The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[starkat]

Gwenneth had been so deep in conversation with Ascasir and Isilme, that she hadn't realized that time was slipping away. With the smell of apple pie waifting in from the kitchen, Gwenneth took leave of her companions and headed for the barn.

She entered and spotted Elenath. The young elf maid picked up some grooming tools and entered the stall. Gwenneth greeted her mare and began brushing her.

[Saurreg]

Ascasir signed softly to himself, elven eyes tailing Gwenneth as she made her way out ouf the serving hall. The Silvan elf rubbed his chin ruefully for a moment and his delicate brows knitted together in thought. Turning back to the table, he looked upon Isilmë and frowned,

"Friend Isilmë, I wonder if we have been rude by somewhat beating around the bush when that fair creation of Illuvatar's suggested we go horse riding. I do so fear that our conduct was unbecoming and may have irritated her We have after all, not given her a definitive reply!"

The Galadhrim shrugged his shoulders and replied,

"True friend Ascasir. But since neither one of us here has a horse to call our own, it is highly unlikely we would have been able to accomodate her suggestion. Unless of course she rides upon her swift steed and glides through fields and meadows like some fair maiar from the west while, we run behind her... trashing about like pack dogs."

"That would have been quite unsightly."

"Indeed."

Arien was charting her course west and the rays of the sun stretched even further through the wall openings of the Green Dragon until they touched the wall on the opposite end of the windows. The light was now a shade of rich amber rather than golden yellow, but it was still comfortably warm. A strong aroma of baked apples and buttery crust diffused through the air.

Acasir smiled wanely in satisfaction as he slumped lazily down the sturdy wooden chair and closed his eyes.

[Nurumaiel]

Posco shuddered slightly. 'The farmer who set his dogs upon us? I was quite frightened.' He blushed rather sheepishly when Blanco gave him a reassuring pat on the back. 'Well, it was shortly after we had gotten out of the river, and as we were just beginning to dry off we came to a farmer's place. We were bold enough to jump the fence and ride over his land, and apparently we ignorantly trampled over his little flower garden, which we thought was just a bunch of wildflowers. I stooped down to pick some for Lily - ' here he blushed ' - and just as I did I heard some terrible cries and the howling of dogs. The farmer shouted all kinds of awful things to us, and we had to turn and run back. Fortunately our ponies we faster than the dogs, but they kept good pace until we came to the stream again, where they began to slow. The ponies were terrified, however, and wouldn't stop until they were across the stream, and we got soaking wet again.'

'Just when we were beginning to dry,' said Lily with a little sigh.

'Did you lose the flowers?' Blanco asked. 'What a pity!'

Posco shook his head. 'I did not!' he cried. 'I held onto them the whole way.' And he gestured to Lily's head, where a pretty bunch of bright flowers rested in her hair.

[Amanaduial the archer]

As twilight settled across the undulating hills and rolling hills, the farmers and field workers of the Shire set off home, and the sherpherds and cow-herds began to set off home. One such shepherd, a certain Calico Proudfoot, started from his peaceful half-doze under a widebrimmed horsechestnut tree as he heard the sound of pounding hooves, many of them by the sound of it. Sitting sharply upright, Calico pushed the worn, fraying straw hat back from his eyes and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes surreptitiously as he gathered his wits, before standing a little unsteadily, attempting nonchalantly to flatten the creases out of his dungarees. Looking more closely at aforementioned creases, he rubbed at them a little harder, a wrinkle building in his young brow - why, his wife would have his guts for garters if he appeared home in this state! Ah, Buttercup Proudfoot, belle of Near Bag End, as radiant and dainty and glowing as her namesake. A regular... Calico struggled in his mind to think of some way to describe his wife, before giving up. Well, she was lovely anyway, and once her reluctant father had acquiested Calico's tentative request for her hand in marriage six months ago, Buttercup and Calico had been joined for all eternity. Only eternities were, well, rather funny things: Calico could swear he had already seen a fair few of them pass by with his fair wife by his side.

Not that she wasn't lovely, the gentle spirited hobbit-tween ammended hastily, even in his mind feeling guilty for any word against Buttercup, but, well, she was rather...domineering. He gave a pleased little smile at this thought, rather proud of such complex wording. Yes, that's right, she was domineering, and if anyman was to say any worse, he'd have their guts for garters. He paused, a small frown appearing once more on his chubby face as he considered the idea. Well, he wouldn't, being as he didn't wear garters and all, but...well, certainly someone would have their guts for garters, or some other part of their clothing. Maybe his little wife would like them for her garters? Well, maybe not, don't suppose Buttercup would be very into guts being worn as any sort of clothing...

So caught up was he in such a complex and confusing line of thought about who exactly would be wearing wear whose entrails, the many hooves had completely slipped his mind, only to be remembered when a polite cough came from nearby. Calico jumped a clear inch off the ground, one pudgy hand whipping up to tyhe top of his head to steady his hat as he looked around, wide-eyed. When he saw the owner of said polite cough, he took another step backwards...then another, just for good measure. "Oh....um...oh," he stammered uneasily, hand still clutching the top of his hat. In front of him rose an altogether rather menacing looking figure: a darkly cloaked rider, it's features obscured by the setting sun behind which cast an eerie glow of red and gold around it. It silently regarded him from atop a giant black horse, about seventeen inches high and dark as the night; beside this darksome beast stood another, smaller horse, an unmoving statue seemingly carved of fine, flecked stone, it's grey coat seeming to change colour subtly at the edge of the eyesight, greys, blacks and whites all playing a part in the dappled beauty. Both horses breathed heavily, and Calico could not help noticing that the black horse's panting definitely had a decidedly menacing edge to it; and horsey, what large nostrils you have...

Altogether a rather unsettling image for a young hobbit of an evening.

"Oh-h-h..." Calico moaned quietly, his saucer eyes gazing up at the black beast less than two feet away.

The rider's head tilted to one side and Calico gave a stifled gasp and shut his eyes tightly. There was a rather embarassed pause before a voice spoke. "Are...are you alright, sir?"

Calico frowned slightly, but did not open his eyes. Certainly, that did not sound like him much like the ghastly intonation of a dread horseman from t'other side of Doom. For one thing, it was female. Still, you never knew what sorts of new fangled tricks were being thought up on t'other side of Doom, and so Calico kept his eyes tightly shut. Still, it was nice of 'it' to ask, even if it was a dread horseman from t'other side of Doom, so, ever a well-mannered boy, the hobbit nodded tightly and gave a muted, strangled sound of affirmation from pursed lips. Deciding maybe more was needed, he managed, "Yes, thank you," still with his eyes closed. Naturally.

There was a pause and the distinct sound of someone licking their lips uncertainly. "Oh. Good. Well, I was just wondering if you would maybe like some help gathering in...your...sheep?"

Calico gasped and his eyes very nearly opened although he restrained himself just in time. "How did you know I was a shepherd?!"

Pause. "The...sheep. They....well, I'm afraid they rather gave it away," came the steady reply. Although it was perfectly courteous, Calico was almost - almost - sure that he heard it tinged with a smile. Did dread horsemen smile? Who knows...certainly it was an altogether more Brandybuck-like business than Calico liked to contemplate.

"Oh. No, thank you, sir horseman."

"Sure?"

"No, thank'ee. I'm sure you have other...business to attend to."

"Oh. Right. Ok, well, it's just...I didn't...well, alright." There was a second's stop, then the rider burst out, "It's just that they're all scattered and-"

"I think you may have scared them, sir horseman."

There was yet another lengthy and slightly embarassed pause, followed by an exasperated sigh, a few clicking noises - some black tongue?! - before the hooves started to move again, and the rider began to ride off, slowly.

"Sir- hmm. We- hmm. I- hmm." Pause. "Well, then I shall bid you good evening, sir. And I hope to see you at the handfasting!"

The last words were almost obscured by the sound of eight hooves as they sped up, but Calico was sure of what he had heard, and his eyes opened wide as he whirled around to look after the rider, but saw only a disappearing back riding down the hill, topped by what certainly looked like - and maybe it was a trick of the mind, or the eye, or whoever else likes to interfere with sight - what certainly looked like a pair of scruffy light brown pigtails streaming back. As only the head was still in view, the rider raised a hand and waved back to Calico, before it disappeared altogether.

Calico stayed completely still for some time even after the sound of hooves had disappeared, staring in the direction the rider had gone. Had he heard right? Had he seen right?! A female dread rider, waving back, talking of help and handfasting... Calico shook himself vigourously, is chubby face all a-quiver as he leant down to pick up his crook. Something here was certainly not right. Still, now he came to think about it - well, you got all sorts at the Green Dragon, not a mile hence. Folk from all over, and others who had seen all over - surely one of them would be able to explain? Certainly he couldn't come home so a-quiver to his fine but domineering wife, dirty dungarees and all, and have no solid and reliable proof from a-man-in-an-Inn that he was not just making up the darksome rider from t'other side of doom with two horses and helpful talk and a woman's voice and...and...pigtails...

As Calico firmed up the image of the rider in his head, herding his sheep absently down the hillside to his modest farm, the 'darksome rider' arrived back after two days in the courtyard of the Green Dragon Inn, and dismounted to greet Merimac with a grin.

"Evening, Miz Aman..."

[Firefoot]

It was now Lily's turn to blush. She loved the flowers, wreathed about her head, but she knew her hair must be extremely mussed. Between their mad gallop and the river, her braid had fallen out and she had used the ribbon to secure the flowers. But despite her wind-blown hair, she was quite pleased. Posco had held on to those flowers for her, and she knew that they would be kept for quite some time.

"I suppose that is about the last of our 'adventures,'" said Lily. "The rest of the ride was rather uneventful, and after we had dried off, we headed back here. Though I must say, after all that I think I have found the Shire to be quite an interesting place, very different from Bree and yet a lot alike as well." The rolling hills and well-tended fields were very much to her liking. She mused that she might like to live there, and though the thought surprised her, she was comfortable with it. She realized that she was drifting off into her own thoughts, and snapped out of it.

“So what were you all doing while we were gone? Did anything of interest happen?” she asked.

[Arry]

Andwise walked slowly toward the Inn. Not that he was tired . . . it was more that he had some thinking to do . . . and he often found it better to do so in solitude and without haste. He drew his pouch of pipeweed from his vest pocket and tamped in a generous pinch to the bowl of his cherrywood pipe. It remained unlit as he ambled on, his hand moving the pipestem along his lower lip as his thoughts jumbled about. The rich, familiar smell of the Southfarthing’s sweet galenas soothed him a bit, and soon he was stacking his questions and ponderings in neat piles, as he did his stacks of woods in his workshop at home.

His eyes flicked up as he noticed Miz Bunce stumping along in the distance ahead of him. And further on were Derufin and his Ferdy, almost to the Inn. ‘My, my,’ he sighed, as he looked at his son and considered him a different light altogether. ‘He has grown up, hasn’t he Lily?’ he said pointing the stem of his pipe at the young man. Andwise was often given to talking to his dear departed wife, in spirit, as he sorted through the problems that beset him. ‘And now I see what Ma was trying to get at with her talk of how lads need to be pushed a bit as they grow older. Not right, she said, a young man be spending all his time with wood and sawdust.’

He chuckled a little at the no nonsense approach of Miz Bunce. Never one to talk around a subject, Cook had gotten straight to the point. The boy’s, no the lad’s, Ma was not here to do for him, and so she was offering to do so. A lass had come to her, Miz Bunce had told him, a lass quite fond of Ferdy and asked for help in letting Ferdy know of her interest and determining whether said interest was mutual. ‘I’ve done so for my own lads, Master Banks,’ she assured him. ‘And I have to tell you, I can be gentle as needed or deliver the needed wallop should the lad prove mulish.’ Andwise had spluttered at the thought of Ferdy being thought in the least mulish, assuring the dear lady that gentle would most like be the best way.

‘Are you certain I shouldn’t be the one to talk to him,’ asked Andwise, an unsure tone in his voice. ‘Best I speak with him first,’ rejoined Cook. ‘A few words from a neutral observer, so to speak. Let him know there’s someone with an interest.’ She looked Andwise squarely in the face. ‘But then you should be the one to follow up on it. Being the lad’s father, a few words of guidance from your own experience would be quite helpful. Don’t you think?’

‘And who is this lass who’s come to you?’ Andwise asked, not wanting to consider Cook’s preceding question just yet. ‘And just how does she know my Ferdy?’ A note of possessive concern crept into his voice. ‘When shall I meet her?’

Cook shook her head, wondering at the thick-headedness of the Hobbit male. ‘Oh, my dear Master Banks,’ she answered, ‘why you’ve met her already . . . and often.’ His brow furrowed, trying to think who she might mean. ‘Ginger,’ Cook went on, smiling a bit as his brows rose at the mention of the girl’s name. ‘It’s Ginger who’s asked for my assistance.’

----------

The last few yards to the kitchen entrance of the Inn had to wait as Andwise stopped at the pump to wash his hands and face. He passed through the busy kitchen on his way to the Common Room to have supper with the others. Cook nodded at him as he went by her and there was Ginger, just taking up platters of sliced lamb roast, bowls of taters and those of buttered peas on a large carrying tray to take into the hungry patrons. ‘Here let me hold the door for you,’ he offered drawing the kitchen door open and waving her through. She colored prettily and bobbed a little thanks as she went by him. As with Ferdy, his view of her was caught in a new light as he saw the promise of young womanhood she now bore . . . and had probably borne for a while . . .

His thoughts drifted far back to his own time of courting and the sweet face of his dear Lily beamed at him in his memory as he drew up to the table where the other fellows sat. Ginger went ably about the table, he saw, seeing to the needs of the patrons in her care. Cook, he smiled to himself, had of course made sure she would serve at Ferdy’s table. The lass was gracious and efficient as she handled the platters of food and the condiments.

‘Miz Bunce has asked that you see to one of her cabinets tomorrow morning,’ he whispered, leaning toward Ferdy. ‘I’ve told her I can spare you and that you’ll be glad to help.’

Ferdy glance up at him nodding his head, wondering all the while why his Da was telling him this again.

‘She’s a wonderful woman, Cook is,’ his father went on, buttering a thick slice of bread as he went on. ‘You listen well to her instructions, you hear?’

‘Well, yes, Da,’ said Ferdy, tucking into his potatoes with a will. Surely he thought, she doesn’t mean to tell me how I am to fix the cabinet, does she? He looked to his father, a mouthful of potato half chewed.

‘Right, then,’ said Andwise. ‘Tomorrow bright and early you report to the kitchen.’ He reached for the bowl of glistening peas and helped himself to a couple of serving-spoonsful. ‘All settled, then . . . good, good,’ he murmured. Ginger came near with the platter of lamb and he beamed generously up at her. ‘Don’t mind if I do, my dear . . .’ he said forking two juicy slices onto his waiting plate.

[Nurumaiel]

Blanco shook his head emphathetically, and stated that they had done nothing at all but wait for the return of the riders. Posco regarded Lily with a thoughtful eye. She said she enjoyed the Shire, and he wondered what she would of Buckland if she ever saw it. He wondered if she would love it, and if she would want to live there. He coloured at the thought, but he continued to dwell upon it. Surely there was not much more now. He loved Lily, he loved her as much as he could having only known her a day, and he loved her more every moment. He would want to take her home as his bride as soon as he left, but he knew he must wait. It was unnatural for a hobbit to marry a girl he had only known a day. He would have to court her for awhile yet. But time would pass. The only question was: Did she love him?

He studied her hair, fair in his eyes despite that it was tangled, and her sparkling eyes, and her rosy cheeks, and her smiling lips. Surely there was no lass fairer than she. Queen of all Buckland, he would make her, for she was fair enough for a Queen. But he? Ah, he was a blushing little fool who never could appear presentable as his brother, and he couldn't possibly give Lily the enjoyment she would want. She was a friendly, lively little thing, and she would want to go to all the dances, while he would want to stay home. Well! Posco squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. If she wanted to go to dances, she very well could, and he would go with nothing but pride to have such a pretty little wife by his side, and pleasure to be honoured enough to dance with her. First, of course, he must court her, and then he must ask for her hand. And he did not know her father.

'Tell me, Lily,' he said, 'a little more about your family, especially your father.' He looked nervously at her, and wondered if she would guess what he was thinking of. It would be humiliating if she did, and he would lose the fight before it was begun. 'Is he a kind sort of fellow? And what is he like as far as you are concerned? Would he consider you too good to marry a poor lad and want you to marry to someone prominent?' Her face had a curious expression, and he wondered madly if she were guessing his thoughts. He hastily went on, staggering over his words and eventually trailing off into nothinginess. 'Because if he does... I could... introduce you to someone... prominent...'