The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Hookbill the Goomba]

As the music played on, Dwaline tapped his foot along to the beat. Avalon the Crow seemed to enjoy the song and dance going on, and chirped away to the tune. John's question stuck in her mind. She herself was not sure why Cree had come to the shire, though she had told her, Avalon was not sure about what truth was in it. Paranoia was setting in.

Dwaline leant over to John. "And I suppose you understand the tong of Birds now, do ye?" John frowned and shook his head; "Avalon came on business with her elf friend, that is all you need to know."

As the music continued, Dwaline thought back to when he was a young Dwarf, he heard many songs on his travels. From Elves of the forest, to wild men in the mountains, even the old sing song from a disgusting Goblin.

"Nothing compares to the music of the shire," he said to himself, "It's all so cheerful and merry, whimsical and jolly. I have to say it's my favourite. Yes, elvish singing is not a thing to miss, but Hobbit folk have a way of making songs about the strangest things.

"We dwarves have very queer songs by their standards. I don't suppose they'd be well received by the Half-lings. They are mostly dark, and dreary, going slow. Oft, they are about treasures, dragons and such. I remember a poem my father taught me..." He quietly spoke softly while the band rested for a minuet.

Deep in caverns grey
A secret treasure lay
Forgotten by Kings of old
Lost by warriors, bold
Carven jewels and gold so bright
None can save it from this plight.
Elvish gems, Dwarvish gold
This thing makes them ashen cold
Dwarrow delf, and Moria
Durin himself would travel far
To find where the secret treasure lies
Before the sun fails, and moon dies.

A silence came about them for a moment as Dwaline finished his poem; some Hobbits had listened in and shook their heads. "Nonsense!" they said of it. Dwaline took another drink of his ale and levelled his eyes at John.

[piosenniel]

As the Dwarf finished his poem, some Hobbits who’d been listening in shook their heads. "Nonsense!" they said of it.

‘And “nonsense” to you, Minto Banks,’ came the firm voice of Cook. She’d come out of the kitchen to listen to the music and now found herself making her way through the tables with a large pitcher of the Dragon’s darkest stout. ‘Here have a mug of this,’ she told the farmer from Waymeet. ‘Puts hair on your toes!’ she said, with a smile as she filled his cup to the brim. Minto harrumph’d a bit, then raised the creamy headed brew to his nose and gave an appreciative sniff. He lowered the rim to his lips and took a long gulp, letting the bold brew nip at his tongue and tonsils as it slid down his throat.

‘Well, I’ll grant you the truth of the Dragon’s Stout, but all that about treasures in the deep still hidden . . . well I don’t know about that.’ He took another sip and fixed Cook with his eye. ‘And I suppose you’re going to tell me there’s a real dragon guardin’ the treasure to boot!’

‘And why not,’ said Cook topping his mug off once more. ‘Didn’t our own Mister Bilbo best a dragon in his den . . . and wasn’t there treasure enough to fight a war over. Or so he wrote.’

‘Oh, he was queer one . . . that Bilbo,’ said Minto, putting down his cup. He tamped his pipe and lit it. Pointing the tip of it round the table at his companions. ‘What sort of respectable Hobbit goes off adventuring, I ask you. Made it all up, I say.’

[Noinkling]

Before Cook could answer, Benat stood up and made his way to the table where Minto sat. The Hobbit’s back was to the man, but he knew there was something odd from the looks on his table mates’ faces and the sudden shadow cast over him.

‘Master Baggins was a quite respectable Hobbit, sir,’ came Benat’s rumbling voice. ‘Never met him myself. But my Granda did and he quite liked the little fellow. Now I haven’t heard the whole story - what followed the visit of the Dwarves, the wizard, and Master Bilbo to our home near the Carrock. But to be sure I’ve heard many times of the adventure to that point.’

Cullen came up, curious as to what his master was doing. His nose found the pungent smell of the Hobbit’s mug quite enticing and he couldn’t resist a closer inquiry. A nose full of creamy foam was his reward. Unfortunately for Minto, it made him sneeze. ‘Ach! Cullen now look what you’ve done!’ Cullen gave a sorrowful eye to Benat, then tried his best to lick the Hobbit clean.

Minto was escorted to the kitchen by one of the servers to wash up a bit, with Cook’s promise she’d see to a free mug of ale for his bother. Benat, though, thought he could hear her mutter that the fool got what he deserved for saying such about Bilbo. The others at Minto’s table laughed at his discomfiture and looked hopefully toward Cook also.

‘I’ll stand you all to a drink,’ offered Benat, to which there were shouts of ‘Good fellow!’ and ‘Hear! Hear!’. When the drink came, Benat asked if he might sit down with them. ‘Twasn’t a war exactly,’ he said, pulling out a chair for Cook first. ‘It was a very large battle. Five armies in all. And the Great Eagles came to lend talon and beak and my Granda, Beorn, he came, too.’

‘Must’ve been a great advantage,’ said one of the Hobbits at the table, offering Benat his pouch of pipeweed. ‘A great advantage – to have a man as large as you are fighting against the foe.’

Benat laughed, saying he supposed it would be. ‘But my Granda didn’t come as a man,’ he told them, grinning at the thought of the surprised goblins. ‘He came as a bear.’

[piosenniel]

The eyes of those at the table were round as saucers, but none disputed this seeming lie to the big man’s face. And besides, wasn’t he buying them a round of drinks? Perhaps the hospitable offer could be stretched out a bit.

One of the bolder fellows, Madoc Gamwich, poured the man a drink from the pitcher Cook had set down on the table. ‘Supposing you just tell us about that, sir,’ he said, pushing the mug toward Benat. ‘We’d like to hear your tale.’ Maddy, as he was called, made introductions about the table, then settled back comfortably in his chair as Benat fiddled with his pipe. Minto made it back from the kitchen looking a bit damp about the ears. He glanced at Benat, then raised his brows to his companions.

‘Master Benat, here,’ said Maddy by way of explanation, ‘was just settling in to tell us his story about the war that was really just a big battle and how his Grandda fought in it.’

‘Now that’s more like it – a battle and no fancy-schmancy treasure hordes with dragons and such,’ said Minto, reaching for a drink of his own.

Maddy laughed, looking round to those at the table. ‘He’d just begun, Master Benat had,’ Maddy said. ‘Seems his Grandda came as a bear!’

Minto choked on his first gulp, spilling it down his shirt once again. Cullen raised his head from where he’d lain down on the floor and looked at the Hobbit hopefully.

[Huan]

Anyopâ could not help but hear Benat’s voice as he chided the Hobbits for making fun of another Hobbit, a Mister Bilbo Baggins he learned, and his stories of adventure in the world beyond the Shire. The talk had grown a little quieter at that table when Benat sat down. Anyopâ, wanting to hear more of this Hobbit and his journey, excused himself from the present company to take a chair at an adjoining table.

Ah! Now this is very interesting . . . he thought sitting down as quietly as he could. Benat’s declaration came clearly across the space between the tables. His Grandfather had come to the battle as a bear! Now what could that mean? Was Benat from a tribe of wildish men who hunted the great bears and wore their skins into battle? From the looks on the Hobbits’ faces he could not tell whether they believed the man or thought him an outrageous liar.

Waiting until the one who had choked on his ale had gotten himself back together a bit, Anyopâ cleared his throat, and catching the eye of those at the table drew his chair a little nearer. ‘Begging your pardon Benat, but I’m very interested in this story of your Granda and the battle.’ He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. ‘And begging your pardon once again and hoping you won’t find my question to bold. But about the “came as a bear” statement . . . what exactly did you mean by that?’

Maddy and Minto and the other Hobbits at the table looked squarely at Benat. ‘Sound place to start,’ said Maddy, as the others nodded their heads. ‘What about this “bear”?’

[Child of the 7th Age]

Miz Bella sat quietly at a side table in one corner of the Common Room, eating her dinner while listening to all the songs. Her father had made it a point to teach her much of the history of the Shire as well as reciting tales from Arnor and Gondor. Much of what the singers outlined in their ballads was familiar to her. A few years before, when she had stayed in Minas Tirith for nearly a year, her friend Cami had shared with her another book of Elven Lore that Master Bilbo Baggins of Hobbiton had translated into Westron. Bella had spent some time copying out sections of this work and hoped to use some of those tales with the students who would come to her school.

Finishing up the last crumb of cake and setting down her fork, Bella pushed her plate aside and took one last look at the placard that she had carefully written out earlier that day. Happy with her effort, she picked it up and walked over near the entry to the kitchen, tacking it onto a small hook that was intended for posting public notices:

Dear Inn Guests and Fellow Residents of Hobbiton and Bywater,

Miz Bella Tûk, recently returned from extensive travels to all corners of Arda, wishes to announce the opening of a dame school for lads and lasses at the Green Dragon Inn. This school provides both rudimentary and advanced training in reading, 'riting, and 'rithmetic. Hobbit geneology and the natural history of the Shire will be included at no extra charge as well as a brief overview of Elven lore and tales of sea voyages and dragons.

Additionally, Miz Tûk is available to tutor those of more advanced years who prefer to carry on their studies in private. Lessons in wood and stone carving are also available.

In addition to Shire coinage, Miz Tûk accepts payment in the form of eggs and other farm produce as well as useful services that can be tendered to her. Please apply to Miz Tûk, #12 Green Dragon Inn, Hobbiton-Bywater Road.

Bella Tûk, daughter of the late Hildifons Tûk who was formerly of Tûkborough

After securing the placard where everyone could see it, Bella retreated to sit down when her eye caught a group of hobbits happily chattering away at the next table. They looked to be a loving family: a mother, a father, two sisters close in age, and a younger brother who had suffered some physical injury or disease that made it difficult for him to get about. The lad had secured a copy of the menu and was staring intently at it, tracing out the letters with his finger. A liklier prospect for learning to read Bella had never seen!

At a break in the singing, Miz Bella slipped over to the larger table and held out a hand in welcome, speaking directly with the mother. "Excuse me, ma'am, if I may interrupt. My name is Bella. I've come to Bywater to settle. I am afraid I am new here and don't know your name."

"Lilly. I am Lilly, and our family is also new here. We've found it a fine place, though."

Nodding in agreement, Bella went on to explain, "I wanted to speak with you about a new project I am starting here at the Inn. Cook arranged for me to rent rooms and to hire a sturdy lad or lass to help set up a dame school for the children in the neighborhood. Perhaps you might wish to speak with your husband and see if you would want any of your brood to attend? Over there on the wall is a placard explaining how it will work. The cost is very modest, and your children would receive a fine start at their reading and figures." Miz Bella smiled at Lilly waiting for her response....

[Arry]

When the four lads and Falco returned to the little stage area, they gathered some stools near each other and sat playing a few soft strains of some old familiar ballads, each of them taking a few bars and expanding on them with their instruments. They were playing more for themselves now, than for the others in the room, feeding off each others’ energy and innovation. Tomlin’s toes began to tap faster as he took them through a lively reel and Falco moved them at an even quicker pace with a trio of jigs.

Gil brought them back to a slower beat with a song he’d learned from a traveler from the Misty Mountains . . . The Mist Covered Mountains the traveler had named the tune, and what words there were, were of longing to be back among those misty peaks.

When they were done with that melancholy piece, Fallon played a more lively set of notes on his fiddle. ‘I was wondering if you’d heard this one before. I got it from an old Brandybuck fiddler, from around the eastern end of the Green Hills. It’s a fun song . . . gets your feet moving, and even the littlest ones like to sing along with it.’ He played the song through, then began once again as the others took it up on their instruments. Once they had it down, he began to sing the words:

Oh many years ago near old Woodhall--
A stranger told this story to my ma--
And often was the time she said to me--
I know it is the truth certain as can be.

There was once in the hills quite a music makin' man--
known far and wide as fiddlin' Dan--
He could fiddle every tune, He could holler every call--
For circle, square or reel, he could fiddle them all---

One night as Dan was walking out to play--
He met a bear a’standin' in the way--
He couldn’t climb a tree, he had no club
He was sure that he was grizzly grub.

Said the bear with a roar as he shook a mighty paw--
Your fiddlin' Dan from old Woodhall--
I will let you alone if you'll play a little tune--
And organize a dance by the light of the moon--

Ol’ Dan he tucked his fiddle under chin--
He drew the bow his music to begin--
From all the country 'round the critters ran--
To join the party made by old fiddlin' Dan.

Prancin' out went the coon with the little porcupine--
The bear and bobcat stepped her fine--
They danced all the night every reel and every set--
And somewhere in the hills they are dancin' yet.

And somewhere in the hills they are dancin’ yet . . .

Fallon finished with a quick-time rendering of the last few bars. The children who’d gathered round to clap and dance shouted out for him to sing it one more time. ‘Learn us the words . . . go slow, won’t you . . .’ they prompted him. He placed his fiddle under his chin and began to teach them, line by line . . . And once, as he glanced up from where they were gathered, he noted that the rather large man who was sitting with a table of Hobbits was looking at him curiously . . .