The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen had ordered a hearty breakfast by elf standards for she had not eaten the previous night what with one thing and another, but by the time the meal arrived she found she had lost her appetite. Back in the common room she could not avoid the memories of last night as she had when absorbed in her designs or during her morning ride..

Aman's anger was understandable, and she had expected it... but she did not expect it to have pained her so much. I must learn not to get involved, ever, with anyone, especially mortals, she thought. She had not seen either the inn-keeper or Snaveling since they had left the common room the previous evening and perhaps that was a good thing. The woman's ire had been impressive. She would get these braces made for the crippled child and leave as soon as possible. All her best efforts were misunderstood.

She ate her meal for it was paid for with her room, and it was substantial enough that she need not bear the expense of further meals that day, but the fare gave her no pleasure. The fresh, wholesome dishes might have been dry crusts for all the joy the elf took in them; her spirits had not been so low for a long time. Lost in her own thoughts she barely noticed the other customers.

As soon as she had finished she collected her tool bag and left the inn. The village smith, Toby Flaxman, had been helpful and courteous two mornings ago when she had taken her horse to be shod but she did not know how he would react now that she was asking for help.

[Arry]

Gil speaks with Miz Bella

Woody and Hanson make friends

Gil leaned casually against the door frame, his cap in his hands. His older sister Laura had sent him in early to the Inn to see about getting her two younger sons into the new school. Gil was groaning at the early hour and chiding himself for telling her about Miz Bella at all. ‘Never mind that you had a bit too much of the Dragon’s ale last night. Call it a bit of payment for letting you stay here, Gil Tussock, until your own place is done,’ Laura had had told him. ‘You can explain to Mister Banks what made you a bit late.’

Woodruff (or Woody as he was mostly called), eleven, and Hanson, five, were not as unenergetic as their uncle. They had promised him they would be good, but could they please, please go in and have a look around. ‘G’wan, then,’ he’d told them both, taking a quick look in at the schoolroom. ‘I’ll just wait here ‘til Miz Bella is done talking to that other woman; then, I’ll get the both of you signed up.’ As an afterthought, and because he thought he should do it since he was after all their uncle, Gil called after them as they ran into the room. ‘Woody and Hanson Boffin, you be good now.’

---

‘Hey, look, Woody!’ Hanson pointed to the back part of the room where someone had drawn a circle on the floor. There were two boys there, one a Hobbit who looked to be about Hanson’s age. And another, taller, boy. One of the Big Folk, he thought. The younger boy held a bag of marbles and had taken one out to show the other boy.

‘They’re gonna play marbles,’ Hanson said, tugging on his brother’s shirt. ‘Let’s see if we can join in.’

[littlemanpoet]

As Uien was walking around the side the Green Dragon, a stray thought came to her.

<I must learn not to get involved, ever, with anyone, especially mortals.>

Uien frowned, and tried to calm her mind, sensing the textures of relation running from Mithalwen to others. I really have no business probing her thought. She resolved to stop, but it was much harder to sever the link than not to begin them in the first place. So she sensed the braided and chafed linkage between Mithalwen and the man, Snaveling, and between Mithlawen and Aman. Uien's brow rose. Fair Aman? What trouble could be brewing there? Had not Snaveling had a sudden revelation? Uien shook her head. So much could be read, but very little could be learned from it. And most of it is none of your business.

When Uien entered the Common Room, she looked around to find that Mithalwen had already left. Uien wondered if she should go speak with Aman, but thought better of it, turned, and left the Inn in search of Mithalwen.

[Nurumaiel]

Marigold nodded and dropped to her knees next to Camille, and began to pick up the books one by one, sorting them as she had been instructed. Occasionally she would stop and study the title, and then open the book and turn the pages. She looked at the pictures, silently mouthed a few words, and then, with a shake of her head, closed the book and set it up on the shelf.

The door opened and Marigold looked up with a bright smile, expecting to see Falco Headstrong, but her smile fell not upon him, but upon a young hobbit lad with a little girl at his side. He appeared to be in his teens, and she about eleven or twelve. They were obviously of the same family, and looked so much alike that it was comical. Friendly but rather shy brown eyes; rather ruffled brown hair; skin a little browner than Marigold's own. The boy's hair was a little bit lighter than the girl's, and of course hers was longer, but it was the only real difference in their features.

Camille and Marigold stared at the boy and girl, and the boy and girl stared back, and then, after a few moments of silence, the boy tipped the cap that was on his head and said: "Good morning. Is this the new school?"

His manner was very courteous, but very 'manly' (though, of course, he was a hobbit). Camille and Marigold were perhaps too young to see it, but an older hobbit who was accustomed to children, such as Falco Headstrong, would have made a reasonable guess that this young boy had been instructed in manners by a good father who upheld the practice of gallant behaviour to the ladies. This boy had none of the feminine touches in his manner that might have been a result of a ladylike mother's instructions.

"Yes," said Marigold, getting up from her knees. "Miz Bella is over in that room, if you want to go talk to her. But, if you like, you could just stay here and help us, and talk to her when she comes out again."

"Let's do that," said the little girl quickly, and looking urgently up at her brother.

"Very well!" he said, with a laugh. "But you needn't be so very frightened... Miz Bella is going to teach you, not eat you."

"Do you know any of your letters?" Camille asked.

"No," he replied. "That's why my sister is so afraid of Miz Bella. We don't know anything about learning, and we're not quite sure what to expect. I don't even know how to spell my own name. And, of names, mine is Haltred Hedgeworth, and this is my sister Estella."

"Marigold Baker is my name, and this is Camille," said Marigold, giving a little courtesy. "And we can't forget to mention Ginger, who works here." She wondered if it was relevant to mention in the introductions that one of those boys Mr. Headstrong was always hanging about with was really very fond of Ginger, and decided against it. They had work to do. She gestured to the pile of books. "We're organising these books by size," she said. "Come and help us."

With shyness, but pleasure at being invited, Haltred and Estella Hedgeworth joined the little group.

[Saelind]

Neviel glanced uneasily at Reggie who had asked him to play as well as Woody and Hanson who had wandered over with the obvious intention of being let in on the fun. The Elf picked up one of the marbles that Reggie had taken out of his small leather pouch and examined it more closely. He had seen mannish boys playing marbles in Rivendell, but only from a distance. The shape and appearance of the little balls intrigued him. Some were a simple brown or gray, evidently made from smooth clay. A few of Reggie's were true beauties fashioned of glass and sparkling with color. It was these that caught Neviel's eye. Tentatively, as if handling a very special treasure, he fingered the smooth texture of one of the glass balls.

"Oh, how lovely!" the young Elf noted with approval. "Such bright colors all swirled together!" Neviel glanced down nervously at the circle that had been drawn on the ground and gazed over at the hobbit who had first addressed him. "I'd love to play marbles with you. But I have no idea what to do. My father and I have been on the road, and I don't get to do such things." What he did not mention was that with so few Elven children about, having a playmate was a rare treat. "Sorry, Reggie, I've never played marbles. But if you can show me I'll try to learn."

Neviel shifted uneasily from one foot to the other wondering what the hobbit lad would say. Bending down to get a closer look at the circle that had been chalked on the floor, the young Elf thought he saw the two brothers dart a surprised look between them.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling woke to the sound of the Blasted Bard’s full-throated singing. He stifled the curse that came to his lips as he remembered that his bed was at the courtesy of the Rohirric man, but this only befouled his mood further. He had lain awake far into the night, well into the morning, really, turning over and over in his mind the words that had passed between he and Aman – his grand-daughter. He was as yet unsure of how she would take to the idea of their being related…he was not sure of that himself yet either. But that he was indeed her grandsire was becoming eminently clear to both of them. The name and description of her father so closely matched that of his own son, as they had been reported to Snaveling, that there was little room for doubt. They had talked for some time, comparing what each knew about Arad and bit by bit they had pieced together a total picture of the man -- a picture in which the pieces fit together so well and so easily, that there was little room left for doubt. Beyond that, though, was the very rightness of the relationship: Snaveling had long known, deep in his bones, that he and Aman were connected by more than friendship, and that their relationship could never be the romantic one imagined by the girl. This certainty, this knowing sense, was certainly a part of his Numenorean heritage – he came to that and to full wakefulness with a start. That heritage was also Aman’s, he realised. It had not even occurred to him that in revealing the truth of her parentage, he was perhaps staining her with his own dark past. How would she feel about being descended of the Black Numenoreans? He was sure that she would want to keep that interesting piece of information to herself, and he thanked those who dwelt in the West that as yet none knew the truth but he, Aman and Mithalwen.

But then Hearpwine’s song re-emerged, louder this time and even more insistent. The foolish man was twanging away on his harp and singing at full volume out the window of the Inn.

You take the high road,
And I’ll take the low road,
And I’ll be in Gondor, before you!
Me and my true love, will ever meet again,
On the bonny bonny banks of the Snowbourne!

He laughed and turned to see Snaveling awake. “An old tune, and a happy one to begin the day with!” he cried.

“I know it,” Snaveling mumbled as he got out of bed. “But I thought it went, ‘Me and my true love will never meet again.’”

“Pah!” the bard said good-naturedly. “A sad song is not fitting for the morning. I have changed the words to suit my mood.”

“Are you always this…” Snaveling searched for a word, “boisterous in the morning?”

“Aha! You are angry that I woke you up. But the sun is well in the sky and the people of the Inn are about. School children have come, strangely enough, and even they are at work. It is time to get up even though you may have been tossing from pillar to post this long night.”

“How did…?” But Snaveling’s question was cut off with another laugh from the younger man. “You were not so quiet as you supposed,” Hearpwine explained, “nor so circumspect. Do you know that you talk to yourself when you are in distress? Have no fear, my friend, for I shall not reveal your secrets to any – particularly not to the pretty Innkeeper of the Green Dragon!” With that he clapped his arm around Snaveling’s shoulders and led him from their room leaving Snaveling with no chance to respond. As the night before when they had met, Hearpwine’s loud and happy manner, and high spirits, oppressed the more dour Snaveling, but the bard had been so good as to offer Snaveling his room’s other bed when he had seen that Snaveling had nowhere to sleep. After his conversation with Aman the night before, she had seemed to desire the company of her horses more than his, so Snaveling had left the stables to her and returned to the Inn hoping that he would be allowed to sleep one a bench in the Common Room. Cook had seen him settling in, however, and put paid to that idea, and it had only been the quick intervention of Hearpwine that had saved Snaveling from a night in the bushes.

They ate breakfast together. As Hearpwine talked of his journey and of Rohan and (somewhat oddly for a man of Rohan) of Ithilien, occasionally breaking into song, Snaveling looked about for either Aman or Mithalwen but could see neither. At the conclusion of their meal they sat, neither of them certain what to do, when into the Common Room there came a very small hobbit lass, asking the way to the new school. One of the barmaids pointed the lass in the right direction. As she left Hearpwine stood and said, “A schoolroom! Wonderful! I am sure that the students there would be interested in hearing songs of other lands, or even a lay or two about the War. And who knows, perhaps some of them know songs of this land that I might learn.”

Snaveling doubted that there was little more on Hearpwine’s mind than the prospect of performing for an audience, albeit one composed almost entirely of children, but he said nothing for he wished to be left to himself. “You go ahead,” he said. “I have matters of my own to attend to.”

Hearpwine smiled knowingly. “Very well, my friend. I shall see to the children while you go in search of your ‘matters’ – be sure to tell her when you see her that I have a special song or two about the fair maids of Rohan that I’m sure she would like to hear!” And with another laugh he left the Common Room, already humming the tune he intended to sing for the educational benefit of the schoolchildren. Snaveling went in search of Aman.

[Arry]

Introductions are made; the game begins

‘On the road a lot,’ murmured Hanson. ‘Phooey! Everybody gets to go somewhere ‘cept me!’

‘Don’t start up,’ hissed Woody to his younger brother. ‘Our Da isn’t the traveling sort and never will be.’

Hanson giggled despite his brother’s stern look and whispered. ‘Does know the road to the Dragon, same as Uncle Gil!’

Hanson had big dreams of traveling about one day as had Mister Bilbo. His Gammer Boffin had told him tales of the odd Hobbit, as she called him, though with affection, which fueled his imagination and his longing. Much to his disappointment no one in his family ever went anywhere exciting nor did they wish to. His Uncle Gil, however, had been as far as the western bounds and to Buckland. He and his mates liked to visit the little Inns and trade music for drinks. But Hanson wanted to see what lay beyond the Shire someday.

And here was a boy who had done such!

‘Pardon me,’ he said moving up to stand near Neviel. ‘My name is Hanson. Hanson Boffin.’ He gave the tall fellow a grin as Neviel gave his name to Hanson in return. ‘Me and my brother there, Woody, live here in Bywater.’ He crooked a thumb at Woody who’d hung back a bit. ‘We’d like to shoot marbles with you two.’ Hanson hauled out his sack of marbles from his breeches pocket. ‘It’s not too hard . . .’

‘And you’re lucky!’ broke in Woody, less shy now that Hanson had made the introductions. ‘Since you’re a first-timer you get to shoot a little closer in than us others.’ Woody pulled out his marble pouch, too. ‘Here, hold out your hands. You can borrow some of mine to play.’ He poured a half dozen marbles into Neviel’s hands and gave him one just a little larger. A ‘shooter’ he called it of multi-colored glass in greens.

‘Come on! Kneel down here like this,’ prompted Hanson. ‘And roll a couple of your marbles into the circle. Make sure you remember which ones are yours now,’ he continued rolling three of his into the confines of the chalked circle.

Woody and Reggie had done the same. ‘G’wan, Reggie,’ said Woody, who had managed to introduce himself and his brother to the other Hobbit lad. ‘You start the game and show him how to shoot.’