meet and love each other, Blanco had not been quite so attentive to Miss Marigold back at home. He would smile kindly at her, and he would speak with her, but his head wouldn't turn to watch when she passed by him, and he would no longer sit by the Brandywine composing poems to her golden-brown hair.

Was Marcho the only reason Blanco had come to join his brother? Could it be that another besides Posco longed with all his heart to see Lily again? Posco looked desperately at his dishevelled self, and then to Blanco, who, as usual, was perfectly neat and tidy. And no longer did he wish for Blanco's company.

[Kath]

Astilwen couldn't help but smile back as Tilionwen's face lit up. She didn't know quite what she'd done, or if she'd done anything at all to help this poor woman. Just talking might have been the catalyst that finally allowed her to free herself from the fear and sadness that had plagued her sanity for so long, but whatever the case, she certainly looked happy now. She was very glad to hear that Tilionwen would be returning to her father. She could imagine how much the man must be missing both his daughters, and the joy he would feel knowing that one at least was alive and relatively unharmed.

"Why, I seem to be forgetting my manners! I have never asked your name. And while you're at it, I guess it's your turn to tell me your tales. Anything to cheer me up; I never want to go back to that miserable life again."

"I'll be glad to try! My name is Astilwen. I'm from the Shire so you'll know the old tales I'm sure, of the famous travellers and the battle. Those have been told so often now the walls probably know them!"

She was grateful to see Tilionwen laugh at the comment, and hastliy set about recalling amusing stories from her home. She soon had the other woman in fits with a tale of her little brother, who had once been sitting at the garden gate playing a game with some sticks and stones, when an older hobbit had passed by and bent down to see what he was doing.

"I'm playing war." The little hobbit had said. "Would you like to join in?"

The old hobbit had agreed and had sat down to take the opposing side. The two had been playing for a good hour or so when Astilwen's mother had returned. Unfortunately, she rounded the corner just in time to see the old hobbit play-beating her youngest son over the head with a stone. Filled with motherly outrage she had pulled the poor hobbit to his feet, picked up his cane and chased him down the road with it screeching,

"How do you like it?!"

Astilwen herself always laughed when she remembered the story, and did so now, getting out the ending amidst giggles.

"When she finally found out what had really happened she went round to the poor things house and apologised. We made him cakes and sweets for weeks until he finally came back and said he'd enjoyed the whole event, that it had been the most excitement he'd had in weeks!"

She lost her voice as the laughter overcame her, and the two sat for a while chuckling to themselves. Astliwen's mind wandered for a moment, and she stopped laughing as a new question formed.

"But when will you leave? I don't wish you to go but if your father lives a long way off you will have to go soon or travel through the winter."

[Koobdooga]

Ibun gave Baldin a great grin. The tips of his mustache curved up until they nearly touched the corners of his eyes. And those same eyes glinted merrily at the thought of another strong arm to aid in the recovery of the Deeps.

‘Well, then,’ he said, reaching into the inner pocket of his vest. ‘This calls for something a bit stronger than Shire ale to celebrate!’ He pulled out a silvered flask, all worked with fine traceries, now much smoothed over with age. ‘A wee dram of Dwarven spirits is what I’m thinking.’

Ibun poured out a finger’s width each in clean mugs and passed one to Baldin.

May your ax be sharp
Your forge fire hot
And your beard grow long and thick as Durin’s!

. . . he spoke, raising his glass to his tablemate.

[Lasbelinion]

As Aniriel spoke, Callë watched the expressions on her face. She wondered what dire things had happened that drove the woman from her home to seek . . . what? Pleasure? A peaceful mind? Was she running to something or away? What could so fair a maid have endured that would set her on such a path? Perhaps when they knew one another better, Aniriel would tell her. Or perhaps not . . . there were some secrets best left locked away, or so she'd found.

The Shire was a pleasant place, she mused. One in which a burden might be laid aside. But the very pleasantness of it had its own dangers. The air here was sweet, and thick as honey, or so she had come to think of it. A traveler might find herself made to feel so safe and so drowsy that her feet might cease to travel on and years later that same wanderer might find themselves old and wrinkled and sitting in the Dragon holding the same mug as when first she’d entered through the oaken door. ‘One could fall outside of time here, somehow,’ she thought to herself. ‘Even a fair land such as this might prove perilous in its own way.’

Callë shook herself out of her musings and smiled at Aniriel. ‘I would not even begin to think that you might shame your family,’ she said, wanting the woman to understand she harbored no ill thoughts of her. ‘Whatever burdens you bear, I hope your traveling has eased them somehow.’

The little band had begun to play another lovely. Callë’s eyes lit up at the familiar words and the lively tune; her feet began to tap to it. ‘Oh! I know that song. We sing it in my country.’ She stood up and grinned at Aniriel. ‘Let’s go over to where the band is and dance a little. Leave any troubles we have sitting here in these chairs!’

She looked to where a number of people were stepping lively to the music. ‘In my country, only the married couples or the ones promised to each other dance together. We maidens dance with each other. Is that your custom, too?’ She looked again and saw a number of Halfling women dancing with other women or by themselves. ‘What do you say? Shall we join them?’

***

In the village of Kilgory, there's a maiden young and fair
Her eyes they shine like diamonds, she has long and golden hair
But the countryman comes riding, rides up to her father's gates
Riding on a milk-white stallion, he comes at the strike of eight.

Step it out, Mary, my fine daughter
Step it out, Mary, if you can
Step it out, Mary, my fine daughter
Show your legs to the countryman

Well, I have come to court your daughter, Mary of the golden hair
I have gold and I have silver, I have goods beyond compare
I will buy her silks and satin and a gold ring for her hand
I will buy for her a mansion, she'll have servants to command

Step it out, Mary, my fine daughter
Step it out, Mary, if you can
Step it out, Mary, my fine daughter
Show your legs to the countryman

I don't want your gold and silver, I don't want your house and land
I am going with a soldier, I have promised him my hand
But the father spoke up sharply: You will do as you are told,
You'll get married on the Sunday and you'll wear that ring of gold

Step it out, Mary, my fine daughter
Step it out, Mary, if you can
Step it out, Mary, my fine daughter
Show your legs to the countryman

In the village of Kilgory there's a deep stream flowing by
On her marriage day at midnight she drowned with her soldier boy
In the cottage there is music, you can hear her father say:
Step it out, Mary, my fine daughter, Sunday is your wedding day.

Step it out, Mary, my fine daughter
Step it out, Mary, if you can
Step it out, Mary, my fine daughter
Show your legs to the countryman

[Firefoot]

"How about you? What is it like here in this peaceful country? Have you been on any travels?"

“The Shire is a delightful country – rather quiet, perhaps, but very enjoyable,” answered Lily. “But I am not probably the best person to ask about it – I come from Bree, and I have only been here once before. Hobbits in Bree often say that the folk here are strange, but I have not found it to be so. They’re really just the same, though perhaps they are more secluded here. From what I have seen of it, the rest of the Shire is not nearly so… varied in company as here at the Green Dragon. I suppose that answers your other question as well, though Dwarves are well-traveled folk, it seems, and my own journeys – from Bree to here, and I have spent some time in Buckland – undoubtedly seem rather inextensive.” Here she drifted off, for she caught sight of Posco standing up from his table. She felt a moment of panic when it seemed he might be coming her way – where could she go? – and was relieved to see that he had turned towards the inn, then gone inside.

She realized the silence that had settled over the table and felt like kicking herself again. Gróin had turned to follow her gaze, and now looked back at her. “Did you see something?”

Lily shook her head. “Just someone I thought I knew.” Which was true. She had thought that she had known Posco, but apparently he had not been quite how he seemed – surely the Posco that she had known would never have betrayed her in such a way. It still seemed impossible. She noticed that she had fallen silent again, and she smiled weakly. This was not going well. “This place brings back many memories,” she explained rather vaguely. “Even if my travels are few, I do rather enjoy it. It creates for rather memorable experiences, don’t you think? Though perhaps it becomes less exciting when you travel a great deal...?”

[Dunwen]

The widow looked down at her empty plate with some surprise. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she’d started eating. Now, after a delicious helping of roat chicken, gravy and mashed potatoes, she was still hungry. ‘Hobbit-life must be rubbing off on me’, she thought, amused. However, the Shire was a fine place possible to pick up Hobbit-like habits, so she decided she would indeed return to the food tables. Avoiding a newly-arrived dwarf and passing by a giant of a man sitting with a younger man with hair like fire, she made her way once more to the food tables. Even though a large gathering of hobbits had been eating steadily for some time, the redoubtable Miz Bunce and her helpers were equal to the challenge. There was still plenty of food to choose from, including several desserts. Widow Rosebank decided the hobbits had the right idea when she saw several hobbits fill their plates with two or three (or four or five) desserts at once. She couldn’t equal their appetites, but she did choose a crisp apple and slices of tangy cheese, a piece of carrot cake and one of the spice cookies made in the Green Dragon’s kitchen earlier that very day. Sitting back down, she continued to watch the crowd as she polished off the tasty sweets.

Step it out, Mary, my fine daughter
Step it out, Mary, if you can
Step it out, Mary, my fine daughter
Show your legs to the countryman

It was a familiar old song, and a tune she’d never been able to resist. In her youth, she'd been a fixture at any party in Bree with dancing and music, and her feet hadn't lost their urge to step and twirl to the jolly sound of a fiddle and pipe. She watched two young women, clearly strangers to Shire, get up to join the crowd of hobbit lasses dancing with the band. 'Seems like a good idea,' she thought, grinning in a most un-middle-aged way. Widow Rosebank tipped back her mug and finished off the last of her ale, then hastened to join the other dancing girls and women.

[Lhunardawen]

Tilionwen couldn't remember laughing so hard ever in her life, even when her sister was still alive. But here she was, with a kind hobbit-lady whose name she had only known a few minutes before, and already they seemed to be going along so well. As she listened to her stories she momentarily forgot - not for the first time that evening - about everything going on around her. She stepped into a new world with Astilwen, and in that world there was only laughter.

Their guffaws were soon reduced to chuckles, and then to complete silence. Reality came crashing back when Astilwen spoke again:

"But when will you leave? I don't wish you to go but if your father lives a long way off you will have to go soon or travel through the winter."

Tilionwen had also been thinking along those lines, but she couldn't bring herself to mention it. She had been having so much fun with Astilwen that she didn't want to leave the Inn and her company. You promised, she gently reminded herself.

"I intend to leave as soon as may be. Tomorrow morning, actually." Looking at Astilwen's eyes, Tilionwen thought she saw a glimmer of sadness in them. Must be my imagination. Or maybe not.

"But I still have a few hours," she continued with a reassuring smile. "Will you help me make the most of them?"