The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling had spent most of the day moving tables and avoiding Aman. The former task had left him with little more than sore arms and a sweaty back, while the latter had left him jumpy. He knew that he had to confront the girl soon, and to tell her that there was simply no hope of their ever being together, but now was not the time. He caught sight of her from time to time, seeing to the preparations and dealing with the many thousand details that attended all such gatherings. At the moment she was fending off a cat and speaking with Master Samwise. Snaveling recognised the Mayor easily from the many likenesses of him that adorned the newer buildings of Minas Tirith, as well as from the careful description of him given by the Lord Elessar. It had been at his last meeting with the King before he rode north that Elessar had told Snaveling that if his travels should bring him to the Shire he should bear to the Great Ones (as he had called them) the King’s personal greeting and love. Snaveling had wondered at the charge, and – seeing this – the King had suggested that speaking with those who had done such deeds despite their relative unimportance would be of benefit to him. Snaveling had not understood then what the King meant, and he did not know, but he suspected that it had something to do with the humility that the King felt lacking in his distant kinsman.

Snaveling decided that any greeting to the Mayor could wait – in particular until he was no longer speaking with Aman. Instead, he turned to find the Elven woman he had seen about the place. He had immediately noticed her, prodded on in part by his memories of his old friend Galadel, who had been of such importance in his transformation at his first visit. But the primary reason he had for seeking the Elven woman out was the hope of news – news of Roa. She had undoubtedly travelled on paths and by ways that were closed or hidden to such as him, or so secretly contrived that very few could find them, and had perhaps founds news of Roa that had escaped him. All the same, he doubted that the Ranger would have used any such paths, if indeed such existed, for there would be no need to do so. Unless he admitted to himself Roa were hiding from something – or from someone. From me. Shaking the thought from his mind he sought about for the Elf.

She was not hard to find, for her voice rose high and clear above those of the lesser folk who had gathered about her. Snaveling was conscious of his appearance as he approached her. He had taken some care in his clothes and now looked much better than he had this morning. His hair was now brushed and lustrous in the sun, and the rubbish had been removed from his clothes. He had removed his ragged cloak and replaced it with a relatively new on of Kendal green that matched the rest of his black raiment. His face still bore the scraggly beard of his travels, but he had done his best to smooth out the tangles. As he got closer to where the Elven woman sat talking with a hobbit lass he was happy to see another Elf nearby. He wondered that he had not noticed her earlier, but then quickly recognised her from the earlier performance. The taller of the two looked at him as he approached and smiled questioningly. Snaveling bowed to the three, saying. “I am sorry if I interrupt your conversation, ladies.”

“Not at all,” the tall Elf reassured him. Then she added, penetratingly, “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Perceptive are the eyes of the Fair folk,” Snaveling replied. “I might reply quite honestly that the company of such folk would be enough for me to intrude, but I must admit I have a particular matter that I wish to pursue with you. But time enough for that in a moment. First, allow me to introduce myself. I am a Man of the South, and kinsman to the King Elessar. I am Tar-Corondir in the realm of Gondor, but in these parts I am known as Snaveling.” And then he added, in the manner taught to him by the King, “Elen
sila lumenn' omentielvo” and hoped that he got the pronunciation correct.

The Elf woman smiled at him and her eyes twinkled like the stars that Snaveling had hoped for. Rising she greeted him in return, saying “You do us honour with the tongue of the Eldar, Tar-Corondir. I am called Mithalwen, and these my friends are Caity and Rasputina. We were taking a brief rest and I, for my part, am learning the ways of handfasting in this land.”

Snaveling bowed to each of the ladies in turn then said, “I do not wish to intrude. If you wish I can return later and ask you my questions then.”

[Encaitare]

Caity eyed the Man who had just joined them. She had seen him about previously, but now he seemed to have cleaned up a bit; his hair was neat and he wore a rich green cloak.

"Nonsense, Mister Snaveling," she said, smiling and deciding that he met her approval. "Please, join us -- if you don't mind sitting on the grass, that is!" She looked from him to her two elven companions, and then continued, "Unless, of course, this is business which does not include simple Hobbits; if such is the case, I will certainly take my leave. I can always use a little more time to practice with the band."

[piosenniel]

The scene in the Green Dragon Inn’s front yard at present . . .

It's a warm, sunny day in the Shire – mid-afternoon.

Preparations for the party are done. The tables are groaning 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. Ginger has volunteered to watch over the main part of the Gardner brood, while Rose and baby Daisy are seated with some other local ladies, enjoying the Grannie’s punch, watching the crowds, and listening to the music. Sam is mingling with the crowd before the ceremony begins.

Gil and his friends, Tomlin, Fallon, and Ferrin are playing and singing on the raised stage near the front of the Inn. They are intermittently joined by Falco Headstrong, Rasputina, Caity, Seamus, and Owen.

[Arry]

Derufin and Zimzi are serenaded . . .

‘Well, now, look who’s coming over!’ Ferrin stood up from the Inn’s steps where he and his companions were talking and joking with Ferdy. The others stood up, too, and opened up their little circle to invite the man and woman in. ‘And aren’t you the lucky one to have this lovely lady on your arm,’ Gil said shaking Derufin’s hand. Zimzi smiled at the compliment and bent down quickly to give the Hobbit a kiss on his crown. ‘For the fair words and the sweet song earlier, Master Gil.’

Tomlin nudged Ferdy as Ferrin and Fallon shook their heads in a knowing manner. ‘Thank goodness you’ve already asked her to marry you,’ said Tomlin, in a loud whisper to Derufin. ‘Look how he’s gone all moony!’ Derufin laughed and pulled Zimzi a bit closer. ‘What’s this I hear,’ he said fixing Gil with his eyes. ‘You’ve been singing to my lady?’

Gil flushed and for once was at a loss for words, but Zimzi jabbed Derufin lightly in the side, turning to face him. ‘He sings quite well . . . and well, you don’t . . .’ Derufin’s brows raised. ‘I’ve heard you singing to the horses, you’ll remember.’

‘How about we sing them that song we worked up for the occasion?’ Ferrin had run quickly to where they’d left their instruments. Gil’s concertina was under one arm, the two fiddles in each hand, and his own hand drum balanced on his head. He motioned to Falco to bring his whistle. ‘I think you’ll know the tune – it’s The Star of County Down. We’ve changed the words a bit . . . for the couple, you know,’ he said nodding toward where Derufin and Zimzi stood talking with the others.

They stood on the steps, with Gil in front. Tomlin and Fallon opened with a playthrough on their fiddles of the chorus, then Gil came in on his concertina, repeating the chorus once again with Falco’s piping weaving in and out. Ferrin kept up the beat with his little drum and the counter tapping of his foot.

With a nod to the couple who stood listening, Gil sang out in his fair voice . . .

Near Bywater town, in the County Down
One morning in July
Down a pathway green came a sweet colleen
And she smiled as she passed me by.
She looked so sweet from her two white feet
To the sheen of her nut-brown hair
Such a coaxing elf, I shook myself
To make sure I was standing there.

* From Belfalas Bay up to Mithlond Quay
And from Greenholm to Rushy town
No maid I've seen like the sweet colleen
That I met in the County Down.

As she onward sped I shook my head
And I gazed with a feeling rare
And I said, says I, to a passerby
"who's the maid with the nut-brown hair?"
He smiled at me, and with pride says he,
"That's the gem of Lindon’s crown.
She's Zimziran from the banks of the Lune
She's the star of the County Down."

* From Belfalas Bay up to Mithlond Quay
And from Greenholm to Rushy town
No maid I've seen like the sweet colleen
That I met in the County Down.

I've traveled a bit, but never was hit
Since my roving career began
But fair and square I surrendered there
To the charms of Zimziran.
I'd a heart to let and no tenant yet
Did I meet with in shawl or gown
But in she went and I asked no rent
From the star of the County Down.

* From Belfalas Bay up to Mithlond Quay
And from Greenholm to Rushy town
No maid I've seen like the sweet colleen
That I met in the County Down.

At the crossroads fair I'll be surely there
And I'll dress in my Sunday clothes
And I'll try sheep's eyes, and deluding lies
On the heart of the nut-brown rose.
No pipe I'll smoke, no horse I'll yoke
Though with rust my plow turns brown
Till a smiling bride by my own fireside
Sits the star of the County Down.

* From Belfalas Bay up to Mithlond Quay
And from Greenholm to Rushy town
No maid I've seen like the sweet colleen
That I met in the County Down.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling put out a hand as though to stay the hobbit lass. “No, do not go. It is true that my queries have to do with matters beyond the borders of the Shire, but I would not have you leave on that account. I have been to this land before and I am well acquainted with the folk of it. One of them,” he decided it best not to name Toby, “I account my greatest friend. And if these are not reasons enough to prevent my discourtesy to you, I have been urged by my King to seek out the company of Halflings whenever possible, for he feels that I have much to learn from you.”

Caity looked surprised at this. “The King said that, did he?” she asked. “Well I can’t imagine what the likes of us could have to teach a Man like you. Are you really kinsman to the King?”

“We are of the same lineage, I am told, but the connection is one so distant in time that it hardly bears the title of kinship. The King could easily forswear me, but for his nobility and the honour of his line. I have myself only recently become aware of the relation. Do not let the richness of my clothes – travel-stained as they may be – fool you into thinking that I am a grand Man of the Court. I am from somewhat more…humble circumstance. My own land is not all that different from the Shire, really, although it has been long since I lived there. But do not let me interrupt your conversation, my own questions can wait. You were, I believe speaking of the handfasting that is to take place today?”

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen was intrigued by the man of Gondor who had introduced himself and so wished to know what he asked. " I have learnt a little of their customs - which indeed are somewhat different to those of my own people - although weddings happen seldom now among us ".

She smiled gently at Snaveling for she deemed that the mortal had suffered strange reverses of fortune. "Tar-Corondir, tell me what you would ask and I will aid you if I may - though I know not what service I might offer a kinsman of the King of the Atani - for I possess no such rank or status among my own people. I am merely an artisan." She dropped her head a little embarrassed. If this man was at the Court of Elessar the elves he would have met would have been elf-lords from Rivendell and so forth.

[Ealasaide]

Seamus stood under a large tree at the back of the inn’s yard, gazing hopefully up into the branches for some glimpse of Shimshin. He held up over his head the small bowl of honey that Owen had fetched from the kitchen in the hopes of drawing Shimshin down, but so far the only thing Seamus had drawn was a pair of green-tailed flies. He waved them away. Just then, a small voice broke through his thoughts.

"Mr. Seamus, Mr. Seamus!"

Turning, Seamus smiled in recognition as the older of the two hobbit boys he had asked to keep an eye on Shimshin rushed over to him.

"Me and Nick found Shimshin!” the boy panted. “Nick has him around by the front of the Inn."

Seamus’ grin broadened instantly. “Oh, say, Willy, that’s jolly good,” he answered with enthusiasm. “I knew you fellows were right for the job of watching him! Now... where did you say he is?”

“Nick has him by the front of the inn,” Willy repeated, already breaking back in that direction.

Seamus balanced the dish of honey between a small fork of branches and left it there for the flies and their relations to enjoy. Following Nick, he wiped his fingers on his pocket handkerchief as he walked. “That’s the thing about honey,” he said to no one in particular. “No matter how careful you are, you always end up sticky with it!”

“Yes, sir,” said Willy agreeably. As they rounded the corner of the building, he stopped and pointed toward the front door. “There’s Shimshin now!”

The two of them trotted over to where Nick waited with Shimshin seated comfortably on his shoulder. When he caught sight of Seamus, Shimshin jumped off the little hobbit boy’s shoulder and ran to the tall man, climbing up his long leg, over his jacket, and on to his shoulder. Reaching his accustomed perch on Seamus’ shoulder, Shimshin curled his long tail loosely around the man’s neck. One little hand took a firm hold of Seamus’ ear.

Seamus laughed happily at the greeting. “Well, hello, Shimshin!” he exclaimed, stroking the tip of the monkey’s furry tail with his finger. “I’m glad to see you, too.” Seamus then knelt down so that he might better talk to the two boys.

“You’ve done a jolly good job of keeping an eye on him,” he said. “He hasn’t gotten into any mischief has he?”

Both Nick and Willy shook their heads, but Willy grinned. “Not except for making that big lady faint.”

Seamus looked worried. “I must have missed that. Is she all right, I hope?”

Willy nodded. “Yeah...” he leaned forward, lowering his voice. ”I think she was faking anyway.”

“Oh, well, that’s good.” Seamus let out a breath he had not even realized he was holding. “He’s such a harmless little fellow, but people don’t always know how to react to him.”

“I like him,” said little Nick shyly.

“Well, you, Master Nick, are obviously a brave fellow and a fine judge of character,” Seamus announced kindly, letting his blue eyes twinkle at the little boy. Shimshin made an agreeable chuckling sound from Seamus’ shoulder and leaned forward, taking something out of his mouth as he did so. Whatever it was, he dropped it into Seamus’ shirt pocket. Then, the monkey jumped off of Seamus’ shoulder on to the ground beside Nick, where he sat down, wrapping his tail around his haunches. Just then, the music started again on the podium where Gil and his band had struck up a new version of Star of the County Down. Seamus looked anxiously over at the podium, then back at Shimshin and the two boys. Almost in response, Shimshin climbed back on to little Nick’s shoulder. Seamus hesitated. If he intended to play with the band during the handfasting and the party afterward, he knew he had better get back over there to the podium. On the other hand, he also needed to make sure that Shimshin stayed out of trouble.

“Say...” said Seamus, a new idea occurring to him. “How would you two like a job for the day? I haven’t got much money, but I’ll give you a ha'-penny apiece if you’ll keep an eye on Shimshin for Owen and me. Since you are such fast friends with him already, I shouldn’t think he would be much trouble. It wouldn’t have to be all the time... just while Owen and I are playing out instruments. Would you be interested in doing that?”

[Sapphire_Flame]

"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?"

Baradil grinned "A fine idea," he replied, and they made their way over to the group of hobbits gathered around the kegs.

"Could you spare a taste for two thirsty men?" Keleth asked the hobbits with a smile. Two mugs were promptly filled and handed to Keleth and Baradil, and they sat down at a nearby table.

"Ah, and here comes the happy couple," Keleth remarked, glancing at the door of the inn. Baradil looked and saw a man and woman, very clearly the betrothed, speaking with a group of hobbits.

"Happy indeed. Were they anything but happy today, I should think there was something wrong with them."

Keleth laughed and took a drink.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

“Do not believe, my lady, that I am anything more than I appear: a lone wanderer. What rank I have is due only to the kindness of the King. I am, in truth, a king as well, but my kingdom and people were lost long ago. As to your being an artisan, I lived in Minas Tirith long enough to see many works of Elvish art, brought there by the Fair Folk in homage to the Queen, and allow me to say that the honour due to Elvish artisans is greater than the status enjoyed by many a rich lord of Gondor!”

Mithalwen smiled at the compliment. “You seem strange to me, Man of Gondor. A king without a kingdom? One who has dwelt at Minas Tirith with the King and Queen, and yet claims to be a humble wanderer? I deem that there is a tale about you…”

“As there is about everyone, my lady. Mine is, perhaps, a strange one but it is not singular. The world is full of people who have enjoyed or suffered from changes of fortune and the coming of fate. Or doom. But the story is a long one, which I will tell you should you wish, when there is time for it. For now, I would be grateful if you – or your companions – could give me news of someone.”

His auditors perked up at this, for they could tell that Snaveling had finally come round to his point. He masked his fierce eagerness, but not well. To the Elves, at least, there was a fire in his eyes and voice that betrayed his manner. Even the Halfling could see that there was more to his query than he wanted to reveal. “I am looking for a woman,” he began. “Her name is Roa, of the Dunedain. She came north from Minas Tirith some weeks ago, and the last news I had of her places her upon the Greenway not far south of here. She is just below my own height with long red hair and sea-green eyes. She is fair and slender, and of a mirthful humour. She was fond of the Shire folk and would probably have come through here on her way.”

“Well, I haven’t seen anyone like the woman you describe,” Caity replied. “Are you sure she came through the Shire?”

“I am not sure of anything about her journeys past the Greenway,” Snaveling replied. “I have already sought for her here, and throughout the country hereabouts, but no sign nor tale can I find of her. I had hoped that perhaps you, my ladies,” he said to Mithalwen and Rasputina, “being of Elven kind, might have heard of her from other of your folk. Or, perhaps, you have met her or seen her pass upon some hidden way in the Wild, unknown to most Men? She was a Ranger in these lands for many years with the Lord Elessar and knows its paths much better than I. It is possible that she has traveled along roads that are hidden to me.”

It occurred to Mithalwen that perhaps the Ranger had a good reason for seeking paths unknown to this Man, but she said only, “I am afraid that I have seen no such woman, Tar-Corondir.” Then, after a brief pause she added innocently, “Why do you seek her?”

None of the women could fail to see the slight flush that ran along Snaveling’s brow at the question, nor mistake his faintly awkward manner as he replied to it. “She and I were traveling companions for a time, and I would like to see her again,” was all that he said.

[Envinyatar]

It was a sweet, slow song the lads were playing. Zimzi stood for a while, leaning against Derufin’s arm, as she listened. On impulse, she turned and curtsied to him a sly smile on her face. ‘A last dance, freely chosen, sir?’ she asked, extending her hand.

Derufin arched his brow at her. ‘So bold!’ He looked about, as if searching for someone. ‘Now where has my sweet Zimzi got to?’ he asked, winking at her. ‘We’re to be handfasted today, you know. I would not want her to see me dancing with a saucy lass such as yourself.’

They moved well together, enjoying the pleasure of each other’s company. Then Derufin stopped, feeling a little tug on his breeches.

‘Sir,’ a piping little voice called up to him as he looked down. ‘Mister Derufin,’ chirped another.

He and Zimzi broke apart, looking down at the two Hobbit children, a boy and girl, who stood peering up at them. ‘We’ve got something for the lady, the little boy said. He pointed over to where Ginger stood with his other brothers and sisters. All of them wore small ivy leaf crowns festooned with red berries, and Ginger held another one in her hand. ‘We made it for you. To wear today,’ the girl explained, her hand on Zimzi’s skirt.

Zimzi crouched down, smiling at the children. ‘Go and get it, then,’ she said, nodding toward where Ginger stood. The children crowded in about her, all wanting to help place their handiwork on her head. She bowed it low, steadying the leafy garland for them as they positioned it on her. They stepped back and looked at it, turning their heads this way and that. ‘You look pretty!’ little Pip cried, clapping his hands.

She was just in the midst of thanking them all when a deeper voice broke in.

‘Mistress Zimzi, Mister Derufin,’ said Sam, offering his hand to Derufin. ‘I see you’ve now met my children.’ He beamed at his brood and sent them all back to Ginger’s care, saying he supposed they should all have a jam tart or two for their good work. Sam stood watching them go, then turned back to the couple.

‘Well, I’m here to do the handfasting when you’re ready. Just thought I’d let you know. Brought my ledger, too. Get you put into it all proper like.’ He waved over to where Cook was standing, talking to one of the Bywater ladies. ‘Cook says if you’ll just let her know when you want it started, she’ll bring out the cake as a signal to me. I’ll get the crowd quieted down and then we can begin.’

‘A good plan,’ grinned Derufin. ‘A cake and a missus, what more could a man ask for?’ Zimzi laughed, calling him an oaf.

‘Right, then. How about we get a little ale and cider,’ said Sam, smiling. ‘And I’ll introduce you to my Rose.’

[piosenniel]

THE SCENE IN THE INN'S FRONT YARD AT PRESENT . . .

It's a warm, sunny day in the Shire – mid-afternoon.

Preparations for the party are done. All have put on their party clothes.

The tables are groaning 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. Ginger has volunteered to watch over the main part of the Gardner brood, while Rose and baby Daisy are seated with some other local ladies, enjoying the Grannie’s punch, watching the crowds, and listening to the music. Sam is mingling with the crowd before the ceremony begins.

Gil and his friends, Tomlin, Fallon, and Ferrin are playing and singing on the raised stage near the front of the Inn. They are intermittently joined by Falco Headstrong, Rasputina, Caity, Seamus, and Owen.

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

The short handfasting ceremony will take place tomorrow (real time) and the party will continue on after that.

~*~ Pio, Shire Moderator

[Witch_Queen]

Setting perched in a near-by tree, Avalon watched as the celebration continued. Taking a closer look at one of the tables, Avalon noticed too cats sharpening their claws on the table legs. Knowing that something was bound to go wrong, Avalon began flapping her wings and took flight, slowly gliding over to the table inside the inn.

Avalon figured she didn't need to scare the felines out of one of their lives. She didn't even know how many they both might have left. "Hello? Are you having fun?" Avalon watched as the cats went on digging their claws into the table. Forget it, I don't care if I scare them to "death." What they are doing is wrong. Figuring that her squawk would get their attention, Avalon took in a deep breath making her chest grow in size. Letting out a screech Avalon's voice remained soft but had power behind it. "Sorry about that. The names Avalon, and you two might be...."

[Fairleaf]

The sounds of the crowd grew louder as more people arrived at the Inn. Fairleaf attended to the various snatches of conversations as little groups passed by her. There were those who spoke quite simply and those who spoke quite grand. She listened in delight to the differences in cadence and tone and timbre. Sifting through her memory she remembered the sounds of different stands of trees as the wind caught them. Sparse leafed and thickly leafed, soft green-new leavess, and the thin scratchy voices of brown, winter leaves not yet fallen.

Another image, one closer to her wandering heart was that of roses. The smaller folk of this land with their bright, easy smiles, their open faces called to mind the hedgerows along the dirt lanes with their thick riot of wild, shrub roses. Crimsons and yellows and whites and lavenders. Just the hint of them as she rounded a bend made her smile in anticipation. The other roses, she thought, were more stately. The high bred flowers with their thick, smooth stems and their creamy petaled flowers, all furled until the warm sun’s light coaxed them to open. She glanced about the yard, noting several of these sort. They, too, were handsome, in their own way.

The band had begun another song, and some of the crowd, now replete with food and drink, took up partners, or entered singly, into a dance. She found her own rooty toes twitching to the lively rhythm. Even the Grannies had gathered in front of their vat to get a better view of the players and the dancers. Seizing the opportunity, Fairleaf moved slowly up from the back drop of trees ‘til she stood with an old oak that overarched the punch. Glancing about carefully for anyone looking her way, she lowered a slender branch tip toward the liquid . . .

. . . ah! . . . as I thought . . . delicious . . .

[Kuruharan]

Some distance away, a cart pulled into view. It was moving at a slow pace as if the driver was in no hurry (or perhaps it was the mule drawing the cart who was in no hurry). The cart was loaded with packages. The individual driving the cart could accurately be described as “stout.” Indeed, it would not be inaccurate to use the term “fat.” As a matter of fact, he was almost as wide as the bench he sat upon. This individual had a large brown beard spread over his knees. This was not unusual because this individual was a dwarf. He wore a simple blue tunic and at the moment looked like he was on the verge of falling asleep.

He roused himself and pulled the mule to a halt and then surveyed the scene before the inn for some moments. He looked so common and placid that nobody paid him much attention. The dwarf pulled out a small paper and read it. An expression of satisfaction appeared on his face. He opened a small chest beside him and pulled out a large package. Attached to the package was a large tag reading:

Entrusted to the Care of Fazi the Dwarf. To be Delivered to Hawthorne Brandybuck.

The dwarf flicked the reins to proceed to the inn. The mule did not move. Fazi flicked the reins again. The mule twitched its ear. Fazi let out a great sigh and climbed out of the cart. He walked to the head of the mule, seized the reins and tried to drag the mule forward. Several of those about the inn had noticed the commotion by this point and had taken it upon themselves to giggle quietly at the scene. Even after being dragged a few feet, he mule still refused to walk. The giggling grew louder.

The dwarf rolled his eyes and gave up. He turned and walked over toward his growing crowd of onlookers. “I beg your pardon,” he said politely, “I have a delivery to…er…deliver to one Hawthorne Brandybuck. I was instructed to bring it to her here. Does anyone know where she may be found?”

[Nurumaiel]

Falco played Star of the County Down with great delight, for it was a tune very familiar to him and one that he never tired of playing. It was a tune that could be sung fast or slow with equal beauty, and one that had no sound of the sorrow that pervaded many love songs. Rather the strain that Falco always detected was one of cockiness... and wasn't the lad in the song certain of winning the lass' heart? Well, he mused, that was all right, but it was best not to be too sure. Sometimes...

Gil's strong, clear voice gave a story to the tune, an emotion to the heart. The fiddles strained gently, sometimes following the melody, or sometimes veering off into sweet harmonies, one sounding high and the other sounding low. The concertina swelled up in the chorus and then dropped to a quieter pitch. When the last notes of the song faded away, Falco's eyes were soft and shining.

How sweet it was to see a fair lass come over a hill... he remembered the first time he saw her... she had come down a hill towards him, smiling at him -only her hair was black, not nut-brown- and his heart had been flung into a mixture of emotions... joy... shyness... love... and then she had gone on, and he gazed after her... and, oh! sweet moment! She cast a glance over her shoulder then and smiled at him again... he had learned her name... he met her at a hand-fasting, and they danced together... and one wildly blissful night when he escorted her home she kissed his cheek before she went in.

And then...

He stopped his thoughts there, but did not yet seem to be in the present. He was barely aware of the crowds of people, barely aware of the talented young lads who had allowed him to play. He was playing the whistle again, slowly, sadly. He was thinking of her soft eyes and curling hair. And he was thinking of the day when he thought his life was over, when he thought he would die. He was thinking of the false smile fixed upon his face when he watched her lift her eyes adoringly to another and pledge life-long love. But he did not think with bitterness. The bitterness had left long ago, and his memories were fond... and, on some days, when the black clouds hid the sun and the hard rain crushed his little flowers to the earth, he would remember with some sadness.

He began to sing then, his voice straining with the tone of one who sympathised... who understood... who knew.

I once loved a lass, and I loved her so well
that I hated all others that spoke of her ill.
But now she's rewarded me well for my love;
she is gone to be wed to another.

When I saw my love tie her hand to his,
with groom and friends they made a fine show.
And I follow the men with my heart full of woe
for now she is wed to another.

The mayor who wed them, aloud he did cry:
"All that forbid it I'd have you draw nigh."
Thought I to myself I'd have a good reason why,
though I had not the heart to forbid it.

When I saw my love a-sit down to dine
I sat down beside her and poured out the wine,
and I drank to the lass that should have been mine;
but now she is wed to another.

The men of yon forest, they ask it of me:
"How many strawberries grow in the salt sea?"
And I ask of them back with a tear in my eye:
"How many ships sail in the forest?"

So dig me a grave and dig it so deep,
and cover it over with flowers so sweet,
and I'll turn in for to take a long sleep,
and maybe in time I'll forget her.

So they dug him a grave, and they dug it so deep,
and they covered it over with flowers so sweet,
and he's turned in for to take a long sleep,
and maybe by now he's forgotten.

He finished his song and took a long, deep, shuddering breath. He had let himself be caught up in his memories. Too much, too much. He should have remembered that those days were past. He had sung with too much heart, with too much feeling. Yes, those days were past. Besides, he wasn't in any grave, covered with flowers so sweet or no.

"Well, lads," he said, putting a cheerful smile on his face and shaking aside those memories that sprang upon him, "that long song has quite dried my throat. What about another drink?"

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen wondered what had happened to separate the companions but that was clearly a question she could not ask and this mortal's mind was not open to her... she might find more by more conventional means.

"It is a great joy to meet again with old friends, and it is also a joy to meet new ones" she raised her cup and inclined her head in acknowledgement of her new aquaintances, but it is not likely that our paths would have crossed given the route you describe. I have come more or less directly from my home at Mithlond, and I rode the open road for the most - though I rested at Woody End yesterday, the Woodhall is the meeting palce of old of my people and the Dunedain use it also - but there I was alone and there was no sign of recent passers-by. " She smiled gently, remembering Snaveling's ill concealed emotion - I am on my way to Imladris where some of my kindred remain - the rangers go there still - I could send word to you of she is there" and if she is willing for me to do so

[Firefoot]

To Willy's surprise, it was Nick who piped up first. "I'll watch Shimshin for you," he answered, a hint of a dimpled grin showing on his face. Nick was finally coming to the conclusion that even though Seamus was a stranger, and one of the Big Folk besides, he was a nice man that could be trusted. This opinion was helped along quite a bit by Shimshin's association with the man.

"Don't worry, we'll make sure he doesn't get into trouble," chipped in Willy, who was nearly as interested in earning some money as spending time with the monkey, unlike Nick who was just young enough yet that the offer of payment had little effect.

"I'm sure you will," said Seamus, smiling. "Now, I really need to go play with the other musicians, okay?"

“Sure,” said Willy.

“Thanks, boys. I really appreciate this,” said Seamus, who, looking much relieved by having someone to watch Shimshin, hurried over to where the musicians were finishing up a rather sad-sounding song.

“Now what?” mused Willy, more to himself than Nick, who was waiting patiently for Willy. He had subconsciously begun to run his hand over Shimshin’s soft fur. He eventually ended up with his hand grasped loosely around the end of his tail, which Shimshin endured without fuss in the way animals have with young children. Willy realized that he was absolutely starving, having eaten nothing since breakfast. There was plenty of food.

“Come on, Nick,” said Willy. “Let’s go get something to eat.” Nick nodded and followed Willy over to the long tables laden with food. They moved along the line, sampling as they went, which was probably not the most polite or proper way to go about doing things. Needless to say, much of what they took was finger-foods. Upon reaching a large plate arranged with a variety of berries and fruits, Shimshin reached out a small hand. Nick grinned, asking, “You like berries, Shimshin?” He grabbed a handful for the monkey, who ate them happily. Willy finished up his ‘lunch’ with a ham and cheese sandwich and decided that he was full enough to last at least until the cake was brought out.

Willy began to wander off, Nick and Shimshin in tow, when he heard something that caught his attention: "The handfasting ceremony will be starting soon..." Willy did not have enough patience to sit through such an ordeal as handfasting (nor was he dressed for it - his coat had been ripped), but he did know that for the most part the ceremony would occupy everyone's attention. He would probably send Nick on, so that Shimshin would not be missed, but for himself he thought that it might be the perfect time to get a sneak peek at the cake, and maybe even a lick of frosting. . .

[piosenniel]

The mothers discuss the bride . . .

Zimzi had spied her mother talking with a number of ladies clustered about her. Or rather, her mother seemed more like the center of a large flower, the petals of which were the Hobbit wives and mothers all dressed in their colorful party finery. Zimzi blushed as she drew near them, hearing the things that mothers say to the one whose daughter is to be wedded.

‘Isn’t she just the prettiest,’ one said as the others nodded. ‘Very nice, too, for one of the Big Folk,’ put in another. ‘And I can just see why,’ came the rejoinder. ‘Why look at her mother so pretty herself and so gracious!’ Handkerchiefs had come out as the ladies recalled a number of their own daughters’ handfastings, followed by sniffs and then decisive nods as they recalled how good a catch they’d got. ‘And that Mister Derufin,’ commented one of the ladies who came to do laundry at the Inn once a week, ‘he’s a right good ‘un, that one. An easy laugh he’s got and a willing hand to help when needed.’ ‘Yes,’ said another, who’d worked as a server in the Inn for a bit. ‘And he eats like a Hobbit . . . quite fond of Cook’s stew, he is. Ate three bowls once.’ Approving nods followed this recommendation. One of the old Gammers spoke up in her quavery voice as she leaned on her yew-wood walking stick. ‘Good hips, your daughter.’ Zimzi’s mother looked at the old Hobbit, unsure how to respond. ‘Didn’t mean to offend, Missus. Raise me a few sheep, I do. She’s got those generous sort of hips what’re good for grandbabies . . .’

‘Ahem . . .’ Zimzi cleared her throat, making her presence known, before her mother or any others could respond. ‘I think we’ll start in just a few moments, Mother.’ She blushed deeper as the little group looked at her appraisingly. ‘Well, I’ll just go . . . make sure Cook . . . knows, ‘ she babbled, turning away to flee from their knowing looks.

Had she looked back, she would have seen her mother smiling like a cat got into cream. ‘Grandbabies,’ she murmured in a delighted tone, nodding back at the ladies. ‘I must tell you I’ve had thoughts on that very subject . . .’

[Child of the 7th Age]

For the tenth time that afternoon, Hawthorne had excused herself from the other partygoers and gone out onto the steps of the Dragon. She'd peered off down the road to the east, looking for any sign of a pony and cart. For one moment, her hopes had risen as she caught whiff of a cloud of dust and heard the distant rumble of wheels, but that had turned out to be a Hobbiton farmer who was bringing his wife and children to the handfasting. In any case, the cart was far too small. She was looking for a mid-sized wagon that had come an extraordinary distance to be here today.

Hawthorne had retreated back inside the Inn, and threw herself into other chores, trying to keep her mind off the expected delivery. For, as all hobbit lasses know well, a watched pot never boils, and he who looks for a delivery too impatiently is apt to get no delivery at all. She assured herself that the cart would soon be here. Uncle Merry had promised to send some extraordinary gifts for the happy young couple: things that were rarely seen in this portion of the world. And if he had made such a promise, he surely meant to keep it.

She busied herself with cleaning and polishing the glasses that had been returned to the kitchen for refills, when she suddenly saw a group of children scamper inside, giggling wildly. The youngest of the group, Lilac Goodbody, ran up to Hawthorne and began pushing her toward the door: "Come with us. It's the funniest thing. There's someone else here for the party. Only he's pretending to be a mule dragging a cart! He's ever so stout and funny looking. Not only that, but he's "in-between"---taller than a kuduk and shorter than the Big Folk, and his beard is almost as long as he is."

Hawthorne stared quizically down at Lilac as the meaning of the girl's words registered inside her head. This could only be one person: the dwarf Fazi, a resident of Dale who'd known Uncle Merry for some time. To the outside world, Fazi looked to be a very harmless individual. Indeed, he gave the impression of being a little inept and liable to fall asleep in odd moments. But, in reality, nothing could be further from the truth. Fazi was a dwarven trader who could beguile anyone with his cheerful ways and still come away with a better part of a bargain. He had excellent relations with all the dwarven craftsmen in Dale, those who worked in metals and springs and such, and could find the most amazing things. On top of that, he was a virtual repertory of dwarven lore and stories and someone who truly appreciated a party. She sprinted out the door to the courtyard, where Fazi had finally managed to drag both the cart and the donkey up to the stables, and was now asking to see Hawthorne.

She ran forward and gave the dwarf a curtsey, greeting him warmly. Then she immediately sprang to the business at hand. "You've brought it? The presents for the handfasted couple that Master Merry wanted sent?"

"Oh, yes," assured Fazi, wiping his brow with a handkerchief that was enormously large. "Here is the packet from Buckland: presents for the young couple and letters as well. One for you, and one for the Mayor."

Hawthorne reached out and took the packet. "And the other thing as well?"

The dwarf nodded at Hawthorne, "Come take a look yourself." He retreated to the back of the wagon and pulled back the edge of a canvas that had been tied down to hide what was underneath. Hawthorne's eyes widened as she got a look at the present. How extraordinary and how generous of Merry! She doubted there was anyone in the Shire with something quite like this. Even Mr. Bilbo had not seen the likes of it. Hawthorne's fingers impulsively strayed down to the large brass key, but Fazi reached out and pulled back her hand.

"No, you don't. That's all we need! To have this thing blaring out in the middle of the ceremony! Uncle Merry says we're not to unload or wind it, until after the handfasting is finished. It has to be done properly. I'll show you how. But for now, leave it alone. No one will bother it if we simply leave the cart under the eaves of the stable."

Hawthorne nodded contritely, but still tarried at the back of the cart, standing on tiptoe, and looking more closely at what was contained in the the bottom of the wagon bed. "What's this?" she queried. This time Fazi did not stop when she bent over and picked up two objects."

"Oh, that's a surprize. It's all explained in Master Merry's letter to the mayor. Toys for the children, all the way from Dale. And quite amazing toys, if I may add. Master Sam is to pass them out this evening. He'll know best which children would enjoy which toy."

"And these will remain in the cart, too?"

"Yes, till later."

"That may not be so easy." Hawthorne nodded at the row of children, all wide eyed, who had crept closer to the cart and were determindly trying to get a peak inside.

"That's easily dealt with.....," mused the dwarf. "Anyone who touches the toys ahead of time, won't be given a single one." He looked sternly round cluster of small faces. At the mention of this dismal consequence, several lads and lasses dropped back, and Hawthorne was free to resume her conversation again.

"You will join us for the handfasting and party then? There's good kegs of ale and tables loaded with food. You must stay a day or two." With that invitation, she led Fazi inside. There were a number of eyes fastened on them as they stepped inside the door. Dwarves had been relatively rare in the Shire in recent years at least when compared with the number of Elven and Mannish visitors, and the children were especially curious.

[Encaitare]

"She and I were traveling companions for a time, and I would like to see her again," said Snaveling, perhaps a little too quickly.

Caity resisted what would have been a most inopportune smirk. From the way he spoke and the faint flush in the man's face -- not unsimilar to that in the faces of the women who had drank the gammers' punch but certainly brought on by different reason -- it was clear that Roa was something more to Snaveling than a mere traveling companion.

"I'm terribly sorry I can't help," she said innocently. "If anyone were to know of one of the Dunadan passing through, it would be Miss Aman, the inkeeper. Are you acquainted with her?"

Snaveling paused for a second before answering.

[Envinyatar]

‘Let me get you a glass of cold cider.’ Derufin looked with alarm at Zimzi, with her face all flushed, her long hair all gone astray, and the little coronet of ivy leaves and berries from the children all askew. ‘Here sit down, my dear,’ said Cook, pushing a nearby chair behind the young woman.

Zimzi welcomed the mug of cold liquid. She took a few sips, then held its cool sides to her cheeks. ‘No,’ I’m not ill,’ she said in response to a chorused question from both of them. ‘I’ve just escaped being quite thoroughly appraised by that group of ladies over there,’ she said pointing toward where her mother and the Hobbits had once again resumed their conversation. ‘All of them, including my mother.’ She reached up to pat Derufin’s hand that lay assuringly on her shoulder. ‘I do have to tell you that you came off quite well. A friendly, helpful, overgrown Hobbit!’

Cook grinned as Zimzi spoke. ‘Well, one day you’ll be doing the same for your daughter,’ she said laughing at the look on Zimzi’s face. ‘For now, let’s get you pulled back to together. Then I’ll go get the cake and bring it out. Sam’ll know what to do after that.’ Derufin brought her another cool drink as Cook brushed back Zimzi’s hair with her quick, nimble fingers. ‘There you go,’ Cook said approvingly, placing the leafy wreath back on Zimzi’s head. ‘Now you two get over there, by those elms just the other side of the dancing area. The mayor will be over shortly.’

Derufin gave Zimzi his hand and pulled her to her feet. ‘Just what do mothers discuss?’ he asked. ‘Or is it some secret that’s kept from the men . . . like that punch the Grannies guard so well?’

Zimzi leaned in close to him and whispered in his ear. Derufin’s eyes went wide for a moment then he laughed. ‘Oh my! I should have remembered the talks my own mother and her friends would have when they gathered at one of the houses to card wool. They would have skinned me alive had they known I was listening in!’ He looked over to the group of ladies; the old Gammer was nodding at something Zimzi’s mother had said.

‘Let them talk of sheep and hips and grandbabies. It makes them happy.’ He twirled her about and kissed her lightly on her still pinked cheek. ‘Today’s our day, my dear Zimziran, Beloved Jewel.’ He pulled her along quickly, her slender hand grasped tight by his. ‘There’s the elm bower . . . and look! Cook is bringing out the cake.’

[Arry]

‘Up lads,’ cried Gil, seeing the couple walk arm in arm past them. ‘Put down your mugs, and take up your pipes and fiddles and what have you. It’s about to begin.’ He picked up his concertina and scrambled up onto the band’s raised platform. Tomlin put his fiddle to his chin and raised his brows at Gil. ‘ “Love Will Find Out the Way (http://www.contemplator.com/midimusic/lovefind.mid)”, lads,’ he directed, his foot tapping out the rhythm. Ferrin, you sing it – you sounded lovely on the last practice. We’ll come in on the refrain after you’ve done the first verse.’

Over the mountains
And over the waves,
Under the fountains
And under the graves,
Under floods that are deepest,
Which Ulmo obey
Over rocks which are the steepest,
Love will find out the way.

Where there is no place
For the glow-worm to lie,
Where there is no space
For receipt of a fly,
Where the gnat dares not venture,
Lest herself fast she lay,
But if Love comes, he will enter,
And will find out the way.

You may esteem him
A child for his might,
Or you may deem him
A coward from his flight.
But if she, whom Love doth honor,
Be concealed from the day
Set a thousand guards upon her,
Love will find out the way.

Some think to lose him
By having him confined
Some do suppose him,
Poor thing, to be blind;
But if ne'er so close ye wall him,
Do the best that you may,
Blind Love, if so ye call him,
Will find out his way.

You may train the eagle
To stoop to your fist.
You may try to inveigle
The Phoenix of the east.
The lioness, you may move her
To give o'er her prey;
But you'll ne'er stop a lover;
He will find out his way . . .

The song came to a close with a last fading instrumental strain. Then the piper played a sweet aire until everyone had taken their places.

[Kuruharan]

Fazi slipped back to his place next to Hawthorne. “Is everything arranged about the presents?” she asked. The dwarf nodded. “Yes, everything should be well in hand, I hope…” he trailed off as he viewed the plate piled with food set before his chair. He licked his lips as he pulled the chair back and prepared to sit down. “My compliments to the cook. If it tastes half as good…” He was interrupted by a loud squeak of protest from the chair as he sat down. “Err,” Fazi stammered, “as I was saying, if this tastes half as good as it looks it will have been well worth coming.”

The dwarf proceeded to dive in. Between bites he managed to say, “Mmmm, yes, most excellent…*chew* *chew*…(pass more potatoes, please)…*gulp*…this puts me in mind of a time I was visiting a cousin of mine…” Hawthorne suddenly made a move to stop his tale. Rumor had it that Fazi’s stories could plunge even the most energetic of hobbit children into the depths of slumber. “I think everyone is starting to gather for the ceremony. Let’s watch and see what happens.”

[THE Ka]

Rasputina had heard the man from Gondor's story and was pondering. She by nature, was very shy but, the name of the one he was looking for caught her attension. Had she ever met this woman in her travels? Most likely not, unless she traveled the old forgotten roads that wove along the shores, and split at the Blue mountains. Those were the roads she used, and they were very joyful to her. He was a wanderer, as he explained but, she could tell it by how he wore his face. She had never been to Gondor, or the city of Minas Tirith, but some of her people had and they spoke kindly of it.

For, they said, the father's of men today had built it and were friends. For a time. Of the Dunidan, her people spoke in hushes. Not because they dispised them, they spoke because some of this race had once came to their forest. They were ravaged by some fear and were very greatful for her kin's kindness. Her people took them in for a time, which they kept to themselves. They rarely approached her kind, when they did it was a time of giving for thankfulness, or to pass a kind word or two. Rasputina had the chance of meeting one of them on her way home from the cliff, and was shocked. Though she was scared, the poor human tried to flee at the very sight of her, but caught it's foot on an ancient tree. It was a child, who was sent to gather fallen branches and had gotten lost in the darkness of the trees. Rasputina helped the child back to their camp, and was greeted by many kind eyes. They thanked her, and she left as soon as she arrived. Somehow, they were confusing to be around. Her head would swim, as if they posed a threat. Maybe it was just shock, for it soon passed. As soon as they came, they left and said that they would try to repay them later. Her people smiled and said there was no need for it, and that they wished them a safe journey. That was the last time she ever saw another race.

Now, it seemed as if a summit of every people had been called to meet, greet, and be merry. Rasputina was always interested in the outer world and others, and this was for now a paradise of sorts. She hoped the man would find this Roa, for he looked very said, as if it was a stake plundged into his very life frame.

Rasputina just sat there quietly, for she didn't like to talk alot. Mostly because she didn't have much to say. She felt a song coming on, and picking up her cello and after a few plucks of the strings, she began:

People stared at the makeup on his face
Laughed at his long black hair, his animal grace
The boy in the bright blue jeans
Jumped up on the stage
And lady stardust sang his songs
Of darkness and disgrace

And he was alright, the band was all together
Yes he was alright, the song went on forever
And he was awful nice
Really quite out of sight, really quite paradise
And he sang all night long

Femme fatales emerged from shadows
To watch this creature fair
Boys stood upon their chairs
To make their point of view
I smiled sadly for a love I could not obey
Lady stardust sang his songs
Of darkness and dismay

And he was alright, the band was all together
Yes he was alright, the song went on forever
And he was awful nice
Really quite paradise
And he sang all night long

Oh how I sighed when they asked if I knew his name

Though they was alright, the band was all together
Yes he was alright, and the song went on forever
He was awful nice
Really quite paradise
He sang all night long...*

She didn't know were in her long memory it came from but, she liked it. Puting her cello in its case, she walked out to a nearby grove and sat down beside a tree. For awhile, it seemed she was off stareing at the sky, as if to ask it a question. She soon rose, and walked back to the party and found some water to drink. She had still to know were the gifts were going to be presented to the couple. When that thought ran through her head, it imediately triggered another. This one felt like an curse'd finger pointing at her with fault. She was still short one gift. The one that was stolen, and haunted her. Why did someone have to have it?! It wasn't their's! Soon, she began to feel angered at such a deed. Rasputina sat down at a vacant chair and began to contemplate the matter. Who had she seen last by her door, or who had been in the hallway? Did anyone else see another person enter? She scanned the party hill, and found only happy faces and merry voices and one woeful heart. Not one reeked of guilt. She drew her hand into a fist with frustration. Who was it?, ran around her mind like a taunting opponent.

To onlooker's she would have seemed to be just a 'serious thinker', who was not to be disturbed. But, inside, she was calculative and desparate for just one little answer. Something to give her a foothold in this mystery.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*(All songs within this post written by David Bowie. No alterations have taken place. Song title: Lady Stardust.) (http://www.illustrated-db-discography.nl/)

[littlemanpoet]

Uien managed to somehow remove the stable smell from their clothes as they hurried to the party, finally finished with their gifts for the bride and groom. The food was good and the music better. Falowik thought the dancing was best of all. He took Uien's hand in his and they did a Bree two step that Uien had not known before this day. It was the kind of thing she picked up as if born to it. Which, Falowik reflected, she was, being an Elf. Somehow she even managed not to take away from the glory of Zimzi the bride; it was her day, after all.

"I am going to have to have a talk with some of these other Elves," Uien said to Falowik as they danced side by side in an intricate pattern involving crossing one foot behind the other, a kick, a step out; then Uien spun beneath Falowik's hand. Others knew the dance and soon a little group of a half dozen couples had formed here and there, matching them step for step.

[piosenniel]

The hand-fasting begins . . .

Ruby and Buttercup had earlier brought out a small table that now stood to the side of the little alcove of elms. A plain little table of common oak they’d found down in the cellar. They’d brought it up and cleaned it and found a pretty white cloth to put over the top. They’d borrowed the inkwell and quill from the Inn and placed it carefully on the white cloth, along with the blotter. Sam had been the one to place the large, thick, green leather-bound journal on the table, opening the pages of it to the first one that wasn’t all filled. He ran his finger over the last entry, smiling at the remembrance of the couple, Hob Proudfoot and Gillyflower Chubb, who’d last put their names here. Sam wrote the month, day, and year on the next line, leaving room for Derufin and Zimzi to sign.

The band was still playing and many of the guests were still engaged in eating and drinking and talking with old friends and new. Sam motioned for the couple to come over to the table. ‘This is the part of the whole thing that really makes it official, so to speak.’ He pointed to the line where they were to put their names. ‘You each sign here. Your name and where you’re from will be fine. I’ve put the date here, you see. Then I’ll sign after you . . . and well, that’s it, really. You’re Mister and Missus.’ Zimzi signed first, writing out her full name, Zimziran, of Lindon. She handed the quill to Derufin, smiling as she did so. Derufin, of Ringlo Vale, he penned in a scrawl, the nib of the pen leaving a small splotch at the end. ‘It’s alright, Mister Derufin,’ Sam assured him. ‘It makes it easy to find if anyone needs to look it up, don’t you think?’ Sam blotted their names, then signed his with a firm hand beneath the two.

Zimzi’s family had come up quietly and crowded in to watch the signing. And now that the couple and Sam had finished and the book was shut, many of the partygoers had drawn near to watch the public part of the ritual. Sam had taken the small coil of twine from his breast pocket and was just beginning to ask the two to hold out their right arms to him, and would Mistress Zimzi put her wrist atop Derufin’s. A quiet, but insistent cough to his left from Cook stopped him.

‘Right,’ he said nodding as he palmed the little coil of twine. ‘The rings . . .’

[Envinyatar]

The handfasting completed . . .

Derufin fished her ring from his pocket, taking Zimzi’s left hand in his. He slipped the narrow gold band on her slender finger, speaking softly to her, as he did so.

‘I have come over a way that with tears has been watered,
I have come, treading my path through the blood of the slaughtered,
Out from the gloomy past,
Till now I stand at last
Where the white gleam of your bright star is cast.’

In turn, Zimzi took the ring she’d had made for him from the ribbon she’d tied round her neck. She, too, spoke quietly, cradling his ringed hand against her cheek.

‘Blessed by a fair wind at our backs,
The warm sun at our face,
The sweet earth beneath our feet,
And the bright stars to guide us,
We journey on, together.’

Now they gladly placed their right arms as asked, their eyes keeping watch on one another’s face, as Sam bound their wrists lightly with the twine. At a nod from Sam, the band struck up a slow tune. And Derufin eased her toward him, his left hand at her waist as he cradled her right hand against his heart. The crowd opened up as the couple danced slowly out onto the cleared area and took a turn about it. They stopped then, when they’d gotten back to where Sam and the others stood. ‘Come join us, dear friends,’ Zimzi called out, laughing. ‘Come dance!’

‘And those of you who won’t come out,’ cried Derufin, grinning at a group of old Gaffers who’d secured themselves a table near the food and the kegs. ‘Then drink a mug or two to me and my missus!’ They silvered heads of the old fellows nodded at this request, and they raised their mugs high, calling out their approval, as Derufin planted a proper kiss on his lady.


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

Derufin's speech from a slight revision of the words to the song 'Lift Every Voice and Sing.'

[piosenniel]

THE SCENE IN THE INN'S FRONT YARD AT PRESENT . . .

It's a warm, sunny day in the Shire – mid turning to late-afternoon.

Preparations for the party are done. All have put on their party clothes.

The tables are groaning 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.

The big cake that Cook has made for Derufin and Zimzi is now on the dessert table. It's four layers high, frosted in white, light frosting, with candied violets of all colors all over it.

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) are at the party. Ginger has most of the young ones in tow while Same conducts the handfasting ceremony. Rose is seated with a group of ladies and is delighted to have only the baby to look after.

Gil and his friends, Tomlin, Fallon, and Ferrin are playing and singing on the raised stage near the front of the Inn. They are intermittently joined by Falco Headstrong, Rasputina, Caity, Seamus, and Owen.

~*~ Pio, Shire Moderator

[piosenniel]

The handfasting ceremony is now done.

Derufin and Zimzi are a proper couple.

They are dancing at the moment as are many others who have joined them. There are still presents to be looked at on the mathom table, and later, when it's dark, the little lights in the branches of the trees will be lit and there will be fireworks.

And food and drink, of course, flowing in abundance from the good folk of the Shire . . .

[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)

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

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.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

As the merriment continued, a strange figure came walking up the road to the Green Dragon. He was walking slowly and leaned on a large staff. He was a dwarf, his beard was grey and tattered and he seemed very old. His face, (What could be seen of it under his immense beard) was withered and his hands were bony and both were needed to keep him up right on the staff. He had large boots that were dark blue in colour, he also wore a green hooded clock and brown gloves. He had a brown top and black trousers. He had a large pack laden with many things, but one thing that stood out was a long wooden pipe that pocked out of the back.

The Dwarf stopped just out side the front yard and lent against a fence. A small smile rose on his withered face. He placed his pack down on the floor and took from it his pipe and filled it with old Toby. He took a few puffs and then leant back on the fence with a wider smile. He blew a ring of unbroken smoke, which floated, over the inn and into the air. He thought he had hearted the squawk of a crow near by, but he could not see one. He thought it his imagination.

"Ah, Dwaline," he said to himself, "you have missed them already." he scanned the surroundings for somewhere to sit. But he then decided to merely stay where he was. He took another puff on his pipe and then coughed and wheezed. Looking at the party scene he wondered what was going on.

[Nurumaiel]

The handsome couple was wed. Falco Headstrong was silent throughout, dwelling in the present and once every so often thinking of the past. Did he have any regrets that there had been no such hand-fasting for him? Yes... he did... but she had married one of the best hobbits in the world. Why had she loved him? Because he was a good, noble lad. Perhaps she also loved his poetical ability, though she would never marry him because of it. Falco would not have thought to marry her under a bower of lilacs.

When Derufin bent and kissed his bride, Falco pulled himself wholly from his musings and took up the whistle of little Marigold's father. He wished for a moment that Fosco were with him. Fosco had also played the whistle, and they had made such a combination of ringing music with it when they played together. But, ah well. He had these talented lads with him. They surely knew the song. No need to break the moment by telling them. And the last line would be cut out... it was too sad.

He played the intro... soft, sweet, and melodious. It was a beautiful and fitting song for the couple just wed.

Oh, the summertime is coming,
and the trees are sweetly blooming
where the wild mountain thyme
grows around the blooming heather.

Will ye go, lassie, will ye go?
And we'll all go together to pick wild mountain thyme
all around the blooming heather.
Will ye go, lassie, will ye go?

I will build my love a bower
near yon pure crystal fountain
and on it I will pile
all the flowers of the mountain.

Will ye go, lassie, will ye go?
And we'll all go together to pick wild mountain thyme
all around the blooming heather.
Will ye go, lassie, will ye go?

The lads joined him with instrument and voice, singing soft in the verses and rising slightly during the chorus. When their voices faded their music went on, playing sweet and low.

This was the happy tale beginning. When he had asked her, "Will ye go?" she had said: "I will."

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Hazel Longholes trudged along the road leading into Bywater. Her feet and the hem of her skirt were dusty and her arms ached from the several awkwardly shaped and bulky bundles she was carrying. She stared steadily at the road as it passed by under her bare feet, pausing only to look up and note that her three children were still grouped around her. Yes, there they were: Mari the oldest holding little Yarrow's hand, and eight year old Bryony trotting ahead like an eager puppy.

You got yourself into this, Hazel Smallburrow, she scolded herself, when you married that Merlo Longholes from so far off. You always knew no good would come of all this moving about, and look at you now. A simple visit to your old mother's house turns into a four day journey. And those children, always into something or other, they are.

"Amaranthis Longholes!" She paused in her internal grumbling to reprimand Mari. "You keep hold of Yarrow's hand, now. Wouldn't have liked it if I'd lost you when you were his age, now would you?" Mari, looking properly chagrined, clutched her little brother's hand and pulled him along behind her. Yarrow's red-brown hair stuck up erratically as his little feet scurried to force his chubby body to travel at his big sister's pace. "We'll stop up here at the Green Dragon." Hazel informed whichever of her children were listening. "Tis a respectable place, and comfortable enough, from what I've heard."

Sounds of music and laughter drifted down the path toward Hazel and Bryony turned around and bounded back toward her mother, looking excited. "Mama, they're having a party at the inn, I saw all the ladies dressed up fancy and dancing!" Her round face was flushed from all her bouncing and her short golden hair flew out around it in haphazard wisps.

A party at the Inn? Well that might be nice Hazel mused, the lure of a hot cup of tea and a comfortable chair overcoming her sense that it might be impolite to drop in on a celebration. I surely wouldn't mind a rest and some civilised conversation. Perhaps we'll even stay a day or two. Handing off the bundles to Mari, she swung Yarrow up onto her hip and forced herself to a slightly faster pace. "Well if you want to see the pretty ladies at the party, Bryony, we'd best be getting over there."

[Mithalwen]

The handfasting ceremony had interrupted the conversation with Snaveling but Mithalwen continued wondering about the dunadan. Unwittingly he had stirred age old memories in the Elf. As a child she had watched the Numenoreans arrive and although Snaveling cut a sorry figure in comparison with his ancestors he was still of that people, distinctive even now among the men of Middle Earth. He came from Minas Tirith; when she had been there it was named Minas Anor, the first White Tree of that city had been new planted by Isildur and she had stood in in its courtyard and watched the sun set with ... but she stopped her train of thought ... she had surpressed those memories for a long time and today was a day for celebration.

Her ear caught a familiar tune; the words she knew for it were a song of men she had learnt sometime. The melody was haunting and sweet and she sang, her voice rich and resonant.

The water is wide, I cannot get o'er,
And neither have I wings to fly.
Give me a boat that will carry two,
And both shall row, my love and I.

O, down in the meadows the other day,
A-gath'ring flowers both fine and gay,
A-gath'ring flowers both red and blue,
I little thought what love can do.


I leaned my back up against some oak
Thinking that he was a trusty tree;
But first he bended, and then he broke,
And so did my false love to me.


A ship there is, and she sails the sea,
She's loaded deep as deep can be,
But not so deep as the love I'm in;
I know not if I sink or swim.


O, love is handsome and love is fine,
And love's a jewel while it is new,
But when it is old......

Mithalwen's voice tailed off realising that these lyrics were also not fitting for the day and was glad to hear the music turn to a dance tune ... she wondered if she could persuade Snaveling to dance with her - he at least was tall enough not to make her look ridiculous and he too looked in need of distraction from his thoughts..

[Envinyatar]

‘Look,’ said Derufin, stopping in midstep as he noted a familiar mop of grey curls a few couples away. ‘It’s Cook! And she’s dancing with the spice tradesman from Tuckburrough, isn’t she?’

Zimzi craned her neck, laughing as she spotted Cook’s smiling face. ‘I think perhaps Aman had better keep any eye on that. Otherwise she’ll be cooking the meals for the Inn!’

‘You know,’ continued Derufin, maneuvering Zimzi toward the dessert table, ‘it’s been a long time since breakfast. And look, there’s our cake all sort of waiting for someone to take a slice out of it.’ He gave her a quick squeeze about the waist, 'What do you say?’

[piosenniel]

‘I declare, Miz Bunce,’ said Otho Bracegirdle, grinning at his dance partner, ‘you are as light on your feet as a down feather in a spring breeze.’ He twirled her about as they sashayed together and then stepped away in the pattern of the dance. Back together again, their arms linked they stepped forward three steps and then back again two.

Cook’s eyes twinkled. The meals all done, the rest of the day off, and a suitable partner to dance with. She glanced from the corner of her eye at Otho. She’d always found him a welcome visitor when he’d bring his wares through Bywater. How delightful to find him such an agreeable dance partner, too. She’d have to keep an eye on him, though, she thought. She’d caught him looking at her in a way that . . . well . . . she found a bit too overfond. A diversion was needed.

She saw Derufin and Zimzi making a beeline for the cake table. ‘Oh, I say, my dear Mister Bracegirdle, it looks as if the happy couple is going to cut the cake. Wouldn’t want to miss out on it, now would we? Especially since I made it.’ She motioned for him to follow.

Otho stood for a moment with a pleased look on his face at her departing form. He straightened his vest, grinning, and followed after . . .

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling had never been happier for a marriage ceremony to begin for it interrupted the conversation and obviated the necessity of either answering or avoiding the hobbit lass’s question about Aman. As the ceremony went forward, Snaveling noticed the Innkeeper but she was too involved with the proceedings to notice him. All for the good he thought. A presence behind him made him turn and he saw Mithalwen looking at him contemplatively. She smiled and he knew that she had been attempting to sound the hidden depths of his conscience. But he had learned much from the King, including how to keep is thoughts shrouded from those who would seek them. He had always been able to hide himself in this manner, but the King had taught him ways of more effectively preventing unwanted intrusions.

At last the ceremony was over and the couple moved aside, happily beaming at all those about them. The groom, whom Snaveling finally, and for the first time, recognised as Derufin, passed within a few arms’ lengths of him, but the former stablemaster clearly did not recognise Snaveling, so distracted by joy was the newly married man. The crowd became noisy and animated once more, and soon there was singing and dancing. Snaveling was just about to seek the solace of his stall in the stable – for he still had not paid for a room – when he once more caught sight of Mithalwen looking at him. She advanced with her hand out and had she struck him a blow she could not have surprised him more than when she asked if he could dance. So thunderstruck was he by the request that the truth slipped out of him before he could prevent it. “Indeed, after a fashion. I learned a few dances before I came away from Minas Tirith.”

“Good!” the Elf said happily, “then let us take a turn together!” and before he knew it, Snaveling was dancing upon the green grass with a tall Elven lady whose grace surpassed his own as a beech tree does a humble stalk of straw. At first they attempted a simple country quickstep like that being traced out by most of the others, but Mithalwen quickly saw that Snaveling was hopelessly lost. She asked him what dances did he know and Snaveling, somewhat embarrassed, suggested that they attempt a formal waltz. “I know how out of place such a dance may seem here,” he explained, “but I learned only courtly dances in Minas Tirith. There are no country balls in the court of Elessar!” The Elf assented gaily and taking her hand he led her about the field in a dance that he had learned from one of the Queen’s waiting women. The memory led him back to the last time he had danced this very pattern and he soon found himself lost in memory.

“You dance well. For a Man that is,” Mithalwen said somewhat teasingly.

“I was taught well,” he replied.

“You are remembering having danced this step before.”

Snaveling was not surprised by her statement. “Indeed I am. But do not be offended for the last time I followed this pattern it was with the Queen herself. In token of her Lord’s friendship with me she deigned take a turn about the floor at the Midsummer’s ball.”

Mithalwen’s eyes widened slightly. “A high honour indeed, and a rare one. Although not, I think, so unusual. I hear that the Lady Arwen has ever been courteous to the Dúnedain.”

“That she has, but I must tell you that I am not of the Dúnedain myself. That is an honour I cannot claim.”

“But you said that you are kin to the Lord Elessar. I had thought that all such relations were descendants of Númenor that is lost.”

Snaveling was quiet for a moment before answering. “I am of Númenor, lady, but I cannot count among my ancestry either Elendil or any that fled the wreck of that city with him. There are other men of Númenorian blood in Middle-earth and from them have I sprung.”

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Owen and Seamus had relaxed considerably after finding their little charge in the hands of Seamus’ young acquaintances. Of course it was only to be expected of the spider monkey that in such boisterous company, and given the fine music and food, the poor soul was bound to become a bit lively and hard to manage. It must be forgiven him, really…not held against him by any means. Otherwise, they’d not be any better than that loutish man, Shimshin’s former master, who had kept him imprisoned in a stout birdcage stationed in the most remote corner of a dark and uninteresting cobbler’s shop, now would they? It had seemed at the time rather providential that they should be thrown into the company of this rather disagreeable man, given that not only Owen’s boots developed a hole in while he and Seamus had been in that particular town, but Seamus’ footwear also required immediate professional attention. Yes, they had been right in to freeing the little captive.

“This has gone off far better than I had hoped,” Owen whispered to Seamus, as band paused in their playing to watch the couple slice a beautiful and quite bountiful cake. “No incident to speak of. It seems our little Shimshin is learning how to behave like a proper guest after all!”

Seamus tucked his rebec under his arm “Not quite,” the tall man said patting his pocket and pulling out a beautifully crafted brooch. As he rolled the ornament face up in his palm, both his and Owen’s eyes widened considerably. “The scamp dropped this in my pocket earlier, and I had not the heart to see what was until now. I suppose I was hoping it might be something a little less valuable, like a piece of toffee. It is heavy though!” he said putting it in Owen’s open palm.

“The little imp’s got first rate taste, doesn’t he?” Owen said shaking his head sadly. “What are we to do Seamus? We can simply pretend this hasn’t happened.” He handed the brooch back to his fellow musician.

“Of course not,” Seamus said. “It’s elven, by the look of it. But elven made doesn’t mean elven owned, does it?”

“It would narrow the crowd down a bit if it did.” Owen said looking around. “Do you think we should give it to the proprietor of the place, or just pin it on and wait for someone to claim it? And how do we explain with out getting ourselves or Shimshin in trouble. It’s all very well to say we found it, but what if he turns up with another?”

[Encaitare]

Caity's new elven friends and even the mysterious Snaveling left to take full advantage of the festivities after the ceremony was over. She watched the dancing couples for a few minutes while Falco and the rest of the band finished their song.

Will ye go, lassie, will ye go?
And we'll all go together to pick wild mountain thyme
all around the blooming heather.
Will ye go, lassie, will ye go?

When they finished the romantic song, she climbed up to the stage and picked up her whistle. Moistening her lips, she blew a note through it, then approached Falco.

"Might I suggest a song, Mr. Headstrong?" she asked the older hobbit.

"But of course! What have you got in mind?"

"Well, er... do you know the Ivory Tower?"

He scratched his head thoughtfully. "I think so... is that the one about the maid locked away in that tower?" Caity nodded. "I believe I know the tune for it, but I don't know the words." He turned to Gil and the others. "How about you lads?"

"I think I know just about as much as you do," Gil said. "But not to worry, we'll be fine."

"There's a lovely whistle duet in the middle of it; do you think you remember that?"

Falco grinned. "Lass, I never forget anything I've ever played. It's not in your head; it's in these." He wiggled his fingers mischievously. "Nothing to fear -- although seeing as no one else knows the words, perhaps you'd better. This song could use a girl's voice -- I'm sure I couldn't convince any of these good people that I'm a maiden locked in a tower!"

The band and those close enough to the stage all laughed. Caity joined them, but was a little nervous. "I suppose I could sing it, although I don't think I'm that good," she said tentatively. Then she realized she was silly to be worried about her vocal skills. "Oh, never mind. Let's play it!"

She played the opening notes, and the others soon joined in as though they had known the song their whole lives. Caity then began to sing, while Falco carried on the whistle part.

I stood upon the Ivory Tower
As far as I could see
The winds that grew from out of the trees were calling out to me
Curtains blew in the Ivory Tower
Willows start to bend
The ravens flew to escape the fury as the storm descends...

I followed fortune 'round the tower
Searching in vain
For through the mist 'round the old stone tower I only found rain
And though the cold, cold Ivory Tower was stony through and through
I laid and dreamed on a featherbed, my dream was of you
My dream was of you...

The whistle duet was perfect. Caity almost faltered, for she was watching Falco play. Just as he had said, his fingers moved deftly, like they were completely separate from his mind. Yet she caught herself in time, and came back with the rest of the song with confidence.

All time waiting
As the sun doth set in the haze
All time waiting
Every hour feels like a day

I feared not in the Ivory Tower
Imprisonment you'll find
Lies within your heart your soul, your spirit and your mind
It lies within your heart, your soul , your spirit and your mind...

They finished the song, and Caity grinned widely, happy she hadn't made a complete fool of herself.

"Not bad for a band who knows half the music and a girl who can't sing, eh?" Falco said merrily, clapping her on the shoulder.

"No... not bad at all," she responded.

[Witch_Queen]

Avalon gave up on the cats. Nothing could change their mind now that they were scratching on the table leg. Looking around Avalon noticed an all to familar face. Being that she hadn't talked to some one in a long time, Avalon decided that perhaps the dwarf could help her a bit. Flying over to where the dwarf stood Avalon landed on a near-by tree and began squawking. "Hello, can you hear me?" The dwarf turned around. " I guess you can hear me. And evidently you can understand me. I am Avalon, probably the only white crow you will ever meet. And you are?" Avalon moved her white wing gently extending her white feathers out to show proper respect.

"I am Dwaline, nice to meet you Avalon." The dwarf's voice almost caused the bird to fall off the branch. After repositioning herself on the branch Avalon decided to tell the dwarf what was going on. "Dwaline, this is a celebration of Derufin and the lady Zimzi joining their lives together and the decision to put up with each other for all eternity." It was weird, Avalon being a crow was able to place a smile across her beak. "So happy they seem together. At least someone can be happy."

[Hookbill the Goomba]

"Ah," exhaled Dwaline, "It has oft been said in my home land that Hobbits praise good food and celebration over the treasures of all the world. I see that it is indeed true."

Examining Avalon, Dwaline smiled under his large beard. His bushy eyebrows and white hair had a familiar look to Avalon. Dwaline, however, did not seemed surprised by Avalon's words of being the only white crow he was ever likely to see.

"I once knew a very good white crow," he said with a slight chuckle in his voice, "Rark his name was. A faithful friend in my youth, he and his family were reliable bringers of news to the Dwarves of the mountain." his eyes seemed to stare off into the distance with happy memories, "Tell me Avalon, have you ever heard the name of a crow named Nelek?" Avalon was silent, "If you have, I would not be surprised. He was the great grandson of Rark. Nelek, son of Felm, son of Rark. He was the last white crow I saw, and that was a little over 70 years ago. So if he were alive, He would be old even by the count of Crows."

Dwaline had intrigued Avalon, he began a tale that he had heard and fitted together from many accounts. He fist asked her how well she knew the lands between the shire and the Lonely Mountain. She nodded and said it was good enough.

"Well," he began, "When he was but 10 years old, Nelek grew to a mighty crow, and was respected about his family and friends. He soon, however, grew tired of the mountain and so announced one day that he would leave. I begged him to stay as he was a good friend and reminded me of Rark. Still he decided to leave and never return. I know that he met with some unfriendly Spiders in Mirkwood and stayed a while in Thranduil's halls.

"Through many miss adventures over the misty mountains he came to the shire and was among the first of his kind to see the western sea. Desire grew hot in him to see where it ended. He flew out one day over the sea. Companions he had acquired on his journey watched him as he flew far into the sunset. They say he came to the undying lands. Some say Earendill found him near death and so he keeps a keen eye from his ship. Some say, rather that he died in the sea.

"But he was so strong in his spirit. he had flown so far, I believe that he did not die in the sea. I feel rather that he lives yet. It is a good story, no?" Avalon looked slightly impressed with the dwarf's tale.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman, hovering at the edge of the dance floor in a lull in activities from the kitchen, watched the dancers with a half smile on her lips, her eyes scanning the various couples. She laughed to see some, and was just plain surprised to see others. One particular couple caught her eye, their dancing smooth and fluent, an elf dancing with a tall, dark haired man: Snaveling. Aman raised an eyebrow, and as Snaveling spun Mithalwen out, she caught his eye. She smiled openly at him, and the expression seemed to catch him off his guard, and a momentary frown settled, darkening his face. Then, surprised but enigmatically pleased, the Numenorian smiled back.

Aman sighed and scanned the dance floor. The day was fine and bright, a perfect day for the celebrations, and everyone at the party seemed as bright as the weather; the Innkeeper couldn't help a small, pleased smile with the satisfaction of taking part in organising the succesful event. A shout went up from one side of the dancefloor and Aman looked around sharply, alert for any disturbances. But no, a much more pleasing greeted her eyes: borne by no fewer than five small hobbits, all puffed up with the responsibility of their important task, came the magnificent, three tier cake prepared by Cook. Miss Bunce gave a surprisingly girlish squeal of delight and Aman saw her rush forward, grinning all over her face and bustling about, making sure the little convoy of hobbits didn't drop the cake. Taking the utmost care with their precious load, the quintet staggered over to the trestle tables, and one was hastily pulled forward so that the guests could gather around it rather than just watching from one side.

A clamour went up, calling for the happy couple to cut the cake ("No sense in a-wastin' time where good food is concerned, that's what I always say," announced one of the hobbit wives behind Aman), but Derufin and Zimzi needed no extra bidding. They came forward through the crowd, hand in hand, Derufin striding proudly ahead of his new wife as he led her through the party guests, amid light hearted cheers and pats on the back. Aman, pushing her way carefully through the crowd, found herself standing near the front, with Zimzi's mother and one of her brothers, Sakal, standing to her right. Sakal smiled down at her, then mutely exaggerated the action by looking further down at the little tribe of Gamgee children who had gathered somewhere around his ankles. Aman grinned back at him, then they both turned their attention to where Derufin and Zimzi prepared to cut the cake. As they plunged the knife slowly through the soft, snowy white icing and sponge, the delicious sound of breaking icing was covered by a spontaneous round of applause that rose up for the crowd. Aman clapped enthusiastically, then called out, "Three cheers for Derufin and Zimzi! Hip hip-" the crowd of guests responded with an enthusiastic "Hooray!"

"Hip hip-!" Sakal led it this time.

"Hooray!"

"Hip hip-!" Both he and Aman shouted this time.

"Hooray!" The most enthusiastic cheer yet lingered for a moment and was engulfed once more in applause. Derufin and Zimzi turned to look at each other and, in an instant framed in Aman's mind as a moment of pure perfection, the sun shining reflecting off Zimzi's cascading curtain of black hair, the sound of happy guests and music floating gently on the soft afternoon breeze, the couple leant in to kiss, and the party exploded in cheering - with tears gracing the eyes of several guests, and not just the women!

[THE Ka]

Rasputina sat there at the table listening to Caity playing her flute, and picturing the song the band played. It spoke of a woman enclosed in a tower, and although it seemed outplaced but, it was beautiful as it floated through the air. Rasputina felt compelled for a song, and for this one she needed a drummer. No longer as shy as before, she stepped up to the stage and asked a hobbit lad if he wished to accompany her on a song. After helping him with the harmony, they were ready to perform the song. She had heard this song on her travels by a fisherman, whom she had asked for shelter. The fisherman noticed that she was a musician and told her songs that were ancient, bold and wispered by the mighty sea. She loved them for they held both majesty and simple meaning. One of them, would seem silly to outsiders but, if you knew the history of the ballad, it was a song of courage and surviving. Picking up her cello and tuneing it, she had it ready. Nodding to begin to the drummer, the song began with a bold and fastpaced upbeat, with the cello in hot persute:

Very many years ago, the people were starving so.
They had rats as big as ponies there. They asked the King
To declare them fish.

We thank the King for granting us this wish.
When Friday comes, we'll all call rats fish.
We catch them with a net, kill with the drum.
We'll call it all forgotten when we're done.

They didn't look like rats at all, but like some horrendous horse doll.
Still they had to eat this thing.
In gratitude, the King-they kissed his ring.

We thank the King for granting us this wish.
When Friday comes, we'll all call rats fish.
We catch them with a net, kill with the drum.
We'll call it all forgotten when we're done.

We'll call it all forgotten when we're done...

When they ended, Rasputina thanked the lad for his help. He gave her a smile and complemented on the song saying it was creative and new. She expected this, for on those nights she spent with the fisherman, next to his small fire, she learned the long and windeling history of every ballad. None the less, she was greatful for his help, she could have not told the tale without him. She then decended from the stage, passing another group of musicians ready to play. She walked over to where the others were sitting and talking. Quietly she found a spot, ready for the next performance. The thought of the stolen gift floated through her mind. Who should she ask? She didn't know who was around her room this late morning. Rasputina was desperate for some hope.

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen was a little bewildered by Snaveling's claim; "but if you are of Numenore you must be of the dunedain - at least in my tongue - men of the west and so Numenorean. Besides your face betrays you Dunadan. I know others came before Elendil although I remember his arrival ... and I daresay he remembered me for a little while" She laughed and laughed more to see the expression on her dance partner's face as she guided him subtly through a sarabande. "for I am older even than your queen Tar-Corondir - though not by much as we elves account such things though by a fair Numenorean span in the time of men. ... And the tall lord of men from across the sea needed a smith and he went to the finest Noldorin smith, then dwelling in Lindon. This smith had an curious daughter, scarce out of babyhood, who on being presented to the great man pulled his beard for she had never seen such a strange thing. " She looked at Snaveling with a grin. "Elendil laughed but my mother did not.."

Snaveling looked dumbstruck and at that moment the music stopped while the bride and groom cut the cake. Mithalwen felt a pang as she regarded the mortal couple ..... the lives of men had always seemed so fleeting but the joy of these twain made her think that a brief time shared might be better than an eternity alone..... but then she thought, it seemed mortals did not always find love...

[Arry]

‘You’ll break your neck if you crane it any farther,’ Gil said grinning at Ferdy. He buckled the straps to his concertina and stowed it out of the way, intent on getting over to the cake before it had all disappeared.

Ferdy waved off his comments as he stood on tiptoe and watched Ginger as she brought the children back to Miz Rose and Sam. He saw her look around a little as if searching for someone.

‘G’wan, Ferdy,’ Gil urged him. ‘Get her a piece of cake and a cup of cider. The boys and I will play a nice tune for you in a little while . . . you can ask her to dance . . . Shoo!’ He gave Ferdy a little nudge in the direction of the desserts . . .

[Ealasaide]

"It’s all very well to say we found it, but what if he turns up with another?" asked Owen, looking worried.

Seamus grimaced. "Ah, yikes. That wouldn't do at all. How about if we just sort of tiptoe around and ask some of the elves around if they know anything about it? Not that I've dealt much with elves, but I hear they are not generally the sort to go about laying claim to things that don't belong to them."

Owen's expression still looked doubtful, so Seamus shrugged. "Well, have you got a better idea?" he asked. "I'd hate to bother the innkeeper with this, what with so much else going on and all. Besides, she might think we stole it and ask us to leave. Or, worse, call the shirriff on us."

"Well, in a sense, we did steal it, didn't we?" sighed Owen. "We just didn't mean to do it."

"So we had better get right on about giving it back." Seamus looked around the gathering to see where the elves were congregating, and found that it was not anywhere in particular. He could see one or two of them dancing, while several others lounged about on blankets on the lawn or in chairs. Seamus' eye landed on the elf who had been playing the oversized fiddle that was so big she had had to hold it on the ground between her knees when she played. He nudged Owen.

"She looks kind of worried about something," he said, indicating her with the bow to his rebec. "Do you suppose it might be hers?"

"It could well be at that," said Owen. "I think she is staying here. Shimshin probably lifted it right out of her room, if I know him. Why don't you go ask her?"

Seamus nodded and took a step in the elven woman's direction. Then he hesitated and turned back. "What if she thinks I stole it?"

"We tell her what really happened and hope she believes us, I guess," answered Owen. "We can always get the little hobbit boys who are watching Shimshin to tell her they saw him with it."

"If they saw him with it..." muttered Seamus. "You know how Shimshin likes to hide things in his mouth."

"Oh...oh, yeah."

A long moment of indecision ticked by before finally Seamus squared his shoulders. He closed the beautiful elven brooch in his large fist and gave Owen a resolute look. "Well, my friend... we can't just keep it, so we have no choice but to try to find out who it belongs to." He winked at his friend. "Wish me luck!"

With that, Seamus turned, tucked his rebec and bow under his arm, and strode across the lawn to where Rasputina sat with a few other guests. Owen trailed a few steps behind, holding his bladder pipe nervously in front of him. Reaching the group on the lawn, Seamus smiled broadly and plopped down on the grass beside the lovely elf. He nodded greetings to all of them, then turned to Rasputina.

"I say, that's a lovely great fiddle you've got there," he said pleasantly. "It's got an absolutely stunning voice to it. I've never heard anything quite like it and, now that I've heard it, I don't think I will ever forget it."

The elven woman smiled graciously. "It's a cello."

"A cello!" repeated Seamus. "I shall have to remember that. I used to have a lovely old fiddle myself - used to belong to my grandfather before me. It had such a beautiful old voice - clear as a bell. I was heartbroken when it got crushed in a carting accident. Since I couldn't do without music, though, I made myself this little rebec, but it's hardly a replacement if you know what I mean."

"Oh, I do," answered Rasputina. "I should be very distressed if anything happened to my cello."

Standing behind him, Owen gave Seamus a nudge with his knee. Seamus elbowed Owen's shin in response, but then leaned toward the elven lady, holding out his closed fist. "Ummm..." he began cautiously. "Er... you're an elf, begging your pardon, I, that is, we - my friend and I - were wondering if you might have seen this before. It kind of came into our hands by accident and we were looking to return it to its rightful owner. It being elven-made and all..." Seamus trailed off helplessly.

Rasputina held out her hand to receive whatever it was. For the barest instant, Seamus hesitated. Then he opened his hand, dropping the brooch on to the elven lady's palm.

[Firefoot]

"Where were you?" asked Nick frowning. Willy had only just returned after slipping off again just before the handfasting had begun, and Nick was not pleased at being left again, even though he now had Shimshin to keep him company.

Willy dodged the immediate question and answered instead, "Wanna see what I got?" So eager was he to show off his ill-gotten prize that he did not wait for Nick's response and fished the small toy out of his breeches pocket. Indeed, it was one of the toys which the Dwarf Fazi had brought along for the children. Willy had heard about the toys being stashed inside the wagon to be handed out later, and the allure of getting ahold of one before hand had been irresistable to a young hobbit who delighted in all things challengingly mischievous. He had taken full advantage of the brief time in which everyone's attention had been held during the handfasting and had successfully filched a small toy from the wagon while avoiding notice. This was the first time that Willy himself had a good chance to look at it; he had grabbed something that seemed to have a use which small enough to fit in his pocket. In appearance, it was a handheld instrument of some kind - a type of whistle. Silver had been laid into it, which glinted in the sunlight.

"You stole it?" accused Nick.

"They were going to be handed out later anyway," answered Willy. "It's a whistle, I think. Listen." He put it to his lips and blew softly so as not to draw attention with the inevitable sound. However, no sound came out. Willy's brow furrowed in puzzlement and he tried again, a little harder. Still nothing. He blew as hard as he could, but the supposed instrument made no sound. He tried puckering his lips differently to no effect.

"What kind of dumb instrument is this?" muttered Willy. "Worthless." He was about to shove it into his pocket again when Shimshin, who had been watching with interest, leapt from Nick's shoulder to Willy's. The monkey reached out and took hold of the instrument in Willy's hand, tugging softly. In surprise, Willy let go. "Sure, you can have it. I don't have any use for it," Willy informed Shimshin. He figured Shimshin would probably drop it in a bush or something and thereby remove all evidence that he took the useless toy in the first place. The monkey happily took it and inspected it carefully. He bit it, and then stuck it into his mouth. Shimshin shifted it around a little, since the "instrument" was a little too large to fit easily, but apparently found a comfortable position.

Willy laughed. "Now I really don't want it!" Nick was more concerned. "Do you think he'll choke?"

"Nah. I bet he does that all the time," said Willy. As if to confirm this, Shimshin now seemed to be completely ignoring the small object in his mouth as he returned to Nick's small shoulder. He looked between to the two boys as if to ask "What next?"

As all little boys, especially hobbits, Willy and Nick seemed to have a radar for available sweets. The minute the cake was cut they were aware of it, though neither quite understood the cheering, or the general emotion. (Willy's reaction had been, "Kissing? Yuck," while Nick's had been, "Why is everyone crying? It's cake.") They were among the first in line to get a piece. They enjoyed their cake along the sidelines of the party and settled in to watch the festivities while they ate.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

At first Snaveling was content to let Mithalwen continue in her misapprehension, but he had learned the dangers of secret knowledge and hidden truths…particularly when it involved Elves. But for the moment all conversation was stilled by an odd ceremony that seemed to consist simply of the newly married couple cutting the large (and delicious looking) cake that had been brought out to them. It suddenly occurred to Snaveling that he was hungry, and the Elf turned and suggested that they go eat. Snaveling’s look of surprise made Mithalwen laugh, and she explained, “Nay, it is not your mind that I read, but your stomach. Or, rather, it is your stomach that I hear.” As if on cue, the Man’s stomach growled once more and he agreed that it would be a good idea.

They moved over to the trestle tables that had been set up near the trees and Snaveling was suddenly reminded of how good, and of how plentiful, the food was in this land. It was as he remembered it: hearty fare made simply, but with skill and love. He soon had a plate with bread and cheese upon it, accompanied by a large slice of cold meat pie. In his free hand he clutched a tall tankard of ale, and his pockets bulged with apples. They moved off to one side where they ate in relative silence, for they were each taken up with their own thoughts. Mithalwen seemed to concentrate upon the doings of the mortal beings before her, and as Snaveling had often seen with Elves, she was soon lost in the memories that were as real for her kind as the waking world. Snaveling, for his part, was content to enjoy the food and listen to the music. Again, he caught sight of the Innkeeper, but he had been careful to seat himself where she would be unlike to notice him. With a start he realized just where he had settled – it was just beside the very copse of trees that he had set alight that first day he had arrived at the Inn to find it burning to the ground. The memory of that day was one that contained many different kinds of pain for him, for it was upon that day that he had first met Roa…and had tried to kill her. His face went red with shame as he remembered that and the other crimes he had committed that day. But he came back to the present for the crowd was not to be ignored in its happiness.

Mithalwen stood and beckoned for Snaveling to follow her through the crowd. “I believe that it is customary for the guests at such gatherings to wish the couple well,” she explained. He had little desire to approach the couple for he well remembered the suspicious looks he had received from that same Derufin the last time Snaveling had been through the Inn, but the thought of shaming his King with his own discourtesy drove him forward. There was a press of people about the married couple now, primarily Halflings (and most of them looking for a slice of cake), but they were soon beside the bride. Her head was turned away from them as they approached, for she was busily trying to meet the flood of requests for the treat. Mithalwen seemed quite content to wait, but Snaveling began to grow impatient – and, if the truth be told, the sight of the cake so quickly disappearing into the eager mouths of the Hobbits spurred him on as well. He stepped forward to catch the attention of the bride, but at that precise moment a small hobbit lass tugged at her sleeve squealing out, “Puhleeeeaaaaze miz Zimzi, please, can I have some cake!” The bride turned to address the lass, holding in her hand a plate with a large piece of cake upon it. She was looking down toward the distress of the little hobbit and did not notice the tall, dark Man striding toward her. It all happened so fast that Snaveling only had time to register the fact that the plate with the cake upon it was headed directly for him before it pressed deep into his chest, flipping in the girl’s hand and smearing the frothy mass of icing and cake all over his tunic. There was a gasp from the onlookers and the bride’s eyes met Snaveling’s and widened in horror over what had happened, for it was clear that his clothes, as worn as they might be, were richly woven and expensive. A slight lull fell on the crowd in which the only sound that could be clearly heard was the plaintive cries of the hobbit lass: “Awww! Now my cake’s gone and been ruined by that terrible Man!”

But then a laugh rang out into the silence, like a bell and full of joy. It soon set the others to smiling and they rapidly joined in. The bride tried to look apologetic but her eyes were bright as she dabbed at the mess upon Snaveling’s chest and she could not long contain her mirth before it escaped from her lips in the form of a hearty chuckle. Snaveling’s vanity was mortified, and the look of insulted dignity that he bore only drove the crowd into greater laughter, and it was not long before a softer look took hold of his features. Behind him the clear laughter of Mithalwen filled the air and Snaveling wondered if it was her who had rescued the situation by responding with mirth. But the memory of the laugh which had started it all was too fresh in his memory to be confused with that of the Elf, and even as he remembered, he recognized it. As though led by an instinct like that which drives the Elves, Snaveling’s eyes turned to where she stood upon the edge of the crowd, laughing and looking at him with unalloyed glee. Meeting Aman’s eyes, he laughed as well, and pounded Derufin’s back with breathless hilarity.

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen felt a little unkind since this man was clearly so sensitive about his reduced circumstances but really it was impossible not to. She hoped he would forgive her for what she was about to do. But he too was know so helpless with mirth to object.

"Stop rubbing at it you will make it " she commanded, and quicker than mortals could register she had swept away the remains of the cake with a clean knife "forgive me Tar-Corondir" she said and threw her own glass of white wine over the stain. This stopped Snaveling's laughter but did not restore speech. She handed him a table napkin "soak up the wine with this and it should lift the mark - if not we will try steam later" .

Mithalwen then turned to the bride. "Mistress Zimzaran, my attendance at you wedding was as unexpected for me as it is no doubt for you, and I have no gift to give you but this - it is of my own making". Mithalwen pressed in to Zimzi's hand the necklace of a single pearl set in finely wrought gold, " May every day of your lives be blessed". Mithalwen withdrew asquick as she had moved forward , as she passed Snaveling he heard - or did the words arrive in his mind silently " I would hear your tale when you have time, Tar Corondir - it seems more intriguing by the moment."

[SonOfBombadil]

Lewis was so surprised that his brother had showed up that he did not have any response for a while. Quite a while. But when he came to his senses, he introduced Jonathan to Ravon, the elf maiden that had captured his heart.

Lewis watched as Ravon and Jonathan aquainted themselves with each other. He was still very surprised, but he was also in a very happy state. Here he was in one of his favorite places with the two people that were most dear to his heart.

[piosenniel]

Zimzi

‘Shush now, Marigold,’ said Zimzi, picking up the Hobbit in her arms. Fat tears slid down the girl’s cheeks, and Zimzi caught them with her finger. Her tongue flicked out to take them in, and she smiled at Marigold. ‘You taste just like the sea, you know.’ Marigold’s tears and sniffles stopped as she regarded Zimzi closely. ‘That’s where I grew up,’ continued the woman. ‘Near the salty sea. I thought that only my brothers and I tasted so . . . but now I have found a Hobbit with the sea’s spirit in her!’

Marigold’s hand went down to a spattering of frosting that had fallen on her pretty skirt, and the stormclouds began once more to form behind the girl’s eyes. ‘Tis naught but a little sweetness for one so sweet herself,’ said Zimzi, setting the girl down on the ground. She crouched down beside Marigold and dabbed away the frosting. ‘All pretty again for the party,’ she laughed, twirling the girl about. ‘Oh, but look here. Here’s something to make you even prettier.’ Zimzi took the necklace the kind Elf had just given her and fastened it about Marigold’s neck, looping the fine gold chain twice about the little girl’s neck, so that the pearl hung in the hollow of her throat. Zimzi held up one of the bright, shiny silver platters for her to look in and was rewarded as a bright grin of delight pinned itself on Marigold’s face. Crisis averted, Zimzi cut another good-sized slice of cake for the girl and sent her on her careful way to sit down on the soft grass with it.

[Envinyatar]

http://forum.barrowdowns.com/ubb/icons/icon11.gif The gift . . . http://forum.barrowdowns.com/ubb/icons/icon11.gif

Derufin watched as his wife . . . yes, he could say that now, he thought, with a certain sense of swelling gladness in his chest . . . he watched as she spoke with the little girl. His mind slipped back for a brief moment, recalling his other family. A scene much like this one . . . when they were still alive, just before he had gone off with his townsmen to answer Minas Tirith’s call. His wife had crouched down beside his daughter salving some little hurt with words and soft touches. He steeled himself against the sudden pain he knew would come from the memory . . . only to find it did not surface. There was an aching tug, no more than that. Then the memory retreated, and there was Zimzi, her hand in his, leaning against his arm. ‘Are you alright?’ she asked in a soft voice as she waved and nodded to those who wished them well as they passed by. ‘Never better,’ he murmured back.

Cook had taken over the duty of slicing the cake, he saw, And looked quite happy to be greeting the guests and prompting them for a compliment on ‘the finest specimen of a wedding cake made to date’, as she so modestly referred to it. He laughed as she buttonholed one sour looking old biddy and gave her a piece with extra frosting to sweeten her up.

Zimzi’s eye had been caught by the mathom table. She drew him along with her toward it, wanting to look at all the lovely presents. ‘Are we allowed to open them now?’ she whispered, fingering a soft leather pouch that she’d spied tucked under one side of a good sized iron kettle replete with lid that had obviously been well used before. Before he could answer, she untied the little thong that bound it, and fished out the contents. ‘How beautiful!’ she said, gasping at the clear gem stone hung on a simple leather cord. She placed one in Derufin’s outstretched palm, and he touched the stone gently with his finger. ‘There’s light within, isn’t there,’ he asked. ‘Like a star,’ Zimzi said. ‘Here, lean down a little and I’ll put it on you.’ He did the same for her, watching as she picked up her long hair so that the necklace rested against her neck, the stone lying just over her heart. She danced about in front of him. ‘Who gave them to us, do you think,’ she asked, coming to a stop.

Derufin looked about the crowded yard for a moment, then took her hand. ‘It was Uien, I’m sure who made them and with Falowik, gave them to us.’ The two walked over to where the man and Elf stood watching the dancers and the band. They smiled as they approached, and Zimzi put her arms about the Elf, startling her a bit as she gave her a hug. ‘They’re lovely gifts . . . the both of you . . . thank you,’ Zimzi said letting go of Uien and taking Falowik’s hand to give it a squeeze.

Derufin reached out his hand to clasp Falowik’s, intending to say thanks when a gleam against the man’s shirt caught his eye. ‘Aah! You have one, too . . .’

[THE Ka]

Rasputina was sitting on the lawn when two of the hobbit musicians - Owen and Seamus came over and sat beside her. She could sense that Seamus was tense about something, but what?

As they seated themselves, Seamus stroke up a conversation to make an apperiance that seemed to cloak his tension. Then, without apparent notice, Seamus pulled an object out of his hand and let it fall into her palm. What lay there was the answer to a question of guilt. It seemed as the sun glint off the broach, it seem to dispell the darkness that she placed on herself.

Although it was returned - the gift was back - a slight suspicion arose. How did he get this? Where? Seamus had been out before she left her room that morning but... How? Suddenly, as if a fleeting messenger on wings, an idea or suggestion came into her mind. Was it his pet monkey? She had had an inccident with this creature earlier, whom had taken a liking to her hat. She did not know the mind of this creature, and she wondered how it could have unlucked her door, and known how exactly to open her box. Her box wasn't a simple device to open, and did cause some frustration with Rasputina, especially when she was in a hurry. The box took much patience, and consentraition to open properly. This was because of its mechanical makings. It was made to be difficult - for any one. You had to count the number of turns as a sequence of clicks emitted by the internals, and after counting them carefully you would have to put pressure at certain areas of the keylocks face.

If that monkey had opened it ( Raspurtina wondered how in Arda it had ), it would had had to listen sometime in on her to find the number of clicks. How thick were those walls? Then it struck her - What if the monkey had slipped in? She would have sensed it right away but, she was so jittered and confused that morning that a herd of cows could have stampeeded by...

Placing the words carefully, she asked Seamus about this speculation. Seamus was startled and jumped alittle. He soon regain some courage and replied that he was thinking the same thing as well, and it could have happened. Apparently, from what she soon learned about this creature, this monkey was clever as ever and curious as well.

"Great", she thought, then he must had found a way to open that box! But, how? That would have to wait until further inspection. She thanked Seamus greatly, and Owen as well, for their recovery of the gift. She felt they needed a reward but, what did she have to give? There had to be something in her Trunk or something else that was hiding (hopefully still) in her box.

[Nurumaiel]

Marigold sat in the grass, taking bites of her cake in between her adoring glances at Zimzi. What a kind, beautiful, sweet, lovely bride she was! If the perfect truth must be told, Marigold had felt a twinge of disappointment when she saw who was to be married. She had expected some blushing hobbit lass, but there was a tall Big Folk woman instead. The disappointment had been diminished somewhat when she had realised what a pretty woman she was, and it was banished to dark depths of nothingness when she was taken into those slender arms and comforted in those tender tones. Marigold smiled. Miss Zimzi was sweet, sweet, sweet! Never had anyone been so affectionate to her since her mother clasped her and kissed her for the last time.

But...

Marigold recalled something else that had happened in those few moments when the world seemed at an end because of the ruined cake and spattered dress. She had called that tall one who caused all the trouble an 'awful Man.' She blushed at the recollection. If only she had merely thought it. That wouldn't have been so bad. It was humiliating to have said it so everyone could hear, and... they had laughed. She blushed deeper. Oh, thank goodness Zimzi had come and comforted her. Marigold was firmly convinced she would have died of shame and sorrow if it hadn't happened so.

She would have to apologise to that Man, she supposed. Of course, by all rights, he should apologise to her because he had ruined her cake and spattered icing on her dress (were all Big Folk so clumsy?). But she had called him awful, right out loud. Why, oh why, couldn't she have just thought it? Then everything would be all right. The guilt would be all on his side. But she had opened her mouth, and she would have to open it again in apology. She could see him from the corner of her eye. Well, she couldn't apologise yet. She had to finish her cake, and wait until he wasn't busy talking to someone else. Maybe he would always be busy. Frankly, she didn't want to apologise. Why should she? She had called him awful because he was awful. She hadn't done anything very wrong.

Well, that was easily solved. She wouldn't seek him out to apologise. She would only apologise (very casually, as if it didn't matter) if she ran into him again. Not that that could possibly happen. He would be the one to run into her, so clumsy was he. He would probably run over her, he was that clumsy. Why had she called him awful? He was clumsy, clumsy, clumsy.

Marigold giggled a little. He had looked funny with the cake all over him. His tunic had been spattered worse than her pretty skirt. And she mustn't call him clumsy anymore. It might make her mean-minded and depressing like Mr. Headstrong.

As if that could ever happen!

[littlemanpoet]

Zimzi put her arms about the Uien, startling her a bit as she gave her a hug. "They’re lovely gifts . . . the both of you . . . thank you," Zimzi said letting go of Uien and taking Falowik’s hand to give it a squeeze.

Derufin reached out his hand to clasp Falowik’s, intending to say thanks when a gleam against the man’s shirt caught his eye. "Aah! You have one, too . . ."

"Aye," Falowik smiled. "I-" he paused, blushing "-hope we did not overreach-" he glanced at Uien. "My Lady insisted that you would not mind."

Derufin's eyebrows rose at the strange response from Falowik. "Mind? Hardly!"

Falowik smiled. "That is because you do not yet know the virtues of the gifts. My part was merely to braid the five strands of leather for each necklace. Five strands give greater strength than three, you see, while not over large."

"Virtues?" Zimzi asked, holding the clear gleaming stone in her hand.

Uien smiled. "Look in the orb. The light within has formed the runes (http://www.geocities.com/TimesSquare/4948/tengwar/sindar.htm) of your name, Zimzi. See you the áze nuquerna?"

"Oh! I see!"

"Now think upon your mate." Zimzi's eyes widened as the runes changed their shape. "The ando, for Derufin," Uien said.

"It warms in my hand as it changes!" Zimzi cried.

"And Derufin," Uien said, "look upon yours."

"I see it, the ... áze nu-" he paused in confusion.

"The áze nuquerna, for Zimzi. She thinks of you, and so her rune appears in your orb. Now look upon mine, Derufin. What do you see?"

"The ando."

"Now look upon yours again," Uien grinned.

"Why, it is different! What rune is this?"

"The úre, after my name," Uien said, "for you are thinking of me. When you think of Falowik, the formen will appear."

"Yes! I see it!" cried Zimzi. "These are wonderful! But ... how?"

"'Tis the art of my kindred," Uien said, "helped by the gift of your hair. 'Twas needed to aid the linkage between us. One hair from my head, and one from Falowik's are in your necklaces, and four each from your own heads. You wear twins, as do Falowik and I. But all four are sisters."

"What do you call the gem?" asked Zimzi with eyes alight.

"They are called Tinumir in my speech, the Sindarin of the Elves, which in the Common tongue means 'star jewel'."

"The orbs," said Falowik, "hold starlight that Uien has caught in them by the art of her folk, and she embedded the strands of hair in the leather. I watched her do it, and still do not know how it was done!"

"These are rare gifts!" Zimzi said.

"Let them become heirlooms among your many children," Uien smiled. When you are far from us and we think of you, you will know that we think of you, and when it warms against your heart, you will know that you are thought of. As will we."

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Owen’s brain ground to a halt as Rasputina mentioned that the brooch Shimshin had taken had lain in a box of some sort. And a locked box at that. Surely the dear little monkey’s escapade purely on impluse! In the few months Owen had known him, Shimshin had never been know to scheme so. Owen felt crushed.

“Oh Miss,” he blurted out, snatching his cap from off his head, squashing it and the bladder pipe together with a muffled crinkling. “Thank you for taking this so well! And try not to think too badly of the little fellow. He is clever, but has a heart of gold, he does. He’d never take nothing if he thought it would hurt someone. It’s just a bit of fun for him, and his mind runs too quick, just as those small feet of his. That is my friend Seamus and my trouble, you see? But no harm done now, is there!”

Rasputina smiled benevolently at the nervous man. “No harm done, but maybe I should meet this Shimshin again so that I might advise him not to seek after such ornaments.”

“The counsel of elves is as good as gold, they say,” Seamus said, trying to smooth things over before Owen said too much. “Now if we can only convince the monkey of it!”

“If you’ll forgive me for saying it,” Owen continued with his train of thought. “I can understand him running off with your jewelry – he’s an eye on anything as sparkles. In fact, he’s a right magpie that one! But it’s the box as has me stumped, unless of course it was shiny too. He never done that a fore. Are you quite sure Miss, that no one else could have removed it?”

Rasputina fixed him with a thoughtful stare. “I am sorry that I can not answer your concerns, for I am doubtful whether anyone could have taken the brooch from this particular box.”

Owen tilted his head slightly, as if by doing so he could better line up his opinion of Shimshin with Rasputina’s revelations. Glancing blankly at the people milling about with their cake, and at the newly married couple chatting with their guests, his mind grappled with this puzzle in it’s typical herky-jerky fashion.

Suddenly he heard Seamus whistling a rollicking tune through his teeth. It was a good song, First rate for rebec, or bladder pipe for that matter. It was all about a young yeoman taken captive by raiding corsairs. Turning Owen noticed that Seamus was now standing and was nodding to the elf as though he was ready to leave. But Owen was not ready to go. He was just opening his mouth to explain the theory he and Seamus had developed, that Shimshin must have, at some point in his life, lived among pirates, when he felt the toe of Seamus’ boot strike his thigh rather sharply.

“Thank you for understanding,” the tall man was saying to the graceful elf as he towered over Owen. Then reaching down, Seamus offered him his hand. “I think we had better check on Shimshin before we get back to playing, don’t you?” he said pulling Owen to his increasingly unsteady feet.

“Aye, I do,” Owen replied. “Looks like he may’ve more talents than just his dancing. Though it break my heart to find it true.”

[THE Ka]

After his explanation, Rasputina felt relieve but, still curious that Seamus's monkey could have opened that box.

"Oh, Well" , she thought. As long as she had the gifts back was all that mattered right now. After thanking Owen and Seamus for their help and recovery of the item, she rose and strode over to the party. She had seen the wedding of the couple and the incident with the cake - somewhat, she still didn't know who caused the comotion. Whatever it was, it had blown over and a natural calm ebbed into the crowd. One thing she must do, was to find the couple.

This was not as easy as she thought. Once she sought them out with her sharp glance, they would have moved on to another call. Rasputina felt like a stalker without a match. Or a very slick one at that. She always hated crowds, even though it had been so long since she was around so many people. The cake distribution had been granted by the couple to a good judge as they went from gift-giver to gift-giver. Then she noticed something run past through the corner of her eye. It was small of stature and it was not an 'it', but a flock. A flock of hobbit children had passed her by and she was suddenly caught in a state of fasination. They seemed like an ethreal bunch, zipping from here to there completely consumed in their own atmophereric world of games and laughter. She watched as they conjurgated in one area to play a strange game. Their movements worked so fast and joinly that she wondered if they thought one thought all together. They were now playing a game that involved something of a judge and group. All but one child formed a row, while the one separate stood alone at a distance. The lone player then began to sing a ryme addressing the other players. In a question and answer sing-song they played the game out, all the while some of the once tightly knit group now dispersing in different directions.

As Rasputina watched she noticed the wedded couple finally resting at one of the tables. Rasputina saw her chance to finally give her gifts, which had gone through so many tasks and travels, finally to be given to those who were meant for them. She then strode comfident and filled with happiness over to the couple. Finally to recieve the gifts of Eryn Vorn...

[Mithalwen]

Now that Snaveling had joined his own people, Mithalwen suddenly felt very alone in the crowd. Rasputina had been deep in conversation with the people with the monkey and she could not see the diminutive Caity in the throng. She decided to seek her faithful companion. She slipped away from the party, without seeing that her gift had been passed on so quickly, and to the stable yard. Mithalwen did not bother to go and change but lited her skirt hem to avoid harming her dress.

Aeglos whickered as she entered the barn which was serving as overspill stabling for him and the horses of other latecomers. For a moment Mithalwen resolved to leave that evening. She longed for the company of her own kind - the company of many mortals made her a little melancholy. There was no point in getting interested in them she thought ... they passed so quickly ... like a spring growth of bluebells in a beech wood.. She thought of Snaveling's words about the hidden paths of her people, and while the open ways were safer since the return of the King, she would be more likely to find her kindred on the ancient routes.

But Snaveling was also a reason to stay - his story had sparked her curiousity and she wished she knew the whole tale .. perhaps it was some silly misunderstanding that had separated them and which could easily be put right. She hoped, for the man's sake that Roa had not been so superficial that she was dismayed by his reversal in fortune.

She led Aeglos from the barn so he might graze a little, and feel the late afternoon sun on his back. " Pehaps one day longer.." she whispered to the grey horse , " There would be little enough comfort or companionship on the journey ahead and she need not rush on to Rivendell. She watched the party continue from a distance until she settled Aeglos back in the barn. On her return to the gathering she rejoined Snaveling.

[Envinyatar]

The áze nuquerna burned bright in the three other gems as Zimzi looked fondly at the trio, her faced wreathed in smiles. Derufin shook his head in wonder and bowed slightly toward the Elf. ‘Thank you, little one,’ he murmured, picturing the first time he’d met the bedraggled waif. He too, smiled as the image changed to this graceful lady who now stood before him. With a wink, he took her hand and cupped it to his cheek. ‘May your journey be light from now until the end is reached, the One willing. And yours, also,
Falowik,’ he said, clapping the man, then, on the shoulder. ‘These are rare gifts, my friends,’ he continued, ‘but precious beyond all gifts is that of the bond of friendship given and received today.’

He pulled Zimzi close to him, his arm about her waist. The brief moment of grace resolved itself into the ordinary flow of life. The world, which had narrowed for a space of time, to just these four, now flooded in. Sights and sounds of the party flooded back in. Derufin and Zimzi stepped back to the mathoms’ table with a promise from the man and Elf that they would see them later for a meal and perhaps share a dance.

Zimzi curtsied to Falowik with a grin on her face. ‘I shall, of course, expect a dance with you,’ she said. Derufin raised his brows at her. ‘It is my right as the bride, to do so,’ she instructed him, citing one of the many ‘rules’ her mother had gone over with her. ‘The last dance is saved for you, alone, my dear,’ she assured him.

‘Well, then,’ responded Derufin, looking at Uien with a pitying sigh. ‘You shall have to put up with a large footed, rather clumsy person for a dance.’ He looked down at her dainty feet and shook his head. ‘Thick boots, my dear,’ he laughed. ‘That’s what I require in a dance partner.’ Zimzi, standing behind him, nodded her head ‘yes’, quite emphatically, to his statement.

[Telephilien]

The woman and horse were both limping as they approached the Green Dragon Inn. As the Inn's sign came into view, the human sighed with relief and exhaustion. She tenderly patted her horse's mud-spattered face, whispering words of encouragement as they headed for the barn. Once her restless black mare was safely placed in a stall, the woman moved slowly toward the inn.

It was difficult to tell the woman's age as she shed the grimy hooded cloak and tossed it on the nearest bench. Her huge green eyes held a haunted look, pasted on pale skin. Wearily she deposited her bony frame upon the seat, and asked for water. As she lifted her booted foot to rub her leg, an embroidered name could be see on the footwear and it read: Shaeowyn.

[THE Ka]

As she walked over, the couple had arisen again, now off to dance. Rasputina felt frustraited. Finding nothing better to pass the time she sat at the table the couple had been recently using. She went over what she would say, and tried from her memory, to get their names down. Zimzi and Derufin, those were their names, now nothing left but to present the gifts.

She watched the couple dance gracefully with the others who twirled next to the stage. When it looked like they were to return to the table, Zimzi was asked by another to dance, and Rasputina, once again, sat there to wait.

Finally, the musicians rested for awhile, and the dancers sat at tables to rest and have refreshments. As the couple walked back and sat at the table, Rasputina turned slowly as to not seem like a haunt and introduced herself to the couple.

" I have something to give you both, that is from my people as much as myself, I hope you will enjoy these..."

And Rasputina drew out from her pocket four small but, brilliant gifts. Two, were broaches, shaped in a tree and wave form. The other two, were different. They were not items that were meant to be worn or displayed upon a mantel piece, but for travel of any kind. They were two small orbs, and silver shown in the sunlight as they gentley rolled in her palms. They were a sort of compass and among her kin were a favorite to construct. They were meant to help you find any location, as long as you truely felt you needed to go there. Rasputina had one of these, that she was given on the day of her birth, and every child among her people carried everywhere. There was also an interesting thing about these compasses. They were meant for only that person and no one else. So was the case with these two, which had the couples' individual names written upon them.

"These last two, I must tell you how to use, but you must remember this or they will not work. These are compasses, and my people love to make them. Now, both have your individual names upon them, and are meant only for you to use. They will help no one except yourselves, so you have no need to worry if they are used by someone else without your knowing. if someone tries to find a location, the arrow will disappear and the orb will not spin. Also, that perosn's hands will be left a noticeable red. Now, to find your way somewhere, there is a dial on the side of each of them. All you must do is spell out where you wish to go. If you don't know the spelling of the location you don't need to give up because, they will only answer to their owners. Then, you must place them on the ground for them to direct you. Do not worry if they begin to spin, they are only trying to meet your request. When they stop, an arrow that is on top will be pointing to your location. After that, as you travel, watch the arrow. All you must do is follow the arrow and you are at your destination."

[TomBrady12]

Bingo Boffin was having a bad day. He'd lost a lamb in the woods and spent half the day trying to find it. Finally, after hours of searching he managed to find the lamb and get it back with the rest of his small heard, but it had made him terribly late for dinner. His wife would be in an uproar, he well knew, and he had no desire to see her just yet. The only thing that could save the day for poor old Bingo was a mug of his favorite beer at the Green Dragon. He quietly slipped his sheep into their paddock for the night and snuck away to the south without his wife's knowledge.

The walk was not terribly long, but Bingo was out of shape. He came puffing down the road as fast as his short legs would bring him. He spotted the inn from a distance and noticed a large crowd inside. The sounds of laughing and singing reached his ears, even from that distance. "Well then," Bingo exclaimed, "looks to be a party of the big people in there. It would be just plain rude to burst into their party uninvited and dirty from my day." Bingo pouted and spun on his heels to leave. The prospect of facing his wife, without even a drink of ale in his stomach, made his brief walk home seem like an eternity.

[piosenniel]

THE SCENE IN THE GREEN DRAGON INN'S FRONT YARD AT PRESENT . . .

It's a warm, sunny day in the Shire – late-afternoon.

All have gathered outdoors where the party is taking place.

The tables are groaning with the plenitude of food brought out to stave off hunger . . . most of the local Hobbit families have arrived, 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.

The big cake that Cook has made for Derufin and Zimzi is now on the dessert table. It's four layers high, frosted in white, light frosting, with candied violets of all colors all over it. There is a line-up as guests come for a slice of it.

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) are at the party. Ginger has most of the young ones in tow while Same conducts the handfasting ceremony. Rose is seated with a group of ladies and is delighted to have only the baby to look after.

Gil and his friends, Tomlin, Fallon, and Ferrin are playing and singing on the raised stage near the front of the Inn. They are intermittently joined by Falco Headstrong, Rasputina, Caity, Seamus, and Owen.

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The handfasting ceremony is now done.

Derufin and Zimzi are a proper couple.

They are at the mathom table at present, looking over the gifts they’ve been given. The band is playing and any number of couples are dancing. Later, when it's dark, the little lights in the branches of the trees will be lit and there will be fireworks.

And there is food and drink, of course, flowing in abundance from the good folk of the Shire . . .

[Witch_Queen]

Avalon
"Nelek? Nelek was my grandfather. Well atleast thats what my mother said. I have heard of Rark, my father told me stories about him. They were once friends. Both of them traveled together. To me Rark was the uncle I never knew." Avalon looked down at the dwarf. She couldn't believe that Dwaline had known her grandfather. She had rarely ever talked about her parents after all both of them had been black as the night sky. "My parents didn't want me to be white. They figured that if I was the way I am then perhaps some of my grandfather is actually in me. Perhaps I am suppose to meet you."

Avalon went on to talk about how she had met one human that treated her with respect. Cree had been the only one that listened to her when she needed someone. It was Cree that showed Avalon that not all humans are mean and cruel. "Cree was the only elf that ever showed me that I was not different. But she left me. I needed her and she needed me even more. Now she's gone and I am once again left to wander this world alone."

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Dwaline looked up at Avalon is slight astonishment; he did not expect to meet a relative of Nelek. Or even more so, a relative of Rark.

"This would make you Rarks great grand daughter," he said, "Now this is an odd occurrence. Tell me, where did 'Cree' go? Perhaps I can find her and bring news to you. I may be old, even by the count of my people, but I have a reputation for news gathering."

He went on to tell her of his adventures as a young dwarf, how he and Rark would find out secrets and how he had had a way with words to get news from even the most suborn and tight-lipped dwarf masters. Avalon listened to the tales with a reassurance about this strange old Dwarf.

"And so," he concluded, "I met an odd Elf at the lonely mountain. We became friends and used each other’s services. He told me of his wishes for revenge on a Dragon who is thankfully now dead. However, Not many days ago now, I met with him and told him tidings of a most unsavoury nature. Of a Fire breathing terror in the northern mountains. I have come here to find him and tell him of the lords of Rivendel and their orders."

He looked up at Avalon, expecting her to have fallen asleep with his tale telling, but she had not. She stood perched on the fence next to him and peered into his eyes. A few reckless Hobbits who had enjoyed the party a little too much laughed at Dwaline for talking to a bird, he smiled and bowed to them as they stumbled around in search of more ale.

[piosenniel]

Ruby spies Shaeowyn . . .

Ruby spied the bedraggled looking woman as she made her way to one of the tables. ‘Land’s sake!’ she murmured to herself. ‘Poor thing looks like she could use a bit of drink and a bit of food.’ She fixed a small plate of savories and bread, meat, and good Shire ham, placed it on her serving tray, then fetched a cup of cider.

‘Sorry,’ she said as she placed the plate in front of the woman. ‘I didn’t hear that you wanted water.’ Ruby pushed the cider in front of the woman. ‘Ruby’s my name. Work here at the Dragon,’ she said by way of explanation. ‘Drink this. It’ll fortify you til I can bring back a cup of water. And go ahead and eat. There’s more on the tables over there.’ She waved away the woman’s offer to pay. ‘Party, you know,’ said Ruby, nodding her head. ‘Handfasting. No one pays when there’s a party!’

Ruby turned to fetch the woman a glass of water and noticed the embroidery on the boots. ‘Shaeowyn . . . pretty name,’ she said. ‘Is it yours, Miz?’

[Encaitare]

The episode with Snaveling, the little girl, and the cake had attracted much attention and laughter from the guests, and a look towards the towering cake made Caity realize how very hungry she was. Gently setting her whistle down on the stage where it wasn't likely to get stepped upon, she descended the stairs and made her way over to the table. It took several minutes for her to manage to get to the table, but soon a plate with thick slice of cake on it was passed to her.

There were several empty tables, but she was perfectly content to sit on the grass, so she found a nice lush spot and plopped down contentedly with her cake. She lifted a forkful to her mouth and tasted the cake. It was absolutely delicious.

I must remember to present my compliments to the cook, she thought. Everything is going so well today.

The band played on as she ate, and the lively tune they played made her wiggle her big toe in time. When she was finished, she bounded up, barely remembering to take the empty plate with her. She put it on a table which was full of used dishes. Yet the rich cake had left her throat feeling somewhat dry.

Nearby, the three old grannies were still tending their vat of punch, stirring it every so often between handing out cups to the ladies. Caity decided she wouldn't mind a taste. She politely asked one of the gammers for some, and the elderly hobbit gave her a knowing wink as she handed her a cup. It was a curious-looking drink, golden and yet ruby red at the same time. Glad for something to moisten her dry throat, Caity took a sip and found it to her liking. Soon the cup was empty.

The band struck up another fast song, quite fit for dancing. The guests were coupling off in front of the stage. Caity suddenly felt like dancing, too. Her foot was tapping to the music, and had she turned around, she would have seen the three grannies chuckling to themselves. She looked about the crowd of people, wondering if maybe there was a nice hobbit lad about her age who she might dance with.

[Telephilien]

The woman looked at Ruby with a faint smile. "Yes, it is customary to have one's name displayed thusly upon demonstrating a certain level of horsemanship - where I come from. Thank you for noticing!" As Ruby turned to go Shaeowyn called after her, "and the comfort of food and drink is much appreciated."

The lines around her eyes and mouth seemed to soften as she began to observe the happy bustling of life within the Inn. Her thoughts strayed to happier times long past, and she felt herself relaxing in the party atmosphere. After a bit she stretched and moved in the direction of the food Ruby had pointed out. Even her limp seemed improved.

[Envinyatar]

The gifts from Rasputina . . .

‘Do sit down with us, if you will,’ said Derufin, rising from his seat as the Elf stood at the table, gifts in hand. One of the servers brought them a small flagon of chilled Dorwinion wine at his request and a plate of mushroom tarts.

‘Oh, look at these,’ Zimzi said with delight, turning the brooches over in her hands. ‘My mother has woven us new cloaks.’ She grinned, ‘Ah, she will roast me over the coals for telling you that; it was to be a surprise.’ She held one of the tree and wave pins up near her left shoulder. ‘See how pretty that will be . . . and handsome for you, of course, my dear . . . when they are clasped on the dark blue cloaks she has made us.’

Derufin admired the brooches, they were simple, yet elegant in their artistry. But more so was he interested in the compasses she had given them. They were of a unique sort, one he’d not encountered before on his travels. ‘A wondrous gift,’ he exclaimed, trying his out. He leaned down from his seat and placed it on the ground. Thinking of Bree, he spelt it out, using the orb’s dial and watched as the compass spun a little before orienting in an eastward direction. ‘Excellent!’ he murmured, picking the orb up and placing it handily in one of his vest pockets.

Zimzi turned hers over in her hand as she wondered aloud. ‘Will the power to use it die with us,’ she asked the Elf. ‘Is there any way our children could use it after us?’ She put the ball on the table top in front of her and rolled it slowly back and forth beneath her index finger. ‘You said that the gifts were as much from your people as from you.’ She tapped the wave form on the brooch. ‘Are you and they from somewhere near the sea, then?’

Derufin poured the Elf another small glass of wine. ‘Yes, where do your people live, Rasputina? Have you traveled far?’

[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)

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

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 – late-afternoon.

All have gathered outdoors where the party is taking place.

The tables are groaning with the plenitude of food brought out to stave off hunger . . . most of the local Hobbit families have arrived, 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.

The big cake that Cook has made for Derufin and Zimzi is now on the dessert table. It's four layers high, frosted in white, light frosting, with candied violets of all colors all over it. There is a line-up as guests come for a slice of it.

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) are at the party. Ginger has most of the young ones in tow while Same conducts the handfasting ceremony. Rose is seated with a group of ladies and is delighted to have only the baby to look after.

Gil and his friends, Tomlin, Fallon, and Ferrin are playing and singing on the raised stage near the front of the Inn. They are intermittently joined by Falco Headstrong, Rasputina, Caity, Seamus, and Owen.

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The handfasting ceremony is now done.

Derufin and Zimzi are a proper couple.

They are mingling with their guests. The band is playing and any number of couples are dancing. Later, when it's dark, the little lights in the branches of the trees will be lit and there will be fireworks.

And there is food and drink, of course, flowing in abundance from the good folk of the Shire . . .

[piosenniel]

Please Note:

Tomorrow, Real Time, the time in the Shire will move forward to night . . .

~*~ Pio

[Arry]

Ferdy

‘G’wan, Ferdy,’ Gil urged him. ‘Get Ginger a piece of cake and a cup of cider. The boys and I will play a nice tune for you in a little while . . . you can ask her to dance . . . Shoo!’ He gave Ferdy a little nudge in the direction of the desserts . . .

Following Gil’s advice was easier said than done. Oh, to be sure, the getting of the cake was simple enough, he thought . . . a nice large slice with a number of the yellow candied violets on it . . . he fancied her in yellow, he thought, craning his neck once again to catch sight of her . . . she was pretty, like those tulips his Gammer liked to grow . . .

‘Cake, sir?’ one of the servers said prompting him out of his little daydream. Ferdy felt a flush creeping up his neck as he accepted the plate.

Now to grab a mug of cider from the drinks’ table. Luckily the neither the sight of the little pottery mug or the color of the liquid sent him into any flights of fancy . . . though, the mug was quite full when he picked it up and he sipped a bit off the top to keep it from spilling . . . a small smile creased his face as he thought it might be nice to kiss someone who’d just drunk some of this . . .

Cook was at the table, retrieving her own drink when she saw him. ‘Master Ferdy,’ she said, causing him to look up guiltily. ‘Enjoying the Inn’s fine cider? Made from the finest apples in the Shire.’ She took a sip of her own. ‘Enjoying the party?’

Well, here’s a pickle, he thought casting a quick glance to see where the object of his affection had gone off to – Cook is making small talk! Long planted manners got the best of him and he chatted with her for a few moments. Luckily, one of her dance partners, Ferdy could not recall the name, came to claim her.

With as swift a step as the bouncing liquid in the mug would allow, Ferdy made his way over to where Ginger stood. She had moved near the little platform where the band was playing and stood tapping her foot to the music. He was almost to her, when some bold lad offered her his hand and pulled her into the swirl of dancers.

Gil, noting his friend at the edge of the stage, shook his head . . .

[Primrose Bolger]

Minto is introduced to Caity . . .

Minto Chubb had asked her to dance. Not asked her, really, more like he just grabbed her hand and pulled her along. His family’s place edged on her family’s and they had been friends for many long years. He was like a big brother to her, but close enough in age that they got into and sometimes out of many scrapes together.

‘Got to help me, Ginger,’ he confided in a low voice as he maneuvered her to the other side of the dance area. He twirled her about once, then nodded toward a group of people standing on the edge of the dancing crowd. ‘See that lass over there? The one with the curly, sandy brown hair.’

Ginger made him slow down a bit and took a good long glance at the Hobbit he’d indicated. ‘Yessss?’ she prompted, wondering what he was up to.

‘Well, I was wondering if you knew who she was?’ Minto returned.

Looking him up and down, Ginger gave him a laugh and a nod of her head. ‘Well, I just might. But who is it wants to know?’

He wanted a dance with her, he told Ginger. Just hadn’t quite worked up the courage to ask her. And would Ginger mind introducing them. He put on his sweetest smile and grinned at her.

‘Her name is Caity,’ Ginger said, recalling when she’d come to the kitchen to ask about the notice for musicians for the party. ‘Caity Brandybuck, I think. She came to the Inn just before the party. Traveling . . . by herself.’ Ruby was an endless source of information and had shared the few tidbits she knew with the other workers in the Inn one night at supper. ‘Come one, then,’ she went on, pulling him off the dance area. Minto pulled her to a stop for a moment as he ran his fingers through his unruly mop of dark brown curls, tucked his tunic in neatly into his breeches, and took a deep breath.

Introductions were made, and after a few pleasant remarks were exchanged, Ginger withdrew, leaving Minto to his own devices. She walked slowly round the dance area and found Ferdy on the opposite edge of it, a plate of cake in his hands. A perplexed look on his face.

‘Ferdy?’ she said, stepping up behind him and tapping him on the back . . .

[THE Ka]

Rasputina had been relieved to just hear from Zimzi and Derufin that the gifts were lovely to them, and now she felt one quest complete. Now, the couple wished to know more about their compasses. They were unique to the outer world, for none of this kind had left her forest.

She explained that, these devices were unique with the owner and would only serve them and no other. The couple was concerned about, the fact that if their children inherited them would they serve them as well, or would their power die with them?

Rasputina hesited to answer. Very few of her people needed to pass on to their children these objects, for, when they ran from their burning lands to Eryn Vorn they had brought much or if not all of their mineral valuables in case they needed to trade with others. It never came to this and so, they were left with quite alot of free time and materials. Some though, wished to keep some of their older traditions and did not request a compass for a child but, passed theirs on.

At first, she explained, their children did not know how to use the compasses. They would not respond to their calls, or spin for them. Soon, by chance, some had come apon something interesting. The devices would not respond to some ways of communication but, they could be fooled to doing so. The compasses did not only read their dials but, also their owner's thoughts. If the children thought the destination, similar to how their parents would, the compasses would work. Soon, some of the more creative devised a ryme system that could be used by the children. Now, the children's parents still lived which helped greatly with their problem. To trick the devices to be used by their offspring, the parents all thought of an individual ryme, that the compass would come to identify with its owner and no one else. Now, the parents taught their children the ryme and as if they too were the owner's of the compasses, the devices would work for them just as well.

So, she told them, If they wished their children to come to own these compasses, they would first, have to think up their own ryme. Then, they would have to use it as much as they could when they sought direction. Then, they must only tell their children only what the ryme was. Thus, passing on the compasses without having to worry about it refusing their decendants.

They had also asked if her people lived close to the sea. She told them about her home. Eryn Vorn was a heavly wooded cape that stood out into the Great Sea south of the mouths of Baranduin. She did not mention her favorite cliff face - for some reason, she wanted to protect it's secret existance. She told how her people were forced to flee here because of the deforestation done by Numenoreans from Lond Daer and either side if the Gwathlo. Her kin thought kindly these people only so much, and on this matter they only could see the desire for power that Numenor lusted after. After this, few of her kin spoke of the event and gave thanks to the Valar and Eru for letting them survive. Even though, not all hope was lost, soon her people came to know 'The Dark Forest' as well as their old home and could think of no better land.

Now, Rasputina paused as her tale was done and waited for her listener's response...

[Envinyatar]

Listening to Rasputina’s story . . .

‘Rhymes,’ mused Zimzi. ‘I like that idea.’ She rolled the orb in the palm of her hand, thinking. ‘When I was young, my mother taught us the history of the lands around us and of our family by rhymes. It was very effective, especially for a dunderhead like me who could never remember the names of places, much less where they were, or why they were important.’ She tapped her fingers of her free hand on the table. ‘We can keep a journal as we use the compasses . . . yes, that would work.’

Derufin gave Zimzi’s hand a squeeze as Rasputina began to speak of the Numenoreans. He knew that many people’s history of injury does not diminish and that old grudges die hard even though ages have passed and the particulars of a story have faded. Zimzi’s family was from Forlindon, from a small place called strand near the haven of Forlond. In hazy strands of history, her family traced its way back to those who had fled eastward from Westernesse. It was a terrible thing to have happened to one’s people, to be pushed from one’s home by the greed of others.

Zimzi listened closely to Rasputina’s story, her heart heavy for old wrongs. And when the woman had finished speaking she was silent for a moment. ‘This is more than a gracious gift,’ she said, placing the compass on the table between the two of them. ‘From you and from your people to me and to my children yet to come. We will cherish them, Derufin and I. And perhaps someday we might have the pleasure of visiting your homeland. In truth, it really is not that far from here, is it?’

They passed a little while longer in pleasant conversation. Then the band began a song they had promised to play for the couple. ‘Come with us to the dance floor,’ Zimzi urged her. They are playing a circle dance . . . a fast moving one . . . lots of fun. Come join in if you will.’

Derufin stood, holding out his hand to Zimzi. ‘Yes, come,’ he said, nodding toward the dance floor . . . you needn’t have a partner . . .

[Child of the 7th Age]

NOTICE OF TIME CHANGE IN THE INN

It is now late evening in the Shire. The sun has gone down. The stars are out, as well as a fat, pearly moon. The little lanterns have been lit that were hung in the trees about the yard.

Many of the families with children have headed home. But the younger crowd, as well as the older, unencumbered by little ones, are still at the Inn. It’s a quieter crowd with much sitting about with mugs, smoking pipes, and gossiping.

The little band is still playing and a number of the young ones are dancing.

~*~ Pio

[Encaitare]

Caity had been looking about for possible dance partners, but most of the lads her age were either already thus occupied, or partaking of the delicious cake. She had been hoping that maybe there would be someone standing upon the rim of the dancers as though he wanted to join in. She twirled a bit of hair about her finger as the song ended.

The next one, I'll ask someone, she thought. She then chided herself, Yes, but that's what you said the last song as well.

She was just about to get really irritated at her hesitance when two people approached her. One was a hobbit who Caity recognized as Ginger, and the other was a lad she did not know. Ginger was pulling him along by the hand; the dark-haired boy looked a tiny bit nervous.

"Hello; it's Caity Brandybuck, right?" said Ginger. Caity replied in assent. "Well," the other girl continued, "I don't think we've been properly introduced, so I'm Ginger Gamwich. This is my friend, Minto Chubb."

"Good evening," said Minto politely.

"Good evening," Caity returned. "It's a lovely party, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes," said Ginger. "Just look at Miz Zimzi there; doesn't she look beautiful?" Caity and Minto said that they agreed. Then there was a moment of rather awkward silence, which Ginger finally broke. "Oh, I think I see Ferdy over there. It was nice to finally make your acquaintance, Caity!" With that, she was off, heading in the direction of a hobbit holding a piece of cake.

"So, er... do you know the couple?" said Minto, trying to make conversation.

"Actually, not at all," responded Caity with a wry smile. "I only came because I heard that the band needed an extra member."

"I heard your song before," Minto told her. "It was very pretty."

Caity blushed, then realized that she was blushing, which probably only caused her cheeks to redden more. "Thank you, that's so kind of you to say."

As a new song began, Minto asked, "Would you like to dance?" Caity happily accepted and they stepped into the group of dancers and swept along as the band played and sang:

In the woods there grew a tree
A fine, fine tree was he

On that tree there was a limb
And on that limb there was a branch
On that branch there was a nest
And in that nest there was an egg

In that egg there was a bird
And from that bird a feather came
Of that feather was a bed
On that bed there was a girl

And with that girl there was a man
And from the twain there was a boy
From that boy there was a man
And for that man there was a grave
On that grave there grew a tree

[Child of the 7th Age]

Hawthorne sat and watched as the dancers twirled across the floor, her right foot tapping rhythmically in response to the spritely beat. The evening had been joyous. Zimzi and Derufin were so clearly in love that it was impossible not to be happy for them. A few hours before, she had sprung atop a table and vigorously danced the Springel-ring with one of the local lads, but now she was content to watch quietly while reflecting on everything that had happened that day. At least she had not disgraced herself. She had assisted with the party preparations and the Inn was still standing, which was a great deal better than the last time she'd visited.

After the handfasting ceremony, she had chased away a few rascals from the wagon bed who were attempting to remove the canvas in order to pry inside where the toys were hidden. Later, she and Mayor Samwise had passed out these presents to all the children who had come. There had been a vast array of mathoms to distribute: little metal cows that "mooed" when you yanked on their tails, young hobbit dolls that looked so lifelike you half expected them to cry, tambourines with jingling bells and long winding ribbons, along with a number of hobbit-sized fiddles and horns, and an assortment of intricately carved wooden figures. The latter were mostly representations of Elves. Hawthorne wondered where these had come from, since they didn't seem to be the sort of thing a dwarf craftsman would attempt. One of these figures, a representation of an Elf maid with flowing skirts and gentle face, had looked so lovely that Hawthorne had tucked it into the pocket of her skirt.

The children had hooted and hollered and tussled a bit over who got what until Mayor Samwise had stepped in to control the situation with a kind but firm hand. Everyone had finally agreed to behave and shake hands. Now the children were off in clustered groups, playing with their toys on the floor of the Common Room and on the steps that led up to the Inn's front door.

Hawthorne knew that the large cuckoo clock was still in the back of the wagon. She had decided to wait until the next day to present it to the couple. There were so many well wishers crowding about Zimzi and Derufin, and so many presents to be handed to the couple that it seemed better to wait for a quieter time.

The party was still lively, but a few of the families with younger children had left. They had collected their capes and hats as well as their little ones, along with the now empty dishes that they'd brought with them for the supper, waving good night to the other guests. Hawthorne stood up, stretched and yawned, wondering if she should cut short her celebration and turn in upstairs. Her thoughts were interrupted by the approach of two young lads who tugged insistently on her sleeve.

"You must go with us. Now!," one lad urged her. "Come to the wagon. You have to see."

She shook her head and laughed, thinking the boys were hoping to get some additional mathoms that had been left behind in the wagon. "No luck, lads. Sorry, but all the toys have been given out. I know the clock is still there. But that is for our young couple."

"It's not toys," the older of the two insisted. "It's a lass. Not a young lass, but a missus, though a tiny sprig of a thing even for a hobbit. More like my mother, actually. And she seems addled."

Intrigued by this description and wondering what was going on, Hawthorne sprinted out to the stables where the wagon was parked. From across the yard, she could see that one corner of the canvas had been thrown back to reveal a shadowy figure, a hobbit on her knees who was grabbing onto the side of the wagon, and wobbily trying to pull herself up. Whoever the stranger was, she made one last mighty effort and then failed, sinking back into the straw, apparently unconscious, and narrowly missing hitting her head on the clock.

"Quick," yelled Hawthorne to the hobbit at her side. "Go inside, and have one of the big folk or the older hobbits come and help. Perhaps the stranger's hurt or sick. I need someone to help me get her inside the Inn."

With that the lads took off.

[Arry]

Andwise and Otho to the rescue . . .

‘So you’re from Tuckburrough, are you?’ Andwise Banks dipped his pipe into the old leather pouch he used for pipeweed, then offered it to his new acquaintance. The two men were silent for a moment as they went through the ritual of tamping and lighting the pipes to their satisfaction. Soon little orange glows and wraithlike smoke punctuated the shadows about the table where the two Hobbits sat.

‘Aye,’ returned Otho Bracegirdle, picking up the conversation. ‘That’s where I hang my hat when I’m home. But much of the time I’m traveling the Shire, far as Bree, too. Trading in spices and herbs and that sort of thing. That’s how I got to know dear Vinca,’ he said fondly, nodding toward where Cook stood talking with a few of her lady friends.

Andwise smoothed out his face at the fond mention of Cook by Otho. He, too, admired Cook, but truth be told, the woman was quite formidable in his estimation. He barely stopped himself from saying, ‘Good luck on that one!’

The spoke about inconsequential things, trading little stories of this and that. Mostly they just enjoyed the small pleasures of someone to chat with, a good pipe to smoke, and a fresh mug of ale to please the tongue and tingle the toes with its drinking.

Otho had just offered his pouch of tobacco for a second pipeful when two young lads came running pell-mell from the side of the Inn and stopped, gasping, at his and Andwise’s table. ‘Here, now, lads,’ said Andwise recognizing the two boys. ‘What’s got the wind up you?’

In fits and wheezes and excited gesturings it was learned that someone had been found in the stable . . . a Hobbit lady . . . ‘No sir, dunno who it is. But Miz Hawthorne’s sent us to fetch someone to help get her into the Inn.’ Andwise raised his brows at Otho and the two of them walked quickly back to the stables.

As they had been told, Hawthorne was there, chafing the hand of the Hobbit who had fainted dead away. The poor thing’s eyelids fluttered but did not open and she looked so pale. The two men eased her onto one of the horse blankets, and grabbing the ends, carried her as gently as they could in the sling. ‘Let’s bring her into the kitchen,’ huffed Andwise as they carried her up the front steps and into the common room.

The two lads were dispatched to get a nice warm blanket from one of the servers while Hawthorne and the men propped the lady in Cook’s wingback chair, her feet resting on the hearth of the small fireplace.

‘Otho,’ said Andwise, as they stood looking at the woman now wrapped in a blanket. ‘Perhaps you had better fetch Cook . . .’

[littlemanpoet]

Derufin felt the stone warm at his breast. Next moment, he received a tap on the shoulder. He turned to see Uien smiling at him. Behind her was Falowik, flushing a dark shade of crimson. She was certainly the forward one of the two. That probably would never change.

"About that dance you promised me, Master Derufin."

"It would be an honor." Derufin looked to Zimzi, then to Falowik.

The Bree man straightened and offered his hand to the bride. "Lady? It would be an honor if you would dance with me."

Zimzi laughed. "Where did you learn such fancy speech?" Falowik colored, but smiled, and the two ladies glided on the arms of their partners.

It was a folk song, quick of rhythm and light of heart. The dance was quick and hearty too. Falowik forgot himself in the fun of it. The tinumir at their throats were warm, if they noticed in the vigor of the dance, and the light within danced, as fast as their steps, from rune to rune.

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger was enjoying herself immensely. Ferdy had finally unlocked his tongue and found the words to ask her for a dance. A safe enough line dance for the two of them . . . he bowed, she picked up her skirt a bit and bowed back. There was twirling and mirroring each others steps in time with the other dancers in the line. And of course the shy smiles as they caught each other’s eye . . . and the holding of hands as they ran between the lines of dancers to take their places at the other end. She could see Caity and Minto, a wide smile on his face, dancing in one of the other lines.

From the corner of her eye she caught the commotion as two Hobbits carrying something in a sling trudged up the Inn steps at a quick pace. ‘Isn’t that your Da?’ asked Ginger.

Ferdy took a quick look, dancing was not one of his better skills and he really did have to concentrate. ‘It is,’ he said, his forehead wrinkled.

‘Shall we go see if we can help,’ she asked. Ferdy’s face fell a bit. ‘Well,’ she went on, ‘they do look like they have it well under control. And, oh look, there goes Cook.’

‘She’ll sort it out,’ said Ferdy. He took Ginger’s hand, though it wasn’t part of the dance pattern at that point. ‘Let’s just dance. The older folk can take care of the problem.’

Ginger slipped her hand from his after a few moments then grinned and curtsied and turned her mind back to dancing . . .

[Nurumaiel]

Marigold clapped her hands in time to the lively music, watching the dancers with wide, wistful eyes. Falco Headstrong had been playing his whistle, but when he glanced at her, a thought occurred to him, and he went to her. "Well now, Miss Marigold," he said, smiling down at her. "Why aren't you dancing?"

"I can't dance by myself," said Marigold, "and I'm only a little girl. Nobody would ask me to dance. But don't worry... I'm enjoying myself by just sitting here and watching." But she sighed a little, and he heard it.

"But you've dressed up so pretty, with your little curls in ribbons," said Falco. "Surely you want to dance. 'Twould be a shame if that blue skirt of yours didn't get to twirl about a little." The whistle went into his pocket, and he bowed. "I haven't danced in some time," he said, "but I think I remember how to do it yet. And I won't be letting any pretty girl sit out."

Marigold looked up at him with a delighted, slightly doubtful expression. Would he really dance with her? He was so much taller than she. Wouldn't it be awkward? Would he mind? No, he didn't mind! She sprang up from the grass and took his hands eagerly. And then, slowly and stiffly at first, they began to dance. Falco struggled to remember at least the basics. She had no set way of dance, but there was certainly a rhyme and rythmn to her little flitting feet, and it was not long before he had recalled completely how to dance. Maybe they did look awkward, the tall, gray-haired old hobbit dancing with the small golden lassie, but they were enjoying themselves immensely, and that was all that really mattered.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling and Mithalwen had spent the afternoon together watching the festivities and speaking from time to time of the lands that they had travelled through. While the Elf’s knowledge was deeper, Snaveling’s was wider for he had travelled more than she, in the latter days of the world’s age at least, and he was able to tell her much of the comings and goings of the lands to the south and the north. For her part, the Elf told Snaveling of her realm and at his entreaties had told him more of her meeting with the Faithful after their arrival upon the winds of storm and ruin. Several times during her narrative Mithalwen paused and looked at Snaveling as though expecting him to speak of his own interest in these histories, but the more the Man heard the more he became reluctant to speak of his identity, for the Elf’s admiration of those who came with Elendil was such that he felt sure she would not relish of the truth of Snaveling’s ancestry. Mithalwen could sense his reluctance and did not press, but both knew that a time would come when he would answer her unspoken enquiries.

Afternoon gave way to evening and the shadows grew about them both. The night came down, isolating the party-goers who remained into smaller groups about the lights that were brought out to the yard. Some people began to move inside the Inn, and Mithalwen asked if Snaveling wished to go in as well, but the thought of seeing Aman kept the Man outdoors, and Mithalwen stayed with him. They sat in silence for a time before the Elf turned her ageless eyes upon him and said directly, “You are avoiding the Innkeeper.”

“Yes,” Snaveling replied. “I do not do so from reluctance or dislike, but from cowardice. There is a conversation that I must have with the girl, and it is one that I fear will cause her pain and me…discomfort. I should not say more, however, until I have spoken with her. I owe her a great debt of gratitude.”

“You have alluded to such things this day, Tar-Corondir, and to a number of other such mysteries. I would know what it is that you have kept silent. I do not wish to make you break your secrets to me, and I would not ask if I did not see already that you are willing to lay most – if not all – of your story before me.”

Snaveling sighed. At last, it seemed, the moment had come. He looked away from the disturbingly open eyes of the Elf and gazed instead into the black heart of a torch’s flame. He stayed that way for a long time, and she was content to let him remain that way. When he did speak he did so as though in part to himself. “Twice before I have been to this Inn, but it was the first visit that has determined the course of my life. When I arrived I was but a vagabond and a rogue. I committed such crimes as I am ashamed to speak of now. I have been counselled by folk of greater wisdom to let the past remain in the past, so I shall not horrify you with a detailed account of my crimes, but they reached even to the highest: robbery, treachery…even attempted murder. The folk here quickly realised who and what I was, but rather than sending me forth into the world an outcast and a criminal, they took me in and tried to help me, even in the extremity of my distress.” As he spoke the faces of his friends returned to his mind’s eye: Tobias, Galadel, Aman…Roa. He felt Mithalwen’s eyes upon him as he thought of the Ranger woman, and so he answered her wordless question. “One of them, who had the greatest cause against me, showed me justice and mercy, and for that I gave to her my eternal gratitude and fidelity. I shall not bore you with the story of unrequited affection, but because of how I feel for her, she fled Minas Tirith, where we had travelled together so that I might receive judgement from her King. I have come north to seek for her.”

Snaveling fell silent, but Mithalwen said. “You have not told me all. You speak of who you were and why you are here, but you do not say who you are, or what you have become.”

“No, lady, for I fear what you might think of me when you learn the truth. I have already told you that I am of Numenor, but that I cannot account myself among the Dunedain, by whom I mean those who came to Middle-earth with Elendil and his sons. My ancestry is from an altogether different line.” He paused before the plunge. “When I first came to this place I was ignorant of my heritage, but by tokens that I had with me at the time, my friends were able to determine my descent. I have since spent much time with the lore masters of Gondor and they have been able to search out the full truth of my tale. Before the destruction of Numenor, the King sent his nephew to oversee those lands to the south of Gondor that still owed direct allegiance to the Numenorean crown. He was in these lands when his uncle sailed into the West, ensuring the destruction of his realm. The nephew, now the king of a vanished realm, sought refuge with his companions among the simple folk who live between the White Mountains and the Sea. There, they hid from the Faithful and plotted for the day when they could reclaim their sovereignty. But they soon dwindled, and their hopes were lost. Long the line went quiet, and all tokens and even memory of their greatness and of their aspirations were lost. But among some of my people there remained heirlooms of that time, and for some, the blood of Numenor ran true. I am one such person, for I stand in direct descent from the king’s nephew, and by some trick of fate or circumstance, in me is reborn the likeness of that nephew. His name was Tar-Corondir, and it is for him that I was named, though I knew it not, for the ancient language of my people was so broken and debased that the name I am known by – Snaveling – is but an echo of my great progenitor’s.” He turned to look at Mithalwen, as though to gauge her reaction to what he said next. “You see then, lady, why I feared telling you all the truth about me, for I am the last king of now-vanished Numenor, and therefore I am chief among those now called the Black Numenoreans, who allied themselves to Sauron in the Dark Days, and from whose ranks the Dark Lord found his most terrible servants.”

[THE Ka]

Rasputina if she could remember, (and she finally did) that she rarely danced and that she did not like to partake in the act of it. Did that make her strange from her kin who, found dancing a worthy activity to pass time. She would roll her eyes at this and continue to practice her cello. When her mother had wished to teach how to walk, she would also teach Rasputina how to dance and how all steps were free to expression. She had love this when she was very young, being nothing more than a wild child she would skip, hop, trot, spin and whatever else she felt like as she walked through the forest. When she had been given her one and only cello, she soon was swept up in a new passion much forgetting her old passion.

Now, the old memories arose themselves upon her. She watched these people dancing, in their neat, orderly and moralistic way to fit the tune of the music. She never could do this and she never wanted to. Her form of dancing expression was utterly 'uncivilized' compared to these people's. She could just imagine it - nice little circles of people spinning ever so orderly then she wouls start, and the circles would be cast about. Literally a heathen amongst angels. She was scared. She did not know how to dance, and that was that.

She was reluctant to dispose this information to Derufin. How would he or anyone else take such a gesture?

Summing up some courage, she walked over to him, and wispered into his ear about her dancing history...

[piosenniel]

Cook comes to see what’s going on in the kitchen . . .

‘Oh, my stars and garters,’ murmured Cook. Her eyes had caught the smiling face of Otho Bracegirdle as he puffed himself toward her at a run. The band, she noted, had just struck up another spirited song, and here she stood her arches aching from the last round of dancing with Otho. Toes too, unfortunately. He was a determined dancer, Mr. Bracegirdle was. She snorted at her little jest. Determined to step on my toes . . . every one of them!

The ladies standing with her pursed their lips, a few arching their brows, as they saw Otho, who was now waving wildly at Cook to catch her attention. ‘Give up, Vinca!’ chuckled Miz Elderberry from Frogmorton. ‘I see you looking for a convenient tree to hide behind. But he’s got you in his sights. Give the poor man a smile.’

Otho was oblivious to the fact he had been the object of discussion as he halted in front of Cook, trying to catch his breath. ‘Come quickly, Miz Bunce,’ he implored her. Cook began to demur, protesting that she was just too tired for another dance and perhaps he should ask another. She hooked her arm through Miz Elderberry’s and pulled the surprised Hobbit close up to her. Otho stared from one to the other, his mouth gawping. ‘Begging your pardon, Miz Elderberry, but it’s not about dancing.’ He turned back to Cook. Miz Hawthorne’s sent me for you. There’s a strange Hobbit lady what’s fainted dead away in the stable. Well, we’ve brought her into the kitchen . . . and she’s still seeming rather feeble.’

Cook excused herself from the ladies, who followed along anyway, and hurried back to the Inn’s kitchen. She spied the little tableau clustered about the pale little figure in the wing chair. ‘Miz Hawthorne!’ Cook's voice rang out across the lessening distance between her and the rescuers. ‘What’s this going on in my kitchen?’

[Witch_Queen]

Avalon

Avalon looked at the dwarf. She knew that there would be no finding Cree now. "I'm sorry but there is no finding Cree now. She ran off with a cursed elf, she ran off to her death." Avalon looked around, the party was what she considered over with. Noticing that a few crumbs had been left on the ground Avalon decided it was now time to eat. Quickly devouring the crumbs Avalon nearly choked on one large piece of meat. "Opps."

"No, I fear Cree is far to gone for me to get her back. Cree is gone and now it is time for me to live up to my families reputation. Is it alright if I accompany you on your journeys? I won't get in the way. I owe it to my grandfather."

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Dwaline bowed low and then looked at the bird who was perched once again on the fence. The night seemed to run a chill though Dwalin's bones, but all the same he smiled at Avalon.

"I would be honoured if you would accompany me," he said, "I have missed good companionship in all my long years of travelling." He offered her some of the meat he found on a near by table. Avalon ate it happily and looked up at him as he chuckled to himself with happy memories.

"i plan to get back to my home at the Lonely mountain," he explained, "I think you would enjoy it there. For there were when I left, a family of White crows whom I am sure would be friend you and welcome you to their society. I shall introduce you to your kin, family of Nelek and Rark." Avalon socked her head to one side, she had no expected this. She had never seen any white crows but herself. Should she look forward to this? Or dread it?

[Mithalwen]

When Sanveling met her calm gaze, there was only compassion in Mithalwen's clear grey eyes.

"If I were to think ill of you, Tar-Corondir, it would be for your own wrong doings not those of your ancestors. Your crimes were forgiven you and your kinsman the Lord Elessar has not shunned you - though since you went to Minas Tirith for judgement, I trust you are here by his leave and have not fled his justice.

To take the doom of one's ascendants upon oneself is folly - as even the greatest of my kindred have proved. Perhaps greater folly for the atani. For the Eldar, we change little in ourselves and as we are so we tend to remain, but the second born have a power to shape their destiny and so I say to you, it is the choices that you will make that will have greater force than your heritage.

I know not, if you seek this woman to make peace with her, or because you yet hope she will return your affection. Do not despair but continue in your search, for one may flee from something that in truth is desired, lacking courage to accept it and the consequences - and one may regret it even for an age of the world" The elf's eyes suddenly became too bright and she lowered her head, letting a curtain of silver hair fall between her and Snaveling's gaze.

[Envinyatar]

‘From what I’ve seen, during my stay in the Shire, is that folk here are fairly accepting of things.’ He motioned with his hand to the line dancing that couples were doing to the music and to those other couples who were simply dancing in pairs, enjoying each others company. And here and there were single individuals who moved in their own way to the band’s rhythms. ‘I would say that as long as you don’t make a habit of knocking folk over, you’re welcome to enjoy the music in your own way.’ He waved his hand toward the dance area. ‘So, please, come and join the others if you wish.’

Zimzi had come up, and was smiling at Rasputina, even as she urged Derufin back to the dance. ‘Yes, please do,’ she said. ‘It’s all for fun and the pleasure of our guests.’

Derufin motioned once again to Rasputina, then was pulled harder by Zimzi. ‘You’ve left poor Uien standing by herself,’ she chided, laughing. ‘And poor Falowik has had to dance with both of us while you were gone.’

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik colored mightily, standing between Zimzi and Derufin as if they made a threesome! The jewel on his chest was warm, but he did not wish to learn who was thinking of whom at the moment. He took a deep breath, faced Derufin, and said, "You shall have all the time you want with your bride later, my friend, but for this dance, she is mine." Derufin's eyes positively jumped open; a slow grin followed. Falowik placed his forearm upon Derufin's chest and leaned him back a step, facing Zimzi again, who was trying hard not to burst out laughing at her husband's expense.

"Hah!" Derufin grinned. "I'm off to Uien, then, and you shall have to win her back from me!"

The music picked up its pace and the dancers slipped back into the rhythm, smiling to see an old hobbit with the wee lass, matching step to step.

[THE Ka]

Rasputina wasn't relieved - though, she should had been. She could just see herself, tromping down these poor people! Suppositely elves were to be 'graceful'... Rasputina couldn't help but to crack a smile at this. What a joke!

Rasputina got herself ready as the band began a song which was enigmatic in a way, pulling at the dancer's ears as well as their motions. She walked over to the dance area and began to spin slowly at first, to the melody. Soon, she found herself back with her old passion - the dance of the wild elve! Twisting this way and that, she was wild but, also warry of those around her as to not trample them in the process. She seemed to be almost blind to everyone else and oddly - she didn't care at all. Small strides, circles and square crosses, she moved about as if pushed by the notes dancing in the air. She had never been this happy and bursting with joy in such a long time. How could she had forgotten this?

[Envinyatar]

Derufin’s eyes were on Zimzi as she danced with Falowik. Not from jealousy, but simply because he liked to look at her. She was small in size, her head tipping up toward the man as he spoke to her. Something funny, he thought, seeing her lips curve up in a smile. Side by side they moved, Falowik’s left arm about her waist, her right hand held in his, her left hand picking up her skirt at the side and swirling it back and forth as they stepped forward and back and forward once again.

Uien and he moved in the same pattern. She was like some bird, he thought, moving lightly through the steps of the dance, her small light bones barely tied to the earth. He thought once, when he twirled her about, that if he did not anchor her, she would fly away. Memories unbidden rose when they passed from the soft light the little lanterns threw to a shadowed area. Uien’s hair, golden in the light, darkened, and for a space of time, he wondered if this would be what it were like to have danced with the other one . . .the Elda that had first offered her friendship and leant him some small measure of hope. His thoughts drifted to another, then, now long dead . . .

Uien gasped as he held her hand too tightly. He eased his grasp, as they passed back into the welcoming circle of light from the next set of lanterns.

‘Sorry, little one,’ he murmured to her, slipping into an old familiar name for her. ‘Old memories . . . and now they’ve passed.’ He raised her fingers to his lips and kissed them lightly. ‘We are a lucky pair are we not,’ he said, lifting his chin to where Falowik and Zimzi were dancing. ‘Come let us join them. The song is nearly over. We should claim our partners for the new.’ Uien looked closely at him, her mouthed curved in a soft smile, as they walked along, hand in hand. Her eyes darted toward Falowik, a welcoming glint dancing in them. Derufin’s eyes were all for Zimzi. He drank her in with them.

‘Last dance, then,’ Zimzi said, extending her hand to him as he reached her. He drew her close, tucking her gently against him . . .

At the first strokes of the fiddle bow
the dancers rise from their seats.
The dance begins to shape itself
in the crowd, as couples join,
and couples join couples, their movements
together lightening their feet.
They move in the ancient circle
of the dance. The dance and the song
call each other into being. Soon
they are one – rapt in a single
rapture, so that even the night
has its clarity, and time
is the wheel that brings it round.

In this rapture the dead return.
Sorrow is gone from them.
They are light, they step
into the steps of the living
and turn with them in the dance
in the sweet enclosure
of the song, and timeless
is the wheel that brings it round.

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

-- Wendell Berry; The Wheel

[Child of the 7th Age]

"Oh, no, Cook. We're not up to mischief. The boys called me out to the wagon. There was a lady, a strange lady. When we reached the courtyard, she fainted dead away." Hawthorn pointed over at the woman who now lay sprawling in the wing chair.

As leary as Hawthorn was of Cook's booming voice, she was even more curious about who this stranger was. Steeling herself for an expected reprimand from Cook, she rushed over to the stranger's side, kneeling down beside the chair. Instinctively, she reached out with her hand to comfort the woman, and also to push the thick mop of curls out of the way so that she could clearly see her features. The stranger was a tiny thing, even for a hobbit. Her face was pale and wan, her clothing little more than a bundle of dirty rags. There were blue hollows under her eyes, and a wrinkle or two creased her face. Her frame was so slender that it looked as if a good wind could blow her away. Hawthorn could see that what had once been a mane of flaming red hair was now grey with tinges of white. It was also throughly bedraggled.

"Oh, my," gasped the tweener, "She's old. Maybe she's dead." Hawthorne poked her finger into the hobbit's ribcage to see if the body would respond.

Cook quickly put a stop to that. "Old, my foot, Hawthorn Brandybuck! Whoever she is, she's no more than seventy. She has a few good years left in her, if we can help her tidy up." Cook shook her head and looked appropriately stern. It was typical of a sweet tweener blunderhead like Hawthorne to think that a hobbit of seventy had one foot in the grave. But it did seem strange that someone of this sort would be wandering around by herself hidden in the back of a wagon.

By now, a considerable crowd of onlookers had gathered, mostly hobbits attending the party who were curious about who this stranger might be. Cook shot a sharp glance to the mob crowding into her kitchen, noting, "Out of here, now. But, before you leave, can anyone kindly tell me who this missus is? "

Hobbits know other hobbits extremely well, especially since so many of them are related. It would be very rare for a hobbit to visit the Inn and not be recognized by at least one of their distant kin or neighbors. Yet, one-by-one, each hobbit admitted they had no idea who the stranger was. Even old Granny, who made a point to keep track of such things, swore she had never seen the woman before.

At this point the tiny stranger slowly began to stir. She pressed her hand to her brow as if trying to remember something, staring quizzicaly at everyone around her, and finally spoke, "You're hobbits?" she pronounced the word oddly, as if it was a term she had rarely used.

"Of course, we're hobbits, "spluttered Hawthorn. "Who else should we be? But who are you, and what are you doing here?"

Weakly, she replied. "I am Bella.....Belladonna Took, the daughter of Hildifons Took, now deceased. Just look in the Red Book. You'll see his name inscribed there with the other Took kin. And I am here looking for Cami Goodchild. Please, could someone go out to the wagon and rescue my books. There's quite a pack of them." Then the unnamed stranger fainted dead away, and no amount of poking by Hawthorn could arouse her.

At the mention of the last name, Cook gasped, remembering something the old Innkeeper Pio had once confided to her..... The name 'Hildifons Took' was also familiar, although she would bet that none of the young hobbits had ever heard of it. The Tooks had generally been careful to hush up that story.

[THE Ka]

After the band had finished, Rasputina sat down at one of the tables for awhile. She felt somewhat exhausted... I clearly had been some time since she was a child. It seemed so strange how time could be the most fleet of feet.

Rasputina felt a song coming over her as she sat there. Finding her cello, she walked up to the stage. The rest of the band had left for a break, that was ok, she did not need an accompaniment on this song. Making a few tests of the strings, she began the song:

There’s something beating here inside my body
And it’s called a heart
You know how easy it is to tear it apart
If I lend it to you, would you keep it safe for me
I’ll lend it to you, will you treat it tenderly
There’s something beating here inside my body
And it’s called a heart

There’s a sun shining in the sky
But that’s not the reason why I’m feeling warm inside
The answer isn’t classified- it’s my heart
From the moment I started
I tried to be good about it
Yes I’ve tried my best
And more or less, I spoke from my heart

There’s a lot to be learned
And you learn when your heart gets burned

There’s something beating here inside my body
And it’s called a heart
You know how easy it is to tear it apart
If I lend it to you, would you keep it safe for me
I’ll lend it to you, will you treat it tenderly
There’s something beating here inside my body
And it’s called a heart

Hearts can never be owned
Hearts only come on loan
If I want it back
I will take it back
I’ll take my heart

But I will try my best
And more or less
I will speak from my heart
Yes, I will speak from my heart
Speak from my heart

There’s a lot to be learned
And you learn when your heart gets burned

There’s something beating here inside my body
And it’s called a heart
You know how easy it is to tear it apart
If I lend it to you, would you keep it safe for me
I’ll lend it to you, will you treat it tenderly
There’s something beating here inside my body
And it’s called a heart...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It's called a Heart - Depeshe Mode

[Firefoot]

Willy realized in horror how late it had gotten. Why, it was nearly his bedtime (if not past it), and his Ma had no idea where he or Nick was. After a day like today, he would not be surprised if he were not permitted to leave the farm for a good many days! He had become caught up in the festivities, enjoying the excitement, being delighted many times over by Shimshin's antics, and even scoffing at the way the older hobbit lads and lasses went about, as if dancing was the most important part of the party. Now, it was time to be getting home, and right quick.

"Nick," he said, "we had better say good-bye to Mr. Seamus and give Shimshin back... it's getting late, and I bet we're already in for a scolding." Nick nodded with a trace of reluctance, but he was becoming too tired to argue much. Willy led the way through the crowd, approaching the band. Willy waited impatiently for the end of the song before boldly stepping up to Seamus, an attitude so different from the one with which he had queried about Shimshin in the morning. It was not to say that this confidence extended to his opinions of all the Big Folk; indeed, he was not very comfortable around most of them at all, including Seamus' friend Owen who the brothers had met earlier, at least to an extent. Nick followed only a half-step behind, his shy liking for the man readily apparent. Shimshin, who had been sitting sedately on Nick's shoulder, bounded down and scurried up onto Seamus' shoulder.

"Mr. Seamus? It's getting late, and me and Nick have to be going home now. We brought Shimshin back for you," said Willy. Honestly, he was not ready to leave, but he feared the consequences of staying even later.

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Seamus. "Thanks for watching Shimshin for us. It was good to know he wasn't getting into any mischief today while we were playing."

"No problem," answered Willy. "It was fun."

Seamus smiled. "I'm glad. And here," he said, fishing in his pocket, "is the payment I promised you earlier." He handed each of them a copper half-penny. Wily's eyes were wide. He rarely had any money of his own to spend.

"Thank you, Mr. Seamus," said Willy automatically. Nick echoed, though the money seemed to have less hold on his mind. He would have rather spent more time with his friend Shimshin, but he listened as always to Willy.

"You're welcome," he said. "You boys did a good job with him." Nick beamed.

"Well," said Willy, feeling rushed to get home. "Good night."

"Good night," said Seamus. Willy began to walk off with a wave, but Nick lingered for a moment. He reached up to scratch Shimshin's shiny fur one more time. "G'night Shimshin," he said. Then to Seamus, "Shimshin is my friend." Being less confident without Willy's presence, he hurried away after Willy without waiting for a reply.

As Willy was leaving, it occurred to him that he had never seen Shimshin discard the fake whistle as he had expected. He shrugged to himself - he had no use for it, and he couldn't go back to get it now anyway. It had been an interesting day, no doubt, and he was not eager to end it. All the same, as soon as Nick had caught up and he was more or less out of sight of the Inn, he took off sprinting for home, already planning on his story to cover up for the long day at the Inn... if Nick didn't blow it. Then there really would be a price to pay.

[peral]

The young girl quickly walked down the street. It was late, too late for her liking to be out on her own. Even though most of the people she saw the road were halflings - barely reaching her shoulder - she still considered the possibility of getting mugged. As she neared the inn, she breathed a sigh of obvious relief. The lights beckoned to her invitingly, but as she walked towards the door she heard the sounds of merriment coming from the inn and its surrounds.

"A party," she muttered, "how terribly inconvenient."

However, she proceeded into the inn. The innkeeper came up to the counter, puffing and blowing as if she had just been running from something.

"How may I help you, miss?"

"A single room, please."

The innkeeper smiled pleasantly, "Of course you may. May I have a name to go with it?"

"Sharya. How much will one night be?"

"5 silvers."

"And a week?"

"30."

"I'll take it for a week."

The innkeeper nodded and jotted something down in her book.

"I'll take you to your room now, miss."

"Thank you."

The innkeeper led Sharya through the various hallways. She had to duck quite a bit to get through, but she managed.

"I'm sorry, about the hallways, you will have a proper human sized room though."

"That's alright, I'm used to having to duck quite a bit."

The innkeeper finally turned into a corridor that became the right size for Sharya, and before long, she stopped in front of a door and turned the key in the keyhole.

"Here you go, miss."

"Thank you."

"And if you'd be wanting anything to eat, you can come to the bar. There's a party going on, but I'm sure the girls will be able to find something for you," and with these words, the innkeeper withdrew with a smile.

Sharya breathed a sigh of relief and threw herself on her bed. From her resting spot, she looked around the room. It was sparsely decorated, but...cosy. She turned face-down and buried her head in her pillow.

"This is going to be a long week."

[piosenniel]

Zimzi and Derufin

Once the song was done, Zimzi took Derufin by the hand. Together they made their ‘thank you for coming’ and ‘please excuse us, but we’ll be going now,’ rounds - stopping for a few moments to speak with each guest as they worked their way to the edge of the party grounds.

Uien and Falowik were the last they spoke to, saying they hoped they would see them both tomorrow. ‘Second breakfast, then,’ said Zimzi, giving the man and Elf a hug. She pulled Uien aside for a moment to thank her once again for the necklaces. Derufin retrieved her, putting the shawl about her shoulders he’d been carrying for her. ‘Lunch . . . late,’ he mouthed to Falowik, as he steered Zimzi down the little path to home.

[piosenniel]

Cook

Buttercup and Ruby had come up quietly behind Cook. They’d managed to shoo most of the gawkers from the kitchen, telling them all there were free drinks still being served . . . in the Common Room. At the mention of the name ‘Cami’ they too had gasped, and clasped hands. Mistress Piosenniel, the former Innkeeper, had often spoken fondly of a friend of hers, a Hobbit from round here . . . a Hobbit named Cami. And there had been some strange happenings just before Mistress Pio left, vague happenings, things that seemed to have happened in a hazy dream. But both Ruby and Buttercup knew from sharing what little they could remember that the name ‘Cami’ wove through the wispy memories.

Ruby took Buttercup by the hand and tiptoed round Cook and up to the bedraggled Hobbit. Buttercup reached out one finger and poked the woman on the arm. There was no response save for a twitch of the limb.

‘Ladies! We don’t treat visitors to the Inn like that!’ Cook opened the door to her room and asked Andwise to help her carry the woman into her little parlour. ‘You can put her on my sofa.’ Cook placed a pillow under Belladonna’s head and pulled a quilt from the back of the sofa over her pale little form. ‘Poor dear,’ she murmured, smoothing the woman’s dusty curls away from her face. ‘You just rest and when you wake up I’ll bring you a nice cup of tea with honey and a little broth.’ Cook turned the lamp low in the room as she and the others left the woman sleeping.

~*~

‘I’ve heard that name before,’ Buttercup said, as she and Hawthorne went out to the stables to retrieve the woman’s books and whatever other belongings they could find. ‘Belladonna?’ said Hawthorne. ‘No, not Belladonna. Her father’s name, Hildifons Took.’ Hawthorne looked at her with interest. ‘Trouble is, it’s one of those things that just gets whispered about and you’re not quite sure what’s true and what’s not.’ Hawthorne shivered at the thought of a mystery. Buttercup, at the younger girl’s urging, spoke low about a few things she’d heard about that member of the Took family. Swearing they were true because her Gran had told her so. Hawthorne’s eyes widened as Buttercup chattered on, and she scarcely noticed how the Party outside had pretty much come to an end.

‘Who’d have thought,’ said Hawthorne, as they hauled the stack of books into the Inn and headed toward the kitchen. ‘Who’d have thought that such a shabby and tattered old lady could have such an interesting relative?’

[peral]

Sharya made her way slowly and quietly down to the common room. The festivities seemed to have died down. However, once she entered the common room, a scene of merriment greeted her.

"What's going on?" she asked a nearby hobbit.

This hobbit was somewhat drunk but managed to slur out the words. "Free drinks."

Sharya arched an eyebrow quizzically but seeing that she could not get any more information out of the obviously inebriated halfling she got herself a drink and sat down in a corner by herself.

The halflings seemed to be quieting down somewhat, most of them passing out on tables and chairs and even on the floor! Sharya was somewhat surprised but didn't say anything. She finished her drink and considered going to the kitchen to inquire about some food. However, the prospect of navigating through all the bodies wasn't too pleasing to her mind, so, deciding that she wasn't too hungry and could live one night without food, she took her leave and returned to her room.

[piosenniel]

Please note: I'll be moving time ahead in the Inn to morning at about noonish Pacific Time, U.S. today.

Please get any night in the Shire posts done that you need to get in before then.

Thanks!

~*~ Piosenniel

[Arry]

The band packs it in . . .

The last strains of music drifted over the Inn’s front yard, seeming to fade beneath the trees as the their leafy branches captured the notes. The band was tired. It had been a long, though satisfying, day of playing for the party. Gil let the air out of his concertina and locked his Lady, as he called her, up. The others in their little group put their instruments away also. A last mug of ale, and they would be heading home. Gil, Tomlin, Fallon, and Ferrin to their snug burrows. Seamus and Owen, Caity and Rasputina, to the Inn for the night at least. Falco was there at the table, too, as the last round of drink was shared. He, too, Gil supposed would be staying at the Inn. Little Marigold, he’d seen carried in earlier by Buttercup, and put to bed.

It had been a good party, he thought. Derufin and Zimzi had paid them a number of compliments, and there had been many requests of the band to play Shire favorites. Best of all, he thought, had been the fact that the band had been so large. They’d been able to spell each other and enjoy a dance or two with their own little darlings. Gil smiled, recalling how he’d managed to flirt with a number of lasses from the outskirts of Bywater that he didn’t get to see often.

The last drop of ale slid down his throat, as sweet and as welcome as the first. The lads and he put their instruments in the small cart they’d driven to the Inn and saying a last good-bye to the others drove off down the path to the main road.

Gil sang as the pony plodded along, and was soon joined by his companions. It was an old song that each of their mothers had sung to them at night when they were just wee ones.

Under yonder oaken tree,
Whose branches oft me shaded;
Elves, the Fair Folk, dance with glee,
When day's last beam hath faded:
Then while the stars shine brightly,
So airy, gay and sprightly,
'Till rooster tells that dawn is near,
They trip it, trip it lightly.

Yet no trace of them is seen,
When morning rays are glancing,
Not one footprint on the green
Shows where the Elves were dancing:
Oh! Where are they abiding?
In what lone valley hiding?
Come next with me and we will see
The Fair Folk homewards gliding . . .

On the way, they passed Andwise and Ferdy and Gammer Banks, also heading home. There were hoots and good natured calls between the two carts as the lads teased each other about their dance partners. ‘See you all tomorrow,’ Andwise called out to the other cart, chuckling at the give and take. ‘I promised Miz Bunce we would help with the cleaning up of the yard and the putting away of the tables and benches.’

Groans all around greeted this announcement . . .

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

-- song lyrics changed a wee bit from the traditional Welsh air: Under Yonder Oaken Tree (Mae Croesawiad Gwraig Y Ty)

[Fairleaf]

Fairleaf had enjoyed herself thoroughly. And now that the last of the music was fading, she drank in the fleeting notes with her leaves, letting their rhythm course through her limbs and tingle her roots.

Under yonder oaken tree,
Whose branches oft me shaded;
Elves, the Fair Folk, dance with glee,
When day's last beam hath faded . . .

Oh, true! . . .tis true indeed . . . she hummed to herself recalling the Eldar beneath the upflung branches of oaks and beeches and towering elms as they danced beneath the stars. How did these Little Folk know, she wondered. Had they seen the Fair Folk, too, on cloudless nights?

From her vantage point near the three Grannies who tended to the great punch bowl, she could see quite well the area where the guests were dancing. How pretty they were! All done up in glorious colors; their faces smiling, their feet fairly gliding over the lawn. Like leaves, she thought, caught up in some fair breeze, whirled this way and that in little eddies of color and movement.

She would have to be more careful, though, she thought if she were to stay about much longer. She had been listening in closely to the old Grannies as they chatted about those at the party, and had occasionally dipped one of her slender branches into the delicious punch for a sip. At one point, as the women were deep in discussion of the handfasted couple, Fairleaf had found herself nodding in agreement at their mention of Zimzi’s garden, her leaves rustling in approval, too, of the flowers that had been planted beneath the trees. One of the old dears had looked up at her from her seat at the table and patted her trunk as if in acknowledgement! And further, before they had left for the night, the three Grannies had held a whispered conference, then pushed the punchbowl with a wee bit of their fine draught in it quite close to her. ‘Good for the roots,’ she heard one of them say as they hobbled away.

She drank deep, finishing off the punch, once they’d left, then withdrew a little beneath the overarching canopy of the taller trees. A grey squirrel who’d thought to rest in her branches for the night startled awake as Fairleaf glided backward. He chattered at her angrily, his tail all fluffed up in irritation.

‘Hush now,’ she whispered to him as she came to a halt. Her branches hearby him, curled round his form, cradling him in her leaves. He settled in with a sniff and returned to sleep. Fairleaf dug her roots in deep and anchored herself for the night. She, too, found her lids grow heavy and soon she was lost to her own dreamings . . .

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger yawned as she climbed the stairs to her little room at the Inn. It had been a glorious day, in her opinion. Mistress Zimzi had been so pretty in her gown with the wreath of flowers on her head that Ginger and the children had made. And Mister Derufin had looked so handsome; and how sweet was he, the way he looked at his new missus and held her hand so fondly. Ginger blushed, remembering how the couple had sought her out especially to tell her how lovely the sugared violets were that she had made for their cake.

And then, of course, there was her own Ferdy . . . she shivered and hugged herself as she danced about her room. She supposed she could call him that now . . . her Ferdy. For he had declared his feelings for her, and hadn’t he made sure there was no one else should dance with her! She grinned, thinking how she might see him tomorrow. She’d overheard Mr. Banks tell Cook they lads and he would help with the hauling and cleanup of the Inn yard the next day.

In the chill of her room, Ginger flung off her party clothes hastily, letting them fall where they would, and shrugged into her warm flannel nightgown as quick as a wink. She dove under her quilts, burrowing down beneath them to get warm. Her little head had barely hit her pillow when she yawned again and closed her eyes. She was soon asleep, a smile creasing her little face as she fell into dreams of dancing in a beautiful dress with a wreath of flowers gracing her curls.

[piosenniel]

Please note: I'll be moving time ahead in the Inn to morning at about noonish Pacific Time, U.S. today.

Please get any night in the Shire posts done that you need to get in before then.

Thanks!

~*~ Piosenniel

[Nurumaiel]

Little Marigold's steps had begun to slow, and her eyes became mild and dreamy. Falco, who had to his great annoyance found that he was huffing and puffing, knew exactly what was wrong and was more than a little pleased for it. After all, it wouldn't do to overwork himself. Ah, in those old days! He could dance longer than any other lad... except perhaps Fosco. Fosco had a perpetual store of energy.

"Well, now, it's been a lovely little party," said Falco, "but you must be wanting your bed."

"Oh," said Marigold, attempting a light, airy smile and succeeding only in looking comically distressed. "I don't have anywhere to stay."

"Of course you do," said Falco. "Why, I'm a rich hobbit and I'll get you the prettiest room at the Inn." He glanced about him as he spoke. The party was already dispersing, and many of the tweenagers were already gone to bed. How odd it was that they, the most energetic of all hobbits, should be gone while he, old and stiff, and Marigold, just barely out of babyhood, were still dancing! But she had not wanted to stop once she started. She hadn't been able to dance very often, she said. Only every so often when her mother was in a laughing, light mood.

Buttercup came to take the little girl away, and Falco went with them to survey and pay for the room. It was a pretty room, though perhaps not the prettiest. It was small and homey, with a little bed and table, and flitting curtains at the windows. She could see the garden from those windows, and when he left her she was sitting by them, gazing out with dreamy eyes while Buttercup made up the bed.

He went out again for one last drink with the lads, and another song, and then, bidding them all good night, he tramped off, wondering vaguely if it were unhealthy for a hobbit of his age to stay up so late and drink so many mugs.

His room, which was right next to Marigold's, was also comfortable, though it was not much bigger than the little girl's. It didn't matter very much to him, however, whether it was big or not. He needed a room for the nights, when he wouldn't care if it was large or small. He'd be out first thing in the morning to see if those young musician lads had come back.

As he closed his eyes he could hear Marigold softly singing in a childish little voice through the walls, and he thought of how very talented young Caity was with her whistle. And then he was asleep.

[Nurumaiel]

It could not be said that Falco Headstrong was generally an early riser, but neither could it be said that he was a late riser. He rose when he felt like it, and what he felt like highly depended upon the events of the previous day. Perhaps it was odd that he rose at first daylight the morning after a party, but it was not unusual of him. Sleep was not something he could easily take and hold when his toes were still tapping and his mind still turning over and over the excitement of the day.

Little Marigold was always an early riser. She never wanted to miss a moment in a day, she said. A day was such a lovely thing, full of surprises just waiting around the corner. What if she slept late and one of the surprises came? She would miss it entirely, and that would never do! No, it was altogether best to get up early and miss nothing, absolutely nothing. Besides, the world looked so beautiful at first light. The rays of the sun were soft, golden, and mellow... not at all the kind of sun that beats down with no mercy to burn little noses unprotected by a hat. As Marigold skipped out of bed that morning she paused in front of the little mirror that hung by her bed and touched her nose. Yes, there was some red on it. No wonder! She had been out in the sun all day. But was there ever a day where the sun didn't find her skipping under his rays?

The only bad things about mornings, Marigold reflected, was getting out of bed. You had been snuggled down under the blankets for hours and hours, and then you had to get out of that warm shelter. But when the day was so sunny as this, where did the cold come in? It was banished to sulk with the darkness until night, when the both of them would come creeping up. And besides, that flannel night-gown Buttercup had fetched out of the old chest was so warm and snug! And the ruffles around the neck were too dear. Almost like her old night-gown at home.

Her little feet touched the floor, and she pattered across the wooden boards to the window. The curtains were drawn aside, the window opened, and the sunlight let in. Marigold leaned out and down, dropping her head to kiss the flowers good morning. Her tangled golden curls fell about her flushed and rosy cheeks. A young hobbit lad, walking up the road, saw her, and reflected that she was the perfect image of childhood... healthy, happy, bright-eyed, smiling... with that inexpressible charm that is in all children.

Marigold spent a few minutes by the window, drinking in the morning, and then she turned and went to the little set of drawers by her bed. She had stored her few little belongings there the night before. The comb was brought out, and she sat on the edge of her bed, patiently working through the tangles. Her eyes studied the ribbons lying across the tabletop. Buttercup must have left them there the night before. Buttercup was such a kind, sweet hobbit. Marigold plaited her hair behind her, tying a pretty bow at the end, and looked at herself in the mirror. Her little cheeks were pink, her eyes were sparkling, her lips were turned up in a smile, and her hair was tied neatly back, with only a few wisps of curls escaping around her ears. Perhaps she was not tall and slender and gorgeous like Zimzi, she reflected, but she wasn't so very bad-looking.

She met Falco Headstrong in the hallway, for they both left their rooms at the same time. His face was sour and his teeth set. There was no logical reason why he was in a bad mood, for clearly he was... he must have merely 'got out on the wrong side of bed' that morning. Marigold paused. Or did you 'get up from the wrong side of bed?' Ah well, it didn't matter. Falco Headstrong had done it, anyway. She would have to cheer him up. But he spoke before she could bid him a cheery good morning.

"You're wearing the same clothes you wore at the party," he said, rather sternly.

"I don't have any others," said Marigold, "except for my muddy clothes. When those are clean again I'll wear them."

"You shouldn't have only two dresses," said Falco. "It's not right. I'll go buy you some clothes today."

"You don't have to," said Marigold, with a little flash in her eyes. She was only a little girl yet, but young and old succumb to that thing called pride, that thing that bids them receive no help from others.

Falco's eyes softened somewhat, though his face was as stern and set as ever. "Well, well, my girl," he said, "I must pay you in some way, for you lent me your father's whistle."

"I don't want to be paid for it. I didn't do it for reward."

"But," said Falco, with a brief flash of a teasing grin, "I don't accept charity either. Now!" He took her hand, which she didn't mind too much, even if he were very grumpy. "Let me take you down and get you some breakfast."

[Telephilien]

Shaeowyn awoke to the unhappy snorting of her black mare. "Oh, Windungen," the woman sputtered as she bolted from the hay where she had spent the night. Rubbing her aching limbs and eyes ruefully, she muttered about indulging too much in the 'women's punch.' "I must get you some grain to eat, and then see about my own breakfast," she said, putting her arms around her favorite companion's neck. Her dark brown hair held streaks of sunlight interspersed with the creeping grey. It curled wildly about her once pretty face; matted as badly as her horse's midnight colored mane.

"I must find the Innkeeper to see about your grain, and fetch more water for you also," she called to her horse as she shut the stall door securely behind her. She could not remember the names and occupations of the people swirling through the party's evening; she felt alone and somewhat afraid. Animals had always been more steadfast and honest friends, and she seemed to have a special gift for gaining their loyalty; sometimes even their protection. But she brushed her discomfort aside and strode purposefully into the Green Dragon's breakfast scene. Looking about with keen green eyes, she caught sight of the kind woman who had come to her aid the evening before. "Ruby, would you be able to spare a moment," Shaeowyn spoke loudly over the happy morning noises.

[peral]

Sharya woke up with the sun shining brightly into her eyes. She sat up almost immediately and struggled to remember where she was. Of course, the Green Dragon Inn in Hobbiton. She sighed and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. She staggered over to the basin and splashed water into her face. This woke her up sufficiently for her to think straight. Her head was throbbing and she thougt back to what she had drunk the night before. "It couldn't have been that strong," she muttered. She heard her stomach rumble loudly. Of course, she hadn't eaten any dinner the night before. She pulled on her only dress, a cream colored gown that was already stained from long wear. She would have to see about getting another dress.

Sighing, she looked into the mirror and tried to make her tangle of curls slightly more presentable. With one last wistful look at her reflection she headed down to the common room to see about breakfast.

The common room was already filled with people, halflings and other races alike. She walked over to one of the waitresses and tapped her on the shoulder. "Excuse me, how should I go about getting breakfast?" The girl turned around and smiled, "If you just go and sit down, I can get something out for you as soon as possible." Sharya nodded, "Thank you."

As she sat down, she looked around the room at the other patrons of the inn. There was a boy with a younger girl which looked as if they could be related. The others didn't catch her attention as much but her observation was interrupted by the same girl who she had talked to earlier coming up to her and setting a tray with a huge plate of eggs and Shire ham before her along with a basket of scones with a saucer of blackberry jam beside it.

"Will you be wanting tea with that as well?" the girl asked.

"What type of tea?" Sharya asked warily for she was well acquainted with the not so delectable types which she had experienced before.

"Just normal tea with honey," the girl answered.

"Yes please." And with a nod, the girl left the table, presumably to get the aforementioned tea.

It was only now that Sharya realised how hungry she was and she dug into the breakfast with a vengeance.

[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)

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

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]

TIME IN THE INN . . .

It is now morning.

The sun has just come up. Cook and the serving girls have been up for a while and breakfast is just ready for anyone who comes down to the Common Room.

The day is sunny, so far. Though the breeze is a bit brisk. And far to the west, just peeking over the Tower Hills are a hint of dark clouds.

The front yard of the Inn is rather in disarray from yesterday's party. The little lanterns in the trees need to be taken down and put away in the cellar. Tables and benches need to be brought back into the Common Room. Flower beds inadvertently trampled by the crowds need to be tended to.

But breakfast first!

Eggs and thick slices of Shire ham; hot scones with sweet cream butter and blackberry jam; and pots of hot tea with honey as needed to wash it all down.

[Atarah]

At last, thought a young girl as she walked quietly through the door of the Green Dragon Inn. She'd been walking for a long time now, and didn't even know how she'd managed to find the inn. Her name was Tulip, a rather odd name for a Rohan girl, but then her mother was never a normal woman. Some said she wasn't even human. But Tulip had loved her mother, and the shock of her death still hadn't struck her young mind. On her death bed, Tulip's mother had expressed her wish for Tulip to go to the Green Dragon Inn and deliver a message to a woman named Aman. Everyone was shocked at this, but they couldn't deny a dying woman her last wish. So it was that Tulip journeyed to the Shire, accompanied by merchants headed for Bree. In Bree she aquired directions for the rest of her journey that she had to make alone. She was glad of the peace in the world, for she was a well learned girl, even at the young age of twelve, and knew of the evil events that had happened at the end of the last age. She'd even heard there used to be wolves in the Shire.

Tulip looked around for someone who might know how to find Aman. It was early, and only a few people were up and about. Tulip wasn't surprised that there were so few people about, as she had seen signs of a party remaining in the yard outside the inn. She walked to the bar and waited until someone noticed her.

"Hello there young lass," said a kind voice from behind the bar.

Tulip looked up from her study of the bar's grain to see a woman who, judging by her height, was a hobbit. Tulip smiled as she thought about her friends back home who would have mistaken the woman for a young human girl.

"Welcome to the Green Dragon," the hobbit continued. "My name's Ruby Brown. Can I get you anything? We're just starting to serve breakfast if you'd like some. We've got ham and eggs, or lovely hot scones with butter and jam."

Tulip smiled at Ruby and let out a sigh of relief. "I've been eating stale bread for weeks! A nice scone would be a pleasant change from that for sure. What drinks are you serving? Anything sweet?"

"We have some tea with honey," replied Ruby cheerilly.

"Tea with honey?" gasped Tulip. "I've always wanted to try some of that. We never had that at my house back in Rohan."

"Ah, so you're from Rohan," Ruby said with a smile. "Our Innkeeper was from Rohan. You'd get along well with her. I wonder if you've heard of her. Aman's her name. Lovely woman. So kind."

Tulip's heart skipped a beat. Aman was the Innkeeper here? What luck! From what her mother said it sounded more like Aman had gone to visit the Shire and could possibly be found at the Green Dragon. But the Innkeeper... "Would it be possible to speak to Aman?" Tulip was suddenly very shy. Her mother had spoken highly of Aman. "I have a message for her, from my mother."

"I'll let her know you're looking for her." Ruby began to walk towards what looked to be the kitchen, then turned and said, "But first, breakfast."

"Thank you." Tulip knew she was going to enjoy her stay here. She looked around the Inn once more and saw that people were beginning to arrive and order breakfast. Tulip looked forward to making new friends.

[littlemanpoet]

Uien and Falowik had gone to the hills for the night, as was their way. He got his human sleep under a warm cloak, beneath the stars, while Uien walked slowly nearby, or stood staring at her beloved stars, or sat against an old wizened tree, dreaming with eyes wide open.

As usual, Falowik wondered if the moments when he slept were not the loneliest of Uien's life; but she had said him nay before once when he had asked, for it was when she lived within her memories, and communed with her loved ones and others who had left the shores of Middle Earth forever. Though she gainsaid him, reliving such memories seemed more lonely to him than anything else, let alone human sleep!

They woke with the sun and walked hand in hand back into Bywater. The Green Dragon Inn was much less busy. Such a difference one day made! Dark clouds rode the brisk wind out of the west. It would soon storm. They hurried into town and made their way to the Inn and through its welcoming front door. Sweet smells of a hobbitish breakfast wafted on the air in the Common Room. Falowik's mouth spread wide in a grin and he licked his lips.

"Do we still have some of that King's coin?" he asked.

"Aye, that we do." She looked in the purse at her hip. "Enough to last a fortnight."

"Good. We must pay for our horse's room and board as well as our own."

"I wish to speak with an Elven lady I saw here yesterday. I hope she has not left." Uien quieted and raised her head, sensing as only Elves can. Falowik waited. "No. I do not sense her. Maybe she is no longer here."

"Come let's sit down and be served. Take a little food, Fair One, and maybe later she will appear."

Uien nodded. "I would speak to her of a settling down place."

"I know. In good time."

[peral]

Sharya had only just finished her breakfast when she saw the young girl enter the common room and walk up to the bar. Definitely from Rohan she decided. No where else did they have lovely flaxen hair like that. She got up and tentatively made her way up to the girl, who was by now, looking curiously around the room at all of the patrons who were gathering. Sharya wanted so much to know what another human girl was doing here in the land of halflings. What had brought her here? What strange mission was she out to accomplish? Her nervousness was quite unfounded for as she approached, the girl immediately smiled at her.

"Hello."

"Hi," began Sharya, "I saw that you had just arrived and thought I'd come over and say hello."

The girl laughed. "Yes, indeed, I'm just waiting for my breakfast."

"Then, pray, come sit with me and we can talk, for I'm curious to know what another mortal girl is doing here in a village of halflings."

The girl laughed again, "Of course." As they took a seat, "By the way, I'm Tulip."

"I'm Sharya. To be quite honest with you, it's quite a relief to see someone who is my height." Then she looked curiously at Tulip, "What brings you here? So far away from your home country, Rohan?"

The girl looked surprised, "How did you know I was from Rohan?"

"Your hair. No where else in Middle-Earth does there exist such beautiful golden hair except in the land of the Riddermark."

"I suppose so, my hair has always been my pride and joy." She paused for a moment, as if to contemplate her hair. "Anyway, I'm here looking for a woman by the name of Aman. I have just heard that she is the innkeep here."

"Yes, she is indeed. And look, here comes your breakfast now."

Ruby brought over the tea and with a slight bob asked, "Would you be wanting anything else, miss."

"No thank you, I'm-" here she looked at Sharya, "Don't you want something to eat as well?"

Sharya shook her head. "No thank you, I've already eaten my breakfast."

Tulip nodded to her and shook her head at Ruby, "Well, do you have any scones?"

"Yes, miss, honey covered ones. I shall bring some out for you."

"Thank you."

Sharya smiled as she watched Tulip tentatively sampling her tea.

"Ooh! It's sweet!" she exclaimed.

Sharya grinned amiably at her. Perhaps this week wouldn't be so bad after all, she mused.

[Nurumaiel]

"Have you finished your breakfast?" Falco demanded.

"No," Marigold replied choosing to ignore his gruff tone. "I've just barely begun." She looked down at his own plate, and then to him, very disapprovingly. "You haven't eaten anything yet," she said. "You ought to. You didn't eat much of anything yesterday. I suppose the ale was filling enough."

"Don't be impudent," said Falco. Of course she hadn't finished yet. But he was impatient. He needed to send her off to find Miss Buttercup so he could go buy her some clothes. As for his own breakfast... he didn't want to eat it. He didn't feel like eating it, though of course he would never admit that he was grumpy and somehow felt as though it would be an act of humility to eat... that he must remain on a pedestal of pride, and eating would be contrary to that pride.

As for Marigold, she scowled darkly at his reproval. Had she been impudent? No, of course she hadn't! But maybe... it had been clever to mention the ale. He had had so many mugs, all full to the brim. But was she being impudent? She didn't want to be impudent. It might mean that she got out of the wrong side of bed... or was it on the wrong side of the bed? Or... was it from the wrong side of bed? This was getting to absurd. She would have to ask someone who knew. Maybe Mr. Headstrong knew, but she wouldn't ask him.

Well, whether it was out of, out on, or out from, she didn't want it to be the wrong side... not with her. That meant you were grumpy. Could she, sunny Marigold Baker, be grumpy? Her father had never liked to see her grumpy. And if she was grumpy (which she was certainly not!), why? She had been so bright and happy that morning when she let the sunlight in through her window. Maybe it was because she had seen those dark clouds rolling up as they entered the common room for breakfast. Or maybe Falco's mood was affecting her own.

She wouldn't let it! She had to be cheerful. To contradict his mood, for one reason. She didn't want to be in the same mood as him. And for another thing, to change his mood. Maybe her mood would affect his.

Little Marigold smiled cheerily... or tried to. Falco scowled.

[Child of the 7th Age]

By the time that Bella awoke, Cook had been up and about for several hours cleaning up the mess in the kitchen left from the night before and making sure that the guests at the Inn had ample fare for breakfast. True to her word, Cook had left the stranger two small pots hanging from a hook over the small hearthfire in the parlor: one with honeyed tea and the other filled with chicken soup, which many healers swore was a good remedy for all manner of ailments and woes.

Bella sat up on the sofa, yawned, stretched, and glanced around the room. She put her feet on the floor and unsteadily stood up, hanging on to a nearby night table to steady her balance. The events of the night before were no more than a misty haze. Bella remembered falling asleep in the back of the wagonbed, and recalled that several lads and a young hobbit lass had come outside to help her. She even had a vague memory of being carried inside the Inn and laid out on this sofa, with the whole process being supervised by someone who went by the name of "Cook".

Filled with curiosity to see where she was, Bella ran to the parlour window and looked outside. Just a few feet away was a road filled with all manner of folk who were no taller than herself. This strange sight filled her with extraordinary delight. Beyond the road she could glimpse well ordered fields boasting an assortment of crops, sheep and cows scattered over adjoining pastures, and the whole scene hemmed about with thick hedges and rolling hills. It was just as Cami had described. She had seen very little travelling in the back of the wagon underneath the straw and heavy canvas covers. This was the first real glimpse of the Shire she had gotten. Bella promised herself that someday she would go and visit Tukborough, which was where her father had spent his youth. And also to the Marrish from which her mother's people hailed.

Her own clothes had disappeared, but someone had kindly thought to provide another skirt and tunic, and a cap to tie upon her head. The woman dressed quickly, then sat down and poured herself a cup of tea. She filled a second mug with chicken soup. She had finished off the soup and was about to start on the sweet tea when there was a sharp knock on the door. "Do come in," she promply replied....

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger pays Miz Bella a prompted visit . . .

There were shushed whisperings just outside the closed door and scuffling as someone was pushed nearer. ‘G’wan, now,’ someone’s hushed voice urged. ‘Her name’s Belladonna Took . . .And remember . . . ask her where she’s from.’

Ginger knocked softly on the door to Cook’s parlour, hoping she wouldn’t be heard. Miz Bunce had stepped out for a moment to give some instructions to the lads who’d come to bring the benches and tables back into the Common Room. Buttercup, curious, about the stranger Cook had taken in last night, had convinced Ginger this was something she should do. She’d handed the young Hobbit a small stack of books they’d found half hidden under the straw in the wagon, telling her she should give them to the woman.

‘Do come in,’ she heard a clear voice say.

Certain the woman would hear her heart pounding, Ginger pushed the door open carefully and peeked in. The woman gave her an encouraging smile, her eyes twinkling beneath her capped grey curls. My goodness she looks just like my Granny!

Ginger blushed and came a little closer, bobbing a small curtsy as she laid the small stack of books on the table next to the woman’s seat. ‘Your books, Miz Took. The last of them.’ She looked at the other books piled on the table by the sofa. It was more books than she’d seen in all her young years.

‘My gosh!’ Ginger said, forgetting she’d been sent in by Buttercup to ferret out information. She picked up one of the more slender volumes and leafed through it carefully. On one of the pages was an ink drawing of some stern faced man in a winged helm. He held a sword in one hand and seemed to be looking far off . . .

‘Oh, my,’ Ginger said running her finger down the page, ‘who’s this, ma’am? Did you know him’ She turned a curious face to the elder Hobbit. ‘Can you read this to me?’

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling made his way into the Common Room slowly, his stomach beginning to roar already. The smell of freshly baked scones dripping with butter and honey had brought him from his dreams, and the smell of frying bacon had dragged him from the straw of the stables. Now that he stood amid the tables he realised how hungry he was and lamented again the loss of his purse. He looked about to see if Mithalwen had come down yet, for he felt sure that he could borrow a coin or two from her for his breakfast. (His newfound wealth had not yet removed his lack of scruples when it came to borrowing money.) The Elf was nowhere to be seen, and the rest of the people there were strangers to him, but for the little hobbit lass who had cried at him yesterday when the cake had splattered across his chest. She looked at him again and made a sour face but then turned away, blushing. Snaveling was about to move along in search of the kitchens – where he knew he could count on Cook to give him some provender gratis just to get him out from underfoot – when the elderly hobbit sitting across from the girl looked his way, attracted, no doubt, but the little girl’s sudden change in mood.

As the Halfling glanced at Snaveling, the Man noticed two things. First, that the hobbit was in a terrible humour for some reason – and judging by his complexion it probably had something to do with the festivities of the night before. Second, there was a large plate of food before the Halfling that he had not touched, and which he showed little signs of wanting to eat (and again, Snaveling noted his complexion). The Man had spent too many years a beggar to have a few months of finery and wealth overcome a lifetime’s habit of making shift when needed, and he had spent too much time learning the ways of the King’s Court not to know how to please when needed. Meeting the Halfling’s gaze he smiled broadly and stepped toward the table. “Good morning,” he said amiably. “I do not believe that we have made our introductions. I am Snaveling,” and he stuck out his hand.

The Halfling paused before returning the gesture, saying gruffly, “I’m Falco Headstrong. Pleased to make your acquaintance,” sounding all the time as though he was not pleased for anything of the sort. “This here is Marigold,” he said indicating the lass across from him. Snaveling bowed to her in the grandest manner he could. “Yes, she and I have already met, in a way, and it is on her account that I have approached you. Please, Mistress Marigold, accept my apologies for my clumsiness of yesterday. At the time, I believe, I upset you and may have even given you a sharp look. May I join you for breakfast?” he asked quickly, his eyes inadvertently slipping to Falco’s still untouched, but rapidly cooling plate of food, “So that we can talk of merrier things and drive away the unpleasantness of our first encounter?”

[Nurumaiel]

Marigold blushed to the very tips of her ears and set her eyes upon her plate in a stare as Falco gruffly bid the Man sit down. He was the very same Man who had ruined her cake and mussed her clothes the day before. Her eyes dropped farther and she looked down at her skirt. She see the slight stain from the cake icing. But she had called in an 'awful Man,' and she hadn't apologised to him for it yet. Her mother was always telling her that she ought to make amends with those she bore in ill will before letting the day fade into night. But it was so hard to apologise. And he had done the greater evil. He should be the one to apologise.

But he had apologised, and very grandly. Marigold sat in stony silence, feeling miserable because she wouldn't tell him she was sorry for calling him awful without any excuse for not doing it.

As for Falco, he was feeling annoyed because Marigold didn't say anything. She was the talkative (too talkative, at most times), cheery little hobbit... why didn't she say something to this Big Folk fellow? No doubt she knew how awkward he, Falco Headstrong, felt with this Big Folk fellow, and she was deliberately leaving him in the dilemna. No doubt!

"Here, now," said Falco, gruffly. If he were to speak he would not have to sound 'all creamy milk and pretty flowers,' as Fosco had always said. "What are you doing here in the Shire?" Now, that sounded very rude, as if this Big Folk fellow was tramping about where he had no right. Falco was not in the mood to be polite, but his good upbringing forbade him to be rude.

"I do mean," he said, "do you have any business here?" After his earlier words, that didn't sound very much better. Falco softened his voice considerably, though he felt gruffer and gruffer inside. Why did he have to give any consideration to this Big Folk fellow, anyway?

Marigold had just resolved to apologise and become friends with the Man was Falco began speaking. Perhaps the Man would be driven away by the gruff questions. She hoped not. If they did she would follow him (while pretending she wasn't, of course), and then apologise where no one could witness her humiliation. Why hadn't she just called him a 'Man' in the same tone of voice, rather than an 'awful Man?' Maybe she wouldn't be obligated to apologise, then.

"What brings you here?" said Falco, trying to amend his statement and finding that he had lost the eloquence for words that came when he was singing. "Perhaps you are just sight-seeing? I shouldn't blame you if you were; the Shire is such a lovely place." That sounded a little bit friendlier. But in the midst of his words Falco had no doubt that this Big Folk fellow was a murderer hiding himself in the Shire to escape justice. No doubt at all!

[Arry]

‘Step lively now, lads,’ came the all too cheerful, and awake, voice of Andwise as he pulled his little wagon up to the stable. There were moans and groans as eyes pried open then snapped shut again in the bright light of morning. True to his word, Andwise had collected them from their warm beds and brought them back to the scene of last night’s festivities.

Gil clambered down from the wagon, jostling his companions on the shoulders as he did so. Tomlin tried to pull his cap lower over his eyes and ignore the signal, but Fallon grabbed it off his head and sailed it down to Gil. A short scuffle ensued, as tempers flared a bit. It was soon forgotten as Andwise called out, ‘Come on! Breakfast first and then the tables.’

‘I could use a plate of eggs and ham and something sweet,’ said Gil as they entered the door to the Common Room. Ruby heard his declaration and hmmph’d at it. ‘I see that saucy look in your eye! Only sweet you’ll be having this morning is tea with honey and scones with jam.’ Gil winked at her, causing her to laugh.

‘Large pot of tea for us,’ said Andwise, leading the way to a table. Ferdy nodded his head yes to this, as did the others . . . save for Ferrin, who waved off the offer of tea. ‘Half pint for me,’ he said in a gravelly voice, his chin resting on his hand. ‘What?’ he rasped out as the others raised their brows at his request. ‘Bit of the dog that bit me last night . . . that’s what I’m thinking I need this morning to set my head straight.’

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen had gone to bed late and risen early. The excitement and exertion of the previous day had made few demands on her elvish constitution and the sight of stars on a clear night were as refreshing as sleep. Nevertheless she had retired to her tiny chamber under the roof for a few hours before rising with the dawn and after dressing in her plain grey garb rather than the fine gown for he previous day she had spent a few hours tidying up the yard. She did not know where many of the things went but she had done what she could - gathering things together. Then the smell of breakfast became irresistable. Mithalwen washed her hands at the pump and wandered into the dining room.


She saw Snaveling - and she went to speak to him. "Tar Corondir, I had hoped you might join me for breakfast but I see you have company - perhaps we will speak later. " Mithalwen then looked across the room, prompted by some instinct and saw an elf sitting with a man. She had noticed them yesterday but had not had the opportunity to speak with them.... Going to Uien and Falowik's table she said in her own tongue "May I join you? I believe you would speak with me "

[Atarah]

Tulip was glad of Sharya's company. She'd spent many weeks on the road alone, even though she was just a child. The fact that Sharya was also of the race of Man could only add to Tulip's joy at meeting her. She had been quite shocked when her new friend had instantly recognised that she was from Rohan, but then she had smiled to herself as Sharya pointed out her hair colour. Of course her hair would identify her as being from Rohan. She should have covered it better, but then why did she need to? She wasn't hiding from anyone.

The smell of freshly baked scones alerted Tulip to Ruby's return. A quick exchange of thank you's and Ruby went back to serving. Tulip sipped at her wonderfully sweet tea as she watched Sharya take a hot scone, the smell making her forget the breakfast she’d already eaten, only drop it again. Tulip giggled.

"Careful. They'll be hot."

"I just discovered that," replied Sharya with a laugh. She sucked her finger to stop it burning. "I hope they cool down soon. I'm starving."

"But you said you'd already had breakfast." Tulip put down her tea and tentatively poked at the nearest scone. They weren't very hot at all. "You must have sensitive hands." She picked up the scone she'd poked and began spreading some thick honey on it.

"So what is your business with Aman?" Sharya asked, thinking that the term “business” seemed appropriate even though Tulip was still young. She seemed to be very grown up for her age. Even her eyes looked grown up, maybe even wise.

Tulip added a large dollop of cream to her honey-smothered scone. She thought it a childish thing for her to do, then scolded herself for forgetting she was a child. Sometimes she got so carried away with acting grown up that she forgot her age. She contemplated what her answer to Sharya's question should be. If she told her friend that her mother had died, she'd have to put up with another bout of sympathy, and that would only lead to tears. She had to stay strong. If she let anyone here see that she was still mourning her mother's death after nearly a year they'd treat her like a child no matter how grown up she acted. No, she thought, I won't tell her that part just yet.

"I have to deliver a letter from my mother," she finally answered.

"She sent you all that way to deliver a letter?" questioned Sharya.

"I-" Tulip hesitated. She'd never thought about that before. Why had her mother sent her all the way to the Shire when a messenger could just have easily delivered the letter? "My mother thought very highly of Aman," she said quickly. "She would have liked to deliver it in person, but as she couldn't she sent me in her stead." Tulip looked down at the scone on her plate, her appetite suddenly gone. Why was she here?

[littlemanpoet]

"May I join you? I believe you would speak with me." It was Mithalwen, the Elf woman Uien had hoped to find.

Uien smiled. "Yes, please, sit with us," she said in Sindarin. She switched to Common tongue to say, "Have you eaten yet?"

"No." Mithalwen sat across from Uien, the Man on her left.

Falowik looked up at her not without a little awe in his face, for he had not understood the Elf woman's speech, but had been moved by it; not quite the same way it moved him when Uien spoke that way, but only by a small measure. There was something about her that was outside his ken; something in the music of her speech that brought unbidden thoughts of wind and sea, blue sky and grey shores. He stared openly, lost in the moment.

The Elf woman took little notice of the rude Man, but exchanged searching, not unfriendly gazes.

Falowik felt far beyond his depth.

After a few moments, Uien sighed and said, "Nor have we. Let us break our fast together."

Falowik wondered what communication had passed between the two Elves in that gaze.

"I did not sense you in the inn moments ago," Uien said.

"I was in the yard cleaning. What do you wish to speak with me about?"

"I had thought to learn from whom I had heard of the handfasting; but it was not you. And we are kindred, though our peoples are severed by time and fate."

[Child of the 7th Age]

Bella smiled broadly at Ginger and gestured for her to sit down on the bed so they could look at the book together. "You like history then?" Bella queried, as she pointed to the picture of the stern faced man with the elaborate winged helm on his head. "This is a fine volume that I acquired the last time I was in Minas Tirith. Look here. There is a picture of Tuor wearing the armor and helm that the King of Gondolin had made for him. The helm was of Noldor steel overlaid with silver and had swan wings that protruded out on either side. You know," chirped Bella enthusiastically, "that Tuor's helm was the ancestor of the winged helms that the men of Numenor used, and even of the winged crown that King Elessar wore at his coronation. The wings in the crown of Gondor were said to be of pearl and silver, and to resemble the wings of a sea bird."

Ginger peered intently at the pictures that Bella showed her, but remained very quiet, since she was awash in a flood of names and places that meant little to her. Not to be deterred, Bella warmly pushed the book towards Ginger. "There's no reason for you to wait for me to read it to you. Why don't you borrow it for a bit? You'll be able to read it on your own. You can return it to me whenever you are finished. I am hoping to stay here for a while."

There was an awkward silence before Ginger responded.

[peral]

Sharya looked at the girl in front of her, she seemed to have fallen silent. She was worried, had she said something to offend Tulip? She really hoped not, it wasn't easy for her to make new friends and Tulip and her seemed to share something that helped them get to know each other almost immediately. She remembered what her own father had said once: Whatever happens, don't offend anyone and make enemies. She knew the consequences of making enemies. One was on her trail now, hunting her, but she didn't want anyone to know that. it was her secret, and her's alone.

She felt pensive, thinking about her father and thinking about the rest of her family still in Gondor always made her thoughtful, if not slightly moody. She hoped that Tulip wouldn't notice her sudden uncommunicativeness, but the other girl seemed to be otherwise preoccupied. Sharya didn't want to be the first to break the silence, so she waited for Tulip to begin speaking when she felt like it.

[Atarah]

It was some time before Tulip or Sharya spoke again. They were both deep in their own thoughts, both sitting with their arms tightly folded and a frown on their face. Tulip for one did this quite often. Ever since she was old enough to start questioning the world around her she had spent many hours lying outside staring up at the stars. Her father had often told her off for being “away with the fairies” so frequently. Her mother, on the other hand, had strongly defended Tulip on this matter, saying it was a good way to develop her mind, training it not to take things for granted, but instead question why they were there and for what purpose. As well as questioning the world, Tulip often studied the behaviour of those around her, and as a result had become an excellent judge of character. Tulip’s mind was in the process of becoming that of a philosopher. Many people back in Rohan had told her to stop being a “silly little girl” when she shared her theories with them, but some listened, though only to forget a few days later.

Suddenly remembering where she was, Tulip looked up to see Sharya deep in thought. “What’s on your mind,” she asked.

“Oh, nothing.”

Sharya’s reply seemed rushed, suggesting to Tulip that her friend was hiding something, just as she herself was. She considered pursuing the matter, but she’d only just met Sharya, so thought better than to start prying in on her private life. She decided instead to talk of the present.

“So what brings you to the Shire?” Tulip asked. “I meant to ask you earlier, but got caught up in my thoughts. And where are you from, if you don’t mind my asking? Unlike you, I’m not very good at working out where people come from by their hair colour.”

Sharya smiled, then laughed, glad to be distracted from her dark thoughts. “I’m from Gondor.” She thought about what she could say to answer her companion’s other question without directly lying. “I came here to get away from things.” It wasn’t lying, but Sharya still felt guilty for not being completely honest.

“It’s so lovely here in the Shire,” Tulip replied, not seeming to have noticed Sharya’s slightly guilty expression. “I can see why you’d want to come here to get away.” Tulip looked out of the window, and was slightly dissapointed by the sight of grey clouds. She wouldn’t let the weather spoil her good mood she decided.

[samsmyhero]

Denegal grimaced slightly as he limped forward towards the inn. He was glad to finally be reaching it; but, the lack of coin in his purse foretold a meager break from his involuntary fasting.

He'd had nothing to eat since yesterday morn, and all that had consisted of was a few handfuls of watercress found in a little, tumbling stream wandering down out of the hills to the east. He'd set a snare at eventide, when he'd ended his day's journey. The blisters, cuts and bruises on his left foot had been just too painful to proceed further, even though he knew the village was very close. He had hoped to catch a rabbit or two as the dusk fell. But the little animals weren't cooperating. Seeing them flitting by in the misty, semi-darkness, his stomach had rumbled loudly. The sky had been threatening rain. As he had wrapped himself in his cloak, finally abandoning all hope of roast rabbit for supper, he felt sure he would wake in a downpour.

The morning had broken fair and sunny though, and the young soldier had been surprised that he had slept so soundly. All these weeks in the open had apparently desensitized him to the sharp jab of rock and root. As he hobbled down the road, he took hope in the words of the traveller he had walked with a ways several days ago. "Steer for The Green Dragon, and ye can't go wrong, m'lad! The Green Dragon - that's where ye need to make for. They're a friendly lot there, they are! A warm, clean bed and good, solid food. That's where most decent folk go to stay when we're passing through these parts. Tis run by a human gal, I'm told, this last little while. But still, I'm sure they'll do right by ye!"

The word "friendly" had struck a positive chord in Denegal's heart. When was the last time he had been in the company of true friends? With his supply of money dwindling, he hoped such an inn might have need of some hard labor that he could offer in exchange for a few days of room and board. For he knew he could not travel on much further until he rested and gave his foot time to heal. The reference to the inn being run by a human was somewhat puzzling; the Gondorian wondered who or what else might be found directing such an establishment. Ah well, his months on the road had brought him into contact with some very . . . queer individuals. Trying not to let his spirits falter, he had slogged on, slowly, wondering if he would outrun the clouds that were starting to gather to the west.

By breakfast, he had just made it to the little town. Now, as he approached the inn yard, he saw the usual early morning bustle of activity at such a place. A cartload of children had just offloaded its passengers. But, upon closer inspection, Denegal realized that these "children" were in fact little people, of an age, or older, than himself, but standing just a little over half his height! Well, well! So perhaps this had something to do with his erstwhile companion's strange remark. That would also explain the number of "children" he had seen in passing on his way to the town. He had not given them much thought, nor looked very closely at them, having been preoccupied by his stomach and his foot. But, upon reflection, there had seemed to be a goodly number of them about.

Denegal hobbled on and entered the inn. He found himself in a large common room, populated by a good number of people scattered amongst the various tables. The smell of fried eggs and ham wafted from the kitchen and set his mouth to watering. Feeling gingerly of the small leather purse that hung now about his neck, its weight being of no account, he swallowed hard and looked about for a server. He felt, rather than saw, the looks of several of the rooms' occupants staring at him. It must have been a rare sight - a soldier with no left boot!

[Mithalwen]

"I had thought to learn from whom I had heard of the handfasting; but it was not you. And we are kindred, though our peoples are severed by time and fate." Mithalwen listened to Uien and could not imediately place her accent - Lorien or Eryn Lasgalen ? She wondered the for the manner of speech was similar and it was long since she had had dealings with the silvan folk.

"Indeed it was not for my arrival here was by chance - my horse cast a shoe and we needed shelter from the rain two nights since - I knew nothing of the handfasting until I arrived......kindred .. yes.... we elves are so few in these latter days, this side of the Sundering Sea; there is small need to make the old distinctions .... Nevertheless I deem you must be from either Lorien or the Woodland Realm for if you dwellt in Imladris or Lindon, surely we would have met already."

Mithalwen paused for the waitress had brought a pot of tea and took their orders. She sipped at the infusion to which she had added neither milk nor sugar or honey. She had drunk this before at Imladris - the long residence of Dunedain and the hobbit Bilbo had added some variety to the usual elvish fare- and as she sipped she studied Uien and Falowik across the table. Clearly these inns were the place to hear unusual tales.

[Ealasaide]

Seamus

Unable to obtain rooms in the crowded inn and still less able to pay for them anyway, Seamus and Owen had spent the night in the common room, stretched out in armchairs before the fire. Exhausted from the day’s excitement, Shimshin, too, curled himself into a little ball in Seamus’ lap and slept soundly through the remainder of the night, a little silver-colored whistle clutched tightly in his small fist. As the common room began to return to life the next morning, Seamus awoke first. Trying not to wake Shimshin in the process, Seamus reached one of his long legs out across the hearthrug and gave Owen a gentle kick. Owen stirred, crossing his arms stubbornly across his chest.

“I told you he didn’t mean to take it!” he muttered angrily. Seamus grinned and gave his friend another nudge with the toe of his boot.

“Oy! Wake up!”

This time Owen sat bolt upright and glared around the steadily-filling common room for a long instant before coming to the realization that he had been dreaming. Catching sight of Shimshin still curled safely in Seamus’ lap, Owen sighed and slumped back into his chair. “Is it morning already, then?” he asked, blinking owlishly in the direction of the kitchen.

“It is indeed,” answered Seamus.

“Have we got enough money for breakfast? Whatever they’re cooking in there smells monstrous good.”

Seamus shrugged, then reached into his coat. After mining around for a while in the depths of his pocket, he withdrew his hand and deposited the whole of his funds on the small table that stood between the two armchairs. It amounted to three coppers, a button, and a few tufts of lint. Owen stared sleepily at Seamus’ accumulated funds, then dug into his own pocket. A few seconds later, two more coppers and an empty peanut shell had joined the pile on the table. The two young men stared at the meager pile with long faces. Then, Seamus shook his head.

“I daresay, if I’d known we were this strapped, I might not have been so fast and loose with those ha’ pennies yesterday,” he sighed.

Owen gave him a sideways look. “What ha’ pennies?”

“Oh, I gave those little chaps, Willie and Nick, a ha’ penny each to watch Shimshin for us while we played yesterday.”

“Oh...” Owen let out a sigh of his own. “Well, they were capital little fellows. I suppose it was worth the investment. Aside from that one brooch, I don’t think Shimshin got into much trouble. He’s got that little whistle there, but it doesn’t look to be worth much. Just a bit of tin, I expect.”

Seamus looked down at the whistle still clutched in the monkey’s hand. “I suppose it belongs to one of the little hobbit fellows. If we left it with the innkeeper, I’m sure she would see that it found its way back to them right proper and all.”

“I suppose so.” Owen sighed again as one of the Green Dragon’s serving girls whisked past them to another table bearing a plate piled high with fresh sausage and eggs. Seamus’ gaze followed the plate attentively, too, until it landed at its destination in front of a rather portly hobbit, who grinned and poured hot maple syrup thickly over the whole pile. Sighing in unison, the two young men pushed themselves regretfully to their feet. They had a long way to go yet to reach their destination and knew that the luxury of the inn’s fine breakfast was more than they could afford. They had come to the handfasting in the hopes of earning a bit of spare change by plying their trade as musicians, but in the end had ended up spending more than they made. Without speaking, both young men knew that discretion dictated they beat a hasty retreat before they spent even more.

Seamus lifted Shimshin, who awoke at once and scrambled agilely up Seamus’ shirt to his accustomed perch on the tall man’s shoulder. Once Shimshin had settled in, wrapping his long tail loosely around Seamus’ neck for balance, Seamus reached out and pocketed his share of the money on the side table and waited as Owen did the same. Then, exchanging a sorrowful glance, for they had both enjoyed their brief stay at the Green Dragon very much, the two young men picked up their rucksacks and their instruments and left through the inn’s front door. On their way to the gate, they dropped back around to the kitchen door, where they stuck their heads in and thanked the cook and the innkeeper both for their kindness and hospitality, asking that they say good-bye to Gil and the rest of the band for them, as well. Seamus gave the innkeeper the whistle Shimshin had stolen. Smiling at their story of how they had ended up with the child’s toy, the innkeeper promised that she would see that it was returned to Willie and Nick at the first opportunity.

Seamus and Owen thanked her again and took their leave. Within minutes, they had regained the open road and were on their way, the Green Dragon Inn sinking slowly into the distance behind them.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Falco’s food was still untouched, and Snaveling was having a difficult time keeping his eyes from the Halfling’s plate. Still, he heard enough to know that the little fellow was more than a bit suspicious of him, and Snaveling wondered if perhaps Falco knew more about him than he was letting on. Snaveling was sure that there were still rumours about the Shire of the rogue who tried to burn down the Green Dragon, who stole a bag of gold and who had nearly been ejected from the whole place for violent and disorderly conduct. He searched the face of Mr. Headstrong but saw in it only a generalized dislike for and distrust of outsiders. Strangely enough, this was comforting to the Man of the south.

“My business is personal,” he replied casually. “I am in search of a traveling companion, a Ranger woman called Roa. She and I have become separated. I don’t suppose you would have any news of her? A tall woman with red hair and green eyes? She may have passed through some part of the Shire a few weeks ago.”

Falco twisted his face and thought for a bit. “Can’t say as I have seen anyone like that,” he replied.

Snaveling, grateful for the opportunity to redirect his attention from the elder Halfling (who disconcerted him) as well as from the plate of food (which tormented him), turned to Marigold and asked her the same question. The lass looked surprised that he would be asking her such a question, as though she were all grown up and likely to know of the comings and goings of the Big Folk. She pursed her lips and with a great show of concentration thought for a long time before saying, “I don’t think I’ve seen any Ranger woman like that.” Her eyes brightened at an idea. “You should ask Aman!” she said gaily, “She knows most everything that happens in these parts!”

Snaveling’s face twitched involuntarily at the mention of the Innkeeper’s name and he said only, “That’s a good idea, Mistress Marigold. Perhaps I shall speak with her.”

A light movement at his elbow drew his attention to Ruby standing by the table. “Good morning, Mr. Snaveling,” she said. “Did you sleep well?” Snaveling caught the tone of the question and knew that she was well aware that he had been sleeping in the stable to avoid paying for a room.

“Yes, thank you,” he replied. “I found my accommodations as comfortable as always.”

“Can I get you any breakfast?”

Her question caught him off guard and Snaveling was momentarily flustered. “Well, yes, I would but…as it happens…I am a bit short of funds at the moment. In fact, I have no money at all! I don’t suppose, perhaps, I could get something on credit?”

Ruby looked doubtful, saying. “I don’t know. I think that there might be something in the accounts from your last visit…” For the first time Snaveling remembered that in his haste to depart the Inn, and thus avoid a confrontation with Aman, he had neglected to pay for two nights lodging and several meals.

Now genuinely embarrassed he tried to make light of it. “Well that’s all right, Ruby, it’s all right. I am sure that I can make shift for myself today. Perhaps I shall speak with Miss Aman about some kind of arrangement… In the meantime I wouldn’t dream of asking you to extend me any more credit!” Ruby seemed relieved at this and curtseying, she walked away. Snaveling turned back to Falco and Marigold, dreading the direction the conversation might go at this point, and certain that the Halflings would see him now only as a beggar.

[littlemanpoet]

"Nevertheless I deem you must be from either Lorien or the Woodland Realm for if you dwellt in Imladris or Lindon, surely we would have met already." Mithalwen sipped her tea, adding nothing. Uien added a dollop of honey to hers. Ever since she had first tasted Shire honey she had never been able to say it nay.

Falowik listened to the two converse as he cut into his ham and eggs with relish.

"You speak the truth. We have never been to Lindon, though we have passed through Imladris twice in the past four months; but we stopped there only briefly, I am sad to say. I am from Lothlorien. My lineage is Sindarin, but I have not followed my kindred over sea. I was unable to go with them." Uien's face darkened slightly, at a memory that Mithalwen could not read, but it was unpleasant; that was easy enough to read.

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen's sharp elven ears caught the substance of Snaveling's conversation with Ruby. She pitied the man and if he had not been in company and she distracted by her own kindred she would have bought him breakfast. She had no great riches but she had more than enough with her for her journey - she did not expect many demands on her purse when she left this place.

When Ruby brought food for herself and her companions Mithalwen spoke softly to her. "Take a full breakfast to the man they call Snaveling - I will pay". She had paid for her own board and her horse's keep in advance but slipped coins into Ruby's hand "this will be sufficient? "

"More than, Miss, I'll get you change "....

"Deduct it from what else he owes ..... but please do not tell him who paid - I would not embarrass him", said the elf.

Her grey eyes were serious but inwardly she felt a glimmer of amusement that a lord of men was being funded by her honest craft. Yet we do not all receive good preparation for the lives we are to lead she thought...and it may save him from a further lapse into crime. She knew Uien would read a lot of her thought and smiled. She smiled again moments later when plates of food and a steaming mug were placed before Snaveling though she had to rely on sound since she dare not turn around to watch.

" Don't worry it is paid for - just don't question it " she heard the hobbit waitress 's words to the man.

Mithalwen returned her attention to her companions. "I have not been to Imladris so recently but I am on my way there now - and I have not been to Lothlorien for a very long time indeed. However my mother is of the Teleri so we are akin from afar. She too passed over sea and age of the world ago. The separation is hard but still I do not feel ready to make the journey myself yet". Mithalwen saw the sorrow in her companion's eyes but did not know how much to make of it - most elves carried the memory of some grief from some point in their long lives. Her own she had learnt to cover well, though Snaveling had managed to catch a raw nerve the night before. But the grief of Uien seemed more recent and extreme. she wondered what had prevented the journey.

[piosenniel]

Everyone

Please make sure you are familiar with the Inn Facts at the top of this page.

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

Thanks!

~*~ Pio

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger could feel the heat creeping up her neck; soon she would be as red as her copper curls, or redder. She swallowed hard, trying not to stammer as she spoke. ‘Begging your pardon, m’am,’ she began, as her fingers slid the offered book back toward Bella. ‘But I . . . well . . . it’s just that . . .’

Bella looked over at her, a patient smile on her face. She had picked up the book, and held it lightly in her hands, looking as if she might hand it back to her. Ginger get hold of yourself! the young woman told herself sharply.

‘It’s like this, Miz Took,’ Ginger said, taking the book and opening it up to the picture she had first asked about. ‘I would like very much to read this book. And this Tuor looks to be very brave. Handsome almost as Big Folk go.’ She traced the winged helm, wondering about the new king who wore one. ‘And bless you for thinking I’d take good enough care of it that you would lend it to me. But the honest truth is I can’t read the words on the pages.’

Miz Bella’s eyes widened at this, but before she could make a comment, Ginger plunged on. ‘That is . . . I can write my name. And I can do numbers. I have to; sometimes my Da and brothers need help with the lists for the vegetables and pigs they’ve sold. And, oh, I can recognize most of the things we sell when they’re written. It’s a short list really, and I memorized them. But unless the words about Tuor are all sows and boars and taters and carrots and such, I can’t make heads or tails of them.’

[Nurumaiel]

"Well, well, you have no money," said Falco, and his tone clearly implied the rest of his unspoken thoughts: this great fellow of the Big Folk, those Big Folk who thought they owned the Shire and everyone in it, was poor and shiftless and could get no work. Falco went on, speaking gruffly, but with a little twinkle in his eye that was directed towards Marigold. "I suppose you would consider it beneath your dignity to accept any assistance from a foolish little hobbit like me, but... I'm well-to-do, in fact, very well-to-do, and I can hardly find enough ways to spend my money. I would not dare let you leave the Shire and think that we hobbits were not willing to help one who is in need. In short, young man - " Falco felt superior with that adjective " - I will offer to pay whatever you owe, as you cannot do it yourself."

Marigold's little heart thrilled at Falco's gracious offer, and she felt that, despite all his grumpiness, he was not such a mean old hobbit after all, for she had been thinking so that morning. Feeling that somehow she must try to give this Man a good impression of hobbit kindness, as well, she leaned towards him, tugged at his sleeve, and gazed up at him with big earnest eyes. "Mr. Snaveling," she said, wondering why he had such a very odd name, "I am very sorry I called you awful yesterday. I don't think you're awful. I think you're a very..." What was he? She could call him 'nice' when she didn't know him very well yet. "I think you're a very interesting Man," she said, and, to make up for the deficiency of words, she gave him what she considered her charming smile of good-will, and sat back again in her chair.

[piosenniel]

~*~ Notice of New RPG Opening ~*~

Thalionyulma (Thali, for short) invites you to take a look at the Mirkwood Endgame Discussion Thread – HERE (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/showthread.php?t=11630).

Three male Elven characters are needed: two from Mirkwood and one from Lorien.

Should be a fun game! See you there!

~*~ Pio, Game Moderator

[peral]

Sharya noticed Tulip glancing out the window and looked as well. Grey clouds hovered upon the horizon, like a panther waiting to pounce upon its prey. So much for nice sunny days in the Shire, she thought. Suddenly, she remembered something that she had to do.

She stood up quickly and noticed Tulip's curious look. "I'm really sorry, Tulip, I would love to stay and talk a little longer but I have just remembered something that I must get done before midday."

Tulip looked slightly worried, had what she had thought about Sharya earlier really be proving itself true? Was Sharya really hiding something?

"It's alright."

Sharya looked gratefully at her. "Thank you, perhaps I'll see you around dinnertime," and with these words she quickly exited the Common Room.

It wasn't as if Sharya didn't want to stay and talk some more with Tulip, but something about her past caused her to want to go out and do what she needed to do. She exited the inn, not quite sure of where she was going, but she knew one thing, she needed to be ready no matter what and to do that, she was going to need a few things. She noticed that the breeze was picking up slightly and that the things still littered around the front yard were starting to blow away from their original positions. Pulling her dress closer around herself she started walking down the road. She felt something on the wind, something that disturbed her greatly, a shadow, a demon from her past.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling was saved the embarrassment of accepting Falco’s offer of money – so clearly presented to display his own wealth – by the sudden arrival of a large plate of food and steaming mug of tea. Ruby laid it upon the table explaining that it had been paid for by an unknown benefactor, but Snaveling knew with the instinct of his kind that it was the Elf Mithalwen who had paid for his fare. Ruby leaned toward him slightly and Snaveling lowered his head to her ear so that she could softly explain that his other debts had been discharged as well. The Man restrained himself from looking toward his new friend where she sat with another Elf and a strange looking Man, and he shrouded his gratitude within his thoughts. If she wanted to have it as a secret, then let it remain as such, he thought. There was also a certain pleasure in realising that despite his revelations to her, Mithalwen still did not fully comprehend his nature. That she could think her intent was so easily hidden from him was an interesting point to note…

The lass Marigold was now speaking to him. “Interesting?” he echoed, a slight smile breaking out across his face. “Why now, I have been called many things in my time, but never quite that, my lass! Thank you. And may I say that I find you a most intriguing creature in your own right. Here I am, a great clumsy Big Man who nearly ruined your day and your frock, and you are apologising to me! I do not blame you for your hard words to me. Indeed, as I have said, I have been called by many names in my life and many of them much harder than awful. In fact, I hate to admit that at times I have been quite awful, but I hope that those days are at last behind me.” He spoke this last thought more to Falco than to the lass. The little fellow’s manner had grated upon Snaveling, and he could not restrain himself from putting the Halfling right in a couple of matters. “I thank you for your offer, Master Falco, but as you can see the present need has been met. As for my future requirements I assure you that as soon as I can speak with the Innkeeper I will have no trouble reacquiring my credit, for I am myself of some worth in the lands I come from.” His mind flashed to the Vale of Arlanduian, rich green lands upon the south-western flanks of the White Mountains: uninhabited save by a few of the hunting folk, Snaveling’s kin, and now his own estate by gift of the King Elessar. Of old, it was said, the vale had been blessed with the finest grapes of Gondor, and the wine made there was prized throughout the West, and even beyond, for the clarity and shine of its flavour. In time, he thought, the vale would again produce such fruit.

Falco scowled somewhat at the gentle rebuff, and the insinuation that his own wealth was not perhaps as great as the Man’s. He settled in his seat and poked at his now cold breakfast while Snaveling gratefully dug into his own. “Well,” the Halfling began slowly, “I’m happy for your sake that things have turned out. It’s a crime and a shame when a young fellow such as yourself has to made do without provender.”

Snaveling smiled back at Falco, but there was a certain lack of sincerity in the expression. He took a sip of tea to clear his throat. “You have called me ‘young’ twice now Mr. Headstrong, and I am afraid that I must correct you. While I know that among your people my age may not seem overly great, among my own folk I am considered something of a rarity, for I have seen seventy-seven winters.”

“No!” Marigold cried out in disbelief. “You cannot ever be so old Mister Snaveling! I know that the Big Folk age faster than Hobbits, but you cannot be any more than forty or maybe fifty!”

The Man smiled down at the lass. “I am quite sure of my own age, Mistress Marigold. My folk are long-lived. My own father lived to be nearly one hundred and fifty. I am sure that you have heard that the Dunedain, the Rangers who once guarded this land, were blessed with long life. I am kin to those folk, in a fashion.” Marigold merely looked at Snaveling in disbelief, while Falco’s eyes narrowed somewhat as though trying to decide if Snaveling were deluded or merely a bad liar.

[Encaitare]

Caity's dreams the night of the party had been of music and dancing and laughter. She awoke at midmorning, and was rather reluctant to get out of bed -- her feet were a little tired from all the dancing of the previous night. After fifteen minutes, though, she began to notice the smells of breakfast, and she made herself get up.

She dressed slowly, putting on a simple blue dress, much better suited for traveling than the one she had worn the previous night. Then she brushed her hair, tied it back with a ribbon, and began putting her belongings back into her pack. She did not want to leave the inn (after all, there all the cooking and cleaning was done for her and there were plenty of interesting people about), but she understood that she had responsibilities at home, too. Ma would need help looking after Caity's younger siblings, and neither of her parents would be happy if she spent any more money to stay at an inn when she had a perfectly nice home in Brandy Hall. Frankly, they had enough on their hands with the young ones; the last thing they needed was a flighty tween.

Oh, how Caity hated having to act responsibly.

She followed the scent of food down to the common room. There, she found a table for herself, and soon had a nice beakfast of eggs, ham, and tea. When she laid her fork down, she was preparing herself to just get up, gather her things, say a few goodbyes and thank-yous, and leave. But at that moment, Cook walked by near Caity's table, chatting exasperatedly with one of the serving girls.

"...and the flower beds are all a shambles, trampled by everyone yesterday night," she was saying with a shake of her head. "Well, I suppose it was to be expected. A few people are out there now trying to fix them up again..." She and the serving girl continued on their way.

Aha! Caity thought. This was a small excuse to stay longer, if only for a little while. A little garden work didn't sound so bad -- better than minding her brothers and sisters, at any rate. She carefully worked her way through the tables and people and stepped outside.

She saw what Cook meant. The beautiful flower beds had been crushed in some places, footprints clear in the dirt. Several hobbits were working at making them look presentable once more. She approached them and one greeted her.

"Come to help? Wonderful!" he exclaimed before she could say anything.

"Well, I heard that the place was a bit of a mess."

"You heard right," he said, seeming to be cheerfully resigned to his job. "Certainly glad to have more out here. What we're doin' is checkin' the trampled plants first to see if they can be saved. If they look alright to you, stake 'em up. If they're goners, don't hesitate to pull 'em. We're goin' to put in some new ones to fill in any bare spots later. Also, you can smooth the dirt over when you're done, get rid of these footprints."

Caity nodded. "Sounds fine to me."

"There's stakes, string, and some trowels and things over there," he continued, pointing to a pile of simple tools. There were a few beads of perspiration on his forehead despite the breeze; he wiped at his forehead with the back of his hand, leaving a light streak of dirt. "You need anythin', you just ask for Halfred."

She began rooting about in the garden, determining the fates of the poor squashed plants, and rather enjoying the fact that the dirt was getting under her fingernails.

[littlemanpoet]

"You wonder why I did not go with my kin over sea."

Mithalwen nodded.

"Caradhras proved my foe and fate. I was separated from my father, mother, and brother in a blizzard. Orcs found me and I ...." She stopped, her hands shaking on her cup. Falowik stopped his fork half way between plate and mouth, and set it down. His eyes softened and he reached across the table, setting his hand gently over Uien's. She looked to him gratefully; in that moment Mithalwen saw how it was between the two of them. Strange were the twists of fate. Uien opened her mouth to speak again. "I was imprisoned in the mountain for a time. How much time I do not know." She said this quickly. "A Dwarf found me; I assume the orcs did not survive him and his party. He left me in the care of those at Imladris. 'Twas there that I learned that my kin had left over sea, though they waited many a day for me. At last, the ship would wait no longer and they had to choose."

"You may then cross the sea and be reunited with them," Mithalwen said.

Withdrawing his hand from Uien's, Falowik shot Mithalwen a surprised glance. She expected his eyes to fill with anger; instead she saw resignation. He turned and watched Uien to see how she would respond.

"Nay," Uien said, smiling. "I have foresworn the straight way into the west. I will remain with Falowik." Uien reached across the table, revealing a bright jewel at her breast, hanging from a necklace. Within it was bright light that formed the formen of the Sindarin runes. Uien took Falowik's hand in hers. Mithalwen saw that he bore at his neck a twin to the jewel Uien wore; its light formed the úre.

"But he is mortal," Mithalwen said.

"And so I have become," Uien answered, her face a mix of joy and sorrow in equal portions.

Mithalwen looked at Falowik measuringly, and touched the edges of his mind. He turned to her as if startled, then nodded in understanding, and met her eyes with his own, allowing her to know his thought. There was much darkness inside the man, much bitterness of loss. But overmatching all of it was boundless wonder that this beautiful Elven woman loved him and had chosen his fate in place of her own. More, he was determined to be more than he was for the sake of her love and choice. Mithalwen withdrew from his thought; he sighed and slumped at the shoulders, clearly tired.

Mithalwen sipped her tea and looked to Uien, whom it was clear, knew intimately what had passed between her Lauréatan and the Elvish woman from Lindon.

Uien smiled and said, "We seek a place to settle this side of the sea. What can you tell us of Lindon?"

[Nurumaiel]

"Ah, well," said Falco, after due reflection upon the age of Snaveling's father, "the Old Took did live to be one hundred and thirty." It would have given him immense satisfaction to be able to boast that some hobbit had lived longer than this Big Folk fellow's father, but it was well enough that he could name a hobbit who fell only a little short of that mark. "But you won't be telling me not to call you young," he added, with a little bit of a scowl. "I'll call you young if I want. You're young enough in your personality. Nobody old and responsible would be as poor as you are." No matter that this Big Folk fellow said he had money back at his home. Who was to say it was true? And Falco would never, never admit that he happened to be a few years younger than the Big Folk fellow.

"Now," said Falco, standing up, "I must be running along to buy a few things for pretty Miss Marigold. Will you be all right alone?"

"Oh, I'm not alone," said Marigold. "Mr. Snaveling is here."

Falco cast Mr. Snaveling a dubious look, as if wondering if it would not be better for Marigold to be alone. Big Folk fellows were always kidnapping children, he'd heard. But, no... this was a good Inn and a kidnapper wouldn't get far. He had nothing to fear.

"Well, just don't be wandering too far from the building," said Falco, and he bid the Big Folk fellow and Marigold good day. As he left the Inn he saw Caity stooping in the garden and greeted her curtly, though his tone was not quite as gruff as before. "I hope you'll bring out that whistle of yours and play another tune," he said. She glanced up at him with a smile and an answer on her lips, but he moved on.

Little Marigold perched on the edge of her seat, her eyes fixed upon the Man, and set down her fork and spoon. There was silence between them for a time, and she looked him up and down. It was absurd that a Man could be so very old (why, seventy-seven was positively ancient!) and look so young... but it was thrillingly interesting. She had heard a little about the Rangers from her father, who had known of many of the peoples beyond the borders of the Shire. Didn't Rangers travel around all the time? She was quite confident that they did.

"Oh, Mr. Snaveling," she said, with a hint of breathlessness in her voice, "if you're a Ranger you must have had the most exciting adventures. You do have adventures, don't you? I've never met anyone who has real adventures. My papa used to have exciting times, but they weren't real adventures. Oh, Mr. Snaveling, would you..." She hesitated. Dare she ask him? Weren't Rangers very important people? Maybe he would be offended by her boldness in asking. But... "Would you tell me about your adventures, Mr. Snaveling?"

[samsmyhero]

Denegal's eye lit upon a small serving lass who appeared to be one of the little folk that so populated this town. She was serving a large platter of food to an older looking man, who then leaned down and held a brief whispered conversation with her. The man proceeded to sit and break his fast with two more of the little ones. The young soldier pulled the pouch from around his neck and shook its meager contenets out into the somewhat grimy palm of his hand. He sighed. Four coppers - he doubted that would be enough to pay for a full plate of food. But perhaps it would suffice for at least a slice of ham and some bread.

As the little woman bustled by, back in the direction of the kitchen, Denegal cleared his throat, and stepped forward tentatively. "Um, excuse me, miss. I'd . . . I'd like to buy some breakfast. How much for a half a loaf, and maybe a slice of ham?"

Ruby stopped and looked up at the stranger, a friendly smile warming her face. She had seen many a weary traveller, and could tell right away that this one was in sore need of some good, hearty food - and a good wash! She noticed him gripping his hand tightly, probably around some smallish amount of coin. Well, the Green Dragon was no charity organization, but there was always room for "friendliness".

"Well, sir, don't you worry about the cost. I'll fetch you a plate in a wink, and after you've finished, if you like the cooking, we'll settle up then. How's that? And if you're in need of a bit of a wash up, there's a pump right out in the yard." She nodded significantly in the direction of the door and whisked away before Denegal could reply.

Relieved, Denegal made his way back out into the inn yard and limped carefully around several more young little people who were attempting to clean up some flower beds. There were the signs of recent festivities all about and the bustle and cheerful noise of the young people as they went about their various tasks. He reached the pump and worked the handle up and down, holding his head under the water. It was quite cold and much of it ran down his collar. But it was refreshing and he scrubbed his face and hands vigorously, happy to remove at least some of the dirt of his recent travels. Shaking the excess water out of his hair and wiping his face on his sleeve, as he had no towel, he straightened up and looked around.

The inn seemed a pleasant place, with a small stable attached. It was clean and well kept up. Obviously the innkeeper must take pride in his proprietership. His spirits lifting again, Denegal thought with hope that there might be a good chance that such an inn keeper would be glad to hire on a strong man. Especially if all the employees were of the little variety. Perhaps there might be some job for which his height might be of advantage. True, his recent fortunes had seen his weight drop considerably. But the past months had made him fit and lean, hard and wirey. Pushing his wet hair out of his face, Denegal hobbled back into the inn.

Seeing an empty table, he sat down, being somewhat close to the man he had spied earlier. One of the two little folk, an older male, was gone. But the young female remained, now talking hesitantly to her companion. Without meaning to eavesdrop, Denegal heard the slight Gondorian accent of the man. Well, well. A fellow countryman. At least he wasn't completely alone in this far place.

The little servant maid appeared at his elbow as if by magic, setting a great platter of food before him. The smell of fried eggs and ham, fresh baked bread with butter, and a great mug of steaming hot tea almost made him faint with rapture. "There you are, sir. I hope it pleases." Ruby beamed at the young man.

"Thank you. Really, I can't thank you enough." Denegal dug in, and worked his way silently but diligently through the great mound of food. Ruby kept her eye on him as she passed back and forth, serving the other guests. After some fifteen minutes or so, seeing his plate was finally nearing emptiness, she approached him once more.

"Was it all to your liking? Shall I get you some more tea?"

With a great sigh of hapiness, Denegal smiled at her. "No, thank you. I think I'm full. It was all wonderful. My compliments to the chef. And to the inn keeper. I wonder . . . might I ask you a favor? I'd like to speak with the owner, if you please. Would you ask if he would spare me a moment?"

"Certainly, sir. I'll ask HER if she has a moment." Ruby emphasis was accompanied by a wry smile. "Meantimes, why don't you sit here a while and let that lot digest. Perhaps you'd like me to then point you in the direction of our cobbler. He's a good one." She looked inquisitively at his bare foot.

Denegal looked abashed. He knew after paying for this meal his purse would be empty. He certainly couldn't afford a new pair of boots.

"Well, I think I'll just wait until I speak with the inn keeper - that is - if she's available."

"Right. I'll just go see, then." Ruby hurried away.

[piosenniel]

Ruby relays a message to Denegal of the One Boot

Ruby looked high and low, but Aman was nowhere to be found. As a last resort she hunted up Cook to as if she’d seen Aman. Ruby peeked in the kitchen, but Cook was not there, nor was she in her quarters. The back door to the Kitchen was slightly ajar, though, and she could hear muted voices through the slight gap. Approaching closer, Ruby could tell that one of them was indeed Cook. She opened the door wide, hoping Miz Aman was there with her. But it was only the Gil and Tomlin, whom Cook had drafted into taking the little party lanterns from the trees and was now directing them down the outside steps to the cellar. ‘You’ll find several little wooden crates, at the far east end, lads. The lanterns go in there. And make sure you set the crate tops on firmly.’

Gil winked at Ruby, seeing her face poke out from the kitchen. He wiped the smile from his face and nodded seriously at Cook’s directions. ‘Indeed we will, Miz Bunce!’ he said, urging Tomlin down the stairs ahead of him.

‘Cook?’ called Ruby from the doorway. ‘Have you seen Miz Aman anywhere? There’s a gentleman asking to speak with her.’

‘Probably got up early and put on those riding breeches of hers,’ Cook said, with a decidedly negative emphasis on the word ‘breeches’. ‘And if so, I don’t know when we’ll see hide or hair of the woman!’ Cook came back into the kitchen, straightening her apron as she did so. The big kettle of bean soup that would be for lunch was bubbling merrily away and she gave it a stir and a taste. ‘Needs a pinch or two of thyme,’ she said, ‘and maybe a little more salt.’ Once it was satisfactory to her taste, Cook turned back to Ruby. ‘Now what about this gentleman” Something we can do til Miz Aman gets back?’ The story unfolded of the man with one boot and the flat coin pouch and how nice a man he seemed.

‘Does he look to be an able worker,’ Cook asked, knowing that Ruby was quite good at sizing up people and sifting through stories. Ruby said ‘yes’, he did look honest and he seemed fit enough, if a bit skinny, she offered, as Big Folk tend to be.

‘He’s in luck then,’ said Cook. ‘It’s going to rain to day. I can feel it in my bones. Those long tables and benches we hauled out to the yard for the party need to be brought back into the Common Room before they get all wet and muddy.’ Cook gave the soup another stir. ‘And that reminds me . . . the lad that splits wood for us is home sick. His Ma sent his little sister to let me know. See if that fellow can handle a splitting mall and a saw. There’re two downed beech trees on the far side of the stable need to be bucked and split.’ Cook stood for a few moments, hands on hips considering what she might offer. ‘If he’ll do the work he can have three meals a day and a bed in the stable loft for now. Nothing fancy, but it’ll keep his belly full and the rain off his head.’ She shook her head. ‘Don’t know what we’ll do about boots if he needs them . . .’

Ruby’s face lit up as she remembered the wardrobe closet in the attic. ‘Maybe he can just look through the baskets of abandoned shoes upstairs. Something might fit him.’

Cook shooed her out of the kitchen, saying she had bread to bake. And the evening meal to plan. Ruby bustled back out to the Common Room, making for Denegal’s table.

‘Sorry, sir,’ she began, ‘but I can’t seem to find Miz Aman for you.’ She saw his face fall at her message. ‘But,’ she hurried on, ‘Cook has some work she needs done and wants to know if you’re up to it.’

And with that, Ruby explained Cook’s offer . . .

[samsmyhero]

Denegal's face brightened considerably as Ruby explained cook's offer of "three meals a day". A place in the stable loft to lay his head was just the honey on the bread. Although, upon refelection, a soft bed of hay would be a welcome change from the smell of dirt in his nostrils and waking each morning drenched in dew.

"Why, I thank you most kindly Miss . . . Miss?"

"My name's Ruby, sir. I help out in the kitchen here and wait the tables, as you can see."

"And you must call me Denegal, for if I'm to work here also, "sir" definitely won't do." The young man smiled at the little woman.

"Then no more of this 'Miss' business either - it's just plain Ruby." She glanced at his feet and said, in a businesslike tone, " Now, it's plain as the nose on my face that you're in need of some new footwear, unless you're hiding that left boot somewhere about your person. We've a closet up in the attic and there's all sorts of odds and ends what people have left behind them once they've left us. You're welcome to have a look and see if there aren't a pair of boots or shoes that'll fit you proper. And if you'll pop round into the kitchen, I'm sure cook can find a cloth and some warm water and soap to wash all those cuts and blisters."

Ruby looked enquiringly at Denegal. He could tell she must be curious to know how and why his foot had got to be in such bad shape, and where his boot might have gone to; but she was too polite to ask him outright.

"My thanks again, Miss . . . er, Ruby. My companion on the road was right - the folks here are of the friendly variety." He laughed. "I'm sure I look a sight. But your faith in me won't be misplaced. I can work as hard as . . . " Denegal caught himself in time. He had been going to say "as ten of you little folk." He didn't wanted to offend his new benefactors, however. And he realized suddenly that, really, he had no idea what these little ones were capable of. ". . . as needed, and harder.", he finished lamely. "I'll go right up then and see what I can find, if you'll point me in the right direction."

Ruby seemed just a tad disappointed that no explanantion would be forthcoming; but, as Denegal correctly assumed, she was far too polite to ask directly. Ah, well, perhaps she'd eventually get it out of him. She told him how to reach the attic and left him with instructions to come to the kitchen when he was finished.

Denegal rose from the table and stretched contentedly. Already, the soreness was leaving his muscles and even his foot felt better. Yes, he thought to himself, he could tell a tale or two of his recent travails. But what did they all amount to in the end? Nothing more than the sorry ramblings of a love struck fool. Well, no longer love struck - but still definitely a fool. A one- booted fool at that! Well, perhaps some evening, when there was nothing better to talk about, he might relate the embarrassing details of his 'flight' from Minas Tirith.

Meanwhile . . . he made his way to the back of the inn as directed, and thence to the attic.

[Child of the 7th Age]

If Bella was surprised by Ginger's answer, she gave no hint in her own cheerful response, "You must be a bright lass to teach yourself all that on your own. I suspect it wouldn't take much for you to read a book like this as well. Still, this one would be a bit of a mouthful to start with."

Bella went to the stack of books on the table and pulled out two slim volumes, both well worn, which she then took and deposited in Ginger's hands. One was labelled "Primer" and the other "Riddles". Both had a generous assortment of pictures. The primer had an alphabet section in the front with a large letter on each page and short words underneath.

"You're welcome to have a look at these and return them whenever you'd like. I would try the Primer first. Better yet, look at it a while and then drop by in a day or so to show me how you're doing. I'll be glad to explain anything you'd like."

Before Ginger left, Bella had her sit down at the table and showed her how the letters "a", "e" and "o" could be put in the middle with a "b", "d", or "g" at the front and back end to make an assortment of words that could easily be sounded out.

Walking to the door, Bella beamed encouragingly at Ginger, "Not so hard. You did very well. And perhaps there's something you can do for me. This could be our secret. I've never been in the Shire before, and there's a lot about hobbits I only know second hand. Father never felt right here. Too many hurt feelings. I've been to Bree once or twice but most of my life was spent among the Big Folk. Perhaps you could teach me a thing or two about the Shire, just simple things like hobbit songs and dances and how to make favorite foods that folk like to eat. Strange isn't it," Bella mused, "I've been from one end of Middle-earth to the other but never lived among my own kin."

There was a glint of sadness in Bella's voice, but it was quickly replaced by a hopeful tone, "Not that I can complain. I doubt there are too many folk who can call the New Lands their home...."

[Arry]

‘Well, that’s the last of them!’ Tomlin put the cover on the last wooden crate, banging it on securely with a small hammer he’d found in a nearby box of tools. He sat down with a weary sigh and rubbed his temples. The effects of yesterday’s party were not quite gone, and he could feel the irritating thump of a headache, just waiting to flare up. ‘I suppose we’d best go up and see if Herself has anything more she wants us to do . . . or better yet, let’s hit her up for a second breakfast.’ There was no answer. Only the scraping and shoving of something heavy being moved. ‘Gil?’ he called out. ‘You there?’

The feeble slant of sunlight through one of the grimy cellar windows was hard put to push into the corners of the cellar. Tomlin stood up, narrowing his eyes as he tried to peer into the shadows.’

‘Oy! Tomlin! Over here!’ came Gil’s voice, though it was muffled. ‘Look what I’ve found!’

Tomlin followed the sounds, back to an ill lit, dusty little hidey hole deep under the stairs that led up to the kitchen. Gil had found a small candle lantern, lit it, and hung it from a bent nail beneath the stair riser. From the curtain of cobwebs he’d dragged out a large, round-topped wooden chest with a large metal clasp on it, secured by a rusty looking padlock. Gil’s eyes sparkled as he motioned Tomlin closer. ‘Looks like some sort of treasure chest, doesn’t it?’ Gil said. ‘Get that old mop handle over there. Let’s see if we can break this old lock.’

The two Hobbits slipped the long oak handle through the shackle and levered down on it with all their muscle. They were rewarded by a jangle of metal as the lock swung open and hung free. The lock was quickly removed altogether and the top of the chest heaved open. Gil grabbed the candle lantern and held it expectantly over the chest. No glint of gold or gems leapt forth – just a tumble of clothes in velvets and linens and ruffles. Hats with feathers and leather bands . . . and more common types of clothes. And all of them in a tiny size.

‘Who do you think these belong to?’ asked Tomlin, holding a little grey cloak up. From neck to hem it was no longer than the length of his forearm. Gil had knelt down by the trunk and was digging through it, still in hopes of finding a few coins or jewels. ‘Hunh!’ he said, as he reached the bottom. ‘I think they belong to these . . .

He stood up carefully, his hands at waist height, strings hanging from them, and at the end danced a cleverly carved little marionette . . .

[Mithalwen]

"I have foresworn the straight way into the west. I will remain ."
"But he is mortal," - "And so I have become,"

These words sliced into Mithalwen's heart like a knife and she closed her mind, pulling shutters of steel across the window of her soul. Why had she stayed in this place - everyone seemed to remind her of that which she had so long tried to forget. How could the elf have become mortal - that was a gift only to those whose hearts were servants of some greater destiny? Long she had believed a long widowhood and separation beyond the world's ending was the fate of those of lesser significance who wed with mortals. She struggled to prevent any trace of her thoughts escaping.

"Lindon is fair" she said simply allowing her mind to wander the safer paths of the green land between the Sea and the Blue Mountains. "My home is in Mithlond like most of the elves who there remain, but as a child I spent much time on the coast - my mother's family lived in a small community there. But the war put the end to that.

The havens are a good place for me to practise my craft and Cirdan is a just and wise lord who administers his authority lightly, but dwelling there may bring grief if the Belegaer is a reminder of separation. Or so I find it. That is the reason for my journey inland. When a ship sails it brings many memories; so I must leave the sea, that I love at all other times, for a while and let my soul find peace as I journey under beechwoods. Also Imladris is still a refuge though Elrond has left it and there I will go for a time". Mithalwen took up her cup again hoping somehow that the hot liquid might steady the turmoil she felt inside.

[piosenniel]

Cook comes upon Gil and Tomlin . . .

The two young men were wrapped up in their own conversation as Cook padded softly down the steps. Peaches were on her mind . . . the fat, ripe, juicy peaches from old Tolman’s orchard that she’d canned last summer. Today was the perfect day for a peach upside down cake. She’d already got out the butter and flour and leavening; the eggs and the dark brown sugar the trader from Bree had brought. The rich yellow cake batter was all set to pour over the peach slices . . . now all she had to do was find the shelf she’d put them on.

‘. . . we could put on a show,’ came Gil’s voice from the shadows. ‘I have an idea, but we’ll need someone to help us write it up.’ The sound of something tiny clack-clacking on wood drew Cook’s attention. She rounded the corner as she stepped off the stairs and made her way to where she had heard Gil.

In the soft light from the candle lantern Cook could see Gil holding up a little figure suspended from strings. It wore a long grey cloak and had a mop of curly hair. In its hands was a little wooden horn, and Gil moved the figure as if it were stalking something or someone. Its little wooden feet clacked along the top of a crate top. ‘Come, lads!’ Cook heard Gil say in a deep voice. ‘We’ll ambush those ruffians and do the blackguards in!’ ‘We’re with you, Merry!’ came Tomlin’s voice. Gil raised the instrument to the marionette’s lips and mimicked the notes of a horn being blown. Awake! Awake! Fire, foes, fear! Awake! he cried. ‘I think it’s “Fear! Fire! Foes!”,’ said Tomlin . . .

‘Tomlin’s right,’ said Cook, stepping out of the shadows. The two lads whipped around, the little puppets going slack at their feet as the dropped their arms. ‘Miz Bunce . . .’ Gil began, feeling guilty to have been found rooting through things that were not his.

‘Oh my,’ said Cook, drawing near to the opened chest. ‘I haven’t seen these in a very long time.’ She picked up the fallen puppet and turned it gently in her hands. ‘I’d quite forgotten these were down here.’

‘These are yours?’ asked Gil, seeing Cook in a new light.

‘No, but I did sew the clothes,’ she said, fingering the little brocaded vest the puppet wore, her eyes looking at it in a critical manner. ‘My dear husband carved these,’ she went on, laying the puppet down on the clothes in the trunk. ‘For his brother . . . he liked to put on little plays for folks at the Midsummer Festival.’ Cook’s eyes went all soft and she sighed as the memories flooded back of those old days. ‘They’re gone, now, the both of them.’

The two lads stood quietly, not knowing what to say. Cook recollected herself, focusing back on the scene before her. ‘You know,’ she said, her hand resting on the opened lid of the trunk. ‘I heard you two playing a little scene before I spoke.’ She patted the old trunk with affection. ‘It’s a shame that this should be hid away any longer in the shadows and the cobwebs. You two bring it on up . . . take it to that back room off the Common room . . . see what you can work up with it.’

Cook started back to the shelves where she’d stored the peaches. ‘There they are,’ she said reaching for one jar and then another. ‘You know,’ she called back over her shoulder to the two lads and motioning them forward to help her for a moment with several more jars of peaches. ‘Mister Bunce always thought there should be some music to accompany the little plays, he did. He always thought that would set them up just right . . .’

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger could hardly wait to take her books up to her room. She knew just where she was going to put them. Next to the little lamp on the small nightstand that stood by her bed. She put the piece of paper Miz Bella had shown her for the letters ‘a’, ‘e’, and ‘o’ carefully between the two books. Later she’d ask Buttercup if she knew where she could find a quill and ink for her own use.

She brought her attention back to the elderly Hobbit who was walking her back to the door. It was the tone in Miz Bella’s voice . . . sad, and a little wistful. ‘Oh, m’am’, said Ginger, ‘t’would hardly be any sort of fair payment to teach you those things.’ She blushed, thinking how she was getting the better end of the deal. ‘But, if that’s what you really want, then that’s what I’ll see to.’

Ginger’s eyes lit up, remembering what Cook said she was to help make for supper. ‘Would you like to help with the pie for supper?’ she offered. ‘Now pastry I’m sure is the same most places, but here in the Shire we like to fill our meat pie with tender chunks of coney, a bit of onion, lovely taters in thick pieces, and plump slices of mushrooms . . . got here in the woods right near Bywater.’ Ginger warmed up to her subject . . . she had found, much to her surprise, that she quite liked to cook. And under Miz Bunce’s tutelage was getting better at it.

‘. . . and gravy, she went on, plenty of tasty gravy to bind it all together. Salt and pepper for seasoning, just to bring out the flavors. And when we have them, bits of carrot add a bit of sweetness to the filling.’ Ginger sighed, ‘Nothing like a flakey meat pie to tuck into at the end of a grey day.’ She grinned at Miz Bella. ‘And to top it off I think we’re having a peach upside down cake with sweet clotted cream for dessert.’

She thanked Miz Bella for the loan of the books once again and stepped out the door to the kitchen. ‘Anyways, if you want to you can help me later.’ She turned back to the older woman, her brow wrinkled. ‘One thing, if you don’t mind, ‘cause otherwise I’ll be wondering about it all day long . . . where are those New Lands you mentioned . . . the ones you call home?’

[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)

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

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.

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EVERYONE

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

Thanks!

Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[piosenniel]

TIME IN THE INN . . .

It is now mid-morning.

The day is sunny, off and on. Though the breeze is a bit brisk. And far to the west, dark clouds are moving toward Bywater and Hobbiton. Looking toward the Tower Hills, you can see the grey curtain of rain advancing over the fields toward the Inn.

The sky is grayish, too; the sun has gone into hiding, and only peeks out now and then when the wind blows a hole in the clouds.

The front yard of the Inn has been cleared of all the tables and benches brought out for the party yesterday. The little lanterns that were in the trees are all put away, and the streamers and festoons about the yard and front verandah have all been tidied away. The flower gardens, inadvertently trampled by party goers, have more or less been set to rights. And what’s left to be done in the flower beds can wait until tomorrow. It’s growing chill and the wind is picking up.

The Green Dragon’s Common Room is bustling with patrons. It’s nice and cozy inside, the lanterns all cheerily lit and the fireplace blazing with a welcoming fire . . .

[piosenniel]

~*~ Notice of New RPG Opening ~*~

Thalionyulma (Thali, for short) invites you to take a look at the Mirkwood Endgame Discussion Thread – HERE (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/showthread.php?t=11630).

Three male Elven characters are needed: two from Mirkwood and one from Lorien.

Should be a fun game! See you there!

~*~ Pio, Game Moderator

[peral]

Sharya returned to the inn somewhat ruffled. What a fool she had been to think that she would have been able to find clothes or weapons in a town of halflings! Of course they wouldn't have anything her size. She only wished that she had realised this before setting out and saved herself all that walking in the wind. And now the sun was gone as well, another bad omen she thought. Of course, she could have bought material and made herself new clothes - for, being an assistant seamstress before had much experience in these things - but she didn't want to, she felt sluggish and disinclined to do work today. She sighed looking down at her travel-stained dress, this would just have to do until she managed to find some clothes or find the strength of mind to sit down and make herself some new ones. The only thing she had managed to find that was of any use was a skinning knife that now hung from her girdle. Now, if only she could find some way to get a bow and arrows she would be all set to live out in the wild a little while.

Re-entering the common room, she was met with a wave of warmth and sound. The room was now filled with patrons drinking, eating and all of them talking. She smiled to herself as she sat down and ordered an ale from the server who went by the name of Ruby. When it came, she immediately took a long draught from it before taking out the skinning knife and inspecting it.

[Sett]

It had been many the hours since they left Bree. They were fatigued and hungry. They were pulling a wagon, which was loaded with nets and weapons. Galither was with three other gondorians. They were all tall and lean except for Falmir who was rather short for a human. Galither was the captain of these men. They were on their way to the icebay of forochel to investigate the ruins of a gondorian ship that had been suspected to sink near there. The weather was causing great strain on them so they decided to stop in a halfling village renown for populating this area they understood as ‘The Shire’.

They noticed a sign pointing to the green dragon inn so they pulled the wagon into the roadside and covered it up with cloth. Falmir sniggered “what are we doing in a halfling inn, we wont fit in”. They all laughed and said, “yea we wont but you might”. Falmir gave them a cold look.

Upon entering the inn they scanned the room briefly noticing that there were others along the halfling. They felt welcomed and removed their coats. Galither looked at the others for a signal for him to see their orders are taken care of. He knew what the rest wanted and proceeded to the bar. He requested four ales. He paid the bartender and walked to the table near the back of the room. It seemed very cosy than his usual stay. He sighed and glanced around the room in more detail. Everyone seemed to be having fun, laughing at jokes and games seemed to lighten up the atmosphere of the dark clouds outside. They felt out of place for a while taking large gulps of their ale. Until falmir started talking about their next plan of action. The other three were not paying him much attention, they were all reminiscing of their past adventure up to this point.

[piosenniel]

EVERYONE

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

Thanks!

Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling looked at the Halfling lass and tried to decide how to feel. He was not one for children, never having raised one of his own nor even been left in charge of one for any length of time. He felt that he should be…older…somehow, toward her. He remembered his own father and how distant he had seemed: a lordly figure, but not in the manner of the King Elessar, not someone to be loved and obeyed, but a figure of fear. Snaveling had been feared in the past and he did not relish eliciting that response again. Not knowing how to act toward the lass, then, he elected not to act in any particular way at all. So when he responded to her question it was not as an adult to a child, but as one person to another.

“Adventures?” he echoed thoughtfully, “I am afraid that I haven’t had any of those. At least, not what people usually mean when they speak of adventures. I’ve never fought a battle or defeated a monster; I’ve never gone off on a wizard’s quest, and if I’d been asked to, I daresay I would have refused the wizard outright! I’ve had more than my fair share of hard and lonely roads, and I’ve been many places that other people shun. I’ve been beset by storms and orcs and wolves, but each time I escaped by keeping my head low and running for the shadows. I suspect, lass, that when you ask me for adventures what you are really asking is, ‘Are you a hero?’. Well, I’m not.”

Marigold’s face fell, clearly disappointed with the answer. “But you’re a Ranger!” she almost wailed. “Everyone knows that the Rangers are all heroes!”

“Ah, now I begin to see your confusion,” the Man replied. “I am kin to the Rangers but I am not a Ranger myself. I am of the race of Black Numenoreans.”

“The who?” she asked, her face innocently curious.

“The Black Numenoreans are the last of those Men from the West who came to these shores in conquest and with a desire for rule. We are considered by many to be evil and cruel, but I must say that I do not share that opinion. My people are like any other I have met: we are neither demons nor divine. But I have said enough of myself, and I fear that it has been little to your liking, lass. What of you? I had assumed that Mr Headstrong was your father or grandfather, but I see now that I misunderstood your relation. Where are your parents?”

[Encaitare]

The sun had gone in, and the pleasant morning was rapidly growing chilly. Dark clouds were rolling in from the west. Caity wished that she had thought to bring her shawl out with her. Some of the hobbits around her were complaining about how cool it had gotten, and only mid-morning, too. She was wondering if she ought to ask Halfred if they shouldn't go inside when he said just that.

"Looks like rain," he said, turning his face at the sky as if it was at fault. "We ought to go in before we all get drenched. Besides, I guess the rain'll be good for the flowers." He eyed the tools for a moment, then called, "You lads! Bring the tools into the shed, if you please. Can't have 'em gettin' rusty. Now! In we go, and let's hope there's plenty of tea still hot."

[Nurumaiel]

"They're somewhere far away," Marigold replied. "I like to imagine that they're in a big field full of flowers, especially lilacs, and little rivers running everywhere, and apple trees... apple trees that are in blossom, but also have the apples on them. Wouldn't it be nice if apple trees were like that?" She sighed, and looked out the window at the approaching storm clouds. "There's rain there, too," she said, "but it's always the nice kind of rain. It never stops you from doing what you want to do. It comes only when you want it to come. And of course there's a house there, with a warm fire to sit by while the wind is howling outside."

Marigold fell silent for a little while, contemplating with a little sorrow, some pleasure, and a good degree of dreaminess this far away place. When she spoke again to Snaveling, her face had turned sour. "Old Mrs. Hilldweller who lives across the road from my old home says that my mother and father are in the graveyard. I suppose that's where they're buried, but I know they can't be there. I don't know how I know, but it doesn't seem possible. My mamma would be terribly unhappy underground and my papa would be so unhappy that she was unhappy that he would just break out of the ground to let her free, whether he was dead or not."

She smiled in an amused fashion at this thought, and then her expression changed to one of deep earnestness. "You may be wondering if I understand what I'm talking about," she said. "Maybe it doesn't sound like it, but I do know what I'm talking about. I do know my parents are dead. And I cried a long while when it happened. But I find it easier to be happy even when they're gone. And it makes me happier to think that they're in some beautiful place, and not merely buried underneath the ground. But... I do still miss them sometimes." Little Marigold sighed. Perhaps she missed them sometimes, she reflected, but it was altogether certain that she really and truly did miss them all the time.

[Sett]

The four of them sat down in awe in the beauty of this inn. It was nothing like the gloom of the inn at Bree. It was tranquil warm and welcoming. They felt as though they were at peace. Many of the room were laughing merrily which led to a much easier conversation between the four. Galither was running low on ale so he went up to the bar for more. Along the way he heard the others starting to talk again without him. He was curious as to what they were discussing but pursued his ale. Once reaching the bar he checked out the menu, as this point they were rather hungry. He loved the look of a light herbed stew and proceeded with the order.

A young looking halfling walked over with a bowl full of stew. Galither thanked her and delved into his meal. The others snarled at him for not ordering them a meal. They always argued this lot. They’re not particularly loyal to Gondor so they show Galither no respect in terms of rank. Falmir decided to order a bigger meal than Galither and bought cooked fish for the other two as well. The girl they now knew as Ruby brought their meal to them. The three did not show any appreciation and tucked into their food quickly. They believed the half lings to be inferior to them. Even though they loved the half lings way of life and beautiful landscapes.

After they had finished their meal they booked some rooms for that night. Galither offered to pay for the rooms and the moved their belongings up to their room. After this they could hear the merry atmosphere downstairs and decided to go back to their table.

They had their ales. They had a place to stay. Now they were ready for some relaxation. There seemed to be a weird aura around them. Galither felt although the others knew something he didn’t. They all kept calm and relaxed outside composers but Galither could tell some hidden topic was yet to be introduced to the conversation. They spent a few hours again sharing their adventure with each other but after the word “troll” was mentioned it caught the interest of the half lings sitting on the table next to them.

[littlemanpoet]

Something she had said had unsettled Mithalwen, though the Elf woman tried to hide it behind her cup of tea. Mithalwen was one who closed herself from others, and must have reason to. It was not Uien's place to probe where her thought was not invited. Her generosity was not to be doubted, though; it was not lost on Uien how she had wordlessly come to the aid of the Gondorian man.

"Thank you for your help," Uien said kindly. "I would find the closeness of the sea troublesome, I think."

"You are welcome.

"It would be good to look upon it once, I think," said Falowik.

"I am in no hurry," Uien said. She looked to Falowik, who seemed to take her glance as a cue; he rose.

"Uien, 'tis time we had a look at our horse's keeping."

Uien nodded and rose. "Thank you again for your kindness, Mithalwen. Namarië."

"Namarië," Mithalwen replied.

Uien and Falowik walked through the front door, hand in hand.

[Envinyatar]

Gil, Tomlin, and the trunk . . .

‘Please, allow me the pleasure, wife.’ Derufin took Zimzi’s shawl from the hook by the door and placed it securely about her shoulders. He grinned at her as he walked to the door and held it open. A slight bow and a wink ushered her out onto the little porch ahead of him.

The morning had gone all grey and cold, and Derufin was glad he’d pulled on a thick undershirt beneath his tunic as he followed Zimzi down the steps. She stopped to pick him a yellow primrose, and threaded it into one of the top buttonholes on his vest. ‘This garden was a wonderful present,’ she said, tucking her arm through his as they made for the Inn. ‘If we see Jinniver, let’s make sure to invite her over. I’d like to walk through it with her and have her tell me what she’s done and when the various plantings will blossom.’

It was only a short walk from the groundskeeper’s cottage to the Inn proper. The couple passed by the stable, where Meriadoc was just making fast the shutters and closing the great doors in preparation for the rain that was sure to come. The Hobbit leaned out one of the upper windows and waved wildly at the two. Derufin fished in his pocket and pulled out his pouch of pipe tobacco, holding it up so Meri could see it, With his other hand, he mimed a drinking gesture and pointed toward the Inn. Meri nodded, then waved them on, indicating he would be in soon.

They were just about to enter the door to the kitchen, when the two doors that covered the outside opening to the cellar flew open and Gil appeared, He was bent over, backing up the stairs from the cellar, and as they came nearer they could see he had a rather large trunk he was pulling up the stairs. On the other end was Tomlin, who was pushing. The bottom of the trunk scraped and bumped over the edges of the wooden stairs. Derufin leant a hand to pull it up all the quicker, and soon it stood on the dirt just outside the cellar entrance.

‘What’s this?’ asked Zimzi, circling about the chest, as the three men shut the doors to the cellar and secured them. ‘It’s lovely, covered in dark leather, and with the brass bands and studs for decoration. Where are you going with it?’

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen now added guilt to the other emotions churning within. Uien had not deserved her coldness it was not her fault. She sighed, drained the last of her tea and sought the stables where she hoped to find her and say farewell properly.

To her relief she found them. "Uien, Falowik ... forgive my rudeness.. if you ever decide to look upon the sea, visit me at the havens - I shall be there again ere long and my friends will welcome you if am not yet returned" ... To Uien's mind she sent a end a message that she could not bear to utter aloud even in her own tongue: "I too loved a mortal man once ... long ago .... I had not your courage... do not think ill of me". Mithalwen knew she had been understood by the glimmer of surprise and understanding in the other's face. Speaking openly again Mithalwen said " I hope we will meet again, until then may the valar protect you under the One"

[littlemanpoet]

"I hope we will meet again, until then may the Valar protect you under the One."

Mithalwen's eyes as well as mind had opened to Uien, whose eyes moistened. "My thanks, Mithalwen. It was generous of you to come to us."

She embraced the Elf woman, who started at first, then relaxed.

No, I cannot think ill of you, mellonemel*. How could I? Each of us must make our own choices as best we can. Maybe the dooms we have brought upon ourselves by our choices will be fair and blessed. Let us hope so.

Uien kissed Mithalwen on the lips in Elvish regard, and released her, who stood looking stricken. Perhaps I have been too warm now?

"Falowik and I were just speaking of this, and we first will go back to Lake Evendim to see how the new settlements fare there. But afterward, we will come to Lindon, and I will look for you there. Namarië, mellonemel."

Mithalwen's stricken face melted into a smile. "I shall look for you... mellonemel."

They embraced once again and parted. Uien watched Mithalwen go, her smile undimmed long after the Elf woman had departed.

"Something happened that I missed," Falowik said.

"Aye, Lauréatan. Sorrow she bears did not permit her to speak freely. I would prove true to her faith in me. Please ask me not of it."

"The affairs of Elves are far above me," Falowik said, not without a little awe in his voice.

Uien laughed. "So have you said more times than I can count!" She took his hand. "Come, let us see to Kirsúl."

*mellonemel .... "heart-friend"

[Sett]

Moment’s later two hobbit men joined the four as Galither and Falmir moved along to let them into the opening on the table. Once sat down the hobbits introduced themselves as Kristin Hopper and Hamfast Gladbury. They were quick to inquire about the trolls.

Kristin said “so sirs where is it you met these trolls. I hope you didn’t see them near ere we are peaceful people here, don’t want no stinking trolls in these parts”

Galither replied “calm down mister we don’t be seeing no trolls around here. No we ran into the back at the misty mountains far from here”

Galither then revealed to the hobbits a tale of misadventure. They had come across these trolls as the crossed the mountain. The wagon was feeling heavy and this caused great fatigue in the men. So they stopped off at a low cave on the west side of the mountain. They slept for many the hour until they heard grunt not that of a human. Galither reached for his sword in a gentle yet swift manner, that’s until he realised what was ahead of him two large trolls rummaging through their wagon. Falmir being the hotheaded and irresponsible member of the party threw a knife at the troll causing it to yell with a scream no man should hear. It felt like the cave was rumbling as this great roar crashed like a wave on the granite. The trolls began to chase Falmir while the other three battled with this trolls. It had much agility and they found themselves darting all over the place until they brought it to its knees.

They compiled the contents of the wagon, which had been spread across the cave floor while the heard a screech running down the cave like chalk on a board. Falmir outran the troll due to his height. They pulled themselves together and caught a breath but hastily proceeded to the cave exit and on their way to the icebay.

The two hobbits sat with a bemused look and were rather impressed with the story but were more relieved to here it had not been set in the local area. Kristin offered to buy them all ale, which they kindly accepted.
They shared more accounts of their journey up to coming to the inn where the hobbits left them to go back to work. After feeling as though they had a well spent morning. All but Galither was happy after the story the others did not seem to take the conversation with hobbit kind very comfortably so they spent the rest of the morning silently contemplating the afternoon.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Miz Bella responded with a mirthful shake of her head, "Ginger, you’re asking for more than you know. If I start on this, I’ll never stop, since there’s so much to tell. But let me try. We can’t have you daydreaming all day instead of doing your work. The problem is I can’t show you a proper map. Most maps leave out the New Lands, although Bilbo did mention them in his book of ancient lore. But I may have one thing that will help.”

Miz Bella scurried over to her stack of books and pulled out a bulky volume, old and well thumbed, that was overflowing with maps and charts. She skimmed through the pages until she reached the last chart in the book. “Here, take a look.” Miz Bella pointed to a plate that showed the northwest of Arda, a wide stretch of land from Gondor over to Arnor and continuing on to Forelindon. Beyond this there was only an endless expanse of sea with the words “The Great Rift” labeled across the page to show where Arda had been bent and broken. In the upper quadrant of the map on the far left of the page, there were lines and shapes outlined by a different hand. These were marked the 'New Lands'.

“My father drew this,” Miz Bella explained. “The original map shows you what the world looked like after the drowning of Numenor. At least people thought it looked like this. But there were lands further west they knew nothing about. My father and a few others sailed to those lands by veering to the northwest and hopping from island to island. I was born in the New Lands and lived there many years. I have tales aplenty about the land and the voyage, some happy and others sad, but that must wait till another day.”

“In any case,” she added, “it is a beautiful place, though different than your Shire. Our family lived on an isle with rugged slopes and deep fiords, all surrounded by the sea. There were all type of birds and animals: colonies of puffins and herds of caribou, even great whales who sang songs. A hardy and fair folk dwelled near us on the shores. They lived by hunting and fishing and gathering berries and other things from the land.

“I hope that will satisfy your curiosity for now.” Miz Bella retrieved her book and quickly added before Ginger left, “If you should see Cook, tell her I would like to speak with her when she is less busy. I need to thank her and also to ask her something. There’s no rush, however. And if she does not make it up to me, I hope to be well enough to visit the kitchen late in the day.” With that Ginger scurried down the hall, and Miz Bella went back to rest.

[samsmyhero]

Denegal sat in the kitchen, his left foot soaking in a bucket of steaming hot water. This had been given him by Cook, otherwise known as Miz Bunce, after he had finished what work there was to do out in the yard. Fixing him with a stern glare, she had pointed the ladle in her hand at him and said, "Into the water with that foot, now! We can't have you gimpin' about here all week, can we? Looks as if it might be gettin' infected already. Men!" She shook her head with an air of weary grievance. Denegal wasn't quite sure if this last remark was directed at his race or his gender - the latter he suspected. But he saw the wrinkles of kindness that creased the corners of the little woman's eyes and mouth. Obediently, he had plunged the offending extremity into the bucket and immediately pulled it out again with a yelp of pain. The water was scalding hot! Before he could protest further, Cook had shot him another baleful glance. Gritting his teeth, he returned his foot to the water, this time much more slowly. Still, the water soon turned his skin to the color of a boiled lobster. Well, at least it was a certainty that his wounds would be clean, if not in fact cauterized by the heat!

When Denegal had first come down from the attic, the breeze had been picking up and he could smell the coming rain. Laying the footwear he had found aside by the door, he had hurried outside, hobbling about as best he could to get the tables and benches under shelter before they got wet. He didn't want his new employers to think he was a slacker. The little hobbits working along side him surprised him with both their strength and their friendliness. They laughed and chatted with each other and with him as they worked to get things set to rights. The morning was turning chilly and the sun was sulking behind the clouds. Denegal was glad to find that his height was in fact of some advantage, in that he could easily reach down the lanterns that had been strung about in the lower limbs of the trees in the yard.

Denegal had found himself somewhat tongue tied amongst his new acquaintances. Although normally not a shy person, he found their appearance somewhat disconncerting. It was like expecting to talk to a child, but finding instead the mind and speech of an adult. The hobbits, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at ease with him. They must get more than a few men travelling through these parts, Denegal surmised. This was borne out by what he had seen in the common room earlier. Even as they finished their cleaning up, Denegal noted several more men, Gondorians too by the sound of them, entering the inn yard with a cart and proceeding on into the inn. They seemed a somewhat querrulous lot and he wondered what had brought them to the Shire.

As Denegal now sat in the snug kitchen, he heard the shutters on the window ratttle gently every now and then. He wondered if a storm was coming their way. The clouds he had seen earlier in the west had looked rather threatening.

Ruby entered the kitchen, a little breathless. "Fillin' up out there, it is. Seems there's more than a few folk happy to get in out of that breeze." Seeing Denegal soaking his foot, she smiled."Now then, my friend, I see cook's set you up right. Did you have any luck upstairs?" She nodded her head in the direction of the attic.

"Well . . . um, yes, so to speak. That is to say . . . " Denegal's half murmured reply trailed off, as he craned his neck to look back over his shoulder towards the door. "Um, yes."

"What's that? Is that them over there?" Ruby had already filled the tray in her hands with a pot of tea and a big bowl of stew. Nevertheless, she brushed past Denegal and went to see his selection. Gazing down at the floor she laughed out loud. "What! Them? You can't be serious! You actually mean to wear these things?" She kept on laughing.

"Well, they were absolutely the only thing I could find up there that would fit!" Denegal said, a little defensively. "My foot is somewhat bigger than a hobbit's! Believe me, if I had found a pair of boots, even a pair of shoes that would fit, I would not have bothered to bring those down!" His face had turned slightly red, altthough nowhere near the lovely scarlet shade of his foot.

Ruby had set her tray down and bent over to pick up the articles in question. She held them in her hands, turning them this way and that to admire the full effect. The pair of red leather slippers were old and quite worn. But you could see that once they must have been quite outrageously bright, dyed a deep vermillion, and with tiny bits of colored glass cleverly sewn around the opening. The toes curled up in a most exotic manner and extended a good three inches past the end of the foot. One slipper was missing its heel, and the leather was cracked and stiff. Many of the bits of glass had fallen off, lending even more to the general air of dilapidation. Denegal groaned and looked away as Ruby held them out to Cook for inspection.

"I remember these! Don't you, Miz Bunce? Remember those fellows who came with that menagerie and all those tents - some sort of performers they were, with trained animals and all? We were so wishing they would put on a performance for us here at the inn. But they said they were 'previously engaged'. Humph! On the run, more like, if you ask me. They were a seedy looking lot. Only stayed the one night. And we found these, left behind, the next morning. Oh, Denegal." Here she broke into a giggling fit. "Certainly, you can't mean to wear them?"

Cook stepped closer to view the slippers. "Well, they may be somewhat fancy for working in. But if they fit, I guess it won't matter. Better than going around in just one boot."

"Try them on!" Ruby urged. "Perhaps they won't look that bad."

Denegal pulled his now water-wrinkled foot from the bucket and dried it on the towel Cook handed him. Sheepishly, he took the slippers from Ruby and set them on the floor in front of him. Inwardly, he cursed himself for having brought the odious things downstairs in the first place. What could he have been thinking? Far better to go barefoot than to wear such outlandish gear!

"Well, go on then. Put them on. " The cook eyed him with that same authoritative look - one that said "or else!".

Denegal sighed and pushed his feet into the slippers. What made matters even worse was that the dashed things fit like a glove, as if they had been made for him. And they were comfortable! But looking down at his feet, now shod in cracked red leather circus slippers, he thought, "Wouldn't 'Zilla just love to see me now?"

[Arry]

Gil blushed, looking up at Zimzi as she circled the trunk, inspecting it. It was hard for him to take his eyes from her, so fair he thought her. She looked as pretty in her everday dress and plain shawl as she did yesterday in her fancy dress for the handfasting. ‘Lucky man!’ he thought glancing at Derufin. ‘Hope luck looks my way when I’m ready to tie the knot.’

He could feel Tomlin looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to answer her questions. Instead, he opened the latch and opened the lid. One of the marionettes was on top, and he picked it up and dangled it down. With a few movements of the strings, he made the little feet dance a bit in front of Zimzi, then had the puppet bow gallantly to the delighted woman.

‘It belonged to Miz Bunce’s husband and his brother.’ ‘And Cook sewed the clothes herself,’ Tomlin added as Zimzi fingered one of the lacy frocks.

Gil laid the puppet carefully back in the chest and closed the top securely. ‘Cook’s told us we can use one of the back rooms to practice with the puppets. Said they should be put to use.’ He puffed up a bit, patting the top of the trunk. ‘Going to put on a play, we are. Me and the other lads.’

[peral]

Sharya gazed across the knife, it was small yet she supposed that it would serve its purpose well enough. How stupid had she been? What an imbecile! With a sudden wave of rage she slammed the knife into the table and it stood quivering, the blade firmly embedded in the wood. Most of the patrons seated near her had started at the sound and were now watching her suspiciously. What did they think she was going to do? Murder them all in their sleep? She now saw that the fear in their eyes was from being so unused to the violence of the outside world, that when even a sniff of it entered into their peaceful village, it was regarded as an evil demon that must be driven out immediately. She didn't care, they could throw her out of the village, it would be like every other time - roaming until she found a village or a town that would accept her - for awhile.

She found herself burying her head in her arms and resting them on the table. She didn't want to be here, she didn't want to be alive at all. Even the friendship she had formed just a few hours ago seemed to be a curse. Solitude was her only friend. That was the only way she could live and she would live it that way. There were people out for her life and she didn't want to drag anyone - let alone Tulip - into the fray. They were her troubles and hers alone. She wouldn't be so weak as to ask for help. Nay, her father would not want it. She would face the enemy and face it on her own. She would either defeat it or be killed in the process.

[samsmyhero]

Ruby hefted her tray back into her arms and with a final barely suppressed smirk, she made her way back to the common room. Denegal sighed heavily and stood up. "Well, I'd best get to that wood before this rain starts. " Cook directed him to where the fallen tree was to be found. The quickest route was through the common room, so Denegal passed through the door and strode purposefully across the room. As he did so, conversations at the varoius tables faltered and then came to a complete stop. By the time he had come abreast of a table at which sat four men, possibly Gondorian by the look of them, Denegal realized that the room had fallen silent. He stopped, feeling the combined stare of many eyes directed towards his feet. He could feel the blush creeping up his neck and suffusing his face.

Ruby, sensing his embarassment, hurried over to him and gave him a quick pay on the arm. She whispered ,"It's alright. We'll find you a pair of boots somewhere. Just on now. Don't pay any mind to them."

Denegal glanced around, catching the eye of one of the men near him. "Do you like my shoes?" he asked lightly, trying to appear totally at ease.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

“I used to imagine a place much like the one your parents are in,” Snaveling replied. “When I was a vagabond rogue wandering the land, my one desire was to find a place where I could build a home, and the means with which to build it. I always imagined it as a hunting lodge. It would have five rooms and a large porch out back, where I could sit of an evening and smoke my pipe. It would be in an out-of-the-way valley where the hunting and fishing were good, and far from the meddling interference of other folk. It was a lovely dream, but one that I outgrew. I have found that there are things in this world that are higher and better than that empty dream of ease, pleasant as it may be. But still I find that I cling to it for comfort, for it sustained me and gave me hope in blacker days, and on evil roads. And who is to say that dreams are false? I have known Elves, and they seem to me a folk who live in dreams more than they do in the waking world, and it is said among Men that when our time comes we too travel to a land where waking and sleep are but one and the same, and where the life we live is as the waking dream of the Elder race. So perhaps my hunting lodge awaits me yet in some secluded valley beyond the shores of Middle-earth. And perhaps your parents have their home upon the hills overlooking it, and long after our ways have parted we shall see one another again in that place, and laughing we will reminiscence about our conversation of long ago at the Green Dragon Inn!”

The lass smiled at him with gratitude, for he seemed clearly to understand what she had meant about the memory of her parents. Snaveling, softened by the memory of his hunting lodge, so long from his memory, smiled back. “But let us talk of this no more, for I have no appetite for melancholy. Tell me instead about your life now. I am an ill judge of ages among the Halflings for, I must confess, your size makes you all appear to me as children, but for the very aged and the very young. You seem yourself to be but a lass of no more than eight or ten, as such things are measured among my folk. Who cares for you now, and where do you live?”

[Nurumaiel]

"You're right; I am ten... and it was old Mrs. Hilldweller who was watching out for me," said Marigold, feeling much more at her ease by Snaveling's kind sympathy with her little day-dream. Perhaps it was true. Mrs. Hilldweller had only laughed, but Snaveling lent it some hope. But whether it was true or not, it didn't matter. Marigold would live in a grassy meadow with her family, and she would never, never lie under the ground forever after she was dead. It would be so cold and dark and lonely there. You would never see the sunlight and the flowers and the little birds flitting from tree to tree. Mrs. Hilldweller said that the dead people were at rest now, but they couldn't be if they were just under the ground. Wouldn't they be miserable and unhappy living under the ground all the time, just in a little hole with dirt surrounding them? Marigold couldn't be happy living in a hole (and it never occurred to her that she did, in fact, and most hobbits did).

"She took care of me for a few months after my parents died, but then she said she couldn't take care of me any longer," Marigold went on. "I was too much trouble and she couldn't worry about me when she had her own children to take care of, she said. She had fifteen children, you know, though I think it might actually be sixteen. That's quite a lot of children." Marigold fell silent for a brief time to contemplate this wonder. As an only child she thought even three children in a family quite a lot, and sixteen was quite beyond the limits of her mind. She would have never believed it if she hadn't seen it for herself.

"I didn't care that she didn't want me anymore, because I didn't want to stay with her. She wasn't a very... sympathetic sort of person. She decided to send me to her cousin who lived in the West Farthing, but when she sent me off she forgot to tell me where her cousin lived. Mrs. Hilldweller was always very absent-minded. She didn't give me any change of clothes or any food or any money, either, and she sent me off to walk to the West Farthing in that condition. Wasn't that very absent-minded?

"I didn't go back to ask her for directions, or for food, or money, or a cart to take me there, because I wanted to stay here in Bywater. To go anywhere else would be too far from my little home, which I love very dearly. I went here because I knew the people were kind. Now Mr. Headstrong is taking care of me, and after he leaves I'll just stay here, and I'm sure Miss Buttercup will watch after me."

[Sett]

Falmir was the first to get a glimpse of red shoes worn by a fellow Gondorian. He had crimson cheeks at this point. Galither could tell the embarrassment in the guys face. Falmir had not sympathy for the man and burst out with laughter followed by the other two. Galither let out a subtle snigger but not as high as the immense laughter produced from Falmir.

Falmir shouted, “Well well if it isn’t the bell of the ball”

The other two continued to laugh. At this point the guy was stood there peering around to see if people were still looking at him. Many of the guests in the common room were now looking away but laughs were still being heard.

The man said towards Galither “Do you like my shoes?”

Galither looked away at first as a sign for the man to get lost but he just stood there like a puppy waiting for orders. Galither was started to get embarrassed himself just by looking at the bright red shoes, so he signalled to the person to sit down.

Galither replied silently “Yea why don’t you save me one of those”

The man sat at the edge of the table. He was very uncomfortable at this point. Galither got the impression that he was even more humiliated because they were of his kind. Galither ordered ale for the man. Ruby came up with the ale very quickly and looked at the man with a worried look. I don’t think ruby liked the way falmir acted and felt sorry for the man.

Galither “tell me friend, what is your name”

The man replied “Denegal”

Falmir was even more furious with Galither. He did not like talking to the hobbits and now he didn’t want the company of a fellow Gondorian, it made him uncomfortable. He got up and went to his room without word.
The other two Gondorians were going to leave as well when Galither ordered them more drinks.

“Tell me friend why have you come out here in them? It worries me that any man would want to be seen in them”

[samsmyhero]

Denegal sat with his new acquaintances, somewhat ill at ease. The one who had left had definitely been put out by the other's sugestion that he join the little group. Again, Denegal wondered what had brought these men here to the Shire.

“Tell me friend why have you come out here in them? It worries me that any man would want to be seen in them”

The Gondorian's statement was blunt and to the point, no doubt about that. Well, Denegal could see that the slippers were a little hard to understand. Denegal rubbed the stubble on his chin. He could really use a shave, he thought to himself. Hmmmmm . . . where to begin?

"Well, you see, um . . . by the way, what is your name, sir?" He wasn't sure if the 'sir' was entirely justified. But he had found it never hurt to be polite, until one had good reason not to be.

"Galither is what they call me." the Gondorian replied.

"Well, Galither, it's like this. About eight months ago, my fiancee, or, at least, I thought she was my fiancee, but she wasn't really, married a very wealthy merchant of Minas Tirith." Dengal paused for a moment as the image of 'Zilla's face rose up unbidden before his eyes. A dreamy look suffused his face.

Galither seemed perplexed and after a long moment of silence, he asked, tentatively, "So . . . that's why you're wearing those fancy things - because your girl dumped you?" The other two remaining at the table could not suppress their sniggers of derision, although Galither scowled at them.

"No, no!" Denegal hastened to reply. "It's not like THAT! I mean, well, that was the start of it all, of everything . . .you see?"

Galither was beginning to look as if he seriously regretted having asked Denegal to sit down. Denegal could tell he was making a complete hash of the story. It was just so hard to tell it in a way that made any sense.

He turned to look at Galither and asked "Have you ever been in love?"

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger was just making her way up to her room above the kitchen, when the sound of a familiar voice made her pause. ‘Wait up!’ she heard Buttercup call. ‘What’s that you’ve got?’ Buttercup drew near and reached out her hand, as if to take one of the books, but Ginger just held the two tomes all the tighter.

‘I promised Miz Bella I would keep them nice and neat for her. She’s leant them to me to take a look at.’ Ginger opened one of the books, the one with the pictures and the riddles, and showed it to Buttercup.

Picking up her apron, Buttercup wiped her hands thoroughly on it, and sidling in next to Ginger, held part of the book in her hand. Ginger turned the pages slowly as they looked at the neatly drawn, and often very funny, pictures. ‘Can you read what it says, Buttercup?’ the younger Hobbit asked.

Buttercup looked oddly at her friend. ‘Well, yes. I had Miz Callie Proudfoot for a teacher. Very strict on learning your letters and reading and writing proper.’ Ginger looked at her blankly. ‘She was that old teacher that retired years and years ago, I was just barely a tweenager when she taught her last classes.’ A look of comprehension came across Buttercup’s face. ‘She was the last teacher we had here in Bywater! You never got to do any learning with her, did you?’

Ginger’s cheeks pinked and she hung her head as she shook it. ‘Well, that’s not your fault, is it? And you all were busy enough on the farm that such things sort of got pushed to the side, I’ll bet.’ Buttercup patted her friend’s arm and closed up the riddle book. ‘You just bring that round to my room after supper, I can help you with it. Then you can show Miz Bella how good you’re doing.’

‘Thank you!’ said Ginger, smiling at Buttercup. Her eyes widened as she remembered something Miz Bella had told her. ‘Remember you asked me to ask her where she was from?’ Buttercup nodded her head. ‘She said she came from someplace called The New Lands. Showed me a map, too. It’s sort of like the one up in the Common Room – showed where the King lives – Gondor, right? And the Shire and all the way to the big sea on the left side where the wavy lines go right to the edge.’ Buttercup nodded again, wondering where Ginger would say the woman had come from. ‘Miz Bella’s map went further on the left . . . it wasn’t just the sea, there were some lands up in that top corner . . . The New Lands. And she sounded pretty familiar with them and not like she was just making them up.’

‘The New Lands?’ Buttercup’s brow furrowed as she tried to recollect anything she’d ever heard about them. ‘Well, now isn’t that just a puzzlement!’ She linked her arm through Ginger’s as they walked toward the younger girl’s room. ‘We’re just going to have to find out about those, aren’t we? They sound very, very interesting . . .’

A great booming voice called up the stairs, startling the two young women. ‘Have mercy! It’s Cook,’ said Buttercup. ‘I completely forgot she sent me up here to find you. It’s time to be getting the noon meal started.’ Ginger ran to her room and stacked the books on her nightstand. Then the two friends raced down the stairs to see what Cook had in mind for them to do.

[littlemanpoet]

"Kirsúl is looking well," Falowik said, watching as Uien groomed the bay stallion.

"Aye," she answered. "The ostler here does well."

"Hand me the purse and I will pay for his services and our meals."

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

Falowik entered through the front door, crossing the Common room with every intention of settling up. On his way he overheard a stranger's odd query: "Have you ever been in love?" Falowik stopped.

The man of whom the question was asked rubbed his chin and look mightily uncomfortable in front of his cronies, who looked more and more ready with each passing second to rib him mercilessly. On a whim that he knew to be completely out of character for himself, Falowik announced,

"I have."

The heads of the others turned to him inquiringly. The one who had been sitting and facing the others asked, "Were you answering my question, sir?"

"Aye, that I was." Falowik walked over to the group. "You asked if any of these gentlemen had been in love. I happened by and heard your question, and thought I'd answer it. I have, and am. My love grooms our horse in the stable. My name is Falowik Stonewort."

Quickly he learned the names of two of the others with whom he spoke: Denegal and Galither; Falowik forgot the names of the two others as soon as he had heard them; he thought of asking again but decided to listen and see if he would pick them up again. He greeted each of them.

"I am curious," he said. "What drew the question forth?"

[Fairleaf]

The weather had made a marked change since yesterday. Warmth and light had graced the Inn for a day of celebration, and now the darker elements crowded in, eager to restore the balance in some way. ‘No shadow without light somewhere,’ her mother had taught her. To which her granny would sometimes mutter, as if in invocation

Leaf and petal
Stem and root
From the killing darkness
That sweeps from the East

Warm Winds of the West, preserve us!

She’d kept both thoughts in her heart, knowing that the assurance of hope in her mother’s words was all the more precious in the light of her granny’s experiences.

Fairleaf shook the shadowy thoughts from her with a twitch and tremble of her limbs in the chilly wind. It was only a rainstorm that was boiling up in the dark clouds that moved nearer the town where the Inn stood. The trees would welcome the drink as would the gardens. Still, those new plantings she had seen near the house at the edge of the grounds would be beat down by the fat drops of rain that were sure to fall. Their roots had not yet time to anchor firmly in the loose soil. They would be washed out.

Amid the cover of the trees that here and there lined the edges of the Inn property, Fairleaf moved as quickly as she might toward the little garden. Most of the inhabitants of the Inn had already sought shelter within. If any saw her it would only be some brief shadow just beyond the thick leafed beeches. She chuckled at the thought as she strode along, wondering if a glimpse of her would conjure stories of some old boggart and keep prying eyes well away from her and her intended business.

[Sett]

Galither was contemplating his answer to the question. A small silence occurred between the other two because they knew of Galither and his lost love. The silence was soon broken by the interruption of another. Galither was pleased with the outcome of the question because discussing his love so far away from her would cause him great pain.

The man introduced himself as Falowik Stonewort. Galither was surprised to meet so many people in such a short period of time. The other two men sat silently and rather uncomfortable. Denegal was the first to speak to the man.

“I was telling these men a story of well, erm a time when I was in love”

Denegal was struggling to answer Falowik’s question so Galither took the initiative.

“Do you often walk into other conversations without an invitation mister?”

On a whim that he knew to be completely out of character for himself, Falowik announced,

Galither felt rather angry and upset at that statement. Others feeling love so close to each other while he has to only dream of his love were too painful to bear. A tear was starting to leak from his eyes. He did not want to look weak so he picked himself up.

Galither sat up and said, “I need to some fresh air outside and alone. I am going to scout the area and will be back after lunch.”

Galither left walked out of the common room and out of the inn hastily.
The other two sat there even more uncomfortable now, as they were not used to speaking with others without Galither. After a long silence they re- introduced themselves to try and salvage the conversation.

“I am Thenergol Lingman” and the other replied, “I am Sherman Dalsbury”

Thenergol then said “I am sorry for Galither leaving but you have to understand he is very sensitive about love after, well he will tell you if he feels right about it”


Sherman replied “Well it doesn’t matter now. We both have women back at Gondor and are deeply in love with them. Falmir on the other hand does not care for love. He only uses women for his own purposes. I think he sees love as an illusion for passion.”

The conversation seemed to be getting back into a casual flow but after all that had happened Thenergol and Sherman wished they had kept themselves to themselves during their stay at the inn.

[Mithalwen]

After parting from Uien and Falowik, Mithalwen returned to the inn and overheard much of Snaveling's conversation with Marigold. They did not notice her, for the elf moved silently and she was out of their sight lines.

A wry smile passed over her face when she heard Snaveling say that elves were a folk who live in dreams more than they do in the waking world - if anyone lived in a dream, she thought it was Snaveling who let the guilt of his ancestors become a burden that seemed to cripple him, preventing him from doing something constructive with his life. She had wondered if she had done right to clear his slate at the inn, since he seemed to have profited little from previous chances, but she accounted her gesture repaid when she heard his kindness to the orphaned hobbit girl.

The latter she recognised as the child whose cake had caused so much damage to Snaveling's tunic the day before and she wondered at the reconciliation. Strange were the twists of fortune, she mused. She noticed something glisten at the child's throat and a cry rose in her throat that she barely managed to stifle. It was the single pearl necklace that she had given the bride yesterday. She could not mistake her own workmanship. Had it been lost and found in the kerfuffle that had surrounded it's giving? She resisted immediate instinct to question the girl ... it was no longer hers to claim and perhaps the pearl would be of more use to it's current wearer.

Another thought rose in her mind and much as she wished to she could not dismiss it. The necklace was humble as elven jewellery goes but it would raise a useful sum for a penniless man. She recalled Snaveling's confession of the previous day ... he had done wrong in his time she knew but surely he would not stoop to robbing a child who had no family to defend her interests? It was time to declare her presence she decided and started to move closer .. singing softly under her breath as if she had just wandered in.

"Good morning Tar Corondir, ... good morning my lady " she said making a swift curtsy. I trust you are well rested?"

[piosenniel]

** Notice of Time Moving Forward in the Inn **

Please get any morning posts in you need to get done. When I return from work at midnight, Pacific time US, I'll be moving the Inn forward to noon and a little after.

~*~ Pio, Shire Moderator

[piosenniel]

‘Is that you?’ The sound of feet hurrying down from the attic rooms above the kitchen was quite plain as Cook stood in the doorway that led from the stairwell into the little passage way beyond the stove. Soon the two servers, Buttercup and Ginger were in view, chattering to one another as they made their way down to Cook.

‘Yes, it’s us,’ one of them called. Be there in half a tick.’ True to their word they tumbled through the doorway and skidded to a halt in front of her. Cook looked at the both of them, a bit flushed in the face, they were, and wondered what they had been up to. Ah, well, never mind that, she thought to herself, there’s work to be done. Which were here exact words to the both of them.

‘Ladies! Time we get lunch ready to serve. It’s been a long morning for those who came back to give us a hand putting away all the things from the party. Now I’ve got a nice bean with hambone soup going. It’ll be all ready by noontime. Ginger you get out the loaves I baked this morning and get them sliced up and into baskets. Buttercup you slice up platters of cheese. And where’s that Ruby now – one of you find her. She can get the pots of mustard and the pickles out to go with the bread and cheese.’ Cook turned back to the soup pot and gave it a stir. From a bowl on the counter near her, she dropped in a generous portion of ham chunks, celery pieces, carrots, and onion. ‘Scoot now,’ she said to the two Hobbits. ‘We’ve got a hungry household to feed!’

Cook stepped to the table where she was just rolling out the pastry for the topping to the deep dish apple cobbler. Once it was all baked and cooled a bit, lunch would be served. Ginger’s voice called over to her as she plied the rolling pin on the soon to be flaky pastry.

‘Oh, Miz Bunce,’ said Ginger, pausing for a moment from her work with the bread knife. ‘Miz Bella would like to see you when you have some time.’

[littlemanpoet]

“Do you often walk into other conversations without an invitation, mister?”

Falowik felt the words as if they were a hand forced into his chest. He exhaled involuntarily and felt an urge to turn his back on the man and again leave the company of other folk, forever. Uien's fair face came into his mind's eye; she had healed his heart, and this small sting need not send him back to his former despair. All this passed in his thought in a brief moment, for it was not the first time he had had to face such effrontery from another Man since he had met Uien.

"Nay. 'Tis unlike me to put myself forward in such fashion. But the question was one that I could answer easily, and chose to."

The man called Galither seemed the more angered by his words; Falowik wondered why. The man said, “I need some fresh air outside and alone. I am going to scout the area and will be back after lunch.” He walked hastily from the common room.

Falowik was relieved that it had not been himself who had walked away. Apparently he was not the only man who had darknesses to face from within.

The other men introduced themselves again, to Falowik's further relief, as Thenergol Lingman and Sherman Dalsbury.

Thenergol said, “I am sorry for Galither leaving but you have to understand he is very sensitive about love after, well he will tell you if he feels right about it.”

Sherman replied “Well it doesn’t matter now. We both have women back at Gondor and are deeply in love with them. Falmir on the other hand does not care for love. He only uses women for his own purposes. I think he sees love as an illusion for passion.”

"What of you, Denegal?" Falowik asked. "Have you ever been in love?"

[Envinyatar]

Drawn in by the smell from the kitchen, Derufin peeked his head in from the Common Room. 'Is there an old, dry crust of bread you can spare a starving man?' he said, looking forlorn. 'The wife refuses to cook for me! Imagine that!'

Zimzi was busy at the other end of the Inn, talking to Gil and the others about the puppets in the trunk. He’d helped the lads carry it to the small back room beyond the stairwell in the common room. But, his interested had waned when they’d begun to talk about putting some sort of play together. His stomach too had grumbled quite loudly as Gil began saying how it should be an exciting one, and that there should be swords and such. Zimzi had grinned up at him as he stood there trying to look interested. ‘Get yourself some food, husband,’ she’d said. ‘Cook will surely give you something if you just show her that sad, neglected face you know always gets round her.’

He'd raised his brows at her and tried to look offended at her assessment. But it was no use, she stood and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek then pushed him toward the kitchen. ‘You don’t want to come with me?’ he said, trying his sad expression on her.

She laughed, saying she would be there soon enough. And that Gil and Tomlin and the others of their little group would take care of her quite adequately in his short absence.

The lads nodded their heads in agreement, and Gil he noted stepped up beside her with a certain protective air. Now it was Derufin’s turn to smile. He nodded at the Hobbits, then spoke directly to Gil. ‘I’ll leave her in your charge then, Master Gil,’ he said. The Hobbit nodded solemnly, his chest puffing out a bit. ‘Come out to lunch soon . . . all of you,’ he said as he turned to leave. ‘I had a sudden thought . . . I’m not all that handy with puppets and tale telling and such. But you’ll be needed some sort of stage to perform on. And that’s something I can do.’

[piosenniel]

** Notice of Time Moving Forward in the Inn **

Please get any morning posts in you need to get done. When I return from work at midnight, Pacific time US, I'll be moving the Inn forward to noon and a little after.

~*~ Pio, Shire Moderator

[Nurumaiel]

Marigold's eyes flew up and a noticeable gasp burst from her lips before she could grasp the presence of mind to stop it. Oh, this was surely too much! It was enough for her that she had been able to meet the beautiful bride of yesterday, the one who had dried her tears and kissed her and gave her another cake. It was more than enough to be speaking with this Ranger (he must be a Ranger, even if he said he wasn't... didn't they like to keep it a secret, or something along those lines?) and waiting for his adventures (he had adventures, too, but perhaps modesty prevented him from telling of his heroic part). But for this beautiful woman to be standing before her... no, she wasn't a woman! It was not hard for Marigold to guess that by the maid's light-footed motions and easy grace, she must be an Elf.

These thoughts raced through her head, and for a moment she was thrown into great consternation. And then, recalling that these Elves and Men must receive no bad impression of Halfling hospitality, she stood and returned the curtsy, and though it was not nearly as graceful as that of the Elf's, she performed this well-known sign of courtesy with childish simplicity. And then, trying to keep the breathless tone out of her voice and mostly failing, she gestured to a chair. "Please, ma'am," she said, gazing up at the Elf with wide and earnest eyes, "sit down, and join us for as long as ever you please."

[Telephilien]

Having freshened up a bit, Shaeowyn found a table in the Inn from whence she could observe the comings and goings of many different folk. She asked her server for some hot tea and biscuits, even as she eyed the mugs of ale being exchanged amidst the lively conversation. Her thoughts bounced about, and she felt energized by her earlier ride through the woods on her beloved Windungen.
She could still feel the horse's powerful muscles carrying her over scattered logs and through the sunlit trees; granting her a feeling of freedom as the wind whipped through her wild, curly hair.

Once her tea arrived, the curious woman sipped slowly; her long, graceful fingers wrapped around the sturdy cup. She had just seen a young halfling named Marigold curtsy to an astonishing creature known as Mithalwen.
"Must be elvish," Shaeowyn thought to herself as she bit hungrily into her biscuit. And suddenly she felt warmth triggered from the inside as she saw images of her grandmother beckon to her from a time far away.

[piosenniel]

It is now noon in the Shire.

The sky is now quite grey and the rain is falling hard . . .

[Mithalwen]

"I would be most happy to do so - if Tar-Corondir does not object" replied Mithalwen to Marigold, sitting down before Snaveling could object. I had wondered about continuing my journey today but in light of the weather I think I shall delay - I am not likely to find much in the way of dry rooves and pleasant company until I reach Rivendell so I shall make the most of both while I may." She smiled at the hobbit child and gestured to Ruby for service. "I find I am developing a taste for tea - perhaps you both will join me ?"

When Ruby had taken her order for drinks and cake - (which Marigold had earnestly promised would not spoil her apetite for lunch), Mithalwen turned her attention to the hobbit child who was clearly enraptured by her mere presence. It did not take Elvish insight to know that she was near bursting with questions.

"Well, Miss Marigold, what may I tell you about elves?" ,she looked seriously at the child and pushed her silver hair behind her ears. "or perhaps Tar-Corondir here has already told you all about us". She had not forgotten his comment about elves living in dreams.

[Nurumaiel]

Marigold shook her head, and while her expression of face was grave, there were thrills running up and down her. The Elf had called her Miss Marigold! It wasn't the first time Marigold had been called 'Miss,' but it was certainly the first time an Elf had referred to her as thus. As she pondered, she realised anew that a first time an Elf had spoken to her at all, and she lifted her eyes wonderingly to the Elf's face again.

"Mr. Snaveling has not told me of Elves yet," said Marigold. "I was asking him to tell me about his adventures as a Ranger, but he said he had had none. I couldn't quite understand that, because of course Rangers always have adventures. He said that he wasn't a Ranger at all, but I don't believe him." She was quite aware that Snaveling heard every word she said, as he was sitting just across from her, but she gave a little toss of her head and didn't seem to mind that she was guilty of what Mrs. Hilldweller called 'impudence.'

"Would you tell me about Elves?" Marigold questioned eagerly, wondering if it was too bold of her to ask, and not reflecting that the Elf had offered it in the first place.

[samsmyhero]

Galither's sudden departure from the table surprised Denegal. He assumed Falowik's reference to his love had something to do with it, but he respected Galither's obvious need for privacy. Galither's two companions confirmed what Denegal had surmised. Well, perhaps Galither would speak of it when, and if, he wanted to.

Denegal turned all the possible answers to Falowik's question over and over in his mind. Had he been in love? He had been so sure - at one time. But now . . . well, it really all came down to your definition of love, didn't it?

"Well, Falowik, I thought I was in love once. Not so very long ago. You see, I fell in love with a beautiful face. But, perhaps I was more in love with the idea of being in love, than I was actually 'in love', if you know what I mean." He could see by the confused look on the others' faces that he wasn't making much sense. Then again, wasn't that just like most aspects of love - it never made any sense. "What I mean is, I had this idea that love was a very noble thing. You know, lords and their ladies, rescuing fair maidens from evil dragons, all that nonsense. My father had told me such tales when I was a little shaver, and so I guess I grew up thinking that's what a soldier would do - find a pretty maid, win her heart with his brave deeds, and live happily ever after. But, it's not really like that is it?" He sighed deeply and looked down at his ridiculous footwear.

"And in one sense, Falowik, that's why I'm wearing these idiotic looking slippers. If I hadn't 'fallen in love', I would never have been jilted, and thus would not have set out from Minas Tirith, as I did these eight months past. And I would not have lost my boot and thus have come to be sitting in an inn in the Shire wearing these things. My fellow countrymen here were wondering about my choice of shoes and thus we came to a contemplation of love. Confusing, I know!"

Like love and life, he thought to himself. Perhaps if his father had survived the siege of the white city he would have been able to impart a little more wisdom to his son. What with Denegal's uncle having left shortly thereafter for the north to help eradicate the last of the orcs and settle the old lands, there hadn't been any other men in the young boy's life from whom to learn the mysterious ways of women. Well, there had been grandfather, but Denegal had never felt too comfortable discussing such things with the old patriarch. And Mother had been no help whatsoever! She hadn't even wanted him to become a soldier. She didn't want him to go back to Minas Tirith. Well, perhaps after all, she had been right. Things certainly had not ended up the way he had planned.

Coming out of his short reverie, Denegal saw Falowik and the other two still looking at him. "So, tell us, Falowik" Denegal smiled "How have you been so lucky as to find that elusive sentiment - love?"

[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)

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

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.

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EVERYONE

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

Thanks!

Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[piosenniel]

Cook goes to see Miz Bella

Three large pans of apple cobbler, their pastry toppings dusted with sugar, stood side by side on the kitchen table. Cook plied her sharp little paring knife over each of them, making small cuts in the topping to vent the steam and soon to be bubbling liquid. In no time at all, she had them done and popped into the big oven. She turned the smaller of her hourglasses over, the one that would measure out a half hour’s time, then began to tidy up her workplace. Tabletop scrubbed, utensils and bowls cleaned, hands washed and dried, and towels hung neatly . . . Cook stood ready for her next task.

‘Miz Bella, m’am,’ Ginger reminded her, lining up the little baskets of bread she’d cut neatly along the counter, a clean white napkin covering each one.

‘Yes, of course,’ Cook said in a decisive manner, not wanting Ginger to know her mind had been on the location of her Gran’s mushroom pie recipe and that she had completely forgotten the girl’s earlier prompt.

It had been a while since breakfast, and she was feeling a bit puckish. ‘Brew a nice pot of that eastern tea the trader brought in just last week, won’t you Ginger. You know . . .the one that has those dried flowers in it that are so fragrant. Jaz . . . mine. that’s what he called it. I’ll just set a few slices of bread to toasting while you’re doing that.’

Cook propped the toasting forks near the hearth fire, turning them once as each side turned a golden brown. She loaded a tray with a pot of sweet cream butter, a pot of thick gooseberry jam, and a little jar of honey for the tea. Two small plates, knives and spoons, the teapot with a cozy she’d knitted herself and two good sized mugs were fit onto the tray and off she went to pay a call on Miz Bella.

She’d balanced the tray carefully on one hand as she knocked at the door. It seemed a silly thing to do, the knocking that is, as this was her own parlour. Perhaps that was one of the things they could discuss . . . just where Miz Bella could stay while she visited. Plenty of rooms in the Inn for the Hobbit folk, Cook thought, wondering how long the woman was planning on staying.

The door opened, and a pleasant voice said, ‘Do come in!’

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen smiled at the eager face of the child. For if talking with an elf were a novelty for the hobbit child then talking with a child was almost as unusual for the elf woman; for the elves had few children in the fading years and when those of other races came to the havens it was generally men on business matters.

"Well Marigold, though Mr Snaveling, as you call him is of the same kindred as the Rangers he is not actually a ranger himself, I believe. Though he has led an interesting life none the less" she added with a smile. "Infact he knows the King" .. she added with emphasis. She did not want Snaveling to lose face in the child's eyes.

Marigold's eyes widened even further. "And do you know the Queen? ", she asked eagerly, for she reasoned that elves must know each other. Mithalwen smiled ... not very well for we lived seldom in the same place and she is a great lady but she was ever gracious when it chanced that we met. I know her brothers a little better because of their friendship with my own brother. And my father fought with hers in the war".

"The War of the Ring?" asked Marigold ..... she had heard tales of that - at least that the hobbits had been very important in it.

"No, another war long ago, but I am sure you don't want to hear of wars...." instead she told Marigold tales she had heard herself as a child, of the great lords of the Noldor and their works. And though the time was slipping away into lunchtime the child's desire to hear more did not seem to lessen and so Mithalwen ordered food again.

"And after lunch if you wish, you could come and meet my horse - for he must have a little exercise if we are not to leave today"

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The morning passed in conversation between Mithalwen and Marigold, and while the lass would occasionally turn her attention to him, Snaveling was content for the most part to sit and listen. Though he had lived for a time at the court of the King he had yet much to learn about the history of the lands and peoples beyond the borders of his own homeland and there was much to the Elf’s tales that was new to him. He marvelled that he could have spent so many years wandering the lands and not know anything about them. But then, he reflected, there were many people in the world who knew little about the deeds and trials of the Elder race. Indeed, if the Lord Elessar were to be believed, there were few now who even knew the full tale of the houses of Men.

Perhaps sensing his thoughts the Elf turned toward him and asked, “Is there anything that I can tell you of the past, Man of Numenor?” Snaveling started at the question, and Mithalwen smiled. “Hobbit lasses, I see, are not the only ones who are interested in my stories, Tar-Corondir.”

Snaveling’s embarrassment at having been caught listening to the stories told the child was relieved when Marigold interrupted by asking, “Why does she call you Tar… Tar-Colander?”

“Tar-Corondir,” Snaveling corrected her gently. “The Lady Mithalwen does me an honour by calling me by my right name, for ‘Snaveling’ is but a mangled form of my proper name.”

“But then why don’t you call yourself Tar-Coriander? Why did you introduce yourself as Snaveling?”

“Because I did not know until I was very old that the proper form of my name is Tar-Corondir. I had been raised to call myself Snaveling, and so Snaveling I was when I first came to the Green Dragon Inn.”

“Well,” Marigold said slowly, “it seems a bit confusing to me: to have one name but to use another.”

Mithalwen said, “Ah, but your own history is full of such things, young Miss Marigold. Is not the proper name of your Thain’s son, Peregrin? And is not his companion through many dangers not properly known as Meriadoc? And yet in the tales told of them by many, they are immortalised as Pippin and Merry.” The lass seemed to accept this for the good hobbit sense that it was, but the conversation was momentarily interrupted by the surprising arrival of lunch. Snaveling could not believe that half the day had gone already, and still he had not spoken with Aman. This was becoming awkward – for how much longer could he see her from across the room but avoid her eye?

He was called back to the conversation by Marigold. “Mister Snaveling, Mithalwen has invited me to have a look at her horse after lunch? Do you want to come with us?” Snaveling, having no other response, agreed. “Good!” the hobbit beamed triumphantly. “And I can show you the Innkeeper’s new horse. They say that he was a gift from a secret admirer of Aman’s. A Man who appears and disappears from the Shire bearing her gifts and forever yearning for her hand in marriage. I’m not sure I believe those stories, but you should see the horse he brought her!”

Snaveling’s heart fell at the hobbit’s enthusiastic descriptions of Aman’s imaginary lover, and decided that it might be best if he did not reveal who was the real giver of that particular gift…

[Mithalwen]

Over lunch Mithalwen further explained that all elves had at least two names and most had more "for our parents choose a name each. Then sometimes we choose names for ourselves or are given an ....epesse ... Oh I forget how that is said in your tongue"

"Nickname, "supplied Snaveling helpfully.

"Yes that is it. In some ways Elves and Hobbits are alike for we both often have names that come from nature - your name is a flower and my means grey tree. In the ancient speech of my people Marigold might be rendered "Laure-Lote" and such was the name of one of the noblest houses in Gondolin. .....But it is Tar-Corondir who honours me by calling me Lady Mithalwen, for in truth I am a simple artisan, entitled to no such title. He is of much higher status than I"... Mithalwen noticed Snaveling squirm but he arrival of the apple pudding broke the thread of conversation and they spoke of other things - Marigold explained a little about the people who managed the inn.

" So perhaps there will be another handfasting soon if Miss Aman has a swain " speculated the elf.... come let us see this horse as well as my own Aeglos. "


She led the way to the stable and since there was a brief lull in the rain, she led out Aeglos and lifted the hobbit child on to his back. "do not be afraid, he will not let you fall but hold on to his mane if you wish. Shall we take him around the village" The hobbit's eyes shone in agreement and so the elf, and the man, and the hobbit child on the grey horse all took a turn about Bywater. When Marigold had had "a bareback gallop" (in fact a short canter up the lane riding infront of Mithalwen who had held her safe). They returned more sedately to the Inn and inspected Aman's horse. While Marigold was occupied petting the fine beast, Mithalwen asked Snaveling what he knew about it - for you know Miss Aman of old do you not?"

[Arry]

Andwise made his way over to where the man sat, a mug of hot tea in his hands. He stood for a moment until Derufin raised his eyes from the generous plate of eggs and ham and toast he was attacking and motioned with his fork to the empty chair across the table. The Hobbit sat down with a smile, shaking his head in wonder at the man’s appetite. ‘However did you manage to get that plate of food?’ he asked. ‘I just asked for a little something to go with the tea and was told lunch was in progress and the food would come soon.’

Derufin grinned, picking up his own mug of tea to wash down his mouthful. Miz Bunce, it appeared, had developed a soft spot in her heart for the fellow and had fixed him the eggs herself.

‘She’s a good woman . . . Miz Bunce is,’ nodded Andwise. ‘though don’t tell her I said so. She’s the sort that likes to put a bit of the fear into those around her. Keeps ‘em on their toes.’

Talk drifted to those general things between men on a rainy day . . . the brief asking after each other’s family; the weather, of course; the work needing to be done, but now must be put off; the Spring Faire, just weeks around the corner, and who might win the archery contest this year; who might win the pie eating contest.

At the mention of pie eating, Derufin’s eyes lit up. But Andwise shook his head at him. ‘Big as you are, you’ll never beat Big Tolly. Oldest Proudfoot lad of Hamm and Daphne.’ Derufin raised his brows. ‘Still,’ said Andwise, looking him up and down. ‘With a little coaching you might do a credible job of it.’ He leaned forward toward the man. ‘I, myself, won it the year I married my dear wife.’ He sat back in his chair, and eyed the man again. ‘I could give you a few tips . . .’

[piosenniel]

‘Tips on what?’

Zimzi had come up quietly to where the two were talking. Both stood, and Derufin came round to pull out a chair for her. He chuckled as he sat down again saying Andwise had kindly offered to coach him on how to win the pie-eating contest at the Spring Faire.

‘Surely, it would be unfair of you to enter the contest,’ she protested. ‘You’re so much bigger than the Hobbit entrants.’

Andwise could not hold back his laughter at her assumption. ‘Never underestimate the capacity for food of one of my fellow Shirelings, Mistress Zimzi!’ He wiped his eyes of their mirthful tears and put on a more serious face. ‘Tis the rare Hobbit that cannot out-eat a man twice his size to my way of thinking,’ he intoned. ‘A grave responsibility is laid on us to enjoy the bounty of our land . . .’ He chuckled, seeing her take his pronouncements quite seriously.

She laughed, then, coloring a little as she realized he was jesting with her. ‘Well, then,’ she said, looking from one to the other. ‘I’ll bake the practice pies!’

‘Did someone say “pie”?’ A chorus of voices rang out as Gil and the other lads drew near . . .

[Arry]

Ferdy had come up to the table with his companions. The rain had put a temporary hold on his plans to finish the little fence he’d planned for the front yard of the groundskeeper’s cottage. A simple post and rail he thought, just enough to encourage those wild, rambler roses that grew along the fence row of his Gran’s old place. They were pretty, he thought, and always reminded him of his Ma; she had loved them so.

Gil and the others had shown him their find. He’d been drawn into the idea of doing some exciting story and had offered his help as a back stage sort of assistant. He was already imagining some scenery he might paint on flat background boards for the stage Mister Derufin had offered to build, and his Da was clever with furniture and such. He promised the others he would ask Andwise if he could build some chairs and tables and whatever else might be needed.

His stomach was grumbling loudly as they came up to the table where his Da sat with Derufin and Zimzi. The mention of pie made it growl all the more loudly. At the invitation of Derufin, they sat down at the long table and ordered ale for themselves.

Ginger came out from the kitchen bearing a tray with baskets of bread. She put one on each table and was soon followed by Buttercup and Ruby with their platters of sliced cheeses and pots of mustards and pickles. Ferdy’s eyes lit up at the sight of Ginger and the food. He waved her over once she was done, making room on his bench for her to sit with him . . .

[Primrose Bolger]

‘Some of us have to work,’ she said, giving him an impish grin. ‘The rain has idled the likes of you, but for us it means more thirsty and hungry mouths to feed as the time is passed.’

Ginger watched as Ferdy’s face fell. Daring a look at the kitchen door for any signs of Cook, she sat down for a moment next to him. His aspect brightened as she gave a little squeeze to his hand. ‘I’ll fly about with the soup . . . and once it’s all brought out, I’ll come have lunch with you and the others.’ She gave him a little wink. ‘Save a place for me, won’t you?’

Before he could answer, Buttercup called her away, saying the soup bowls were filled and would she lend a hand.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Of all the questions Mithalwen could have asked him, Snaveling could think of none that would have been less to his liking. He was caught between two very difficult facts. First, he well knew the impossibility of lying outright to an Elf of her many years. He could keep things from her, but his secrecy would cast a shadow upon her mind that she would easily descry, as storm clouds upon a sunny day. The other fact was that he had as yet to speak with Aman, and he knew in his heart that it would be wrong to discuss such a matter in full with someone else before he had a chance to be alone with the Innkeeper. Mithalwen saw his hesitation and spoke again to relieve him of his discomfort. “I would not have you speak of matters that give you pain, nor would I want you to betray a trust that you feel honour bound to keep.”

Snaveling smiled with gratitude. “There is no bond or oath that seals my lips, if that is what you mean, but there are…considerations that I must take into account if we are to speak of Aman.”

“Perhaps it would be best then if we did not?” But even as she spoke Mithalwen’s eyes glittered with ill-concealed curiosity. Again the Man smiled.

“Nay, I know too well the manner of your kind. Already you have sensed much of the truth about me and Aman, and I would not have you pretend otherwise.” And as he spoke he lifted somewhat the shadows that he had cast upon the storehouse of his mind and he could see her react with surprise at his skill. Aloud he continued. “Indeed I know Aman of old, for it was she who played a part in my redemption. She was not alone in that mighty and bewildering act of kindness, but of all the others she is the only one who remains. Roa, the woman I seek, was another, and there was the Elf Galadel Vinorel of whom I have already spoken. There was a fourth, but of him I shall not speak, for I fear that he may be in danger and I would not deepen that by loose words.” Toby, you old fool, where are you and how much trouble have you got yourself into this time? “What I will say is this: your suspicions about this horse, which you would hide from me, are true: it is I who brought it to Aman and presented it to her as a gift of thanks for her many kindnesses to me.”

He saw the light come on in Marigold’s eye as she heard this, and for the first time the Man and Elf noticed that the lass had somehow managed to clamber up to the back of the mighty beast by scaling the stall’s gate. She looked like nothing more than a human babe atop Felarof, last of the mearas, but at the same time strangely at her ease as she rubbed her face into the great mane. Snaveling moved to take the bridle at the same moment as the girl spoke. She was excited, and her words came at a high-pitched rush. “I knew it!” she cried in triumph, “I knew it! You are a Ranger and you have had adventures! Just like the King Elessar you’ve fallen in love with a Rohan woman, except this time you really have fallen in love with her and given her a horse!”

Snaveling shook his head and reached for the bridle as she spoke, but before he could explain to the lass that she had the situation all wrong – he was not the lover of the Shire’s imaginations – Marigold clapped her hands and kicked her heels with delight. The great horse, though well trained, was still a free spirited beast, bred for combat and action and the sudden movement and sound at his back drove him forward. With a single blow of his hooves the stall flung open and Snaveling was thrown back into the straw. There was a mighty whinny and a rush of hooves as the horse flew from the stables and cantered about the yard with Marigold clinging to his back for dear life. Suddenly freed, Felarof turned and galloped around to the back of the Inn, where his nostrils had found out the delicious scents of the kitchen garden…

[littlemanpoet]

"So, tell us, Falowik," Denegal smiled, "how have you been so lucky as to find that elusive sentiment - love?"

Falowik had taken an immediate liking to this rather young man in his odd footwear. He smiled back. "May I sit down?"

"Of course!" said Denegal. Thenergal and Sherman grunted their willingness as well, and Falowik sat down among them.

"Lucky? Nay, I was blessed. I did not look for love, had no thought for it. An accident brought me to this very place months ago. I was a wanderer north of here, an exile from Bree, which is a tale for another time. I lived in the wild, for there was no one there to mistrust. One day I stumbled upon a foul deed, and witnessed a man taken against his will by ruffians. He saw me as he was being taken away, and with his eyes begged me to do what I could. Almost, I did nothing. But I came to the Shire and reported the crime, and was brought here by one of their shirrifs. That night I met Uien the Elf lady, and straightway she became as a loadstone to me; she drew my mind, my eye, even good words came from me ... a rare thing in those days. But I did not seek her out. I was rough-spoken and thought all folk were untrustworthy and troublesome. I left the inn and stayed outside. I do not know to this day what sent her out of the inn to me where I sat under the night sky. But come she did, and touched me who shrank from another's touch. Somehow she was drawn to me as much as I was drawn to her, and to this day it is a wonder to me."

As Falowik had sat and talked at greater length than he ever rememberd having done, the Tinumir hanging from the necklace he wore could be seen glinting with its own light in the afternoon shadows. Falowik noticed their eyes drawn to it.

"She gave me this, and wears its twin. I braided the five strips of leather that form the neckpiece; she made this by her Art, capturing starlight within the stone. Even now she knows through hers that I think of her, and she of me. So yes, Denegal, I am lucky. I deserve none of it."

[peral]

Sharya sighed, feeling guilty for what she had done earlier. It was a wanton show of violence and was uncalled for. She tugged at the knife embedded in the wood and pulled it out. She sheathed it and got the attention of Ruby.

"Excuse me, could I possibly get some lunch?" Ruby seemed more than happy to oblige Sharya, but before she managed to leave to fetch the aforementioned lunch, Sharya caught ahold of her sleeve. "I'm sorry, for my behaviour earlier, slamming the knife into the table like that. I just don't know what came over me. I also seem to have damaged the table somewhat, but I can pay for the repairs. Just please," she looked pleadingly at the hobbit, "please don't throw me out."

Ruby smiled. "I don't think you need to worry about that, miss. I'll just speak to the cook about that. Meanwhile, I'll go get you your lunch, with...would that be cider, ale, tea or water, miss?"

Sharya looked relieved. "Cider please."

Ruby nodded and smiled and went to get Sharya's lunch for her. Almost instantly, it appeared in front of her and Sharya thanked the girl. Glancing out the window, she noticed as if for the first time, the rain steadily beating down.

"What a day," she sighed.

She dug into the warm soup and bread, and soon lost herself, in the delicious meal.

[samsmyhero]

"Yes, that seems to be true to form for love and all the romantic sentiments." Denegal grimaced and shook his head. "Whether one deserves its blessing or its curse, love seems most capricious in handing out its favors. Those who seem most undeserving somehow manage to come out the winners." The young soldier's tone had a bitter ring to it.

A slight frown passed over Falowik's face, and Denegal, noting his companion's look, hastened to add, "Not all who win it are undeserving. I didn't mean to imply that. I have known many couples, good men and women, who were well suited for each other and who were both good people, deserving of happiness. My parents were such. Until . . . until my father died. Perhaps it's just my own misfortune that makes me see the world thus." He fell silent and brooding, his face a dark study in self-pity. The heavy rain that was now falling in sheets outside the snug inn reflected the heaviness of his mood.

Thenergal and Sherman shifted about uncomfortably in their seats. This love lorn Gondorian was certainly not improving the grey weather outside with his sighing and moaning. Sherman, bored with all this talk of love, leaned over to look once more at Denegal's feet and asked "But I still don't see how it is that your losing a girl would make you want to wear those fancy slippers?"

"I don't want to wear them!" Denegal replied, with some exasperation. "I lost my left boot some days back, and had to leave the place where it was . . . lost in some haste. I had no other choice but to journey on, and the road has been a hard and rocky one. My left foot, as you can see", here he removed his foot from the slipper and held it aloft for all to see, "has suffered greatly. That kind little woman over there" he pointed out Ruby who was bustling about bringing out lunches from the kitchen, "Allowed me to make a search of a wardrobe upstairs and I found these discarded amongst other unwanted items. I assure you, they were the only shoes that fit. If I had the means, I would seek out a cobbler and have a new pair of boots made. But, alas, my purse will not allow for such luxuries."

Sherman looked somewhat reassured by this explanation, at least that Denegal was not wearing the slippers voluntarily, exactly. "Uh, you can put your foot down." He pointed at the foot still dangling in the air by his face.

[Mithalwen]

It was unfortunate that Mithalwen was on the far side of Snaveling or her swifter elvish reactions might have been enough to prevent the situation escalating. As it was she had to make the split second decision of whether to follow the horse and his most vulnerable rider on foot or on horseback. The latter would cause a delay but if the great steed had not chosen to bolt rather than explore the Inn's grounds, even she would not be swift enough on foot. She blamed herself already. she should have made clear to Marigold that all horses were not as Aeglos, trained to respond to the mind of the owner as well as the movements of the rider. This horse of Aman's was not elf trained and had responded to the kick as most of his kind would.

To the elf each moment seemed and eternity, but to Snaveling the elf movements were a blur as she sprang on to her own horses back. With no harness other than the head stall and lead rope, she was in pursuit of Marigold and Felarof and dreading what she might see when she found them. She trusted Aeglos absolutely, though the yard stones were treacherous in the the rain, that was falling steadily once more. she attempted to reach the other horse also with her mind.

Now it was Snaveling's turn for each moment to pass as an eternity. It seemed forever but it was a matter of minutes before he heard returning hooves. Felarof, riderless was following Aeglos, docile as anything, but Mithalwen bore Marigold in her arms and to Snaveling, the child was ominously still.

[Nurumaiel]

It was at this moment, when Marigold lay limp in Mithalwen's arms, that Falco Headstrong came hurrying up the path to the Inn, his head bent to keep the rain from his face, and his arms encircling one or two packages to keep them from being soaked. His eyes were firmly fixed on the ground, and he did not look up until he reached the door to the Inn, and so he saw nothing of what had occured. He entered the Common Room, triumphantly brandishing the packages, and he saw at once that both Marigold and the Big Folk fellow were no longer at the table. He looked about thoughtfully, and concluded that the one was with Miss Buttercup or one of the other serving maids, and that the other had gone about his own business, have wearied of entertaining a small hobbit lass.

Falco took himself to Marigold's room, where he proceeded to unwrap the packages and spread their contents out upon the bed, picturing to himself all the while what Marigold's face would look like when she saw this surprise he had prepared for her. Upon the bed he had laid a fairly simple yet very pretty blue frock, with a large diamond-shaped ruffle at the neckline; a white blouse, with buttons up the front and a ribbon to tie up the very top, and trimmed with lace; an eight-paneled green skirt with a pattern of darker green flowers woven in; a red dress gathered at the waist; and a simple white gown with a very slight waistline, accompanied with a blue sash. He knew very little about dresses and skirts and such things, for he had never paid much attention to his sisters' and mother's shopping, and had never had any little girls of his own to care for (and even then he had little doubt that the mother would be in charge of choosing the clothes), but the young hobbit girl at the counter had assisted him very cheerily, and he could tell even with his limited knowledge that the clothes would be very good for Marigold.

He returned to the Common Room, and wondered anew what could have become of Marigold. He questioned one of the maids who was passing by, and she said she had not seen the girl since she had been talking with Snaveling. Falco regretted that he had not yet made the acquaintance of the girl he had just questioned, for that would have advanced this a little farther. Have a slight acquaintance with Buttercup, it would have been much easier to question her about the matter, as she would already know what Marigold looked like, and where she would be apt to go.

"She is probably with Miss Buttercup," Falco murmured. "I don't know where else she would go, and that Big Folk fellow wouldn't kidnap her in broad daylight with all these people about. She'll probably returned for her lunch in good time." And so he sat down at the table to await little Marigold's return.

[Atarah]

Tulip was drenched from head to toe in water. After Sharya left she had gone outside, being careful to go the opposite way to her friend lest the temptation to follow her became too strong. Tulip had walked quite a long way by the time it started to rain and she tutted at herself for not remembering the clouds above. She turned back toward the Inn, but didn't change her pace as she was already soaked through anyway. Something in the corner of her eye made her stop and turn. Could it be? Yes! It was an enormous puddle, one of the biggest she had ever seen. Forgetting her constant want to act grown up, she ran full speed at the puddle and jumped at the last moment. There was a large splash as she landed in the puddle and muddy water covered her white dress from the waist down, turning it a dull brown colour. Tulip laughed as she played in the puddle some more, then skipped back to the Green Dragon Inn, jumping in every puddle she set her eyes on.

When Tulip got back to the Inn her dress was caked in mud and she was incredibly cold, but happy none the less. She stood in the doorway for awhile, taking in who was there and what was happening. By the looks of things it was lunchtime, and her good friend Sharya was back. She walked to her friend's table and took a seat, noticing an odd mark on the table surface.

"Hello again friend," Tulip said with a smile. She looked at Sharya's food and decided she'd order some food after she caught up with Sharya. "So, did you get everything done you needed to?"

[Mithalwen]

Snaveling look anxiously at her and Mithalwen, shook her head. Seeing that she had increased rather than alleviated his anxiety, Mithalwen spoke. "She isn't dead Tar-Corondir, and she has no broken bones or I would not have moved her thus. She fell only when Felarof stopped, tempted by the plants in the kitchen garden. But it is a long fall for such a small child and she fell on rough and stony ground - she hit her head I fear" the child's sweet face was marred by scratches and already there were signs of bumbs and bruises forming. "Take her from me - we need to get her inside ".

Mithalwen passed Marigold into Snaveling's arms, and slipped from Aeglos's back. she found that her legs were unsteady beneath her, so frightened had she been for the child's safety and was glad that the stableman, Meriadoc, emerged from taking his lunch opportunely and she entrusted both horses to him.

She was glad to hear a murmur from Marigold as Snaveling carried her into the inn. the child was coming around. Snaveling set her down on a long padded bench under the window and Mithalwen gently examined Marigold's wounds. "Wake up miss Marigold, you are safe and sound" ..she was rewarded by a faint and slightly groggy smile.

Mithalwen reckoned that the child would need a hot bath, a good meal, and yarrow to treat her wounds. Then an early night would probably put her right. She sent Snaveling to ask the kitchen about hot water and if they had the herb though its use was more medicinal than culinary and when she sensed a presence behind her she thought it was him returned.

[Sett]

A horse trod along the east - west road with a man of gondorian origins jumped off as he pulled the horse to the front yard of an inn called the green dragon. He then noticed a stable and walked up to it.

“Hello there”

“why hello there strange one I am Meriadoc the stable keeper.”

The gondorian gave the horse up and threw the stable master some gold coins. He walked up the inn via the path. Upon entering the inn he was instantly greeted by Sherman and Therengol who shot up from their seats like lightening at the sight of this man.

“my fellow kinsman I bring word from Gondor” replied the man

Sherman and Therengol speeded up as they approached him and dragged him to the bar. They both were eager to speak with him but the others could tell that they were below him in terms of rank.

“This is an urgent visit. I must warn you that the ship is a trap set up by the corsair. They thought we were going send more than you four but alas we have not and you are going to your death.”

“tell me where is Galither for I wish to speak with him.”

The two men shared blank expressions which quickly turned to guilt. In which time Falmir came down the stairs as well.

“Earlingthor!” exclaimed Falmir

The engaged a conversation between the four of them about their mission and the dangers they were facing. The two men revealed that Galither had left earlier on and had said about scouting the area. Earlingthor grabbed the three of them and brought them out of the inn. He was not impressed by what had been going on and forced them all onto the horse and to find Galither.

“I am going back to gondor now and have no more to say on the matter. You are not to go near the extraction site nor are you required to stay in this area once you have found Galither which you will do if you value life then you shall bring him back alive.” Earlingthor revealed

“But but” cried the three men

“go now! More orders will be waiting for you at bree. Goodbye and count yourselves lucky I have come to stop you or you may be riddled with arrows but a few days from now

[Child of the 7th Age]

Miz Bella was looking decidedly better than when she'd first been carried inside the evening before. Her unruly curls were firmly pushed behind her ears and held in place by a bright green ribbon. She was wearing a maroon dress with a grey sash tied around her waist, a garment that Cook had kindly deposited on one of the armchairs for her to try on earlier that morning. Although a bit pale, Miz Bella was beginning to regain her strength and good nature. Still, she was extraordinarily slender for a hobbit. It looked as if a good wind could blow her away.

Bella had been seated at the table leafing through a number of books when she head foorsteps approaching in the hallway. She called out a welcome and scurried forward to open the door.

Seeing the large tray of goodies in Cook's hand, she quickly made space for the teapot and toast on the table and pushed a chair over for her guest to sit down. Then she poured two cups of honeyed tea and offered one to Cook. "You are too kind. You really needn't have done all this. I'm quite sure you have plenty of guests and duties to keep you busy. I just don't know what to say. But I at least wanted you to know that I do have money to pay for my room and meals, and that I certainly don't want to push you out of your own parlor."

Before Cook could open her mouth or ask another question, Bella had whisked over to the corner where some of her clothes from the previous night had been haphazardly tossed onto the floor (an occurence that was quite unusual for Cook's parlour). She picked up the ragged skirt out of the pile and began to work at the threads with her nimble fingers. She undid one seam and a number of coins that had been hidden came bouncing out. "There's more where this comes from," assured Bella, pointing to the other clothes on the floor, "but I hope this will hold me for a while."

"Hold you?" piped up Cook. "This will do more than hold you. It should keep you comfortable for quite a while."

"I'm no good with money. It's all looks the same to me," Bella shrugged her shoulders and laughed. "You see most of my life I lived with folk who traded goods in an honest manner but had no coins at all. But before my parents sailed west, when they were still trekking over the wide earth, Mother had several Dwarf friends who taught her how to dig in caves or quarries or abandoned mines and come up with gemstones. She was so good at it they would tease and say she must be a dwarf in disguise. Father had no feel for the thing. He would spend the day hunting and digging and wind up with nothing. But he did learn how to cut and polish the stones that Mother found. She kept one or two for herself but they sold the rest as they passed through the towns. Over the years, they traded for a number of gold pieces that eventually passed to me. I try not to use them except in very tight times."

"But I've talked too much. And I haven't explained the reason I wanted to speak with you. I am thinking of settling here for a bit. I've never lived in the Shire so perhaps it's time for me to come home. I need some honest work so I can make my own way. I have no kinfolk at all, or at least if I do, I don't know them and they have never met me, and probably they would prefer to keep it that way. Ginger said something to me this morning that started me thinking. Father told me about the dame schools: how hobbit ladies would teach the little ones in their homes their basic numbers and letters, and keep them occupied while the parents were off doing other things. I'm wondering if you have a school like that in these parts, or if you think there would be a need for such a place. I would not expect to make a great deal, just enough to keep a roof over my head and a meal or two. The parents could pay me with pennies or some produce from their gardens."

"The only problem is," added Miz Bella with a sigh, "is that I have no burrow of my own. And I have no idea where I could find suitable lodgings for such an undertaking...."

[peral]

Sharya smiled weakly at Tulip's question. Oh, if only you knew, if only you knew.

"Yes, actually, I did manage to get quite a few things done, except..." she looked down at her dress, "get new clothes, which really, I shouldn't have expected to be able to do in a village of halflings." Here she gave Tulip a strange look. "What happened to you?" here she indicated Tulip's dress.

Tulip laughed. "I was playing in the rain and it was fun, if only you were there too."

Sharya laughed. "Oh, I wish I could have joined you, but this is my only dress and I have to preserve it until I get another one, which might not be for awhile. That is," she added, "until I find the time, or rather, can be bothered to make myself a new one." Then she looked up. "Oh, your food is here. I'll let you eat first," she smiled, "and give myself time to finish my own.

Tulip laughed, but dug into her food as heartily as Sharya looked to have dug into hers.

[Noinkling]

Benat and Cullen

The door to the Inn swung open, and for a brief moment the grey light of a rainy afternoon penetrated the lowlit interior of the common room. There were mutterings as the cold wind swept in and admonitions of ‘Someone shut the door, please!’ One of the servers put down her tray on an empty table, intending to shut the door. Her steps faltered as she neared the open door and heads turned again as darkness filled the entryway.

A giant of a man stood there, his long brown cape blocking the light from the outside. He turned sideways and ducked his head down a bit to enter. He stood blinking for a moment in the entry way, his dark eyes adjusting to the lower level of light.

‘Come in . . . sir,’ the server said in as firm a voice as she could muster. ‘The wind and rain bring a chill to the room. Close the door if you would.’

The man nodded, and turning back to the door began to shut it. ‘Come, Cullen,’ he called out, as he did so, leaving just enough room for a large, grey coated dog to pad in. The two made their way to one of the bigger tables near the front window, the one with a wide, sturdy oak bench.

The patrons along the path to their table eyed the man and dog as they passed. The dog was nearly as tall as a Shire pony, with a short, wiry, dark grey coat. His tail was long and had he wagged it at all would have swept the Hobbits on the nearby benches from their seats. His eyes were as dark as the man’s, and took in the surroundings in an intelligent manner. His nose twitched with the inviting smells of the Inn and its inhabitants, cataloguing them.

His master was taller than any man or Elf for that matter. A homespun tunic was tucked neatly into his long black breeches which in turn were held up by a fine woven, broad rope belt. On his feet he wore not leather boots, but rather some made of thick boiled wool, impervious to the wet; dark blue they were and came to the middle of his calves. In his hand was a stout oaken stick, for walking, many supposed, or perhaps a weapon, too. None other was seen about him. The hood to his cape was thrown back revealing a head of thick dark hair. Removing his wet cloak, a single, long dark braid could be seen, snaking down his back to his waist. And in front was an equally long dark beard, the mustache of it framing his generous mouth, which was now curved in a smile at the server.

‘I’ll just take your cloak . . . sir, and hang it by the door to dry, if you don’t mind,’ said the server, emboldened by the fellow’s seeming good-nature, and the fact that the dog had come up to sniff his her hand and had given it a friendly lick.

‘Lay down, Cullen! And mind your manners,’ the man said, directing the dog to the spot near the table. ‘My name is Benat, little Mistress,’ he said, then, turning back to the server. He handed his cloak to her, chuckling a bit as she handed it on to two of the taller male Hobbits she motioned over. They struggled with the heavy, wet thing, and managed to secure it on one of the pegs by the door. It trailed out a bit and they tucked the extra length of it to the side so no one would trip on it.

‘Now what can I get for you, Master Benat,’ the server asked. ‘And for your companion?’

‘Some ale, if you please, little Mistress,’ he said, his eyes twinkling at the thought of a good drink. ‘And bread, and cheese.’ He declined the offer of a bowl of bean with ham soup, saying that it was not his pleasure to eat meats of any sort. She looked at him a bit oddly, then shrugged her shoulders. A good sized bowl of apple cobbler, though, was agreed to and the server turned toward the kitchen to fetch the fellow’s order.

‘One last thing,’ he said, once she’d delivered his food, and asked if there would be anything else he required. ‘Might you know where Master Bilbo Baggins lives? I’m the grandson of an old acquaintance of his. I’ve brought him a pot of honey from my Granda’s bees. He was quite fond of it, or so the old story goes.’

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling rushed into the kitchen, desperate to help Mithalwen in taking care of the lass Marigold for he felt responsible for what had happened. Feralof, though no longer his horse, had been his mount for many a week and thus he should have been able to better judge what might happen with him. He also accused himself bitterly for not properly watching the girl more closely, but quick at the heels of this accusation he felt an angry justification rise up. I did not even ask to be made her caretaker! I was just landed with the lass; how could it be my fault if she goes and gets herself hurt by doing something so foolish as mounting a strange horse? There is…no-one who could blame me. Oddly enough, he realised that there was only one person he was particularly afraid of condemning him: the Innkeeper.

He reached the Kitchen and all other thoughts left his mind. There was no sign of Cook but Buttercup was there, busying herself with the cleaning up from lunch. “There’s been an accident,” he began, carefully, deciding that for his own sake it might be best if he were to leave the precise details a bit vague for the time being. “The lass Marigold has had a fall and is quite overcome. The Elven lady Mithalwen has sent me to fetch hot water and something called yarrow, that she believes will help the girl. Do you have any?”

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger and Benat

‘Begging your pardon, sir,’ said Ginger, stepping up close to Benat once he’d asked his question of her. ‘Did you say “Mister Bilbo Baggins”?’ Benat nodded his head ‘yes’ as he chewed on his bread and cheese. ‘Well, sir, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but he’s no longer with us.’

Benat lowered his half gnawed bread to the plate and looked questioningly at Ginger. His shoulders slumped and he looked quite dejected.

‘Oh, no, sir,’ Ginger protested stumbling over her words. ‘It’s not that he’s . . . well, you know . . . though he might be, he was awfully old. But really we don’t know, you see . . .’

Benat shook his head, a perplexed look on his face, giving every indication he did not see.

‘My stars, let me just try to untangle my twisty tongue and get it out right for you.’ Ginger pushed back the hair from her reddened face and began again. ‘It’s not that he’s gone and died before you got here. He disappeared, when I was just a wee one. Went off with his nephew, Mister Frodo Baggins. Off west, it was. Took a fancy to go sailing, the two of them did. And packed it in here in the Shire and took off with some of the Fair Folk. Haven’t seen hide nor hairy toes of either one of them since.’ She was going to add that Mayor Sam saw them off, but she held her tongue, thinking that perhaps Benat did not need to know everything at the moment.

Ginger filled the man’s tankard with ale from the pitcher she was carrying. He was quiet, and she wished, upon seeing his saddened face, that she had more comforting news to tell him. A sudden idea brightened her face. ‘You just sit here and relax,’ she said, patting the man on his arm. ‘I’ll go fetch Cook. She’s sure to know something as can help you.’

[piosenniel]

Cook and Miz Bella

All that talk about dwarves and mining and jewels had set Cook’s head spinning. It was more than she could wrap her thoughts around that this tiny, elderly Hobbit had led such an interesting . . . no, exotic life . . . She wished Mistress Piosenniel were here. ‘Like to see those two match story for story,’ she chuckled to herself. ‘Now that would be a treat!’ So wrapped up was she in thinking about the woman’s interesting life, that she nearly missed the next of the conversation . . . the real reason, as it were, why Miz Bella had asked to speak with her. Something about a ‘dame school’ . . . and thinking about settling down here . . .

‘ . . . I'm wondering if you have a school like that in these parts, or if you think there would be a need for such a place . . .’

Just looking at Miz Bella as she asked her question and laid out her proposition in that lovely, refined, and kindly voice took Cook back many, many years to the older woman who’d taught her and her siblings in the small parlour of her little burrow. Cook’s mother had made sure there was a small basket of fresh eggs once a week and during the month the family would send sometimes a generous wedge of waxed rind cheese or a plump rabbit from the family’s own hutches. Cook had labored over her slate learning sums and such and had learned also to write a well thought out letter in a fine, clear hand. Once a week there had been music and drawing. But best of all were the stories Miz Violet had read them . . . some true, some fanciful, and some a mixture of both.

‘To be quite honest,’ said Cook, warming to the subject of a teacher for Bywater, and Hobbiton, for that matter. ‘Miz Callie Proudfoot was our last teacher here in Bywater, and she’s been gone now these, oh . . . fifteen years or more. Moved off to be with her widowed sister in Budge Ford. Folk around here do what they can at home. But it’s a hit and miss project for most of the families, what with both parents working hard all day to put bread on the table.’ She paused for a moment, thinking on some of the young people she knew. ‘And it’s not just the little ones need the learning of letters and numbers, but a number of the tweeners and those a bit older, too, who’ve fallen through the crack, so to speak.’ Cook poured another cup of tea for herself and for Miz Bella, and offered the plate of buttered toast to her. ‘We’d be glad to take you up on your offer of schooling, you can be sure of that!’

‘The only problem is,’ she heard Miz Bella continue, ‘is that I have no burrow of my own. And I have no idea where I could find suitable lodgings for such an undertaking.’

‘Land sakes! That’s no problem at all, Miz Bella.’ Cook swept her hand about her parlour. ‘I know we put you in here last night, but that was only because it was convenient, and warm, and I could keep an eye one you. You looked so poorly! But we’ve got a nice set of rooms on the first floor, Hobbit sized, too. You could use a couple adjoining ones for your own living quarters and the sort of largish sized one that lets out onto the back yard of the Inn as a classroom.’ She looked the frail woman up and down. ‘Course, they’re a bit cobwebby at the moment and I’m sure the odd mathom or two has been stored away in them. But with a little elbow grease and a broom and feather duster, I think they can be set to right. There’re plenty of pieces of odd and assorted furniture in the attic that can be used. And I’m sure Mister Derufin, our handyman, can fix you up a small stove for cooking and heating.’

A loud knock at the door, and Ginger’s familiar voice on the other side stopped her from asking Miz Bella what she thought of the idea. Ginger rushed in all out of breath and began a story about a giant in the common room with a dog as big as a pony, and how he was asking for old Mister Bilbo Baggins . . .

[piosenniel]

Buttercup gives Snaveling a poultice to use . . .

Buttercup gave Snaveling a suspicious look. Here he was coming in all fluttery and such and saying there’s been an accident! and in practically the same breath mentioning Margold and a brief reference to a fall. “Mentioning”, mind you . . . no details supplied . . .

‘Well, now, just what might you mean by she’s “quite overcome”?’ pressed Buttercup. She was fond of the little girl and was wondering just what Snaveling had been up to that had caused her to fall. Buttercup pried as many facts about how the girl looked and was feeling. The tightness in her stomach lessened as she learned she was groggy, but awake and there seemed to be no bleeding.

‘Yarrow . . . we don’t use it for that sort of thing around here. Might be some Fair Folk remedy for their kind,’ said Buttercup, going to the cupboard that held the medicine box. She got out a pottery jar and pulled out the stopper, directing Snaveling to get a small handful of oats from the second bin on the right in the pantry. In a small bowl she mixed up a thick paste of dried comfrey root, oats, a little honey, and some cold water. ‘This’ll do for a Hobbit head,’ she said, picking up the bowl and handing it to Snaveling. ‘Take the spoon and put a bit of the paste where the bump or bruise is.’ she handed a clean dish towel to the man, also. ‘And wrap this about her head to keep it in place. Takes the swelling right down and eases the pain.’ She handed him a small bottle of oil of lavender also. ‘Rub a little of this on her temples – gently,’ she went on as he juggled the bowl and the bottle. It will help her feel calmer. And for heaven sakes don’t let the child go to sleep for a several hours. Sometimes with bad falls like this the sleep’ll overtake them if you let it get to them, and they never wake up.’ ‘Or at least not for a long time,’ she added, seeing the look on his face.

She saw Snaveling back to the door of the kitchen, saying she would come see Marigold a little later. ‘Oh, and one last thing. You have told Mister Falco that she’s been hurt . . . haven’t you?’

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

“Mister Falco…?” Snaveling echoed stupidly, so dazed was he by the flood of instructions from Buttercup over the care of Marigold’s hurt.

“Falco Headstrong!” she said, somewhat exasperated by the Man. “I saw you and him talking to one another with Marigold just this morning. He’ll be worried for sure about the lass.”

Snaveling just nodded at this, torn in his thoughts between irritation with himself for his manner and an odd misgiving about having to confront the fellow about this matter. He had seen what the Halfling’s opinion was of himself, and he knew the colour that would be cast over his involvement with the accident to Marigold. Indeed, in Buttercup’s manner he already saw the way the story would be told. That ne’er do well rogue and tramp of a Man, still up to his ways. There’s no trusting or changing him. Again, he wondered why the opinions of the Shirefolk mattered to him at all. The Lord Elessar had spoken highly of these people, but so far he had seen little to merit such praise. Their views were as narrow as their horizons, they were quick to mistrust and slow to forgive (and he ignored the nagging voice at the back of his mind that pointed out how accurate a description that was of himself…). To Buttercup he merely nodded and said gruffly, to hide his discomfiture, “I’ll be sure to tell him the next time I see him.”

The Halfling gave Snaveling the most withering look yet, and for a split second the Man feared that she might just be about to clamber up a stool the better to grab him by the ear as though he were a miscreant youth. “Well then get telling him now!” she said, and pointing across the Common Room with her little finger she picked out Falco Headstrong where he sat at a small table. It was in one of the Inn’s deep bay windows, and thus out of sight of the bench where Mithalwen was tending to Marigold. Snaveling turned to Buttercup but was spared any further embarrassment with her by the sight of her indignant back as it strode into the kitchen, clearly saying what a fool she felt him to be. Snaveling, Tar-Corondir, the last King and heir to Numenor, kinsman and bondsman to the Lord Elessar…slunk away from the Kitchen like a chastened Halfling boy.

He hurried to Mithalwen and gave her the poultice and oil. He began to relay Buttercup’s instructions but the Elf merely smiled at him and began applying the medicines with the expert hand of her folk. Snaveling turned then to where Falco was sitting. He approached the Halfling cautiously and because of where he was sitting, the little fellow did not see Snaveling until the Man was practically looming over him. Just as Snaveling was about to clear his throat to announce his presence, Falco looked about and was confronted only with the dark screen of Snaveling’s clothes. With an involuntary yelp of surprise, Falco sprang back and looked up into the countenance of the Man. One look at his expression, and Falco knew that something was up, and before he could take better thought he blurted out, “Where’s Marigold, then? What have you done with her?”

Snaveling, surprised himself by the abrupt manner of the Halfling, simply took a step back and pointed toward the couch where Marigold lay, saying limply, “She’s had a fall. But Mithalwen says that she will be all right, now. I’ve fetched her some medicine.”

[Milady Revenwyn]

The door of the Green Dragon is opened, and a gust of wind comes into the room, seemingly accompanied by a tall character wrapped up in a green cloak. The person's face is hidden, and with the cloak it is impossible to tell whether the character is male or female.

The person sits down at a table that was obviously made halfling size, and takes off their hood, revealing themself to be female. Not only that, but her reddish-blonde hair suggests that she is of the Rohirrim. Her knees bump the top of the table, and she looks ridiculous on the small chair. She waits patiently for someone to come around to take her order.

[piosenniel]

Ruby and the green cloaked newcomer . . .

‘My goodness,’ thought Ruby to herself as she eyed the newcomer to the Inn. ‘She must be awfully tired to have mistaken that table for one she can fit under.’ Ruby walked quickly to where the green cloaked woman had sat down. She’d brought a steaming mug of tea with her, for the poor creature did look cold.

‘Pardon me, miss,’ she said, a welcoming smile on her face. ‘But I think you’d be more comfortable at one of the tables over here.’ She waited as the women got up from the cramped seat, then bade her follow her. There was a nice table by the fire, with a chair just the size for one of the Big Folk.’ Ruby sat the mug in front of the woman, then offered to hang up her cloak if she wished. ‘Over there, by the door, Miss, is where I’ll put it. That way it can dry out a bit.’

‘My name’s Ruby, by the way. One of the servers at the Inn. We’ve got some lovely bean and ham soup, with bread and cheese, and apple crisp for after. A nice hot lunch for a wet, cold afternoon, don’t you think? And I’ve brought you some tea – just to warm up with. But there’s ale and cider and cold, clear water from the well, too.’ Ruby stood with an expectant look on her face, waiting for the guest’s order . . .

[Nurumaiel]

Falco saw Marigold lying on the couch with her pale face and wide, frightened eyes, and for a moment he was brought back to a time when another lassie had lain, pale and frightened, and begging him to go with all speed to tell Fosco that she had fallen and hurt herself, but she was all right, so he needn't believe the wild alarms that had been sounded to him earlier. It took all of Falco's will-power to keep from running to Marigold and assuring himself that she was indeed all right.

He flashed his eyes up to Snaveling. "I should have known better than to trust a Big Folk fellow like you," he said. "How did she fall? What did she fall from?"

"She fell from a horse," said Snaveling simply.

"Oh, so you put her on a horse, did you, now?" cried Falco, shaking his head wildly. "You should have known better than to put a little hobbit girl on a horse."

"Don't be too angry, Mr. Headstrong!" Marigold called from the couch. "It was my fault, I suppose. I wanted to ride on the horse, and I frightened him, and he ran away with me. Mr. Snaveling and Miss Mithalwen were being very careful, really they were."

Falco went to her and sat down beside her, gazing defiantly at the Big Folk fellow and the tall woman (perhaps she was pretty, but beauty was no excuse for carelessness, indeed not!). His look clearly showed that he believed Marigold's words were spoken out of kindness and forgiveness, and that there was not a particle of truth in them. After scowling first at one, and then the other, he turned to Marigold and studied her frightened face. "I think," he said, "it would be better if you were in your bed."

"Oh, but I like it here, Mr. Headstrong," she said. "It's much more interesting."

"Well," he said in a reluctant growl, "you may stay if you would rather stay. But..." He paused to consider. He wanted to show her the clothes he had bought for her, but he didn't dare leave to fetch them. As long as this Big Folk fellow was about, he would not leave Marigold. Maybe she would fall off the couch. No, he could not leave...

"Mr. Snaveling," he said, imperatively, "go to Marigold's room, and fetch what you find on the bed there, and bring it here. I want her to see what I bought her." He did not mention that he did not dare leave her with Snaveling again, but perhaps his look and tone implied it.

[Milady Revenwyn]

Revenwyn hadn't eaten anything hot since she left her home in Rohan. "I'll take the bean and ham soup please. I haven't had a decent meal since I left Rohan." she said after following the server to the larger chair. It fit her 5'10" height pretty decently. She sat there, legs outstretched, her large sword in its scabbard resting on the ground. She didn't anticipate needing it on her person here.

In the light of the fire she rolled up the left sleeve of her tunic to reveal a bloodied bandage. Revenwyn knew she'd have to change it at some point in the night, but she wouldn't do so until she'd at least eaten and gotten her room.

[Mithalwen]

" Don't blame Mr Snaveling Mr Headstrong" said Mithalwen, using her fair voice to full effect. "if anyone is to blame, I am - I let Marigold have a ride on my own horse who is trained to respond to my will, above that of anyone who happens to ride him - a babe would be safe on Aeglos' back. Then I am afraid she climbed onto another horse who did not prove so docile. I should have watched her more carefullt and I am very sorry. Yet, she has come to little harm, for which I am much relieved. If she spends the rest of the day quietly and has an early night, she should be right as rain in the morning - apart from the scratches and bruises which will take a few days. She has a lot of spirit, this child...."

Mithalwen's charm offensive was beginning to have some effect on the hobbit man. "So please do not be harsh on Lord Corondir ...... Mr Snaveling as you call him ... he really just happened to be there". Mithalwen had an instinct that Mr Headstrong might be the type to be impressed by titles. She smiled down from nigh on twice his height. Mr Headstrong started to bluster and she felt she was nearly home. As she spoke she had cleaned and dressed Marigold's wounds, propped her up on cushions and wrapped her in her own soft scarf which served well as a stole for the hobbit child.

"Tell me if your head hurts more or if you feel drowsy .. you should rest but you should not sleep yet". Mithalwen knelt and touched the child's forehead gently but Marigold did not know if the tingling she felt came from the poultice or simply from the elf's fingers, however her head was feeling clearer and she returned Mithalwen's smile.

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

"Uh," said Sherman, "you can put your foot down." He pointed at the foot still dangling in the air by his face.

"Oh! Of course!" said Denegal, and dropped his colorfully garbed foot.

The two discomfited Gondorians recognized a man of noble bearing enter the inn with a purpose, and left Denegal and Falowik, to speak with the newcomer.

"Denegal, friend, perhaps Uien and I could help you with your footwear. We had planned to leave Bywater this afternoon, but there is no hurry. What say you?"

"You would go to such trouble for a stranger?" Denegal asked.

"I assure you," Falowik said, "it would be no great trouble. I think that Uien would like as much to make a friend of you as would I."

Denegal's eyes widened in surprise. After the somewhat caustic exchange with the Gondorians, this Falowik Stonewort's friendliness was almost a shock.

"So be it then! I tell you I would be glad to get my feet out of these circus boots!"

Falowik grinned. "Very well. Let us go fetch Uien in the stables. What say you?"

[Milady Revenwyn]

As Revenwyn waited by the fireplace she started to get warmer. It had been quite wet outside, and the rainwater had seeped through her cloak as well as her tunic and leggings. She hoped that they would dry out overnight before she left to continue her journey the next morning.

It had been a very long trip from Rohan. She and her husband were travelling as they always did. Revenwyn now stared at the simple ring that adorned her left ring finger. Her eyes closed, trying to hide the tears that were building up inside of her.
"Excuse me." she said, "I'll be back inside in a minute." She walked out the door, and around the corner to the back of the inn. There, her tears broke free and convulsive sobs wracked her body.
"Dorian.... why?"

[Milord Aldagrim]

It had been along day for Aldagrim Proudfoot. First, his dog got out again and he had to chase it down all through the town with everyone laughing at him. Then he was late to the brewery and was yelled at by Milo Bolger. He always wanted to get Milo, and now would be a perfect time. He just didn't know what he would do. Then one of the caskets of ale burst all over him and there they were again, laughing at him.

He had gone home for supper, but since he still wasn't married, he had to cook for himself, and even he admitted he was a bad cook. So, he came to the inn every night. He walked up to the inn. The hobbit was rather short for hobbits, and somewhat chunky.

He saw the woman sitting by the door of the inn crying and walked up to her. "Excuse me miss, are you alright?"


---

Please check your PM's ~*~ Pio, Shire Moderator

[samsmyhero]

Denegal stood, ready to go with Falowik in search of Uien in the stables. Just at that moment though, Ruby brushed past heading for another table with a tray of soup bowls. With a guilty start, Denegal remembered the generous bargain Cook had offered, and that he had been shirking his part of it. True, they probably didn't expect him to chop wood in this downpour. But there might be some other work which he could lend a hand in. He had better check or they might think him lazy or a welcher, sipping ale at his leisure and then waltzing off to the stables.

"I don't know where my head has been, Falowik. But I must attend to something before I can take you up on your generous offer. You see, I'm practically penniless. The cook here made me a kind offer of food and a bed in the stable loft in exchange for some work which needed doing around the inn. I was distracted by my fellow countrymen and now that it's raining, I'm unsure what I should be doing. If you'll wait but a moment, I'll ask and see if they've a need for my services right this instant."

"Aye, that only seems right." was Falowik's affable reply. "I'll bide here a bit while you go see."

"Much thanks." Denegal said, as he hurried off after Ruby.

She was just in the process of hanging up a long, green travelling cloak on a peg by the door. Denegal took the cloak from her and hung it up, fanning it out slightly so that it might dry faster. "Why, thank you, Denegal! I'dalmost forgotten you were still about." Ruby gave him her friendly smile.

"Yes, I've been remiss in helping you out. The rain started before I could get to that tree that needs cutting up. (Well, that wasn't quite the truth, but it would suffice) Can I lend you a hand with anything else? You see, I've met someone, Falowik by name, you may know him." Here Denegal gestured back to the table where Falowik sat. "He's offered to help me find some more . . . " Denegal searched for a word that wouldn't offend the little hobbit's earlier magnanimous gesture. "Some more sturdy footwear, and . . . " His voice trailed off. Ruby looked with compassion and some amusement on the young man.

"That's alright! Me and the other girls can handle this crowd just fine. Off with you now, and see if you can't find some nice boots or such!" Ruby winked at him and hurried back towards the kitchen.

Denegal grinned. Well, that was taken care of. He promised himself that when the rain let up he would attack the fallen tree with a fury.

He quickly returned to Falowik, conjuring up a mental image of flinging the abhorent red slippers into the nearest river and slipping his feet instead into a new pair of boots. He was sure the slippers would never be missed.

"I'm ready - they've no need of me at the moment!"Denegal smiled and rubbed his hands together with glee, whether in anticipation of meeting an elf, or the thought of getting rid of the slippers, Falowik could not guess.

[piosenniel]

Cook and Benat

Cook padded after Ginger, wondering what could have gotten into the girl. A giant? A dog the size of a pony? And asking after Mister Bilbo, himself? But she had only to walk into the common room, and there he was. She couldn’t help but stare. He was the largest man she’d ever seen. Taller than any of the Fair Folk, too. And big . . . his chest was nearly the size of one of the huge barrels used for brewing. And those legs of his . . . the breeches could not hide the fact that they were as thick as a small oak’s trunk. Her eyes made their way to his face, and she breathed a sigh of relief as he smiled her way and nodded in greeting.

‘What was his name?’ Cook whispered to Ginger. ‘Benat,’ came the reply from the girl who passed by her and drew near the man’s table.

Cook could hear a loud THUMP . . . THUMP . . . that came in a steady and quickening rhythm. Ginger held out a hand and made some beckoning noises. And there, indeed, was the largest dog that Cook had ever seen. The creature came walking up to Ginger, his tail wagging so hard, it fair shook the tables it brushed against as it passed by them. ‘This is Cullen,’ laughed Ginger as the dog gave her a welcoming slurp on her cheek.

‘Oh my!’ said Cook, her right hand held against her wildly beating heart. She took a deep breath to recover herself, then stepped up near to Benat. She kept a wary eye on the dog; she was never one to take a shine to creatures of the canine persuaion, especially since they always seemed bent on bedeviling her beloved cats.

‘Master Benat,’ she said, giving the man a small bow. ‘I’m Vinca Bunce, the long-time cook here at the Inn. Ginger, here, tells me you’re asking after Mister Bilbo. Can I answer any questions for you?’

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Hobbling into the inn, Dwaline the Dwarf leant heavily on his staff. He had spent a long time at his home some way up the road from the inn, sending letters off to his friends in distant parts, that he had decided to stay in the shire for his "Retirement". Which he saw as long overdue. His long, green cloak had been soaked in the rain and he hung it up on a peg.

He had invited some young Dwarves to help in the cleaning up of his small cottage like house, they had done a remarkable job and Dwaline had paid them, much to their delight, in pearls as well as gold. Dwaline had just watched them ride away in a now unlade cart, all chatting about what they were going to do with what Dwaline had given them.

Shuffling to the bar, Dwaline looked the bar maid in the eye with a wide and satisfied grin on his face. He placed a small bag of gold coins on the bar and said in a content and moderately quiet voice,

"A pint of your finest ale, if you would be so kind." The bar maid smiled back at him and soon placed the mug before him. He drank deep and studied his surroundings. Many Hobbits were drinking and singing and being generally merry. Although he noticed a little commotion in the common room, peeking with a curious eye, he thought better of intervening. Besides, his axe may have been Sharpe, but his arm was not as strong as it had once been.

[Encaitare]

What an interesting lot of people! Caity thought as she entered the Common Room.

On her way in from her gardening, she had passed a party of several Men, and had cast an amused glance at one of them because of his flamboyant footwear. She had then gone up to her room and washed her grimy fingernails and toenails to the best of her ability. When she was satisfied, she had gone down to the Common Room once more with her whistle in her hand and an ocarina carefully stashed in her pocket, and it seemed that the room had become packed to the brim with unusual characters.

She warily eyed a huge man and his equally huge dog. Its master did not seem dangerous, but the hound was disconcerting in its great size, so she did her best to avoid it. Finding herself a table and sitting down, she idly played a few notes on her whistle as she people-watched. She then began to play a few simple songs, including one tune that she had made up herself. When she looked up again, it seemed that there was some kind of commotion going on across the room. It looked as though Mr. Snaveling and Mr. Headstrong were arguing; then Mithalwen spoke and calmed the eldery hobbit down. The Elf bent over something, or someone; Snaveling exited at a word from her.

Curious, Caity rose and went to see what was happening. She was alarmed to see a young hobbit girl -- Marigold, she believed her name was -- lying on a couch, all scraped up.

"Excuse me, Mithalwen," she said, "I don't mean to be nosy, but what's happened to her? Is she alright?"

Falco grumbled a little but stopped at a glance from the Elf. "She took a spill is all," she responded. "She will be fine in a little while." Mithalwen turned to the lass. "Look, Marigold, you've a visitor already." The girl looked up tiredly.

"Hello," Caity greeted her. "My name's Caity Brandybuck. I hear you're not feeling so well?"

Marigold shook her head a little, but then stopped, wincing as it hurt her.

Caity had an idea; she knelt down beside the couch and drew the ocarina from her pocket. "Have you ever seen one of these before?"

"No," Marigold said with interest. "What is it?"

"It's called an ocarina. It's a musical instrument -- I'll play something for you if you like. What's your favorite song?"

[Nurumaiel]

"I... don't know," said Marigold, after a little pause for reflection. "I like every song my papa used to sing to me. But you could play me Mairi's Wedding. They played that song at the hand-fasting yesterday, and I liked it very much. My papa used to sing it to me, you know."

"Did your father know many songs?" Falco inquired, his tone less gruff than before. Marigold, of course, had some small ability to make him cheerier, and Caity also possessed that talent. He had been much delighted with her playing of the tin whistle on the previous evening, and couldn't help but feel a bit better when she was about.

"Oh, yes, he knew every so many songs," said Marigold earnestly. "He knew more songs than any other hobbit in Bywater, I'm sure of it. He had a wonderful voice, but not just in one way. He could make you cry or laugh or scowl when he sang, depending on what he was singing. He could make a song have feeling instead of just words."

"Ah, I know how that is," said Falco, with a little smile. "I had a friend who could sing much like that. But, here now, we should let Miss Caity play her song." The both of them fell silent and Caity, with a little bit of a blush, began to play. Like Marigold, Falco had never hear of this 'orcina' before, and at the name he had wondered if it had anything to do with those 'orcs' some of the travellers in the Shire would mention. He was not prepared for the sweet, melodious sound that came forth, and by that surprise his pleasure of her playing was greatly increased.

When she finished, Marigold clapped her hands together with all enthusiasm, and smiled brightly. "That was very lovely, Miss Brandybuck," she said. "I saw you playing with Mr. Headstrong yesterday, with your tin whistle, you know. You're very good at music."

As Caity blushed and thanked the little girl, Snaveling re-entered the Common Room, an assortment of dresses slung over his arm. Falco was in front of him in an instant, taking the clothes and inspecting them carefully to make sure they had not been soiled (weren't Big Folk fellows always dirty?). But, his mood somewhat improved by Caity's music, he gave a nod and a few words of thanks, and then went to Marigold.

She squealed with delight when she saw the dresses, and piled them all on her lap, going through them again and again, and marvelling over their pretty patterns and fabrics. Falco watched her with a contented smile.

"Have you never had such fine dresses before?" he asked.

"Oh, I've had such lovely dresses," said Marigold. "My papa used to buy the prettiest fabrics, and my mamma would sew them together wonderfully. But Mrs. Hilldweller dressed me in plain, dark colours, like her own children, so it's been awhile since I've had such lovely clothes." She turned her shining eyes up to Falco's face. "Oh, thank you, Mr. Heastrong!" she cried.

Falco coughed and the colour mounted slightly on his cheeks, but he merely said indifferently. "My pleasure, Marigold."

[Sett]

Galither spent many the hour slumped on his horse as he trot around the shire in agony. He was holding onto the horse hard clutching it in his arms width as it slowly carried him up and down the hills. Aching from the bitter weather hitting him like sheaves of glass. Each raindrop falling from the unforgiving sky in a violent fashion as it whisks down fast. Constricting his lungs were becoming unbearable for Galither as he tried to escape his jaded state of mind among the muddy paths that dragged the horse down causing Galither to feel unwary and confused as to what had happened.

Moments later he saw the green dragon inn over the hillside and used his last grain of strength to pull the horse into galloping towards the inn but it too was fatigued and not available to such commands. The horse fell to its knees as it skids down the now muddy path leading towards the safe haven from the malevolent weather.

He made it to the courtyard when both him and horse fell to the ground.
Galither was now dreaming of his love Esmerelda. He could see her radiant beauty gushing in the flower filled meadows with the light of the heavens shining down on his soul. He felt her touch on his heart as she knelt by him under the ever-growing purity of the sun. She was so elegant as she lied next to him with a gentle smile of great happiness. He closed his eyes and sighed in joy.

He opened his eyes again but did not find any white horses or golden angels but the stable master at his side as Galither lied in the thick puddle drowning. He was too stressed out at this point to realise what was going on around him. He felt his body being dragged along the hard floor but it felt relaxing for some strange reason perhaps this was because he was out of the weather. He was now full unaware of anything going on around him until he woken up in the pre-booked room the men rented out a while ago. There was a women standing in the corner with hot soup for him but he was too blind of sight to make out any features. He fell back down in frustration that there was nothing he could do. He tried to feel his chest, which had a bandage over it, but he did not know how it got there so for now discarded it so that he could again be with his love Esmerelda.

[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)

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

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.

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EVERYONE

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

Thanks!

Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[piosenniel]

TIME IN THE SHIRE

It is now just a little after noon.

The sky remains quite grey but the rain is starting to lessen a little . . .

Lunch is still being served: Thick, savory bean with ham soup; baskets of fresh baked bread, thick sliced. Platters of cheese to pile on the bread with mustard and pickles.

A hearty lunch for a cold day . . . and all washed down with ale, cider, tea, or water.

And for dessert - hot apple crisp with a flaky pastry crust.

[Noinkling]

Benat had many questions stirring in his mind. He shifted in his chair as if trying to move what was most important to the fore. He simply had not thought that he would not find Mr. Baggins when he came to the Shire. His Granda had told him many wonderful stories of the small fellow, a main theme of each being that though the Hobbit was game for an adventure, still his heart seemed to lie in the home he’d come from. The Shire. He’d really hoped to find Bilbo and ask him whatever happened when he and the Dwarves left the safety of the Carrock and ventured into the Dark Wood and then on to the Lonely Mountain. And had there been any more adventures after that one, he wondered?

He came out of his reverie and excused himself for his rudeness. ‘Please,’ he said standing up a bit and waving his hand toward the empty chair at his table. ‘Do sit down with me for a while. I do have many questions I would ask of you. I just don’t know where to begin them.’

Ginger had fetched a pitcher of ale by this time, and a small mug for Cook and now poured each of them a foaming drink. She’d also managed a rather large ham bone from the kitchen and gave it to Cullen, who thumped his tail heartily at the gift.

Raising his mug to Cook, Benat took a healthy swallow, then began his story, starting with the arrival of the wizard, the Hobbit, and the Dwarves to his Granda’s house in mid-summer many years ago. He backed the story up just a bit before going on, saying that this strange group of travelers had just escaped being trapped by wolves in a most amazing way – the eagles had come to their rescue. It was after this that they had fled to the Carrock and the safety of his Granda’s house. They had stayed barely a day, long enough for his Granda to hear of their adventures to that point and the proposed journey to be undertaken. Then off they’d gone, on horses leant them – east to the Dark Forest and beyond. It had pleased his Granda no end that Mister Bilbo had been such an appreciative dinner guest. And noting that the Hobbit quite enjoyed the fresh bread spread thick with his Granda’s bees own honey, the old man had always meant to send Mister Baggins a pot or two to remind him of their meeting.

‘And well, here, now, I am. Bringing the honey from my Granda’s bee hives. He got too old to do it himself, and besides, we rarely travel beyond the borders of our own little land. And now, besides, he’s passed away, a number of years now, leaving me to find out the rest of the story.’

Benat sighed and shook his great head sorrowfully.

[piosenniel]

Cook and Benat

Cook listened quietly as the man spoke. Mister Bilbo’s adventure had come to her in dribbles and drabbles she recalled. Mostly stories from the older Hobbits, and it was difficult to separate the facts from the fiction. And to be honest, much of the ‘fact’ seemed like grand storytelling themselves. Wolves and Eagles, goblins and murderous spiders. And treasure . . . and above all, a Dragon with fiery breath, jeweled scales, and great claws and teeth and vast wings. And the ring, of course, found in the deep cave . . . the magic ring . . . the one that brought all the trouble later for Mister Frodo.

‘I won’t pretend to know the answer to your question of what happened to Mister Bilbo on his adventure. Though bits and pieces have woven themselves into the memory of the Shire, there is much of the story he never told us.’

Benat’s face, at first hopeful, now looked crestfallen once again.

‘He never told us outright, I should say. And what he did say has got all twisted up in the telling. Sorry to say many of my relatives thought kindly of the old fellow, but also figured him for an odd duck . . . what with his wanderings and all.’ She leaned forward, looking Benat in the eye. ‘You did know his nephew caught the adventuring bug. Went off with the same wizard and that ring his uncle found. And I think I heard there was a Dwarf with him, too. And one or two of the Fair Folk. A spider was in there somewhere, and the eagles. Very strange family, the Baggins . . . with respect to their travels.’ ‘But for the most part, kindly thought of,’ she pronounced.

Cook rubbed her chin in a considering manner. ‘You know,’ she said, nodding her head as the thought came to her. ‘there is someone I could introduce you to. His name is Sam . . . Samwise Gamgee. He’s our Mayor. Traveled with Mister Frodo. Now I know he has a book, that Mister Bilbo started and Mister Frodo continued. And I’m pretty sure it tells of their adventures.’ She nodded her head again. ‘You spend the night here . . . I think we can fit you into one of our large rooms . . . put two mattresses together on the floor; that oughta do it. Then tomorrow, I’ll send a note up to Mister Sam, telling him about you, and asking if I can bring you up. What do you say to that?’

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen reflected that the seeming catastrophe was recovering itself remarkably quickly. Mr Headstrong was positively purring with pleasure at Marigold's delight in his gifts. It was evident that Marigold had suffered no major trauma and was happy in Caity's company under Falco's benevolent eye. Already more people had arrived to distract the inn staff from the incident andfro that she was grateful - though she must make a point of thanking whoever made the poultice.

She curled her long body into the next windowseat, near enough to tend Marigold swiftly if needed but far enough not to have to engaged in conversation with Mr Headstrong - who although he had calmed down, still evidently had no great opinion of her or Snaveling.

She could not blame him. She had arrived as a chance visitor barely 36 hours before and aswell as gate crashing a wedding, she had endangered the life of a hobbit child. Why had she stayed? Aeglos' shoe had been replaced, and he was rested. As for the weather - well she had journeyed in worse before and would do so again. If she were honest with herself she would have to admit, that she had become intrigued by the people she had met here. However her interest was beginning to blend with interference. She began to realise that there might be good reasons why the eldar did not mingle overmuch with mortals.

She sighed and watched a particular raindrop make its course down the pain. She rested her head against the glass and thought of her own home at Mithlond. There she would regard it as a good day to get on with her work. Maybe jsut a walk to blow the cobwebs away. Work... perhaps it mightbe worth starting some if she was not going to get on with her journey directly - not creating from new perhaps but perhaps a few repairs. She had soem money still but baling out snaveling had been an unexpected drain on her resources.

Snaveling! A thought that had been on the edge of her consciousness at the moment that Felarof had bolted, now came clearly into her mind. Felarof was as fine as just about any horse Mithalwen had seen in an age of the world. He would have been noble enough to bear an elf lord and mighty enough to carry even a man of Numenor of old. But Snaveling had made a gift of him. Snaveling whose garments combined shabby finery with borrowed robes, Snaveling who had given the impression he would have gone hungry this day had it not been for her clearing his tab. She herself did not bring all her wealth a journeying admittedly, but it seemed bizarre that a man who could not afford to eat was making such kingly gifts.

Too late, did she remember Snaveling's proximity. She closed her mind and looked up to see him studying her, as he sat in a chair a little way away. She knew he could have read her thought if he had so chosen. He was a dunadan, whether or not he chose to describe himself as thus. But how much had he read of her thought? Maybe he his glance had been prompted by her sudden movement. She sprang to her feet with the pretext of fetching a drink for Marigold. She fetched tea for herself, and forcing herself to seem natural she presented Snaveling with a cup. " Tea, Tar Corondir" , her voice was steady but she was unable to tell from his eyes how much of her mind he had discerned.

[Noinkling]

The grin on his face was so wide at Cook’s plan that it nearly split his face in two. Several of the Small Folk nearby moved further away, he noted, with looks of alarm on their faces. They were somewhat assured when he closed his mouth and nodded in a friendly manner toward Cook and them.

It was indeed his great grin that had sent a mild chill through them. His teeth were large, though not overly so for his size, and his great sharp canines seemed particularly wicked to them as they flashed in the revealing smile. One of them whispered to his companions that it reminded him of the bear head he’d seen mounted in the Common Room in Bree’s Inn. ‘The monster set upon the lambs of one of the Bree farmers near Archet. Spring it was. The snow hardly off the ground. A number of those from the surrounding farms gathered together to take care of the problem,’ he said, eyeing Benat quickly. ‘Killed a couple of them with his mighty paws,’ he went on. ‘The got the beast, though.’ He was about to make further comment when a low grumble . . . no, more of a warning growl intruded on his story. The hair on the back of the Hobbit’s neck stood up, and he eased his gaze toward the source of the sound. Benat was giving him a considering look and his large dog had come to stand by his master’s chair and was looking pointedly at the now quaking Hobbit. The little fellow excused himself with some quavering excuse that he had things to see to, as did his tablemates, who hurried out the door without looking back.

Benat turned his attention back to Cook, being careful not to grin too widely again. ‘That is a most generous offer on your part, Mistress Bunce. And I would gladly take you up on it.’ He paused for a moment. ‘I feel as if I owe you something for your kindness. Something beyond the price of a room and meals. Is there some task I can set my hand to that would help out here at the Inn?’

[Envinyatar]

‘I think perhaps that we should be heading back,’ Zimzi said, nudging Derufin with her elbow. ‘We’ve a roomful of mathoms to clear away if you hope ever to have a meal cooked in our own kitchen.’ She pulled her shawl about her shoulders, watching him as he drained the last of his mug.

Derufin grinned impishly at her as he leaned back in his chair. ‘You cook? You actually cook?’ Before the last words were out of his mouth he jumped quickly from his chair, nearly knocking it over. Zimzi had a dangerous glint in her eye and a soup bowl at hand.

She laughed at his ungraceful exit form the chair. ‘You didn’t really expect me to crash this on your thick skull, did you . . . my dear?’

The others at the table egged Derufin on. It was after all a grey, rainy day, and a little entertainment was appreciated. But he disappointed them by apologizing for his rash remark . . . though he meant it only in jest, he assured her.

‘Cold rations for you today, Mister Derufin,’ joked Gil, his friends joining in on his laughter.

‘Not a bad idea, Master Gil,’ Zimzi returned winking at the Hobbit, who blushed a bright crimson at her attention. ‘But, I’m afraid it will be cold rations for both of us if we do not get back and get those things stowed away.’

They said their good-byes and headed out toward the groundskeeper’s cottage. It was sprinkling on and off, and Zimzi draped her shawl up over her head. Soon they had reached the little path that led from the stable to the cottage and turned up it. They were nearing one of the little patches of flower garden when Zimzi stopped suddenly, a perplexed look on her face.

‘What do you see?’ asked Derufin, narrowing his eyes at the scene before them. It all looked about the same to him as when they’d left.

‘That tree there,’ Zimzi said, pointing to the hawthorn that stood with branches outstretched over the new little plantings. ‘I’m very sure it wasn’t there when we left the cottage this morning.’

Derufin shrugged his shoulders. He honestly could not recall a tree or no tree, for that matter. ‘Well, it looks harmless enough,’ he commented, putting his hands on her shoulders and propelling her toward the covered porch. ‘The rain’s picking up. Let’s get inside.’ He took one last look back at the hawthorn. It looked normal enough . . .

[Sett]

After a dream of much pleasure for Galither he woke at the sound of mugs clattering there way up stairs. The echo travelled up to his room like waves each note hitting the walls. He heard a girl humming along to the noise as she too made her way to the rooms. The girl knocked on Galither’s door to inquire what he wanted off the tray.

“I will take whatever you may so choose to offer me kind lady” Galither replied.

“Well how about savoury beans with ham soup with some bread, cheese, mustard and pickles” the woman said

“Well a very hearty meal to say the least. Okay I will take it all, as my body needs all the strength it can get if I am to meet my men. May I ask ma’am what is your name for I wish to know my healer.”

“Buttercup Brownlock” the women replied

“A very pretty name you have there. It seems all shire folk share beauty in their names.”

She poured out the soup into a bowl for Galither with the rest of his meal. He sat up to eat the hot soup and soft bread. He spread all the toppings onto the bread and then sank his teeth into meal. The girl then left the room and Galither was left to finish off the filling meal. He was really enjoying the succulent soup as it spread through his body and hit his stomach with the softest of touches it was like his love Esmerelda was touching him. It was so heavenly and tranquil that he feels back of the soft pillow and returned to the dreams of old very swiftly.

[samsmyhero]

Denegal and Falowik had passed out into the inn yard in search of Uien. They had gotten no further than the pump under which Denegal had sluiced himself earlier, when their erstwhile companion, Galither, appeared. Slumped over the neck of his horse, he seemed barely able to hold on. Indeed, when he reached the yard, he fell from the horse in a swoon.

The two men quickly went to Galither's side, Meriadoc running over to join them. Feeling for a pulse, Falowik opined "I see no wounds, and his hearbeat is strong and steady. I think he's just fallen unconscious."

"I know when he arrived earlier, he and his comrades had secured a room for themselves." Denegal said, touching his palm to Galither's brow. "He doesn't have a fever. A pity his friends have gone off. Perhaps we should carry him to his room and make sure someone more knowledgeable in healing sees to him. "

"As it happens, Uien is a healer." Falowik replied. " Let's get him inside where it's warm and dry and then we'll fetch her."

So saying, the three hoisted Galither by the arms and legs and carried him into the inn and up to his room. He was heavy, even for the three, and they had to somewhat drag him across the common room floor. Meriadoc called to Buttercup to come along with them so that she also could ascertain his condition. They laid him on one of the beds in the room, still unconscious.

"I'll take it from here, gentlemen." Buttercup shooed them from the room. "if I need anything, I'll let you know."

"My companion, Uien the elf, may be arriving shortly - she is a skilled healer and may be of assistance." Falowik profferred. Buttercup nodded her head in understanding.

Falowik hurried down the stairs, followed by Denegal. "I wonder what that was all about?" Denegal pondered out loud.

"It's certainly mysterious, Galither leaving the inn so suddenly and then reappearing only to fall at our feet, practically. If it's love that's responsible, I'd say your fellow countryman can match you tale for tale with some sad story of love lost." Falowik replied with a smile.

Denegal crossed his arms over his chest as they stepped out once more into the yard and walked quickly towards the stable. The rain was beginning to let up, but the wind was still brisk. Denegal was truly glad he had a warm place to sleep for the night. "Well, Falowik, perhaps if he comes to, tonight we can each tell our respective tale of woe and see which is the sadder - you and your love can be the judge!" Denegal let out a chuckle which quickly turned into a short curse as he carelessly stepped in a puddle, soaking his feet up to the ankles.

"Oh well, at least your shoes won't be ruined - they can't be any worse than they are!" Falowik laughed heartily as he looked at Denegal's drenched feet. "Come, let's hurry out of this rain and find Uien"

[Huan]

He’d come north to Bree from Lond Daer Enedh, a once great harbour of his people. Now its ancient ruins were but a fading reminder of the welcoming haven it once had been for the ships of Westernesse. Anyopâ had followed the example of his brothers and left home when he was thirty to explore the lands north. He knew in due time he would return to his family holding and turn his hand to the family business. Colors and shapes from the places he visited would then be woven into the settings he designed for the jewels his brothers crafted. He would marry, and have many sons. They would learn the craft from him and then leave, themselves, for a while . . . keeping the tradition and passing it on.

But this was his time. And now his travels brought him west on The Great Road, into the green, rolling lands of the Shire. At the Floating Log, he’d made the acquaintance of a merchant dealing in herbs and spices. The Halfling was a garrulous fellow and the miles flew by as he pointed out the sights along the way. There were a number of stops at various little places off the track, with goods exchanged for other items which were in turn exchanged at other places for other things . . . ‘mathoms’, a new word he’d learned, these objects were often called. It was rare, he found, that coin was exchanged for what the merchant offered.

The rain had begun this day, as soon as they’d set out. It was after noon, now, and the Halfling and man sat hunched over on the seat of the cart, their cloaks pulled tight about them, wide-brimmed hats keeping the drops from their chilled faces. Soon they came to Bywater and were even now turning down the muddy path to The Green Dragon Inn. The merchant pulled up to the stable. He seemed to be a familiar face there, as the stableman, a young Halfling called Meriadoc called to him by name and took the reins, talking low to the ponies as he held them still while the two got down.

Anyopâ and his companion headed in to the Inn, pausing briefly on the verandah to shake the water from their cloaks and hats. ‘Get us a seat,’ the merchant said, nodding toward a table by the crackling fire. ‘I’ll find us some food and drink.’ Anyopâ’s gaze took in the occupants in the great room. What a myriad of people! He sat down to wait for the Halfling, letting the snatches of conversations, the rustle of clothes, the scuff of boots and bare feet on the wooden floor and the swirl of colors and shapes wash over him in a welcoming arrangement of sight and sound.

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik and Denegal splashed through the downpour to the stable, grateful for the cozy dryness and its odiferousness.

"There you are, Laurëatan! You have been a while!" Uien, idly brushing Kirsúl, looked at Falowik with a smile, her large blue eyes taking in him and the stranger. "You have brought a friend, I see."

"This is Denegal. I met him in the Common room in the Inn," Falowik explained.

Uien nodded her head and regarded Denegal steadily, looking into him as much as upon; an Elf, she had to will herself not to look at one so, and did not think of it now. "I greet you, friend Denegal."

Denegal stared dumbly.

"Um," said Falowik, "he is from Gondor. And is in need of more serviceable footwear. Denegal?"

Denegal took a deep breath as though coming out of deep thought. "I am sorry. I have had little to do with Elves. 'Tis no wonder you name her your loadstone, Falowik."

Falowik blushed and coughed into his hand, but Uien laughed lightly. "Let me see those shoes of yours, Denegal."

"Well, they are not really my shoes, thank goodness...." he quickly related his story of footware misfortune.

Uien said, "Falowik works leather and I can sew well enough. Once the shower lets up, we can shop for leather and fit you well enough. You can pay us in the meantime with a tale from Gondor."

"We might as well do so in the Common room," said Falowik sheepishly, "for in all the coming and going, I forgot to settle our bill."

Kirsúl whinnied loudly. Uien turned to him. "Rest a little while longer, my friend. It is pouring out. Soon we shall be on our way." Kirsúl subsided and brushed Uien's face with his nose. "To the common room then, Denegal?" Uien asked.

[Amanaduial the archer]

"Goodness me, child, what happened to your head?"

All in the small corner of the room turned around to see Aman standing behind them, her arms crossed. Sure as ever, sun had come after the rain, and the light from the window under which Marigold sat seemed to spotlight the Innkeeper, highlighting on the light, elusive golds in her hair and glinting off the horseshoe necklace which was visible due to the heart neckline of her pale blue dress. She noticed Snaveling's eyes fall on it and hover there for a brief second, squinting at the necklace, before his eyes moved up to her face. Aman remained standing still, eyebrows raised. Tapping one foot lightly on the floor, she made a small decisive sound and sighed, before she smiled with tired eyes at Snaveling and Mithalwen, wrinkling her nose a little so that the pale freckles danced. "What?" she asked slowly. "You both look like naughty schoolchildren caught in the act."

Mithalwen laughed, grinning at Aman as she rose. "Good morning, Aman - or should I say good afternoon?" she added with a wink.

"Good afternoon indeed." Ruby's voice huffed from behind them as the hobbit bustled past Aman to clear the table in front of Snaveling of it's debris. "Someone," she continued ominously, wiping the table. "Someone had a little too much to drink last night, courtesy of those no-good brothers of Zimz, I'll be bound; and consequently spent this morning sleeping off the night before..." she trailed off and set Aman with a disapproving look that would rival Cook's very own collection of choice matronly expressions. Aman raised one eyebrow and returned her gaze steadily, but she couldn't hide the tired rings around her green eyes, and eventually had to break the gaze when she stifled a yawn. Ruby looked satisfied and gave an impish, 'told-you-so' smile as she continued clearing the table. Aman glared at her then asked Mithalwen if she could join them. The elf accepted gladly and Aman made her way around the table past Snaveling to sit on the padded bench beside Marigold, under the window - as she moved past Snaveling, the back of her dress brushed his legs and a whiff of freshly washed hair caught his attention, and his curiosity. The Innkeeper wasn't prone to taking a shower or bath in the morning...

Ruby, by nature, was not quite spiteful; but the hobbit did have a certain sense of humour that rather enjoyed Aman's evident discomfort. The hobbit server was not finished yet - spinning balletically on her heel, her hands full of china and glass, she left a few parting shots: business as usual. "Several people called for you this morning, Aman - one delivering a letter, another with a message, he says, and one other who was asking if he could help about the place, although I think...I think Cook is dealing with that request..." she trailed off, looking around the crowded Common room. Aman's gaze fell on the certain individual who Ruby was looking and her eyes widened - the man was a giant! Looking alarmed, she glanced at Ruby for an explanation. The hobbit shrugged, a hopeless expression on her face. "He asked for you earlier, but then, he also asked for various other strange characters...coffee?"

Aman raised an eyebrow and grinned properly at Ruby. "Thank you for that insight, Ruby." She paused, she added, "Oh, and yes, please, coffee would be perfect. What sort of characters?"

Ruby tipped her head onto one side, thinking. "Well, he mentioned something 'bout dwarves...and the white wizard..." she clicked her fingers and beamed. "And was askin' about Mr Bilbo Baggins!"

Aman blinked. "Bilbo? Why on earth-"

Ruby shrugged unhelpfully again, the china cups clinking musically against each other as she moved away. "Who knows, Aman - like you say, all sorts..." she called over her shoulder, chuckling to herself. Aman watched her go for a moment, then shook her head and rubbed her eyes, turning back to Marigold. Concern replaced tiredness as she saw again the fresh blood on the girl's forehead, and she raised one hand to it, tipping the girl's chin with her other hand so that she could see better. "Goodness, Marigold, how did you manage that, you silly thing?"

Marigold giggled at Aman's choice of words, then answered, "I fell off your horse, Falfar...Folaro...Felfalo-"

"Felarof," Aman corrected. Although she did not turn around, she sensed Snaveling freeze up. Continuing her inspection of the little girl's head, she made a face, then continued, "Why on earth were you all the way up on Felarof, Marigold? I was under the impression both my horses were snug in their stalls..."

The hobbit girl squirmed slightly, avoiding Aman's eyes. "I...I wanted to see what it felt like. 'Cos," she rushed on quickly, wanting to justify herself. "'Cos he's such a lovely horse, so pretty, and after all, you can't keep all of these mysterious gifts to yourself..." she trailed off coyly, giggling. Aman let go of her chin and looked Marigold in the eyes, smiling - the little girl's amusement was delightful, but she was somewhat confused, to say the least.

"Mysterious gifts? Why, I don't think I've had any of those for a while..." she answered, scratching her head comically as if thinking. Marigold nodded, her curls tossing lightly, spun to gold in the light of the rain-drenched sun, and she wagged a finger at the woman in her best childish impression of a hobbit goodwife. "Nice try, young lady," she reprimanded Aman sternly, doing a startlingly good impression of Vinca. "We all know who gave you Falforo-"

"Felarof," Aman corrected automatically. She looked Marigold dead in the eyes. "And who exactly would that be?"

Marigold pursed her lips, raising her finger to them.

Aman sighed, then leant down, beckoning the little girl to whisper it into her ear. The little hobbit lass leant forward conspiratorially, her lips tickling Aman's ear, her breath warm against the Innkeeper's skin. "Your lover!" she whispered breathily.

Aman's head shot backwards, her eyes wide. "My what?"

Marigold giggled delightedly and clapped her hands in glee, then beckoned Aman back down again. The Innkeeper leant forward, now almightily confused, to hear Marigold's account of this incredible character who had now entered her life. Marigold cupped her hand to Aman's ear and continued, this time in a whisper loud enough for both Mithalwen and Snaveling to hear perfectly well. "Your lover! You have a love, but it has to be a secret; he's wildly in love with you, but sends you gifts from afar to express his devotion for you. A Gondorian ranger, deeply in love with a beautiful Rohirrim maiden..." she clasped her hands to her chest melodramatically and swooned.

The action was so overdone and comical that both Mithalwen and Aman couldn't help but burst out laughing. Snaveling, Aman noted, managed only a sort of strained smile. Aman regained her breath and tickled Marigold gently. "And the identity of my secret Gondorian? Tell me or I'll tickle you to death!"

Marigold laughed wildly as Aman's fingers wiggled their way around her stomach, batting against the Innkeeper's grasp as she squirmed. Mithalwen joined in and all three of them were soon laughing, before Marigold finally elicited her answer.

"Snaveling!"

Aman's tickling faltered and stopped abruptly as she stared at Marigold, her laughter halting. "Sn...Snaveling?" she stammered.

Marigold nodded, swinging her feet childishly on the seat. "Yup yup yup! I know it's him, 'cos he told us it was!"

"Aman-" Snaveling began, as Aman turned to him in confusion and outrage.

"Your Gondorian lover! Tar-Coriander!" Marigold crowed delightedly.

No-one corrected the little girl this time, and there was an awkward pause as Aman stared at Snaveling in confusion and hurt, and the silence that reigned was really anything but golden: it was a murky and dark shade of confusion, splattered with patches of scarlet-shivering hurt. None of the three adults spoke for a moment, before Snaveling began.

"Aman, I didn't tell her-"

"Coffee!" Ruby's singsong voice broke the awkwardness along with the merry clatter of china cups on the tray. Aman and Mithalwen both leapt around to face her, and Aman's face broke into a practised smile as she stood to take the tray from Ruby, thanking her profusely. Ruby winked and leant in conspiratorially, not unlike little Marigold. "Take the edge off your hangover, Miz Aman," she murmured, tapping the side of her nose with her forefinger.

Aman smiled weakly and sipped the strong coffee gratefully as Marigold began to chatter vivaciously again about Felarof and the other 'horsies', taking the edge off the awkward silence rather than Aman's supposed headache. Mithalwen glanced at her carefully, but turned her attention to distracting Marigold, chattering back to her patiently.

Snaveling's eyes didn't leave Aman's face.

[piosenniel]

Cook sets a task for Benat

‘Something you can do, eh?’ Cook took another sip of her ale and ran some chores needed doing through her mind. She wondered if the man fished or hunted, but then recalled what Ginger had said about his not eating any meats. Well, all for the best anyway. If she sent him off to the woods or the stream there were sure to be reports of a marauding giant looking to harm the good folk of the Shire. The shiriff and his men were sure to be called up and it would be an interminable time before the whole misunderstanding was unraveled. No, she should keep him on the Inn grounds . . . less apt to be trouble that way.

Her face suddenly brightened as a thought came to her. There were a number of large, downed trees near the groundskeeper’s cottage. They’d been used for the repairs on the place before Derufin and Zimzi had moved in. Perhaps Benat could see to getting them to the Inn’s back yard and he and that other fellow . . . now what was his name? - the one with the missing left boot - they could buck and split them for the stove and fireplaces.

Calling for a wee refill for the both of them, she posed her proposition to Benat . . .

[Mithalwen]

One disaster averted another created thought Mithalwen, she had forgotten in the aftermath of Marigold's escapade, that noone had corrected her misapprehension. Was now the time? "Marigold dear... I don't think you have got that quite right" she said clearly...and was then stymied. She did not feel free to say that she believed Snaveling's heart was engaged elsewhere. She looked helplessly at Snaveling. "Wht an imagination you have but I think your bump has muddled you - and you are meant to be resting not getting overexcited may be you should rest in your room"

"But.... but... " started Marigold ..

"Only goats butt, Marigold" said Mithalwen quoting an exasperated hobbit mother she had overheard yesterday at the wedding party. Then her expression softened, " You look as if you have been dragged though a hedge backwards. Lets take your new clothes up to your room and get you tidied up. You can choose something to wear, then you can come back down and show Mr Headstrong how pretty you look, ? "

She hoped she wasn't being cowardly but she felt Aman and Snaveling might prefer not to have spectators..

[samsmyhero]

Denegal had been quite overawed by the sight of Uien. For one so recently bruised by the capricious bludgeoning of love, he looked every bit ready to fall head over heels once more. He was barely able to stammer his way through a brief explanantion of his slippers, hoping in the dim light of the stables that the blush he felt suffusing his face was not readily apparent. Barely taking in the fact that Falowik and Uien themselves were offering to make new boots for him, he awkwardly turned, ramming his shoulder into the hay manger, as the three proceeded back to the inn.

Upon entering the common room, Falowik went in search of one of the servers, to settle his bill. Denegal stood uncomfortably at the elf's side, tongue tied and not knowing what to say. Sensing his discomfort, Uien gestured to an empty table nearby. "Why don't we sit at ease while we wait for Falowik? I'm sure he won't be long.”

Denegal slid gratefully onto the bench, and cleared his throat nervously as Uien sat beside him. “I’m sorry, . . . but, I’ve never spoken to an elf before. Actually, I’ve never even seen an elf before, that is, besides the queen, and then only from far off. I mean, it’s not as if I’d have spoken to her or anything . . . “ His voice trailed off. “What I mean,” he tried again,” is, what do I, er, call you?” Risking a quick glance at her face, he saw the various contortions one usually makes when trying not to laugh. Dismayed at his total inability to speak sensibly, Denegal returned his eyes to the table top and stared woodenly at a knothole in the surface.

“Please, friend, call me Uien, for that is my name.” The beautiful elf placed one of her slender, elegant hands on his arm, and immediately, a warmth spread out from the touch, calming the young man and quieting his nerves. Denegal immediately felt at ease with his new companion and finally found his tongue.

“Uien, then. I want to thank you and Falowik for your generous offer.” He reflected that probably not many men went shod in boots made by elven kind.” I hope I’ll be able to repay you somehow. You asked for a tale of Gondor, but any story I might be able to tell would surely be poor recompense for any favor. I’m afraid I myself have no skill in the weaving of a good yarn, although I do know a funny joke or two.” Here he paused, it suddenly occurring to him that said jokes were probably not of the sort to tell to a woman of any race. “ But I’m sure they would bore you.” He hurried on. “And of my own life, there’s little enough to tell; it’s been a quiet one for the most part.” Denegal recalled his earlier jest with Falowik, that he and Galither should recount their tales of love and allow Uien to judge whose was better. But now, in her presence, he felt a great reluctance to tell a tale that would surely paint him a fool.

Falowik returned to the table and sat down. “Well, that’s taken care of! Now, shall we have our payment first, or find some leather and get to work?” He looked inquiringly at Uien.

[Tevildo]

She was a slim, rag-tag of a hobbit girl who looked more like a boy. Camille wore crumpled brown breeches and a tattered shirt that had two buttons missing from the bottom. The pants were several inches too short, but they were the only ones she had. Her thick mop of brown curls was also cropped quite short, which made her look even more like a lad. She had slipped in through the back entrance of the Inn at a moment when Cook and the other kitchen helpers had run out to see what had happened to Marigold. She scampered quickly through the kitchen and headed for the door that led into the Common Room.

Camille padded silently into the Common Room, observed by no one with all the hubub going on, and slid down behind the bar, crouching low and hiding. The aroma from the noonday middle still hung heavy in the air. Her stomach growled in frantic protest. She was tired and hungry, oh so hungry, but she had no pennies in her pocket to buy even a hunk of bread. Worse than that, there were two others waiting at home equally as hungry.

She could see that many guests were finishing up their lunches. Camille considered the possibility of whisking something off someone's plate when they weren't looking or perhaps going back to the kitchen to sift through the garbage bins. She was quite good at both those things. She was about to run out and try to snatch two slices of cheese that had been sitting on someone's plate when she looked over and saw the scene that centered on Marigold. The girl had evidently been hurt and everyone was crowding about her with offers of food, gifts, and greetings. What a lucky lass! Camille could not remember the last time anyone had given her anything other than a cuff on the head from a farmer who was angry when she was caught red-handed stealing eggs. Staring over and seeing the pile of dresses, her heart sank down to her toes. What she would give to own one dress, just one, that was half as lovely as the ones she was looking at now.

Camille watched mesmerized as the beautiful Elf gathered up the dresses and gently began to guide Marigold toward the stairwell, letting the lass lean on her arm for help in walking. As soon as it looked as if the hobbit would have trouble climbing the tall staircase, the Elf set down the dresses over the handrail, picked up the hobbit child in her arms, and continued walking upstairs. She was presumably planning to return in a minute and retrieve the clothing.

Slipping out from behind the bar, Camille made her way to the base of the staircase. What beautiful, beautiful clothes! Just like the ones her mother told her about that she had once worn in her younger days before things had turned so bad. Camille reached out and fingered the lovely green skirt. Almost without knowing what she was doing, Camille picked up the dress and tucked it inside her bag. She was not the kind of hobbit who normally stole things, except for food when she was desperately hungry. But she told herself the lass had so many pretty dresses, she surely wouldn't mind if one got lost. Yet somehow she knew that she had better hide the dress from her mother who might not see it quite that way.

Heaving the bag over her shoulder, she ran back into the kitchen, stopping for a moment to sift through a pile of peelings that had been left to the side of the table when someone had been interrupted in rolling out a pie. She found the remnents of two apples, both brown and shrivelled, and stuffed these inside her bag. She had to get something to bring home. Then she raced into the pantry and, surveying the shelves, found a loaf of bread that she quickly tucked under her arm.

Suddenly, without warning, she heard noises from the room outside. It must be Cook and her helpers returning to the kitchen. Camille's heart beat wildly. There was no possibility of her making an escape without being seen. For the past week, she had lied to her mother and said that she had earned the pennies and the food by doing laundry for a farmer in the neighborhood. Camille wasn't really afraid of being scolded or even cuffed. But what if they told her mother that she had stolen a dress and some food? She flattened herself against the wall and waited, hoping that no one would see her and she could slip outside later after everyone had left.

[Noinkling]

Cullen (http://www.kopteri.net/koti/karen/pics/peppirun.jpg) ferrets out Camille whom he thinks is a boy child

While his master spoke with the little woman, Cullen (http://www.kopteri.net/koti/karen/pics/mainsibbe.jpg) lay near them, his back resting comfortably against the wall. His great head lay on his crossed paws, his large dark eyes following the movement of the small female who’d first served his master. He quite liked her, Cullen did, she had a wellspring of life and light that shown in her freckled face. And she wasn’t afraid of him; in fact, he could sense that she liked him, too. She was drawing farther away from where he lay, and he raised his head to watch her. She’d gone to a door and was passing through it.

Cullen swung his grizzled head up at Benat. He was still talking to the older woman. And she had poured him another cup of ale. Benat could drink deep, he wondered if the woman knew that. It might be a long time before the conversation was done . . . or the woman lay sleeping on the table. Cullen curled his lips up in a smile. He’d seen that happen in other places they’d passed through.

He waited patiently, but Ginger did not reappear. With a low yawn, Cullen stretched out, and once again looked to Benat. He was still engaged in conversation. ‘Perhaps I should see where my friend has gone,’ thought Cullen. ‘My master is in no danger and there are some intriguing smells coming from the room where the little woman went.’ He inched along on his belly for a bit then stood and wove his way quietly toward the kitchen. There were any number of patrons who drew away from him when he passed, but they were quickly assured when he ignored them and passed by without a glance in their direction.

The door opened easily with a nudge from his nose. Cullen wedged the door open with his shoulders and stood looking round the kitchen, his tail wagging furiously at the wonderful aromas that assailed his appreciative nose. He slipped in, but all were busy at some tasks and ignored him. He sat down to wait patiently for Ginger to notice him.

There was a slight shuffling in one of the rooms . . . one where the door was slightly ajar. No one else seemed to notice. But to Cullen’s ears it was a furtive sound . . . something or someone was hiding . . . his hackles raised a bit and he padded silently toward the door. He nosed it open. It was a dark place with only the light from the kitchen poking a little ways into it. He could hear the rapid breathing of the hiding creature. Cullen moved his great body into the aisle between the shelves and sniffed along, his nose bringing him closer to the object of his search.

There, plastered against the wall between two shelves was a very small boy clinging for dear life onto a bag. Cullen brought his grey face very close to the child and took a great whiff of him. Fear! The scent was almost overpowering. He licked the lad, trying to reassure him. But the child crumpled down to the floor with a squeal.

Gently as he could, Cullen grabbed the little fellow by his collar and brought him out to the kitchen, like a little puppy carried in his generous maw. Those in the kitchen had turned at the squeal and now gathered near the dog, who dropped his bundle gently at Ginger’s feet.

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger examines the 'gift' from Cullen

Everyone had stopped what they were doing at the child’s squeal. Several of the servers’ eyes went wide at the sight of the rather large dog carrying what appeared to be a disheveled Hobbit boy. Ginger went right up to the dog, who sat as she approached him. Cullen had dropped the little Hobbit at her feet, and sat looking happily at her, his tail swishing back and forth on the kitchen floor.

‘Well, now what’s this?’ Ginger said, crouching down to see better the rag tag bundle the dog had dropped near her. Cullen leaned down and nudged the child with his wet black nose toward Ginger. She stood the child up and turned him round about so that he faced her. He was pale beneath his layer of grime, possibly with fright and was determinedly holding onto his bag.

Buttercup bent down and brushed the tangled curls back from the child’s face. ‘What’s your name, laddie?’ she asked with an encouraging smile

[Tevildo]

For one fleeting moment, Camille thought of replying that her name was 'Ferumbras Took" or something equally ridiculous. But she had a feeling no one would believe her.

Moreover, Camille knew she was in terrible trouble. For the past two years, she had tried to get honest work in the fields but except for harvest time when all hands were needed no one wanted to hire a young lass when they could get older, stronger helpers. She had been reduced to scrounging through trash piles and slipping an occasional apple off of peddlers' carts in order to help feed her brother and Ma. She couldn't say she was proud of that behavior but neither was she ashamed. As long as her mother didn't know and she could coax a tiny smile out of her brother, she would put up with the rest. Yet somehow this dress made things different. She had never taken anything like it before. Camille wished she had never touched the dress, and not only because the big dog had caught her hiding in the pantry. She felt ashamed and sad and a little scared. It wasn't right to steal another girl's frock just because she had none.

Camille vowed to take her punishment bravely. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Someone had told her that prisoners in jail get fed an honest meal. But at the same time, Camille was determined not to let the Inn folk know that her mother and ailing brother were camped out in one of the deserted burrows that fringed the edge of Bywater Pond. Her family had been there nearly six months. They had nailed up boards and fixed the door so the dirty old hole was at least warm and dry when the weather turned cold or rainy. Her Ma came up every night to paw through the peelings and leftovers at the Dragon that got shoved outside into the compost pile. She didn't want them to lose all that.

Relaxing her grip on the bag, she pushed it into the arms of the nearest hobbit lady and explained, "'Scuse me ma'am. I'm a lass, not a laddie, and my name is Camille....Camille Hedgeburrow, to be precise. You'd best get the shiriff here quick. I've done something real awful, something I wish I hadn't done." The lass pointed a dirty finger in the direction of the bulging bag.

[Nurumaiel]

"Well, now!" said Falco, folding his arms and surveying the little thief sternly. He had noticed her steal the dress, and had only refrained from making a scene because he didn't want Marigold to realise so soon that one of her dresses was gone. Now he stood in the kitchen door, gazing at this young Camille, and shaking his head.

"I don't know what else she has in that bag, Miss Ginger, Miss Buttercup," he said, "but I know that for one thing she has one of Marigold's dresses." He strode forward and stood over the girl, and looked very gravely into her face. "I, my young lassie, am the one who bought those dresses."

"You'd best get the shiriff," she said again, dropping her head to avoid his stern gaze.

He looked her up and down, and saw how thin and ragged-looking she was. He had no patience for hobbit thieves, and neither for Big Folk fellow thieves, and he didn't mind scolding a hobbit boy, caught while snatching an apple from the marketplace. But for the hobbit boy thieves, he always showed more kindness, for they were such young little things. And with a hobbit girl thief... his face became more kindly, and his tone less gruff, as he bent down to speak to her.

"Now, I don't think it's necessary to call the shiriff," he said. "You've returned the dress, and whatever else you stole, and I fancy you're a little too young to be taken in by the shiriff. Miss Buttercup, may I have the bag?" She passed it to him, and he opened it, and brought out the dress. It was one of the prettiest dresses, and one that would have looked splendid on Marigold with its rich blue colour. "Well, now, my young lassie," he said, glancing from Camille to the dress, "I don't see why I shouldn't let you have this dress after all. Marigold will be unhappy, no doubt, but she's a kind-hearted girl, and she'll feel a little better about it when she hears about you. But I'll only let you have it, mind, if you come get a bite to eat and tell me what you're doing here."

He glanced towards Buttercup and Ginger, and though they made no open move to stop him, he held up his hands and said: "Ah, now wait, before you try to say I shouldn't. I'm a well-to-do hobbit, and have more than enough money to spare buying a poor hungry wee lass a meal. I've always had a softness for little girls. When I was just a mite myself, only about five or six years of age, my mother told me I must always be gallant and protect and watch after the ladies. So I spent many hours of my days making things easier for the wee lassies of three or four, and taking care of the older girls as I got older. Whenever in a situation like this I always hear my mother telling me to watch out for the little girls." He smiled fondly at the memory. "I hope, misses, that you have no objections to what I propose? I think a good, hearty meal would do her much more good than a gruff old shiriff."

[littlemanpoet]

“Well, that is taken care of! Now, shall we have our payment first, or find some leather and get to work?” Falowik looked inquiringly at Uien.

"Let us go see what Bywater's tanner will part with," she replied, "unless you are afraid of melting in the rain?" She eyed Denegal playfully.

"Not I!" Denegal cried. They rose from their table and made their way out of the Common room. Uien knew more of Denegal than the man wished to tell, though she had no desire to; so it was with the art. Most of all she wished to put the man at his ease, certainly for Falowik's sake, who had few enough friends, but this Gondorian was a kind hearted enough fellow, and his company might lighten the days.

The tanner was a hard bargainer and they parted with a little more coin than they had intended, but the crafty hobbit could see the poor Gondorian's straits, and insisted his ware was of the best quality, and hard to come by in these days of long-lived cattle and horses, thanks to that strange garden seed Mayor Samwise Gamgee had brought back with him from his wild adventures, not that Mayor Gamgee was a bad sort hisself, as far as that went, but strange doings was strange doings, no matter how level your head or flat your hairy feet.

Uien listened to the tough hided tanner with pleasure, Falowik achafing, and Denegal agape at all the tanner's provincial talk. Finally they had their leather and set to work on a pair of boots for Denegal, getting permission from the Inn's ostler for the use of a horse stall for their labor.