The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[piosenniel]

Making plans for the Spring Faire . . .

‘Vinca Bunce! Where are you, you old trout?!’

There were two young women stuffing their mouths with artichoke as Granny Oldbuck entered the Inn kitchen. Buttercup Brownlock and Ginger Gamwich – both their chins shiny with butter. They dropped the leaves in their fingers and hurriedly wiped their faces.

‘Down there, Granny,’ said Buttercup coming round the table to point downstairs. ‘I’ll just go down and get her for you. Could I tell her what it is you want her for?’

Granny nodded and began to explain about the booth for herbs and medicinals. She and Granny Chubb and Granny Heathertoes were looking to manage it again this year. “But this year we want a better spot to put up our booth . . . and a bigger one . . .’

Ginger cleared away the last of the artichoke and wiped up the table top as she motioned for Granny Oldbuck to take a seat. She was just about to ask if Granny wanted a cup of tea, when the old woman’s yew wood cane pointed toward the door to the common room. Granny chuckled and waved for the Hobbit who’d been peeking in at the door to come in.

‘Ferdibrand Banks,’ she said as he entered, his eyes glued on Ginger. ‘And with a fistful of lupines.’ Granny Oldbuck motioned for Ginger to see to the visitor. ‘And mind you, get those flowers into some water afore they droop.’

[Saelind]

Before the Bard could respond to Reggie or answer Woody and Hanson's concerns, a slender Elf lad had leapt to his feet, nervously eyed his companions who sat near by, and blurted out a plea, "Please, Master Hearpwine, let the rest of us sing the song. I was born in Lórien and spent my earliest years there until it got so lonely and we had to leave. I have forgotten too many things, but what I remember best is the trees. Father has explained to me that other folk have other ways, but I could never put an axe to living wood. And your song says that so well. My father would weep with joy, for your voice is as sweet as any Elvish loremaster that I have heard."

"Perhaps," he added, "the lads who don't want to sing that tune could help get things ready for the puppets, the ones Miz Bella mentioned, and then join the rest of us for a second round of song. Indeed, could we make up our own song, one that's about something everyone likes? Perhaps about games or food or running across a field on a bright day, maybe even an anthem of praise to Cook who gave us such a fine lunch?"

"And I have a little harp of my own, not so great and grand as a true Bard, but still it plays sweet and true."

[Firefoot]

Willy had watched in silence thus far, scoffing of all the fuss over a tree. It was just a tree! He liked trees all right; they were fun to climb (if they weren't too tall), and their shade was nice on a hot summer day, but if one needed to be cut down, well, he really didn't care, so long as there weren't more than necessary cut down. There were always other trees.

Then Neviel stood up and said his piece about the song. I wonder if all Elves are this queer, thought Willy. He wondered if they would really have to learn many songs so high and fine as this. He saw absolutely nothing wrong with the good old Shire songs, easy to remember yet with wonderful beats for singing and dancing. They seemed much more appropriate to Willy for the Spring Faire. If they sang some fine songs, that would be okay, because new things could be fun, but he really would just prefer the types of songs he knew. He wasn't very musical, and disliked complicated songs.

As Neviel finished, Willy stood up since that seemed to be the thing to do. "I'm Willy, sir, Willy Burrows. I don't play any instruments or anything. I just thought I'd say, though, that your song was right nice, but I guess I don't see what the big deal about a tree is. And the song seems kinda hard. Not all of our songs will be so hard, will they? We'll get to sing some Shire songs, too, right?"

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The sudden chorus of small voices was a bit bewildering to the Bard, who was more used to hearing calls for another song than suggestions that he not sing again – or, worse, that his song had not been the right one for the occasion. He turned to the Boffin boys first. “I’m sure your Da would never punish you for simply singing a song, lads! He may make his living by harvesting the trees of the forest, but sure there are trees that he holds dear and would be loath to see felled. I have heard that there is one tree in the Shire of some magnificence, brought here by the Adventurers, and I am sure that none would dare lay their axe to it!”

Hanson’s eyes grew wide at the very idea. “Sure, there isn’t a hobbit anywhere who would cut down the Party Tree!”

Hearpwine grinned, believing he had scored a point. “Well, then, you see – your Da will understand the song.”

“Begging your pardon, sir,” Reggie said, “but your song wasn’t about the Party Tree, it was about an oak that you loved. I don’t think Mister Boffin and his brothers would care about that!”

Hearpwine opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by Willy. “Well who cares about any old tree! I still say as we should sing a song about food and drink. And hobbits!”

“Well,” Hearpwine began again, “as it happens, I don’t know any songs of the Shire. That is why I am here. You see, my King…” but once again he was interrupted, this time by all the boys at once. At first he tried calling for them to attend to him, but their excited voices drowned him out. He thought back rapidly to his own school days, trying to remember what his master would do when he did not attend to his lessons, but the memory of the switch was a painful one, and he could not imagine inflicting anything like that on a child – let alone a hobbit child, not one of whom was any higher than his knee. Not knowing what else to do, then, he played upon his harp: but it was no tune or melody that filled the room. Instead, it was a jarring and ugly sound that he drew from the strings, discordant and unordered. It pained him deeply to assault his instrument in such a fashion, but it worked for the children fell silent and gazed at him in awe of how terrible a sound he was making.

“Thank you,” he said when they had fallen silent once more. “I am sorry that some of you are not overly fond of the song, but I cannot think of a better!”

“Master Hearpwine, can I say something?” The Bard looked at the speaker and for the first time noticed that it was an Elven child. His face registered shock, for never had he beheld an Elf younger than himself. So surprised was he that he made no answer, so the little fellow continued on his own. “If it’s true that no-one in the Shire would object to a song telling the woodsman not to chop down the Party Tree, then maybe we could change your song a bit and make it about that. I know that I would be happy to sing such a song, for the new Party Tree is a mallyrn and much beloved of my people.”

Hearpwine smiled at the lad and then turned to the others. “Well, children? What do you think?” there was a general mood of assent in the room, with many bright hobbit faces nodding in agreement. “Very well then,” he continued, “let us work on altering the lyrics so that it is a song about the Party Tree!”

[Tevildo]

Camille glanced over at Neviel, her eyes glowing with surprise and approval. Elf or not, the lad had a good idea. Surely, none of the parents would complain about a ballad that spoke of protecting the marvellous mallorn tree. In the short time that she had been in the Shire, Camille had heard of the events that had led to the felling of the old tree and the planting of the new one. Still, she had questions still unanswered.

Raising her hand wildly in the air to get the Bard's attention, the hobbit lass blurted out, "Tis a good idea. But there's one thing I don't understand. Will you be writing the song for us? Or are you saying we should do it? And how could we ever write a song? None of us have ever done that before....or at least I don't think so."

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine smiled at the lass. "That's a good question, Mistress...?"

"Camille," the girl supplied.

"Camille," he echoed confused by the strange name. "I think it best if you all try to rewrite the words together, as the version I sang is the one I know and enjoy, but this Party Tree is wholly new to me! Who better to make a song of the Shire than yourselves! I will of course be here to help with my harp!" And with that he began playing a simple country tune to inspire them.