The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[piosenniel]

The rainstorm is clearing away; the the evening skies remain overcast.

'Tis a bit chilly with the breeze blowing from the west. It whistles down the Inn chimneys, making the flames in the fireplace dance and waver wildly.

There's a good crowd in the Common Room and the tasty scent of chicken stew and fresh bread coming from the kitchen.

Supper will soon be served.

[starkat]

Gwenneth caught a glimpse of Aman out of the corner of her eye and walked up to her. She set the small boquet next to the innkeeper and headed off to meat Ginger.

I hope I am not too late. I would really like to help. Not seeing her Hobbit firend anywhere, the young elf maid headed for the kitchen. I hope Cook does not get mad at me. Gwenneth knocked on the door and peeked inside.

[Lalwendë]

Jinniver, whose face had softened into tears when Pegram made his cutting speech, began to smile when the two Hobbit lads knocked the contents of the pitcher onto him. She hid her face as best she could beneath her old shawl, her cheeks reddening with suppressed mirth.

Pegram, who had been studiously ignoring the two lads until he got his early, and rather sticky, bath, now pushed his chair back in horror. He drew himself up to his full height but the lads were gone before he could get to them. “Why”, he thought. “I ought to wring their impudent necks for this.” But no words of anger came from his mouth, as he caught sight of his sister, obviously trying to hide her mirth. He was, in quick succession, angry, embarrassed, and finally, hurt.

He made an attempt to brush the dark glutinous ale from his breeches; there was little he could do about the shirt, so he pulled his cloak across the stained area. Feeling the eyes of the other man watching him, he sat back down quietly and attempted a forced smile.

“Of course,” he said, after clearing his throat. “It is to be remembered that Jinniver is a fine nursery woman. A fine woman. And I find it fitting that she has been taken to the hearts of the folk around here.” His words were addressed to the wall, as he could not and would not look anyone in the eye. His nose twitched with hurt pride.

Jinniver felt a little worried after what had happened. Much as she hated her brother’s high handed way with her, she did not like to see anyone’s feelings hurt, not even his. But she was grateful for the moment of peace which the mishap had brought to her. Finally gathering her thoughts after his surprise arrival, she wondered whether he would insist that she come home again, and what she would say to that. This was something she would never consent to, and as she knew it might involve something of a fight, she determined to construct her words carefully.

She kept the shawl over her face and watched him over the top of it, her pale eyes bright, yet a little misty as she thought of the fight she felt sure would be coming. Why her brother could not simply let her be was beyond her. So she may have been foolish when she was young; this she knew all too well, but wasn’t she grown since then? And the world changed?

Pegram’s irritation with his sister’s behaviour began to grow again, and he glowered as he sat facing the wall, thinking about how she was behaving. She was not even dressed appropriately, and was even drinking, in the common room of a tavern. The least she could do was seek a private parlour where a woman might sit respectably.

He had suspected this from the moment he received the letter that very morning. He had been at the farm, arranging an early morning delivery for their father, and had intercepted the messenger. As soon as he noticed her lodgings were in a tavern, he had saddled up his horse and ridden off as fast as he could go, dropping the letter into his father’s surprised hands. There was no way Pegram would even contemplate any risk to his sister, not since what had happened to her. Unable to articulate what he felt, he turned his head towards her, with a look of contempt.

[Envinyatar]

The man was angry and indignant, Derufin could see. But not just from the foolish antics of the two Hobbits. Though, he has every right to be thought Derufin, shaking his head in disapproval of Ferrin and Fallon’s handling of Pegram’s comments. Most of the man’s resentments seemed to focus on his sister. Derufin, having listened to him and watched his actions, did not feel her to be in physical danger. And she seemed capable enough, resolved enough, to take care of the verbal assaults herself.

‘Glad to have met a member of Jinniver’s family,’ Derufin said, rising from his chair and nodding courteously at both of them. ‘I’ll take my leave of you good folk, if I may.’ Both pairs of eyes were on him, and Jinniver nodded back. ‘I’ll see you, then, tomorrow, Jinniver. And I’ll have the lads rounded up to help you.’

He hurried to the kitchen, calling out for Cook. She and Ginger stood near the stove looking down at something – a cat. The feline had apparently finished eating and now rubbed itself against Cook’s ankles as she stirred the stew pot. He grinned seeing her smile of pleasure at a meal well appreciated. Derufin watched as the cat exited the kitchen, soft paws padding across the floor in a determined manner.

‘New mouser?’ he asked, sidling up to Cook and looking longingly at the rich concoction of chicken and taters and vegetables. Cook hmmmmphd in mock irritation and gave him a generous taste from the stirring spoon. He winked at Ginger who was just starting to slice up the bread in thick chunks for the baskets on the table. ‘I was just wondering,’ he began. ‘No, hoping, really, that you could see your way to filling a small crock with some of the stew and letting me have a loaf of bread to go with it.’

‘A whole crock?’ asked Cook, eyeing Derufin’s tall, lithe frame. She poked him in the side, cocking an eyebrow up at him. ‘You intend to eat this all yourself,’ she went on. ‘Wouldn’t want to see it go to waste.’ She fetched a small pot with a tight fitting lid and began ladling the stew into it. Ginger, at a nod from Cook, wrapped one of the crusty, whole loaves in a clean towel to go with it. Derufin had opened one of the cupboards and found the plates of cookies put away for dessert. ‘How about a few of these?’ he asked. ‘Best spice and raising cookies in the Shire,’ he added, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek as a large handful found its way onto a clean napkin for transport.

‘Now, none of that buttering me up,’ sputtered Cook, adding a small jar of strawberry jam into the lidded basket she had gotten out to put the pot, bread, and cookies in. ‘Mind you don’t get that bread wet if the rain starts up. Put it under your cloak.’ He gave her another peck on the opposite cheek and fairly ran out the back door.

‘Where’s he going off to,’ asked Ginger as Cook closed the door behind him. Cook shook her head, chuckling as she walked back to the table to help with the bread. ‘Gone off to see his lady love . . . Mistress Zimzi. Going to bribe old Amaranthas into letting him spend some time with her, I reckon. Lucky for him the old lady is quite fond of my chicken stew.’

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger laughed at the man’s antics. There were few who could ‘get round’ Cook she thought, but he seemed to be one of them. The two of them were just finishing up the baskets of bread when Gwenneth peeked in through the kitchen doors. Ginger’s eyes brightened and she smiled at her friend, motioning for her to come in.

‘Here’s the one who made you that pretty bouquet, Cook,’ she chirped, pushing Gwenneth forward. Cook thanked the Elven maid and offered her a chair while they worked.

‘Oh, I don’t think she’ll be needing a chair, Miz Bunce,’ laughed Ginger. Cook looked at the two of them, awaiting an explanation.

‘Gwenneth wants to help out. She’s already helped in the gardens, and I thought maybe she could help me with serving the meal tonight.’ The Elf nodded her head ‘yes’ at her friend’s explanation.

Buttercup and Ruby had come in and begun setting out bowls on the large serving platters. ‘We’ll take all the help we can get,’ they laughed. ‘Why don’t you two take a couple of serving trays and hand round the baskets of bread and butter and jam? Along with the spoons. We’ll bring out the bowls of stew and the mugs. Then you can go round with us and pour out teas or cider or ale . . . whatever is needed to wash down the meal.’

Ginger handed Gwenneth a serving tray. ‘Well, shall we get started, then . . .?’

[Noinkling]

Talk rose and fell in the common room, the rhythm of it comforting him as he leaned forward toward the fireplace, warming his chilled hands. Tolly was from a large family and suppers were much like this at the big burrow in Greenholm – the sharp voices arguing their points blended with others at the table chuckling over some small jest. And still others, talking in low persistent whisperings of their problems. Beneath it all the sounds of mugs meeting the wooden table top as they were set down and the clatter of spoons against their sides as honey was stirred into the tea. Soon he knew, there would be the clack and scrape of cutlery against plates and bowls when the food arrived. And the satisfied noises of those enjoying their meal.

‘And what a meal that will be,’ he thought, sniffing the air appreciatively.

Something savory assailed his nose as did the hearty scent of fresh baking. His stomach growled as one of the lasses set down a basket of bread at his table along with a crock of butter and a small pot of blackberry jam. It was all he could do not to pounce on it. But, remembering his manners, he grinned at the server as he sat back in his chair, waiting for the main course to arrive.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman made the announcement that supper was soon to be served and began taking orders from those around her who called for them, including a comfortable looking gentlehobbit nearby who smiled benignly around him happily. She grinned at the way he seemed generally happy with everything. Tobias was suddenly brought sharply to her mind, and she snapped her fingers at her forgetfulness. She needed to inquire as to what decision Tobias had come to and, more importantly of course for any in the Shire, what he would like for supper.

Making her way discreetly to the study, Aman slipped in through the unlocked door, the question of supper on her lips...before she stopped dead. It was empty. The Innkeeper stood with her mouth wide open in the study door, her hand frozen on the doorknob as she dumbly tried to comprehend exactly where Tobias and Snaveling had gone. She wrung her hands worriedly and desperately checked behind the door. Nope: they were definitely gone. "This is bad..." Aman murmured quietly to herself as she remembered what Snaveling had suggested: that he and Toby take flight from the Shire and from Toby's plight, flying South to the lands of Rohan or Gondor. If Toby had gone with this idea, had gone into self-inflicted exile from his own people...Aman closed her eyes and shot a quick prayer to whatever deities might be listening. Please let him not have taken up this foolish idea with Snaveling...

Closing the door, Aman glanced furtively around the Inn to where the Thain's men had gone back on their pledge and were steadily drinking toasts to just about everyone and everything in the immediate vicinity. She raised an eyebrow. It was unlikely, then, that the trio had noticed the man and the hobbit depart. But by the gods, they had done it quietly!

Trying to put these thoughts to the side, reasoning logically that she could not do anything about it now, Aman made her way into the kitchen as Derufin was leaving, conveying a handful of stew-covered bread to his mouth. As she passed, Aman leant forward and snatched the mouthful before it could reach the stablemaster's mouth, and he gave an indignant cry as Aman ducked past him into the kitchen, laughing and blowing him a meat-and-potato kiss as she door swung shut behind her. Finishing the mouthful hastily, Aman took out her notebook and began to relay the meals to Cook and Ruby. "The Inn is quite busy tonight, quite a fair amount of meals: there are-" She paused, stopping dead for the second time in as many minutes, as a distantly familiar smell assaulted her nostrils over the familiar cooking smells of the kitchen. She twisted in a slow pirouette towards the fireplace and jerked backwards slightly as she saw it's smug occupant. She raised an accusatory finger to point like a bringer of doom towards the mat in front of the fireplace where a cat sat purring smugly.

For a moment, she didn't speak, then she raised her eyebrows and said slowly, "Cook, are you aware that your cat appears to have gone back in time several years and...changed it's coat?"

Cook laughed, half in relief that Aman had not been more annoyed at the cat's appearance, and she turned back to serving out stew from the cast-iron, military-size cauldron. "Ah Miz Aman - no, this is a newcomer. You're all in for taking in waifs and strays, so I took in one of my own. And he seems to appreciate my cooking very well, unlike some," she added, winking conspiratorially at the cat.

"Miz Bunce, there is not man, hobbit, elf or any other manner of being within a hundred acres of the 'Dragon who does not appreciate you cooking." She paused and frowned, giving Cook a puzzled, questioning look. "And as for taking in waifs and strays, what is that supposed to mean?!"

Cook bustled busily, smiling to herself. "Oh well, you know how it is Aman...that nice elven boy some time ago; Snaveling, before he was all spruced up from the West-"

"On second thoughts, no, don't change the subject!" Aman interrupted indignantly, although she was half smiling. She looked back at the cat. "That is not your cat. Yet it is sitting on that rug as if it owns it and everything within a hundred miles of it. There is definitely a more than proportionate share of smugness around that feline..."

Ginger, who had just returned from the Common Room bearing a now empty tray, laughed at Aman's tone. "Oh come on, Aman, what have you got against that cat?" She stooped to scratch the cat's head as she passed, and it's purring increased to such a level of smugness that Aman half-expected it to produce a pipe and sit back comfortably, one paw against the mantlepiece. "Aren't you exaggerating a little?"

"I am not," Aman replied darkly, "a cat person."

There was a moment's pause, then all three of the servers burst out laughing before they went back to their tasks. Aman and the cat eyed each other warily, at a stalemate, before Cook sent Aman on her way laden with trenchers of mouth-wateringly delicious smelling stew. The Innkeeper glared at the cat grudgingly one last time. In reply, the feline simply gave a smile, settled back down on the rug and purred smugly once more. With a cry of exasperation and 'they'll take us over!', Aman swept once more into the Common Room in disgust.

[Arry]

Ferdy hurried across the yard from the cottage to the Inn’s stable. He’d gone back to the worksite to make sure the tools were out of the rain. Most of them had been secured just inside the front door, but a few of the larger ones had been left out. Those he’d piled on the cottage’s porch, snug against the wall, and covered them with a small tarp. Dashing through the sprinkles of rain, he regretted leaving his cloak in the common room. The already cold wind seemed chillier as it blew against his damp shirt.

He paused at the back door into the kitchen. On its little porch was a stiff, bristly mat, placed their by Cook for the wiping of feet. Ferdy dutifully scraped the mud from each of his then opened the door and stepped into the warmth of the kitchen.

Cook eyed him as he stood near the entrance, the door still ajar, blinking in the light. ‘Close the door, lad!’ came the firm words of Cook. ‘And come over by the fire before you catch your death of cold.’ He took the towel she handed him and dried his hair with it. Then held out his arms, turning this way and that to dry his shirt. Cook clucked at him, and fetched a spare tunic she’d just finished darning earlier in the day for the stableboy. ‘Here, now,’ she chided him, motioning for him to take off the wet shirt and put on the new. ‘Hang that on one of the pegs near the fire to dry. You can pick it up when you leave,’ she instructed him.

Ferdy looked around the kitchen, hoping for a glimpse of Ginger. ‘Not here,’ Cook chuckled at his disappointment. ‘Back in a minute, though. Sent her out to help with the serving.’ She looked him up and down, her lips pursing to one side in a thoughtful manner. ‘Come to speak with her, I take it,’ she went on. He mumbled a ‘yes’, his cheeks turning red. ‘Naught to be shy of, lad,’ she said. ‘Mind you might want to get the shirt tucked in. And your hair . . .’ She mimicked a smoothing motion at him. The brass bottomed skillet that hung near on the wall gave a fair view of himself. He tucked the tunic in neatly, then ran his fingers through his mop of curls, pushing them into some semblance of order.

He looked round to find Buttercup grinning at him. She had a pitcher of cold cider in hand which she now passed to him. ‘She’ll be done much quicker with her supper duties if you lend a hand, Master Ferdy!’ She winked at him and gave him a push out through the door to the common room.

[Kransha]

Please do not remove this post space - thanks!

~*~ Pio

[starkat]

Gwenneth smiled her thanks and quickly gathered a basket full of bread and followed Ginger out into the dining room. With a smile the elf maid began making her way around the tables.

Stopping to say hi to several of the patrons had put her a few minutes behind Ginger. Deciding to pick up the pace a little, the young elf almost ran into Ruby. “I am sorry Ruby!”

Ruby waved the apology off with a smile and Gwenneth sighed happily. She returned to the kitchen and set down her empty basket. “What is next?”

“Why don’t you help pour,” Cook said.

Gwenneth nodded. As she did so, loose hair fell into her eyes. “Oh bother.” It only took her a few moments to tuck the loose strands behind her ears and she picked up a pitcher of cider and returned to the dining room.

[Noinkling]

Tolly tied his napkin round his neck, in an effort to keep the new green vest made by his wife clean. Blossom . . . Her sweet face with its dimpled smile floated into his attention followed closely on by that of his little pudgy-faced son and his one-toothed grin. “Home soon,” he thought to himself. “Just a day or two to see to my business here. Then Benny and I will fly home.” The thought of his sturdy, well-fed little pony ‘flying’ made him chuckle. Top pace for the stubborn beast was the quickened trot from path to stable when the promise of a warm stall and a nosebag of oats was the end prize.

The stew was delivered, and set carefully before him. Tolly smiled up at the serving lass, nodding appreciatively to her as he picked up his spoon. He tucked into the rich concoction of chicken, vegetable, and fat chunks of tater all in a savory broth. Mouthfuls of stew alternated with chunks of bread, spread thick with butter and jam.

Another lass came round with a pitcher of cold cider, and Tolly, his mouth full, signaled for a refill. She had just finished topping off his mug, when he’d managed to swallow his rather large bite. “My compliments to the Cook, if you will, lass,’ he said beaming at her. “Good fare, it is!” He leaned closer to the lass as if sharing a confidence. “And just as tasty as any my old Mam served in her day!”

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger bobbed a small curtsy to the Hobbit. ‘Oh, my pleasure, sir! Cook will be happy, I’m sure, to know her stew stands in the company of your Ma’s. But who shall I say has given his compliments?’ The Hobbit wiped a trace of jam from his chin and laughed. ‘Tolly,’ he said in reply to her question. ‘Tolly Greenhand of Greenholm, lass.’ She left him to the rest of his meal, saying in parting that if he really wanted to give his compliments he would call for another bowl of stew. ‘Oh, and don’t forget, there’s apple cobbler to think on for dessert. Made by my own hand,’ she added blushing a bit at her boldness. ‘And clotted cream to go with it.’

She hurried off, then, leaving the happy fellow to consider how he might work in both her suggestions. Hands raised and fingers crooked at her as she passed among the tables. Both her pitchers of cider were soon down to the dregs. She was just making her way back to the bar for a refill, when a large table of local lads called her over, clanking their mugs together as they called for another round. Ginger held up her pitchers, shrugging her shoulders as she mouthed to the noisy crowd that they were empty. They hooted and laughed saying she’d best get back to them soon. ‘Cold cider and a pretty face to serve it!’ called out one of them, causing her cheeks to color at the cheeky words, and the bold looks of the others.

From behind her, came a familiar voice, a welcome voice. ‘Here, now, lads! I’ve plenty of cider to fill your mugs!’ The faces of the Hobbits fell as Ferdy stepped up to the table, then one by one cracked into grins and laughter as one of the lads called out in a resigned manner. ‘You’re no beauty, though. Ah, well, the drink will have to do.’

Ginger stammered out a whispered thanks as Ferdy passed near her, filling mugs . . .

[Nurumaiel]

The fragrant scent of supper drifted to the table where Posco and Lily sat, and both drew in the beautiful smell with peaceful smiles. Posco did not take his eyes off her, for he thought she was too sweet for words, and he wanted to remember any and every moment they spent together, in the case that he would see her again as Mrs. Tommy Banks. He studied her hair, her eyes, her cheeks, her little nose, her smiling lips, and he didn't realise that the supper was being served, until she asked him, with a laugh, if he were at all hungry, and if he would like something to eat. And then he sprang to his feet, bidding her stay where she was, and he was not gone long before two bowls of chicken stew were placed on their little table.

"Is it anything like your mother's food?" Lily asked.

"I have to say it isn't," said Posco, with a regretful smile. "It's very good, and I'm very hungry, but my mother is, after all, my mother, and I can't say that anyone cooks better than she does." He paused in his eating, and watched Lily daintily sip at her stew, and he wondered if someday he would sit across from her every day, or if Tommy Banks would be the happy hobbit who enjoyed such.

"Yes," said Posco, hurrying on, for he did not want to dwell in despondent thoughts about Tommy Banks, and he recalled to himself that he was the one who had asked Lily to give that lad a chance, for it was the best thing to do. "My mother is a splendid cook, like most hobbit mothers are. Perhaps you'd like to stay for a day or two at my family's home? It might be a wise thing to have them meet you."

[piosenniel]

‘Tolly Greenhand, you say? And from Greenholm.’ Cook nodded her head at the name. ‘Didn’t by chance mention why he’s come to Bywater, has he?’ Ginger shook her head ‘no’, saying she hadn’t thought to ask. ‘Well, now, that’s alright; you’re new at this serving business.’ She grinned at the lass and chuckled. ‘You’ll learn, though, if you mean to stay on here, that a wealth of information can be gathered in drips and drabs with quick, friendly little questions as you’re slipping a plate of food or a full mug of drink before a patron. I like to keep a thumb on what’s happening, so I depend on you all to be my eyes and ears.’ She handed Ginger a tray filled with more baskets of bread and sent her out the door.

‘Tolly Greenhand,’ she said quietly into the empty kitchen . . . save for the old tabby who raised one eyelid for a second, then drifted off again. ‘I wonder if he’s come to see the mayor on some business. Distant cousins of a sort if he’s from Greenholm,’ she mumbled, turning the thoughts in her head. Cook pulled one of the big pans of apple cobbler from the warming oven and began cutting it into generous portions. Her curiosity got the better of her and she dished out a bowlful, then filled a small pitcher with clotted cream.

‘Well, now, I guess I’ll just deliver dessert myself to the fellow who likes my cooking so much . . .’

[Arry]

He liked the way she’d slipped him a shy smile as she whispered her thanks. Her nose crinkled at the bridge as she did so and her eyes crinkled up, too at the outer edges. What a sweet face she has he thought to himself, watching her walk back toward the kitchen.

Two or three of the thirstier lads at the table cleared their throats and scraped their empty mugs along the surface of the oak table. One of them, following along with Ferdy’s gaze, was about to comment on what a pretty thing she was to look at, when he saw the look in the Ferdy’s eye as he turned back to pour the cider. Others round the table raised their brows and nodded their heads knowingly. ‘See you at the dance, then, shall we, Ferdy?’ winking at him as the golden stream flowed into his mug.

‘Well, I believe you will,’ returned Ferdy, topping the last lad’s mug.

‘And not with a pitcher in your hand, either, if I have the right of it,’ the other continued. He raised his mug to Ferdy, who acknowledged the truth of the Hobbit’s statement with a grin. The others at the table cried out in a merry manner, ‘Hear! Hear!’ and drank deep to their fortunate fellow.

Ferdy laughed outright and making a mock bow, went back to the bar to refill his pitchers.

[Nimrodel_9]

The door swung open. Keleth, son of Damon, of Gondor stepped inside the inn. He took off his hood, shaking the water from his shoulder length, light brown hair that had soaked through. Slowly he closed the door, then made his way to the bar to ask for a room to stay in. Then he went to the corner and sat by himself.

Keleth had traveled long and far from Gondor, his home. Though he had lived there all his life, he had never felt like he belonged. So, he resolved to traveling alone in the wild. Now, far from his home, he still felt like a black sheep among the white.

[anunsew]

Anunsew was drenched when he came in the inn.
It's warmer here, he thought, I should stay here for the night.
He went to a corner and slung his leather coat over a seat and rested. He wore a tarnished mail and a tunic underneath it. The mail obviously had seen better days. He wore a scabbard at his belt with an unsheathed sword.
I'm so tired, he thought to himself, if I were an elf, I wouldn't be worrying much about tiredness.

Anunsew is a hermit, a wandering human without any home or shelter. He came from indefinite places and have seen sunsets across many plains. He came from somewhere in Gondor, in an insignificant village where he left his home to see things his people won't see int their lifetimes. In other words, he was an adventurous person.

He thought about where will he go next next day, but he decided that it will be decided later. Now, he should rest.

After awhile, he decided to have a tankard of ale. He slung his coat over his shoulder and went from his place to the bar and asked with a rough voice, "What are we having tonight?"

[SonOfBombadil]

Lewis leaned back in his chair, but still never took his eyes off of Ravon. "Smells like supper's about ready," Lewis commented. "Smells great!" Ravon nodded and the two continued talking.

They had been chatting for a couple of minutes now, but Lewis hadn't let Ravon in on the secret. He insisted that they eat first. They had however, touched upon a part of a suprise, unbeknownst to Ravon. It came up when Lewis was retelling a story of childhood days, when he mentioned a name he had been called as a young boy. "Lewie".

[Primrose Bolger]

Anunsew & Keleth

‘Look what the wind blew in,’ said Buttercup, nudging Ginger on the arm. ‘Two of the Big Folk have come in from rain it looks like. And just in time for supper.’

The Innkeeper, Aman, was busy with other customers as one of the men came up to the bar and asked, in a rough voice, ‘What are we having tonight?’ Ginger smiled up at him prettily a she listed off what was for supper. ‘There’s chicken stew, sir,’ she said. ‘And fresh bread with butter and jam. Cider or ale or both if you’re thirsty. Then warm apple crisp to fill in what holes are left in your appetite.’

She topped off his mug of ale, then showed him to a table. His name was Anunsew, he told her as they walked along, a lonely traveler from Gondor. Now Ginger had heard of Gondor. Some large, Big Folk city in the south, she thought. And she seemed to remember the King, himself, lived there. Once Anunsew had seated himself, Ginger fetched him a basket filled with hot bread, a small crock of butter, and a pot of strawberry jam. A generous bowl of good smelling chicken stew came next for the hungry looking man. ‘Now will there be anything else?’ she asked him.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Buttercup made for the table where the other man had seated himself. Keleth he called himself, she found out. A wanderer it seemed and from far away Gondor. ‘Can I fetch you something to drink, sir?’ she asked, saying there was cider, and ale, wine, and water, and tea of course for those who fancied something hot. She rattled off the supper menu to him, saying she would be glad to fetch him some. ‘You look half drowned, poor man,’ she said eyeing him. ‘Something hot would make you warmer . . . pick up your spirits. What do you say to a bowl of stew hot bread to go with it?’

[Witch_Queen]

Airequarë

Airequarë led his black horse into the stables before going towards the Green Dragon Inn. It had been awhile since he had heard about the new splendour of teh Inn. The tall ranger walked into the inn. He figured his brother was there somewhere. After all it had only been a few months ago that he had recieved a note from his brother. Airequarë hadn't seen his brother since the young man was four and Airequarë went to live in Lothlorien for better training in the weapon of his choice, the bow.

All of his life he never could find love for the cold metal of a sword. He liked the bow cause it made him feel closer to nature. Airequarë refused to go by his human name, since he was more of a free spirit beyond control. His green eyes glanced around the room scanning for any sign of his younger sibling. His beard was trimmed short and in the hair on his chin was a small patch of grey color. His shoulder length hiar was still wet from the rain storm he rode throug. The rain couldn't darken the light brown color of his hair.

Airequarë walked up to the bar and asked about his brother. The waitress pointed him in the direction of a table with a man and a woman seated at it. As he got closer Airequarë realized that his baby brother was sitting with an elf maiden. The sight of his brother all grown up had shocked him after all he pictured Lewis always as the little boy he left behind, but now Lewis was all grown up. He placed his overly large hand on the man's shoulder almost making Lewis jump clear out of his seat. "Lewie, my baby brother." Lewis looked at the towering figure before standing up. "My you have grown up already. Why I remember you last as a little boy who refused to leave his mothers side." He pulled his brother close and almost smothered the man in a big hug. He turned loose of Lewis and pulled up a seat beside his younger half.

"Jonathan, you look just the way I pictured you." Airequarë gave his brother a scornful look. "Lewis, no one has called me that name since I left home. Mother doesn't even think of me as the son she let leave home. I go by what Galadriel called me the first time she saw me, Airequarë." The look on Lewis' face when Airequarë told him not to address him by his human name was a look of death. "But if you feel better calling by what you know me as then go ahead, for I am way to tired to argue with you."

Airequarë found himself a mug of ale and set back down with his brother to find out why he was beckoned to come to the Shire. "Now Lewie, why did you send for me? You know the wife needs me. Oh yes I forgot I hadn't told you yet. Well she's going to be having a baby here in a few months. I can't wait for you to meet her. Mother is happy because she is going to finally be a grandmother. After all she swears up and down that you will never find a woman that will put up with you all her life." Airequarë had forgotten about the elf Lewis was setting with. "Oh I'm sorry. Who is this?" He picked up the elf's hand and gently placed a kiss on the soft peace of flesh covering the hard bones.

[Noinkling]

Tolly’s head was bent well over his bowl as he sopped the last bit of gravy from it with a chunk of bread. So intent was he on getting the final splotch of savory stew cleaned up that he did not notice the approach of another server. The shadow of an arm fell across his vision and a hand holding a bowl of sweet and cinnamon delight placed the tasty offering before him. ‘Ah!’ he said, glancing up with a toothy grin. ‘Dessert!’

He rubbed his hands together in happy anticipation and drew the bowl toward him, glancing up expectantly at the pitcher of clotted cream the server held in her hands. A new server, he noted. Bit long in the tooth for this sort of work, he thought, wondering what circumstances had brought her to work at the Inn. He smiled again at her. ‘Might I have a measure of cream, miss?’ he asked, pushing the bowl toward her.

The server poured a generous dollop onto the flaky, sugared crust of the apple cobbler. Tolly tucked into it with his spoon, shoveling a large bite into his mouth. He nodded at the taste and texture of the concoction, grinning widely around it as he chewed and swallowed. ‘Oh my, this is wonderful! My compliments to your cook, once again, miss!’ he said, looking up into the amused face of the server.

[Arry]

Two voices warred in Ferdy’s head as he moved about the tables pouring cider for the Inn’s thirsty guests. He’d seen Ginger talking to one of the Big Folk who’d come into the common room and now stood at the bar. She looked so small in comparison to the rough-voiced man, he thought. He wanted to interrupt them . . . to shield her from the stranger. About to step toward them, his other voice halted the forward progress of his foot, chiding him.

‘Interrupt’! Pah, you dunderhead! Barge in’s more like it, isn’t it? His cheeks crimsoned slightly at the admonition he’d given himself. And besides, she’s no wilting flower to need you standing over her night and day. She’ll think you a great ninny for butting in while she’s about her job.

‘Watch it, lad!’ came the loud voice of one of the Hobbits who’d held out his mug to be filled. Lost in thought, his eyes on Ginger and not on his own task, Ferdy had filled the fellow’s cup to the brim and now it poured over and onto the table. ‘You’ve got my breeches wet!’ cried the Hobbit, taking the pitcher from Ferdy’s hands. He stood up from his chair, knocking it over in his haste and began blotting at the sticky cider with his napkin.

Ferdy stood gawping at the now angry Hobbit, his ears burning a bright red as all in the Inn turned to look at the hubbub.

[Firefoot]

Lily tried not to appear too elated at Posco's invitation. She would like to meet his parents, of course, but more than that, it would be extra time to spend with him. She knew that she had been procrastinating her inevitable return to Bree throughout the afternoon bit by little bit, but she didn't care.

"I would like to visit your home very much," she replied. "I can't wait to see it, and to meet your parents." Exciting as it was, the prospect of meeting his parents so soon made her a tad nervous - what if they didn't like her, or approve? Nothing that Posco had said led her to believe that they wouldn't, but there was still a possibility. Perhaps the only reason she entertained the thought was her recent doubt that her own aunt and uncle might wish for her to marry Tommy Banks and thereby not approve of Posco. She kept telling herself they wouldn't mind, but in truth she was still trying to persuade herself.

"I'm sure my parents will be happy to meet you," said Posco, as if sensing her doubts.

"I hope so..." she trailed off. Of course they would.

She took another sip of her stew, watching him from under her eyelashes. He was not so surreptitious, openly watching her with tenderness in his eyes. She could not help but treasure the look, and everything about him. What more could she hope for?

Something occurred to her. "Posco, is there anything in particular that I should know before I meet your parents? Anything I should do?" she queried. It certainly wouldn't do for her to get into their bad graces from the start from ignorance.

[anunsew]

Anunsew seated comfortably on his chair as Ginger brought him food. He tore a large piece of bread, dipped it on his stew and ate. He was busy munching by himself that he didn't hear what Ginger was asking. When he saw her waiting, he waved her off and said, "No, I don't need anything else, thanks ma'am"

When he finished his meal, a maid took it to the kitchen for washing and mumbled something to herself which Anunsew didn't catch.

Anunsew again fell to his habit of thinking to himself. Come to think of it, he thought, I seldom talk to any body. He sighed and mumbled to himself "I think I'll stay for a few days."

[Primrose Bolger]

‘My goodness!’ thought Ginger, shaking her head in wonder at the man she’d just brought supper to. ‘He’s a bit rough-hewn!’ The only big Folk she’d really gotten to know were Miz Aman and Mister Derufin. Now Miz Aman was quite friendly, really, and easy to be with. And Mister Derufin, well, he was more like a long legged Hobbit. She tucked away her encounter with the fellow for future reference.

She had just stopped to clean off a vacated table when a loud voice caught her attention. Her head turned round in time to see an angry Hobbit, chair tipped over on the floor, glaring at Ferdy across the room. Grabbing some dry towels from the bar, she ran to see how she could help.

‘Here, now,’ she said, running to stand between Ferdy and the red-faced customer. ‘Dry yourself up a bit,’ she said, handing the wet Hobbit a towel. ‘Then come with me, sir. Cook’ll get you fixed up right quick, I’m sure. Go on, now. I’ll follow right after,’ she urged him.

Ginger handed Ferdy the rest of the towels. ‘Best clean up here, before Cook wonders why you’re wasting her good cider,’ she said. ‘The mop’s just inside the kitchen door.’ She tapped her toe on the floor where the cider had splattered. ‘Bit sticky!’ She gave him a little smile before turning to follow the wet Hobbit into the kitchen.

[piosenniel]

Tolly’s expression changed from one of delighted thanks to one of confusion. Cook had begun to laugh, first at his mistaking her for one of the servers, and second for calling her ‘Miss’. ‘I’d be delighted,’ she said stifling back another chortle, ‘to extend your compliments to the cook.’ She poured him a bit more cream for his cobbler. ‘Enjoy your dessert, lad. And there’s plenty more where that came from.’

She walked slowly back to the kitchen, her shoulders shaking with quiet laughter at the situation. Pausing to take a critical look at herself as she passed the shiny bottomed baking pan hung on a peg on the kitchen’s wall, Cook turned her head this way and that. She pushed pack a few stray curls, a bit of grey threading through them, and smiled widely, noting now the collection of crinkles at the corners of her eyes had gotten more pronounced. Cook polished the erstwhile mirror with the elbow of her sweater, and peered in once more.

‘Not bad, Miz Bunce,’ she said in approval. ‘The years have been generous. There’s an adventure or two left in you!’

The cat on the hearth winked up in agreement before settling back to sleep.

~*~

Ruby came by with a pitcher of cider to top off Tolly’s mug. ‘Now isn’t that something,’ she mentioned in passing, as Cook passed through the kitchen’s doors, laughing still. ‘You must have told her some funny joke to set her off like that.’ He raised his brows at her comment. Ruby pointed toward Cook’s retreating back. ‘Her,’ she confirmed. ‘Cook.’

[Lalwendë]

He had done it to her again, driven everyone away. Jinniver felt hot tears rise up in her eyes; she could hold them back no longer. She put the corner of her shawl to her face to catch the tears as they started to run down her nose. Hunched up, she tried to avoid the angry stare of her brother.

Pegram softened as soon as he saw his sister’s tears. He had won. He reached for the jug of stout and poured himself a large tankard full. He did not pass it down the table towards her.

She didn’t want it anyway. “Why do you do it?” she said in a quiet voice, not looking at him, but studying the wall instead. “These are my friends. They are good people. Why do you have to be so…horrible?” She finally turned to face him, her face red with tears of frustration.

He did not answer straight away. He was choosing his words carefully; now he had won, he didn‘t want to set himself back again. “You know why,” he said, softly, with a small and hopeful smile. “I care for my sister. After. You know what after. There are still bad people out there, Jinniver. Bad creatures.“ He emphasised this last word. “You can only trust your own people, you know this.”

She may have finally burst into the tears which had threatened, but inside, Jinniver was not beaten, not this time. The tears were for the thought of the upset her brother had caused to her new friends. She felt their hurt, and what was more, she felt ashamed of her own brother. Coming to The Shire had helped her lose all her nervousness, and she found herself laughing more than dwelling on the long distant past. She no longer felt like the awkward young woman she had felt a few days ago. Here, she didn’t feel sad about the past that had caused her whole future to be cast into shadow. It didn’t matter any more.

Feeling a little braver, she moved closer to her brother, and snatched up the jug of stout, pouring herself a full pint. Savouring the scent, she drank deeply before wiping her mouth with satisfaction. Then she took up her pipe and began to pack it full of tobacco. Pegram watched her with his mouth open, aghast. “What are you doing?” he said in a shocked whisper.

“What does it look like?” she said, bitterly. Then, forcing a smile, she lit up her pipe, puffing out a great quantity of rich, earthy smoke right into the face of her brother, who coughed and had to move his head out of the way.

“I…” he did not know what to say. This was shocking behaviour, a well brought up woman to drink pints of stout and make a show of smoking her pipe. In public. In an inn. He grunted and stood up. He felt as though he needed some air.

[Nurumaiel]

"Be yourself, Lily," said Posco. "They'll love you more if you are presented to them as your honest self, not as a shadow trying to conform to what it thinks they would like best." Her face seemed a little cleared of worries at this, and she smiled at him as she put aside her plate. She had finished her supper, and so had he. The evening shadows were beginning to fall, and each moment brought morning closer. Was it not wonderful that he would escort her to his home, and bid farewell to her only when she went on from Buckland! Morning was not a dreaded thing now, for it did not bring their separation closer.

He stood, and went to her to pull her chair out from the table. Gallantly, and with a smile, he offered her his arm, and she took it, her smiled pleased but her face wondering, for this was not at all like the shy hobbit lad of only several days previous. He felt as though he would always be shy, but in her presence he could not be anything but open and honest, for he had no fear of speaking in her presence. He led her to the door, his face calm, but his heart in turmoil, for he wondered if Tommy Banks would be the hobbit to always have her upon his arm, smiling up at him with love and tenderness. Posco hoped with all his heart that she would come back to him, but he would not say anything, for he did not want to influence her, but let her choose honestly.

They went out into the cool evening air, and Lily's face fell when she saw they were going to the stable. Posco saddled his pony and led him out, and they stood in the fast-fading light, both unheeding of the chill wind that swept over the rolling hills. "I must return to my aunt now, Lily," said Posco, simply, "but I will be here in the morning to bring you home." He bent, and he kissed her hand, hoping it was not too bold a thing to do. "Good-night, my Lily of the valley."

[Rochelle]

The grey mare trodded into town, stopping at the stable opposite the inn. Her head drooped from exhaustion, mimicking the posture of the cloaked figure on her back. A gentle whicker caused the form to awaken, casting brown eyes around before offering the mare a pat of thanks. Dismounting, the figure threw back the hood of her cloak, revealing a cascade of red-blonde locks. Her fairness gave little doubt that she was from anywhere but the Mark, the faraway lands of Rohan.

She tied her mare to the post before stepping into the dimness of the inn. As her eyes adjusted, she quickly moved to a vacant table, slumping into the chair. Her fingers danced around the leather bag tied to her waist, a collection of coins, stones and artifacts she'd found along the way. Looking around, she noticed many happy faces and fervent conversations...

[Arry]

Ferdy found the mop and began cleaning up the spilled cider. The momentary scrutiny of the patrons in the Inn had died away, and most had gone back to conversations with their tablemates. The cider splattered Hobbit, a Master Rowley Chubb of Girdley Island, had come back out, dressed in a clean dry outfit. Ferdy ducked his head down to avoid the fellow’s glance toward him. He was surprised when the Hobbit came over to him, saying that now as he considered it, he saw it was just a foolish accident on Ferdy’s part . . . ‘and haven’t we all done foolish things,lad,’ he said with a good-natured wink, ‘when we first start courtin’, eh?’

Again, Ferdy stood gawping at the man, wondering what sort of wizardry this fellow had to have sussed out the particulars of the situation. But Rowley simply clapped him on the shoulder and nodded toward the kitchen’s door, where Cook’s face could just be seen withdrawing . . .

[Amanaduial the archer]

"Three pints of black stout and a tea with milk, Innkeeper!"

Aman took down the order with a flourish and grinned at the good looking hobbit lad - Andwie Greenhand, a popular chap and always very polite to Aman, although his friends could be quite rowdy when they stormed the Inn at every possible occasion - and winked at him as she raised her eyebrows in the direction of the delicate looking girl beside him. Andwise winked back saucily and, at some comment from one of his friends, laughed loudly and turned back to conversation. Aman grinned and turned around again - only to be nearly knocked over by a young man as he pushed aggresively past her. Rather than turning to apologise, he simply ignored the Innkeeper as she staggered, and kept on walking, heading for the Inn door.

Aman raised her eyebrows but contented herself with glaring at his back venemously then righting herself. As she looked around the Inn, momentarily flustered, she caught sight of a the peddler-woman turned gardener, sitting on her own, her scarf over her face, her eyes following the young man with a look quite as hostile as Aman's own. Catching the Innkeeper watching her, Jinniver looked down, embarassed, her pale cheeks flushing, but even from where she stood several tables away, Aman could see that the other woman had been crying. Pursing her lips, she turned away towards the bar and made up the order for Andwise and his friends, adding to the tray two individual pots of rose tea along with two extar cups and saucers. As a grudging afterthought, she pulled out a pint of ale, then wove through the Common Room back to the young hobbit party table of four and, depositing their drinks with a few jovial comments to Andwise and his friends, she changed course towards Jinniver.

Smiling anxiously as she approached, Aman tipped her head onto one side questioningly. "Tea, Jinniver? And if you don't mind my joining you, I need a break as well - I've been on my feet since lunchtime!"

Jinniver gave Aman and watery smile and gestured for her to sit, hurriedly pulling out a chair and muttering her acceptance of the tea and the company. Aman smiled gratefully and sat, placing the tray on the table. As she poured herself a cup of tea and added the milk, she saw Jinniver glance at the ale and shrugged lightly, her eyes returning to her cup. "I figured your hostile friend might like something to cool him down. If all else fails, I can always just throw it at him." Jinniver gave a sniff of laughter at the comment and grinned gratefully at Aman, before the Innkeeper, after a strategic pause, continued. "May I ask what his business here is, Jinniver? I cannot help noticing that he has hardly been particularly friendly towards any here so far - your own self included. Is he upsetting you? I will not stand anyone to upset one of my staff..."

[Witch_Queen]

Cree

Cree looked around she didn't know now what to do. She was going to be leaving the next day. Should she find Avalon and let the bird know or just go on through-out the night and not tell Avalon. Cree couldn't force herself not to tell the friend she let go. The day had been good to her so far. Now it was time for her to move on with her life and not let the days linger in her mind. "Fáinu, should we tell Avalon that we are leaving? Perhaps she would like to know that we are leaving." She turned her gaze back on Fáinu. The elf's expression was blank. Cree could tell nothing about the elf setting across from her.

It was still a few days until Cree would end another year of her life. She couldn't wait until she was roaming the wild with Fáinu. The last adventure Cree had been on ended up with only failure. She sat there thinking about what the future may have in plan for her. The next day she would help Fáinu end his curse. Perhaps she would find a end to her curse as well.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Looking up, as if awoken from a deep sleep, Fáinu forced a smile. "Do what you feel is right by your friend," he said, "I shall not hinder it." Cree thanked Fáinu but felt it best to await a later time. Cree seemed to see some foreboding in Fáinu's eyes, as if he knew that some horrid thing were to happen.

Fáinu shook the terrible images from his mind, and looked back at Cree. She seemed to be stareing into his eyes, so he closed them. When he looked again she was peering into her mug, though it was empty. Fáinu tried to break the silence,

"I think I should find some new bandages in rivendell," he began, "This one has served me well, but I feel it is time I had a new one." He smiled at Cree, she did not return it, "Something troubles you?" Cree looked up, Fáinu could not quite put his finger on what it was in her that he saw, fear, love, or anger. She seemed to show all trades.

[Witch_Queen]

Cree
Cree's mind was resting on one thing. The last journey she had took. She was with Grimm and he ended up abandoning her when she needed him the most. "Fáinu, the last person I left the Shire with ended up leaving me to the life I know now. I trust you and I know you will not abuse the trust I have for you." She had once loved Grimm but now she feared him and hated him.

She sat back and placed the empty mug on the table. Nothing matter now. Tomorrow she would leave and start a new life.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

"Fáinu, the last person I left the Shire with ended up leaving me to the life I know now. I trust you and I know you will not abuse the trust I have for you."

"I will try not to," He joked, she was not impressed. He stopped smiling and looked away, "I'm sorry Cree, that was harsh." Cree smiled at him and he Felt relief. Two hobbits hobbled past on their way to the bar, they were arguing over who had drunk more, they had no idea what was to come. Neither did Fáinu, he had no idea what troubles lay ahead, how much anguish he and Cree would have to suffer.

"Cree," Fáinu began "earlier you said you would not leave my side. Let me make a similar pledge." Cree leaned froward to listen, "I shall not let you leave me. What ever may befall. Though the fires of Hell burn my flesh, I shalln’t let you go." He hoped beyond hope, that Cree would never have to remind him if his heart became hot with rage. He saw that this journey might lead him thither. He only wished that he could keep his cool.

[Primrose Bolger]

Cook had been most helpful with the calming down of the cider drenched Hobbit. She’d seen to him getting cleaned up and into some suitable dry garments that had once belonged to her late husband. His own, she’d had Ginger rinse out and hang over the backs of some chairs she’d set near the fire. A fresh mug of cider and a whispered conversation between Cook and Master Rowley, with several nods her way, and Ginger could see the fellow had quite come round in his anger toward Ferdy.

Once he was out the door, Cook called the lass to her, handing her a small bucket of hot soapy water and a couple of rags. ‘Might want to get the sticky mess well off the table’s top and the chair.’ Ginger hurried out the door to do as bid.

‘And after that,’ she could just hear the last of Cook’s instructions before the door swung closed behind her, ‘then take Master Ferdy out for a breath of fresh air. I don’t think he’s cut out to be a server . . .’

Ginger’s feet fairly flew over the polished boards of the Inn’s floor. With an economy of motion she soon had the table and chair back to their more welcoming condition. Ferdy had his head hung down as he mopped the floor in a rather ineffectual way. ‘Oh, here,’ she said, plopping her rags in the bucket and taking the mop from him. A few practiced swipes and the floor was also back to its original shape, if a bit damp. She thrust the mop back at Ferdy, motioning for him to bring it and his bucket back to the kitchen.

Cook was nowhere to be seen when they entered. Ginger grabbed the lad by his hand and hauled him toward the back door. She fetched her own cloak from the peg there, and handed him one the other servers used as they ran errands for Cook. Ferdy balked a bit as she opened the door and stepped out, pulling him along.

‘Come on, now,’ she chided him. ‘Cook says we’re to take a walk after our evening duties. Get a breath of fresh air. Then come back for a nice cup of tea.’ They could just hear someone coming up the stairs and into the kitchen from the cellar. ‘That’s her now. We’d best go.’ She pulled her hood up over her curls. ‘Race you to the old cottage!’ she grinned, taking off at a run down the dirt path.

[piosenniel]

NOTE

Time will be moving ahead in the Shire by late tomorrow, Pacific Time, U.S..

So, please try to get your posts for this evening wrapped up.

Thanks!

~*~ Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[starkat]

Tired but happy, Gwenneth decided to retire early. She quietly entered the kitchen and bid Cook good night. The young elf looked around for Ginger, but did not see her.

I guess I will see her in the morning. I have a letter to write to my brother. When she reached her room, she pulled out a piece of parchment and began to write.

Gwenneth wrote of her experiences in the Shire and of the people she had met. As she came to the close of her letter, Gwenneth realized that she would be moving on soon and sighed. I will stay through the handfasting. She signed her letter and set it aside. On her nightstand was a book. She opened it to the marker and settled into read.

[Firefoot]

The corners of Lily's mouth turned upward at Posco's play on her name. Could Tommy Banks ever be so sweet? She wished Posco was not leaving so soon, even though she would be spending much more time with him in the coming days. "Good night, Posco," she answered simply. "I will see you tomorrow, then." With that, Posco swung up onto his pony, his gaze lingering on her as he began to ride off. Lily waited there, not quite ready to return inside. When he reached a bend in the road that would take him out of sight, he turned and gave a final wave. Lily waved back, and then he was gone.

Lily took her time going back to the Inn, detouring through the stable and wandering up to the door. She did not know anyone in the Common Room, and did not feel up to meeting new people this night, though it was her last night there. It was starting to get late, at any rate, and she would go to sleep soon - there was a long day travelling ahead of her.

Upon reaching her room, Lily realized how tired she was. She had been through several emotional ups and downs throughout the day, which had taken their toll. Nevertheless, her thoughts were pleasant when she finally fell into her bed. Good-night, my Lily of the valley.

[piosenniel]

GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS:

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 (played by Envinyatar)

Meriadoc - Stablemaster

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

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.

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

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.

[Lalwendë]

The tears almost welled up again in Jinniver’s pale eyes as Aman offered her kindness and comfort. Sipping her tea and savouring the warmth, she smiled weakly. She did not want to tell Aman the whole sorry tale of her past. Besides she would hear it soon enough now she had told it to Andwise and Derufin. It was this past that had driven her brother to be so protective, to watch her like a falconer might watch his bird.

“Aman, “ she said, quietly, looking the innkeeper in the eyes and smiling sadly. “What it is to have a protector so keen he would wish you to be kept under lock and key.” Aman looked at her with a question formed on her lips, but Jinniver stayed her thoughts. “That is my own brother. He is pompous, he is brash and he is a fool, but I know he does it for love.”

“Yet that is something you don’t need, do you? Your brother's love is stifling your own life” said Aman wisely.

“Indeed, I am choked by his so-called care,” Jinniver stiffened a little, feeling courage as she said the words. “Am I not grown? Can I not find my own way in this world?” She looked down again. “But what can I do against such an immovable force? I even come here and he follows me, thinks I am up to no good.”

Aman nodded, and grimaced thinking of how Pegram had pushed her out of the way as he strode stormily to the door. He was a temperamental man she could see that. “Sometimes,” she said, “Those around us, who care for us, do not know how to show it best.”

Taken by these words, Jinniver smiled a little again, yet it was still a sad smile. “I must find out how I can show my brother that his caring instead causes hurt.”

***

Outside in the cold night air, Pegram stamped his feet to keep warm. He remembered the pouch of tobacco he had on him and decided to smoke his pipe. Watching the little clouds go up into the air, he thought of how his sister had almost come to grief when that southerner had tried to get her to leave Bree with him. He knew what he had been after, not his sister’s affection, but the farm. He knew the man would have come with his gang and turned his father and sister out, or worse. The thought of it still angered him.

But now he felt ill at ease. He had won the argument, but still his sister did not seem happy that he was there to protect her. She seemed to hate him. He didn’t like the feeling, but he was too proud to go back in and talk to her.

***

Jinniver and Aman finished their tea, both now feeling more relaxed. Aman tried to make Jinniver laugh by joking about Pegram’s march to of the inn, and her jesting had some effect. Jinniver now had a wide smile on her face, but her eyes were still close to tears.

“You need to sleep on this,” said Aman, pushing her chair back. “I will arrange for your brother to be found a room. Oh, it will be one of the best, mark my words.” and she gave Jinniver a significant wink as she got up from the table.

[Nimrodel_9]

Keleth jumped, nearly falling off his chair. He must have dozed off. He scolded himself for falling asleep. He was far from home and didn`t dare trust anyone.

"It must be getting late," he thought to himself. He began to consider going to his room, but decided to stay up a little longer, despite his weariness. He had gladly accepted some food and drink from a kind hobbit lass called Buttercup earlier, but was thirsty again.

He stood slowy and moved closer to the tables where people sat. "No this it too close," he thought. He started to move a little further away, and then stopped himself. "Maybe I want to be noticed. It would be nice to have a friend." He pulled up a chair at an empty table and waited for a server to bring him a drink.

[Witch_Queen]

Cree

Fáinu's words lingered in her mind. Cree knew now that it didn't matter what happened on the journey ahead, she wouldn't loose the one she held so close to her heart. "Fáinu 'tis getting late. If we are to be leaving here tomorrow then perhaps we should say goodbye for the night and meet back here in the morning." Cree knew that she wouldn't sleep at all. She waited for the arrival of the next day. Dearest Avalon, I know its going to be hard staying here all by yourself, but it is what's best for the both of us.

Cree looked around the inn and didn't see her old companion. What has become of Avalon? Its been a day since I let her go away and now it seems like an eternity since I last saw her. "Fáinu I'll see you in the morning. I must get some sleep or else I won't be able to even mount my horse in the morning." Cree turned towards the stair case a proceeded towards her room for the night. She remembered clearly the last time she had stayed in that room. It had been months ago and Grimm was there with her to keep her company. But now it was just her and no one else.

Cree opened the wooden door and just waited for the sound of the hinges squeeking, but it never came. Cree stepped through the door and looked around the room. It was just the way she remembered it. The bed was in the same place, just a few feet from the window. The color of the walls hadn't changed and Cree knew that she was back to the world that she loved. The window was open and just a slight breeze was causing the curtains to move. What a lot of sleep I'll be able to get tonight. Perhaps the best sleep I've had in a long time.

She walked over to the bed and placed her pack on the wooden floor. Everything seemed the same, nothing had changed except time itself. Cree thought she heard a sound behind her. She turned only to see that her old friend was perched in the window."Avalon...." Cree's words rolled out of her mouth. Avalon was there one last time. But before Cree could touch her friend, the white crow turned a flew away. I know. I shouldn't have let you go. But you are your own bird and you don't need me to hold you back. Cree walked back to the bed to sit down only to have a tear roll down her cheek. "I'm sorry Avalon." Cree stood up and walked back down stairs. Fáinu was still seated in the same seat. How can I sleep when Avalon haunts my memories. "So you haven't left yet. Perhaps one more mug of ale before bed time?" Cree smiled as she pulled the wooden chair back so she could take her seat again.

[piosenniel]

The dishes were done; the flour and bowls were on the table, awaiting the early morning task of daily breadmaking. The staff had all been sent to bed. Tomorrow would be the start of two days of final preparations for the handfasting. The last of the baking would need to be done; the Inn decorated; the lantern lights strung in the trees about the Inn’s front yard.

Cook set out the baskets for the lasses to gather eggs from the hens in the morning, banked the little hearth fire, and placed a tea pot in waiting near it for her early morning cuppa. Last thing on her list was fresh water for the cat . . . no, she reminded herself . . . cats, now. The old grey tabby had settled into her nest of old blankets near the fire. But the other one, the new one, was still out and about on whatever rounds he’d thought up for himself. She left one of the small windows near the back door open a crack in case he chose to come in.

One last look about the kitchen, then her tired old feet slap-slapped across the clean wood floor and into her room.

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger peeked in the window of the kitchen door. The room, or what she could see of it was dark, save for the banked glow from the fireplace, and the one small lamp Cook left lit on the drain board by the stone sink. It threw out a soft glow, guiding any thirsty person to the pitcher of water she left out near the stack of mugs. ‘Cook’s in bed already, she whispered to Ferdy, who’d seen her back safely to Inn. ‘Best I’d be getting in myself. There’s so much to finish before the party.’ She barely stifled a yawn, hiding it as she could behind her hand. ‘And besides, I’m quite tired really. That walk has just about done me in.’ She threw a quick smile at Ferdy. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, won’t I?’

She touched his arm lightly as she asked the question, wishing quite hard that he would say ‘yes’. He smiled back at her, a quite foolish grin, really, and said nothing. Just bent toward her straight away and planted a hasty kiss on her cheek. He stepped back then, giving her a little wave and strolled off with a light step. Ginger returned the wave, then closed and locked the kitchen door securely. She leaned back for a moment against the door, hugging her cloak tight about her. Shivering, but not from the cold night air.

The old tabby raised a sleepy eye at her, and mewed in an inquiring manner. ‘Just fine – no need to worry,’ Ginger whispered with a giggle; then, collecting herself she took off her cloak and hung it on one of the pegs by the door. With a light step herself, she made her way up the dark stairs to her little room. And it was not long before she found herself settling her head comfortably onto her pillow and falling deeply into pleasant dreams.

[piosenniel]

~*~ NOTICE OF TIME CHANGE IN THE SHIRE ~*~

It is now the next day; very early morning.

The pervasive smell of berried muffins is winding through the Inn. As well as the sounds of bacon popping on their racks over the fire, and the sizzle of scrambled eggs cooking in the great iron skillets on the stove.

Pots of hot tea are being made; bread has been set to toasting.

The clouds of yesterday have cleared away, and the sun is shining brightly as it rises.

[Envinyatar]

Morning came too soon for Derufin. Late into the night, he and Zimzi had talked, enjoying the small talk of close friends. There was an easiness between them, unhindered by their time apart. But night was gone now, and they parted, each to see to their own tasks. ‘Just two days,’ she had told him. ‘And my family will be here to celebrate with us.’ He had leaned in for a little kiss, but she pushed him back with a raised brow. ‘None of that, now! We promised Miz Amaranthas there would be no jiggery-pokery, as she put it.’ He’d made a forlorn face at her, barely concealing a smile as he did so. But she would not be turned from her promise.

With a sigh, and a glance at the quickly setting moon, Derufin took his leave. He stood and offered his hand to her, pulling her to her feet, and close to him. She shook her head and sent him on his way, saying wasn’t there a house to be finishing up for them? And surely he didn’t expect her to live in his dusty quarters in the Inn’s stable, did he? Gently put in his place by her reminders, he watched her as she walked the short way to the old Hobbit’s house. She turned once and waved to him before she went in. With another sigh he mounted his horse and rode back to the Inn.

And now here he was, back at the Inn, yawning over his cup of tea, his head lolling at times over his plate of eggs and toast.

[Nimrodel_9]

Keleth rose early, and went outside for a stroll around the Inn, and then went back inside for breakfast.

He took a seat at a table. He listened to the sounds of breakfast being made in the kitchen. He turned his head to look over his shoulder. A man, Derufin, he had been called sat at a table near his. He thought about going over to sit with him, and then shook his head. He looked tired, and as if he didn`t want to be bothered. Keleth turned back around and stared at the table.

[Noinkling]

The tired Hobbit had slept late. Not meaning to, really, but the bed had been so comfortable and the heavy curtains drawn over the small window in the room had kept the sunlight out. Tolly woke with a start. He’d slept so heavily that he was not quite sure where he was. He hopped out of bed, and poured a little water from the pitcher into the washing bowl. A few splashes of the cool liquid against his face and he recalled that he had traveled to Bywater on business and had spent the night at the Inn.

His stomach growled as he dressed hurriedly and ran his fingers through his hair. He could smell the scent of freshly toasted bread and eggs fried in butter. With eager anticipation of a fortifying breakfast, he ran down the stairs and headed through the door to the Common Room.

It was already getting full, he could see as he looked around. But there, to his left was one of the Big Folk, sitting by himself. Tolly walked up to him and put his hand on the chair opposite the man. Keleth, it was, the fellow said, when Tolly introduced himself.

‘Mind if I join you for breakfast?’ Tolly asked.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Strolling slowly into the inn, Fáinu peered around looking fir Cree. Her horse was still outside, he assumed she was still resting. He had expected to see her here in the inn, and complaining about having to wait for him. He ordered a light drink from the bar and sat at the fireside. He thought back to when he had first entered the inn. There he had met Adu, what a turning point that had proved, if she had not kept him there, he would not have seen Cree.

What was he to do? He had a horrible feeling that he would be leading Cree to her death if she came with him. However she had promised to stay by him, not fearing anything, not even death. All choices seemed ill fated. Was he to leave her behind, to die alone some time after ages had passed, curing his name till the end of days? Or to take her to meet death in a horrific and bone chilling way. Either way, he felt his own death would be immanent also, and not less horrendous.

[starkat]

Gwenneth reluctantly got out of bed. Her sleep had been troubled with dreams and she had not slept well. The elf decided to pass on breakfast and go riding instead.

She was pulling on her boots when she realized that her book had fallen to the floor. "I must have fallen asleep reading last night." Picking up the book, she sighed. Gwenneth quickly pulled her hair back and braided it.

Heading down the stairs, the young elf smiled at the patrons as she walked through the room. Once outside, she broke into a slow jog until she reached the barn. "Elenath!" she called. An aswering nicker came from a nearby stall.

Gwenneth greeted her night-black mare and quickly groomed her. "Let's go out for a bit, shall we?" Elenath was as eager to be off as her mistress. Once Gwenneth was astride, she signaled to her horse and they were off.

[Witch_Queen]

Cree looked up from her seat in the corner. She had prefered the solitude the corner had to give. She noticed at the bar was who she was waiting on. Fáinu had finally arrived. She drained the last of the ale she had in her mug. She knew it was still a bit too early to be having ale but she didn't care for today she was leaving. Cree hadn't been able to sleep during the night. Always she was seeing Avalon. The bird was lost to her now.

Cree stood up and walked over to the bar. She placed her left hand on Fáinu's right shoulder. She thought he would sense her presence but instead the elf jumped as if startled by her sudden appearance. "Its about time you got here." Cree had a smile on her face fathoms long. She was glad to be getting away from this place. She was finally going to be out in the world. "So are you ready to go?"

[Nurumaiel]

Up the little pathway to the Green Dragon went Posco, still yawning and rubbing his eyes. His aunt had not been awake when he had left; thank goodness for that! He wanted to have breakfast with Lily before he left, and Aunt Malva would have surely kept him working until she served her own breakfast, which was meagre fare for a young hobbit lad or, indeed, any hobbit. But he had escaped, thankfully. She would probably be angry, but she couldn't do anything about it until his next visit. Yet, he reflected with a sigh, she would remember that he had crept away without a goodbye, and only forget after she had lectured him thoroughly, be that hundreds of years away.

The Common Room was, as usual, a fine sight to Posco's eyes, as well as one that caused him to wonder. Personages of every race were there, waiting for their breakfasts and talking at their ease. Fortunately for the timid and shy hobbit, it was still early in the morning, so there was not a great crowd in the room. He cast a glance about for Lily, and did not see her; he assumed she was still in her room, perhaps just leaving, and so he sat down at their table of last night to wait for her.

[Nimrodel_9]

Keleth looked at Tolly, startled. "Uh...of course!" Keleth answered, sitting up straight.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, then Keleth spoke. "I`m sorry. I must have sounded rude. I didn`t mean to be. It`s just that you are the first person I`ve talked to since I arrived here, save the maid, Buttercup and the Innkeeper. I`m from Gondor, though I don`t really stay put for very long. Are you from these parts?" Immediately Keleth looked down, embarrassed. Tolly was a hobbit. Of course he was from around here.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Looking up, Fáinu saw Cree. She must have been out of sight, or something had blinded him. He did not care much now. He noticed a few hobbits already involved in a drinking game.

"It’s about time you got here." Cree had a smile on her face fathoms long. She was glad to be getting away from this place. She was finally going to be out in the world. "So are you ready to go?"

Fáinu gave her a glance that suggested, "Do not speak so lightly." He rose and drained his mug. He brought forth a map from his already filled pack that had been laid carefully upon the wooden floor.

"Very soon," he said "Look here." he opened out the map on a near by table that was unoccupied. He pointed to the shire and moved his finger along the road leading to Rivendel. "This is our first destination," he continued, "if all goes well, we will need to find a way over the misty mountains and then we shall pass though Mirkwood. There we may stay a while and speak with friends of old. Then to the lonely mountain to meet with Dwaline the dwarf. And then... to the grey mountains." his voice grew in fear and foreboding, he looked at her, expecting the same emotions, but he did not see this.

Cree tilted her head in confusion; she did not quite understand the path. What was their mission, why were they going? He had told her nothing save going to Rivendel.

"i apologise Cree," he said, "I had almost forgotten. I must ask but one thing, trust me in this. All shall become clear. The aim of this journey will be clear, if you have not guessed it already. All I will say now is that lives are in danger even as we speak."

[Noinkling]

‘Are you from these parts?’ the man asked.

Tolly looked up from his plate of eggs, chewing them thoughtfully. How should he answer this question? Placing his fork down on the rim of his plate he looked up at Keleth. ‘Well, for someone whose come from as far away as it looks you have, you might say I’m from these parts,’ he began. ‘But where I’m from, the western edge of the Shire, folk don’t travel much. So, yes, I’m from the Shire, but I’ve never been here in Bywater before.’ He took a slice of toast and spread it thickly with berry jam. ‘Come here on business. That’s what got me out of Greenholm and set me down the road to the Dragon.

The Hobbit chewed off a generous hunk of toast, washing it down with a cup of sweet, hot tea. He was feeling quite relaxed after a good night’s sleep. And what with a belly food of good Inn fare, he was also feeling quite expansive. The man looked friendly enough, he decided, and not one to try to turn another’s business to himself. No harm in telling him what he planned to do. ‘My gaffer and me are thinking of getting up an Inn on the main road heading to the west hills; one like they have here in Bywater,’ he confided to his tablemate. ‘I’m here to have a look about. See what makes the place tick. How they organize things.’ He looked about at the now full Common Room, thinking how well everything was run here.

‘Oh my, here I’ve gone on and on about myself. Where’s my manners, as my Ma would say. What about you? What brings you here to the Shire? Are you passing further west? Or going east?’ Tolly took another drink from his mug awaiting his companion’s response.

[Nimrodel_9]

"Starting your own Inn? That sounds like a lot of work!" Keleth said surprised.

"As for me, I don`t really know what I`m doing here. Back in Gondor I was a messanger for King Elessar at times, but normally I worked in the stables at an Inn. I grew tired of the work. I had been working there since I was 10 years of age, when my father died. I am now 22. So, I set out out to see the world. I probably shouldn`t have. My mother died when I was very young, but I left my older sister, Taryn. She said she would miss me dearly, but was glad for me. My travels brought me here. I suppose I will go west. I would like to see what the sea is like on this side of Middle-earth."

Keleth stopped. He was surprised at himself for telling so much about himself to a stranger, but Tolly had asked. He didn`t want to seem too mysterious.

[Arry]

‘Don’t yawn so loudly,’ came the voice at Derufin’s elbow. Andwise pulled out a chair and sat down carefully in it. Derufin grinned at him and spoke softly. ‘Looks like the Dragon got hold of you, Andwise. You going to be able to do the finishing on the cottage today?’ The Hobbit nodded his head gently, wincing a bit as the headache flared for a moment. Motioning one of the servers over, he got himself a cup and poured it full of hot, strong tea. Two spoonsful of honey later and a few sips and he was ready to face the day . . . more or less . . .

‘You don’t look so good yourself,’ Andwise returned, filling the man’s cup. He sat back in his chair, fingers clasped around his cup for warmth, letting the fragrant steam clear his head. ‘But no matter how we feel, we’ve got to finish up today,’ he said, Derufin nodded his head and tucked into his meal. The man waved his fork at his tablemate, saying how Zimzi had reminded him quite firmly of the same thing, just last night.

Andwise laughed; then, sat his cup on the table and rubbed at his temples. ‘Best you get used to that, Derufin. The lasses can plant their fetching feet as solidly as any peevish pony and hold the line when they want something done.’ He raised his cup in salute to the man. ‘Oh, aye, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.’

Derufin raised his own cup and drained it down. Grabbing up several slices of toast from the basket on the table, the man tucked them into one of the pockets in his vest, motioning for the Hobbit to follow him out the door. Once outside, Andwise ambled alongside him, lighting his pipe as they walked along.

[Firefoot]

Lily awoke ready to leave the Green Dragon behind. It was a new day, and yesterday's tribulations seemed not so important. She got up and dressed, wearing a dress more fitted for travelling. It was early still, and thinking that Posco would not be at the Inn just yet, she lingered in her room to pack up the few posessions she had brought along. She left the filled saddlebags by the door to be retrieved after breakfast and headed downstairs.

She spotted Posco sitting at the same table that they had used last night, and went directly to the table. He had seen her as well and stood as she approached.

"Good morning, Posco," she greeted. "I didn't think you would be here already... but I'm glad you are."

"I thought we could have breakfast together before we left," he explained, smiling shyly. "Good morning, Lily."

"Breakfast does sound good," said Lily. The tantalizing scent of muffins and eggs was making her mouth water. She waved one of the hobbit maids over and ordered two breakfasts which came promptly: generous servings of bacon and eggs with large muffins and steaming hot tea. A small sample of everything proved the breakfast to taste every bit as delicious as it looked. Lily was torn whether she wanted to savor or inhale the food and thereby prolonging or hastening her departure respectively, and so the meal was over both too soon and not soon enough. They ate in companionable silence that was not uncomfortable, for each knew that there would be plenty of time in the coming days to say anything they wanted to.

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger had left her door open at the top of the stairs. The warmth from the kitchen’s fire drifted up that way and kept her little room cozy. Still she snuggled under the thick quilt Buttercup had found for her in the linen closet, wriggling her toes in her warm little nest, and drowsing. Ginger heard the shuffle of feet across the slate floor as Cook left her room downstairs, followed by the meow! of greeting as the old tabby called out for her saucer of warm milk.

With the click-clack of Cook’s spoon against her first mug morning tea, Ginger threw back her covers and walked to the little table that held the basin and pitcher of water. She poured a little water into the basin and swished her face cloth about in the chilly liquid. A few swipes to her face brought her wide awake. She threw off her night dress and put on her skirt and blouse, smoothing out the few wrinkles with her hands. A few strokes with her brush pushed her curls into place; a quick twist of her nimble fingers and her ribbon was in place, holding the coppery mass back from her face.

‘Well, Ginger,’ she said grinning into her little mirror, ‘Guess you’re ready for a full day of baking pies and cookies for the festivities tomorrow. She pinched a little crimson into her cheeks and bit her lips lightly bringing a little stain of color to them. Perhaps Ferdy would come into the Inn for lunch . . . she thought to herself. Giving a last quick smile to the mirror she flew down the stairs.

[piosenniel]

Help yourself to some tea, dear,’ said Cook as Ginger came into the kitchen. ‘I hope your Fair Folk friend, Gwenneth, will be joining us. I want you two to make up the sugar cookies today – early , if you please, so they’ll cool by afternoon. You’re to use the flower-shaped cookie cutters and frost them up prettily.’ Cook ambled over to the oven and took out a several pans of blueberry muffins, letting them cool for a few moments then turning them out on racks where others were already lined up. ‘Have a muffin or two, also with your tea. T’will be a longish day, I should think.’

Cook sat down for a few moments, to have another cup of tea, herself. Buttercup and Ruby had by this time come down the stairs and had joined the two Hobbits at the little table. ‘We’ll start the soup right away, Miz Bunce,’ Buttercup said, taking a big bite of well buttered muffin. Won’t have to worry about lunch then, save for slicing up the bread to go along with it.’ She nodded at Ruby who was still in her robe and yawning widely. ‘The rooms for Mistress Zimzi’s folks are all ready for when they show up today. We just have a few personal touches to put on them . . . flowers and such.’

Several of the extra servers who’d come to help at the Inn for this week bustled in and out of the kitchen, serving breakfast to the already hungry patrons. Scrambled eggs, muffins, thick slices of ham, and toast, too were all parading out to the common room, the empty trays returning quickly for refill.

Getting up from the table once her tea was finished, Cook went to the pantry and began hauling out flour and eggs and leavening, sweet cream butter, vanilla, fine-spun sugar, and from the cold larder, a pitcher of frothy cream. She hummed a merry tune to herself as she trundled her prizes to one of the empty counters; then, fetching a stool, she climbed up to look into one of the cupboards, the top shelf. There were her round cake pans of varying sizes, the ones she used for the graceful tower cakes she made for special occasions. While the others finished their breakfasts, she buttered and dusted each one carefully with flour, then set them aside to await the batter. ‘Going to frost it all in light foamy icing,’ she said, as she got out her big bowls for the batter, along with her whisk and her wooden spoon. ‘A soft white, I think. And you remember those sugared violets you made, Ginger, your first day here?’ Ginger nodded her head, recalling there had been at least a hundred of them she’d done, now all stored safely away on racks in a cool part of the pantry. ‘Well,’ continued Cook, ‘I’m gong to put them on the frosting, all over the cake.’ She grinned and clapped her hands together. ‘It’ll look so pretty, the bees’ll be wanting to carry it off for their queen.’

[Noinkling]

‘A messenger for the King, eh? What was he like, if you don’t mind me asking?’

Neither Tolly nor any of his family had ever seen the High King from Gondor. And what stories they had heard of him had filtered down to them from their relations in Tuckburrough. He remembered hearing the King lived in a great tall building atop a high mountain of sorts and that his wife was one of the Fair Folk. And that many people came there to see him. It was told, he recalled, that the King was a fair man and just; one to be trusted to keep to his word.

Before Keleth could answer, he asked one more question. ‘Now I heard a story,’ he said, scratching the back of his head, ‘that the King used to be one of them Rangers. Is that true? My gaffer told me about the few he met, wandering about the countryside . . . almost like ghosts, they blended in so well, he said. I remember he used to get a sort of shiver when he’d talk about their grey eyes and how a certain light seemed to shine behind them. Almost like they’d look right through you, he’d say in a low voice.’

Taking a warm muffin one of the servers had just brought out, Tolly pulled it in two and slathered it with butter. Now wouldn’t that be something he thought to himself as he helped himself to a little jam, too . . . if the King and his fair lady would visit the Shire, and even better his family’s Inn! Chewing on the welcome treat, he waited patiently for Keleth to tell him about the King.

[piosenniel]

‘Whoa up, Nobby! There’s a girl!’ The little brown pony turned off the path to the Inn’s front door, making for the stables at a quick pace. The sooner the stable was reached, he knew, and the cart unharnessed from him, the sooner he’d have a warm, cozy stall to stand in and a small rick of sweet hay to munch on, And perhaps, if he looked longingly enough, there would be a crisp little apple to crunch.

Zimzi guided him up to the double doors with a deft hand. Young master Meriadoc stepped out with a grin, and leaned his shovel against the doorframe. ‘Just cleaned out a stall for you, Nobby,’ he murmured confidentially to the nickering pony, scratching him affectionately between the ears. He grabbed hold the bridle, holding the pony and cart still as Zimzi got down. ‘Nice to see you back, Mistress,’ the Hobbit said, as they made quick work of freeing Nobby. ‘I’ve made room for your family’s horses, and their wagon . . . just waiting for them to show up.’

‘Thank you, my dear Merry,’ Zimzi returned, smiling. ‘I can hardly wait to see them. It was all I could do not to set out west to meet them on the road.’ She patted Nobby on the rump as Merry turned him into the stall. ‘Of course, this old fellow was bound and determined we were headed back to the Inn, and would have none of my indecision as to whether we should turn east or west!’ The two companions laughed at the image of the stubborn pony. Nobby flicked his ears at the two of them, and nodded his head up and down as if he had understood every word.

From the stable, Zimzi could see the light from the kitchen shining through the back door’s window. Cook would be up and about the Inn’s business she knew, and welcome order would be brought to bear on whatever series of unseen events fell upon the day. Gathering up her skirt and cloak to keep them from the damp dirt between the stable and the Inn, Zimzi hurried to the door, entering without knocking. ‘Hello!’ she called to those sitting about the table. ‘I’ve done with my choosing of flowers and making the arrangements for the party tables. Miz Amaranthas and one of Samwise’s boys will be bringing them in early tomorrow morning.’ She glanced round the kitchen, looking for Cook, and found her just coming out of the pantry. ‘My hands, and legs, and strong back, if needed, are at your service, my good Miz Bunce,’ she said, running to help Cook with the sacks of flour and sugar she was lugging into the kitchen proper. She plunked the sacks where Cook directed, then took a seat at the table.

‘Just have a cuppa tea,’ Cook said, pouring more hot water over fresh leaves in the pot on the table. ‘We’ll sort out what you can help with after another round of hot muffins with butter and jam.’ She eyed the woman in a considering manner as the basket of muffins was passed round. ‘I think I’ll set you to the slicing of the ham and cheese for the platters.’ Cook poured another round of tea once she’d determined it had brewed just so. ‘And once you’re done with that, then you can wash up the small pots in that cupboard over there, and get them filled with mustards and piccalilli from the larger crocks at the back of the pantry.’

Zimzi nodded her head ‘yes’ at Cook’s request as she piled her muffin with strawberry jam. Buttercup was just waiting for her turn to talk, and as soon as cook was done, she began asking the woman questions . . . what flowers had she chosen . . . and how was she going to wear her hair . . . what was her Ma like, and her brothers and her Da . . . was there anything special she would like done for them. The list went on and on, with others of the servers asking their own little questions as one would pause for breath. Zimzi answered as best she could, but she was hard put to keep up with them . . .

It was Cook who finally brought an end to the inquiries, saying there was work to be done. Zimzi mouthed a ‘thank-you’ toward her and stood to help clear the table. Ruby and Buttercup ran upstairs to get dressed for the day and were soon back down, joining the others in the tasks appointed them.

[Tevildo]

By the time morning came, Tevildo was perched on the steps of the Green Dragon cleaning and arranging his long, fluffy coat. He was not looking especially well today. One of his ears appeared slightly chewed and was tilted at a rather unusual angle, as if he had just come back from some dissolute errand.

This cursory impression was not far from the truth. In hopes of avoiding his mistress who'd unexpectedly turned up at suppertime, Tevildo had slipped outside and slunk down the road, spending the long night hours caterwauling with a feline member of the Gamgee household named Mushroom, a mouser who resided in the Hobbit family's barn. Although the family lived several miles distant, she had curtly informed the newcomer that the entire region of Hobbiton and Bywater was under her personal jurisdiction, and that no cat could take up residence without her personal consent.

Tevildo had strenuously objected, arguing that he had been hired on as a mouser at the Green Dragon and, therefore, had no need of anyone's aproval. Mushroom had not been impressed. She contended that the two-leggeds could make whatever arrangements they cared to, but no cat was coming into Hobbiton unless she personally approved the arrangement.

Losing his temper, Tevildo had countered with a stinging comment about the 'pint-sized master' of the Gamgee household. That had not gone over well. Despite Mushroom's earlier insistence that she was a free and independent feline, one who had no affection for her two-legged hosts, she had apparently taken these comments to heart. Thirty minutes later, Tevildo found himself at the bottom of a pile of several neighborhood cats, scraping and clawing his way out. Then, he turned tail and raced back to the Inn.

Once he had completed his morning grooming and repaired the damage to his ear as best he could, he mounted the steps to the Inn and pressed his small pink nose firmly up against the front door, waiting for someone to push it open. He did not have long to wait. There seemed to be a great deal of excitement in the air, with people bustling to and fro in anticipation of some unknown event, something which held no interest for Tevildo other than a possible source of things to eat and drink. As the door swung open, Tevildo padded inside and was greeted with aloud and triumphant cry, "You naughty kitty! Where have you been? I've been here all night, worrying about what you've gotten into. Now come say hello to me right away!"

Tevildo meowed piteously as he was swept up by a firm hand and plopped into the skirts of a chubby grey-haired woman with warm brown eyes and the hint of a smile on her face.

[Envinyatar]

Derufin’s eyes often strayed to the main road as he walked along the cottage roof, checking for any remaining loose shingles. Zimzi said she would be coming in today to help with the final preparations. And most of all to greet her parents. A shower of pebbles rattled off the roof, drawing his attention downward to the two Hobbits peering up at him.

‘F’you’re done . . . uh . . . gawking up there,’ came Tomlin’s voice, a grin plastered on his face, ‘then you might want to come help us finish the last of the inside work.’ Derufin could hear Gil, standing in Tomlin’s shadow, trying to stifle a snicker.

‘Hang on a bit, you two!’ Derufin laughed, sliding down the slope toward them. Crouching down at the roof’s edge, he peered down at the two. ‘Give a poor besotted man a small measure of grace,’ he pleaded, hand over his heart, in an exaggerated manner. Tomlin and Gil looked at each other, sighing back in just as dramatic a way. ‘Come down now,’ Gil called up to him, hands on his hips for emphasis. ‘We heard what you said to Andwise at breakfast . . . Mistress Zimzi has spoken – no finished up cottage, no handfasting.’ Derufin put up his hands in mock surrender and clambered off the roof. As he did so he caught the movement of a familiar little cart and pony nearing the turn in to the Inn. He lost his footing trying to get a better look and fell to the ground with a whump.

Gil and Tomlin slapped the dust from the fall off themselves as they watched the chagrined man stand up. They shook their hands and laughed as Derufin clapped his hand to the small of his back and limped into the cottage. ‘Come on,’ he said to the two Hobbits. ‘I’m down now . . . let’s get started.’ From the front porch he heard Andwise chuckling as he applied the final sanding and polishing to the new front door.

‘I am beset by unsympathetic Halflings . . . and here on the eve of my most joyful day.’ This statement was met with loud howls of laughter and the offering of a hammer and a handful of finishing nails as a peace offering. Andwise peeked in the door as Derufin knelt down to finish securing some of the moulding. ‘Perhaps Cook will send her over with the midday meal . . .’ he offered.

Ferdy stopped his painting in mid swipe and smiled toward Derufin. ‘And perhaps my Ginger will come with her . . .’

[Nimrodel_9]

Keleth also took a muffin, and chewed it thoughtfully. What was the King like?

"Well, he is a very kind and generous man. Very skilled in battle, and knows what he is doing when making decisions. Yes, he was a Ranger, Strider he was called in these parts. Your gaffer is right about a Ranger`s eyes. They are the most striking of all their traits. Whenever he looked at me I couldn`t help but look away. They seem to go right through you, searching your mind and your heart." Keleth`s own dark eyes took on a far away look. "As piercing as they seem, they are kind, and knowing. He always seemed to understand me when no one else did. If I do not return to Gondor I will miss him very much. He and his fair queen. Almost as much as my dear sister, Taryn."

"If I do not return," he said softly to himself.

[Noinkling]

Before he could help himself, Tolly blurted out his next question. He’d been following along with what Keleth was saying and could hardly believe his ears at the last statement. Or the last two statements, really. ‘What do you mean, if you do not return?’ he asked without thinking. The very thought of not wanting to be back in your homeland among friends and especially among family perplexed him. Or maybe Keleth did want to go back but something stood in his way. ‘I can’t think of a single reason why I would want to be apart from my family. Much as they drive me quite mad at times, I just can’t fathom being alone. And so far away from your homeland, too.’

‘You sound like you miss your sister already . . . and the way you speak I’ll bet she misses you, also.’ Tolly leaned across the table and spoke low. ‘Is there something awful that stands in your way from being together with her? And what about the King – he sounds like a helpful fellow. Couldn’t he lend a hand?’

Tolly leaned back in his chair, his cheeks a little red from his impulsive questions. Surely the man would think him quite cheeky for putting his nose where it didn’t belong. ‘Oh, my,’ he said in apology, ‘don’t mind me and my forward tongue. I haven’t met many outsiders. I tend to forget your ways might not be ours when it comes to various things.’ The Hobbit stirred a spoonful of honey into his mug of tea, and sat sipping it. He was rather enjoying getting to know Keleth he thought to himself, and he hoped his questions had not put the man off . . .

[Primrose Bolger]

Breakfast was done; the dishes all cleared away and washed up. Cook was busy with her task . . . the layered cake. And there, on the other side of the kitchen was Miss Zimzi, stacking the platters to be used for the slices of ham and cheese. Ginger busied herself getting together what she needed for her own cookie making. From the corner of her eye she watched Miss Zimzi. She was pretty, in a quiet sort of way. And graceful, she thought. She had a quick smile for those about her. Derufin certainly seemed to like her quite a lot, Ginger thought. The Hobbit’s eye lingered on the woman, following her movements. She ducked her head away, blushing, as Zimzi caught her gaze, and smiled.

‘Quit your gawking, Ginger!’ she told herself firmly, drawing the small bag of flour toward her. ‘There’ll be time enough to talk with her when we’re done here.’ She picked up a cup and began measuring the flour into the big crockery bowl. Her hand reached for the tablespoon she’d set out, to measure in the leavening, but only the bare wood of the table met her fingers. She turned to look at the place where she’d put it. Empty . . .

‘I saw one of the servers borrow it, when you’d gone to get the sugar,’ came the voice from behind her. ‘Here, take one of mine. I can always get another one when it’s time to put the mustard in the little pots . . .’

[starkat]

Gwenneth felt like she had not been out long enough, but she knew she had to get back. The smell of the breakfast she had missed could be smelt even from outside as she and Elenath trotted up to the barn.

"Well mellon, I guess I should return. I did say I would help again today." The elf woman lightly sprang from her mare's back and returned her to her stall.

Gwenneth realized that she needed to clean up a bit before going into the kitchen, so she went to her room. I wish I could have ridden longer, but I cannot leave them after offering my help. She laughed softly to herself. My mother raised me better then that. I really should not have gone riding at all this morning.

The young elf quickly changed out of her riding clothes and headed downstairs. She nodded to the other patrons as she walked by. The young elf slipped in through the kitchen door and saw Cook working on a layered cake. "Excuse me, Cook. Forgive me for being late. Is there anything you would like me to help with today?"

[Anawiel]

The sun was shining, Anawiel stood in the shadow of an oak tree, yet a thin ray of light had managed to weave through the leaves of the tree and shine onto the patch of green grass beneath her feet. Making up her mind Ana walked upto the door of the Green Dragon Inn, she pushed the door and it swung open with no sound.

She walked across to the bar and sat on a stool there. There was a certain contentment in the air, it looked and smelt as if everyone had just had their breakfast. Ana rose to her feet and walked across to an emtpy table -she preferred to be in the shadows it reminded her of home, oh how she missed Mirkwood, she sat down again and thought about her journey here so far.

As she was day-dreaming a sudden thought occured to her, was she the only elven female here? Then, at that moment an elven female came in and went out the back. At least she wouldn't look suspicious anymore, well as long as there were other elves around she wouldn't, but were those other elves Rangers like her?

[Tevildo]

Mistress Ellie fondled the round white fluffball that was curled up placidly on her lap and leaned over to plant a kiss on top of Tevildo's furry head, whispering in his ear, "When are you going to settle down? Out all night carrousing! Shame on you."

Ellie could never understand how a sweet looking kitty, one with eyes so mysterious and a coat of silky-soft fur, could behave in the way he had done last night. Tevildo looked like the kind of cat who should be curled up on a mat beside a roaring hearth, perhaps owned by a fine lady with soft rustling gowns who lived in a very large house. But Ellie was not such a fine lady, and did not even own a house of her own. And however fine and sweet Tevildo might look to outside eyes, he had always been a bit of a hooligan, eager to pick fights with other cats.

Seeing the deep scratch on her cat's left ear, Ellie frowned and shook her head, as she reached into an oversized canvas bag, drawing out a bottle with a fragrant smelling tincture. She gently rubbed the mixture over the tip of Tevildo's ear, making sure to cover all the injured spots. Once Ellie had done that to her own satisfaction, she took a few tidbits of sausage off her own breakfast platter and set these down on the floor to share with Tevildo. The cat had slipped off her lap and was rubbing his shoulder against her knee, purring rhythmically. Once he had discovered the sausage and begun to eat, Tevildo quickly lost interest in his owner's knee and turned his attention to the food.

At least, I still have something to share with my cat. With that thought, Ellie glanced anxiously about the Common Room. She had rented a chamber from the Innkeeper but there were only enough coins in her pocket to pay for a night or two. Her dress was neatly stitched and darned, but her threadbare cloak with its material worn thin suggested that she was pitifully near the end of her resources. She wished she had a heavier cloak to keep out the cold drafts that were circulating in the room. Her knees and back still ached from the long miles she had marched down the road. Her fingers felt stiff and not as responsive as she would like. She couldn't blame that on the open road.

Perhaps, she was too old for this kind of life. Perhaps she should settle down somewhere. But where or how was still a mystery.

Glancing over at the next table, she saw an Elf approaching. Ellie noticed it was a woman, but wearing clothes that were different from most of the other Elves she had seen......not that she had seen too many Elves. Still, it wouldn't do to be unfriendly. She smiled at the newcomer and observed. "You look tired. Have you come a long way?"

[piosenniel]

Zimzi held out a spoon to Ginger. ‘Here, take one of mine,’ she said to the wide-eyed Hobbit. The spoon gone from her fingers, she picked up several of the cookie cutters Cook had piled on the table for Ginger’s use. ‘These are lovely,’ she said looking at a tulip, a daisy, and a small, star-shaped one. She held the last one up and turned it over in her hands. ‘What’s this?’ she asked. ‘I don’t recognize it.’

Gwenneth came up to the table, having been asked by Cook to help Ginger with the cookies. She took the cookie cutter in her delicate fingers and held it up, smiling as she did so. ‘Why that’s elanor,’ she told the woman. ‘It’s a beautiful golden flower . . . sun golden. My people are quite fond of it.’ Gwenneth called across the room to Cook, asking who had made the cookie cutters. ‘My dear husband made them for me,’ Cook said. ‘A long time ago. Called them his everlasting bouquet for me, he did.’ She wiped her hands on her apron and came over to see which one they were looking at. ‘Oh,’ she said, taking the star-shaped cutter in her hand. ‘But not that one . . . t’was Master Samwise what made me that one, a few years after his daughter was born. She’s got quite the sweet-tooth, that one! Always make up a small basket of them with bright yellow frosting for her when her birthday comes round.’

Introductions were made by Cook, with an apology that it had not been done earlier. Zimzi thanked them both for helping out with the party, then went back to her meats and cheeses trays. Ginger and Gwenneth had the cookie dough done in no time and had just put it in the cooler to set up, when Cook called them over to help out with something else.

‘I’d do it myself, but I’m in the midst of the batter and the baking for the cake.’ She pointed to the middle drawer of the desk that sat near the door into the common room. ‘There’s paper in there . . . and quills. Ink’s in the larger drawer to the left. Make a few signs to put up in the common room, would you.’ Ginger and Gwenneth listened closely to what Cook said, then fixed up a couple of signs. Two for the common room and one for the porch post to catch the eye of those just coming in. It was nicely written, by Gwenneth’s Elven hand, at Ginger’s insistence, though she helped with the wording of it:

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

~*~ Help Needed ~*~

** A few helpers needed for the handfasting party to take place tomorrow **

* A number of hands to gather greens for garlands to festoon the common room.

* And those willing to make the garlands and put them up, today preferably per the wishes of Cook.

* Strong backs to move the tables out to the front Inn yard early tomorrow morning.

* Several ladies to see to the ironing of the lacy table cloths for the cake and mathom tables (must have a light hand with the iron, per Cook’s request)

* A few lads to see to the hanging of the little lanterns in the trees around the party site.

* Several assistants to put out the flower arrangements on the outdoor tables mid morning tomorrow. (Miz Amaranthas will be directing this)

* Someone with a deft hand to take charge of making the punch and seeing to its serving. (see Cook for the bottles of Southron spirits she has laid by for the occasion.

*And any odd and assorted number of those who can volunteer a little time during the party to make sure the tables are kept full of food, and drink, and clean dishes and cups.

~*~ Come see Cook, in the Kitchen, to sign up for a task ~*~

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Any volunteers from hereabouts will be given free drinks and meals these next several days. And those from out of town, will also be given free lodging . . .

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Ginger and Gwenneth found a few nails and a hammer once they were done with the announcements, and tacked them up securely for all to see. A hastily scrawled note was put at the bottom of each one by one of the members of the local band who were to play for the festivity’s dancing.

* Flute/Penny Whistle player needed, too. Ours is down with a head cold. We’re a friendly lot, willing to accommodate your style. Or if you don’t play either of those – bring what you have and join in. – Gil

[Nimrodel_9]

"Oh, you are quite alright!" Keleth said quickly. He didn`t want to embarrass Tolly.

"You are right. I miss my sister very much, and I am sure she misses me. She will be alright though. Taryn has many friends, one of them a young man, one of the King`s guards. I suspect they will be married soon. As for asking for the King`s help, I do not want to be a nuisance to him. Also, he is not a very vengeful person."

Keleth stopped suddenly. He had nearly let his secret slip! He looked at Tolly quickly. Tolly had stopped what he was doing and was now eying Keleth. I can`t just continue the conversation casually now.

"Uh...um... I suppose my last comment sounded a bit suspicious. Well..." Keleth sighed. "There was something I failed to tell you. Tis true, I grew tired of Gondor, but that is not the only reason I left." Again, he stopped, trying to find the right words. "The truth is... I am pursuing someone."

Keleth was beginning to like this strange little hobbit very much and did not want him to think he was a criminal of some sort. He paused, waiting for Tolly`s reaction.

[Noinkling]

The truth is . . . I am pursuing someone.

‘Well now there’s something to drop in the middle of someone’s breakfast!’ the Hobbit thought to himself. Tolly put his fork and knife down and took a good look at his companion. He surely didn’t look like those shifty-eyed men who’d come to the Shire – the ones that Master Merry and Master Pippin had driven out when they’d come home from the war. Maybe he was one of the King’s Shirriff’s. Tolly scratched his head. Did the King have Shiriffs? He fiddled with the eggs on his plate, pushing them around on his plate. He was desperately wanting to know the rest of the story, but trying to be polite enough not to just ask outright.

The doors from the kitchen banged open, allowing the entrance of an interesting pair to the common room. One was a young Hobbit lass, about the age of Tolly’s youngest sister, and the other . . . the other was an Elf lady. The Hobbit, her name was Ginger he found out, nailed up an announcement nearby Keleth and Tolly’s table.

‘Well, look at that,’ he said changing the subject as he pointed the notice out to Keleth. ‘The Inn is hosting a party and a handfasting . . . and they’re asking for some volunteers. He got up and ran his finger down the list of needed jobs. ‘Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m no good at ironing. So, that’s out.’ He tapped hi finger on a couple of the tasks. ‘Now here’s something I can do – there’s a whole stand of evergreens along the Inn’s property. On the west side. Saw them as I came up the road. Bet the Inn’d loan me a small saw for the limbs, and I’ll bet there’s baling wire in the stable – for the hay, you know. Be easy to string the greens together. We do that, you know, for our barn dances . . . back home.’ Tolly looked over at Keleth. ‘How about it? You want to lend a hand for the party tomorrow.’ He grinned at the man. ‘You ever been to a Hobbit party, Keleth?’ Tolly’s eyes lit up at a sudden thought. ‘Say . . . you want to lend a hand, too? Give me a chance to meet Cook and some of the others who work here at the Inn. You can have a little fun before you have to head out after whoever it is you’re after.’ Tolly couldn’t resist asking one of the many questions on the tip of his tongue. He leaned toward Keleth.

‘Is he dangerous?’ he whispered, shivering a bit at the thought.

[Fairleaf]

One of the smaller trees that lined the hedgerow along the road to the Inn seemed to be moving . . . and not just with the morning's breeze. The little hawthorn’s branches bent to the left and then to the right, looking for any movements on the broad, wide dirt track to the north of it. Since the sun had risen, there had been an increasing number of carts and ponies trundling along the roadway. The drivers had not noticed her, their wide-brimmed hats shading their eyes from the rising sun. But often the ponies looked her way and whickered as they bobbed their heads.

Creeping amid the trunks of the trees standing in clumps along the road, the slender trunk eased itself along, hiding in the shadows of the oaks and beeches, slipping its limbs carefully through the branches of its rooted kin. Excuse me its leaves whispered as they trailed through the lower branches, disentangling themselves from the mossy limbs with their clumps of browning leaves.

There in the distance stood a sturdy wood building. The Inn she thought, wondering if the craftsmen had been kind as they shaped the frame and walls and roof of The Green Dragon. How funny! she giggled, her leaves twittering against one another. It’s neither green nor does it resemble a dragon in the slightest.

She stood quietly for a moment taking in the lovely gardens that dotted the front yard. And just at the corner round the back, she had a little view of the herb and vegetable garden. Very nice . . . well done. she nodded in approval.

Fairleaf inched forward until she stood along the edge of the trees that lined the grassy verge leading up to the Inn. It was a fair day. She stretched out her limbs into the sunshine, rustling them in delight. Her dark eyes, flecked with a green and golden light, shone out from the shadows of the other trees. With a patience learned in her long travels, she waited to see what the creatures of this place were like.

[Nimrodel_9]

Keleth was surprised by Tolly`s reaction at first. He changed the subject so quickly, but then he asked another question. Is he dangerous?

Keleth sat back down at the table and took a drink of his tea. "Dangerous? Yes." he said, and a fiery look came to his usually soft brown eyes.

"In Gondor I had a very good friend. One of my few friends. He worked with me in the stables. Damon, was his name. A good man. He had a young wife too. I had known him all my life. One night, about 5 months ago, we were in an inn. It was a cold night, and it was raining hard outside. The door flew open and stranger, wearing a long dark cloak came in. His hair was black and his eyes as dark as coal. Immediately he went to the bar. Damon and I turned back to each other and continued our conversation. Suddenly, we heard a lot of clatter behind us. Apparently, the stranger had started a quarrel with a local man. The man was one of Damon`s neighbors and jumped into help him. He pulled the stranger away from him and held his arms back. By then the Innkeeper had come out, and ordered the man to leave." Keleth`s hand went to the sword that hung about his waist under his cloak, and ran it around the sheath. "I`ll never forget the way the stranger looked at my friend as he turned to leave. A cold, dark look. Very early the next morning Damon did not come to work. I took my leave of the owner of the stable and went to his small, 2 room house. Upon arriving I was shocked to see the door hanging on its hinges. I dashed in, and found the room cluttered. I went to the other room of the house. The bedroom." The fire in Keleth`s eyes went out, leaving them looking very sad, and his voice lowered. "Damon and his wife had been murdered. I stumbled to the door and went for help. I quickly found a gaurd, and told him about Damon and his wife. I then went to my empty home and wept. Who would do such a thing to such a kind man as Damon? Then I remembered the stranger and the way he looked at my friend." The fire returned to Keleth`s eyes. "A flame blazed alive in my heart. I went to the small shop where Taryn worked. I told her what had happened, and that I was going to follow the man and avenge my friend and his wife`s death. I know she did not want me to leave, but understood. Damon`s wife had been one of her closer friends. I then went to the stable owner, and told him the same. He warned me not to go, but I ignored it. I left the city within the same hour. I had learned from the gaurds at the gate that a stranger had left on foot very quickly earlier that morning. And so, I followed him. For weeks I pursued him, all the way to the Misty Mountains. Very seldom did he stop for more than one day. I knew not where he was going, nor what I would do if ever I had the courage to go to him. Not until we reached the Mountains did he discover me. I had been hiding in some rocks very close to him while he slept, debating on whether to attack him or not. I guess I fell asleep for I looked up to see him standing over me. He drew his sword, and told me to stand up. Then he held it to my chest. He recognized from the inn, and laughed at me coldly. He had guessed my reason for pursuing him. He tied me to a tree and left me alone to die. There I sat for the rest of the day, unable to escape. It was nearly sunset when a traveling man discovered me. He kindly untied me, and gave me some of his own food. He asked me to come with him, atleast until he knew I would be alright. I said no, thanked him, and he left. I retrieved my sword and pack from the small hole in the rock where I had hid them. Luckily the murderer did not discover them. Where the man went, I do not know. I do not think he came this way, but I wandered here anyway. Now, I know not what I will do. I have grown to like traveling in the wild, though before I was driven by hate. Should I go on searching for he man? Perhaps I should find the man who rescued me and thank him more appropriately. Should I go back to Taryn? Or should I take up a life like that of a Ranger?"

Keleth took a drink of his tea and sat quietly for a moment. Then he looked up at Tolly, and smiled sadly. "Now you have heard my long tale. I hope you do not think less of me. It has been nice to have someone to talk to. You are the first to hear my full tale."

"As for helping with the party tomorrow, I would gladly lend a hand."

[Amanaduial the archer]

Preparations for such a party can get strenuous after a time – especially for one who doesn’t like responsibility at the best of times. Aman could have told you that one hundred times over.

The great black Meara leapt effortlessly over a fallen log, dancing away as if it’s hooves barely touched the ground, living up to all it’s ancestry. Bent low over it’s neck, fingers entwined in it’s mane, Aman couldn’t help grinning, although she was in a rush. She was going to be late back to the Inn: despite her dislike of rising early, she had left early this morning to take a ride out on the beautiful black horse, but had gotten rather carried away. But it was hard to feel regret, even if she had meant to welcome Zimzi back as early as possible: this horse was the finest she had ever rode.

“Just think, Aman: the finest horse in the West, descended from the line of the Meeras. Given to you, by me.”

The words Snaveling had spoken when he gave her the horse came back to the Innkeeper vividly, so sharp that she could see him, hear him, smell him as the words echoed in her mind. Distracted momentarily, she jerked heavily to one side as Felarof jumped another log; but the horse seemed to move to accommodate her. She had not been able to ride him out for long since Snaveling had given him to her, but this morning they had formed a sort of bond, and the Innkeeper was almost beginning to think that the rather hostile dark horse actually liked her – even if the giver of this so-fine present had vanished, like smoke, from the Green Dragon and Aman’s life. Again.

Felarof. The horse had been a gift from King Elessar to Snaveling, but he had chosen not to name him, instead urging Aman to, and so she had. Felarof: steed of Eorl, the first king of Rohan; a might creature, whose sires were brought from the Undying Lands, it was said, by the Valar; a horse who produced the line of mearas. Wild, free, violent and intelligent.

They slowed, gradually coming to a halt as they came to the peak of one of the hills of the Shire, and from their perch, Aman could see the Green Dragon below. The Innkeeper let out a long breath and patted the dark, downy fur of her horse’s neck. “You lilive up to your name, m’darling,” Aman murmured softly into his ear. Felarof gave a whinny and tossed his head wildly and Aman smiled fondly, patting him again with the flat of her left hand, the fingers of her right hand still deeply entwined in it’s mane: she would not consider riding such a majestic creature with a bit or bridle. Once again, just like his great ancestor. Aman grinned to herself and gee-ed Felarof up again, rearing up, a silhouette against the sun behind them. Turning to the path, they began their thunderous ride down to the Green Dragon.

Hobbits, of course, are not really known for their love of horses. Not to say they don’t like the creatures, of course: but a deep affection for the majestic giants, as known by the Rohirrim, has never really come naturally to a race who generally don’t exceed four feet in height. So, although she knew straight away that Felarof would probably be able to gallop faster than any horse in the West, she also knew that to terrify her diminutive customers by thundering down the path to the Inn like Melkor in a rage would probably not do any good. Slowing down to a canter, then a trot, she approached the Green Dragon at a rather more moderate pace – and preparations for the handfasting were already evident from the front. For one thing, on any usual day, you wouldn’t usually see two hobbits, one hanging from the bedroom window on Bree side, the other from the window on the far Hobbiton side, struggling to hoik up and pin in place a banner that stretched right across the front of the Inn – a banner proclaiming the handfasting of Zimzaran and Derufin. Aman smiled widely, then was jerked forward as Felarof slowed, then stopped, tossing his head with a whinny.

Knowing he would not shy without purpose, Aman was immediately on her guard, and peered into the undergrowth suspiciously, her green eyes narrowed – to see a pair of equally green eyes peering back at her. Giving a small expression of surprise, the Innkeeper dismounted quickly and approached, one hand ready on the knife in her sleeve. Hobbits were not known, generally, for hiding in grassy verges. In fact, it was rarely that anyone was found hiding in grassy verges, and rarer yet that they had a good reason. “Who’s there?” she asked softly, but sternly. “Come out, whoever you are…”

[Fairleaf]

Lovely horse . . . one of the old ones. Aldaron’s creatures . . .

And here he was, looking at her, nodding his head, long black mane flying back and forth. Fairleaf looked toward the small cart that had just turned onto the path leading up to the Inn door. The sturdy brown pony pulled steadily against the traces bearing the rider in the cart safely to his destination. Big and little . . . little and big . . . each bearing their burdens with the dignity of their kind.

Now this was interesting. The great horse’s rider had come over to the edge of the undergrowth and seemed to have her eyes fixed on something. And she was speaking . . . requesting, really, in a soft and unflinchingly stern voice that the object of her attention come forth.

By the mossy twigged hair of old Finglas! The woman was talking to her!

Fairleaf was sure of it, though why the woman was speaking into the leafy bushes about her knees, the Entmaiden could not fathom. With a quick nudge of one of her rooty toes she’d dug deep into the rich loam, Fairleaf nudged a fat and reluctant rabbit from its snug little burrow. With a scrabbling of nails against the leaf lined floor of its tunnel, the rabbit came bounding out of the entrance, heading straight between the firmly planted feet of the rider. The woman startled a bit, stepping back as the rabbit raced on.

Fairleaf closed her eyes and stretched her twiggy limbs out slowly, as if the wind were rustling among her leaves. She stood there, treeish as she might, waiting for the woman to move on.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman stepped back, startled, as a rabbit darted out from the leaves at the foot of the trees. Feeling slightly foolish, she laughed softly to herself and rolled her eyes, turning back to Felarof, who was watching her as if with raised eyebrows.

"Yes, yes, all right," Aman said witheringly. "but just remember it was you who shyed away."

The meara tossed his head haughtily. Was not.

Aman laughed and, taking up her place by the horse's head, began to lead him back to the stables of the Green Dragon. But before she had taken three steps, she couldn't resist the temptation to turn back and look once more at those trees around the verge. There seemed to be something different in the formation of them - as if one of them had sprung up during the night. She peered hard at it's branches, then shook her head, turning back to the Inn. "Don't be daft, Aman," she murmured to herself. "Trees don't just get up and move..."

As the Innkeeper made her way back to the Inn, talking softly to Felarof and to the newcomers to the Inn as she passed them, she shook off the feeling of being watched; and did not notice how the branches of that tree shook, as if from a sudden breeze; as if they were laughing...

[piosenniel]

GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS:

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 (played by Envinyatar)

Meriadoc - Stablemaster

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

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.

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

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.

[piosenniel]

It is a fair day in the Shire . . . a little cool, but no rain; though, one of the old Gaffers in the Inn says his left knee is acting up something fierce and that's a sure sign there will be rain by nightfall.

Preparations for the hand-fasting party are in full swing - with many 'volunteers' pulled into the ranks by Cook . . .

[Child of the 7th Age]

Hawthorne Brandybuck pulled up on the reins and brought the wooden cart to a gentle halt. The small pony pulling the cart shook his head and snorted in relief, glad to have come to the end of the trip after long miles on the road. Impatient to be unhitched from harness and gear, he stamped a back hoof against the hard packed earth and waited in the courtyard that lay between the stables and the main Inn building in a spot where the delivery trucks normally stopped to unload.

The young Hobbit in the driver's seat impulsively leapt up, stretched and flexed her tired fingers, and glanced quickly around the yard. It had been a long trip back, yet she was pleased to be returning to this part of the countryside. Her home lay miles away in Buckland, where she lived with her family and a host of other noisey relatives in Brandy Hall. Hawthorne was the favorite niece of Meriadoc Brandibuck, recently appointed master of Buckland. Since Master Merry and his new wife Estella had been unable to attend the festivities in Hobbiton, they had sent Hawthorne in their place. This was not her first visit to the Inn.

The memory of that last visit made her hesitate a moment before stepping down from the cart. She wondered what kind of a reception she would receive from Cook, Aman, and the other girls working in the kitchen. The last time she had visited, there had been a slight mishap. A kitchen fire carelessly tended by Hawthorne had gotten out of control and burned the entire Inn to the ground. She had sworn to Master Merry that she would be very careful about her behavior on this trip, and there would be no more serious mistakes. She had tried to iron out most of the problems with Cook and the other staff before she had left to return to Buckland. And this time things would be very different. Hawthorne would make sure of that. After all, she reasoned, it was only a quiet handfasting. What could possibly go wrong on such a gentle and festive occasion?

Cook popped her head out the back door of the Inn and waved a greeting. Hawthorne immediately sprang down from the cart, relieved to see there was no sign of anger on Cook's face. She ran forward with arms extended spluttering out a greeting. "Cook, it is so good to see you again! Master Merry sends greetings. Merry regrets that he himself could not attend. He has sent me in his place. Uncle Merry thought I might stay at the Inn and help in the kitchen."

For one minute, Cook's face went white as a sheet as she grabbed Hawthorn by the arm and steered her inside, careful to step aside from the kitchen,"That's very kind of you to offer, but I believe we have quite enough kitchen helpers. I do have need of other hands. I'll introduce you to Miss Ellie. She'll certainly need some help. She and her cat are staying in the servant's quarters for a bit, while she helps us by serving food and decorating the Inn for the party. A pair of young knees for climbing up and down to string the garlands would be a great help to her."

"Come now. Aman will show you to your room."

As she led Hawthorne to the stairs, Cook hastily looked back, surprised to see a large dog following along behind them. "Oh, he's mine," Hawthorn hastily explained. "His name is Huan, since sometimes I swear he almost speaks."

"He'll be quite happy in the stable then?," Cook questioned.

"Oh, no. I must have him beside me. Huan is my constant companion." The young Hobbit bent down and stroked the brown head.

"Hmm.... Make sure that dog minds his manners. We've a number of cats who live inside."

"He won't be any harm, Cook, I promise. No problem at all. Huan's very well behaved."

"Have it as you will then. We've had other dogs stay inside so I suppose one more won't make a difference."

With that Cook said her goodbyes and headed back to the kitchen, leaving Hawthorn to search for Mistress Ellie.

[Envinyatar]

From the front porch, Derufin heard Andwise call out to him through the doorless entry. ‘Come help me hang this. I’ve done with it now. And bring one or two of the others. T’will make it easier to get the balance right. Gil and Fallon waved him on as he turned back to the little group finishing up the painting in the new bedroom. ‘We’ll get the last of this done,’ Gil told him. ‘You take Ferrin and Tomlin with you.’ Ferdy called out from the kitchen saying he was putting on the last of the new cupboard doors and asking could they get on without his help. ‘Right, then,’ said Tomlin, laying down his hammer. ‘Come on, Ferrin,’ we’ll get the front door up in no time and be back to the last of the moulding.’

Hopeful words, but not to prove true. Doors can be tricky things to get hung just right. And there was much cursing, and shouting of directions, and planning and leveling before the last screw that held the hinges was set in for the last time. The little group stood looking at the door, swinging it open and shut several times just to satisfy themselves. Derufin was sucking on two of his fingers, the two that Fil had accidentally hit with the mallet when they’d tried knocking the door a little more into balance.

The sound of laughter, and a familiar voice, edged in on the compliments the companions were extending to each other on a job well and finally done. ‘So, this is how many Big and Little Folk it takes to hang a door, is it?’

Derufin turned with a great grin splitting his face. ‘You’re here!’ Zimzi’s father, Abar, laughed as he jumped down from the wagon seat, extending his hand up to his wife.

‘”You’re here?” -- He seemed much smarter when Zimzi brought him to see us, didn’t he brother?’ Sakal clambered down from the back of the wagon, his brother Azar following after. ‘Perhaps we should give him the title Captain Obvious.’ Azar shook his head ‘no’. ‘No way he gets that name, Sakal. Never beat that Elf we met at the havens.’ Zimzi’s family had surrounded Derufin by this time, greeting him with claps on the back, handshakes, and a kiss or two on the cheek (this last, of course, being, Zamin, Zimzi’s mother).

[Arry]

So this was mistress Zimzi’s family. Andwise stood back with a smile of pleasure at the merry meeting. For all their joking, they seemed quite fond of Master Derufin. The two brothers, even now, had him in a great bear hug, while the mother and father looked on and laughed. For his part, Andwise looked on in amazement as the two young men lifted the Derufin off his feet. He’d always thought of Derufin as a largish specimen of the Big Folk, but these were two strapping lads with great broad shoulders and long legs, like mighty tree trunks. The Hobbit lads, he noted, looking about at his own son and his companions, seemed just as in awe. Zimzi's brothers seemed almost like giants to the Hobbits; though friendly ones with ready grins and great loud laughter.

‘Best you run and tell Miz Aman and Cook and Mistress Zimzi, of course, that the family has arrived,’ Andwise said, giving a little prod to Ferdy. ‘And you might want to tell them to hurry on over afore the poor groom is crushed to death and we be having a wake tomorrer and not a wedding . . .’ Ferdy looked at him in alarm. ‘A joke, dear boy. Now hurry on!’ he urged. Ferdy took off at a quick pace, trailed by his friends who all wanted to be in on breaking the news.

Derufin had managed to get out of the brothers’ grasp and stood tucking his shirt back properly into his breeches. ‘Now if you two louts’ll behave a bit,’ he heard the man say, ‘I’ll introduce you to my friend here.’ Soon the Hobbits small hand was engulfed in turn by Zimzi’s brothers’ hands and then by her mother and father’s.

They stood about in an easy group talking about the cottage and what last minute things there were to be done to it. Zimzi’s father remarked on the workmanship of the door, bringing a flush of pride to the Hobbit’s face. ‘Quite good work,’ he heard Abar say as he ran his fingers over the carving. ‘Very deft at what you do, Master Andwise. Hands of an artist in wood, I would say.’ ‘And heart, too,’ Zamin followed up on her husband’s comments. She had taken a few steps back and was taking in the images be had carved into the wood. ‘Captured the spirit of my dear daughter quite well, I think. And that of my soon to be son,’ she smiled, nodding her head in approval at Andwise.

Andwise was grinning like some great cat got into the bottle of cream. Very nice folk Mistress Zimzi comes from he thought to himself; then, turning a light shade of red, he managed to stammer out his thank-you’s.

[Witch_Queen]

Cree

Cree looked at Fáinu, she didnt' know what else to say. "Fáinu, its ok there is no need to apologize. You should know that." Cree noticed in the corner of her eye a sign about the party to come the next day. "It seems like there shall be a party tomorrow, to think that is the day I was born so long ago on. Tis bad we will miss it. But oh well our task is ahead of us. I guess there be no need of a delay." Cree looked down at the map in front of her. "So this is where we go? Seems like a long journey." Cree looked up at Fáinu and smiled.

Everything will be fine. There is nothing to worry about. All shall be good. "So when do we leave?" Cree had a little smirk in her voice. She had finally returned to herself, the one she had forgotten so long ago.


Avalon

The white crow looked around the inn. Nothing had changed since Avalon left the night before to sleep in the stables. She noticed a sign that wasn't there before. Avalon hopped over to the sign. Help needed:. One "job" stuck out to the white bird. She figured someone like her could help hang the garland. But Avalon had yet to meet the Cook. She was a bit scared and yet excited.

The bird took flight lightly gliding through the inn in search of the woman they called "Cook". Where could she be? I haven't been to the kitchen yet. Well I've never seen the kitchen before. I always stayed with Cree. But now I'm on my own. Avalon noticed that Miss Aman was busy and decided not to bother her. Arriving to the part of the inn she had yet to explore, Avalon landed on the floor and headed up to the door. With her white beak she pushed the door open. Looking up Avalon gazed upon the Cook. She knew the was some way to get the womans attention. Avalon let out a screech and thought the cook was going to die.

Avalon couldn't talk to the hobbit but knew she had to get her request known. Her stomach said she was hungry but Avalon's eyes said that she wanted to help in the hanging of the garland. Avalon waited for the Cooks response to the screech and the sight of the crow in her kitchen.

[Noinkling]

“. . . Should I go on searching for the man? Perhaps I should find the man who rescued me and thank him more appropriately. Should I go back to Taryn? Or should I take up a life like that of a Ranger?"

‘My stars, Keleth what a lot of questions! I don’t envy you having to find the right answer to them!’ Tolly shook his head in wonder. ‘And here my big question was just to find out how to get set up with some honest merchants for the Inn.’ He took a deep breath, considering Keleth’s problem. ‘Now, I’m not saying this’d be right for you, but if I was facing those problems, I think I might go about it this way. To be honest, I think I’d not bother with the man you were chasing . . . the one who murdered your friend. What’ll that get you but a lot of disappointment? I can’t really see how you’ll find him and if you do, what do you plan to do? Kill him? Makes you about the same as him, doesn’t it? And the other man, the one who rescued you – just staying alright is what he wanted for you. Seems like thanks enough if you keep yourself healthy and whole.’ Tolly narrowed his eyes, thinking about what he would do. ‘Family’s awfully important to me. Guess I’d go back and see my sister. Let her know I’m doing just fine. My sisters and brothers talk a lot to each other. We’re always telling each other what we think’s best for each other.’ Tolly laughed. ‘Of course, often I don’t want to hear what my sisters think I should be doing . . . but they tell me anyway!’ He nodded his head. ‘Yes, that’s what I’d do if I were you – go back to see my sister. Talk over your last idea there, the one about being a Ranger. She might think it’s a good idea or really dumb. I know my sisters often think I’m as dense as a rock.’

The Hobbit stood up by the side of his chair. ‘Something to think over, anyways,’ he said. ‘Of course, it’s all up to you in the end. For now, though, let’s go see Cook about helping out with the party.’

The man and Hobbit went into the kitchen, just in time to see a crow screeching at Cook

[piosenniel]

Cook really was not at all pleased with the screeching crow. The old tabby sitting by the stove was not happy either. She fixed the bird with her one rheumy eye and stood up arching her back. A hisssss . . . of annoyance issued from her as she began to walk stiff-legged toward the crow.

‘No, you don’t!’ said Cook firmly, picking the cat up and holding her near. ‘That bird would do you in, sure as anything.’ Cook looked up, perplexed at the noisome crow.

Gwenneth stopped her cookie making and walked over to where the bird stood. ‘I think she wants something from you, Cook.’ Gwenneth looked closely at Avalon. ‘She’s hungry . . . but it’s not food . . . no . . .’

The Elf laughed out loud and clapped her hands in delight, startling both the crow and Cook. ‘She wants to volunteer!’ Cook raised her brows, waiting for Gwenneth to go on. ‘For the party,’ the Elf said.

[Noinkling]

There was a slight clearing of the throat as Tolly tried to catch Cook’s attention. ‘Maybe we can help out,’ he offered, stepping forward. ‘My friend and I thought we might gather greens for the garlands and then help put them up. The crow could help us out . . . show us where to find the best ones.’ He looked over to where one of the servers was scraping some breakfast leavings into the scraps bucket. ‘Used to have a crow that liked to hang about my Da’s place. Maybe we could feed her some scraps,’ he said. ‘Looks hungry.’ Avalon looked from one to another of the creatures in the kitchen.

Cook agreed to the offer from Tolly and sent the three of them off with apples to tide over the man and Hobbit. And a small bowl of tasty breakfast leavings from the kitchen for the crow.

The three had gone out onto the Inn’s porch. The sun was warm and felt quite nice as Keleth and Tolly stood waiting for the crow to finish up her breakfast. ‘Well,’ said Tolly, looking about the Inn grounds, ‘where shall we begin?’

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Fáinu smiled to see Cree existed in anticipation of a new adventure. "Ah, that is the Cree I remember," he said with a smirk, "Bold and adventurous, though many troubles have burdened you since, I see your spirit is not lost." He folded the map away and placed it carefully into his pack.

Asking the bar steward for some late breakfast turned to Cree, he seemed to have been revitalised after the nights sleep. Within a short space of time they were talking again as old friends, laughing and joking about common events. So much so that the Hobbits stopped looking at them in a strange way.

"We shall leave at mid day, I think" Fáinu said at last leaning back in his chair, "It was mid day when I left Rivendell last. It seems appropriate." Cree seemed pleased, though a little anxious about Fáinu's decision to postpone leaving.

[Amanaduial the archer]

"Oh aye, dogs, cats, ravens, horses - the whole merry lot of them." Aman grinned at Hawthorne as she turned, her foot in midstride on the stairs. The hobbit's face broke into a wide smile, but Aman saw the anxious undertones in it, and the way the girl hesitated rather than rushing straight forward.

"Aman! It is good to see you again!"

Aman smiled widely and stepped forward from the shadows of the corridor under the stairs where she had been standing, and embraced Hawthorne warmly. For all the trouble the hobbit had caused last time she had come - namely inadvertently destroying the Innkeeper's home, residence and livelihood - Aman did not wish her any ill, and indeed, after her first few meetings with the Brandybuck lass, she remembered only the girl's keeness to help. Stepping back she winked and motioned a finger to her lips, still wearing her riding gloves. “Shh, I think Cook thinks I’m up with Derufin helping him out. We’ll just let her keep a-thinking that until I’ve got a dress on – she doesn’t approve of my wearing trousers, even if it is somewhat easier to ride in them –”

Hawthorne laughed, but there was still a touch of uneasiness about it, and she seemed to be hesitating on the verge of saying something. Aman smiled warmly at her, tipping her head onto one side as she began to pull off one of her gloves. She hesitated herself, then leant forward. “Don’t mind about Cook or Ruby and Buttercup if they’re a little funny with you, Ms Brandybuck,” she said softly. “No hard feelings, my dear, I hold to that, and so will Derufin and everyone else who helped rebuild the Inn.”

Hawthorne went bright red at the Innkeeper’s words and began to speak. “Oh, Aman, I –”

“Aman! Aman!”

The Innkeeper’s countenance took on a hunted expression as she heard the voice calling her name from outside and she ducked her head slightly, freezing, one glove half on and half off her hand. “Hide me!” she said hoarsely. But it was too late – the Inn door opened and in came a breathless Ferdy, looking around for her. He spied her and came towards her quickly. “Aman! They’re –”

“Keep it down!” Aman flapped her hands frantically at the hobbit. “Cook will kill me!”

The hobbit looked slightly puzzled, then shrugged and continued, his voice slightly lower this time. “Aman, it’s Zimzi’s family – they’re here! They’ve arrived!”

The Innkeeper paled quickly, then she broke out into a wide grin, clapping her hands together with a muffled thump. The sound seemed to remind the Rohirrim woman of her current get-up and she glanced down at her riding clothes – doe-skin riding breeches and knee-high boots, topped by a fitted leather jerkin over a loose white shirt, it’s sleeves rolled up to her elbows revealing that she actually had both elbows and legs, things which Vinca seemed to thoroughly disapprove of. She winced, then shrugged resignedly. “’Not much I can do about it now – I’ll not keep them waiting by changing. Where are they, Ferdy?”

“They’re up with Master Derufin, at the house – but, wait, Aman,” the hobbit caught Aman by the elbow as she started forward. “You haven’t seen Miss Bunce or Zimzi herself, have you?”

Aman shook her head. “Zimzi is helping Cook in the kitchen I think – but wait, wait,” here it was Aman’s turn to stop Ferdy as he made to rush for the kitchen. “Look, tell Zimzi first then…then could you hang on for a moment before telling Cook? I need to get there before she can send me back. She disapproves of my having legs, you see,” she added, as a way of explanation, even if it was a rather opaque one. Ferdy looked hard to the Innkeeper, then nodded. “If you say so, Aman.”

“Good ma- er, hobbit!” Aman clapped Ferdy on the shoulder then, after fiddling momentarily with her haphazardly rolled-up sleeves and the two plaits which her hair was rapidly escaping from, she finally pulled out the ribbons in her hair to let it loose and looked hopelessly at Hawthorne. “How do I look?”

“Like yourself, Miss Aman,” Hawthorne replied with a smile. Aman shot her a quick smile, then almost ran outside, mounting Felarof in an instant. As she was turning him to go out of the yard, she saw Zimzi run out of the kitchen and waited until the woman came to be even with her. “Zimzi, can you ride?”

Zimzi nodded, flushed and eager at the prospect of seeing her family. Aman helped her up – it was made more difficult by Zimzi’s skirt, but she managed perfectly – and they started off at the fast trot towards the house, Zimzi seated behind Aman. The Innkeeper glanced back at the other woman’s face just behind her shoulder. “I finally get to meet your family! Sorry I held up Miss Bunce there, by the way: your parents won’t mind my being dressed like this, will they?”

Zimzi grinned and gave a merry, musical laugh. “I couldn’t care less if you were dressed like a fig pudding, Amanaduial – I am so looking forward to seeing them – to having them meet my friends, and my Derufin!”

Aman smiled. “Aye – well, no point in hanging around then, is there?” Tightening her grip on Felarof’s mane, she clicked her tongue and they sped forward into an easy canter, coming in sight of the house and the little crowd around it. Zimzi gave a whoop and waved, clinging on with her other hand to Aman’s waist – where the Rohirrim woman was surprised to be experiencing butterflies. Ah well, if I’m going to make the wrong impression, I may as well go the whole hog and come in riding a horse... I look like a flamin' ranger!

[Tevildo]

Since Keleth and Tolly had agreed to take on the job of finding and stringing the lovely green garlands, Cook had reassigned Mistress Ellie and the young Hawthorne lass to the job of serving meals and cleaning up the guest chambers. The Inn was packed to overflowing, and there was a great deal of work to be done.

"For now, clean up the tables in the Common Room where folk are finishing their breakfast," Cook had hastily explained. "Then go upstairs and help dust the chambers and dress the beds with fresh linens. Later on Mistress Amaranthas will be arriving and bringing flowers for the party, and the two of you will be able to help her set them out on the tables."

Mistress Ellie nodded quickly in agreement. She was so relieved to have a roof over her head for at least the next few nights without having to dip into her remaining pennies that she would have agreed to do most anything. She set in to scrubbing down the large table near the kitchen where a family of noisey Hobbits had been sitting. They had arrived from the Southfarthing just the day before and had thoroughly enjoyed their meal but the little ones had left a considerable mess with porridge spilled all over the table and even dripping onto the floor.

After finally managing to get the table clean, just as she was starting on the floor, Ellie glanced up from her scrubbing to to see if she could see Tevildo. There was no sign of the cat anywhere in the Common Room. He may have gone out to the barn to catch a mouse or two, she mused, and immediately put aside all thoughts of her fluffy white companion to concentrate again on the task at hand.

Her companion Hawthorne was busy clearing off several other tables and scraping the scraps from the plates into a pail hanging near the wall. Hawthorne's dog trailed closely behind the young lass. Once or twice, the young Hobbit tossed a small piece of bread down to the waiting mouth of the dog. Ellie smiled as she watched the dog's tail wag vigorously back and forth. Everything seemed to be going very nicely.

[Nimrodel_9]

Well, where shall we begin?

Tolly voice broke Keleth out of his thoughts. He had been thinking about what the hobbit had said earlier. He knew from the start that hunting down the man and killing him would be doing the same as the man did to Damon. That had not stopped him though. His hate for him was too strong.

He pulled his light-brown shoulder length hair out of his eyes, and looked around the Inn grounds. It had been rather warm inside the Inn, he thought, and the cool air felt good on his face. "Why don`t we start over there?" he said, indicating to the patch of trees near the Inn. "That is, if you want to," he added.

[piosenniel]

Aman and Zimzi were halfway to the old groundskeeper’s cottage when the nearing sounds of laughter and loud voices mixed in with the clip-clop of horses’ hooves caused them to pull up. ‘I’d know that laugh anywhere!’ cried Zimzi, slipping from the back of Felarof.

A few quick steps soon brought her round a turn in the dirt path and into the arms of her two brothers. Sakal swept her up in his grasp and whirled her about, egged on by Azar to twirl her faster. They paid no heed to warnings from their mother to put her down. Nor did the quick sharp command of their father faze them. This was an old game of the three – spin Zimzi about until she could hardly stand when put down, and later try to evade her own little trap she’d set for turnabout.

Felarof, with Aman still astride, had stopped a short ways away from the meeting. He looked on curiously, shaking his head and snorting at the actions of the group. With a great whoop, the brothers set Zimzi on her feet, laughing as she nearly fell. She clung to Azar’s arm and pulled herself up straight, only to note that both her brothers were staring now towards Felarof.

‘Oh, very nice,’ said Sakal. ‘You’ll introduce us, of course,’ followed up Azar, stepping forward.

Derufin had by this time come up and put his arm round Zimzi to steady her. He grinned at Aman, then spoke to the brothers. ‘Introduce you? Be happy to oblige. To the horse, right?’ ‘Fine specimen, lads, comes from pure stock . . .’ he began.

‘Fine specimen, indeed,’ murmured Azar, nudging his brother out of the way as he stepped in front of him.’ ‘Not the horse, you oaf,’ Sakal muttered to Derufin. Derufin’s mouth formed a mock ‘O’ of surprise.

Zimzi laughed catching the object of her brothers’ glances at last. ‘This is my friend, Mistress Aman, the Innkeeper of The Green Dragon.’ She pointed toward her grinning siblings. ‘And these, Aman, are my dear brothers . . . Azar and Sakal.’

[piosenniel]

~*~ ***Notice of New Game Opening*** ~*~

Firefoot invites you to take a look at her game: Sailing Away (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/showthread.php?t=11484)

The Discussion Thread will open to take on players January 1st.

Hope to see you there. Should be a fun game.

~*~ Pio

[starkat]

Gwenneth smiled as she returned to the cookies. The last batch had just come out of the oven and were cooling when Cook made up her mind and sent the crow out to help with the outside decorations.

The elf maid smiled. Momentarily lost in thought, Ginger had to tug on her sleeve to get her attention. "I am sorry Ginger. I did not mean for my mind to wander."

"That's alright. I just asked if you wanted to help ice the cookies. We can make the icing while we are waiting on the cookies to finish cooling."

"Alright."Gwenneth reached for a mixing bowl and then with a shy smile she turned to the Hobbit next to her. "Ginger, may I mix the yellow coloring? My mother taught me a special recipe. It is a little sweet though."

Cook broke in, "The sweeter the better! Hobbits enjoy sweet things."

"Yes, ma'am." Gwenneth reached over and picked up a small bag of very fine sugar. Ginger busied herself with mixing the green icing. Every so often Gwenneth could see her friend looking over at what she was doing. The elf began to hum as she worked.

After a few minutes, when Ginger was absorbed in mixing her own batch of icing, Gwenneth reached over and put a small dab of golden yellow icing on the back of her Hobbit friend's hand. Ginger did not notice at first until Gwenneth laughed softly. The Hobbit looked up at the elf in surprise. She retaliated with putting an extra spoonful of sugar in the elf's bowl. Suddenly the two heard an "Ahem" from Cook. They exchanged glances and quickly finished their icing.

[Arry]

Andwise watched the little scene unfold with a knowing half smile on his face. ‘Smitten by a lass in breeches! Get them every time!’ he thought to himself, nodding at the recollection of his own dear Lily one of the first times he’d seen her. Out in the fields, she was, and it was haying time. Her hand scythe went swishing rhythmically through the sheaves of hay she’d grasped in one hand. It had been near evening, the sun dipping down to the land’s rim. And there she was backlit against it. He’d thought her another of the lads, at first, til he neared her, and she raised up, seeing him, her bright smile flashing out in the low light. He remembered how she’d drawn off the kerchief that held back her curls and shook them out in the waning light. And how they caught the last of it, glinting merrily at him. He was utterly transfixed by her . . . a dangerous lass of sorts in breeches, her skin rosy from the effort of the work. She laughed, breaking the spell she’d put him under, only to pull him in deeper as she waved to him. How odd he must have looked to her, he thought. And what simple magics she had woven since, that kept her memory so fresh for him and so happy.

He sighed, wishing again that she was still with him. And in a way, he granted, she was. Even now, he fell to talking to her . . . asking if she remembered that day. His mind echoed her laughter, making him believe she did recall and yes . . . was still near him.

Leaving the Big Folk to get on with their merry meeting, he eased about the group, continuing on to the Inn. ‘A mug and a pipe,’ he thought to himself as he climbed the stairs to the Dragon and entered. ‘That’s what I need right now. The door is done and hung, the little cottage all painted, waiting only to dry now.’ He’d just stepped up to the bar to place his order when he caught sight of Ferdy and his companions reading some list tacked up on one of the Common Room beams.

‘What’s this!’ he asked coming over to them, his mug in hand. Ferdy pointed at a few items still left on Cook’s volunteer list. ‘Look, Da!’ the lad said running his finger down the line of ‘jobs’. ‘There’s a number of things to be done about the Inn for the handfasting. We’re thinking of taking up one or two . . . help out, so to speak.’

‘Be nearer Ginger, so to speak is what he really means,’ whispered Gil to Fallon. ‘Of course,’ pointed out Fallon, nodding to the bar, ‘we’ll be much closer to the ale, too.’ ‘Good point!’ agreed Tomlin and Ferrin. ‘And much closer to the food, as well.’

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger put on her most serious, concentrated face as she turned back to decorating her stack of cookies. From beneath her long lashes, she glanced up now and then, checking to see what Cook was doing. At first, Cook’s eye was often on the Hobbit and Elf. But then, as she got to watching her cake pans and fussing with the frosting she intended to use on the tiered confection, her attention wandered from the two cookie makers.

Beneath the table, Ginger poked Gwenneth lightly with her foot. She crossed her eyes as soon as the Elf looked up and stuck her tongue out, then flipped a small amount of red frosting at her from the end of her mixing spoon. Gwenneth stifled a gasp as Ginger put her finger to her lips, nodding toward Cook. The Elf smiled slyly, wiping the blob of frosting from her cheek. A small, soft yellow missile was quickly flipped from Gwenneth’s own spoon, making a sticky landing amidst Ginger’s curls. Another round of silent laughter and face-making was brought up short with one clearly enunciated word by Cook.

‘Ladies!’

The two turned toward her, expecting to see her giving them both a critical look and a wag of her finger. But her back was turned still toward them, as she sliced the layers of cake in two and put on a thick layer of raspberry jam. Their brows went up as they looked at each other, wondering how she had known what they were doing.

‘Eyes in the back of her head,’ whispered Ginger, leaning toward Gwenneth. ‘Just like my own Ma!’

The two stood up and apologized, saying that they really were done frosting the cookies and perhaps they should go and find something ‘constructive’ to do. It was a word Ginger threw in, her Ma often using that when she wanted her children’s shenanigans to take a different direction. ‘We’ll just go down to the cellar and find the little strings of party lanterns,’ said Ginger. ‘And the little candles that go in them,’ added Gwenneth. Ginger nodded, grabbing her friend’s hand and heading toward the cellar steps. ‘We’ll need the ladder from the stable . . . oh, and the hammer and nails, too.’ The two started down the stairs.

‘Hobbits have eyes in the backs of their heads?’ whispered Gwenneth, a questioning look on her face. ‘Just the ones that are mothers,’ answered Ginger. ‘And it must be so . . . never could figure out how else they could see what they saw . . .’ From above, Cook chuckled softly at the chatter of the two lasses. She scooped up a generous portion of icing on her frosting knife and applied it to the first layer. Humming to herself as she did so, she glanced up checking on who had just come into the kitchen, though her back was to the door.

There, reflected in the polished copper bottoms of her good pots and skillets that hung along the wall, was a full view of her domain . . .

[Fairleaf]

One of the Fair Folk and one of the Halflings came chattering toward where she stood. Like little birds, they were. Their voices piping over the grass, hands fluttering like wings. Behind them trailed a reluctant little pony, drafted it seemed into drawing a cart which held their supplies. They stopped at the end of the line of trees in which Fairleaf now stood. She had moved slowly closer to the Inn in hopes of seeing what was going on.

She watched as the Halfling tied the pony to a small log, one of many that were grouped about the great grassy place that grew in front of the Inn. The two young women struggled with some sort of long apparatus, maneuvering it rather clumsily out of the back of the wagon. Fairleaf watched as they extended its length then leaned it against the lower branches of a far beech. The Halfling held the apparatus steady while the other girl climbed it, several pretty, shiny, large, hollow baubles in her hands. Fairleaf smiled at this thinking how nice it was for the trees to be adorned.

Slowly, they worked their way toward her, chatting still. One, the Halfling she now knew was Ginger, made her hand sweep the area in front of Fairleaf. Apparently, this was to be where the dancing would take place, while under the trees to her right and left would be the tables where the food and drink would be. Gwenneth, the Fair Folk one, helped Ginger to place the ladder against Fairleaf (she had learned the word as they discussed it). And now Ginger began handing up lanterns (another new word).

How pretty they look, swinging on my branches. Like jewels; their glass is so pretty with all its shiny colors.

Fairleaf swayed her branches just a little, watching how the glass caught the sun. The motion stopped abruptly as further conversation caught her attention. ‘They’ll look so pretty when we light the candles!’ said Gwenneth with a delighted laugh.

By bark and root! They mean to put fire in the trees!

[Envinyatar]

‘Perhaps we should move along toward the Inn.’ Derufin’s suggestion fell into the thick silence that had fallen momentarily over the group. Zimzi’s mother and father voiced their agreement, Abar flicking the reins lightly on the backs of the horses which drew the wagon. Zamin called out to her sons, telling them to come along. ‘Stop acting as if you’ve never seen a pretty woman,’ she chided. ‘Your father and I didn’t raise you to be such louts!’ The two young men apologized, turning red at their mother’s public words. They took their leave of the Innkeeper and made their way back to the wagon.

Derufin put his arm about Zimzi’s waist, her own cheeks suddenly reddened by her brothers’ behavior and her mother’s remarks. ‘Oh, what Aman must think of my family!’ she said low to him.

‘Aman has a good sense of humor, Zimzi. I wouldn’t be worried about her.’ He grinned up at the Innkeeper, on whose face he had thought he’d seen a small, pleased smile. ‘Aman, lead on to the Inn, if you will.’ Derufin grasped the cheek piece of Felarof’s bridle and turned him about, heading him toward the Dragon. He looked back to where Zamin was talking in a low voice to her sons; their heads nodding at her words. ‘Perhaps by the time we all reach the Inn, they will have learned some manners, eh?’ He slapped the horse lightly on his hindquarters, calling up to Aman just before Felarof carried her off. ‘Though, I must admit,’ he said winking as she glanced down, ‘I have always thought you quite fetching in your riding outfit.’

This final comment was followed by a loud Oof!! as Zimzi nudged him hard in the ribs . . .

[piosenniel]

Notice of time moving forward in the Inn:

Preparations for the handfasting party are getting done - lanterns have been put up in the trees, there are garlands being strung about the outside and soon the inside of the Inn. Many of the lads are helping to move tables out of doors to the front yard, in preparation for the outdoor festivities.

Mistress Zimzi's family has arrived from Lindon.

The present day is waning . . . suppertime has come . . . the sun is moving to its little resting place beneath the rim of the world . . .

Please let your further posts reflect the change of time . . .

[piosenniel]

The cake was done at last. Four tiers of moist lemon cake, their layers filled with rich raspberry jam from the Inn’s own bushes. And overall a light, white foamy frosting set all about with the sugared violets Ginger had done earlier in the week. Cook set it carefully on a wide counter in the pantry, next to the trays of frosted cookies. All was ready for the tomorrow as far as the deserts were concerned. And of course there would be contributions from the goodwives who came in for the party. All vying for compliments as they put their best recipes forward.

Cook sat down heavily in her chair. Goodness, but it had been a long day standing in the kitchen. Productive . . . and satisfying . . . but long and tiring none the less. Servers were coming in and out of the kitchen, taking out platters of sandwiches and pickle for the lunchtime crowd, returning with dishes to be washed. She noted that fewer trays of food were going out and more of the dirty dishes were finding their way back. Lunch must almost be over then already! Buttercup had started the large pot of rich vegetable soup with chicken for dinner and was lining up loaves of bread to be sliced later to accompany it. She saw Cook casting an eye about, her brow furrowed. ‘If it’s dessert you’re looking for, it’s going to be simple, too,’ Buttercup told her, giving the soup another stir. ‘Nice crisp pears from our own trees, a lovely wedge of sharp cheese, and a glass of port.’ Cook nodding her head, thinking suddenly how hungry she was and how she’d like a little of that.

Earlier in the day Zimzi had brought her family in to greet Cook. She knew them already of course from when she’d travel with Zimzi and Master Derufin as chaperone to Lindon to see them; it was a great delight to see them once again. Aman, still in her riding breeches, had come in with them, and Cook noted the surreptitious glances the brothers made toward her. And how they vied for her attention – one pulling out a chair for her, the other offering to fetch a glass of water were she thirsty. Cook tsk’d keeping the comment to herself that perhaps the Innkeeper should be dressing in a way more befitting her station. It’s what comes of hiring one of those Big Folk from Rohan she supposed; perhaps that is how they dress there she thought reconsidering her opinion.

All had seen the cake and approved of it, though the men mostly nodded their heads at the comments which the ladies made about it, bemused looks on their faces. Zimzi was delighted, too, with the cookies Ginger and Gwenneth had done, and asked Cook to be sure to give her thanks to them. Cook said that she would, saying they were out with the others putting up the lanterns and garlands about the front yard. She could see that Zimzi’s family was tired from their long journey, so she left them in their daughter’s able hands and bade them rest up as they wished or relax in the Common Room.

Ginger had come in later, her cheeks flushed, trailed by Ferdy and his companions. Gwenneth had gone for a short ride before supper, she explained, and the fellows had helped her with the rest of the lanterns and some of the garlands. ‘I’m just going to get us something to eat and drink,’ she told Cook, motioning for the lads to go on into the Common Room.’ She piled some sandwiches onto a tray and fetched a large pitcher of cold cider with six mugs for the lot of them. ‘Once the dinner crowd’s thinned out tonight,’ she said backing through the door with her tray, ‘we’ll get started on the garlands for the inside of the Inn. Oh, and could you let Gwenneth know where we are if she comes in through the kitchen?’ She was out the door before Cook could respond in any manner but with a smile and a quick nod of her head.

‘Girl’s feeling much perkier, I’ve noticed,’ said Buttercup, drying up the washed plates and putting them away. ‘And young Master Ferdy’s not quite so tongue-tied any more, either.’ She took out the bowls for the soup to be served in later and lined them in stacks on one of the counters. Once done, she brought a glass of cider each and a plate of sandwiches for herself and Cook. Pulling a chair near, she perched her legs on it with a satisfied ‘Ahhhh!’

Cook took a long swig of her drink and tucked into one of the thick ham sandwiches, speaking around it as she chewed. ‘Best we finish up here soon and get back to it, I suppose. There’s still platters of cheeses and meats to be sliced for tomorrow, though I think Miz Hawthorne and her friend might be handling that. We’ll just get them set up. And we’d best see if the tablecloths were ironed.’ Cook sighed. ‘And then of course, there’s the hungry hordes who’ll be wanting supper soon . . .’

[Noinkling]

Tolly, Keleth, and Avalon

Once they’d got into the swing of things, time flew by quickly. the crow was helpful, flitting from tree to tree, pointing out the best and most full pine and balsam boughs for the garlands. Keleth and Tolly had hewn them down, being sure not to cut too many from each tree. ‘Wouldn’t want them to look all lopsided for the party tomorrow,’ the Hobbit said. They’d take a little wagon out with them, piling the boughs in it as they went along. By the time the sun was standing half past noon, they’d gotten what they needed and had gone back to the stable with the cart. One of the servers had packed them a lunch which they wolfed down in little time, along with a jug of cool cider to drink.

In the stable, they’d found the baling wire and the cutters for it. And the rest of the afternoon was spent making long garlands of the boughs which others of the work crew would fetch for those putting them up along the long verandah of the Inn. One of the Hobbits helping to do this had confided to Tolly that his cousin and his band would be setting up tomorrow on the wide front porch and be playing for the dancers. Tolly grinned at the news. He loved to dance.

Tolly’s stomach was beginning to grumble as they finished the last garland string. He looked out the stable door, noting it was getting late in the evening. Keleth, too, looked tired and hungry. ‘Let’s knock off for the evening – get some supper. We’re done here, anyway.’ He looked up at the crow, perched on one of the overhanging beams. ‘You come, too,’ Tolly said motioning for the bird to follow as they exited the stable. ‘You’ve done a long day’s work as well. We’ll find some scraps and a plate of ale for you!’

[piosenniel]

Notice of time moving forward in the Inn:

Preparations for the handfasting party are getting done - lanterns have been put up in the trees to be lit tomorrow evening for the party, there are garlands being strung about the outside and soon the inside of the Inn. Many of the lads are helping to move tables out of doors to the front yard, in preparation for the outdoor festivities.

Mistress Zimzi's family has arrived from Lindon.

The present day is waning . . . suppertime has come . . . the sun is moving to its little resting place beneath the rim of the world . . .

Please let your further posts reflect the change of time . . .

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

When I return home from work, @ 1 a.m. Pacific US time - the time will move forward again to around midnight in the Shire . . .

Thanks for your patience!

~*~ Pio

[Nimrodel_9]

Tolly, Keleth, and the crow sat at a table near a fireplace. Keleth tore a piece of his bread, and gave it to the crow, who took it gladly.

Cutting the limbs had been long and tiresome, but not all together hard. He took a large gulp of ale and looked about the room. People were busy preparing for the party. Keleth was surprised to find that he was excited for the party. At parties, he normally sat in the corner, listened to the music (Keleth was very fond of music), and waited for it to get over, but he felt he would enjoy this one more. He couldn`t explain why. Maybe it was the presence of the small and cheerful hobbits.

Keleth turned and watched a hobbit lass clearing off a table, and a thought hit him. The conversations between he and Tolly were often about himself. The hobbit would mention small things about his family, but never said spoke much of himself.

Keleth turned back to Tolly. "Uh, just curious, but are you courting anyone?" Keleth realized how this question may have sounded. He laughed. "Not that I`m asking you to court me, but I was just wondering."

[Regin Hardhammer]

Huan sat by the fire and watched the parade of people going in and out of the Inn, his tail thumping against the hard wood floor. There were a great number of folk getting ready for some festivity. Some of them were working on moving tables outside or beginning to string garlands around the Common Room. Others had set vases with flowers on the table. Still others had taken seats around the tables inside and were eating their supper. The women and girls serving the meal scurried back and forth from the kitchen to the tables. The spectacle of so many people was very interesting, but Huan was beginning to think about getting some supper of his own.

Huan had not had anything to drink since his arrival earlier that day and greatly desired some nice cool water. His parched pink tongue hung lazily out of his mouth. Hawthorne, his charming mistress, was sadly ignoring him since she was busy serving guests and told him that he would have to wait. Huan found a mug of ale spilled on the floor that someone had been too lazy to pick up or was unaware of its fall. Although it was neither cool nor water, it was wet and that was good enough for this dog. With several great laps of his tongue Huan cleaned out all of the ale from the flask and the surrounding floor.

After allaying his thirst, Huan realized that he was beginning to be quite hungry. Suddenly he spied a prize snatch that looked wonderful through his big brown eyes. A roasted turkey leg lay half eaten in front of a human man who was talking to a stout dwarf. The man appeared to be telling some sort of joke to the dwarf, who in turn was laughing loudly. Quickly Huan rushed over toward the preoccupied victim, slinking down as he padded silently and swiftly along the wooden floor that was exactly the same color as his shaggy coat. After snatching up the leg and firmly clenching the treat between his teeth, he fled before the man was aware of its absence. Retreating to an empty closet inside the kitchen he began gnawing his dinner with gusto, with muttered growls under his breath when one of the kitchen maids tried to step forward and deprive him of his prize. From the inside of the closet, he could hear the man across the room howling at the serving maids about his missing dinner.

Finishing his supper and peering out around the closet door, he noticed a large white fur-ball who was roaring like a lion to get others to notice it, although no one seemed to be paying any mind. Huan sprang to attention and felt a loud growl begin to well up in his chest. How he despised cats! They were always purring at people and trying to win attention, always thinking about themselves without the slightest regard for their master or mistress. Huan found their attitude deplorable.

He began to accost the feline with barks and snarls. The cat puffed up even more and began hissing back. Then suddenly the merry race was on. Under tables, over benches, behind the bar, around chairs, they raced snapping and clawing all the way. Like a tornado they left two broken vases, crushed flowers, and toppled chairs in their wake plus one Hobbit sprawling on the ground who had been misfortunate enough to be climbing a ladder to try and string a garland. As the chase continued, Huan’s hatred toward the cat mounted until nothing, not even the army of king Elessar himself, could stop him from catching that fatuous feline.

[Tevildo]

Round and round the room they raced, tracing and retracing their tangled path. If truth be told, Tevildo was enjoying the chase, but in a short time came to the conclusion that enough was enough. He'd had his fill of running: now it was time to do battle against this bothersome hound.

The decision to change tactics came none too soon, since the animals had exited the Common Room and were rapidly approaching the end of the hallway, a small nook that came to a dead end under the stairs where there was no place to turn right or left. Tevildo spun around, dug in his claws, and hissed loudly, puffing up to twice his size, "You nassty dog! Vermin of the Earth, slave of your mistress, probably even a lover of Elves!" The cat had hurled out the worst insults he could think of.

Over the years, Tevildo had discovered that, even though humans were too dense to understand most of what he said, dogs invariably got the idea. From the look on the hound's face, Tevildo could tell that most of his announcement had registered. It was only the last little bit, the reference to Elves (whom Tevildo truly hated), that had flown over the dog's big, stupid head.

The cat issued his final warning with a ringing salvo that meant something like this: "I am a servant of the great lord Melko. Turn and retreat, or prepare to die." The dog shook his head, looking slightly puzzled, but showed no sign of turning back. Undaunted by his opponent, Tevildo sprang forward through the air, managing to bat the hound on the nose with a resounding slap. Landing adroitly just a few inches away, the cat crouched low and prepared to lunge forward a second time, howling his indignation. But this time the lunge never came...

There was a scurrying noise and loud upset voices as feet came running down the hall. "Where are they?" bellowed the young Hobbit lass to her companion.

"Under the stairs," Mistress Ellie cried out as she ran straight up to Tevildo. With her arm carefully protected by the thick folds of a wrapped apron (she'd had experience with this sort of thing before), Ellie reached down and snatched the squalling cat from the middle of the maelstorm, chiding him as she lifted him up by the scruff of the neck. "Tevildo, you naughty thing. Picking a fight with this nice dog. I'm sure he didn't harm you in the slightest. You'd best behave or Mistress Aman will exile you to the stables, and you won't be able to sit by the warm fire. There's going to be a grand feast here tomorrow, and we can't have all this fuss!"

Screeching and clawing, Tevildo tried very hard to tell Mistress Ellie that Huan was definitely not a nice dog, and that the hound had been the one who had done the first attacking. But no one, not even Mistress Ellie, seemed to be listening to him in the slightest. To his chagrin, he was hauled upstairs by the scruff of the neck and locked inside Mistress Ellie's bedchamber. The room was not very warm; no fire burned in the grate. Tevildo sat shivering on the window sill, feeling very sorry for himself. He gazed sullenly over the courtyard, his tail twitching nervously back and forth while he reflected on how hungry he was.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Hawthorne knelt down beside Huan, and gently stroked his head, as she took a closer look at the place where Tevildo's claws had managed to connect with his nose. Finding a small cut that was beginning to bleed, she quickly led Huan back towards the kitchen hoping to cleanse the wound and find a salve to put on it. As she led the dog down the hallway, she muttered a few words of consolation, partially directed to herself and partially for Huan's benefit, "That nasty cat! I can't believe he attacked you like that! You poor thing. They'd best keep an animal like that out of the way with the handfasting and party getting under way!" Feeling a little guilty for ignoring her hound earlier, she noted, "And I didn't even feed you. You must be starved!"

Finding her way to the kitchens, Hawthorne tended to Huan's battle wounds and then detoured to the cutting board where there was a large steak bone with plenty of thick, juicy meat hanging off of it, a prize that Cook had set over to one side. Hawthorne picked up the bone and led Huan out to where he could sit on a large mat in front of the hearthfire.

Wagging his tale in glee, Huan came forward to his mistress, licked her hand appreciatively, and deftly relieved her of the steakbone. Then he settled down on the mat to gnaw at this prize and enjoy the warmth of the fire. Hawthorne could tell that Huan was feeling good about himself. His tail thumped contentedly against the floor as he surveyed the room. In fact, studying him more closely, she could almost swear that he was laughing at something.....

[piosenniel]

Notice of time moving forward:

It is now very near midnight in the Shire. Most of the local Hobbits have all long ago gone off to their burrows; the guests of the Inn have made their way to their rooms, and are now snug under quilts.

Only a few of the Inn staff and a small number of late night guests are still in the Common Room, drinking the last of their pints or straightening up a bit for the morrow . . .

[piosenniel]

Midnight in the Inn . . .

Cook was making a last round of the kitchen before retiring to her room. She was looking forward to the mug of hot spiced wine she’d made for herself, once she’d banked her little fire and snuggled under her quilts. The kitchen was all in readiness for managing the food and drink for tomorrow. She’d recruited one of the local lasses to finish the platters of sliced meats and cheeses which Zimzi had started. And sent Zimzi off to be with her family. The cookies were done; the cake finished; the huge Inn punchbowl drug out and washed.

Her next step, and last she hoped for the night, was a quick trip to the bar where Miz Aman was busy drying the last of the mugs for tomorrow. The two ladies nodded at each other, both too tired to begin a conversation. Cook raised her brows and Aman tipped her head to one of the shelves below the bar. There she had placed the various bottles of spirits which were to make up the punch. Cook tucked two bottles under each arm and grasped the other two in her hands. ‘Should be enough,’ she muttered to herself as she ran through the secret recipe. ‘At least for the first round!’ she chuckled. With a quick step she retreated back to the kitchen, lining up the bottles on the counter next to the bowl. Like little soldiers, she thought, ready for battle.

The old cat was curled up on her rug by the stove. Cook scooped her up under one arm and trundled her off to bed, making a nice little nest in the quilts for the tabby. Then, with a sigh of contentment, she removed her robe and slid under the covers. A mug of wine later found her snoring soundly on her pillows, her little lamp still burning softly . . .

[HerenIstarion]

The warmth spread from the hearth, and jumping shadows of the flickering fire made the familiar and beloved nooks of the Common Room even more cozy than usual. It was late, and those who haven’t yet left for home, were drowsy. Odds and ends of lazy conversation may have been heard, if anyone were in the mood of eavesdropping, but curiosity itself was lazed by the late hour and warmth of the room. It’s been a hard day, with wedding preparations full steam ahead, and hosts and helpers alike felt they deserved a little bit of rest

It was a cold night outside. Freezing drizzle, as if suspended in the air, was making efforts of becoming rain proper, but failed, succeeding though in wetting the earth, and turning the cart-way into the line of icy mud.

‘I hope it gets better than that tomorrow’ muttered someone lazily.

‘It will, Old Toby said we’ll have fine weather as sure as sunshine, and that old stub keeps his nose down the wind with more skikk than anyone I know of’

As the guest spoke, muted clatter of hooves and squeaking of wheels may have been heard coming from the South, were customers in the Common Room attentive enough to pay heed. Three heavily loaded wagons, pulled by extremely wretched nags of a horses and covered with tarpaulin, seemingly roughly knocked together out of some allegedly ligneous flotsam and jetsam, rolled up the pathway to the front door.

Tree coachmen jumped off almost concurrently. All three were broad of shoulder, but stocky, almost squat. They were even dressed alike, in some grey and dirty rags, topped with equally grey torn cloaks. One, apparently the leader, slapped the board of the middle wagon with the handle of his whip.

‘Hey, you riff-raff’, come out!’ he shouted in harsh voice. ‘You can go on slugging inside that hovel of an inn for a change!’ For some time, no sound came in return, than a whole chorus of muffled grumbling and bustling could have been heard, and some more ragged figures hoisted themselves down from the body of the wagon. Judging by their lesser stature and higher tone to their snarling, these were the women, but equally stocky and broad of shoulder as the coachmen were

‘What is this place?’ sulkily asked the youngest. ‘Why could not we stop somewhere, father, instead of roaming all the time?’

‘Because they always drive us off, if you please, you dunce’ snarled the chief coachman, ‘they don’t like us, you know. And this is the very place they killed our Sharkey, so keep your mouth shut, everybody, I’ll do the talking!’ Hey, what do you think you are up to?’ he turned abruptly to the second coachman, who just started to unharness his pull-horse.

‘What?’ startled coachman stared at the leader with apparent fear.


‘I’m a leader of the band of idiots!’ growled the chief coachman under his breath, then yelled at the delinquent, ‘Do you have gold on you, Snaggy?

‘No, uncle’ answered the latter with unconcealed terror.

‘So, you probably would guess that we don’t have the means to pay for our food and lodgings here, would you?”

‘Yes, uncle’ cam an answer in hardly audible whisper.

‘Than, I dare utter a guess, you’d prefer to have wagons ready at the door for our escape, would you not?

‘Yes uncle...’

‘So leave the heck that harness alone, you dim-wit!’

‘But, uncle, the horses, they need...”

‘What, what damn horses need? Drop it, I say, or I’ll have your head for my supper tonight!’

‘Yes, uncle’

Grumbling and sulking, party followed the leader up to the front door, which he threw open with an angry jerk of his shoulder.

The quiet whisper of the Common Room dropped abruptly as the newcomers filed into the room, bringing in sharp smell of frost and horses. The Chief coachman, followed by his train, approached the bar, where Aman was wiping glasses, but now stopped and turned attentive eye on the company.

‘Good evening, M’am’ started the chief coachman in an unctuous voice, mastering his anger at the face of his need. ‘My name is Dublong, there are my wife and daughter, and those youngsters over there are my nephews. We travel from the South – they say there are good places to live in now that the King returned’

To her surprise, Aman noticed that Dublong pronounced ‘King’ with the twitch, unlike usual affection the word radiated when spoken by everybody she knew. Meanwhile, Dublong went on.

‘We will be going on tomorrow, M’am, but we’d like room to roll the night over, and something to chew before.’

There was something strange about the man. He seemed friendly, but Aman could not help feeling uneasy about him. There was something wrong, something Mayor Samwise would call ‘fishy’ if he were about to put a name to it.

Yet she smiled and answered courteously

‘I’m Aman. This is the right place you came to, Sir’. I have a free room for five, and the supper is fresh from the fire. It’s mushrooms today, with a melted cheese on top. Besides, I may offer you white bread, and butter; and milk for the lass, and beer for you and your nephews, of course. Would you like it served here or in your room?’

‘In the room, we are tired from the road’ came a quick reply.

‘Too quick’ thought Aman ‘as if he were afraid of something.’ ‘But of course, as you wish it, Sir’ was what she said aloud. ‘Are those your carts outside?’

‘Um... yes?’ Now the man looked wary.

’Merry will take care of the horses. They are no less tired and hungry than you are, I believe?’

‘Um... I would not wish to trouble you that much, M’am, no need to, no need to, they are sturdy beasts, they can spend the night were they are...’

‘Well, it is not a trouble for a stablemaster to lead the horses to the stable, Sir’ smiled Aman. ‘Don’t you worry, they will be taken a good care of, Merry is a good groom, the best to be found for twenty miles round the place.

‘Well, if you say so. Thank you, M’am’ Dublong felt that insisting in the matter may give rise to suspicions. “We’ll have to slip to the stables first thing in the morning, than’ was what he thought. ‘Now, we would like to go to our room, M’am

“But of course, follow me’’

Aman came out from behind the bar, took one of the sconces standing on its side and lead the party through one of the doorways leading to guest rooms behind the Common Room.

‘Funny customers, those’, muttered Tolly to no one in particular
‘Sure’ answered Kaleth, ‘but you get all sorts of these days, what with all comings and goings up the greenway and all’

‘Yeh, mighty load of folks coming North, you’re right’ yawned back Tolly.

The room fell back to quiet buzzing of muffled whispering. The party of newcomers, obviously, haven’t aroused much interest in the tired old hands of the Inn.

[Noinkling]

Before going to bed, Tolly had gone out to check on his pony. Benny enjoyed these nightly visits from his owner . . . there was the lovely scratching between the ears, the soft words, and of course, the tasty carrot, or apple, or better yet, a sugar lump. Benny nosed about in Tolly’s pockets until he’d ferreted out the treat. No! Treats plural. A sugar lump in his cloak pocket, and an apple in his breeches. Keleth had come out with the Hobbit, wanting to stretch his legs a bit before going to bed. He sat on one of the hay bales, watching Tolly and Benny.

As they walked back toward the Inn, Tolly looked toward the west with a smile just seen under the spare moon. ‘G’night, my dear,’ he said, then laughed a bit at Keleth’s look of surprise. ‘We always say goodnight to each other,’ he explained, my dear wife, Blossom, and I. I mentioned her when you asked if I were courting anyone.’ Tolly laughed again. ‘My stars she’d be laughing, too at the question.’ He looked thoughtful for a moment, ‘Though of course, being married, if you really work at it, or so I’ve discovered is a lifetime of courting each other.’

The two had gotten back to the warmth of the Common Room and stood shaking off the icy rain that had just started from their cloaks. Keleth had insisted on a last round of drink. ‘Something warm,’ he’d said, taking a chair by the small fire in the hearth. ‘Let’s have a bit of tea, then. Laced with honey and a drop of Bywater brandy. Good for sleeping.’ Tolly pulled out his pipe as he sat near Keleth and offered his pouch of Southern Star to his companion. ‘Here, take a pipeful. I’ll be back in a trice with the tea.’

The door to the Common room blew open with the wind and rain, allowing in an odd group of folk who looked about the room with suspicion. As Tolly and Keleth watched they made their way to where Aman stood, wiping up the last of the cups. An odd lot, the two companions agreed as they puffed on their pipes.

‘I think I’ll make my way to bed,’ said Tolly, knocking the ashes from his pipe into the fireplace. Two cups of the special tea had made him quite drowsy and he noted Keleth was yawning, too. ‘I’ll see you at breakfast, then,’ he called as he made his way to the back of the Inn where the nice, snug Hobbit rooms were. ‘There’re still a few tables to be moved out to the lawn . . . after that we can relax and watch the lasses pretty them up with the cloths and flowers and all.’ He waved goodnight to a widely yawning Buttercup as he passed by her. ‘And of course, we should test the ale . . . make sure, you know, that it’s up to the high standards of a Hobbit party.’ He nodded to Keleth who had gone toward his own room. ‘See you then . . .’

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

He had left the Inn in contempt and returned now in despair. The bone-biting chill of the rain that soaked him through and through was an apt reminder of what awaited him beneath the roof of the Green Dragon. He could well imagine what Aman and Toby would make of his desertion, of the late night disappearance without so much as a word of farewell. At the time it had seemed the only thing to do. He had been at the Inn for less than a day and already he had become embroiled in the petty concerns of those who dwelled in this tiny land. Toby’s ridiculous problem could so easily be solved. Snaveling had money and position enough to give his friend a life of easy and luxury in the South beyond the wildest imaginings of the peasants in this land, and yet his friend – from some inconceivable devotion to this place – had refused his offer to take him away. The rejection had stung, and stung deep, for Snaveling had long contemplated what he could do to make the elder hobbit ample recompense for his friendship. At last, there was as an opportunity, and the old goat had thrown it back at him.

It was not Toby’s behaviour, though, that had driven Snaveling from the Inn, and in his more honest moments he could admit that to himself. It was Aman. His last night at the Green Dragon, he had been firm in his resolve to speak with the Innkeeper in the morning, but as the night wore on his resolve weakened. Aman’s girlish infatuation, at first almost flattering, had become a galling idea. He did not relish the thought of having to speak with her about it, and he began to hope that she would realise of her own accord how hopeless it was. By the time the grey light of the dawn was just touching the horizon he could think about speaking to her with nothing less than a shudder at the indignity of it, to her as well as to him. He had come North once more to find Roa, not to indulge the romantic fantasies of a mere slip of a girl from Rohan. As the morning came on he began to see more and more clearly what his purpose should be. He would leave now, before speaking with Aman, so that she could in time come to realise that he was already bound to another, more great and altogether noble person than she. Roa was a worthy mate to Snaveling, last heir of the vanished west, in ways that Aman could never be. It was a painful truth, but one that he felt sure Aman would come to on her own, given time.

So he had crept out of the stables before dawn and disappeared into the Wild. For a long time he had scoured the North in search of Roa, but he could find neither sign nor news of her. Where had she gone? He went first to the East and searched past Bree, all the way to Amon Sul. From there he had gone south once more to the fords of Bruinen, where the Rangers had once lived before being called to their King in the South. North and West he had then searched, all the way to the lands beyond the borders of the Shire, where the chill of winter clung to the land even in the heart of summer. But it had been fruitless. With nowhere left to wander, he found himself turned once more toward the Shire and the Green Dragon Inn. It was the one place in all the North where all the news that could be had was gathered in one place, and it was – he had to admit – the best and only place to search for Roa.

He plodded up the road and through the drizzle toward the few lights that remained at the Inn. He had consumed the last of his food three days before and his stomach was pained with hunger, but his heart was not up to the task of entering. At this time of night, only one person would be sure to be awake, and he could not face her until he was rested, fed and more at his ease. There was a large party of Men entering the Inn as he came into the yard, and as they passed through the door, Snaveling caught a glimpse of the warm yellow light that still filled the Common Room. He passed by the windows as silently as a shadow, but could not help glancing through the rippled glass as he went. There, sure enough, behind the bar, her face brightening with the practised polish of long use as she greeted the newcomers, was the Innkeeper Aman. Snaveling’s feet paused ever so quickly as he looked at her, and she seemed – for no more than a heartbeat – to glance toward the window, but he rushed past, hiding his features beneath his hood.

So well did he know the stables of the Green Dragon Inn that he did not need the use of his eyes to find an empty stall. Curling in amongst the hay, he was soon asleep in its warmth.

[Boromir88]

Fastrod spotted a well lit building, just up ahead, "that must be it." he said to himself. Word had spread to Bree about a special party for Master Derufin and the Mistress Zimzi. Fastrod was interested in these sort of things, especially parties. He was getting bored of life in Bree, just spending most of his days at the Prancing Pony, and when he heard of this grand party, he was more then happy to set out on a short journey.

As he approached the inn he spotted some rugged, but broad looking men standing outside the inn, and first he thought, great they're out of rooms. He had lost his horse near Frogmorton, and also his stay at The Floating Log delayed him even more. He had hoped to pick up a horse, or maybe someone kind enough to take him the rest of the way, but he got too relaxed in the inn, which he often tended to do when he was around them.

He approached the grim looking man, who stood muttering to the rest of his travellers. "Is there still room in the inn?" The man just scowled and continued on with his business. Fastrod was definately taller, but these men here were broader, and looked like they were up to no good. "Sorry, to bother you." he replied, but the man gave no reply back.

Fastrod was tired, and cold, but as soon as he walked into the inn a warmth siezed him. He stepped fully into the inn, now out of the reach of the cold. As he gazed around, a few people were still gathered in the greeting hall, most of them looked like they were about to doze off. He walked up to the innkeeper, who was a young lady. He didn't care about eating, he was too tired, he was just hoping to find a room. "Are there any rooms available, my lady?"

[THE Ka]

A heavly burdened stranger walks through the mists of the night. Walking towards the Green Dragon, the creature comes under a lantern and we are able to see them. A tall creature she is, with dirty blonde hair. She is of the elven race and her eyes are a deep storm blue. Her garb is a bit frayed and tattered, wearing a corset and an old skirt. Among her garb like a diamond in the ruff is a elegant top hat, with many a strange feather poking out. She is trudging along with a crate of mysterious contents and a large pear-shaped and long necked case. As she passes, her steps speed. She had recieved an invitation to a handfasting, though through the origins of a friend of the couple.

"Hmm, quiet a lovely place... At least i've managed not to let any of my supplies drop out. Such a long way from Eryn Vorn, I hope there is a room left... Ah, there it is! The Green Dragon!"

She manages to walk through the door with much gruffing and sliding of supplies, finally reaching the owner's desk. She asks for a room, trying not to sound too strange to raise the attention of the other people gathered within the Green Dragon.

"Yes, um. My name? Rasputina. Yes. R-a-s-p-u-t-i-n-a. Thank you..."

After paying for the next several nights, she slips to the hallway and into her room. Even with her two large and mysterious looking packages, no notice is taken to her. She closes the door behind her with her only available limb, a left foot. Putting the burdens in the corner, she opens the pear-shaped one first. A strange instrument, almost like an enlarged fiddle, lies in the case. Next to it is another package in brown paper, and a long device made up of wood and hair. She removes the brown package and stores it in a dresser. Lifting up the heavy instrument and stick, she sits in a chair. Taking her other free hand she moves the stick across the instrument's strings. A deep and rich sound emits from the hole in the middle of it, filling the room. Before she can continue, a loud "thwap!" comes from the adjacent room. She sadly puts the lovely instrument away. Tomorrow though, it would sing and bellow for everyone's ears. It made her smile. It had been so long since another's ears had heard such an instrument, it delighted her to see it happen again.

As her mind ran through the thought of a handfasting, she remembered how tired she was. She couldn't sleep but, a rest upon a nice soft bed would be all that she needed.

[Mithalwen]

It was around midnight and few of the Shire folk were still abroad but any late to bed would have heard weary hoof-beats before they discerned a grey clad figure riding an iron grey horse. The elf, Mithalwen, had rested the previous day at Woodhall, where in times past she might well have met her kindred pausing in their own journey between Lindon and Rivendell. These days it was less likely - so many had gone to the Havens and departed Middle Earth forever.


Mithalwen sighed. Mithlond was her home. Although she seemed no older than a mortal maid of some twenty summers - unless you looked into her sea-grey eyes that held the memory of much - her earliest memories included the sight of the tall ships of Numenor sailing fr om the west; but now no ships sailed in to the havens - save from time to time ships from Gondor might arrive - and each departing ship was a reminder of the journey she would herself make at last. At such times, it was her habit to travel inland a while, as if to refresh her memory of the beauty of Middle Earth. She had not tired of it after a long age of the world and it would be hard to leave it forever, even if it meant rejoining her kin who had gone before.


As she sighed, her horse, Aeglos, stumbled and although he recovered his footing, Mithalwen realised immediately that his pace had become uneven. She dismounted and saw that he had cast a shoe. Although she found it a few yards back it had twisted. Mithalwen's father and brothers had been smiths and shipwrights and she had learnt from them how to shape both wood and metal (this not being forbidden to women of the Eldar though not common). By choice she wrought musical instruments (so combining a delight in craft inherited from her Noldorin father with a love of music passed from her Telerin mother) but by necessity she could turn her skills to more practical tasks. Replacing the shoe would not be a problem; straightening it with the small tools she carried in her saddle bags would. She needed a forge to do a decent job. She looked around her. It was not her practice to stay in mortal dwellings but she and her horse were soaked by the nights bitter rain and although she minded physical discomfort less, her spirit was lowered. Aeglos loked at her balefully. Her keen elvish sight picked out a sign hanging from one of the village buildings. "The Green Dragon" it read. Even if they had no stabling, they would know of a smithy. But that no doubt would have to wait til day.


It had stopped raining at last but water dripped from her sodden clothes. Her only piece of oilcloth covered her horses hindquarters. "Come, Aeglos mellon nin" she said " I will find you a warm stable " she threw back her hood and her usually silver hair, was darkened with rain and hung it rats tails about her pale face. "and I could use getting dry myself". She led the way to the inn and trusting Aeglos not to stray she searched for signs of activity.

[piosenniel]

Please note:

It is about three hours after midnight now.

The rain has stopped; the clouds have cleared off, leaving the quarter moon shining feebly down on the Shire. The roads are still muddy and the air is chill from the passing storm.

[Lalwendë]

Jinniver ought to have been in her bed, but she had woken early and gone outside, wrapped in her shawl, barely noticing the chill in the air from the rain. She was filled with thoughts of her new found happiness, and the thought that the garden she had made ought to be perfect was still on her mind. She knew that the only thing that would soothe her would be to go outside. Despite it being night, she knew it would be safe, and she knew she would find some peace in the open air.

Early the previous morning, the cart had arrived from Bree carrying all the little plants she needed to make the garden perfect for Derufin's bride. She had been eating her breakfast when it arrived, and had run out with her half eaten toast hanging from her mouth, forgetting herself, as she was so excited to see her plants arrive. She had continued to munch on the toast while she examined the delivery to make sure everything she wanted was there and had arrived safely. When at last she was satisfied that she had everything she needed, Jinniver unloaded the plants and paid the carter a good sum for his trouble.

She had worked right through until lunchtime without ever once thinking of her brother Pegram and where he might have got to. Once she had heard of Aman's plan to carry out a little trick on him she had gone straight to her bed without even looking for him. He had upset her and she had just wanted to go to sleep and forget all about it; if she could not throw herself into work to forget her troubles, then sleep was the next best thing. But he had not appeared that morning, and in her excitement over the cart arriving, she had not noticed his absence. Once she had stopped for a rest, she began to wonder where he was and walked round to the side of the inn where his room, one of the 'best' was situated. The shutters were closed. But she heard a faint noise, and listening closely, realised it was her brother groaning and splashing water about in his bathtub.

She had laughed when she heard it as she knew what Aman had done to his bed. She had put ants into it. Talking conspiratorially over that late night cup of tea she had told Jinniver that when Pegram asked for one of the best rooms, as they both knew he would, then she would make sure he was offered one in which she had quietly slipped a few ants, along with the warming pan. Jinniver had thought it a good idea, and it had sent her to bed with a wide smile on her face as she thought of how her proud and overbearing brother might be brought a little more humble after the experience of a night with ants in his bed.

Jinniver had crept up to the corridor outside her brother's room when she heard his groaning; half laughing and half a little worried that he might take it angrily. When she got to the door she heard him splashing the water in his bathtub and muttering. "Wretched ants", he said gruffly. "How can I stop this itching?" Her natural concern got the better of her and she spoke up.

"Pegram, what is the matter?" she had said, crouching at the edge of the locked door.

"I am bitten all over with ants," he wailed, and she stepped back a little to hear the upset in his voice. She thought she heard a sniffle. "Jinniver?" he said hesitantly. "Could you leave me some of that balm you make? Leave it outside the door for me? Please?"

She had smiled at this. He usually refused to use the old remedies she made from their mother's cook book.They were not good enough for him; he preferred whatever expensive unguents he could buy from traders coming up the Greenway from Gondor. Of course she would bring him some balm. Nothing would give her greater pleasure than to see him finally accept that his sister might have something useful to offer after all. But she hadn't been able to resist adding something before she agreed.

"If I bring you this, will you promise to leave me be here?" she had said boldly. "I am your sister and you should let me alone you know. I know you care for me as any brother should, but I am not the silly young girl I used to be." She had fought hard to resist tears as she said it and was rewarded with a very quiet, whispered "yes".

All afternoon she had worked on the garden until she was happy with it and then was so tired, she fell asleep beneath one of the trees. She was woken at sunset by a hand on her shoulder, a gentle hand. It was Pegram, dressed for travelling, leading his fine horse in the other hand. He was smiling uncertainly.

"I am going now, just as you asked, " he had said, unable to look her in the eye and red faced. "I, erm, I would like to thank you for your help." Then he turned and saw all the hard work she had put in through the day. His mouth fell open as he saw the beautiful borders in front of the cottage, stocked with fine healthy plants, all the work his sister had done. No words were needed. He looked at his sister as she sat up.

"This is a fine place," he said quietly. "We will miss you in Bree if you linger too long you know, but you are safe here. After all you have suffered, you ought to be able to enjoy your life and do what is best. And I was one of those who made you suffer." He hung his head, and before Jinniver could rise, climbed into the saddle of his horse. He had been humbled by the sight of his sister's work, and humbled by having to ask her for help. But he was not yet so humble that he would linger for her to have the chance to act proudly with him. He wanted to go now, back to Bree. He wanted to go quietly, and Jinniver could see this, so she let him go as he wished. But she sat a while longer beneath the tree, watching his horse disappear into the evening, listening to the sounds from the inn.

*

Now in the darkness, she finally stood quietly alone and was able to appreciate her work. The scent of the flowers was heady in the night air and she breathed it in deeply, sighing as she did so. It had been important to her that she create as perfect a garden as she could; this was to be a gift from Derufin to his bride after all, and she knew how important that would be. She checked the flowers once again, stamped down a little more earth to settle the roots of the plants, and picked off a few straggly leaves, enjoying the work despite the late hour. She thought of how happy she was in The Shire. All her old troubles had been left behind. She had managed to bring her brother around to seeing that she was now grown and sensible. She had friends here, and one of them was about to be married. She even relished the thought of the party to come, and a party would normally have frightened her more than anything. She stretched out her arms, yawned and enjoyed the sensation of the cool night air on her hands, and then smiled.

[Nimrodel_9]

Keleth chuckled softly as he made his way to his room. Tolly was married. He had been embarrassed at first, but now found his mistake rather amusing.

Keleth was so tired that he crossed the room, lay his pipe on the bedside table, and crawled into bed with his clothes still on. He was asleep with in minutes.

Keleth woke with a start, and felt an icy draft. The window had been left open! It had been closed when he went to sleep. Puzzled, he crossed the room to the small window. He leaned out and looked around. It was very late, and there was no sign of movement out there. Quietly he shut and locked the window.

He fell back onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling for a few minutes. The wind just blew it open, he told himself. Nevertheless he rolled over, reached his hand under the bed and pulled his hunting knife out of his pack.

[piosenniel]

It was the wee hours of the day and still dark and still cold. Cook’s eyes popped open once again. There was something about this night that had her all at sixes and sevens. She’d drifted off briefly after the warm cup of wine only to find herself awake again thinking about this and that and listening to sounds in the Inn. Even back in her snug little room she could hear the great doors opening and closing and the tramp of feet, however light, on the floorboards of the Common Room.

Perhaps it was the party, she thought. Today, after all, was to be the day. She lain in bed, eyes closed running the list through her mind. Most was done. They’d only need wait for the sun to come out and dry away the passing drizzle and the muddy mess it would leave behind. The tables could all be placed outdoors then, the lines spread on them, and the flowers sat round. Master Samwise and his family were coming late in the afternoon. He’d be the one to officiate, so to speak, at the tying of the wrists and the writing down of the names in his great record book. And his lovely rose had promised several mushroom pies from her kitchen to grace the food table.

More feet in the Common Room and the buzz of a few voices as the ledger was signed and the money exchanged for lodging. She could hear someone in the kitchen itself, looking through one of the drawers. Cook lit her little lamp and got up, pulling on her thick robe. ‘Who’s there?’ she called out poking her head out of her doorway.

‘Just me,’ came the hushed voice of Ruby. ‘Miz Aman’s asleep and I’ve got up to see to some more travelers who’ve come to the Inn. Where’d we put those extra candles we got in just yesterday? I need them for the guests.’ The two Hobbits fished about in two of the little crates stored in a corner of the room soon finding the needed tapers. Ruby went off to see to the guests while Cook, looking longingly toward the comforts of her warm bed put the kettle on to boil.

‘Might as well get to the bread making long as I’m up. Be baked by dawn if I start it now.’ She made herself a large pot of strong, sweet-spice tea and poured a large mug of it. ‘But first I’ll just fortify myself with a bit of tea . . . oh, and of course,’ she chuckled, looking down at the old tabby who mewed plaintively at her. ‘Of course . . . a bit of warm milk for you, little mistress.’

A thought came to her as she sat at the table sipping from the steaming mug. ‘What with all the comings and goings-on tonight, I hope the lodging fees were gotten from all the newcomers . . .’ Not that she thought most travelers were bent on getting a room for free . . . but her long years at the Dragon had taught her it took a careful husbandry of the funds to keep an Inn afloat . . .

[piosenniel]

GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS:

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 (played by Envinyatar)

Meriadoc - Stablemaster

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

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.

[Oddwen]

Even though it had stopped raining, Berulo Rushlight wrapped his cloak tighter about him. He had been walking for half the night, but at last he drew near to his destination.

It wasn't the approved thing in Bree for a hobbit newly out of his tweens to want to leave the confines of the community, but Berulo had always wanted to see the 'Outside World'. He had, so far, discovered that it was very wet.

"Ah," he muttered to himself, "An inn! And the famed Green Dragon no less! A pint or four would go down very well, and I wouldn't say no to a bed, neither."

For this early in the morning, there seemed to be a strange amount of activity going on. Never matter, it could wait til he had a few pints, loaves of bread, and hours of sleep behind him.

"I do hope there's a room available, seems an awful lot of folks have turned out. Perhaps there's a party going on?" He stepped inside to discover. It was at that moment that he was tripped over.

[Morgul Queen]

Post 1

Please check your PM's.

~*~ Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[Encaitare]

Caity Brandybuck had been trudging along the road for some time. The weather had been absolutely dismal, and her green cloak hadn't really provided much protection from the persistent rain.

It was rather unusual for a hobbit to be out traveling this late at night -- although she supposed one might call it morning by now -- and Caity wondered if any of the residents of the hobbit-holes she passed, awakened by crying children or nature's call, had glanced out the window and shaken their heads at her shadow. She certainly made an unusual figure: hooded and cloaked, with various, oddly shaped bundles in her arms and making lumps in her pack.

When the rain had finally begun to let up, it had been replaced by an early-morning chill, increased in its cold feeling by the light of the quarter moon. Caity smiled up at its face -- she had always thought the moon was a beautiful sight. Then her face fell, and she resisted a few uncouth words from slipping from her lips as she realized the effect the weather might have had on the things she was carrying. She hoped she had protected them well enough.

As she grumbled to herself about how the wood had better not crack, a few friendly yellow lights appeared in the distance. Caity sighed in relief -- she had finally reached the Green Dragon. Inspired by the candles winking at her, she picked up her pace and jogged up to the entrance to the tavern. Her attention was attracted by a piece of paper nailed near the door. She tore the paper from its nail, hoping a second later that no one else would be wanting to read it. Quickly, her lips moving slightly as she read, she skimmed the notice until she found what she was looking for:

* Flute/Penny Whistle player needed, too. Ours is down with a head cold. We’re a friendly lot, willing to accommodate your style. Or if you don’t play either of those – bring what you have and join in. – Gil

She grinned to herself, momentarily forgetting the cold and the prospect of cracked wood. Please don't tell me they've already found one, she thought, turning towards the door. Taking a step inside and feeling warmth rush over her, thawing her poor toes, she suddenly realized she could go no further. A tall woman was sitting on the floor just inside the doorway, apologizing to a hobbit.

Caity didn't want to be rude, but the elf was explaining to everyone how she was a total "babbler," so she thought it might be alright to interrupt.

"Er... excuse me?" she said with urgency. "Where might I find the kitchens?"

[Morgul Queen]

Post 2

Please check your PM's.

~*~ Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[Boromir88]

Fastrod sat up in his room, lying on his bed. He was happy they still had room available, and his only concern now was getting a peaceful night sleep. He wouldn't be able to do that, his mind kept going back to those people standing outside the inn when he came in. They were dressed rather poorly and didn't have an inviting look on their faces, especially what appeared to be their leader.

He didn't know how long he had been laying there, just trying to get a little bit of sleep before the big party tomorrow, but his mind just kept going back to those people. There was something not right about them. He noticed they were coming in as he was going up to his room. He couldn't exactly put a finger on it, but for some strange reason these travellers reminded him of the dark days in Bree, some 10 or so years ago. Strange things were happening in Bree then, and it all started with that little hobbit coming to the inn, Fastrod remembers because he was there that day, like he was everyday. Ever since those little folk came into the inn, evil things began growing in Bree, he thought. He would never forget the time when them thieves had made their way into Bree, and began to stir up trouble, and oddly enough, these travellers today reminded him of that.

Tiredness overwhelmed Fastrod, and he finally fell asleep, and not once did he stir. He was quite comfortable in the soft bed, and cozy, warm room, and slept through the rest of the night.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Hawthorne sighed wearily and lowered her body onto one of the benches that stood near the hearth fire as she stretched out her aching feet and wiggled her toes. She was definitely ready for bed. For the past three hours, the young Hobbit lass had been sprinting repeatedly from the Common Room to the bedchambers at Aman's bidding. She had made sure that each of the late arrivals had proper bed linens, a stack of fresh towels, and an ample basin of water set inside their sleeping quarters. Even in her earlier sojourn at the Inn, she could not remember a time when things were so busy in the middle of the night.

The guests had continued streaming into the Dragon well past midnight. Some of them were last minute arrivals for the handfasting that would be taking place the next day; others had encountered troubles on the road and were desperately searching for a place to sleep. Aman had even sent a few travelers down the lane to the Ivy Bush, which by now was also overflowing with bodies. They’d gotten to the point that, if additional guests came pounding at the door, they might need to ask some of the travelers to double up and share their quarters with complete strangers. Not a pleasant thought, but such things were not unheard of in a district that boasted only two Inns. She herself would need to consider the possibility of sharing a room with one of the newcomers.

Hawthorne had been so busy with her chores that she had paid little attention to the actual guests arriving. They were just an endless queue of visitors who needed linens and water as quickly as she could bring them. There seemed to be a surprising number of Elves, certainly more than were usually evident in the Shire. But it was not the Elves who stood out in her mind. It was that strange group of big folk who had come in earlier from the courtyard and been assigned a room in back of the common dining area.

What surprised her was not the guests themselves, but Huan's reaction to them. When one of the travelers had walked by the spot where Huan was supposedly sleeping, the hound had sprung up and uttered a low guttural sound from deep within his chest, far more fearsome and meaningful in intent than the sport he'd had earlier with Tevildo. A few minutes afterwards, when Hawthorne had taken a stack of towels down the hallway to the room where the strangers were staying, Huan had insisted on trailing along and standing close by her side. Hastily leaving the towels, she had latched the door and gone back into the corridor. Behind her, she could hear leering voices and comments. She couldn't make out the exact words that were being said, but the tone of the conversation made her feel nervous.

Still seated at the hearth fire and trying to collect her wits, Hawthorne found herself feeling oddly despondent, a mood that was not at all like her usual resilience. Aman walked over and gently nudged her to go to bed, saying that the worst of the inpouring of guests was surely over. With Huan sticking close to her heels, Hawthorne made her way back to her room and, with a caution that was totally unlike her normal careless behavior, placed the heavy fire poker near at hand to her bed and carefully secured the latch for the night....

[Fairleaf]

Nighttime was the best time to move about she’d found. Most of the two-legged creatures slept then, or if they did chance the darkness their eyes betrayed them and much passed unnoticed as they floundered in shadows.

With those thoughts in mind, Fairleaf had carefully removed the lanterns the Hobbit and Elf had placed in her boughs and set them gently on the ground. She’d wondered if she should take the others from the trees near her, too. Not wanting to be hasty, she’d looked the lanterns over quite carefully. The candles, she noted, were walled away from the limbs they hung on by the little glass panes. Even in a strong wind, the flames from the tapers would not reach the precious leaves and wood. The pale moonlight pushed wanly through the colored glass, throwing ghostly jewels along her leafy arms. Fairleaf smiled, patting the bark of the tall fir next to her. This will look lovely with the candle’s light leaving little gems on you she assured the tree.

Her leaves trailed along the branches of the other trees in this little stand as she moved round the edges of the yard and toward the back of the Inn. She’d been wanting to see the gardens she’d glanced. They were lovely . . . just as she thought. Vegetables in one, and herbs in another, and everywhere little patches of flowery color. And at the edges of the garden area were berry bushes and a strawberry patch, all now bare of fruit, waiting patiently for spring.

A further exploration brought her to the oak tree that stood by stable. Big and strong, it looked, and very old. I remember well a young Ent who’d be quite happy to see you prospering so well she whispered as her leaves rustled over his smooth bark. The stable, of course, was made of good sturdy wood . . . she regretted the trees who fell to the axe for this purpose, but on closer inspection she saw how well it was maintained.

Night lingered on as she moved across the Inn grounds. The scent of night-blooming flowers pulled her across the grass until she chanced on a snug little house built up against the birches and oaks and elms. It stood empty, smelling of paint and new sanded wood. Empty and waiting. She moved about the cottages’ front yard where there were large plantings of flowers of all sorts. Set out for the pleasing combination of their colors and for their scents. Someone who knew these plants well had laid them out and planted them with a deft hand a keen eye. I wonder if this someone is still staying in the Inn? Might be I would like to see what sort of creature this someone is.

Slowly, enjoying the sights and scents of the night, Fairleaf made her way back toward the back of the Inn, her rooty toed feet squishing through the mud. She’d spied a small stand of trees near the far edge of the stable where she could hide during the day. It would afford her a good view of the gardens in the sunlight and leave her a fair view of the front yard where the day’s celebration would take place. She sighed to herself, settling in next to a tall paper birch.

This is a very nice place. I think I should like to stay here for a while . . .

[Firefoot]

Willy Burrows could take it no longer. He had been waken up countless times throughout the night by the plethora of folks travelling past his farm on the way to the Green Dragon Inn, just up the road. He had to know what the big fuss was all about, and so, quiet as only a hobbit can be, he opened his window and slipped out, dropping a short way to the ground. He waited a minute to make sure his ma and pa had not heard, and then stole out to the road.

He had never been to the Inn before, though he had gone past in numerous times. His ma was deadset that he was not nearly old enough to be frequenting inns, but at eight years old Willy was fully confident that he was old enough to do as he pleased. Not that he would actually enter the Inn, not at this time of night; his ma would find out as surely as ponies eat hay. Instead, he crept along to the side of the Inn, careful not to be seen, and tried to get a look through the window. Willy found in frustration that his two-foot-four frame was slightly too short. In despair, he cast around for some way to see in. His eyes lit upon a stack of fire wood nearby. He snagged three blocks off the top and stacked them just so underneath the window. He balanced carefully and was able to get his eyes and nose over the window sill.

Willy stifled a delighted shout at the sight as his eyes went wide at what he saw. There were Big Folk in there, as he had heard from his bedroom, and some of them were Elves! For the early hour the Common Room was quite busy, from what he could see. The Inn staff was dashing about, trying to find room for the steady stream of visitors. The only bystanders appeared to be a dog (Willy liked dogs) and a pair of cats. Cats, in Willy's knowledgable opinion, were boring unless they were riled up. Then they were a good bit of fun.

Willy realized that in his excitement he had hoisted himself even higher on the window sill and was now in grave danger of being spotted. He lowered himself back down to his stool of logs, forgetting how precarious his position was. He slipped from the logs with a crash, scraping his elbow and cutting his knee. For a moment, he froze. Surely someone would have heard and would come out to investigate. Then, reguardless of his injuries, Willy darted to his feet and started sprinting pell-mell back towards his farm, though he stayed off the road in fear of being recognized. Unfortunately for him, he was watching backwards and not forwards and he ran smack into a tree just past the stables and landed flat on his back. As he rubbed his throbbing, dizzy head Willy heard a voice, strangely deep yet certainly feminine.

"And where are you so hasty to be going, little one?" Willy looked up, thinking he was hallucinating. The tree was talking to him!

"N-no where," he stuttered. "Wh-wha - who are you?"

[Fairleaf]

She’d spoken aloud, and hadn’t meant to. It was just that her attention was elsewhere when the small creature caromed into her trunk. And now her hasty reaction had made him look up at her. Fairleaf closed her eyes and stood very still, as still as the tall thin copper beech that stood beside her.

Easy does it now . . . she hummed to herself as one of her limbs reached into the branches of the elm that stood on her other side. One of the Inn’s hens had escaped being cooped up earlier in the evening, choosing instead to fluff herself out in a cozy little pile of leaves where one of the elm’s branches met the trunk. A safe, and cozy little place she was sure the hen had thought. Not to be, though. Not to be.

My apologies, little mistress . . . Fairleaf murmured, her leafy fingers insinuating themselves beneath the unsuspecting chicken. With a quick, gentle nudge, the drowsing bird was pushed from the elm limb, falling in a squawking mass of feathers and flapping wings toward the prone form of the small, fallen creature below . . .

[piosenniel]

Cook was just covering the crockery bowls filled with yeast dough with clean cloths and setting them on the hearth when the door to the kitchen inched open and a cloaked Hobbit lass poked her head in. ‘Come in, girl,’ said Cook eyeing the stranger. ‘No sense shouting across the room to each other.’ She put down the last covered bowl and motioned for the Hobbit to be seated. ‘Out late, eh? Not from round these parts, I think. Leastways, these old eyes don’t recognize you. And what be your name?’ she asked, pouring the Hobbit a cup of hot tea.

A few sips later, and she had found out several pieces of information about the girl. Her name was Caity Brandybuck; she liked to travel . . . and under the moonlight, to the surprise of Cook, who thought the night was meant for sleeping soundly in one’s own bed, though she kept her opinion to herself for the moment; she’d seen the notice for volunteers nailed near the Inn door; and well, she’d like to know if the flute/pennywhistle player was still needed.

‘Well,’ said Cook, seeing the hopeful look in the girl’s eyes. ‘I should think they will still be needing a player. Can’t have too many making music, in my opinion. Makes for better dancing, don’t you think?’ Cook sipped a bit on her own mug of tea, and brought out a small dish of thick, crisp oatmeal cookies to stave off the beginning hunger in her grumbling belly. She pushed the plate toward Caity

‘It’s young Gil you’ll want to be seeing. He’s a local lad. Won’t be in til breakfast is served. He and his friends will be playing for the party today.’ She eyed the wet, bedraggled state of the Hobbit. ‘You know, we’re putting up the volunteers while they’re here to help with the party. Let me just fetch Ruby; she’ll show you to a room. Get a good night’s sleep. Come down to the Common Room for breakfast then, later. Gil will be here, with Tomlin, Fallon, and Ferrin.’ She waved Ruby over who’d just come down from her room and was yawning. ‘Take Caity here back to one of the small rooms. She’s come to play for the party.’ Before they left she called out, as an afterthought. ‘You don’t by any chance sing do you? Be lovely to have a female voice with all those lads . . .’

[Nurumaiel]

"Ugh! Ugh, ugh, ugh!"

Falco Headstrong took three quick glances about before he spoke, and when he ascertained that no one was about to hear him, he expressed his disgust with vehemence, though not too loud. He didn't want to wake anyone... because they might look out to see who was making so much noise and see him. See him! Ugh again! They would wish they hadn't. But what did it matter what they thought? The devastating fact was that he, Falco Headstrong, was trudging along a road, muddy but not so muddy as himself, at three hours after midnight! How they would laugh if they saw him, all those lads back home. They thought he was a prissy, so they did! How could he, Falco Headstrong, be a prissy? Why, back when he was their age he spent all his time... doing... well, he didn't do things that were prissy, anyway. He had fished and climbed trees. Ha! Was that prissy?

The Green Dragon was becoming quite a famous and popular Inn. He hoped it would live up to its reputation. If it didn't... well, they'd never see him again. They'd regret that, wouldn't they? He was a very well-to-do hobbit, and the Inns were all alike. They wanted to take whatever was in their guests' pockets and put it into their own. At least, the people in the Inn did, even if the Inns didn't.

Blast the sky! Why had it taken a notion to rain when he, Falco Headstrong, was walking along the road? Oh, and blast the pony that had kicked him off and run away, too! On the way home he'd demand his money back. He'd been a fool to buy a pony from that shifty-eyed lad. He might have known he'd be given the wickedest and most brutal steed of them all. Especially when he didn't know how to ride! That boy ought to have known better than to give him a pony when he didn't even know how to ride. The young folk had no respect for their elders.

Oh, so that was the Inn? Was it lit up inside? Probably. He'd heard rumours about that Inn. Men and Elves and Dwarves took shelter there. No doubt they'd be up all night singing and dancing. No doubt! Nobody would get any sleep in that Inn. At least he wouldn't. What was wrong with Innkeepers nowadays? Not everyone was a heavy sleeper. He, Falco Headstrong, was a very light sleeper. They ought to know that there were light sleepers in the Shire, and make their guests be quiet. No matter that he didn't hear any noise. They would start shouting as soon as he, Falco Headstrong, came through the door.

Eh, what? What was this here? What was all this... this nonsense. There were... things... hanging on the trees. They were preparing for a party, were they? What, a party to celebrate the drunkeness of all the young lads at the Inn. No doubt that had worked it up because he, Falco Headstrong, was coming to the Inn, and he couldn't stand drunken parties. No doubt! They had known that. Surely they had! They had known he was coming. What wicked little creatures they were. No doubt they had all the doors locked, too. No doubt! He'd have to sit in his wet clothes the whole night through.

Eh? What was that crouched on the doorstep? Falco drew closer. It was a girl, was it? Sitting out because she couldn't get in, no doubt! Well, he'd have to sit down and wait, too. In his wet clothes... the whole night through! What kind of an Inn was it, where they locked their guests out. No doubt they'd want money the next day for the use of their doorstep. No doubt!

The girl stood when she saw him approaching. No doubt she thought he was a murderer. No doubt! But there was no fear in her bright, brown eyes. She had golden hair. That wasn't natural. She shouldn't have golden hair. So many girls were having golden hair, now. They thought too much about their looks. What was the Shire coming to?

"I'm so glad you're here," the girl said, with a little laugh, and a toss of her head. Showing off her gold curls, no doubt. No doubt! And was she expecting him? No doubt his sister had told some orphan he was going to meet them there. No doubt!

"Of course, I wasn't waiting for you," she added, hastily, "but I'm glad I have some company. I was enjoying myself at first, but I got lonely after awhile."

"You enjoyed yourself sitting out in the rain?" he said gruffly, sitting down beside her. "They've locked the doors on you, then, have they, eh?"

"Why, I don't know exactly. I didn't try the door, but I assumed it would locked at such an hour."

"No doubt you're right," he said. "No doubt!"

"I was having such fun, imagining things to myself," said the girl. "I was thinking of what this yard would look like soon. They've already hung up the lights and garlands. Soon they'll have the dancing and singing and merry-making."

"The drunken carousing," said Falco with a scowl.

"Oh no, I don't think so," said the girl. "You see, it's a hand-fasting they're celebrating. People usually don't get drunk at hand-fastings... at least I don't think... I wouldn't like to have people getting drunk at my wedding. It seems as though most brides wouldn't."

"Eh, well, if it's going to be a hand-fasting it won't be so bad," said Falco, softening a little. He'd always liked weddings. It made him think of his youth, when there were still things to look forward to. "But," he added, "they'll still be drunk, no doubt. No doubt!"

"I think we should hope for the best," said the girl. "That's what will be most likely to happen. I hear this Inn is a very good place."

"You've heard. Can you trust it?"

"I'd like to think I could," she said, her eyes very serious. "I do dislike it when people say things that are so very untrue. But at least it would be an untruth about the Inn that was good. People usually say bad things about other places and people when they're saying something untrue."

How she talked! It was giving him a headache. What a bright outlook she had on her life. Well, she was still a little girl yet. She'd soon grow out of that. She should be happy while she could. But she'd be talking all night, no doubt.

No doubt!

[Encaitare]

With cookies and hot tea in her stomach, Caity felt much better, not to mention the relief she felt with the knowledge that her trip had not been in vain. When she and Ruby reached the door to her room, she thanked her and gratefully went into the small but cozy space, shutting the door behind her. A little fireplace was lit, the flames casting a warm glow upon the walls.

Realizing that perhaps it would be best to change out of her wet clothes before doing anything else, Caity quickly took off her wet things and spread them before the fire. She then shook out her curly, sandy brown hair before putting on a comfortable cotton nightdress.

She sat down on the low bed, curling her toes into the soft rug on the floor. Slowly, she inspected her instruments for any damage. The first one she pulled out of her pack was a small tin whistle, but she quickly placed it on the bed beside her -- it was cold but otherwise unharmed. It was the wood she was worried about. A cherrywood flute seemed alright; she tentatively blew a soft note, hoping not to disturb any sleeping guests, and she nodded at the sound. Next, she slid a double pennywhistle (in essence, just two pennywhistles which had been attached together by her father, but it sounded impressive) out of a leather case. This, although a little damp at the end, met her approval, as did a little clay ocarina that she had brought just for good measure. It was a curious instrument from Dale; her father had obtained it at Mr. Bilbo Baggins' famous birthday party many years before, when he was but a lad.

The last instrument was her pride and joy: a real elvish-made flute, made of beautiful blackwood with a few metal keys in addition to the usual holes. Although she realized that anything of elvish make was likely to withstand such petty things as rain, she checked it over anyway. All was well; the keys weren't even sticky. She put her pack over by the fire to dry as well, and carefully placed her instruments on the bedside table.

A very content hobbit snuggled into bed, not minding the fact that she'd have to be up in a few hours. Caity thought of Cook's words to her -- she had asked whether she could sing.

She could sing well enough, she guessed, although she rarely sang in front of others. She loved a little song to pass the time while she was doing chores, and she certainly sang in the bath -- but then again, everyone sang in the bath.

I guess I could sing if they need someone to, Caity thought. Quite frankly, she was too tired to be think about it any more, so she curled up into a ball on her side and drifted off to sleep.

[Amanaduial the archer]

After insisting that Hawthorne was to go to bed - the poor girl had been so tired she had barely even protested - Aman promised to make the best of the remainder of the night's sleep. But she simply couldn't: no matter how she tossed and turned, the Innkeeper simply couldn't get to sleep. Rolling over onto her back, Aman crossed her arms, glared angrily at the ceiling and sighed irritably. She was going to be exhausted for the handfasting the next day...

Sliding out of bed, shivering as her bed-pan-warmed feet hit the cold boards of the floor, Aman walked over to the window and looked up at the moon, shining her cold light into the night. It had passed it's peak already, and below, looking up at the silent orb, Aman guessed it to be maybe two or three hours past midnight. But who knew? This realm of the early hours of wakefulness was timeless.

Hearing a strange shifting below, Aman paused, her head slightly on one side as she listened. There was silence for a second, then the noise came again - like a chair being scraped back, or pushed out of someone's way, maybe. She narrowed her eyes. Once - well, it could be Huan, Hawthorne's dog, or maybe that smug looking feline, Tevildo, bumping into the furniture. But twice... Was Cook still downstairs? It could just be the old hobbitwoman bustling around, but Aman doubted it: this late, even Vinca went to bed. Deciding not to risk an intruder or a burglary, especially when there were so many newcomers (had all of them even given a name to stay under?!), the Innkeeper made her way carefully across the dark room, slipping on her threadbare dressing gown over her nightdress as she did so. Turning the key in the lock and easing the door open, she made her way as quietly as possible down the hall to the stairs, avoiding the usual song the old floorboards made because of her bare feet. Coming to the top of the stairs, she walked down a few steps then paused, crouching on the top few steps, she listened carefully as a door opened below, and brisk footsteps were heard across the floor. A circle of candlelight soon came into view, and with it came a steady, content humming. Cook. Aman gave a sigh of relief and stood to go down to Vinca but, for some reason, paused, deciding against it. She waited until the footsteps had died out, then made her way down the staircase, silent as an elf through Lorien.

Sneaking about in my own Inn! Aman grinned to herself, her teeth glinting in the darkness, as she reached the kitchen door. Creeping through, she came to the door that led to the outside - experience told her that it was quieter to get out of than the main doors. A few pairs of long, watertight boots always resided there, in case there was very heavy rain and it was too muddy outside to walk in normal shoes. The weather around the Shire was not usually bad enough, so the boots were generally just left to their own devices to quietly sink into dust and disremembrance. Now, however, the Innkeeper awoke them from their pleasant reverie, as if they had been sleeping like the rest of the Inn, slipping a pair on. Luckily, it seemed that one of the hobbits past or present had had rather large feet, and Aman's, in fitting with her petite build, were small enough to fit in comfortably. Opening the door, the Innkeeper snuck out into the darkness under the moon and half ran to the stables, slowing only when she came into the courtyard.

Why she had come she wasn't at all sure, really. But underneath the ethereal light of the gentle moon above, the ordinary courtyard looked almost ghostly. Half closing her eyes, Aman turned her gaze to the gateway from the road, and could almost imagine the images of those four heroic hobbits returning from their adventures in the South - in her land - dismounting, jesting with each other, making their way into the Inn. She smiled, taking the bridle of Firefoot - and felt a strange chill as the younger Meriadoc Brandybuck, smiling and laughing with his three friends, walked through her. Opening her eyes and finding herself, of course, alone in the courtyard, Aman shivered slightly, then opened one of teh stable doors and crack.

It would be empty here now Derufin had his lovely new house to sleep in and lovely new wife to care for him. And her lovely family - Aman smiled at the thought. They were delightful. She herself had never had a chance to be close to her father, as he had ridden with King Elessar when she was twelve and hadn't returned. And as for those two brothers - why, to see them with Zimzi made Aman happy. They were a delightful pair, and certainly very courteous, gentlemanly individuals - why, opening doors for Aman, offering her a drink... she could get used to those Lindon manners!

In the long rows of stalls, there was little movement or sound, just the usual, comforting sounds of horses asleep, stirring, snorting, moving around a little. The Rohirrim woman smiled to herself, the sounds like a lullaby to her. These were sounds from the creatures that had made her life. Glancing upwards, she mused that, well, Derufin's old 'quarters' would now be empty...surely no-one would notice if she was to spend a night here maybe...

No. It would not do. Smiling and shaking her head, she cast a last look down the stable building, making sure all was in order, and slipped back out the door - unaware of the one pair of eyes that was not equine watching her from above.

Going around the back of the Inn, Aman went back through the unlocked kitchen door and up to her room once more. But as she sank into bed this time, sleep did not evade her: no sooner had she lain down, eyes closing on the image of the moon, the images of the steeds of Rohan were dancing and snorting through her mind...

[Firefoot]

Willy nearly screamed as a small, squawking monster descended upon him. Its claws scratched him and its wings beat at him in a wild fury. Brown feathers and mud were everywhere. The thing - Willy realized it had a chicken's body, whatever it was - scratched him painfully under one eye. Willy frantically pushed it off him, scrambled to his feet, and ran as fast as his short hobbit legs would carry him. The chicken, equally frightened, half-ran, half-flew in the opposite direction while making an awful racket. Willy did not make his earlier mistake and instead kept his eyes focused on his goal up the road, but because of this he thought that the chicken monster must be chasing after him.

The cut on his cheek stung as a single tear dripped down. Why had he ever gotten out of bed in the first place? His clothes were muddied, torn, and blood-stained and he was tired and sore. Oh, what would he tell his ma? He could never tell her that he had visited the Inn, at three in the morning, no less. His aching head could not even fathom a realistic tale to spin. His lungs were burning by the time he reached his home. He slipped back in through his window, getting mud all over the place, and fell into bed to dreams of Elves and rolling logs and chicken monsters.

[HerenIstarion]

Next morning, not contrary to what Old Toby had to say about the matter, dawned with the promise of a fine day. Soft south wind came to case away curtain of clouds, so menacing and heavy just the day before. It was an hour when the dark starts to give way to another day, when birds are already twittering, but men haven’t yet gathered guts enough to slip off the warmth of their beds and start another day. The dew, memory of yesterday’s rain, covered the backyard, where squatty frame of someone could have been seen, someone stealing to the stables, someone looking over his broad shoulder now and again. If the onlooker would have come closer, he would become a listener as well, as said someone was grumbling under his breath

‘They love beasts, do they? Drat, why should my horses bother them? ‘they are no less tired, Sir!’, ‘it is not trouble for the stablemaster, Sir’ ! Pshew!. To heck with both, now I’m risking be caught stealing back my own horses. And this grass is wet, drat it, and my boots warned through’.

Now, as he came nearer the stables, the grumbler slowed the pace and exhibited even more caution in his progress

‘But why am I worrying, anyways? What do they have for guards? Band of wooly-footed wossnames, I should not be scared of them, should I?. Steady now…’

The figure approached the stable door and cautiously tried it. It squeaked as it turned on it hinges, causing the whole splash of angry but muffled mutterings and turning of the head, but nothing untoward happened, and the figure slipped into the stable.

There, in the warmth that only presence of horses may cause, in the dim light of the dawn, three gaunt horses could be seen. They were huddled together, as if shying two steeds of wonderful beauty and might, which stood a little apart from Southerners starved beasts.

‘Well, well, well’ muttered the intruder. “Those two are as fine horses as king of Forgoil himself may boast of. Hmm-m, why not? The will make a fat taking at the fair in the town by Evendim. But how early does that Merry of a stablemaster get up?

He looked over his shoulder in sudden fright, than, reassured by quiet outside, looked at the horses with an eye of a jobber once again

‘Well, well, first things first, where are those fools dawdling? I need a hand with my own carts first!’

As he growled that, a somebody shoved his head into the door and called in a hushed whisper: ‘Dublong! Dublong! Are you here?”

“Where else could I be, d’ya think? Are all of you there?

“Yes, all are…’

‘Then drive those billy-goats in’. Dublong was obviously better at yelling than listening. ‘We’ll need to lead the horses out quietly’

Dublong’s nephews came in, with some rags ready. With the speed which witnessed previous experience, they wrapped horses’ hooves in the rags to mute the clatter once horses would step outside straw-covered floor of the stable. With much caution, but as much creaking, the stable door was thrust open, and horses led out in file, where men quickly harnessed them into carts, standing not far from the stable entrance.

It took less than five minutes. Dublong’s wife and daughter climbed into the trimmest of the carts, as younger men went up to their dickeys, but Dublonge tarried, as if pondering.

‘Look, lads’ his voice was unusually tense and the wording less rude than usual, as if he were worried. ‘look, I’ve got some business to settle yet’

‘What business, uncle?’ started the elder of the brothers, but was immediately hushed by Dublong’s furious glance, whom, with the resolution, regained much of his rush.

With a short ‘wait here’, he turned back to the stable, and was just pulling at the door as he nearly bumped into a sleepy hobbit coming through from the other side.

“What? Oh, sorry, sir, I haven’t noticed you’ said the hobbit, whom Dublong recognized as yesterday’s stablemaster Merry. ‘Up so early? Are you leaving already? I see you’ve led out your horses yourself. You should not have troubled yourself, I would have had them ready, you have had only to warn the innkeeper, sir. Hope we haven’t caused you any inconvenience?’

‘No, no, no inconvenience…’ Dublong, caught at unawares, once again ran out of steam

‘Fine beasts you have there, I say, a bit bony, maybe, but that’d be the long road they toiled on, I reckon.’

‘Um? Ah, yes, poor beasts pulled us all the way up from White Mountains…’ Dublong tried to play up, silently cursing under his breath. There was no more chance of stealing beautiful steeds he’s seen in the stable. Greedy as he was, he valued his own skin better, and now only wished to get rid of Merry and run for it before other Inn staff appeared and difficult questions were asked. But Merry, though untimely aroused, was in a friendly mood and kept on chattering.

‘I’m not sure how far is to those White Mountains you refer to, sir, but it’s pretty a long road, judging by those horses. I gave them extra oats yesterday…

‘If he waits for a gift for his chariness, he won’t get any’ thought Dublong

But Merry exhibited expectation to be gifted, nor inclination to pause, and went on, as if compensating himself for the lack of sleep with the chance of wagging his tongue with a foreigner, probably coming from and going to some interesting places, which he himself wished not to see in person but would be really glad to hear about.

“I heard you travel North, are you, sir? They say that’s a mighty big town the Big Folk are building by Evendim. Have you been there before? Goodly fed as the horses now are, they won’t bring you further than North Farthing Stone, I reckon, you should better let them rest than. There is good grass up the Green Fields, they say, a little bit further North from the Stone, but in between you’ll need not worry about horses – I’ve stocked some oats into your carts yesterday evening…’

‘Er… thank you.’ was all Dublong managed to force out, overwhelmed by Merry’s vigor. He pondered, if, after all, Merry needed answering or it was better to let him ran out all by himself . . .

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik swayed on Kirsúl, their stallion, but Uien held him firm. She road behind him. Kirsúl would not let him fall at any rate, not unless he really wanted to. He didn't.

"I am very tired, Uien. Are you sure we cannot rest?"

It was the deep of night and they cantered westward on the East Road.

"Nay, I have it from Elves who are there that tomorrow is the day. I would not miss it."

"From miles away?"

"'Tis the way of the art."

"Onward then. I am glad I do not share this osanwë you speak of. I would never get any rest!"

"Surely not the kind you need, my love." Uien laughed lightly. "Rest, Laurëatan. Kirsúl and I will make sure you do not fall."

On they road beneath the glittering stars, westward to the Green Dragon Inn.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Ealasaide’s post

Two young men stood outside the front door to the Green Dragon, both of them looking puzzled. One of them, the taller one with the dark brown hair, shook his head in bewilderment.

"It's true," he said earnestly to his companion. "I swear there was a notice here earlier this evening calling for musicians. It said, Flute/Penny Whistle player needed, too something-something-something or if you don't play either of those - that's us - bring what you have and join in. It was signed Bill or Gil or something like that."

The other young man looked skeptical, then sighed. "Maybe we're too late and they don't need anyone else."

The taller one, Seamus, grinned. "You can never have too many musicians at a handfasting. Everybody knows that."

The other fellow, Owen, nodded and grinned back. "True! We might as well inquire anyway. The worst that can happen is they'll send us on our way. We're already wet to the skin as it is, so I can't see any harm in it. Have you got Shimshin?"

Seamus turned and looked back toward the inn's yard. "I'm sure he's around here somewhere." He whistled sharply between his teeth and presently a small brown body hurtled out of the dim light toward them. Reaching them, the creature climbed confidently up Seamus' leg and took a seat on the man's shoulder, wrapping his long prehensile tail around loosely around Seamus' neck. The spider monkey folded his hands primly across his chest and looked expectantly from Owen to Seamus and back, waiting to see what would happen next. As if by silent decision the two men walked around the inn to the kitchen door. Owen stepped up to it and knocked.

Presently, the door cracked open and the face of an elderly woman, presumably the cook, peered cautiously out at them. Owen and Seamus both touched their forelocks respectfully and smiled.

"Good morning, ma’am," said Seamus in his most polite tone. "We’re very sorry to be knocking so early, but we understand there’s to be a handfasting here and someone by the name of Bill or, uh, Gil, or something like that, was looking for musicians. We’d like to apply, that is, if Mr. Bill is about. I play the rebec (http://www.s-hamilton.k12.ia.us/antiqua/rebec.htm) and my friend here plays a very fine bladder pipe (http://www.s-hamilton.k12.ia.us/antiqua/bladpipe.htm). Shimshin -" he gave the spider monkey and affectionate pat "- is a fine dancer, too, and a great addition to any celebration."

************************************************** **************

Hilde’s post

“I should have known it’d might be musicians, coming to the kitchen rather than using the front door,” the woman said. “Come in, come in, the more the merrier!” she said waving them in. Seeing the monkey on Seamus’ shoulder as he passed by, she raised her hand to pat the small fellow. Shimshin caught her hand in his and gently brought it to his lips in a kiss. “Well. He certainly is a good mannered little creature!”

A nervousness suddenly overshadowed Owen. “Er…well, he is a good deal better than many people I’ve seen,” he said quickly removing his cap to reveal a mop of dark blonde hair. Water streamed over his fingers as he clenched the sodden felt. “But if you could just show us where we might find the author of the note, we won’t trouble you any longer ma’am.”

The woman smiled, “Oh that would be Gil, but you won’t be finding him here just yet. Not until breakfast is ready.” She looked down at the spreading puddle of water beneath the two men. “We must find you some place to wait for him, have you had anything to eat?”

“We would be much obliged,” Seamus said. “Though Owen and I are quite used to the outdoors," he explained, "our small friend is not much used to this climate.”

“Yes, he’s from the south,” Owen chimed in, brightening conciderably at the mention of food.

[Oddwen]

Berulo felt fortunate to have found room and board this late in the night. Or early in the morning, depending on how one looked at it. It was a tribute to the proprietors of this fine inn that they were so well organized, even at this hour. He looked forward to a good night's sleep and a good hearty breakfast in the morning.

Although, he had heard, there was to be a party - a wedding party on the morrow. And there was to be singing and dancing, and merrymaking until all hours. That wouldn't go amiss either. Berulo's father had taught him a bit of piping and he had a fairly good voice, but what he really had a talent for was rhythm. And everyone knows that you just can't dance without rhythm.

But that was after he woke up. Which might not be for a long while yet.

[Tevildo]

Tevildo sat watching and twitching his tail as Mistress Ellie returned to the room and began her preparations for bed. Before long, she had slipped between the covers and was snoring away. Bone tired from the heavy workload earlier that evening, Ellie had carelessly neglected to latch the door to the room. Pushing his small pink nose against the wooden panelling, Tevildo felt the door give way, opening just enough for him to slip through and escape from his prison. Slinking along the shadows of the corridor, he had run out the front entrance and made his way to the stables, hoping to catch a fat mouse.

The pickings in the stables were all too sparse. So many guests were still up and about that the mice remained hidden in holes and refused to come out where Tevildo could pounce on them. The cat poked his nose inside several crevices and crannies but was unable to discover any dinner. Resigned to the growling of his stomach, Tevildo finally made his way up into the rafters of the stables where he could look down and spy on everyone underneath.

He watched with interest as Dublong and several of his family maneuvered their way into the stalls and began to lead out the finest of the steeds. What they were doing was all too obvious to someone like Tevildo who made his living by stealth and deceit. They vaguely reminded him of some of Melko's less reputable servants. The cat was content to sit up on the rafter and lick his coat until he happened to notice that one of the horses being led outside was the one that belonged to Ellie. It was Ellie's only possession of real worth, and even Tevildo could not help but feel a little upset seeing what was happening . . .

[piosenniel]

‘Well isn’t he just something,’ Cook said, watching the monkey tuck into the little bowl of cut up apple she’d given him. His hands are so deft she thought, watching him turn the pieces round about, this way and that. And his little wizened face with its bright black eyes peered up at her now and then, looking as if he might at any moment drop a comment into the conversation. She’d never in her life seen a creature so charming or so clever. ‘Shimshin,’ she said to him, offering him a thick slice of bread, fresh from the oven, ‘you are what my old gran would call a right wonder.’

The two lads, Seamus and Owen, who had come with the monkey, had been set up with hot tea and toast with jam. Later in the morning, she’d told them, there would be eggs and fat sausages from the Chubb farm just south of Bywater. Gil and his fellows would be in by then, wanting breakfast before they helped with the taking of many of the Inn tables out to the front yard. ‘Have to dry up a bit, though, before we do that,’ Cook went on. As the three travelers tucked into their small meal, Cook bustled about the kitchen, taking out loaves of hot bread from the ovens, putting new pans of risen dough in.

The heat from the ovens was making the kitchen grow exceedingly warm. Cook opened the back door to let in a little cool air, then looked apprehensively toward Shimshin. He’d huddled up against Seamus, and she could almost hear the little fellow’s teeth chattering. ‘Oh, my! We can’t have you getting cold all over again,’ she said to him. ‘Let’s move you three to the Common Room. There aren’t many up yet; you can take a table by the warm fire and relax and dry out until Gil comes in.’ She refilled the pot of tea for them and had them fetch out their plates of toast and the pots of jam. Seeing them all settled in to her satisfaction, she returned to her kitchen.

Through the opened back door she could now hear sounds coming from the stable. Loud talking, with Merry’s voice mixed in, and the rustling about of a number of people. Checking once on her loaves just newly put in the oven, she tied her robe securely about her, and grabbing her rather formidable marble rolling pin (a present from a Dwarven traveler to the Inn long ago) she made her way to the stable . . .

[piosenniel]

HerenIstarion’s post

~*~

A bargain is struck . . . in lieu of money, a table is offered . . .

--

“Merry, I see you are helpful as usual, but would you be so kind as close the shutters of your talking shop?’ came in another, quiet but confident voice, voice of authority – the Cook was standing just behind Dublong, who quickly turned at the newcomer. ‘You’ll wake up all other guests! I heard you in the bakery! It would be even better, and very kind of you if you could just fetch me Aman”

‘Is not lady innkeeper asleep, M’am?’

‘Fetch me Aman this instant, I meant’

‘Yes, M’am! Right you are, M’am. Going, M’am!’

‘I see you are leaving already?’ the Cook turned to Dublong and wagons behind him at the ready.

‘We are. So what?’ Dublong decided that now as Merry left and he was faced by lone woman only, and undersized, it was time to rely on cheek again. It was now or never, before Merry would have time enough to ‘fetch’ Aman and who knows how many others.

‘So what?’ he repeated with more stress.

‘Nothing special, of course’ to his surprise, the Cook remained as calm as ever. ‘Just I do not recall Aman bringing in and locking payment for your supper and lodgings.

‘You’re Cook, or whatever, right? Who told you we haven’t paid? Is it your job to count the profit, or what?

Dublong came nearer and now was towering over the Cook with an air of aggrieved honesty.

‘For you, I’m M’am. I may err, of course, and would beg you to accept my apologies if I do. But we can check it this instant – you may have heard I’ve sent Merry to kindly ask Aman to come down, haven’t you. It won’t take long’

Dublong retreated. Wild thoughts danced in his mind. There were five of them and only one of her. He looked up at his nephews. They lookd scared. Well, there was one of him and one of her, but he had a club. He looked back. Well, it was in the furthest wagon, but probably he could…

The Cook seemed to read his mind as easily as she navigated the recipe book handed down for generations in her family she knew by heart now. Without changing the calmness of her tone, she went on:

’Have you liked my dinner yesterday? It is one of my best dishes, the lads from the Shirriff house down the road like it so much they even come to breakfast every morn at four, before taking over the watch’

Shirriffs? Guards? Here? In less than five minutes?. Dublong was broken.

‘Yes, M’am, I am grieved to say, but we haven’t paid’ Unctuous tone came into play once again. ‘But it is out of poverty, not cause we are dishonest. We meant to send money back as soon as we earned some in the King’s town up North. We are craftsmen, you see…’

‘I do. And what is it you do?’

‘Er… um… all kind of stuff, odds and ends, like it…’

‘Aha, I see indeed. If you tried to say you would work to pay off your debt… Dublong was not trying to say that at all, just playing on pity, but, nevertheless nodded energetically – it was vital to gain time, they may slip off later, when there was no Cook about, ‘I’m afraid we have enough of ‘odds and ends’ sort of workers of our own, thank you…’ Dublong pulled up a pitiful face.

‘But, you said you were going to send the money once you earned some in the North. I think I may accept such a deal…’

The sentence caused immediate face lightening of all Southerners visible. Passengers in the wagon must have been well pleased too, as sound strongly resembling chuckle ringed out of the covered wagon.

‘If you leave some valuables behind as a guarantee, of course. I may be gracious enough to accept one of your wagons, per instance. Merry will drive it up to Evendim as soon as we get nine copper pennies you owe us.’

‘The wagon? The whole wagon for nine pennies? Are you trying to rob us?’

‘Do I? I believe it were you who tried? I’ve seen you eyeing the stable door when Merry talked to you, even all of your horses were already outside’

“What? What? Are you driving at…’?

“I am not driving at, I know. But if you wish to drive out, you better learn your lesson well first. I suppose Sharkey’s men whom we’ve driven off before you, haven’t spread their story wide enough, or you are forgetful?

‘Sharkey? Who’s Sharkey? I never heard about such a man before’

‘Drop it – it does you no good. I know a ruffian when I see one.’

Now Dublong was really afraid. They know I was one of the Sharkey’s men. They even killed Sharkey himself!. They don’t look capable of killing, but they dealt with some of the chaps he knew, and they were tough, tougher then he was!

‘But wagon? We can’t go without the wagon’ Now he sounded sulking.

“It need not be a wagon, it was a random demand. I may accept something else of nine penny value, of course’

‘You think my wagon costs nine pennies?’

I know it does not cost more than a silver one, which is basically the same, what with all the trouble you may have caused, if I judged your stable-eyeing rightly, and I seldom err’

Dublong hesitated. He hoped to sell That Thing off to someone for a fair price, but up to now it brought more trouble than profit, not accounting for pure loss all foiled ropes and polish liquid accounted for. Why not? He’ll get out of the thing with his skin, his wagons, horses and less valuable, but somehow habitual family. Right! To heck with That Thing!

‘M’am, may I offer you the piece of furniture of most wonderful workmanship? Once again, Dublong talked in unctuous voice. ‘Snaggy!’ he yelled so suddenly even the Cook winked. ‘Bring out the Thing! Quick!’

Snaggy, reluctant as he seemed, dared not to disobey and sluggishly went round the cart, pulled off the cover and hauled some heavily roped bundle with four wooden legs sticking out.

‘Here, uncle’ wheezed Snaggy through heavily drawn breaths.

‘Unwrap it, I want to take a better look’

‘Yes, yes, o’course! Hey, Snaggy, come up here…’ But Snaggy was nowhere to be seen, as he hid himself behind one of the wagons. The second coachman – Dublong’s younger nephew, mysteriously disappeared too. He was behind the same wagon as Snaggy hid behind. ‘ Well, I’ll do it myself, of course, I’ll do it myself…’

Dublong, with due caution, but hastily, not to deepen Cook’s suspicions, cut the ropes which held it together and pulled the wrap off. In the middle of the backyard stood the table of polished dark wood Cook was not able to name the sort of, table for six on four carven legs. Dublong haven’t lied this time – the skill of its maker must have been indeed great – all of the surfaces were ideally smooth and shining, carvings represented four elements – fire, water, wind and earth in fines patterns Cook ever set her eye upon.

‘You see, M’am, it costs more than nine wretched pennies’ Dublong was now ingratiating

‘It may well be’ the Cook thought deeply. ‘Well…, well it may come in handy for the handfasting. I think I’ll accept it as ransom. You’ll get it back as soon as we get nine copper pennies. We’ll send it to address indicated with return mail. Just note that you should provide for postal charges as well.’

‘Of course M’am. Thank you, Ma’m! Er.. may we go now?

‘I suppose you may’

‘Thank you, M’am! Ride lads!’

‘Lads’, as if ready for the signal, jumped up their wagons, whipped their nags and drove out of the yeard, leaving deep gauges in the mud which, drying up by midmorn, would again resemble the road outside the in.

“I suppose they won’t ask for that table in a long while’ muttered the cook. ‘But I will write creditor’s bill nevertheless’ She sighed. not a year without scoundrels of the kind, and they say we won the war. It was better before we did it, she thought.

As wagons disappeared, Merry came up puffing, followed by the Inkeeper in her sleeping gown and a shawl on her shoulders.

‘You called for me, Vinca, dear? Something happened?’

‘Nothing of great concern, Aman. Master Dublong just left. He was very sorry he had not money about him, but He paid for his lodgings with this table.

‘Table? What table? Ah!’ Aman finally noticed it in the dim light of the dawn. ‘It looks really nice. How good of him. And just in for the handfasting, how handy.’ She stroked the surface with her hand. It was warm, as the trunk of a young tree in the midday sun. ‘It is heavy! Let it stand here for the rest of the night, we’ll ask some lads to bring it in in the morning’

‘As you say, Aman’

Thank you, Vinca. And thank you, Merry, you may go now’

With that, Merry turned to the stable to start his morning duties, as Aman and the Cook went up to the Inn

[piosenniel]

Tevildo's post

~*~

A lovely scratching post is spied . . .

Just as Tevildo was wondering if he should make the effort to jump down on Dublong's head and scratch his eyes out, he noticed that the would-be horse thieves were stopped in their tracks by the sudden appearance of Merry and then of Cook. The cat had a certain grudging respect for Cook and her rolling pin, and was not surprised when she managed to outwit the strangers, despite their larger size. After all, Tevildo reflected, size isn't everything. The cat saw the table being unloaded and, after everyone had left the stables, lept down from the rafters to have a closer look.

Tevildo approached the table cautiously, and leaned over to take a good sniff. There was a little bell ringing in the back of his head that said presents from the servants of Melko usually turned out to be bad. Still, the legs were so nice and shiny. He could not help but admire their beauty and consider what a fine scratching post the table legs would make! He ran up and stood upright on his hind legs, letting his claws slide out from beneath velvet paws, and got ready to enjoy a good scratch. But before he could begin, Merry came out of the stable and shooed him away with a broom.

To avoid the broom, Tevildo bolted beneath the table and out through its legs on the other side, racing up the front steps of the Inn. But before disappearing inside, he squatted on the porch and looked back, bellowing out a loud "MEOW!", which can loosely be translated into Westron as [i] "Tomorrow, I'll get you for sure!"

[Fairleaf]

Fairleaf watched with growing interest the encounter between the men and the two Halflings. She’d seen the men creeping to the stable, and heard their rough voices as they spoke to one another and then to the Halfling in the stable . . . Merry, that was his name. There was something about the men that made her bark prickle with alarm. The moonlight and first light of dawn threw their sallow faces into relief . . . and she could not but think they seemed rather cruel in their demeanor . . . Orcish, almost. She worried at the sight of the two Halflings towered over by the thuggish fellows, then flooded with relief as the men backed down. Cowards at heart, like all those whose spirits the shadow has muddied.

The evil men had gone off, driving their poor horses with haste from the Inn. In their wake they’d left something large, standing on four legs in the yard, not too far from her. The Halflings and the woman she’d encountered earlier near the road had stood about admiring whatever the thing was, then left it to stand by itself in the cold morning. Fairleaf had ventured a few steps toward the odd creature when a cat from out the stable came creeping out cautiously, intent on the object, too.

The Entmaiden had gotten close enough to see the thing they men had left behind was made of wood all around – top and legs. And she looked on in horror as the cat stretched itself up in an attempt to sharpen its claws on one of the legs. Only the quick action of Merry and his broom saved the poor creature from a slashing.

Daylight would be flooding the yard soon, she knew. She could feel her leaves tingle as the sunlight crept higher above the edge of the Shire. Fairleaf hurried in her own way to where the creature stood, alone, now. It was indeed wood, lovingly crafted. Beautiful in its own way. Her leafy fingers grazed the shiny surface of its top for a brief moment, before she pulled them back in surprise.

Fairleaf’s eyes glinted gold and green as she placed one hand lightly on the smooth surface. Warm it was . . . and just beneath, a faint and curious hum seemed to ripple . . .

Voices coming up the path to the Inn’s door reminded her it would be best were she back among the safety of the beeches and elms. Hmmm . . . I shall see you later, then . . . you interest me, my friend . . . Never seen one such as you . . . New you are and not among the lists I’ve sung before . . .

Her leafy fingers lingered momentarily on the creature’s top; then she withdrew a short ways away, amid the little stand of copper beech and lacy elms that stood at the far edge of the stable.

[piosenniel]

NOTICE OF TIME CHANGE:

It is now early morning in the Shire. The sun is up. The wet leavings of last night’s rains are nearly dried up and back to normal.

Breakfast is in full swing – sausage and eggs; toast and jam; pots of hot tea, laced with honey.

The last preparations for today's party are falling into place . . .

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

Only the Moderators will be moving the time along in the Inn.

Please do read the 'Inn Facts' at the top of the page and look through the Red Book of Westmarch topic to get an idea about posting in the Shire.

Feel free to PM the Moderators, also, with any questions.

Thanks!

~*~ Pio, Shire Moderator

[Arry]

‘Come on, you lot,’ cried Gil. ‘We promised we’d help drag the tables out to the front yard early on.’ He motioned for his lagging companions to catch up to him. Tomlin yawned widely at the admonition to hurry, while Ferrin and Fallon simply ignored him altogether.

‘Too wet still,’ Tomlin argued, nodding toward the grassy area.

‘Be dry enough once you laggards finish your breakfasts,’ Gil laughed, running up the steps to the Inn. ‘Hey! Someone’s taken down for volunteers that was here last night,’ he said pointing to the empty nail by the doorpost. ‘Hope somebody saw we needed another player in the band . . .’

He found he was talking to himself; when he looked back, the other three Hobbits were not to be seen. Drawn on by the scent of eggs and sausages, they had rushed through the door, leaving him, now, to trail behind. Gil hurried into the room, looking to see where they’d gone.

‘Gil!’ he heard, seeing Tomlin as he stood waving from a table near the bar. Gil! Over here!’ He smiled as he passed the other customers in the room and made his way to the benches where his friends sat.

Behind the bar, he could see Buttercup holding up a half pint mug and pointing to him as she held it up. He winked at her and nodded ‘yes’, calling her his little darling as she brought the group a round . . .

[THE Ka]

Rasputina woke to find herself as she always woke - sprawled out on the bed, with half her mass balancing with great stress on the side of the bed.

"Great... Why is it that everytime, I never fall off?!" ,she mutters.

Gathering up the blankets and what is left of the bed itself, she makes the bed and walks in front of the window. The sun peeks above the horizon, heralding a new day, the land winks and shimmers with the prosperity of a happy occasion ahead. As she dazes, she notices that someone is watching her from outside. Being terribly shy as usual, she pulls the blinds and sits in a vacant chair. oddly, she smiles with some deep knowing that today is going to be a full social event. Living in Eryn Vorn since she could remember, it had always been seculded. they didn't call it the dark wood for nothing, for it did not matter if the sun was up or not, most of the time she would have been in complete darkness. Many a time she would spend the day out by the shore line, on a patch of grassy plane that had yet not been covered by the wood. It was even more secluded but, a favorite place. The sea was far more pleasing than a dark forest...

"Hmm... It seems I can't be a reculse today... How horrible...", she sarcastically notes.

Then she remembers. her instrument, lying in its case calls to her. Still in her rain soked clothes, she begins to play. She waits for a neighbor's irritable threat on the wall, only to meet silence. On she goes with a few exercises, then a short song. The strings now hum with delight, something she has wanted to hear for so long. Finally, she puts it back into its case, and opens the dresser to find her 'handfasting' attire. A dress of simplicity but, very alien to the Shire. Made up of a blue and silver corset, cinched blue skirt and a very strange top hat, she admires herself in a small mirror. The many feathers from who knows where dance about the brim...

" I hope to the Valar that I'm not the only stranger around here..."

Searching in her trunk she finds her gloves that had disappeared since she had begun the trip. Also in it lies two presents, wrapped in green cloth. They are small but, intrigue the viewer with a sense of utter curiousity. She pokets both and closes the box and the rest of its contents inside.

As she was about to go out the door, she realized that she knew no one person within the Inn. Her eyes widened with guilt... Where would she perform at? Who was incharge? Who were the couple?

Mustering up some pitful courage, she grabbed the box and case in hurry and out the door. Closing it behind her revealed a new world. Everything had changed from the night before. The decor that had been hiding in the darkness of the night bloomed with bright colors. She silently passed into the main part of the Inn to find breakfast being assembled. Already some others have massed at the table and were satisfying their hunger. She stood in the corner, frozen to the spot. The table was mostly populated with hobbits, as she guessed but, also some of her kin and others. She left her box next to a group of supplies that were gathered for the finishing decor. Already the room seemed to herald a joyful occasion but, much more was still to be done. Tiptoeing as it seemed, she crept with her instrument to the long table and sat next to what looked like kin. Before she could remove her outragous hat, some of the hobbits from down the table pointed and smiled with awe. She feebly smiled back and quick hid the hat next to the instrument.

She then took an empty plate and filled it halfway. She then sat there, eating in silence and guilt. Her eyes scanned the table and found that many seats, some that she had not seen in her state of shock were empty, still waiting guest.

"At least I am not so late." she thought.

The woman beside her glanced at the door and went back to eating. Then her gaze flew back and rested on her neighbor's instrument. Rasputina tried not to notice but, smiled and uttered:

"It...It's for the handfasting..."

The kin smiled and presumed back to eating. Soon, a conversation crawled out between them, and soon both were discussing from where they came from, and about what further plans they were to have. Rasputina was not confortable but, at least welcomed.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Comfortably warm now, and dry. Owen and Seamus had taken the opportunity to rest propped up in their chairs, hoping all the while that the day would soon start and would prove a long, and profitable one. Shimshin too was curled up comfortably on Seamus’ thigh. True, the rascal would bear a little watching, thought Owen to himself. “Perhaps this is not a good time to have brought him,” he whispered to Seamus.

“Where would you have us keep him?” Seamus replied easily. “He has to learn to somehow. Better to get him used to his new way of life.”

“But at a handfasting? It doesn’t seem…hmm, it is asking for trouble, that’s all.”

“If we are going to take proper care of him we will have to be able to earn something.”

“That is true,” Owen said hanging his head.

“Gil!” They heard from their vantage point near the fire. ‘Gil! Over here!’ Waking abruptly, the monkey quickly scrambled onto the tall man’s shoulder. Owen and Seamus looked toward the door. A hobbit had entered the room and smiling crossed to where the calls had originated.

“There’s our man!” Seamus said, getting up from his seat. “Let’s hope that the hobbit will be willing take on a few big people, eh?”

"He's smiling. That is a good sign!" Owen said following his friend.

[Ealasaide]

“He is smiling at that!“ said Seamus as the hobbit called Gil exchanged a few words with a pretty hobbit serving girl, then took his spot amongst his companions. “Let’s hope it’s not just reserved for his friends!”

A tall fellow, even by the standards of Men, Seamus stooped a bit as he approached the hobbits’ table, so as not to seem too intimidating. After all, he never knew with the little folk how they would react to his size, although most of them were fairly used to big folk and generally paid him very little mind. Looking up curiously as the two men arrived alongside their table, the hobbits stopped their banter and lowered their pints. Their eyes moved politely from Seamus to Owen before finally settling on Shimshin, who had once again taken up his post on Seamus’ shoulder. With his long tail wrapped loosely around Seamus’ neck, he held on to a lock of the man’s long brown hair with one hand. The other hand held the last piece of apple from the dish that the Cook had prepared.

Ignoring Shimshin, Seamus smiled his wide, easy grin. “Good morning, my good fellows!” he said pleasantly to the hobbits. “Might one of you be called Gil?”

“That would be me,” said the hobbit who had been addressed by that name earlier. He tore his eyes away from the monkey and met Seamus’ gaze with a steady, bright-eyed gaze of his own. “Good morning to you as well! Might I ask whom I have the pleasure of addressing?”

“Well...” said Seamus slowly, his blue eyes twinkling. “That you might. My name is Seamus. My friend here is Owen. This little fellow with the apple -” he indicated the spider monkey “- is Shimshin. We - well, Owen and I - are musicians. We saw your notice yesterday and were wondering if you still needed anyone to finish out your band. For the handfasting, you know. I play the rebec and Owen plays a fine bladder pipe. Shimshin can dance a lively jig, too, if we play well enough for him.” He paused and smiled around the group. “So what do you say? We’d be happy to play a song for you, if you like. Show our chops, if you know what I mean.”

The hobbits looked up at Seamus, then at Owen, who gave them a hopeful smile and a nod. Waving his bit of apple, the monkey smiled, too.

“So what do you say?” repeated Seamus.

[Firefoot]

“So it’s not really like I told Ma,” Willy informed his younger brother Nick “Early this morning I was waked up by travellers, and I followed them here” - he gestured towards the Green Dragon, in front of which the pair was now standing - “and spied on them from the window. But I was spotted, and they sent an evil chicken monster after me, which I fought off all by myself, even though it gave me battle hurts, see?” He lightly ran his finger over the cut on his cheek. Last night’s events did not seem nearly so traumatic in the light of day, and Willy was now using the story to impress Nick, who practically idolized him already. Nick reached up to touch the cut with grubby fingers. Willy let him, and gave no sign of the sharp pain.

“Weren’t you scared?” asked Nick, gazing up adoringly. Willy shook his head. “Well, not really anyway. I was too busy escaping.”

Willy had gotten off surprisingly easy this morning after concocting a tale about how he had heard something out his window and gone out to see what it was (true). It was a chicken, escaped from the coop, and he had accidentally fallen on top of it, causing it to scratch him up (sort of true). He had returned through his window scratched and muddy and gone back to bed (also true). Willy reasoned that since none of it was actually false, it was not exactly a lie. His ma had chided him for his foolishness and doctored up his cuts with a sticky green substance, and then let him go. Pleased with his own ingenuity, Willy had taken Nick along with him to go back to the Inn.

“Now,” declared Willy. “We are going in.” He wanted a closer look at Elves, and the other interesting things he had spotted through the window. Already he had some plans for the cats...

“But Ma says...” whimpered Nick. Willy realized that he had perhaps done his job too well: Nick was afraid to go into the Inn!

“It’ll be all right,” said Willy firmly. He boldly stepped up to the door with Nick scampering after. He pushed open the door tentatively and stepped in without attracting much notice. Willy was thrilled. There was nothing particularly exciting happening, but the allure of doing something you’re not supposed to combined with the general bustle about the place exhilarated him. He waved for Nick to follow him further inside, but Nick shook his head and pointed. “Willy, look.”

Willy looked and did not understand what his brother found so interesting. It was two Big Folk, and they were talking to some Hobbits. “What?” he asked.

“That,” said Nick vaguely, as if Willy should know exactly what. Willy looked closer and saw that there was a strange furry, brown creature perched on the shoulder of the taller man. Willy had to know what it was, but he was too nervous to go up and ask. He was one of the Big Folk, after all, and nearly three times his own height. He nudged Nick, “Why don’t you go ask him about it?” Nick shook his head. “Nuh-uh.” Willy sighed. They had to get out of the doorway, at any rate.

“Come on, then. I’ll ask,” he said, and slowly made his way over, trying to look confident. The man was stooped over a bit, but still very tall and very intimidating. Willy licked his lips nervously, and finally blurted out, “Excuse me, Mister, but what’s that?”

[littlemanpoet]

Arry's post

‘Show his chops?’ Fallon looked the tall man up and down, as he nudged Ferrin. ‘What would we be wanting with chops . . . probably all nasty anyway if he’s got them hidden somewhere in his pockets. All linty and whatnot.’ Ferrin leaned as casually toward Seamus as he could, and inhaled deeply. ‘Don’t smell any chops,’ he whispered, leaning close back toward Fallon. ‘Pork, lamb, or otherwise . . .’

Gil apparently had some idea of what Seamus was saying as he was smiling and shaking his head . . . ‘no’. And the two Big Folk now had frowns on their faces. But Gil laughed all the harder. ‘Don’t need to hear you play, my friends. The more the merrier for the party, I say.’ ‘However . . . ‘ he went on, seeing the grins on the two men’s faces. ‘There is a bit of an audition you’ll have to go through. Show us your stamina, so to speak.’ Owen started to untie the bag that held his instrument. ‘Oh not that sort of audition,’ laughed Gil again. He pointed out the window across the room, then swept his arm about the room.

‘The yard is dry, I think. And we poor Hobbits have volunteered our strong arms and groaning backs to move these tables out there. Tell you what,’ he said eyeing the men. ‘Lend us your hand in this task, and we’ll see to you doing a solo.’

Tomlin had already stood up and was clearing the plates and mugs away from the table. ‘And if we get it done in good time,’ he added, ‘then the more time we’ll have for a bit of practice together.’

Ferrin leaned in toward Fallon as the group prepared to start their hauling. ‘Knew all along they were talking about playing,’ he whispered, trying to look smug. ‘Just didn’t want you to feel so bad about not knowing.’ Fallon punched him sharply on his upper arm. ‘Sure you did! You and your nose both were trying to make me feel better.’ Arguing amiably the two followed the others out to the yard to see where they should place the tables.

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littlemanpoet's post

Falowik and Uien

Kirsúl slowed as they came into Bywater. The sun was rising a good ways above the horizon. It had rained and the sun was drying the village. Uien and Falowik looked about them, their throats tightening at the onset of memories.

"See that tree by the lane?" Falowik pointed.

"Where you sat when I came to you with blankets, love."

"You changed me that night."

"As you did me. As if I became a different person altogether," Uien said.

"The roof is done."

"Little good we did about that," Uien laughed. "I cannot wait to see Derufin."

Kirsúl walked into the Inn's courtyard. Uien and Falowik dismounted and walked Kirsúl to the stables where an ostler they did not know took charge of the stallion. As they approached the Inn proper, they ran headlong into a bustle of little folk and big folk, every last one of them busy about something. All of the bustle was happy and fraught with joyful expectation. Some tables had already made it through the door and out to the courtyard.

"We are on time," Uien smiled as they made their way to the front door. They were almost run over by two hobbits carrying yet another table into the courtyard.

"Watch out, Gil! You almost runned them big folk over!"

"If you'd carry your end better, Tomlin, I wouldn't have to watch my step so careful!" He looked up at Uien and Falowik and grinned. "Excuse us!" He moved past them followed by the dragging and obviously reluctant Tomlin.

Uien and Falowik passed through the front door and their noses were smitten with the scents of breakfast. Their eyes were just as smitten with the colorful decorations for the handfasting. If there was a bustle outside, it was even more so within. There were two big folk and a monkey in one place; curious hobbits whispering about it not far away; at one large table sat hobbits devouring their breakfast as if they hadn't eaten in days, grinning and smiling at two women down the table, each with musical instruments beside them, deep in conversation between mouthfuls of delectable fare.

"I am hungry!" Falowik said. "Do you see anybody you know?"

"None yet, Laurëatan, but that will change soon enough." They made their way through the busy crowd, smiling and greeting the strangers they met until they found themselves at the bar. "The kitchen door looks so inviting!" Uien said. Many another time she had walked through and found herself companionably helping Cook or Buttercup or Ruby. It was so full of bustle now that she feared she would only be in the way, and remained with Falowik as they waited for someone they knew to come into the Common Room.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling had not slept much that night – or morning – for there had been a seemingly endless stream of activity through the stables. He had first been awoken by Aman, who had not, thankfully, seen him in the dark. For this he was grateful, for he felt that he needed the courage of food and daylight before he could face her. Just as he had been on the verge of dropping off to sleep once more there had been a clatter of feet and of muted hooves, followed by the strident voice of that Cook conversing with some strange Men. Again, Snaveling had watched but not interfered, for he knew that Cook had never fully trusted him and he did not want to burst upon her in the dark of night like some vagabond. He was very much aware that he had not formally registered at the Inn and was thus, technically, a trespasser. Things with the Men had looked to be getting serious, and Snaveling was almost at the point of overcoming his reservations and emerging from hiding when he heard the halfling send for Aman. That sent him back into the shadows, but fortunately the Men were soon on their way. He listened intently to the brief conversation between Cook the Innkeeper, and a hobbit he had never seen before, but whom he could tell from the tenor of their talk was the stablemaster. He searched his mind for the name of the previous stablemaster. . .Furlong? Durlong? Why was he no longer in charge here? It was a minor mystery, and one that could wait until morning.

Snaveling settled back into the straw when the others went their way and awaited the dawn. When it arrived, he roused himself from his rough bed and sneaked out from the stable, for he did not wish to be caught there before he’d registered as a guest.

Just as he had the last time he was here, Snaveling went to the kitchen door rather than to the main door into the Common Room. Whereas stealth had driven him on his previous visit, this time it was hunger – his stomach was roaring at him now, and he could not bear the thought of waiting much longer to fill it. He knocked on the door as he came through to the kitchen, hoping for a warm welcome. He well knew how different he was in his appearance than the last time he passed through those doors. His rich clothes were decidedly more ragged now for having passed through all weathers and lands. His hair was longer and shaggy, and he had a rough beard across his face. He looked, he realised, much more like the vagabond who had first come to the Inn than the returned King he had appeared on his last visit.

Cook and her assistants were hard at work preparing the morning meal. Putting on what he hoped was his most welcoming and charming face, Snaveling stepped forward and asked if a poor traveller could have an early bit of food…

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Owen pushed back his plate contentedly. It was good to have a full stomach again as well as the prospect of a lively group of hobbits to play among. And having learned that since the groom was employed by the inn, that at this handfasting the musicians where all volunteers, being paid as it were, with ample food and drink free of charge, he planned to make good use of the arrangement though, of course, not take advantage of the situation. He smiled to see that Seamus had not yet been able to finish his plate, so wrapped up he was with the two young hobbits and their questions. And so excusing himself politely, he left his bag on the chair and went outside to help the Gil and some of his friends who had upon finishing their pints, put off breakfast until after the heavy work was done.

It was a bit awkward, carrying tables with the hobbits. But they made good speed, and time passed quickly as they joked and hummed comparing what tunes they knew in common. Surprisingly, there were many, though titles and words varied. And Owen quipped that though the hobbits were a good deal shorter than he, they held a more than a double portion of songs in their heads. “But Seamus and I are quick to pick up. Just don’t go encouraging me to sing unless it’s at the end of the day and you want to empty out the place!”

How about monkey? I suppose you'll say he can hold a tune better than you!” Tomlin laughed.

“Not in the least,” Owen answered. “But we are trying to teach him to earn his bread by good honest work.” He turned to Gil. “You suppose it’d be alright if Shimshin was allowed to take tips for his dancing? I doubt he would grasp such a noble concept as donating work, and he does enjoy all the nice shiny coins thrown his way.”

Gil winked, “No one said anything about not collecting tips, now did they! I think it be a fine thing for Shimshin to enjoy himself. I hope that we all enjoy ourselves, not least of all the happy couple.”

[piosenniel]

It is mid-morning in the Shire. The weather is cooperating and is sunny and warm.

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About the next few days of posting:

The party proper won’t start until mid-afternoon of this game-day in the Shire. Until then, here are some of the tasks that need to be worked on to get the Inn’s front yard ready for the party:

Tables hauled out of the Common Room and arranged about the grassy lawn – leaving a big enough space in front of the Inn verandah where people can dance.

Along with the tables should go the benches and chairs.

A small raised platform should be made to set just off the verandah where the band can stand to play.

The linens for the table need to be ironed (no scorching, or Cook will have your hide!) and then got out onto the cleaned tables.

There are flower arrangements in a large flatbed wagon that have been brought in from Hobbiton. They’ll need to be placed on the tables after they’ve been cleaned and clothed.

Strong backs are needed for hauling the kegs of ale out to an area by the table where the drinks will be. And of course the ale will need to be tasted in case it’s gone sour in the move from Inn to yard . . . Or so a Hobbit would think . . .

Volunteers will be needed to bring food and drink to those doing other tasks – make sandwiches in the kitchens and carry out trays with mugs and pitchers of ale or cider

During this all, there may, of course, be music as the conglomerate band learns to play together.

And once the work is done (I’m thinking that will be a couple of days Real Time), guests will of course want to freshen up and dress for the festivities. Then either I or Child of the 7th Age will do a post to open the party.

~*~

Please note:

You needn’t get an entire task accomplished in your post. Just get it started and let others join in.

[Oddwen]

Berulo woke with a start. What was that he had smelled? Sausage, eggs, and tea! He never got dressed that fast before in his life.

And soon he was seated at the table, and it was a good while before he even looked up. There were actually few tables left in the room, as a they were being taken outside. A few hobbit and one of the Big Folk kept tramping in an out singing. Ah yes, there was to be a party today.

One of the last tables was taken up entirely by two elves and their strange-looking stringéd instruments. Berulo had never seen elves before, and he stared at them much more than was polite before turning his attention back to his food.

[Encaitare]

The sunlight was slanting through the window, warm and welcoming -- and firmly aimed at Caity's eyes. She squinted at the offending light, mumbled something to herself about being awoken at the crack of dawn, and then remembered where she was. The events of the previous evening suddenly came back to her, and she hoped she had not slept too late. She threw the bedsheets off of her and hastened to the window. Fortunately, it did not seem too early, although she could see several people outdoors, carrying tables out onto the grass.

Ah, good. Now all I've got to do is get dressed, find this Gil person, and maybe get some breakfast in along the way, thought the young hobbit, hurrying to her now dry pack and withdrawing a package wrapped in oilcloth. Inside was her best dress, green and cream with pale lacing up the sides. She put on the dress, briefly checked her hair in the looking-glass, and left her room.

In the Common Room, a few people were still eating, but many of the tables had already been carried outside. Caity wondered how exactly she was supposed to find Gil. A look around the room, however, was enough to assure her that he was not present -- the hobbit lads there did not have a musician's look. Logic told her that he would be outside with the other young men, carrying the tables and preparing for the handfasting.

So outside she went, pleased to see that the morning sun had driven away the night's chill and damp. Birds were singing in the trees, and everyone seemed excited. Yet there were so many people! How to pick a stranger out of a crowd? She weaved her way through the hobbits and furniture, scanning those she passed.

She was about to ask someone if they knew who Gil was, but then she heard a hobbit's voice:

"Gil! Where should we put this one?" Two hobbits were carrying a large table; the question was answered by another, who was speaking with two tall Men.

"Right over there should do the trick, I think," the one who was presumably Gil responded, pointing to a clear patch of grass.

Feeling rather triumphant, Caity made her way over to the hobbit lad. "Master Gil?" she asked.

"Yes, and a good morning to you, miss!"

"Thank you," she responded, glad to see him offer a friendly smile, and offering a short but polite curtsey. "My name is Caity -- well, Caterine Brandybuck."

"A pleasure to meet you, Caity. Do let me introduce you to Seamus and Owen; they've come to offer their musical services to us this afternoon."

Caity gave them a curtsey as well, although a small feeling of dread was creeping up in her stomach. She knew it was a silly thing to get worked up over, but oh! how badly she wanted to play.

Suddenly a small dark figure jumped out of nowhere and landed on her shoulder. She yelped in surprise, raising her hand to her shoulder only to have a little wiry creature scamper down onto her hand and down her arm. Seamus, Owen, and Gil all laughed, and Caity joined them as soon as she realized that the animal was rather cute, really.

"Don't mind Shimshin; he won't hurt you. Just a harmless little monkey, although he is a formidable dancer," Seamus said with a smile, taking the monkey from Caity's arm to rest upon his own shoulder.

"So what brings you to the Dragon?" Gil said, still chuckling a little at Shimshin's antics. "I trust you've heard about the handfasting?"

"Yes, and I also heard you needed someone to play flute or pennywhistle; I came from Buckland late last night to see if the position had yet been filled." She looked into Gil's eyes, hoping he wouldn't tell her that these Men were all they needed, thank you very much. "Has it?"

[Nimrodel_9]

Keleth woke with a start from a nightmare. He was sweating and his tunic was twisted around his neck. He could not remember the dream, but it had been disturbing.

Yawning he sat up. The welcoming smell of sausage and eggs floated into his room. He bent down and pulled his boots on. As he was folding the blankets on his bed, he noticed his knife. He picked it up and ran his hand along it. It was a beautiful hunting knife given to him by his friend, Damon. Carefully he wrapped it in a piece of cloth and slid it back into his pack.

Keleth went to the Common Room for breakfast. He sat down at a table and waited for Tolly, or someone to join him.

[THE Ka]

After eating, Rasputina had filled her stomach and gained a new friend, it seemed. They departed from the table with a slight bow and friendly goodbye. As she rose, Rasputina noticed that more and even more people of every race communed into the room, laughing and sharing thought and food. It had been so long since she had been around so many different people, little of her kin still lived in Eryn Vorn, many had left for the sea many years beyond reaconing. She picked up her most valued posession, and walked towards the door.

On her way, she collided slightly with a man. He was not much in height, she dwarfed him by an inch, but much more of strength and build, that she seemed to bend and buckle like an old tower. With him were more similar fellows who gave no notion to her existance. Instead of an expected forgiving plea, he gruffed and muttered something about 'aloof elves'. Rasputina had not encountered many other races in her life but, had learned more than five lifetimes worth of advice on them... They were not to be taken so easily of heart. Though she had experienced the tales many times, she wished to form her own experiences than old judgements. Instead of retorting back at him, she gave a nieve smile and carried on outside. She may not have been so mean to him but, deep down she was supicious of their doings. Something negative floated about them, in cloud of anger.

It felt so much better to be outside, with the land and sky, newly bathed in rain. She scanned the hills to see a whole new world than from the night before. The hills flowed like a green sea, scattered with little doors that bekoned to their depts. She also noticed a gathering taking place atop a closer hill, upon closer inspection it was to be the sight of the handfasting. She then saw what she had come for - a stage or performing platform, already essembled with musicians of every background. Her chest filled with sudden happiness. She scaled up a path towards the makings of the event with a new sense of courage... Maybe it wouldn't be so hard after all, these people seemed only to give and recieve happiness and tokens of friendship.

Upon arriving, others noticed her little but, once she asked if she could give help, many offers were made. She then began and set her posession next to the stage were other musical instruments were gathered. Some of those practicing noticed and gave looks of curiosity as to what it was. Before questions could be asked, she was helping lift 'mighty tables' that were to her surprise, fairly light. Oddly, it made her feel 'accepted' among these people and she soon was in conversation with one - a hobbit lad not much of age but, seemed to be interested in her home. She was glad to explain the happenings and noticable features of her wood. When she described that it was 'dark' he gave her a look of disapointment, and inquired that he had always been told that elves lived in 'golden woods', of pure light and majesty. She felt her heart sink, she knew what he was describing, a wood she had only seen once in her life before her kin fled from the servants of dark, lothlorien was but as much a reality to her as her new friend. She then explained her people's situation and how they were on their way to such a forest when, they were forced to hide from those who wished harm. He stared at her for awhile then gave an apaligetic 'I see' and went back to helping lay the table in the right order.

She then ocuppied herself with other simple tasks, such as helping with decor arrangements and moving more larger objects. As soon as a feeling of happiness settled in, it moved out of her heart as quick as it came. She kept to herself, and did not utter a sentence except for simple 'yes'es and 'no's. Soon, she was not needed for anything yet and was excused to go about her other businesses. For a moment, she just stood there wondering what to do, then if by some spontaneous will she walked off towards a nearby orchard and sat against a tree. She stared at the hills off in the distance and slowly dozed off. Soon, she was at her favorite place upon arda, the cliff near her home. The sea seemed to splash in her face and beckon her out. She wished to but, something held her back - but she knew not what it was. It won over the sea's calling and she woke to find herself curled up at the tree's roots. Getting up, and cleaning herself off, she walked towards the stage. She unpacted the instrument and gathered her playing stick. Walking up the stairs, she met other musicians. At first ahe was scared then, one beckoned for her to come and join them. Finding a chair she settled herself to play.

" Beautiful looking - um... What might it be?" asked a curious player.

"It's my families', my father thought up and designed it and my mother crafted it. It is called a Cello. It's like a large fiddle."

" It sounds as good as it looks, might we hear it?"

" Yes, but, I hope I still am able to play with full confidence on it."

Gliding the wand across the surface of the strings, the cello hummed and sang with the air. Rasputina finally felt almost at home.

[Envinyatar]

‘Shall we wake him?’ Sakal said, sitting on the edge of the bed. His brother, Azar, rocked back in the wooden chair, his feet resting on the bed near the pillow on which the still sleeping man’s head rested. ‘He’ll be up soon enough,’ Azar chuckled, wriggling his wrinkled socks quite near Derufin’s nose.

‘What died?’ rasped Derufin, cut off in mid-snore by a whiff of some foul stench. He sat up slowly, pulling his rumpled shirt into some semblance of order. Running his hands over his stubbly chin, he yawned, making a face at the taste in his mouth. Blurry memories of last night surfaced . . . Sakal, Azar, and he in his room at the back of the stable. There had been a small keg . . . or had it been two of some potent, fiery southern spirits . . . and toasts to friends old, friends new, friends gone, and friends yet to be. Merry had been wise enough to know when he’d had enough and had gone off to his own room in the stable. But the other three had gone on drinking and telling stories.

And now it was day . . . the sun streaming in through the thin curtains made Derufin’s head ache with its brightness. He shifted in the bed and laid his head back on the pillow. ‘Just a few more hours . . .’ he muttered balling the pillow up comfortably at the back of his head.

The cold water hitting his face brought him upright once again. He shook his head looking for whoever had dumped the water on him. Sakal stood laughing, the pitcher from the night stand now empty in his hand. ‘Get up!’ said Azar, hauling him up by the arm. ‘Get up, my almost brother.’ Derufin stood, swaying a little on his feet, the realization suddenly dawning that this was his and Zimzi’s day. ‘A little help, if you please,’ he said tucking his shirt hastily into his breeches. ‘Just get me to the kitchen and get some food and drink in me. I’ll be fine . . . I think . . .’

‘Food, maybe,’ said Sakal, holding Derufin up on one side as his brother took the other. ‘And maybe a cup or two of strong tea . . . but no “drink” drink.’ Azar nodded, agreeing with his brother; then, leaned in close to Derufin, whispering. ‘But once the knot is tied, there’ll be ale all around, brother mine . . .’

[Primrose Bolger]

‘Oh, my! Mister Derufin’s hurt!’ Ginger motioned frantically for Cook to hurry over to the opened back door of the kitchen. She’d just stepped out onto the top step to shake out the duster, when she saw the poor man propped up between Mistress Zimzi’s brothers. He stumbled along, and even from this distance looked a bit haggard to the Hobbit.

Cook hurried to where Ginger stood, drying her hands on her apron as she came. ‘See,’ said Ginger, pointing to the trio as they approached. ‘Oh, what will we tell poor Zimzi. And the party, there’ll be no reason for it now, with him hurt so and unable to be there for the handfasting.’ She’d gotten herself worked into a teary state, sniffling a bit as she wiped her eyes on her own apron. The low, rumbling of Cook’s chuckle broke her from her despondent state.

Hands on hips, and now laughing outright at the sight nearing her door, Cook shook her head. ‘Make up a pot of tea, girl,’ she ordered in a no nonsense tone. ‘And lace it with honey . . . plenty of honey. Fetch me my herb box from my room, too. Now hurry!’ Vinca stepped out to help the brothers get Derufin up the two short steps and to a chair at the kitchen table. He sat slumped over the table’s top, elbows resting on it, head in hands. A brief whispered conference between Cook and the brothers ensued.

Ginger walked the mug of tea carefully over to where Derufin sat. She spooned three generous dollops of honey and stirred the thick mixture. The spoon clinked against the side of the mug, and Derufin looked up at her blearily, putting his hands firmly over his ears. Cook had fetched some of the herbs from her medicine box and crumbled them into the sweet liquid. Brows raised, she tapped Derufin on the shoulder, telling him in a quiet, firm voice to ‘Drink up!’

‘Is he going to live?’ Ginger asked, crowding in close to Cook. The man looked quite green about his features and beneath the green tinge was a definite, dull and deathly pallor.

[piosenniel]

GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS:

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 (played by Envinyatar)

Meriadoc - Stablemaster

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

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.

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

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.

[piosenniel]

About the next few days of posting:

The party proper won’t start until mid-afternoon of this game-day in the Shire. Until then, here are some of the tasks that need to be worked on to get the Inn’s front yard ready for the party:

Tables hauled out of the Common Room and arranged about the grassy lawn – leaving a big enough space in front of the Inn verandah where people can dance.

Along with the tables should go the benches and chairs.

A small raised platform should be made to set just off the verandah where the band can stand to play.

The linens for the table need to be ironed (no scorching, or Cook will have your hide!) and then got out onto the cleaned tables.

There are flower arrangements in a large flatbed wagon that have been brought in from Hobbiton. They’ll need to be placed on the tables after they’ve been cleaned and clothed.

Strong backs are needed for hauling the kegs of ale out to an area by the table where the drinks will be. And of course the ale will need to be tasted in case it’s gone sour in the move from Inn to yard . . . Or so a Hobbit would think . . .

Volunteers will be needed to bring food and drink to those doing other tasks – make sandwiches in the kitchens and carry out trays with mugs and pitchers of ale or cider

During this all, there may, of course, be music as the conglomerate band learns to play together.

And once the work is done (I’m thinking that will be a couple of days Real Time), guests will of course want to freshen up and dress for the festivities. Then either I or Child of the 7th Age will do a post to open the party.

~*~

Please note:

You needn’t get an entire task accomplished in your post. Just get it started and let others join in.

[piosenniel]

Cook laughed, causing another wince from Derufin. ‘Aye, he’ll live alright. Willow bark’ll dull the headache he’s got. Fool’s got himself drunk, he has. Just like a man to go and do that on the eve of his handfasting.’ She motioned for Sakal to bring over the plate of eggs and toast she’d had him fetch. ‘Get that into him along with another mug of tea. Put him to rest in my bedroom. We’ll get him cleaned up after he’s had some sleep.’

Once the plate was empty of eggs, the last bit wiped up with a bit of toast, Derufin smiled up wanly at Cook, putting on his most contrite face. ‘Don’t go making moon-eyes at me , mister,’ she told him, pointing toward her room. ‘You’ll not be disappointing Mistress Zimzi today . . . and people will be eating the cake I’ve made when the ceremony’s done . . . that’s our plan and I mean to see it through.’ She watched the two brothers steady Derufin as he made his way to her room. ‘And don’t you be getting my quilt dirty . . . you feel the need to heave, use the wastebasket by the side of the bed.’

Ginger's eyes were wide as Cook upbraided Derufin. 'Flaming fool!' Cook muttered, turning back to the large kettle of soup she'd started for lunch. 'Ginger!' The Hobbit lass looked at her in apprehension. 'Everything will be fine. Mister bunce used to get himself quite pickled at times. No need to go upsetting Mistress Zimzsi with what's happened. She'll be having her own problems to deal with without taking on this. Her Mister will be fine . . . we'll see to that. Let's finish up the platters of ham and cheeses. And make sure the rolls I baked are put out in those baskets over there.'

At the small table in the corner of the kitchen, sat Snaveling quietly sipping a last mug of tea. Cook motioned to him with her wooden stirring spoon. 'And what about you, Master Snaveling? We're having a party today . . . you're a bit ragged looking yourself.' And I'll not ask why, though I have my own thoughts on that matter! 'How about you get yourself cleaned up a bit,' she said, noting the straw stuck here and there to his clothes. 'There's a trunk of Big Folk clothes in the upper attic room. Left here by some what decided they needed to get away quick . . . before the final bill was tallied and paid for. If you want, Ruby can show you the way, bring you some water and towels for washing, too.'

Ruby looked over at the man, awaiting his decision.

Cook had already turned back to the soup, adding a small handfull of salt and a few pinches of ground pepper. 'Look better when you finally talk to Miz Aman, too,' she muttered to herself. 'Flaming fools . . . the lot of them!'

[Lalwendë]

Jinniver was watering the plants in the border and checking them once again. She knew she was fussing but she also knew she had to make sure her work was perfect, that everything looked as she had wanted it to, and doing this made her happy. She whistled as she worked, and daydreamed about the garden she might create for herself some day. She had slept for an hour or two just before dawn and had dreamed of a long low cottage with lavender hedges, and a strange, walking tree.

She thought of the walking tree now and looked up. It puzzled her. She was sure she had seen something moving in the dead of the night when she was walking out. A tree, but not a tree. She peered up at the branches hanging overhead, a small frown on her brow. She felt sure there was something different about them, as though they had moved; it was unsettling but did not frighten her. When she was a child one of her father’s favourite tales had been of how the trees in the Old Forest were said to be alive, and he had told her of the man who lived there and was said to be able to tame the woodlands. Ever since, she had looked at trees as though they were somehow more than just plants, and now she wondered again.

Something did move, up there in the branches. It could almost have been an eye, or a mouth. She squinted to try and make it out but could not quite be sure of what she had seen. Shaking her head, she realised she had been staring at what must have been nothing more than a knot in the trunk. “You’re looking too hard. Now you’re seeing things” she told herself, and turned back to her watering can.

Finishing her work, Jinniver looked towards the inn where already many people were outside, hauling tables into place and setting down benches and chairs. There were more people than ever and for a moment she almost went red at the thought of having to talk to strangers. But then she remembered that she wasn’t a stranger any more, that she had been welcomed here, and felt happier and more comfortable. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she had even seen some familiar faces from Bree.

As she went back towards the inn, her eye was caught by a cart laden with cut flowers, and she couldn’t resist going to look at them. There were tea roses, carnations, sweet-smelling pinks, huge dropping lilies and trailing stems of fragile sweet peas. Jinniver spent more than a few minutes just breathing in the scent of the flowers, lost in her senses, before she realised these must be meant for the table dressings, and she soon set to work again, her nimble fingers dressing and arranging the blooms.

[Ealasaide]

Seamus was so focused on the response Gil and his friends had to his and Owen's offer of a song that at first he failed to notice the two young hobbits who had come into the common room only a minute or so earlier. It wasn't until he and Owen had returned to their own table with the older of the two hobbits at their heels that he realized someone was there at all. Sitting down in his chair, Seamus turned toward him and, bending forward, placed his hands on his knees. Suddenly, he felt very large indeed.

"Hello, my lad," he said kindly as Shimshin scooted from Seamus’ shoulder to a perch at the back of his neck, directly between the young man’s shoulders. "What can I do for you?" Seamus glanced past the first hobbit to his little companion, who hung back shyly, tracing a line in the floor with his toe.

The older hobbit boy squared his shoulders bravely. "I was wondering, ehm... what's that?" He pointed at Shimshin.

Seamus' wide, sunshiny grin spread over his face once again. "Why that's a monkey!" he exclaimed. "His name is Shimshin and he’s quite a clever little fellow. If you tell me your name, I’ll have him introduce himself. My name, by the way, is Seamus."

“My name’s Willy,” said the boy. He pointed back in the direction of his companion. “And that there’s my brother Nick.” He leaned slightly forward and lowered his voice, although his tone sounded distinctly superior. ”He’s scared.”

“Ohhh!” said Seamus. He leaned farther forward as well and lowered his voice. “You can tell him there’s nothing to be scared of. Neither I, my friend, nor Mr. Shimshin will bite.” He gave the boy a friendly wink.

Willy grinned. He waved his brother to come over, which the little boy did, but very, very slowly with a face full of misgivings.

In the meantime, Seamus knelt down and patted the floor, calling the little monkey by name. Still keeping a firm grip on his last piece of apple, Shimshin climbed down to the floor, where he stood in front of the boy, eying him with a pair of very bright black eyes.

“Shimshin,” said Seamus. “Say hello to Willy and Nick.”

Without letting go of the apple, Shimshin gave a very courtly bow and made a friendly kind of chirping sound in his throat.

Willy let out a peal of delighted laughter. Even Nick seemed to forget his fear for a moment and crept closer. “Did you teach him to do that?” asked Willy.

Seamus shook his head. “No, actually I didn’t. He had a master before us that was not terribly good to him, although he taught him any number of wonderful things. He can even dance, you know.”

“Can he!” exclaimed Willy. “Can you get him to dance for us now?”

Seamus started to reach for his rebec, which was an instrument very close to a violin in design, with the intent of playing a tune. Then, he noticed that not only had Gil and the other hobbits gone outside to begin setting up for the handfasting, but Owen had gone as well. His face fell. He had promised to help the hobbits with setting up the tables for the party and couldn’t - in good conscience - sit about fiddling for monkeys and children while everyone else worked. Regretfully, he shook his head.

“No, we can’t right now. There’s too much to be done to get ready for the party.” He gave them a friendly smile. “I’m sure you can help out if you like! Maybe when we’ve done all we can do there will be time for a quick tune. Okay?”

Seeing that the boys looked deeply disappointed, Seamus decided to give them one more thing to think about. “Perhaps while I’m working, you can keep an eye on Shimshin for me. If he leaves my shoulder, he’ll need some good eyes watching him to see that he doesn’t get into any mischief.” Seamus let his voice drop to a conspiratorial whisper. “He used to belong to a pirate, you know.”

With that, Seamus picked Shimshin up and put him back on his shoulder before going outside to help Owen and the hobbits with the party set up. Soon, he was caught up in the work, surrounded Gil and his bunch, who worked as industriously as dwarves while keeping up a steady stream of laughter and jokes. A young hobbit lady soon joined them, as well. After making the unexpected acquaintance of Shimshin, she inquired with Gil about playing her pennywhistle with the band. Seamus wondered if perhaps she was the one who had removed the notice on the gate.... not that it mattered. Nonetheless, he resolved to ask her about it later, to satisfy his curiosity, if nothing else.

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen had been grateful that they had found room for both her horse and herself at the inn despite the late hour of her arrival. Neither she or her horse were accommodated in normal guest quarters - Aeglos was tied in a barn and she had a tiny chamber in the attics - more a cupboard than a room but both of them were soon warm and dry. However the inn seemed disproportionately busy for the smallness of the settlement in which it stood. she had been told that there was a "handfasting" which after a little clarification she learnt was a marriage rather than a solemn betrothal. She had never witnessed such a ceremony among mortals and her curiosity was stirred - but perhaps a stranger would not be welcome at the ceremony. However weariness such as seldom affects an elf had cast out thoughts of any kind and she had fallen into sleep as soon as she had cast her self on the low bed. When she woke sunlight was, not filling the chamber for the window was tiny but illuminated a square of the floor. The weather had clearly improved. She rose carefully to avoid striking her head on the low ceiling and once she had done so there was scarce room to manoeuvre since she had rigged a clothes line with pack thread to dry her sodden garments, and her saddlebags were heaped in a corner near to the ewer and basin. there too was her sword. She did not expect to need it on her travels but it was a treasured possession - her father had wrought it for her before he had left for the war in Mordor more than an age of the world ago and he had been a fine smith. It was light and strong and had been crafted exactly to suit her stature. She had been a little disappointed that his gift had not been a necklace or some such adornment for she had no instinct to be a shield maiden ( and her father had made fair things in times of peace) but her father had said "We cannot remain to protect you, so I must leave you the means to protect yourself". Mithalwen remembered his words and his lessons in swordcraft and as she did so tears rose to her eyes for shortly after he had departed with her brothers and had never returned. Only her elder brother returned after long years of war and he had changed utterly.

Mithalwen forced herself to activity to cast out the memory. She slipped into a simple grey dress with narrow sleeves more suitable for someone who worked with their hands than the usual elvish fashion and went directly to the stable to check on Aeglos. While he semed to think being tethered was beneath his dignity he was well cared for and Mithalwen soon found out where to find the blacksmith. The ostler had told her that it was still too early, that the only fire at the forge would be the one cooking the smith's breakfast and so she had gone back to the inn in search of her own. The place really did seem extraordinarily busy with a mix of all peoples... even some of her own kind it seemed though she had not had a chance to speak with them as yet. She had seen nothing like it since the old days at Rivendell ... but there were a few here she deemed that even Elrond, that might most welcoming of hosts might have thoiled to admit.

One group in particular seemed threatening, a contrast with the many welcoming faces she had encountered from the inn staff. These had melted some of her natural reserve and had made her decide to stay for the handfasting. Once she had attended to her own task of getting her horse shod - the smith had been astonished to find an elf as his first customer of the day - she fell in to helping with the preparations.

Other than baking bread, food preparation is usually the task of elf men and in this respect, Mithalwen had followed tradition and so she offered her services to those who were moving furniture and so forth. They had looked at her a little doubtfully until they realised the strength in her lithe frame. They worked hard but in the pauses that the mortals found more necessary than she she was able to take in details of the people around her. Hobbit children, a man with a monkey, women arranging flowers which were fair even to her eyes - the Shire was fairer than she remembered from her previous journeys passing through and then she recalled hearing that the Lady of the Goldenwood had given a special gift and smiled.

As she worked she had heard various strains of music but one now caught her ear. She could not quite place the instrument which riled her sense of professional pride " not a bass viol" she thought "but what ?... it sounds like nothing I have crafted...". S he felt sure from the sound that the player was an elf and when others paused for refreshment she sought out the maker of the elusive music. It was an elf clad in blue and silver, seated on the stage amongst players of more conventional intruments. Despite the curious hat that the elf wore it was the instrument that held Mithalwen's attention. She listened rapt at the foot of the stage.

[Arry]

A break from work and a little music is made . . .

Tomlin had edged near to where Gil was speaking with a newcomer Hobbit lass. Ferrin and Fallon, pretending to inspect one of the tables they had just moved out from the Inn, were also all ears . . . and comments . . . ‘Who is that?’ whispered Tomlin, coming to stand about with them.

‘Don’t know,’ said Ferrin, daring a quick glance toward Gil. ‘But she’s quite lovely, don’t you think? What with those sandy curls just touching at her cheeks.’ Fallon jabbed him in the arm, causing the stricken Hobbit to utter a rather loud ‘Oof!’. ‘She’s not your sort, Ferrin . . . looks far too smart to be interested in the likes of you,’ whispered Fallon. Ferrin rubbed his arm, muttering at his brother. ‘Now me, on the other hand,’ began Fallon, ‘I’m just the sort to be handling such a fine flower of a lass.’ Tomlin laughed aloud, saying it was he who was best suited to the newcomer. ‘After all,’ he reminded Fallon, ‘didn’t you promise Buttercup you’d be dancing with her today?’

‘What’s this?’ came a familiar voice from behind the trio. ‘Did I hear my name mentioned?’ Buttercup stepped up with a pitcher of foaming ale and a stack of mugs; she was giving drinks to the thirst workers.

Tomlin seized the opportunity, and taking her by the elbow, turned her to face where Gil and the Hobbit girl were talking. ‘Who’s that?’ he asked. Buttercup gave him a knowing smile and a shake of her head. ‘She’s come to play with your band . . . talked to Cook last night about your notice on the door. Name of . . . Caity.’ Tomlin took the tray of drink and mugs from Buttercup’s hand much to her surprise and went walking over to where Gil stood.

‘Caity,’ he said, giving her his best smile and a nod. ‘I’m just bringing round drinks and all to the volunteers. May I offer you one?’ he asked, setting the tray on a nearby table. ‘Lovely instruments you have there,’ Tomlin went on, looking at the flutes and whistles and the little clay ocarina she’d laid out on the table to show Gil. ‘You’ll make a fine addition to our little group for the party. Won’t she Gil?’

Gil looked on with barely suppressed laughter at his companion. ‘Well, yes, Tomlin she will. I was just just asking if she’d like to play a little something for us to hear. “Sailor’s Hornpipe”, perhaps?’ he asked, nodding at Caity.

‘Well, surely not by herself,’ said Tomlin. ‘I’ll just fetch my fiddle and accompany her.’

‘And I’ll get the hand drum,’ called Ferrin, who’d come up to Caity’s other side.

Buttercup winked at Fallon, saying, ‘Go on now! You know you’re itching to get your fingers on your fiddle , too.’ He grinned at her and ran to fetch his little case.

‘Well, I hope you’re ready for this rather impromptu practice,’ chuckled Gil to Caity. ‘I’ll just get my little concertina (http://img.musiciansfriend.com/dbase/pics/products/42/420559.jpg) and we’ll see what sort of music we can make.’

Gill called out to Seamus and Owen, just setting down a table on the grass. ‘Grab your instruments. We need a bit of a break.’ He pointed over to the little raised stage. ‘Meet us there. There’ll be ale to moisten your parched throats and loosen your lips.’

An Elf was already seated on the stage, playing what looked to be a quite large fiddle. ‘Rasputina, she said introducing herself. And ‘Cello’, in answer to his question about the interesting instrument.

‘Welcome,’ he said, introducing himself and Caity, along with Tomlin, Ferrin, and Fallon. ‘We’re just going to practice a bit and wet our whistles so to speak.’ He winked at Caity as he finished. ‘Join us, if you will, then, Rasputina. Seamus and Owen, our other new players should be along soon.’

Noting another Elf who'd been sitting by the stage listening to Rasputina, Gil asked her name. 'Mithalwen, he said, fixing the name in his memory. 'You look pretty interested in the music. Do you play an instrument? And more important have you brought it with you? You can practice with us. Or if not -- perhaps you'd like to sing a bit?' Gil took his concertina from its box and undid the latches. He filled the bellows with air, and played a few bars from a lively dance tune . . .

[Firefoot]

Willy was sorely disappointed by the departure of the nice man with the monkey. The creature itself was fascinating; at first he had thought it to be some strange type of cat, but he quickly found that it was not so. Shimshins - even his name was exotic! - was far more interesting than any cat could ever hope to be with his nimble little hands and expressive face. The man had to work, though, and Shimshins went with him. Willy turned to Nick, who appeared as down-trodden as himself, and said, “Well, I guess we’re on our own.” Nick looked up at him with big brown eyes that were again filled with shyness and worry over breaking the rules. It was one of Willy’s only frustrations in Nick’s companionship - the younger hobbit was not yet old enough to understand that some rules were meant to be broken.

“Come on, Nick!” said Willy jauntily, trying to imitate his oldest brother’s carefree attitude. “There’s nothing going on in here. Let’s go outside.” Nick reached over and grabbed Willy’s hand. He nodded, “Okay.” Willy led Nick outside where everyone was working busily. The man - Seamus? - had said they might be able to help, or watch his monkey. Willy was saddened to find the monkey still perched on the man's shoulder. Tables were being moved, which were too heavy for either of them to lift, among various other things, but nothing looked interesting to a young hobbit lad with a penchant for excitement.

The next best thing to excitement was mischief, and Willy wondered what he might find to do. The stables caught his eye. Stables meant cats and cats were fun to rile up. He would never actually hurt the animals, just scare them a bit. He tugged Nick along beside him and carefully avoided the attention of busy workers, especially the one Willy had picked out as the stablemaster. Inside, the smell of ponies and freshly turned hay greeted the brothers, and Willy’s sharp eyes quickly found what he was looking for: a fluffy white cat. He motioned for Nick to wait and be quiet as he snuck up behind the cat. He nearly had it when the first strains of a chord became audible. The band was practicing now!

“Later,” he promised the cat, and snagged Nick. “Maybe we can see Shimshins dance now,” he said, hurrying outside. Nick struggled to keep pace. “Wait!” he called. “I want to see monkey dance, too.” Impatiently, Willy waited for his slower brother to catch up. He did not want to miss Shimshins. He had no need for worry however; the band was only just warming up, and Shimshins had not yet left the man’s shoulder, as if waiting for a cue. Willy went right up to the platform; Nick followed behind more reservedly but eager for another look at the funny creature. Willy was not disappointed; the monkey soon began to strike up a merry dance...

[Noinkling]

The thick curtains pulled shut across the little window kept the sunlight from reaching in to wake him. Tolly’s snug, Hobbit-sized room was at the far end of the Inn, the last one in fact on the ground floor. And yesterday had been long and tiring. and the night a late one. Tolly’s eyes had grown heavy and closed just moments after his head hit the pillow. His sleep had been dreamless, his bed comfortable and warm.

It was only when the sound of someone rapping on his door poked through the haze of sleep that he had roused up. And looking round the still dark room wondered for a moment where he was.

‘Mr. Greenhand, sir,’ came the pleasant voice. ‘Mr. Greenhand!’ it called again. ‘It’s going on mid-day and I’m needing to clean up the room and straighten the linens.’

‘Mid-day!’ squeaked Tolly, jumping from bed. He picked his breeches up from the rug where he’d dropped them and jammed his feet through the legs. Tucking his shirt into the waistband of his breeches, he called out for whoever was on the other side of the door to come in.

‘It’s me,’ said Ruby, just coming to see to your room for the day. ‘Didn’t mean to wake you.’

‘Well, thank my lucky stars you did,’ Tolly replied, running his fingers hurriedly through his short crop of curly hair. ‘I promised I’d help with the tables and benches this morning.’

‘No need to hurry, then,’ Ruby laughed. ‘You’ve planned it just right. The early risers have got the tables all arranged like Cook wants them, and the chairs and benches have been brought out, too. Some of the ladies have started to put out the tablecloths on the food and mathoms’ tables and others are putting the flowers about.’ She handed him his vest that he’d hung on the door knob. ‘You just go down and get a plate of food and enjoy the nice weather that’s come up this morning.’

She opened the curtains wide and cracked open the window for a little fresh air. The sound of music came drifting into his room . . . a merry tune . . . just the sort he and Blossom like to dance to.

‘The band is practicing, as you can hear,’ said Ruby, as she hurried over to straighten the bedclothes. She plumped the pillow, then took down yesterday’s used towel by the washstand, and left him a fresh one. The sound several lads doing heavy lifting obscured the dance tune. Ruby looked out again, and smiled back at Tolly as she drew in her head.

‘Now there’s something you can help with,’ she said, pointing out the window. Tolly squeezed in beside her, following the line of her finger. A number of strapping Hobbits had hoisted the first of the ale kegs onto the crossed-bar holders and were preparing to tap it. ‘They’ll be needing volunteers to see if the ale’s up to par for the party.’ She watched as several other teams of hoisters, maneuvered their kegs to their own crossed-bars. ‘Go on now,’ she laughed. ‘Get some food in your belly first then help the men test the ale . . . tis a Dragon tradition.’

Tolly started out the door and down the hall to the kitchen. He heard Ruby call out to him a last time. ‘Best pace yourself, Master Tolly,’ she said, grinning widely at him. ‘There’s the rest of today and much of the night to get through . . .’

[piosenniel]

~*~ ***Notice of New Game Opening*** ~*~

Firefoot invites you to take a look at her game: Sailing Away (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/showthread.php?t=11484)

The Discussion Thread is now open to take on characters/players.

http://forum.barrowdowns.com/ubb/icons/icon14.gif Hope to see you there. Should be a fun game.

~*~ Piosenniel, Game Moderator

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Owen retrieved his bladder pipe from the common room, and letting the door slam behind him, returned to find Seamus and the hobbits already milling about on a platform hard by the Inn’s verandah. Seamus had his rebec out and stood to one side holding it up to his ear, trying to tune it over the noise. Shimshin capered happily about his feet with excitement. It was a bit of a crowd, Owen thought, happy to note that a few elves had joined up as well. But as he stepped up onto the platform he looked dubiously at it. It was one thing to build a stage quickly so that hobbit musicians might not be lost among the dancers, it was quite another to furnish one sturdy enough for a growing group of hobbits, men and elves. And this one had appeared so suddenly Owen feared it might have all the strength of a mushroom sprung up from the lawn overnight.

But walking gingerly about on the creaking boards, Owen looked curiously at all the instruments. Holding his the pipe to his lips, it’s fragile bladder crackled softly as it filled, and he idly fingered the chanter as he nodded to the those he walked past. When at last he rejoined Seamus and Shimshin, he nudged the former, pointing to an elf who held so great a fiddle she had let it rest between her feet. “There Seamus, see what your rebec could have become had you left it on the vine a bit longer!”

Seamus shook his head. “Looks like we have a fine group here. It should be a good day I think.”

“Yes, but the proof is in the playing, eh?” Owen replied. And as if on cue the hobbits started playing ‘Sailor’s Hornpipe’ while gathered around a pretty young girl all dressed in green and cream, and who held a rather interesting penny whistle. Owen and Seamus quickly joined in, to Shimshin’s delight. And the monkey ambled about the platform before breaking into an appropriate dance.

But the next song was an even faster one, and the bladder pipe player was pleased to see that the kegs had begun to be brought out. It was thirsty work, and he did so relax with a bit in him.

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik had lost count of how many breaths he had taken, waiting at the counter, waiting and waiting for someone whose face he recognized. Not a one. At least the music made it bearable. He glanced at Uien, who had been smiling and swaying to the rhythm of the music.

"Maybe all our friends are gone," he said to her.

She looked at him, her smile unwavering. "You have lost patience."

"It has been.... over half an hour, as the hobbits would say. My stomach is beyond growling."

"Your tone makes up for it, Laurëatan," she laughed. "I will go into the kitchen and see what I can find."

She walked through the door to the kitchen, leaving Falowik to drum his fingers on the counter or on his belly, wondering if he really wanted to be here.

[Nurumaiel]

"Look how hard they're working," said the golden-haired girl, skipping back and forth. "Look how beautiful they're making everything. I think it would be fun to help them, don't you? Except... maybe... it's very nice to watch. Perhaps I would ruin something, and if I were helping, you know, I couldn't watch as easily."

"If you want to help," said Falco Headstrong, "go ask. You'll have plenty of work piled atop your young shoulders, no doubt. No doubt!"

The girl gazed dubiously, and then she tripped off to find someone to ask. She didn't know who would help her, but she supposed somebody would... and then she would help them.

Falco Headstrong put his back to the wall and folded his arms as he watched the activity about him. They wouldn't ask her to help, she was so little. She'd have to ask herself. But no doubt someone would ask him. No doubt! Grudgingly he admitted to himself that he wouldn't mind very much, but in all the hustle and bustle he hadn't been able to find the Innkeeper and get himself a room. He was still in his wet clothes, which were now drying stiff and dirty, to his disgust. Perhaps the work wouldn't matter too much, as he was already dirty, but he still didn't want to.

He wondered who was to be married. He'd been to a few weddings before. He liked to see the happy people, the crying parents, the joyous and nervous groom, and the sweet, rosy-cheeked hobbit bride. He'd been invited to quite a few weddings, he reflected with some smug pride. He was popular in his little home amongst the young people, for he would always upon up his full purse to help the couples just starting out, and floundering, and finding poverty stealing upon them. Yes, he would help them, and others, if they weren't too proud to accept his generosity. Can't a hobbit have the pleasure of helping a friend without being told coolly: "No, please don't trouble yourself, I couldn't possibly, and I'll manage," when it was as plain as daylight that they couldn't manage? Hobbits nowadays! And hobbits from the past. When had any of his neighbours been willing to accept help?

But when they did it would get around fast that he, Falco Headstrong, had helped, and it would make him well-liked, so he was invited to funerals and weddings... especially the weddings of friends of a young married couple he had helped. He looked forward to this wedding. He wondered if the young lad would be one of those easy, self-confident hobbits, or one of the blushing, shy hobbits, or one of the hobbits not at all shy but nervous that something would go wrong. In any case, the hobbit bride would be happy and blushing, sweet-faced and full of love for her own dear one. And maybe if they were poor they wouldn't be so object to taking from him in the bright rays of their happiness that blinded them to all else. After all, hobbits had to stick close together and help each other out.

[Nimrodel_9]

Keleth spent an hour or so helping move tables, chairs, and benches into place. After doing all that he could, he straightened and looked around. He was pleased to see the garlands he had helped cut hanging about the place.

Not knowing what else to do he wandered over to the group of men lifting kegs of ale onto the holders. "Let me help!" he called and went to lift the kegs. Some of the hobbits were now "testing" the ale. He smiled. Of all jobs he could have ended up doing, he was glad he got this one.

[piosenniel]

Cook and Uien

Cook had brought the big cake out of the pantry with the help of Buttercup and placed it carefully on the table in the center of the kitchen. They were both fussing with a number of the sugared violets that had come dislodged along the edge of one of the layers when the door to the kitchen opened. Their backs were to the entrance and there had been so much coming and going that neither looked up from their task. ‘There’s the last of the bread to be sliced and put in baskets . . . over there on the counter near the pantry. The baskets are up above on the shelf. Oh, and you’ll find napkins for liners in the last drawer under that counter.’ Cook supposed it was one of the volunteers come to finish up the last of the baskets of food for the party.

When they heard only a tentative shuffle behind them and a small silvery laugh, Cook and Buttercup looked at one another. Then Buttercup turned toward the door and seeing who had come in, laughed aloud. ‘Look, Cook! That skinny Elf’s come for the party,’ she said, poking Cook in the side.

Cook turned, wiping the frosting from her fingers on her apron, to see who Buttercup meant. Her eyes flew wide at the sight of the figure standing there. ‘Uien!’ she cried, her face beaming. The elderly Hobbit trotted over to the Elf and gave her a tight squeeze about the waist. She stepped back, smiling. ‘Well, looks like he’s been keeping you fed right,’ she said looking Uien up and down. ‘Did Master Falowik come with you?’ she asked, peering around the Elf. ‘He must have . . . Are you hungry? We’ve got plenty of food for the party.’ She offered Uien a chair at the smaller table in the kitchen. ‘Buttercup, you just go fetch him in here. Tell him we’ve food and drink and his fair Elf to boot.’ Cook sat down with a tired oomph! at the table. ‘Tell me lass, what adventures have you two got up to now?’

[Nurumaiel]

The golden-haired girl (whose name was, in passing, Marigold Baker) found many people whom she could ask, but she did not know if she should. None of them seemed personages of authority who would be able to instruct her correctly. She supposed she could simply jump into the midst of the work, but moving tables seemed too heavy a task. The sound of music drifted to her, and for a moment she swayed and thought she would go listen, but then she determined herself to help, if only she found the right one to ask.

Marigold knew a kitchen door when she saw one. It was the only door she had used at her home, because it was the only door where she would find her mother directly on the other side. She recognized this door as a kitchen door, and it occurred to her that perhaps someone inside would know how she might help. Cautiously she opened the door and peeked in, and then she withdrew quickly, her cheeks flushing and her eyes bright, yet shy. Why, there was a tall beautiful lady in there! Marigold had never seen one of the woman Big Folk before, and there was one just through the kitchen door, fairer than anyone Marigold had ever seen, and with the sweetest smile and laugh.

"I should be much too shy to go in there," Marigold murmured to herself. "It's such an odd thing; I've never been too shy before. Oh, but isn't she beautiful! She has the most beautiful face I have ever seen, except for my mother's face." She cast a look over her shoulder. "I'm glad Mr. Headstrong isn't here to see. He'd say something horribly... dampening. He doesn't seem a bad hobbit but he's so very... very... depressing. He'd moan that there were Big Folk here and never notice how beautiful she is. Why, she reminds me of moonlight and starlight and sunlight, and all the beautiful things I know of." Marigold opened the door a crack again and peered in again. "How beautiful she is!" she sighed, and, closing the door, she sat down beside it. She didn't dare go in, a bold and haughty lass who thought she had every right to speak with Big Folk, but wouldn't it be nice if the beautiful lady came out and smiled at her as she went by? "No doubt it would," said Marigold, laughing and recalling Mr. Headstrong, standing at the other door. "No doubt!"

[piosenniel]

Buttercup and Marigold in the kitchen with Uien

‘And just what are you doing here, sitting on the floor, little missy?’

Buttercup had just delivered the message to Falowik and was on her way back to the kitchen when she saw the little girl with her mop of yellow curls settle down by the door. She crouched down, so as to be on the same level as the girl and looked her over. Very pretty, she thought. She asked the lass her name.

‘Marigold . . . Baker . . .,’ came the soft and hesitant reply.

‘Well, Miss Marigold, my name is Buttercup.’ She gave the child her hand and brought her to her feet. ‘Today’s no day for Hobbits to be sitting about. There’s work to be done . . . a party to get ready for.’ She walked slowly through the door to the kitchen, chattering all the while to Marigold. ‘We’ll just get you some lunch, I think. Unless you’ve already eaten, of course. And then I was wondering if you might help me pile bread in the little baskets for the food table.’

Buttercup drew the child over to one of the empty chairs and urged her to take a seat. ‘This is Cook,’ she said in introduction. ‘Marigold’s come to help with the bread baskets.’ Cook nodded and poured the girl a small mug of cold cider. ‘And this is Uien,’ she said nodding toward the Elf. Marigold’s eyes she noted went wide as Uien smiled at her. ‘One of the Fair Folk she is. Used to work here at the Inn . . . that is til she went off adventuring with her Mister.’

Buttercup brought out a little tray of thick ham and cheese sandwiches and plunked them down in the middle of the three women, big and little. ‘Pass the cider round, won’t you Uien. And Marigold go ahead and take a sandwich. Workers eat for free today . . .’

[Encaitare]

The band by now had grown considerably, featuring all different sorts of people; however, Caity thought that they sounded pretty good, considering that they had never played together before. But then, hobbit tunes were simple and well-known, and it was easy for even those who had never heard the song to catch on shortly.

As she played on her pennywhistle, her stomach growled, reminding her that she had never eaten breakfast. She hoped she could grab some food soon. Yet the thought was interrupted as the little monkey caught her eye -- already he was dancing to the music! Caity held in her laughter as best she could as the monkey continued his antics. Eventually she had to look away so as to avoid throwing the whole group off.

Instead, her eyes settled on the elf in the large hat. Her outfit was strange, but in a good way, and she really wanted to ask her about the large instrument she was playing so deftly.

Happily taking in the beauty of the scene, with the motley band playing along, the jolly hobbits "testing" the ale, and the festive decorations, Caity did not find it surprising that Shimshin was dancing. She rather felt like dancing herself, but satisfied herself by making sure that her playing was perfect.

[littlemanpoet]

"There you are, Falowik!" a female voice as good as shouted. Falowik turned. One of the serving girls. He had never quite gotten their names. "Your skinny Elf Lady Uien is waiting for you in the kitchen!"

"Thank you!" he smiled as she motioned for him to follow her.

Uien was sitting at table across from a little hobbit lass all in blonde curls, pleased as punch to be the center of attention.

"Ah, there you are," Uien said. "Sit and be fed. I was just getting ready to tell Cook and Buttercup here what you and I have been doing these past few months, and they think I'm no longer the waif I looked last I was here, thanks to you."

Falowik grinned. So it was Buttercup. He mentally thanked Uien for the name, and she winked back at him as he took his place at table. There was a plate of ham and cheese sandwiches set before them, and his mouth watered quickly.

"You first, Uien," he said.

"Or I'll get none, is that it?"

"Hobbits do make good fare, better than we've had since we left the Shire."

"If you like man-food," Uien returned.

"Hobbit food's better!" Cook corrected. "I've 'eard of what they eat, and it don't compare to what's served at the Green Dragon."

"Of course not!" Falowik assured her.

"Are you an Elf too?" The little hobbit lass's eyes were wide, looking at him.

He swallowed his first mouthful. "Oh, no," he answered with a smile. "I'm a Man."

"Are you handfasted?" little Marigold asked him.

Falowik almost choked and coughed, and Uien snickered in her hand. He cleared his throat. "No. Men and Elves do not - um - handfast." Falowik was not used to the term.

"Some have," Uien murmured, half smiling.

"Why not?" little Marigold asked.

Falowik had all the answers to these questions firmly in mind, but not in a hobbit lass's speech. He looked at her blankly.

"It looks like you're finished with your cider and sandwich, Marigold, eh?" Buttercup asked, winking at Falowik. The girl nodded. "What do you say to helping me with those breadfbaskets now?"

"Yay!" the girl cried, and climbed down from her chair, eager to help Buttercup. Falowik made to wipe his brow in relief. Uien was half smiling.

Cook was at the stoves, chuckling, and said, "Now tell me what you two've been up to while you've been away."

Falowik and Uien related how they'd gone to Eryn Lasgalen with the Elven women, Lumiel and Eswen, who had accompanied them into the hills of Evendim, to bring home Lira, who had given her life in the quest. Then they had gone to Lothlorien, Uien's former home, and she had shown Falowik all the fair sights to be seen there, now almost emptied of Elves. They had come back across the mountains and stopped in Rivendell, then returned to Bree, where Falowik had been born. They had just been starting to have their first debate about where they would settle down when Uien had, on a whim, sent her thought to the Shire.

"An Elf from this Inn felt my thought, and it was thus that I learned of Derufin and Zimzi's handfasting."

"Ach, the ways of Elves are beyond me!" Cook said.

"I stand with you on that," Falowik said.

"Where is Derufin, Miss Bunce?" Uien asked.

[Oddwen]

Berulo had helped as much as he could with the moving of furniture when he was done eating, and was now helping to "test" the ale. It was a fine proper year, but it wouldn't do to make any mistakes and ruin the party, would it?

After the ale had been tested every which way to Sunday, Berulo walked back into the Inn to see if there was anything left to be carried out. Vaguely, he remembered a bunch of women's work needing to be done, and then there was food...lovely, glorious food.

He let his nose carry him to what he thought might be the kitchen. And he hadn't had any second breakfast, and he had been hauling tables all morning...

And imagine his suprise when he saw an Elf in the kitchen, making sandwiches!

"Er," he began. "Er, ahem, um..."

"Well?" said the hobbit Cook. "What do you want, young man?"

"Pardon me ma'am, sir, lady," he said. "Is there anything to carry out yet?"

[THE Ka]

Rasputina's shyness seemed to melt like an icefloat in a south sea when she was around these people. When she played at home, everyone was silent and gave the notion of an almost depressed atmosphere. Though, she did not doubt that her kin loved to hear and see her cello, something they took into great admeration due to their Noldor background. So too was with the company she now kept, who surprisingly knew and played songs that were easy for her to accompany. They were foreign to her less 'merry' sonata's, but they were very interesting. Some seemed almost pure nonsense, one was about a dog and a kettle! Very foreign indeed but, she was intrigued none the less.

In the small audience that gathered, Rasputina suddenly spotted a familiar sight - another of her people it seemed was there. Blinking again, she saw that the guest wasn't but, did look like her people of Eryn Vorn. It seemed that they were listening to her, something she found very strange since she doubted any other elve knew or had heard her cello, unless they had the chance or will to visit the dark wood. Still the same, it was nice to see another. One of the musicians named 'Gil' asked their name, and to Rasputina, sounded of far origin to her own people but, was beautiful. Mithalwen, as she was called was asked If she wanted to contribute. Rasputina listened anyway she could for an answer, but lost her concentration when someone began to play again. She was curious If this vistor carried one of the 'fabled' Lyres of Lothlorien. Her people had only one among them, and was cherished like a holy relic among pilgrims. Whatever the answer, it would come later.

Some of the more local musicians, one of which would take glances at her hat, which she didn't mind. The friend who had given her the invitation mentioned some ways of 'blending in' with this enimatic folk. If Rasputina had come without this information, she would have seemed bizzare even to an elve. This is due to, over time, when her people decided that their temporary 'hide away' was going to be permanent, many new customs were adpoted. Mostly due to the enviroment itself. Her people either wore nothing but white to help in the darkness, or they wore dark colours if they were especially fair. Either way, it was easier to find each other. Their clothing was influenced mainly by the sea views available of that region and the type of trees that made up the forest. But, most strange of all, they didn't ware any shoes or see the need to. This was mainly influenced by the conditions that they arrived in. There were some shoes and boots that were crafted but, mainly out of boredom. When she left home, the products of people's boredom became something of a new experience. In first few days, her feet began to complain about these new coverings. They still did now and then but, were not as bad.

After a song, Rasputina felt that she should take a minute to get to know some of these people alittle more. The first was a hobbit named Caity. She was very interesting to converse with and soon became more than an aqqaintance. As they were talking, Rasputina felt that something was after her hat. It was strange at first. Why would someone want to take her hat? If it pleased them to see it or wear it, all they had to do was ask...

She soon put the thought away, and continued to talk. As soon as another song was being performed, the feeling came again and Rasputina was suspicious. Looking around she didn't see anything that would provoke the thought to bother her. Then, as she was about to take wand to string, something leaped up and grabbed the hat, landing on the stage. Rasputina looked down to find a monkey who had been dancing before, with her hat on, completely covering its' head. She first smiled then burst into sheer laughter. It looked like nothing she had seen before, and the creature was oddly adoreable. it slowley raised the hat off its' head, and stared up at her with concern. It seemed the monkey thought she was going to kill it or some other rash punishment but, she just smiled and asked nicely for it back. She petted its head and said that it needed only to ask next time.

She then began to play again...

[Tevildo]

Tevildo kept a wary eye on all the bustle and preparations that were going on that morning. He had successfully avoided the hound Huan and the other funny creature who went by the name of Shimshins. The latter seemed to be attracting a lot of attention from the two-leggeds, who apparently didn't know any better than to spend their time fawning over a silly-looking animal who couldn't even walk properly on all four legs.

Instead the cat had found a spot where no one would bother him, a high perch on the mantle that stood near the hearth where he could curl up in a ball and spy on everyone. For the next two hours, he had stared down at the various volunteers who were finishing up their preparations for the handfasting and the party, occasionally letting out a howl which was meant to encourage them to work faster. Once when a small mouse tried to poke his nose out of a hole in the wooden panelling under the bar, Tevildo had jumped down and chased him back inside with a stern admonition not to come out until the festivities were over.

Still, he was beginning to get bored. He was not overly fond of manual labor. That sort of thing was best left to Mistress Ellie and the other two-leggeds who were visiting the Inn. It was then that he spied the silly lad who had earlier tried to surprize him by sneaking up without a warning. He was the one who went by the name of Willy---a short lad, even shorter than Mistress Hawthorne who had been working at Ellie's side for much of the morning.

Tevildo was seized by a sudden desire to teach the nasty lad a lesson about his rude behavior. The young Hobbit was sitting and listening to the music. He had slipped off his jacket and tossed it casually over on the ground and was not paying any attention to it. And what a nice jacket it was! Just the sort of lovely thick cloth that Tevildo would enjoy ripping to shreds. Tiptoeing over on velvet paws, the cat quietly approached the jacket and unsheathed his claws. He jumped up on top of it and merrily began to claw at the sleeve.....

[piosenniel]

Cook, Buttercup, and Uien . . .

‘Where is Derufin, Miss Bunce?’ Uien asked. Buttercup and Cook looked at each other and then away. Cook snorted and pointed her thumb toward the door to her rooms just off the kitchen. ‘He’s in there, Master Derufin is, and probably sawing logs on my clean quilt!’

Uien looked at her, a perplexed expression on her face. ‘Sawing logs? What a mess that would make.’ She tilted her head as if listening for the sound of saw against wood.

Cook laughed at her expression. ‘Figure of speech, my dear! I’d call him a “poor man” save for the fact he did this to himself.’

Buttercup butted in, wanting to get in on the conversation. ‘She means to tell you he’s sleeping off the drink he managed to down last night with Mistress Zimzi’s brothers. Last night of freedom and all that nonsense. He looks like death warmed over, at least he did an hour or so ago when the brothers brought him into the kitchen and left us to deal with him.’

‘I’ve given him some willowbark tea, fed him, and made him lie down for a while,’ said Cook. ‘The handfasting’s not til later this afternoon; we hope to have him back on is feet by then.’

‘Either that,’ said Buttercup with a knowing nod, ‘or Cook will string him up by the thumbs for ruining the day.’ Buttercup looked at Uien and chewed her lip a bit, trying to remember something. ‘Say . . . Uien . . . wasn’t it you that had a sort of healing gift?’ she nodded toward the closed door behind which the snoring and bedraggled Derufin lay. ‘You think you could do a little Elven magic and set him right again?’

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

Cook sends Berulo out with a plateful of food and a mug of hot tea . . .

Before Uien could answer, a young Hobbit lad poked his head in through the doors. ‘Anything else needs to go out to the yard,’ he asked, his eyes fixed on Cook.

Cook motioned for him to come in. It was a Hobbit just out of his tweens from Bree. Very polite, Cook thought approvingly. Ma must have taught him some good manners, indeed! Berulo Rushlight was his name, he said, going on to say that the tables and chairs were all moved and arranged. And how he was a bit hungry now, but if there were anything else needed he would be happy to do that first.

‘I think the ladies will finish the rest of the getting ready for the party,’ Cook told him. ‘You’ve done enough, I think. And it’s much appreciated.’ she got up from her chair and got a clean plate from the cupboard. A few moments later, and she had it piled high with thick ham and cheese sandwiches, a juice apple, and had given him a hot mug of tea laced with honey to wash it down. ‘You go on out to the yard with the other lads and relax a bit and enjoy yourself. Eat up, drink your tea, and listen to the music. I’m sure they’ve tapped the kegs by now . . .’ Berulo nodded at her, a grin on his face. ‘We can think about cleaning up and hauling the tables back in once the party’s all done. For now, just enjoy yourself, Master Rushlight!’

[Mithalwen]

"My name is Mithalwen - and while I can play most instruments a little by need, my greater skill is in their making rather than in performance - I have none with me for I play the harp for preference and that is hard to transport on horseback. " Mithalwen was a reluctant performer at home - among the teleri who dwellt still at the Havens were finer executants than her, she deemed but maybe among those she did not know she would find confidence easier to come by. "I could sing if you judge me up to the task but I do not know what would be fitting for such an occasion."

Mithalwen wound a tress of her silver hair around her hand as she spoke anxiously she was thinking still of the other elf .. but she had missed her chance to speak to her .. at least out loud. An thought slipped into her mind and it was not her own .. a Lyre of Lothlorien? In her thought she answered: I know of what you speak but I do not possess such a thing. I am not from that place. An image formed of the woods of Lorien rooved and carpeted with gold. She sighed for Lorien the fair knowing that even if her path took her thither again it would not be quite the same. She looked at the elf and smiled as she caught her glance.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

A wedding? Snaveling groaned. Things were going from bad to worse. Yes, he was now properly breakfasted, and he had managed to fill out his wardrobe with the addition of a new cloak and tunic from the attic trunk Ruby had shown him, but the thought of confronting Aman on a wedding day drove his heart clear into his boots. He had not been to many handfastings, but those he had been forced to attend had all been weepy, sentimental affairs at which everyone, it seemed, became extraordinarily silly – particularly the women. He had seen many a female whom he thought more or less level-headed get wobbly in the presence of the nuptial couple, and while he had a good deal of faith in the stable and sensible Innkeeper of the Dragon, he feared that she might not be above the effect of this day.

Seeking some privacy, he wandered through the garden, his mind whirling with plans. For a time he thought seriously about slipping away into the wild once more, but that would not do. Cook and Ruby had seen him and were sure to mention it. He decided to hide in the stable for the rest of the day. Hurrying to carry out his plan, he almost ran by the large cart laden with flowers without noticing it, when a vaguely familiar shape appeared from the other side of it as though by magic. “Oh,” the woman said in partial recognition of him. “You’re back are you?”

Snaveling struggled to place the woman’s face and voice, but failed at first. “I have returned, madam, it is true,” he said, remaining non-committal. “But I am not sure how long I am staying…”

The woman’s eyes narrowed and she placed her hands on her hips. “You don’t remember me, do you?” Snaveling shook his head apologetically. “Perhaps this will remind you, then,” the woman said, and reaching into a pocket she pulled out a small pouch of pipeweed. Opening it and holding it out for him to smell, a gorgeous fragrance came to Snaveling that he had not smelled since…

“Jinniver!” he called out, delighted to have remembered his brief acquaintance from his last visit, and at the prospect of once again being able to enjoy her marvellous weed.

“Yes, Snaveling,” she said, adding hurriedly, “and if you want a bit of this weed, then by all means help yourself to it, and I won’t hear of any payment for it! I don’t quite know what came over me the last time I let you pass over your money, but I won’t hear of it again.”

Snaveling bowed with practised courtesy. “As you wish, mistress. But I am afraid that I am not in a position to insult you with any offer of payment this time, for I am – at present – rather short of money.”

“Really?” She could not quite suppress her surprise, for she had seen the size of his purse the last time Snaveling was here. “There must be a story behind that.”

Snaveling made a sour face. “There is, I’m afraid, and not one I want to remember.” He could see Jinniver preparing another question. To forestall it he said, “I see that there is a wedding today. Is there anything I could do to help?”

[Nurumaiel]

Marigold's eyes sparkled as she helped Buttercup with the work, made twice as lovely because her little stomach was now full. She had some small bit of childish clumsiness, but she worked deftly and efficiently. After all, she had helped her dear mamma in the kitchen many, many times, and she was accustomed to working in this manner. Every so often she would steal shy, awe-filled glances at the tall beautiful woman. She was one of the Fair Folk, they said? Well, she was fair. Marigold had thought this was one of the Big Folk. What did her papa say the Fair Folk were? They were Elves, he said. What was an Elf doing in the kitchen of a Hobbit Inn?

There was that tall fellow. He said he was one of the Big Folk. She wasn't in the least shy of him. She had seen tall Big Folk men before. But it was so very odd... why was this Big Folk man the husband of one of the Fair Folk? No, but he said he wasn't handfasted with her. Marigold shook her head. At nearly eleven years old she thought she was very old and worldly-wise, but some things were still beyond her.

She gave a special smile to the hobbit boy. He was very old in her eyes, but he was a hobbit nevertheless and it was comforting to have one more hobbit about. That way there were more hobbits than Big Folk and Fair Folk. Not that she didn't like the Big Folk, but hobbits were always best to a hobbit.

She tripped to the door, opened it, and peeked out. "They're making things so beautiful out there," she said. "I heard there was going to be a hand-fasting. I hope there really will be. I've never been to a hand-fasting before, but it must be beautiful. I saw my cousin getting ready for her hand-fasting. She was so pretty in her dress, and she looked so happy. She wasn't as pretty as my mamma, though. I wish I could have seen my mamma get married." She smiled a wistful little smile, and then returned to Buttercup's side. "My mamma used to tell me stories about her hand-fasting. She said she was the happiest girl in the Shire that day. It was a beautiful fair day and they were hand-fasted under a bower of lilacs. That was my father's idea, because my mamma was called Lilac. I think it would be beautiful to be hand-fasted under a bower of your very own name flower, don't you? I'd like to be hand-fasted under a bower of marigolds. That would be lovely, don't you think?"

She was silent for the slightest bit of a moment, and then she smiled and tossed a little curl away from her face. "I met the funniest old hobbit today," she said. "He's all finely dressed but his clothes are so muddy. He seemed very upset about something. Well, no, not upset, but he seems like the type of hobbit who is always worrying about something. I think it would be terrible to always be worrying, don't you? I like to be cheerful as much as I can. Life is so wonderful and cheerful and happy, and I can't help but be happy with it. Life is only ever unhappy if I make it unhappy by being unhappy myself. So I stay happy as much as I can, and so does life."

Marigold ceased in both her work and her chattering for a moment to brush another curl out of her eyes. She gave an impatient little stamp of her foot, and then put her hands into her dress pocket and brought out a little ribbon. She tied the curls back effectively with this and then returned to both work and chattering. "My mamma always used to tie my hair back every day. Not so it was stiff and ugly, you know, but so it was nice and pretty with little curls around my ears. It can be very difficult to work and play when you have hair in the way. My mamma didn't have golden hair, you know. She said there were only a very few hobbits with golden hair before a few years ago. I like my golden hair, because it's mine, but my mamma had such pretty, silky black curls. I wish I looked more like her. She was so beautiful."

Marigold took some of the bread in her hands and, cocking her head to one side, arranged it carefully in the basket. She seemed well-satisfied with her work, for she smiled and nodded, and then she turned to another basket. "I do so enjoy this work. It's very nice to arrange these breads so they'll look just right. I love to make things pretty. My dear mamma used to have a little garden, and she would spend almost the whole day in it, watering and pruning and weeding. She loved her garden so much. And she would always pay special attention to the marigolds, so she could put them in my hair when we went on picnics. She loved to see marigolds in my hair. But her hair looked even more beautiful than mine when she put lilacs in. Lilacs look so lovely in black hair, don't you think? When I have my own home I hope I have children with black hair so I can put lilacs in them. Of course," she added, with a funny little laugh, "it wouldn't work if they were boys."

[Firefoot]

Willy was delighted by Shimshin's dancing, and so it shocked him when the monkey randomly jumped off the stage and scampered off. He only hesitated a moment before springing to his feet with the full intent of chasing after Shimshins to keep an eye on him; after all, Seamus had trusted him to do so.

At that moment, however, he became distracted by the distinct sound of ripping fabric. A wash of dread washed over him as he whirled around to the noise. Only a short while earlier he had decided the day was too warm to wear a coat and slipped his off, laying it on the ground behind him. Sure enough, the damage was being done to his coat - it was being scratched up by that white cat! Now the coat was not new, but it was still in very serviceable condition and Willy's family was not so wealthy that they could afford to buy new coats simply because of carelessness. With a yelp, Willy pounced on the cat, who slipped away leaving Willy with a handful of white hair. He scooped up the coat to check it for obvious damage. There was a long rip in the sleeve and a gash in the front left. Willy frowned worriedly; he wasn't sure whether the gash could be mended. Not knowing what else to do with it, he tied it around his waist and then looked around for the cat.

It sat just out of easy reach, watching him. Glaring, thought Willy. It hissed malevolently at him, and Willy scowled. No cat would ever oust him! He muttered, "I'm going to get you, cat, and then you'll be sorry!" He sprang after the cat, who dashed away, dodging this way and that, around things and between people's legs. Willy was hot on the trail, and so intent on the chase was he that he barely registered Nick's cry of "Willy, wait!" Nick, who had watched the whole event wordlessly, had now been left behind and did not know what to do alone among strangers. Remembering the renegade monkey, Nick decided that since his older brother was no where to be seen, he would look for his new friend by himself and set off for a nearby stand of trees in the direction Shimshins had headed.

Willy, on the other hand, had finally chased his quarry into the stable but saw no sign of the cat. Just as he looked up to the rafters, the cat jumped down onto his head. Its claws were sharp on his scalp and while Willy's first instinct was to cover his head and face, a split second decision had him reach up and snatch the cat. It hissed, bit, and scratched furiously, sometimes drawing blood, but finally Willy grasped it so that its front legs were in one hand and the back legs in the other, rendering the cat nearly helpless though it still fought valiantly. Willy had no doubt that were he to let go the cat would murder him. He looked around for some way to extract revenge on the cat that desired to destroy his coat and him. A devilish gleam lit his eyes at what he saw: a horse's water trough filled with water - not clean water either, but with bits of straw and dirt floating in it. Willy took the cat over and with a smirk dunked the cat all the way in. How it yowled!

Then, in desperation, Willy flung the cat into a pile of hay and sprinted for the stable door as if his life depended on it. He was certain it did. The furious cat was after him, but Willy was just barely able to shut the door in its face. Willy leaned against the wall gasping for breath, and the corners of his mouth slowly curved upward. That would teach it to mess with him! Then he realized Nick was nowhere to be seen. He was supposed to be responsible for Nick! Without a further thought, Willy dashed off to find his brother, not noticing that someone who had seen the chase and heard the cat's fierce yowls was coming to see what all the commotion was about...

[Amanaduial the archer]

"Probably." Aman had arrived behind Snaveling just as she heard him say the last sentence. The man froze then, very slowly, pivotted around to see the Innkeeper, arms crossed, standing behind him, her face blank. He looked rougher than when she had last seen him, she noted: a thin layer of stubble covered his chin, and his previously neat hair was scruffy and unkempt. His clothes, though clean, did not seem quite right either, as if they did not belong to him: and they were certainly not the fine vestments she had last seen him wearing. The fact they were covered in straw was a little suspicious as well...

"Aman...." Snaveling began, his voice unusually hesitant, his dark eyes skittering around her face - another new development, she thought with more surprise. Uneasy. Last time he was all confidence. Why, I do believe the old Snaveling has paid us a visit: rough and unshaven, uneasy and attempting to avoid me... And he was - trying to avoid her, that is. The Innkeeper had no doubt of that. Cook had mentioned his arrival, asking whether she had spoken to him yet. It hurt that she had heard from someone else. It hurt that he sent mixed signals.

"Good morning, sir, you wanted to help? The trestle tables are almost laid out, but I believe there are a few still inside: if you ask Merrimac, the stablemaster, I'm sure he can help you." Aman's voice was impassive, impersonal, stiff, as if he was a normal customer, and her eyes stayed locked on Snaveling's. He looked puzzled, his brow creasing for a moment, then he just continued to regard her, waiting for an explanation. Aman couldn't help thinking he looked ready to run. She paused, then rolled her eyes, uncrossing her arms, relaxing. "Snaveling, you do make things difficult, you know that?" she said exasperatedly, raising her eyebrows. "Why didn't you come to find me?"

Snaveling still didn't answer; but a movement caught Aman's eye and she looked to the side, seeing Sakal leaning against the wall of the Inn, a piece of grass in his mouth, nonchalantly watching her. As she caught his eye, the man grinned at her, white teeth flashing in the sun, then looked away casually. Although intrigued, Aman tore her eyes away, looking back at Snaveling. Casting her eyes down at his clothes. "Snaveling..." she stopped, then smiled, her eyebrows raised again. "Go, there are some clothes in the attic that will probably fit you." He nodded and turned to go, but Aman stopped him, her hand touching his elbow. As he turned to look back at her, she squeezed his arm lightly and smiled, this time more openly, putting aside her annoyance, before she spoke hesitantly. "The horse...Felarof...he is the finest horse I have ever ridden."

The Numenorean paused, looking at her as if across a great chasm, then bowed his head slightly. "As promised," he said quietly, before moving away, through the crowds and into the Inn. Aman watched the door where he had vanished for a moment, then closed her eyes, sighing irritatedly. The cheek of the man!

"Hey." The soft voice caught her attention and she turned around quickly to see Sakal behind her, the straw still in his mouth. "Are you alright?"

Aman realised her irritation must have shown, and smoothed her face out quickly, smiling hurriedly up at the man as she brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Oh...yes, thank you. Just a...minor irritation," she added, her eyes straying once more to the door. Looking back at Sakal, she asked, "Have you seen Derufin, by the way? The groom is yet to emerge, it seems."

Sakal grinned impishly, his dark eyes glittering. "Your stablemaster, it seems, cannot hold his spirits as well as he may think. Azar and I, we...we displayed a few of the spirits of Lindon to him."

"Oh really?" Aman laughed. Sakal flickered his eyebrows up and down, still grinning, then offered the Rohirrim woman his arm. "I'll take you to the unfortunate individual, if you'd like."

"Very much so, thank you." Smiling, she took his arm and they began to walk inside. After a moment, Aman's face grew serious and she said gravely,"Sakal, I must ask: what exactly have you done to my stablemaster?!"

[Nurumaiel]

Falco Headstrong had been listening to the music. At first he tried to pretend it did not interest him, but slowly his feet drew closer and closer, and it was not long before he was tapping his foot and smiling, nodding in appreciation. He had heard the Sailor's Hornpipe, and recalled the days as a young lad when he had danced to that tune. He had danced to many a tune that day, but he had one favourite. Perhaps he could get the musicians to play it.

And that monkey! Tsk, tsk! How absurd, to think a monkey could dance well!

An idea sprang into Falco's mind, and for a moment he forgot he was a dignified and well-to-do old hobbit man. No, no, he didn't forget! But he remembered that just because he had been out in the rain the night before didn't mean he had to retain his sour mood. He remembered the last hand-fasting he had gone to. He'd hadn't considered it beneath his dignity then.

"Here now, boys... and, er, girls," he said to the musicians, stepping to them with a twinkle in his eye. "Your monkey knows how to stamp his feet, but why don't you watch a real hobbit dancing? Do you know The Maid Behind the Bar? If so, strike it up, and I'll dance for you better than any hobbit in the Shire can."

[Ealasaide]

Ealasaide's Post

As the songs they played grew faster and more complex with each start, Seamus' long, thin fingers fairly flew over the fingerboard of his instrument, his bow dancing merrily over the strings. Shimshin turned a merry dance as well at the front of the stage until suddenly mid-step he leaped off the platform and disappeared amid the small group of spectators who had gathered at the base of the platform to watch. Startled, Seamus nudged Owen who looked back at him with wide, equally startled eyes. He had seen Shimshin’s departure as well. It still being mid-song, neither of them wanted to throw down his instrument and pelt after the monkey, but there was no telling what sort of mischief the little guy could get into if left unsupervised. Seamus let his eyes search the crowd as he continued to play. When the song ended, he and Owen both dropped their instruments and climbed off the stage.

“Shimshin!” Seamus called softly. He looked under the stage. “Pssst...pssst...pssst.. Shimshin!”

Behind him, Owen peeked around the edges of the ladies’ skirts, making the same soft pssst sound. Finally, empty-handed, he rejoined Seamus at the foot of the stage as, above them, the band set into a lively rendition of The Maid Behind the Bar. A middle-aged hobbit took up the dancing where Shimshin had left off.

“Say, have you got any cashews?” asked Owen at his elbow. Both of them knew that cashews were, above all else, Shimshin’s cherished food of choice.

Seamus turned his pockets out and shook his head. “Not a one.”

“Maybe the Cook’s got some for the party,” said Owen. “I’ll go ask.”

“Good idea!” rejoined Seamus. “I’ll keep looking for him. If he’s up a tree or something, the cashews will be sure to bring him down again.”

As Owen disappeared in the direction of the kitchen, Seamus dropped to his hands and knees, looking up at the scaffolding under the stage. Seeing no sign of Shimshin there, he rose once more to his feet, this time turning his blue eyes toward the large oak that shaded the gate. “Shimshin!”

*******************************

Hilde Bracegirdle's Post

It had turned out that the inn hadn’t had the cashews necessary for luring a small spider monkey from his hiding place. And cook had informed him quite firmly she’d be needing all the hazelnuts she had. So Owen had turned to pleading a bit until, the hobbit matron had reluctantly given him a small handful of stale walnuts. “Don’t be wasting them now, she warned. I don’t have many left and it’ll be another few months before they are to be found again at market!”

So Owen and Seamus had both combed the yard holding out the less than tempting morsels and looking for Shimshin to no avail. It was just then, as Owen contemplated eating a walnut himself, that he remembered the toast that had graced the table at breakfast. And quickly he jogged back into the Inn to find Ruby, rather then braving the inquiries of the cook, and finding her he ask quiet sweetly for spoonful of amber honey in a clean saucer - as if it were quite natural request this time. He did not mention that his charge had gone truant, nor that he had deep misgivings about having brought the creature into such a fine establishment, though it was ever forefront in his mind. But instead he made some pretense of having a sore throat, simply smiling and saying ‘no thank you’, when the perplexed assistant and truly thoughtful hobbit insisted on offering him tea.

And so Owen returned with a cup of fresh tea and a saucer of honey, both of which he set on the edge of the stage. It seemed that Seamus had gotten caught up in what was happening on the stage. Shimshin was nowhere to be seen.

[Lalwendë]

As soon as Jinniver saw Snaveling she knew she had to speak to him. The incident with the money had left her feeling deeply embarrassed and she was determined to clear it up. She quite surprised herself at her boldness but the thought of having behaved incorrectly was too strong to succumb to her natural reserve.

She was shocked to hear that he now had no money, and her cheeks went red thinking of how she had thought him a likely source of easy income and taken those coins for the pipeweed. What had happened to him? Had he been robbed? Or had he come off badly in some sort of wager? Her curiosity got the better of her but he skilfully avoided her questions. She was about to try and wheedle some information out of him when she saw Aman approach. Snaveling’s face went white and his mouth fell open.

Jinniver busied herself with twining ivy around the bases of some of the tea roses, but her ears were trained on the conversation between Snaveling and Aman. Several times she twisted the ivy stems too tightly and snapped them as she was so engrossed in what was being said nearby. She stole a few glances and ended up getting a tiny thorn stuck in the end of her thumb. There was the same awkwardness between these two that there had been a few nights before in the inn, but somehow their behaviour had turned frostier, and Snaveling did not have the same proud demeanour he had possessed before.

She was glad when they broke apart as the cut in her thumb was now bleeding quite badly, but she worked for a few minutes more, for the sake of appearances, before she made for the well, where she carefully bathed the small wound in the cool pure water. Her head was spinning with what might have been passing between the innkeeper and the man she had thought of as a nobleman, and she knew she ought instead to have been concentrating on the flowers. Realising she needed a smoke, she stopped and filled her pipe, leaning against the edge of the well. As she savoured the pipeweed she blew out a few smoke rings and relaxed a little. She was determined to find out what was going on, but she also wanted to enjoy this day, and she was not without a little pride as she thought of Zimzi’s face when she would see the new garden.

For a moment, Jinniver thought of how her own handfasting might have been like this all those years ago, but she didn’t dwell on it for long; she knew now that it would have been nothing of the sort. It would have been no merry day in Bree, she would have been carried off to some horrible place and then forced to hand over her father’s farm. Her brother, for all his faults, had been right to stop it from happening, and she reflected on how lucky she had been that dark night in Bree, managing to save not only herself but her father and their home. The sounds of the band practising came to her ears then, and she felt a sudden urge to sing along. She finished smoking her pipe, and set off back to the inn, humming along with the music and thinking about how she would go and put on her best dress soon and join in with the fun.

[Sapphire_Flame]

Baradil walked up to the inn, which was in the middle of a most extraordinary amount of activity. He hadn't expected it to be so busy! He caught the attention of a passing woman and asked her what was going on.

"Preparations," she replied, "for the handfasting of Master Derufin and Mistress Zimzi."

"Indeed?" Baradil couldn't help feeling a bit pleased. He rather enjoyed festivities and parties. "Is there any way I could be of assistance?"

"There are some tables still to be set up, and the kegs to be brought out."

"Ah, I could certainly help with that." He grinned, and headed into the inn to find the tables to be brought outside.

[Envinyatar]

Sakal grinned at the Innkeeper. ‘Oh, he is quite safe, I assure you. Cook has him in hand.’ He winked at Aman as they turned up the small worn track to the kitchen’s back door. ‘He is sleeping off the . . . small . . . . party we had last night. And Cook has dosed him with willowbark tea, I think . . . hoping to settle his stomach, steady his legs, and return the size of his aching head to normal. And all before my sister catches wind of what’s gone on.’

As they neared the door, they were stopped short by the sight of Merry and another Hobbit trying to maneuver a large metal trough through the entryway. They had it turned on its side, but the size of it made it unwieldy and it kept banging against the door frame. Sakal excused himself from Aman and went to help. He took one end while the Hobbits took the other and with a few groans and grunts and scraped fingers they got it through the door and into the kitchen. Aman stepped through after them, watching as the three sat it down near the stove under the direction of Cook.

‘Planning on making a little home brew for the party, Miz Bunce,’ asked Sakal, his brows raised questioningly.

Cook glared at him and told him she wanted no more talk about drinking and such at the moment. Instead she directed him and the two Hobbits to start fetching buckets of water for the rather large pot she had already started over the cook-hearth fire. She called for Buttercup to fetch a stack of towels and a sturdy scrub brush . . . and, oh, yes, one of the large bars of soap from the closet. ‘And the rest of you,’ said Cook, nodding at the others in the kitchen, ‘if you don’t mind can you please take your food and drink to the Common Room, or better yet outdoors where the party will be. I have some work to be done.’

Aman watched as the others exited the room, and Cook locked the door behind them. Curious, she dared a question. ‘Just what are you planning on doing with the tub and the water, Miz Bunce?’

Cook motioned for Sakal, and his brother who’d been summoned to the kitchen by Ruby, to follow her into her room. ‘Well, Miz Aman, I plan on getting that featherbrained fellow lying in there on my bed cleaned up and brought round. He stinks to high heavens and his stubble looks as if it could nick a Dwarf axe. Best you leave us to it. But there is one thing you could do if you would. Go back to his room in the stable and ferret out the nice clothes, suitable clothes, he was planning on wearing this afternoon.’ She disappeared into her room, followed by the two brothers. Aman heard her call out as she did so. ‘Oh, and lock the door, dear, on your way out . . .’

[Nimrodel_9]

Keleth went back inside the Inn to see if help was needed in moving the tables outside. Once inside he saw a man he hadn`t met before. He made his way over to the man to speak with him.

"I`ll help you," he said and moved to lift one end of the table. Together they moved the table outside and into place. After setting it down Keleth smiled and extended his hand. "My name is Keleth of Gondor, by the way."

[Sapphire_Flame]

Baradil shook Keleth's outstretched hand. "I am pleased to meet you, Keleth. I am Baradil, also of Gondor."

Keleth smiled. "Indeed? What region?"

"Emyn Arnen. I am a member of the White Company." He nodded back to the inn. "Perhaps we should continue with our duties while we talk, lest we be reprimanded for being neglectful." They started back toward the inn.

"What region are you from?" Baradil asked as he and Keleth retrieved another table.

[littlemanpoet]

‘You think you could do a little Elven magic and set him right again?’

Uien waited for the hobbit lad to get his orders and go before she answered. "Maybe I can do a little something, but only after the groom has wakened and had his bath."

"Fair is fair," Buttercup grinned.

Falowik gave Uien a questioning look, and Uien returned him a wink. He had no idea what that might mean, although he was glad to see her in such a playful mood. She had been sad for most of their trip to Eryn Lasgalen and Lorien, though she had said she was happy with him. She called him her anchor, but to his mind she was his lodestone. Maybe we provide ballast one for the other.

He listened in peace as the women talked and fussed and did what women do, not least of which was to browbeat him for lazing about. Falowik just grinned and slouched.

[Oddwen]

‘We can think about cleaning up and hauling the tables back in once the party’s all done. For now, just enjoy yourself, Master Rushlight!’ said the Cook.

"Thank you ma'am!" Berulo said thankfully taking the plate. It wouldn't hurt to test the kegs again. It had been what, ten minutes? Something might have happened.

"I like the Shire," he thought. "People are so friendly, and don't even get me started on the ale..."

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger and one of the other helpers spent the morning ironing the long white cloths that were to grace the tables where the food and drink were to be put out. Another of the tables, the one with the mathoms on both ends and the lovely, luscious cake in the center had also a long white table cloth to cover it, but over the white was a light blue lacy tablecloth that complimented the color of many of the sugared violets on the cake. It had been Ginger’s job to get that all done nicely, with no scorching, if you please, Cook had admonished her.

A number of the lasses from Bywater and Hobbiton helped Ginger get the cloths placed just so, then some piled the mathoms on the center table while the others put out the plates and cups and tableware that would be needed for the party.

Several of the older Hobbits, gammers by the looks of them, had persuaded a couple of the young bucks to haul over a water tight oaken vat into which they were now pouring several buckets of fresh, sweet water from the Inn’s well. They had picked a spot under the shade of the trees and had gotten several of the younger female helpers to bring them chairs. Ginger wandered over, sidling as close as she dared to the women to see what they were doing. One of the gammer’s grandson’s had unloaded a number of crates of maywine from his cart and was now uncorking it. At their urging, he poured it all into the vat; its golden shimmer adding a glimmer of inner light to the water.

One of the old Hobbits stuck her finger into the solution and plopped it in her mouth. ‘More!’ she cried, pouring another bottle of wine or two or four or more into the concoction. When they’d gotten it just right, the oldest of the ladies, hoisted up a large crockery jug that stood next to her feet. Granny Oldbuck, Ginger thought to herself, seeing the wrinkled little face beneath the silvered curls. The heady scent of dark cherries crept out of the jug and enticed the noses of those who stood near. Cherried brandy, the Oldbuck women’s secret recipe. It poured heavily into the vat, sinking down at first, and then as they stirred it with their wooden paddles, the color dispersed throughout, giving the liquid a deep rosy hue.

‘Just about done,’ Granny Chubb declared, dipping the silvered tasting cup she bore on a ribbon at her waist into the brew and savoring a hearty swallow. Out of her apron pocket came a light green bottle filled with a thin sweet liquid . . . rosewater. And that from the wild roses that grew along the hedgerows lining her little burrow.

Ginger’s mouth watered at the delicate scents issuing from the vat. Her nose leading as she sniffed appreciatively at the smell of the brew, she crowded up between Granny Chubb and Granny Oldbuck, straining to see into the vat. ‘Oh, well now, look here,’ said Granny Chubb to Granny Heathertoes. ‘We’ve got our first customer.’ Granny Oldbuck chuckled, a dry, light sound, and pushed Ginger closer to the vat.

‘Here, give her a cup,’ said Granny Chubb, dipping one of the squat little mugs into the liquid. Ginger reached for it thirstily, but before she took it from the older Hobbit’s hands, one of the others had floated a rose petal on it. Very pretty . . . she thought then. Very tasty, too she learned as she finished off the cup of punch . . . and held out her cup for another.

‘Careful,’ cautioned Ruby, who’d come up for a cup herself. ‘Best pace yourself on the Grannies’ brew.’ She downed her cup and nodded to each of the women, saying she believed this was the best one so far. ‘It’s called Maiden’s Blush Punch,’ she whispered to Ginger as other lasses and older women gathered round the vat giving their opinions. ‘Brings a glow to your cheeks and puts a tingle in your toes for dancing . . .’

[piosenniel]

From her parents’ room at the top of the Inn, Zimzi could see the party being set up in the front yard. She longed to go down and help out in some way . . . or at least to talk to the interesting newcomers she’d picked out from the window view. But her mother would have none of that. The dress that Aman had given her was beautiful, but there a few places it needed to be altered to fit Zimzi well.

And after that there was the hair to think about . . . and what color shawl . . . and shoes . . . and earrings and necklaces and on and on . . .

You’re my only daughter, Zimziran!’ her mother had admonished her. ‘Let me fuss over you while I might.’

Zimzi had acquiesced, spending the morning in idle chatter and the small projects her mother deemed important to the day. She’d sat herself in a chair by the open window and often looked down to check on the progress of the party preparations. At one point, early in the day, she’d seen her two brothers in close conversation, laughing as they spoke together. She’d wondered what that had been about, but then they started walking and were lost to view as they rounded the corner of the Inn. Making for the stable, she thought, smiling a little to herself . . . Derufin would be there. She wished he would come out to the yard so that she might see him. But fortune did not smile her way . . . and soon enough she was called into the other room where her mother and the ever-present dress were waiting . . .

[Mithalwen]

As she listened to the musicians, Mithalwen became aware that not only did the preparations seem to be nearing completion but the celebrations seemed to be starting -food was being brought out but there seemed to be more interest in the many barrels and vats of drink. The new arrivals were all seemed to be in their finest clothes and Mithalwen felt very dowdy in comparison - especially as she looked at Rasputina.

She excused herself and returned to her chamber to find something more appropriate. Her travel clothes had dried but they were more practical than the grey dress she wore. She had a small stock of clothes with her and even at home she seldom had need of great finery. Yet she had brought a couple of dresses suitable to wear in the evening at Rivendell and taking the prettier from her bags she hoped that it would do. She shook it to remove the worst of the creases. It was of a light blue, aquamarine some would call it, and while of very simple design it had at least elegant flowing sleeves lined with pale gauze. She wore it with soft leather slippers. she had very little in the way of adornment -just a single tear-drop pearl hanging from a fine chain from her neck (for the brooch that fastened her cloak was too heavy for this dress).

"Nothing for my hair" she thought sadly as she brushed out her silver locks and part braided it then she had an idea and by the time she returned to the company she had twined a few bright blooms in her hair. In her less sombre garb, she felt in more festive mood and she smiled at all she met as she made her way back towards the stage.

[starkat]

Gwenneth had slipped away from the party and was watching from a grove of trees. Leaning back against one, she left out a heartfelt sigh.

"Such a deep sigh from one so young."

"Nestor!" The young elf whirled and looked into the face of her oldest brother. She hugged him fiercely. "I have missed you."

"And I you little one." His face grew solomn and he began speaking in Sindarin. "Father sent me for you. He has called a family meeting."

Gwenneth only nodded. "I have been expecting this for some time. I will gather my things. Elenath is in the stable. I will meet you there."

Since everyone was busy, the young elf managed to pack her bag and reach Aman's office without drawing any attention. She placed a thank you note under the innkeeper's door that explained what was happening. Taking a moment, she sought out Cook and Ginger and bid them a quick farewell.

She reached the stable only to find that Nestor had readied Elenath and had already mounted. "Did you say your goodbyes."

"Yes, I could not leave without telling a few people I was leaving. I hope to return and see them again someday."

Nestor said nothing as his sister mounted her mare. The two elves rode off aways and pulled their mounts to a stop. Gwenneth took one look back and then they heeled their mounts and disappeared down the rode.

[Envinyatar]

He had to admit he was feeling much better. Derufin raised his head from the pillow and wriggled his toes. They were a bit numb from the fact that Cook’s bed was far to short for his long frame and his legs had hung over when he stretched out. Raising his head though brought on an odd feeling – the rather dull sensation that the room was spinning. Not wildly, but just a bit. And from somewhere near came a particularly foul stench that offended his nostrils. A sharp laugh sent a small stab of pain through his head. The source of the stink was himself!

Levering himself up to a sitting position, he groaned slightly noting the brightness of the light through the cracks in the curtains. 'Stars above! What time is it?' he muttered, hoping he had not missed his own handfasting. ‘How am I to explain this to Zimzi?’ he muttered again.

The door to the room opened. ‘No, need to explain anything, almost brother mine,’ said Sakal, a bit too loudly and too cheerily. Derufin looked up to find the man and Zimzi’s other brother, Azar, advancing on him with a rather large towel. They stood to either side of him, ordering him to remove his socks, then, stooping down, they hauled him to his feet.

He protested as they shucked him of his clothes and wrapped the towel about him. And really, what else could he do . . . they spoke quickly to him, like grooms calming a skittish horse, and spun him about as shirt and breeches went flying. Done at last, they maneuvered him out to the locked and shuttered kitchen where he was quite unceremoniously tipped into the hot tub of water.

Cook, from behind the privacy screen that had been hastily placed around the tub, handed round a stiff brush and a rather large bar of soap, lilac scented. ‘No comments from you on how it smells,’ she said firmly to him, hearing him take a deep whiff of it and cough. ‘It smells better than you do.’ Which is like a brewery! she muttered, loud enough for him to hear her. She tapped her foot expectantly until she heard the sound of him scrubbing away and rinsing. ‘There’s a pile of towels on the chair by you for when you’re done. Mind you get that hair of yours washed . . . and behind the ears!’ Long years of raising two boys leave firm remembrances of what details need to be addressed.

‘Yes, m’am!’ Derufin chuckled, feeling better now that the hot water seemed to washing away his aches and pains as well as the dirt. ‘And I’m just now cleaning the dirt from my fingernails, too, if that were the next worry of yours!’

‘Cheeky!’ Cook laughed, liking how much more like himself he sounded. ‘Sakal has gone to fetch your clothes for the party. He should be back soon with them. And I’ve sent Merry to polish your boots.’

‘You know,’ said Derufin, spluttering as he poured a pan of water over his soapy head, ‘I wouldn’t be in this pickle if Sakal hadn’t insisted on a last night of freedom party.’

There was silence on the other side of the curtain, then Cook answered in a most no-nonsense voice. ‘And I suppose it was Sakal who bent your arm at the elbow, was it, and forced the brew down your throat?’

It was an observation, he noted, that did not require an answer. He was glad there was a screen between them so that she could not see him blush. Instead, he said, in his best meek manner, ‘If you’ll just fetch me a little handglass and a razor, Miz Bunce, I’ll scrape the growth from my face . . .

[THE Ka]

Rasputina left the stage to rest for awhile, though lying down on a nice bed wasn't her object of mind, a nice walk or thought next to a tree sounded great. After putting her cello away, and carring it with her (she never tried to leave it), she left the party hill. On her way down, she was passed by many people putting the last parts together - the handfasting would begin soon.

At the bottom of the hill she looked around for a road or pathway to travel. She spotted one near a field and decided it was suitable. She looked as she passed fields of corn, and other crops in the cycle of growth. She soon found a tree and set her cello next to it as well as herself. Now she settled her mind, thinking of what would come next. It felt so nice to doze off, now that she was calm.

She knew that she should return soon but, after she had settled her mind...

Awhile later, she went to the Inn - though, she really didn't know why. Upon entering her room, she came across the usual sights from the morning except for one. One of the storage spaces from the dresser was open, with her box open. Rasputina glanced around and looked everywhere. Who had taken it!? Where was it? She knew that she hadn't left it this way in the morning. Rasputina hadn't experienced a theft before but, it came like instinct. Whoever it was, knew what they were after. Another factor that puzzled her. Of this item, there were three others that looked almost identical except for what read under each of them, which was distinct to each of them. Rasputina was torn with shock - these were for the couple! Why would someone want them! To the average thief they looked valuable but, they decieved the eye. They were made of nothing but the supplies of the land - from the trees, earth, animals and sea.

Rasputina quickly searched her pocket to come across the two different items that she had also brought. They at least, were safe. Before leaving the room, she brought the other three from the box, to be safe. Being sure not to disturb the evidence, she quietly left the room with somewhat of a 'hothead'. By the time she reached the hill, here anger had left but ,the distinct facts and memory was set in her mind with sharpness. She soon quietly joined others at a table that had been on the stage.

A sentence ran in her mind like an ebbing and flowing wave of suspicion and uncertainty...

Who stole the gift?

[Encaitare]

As much as she enjoyed the playing and the company, Caity was quite relieved when the band decided to take a late-morning break. She had seen many of her companions looking longingly towards the ale, but she chose to get herself a nice mug of cold cider instead. She herself had been eyeing the punch that the three old gammers were concocting, but supposed she'd wait until later in the evening.

Picking several small sandwiches off a nearby platter since she hadn't yet eaten that morning, she looked around for someone to chat with, particularly Rasputina, having enjoyed their earlier discussion. Despite her quirky appearance, the elf was friendly, and seemed extremely pleased with the ways of the Shire. Caity had seen her heading in the general direction of the woods before, but now did not see her anywhere. The hobbit lass shrugged and made her way back to the stage. She sat down on the side of it with her food and watched the people going about their merry business.

As she was on her second sandwich, she noticed Mithalwen passing close by, her grey dress replaced by a fine aquamarine gown. Although she practically had to shout up at the tall Elf from her low seat, she managed to catch her attention and compliment her on her beautiful attire.

A few minutes later, Rasputina emerged from the inn, looking slightly distracted. She came near the stage, and Caity jumped up to meet her.

"There you are, Rasputina," she said. "I was wondering if you'd gotten lost in the woods." This was accompanied by a wink, for the Elf had already told her she hailed from Eryn Vorn. "You look famished -- here, have a sandwich."

[Child of the 7th Age]

Hawthorne had finished ironing all the table linens and had now slipped out to go to her room. As she climbed the stairway to her chamber, she thought how different the Inn was from her own home. Brandy Hall was built deep inside a hill, with rambling tunnels running out in all directions. The Inn was just the opposite: it stretched straight up instead of down and around. Many Hobbits lived in buildings instead of smials, although Hawthorne swore that she never would. Still, there weren't many Hobbit homes that had staircases leading to a second floor.

Next year, if she stayed out of trouble, Uncle Merry had promised to take her along when he visited out east and introduced his new wife to his old friends from Rohan and Gondor. Hawthorne was trying very hard to behave because she was excited by the idea of such a trip. Uncle Merry had told her that the entire city of Minas Tirith was built up in the air, with several layers extending upward, each one higher than the next. The Hobbit lass couldn't imagine such a thing, but she wanted to go and have a look. Uncle Merry had said she and Estella would be the center of attention. Folk from Gondor and Rohan had seen several Hobbit lads during the war, but a young lass would be a pleasant surprise for them

Hawthorne brought her thoughts back to the present and looked over to where her new gown was carefully laid out on the bed. She had brought it all the way from Brandy Hall. It was pale yellow with green lacing and a bright green vest. The skirt was full and billowing and came up high on her waist. She slipped the dress over her head and fastened the lacings. She intended to dance a great deal tonight and wanted to look her best. Tying back her curls with a bright green ribbon, she smoothed out her skirt and slipped out in the hallway, preparing to go downstairs and see if anyone else had already dressed for the party.

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger decided that perhaps one cup of the Grannies’ brew was enough. Her cheeks were quite warm, and she imagined actually quite red, as she put the back of one hand to her left cheek. She wriggled her toes in the soft grass where she stood and could feel the tingle in them as promised. The music from across the way set them tapping. Oh, my, but this would be a good night for dancing! She shivered in anticipation.

She noted, as she stood there, casually looking about for any sign of Ferdy, that many of those working earlier that morning had now returned to the yard dressed in their partying clothes. Ginger looked down at her skirt, stained with frosting from cookies she’d put in baskets and her blouse, wrinkled because she’d thrown it hastily on the floor last night. Now her cheeks were indeed crimson, and she hoped that not many had noted her messy state.

With wings on her feet, Ginger flew toward the Inn. Just as she reached the steps, she saw a cart enter the lane toward the Inn. Not Ferdy and his Da and Gran, she decided, her face falling a bit. Her sense of disappointment evaporated as she caught sight of who was driving. With a whoop of glee she dashed through the Inn and tried to push through the doors to the kitchen. They were locked!

Ginger banged with both fists on the doors and yelled out loudly. ‘Cook! Cook! Master Samwise is here with his family!’

On the other side of the door, she could just hear the sound of rapid footsteps nearing the door and the sound of a key in the lock . . .

[Arry]

Gil put down his concertina and stepped off the stage. The others had already gone off to fill their cups with ale or cider. He, too, was thirsty and stood looking at the two ale kegs that had been tapped. One was a heart stout. He could see the darkness of it swirling about in the mugs of those who’d chosen it for themselves. Enticing . . . but he stepped to his left, instead, and held out his mug for a bit of the Dragon’s nut brown ale. The smooth liquid flowed over his tongue and eased the dryness in his throat.

He stood, cradling the mug in his hands, and looking at the folk in their festive finery. His own clothes were not too dirty or rumpled he decided, looking down at them. With one free hand, he straightened his vest, then pushed back his wild curls. He was a well dressed as he was going to be . . . and what’s more, he was comfortable.

A sudden movement at an upstairs window caught his eye. Zimzi stood there, her hands on the window’s sill, smiling. She leaned out, her dark eyes glinting in the light as she looked about the yard. Her long dark hair was undone, and fell forward brushing her fair cheeks. He was struck by the beauty of her, caught up in her simple pleasure at the day. It was no wonder that Mister Derufin had caught her up and made her his own.

She looked down for a moment, and seeing him, grinned widely. She waved, laughing in delight at having seen him. Her hands made the motions of playing a concertina and she mouthed a ‘thank-you’ to him followed by a small bow. In turn, he raised his mug to her and bowed back. He held up a finger, indicating she should wait a moment.

Gil rushed back to where his concertina lay. He drank his ale down in a quick few gulps and picked up the instrument, moving the bellows back and forth to fill them with air. As quick as he’d left he returned to where he’d stood. An empty table stood nearby, and he jumped on its top, playing the opening notes to a song he hoped she would like. With a nod and a smile, he broke into song, changing the words of the old traditional Mairi's Wedding to fit the occasion.

Step we gaily, on we go
Heel for heel and toe for toe,
Arm in arm and row on row
All for Zimzi’s wedding.

Over hillways up and down
Myrtle green and bracken brown,
Past the camps through the town
All for sake of Zimzi.

Plenty herring, plenty meal
Plenty peat to fill her creel,
Plenty bonny bairns as weel
That's the toast for Zimzi.

Tomlin, too, seeing his companion singing to the fair lady, had grabbed up his fiddle and joined in on the accompaniment. Fallon and Ferrin, for their part, kept a firm grip on their mugs and sang along on the final chorus.

Cheeks as red as rowans are
Bright her eyes as any star,
Fairest o' them all by far
Is our darlin' Zimzi.

Step we gaily, on we go
Heel for heel and toe for toe,
Arm in arm and row on row
All for Zimzi’s wedding.

The lads bowed as they finished. And Zimzi, smiling, threw them each a small bunch of red Sweet Williams from the vase in her room before a soft voice behind her called her back from the window.

[Witch_Queen]

Avalon looked around at the celebration. The crow had seen gatherings before but normally remained at a distance. Now she was actually helping in the decorating. Avalon admired the garland and remembered that her helping made her some new friends. Avalon repositioned herself on the tree limb. Everything was crazy, she feared to get caught up in the hussel-n-bussel of the days work.

Turning her attention to the motion in Zimzi's room. Avalon thought that Zimzi would be lovely today. After all Avalon always thought of Zimzi as a gift from the heavens. Something below had caught Avalon's attention. All alone in the bushes was a single white flower. Gliding down from her branch Avalon noticed this flower was unlike all the flowers already gathered for the celebration. The white petals with red tips had Avalon caught up in a "spell". The beauty was of no comparison to that of the day's lady. Zimzi should have a flower so lovely.

Avalon used her sharp beak to snip the flower's light green stem right above the ground. Gently holding the large stem in her mouth, Avalon took flight. Perching on the window Avalon saw that the ladies were getting ready for the celebration. Laying the flower on the window sill between her golden talons, Avalon began to prepare for a squawk. Instead of the sound she was wanting Avalon instead let out a screech, causing the ladies to jump. If ever a crow could blush now would have been the time. Before Avalon could act, an unknown female came over to the window and began making an attempt to shoo the white crow away. This must be Zimzi's mother, I'm not going to leave until the lady has her flower.

Avalon bent down and picked the flower back up. Hopping to the floor, Avalon made her way to Zimzi. Raising her gaze to meet that of the fair, Avalon leaped into the air. Flapping her wings constantly Avalon was able to see Zimzi in the face. The flower still in her mouth, Avalon landed on the table near by and waited for Zimzi or someone to say something.

[Ealasaide]

Having leapt off of the stage mid-dance, Shimshin skittered along the ground under the startled feet of the folks, both hobbit and human, who had gathered at the foot of the stage to watch the musicians. His attention had been drawn by the shiny buckle of a lady’s shoe, but, upon seeing that it was well-attached to the lady, Shimshin lost interest and turned his attention elsewhere. Looking back, he could see that his human companions, Owen and Seamus, were still playing their instruments on the stage. The spider monkey felt a flash of affection for them as he looked at them. They were always kind to him and gave him fresh apples and cashews when they had them, unlike Shimshin’s former masters who kept a tight leash around his neck or locked him up in a smelly cage. He smiled back at his two current masters.

Just then, the song ended and Seamus and Owen both left the stage. They seemed to be looking for him. Shimshin decided that he would rather not be found just yet and, with a deft movement ducked under a nearby lady’s skirt to hide. Outside the sheltering umbrella of the lady’s petticoats, the band continued playing merrily. Unable to resist the pull of the music, Shimshin began to dance. The lady under whose skirts he had taken refuge let out a shriek. She pulled up her copious skirts and jumped back, revealing the dancing figure of Shimshin.

“Shoo!” she said, and feebly flapped her skirts at him. Then, after first looking back to make sure someone was there to catch her, she fell away in a dead faint. Her startled husband stuck out an arm, barely catching her in time before she hit the ground. Noticing his slow reaction, the woman cracked an eyelid and hit him with her fan before falling back into her swoon.

Shimshin, seeing the world’s eyes focused upon him, jumped straight up in the air, then raced for the nearest tree, a large, spreading oak, which stood near the gate. Headed off by a pair of well-meaning hobbits, he changed direction and made for the front of the inn instead. Getting there, he scrambled up the doorframe and leaped on to the window sill of a second floor room. Shimshin ducked inside the open window.

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen had been pleased and reassured by Caity's compliment. the hobbit maid had been taking a break from her music making and Mithalwen decided to follow her example and went to fetch herself a drink. When she returned moments later, hoping to learn more of what to expect of the ceremony and festivities, Caity had caught the attention of the elf woman who played the strange viol. Mithalwen was pleased for she wished to learn more of her also. At least now she had learnt her name .. Rasputina .... it had a pretty sound but it was unfamiliar to her.

" Miss Caity," said the elf gravely " what will happen today? For I have never been to such an occasion as this" . She sat on the grass next to her. And then the attention of all was distracted by the antics of the tiny monkey. Mithalwen had never seen such a creature before and she laughed delightedly deeming that the woman was not truly hurt. These were a merry folk and the sorrows of the world seemed to have largely passed them by.

[Nimrodel_9]

"What region are you from?" Baradil had asked.

"Actually, I move from place to place," Keleth replied as the two of them carried another table outside. "My sister, Taryn, and I go where we can work. I normally work in a stable at an inn. Other times I run messages for King Elessar."

They set the table in place on the grass. Keleth straightened and looked around. "I think we`re getting very close to being ready for the party. You arrived just in time. Come, let`s go get another table."

As Baradil and Keleth made their way back to the inn, Keleth asked the question that had been bothering him since he had learned Baradil was from Gondor. "What brings you so far North?" He did not want to pry, but he was curious.

[littlemanpoet]

Uien and Falowik took their leave of the kitchen and its colorful crew, allowing Derufin his privacy, screen or no! There were wedding gifts to retrieve and complete. It was chilly out, but they found a nook in the stable where they were able to do what was needed.

"'Tis a fine gift you will give them," Falowik said. "Elvish through and through. It makes my little what-not seem a silly little thing."

"Speak not so! Derufin will be charmed with your gift."

[Encaitare]

Caity giggled along with the two elves at Shimshin's harmless tricks, and shook her head good-naturedly at the woman who had pretended to swoon and nearly been dropped by her husband. Then she turned back to Mithalwen.

"I've only been to one handfasting before, and that was when I was a child," she said. "But I certainly can tell you what's likely to happen. There will be a lovely ceremony, where Miss Zimzi and Master Derufin will pledge themselves to one another, and have their hands bound for a time. A song will be played just for them and they shall dance together, and then have their hands released. Then," she continued merrily, "there will be food and drink and dancing. There will be a number of speeches, of course, and that will take a while, but soon enough it will be back to the festivities."

Mithalwen smiled. "It sounds wonderful. Will it go all night?"

"Probably," Caity said. "There hasn't been a handfasting this big for a long time. But do you want to know the secret to keeping your energy?" She pointed across the lawn to the elderly hobbits around their vat. "See what those three gammers are mixing up? That's maiden's blush punch, and you'll just want to dance until morning... or so I've been told." She glanced over at Rasputina, who was chewing her sandwich thoughtfully and looking over at the tables.

She seems awfully distracted, Caity thought. I wonder if something's happened.

[piosenniel]

Cook handed round a straight razor and a mirror to Derufin as requested. The razor had been her late husband’s, made of good dwarven steel he liked to tell the boys. Held an edge forever, he would brag to them. Still, she handed Derufin the strop, too; telling him he could hook the ring over the chair back. The sound of the rhythmic swish-swish brought back pleasant memories of her own dear’s little ritual for shaving. As an afterthought she passed the man a little bottle of the solution she’d made for her mister to use after a shave. She still made it now and then, a little of it, just enough to keep the bottle filled and remind her of her dear when she unstoppered it. Bay leaves, it was, and two sprigs of rosemary, covered with a southron spirit called rum. Left for a month to steep, the liquid was refreshing to the face, or so her husband had told her, and had a deep, satisfying scent.

She’d just heard Derufin begin to scrape the blade across his whiskers when someone came banging on the locked door to the common room. It was Ginger, she could tell, though the girl was out of breath and a bit raspy. Cook fetched the keys from her apron pocket and unlocked the door. Ginger, her hand already on the door’s knob, stumbled in through the door and fell against Cook.

‘Been dipping into the Grannies’ punch, have you?’ said Cook maneuvering Ginger to a chair. The scent of maywine and cherry cordial lingered about her. Ginger waved off the question, saying it was but one small cup . . . and more important was the news she brought. Samwise and his family had arrived for the party.

Cook grinned widely. She’d hadn’t a chance to see the new wee one that Rose and Sam had added to their brood. Little baby Daisy! Today would be her chance. More important, though, Mayor Sam would have brought the Hobbiton/Bywater book of births and deaths and handfastings. Mister Derufin and Mistress Zimzi’s union would be recorded for . . . now what was the word that Samwise used . . . posterity,that was it . . .

From behind the screen across the kitchen came the sound of someone clearing his throat. Ginger raised her brows, then nodded as Cook mouthed . . . ‘Derufin’ . . . and ‘cleaning up a bit’ . . . ‘If you ladies wouldn’t mind, I’ll just go into your room Cook and dry off and get dressed. Sakal’s put my clothes in there, hasn’t he?’

‘And your boots are by the wardrobe,’ Cook added, taking off her apron. She hung it on a peg by the door and left the man to get out of the tub and get dressed. She turned Ginger around and putting her arm about the girl’s shoulders, steered her out of the Inn. ‘Come on, I’ll introduce you to Sam and Rose and all the little Gardners . . .’

[Nurumaiel]

Little Marigold wandered out of the kitchen with a wistful little look on her face. She had heard that the women-folk were going to begin their dressing for the hand-fasting. And little Marigold had no dress with her but the one she was wearing. It wasn't a shabby dress, and in fact very pretty, with its rich blue skirt and white blouse trimmed with lace, but it was muddy from the rain. She wondered if it would be inappropriate to attend a hand-fasting in such a dirty state. She sat down to listen to the musicians, and put her hands into her pockets, bringing out what she found there and laying it on her lap to study. Some hair ribbons, mostly blue... her father's old whistle... and this was what she wanted! It was a pretty little comb her dear mother had given her. She sat back and began to work her way through the tangles in her golden curls.

Falco Headstrong was apparently quite at ease with the players, she observed. He listened to their songs, and in the last song, he sang loudly and sat back chuckling to himself when it was done.

"Oh, lads, you don't know how much good it did me to hear that song," he said. "We used to sing it at every wedding when I was a boy. I always led them, for I had the grandest voice of them all. And then afterwards we'd go through the verse and chorus with our instruments. I would play my old tin whistle. Nobody had nimbler fingers than I... nobody had faster fingers, though of course we played this song nice and easy... just right for the stepping gaily."

"He hasn't said 'no doubt' once," thought little Marigold. "He must love music very much, if he won't be bleak about it." She took up her father's old whistle. "Mr. Headstrong," she said, going to him, "you may use my father's tin whistle if you like."

"Why!" said Falco Headstrong, peering down at her and taking it in his hands. "That's good of you, my dear. But I don't know if these young people would want an old hobbit like me joining them." Yet he glanced at Gil with a little smile. "If I can contribute to your fine talent in any way," he said, "I should be more than pleased. If you'd rather not have an aged hobbit like me, I should be equally pleased to merely sit and listen."

[Sapphire_Flame]

"What brings you so far North?" Keleth asked.

"I was sent to survey the old city of Annuminas, and the land round about," Baradil answered as he bent to lift the end of another, and the last, table. "My Lord Faramir said that plans are being made to rebuild the city; I volunteered to go ascertain the condition of it, to see what would be needed to repair it, and guess at how long it will take."

They carried the table outside and set it up. Keleth wiped his brow and moved to sit in the shade of a nearby tree. Baradil joined him.

"I thought," Keleth said, "that the Rangers frequented that area. Would not they have had maps detailing the area and the city?"

"They do. In fact that is how I was able to find Annuminas at all. What I did was create diagrams and figures of the city, to give some idea of the exact condition of it. This will hopefully aid in the plans for reconstruction."

"No doubt it will."

They fell silent, resting and watching the last minute preparations.

[Nimrodel_9]

"Rebuilding Annuminas?! I had not heard tell of that! It will be interesting to see what it will be like." Actually, this interested Keleth very much. He had seen old cities and structures before. On the way here, he had seen Amon Sul from a distance. He had always been curious about the past.

"You are under the command of Lord Faramir then? I have met him a few times before. A very kind, and honorable man. You are lucky to know him well."

Looking around, Keleth saw that more kegs of ale were being "tested," as the halflings had called it. "I have been working all morning, and have not had anything to eat or drink since breakfast," Keleth said. "The food will be put out soon, I expect, but would you care to join me in, ah, "testing" the ale?"

"Alright," Baradil replied, and they made their way over to the group of hobbits gathered around the kegs.

[Fairleaf]

Cheeks as red as rowans are
Bright her eyes as any star,
Fairest o' them all by far
Is our darlin' Zimzi.

Fairleaf’s branches swayed in time to the merry music as she watched the group of fellows singing to someone. From her vantage point she could see the expressions on the singers and players faces, but not that of the one they sang to. She must be pretty though . . . with her cheeks red as the berries of the rowan tree. Fairleaf’s leaves rustled at the thought of an old friend, in the foothills of the Misty Mountains . . . she was a fair, slender rowan, and against the white snows of winter, her last wizened berries heralded the promise of returning spring.

Bright her eyes as any star . . . Fairleaf inched slowly through the little line of trees that lined the edge of the yard. Just a wee bit more and she would see the one they sang to.

Zimzi . . . that must be her name. Fairleaf had the window now in view. But the song had ended and the young men had bowed, dispersing as they picked up the flowers that had fallen at their feet. The one for whom they played had withdrawn, moving back into the shadows. Later she thought . . . surely I will see her later.

The scent of something quite pleasant wafted up from a tub just a little ways away from her. Three wrinkled, grey-crowned creatures with sparkling eyes and easy laughs held sway over the liquid contents of the rub, doling it out in small portions to those who waited so patiently, laughing, too.

Later, too, thought Fairleaf, I believe I’ll have a drop of that draught the old ones have brewed . . .

[Arry]

‘Well, sir,’ said Gil, ‘Mr. Headstrong, that is,' he continued, remembering what the pretty little golden-curled girl who'd given the older hobbit the whistle had called him. ‘It would be a pleasure to have you play with us. We’ve a fair cache of songs and tunes, but I’m thinking a man of your years and experience could show us a few new ones and maybe a few variations on the ones we do know.’ He looked over to where Tomlin, Fallon, and Ferrin stood. Tomlin was leaned casually against a nearby tables while the other two sat on the table itself there feet planted firmly on the bench. ‘What do you say, lads? Think the stage’ll hold another one of us?’

Ferrin laughed, saying another pipe player was always welcome. ‘But best be wetting your whistle first, sir,’ he said, pouring a mug of nut brown ale from the flagon they’d brought to the table. Tomlin and Fallon rolled their eyes at the poor jest. ‘What can we say, sir,’ Tomlin said, holding the half pint out to Falco. ‘He’s a drummer . . .’

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Owen decided that this was rather a pleasant and rewarding job, even if unpaid. It was much better than pitching hay or mucking out a stable. And he held himself a little bit straighter seeing all the fine guests arriving. It seemed like the best of the Shire was turning out for this affair. Even Samwise, the mayor himself, had appeared bringing his family in tow. Now there was a hobbit fairly bursting with the stuff that songs are written about! Owen had heard a thing or two about him, for even in Dale he was known to be a friend of the King. And now that Owen clapped eyes on him, he couldn’t believe that such a mild looking fellow had so much to do with the Dark Lord’s defeat. But there would be plenty of time to see if he might be coaxed to tell a tale.

Owen quickly finished off his second mug as he saw Gil and Tomlin, Ferrin and Fallon tucking sweet william flowers into their buttonholes and helping themselves at the kegs, before returning to the platform. Gil was busily talking to Master Headstrong, a hobbit who Owen had initially thought quite stiff, but who had proved rather an inspired player. The old curmudgeon had seemed to melt like a pat of butter when music was concerned. And where Owen had thought that the old hobbit had little chance of ever enjoying himself, he happily found himself in error. Owen wanted to enjoy himself as well, but unfortunately found he could not, not fully.

It was not what could be seen, nor his poor clothes that weighed on Owens’s plate, but rather what could not be seen. Still Shimshin had not returned, and neither had Seamus who had gone in search of the monkey at the end of the set. It had seemed an interminably long time since the little scamp had run off, and Owen pushed his dark blonde locks off his forehead as he surveyed once again the ground between the gaily-colored skirts and trousers. His eyes wandered until they caught a glimpse of the well between the milling crowds, and a sharp stab of panic overcame him. Setting his bladder pipe down, he quickly jumped off the stage and ran to the well, thinking what a fool he had been for forgetting to give Shimshin a taste of water.

The well small and deep, and looking over the edge it was very, very dark. “Shimshin?” Owen called, his voice echoing back to him. Then nothing. The man began to search for where the rope was tied when he came upon a rather smug looking cat that sat in the cool shade.
Owens’ brow furrowed as he saw it was the same cat who had earlier sharpened his claws on young Willy’s coat, but the animal merely licked its lips with disdain, and yawned. “Oh if you’ve so much as scratched my little Shimshin,” he threatened, “I have friend who’d know how to make good use of you!” With that he rapidly untied the rope and carefully lowered the bucket into the blackness below. “Shimshin? Are you down there lad?” Silence. Owen pulled the bucket up again and stood a while by the well, considering if he should ask Mithalwen and Rasputina or perhaps Caity if they had seen which way the little fellow went.

[Tevildo]

How unfair life was!

Tevildo had been minding his own business and snoozing quietly, curled up in a ball on top of another soft jacket that had slipped down underneath the table. The soft folds of the jacket made a cool and comfy bed where he could close one eye and doze a bit, yet keep the other one slightly open, trained on what was going on around him. Unlike poor mortal beings who could only be in one place and do one thing at a particular time, his own race had a decided advantage. Like all cats, Tevildo had the gift of wandering in a shadowy dream world while the rest of his body was half awake in Middle-earth. Tevildo thought this had been one of the presents that Melko had bestowed on them in the early days, although none of the legends seemed to mention that.

This time, one-half of Tevildo's brain was lost in a dream, chasing and tormenting gigantic grey rats on the shores of distant Numenor, a feat he clearly remembered from his younger days when he had just been starting on his second life. The other half of his mind was alert and clearly aware of what this nasty musician Owen was saying. Tevildo honestly had no idea where Shimshins was. Quite frankly, he had no use whatsoever for any animal who went about on two-legs, aping the ways of mortal men. Yet here was this rude fellow who seemed to think that Tevildo was responsible for the monkey's disappearance.

Tevildo stood up, hunching his back with his snowball-white fur on end, and glanced over at the musician wondering how he could back at the the man for his rude comments and threats. He warily eyed the air bladder that Owen had set down on a nearby bench. He considered going over and jumping on it, using the instrument as a handy way to sharpen his claws. He could do quite a bit of damage with only one leap, and it would teach the fellow a well deserved lesson. But the man was still glaring at him, and Tevildo wasn't sure if he could get away unscathed.

Abruptly, Tevildo's attention was drawn to the door of the Inn. A hobbit family--a mister, a missus, and a whole string of little ones--were pouring in. Shouts of "Mayor Gamgee" and cheers went up from several of the hobbit onlookers. Tevildo had little interest in "Mayor Gamgee", whoever or whatever that was. What concerned him more was the young golden haired lass with big blue eyes who trailed along at the end of the family parade. She cradled a pretty basket in her arms that had been woven out of wicker. Inside the little basket and peeping out from beneath the pink blanket was the face of the same grey she-cat he had tangled with the night before at Bag-end. The face was now framed in a baby's bonnet and had a yellow ribbon with a charm dangling around its neck. But the look in the cat's eye had not changed: she looked decidedly imperious and unfriendly. Tevildo slunk back into the shadows and wondered what he should do.

[Firefoot]

Nick wandered about feeling lost. Willy had abandoned him, and he did not know anyone. The Big Folk everywhere scared him. In addition to it all, he was at an Inn! Ma said he and Willy weren't old enough, and he was going to get in trouble. Willy said it didn't matter as long as Ma didn't find out. Nick wasn't so sure, but he admired Willy and his daring beyond all else. Except Willy had run off. Nick was miserable. He had thought to find Shimshin, but the monkey was no where to be seen. He saw the nice man who had the monkey, but Nick was still shy of him - he was one of the Big Folk, and so Nick had studiously avoided him.

Suddenly Nick's eyes lit on the scurrying brown figure, running from a pair of hobbits. It was Shimshin! Nick started to run after them, but stopped abruptly when Shimshin made a flying leap onto a second story window of the inn and disappeared inside. Nick wanted the company of his new friend, but then he would have to go inside again - and to the second floor, no less! Nick didn't like heights either. But... there weren't so many strangers inside. All the people out here were making Nick nervous. Slowly, Nick made his way over to the Inn door, and nearly headed right back outside again. Here, all the hobbits were cheering! Nick realized it was because the mayor was here. Nick wasn't really sure what the mayor did, but he did know he made long speeches and helped run the Shire. Nick didn't want to be noticed by anyone so important, so spotting the stairs he slipped over along the wall.

He ascended the stairs slowly because he was not accustomed to them. His own hobbit-hole had no stairs, and there were very few hobbit buildings that did. At the top, Nick was dismayed to find a long hallway of doors. Shimshin could be behind any one of them! Experimentally, he tried the first door on his left. The knob turned easily and Nick peeked inside. The room was neat, but clearly inhabited - there were lumpy packages and a pack for travelling lined along one wall. This was a bad thing to do, Nick knew. These were people's rooms! But Shimshin was in one of these rooms. Quietly, Nick shut the door and tried the next one. It was locked. The next room Nick tried was open, but not nearly so clean. Luggage was piled in disarray in the corner, a dress hung over a chair, and the bed was unmade. Shimshin was not here either. At the next door, Nick heard voices and so he skipped it. He continued down the hallway in a similar manner, but found Shimshin in none of the rooms. Shimshin must be in one of the locked rooms!

Nick stuck out his lower lip and tears began to form in his eyes. Willy had left him, Shimshin had left him, he couldn't talk to anyone because they were strangers, and he couldn't go home because then he would have to tell Ma where he'd been. Nick went back to the stairs, and realized he didn't think he could get back down them! He couldn't see the bottom because of a turn in the staircase, and the railing was too high to be used comfortably. Feeling uncared-for and lonely, Nick plunked down at the top of the stairs and began to cry.

~*~*~

Willy

A quick look around the grounds showed Willy that Nick was no where to be found. He knew he would be in trouble when he got home: he was at the Inn, his coat was ripped, and Nick was lost. Willy decided he had better enjoy himself while he could, and promptly forgot about his problems.

In his fascination for the monkey and pursuit of the cat, he had forgotten about the many Elves that had originally captured his interest. At first, it seemed to him that they were little different from the ordinary Big Folk, but then he found that it was not so. They were more... graceful, or something. Other than that, Willy's close observation disappointed him. The Elves, called the Fair Folk and almost revered in many stories, did not seem so different than ordinary folk. They played their instruments with some hobbits and Big Folk, and talked like normal people (though perhaps the women's voices were slightly more musical). At any rate, the Elves soon lost his interest and Willy noticed that he was thirsty.

Spotting three old Gammers giving out punch under some shade, Willy headed over to them purposefully. By the reactions of their customers, it must be good. Unfortunately for Willy, his successful morning had dulled his caution.

"May I have some punch, Ma'am?" he asked politely. One of them laughed. "I don't think so, young mister," said one of them, shaking her spoon at him. "This is only for the ladies at the party. You can have some water, here, instead, if you like." Why only the ladies? he wondered. What's so special about it? He resolved to come back later and try to sneak a taste - these old ladies did not look so spry and he supposed he could outrun them, at any rate. Meanwhile, Willy nodded and she served him up a cup of ice water.

"You going to dazzle the young lasses tonight dancing?" teased the gammer who had given him his water. To the others, she said, "They get younger all the time." The first laughed softly again.

"Well, I'm not so sure about that," evaded Willy. This conversation was downright uncomfortable! Then the third, who had been studying him carefully thusfar, spoke up, "I know you. You're Poppy Burrows's second lad, aren't you? You supposed to be here, or has she changed her mind about letting you come to inns on your own?" Willy froze.

"Um, Yes'm, my name's Willy," he said. Then he began to improvise. "Ma, uh, sent me here to help with the handfasting."

"This doesn't look like helping to me," she answered. Willy suddenly was able to put a name to her: Granny Heathertoes. "I suppose you aren't supposed to be here after all, are you? I tell you what. I'll keep your secret, if you go over there to the kitchen and find out what you can to help right now. Got it?"

"Yes, Ma'am," said Willy. How could he be so foolish? He set down his empty cup and hurried away to the Inn dejectedly. He saw, however, that the hobbit lady in charge (Cook, he thought) was quite busy greeting the Mayor Samwise himself! Willy sighed and leaned against the Inn, waiting for the right time to find out how he should be helping.

[Evisse the Blue]

It had all the makings of a merry meeting, Primula Rose decided, as she stopped in front of the Inn with her husband in tow and looked around. The music was jolly, the faces looking back at her were cheerful and the food was smelling delightful. She was going to love this party.

"We seemed to have dropped quite in the middle of it, so let's enjoy it before it all ends!" she said in a light tone to the man next to her.

The answer she received would have drowned anyone's cheer:

"Humph. Yeah, let's get to where the food is and devour at least twice our weight! Although this will be small price to pay for the long and tiresome journey! And where, of all places! The Shire! Whoever heard of respectable Bree-folk leaving their home to meddle with strangers all the way up in Hobbiton! I should never have come here if it were not for the promise of plentiful food."
"You shall have that, don't worry", Primula Rose answered. "Unless these people are your kind, Dob, you scrape-penny!"

"Well, they are not my kind, and I'm glad of that! What are we doing to a Big Folk wedding anyway? What was the bride's name again? Zimziran? Too fancy a name if you ask me!"

"We are here because we were invited by Vinca, who used to be friends with my mother", Primula Rose answered. She did not remember Vinca very well, save as a distant but kindly figure, but the wording of the invitation was so friendly that she found it difficult to refuse.

Her husband, Dob, meanwhile, was looking around with what he wished was an air of amused contempt. His eyes fell on a hobbit lad leaning against the side of the Inn. He called out to him:

"Hey there! Boy? Is there anyone who can show us to our place at the tables?"

The boy made no move, instead staring at him perplexed.

"Are you, deaf, young lad, or just plain dumb? Answer me, what is your name?"

"Willy", the boy answered, finally recovering from seeing an unfriendly stranger address him like that. "But there is no one to show you to your table, I mean, you have to find your way yourself." He smiled apologetically: "We don't care much for decorum around here, everyone stands where they wish, and for how long they wish as long as they have a good time."

"That's lovely", Primula Rose replied smiling at Willy. "I'm glad to hear that because I don't care much for decorum myself."

"Decorum is just another name for order, my love", Dob replied with a small grimace, "And order is something all hobbit folk can never have too much of. But no matter", he continued. "Thank you, boy. We will sit where we may then."

"Er, if you don't mind, sir, ma'am!" Willy shouted after them as they prepared to move along. "What are your names? I haven't seen you around here."

"That's because we're not from around here. We're Breelanders, and we're the Tunnellys. I'm Dob Tunnelly and this is my wife, Primula Rose Tunelly. She was born and raised in Brandy Hall."

Primula Rose extended a hand:

"I'm pleased to meet you, Willy. Sorry for not introducing ourselves sooner, that was rude of us."

"Oh, that's alright", Willy said. "I hope you enjoy yourselves at the party."

[Nurumaiel]

Falco Headstrong flushed right up to his ears, he was so please that the young boys had accepted him. Maybe it was because his clothes were muddy. Back home the lads had always thought him very stuck-up and proud and hadn't wanted much to do with him, aside from making snide comments behind his back. If only they could see him now, standing and playing with these young boys!

He laughed heartily at Ferrin's perhaps rather poor joke, and drank his pint willingly. Ah, this was where he liked to be! This is where he belonged. Memories of merry days gone by returned to his memory, and he felt young again. He could almost see himself, sitting by the fire, his eyes shining as he whistled a lively tune... he could hear the voice of his old childhood friend, who was the best singer in the South Farthing... he saw lads and lassies dancing and clapping... yes, he could see it all again!

"Referring to what you said earlier, sir," he said, addressing Gil, "yes, I know some fine old songs. I don't often sing them as they were sung long ago, because Fosco (an old friend of mine) and I liked to get the listeners singing, too, and they wouldn't do it if they didn't know how. But, yes, I do know some old songs." He finished his pint, and stood. "In fact, one has sprung to mind that is both appropriate and inappropriate for the occasion. It involves hand-fasting in a sense, but at the same time it is a misfortunate event that we could be glad to say is not falling upon the pretty fair one... you called her Zimzi? Yes, well... if you're familiar with this tune, do play with me. It's called Old Maid in the Garret."

Falco jumped upon the little stage the lads had been playing on, and began to whistle a merry and fast tune... not at all suggesting a 'misfortunate event,' Marigold thought. The younger musicians did seem to be familiar with the tune, and those who weren't absorbed in eating joined in. Seeing that he had accompaniment, Falco lowered the whistle and began to sing.

I was told by my aunt,
I was told by my mother
that going to a wedding
is the makings of another,
And if this be so then
I'll go without a bidding.
Oh, kind providence
won't you send me to a wedding.

And it's oh dear me! How will it be
if I die an Old Maid in the Garret?

There's my sister Peony;
she's not handsome or good-looking.
Scarcely sixteen
and a fine lad she was courting.
Now she's twenty-four
with a son and a daughter;
here am I at forty-four
and I've never had an offer!

And it's oh dear me! How will it be
if I die an Old Maid in the Garret?

I can cook and I can sew,
I can keep the house right tidy,
rise up in the morning
and get the breakfast ready.
There's nothing in this wide world
that makes my heart so cheery
as a wee fat man to call me
his own dearie!

And it's oh dear me! How will it be
if I die an Old Maid in the Garret?

And then Falco let his voice fall silent and began to play his whistle again. He was stamping his feet... little golden-haired Marigold was clapping in time to the music and laughing... there were ejaculations of encouragement and admiration from the crowd of listeners... his eyes were shining... he could almost hear Fosco beside him, laughing, clapping, dancing... he could see his sister, dancing the baby in he rarms... and he could almost see that very sweetest of sweet faces, that dimpled smile, those black curls falling around the rosy cheeks. She was happier and merrier than anyone else. And then she faded away from the green lawn, but there was no sudden pang in his heart. He saw Marigold's little face, and he thought her smile was remarkably like the black-haired girl's smile.

He finished his instrumental piece and sang the last verse.

So come landsman, come townsman,
come tinker or come tailor,
come fiddler, come dancer,
come ploughboy or come sailor,
come rich man, come poor man,
come fool or come witty,
come any man at all!
Won't you marry out of pity?

And it's oh dear me! How will it be
if I die an Old Maid in the Garret?

One last time he sang the chorus, slowing down and drawing the last note out for a finish.

And it's oh dear me! How will it be
if I die an Old Maid in the Garret?

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Shimshin’s searching stopped abruptly as he heard a thin wailing arising somewhere close by. He cocked his head listening to the strange sound for a moment before loping to the door. Taking from his mouth the handsome brooch he had just managed to dislodge from the cloak draped along side a gray dress, he peered though the keyhole, and saw nothing. Whinnying mournfully he put his lips close to the opening and let the brooch clatter to the floor as he grasped the door handle awkwardly. The wailing stopped.

The monkey was just about to take up again the shiny prize when several small fingers appeared from under the door, frightening him. Shimshin snatched up the brooch and dashed for the window barking with alarm. He swung quickly outside and leapt from shutter to enter another, quieter room. But too dull it was, and he quickly tired of it. Pulling on the door, it opened slightly and the monkey slipped through, and into a long hallway.

Ambling cheerfully along, Shimshin saw a small figure in the hall crouching down to speak into a keyhole. Running up, he leapt on the narrow back, and perched on the little boy’s head, leaning over to look down at his face and the water droplets there. Studying the tears, he touched one with his tiny black finger and taking the brooch out of his mouth he brought the tear up, tasting it.

[Arry]

Tomlin dropped his fiddle down to his waist as the last chorus was sung, and tapped out the rhythm on its bowed wood back. When the last notes from Falco had just begun to die down, he nodded to him with a smile. ‘Now, sir, that’s a fine old song . . . but have you heard this verse?’ He played the opening notes to the song, humming in his sweet tenor voice.

‘Twas sung to me by man who’d traveled south, he went on, ‘far south, where there are rare gaudy birds living side by side with men. Birds who can talk, the piper said, and live as long or longer than any man. Oft times they are companions to the lonely or to those who prefer the company of birds to other men.’ He laughed a bit. ‘In this case, it was a case of a lonely lady making do . . .’

Well now I'm away home ‘cause there’s nobody heeding
There’s nobody heedin’ to poor old Rosie’s pleadin’.
I'll go away to my own wee bit garret
If I can't get a man, then I'll surely get a parrot!

The others grinned at the additional verse, then ended the song with another chorus.

And it's oh dear me! How will it be . . .
if I die an Old Maid in the Garret?

Another round of ale was called for and gotten. And Fallon, still tapping his toe to the last tune asked, ‘Wasn’t there also a verse we learned . . . one about a quite sooty chimney sweep . . . and how he married the old gal out of pity?’

[Encaitare]

The old hobbit played a mean tin whistle.

Caity watched and listened with rapt attention from her seat on the grass. All signs of age seemed to have left him; he acted as young as any lad in the band. His fingers flew over the whistle as he played between verses.

And it's oh dear me! How will it be . . .
if I die an Old Maid in the Garret?

They finished the song and bowed to those listening, who applauded. Caity jumped up and clapped her hands. "One minute -- I have to meet the whistle player!"

She climbed up onto the state and approached him. He was smiling and laughing with the other players, who were congratulating him on his singing and playing.

"Good morning, sir," she said, smiling at him.

"Morning, lass! Did you like the song we played?"

"I loved it," she responded, "especially your whistle playing. Will you be joining us in the band tonight?"

"Ah, so you're in the band?" he said. "Well, I certainly hope to. What is it you play here? Aha, I think I know." He gave a mischievous smile uncharacteristic of an older hobbit. "I'll bet you've got a lovely singing voice, eh?"

She blushed. "I'd hardly think so, sir. No, I play the whistle as well, and also the flute. That's why I admired your little performance so much. Why, I've never heard anyone play such a spirited tin whistle before."

He smiled reminiscently. "Brought me right back to how things used to be back when I was a lad, and everyone would gather round and listen... oh, never mind me, I'm just carrying on now, Miss...?"

"Caity Brandybuck, sir," she told him. "It'll be a pleasure to have you in our group tonight."

"Falco Headstrong," he said courteously. "And, likewise."

[Envinyatar]

He really did feel better, he concluded, stretching his neck to one shoulder and then the other. The headache was gone, and with it had fled the incipient threat of revolt by his belly. ‘Bless you, Miz Bunce!’ he said aloud to her empty room.

Derufin leaned forward over the dressing table that stood to the side of the Hobbit’s door, and inspected his face. The nap had done wonders to clear the dark circles from beneath his eyes. The hot bath and shave had taken off a layer of grime and stubbly hair, letting him appear more the eager husband to be than some brigand come to carry the lady off. From the bottle of splash Cook had given him, Derufin poured a few drops into his palms and slapped it briskly onto his clean shaven cheeks and jaw. It was an enervating mixture, to say the least. And the smell, much to his delight, displaced the odor of lilacs from the Hobbit’s soap.

Sakal had brought over his clothes for the celebration. Clean, new black breeches held in place by a dark leather belt, a soft grey tunic Zimzi had made for him, and his black leather vest . . . not the one he wore every day, mind you, but his good one, for special occasions. Merry had done a miraculous job on his boots. The supple leather was cleaned and buffed to a handsome shine. The familiar odor of saddle soap and polish clung to them making him laugh. He could just see the Hobbit sitting on a hay bale, brandishing the polish cloth and buffing brush, and all the while explaining to his four legged charges how even the two-leggeds needed a bit of sprucing up now and then.

Done, he looked at himself once more. His dark hair was pulled back and secured by a plain leather thong to hang down behind his shoulders. The clothes he’d put on looked good enough and even his nails were quite clean and presentable at the direction of Cook. As a manner of habit, Derufin polished the toes of his boots on the backs of his legs, then headed out into the kitchen. He unlocked the doors, and tidied up as he could the tub and towels he’d used.

Only a few people were in the Common room as he passed through, and most of them were the servers running in to fetch last minute things for the start of the party. They shouted to him as they saw him, wishing him the best of days. By the time he reached the front door, he was grinning, caught up in the happy, infectious mood. He stood for a moment on the porch, blinking in the bright sun’s light. A thought crept up from the back of his mind and he began to pat the little pockets on his vest and then fished into the pockets of his breeches. A mystified look took hold the features of his face.

A soft laugh and a quick nudge of his elbow brought his attention to his right . . . to Sakal, who stood grinning like a cat got into cream. ‘Hold out your hand, if you will. I wanted to make sure it wouldn’t be lost,’ he said, placing the slim gold band into Derufin’s palm. Derufin shook his head at the man, ‘Had me quite alarmed for a moment!’ He smiled back at Sakal and secured the ring in an inner pocket of his vest.

‘Let’s walk about and see who’s here,’ he said, motioning for Sakal to come along with him . . .

[HerenIstarion]

The table stood in the yard, as time went by. The dawn was replaced by fine morn. People passed to and fro of their own accord. Some eyed the table with mild curiosity, some stopped to look it all over, one even to stroke its dainty legs, but everyone soon remembered their own business and went away. But, as noon brought the warmth of winter son into the air, four lads came out, took the table by its corners and brought it into the Inn, into the very Common Room where it was placed by one of the walls

‘We will use it for flowers’ said Aman ‘and some vases with fruits will look wonderful on it too. Ruby, dear, bring the duster and polish liquid, there is a kind lass – we need to make it presentable first. And white cloth to cover it, the one with primroses embroidery, you know, it is in the left-hand lower box of the wardrobe’

In no time at all, newly acquired table was brought out again, now dusted, polished so its dark brown surfaces shined and sparkled. It was clothed and decorated with colored glass-vases, some holding flowers, some fruits of the kind to be grown in the Southfarthing hotbeds even in wintertime.

For now, it was drawing attention of few children who where already in for the party. Lads and lasses where playing a game of ‘steal an apple’, though Brownlock, who was appointed to look for the preparations outside, was not really ‘guarding’ fructose delicacies against them, just smiled softly and refilled the vases emptied by the tomboys and hoydens. Grown ups, as yet, were preserving their noble hunger for the main fare.

[littlemanpoet]

A shaft of sunlight illuminated a couple in a corner of the stables. Dust particles danced and swam in the shaft of light. The Elf woman's hair was turned gossamer in the rays. The man noticed and was moved by the beauty of her hair. She looked up to him above the work between them and smiled.

"The last ingredients are all we need now, Laurëatan."

"Are you sure they are necessary, Uien?"

She grinned and touched his nose with the tip of her long finger. "Fear not. I shall be the one to get them." She tipped her head back and her eyes looked vacant as she saw with her mind; Falowik knew what that look meant. "Derufin has finished his bath and grooming and is moving through the Common Room. I shall go see him now."

Falowik shook his head. "Oh to be an Elf." She smiled and rose. "Should I remain here?"

"Go where you like. You know that I can find you wherever you are."

"Of course." Falowik shook his head again. "Osanwë."

"I would that you allow me to teach it to you." She regarded him seriously.

"Nay. I would not be tempted to know the minds of others whose affairs are none of my business."

"That is a risk, I admit, but your words assure me it would not be so with you."

"Nevertheless, I would not know it. I need it not."

"Very well then. But come with me! The feast is laden outside the inn. Come and enjoy the smell of good food and the music. There is a table blessed with especial care that I think you will want to see."

He nodded and they walked together out of the stables and into the bright sun. When they came to the front of the inn, Falowik parted from Uien and examined the fare, and the singular table upon which so much care had been given. She found Derufin standing at the door to the inn, accepting something from a strapping young fellow who wore a big grin. Derufin grinned at the joke.

"Derufin! I greet you and wish you well on the day of your handfasting!" Uien cried as she came up to him. His eyes widened.

"Uien! How did you know?"

"Elves have their ways." She kissed him on his clean and fresh smelling cheek. "I am glad that you have recovered from your morning illness."

"Thank you!" He said, coughing into his hand shamefacedly. The young man with him laughed and elbowed him. "Ah! Excuse me, Uien. Allow me to introduce you to my soon-to-be brother by law, Sakal!"

Once the formal greetings and introductions were complete, Uien said, "I have a boon to ask of you, Derufin."

"Yes?"

"Let me pluck ten strands of your hair, from the roots. And no questions."

Derufin winced. "It sounds painful. Will I not look silly missing that much?"

"Nay," Uien laughed. "I will remove it painlessly and you will look none the worse."

"Pluck away, then!"

"My thanks!" She reached and took hold, counting off ten strands. "Fin tulolain othond." She plucked.

Derufin's eyes went wide. "Did you get any?"

"See?" She grinned, holding ten locks of his hair, roots and all, between her long, supple fingers.

"It did not hurt a wit!"

"'Twas the Elvish glammer she spoke, I warrant," said Sakal with a wink.

Uien winked at Sakal. "Now I must find Zimzi!" She left them.

[Nurumaiel]

Falco was pleased to be invited to play in their band that night, and he was interested in the young whistler. He would like to see her play... he should like to hear her play. It would be nice to see that there will still some in the Shire who took some honest interest in the 'old ways.' He couldn't say he had anything against the 'new ways' that were spreading about, but it was the fear of his heart that the old songs would be forgotten. Almost all the young people in his hometown were ignorant of them. How fine it was to see that there were some youthful hobbits who could still sing and play an older song with ease. And... Tomlin knew a new verse, and Fallon knew of the old one.

"Yes," said Falco, "indeed there was another verse that ended the tale happily:

"And ever since he's got her, he vows that he'll keep her,
and now she's in the arms of her black chimney sweeper.

"I never sang it when I was a lad, though, and so I'm rather out of the habit. Fosco, that old friend of mine, and I started singing it to tease my sister, who was well nigh reaching old maidhood. Very good-humoured she was about it, too! Of course, singing we were singing it for that purpose we couldn't add on the last verse, because we didn't think she would be married. At first she just laughed with us and said: 'You teasing boys! If there weren't some old maids in the world who would help the poor mothers look after rapscallions like you?' But, after a few years of patiently enduring our 'serenading' to her, she began to laugh as if she were laughing at us, and say nothing. Fosco got suspicious very quick, and it wasn't very long before those suspicisions were justified... a hobbit came sweeping out of nowhere and married my sister!" Falco laughed and shook his head. "She had two children, and she's as happy as can be. But we didn't give the song up there, or add the last verse, stubborn boys that we were! I had a younger sister who had no lad courting her and seemingly no hopes of her (that was what we said, though she was still young and pretty), and so we sang to her. For years we sang, but she was married two years ago. In my fits of boyishness when I don't feel quite the aged hobbit I am, I stubbornly determine to find another old maid so I won't have to add that last verse."

A little hand laid on his knee and he looked down into Marigold's shining eyes.

"Oh, Mr. Headstrong, I liked that story," she said.

"Story? Why... why, I suppose it was a story," he admitted, "but I wasn't trying to tell it as one. That is to say... well, to be completely honest, young lads and lassies, I had quite a reputation for a story-teller in my younger days as well as a singer and whistler... nowadays I just tell a story as a story... in old days I would sit in front of the fire and look at all the young ones with gleaming eyes, and tell a story as a story."

It didn't make very much sense, perhaps, but Marigold understood. Her mother had been that way. She would talk with the neighbours about all the little happenings in the town, and it would all be very commonplace, but at night, when she tucked her little girl in, she would tell her a story as a story, one that sent thrills through the eager little listener. How wonderful it was that Mr. Headstrong could tell stories, too! And it was almost as wonderful that he was being so nice and kind and cheerful now. He didn't talk of how everyone was going to get drunk and other gloomy things like that. And he hadn't said 'no doubt' in such a very long time!

[Evisse the Blue]

Primula Rose listened to the singing of the band with pleasure, her stubby feet keeping the beat of the lively rhythm. She would have liked to dance a merry jig to it, but her husband, Dob, was totally preoccupied with the food and seemed to ignore her restlessness.

From time to time, he turned towards her and make a remark about a particular dish:

"You should have some sausage stuffed mushroms, Primula Rose, they go down very well with the fine ale"

Or: "Don't trouble yourself with the blueberry pancake, I tried some and it isn't much to write home about."

"We should go talk to Vinca, and thank her for the invitation. That would polite of us. And I expect she would want to see me. You would have a chance to compliment her cooking then, Dob."

"Yes, I suppose, so. But later. I don't want to leave the table just yet. All that talking can wait, there'll be time enough for it." He lowered his voice to a whisper: "And I don't feel that comfortable with all the Big Folk and the Elves about, if you ask me. Not the best place for hobbits to be hanging around, if you get my meaning..."

"They look like very nice people", Primula Rose said, looking around.

In the mild light of the afternoon sun all the faces of the wedding guests seemed more gentle, more friendly. She caught the eye of a little hobbit lass and smiled at the look of wonder on her face. The girl shyly hid herself behind her mother, but then peeked out to examine Primula Rose more closely. Finding the older woman still looking at her, the lassie broke into a fit of giggles.

[piosenniel]

Buttercup and Marigold

Buttercup had just taken a large basket of flaky mushroom pasties out to the food table to refill the trays there. Ruby had come along with her with several platters of jam tarts for the dessert table that the ladies from New Row had brought over and left in the kitchen to be put out at need. Gooseberry jam, strawberry, blackberry, and currant all winked out invitingly from their crisp little shells. Buttercup stood for a moment at the table, surveying the swelling ranks of the party goers. Then, turning back to the table piled high with lovely offerings, decided it was time to change for the party. Others had come in to help, she concluded . . . so let them! Ruby, too had the same idea, and once the tarts were displayed to her satisfaction she made for the Inn and her party clothes.

Passing the jam tarts, Buttercup paused. It had been a long time since breakfast and so busy had she been that she could not recall having eaten since. Her stomach growled at the thought and she picked up four little tarts, popping one of them immediately into her mouth.

She broke into a smile as she passed where the musicians stood, and waved. She was looking forward very much to an evening of dancing and fun. An older Hobbit, she noted had joined them, a tin whistle held in one hand, and a half pint in the other. ‘Oh, and what’s this?’ she said to herself, catching sight of little Marigold, her golden mop still in tangles. She knelt down by the girl and offered her a plump tart.

‘Go ahead . . . they’re quite good! Just ate one myself,’ she confided. Wide-eyed at the choices, Marigold took one and began nibbling at it, Buttercup could just hear the muffled ‘thank-you’ come round the mouthful. ‘My stars, little one,’ she said as the girl stood up. ‘We have to get you into some party clothes.’ Buttercup flipped her food stained skirt a bit and tugged then at Marigold’s own mudstained one. ‘These simply won’t do . . . we’re guests now, and guest should be pretty.’

A distressed look appeared on the girl’s face, and she looked down a bit shamefaced. Buttercup tipped up her chin, saying there was no reason to fret. ‘There’s a great, large storage closet near my room, Miss Marigold. With many a chest filled with skirts and dresses of all sorts and sizes. Many left by guests who were in too much a hurry to check for things left behind.’ She fingered Marigold’s curls saying they’d get those in order, too. And would she like to bind it back a bit with one of Buttercup’s ribbons?

‘Let’s go then,’ she said, extending her hand to the little Hobbit. ‘You can choose a dress or a skirt and blouse, or whatever you like. Then we’ll hurry back and enjoy the rest of the day. How does that sound?’

[piosenniel]

Zimzi

‘Zimziran!’ exclaimed her mother softly as her daughter twirled one last time for her. The older woman clasped her hands in delight, her eyes gleaming. ‘Abar, come see your daughter!’

Adjusting the buttons on his tunic’s sleeves, Abar came in to the little bedroom, hastily turned sewing room. He was swearing a little, his thick fingers fumbling with the smallness of the button and the hole. His words were cut off as he looked up, an expression of wonder and love stealing over his features. ‘Oh, my!’ he said in a husky voice. Taking her hands in his, he turned her about slowly, his eyes taking in the sight of her. ‘Aren’t you just the lovely one today,’ he went on, giving her hand a little squeeze. With his other hand, he reached out for his wife and pulled her close. ‘As pretty as your mother when she pledged herself to me. Sand and water! How the circle comes round.’ He gave his wife a tight squeeze about the waist and Zimzi a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘Now do a last thing for your old Da,’ he said to Zimzi, holding his undone cuffs to her. ‘Your mother and all her fine sewing has made it impossible to get these done up!’

Her brows arching, Zamin reached for her husband’s sleeves and did them quickly up herself. ‘I swear Zimzi, you marry a man and take care of the boy the rest of your life!’ Abar gave her a quick kiss before she could go on, as Zimzi laughed at this familiar scene.

‘Best get dressed myself, now,’ said Zamin, letting down her long dark hair flecked with silver, and rummaging through the wardrobe in her room for her own dress. ‘Abar, if you’re done dressing, go down and find the boys will you? Make sure they’re “behaving” themselves. And see to it that Azar has remembered to polish his boots.’ Her voice trailed off as she went into her own room to get ready.

‘I’ll see you down there, then, Zimzi,’ her father said, eager to get down the party. He’d seen the tables of food and the kegs with their foaming offerings through his window. He intended to make a thorough investigation of the Shire provender.

Zimzi stood in the now empty room, hearing the merry sounds of the guests in the yard below. She smoothed the bodice of her ivory gown and twirled the skirt a bit. It would be good for dancing, she thought hearing the music playing below. Taking one last look in the little mirror above the dressing table, she approved her hair, turning her head this way and that to see the mother-of-pearl clasp that held it back from her face, and the long cascade of her dark locks as they slid down her back. Her shoes were a fine, ivoried leather. Supple and plain. Picking up the light blue shawl her mother had woven, she arranged it casually over her shoulders, then thinking it would be too warm, draped it over one arm, intending to leave it somewhere handy should the evening prove cool.

With quick, light steps she headed down the stairs and through the Common Room, to the Inn’s front doors, which now stood open for easier flow. Buttercup was just passing through, a pretty little lass with her. ‘You look lovely, Mistress Zimzi!’ Buttercup called out, stopping to admire the woman and the dress. ‘Oh, and this is Miss Marigold,’ she went on, introducing the wide-eyed girl. ‘I’ll see you both at the party, yes,’ Zimzi said, nodding at the lass.

With the assurances of their attendance, Zimzi went on out to the porch. Shading her eyes with her hand she looked about for Derufin but could not see him . . .

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger had never spoken with the Mayor before, or any of his family for that matter. But he was the Mayor and she’d heard stories about him and the Baggins fellow . . . Frodo, it was, that he’d gardened for . . . unsettling stories of monsters and swords and a great long journey they’d taken together. It made her shiver when she thought of it, bringing up darksome memories of those awful ruffians who’d tried to take over the Shire when she was younger. She’d never really seen him up close and she wondered if he looked grim and, well . . . sort of odd from all his adventuring.

She was lagging behind Cook as they walked along and almost ran into her when Cook stopped suddenly, saying to someone in front of her, ‘Well there you are! And pleased as ever am I to see you and your fine family.’ Ginger peeked round Cook’s ample girth and saw two rather ordinary looking Hobbits smiling and talking with her. The fellow, who must be the Mayor from the way Cook talked to him, was red cheeked, a bit stout, and his eyes often strayed to his brood of handsome children but mostly to the pretty lady who stood by his side, a babe in her arms. This must be Rose, she thought to herself. She looked so kindly and so full of life that Ginger was quite taken by her.

The baby was fussing a bit and some of the other children were roughhousing with each other, despite the reminders of their mother to be on their best behavior. Without a second thought, Ginger stepped forward and gave a little curtsy. ‘I’ve brothers and sisters of my own, m’am,’ she said to Rose. ‘If you like I can take them over on the greensward there where there’s more room for play and we can have some fun.’ Cook introduced Ginger to Rose and to Sam, saying she had come to help with the preparations for the handfasting and had proven herself a right treasure. Rose introduced Elanor and Frodo lad to Ginger, and together they made a plan to get a platter of food and a pitcher of cold cider and some cups and take it over to the place Ginger had first pointed to. Ginger knew some games and stories to keep them occupied, and they would all be in easy sight of Sam and Rose.

As they walked away slowly, the littlest ones slowing down the pace, Ginger could just hear Cook cooing a bit as she reached for the baby. ‘My, my, pretty as her mama,’ she heard Cook say . . .

[*Arwen*]

SAVED for reworked post

Please check your PM's in a few minutes.

~*~ Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[Nurumaiel]

Marigold skipped along hand in hand with Buttercup, and she envisioned herself all dressed for the party. She would wear a silk skirt and a blouse embroidered with golden thread. Her golden hair would be combed till it shone, and pretty ribbons tied in that streamed down to the very end of her hair. There would be a crown of flowers atop her little head, and a little bunch in her hand, and she would look just like a queen. She knew quite well she would find no silk skirts and embroidered blouses, but it was great fun to imagine it. And maybe she would have streaming ribbons and flowers.

When Buttercup opened the chest Marigold promptly knelt and began rummaging through, her eyes dancing and eager. When she found something that was her size, she would gaze at it thoughtfully, turning it over in her hands, then she would discard or take them, as she willed. A pretty little blue skirt with flounces was chosen; a white blouse with lace at the cuffs and neck; and a sash of a lovely shade of gold.

"See, Miss Buttercup," she said, beaming, "this what I've chosen. I'll wear this skirt... my mamma always said I should wear blue, because it's so pretty with my eyes and hair. And then this blouse with the lovely lace. And this golden sash I'll tie around my waist. It matches my hair very well, don't you think?" And suddenly her eyes grew soft. "And, Miss Buttercup, do you have any lilacs in the garden? After you fix up my hair, I'd like to put lilacs in. My mother's name was Lilac, you know, and she always used to wear lilacs in her hair. I want to wear them today, because it's a hand-fasting, and if there had been no hand-fastings ever, there would have been no me."

[littlemanpoet]

Uien was about to enter the inn's Common Room when through the door stepped Zimzi, who shielded her eyes from the sun as she looked for someone - likely her groom. A smile spread quickly across Uien's face.

"Zimzi! I give you good greeting!"

Zimzi's face lit up, but not without a hint of confusion as her eyes adjusted. Then Uien came close and Zimzi's eyes registered her delight.

"Uien of Lorien! You have come for our handfasting? I'm so glad!" They threw their arms around each other and embraced. Then Zimzi caught Uien's shoulders in both hands and held her, looking intently into her eyes. "Surely it was by chance that you came to Bywater today!"

"I heard that it was to be your handfasting day and hurried from Rivendell, faster than poor Falowik cared to go. We came in just this morning. You look like the queen you should today!" She kissed Zimzi's cheek. "This is a joyous day! I am happy for you!"

"Thank you. But how did you hear? Is my handfasting such news that they speak of it as far as Rivendell?"

Uien laughed. "Nay. The Elves do not concern themselves with the affairs of Men or Hobbits, except for the few of us who will. As do I. It happened that I cast my thought this way and an Elf whom I know not, was here, and knew what would pass this day, and so I learned and came."

"Then I am glad that Elf was here. Who was it, so I may speak my thanks?"

Uien shook her head. "I know not, but it matters not. I have found you!" Zimzi laughed. "But I have a boon to ask of you, dear Zimzi. I have already asked it of Derufin, and he obliged me." She held up Derufin's hair for Zimzi's inspection, and Zimzi's eyes went wide. "I need the same from you. Fear not, 'twill not hurt in the least, nor mar your beauty. May I?"

"Of course! But why?"

"That you shall see soon enough." Uien's eyes remained lidded with her secret, her grin reassuring nonetheless.

"Cut away then, sweet Uien."

"Nay. I shall pluck most gently. Fin tulolain othond." Next moment, Uien held ten strands of Zimzi's hair before the bride's face.

"I felt nothing!"

"Of course not. Now I must return to my Laurëatan with my prize." Uien kissed her once more and was about to walk away but turned at the last moment. "Derufin is over there." She pointed to a small crowd not far from them.

"My thanks!" said Zimzi, who moved with the grace of a queen for a day to the crowd surrounding her groom.

Uien smiled and found Falowik, and they returned to the stables.

[THE Ka]

Rasputina got up after finishing her sandwich, a food which she found interesting. Even though, the thought of being stolen from lurked with her everywhere. Somehow, or someway, she felt for a song of her own. She knew the words, but not were it came from. Maybe it drifted up from the sea and wispered it to her on the cliff those many years ago. She loved the way her cello sang as it acompanied her on the song. It wasn't a light and cheery song, but was steeped in mystery and woe but, was interesting to the ears none the less. Picking up her cello, she found a chair and tuned herself and her cello. While others bussled about with this and that, rasputina began to eerily sing:

Dig Ophelia, consider it dug.
Flowers madness and soft bear rug
Here's the water, just ankle deep high.
Lay back and relax and look up at the sky.
Your eyes never close, your mind's not at
rest,
Lay back, get waterlogged
Give us a kiss.

Water spreads the small seed
Water kills the tall weed.
Ophelia.

Cut the stem and you'll see how you feel
Floating orchids just ain't no big deal
Never knowing's like knowing too much
Tap the table, oh here's more bad luck.

Your eyes never close, your mind's not at
rest,
Lay back, get waterlogged
Give us a kiss.

Water spreads the small seed,
Water kills the tall weed.
Ophelia.

Ophelia.

Her cello softly but boldly grew and faded with every note, following a pattern of a phrase, until the song ended. She gave a long sigh. The song was far from cheering anyone up, but it was beautiful to her. She felt somewhat better after the thought of theft, which was scared away for the time being. Since there seemed to be nothing else to do, Rasputina just went on to play a few more pieces, the cello singing in its low hum. It was so beautiful, If she would ever have to trave across the sea,

"let it be with this cello.", she thought. As more and more guest finally assembled on the hill, rasputina continued to play, off in her own world...

[Tevildo]

Tevildo made his way about the Common Room on silent velvet paws, at first being very careful to avoid the wicker basket that the golden haired hobbit lass clutched tightly on her lap. He could barely see the small pick nose of the grey tabby poking out above the woolen blanket. Everyone in the room seemed to be making quite a fuss about Mushroom's two-leggeds, particularly the stout fellow whom they greeted as the "Mayor". Tevildo had no idea why this should be so, but he had observed that two-leggeds could be overly friendly even with people they barely knew.

His own kind, he noted, were a much better judge of character. Tevildo would never lower his dignity to fawn on strangers or to act in an unduly friendly fashion even towards those who knew him. Still, in this particular case, it would probably be better if he attempted to straighten things out with Mushroom. From the adoring look on the face of the Dragon's old tabby when Mushroom had entered the room, it was apparent that the Gamgee cat was likewise regarded as a local celebrity. There was no accounting for taste!

But what could he do to win the favor of a tough old barn cat who obviously considered him an unwanted outsider? It was then that he saw it: the table that had sat in the courtyard. The hobbits had now moved it inside the Common Room. Such wonderful legs for scratching, he mused, as a pur escaped from his chest. With a sharp meow to the grey, and a nod of the head that gave just a hint of an apology for the events of the evening before, Tevildo pointed Mushroom towards the table, assuring her that "The Table" was a quite amazing scratching post and totally free for the asking...

[piosenniel]

GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS:

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 (played by Envinyatar)

Meriadoc - Stablemaster

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

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.

[piosenniel]

The scene in the Green Dragon Inn’s front yard at present . . .

It's a warm, sunny day in the Shire – going on mid-afternoon.

Preparations for the party are done. The tables are beginning to groan with the plenitude of food brought out to stave off hunger . . . the local Hobbit families continue to arrive, and all of them have brought a special dish or two to share at the party. The staff from the Inn has already brought out great platters of meats and cheeses and baskets of bread for sandwiches along with mustards of all sorts and pickles. Mushroom pasties, jam tarts, and cookies of all sorts.

A number of the kegs have been tapped and tried, much to the satisfaction the thirsty crowds. For those who don't care for ale at the moment, there are pitchers of cold cider, tea, wine of all sorts, and of course, sweet, cold well water.

The three local grannies - Granny Chubb, Granny Oldbuck, and Granny Heathertoes have made their special punch – only for the women at the party. They are fending off, with their stout wooden stirring paddles, those bold lads who try to slip in and steal a taste.

Mayor Samwise and his wife, Rose, and a number of their brood (up to baby Daisy) have arrived for the party and are mingling with the guests.

[Envinyatar]

There were whispers as he passed by many of the merry little groups of people who stood about chatting and eating and listening to the music. ‘That’s him, the one what’s getting handfasted; the big fella there in the black breeches and black leather vest,’ one whispered to an acquaintance who’d come in from Waymeet. ‘Was in the war, so I heard,’ another said. ‘. . . traveled a lot after, what with his family getting kilt and all.’

And further along, near the keg of stout came, ‘Yes, I knew him when he first come here,’ an old timer at the Inn said with authority. ‘All raggle taggle with bright eyes and a crazy sort of smile that made you wonder if he were all right in the head.’ A crony of the old fellow passed round his pouch of pipeweed, nodding at what his mate had said. ‘It was that Elf who was the Innkeeper,’ he turned to his companion, ‘you remember her? Mistress Piosenniel. She settled him in, sanded off his rough edges, so’s he couldn’t roll away so easily.’ He tamped his bowl and lit it, drawing in the sweet smoke, a satisfied look on his face. Grasping the bowl in his big fist, he pointed the bit at his friend, emphasizing his next point. ‘Thought he might just up and marry her, the way he mooned over her. But she set his head straight, the Elf did.’ He laughed, wiping the tears of merriment from his eyes. ‘And don’t it beat all, but she found him someone to set his hopes on . . .’

Derufin, lingering near enough to hear the Hobbits talking, grinned and shook his head at this telling of the story. It was true enough, save for the fact he would not characterize his friendship with Piosenniel as “mooning”. Then, thinking on it further, he laughed out loud. ‘But no doubt she would!’ he said to himself.

A soft touch on his arm and a familiar voice made him turn from his eavesdropping. It was Zimzi. She had come up behind him and now stood wondering who and what he was talking to himself about and what was so funny about it all. He drew her close for a moment, kissing her lightly on the brow. ‘I’ve just been reminded,’ he said smiling, ‘how we came to meet each other. How we were so “fortunately” thrown into each others’ company.’

Zimzi leaned back from him, her hands clasped in his. She chuckled and shook her head, remembering her old friend’s insistence that ‘it would be good to travel a bit, now wouldn’t it. And really, you should come to the Shire for a visit. Very interesting place. Nice folk.’ She gave Derufin’s hand a squeeze. ‘Conniving little minx, she was. Just like her to contrive some plan then finagle all the players til the outcome was to her satisfaction!’

‘And bless her for doing so!’ he whispered, kissing her again.

They walked about the yard together, arm in arm, greeting those they knew already and meeting those others new to them. They were easy in each other’s company, a gracious pair. And today a certain sense of merry delight in each other extended out to take all those they spoke with into its circle.

And in turn they were twined into the fabric of the little community. Approving whispers wove them into the Shire's gentle pattern, defining whispers followed in their wake.

‘. . . That’s them; the ones what’s getting tied together today . . . and don’t they just make a pretty pair . . . heard they were settling down in the old groundskeeper’s cottage . . . my boy helped Mister Derufin with the fixin’ up of it . . . you know they added a extra room, don’t ya? . . . plenty o’ space for the little lads and lasses that’ll be coming along . . . And did you see the gardens that’s been put in . . . sure we’ll be seeing flowers to rival those in Miz Rose’s back yard . . . I heard she makes pots and bowls and mugs and all other sorts of fancy stuff from clay right out from the banks of The Water . . . Well, yes, she does, and my own Daisy's got clever hands, Miz Zimzi says, and’s been learning the craft, she has . . .’

[Firefoot]

The corners of Nick's mouth turned upwards in a watery smile. Shimshin had not abandoned him after all! He had simply gotten trapped in a locked room. Tentatively, Nick reached up to pet the monkey's shiny black fur. It wasn't soft, exactly, but it was comforting at any rate.

"You wouldn't leave me, would you, Shimshin?" he asked. Shimshin cocked his head at Nick, and Nick knew he was listening. Suddenly, he began to giggle; Shimshin's long tail was trailing down his back, and it tickled. Shimshin made a chirping noise - Nick thought it sounded like laughter. Comforted and emboldened, Nick thought that he would try the steps now. He stood up slowly, careful not to disturb the monkey on his head. Shimshin sat securely as Nick began to make his way back down the hallway, but hopped off once he reached the stairs. Nick was disappointed but also glad since he was not very steady going down anyway. He took it one step at a time, holding tightly to the rail that was just above his eye level, and soon he had reached the bottom.

When he found that Shimshin had not followed, he called out to him: "Come on, Shimshin!" After a moment's hesitation the monkey sprang nimbly onto the railing and came down that way, tail weaving in and out for balance. From the end of the railing Shimshin jumped onto Nick's shoulders, knocking Nick slightly off balance. Shimshin did not weigh very much, but Nick was after all a very small, young hobbit.

"Where should we go now?" Nick asked Shimshin amiably. "Maybe we should find Willy, huh? He went chasing after the cat. I don't know what happened then. He left me, and you found me. I wonder what Willy did to the cat? ..." So Nick began chatting with the monkey, who was clearly listening, even adding soft chirps and clicks. Nick was more confident going through the Common Room this time around, though he still stuck to the edges and tried to remain unnoticed. Had he been paying attention he would have seen that people had noticed him, smiling at the little hobbit lad with the monkey on his shoulders.

Outside, Nick found immediately who he had been looking for. "Willy!" he cried. Shimshin started a little at the loud noise and Nick could feel him tense.

"Oh, good, I found you," said Willy, clearly relieved. Nick frowned - he had found Willy, not the other way around. "And you found Shimshin too. Mr. Seamus has been looking for him. You wait here and hold Shimshin, okay? I'll go find him," continued Willy, and not waiting for Nick's reply hurried off in search of Seamus. Now Nick had no intention of "holding Shimshin." Shimshin was his friend, not his prisoner, and if the monkey wanted to leave, he could. Nick might even go with him, and he told Shimshin as much - Shimshin understood, Nick knew. He was finding that, though he adored Willy, he rather preferred Shimshin's company.

Willy, in the meantime, was extremely thankful not only for finding Nick but also for finding something to do. After all, he reasoned, he was helping... just not in the sense that old Gammer Oldbuck had intended. He snuck a glance her way; she wasn't watching him any more. Willy was having some trouble finding Seamus - both of them were moving, and several more people had arrived since the beginning of the party (including, he thought, that pair of hobbits from Bree. Interesting folk, them - were all "Outsiders" like them?)

Finally, he spotted Seamus, who was at the moment looking up a tree for the now-unlost Shimshin.

"Mr. Seamus, Mr. Seamus!" called Willy. The man turned and smiled in recognition. "Me and Nick found Shimshin! Nick has him around by the front of the Inn."

[Arry]

Gil nudged Tomlin as they saw Ferdy and his Da come walking toward them, mugs in hand. ‘A song,’ he cried to his mates. ‘Ferdy’s here!’ With a glint in his eye, Gil nodded at Ferdy, then raised his chin to where Ginger was keeping the children entertained. The sun shone down on her reddish curls and her cheeks were red from the games they’d been playing. She had them gathered about her now, and they were weaving a crown of flowers.

As I walk'd thro' the meadows
To take the fresh air,
The flowers were blooming and gay;
I heard a fair damsel so sweetly asinging
Her cheeks like the blossom in May.

Said I, Pretty maiden, how came you here
In the meadows this morning so soon?
The maid she replied: For to gather some may,
For the trees they are all in full bloom.

Said I: Pretty maiden, shall I go with you,
To the meadows to gather some may?
O no, sir, she said, I would rather refuse,
For I fear you would lead me astray.

Then I took this fair maid by the lilywhite hand;
On the green mossy bank we sat down;
And I placed a kiss on her sweet rosy lips,
While the small birds were singing around.

And when we arose from the green mossy bank,
To the meadows we wander'd away;
I placed my love on a primrose bank
While I pick'd her a handful of may.

Then early next morning I made her my bride,
That the world might have nothing to say;
The bells they did ring and the birds they did sing,
And I crown'd her the sweet Queen of May.

As the song finished, Ferdy raised his mug again to his friends and shook his head at their cheeky behavior. ‘Alright, I surrender . . . now let’s hear another one, you lot . . .’

[Tevildo]

Tevildo threaded his way across the Common Room with Mushroom following close behind him. The two cats navigated in and out of the clusters of visitors. Some of these guests were standing and talking, while others sat listening to the music or sampling the contents of several wooden casks. The pair managed to avoid getting entangled in all the feet and long legs and finally came to the very end of the room where there was more space to walk.

"You go first!" Tevildo urged. "Slink along the wall and cut over to the window on the opposite side. You'll find a fine table sitting there: a magnificent specimen of a table with lovely legs to scratch." To the others in the room, their conversation sounded nothing more than a series of "meows" puntuated with a sharp howl or two.

Mushroom twitched her tail and scornfully replied, "Why should I go that far? There are plenty of tables right here to scratch." She whisked around and eyed a nearby piece of furniture that was no more than two feet in front of her nose.

"But this table is different," Tevildo assured her.

"Different?"

"Definitely!"

"How so?"

Tevildo snorted, "It's just the sort of table your master would never want you to touch or scratch. Very fine and old, with intricate designs carved in the legs. The sort of table you'd put in the front drawing room of a very fine home."

"But then," he observed, wrinkling his nose in distaste, "you may not be used to such a fine piece of furniture coming from a poor hole in the ground as you do. It's probably best if you leave such things to me." Tevildo arched his back standing his soft, fluffy fur on end, and acted as if he was about to prance off on his own.

Mushroom turned and snarled, "Hold your tongue, outsider. I live in the grandest house in the Shire, a place of considerable comfort and luxury. My two leggeds rule this place, and I am quite familiar with fine tables. You are just lucky I don't decide to throw you out of here on your tail." With those final threatening words, she scurried over to the table and abruptly sat upright on her haunches, reaching out with velvet paws as she unsheathed a set of sharp pointed claws.

"All right, Tevildo. Let's see if you can scratch as good as you can meow!" She glared back at him over her shoulder. With that the grey tabby began vigorously scratching at the left front leg of the table. Tevildo came up and positioned himself in front of the other front leg, and systematically began sharpening his claws against the fine wood grain of the table.

[piosenniel]

Cook and the Mayor

Cook had finally given the baby back, saying she needed to change into her own party dress. Rose had been found a seat in the shade amidst a group of other ladies and none too far from the Grannies’ punch bowl. Ginger and her other children were in her field of view, and Rose could hear them laughing as they played a game of tag. ‘I’ll be just fine here, dear,’ she said smiling up at Sam, as he ruffled the wispy curls on Daisy’s little head. ‘Just fetch me a small cup of the punch,’ she continued, ‘then you go about your business.’

Sam nodded and went to the large wooden ‘punchbowl’. After much pleading and pointing toward where Rose sat waving to him, Granny Chubb accorded him the honor of a small mug of brew for the missus. ‘Now, I’m counting on your honor, Master Samwise, to deliver this without stealing a taste.’ ‘Mayor and hero, or not,’ the others chorused, ‘we’ve got our eye on you!’ Sam held the cup high in the air as he walked back to his wife, not wanting the least impropriety to mar the day. And then, just as he brought it down to hand to Rose, he mimed him bringing it to his own lips for a taste. Rose laughed and rescued the undrunk cup from his grip, holding it up triumphantly to the Grannies. Sam gave them an impish look as he nodded his head toward the three. ‘Does smell good, Rose,’ he said, watching her sip at the golden liquid with its reddish tints. ‘And tastes even better,’ laughed Rose again, draining the last drop. She settled Daisy against her as the baby drowsed. Winking at Sam, she began to tap her foot to the music that was playing. ‘Save a dance for me later, my dear,’ she said, then shooed him away.

By the time he had found his was to the keg of nut brown ale and grabbed up a thick ham sandwich, Cook had come back out to join the party. She hailed him, motioning him to come join her at one of the tables set up in the yard. News of the Shire was exchanged between the two and an accounting of the comings and goings at the Inn was given by Cook and tucked away securely by Sam. He liked to know what sorts of people were traipsing through the Shire and what they were up to and any other sort of tidbit of information Cook had managed to ferret out about them.

Another half pint later, and one for Cook, and they got round to the business of the day. ‘Now we thought they’d stand over there just at the edge of the grass,’ Cook said, ‘neath that little bower of elms. It’s not too far from the dancing area, and once you’ve tied their wrists it’ll be but a step or two out for them to start their first dance together as mister and missus.’ She looked over the rim of her mug at Sam. ‘You’ve brought the twine, haven’t you?’ He patted the upper pocket in his coat and nodded as his fingers felt the little bulge there. ‘Now from what I could get out of Miz Zimzi, their words to each other will be short. And, oh . . . they’ve got rings for each other, so don’t go tying them up until they’ve put them on, mind you.’ Sam raised his brow as she Cook gave her ‘instructions’ then the features on his face gentled. She just wanted things done right, and what’s wrong with that, he thought to himself. ‘I’ll mark that well, Miz Bunce,’ he told her. ‘Rings before twine.’

‘Let’s give the eaters and drinkers a little while longer before we do the little ceremony,’ Cook said, looking about the yard with a grin at the party-goers. She liked to see people enjoying her cooking. ‘I’ll just go talk to Derufin and Zimzi about it.’

‘And how will I know we’re all ready,’ Sam said, his voice a bit mumbly as he tucked into a substantial, flaky, tater and mushroom pasty. He took a swallow of ale to wash it down as he waited for Cook’s answer.

She thought for a moment, then spied the dessert table. ‘That’s it! You’ll know it’s time to start when I bring out the cake . . .’

[Lalwendë]

Jinniver was now wearing her best dress and again she had a shawl clutched firmly about her shoulders. The shawl was her best one, woven into a checked pattern from soft wools in red tones. She wore it to cover herself up and save her from blushing, just as she had worn a shawl on the night her brother had turned up. She had noticed a few faces from Bree, and she suddenly felt self conscious about being near them while dressed in her finery. Yet the shawl helped with more than her confidence, it had also caught the excessive amount of crumbs from all the mushroom pasties she had tucked into.

She had already taken a full tankard of ale, jostling with the Hobbit lads to get to the barrels, but when she saw the punch bowl she had to try some. It was a delicious brew, and she could see why it was being kept for the female guests; the boisterous Hobbit lads preferred to sink their drinks quickly and seemed to barely taste them. Still, there was so much laughter now that it rang in her ears.

The punch made Jinniver feel light headed and she leaned against an Elm, fanning her red face with a corner of her shawl. How was she going to last through this if she felt so hot already? She resolved to keep away from the punch bowl, thinking how Hobbits must have been made of stronger stuff than she thought. As she lit her pipe, someone caught her eye.

Looking straight across towards where she was standing, was a stout, well-dressed Hobbit with a familiar face. It didn't take her long to realise it was the famous Samwise, Gardener and Adventurer and she couldn't take her eyes off him. "So there he is, the best gardener The Shire ever produced". She was rooted to the spot in the presence of the famous green-fingered Hobbit; the stories of his adventures were not what fascinated her, it was his reputation with plants which held her in awe. Wondering if he had seen the garden she had made, her face started to go red again, and she decided to go and check if it was looking perfect, just one more time.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Passing by the door of the Inn, the Innkeeper paused on the step and took a quick look around the garden and had just spied Mayor Samwise when another sight caught her gaze from inside the busy Inn Common Room. Her eyes widened in horror and she glanced around quickly to make sure Cook hadn't set her sights upon the abominous deeds occuring in the corner.

The finely carved table, procurred from those swalliwag travellers for not paying...
...was shortly about to be rendered worthless by two walking balls of hair.

Aman gave a quiet, frustrated groan and made her way across the room, and sharpish too, not to put too fine a point on it. Arriving at table, she glared distastefully down at the two cats, who replied with disdainful yellow gazes. She noted that one was indeed the male cat, the one that the Innkeeper had previously come to a wary sort of standoff with due to the fact that Cook had become determined that the cat was going to stay, despite Aman's best efforts. It wasn't even a flaming mouser, for crying out loud. All it did was laze about and stroll around with that arrogant gaze...yes, that one, the one it was fixing on Aman now as it raised itself onto it's hind legs, it's front paws delicately resting on the table as it gave an innocent miaow.

"Don't you dare," Aman grinded quietly between her teeth. Tevildo seemed to smile, then started to rake his claws down the table leg. That was it: Aman hissed at the cat and flapped a hand near to him as if she was going to smack him. "Scat!" she hissed softly. Tevildo, wisely, scat.

She turned to the female cat, expecting it to follow - and hereby encountered a problem. This wasn't just the usual stray: this was the mayor's cat. Aman glared at it evilly, wondering if by pure willpower she could make it move. "Scat!" she hissed...without the same results as with Tevildo. The cat looked at her patronisingly, then sat down, watching the Innkeeper as if fascinated. Aman glared venemously at the cat again, and tried again, with even less success this time: there wasn't even a reaction. Looking around guiltily, the Rohirrim woman prodded at the cat uncertainly with one foot. "Go on, it's my table, not yours, move, you stupid ball of-" The cat swiped at her leg with a set of razor sharp claws. Aman's foot recoiled sharply, and her fists clenched as she fought the urge to clutch at her shin. She narrowed her eyes and, without a second's hesitation, bent down and scooped up the cat.

"Good morning, Miss Aman, I was hoping to find you! Ah, I see you've met our Mushroom..."

Aman spun around guiltily, caught red-handed - literally: the cat's claws were digging into the back of her left hand. She smiled widely - she was genuinely pleased, but wished the timing was slightly better... "Mayor Samwise, welcome to the Green Dragon!"

And your cat is slowly trying to seperate my fingers from my palm...

"Yes, I have...met your cat," she continued, trying not to wince. "Right little minx!" She grinned at the mayor ruefully and rubbed the cat hard on the head, maybe with a little added revenge. Thankfully, Sam didn't seem to notice, and smiled with her. Aman put the cat down on the floor and, resisting the unpolitically sound urge to kick it in return for the scratches on her leg and the piercings on her hand, she covered the marks with her other hand and turned back to Sam - but not before she noticed the baleful look that the cat sent her before it scat, it's tail haughty and high, no doubt to find that no-good moggy Tevildo. Aman turned back to Sam and suggested they go out into the sun. "Have you seen Derufin and Zimzaran yet today, Mr Gamgee?"

"I haven't yet, no - haven't spied head nor tail of the lucky chap yet today!" Samwise smiled as they walked outside into the sunshine together. Aman tried to hold back her wicked grin. "The groom is...probably just getting himself prepared," she answered evenly.

Sam laughed, his eyes sparkling with the good humour and earnestness that he was so well known for. "Indeed, Aman, indeed."

Aman smiled with him, then changed the subject, chatting idly, her right hand held all the while over the oozing, painful scratches on the back of her left. "How is your family, Samwise? I haven't seen them for quite some time - is it five now? Or six?"

Sam's eyes twinkled and he smiled at her with a hint of mischief. "A few more than that, Aman..." he replied, taking her arm and leading her towards where Rose, and motioning his hand towards where Ginger sat with a regular tribe of little Gardners...

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger with Sam and Rose's children

From where she sat Ginger could see the goings on where the food and drink tables were set and where the band was playing. Sam and Rose’s children sat near her; Hamfast and Goldilocks on her knees leaning up against her, touching the little ivy leaves and red hawthorn berries she was weaving into a chain. The others were busy with small chains of their own, the older children helping the younger. Once long enough she would tie their chains for them and they could wear their pretty and handsome crowns. Her own she was making for Miz Zimzi to wear, a fitting circlet for such a pretty lady.

She looked up just as the band had finished their song. Why there was Ferdy! She waved at him when he looked her way, and he in turned raised his mug to her and smiled. Elanor, a quite precocious young lass, looked from one to the other, missing nothing. ‘Ooh,’ she said, poking her brother Frodo in the ribs. ‘I think they like each other!’ Frodo lad, for his part, rolled his eyes at his sister’s comment. ‘Can I have some of those berries?’ he asked, changing the subject.

[Tevildo]

"Good job, Mushroom." Tevildo purred in admiration and began kneading his front paws against the thick sheepskin mat that stood in front of the hearth. He had to admit that Mushroom had done an excellent job getting back at the annoying Innkeeper who had earlier chased him away from the table. The woman obviously had poor taste and no appreciation of cats!

He continued his kneading motion for several minutes and then stopped abruptly, cautiously surveying the perimeter of the room. Aman was still deep in conversation with various two-leggeds who apparently belonged to Mushroom's family. Since there were a great many of these hobbits in varying sizes, it appeared that the Innkeeper would be kept busy for some time.

Mushroom slunk up to Tevildo's shoulder and whispered in his ear, "That was a really lovely table!"

Tevildo stood his tail upright and puffed out with pride. "I think the path is clear again," he added, gesturing with his head in the direction of the table.

"This time, let's try the back legs. We can scratch there, and no one will notice."

Tevildo nodded in agreement, and the two cats slunk off in tandem. Within a few moments they were again scratching, this time at the rear legs of the table.