The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Amanaduial the archer]

As the tune finished to the sound of applause, Aman gave her hands to the clapping also, then continued her rounds about the Common Room, whistling the remainder of the tune jauntily to herself. The night had put her in high spirits, the same as the rest of the Inn's denizens, for it had been surprisingly succesful: usually when such crowds gathered in the Inn for such a night of songs and when the ale flowed quite so freely, a sharp eye was required of Aman and her staff for any trouble or rowdiness. But tonight, nothing of the like had raised its head, and although the wind had picked up outside, blowing a chill breeze through the Common Room door whenever it opened, inside there was no sign of any such chill atmosphere inside the Green Dragon.

The door opened and as Aman chanced to look up she saw two newcomers scurry in looking windswept and rather harried. The boy, evidently the older of the two, hustled a younger girl along in front of him, and although he looked calm enough, his tight lips and anxious, flitting eyes told Aman that this lad was anything from calm. Hungry eyes as well… Aman narrowed her own eyes, looking around at those who may have been eligible relations for these two newcomers, but all the Big Folk, it seemed, had already been here for some time and many were already known by Aman. And small though the children were, they were certainly no hobbits. The Innkeeper raised an eyebrow and made a note to herself to keep an eye on that pair – the night was drawing on already, and the dark was no place for children.

Heading towards them, she accidentally nudged the elbow of a customer seated nearby. The woman gave a stifled, surprised cry and Aman turned quickly, surprised at such a reaction – after all, all she had done was jolt the woman’s arm a little. But apparently the woman had been so deep in her book that she had not noticed the Innkeeper’s approach – she much have been more startled than Aman had bargained for. Yet now that her book had fallen to the floor, the woman did not move to get it, and when the Innkeeper turned towards her, she remained unmoving, her eyes fixed pointedly on the wall, a sheet of long golden hair covering her face. Murmuring effusive apologies, the Innkeeper set down the glasses she had been carrying on a nearby table and knelt down to retrieve the book. But as she picked it up, she noticed something odd: the cover was entirely blank, totally unmarked apart from a few dusty smears now across the cover. Hastily brushing these away, Aman glanced up at the book’s owner to see that her face was still turned away and, curious, she turned the book over, frowning when she saw that the back was also unmarked. But on the spine…Aman’s frown deepened as she looked closer at the book’s spine, for dotted onto it, apparently randomly, were a series of dots and indents, a neat yet indecipherable code. But although she did not understand it, it was a code that was vaguely familiar to Aman, from a customer many months ago who had also had a series of books that bore these indentures…

She felt a hand brush her shoulder and turned as she woman drew away: she had not realised Aman was still there and so had bent to get her book. Apparently embarrassed, the woman looked away again, but this time Aman saw her face more clearly and her suspicion sparked by the unmarked book was confirmed by her pale, silvery eyes: the woman was blind. Straightening up, Aman wiped the book once more with her sleeve and then handed it back to the woman. “I do apologise, ma’am, I didn’t…sorry, I was a little distracted,” Aman amended her sentence just in time. She added, “You are new to this Inn, are you not? Can I get you anything?”

[Folwren]

Tim and Wren’s eyes left Gil and the group of musicians half reluctantly and they looked back at Hanson. Wren’s eyes lit up at the mention of the kittens in the barn and she immediately cast a hopeful glance towards Tim. Her brother smiled gently at her and answered Hanson for her.

“Wren would very much like to see the kittens. She loves baby animals.”

A slightly troubled shadow crossed his face as he made his reply, however, and he made no mention of the food Hanson had spoken of. He had no money to pay for anything, and perhaps it was his pride that kept him from saying so. He stood up and pushed the thought from his mind as his face became clear again. He was eye to eye with the older hobbit that had just come up and he stuck out his hand in greeting.

“Tim Woodlock,” he said. “You are Hanson’s older brother, I assume, but I don’t know your name.”

“I’m Woody,” he answered, shaking hands. “Nice to meet you.”

“Your uncle is very good,” Tim went on, glancing past Woody to the musicians. “I liked that song, though it was kind of sad.” Wren got up and stepped to his side, giving him a look of silent appeal to go out and visit the kittens. “Lead is out to your kittens, Hanson,” Tim said, turning again to the younger hobbit, “in their nice nest of hay. Wren's impatient to see them.”

[Larien Telemnar]

Larien had crept to the side of the room when another song started. After the singers were finishes, she headed back to her table with Ginger and Hearpwine.

She smiled vaguely as she sat down, sneaking a glance in the direction of the newcomer she had tried to welcome.

'So, Hearpwine, has your stay in the Shire been stisfactory?' She asked.

[piosenniel]

Cook and Hanson

Cook was humming along with the music from the common room. Gil and his boys were in good form, though she noted a number of the songs had to do with love, finding love, true love and such. Not the usual songs of drinking and good times she was used to hearing from them at the Inn. ‘I should just see what’s got young master Gil in such a mood,’ she thought to herself. ‘Not like him to be going on so.’

She gave the four big bowls of bread dough a punch down and covered each with a clean towel. One by one she carried them to the cool part of the pantry to rise slowly overnight.

The door to the kitchen banged open just as she was washing up from the bread making. Little Hanson strode in, grinning from ear to ear, a twinkle in his eye. The little scamp wanted something! And there with him was his brother Woody, looking rather exasperated. Behind him stood two of the Big Folk children, skinny little things by her reckoning. Why the young girl looked like she’d blow away in a soft breeze!

She put on her sternest face and drawing her short frame up as tall as she might, she looked down at Hanson. ‘Yes, young Master Boffin? And what are you wanting this time?’ Try as she might, she could not keep the glint of amusement from her eyes, nor the twitch of a barely suppressed laugh from the corner of her lips.

[Arry]

Hanson and Cook . . .

Hanson was not above batting his eyes at Cook. He found it often worked on his Gammer, though not on his Ma, much to his dismay. He put on his serious face after, mirroring hers, and took a deep breath. ‘We’re going to see the new kittens in the barn,’ he said. ‘And of course, we’ll be very careful with them,’ he piped up, forestalling a word of caution from her. ‘Master Meri showed me just how to touch them. And we won’t bother the Mama Kitty.’ He shook his head solemnly to emphasize his words.

He looked about the kitchen hopefully, his eyes lighting on the cookie jar up on the counter, and at the plate of ham and cheese sandwiches on thick slices of bread near it. He could see the golden crust of a few of the sandwiches peeking out from under a napkin laid over them. His stomach grumbled loudly at the thought of setting his teeth into one of them, followed by a fat cookie . . . or two. He knew better than to ask outright for the sandwiches and cookies. Cook would more than likely call him cheeky and send him and the others scurrying off.

Cook was glancing at his two new friends standing behind Woody. ‘Say, you haven’t met my new friends, have you? This is Tim Woodlock and his sister, Wren. They want to see the kittens, too.’