The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Elu Ancalime]

The strange elf was violently aroused from his slumber. Only a nightmare, he reassured himself. But it seemed more like his fears were calling from.

Uuquettannoer......why did you flee?.......do you feel you can hide forever in the West?.......you will be naught more than an unwanted stranger........


"I'm safe in this land. No other elf from so far knows of this place; here i can lay secret, and safe. Perhaps some wine, and a little fun with the little folk will cure my sorrowness." He left his room, and went out to the front lawn.

Surprised because of his last comment, he noticed a few other elves, one of them named Aidwain Longleaf, yet Uuquettano did not know them by name or face. He gathered his courage, being a shy and quiet elf, and longed to converse with the elves. He had not spoken to another of his race since he left his homeland.

"Greetings, fellow quendi. What brings you to this forgotten land in the north? Where do you hail from? I myself am a traveller, and I am surprised to see not only one other, but a handful of elves in this place the small folk call The Shire. I hope you enjoying this marvelous little party they have put on. I find this Inn so gay and energetic! It's almost as if I have fallen into a dream."
"But come now, we are all dressed different, what is your business if I may ask? If you would tell your names and whence you came, I would be happy to tell you mine. For I have not spoken in any long tale to anyone for what seems like ages, and now I wish to settle down with others of my kin."

[Eowyn Skywalker]

At the incoherent quiry, Ariane couldn't help but smile as she waited for a more understandable reply. "Sorry - I asked what it was you were looking at?"

She grinned slightly, setting her fork down beside her plate, a slight clatter tingling the edge of the glass dish as it slipped to hit the table. "I as..." She swallowed hard to clear her mouth of potatoes, then reached to take a glass of water (for Ariane had picked one up along the way). Swallowing down a mouthful helped clear the thickness, and she managed to reply easily. "I was looking at the roof. It's sort of a... childish amusement of mine, one might say. Counting the tiles, if there are any, or beams if that replaces them."

The woman shrugged, forking some carrots. "I don't know why I do it, but I enjoy it. It's a distractor, something to shift my thought patterns from darkness to simple logic—" Something Ariane had never been able to accomplish, being more melodramatic than logical, more unpredictable than mathimatical, more of a writer and an artist than one for numbers and logical thought. But she didn't say that aloud, letting herself trail off naturally, as if she hadn't considered carrying on to say anymore. "But what do you think of the buns they have here? They're amazingly flavored." She sighed. "I cannot cook a thing without burning it."

[Kath]

Astilwen had been interested in Ariane's explanation of why she counted what was on the ceiling and wished that she had gone on. The woman had lapsed into silence after only a few words and was obviously deep in thought, though those thoughts were apparently going to stay in her head. After a moment she had shaken herself and changed the subject entirely.

"But what do you think of the buns they have here? They're amazingly flavored." She sighed. "I cannot cook a thing without burning it."

Deciding to leave the previous matter be Astilwen went along with this new tangent.

"They're wonderful. The cook here is quite famous among these parts for her food and you can see, or should I say taste why! I'm the same as you though. My mother tried to teach me to cook by getting me to make the meal for my family once a week. And so once a week my family went hungry!"

The two of them shared a laugh born of a common misfortune and tucked back into their meals. After a happy few moments spent eating in peace Astilwen pushed her plate away from her and leant back in her chair, Ariane following suit close behind.

"So," began the hobbit, "Where is it that you hail from?"

[Eowyn Skywalker]

"So, where is it that you hail from?"

A vaugely amused grin touched Ariane's face for a moment. She waited to reply this time until swallowing down her last bite of food, clear to speak without sputtering all over the table. "Ah, here, there, everywhere," she said with a hint of a melodramatic flurish, mindlessly poking at a couple of small squares of meat on her plate. "I was born near Bree, in this area, really. Not the Shire, but you know what I mean.

"I suppose I'm not essentially from Bree, considering I've lived in a few different places, Gondor for a while recently. But then, perhaps it doesn't really matter."

She grinned. "I don't need to ask you where you're from, though."

Setting aside her fork, she picked a bit at some of the remaining gravy left on the plate before finally finishing up the bits and remains left and pushing her plate aside to follow Astilwen's example. A good large meal, she thought, was one of the underspoken wonders of the world.

[Kath]

"I suppose I'm not essentially from Bree, considering I've lived in a few different places, Gondor for a while recently. But then, perhaps it doesn't really matter."

Gondor! Astilwen was now in awe of this woman. She herself had only ever heard of the place through tales that her parents friends told. She remembered hiding behind doors as a child to listen to the stories, and being chased off to bed when she was discovered. And she was discovered every time, for she could never contain her gasps of fright at the scary parts, or her laughter at the funny ones.

Now impressed she looked at Ariane more closely. Perhaps it was just the new information playing tricks on her eyes, but now that she thought about it she wondered if the faint lines she could see were the wear and tear that came from travelling. Whatever the case the woman was obviously full of surprises!

"Gondor!" She exclaimed. "Well I never. What's it like?"

[Maeggaladiel]

Hallien's booted foot tapped rhythmically against the leg of the chair. The instrument-- it couldn't really be called a lute anymore; she had added too many extra strings over the years-- was fully tuned and ready to play.

She leaned over the instrument's hollow body, her head nodding in time to her foot. After four beats, she started to play.

No time can pass your sight unseen,
No moment steals away unfound.
Lifetime lived in such a dream,
Floats like a feather to the ground.

And for the first time I've been seeing
The things I'd never notice, without you.
And for the first time I'm discovering
The things I used to treasure, about you.

The birds like leaves on Winterwood,
Sing hopeful songs on dismal days.
They've learned to live life as they should.
They are at peace with nature's ways.

You are as natural as the night,
And all that springs from you is good.
And the children born beneath your light,
Are like the birds on Winterwood.

And for the first time I've been seeing
The things I'd never notice, without you.
And for the first time I'm discovering
The things I used to treasure, about you.

[Folwren]

Wren and Tim came out of their search fruitless. The music and songs had continued, more people had come, and more dancers had started to dance, but there seemed to be no sign of Woody or Hanson. The brother and sister finally collapsed on the bench of one of the tables. Tim leaned back on his elbows against the table and scanned the growing company. Wren sat forward her hands folded in her lap, looking out eagerly as well.

“I’m famished,” Tim finally said, sitting up abruptly. “Let’s go eat something.”

“Alright, let’s!” Wren agreed, bouncing up onto her feet. They threaded their way through the dancing and standing people, Wren going a few paces ahead. “Oh, Tim, wait and see what we’ve made!” She turned half around to talk, still going forward at half a skipping pace. “We were busy all afternoon, cooking and baking - it was wonderful! Ginger let me help with - ooomph!” The collision with someone stopped her excitement short and Tim tried to stifle his laugh. Wren regained her footing and looked up into the smiling, merry face of a young woman. The stranger had her hands on Wren’s shoulders to keep her on her feet, and she was almost laughing herself.

“I-I’m terribly sorry,” Wren said, surprised and slightly embarrassed. “Wasn’t watching where I was going.” She looked at the lady again, admiring openly the soft, flowing blue dress. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “We were going to go get something to eat.”

[Nogrod]

Without his long, slightly gleaming red hair, Rían Sundry might have been able to make the few feets from the door to the desk quite unnoticed. Not that he was a master sneaker, or thief, or anything of that sort. Rían Sundry was just an ordinary-looking, thirty-or-something man, who looked weary enough to imply that he had been on the road for a couple of days. And as the Inn seemed to host an abundance of beings from races other than hobbits, he wasn’t even standing taller of the locals any more than half of the other crowd already did.

So his entrance was noted, a couple of nods and some raised eyebrows, for his hair. But that was about it. He was used to it, and happy with that. He was not a man who desired to be the center of attention anyhow, and his hair had made him learn the trick to be quite gray and elusive. Of which the second attribute indeed fitted his character quite well.

After requesting Ruby for a room and an ale, he started looking around him with a promise of a possible room, and quite an actual pint in his hand. He didn’t especially love elves – he did not hate them or anything of that sort either. They were just the queer folks he didn’t quite undestand. Not that he would have known one personally, but still. Just approaching the ladies scared him nowadays too much to even think about. Still, a pint drank alone was even below the worst standards of a part-time-loner. Happily, he saw two men talking, or which was better, being quiet for a moment, just a couple of feets away. So he walked to the table where Farael and Bredan were having their meal, introduced himself as “Reddie” Sundry, and asked, whether the seat beside them was vacant.

[Naria]

Naria rubbed her eyes, straightened her dress and walked downstairs into the pub. She turned to go outside when she noticed two new faces with Farael. "Hmmm, I wonder if he's here for the party?" she wondered. She went to make a move to introduce herself but found a panic in her stomach and decided that maybe she should go outside for some air and food.

Once outside she felt much better and wondered where Penn had gotten herself too. There were quite a few more people than when she had gone for a nap and excitement filled her. Naria went over to a table of cakes, cookies and pies and helped herself to some delicious sweets. She washed it down with some murky looking water and decided that maybe she should go and introduce herself after all. On her way over to the pub, Naria grabbed a cup and poured herself some ale or liquid courage.

She went up the stairs to the inn and hesitated just slightly before opening the door. She walked inside and lifted her cup to her mouth and realized that it was empty. "I must have been thirsty." she murmured. It made another excuse to prolong her introduction so she went over to Ruby and asked for another pint. Naria was starting to feel the effect of the first ale since she had not had any drink since her departure. She thought to herself "maybe I should take a seat" She shuffled over to some stools that were lined up against the wall, took one out of its place and went to sit down. With some splintering of wood and a thud; Naria found herself flat out on the inn floor.

The three men who were having some conversation quickly looked over and couldn't help but snicker at her unfortunate predicament. Naria, feeling quite silly quickly got up and introduced herself.

[Elu Ancalime]

Aidwain Longleaf and the other two elves didn't here Uuquettanoer. Laughter from one of stories being told covered his long introduction.

Uuquettanoer was used to it. He always was shy around strangers; he would always make a long speech-like introduction. So he slowly walked away, a bit embarassed. He took some more of his own drink, more of the River-Water, and took a seat at the bar. The night's not over yet, he though. Perhaps I could strike up a conversation with a local, they would certainly be happy to tell me the date...

[Eowyn Skywalker]

"Gondor! Well I never. What's it like?"

Ariane smiled briefly for a moment, temptation to ask to be excused for just a bare moment to refill her cup rising. Spent far too long there to bear entire appreciation for the country, she thought. I miss Eriador, the Breelands... "It's tall." A grin crossed her face, and she stared forlornly at the bottom of her now empty glass of water, an oxymoron in expression to say the least.

But she carried on. "Oh, it's a lovely country. I personally have a preference to these lands; quieter and smaller though they may seem, I prefer that. The Gondorians are tall, dark-haired men, it seems. The type with the eyes that can bite into your soul. The buildings are thick stone, rising up to greet the skies above Minas Tirath—although of course I was not there during the war, living in one of the outlying villiages, hardly of merit of course—but the city is great. Yet it seemed so cold, in so many places, striken with fear and a continual need to reach for the top. Not so innocent, though indeed there were places where things were... normal."

Ariane paused and drew in a breath. She had felt almost uncomfortable in Gondor, as reputed as it was among most. She preferred the simple easy pleasures of being in the Shire while a party went on and people danced, she realized. It was so much easier to handle. Safer, they had said, she remembered. Safer, but perhaps not better.

[Dimturiel]

The door of the inn opened and a young girl with long black hair entered. She stopped on the threshold surveying the people there with a quizzical look. She seemed to be carrying a debate inside herself. After some moments she shrugged her shoulders and went to sit at an empty table.

She continued gazing at the wide variety of people with a look of intrest mingled with uneasiness. Never had she seen so many races under one roof. Deep inside herself she knew that there was a certain harmony in what she was seeing, but for the time being she could not grasp it. All she could percieve was how unfamiliar everithing was to her. She know realised- as she was sitting there, plucking up the courage to go and ask the innkeeper for something to drink and a room- how far away was Dol Amroth, her own home, and how wide was the realm of Arda.

The thought seemed to scare her, and she felt for a moment like runing away. Where to, she could not tell, but she wanted to be away from those merry people that where talking and singing, that seemed to belong to one another and to the place also. But then she relaxed, shook her head and muttered to herself:

"Come what may is all that can be said now. And you cannot say that you are blameless in this, Aniriel."

[Kath]

Astilwen felt almost that it would have been better not to have asked about Gondor, as the smile on Ariane's face had faded and she was now staring moodily into her glass. As she had been talking she had sounded unhappy, as if her memories of the place were very bad. And her description didn't paint the city in a good light either.

"Was it so bad to live there? I thought that the king was improving things?"

Ariane turned to her with a sad smile, and seemed to be pondering her answer. Wanting to give her the time to do so, Astilwen picked up both their glasses and disappeared back into the crowd. Fighting through all the people without the help of Ariane's height proved difficult, and it was more than a few minutes before she returned.

Collapsing into her chair she passed Ariane a glass, and took a deep drink from her own while waiting for the other woman to start speaking.

[Farael]

"Well, welcome Mr. Sundry and feel free to join in! we were just admiring the greatness of the people of The Shire... and the food they prepare!" Farael chuckled, unsure if such bout of friendlyness was his own or if he should blame the ales he had consumed. "Where do you hail from and how did you get to this lovely place? I am Farael of Gondor and sitting with me is Bredan of Gondor. If you tell me that you are from Gondor as well I shall start wondering if I am not soon to realize that I never left the white city at all!" Yes, it was the ale speaking, but Farael did not mind it at all.

Telu had dissapeared into the crowd again and something in Bredan's words had lifted his spirits higher even than what the ale had achieved. Farael was happy and glad to be there, even if it was by chance that he found the Inn.

[Nogrod]

“If it depends on my origins, rest assured, that you really have had some travels. I do dwell on these northern lands, have dwelled here, most of my life.”, said Reddie Sundry, some amusement in his smile for his newly-found comrades’ speeding high spirits, and continued: “But to be truthful with you both, I’m not a local. I come from lands east from here, and as such, I am a stranger as you are. A cheer for that to begin with?” He smiled openly to both gondorians and they smiled back. It seemed, they felt at ease together and they drank together. Reddie felt good just to sit here with these strangers.

Just as Reddie was about to make a question concerning the two gondorians’ being here at the northern outposts of civilized Middle-Earth, a loud crash went into the air. They all turned to look for the cause of this distraction and saw a young lady laying at the floor with a broken chair. They looked at each other and smiled, snickered a bit, and toasted again. Reddie shook his head and said jokingly “You should never tend a young lady more than one beer, after that they both lose their legs, and forget their heads. That’s an old saying around where I come from. I have sometimes wondered, whether it really is true, but the world seems to be proving it, day after another”. They all laughed again.

Then there was an odd silence. It started from Bredan, who was the first to notice. Then Farael got up to the situation. Reddie came to understand the reason of the quick silence only after hearing soft words being uttered quite near to his head: “Hello. Sorry to distract you. My name is Naria”. Reddie blushed somewhat, but concealed it bravely. His hand didn’t shake noticeably when he shook hands with Naria in his turn.

[Eowyn Skywalker]

"Was it so bad to live there? I thought that the king was improving things?"

Ariane waited until the hobbit had returned from the crowd of people, her glass refilled, and accepted it gratefully, sipping at it. "I'm sorry I appeared so down about it. Gondor isn't such a bad place... I suppose my negative view is from more personal issues. The king did improve things greatly, that I can honestly say."

She offered a half-hearted grin. Around them, the party carried on, music playing, people going back for seconds, and even thirds now of food. And, of course, the ever carrying hum of other voices chattering, forcing the human to have to raise her voice just a bit more to be comfortably heard over the sound of the music. "But enough about my issues. I can't help I'm this way. What's interesting about life in the Shire?"

Was it her imagination, or did the hobbit seem bored of the idea? Perhaps so. Ariane recalled a time when living in a quieter town had seemed so dreadful when there was an entire universe beyond her sights! Who knew, perhaps even the stars would be different if she were to leave Bree...

They had been, she remembered with a faint smile. Along with so many other things.

[Undómë]

Teluyaviel smiled gratefully at Emlin from behind her brother’s back. The older Elf’s courteous words had engaged Tindomion, who now felt he had someone of equal standing who might understand and sympathize with him. She backed away as Tindo began his complaint about her, mouthing a heartfelt ‘Sorry!’ to Emlin as she did so.

She wormed her way through the crowd, putting as much distance between herself and Tindo as she could. A short ways away now, she saw Farael. He was sitting with two other men. Eating and drinking and looking as if they were enjoying each other’s company.

Telu pushed back her long dark hair, catching a few stray tendrils behind her ears. She shook out the skirt of her green dress and took a deep breath. The men looked quite engaged with each other, but making herself bold she approached the table.

‘Would you have room at this merry table for one more to join you?’ she asked, a smile dimpling her face.

[Kath]

"But enough about my issues. I can't help I'm this way. What's interesting about life in the Shire?"

Allowing Ariane to skirt around these personal issues that had so affected her life in Gondor, Astilwen set about making her feel more at ease with tales of the Shire. As she spoke though, she found it hard to think of things that made life interesting. Fun and enjoyable and comfortable yes, but not interesting. She loved it here, and would never wish to have been born anywhere else, for even in Bree the hobbit parents weren't so free with their friendships and their children, having to look out for the Big People all around. The sheltered life that hobbits in the Shire had was often taken for granted, but it was still appreciated.

She realised that she had trailed off into thought, and that Ariane was looking saddened at the thought that perhaps the Shire was not the paradise it was made out to be. Feeling ashamed of herself for thinking such thoughts about her home Astilwen quickly set about telling tales of parties and happenings that had occurred in her lifetime, and soon had the other woman laughing at her descriptions of hobbits so fat after sumptuous meals that they could not walk themselves home.

"It sounds wonderful!" Ariane said through her giggles.

"It is." Sighed Astilwen. "But sometimes I feel that I would like to leave, to see more of the world, like you."

[Farael]

After the little incident with the chair, Naria approached Farael and his two newfound friends. He stood up and introduced the lady to Bredan and Reddie and just as he was sitting down he heard a voice he had been craving -and dreading- to hear all night long.

"Would you have room at this merry table for one more to join you?’" Said Teluyaviel which prompted another round of introductions. "Gentlemen and Naria, this is Teluyaviel from the lands that used to be called Mirkwood. Telu, these are Bredan of Gondor (like myself), Reddie Sundry from the eastern lands... no, pardon me, from the east of these lands and Naria whom I believe you have met this afternoon." After everyone at the suddenly crowded table had said their respective 'hello's and 'how are you's they went back to what seemed to be the most popular conversation topic with the strangers to The Shire. The food.

"Ladies, Gentlemen," Started Farael "I have travelled a little bit. Little by elven standards, " he nodded at Telu "but a fair bit for us men. I was born in Gondor and traveled to many a city on its realms. I have been to Rohan as well yet I have never tasted food as good as the one I have today. I don't know if Master Bredan has heard this during his time in the White City but for a while it was fashionable to compliment someone's cooking by saying that it was 'as good as Lembas for a tired traveller' -considering My Lord the King used to have it as a meal during his great adventures- but if M'lady Teluyaviel will forgive me I shall declare that this food is even better than the elven bread!" He realized then that, caught up in the moment, he had stood up and was holding his mug of ale as if proposing a toast. "Cheers" he muttered and sat down again, hoping in the soft yet dim light no one would notice him blushing.

[Arry]

Gammer Boffin, Woody, and Hanson arrive . . .

Gammer Boffin turned her little cart into the lane leading down to the Inn and clucked at the pony to speed him up. ‘Step lively, Strawfoot!’ she called to him. ‘Don’t want to miss the party.’ She turned to her great grandsons, Woody, eleven years, and Hanson, five, who sat squirming on the seat next to her.

‘Seems old Strawfoot ain’t listenin’ tonight lads. He’s as slow as molasses in Afteryule!’ she cackled. ‘Might as well jump down, you two, and run and get Granny a nice comfortable chair, not to far from the food and drink, mind you.’ She watched as the two little boys jumped from the slow moving cart.

‘And see if you can find Gil, will you lads? Tell him Granny’d like to sit with him a spell.’ She watched as they ran off toward the gathered crowd of partygoers. With a sigh and another cluck of her tongue she turned Strawfoot toward the stable and let him amble along.

--------------------------------------

Gil

Make a fool of yourself in love . . . the words seemed to echo about in his head as he walked to where Rowan stood, leaning against the end of a table near the casks of ale.

She watched him as he drew near, her eyes glancing at him with a hint of mischief over the rim of her mug. She scooted over, making room for him to lean against the table, too. He cleared his throat, intending to say something clever, but nothing came out. And suddenly his throat was parched, his tongue as dry as a bone.

He turned and raised his brows enquiringly at her; his hand going up toward his mouth as he mimed drinking. Not waiting for her to say ‘yes’, he took the mug from her hands and swallowed a big gulp.

[nynnd1]

Bredan chuckled under his breath at Faraels’ toast, but thought that it seemed like a fun thing to do, and maybe to stop some embarrassment to his new friend he rose from his chair, puffing out his chair and standing tall as he could, he always seemed to do this when speaking publicly and around women. Bredan raised his mug and breathed inwards, hoping that words would come from his mind.

“If it is toasting that is called for then please let me try.”

Bredan cleared his throat and shut his eyes for a second,

“I too have travelled to many places, for a man anyway,” Bredan said acknowledging the new found elf friend as Farael had,

“And the food truly is perhaps the greatest I have had in middle earth, though I have never tried the famous bread of the elves” Bredan looked again at the elf maiden sitting with him, Bredan had always had huge respect for elves, he always imagined this to be from the stories that he heard growing up where elves had done great deeds, although always he hoped it was elf magic at work.

“But the only thing that is in the shire that is better than the food and ale,” Bredan raised the mug to acknowledge the ale, “is the hospitality of Hobbits, I declare that this party is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, with almost all races of Middle Earth in one party. So Ladies and Gentlemen, to the Shire and its Hobbits, Cheers.”

“Cheers” came the response, although it sounded a lot louder than just the new friends Bredan was sitting with. It was then that Bredan realised the music had stopped and the whole party was listening him to. Bredan gave a huge smile, raised his mug and sat down, looking at Farael he asked,

“Am I blushing more than you now friend?”

[Undómë]

‘Bredan,’ she said smiling at the other man from Gondor. ‘A pleasure to meet you.’ She turned to where the red-haired man sat. ‘And Master Sundry, still yet another pleasure, I am sure.’ Her eyes glinted as she nodded to him. ‘Naria – very pleased to make your acquaintance, also.’

The talk had turned to food . . . Shire food, in particular. And Farael had stood up, his drink in hand and made a toast to it. He sat down, blushing, after he had done so, and she wondered why. ‘Lembas is fine, I suppose,’ she said, wondering if he thought he’d offended her with that remark. ‘But really, it grows quite humdrum and tedious on the tongue if that’s all one has, day after day.’ And now it was her turn to blush and look guiltily about to see if any other Elves were near. ‘I have to say, my mother is a dear soul. But she cannot cook for the life of her. Lembas, I think must require a certain light touch to make. And well, my mother hasn’t got it.’ She blushed more deeply realizing she had just spoken ill of her mother. What had gotten into her, she wondered. Tindo would be scandalized.

Then Bredan had risen and gave a toast to the Halflings' hospitality. And he sat down blushing, too. What was it that made Men bold to speak and yet sent the blood to their cheeks. Was it the drink they held in their hands, she wondered.

‘Something to drink, miss?’ one of the servers said passing near the table. ‘And you gents and Lady, too. Refills?’

Telu looked at Farael. His mug was in his hand and he seemed quite happy this evening. Perhaps she should try whatever it was he had. ‘One of those,’ she said pointing to his mug. ‘A large one, I think. It’s gotten very hot all of a sudden . . . and I’m very thirsty.’

The server gave her an odd look, but hastened off to comply. Soon a tall mug of Fordogrim’s Fine Ale was set before her; its foamy head beckoning a sip from her.

‘Oh, my!’ she said, taking a good sized swallow. The foam tickled her nose and there remained a creamy white mustache on her upper lip after she sat the mug down. ‘By the One! That’s good.’ She grinned, licking the foam from her lip. She tried it again, feeling a certain odd sensation spread from belly to limbs to head, it seemed. ‘Quite good! And . . . well, interesting in an unusual way.’

A complete novice to the art of drinking ale or any spirits for that matter, Telu raised the mug one more time and downed the last of it in a few swallows. Setting the mug down carefully on the table top, she felt her tongue get a bit thick, and her lips a bit numb. It was a new set of sensations, and though she wasn’t quite sure she liked them all, still she found them fascinating and new.

She managed to untangle her tongue and command it to speak. ‘I think I should like to try that dark colored sort,’ she said slowly, looking at the ale one of the servers was pouring at another table. She looked back to where Farael was sitting and just for a moment, her vision wavered and there seemed to be two of him.

[Farael]

Farael gently held Telu's wrist before she could stand up to get more ale. "You have had enough of that to drown a grown up man M'lady... I do not think a Dwarf would even dare to drain a pint just like that. It might just be a silly question to ask right now but have you ever tried an ale before?"

He set his mug aside and asked one of the passing servers two glasses of water. It was the same hobbit that had brought Teluyaviel her pint of ale, and he had a big "I told you so" expression on his face. Farael nodded a thanks and offered Telu one of the glasses "It may help you feel a little better. I would suggest you drink a fair bit of water now, or else tomorrow you may wake up with a terrible headache." Farael blushed a little, the effects of the ale not completely gone on him "Do elves even have headaches?" He blushed as he noticed they were not alone. Bredan was smirking, Reddie still seemed he had not gotten used to the precense of the ladies... or maybe it was Telu? Farael had not yet forgotten how flustered he had been. And Naria... she seemed a little absent minded. Perhaps still embarassed at the broken chair? or maybe just daydreaming and enjoying the party.

[Thinlómien]

Brith continued lurking on the edges of the party area. She ate a bit though she wasn't hungry. All around him people were chatting with their friends and Brith was one of the few who were alone.

She sat on a bench and listened people talking and having fun. It had been a long while since she had been in a party. With a sudden pang, she missed all her friends in Gondor. She missed even her faitless fiance, Belecthor, who had run away with a pretty rohir girl. She had fled Gondor because of her relationship problems, but now she wished that she had stayed and solved the problems. She longed for friendship and even idle chatter, but she was too shy to approach anyone. She sighed and blushed when someone looked at her questioningly because of her sigh.

"If you're sad, drink. It always help, my lass", her grandfather had advised her long ago when he had been alive. With her sudden sadness she decided it was one of the greatest advices she had ever gotten. She went and poured herself a big pint of beer.

[Undómë]

‘ . . . tried an ale before?’

Telu closed one eye as she looked toward the source of the question. Farael. And there seemed now to be three of him; the images wavering with the slightest movement of her head. Her eyes, the pupils now widely dilated, were almost as dark as the night sky. And her cheeks felt aflame, whether from the effects of the drink or the fact she felt the touch of Farael’s hand as he grasped her wrist.

‘Actually, no,’ she said in a small voice, managing to get him into focus. She disengaged her hand from him and clasped the both of hers around the mug of water. It was cool to the touch and after a small sip she held it to her reddened cheeks.

In an effort not to look directly at Farael, or any of the others at the table, for she was now quite chagrined at her behavior, Telu glanced about the party area. With a gasp she turned back to the table and ducked down her head. Her brother, Tindo was looking about . . . for her.

‘Oh, if he sees what I’ve gone and done now, he’ll drag me off tonight!’ Her eyes darted quickly about the Inn yard. ‘Where can I hide?’

[Nogrod]

"What is it, that you would have to hide? Is he someone you know?" asked Reddie, stretching himself up. "If there is trouble, I'll help you just for the sake of having this good night to go on better than it started". He made a look towards Tindo and scorned him.

Here Naria got in. "That's their bussiness, don't get involved into it". Reddie looked up to Naria, and was quite baffled. What had he been doing? Just one ale, and he was losing his grip.

"Sorry", he said to Naria, and took to his pint. But Naria would not let him go that easily. "What were you thinking about? You really would like to go between a brother and a sister? On whose side would you be in, and why?"

Reddie was clearly not his own master now. His hands were starting to shake. "I said sorry, isn't that enough? What do you want?" he asked Naria , and concentrated on his pint again.

[Farael]

"Don't worry Master Reddie, fighting would be of no use this time... yet I guess I have gotten between these brothers once, I might as well do it another time. Telu, you will get into a lot of trouble if your brother finds you drunk like this... yet the only other option I can think about... well, it could get you into as much trouble. We can't stay here... so would you well.... would you..." Farael blushed, then got mad at himself for being so shy "dancewithme?" yet then he blushed even more.

Tindo was slowly making his way towards the table, yet he did not seem to have seen them. Farael stood up and still holding Telu's wrist bowed and smiled at her, hoping she'd accept.

[Lhunardawen]

“That’s it. This has gone long enough. My life is wasting away, and I will not let you ruin whatever little is left of it.”

Tilionwen’s tear-stained face was as stern as it could manage, but deep inside she was overcome with doubt. She tried her best to suppress the quavering in her voice, for the most part hoping to convince herself to believe in what she was saying. Yet despite her best efforts, He saw through her pretense. He reached out to her in condescending kindness, at the same time casting a smug, pitiful look at her for her futile attempt.

Reluctantly, Tilionwen found herself succumbing once again. The Moon’s bright rays seemed to lovingly caress her and it just felt so warm, so comforting. But she knew in her heart that she would never find peace unless He finally leaves her be – and that is as impossible as His light stopping from shining on everything in its path. But for her own sake, she also knew that she had to try. Mustering the fragments of courage left within her, she held herself as high as her low spirits would allow and turned abruptly on her heel.

She had been hearing that dull noise for quite some time now, and she was certain that it came from a gathering of some sort. She strode purposefully towards the direction of its source and hoped that she would lose the Moon in the crowd. Optimistic now, she increased her pace and even began to skip a little. She was aware that He was still mocking her in her trail, but with some effort she managed to ignore Him.

An inn loomed in view, and Tilionwen cheered inside when she realized that a party was being held there. She halted a stone's throw away from the inn, untangled her long, dark, wind-messed hair with her fingers and wiped her face with her palms in an effort to look the least bit presentable.

The Green Dragon, as she found out the inn is called, seemed to her a delightful place. But what she was hoping to find there was at least one kind, inviting face, and so far there was none. She urged herself to adapt to the festive mood of her surroundings, yet something was holding her back. She felt caged, alone, and isolated – and suddenly paranoia seized her. Do they know? she repeatedly asked herself as she looked warily around. Now all she wanted was to get away from her hoped-for refuge. Walking some distance away from the tables and the people, she found a spot where she can be by herself. Her slender form drooped like a flower bereft of rain, and after a long moment of hesitation, she looked up apologetically at the Moon.

[Undómë]

There was a strain of silliness that themed this night, or so it seemed to Telu. ‘I am drunk,’ she said aloud, trying out the title on her tongue. ‘Drunk!’ She laughed, a silvery sound as if there were a myriad of little bells all tinkling sweetly in a gentle breeze. ‘And then again, I am drunk . . . my reason consumed by the ale, by the music, by the stars set in the sky above . . . and by you, I think, my dear Farael.’

She grasped him by the hand, nodding her acceptance to his question. ‘Come Master Reddie, Mistress Naria. Won’t you join us?’ She smiled at the both of them, daring them to rise and follow along.

Tindo made his way slowly along the edge of the crowd. She and Farael made their way to the little dancing area, following along the edges of the crowd far opposite her brother.

The band was playing a lively tune. They watched the other couples and the steps seemed simple enough. Those dancing near them bade them come into the ring. With each passing refrain of the melody, it seemed their feet grew accustomed to the pattern of dance.

‘We seem to be doing quite well,’ Telu said, as she hiked her skirts to her knees, like the Halflings were doing, and curtsied to him. He bowed and they passed each other on the right side, going round each other’s back and returning to where they first stood. They then linked arms and promenaded forward and back. Over and again the patterns repeated themselves.

There was another quick stepping dance that followed close on the heels of this first one. And it was Telu, this time, who asked him for the dance.

‘Kind sir,’ she said, grinning impishly at him as she made a little curtsy. ‘Will you chance another stepped on toe or two?’

[Arry]

'Let's give them this one,' Tomlin said, fitting his fiddle below his chin, 'It's a quick one, and maybe we can take a wee break then. I'm needing a little refreshment. What about you lads?'

Fallon and Ferrin nodded their heads 'yes'. Ferrin banged his little hand drum to the beat, and got the song going . . .


As I was a going over Gillgarry Mountain,
I spied Colonel Farrell and his money he was countin'.
First I drew me pistol and then I drew me rapier,
Sayin' stand and deliver for I am your bold receiver.

Mush a ring a ra du ra ma da
Wack for the daddy oh, wack for the daddy oh
There's whiskey in the jar (http://www.3pintsgone.com/sounds/whiskey-jar.mp3)

He counted out his money and it made a pretty penny,
I put it in me pocket to take home to darling' Jenny.
She sighed and swore she loved me and never would deceive me
But the devil take the women for they always lie so easy

Mush a ring a ra du ra ma da
Wack for the daddy oh, wack for the daddy oh
There's whiskey in the jar.

I went into me chamber all for to take a slumber
To dream of gold and girls and of course it was no wonder.
Me Jenny took me charges and she filled them up with water,
Called on colonel Farrell to get ready for the slaughter.

Mush a ring a ra du ra ma da
Wack for the daddy oh, wack for the daddy oh
There's whiskey in the jar.

Next morning early before I rose to travel,
There came a band of footmen and likewise Colonel Farrell.
I goes to draw me pistol for she'd stole away me rapier,
but a prisoner I was taken I couldn't shoot the water.

Mush a ring a ra du ra ma da
Wack for the daddy oh, wack for the daddy oh
There's whiskey in the jar.

They put me into jail with a judge all a writin'
For robbing Colonel Farrell on Gilgarry Mountain.
But they didn't take me fists so I knocked the jailer down,
And bid a farewell to this tight fisted town.

Mush a ring a ra du ra ma da
Wack for the daddy oh, wack for the daddy oh
There's whiskey in the jar.

I'd like to find me brother the one that's in the army,
I don't know where he's stationed in Cork or in Killarney.
Together we'd go roving o'r the mountains of Killkenney,
And I swear he'd treat me better than me darling' sporting Jenny.

Mush a ring a ra du ra ma da
Wack for the daddy oh, wack for the daddy oh
There's whiskey in the jar.

There's some takes delight in the carriages and rolling,
Some takes delight in the hurley or the bowlin'.
But I takes delight in the juice of the barley,
Courting pretty maids in the mourning oh so early.

Mush a ring a ra du ra ma da
Wack for the daddy oh, wack for the daddy oh
There's whiskey in the jar.

[Dimturiel]

When the song ended, Aniriel was surprised to find herself clapping with the rest. Her mistrust was slowly dying away. She even managed to smile at those that caught her eye, although she still did not have the courage to engage someone in a conversation.

"But that will come, too." she said to herself. "It is bound to come. It is no use siting here and brooding on your past, Aniriel."


And what was there to cry about? Nothing, really. There had been no darkness in her life. It was not grief that made her leave her home, nothing drove her from Dol Amroth save desire to see the world and a rather unnatural passion for listening to songs and drinking ale in village inns. It was not as if she was exiled, she could return if she wished to. But she did not. She wanted to enjoy herself, to laugh and sing like the merry folk around her. Why should she let herself be overwhelmed by melancholy? Why should she be reminded that something had actually been left behind?

Aniriel shook her head trying to drive that thought from her mind. Feeling now more confident and much more at ease, she smiled and chanced another look around her.

[Kath]

Suddenly feeling as though trapped, Astilwen stood up and moved around the table. Seeing the startled and confused look this gained her from Ariane she smiled and tried to explain.

"I'm sorry. It's just that talking about never having left, and hearing tales of the world outside makes me feel that I should enjoy as much of what I have as I can. Would you mind if we continued our conversation outside?"

Ariane shook her head, picked up both their glasses and followed her through the Inn door and into the gardens. Astilwen led her to the bench she had found the night before. It was far enough away from the festivities that they would be able to hear what the other was saying, but not so far that they couldn't see what was going on.

Their conversation carried on, with Ariane telling happier tales of her time in Bree, and Astilwen telling tall tales to make the other woman laugh. Eventually they lapsed into silence, both thinking over what the other had said, and grinning every now and then as they remembered something they had found amusing.

Jumping up for a moment to stretch her legs, Astilwen turned and saw a shadowy figure a way off behind the bench. It was looking up at the moon, but she couldn't make out if it was male or female as it had it's back to her.

She gently turned Ariane so she too could see this person and after a quick whispered conversation, the two decided it would be best to go and offer help to this creature, who stood so dejectedly. As the got closer, they could see that it was in fact a woman, and she looked as though she had been crying.

"Hello." She spoke quietly, not wanting to frighten the woman who had obviously not heard their approach. "Is there anything we can do for you?"

[Nogrod]

‘Come Master Reddie, Mistress Naria. Won’t you join us?’ Telu smiled at the both of them, daring them to rise and follow along.

Naria took a close look at Rían, as he hesitantly tried to look somewhere else. At last he had to face her inquisitive stare. Slowly he managed to utter a propositon that could save him: "We can't leave master Bredan here all alone, now can we?" But Bredan's answer was just chill to him: "You two just go, I have a pint here to finish off". He even made a smile after his remark.

As Naria rose and took his hand, Reddie couldn't but follow her. They joined the dance, not far away from Farael and Telu. They went along with the rhythm and the other dancing crowd; now in lines, now in rows - as a pair at a time, as a part of a larger group at another. Everyone seemed to be smiling, and the merry feeling even took Reddie Sundry over for a moment. He relaxed somewhat and managed even to smile a little, truly, not faking it.

As the piece ended, Naria looked at him, her eyes begging the question "one more?" with clarity and precision that didn't need any words to help with the delivery. Reddie took a firm grip of her waist and turned to the direction the other dancers had already turned. This was even faster paced one than the earlier: the band seemed to be playing so fast it could, just to get to their intermission a bit earlier.

Just as the dancers had reached their highest spirits, the music stopped. Tomlin announced, that it was a time for a break, and that everyone should tuck some ale and food into their stomachs so that they could dance some more later.

"For an easterling, you seem to know local dances quite well", remarked Naria with a smile. Reddie was confused. Should he pick the subject or not? At last he thought of correcting at least the obvious mistake - even though he knew, it had been made as a joke. Maybe he would still have to open himself a bit, it might be easier that way?

"Well, I'm not exactly an easterling to begin with. My father was a beorning and my mother from Esgaroth", he said and started moving back towards their table, still holding Naria's hand in his. Naria did not follow immediately, so that Reddie had to stop. "You said was?" she asked, raising her eyebrow a little. "Was, yes. Were. My mother died because of my birth, my father two years ago, trying to save me from harm." Reddie seemed to be delving in his memories for a second. He seemed to be quite moved - and was so. After a short, but victorius, battle against the tears, he continued, now with a calmer voice: "I seem to be lethal company, so watch out..." He drew Naria firmly to move with him towards their table. He let her hand go only after they had reached it.

[Naria]

The band had decided to take a short break and it's a good thing too because Naria was feeling a bit dizzy from the dancing and maybe the ale. She took a deep breath of air into her lungs thinking to herself isn't it a beautiful night couldn't have asked much better for a party. Before she let herself get swept away in her thoughts she remembered the man that seemed to have taken a fancy to her. She looked over to her right and watched him speaking to another man at the table and wondered what could make him almost come to tears during a grand time as this. She thought maybe he will come with me to the stables later so we can talk without interruption. After all, Naria hadn't checked on Flicker in quite some time and Master Sundry could come and meet her friend.

Naria's wooden cup was empty and needed some ale. She scanned the tables for the barrel and noticed that Penn was milling around aimlessly. "Gentlemen, I have spotted a friend in need of some conversation will you please excuse me." They rose too their feet and she gave them a gracious nod and took her leave from the table.

She poured herself another ale and walked over to Penn. "Where have you been this eve? I thought maybe we had lost each other." Naria said with apparent merriment in her voice.

[Lhunardawen]

Tilionwen did not really want to go back gazing at the Moon. She promised herself earlier that that would be the last time she would ever do so, lest she completely lose the will to turn away again. But seeing that she was unwanted, that nobody even bothered to speak with her, she realized that it would be better to go back to Him than to look like a desperate fool.

The Moon looked back at her in an expression that seemed to say the words I told you so. Tilionwen felt her cheeks grow warm, and her sad eyes drooped ever so slightly. Then at that instant, all the determination she previously had slowly ebbed away. She tried to fight the rising desire to give in, but her grip on herself continued to weaken...

That's when she heard a soft voice behind her. "Hello. Is there anything we can do for you?"

Tilionwen smiled inwardly and gave the Moon a look of triumph, but He was not about to give up just yet. For a few moments He continued to strive with her, but Tilionwen found new strength in that pleasant-sounding female voice. It was an intense struggle, and eventually she succeeded. Slowly she turned her face away from the Moon to find two ladies. With a grateful expression in her glazed eyes she answered the hobbit, "I think I'll be quite fine, thank you. I would not want to burden such kind people as the two of you."

[Thinlómien]

Merry tunes reached Grimhorn's ears as he walked towards the inn that he had been recommended. The Green Dragon, he thought and grinned to himself. Interesting choice for a name for an inn at these parts of the world.

Grimhorn, himself, was a beorning from the Anduin Vales. He was a big, hairy man, with long dark brown hair and a short beard. He was not a young man anymore; there were grey strips in his hair and beard and lines in the corners of his eyes. He had beady eyes and a big nose. A big scar ran across his left cheek. Grimhorn was not a handsome man.

He was clad all in green, his favourite colour, and carried a big axe with him. His clothes were a bit too warm in this mild country, so he had stripped off his warm cloak and was carrying it only on one shoulder.

The inn was clearly hosting a party tonight. Again, Grimhorn grinned. It had been a long while from the last time he had been to a party. And, he liked parties. And with all this prancing little folk, it will be even more funny, he thought. With the grin that he himself considered friendly, but some people considered scary, on his face he entered the party grounds.

[JennyHallu]

Losse viewed the lighted inn ahead of her with relief and interest. She'd not been able to find a suitable pony in Bree, and her city-bred feet were beginning to get to her. Though she had been travelling (albeit rather aimlessly) for months, she knew there were some things she would never enjoy, such as walking and passing through towns where people carefully locked up their livestock.

Even worse were the nights she was forced to camp. She didn't mind sleeping on rough ground, not having had regular access to a real bed since early childhood, and it wasn't too cold, considering the thickness of the cloak she'd filched before leaving Minas Tirith, and neither was she a bad hand at hunting...she was a natural hand with ranged weapons, and her small bow showed signs of being well-cared for and well used (not to mention the throwing knives she'd concealed on her person). In fact she rather enjoyed the clear nights, and the beauty of the stars. They were harder and harder to see in Minas Tirith, slowly filling again with people with the ascension of the King.

Really, it was her cooking. If she had to spend one more night eating squirrel she'd managed to leave half-raw while burning the rest, she'd scream. Or just go quietly mad, which she was seventy-five percent sure was worse.

But an inn...

As she approached, watching the silhouette of a large Man step into the lighted yard, she began to pick out the sounds of music and revelry within. An inn with a party! Perhaps she'd be able to replenish her dangerously low reserves of coin. She grinned to herself.

Thievery, what fun! Her grey eyes lit up with mischief. She was tall and slim, maybe eighteen years old, with long dark hair, and sea-grey eyes that spoke to a probably strong strain of Numenorean blood in her veins, but if there was, it had never done her any good. Losse was trouble: good-hearted, pretty, joyful, young, but definitely trouble, and the messes that had started this oddysey had not taught her anything. It was with that twinkle in her eye that she entered the yard and took a seat near the end of the tables to watch the patrons--and pick a mark.

[Farael]

Kind sir,’ she said, grinning impishly at him as she made a little curtsy. ‘Will you chance another stepped on toe or two?’

"What?" his thoughts were "Another dance? for the King and the White Tree she knows I can't say no but how will I manage to stay away from her toes at an even faster pace?" yet his smile contradicted his thoughts as he said "It would be a honour, my fair Teluyaviel."

It was a fast, fun song although as Farael remembered it the day after, he had the nagging feeling that some of the words were unknown to him. Specially the concept of "pistol" who the singer seemed to draw twice yet use only once. But this all had not happened yet and after successfully (although perhaps not very gracefully) avoiding stepping on Telu's toes, Farael held her hand in his and kissed her fingers. "I hope you forgive me, but this man is getting tired and it seems the band wants to take a little break as well. How about we go grab a mug of... water?"

[Nogrod]

After Naria left the table, Reddie concentrated on emptying his pint. He had almost enjoyed dancing with a female! And in the end, hadn’t even being totally baffled and shaky. But now the shakes were coming: he felt some cold sweat starting to form on his forehead, and his hands started to tremble, slowly at first. He also noticed, that emptying the pint had been relatively easy, and that every drop of the ale was indeed consumed. He would need some solitude, and need it soon.

He excused himself for Bredan, telling him, that he would need some fresh air after all the dancing, and that he would be back later on. Bredan nodded and Reddie took to the door. As he reached the door, he turned his head to see what Farael, Telu or Naria were up to, and crashed to something that was broad and hard as a stonewall. But this wall was moving, and had eyes that were looking straight to him.

It doesn’t necessarily take a beorning to know another, but when you are even half a one, it’s easier got get a hunch of another beorning’s mind. This one didn’t look angry for his tumbling him, Reddie thought to himself. The colossus grinned in a way that could even be interpreted as a smile. He might be wrong though... Trusting his intuition, Reddie smiled back, and said to this tower of a man in front of him: “Sorry my friend, I was just lost in my thoughts. Never quite saw, what hit me." Reddie produced a smile, but immediately gathered, that the pun had been a bad one, as it was. Reddie went on to safer approaches: "My name is Rían, Rían Sundry from Mirkwood. You might have known my father, the “old hermit Sundry” the people called him. I was indeed going out to have a pipeful, but if you’d care to share a pint with a fellow beorning, I would be happy to buy you one.”

Be in good relations with all the beornings that are bigger and stronger than you are. That was rule number one he had learned quite early on his life. Rule number two went: if you have even the faintest suspicion, that you have offended one of those, be quick to compensate. And after all, it had been a long time since he had met another beorning.

[Kath]

"I think I'll be quite fine, thank you. I would not want to burden such kind people as the two of you."

"Oh it's no trouble at all. We've all burdens of one kind or another and as the saying goes - a problem shared is a problem halved, or in this case cut into three! Please, won't you join us? You don't have to tell us of your troubles, but we wouldn't mind the company."

And without waiting for much of an answer, Astilwen took her hand and gently tugged, pleased when the woman came willingly. Returning to the bench with Ariane and this new woman in tow, she ran off to refill their glasses, and get a drink for their new companion.

Returning, she found Ariane and the newcomer in conversation, with the latter just telling her name.

". . . Tilionwen."

"Another pretty name! Is it Elvish?" Asked the ever inquistive hobbit, as she joined them again.

[Eowyn Skywalker]

"It is a pretty name," Ariane agreed. "And I'm Ariane Calthye, and really hate to do this, but I can't stay right now." It wasn't that the newcomer unnerved her, but she wasn't really to a point where she could talk with two people. Her stomach hurt...

She grimaced for a moment, then stood up. "I hate to walk out on this conversation, but I do have to return to my room." Offering a slight bow, she took her now refilled glass, drained it quickly, and set it back down, waiting for the farewells before setting off through the crowd.

They came, and Ariane made an attempt to work herself back to her room and collapse on her bed until her stomach felt better. Must've been something related to peas in there. Argh.

[Lhunardawen]

A tear slid down Tilionwen's face as she allowed the hobbit to pull her away from where she was standing, and she quickly wiped it away before the two women could see it. It felt cleansing, inside and out, and she wondered if she could keep the rest of them in any longer. She decided to hold them back for the time being, not wanting to dampen her new companions' spirits with her tears.

The hobbit excused herself to get the three of them something to drink, and only then did she realize how thirsty she was. Her gladness finally manifested itself in a shy smile which she gave the hobbit as she sped off. Left alone with the other woman, she remained silent. She did not really know what to say; her overwhelming joy stole away all the words her mind came up with.

As if seeing through Tilionwen's thoughts, the woman spoke up. "Would you mind if I ask you your name?"

With that innocent question, her mind suddenly flashed through her past, and all emotions concerning it jumbled up her joy. Disoriented for a moment, she fumbled for the right words to say, settling with, "Uh . . . Tilionwen."

"Another pretty name! Is it Elvish?" the hobbit suddenly chimed in, arriving with three glasses. Tilionwen gladly accepted one of them and took a sip.

"It is a pretty name," the other woman replied. "And I'm Ariane Calthye, and really hate to do this, but I can't stay right now." She gave what seemed like a grimace, then continued. "I hate to walk out on this conversation, but I do have to return to my room." She bowed slightly and finished her drink, and caught by surprise, all Tilionwen was able to say was a silent "Farewell." And then Ariane left.

Once again Tilionwen felt a feeling of paranoia settle in. Perhaps she knew. Perhaps my name gave it away. Perhaps...

The dam broke, and the tears she managed to hold inside for the longest time finally flowed freely.

[nynnd1]

Bredan sat alone, although the atmosphere of the Green Dragon that night was such that Bredan doubted anyone could be alone, he drank the last sip of his drink and surveyed the room, there was a woman whose tears showed up against the back drop of all the smiling faces. Bredan planned to take a drink to her, after all that is what he had done to Farael and it had worked perfectly then. Bredan walked up to the table and poured two lemonades. He navigated through the party to the woman who he only noticed as he got closer, due to the height, was standing next to a Hobbit who was holding two cups. By the time Bredan had finished this thought he noticed he was standing next to the crying lady.

“I am Bredan of Gondor”, he said taking a low bow, realising when he reached the lowest part that he did not know what to say now, he rose slowly to buy time but words did not come, so it was that Bredan introduced himself and stood in front of the lady with a vacant look on his face.

[JennyHallu]

Losse was soon bored with watching, and her feet quickly recovered from the stress of her long day's march. Cheerfully she grabbed the arm of a hobbit she'd seen serving and politely asked for a pint of ale and a meat pastie, giving up a few of her dwindling stock of coin. After all, what matter? she thought. She'd spotted a possible mark and cheerfully walked towards and around the dance floor as though looking for a washroom.

On the way she bumped into a young woman being led off the floor by her partner, showing definite signs of tipsiness.

"Oh, pardon me! I'm so sorry," Losse said as she reached out a hand to steady the girl. With her other hand she deftly tucked her new purse out of sight, eyes atwinkle with what she hoped would be taken for friendliness.

[Kath]

Astilwen watched in horror as tears began to stream down Tilionwen's face. Pulling the woman into a hug she held her, and tried to work out what on earth had set this off. Surely it couldn't have been Ariane's departure? Still, it was the only thing she could think of that might have done it.

"It's ok." She murmured, keeping her voice soft and soothing. "It's alright, it isn't your fault she left. She was in pain and needed to be alone for a while that's all. She'll come back later I'm sure."

The two of them stayed that way for a while, Astilwen making vague shhing noises as she attempted to calm Tilionwen. Finally the woman's sobs stopped, and she moved away a little with a shocked expression. Before she could apologise or even run, Astilwen pressed her handkerchief into the other woman's hand and smiled at her.

"Feeling better?"

[Lhunardawen]

For a moment Tilionwen forgot about the world outside her: the kind hobbit-lady's comforting voice and touch, Ariane, the party at the Inn, even the reason she was there in the first place. She just focused on her sobbing and how wonderful it felt. Not only was her dusty face being washed clean, but she also felt the long-held grief in her heart drowning in her tears.

After a long while she could cry no longer, and so came back to her senses. The first thing she noticed was the hobbit's arms around her. In shock, she pulled away from her a little. She did not want to offend her, especially after what she just did, but she felt terribly ashamed. This woman barely even knew her. She had no idea what Tilionwen had done. Yet in that sense it seemed to Tilionwen that her breaking down actually did her good. Her companion had already seen her tears; what difference will telling her its accompanying tale make?

As if sensing an uneasiness in Tilionwen, the hobbit pressed a handkerchief into her hand then smiled. "Feeling better?" she asked.

Oh, how I do, Tilionwen thought, but she settled for a gentle nod. Her mind now made up, she looked up and took a deep breath, then sighed heavily. "You asked previously if my name is Elvish. Well, it is. But it's not my real name...some people just gave it to me."

[Kath]

A nod was all Astilwen received in answer to her question, but it did look as though a weight had been lifted from Tilionwen's shoulders, so she decided not to push it. The other woman sat quietly for a moment, clutching the handkerchief in her hands as she seemed to come to some kind of decision. She let out a long breath and then began to speak.

"You asked previously if my name is Elvish. Well, it is. But it's not my real name...some people just gave it to me."

Wondering where this was heading Astilwen turned further towards Tilionwen and made herself comfortable, as it looked as though this tale might take a while. She wasn't sure why the woman had chosen her to confide in, a complete stranger, but she still wanted to help and this admission had certainly caught her interest.

"What is your real name? And why was it changed?"

There were so many more questions that she wanted to ask, who had given her this name and why she had kept it, but she had seen how fragile Tilionwen was, and didn't want to upset her again. Keeping her curiosity to herself, she waited to see if she would get an answer.

[Folwren]

Wren wasn’t half as hungry as Tim was, and by the time she was finished, he had already gotten seconds. She turned around and sat on the bench, waiting for him to be through, while she watched the other people. The dancing had stopped for a little while, for the musicians had taken a break. There were still several people milling about. She turned her head this way and that, catching sight of a few strangers who, though still unknown, she’d seen earlier that day.

Suddenly her eyes lit on two figures walking up towards the party gathering. She sprang to her feet. “Tim, Tim! It’s Woody and Hanson! Look they’re over there. Can I go say hello? Please Tim?”

Tim turned his head, spotted the two hobbit children, and answered his sister, but she was already gone. Hadn’t waited for an answer to her question anyway, he noticed. He watched as she ran across the lawn towards them and then turned back to his plate of food. If she didn’t bring them back to where he was after meeting them, he’d be much surprised.

Wren had started across the lawn even before Tim had quite caught sight of Woody and Hanson. As she drew near, she slowed her pace and approached more slowly. Her shyness of the previous evening came back, slightly, but not so much to keep her from speaking.

“Hello,” she said, when she reached them. “How are you?”

[Undómë]

Now this was certainly the night for new sensations. There had been the ale, of course, a warm blurring of sight and thought. And really, very, very tasty. She would admit to herself now that Farael had been right in steering her away from another pint, at that moment, at least - her guard had been down, her judgment hazy.

There had been the dancing. The Halfling’s music was far more lively than the Elvish music she had grown up with. The vigorous steps had done wonders to clear her head of the ale’s after effects. She laughed to herself wondering if she dared try another mug – one of that darker brew that looked so tantalizing. Perhaps a smaller mug and one drunk more slowly. But that would have to wait; especially as Farael had been quite specific in mentioning their next drink would be water. I wonder how often he’s had too much ale . . . and was this the “cure” he himself figured out for it?

Now there was the kiss . . . the touch of his lips ever so softly on her fingers. And what was she to make of that? It was not something her Mother had covered in her little lessons on courtesies and comportment, as bowing and the depth of curtseys had been. Should she kiss him back? Is that what was expected after dancing and a drink? He had kissed the backs of her fingers – was she to return the favor in kind and kiss the backs of his?

As she was considering this problem, a woman had lurched out of the crowd and clumsily bumped into her. She’d apologized readily enough and steadied Teluyaviel with one hand. All the while smiling prettily.

Telu laughed and clapped her hands. ‘A grand party this is turning out to be! You must be one of those sleight of hand tricksters come to entertain the guests. Do I have the right of it? Did you come with the traveling players that are here?'

With a twinkle in her own eyes, Telu reached quickly out and retrieved the small silken pouch which had so recently hung from her waist on a cord; her slender, deft fingers barely touching the women as she did so. 'I think you must needs have a little more practice before you try your tricks on another Elf, though.'

[Farael]

"wow, she is skilled... and Telu is not as drunk as I feared. But then she is an elf. Well, obviously she hasn't met many thieves back at her home place." Farael thought.

-"Well, M'lady I must say I would have never noticed this girl's... trick... yet I believe we men have a different name for people of her kind. Most definetly not tricksters. " started he, before noticing the look on Telu's eyes. He couldn't ruin the party for her. "Yet it matters not now... and yet I'm still thirsty, I have just seen the most wonderful looking jar of lemonade on the table over there... and don't think I have not noticed how you were eyeing that ale nearby! ' he laughed "But if I may give you a bit of advise, the effects might not be as far gone as they seem to be. Come now, I'm sure our friendly trickster will be around later. But then, maybe she will not run into us again"

Farael started towards the table, not daring to look back. The girl was far too innocent looking, how could she do something like that? and what was he to do? he knew how to deal with thieves, but he had assumed they would always be men! No, she better not run into them again. For Farael's sake, rather than hers.

[JennyHallu]

'I think you must needs have a little more practice before you try your tricks on another Elf, though.'

Losse laughed, cheerfully accepting her failure. She was good, very good, and this woman was not by any means the first elf she had burgled, but the woman's tolerance must be incredible. She'd watched her drown herself in ale, had seen the woman's unsteady steps on the floor, and the flush in her cheeks was still bright. No one sobers up that fast! There's a skill I'd like to learn.

"You caught me, Lady. 'Tis a beautiful purse, at that, better than mine and certainly heavier," she said, with a wink at the delightfully flummoxed man beside her. "But I only meant to get your attention. Somehow this got into my pocket..." With a theatrical flourish Losse presented the woman with a delicately jeweled hairpin, a perfect match to the others in her hair. "My name is Losse," she said into the moment of surprise. "I heard your companion mention lemonade...I'm new here and know no one. Would I be too forward if I asked to join your party?"

[Lhunardawen]

"What is your real name? And why was it changed?"

There was a moment of hesitation for Tilionwen as the hobbit - whose name, she realized, she did not yet know - asked her this, and she gently reminded herself that she had already decided to trust her. Besides, she felt more and more comfortable with her as the seconds pass.

"To be completely honest with you," Tilionwen started, "I don't remember my real name." She paused for a moment, then continued, "I guess it's best to start from the beginning." The hobbit folded her hands together and looked at her with an expression of polite curiosity.

"I remember being a young lady from Arnor. My mother died when I was very young, much to the grief of my father. And as if to compensate for her loss, my father loved us very deeply, me and my younger, only, sister. He was a little overprotective of us, but we competelely understood him. Surely he wouldn't want to lose any one of us; that would probably kill him. And as for my sister, we were just inseparable. After all, we only have each other to hang on in our mother's absence."

Tilionwen continued her tale as her mind drew back to those times long past, and in her mind's eye the events once again began to unfold...

------------------------------------------

It was a beautiful morning. The sun shone brightly, but not too much, and a soft breeze blew throughout the entire countryside. Tilionwen and her sister thought it would be a good day for a walk in the woods, and so they asked their father.

"So long as you take care of yourselves, and be home before nightfall!" The sisters smiled excitedly at each other and took leave of their father.

Before long they were enjoying the shade of the trees and the sight of all the animals that crossed their path, but suddenly dark clouds began to gather in the previously clear blue sky. Worried that the rain might fall while they're still there, they started to make their way back home. The sky grew darker and darker as they did, until at last the rain fell. Eventually the sisters could no longer see their way, so they sat under a big tree in the freezing rain and waited for the storm to pass, keeping each other entertained with reminiscences of their childhood. They stayed there patiently until at last the night came, but the relentless rain continued pouring. They thought of their father who was assuredly sick with worry back at their home, but there was nothing they could do to let him know that they were fine.

After some time Tilionwen began feeling drowsy, and her sister told her to lie on her lap. So she lay there, listening to her sister's beautiful voice humming the lullabies their mother once sang to them...and she gave in to slumber.

She awoke later in the evening, when the rain had already stopped. She was dazed for a moment, and rubbing the sleep off her eyes, she looked towards her sister. She found that she, too, had already succumbed to the night. Her sister was leaning on the tree trunk; a peaceful smile was on her face. Tilionwen did not want to bother her, but she was anxious to get back home to their father, so she stood and began rousing her. She shook her a little, and there was no response. With increasing fear she continued to shake her sister's slender body, more and more violently with each passing moment of silence. And then she saw a glint of reflected moonlight a little to her sister's right. She looked closely and found a blade - one her sister always carried with her, at her father's insistence, wherever she went; Tilionwen had one as well. But she saw that this one was stained with blood...with a snake lying nearby, its body cloven in two.

A shriek of both horror and despair escaped Tilionwen's lips as she kneeled next to her sister and searched her right arm. She found two puncture wounds on her forearm, large enough to be seen under the moonlight. Upon seeing them her sanity completely left her. She looked up towards the Moon and she screamed from the depths of her heart, a scream of anguish and pain.

------------------------------------------

Tilionwen reeled from her reverie and found herself looking once again towards the moon. Yet ironic as it was, Astilwen noted, this time a tranquil softness was on her face. "And so began my spirit's slavery under the moon," Tilionwen barely whispered. "He never left me alone, and time and time again he reminded me of that fateful night, and of my father to whom I have never returned. How could I come back to him with that news, even were I sane?" Tilionwen looked down and faced Astilwen with a smile. "And to answer your question, the people who found me wandering in my lunacy gave me the name Tilionwen because they always found me speaking to the moon." She laughed gently, finding mirth in her statement and in Astilwen's expressed enlightenment. "Eventually the name stuck to me as if it is the name I was given at my birth. I never recalled my real name; perhaps I lost it under the moon's spell."

She found nothing more to say at the moment and fell into silence, giving the hobbit a chance to satisfy her curiosity. She breathed deeply once more, and felt all the heaviness within her escape as she exhaled.

[Undómë]

‘Of course you may join us.’ Telu put her hand on Farael’s arm to make him pause. He had a certain look on his face, soon smoothed over – as if he preferred not to have the company of Losse.

By the One! This being with him is a tricky thing. And a thing I’ve had no practice in. I’ve stepped over some bound, though what it is I’m not sure.

She took the jeweled hairpin the woman had given her and reaching forward, pinned back a stray strand of Losse’s hair. ‘There – now you’re dressed for the party!’ Telu stepped back, looking at the little gems as they glittered in the lights from the lanterns. ‘Farael,’ she grinned at him, linking her arm through his. ‘Lead on to the lemonade, won’t you?’

[JennyHallu]

‘Lead on to the lemonade, won’t you?’

With a smile at the man that promised mischief she took his other arm, waving gaily at the hobbit server to indicate her new table. She shook her thick chestnut hair, delighted with the way her new gift felt in her locks.

And a gift...this Lady is just determined to let nothing rain on her parade, is she? Well, with such brazen innocence Losse would not contend. Telu's person was sacred, for now, and now Losse would not touch her. A gift...The woman's generousity had defeated her, the cleverest, most lightfingered girl in all Minas Tirith, and that wasn't completely ego. The man however...she could still use some coin, and she had a feeling the evening would be very fun indeed.

She smiled joyfully to herself, catching a glimpse of her reflection in a polished mug. The elven-star in her hair glimmered brighter even than her mischievous eyes...a generous gift indeed. I'll have to remember not to use it for a lock-pick, she thought suddenly, with a guilty thought of the plain metal hairpins already in her hair, bent into odd and unrecognizable shapes by her particular hobbies...

[Farael]

"Great, just what I needed. I thought elves were wise beyond the understanding of men but to invite this girl, of all people, to join us? I guess there is nothing I can do about it." Farael's eyes opened wide and he checked the little bag of coins, the only remaining money he had left. They were still there.

What was he to do? He couldn't ruin the night for Teluyaviel. Her brother was quite intent on forcing her to leave the following morning. In the mean time, the women were talking quite animatedly while enjoying the lemonade. This thief girl was quite happy with her new hairpin. She was quite happy with her new harpin indeed. A smile dawned upon Farael's lips. He couldn't hurt this young lady, he couldn't tell her to go away without having to give Teluyaviel an explanation but with a smile and a quick bow he excused himself only to come back a few minutes later. He joined in the conversation and politely asked Telu's new friend where she was from.

[JennyHallu]

Losse's meal, a steaming hot pastry redolent with the delicious aromas of meat and vegetables, arrived just as the young man, whose name she gathered was Farael asked her of her origins. With a grin she quickly wolfed down a large first bite, fanning her mouth with her hand as she realized the hard way how hot it was.

"Sorry, excuse me, it's been a long trip from Bree and I can't cook for the life of me," she mumbled around the crust. Hastily she swallowed, washed it down expertly with a swig of the ale she'd already ordered, and settled in cheerfully to relate her tale, with only minor...erm...embellishments. She loved a good story, and hers was much better the way she told it than the way it was...

"My mother's name was Estuilas, and she was a great lady of the court Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth." Estuilas had been a rather silly young noblewoman, who despite her Numenorean ancestry, had not really been considered important enough to keep close to the court.

"My father was a famed bandit of the mountains, who swept my mother off her feet with grand schemes of love and honor, and spirited her away into hiding." Actually this part was mostly true, except for the fame, love, and honor bits. Benden was certainly a bandit, with some notoriety in the pastoral lands he frequented, but it was lust that made him keep Estuilas as well as her horse, as well as a certain dose of expediency: the horse, a mare of the Rohirrim, was a great deal more valuable than the girl.

"And I grew up in Minas Anor, the city of the Sun, in a house on the walls, looking out over the verdancy of the Pellinor Fields. My mother taught me the ways of the nobility, and the lore of the Numenoreans, and my father taught me....other things." She winked at Farael. "My parents died when orcs flung flame over the walls...but I was young, and the King returned, and all of Gondor was rejoicing. I suppose I fell through the cracks..." This, strangely enough, was entirely true. Laws had become somewhat lax in Minas Tirith through the rule of Denethor, and houses built against the walls were definitely illegal. Thus, only the very poor lived there. Benden, while he didn't exactly love his common law wife, was good to her, and doted rather possessively upon his lovely little girl, but still, if someone realized who she really was...no one had searched for Estuilas in all those years, but a life of banditry leaves a man with a certain paranoia, so his family had not been evacuated with the rest of the women and children. After their deaths a girl had to make a living somehow, and in a city filled with soldiers in the aftermath of war...there were worse ways. Losse's narrative paused here, as a tear twinkled at the corner of her eye, but she swept it away and continued with a grin, forking another far-too-large chunk of pastry.

"...And about a year ago, I decided my education could not be complete without a more thorough knowledge of the world. It seemed...prudent." She winked again at Farael.

[Thinlómien]

Something tumbled against Grimhorn. He looked down to it. The creature was a young man with red hair. It was babbling something. Probably an apology. Grimhorn waved his hand as to wipe the apology away. Then the creature managed to present itself: "My name is Rían, Rían Sundry from Mirkwood. You might have known my father, the 'old hermit Sundry' the people called him. I was indeed going out to have a pipeful, but if you’d care to share a pint with a fellow beorning, I would be happy to buy you one.”

"I have never anything against a pint, or good company", he said and looked at the young man critically. Then he nodded to add weight to his words. A good beorning lad, that is. But it is a bit small, it has to have some lesser blood in it, he thought. Then he said: "My name is Grimhorn, son of Grimgor and I'm from Anduin Vales. Nice to meet you, lad." He had never liked idle pleasantries but sometimes they were needed. Then he grunted and added: "Now, let's go and have the beer. I've walked a long way today and I want to give some rest to my feet. And you can have your smoke while we sit down and drink."

[Arry]

Woody hung back, feeling awkward at the approach of the girl. He smiled at her a little, noting how pretty she was in her party dress.

‘Oh, come on, you big chicken!’ cried Hanson. ‘It’s our friend, Wren. She won’t bite you!’ He grabbed onto Woody’s vest and tugged him forward.

‘We’re supposed to be finding Gil! Gran said so,’ hissed Woody, in an attempt to recover some measure of control over the situation..

‘Oh, Gilly-snilly! You know he’s around here someplace. The other guys are up there playing and singing. And besides – you know Gran has found some neighbor of hers and forgotten all about sending us after Gil by now.’

‘Wren!’ Hanson said, smiling. ‘Boy are we happy to see you!’ He glanced quickly about the large party area. ‘Which way to the table with the cakes on it?’

Woody rolled his eyes, knowing what was coming next.

‘Want to help us sneak one off . . . all for ourselves?’

[Folwren]

Wren’s eyes opened wide at such a suggestion. “Steal a cake for ourselves?” she cried. “But that. . .” she was about to say, that wouldn’t be right, but then the idea of such fun and then they’d have just as much as they could possibly want. . .it was really too tempting to pass by. “Oh, that’d be jolly,” she said. “The cakes and desserts are over there.” She pointed to the table laden with pies as well as cakes and plates with great piles of cookies on them. “But first let’s go over to Tim. I think he’ll like to do it.”

She turned and trotted across towards Tim. “Hey, Tim? Woody and Hanson are here,” she said, coming to a stop beside her brother. He looked up and then stood and turned towards the two hobbit boys. “We were wondering if you wanted to help us steal a cake,” Wren continued without giving him a chance to greet them. “It was Hanson’s idea. He said we can steal one and have it all to ourselves. Want to help us?”

“I. . .don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Tim said hesitantly. His eyes, on Hanson, slowly turned towards Wren and when they settled on her excited, smiling face, his eye brows went up doubtfully. “What if we’re caught? You caused enough embarrassment for me earlier.”

“Oh, stuff and nonsense!” Wren said. “If your going to be boring, then you’re going to be boring by yourself. I’m going to steal a cake with at least Hanson, and if you choose not to, that’s your own problem.” She paused, waiting for him to answer. When the silence between them stretched to almost twenty seconds, she demanded impatiently, “Well, are you going to join us?”

“Eh, very well,” he said with a sigh. But then he smiled. “I’ll join you. Hello, Woody,” he said, nodding to the older hobbit. “I suppose you’re in this, too? What’s our plan of action? Shall we go to the barn and discuss things before actually taking a snag at one of the cakes?”

[Undómë]

The woman, Losse, must have a tic in her eye, decided Telu. It had happened twice, now, and both times when she glanced at Farael. Perhaps he made her nervous and this was some habit she had that occurred when she was anxious.

Losse certainly had had a far more interesting and adventurous life than she had, or so Telu reasoned. All her sixty years had been spent within the boundaries of Thranduil’s realm; and those, for the most part in the company of her family and their close relatives. And despite the war the Shadowed One made upon her people and the forest, there had been many glad times. Her memories of them brought her a certain joy.

While she had not traveled much herself, she had heard many stories of other creatures who lived in far places – the Periannath, the Halflings; the Skin-changers to the west of the forest; others of Men, who came in many guises so she was given to understand – Dunedain, Rohirrim, and those to the east and to the south. And there were Dwarves, of course, those mysterious ones who delved deep beneath the mountains for gems and metals. She had never met one, but the Elven smiths of Eryn Lasgalen bought those precious things to craft in their own ways.

She had met . . . no, rather she had seen the tall, grey eyed men who came to speak with King Thranduil from time to time. Rangers, the Dunedain. And she thought them fair in their own way. She smiled for a moment, her gaze drifting to Farael’s profile. He, too, seemed fair to her. She looked quickly away as his gaze turned to her.

And, of course, there were the Orcs. And she thanked the One she had never had cause to see one of them. Theirs was a darkness too horrid for her to grasp. She was glad that their foul master had been vanquished and that they were no longer able to wreak their havoc on her dear forest.

Telu’s mind drifted back to what Losse was saying. She was the daughter of a great lady and a common-born man – a bandit, she called him. A thief. And he had taught her certain ‘other’ things, with which, Telu surmised the woman had been able to make her living.

A certain suspicion began to grow in Telu’s mind. Her cheeks colored, slightly at her foolishness. Her brother had always chided her that she was too trusting a creature. And that someday that would bring her great trouble. Was this such a day, she wondered. She hoped not. But no wonder Farael had given her an odd look.

Still, she would like to think that Losse and she might be friends, at least for this little while.

‘That’s an odd word you use – “prudent”,'Telu said, her brow furrowing. 'Why would you want to leave your home, Losse, unless you had to? And this “education” – what is it exactly that you wish to learn?’ Telu sipped on her lemonade, wondering if the woman would speak plainly to her questions; for despite her years, she had little experience with the subtleties of how Men thought and seemed to couch their thoughts at times in words with layered meanings and gestures.

[JennyHallu]

Losse smiled at the elven woman. She had met elves before, tall, fair beings working in the streets to restore the Citadel, to make it into a fair garden as it should have been since the beginning. They inspired respect and love, to an extent, pulling from her the most genteel of the courtly manners she had learned of her mother. They were great and inscrutable and good...but in a way that seemed as far removed from her ken as...oh...as the stars must be to them, who were fascinated by them. This was the first she had ever met of elvenkind that struck her as a true innocent. It almost felt like Telu was younger than herself, in some inexplicable way, and the feeling, coupled with the woman's ageless, ethereal features, was...

Unsettling.

"My mother told me there was nothing that was not worth knowing, my lady. And though some doubt me, I am nothing if not a patriot. I love my King and my City, and it is said that he has reunited the long-sundered realms of Gondor and Arnor. Those of Dol Amroth by the Sea remember tales of old of Arnor, and even older tales of the Sea, which they love...my mother told them to me on her knee. Tales of beautiful places and high adventure; fascinating to me. The blood of my fathers in Numenor runs true in me. I have seen the Sea, and ached for it...perhaps I understand the call it has for your kind, a little. But that door is closed for Men, so...

I came here." She paused, having surprised herself a little at the depth of her own emotions. She hadn't stopped to think so much of where she would go, but she had never wavered from the need to come here, and now she had no doubt but that this was the reason. "As for prudence, I daresay the gentleman, your companion understands me well enough, but to you I will say only that most people have not your grace, my lady, and though they truly desire to...ahem...make my acquaintance? I will have none of their gifts."

[Farael]

“I am nothing if not a patriot”

That last comment crossed a line in Farael’s mind. One thing was to be a thief… well, he was a bit of a thrill seeker and while he made different (and better, he thought) choices, he might even tolerate this girl’s presence, for Telu’s sake. But to call herself a patriot? A rat would describe her better. He had to done something about it, and he knew exactly what to do. With a grin that might have been mistaken for a smile, he invited Losse out for a dance. “…for I am also from Gondor, and quite patriotic at that. It would certainly be a honor to dance with a fine Gondorian lady. “

He winked at Teluyaviel, hoping she would forgive him for what he was about to do. He told his elven friend he’d be back soon and started making his way towards the dance floor, hardly waiting for Losse’s answer.

[JennyHallu]

I am also from Gondor...

Losse felt a tremor of fear at his words, but quickly pushed it aside. Gondor was a large place, and she had probably overreacted when she left the city in the first place. Besides, I run the risk of becoming a bit egotistical if my first thought on meeting a countryman is that he must have heard of me. And I seriously doubt this honor-bound soldier ever even heard of Damiel, if he's even been home any later than I have.

"I would gladly share a dance with you, if my lady doesn't mind," she said, waiting for the Elven woman's friendly nod before she followed Farael towards the dancing green. The two seemed rather...friendly, and the last thing she wished to do was find herself dealing with a jealous woman, Elf or not. Tended to complicate things.

She took Farael's arm as she caught up with him. "Really, I've been told I'm a fair dancer. Took up with an acrobatic troupe for a while once, and they taught me a fair bit. And my mother taught me court dances." She smiled at him, enjoying the evening and the company with a good will. She'd seen the small purse firmly tied at his belt, of course, and eventually she would probably take it, but she had coin for a while if she needed it, and was careful. Even when she did nick it, it would be with no hard feelings, and since he knew her profession, it wouldn't be until she was ready to leave the Shire. Momentarily she wondered if he'd realize it wasn't personal, doubted it, and pushed the idea cheerfully to the back of her mind. As the two stepped into the set, she threw herself into the dance with a good will, proving herself to be not a fair, but an excellent dancer.

[Kath]

It had shocked Astilwen to learn that the woman in front of her didn't even remember her own name she had been running from her past for so long. The death of a loved one was thankfully something she had never had to endure, but she had been around those who had, and knew the pain and grief that went with it.

It seemed though that this snake had destroyed not only the life of one sister, but also of Tilionwen herself, and very likely that of her father as well. For years the poor man must have thought that both of his daughters were dead. She wondered whether the woman had thought about it like that, which was better - to believe both daughters were dead or to know one was alive? Still, it was not her place to say anything.

She understood now why Tilionwen had been staring so intently at the Moon, and why she was so sad. She had suffered so much, and Astilwen couldn't yet work out whether she blamed herself for her sister's death, or whether she believed some other force had sent the rain that forced them to stay outside, and the snake that had delivered the deadly blow.

Gently smiling back at Tilionwen's comment Astliwen noted the sudden silence that had fallen, and realised the woman was giving her a chance to ask any questions she might still have. She didn't want to interfere, and she really didn't want to offend, but she had to ask.

"Don't you think your father would wish to know you're alive? He's lost so much already, knowing you were alive might help him. And . . . you do know that you're not to blame, don't you?"

[Huan]

‘M’lady?’ Emlin drew near to Teluyaviel who now sat alone on the bench, a half drunk mug seemingly forgotten clutched in her hands. His gaze followed hers as she looked after the young man and the woman now dancing to the lively tune the Halflings played.

And who would want to leave such a one as she to sit alone? he wondered, his eyes taking in her enchanting face; studying it for a brief moment before she turned her attention to his presence.

‘May I join you?’ He nodded at the cup she held. ‘Would there be more of that? I am quite parched.’ He smiled as his gaze swept round the yard, taking in the lively festivities. ‘It is thirsty work – this making merry in the Shire.’

He sat in silence with her for a while, sipping at the lemonade she gave him. ‘Your brother has been quite forward, quite plain, in his speaking to me. Explaining how you two have come here, how he intends to take you back to Lindon on the morrow, and what boundaries he has set about you – what boundaries he does not wished crossed.’

His slender elven fingers tapped lightly against his mug, a counterpoint to the dance’s melody. ‘And what of you, my fair Lady of the Last Autumn? Have you, too, set a leaguer about your self?’

He held his breath, but briefly, wondering if he had been too bold.

[Undómë]

The light from the little lanterns that hung in the trees about the yard played about his silvered hair. Emlin’s face was cast half in shadow as he spoke to her. She could not read his features; she dared not yet seek his mind, unsure as she was of the intention behind his questions.

‘A leaguer, Master Emlin. What a curious choice of words. But then this night has been a most curious one for speech.’ Her voice trailed off, considering his question more fully. ‘Melian’s leaguer, that is what I think of when I hear that word. That none could pass into her fair country without her knowledge. And so she held back the Shadow from Thingol’s realm.’ She laughed, surprising him, she thought with such a merry assessment of so serious a subject.

And he seemed serious enough, this Elf of Lindon, though he spoke in a light voice. Something hangs on my answering . . . she thought, her grey eyes considering his demeanor. He speaks lightly, to be sure. But perhaps that is his own defense against what reply he might receive.

‘But you are no shadowed creature, or so I would deem you. Though, and let me be plain spoken in this matter, I find your presence disturbing . . . disquieting, more like. It puts me on edge in a way both unsettling yet enticing. And I have no girdle the like of the enchantress of Doriath which I have set about me.’ She was quiet for a while, collecting her thoughts.

‘We have only met but once before. Earlier in the evening. And yet I feel as if you press closely in against me . . . like and unlike my brother. For despite our differences, Tindomion is a comforting presence. But you . . . I have no experience, no words within which to capture you.’ She fell silent again, then touched his wrist lightly with her fingers.

Speak to me, Emlin . . . mind to mind, will you not? That I might hear your questions, your words, without the subtleties and defenses with which your lips might cloak them . . .

[Farael]

Losse was as good a dancer as she had said and Farael was not really a good match for her skills. He did not intend to dance for too long anyway. Just as soon as they jumped into the dancing area, Farael started making his way towards a little drunken hobbit who was dancing really merrily. The good man was barely half Farael's height which suited him well. Taking Losse along with him, he got close enough and in what seemed an accident, got tripped by the hobbit's foot and fell to the floor, pulling Losse down with him. There was a moment of confusion in which he made a minor change as he helped Losse up. Acting really embarassed he muttered something about maybe being a little too tipsy for such a good dancer and started making his way back to Teluyaviel, with his little prize secured in his fist.

It was not without surprise to find her talking to the same elf he had seen before. "Smart man you are, Farael..." he told himself "seeking your petty revenge you let Telu alone and... but no, she is an elf and he is an elf. You should not interfere." He sighed then, having completely forgotten Losse who was not too far behind and walked up to Teluyaviel "Excuse me, M'lady, I would not want to... interrupt you. I just wanted to give you back what belongs to you" with a bow and a smile he offered the hairpin she had given to Losse before. While helping her up, he had changed the expensive, well crafted hairpin fora simpler one he had borrowed from an unsuspecting hobbit. Forcing a smile to his lips, Farael bowed again "Now I shall leave you two alone if you wish, Teluyaviel. It was a mightly pleseant night in your company so far but I should not keep you away from your own people"

[Huan]

Her touch, light as it was, made him gasp. Emlin stifled his reaction, but could not avoid the next when her thoughts gently touched his. He was glad for the interruption as the man came near and spoke with Teluyaviel. It gave him time to order the sudden tangle his thoughts had got into.

Emlin waited as the man gifted her a pretty, jeweled hairpin, watching the interaction between the two. The man had a soldier’s bearing and Emlin wondered that he would withdraw so readily. ‘I am no warrior, yet I would not retreat given a prize as fair as she,’ he thought to himself. He nodded at the man as he made to go.

‘M’lady,’ Emlin said, offering her his hand as he stood. ‘Perhaps it would be better if we walked about and spoke. My thoughts have suddenly gone all topsy-turvy. I’d rather they not frighten you with their incoherency.’

[Tevildo]

Tevildo was doing a nightime perambulation of his regular haunts in Bywater and Hobbiton. He'd already been down to Bag-end and paid his respects to the tiger colored feline who was the boss of the place responsible for keeping Samwise and his brood in line. Then he'd stopped off at the Proudfoots' orchard to check out a nest of mice. They had apparently been told of his approach and had managed to hide inside a hollow log whose opening was too narrow for him to do anything more than reach in with a single paw and blindly grope about with his claws, coming away without a single prize.

He was feeling rather grumpy and wanted to do some mischief. He'd picked up a cold somewhere during the day that made his nose run and his eyes water. He liked playing tricks on the stupid two-leggeds and was searching for a place where he could make a grand entrance. As he padded down the road that led from Hobbiton to Bywater, he noticed that several hobbits were heading towards the Green Dragon, talking excitedly about a party that was happening there. As he rounded the curve in the road, the sound of music and of two-leggeds talking quickly assailed his ear.

How wonderful! Tevildo loved a party. Perhaps he could snatch a bit to eat. Cook made the finest fish fry in all of the Shire. Or, better yet, he could cause a spot of trouble and get everyone to look at him. Slinking in to the party grounds, he could see an assortment of hobbits, elves, and men: some dancing, others eating, many talking with each other. A few hobbits were laughing over some private joke, but many of the other partygoers seemed extremely solemn, engaged in weighty conversations.

First, he sidled up to one of the large tables and caught a lovely odor coming from a steaming bowl. He managed to stick his nose inside a goodly pot of Cook's chicken stew and was thoroughly enjoying himself when a rude person came along and chased him away.

I'll show them!

Tevildo's purr had disappeared, and, in its place was a threatening growl. He eyed the main table where the desserts were sitting. That looked like a good target, but it might be risky. A large Elf with a grim face was standing at one end. Then he saw a smaller table where several female figures stood close by. There was a fine white tablecloth and on top of that a large bowl of punch and a smaller one of nuts. How perfect! All he had to do was get his claws into the tablecloth and the whole thing should come tipping over, punchbowl and all, perhaps splashing skirts that the two-leggeds were wearing.

With a single bound, Tevildo leapt. He landed half on and half off the table, his body hanging over the side and his tail lashing menacingly back and forth. The weight of his body--he was definitely a fat cat--dragged on the cloth. Slowly, the contents of the table inched over to the edge until Tevildo and the cloth went hurtling into the air and the brightly colored punch sprayed in all directions.

[Arry]

‘Don’t need any planning!’ Hanson whispered, his eyes lighting up with mischief. He pointed to where the cat and punchbowl were flying through the air. There was a loud crash and the punch fanned out, splashing a great number of the partygoers. The attention of most of the crowd turned to the soggy fiasco.

‘Come on!’ said Hanson, pulling on Wren’s hand. Tim and Woody followed after.

The table on which the cakes sat had a lovely tablecloth that hung over the sides and ends; making it, for all practical purposes much like a secret cave beneath. The four children sneaked along the side farthest from the party area. One by one, each ducked beneath the table. The light from the candle lanterns in the trees threw a soft glow through the white cloth.

‘Now here’s what we do,’ explained Hanson, who had done this once before at a gathering held up by the party tree. One would stand by the table, keeping watch. One would spy out an easy to grab cake, and pass it down to the two beneath the table, along with some spoons.

He looked to where the mess around the punch bowl was being sorted out. Surely no one would notice if they borrowed a small pitcher of milk, too, to pass round. ‘Woody . . . you and Wren go fetch some milk for us first. Then we’ll bring the cake under when you’ve got back.’ He looked at Tim with a grin on his face. ‘Me and Tim’ll spy out the best cake while you’re gone.’

[Undómë]

She smiled up at Emlin and took his hand. ‘My wrap, if you don’t mind. I’ve left it on the verandah railing. Would you mind terribly fetching it for me? I really don’t want to run into my brother at the moment.’

Teluyaviel watched as Emlin wove his way through the crowd. She was glad for these moments to herself. Like him, she found herself perplexed, her thoughts . . . not exactly confused, just pushed into new channels.

What exactly did he mean to say to her? They had only met this evening. And that by chance, not design.

She picked one of the small flowers from the vase on the table and twirled it about in her fingers, the rhythmic motion focusing the direction of her thoughts. There was something so . . . she could not think of the exact word.

‘Meldo . . .’ she whispered to herself . . . ‘dear friend . . .’ She smiled, thinking of Farael.

‘Melda,’ she said aloud, trying another word on her tongue. A random breeze made her shiver a little. Telu’s brow furrowed as she thought on it. ‘Melda . . .’

[Nurumaiel]

The hobbit looked as though perhaps he had tried to keep tidy on the road, for he certainly wasn't as dirty-looking as he might have been. And, indeed, the expectant light in his eyes seemed to signify that he had a good reason to look his best. But Posco Brandybuck was often referred to by those in his hometown as the 'muddy hobbit.' He had a wonderful genius for attracting dirt, and nobody had been able to break him of his grimy habits, not even himself, for in truth it was not that he did something to make himself dirty. It simply happened.

The lights of the Green Dragon warmed Posco's heart greatly, for he had fond memories of the place. No, memories not merely fond, but beautiful. What bright, bonny eyes she had, and her lovely chestnut hair. Dear, sweet little Lily... he had not seen her since he had escorted her back to her home, despite their engagement. And his shyness, sometimes so deep that it was absurd, forbade him to go call on her at her home, and ride off with her as his bride. And so he made his way to the Dragon, hoping that she would be there. Perhaps she would be. And even if she wasn't... perhaps he could gather enough courage to go to her.

"Good grief, we're terribly lucky. I have such bad memories if this Inn. First we arrive in the pouring rain, soaked and miserable, and nearly dead with exhaustion. And now we arrive in the midst of a party! I prefer the rain."

Posco did not even turn to the gruff voice that had uttered such cheerful words, but gazed with some consternation at what did indeed seem to be a party. He hesitated for a moment, for he was not very fond of parties either. All the people... But, then again...

"If it's a choice between Aunt Malva and a party, I choose the party, Marcho," said Posco. "I don't want to go stay with Aunt Malva. Besides, I think Lily would like a party."

"Yes, yes, Lily would like a party," said Marcho. "I can't understand how you can go traipsing all over the Shire, and risk your sanity by rushing into a crowd of people when you know very well you're afraid of them, just because of a hobbit lass called Lily."

Posco made no reply, but strode with great determination along the road. Yet as the lights grew nearer, and the sound of voices and merry laughter drifted to their ears, Posco's steps began to falter, and his face grew worried. Marcho had been watching him keenly, and took advantage of the moment.

"It isn't too late to turn back, Posco," he said. "I said from the beginning that it would be more sensible to go to her house, anyway, if you really must go see her at all."

"I couldn't do that," said Posco.

"And whyever not?"

"Well... well... well... well, you see, it's much too dangerous. Bree isn't safe place. There are too many Big Folk there."

"We learned last time we came here that there are no lack of them at the Dragon. Posco, you're simply too shy to visit her."

"Why should I be shy around Lily?"

"Very well, then, you've changed your mind and you're only making this trip to satisfy your conscience. You'll say afterwards that you tried to find her, and you couldn't."

Posco drew himself up to his full hobbit height. "That," he said, "is utterly absurd." And then he strode firmly to the Inn.

[Huan]

‘Now where have you been, my dear Emlin?’ Rowan caught up to the Elf as he was walking away from the verandah. ‘An interesting shawl you’ve got there. On your arm.’ She plucked it from him and unfurled it, clutching it about her shoulders. She twirled, letting the ends fly out about her.

‘You are in a most excellent mood, Rowan.’ Emlin stood hands on hips watching her. His eyes slid to where the band were gathered on the stage. ‘Ah! Master Gil, is it?’ He raised his brows at her, nodding toward where Gil stood, about to begin a song. The Hobbit glanced often toward where Rowan stood, his eyes lingering on her. ‘And are you leading him along, little mistress? He seems quite besotted. Where do your affections lie?’

He took back the shawl, folding it neatly over his arm. ‘Take care, Rowan. It is strange, this fair night. You may find yourself reeled in by your own nets.’ Emlin left her standing there, a puzzled look on her face.

----------

She was still sitting on the bench where he’d left her. Emlin stopped in the shadows of the little copse of trees near the edge of the party area. He could barely catch his breath as he looked at her. And why was this so, he wondered? It was not a thing he had looked for.

He had, in fact, considered leaving at the end of this year; once he and his companions had returned to Lindon. Let them continue on their way, playing and singing as they went along. He would scarce be missed with his small talent in playing the flute, his singing. His intention was to take one of the ships that still left from the Havens and sail Westward.

Now those plans seemed all confounded. And he cared not.

Emlin came upon her quietly. She twirled a small fragrant flower in her fingers. And he caught the word she’d murmured quietly, to herself. He plucked the blossom gently from her grip, his own fingers securing it amidst the dark strands of her hair. He wrapped her shawl about her, tying the ends loosely at the front so that it would not slip from her shoulders.

‘Shall we walk?’ he asked, offering his hand to her. Melda . . .?

[Lhunardawen]

"Don't you think your father would wish to know you're alive? He's lost so much already, knowing you were alive might help him. And . . . you do know that you're not to blame, don't you?"

A sad smile crossed Tilionwen's lips as she heard the hobbit's words. Now that she had somehow regained her sanity, all memories of her father came rushing back to her mind...and she felt how terribly he missed him. If only coming back to him was that easy...

"Before now, I've always blamed myself for what happened. I thought I should have stayed awake. I should have been the one protecting her, instead of the other way around. Perhaps that's why it was so easy for the moon to enslave me. But things have changed. I don't know how, but I'm sure they have." The wind blew around a strand of her long dark hair, and she tucked it behind her ear. "I'm just...I'm just scared. I don't know how my father will receive me. He could blame me for everything, and it would kill me if he ever refuses to forgive me.

"But I guess it's a risk I will have to take. He deserves to know what happened. And he deserves to know, no matter how it would hurt him, that my sister is already dead. That I'm the only one he has left." And once again, she smiled gratefully at the hobbit. No words could have done the job better.

Suddenly Tilionwen laughed, and a touch of red flushed on her cheeks. "Why, I seem to be forgetting my manners! I have never asked your name. And while you're at it, I guess it's your turn to tell me your tales. Anything to cheer me up; I never want to go back to that miserable life again." With that she grinned mirthfully, and eagerly turned towards the hobbit. The cares that had marred her face for so long vanished and a youthful glow remained in their place.

[Arry]

'Let's do the one we've just recently practiced.' Gil's instructions brought smiles to the faces of his band members.

'Ah, yes,' said Tomlin, his smile becoming a big grin. He drew his bow across the strings of his fiddle, listening for the right series of sounds. 'And you'll of course sing it . . .yes?'

Gil stepped up to the front of the stage and spoke in a loud voice. 'Here's a song for all you lads as have been struck down by beauty. And still revel in it nonetheless.


Gentlemen it is me duty
To inform you of one beauty
Though I'd ask of you a favour
Not to seek her for a while
Though I own she is a creature
Of character and feature
No words can paint the picture
Of the Queen of all Argyll (http://www.chivalry.com/cantaria/sounds/queen_of_argyll.mp3)

And if you could have seen her there
Boys, if you had just been there
The swan was in her movements
And the morning in her smile
All the roses in the garden
They bow and ask her pardon
For not one could match the beauty
Of the Queen of all Argyll

On the evening that I mentioned
I passed with light intention
Through a part of our dear country
Known for beauty and for style
In the place of noble thinkers
Of scholars and great drinkers
But above them all for splendour
Shone the Queen of all Argyll

And if you could have seen her there
Boys, if you had just been there
The swan was in her movements
And the morning in her smile
All the roses in the garden
They bow and ask her pardon
For not one could match the beauty
Of the Queen of all Argyll

So my lads I needs must leave you
My intentions no' to grieve you
Nor indeed would I deceive you
Oh I'll see you in a while
I must find some way to gain her
To court her and attain her
I fear my heart's in danger
From the Queen of all Argyll

And if you could have seen her there
Boys, if you had just been there
The swan was in her movements
And the morning in her smile
All the roses in the garden
They bow and ask her pardon
For not one could match the beauty
Of the Queen of all Argyll

And if you could have seen her there
Boys, if you had just been there
The swan was in her movements
And the morning in her smile
All the roses in the garden
They bow and ask her pardon
For not one could match the beauty

Of the Queen of all Argyll . . .

[JennyHallu]

As Farael walked back to the table with her hairpin, Losse stalked behind him, furious at the self-satisfied way he walked. He probably thought that was very clever and smooth, pushing me over and pulling my hair, she fumed silently, glaring back at anyone who glanced her way and caressing the handle of the blade she kept in her sleeve. She'd almost flipped it out on the dance-floor in her anger, only the milling feet of the other dancers trying to get out of the way of her fall reminding her just how bad an idea that would be.

Farael handed her hairpin to the Elven lady, who was now talking to another elf, with what Losse was sure he thought was a courtly bow. Too many people...she satisfied herself with rudely and bitterly critiquing his form to herself.

The man left soon afterward, and Losse made her apologies quickly to the Elven lady, who did not seem to even notice she was there, nor even the hairpin she had set back down on the table, so engrossed was she in her companion and in the flower she twirled in her fingers, muttering to herself in Elvish. Losse palmed the hairpin, and followed quickly after Farael, apologizing angrily to those she elbowed in her haste. The band started a new set and Losse's steps became more graceful as she unconsciously walked in a near dance with the infectious music, but it didn't erase the stormy cloud brewing in her sea-gray eyes. A horrible mess involving a cat and a punch bowl had gathered quite a crowd between the guest tables at the edge of the courtyard and the inn, and it was there that she was able to catch up with Farael, gripping his elbow and spinning him around with more strength than her slim frame appeared to have.

"Can I speak with you?" she hissed angrily, indicating that they should go indoors. "Alone? I would let you explain your rudeness on the dance floor, which is more than I ought to do."

[Farael]

Dark thoughts clowded Farael's mind. He had become too attached to the elf, even though he knew nothing more than a friendship could have ever taken place. She was probably thirty years his elder, not to mention the 'friendly' brother she had. If her parents were like that, family dinners must have been a riot! He couldn't help but chuckle at the thought.

The table where the ales waited (and called) for him was near, when someone gripped his elbow and spun him as if he were a rag-doll. It was a great surprise not to find a seven feet man but rather the lithe and fit Losse. He looked into her angry eyes, not even paying attention to her words and what had been a chuckle turned into laughter. This sudden bout of merriment healed the sad mood that hung over Farael, which prompted even more laughs.

Although his laughter was heart-felt and out of sheer happyness, it did little to calm the friendly thief. As soon as Farael managed to catch his breath, he bowed deeply to Losse

"Miss, I must say I understimated you," he said and tossed her a small bag containing a few coins "I believe this belongs to you. I thought it was a smart move to distract you with the hairpin deal while I took your money. A thief deserves a thief they say, and I felt it was just fair you had an example of how it felt. You must be really skilled, I was thinking I had you fooled but it was not the case."

A wink, another bow and a fit of laughter later, Farael offered Losse his hand. "I hope you can forgive me, I was outraged at what you attempted on Teluyaviel. But now I see she can look after herself and I would not want you as an enemy. How about we call a truce and maybe talk for a little while?"

[JennyHallu]

Angrily Losse snatched back her purse, expertly weighing it in her hand before tying it back to her belt with a complex knot, completely quickly with long, deft fingers. If she was surprised, not a trace of it showed on her still-stormy face.

"I don't know who you think you are, master Farael, but I have done nothing to deserve this treatment from you," she snapped, rattled by his near-hysterical laughter. "I do not find it amusing."

Then she softened, if only a little. "I suppose, if you promise not to pull my hair again, I will allow you to buy me a drink in recompense. And...I must confess my bafflement. I expected you to have cut the purse-strings, but you left them whole. Where, when, and how did you learn a Gondorian thief-knot? Just building enough of a reputation to be noticed by the professionals is hard enough, much less be taught the knot." She smiled to herself, remembering the night when she'd been accepted into that shadowy organisation. She knew this Farael wasn't a member, or, seeing the knot, he'd have let the purse be, but where had he learned it? A sailor perhaps?

[Nogrod]

Rían brought two pints from the desk, and came back to the table where Grimhorn had set himself down. He sent the other pint gliding over the table, and Grimhorn catched it comfortably. Grimhhorn grinned again, that very weird smile he had. Then he nodded, as like an approval of sorts. Reddie relaxed a bit and leaned to his chair’s back, testing different lines at the back of his mouth, about how to start a conversation.

But obviously there was not going to be any conversation for a while, for the beer really seemed to have come to a need for this giant. He wasn’t sure, whether this tower of a man regarded him anything more than the smoky air around them. Thinking about which reminded him of his pipe. He started to fill his pipe with The Old Boff’s, he always tried to have with him. Making this familiar routine kind of settled him a bit, his hands didn’t even shake any more. Rían pressed the pipe for a couple of times to make sure the bed was well laid and then lit it carefully. He took a couple of puffs, and then inhaled the smoke, making a couple of small rings from the outpouring smoke. Grimhorn seemed to delve in his own thoughts, so Rían also closed his eyes and kind of went into himself.

What a lovely sight! Two beornings, both sitting against each other at a table, in an inn full of noise and partying people. Just sitting there, both in their own worlds. They had kind of created a bubble of their own around that table. But compared to the similar bubble that lovers do manage to create almost anywhere, this bubble was not so much theirs’, as they both were in it separately.

There was something unsettling in that grin, Rían thought to himself. Just one of those grins, combined with the stature of this guy, could have scared the Morgoth out of anyone. But being a beorning himself, or at least a half-beorning raised in a beorning community, Reddie should have managed to be quite familiar with it. But still there was something hounting in it, as though it would have been familiarity of a more concrete sort, in a more particular way. And he had never even met this man! No, it couldn’t be anything like that.

Suddenly Rían had a thought that made cold chills go all around his body. His hands started to shake again, not in any clearly noticeable fashion, but he did sense it himself. Grimhorn as well seemed to have come back from his well earned rest with the beer, and had started looking at Reddie somewhat intensely. Then Rían just felt, that he would have to ask this, no matter, what the consequences would be.

“So, did you really say, you are the son of Grimgor? The son of “Grimgor Bearhand”, Grimgor “the Owl’s eye”, “the one that runs at dusk”?”. The band had started playing again, and Rían would have given all that he had, for a negative answer.

[Dunwen]

Widow Rosebank woke up suddenly, disoriented. Sounds of chatter, laughter and music drifted into her darkened room upstairs in the Green Dragon through the window she’d left slightly ajar. She must have dozed off and slept well past the start of the party tonight! Groggily, she sat up on the bed and lit the candle on the table by her bed. After a few more moments of collecting her thoughts, she stood up and stretched. Then, going to the window, she peeked out and got a partial view of the crowd below, dancing and talking. Despite her alarm at the reports of a live Orc in the vicinity of the Dragon, the Widow’s foot starting tapping along to the merry tune being played below. What finally decided her was the faint odor of the feast laid out for the inn’s guests. She guessed if she wanted to eat dinner tonight, she’d better gather her courage and join the party.

Closing and firmly latching the window (what had she been thinking to leave it open?!), Widow Rosebank pulled the curtains closed and washed up. She had thought to bring one party dress with her, impractical as it had seemed at the time, and she pulled it on happily. One of the best things about owning a dry goods business was first call on the prettiest cloth and notions that came in, and she was well-pleased with her appearance when she finished. Her long-sleeved dress was a plain shade of gray, but of such a soft, rich velvet that she felt almost like a grand lady wearing it. She had embellished it herself at the cuffs with a thick pattern of glass beads made to glitter like silver. They wound about her wrists and up to her elbows in a pattern of vines and flowers. She had sewn a matching beaded pattern around the V-shaped neckline of her dress and around the hem of the full skirt. She decided, after some thought, to leave her hair down. It wouldn’t have been quite proper for a respectable shopkeeper in Bree, but she wasn’t known in Bywater. Besides, the gray velvet somehow brought out copper lights in her brown hair.

Examining her appearance in the small mirror over the washstand, the Widow nodded firmly. “Not bad for a woman your age,” she said to her reflection. Then, checking the latch on the window and locking her door behind her, (she hadn’t forgotten that Orc), she went downstairs.

The common room was nearly deserted as she went through. She stepped out the door into a flood of light and sound. Before her a crowd of Hobbits, Men and Elves whirled in a dance to the tune played by a trio of musicians on the verandah off to one side. Across the green lawn, tables were still laden with plenty of food and several casks dispensing frothy ales. The night was cooling enough to make her thankful for her long-sleeved dress, but not so much as to make her want her cloak.

Heeding her rumbling stomach, the Widow skirted the dancing couples and made her way to the tables. Filling a plate and getting a tankard of what looked to be a fine brown ale, she found a seat at one of the tables and sat down to enjoy her dinner. She’d looked around for one of her new acquaintances, but didn’t see anyone she knew. However, if she sat long enough, someone would likely come up and talk to her. Hopefully she’d have time to eat a bit first. She started on her roast chicken, all the while tapping her foot in time to the music. Pity there wasn’t a fellow her own age to dance with, she thought. Still, it was fun to watch the crowd, especially the young folks. There was a fair amount of flirtation going on between several couples. The widow smiled to herself as she watched a hobbit lad join a pretty young woman near the ale casks. They reminded her of her own courtship so many years ago.

[Dimturiel]

Aniriel was siting at her table in front of a mug of ale. She felt better. Actually, better was not quite the word for it. There was a strange sense of euphoria inside her and she felt the need to do reckless things. Yet it was not so much because of the ale as because of the cheerfulness that surrounded her. She was so overwhelmed by it, that she had to restrain herself from shouting and dancing. Instead she got up, holding the mug in her hand, and said aloud:

"Kind lords and ladies! I have heard many travellers speak of this fair land. And they praised ever this inn and the courteous people that dwell here. And I must confess that I thought they were exagerating, as travellers much too often do to gain attention. But now, when I see with my own eyes the marvels of this place, I realise that none of those I have heard did you any justice!"

She sat down, amazed of her own daring.

"Now they will think that you are either drunk, either mad," a voice inside her head said. "And serves you right, Aniriel, for making such a fool of yourself."

Feeling her cheeks burning, Aniriel took another gulp, not daring yet to look at anybody.

[Folwren]

Tim could hardy believe the position that he found himself in now. Before he could say anything, Wren and Woody had scurried out from beneath the table cloth, and he was left alone, kneeling on the dry, springy grass beneath the cakes and other desserts. He looked around him, bent his head to look below the cloth, and then straightened again and set his eyes on Hanson.

“Come on, then,” he said, nodding towards the hanging cloth. “We’d better find the properest cake to grab while no one’s around.” Hanson nodded, his face still widened by a huge smile full of fun. He and Tim scrambled out quickly, though carefully, from beneath the table, and stood up. “Come on. . .come on,” he said. “We don’t want to be seen hanging around here before we actually have to steel it. Let’s check it from a little ways away.”

Without turning his head, he walked several paces off and put a few people between him and the table of desserts. Hanson followed at his side. They turned together and stood still, eyeing the possible booty and considering carefully which would be the best.

There were about five cakes, all not very large, five pies, and several plates of an assortment of cookies. Tim figured there was likely more food in the kitchen to back these up, in case the cakes and pies were eaten before the night was quite out.

After looking over all of them, Tim spotted a likely cake, one with creamy yellow icing surrounding the white, flaky cake. One or two pieces had been cut out of it, but nothing that they would miss too much. He suggested it to Hanson, and the hobbit child nodded, his eyes sparkling as they settled on the cake and his tongue slowly licked his lower lips.

“Well, we’d better go back,” Tim said. “Keep a sharp eye out that we’re not seen. There’s Woody and Wren now. . .their mission happily accomplished.”

[Thinlómien]

Grimhorn sat comfortably in his chair, drinking his beer. His thoughts had wandered to distant places and people. He had nearly forgotten about Rían sitting opposite him until the lad spoke: “So, did you really say, you are the son of Grimgor? The son of “Grimgor Bearhand”, Grimgor “the Owl’s eye”, “the one that runs at dusk”?”

Grimhorn's eyes narrowed slightly, but before he could answer he was distracted by the band that had just started playing. Rían was not looking at him; he watched the band. Then the young man turned and faced Grimhorn's narrowed gaze. For the older man's satisfaction, Rían looked a bit frightened. Still, the lad seemed to be waiting for the answer.

"Do you question my word?" Grimhorn asked the other beorning with a low voice. Rían looked puzzled. Grimhorn cleared his throat. Maybe this was about a different thing. "How many Grimgors you know? How many Grimgors there are?" he asked. After a small pause, he added: "I doubt you have heard of more than one. It's not so usual name."

By himself, he wondered how much did the lad know.

[Enedhilion]

The door swung open. A dark figure made his way into the Inn. As he felt the beaming eyes of curious spectators, he silently sat down at a table, in a dark corner.

Beriothien was his name. He believes he is the age of thirty four, he does not remember. Not important... The figure was tall, built, with a mysterious presence... almost an aura, if you will. He carried a long blade, he believes it dates only back to the Third Age, forged by men in West Emnet, outside of the glorious city of Edoras.

A stranger strides up to his table, "What will't be, man of the shadow?"
"Surprise me," Beriothien says. "I've never seen you in these parts. What is your business here, figure?" the waiter replies. "Just passin' through, no worries."

As the man leaves, Beriothien's mind wanders again. He is hit with an old memory, a terrible one. He thinks to himself...
I cannot believe I am still here. It was a slaughter, their attacks never ceased...never ceased...

Beriothien, a troubled man, has fought with many men, and watched his friends die at his feet. War is a terrible thing, but it cannot be avoided.

He comes back to reality. Must rest...must drink...big day coming up...better be ready...

We shall see what's in store for the man of the shadow.

[Caunwaithon]

It is nightime outside, and a single rider trots along a steady path, trees backing him on all sides. The man is a Rohirrim, but he is not lost in these parts, he has not wandered to the Shire by accident. The young man wears a leather and steel armor, with chain mail underneath. On his head sits a black horsehair crest, the symbol of an Outrider of Rohan. In his right hand, held up high, is a six foot ashen spear, black with a shining wrought iron steel tip.

The single rider comes to the Green Dragon inn. He dismounts amidts crowds of people and several exchange glances at the newcomer. There must be a party outside, for that matter. He does not bother to tie up his starkly black horse, but instead, he pats it on the neck, whispering ridddemarken into it's ear.

"Secht le beltom, no flenta."

The young man smiles, and the horse lies down, nieghing and brushing up against the leg of his master.



The door of the tavern booms loudly open, hitting the wall and rebounding. A large man , made even larger by the leather and steel armor he is wearing, fills the room with a hearty laughter, and sets an ashen spear down on the opposite side of the door. I am this man, and this is my story. There is no need to carry a weapon in here, I have nothing to fear from this place. I am from good times, of hearty drinks and glorious battle. I remove my steel helm, coarse horsehair crest scratching the back of my neck, and revealing my long, straight dirty blond hair that has been tucked into my helm. Making my way through the inn, I greet all those who come across my path, leaving a wake of smiles and laughter. But there seems to be few people here, they must all be outside. No matter. I will get an ale, and see what happens. I hit my knee against something, and that something yelps, in a deep, guttural voice. I have nearly tripped over an old acquaintince, a dwarve of the Fundin clan. He seems to be in a foul mood....I decide to cheer up the firey red-haired dwarve.

"Ah, my old friend Harod! What troubles you in these glad times? The lord of shadow is no more!"

The dwarve looks at the floor, then look back up into my eyes.

"Aye, horse lord, the evil sauron may be gone, but his minions still live on. Evil still infests all lands, and we dwarves have still not reclaimed Moria...."

I clap him on the shoulder, smiling, showing rows of white teeth.

"My friend, if there was no evil, we would have no pay! And without pay, how would we pay for our ale?"

The dwarve's gaze darts up, and booming laughter comes forth from his beard.

"Aye laddy, that you are correct!"

I turn from my friend, looking at the bar. I see no Bartender, so I just loudly proclaim,

"Barkeep, an ale for I and one for my dwarven companion! He is thirsty and travel weary!"

A beautiful woman comes up from above the bar surface, hands on her hips. A lock of golden hair is amiss from the rest going across her forehead and over one eye. The rest is brought back in a ponytail. Her skin is only very lightly tanned, with a scattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and her cheeks. But her eyes....large emeralds, sparkling in radiance and contrasting with her earth-toned dress. This is a maiden of Rohan, the land of my birth. What is she doing all the way in the shire? I have an excuse, I am an outrider of Rohan, but....

The woman brings me back from my daydream.

"Excuse me? Sir...."

I smile nervously, reminding my self all too wearily of my young age. I am barely 19 years of age, this woman cannot be interested in such a young one. But she seems to be the same age...

"I was simply struck by your beauty, my lady..."

She laughs, and rolls her eyes.

"You are the fourth one to say that today, and I know I don't look "beautiful" right now. I've been working for nearly a fortnight. So don't think you can trick me, even if you are an Outrider."

She must have some knowledge of us...she could tell by my black horsehair crest. This is indeed a woman of rohan. I smile at the woman, and she turns to get the ale.

"A'right, Horsemaster. Two 'ales comin' up."

I turn back to my dwarven friend still smiling, and remove my hand from his shoulder, turning to grasp the two ales being handed to me. In the corner of me eye, in the darkest shadow of the room, I see a Ranger, who seems to suck the very light out from around him....

Who is this shadow man?

My eyes fixed upon the ranger, I grasp the two stiens and ask the barkeep of the man, while stroking the short dirty blond beard that begins at my ears, and ends at the bottom of my chin, going over my lip.

"My lady, who is that man?"

The woman's congenial look vanishes from her face, the diamond spark goes out of her eyes, and she speaks in a hushed tone.

"That'll be one of them rangers....dangerous folk if you ask me. That one just walked in without sayin'a word, and sat right down."

I hand Harod's stien to him, which he immediatley starts gulping, and speak again, eyes still fixed on the man.

"One more ale for a friend I have not met yet."

The woman smiles, and winks at me. Maybe it was just sarcasm in her voice before....

I turn back and look at the ranger, and other thoughts vanish from my mind. That man is either a godsend, or pure evil.

"Here you go, young Outrider."

She tops off a mug and places it in my hand, caressingly, I note.

I need to stop thinking of her. I have a job to do. This man might have information.

I begin to walk toward the Ranger's table. His eyes are fixed on.....

Nothing.

I have only seen that look in the eyes of men who have seen the horrors of battle, and seen their comrades go down. I come upon the man, and nudge him with a stien, grinning.

"Hello there, freind. Got room for one more?"

[Enedhilion]

My train of thought is rudely interrupted by an obnoxious and loud fool.
"Hello there, dark one. How about a pint o' ale?"

"What is your purpose of pestering me with your nettlesome speech?" I ask abruptly.

"Sorry, I meant no harm. I just saw a lonely fellow, sittin 'ere by himself, and wanted to bring a pint o' ale for your troubles, an' a ear to hear any information you have. You are, after all, a ranger, and I am an outrider. I am Canwaithon, of the Riddimarck."

...He knows nothing of me, only the clothes on my back and the darkness beyond my cloak. Who is he to barge in on my time to myself and bother me with his disdainful statement?

"I have no information, wander'r. And I do not find myself obliging to your request."

[Caunwaithon]

I will have information out of this man, however foul-tempered he is. I will not use force to extract it, though. I can see now that this man is older than I, and by quite a few years, at that. He looks nearly thirty, and then some. But more than that....

He is troubled. He knows of a great battle that happened, and it is more than likely that he fled, or was the only one left alive.

I set down the stien in front of myself, and slide it over to the man.

"C'mon! Have an ale for your troubles, and tell me a spell. There isn't a thing as a ranger who doesn't know what's happening."

I smile again, relaxing back in the booth. I slump down in it, and set my helm off to the side,taking a draught of the cool beer. It' been quite a while since I drank anything but water, or ate anything but jerky. I can hear the sounds of hobbits laughing outside, intermixed with your every-now and then human, and the sound of flutes, and other music.

It is good to relax every once and awhile....

[Farael]

"Gondorian thief-knot? Enhmer you rascal!!" Farael shook his head, grinning "I learned it during my time as an archer for the Army of Gondor. A friend of mine taught it to me. Thief-knot you say? well, that explains an awful lot" He chuckled, still aware of how Losse may have been feeling.

As he tried to calm down, two men walked by him. One was cloaked in shadows and Farael did not think of him twice. The second wore an armor he had seen years before and carried a spear. A spear in the shire. The thought was so odd Farael could not help but to laugh yet again. By the time the fit of laughter passed, he realized he had been holding on to Losse not to fall flat on the ground. It was a grotesque situation, a big man like himself laughing like a child and holding on to a woman for support. He looked into her eyes and could not stop the laughs yet another time.

It was a few minutes this time before Farael could catch his breath. "I... I do apologise Miss Losse, forgetting the thievery you have been very nice to talk to. Of course, you call yourself a thief and so I shall not trust you easily. I sure wish you were not, a fair lady from Gondor who may or may not have been born in a noble family who is not afraid to travel to a far-off land is unique indeed." He tried smiling his most charming smile and fighting back the chuckles that had not yet abandoned him. It would not do to laugh this time.

[Nogrod]

So it was a positive answer. This man in front of him really was the son of the “One that runs at dusk”. The son of the “Owl’s eye”... If I just could improve a bit and hold my mouth also when relaxed and comfortable after a beer or two!

Rían felt like he had quite consciously pushed his head straight into a beehive – if there ever was such a large one to accomodate his head. He kind of smiled inwardly to his lousy metaphor. Maybe he was just poking a bear that was just coming off from its’ hibernation... What a fool he was! As long as he could remember, he had just slipped this once, wanting to make sure he could be in peace, just for this night, to assure some relaxation after all those days, weeks, and months of being alert, tense and on guard all the time. And on this night, of all creatures on Middle Earth, he had literally crashed into the son of “Grimgor Bearhand”, and on the top of it all, bought him a beer and insisted on his company, then revealed his knowledge of him & his own identity! Stupid, stupid, stupid!!! A way out of this? None to be seen at the moment. I would have to come up with something, and quickly! I could so well had just made my apologies and go out to have my pipeful! Or why couldn’t I just have had some nice small-talk about the Beorning life-style and the weirdness of other cultures, thrown some jokes familiar to both of us, drank my pint and excused myself with all the best wishes to a fellow-Beorning? Then I could have rejoined Falar, Naria & others. They seemed nice folk. At least they didn’t seem to him like people in the midst of trouble, where Rían now found himself in.

Rían had thrown himself into a troll’s cave, and could not come up with a way out. The narrow stare of Grimhorn didn’t make him feel any more comfortable. It was, like this guy was just pondering about the wealth of his knowledge. There should be only the right words now. He should get over this one, for he surely knew, what was it like to meet his father. This giant propably didn’t expect this knowledge with him, yet. He would have to hold that back as long as possible.

“Well, I just thought the same, you kind of said... There sure aren’t many Grimgors around. But how can I add together the name of Grimgor and the famous name of the “Owl’s eye”? That you must have asked yourself. Well...” Immediately Rían realized, that he was as a fly in a spider’s web, by moving boldly to reach out, he had just entangled himself even tighter in to the net!

Grimhorn seemed concentrated on him. He had raised his eyebrows, clearly waiting for Rían to continue. But suddenly, there glimmered a dim light of hope! Maybe this cavetroll had just forgot Rían’s introductioning of himself! Maybe Grimhorn didn’t quite know, who he was? This was desperate, he knew that, but nothing else came to his mind at the moment.

“... Well. My father, you propably won’t know him, was a kind of a seer”. Rían tried now to avoid the name “hermit”, by which his father had been known all over the Beorningland. “He once told me to revere the “One that runs at dusk”, and at a same time Grimgor Bearhand, for they are the very same man. Now that is what my father told me. The name of Grimgor hasn’t meant much to me over the years, but the stories of the “Owl’s eye” I surely have heard, many times. And yes, I have now made the connection. But I can swear to you, with a beorning’s word, that I’ll never mention this to anyone. Rest assured, you can count on my word.”

Rían took a glance to check, that no-one was listening to his speech. Grimhorn noted his care. For a moment they were both silent. Grimhorn stared at him, clearly in his thoughts, Rían was just wondering, what this grin meant this time. He tried to lighten the situation – and possibly turn this giant’s mind to somewhere else.

“Care to taste this one?”, he asked, “It’s Old Boff’s. Very good stuff indeed”. With these words, he offered his pipe towards Grimhorn.

[Enedhilion]

I feel no cheer, even though it is right here next to me...in ALL of it gloriousness...

"I have no time to chat, Outrider. They are after me. That is all I can speak for now.", I reply.

"Tis' alright. All I want to know is what is your identity and who pursues you?", the Rohirrim asks.

"I am Beriothien, of Belfalas. That is all you need to know. And I havn't a clue. A horde of minions is on my tail. I shall confront them at dawn. I know not of their location, only of their direction. They come from the northeast, travelled around the tip of Eryn Lasgalen. No time to chat...no time to chat..."

[Janthor]

A figure of small stature and a steady walk,made his way over the slight hillside and through the trees.A rugged and worn down cloak wraped the dwarves shoulders.The grunting and slight mumbling he emmited could be heard a good distance.In his right hand,griped tightly and being used as a walking stick,was an axe,a common weapon of his kin.Underneath the cloak,a leather vest worn over a simple black tunic.Chainmail leggings and straped leather boots covered his legs.All that rested on the dwarves head was the hood of the cloak,though it did little to hide his facial features.The long brown beard could be seen from nearly every angle,not that Janthor wanted to hide it anyway.

Finaly arriving at his destination,Janthor put the hood of his cloak down and looked around.This was a lively place for sure.Not like the parties back home,which usualy involved brawling,and rivers of ale.Turning his attention back to the door,Janthor barged into the room.The smells of pork and ale,mixed with the warmth of the fire seemed to blast the dwarf.

Janthor inhaled deeply and sighed with a slight laugh.It had been a long journey and he was long over due for a good drink.Relizing he hadnt closed the door he turned,shuting it swiftly.As he made his way to the bar he had to push his way through several times.Though this was hobbit territory,many stoped here as they went through.He was small but proud and didnt mind showing it either.Others though had to be reminded that other,shorter inhabitants dwelled in Middle Earth.

Arriving at the bar,he noticed his axe was still in hand.Standing it up against the bar,he pulled a chair over and climbed atop it.He barely stood at arms length on the chair.

"Could a dwarf get a drink around here?" Janthor said in his booming voice.A women,who had prieviously been cleaning mugs came over.She greeted him with a warm smile,and didnt seem to mind Janthors brash attitude.

"Right away master dwarf.Ale correct?"

"Aye,lass.Many thanks."

She had been gone only a few seconds befor returning with a full mug of ale.She set the mug down in front of Janthor befor turning to fill another patrons order.Janthor gripped the mug with both hands befor bringing it to his lips and taking a long drink.Upon completing the mans order she returned.

"Might I ask what brings you here? Dont get many dwarves these days."

Janthor removed the cup from his lips and set it on the bar.

"Oh nothing,nothing at all realy.Just getting out of the mountains a bit.To tell you the truth,you wont find many dwarves who want to get out of the mountain.Glorious homeland,no doubt.Even a dwarf wishes to see the outside lands once in awile though."

She gave a warm smile befor opening her mouth to speak.But befor the words could come out,she was summoned by yet another patron.

"If you'll excuse me."Sighing she made her way over to the customer.

He shrugged befor bringing the ale to his lips once again.

[Caunwaithon]

I feel no cheer, even though it is right here next to me...in ALL of it gloriousness...

"I have no time to chat, Outrider. They are after me. That is all I can speak for now.", I reply.

"Tis' alright. All I want to know is what is your identity and who pursues you?", the Rohirrim asks.

"I am Beriothien, of Belfalas. That is all you need to know. And I havn't a clue. A horde of minions is on my tail. I shall confront them at dawn. I know not of their location, only of their direction. They come from the northeast, travelled around the tip of Mirkwood. No time to chat...no time to chat..."


I sit up in my in the booth, arms settling on the table, armor creaking lightly, and the chainmail clinking.

"Berethion....of Belfalas. Protector of Belfalas. I Am Caunwaithon, and I am from the very northern borders of my people, Fangorn Forest."

I pause for a while, thinking with my left hand around the mug, right stroking the beard.

"I will not let you fight this foe alone, Ranger of the North. I do not think my companions will either. I wait for Janthor, a dwarve of the Lonely Mountain, and one I have not met yet, Kilon Ith'o. If you wish it, stranger, you have my spear."

I set back down again, and talk in a more friendly tone.

"Well, Ranger, I won't presume, but I think you're like me. You don't like to fight on an empty stomach, aye? Let's get somethin' to eat. I haven't had anything but jerky in quite a while."

Then I look to my left, and see a dwarf chatting with the beautiful bartender.

"If you'll excuse me one moment, ranger, I believe this is Janthor here...."

I get up, grabbing my helm and putting it in the crook of my left elbow, coming upon the dwarf, who has his back turned to me.

"Excuse me, Master Dwarf, but would you happen to be Janthor of the Lonely Mountain?"

[Janthor]

Janthor set the mug down ,empty now.A few stares were drawn at the Dwarves drinking speed,but Janthor paid them no mind.

"Excuse me, Master Dwarf, but would you happen to be Janthor of the Lonely Mountain?" He heard a man say.Turning to face him,Janthor still had to look up,even though he was on a chair.

"Aye, that I am lad!" It took him awile but he eventually relized who it was."How are you doing my friend! Its been awile.Well get that blasted helmet off! I could hardly tell you from the other soldiers in here."

A second of slight and awkward silence passed between them.Janthor didnt know why he hadnt offered Caunwaithon a drink.After all dwarves were known for their merry times in the taverns.

"Would you like a drink? I saw you chatting with that ranger over there.Hope it went well.The stories suggest that if it dosnt your in trouble."

[Enedhilion]

Seeing this man's new accomplice, I decide to speak up.

"I am sorry...Spearman. This is my fight, and my fight alone."

I felt a little unnerved, and I began to stand.

"Now if you will excuse me, I need rest."

I am struck with another memory. I begin to feel saddened.

"No matter how many there are...this is my fight. They took something away from me...that I can never have again. I shall return the favor, with their lives."

[Caunwaithon]

I smile at the man, recollecting of our conversation.

"Ha! This man might be a ranger, but I have a Dwarven warrior by my side!"

I pick up the ale put upon the bar, and lift it up.

"For old friendships, and that they shall not die!"

I toss the ale back, washing it down my throat with some difficulty. Well, alot of difficulty. But I do not show it, and I am proud for this.

"Come, Janthor. I will show you the man I wish to help."

I pick up a wooden plate a block of cheese upon it, and a loaf of dark bread, walking once again towards the dark corner. But the man meets me halfway, in a manner of refusal.

"I am sorry...Spearman. This is my fight, and my fight alone."

the man slowly stands up from the table and begins to walk away.

"Now if you will excuse me, I need rest."

he walks out of the tavern, without sound escaping forth from his bootheels.

I nod my head towards Janthor, and smile.

"Well then, nevermind, it seems as if we will need to find our own quest."

I set the wooden plate down, and pull a straight-edged knife from a sheath on my belt, cutting into the cheese and sitting down, biting into the sharp, aromatic white half moon cheese.

"So...how goes the lonely mountain? Does your kingdom do well?"

[Enedhilion]

Suddenly, Beriothien bursts through the doors.

"They have found me! I have no idea how they found me......YOU! OUTRIDER!", I call to the Rohan rider.

He glances over to me. I guess I caught his attention.

"Aid me and I will follow you on your quest!", I call to him again.

[Janthor]

"Yes I suppose.Moria is still in goblin hands though.Blasted creatures!One day though we will retake it in Balins honor!"

Janthor looked up as the doors swung open hitting the wall as they did."They have found me! I have no idea how they found me......YOU! OUTRIDER! Aid me and I will follow you on your quest!"

"Calm down lad.Who's found you?"

[Caunwaithon]

I straighten up in my seat, thinking for a moment....

"Beriothen, what are their numbers, and where are they? They outside the borders of the shire, are they not?"

I smile then, speaking in a humorus tone.

"Because if that is the case, we may have a chance, and I might have a plan....."

I begin to cut into the bread once again, fitting another slice into my mouth.

Never ride to battle hungry.

The dwarf looks at me oddly, brow furrowed in confusion.

"I am sorry my friend, I failed to tell you. Beriothen has been pursued by a horde who has gone around Eryn Lasgalen, once known as Mirkwood, now reclaimed by the elves. He says they have something of his...something he wants back. I will go. What of you?"

[Janthor]

Janthor grabs his beard befor slapping his knee."Why not.Nothing better to do here.And I havnt sunk my axe into somethings chest in awile."

"Beriothen,of the Rangers.Ye have my axe in this matter." The Dwarf said grabing the weapon eagerly.Leaning on it he let out a laugh.

[Caunwaithon]

I laugh at the dwarf, holding onto my sides. I knew he would say yes, but I didn't think it would be in quite this manner.....

"Beriothen, how far out are these men? Do we have time to plan further?"

I finish off the rest of the cheese, and swig it all down with this fine hobbit ale. Not like the Lagers of my homeland, specifically, the Heffewiesen, but a good beer nonetheless.

I look at the dwarve, surrounded by empty beer. He looks as if a king, sitting upon his golden throne. I immediatley laugh at the image, and he looks at me quizzically.

"Aye, here be the king of the Brew, nanquishing the enemy with his throat! None shall pass!"

[Enedhilion]

I tell the two to lower their voices, as I peer out the window. The horde is passing through...Oh how I cannot stand the smell of orcs.

"Pause a moment...they are leaving!", I exclaim.

It seems that these orcs are on their way to another city. We should stay out of their way for the time being. Stay in the inn...If they were to attack here, they wouldn't see daybreak. There must be a number of warriors present who would stop the fiends.

The commotion has ceased, died down. I can relax once more.
The thought of orcs surfaces tension inside.

I became thirsty and had not realized. I ask the barkeep for another pint.
Yes...pints always wash the troubles away...

[piosenniel]

~*~ GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS ~*~

The Green Dragon Inn is located in Bywater, just off the Great East-West Road.

It is the 4th Age, year 12. By the Shire Calendar it is year 1433 S.R. (Shire Reckoning).

King Elessar is on the throne of the Reunited Kingdom of Arnor and Gondor.

Mirkwood has been reclaimed by the Elves and is now called Eryn Lasgalen.

Paladdin Took, Pippin’s father, is Thain of the Shire. (Thain is an honorary title for the military leader of the Shire. The title has been held in the Took Family since the position was first established in 3rd Age 1979 with Bucca of the Marish as First Thain.) Paladdin Took dies in year 13, and will be succeeded by his son, Peregrin, ‘Pippin’, Took.

Samwise Gamgee is Mayor of the Shire, having succeeded Will Whitfoot in 1427 S.R.

The Innkeeper, in the Green Dragon Inn of this forum, is: Aman – a young woman from Rohan.

Before her, the Innkeeper was Piosenniel, and before her it was Dwarin, the Dwarf.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+

Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

Buttercup Brownlock, Hobbit – not married – kitchen assistant and maid

Vinca Bunce, widowed, Inn Cook (character played by Piosenniel)

Derufin, General handyman/jack-of-all-trades round the Inn; Man from southwestern Gondor (played by Envinyatar) - AWAY AT PRESENT

Zimzi (Zimziran), wife to Derufin; a skilled potter from Lindon(played by Pio) - AWAY AT PRESENT

Meri - Stablemaster

Tim Woodlock - Stableboy; Wren - his younger sister: humans, originally from Breeland (characters played by Folwren)

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+

Ongoing characters from outside the Inn:

Halfred Whitfoot – local Shiriff from Bywater and Postmaster for this area of the Shire; his pony’s name is Dumpling.

_____________________________________________

Please Note:

No 'SAVES' are allowed in the Inn (except for modifications needed to be made by the Moderators or Innkeeper).

With the exception of the Innkeeper and the Moderators, no OOC (Out Of Character) comments are allowed in the Inn.

Only the Innkeeper, Amanaduial, or the Moderators move the timeline for the Inn forward.

Visitors to the Inn will need to read the posts that come before theirs to get an idea of what time it is in the Shire, what the weather is like, and what is happening.

No violence is allowed in the Inn or on Inn grounds.

Please be familiar with the rules for the Inn and Games in The Red Book of Westmarch, the first topic in the Shire.

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About Elves in Shire RPG's:

Please use this description from Tolkien when crafting an Elf:

Return of the King – Appendix F: Tolkien’s description for the Quendi (The Speakers) – the name given to the Elves by themselves after they first awoke in Middle-earth.

“They were a race high and beautiful, the older Children of the world, and among them the Eldar were as Kings, who now are gone: the People of the Great Journey, the People of the Stars. They were tall, fair of skin and grey-eyed, though their locks were dark, save in the golden house of Finrod; and their voices had more melodies than any mortal voice that is now heard . . .”

Please use this as a guideline for describing your Elven character’s appearance.

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EVERYONE

Please be familiar with The Red Book of Westmarch (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/showthread.php?t=10581) which gives the rules for posting in the Shire RPG's and in The Green Dragon Inn.

Thanks!

Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[piosenniel]

TIME OF DAY

It is now a fair evening in the Shire; the stars are out.

There is a large party in the Inn's front yard - tables are loaded with food, desserts, drinks. Several barrels of ale have been tapped, compliments of one of the Hobbit brewmasters.

There are tables and benches scattered over the front lawn. Twinkling little lanterns hang from the trees. To one side of the verandah there is a little stage set up for the musicians and a large area cleared for dancing.

[piosenniel]

Green Dragon Inn players:

Please take note of the following rules/guidelines found in the The Red Book of Westmarch, one of the threads found at the top of the Shire Forum, and the one which contains the rules for posting in the Inn and in RPG's.


1.)

There is to be no independent RPG'ing within the Inn. Don't try to play your RPG storyline by coming into the Inn thread with it.

Please attempt to fit into the present story line you find at the Inn and interact with other players who are writing in it.

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2.)

SERIAL POSTING

The Shire would like to encourage writers to take time to do more thoughtful and descriptive posts.

Serial posting between writers is discouraged, especially since it tends to become more dialog oriented than descriptive.

Two and a maximum of three well done posts is enough for one day for a writer to a game or the Inn.

Please try to keep to this request.

The Barrow-Downs style of gaming prefers posts which are highly descriptive in their writing and much less based on dialog.

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In reference to that is this rule in the Red Book -

3.)

3. Short chat-style posts which encourage other players to post in a chatty style are also not allowed. Be descriptive, and try not to use a lot of dialog.

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Posts which the Shire Moderators feel are not working within these guidelines will be returned to their writers for edits.

--Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[Lasbelinion]

Callë had not really thought to stop at the Inn. She had plenty of food in her rucksack and a full skin of fresh water, too. But the sounds coming from what seemed a large party in the Inn’s front yard drew her down the path.

She stood in the night shadows of a small stand of beech trees, her pale blue eyes taking in the goings on. Tables groaned with platters of foods and desserts. And there by them were casks of ale and another table with pitchers of other drinks available. Callë put her hands on her belly which had suddenly began to tell her how hungry it was. And not for the dried meats and waybread she had in her pack.

She tied back her dark brown hair with a thin leather cord she pulled from a pocket in her tunic, smoothing the wild and wavy locks back so as to look presentable. She polished the toes of her boots a bit – rubbing them on the back of her dark leggings. Her tunic was clean enough; she’d put it on just that day. Callë stepped out into the soft light of the tree lanterns and made her way through the crowd.

The Halfling who poured the ale gave her a friendly look as she took up a mug. She wandered to the table of food and filled a plate with bread and cheeses and a ripe, red apple atop it.

‘Where can I sit?’ she wondered, her eyes searching for an empty chair and a friendly face. There at a table sat another young woman, a mug of ale in her hands. She had a friendly face and seemed to be enjoying herself, listening to the lively music.

Callë made her way to where the dark haired woman sat. ‘Pardon me, miss – may I sit with you? My name is Callë, and I don’t really know anyone here.’ The apple, which had been precariously perched on her plate, took a mind to make a leap for freedom. It landed on the table top and rolled quickly towards the other woman’s hand.

[Nurumaiel]

"I think," said Marcho, "that we should make our escape before we're seen."

Posco was spinning his empty mug of ale first in one direction, and then the other, and he looked shyly about. "You make it sound as if we were criminals, Marcho," he said. "The worst anything could do is talk to us."

"And don't you think that's rather awful?" said Marcho. "If someone comes and talks to us, it won't be me that suffers the most. I'll simply be annoyed. But you'll be quite frightened. I'm only thinking of you, Posco."

"I won't be frightened," said Posco, though his eyes widened in more than a little alarm as he once again surveyed the large crowd of people. "I'm not as shy as I once was."

"Then why don't we flee from these riots and go to Lily's home?"

Indeed, why didn't they? Would Lily really and truly be here? He liked to think she would, for it would be so much easier to have a chance meeting at the Inn, rather than an official calling at her home. But whenever he reflected on it for a lengthy amount of time, his heart would begin to sink, for he realised how absurd it was to hope that she would happen to be at the Inn simply because he was. No doubt he would return home disappointed, and Marcho would be annoyed for having to travel such a long way for no reason. Not that Marcho really and truly had to go, but Mrs. Brandybuck didn't like her shy little boy wandering to and fro about the Shire.

Posco sighed, and once again looked about him, but this time his eyes inclined upwards, and he could not help but smile softly as he saw the twinkling lights hanging in the trees, looking like falling stars that had been caught in their descent. Their light fell softly upon the grass, a golden dance floor for frolicking shadows. The place was certainly magical, and where magic was, wouldn't Lily be there also?

"I think... I think Lily will be here," he said. "I know she'd love it."

Marcho gave a little moan, and resigned himself to his unhappy fate.

[Dimturiel]

"Pardon me, miss, may I sit with you?"
Aniriel looked up at these words and found herself face to face with a young woman with dark brown hair and blue eyes carying a plate that was laden with food.

"My name is Calle,"the woman continued, "and I dont really know anyone here."

As she spoke, an apple slipped from her plate and landed into Aniriel's hand. With a smile, Aniriel handed it back to her new companion.

"Greetings, Calle." she said. "I am Aniriel and I, too, know no one in these parts of the world. My home lies away south in Dol Amroth. Do sit down. Ale and good food have to be shared with someone in order to be truly appreciated. Also, it does not do to sit alone while everybody else is making merry."

For the first time since she had reached the inn, Aniriel felt truly joyful. At least she was not alone anymore. At least she had someone to talk to, someone she could befriend easily. It was better than sitting alone and listening to the voice inside her saying that it would have been better not to come here, that she had been reckless. Maybe she had been, but it was too late now for repenting. Why not enjoy herself if she had come this far?

"So tell me," she said to Calle. "where do you come from and what brings you here?"

[Wiscott]

A dwarf saunters out of the night, into the subdued light of the lanterns. He is adorned in simple travelling clothes: a corslet, under linen and leather garments designed more to turn the wind than an axe. He rests a halberd upon his shoulder as he surveys the yard; the weapon is of simple, light make, so as to be easier to walk with. He wears no helmet, but prefers a cloak and hood of dark grey. His head is shaven, but for the braided brown hair of his beard.


The dwarf fills his mug -carried all the way from home in the Lonely Mountain- and chooses a seat by himself, removed from all the activity. After draining the beer, he takes out an old, much-used pipe and lights it. Sitting back and observing the activities of the patrons, he kicks off his worn boots and lets the grass soothe his sore feet. Ah, Baldin, it doesn't get much better than this, he thought to himself.

[Koobdooga]

Ibun greets Baldin


Ibun Lodestone leaned back in his chair, his feet propped on the Inn’s front porch railing, and followed the progress of the Dwarf in the dark grey cloak across the grassy sward. The fellow he noted had taken a seat at an out of the way table, and made himself at home.

Boots off! A pipe in one hand, and a mug of ale. And a decidedly satisfied look on his face.

Ibun stuffed his own now cold pipe in his vest pocket and fetched a pitcher of the dark-as-night ale from the cask he’d won earlier in the day. ‘Can’t be letting your mug get dry now, can we?’ he said as he approached the Dwarf’s table and offered to pour a refill. ‘Ibun Lodestone,’ he went on, ‘from Khazad-dûm.’

[Lasbelinion]

‘Dol Amroth! Why then you’ve come even farther than I!’ Callë took the offered seat and sat her plate and mug of ale before her. Taking up the small knife that hung at her belt, she took the wayward apple and cut it in two, offering half to Aniriel. ‘Might as well share it – it did seem to favor the both of us!’ she laughed.

‘I’ve come up from Dunland,’ she said. ‘Near where the River Isen runs into the Great Sea. Word had reached us of the High King and his new peace he’s made in the land. And that he’d begun to restore the old ruins north of here – the ones called Annuminas. We had many stories among my people how Elendil sailed from Numenor after the sinking of the island and founded a great city there.’

Callë took a bite of bread and cheese and chewed thoughtfully on it. ‘And now that there is peace in these lands, I would like to see it for my self.’

‘What about you, Aniriel? What brings you through the Halflings land?’

[Wiscott]

Baldin greets Ibun with a friendly smile as he pours himself some of the fine ale. He doesn't mind the interruption of his solitude; indeed, the pitcher of ale put him in just the mood for a friendly chat.


"Khazad-dum, ye say?" Baldin lifts an eyebrow in recognition and mild surprise. "Why, I myself come from the Lonely Mountain, and am in fact on a sort of pilgrimage, you might say. I've known some of the stout dwarves who accompanied Thorin Oakenshield to reclaim the mountain, as a young dwarf, and had got the itch to follow their own route back here to the Shire."

[JennyHallu]

"...a fair lady from Gondor who may or may not have been born in a noble family who is not afraid to travel to a far-off land is unique indeed."

Losse snorted, catching a little of his mirth. "Your friend did you no favors, teaching you that. Remind me to teach you the rules of it, ere I leave you, so you don't accidentally lose fingers...or worse. And as for my lineage?" She paused. "Well, whether you believe me or not, 'tis true, though I will admit my story would be far less interesting without it, and that would be a sorry thing, 'twould it not?"

She smiled suddenly, showing Farael a brief glimpse of the carefree, joyous, youth she ought to have been the whole time. "Truly, it matters not one way or the other. I have no way to prove it except for a pendant my mother left me, but I don't know if it is unique or not. And even if it is...well, I may have been taught fair manners, but what place would I have in the Court of the Prince? I am a thief. I have no memory of any of my mother's people, and my only memories of Belfalas are brief. My only visit to Dol Amroth in adulthood was necessarily fleeting, and I certainly wasn't going to look anyone up. You are an intelligent man, I'm sure you can understand my occasional need for haste, and silent passage."

She caught a glimpse of the young man's expression at this allusion to her profession and let ring an honest laugh. "Any mention of my profession makes you nervous, doesn't it? Don't worry...you're safe from me as long as you don't pull my hair again, and your elven friend is no fun anyway. Relax...tell me your own tale. It would please me to know how a countryman found his way out here."

[Thinlómien]

Grimhorn took the pipe and had a smoke. "Good", he agreed shortly and after a while he handed the pipe back to Rían, who had obviously wanted to change the subject of the discussion. Grimhorn wondered why. This wasn't his favourite topic, but he had a reason. Why would this young man so fiercely avoid the topic of Grimhorn's father? That was something Grimhorn didn't understand. Unless the boy knew more than he let on...

"Well, Sundryboy, I probably missed what you were talking about. Swearing? What is there, that is not to be spoken about? My father is a man long dead. What is there, that you promise not to talk about?" he asked and paused for a while. Before the young man could answer, he added: "For I see no reason for being silent about my father; I wouldn't surely introduce myself as "the son of Grimgor" if there was something shameful or horrible in his name, or would I?" The lie slipped easily from his lips. Too easily, he told himself. I am getting too used to this; more used to than is honourable to be.

He knew that he knew a good deal more about Rían's father than the man probably assumed. Uneasily, he wondered if Rían knew as much of his.

[Dimturiel]

"What reason brings me here?" asked Aniriel and stood silent for a few moments as if pondering on the meaning of these words,"Well, it was not exactly a reason but more a...well, a sort of whim. Yes, this seems the right word for it. I have heard a lot about this place, and one day I just decided to come here."

She paused remembering her mother's astonished face when she had told her she was leaving. Smiling at the memory, she continued:

"My parents never really agreed to let me go. They tried to talk me out of it. But, in the end, they had no choice but to give in. I think they knew in a way that it was not totally my fault. I just felt that I had to come here and I knew that I would not have any peace if I did not. But maybe these feelings run in the family. My brother used to have such whims, too."

Aniriel's thoughts went back to a day not long before the Great War, when her brother had announced that he would be going with Prince Imrahil's army to aid Minas Tirith. Their father had told him not to go, that he was too young for war, and that battle was bound to come to Dol Amroth, too. And, when it came, would he not rather die near his mother and his sister than far away from them? But Aniriel's brother was adamant.

"I am sorry that my decision has to be different from yours." he had said. "You know that I would rather be with you in my last moments; yet I cannot remain, I am sorry. I feel that if I do not go there I shall lose my peace for ever."

[Lasbelinion]

"My brother used to have such whims, too," Aniriel had said.

"Going off to war is hardly a whim!" Callë's eyes clouded for a moment, recalling her own losses. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. 'Sorry to have gone all grim on you for a moment. She sipped slowly on her ale.

"I never had any brothers. All sisters in my family. Four of them plus me. Near drove my mother mad when we'd get to bickering, for we are quite different in temperament. My father of course called us all his darlings and never could quite understand why mother had so many complaints." Callë grinned, remembering a scene or two from her earlier years, "Of course, they are all married off now. With fine, fat little babies of their own to fuss over."

She took up her apple half and bit off a piece. "What about you? Just the one brother?" She munched on her mouthful of apple. "Did he find his peace . . . serving in the war . . .?"

[Koobdooga]

'Thorin Oakenshield is much revered among the Dwarves of Khazad-dum!' Ibun said, raising his mug in a toast. 'Here's to Thorin, King Under the Mountain!' He drained his mug in a single draught.

'I'm on a journey westward, myself, to The Blue Mountains. It is said that some of our kin established themselves there after the foul shadow overran Khazad-dum. But now that we have cleared out their lairs and have started putting their wreckage to rights, our King has sent out messengers to those of our scatterd Folk, telling them they are most welcome to return.'

He dug into the pocket of his vest and found his pouch with pipeweed and pipe all neatly tucked inside. 'Good stuff! This Shire pipeweed. Better than I found in Bree, at least. Help yourself, if you'ld like.' Ibun fixed himself a pipeful and sat back in his chair to enjoy it.

[Wiscott]

Baldin grins as he reaches for some of the weed. "Thank ye," he simply states, before filling his pipe for a second round. Musing for a minute on the smoke drifting up in front of his nose, he turns back to Ibun.


"I was just pondering where to go from here in my own journey. I had thought of goin' as far west as Hobbiton, to bring the route of the olde troupe to its beginnning. From there, however, I have as yet formed no set plan. Mayhaps I will journey to the Blue Mountains myself; I believe I have some kin there. Or I could make my way south and east to Khazad-dum; it 'twould be fair to look upon the works of my ancestors, and I am of a mind to help in the rebuilding myself. In any case, I have no great desire to go back to Dale and the Lonely Mountain so soon, and after so little adventure." The nearby fire of the lamps glimmered in his eye for a moment as he uttered the last phrase. As if in continuation of the thought, Baldin took some materials from his light pack and began to polish the broad blade of his halberd.

[Dimturiel]

"Did he find his peace...serving in the war?"

How strange this sounded, Aniriel thought. She knew too many things about war to think that no feeling of ease could come from it. Yet she had never been in a battle, never knew what really happened there. And her brother had told her many times that she could not understand such things, and that maybe it was better for her not to.

"Maybe he did find his peace." Aniriel answered . "He returned changed, though. I could not clearly say in what way. He seemed the same cheerful lad, but sometimes there was something in his voice or in his eyes that did not belong to him. Well, 'tis said that no one comes unscathed from such a battle. My brother had fought bravely, I was told. Fiercely, even. But he was wounded and I doubt not that, had it not been for Lord Elfstone's healing skills, he would have died. He is now one of the King's messengers. He spends most of the time in Minas Tirith or on the road on one errand or another..."

Aniriel paused. She took a bite from her apple half, watching Calle, thoughtfully. She seemed one to whom she could tell many things without regretting later. And also, she wanted to find many things about her, too. She had never met someone from Dunland before.

"So," she continued after a few moments of silence, "You said that you had four sisters, Calle? I would have liked a sister, too. Are you the youngest of your family? I am, you see. My brother used to tease me a lot when we were little. I did not like it much, then, but now I confess that I sometimes miss those times..."

[Ar-Pharazon]

“How strange and unnatural the simple things are too me,” spoke Belecbor quietly to himself, as he arrived in front of the Green Dragon. A great revelry had commenced for the evening, and many were gathered in celebration over the days end. No war had been won, or kingdom saved, just the rewards of a day’s hard labour.

“You will find the greatest bliss for life in the Shire,” he had been told by a man who had travelled eastward after the Great War. “It has the spirit of a kingdom, and the richness of a farm. No great worries or troubles follow you there.”

Belecbor had finally learnt what that man had meant; this place was what he had longed for in the depths of himself, after so many years of hardship. His long hair greying did not seem so grey and nor his scarred faced seem so marked; those many battles with Corsairs and Harad seemed but a distant memory,

As he looked around Belecbor felt out of place here, wearing the garb of a knight under Angbor in a place of relative peace. Under his travelling cloak, he felt his light elvish steel mail and sword, was unwanted in a place like this. Yet, many of the folk here seemed too have travelled from many different lands, and wore and assortment of items.

“Greetings stranger from the west,” said one of the Hobbit maiden’s. “Are you in need of anything?” She looked up at the tall and strong man, as a child looks at a parent, and yet this was not a child, but a woman of some years. For a man who has never really seen a hobbit up close, tis a strange experience at first.

“Many thanks, madam,” Belecbor replied. “But, I do not require anything at this time.” The hobbit maiden nodded and moved on.

Looking around the yard, Belecbor noted an empty table near the edge of the party and took a seat there. His thoughts pondered on what he would do first, when another hobbit maiden approached him.

“Welcome,” she said. “Would you care to leave your arms with us and rest for awhile, it is not comfortable to carry all that steel at all time.”

Belecbor looked at her; there was innocence and kindness about her that he had not seen in many. “Nay,” he spoke. “I am quite comfortable as I am.” Although this land was a land of peace, Belecbor was not quite ready to put down his arms yet.

[Firefoot]

Lily had ridden hard and fast from Buckland to the Green Dragon. The journey, which should have measured a couple days, could be measured in hours and had exhausted her pony Clover. She did regret pushing him so hard, but her cause was urgent – desperate, even. The news she had heard in Buckland hardly bore remembering, but Lily could not forget.

Only a short while after riding into the Shire, a rather forward hobbit lad about her age had stopped her on the road and, not recognizing her as being from those parts, had asked her where she came from and where she was headed. She had told him she had ridden from Bree and that she was going to the house of Posco Brandybuck, but at this he began shaking his head. “You won’t be finding Posco there – he’s taking a trip out Bywater way. He left just a couple days ago,” he said. Lily guessed that he might be visiting his aunt, as he had been when she met him, but then the lad grinned as if in anticipation of some joke. “But listen to his – rumor has it that he’s gone to find his bride!” Lily paled. After finding her voice again, she pressed him for information, but the lad had none to give. With her thoughts whirling she had thanked him hurriedly and rode on towards Bywater and the Green Dragon.

Surely there must be a mistake – Posco loved her! Unless… unless that was the true reason her uncle had not passed her letters on to him? Perhaps Posco had written, saying that he had found a new lass, and her uncle had wanted to somehow spare her feelings and so had not shared this news? Suddenly she felt sick at having left without speaking further to her uncle. After all, Tommy Banks was a fine lad – had leaving him and Bree been a mistake? A lesser hobbit would have turned tail and slunk home, but not Lily. Despite that horrible word throbbing in her head – betrayal – betrayal – betrayal - she needed to know the truth.

She had nudged Clover on to a faster and faster pace, forcing the pony to dig into his deepest reserves and stopping only for a brief break as the sun began to set. But now, only a short way from the Green Dragon, she knew that he could handle the pace no more, not after having ridden almost continuously since dawn with the second half of the journey being the harder. She dismounted to lead him the rest of the way there, his head hanging and his steps heavy. But even her guilt at this could not block out the myriad of other emotions that were running through her mind: anger, fear, depression…

As the Green Dragon came into sight, she realized that a party was going on in the front lawn. She grimaced at this. Once she would have enjoyed the sight, but now – it would make it that much harder to hide if Posco was here right now. She did not think she could bear to face him, not yet. So she approached from behind the stable and was able to lead Clover inside seemingly without being noticed. Next she would have to look for him from some discreet location. She had to sort herself out before he saw her – because the anger and the fear, those could be forgiven and muffled. But he had loved her, she knew he had, and his betrayal stung more fiercely than a thousand knives. The hurt could not be muffled – not the hurt.

[Nogrod]

Rían took his pipe back, watching the big man in front of him. Grimhorn’s facial expression and the content of his words seemed to match. But they were in a dark contrast to his own experiences of the “Owl’s eye”. There was a hint of foul play here. But to a what degree? How much did he really pretend, how much did he really know, about his father, abut my father, about me...?

“Hide and seek” –games with identity were quite familiar to Rían. And after becoming quite good at them also, he had even learned to like them. But this time it was both much more challenging (which as such was not a bad thing at all), and more dangerous (which was a bad thing indeed). Normally his case for bravado was in his quick wits, fast imagination, and a good memory. He was quite a virtuoso in coming up with “instant” life histories, and in creating all those small incidents of life from scratch. These made his characters so believable. But now, there was a real danger, that this man in front of him knew already too much – and what was the most nauseating thing for Rían - he hadn’t the faintest idea, how much he did know.

This was a tough one. There were no safe paths at sight, as there usually were: being exotic enough, not to be known, but familiar enough, not to rise suspicion. At least, he would have to come up with something now, and come up with it quickly. Grimhorn would propably become more suspicious, if he would seem to be pondering his replies for too long, if he would give out the impression of reflecting his words too carefully. He should just act as casual as he could.

Rían had concentrated on puffing his pipe while thinking. Now he took the pipe from his mouth, turned it upside-down and knocked it tenderly a couple of times against the table’s side, to get rid of any already-burnt weed. Before taking the next puff, he raised his eyes to meet Grimhorn’s, and said, as calmly as he could.

“As I told you, I have no intention to go on bragging around about this. You know what I mean – even if you have just told me otherwise. There sure is no problem in being a son of Grimgor in general, how rare that name is. But being the son of the “One that runs at dusk”, could be a different thing?”

A light attack makes for a good line of defence. He would have to play as confident as he could, as though there were no risks for himself – that this all was about Grimhorn and his past. Pressing Grimhorn lightly, with confidence, could make Grimhorn draw back and change the subject. Well, that was the ideal. Anyhow. He had drawn his first line of defence now.

Then, suddenly, Rían decided to go even further, for an offer for a peace, that could in this situation, also count as a back-up for him. This was kind of all-or-nothing-game now. As he opened his mouth, he realized this. It was too late to withdraw...

“As we both have been raised along the banks of the Great River, you must also know the old saying: “no man is the same as his father, no child of yours is the same, as the children of your children”. So, no-one should be blamed for the sins’ of their elders? I truly have nothing against you, and hope just for the best for you, my fellow beorning. I say, we sit, drink another ale with lighter subjects, and maybe share some more weed, and then depart as friends?”

This was peaceful, and it didn’t deviate from the truth too much – he had lived two years at northern Anduin in his childhood. But if Grimhorn would just forget – or decide to overlook – his earlier mentioning of Mirkwood, and all that came with it. He would be safe then.

Rían leaned back in his chair, took a long puff from his pipe, and waited for Grimhorn to react. It had not gone so badly, taking heed of the circumstances, so far...

[Glirdan]

Gróin walked slowly down the path, weary from his travels. Even though he was a Dwarf, Dwarves can't do much after not eating. His haversack had been empty for quite some time and he was really starting to feel the pains of hunger. It was then that he heard the sounds of merriment up ahead. "Sounds like some kind of party," Gróin thought to himself. "And where there's a party, you can bet there's food there. And probably the best ale in the country and..." he continued thinking of all the delicious foods and drinks they would have as he walked down the path towards the sounds.

As he got closer, he smelt all different foods: freshly picked apples, pies and a whole assortment of other delicous smeeling food as well as the ales. Gróin stayed in the shadows, trying to make himself look presentable: he brushed off his dusty tunic, wipped his face with his kerchife and tightened his belt. He quickly looked himself over and was satisfied with what he saw. He stepped into the pool of light and stared around.

There was an assortment of people there; Men, Hobbits and other Dwarves. He made his way through the crowd to where the food and drinks were and grabbed a plate and piled it with food. He walked over to he Hobbit serving drinks and got an ale.

He turned around to go find a seat and accidentally ran into a lovely young lady. "I'm sorry miss, I'm just in a rush to eat. I haven't eaten in days. I'm Gróin, Gróin Redplate. And you are?"

[Koobdooga]

‘And what sort of adventure do you look to have, Master Baldin?’ asked Ibun. He watched with interest as Baldin worked over his halberd with his polish cloth. The weapon was a delight to look at; the craftsmanship superb. And the way Baldin worked over the blade spoke much of the closeness, or so it seemed to Ibun, between the wielder and the weapon.

The weapon he favored was his double-bladed axe (http://www.elvenforge.com/images/axe_doublebronze.jpg). His brother had made it for him many years ago. It was well weighted with an edge so keen he often said that it would split a a single hair as easily and neatly as it would cleave an Orc head.

‘Very nice blade . . .’ he said, tamping down a new bowlful of pipeweed. He nodded at Baldin’s halberd. ‘Be more than welcome in Khazad-dum. Still rooting out those last few nests of foul Orc in the deeper caverns . . .’ Ibun sat back in his chair, his legs stretched out, one ankle resting on theother. His gaze drifted slowly round the merry scene about him.

[Lasbelinion]

Callë laughed, a deep and merry sound. She slapped her thigh as if she had just heard the funniest thing ever. ‘Oh my goodness, no! Not the youngest!’ She shook her head, her generous mouth bowing up into a huge grin. ‘Sorry . . . I’m the middle daughter in my family. And glad of it!’

She lined up five pieces of cheese on her plate. ‘Now these two are my older sisters,’ she said moving the first two pieces, the ones to her left, forward. ‘Anni and Alli; born just a year apart. And being the first two, my mother had a lot of time and energy to put into their upbringing. They are much like her . . . and in fact they seem more like her sisters than her daughters, now that they are older.’

‘And these,’ she went on, pushing forth the two on her right, ‘are my two younger sisters. Britta, two years younger than I and a spirited little filly as her Rohan husband calls her. And wasn’t that a scandal in the family, the whole village, really. Marrying a man of the Mark – ancient enemies of we folk of Dunland. My mother took to her bed for weeks, certain she would die of embarrassment.’ Callë rolled her eyes and sighed in a dramatic manner.

‘Beryl, the gem of my father’s eye, is four years younger than I. Mother was determined to make a suitable match for her, and did so at last – the marchwarden’s youngest son. Poor Father! He would rather she had not married at all. She is much doted on by him, even now.’

Picking up the middle piece of cheese, Callë held it in the palm of her hand. ‘And here I am. In the middle and quite wonderfully ignored for the most part. As long as I stepped not too far outside the social boundaries my Mother fancies for herself and her brood, I was free to explore the village and surrounds on my own, make friends with all sorts of people in the village and critters in the small forested area near us. A ghost child . . . that’s how I often thought of myself.’

Callë gathered the cheese up and stuffed them into a bun. She munched on it, swallowing the mouthful down with a healthy swig of ale. ‘At any rate . . . there they all are, married and happy for the most part I think. And good for them, I say!’ She raised her mug in salute. ‘And here am I, traveling north, free as a summer’s breeze. And very happy, in my own way.’

She sighed, a well satisfied sigh, and pushed away her now empty plate. Sitting back in her chair, she gave Aniriel a smile. ‘What about you? I’m traveling purely for my own pleasure. Is it the same for you?’ She thought not; the women seemed to have some secrets hidden behind her eyes. But she kept her own counsel, wondering what Aniriel would say.

[Dimturiel]

Aniriel had listen to Calle's storry fascinated. She envied Calle for the freedom that she had always had. It had not been the same in her case, of course. And how could it have been? She was the only daughter of an important person in Dol Amroth. There were laws that had to be followed, barriers that could not be broken. And her parents were very strict, especially her mother. Not that they did not give her love or rob her of all freedom, no, of course not!. But she still yearned for a different life, a life in which she could go wherever she wanted and talk to whoever she desired.

Her thoughts where enterrupted when Calle asked her if her journey was due only to pleasure. Something in Calle's voice told Aniriel that she suspected that it was not so. Well, she should have forseen this would happen. She could not hide her secrets for ever, not in an inn full of people. She wondered if she should tell Calle everything, or if she should restrain herself, for the moment at least. In the end she decided to tell the truth, or, at any rate, part of it.

"Pleasure brought me here," she began, "although, not only pleasure. There were other things as well, grim things you could say. Or maybe grin is too strong a word for it. But anyway, something happened and I had to leave. No, wait!" she added wanting to prevent Calle from interupting. "Do not missunderstand me. I did not shame my family in any way, I was not even tempted to do it. But there were some things that went wrong for me. I thought then that I had to go, nay, I needed to go. I did not tell my parents this, though. All that I told them was that I had always wanted to travel, and that, now that the war was long over and the roads were safe, I should do it. I do not think they believed me, though." She added as an afterthought. "My mother made me promise that I would return."

[Wiscott]

Glancing up from his work with a grin, Baldin replies, "Aye, my adventures tend to shorten a few orcs, and that is to my liking. But often I find that one who looks for adventure is the one whom adventure finds, and many times the adventure that finds him is not the one he was looking for. Who knows what adventures may befall a dwarf between here and the mountains?"


Baldin falls silent, focusing once more on his weapon. After thinking for a little while, he makes up his mind. "Ibun, my good dwarf," Baldin says, "the idea of bringing some Moria orcs down to size appeals to me. I shall make my way to Khazad-dum, after completing my journey to Hobbiton and making provisions while in the Shire."

[Firefoot]

Lily had settled her weary Clover in the stables and was now venturing outside into the party. She did not wander blindly into the middle of it, however; she remained in the shadows beneath a large tree, scanning the party for Posco. It would be no good if he saw her. Many people had gathered for the festivities, and the company was every bit as varied as Lily remembered from her last stay at the inn. She had begun to think that perhaps Posco was not here at all; after all, he hated large crowds, and viewed this prospect with despair and relief alike. She would not have to hide, but she did not know how she would ever find him otherwise. Just as she was about to emerge, she spotted him all the way across the lawn with another hobbit, Marcho, she thought. He faced away from her, and away from the table of food as well – an excellent prospect as she now realized that she was quite hungry.

She cautiously moved out into the heart of the party, blending in with the crowd, she hoped. She would load up a plate of the delicious-looking food and find some new people to sit down with, all the while keeping her eyes and ears open for some news. Always keeping people between herself and Posco, she wandered over to the food table and found herself some dinner and a cup of cool cider. Just as she was looking around for someone to sit with, a Dwarf turned around and bumped into her, causing her cider to slosh over the edges a bit, but causing no further harm.

“"I'm sorry, miss, I'm just in a rush to eat. I haven't eaten in days. I'm Gróin, Gróin Redplate. And you are?"

She made herself smile at him. “My name is Lily Thistlewool,” she answered, “and while I have not eaten in days, I have not eaten since breakfast, and hard riding makes for hungry work.” She nearly bit her tongue at this; just display her urgency for the world to see, why didn’t she? “But I was just looking for a place to sit down – perhaps we could eat dinner together?” The opportunity could not be passed up. Sitting alone would simply be too conspicuous.

Gróin nodded. “That would be well.” He started to move towards Posco’s table, and Lily thought fast. “I think there are more open tables over here,” she said, indicating the opposite direction. This was absurd, as there were plenty of open tables in both directions, and Gróin looked at her rather strangely but followed her without questioning. Lily picked a table in the middle, well blended into the party. The pair sat down, and Lily quickly started off the conversation, eager to take the focus off herself. “So, Master Gróin, I take it that you have just arrived here? Might I ask what brings you to the Green Dragon?”

[Glirdan]

"My name is Lily Thistlewood," the lady had said “and while I have not eaten in days, I have not eaten since breakfast, and hard riding makes for hungry work. But I was just looking for a place to sit down – perhaps we could eat dinner together?"

"That would be well," he responded and made towards another Hobbit sitting at the other end of the yard.

“I think there are more open tables over here,” she said, indicating the opposite side of the lawn. He was rather confused by this sudden change in where to sit and looked at her with a strange expression in his face. None the less, he followed her to where she was heading. He didn't feel like being alone in a country he didn't know. They sat down and he was Gróin was just about to tuck into his dinner when Lily abruptly asked “So, Master Gróin, I take it that you have just arrived here? Might I ask what brings you to the Green Dragon?”

"Well, yes, I have just arrived and I'm quite happy to have found this wonderful Inn. Green Dragon you called it?" He looked around the lot towards the Inn and saw the sign which was hidden from view by the crowd of people in front of the food table which was set up right in front of the Inn door. "As for my travels. I'm just wandering the country on my way to the Blue Mountains. Thought I'd take in some scenary before heading to the place of my kin," he said, thinking back to when he was just a young Dwarf when he and his family would travel to the Blue Mountains for family visits. He remembered when he and his cousins used to play hide-and-seek in the vast mansions of the Blue Mountains. "How about you? What is it like here in this peaceful country? Have you been on any travels?"

[Nurumaiel]

Silence had fallen on the table of Posco and Marcho, with the former growing more tense with each passing moment, and the latter growing more annoyed. Posco had realised from the first how futile it was to seek Lily in such a far away place, and now he was beginning to see how ridiculous he was for coming up with such a ridiculous scheme. Having Marcho as his companion made things no easier. If his brother Blanco had been there, he would have been constantly cheering him up, quite confident that Lily would come. But Marcho could do nothing but express his doubts.

"I think," said Posco, standing up abruptly, "that we ought to go inside. Everybody else is out here, and it would be a bit quieter indoors."

"They've probably locked the door," said Marcho.

Posco sat down again. Perhaps they had done exactly that. With everything to do outside, perhaps they didn't want the bother of looking after the Inn itself. Yet how peaceful it would have been indoors! And Posco stood up again.

"I'm sure they haven't locked it up," he said. "After all, there are plenty of people attending this party who will find their beds in there, and might not want to stay up too late."

"Everybody stays up late at a party," said Marcho. "They'll come staggering in drunk, I'm sure."

"Lily won't," said Posco, rather absently, for he was occupied with plotting out how he could get to the front door as obscurely as possible.

"Lily won't be anyhwere," said Marcho, "except in Bree, where she belongs."

Posco sighed a mournful sigh, and left the table. To his great relief, Marcho didn't follow him. Perhaps in the quiet of the abandoned Common Room, he could rekindle his hopes that Lily would come. If he could just have that hope for a few days... maybe at the end he could gather enough courage to go to her home. But for the present time he shuddered at the thought. Just imagine if her uncle opened the door.

Alas, the Common Room was not quite as empty as he had hoped. Apparently not all visitors to the Inn were enjoying the party. A lone hobbit, his travelling cloak still wrapped about him, sat by the window, gazing out at the bright lights and merry dancers. Posco considered leaving, but decided that the company of one hobbit was preferable to the company of many hobbits and other stranger things. He attempted to make his way unheard the opposite side of the room, but the stillness did not allow for even the slightest noise to be unnoticed.

The lone hobbit turned about to see who had entered, and instantly was on his feet, hurrying towards Posco. He took him by one hand, and then the other, and laughed heartily.

"Posco, my dear brother!" he said, releasing one hand to clap the poor confused Posco on the shoulder. "Why, don't stare at me as if I've come out of the Old Forest with a legion of hideous creatures behind me! Don't you recognise me?"

"Blanco," said Posco, and his rather weak smile was accompanied with a sigh.

"I was afraid Marcho would kill you," said Blanco, "so I told Mother I was just going to follow you, because I fancied a bit of adventure myself. Where is Marcho, anyhow?"

"He's sitting at a table out there," said Posco, with the faintest of gestures. Oddly, he felt his heart sinking within him, despite his previous thoughts that Blanco would be welcome company. Marcho was a grumpy old hobbit, but at least there was only him. Posco did not want to have an audience witnessing his meeting with Lily. And least of all he wanted Blanco to be there. He had an odd feeling concerning Blanco and Lily.

Of course Lily loved him. There had never been any doubt about it. She had loved him more than that Tommy Banks, whoever he was. But ever since their first visit to the Inn, the visit that had brought Posco and Lily to meet and love each other, Blanco had not been quite so attentive to Miss Marigold back at home. He would smile kindly at her, and he would speak with her, but his head wouldn't turn to watch when she passed by him, and he would no longer sit by the Brandywine composing poems to her golden-brown hair.

Was Marcho the only reason Blanco had come to join his brother? Could it be that another besides Posco longed with all his heart to see Lily again? Posco looked desperately at his dishevelled self, and then to Blanco, who, as usual, was perfectly neat and tidy. And no longer did he wish for Blanco's company.

[Kath]

Astilwen couldn't help but smile back as Tilionwen's face lit up. She didn't know quite what she'd done, or if she'd done anything at all to help this poor woman. Just talking might have been the catalyst that finally allowed her to free herself from the fear and sadness that had plagued her sanity for so long, but whatever the case, she certainly looked happy now. She was very glad to hear that Tilionwen would be returning to her father. She could imagine how much the man must be missing both his daughters, and the joy he would feel knowing that one at least was alive and relatively unharmed.

"Why, I seem to be forgetting my manners! I have never asked your name. And while you're at it, I guess it's your turn to tell me your tales. Anything to cheer me up; I never want to go back to that miserable life again."

"I'll be glad to try! My name is Astilwen. I'm from the Shire so you'll know the old tales I'm sure, of the famous travellers and the battle. Those have been told so often now the walls probably know them!"

She was grateful to see Tilionwen laugh at the comment, and hastliy set about recalling amusing stories from her home. She soon had the other woman in fits with a tale of her little brother, who had once been sitting at the garden gate playing a game with some sticks and stones, when an older hobbit had passed by and bent down to see what he was doing.

"I'm playing war." The little hobbit had said. "Would you like to join in?"

The old hobbit had agreed and had sat down to take the opposing side. The two had been playing for a good hour or so when Astilwen's mother had returned. Unfortunately, she rounded the corner just in time to see the old hobbit play-beating her youngest son over the head with a stone. Filled with motherly outrage she had pulled the poor hobbit to his feet, picked up his cane and chased him down the road with it screeching,

"How do you like it?!"

Astilwen herself always laughed when she remembered the story, and did so now, getting out the ending amidst giggles.

"When she finally found out what had really happened she went round to the poor things house and apologised. We made him cakes and sweets for weeks until he finally came back and said he'd enjoyed the whole event, that it had been the most excitement he'd had in weeks!"

She lost her voice as the laughter overcame her, and the two sat for a while chuckling to themselves. Astliwen's mind wandered for a moment, and she stopped laughing as a new question formed.

"But when will you leave? I don't wish you to go but if your father lives a long way off you will have to go soon or travel through the winter."

[Koobdooga]

Ibun gave Baldin a great grin. The tips of his mustache curved up until they nearly touched the corners of his eyes. And those same eyes glinted merrily at the thought of another strong arm to aid in the recovery of the Deeps.

‘Well, then,’ he said, reaching into the inner pocket of his vest. ‘This calls for something a bit stronger than Shire ale to celebrate!’ He pulled out a silvered flask, all worked with fine traceries, now much smoothed over with age. ‘A wee dram of Dwarven spirits is what I’m thinking.’

Ibun poured out a finger’s width each in clean mugs and passed one to Baldin.

May your ax be sharp
Your forge fire hot
And your beard grow long and thick as Durin’s!

. . . he spoke, raising his glass to his tablemate.

[Lasbelinion]

As Aniriel spoke, Callë watched the expressions on her face. She wondered what dire things had happened that drove the woman from her home to seek . . . what? Pleasure? A peaceful mind? Was she running to something or away? What could so fair a maid have endured that would set her on such a path? Perhaps when they knew one another better, Aniriel would tell her. Or perhaps not . . . there were some secrets best left locked away, or so she'd found.

The Shire was a pleasant place, she mused. One in which a burden might be laid aside. But the very pleasantness of it had its own dangers. The air here was sweet, and thick as honey, or so she had come to think of it. A traveler might find herself made to feel so safe and so drowsy that her feet might cease to travel on and years later that same wanderer might find themselves old and wrinkled and sitting in the Dragon holding the same mug as when first she’d entered through the oaken door. ‘One could fall outside of time here, somehow,’ she thought to herself. ‘Even a fair land such as this might prove perilous in its own way.’

Callë shook herself out of her musings and smiled at Aniriel. ‘I would not even begin to think that you might shame your family,’ she said, wanting the woman to understand she harbored no ill thoughts of her. ‘Whatever burdens you bear, I hope your traveling has eased them somehow.’

The little band had begun to play another lovely. Callë’s eyes lit up at the familiar words and the lively tune; her feet began to tap to it. ‘Oh! I know that song. We sing it in my country.’ She stood up and grinned at Aniriel. ‘Let’s go over to where the band is and dance a little. Leave any troubles we have sitting here in these chairs!’

She looked to where a number of people were stepping lively to the music. ‘In my country, only the married couples or the ones promised to each other dance together. We maidens dance with each other. Is that your custom, too?’ She looked again and saw a number of Halfling women dancing with other women or by themselves. ‘What do you say? Shall we join them?’

***

In the village of Kilgory, there's a maiden young and fair
Her eyes they shine like diamonds, she has long and golden hair
But the countryman comes riding, rides up to her father's gates
Riding on a milk-white stallion, he comes at the strike of eight.

Step it out, Mary ( http://www.chivalry.com/cantaria/sounds/step-it-out-mary-x.mp3), my fine daughter
Step it out, Mary, if you can
Step it out, Mary, my fine daughter
Show your legs to the countryman

Well, I have come to court your daughter, Mary of the golden hair
I have gold and I have silver, I have goods beyond compare
I will buy her silks and satin and a gold ring for her hand
I will buy for her a mansion, she'll have servants to command

Step it out, Mary, my fine daughter
Step it out, Mary, if you can
Step it out, Mary, my fine daughter
Show your legs to the countryman

I don't want your gold and silver, I don't want your house and land
I am going with a soldier, I have promised him my hand
But the father spoke up sharply: You will do as you are told,
You'll get married on the Sunday and you'll wear that ring of gold

Step it out, Mary, my fine daughter
Step it out, Mary, if you can
Step it out, Mary, my fine daughter
Show your legs to the countryman

In the village of Kilgory there's a deep stream flowing by
On her marriage day at midnight she drowned with her soldier boy
In the cottage there is music, you can hear her father say:
Step it out, Mary, my fine daughter, Sunday is your wedding day.

Step it out, Mary, my fine daughter
Step it out, Mary, if you can
Step it out, Mary, my fine daughter
Show your legs to the countryman

[Firefoot]

"How about you? What is it like here in this peaceful country? Have you been on any travels?"

“The Shire is a delightful country – rather quiet, perhaps, but very enjoyable,” answered Lily. “But I am not probably the best person to ask about it – I come from Bree, and I have only been here once before. Hobbits in Bree often say that the folk here are strange, but I have not found it to be so. They’re really just the same, though perhaps they are more secluded here. From what I have seen of it, the rest of the Shire is not nearly so… varied in company as here at the Green Dragon. I suppose that answers your other question as well, though Dwarves are well-traveled folk, it seems, and my own journeys – from Bree to here, and I have spent some time in Buckland – undoubtedly seem rather inextensive.” Here she drifted off, for she caught sight of Posco standing up from his table. She felt a moment of panic when it seemed he might be coming her way – where could she go? – and was relieved to see that he had turned towards the inn, then gone inside.

She realized the silence that had settled over the table and felt like kicking herself again. Gróin had turned to follow her gaze, and now looked back at her. “Did you see something?”

Lily shook her head. “Just someone I thought I knew.” Which was true. She had thought that she had known Posco, but apparently he had not been quite how he seemed – surely the Posco that she had known would never have betrayed her in such a way. It still seemed impossible. She noticed that she had fallen silent again, and she smiled weakly. This was not going well. “This place brings back many memories,” she explained rather vaguely. “Even if my travels are few, I do rather enjoy it. It creates for rather memorable experiences, don’t you think? Though perhaps it becomes less exciting when you travel a great deal...?”

[Lhunardawen]

Tilionwen couldn't remember laughing so hard ever in her life, even when her sister was still alive. But here she was, with a kind hobbit-lady whose name she had only known a few minutes before, and already they seemed to be going along so well. As she listened to her stories she momentarily forgot - not for the first time that evening - about everything going on around her. She stepped into a new world with Astilwen, and in that world there was only laughter.

Their guffaws were soon reduced to chuckles, and then to complete silence. Reality came crashing back when Astilwen spoke again:

"But when will you leave? I don't wish you to go but if your father lives a long way off you will have to go soon or travel through the winter."

Tilionwen had also been thinking along those lines, but she couldn't bring herself to mention it. She had been having so much fun with Astilwen that she didn't want to leave the Inn and her company. You promised, she gently reminded herself.

"I intend to leave as soon as may be. Tomorrow morning, actually." Looking at Astilwen's eyes, Tilionwen thought she saw a glimmer of sadness in them. Must be my imagination. Or maybe not.

"But I still have a few hours," she continued with a reassuring smile. "Will you help me make the most of them?"

[Dunwen]

The widow looked down at her empty plate with some surprise. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she’d started eating. Now, after a delicious helping of roat chicken, gravy and mashed potatoes, she was still hungry. ‘Hobbit-life must be rubbing off on me’, she thought, amused. However, the Shire was a fine place possible to pick up Hobbit-like habits, so she decided she would indeed return to the food tables. Avoiding a newly-arrived dwarf and passing by a giant of a man sitting with a younger man with hair like fire, she made her way once more to the food tables. Even though a large gathering of hobbits had been eating steadily for some time, the redoubtable Miz Bunce and her helpers were equal to the challenge. There was still plenty of food to choose from, including several desserts. Widow Rosebank decided the hobbits had the right idea when she saw several hobbits fill their plates with two or three (or four or five) desserts at once. She couldn’t equal their appetites, but she did choose a crisp apple and slices of tangy cheese, a piece of carrot cake and one of the spice cookies made in the Green Dragon’s kitchen earlier that very day. Sitting back down, she continued to watch the crowd as she polished off the tasty sweets.

Step it out, Mary, my fine daughter
Step it out, Mary, if you can
Step it out, Mary, my fine daughter
Show your legs to the countryman

It was a familiar old song, and a tune she’d never been able to resist. In her youth, she'd been a fixture at any party in Bree with dancing and music, and her feet hadn't lost their urge to step and twirl to the jolly sound of a fiddle and pipe. She watched two young women, clearly strangers to Shire, get up to join the crowd of hobbit lasses dancing with the band. 'Seems like a good idea,' she thought, grinning in a most un-middle-aged way. Widow Rosebank tipped back her mug and finished off the last of her ale, then hastened to join the other dancing girls and women.

[Dimturiel]

"Whatever burdens you bear, I hope your travelling has eased them somehow."

Aniriel smiled. Hearing words of comfort was something that seemed to belong to the past, to another life, a life in which she was still Aniriel of Dol Amroth. But it brought her solace to hear the strange girl speak such words to her, even if she knew not all of her secrets. If something good had happened in all of her journey, then that was meeting Calle.

As for her burdens, Aniriel thought, they would ease as time passes. Time diminishes almost everything, good and ill alike. Few, if any, are the things that can escape its deadly breath. Her cares would surely not make any exception.

The band had begun to sing another song, one that was unfamiliar to Aniriel. She noticed Calle was filled with delight at the sound of the tune. She clearly knew and loved the song. With a feeling of amusement mingled with excitement, Aniriel let her friend lead her into the dance. Many other girls had joyned in by then. And also, Aniriel noticed, a woman now no longer very young had come to dance, too. The song must have been very well-known and loved, then. The tune was lovely, and it lifted Aniriel's spirits. What would she gain by being gloomy? She was young, and hope must never leave young and merry hearts.

When the song ended, Aniriel clapped with the rest.

"Well," she said to Calle,"this was different from anything that I have heard at home. Very lovely tune! Although the words were rather cheerless."

[Glirdan]

“This place brings back many memories,” she explained rather vaguely. “Even if my travels are few, I do rather enjoy it. It creates for rather memorable experiences, don’t you think? Though perhaps it becomes less exciting when you travel a great deal...?” He allowed her to stare off into scilence as he thought back to the many travels he had when he was younger. They were all memorable in some way or another, yet none of them greatly stuck out.

He stared around in scilence at the crowd, remembering his travel on the way here. Ever since the King had taken over, the roads have been clear of any peril. Yet Gróin still wished to have some sort of thrilling adventure. Something exciting and daring. But he knew that chance wasn't going to happen any time soon. For now, he was just a traveller, journeying to the home of his kin. He suddenly remembered his manners and turned to Lily. He noticed she was still silent, staring intently at the Inn. "Lily? Is there something wrong?"

[Lasbelinion]

‘I suppose they are cheerless, in a way,’ said Callë. ‘Though, and I know it’s quite silly, but I admire the spirit the girl Mary showed. She obviously comes from a family where the father wants to better his name by tying it to the rich man’s. And he’s the sort who’ll not take his daughter’s opinions into consideration.’

She nodded her head, thinking on some of the girls she’d known in her childhood. Some of them she had envied for their nicer clothes and such, but the envy had come to an end when they were auctioned (for want of a better word) off by their fathers.

‘Mary couldn’t have escaped him alive,’ she said. ‘Not even her soldier could have protected her. Fathers, at least where I come from, have certain rights they can exercise over their children. Nay, she couldn’t escape him in life, so she did so in death.’

‘Not a way I’d have chosen, or at least I’d like to think so, but then I’ve never been driven to that extreme, have I?’

Callë turned, intending to lead the way to the drinks table. She was thirsty after the dance and thought a cup of cool cider would taste good. For a moment, she turned back to say something to Aniriel and bumped into someone in her path. It was an older woman . . . one she had seen dancing to the last song, she thought.

‘Begging your pardon, m’am!’ she said, reaching out to steady the woman with her hand. ‘I should know better than to walk one direction and look the opposite!’ Callë look properly chagrined at the outcome of her actions. ‘We’re off to fetch some cider,’ she went on. ‘Thirsty work, this dancing. Would you like some, too?’

[Firefoot]

"Lily? Is there something wrong?" Lily dragged her gaze back to Gróin, struggling to form an answer to this question.

“No – yes – well, sort of.” She sighed. “The trouble is that I do not know precisely what is going on.” She paused, wondering whether she should go on. Gróin looked concerned, curious, perhaps. “I will tell you the story briefly, for it is rather complicated and I do not know how much of it truly matters now.

“The last time I came to the Green Dragon, I met a rather shy hobbit lad from Buckland. In short, we fell in love – at least, I thought he did, and that is the mystery which I have set out to solve. But I am getting ahead of myself. We met here, but we both soon had to return to our homes. We rode together for a time, and I stayed at his home for a few days before heading on to Bree.” She fell quiet for a moment. “There was a lad in Bree – his name is Tommy - who had asked my uncle’s permission to court me while I was away, and my uncle gladly agreed. I live with my aunt and uncle, you see. I had known this by a letter, and the lad I met here, he wanted me to go through with it – he wanted me to make sure I was making the right choice. So I did, but it was not the same. I have since tried writing back to the Shire, but only a few days ago I realized that my uncle was not actually sending my letters. Apparently, he has been wanting me to marry Tommy more than I had realized. I confronted him, but have not spoken to him since. With only my aunt’s knowledge, I left Bree and rode to Buckland… but I found that he was not there. No… the lad who said he loved me… I heard that he had come here. And I heard that he came here to find his bride – not me, obviously, since why should I be here? But I knew nothing of it.” She broke off, finding no more words to describe her feelings. She felt that if she went on any longer, her calm facade, already slipping, would slide away completely.

“But… would it not be better to talk to him, find out the truth?” inquired Gróin.

“No! No, he must not know that I am here,” said Lily fiercely. “If he truly has come looking for another girl, then I will leave and go back to Tommy. But I will not beg him. And I do not want to hear his explanations.” Her voice trailed to a whisper. “Not yet. I can’t handle it yet.”

[Kath]

The sad eyes that Tilionwen turned on her after her question made Astilwen wish she hadn't said anything. She could see the fear in the other woman's eyes, and was about to try and take her words back when an answer came.

"I intend to leave as soon as may be. Tomorrow morning, actually."

She thought perhaps it was meant in a reassuring way, to let Astilwen know her advice had been heeded, but the hobbit couldn't help but feel upset at the knowledge this new found friend would be leaving in a few short hours. She knew it was selfish, and knew that even if she were able to make the choice as to whether Tilionwen stayed or went she would still encourage her to go, but she couldn't help but think that she would miss this woman. It seemed that her reaction had been noticed, as Tilionwen spoke again.

"But I still have a few hours, will you help me make the most of them?"

Astilwen smiled then and nodded.

"Of course! What do you wish to do with the time you have left? We could join the others and dance, or find something to eat?"

[piosenniel]

~*~ GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS ~*~

The Green Dragon Inn is located in Bywater, just off the Great East-West Road.

It is the 4th Age, year 12. By the Shire Calendar it is year 1433 S.R. (Shire Reckoning).

King Elessar is on the throne of the Reunited Kingdom of Arnor and Gondor.

Mirkwood has been reclaimed by the Elves and is now called Eryn Lasgalen.

Paladdin Took, Pippin’s father, is Thain of the Shire. (Thain is an honorary title for the military leader of the Shire. The title has been held in the Took Family since the position was first established in 3rd Age 1979 with Bucca of the Marish as First Thain.) Paladdin Took dies in year 13, and will be succeeded by his son, Peregrin, ‘Pippin’, Took.

Samwise Gamgee is Mayor of the Shire, having succeeded Will Whitfoot in 1427 S.R.

The Innkeeper, in the Green Dragon Inn of this forum, is: Aman – a young woman from Rohan.

Before her, the Innkeeper was Piosenniel, and before her it was Dwarin, the Dwarf.

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Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

Buttercup Brownlock, Hobbit – not married – kitchen assistant and maid

Vinca Bunce, widowed, Inn Cook (character played by Piosenniel)

Derufin, General handyman/jack-of-all-trades round the Inn; Man from southwestern Gondor (played by Envinyatar) - AWAY AT PRESENT

Zimzi (Zimziran), wife to Derufin; a skilled potter from Lindon(played by Pio) - AWAY AT PRESENT

Meri - Stablemaster

Tim Woodlock - Stableboy; Wren - his younger sister: humans, originally from Breeland (characters played by Folwren)

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Ongoing characters from outside the Inn:

Halfred Whitfoot – local Shiriff from Bywater and Postmaster for this area of the Shire; his pony’s name is Dumpling.

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Please Note:

No 'SAVES' are allowed in the Inn (except for modifications needed to be made by the Moderators or Innkeeper).

With the exception of the Innkeeper and the Moderators, no OOC (Out Of Character) comments are allowed in the Inn.

Only the Innkeeper, Amanaduial, or the Moderators move the timeline for the Inn forward.

Visitors to the Inn will need to read the posts that come before theirs to get an idea of what time it is in the Shire, what the weather is like, and what is happening.

No violence is allowed in the Inn or on Inn grounds.

Please be familiar with the rules for the Inn and Games in The Red Book of Westmarch, the first topic in the Shire.

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About Elves in Shire RPG's:

Please use this description from Tolkien when crafting an Elf:

Return of the King – Appendix F: Tolkien’s description for the Quendi (The Speakers) – the name given to the Elves by themselves after they first awoke in Middle-earth.

“They were a race high and beautiful, the older Children of the world, and among them the Eldar were as Kings, who now are gone: the People of the Great Journey, the People of the Stars. They were tall, fair of skin and grey-eyed, though their locks were dark, save in the golden house of Finrod; and their voices had more melodies than any mortal voice that is now heard . . .”

Please use this as a guideline for describing your Elven character’s appearance.

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EVERYONE

Please be familiar with The Red Book of Westmarch (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/showthread.php?t=10581) which gives the rules for posting in the Shire RPG's and in The Green Dragon Inn.

Thanks!

Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[piosenniel]

TIME OF DAY

It is now a fair night in the Shire; the stars are out.

There is a large party in the Inn's front yard - tables are loaded with food, desserts, drinks. Several barrels of ale have been tapped, compliments of one of the Hobbit brewmasters.

There are tables and benches scattered over the front lawn. Twinkling little lanterns hang from the trees. To one side of the verandah there is a little stage set up for the musicians and a large area cleared for dancing.

[Lhunardawen]

"Of course! What do you wish to do with the time you have left? We could join the others and dance, or find something to eat?"

Astilwen's infectious cheery disposition once again drew Tilionwen in, allowing her to cast aside the sadness brought about by her decision to leave the next day. Somehow she was able to tell that the hobbit was torn inside - wanting her to stay yet knowing she should go - and she promised herself to make this a night to remember for both of them. The friendship they have so readily formed in such a short span of time only deserved it.

"I'm not sure if I still know how to dance," Tilionwen replied with a sheepish grin, "but it sounds like a fantastic idea! However my stomach grumbles at the moment and is demanding to be fed. It's been a long time..."

The hobbit did not even let her finish speaking when she grabbed both her hands into her tiny ones and pulled her towards the tables. Tilionwen gave in with a laugh and soon fell in step with Astilwen. She still could not keep the faint melancholy as deep inside as she wanted, but she was determined not to allow it to ruin their night.

[Glirdan]

Gróin sat in stunned scilence as Lily spilled her story to him, even if it wasn't the full version. As she continued, Gróin's heart was moved to pity for the young lass. Falling in love and being forced to marry someone else. It was an all too common story in his family. In fact, that was exactly why Gróin was travelling to the Blue Mountains: to meet his bride to be...

It was then he realised that she had finished her story and she was gazing off into space, lost in trance of woe and sorrow. "But… would it not be better to talk to him, find out the truth?" he asked her silently, knowing not what to say to comfort her.

"No! No, he must not know that I am here. If he truly has come looking for another girl, then I will leave and go back to Tommy. But I will not beg him. And I do not want to hear his explanations. Not yet. I can’t handle it yet.”

He looked at her in pity, and, even though he didn't know just how complicated it was for her, he had the sudden urge to pour out his soul to her. The odd thing about Gróin was that he wasn't exactly like the rest of his kin. Actually, like the rest of his race. He was always a timid Dwarf, from the moment he could speak whereas the rest of his kin and race were quicker to anger. Whenever he heard a sad tale, like the one that Lily just told him, he was moved to pity, not scorn. "Perhaps this is why I'm forced to leave my home..."Gróin thought to himself outloud. He looked up and noticed Lily was staring at him strangely. "I'm sorry Lily. I didn't mean to say that out loud. You have enough troubles of your own. I don't want to burden you with my problems."

[Thinlómien]

Grimhorn noticed that "the boy" was taking a hard line with him. Steel against steel, then, he thought and grinned to himself (but no trace of a smile was to be seen on his face). You asked for this yourself, boy, he thought and a moment later he caught himself being exited about a little battle of words with this boy. Your flighty temper would suit better a man half of your years, a familiar voice echoed from his memory. That is one woman's opinion. One dead woman's opinion. I don't need to bug myself with that, Grimhorn told himself.

"So you say there's a problem in being the son of the "one that runs at dusk"?" Grimhorn growled. He knew it was stupid, if this young man knew more than a general passer-by from the Anduin Vales. Or from Mirkwood. He searched his memory. Hermit Sundry lived in Mirkwood? He had no image where he had lived. Damn, he thought. That's the thing I should remember.

Just then he remembered the lad's offer of peace. He would have liked to take it and talk about something else, but he couldn't drop this matter; he couldn't let the lad keep his wrong image of his father. Wrong, wrong, wrong he assured himself. Lies, lies, lies. No one knows. No one.

"Though I don't have anything against another ale, I'd like you to explain yourself. One can't accuse a man and then get away with it."

"Waiter, bring two beers here!" He was too lazy to go and get them. "Don't worry, Sundryboy, this time I pay", he said, sounding perhaps a bit malicious. He didn't know which one of them was in a more uncomfortable situation, but he decided to enjoy his own misery and gamble a bit and master the situation.

Then, looking at the boy who looked a bit uncomfortable (as probably he did himself) he realised he actually liked the boy. Had it been another place and time and situation, he would have been delighted to share a pint with such a promising young man. And had it been another boy, he thought. The whole Sundry-line is rotten.

[Firefoot]

Forced to leave his home...? To this point Gróin had only made it sound like his travels were willing, a light-hearted venture. Was there something more? "I'm sorry, Lily. I didn't mean to say that out loud. You have enough troubles of your own. I don't want to burden you with my problems," said Gróin.

But Lily shook her head. It would be relieving not to have to concentrate on her own problems, if only for a few minutes. Her constant worrying was not helping her at all, though she saw little else that she could do until some opportunity presented itself for her to learn more. “You have at least earned a willing ear, after listening so patiently to my troubles. Please, I would like to listen.” She had given Gróin little enough attention since they had sat down, and she felt rather abashed – of course she was not the only one in the world with troubles, but here she was, babbling on about herself without giving Gróin a moment’s concern.

Oh! Perhaps Gróin had diverted from “burdening her with his problems” because he did not want to talk about them? Then she would have just made the situation worse for him. “That is… if you are willing to share your story. I did not mean to sound pushy.”

[Glirdan]

“You have at least earned a willing ear, after listening so patiently to my troubles. Please, I would like to listen. That is… if you are willing to share your story. I did not mean to sound pushy." Gróin looked at Lily wide-eyed. No one ever wanted to listen to his problems. They were always to busy worrying about their own problems to even care about his. He was astonished yet grateful that someone, even if you just met her, cared and wanted to listen to him.

"Well, I guess it wouldn't be a problem to tell you," he answered her, still quite astonished. "But I must warn you now, my story is not full of woe like yours is," he smiled at her gratefully. "Well, it starts off when I was just a young lad when my parents and I used to travel to the Blue Mountains. We always went there to visit my kin. You see, my family is originally from Moria, before the evil was awoken. We are distantly related to Dain. When the evil came, my family moved out to the Blue Mountains. That's when I met her, the love of my life..." he said and trailed off into thought, remembering her beauty. Even amongst the Dwarves she was accounted as beautiful. He came out of his reverie and looked at Lily. She had a sad expression on. "Lily, is there something wrong??"

[Firefoot]

Gróin trailed off in the middle of his story, a blissful, loving expression on his face. At his break, Lily’s thoughts had quickly slid back to Posco. How many times had she seen a look similar to this on his face? He had loved her, hadn’t he? Then why? Why, oh, why? Could he have forgotten about her so quickly? She could not fathom doing the same to him; even during the times she spent with Tommy Banks, his face had a way of popping into her memory and staying there. Her gaze strayed briefly to the inn once more – what was he doing inside? She could torment herself for ages with these questions and never come up with a comforting answer.

Gróin seemed to come back to himself and looked at her. When he asked her again if something was wrong, she realized that her dispirited thoughts must be showing on her face, and she shook her head, replacing the gloomy expression with a slight smile. “No, I have told you all my problems already. Please, do continue with your story. It sounds as if it should be happy, yet you said something about being forced to leave your home…” Her interest was genuine, and she vowed to herself that for the rest of the story she would put thoughts of Posco out of her head and listen attentively. Gróin seemed to need this – he was so attuned to others’ feelings, yet did not seem to expect the same in return. Was there no one that he could tell his problems to? He looked at her closely, as if unsure whether she was telling the truth. “Really, I’m fine. Don’t bother with me; finish your story.”

[Kath]

"I'm not sure if I still know how to dance, but it sounds like a fantastic idea! However my stomach grumbles at the moment and is demanding to be fed. It's been a long time..."

Astilwen beamed at the prospect of more food and pulled Tilionwen over to the tables. She could see the woman hadn't yet entirely let go of her troubles, and was determined to get her dancing in the hope it would do her good. Twirling around to music always raised Astilwen's spirits, she just hoped it would do the same for Tilionwen.

For now though she was quite happy to settle for getting some food into the woman, who didn't look as though she'd had a decent meal for ages. Pushing Tilionwen towards a mostly empty table she bade her stay where she was. After receiving a somewhat bemused nod Astilwen ran off to the tables and filled two plates with as much food as she could get on them, including something of everything. She returned to Tilionwen and dropped the mounds of food on the table. The woman's eyes grew large as she saw the amount in font of her.

"Are you sure we can take this much?"

"Of course! This is barely an adult hobbit's evening meal! Eat as much as you want. If you leave anything I'm sure it'll be snapped up later by some hungry hobbit in passing."

Apparently reassured Tilionwen dug in and the two women communicated in a series of grunts or words spoken through mouthfuls of food for the next few minutes. As she ate Astilwen noted that the other woman was clearing her plate with the same gusto as she herself was, and nodded to herself, realising her guess had been right.

Once the plates were mostly cleared, and they were too full even to pick at what was left, Astilwen suggested going over to the dancing area.

"I think I might pop if I tried to do anything energetic right now"

Tilionwen groaned at the thought, eyeing the people bouncing around with wary eyes.

"Don't you know exercising is the best way to avoid indigestion?" Astilwen replied with a wink. "Come on, I promise I'll be just as bad as you, it's been years since I danced to a good band."

[Glirdan]

“No, I have told you all my problems already. Please, do continue with your story. It sounds as if it should be happy, yet you said something about being forced to leave your home… Really, I’m fine. Don’t bother with me; finish your story." Once again, Gróin was rather surprised at this.

"I'm sorry. It just feels so wierd telling my problems to someone else. No one ever listened to me back at home, which is one reason why I was glad to leave. But now I'm getting ahead of myself. So, where was I?" he asked, racking his brain, trying to remember where he left off. Gróin had a very bad genetic fault; memory loss. It ran on his mothers side and was, unfortunately, passed on to him at an early age. "Ah yes. That's right. As I said, that's when I met the love of my life. We did everything together when I lived there: hide and seek, tag we even ate at each other's respectful homes once in awhile. Yes, we were young, but we were in love. That's when my family decided to move out. We moved back to the Lonely Mountain and dwelt there for awhile. But then, we were driven off by a dragon. Smaug the Worm as he was known, until he was slain, but, once again, I'm jumping ahead. Our goodbye hurt me forever and ever since, I've been longing to see her again, but I never have. Yet that love for her still lives inside of me. Now, when the dragon came, I was playing outside in the fields. He came with a terrible rush, spouting fire from his mouth, nostrails flaring..." He gazed off, remembering the dread he felt when he Smaug approaching, the damage that the Worm did to the mountain and to the city of Dale.

"Umm, Gróin? Are you ok?" Lily asked, suddenly interupting him.

"What? Oh! Yes, I'm fine. Sorry about that, I was just remembering the destruction that he created. It was dreadful. So, we were forced to move again and we moved back with our kin to the Blue Mountains. However, when we returned, my love, Sarin, wasn't there. I never found out what happened to her. That is another reason that I'm heading back to the Blue Mountains. Anyway, when Smaug was slain, my family decided to move back to Erebor, the Lonely Mountain as it is know to you. However, while I was living in the Ered Lindon, another woman fell in love with me. Her name is Corin and my father for her hand in marriage. I was away, working in the mines at the time, and my father answered yes. But we moved before our marriage. So that is what I'm on my way to do. Get married, but also to find out what happened to Sarin, my love. And that's my story..." He trailed off into his thoughts once more, remembering the beauty of Sarin and how much fun they used to have. He awoke from his reverie and looked at Lily. She was starring at him with an odd look in her face. "Lily? Are you sure you're ok??"

[Farael]

" It would please me to know how a countryman found his way out here."

"Well Losse, your 'profession' does make me feel a little uncomfortable, specially because it's because of thieves that I find myself in this inn." Answered Farael, "My father is a merchant and I decided to join him after serving some time in the army. I wanted to travel yet my father made sure I was kept out of harm's way. Him and I arranged that I'd join the family business if I was allowed to travel to distant lands. He was trying to get some pipe weed from the hobbits' lands and so I came here to see if I could get a good deal. Some other merchants sent people this way and so we were a little group of men carrying two carts with some goods and a good deal of money. At one point I saw tracks that looked orkish to me and I decided to follow them. They lead me nowhere, but by the time I joined up with my group they had been assaulted by bandits. Not orcs, but humans. The others went back, I pressed forward hoping to find the thieves yet after a week of searching around I decided I had lost their track and came here for a break. Not a really exciting story, but that's why I'm here"

He felt more than 'a little' uncomfortable about Losse. He had always thought thieves were evil, wretched people that had no friends other than their illgained goods and gold. Yet this thief was both friendly and more than just a little charming. "I'm getting hungry again," said he "how about we grab some more food? I have never had such a great meal as today!"

[Nogrod]

Now this was a cracker! Rían had learned to act, to wear many faces, during his life. That skill also included being able to read others’ play, behind their masquarades, when they were playing. But this giant here! He seemed to be as confused as he sounded. Could it be possible, that he had no idea about the other side of his father? No, it just didn’t seem to make any sense. But still, there was not a sign of a cunning liar making his moves. This man was a mystery. Rían remembered the stories of that famous Gollum-creature, and his ordeals.

Well, he had to make his move now. Any move. Grimhorn was staring at him, questioningly. Rían took a long puff from his pipe and leaned forwards, like wishing to address his words to Grimhorn only. The giant saw the idea, and leaned himself a little forwards too.

“It would bee foolish indeed to call a man of your proportions a fool, but I do have to ask, whether you have been raised in a barrel or something? You say you are a beorning, and you surely look like one. But still you kind of let me understand, that you have never heard the stories about the “Owl’s eye”! Or, if you are the son of Grimgor indeed, that you have never been able to see these two as one person. Well, be as it is. My father may have been mistaken – which he rarely was, but anyhow. The “One that runs at dusk” burned my home when I was five years old. We had to run for our lives, my father and me. We ran the whole night. I remember it, even though I was just a kid back then. I’ve had recurring nightmares about it ever so often: burning fire, the shouts, the running, branches hitting the face, slipping into the mud, actually an owl singing in the night, the sounds of the forest at night... And I remember his grin, that I truly remember, even though I saw it only from a distance.”

Rían was about to continue his remembrances, but Ruby interrupted his train of thought, bringing them the pints Grimhorn had ordered. Rían nodded to Ruby, receiving his pint, and waited for Grimhorn to pay for them.

[JennyHallu]

"I'm getting hungry again," said he "how about we grab some more food? I have never had such a great meal as today!"

Losse laughed, gray eyes catching firelight as she tossed her long locks, once again adorned with her new pretty. "Any meal I didn't cook is a great meal, Farael," she said with a chuckle. "I am sorry to hear of your bad fortune, though I am thankful that neither you nor your companions were injured. I suppose I understand your nervousness about me a little better now. I am a very good thief, no doubt about that, not even vanity." She walked toward the table where she'd left her stew. Forgotten, it still sat there on the table. She leaned toward it and sniffed. Still good...but definitely cold. She left it there and grabbed a trencher on one of the tables in the center, heaping it with bits of this and that. She cheerfully fought with a hobbit for the spoon to a large dish of mushrooms and won, adding a large helping to her plate before surrendering it back. Farael cheerfully trailed in her wake, grabbing a platter of his own as he watched her dance through the crowd with eyes alight.

Losse was charming, and she knew it. Her voice was sweet and musical, her eyes laughed only slightly more often than she did -- and her laughter was certainly ringing out over the party tonight. She had almost forgotten the lightness of her purse by the time she sat down, laughing merrily with sheer joy. She kept the conversation light, putting her best foot forward in an effort to show Farael her intent was to gain a friend, talking as she ate, and punctuating her speech with clever sleight-of-hand, her nimble fingers keeping both Farael and anyone who happened to catch a sight of her antics with her coins and bits of fruit.

"Really, I've never stolen a copper from anyone who couldn't afford the loss, I swear it's true." She'd switched from ale to a light and sweet dandelion wine, the yellow liquid sparkling in its glass.

Farael looked at her doubtfully. "I thought you said you earned a living as a thief."

She grinned. "Well, thievery's my career, and it's fun. But I couldn't live with myself if someone suffered too much for my fun. So I've always had something to fall back on. My last winter I spent in a tiny inn in Minas Tirith, really just a tavern. I sang for my supper in the common room, and danced for my board on a street-corner. It's only been in summer that I've really depended on thievery for a while now. Easier to forgive myself for a bad haul when I don't have to sleep in the snow." Her eyes turned serious for a moment, and she decided, helped along by the admittedly mild wine (Why did I get wine? I know I talk too much when I drink wine...) to tell the rest of her story.

"I picked the wrong man to start my season off with. That's when I decided that I'd be better off far from home and hearth. Not that I've spent all that much time having a home and hearth, so it's no great loss!"

[Wiscott]

Accepting the offered drink with a grin as broad as Ibun's, Baldin drinks with relish. "Ah, that's the stuff to close a deal! And now, with your leave, I shall be getting to the beds inside. Have to rest up for the coming journey!" With that, Baldin departs to search for a bed inside, whistling merrily as he goes, content with the productivity of his day.

[Firefoot]

Lily could not help but feel sympathy for Gróin, who had gone through so much moving around and hardship. He had said his tale was not so full of woe, yet it really was. She had listened intently, and had done well with her vow, right up until the end. Such similarities… “Lily? Are you sure you’re okay?”

Slightly exasperated, Lily said, “My goodness, yes. Or if I am not, there is nothing that can be done about it right now except hope to forget about my problems until something can be done.” She laughed slightly to take off any edge there might be to her words. “And you, Gróin, might do well to forget that there are problems at all. I think that you worry too much, though perhaps this is a habit you have gotten through long years of hardship. The night is fair and there is a party here. Enjoy yourself for once.” But the words sounded hollow even to her. Good advice, maybe, to herself as much as to him, but rather futile. After all, Posco was still here but inside, and Marcho sat alone across the lawn. Her gaze wandered over to the band playing a lively tune. A bit of dancing, perhaps? Would that lighten the mood? So risky, though – it would not do for Marcho to see her. And her heart would not be in it, either.

She sighed. “It doesn’t really work that way, does it? For I am a worrier, too, and forgetting does not come easily. What I really need is someone with information… but someone who will not inform him that I am here. His traveling companion – or perhaps guardian – Marcho is sitting over there, but I believe that he would let promptly let him know I was here.” Lily realized that she had not yet told Gróin Posco’s name, and found that maybe it would be easier to keep it that way. “And at this rate I will never find what I seek, because for it to work out I need help to fall into my lap.” And as much as she did not want to, she knew that in some strange way she was asking Gróin for help he could not really give. She did not see how he could help her at all, in fact, and she hated dragging him into her problems when he had enough of his own.

She was tired of this whole thing. She only needed to know one small thing, and then she could go home. But she already knew, didn't she? "Listen to me prattle on - all this worry to find out something that I have already found out. If what I have heard is true, then I have no business here. Perhaps I should not have come."

[Witch_Queen]

The door opened from the party outside. Avalon flew in the back door. She had traveled all the way from Rohan and now she was back in The Shire. Avalon had been alone since Cree's depature. She had flew around Middle Earth searching for any sign of Cree. Her search unfortunately was coming to a dead end. She saw new faces and heard new voices, indeed she had been gone for a long time. Avalon spread her large white wings allowing her to land softly on the end of the bar. As she landed a few "unknown" people tried to shoo her away. "Crows don't belong inside the inn." "Begone you animal." Avalon knew times had changed, but this was still her home.

Cree had left Avalon here to help in any way she could. Avalon remembered helping hang objects from the ceiling when a festival or party was going on. Now she was back to fullfill her end of the "abandonment." Avalon heard voices outside, laughter and music. A party... Indeed I arrived later than intended. Avalon flew back outside to see she was right. Everything was beautiful. Yes she saw faces she didn't know but there was the few that she recognized with ease. She flew over the party to see if she might find a very familar face... But there was no sign of Cree. Avalon flew to an empty seat to rest her wings. Before she could even get settled down someone almost sat down on her. Avalon screeched a warning. This was her seat for the moment. Her warning was a friendly one but still she knew she probably scared someone.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

With a hand still tightly bound in an old bandage, a grim faced Elf sat in the corner of the Inn. How long he had been there, none could guess. His eyes were full of memory and wonder, so many things had passed his sight, yet it was not all good. The Elf held in his hand a large mug of Shire ale, he held it aloft towards a picture of a Green Dragon, hanging on the wall.

"Here’s to you," he said quietly, "may you rot." he laughed heartily and drank deeply. Some Hobbits eyed him and shook their heads. Those crazy outsiders were at it again; they decided and paid no more heed to the Elf.

Fáinu's adventures since he was last in the Green Dragon had not quite gone as planed. Cree had been helpful; there was no denying it, yet ever as the road had gone forth, a foreboding had gone with him. Leaving her in Rivendel had set his mind at ease. Dragon’s spells were terrible things; surly the Elves there had the skill. Or at least, more than what he had.

Leaning back he produced a long wooden pipe from his coat and lit it, the tobacco burned and he puffed out several smoke rings. Most refreshing. Since the Dragon burn, he had never smoked. But now, he was free. Or rather, free-er. The dying breaths of that foul creature, that deceiver that-

This wasn't helping. Nor was the ale, as he came to think of it. The sound of the party outside, encouraged him to go and see what was what. So he rose and looked out of the window. The happy folk seemed so far from the troubles and wars... and Dragons. But one thought remained in Fáinu's mind: "This bandage is itchy."

[Salacia Deloresista]

Left foot. Lift. Forward. Drop. Right foot. Lift. Forward. Drop. Breathe. There had been yelling, loud, angry words. Noises, crashes that made her flinch and want to cry. Rough hands reached for her. Anger, spit, and a smell like old vinegar few at her face. The hands drew back, and in the pain that followed, her twelve year old mind could only retain one thought. She had to leave. And so she left, waiting until he was asleep then, wrapping anything edible she could find in the house into a bundle, she waked out the door.

The terror of the next few days overwhelmed her. Alone, across unknown wilderness, she wandered, her destination that mythical place in her imagination known only as "away." It was a place without fathers, without beatings or fear. She traveled only at night, dreading the light of day that would reveal her to the eyes that were surely looking for her, and the hands that would follow to punish her daring bid for freedom. Every moan of the wind was the sound of the dogs on her trail, every snap his footstep, every breeze his breath. He was cloaked in every shadow, hidden behind every tree. She ran when she could, walked when she had to and crawled before exhaustion forced her to collapse and sleep through another day. How could she know that the drunken stupor in which she left her father would be the one from which he would never wake up?

She walked. Tangles of brush became woods, woods became fields, fields became farms and the hills...houses. Her first coherent thought burned itself across days worth of terror. People live in those hills. But any one of them could turn her in, pick her up, take her back. Left foot. Lift. Forward. Drop. Right foot. Lift. Forward. Drop. On and on, step after step, until one day, at last, she heard laughter and singing, smelled food. The light streaming from the windows pierced the darkness of her mind. The sign outside the building glinted green as it swung in and out of the light in the window. A figure...some kind of lizard...a green dragon.

[Witch_Queen]

Avalon looked around, still no sign of Cree. She flew up in the air to get a "crow's eye view" of all the festivities. She thought she saw a very familar face. "Fáinu?" Avalon dived towards the ground, she knew where she was going this time. If he was back then there was the chance that Cree had returned as promised. Avalon landed on the ground in front of the elf. "Fáinu!" but she knew all he could hear was "SCREECH!!!!" "Where's Cree? Why isn't she here with you? What happened to her?" Even though she knew he didn't understand her Avalon couldn't help but worry about her friend.

What's the use of the questions? He couldn't understand me if I drew him out a map. But if he's here then where is Cree. I hope nothing bad has happened to her. Come on Fáinu tell me something. I need to know where is Cree?

[Hookbill the Goomba]

The small bird was squawking like crazy. Fáinu looked down for a moment and raised an eyebrow. How odd, he thought. Then a thought hit him, that bird was familiar, somehow. The elf cocked his head and then knelt down to see it more closely, it seemed to back away slightly. "Av-" he began, trying to remember the name, "Aval-" No that wasn't it... "Avalon!" he cried at last, and the bird seemed to nod.

"You're Cree's friend, no?" he said, and the bird nodded, "I see. You're probably wondering where she's got to." Avalon nodded, "Well, that is a long tale. It would take a while." The bird stayed intent. "Very well, I shall see what I can recall."

The Bird hopped on the window ledge and fluttered into the Inn, Fáinu sat down at a table and examined his mysteriously re-filled mug. There were several Hobbits looking at the Bird with curiosity and confusion, labelling Fáinu with their eyes as a madman. Or Elf.

[Glirdan]

“My goodness, yes. Or if I am not, there is nothing that can be done about it right now except hope to forget about my problems until something can be done. And you, Gróin, might do well to forget that there are problems at all. I think that you worry too much, though perhaps this is a habit you have gotten through long years of hardship. The night is fair and there is a party here. Enjoy yourself for once." Lily sat in thought and sighed. "It doesn’t really work that way, does it? For I am a worrier, too, and forgetting does not come easily. What I really need is someone with information… but someone who will not inform him that I am here. His traveling companion – or perhaps guardian – Marcho is sitting over there, but I believe that he would let promptly let him know I was here. And at this rate I will never find what I seek, because for it to work out I need help to fall into my lap. "Listen to me prattle on - all this worry to find out something that I have already found out. If what I have heard is true, then I have no business here. Perhaps I should not have come."

Gróin sat startled and looked at Lily kindly. "My dear, if you wouldn't have come, then we wouldn't have been able to have this, sad yes, but helpful talk. If know one else is happy that you are here, know this: I am. For I have made a friend. Thank you. So, do you want to dance?" and as he said this, he got up and held his hand out for Lily to take hold, totally forgetting his half eaten food. He looked around at the crowd of people dancing. Lily was right, it was time to put the past behind him...at least for now. It was time to enjoy himself while he might, forget the troubles of life while there was a party going. Who knows, he might even spend a little time at the Inn to meet more of the locals and visitors. "He looked at Lily again. "So, do you?"

[Thinlómien]

Grimhorn payed the pints cursing by himself. The boy must have sensed that I had become so sure about myself! he thought. The time of the peace offer had floated by, and it couldn't be helped.

Grimhorn knew that his father's friends had jokingly called him the "Owl's eye" and "the one that runs at dusk" after a very old country legend of a madman warrior with unchallengable strength. Nonsense folklore, he thought, that's what it is. Still, he couldn't help wondering if the nicknames came from a reason.

And this hermit Sundry! He had believed himself a seer of somekind and most people had thought him mad. Now Grimhorn wondered if he had "seen" old Grimgor Bearhand to be an incarnation or something of "the one that runs at dusk". And taught that nonsense to his son.

Anyway, Rían Sundry was the case now. "I think we're speaking about different "Owl's Eye"s. That was quite common knowledge that the friends of Grimgor Bearhand called him the "Owl's Eye" and "The One That Runs at Dusk". Those names, as you must know, belong to a madman of an old silly legend. So who are you talking about? A mythological warrior madman or Grimgor Bearhand, an honoured warrior? Or are you trying to tell me that they are the same thing?"

[Perilena]

Well, you have to rest somewhere, and it may as well be here.
May as might...but I don't like stopping. 'Specially on a night like this. Lovely.
Not when you're this hungry, it isn't. Anyway, there's no need for you to be travelling in the dark. Not like you're running anywhere.
That isn't funny.
I thought so.
Aaaaah...talking to myself...! Stoppit!
An'...? It bothers you this time?
Maybe...no, I guess not.
Not aloud, why should you care? Meanwhile, you're blocking the door.

It was true. Peri was blocking the door, and probably unwisely considering the number of people present likely to need to walk through it at least once that night. If somebody were to shout "fire" just now...think how I'd be trampled! An odd thought, it made her laugh aloud.

Brilliant, that.
M'beginning to think I've heard enough from you tonight.

The first result of Peri's outburst was that almost no one noticed it. Logical, seeing as the inn was full of happy, laughing, talking, dancing people mostly minding their own business. The second result was that her unhealthily pale skin blushed somewhat pinkish, anyway. She could feel it starting at the base of her spine, a rush of hot blood that made the bright room in front of her spin crazily. She stepped carefully sideways through the door, keeping a shoulder against the wall. Deep breaths slowly returned her natural pallor.

Shame...you're lovely when you're terror-stricken.
Oh, well, I'll have to make a point of trying it more often.
W'll don't bother now. Not much at all you can do to to look any better tonight.
Wait...was there a joke in there somewhere?
You look like you've been travelling days through fields and ditches.
Ye-es... Ashamed to be seen with me, now?
Guess not. Should I be?

Peri sank to the floor, gathering the muddied edge of her long...blue? grey? The dress was worn 'til the color was hard to determine, ragged at the hem that just touched the top of her boots. Well, and ragged fairly everywhere else, too. But she was mostly looking at the hem. Resting her head on her knees, she practiced looking like a part of the wall.
Yes...yes, you probably should be ashamed.
H'shhh...just rest. And maybe you can fall asleep a while before anyone notices you. H'shhhhh...

Dreamless dark took her instantly.

[Nogrod]

“If I get your meaning right, you are trying to tell me, that an old silly legend just materialized to burn my home?”, Rían asked, behind his words, dead serious now. “I don’t know what was there between your father and mine, but I know, it was a man who grinned just like you and had the stature like yours, who burnt my home and whom we run away from – and whom my father called with both names: as Grimgor the Bearhand and as the “Owl’s Eye” or “The One That Runs at Dusk”.”

Rían noticed, that the pitch of his voice had climbed up a little too high, and so his voice was breaking. He tried to ease himself, taking a long sip from his pint, trying to sort out his head. What is this all about? After all the years of hide and seek, I’m sitting here in front of a man whose father has been one of the main reasons to my life’s tragedy. And what am I doing? Squeaking like a pre-teen! He had planned this one so many times! But where was his action now?

He leaned back again, trying to appear secure – which he truly wasn’t! His wits seemed to have deserted him totally. What to say, how to continue? Attack or defence, action or reaction? Keep talking or do something?

In the end he opted for some more talk. He needed time now, and if he could make the giant talk, he would have it. He could think.

“Well, you have not done any harm to me, either I to you. Let’s talk this over like sensible human beings. Tell me about your father. Maybe we can work this out together?”

[Firefoot]

“So, do you?” repeated Gróin. Lily hesitated. Perhaps it would not hurt… she did enjoy dancing, after all. Maybe… maybe it would even help, if Marcho did not spot her. Or Posco. At least, she thought bitterly, they would not mistake the Dwarf for some new lad of hers.

“Well… why not?” She smiled slightly and stood. Gróin led her over to the open area which had been cleared for dancing. She was glad that there were several others dancing there, as it meant she would not stand out so much. The lively tune was familiar to her, and she realized that she was actually looking forward to this. “Have you ever danced to hobbits’ music, Gróin?” she asked. He admitted that he had not, and Lily grinned. “Well, then you are in for a treat.” Her happy laugh could almost be heard as completely carefree. Keeping an eye turned to Marcho (who, thankfully, was paying no attention at the moment) and the quiet inn, she now led Gróin out into the dance.

She fell into the rhythm quickly, stepping, whirling, and dipping. For his part, Gróin seemed talented enough, and if the Dwarvish style of dancing was not quite so light as the Hobbits’, he still picked up the song quite well. A fleeting thought passed through her mind: if only I was here just to enjoy myself and meet new people…! But then it escaped her memory like a dream half-remembered at awakening. Why ought she to fret so much over a lad who had apparently forgotten her? And as she threw herself into the dance, she realized that she almost did not care.

[Witch_Queen]

She walked out of the stables, her black hair blowing freely in the wind. It was only a short time ago that she was in Rivendel with what elves remained behind. Fáinu had gone on to the Shire, atleast thats what the note had said. One of the elves told her what happened. Evidently she had a "spell" and almost lost her life because of it. Cree's journey from Rivendel was olong and lonely. Cree could barely remember everything that happened.

Cree was no stranger to suffering. All her life Cree searched for the truth about her father's death and now she knew.

I killed him, no wonder everyone thought I was dangerous. I don't want to believe it anymore. All my life I have wondered if I was indeed a victim. My life has been a lie, I killed the only person that truly ever cared for me.

Cree could hear waht sounded like a crow squawking. She knew imediately who it was. "Avalon!" The departure from the Shire had meant leaving her friend behind. NOw she was back and wasn't leaving for a long time. Cree could hear waht sounded like people laughing and music playing. "A party?" Cree's life had changed but as far as her life at the Green Dragon Cree was always happy to celebrate with everyone else. At the Green Dragon Cree's trouble no longer existed.

Cree's cloak reflected that of a Rivendel elf not of Eryn Lasgalen her home. Cree's cloak would have to do after all she wasn't going back to the land she left behind. Cree walked to the front yard of the Inn. "Avalon should be around here somewhere." Cree figured Fáinu wouldn't be expecting her to be here so soon. If it wasn't for her stubborness she would still be in Rivendel couped up in bed. She was fine now. She had suprised everyone when she "woke up" and almost jumped out of bed. The elves that took care of her had told her to go back to bed, that she needed her rest. But she wasn't going to waste time when she had to get back to "her home".

Cree walked around the party looking to see if she might spot the white crow. "Maybe if I found Aman she might know where Avalon is." Not seeing any sign of either Avalon or Aman, Cree went inside the inn searching for familar faces.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

The bird nibbled happily on some cram that Fáinu had given her, he was running out, but did not care. Avalon looked back up at him and cocked her head from side to side; Fáinu cleared his throat and then sat back. "You heard about our adventure in the mountains?" He asked, Avalon nodded, "Dwaline was always a faithful news bringer. Well, soon afterwards we travelled through Wilderland to the Lonely Mountain. 'Mirkwood' still held in the back of my mind, no matter what they change it's name to. Esgaroth was no better, the closer we came to dale, the more the burn returned."

Fáinu looked at his hand, the bandage was still tightly wound about it, covered in the dirt of a thousand adventures. He felt a chill as the Inn door opened. Cree went in and for a moment, Fáinu took no notice. He looked again and shook his head. A cruel trick of his mind. But she did not disappear. "Do you see that?" he asked the bird. Avalon looked up and squawked loudly.

"Shut that wretched bird up!" cried a Hobbit, before a large worn flew past Fáinu's head and fell harmlessly to the ground. The elf took no heed of the loud Hobbit as he walked to gather his shoe. The Hobbit seemed to have boots, but did not wear them. What a strange fellow, thought Fáinu. The starlight glimmered through the windows as some Hobbits staggered outside singing songs of drinking and laughing.

Cree did not seem to see Fáinu as he sat in the corner of the room, although she seemed to have heard Avalon's squawking. A barmaid brought Fáinu another mug of ale and rolled her eyes at him and the strange bird that was disturbing the customers. All these outside folk, she thought. The elf raised his head and then stood up, he walked over to Cree as Avalon flew with him.

"Well met," he said, "If indeed we do meet. I fear this may be a trick of the mind."

[Witch_Queen]

Cree turned to see that Fáinu was indeed inside the inn. Cree was so happy to see Avalon that she almost forgot about what Fáinu had said to her. "I do not see why your eyes would be playing tricks with you. I'm here, where else would i be?" Cree couldn't help but chuckle. Since her last "spell" Cree was now a different elf. She laughed more despite what she had been through. "You missed me didn't you Avalon?"

Cree held out her arm for Avalon to perch upon. THe white crow gently landed on the extended arm. "I missed you too."Cree turned to Fáinu, looking him in the eyes. "Fáinu why did you believe that your mind was playing tricks with you. What's going on Fáinu, your not telling me something. What really happened on the way "home"?"

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Cree turned to Fáinu, looking him in the eyes. "Fáinu why did you believe that your mind was playing tricks with you. What's going on Fáinu, you’re not telling me something. What really happened on the way "home"?"

"I suppose I've got used to my mind playing tricks," he said with a smirk, "But all that is in the past." He led Cree to his table and ordered some drinks and food. Avalon stood proudly and then leaped onto the table and looked very dignified. Fáinu smiled and looked up at the ceiling.

"After I left Rivendel," He began, "I rode as fast as the horse would carry me. Weather top seemed like a good place to rest after a few days riding. But that place was full of robbers and I drove them out, I didn't trust it enough to sty for the night. I rode on for a long time. Stopping in ditches for a few hour sleep. But when I did, I could only see the Dragon's eyes. You remember? As the life poured out of it and it laid its curse on you. I couldn't help but feel responsible." He looked at his hand, "I know that this is no longer a true burn," he removed the bandage and all that could be seen was a pail white scar, "But in my mind, it still burns. Not as much as it used to. But still.

"I walked in the Barrow Downs," he said after a pause, Cree looked up with astonishment, "Yes that place still holds many fears. The stones that look like great teeth shrouded in mist loomed overhead and they seemed to have eyes. I decided not to venture into the Old forest, but took the East - West road and came to Hobbiton."

Avalon seemed impatient. She squawked and flapped, she didn't want this story; she wanted to know what happened on this 'adventure'. Fáinu closed his eyes and thought back to when they left The Lonely Mountain. "I think Avalon wishes to hear the tale of what we did." Said Fáinu and Cree nodded. "You see," he went on, "This Dragon in the north was terrorising many Dwarf colonies. Smaug was the last of the great Dragons; so we hopped this would not be such a challenge.

"The journey was traitorous, the grey mountains loomed ever further away than they really were. Several Dwarves came with us: Therin, Kili, and Fundin. There were all pretty young and knew well the story of Thorin and the defeat of Smaug. Kili hoped he would not suffer the same fate as his namesake. But we all feared for our lives. Dragons are, after all, Dragons."

[Glirdan]

“Well… why not?” Lily stood and Gróin led her over to where everyone else was dancing. “Have you ever danced to hobbits’ music, Gróin?” He shook his head. “Well, then you are in for a treat.” and she laughed. Such a sweet laugh and if Gróin didn't know better, he would have thought that she was having a great time. She started dancing to the rythym of the song and she looked like she was really enjoying herself. Gróin then started dancing and their rythyms matched up perfectly: Lily's light, graceful movements and Gróin's heavy foot stomping. After awhile, it really did look like Lily was enjoying herself, as if she completely forgot all her troubles. She looked so happy that Gróin could not tell whether or not she was faking it. The song ended and everyone clapped. "Whew! That was fun!! Would you like a drink?" Gróin asked Lily polietly and she nodded her head.

Gróin made his way through the crowd to the friendly Hobbit serving the beverages. "Two ales please," he asked a little breathlessly. The Hobbit smiled as he handed over the two drinks and turned to make his way back over to Lily. He was enjoying himself so much that he had completely forgotten his troubles with Sarin and Corin. He pushed his way through the crowd, looking around trying to find his way back to Lily. It was then that he saw something that made him gasp in shock. "Was that?? No, it couldn't have been...could it?" he thought to himself as he made his way over to Lily. He put out of his mind as reached Lily and gave her her drink. "Gróin? Is something wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost," Lily stated.

"It's....it's nothing. I thought I saw....but it couldn't have been...could it? Oh, there I go rambling on. I'm sorry. It was nothing. I thought I saw an old friend, but it couldn't have been. Not here anyway," he said. "Anyway, forget about it. Let's get back to dancing."

[Farael]

"I picked the wrong man to start my season off with. That's when I decided that I'd be better off far from home and hearth. Not that I've spent all that much time having a home and hearth, so it's no great loss!"

So she was indeed a fugitive. For a moment, Farael wondered how much money he could make by bringing her back. Then he realized it was not in him to do so. Even with his strong sense of duty, this woman seemed more like a girl who had made some bad choices than a nasty thief with a rotten heart. Her smile was bright and honest, and Farael could find no reason to think of her new story a lie. It seemed she had finally relaxed and was telling her true story, or perhaps it had been the wine. Looking at the mug-full of water he held in his hand, Farael remembered he was not sober either.

"So tell me, Losse, exactly why was this man 'the wrong man' unlike any other thief? I find it hard to believe that there is much difference from one another"

[JennyHallu]

"So tell me, Losse, exactly why was this man 'the wrong man' unlike any other thief? I find it hard to believe that there is much difference from one another."

Losse raised an eloquent eyebrow. "Surely, after your experiences, you know that some men are more...forgiving...than others. Damiel Bladespinner hasn't a forgiving bone in his body, and I stole his horse. As soon as it was, ahem," she paused, searching for words, "made clear to me, so to speak, whose horse it had been, I returned it. But Damiel hasn't earned the place he has in the dark corners of the city by forgiving an offense."

She paused, remembering the utter terror of the first legs of her flight from Minas Tirith. "King Elessar is working hard to clean out such elements in his capitol, but he has had much to do, and some have slipped through the cracks. Damiel can't do so for much longer, and then I will be free to go home. And then, also, there may perhaps be a better place for me, and other things I can do. There is always a job for me, if I want it, at that little inn where I sang last winter. Someday, I will open my own. There is a lot of good that can be done with a little tavern. Maybe I'll be able to save some children from some of the difficult decisions I had to make."

Her eyes shone, reflecting the beautiful light of the evening stars, as she contemplated the things she wanted to do with her life. Farael sat back and let her speak, describing the deep dreams of her heart. "There will be a warm hearth, and a cozy little common room. I have no need of anything large. I want it to be a place where people come together in in joy and quiet friendliness. Someone to cook for me," she laughed. "Because that is a dream I know I won't be able to make real. A few quiet rooms, where a weary travellor can spend a quiet night..." She lapsed into silence, stretching out with a tired, hopeful smile as she leaned back in her chair, draining the glass of wine in one long, slow pull, and flipping a coin absentmindedly back and forth across her knuckles.

[Farael]

"you know, Losse, instead of risking being chased out of this inn should someone else notice your.... hobby, you might want to watch and learn given that this really is the cozyest Inn I have ever been to."

"Here we go again," thought Farael. "First you get merry, then you get curious and then you get philosophical. You are drunk my friend, and you should bite your tounge hard before you start making promises to this lady. She is a thief, and it could all very well be an elaborate plan to steal..." Then his thoughts trailed off as he could not think anything she could steal from him besides a little money.

Taking a big bite of something that resembled the potatoes his aunt used to prepare for him, Farael nodded his head, as he listened to Losse's words.

[JennyHallu]

Losse giggled. "Oh, I am, believe me!" she said, cheerfully delighting a young hobbit lad nearby by absentmindedly pulling a sweet out of his ear, presenting it to him with a flourish and a seated half-bow. "Everywhere I've gone so far, I've found new ideas. As a matter of fact, this place makes me want to look for a little bit of land on the Pelennor Fields and build a new place. This courtyard is lovely. I don't suppose I'll be able to quite pull off a view of a world-famous mallorn tree, even from as far off as this, but I'll plant an oak tree. It will take a good generation, but my children will see it grow tall and strong. Maybe I'll even have space for an orchard and a garden. I eat such things fresh, but maybe someone else will know of other things to do with them."

She sighed and quieted. "And what of you, my dear Farael? What dreams and desires haunt your sleep? Why do you get up in the morning?"

[Thinlómien]

I can't believe this! That lad is pulling my leg! But though he was no reader of minds, Grimhorn could see that Rían was dead serious. He wasn't playing, this time.

My father, Grimhorn thought. He was astonished to find out how much it hurt after all these years. All these years of secretly knowing that everything wasn't like it seemed to be, he reminded himself. At some level he had known that there was something wrong with his father.

Then his mood changed. Why do I accept all the lad says as truth? His father was a big liar, so isn't he quite probably a liar as well? But again, there was too much pain in his voice. He might have been mistaken for the man. Seen what his father had wanted him to see. It was a frail hope, but Grimhorn clinged to it.

Then he came back to his senses. That wasn't probable, so he shouldn't use time in that idle dreaming. Maybe he could ask Rían, if he was sure it was Grimgor Bearhand he had seen. But it wasn't the most important thing. The most important thing was that there had been hostility between Hermit Sundry and Grimgor Bearhand. What and why was it, was the matter. I knew my father well enough. He wouldn't have burned a man's house without a reason. I wonder what reason did Hermit Sundry provide him...

Grimhorn would have liked to talk this over with someone, but Rían really wasn't the ideal guy. There were too much personal feelings tangled to this matter. If there was someone neutral, or someone on the same side with him, who could solve this and talk the matter over.

Then he realised how childishly he was thinking. There wasn't anyone else. It was Rían Sundry who he would solve this matter with, no one else. They needed each other's help to find out the truth. Neither could do it alone. He had to accept that he needed Rían's help. And he needed to accept that his father did what he did and it couldn't be changed anymore.

"Now you make sense, master Rían. However painful it is, we need to talk. You say let's begin with my father, and I agree it's a good idea. Then we could move on to yours and see what there was between them and what was this "Owl's Eye"-thing of your father's."

Grimhorn took a big gulp of beer and asked: "What would you like to know about the man your father called "The One That Runs at Dusk"?"

[Salacia Deloresista]

Mirelle felt tears come to her eyes. Laughing, singing, and the smell of food overwhelmed her senses; she sat in the shadows on the edge of the road and cried. She cried out of relief, cried for fear and exhaustion and hunger, cried for a simple lack of anything better to do. She had left, she had made it out, but now, confronted with the where and why and how of life on her own, she had no idea where to start.

Off to one side was a barn, tall and open with comfortingly deep shadows. Mirelle headed towards it cautiously, and after hearing no noises, went inside. It was a far cry from the barn at home. These were not plow horses, big and bulky and built to work. These were travelers' horses, light animals that could cover long distances. Mirelle snuck a quick glance at them, but didn't stop for long. She had more important things in mind. In the back, she knew, would be a ladder. The ladder led up to the loft and the loft would be safe. She could decide what to do without worry of discovery. She climed, but no sooner had she reached the top and sat down when sleep claimed her, all thoughts of tomorrow driven away by the black behind her eyelids.

[Thinlómien]

Brith knew she was drunk. She had taken a bit more than the one beer she had originally decided to take. There were people coming in and being warmly welcomed. But one lonely young woman sitting on the yard drinking beer had been totally ignored. Why me? No one loves me. No one in this world. That's why he left me. He didn't love me. There's nothing to love in me. I'm an unloveable creature.

Drinking had never been good for Brith's mind.

There's one person in the whole world who doesn't hate me. And he happens to be a horse. How great. Brith laughed bitterly. And he loves me only because I give him food. Brith bought an apple. She wanted to feel loved. And the only one to offer it for her here was a gray stallion who happened to love apples.

Brith headed to the stables. She found her horse Grayday easily. She went to him and patted him. The horse let her even hug himself, but it's interest was focused to the apple in Brith's hand. Sighing, she gave it to him. "There you go, my love. I hope you're happier than I am tonight."

[Farael]

"My desires, hm? Why, so you can laugh at me too? everyone does." He sighed, remembering the times when being just a little more than a boy, he dreamt about fighting in the great battles of old time. If Losse had asked him the same question back then, he would have simply answered "I want to become a hero". It was no longer so easy, as even though he had joined the army and quickly risen through the lower ranks, his father had made sure he was always away from danger. And only in dangerous situations can a man really show what he is made of.

"I just want to protect my country and My Lord, as many did before me and many will after. But my father ruined that, so I guess I will be a merchant then. Just like him." He sighed again. It couldn't be that bad, being a merchant. At least he would always have money, and he would not be as likely to be killed. The life of a soldier had gotten easier after the fall of the Dark One, but there was still a lot of work to do. Lots of thieves to eradicate.

"I wish you were not a thief, Losse... you seem to be a very skilled and smart woman. With your smarts you could manage your own inn... but you shouldn't waste your time! We are no elves," He looked around for Teluyaviel, hoping she would not hear him talk like that "we will not be around for ever. "

[Huan]

‘You are certain you do not wish me to come with you?’ Emlin had delivered Teluyaviel to the back door of the Inn, the one that opened into the kitchen. He was loath to let her speak with her brother alone. Yet, it was her wish that she do so.

He opened the door and offered his hand as she stepped up to the little porch and then went in. The kitchen was well lit and he watched her as she hurried through the doors to the common room and passed beyond his sight. Emlin sighed and began to push the door closed when a voice from within hailed him.

[Lhunardawen]

"Don't you know exercising is the best way to avoid indigestion? Come on, I promise I'll be just as bad as you, it's been years since I danced to a good band."

Tilionwen's stomach gave a gurgle of protest as she attempted to stand, and her cheeks flushed instinctively. She hoped that Astilwen had not heard the sound, but the hobbit turned to her with a raised eyebrow. "Are you even trying to get your tummy to make excuses for you?" she asked with mock disgust, yet despite her attempts at seriousness the two broke into a fit of laughter. After a while they found themselves clutching at their stomachs in pain.

Having catched her breath Astilwen abruptly pulled the much taller woman to her feet and towards the area for dancing. "Astilwen -" Tilionwen started to protest, but she was not listening. Tilionwen frowned. She didn't really feel up to anything yet - more so dancing - when she was afraid that her stomach would burst any moment. She dragged her feet to hamper the hobbit's efforts, but Astilwen was clearly stronger than her height (or her lack of it, it must be said) led Tilionwen to believe. Soon the hobbit realized what she was trying to do and stopped walking, then turned towards her with pleading eyes. Does she have to do that? No eloquence - if Tilionwen possessed any - could argue with her expression. Sighing in resignation, Tilionwen said, "Okay, okay, you win. But all I'll be doing is sway in place until this," she looked at her abnormally bulging tummy, "stops complaining. Good enough?"

[piosenniel]

Vinca had just come out of the pantry when the Elven lady passed into the common room. A curious entrance she thought wondering why someone, and an Elf to boot seemed to be sneaking through the back way. ‘Wonder what that’s all about?’ she murmured to herself.

Cook sat the bowl of dried beans she’d brought out from the oaken barrel in the pantry down on the table top. From the braid of onions that hung near the stove she selected three of the bigger ones, bringing them and her knife and a cutting board over to the table, too.

She was just about to begin peeling and chopping the onions when she noted the kitchen door seemed to be closing by itself . . . and sighing, too!

Had the Elven lady enchanted it, she wondered, her brow furrowed. But no, the slender fingers of a real hand were slipping from round the door.

‘You!’ she called loudly, walking quickly to the door. ‘Get yourself in here, why don’t you?’ She pushed the door back open and motioned him in. ‘Tea?’ she asked, getting down the pot from the shelf over the stove. ‘You sound as if you might need a hot cuppa and a ready ear.’ She bustled about getting cups and the canister with the nut cookies.

[Folwren]

The night had been long and merry, and Wren was completely worn out. She had eaten and danced and eaten and played with the children who’d come about and eaten some more. Tim kept up with her fairly well, but he knew that had they anyone really looking out for them Wren, if not also himself, would have been put to bed long ago. He wasn’t feeling tired yet, though, and continued to remain out with the main party. However, after some time of not seeing his sister, he began to wonder where she’d gone off to. He quietly got up to search for her and before long, found her curled up on a bench, just about asleep.

“Wren,” he said softly, shaking her by the shoulder. “Wren wake up.”

“Is it morning?” she asked, her eyes dull with sleep and her voice heavy with tiredness. She slowly lifted her eyelids. “Tim, it’s still night. Let me sleep.”

“Of course I’ll let you sleep, but not here. Come on. Let’s get you to the hay loft where we slept last night.”

“I don’t think so,” Wren replied with a cavernous yawn. She readjusted her hands under her head and closed her eyes. “I’ll just sleep here.”

Tim rolled his eyes, and took her by the arms and hauled her to her feet. “Come on,” he said, chuckling at her suddenly roused fiery look. “You’ll be much happier up there.” He hurried her through the people who were still about and towards the dark barn. She didn’t mind the blackness of the inside, for her eyes were too closed to see much anyway. Tim, having learned his way around quite well that day, navigated them both safely to the bottom of the ladder. He set Wren’s hands on it, and bent to whisper in her ear. “Now go along,” he told her. “I’ll be up sometime.”

“Oh, alright,” she replied, too tired to argue that if she had to go to bed, he should, too. “G’night, Tim.” And she slowly made her way up the ladder to the loft. There she crawled forward, prepared to drop down in the hay farther from the edge and sleep until way past morning light.

It was dark there, and she did not see the sleeping form of the girl in front of her until she had practically crawled on top of her leg’s. Mirelle moved slightly, startled, drawing herself up into a sitting position - and Wren screamed.

“It’s a ghost! Tiiim!” She shrieked again. There was no doubt that Wren was wide awake now.

[Kath]

As Tiliowen rose to her feet the gurgle that emanated from her stomach struck Astilwen as particularly amusing. The previously lithe and agile woman had eaten so much that she was now moving like a heavily laden cart, and the hobbit couldn't help but tease her a little.

"Are you even trying to get your tummy to make excuses for you?"

She tried to keep her words serious but the natural twinkle in her eye was soon noticed by Tilionwen, who stopped blushing and set about laughing instead. Taking advantage of the other woman's distraction Astilwen took her hand and tried to lead her on to the dance floor. Strangely though she found her way impeded, first by other patrons of the Inn and then by a dragging feeling from behind. Frowning she turned, and realised that the latter was caused by Tilionwen dragging her heels in attempt to avoid dancing.

Having learnt already that talking wasn't likely to get the woman to do something she didn't want, Astilwen stood in silence and stared up into Tilionwen's eyes, using a dirty trick she had perfected, with practice, on her mother, who could no more say no to the look Astilwen was using right now than she could go a day without a meal. It seemed to have the deisred effect on Tilionwen as well, for she sighed and reluctantly acquiesced.

"Okay, okay, you win. But all I'll be doing is sway in place until this stops complaining. Good enough?"

"Absolutely."

Astilwen replied with a smile and was pleased to see Tilionwen move ahead of her onto the dance floor. She kept her word though, simply swaying from side to side. Wondering how on earth she could get the woman to dance properly Astilwen took up position in front of her and began to copy the movements. Tiliowen tried to ignore her, resolutely looking the other way. Astilwen exaggerated the swaying, refusing to move either foot so that she was almost falling every time she moved. A few of the younger hobbits nearby were pointing and laughing, and she could see Tilionwen's eyes flicking between her and the floor, knowing the woman knew the pain of being mocked and knowing she wouldn't wish it on another person. Astilwen felt a little guilty for using what the woman had told her in confidence in such a way, but she knew that if Tilionwen would only let go of her worries and her past the night would pass much more easily.

Finally it seemed that her scheming had paid off, as Tilionwen took her hands and stopped her swaying with an amused glare. Astilwen simply grinned and waited for the other woman's attempt to argue her way out.

[Firefoot]

“Of course,” answered Lily. Something had happened to Gróin while getting their drinks, but if he preferred not to talk about it, Lily didn’t want to push. She took a sip of her ale, more for politeness than because she actually liked it. In fact, she did not much like ale at all and would have preferred cider. But once more she did not say anything. She forced herself to take a second and a third swallow before setting the mug down. At any rate, if she drank much more she knew that it would go straight to her head, and she doubted that getting drunk would help in any real way.

Gróin did appear quite eager to return to dancing, and Lily did not disagree. She had too much time to think while standing around, and she did not want to think. Not of the sweet rides through the Shire countryside, nor of the flowers Posco had once woven in her hair, nor of anything.

But when she returned to the dancing with Gróin, she could only feel as if she were simply going through the motions. She smiled as brightly as ever, and her feet were light as silvery moonbeams upon the ground, yet her eyes lacked that special sparkle. The lively song sounded torrential to her ears. She wished that her carefree attitude that had fooled everyone, even herself, would become real, that she could cease to care, but she was too honest for that. She could put on a magnificent show for everyone else, even for Gróin, so attuned to everyone else’s problems, but she could not do the same for herself.

If only her heart could be as light as her feet.

[Huan]

‘You sound as if you might need a hot cuppa and a ready ear.’

Emlin smiled and took a seat at the kitchen table. He watched the Halfling bustle about the room gathering up mugs, a plate of cookies, the honey jar, and a small pitcher of rich cream.

He found himself hungry after his long walk and took one of the nut studded cookies without much prompting. ‘Delicious!’ he mumbled round a mouthful of crumbs. She poured the good, strong tea into each mug and at his nod followed it with a generous pouring of cream.

‘Tis a new thing I’ve learned I like,’ he said as he swirled his spoon about in the milky-colored brew. He reached for the honey and put in a generous spoonful of it. ‘And with good Shire honey, too!’ He took a long swallow of the steaming brew. ‘Ahhhh! Good Shire tea.’ He reached for another cookie.

They made small talk for a leisurely while. She talking about her gardens and the Inn; he about his travels with the little group of Players who were staying at the Dragon. The sort of talk done between people who did not wish to speak of any deeper or more personal things. At least he did not wish at the moment to speak of them.

About Miz Bunce, he could not be so sure . . .

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger burst through the door to the kitchen nearly tumbling into the table where Cook and the Elven man sat. She was all out of breath and had a frightened look on her face.

'Come quick!' she wheezed out, her breath coming fast. She pointed out toward the common room. 'I was just upstairs doing a quick delivery of fresh towels for the guests for tomorrow. And I was hurrying down the hall upstairs with a stack of them, when I heard the most awful yelling you can imagine.'

She sat down on a chair that Huan pulled out for her and took a big gulp of water from Cook. 'Anyways, up in the room where that pretty Elf is staying, the one with the brother here, too. That's where it's coming from.' She looked from one to another. I was going to knock and see if anyone needed help but then I heard the most awful crash against the door and I ran down to get you.'

[piosenniel]

Cook got to her feet an frown on her face. She grabbed her sturdy, oak rolling pin and made for the door of the kitchen. She eyed the Elf with whom she'd been having tea. 'This isn't anything to do with the dark hairel Lady I saw leaving my kitchen just before I saw you is it?'

‘Come on, won’t you,’ she called to Emlin, who’s face seemed a whiter shade of pale as he listened to Ginger. She shook her rolling pin at the stairs in the common room. ‘And don’t you worry none, you’ll be safe with me and my pin. Just might need someone though to talk some sense into the Elves up there.’

[Huan]

Emlin was already on his feet, even as Cook had walked toward the kitchen door. By the Valar’s grace! Surely this wouldn’t be Teluyaviel. Her brother had seemed pompous and cold, but not violent. Yet, here was the little Hobbit telling them of loud voices and the sounds of something thrown and broken.

‘If he’s harmed one hair on her precious head I shall send him Westward without need of ship to bear his blighted carcass.’ His eyes were cold as death as he followed after Miz Bunce, though behind them flickered an even colder fear that they might come too late.

He raced up the last of the stairs, leaving Cook panting after him to keep up. He balled his hands into fists and beat upon the door loudly. ‘Open up you craven coward,’ he called, trying the knob of the locked door in vain.

[Lhunardawen]

Glad that she was somehow able to appease the eager hobbit, Tilionwen walked on towards the dancing area with Astilwen at her tail. She was quite relieved that her stomach was not really as full as she thought it was, as the dull pain that had been bothering her started to subside. But she did not want to risk moving too much yet and end up throwing up - in sight of a lot of people, too - so she did as she told Astilwen she would and swayed from side to side, standing in place.

To her surprise the hobbit began to mimic her, so exaggeratedly that Tilionwen was afraid she would fall on her side to the ground. She tried to ignore her at first, yet she was unsuccessful. Astilwen looked completely ridiculous, truth be told. Tilionwen was about to tell her exactly that when she heard laughter from some way off the dance floor. She froze, and so did the words in her throat.

Her mind slipped back to those dreadful days of scorn, of ridicule, and of shame and fear. Her eyes darted to Astilwen, then to the ground, and back and forth. She knew only too well how horrible it was to be laughed at, and right now her new friend is probably finding it out for herself - only she did not seem to care. And why not? Tilionwen froze again.

Astilwen was mocking her. Perhaps in an attempt to get her to dance, but she did not really care about the reason.

An odd mix of annoyance and mirth welled up inside Tilionwen which manifested itself in an amused glare, and she held the hobbit's hands to make her stop swaying. With a look of innocence in her eyes Astilwen flashed a grin of triumph. Tilionwen narrowed her eyes further, then laughed. She thought thankfully that the swaying seemed to aid digestion somehow; her stomach felt less bloated than it did before.

"Goodness, Astilwen, must you always have things your way?" The hobbit replied with another innocent smile.

A few moments of awkward movements, steps on Astilwen's foot, and the hobbit's forgiving responses later, Tilionwen was dancing like she had been doing it her whole life, casting a few grateful glances at her little friend as she went.

[Thinlómien]

Brith was patting Grayday there at the back of the stables, in one of the darkest places. She wasn't making any loud noise either, her quiet, drunk sobs were too silent to reach over the gentle nightly noise of horses.

So she didn't wonder that she wasn't noticed by the boy and the girl who entered the stables. Though she was tired, sad and drunk, her curiousity won over everything else and she let her eyes follow them.

It was difficult to see in the dark barn, but Brith's eyes had adjusted to the darkness. The boy escorted the girl to ladders and she climbed up. Surely going to sleep, Brith thought and turned her back to the people. At the moment she preferred her own misery to strangers' goodnights.

She was just about to sit down at the floor, when someone screamed: "It's a ghost! Tiiim!" Her heart pounding fast, Brith turned her teary gaze to the ladder and the loft, waiting to see what was happening.

[Salacia Deloresista]

Mirelle sucked in a sharp breath and slowly, very slowly, let it out. A little boy's head popped up over the top of the ladder, and the little girl scrabbled towards him. Mirelle could only sit wordlessly and stare.

The very much awake, very excited little girl chattered away to the boy on the ladder, but he paid her only enough attention to shush her gently before turning back to Mirelle. "Who are you?"

"Mirelle. Who are you?" The words came out as a sort of croak. So she tried again. "Mirelle. Who are you?"

"I'm Tim, and this is my sister, Wren. You new here?"
Tim smiled. Mirelle smiled back.

"Yes," she answered. Then she burst into tears.

[Thinlómien]

The "ghost" turned out to be a frightened girl. Brith sighed, both relieved and disappointed.

She heard when the frightened girl presented herself Mirelle and the boy presented himself as Tim and the other girl as his sister Wren. Just normal, ordinary, boring life, Brith thought. But I don't have even that left, she thought despite the fact she knew she was melodramatic and started to sob again.

But after a bit of familiar conversation she heard a girl crying on the loft. She wiped away her own tears. One crying female is enough for one house, she thought. And though she was a bit drunk she understood that she was old enough to cope with her problems without crying. And the girl was probably younger than she was.

Brith decided that she should help. She walked carefully to the other end of the building. "Can I help?" she asked as she emerged from the shadows. Her eyes red from weeping and cloudy from drinking, she knew she wasn't very impressive. Even worse, she hiccuped.

[JennyHallu]

"We aren't elves; we won't be around forever."

Losse sighed. "Oh I know, but building an Inn takes something I rather consistently haven't got. If I had the money, I would build it tomorrow. Here--" She paused, an absurd, mischievious look in her eyes. "I'll make a deal with you. You become a great merchant prince, I'll help you however I can, with information and the little oomph having a pretty girl along can give your negotiations, and I'll entertain clients for you, and help you with my arrows if you're attacked...it would keep me out of trouble..." she wheedled, in her sweetest voice, trying to seem innocent and winsome, but excitement and mischief shone from every pore.

Farael laughed at her. "And what's in it for you?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Don't be ridiculous, it's obvious, to me at least." She leaned forward conspiratorially across the table. "We'd be partners, Farael. And when we'd earned enough, we could build my inn. You'd be established by then, you could hire men to watch your caravans, and much more beautiful women than I would entertain you. And then...you'll have half-share in the best Inn west of the Anduin. What do you say?"

[Folwren]

Tim still stood on the ladder, his knees resting against the floor of the loft and keeping himself up as Wren leaned heavily into his shoulder. He looked with surprise at the girl who had frightened his younger sister and now sat weeping herself. Then he shook his head with a sigh. Girls were impossible and made absolutely no sense at all.

“Look here,” he said, “there’s no call for this. What’s wrong with you?”

Then, before Mirelle could answer, a voice called from below. “Can I help?”

Tim turned his head and looked down. At the foot of the ladder stood the form a woman. He could not really see her face in the dimness. “Probably not,” he answered. It was too late to bother about sounding interesting or very polite. “I don’t even know what the problem is yet. Say, Wren, do dry up and quit being such a rag. Sit up and get over it.” He half gently pushed her away and then finished climbing the ladder. “You can come up, if you’re wanting to find out what the problem is,” he called down. He turned his attention back to the girl. “What’s the matter?” he asked, and this time, his voice was softer. “Should we go and get Cook? She might be able to help, you know.”

[Thinlómien]

First she was dismissed and she waited. Then the boy said: "You can come up, if you’re wanting to find out what the problem is." Somehow, he had the skill to make Brith feel stupid. Actually, most people had the skill. Brith felt herself stupid very often.

"I - I'd rather not", she said embarrassed. She knew she wasn't in the condition to climb up ladders. She cursed by herself. I shouldn't have put my nose in this thing. Now I only seem more stupid.

"I'll wait here, and if you need any assistance ...erm... from below, I'm glad to help", she said. Then she thought of another thing: "If I somehow disturb you or if you want privacy, please tell me and I can leave." Her voice betrayed a tiny bit of her feelings, though that was what she had tried to avoid. Again, unwanted. Needless.

She bit her lip that she wouldn't start crying. The girl probably had more severe problems and she was younger than Brith was. Her mom had always told her big sister and big brother to put Brith's worries higher in their priority, because she was smaller. And that was actually just what Brith decided to do with that crying girl. Help her, and put her own worries aside. And just then, she had to sound pitiable and attention-desiring.

[Undómë]

‘Emlin?’

Teluyaviel’s eyes peeked through the small gap of the opened door. There he was, indeed, looking angry, his fists still balled from where he’d beat against the door. And next to him stood a Halfling, with a rather formidable wooden club of sorts held ready in her hand.

‘Cook?’

Oh, did she feel foolish now. She stepped through the door closing it firmly behind her. ‘So sorry to cause all this trouble,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t Tindo who was breaking things; it was I.’ She looked from the one to the other of them. ‘He was going on so when I told him my news that . . . well, I’m afraid I picked up the water pitcher and threw it at him to get his attention. Luckily, I missed him, but I’m afraid it shattered in a million little pieces when it hit the door.’ She colored slightly and sent a sorry look toward Cook. ‘We’ll pay to have it replaced of course.’

From beyond the closed door came the sounds of a few curses in Elvish and then a long moan of exasperation. Telu opened the door to check on her brother, and through the opening the trio could see him sitting on his bed. He was bent over and his face rested in his hands. He was shaking it, all the while murmuring, ‘And now what shall I tell Mother? She set me one simple task and I’ve failed completely . . .’

[Glirdan]

As Gróin and Lily danced, he noticed that he wasn't having as much fun as he normally would. "And I think Lily is feeling the same way," he thought to himself. "We're both trying to enjoy ourselves, putting on a show for others to make it look like nothing was wrong, yet we can't convince ourselves with that mask."

After the next song finished, Gróin stopped and clapped with everyone else. "Well Lily, it was a pleasure to meet you and to dance with you. I had a great time, but I'm rather tired and need rest. I hope that we'll meet again tomorrow, before I depart for the Blue Mountains. Good night my friend, and thank you... for everything."

[Farael]

It started as a smile. The smile turned into a chuckle. The chuckle into laugh but it soon died away when Farael saw she was not joking. "Well Miss Losse, you do have a nose for opportunities, that's for sure." He smiled "Yet while your company sure is pleasing and your help appreciated, don't you think it's a bit of an unfair deal? I mean, I only have to get the money to start as a merchant myself, then find a profitable item to trade. After that I must get some luck and find important clients to buy my merchandise... and if it all goes well, in ten years I will have amased quite a fortune. Then I give you the money to start an Inn and get half the earnings of that Inn"

He waited for her nod to go on

"yet I only get half? it sure sounds as if I would be running the most risks, my friend" Farael shook his head in disbelief "If you had at least some money... earned as money is meant to be earned... I'd consider starting up a business with you, but until then we better keep on drinking and dancing, my friend"

[JennyHallu]

Losse smiled with real honesty, disarmingly, pleased that he was taking her seriously. "We're in the Shire, right? Pipeweed and potatoes, Farael! 'Tis said the King himself has a taste for produce from these hills...And as for money..."

Impulsively, she pulled the purse out from the folds of her skirts, emptying its contents out on the table with a loud clanging. She rapidly stretched her arms around the edges of the table, catching the coins that tried to roll away before they fell. They were an odd mixture of mints and denominations, and she quickly grabbed up about a third of the pile, and pulled it toward her in a smaller, neater stack. "These, I stole. The rest is honest. All I had saved when I left. I don't really know how much it would buy, but it's workable, Farael, it really is." She had the excitement of a child, looking up at him from her really rather small pile of coins. It was not an insignificant amount, but not enough, by itself, to jump-start any venture.

[piosenniel]

Cook lowered her rolling pin and craned her neck a bit to see who had spoken so plaintively. Unthinking, she moved nearer the door and pushed it open a little more with the tip of the rolling pin’s handle. She could see Tindomion, now. He looked as if the wind had all gone out of his sails and so sad that her heart went out to him.

‘Here, here,’ she said, sitting down on the bed beside him. One hand instinctively went to rub his back sympathetically, as she had done for her boys when they were in a cheerless, despairing mood. ‘It can’t be bad as all that, now can it? Tell me what’s happened and perhaps we can sort it out together.’

She looked up toward where Teluyaviel and Emlin were standing and motioned them out of the room . . .

[Nogrod]

If this is a game, you should be very careful now. He’s clearly reading your parrying now, throwing the ball back... Well, let me see. But clearly he had no time for this nonsense. Why did he even pretend to have time for this? The giant was looking at him, staring with his eyes questionably. There was also honesty in this pillar of a man, even though it was clouded by much of pretence. He knew it. Why had he been running away from the truth that he would have to learn anyway, oneday? Or would a life led, without the knowledge of the ever recurring question of “why?”, be worth living at all? Would he be a happy senior to die in a bed, not knowing the answers to the questions that haunted him every night and day? This Grimhorn here, son of Grimgor, was his best chance ever to get at the bottom of these things!

Before his conscious mind had time to react, he heard himself uttering “Well, frankly...” There is no going back from here then... Well, let it go.

“Frankly put”, Rían said, taking a look at Grimhorn, sipping his ale to get some extra seconds to give his speech. His mind was going berserk, blood was pumping with record levels. Hope this doesn’t show, he managed to think, and then he was on it.

“Your father, Grimgor, burnt my house, when I was just a little kid. I remember his face. I can see the similarity between you, grin and all. Mostly the grin, and the overall stature. He would have killed us, if we hadn’t managed to escape. They were calling into the night-sky “kill those cretins!” and “one day I’ll have you hermit-fool!”. I heard them well, and I remember them. I’ll remember those voices even at my deathbed – Valar allowing me to have one...” Rían grinned a little, being all the more horrified about the words his lips had just poured out. He took another sip of the ale, trying to concentrate. But for no avail. His mind and mouth together had really decided to flood all the levees’ down. He would be talking now, and he could just not stop it. Everything from the years gone by, kept rolling in front of his eyes. He had no control anymore. All these years of hiding were coming to an end now. How will I stop this?, he inwardly screamed, but had no time to think about it. So he just saw and heard himself continuing:

“Your father hated people who did not stick to his ways, and as a “spiritual warden” of sorts, took the liberty of clearing the Beorningland of everything unclean, not-Beorninglike from his point of view. Your father hated my father, because my father followed the rituals and teachings of Greäw, the one who said to have gained his knowledge in a straight following from himself, Radagast the Brown! I know this is a heated issue, and after considering the sanity of all different claims, I’d just want to point out, that my father believed in what he said and did – and I saw the things he did!” Rían draw breath and leaned backwards. But as there were no immediate hit on his face, he managed to breath out again, and then go for his pint.

The dices have been rolled then... Now where's my pipe? I'll need another go with it! I'll have to come together now. Can't run loose with multiple selfs just now!

[Undómë]

Well, it felt very odd to be sitting there one the bed, being mothered by the Halfling. Still, strange at it was, it was comforting, too. Here, at least, was someone who wanted to listen to him.

Tindomion was in quite a peevish mood . . . feeling put upon on the one hand and dismissed on the other. His mother had bade him keep his younger sister safe on what was to have been their journey to new Ithilien and then return to sail West. An impossible task to be done, he fumed silently. Here they were, only halfway through the Shire and he had failed, miserably. And when he tried to speak with his sister of their mother’s expectations she only shook her head, ‘No’, at him, dismissing his concerns as silly, and shortsighted.

Mistress Bunce sat with her hands in her lap now, quiet, and waiting patiently for him to speak. Perhaps she might help him with his problem, he thought. Talk woman to woman with Telu, make her understand she was being quite foolish. He pursed his lips and slid his eyes sideways toward the Halfling.

‘It’s like this,’ he began, turning toward her and drawing his legs up onto the bed, so that he now sat cross-legged, elbow on knee and chin in hand. Tindo took in a breath and began to tell of how they’d left the havens at Telu’s request. She had it in her mind that she wished to see their kinfolk who had settled in new Ithilien one last time before she went West. And their mother and father, who had always doted on her allowed her to do so, giving the charge to Tindo that he was to watch over her, keep her safe, and bring her back directly. They would all then sail the straight way to Elvenhome.

‘The trouble,’ he went on, ‘began when we came to the Dragon. Oh not to say this is an iniquitous place in itself. But it is an exciting one, with many sorts of peoples, coming and going. And my sister, I fear, became more entangled with some of the . . . well, less than respectable ones.’

He shook his head as he explained her ‘friendship’ with a certain roguish sort of fellow . . . one ‘Farael’. And he thought he had gotten that cleared away with her, when some upstart Elf of suspect lineage, that one who traveled about with the players group, had come nosing about. ‘He’s a very bad influence on her . . . and now I’m afraid she been completely foolish!’


Tindo could see Mistress Bunce looking at him to go on. He couldn’t quite tell if she was in agreement with him or not, as yet, but he thought his next revelation might just clinch it. ‘She’s only known him for less than a day,’ he said, his brows raised as he shook his head. ‘And now she tells me they wish to be wed.’

[Firefoot]

Lily smiled – a genuine one, now, not one of the mask-like ones she had been putting on. “You’re quite welcome, although I thank you as well, Gróin. I have enjoyed your company very much tonight. And… if I do not see you again tomorrow, good luck to you. I hope that you find your love.” And after a few more brief words, they parted.

Alone now and rather at a loss, Lily wandered over to one of the refreshments tables for a glass of cool cider. Then she found an out of the way corner of the party to figure out what to do next. Her options were hopelessly limited: talk directly to Posco (utterly out of the question), talk to Marcho (better, but not much), talk to no one and hope that help came her way (pleasant, but entirely unlikely), or leave (rendering her ride here entirely pointless). Given her options, it seemed that she would eventually have to talk to Marcho and she resolved that if no solution to her problems had been found by the next morning, then she would. She had no need for haste just yet.

But in the meanwhile, she did need something to do, and her thoughts drifted to what Posco was doing inside the inn. He had been in there for quite some time, doing what? Just sitting there? Or had they perhaps gotten a room for some reason rather than staying with his aunt? That could difficult matters. She decided to find out and walked up to the side of the inn, finding a window which she was fairly certain was located in the common room. She peaked inside, hoping desperately that Posco would not be facing this way. At first, she did not see anyone at all, but slowly a pair of figures came into focus. Mussed hair, rather withdrawn position – yes, the one facing away from her was Posco. But who was he with? He looked familiar… Blanco? Was that even possible? Her hopes skyrocketed. If she could talk with him alone, she would surely get the truth, and she did not think that he would turn around and tell Posco.

In her excitement, she forgot momentarily how visible she would be to him, and realized presently that in those few moments the gaze of the one she thought was Blanco seemed to have turned toward her window. She froze, then darted out of the window. Had he seen her – recognized her? Don’t tell him, don’t tell him, come talk to me instead, she silently commanded. She slipped away from the window and returned to her previous spot in the shadows. She would have to wait and see what he would do – if he had even seen her at all. Otherwise… she would have to think of a new plan.

[Farael]

Farael looked at Losse's money and quickly calculated about how much there was in there. "I'm sorry Losse, it is really an interesting sum, but it will not be enough. Not even if we add what I carry about with me. I have no horse nor anything but my tired back to carry along the merchandise, so whatever we decided to buy, we'd need also a horse to carry it. We don't have enough money. Unless..."

He looked around, a mischievous grin starting to form on his face "Unless we find ourselves another partner." He turned around and winked at Losse "If you think you can really help me negotiate deals with other merchants, we might as well get started now. Let's go up to someone -anyone- who looks wealthy enough and convince them to loan us some money." Farael offered his hand to the thief-now-hopefully-honest-partner "What do you say, my friend?"

[Hookbill the Goomba]

"And so we journeyed on," Fáinu continued at last, "the lands to the north were traitorous to say the least. The closer the Mountains came, the worse the land was, steeper climbs, deeper pits and fell creatures prowled the land. I would not like to think what they were, probably the remnants of Sauron's servants, wandering the wild and seeking any prey they can."

Cree's eyes flashed and she looked Fáinu in the eyes. Avalon fluttered in the silence and pecked Fáinu's arm until he spoke on. "There was one creature we came across." he said hesitantly, "I could not possible describe its horror. During the night of the fourth day from Esgaroth, we camped high in a mountain in a cave to shield us from the winds. They were strangely high and full of fell voices. I was on watch at around midnight when I heard something moving in the rocks. Turning around I roused Kili and Fundin, telling them to bring their axes. I looked above our cave entrance and saw nothing; Fundin went west down the track while Kili went east and upwards.

"The next we knew was there was a crash of stones from the east. Fundin and I went to investigate and found Kili hanging over the edge of the path, his axe stuck in the rock with his hands tightly holding the grip. We pulled him up and he instantly ran down towards the cave where we heard the sounds of growling and the drawing of a sword. When we came there we saw... something."

The Elf shook his head and drew a small knife hilt from his pack and placed it on the table with a clunk. There were remnants of the guard and blade, but they appeared burned and black as if it had been put in molten rock. Cree turned away and closed her eyes as the memories came flooding back with fresh ferocity.

"We saw a great, wolf-like thing that was coated, head to tale, in strange armour, bearing the symbol of a Dragon skull on its brow. Its face was not like the face of a usual wolf, indeed, it seemed to have very little flesh and its own skull could be spied in places. The creature snarled and slashed its claws at Cree. So, the three of us rushed forth, swords drawn and hearts ablaze. The beast turned and flew at my throat, but it was stricken down by a blow from Fundin's axe, the armour proved sturdy enough to leave the creature with naught but a bruise. Cree stabbed her sword at the back of the creature, but it turned and bit her blade and would not let go.

"Seeing this, I drew the knife and leaped forth, driving it into the unprotected belly of the beast. I stepped back as it writhed in pain and anguish. Then it leaped upon me and took the knife in its teeth and ran from the place, howling and screeching." Avalon peered at the knife, a little confused and baffled. So you hunted the beast and caught it? she thought. "After that little adventure, we decided to move on as soon as possible, for other creatures may have been roaming those parts, unbeknown to us.

"We eventually came to the Grey Mountains themselves. And a most terrible ordeal awaited us there also..."

[JennyHallu]

Losse shook his hand with a sunny grin that quickly turned to a scowl. "It would be easier to just 'borrow' the money," she grumbled, half to herself. "Not to mention the horse...but you'll never agree to that, will you?" A warning look on Farael's face was all the answer she needed, and she quickly threw up her hands, protesting. "Fine! fine! I'll be good. But it won't be as fast, and it won't be as much fun."

She scooped up her money, slipping it deftly back into her purse and tying it to her belt with the same intricate knot Farael had used earlier. "But another partner means splitting the returns yet another direction." She pouted prettily for a moment, brows furrowed in thought. She wondered what he would do, later, probably much later, when he found out she had never had any intention of giving up her hobby...completely. I'll have to keep my hand in, or I'll lose the skills...and who knows when it might come in handy?

"What about that Elvish friend of yours? She's got plenty, I know, but all her folk are leaving, aren't they? Off into the West and such, like in the old stories. She won't have need of it in the Uttermost West, will she now? Maybe she'd be willing to help us, in honor of your friendship and memory and all that, and if she would, well, she'll have no need of a successful business or an Inn in Gondor, will she? Do you think it's worth asking her?" She paused momentarily, remembering the seeming romance between the two, and wondered if she'd had a good idea or not...but pushed the thought aside. This was the best she could come up with.

[Farael]

Farael almost choked on his drink "Teluyaviel? Well, that is completely out of the question!" Or was it? Losse had a good point saying that she might not need all the money. She was an elf, he was a man. She had found another elf, he was talking to Losse. Ok, she had gotten a better deal than him as the elf was clearly not a thief, but at least Losse was good company.

"Well, I guess we could ask her..." Farael conceded "But no trickery with her, she is a honest woman and I would feel bad telling her anything less than the truth." He looked sternly into Losse's eyes "And no, we are not 'borrowing' even a copper coin from the dark lands while I am your partner"

[Dimturiel]

It was evening when Ravennar finally reached the inn. Tired as he was, he decided to stop, for the night, at least. He did not see any reason why he should stay more, the Shire was not his final destination. At first he stopped short in front of the inn, looking arround him, a bewildered expression written on his young face. The loud laughter, the singing and the dancing seemed to have hit him as bright light would hit one that has been in the darkness for a long time. He had forgotten such things existed. So busy had he been with his own arrogance and his foolish desire to show the world what he was capable of that the simple pleasures of life and youth had been wiped out of his mind.They had no place among his schemes.

Coming back from his musings and realising what he must look like, standing like that, Ravennar shook himself and, with resolute steps, entered the inn and headed towards a table. After he had asked for a mug of ale he leaned back in his chair, gazing into space. No one that would have seen Ravennar then, would have thought that he was troubled by something. His face was calm, cold even, his blue eyes were expressionless. There was nothing in his looks that would show the rage that was inside him. He felt angry with fate, for making him what he was. How could he have been so foolish? How would they laugh now at home, he thought bitterly, if only they knew the plight in which he was. Ravennar, who wanted to prove to everyone that he was the mightiest in Dale, he that was so arrogant that he would not even have a companion for his journey, had almost failed his errand. First, he lost his horse and then he lost himself. And now he was somewhere he had never intended to go, having no notion on what he should do next. Yes, Ravennar said to himself, he had been a fool. And all because some rash words, spoken to him some time ago in a clear evening in an inn not too different from the one where he had stopped now.

[JennyHallu]

Losse smirked to see Farael's reaction to her suggestion, then sobered. "Relax, Farael, it can't be that bad. We'll just ask her, the worst that could happen is she says no. But I'm inclined to believe she's a generous soul. She just might. Do you know where she is?"

Losse rose and began walking briskly across the green to the Inn, stepping straight through the excited country dancers (And spinning and turning in her own brief accompaniment to them on her way through, to loud acclaim from the more tipsy and/or high-spirited dancers), obviously with the intention of going straight up to the Elven woman, whereever she found her, and asking her straightway. It didn't occur to her that it might be more tactful to wait until her companion was ready to ask her himself, or at least had quite made up his mind as to the wisdom of asking Teluviel for help altogether. Losse had an idea in her head, and she was following it where e'er it led, with rather single-minded determination.

[piosenniel]

Cook thought back to the only Elf that she had ever known well. And that one had been a strong-minded woman and sure of her own decisions to the oft-times consternation of her friends and the continued amusement and exasperation at times of her husband.

She looked at Tindomion and shook her head in sympathy. And a wicked smile played on her lips, thinking how his sister’s mettle had perhaps not had the chance to shine forth until now . . . and that it would be most likely entirely hopeless for him to think she would step back and be the malleable little sister he’d always seen her as.

Cook said nothing to deflate his hopes, only laughed, and clapped him on the back, saying she knew an Elven lady much like Teluyaviel and perhaps it would be best if he could manage to adjust his expectations of her.

‘Looks to me as if your sister’s come into her own, don’t you know. Can’t always be standing in your shadow, now can she. Wouldn’t you think she’d know her own mind best, despite what you and even your mother might think she ought to do?’

She eyed him as he gave her a look of complete incredulity. ‘She is your sister, after all. Don’t be such a stuffed shirt that you drive her away from you.’

[Huan]

Emlin leaned out the little window at the end of the hall and waved down to Talan and Gwyn, her twin brother. The two motioned for him to come down, miming that they were wanting to put on a little puppet play for the crowd and he was needed to play his pipe and sing. Rowan and Tolly were there, too, shaking their tambourines at him.

‘Come down with me,’ he said to Telu, taking her hands in his. ‘Come watch us perform! And if you wish,’ he said, lightly kissing the tips of her fingers, ‘you can join in with us.’

He saw her turn her head toward the closed door behind which her brother sat……..brooding, for all she knew. ‘Surely Mistress Bunce will sort him out a little. Come, please. I would have you at my side if you will.’ He stood up and reached out his hand, giving her his most disarming smile.

[Folwren]

Mirelle didn’t answer his inquiries immediately. He wasn’t altogether surprised. It was, after all, rather difficult to talk when you’re crying and you don’t want to be crying. Wren stopped crying herself and sat in silence, but now, when Mirelle didn’t answer, she crawled forward and put her little hand on the girl’s shoulder.

“It’s alright,” she said, in her young, childish voice. “Don’t cry. You’ll be alright here. Cook’s awfully nice. She let us stay. Do stop crying, please. I know why you might be sad. Our Mami and Papi just died recently. Did yours?”

Mirelle lifted her head and looked at Wren. Tim looked on, his eyebrows raised in surprise. Then he shook his head and went back down the ladder as quietly as possible, leaving the two girls to figure out their problems. He was going back to join the party. . .after first talking to the woman who still waited at the foot of the ladder.

“I think she’ll be alright,” he said, stepping down. Something nudged him in the back of his mind. “I say, I’m sorry for being short. She surprised me with her crying. I’m sure you could’ve helped. . .but I think Wren’s got it under control. Do you. . .um. . .do you have a horse I need to take care of? I’m the stableboy here and if you do. . .how long have you been here? Can I help you with anything maybe?”

[JennyHallu]

Lossë saw the Elven woman and her companion leaving the Inn and rejoining the party, and she rushed over to meet them, oblivious to Farael behind her. Teluviel's hands were nestled in Emlin's, and she was obviously happy to be there, which gave Lossë a brief rush of pity for poor Farael, though she shoved it away cheerfully with the thought that the Elf maiden would be better off with one of her own.

"M'Lady!" she called, flagging Telu and her companion down, and rushing to meet them before they were lost in the crowd and bustle. "Telu!"

She caught up to them, and pulled gently on Emlin's sleeve, and the couple turned around in surprise to face her. "My apologies for the manner of my greeting," she murmured, wondering what it was about Elves that sent her all formal. "But I have a proposition for the Lady, and I would present it as soon as I may, so that she might consider it. It concerns the futures of the man Farael and myself."

[Huan]

Emlin gave the woman an appraising look, his brow raised. A smile twitched on his lips for the briefest of moments. His fingers still entwined with Teluyaviel’s, he stepped forward just a bit, looking now to where the man stood, his grey eyes looking inquiringly at him and then back to the woman.

‘The futures of the man Farael and yourself . . . And why should Teluyaviel have concern for that? You do not seem in dire straits. Or have I missed something?’

[JennyHallu]

Losse gave a little half-bow in acknowledgement of Emlin's reasonable question. "My lord, our situation is by no means dire, but it is lacking in certain comforts, and we both have ambitions unlikely to be fulfilled. But Teluviel's future happiness and comfort seems assured," she said pointedly, her eyes on the couple's clasped hands. "What I would ask is really more of a business proposition."

"As the Lady is aware, Farael was robbed on his way here, and his business is trade. And I am under the constraints of enforced honesty, and my business is...well...the Lady will surely remember what my business is. Someday I would like it to be otherwise, and Farael would like his own ventures to repay his effort. We have determined together upon a plan which would allow us both to live our dreams--and we are missing but one thing to make it possible."

She paused, and when neither's manner seemed to suggest she stop, plunged into the meat of the matter. "In a word? Capital. Money is something we have only in short supply, and the Lady, and you, lord, also, if you are interested in the aid of one who would be a friend to you, have in abundance, at least compared to us." A breath--Losse had a bad habit of stringing long sentences together quickly enough she forgot to breath, when excited. "We propose a loan, enough to allow us to buy a horse and cart, and the goods to fill it. Terms of repayment to be settled in further discussion, be you interested. If you are intrigued, I would ask you to join us for a while, and say your thoughts on the matter."

She stopped, a little out of breath, and fixed her eager, youthful eyes hopefully upon the faces of the Elves, trying to read their reactions, hands wringing themselves nervously behind her back.

[Farael]

Farael had had no time to accept the idea that he'd be asking Teluyaviel for money and yet Losse was already on her way. He did his best to follow, but fell behind quickly. She seemed to glide effortlessly through the dancers while he felt like he was dragging himself, each step becoming harder to take.

He had lost Losse for a moment and he felt strangely relieved. Was it as good an idea as she made it sound? even though not as much as before, he was still under the effects of the good ale from the Shire. He hoped he would not regret his words later on, yet it seemed Losse was lost and he was free for the moment. To his dismay, Losse not only had not gotten lost but she had found Telu and her partner. Farael felt a sudden pang of jealousy, seeing them holding hands, but he silenced those thoughts.

Teluyaviel saw him approach and asked him a question he did not manage to hear. Farael was hoping Losse had just been making conversation as him and her had not had a chance yet to talk about exactly how much money they'd need. And there was no point in asking for more than what was necessary, nor it would be smart to ask for less than what they would need. He bowed towards the elves and apologised for missing Telu's question. "I see my -possibly- busines partner has found you before I did. I hope she has as good a nose for deals as she has for people" Farael grinned, trying to hide his discomfort "Would any of you mind telling me what you have discussed so far? we have an interesting offer to make you, should we be able to tempt you into listening to us, my elven friends"

[Undómë]

She has a rare and much practiced gift, Emlin. She is a master thief. thought Telu, coming to stand alongside Emlin. Her eyes twinkled merrily as she looked at the woman, noting with a smile that Losse had placed her hands behind her back. Nerves, she wondered. Or simply putting them out of temptation’s way?

‘Oh, Losse!’ she said, stepping close enough to touch the woman lightly on the arm. ‘Had my brother’s plans gone his way, there might have been no problem in making you a loan.’ She laughed, a silvery sound, like small bells caught in a sudden breeze. ‘But Emlin, here, has no great store of wealth.’ She nodded toward where the players were setting up their puppet stage and bringing out their drums and such instruments as would fill in between the dialog. She reached toward his belt from which hung his small silver pipe in a plain leather case. ‘Here is his wealth. That and his traveling companions.’

She touched the small purse that hung at her belt. ‘And I have only a few coins, and the hope of more quite lost to me now that I’ve crossed Tindomion’s wishes. Of course, you could approach Tindo, be you brave enough. Though I would not advise it. He is not overly fond of Men.’

Farael had come up in a rush to stand beside Losse. ‘She has asked us for a loan,' she said in reply to him. '. . . to accomplish your dream.’ She nodded as a sudden thought came to her. ‘It is a sudden dream, is it not?’ she asked. She laughed again. ‘But who am I to judge that?’ Her eyes darkened and grew more serious. ‘I have explained to her how our wealth has suddenly dwindled. Is there no other way your plans can be realized?’

Her brow wrinkled, she looked from one to the other. ‘What exactly are your plans, anyway? Travel about together, selling goods here and there . . . or . . .?’

And what plans have you for each other? she wondered to herself . . .

[Kath]

"Goodness, Astilwen, must you always have things your way?"

The sudden outburst shocked Astilwen for a moment and she wondered if she'd gone too far. Hoping she hadn't she simply gave another smile and to her relief Tilionwen returned it and began to dance.

It was perhaps lucky that those who had been throwing odd looks their way before had turned back to what they were doing as the first few moments of this new activity were not smooth. Astilwen was not used to dancing with anyone taller than herself, and so it took her a while to adapt to Tilionwen's movements. She tried to keep any cries of pain caused by the other womans foot landing on her own to herself, but was apparently unsuccessful as Tiliowen kept apologising. Eventually though they settled into a rhythm, and danced until exhaustion claimed them

The two women slowly made their way back to their seats, muscles protesting due to sudden overuse after such a lack of it. Astilwen noted though that Tiliowen was now smiling without reservation, and felt that a few sore spots were a small price to pay for such an achievement. Grabbing two glasses of water from a nearby table she gave one to a grateful Tiliowen who gulped it down. Astilwen followed suit and then relaxed into the chair.

"So, is there anything more you would like to do?"

"Nothing that involves me leaving this chair again!" Her friend cried out, looking terrified at the prospect.

"Don't worry, I've got my way once tonight," she replied with a sly grin, receiving a glare in answer, "It's your turn to choose."

[Witch_Queen]

Bad memories and joyous times...

Cree looked at Fáinu, the journey, the adventure seemed so long ago. She was glad to be back with Avalon, she was willing to admit to missing the white crow. Cree remembered everything that happened on the way to the dragon, but after the dragon had been slain, Cree's memory was a blank. Was what Fáinu said true, did the creature curse Cree? Cree remembered all to well the horror from the unexpected attack. She had been asleep but the unknown creature woke her. What sort of creature can bite clean through a blade?

Avalon looked at Cree, the bird could tell taht the elf was deep in thought. THe bird lifted her giant wings, flapping the appendages in the air. Cree felt a gush of wind hit her face. She snapped back to reality. "Are you okay?", Fáinu asked, but all Cree could do was nod her head in response. "Excuse me." Cree stood from her seat to go in search of something to wet he burning throat. After acquiring a mug of ale Cree went back to her friends. Cree placed her mug on the table before sitting back down.

"Avalon, I wished you would've joined us but indeed the journey was long and dagerous. The dwarves that joined us were wonderful company. Every night it seemed as if each dwarf had a new story to tell. Oh I was lucky enough to hear one of Fáinu's stories, he always had a good story to tell when we were younger. The closer we got to the dragon the more Fáinu's hand hurt him." Cree knew that Fáinu's burn some how connected him with the dragon. Cree's mind wandered back to the other nights when the group had almost lost their lives. She couldn't help but wonder what would've happened if she had not been on the journey with Fáinu. What would have changed?

[Hookbill the Goomba]

The memory of past things weighed heavy on the heart of Fáinu as he sat there in the Inn; drinking ale he thought he'd never taste again. Cree stared him in the eyes and all the more, the 'adventure' seemed closer than ever and full of the bitterness he could recall. The unusual beast had left its mark on the minds of all the travellers, Cree not the least.

Avalon seemed to dance upon the table, unnerved, sensing something more was to be said, almost impatient to hear the rest of the tale. "They were a terrible climb, the Grey Mountains," continued Fáinu, "Heartache awaited us, and we knew it well. Kili and Fundin talked endlessly of how they wished to see the Dragon's gold. They had always known the tales of Smaug the terrible and his horde, only hoping that they could have a share in what was in this Dragon's den.


"We girded ourselves and travelled along a stony path that wound around the mountain. The path was old and broken, we all had to take careful steps so not to risk tripping on lose rocks a paving. Kili had the most trouble in this area, as his feet were small and short, his beard got very dusty and he became irritated.
"Oh dash and blast it,” he cried throwing his pack on the floor, “can we not rest a little, we have been walking for nearly an hour.” I told him that we had to carry on, regardless of the terrible state of the path.
Soon we came to some nearly vertical steps. The wind howled around like a cruel bird, no offence Avalon, almost blowing us off at points. We dug into the stone with knives to stop from falling. Fundin and Kili were the only ones who had trouble climbing this; Elves can climb naturally, especially trees and mountains.

"Snow began to fall as we found ourselves higher than ever. At fist it was light and I at least found it bearable. Soon it became a blizzard; lumps of snow would crash into our faces and we would stumble around like blind mice in an earthquake. Cree, who took up the rear, often seemed to be wading in the snow as it got neck deep. I trudged through the snow covering my eyes with anything, my cloak proved the best for this. However this blocked my vision and I found myself on the edge of the path. So I moved inwards whenever I saw the edge, but still it was unnerving.

"We eventually came to a high peak that overlooked the lands north of the Grey Mountains. The Snow clouds were below us and we could not see anything, but there was a black cloud hovering, all too near to us. We found a cave and camped for the night, knowing that in the next few days, we would probably meet the Dragon and our fate. The cave was warm at least, but I not like that, the burns on the walls told us that the Dragon had been there. We found some bones on the floor.

"Kili looked and confirmed that they were Dwarves. He and Fundin buried the bones in the Dwarf manner, refusing to take any of the weapons that they had been found with. Even if they were made of Gold. 'A Dwarf will keep his treasure,' they said, 'even in death, we must honour that.'"

The mention of the bones had unnerved Cree, it was never pleasant to see death, but that had been the biggest reminder that they would very probably have died in the fight against the Dragon. Avalon seemed to have settled down and was sat eating some cram that Fáinu had given her. The cram the Dale men made was second to none.

"So we awoke the next morning," the Elf continued, "and found that they snow had cleared. But the cave entrance was blocked slightly by snow and fallen rock. It took us a while to move it, but Dwarves are hardy folk. We looked down, down into the Dragon Pit that lay before us. We could see a wide basin, black as cole, riddled with cracks and pits, all of which seemed to give out smog that melted the snow. We could see Orcs down there. There were even some Trolls." Avalon coughed and stood up again. "Yes, Trolls. But no Dragon. It was probably asleep, or pretending to be. We girded ourselves and made our way down towards it. The Dwarves said there would probably be a day’s march before we got there. That was little comfort.

"As we marched, a loud roar was heard, like a hurricane filled with fire. A Bright flame leaped up into the air. I flung myself on the ground, as the burn on m hand seemed to grow in agony. Then we saw it..."

[piosenniel]

~*~ GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS ~*~

The Green Dragon Inn is located in Bywater, just off the Great East-West Road.

It is the 4th Age, year 12. By the Shire Calendar it is year 1433 S.R. (Shire Reckoning).

King Elessar is on the throne of the Reunited Kingdom of Arnor and Gondor.

Mirkwood has been reclaimed by the Elves and is now called Eryn Lasgalen.

Paladdin Took, Pippin’s father, is Thain of the Shire. (Thain is an honorary title for the military leader of the Shire. The title has been held in the Took Family since the position was first established in 3rd Age 1979 with Bucca of the Marish as First Thain.) Paladdin Took dies in year 13, and will be succeeded by his son, Peregrin, ‘Pippin’, Took.

Samwise Gamgee is Mayor of the Shire, having succeeded Will Whitfoot in 1427 S.R.

The Innkeeper, in the Green Dragon Inn of this forum, is: Aman – a young woman from Rohan.

Before her, the Innkeeper was Piosenniel, and before her it was Dwarin, the Dwarf.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+

Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

Buttercup Brownlock, Hobbit – not married – kitchen assistant and maid

Vinca Bunce, widowed, Inn Cook (character played by Piosenniel)

Derufin, General handyman/jack-of-all-trades round the Inn; Man from southwestern Gondor (played by Envinyatar) - AWAY AT PRESENT

Zimzi (Zimziran), wife to Derufin; a skilled potter from Lindon(played by Pio) - AWAY AT PRESENT

Meri - Stablemaster

Tim Woodlock - Stableboy; Wren - his younger sister: humans, originally from Breeland (characters played by Folwren)

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+

Ongoing characters from outside the Inn:

Halfred Whitfoot – local Shiriff from Bywater and Postmaster for this area of the Shire; his pony’s name is Dumpling.

_____________________________________________

Please Note:

No 'SAVES' are allowed in the Inn (except for modifications needed to be made by the Moderators or Innkeeper).

With the exception of the Innkeeper and the Moderators, no OOC (Out Of Character) comments are allowed in the Inn.

Only the Innkeeper, Amanaduial, or the Moderators move the timeline for the Inn forward.

Visitors to the Inn will need to read the posts that come before theirs to get an idea of what time it is in the Shire, what the weather is like, and what is happening.

No violence is allowed in the Inn or on Inn grounds.

Please be familiar with the rules for the Inn and Games in The Red Book of Westmarch, the first topic in the Shire.

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About Elves in Shire RPG's:

Please use this description from Tolkien when crafting an Elf:

Return of the King – Appendix F: Tolkien’s description for the Quendi (The Speakers) – the name given to the Elves by themselves after they first awoke in Middle-earth.

“They were a race high and beautiful, the older Children of the world, and among them the Eldar were as Kings, who now are gone: the People of the Great Journey, the People of the Stars. They were tall, fair of skin and grey-eyed, though their locks were dark, save in the golden house of Finrod; and their voices had more melodies than any mortal voice that is now heard . . .”

Please use this as a guideline for describing your Elven character’s appearance.

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EVERYONE

Please be familiar with The Red Book of Westmarch (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/showthread.php?t=10581) which gives the rules for posting in the Shire RPG's and in The Green Dragon Inn.

Thanks!

Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[piosenniel]

TIME OF DAY

It is now a fair night in the Shire; the stars are out.

There is a large party in the Inn's front yard - tables are loaded with food, desserts, drinks. Several barrels of ale have been tapped, compliments of one of the Hobbit brewmasters.

There are tables and benches scattered over the front lawn. Twinkling little lanterns hang from the trees. To one side of the verandah there is a little stage set up for the musicians and a large area cleared for dancing.

[Glirdan]

“You’re quite welcome, although I thank you as well, Gróin. I have enjoyed your company very much tonight. And… if I do not see you again tomorrow, good luck to you. I hope that you find your love.” After a few more words, they parted. Gróin headed for the Inn to check in for the night. He walked slowly towards the Inn, glancing about, making sure that what he saw earlier really was just his mind playing tricks on him. He was frightened yet excited at the same time. "It couldn't have been her, not here. But I really wish it was... I miss her so much..." he thought to himself.

As he walked, he thought back to what just happened when he was getting the drinks. For the person he thought he saw was none other than the love of his life, Sarin. But the probability of her being here, in the Shire at Inn was slime to none. True, no one knew what had happened to Sarin. What Gróin didn't tell Lily was that Sarin had disappeared. She ran away from home to find Gróin and was never seen again amongst her people. Gróin felt terrible for he blamed himself for the cause of Sarin running away.

Gróin was so immerssed in his thoughts that he payed no attention to his surrounding and when he got to the Inn door, the only reason he knew he was there was because he walked right into it. He hit it so hard that he fell backwards onto the ground. A few people close by laughed at him as he got up. Gróin even laughed at himself. "What better way to make new friends then by running into a door." someone behind him said. He turned around to look at the speaker, but no one was there. "But, I could have sworn I just heard someone..." Gróin thought to himself. He shook his head and got up off the ground. "Well, maybe the person who said it went inside." he thought and he pushed open the door and ran right into someone else. "Oh! I'm sorry!" Gróin cried. "I'm just so clumsy today. Are you all right??"

[Thinlómien]

“I think she’ll be alright,” the boy had said coming down the steps. “I say, I’m sorry for being short. She surprised me with her crying. I’m sure you could’ve helped. . .but I think Wren’s got it under control. Do you. . .um. . .do you have a horse I need to take care of? I’m the stableboy here and if you do. . .how long have you been here? Can I help you with anything maybe?”

"Nice to meet you", Brith said remembering her manners. "I'm Brith. From Gondor. I arrived less than hour before the party started."

"My horse Grayday is over there", she said pointing to the other end of the building. "I think he's just fine at the moment - you can of course check him, if you wish - but I'd be glad if he'd be fed and such at the morning." She hiccuped. "I'm not.. erm.. sure if I'm... awake very early tomorrow morning", she added, stammering a bit.

[JennyHallu]

"Our plans were to purchase goods here in the Shire, and sell them in Minas Tirith. It is said that the King has a great liking for the goods of this land..." Losse paused, wracking her brain for some other solution but finding nothing. Her voice showed her disappointment plainly. "And then someday, after the profits from this journey had led to other journeys and more profits, I was going to buy a little land just outside the gates of the city and build a little Inn, like this one."

She exhaled as though deflated, and her hands came back to lay despondently at her sides. "I thought it a very good idea, a moment ago, but I don't suppose it will really work." She turned suddenly to Farael, her grey eyes fixed on his. "I'm sorry," she said, and fell silent. She had really allowed herself to grow very hopeful in a short span of time concerning the idea, and while patience came easily to her in her work--there the prize lay before her and was assured.

[Thinlómien]

If the Valar allow you one indeed. And they won't if you're going to make me your enemy, Grimhorn thougt darkly. Unconsciously, his hand gripped his big axe.

Grimhorn forced himself to relax. The familiar, gentle voice echoed tesingly in his head. That temper of yours is like a teenage boy's, my dear. You should really try to control it, my raging bear. But now it wasn't the time for sweet memories.

Memories. A strange thought come to Grimhorn. This is all about memories and past generations. Memories. How easily they can be altered!

Anyway, Rían was too angry now. To tell him that his memories might have been altered was not the wise thing to do. After he had got angry, there would be hardly any reasonable discussion ever. Ever.

And besides, Grimhorn himself did believe the tale. He hadn't known his father as well as he maybe should have, but he certainly had known his temper.

Grimhorn decided to be honest with the man he still regarded as a lad. "You said my father burned your home and I trust you're not lying. However he didn't do that without a reason."

He sipped his beer. "Without a good reason", he added taking another sip. "And the Radagast the Brown issue surely isn't one."

"Really, one wizard. They are powerful folk, it is said. And I don't disagree." Again, Grimhorn took a sip.

"I hold Radagast the Brown in great esteem", Grimhorn told Rían. "But all I can say about Greäw the Pretender is that he got the death he deserved and not too early."

He remembered the rumours he had heard as a child of Greäw being eaten by bears. A death most unhonourable for any beorning. Eaten by his own kind. Though there were theories that being eaten by sacred animals was a great blessing, but no one had really took those speeches seriously. Especially after Greäw doing what he did. A shame.

"But my father surely wasn't that interested in petty magicians. He was a respected warrior, held in esteem in the society and had a farmhouse of his own to look after. He wouldn't have wasted his time in people pretending to hear or see something that does not exist."

"If he had something against your father, that wasn't surely the petty magician issue, I assure you. And speaking about how beornings are losing their own culture to foreign ways surely doesn't make one a hater of anything un-beorningish."

What was this all about? If we only could contact the spirits of the dead all would be solved. But that right is denied from us and the living ones are left to solve the problems of the deceased ones.

[Folwren]

"I'm not. . .erm. . .sure if I'm. . .awake very early tomorrow morning," Brith said.

“Oh, that’s fine,” Tim said, sticking his hands in his pockets as they made their way absently towards the door. “I’ll be up to deal with all the horses. That’s my job.” He smiled to the darkness, rather proud of that word. “I can deal with your horse, too.” There was a pause. They came to the open air and Tim looked about him. There were still a few people on the inn’s front lawn, but there seemed to be less dancing and more talking.

He turned to Brith again. “Well, I’d better be leaving you. Have a good night, and don’t worry about your horse. I’ll see to him.” He waved slightly as he walked away from her and then returned his hand to his pocket and headed back towards the lawn.

He looked about him, hoping to see someone he knew or could talk to, but there was no one about. The hobbit children had all been taken home - not a surprising thing, considering the hour. He shrugged and contented himself with grabbing an apple and a couple slices of cheese and then headed back towards the barn. Holding his food with one hand, he carefully climbed the ladder to the top, but once there, he stopped awkwardly. Wren was still with Mirelle, and he didn’t know quite what to do.

[Lhunardawen]

"Don't worry, I've got my way once tonight. It's your turn to choose."

Much as she wanted to, Tilionwen couldn't hold the glare long enough to make Astilwen feel slightly guilty. After all, her aching muscles notwithstanding, she had fun. She was not really much into dancing; as a matter of fact, she used to try and avoid the act as best she could. The only time she would completely lose herself in it was whenever she and her sister were alone. Then they would dance like crazy, as if they did not have a care in the world. She recalled one time when they were both having a bad day and wanted to feel better, and they had the house to themselves since their father had supposedly gone to some place. She clearly remembered the indescribable expression of confusion in her father's face when he got back home earlier than he - and her daughters - expected, and found them lying on the lawn outside their house. They were rubbing their tired legs and groaning in pain, yet at the same time laughing and trying to catch their breath.

"What are you two doing, lying down there?" There was a tinge of concern in his voice; he obviously noticed that his beloved daughters were feeling some discomfort. Tilionwen and her sister responded with even louder guffaws and a mischievous "Nothing, father," and exchanged winks. Their father threw up his hands and conceded, then sat down to join the two young ladies.

"Tilionwen, are you okay?" Astilwen's concerned voice suddenly cut into her reverie, which she did notice she was already quite lost in. "I'm sorry if I forced you to dance. You didn't have to-"

"No, no, it's not that." Tilionwen quickly held the hobbit's little hands, looked into her eyes and smiled sincerely. "I had a wonderful time dancing, don't you worry." She took a quick glance at her feet, feeling suddenly ashamed. "Do your feet still hurt?"

"A bit, but I'll be just fine," Astilwen replied reassuringly. "But what was it? You looked a bit...glum for a moment. Do tell me."

Tilionwen knew better now than to keep things to herself, after having discovered the hobbit's power to convince. "It's nothing," she said, letting go of Astilwen's hands and slowly looking away. "I - I just remembered my sister. We used to dance quite a lot together back then. Apparently ever since she died I've lost practice, since I can't recall stepping on her feet too much before." Tilionwen chuckled awkwardly.

"How about you?" she jumped in after a moment's silence, not wanting to give Astilwen the chance to feel sad for her. "Do you dance a lot? And," she smiled half coyly, half teasingly, "have you been stepped on too much ever in your life?"

[Undómë]

Tindomion

‘Stuffed shirt?!’ Tindomion shook his head at Cook and gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Am I to be schooled by a Halfling now as well as my own flesh and blood?’

He was on the verge of sinking into a pool of self pity when his eye caught the half smile playing about the Hobbit’s lips. Try as he might, he could not muster the indignation, much less the anger, it would take to put Cook in her place. He chuckled, the thought occurring to him that perhaps it was he who had been properly put in his place.

‘By the stars and moon! You women must have your way, I see!! And what is worse is that ‘stuffed shirt’ might seem an appropriate epithet for my attitude of late.’

He turned his fair grey eyes on her for a moment. His lips formed a moue of final exasperation. ‘I am all played out with this.’ He leaned toward her a frown clouding his fair features. ‘Mother me for a brief moment, Mistress Bunce. What shall I do?’

[Huan]

Emlin leaned forward, whispering in Telu’s ear as the woman turned round to speak with the man. ‘We are called; we must go.’ He nodded toward where the little group of traveling players had finished the set up of their little puppet theater and now stood motioning for him to join him.

They had saved a little seat for Telu at the front, drawing her to it with eager hands as the two Elves arrived. Rowan gave Emlin a wink as he joined them behind the scenes. ‘And aren’t you the sudden and swift-winged suitor!’ She laughed as his fair face turned a shade paler.

Rowan took up the star-shaped little lantern that hung from a stick and lit the candle within it. ‘Play the song, Emlin she whispered as she raised the star to one side of the puppet stage.

The curtains opened and as the music ended, Emlin’s voice began to set the scene.

Of the march of the host of the Valar to the north of Middle-earth little is said in any tale; for among them went none of those Elves who had dwelt and suffered in the Hither Lands, and who made the histories of those days that still are known; and tidings of these things they only learned long afterwards from their kinfolk in Aman. But at last the might of the Valinor came up out of the West, and the challenge of the trumpets of Eönwë filled the sky; and Beleriand was ablaze with the glory of their arms, for the host of the Valar were arrayed in forms young and fair and terrible, and the mountains rang beneath their feet . . .

The trumpet rang out amidst the trees behind the stage. Figures of light and figures of darkness moved on the little stage. And though they knew how it would end, how, indeed, it had ended, still those gathered about the play called out to those warriors of light to be wary of the Orcs, the Balrogs, and the Dragons and they shivered in their seats at the mention of the Dark One’s name.

So did the story of the Great Battle, the War of Wrath begin, on a fair night in the heart of the Shire . . .


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Italicised quote from The Silmarillion; "Of the Voyage of Eärendil"

[Thinlómien]

Brith had wished the stableboy goodnight and goodbye. The boy, though surely at least couple of years younger than her had made her feel stupid. Most people with even the slicest bit of self-confidence made her feel stupid.

Apart from feeling stupid she felt lonely. Now that she had came out from the stables she didn't want to go back to her horse. She would just have felt more stupid. Besides, she didn't want to disturb the two girls.

Brith missed her friends. Gentle Tendrilla and the lively twins Eleria and Elrigor the most. She hadn't had good company of her age for a long time. On the way, most people were older than her and were driven away by her unfriendly sulking attitude.

And that attitude was the one that was overcoming her right then. She was feeling the world was against her. Last time she had felt so was four years ago, in her deepest teenage crisis.

Though she was tired and a bit drunk, she decided not to just sulk and lay on the ground. She felt that it would have been stupid. Avoiding being stupid was a big part of Brith's life nowadays.

So she decided to re-enter the party grounds. There was still time till dawn and she needed company and friendly atmosphere more than rest. Or, so she thought, making her way slowly to the party grounds lingering outside watching the stars, yawning.

Just before reaching the party grounds a fear overcame her. What if she'd do something stupid out there? Or what if she'd feel even more alone with lots of people around her?

She took a deep breath and walked in, trying to smile.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

"As we marched," Fáinu said, "a loud roar was heard, like a hurricane filled with fire. A Bright flame leaped up into the air. I flung myself on the ground, as the burn on m hand seemed to grow in agony. Then we saw it..."

The elf closed his eyes and placed one hand over his face, the memory was too clear, the sound still rung in his ear. That creature had been his bane and his blessing, but the tale was still too painful for him to fully recall in its entirety. Cree sighed as she too recalled the painful call of the Dragon as it flew overhead, its black wings spread apart like thunderclouds.

"I-" stuttered Fáinu, "I remember little else of what happened after that. We saw it fly over and my hand burned like the fires of a Balrog, I could have sworn that I saw the bandage burst into flame. I threw myself to the ground and covered my ears. It was due to some quick thinking on the part of Killi that saved us, for seeing my anguish; he firmly placed a hand over my mouth, as I was about to cry out.

"Fundin, the older of the two, dragged us all into a small cave and watched as the beast flew over and over. I think it knew we were there, that creature must have brought news back to it." Fáinu thumped the table with his fist; "so much could have been achieved otherwise." he sighed and drained his mug. "We waited till the monster returned to its hiding place before we moved again and my wound hurt less. Cree seemed strangely calm about the situation, yet ever; her hand was at her sword hilt.

"The day passed without another sound from the Dragon, yet still forth from the pit came black smog. We saw that it was beginning to descend and would soon fill all the valleys in the area, Fundin and Killi were little worried, Dwarves, after all, like the dark: 'Dark, for dark business' as Kilo often said. The land was becoming more treacherous, where the Dragon had obviously had some battles, sword remnants were scattered around and blood stained much of the rock. As we walked under twilight, we heard movement in the rocks above us, Cree saw, with here keen eyes, two figures stooping from a ledge. 'Goblins', she whispered to me. As swift as we could, we all drew our weapons and stood back to back.

"After hearing some screeches and laughter, there appeared two Goblins coming up the stairs and three more coming down from the rocks above. They came onto the ledge and laughed in their horrible voices that seemed to make our bones shiver. Cree and I backed up against a wall that was to the right of them and pointed our swords towards the Goblins. Killi and Fundin stood before us, axes in hand.

"'What have we here?' snarled the largest one who seemed to be the chief, 'some elves, and beads.' He spat at the Dwarves and laughed.

"'Looks that way chief,' said one of the other Goblins, 'shall we cut ‘em up for the dogs?'

"'Not yet, Malgrot!' cried the chief, 'We’ll have a bit of fun with them first!'

"'What do you want?” asked Fundin, 'We have done you no harm!'

"'Shut up!' cried Malgrot, 'I’ll stick a hole in your belly, Beard!'

"'Shut your mouth Malgrot!' cried the chief, 'Gelrop, Mogrol, take them to the dungeons! The boss will fry 'em up nice.'

"'Aye chief!' said Mogrol as he advanced upon us followed by his companion with filthy blades pointed towards the Dwarves. I struck first, with my sword, disarming Mogrol with relative ease, and then Fundin leapt up into the air before landing behind Gelrop and cutting off his arm.

"The two Goblins looked dumbfounded at their chief and Gelrop began to cry out in pain. Mogrol backed away as he saw blood drip off my blade and Cree pointing her sharp sword towards his neck.

"'You filthy maggots!' cried the chief, 'Lipnot, Malgrot, kill them!' the next two Goblins tried their luck and failed in a similar manor, but I refrained from removing limbs this time. The chief growled and howled as he drew a long and dirty blade from its scabbard and advanced towards us.

"'Stay back!' commanded Cree, 'I do not wish to slay thee, but if you force us into combat we will not be held responsible for you being marred.'

"'I shall slay you,' bellowed the chief; you filthy rats! Bring your little face to my blade.' Killi and Fundin swung their axes with grace as they had long been trained to in the peace of the world. Without too much trouble they managed to bring the chief to his knees.

"'Flee if you value your foul skin!' cried Cree as she held her blade to the Goblin’s neck, 'take your men and never assail any again!' the Goblins took flight with limping steps. But before they got too far, they all fell with arrows in their backs."

[Dimturiel]

Ravennar had gone to the inn's front yard. He felt attracted to the joy that was there, to the things that seemed in the same time both new and familiar. There had been a time when he too had laughed and danced and enjoyed every moment of his youth, but that time seemed now to belong to someone else's life. What had happened to him? That was what everyone that knew him best was asking. The others, however, were doing everything they could to show their dislike. And now, he thought, now after all this, no one would ever stand beside him in Dale. And he knew well that it was no more than he deserved.

A cool breeze started blowing. Ravennar leaned back in his chair and let the pleasant wind carress his face. He closed his eyes. Maybe he would fall asleep and forget all his worries. Maybe he would awake and find himself still at home. He would renounce his foolish arrogance then, yes, he promised, he would...

[Dairym]

Heather Gorsebloom hovered at the edge of the dancing, enthralled. Bright lanterns cast a cheery glow against the clear summer night and illumined the face of the friendly inn. The carefree folk that reveled there whirled by in an intoxicating stream of color and motion. Heather hummed and swayed with the music, a dreamy smile on her lips. Its merry tune soothed away her weariness and tugged at her feet.

The Breelander half-danced, half walked across the yard. She twirled--nearly colliding with a hobbit dancer--and tripped, falling in a jumble of skirts and unruly brown curls onto a chair and its startled occupant. Heather found herself face to face with a blue-eyed youth not much older than she.

"Oh!" Heather scrambled off his lap onto the grass. "I'm sorry--I didn't see--I mean, I was..." She bit her lip and fell silent, wondering what to say.

[Dimturiel]

Ravennar was painfully brought back to reality. Before he could understand what had happened, before he could even realise where he was, he found himself face to face with a young girl with curly brown hair. She seemed embarrassed as she mumbled her appologies. Ravennar smiled, slightly amused.

"It's allright," he said quickly, "No harm done. You did startle me, but, who knows? Maybe I should have been startled. Would you like to join me?" He looked at her expectantly.

He did not know what he wanted. A part of him wished that he would be left alone, left to be able to sink again in that peaceful reverie, but another part yearned for conversation, for another presence beside him. Loneliness was not the solution to his cares, he knew that. The desire to be alone had actually brought him in his present plight.

[Dairym]

Heather nodded shyly and rearranged herself into a more comfortable position on the grass. She wasn't entirely sure if his smile was for or because of her, but she returned it anyway.

"'Tis a lovely night. I'm Heather--of the Gorseblooms, near Chetwood." She looked sideways at the young man as she waited for an introduciton. He seemed pensive on this festive evening, almost sad. Perhaps he would tell her why.

[piosenniel]

Cook stood, hands on hips, and gave the Elf sitting so mournful looking on the bed a once-over look. “Well for one thing, you can get up and wash your face a bit, tidy your hair so it doesn’t look so wild, and put on a fresh tunic. She turned about while he accomplished these tasks she’d set him.

‘Now my old Gammer always said that if you don’t feel happy inside, your our outside shows it, too. And it goes both ways.’ She looked up at him as he towered over her, his brow furrowed. ‘Smooth out your brow and put a smile on those grim held lips.’

‘No . . . a bit bigger, I think. And let’s see just a bit of teeth. So as you don’t look like someone grimacing as he holds back the contents of a sour stomach!’

She led the Elf downstairs, instructing him that they would find his sister and see to getting things smoothed over. ‘And no grumbling under your breath, laddie! We are going to be pleasant and speak lightly.’ She glanced back over her shoulder at him as she made her way down the stairs. ‘Come along now!’

[Witch_Queen]

The arrows silently and quickly crept through the air until they found their prey. Cree’s memory was slowly becoming clearer and clearer….. The arrows that had killed the goblins came from her and not the others. Avalon squawked, Cree knew what the white crow wished to know. Fáinu looked at Cree, she knew what the two of them was waiting on. Avalon squawked again. “I know Avalon, you wish to know which one of us fired the arrows. At first we had thought that it was Fáinu but he was never willing to admit to it. I knew I had released one arrow but after taking an even closer look I was the one to kill the goblins as they were fleeing for their lives. Goblins are goblins… Even a child knows that a goblin is not going to keep his word…”

“We had no choice….” Fáinu looked at Cree… “What do you mean “we”? You were the one that fired the arrows.” Cree let out a little chuckle. “Your right, I had no choice, if the goblins escaped then they would go back to their “master” and we would have been fried up… Personally I wouldn’t taste that good….” She leaned closer to the table so the other two could hear her. In a whisper she said, “Rotten meat…” Cree sat back up in her chair laughing all the way. She picked up her mug only to realize she was out of ale…. “OH BOY!”

Her two companions looked at her, their faces blank but showed some concern. She turned the mug upside-down, “My mug is empty!”

[Dimturiel]

Ravennar smiled more widely, trying to make his figure more aproachable, to get rid of his thoughtful mood. And he knew all too well that he was more than able to do that. Ravennar had rarely shown what went on in his heart. He could be storming and raging inside himself, but on the outside he was always calm. Only those that knew him best had realised his srategy, and were not taken in by his appearence anymore

"I am Ravennar." he told Heather, "And I come from Dale."


And I should not be here at all, he wanted to say but he stopped. Why should he say that? It was not something to be proud of, not when so many could suffer from his foly. Also, his errand had to remain a secret known only to those concerned. And, the way things had gone so far, it was likely that even they would not know it. No, he should not shout his blunders in every corner of Middle-earth, it would only make matters worse than they already were.Therefore, he continued in a casual tone:

"Indeed, it is a fair night. Fairer than many that I have seen. The stars are bright and the air is cool and wholesome. What could one want more?"

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Fáinu raised an eyebrow. This was unusual. But it was not unheard of. Cree was renowned at Thranduil's halls as a deep drinker; most wood Elves were from that area. He shook his head and drank some ale, but it tastes bitter in his mouth, maybe the memories were having an effect on him, or maybe he was catching a cold.

"The cold steel blade," he muttered, but Avalon heard him and stared into his eyes, "yes, I remember what happened next. All too well." His voice sank and became dark, as he clasped his chest, "We should have known! Those-" he swore, "-goblins and their ways. They had a scout with them that we did not see, he must have taken news to the Dragon, and he knew we were coming... He knew." Fáinu rose quickly and dashed out of the door.

Cree and Avalon followed him, they saw him leant forward over a patch fence. Blood came from his mouth and he shivered. "It burns!" he said over and over. Fáinu looked at his hand and saw the burn return, the others saw nothing. In his mind, Fáinu could see the flames cascading around his hand and fingers. He cried out and wreathed on the floor, Avalon streaked and pecked him on the leg. Fáinu drew his knife and looked to stab the bird, but he stopped, and fell back, his eyes glazing over and his breathing returning to normal.

His eyes opened onto the warm light of the In several minuets later, a few old gaffers shook their heads and spoke of the strangeness of Elves. Cree gave to Fáinu a warm cup of tea and brought some toast, the elf sat up and drank it slowly. "I am sorry," he said, "I fear, this may happen again one day. That is why-" he stopped, "-never mind... I shall continue the story."

Avalon sat up and seemed anxious to hear more. "We travelled the rest of that day and night, seeing no sign of more Goblins, or the Dragon. Fundin and Killi lead the way up a steep climb towards the great basin, wherein lay the Dragon. The climb was a hard one; many of the footholds were far too small, even for the Dwarves. The rock fell apart in our hands, and we were conscious that they made a loud sound as they fell, so we had to be extra careful.

"Eventually we came above the climb and could see a small ridge ahead of us, behind which was our quarry. All we could see at that time was smoke, but we could smell the Dragon, oh yes, that vile worm..." Fáinu stopped himself, "So we climbed on top of the ridge and lay down to look into the basin.

"The ground was black with hard rock, whether the rock was black to begin with or the flame of the Dragons had turned it so, none could tell or dared to find out. Geezers were dotted around everywhere and the land seemed to be a barren wasteland. Smoke filled the air and we had to try hard not to cough for the stench was wretched. The air was stifling hot, and so we took our cloaks off and put them in our packs, these we left behind the ridge, taking only our swords, shields, bows and arrows. The blackness of the land made everything seem all the more dreary and horrid, this was how I imagined Mordor. But this was merely a small jest compared to that land.

"Cree and I went first, holding our shields before us, and keeping our Elven eyes open for anything unusual. But the main thing that confused me was the fact that there was no sound, the land lay in a deadly silence..."

[Dairym]

“Ravennar,” Heather murmured to herself so she wouldn’t forget. It was an odd name, but she liked how it rolled off her tongue.

Ravennar smiled a little wider and seemed to forget his preoccupation. “Indeed, it is a fair night. Fairer than many I have seen. The stars are bright and the air is cool and wholesome. What could one want more?”

“A clean bed and a cleaner conscience--or so my Da would say.” Heather smiled, but a little corner of doubt tugged at her mind. Why had her father let her go now, of all times? Why so abruptly? Was it to clear his own conscience?

Heather thrust such puzzling questions aside and looked up at Ravennar. “You journeyed all the way from Dale?" She could hardly imagine such a distance. "You must have had some wonderful adventures.”

[JennyHallu]

Losse stayed still, quivering slightly, unaware of Teluviel's and Emlin's departure, waiting for Farael to say something, anything. But he didn't, just stayed firm, frozen, not even meeting her now-tearful gaze. With a strangled sob, she shot away like an arrow, running helter-skelter through the crowds of party-goers, knowing she was making herself conspicuous, and not caring.

She fled to the safety of the near-empty inn, knocking into a hobbit and an elf in the doorway, and choking a one-word apology through tears. Uncaring, she pushed on, and found herself in a deserted common room. Eyes burning, she chose the table in the darkest corner and slid into the booth, clasping her arms around her knees and sobbing with absolute abandon, sure that no one would look for her or find her here.

[Dimturiel]

"A clean bed and a cleaner coscience.", Heather had said. A clean bed, that he could obtain easily, especially at this inn. But a cleaner conscience? Now most of all his conscience felt anything but clean. Heather, of course could know nothing of this. But he had recieved so many accusations, even when he deemed himself to be innocent, that he had come to regard almost every speech as an attack. Still, he hid his suspicions, knowing that they were wrong and unjust. He even managed to say:

"Your father is a very wise man, if he thinks thus." But then he stopped. Heather had seemed to become thoughtful when she had spoken of her father. Had he also, unwillingly, touched something that would make Heather feel as he had felt when she had told him about the clean conscience or about the wonderful adventures that he must have had during the journey from Dale?

"I am sorry." he said quickly. "If I am wrong when saying that your father is wise. I should not speak of what I know nothing. As for my journey here, well, Heather, I cannot deny that I did have some adventures, although I would not go as far as too call them wonderful. Not when...not when they have left me so tired."

Not when their devastating consequences weight so heavily upon me, he had wanted to say, but he had checked himself and continued on what he thought to be a much lighter note.

[Nogrod]

This last wording of Grimhorn started to ring some bells in Rían’s mind: “And speaking about how beornings are losing their own culture to foreign ways surely doesn't make one a hater of anything un-beorningish.” He started to have some flash-backs from his memories from the very early days of his life. Something he hadn’t remembered for a long time. He had prepared his pipe while Grimhorn was talking, and had just lit it when Grimhorn ended his ponderings. He took a long inhale of the smoke and leaned backwards again, thinking as mightily as he could. There were just too many thoughts going on simultaneously, one way and the other, to third and fourth way... He was baffled, and tried to ease the situation by taking a sip from his pint. But that was empty. He smiled uncomfortably, and suggested: “Maybe I’ll get us the next pints? I think my head needs some clearing now – and I think yours will too? And our discussion calls for continuing. I’ll go and get them, for I think it’s my turn now. You take this pipe for the time being, as a notion of trust and friendship.” With that he offered his lit pipe to Grimhorn, then rose, nodded, and took off from the table.

This is just madness! Should this be the night when I start to untrust my own father? The one that had always cared of me, who had taught me so much, who even sacrified himself for me? Oh, this is madness indeed! But still he couldn’t ward off the images of those strangers sitting with his father during the nights of his childhood, or those places and people they were sheltered by, when they were on the run at his teen-years...

At happenstance he popped into an eerily frozen Farael on his way to the serving-board. “Farael, how good to see you again! – although I also see, that you are not so happy in this moment.” He studied his just acquainted comrade with some suspicion. “What is it now? Where’s Naria? Or your friend I met when I came in here, I don’t remember his name... or these elven fellows? Or that rascal-lady I saw you with sometime ago” Rían poked Farael gently to the chest, and forced him to look at his eyes. “C’mon man. What’s the trouble?” As Farael still seemed quite absent, he continued:

“Well, as you see, I have a friend there – we have some kinship matters to talk over to”, he pointed to the huge read-haired giant someway to their right. Farael could not help but notice the Beorning puffing the pipe at the table. "I quess our talk is a talk of life and death, but if you insist, I could be ready to turn the subject-matter for a while. I’m getting us the next round of ale. So if you have nothing better to do, why don’t you join us?” With that, he patted Farael to the shoulder and waited for his answer.

[Dairym]

Heather nodded thoughtfully. “My father is wise--at least, I think so.” Loving too, as much as he could be. She could understand that at least.

Ravennar puzzled her. His light talk seemed a glassy reflection that hid dark, troubled currents. Maybe it was the way he sat so stiffly in the comfortable hobbit chair, or the tone of his voice--or maybe it was nothing at all. Heather sighed. She was groping in the dark, and so far had only made both of them ill at ease. It was time for a change of subject.

The perfect answer wafted to her nose from inside the inn. Heather sniffed appreciatively. “Mmm, that hobbit food smells wonderful. In the Shire supper is a cure for all ailments. Are you hungry?”

[Dimturiel]

"I am famished." Ravennar laughed. "I am also tired of cram. You know, the cakes that we of Dale take on long journeys. One tires easely of them. But I should be unfair, were I not to add that it is very good when it comes to keeping you on your feet on long journeys. Yet a change is needed. Wait here, I will bring us both some food."

He left, and soon came back, walking slowly, carrying a tray laden with food in one hand, and a chair in the other. He put the tray on the table, and gave the chair to Heather.

"Sit down."he told her."It is better like this. This is all the food I could bring, I hope you will enjoy it."

He smiled, and for the first time that night the smile came from his heart, rather than being a mere convention. In spite of himself he was starting to feel good and at ease. "Well, lad," he said to himself, "enjoy yourself while you can. Payment for this may come sooner than you think."

[Folwren]

Wren sat with her legs crossed before her, a kitten in her hands upon her skirt. The new girl she had met, Mirrelle, also had a baby cat in her lap, and they spoke in hushed voices. Both of them had ceased to cry and Wren found that Mirelle was really quite a nice girl. She wasn't surprised. Most girls were nice, she thought. She didn't notice when Tim stuck his head up above the loft the second time. Nor did she take stock of him as he quietly withdrew again and climbed silently back down the ladder. But, at the bottom, when he slipped abruptly and fell with a crash against something that caused another great bump and smack, both she and Mirrelle were very suddenly aware of his presence.

They both jumped and the kittens extended their claws in fright. "What was that?" Wren cried, pulling her finger away from the kitten's paw. "Ouch. Tim, is that you?"

Tim lay in the straw and dirt of the barn floor, two buckets almost on top of his head, and another at his feet - one which used to hold water, but now didn't because it was all on him. He heard Wren call down to him, but he didn't answer. He kept his mouth firmly shut for fear of crying. Not only had the fall been entirely unexpected, but he had been hurt, and one on top of the other makes even the best boy cry. He had fallen and his chin had been rammed hard against the one of the rungs of the ladder. His jaw snapped shut and his teeth caught the end of his tongue. He could taste blood in his mouth, and there was a lot of it.

"Tim?" Wren called again. She pushed the kitten off her and crawled to the edge of the loft. Peering over, she tried to look down and see, but all that was visible in the bad light was Tim's white shirt, and almost as white face. "What are you doing? Are you alright?"

There was a rather lengthy pause, and then he rasped out a gruff and hoarse - "No."

"What's wrong?" Her voice was sharp with sudden anxiety (she was just a little girl and thought some great damage could have been done). He raised his hand and gingerly touched his face.

"My tongue's nearly bit off and my nose is bleeding." He spoke with difficulty now. It hurt horribly and he blicked back tears of pain.

"Oh, no! You're tongue's gone? Get Cook, Tim! No, you stay there, I'll get her!" She scrambled for the ladder and before he had quite gathered his wits, she reached the ground. He tried to speak, but even if he could have clearly, she wasn't listening. She fled out the door and across the lawn, blindly and without care or notice she ran through the inn yard and the guests standing therein and in through the front door. She barged into the kitchen, but finding no one there, she barged back out and looked about her in desparation. But at that moment, the hobbit she was in search for entered the Common Room from the stair way, followed by an elf. Wren hardly saw the second person as she darted forward.

"Oh, Cook, there's been a horrible accident or something! Tim fell off the ladder to the loft and bit off his tongue! He said he did, and his nose is bleeding to. And he's crying. He didn't say he was, but I know it." How Tim was supposed to have told her his injuries without a tongue, Wren really didn't stop to think about. It was too late to be so technical anyway. She was sure that it was serious and she was equally sure that Cook would agree with her completely.

[Undómë]

Tindomion


The Elf stared at the distraught girl from behind Cook. Not that it mattered that he stood behind her. Though a Hobbit of some substance, still she was quite tiny in comparison to him and he towered over her like some tall beech tree over a modest little rose bush.

‘I’ll come with you,’ he whispered, leaning down close to her ear. ‘I’m not going to face my sister and her . . . intended . . . without you. And besides, I think I might be of some help.’

He ran upstairs quickly to retrieve something from his room, and was back in a trice.

[piosenniel]

‘Bit his tongue clean off, did he?’ Cook raised one brow at Wren as she went on. ‘And he told you that, eh? The boy’s a nine day wonder!’ She called for one of the servers still in the common room to run down to the cellar and fetch a fist sized piece of ice from the lead lined box. He was to bring it to the stable quick as lightning she instructed him.

‘Now you come with me, Miss Wren, to the kitchen. We’ll just get my box with salves and herb powders and such.’ The girl and the Tindo kept well on her heels as she scurried into the kitchen. She let the Elf carry the wooden chest while to Wren she handed a cup and several clean linen napkins from the table linen shelves.

Now wounds to the tongue do bleed freely, so Cook was not surprised to see Tim’s shirt front covered in blood. She looked toward Wren, hoping the girl was not the fainting sort. She seemed steady enough, but Cook asked her to fetch some cool clean water from the pump while she inspected Tim’s bruises, lumps, and wounds.

‘The nose isn’t broken – that’s good.’ She gently prodded at it, all the while talking to him. ‘Probably have a black eye to go with it.’ She took his right hand and made him pinch the bridge of his nose firmly to slow the trickle.

‘Now that’s a good lad,’ she went on, tipping his chin up and looking at the cut on his chin. ‘Won’t that be a handsome bruise,’ she said, dabbing it gently with a cloth dipped into the bucket Wren had run in with. ‘Not too deep, but you might have a scar from it.’ She smiled at him, thinking how in later years young women would find such a scar most intriguing.

She took the ice the server had brought in and bundled it in two of the napkins. ‘You hold this to your cheek and eye with your other hand, Tim. And open your mouth please and let me see that tongue.’

‘Ah hah . . .’ and ‘hmmm . . .’ she said, making him hold it up so she could see the underside. ‘Wren, give me a mug of cool water and Tindo that twist of blue colored paper in the chest – there on the right side. Can you give it to me?’

Cook poured a few sprinkles of the powder into the mug. His nose by then had stopped bleeding. She placed the mug in his right hand and bade Tim take a swig, swish it around his mouth and spit it into one of the empty buckets near him. It was slightly astringent and though it would keep the deep bite from becoming infected she knew it might be hard for him to keep it in his mouth for long while it took effect. ‘Count to fifty, Tim,’ she instructed him, ‘so the remedy can take hold.’

[Folwren]

Fifty seconds! Tim said to himself. The wash was bitter and his face screwed up at it. But after the first sting it had caused to his poor, mangled tongue, it soothed the sharp pain and he decided to try to keep it for as long as Cook directed. All the while, though, he kept shooting dark glances (that weren't seen because of the darkness of the barn itself) at his sister. It was entirely unecessary, he thought, for all this fuss to be made about him.

Nonetheless, his hand clutched the ice to his face as the doctoring hobbit instructed him. He had acquired a fierce headache in the few minutes between Wren's departure and the rescue parties return. He looked up for the first time at the elf who had followed Cook out. He had been aware of his presence, but hadn't hardly dared to look at him. Elves were few and rarely seen in Bree, or at least where he had lived in Bree, but he had heard great things about elves and he had no doubt that every elf in the world, so long as it was a he, would have seen great and terrible wars, known many secrets, both dark and light, of the past, and been so wise that he could answer every question. Tim never bothered his head about the girl elves, and he probably would haven't have been half as awed by the presence of this one if it had been Tindomion's sister instead of Tindomion.

He finished the counting and spit the nasty remedy into the waiting bucket. Cook thankfully had a cup of clean water ready for him when he finished and he took it carefully, though gratefully, in his free hand and rinsed his mouth again.

"Am I goi'g to be alrigh'?" he asked clusmily, looking back at Cook.