The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Azaelia of Willowbottom]

"Don't mind 'im. 'E's just one of them rambunctious lads, too full of 'imself to be polite. And a student at that school, at that."

Peony smiled. Hobbit lads would be hobbit lads. Rambunctions, annoying, but funny and endearing despite that. "Well, I'm sure that he'll learn better manners someday..." she looked over at the lad who hadn't moved from his position on top of the hearth. " Maybe... " she she muttered quietly.

Suddenly peony's stomach rumbled, and she laughed, slightly embarrassed. She looked over her shoulder and made a small signal to the waitress. "I think I'll order some supper. Care to join me for the evening meal?" she asked Thistle.

[Fairleaf]

Fairleaf had watched as the man and the other of the Elves took the pursuing Elf away. Uien, she’d heard them call her. A small shudder ran through her, as if some breeze had trembled her leaves. The dark shadow that had crept over her own beloved lands had also scarred Lithmire and Uien. Though, Lithmire bore his scars in body and spirit; while Uien, as fair as a new leaf catching the Spring sun, bore hers within. The scars run deep, regardless of where they are, she thought to herself. As deep as those memories of death and cuttings and burnings in those gardens of long ago. A single drop of evening dew slipped from her leafy fingers, falling on the ground below. Through the tangle of her branches a long, sad sigh soughed.

She shook off her sorrow, focusing on where Lithmire had gone. He was out of sight now, too far away for her to follow after. She could not follow him in this light without causing undue attention to herself. She would see to him later . . . that is, if he came back at all . . .

Looking about the patch of dirt where she stood, Fairleaf saw no one about. Behind her grew the small stand of hawthorn and beech that bordered on the groundskeeper’s cottage. She edged her way back among them, throwing her fair limbs upwards as did they. She would wait here until nightfall, then make her way to the Inn.

[littlemanpoet]

Uien and Falowik left Eswen at table, and left the common room, returning to the bower. Falowik pointed out where the tree root .....

"Well, I am quite sure that was where it was. I guess I was wrong."

Uien tipped her head to Falowik, eyeing him sidewise. "You are ever quick to claim yourself in the wrong, my love."

He shrugged. "It's not like tree roots move."

Uien knelt. "Show me the very place where the root was. Or, where you supposed it to be."

Falowik knelt beside her and tried to show her, but his faith in his memory was wavering, since the root was quite obviously not where he had thought he had seen it. He rose back to his feet, waiting while Uien bent over the earth.

Uien studied the ground in the the shadowy light of the bower, for the sun was fast approaching the horizon. She did not speak her thought to Falowik, but the earth was churned and scuffed, as if a root had been there and was no longer. The same mark could have been made by a garter snake or any number of crawling beasts, but she wondered. She rose.

"Show me the tree to which this root belonged, Lauréatan."

Falowik looked around. "Um, I think that's it there."

Uien followed his pointing finger and led him to the tree, whole limbs rose high into the air. "I am going to sit before this tree and watch it for a while," she said, and sat on the ground before it.

"Why?"

She shrugged. "It's an Elvish thing, I suppose.

He sighed and shook his head. "I am no Elf, and confess that I will grow easily bored with this game. If you don't mind, I will go back inside and have an ale or two."

"I will be here."

With that, Falowik left her. She gazed at the tree for a long while, keeping her thoughts to herself, but a small smile was on her face. At length, when the sun was almost set, she sang an Elvish twilight song. It seemed to her that the tree's leaves turned to her attentively, with help from no wind.

When she had finished, she said, "I wonder, tree, if you understood my song? Are you listening to me now? It is said that the Elves of long ago taught speech to the trees. Are you such a one, I wonder?" Uien lapsed into silence and gazed at the tree, admiring all its fair leaves.

[Envinyatar]

Derufin excused himself from the table and making his way back to the kitchen peeked in through the door. ‘Cook?’ he called, waiting to hear her familiar voice. She was in the pantry, emptying a sack of flour into the bin, a white cloud floating round her for her efforts.

‘I thought I’d just save the lasses some trouble,’ he said as she looked up at him. ‘Benat and Hob and Anyopa and Zimzi and I are here for a meal and a round of drinks. If you don’t mind I’ll just load up a tray with bowls of stew and biscuits and such and take it on out to our table.’

[piosenniel]

Cook stepped out from the pantry and wiped off her face with a clean towel. Once Derufin had gone, she would step outside and give her self a more thorough brushing off.

She helped him load up his tray, making sure there was plenty of food for the crew who had filled the Inn’s woodshed. She piled up a sizable plate of tarts, knowing the groundskeeper had a mighty sweet tooth. ‘Oh, and here’s a little pot of vegetable stew I’d set aside for Master Benat, seeing as how he would probably not be wanting to eat the conies. Delicious as they are,’ she said as an aside. ‘And take this bowl of stew out for the nice doggie.’ She glanced up at Derufin as he gave a laugh at this expression of her acceptance of Cullen as a suitable canine. ‘Well, he’s left my old tabby alone. And the little ones like him, I’ve noticed. Can’t be all that bad, can he?’ And that was about as much praise as she had ever heaped on the head of a canine.

Her last favor was to trundle downstairs to retrieve a bottle of Dwarven spirits. She came back with a dust, dark brown bottle with some unreadable runes on it, not to mention a few trailing wisps of cobweb. ‘Don’t get much call for this,’ she said putting it on the heavily laden tray. ‘Most people just don’t have a taste for it. Quite a kick to it, if I do say so myself.’ Derufin raised a brow at her. ‘Tried to use it in a cake I was making . . . had to give it a taste, see if it was alright, now didn’t I?’

Cook held the door open for him and ushered him out before he could make a suitable reply.

[Noinkling]

Benat’s eyes gleamed as Derufin approached, the tray of food balanced on his hands and one shoulder. Cullen stood, too, his nose sniffing the air appreciatively. Rumbly sounds came from one or the other’s stomach, or perhaps both.

Derufin passed out the bowls of stew, telling Benat that Cook had made his without meat. ‘Bless her!’ cried the man, his nose taking in the savory aroma. ‘She is a sure treasure you’ve got here, Master Derufin. A kind heart for all her gruff at times exterior.’ Cullen echoed the sentiment with an anticipatory Woof! as his bowl was placed on the floor.

Taking the bottle of Dwarven spirits, Benat eased the cork from it and poured each of them a small tot of it in the little silvered glasses Cook had sent with it. He held his up with a grin on his face, saying, ‘Here’s to the Shire and here’s to The Green Dragon! Long may they prosper!’

[Undómë]

Hob raised his little glass with the others. Truth be told, he’d never had Dwarven spirits, his preference being for good ale. ‘May our gardens bloom with flowers and vegetables and our burrows with little ones!’ he said, adding his own toast.

He brought the little cup tentatively to his nose and sniffed it. A strong scent, though not unpleasant. It spoke of solidness and fire’s heat and brightness he thought, though he could not tell why. Tipping the glass back as he touched it to his lips, he let a small amount seep onto his tongue. Fiery, indeed! It brought tears to his eyes and a bout of coughing as it ran down his throat.

‘Good!’ he rasped, wiping his eyes with the cuff of his tunic. ‘Surprisingly good.’