Here sits a short story about a meeting between two friends: Nigel and Bernard. They're both meeting to discuss their interactions with a curious figure called 'Greengrove', supposedly a fair maiden unlike any other, and the epitome of fairness and beauty...
There’s a little park area in Bree-town. Wonderful flowerbeds can be seen there, along with well-kept grass and some lovingly nurtured trees. The space offers some much-needed respite from all the grey around the town.
Anyway - two men are at this park, and they’re both in their mid-30s. Scruffy chaps, but harmless enough. Furthermore, they’re friends, and their names are Nigel and Bernard. The former is late to arrive, but the latter is sat on a nearby bench with an open book on mushroom cultivation in hand.
Nigel arrives and sits beside Bernard. You should know that he’s quite happy to interrupt his dear friend’s reading. All of that could wait, you see!
“So, you finally met Greengrove, yeah?” whispers Nigel excitedly, already nodding his head to encourage agreement from his pal. There’s no hello!
“Yes, Nigel. I did,” replies Bernard curtly, looking up from his text rather less enthused, but tolerant at least. Then he looks back to his book and turns a page.
“Asdo’s?”
“Yep.”
“And?”
“And… what?”
Nigel rolls his eyes and squeaks out an irritated little gasp! Cheeky bugger!
“-And-… I were right about the smell, wasn’t I?! It-…it were like sweet roses, it were. Goodness me, I nearly swooned at first whiff, I tells ya!” practically sings Nigel. His gleeful little eyes stare into the middle distance as he speaks, before they suddenly snap to Bernard upon detecting a silence that lingers a little too long.
A slightly sharper tone pushes things along some more.
“Oi! Weren’t it like sweet roses?”
“… well… uh, yes. Suppose it were. But you can’t go around sniffin’ folks Nige-”
“Yes! I know that! But it were somethin’. O’ boy were it somethin’! O’ boy! O’ boy! O’ boy!” rattles on Nigel, swaying side to side in all of his excitement, though runs out of steam eventually. But for how long?
Bernard just nods and lets his friend Nigel get on with his recollections in his own time. There’s a slightly arched brow, though nothing ill-meant by it. Letting the quiet descend, he then again returns to his reading… before almost jumping out of his skin as Nigel unexpectedly starts up again!
“And those eyes… green! Greener than any I’ve seen, I be telling you here now! Enchanting! I almost got lost in them, Bernie! How could you not?” protests Nigel! And he’s shrugging to empty space, as if willing any shades that might haunt the park to concede that point as well!
“Yeah. Reckon they were green,” Bernard smirks. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were in love, Nigel!”
“Heh… well. Might be I am.”
Here Bernard frowns softly. The book is lowered. But then he sets his mild surprise aside and nods a few times. “Well, good for you, Nige! Good for you, mate. Real pleased for you.”
“No, I mean it Bern! I am. My heart and mind have an accord; Greengrove’s the one!”
“Yeah? Well then! That’s lovely,” said Bernard. “I hope things work out for you.”
Some more silence and some more reading. Alas, Nigel just can’t help himself, though.
“It’s those -lips- too! Plump, pouty - I must find Greengrove again. We must kiss beneath a fair moon, and profess the great love we’re sure to share!” cried out Nigel. By now, he is attracting more than a few looks from those nearby, but nothing hostile – his display is just getting a bit louder, if you can believe it!
“Hm. Can’t say I saw those. Bit tricky with all that beard!” scoffs Bernard, though he doesn’t mean much by the comment. He turns another page, then turns it back again, for the chap now loses his place with all the talk and is quite determined to set those matters aright!
But then the air gets sucked out of the park, apparently. Somehow in that deafening silence, there eventually came a whisper from an aghast Nigel.
“E-excuse me?”
Unfortunately for Bernard, he won’t look up from his text yet, as he is busying himself with finding his place again. So, he just repeats, almost absent-mindedly, “Yes, that beard! A wild old thing, wasn’t it? But you might be right, perhaps a rather good kisser could be concealed beneath all that hair!”
“Greengrove is a woman, though!”
Neither of them can believe the other, for a moment.
“Um, no, Nigel. That beard was long. Looong! The figure was much too tall for a lady dwarf, too!” Bernard scoffs. “It was awhile ago you spoke of some nice-smelling green traveler. Perhaps they were freshly-shaven when you met?”
“Greengrove is a woman! A beardless beauty!” cries Nigel. “She was a feat of splendour, with red flaming hair and a dress coated with ivy, over which many a plant was displayed! And she wore a crown of growing green, and smiled at me with readiness, and offered to me her name the same way! And she was lithe in stature, and darted to wherever she went with great exuberance! She was a young woman, and fair beyond measure! Her laughter was a chorus, and my beating heart the drum!”
And then both of the fellow’s minds become crowded with many things. At first, Bernard wanted to laugh, but his bafflement overtook that!
“The fellow I met was an imposter, then?” enquires Bernard.
“A rather poor imitation if he's sporting a beard, Bern! Perhaps a sibling – maybe there’s a litter of Greengroves bobbing about?” suggests Nigel cheerfully.
“They wouldn’t have the same first name name - that isn’t a name mind you - if they were a family! Nor would siblings dress the same – sooner opposite I suspect! Your lady was young? My chap was far older! No, I bet they’re a cult! Did your Greengrove say ‘hrooom’ a lot as well? I wonder if it is some sort of secret language or something?”
“She did say ‘hrooom’, but she’s no cultist! I should imagine Lady Greengrove was sent down from the sky! For she is fairer than any elf I’ve ever seen, even with dirt under the nail! To me, Greengrove will always be the fairest lady in all the land, and all the others – and that’s what Greengrove means to me!” sang out Nigel.
Nigel will spend a lifetime hoping to encounter ‘Lady Greengrove’ once again, but alas, he never reports that he does. There have been no other claimed sightings of her in Bree-land either, at least for now. Though, perhaps in woodlands far away, there may occasionally be seen a merry young lady, garbed in green, and singing ever on in cheerful hrums and hrooms!
