The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Farael]

After having some of the stew, Farael shakes his head "no, I don't think those orcs spouted wings. I don't even think they were orcs at all, but rather bandits. I believe they noticed me before I noticed them and somehow managed to go back to the trail without me noticing them." Farael sighed "And I know what happened is unusual, as my Lord The King has cleaned most of this lands from the evils of that one who was defeated and who's name I shall not repeat. Yes, highly unusual indeed." Farael went on to tell the dwarves, while absently nibbling at a bread slice, how he had spent the last few days on the forests, searching for any clues with regard to what had happened. Nothing was there to be found by him and soon he lost hopes, but came to the Green Dragon Inn for a well deserved rest before returning to Gondor.

Now his stew was starting to get cold and Farael noticed how hungry he really was, so he asked the Dwarves who had been giving the proper attention to their meals. "So tell me, my friends, how far away are these Blue Mountains you mention? this is my first trip to this side of the lands and I would like to see some more of it before going back home." At the same time, a loud crashing noise was heard from the kitchen and Farael turned around to see what had happened.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Fordogrim led Tim to a table and ordered them some food. For some time there was silence as the Hobbit plied himself to the board and for such a little fellow he demonstrated that he lacked none of the legendary appetite of the Little Folk. As he finished his first small loaf the cousins came up from the cellar, puffing and blowing with their labour. With few words – even from Gerdy – they too sat down and put themselves to work. After they had each eaten three platefuls of food they sat back and sighed contentedly. Soon, their pipes were out and the fragrant smoke of Old Toby was drifting toward the rafters. Gerdy turned to Tim and offered him some of the pipeweed. The lad shook his head and politely declined, explaining that he was only a child and that it was not the usual custom for the children of Men to smoke. Gerdy’s eyes went wide with astonishment. “You don’t say? Well, that is to say, you don’t say that you’re a child…not that you don’t say that Men children don’t smoke, as neither do Hobbit lads and lasses either, if you get my meaning.” Tim assured Gerdy that he did, although it took some work. Gerdy smiled and pressed on. “It’s true that a good smoke is as pleasant a thing to have after a morning’s work as is anything – except maybe a bit of luncheon with a pint of ale, that’s good too – but there’s also true that a smoke is not a thing for a child to have. Hobbit or Man. Now why should that be?” His face fell into a philosophical air. “It seems as though to be young is something of a burden, it does. There’s the playing and the easy times, and the free meals and the care and the smaller clothes as you can keep dirtier, but then there’s the things as you can’t be doing: like going out at night by yourself – leastways, not without sneaking – and staying up at dances and parties, and beer, and deciding what to do with your day, and escaping punishment if you break something by accident, and….and….”

“And smoking?” Tim helped him out.

“Ay! And smoking! That’s the very thing!” cried Gerdy, having forgotten utterly his own point.

For his part, Fordogrim was oblivious to the conversation, his own eyes taking their fill of the comely lasses seated across the Common Room from himself. They were sitting with an older woman and through careful observation and delicate listening he was soon able to make out who they were. Violet, the eldest, was aunt to Lilly, the fairer of the two younger lasses…but perhaps not…for Rose was fair as well…he could not make up his mind. “Well,” he said aloud, “when you can’t decide, it’s best as to find out for yourself. Tim me lad!” he said to the boy, “you know that I’m not one to go reminding you of debts as are owed, so I won’t be mentioning the ruckus you caused with my wares and my bar. I only talks about it here so you’ll know as I’m going to ask you a favour and I want you to grant it or not without thinking for a moment about that other matter. You know I’m new to these parts and I’d be interested in making the acquaintance of some of the folk from hereabouts. Perhaps you could go on over to that table with those three ladies and ask if they’d be willing to join us here?”

[Rose]

The steam from her bowl of stew set Rose’s stomach to grumbling again. Trying to be polite as she could, she managed to get several bites down to quell the noise – quick, barely chewed bites which had hardly grazed her tongue as she swallowed them. In fact, she had hardly taken a breath in the space of these bites. But now, with the edge taken off her hunger, she took a smaller bite of stew and let her mouth enjoy the flavors.

‘I think you’re right, Miz Greengage, she does use a bit of fennel. My mum does that, too. Though mum’s recipe calls for a bit of fresh dill, and I can’t taste any of that in this stew.’ Rose reached for her mug and took a swallow of cool cider. ‘You had asked if I was one of the Woolcombs from up north. Well if by north, you mean Bindbalewood, then the answer is yes. And yes again to the sheep. In fact, that’s the reason I’ve come down to Bywater . . .’ She paused midsentence as a Hobbit at a table a ways away from her seemed to be glancing in an interested manner toward her and her companions.

She leaned forward, and whispered softly to Lilly. ‘That fellow over there,’ she nodded slightly in the direction of Fordogrim. ‘The one talking to the Big Folk child. He seems to be looking at us. Do you know him?’