The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Arry]

Gil and Rowan are joined by the rest of the crew

‘There you are!’ cried Tomlin, approaching the table where Gil and Rowan sat. ‘I thought your Da said we were to meet him at the Widow Thistlefoot’s burrow. Something about a shed to be put up . . . for gardening?’ Without invitation, he sat down at the table as he waited for Gil to answer. Hungry, or perhaps just wanting to have something to do with his hands, he began picking at gil’s plate. A strip of bacon here, a piece of toast there.

Fallon and Ferrin soon came tumbling in the door; rolling up to the table with laughs at some odd joke one or the other had thought up. ‘Ooh! Second breakfast, is it? Lovely!’ cried Ferrin crowding in next to Tomlin with a chair he’d borrowed from another table. Fallon sat on the other side of Tomlin and waved over Ruby. ‘Gil’s famished!’ he shouted as she drew near. ‘He’ll need another plate of eggs and ham and bacon and maybe one of mushrooms. Oh! And a bigger basket of bread and more cheese.’ He winked at Rowan. ‘This lass here is hungry, too. Make that two of everything.’

‘And more jam,’ said Tomlin spying Buttercup who’d come over to see what all the commotion was about. He waved the empty jam pot at her, grinning widely.

‘Sweets for the sweet,’ she laughed, grabbing it from his hand before it slipped and dropped to the floor. Hands on her hips she surveyed the rowdy fellows. ‘And who will be footing the bill for this grand breakfast?’ she asked, her gaze sweeping from one to the other and back again . . .

[Koobdooga]

‘Well, it would be good to have your company on the road, my friend!’ Ibun poured another mug of ale for himself and for Frór. The sunlight, he noticed, as he glanced toward the window was bright and inviting. ‘What do you say we take our ale and pipes out to the front porch, Frór? I noticed some chairs on the far end. We can sit back, put our feet up, and enjoy the sunshine.’

The two Dwarves had soon removed themselves to the Inn’s fron porch. The weather was mild, breezeless, and the sun’s light gave a feeling of warmth and contentment.

Ibun admitted he had never actually been to the Tower Hills before. But he understood the stood at the far western edge of the Shire. The Elves, he told Frór, had built three towers there long ago. And in the tallest, it was said, they had placed one of their long seeing stones that was said to be able to see all the way West to that place where the Elves go. ‘Of course, it’s no longer there. It went West on one of the Elven ships, or so I’ve heard.’

He took a few puffs at his pipe. ‘And just beyond those hills is the gulf where the Elves go to board their ships. That’s where I thought I would ask for news about Dwarves dwelling in the Blue Mountains. I’m sure they would have come down to the city about the docks there and sold some of their goods.’ He took a sip of his ale and sighed. ‘I’m sure they must have done so.’

[Dunwen]

“Ooof ” Ebba Rosebank had turned away from her locked door only barreled into by a hobbit lass carrying a large armful of towels. “Good gracious, be careful,” she exclaimed sharply, for even a hobbit laden with soft towels is painfully solid. Startled by the woman’s words, Ginger blushed pink and tried to apologize and pick up the scattered towels at the same time.

Ebba, having recovered from her own startlement, calmed down. The hobbit who had run into her was plainly distressed, and looked quite young. The widow was suddenly reminded of her younger daughter. “There, I don’t suppose either of us are hurt,” she said in a milder tone of voice. “Let’s get these towels picked up.” Ginger caught her breath, relived that the woman now spoke in an almost kindly manner. She curtsied and asked the guest if she would like some clean towels and facecloths, and flowers.

“I just finished washing up and could use one of each,” replied Ebba, as she picked up and folded some towels. “And some flowers would be pretty.” Ginger stopped her own picking up and folding to unlock the door of Widow Rosebank’s room and told Wren to put towels and some of the flowers in there. Shyly, Wren slipped inside to do as she was bid.

For her part, Ebba was surprised to see a small human girl in what was obviously a hobbit’s dress helping out at the Green Dragon. She looked at her closely as she disappeared into her room. In Bree, it wouldn’t have been unusual (except for the dress, of course) for Big Folk to work for hobbits and vice versa, but she had always thought the hobbits of the Shire tended to avoid humans. Of course, the common room downstairs had been filled with any number of different folk – elves, hobbits, at least one dwarf and herself. It had reminded her pleasantly of the Prancing Pony, and with less ruckus.

“It looks like you get all sorts of people coming through here,” she said cheerfully to Ginger as she helped the young hobbit load her arms once again. “The little girl helping you – does her family live in the Shire?” The widow had the oddest feeling she should know the child from somewhere, but couldn’t think why.

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger answers Miz Rosebank

Ginger peeked into the room, watching Wren as she put fresh flowers in the lady’s vase. The girl seemed intent on what she was doing, her deft fingers arranging the colors in a pleasing pattern. Stepping away from the door a bit, Ginger spoke low to the question the lady had asked.

‘Her name is Wren, m’am,’ Ginger began. ‘Wren Woodlock. She works here at the Inn with me. I’m Ginger, by the way,’ she added quickly. ‘Her brother, Tim, helps out in the stable.’ She craned her neck to see where Wren was now. Pitching her voice even lower she leaned near the lady, whispering. ‘And no, her family doesn’t live in the Shire. They used to live in Bree.’ Ginger blanched, not quite sure how to continue. ‘Her Ma and Da . . . well, they’ve passed on,’ she stammered.

Wren, by this time, had finished her flowers, and stepped out into the hall. Ginger blushed and motioned her over. ‘Here’s Wren, m’am,’ she said by way of introduction. ‘And Wren this is Miz . . .’ Ginger’s brow furrowed, recalling she hadn’t actually heard the lady’s name. ‘Excuse me, m’am . . . I’d like to introduce you, but I guess I forgot to ask your name.’

[Pivli]

‘No more tea for me, Vinca! I’m all tea’d out this morning. Why if I had any more tea, I think I’d float all the way down to the Brandywine!’ Violet walked slowly over to the table, her cane thump-thumping along on the hardwood floor. She eased herself into the chair Cook had pulled out for her, straightening herself about until she faced the table proper. ‘Could use a wee tot of your dandelion wine,’ she said, smiling brightly at Cook. ‘that always’s goes down well, don’t it just? Makes me think of summers gone by.’

It was nice here in the Inn’s kitchen. Clean and bright and smelling of good solid Shire foods. Violet took off her bonnet and hung it on the side post of the chair’s back; her can she hooked over the top cross piece. Her bright black eyes gazed about the homey room lighting finally on Cook who stood leaning against the back of the chair opposite her, waiting it seemed for Violet to make known her wishes.

‘Awfully good to see you, Violet,’ Cook said, taking her apron off. She folded it carefully lengthwise and hung it over the back of her chair.

‘Don’t get out much lately,’ Violet offered in return. ‘These old legs give me fits sometimes, especially on the colder days – what with all their aching and paining. Not all that fun getting old!’ Violet laughed at her little joke, following it up with the oft heard rejoinder. ‘But then it’s much better than the alternative!’

She leaned forward and propped her elbows on the table. ‘I’ve come to ask about the Faire that’s coming up soon. I’m supposing there’ll be a booth for quilts, eh? I’ve a mind to show some of mine off this year. You think there’ll be room for them?’

[SunniGadi]

Sunni stalks in silently, and looks around the live and bustling place. She is somewhat overwhelmed by it all, and hastily looks for an empty table to seat herself at. At last her eyes fell upon one, and she walked over gracefully and pulled off her worn green travelling cloak, placing it on the back of the chair and immediately sitting down. She brushed her red hair from her face and chanced another glance around.

This was a very merry place, she decided. The building just had that feel to it, empty or crowded, to herself, anyway. She looked down at the table and looked at the worn marks upon it. What a history this place must have.

[ElentariGreenleaf]

How can such a place exist?. The rolling green meadows, the peaceful trickle of streams heading towards the great ocean... It was unbelievably beautiful compared to the wasteland of Haradwaith. Even the great land of Gondor was no beauty in contrast with this place. This place… The Shire. It seemed untouched by the Great War, yet it had indeed come to feel the pain the rest of the land had in that dark time.

A great peace filled Katara’s heart. The Shire was indeed the place her heart longed for. For the five years after her escape from the City of the Corsairs she had been moving from place to place in Middle Earth, looking for the home her heart desired. For two years she had stayed in Rohan, having discovered it to be her place of origin. But the pain of knowing they had allowed her parents to sell her as a slave was too much to bear. They claimed they had not known, but Katara saw a different tale in their eyes.

Her horse whinnied, causing Katara to start, snapping her from her thoughts. She smiled as one of the Little Folk walked by. Hobbits. They intrigued her no end. She had been in the Shire for a few days, so she no longer stared at them with wide eyes wondering how on earth a full grown Hobbit was only the size of a child. She had in fact thought them all children until she spoke to one. They were such kindly people, and Katara believed she would get on well here. Yes, this is where she would build her home.

A sign caught her eye as she road past. She stopped and looked back at it, reading aloud the fine script - “The Green Dragon Inn”. Now there was a fine name for an inn. She dismounted her mare, the only true friend she’d ever had, and set her out to graze, trusting her not to wander too far. Until she had built her home, Katara would need to somewhere to stay. She had earned much money since she had broken free of captivity, but she did not like to think about how. It made her sad she knew how to use a sword, yet she knew she could not have survived without the skill. But that part of her life was behind her now. She could live peacefully here, with her own animals and a vegetable garden for her to live off. Yes, that was how her life would be from now on. Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the quaint inn.