The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Envinyatar]

Zimzi nestled herself comfortably against Derufin’s shoulder. She enjoyed listening to Gil and his friends. And the addition of offerings from Hearpwine and the young lady Hobbit had made the evening even more pleasant.

Like Hob, she had given up on the Dwarven spirits. One taste was enough for her to declare they were too strong to her liking. She’d ordered tea for herself. The night was a little chilly despite the cheery blaze in the fireplace. Someone had opened a window, letting the cool night breezes in.

She glanced around, looking for the source of the chill. A ways away from her was a large table near one of the outside walls, someone was jus standing up to close the wide open window. Zimzi blinked her eyes, noting that on top of the table lay and Elf. And now he sat up and was talking to two Hobbit lads whose faces had popped up above the table top from beneath the table itself.

Zimzi sat up straighter in her chair. Now there was clapping and a round of drinks was poured, including those for the little lads. And then a toast was made, apparently in the boys’ honor. ‘What on earth is going on over there?’ she whispered to Derufin, pointing to the strange tableaux.

[piosenniel]

~*~ GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS ~*~

The Green Dragon Inn is located in Bywater, just off the Great East-West Road.

It is the 4th Age, year 12. By the Shire Calendar it is year 1433 S.R. (Shire Reckoning).

King Elessar is on the throne of the Reunited Kingdom of Arnor and Gondor.

Mirkwood has been reclaimed by the Elves and is now called Eryn Lasgalen.

Paladdin Took, Pippin’s father, is Thain of the Shire. (Thain is an honorary title for the military leader of the Shire. The title has been held in the Took Family since the position was first established in 3rd Age 1979 with Bucca of the Marish as First Thain.) Paladdin Took dies in year 13, and will be succeeded by his son, Peregrin, ‘Pippin’, Took.

Samwise Gamgee is Mayor of the Shire, having succeeded Will Whitfoot in 1427 S.R.

The Innkeeper, in the Green Dragon Inn of this forum, is: Aman – a young woman from Rohan.

Before her, the Innkeeper was Piosenniel, and before her it was Dwarin, the Dwarf.

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Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

Buttercup Brownlock, Hobbit – not married – kitchen assistant and maid

Vinca Bunce, widowed, Inn Cook (character played by Piosenniel)

Derufin, General handyman/jack-of-all-trades round the Inn; Man from southwestern Gondor (played by Envinyatar)

Zimzi (Zimziran), wife to Derufin; a skilled potter from Lindon(played by Pio)

Meriadoc - Stablemaster

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Ongoing characters from outside the Inn:

Halfred Whitfoot – local Shiriff from Bywater and Postmaster for this area of the Shire; his pony’s name is Dumpling.

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Please Note:

No 'SAVES' are allowed in the Inn (except for modifications needed to be made by the Moderators or Innkeeper).

With the exception of the Innkeeper and the Moderators, no OOC (Out Of Character) comments are allowed in the Inn.

Only the Innkeeper, Amanaduial, or the Moderators move the timeline for the Inn forward.

Visitors to the Inn will need to read the posts that come before theirs to get an idea of what time it is in the Shire, what the weather is like, and what is happening.

No violence is allowed in the Inn or on Inn grounds.

Please be familiar with the rules for the Inn and Games in The Red Book of Westmarch, the first topic in the Shire.

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About Elves in Shire RPG's:

Please use this description from Tolkien when crafting an Elf:

Return of the King – Appendix F: Tolkien’s description for the Quendi (The Speakers) – the name given to the Elves by themselves after they first awoke in Middle-earth.

“They were a race high and beautiful, the older Children of the world, and among them the Eldar were as Kings, who now are gone: the People of the Great Journey, the People of the Stars. They were tall, fair of skin and grey-eyed, though their locks were dark, save in the golden house of Finrod; and their voices had more melodies than any mortal voice that is now heard . . .”

Please use this as a guideline for describing your Elven character’s appearance.

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EVERYONE

Please be familiar with The Red Book of Westmarch which gives the rules for posting in the Shire RPG's and in The Green Dragon Inn.

Thanks!

Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[Esgallhugwen]

"Yes, he is mine you could say. I rescued him from the Hills of Evendim, and so he has bonded to me", Eswen half smiled as she called down to the Hobbit lass, her voice lyrical and soft on the chill breeze. Such an innocent little being, like all of her kin, only guilty in taking their delight in food and drink.

"And I suppose being close to an Elf has made him grow past a normal size for his age, I have no doubts you've heard of our so called magic which is quite absurd really, perhaps that has helped him". Nimrómen sat on his haunches next to the lass swishing his plush tail to and fro.

"Does he know any tricks?"

Esgallhugwen laughed softly, "none which he cares to learn, he is from the wild, bothering little with the ways of domestication, he is quite the slob when it comes to eating", the wolf cocked his head to the side and barked in protest.

"now, now don't lie to the young lass, maybe if you would eat slower more food would be in your stomach instead of on the floor" she shook her finger playfully tsking him.

"We havn't even been properly introduced, what is your name young Hobbit lass?"

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger and the Dwarf

Ginger had her empty serving tray tucked under one arm and was hurrying back to the kitchen, when she heard a low voice call out, ‘I say, Miss!’ She paused for a moment and turned toward the source. A newcomer to the Inn, she could see. And he was a Dwarf! She’d only been working at The Green Dragon for a short while and she couldn’t recall meeting one of the Dwarven people.

He seemed a nice enough fellow, she thought, drawing near him. His eyes twinkled in his face and beneath the generous beard and mustache she thought she could see him smiling.

‘Do you think you might bring a hungry Dwarf some eggs and ham?’ he went on as she stopped at his table. ‘And perhaps a pint of your fine ale to wet my whistle. My tongue’s fair parched from the dust kicked up from your farmers’ wagons!’

‘Yes, sir! Master Dwarf!’ she said, nodding her head to his requests. ‘I’ll just fetch your drink first and hurry back with your breakfast after.’ She turned to go, then as quickly turned back. ‘My name’s Ginger, by the way,’ she said introducing herself. ‘And, well, what is it they call you when you’re at home. If you don’t mind that is?’


-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-


Buttercup speaks with Newalme

To her left, Buttercup could see Ginger speaking to one of the newcomers. A russet haired Dwarf with a yellow cloak draped over his chair. He seemed friendly enough, and Ginger seemed at ease with him. Ginger was a new, young helper at the Inn, and Buttercup kept an eye on her in case she needed help with the tougher customers. This fellow appeared well mannered, however, so Buttercup passed on by.

She had only taken a few steps when a tall Elf hailed her. He had just gotten up from where a golden haired lady Elf sat. Brim she thought she remembered was the lady’s name. And this must be her traveling companion.

‘What can I do for you?’ she asked as she stepped up to where Newalme stood. ‘Would you and the lady like something to eat and drink?’

[Pivli]

"Now I have a question for you, Miz Greengage," Alcarillo announced, "You must be very familiar with the Shire. Can you tell me where the nearest inn that lies eastwards is? I'm traveling that way, you see, and I am somewhat unused to sleeping at the side of the road." He smiled pleasantly at her.

Violet’s attention had wandered for a moment – to the strange fellow who’d come in the door. Taller than a Hobbit, but not so tall as one of the Big Folk. And built very sturdy, he was. She dug down deep, in the stories she’d heard about Mister Bilbo and his adventures. Something niggled at the edges of her memory as she looked at the fellow’s beard and yellow cloak. A Dwarf! Yes, that’s the name she remembered from the old stories. My, my! Who’d have thought she would actually clap eyes on one.

The sound of the Elf’s voice drew her back. She heard the rising tone at the end of his words and knew he’d asked a question of her. Gather your wits back, Violet! she chided herself, piecing together what words of his she’d heard.

‘Well now, Master Nession – an Inn eastways down the road, you say. Mind you I haven’t traveled all that much. But I have gone as far as Frogmorton. ‘Bout twenty miles or so as the crow flies down the road. My mister took me there once when he was delivering some barrels he’d made to the inn there. The Floating Log, it’s called. Nice place; not quite as big as the Dragon. But very pleasant.’ She paused for a moment, thinking about some others of the Inns her husband had brought his barrels to. ‘Another day’s ride will bring you to the bridge that crosses the Brandywine. There’s a comfortable place there – The Bridge Inn, run by one of the Brandybuck families I heard tell.’

Violet took a sip of her tea; the steaming liquid warming her insides. ‘Oh, I’ve just thought of another, though it’s a bit off the Great Road. It was one of Mister Greengages favorites in the Eastfarthing.’ She furrowed her brow, recall where he said it was located. ‘Just before you get to the Brandywine River, there’s a small road that turns off toward the south, toward Stock. Less than an hour I should think, brings you to The Golden Perch. Finest beer in the Eastfarthing they say. And a fine place to put up if you like to fish at all. My husband did, bless him. “You had your choice,” he would say. “The Stockbrook or the Brandywine or both. Always come home with your creel full!” Many’s the fat smoked perch caught in those waters we’d have to tide us through the winters when meat was scarce.’

She looked over at Alcarillo, wondering if Elves fished and such. ‘Do you fish, Master Nession?’ she asked, the words bubbling up from her curious mind.

[Dunwen]

As she waited for Miz Bella to make up her mind, Ebba noticed two nearby children gazing at the colorful pile on the table. She kept an eye on them. Youngsters invariably wanted to touch the brightly colored goods. While sympathetic, Ebba’s familiarity with the frequently grubby state of childish hands made her protective of her wares.

These two made a strange pair indeed. The merchant had to smile at the small chattering hobbit girl and her friend, who towered over her. Why, the lad was nearly as tall as Ebba herself – not that it was hard for a boy child to top her. As handsome a young fellow as she ever remembered seeing, too! And well-mannered, she noted with approval. As he took the girl's arm and headed toward her table, Ebba was startled to see he had a resemblance to the dark-haired Elf who had been chatting with Miz Bella earlier. Could this boy be his son?

Seeing their determined approach, she stepped aside so they could see. “Come and look if you want, but don’t you touch unless your hands are clean,” she said firmly.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Miz Bella looked up from the pile of yarns that she had just finished sorting. There was a considerable heap of bright woolen thread sprawled out on one side of the table. Miz Bella had picked out the colors that she thought would work best to decorate the costumes and props they would make for the Faire. There was the short skit that the children would do as well as the puppet show that she had learned about just the day before. They would need yarn to embroider a bright curtain for the front of the stage, to make wigs for each of the characters, to weave cloth that could be turned into costumes, and a hundred other uses that she could not precisely recall at the moment.

Glancing up to see Neviel and Marigold inching towards the table, Miz Bella gestured for the two to come closer. She inspected their hands to make sure that they were clean. "That's good. Come have a look then. But do be careful, just as Miz Ebba says. Margold, help me find some fine colors that we can use to embroider a curtain for the stage. And Neviel, your father told me you've had some experience weaving cloth. Pick out some colors that would work for puppet costumes ..... dwarves and men and a hobbit or two, plus a large and very frightful dragon who has an evil glint in his eye."

[Larien Telemnar]

Larien sat quietly and listened to the Bard's song. She found herself transported by the very utterances of the song. She closed her eyes and tilted her head toward the ceiling, her hood falling off in the process. When the song ended, she slowly returned to reality to find that Hearpwine had seated himself once more and was looking at her expectantly.

She blushed, ashamed at having been caught in her reverie. She cleared her throat slightly and sat upright, self consciously rubbing the hem of her cloak in her fingers.

'That was beautiful, Lord Hearpwine. I hope you will grace us with another song before the evening ends.' She smiled and looked down at her hands. 'I suppose you wish to hear my story, as well as the story of the song?' She turned to Ginger. 'You've already heard it, I believe. The child in the song was so young, she should not have remembered that fateful night, but she did. The man who found the babe was an Elf of Imladris, Lord Elrond, to be exact. The child he named Larien, who grew up as his adopted daughter, sometimes living in Imladris, sometimes in Lorien. She now sits before you.' Larien closed her eyes breifly, remember sadly that night of her parents death.

'So you see, Lord Hearpwine, this is how I know of such things. I came to the Shire to discover how my kinspeople live. I have but the dimmest hope that I might discover the names of my birth parents, and perhaps the name given me as a babe.' She opened her eyes and smiled. 'It is how I had hoped. I am welcome here, for which I am thankfull.'

[Kath]

Astilwen laughed at the interaction between the Elf and her wolf cub. It reminded her a little of her youngest brother, whose food rarely even got as far as his mouth most days.

"We havn't even been properly introduced, what is your name young Hobbit lass?" asked the Elf.

"My name is Astilwen. It's a bit of a mouthful for a Hobbit I know but that's what you get when you have parents who are friends with Mayor Gamgee and his companions, they liked the foreign sounding names from the tales you see. What is your name?"

[Arry]

‘Uncle Gil! Look what we’ve got!’

Woody and Hanson came running toward Gil as he and his companions were talking about the next tune to play. Gil was leaning toward just a jig or reel. His throat was dry and a bit raspy, and he wanted to rest it for a bit.

The band’s eyes all turned to Gil’s two nephews as they came tinkling up merrily to the little stage. Words came tumbling from the boy’s lips helter-skelter. An Elf nearly taken off and eaten; a dragon in the dark beneath the table; magic bells; the open window; the escape and the rescue. A few moments of gentle redirection and questioning and the whole story came through in a more sensible way. That is, as sensible as a dragon in the Inn could get.

Behind Hanson and Woody stood Emlin, his face drawn into a serious pose, eyes twinkling. He was nodding his head at the story the two lads told. ‘Saved me, they did,’ he declared, putting hand to heart in a dramatic gesture.

And behind him stood Rowan, a tin whistle held lightly in her hand, her brown eyes gleaming merrily.

[Huan]

‘I’ve brought my little pipe,’ Rowan said. ‘And Tolly’s brought his drum. We thought perhaps the brave young lads could join in with their bells.’ She laughed merrily as she lifted her pipe to her lips.

‘Something for the ladies, this time,’ Tolly went on. ‘A little jig, we thought, to set them dancing.

Rowan turned to the room and swept the crowd with her eyes. ‘Push back the tables a bit, won’t you now. We’ve a jig to set your toes tapping. Cherish the Ladies, it is. Come ladies! Choose your partners for the dance.’ She blew a note on her whistle, to let the others know the key she’d play in. She started first and the others joined in the sprightly melody.

When the last note was played the dancers crowded about the little stage and called for another. Emlin joined the others on stage and took out his own whistle, nearly a twin to Rowan's but pitched a little higher, like the song of a wee bird.

Rowan played the opening bars with the others, then held her whistle in her hand as she harmonized with her brother on another danceable tune.

♪ --- ♫ --- ♪

Oh, the days of the Shire dancing
Oh, the ring of the piper's tune
Oh, for one of those hours of gladness
Gone, alas, like our youth, too soon!

When the boys began to gather
In the glen of a summer's night
And the Shire piper's tuning
Made us long with wild delight!
Oh, to think of it
Oh, to dream of it
Fills my heart with tears!

Oh, the days of the Shire dancing
Oh, the ring of the piper's tune
Oh, for one of those hours of gladness
Gone, alas, like our youth, too soon!

Was there ever a sweeter lass
In the dance than Blossom Appledore
Or a prouder lad than Minto
As he boldly took the floor.

Lads and lasses to your places
Up the middle and down again
Ah, the merry hearted laughter
Ringing through the happy glen!
Oh, to think of it
Oh, to dream of it
Fills my heart with tears!

Oh, the days of the Shire dancing
Oh, the ring of the piper's tune
Oh, for one of those hours of gladness
Gone, alas, like our youth, too soon!

Time goes on, and the happy years are dead
And one by one the merry hearts are fled
Silent now is the wild and lonely glen
Where the bright glad laugh will echo ne'er again
Only dreaming of days gone by in my heart I hear.

Loving voices of old companions
Stealing out of the past once more
And the sound of the dear old music
Soft and sweet as in days of yore.

When the boys began to gather
In the glen of a summer's night
And the Shire piper's tuning
Made us long with wild delight!
Oh, to think of it
Oh, to dream of it
Fills my heart with tears!

Oh, the days of the Shire dancing
Oh, the ring of the piper's tune
Oh, for one of those hours of gladness
Gone, alas, like our youth, too soon!

♪ --- ♫ --- ♪

They played the chorus twice at the end. The dancers stopped as the repeat began and sang the words along with the band.

[Lasbelinion]

Look how they move together, and apart. Each following the other’s steps.

Lithmîrë set his mug on the table. He leaned forward a little, pressing against the edge of the table as he watched the dancers and the musicians. Sometimes, in his travels, he had heard the notes of some distant piper through the trees. But he never thought to pause and listen to the whole of the tune; instead, he’d scurried away to put further distance between himself and the chance meeting with another. And dancing . . . he could not recall it; though, he knew that in his early days there must have been music and dancing.

Some unclear song hovered on the edges of his memory . . . but no images came to flesh it out.

He looked closely at the odd assortment of players. Halfling, Elf, Man. None seemed bent on being one up on the other. Sometimes one led, sometimes another. There was a certain grace to the way they bowed to one another, inviting each to take a turn. They were as much dancers with their instruments as were those who moved about on the floor in front of their little stage.

It was comforting, this music and movements that they made. He found it put him at ease, in a way. Mistress Bunce was enjoying it, he thought. Her foot was tapping lightly on the floor to the rhythms and she had a smile on her face as she watched the dancers.

‘You don’t have to stay here with me,’ he said in a low voice to her. ‘I’ll be happy to mind the teapot and the plate of tarts . . . if you want to dance, that is.’

[Seth Cotton]

Seth walked along side the road. His feet were aching, as well as his head, and he was starving. The cold breeze was the worst on top of all and the old, green coat he was wearing didn't offer much protection against it. He gazed up at the stars. He had always been really fascinated by their beauty and the peaceful light they offered to a wanderer on a lonesome road. He sighed and sat down for a moment and looked down at his feet. He grunted as he massaged them slowly. It had been a long walk, at least for him, seeing as he, nor his poor feet, was used to these kind of walks.

After his short pause he rose and started walking again. Now a bit faster after recovering some strength and spirit to keep on. He thought about the warm tea, the scent of soup with delicious spices and some bread. Soon he heard a dull murmur, and not too far away, he could even see lights from the houses.

This must be The Green Dragon Inn, he thought for himself and walked faster, totally forgetting about his ache. Driven only by his hunger and longing for warmth.

He got closer and could see the guests inside the Common Room; drinking tea, chatting. Yet he saw a few that were dropping off, saying good night to each other and leaving for their respective rooms. He entered and felt the pleasant heat just pour over him. Seth was rather tired and decided to get a room right away so he could go straight to bed after having a meal. He was a very practical hobbit, always planning what to and how to do it. Simply to be sure that it was to be done right, the way he wanted. This might make it sound as if he was a little egocentric, but in fact he wasn't at all.

He went over to the counter and cleared his throat a little. 'Eh, ahem... Hello?' He started, a little bit modest.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Seeing the newcomer humming and hawing, Aman excused herself from Brim and returned to the bar. "Good evening, sir, how may I help you?"

The hobbit jumped slightly as Aman greeted him from behind, and turned around, smiling a little bashfully. The Innkeeper gave him a wide smile, making her way towards where he stood, weaving between tables with her hands full of glasses. As she did so, she spied a convoy of children scurrying out of the door with a certain air of purpose - both endearing and slightly worrying to the eye that knew of the mischief that children can get themselves into. Dispelling it from her mind, the young Innkeeper turned back to the task in hand. Gesturing for the potential new customer to hang on for a moment, she opened the hinged wooden flap to the bar with her elbow - a rare skill possessed of those who often find themselves with hands entirely full of glasses - and ducked into it, setting them down. Turning back to the hobbit, her hands now free and ready to get to business, she sighed and smiled again. "Sorry - can I help you, sir?"

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine smiled broadly at Larien's question. "It has indeed! Not only have I learned a number of pleasing tunes -- and even helped in the writing of a new one -- but I have made the acquaintance of a number of new folk. This is indeed a remarkable place for the variety of peoples who come here. There's only one other Inn I've been to like it, but that was many years ago away in my home land of Rohan..."

A quiet voice from behind made Hearpwine turn in surprise. "You speak, no doubt, of the White Horse," the voice was saying. The occupants of the table and saw emerging from the shadows of outside the tall form of Snaveling.

"Aye, that I do my friend. Do you know the place?"

"I have been there," he replied quietly. "But that was many years ago, and in a different life."

Hearpwine bid Snaveling sit and then, clapping his hand to his forehead, cried out, "My old Master would have my hide for not introducing you right away to my new friends. Ginger and Larien, this is my dear companion...I'm not sure which name to use when introducing him, is it Snaveling or Tar-Corondir, for I have heard you called both?"

The dark man put out his hand to Larien, saying easily, "My name in the Shire is Snaveling, for all that it's not so fair as how I am called elsewhere. Ginger I know well," and he avoided her eye as he said this, for her look was not the most kind, "but I am pleased to make your acquaintance Mistress Larien. I must say, that if my name is odd, yours is equally out of place -- if I might be so bold. Larien is not a Halfling name."

Before she could answer Hearpwine burst out, "It is a name that she was given by the Lord Elrond himself in Imladris where the Lady Larian Telemnar was raised as foster child by the Elves! She was the close companion and friend of the Lady Arwen and knows much of Elvish magic and lore. She has returned to her homeland to seek her fortune!" Snaveling, who was quickly becmong accustomed to Hearpwine's enthusiasm, knew better than to take this recitation at face value. The Bard, he knew would rather lose his voice than to use it for a lie, but exagerations were common with the Man of Rohan. Snaveling turned to Larien, "I myself have just come from my new home in the south, where I spent time in the court of the King and Queen. If you were fostered in Imladris and the handmaiden to Arwen, perhaps you knew the Lord Elessar as well?'

[Seth Cotton]

Seth stood baffled, seeing how skillful the Innkeeper was as she made her way over to him by the counter. Seth stood on his toes, having both his arms up on the counter. He thought that it might appear rude to her seeing as he was leaning so arrogantly over the counter, but frankly his feet hurted so much he just had to ease the pain a little by leaning onto something.

'Can I help you, Sir?' she said again and got up to him, stroking her hair back a little with a finger.

'Ah, yes!' Seth said, now sounding more confident as he felt a sort of warm and welcoming aura . . . Or what it was, he could not explain to himself. He continued 'A room for the night, please.'

He gazed up at her again, she nodded back at him. He grinned a little, leaning back from the counter a little as he saw how she looked at him. He could not tell if she thought he was rude or if she founded it funny, but he chuckled a little and tried to ease the situation a little.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman wrinkled her nose, grinning at the hobbit as he chuckled somewhat nervously. A curious little fellow indeed… The hobbit appeared to be somewhat ill at ease, shifting backwards and forwards on his toes, twiddling his thumbs and fiddling anxiously with his hair, but he didn’t seem at all objectionable. Indeed, the Innkeeper was immediately intrigued by the newcomer – he was a hobbit, yet appeared tired, as if having travelled from afar, which is unusual to say the least for any of the Little Folk. The hobbit smiled bashfully then looked away, his eyes darting around the Common Room – goodness, he was a rather jumpy little fellow. Aman found herself smiling again before answering.

“A room? Of course, sir…” the woman rummaged about a little before producing the Green Dragon log book. Fishing a pen out of an apron pocket, she slid both items across the table towards the hobbit. “If you could put your name here and sign here, please? And may I ask how many nights you wish to stay for Mr…” Aman left the end of the sentence open for the hobbit to easily enter his name.