The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[piosenniel]

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Hunt for the Palantíri

The Discussion thread for the RPG is now open to take on players.

See you there!

[Envinyatar]

The repairs to the old caretaker’s cottage at the edge of the Inn property were moving along at a rapid pace. It was the roof for the most part that was in need of patching and mending. The interior itself was in good shape – just wanting a coat of fresh paint and the shooing out of several swallows and an owl that had take up residence in the rafters.

Derufin had gone up to the roof to patch the southern section. The sub roofing was still in good shape, but many shingles and been blown off, and the planks that held them needed a good coating of pitch and tar to seal the cracks where there edges abutted. He set to with a will and took off a number of shingles around the damaged area then began mopping on the sealant.

The four Hobbit lads had plans of their own along the southern wall of the cottage. And soon he could hear them banging with sledges on the interior wall, in the room beneath his feet. Derufin crept to the edge of the roof and lying down on his stomach saw a plaster-dusted hobbit issue out through a hole in the wall. ‘Oy!’ he shouted down to the lad, who was ripping out large sections of wall planking with his crowbar. ‘That was a perfectly good wall! Why have you knocked a hole in it?’

The Hobbit, Tomlin, squinted up at the man, and pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket. ‘Right here on the plans,’ he said pointing to the drawings on the paper. ‘Got to come out if we’re to build another room.’ Tomlin motioned for one of his mates to come out and look at the size of the opening.

‘What plans? And what room?’ yelled down Derufin, as the other Hobbit, Fallon, shook his head ‘no’ indicating with his hands that the hole needed to be wider. Tomlin held up his hand, signaling to Derufin to wait a moment while he and Fallon conferred. When Fallon had disappeared inside, Tomlin cocked his head up at Derufin and grinned.

‘Cook’s plan’s, Derufin,’ he said, shrugging his shoulders as if the man should have known. ‘The old cottage has only one bedroom, you see.’

‘No, I don’t quite see,’ growled Derufin, frowning as another section of the wall came tumbling. ‘Mind you don’t knock down the structure supports,’ he called down in alarm towards the enlarging hole.’

‘Oh, they’ll be careful. They’ve done this afore for the as prefers to live in wooden dwellings.’ Tomlin stepped back as Fallon came out for another look. Hands on hips the two of them looked smugly toward their handiwork and called out the other two workers, Gil and Ferrin. ‘Right, then, lads! We’ll just start the clearing away and begin the framing.’

The sound of a sweet voice came round the edge of the cottage, accompanied by the tempting smells of fresh baked scones and a flagon of fresh brewed sweet-tea. ‘Cook’s sent a snack to hold you til breakfast,’ said Buttercup, eyeing the lads who had gathered round her like bees to a flower. ‘Now wash up a bit and help me unload the baskets. The Hobbits fell all over themselves in their rush to be the first back to assist her.

Derufin shook his head, and couldn’t help laughing at the calf-eyed fellows. He climbed over the roof to the ladder on the other side and clambered down. He was thirsty, himself, and could do with a mug of tea. Zimzi was there, smiling, as he reached the ground. ‘I’ve escaped “The List” for a few moments,’ she laughed, telling him how Cook had drawn up a great list of things to be done and was slowly working the staff and herself through it. ‘Come,’ she said, taking his hand, ‘Let’s get you a mug of tea and a scone before the Hobbits eat them all.’

Once the mugs were filled and the scones handed round, Buttercup smiled prettily at the workers and said she must be off. There were groans of disappointment and calls of ‘Can’t you stay a bit?’ But she was firm, saying there were things to be done back at the Inn – Ruby would brings them out lunch – then she would expect them washed and ready for dinner back in the Common Room in the early evening. ‘Serve you myself,’ she promised, taking Zimzi in hand and urging her back to the Inn.

The men, all five of them, looked wistfully after the women as they disappeared across the grounds. ‘Well, then – back to it, lads!’ shouted Tomlin. The sooner started, the sooner done.’ Fallon, Gil, and Ferrin began unloading the lumber from the wagon along with sawhorses and saws.

Derufin started back toward the ladder, then paused. ‘About my last question – the one about the room – you didn’t answer what it was for. Gil and Ferrin, came near, bearing the ends of a long piece of planking on their broad shoulders. They raised their brows at Tomlin on hearing the man’s question, then started chuckling. Tomlin scratched his head, and peered up at Derufin as if the man had gone quite dense. ‘It’s for the wee ones, of course,’ he said, speaking slowly in case the heat of mid-morning had dulled Derufin’s brain. ‘You’re to be wed, or so we’ve been told . . . and to that lovely creature who came with our own Buttercup just now.’ Tomlin picked up a piece of chalk and a string for measuring the lengths to be cut. ‘There’ll be plenty of little ones for Cook to fuss over . . . she’s told us so. And so we’re making the room for them – all nice and sunny, here on the south . . .’

[Eiz]

As he broke a piece of bread, Thanatos stole a glance at the elf maiden. He smiled inwardly as he looked at his friend fondly. Mulawin had grown from that young lad who trailed behind him never tiring of stories of the wilds. He considered the young man more of a younger brother than a friend.

Mulawin was saying "Thanatos has been with the rangers longer than I. He's been to places I have not reached yet. Even far down to the borders of the Harad."

"The Haradrim are a fierce people. They've often invaded Gondor's territories. The Haradrim were one of the fiercest allies of the Enemy. Its a blessing that King Elessar now rules- its been a while since Gondor had a king."

Thanatos sat back, a far away look on his face.

"Thana, you've been to Rohan. Were you able to see the Mearas?"asked Mulawin.

"Aye indeed. And magnificent is an understatement to describe them!"

He smiled at Gwenneth. "Do you ride, my Lady?"

[starkat]

Gwenneth watched as Mulawin greeted his friend. She smiled at him when he bowed. When Rose came by to take Thanatos’ order, the elf maid asked for a refill of her tea. She returned to eating and did not notice Thanatos glance at her. Gwenneth was brought to attention when she heard Mulawin say that Thanatos had traveled far in Middle Earth. She listened to his description of Harad.

When the two rangers began speaking about Rohan, she hid a smile. Thanatos spoke of seeing the Mearas. He asked her about riding and Gwenneth returned his smile.

“I enjoy riding tremendously. My mare, Elenath is from Rohan. My father gave her to me a couple of years ago. I got interested in horse training when I was younger and my parents always had a difficult time getting me out of the barn.”

Gwenneth began speaking about some of the horses that she had trained. Her brothers had both gotten horses and asked her to train them. Getting involved in her topic, the elf maid spoke of the days she spent training horses. Finally she began speaking about her mare.

“My father brought her back from Rohan along with two other horses. I went out to the pasture where they were and walked into the midst of them. The other two paid little attention to me. Elenath followed my every movement and after a few moments she came to me. I guess you could say that we chose each other.”

Realizing that she had been talking for several minutes, Gwenneth flushed with embarrassment. “Goheno nin. Forgive me for monopolizing the conversation.” She turned to Thanatos, “The Mearas. Did you ever see Shadowfax? Please tell me something of Rohan. I hope to travel there one day.”

[piosenniel]

‘Who are all these ladies?’ Zimzi whispered her question to Buttercup as they entered the kitchen through the back door. Gathered about Cook were fourteen or perhaps it was fifteen young ladies, all looking like freshly picked flowers in their bright yellows and greens and reds and blues. And every one of them had a freshly pressed apron pinned on along with a bright scarf to tie back their curls.

‘Miz Bunce has called upon their mama’s for help in getting the Inn in order for the arrival of your family and the hand-fasting. Most of them will be helping with the cleaning of rooms and the polishing of the best silver. The fancy linen tablecloths and napkins will all be washed and ironed. And at the end of the week they’ll be the ones to weave the festoons of evergreens and gather the flowers for the arrangements from the garden.’ She nudged Zimzi’s attention toward the group of four older ladies who stood apart from the group, looking on. ‘And those over there will assist cook with the making of the meal . . . Miz Bunce, of course will put the cake together herself . . .’

‘So much work! It’s wonderful! Their generosity leaves me speechless.’ Zimzi beamed at the group and at Cook.

‘Well,’ said Buttercup, ‘Cook is quite fond of Mister Derufin . . . and of you, too. And the lasses are more than willing to help, if truth be told. Tomorrow, many of the single lads will come in to help with the hauling in of the supplies that Cook has ordered and to get the yard in order for the grand party afterwards. There’ll be much eyeing of one another as the week progresses and comments traded in a flirty manner. And by the time the party and the dance is here, there’ll be pairs of dancers ready for it, if you catch my meaning.’ Buttercup nodded her head sagely. ‘Yes . . . I would bet, despite the lasses’ ages, their mothers all saw to their dresses and aprons and scarves for the head before they left the burrows. And all are hoping that in a year or perhaps less, they will be calling on other goodwives of the town to assist in their daughter’s wedding . . .’ Buttercup grinned up at Zimzi. ‘There’s far more to the whole thing than just you and Mister Derufin, you see . . .’

Zimzi laughed delightedly, thinking how much the Hobbits were like the good people of her own little town. ‘Yes,’ she said, grinning back at Buttercup. ‘I do indeed see.’

[Amanaduial the archer]

"Then you begin to see the ways of the Shire, dear Zimzi." The group in the kitchen turned to see Aman leaning in her usual position against the doorway, wearing riding gear and holding a large, serious looking wooden box tucked under. Buttercup smiled and beckoned her in before turning back to the beautiful vase of lillies in front of her, plumping them up and arranging delicately the wide, snowy bells of their blooms.

Zimzi cocked her head onto one side as Aman approached, her smile questioning. "Where was it you left to so early this morning, hmm, Aman?" she asked curiously. The Innkeeper merely smiled mysteriously at her and winked, then laid the large box flat on the table, turning to Buttercup. "Where is Cook?"

"Cook? Why, I'm not entirely sure...she went back out a while ago to talk to some more of the goodwives about..." she trailed off, waving a hand vaguely, her eyes staring into midair, then looked back at Aman. "Would you like me to call her?"

"No!" Aman started suddenly, hands up in front of her, eyes wide, before she gathered herself. "I mean...well, I don't want to bother her, you know, not when all is so busy and..." now it was the Innkeeper's turn to trail off. Buttercup raised an eyebrow and let her eyes flicker down to Aman's garb. The Rohirrim woman grinned ruefully, brushing her windswept hair back with a gloved hand and nodded. "Exactly. Cook has never really...approved of my riding clothes," she said carefully.

Ruby chuckled, shaking her head. "'Never trust a woman wearing leather', that's what she's always said," she laughed, reaching for the wooden box and opening it to reveal about a score and a half of fine, rusty red apples nestled neatly and tightly in straw nests. Smiling approvingly, she murmured something about alerting Miss Bunce and bustled off.

Zimzi stood back, arms crossed, looking skeptical. "Much as I like apples, Aman...do you mean to tell me that you have been riding since the crack of dawn merely to get some?"

Aman wagged a finger at her in mock sternness. "Ah, do not underestimate the value of a good harvest of apples, Zimzi!" She grinned teasingly then shook her head. "Alright, so maybe that wasn't exactly what I was riding for... Come, help me escape Cook before she sees me wearing my riding clothes!" She leant forward and took Zimzi's hand firmly, leading her furtively out of the kitchen. Looking back, she rolled her eyes at the other woman. "Never trust a woman in leather indeed! Come, Zimzi, I need to show you something."

As Aman led the other through the Common Room briskly, Zimzi paused, pulling back slightly although she seemed quite happy to go along with it - after all, she had been simply going along with other people's plans all morning. "Aman, you are being rather mysterious this morning, and that's saying something as you've only been here for five minutes. What is this about now?"

Aman flashed a smile back at her as they reached the bottom of the stairs, letting go of the other's hand. "A gift," she replied softly.

Zimzi hesitated at the word, her brow crinkling slightly. "A gi-...Aman, I'm not sure...I mean, before the handfasting..."

Aman shook her head impatiently. "No, no, this is...well, it is a gift more to you than to Derufin. It is not my single gift for the handfasting, of course, but is something...special..." she stopped, looking at Zimzi with troubled eyes before she clapped her hands worriedly. "Oh, come on, Zimzi, please - Miss Bunce will skin me alive!"

~*~

Zimzi having gone along with the Innkeeper's plan, Aman led her up the stairs to her own room, but when they reached their destination, she stopped the other before she went in. Biting her lip like a child about to give another her Christmas present, she beamed and bid Zimzi close her eyes. The woman looked at her incredulously, but she begged her to do so. Eventually, the other did so and Aman darted into her room.

Crossing the sparsely furnished room briskly, she stopped at the foot of her bed, where a large, deep chest sat: Aman's treasure chest. Beaming to herself, Aman knelt in front of the chest and opened it carefully. Reaching in, past the various pieces of paraphenalia which were scattered over the dark wood, the drew out a slightly battered cardboard box, about a foot long and several inches deep. She paused over it, her fingers lingering above it, before she leapt up and walked back to the door, opening it and leading in her victim. In the quiet of the room, she took of the lid of the box and guided Zimzi's fingers onto the object that laid within.

Zimzi's brow furrowed as she ran her fingers over the surface, attempting to work out what it was, before her eyes suddenly opened wide in surprise as she worked it out. Carefully and slowly, she pulled it out, standing to behold Aman's gift in it's full glory: a beautiful ivory white dress, the material soft and smooth, as finely made as any material anywhere in Middle Earth. The curved v-neck was adorned with a simple, delicate pattern of mallorn leaves, matching the pattern at the end of the wide, sloping sleeves which ended at the elbow, with the long undersleeves a slightly darker shade of dove grey. The fitted bodice gave way to a flowing, unconstricting skirt, which seemed about the right length for Zimzi.

Zimzi looked up at Aman in shock, holding the dress out from her by the shoulders, speechless. The Innkeeper smiled bashfully, and shrugged a little, looking away. "I found it among the clothes in the attic, and it seemed somewhat finer than the others. I couldn't have worn it myself - it's a little too long, see, about your length, and once I consulted a few of the hobbit goodwives, gave it a spruce up, you know, embelished the leaf patterns a little..." she trailed off, her green eyes meeting Zimzi's deep brown ones again, anxiously.

"Aman, I-" Zimzi stopped, her eyes fixed on the dress, before she turned it to hold it up to herself, measuring the length.

"It cleaned up well, and what with the light colour, and the season, and the joyfullness of the event - well, it seemed suitable, you see," Aman gushed on awkwardly, admiring the dress with her head on one side as she stepped forward nervously, taking one of the sleeves in her hands, the dark leather of her gloves a stark contrast against the soft, light material as she swung it slightly, fidgeting. "It is a fine dress, no mistake - but you don't have to wear it if you don't want to, of course, it was merely an idea, you know, a thought that-"

"Aman..."

Zimzi's voice halted Aman's onslaught and she looked back at Zimzi, biting her lip nervously. "Do you like it?" she said nervously.

Zimzi didn't reply immediately, simply laughed and came forward to embrace Aman tightly, the dress held between them. Aman returned the embrace gladly, giving a great, contented sigh of relief as they parted. Zimzi studied the dress again, running an eye over the detail and finery embedded in the elegant, simple design. Her brow crumpled slightly suddenly and Aman felt her pulse almost stop at the sight. She nodded towards the neckline of the dress and Aman scurried around to see what it was that she was looking at.

"What is that?"

Aman peered closely with her keen eyes to see what Zimzi meant, then saw the tiny, perfectly embroidered runes she referred to: two words, one on either side, each no bigger than the width of a little fingernail. She took a moment to work it out, then realisation dawned and she smiled shyly. "It's elvish..." she murmured.

"What does it say?" Zimzi was bursting with impatience and Aman stole a quick glance back at her teasingly, then grinned. "It simply says 'melde' - love, or beloved."

Zimzi looked back at Aman, then laughed delightedly, swirling around with the dress pressed against her. Aman watched, a small smile on her face as the other woman came to face her. She nodded, satisfied. "I wasn't sure what it would be like," she said, softly. "Wasn't sure whether the light colour would look well against your dark skin..." she trailed off, looking back at Zimzi and nodding slowly. "But I see that you match it just as you match Derufin: each complimenting each other, matching, counterparts...in short, perfect." She smiled widely, putting her hands on Zimzi's shoulders as her hands were full. "You and he deserve so much happiness - I am glad you have found it together."

She sighed, seeming to come out of her reverie. Opening the door, she jerked her head towards it. "Come - I need to change my clothes, and downstairs Buttercup will be wondering where you have got to."

Zimzi nodded, carefully folding over the dress as she came to the doorway. Pausing, the looked down at Aman and smiled again. "Thank you," she murmured, then left.

[piosenniel]

Buttercup had come up the stairs to the top room on the right, thinking to lend a hand to Zimzi. They were in the midst of cleaning the small pair of rooms just below the attic, in anticipation of the arrival of Zimzi’s parents. The Hobbit called out her name as she came to the landing, but heard no answer in return. Creeping to the doorway, she stood watching quietly as the woman looked at herself in the silvered mirror that hung above her dresser.

Zimzi had slipped on the dress that Aman had given her as soon as she’d gone to her room. The hem of it brushed the ground as she turned this way and that, the skirt twirling about her legs like a soft cloud of white appleblossoms.

‘Oh, that’s beautiful!’

Buttercup grinned as she wiped her hands on her apron and picked up the hem of the dress in the back. ‘Let me bear your train, m’Lady!’ Zimzi swirled about, laughing; Buttercup following in her wake.

‘I say,’ came the booming voice from the landing just outside the door. ‘What are you two doing up here?’ Cook’s eye caught the broom and dustpan leaning against the stair banister, and the mop sitting unused in its pail of soapy water in the corner. The sound of giggling met her as she neared the door to Zimzi’s room. And two grinning faces, stacked one above the other peered round the door frame.

Buttercup slipped behind Zimzi and pushed her out onto the landing. The woman came to a stop just outside the door, her cheeks reddening as Cook looked her over. The Hobbit peeked around Zimzi, whispering. ‘Doesn’t she look pretty! Miz Aman gave her the dress, she told me. Just today!’

An odd sound came from Cook, a quavery sort of ‘Oh, my!’ her eyes seemed a bit misty as she signaled for Zimzi to turn about. ‘Let me see the back, dear.’ There was silence as Zimzi twirled slowly, coming back at last to face Miz Bunce. ‘Lovely! Just lovely!’ She smiled up at Zimzi. ‘Miz Aman, you say. Well, I’ll be. Isn’t she a wonder!’ ‘And that despite her bent for those leather riding clothes,’ she muttered under her breath.

Cook shook her head, changing the mood as she pushed Zimzi back toward her room. ‘Enough of being stargazey, ladies! There’s work to be done.’ She fingered the soft material of the dress, her expression softening as she did so.’ With a sigh she pointed to the broom and mop. ‘The sooner the tasks are finished, the closer the day for wearing this will be.’ She turned back toward the steps, calling out over her shoulder as she started down them.

‘When you two are finished you can come down and help me with the apple tart. Someone’s left me a nice box of them . . . winesaps, I think. The fellows working on the cottage will be coming in for supper this evening. I was thinking a tart and custard would be nice for them . . . and ham, I think, with taters and some of those nice snap beans from the garden . . .’

Her voice trailed off as she turned down the next section of the stairs. Zimzi hurried out of her dress and hung it in the closet, a small bouquet of fragrant lavender dangling down from the hanger on a thin ribbon. Her every-day dress back on, she tied a scarf about her hair, and took the broom that Buttercup handed her. ‘You sweep,’ the Hobbit said, squishing the mop up and down in the sudsy water of the bucket. ‘I’ll follow after with the mop.’ She reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out two small apples. ‘Not all of them need go in the tart,’ she said winking at Zimzi, as she threw one to her.

The swish and slosh of broom and mop were punctuated by the crunchy sounds of teeth meeting the crisp flesh of the sweet-tart apples . . .

[Saurreg]

The Silvan swung open the oaken door of the tavern and stepped in the soothing embrace of warm dry air. The establishment was crowded with members of various races and came in different shapes and sizes. All were engaged in merry banther and feasting. The aroma of fresh confectionery, scent of strong steaming beverages and musky odor of tobacco smoke lingered invitingly in the air. Ascasir Culcollo smiled wiry to himself and made his way towards the bar through occupied tables and chairs.

Ascasir sat himself on a bar stool, removed the hood of his dark grey travellers cloak and called out aloud,

"Innkeeper! I say innkeeper! Would you be so kind as to provide this wayfarer some simple sustenance so that he might be able to break his fast?"