The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Sett]

Galither woke up again only an hour after he had his meal. The man was now sitting up and staring out of the window. The weather was still bitter and withered. Alas he thought to himself the day is only half way through and however eventful it had been so far he was not intending on dwelling in his room any longer. He pulled himself up and the tall yet lean man stood up straight and stretched his arms. He touched the frail oak ceiling; it was hard but incredibly smooth. As he rubbed his hand along the ceiling it felt so gentle.

He reached the door and with the strength he had gained in his sleep allowed such movement afoot. He gasped the handle and turned it but held back before pulling it back as he was hesitant on going back into the public domain. He plucked up enough courage and the door swung open very swiftly.

As he moved out into the hallway he saw a few hobbits going downstairs and some were going back to their rooms. Much action was taking place in such a small area. He walked down the stairs occasionally having to let maids going up until reaching the bottom where he proceeded into the inn.

He was now in need of a strong ale to give him the vigour needed to take on the rest of the day. He also was now very curious as to the whereabouts of his kinsmen but that was too heavy a burden on his heart that only images of sweet Esmerelda deemed fit to contemplate.

Upon reaching the bar he ordered ale and sat on the bar slumped down, sipping it slowly and with peace.

[Noinkling]

At the squeal from the kitchen, both Benat and Cook looked toward the closed doors, concern on their faces. As a reflex, Benat looked down where Cullen had lain so quietly, or so he thought. The dog was no longer there, nor was he anywhere in sight as Benat scanned the room.

‘Bear and bee! Now where’s he got off to?’ Benat’s eyes were drawn back to the kitchen’s doors and he had a growing dread that somehow Cullen and the squeal were connected. ‘Begging your pardon, m’am,’ he said to Cook but I think I should check on the whereabouts of my dog. I fear he’s gone in there and scared someone.’

He stood, dwarfing Cook as he did so, and turned to make his way to the kitchen.

[piosenniel]

Cook speaks to Camille

Not wanting to be left behind, Cook stood up and followed along behind the giant of a man. His long strides carried him quickly to the kitchen doors, while she bustled along at a dead run. Breathless, she entered behind him, to find a young, dirty, ragamuffin of a child the center of the crowd’s attention.

‘What’s all this?’ she asked, drawing Buttercup aside. She listened carefully, nodding her head, as Buttercup filled her in on the ‘facts’. The urchin was a girl; Camille Hedgeburrow, to be exact. The dog it seemed had come into the kitchen looking for Ginger and ferreted out the lass who was hiding in the pantry. The child had stolen a dress meant for another Hobbit lass, along with a loaf of bread and the remnants of two apples from the apple crisp.

‘A generous offer,’ said Cook hearing Mr. Headstrong’s proposal. ‘I do think a meal is better than a visit from the Shiriff. But if it were me, I would not be giving the lass Mistress Marigold’s dress so easily.’ She stepped up to where Camille stood and put the fingers of her right hand beneath the girl’s chin, drawing it up to look her in the eye. ‘You’re a wee one, but you look able-bodied enough, despite the meals you’ve missed. And you look sorry enough you took the dress and proud enough not to want a hand-out if you were given the chance to earn it for yourself. Isn’t that so? Or I have I read you wrong?’

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger and Cullen and Benat

Catching a grey shadow move at the corner of her eye, Ginger looked away from where Cook was speaking with Camille. Cullen’s tail was drooping down as he moved slowly toward where Benat stood. The man’s stern gaze was bent on the dog, and he growled some low command at Cullen, motioning at the same time for him to ‘come’.

‘Oh, sir,’ said Ginger, walking hastily to the dog’s side. ‘Don’t be angry at poor Cullen!’ The dog gave a few weak thumps of his tail as Ginger stood by his side. ‘He was just bent on seeing me. And I had promised him something tasty from the kitchen. I’m sure he just came to remind me.’ She flung her arms about the dog’s large neck and gave him a hug. ‘He really did help find the child, you know. Camille, there.’ Ginger gestured to where Cook was talking to the girl. ‘And all for the best, too. Cook’ll see right by her. And so will Mister Headstrong, I think.’

She and Cullen had reached where Benat stood in the doorway to the kitchen; Ginger talking all the while as they had drawn near. ‘You know,’ she said, ‘I wasn’t sure what to give Cullen for a treat. That is if it’s alright with you for him to have a treat. Because I remember you said you didn’t eat meat. But how about him? Does he eat meat” Or shall I make him a nice bowl of mush with butter and honey?’

[Huan]

Anyopâ sat quietly at his table. Grey eyes peering over the oft raised mug took in the little scenes in the room about him. A ways away had been an interesting tableau. A woman in a pale blue dress, her hair catching the sun’s pale beams as they happened for a moment through a far window. A man, whose face often traveled to the woman in blue. An Elf. And one of the small folk, a child, at that. Tensions shimmered in the air about the group as bodies tensed and teased and questioned and laughed. To be a fly on the wall, he thought, his eyes glinting at the party.

And now the Elf and child were away and the space between the man and woman crackled it seemed . . .

Gold and silver in twining bands the setting . . . set with a small oval of obsidian, one tiny deep green emerald set slightly off center within the black stone . . . Even now he could see the deep green glimmer casting a small light on the smooth, polished black surface. Anyopâ fetched his small chapbook from the pack at his feet and with quill and ink got from a side pocket, quickly sketched in his design.

Sketch done, he noted a trio of women not far from him . . . two at one table, one adjacent to them. The two had invited the third to join them. Three travelers sharing each other’s company as well as a meal.

Three freshwater pearls! He grinned, seeing the necklace of three different colored pearls spaced on a short chain of fine silver links, gracing the slender neck of some maiden.

And there at the bar, slumped on a stool, sipping a drink to fortify himself for the rest of the day sat a lone man. Tall and lean he was, yet the day sat heavily on him, or so it seemed to Anyopâ, and bore him down.

A thick gold band . . . a ring of promise. One lone diamond set flush in it. Round cut, many facets . . . with a deep brilliance, a fire that pierces the heart.

Anyopâ roughed in the sketches for the necklace and the gold and diamond ring. Accompanying each of the designs was a small bit of text, giving the flavor of the scenes that had prompted them. He smiled, pleased with the drawings and put the leather journal back in his pack. Later, he would work on the drawings in more detail. He leaned back in his chair, pouring himself another drink from the pitcher one of the servers had left. He raised his mug discretely to the room in general, giving thanks to whatever whimsy of fortune had brought him to this most interesting of places.

[Sett]

Galither sat at the bar downing much ale and reminiscing on past events. Such subtleties lay heavy on his thoughts as each gulp washed nothing but the taste of the earth from his mouth. The time outside caused deep emotions to arise once again as the topic of his love was that of sensitivity.

He made grumbles as the ale rose to his head and the bittersweet taste of grand ale caused his anger to diminish and glee to reveal itself. He found himself smiling and enjoying his thoughts. The ale became a catalyst if only for a moment for his inner feelings. It became hope that he may soon find his love. Find her in a place untold for he knew only that she waits for him in a place imaginable only to him and others a loss.

The sound around him was becoming very placid. It was a new time. High noon was upon Galither. His day was very disturbed and he had not expected when dawn was here that such things may happen in such tranquil of places. Then again the silence always hid the most monstrous things. Life here was far from that but the way the day had planned out Galither did question its integrity. Well such things were not to be though of at this time for things were beginning to liven up it just required Galither to reach peace at least for the time being. His only option was more ale and that is what he ordered.

The women at the counter came up to Galither with the large pot of ale in which his inquired and he drunk it like he was starved of such luxuries. Reason for this was that it calmed his soul and this is what he needed at times of such heartache. He continued to grumble to the people around him who shrug him off as a drunken fool. Galither of course was having deeper thoughts and was making sense at least to himself

[Witch_Queen]

Jon rode up to the inn, his brown hair almost drenched from the rain. Taking his horse to the stables, Jon noticed all the cheer he could hear coming from inside the little building. He pulled the hood to his cloak over his head attempting to keep his identity hidden for the time being. He placed his hand on the horses mane before turning to head inside. "I'll be back in a moment. Stay here and don't run off." Jon could feel that the horse wasn't sure if he could trust the look of the inn. Everything seemed so cheerful and yet at the same time it was as if a darkness was hanging over the inn.

Walking to the front door of the inn, Jon could sense an undying happiness on the other side of the door. Scratching his short beard Jon decided to go on inside and see what the place was like. Raising his left hand he proceeded to open the door only after he hesitated for a minute. Opening the door Jon's brown eyes began scanning the room. No one look the least bit familar. He pulled his cloak tighter around his body and the hood over his eyes. The smell of pipe weed filled the air almost causing Jon to begin coughing. He hadn't been around the scent of pipe weed in many years.

[Tevildo]

Camille's eyes darted from Falco back to Cook, her face openly betraying the confusion and surprise she was feeling. Of all the possible outcomes, she had never expected this. For a moment the lass was so overcome that she stood dumbfounded with her jaw dropping open. Finally, she stammered out a few words, "You are both too kind. I can't believe my good fortunte. Cook, I would like to work. I do still have one skirt that I can wear. I will go get it in a bit and then return quickly so you can tell me what I should do."

"It's no excuse about the thieving," Camille added, "but things at home are tough. We lost Da a year ago when his horse bolted and the wagon overturned. My brother was with him. He hasn't been able to walk since then. Mum does her best, but she brings in only a few pennies by doing laundry and mending. She looks tired and old, and there is never enough. If I could earn a bit, it would help. We're staying in one of the old burrows." Camille gestured with her hand towards the open window towards the back of the Inn where you could see the beginnings of the path that meandered down to The Water.

She thoughtfully fingered the dress and turned to her other benefactor, "Master Falco, I don't know what to say. You are a dear. I should never have taken this. I know the difference between right and wrong. But sometimes a body just wants to change things so badly. Anyways, your little Marigold will be sad, and I wouldn't want that. Your offer is sweet but you must take this back to her. My mother wouldn't like that I'd taken something, even with your blessing. And where ever would I wear such a fancy thing? "Tis not for the likes of me." With that, Camille bobbed a curtsey and added, "But I should be most grateful for that lunch before I go. I'm afraid I may eat a hefty plate or two and tuck away the leftovers to take to Mum, if your pocketbook can take it. Perhaps, if I work at the Inn, I can get to know your sweet Marigold someday."

With that, Camille followed Falco over to the table where the two of them sat down.

[Noinkling]

It was difficult to keep a serious expression on his face as Ginger nattered on. Behind his generous beard and thick mustache, Benat’s lips twitched with a barely suppressed smile. Cullen had observed his master’s change of face and his dark eyes glinted with interest as the small lass backed the man into the Common Room.

‘I think the mush would be fine,’ Benat said, managing to get a few words in as Ginger paused for breath. ‘With some apple chunks and walnuts if you have them.’ Cullen whimpered, as if he understood what Benat had said. ‘Above all, no honey. Loves it, he does, but it rots his teeth.’ Benat resumed his seat by the window, motioning Cullen to lie down near him. ‘I, however,’ he said, winking at Ginger, ‘will have a bowl of the same . . . but with honey.’

Ginger hurried off to fill Benat’s order. Cullen looked longingly after her, and whined a small objection to his master.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Sipping his soup quietly, Dwaline peered about the inn. Avalon the crow sat on the table near to him and had just finished a large meal. They had discussed taking a short trip around the Shire and perhaps seeing the grey havens. Seeking stories of Avalon's ancestors.

Dwaline had fallen silent and began looking suspiciously towards a few people. Avalon cocked her head and looked at him. He peered back at her and said,

"Do you see that man over there?" he asked, she nodded, and “He could be an elf All the same, but I don't like the look of some outlandish folk." Avalon smiled a sarcastic smile; "yes, I suppose I am outlandish myself" laughed Dwaline sipping his soup again.

A few other people in the inn caught his eye. He assumed, that despite all the merriment, there was dark business a foot. He took some cram from his pack and offered some to Avalon; she politely refused as she was filled by what she had already eaten. Munching on the cram Dwaline's keen eyes scanned the room. The parlour seemed merry enough, and there were many of different races all about. Elves, men, hobbits, but he could not see any Dwarves.

Dwaline did not really enjoy the company of other Dwarves. He found many to be dull and repetitive. "All I want is Gold" they said to him, he ignored them and found his liking more to the telling of tales and the seeking of adventure. He was now old and could do little but a long hiking trip. No fighting or perilous quests were on his horizons.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling’s own head was aching far more than the Innkeeper’s. The day’s seemingly endless string of disasters had finally reached what could only be its masterpiece. Aman sat nursing her hangover and eyeing him in a way that she had not done since their first acquaintance. He was grateful to Mithalwen for having given him the chance to explain to Aman, but he hardly knew were to begin. The silence grew and became something plump and unnecessary, like an overripe fruit that has lost its flavour and gone to bitterness, but still he did not speak. Usually, it was Aman who would break these uncomfortable silences and find just the words they needed, but this time she sat in her chair, hurt and betrayed. Snaveling knew he could explain the truth to her, and expose the root of Marigold’s error, but he knew as well that it was probably too late to still the wagging tongues of the Shire. If one little Halfling lass had leapt to the conclusion that Snaveling was a romantic figure in the Innkeeper’s heart, then how many others had already done so? How many were doing so now, seeing them together and behaving in the manner that they were? It would be common knowledge that Felarof had been his gift to Aman, as the magnificent stallion had drawn a lot of attention when it had arrived, and none could have failed to note that while Snaveling had come with the horse, it was Aman who now rode him.

Snaveling realized that Aman’s hurt and anger had given her the strength she needed to remain quiet for as long as it would take for him to finally begin. Taking a deep breath, he began by quietly explaining the source of Marigold’s error. He related the events in the stable and his conversation with Mithalwen, dwelling at length on his reasons for telling the Elf the truth about Felarof. “No-one knows better than you, my old friend, what a liar and a deceiver I have been in my life, and I am determined now that I shall speak only truth. I could see that Mithalwen suspected the truth, and I could see no reason for concealing it from her. That Felarof was my gift to you is no shameful deed, but testimony to our friendship. I should have taken more care before the lass, though, for I was already aware that she had been listening to the gossip in these lands about your ‘foreign admirer’, and I should have seen how she would misinterpret Felarof as confirmation that I am this imaginary person.” He saw her wince somewhat at this, but whether it was in response to his words or from the pain in her head he did not know. He dreaded what he had to say next, but said it anyway. “You need not worry, my friend, I will be sure to correct Marigold on the nature of our friendship. I shall tell her that you and I are friends of old, and that I owe you a great debt of gratitude, but that there is not now, nor has there even been, a deeper bond than that between us.”

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman felt as if Snaveling had slapped her across the face, but managed to conceal most of the pain from her face, expression numbed by the dull throbbing in her temples. Licking her lips nervously, she replied quietly, "No deeper bond between us?" Confused, she looked questioningly at Snaveling. When he did not reply, apparently not judging it to be a question, Aman stumbled on awkwardly. "No...no deeper bond. Right, I-I think I understand," she rushed on falteringly, looking away from Snaveling. She smiled uncertainly, staring at her hands as she blinked rapidly, trying to make light. “I…I understand, Snaveling. What a foolish thing for a Marigold- well, for anyone to get into their heads. A foreign admirer for me…no, he could not possibly be real, of course not – what silly ideas little hobbits get into their heads!” She laughed rather too quickly, a fluttering, almost desperate sound like a moth trying to touch the candle. “Silly ideas…” she repeated softly, her tone almost regretful this time as she looked back to her hands, examining closely as if for the first time every millimetre of her cuticles, every line of her palm – these lines, what did they mean? Fate lines, all scattering off into a million pieces, shattering. Breaking.

Snaveling was still watching her, she knew, she could feel those dark eyes on her face. Looking up, she tried to keep her breathing calm and regular as she smiled brightly at him. “I understand, Snaveling. Truly.”

“I do not think, perhaps, that you do…” He replied slowly, frowning slightly. Aman smiled gently but this time did not look up, not trusting herself to meet his eyes. She could feel tears coming and felt them betray her as surely as the man opposite her had done. Angrily, she avoided Snaveling's eye and blinked them away: twice betrayed in an instant!

Rising abruptly and ignoring the wooziness that accompanied the motion, Aman stepped around the table, heading for the kitchen without a word. Snaveling, evidently misinterpreting the act as an attempt to get away from him, caught her wrist as she turned away, holding her back. Aman whirled around, knocking the chair over as she did so, suddenly furious. Wrenching her arm from his grasp in a sudden, vicious motion, the Innkeeper glared angrily at Snaveling, the bright afternoon light from the window spotlighting her gold-tinted hair, sharp, elfin features and green eyes as of some scorned nymph of lore. Snaveling frowned, holding up his hands as if trying to calm an angry horse or dog. He was actually confused! The thought came to Aman with bitter amusement. He honestly didn't appear to know what he had done wrong!

"Aman, wait-"

"No deeper bond?" Aman hissed furiously. "What, no deeper bond when I took you in here? You come here with your fine tales of the King’s court, with riches, with, apparently ‘misleading’ gifts, but think back, if you can bear to stoop so low. When you came to the Inn so many months ago, who took you in? Who trusted you, Snaveling, what one person in this place could you name, besides yourself and your crony, T-" Common sense caused Aman to lower her voice her as she hissed, "Tobias!"

Snaveling glanced around anxiously, painfully aware of the customers who were now staring. Aman felt a stab of self-conciousness, but it was barely noticable, but whether due to the party of last night or the trials of this morning she wasn't sure. Clenching her jaw tightly, Aman forced herself to lower her voice, leaning forward and whispering angrily at the man. “There is not one who would have stood behind you and backed you, Snaveling. Not one. Except me.”

Snaveling looked like he would have said something, then, trying to maintain his composure, he motioned for Aman to sit down. When she remained unmoved, he stood slowly, raising his hands once more in a gesture that tried to be both imploring and soothing. “Aman, I understand why you are angry. But…there are other factors to take into account here and you must understand, I never made any attempt to lead you on –”

“The ranger woman, you mean!” Aman burst out, her voice a furious, whispered explosion. “She was certainly a factor, methinks – the woman who distrusted you and pulled you up in front of the King in the hopes that you would have your come-uppance, you mean! And as for not ‘leading me on’…” she spat. “You made a horse-breeder a gift of the most beautiful horse in Middle Earth, Snaveling. In what way exactly did…did you…” she trailed off, looking away and biting her lip. Closing her eyes for a second, she took a deep breath, then looked sidelong at Snaveling, this time looking simply sad rather than angry as her fury died away to leave only hurt. Without another word, the Innkeeper turned away and headed up the stairs, not waiting to see if he followed her – and she doubted he did, unless he could move even more silently than the elves. As she reached the top of the stairs, she glanced behind her and, checking that the staircase was empty, then broke into a run, her skirts whirling behind her as she made for the attic. Having climbed the ladder up to the cosy room, her expression wild as she continued to blink the tears from her vision, she headed for the window, which was slightly ajar to keep the room from becoming musty for the Inn’s more personal guests. Looking out of the window to the peaceful scene below, she pulled it further open and swung her legs out.

But fear not, for such desperate things as a swift jump were not in the mind of one so down to earth as the Innkeeper. A swift jump for the sake of a misunderstanding? Poppycock and romantic nonsense! Aman smiled slightly despite herself as the words that Cook would use sprang to mind. Standing precariously, Aman reached up for the familiar ledge that her fingers had often found in times of confusion, and, with the help of several handily premeditated footholds, she eased herself up onto the actual roof of the Inn.

Above the world she knew, the breeze was stronger, but its matronly buffeting reminded Aman of who she was, wafting her back to her senses, back to the calm, reasonable person she was – even if she did seem to be looking at that person from afar at the moment. Scrambling a few feet up the gently sloping tiles, the woman came to the chimney pot and, with a ragged sigh, rested her back against it, closing her eyes and tilting her chin up into the wind. The cool slate through the soft material of the dress had the effect on her tears of cold metal against the back of the neck of on with a nose-bleed: within a few seconds, it stopped the flow. Folding her arms across her lap, Aman opened her eyes and looked out on a scene she knew well: rolling fields stretched way into the distance, bordered to the North and South by the almost equidistant forests and, further away to the East, out of sight, was the mysterious mass of trees that made up the Old Forest. Across the idyll of green fields were paths and hedges, roads and fences, criss-crosses on the fields like to the scrawls of children’s’ games across a notepad, the most notable being the path Aman had taken from Rohan, the Greenway, which stretched for untold miles both North and South. Far North to where Zimzaran had come to take poor Derufin by storm! And South…to Rohan, where a young woman came to take the Green Dragon by storm. Aman smiled slightly to herself as she looked into the distance to the South. She could see nothing much really: grassy hills stretching prosperous and peaceful as far as the eye could see. But beyond that…beyond, she knew where home was, her first home: Rohan, the land of the horselords.

But Rohan was no longer her home: the Shire, the Shire called to her, with all its curious customers and ‘curiouser’ people! One day, Aman vowed, one day, I will ride those hobbit-ways and see all these places I have heard talk off – I shall ride all over the Shire before I am done! Maybe even further than that one day, further North where, Piosenniel said, the elves once came from... But first, travel South, West, East or North from the sleepy Inn to discover the rustic boroughs of the Peredhil, flourishing, hidden from the sight of Man. And lucky them!

The thought brought Aman out of her reverie and her brow creased slightly. Giving a long, shaky sigh, she leant back against the chimney pot and looked into the sky. The rainclouds were clearing now, shards of duck-egg blue peering hopefully from behind them, giving promise of a clearer afternoon that the turbulent, stormy morning. Closing her eyes, she dug her shoulderblades into the hard slate fruitlessly and settled there.

“I thought I would find you here.”

Aman almost smiled at Snaveling’s familiar words, the words he had spoken when he had discovered her secret hiding place before. Cook and the hobbits would from floor to ceiling and in every cupboard and cranny in between to find Aman at times, but rarely did any ever think to look up. Her smile soon took on a sad edge though, and faded from her face as if a shadow had fallen over its sun.

“Roa,” she murmured quietly. “It is her that you love. You never loved me.”

There was a pause from Snaveling, and Aman did not have to open her eyes to know his discomfort, both with the statement and with his precarious perch – she had found before that the Black Numenorian was none too comfortable with Aman’s eyrie. “Yes,” he replied. “Yes, I love Roa. I…I care for you Aman. But you must be able to understand…”

“I see your point of view, Snaveling,” Aman replied sharply, looking up and fixing him with sky-dazzled eyes. “Asking for understanding is a little much, but yes, I can see your point of view.”

Snaveling did not reply, resorting to his habitual silence. Aman sighed and reached forward, holding out a hand to pull him forwards so that he would not have to cling on quite so tight to the slates so as not to fall off. He looked at her hand for a second, surprised, and Aman nearly withdrew it, biting back the bitter urge to snap that she wouldn’t bite. But after a moments shock, Snaveling accepted her peace offering and she pulled him up to settle on the flat area of the roof on which the chimney’s perched. Settling himself but still looking uncomfortable, Snaveling followed Aman’s gaze into the distance as she drew it to the South. They sat in silence for a moment, the sound of the Inn below them and birds and the rustling of trees around them, soft, gentle noises that filled the breeze and calmed the Innkeeper’s thoughts. Nodding into the distance at some invisible goal, Aman said softly, “It is where we come from, Snaveling, both you and I. Rohan lies that way and so does Gondor – your goal, I think.”

Snaveling nodded silently, his elbows rested casually on his drawn up knees as he looked sidelong at Aman with those dark, enigmatic eyes. “It is where I have to go.”

“I know,” Aman replied simply. Tearing her eyes away, she looked at Snaveling and chanced a somewhat rueful smile, brushing one hand through her wind-strewn hair. “It is where you were always meant to go. I’m just…I’m just glad you decided to stop by on the way.” She grinned and Snaveling, after a seconds hesitation, returned the expression. Aman sighed quietly, glad of the peaceful surroundings – it was here that she felt at peace. Her eyrie. But one thing bothered her still: she understood that Snaveling could only feel the way he did, and that his heart lay elsewhere, in the South with the rangers, but a piece of the puzzle seemed to be missing. Figuring that she could hardly waste time on worrying about causing offence after her scene in the Inn, Aman came straight out with her query, fixing Snaveling once more with her bright green-eyed gaze. “Snaveling, I must ask – you love Roa and had wealth and a place in the court of Elessar. Why, then, did you leave? And why the sudden poverty? You came to the Inn a rich man this time…”

[Witch_Queen]

Jon sat in the corner all by himself. As his eyes scanned the room until he saw a sight he had not seen in a long time. The white crow of his dreams was for once actually real. Taking a closer looked Jon saw that with the crow was a dwarf. "Hmmm." Jon felt as if someone or something was looking at him. The look on the dwarf's face was one of dislike. Jon knew not why the look pleased him but he figured it was the fact that the dwarf must know the crow. Jon's shoulder length brown hair fell out of the hood.

Jon felt an undying darkness inside his heart and new that it only increased while the crow was around. Jon decided it was time to confront his dreams. The only thing was that instead of the crow being with an elf maiden it was with this mountain dweller. This isn't the crow I have seen something seems different. A smile came across Jon's face. Though the man wished to keep his identity a secret he knew it wasn't going to be long before someone figured out who he was. The hood of his cloak would keep the secret until someone removed it. Jon seemed deep inthought when he didn't notice that someone had spilled their mug of ale. Suddenly coming back to reality, Jon decided not to be a loner. Perhaps he should find someone to talk to.

Jon stood up, the bottom of his cloak swept the floor of the inn. The dwarf seemed like an interesting person to talk to. Even though he despised the look of dwarves, Jon felt like something about this dwarf was different. Walking over to the table occupied by the dwarf and crow Jon was trying to think of what to say to him exactly.

"Excuse me... Your crow is by far the rarest I've seen. I'm.... Jon. My last name means nothing to anyone....." Jon knew this was a rough way to start out a conversation.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

At first, Dwaline did not stir. He finished off his soup and then peered up at John. He smirked and sat up.

"She is not my Crow," he said, "She is her own." Avalon seemed to agree and hopped up onto Dwaline's shoulder, then fluttered over to the window and looked out of it. "Now, come to it. What business do you have with Crows?" Dwaline took another piece of Cram and broke it before popping a couple of crumbs into his mouth.

"There are few enough who study Crows or Birds of any sort," he eyes John suspiciously, but before John could say anything, Dwaline raised a hand and carried on, "Please, let me finish. How do I know you mean no harm to me or Avalon." he nodded towards the Crow, "She has had enough hurt in her life. So, out with it, I, or we, have a right to know if you mean us harm. Why do you bear a Sword? Is it to catch Dragons?" He laughed and pushed his chair back.

A Hobbit waitress came by and swiftly took the plates and bowls away from Dwaline's table and hopped along back to the kitchen. Avalon fluttered back to the table and cocked her head at John, and then she seemed to shrug and asked Dwaline how long he would take.

"I do not know," said Dwaline, "It may be some time, you do not have to stay on my account. You are a free Crow, go wither you will." She said something to him that John could not comprehend, and then she hopped out of a window and was gone.

[Witch_Queen]

Jon looked at the dwarf. "Me.. hurt anyone. I don't see how I could hurt a soul. That is unless they hurt me first. As for my sword.." Jon placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. "This old thing is just for protection. Avalon.. that be her name? Well Avalon is a beautiful creature. The idea of flying is remarkable and strikes interest in my mind." Jon knew that he had to lie in order to save himself.

Jon didn't know what else the dwarf wanted to hear. What more lies would he have to tell in order to cover up the fact that he wasn't who he claimed to be.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Dwaline eyed John suspiciously, he stroked his long yet withered beard and then leaned forward. He placed both hands on the table and took a deep breath.

"Now listen here you," he snapped, "I know you're type. I've seen many like you. they try to appear friend and then jump upon you at unawares. What's you’re game?" John did not speak, but held the Dwarf's gaze for a good long wile before turning away. Dwaline glanced over to the window where Avalon had just hopped back in. She fluttered over to the tables and peered suspiciously at John and Dwaline, she detected some tension.

"I may be an old Dwarf, set in my ways, but I always like to be straight with people, and I expect them to be the same. If you have some dark agenda, then be off with you. I can still weald my axe with strength. Now tell us, what do you want with Avalon. I don't want anyone going hurting her again; she's had a hard enough life as it is.

"You don't mean any harm? Such words came even from the mouths of the Nazgúl, how could I trust you." Dwaline was getting carried away with himself and did not realise how scared Avalon was becoming of his sudden wroth. He was never a friend of men, and stayed out of their business, but always new he could often get news from them with cunning words.

Dwaline exhaled heavily and calmed down. He darted his eyes straight at John.

"I am sorry young man," he began, "I got a little wrathful there. It is not like me, but you understand, a traveller needs to have his wits about him. I've come to know many who have had ulterior motive and dark intents. Now, sir, I hope you'll forgive me, but I just don't believe what you are saying. I saw the way you looked at Avalon. Regret, fear, foreboding? One or all of those was in your face. Now tell me, if you will."

[Envinyatar]

‘I’ll just see if Cook can spare us some!’ Derufin hurried out the front door of the groundskeeper’s cottage and across the yard to the Inn’s kitchen entrance. Zimzi was wanting to bleach the muslin curtains the generous ladies of the Shire had made for the windows to her new house. Wood ash she had and water for making lye, but a bit of soured mild would soften the mixture.

‘Hurry! I’ll want to dry them in full sun, and it’s just now peeking out amid the blue patches.’ Zimzi had sent him on with a bright smile. He had paused to look back at her for a moment; her sleeves rolled up above her elbows, one strand of dark hair from the neat bun at the nape of her neck lying limply down the side of her cheek as she stood over the kettle and stirred the concoction. She smiled his way again and motioned him on with a flick of her chin.

‘Hmmm,’ he murmured to himself, seeing the logs along the edge of the property. ‘Now there’s something the lazy groundskeeper should be seeing to,’ he chuckled to himself.’ He laughed aloud. ‘Oh, wait . . . that’s me!’ He was in a fine mood. Marriage sat well on him.

At the hawthorn tree Zimzi had wondered at earlier in the day, he paused, careful not to step on the flowers that crowded near its trunk. ‘Well, good to see you’re still here,’ he threw out as a greeting. The leaves seemed to rustle softly in the breezeless air. Derufin gave the tree a grin and a slight bow, then hurried on.

[Fairleaf]

And welcome to you, Man the mortal! The hawthorn’s leaves murmured in reply.

The rain had stopped; the sun was burning through the clouds. Fairleaf watched the man as he laughed and hurried on toward the back door to the Inn. Moving carefully away from the flowers who now turned there faces toward the light, Fairleaf inched slowly toward the side window of the groundskeeper’s cottage.

There, busy over a steaming pot, was the dark haired woman. There were long rectangles of cloth on the table near her. What sort of strange stew is she making? thought Fairleaf. The hawthorn bent a little closer to the steamy window for a clearer view, a stray branch tip scraping against it ever so lightly as she did so.

[piosenniel]

Notice of Time moving forward in the Shire

It's moving on toward mid-afternoon now. The weather is getting better.

By tomorrow evening, Real Time, the Shire will move toward early evening.

[piosenniel]

~*~ GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS ~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

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

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

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

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.

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

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.

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

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 moving toward mid-afternoon.

The sky is beginning to clear, with patches of blue showing through. The sun is burning through the clouds and drying up the wet ground.

[Nurumaiel]

Falco sat for some time in silence, watching the young Camille eat, and reflecting on her words. She spoke in a polite, respectful manner, and he suspected that, however ragged she might be now, she had not always been so poor. Her speech was refined, unlike the speech of most poor hobbits. He wondered how willing she would be to tell him of herself and her family. How odd it was! Marigold seemed to be in a fairly well-to-do family in her earlier days, though now she was orphaned and homeless.

"Tell me, Miss Camille," he said, speaking at length. "You say you can't take the dress because it's much to fine for you, and it wouldn't fit in with your surroundings."

"Yes, Mister Falco, and my mother..."

"Yes, yes, well... harumph!" He paused a moment for thought. Camille had mentioned that her mother would not let her take it, and he was rather unsure of how to make his approach. "Well, my dear, I wonder if your mother would have any real objections... that is to say, I am a fairly well-to-do hobbit, and can afford to spend money to help others, and... would your mother object much if I took you into town and bought you some nice, fresh, but simpler dresses?"

Camille hesitated, and looked doubtful.

"I understand she might not want to accept a gift," said Falco hastily. "Many are opposed to taking charity, but... I could speak to Cook and arrange the dresses as a little bit of a reward for whatever small tasks you might do about her." He paused once again, wondering if he should go a little bit farther. He did not want to overwhelm the girl and make her think she couldn't possibly accept his offer, but neither did he care to leave anything out. So he went on.

"I should also like to send a basket of food to your mother, if you think she would not take it amiss. Understand me, I do not look upon you as lower than I and in need of my condescending kindness, but I would like to present some small gift..." He fumbled off into silence.

[piosenniel]

Cook and Derufin

‘Sour milk, is it?’ Cook opened the pantry and took out a crockery pitcher she’d set out earlier in the day, covered with a tea towel. ‘Miz Zimzi making some sour milk raisin cake for you,’ she asked, casting a glance up at Derufin. ‘I just got in some plump raisins from the Bree merchant. I can give you a cup of those, too, if you need them.’

Derufin grinned and shook his head. ‘She’s doing curtains, Cook. Bleaching them.’ He bent down and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek along with his most charming look. ‘However, if you wanted to try your hand at that cake you mentioned, I would be more than happy to see it didn’t dry out or mold from neglect.’ Cook raised her brows at him, though truth be told, her cheeks were quite rosy from the kiss and the banter. She poured him a small pitcher of soured milk and shooed him from the pantry. Before Derufin reached the kitchen door, Cook called him back.

‘I doubt Miz Zimzi will be needing you to help with the curtains,’ she said, motioning him to come sit with her for a moment at the kitchen table. ‘I’ve a job for you. Keep you out of her hair for a good bit.’ Now it was Derufin’s turn to look questioningly at Cook. ‘Oh, it’s just a bit of wood chopping and such,’ she said. ‘And I’ve found a couple of helpers for you. Nice strong lads, if I say so myself.’ Cook went on to tell him a bit about Benat and Denegal and how they had volunteered to help clear the downed trees, and get them into the woodpile. ‘You take the milk over to Miz Zimzi and I’ll send the two fellows over.’ She glanced out the kitchen window. ‘Sun’s out. Good time to get started, I’d say.’

Cook stood up, as did Derufin. She walked him to the kitchen door and saw him off. ‘You and the Missus stop by after dinner,’ she called out after him. Just might there’ll be a piece of raisin cake for you to sink your fork into.’

[peral]

Seeing Tulip fully and totally engrossed in her food, Sharya excused herself.

"Seeing as it's clearing up now, if you would be so kind as to let me go and see if I can get some other things done?"

Tulip nodded, though looked slightly morose at being left alone at the table. Sharya touched her hand gently.

"Don't worry, I'll be back for dinner," she laughed.

But once she got to her room, her supposedly happy demeanour quickly faded. She needed money, that was for sure. Checking in her purse, she saw but a few coins left. Hardly enough for a whole week's stay in the inn. Not to mention all the other supplies she was going to have to need to buy. Sighing quietly to herself, she took a look in the mirror and ran her fingers through her hair. Perhaps she could offer the innkeeper her help. She was willing to do anything, just as long as she could get a little money for it. Sighing to herself, she headed back down the stairs in search of the innkeeper.

[Tevildo]

Camille watched in hungry anticipation as platters overflowing with biscuits and eggs were brought out from the kitchen and set down on the table. She immediately began to eat but was careful to slip two or three biscuits from the pile when she though Falco wasn't looking and stash them away in her now empty bag. Her brother loved biscuits, and she wasn't about to disappoint him.

Although most of Camille's attention was centered on the biscuits, she made sure to get a close look at Falco and listen to what he was saying. She already liked him a great deal. There was something so quaint and earnest about his manner that Camille couldn't help but smile. She wondered if the gentleman was married but somehow didn't think so. In a strange way, he reminded her of the old tales she'd heard of Bilbo Baggins. Her mother liked those stories very much and had told her and Rory about Bilbo many times. A little bird flitted in a corner of Camille's mind as she wondered if her mother would like to meet Falco. Ma got out so very little since it was difficult with her brother. Camille thought it might do her a great deal of good.

Falco was talking about the dress and trying to figure out a way that Camille could be persuaded to take it. or another one. She answered his questions as politely as she could. Then he asked her about sending the basket of food. Camille suddenly had an idea in her head, but she didn't know if she dared ask it. Still, it was better to open her mouth and try." Master Falco, you are too kind. Unfortunately, mother is stubborn and smart. Once she hears your offer, she'll guess you are giving me something for nothing. It wouldn't make any sense that you were paying me for doing work for someone else. But I do have an idea."

Camille took a deep breath and then plunged ahead. "Perhaps, you could bundle up your laundry for Mum. She could come to the Inn every morning to get it, and return it the next morning all nicely folded and clean. I would offer to do this myself but I'll be busy working here. Anyways, Mum is a much better laundress. You could pay her with a basket of food and one clean frock for me. No more than one, mind you, or Mum would be suspicious. Perhaps later, if things worked out, you might include a new breeches and shirt for my brother. " The image of her brother in his too-tight pants and raggedy shirt popped into Camille's mind. She stared down at her plate and nervously rearranged the eggs with her fork. Then she glanced over at Falco, who seemed to be deep in thought as if weighing the meaning behind her words.

"Oh, yes," Camille added, pressing her argument to its logical concludion, "there's one other thing. I know Mum would want to speak with you first about all this. Otherwise she'd never agree. If you wanted, you could ask her and Rory up to the Inn for dinner tonight and we could talk this all out"

Camille wondered if she'd pushed the kindly gentleman too far. She had no idea how he felt about poor hobbit lads or middle-aged widows. She hoped what she had said was alright, but she dared not stop now. "One other thing," she continued, "Mum will need a bit of help getting Rory up to the Inn. You see, he can't walk well. He's a thin slip of a hobbit, much smaller than I am. And he's just ten-years old. Perhaps if you could carry him or bring a small cart down by The Water where we are living now. I know he would love to get out."

[elf-girl-63]

Aranel stamped her feet at the door of the inn and slowly pushed it open. She shook her long dark hair out of her face and stepped inside. The rain had just about stopped as she reached her destination- The Green Dragon. The inn had been recommended by a mysterious traveller who was on their way home. She couldn't remember his name but he'd been very brooding and very reluctant to share any information during the night that they'd camped out together, but she was pleased with the recommendation. The inn looked to be very comforting.

It was decorated in a typically hobbit fashion, yet with enough space even for the tallest of travellers. Aranel smiled to herself and made her way over to the bar. A stout hobbit was stood there, eyeing up the woman although with no hint of surprise on her face. She was obviously used to new and unusual visitors- even those dressed in plain clothes but with... certain airs. Aranel was somewhat glad, she did not wish to be talked about.

Nodding her head, she smiled again and stuck out her hand 'Good afternoon, I am Aranel. I wondered if I could possibly have a room for a few days?'

The woman turned to a get a guestbook and Aranel suddenly felt a terrible huner pang. 'Excuse me. But I would I be able to get some food as well?'

[Nurumaiel]

Falco was slightly taken aback by young Camille's proposal, but charmed by her frank, intelligent manner of speaking. She had a way of thinking and talking like an older hobbit, but she still retained the simplicity and sweetness of a child. Oh, yes, he was indeed charmed. All remnants of his former ill mood were vanquished, and he smiled at her.

"A very admirable proposal," he said. "As it happens I am very fussy about the cleanliness of my clothes, and I was worried of how I was to keep them fresh and bright. The rain has dirtied one of my outfits already, and... why, I did not notice it before, but the rain of this day has slightly dirtied this coat as well!" He looked at it in genuine surprise, and wondered why he had not noticed it sooner. Perhaps his worry for Marigold and his suspicion of that Big Folk fellow kept him blind to it until now.

But the Big Folk fellow? Where had he gone? And, come to think of it, where was Marigold? Ah, yes, that young woman stranger had carried her up to her room. But... Falco was not nearly as suspicious of the young woman stranger as he was of the Big Folk fellow, but still he did not like to leave Marigold alone with one he did not know very well.

Camille was looking at him, as if expecting him to go on. He coughed and regained his previous train of thought.

"I have no cart, I fear... all I had was a pony, which kicked me off and ran away. But I wouldn't be opposed to carrying your brother here... as long as he wouldn't mind if I stopped and rested a bit every now and then. Regrettably I am not as young and strong as I used to be." He glanced towards the door, and thought about Marigold again.

"Now, my dear Miss Camille, when you've finished your lunch, perhaps you'd like to come meet Marigold. There have been no other hobbit lasses her age around the Inn, and though she seems happy enough in the company of elderly hobbits like me, I'm sure she would very much enjoy the company of one her own age."

[Annalaliath]

Annalalaith stepped into the inn; she had had a long journey behind her. Her mud spattered cloths were hanging limply about her for the rain and her cloak had not done much for keeping her dry. She shook off the cloak, as it stuck to her other layers of clothing as she waked to the bar. Her long dirty blond hair hung limply about her obvious Elvin features. But her keen steal blue eyes were bright as ever, and always attentive to the smallest action, or beauty that could be found.

Although this place was small, being made for Hobbits, she liked it. She noticed the other patrons sitting at their drinks and food and wondered what they were thinking. After ordering what ever the nightly meal was and some ale she sat in a corner by herself. Took out an old battered book, pages covered in drawings and sketches, which she started to flip through, taking a sip from her mug now and again, she pondered the events of the last time she had come.

[Noinkling]

Benat makes his way to Derufin's

Benat picked up his walking stick where it leaned against the window frame and walked to the pegs near the front door where his cloak hung. ‘Come, Cullen!’ he called to his canine companion. ‘Cook’s told a fellow named Derufin we’ll come help clear the downed trees from the edge of the Inn’s yard.’ Benat drew his cloak over his shoulders and shrugged it into place.

Opening the Inn door, he ducked down a bit and stepped onto the porch. Two strides brought him down the steps. Cullen bounded out behind Benat and circled him, wagging his tail. ‘This way, fellah,’ called the man, walking briskly toward the groundskeeper’s cottage.

[Mithalwen]

It had taken Mithalwen longer than she expected to get Marigold ready. It had been quite a task to persuade her she should have a bath since Marigold claimed she had had a good wash that morning, and only the addition of what Mithalwen told her were "special elf herbs as used by the queen herself (who everyone knew was the fairest lady in the world)" had convinced her. They would ensure she would wake with few aches from her fall.

Then while the hobbit maid bathed, Mithalwen had realised one of the dresses was missing. She did not want to be away from Marigold for time it took to find it and so attempted to conceal it's absence a while by telling her she should wear the red dress " for it is the most cheerful colour for a grey day". As Marigold's hair dried she managed to persuade it into ringlets rather than wild curls and scavenged a piece of ribbon to keep them off her face. All in all, the elf was proud of her handiwork as she helped Marigold back down stairs. Her clear voice could be heard before they turned the corner and came back into the view of those in the common room.

"Now Marigold, you can show Mr Headstrong, Miss Aman and Mr Snaveling .. " cursing herself for mentioning them in the same breath and hoping it wouldn't prompt Marigold to develop her earlier theory, " how pretty you look.... oh they seem to have gone.. well you can show Mr Headstrong anyway ..that is most important since he gave you the dress" she added wondering where the Dunadan and the innkeeper were.

Marigold walked selfconsciously towards her benefactor who now seemed to have the company of another hobbit girl. While Marigold was distracted she whispered to Falco "I seem to be missing one of Miss Marigold's dresses ....... I must have left it behind .... I am sure I had them all ... anyway the other things are safely in the press in her room".

Really the child did look sweet in the red frock and it set off the single pearl necklace nicely.... she wondered if she should offer to shorten it.. but then that was another issue she was avoiding... how had Marigold come into possession of her wedding gift?

[samsmyhero]

Falowik had traced the outline of both of Denegal's feet onto a rough piece of parchment procured from the inn, and was now busy cutting out the leather. They had certainly received some odd looks as they had passed through Bywater looking for the tanner. The old hobbit had grinned, seeing Denegal's red slippers, and seemed somewhat disappointed that his friends were intent on reshodding the young soldier. But he was happy enough at the coin jingling in his hand as the three left his shop.

Upon returning to the inn, Denegal had stood just long enough to let Falowik trace his feet, then went in search of an axe. Now that the rain had stopped, he was duty bound to get onto the dismembering of those trees. Falowik and Uien had settled themselves comfortably in one of the empty stalls of the stable. Though the day was still chilly, the warmth of the horse' bodies were enough to keep the place warm and snug. Denegal felt the sharp caress of the wind as he turned the corner of the inn. But he knew the work ahead would certainly keep him warm enough. Ths sun was making a brave attempt to ward off the clouds that still flitted across the sky, and its rays felt good on his face.

The Cook had said the trees were near the groundskeepers' cottage and had pointed the way to him earlier that morning. Making his way along the path, Denegal became aware of a loud panting and bold footsteps behind him. Turning, his eyes widened in alarm at the sight of a huge man and an equally huge dog trotting at his side. The giant also stared at Denegal, but his surprise was a source of amusement – the curly toed red slippers, of course!

"Good day to you . . . friend." Denegal offered, hopefully. "I'm in search of the groundskeeper's cottage. Do you know if this is the way?"

[Nurumaiel]

Why Falco leaned over to whisper in Mithalwen's ear he couldn't say. He was supposed to be suspicious of her, but he was murmuring low to her, as if confident of her. Perhaps Camille had put him in an excellent put, or perhaps he had been slightly warmed by Mithalwen's own whispering. But whatever the reason, he did indeed lean over to her, with a reassuring smile, and whispered a reply.

"Don't fret about Marigold's dress, Miss Mithalwen," he said. "It's safe and sound, and I believe it is in the kitchen." He paused for a moment, and made a move as if to straighten up, but lingered in his leaning position a little longer to say, in the same low tones: "I'm going to be gone briefly this evening to help a young boy get to the Inn... I wonder if you would mind watching out for Marigold while I'm away."

Ah, so he was suspicious of her, and he asked her to watch Marigold again... and he wouldn't be in the Inn. Last time Marigold had been left alone with this young woman, she (that is, Marigold) had fallen from a horse. What madness possessed him to ask again? Why did he suddenly feel as if he ought to trust this young woman? He was quite irritated with himself, and gave her no time to voice either assent or dissent, for he immediately turned to face Camille and Marigold, who had been gazing curiously and rather shyly at each other.

"Miss Camille, I should like you to meet Miss Marigold Baker. And, Marigold, my dear, this is Miss Camille." He had been determined to ignore the young woman in the introductions as his penance for trusting her to watch Marigold again, but he felt it would be rude, and so added, in a rather grudging tone: "And, Camille, this is Miss Mithalwen."

[Witch_Queen]

Jon looked at Dwaline. He knew why the dwarf would ask about his curiousity for the crow. "Along my journeys I've seen many white crows just wondered if she has anything to do with them." Jon looked up when he heard the sound of Aman's voice. Ah so they were right she is here. "She seems pretty content around people. Its just wrong that she's been hurt. Oh and as for my type... thats a very long story. I'm not like the type you compare me to. Now I must find Aman. Have you seen her?"

Jon looked around the inn searching for Aman. He hadn't seen Aman in years and thought now would be an excellant time to see her. Jon hadn't been in the shire for a long time. The last time he left he was running from the future he didn't wish to embrace. "Oh well I guess I'll see her sometime."

[Noinkling]

Benat speaks to Denegal

Cullen was fascinated by the red things on the man’s feet. He inched forward, his tail wagging, and began to sniff at them. They were animal hide, their scent quite intriguing, for they did not smell like other footwear he had encountered on his travels with his master. Had he the vocabulary he would have thought them ‘exotic’; but, instead, he merely took a long whiff of them, then looked up hopefully at their wearer, wondering if he would share them.

‘Excuse my dog . . . Cullen’s his name, by the way. He seems fascinated by your curious footwear. And to be honest,’ Benat blurted out without thinking, ‘I’ve never seen the like in my short travels.’ The trio walked on together. There was really nothing to be said about the shoes save that they were borrowed and that soon Denegal would have a proper pair of boots.

‘My name is Benat,’ the Beorning said, following up on Denegal’s offer of his own name. ‘And yes, I think I do know where the cottage is you speak of. Seems a certain one of the Small Folk has enlisted us both in the pursuit of firewood!’ Benat reached down to scratch Cullen between the ears. ‘I must confess I’ve not had the acquaintance of many of the Small Folk, but I find them quite engaging. Don’t you? And generous, in their own way.’

[Envinyatar]

Derufin and Zimzi watch as Benat and Denegal approach . . .

‘Quickly, Zimzi! Come out here!’

Derufin stood on the porch of the cottage, stringing up a thin rope line frome one of the nearby trees to one of the porch’s posts. Zimzi had stirred up her bleaching brew, adding in the soured milk that Cook had given her, and was now wringing out the sodden tangle of curtains in preparation for hanging them in the sun.

‘I’m on my way. Last one’s in the basket,’ she called. She picked up the pouch of cleverly carved wooden pins for hanging clothes on a line she’d gotten as a present from one of the Shire ladies and placed it in the basket. ‘Well, here I am,’ she said, plunking the basket at Derufin’s feet, and reaching in to hand him one of the damp curtains. ‘Here! Help me get these hung, won’t you.’ She handed him several of the clothes-pins and began shaking out a curtain of her own to hang. ‘Now what was so urgent that you called to me in the first place,’ she asked, showing him how to use the pins.

‘Look there,’ Derufin said, pointing toward where the back door to the Inn’s kitchen was. ‘Look at those two fellows. I’ll bet they’re the ones Cook said she’d send.’

Zimzi’s mouth formed a small ‘O’ of surprise. ‘My! That is a very big “helper”! And his dog . . . he’s as big as a Shire pony.’ She broke into a small chuckle. ‘And the other fellow . . . the one that’s our size. What on earth has he got on his feet?’ Zimzi laughed aloud. ‘Trust Cook to send us her more interesting strays!’

[samsmyhero]

Denegal smiled broadly as the three approached the groundskeeper's cottage. He felt well at ease with his new companions, both man and dog. Although Benat loomed far above him, and Denegal was no tiny hobbit himself, the big man's plain and forthright manner bespoke a fair and honest character. After his months of travel, Denegal had encountered more than enough of the type who smile prettily while stealing your purse. It seemed the Shire attracted more of the good kind than the bad.

‘I must confess I’ve not had the acquaintance of many of the Small Folk, but I find them quite engaging. Don’t you? And generous, in their own way.’ Denegal considered Benat's question before answering.

"I've not been in the Shire long myself, and must confess that I never layed eyes on a halfling, or hobbit as they seem to call themselves, before this very day." Denegal replied. "But from all I've observed today, they are indeed a most jolly, kindly, and friendly lot. Indeed, 'tis the good will of the Inn cook which sets me on the same path as yourself and Cullen here. I'm afraid the three coppers in my purse would not have stretched very far at all. But now I have the means to eat and stay warm, and dry, for a while yet."

They had now reached a cleared area wherein lay the small, neat cottage. A man was standing close by the door, watching their approach. His wife, presumably, had just appeared in the doorway, and was just making a comment to her husband, which made him laugh, along with her. It caused Denegal's sore heart to twinge to see such an obviously happy couple, but he was glad that some at least could be so, such as Falowik and Uien. What luck!

"Hail to thee, good sir! My name is Denegal and this is Benat, and Cullen. We're sent by Mistress Bunce to move some dead wood and split it for firewood. Can you show us it and perhaps point us in the direction of two sharp axes?"

[Tevildo]

First, Camille looked over at Marigold and smiled. "I'm so very pleased to meet you. I heard you took a bad tumble and I hope you feel better. I'll be working here at the Inn. I'm not sure what Cook will have me do. I'll just have to wait and see. But I hope we have some time together." Camille felt very uncomfortable being introduced when she was wearing her dirty and ragged clothes. She also hoped that Marigold didn't know about the dress. However, Marigold was polite and, even if she'd heard, she never menioned anything at all.

Once the two young lasses had exchanged a few friendly words, Camille looked at Mithalwen more closely. Her eyes opened wide in alarm and anticipation. She was so surprised that she could barely blurt out a few words of introduction. "You....you're an Elf! Very pleased to meet you." She looked over shyly at Mithalwen and continued, "I don't mean to pry, ma'am, but Mum once said Elves could do magic. You just wave a wand and make people well. If you don't mind, I'd like to know if that is true."

Inside Camille's head was the image of her younger brother as he struggled to get up to his feet and, with the aid of a crutch, barely made it down the lane more than two or three paces.

[Envinyatar]

Readying the equipment

Zimzi returned to hanging up the cottage curtains on the clothesline. She had made some small greeting to the two men who’d come to help with the downed trees, then left Derufin to get down to the business of clearing away the wood. ‘T’wil be thirsty work for them,’ she thought seeing how the sun had now come out fully. ‘I’ll just fetch them a couple of buckets of water from the well, and perhaps a few little sweet-cakes to tide them over until supper.’ She pinned the last of the curtains to the line and stowed her basket on the cottage porch. Taking one of her smaller handbaskets, she went to the Inn kitchen.

Derufin had taken the men to the Inn’s large tool shed to pick out the equipment they might need. Axes, saws, splitting mauls, tarps, ropes, and some large saw-horses. The trio piled these into a small handwagon and made off for the work site, along with Sweet William one of the Inn’s large workhorses.

‘I’m glad you’ve come to lend a hand, good sirs,’ Derufin said as they walked along. He looked them both over and chuckled. ‘But tell me, how did Cook manage to get you to volunteer?’

[Noinkling]

Benat smiled widely at Derufin’s question. ‘I can’t speak for Denegal, but Cook is arranging a meeting for me tomorrow . . . with someone who knows something of one the Hobbits who used to live around here. He visited us once; Mr. Baggins, did . . . or rather my grandfather. And I wished to pay him a return visit. Or at least find out what happened to him once he left my Grandda’s house.’

He whistled to Cullen who was ranging far afield, his nose following some trail. Cullen looked up, his great head swiveling about to catch sight of his master, his tail wagging furiously. Benat laughed at the dog’s delight and waved him on about his business. Cullen bent once more to his task and was soon lost among the trees that edged this side of the Inn property.

[Arry]

Aranel is waited upon

‘Ferdy!’ Ruby’s voice rang out across the Common Room, cutting easily through the buzz of conversation at the tables.

‘Oh, now you’re for it!’ laughed Gil as Ferdy’s head swung around, finding the source of the call. Gil nudged his friend, as the rest of the companions at the table shook their heads in a knowing manner. ‘She’s got your number now. You don’t go over and see what she wants and she’ll tell Ginger how rude you were to her.’

Ferdy raised his hand reluctantly to Ruby and waved, indicating he was coming. Those seated at the tables he passed quieted as he passed and eyed him, wondering why he had been called. He shrugged at their questioning looks, hands in his pockets, as he ambled toward the bar where Ruby stood.

‘Oh goodness!’ she said, looking at room. ‘Didn’t mean to put you on the spot.’ She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Been taking too many lessons from Cook, haven’t I? But Miz Aman’s gone missing again – that horrid Snaveling has poked his nose in her business again somehow. We’re a bit short-handed . . . and well, you looked available.’

Ruby introduced a newcomer to the Inn – Aranel. ‘I’ve got her signed in for a room,’ Ruby said, ‘but she’s a mind to have something to eat. Be a good lad, and get her seated while I get someone to ready the room. Then fetch what she’d like from the kitchen.’ Ruby winked at Ferdy, mouthing, ‘Ginger’s in there!’ Quick as she had winked, she was away, seeing to another customer.

‘Well, Miz . . . Aranel, is it. Sorry for all the shouting. But here’s a nice table, near the fire,’ Ferdy said, leading the way to a small table and pulling out the chair for the woman. ‘Now what would you have in mind for a meal?’

He waited patiently as she made up her mind.

[Huan]

A sketch of Annalaliath . . .

Anyopâ noted the Elf as she came through the door. Despite her wet and much travel stained clothing, still she held that certain air of grace the common to the First Born. She did not seem shy in her manner and he wondered why she had chosen a table tucked away in the corner.

He watched longer as she made herself comfortable in her seat; then, he smiled, nodding knowingly as she pulled a battered journal from her pack. He noted how her steely eyes paid great attention to all that was happening in the room. Another ‘watcher’, he thought to himself.

Pulling out his own chapbook, he opened it to a fresh page. His quill scratched over the page, setting the Elf’s fine features on the paper. The image he drew had a look of studied intensity as her features unfolded beneath his hand. One strand of lank, damp hair trailed across the inked Elf’s cheek. And poised lightly on her lower lip, as she considered what she had sketched, was the much nibbled tip of her own quill’s handle.

[samsmyhero]

Denegal answered Derufin as he walked along beside Sweet William. ”Well, I’m afraid to admit that I didn’t exactly “volunteer” to help out. It’s Mistress Bunce that’s doing me the favor. I’ve almost run out of money, and, truth be told, I’ve been living off watercress and sleeping under the stars these past few days. She and Ruby were kind enough to offer meals and a bed in the hayloft in exchange for some labor. Ruby even gave me the loan of these.” He stuck one foot forward, grinning.

“I’m not sure I’d call that a favor!” Derufin chuckled. “Where on earth are your own shoes?”

“That’s rather a long story.” Denegal sighed. “Suffice it to say, when I arrived at the Inn this morning, I was short one boot, and Ruby took pity on me. And it would seem my luck may be taking a turn for the better, for already I’ve made the acquaintance of Falowik and Uien, who have offered to make a new pair of boots for me and are even now working on them in the stable. I certainly owe a great debt to many here, and especially to the traveler on the rod who advised me to make my way to the Green Dragon.”

The three walked on a short ways in companionable silence, enjoying the afternoon sun, as Cullen gamboled in the undergrowth. When they reached the fallen trees, Derufin advised what needed to be done, and, taking up their tools, Denegal and Benat set to work

[Sett]

Galither was now getting to the stage where he was rather drunk slumped at the bar. However he was greeted with some company this fine hour. The two hobbits that he met earlier had entered the inn and they swiftly moved over to him. They were eager to hear move of his story but they looked around and noticed that the other men that were with Galither were now missing.

“Before you ask it’s a long story one I do not wish to speak of this day.”

Galither then turned to the two hobbits.

“Good Afternoon Hobbit-men.” Galither spoke

He then called over to the bar waitress and requested that three ales be made for them. She pulled the threes jugs of ale into their pint sized mugs and placed them in front of them all. Galither handed Ruby some coins and the two hobbits sat down.

“Been working hard gentlemen?” said Galither

“OH yes we been slaving away in the fields all days. Even broke a sweat in the last hour. That’s why we chose to take a break”

“Then you wants to hear more tales to bring you away from the burden of the days hardship?”

The two hobbits replied with eager faces, as they were rather excitable from the first tale.

“Okay where shall I begin” replied Galither

It was a day of light. No darkness crept up on it. So much light was being produced from the sun that nothing but beauty polluted the freshly coated air. Each wave of air truly felt like the angels touching our bones. It was our finest hour. We felt like the kings of the world. The braches and thicket, which we laid, felt like a royal palace. You would not believe that this day would be tainted, as it felt so pure.

However when we readied ourselves to continue into the northern lands we came across a skirmish between goblins and humans. It was a rare sight to see. The weirdest part was that a trolls emerged from the darkness of the mountain. This was an inconvenience to us as we were hoping to pass this area without trouble.
We charged down hoping to help our fellow kinsmen. Falmir and me pulled out our swords and shield and ran with great speed to fight. Sherman grasped his axe handle and yanked out the great battle-axe from his back. Thenergol also pulled out his spear and launched it though the air. We reached the battle and fended off the goblins with great force. Sherman took some blows to his chest but nothing pierced through. An arrow went through my leg but I continued to fight. Once enough goblins were dead they began to retreat. However the troll was very persistent and refused to move.

So Thenergol fired his spear straight through the chest of the troll and as he did this falmir jumped onto the back of the trolls and started striking the troll with his sword. Sherman and me were fending off the remaining goblins until they were all gone. Then the trolls began to get reckless and started throwing his hard body around attempting to shake off falmir.

Moments later men shouted to get falmir off the troll and arrows were fired into the belly of the troll, which taken him down with ease.
We stood on the man and accepted the spoils of war from the goblins. Mainly just gold and silver. This was not the end of our task but after meeting the trolls that attacked us earlier that week and now this we knew that we would face more in our journey.

Stalevor finished his story and left the two hobbits wanting to hear more. However they again needed to get back to work. This time Galither offered to lend his services for he had nothing else to do and wanted to take his mind off things. So he downed the rest of the ale and they made there way out of the inn, into the sun filled air.

[elf-girl-63]

Aranel looked up at the smiling, friendly face and swept some hair out of her bright, shining eyes. He was waiting patiently but she didn't know what to choose. The stranger who had recommended it hadn't mentioned food and she didn't have much clue what Hobbits preferred to eat.

"What would you suggest? I really can't decide," she sighed with relief. As few awkward situations as possible was her aim.

"Well Miss... Aranel. We've cold meat, hot soup, chicken, vegetables, broth, bread, cheese, pies and so on," he rattled the list off with an air of experience and waited once again for her choice.

"Some cheese, meat, soup and bred would be wonderful thank you. And could I possibly have an ale to drink? Thank you..."

"Ferdy it is. And I'm happy to help. But, if you don't mind me saying, you don't seem to be the type of lady to be drinking ale."

"I don't mind at all. I've been travelling a long time and when you do so you tend to get used to certain things. Like sleeping in the same clothes, not washing too often and of course- drinking ale!" She laughed, clear and bright and Ferdy nodded.

She could tell by the look on his face, that Ferdy was trying to work out from whence she came. Many a person had done so and few had any luck. Most didn't ask but those who did impressed her immensely- she did not want to be intimidating but friendly and sociable. Travelling had left Aranel weary and longing for human or hobbit company.

Sighing, she watched as Ferdy disappeared into the kitchen to pass on her order and once he had disappeared, the young lady turned to the fire to warm her hands.

[Annalaliath]

Annalalaith sat in the corner, now having been there for a few hours. She sat just watching the people mill about. There was a reason she liked it here, it was simple. Nothing too complicated. She leaned back in here chair, putting her head back to the wall, taking in the sounds and smells of the Inn. Relaxing, she began to doze, the sounds echoing around her, Annalalaith just listened.

In what place had she ever been so comfortable, she did not know. She sat in silence, the book on her lap lying open. She suddenly realized she needed a bath, and clean cloths. But why move now?

[Sett]

Galither was a swift worker and managed to till the two hobbits field far quicker than they ever could. The hobbits spent the morning ripped the resistant weeds from there bounds with the earth. It took great strength but these hobbits were middle-age folk and had enough of this to see them through. The ale gave them that extra piece of malice required to finish off their work so that their ale tasted that much sweeter when they drunk tonight.

Galither made there field very fine and it was fertile to such lengths that new born plants would grow to a similar level of height as Galither himself. The ground was free from its poison. The land was now free to breed the newborn plants.

Galither had promised the two hobbits another tale once the job was done. The two of them were now eager than ever especially with the rise in Galither’s mood. No longer was his contemplating this life he led but appreciated the life he now lived. The tranquil lie that was being upheld here was such a lure that Galither had taken the bait. The shire was like pipe weed once the taste pulled you in it was like a whirl of pleasure. It was so peaceful that he felt at ease inside. Telling tales of past adventures now seemed like a valiant adventure rather than an abysmal mess like he had been before.

They had finished the work and headed back to the inn. The two hobbits sat down outside as Galither offered to buy them ale each. He was feeling generous because that is the mood the place had left on him. He felt no need to keep his wealth to himself. He was paid generously for his work at Gondor and pockets were lined with gold and silver. However a lot of his money was left back at Gondor with his dear Esmerelda. He only just thought about her condition. He spent the day worrying about her but never wondered how she was. This set a dark cloud in his thoughts. She had in fact been bedridden for some time and was not on the mend. He loved her deeply but could not bare the images of seeing his love in pain so like a cowered took another mission to keep his mind off things. An idea had come to him as he missed his love so dearly but it seemed like a rather selfish proposition especially after the way he had mistreated her. She was probably not even aware that he was not around she was that sick.

He shook the dark thoughts from his head for the battle was over. His mind again lost the battle of wits being played deep in his conscience. He continued to the bar and asked ruby for three ales. She poured them gently into the mug and turned to look at Galither.

“Are you alright, sir?” She asked while missing some of the ale and pouring it on his lap. “Oh dear I am so sorry”

“Its okay I am fine” Galither replied now laughing with ruby at this most unfortunate incident.

“I will get you a rag to wipe it off” Ruby said. “No, no please I am fine. The sun shall clear this stain” She looked rather red as the man looked at her with a smile.

Galither then picked up his ales and carried them out of the inn. It felt like a long walk of shame as everyone turned down and looked at his pants and noticed the wet patch now very clear to the naked eye. Sniggers were heard as Galither took each step. He felt relaxed about the whole thing and did not take it to heart. This was the first bit of fun he had in a long time and did not want to spoil it so he continued to walk though the crowds of tables until reaching the door. The sunlight shuns on him and filled Galither with hope that this day was getting better than the morning. He placed the mugs onto the table where the three sat down and they shared looks of pity until Hamfast and Kristin, the hobbit men burst into laughter. Even Galither could not help but laugh at his predicament after a few shared moments of laugher they changed their moods to fit their current context. Galither then replied “Where shall I begin?”

[Mithalwen]

"Magic, Camille?" said Mithalwen, "I am not sure if that is the word - certainly I have no wand ... but we have within our powers skills and knowledge not known to others perhaps and some elves are mighty in healing - though even Lord Elrond needed to do more than wave a wand. " Mithalwen realised she was perhaps talking too theoretically for the child ..."Who needs healing Camille? I have but a little skill - good enough for Marigold's bumps and scrapes - for I am an artisan not a healer by training, but if it is beyond me, there is another elf lady here, Uien, who is ... unless she has already gone?"

Camille explained about Rory. "You say that he can walk but only a little? That at least is hopeful -but we must see him before we decide.. Do you need any assistance in fetching him here, he may be too great a burden for Mr Headstrong? "

[Arry]

Ferdy delivers Aranel’s meal

‘Cheese, meat, soup and bread . . . cheese, meat, soup and bread . . .’

Ferdy was mumbling the litany of items to himself as he entered the kitchen; trying not to forget what the woman had wanted to eat. He stopped short once he was a fair way into the room realizing that though he’d been in here often, he didn’t know where the utensils, bowls, trays, and other such things needed to put her food on were located. He sighed and started at the nearest cupboard, opening the doors methodically, one after the other, looking for what he needed. He’d found the bowls and plates and was on a quest for the spoons, knives, and a tray to put it all on when he heard a gasp behind him.

‘Cook will have your hide!’ said Ginger, looking at all the cupboard doors that stood open in Ferdy’s wake. She closed them as she drew nearer, asking what he thought he was doing.

It was Ruby, he’d told her, who’d sent him in to fetch a meal for one of the customers. Ruby’d been busy with another who wanted a room. ‘I really didn’t think it would be that difficult,’ Ferdy admitted.

Ginger soon found him a tray and filled the bowl with a generous helping of savory vegetable soup. She set him to slicing some ham and cheese while she got out a loaf of bread and sliced some thick pieces for the little basket she’d got out. Everything was arranged neatly on the tray, along with a small crock of butter, one of mustard, and one of blackberry jam.

She showed him how to hold the tray so it wouldn’t spill. Then reaching up to the left side of his face, she slicked back a stray curl, anchoring it behind his ear. He smiled and reddened a little as she did so. Ginger held open the door for him and he passed through into the common room, trying not to stumble.

Soon, he had negotiated his way to the woman’s table. And setting down the tray, placed the food and utensils before her. ‘Enjoy your meal, Miss,’ he said. ‘Will there be anything else you’ll be needing?’

[Noinkling]

Clearing the downed trees

‘Whoa up, Sweet William!’ Benat could hear Derufin talking softly to the horse. ‘There’s a good lad,’ Derufin went on, urging the horse forward now. Thick ropes had been tied about the branches of one of the trees and secured to Sweet William’s great padded collar. The horse put his muscle into it, and pulled the tree into the clearing. It was the last of the three Benat, Denegal, and Derufin needed to get bucked into more manageable logs.

Benat set to work with his log saw, taking the branches from the trunk and heaving them in a pile to be cut later. At the far end of the trunk, where no branches were, Derufin and Denegal set to work with the two-man crosscut saw. Several hours of work and they had a last pile of logs needing to be split with the mauls into logs small enough for the Inn’s stove and the fireplaces.

Mistress Zimzi, with the help of several lads from the Inn, had brought a cask of sweet cider, several buckets of cool water from the well, and a large basket of sweet-cakes to the work site. The three men now sat about the food and drink, pondering the work still to be done.

Benat dipped a ladle into one of the water buckets and took a long drink. Munching thoughtfully on two of the sweet-cakes, he looked over the pile of logs. ‘There’s a couple of hours or so of sunlight left before evening is upon us,’ he said, nodding toward the west. The shadows of the nearby trees had begun to lengthen, their leafy edges reaching further into the clearing. ‘Perhaps we should work on a few of the logs, and leave the rest for tomorrow morning.’ He looked at his two companions. ‘What say you?’

Cullen padded up on silent paws and plumped himself down next to Benat. He had had an interesting foray into the trees, snuffling out the tracks of rabbits, and foxes, and other little creatures that moved secretly on their own little journeys along the Inn’s boundaries. Now he was hungry . . . looking up quite expectantly at the remainder of the sweet-cake Benat held in his hand.

[elf-girl-63]

Aranel stared down at the tray and her eyes widened at the sight of so much food. To her family, she knew it would've seemed plain, simple fare, but to her it was beyond any feast that had ever been set before her. To dug into the bread and ham, occasionally dipping it into the warm soup. Eventually, after a couple of minutes, she realised that Ferdy was still stood infront of her and immediately felt impolite at having left him so.

He had a kind, friendly face and Aranel felt that she wasn't entirely alone. Feeling she should repay his efficiency she indicated to the seat opposite.

"Please, stay and help yourself. I shall never manage all this by myself, hungry though I am, and you look like you've been running around all day!"

Whether this was true or not, Aranel didn't know. Too be honest, she had merely said it in the hope of getting some company. However, she seemed ot have been correct as Ferdy looked around him, and quickly ducked into a chair as far in the corner as possible. She laughed and handed him some bread.

" So Ferdy, please call my Aranel by the way. How long have you been working at the Green Dragon?"

[Envinyatar]

Derufin chuckled at the dog’s antics. Hopeful looks had given way to a low pitched whine accompanied by the occasional thump of Cullen’s tail against Benat’s leg. ‘May I?’ he said, holding up one of the sweet-cakes. Benat nodded. Derufin stood and arced the cake up high into the sky. Cullen’s eyes had been on the cake, and he leapt up as it fell earthward, snapping it up in his large maw. A single gulp with barely a chew and the cake was gone.

‘Tis all there is, Master Dog!’ Derufin said as the hopeful canine wagged his tail.

Sitting back down, Derufin took a long drink from his cup of cider. ‘I think you’re right, Benat. A few more hours will leave us half done, I think, with this last pile of logs. I propose we do what we can then, please join Zimzi and me for supper at the Inn.’ He laughed, thinking of their bare cupboards. ‘Soon I’ll be able to invite you to my own kitchen . . . but, well, we’ve just moved in.’ He was thinking, too, of the raising cake Cook had promised to make for him.

‘What do you say, Denegal?’

[piosenniel]

Notice of Time Change in the Inn

In about 24 hours from now, I'm going to move us along to early evening.

So everyone please get in the daytime posts you need to.

Thanks, Pio

[Sett]

The sky was so clear that it felt right to discuss the end of that tale to the two hobbits now eager to hear what happened next. Galither however was not in a hurry as the day was still bright and there was no need to rush after this day. He pulled out a rug from his pocket filled with crushed up pipe weed. It had been crushed from all the adventures since Bree where he bought a whole new sachet. As he put his hand in the pocket he also felt a crisp note in the bottom of the deep hole.

Meet me under the oak tree
Love Esmerelda

It had been there for many months but Galither rarely emptied his pocket. There was so much junk and useless items that he couldn’t be bothered to empty it. He let out a tear upon reading the note but swiftly wiped his eyes as the two hobbits were sipping their ales.

“You call that pipe-weed?” Hamfast laughed
“I that I do, all they sold in Bree, of course it looked better back there” Galither replied

Hamfast then pulled out his very neatly tied rag. He unhooked the string that was binding the edges of his sachet. It rolled our like a parchment and out fell fresh pipe weed. It has so much colour compared to the weed found in Galither’s pocket. Hamfast then offered the other two to share in his very rich and luxurious pipe weed. Galither pulled out from his other pocket a shiny silver pipe that had been gently wrapped in a little case. He obviously has taken great care of this item, as he had kept this in the pocket near his heart.

“This was a present from my love Esmerelda for my birthday” said Galither

Galither then poured the fresh pipe weed into the pipes opening and lit up the pipe. It tasted rather sweet for pipe weed. It has a musky and rough texture in his lungs yet still filled them with the sense of fulfilment he had come to expect from the pipe weed. He was not addicted but did enjoy the taste very much, especially from his own pipe.

“Ah yes that tastes good. I forgot the taste of such things after what happened this morning. Thank you Hamfast for this rare treat. Now the story let me begin…”

[Arry]

A Hobbit never declines a bite to eat. And Ferdy was no exception. He took the bread and borrowed her knife, spreading a thick layer of blackberry jam on the chewy, whole-grained surface. From a passing server, he obtained a mug, while from another he got a small pitcher of cider. Around his mouthful of food, he smiled and tried to answer her question.

‘Well, actually, Miz Aranel,’ he began, taking a big gulp of cider to wash down the bread and jam. ‘Actually, I don’t work here at all. I was sitting with my friends . . . we were planning something we were going to do, when Ruby, one of the servers here, pressed me into service.’ He took another swallow of cider. ‘I’ve been here often enough to know what they have in the larder, so I though I’d give it a try. How hard could it be, after all, I thought.’ He chuckled at his misapprehension. ‘Luckily one of the serving lasses in the kitchen helped me out a bit and your food was got to you before it was stone cold.’

He’d finished his bread and jam and now looked covertly toward the basket of bread. ‘My goodness!’ he thought to himself she eats just like a little bird. ‘If I’d known, I would have made the helpings much smaller.’ He reached for another slice of bread, and seeing as how she did not object, he took a nice slice of ham. Wiping the knife off carefully on the bread, he plunged it into the crock of mustard and slathered the bread with it, placing the ham neatly atop it when he was done.

‘My Da and I and a few of my friends just finished helping out at the groundskeeper’s cottage. Added a new room, and redid the cupboards and windows,’ he said conversationally. ‘The new couple that live there just got married a few days ago . . . right here in the Inn yard.’ He smiled, remembering the dancing and drinking and food and fun. ‘Too bad you couldn’t have shown up earlier. I think you would have enjoyed it.’

‘What about you?' he asked, not wanting to seem as if he were talking too much. 'If you don’t mind my asking - what brings you here to Bywater?

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Dwaline eyed John with a lessened suspicion. John seemed nervous and jumpy and looked to be avoiding Dwaline's gaze. The dwarf folded his arms and stared directly at John sternly. John shifted his weight uneasily and looked everywhere but at the dwarf.

"I do not know where Aman is." said the dwarf at last, "Nor do I know who she is. I have not been here long enough to know everyone." he chuckled to himself and stroked his beard. John looked nervously towards Dwaline and seemed defensive as if trying to hide his eyes, lest the dwarf some how read his thoughts. Dwaline had no such powers, but John was suspicious all the same.

Avalon, who was now sat on the table, seemed more and more disturbed by John. She seemed uncomfortable as if she had a foreboding about him, but did not know what it was. Dwaline noticed this and was worried.

"Tell me, John, if that is you're true name, whence did you come from, and what business brings you to the shire."

[elf-girl-63]

The young hobbit eagerly helped himself to the food but Aranel didn't mind at all. He had given her hobbit-sized portions which were a contradiction in terms. To a new traveller, it was amazing to watch. She had thought that she was eating a lot and very greedily, as her family would've happily pointed out but compared to this Ferdy... Well, she was simply glad they weren't there.

Aranel listened as he talked easily and confidently about his life. When he mentioned the wedding the few days before, his eyes lit up. Ferdy clearly remembering the enjoyment he'd had.

"Oh, well I'm sure you don't really wish to know. Afterall, you hardly know me."

"But you don't me either Miz Aranel. And besides, I long to hear of far off places. Someday I hope... I hope to travel," Ferdy blushed at the admittance of such a secret longing. The young lady simply nodded but behind her bright eyes, he saw something darker. As Pa always said "the eyes are the window to the soul".

"Well, if you insist," she put the spoon of soup down and stared into the fire, recalling the memories that she had tried to forget. "I was born in Minas Tirith, in Gondor, 23 years ago. The first half of my life was mixed. My family was wealthy, we enjoyed company with Denethor and his sons, but we (well I) knew that this life could soon disappear. I suppose we lived in fear, but my father ignored that aspect of our life and continued to have us believe that Sauron was legend, a distant fear, nothign to worry about. Then Gandalf came to the city.

I saw him arrive, in secret, and watch him being lead to the libraries of all our writings. When he had gone, I slipped down (for our family had great power and influence) and read what he had. Somehow I knew that the end was coming, whether for Middle-Earth or Sauron. Anyway, time passed. Sauron grew stronger, Osgiliath was taken and then came the end. Denethor died, King Elessar was crowned and we lived in peace once again. My family remained prosperous, in good humour with the royality but I was not satisfied.

I am the middle child of my family. The lost one as they say. I was expected to marry but I didn't wish to. As you, yourself have admitted, I wished to travel, to see the world. My fmaily often criticised me. I do not know why, but perhaps it was inevitable. My older brother is a strong fighter and very loyal, my younger sister a great beauty and sociable, pleasant, open. I preferred knowledge, to open my mind, but in my parents' views that isn't the right path for a young lady of respectable class.

Eventually, I was ignored. Left to myself. I became bored with the city, wonderful though it is. One day I told my parents I was leaving. Honestly, they weren't surprised... but neither supportive. They gave my some money, a horse and off I set. I have been travelling many months since that day. Stopping in villages to work and increase my funds. I have travelled over fields and mountians and met many folk along the way. And now, I have arrived here. But I feel i have said too much."

She looked up and saw understanding, not judgement. Blinking back several tears, Aranel continued eating.

[Witch_Queen]

Jon chuckled a bit before turning his total existance into a very serious matter. He bent forward so the dwarf could him a bit better."Jon is my real name and as for where I come from...." Jon reached up and pulled the hood off his head revealing the look of a very young man. "I come from Rohan seeking counsel with the one named Aman. She's the innkeeper of this place. As for my business in the Shire... well I seek counsel with Aman. The details are not important and neither is anything else dealing with my existance.

Jon decided it best not tell the dwarf the entire story. The mystery behind his journey, Jon like to keep a mystery. He didn't need to tell the dwarf everything. "Master Dwarf, you seem a bit too curious for your kind. You should watch where you stick your nose cause you never know when someone will come along and cut it off." Jon set back in his set with a smile across his face. "I mean no harm to either of you. As for Avalon.." Jon looked at the white crow. "As for you my child, I have seen your kind in my dreams. I'm haunted by the elf crow bearer." The look on the crow's face told Jon everything he wanted to know. "So you are the crow that was with her? Weird how in my dreams you look so different. Master Dwarf where is her old friend? What has become of the female cursed elf."

Avalon looked at the man. She didn't know what else to think. He knew about Cree and Avalon thought some how something bad had happened to her. No all is good. Cree is still alive. I know he wouldn't hurt her. He promised me that she would be safe. Avalon turned her head to gaze at Dwaline. "Go ahead and tell the human what he wishes. After all I feel as if he may know something about our elf friends. Perhaps Cree someday will come back to me."

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Dwaline nodded at Avalon and cleared his thought. Taking a deep drink of ale he turned his attention to John again.

"Cree, the elf who once was Avalons accomplice, has gone off to far off lands." He cracked his neck and leant forwards, "She went with an old friend of mine, Fáinu, who is cursed by a dragon. Or so he thinks. They are going to the grey mountains to seek a Dragon. Rumours have grown there of a fiery death that has swept the land. Fáinu in the hotness of his heart made it his business to go off in search of it, thinking it a dragon.

"Cree, who apparently had known Fáinu from a long time back, insisted on going with him. She knew it a dangerous mission and so did not let Avalon get caught up in it. That is how I read into it." Avalon nodded slightly. "And as for sticking my nose in places," sniggered Dwaline, "I have been doing that since childhood. Call it a hobby, or more an addiction now. Collecting news has always been my joy. But now I am old and rambling."

The Dwarf peered into John's eyes and smiled, "You wish to keep you’re history and identity secret? That is fare enough; many do the same for their own reasons. But this dream of yours..." John turned sharply towards Dwaline detecting some thing in his voice, "It interreges me. I may not claim to know the minds of men, or elves or even Dwarves. But I know one who does. Tell me of it and I shall tell him. Perhaps you shall know the meaning of it."

[piosenniel]

Notice of Time Change in the Inn

It is now early evening; the skies are clear.

~*~ Pio

[piosenniel]

~*~ GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS ~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

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

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

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

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.

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

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.

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

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 early evening.

The skies are clear, no more rain.

Cook will soon be putting the finishing touches on supper.

~*~ Pio

[peral]

Sharya made her way down to the kitchens. The sky outside was darkening and she smiled when she noticed the lack of any rain. She needed to find the innkeeper, what was her name again? Aman or something. Yes, surely there was some hard labour that they could offer her for a meal or something small. She didn't know what customs they had here or how they would respond towards her just out of the blue asking for a job, but she had to try. She touched her money pouch again and felt the few lowly coppers that jingled in it still. Yes, she needed money and fast.

She needed to find the innkeeper, but where would the innkeeper be? She touched Ruby on the shoulder gently and when the girl turned around she asked, "Could you tell me where to find the innkeeper?"

Ruby looked slightly taken aback, but nonetheless answered promptly, "I do believe Miss Aman would be in the kitchens now, at least, that's where I last saw her." Sharya thanked Ruby and quickly headed to where the girl was pointing.

The kitchen was clean and Sharya began changing her previous opinion on the state of the area where food was prepared in bars and inns. She could find no apparent fault in the cleanliness of this kitchen. She saw Aman standing in the corner.

She approached her and being met with a questioning look, tentatively asked, "I was wondering, if it was possible, if I could possibly find some sort of work." Then seeing the look on Aman's face she quickly added, "I can do any sort of work, just need to tell me to do it and show me how to."

Aman looked at her thoughtfully. "Perhaps if Ms Bunce," she said indicating the cook, "has anything that she needs or wants help with. But you'll have to ask her yourself."

Sharya took a deep breath and swallowed a few times before approaching the cook who was watching over a colossal pot of food, no doubt the dinner that would be served soon in the Common Room, that she herself would most likely partake of later that evening.

"Ms Bunce, I was wondering, if you had anything that I could help with, for perhaps a meal or two," the words came out in a huge rush, and she could only stand back and wait for an answer.

[Isilmë]

It had been long since he last visited the Shire, and the Green Dragon Inn. Too long, he thought and slowed down his white horse as he came closer. A local farmer waved to him as he passed with a great smile. "Always welcoming every stranger with joy, no thought of what the person brings to them." He said to himself smiling politely back to farmer and nodding.

He had been riding all day, and was for the time being quite tired after the long trip. Isilmë passed the old stables, where of course merry old Meriadoc stood feeding the other steeds in the stables. "Isilmë, is it?" Meriadoc said, with a quite susprised tone in his voice. Apparently not expecting Isilmë to return. Isilmë confirmed the question with a nod. "Take good care of him, he is meaning a lot to me." Isilmë said smiling, then handing over the reins to Meriadoc. He nodded and took the white steed to an empty stall. Isilmë nodded and thanked Meriadoc and then went out and over to the Inn building.

The door creaked friendly when he opened the wooden door to the Inn, the creaking sound drawed a lot of gazes over at him and Isilmë nodded to them. He slowly made his way over to the counter. He leaned casually against it, clearing his throat.
"Miz?" He asked carefully. The hobbit lass swiftly turned smiling at him.

"Yes, Master Elf?" She said so politely, that Isilmë almost blushed.

"I wish to have an ale, thank you." Isilmë said smiling back, glad to meet so many warm greeters after his long abscene.

The hobbit lass nodded and took up a pint and poured up some ale in it from a barrel. "Here you go Master Elf." She said and handed the mug of ale over to him, and the pointed over to another counter. "Go over there if you plan to stay for the night, dont be too late, or there will be no rooms left."

Isilmë nodded and decided to first drink his ale before consulting regarding a room for the night. He glanced around him slightly, while sipping his ale standing a corner. I guess none of them recognizes me, and I have to admit, that I dont recognize them either, he thought and then sighing.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Having finished the dishes and escaped from under Cook's watchful eye, Aman emerged into the Common Room in a cloud of delicious smelling steam, whistling quietly as she wiped her hands on a rag cloth, looking around the room. Catching the eye of an elf at the bar, she smiled politely, nodding amiably at him. The elf looked slightly surprised and smiled back before retreating bashfully behind the pint that Ruby had handed him. Aman grinned and passed an eye quickly over the patrons of the Inn, many of them hobbits gathered for a quiet evening drink, although the Inn's usual, more travelled customers remained, as usual. Her gaze brushed over them and, not to her surprise, she noted that Snaveling had slipped away once more. But her sigh and frown only lasted for an instant: the things he had told her...it was alot to take in, she supposed. There would be ample time to muse on all of that later - for now, she had spent enough business time on Snaveling.

But despite the notable absence of one man, the appearance of another caught Aman's attention, but for no real reason that she could determine: a man of fairly average build, seated with her back to her, but with light, blonde streaked hair that spoke of Rohan, one of Aman's own land. Something about the way he was speaking, the tilt of his head as he inclined it to the dwarf seated opposite him, seemed oddly familiar to Aman, but she couldn't quite place why. Still, the evening was young: she ws sure to be able to wangle some excuse to check over his face before the night was out. For now, there were other matters to deal with: business as usual.

Striding over to the bar, Aman smiled warmly at the elf who she had exchanged a smile with a moment earlier and slipped behind the bar, stowing her rag behind it. Taking the man's now redundant and empty glass, she re-filled it and slid it across the bar back to him. "Good evening, sir, how can I help you?"

The elf gave a quick, slightly nervous laugh, raising his glass. "You already did - thank you. Could I get a room for the night, please?"

"Of course." The Innkeeper took the logbook from underneath the bar and pointed out where the man should sign for the night, firstly in whichever language he preferred and secondly in the Common Tongue - although Aman was a dapper hand at Quenya and fairly proficient at Silvan, it was easier to keep a common denominator in which all names were signed: it became somewhat wearing trying to decipher dwarvish runes when a customer tried to duck payment.

Aman's eyes flickered once more to the blond man, biting her lip as the familiarity of his mannerisms tugged at the edge of her mind. Why was he so familiar?! The new customer cleared his throat quietly and, startled, Aman looked back down to his face, then at the logbook, trying to decipher the angular, upside down elvish runes. Isilmë. As the elf signed off his name in the Common Tongue, Aman turned the logbook back around and signed her name in the space, then grinned at Isilmë, handing him a chunky wooden key in the shape of a dragon. "Welcome to the Green Dragon, Isilmë. May I get you anything else?"

[Isilmë]

While leaning against the counter, staring out in the crowd of people sitting eating, drinking, talking someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned and noticed that Aman stood there, smiling gently towards him. He got his mug refilled with more ale and he smiled to her.

"Do you wish to have a room for the night?" Aman asked, smiling politely to him.

Isilmë nodded and thought that it would be best to have it overwith now, so it was done and he didnt have to bother anymore. He signed the logbook and was given a beautiful key, in the shape of a dragon.

Isilmë smiled back at Aman and examined the key he had been given. Interesting key indeed, he thought and put it safely away in his pocket. "Thank you, miz." He said and half-bowed, as much as he could actually, before he would hit his head in the counter. "And no thank you, I am just fine for now." Isilmë added while nodding, catching Amans gaze that slightly looked away in another direction. He looked where she did and noticed that she was staring at a man with blonde hair, standing with the back against her.

"Is everything allright, miz?" Isilmë said after a quite long time of silence between them.

"I'm fine, just fine." Aman replied quickly and looked back at Isilmë again.

Isilmë smiled and took another sip of his newly refilled ale. "So, do you have any news to tell?" Isilmë said again after a while, now finished his ale and handed Aman the mug. She put it away with a few other mugs that required dishing and then turned back to Isilmë.

"News you say?" Aman looked like she was thinking of something, and Isilmë awaited her reply. As it had been long since he last was here, he was very curious to know what had happened while he was away.

[Tevildo]

Camille stood in the kitchen of the Inn energetically scrubbing a stack of dishes in a large tub of soapy water that Ruby had provided for her. When Camille had returned to the Dragon late that afternoon, Cook had given her a list of chores for the evening and said that she could ask Ruby or Buttercup for help if she encountered any special difficulties.

So far there had been no difficulties. Camille sang softly to herself as she did her chores, all the while reflecting on the events that had happened earlier that day. She had thanked Mithalwen for her offer of help and said that she would be most grateful if the Elf could assist in bringing her brother Rory up to the Dragon later that evening. Camille was actually delighted with this idea. If Mithalwen carried Rory, not only would this make it easier for Falco, but it would give her mother and Falco additional time to talk by themselves, which is just what Camille had hoped would happen. Perhaps Falco would even take her mother gently by the arm and guide her down the muddy path to be certain that she did not slip.

With everything settled so nicely, Camille had scurried off to her mother's burrow and explained what was happening, leaving out the parts about the dress in the bag or how she hoped that her Ma would get along nicely with Mister Falco. Hearing what was to happen, her mother had done some quick stitching and cutting so that her own spare dress would fit Camille. "Can't have you starting work at the Inn looking like a hooligan, can we now?" Her mother had listened with interest when Camille told her what was to happen later that evening and had laughed with approval, "Such a resourceful young lass! Doing a bit of laundry for a guest at the Inn is a good idea. Yes, if one of your friends can help Rory, we'll wait for them to come here and then walk together to the Inn for a little dinner. An evening out would be a rare treat." With the assurance that Rory and her mother would be joining her at the Dragon, Camille had trotted back to the Inn and reported to Cook for work.

Just as she finished scrubbing and rinsing the last of the dishes and platters, Buttercup hurried in and handed Camille a large sack of carrots and onions and another of mushrooms with instructions to clean and pare them. "Cook already has a stew simmering," Buttercup explained, "but it looks as if we're in for a big crowd tonight. We'll need an extra mushroom pie or two, and a pot of carrots cooked in butter. Just work on these vegetables and give them to Cook as soon as you finish." Camille immediately set to work with the cleaning and chopping, while keeping one eye on the Common Room to see when her mother and brother would arrive.

[piosenniel]

Sharya finds herself helping out . . .

‘Ms Bunce, I was wondering, if you had anything that I could help with, for perhaps a meal or two . . .’

The words had come out of the woman’s mouth in such a rush and tumble that Cook almost asked her to repeat herself. Instead, she just said, ‘Slow down, Miss! These old ears can’t listen as quickly as your tongue can wag!’ Cook looked the woman up and down, and decided she looked able enough. She directed her over to where Camille was just starting to clean off the carrots and mushrooms that Buttercup had brought in.

‘You can help Camille, here, get the carrots chopped in nice thick rounds and put into this big pot to be set to boil.’ Cook took down one of the mid sized kettles and put it on the table. ‘Now mind you don’t boil them to mush. They need to have some gumption left in them when we serve them with butter.’ Next, she showed them the seven big pie plates she had lined with pastry. ‘I’ll be wanting the mushrooms and onions sliced thin and layered in the pie pans . . . heaped up just a bit above the rims. Once you’re done, I’ll dot them with butter, put the top crust on and pop them in the oven.’

She got out some large cutting boards and knives for Camille and Sharya and giving Sharya an apron to put on, bade them hop to it.

[Envinyatar]

Supper for the hungry woodcutters . . .

‘Good work, men!’ Derufin leaned on his long handled splitting maul and surveyed the stack of split firewood and the sawn logs still to be split and some done further into kindling. A good half-day’s work on the morrow and the Inn would be set for several months. Denegal had gathered up the saws and Benat the axes, and both men were now putting them on the cottage porch, in readiness for the next day’s work.

Zimzi had brought out a large towel for each of them and a cake of soap to be shared. ‘Wash up at the pump,’ she directed the three. ‘I’ll just fetch my cloak, then, and we can go over to the Dragon.

The full supper crowd had not shown up yet, so they were able to take a table near the fire. Zimzi fetched them a pitcher of ale and three mugs and a mug of cider for herself. Derufin offered round his pouch of Old Toby and soon there was a spiral of sweet smelling smoke wreathing the heads of the three men. Ginger stopped by the table asking if she might take their orders. Supper was nearly ready . . . stewed coney, mushroom pie, buttered carrots, crusty bread with sweet cream butter.

Derufin looked hopefully at Ginger, who grinned impishly back at him. Zimzi looked from one to the other, her brows raised, a small smile dimpling her cheeks. ‘And spice cake with lots of plump raisins and thick, vanilla icing for dessert . . . just as Cook promised, Mister Derufin!’ Ginger said, laughing.

Everyone gave their order, then settled back comfortably to enjoy the hum and buzz of the Inn and the pleasure of each other’s company.

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik and Uien found Denegal with Derufin and a very big man with whom the first two seemed quite friendly. They sat at an empty table.

"There you are, Denegal!" said Uien, and turned to Derufin. "Good day to you, Master Derufin. How does married life suit you?"

"Well enough, you can be sure," the man beamed back.

"'Tis no surprise, but I am glad to hear it." She glanced at the big man. "Good day to you. I am Uien of Lorien, and this is Falowik Stonewort of Bree."

"Well met," the man smiled. "I am Benat.

Falowik stepped forward. "We have a small gift for Denegal." He produced a brand new pair of leather boots. Nothing fancy to look at, but sturdy and well made they were. Denegal's eyes widened. "Try them on, Denegal!" Falowik held them out.

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen had gone with Mr Headstrong to Camille's house (Marigold had been well enought to be left briefly under the kindly watch of the inn staff), and having briefly examined Rory in the privacy of his own home she had born him back to the inn. She had considered taking the gentle Aeglos, but she knew that Falco was unlikely to approve of her letting any hobbit child ride any horse so soon aftwer Marigold's accident. Besides the distance was short and the frail child was a slight burden to the elf.

"Can you help him miss?" , the mother had asked, not quite believing that her humble home had been visited by this exotic being. Mithalwen found it strange to be treated with such awe - amongst her own people she was quite unremarkable and the last time she had spent much time with mortals it had been Numenoreans of the generation of Elendil and his sons, who were not fazed by the mere presence of the Eldar.

"I would speak with another of my kindred back at the inn before, I say for certain - but I think I may be able to help even if if I cannot heal". The boy was not paralysed, but his limbs were weak and slightly distorted. Mithalwen hoped that maybe with calipers and strengthening exercise Rory might be able to walk, maybe in time even the limbs might take a better alignment as they grew - but that was what she needed to consult Uien about - the healer would have a better idea of mortal development. Mithalwen knew she could construct the braces - if the smith would lend her his forge ... or rent it to her. She sighed. Although she had some tools with her, she hadn't the right materials and these would have to be paid for: another unexpected expense. Now only she begrudged that wastrel Snaveling the meals she had bought him. It was clear that the boy's family would be hard pressed to pay for the iron and leather she would require.

Maybe the smith would let her pay in kind. Though he could shoe horses well enough himself she knew and she doubted that these rustic folk would have a call for the fine work she excelled at, but she perhaps should try. Either that or she would have to take measurements to Rivendell and the boy wait for her return. That would not be ideal - for such things need to be tailored precisely to the owner with many fittings. That would take time and to prolong her stay at the inn would also cost money. If necessary she could camp she supposed, like Uien and Falowik. She had some silver wire in her baggage - maybe if she made some jewellery she might find some buyers - just simple items that would not stretch a hobbit purse too far and would make enough pennies to finance her stay. It was a possibility at least.

Such were the elf's thoughts as she returned the inn. She was glad that Mr Headstrong and the boy's mother had occupied each other in conversation during the journey, and that Rory was still too much in awe to ask as many questions as his sister. Though the damp day had faded into a clear evening (Mithalwen thought briefly and slightly ruefully that it would have been a good night for travelling, had she not let herself get involved in the plight of various mortals), nevetheless the light and warmth emanating from the fires and lanterns of the inn were welcome - especially to the hobbit child who stirred with excitement as he saw them. The elf had noticed how much colder the family's home had been - it did not bother her much but she knew that such things affected mortals more.

The common room was a lot fuller than when they had left both with local hobbit folk and it seemed some new travellers. Mithalwen was pleased to see Uien and having placed Rory gently in the windowseat that marigold was happy to share. She went over to the table where she sat with Falowik and another mortal man. She greeted Them all openly but saved the details of her mission for silent communication with Uien "Uien, you are a healer , may I have your counsel...?"

[Nurumaiel]

Though Falco did not show it, he was very annoyed, and even slightly angry. He was angry with himself, for having ever relented as much as he did to the Elf, but he was angrier with her. His mood, which had been improving, had once again grown sullen and grumpy. When he had arrived at the home where Camille dwelt with her family, and seen small Rory looking from one to the other, unable to walk, he had felt his heart go out to the boy, and had blessed Camille for giving him the task of bringing her brother home. And then that Elf had taken two long strides and lifted up the boy in her arms without a word. It was more than Falco could bear. He wanted to carry little Rory to the Inn. Camille had asked him to do it.

There was no doubt in his mind that, if he were a little boy feeling so grievously wronged and going to his mother for consolation, she would have looked at him with a gentle little smile, saying: "Now, Falco, don't you think that is just a wee bit ridiculous?" Perhaps she would think so, and perhaps they would all think so, but to him it was no small matter. He had wanted to carry that frail little body up to the Inn. It was partly because Camille had asked him, Falco Headstrong, to do it, and he had agreed, but it was more because of his constant longing to help the little weak things. That longing would have merely made him regret that he had not moved to help before the Elf, but he experienced anger rather than regret, because he felt he should have been the one. He had been asked.

Conversation with Rory's mother had helped him refrain from his sour looks towards the Elf, but even that pleasant conversation had been a slight wear on his nerves. He could not casually converse, but he was compelled to cautiously converse. He wanted to say nothing of his plans for helping the family, for fear of making her stiffen at the thought of receiving 'charity.'

When they arrived at the Inn he was pleased to see that, after placing Rory next to Marigold on the window-seat, the Elf left. Now Falco would take full advantage of the situation. He would make up for having his duty stolen from him. He would sit by Rory, talk to Rory, play with Rory, and he would not leave Rory's side for the rest of the evening. He would make sure he was always there first to attend to Rory, even if it meant he had to scamper like a hare to match the Elf's long, graceful steps. Come to think of it... that Elf had stopped him from helping that Big Folk fellow by helping him herself. Would she never let him, Falco Headstrong, show an act of kindness? Was she so jealous of letting others be kind?

"It's not me," he muttered viciously, crushing the thought that flashed through his mind. "I'm not in the least jealous of the kind things she has done. If she went and did something of her own accord I would be very pleased that she had done so. But she has only ever stepped in front of me to do what I had already offered and agreed to do."

"Now, Falco, don't you think that is just a wee bit ridiculous?" came a gentle voice, echoing softly from his past.

He grit his teeth, and before going to the window-seat to sit with Rory and Marigold, muttered: "No, Mother, I don't."

[Envinyatar]

‘I have heard,’ said Derufin, leaning toward Benat, ‘that you hail from north up the Anduin. I’ve never been farther north on that river than Minas Tirith.’ He drew his index finger through the puddle of condensation left on the wooden surface of the table by his mug. ‘It’s a wide river there, with some swift currents that run in the middle channels. But for the most part it runs lazily down to the bay between widening banks. What is it like, further north . . . much the same?’

Zimzi drew her chair closer to Derufin’s. She too was eager to know about the place where such a giant of a man hailed. She had come from Lindon, and Bywater was the furthest east she had ever come. Derufin leaned back in his chair putting his arm about her shoulders and pulling her near in a comfortable embrace. She snuggled in against him, her dark eyes on Benat’s face. ‘Is there a Missus at home?’ she asked, thinking how lucky a woman would be to have such a strong, gentle man with such merriment in his eyes. ‘Someone waiting for your return?’

[Huan]

Anyopâ came down the stairs from his room, pausing on the landing before taking the final flight. The smoke and heat from the common room crept up the steps; it curled about his boots, and he felt as if he stood on the summit of some mountain, its head peeking just above the wispy clouds.

He had taken a short nap during the afternoon, rousing from sleep as his room darkened with the westering sun. Someone of the servants had kindly left him a pitcher of water and a towel and wash cloth. He’d laved his hands and face, running his fingers through his dark hair as he drew it back from his face and tied it with a leather thong. Refreshed, he had put on a clean linen tunic, drawing over it a plain, dark leather vest. His large pack he left on his bed, but in his smaller rucksack he stashed his chapbook, pen and ink. On his belt hung a small leathern pouch and into it he put a handful of coin. He hoped to make the acquaintance of one or two of the others staying at the Inn. He was interested in learning about other places and peoples.

Near the fireplace, he spied the tall, large man he had seen earlier in the common room. He was now seated at a table with several others. A man and woman . . . married, he thought; another man, speaking with one of the Fair Folk and a yellow haired fellow who stood by her side. The yellow haired man had a pair of new leather boots in his hands and had given them to the other fellow, who in turn was now trying them on. And now another one of the Fair Folk, another lady, had approached the first Elf and was speaking with her. It was an altogether interesting mix of people . . . or so it seemed to him.

Descending to the floor of the common room, Anyopâ stopped one of the servers he had met earlier in the day – Ginger, he recalled. A short conversation with her and a quiet request brought him soon to the table by the fireplace. She introduced him, saying he was a newcomer to the Dragon and to the Shire, and would they be so kind as to make room for him at their table.

He bowed slightly as he was introduced, placing one hand lightly on the back of an unoccupied chair. ‘With your permission,’ he said. ‘I would very much enjoy sharing your company for the evening meal.’

[samsmyhero]

Denegal had worked with a good spirit all the afternoon, enjoying the comradery with which hard manual labor can endow a group of strangers, fast now becoming friends. By evening, they had accomplished more than was to be expected and they headed off to the inn for a well deserved rest and supper. Denegal had stopped long enough at the stable to ascertain that Falowik and Uien had left, the stall in which they had been working tidied up and the tools gone. Perhaps they have taken themselves off for a break and a moment alone, Denegal thought to himself. He was brimming with pleasure at the thought of the new boots. His slippers, now much begrimed and with a tear in one toe, leaving it dangling in a woe-begone fashion, would not take much abuse as work shoes. They were meant for finer things! He smiled to himself as he thought of the assuredly once proud owner sashaying around in them.

Derufin and Zimzi played host to Benat and Denegal, and the four made a merry party as they ordered their food and then had a relaxing smoke, at least the men. Denegal had not had much experience with pipeweed, it still being somewhat of a luxury in Minas Tirith, and even scarcer in the southern provinces where he had grown up. But the scent was pleasant, even if he felt the need to cough. He was just settling down to it, when Falowik and Uien appeared.

Jumping up from the table, Denegal nearly upset Benat’s mug of ale. Cullen, who had wrapped his enormous frame as best he could around his master’s feet under the table, gave a start and whined inquiringly as to the cause for the commotion. “It’s alright boy!” Denegal said cheerfully. “They’re my friends.” Cullen thumped his tail expectantly, thinking they might be the bearers of a nice bowl of that delicious smelling coney stew. Denegal himself had a similar air of expectancy, and he stared intently at the two.

Falowik and Uien apparently had the acquaintance of the groundskeeper and his wife - his new wife from the sound of things. As Uien proceeded to introduce herself and Falowik to Benat, Denegal was practically hopping from foot to foot, wondering about the boots. But he politely waited until greetings were exchanged all around. Falowik, sensing the young man’s impatience, was tempted to drag things out even longer. However, seeing the moist sheen of Denegal’s eyes, indeed like a dog awaiting a bone, he took pity on him, and, stepping forward announced “We have a small gift for Denegal.” He pulled the boots from behind his back and held them out. “Try them on, Denegal.”

A wide smile split Denegal’s face, as he sat and quickly removed the outrageous slippers from his feet. Lovingly, he ran his hands over the supple leather of the boots and then placed them on the floor. He slipped first one then the other onto his feet. They fit perfectly! He grinned up at Falowik and Uien, who smiled back. “Perfect! They’re perfect!” he proclaimed loudly, drawing the attention of those seated nearby. “How can I ever thank you?” Denegal stood and strode several paces, feeling the fit and give of the leather. Coming back to the table, he gripped Falowik’s hand and gave it a mighty shake. “Thank you, friend! And you, Uien.” He turned to the gracious elf, and then hesitated, not knowing if it were proper to shake her hand. Sensing his uncertainty, Uien smiled at him and stepped forward, giving him a warm hug. “It was our pleasure, to help you out. And I still expect to hear a tale this evening.”

Denegal was completely flabbergasted at this unexpected embrace. Falowik smiled to himself, completely understanding the young man’s confusion. “We enjoyed the making of them. It is good to be able to work with the hands, creating something out of nothing. They are not fancy, but they will wear well and should last a good while.” He clapped his hand on Denegal’s shoulder. “Now, Uien, shall we order some supper?”

“Well, young man, seems you have acquired some new footwear. And Cullen here has adopted the old!” Benat chuckled and pointed under the table. All looked and saw the dog resting his huge head on the worn slippers as if on a down pillow.

“He’s most welcome to them!” Denegal laughed. “I daresay they’re more fit for a dog than a man.”

[littlemanpoet]

Uien and Falowik had just settled down at table with Derufin, Zimzi, Denegal and Benat, when Mithalwen came up to them with a pleasant greeting for all; but Uien heard in her mind the thought of the Elf-woman of Lindon.

Uien, you are a healer , may I have your counsel...?

Uien nodded to Mithalwen, rose and excused herself, and followed her across the Common Room to a pair of young hobbit folk sitting in a window seat, with a grown up hobbit who was scowling mighitly at the two Elf-women as they approached. The little hobbit lass was as cute as a button, and the boy would have been in boyish fashion except for his weak and bent legs. Uien's heart went out to him. Then the grown up hobbit's thoughts raged loudly within range of her perception.

Falco Headstrong, you are jealous of the Elf woman and you know it. It's not me, I'm not in the least jealous of the kind things she has done. If she went and did something of her own accord I would be very pleased that she had done so. But she has only ever stepped in front of me to do what I had already offered and agreed to do. Now, Falco, don't you think that is just a wee bit ridiculous? No, Mother, I don't.

Uien sent her thought to Mithalwen. There is more healing to be done here than one pair of legs. Mithalwen nodded, a little wide-eyed at the not so well disguised rage of Falco.

"Hello, Marigold," Uien said. "I remember you from yesterday, so curious about marriage. Did you get all your questions answered?"

"No, but I will!"

Uien laughed. "Hello, Rory. Would you like some help from us, and Mr. Headstrong here, to see if we can help make your legs stronger?"

He nodded shyly, and Uien smiled warmly, holding her tears of sympathy back with all her will. She turned to the irascible hobbit with the good heart.

"Good day to you, Mr. Falco Headstrong. I am Uien of Lorien."

"Hullo," he said curtly, suspicion in his eye.

"I have been known to help a few folk who were ill, to become well again."

"Rory's not sick," Falco protested, "he just cannot walk."

Uien nodded. "I think it admirable that you want to help Rory. I would like to also, and so would Mithalwen. Do you think there is some way the three of us might work together to do that?"

[Sett]

Galither was about to begin the story as he had the finest pipe weed in the land and all the ale he could want but there was something missing. He needed some atmosphere to give him motivation to tell the two hobbits the story so he asked them if they wanted to go inside.

“Its rather quiet out here you mind if we go inside as it is more cosy in there?” Galither asked

“Okay I think it would be nice to hear the rest of your story in a relaxing environment” Replied Hamfast

The three of them then grabbed their ale and walked into the inn. It was now livelier than before and anyone could tell that it was evening by the merry atmosphere of the hobbits and men inside. Much laughter spread across the room as Galither scanned the room searching for a seat for the three of them. He noticed a lone table in the corner of the room. It was darker than the other seats but they had no choice if they wanted a whole table to themselves.

They sat down, Galither on his own and the two hobbits sat in the opposite side of the table. Galither was still chugging on the pipe weed as it passed through his lungs with such softness that it did not feel as brisk as the usual pipe weed he smokes.

“We were invited back to our kinsmen home for the nights shelter before we continued north. It was a cosy little village far east from here. The inn there was very lively. The women were very elegant as they almost floated around handing out the ale to the rough and scraggly looking men that sat in each booth. They really made you feel like a king while you were there. The finest meat we had ever tasted was cooked nice and medium for my bitter taste buds. We feasted all night until our belts felt tight on our stomach.

Later that night we were treated to dancing in the town centre. The lantern that was producing the light for everyone was immense. No one slept that night for they all drank for victory that day against the hordes of goblins that emerged from the darkness in northern moria. We sat up and gazed at the stars without a care in the world. It felt so calm. I had more inner peace than I ever hoped to achieve. Falmir spilt all four pints over my clean trench coat; he was that unaware of his surroundings. I think he was really enjoying himself even though he puts on a façade most of the time.

We woke up the next morning in the very centre of the town. We had become so drunk that we feared for what we may have got up to. The maids that were clearing the place up were giving giggles to each other at the sight of the men.

“What did we do last night?” Falmir asked

The three of us all gave each other looks of emptiness for none of them knew what had gone on that night. We thought that our best plan of action would be to sneak off early to allow things to die down. Then we would be able to return in a few days after their current mission and find out just what we did.

We swiftly gathered all our belongings and scampered down the pathway to the north track towards the destination. It took a few hours until we reached a rather green hill. No flowers could be found here it was completely flat. Upon reaching the top of this hill however we become knowledgeable of why this was so. Another skirmish was taking place down the other side of this hill. No humans were here this time though as it were two rival goblins starting a fight upon each other. We strafed around the violence trying not to be noticed as this was going to be very incontinent if we were to get caught. Silently we crept along the heath avoiding all branches and folly that could make noise for if the goblins were to be alerted of our presence then we would surely suffer a fate without mercy.

It was successful; we made the destination without a scratch. It was absolutely beautiful. We stood in awe over this glimpse of heaven. Never before had such purity been coexistent with the world. It felt like something unearthly for such beauty cannot survive in such horrors that corrupt this world surely.

Well there we have it the mission was complete. They stayed there merely to behold the beauty that the item offered until removing themselves from the place and continued back to Gondor. Along their way back they again passed the village they stayed at before.”

Galither was interrupted by Hamfast who was running low on ale and implored Galither to take a break so that he could fill himself up with the good stuff again.

Galither lit up more pipe weed to give him the motivation to finish the story. When Hamfast returned to the booth with the drinks Galither was preparing to continue once again.

[Witch_Queen]

Jon was surprised by the dwarf's words. "My dreams are mere children dreams. Nothing more nothing less." Jon looked down at his mug. Empty he thought to himself. "If you will excuse me I am in need of a refill. Can I get you one while I'm at it?" Jon wanted to pull the hood back over his head but didn't cause he didn't know whether or not he would see Aman. The dwarf nodded his head and Jon picked up the other mug and headed for the bar. "News you say.."Jon thought he head a very familar voice. Jon turned to see an elf setting at the bar talking to Aman.

Jon thought about going on back to the table and forget about the ale. But his throat was dry and no doubt that the dwarf's was too. "Excuse me... I really do hate to barge in on your conversation...But could I get a refill." Jon looked at the inn keeper a smile across his face. He turned to the elf, gently nodding his head.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Dwaline followed John with his eyes. As he seemed to interrupt another conversation, a slight feeling of curiosity began to come over him. Avalon noted this and fluttered upon his shoulder. Dwaline glanced at her and she saw a small glint in his eye. Almost as if he was formulating a plan of action.

Avalon whispered something into his ear and Dwaline nodded. John tarried by the bar for a while, before Dwaline called over, "John, ask for the strongest stuff they have." Dwaline smirked as John cocked his head to the left and then shrugged.

[Nurumaiel]

Why, she acted as if she could read his mind. And that wasn't right. Of course, she couldn't... but if she could, it wasn't right. Falco had seen enough of old maid hobbits prowling around into other people's business, and what would happen if they could prowl into other people's minds? Was his face so very expressive that this new Elf woman could read his thoughts? It was annoying. He looked at the ground to keep his face hidden from further mistakes of expression.

It was an unfair question, that's what it was. "I don't mind them helping," he thought, colour mounting to his cheeks as he reflected on how honest he was about to be with himself, "but I want to be able to take care of the poor little lad. I never had any children of my own, though I always wanted them. It was my delight to take care of Marigold, but it would be wonderful to take care of a boy like Rory who will someday be a fine, upright young laddie. It helps me to pretend that I do have little sons and daughters of my own." The crimson spread further on his cheeks. That was so sentimental. How in all the Shire could he actually say that to all of them aloud, if just thinking made him feel so humiliated? And if he didn't say that, what else could he say? No, thank you very much... that would never do. Yes, thank you! would be just as bad. They would think they could continue to shove him around. They were so much taller and all that, and it was easy to brush him aside to tend to the poor hurt little children themselves. And they were so much taller than he that they wouldn't be able to see how much he wanted to take care of the children himself.

"I... don't... know..." he managed to stutter out. It sounded odd, but what more could he say? Neither yes nor no was the proper answer, the answer he wanted to make, but the proper answer... he could not say it. He wasn't a crusty old hobbit who couldn't smile for fear of being thought sentimental, but to tell them that... oh, it would be too much. Even the most open of hearts would blush.

"I don't know," he murmured again, and looked in a disappointed fashion at the ground.

[Envinyatar]

‘Please . . . be our guest!’ Derufin pushed back his chair and stood up. He reached out his hand to clasp that of Anyopâ. ‘Yes, welcome,’ said Zimzi, turning to smile at the newcomer. She reached for an empty mug and poured some ale for him, setting it down at the place next to her.

‘We’ve not ordered yet,’ Zimzi continued as Anyopâ sat down. Derufin held out his pouch of pipeweed. ‘Don’t know if you smoke, but if you need a pipe, there’s an extra in the outside pocket.’

Buttercup came to the table with a fresh pitcher of ale. ‘Cook says she’ll stand you lot to three pitchers for the table and dinner all around for the work you’ve put in.’ She cast a look about the table and its occupants. ‘though I doubt she knows the numbers have somehow swollen.’

Derufin gave her his best smile and pulled her to one side. ‘I’ll square it with Cook if there’s a problem. For now just feed my guests and keep their cups filled.’ Buttercup rolled her eyes at him, then laughed, and went back to the kitchen to fetch supper for the table.

As he sat back down, Derufin saw Zimzi had leaned in close to Anyopâ and was looking at something . . .

[Arry]

Ferdy and Aranel

‘Pardon my saying so, Miss,’ said Ferdy, laying his fork down by the side of his plate. ‘But it seems to me as if you’ve barely said enough, not “too much”.’ He handed her his napkin nodding at her tears. ‘No need to salt the soup with them, if you get my meaning.’

He watched as she wiped them away. ‘Seems like you’ve gotten to do what you felt you needed to. So why are you unhappy?' 'If you don’t mind my asking,’ he added hurriedly. He wondered to himself if she was sad because she’d been so long away from her family. He knew that he would be. But then, he reminded himself, his family had always stood solidly behind him.

The face of his Gammer rose up fondly in his mind. She’d pack him a lunch and give him a kiss and a few words of care, saying how she’d always be thinking about him. Then she’d send him off, as would his Da, saying she’d hope to see his face again. It would never happen, though, Ferdy thought; his roots were too firmly planted in the Shire.

‘Do you miss your family, Miz Aranel?’ he asked quietly.

[Huan]

Anyopâ drew back in his chair as Derufin sat down. ‘You have a gracious wife, Master Derufin. And to my delight I find that she bears one of the old names – from Westernesse. A name dear to my heart. Zimzirân; beloved jewel.’ He pushed the chapbook that he and Zimzi had been looking at, across the table to Derufin. He had already given her a very brief tale of where he hailed from, saying that he, too, lived near the sea. In Lond Daer Enedh, still a small harbor for ships.

‘I grew up on the old tales of those who came east from Westernesse. Tales of the men of Númenor and their landing at Vinyalondë. Aldarion and his guild of mariners, the Uinendili. The River Gwathló runs not too far a distance from my family’s home.’ A far away look shone in his eyes. ‘The forests have grown back since they built their harbor there, those Kings of Men. There would be timber aplenty once again for the great ships they built.’ His gaze softened as he recalled himself to the snug warmth of the Common Room. ‘Now only the small merchant vessels who ply their trade up and down the coast stop in at our harbor. And we, that is, I should say my family, have put their hands to other crafts. Fine metal and jewel work.’ He leaned forward, pointing to some of the sketches he had made. ‘Like these . . .’

[Noinkling]

Benat listened with great curiosity as Anyopâ spoke. Precious metals . . . and jewels . . . I wonder if the men of Lond Daer trade with the Dwarves . . . and if they do, where do they go . . . to the Misty Mountains . . . he wondered, beetling his brow. Or were there still Dwarves who dwelt in those mountains far to the west . . . the Blue Mountains . . . yes, that was what they were named.

Cullen stirred at the Beorning’s feet, and Benat put down a hand to scratch his ears and quiet him. Reaching for his mug, he found it empty. Zimzi smiled across the table at him and filled his mug from the pitcher near her. She fell back then to talking with Anyopâ.

The Blue Mountains were not a far distance from the Shire, or so he had heard from the various travelers he had met on his way to Bywater. Often as he could, he would ask about what lay beyond wherever he had camped or stayed for the night. And some were more than willing, for a hot meal and drink, to tell him of places far off they had seen. Benat narrowed his eyes over his mug as he drank and wondered about this new tablemate.

Was he on a buying trip now? he wondered. And if so, would he mind a companion to travel with him . . .

Benat’s eye caught sight of one of the drawings that Derufin was looking at. A pretty little thing . . . a pin . . . gold, in the shape of a bee . . . and set with some many faceted gems for the eyes . . . He has some skill in his hands, this Anyopâ . . .

‘Tell me,’ he spoke aloud, his great voice rumbling into the conversation. The others look up at him expectantly. ‘Do you have any of your finished work with you, Master Anyopâ? And might we see it?’

Others about the table nodded their heads at his request . . .

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling sat in the shadows and watched Aman speaking with the new arrival. He had spent the day by himself pondering the words that he and she had exchanged, going over and over them in his mind. At first, he had been oddly relieved by their conversation as it had finally put the girl to rights as to their relationship, but as the hours had worn on he had become more and more…anxious, was the only word that he could summon. He sat at his table and sipped a slow glass of wine as he worked through their last encounter yet again. As the scene replayed itself this time, however, he paid no attention to the words she had spoken, but focused instead upon something that she had done with her hands, a peculiar manner of holding them in her lap… It was something he had seen her do a number of times before…but had he? That was, he realised, the real sense of his anxiety, for he could not consciously remember seeing the Innkeeper hold her hands in that familiar way, nor – now that he thought of it – tilt her head in that comfortable fashion. The more he thought of it, the more he realised that there had always been something about her that was comfortable, even, almost, recognisable, like the barely heard murmur of an old tune from one’s childhood.

He took another tentative sip of his wine. Mithalwen, whom he had not seen all day, had returned to the Common Room and though he longed to speak with her she was with a large group of folk he did not know, and he little felt ready to the task of introducing himself. His mind drifted once more, back to the rooftop and to the evasive answers he had given his friend about his lack of funds.

He had been hesitant at first to explain, but why he could not have said. “I met a man,” he had explained, “a man who claimed to have information for me – or, more exactly, about me.”

Aman’s eyes had narrowed at his manner. “What kind of information?”

He sighed, reluctant to continue, and again not sure why. “I was married once, long ago,” he said, and he caught Aman’s slight intake of breath. She was angry. “I was very young, and it was not for very long that we were together. My wife was slain…as was our child.”

“Oh, Snaveling, I…I had no idea…” Aman reached out a hand to him, but the shift in their relationship, so jarring and painful and recent, stilled her motion and she fumbled for something in her lap. It was this motion that Snaveling noticed and recognised. He had seen it before. His eyes locked on to her face and he saw in it something that had been there all along, but which he had never noticed before. What is it?

Shaken, he replied to Aman with unusual candour. “As I said, it was a long time ago. I had gone ahead to the winter hunting grounds with my companions to build shelters, and the women and children were coming along after. It is our way. They were ambushed by Dunlanders. None escaped.” He took another deep breath, reluctant to go on to the most painful part. “It took time and many years, but I had come to accept their loss. But the man I spoke of, he claimed to have information about that attack. He claimed that there were survivors of the attack…” he trailed off, and Aman’s eyes grew wide.

“Your wife?”

Shaking his head, he said quietly. “My son.” There was a moment of silence as the wind played about them, carrying their words away into the morning air of the Shire. The sun was still shining and the world was beautiful, but Snaveling could see none of it. “When I was in the King Elessar’s court, the story of my family became known. I believe that there was even a brief song made about it, ‘The Death of the Infant Heir’ it was called, I think. That the lost heir of Numenor should appear was a tale in itself, but when it was revealed that his infant son was slain by wild men of the hills, effectively ending that line, well…the Gondorians, I have found, are a sentimental people.” He managed a wry laugh. “This man I speak of is named Wutan and he came to hear of my story. He set out immediately to speak with me, but I had already left Minas Tirith in search of…to come North. He followed me, seeking me everywhere, and finally he found me at the Prancing Pony. I was just on my way back here from the marshes, and I was seeking comfort and warmth from a pint of ale. He sat across from me and introduced himself, but a more disreputable person I had not seen – not, at least, since I had looked at myself in the mirror when I was still a wandering and houseless vagabond! He told me that he had been servant to a lord of Rohan, and that this lord had taken in a foundling waif who had been taken by the Dunlendings. He claimed, that he could prove that this child was my own son, and that he could give me his name…for a price.

“Elessar had warned me that once my story and wealth were known that there would be many such men as this, and at first I refused to listen. But the more he spoke of the lost child and of the circumstances of his discovery, the more I was compelled to listen. For three days we stayed together at the Pony and I questioned him about his tale in the most particular detail, but never once did his story falter or change, and there was ever in his manner the air of a man telling the truth. He was a cunning and subtle scoundrel, no doubt, but I could see that he believed what he was telling me.

“Still, I would not pay the price he was demanding for the tokens that he spoke of. I told him that information which is bought with gold is as empty as the purse which has paid for it. Seeing that I was resolved he reluctantly produced his proof.” Snaveling reached into the folds of his tunic and produced a small brooch. Aman gasped in recognition, for she instantly saw from the shine of the metal that it was mithril, and it bore upon it a familiar design: a tall crown with seven stars above it.

“That design,” she said wonderingly, “it is the same as your amulet. The token that proved you to be the heir of Numenor!”

“Yes,” he said quietly. “It is the match to that amulet. Before I left my family, I gave it to Heoll, my wife, to keep in trust for my son for he was but a year old. I demanded of Wutan how he came by it, but he refused to tell me. All he would say was that his lord had taken it from the child and kept it secret, believing it to be an evil device of the Dunlendings. It was the belief of this lord that the child was of Rohan, and that he had been taken by the wildmen as a slave. It was an easy mistake, for my son was like his mother, with hair that shone like straw and eyes as blue as the sky upon a winter’s morning. I believe now that Wutan stole the brooch from his lord when he fled in search of me, but as it is mine by right I took it despite the method of its return. I demanded to know the name and fate of my son, but Wutan demanded money again. I asked how much he wanted, no longer caring, and that was a mistake for he saw my desperation and asked a price so high that in paying it I left myself not only destitute, but in some considerable debt to the Innkeeper Barliman, who agreed to loan me the extra.

“It was a high price to pay for bitter news, for what I heard was little to my liking. He told me that my son had been named Arad by the lord and that he had been raised to think that he was the lord’s natural son. I was wild with hope but Wutan destroyed that like glass when he told me that Arad had gone to war with the Lord Elessar…and that he had fallen before the gates of Minas Tirith.” Snaveling felt a tear slide out of his eye, but he did not brush it away. “I lost my son again in that moment. But…” his voice caught. Aman’s hand reached out to his own and took it up, pressing it to her lips in a kiss. It was not a gesture of passion, but of comfort and friendliness and Snaveling returned it with a grateful look. Aman returned his gaze with a warm smile, like sunshine upon frozen ground.

And his breath had caught in his throat, and his heart had skipped a beat. For in that moment, the expression on the Innkeeper’s face, like so much about her, was as familiar to him as his own countenance, and for the first time he saw it fully. He was stunned that he could have been so blind to it all this time. For in her face he saw the likeness of his wife Heoll looking back at him. The expression of her eyes, the tilt of her head, even the deep and welling sadness came to him as though the years were but a day, and he was once again beholding his beloved bride. The resemblance had terrified him, and rather than continue the conversation he had hurried away, seeking solitude, and hoping that once more the girl’s goodness of heart would forgive him his odd shifts of mood.

As he sat at his table now, looking at Aman and sipping his wine, that moment of seeing his wife in the Innkeeper’s face returned, as did the rest of his conversation with Wutan – the part of the conversation that he had not been able to reveal to Aman. “But that is not the end of your line, Tar-Corondir!” he had said, “Arad did not die without issue; he left behind him a daughter – your grandchild!”

Snaveling had grasped Wutan by the wrist savagely, wringing from the wretch a cry of surprised pain. “Who is she?” he had demanded. “Where can I find her?”

“I do not know!” the man gasped from between clenched teeth. “Not for sure, but she may be nearby. Before I came in search of you I made inquires. Your son’s daughter came north some time ago to visit a friend, but she never returned.”

As Snaveling gazed upon Aman and remembered Wutan’s words, the truth was revealed to him with a thunderbolt. He fell back in his chair, and the wine glass slipped from his hand to shatter upon the floor. The Inn span about his head like a flock of birds, and he knew…he knew…

He had found his granddaughter.

[littlemanpoet]

While Falowik listened to the back and forth between Derufin, Benat, and all the others, quite happy to sit back and listen as he supped a brew, Uien stood before Falco Headstrong, horrified.

She was horrified by her own presumption and paternalism as the thoughts of the hobbit slid by her percipience.

Is my face so very expressive that this new Elf woman can read my thoughts? It is annoying.

Uien turned to Mithalwen and asked her mutely, Have I been that unsubtle? Mithalwen gave the slightest sympathetic shrug, unnoticed by Falco, who was looking at the ground, his face hidden; but not his thoughts. It is an unfair question. I don't mind them helping...

Uien went cold inside. Of course, the poor hobbit was right! It had been the height of arrogance for her to barge in and take charge, treating this hobbit like an inferior, speaking to him as if it had to be obvious that what she thought was right, was indeed the only way that could be. She did not withhold her thought from Mithalwen.

Falco blushed, for he was being more honest with himself than usual. I want to take care of the poor little lad. I never had any children of my own, always wanted them. It was my delight to take care of Marigold, but it would be wonderful to take care of a boy like Rory who will someday be a fine, upright young laddie. It helps me to pretend that I do have little sons and daughters of my own.

Uien laughed inwardly at her own earlier words, "There is more healing to be done here than one pair of legs." Falco needed to be needed. It was a simple thing, really. So wise, Uien, she scolded herself, as if you could possibly know best!

Falco's blush deepened as he accused himself of sentimentality. Now he was wrestling with what words to say, words that would not place him in the very kind of impossible situation that her own words had oh, so wisely, forced upon him! He was intimidated, of course. Who would not be? Uien scolded herself roundly and insisted to herself that she must stop being intimidating.

"I... don't... know..." he stuttered.

Uien was relieved. Wise hobbit. He had given her the only answer left to him that would not put him in virtual servitude to her "elf-knows-best" arrogance.

"I don't know," he murmured again, and stared at the ground.

Uien dropped to her knees before him, so that they were eye to eye. "You are a wise hobbit, Master Headstrong." The hobbit's head came up in surprise. The hobbit lass and lad watched, eyes wide. "I spoke thoughtlessly and placed you in a most difficult position. Forgive me! Mithalwen and I are pilgrims, passing through, and soon on our way. You will always be here with Rory and Marigold. The children look to you, not us. Please, tell us what you would have us do."

[Nurumaiel]

Falco gazed up at the Elf woman in deep amazement, and fumbled about with his hands. He was at a complete loss for words in the face of her kind smile, and he felt upset with himself. What had he said to make her apologise so? He had wanted to see these Elves apologise, but now that this fair lady was... it was not right. She had done nothing wrong. But... how could he say even that?

"I do not know what I would have you do," he faltered, feeling inclined to drop his eyes again, yet unable to take his eyes from her kind face. "Do what you think best for the lad. I know I can do nothing for him but be his friend... but perhaps you can help him more than that."

"Do you think," she said, "that to help restore the use of his legs would be a better help than the love and kindness you will show him?"

He crimsoned at her open use of the words 'love' and 'kindness' in relation to how he felt towards the lad, and at the not at all subtle implication of praise in her words. He could think of nothing to say, but again: "Do what you think best." And then he hurried to sit beside Rory and Marigold before she would say anything further.

Marigold smiled shyly up at him, and when he looked down at her he started momentarily, the vague feeling of familiarity stirred up in him again, as it had been at the hand-fasting the day before. He felt, as he had then, that he had known her before, and it puzzled him.

"I do look to you, Mr. Headstrong," she said. "You've been kinder to me than any other hobbit since my dear mamma and papa died."

He started again, more violently this time. He had not known that her parents were dead. He had wondered absently why she was wandering about with no one to care for her, but he had never guessed that she had no parents.

She put a little hand on his arm and looked up at him with big, shining, earnest eyes. "Will you take care of me?" she asked.

Falco looked quickly away and coughed, and made a grunting noise that could be taken as either agreement or dissent. Of course he would, if she wanted to him, and even if she didn't really care if he did or not. But this was getting much too sentimental. Little hobbit girls could have big shining eyes, but it was awkward when they were looking up at a crusty old hobbit. Much too sentimental.

"Do you know, it has gotten quite late, and I did not notice!" he said, coughing hastily again. "Why don't we find a nice table to sit at, my lad and lass, and prepare ourselves for the delicious supper that is no doubt waiting for us?"

[littlemanpoet]

Uien rose as Falco Headstrong led Rory and Marigold to a table, and turned to Mithalwen. "It seems that we must wait until after supper to take a measurement, unless you trust your eye."

"There is time," Mithalwen replied.

Uien frowned. "I fear I use the osanwé overmuch. As easily not perceive the thoughts of those around me as not to smell a rose that is held before my face."

"I do not blame you for its use."

"Thank you," Uien smiled. Then she turned, and shared her thought with Mithalwen. "Did you notice that, a shock in someone? A man who calls himself Snaveling. I wonder what befalls there?"

[Tevildo]

Camille had finished the last of the chores that Cook had assigned and had even gotten permission to join her family for supper. “Just tonight, mind you,” Cook hastily explained. “I can’t have you in the kitchen chopping and scrubbing while your family has its first meal in the Inn, especially not when Master Falco was so kind to set up everything.”

Camille had nodded in agreement and stolen a quick look at the five cakes that had been set on a sideboard in the kitchen. These were small cakes but not too small: each one just the right size for a hearty hobbit appetite. “Out with you now, Miz Camille,” Cook had chastised her lightly. “No use fixing on the end of the meal until you get through the beginning.”

Then Camille had helped to carry out a tureen of stew and a platter heaped high with biscuits to the table where her family was sitting. On one end of the table Falco presided. Rory was seated on his left and Marigold on his right. She and her mother were next to each other on the opposite end facing their benefactor.

Camille beamed brightly at her mother. “Ma, you look pretty tonight.” For her mother indeed looked far happier and more radiant than Camille had seen her for some time. She was wearing her nicest dress, a green skirt with a vest of brown and a small lace collar; she had combed back her thick red curls, and had even fastened a ribbon with a locket about her neck. Camille wondered if Master Falco had noticed how lovely her mother looked. She wondered if there wasn’t some way to get her mother to sit beside Mister Falco instead of Rory, but she didn’t know how to do that politely.

When her mother and Master Falco began discussing the arrangement with the laundry, Camille got out of her seat to give her brother a hug. She noticed he had found one of the little placards on which appeared the names of the foods that were to be served at the Inn for that particular day. Rory could not read the words but was carefully tracing the letters with the tip of his finger. He did not stop even when the stew and biscuits were set on the table in front of him. The young boy asked Camille to read the words for him, but she just threw up her hands and laughed, “I’m no good with words, Rory. Perhaps Master Falco can help you, or even Marigold.”

[Mithalwen]

Snaveling! Mithalwen's curiosity about the man had been her reason for staying and now she had got caught up with first Marigold and then Camille and Rory. She had only come to the inn to shelter from the foul weather and this would be her third night. Tonight was paid for but if she needed to stay longer for Rory's sake .. well she would think about that tomorrow.

At least, Uien had made her aware of the source of Mr Headstrong's resentment - injured pride. Uien and she had made the same understandable mistake... elvish communities were it seemed more communal than hobbit ones. Different people had different skills but used them largely for the common good. She started in her gentlest, humblest tones,

"Mr Headstrong, I believe braces could be made to straighten and support young Rory's legs while his limbs strengthen. I have the skill to do this, but I do not have the resources since I am merely travelling through the land. Perhaps you know where I could obtain, the steel and leather I will need - for local folk know best where to find these things and get the best value......"

Falco had seemed mollified to be asked for his advice and promised to give it his consideration. Mithalwen thought ruefully of her workshop at the havens. There she could have done this kindness using spare materials at no cost other than time. She hoped Falco might offer to pay for the materials but she suspected that if she admitted to her limited resources he would think her some penniless vagrant - at least a foolish traveller who did not think to prepare herself for her journey. He would not know that she had journeyed often to Rivendell but that this was the first time she had needed to spend more than trifling amounts. . She excused herself to the group audibly and Uien silently, giving her a fuller impression of why she felt the need to talk to Snaveling . "I will return after the meal".

She decided that she could afford wine at least and collecting a bottle of the local vintage (a fine drop thanks in part to the Lady Galadriel's gift) and slipped across to the obscure corner where Snaveling sat . " Tar Corondir.. may I join you? We have not had a chance to speak sice Marigold's mishap - from which she seems to have suffered no lasting effects - I hope you resolved the embarassment of her indiscretion with Miss Aman?" Then she was close enough to see the expression on his face and on whom his glance was fixed .. perhaps not... she sought to probe his mind "Tar Corondir, what has happened?"

[Child of the 7th Age]

Bella had spent most of the day quietly reading and napping in Cook's parlor. By evening her strength had returned, and she was ready to look at the rooms that Cook had mentioned. She had gone downstairs and found Ruby, who had escorted her over to a small suite of rooms located in a hallway off the back of the Inn. Thanks to Cook's instructions, the smallest of the rooms had already been tidied up for her use. It had a bed, a wardrobe, a table, and two chairs along with a shelf nailed onto the wall that would be excellent for storing her personal books and slates.

An adjoining room was large enough for a group of six or seven children to gather, sitting at tables and studying . Ruby explained that this particular chamber had not been used for some time. She removed the key from her belt and unlocked the door so that Bella could have a look. The schoolroom was a jumble of old furniture. Large dustballs rolled across the floor, and odds and ends were strewn everywhere. Still, Bella could see that it was a good size chamber. Best of all there was a large window that faced the garden and even a little door that opened to the outside. Along one wall were a series of cupboards and a small hearth where a fire could be lit on chilly days.

Bella looked about and smiled, "Yes, I believe this will do very well. Would you be kind enough to tell Cook that I plan to take her up on her offer? And please ask if she could use a bit of the money I gave her to assign a sturdy young lad or lass to help me haul out the furniture we don't need and get the schoolroom in shape. Meanwhile, I'll be working on a notice that I plan to post in the Common Room.

Tearing out one of the sheets from the back of her journal, Bella sat at the little table in the bedroom and began to write.

[elf-girl-63]

Aranel took out her rarely used handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. Now that Ferdy had prised open the gate to her feelings, she couldn't stop them rushing out. Breathing deeply and taking a gulp of ale, she organised her mind.

"I suppose... I suppose I do miss them. Well my brother especially. My sister, I didn't really get along with her. She was alway popular, as I said before but she was spiteful too. I remember once, I caught my dress on our nail in our house. I went to tell my mother but she got there before me and said I'd done it practising with my sword. I hadn't but of course my sister was believed and I was hit," seeing Ferdy's concerned look Aranel hurriedly added, "It didn't hurt too much and it was long ago."

While Ferdy nodded and continued eating (did hobbits ever stop?!), she gazed out the window and saw a dark pinky-blush sky. The day had cleared up and now evening was coming on quickly, she was glad she had a room for the night but wondered about others out on the open road. Her mysterious friend for example, where would he be now? She frowned as she remembered he'd given her no name but what use was it to her?

She turned her gaze and Aranel saw in Ferdy's face something she'd had little experience of in her lifetime. An unconditional love for his family and his home. Of course she missed the city, its interesting ways, its bright life but she did not pine for it as she knew he would this place. Her family and Minas Tirith went together as a package, like Ferdy and the Shire, they could never be separated. For some reason, the young woman felt she should resent the hobbit for it but she did not. All she felt was gladness... gladness that someone could feel such a deep-running affection for a place and people.

Aranel blinked suddenly and realised her melancholy mood was making her new acquaintance nervous. As she had stopped talking he was just gazing at the table as if he daren't look up in case she began sobbing again. She forced her mouth into an almost smile and touched his arm.

"Listen, I'm fine now. Would you like another drink? Or some more food? You hobbits do eat an awful lot!" She half-laughed but Aranel wondered if he could see her bright eyes.

[Huan]

‘I do have a few pieces of my work . . . two; no, three is all. And those are ones that I wear as personal ornament. Two of them really are the same – I brought a pair of links for my more formal shirt’s cuffs. They are fairly plain . . . a small gold anvil on one side, a chasing hammer on the other. Each one is set with a small beryl, a favorite gem of mine, and each a different color. But here . . .’

He reached for his cloak, rubbing the pin on its left shoulder to take away the film of dust from recent travel. He opened the clasp of the pin, taking it from its bed of dark blue wool. At first it appeared to be a starfish, worked in gold . . . five pointed as the creature is, yet upon closer inspection, irregular about its borders. The middle, too was raised up to a definite point, and in it was set a small, many faceted clear gem.

‘This is lovely!’ one of Anyopâ’s tablemates said. ‘Something tickled in my memory as you removed it from the blue folds of your cloak . . .’

[piosenniel]

Supper was moving along nicely. The cold of the earlier day had sharpened people’s appetites and they tucked in with appreciation to the chicken stew, thick with taters and carrots, and the big, fluffy biscuits that accompanied it. They were thirsty, too. The hours of confinement in the Common room as the rain pelted down had dried their throats mightily as they strove against the inclement weather with friendly conversation and pipeweed.

Never mind that the sun had come out late in the afternoon and the weather turned more pleasant. Once those in the Inn had their seats planted firmly on the comfortable chairs and benches, a pipe in their hand and a neighbor to jaw with, no amount of sunshine would flush them out.

Camille and her family looked to be having a good time, thought Cook as she peered out the doors from the kitchen. The girl was a good worker for one so young. Cook pondered the possibility of having one of the maids show her soon the routine for getting a room ready for a guest. The Spring Faire would be coming on soon; it always drew in a great lot of visitors. Many hands would be needed to keep things in order in the kitchen, the laundry, and the rooms to let. It was best if workers knew more than just one job. She was half-way through her ponderings when Ruby came in, bearing a tray of dirty dishes.

‘I thought you were helping Miz Bella?’ asked Cook, coming over to help scrape the plates.

‘We’ve got about as far as we could get before supper,’ returned Ruby, setting the scraped dishes into the deep pan of soapy water. ‘She said for me to tell you she was going to “take you up on your offer”.’ Ruby dried her hands on a dish towel and looked at Cook expectantly. But Cook only said, ‘Ah! Good!’

‘She also asked me,’ Ruby went on, ‘to have you find a helper of some sort for her. To get things carted about and arranged and all that. Said you should use some of that money she gave you.’ Again Cook was not forthcoming, her thoughts turning to whom she might spare.

Camille hurried into the kitchen just as Ruby, exasperated with trying to find out about “offers” and “money” had loaded a platter with bowls of stew and baskets of biscuits and was heading for the Common Room. The young lass, it seemed, was after another pot of honey and one of butter for the biscuits. While Cook showed her where to find them, she asked Camille if she would be willing to take on a small task for her. It would help out immensely, and there was the promise of a certain number of coins a week and meals, of course, while the job lasted. A strong worker was needed by one of the new Inn guests to move about small boxes and odds and ends of furniture. And any other handiwork that might be needed. And did Camille think she could do such a job?

‘But no need to answer me now, dear. Enjoy the rest of your meal. Then come see me when dessert is done and they’re all sitting about talking. If you’re interested, we can start you tomorrow on it. She’s a nice lady you’ll be working for if you decide to take it on.’ She gave the girl a push out the door. ‘Go on now and finish your meal . . . And don’t forget to save room for cake!’

Cook watched as Camille made her way to the table where her family and Mister Headstrong and Marigold were sitting. ‘She’ll do nicely, I think,’ Cook nodded to herself. ‘Be a real help for Miz Bella.’ At the thought of Miz Bella, Cook sent one of the servers to her room to ask if she might like to take her supper in the kitchen, or would she like it sent along to her room . . .

[Child of the 7th Age]

After closely examining her handiwork, Bella set down her pen and smiled . Then, she held the note at arm's length and scanned the words a second time. It was exactly what she wanted to say:


Dear Inn Guests and Fellow Residents of Hobbiton and Bywater,

Miz Bella Tûk, recently returned from extensive travels to all corners of Arda, wishes to announce the opening of a dame school for lads and lasses at the Green Dragon Inn. This school provides both rudimentary and advanced training in reading, 'riting, and 'rithmetic. Hobbit geneology and the natural history of the Shire will be included at no extra charge as well as a brief overview of Elven lore and tales of sea voyages and dragons.

Additionally, Miz Tûk is available to tutor those of more advanced years who prefer to carry on their studies in private. Lessons in wood and stone carving are also available.

In addition to Shire coinage, Miz Tûk accepts payment in the form of eggs and other farm produce as well as useful services that can be tendered to her. Please apply to Miz Tûk, #12 Green Dragon Inn, Hobbiton-Bywater Road.

Bella Tûk, daughter of the late Hildifons Tûk who was formerly of Tûkborough

Bella had written out two identical papers. Her intention was to post one in the Common Room this evening while the other would be tacked up in a suitable public place the next day, perhaps a fencepost or gate that stood along the road that ran between Hobbiton and Bywater. Then she would have to wait and see what kind of response she would get.

Bella had already informed the serving girl who'd come to her chamber a few moments before that she planned to take her evening meal in the Common Room, and would be there shortly. She'd left a personal note of thanks on the table for Cook who had made such a generous loan of her personal quarters. Bella did not want to cause her any more inconvenience by overstaying her visit. She'd already brought her clothes and books over to her new chambers so that she would be able to sleep there tonight. Gathering up the last of her meager belongings and stuffing these into a canvas sack, she opened the door and headed down to the far end of the hallway towards a room where she could hear many voices and catch the sweet aroma of an assortment of dinner dishes.

[Nurumaiel]

"I don't know how to read," said Marigold promptly, and without a hint of a blush of shame. "That is, I know how to read a little. I knows that says 'eggs,' and that says... to-ast... 'toast,' but I never learned to read very well. My papa tried to teach me once but I didn't pay very much attention, so he said I'd wait until I was older and not such a flighty little thing. I'd liked to learn more now, but..." She spread her hands out wide. "I have no papa to teach me."

Falco was struck by the odd way she regarded the death of her parents. She never burst into violent tears when she mentioned them, nor did her chin tremble and the tears fill her eyes, nor did she mention them as briefly as she could. She enjoyed talking about them, it seemed, and the way she spoke about them was loving and affectionate, with only the slightest hint of sorrow, so slight that it was barely perceptible. "But she is young," Falco thought, "and perhaps it does not touch her as deeply."

"Mr. Headstrong," she said, turning to him, "do you know how to read?"

"Why, yes, my little Miss Marigold," he said, with a smile. "I had a good friend in my youth, and we were always going about the Shire to collect old songs and stories. Most of them could be told by mouth, but sometimes there was a song that had just been made up one day, and never learned by anyone. Those songs we always found on little scraps of paper, and so it was necessary to be able to read. My parents never set to much store by the letters, but Fosco's parents, now, they were always trying to put a lot of knowledge in his head."

"Was your friend called Fosco?" Marigold cried, with a little smile of delight. "Do you know, that's one of my favourite names. I like to think that you had a friend who had my favourite name."

Falco stood up and went to stand behind Rory. He put his finger under the words and read them slowly. "Stew... and this says biscuits... there, you see, that's what you have sitting right before you."

Rory turned his eyes up to Falco, and they were shining at the idea of being able to tell what was served for supper by the little figures scratched on the piece of paper. "Will you teach me how to read?" he asked.

Falco blushed. "Why... er... you know, Rory, I'd like to, but I don't know how to begin. I'm such a confounded... er, rotten... teacher, that you'd learn it all backwards, I'm sure. I... er... well..." He paused, deeply embarrassed. "I... er... well... I don't know how to do it at all... I'd just make a mess of it... er..." He trailed off, and then set his eyes on the stew and biscuits. "Here, lad, why don't you eat your supper?" he said hastily. "I hate to sit at a table where the little ones aren't eating. Come along, lad and lassies, eat up."

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling almost laughed aloud at the question. What has happened, indeed? he thought. How could he ever explain it to anyone, even to an Elf, without a week's worth of explanations? The facts in and of themselves were easily and soon given, but the facts were far from the only things that had happened. Snaveling's whole life had changed, in an instant of overpowering recognition and shattering glass. He was not alone in the world. He had a family. There was someone in the world to whom he was joined irrevocably, and this someone was already as dear to him as his own life.

But what else had happened? She had fallen in love with him, and he had rejected her. She had opened her heart to him and he had given it back to her on a platter with gashes and wounds upon it. She did not know that he was her grandfather, and he could think of no way to tell her.

"What has happened?" he echoed her words aloud, dully. He could think of nothing else to say but the truth. "Aman is my grand-daughter, though she knows it not, and I fear that of all the trials of my life, this will prove to be the greatest and the most painful for me."

Mithalwen's mouth fell open in surprise, and her tongue was stopped. He met her eyes and opened his mind to her, pouring out only the wave of feeling that threatened to overwhelm him in a moment. Here, he thought. This is what's happened.

[Mithalwen]

"Need it be so?" Mithalwen answered him silently - if any in the inn had been interested in the travellers it would have been a strange sight, the elf and the dunadan, passing thought from mind to mind eyes flickering.

" You have only rejected a kind of love you could not have possibly accepted. The bonds of kinship run deep, she may have sensed the connection between you at a deep level and interpreted it in the only way that made sense to her. Once she knows the blood connection she will be able to interpret he feelings correctly. Yes she is hurt... but that is better than indifferent. She has shown compassion for your plight not knowing that she might be its balm.... if you will, I will speak to her for you for it would be natural for her to vent her shock in anger and it is better if that is not directed at you. This might end well ... Aman has a brave spirit and a generous heart. trust her" These last words Mithalwen had spoken aloud.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman wrinkled her nose pleasantly at the particularly open nature of the question. "News, you say? Well, sir, that depends on exactly how long you've been away..."

"Excuse me..." A voice interrupted Aman and she turned, eyebrows raised, to the man who had interrupted. As she recognised him, her eyes widened in surprise. The blond haired man gave a cheeky smile, winked, and continued, "I really do hate to barge in on your conversation...But could I get a refill."

"Good lord, what on earth are you doing here, To-"

"Well, you know, just in passing, just in passing," John cut her off before she said his name, and the suddeness of his reply seemed rather incongruent with his casual manner. She narrowed her eyes slightly, but didn't think anything of it. Excusing herself from Isilme's company - the elf seemed a little bemused but didn't appear to mind the interruption - Aman darted out from behind the bar and took John's hand, shaking it enthusiastically. "Just in passing? Scoundrel, this is the Shire, to just be passing from Rohan - psh!" Aman snorted derisively. The man grinned at her. "Well, maybe a little twist of the truth there." He displayed his teeth widely in a good natured grin as he returned Aman's handshake, his pleasant, solid features still the same as Aman had ever remembered them. He shrugged enigmatically. "But what the hey - ol' John is here now, to see his brother's favourite horsewhisperer!"

Aman hesitated for a moment, and a flicker of confusion shivered across her features as she noted the second, rather startling inconsistency in what John had said: the very fact of his name. "'John'? What do you-"

John laughed, still beaming easily, but his eyes darted quickly away from her, as if worried someone else might have heard then he opened his arms and Aman, pushing her concerns to one side, embraced her old friend. For she and 'John' went back a long way - as the man had said, Aman had worked for some time as a horse trainer for Elisar, John’s eldest brother, during which time she had made a select group of fine friends – John being one of them. But the Rohirrim man had never been desperately secretive – here, he hadn’t given a straight answer to a single thing Aman had said. Breaking the embrace and looking at it, Aman gave John a curious smile, as if about to question him, when the conversation was broken into by the gruff voice of a dwarf. “Ask for the strongest stuff they’ve got,” he called over jokingly. John turned and raised an eyebrow at the dwarf, then turned back to Aman, who nodded and returned behind the bar to pour two glasses, one of the finest ale, the other of a rich dark beer which in the past had been a favourite of Dwarin, a previous Innkeeper. Handing the two glasses to John, Aman excused herself and began her round about the room, saying she would speak with him later and catch up.

But having gone all around the room and visited nearly every nook and cranny, Aman could not avoid it any more: she felt strangely drawn towards the table at which Snaveling sat. With an empty glass. That's obviously what I feel drawn to. Professional duty and all... Aman smiled wryly to herself, rolling her eyes at the thought, but nonetheless she straightened up, collected various glasses together, and made for Snaveling. But even eavesdropping without meaning to can have rather intriguing results...

"...This might end well ... Aman has a brave spirit and a generous heart. Trust her."

"Complimentary words, Mithalwen, what did I do to deserve such an honour?"

Both Snaveling and Mithalwen leapt around like guilty children when Aman spoke, like rabbits caught in a sudden burst of torchlight. She laughed at their shock, but inside felt unease stir - a feeling that was becoming familiar where Snaveling was concerned. She creased her eyebrows slightly, still half smiling as she looked from one guilty face to the other. "What is it...?"

[peral]

Sharya looked gratefully at the cook and accepted the offered apron before quickly setting to work on the mushrooms and onions. She had done this type of work before, not for a long time, but her fingers soon remembered their past dexterity with kitchenwork as she sliced up the onions. The pile seemed neverending, but, Sharya reminded herself, she was cutting onions for a massive room of hungry inn patrons. Not to mention that most of them were hobbits and if what she had heard about hobbits were half true, she would be here a long time cutting up vegetables. However, she set her mind to enjoy the time cutting up vegetables and let her mind wander as her hands did the chopping.

***

"Father!" the girl cried running towards him. The man didn't look as if he had seen a bed or bath for weeks on end, yet still carried a happy look as he swept the girl up into his arms.

"Sharya!" he exclaimed as he scooped her up, "You're getting heavier and taller every time I come home."

"Ma says I'm growing taller everyday," the girl declared proudly. "She reck'ns I'll be taller than her one day."

"I'm sure you will be," confirmed the man. "Now, have you been a good girl since I left?"

The girl nodded. "I helped with everything everyday."

"Every day?" queried the man.

"Well...almost everyday," answered the girl sheepishly, caught out in a lie.

"We're going to have to do better than that when I'm home," said the man, carrying the girl into the house.

***

The onions seemed to be finished too quickly. And Sharya found it time to start on the mushrooms. She wrinkled her nose. Mushrooms, the bane of her life, how she hated them. Yet, these little hobbits seemed to adore them to no end. Still, what had to be done had to be done and she proceeded to chop them up as well. However, she considered, mushrooms were heaps easier to chop up than onions. This strange thought cheered her up substantially and soon the mushrooms were done as well. Smiling at her accomplishment, she went on to layering them in the pie pans. When this job was done as well, she went to tell the Cook.

[piosenniel]

~*~ GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS ~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

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

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

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

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.

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

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.

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

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 evening. Supper is being served:

Stewed chicken with taters and carrots; mushroom pie; fresh garden peas with mint and butter; big fluffy biscuits with plenty of butter and honey and jam.

Spice cake full of plump sweet raisins iced with thick vanilla frosting.

And numerous beverages to suit anyone's needs.

---

The night is clear; the stars bright points of light studding the darkness. It is chilly with the promise of a spring storm later in the night . . .

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen reflected that it was the second time Aman had startled them. There was something unusual about this young woman - or else Mithalwen's senses were dulled by the hubbub and unfamiliarity of the inn. Few mortals can catch an elf off guard even if they are not consciously on their guard.

"Aman, will you join us?" Mithalwen poured three generous glasses from the bottle she had brought over. "Then perhaps we can resolve the misunderstandings and grief that have occured ... and there are one or two more trivial matters I would ask your counsel on... but " Mithalwen hesitated .. the situation stretched even elvish skill in language, and though these few days in the shire had refreshed her long unused Westron she wished she could speak in her own tongue - but while Snaveling would cope she did not think that maids of rohan were raised to use the elvish tongue. "Forgive me, what I am about to say is likely to surprise you, shock you even and I may ask questions you find intrusive after such slight acquaintanceship, but I ask that you hear me out?"

Aman took a good sip of of wine and nodded her assent, although her gaze met the elf's grey eyes steadily she could not but be aware of the tension that filled Snaveling. They formed a strange triptych in the relative seclusion of their shadowed corner. The shabby dunedain lord flanked by two women, the golden maid of Rohan, elven fair and her pale reflection, the ageless elfwoman, silver haired and grey clad. However in Mithalwen's eyes, Aman saw compassion fuelled by the memory of loss and long sorrow. They implored her to listen and understand and the words though spoken seemed to carry soothing melodies, although at first she was bewildered since Mithalwen was telling her things she already knew - of Snaveling's lost family.

" Since you spoke this afternoon, Tar Corondir, has come to a certain realisation, but only you can confirm if it is really true.... " time to utter those words which no matter how gently introduced were likely to have the same effect on Aman's mind as spring had on ice floes, words that might shatter her world - but also remake it, and Snaveling's. she laid a gentle hand on Aman's

"Tar-Corondir has noticed a ressemblance between you and his late wife, he believes you may be his lost son's child. ... There is a connection between you I deem ... I know little of your history but is it possible that it is true - or is it only that his wish sees a likeness ?"

[Encaitare]

Caity had slipped away from the others some time ago, in fact, just after young Marigold's outburst. She had felt terribly awkward upon hearing Aman and Snaveling's past revealed in front of the whole of the Inn, and so she had quietly taken her leave, figuring that it was best to leave those involved on their own for a while.

She had strolled around outdoors for a bit as the weather cleared up, feeling the mud squelching between her toes and grinning to herself at the oddly pleasant sensation. After a substantial amount of roaming the area and playing idle tunes on her whistle, she returned to the inn with a growling stomach as her motivation, carefully wiping her feet on the grass so she wouldn't get the floors very dirty.

The homey and delicious smell of chicken and mushrooms greeted her as she opened the door; she found herself a table and ordered a plate of chicken and taters and mushroom pie with a mug of hot cider. She dug in, trying to mind her own business but at the same time wondering exactly what had occurred with Aman and Snaveling.

Oh, don't you go poking your nose where it doesn't belong, she thought, turning her mind to what might be going on at home. Quite frankly, she did not wish to return overmuch, and people were talking of more rain -- that would make a fine reason to stay another night! She nodded in satisfaction to herself when she thought she heard someone calling her name.

She craned her neck and looked around, and then a voice came in her ear: "Caity! There you are!"

She jumped and turned, then tried her best not to groan. "Tommy, what are you doing here?"

"Mother sent me to come get you," her younger brother said, sing-song. "She told me to tell you that you've been wasting your time at the Inn long enough and you have to come back home. Or else," he added, an afterthought.

"I'm not going now," she responded, gesturing at her dinner. Tommy picked a tater off her plate and popped it into his mouth. "Hey!" she protested, drawing looks from some of the others in the room. Suddenly she felt like a very selfish person... but still... she didn't want to go.

Sighing, she said, "I take it you're not to leave without me." The lad nodded; so did she. "Then have a seat. I'll buy you some dinner."

[Arry]

Music in the Inn . . .

‘Oh no, please!’ laughed Ferdy, holding up his hand at Aranel’s questions. ‘Even Hobbits have their limits with food and drink . . . and thanks to your generosity, I’ve reached mine!’ He stood up from the table, collecting the plates and cutlery to take to the kitchen when a commotion came up the aisle behind him.

‘Leave those for now, Ferdy,’ cried Gil, followed close by Tomlin, Fallon, and Ferrin. ‘We’re going to play a bit of music, there near the corner of the fireplace. Ferrin’s Da has made him a new hand drum and he’s itching to try it out.’ Gil paused for a moment, looking over at Aranel. ‘And bring your friend, if she’s so inclined,’ he said aloud, grinning at the woman. In a hushed whisper he said as an aside, ‘Looks as if she could do with a bit of cheering up, doesn’t she?’ Gil turned back to Aranel. ‘Come now Miss; join us if you will.’

While Ferdy and Aranel found seats near the impromptu stage, Gil and his companions took out their instruments. Tomlin and Fallon both played the fiddle; Gil, the concertina; and Ferrin of course took out his new pride and joy, his hand drum. Aranel looked at Ferdy, an implied question of what might he play. ‘My hands!’ he said laughing as he clapped them together in a syncopated rhythm. ‘And my feet, too, keep the main beat . . . or dance as the spirit strikes.’

Gil gave a squawk on his concertina, drawing the attention of the diners and drinkers. ‘Ladies and gentlemen and good Hobbit friends and neighbors. Don’t put down your forks or cups of ale and cider, but enjoy our little bit of music to make it all the sweeter.’ Ferrin began the beat, then Gil turned round to face the fiddlers for the opening chords, turning back when it was time for the words to meet the music.

I've been a wild rover for many a year
I've spent all my money on whiskey and beer
Now I'm returning with gold in great store
And I swear that I'll play the wild rover no more

And it no, nay, never

‘Clap your hands four times here,’ whispered Ferdy to Aranel

No, nay, never, No more
Will I play the wild rover
No, never, no more

I went into an ale house that I used to frequent
And I told the lady my money was spent
I asked her for credit and she answered me nay
Such a custom as yours I can get day


And it no, nay, never
No, nay, never, No more
Will I play the wild rover
No, never, no more

And out of my pocket and pulled sovereigns bright
The landlady's eyes opened wide with delight
She said I have whiskey and wines of the best
And the words that I said were only in jest

I'd go home to my parents confess what I've done
And ask them to pardon their prodigal son
And if they'll caress me as oft times before
Then I swear that I play the wild rover no more

The fiddlers stepped forward and played a verse and chorus once more. Then the instruments dropped out and only the voices of the four lads rang out.

And it no, nay, never
No, nay, never, No more
Will I play the wild rover
No, never, no more

Will I play the wild rover . . .
No, never, no more . . .

There were shouts for more, and the banging of mugs on the wooden table tops in approval. And several voices called out songs they wanted the little band to play.

‘Tis thirsty work,’ Gil called out with a wide grin on his face. ‘And many the songs you want to be hearing.’ He looked round the room. ‘Now, who will stand us to a wee bit of drink to keep our pipes clear and our fingers nimble?

[Envinyatar]

‘Oh, I know what this is!’ Zimzi turned the piece roundabout in her fingers, admiring the workmanship. ‘Tis Anadûnê, Starwards!’ She placed the pin on the folds of the dark blue cloak, a small isle on a great sea. ‘Many the stories has my mother told us of the gift now gone. And this . . . this is a quite lovely rendering of it.’ She turned to Derufin, giving his arm a small squeeze. ‘I wish I could show him the little pieces of jewelry my father and brothers make.’ She took the clasp from her hair that her father had made for her. Mother of pearl in swirling greens and blues like the sea near her home, cradled in fine silver. ‘They work some in gems, but mostly in pearls and such as this,’ she said, turning back to Anyopâ and handing him the hairclasp.

‘Look!’ whispered Derufin near her ear, drawing her attention to Gil and his companions. He brushed the thick fall of her hair to one side and kissed her lightly on the lobe. ‘Perhaps there will be a song we can dance to,’ he said, leaning back in his chair with a smile.

‘Well, perhaps so,’ she teased, ‘but only if I haven’t gotten a better offer! And Aman allows us to clear a dance floor, of course.’ She glanced over at the Innkeeper and the man and Elf near her, wondering as she did so, at the air of tenseness that seemed to hover about them. Zimzi nodded toward them with her chin. ‘What’s going on over there, do you think?’ she asked Derufin in a quiet voice. ‘The man looks as if he’s seen a ghost. And even the Elf seems out of sorts.’

[Noinkling]

Even Cullen’s great tail moved in time to the music of the four Hobbits, and he pawed the floor at times as if he were itching himself to be dancing. Benat clapped loudly during the chorus and raised his mug high at the ending as he beat the palm of his hand on the table top.

‘Grand music!’ he called out in his booming voice. None of the other Inns he’d stayed in had had any singing and playing, and he thought it a lovely addition to an already fine day.

‘I’ll stand you four a round,’ he called out again. Gil raised his cap to the beaming giant of a man and sent one of the servers to collect his coin.

[peral]

Sharya re-entered the Common Room. The cook had told her that she would be able to get a meal now. A meal made with her own hands. She allowed herself a wry smile at this thought. How long had it been since she had worked in a kitchen and been allowed to eat the fruits of her labours? She sat down and Ruby immediately brought her food to her. Thanking Ruby she dug in and realised how long it had been since lunch.

The chicken looked delicious. She usually steered clear of any sort of chicken for she hated the taste, but the chicken could have tempted the palate of even the most choosy person. She ventured a taste and instead of screwing up her face, she took another bite. Surprisingly good. It didn't taste a bit like any other chicken she had tasted before. The carrots which had been cut by the little girl Camille had cooked extremely well. However much she ate, she didn't seem to feel bloated. Ah wonder of wonders, a meal which one could eat much of and still not feel as if one would burst. Then came the mushroom pie. She tentatively took a slice and examined it from all directions. It was true she hated mushroom but that was what she had said about the chicken. With this thought in mind, she tentatively took a nibble. Oh glory of glories. It was true. Everything hobbits cooked seemed to immediately transport her into paradise. She took another slice and hoping no one would notice and think her greedy quickly downed it.

The vegetables were still sitting on the side of her plate. They had been overlooked in her rampage of all the savoury stuffs but finally Sharya had noticed them. Peas, oh glorious peas. Surely if all the rest of the food tasted good, this must too. One bite confirmed everything. She would live the rest of her life in this land of halflings. Without money, the thought came back again and she quickly brushed any hope of living in this country where food was the sole reason for living.

Musical beings they were too, for the hobbits standing by the fireplace unexpectedly struck up a tune. It was a happy tune, and she remembered that here was a place which rarely experienced hardship or evil. Here was a place envied by all others for its ability to remain so quiet and peaceful. It was such a change from what Gondor used to be. When the song ended and the applause began, Sharya felt somewhat disappointed. The song reminded her of her childhood when her brothers and her used to perform before her parents. Unskilled and - when she looked back upon it - silly performances, yet they had brought her parents so much joy. She held back tears. It was silly, always breaking out to bawl when the smallest thought of her past came up.

Luckily the dessert came soon enough and distracted her. Several slices of spice cake covered with a thick vanilla frosting. Sharya immediately bit into the cake. Raisins, she thought to herself, oh glorious raisins! And these were no ordinary small, shrivelled up ones, these were nice plump raisins with substance. And the frosting, how to describe it? Rich, creamy, frothy and all other words that she could dig up would not describe the tenth of the delicious melt-worthiness of that frosting. Without another thought, she was happy just to lick the frosting off like a young child and laugh when it got onto her face. When all the cake was gone, and the crumbs from off the plate, she leant back in her chair. Happy, content and without a care in the world.

[elf-girl-63]

Aranel enjoyed the music, and smiled inwardly as she was swept away by the cheering voices of the hobbits and the energetic sounds of their instruments. The lyrics were simple and happy, they spoke of optimism and a life with little pain. She readily joined in with clapping when necessary and at one point found her feet steadily tapping to the beat. Considering she had little musical talent, more of a respect for those who could conjure up such melodies, she was quite surprised. But then again, it seemed anything was possible in this little inn of apparently little consequence.

When the lady had arrived earlier that afternoon, those had been her thoughts; the Green Dragon was a place to stop and rest her weary feet and fill her empty stomach. Now she was reluctant to leave it and knew the 2 nights she had paid for wouldn't be her last in this hubbub of activity. In fact, tomorrow she must speak to a server or someone and extend her stay... but not now... now need to interrupt anyone now...

Aranel awoke with a start. She had dozed off on her comfortable velvet-backed chair and looked around to see Ferdy carrying back several tankards of ale for his band friends. She blinked in the dim light of the inn, wondering how long she'd been asleep.

"Ah Miz Aranel, you're awake I see. Just as I return with drinks and all!" seeing her confused look he explained, "You fell asleep after all that merry-making. Though don't worry now, you've just been 'resting your eyes' as they say, why its only been 20 minutes or so. The lads and I are just taking a break then we'll be back up in a jiffy."

She smiled sleepily but was keen to hear more music so nodded at the band, "Are you friends then? Why I am not surprised. Ferdy here seems to know everyone in this inn. Would you introduce me?"

"'Course, I'd be honoured. There's Tomlin and Fallon- the fiddlers, Gil- him with the concertina and Ferrin with his new drum. Yes that's everyone."

Aranel surveyed the young hobbits all laughing and joking and again felt her spirits rise. She was drinking from her tankard when Gil spoke up, "Tell us Miss Aranel. You are from Gondor I hear so you must've travelled a good distance to reach us in Bywater. Surely you know some songs..."

Aranel saw Ferdy tense when Gil mentioned her homeland but she didn't mind this evening. The rich food and lively comapny had relaxed her so she nodded, "Yes. I've heard a great many along the way but I'm afraid I've no great singing voice."

The hobbits spoke up in objection and she blushed as she tried to persuade her to sing, just a verse at least. Eventually she succumbed and agreed to sing at their table, softly so that none of the other customers would hear. The hobbits smiled with their achievement and settled back to enjoy a new song.

She chose one that her nanny had taught her when she was young, about said Nanny's home village outside of the city. It was a bittersweet song- not entirely melancholy but neither completely joyful either. Aranel ended up singing the whole thing and when she had finished, awaited her audience's response.

[Nurumaiel]

Ignoring Benat's offer to buy a drink for the hobbit lads, Marigold jumped up and cried out: "I will, I will!" And then, never minding if anyone laughed at her or not, she turned to Falco Headstrong with shining eyes, as he blushingly pulled her back down into her chair. "Oh, Mr. Headstrong, won't you help me buy a drink for them? Oh, Mr. Headstrong! Why don't you get out your whistle and play with them?"

Falco blushed, and pretended embarrassment, but it was not difficult to see that the colour on his cheeks was from excitement and pleasure. He looked towards the lads for a moment, and then he shook his head. "Maybe it would be nice, Marigold, my girl, but your father's whistle is in my room."

"I'll go get it," she said eagerly, and began to jump up again, but he caught her and again pulled her into her chair.

"No, no, you'll not be going anywhere," he said. "After that tumble from the horse you took today I think it would be better if you just sat for the rest of the evening." His eyes wandered to the hobbit lads again, and he stared at them, and slowly took up a spoonful of his peas. "I'll get it," he said, "as soon as I've finished my supper."

[Noinkling]

Benat smiled at the fair-haired cub who’d stood so boldly and offered the band a drink. ‘Let hers be the first round,’ he spoke in a rumbling whisper to the server who drew near. He fished in the pouch at his belt and brought out a number of thin silver coins. ‘Then let mine be the second,’ he said thumbing the coins into the server’s hand.

When the lass protested it was too much, Benat laughed and closed her hand over the coins with his large one. ‘Just keep the ale coming as long as the coin lasts. My dog and I are quite enjoying the music.’ As if on cue, Cullen yipped quietly, thumping his tail on the floor.

[piosenniel]

Aranel’s song is well received . . .

‘A good’un!’ came the cry from a corner table. ‘Near brought a tear to my eye,’ said one of the old gammers sitting there, pipe smoke circling lazily above her grey curls. ‘Sets me to thinking of the time I left my family in Pincup to settle with my mister here.’ The old gal sitting to her right nodded her head. ‘Stings, don’t it . . . when first you leave, that is. Fair broke my heart leaving my family behind.’ Her rheumy eyes misted thinking on her own Ma and gammer as they waved her good-bye. ‘But life do go on, don’t it?’ she said, more as an observation than a question.

‘Oh, aye,’ came the general chorus of consent from her friends. ‘A cup then,’ said the third of the old ‘uns. ‘To old and new!’

‘And ale and pipeweed,’ cackled the first old gammer. ‘Enough to see us through!’

‘Another one lads!’ the trio called out. ‘Bend your elbows to your bows, fiddlers,’ they laughed aloud. ‘And less to your mugs!’

[Arry]

An old piece of history sung . . . The Bowmen of the Shire

Gil grinned widely and raised his mug to the Gammers at the back table. ‘A moment, my old dears,’ he said winking boldly at them. ‘Tis the drink that makes our elbows work all the better for the playing!’ They laughed aloud and shook their fingers at him saying, ‘Shame, shame on you, you silver tongued boy!’ He waved his hand then to Marigold, and held his mug high, mouthing a thank-you.

He turned his attention, then, to Aranel, saying she had a lovely voice, and thanking her for the sharing of her song. ‘A cup of ale, Miss’ he asked waving Buttercup over with the pitcher. ‘In case you might be wanting to share another later.’

The four huddled on the stage whispering together for a moment. A sly look passed among them as they glanced toward the table where Falco sat.

‘There’s a fair piper in our midst,’ said Gil turning back to the crowd in the room. ‘Now I’ve no pipe on me the like of his, but a wee, sweet tin whistle I do have here.’ He bent down and plucked a thin whistle from his concertina’s bag. ‘And if he’d be so kind as to join us for our next song or the one after.’

‘Or the ones after those!’ harmonized the three other Hobbits smiling toward Falco’s table.

‘Anyway, I’ll just leave it here,’ Gil went on, laying it carefully on the small table where their mugs were set. ‘In hopes of enticing the piper to join in.’

Gil picked up his concertina and played a melancholy few bars on it. ‘This next song,’ he said, looking off to where the Gammers sat, ‘is one my Gammer’s gammer many times back taught.’ The trio of elder Hobbits raised their hoary eyebrows at his words, nodding for him to go on. ‘Now ‘tis a true story, my Gammer told me. But one not often talked about. An old story of brave men who answered their King’s call.’

Tomlin played a few sweet strains on his fiddle before Gil went on. ‘We’re faithful to our promises, my Gammer told me. Pay our debts we do to those who have extended their helping hands to us.’ Ferrin joined in with a steady low beat on his drum, a heartbeat driving slow beneath the story. The crowd grew quiet, listening.

‘Before we Hobbits set on foot in these Shire lands, we lived about Bree.’ There were nods of the head about the room as that old thread of history was pulled up from the Shire history. ‘The great King in the North, Argeleb the somethingth, in his wisdom and generosity granted old Marcho and Blanco the right to cross the Brandywine, head west, and claim a land for us Hobbits.’

‘More like he was tired of our drinking and singing and sent us off to give the Shiriffs there a break from having to haul us in all the time,’ said Ferrin in a loud aside to the audience. There was good natured laughter at this, then the call for Gil to go on.

‘Now later down the years, the shadow had reared its ugly head up north of the King’s country. Yes – that same pack of bad ‘uns that our own Mister Frodo and our Mayor went to help put an end to. And no, I don’t quite recall the name of the King that sent the message to us . . .’ He looked toward the table of Gammers.

‘Twas Arvedoo,’ said one. ‘Aye, close enough. Arvedui, it was. The one that drowned, we heard,’ one of the others corrected her, pointing the stem of her pipe at Gil for emphasis.

‘Arvedui, then,’ said Gil nodding his head. ‘His kingdom was crumbling. Beset on all sides by those foul creatures of shadow. Fearsome old things, too.’

‘Nasty old Witch-king,’ called out one of the elder ladies. ‘Sold his own country and hisself out for some promise o’ power what was never going to work out.’ ‘Dumb as stumps those bad ‘uns when it comes right down to it,’ another of the Gammers said. ‘May we never see them again!’ they all said in unison, crossing their fingers as a ward against dark evil.

‘Anyway, the King, Arvedui, was at his wit’s end,' Gil continued. 'And he sent out a call for his loyal subjects to send aid. Now word came to our Chieftains here in the Shire of the King’s request. And they sent a troop of the finest bowmen in the Shire. Sorry to say, their names are long forgotten. But their deeds and brave spirit were not.’

All the instruments had gone quiet as Gil stepped forward and raised his voice. He sang the first verse without accompaniment, then joined in with the others to play for the remaining verses.

'Twas down by the glenside, I met an old woman
She was picking young nettles and she scarce saw me coming
I listened awhile to the song she was humming

Glory O, Glory O, to the bold Shire men

‘Join in now,’ he called out to the crowd, ‘tis the same last words at the end of each verse.’

'Tis many long years since I saw the moon beaming
On strong manly forms and their eyes with hope gleaming
I see them again, sure, in all my daydreaming

Glory O, Glory O, to the bold Shire men

They died round old Fornost, and most near a stranger
And wise men have told us that their cause was a failure
They fought for the North King and they never feared danger

Glory O, Glory O, to the bold Shire men

I passed on my way, fate be praised that I met her
Be life long or short, sure I'll never forget her
We may have brave men, but we'll never have better

Glory O, Glory O, to the bold Shire men . . .

Yes, glory o, glory to those bold archer men . . .


----------

with thanks and apologies to the original song: The Bold Fenian Men

[Nurumaiel]

Falco was, perhaps, the most enthusiastic of those applauding. He was familiar with the song. His friend Fosco had learned it in some quiet Shire garden far from his own home, and had brought it back to teach to Falco. Aside from this, Falco was as fond of the boys as he possibly could be fond of anyone having met them just the previous day. He had wondered about them that morning, and it was delightful that they were back again, singing as strong and fine as ever, their sympathy with their instruments sounding in every echoing notes.

He was grateful for them for having invited him to play with them, and more grateful that they had gone through another song immediately afterwards. It gave him the opportunity to sneak quietly up besides them, picking up the whistle on the way, which was preferable to coming up in the midst of their praise and risking all eyes upon them. He was still slightly hesitant about going up, for though he wanted to very much he felt just slightly embarrassed, but Marigold caught onto his sleeve and gazed up at him with eager eyes.

"Hurry, Mr. Headstrong!" she cried. "Hurry up there before they begin another song! Oh, Mr. Headstrong, I want you to play the tin whistle; please do! You play it so much like my papa, and you know all the songs that he used to sing to me, and all the ways he used to play them!" When she saw that he still hesitated (though he did it merely for show), she pouted and stamped her foot, putting her hands on her hips and assuming a very motherly air. "If you don't go up there right this minute," she said, wagging a finger at him, "I will make such music that only a crying and bawling little hobbit girl can make!"

"But, Marigold," he said, his voice protesting, though he was already on his feet, "I was discussing the laundry with Miss Camille's mother..."

Marigold gave him a very stern look, and then she turned to Rory. "I don't care if he stops discussing laundry, do you? She's your mother. Don't you want Mr. Headstrong to go up and play the whistle with those boys?"

Rory nodded, and his eyes were just as eager as Marigold's. Falco gave a reluctant sigh, but the twinkle in his eye could not be hidden. He left the table, crept towards the lads quiet casually with his hands in his pockets, and, unobserved, or at least hoping he was, he picked up the tin whistle and melted in beside them. His welcome from the boys was warm, and he felt the old feeling of the days of his youth returning to him. He already felt his toes tapping, though there was no lively whistling, and he already felt the tear in his eye, though the sobbing of the fiddles had not yet been strained.

"Now, what is it you had in mind to play?" he asked.

[Huan]

Anyopâ put the hairclasp on the table when the music began. Zimzi was right, he would like to speak with her father and brothers about their jewelry. If the hairclasp were a good example of their skill, he was sure there were techniques they could discuss that would be of benefit to both of them. At a convenient break in the music he would ask her if they were still here. If not, perhaps he could pursue with her the possibility of visiting them at some time.

For now, he turned his chair so that he could face where the musicians were playing. They brought a smile to his face. He took a sip of his ale, letting its pleasant warmth run through him. Perhaps a few more cups, and even he might share a song from his country. The thought made him smile all the wider. Perhaps more than a few . . .

[Witch_Queen]

Jon watched as Aman left the bar. He would perhaps talk with her later as she said. He picked up the two mugs and turned towards the table at which the dwarf sat. Walking careful to keep from causing any to spill Jon decided it best to return to the table."The strongest they have..." Jon slid the full mug over to the dwarf. He sat his mug down on the table and sat his body down in the unoccupied chair.

Jon had no idea what to say next. The silence between the two of them grew until Jon thought that the dwarf had gone mute. "So.... how did your travels bring you to the Shire?" Jon knew it sounded as if he were trying to change the entire subject of their conversation. Deep down inside he hope Dwaline wouldn't catch it. But then again he knew Dwaline wasn't that stupid.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Dwaline raised an eyebrow with a smile. Changing the subject, eh? I must have hit deep, thought Dwaline. He took a deep gulp from his mug, and placed it carefully on the table.

"Strong stuff!" he said, "Strongest I've had in a while." Dwaline shook his head and looked sternly at John. "I came to the shire following Fáinu, a friend of mine. He was seeking Cirdan, and brought a message to him. Originally I took the message, but Fáinu is a swifter rider. Still I wished to see the havens, and I have." The Dwarf looked out of the window and seemed to be staring far off. He took another drink of the strong ale and coughed a little.

Reaching into his pack, Dwaline brought out a long wooden pipe with a deep bowl, it was carven in the shape of a hammer, with carvings of Dwarves hard at work, upon its stem. He filled it with tobacco from his pouch and lit it with a match. Blowing a few smoke rings into the air, Dwaline sat back and looked at John.

"Do you have a pipe about you?" he asked cheerily, "You may have a fill of my tobacco, if you care." he blew another smoke ring and it floated just above John's head before whisking away.

[Witch_Queen]

Jon coughed and looked at Dwaline. "No I was never one for smoking. Plus it tends to cause me to cough. But thanks for the offer." Jon could tell that Dwaline noticed the change in subject. He took another sip of ale before looking at the white crow.

"And what brought you to the Shire. A crow of your statures should have a fascinating story." He took another sip of his ale this time being careful not to breathe at the same time. His attempt at keeping a straight face was foiled when he choked on the ale.

[Arry]

One more song and then a brief break for the band . . .

‘What’s the name of the lad sitting there with your Marigold?’ asked Gil of Falco. ‘Rory,’ came the answer. Gil turned toward the table where Marigold and the lad sat. ‘A song for you, Mistress Marigold, and your new friend, Rory, is it. A thank-you for the ale to wet our whistles!’ Gil winked at her and took a sip from his mug.

‘Now I know you all know this song,’ Gil went on, speaking to the rest of the crowd. ‘We’ve all had those dares when we were younger to see how long we could keep it going.’ He played the little tune once through and calls of, ‘Well, then, it’s Gaffer Finnigan! rang round the room. A number of the young Hobbits there with their families crowded up around the group of players and clapped their hands.

‘I’ll start it off, then,’ Gil said to them, and you can add verses.

There was an old man named Gaffer Finnigan
He grew whiskers on his chinnigan
The wind came up and blew them in again
Poor old Gaffer Finnigan, begin again

Little Daisy Heathertoes piped up in her sweet eight year old voice with a verse aimed at her older brother, Tolly:

There was a clumsy boy named Tolly Finnigan
He fell down and broke his shinnagin
Folks said, "Tolly, you'll never swim again"
Poor old Tolly Finnigan, begin again

Tolly turned red and screwed up his brow trying to think of a verse, but Gil’s little brother grinned and stood up. He raised his voice, pointing a finger at his older brother:

There was an OLD man called Gilly Finnigan
He kicked up an awful dinnigan
Because they would not let him sing again
Poor old Gilly Finnigan, begin again

Gil laughed and stuck his tongue out at his brother. ‘Little imp!’ He nodded toward Rory and made up a verse:

There was a young lad named Rory Finnigan
He hid away in the apple binnagin
Sister closed the lid, wouldn’t let him out again
Poor old Rory Finnigan, begin again

Rory put on a face of mock sadness and shook his finger at Camille. His little voice rang out then as he turned to Marigold:

There was a pretty girl named Marigold Finnigan
Went off fishing with a pinnagin
Hooked a trout but it fell in again
Poor old Marigold Finnigan, begin again

Gil and the others rang in with another chorus, as Falco piped the lively little tune.

There was an old man named Gaffer Finnigan
He grew whiskers on his chinnigan
The wind came up and blew them in again
Poor old Gaffer Finnigan, begin again

One of the old Gammers got up saying, ‘Don’t forget this verse!’

There was an old lady named Gammer Finnigan
She grew fat and then grew thin again
Thinner than a old clothes’ pinnigan
Poor old Gammer Finnigan, begin again

A number of other verses came out of the memories of the audience, some in quavering voices and some strong, though a mite off key. There was much clapping and good-natured laughter as many in the crowd joined in. At last Gil called out for one last chorus for the large and unfortunate members of the Finnagin family:

There was an old man named Gaffer Finnigan
He grew whiskers on his chinnigan
The wind came up and blew them in again
Poor old Gaffer Finnigan, begin again

Poor old Gaffer Finnigan, DON’T begin again

‘Time for a little break, don’t you think,’ said Tomlin, eyeing the trays of spice cake that the servers were now bringing out. The others agreed, laying their instruments back in their cases for the moment. Gil went with Falco to the table where Marigold and the Hedgeburrows sat. Introductions were made and Gil said thank-you once again to Marigold for the offer of drinks for the band. ‘And a fine little voice you have, Master Rory,’ he said, turning to shake the lad’s hand. ‘Give us a look up when you’re a bit older and we’ll see about bringing another singer into the group.’ Rory’s face lit up with pleasure. ‘And mayhap, Mister Headstrong here can teach you a bit of the whistle, too.’

‘And speaking of whistles,’ Gil went on, looking up at Falco, ‘how ‘bout you choose the next song – let us follow along behind you. We’d be honored.’

[Nurumaiel]

"Ah, very well," said Falco, just barely able to pretend reluctance. "The hand-fasting of yesterday is still on my mind, so I'll sing another little song in honour of that, if you don't mind. This one I first learned as a dance tune, called Haste to the Wedding, but one day a friend of mine came up and said he'd found words that fit the tune, and we tried it out right away. We'll just begin with a brief introduction, then we can go through the song, and after that, we might play the tune over again once or twice by itself."

The lads presented no objections to the proposal, and they finished their cakes, answering of all of the eager questions about their instruments that Marigold and Rory presented. Then they returned to their instruments, and Falco began the lively and merry tune on the whistle, joined by the lads. When he began to sing he stumbled a bit over the words, for lack of practice, but it was nothing very noticeable, and indeed it was probably just him who noticed it.

Come haste to the wedding ye friends and ye neighbors;
the lovers their bliss can no longer delay.
Forget all your sorrows your cares and your labors,
and let every heart beat with rapture today.
Come, come one and all, attend to my call,
and revel in pleasures that never can cloy.
Come see rural felicity,
which love and innocence ever enjoy.

Let envy, let pride, let hate and ambition,
still crowd to, and beat, at the breast of the great.
To such wretched passions we give no admission,
but leave them alone to the wise ones of state.
We boast of no wealth, but contentment and health,
in mirth and in friendship, our moments employ.
Come see rural felicity,
which love and innocence ever enjoy.

With reason we taste of each heart-stirring pleasure,
With reason we drink of the full flowing bowl,
are jocund and gay, but 'tis all within measure,
for fatal excess will enslave the free soul.
Then come at our bidding to this happy wedding;
no care shall obtrude here, our bliss to annoy.
Come see rural felicity,
Which love and innocence ever enjoy.

And then Falco returned to his whistle and let the merry little notes accompany the strains of the fiddle as they played through the dance twice. Little Marigold, seeing that there was no one to dance with except Rory, who of course could not dance, jumped to her feet and merely danced by herself, clapping her hands and laughing with delight. Her bright and laughing eyes inspired Falco to play all the better, and however he may have stumbled over the words, the notes of his whistle were clear.

When they finished Falco smiled, brushing a damp lock of hair away from his forehead. "Perhaps it isn't as merry and enjoyable a song as Gaffer Finnigan, which I remember well from my younger days, and still love heartily, but it is a fine song nevertheless. Often I danced to the tune, and more often I played it. Thank you, my boys, for assisting me in the playing. The music was splendid."

[Envinyatar]

At the start of the song (http://www.pioneergirl.com/index.htm?song_haste.htm&Bot_Frame) Zimzi had clapped her hands together, saying as she then laid the slender fingers of one hand on his arm that it just wouldn't do to sit still. The music was too lively; feet moved of themselves in the quick rhythm of the tune.

Benat and the others at the table soon pulled it back a way and moved their chairs to the edge of the little space just cleared. As the fiddle played and Falco's pipe wove with it, Zimzi picked up her skirt until the hem was at her knees and capered to the center of the dance space. She turned and curtsied to Derufin, who grinned and shook his head as he joined her. From his pocket he took a clean kerchief and holding one end gave her the other. Tethered lightly, they pranced easy and briskly side by side, forward and back, her twirling and passing beneath the bridge of his kerchief and arm . . . until they were out of breath and laughing as they stumbled into one another. Wheeling madly in each others' arms until they fell with a whoop and a grin into one of the empty chairs; she landing squarely on his lap. He gave her a light kiss on the cheek and her eyes gave a promise.

And then she was up again, pulling him to his feet, and motioning for the others to join in if they would. 'You missed the wedding by a day, but now there is no need to miss the dancing!' she enjoined them.

Let envy, let pride, let hate and ambition,
still crowd to, and beat, at the breast of the great.
To such wretched passions we give no admission,
but leave them alone to the wise ones of state.
We boast of no wealth, but contentment and health,
in mirth and in friendship, our moments employ . . .

She beamed at the band when the tune had finished, and gave a merry wave of her hand to Falco, mouthing, 'Well done and thank-you!' With a satisfied sigh, Zimzi resumed her seat and took the cup of cider Derufin offered her.

Her cheeks were red as ripe Shire apples, he thought, as he watched her bring the mug to her lips. 'What a lucky, lucky man I am,' he murmured to himself, his dark eyes drinking her in.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

As the music played on, Dwaline tapped his foot along to the beat. Avalon the Crow seemed to enjoy the song and dance going on, and chirped away to the tune. John's question stuck in her mind. She herself was not sure why Cree had come to the shire, though she had told her, Avalon was not sure about what truth was in it. Paranoia was setting in.

Dwaline leant over to John. "And I suppose you understand the tong of Birds now, do ye?" John frowned and shook his head; "Avalon came on business with her elf friend, that is all you need to know."

As the music continued, Dwaline thought back to when he was a young Dwarf, he heard many songs on his travels. From Elves of the forest, to wild men in the mountains, even the old sing song from a disgusting Goblin.

"Nothing compares to the music of the shire," he said to himself, "It's all so cheerful and merry, whimsical and jolly. I have to say it's my favourite. Yes, elvish singing is not a thing to miss, but Hobbit folk have a way of making songs about the strangest things.

"We dwarves have very queer songs by their standards. I don't suppose they'd be well received by the Half-lings. They are mostly dark, and dreary, going slow. Oft, they are about treasures, dragons and such. I remember a poem my father taught me..." He quietly spoke softly while the band rested for a minuet.

Deep in caverns grey
A secret treasure lay
Forgotten by Kings of old
Lost by warriors, bold
Carven jewels and gold so bright
None can save it from this plight.
Elvish gems, Dwarvish gold
This thing makes them ashen cold
Dwarrow delf, and Moria
Durin himself would travel far
To find where the secret treasure lies
Before the sun fails, and moon dies.

A silence came about them for a moment as Dwaline finished his poem; some Hobbits had listened in and shook their heads. "Nonsense!" they said of it. Dwaline took another drink of his ale and levelled his eyes at John.

[piosenniel]

As the Dwarf finished his poem, some Hobbits who’d been listening in shook their heads. "Nonsense!" they said of it.

‘And “nonsense” to you, Minto Banks,’ came the firm voice of Cook. She’d come out of the kitchen to listen to the music and now found herself making her way through the tables with a large pitcher of the Dragon’s darkest stout. ‘Here have a mug of this,’ she told the farmer from Waymeet. ‘Puts hair on your toes!’ she said, with a smile as she filled his cup to the brim. Minto harrumph’d a bit, then raised the creamy headed brew to his nose and gave an appreciative sniff. He lowered the rim to his lips and took a long gulp, letting the bold brew nip at his tongue and tonsils as it slid down his throat.

‘Well, I’ll grant you the truth of the Dragon’s Stout, but all that about treasures in the deep still hidden . . . well I don’t know about that.’ He took another sip and fixed Cook with his eye. ‘And I suppose you’re going to tell me there’s a real dragon guardin’ the treasure to boot!’

‘And why not,’ said Cook topping his mug off once more. ‘Didn’t our own Mister Bilbo best a dragon in his den . . . and wasn’t there treasure enough to fight a war over. Or so he wrote.’

‘Oh, he was queer one . . . that Bilbo,’ said Minto, putting down his cup. He tamped his pipe and lit it. Pointing the tip of it round the table at his companions. ‘What sort of respectable Hobbit goes off adventuring, I ask you. Made it all up, I say.’

[Noinkling]

Before Cook could answer, Benat stood up and made his way to the table where Minto sat. The Hobbit’s back was to the man, but he knew there was something odd from the looks on his table mates’ faces and the sudden shadow cast over him.

‘Master Baggins was a quite respectable Hobbit, sir,’ came Benat’s rumbling voice. ‘Never met him myself. But my Granda did and he quite liked the little fellow. Now I haven’t heard the whole story - what followed the visit of the Dwarves, the wizard, and Master Bilbo to our home near the Carrock. But to be sure I’ve heard many times of the adventure to that point.’

Cullen came up, curious as to what his master was doing. His nose found the pungent smell of the Hobbit’s mug quite enticing and he couldn’t resist a closer inquiry. A nose full of creamy foam was his reward. Unfortunately for Minto, it made him sneeze. ‘Ach! Cullen now look what you’ve done!’ Cullen gave a sorrowful eye to Benat, then tried his best to lick the Hobbit clean.

Minto was escorted to the kitchen by one of the servers to wash up a bit, with Cook’s promise she’d see to a free mug of ale for his bother. Benat, though, thought he could hear her mutter that the fool got what he deserved for saying such about Bilbo. The others at Minto’s table laughed at his discomfiture and looked hopefully toward Cook also.

‘I’ll stand you all to a drink,’ offered Benat, to which there were shouts of ‘Good fellow!’ and ‘Hear! Hear!’. When the drink came, Benat asked if he might sit down with them. ‘Twasn’t a war exactly,’ he said, pulling out a chair for Cook first. ‘It was a very large battle. Five armies in all. And the Great Eagles came to lend talon and beak and my Granda, Beorn, he came, too.’

‘Must’ve been a great advantage,’ said one of the Hobbits at the table, offering Benat his pouch of pipeweed. ‘A great advantage – to have a man as large as you are fighting against the foe.’

Benat laughed, saying he supposed it would be. ‘But my Granda didn’t come as a man,’ he told them, grinning at the thought of the surprised goblins. ‘He came as a bear.’

[piosenniel]

The eyes of those at the table were round as saucers, but none disputed this seeming lie to the big man’s face. And besides, wasn’t he buying them a round of drinks? Perhaps the hospitable offer could be stretched out a bit.

One of the bolder fellows, Madoc Gamwich, poured the man a drink from the pitcher Cook had set down on the table. ‘Supposing you just tell us about that, sir,’ he said, pushing the mug toward Benat. ‘We’d like to hear your tale.’ Maddy, as he was called, made introductions about the table, then settled back comfortably in his chair as Benat fiddled with his pipe. Minto made it back from the kitchen looking a bit damp about the ears. He glanced at Benat, then raised his brows to his companions.

‘Master Benat, here,’ said Maddy by way of explanation, ‘was just settling in to tell us his story about the war that was really just a big battle and how his Grandda fought in it.’

‘Now that’s more like it – a battle and no fancy-schmancy treasure hordes with dragons and such,’ said Minto, reaching for a drink of his own.

Maddy laughed, looking round to those at the table. ‘He’d just begun, Master Benat had,’ Maddy said. ‘Seems his Grandda came as a bear!’

Minto choked on his first gulp, spilling it down his shirt once again. Cullen raised his head from where he’d lain down on the floor and looked at the Hobbit hopefully.

[Huan]

Anyopâ could not help but hear Benat’s voice as he chided the Hobbits for making fun of another Hobbit, a Mister Bilbo Baggins he learned, and his stories of adventure in the world beyond the Shire. The talk had grown a little quieter at that table when Benat sat down. Anyopâ, wanting to hear more of this Hobbit and his journey, excused himself from the present company to take a chair at an adjoining table.

Ah! Now this is very interesting . . . he thought sitting down as quietly as he could. Benat’s declaration came clearly across the space between the tables. His Grandfather had come to the battle as a bear! Now what could that mean? Was Benat from a tribe of wildish men who hunted the great bears and wore their skins into battle? From the looks on the Hobbits’ faces he could not tell whether they believed the man or thought him an outrageous liar.

Waiting until the one who had choked on his ale had gotten himself back together a bit, Anyopâ cleared his throat, and catching the eye of those at the table drew his chair a little nearer. ‘Begging your pardon Benat, but I’m very interested in this story of your Granda and the battle.’ He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. ‘And begging your pardon once again and hoping you won’t find my question to bold. But about the “came as a bear” statement . . . what exactly did you mean by that?’

Maddy and Minto and the other Hobbits at the table looked squarely at Benat. ‘Sound place to start,’ said Maddy, as the others nodded their heads. ‘What about this “bear”?’

[Child of the 7th Age]

Miz Bella sat quietly at a side table in one corner of the Common Room, eating her dinner while listening to all the songs. Her father had made it a point to teach her much of the history of the Shire as well as reciting tales from Arnor and Gondor. Much of what the singers outlined in their ballads was familiar to her. A few years before, when she had stayed in Minas Tirith for nearly a year, her friend Cami had shared with her another book of Elven Lore that Master Bilbo Baggins of Hobbiton had translated into Westron. Bella had spent some time copying out sections of this work and hoped to use some of those tales with the students who would come to her school.

Finishing up the last crumb of cake and setting down her fork, Bella pushed her plate aside and took one last look at the placard that she had carefully written out earlier that day. Happy with her effort, she picked it up and walked over near the entry to the kitchen, tacking it onto a small hook that was intended for posting public notices:

Dear Inn Guests and Fellow Residents of Hobbiton and Bywater,

Miz Bella Tûk, recently returned from extensive travels to all corners of Arda, wishes to announce the opening of a dame school for lads and lasses at the Green Dragon Inn. This school provides both rudimentary and advanced training in reading, 'riting, and 'rithmetic. Hobbit geneology and the natural history of the Shire will be included at no extra charge as well as a brief overview of Elven lore and tales of sea voyages and dragons.

Additionally, Miz Tûk is available to tutor those of more advanced years who prefer to carry on their studies in private. Lessons in wood and stone carving are also available.

In addition to Shire coinage, Miz Tûk accepts payment in the form of eggs and other farm produce as well as useful services that can be tendered to her. Please apply to Miz Tûk, #12 Green Dragon Inn, Hobbiton-Bywater Road.

Bella Tûk, daughter of the late Hildifons Tûk who was formerly of Tûkborough

After securing the placard where everyone could see it, Bella retreated to sit down when her eye caught a group of hobbits happily chattering away at the next table. They looked to be a loving family: a mother, a father, two sisters close in age, and a younger brother who had suffered some physical injury or disease that made it difficult for him to get about. The lad had secured a copy of the menu and was staring intently at it, tracing out the letters with his finger. A liklier prospect for learning to read Bella had never seen!

At a break in the singing, Miz Bella slipped over to the larger table and held out a hand in welcome, speaking directly with the mother. "Excuse me, ma'am, if I may interrupt. My name is Bella. I've come to Bywater to settle. I am afraid I am new here and don't know your name."

"Lilly. I am Lilly, and our family is also new here. We've found it a fine place, though."

Nodding in agreement, Bella went on to explain, "I wanted to speak with you about a new project I am starting here at the Inn. Cook arranged for me to rent rooms and to hire a sturdy lad or lass to help set up a dame school for the children in the neighborhood. Perhaps you might wish to speak with your husband and see if you would want any of your brood to attend? Over there on the wall is a placard explaining how it will work. The cost is very modest, and your children would receive a fine start at their reading and figures." Miz Bella smiled at Lilly waiting for her response....

[Arry]

When the four lads and Falco returned to the little stage area, they gathered some stools near each other and sat playing a few soft strains of some old familiar ballads, each of them taking a few bars and expanding on them with their instruments. They were playing more for themselves now, than for the others in the room, feeding off each others’ energy and innovation. Tomlin’s toes began to tap faster as he took them through a lively reel and Falco moved them at an even quicker pace with a trio of jigs.

Gil brought them back to a slower beat with a song he’d learned from a traveler from the Misty Mountains . . . The Mist Covered Mountains the traveler had named the tune, and what words there were, were of longing to be back among those misty peaks.

When they were done with that melancholy piece, Fallon played a more lively set of notes on his fiddle. ‘I was wondering if you’d heard this one before. I got it from an old Brandybuck fiddler, from around the eastern end of the Green Hills. It’s a fun song . . . gets your feet moving, and even the littlest ones like to sing along with it.’ He played the song through, then began once again as the others took it up on their instruments. Once they had it down, he began to sing the words:

Oh many years ago near old Woodhall--
A stranger told this story to my ma--
And often was the time she said to me--
I know it is the truth certain as can be.

There was once in the hills quite a music makin' man--
known far and wide as fiddlin' Dan--
He could fiddle every tune, He could holler every call--
For circle, square or reel, he could fiddle them all---

One night as Dan was walking out to play--
He met a bear a’standin' in the way--
He couldn’t climb a tree, he had no club
He was sure that he was grizzly grub.

Said the bear with a roar as he shook a mighty paw--
Your fiddlin' Dan from old Woodhall--
I will let you alone if you'll play a little tune--
And organize a dance by the light of the moon--

Ol’ Dan he tucked his fiddle under chin--
He drew the bow his music to begin--
From all the country 'round the critters ran--
To join the party made by old fiddlin' Dan.

Prancin' out went the coon with the little porcupine--
The bear and bobcat stepped her fine--
They danced all the night every reel and every set--
And somewhere in the hills they are dancin' yet.

And somewhere in the hills they are dancin’ yet . . .

Fallon finished with a quick-time rendering of the last few bars. The children who’d gathered round to clap and dance shouted out for him to sing it one more time. ‘Learn us the words . . . go slow, won’t you . . .’ they prompted him. He placed his fiddle under his chin and began to teach them, line by line . . . And once, as he glanced up from where they were gathered, he noted that the rather large man who was sitting with a table of Hobbits was looking at him curiously . . .

[Fairleaf]

The Chubbs encounter Miz Bella’s notice

Little Daisy Chubb was delighted by the music. Her father, Wilfrid, had come into Bywater to sell some of the fine wool from their sheep. It had been a generous shearing this Spring with several extra bales. Marigold, Daisy’s mother, had scoured the wool, and half of it she had carded and combed and spun into yarn. All of it, the worked and unworked wool had fetched a good price and now the little family was celebrating at the Inn.

Daisy’s younger brother, Reginard, was there at the edge of the band’s little stage area with his sister, clapping and dancing along to the story of Old Dan and his fiddle. He was five with dark brown curls and hazel eyes, while his sister, with her auburn curls and dark brown eyes had reached the notable age of nine. Notable at least to Reginard, or Reggie as he was mostly called, because he was always amazed by her. She knew so much and so many fun things to do. And didn’t she stand up for him when he got in some sort of a scrape.

‘Can we get some cake?’ asked Reggie, watching as the server who’d brought out the slices was now disappearing into the kitchen with her empty tray. ‘And a cup of cider, too!’ he added, looking at the empty mug in his hand. ‘Can we? Can we?’ he chanted, hopping from one foot to the other.

Daisy placed her hand on her brother’s shoulder to quiet him down. ‘Now what have I told you, Reggie,’ she asked. He screwed up his little face, thinking, then shrugged his shoulders. ‘It’s “MAY we”, not “can we”,’ she went on. ‘That’s the magic word, remember?’

He hopped up and down a grin on his face, holding his cup out to her as he sing-songed ‘may . . . may . . . may . . . may . . . may we?’ With a laugh, she spun him about and fetched the empty cup from his chubby little fingers. ‘Oh, come on then!’ she cried grabbing his hand to pull him toward the kitchen door. ‘We’ll just see if there’s any cake left and find us a little cider to go with it.’ She glanced up quickly and waved to her parents who were sitting across the room. Some friends had joined them it seemed. Daisy’s mother waved and smiled back then returned to her conversation.

Near the entry to the kitchen, Daisy spied a notice pinned up on the hook. It was printed in a fine hand and she puzzled over it, not able to decipher a number of the words. Her mother had taught her some letters and numbers, saying that when she married a farmer, she would have need of them for keeping the ‘accounts’. Her mother had shown her the accounts’ book written in her plain, bold hand. Not much to it really, Daisy thought. Names of vegetables and animals and wool sold on one side and what was gotten for them on the other. Ordinary things. None too exciting.

But this was different, she thought, as she murmured the sounds of the letters and tried putting them together. She saw the words ‘Green Dragon’, that was easy enough as she recognized it from the sign at the front of the Inn. And here was the word ‘tut – or’ and the word ‘dragon’ again, but now a bunch of them. Daisy grabbed hold of one of the older server’s sleeves and asked if she would read the notice to them. Buttercup, it was, who read it through. Daisy thanked her politely, asking if she might point out Miz Bella. There at a table with several other children was the older Hobbit lady.

Reggie pulled at his sister’s skirt and pointed insistently at the kitchen door. ‘Listen here, Reggie,’ Daisy said, picking him up and pointing toward the grey haired Hobbit. ‘She’s some sort of teacher, I think. And she knows all about dragons, and ships on the sea, and Elves and such. Lots of grand stories, I’m thinking. Let’s go see if she’ll tell us one.’ Reggie was torn, but in the end the two had come to a compromise. Daisy would fetch him a plate of cake and a cider and he would come see Miz Bella with her.

Bella was talking to the children’s mother when Daisy and Reggie drew up near her. They hovered by her elbow as she spoke, then as she grew quiet waiting for a response to her offer, Reggie, not one to wait patiently for long, piped up with a question of his own.

‘Can we come to school and hear about dragons, Miz? Can we?’ He felt a small shove at his shoulder. Blushing, he took a deep breath and began again. ‘MAY we?’ he asked, grinning up at Bella. ‘We like dragon stories. My sister and I. We like them a lot!’

[Firefoot]

Old Thistle Bracegirdle had not felt like cooking supper for herself this night, and so had decided to stop by the Green Dragon, a reputable inn by all accounts. She was hungry, and feeling rather grumpy. Here she had been waiting, and yet no one had noticed her or asked if she might like something to eat. Hmph! Her interest was caught by the young lass and her brother puzzling over the sign, but she hung in the background, unnoticed. When the hobbit server had stopped to read the sign out loud for them, Thistle strained her ears to hear how it read. Her ire grew as she heard what was being said. Reading, 'riting, 'rithmatic... Elven lore and tales... Hmph! What did hobbit lasses and lads need to learn such outlandish things for? Better they were off learning from and helping their Mas and Pas about cooking and gardening and farming and other sensible activities.

As the excited youngsters bounded away from the sign (Little’uns are so boisterous these days), Thistle hobbled up to get a look at it for herself, though she could not read a word of it. Looks like little more than chickenscratch, she thought. Now why does anyone need to learn to make the little marks beyond 'ritin their name? She scowled at the sign and thumped her wooden cane irratably on the floor. Didn't this Miz Bella have anything better to do with her time?

One of the hobbit maids came by (So someone finally notices me!). “Is something the matter, ma’am?”

“I should say so!” stated Thistle loudly. “What kind of nonsense is this, anyway? What do our lads and lasses need to be learning all this for? Elven lore and tales of dragons - hmph! Ninety-six years I’ve lived without knowing more letters than how to write my name! They’d be better off helping out their folks at home - learning to cook and work in the garden. Not good for hobbits to learn too much about the outside world. Get queer in the head, they do!”

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger takes Miz Bracegirdle's order

‘Yes, m’am,’ said Ginger as Miz Bracegirdle made her points, the old gal thumping on the ground with her cane to emphasize each one. Truth be known, Ginger had stood near as Buttercup read the notice to the children and was thrilled at the notion. ‘Yes, m’am. Queer in the head.’

She put on as polite a face as she could. She didn’t believe all that for one minute. If queer in the head meant having a little adventure in your life, Ginger was all for it. Shy as she might be about going out on an adventure herself, still she was glad that others had made the bold step. She shivered a little with anticipation and delight. She could stay safe in her own little burrow and venture out to visit the Elves and see about dragons and treasure and such without setting foot out of the Shire.

Tomorrow, she would see Miz Bella about joining up in one of her classes. She didn’t mind sitting in with some of the littler children. She liked the little ones. And maybe she could help Miz Bella with keeping them in order. Goodness knows she had enough practice with that between her younger brothers and sisters and her older siblings’ little ones.

Miz Bracegirdle was looking up at her as if she thought Ginger had gone daft. Regathering her wits about her, Ginger asked what the old dear would be wanting to eat and drink.

[Undómë]

‘Well, Strawberry, here we are! Let’s get you unharnessed and into a nice stall for the night. Clean straw and a nosebag of oats for all your long traveling today, m’lassie.’ Hobson Bridger pulled his small cart up to the stable and hopped down to the ground. With a practiced series of motions he quickly unharnessed his red chestnut pony from the shafts and led the tired little horse into the stall the stableboy had pointed out to him. A few coins exchanged hands, with the boy promising to rub the pony down and brush her in the morning. The cart was pulled close to the side of the stable and secured beneath the overhanging eaves.

Satisfied his four-legged companion was well taken care of, Hob picked his way across the darkening Inn yard and up the steps to the door. A rush of warm air greeted him as he entered, and he stood for a moment blinking in the lamp and fire lit interior of the common room. His eyes adjusted, he made his way to a small table occupied by several other Hobbits. They offered him the empty seat, passing their jug of hard cider to him along with a clean mug. ‘Green Dragon cider. Put hair on your toes, it will,’ they assured him. He in turn offered a pipeful to each from his pouch of pipeweed. One of the servers came by, and he allowed as how he might try a large wedge of that mushroom pie he’d seen being brought to others. And some bread and butter would be nice and a small wedge of cheese. It had been a very long day on the road from Budge Ford to Bywater, with only a few apples and some cold cornbread from last night’s supper to see him through.

He took a long pull on his drink and then looked about expectantly for someone who might be the Innkeeper. He’d need lodging for the night and perhaps the next few days, depending on how his trading went. Hob leaned back in his chair, listening to the small talk of his tablemates, joining in when he could. His keen brown eyes swept the room slowly as he puffed on his pipe. Just might be a good day at the market tomorrow, he reckoned, that is if the weather held

[Tevildo]

Lilly's face had gone beet red when she heard that Bella mistakenly believed that she and Master Falco were all part of one family. She was relieved that Falco had slipped away from the table in order to go make some music with the others and hadn't heard everything that was being said. Still she had best clear up the confusion and explain.

"I am pleased to meet you, Miz Bella. My name is Lily, and I am the mother of Rory and Camille, just a poor widow who lives down by The Water. Master Headstrong is a friend of our family, a newly acquired friend to be sure but still a dear friend and benefactor. If you wish to inquire about the young lass Marigold going to your school, you had best ask him."

"As to my own children attending your school, I would dearly love that, but I am afraid we have few extras for such an indulgence. My daughter secured a position at the Inn only today, and I have arranged to do Master Falco's laundry. We'll be needing every penny from those two jobs for food and blankets and other necessities."

Camille looked quite happy, even relieved, upon hearing her mother's response but when Lilly looked over at her son, she saw a look of sheer disappointment registered on his face. Lilly wished she could reply differently to Miz Bella, but food had to come first. It would be foolish to think otherwise. At that moment, before Bella could even respond, two young hobbits scampered over to the table and blurted out another question about wanting to come and attend the school.

[elf-girl-63]

Aranel looked around the room. Most of the inn's customers seemed to be enjoying the music, and she was too, although she was beginning to miss Ferdy's company. He had been accosted by some younger hobbits and was now busy teaching them the basic rhythms of the songs. She smiled at how relaxed he looked with them. He must have realised she was staring because he raised his head suddenly and winked at her. Blushing, she immediately turned away, not used to such actions.

The room was full of hobbits eating loudly but Aranel jumped at the door banged shut and in entered yet another hobbit with dark brown eyes. He sat down with some acquaintances (or were they friends? SHe couldn't quite tell) and began puffing on a particularly large pipe. The smoke, however, began to drift over to her table, making her cough and splutter. After wiping her eyes in a dark green handkerchief, she eventually got up to order some food. For some reason the journey had left her weary and hungry... the late lunch she had eaten only a couple of hours ago had done little and so she made her way to the bar.

A young hobbit girl was there with bouncing curls and a pleasant face, 'Would you like some supper Miss?" she enquired politely.

"Yes could I have the chicken with vegetables, the spice cake and some water please?"

The girl nodded and asked to her seat, "Oh, just over there in the corner near the window, thank you." Aranel swept her long hair out of her face and made her way back to her quiet table.

[Firefoot]

"Some dinner, of course - whatever it is that smells so good," answered Thistle. "And make sure it is hot. Cold dinner's no good. With apple cider." Thistle could not help but feel she was being put off. And this girl, Ginger; why, did she not have anything of her own to say? Only a "yes m'am" and the repetition of Thistle's own words. Didn't these young folk think for themselves anymore? Ginger had got right dreamy-eyed, too, once she had finished talking. This was what happened when a hobbit interested themself in tales about elves and dragons - not a sensible thought left in them! Thistle bet that Ginger had probably been one of the first to sign up for these hogwash lessons.

"Yes m'am," said Ginger. "Why don't you have a seat and make yourself comfortable? We'll have it ready shortly."

Thistle allowed herself to be ushered to a small table, but not without a few more admonishing words to Ginger. "Make sure you don't go filling your head with this tomfoolery about dragons. You be sensible, help out your folks at home. Life'll go better for you, you mark my words..."

"Yes m'am. Your dinner will be right out, all right?"

Thistle nodded sourly. Of course she'd leave her all alone like this. No one ever cared to give her company any more. Not even the children came to visit with their families.

Thinking of children, why were there so many of them here? And noisy children. Noisy, rambunctious, singing children. Was this how children were raised these days? In fact, those nearby seemed to be encouraging it! Hmph. What was the Shire coming to these days?

[Arry]

‘Shoo now! Band’s on a break for the moment and I’ve got someone to see.’ Ferdy watched as the children went running off in ones and twos back to their parents’ tables. All save one impish little lad of about five years of age who grinned up at him. ‘Ferdy’s got a girlfriend! O – o –ver there!’ he chanted, laughing as Ferdy turned a bit red about the collar. He’d seen Ferdy look toward that girl with the long hair and give her a wink.

‘Ah, Willi,’ returned Ferdy, putting his arm about the boy’s shoulders. ‘You’ve the right of it that I’ve a girl. But she’s my new met friend,’ he said nodding toward Aranel. ‘Now there,’ he went on, turning Willi toward the kitchen door where Ginger was just passing through, ‘there’s my heart’s own.’

‘Can’t see, Ferdy!’ the boy protested. Ferdy picked him up and sat him on his shoulders. ‘There she is, Willi. You can’t miss her pretty carroty curls. Name’s Ginger. Isn’t that a grand name? And if we were closer you could see the little sprinkle of freckles over her nose and fair cheeks.’

Now Willi had never heard of a girl being talked about like that. He clambered down from Ferdy’s shoulders and grabbed his hand, urging him toward the kitchen where Ginger had disappeared. It took little prompting for Ferdy to follow along at his side.

[Primrose Bolger]

Miz Bracegirdle is served her supper . . .

Ginger cut a large wedge of mushroom pie and putting it on a plate, popped it into the warming oven above the stove. Next came a bowl of steaming chicken stew filled with plump pieces of meat and good sized chunks of carrots and taters and onions and green peas. That, too, got put in the warmer while she sliced off a couple of thick pieces of warm crusty bread to put in a small cloth covered basket.

A small pot of sweet cream butter and another of thick, sweet/tart gooseberry jam were placed on a tray, along with a mug of cold apple cider, the bread, and the tableware wrapped in a clean napkin. She was just about to get out the hot food out when a little voice pulled her attention toward the kitchen door.

And there was Ferdy, standing just across the room from her, smiling a foolish smile. At his side was the source of the words. One of the little lads from the common room. He was looking up at Ferdy and nodding his head. ‘They are real purty, her reddish curls and all. But I still can’t see her freckles.’ He peered up at Ginger as she came closer to them, wiping her hands on the towel that hung on her apron. ‘He says you’re his “heart’s own”, Ferdy did,’ said Willi taking a good look at her. ‘I never saw one of those.’ Now it was Willi’s turn to flush a little as Ginger smiled at him and reached out to tousle his curls. ‘But, gosh, I guess he’s right about it.’

There was an awkward moment of silence as Ginger smiled at Ferdy. Then, Ginger took the little boy’s hand and marched him over to where she was putting together Miz Bracegirdle’s supper. ‘Ferdy,’ she said, ‘if you’ll help him wash his paws up a bit, he can help me with this last order. Then maybe we can sit down and share a cup of cider ourselves.’

Face and hands washed, curls pushed back from his red-cheeked face, and his shirt tucked in so he looked like a proper server of the Inn, Willi took the small plate that held the square of spice and raisin cake solemnly in his two chubby hands. Ferdy held the door for them as Ginger led the way with the tray of hot, savory food. Ferdy followed up with the mug of cider in hand.

The stew and mushroom pie were placed in front of the old Hobbit along with the basket of bread, the pots of butter and jam readily at hand. Ferdy plunked down the mug of cold cider, saying he hoped she would enjoy her supper. Last came Willi who carefully slid the cake plate onto the table and nudged it toward Thistle. ‘Yes, ‘njoy,’ he echoed. ‘And especially the cake,’ he whispered. ‘Got more raisins’n a anthill got ants.’ He turned a bit shy and backed off, intending to let the lady eat.

His eye caught her substantial cane leaning against a chair near her at the table. It reminded him of the stories his Da had told him of when the ruffians made trouble right here in Bywater. It was a grand story . . . exciting and scary at the same time, even though he knew in the end the Hobbits would win out.

‘Ooh! Nice cane, Miz Bracirdle!’ he said enthusiastically. ‘Bet you gave those old ruffians a good thump when they was here . . . you and Master Merry and Master Pippin . . .’

[Undómë]

Seated nearby was a table of Shire folk and one of the biggest men Hob had ever seen. Now Girdley Island was on the north eastern boundary of the Shire, and there were many different folk that passed through the small inn there. The Cottonwood Inn had rangers of all sorts and sizes that frequented it, some rougher looking than others, though most of them tall and wiry in build. And there were the Men from the nearby farms. Broad built and muscular, they enjoyed their ale and the hearty fare the cook there served. The very occasional Elf, there was that visited, but they were quiet folk and moved on quickly. All of them heading west.

And once there had been a pair of Dwarfs. Sturdy fellows on their way north to see to some old mines they’d heard of up there. No wizards - that he had heard of. Though once a fellow cloaked all in brown had may his way across the bridge to the island. He’d left a wounded goose he’d found in the woods nearby. Mended its wing and asked the Innkeeper to look after it. Still waddled about the Inn yard, that goose. Cook never took the axe to it, didn’t have the heart to. She said it always seemed to be looking for something or someone.

But a big fellow, like the one he was looking at now, now that was something they’d not seen on Girdley.

There was another fellow at the big man’s table, one of the Big Folk, but not as large as the other. He too was leaning forward, looking as if he had just asked a question and was waiting for an answer. Hob’s tablemates were busy discussing the success of the Spring lambing and gave him a friendly wave when he excused himself, saying he thought he saw someone he knew. He made his way to the big fellow’s table and stood at the edge until someone scooted a chair out for him, inviting him to sit down.

The man who had looked as if he’d asked a question, spoke up again. ‘What about this ‘bear’ you spoke of?’

Ah, thought Hob, a good hunting story! He settled in to listen . . .

[Noinkling]

Benat nodded as the new Hobbit settled in. Anyopâ had asked his question again and the full attention of the table was now focused on how he might answer. Benat, himself, was wondering how to answer the man’s question without causing too much alarm. It had become quite evident to him that few, if any, had heard of the Beornings here in the Shire. And good folk as they were, still he wondered how they would view something so familiar to him and yet so unordinary if not unthinkable to them. He decided to begin with the story of how Gandalf had brought Mister Bilbo and the Dwarfs to the land about the Carrock.

He was well into the story, pleased with himself, since they had some knowledge of it and seemed to be enjoying it. They’d asked where the Carrock was and he’d explained about the northern parts of The Great River, the Anduin. Bigger and rougher than the Brandywine he’s told them . . . and deep enough for small ships to pass up it for a ways. They’d shivered as he spoke to them of the nearness of the old forest, called Mirkwood, then, he’d said. ‘Just to the east of us, and filled with shadow and all manner of dark things.’ They’d nodded at this, being familiar with the Old Forest near Buckland.

‘And to the west were The Misty Mountains . . . a warren of tunnels and caves all used for many long years by the great hordes of goblins and Orcs and other foul and dangerous creatures,’ he told them.

‘Have mercy,’ murmured Maddy, shaking his head at the grim picture. ‘Seems like you were caught in the grips of a vise – bad ‘uns to the left and right of you! How ever did you and your folk survive?’

‘We had the advantage of being bigger and stronger and more ferocious as need be than our foe,’ Benat went on. He took a good sized swig of his ale, then continued. ‘We’re Skinchangers, my folk . . . and I.’

There were looks of confusion on the faces of his tablemates. ‘Let me explain . . .’ They were only a small number living in that dangerous place, but they had the ability to change at will into great Bears with keen eyes and noses, and very sharp teeth and claws. They patrolled the borders of their little land and for many lives of their folks they had kept their holdings and families safe from the marauding evil. And even now, though the King’s Peace, was spreading slowly through the lands, still beneath the mountains, in the darkness, dwelt little pockets of Orcs and goblins and trolls. And the wolves of the north still hunted in the mountains and would make forays into the fields and pastures when the winters were particularly bad.

The Hobbits asked a number of questions, as did Anyopâ. They all held a look of wary fascination in their faces, though from what they asked they seemed to be trying to slide their minds around what he had told them. Benat called for another pitcher or two of ale. They would be needing it when he got into the tale of the battle he thought.

[Child of the 7th Age]

"Excuse me for a minute. I still believe we can work something out, but let me help these little ones first." With that, Miz Bella turned away from her conversation with Lilly to focus her full attention on the two young hobbits who were now tugging intently on her sleeve.

"And who might you be?" she asked.

"I'm Reggie, and this is my sister Daisy. We heard about your school, and we want to come hear all those dragon stories, please ma'am."

"You may call me Miz Bella, and I would be most happy to have you come. I do love dragon tales myself. But first you must ask your parents what they think. If your parents or you would like to come tomorrow morning to my chambers, you can help me fix up the schoolroom in the morning. Perhaps by the afternoon we can have a short session."

She looked impishly down at the children and asked, "Do you like riddles? I like them almost as much as dragon stories. Think about this riddle tonight and see what you think the answer is. You can ask your folks for help if it is too hard." Then Miz Bella recited:

The beginning of eternity,
The end of time and space,
The beginning of every end,
And the end of every space..

"If you can find the answer, you'll be on your way to learning to read."

With that, the little ones ran off, and Miz Bella directed her attention back to Lilly, noting, "I think we might come to a very agreeable arrangement. When you come down to the Inn to pick up Master Headstrong's laundry, I'll have a small bundle of my own. I'll need my own clothes washed but also the rags and such that we use to clean the slates at school. It would be a big help to me not to have to worry about such things in the evening, and I would gladly include Rory and Camille in the classroom in exchange for such a service. What think you?"

[piosenniel]

~*~ GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS ~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

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

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

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

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.

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

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.

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

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 later in the evening; the sky has grown darker; the moon is just over the trees to the east; the stars are hazy behind the clouds that have sailed in from the northwest..

Supper is being served:

Stewed chicken with taters and carrots; mushroom pie; fresh garden peas with mint and butter; big fluffy biscuits with plenty of butter and honey and jam.

Spice cake full of plump sweet raisins iced with thick vanilla frosting.

And numerous beverages to suit anyone's needs.

There is music in the common room from a little local band. And, of course, the swell of conversation as neighbors and new acquaintances tell the news, swap tales, and call out their orders as the servers pass among the tables.

---

It is chilly with the promise of a spring storm later in the night . . . the wind has picked up . . .

[Envinyatar]

Derufin savored the last bite of his spice cake, then washed the last of the thick, sticky sweet frosting down with a large gulp of cider. He set his fork down with a satisfied clink and pushed the vacant plate away. To his left sat a table of the local folk . . . no, not sat, but stood about the table cheering on one of their mates. Derufin stood and looked over at the source of merriment and groans.

They’d cleared half the table of mugs and plates and had laid a modest piece of thin slate (http://www.mastersgames.com/images/table/slate-shove-hapenny.jpg) on it; one edge of the slate on the very edge of the tabletop. The rectangular board had lines painted across it and spaces along the edge for scoring. One of the Hobbits, the broadest and beefiest at the table stood at one end of the slate, concentrating hard on the ha’penny cushioned against his calloused palm. There was a hushed cheering as he pushed the penny and it slid across the lines. ‘Stop! Stop!’ he muttered through clenched teeth, then groaned audibly as the ha’penny skidded all the way to the end of the slate. ‘Have a drink!’ his friend standing next to him said sympathetically. ‘It’ll go better next time.’ Another of the men at the table stepped up, trying his luck at the challenge.

‘What are we playing for?’ Derufin asked, edging up to the table as looked on. One of the Hobbits looked up at him, his brow raised. ‘Ever played afore?’ he asked the man casually. ‘Well, no,’ admitted Derufin, watching as the challenger fared a little better than his friend. ‘But it doesn’t seem too hard, now does it?’

The Hobbits suppressed a chuckle and motioned for Derufin to try his hand at it. ‘Loser stands the table to drinks. And no . . . not too hard . . .’ He grinned at his companions. ‘Should be no trouble at all for a fine strapping man such as yourself . . .’

[Encaitare]

Tommy munched on the spice cake Caity had ordered for their dessert, as much of the creamy frosting getting on his face as in his mouth. She was telling him about the previous day's events -- about the ceremony and the dancing and the music and the people. She could tell he wasn't very interested in hearing her talk about such things as dancing, but he was getting free cake out of it, and so was willing to sit it out. His attention became distracted, however, when his gaze wandered to a certain giant and his pet.

"Wow, Caity, look!" he said, his eyes huge and a forkful of cake half-lifted to his mouth. "Did you ever see a dog that big?" Immediately he was bouncing up out of his chair and dashing towards the dog to get a better look.

"Tommy-- stop-- wait-- Tommy!" She shouted the last word, but he still ignored her. Ugh! Little brothers! She snatched a napkin off the table -- the boy was a mess -- and followed him as quickly as she could without knocking anyone down.

By the time she reached him, he was already tugging on the dog's ear. Fearing for his safety, Caity snatched the boy up and found herself looking into the face of the giant man.

"I am so sorry, sir," she apologized, holding the wriggling boy and wiping off his frosting-covered face. Luckily, the man did not look like he was getting angry over Tommy's intrusion, and neither did the dog, which was wagging his tail so hard that he threatened to overturn some of the hobbit-sized furniture.

[Tevildo]

Lilly glanced at Miz Bella and smiled, "What a wonderful idea! I think that would work just fine. I'll be glad to collect your things and launder them. I should have them back the very next morning. And I know how much Rory wants to learn to read. This will make him very happy." Lilly glanced affectionately towards her younger son who was now beaming broadly from ear to ear. The two women shook hands and Miz Bella left to go speak to Marigold about the new school.

After Bella's departure, Lilly glanced over at her older daughter Camille but was met with only a scowl and a curt response, "Mum, this is all well and good. But I have work to do for Cook and will have no time for such nonsense." Camille picked up a piece of cake from the platter and began to stuff it into her mouth in a determined manner.

Inside, however, she was seething. This Miz Bella must be the person that Cook wanted her to help. Camille wanted nothing to do with it. For one moment, she considered storming into Cook's presence and refusing to help the woman set up her school. But that would only hurt herself and her mum. She needed the money too badly.

Still, schools and letters made Camille uneasy. Let them all prattle on about how they wanted to hear grand stories of dragons and Elves. She did not mind listening to stories. The problem was that, once you'd heard a tale or two, the teacher always insisted that you try and untangle the letters and words on a page, or write them out on a slate. As hard as Camille tried, the letters made no sense. And her words usually ended up looking very odd with some of the letters mixed up, not at all in the proper order in which they belonged. Once before as a young child, she had gone to a dame school that was kept by one of her aunties. Three days later, her auntie had begged Lilly to withdraw her daughter from the school because Camille had intentionally hurled her slate against the wall and shattered it into a dozen pieces.

Her mother's words cut into these unpleasant reveries. "Don't worry, Camille. I've already spoken with Cook. She wants you to help out in the Inn in the late afternoon and evening. That will leave plenty of time in the morning to attend Miz Bella's school."

"But, Ma. Please. I don't..."

"Not another word, Camille. You need to know your letters and numbers. This is an excellent opportunity, and I insist you take advantage of it. Now, it's getting late for tonight. Let's say our goodbyes to Master Falco and get some help taking back Rory. Camille, you can stay behind a minute. Tell Cook you'll be leaving now, but will be back in the morning to help Miz Bella."

Camille slipped off for one minute and found Cook. Barging into the kitchen, she spoke testily, "Mum says I'll be back early to help Miz Bella. I assume that is who you were talking about. A school! That seems like a silly thing to have in an Inn. You'd think that people could find better ways to use their time. But I do promise you that I'll do the best job I can. You just can't account for other people's tastes."

[Noinkling]

Cullen cleans up Tommy

Luckily, the girl was paying more attention to speaking with his master than she was to wiping the frosting off the littler one’s face. Much of the sticky white frosting was still evident as were a few crumbs of cake on the boy’s tunic. Cullen rose up with a muffled little woof of greeting and curled up his lips in a smile. Drawing near, he sniffed Tommy in the ear, then proceeded to clean him off with very efficient swipes of his tongue. The boy’s face was small and it took only a couple of swipes before the dog’s keen nose sought out the crumbs and whisked them up, too.

‘No need for the napkin, Miss,’ Benat said, chuckling a bit at the sight of the wriggling boy and the persistent dog. Cullen had often made himself useful among the little ones at home. ‘I see that “Clean-up Cullen” has found himself a task to accomplish.’

The Hobbit men at the table laughed at the sight of the nursemaiding dog and Anyopâ pulled out a chair, offering it to Caity. ‘You’ve come just in time,’ he said, brushing the dirt from the seat – one of the Hobbits had been resting his feet there previously. ‘Benat is about to tell us of a very interesting battle his Grandfather was in. You’re more than welcome to join us.’

Benat nodded and spoke to Tommy. ‘And would you like to join us up here . . . or perhaps be the guest of Cullen, there, and sit with him on the floor?’

[piosenniel]

Cook and Camille

Cook was sitting at her little desk in the kitchen, a stack of papers to her left and her bottle of ink to the right. She was writing names of items and sums of money into the kitchen’s account ledger when Camille burst through the door with her little rant. Vinca sat back in her chair and fixed the girl with a non-committal stare.

‘Not thinking straight, Camille,’ she commented once the girl had run out of steam. Cook laid the quill to one side and seeing the ink was dry on the page she’d been working on, closed the ledger. It had been a long tiring day and she was in no mood to deal with one more outburst from anyone. But Camille was new, she cautioned herself, and a good worker. She looked her up and down wondering what had brought on such strong feelings. In a matter of fact voice she addressed the lass’ points.

‘The Inn is a perfect place to have the school. First, we’ve the room for it and second folks are familiar with us and will be more likely to send their children here to be taught than to some strange, new place set up by someone they don’t know.

‘And as for Miz Bella, she’s a treasure-mine of learning from books and her travels. We haven’t had a real teacher about for a good long time, Too many young folk have not had the benefit of broadening their minds a bit. She’s a kind, lovely lady; it was more than generous of her to offer her services.

‘Now as for you, no one’s asking you to account for my tastes or any others. And there’s none can teach you if you’ve set your mind against it. But I can tell you that if you expect to take on any more responsibilities than moving crates and barrels and scraping dishes and washing them around here – And I hope you would think beyond that, because you seem bright and able enough – then you’ll need to know at least some basic reading and numbers and some arithmetic.’

Cook patted the ledger and pointed to the stack of papers. ‘We’ve got tradesmen and people from round about that bring us the things we need or do for us what we can’t do ourselves. If I send you to the miller I’ll be expecting you to read the paper he gives you that says what he’s done for us so you’ll know it was what I sent you after. You’ll need to bring it back and put it in the right little cubbyhole here in my desk – see they’re all labeled – so I can pay him the end of each month. Anyways, that’s just one thing to think about for yourself.’

She turned back to the desk, picked up her quill and dipped it into the inkwell. ‘Got a letter here I’ve got to answer . . . from a dear friend down south, where the King lives.’ Cook opened the vellum and smoothed it out on the desk. Whoever had written the letter had a bold hand and here and there among the words were little drawings – childrens’ faces and a house and a ship docked at the quay. ‘Can’t be there to watch her raise her little chicks but this is the next best thing.’ Cook pulled out the return letter she was working on and printed out Camille’s name. ‘And look here . . . I’ve put you in as one of the new faces working here . . . she always likes to know who’s helping to run The Dragon.’

‘Well . . . see you tomorrow, then, Camille,’ Cook said, reading through again the last part of the letter she’d received, chuckling to herself at some joke the writer had made. ‘And I know you’ll do the best you can, dear . . . you don’t seem the kind to do any less.’

[Fairleaf]

‘Ma! Ma!’ cried Reggie running pell mell between tables, his sister following after.

Wilfrid reached out from his chair and scooped the boy up, setting him firmly on his knee. ‘Now what’s all this that you’re yelling for your Ma and running like a wild man through the Inn?’ Daisy had sidled up to her mother, nestling in against her. ‘And what’s this?’ said Mari, putting her arm about her daughter’s shoulders. ‘I can see those big eyes of yours, Daisy, just wanting to put a question to me.’ She laughed, a pretty sound in the loudness of the Inn. ‘And I can just tell you’re hoping the answer is yes.’

Reggie tried to talk, but his words and thoughts were all jumbled up. So it was Daisy who pointed out where Miz Bella was sitting and told her Ma all about the lessons she was offering.

Mari looked worriedly at Wilfrid. ‘Sounds like a nice idea. But we really don’t know her, do we. And I’ve no idea where she lives.’ It was Reggie then who grinned and blurted out that Mz Bella was going to be right here at the Inn. ‘Oh please, please, please can . . . no, MAY we?’

Wilfrid nodded his head yes, saying that they’d have to wait for a final answer ‘til their Ma found out more about it.

‘Well, alright,’ grumbled Reggie, then brightened. ‘Though you know she gave us our first lesson to try out . . . so we shouldn’t take too long.’

The riddle was told and puzzled over by parent and child alike. ‘Beats me what it’s aiming at,’ Wilfrid said. ‘What do you think son?’

Reggie’s little face screwed up with concentrated thought. ‘Don’t know, Papa. But it must be something secret and magical.’ He leaned forward and whispered in Wilfrid’s ear. ‘You don’t suppose it’s dragons, do you?’

Wilfrid smiled at Mari. ‘Dragons? Well I don’t know about that. Best if we get you signed up with Miz Bella, Reggie. Then you can tell me.’

[Firefoot]

Thistle paused with a spoonful of chicken stew halfway to her mouth, then put the spoon back down. A curious look on her face, she turned to face the boy. The cane was nothing but a necessary nuisance, though sometimes helpful for emphasis, but even she did not have the heart to dampen the lad’s enthusiasm.

“We all resisted the ruffians in what ways we could, lad,” she said, her voice strangely soft. “They dragged my husband off to the lockholes, you see. He got sick there, never recovered.” Thistle wondered why she was telling him this. He was naught but a boy. “But yes, Masters Merry and Pippin were something else.” Could have used their help a lot sooner, though, she couldn’t help adding to herself.

“I’m sorry, Miz Bracegirdle,” said the lad. “About your husband and all.” Thistle was touched by his sincerity. It was probably the most sincere condolence she had ever received - behind her back, and once even to her face, Thistle knew they had said he was better off without her, even if it meant being dead.

“Don’t be,” she told him. “He was a brave sort, like I imagine you’d be, and he was getting old.”

The lad could not keep the comment from slipping out: “Like you, Miz Bracegirdle?” The shocked chides of “Willi!” from Ginger and the other, her sweetheart, no doubt, were in stark contrast to Thistle’s own reaction. She smiled for the first time in a long time, accenting the wrinkles of her aged face. “Yes, Willi, like me.” I like this one, decided Thistle. Too bad all the young’uns aren’t polite like him. He’s enthusiastic, but then that’s healthy in a lad, but not so rambunctious. Yes, I like this one.

[Tevildo]

Camille tramped out of the Dragon and cut across the back courtyard of the Inn, heading for the path that led down to The Water. She carried a large bag with Master Falco's dirty clothing that her mum had promised to launder and then return to the Inn.

Despite all the good things that had happened to her that day, Camille was not feeling happy at the moment. Something inside whispered that Cook was right to speak sternly to her. She would be in a big pickle if Cook or anyone else gave her a list of items to purchase at the market and then wrote down how much she was supposed to spend on each. She would have no idea what was on the list or how much money everything should cost. And if Cook ever told her to get down the large book of recipes that was stored in the larder and pick one of those to prepare, she would be in an equally difficult quandry. Perhaps a nearby friend would help her muddle through, but it was more likely that she would be on her own and would fail miserably at the task that she was supposed to do.

Still, Camille pondered, wanting to learn to read and actually managing to do it were two very different things. Maybe she did want to learn, at least a little. But when she looked at a page of letters, everything seemed to swim up and down, and she had trouble remembering her 'b's' from 'd's' since they all looked the same. When the letters were actually strung together in words, things got even worse. And no one, not Cook or her mother, seemed to understand or appreciate that.

Camille thought how disappointed Miz Bella would be to discover that the lass she had hired was singularly dense, although perhaps not as disappointed as her own mother when she learned what a terrible student her daughter was. Camille hesitated for a moment beside the gate, turning around to glance back at the Inn and wondering what she should do. For an instant, she actually thought of running away and going somewhere where no one expected anyone to learn to read, somewhere where there was no Miz Bella. But that would be cowardly, and she was not a coward. With a sigh of resignation, Camille promised herself that she would get a good night's sleep, return the next morning bright and early, and try to do what folk expected her to do.

[Primrose Bolger]

Willi makes a proposition to Miz Bracegirdle

Ginger bent down and whispered something in Willi’s ear. He nodded his head solemnly, then grinned at Miz Bracegirdle. ‘Ginger says I should ‘scuse me and let you eat your supper.’ He leaned against the edge of the table and took a long look at the plate of spice cake he’d brought out to her. ‘I spose though I could come back and sit with you while you have your dessert.’ He looked up at Ginger, then back to the elderly Hobbit. ‘You could tell me a little more about your Mister if you wanted. I could add his name in to the list my Da has when he tells me about the battle.’

He looked hopefully at Miz Thistle as she took another bite of stew. ‘We could share the cake if you wanted . . . “blessings shared with a friend are always best” is what my Ma says. And that cake is so good it surely must be a blessing.’

‘Well, I got to go for now,’ he said waving as Ferdy grabbed his little hand and urged him toward where the band was setting up once again to play. Ginger smiled as Willi pulled on Ferdy’s sleeve and whispered something up at him. ‘He’s a bold one, little Willi is. Got a good heart. Hope he didn’t bother you too much with his prattling.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Will there be anything else I can get for you, Miz Bracegirdle?’

[Arry]

The fiddles were just tuning up for another round of song as Ferdy and little Willi approached. ‘The lad’s got a request for you,’ Ferdy said bringing Willi forward. Gil crouched down to look the boy in the eye and asked what he might play for him.

‘Oh, it’s not for me,’ chirped Willi. ‘It’s for my friend . . . over there,’ he said, pointing to where Miz Bracegirdle sat enjoying her mushroom pie. ‘I think she needs a pretty song. A happy one.’ He looked back squarely at Gil. ‘You do an awful good job. Do you think you can find one to sing for her?’

Gil looked toward where the old gammer sat alone. Miz Thistle - she had a prickly temper and a sharp tongue at times, he knew from his own experience. Still, little Willi had seen past the bristly exterior it appeared. And she’d been wed, too. Lost him in the bad times, as Gil recalled. ‘Well, then, Master Willi, I think I can find a little something. Something light and fun to dance to if you wish. And I’ll put her name in it.

He stood up and played a few bars for the others. ‘Hob y derry dando,’ he said. ‘But I’m going to change the names a bit for Willi’s friend.’ The fiddles started out the song then as the drum kept the lively beat.

‘Here’s an old song,’ Gil called out as he stepped to the front of the little stage. ‘We’re singing it for a friend of little Willi’s here. Come up and dance if you’ve a mind to.’ He stepped back and played one verse through with the others then began to sing:

Low the hills in the Shire lie
Hob y derry dando
That hide the old mill from my eye
Hob y derry dando
One fond view, oh let me take
Down derry down
Ere my longing heart will break
Down, down, hie derry down
My darling Thistle do not frown
Down, down, hie derry down
My darling Thistle do not frown.

O'er the fields hath flown my heart
Hob y derry dando
O'er the fields my sighs depart
Hob y derry dando
O'er the fields must she be sought
Down derry down
Who lives always in my thought
Down, down, hie derry down
My darling Thistle do not frown
Down, down, hie derry down
My darling Thistle do not frown.

A comely lass I once caressed
Hob y derry dando
Another fair, her heart possessed
Hob y derry dando
But his, already given, he lost
Down derry down
Were ever three so sadly crossed
Down, down, hie derry down
My darling Thistle do not frown
Down, down, hie derry down
My darling Thistle do not frown.

They played a quick refrain and then sang the first verse once again.

Low the hills in the Shire lie
Hob y derry dando
That hide the old mill from my eye
Hob y derry dando
One fond view, oh let me take
Down derry down
Ere my longing heart will break
Down, down, hie derry down
My darling Thistle do not frown

‘Oh that was a good one!’ cried Willi, clapping his hands as he hopped about in rhythm to the last notes. Gil sneaked a quick glance to where Mis Bracegirdle sat, hoping she had liked it.

[Encaitare]

Relieved that Tommy hadn't caused any trouble, Caity took the chair that was offered. "That's very kind of you," she said, interested in hearing Benat's tale. "Do you want to come up here, Tommy?" she asked her brother.

"I'll stay with Cullen," said the young hobbit, who had clearly just made a new friend. "I can hear fine from down here." To emphasize his point, he sat down right on the lounging dog's back, so that it looked as if he were riding a pony.

"Benat here's got an interesting story, it seems," one of the listeners told Tommy. "Says his grandfather went into battle -- as a bear."

His eyes grew wider than when he had seen Cullen, and even Caity leaned in to listen closely as Benat began his tale.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

They heard his song through the open windows, long before he appeared in the doorway, beaming with good health and the open miles he had travelled:

Farewell, but whenever you welcome the hour
That awakens the night-song of mirth in your bower,
Then think of the friend who once welcom'd it too,
And forgot his own griefs to be happy with you.
His griefs may return, not a hope may remain,
Of the few that had brighten'd his pathway of pain,
But he ne'er will forget the short vision that threw,
It's enchantment around him, while ling'ring with you.

And still on that evening when pleasure fills up,
To the highest top sparkle each heart and each cup,
Where 'ere my path lies, be it gloomy or bright,
My soul, happy friends, shall be with you that night.
Shall join in your revels, your sports, and your wiles,
And return to me beaming, all o'er with your smiles.
Too, blest if it tells me that 'mid the gay cheer,
Some kind voice had murmer'd, "I wish he were here!"

Let Fate do her worst, there are relics of joy,
Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy,
Which come in the night-time of sorrow and care,
And bring back the features that joy used to wear.
Long, long be my heart with such memories fill'd,
Like the vase in which roses have once been distill'd.
You may break, you may ruin the vase if you will,
But the scent of the roses will hang 'round it still.

Upon the last words of the song a tall, blond man, broad shouldered and handsome, entered the Inn, smiling at the many open faces that stared at him in amazement, for as accomplished as the music had been that night his voice was as the sound of clear trumpets, and the effect of it was almost like that of Elvish music. The notes ran and flowed through the night like the living water, leaping down mountainsides, and those who hearkened to it were refreshed. At first, they were amazed to see so young a man enter, but a quick second look revealed upon his face the mark of years. He was yet hale and in the prime of life, but the blush of youth was gone from his cheeks.

He laughed at his own music and spoke loudly to those who had been singing, but not minding if others heard. “I am sorry to have interrupted your music, friends, but I cannot bear to withhold my voice from song when I hear a melody! I have been upon the road from Rohan for many days, and in all that time the only music I’ve heard has been that of birds, and what I could bring with me!” And again he laughed – an infectious sound that ran about the walls of the room. If there had been any doubt before it was now dispelled: he was indeed a man of Rohan.

Ignoring the bar and the counter he strode directly to where the musicians had been playing and stood before them, looming above the heads of the Halflings. He put his hands upon his hips and beamed at them. “I have had naught but dried meat and water for days, and I have had little precious of that! I’ve not slept in a bed for more than a month, my joints ache from long miles in the saddle, and I’m not so sure that at this moment I wouldn’t sell my mother for a cup of ale…but I can wait for all that if you will but let me join you in some music first!”

One of the Halflings, looking at the Man suspiciously, inquired if he were a musician himself. The man threw back his head and roared with laughter. “A musician, my little friend? No, indeed I am not – I am but a simple bard of Rohan. A simple bard, who has come to this land in search of new music and fresh tunes, and I would be obliged if you would teach me some!”

The same suspicious Halfling informed the Man that before they sang with him, they would appreciate knowing his name. Again he smiled and laughed, and seizing the little fellow’s hand he shook it – and the Halfling – vigorously. “My name, little friend, is Hearpwine, Bard of the Golden Hall, and the servant of King Eomer! And who,” he said, letting the halfling’s hand go, “are you all! Whom do I have the pleasure of singing with this night?”

[Firefoot]

"No, no, I'm fine," said Thistle, shooing Ginger away.

"Let me know if you need something, then," said Ginger. So Thistle was left to enjoy her meal alone. Alone and in peace, she thought, but only half-heartedly. With a glance around to make sure no one was watching, she took the raisin cake and set it aside for when Willi came back. More rasins than an anthill has ants, he'd said. Hardly a proper way to describe food, but it did get the message across. She found a smile tugging at her lips in spite of herself.

Presently she became aware that the band had begun playing again. My darling Thistle do not frown. And then she did frown. Were the band members trying to tell her something? She began listening attentively as she ate, wondering if that might be the case.

She realized as she listened that it was an old, familiar song, albeit one she hadn't heard in a while, with the words just altered a bit. A upbeat song, though the undertones were sad. She noticed that Willi, dancing about up near the band, seemed to be taking a special interest in the song. It clicked in Thistle's mind as she realized that it was the little rascal who had put them up to this song. As the last verse rolled around, she found herself tapping her foot and almost wishing she might be young enough to dance again. It was the type of song her Moro would have liked. A wave of regret washed over her. She wished she might have made their married years happier, instead of letting that single chain of events that ended with her marrying Moro instead of the other lad rule the rest of her life. It had all been a misunderstanding, really... but she had not let herself make the best of it. Ah, well, done is done. And she shoved the thoughts out of her mind in annoyance.

As the final chords of the song drew to a close, Thistle caught sight of Willi and found herself touched by his obvious approval of the song. She wondered why Willi liked her so much; most youngsters stayed far away when they saw her coming. How funny, she mused, that the first friend that she should have in such a long time would be eighty-odd years younger than herself. She looked over at the band again, and if she didn't quite smile at least she nodded her approval.

[Arry]

Introductions are made and a song is sung for the bard

‘Hearpwine, is it?’ Gil said withdrawing his hand from that of the man. ‘And from Rohan, you say.’ Now where was Aman when she was needed, the Hobbit wondered. Tomlin and Fallon plucked at the strings of their fiddles, putting them in tune as Falco sounded a note on his pipe for them. They had withdrawn a little from where Gil stood, though they kept an eye on the man who had announced himself as a bard from Rohan.

‘No, not ‘a’ bard,’ THE bard,’ whispered Tomlin as he leaned in toward Fallon. Ferrin gave his drum a ba-dump-bump-bump as if to punctuate the statement. ‘And he’s come to sing with his “little friends”,’ Fallon added. ‘Perhaps we should stand on a table.’ The two fiddlers played a few fast bars from ‘Hare in the Corn’ and hopped on and off a nearby bench.

Gil by this time had brought Hearpwine to where the others were ‘tuning up’. ‘And these are my mates – Tomlin there on that wreck of a fiddle from which he draws the sweetest notes. And Fallon with his little rosewood fiddle; I swear he has the fastest fingers – nearly sets the bridge on fire. Ferrin there is breaking in his new hand drum. He’s the heartbeat behind our wandering notes.’ Falco hung back a little, fingering the holes on the tin whistle as if the jig were still playing. Gil, however, was not going to overlook him, and introduced him as a newcomer to the band. ‘Though truth be told, he’s most likely been playing much longer than any of us. Lovely piper!’

‘We don’t really know any songs from Rohan. Just a few snatches of tunes the Innkeeper hums now and then. And I don’t know what songs you might know in our slim catalog of tunes. But please,’ he said, ‘sit down here near us and listen a bit. Join in if you wish.’ He motioned for Ruby to bring a pitcher of ale and one of the larger mugs for Hearpwine. A chair was pulled up for him and a table of Hobbits nearby made room for him at the end of their table, for him to set his drink.

Picking up his concertina, Gil stepped back to his companions and held a whispered conference. ‘We’ve got a guest from fair Aman’s home country with us tonight,’ Gil announced, turning back to those in the room. ‘His name is Hearpwine of Rohan. He’s one of those traveling poets, minstrels, bards. Come to collect a few poor tunes from the Green Dragon. We’ll dig deep and see what we can find of interest for him.’ A round of clapping and shouts of encouragement went round. ‘And then perhaps he’ll share a few with us.’

He picked up the mug on the stool near him and sipped a bit to wet his mouth. ‘We’ve come up with an old, old song that Fallon learned from his Da’s gaffer and him from his gaffer’s gaffer. Story is he had it from a raggedy man who came west from beyond the Tower Hills. There are some words in it we don’t quite know nor where it was the battle was fought. But it’s much the same as any battle . . . light and good fight on against shadow and evil. And oh yes, there’s a bard in the song . . .’

There was a short stanza recited with which Gil said the raggedy man had introduced the song:

“Great were their deeds, their passions, and their sports;
With clay and stone
They piled on strath and shore those mystic forts,
Not yet over thrown
On cairn-crowned hills they held their council courts
While youths alone,
With giant dogs, explored the stags’ resorts,
And brought them down . . .”

Then the companions struck up the tune and Gil sang with Fallon; their fair voices twining in harmony:

Long long ago in this ancient land
A battle took place where two hills now stand
And on the plain there lay the slain
For neither the battle was won.

So the bard did sing of these faerie hills
Where bloom the white flowers and daffodils
One big one small Si Bheag Si Mhor
And never the battle is won.

Beneath these hills great heroes lie
Of the Red Branch Knights and their ancient foe
In still of night the immortals fight
But never the battle is won.

And so the harper was told these faerie tales
Of these faerie hills of the ancient Gaels
One big one small Si Bheag Si Mhor
And never the battle is won.

Twas after the battle the prophet foretold
No rest would be found for these warriors bold
Till they unite and fight one common foe
And then would the battle be won.

The instruments dropped out and just the two voices wove together the last verse:

So then the harper wrote of these faerie hills
Where bloom the white flowers and daffodils
One big one small Si Bheag Si Mhor
And never the battle is won.

. . . and never the battle is won . . .

[Primrose Bolger]

Willi comes back for a visit

‘Wasn’t that grand?’ piped Willi as he stood at Miz Bracegirdle’s elbow. She startled a bit at the sound of his voice. She had been listening to the song just sung for Hearpwine and he’d come up quietly behind her. His eyes were shining at the thought of Red Branch Knights and conjuring images of them in his mind. Tall, tall they would be; as tall as his Da . . . with great swords . . . or maybe sharp spears . . .

He shifted one of the chairs away from the table and climbed up on it. Ginger standing a little ways away saw him and fetched a cup for him and a small pitcher of cold cider for the table. ‘You be good now,’ she whispered to him as she bent to fill his cup. ‘And mind your manners.’ He nodded solemnly, taking a big drink of the sweet, cold liquid. ‘Boy, that’s good,’ he declared setting his cup firmly on the table.

Willi stood up on his chair and hefted the small pitcher in his hands. ‘Would you like some, Miz Braceirdle?’ he asked, teetering dangerously on the edge of his seat.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine pounded the table with his open palm and cried out with childlike glee at the conclusion of the song. “Wonderful! Wonderful! You do an ancient lay great credit!” he said.

Gil’s face fell somewhat. “You know it then?” he asked.

“Aye, indeed I do, very well, for it is ancient, sad, and concerned with matters of war – all things which recommend it to the tastes of my master and those who serve him. I am surprised to find you folk of the Shire singing of such things. In my land, you are spoken of as a people who delight not in battle, but in things of mirth.”

Falco drew himself up to his full height and replied with an edge to his voice. “We’re not the comical folk as we’re thought of elsewhere,” he said. “We’ve been known to put up a fight when needed.”

Hearpwine smiled broadly at the piper. “Indeed you have, and many the song there is in my land about your people’s bravery and indomitable spirit. My own King has bid me take his greetings to Master Meriadoc Brandybuck, man at arms of Rohan, and further to this, King Eomer has expressed a desire for a lay that celebrates the great victory of your people in the Battle of Bywater! If you have any such songs as these I would beg you to sing them for me.”

“Nay, master bard,” Gil said. “We’ve already sung one for you, and now it is your turn to do the same for us.”

Hearpwine laughed. “Very well – I have contested with others in song, but never until this moment have I traded in music. A sensible way to proceed it is! As you have sung to me of war and loss, I shall return the favour and sing to you of things that I deem are more fitting to the lives of the Shirefolk…notwithstanding your undoubted and remarkable courage and fortitude when in need!” He stood up and produced from beneath his cloak a small harp. He stroked it gently and a low music filled the room with a familiar melody. The bard continued in this way for a few minutes until the others, unable to resist the lure of his music, joined in and the melody swelled into a rollicking tune that set many a foot at the Inn to tapping.

As I was going to Banbury
Ri fol latitee O
As I was going to Banbury
I saw a line coddlin apple tree
With a ri fol latitee O

And when the coddlins began to fall
Ri fol latitee O
And when the coddlins began to fall
I found five hundred men in all
With a ri fol latitee O

And one of the men I saw was dead
Ri fol latitee O
And one of the men I saw was dead
So I sent for a hatchet to open his head
With a ri fol latitee O

And in his head I found a spring
Ri fol latitee O
And in his head I found a spring
And seven young salmon a learning to sing
With a ri fol latitee O

And one of the salmon as big as I
Ri fol latitee O
And one of the salmon as big as I
Now do you not think I am telling a lie?
With a ri fol latitee O

And one of the salmon as big as an Elf
Ri fol latitee O
And one of the salmon as big as an Elf -
If you want any more you must sing it yourself
With a ri fol latitee O

His voice as he sang was a near perfect mixture of vibrant talent and hard training. There was energy and youthfulness in his tone, but it was moderated with wisdom and tuned to catch the ear of those who heard it. By the end of the song there was no doubt amongst any who hearkened to it that here indeed was a singer who belonged in the courts of Kings. The music fell into silence and Hearpwine lowered his harp. “Well?” he cried “What think you of the song?”

[Arry]

Home before the rain begins . . .

The door swung open at the back of the room, pushed open even further by the quick gust of wind that thrust itself against it. Curls of cold air swept into the entryway, heavy scented with the promise of rain. Andwise leaned back on the door and closed it quickly as the disgruntled calls from those tables nearest the door grew in number. He looked about for Ferdy and the lads, his eyes squinting in the brightness of the room. Ah! There they were. And it looked as if Gil and the others had spent the evening playing and singing for the crowd. Some tall, light haired man stood with them, a smile on his face.

‘Who’s that?’ asked Andwise, flagging down Buttercup as she passed. ‘Man from Rohan,’ she answered. ‘From where Aman hails,’ she went on seeing the blank look on his face. ‘Ah! Horse country!’ returned Andwise, who had consigned that far off and foreign land to a picture of long rolling plains and herds of great horses such as the two Miz Aman had now in the stable. ‘Sings, does he,’ he asked hanging his cloak on a peg by the door.

‘Yes, and quite well too,’ she answered walking with him to where the fellows were talking with the bard. She leaned in close to Andwise, her voice low. ‘Though not as well as Tomlin, I’m thinking.’

Andwise laughed and clucked his tongue at her. ‘Now you be careful of those music makers . . . break a girl’s heart, or so I’ve been told.’

Buttercup sniffed and put on a disbelieving face. ‘Well, we’ll just see about that now, won’t we?’ She grinned, putting her arm through the elder Hobbit’s arm and brought him up to the little group.

‘Twas a lovely song, Hearpwine,’ Gil was saying, breaking the silence that had fallen over the little group. ‘And better yet, we’ve not heard it here before. Makes my cheeks burn to even think we sang for you. Our voices are untrained and rough, as are many of our songs. Nothing fit for great halls such as your King might have. Lucky to have you making his music for him and not us.’

‘Interesting instrument you have there,’ remarked Tomlin, eyeing the man’s harp. ‘I can recall only one or two others who traveled through with one. Though none of them played anywhere near your level. Would you mind if I . . .’

The last of his request was not made, as Andwise approached saying he had brought the cart, and perhaps they had better be going home soon. ‘Going to rain soon,’ he said by way of explanation, and the boys have a ways to go home, as do I.’ He nodded in greeting to the Man. ‘Perhaps they can see you tomorrow, Master Hearpwine . . . though, first off, we’ve a need to finish that shed for Miz Peony as promised.’

‘I’ll just be a moment, Da,’ said Ferdy, heading off in the general direction of the kitchen. ‘Aye,’ Andwise laughed. ‘You’ll be needing to see to Ginger. A moment, no more, if you will. I really am tired this evening.’

The lads packed up their instruments, and gave farewells to their new acquaintance, Hearpwine, and to others of their friends and neighbors at the Inn. Ferdy was back quickly, waving a last good-bye to Ginger. He stopped briefly at Miz Bracegirdle’s table, taking leave of her and Willi, and saying he hoped she had enjoyed the song. To Willi he said he would look for him tomorrow in the late afternoon. ‘You can help us with the puppets,’ he reminded him.

There were grumbles again as the Inn door was open and the chilly wind blew in. Gil was the last one out the door, the worn leather sack that held his concertina slung over his shoulder as he headed to the cart and to home.

[Firefoot]

Having been distracted by Ferdy's farewell, Thistle did not notice Willi's precarious position, and neither did Ferdy, apparently in some hurry to leave. She allowed that his song had been "fine, fine," with a nod of her head.

She turned back to Willi once Ferdy had left. She wasn't particularly thirsty, but how could she refuse the lad after he had so politely asked? He was right; the cider was quite tasty. So she replied, "Yes, some cider would be right nice... can you reach, or do you need help?"

"I've got it," he assured her, leaning a little bit further so as to reach her nearly empty glass.

The next events happened too quick for Thistle to process immediately. Willi had started to tip the pitcher to pour when it seemed that he had finally leaned across the table too much. The chair on which he was standing slid backwards and Willi fell, dropping the pitcher. The pitcher shattered and sticky cider spilled everywhere, including on Thistle and Willi. Upon first instinct, Thistle grabbed a napkin, which already had some cider on it, off the table and almost began attempting to dry herself. The full comprehension of what had happened dawned on her a moment later and she dropped the napkin, pushing herself up from her seat. She could hear the thump of Willi hitting the ground resounding in her head. Was the lad all right? Had he broken anything, or hit his head?

She hobbled around to the side of the table as fast as her cane and old legs would permit. By the time she reached his side, Ginger had already knelt down beside the lad.

Genuine concern filling her voice, Thistle asked, "Is he all right?"

[Nurumaiel]

Marigold was curled up on the window-seat, and she watched the departure of the boys through bleary eyes, drowsily waving and blowing kisses. Then she sighed, folded her arms, and dropped her head, staring absently across the room. Occasionally she would reach up and brush a lock of hair out of her eyes, and soon those very eyes began to close, as she wondered if the tall man would sing any songs.

Falco bent over her and saw that she had fallen asleep. And he couldn't blame her. He himself was more than ready for bed, after the song-playing with the lads. He remembered Uien's kind words, but all the same he could not help but feel relief that Mithalwen was not there to carry Marigold off to bed. He put her arms about her and lifted her up. She started, and clutched frantically at him, and then she went limp again. "It's just you Mr. Headstrong," she murmured. And then, without opening her eyes, she turned her head and called: "Good night, Rory!"

Falco carried her to her room and tucked her into bed. She lifted her head for a moment to tell him good night, and then fell aganist the pillows and began to breathe softly and steadily. Falco softly crept to his own room.

He could hear the wind rustling through the trees, and as he looked out the window he saw the lantern on Gil's cart as it disappeared around the bend. He reflected for a moment on Camille, Rory, and their mother; on the musicians; and on the man from Rohan. And then he thought of Marigold, with her sweet little ways, and her shining eyes that recalled to him the days of his youth. He turned and went to his bed.

"At least," he said, after opening one of the drawers to make sure the tin whistle that had belonged to Marigold's father was still safe, "there are lads like Gil and Tomlin and the other boys who can keep on singing the old songs, when I'm growing as old as the songs myself."

[Child of the 7th Age]

Miz Bella sat by herself at a small table in the corner reflecting on everything that had happened earlier in the evening. The night had been a busy one. She had managed to slip in a word to Reggie and Daisy's parents that they were welcome to come to her room in the morning and make arrangements for the children to attend school. She had also talked briefly with Marigold and reminded the little lass to speak with Master Headstrong if he wished to have her join the other children in the classroom.

Before leaving the Inn with Rory, Lily had promised that her daughter would return to help Bella clean the schoolroom and set out the tables and chairs along with all the other supplies that the young hobbits would need. Despite Lilly's assurance that Camille would be happy to help, Bella suspected otherwise. A look of profound annoyance had flashed over Camille's face and was just as quickly masked when she was speaking with her mother. Then the lass had abruptly stood up and stomped off towards the kitchen. Bella wondered if she had unknowingly said or done something to offend the young lass. She could not think of anything, but some hobbits were more sensitive than others and could take umbrage at even the smallest thing. She resolved to be more careful and try to mend fences when Camille showed up to work.

Overhearing some conversation at the next table that centered on puppets, Bella made a mental note to try and run down those fellows the next day and find out what they had meant. Perhaps there was a group of puppeteers who would be putting on a show at the Inn. Or, even better, perhaps the puppets could be used by the children to help put on a show themselves. She had never tried her hand at making a puppet, but how different could it be from the dozens of items that she had carved over the years?

The Elders in the New Lands had taught her how to use sandstone and wood and skillfully carve these materials to create a hundred different birds and beasts. She was not especially good at singing or dancing as so many hobbits seemed to be, but she could craft images of living things that looked so real it was easy to forget they were only copies. This was the main reason that she had spent time with the Dwarves in the region of Dale, hoping to study some of the handiwork that they had produced. Their work was clever but quite different from what she had learned over the seas. The people of the northern islands brought a certain reverence and seriousness even to the smallest of their creations that was simply lacking in the toys that she had seen in Dale. Camelia Goodchild had once told Bella she should look for such purity in the work of the Elves, particularly in those things crafted by the Noldor, but she had no idea how or where to find such Elves, and many of them had already left Arda.

There was something sad about that. With a sigh Bella stood up, intending to head to her room when she saw a young lad take a tumble off a chair. She thought of running over to help, but there were a number of others crowded about the lad, and they seemed to have the situation under control. Still tired from her adventures of the day before, Bella slipped out into the corridor and wearily headed back to her room for the night.

[piosenniel]

Willi is brought into the kitchen

kachink!

The sound of the ha’penny hitting the backboard was accompanied by wry expressions of sympathy and a muttered ‘Blast this deuced game!’ ‘Better luck next time, Derufin!’ came the call from the Hobbit who had won the game. ‘We’ll call this a practice game . . . you can buy us each a tot of brandy and we’ll be even. Next time, though, better you fill your pockets with ha’pennies!’ There was laughter and the clapping on the back of the poor man as he made his way to the bar.

On a shelf behind the bar was the brandy that had come in from The Golden Perch. Stout stuff, though smooth as silk to the tongue. Derufin grabbed the bottle in one hand and a wooden tray he loaded with small glasses in the other. With a grin, he poured each of them a drink, then knocked it back as they did, in an appreciative silence.

‘Lost, eh?’ Zimzi had come up quietly behind him as he gathered the glasses back onto tray. Her eyes sparkled, with no hint of sympathy for his plight in them. She put her arm about his waist, walking back to the bar and then into the kitchen with him.

Cook gave him an appraising look as he set the tray of glasses down. ‘Not going to just leave them there, are you? There’s soapy water there in the sink and you can just leave them on the drainboard.’ ‘Though, she said, turning back to her letter writing, ‘it might be nice for the girls if they didn’t have to wipe and polish them and set them back on the bar rack.’

‘I’ll dry, you wash,’ offered Zimzi, nudging him toward the soapy water. ‘Then grab my cloak, if you will, and we’ll make a dash for home.’ She nodded toward the kitchen’s window where the wind rattled at the shutters. ‘Sounds as if it might be starting to rain.’ She frowned as a thought occurred to her. ‘Have you see Falowik and Uien? Perhaps they should stay the night with us.’ Derufin handed her a rinsed glass saying he would look for them before they left for the cottage.

They were nearly done, when Ginger burst through the door from the Common Room, a pale looking little fellow in her arms. And thumping in a few seconds behind her came Thistle Bracegirdle.

[Primrose Bolger]

Willi is patched up

‘I think he’s alright, Miss Bracegirdle,’ said Ginger gathering Willi up in her arms. ‘He’s groaning, at least, and I think his eyes are just closed because he’s hurting.’ She brushed the curls back from his forehead. ‘He did get a little gash here.’ Willi winced as she brushed over the cut. ‘Let’s take him into the kitchen and get him cleaned and bandaged.’

Cook brought out her box of herbs and unguents from one of the cabinets while Zimzi spread a big towel on the table. It was only a small cut, though it had bled freely and looked much worse. It was cleaned and a dab of unguent applied. Willi whimpered only a little as Cook looked him over and fixed him up. ‘Brave lad!’ said Ginger taking him up once again. ‘Let’s find you some dry clothes and then your parents.’

Willi smiled wanly at Cook and thanked her, then waved to Miz Bracegirdle as Ginger carried him back to the Common Room. ‘Sorry I ruined your cake!’ he called out.

[piosenniel]

Thistle is offered a ride home

‘Looks as if you could use a wash up and a change, too,’ Cook said, handing Thistle a clean, dry towel. ‘Little fellow got you both pretty good, I see.’ She made an offer of a dry gown from her room.

Zimzi came forward, with Derufin close by her side. ‘It’s raining now. Let us offer you a ride home. It will be no trouble for us.’ She turned to Derufin and nudged him toward the kitchen’s back door. ‘Go harness the ponies to the covered cart, dear. And fetch us a thick wool blanket from the stable.’

[Noinkling]

Plans are made to tell the tale of the battle tomorrow

The hubbub of the fallen Hobbit child had shifted the focus from Benat and his story. Details of what had just happened were discussed as was the location of the child’s’ parents. Benat stood up, his height an advantage, and reported that the lad had been delivered into the arms of his mother and father, and the three were now heading off, he supposed, to home.

‘It is getting rather late,’ the big man said as he sat himself back down. ‘I hadn’t realized it had gotten dark already.’ He looked about at his companions at the table. ‘Can we meet again tomorrow? It will give me more time for the telling.’ The face on the lad sitting with Cullen fell, but Benat offered to buy both he and his sister an early supper. And yes, Cullen would be in attendance, he laughed.

‘By then, too, I should be able to fill some other gaps in my story. Miz Bunce has promised to introduce me to your Mayor Sam. If he gives me leave to see the book Mister Bilbo kept, then I’ll know what befell him and his companions when they left my Granda’s house.’

Maddy and the other men at the table agreed to meet again tomorrow evening. Even Minto was growing less wary of Benat’s claims and looked forward to hearing the story. They all gathered up their cloaks from the pegs by the door and headed for home, their hoods pulled up as proof against the rain. ‘Early evening, then,’ cried Maddy, waving to Benat and the few others left at the table, before he left for his snug burrow.

‘You should be heading home, too,’ Benat said to Caity and Tommy. ‘Cullen and I are bound for our soft bed in the hayloft.’ Cullen stood up, thumping his tail as if to say he hoped Tommy would come back tomorrow. Benat and his furry companion made their way to the door. Taking his great cape from the highest peg, Benat pulled it securely about him. He shouldered his pack and exited the Inn, moving toward the stable at a fast clip.

[piosenniel]

Notice of time moving forward in the Inn

Later today (about 3 p.m. Pacific time, U.S.), time in the Shire will move forward to morning. I'll put up a notice of the Time Change at that time.

Until then, please finish up any evening/night posts you need to get in.

Thanks!

~*~ Pio, Shire moderator

[Firefoot]

"Ah, thank you," said Thistle, unsure of quite how to respond. Thistle made a mental note to herself. Never let it be said that all Big Folk are rude. She was getting uncomfortable in her damp clothes, and now that she was fair certain that Willi was fine, she was free to concentrate on such things. "I'll be ready in a moment." She turned and made her way over to Ginger and Willi.

"Don't you worry about the cake, lad," Thistle told him. "I expect you to share cake with me some other time, though. Got that?"

He smiled happily. "Okay."

"You take care of yourself," she told him. Looking at Ginger, she added, "You too." She glanced around and saw that the Man had brought the wagon around. They said their good-bye's and Thistle thumped out to meet the wagon. She got a bit wet, but not as much as she would have had she needed to walk the whole way back. She was also very grateful for the heavy blanket. The night was chilly.

As the wagon pulled away from the Inn, Thistle decided that all told the Green Dragon was indeed a fine inn, despite her earlier misgivings. Perhaps she would have to stop in more often. It was not good to be lonely all the time. Then she smiled.

[Witch_Queen]

Jon looked around. By now it was already getting late and he figured that he needed to find himself a room for the night. "Its getting late Dwaline, perhaps we could continue our conversation in the morning? After all by the look of Avalon I can tell that at least two of us need some sleep." The dwarf nodded his head and Jon stood up from the table and walked over to the bar.

As he approached the bar he suddenly wondered where Aman had gone off to. He remembered that earlier in their meeting she had almost slipped up and spoken his real name. No! He didn't need to be thinking of that again. He was here to speak with Aman he wasn't here to destroy the lives of those around him. That past is behind me. For once I need to be honest and actually live a life I know I can be proud of when I leave this place. "Excuse me miss.... Can I get a room for the night." The woman in front of his caught his eyes. The past ws behind him and needed not to be brought up again. He signed his name in the book she placed in front of him. The name read Jon of Rohan. The Jonathan Annatar, Aman knows will have to remain secret at this time. I can't go around letting people know how I am. Jon turned and headed towards where his room was.

Jon turned back to where he had been sitting and caught a glimpse of the white crow looking at him. "Ahhhhhh! Dear Avalon we will talk some other time. For I have so many things to ask of you." He bent his head down and went on to his room. A few minutes had passed when he was finally able to climb in his bed for the night. "Good night world. May tomorrows light shine forever in the Golden Hall." The last words that came out of his mouth for the night took him back home.

That night Jon dreamed of his childhood and how he use to play wih Aman. Back then he had no worries and more than anything he wished to serve Theoden one day. But the came the war and his childhood dreams were shattered in only seconds. Suddenly he sat up in bed. The last thing he remembered seeing in his dreams was the white crow. Something inside him had changed and he knew that it was all because of Avalon. He tossed the dream out of his thoughts. "I must get some sleep." Jon closed his eyes only to be swept away into a world he could only remember in his dreams. His childhood was wonderful.

He was walking into his home when he saw her. She was beautiful to him. The wind blew through the window carrying her hair. She was everything to him when he was young and now all he had was his memories. The sun dissapeared and everything went black. All Jon could see was her face calling his name. But he couldn't move from his spot. It was as if he had suddenly been paralyzed. Before he knew it she was gone. Once again leaving only the white crow in his thoughts. The rest of Jon's dream was black. He could only remember the white crow and his home, his life. All he had was memories and nothing else. I'm never drinking ale before bed ever again.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

The parlour was beginning to clear; hobbits and other folk were making their ways home, or to a room. Dwaline took one last puff on his pipe and then packed it away. He offered Avalon one more piece of cram, which she ate merrily.

"Have you a place to rest?" Dwaline asked quietly, getting to his feet. Avalon nodded and hopped out of the window. Dwaline gathered his things and placed them into his pack. He went back to the bar and returned his mug, handing the cook several gold coins with the words "Lassie, that was the best food I've had in a long while." and with that, he was made his way to the door.

A couple of hobbits stumbled on in front of him; they were more drunk than some one dropped in a vat of alcohol. They mumbled and burped before one nearly collapse just in front of the door. Dwaline helped the hobbit to his feet, but he fell back down again. a couple of other hobbits came to give aid, and once the hobbit was safely back in his room, Dwaline left the inn and made his way to his little cottage.

[Saelind]

With a weary sigh, Thalion adjusted the heavy burden in his arms, mounted the steps of the Inn, and slowly pushed open the door. It was late: many of the dinner guests or those who had stopped in for an ale had already retired for the night or headed home. Glancing across the mostly empty tables where visitors normally gathered to eat, Thalion searched for the Innkeeper or any of the staff who could rent him a room. He would be staying only one night. The next morning, he planned to rise before sunset and slip away unnoticed while everyone else was still in their beds.

Over the past few years, the Dragon had seen its share of Elven travellers. In the bad old days when Sauron's shadow fell over the land, the Elves from Lorien and Rivendell had chosen to travel through the sheltered woods of the Green Hill Country, a secret trek witnessed by very few, heading straight to the Havens where they would board Cirdan's ship. Now that times were better and Elves could walk safely among men and hobbits, many of these travellers took a more northerly route that led through small towns like Frogmorton and Bywater. Their final destination, however, remained the same: to board a ship at the Grey Havens that would carry them to Tol Eressea or Aman, a journey from which there was no return.

Thalion had been over the problem a hundred times in his head. His beloved Lorien was now an empty outpost. The only sign of the vibrant community that had once dwelled there were a few tattered flets dangling from the treetops. The Elves had long since departed. The utter loneliness of the place had almost driven Thalion mad. What good was a healer when there was no one to heal?

In desperation, Thalion had fled to Rivendell where a number of his kind remained. Here he had plenty of patients needing his services: a few Elves who had suffered physical injuries and numerous travellers of every race who had made their way for a visit to the once secret city in the mountains. But even this lovely place had not made him happy. Rivendell was a sanctuary for Elves who preferred to live inside and delve into the mysteries of lore. Despite the hauntingly beautiful dwellings and the richness of Rivendell's scrolls, Thalion never felt he belonged there. Although he appreciated the fine feasts and the wealth of stories and song, he did not like spending so much time indoors.

He needed folk who loved the earth, the wind, and the sky as much as he did. He needed a land that still had a tiny touch of faerie about it. He did not insist on a large contingent of Elves--that would be impossible to find--but there had to be an occasional Elf or two dropping by for him to be happy. Sadly, he had not found such a place in all his travels through the east, certainly not anywhere where he would want to bring Nevelin.

If only Anoriel was here! She would know what to do. But that was the heart of his problem. The war had wrenched his wife away and left him with a huge responsibility for which he felt totally unprepared. Thalion's musings were interrupted by the appearance of a hobbit who worked at the Inn, "Excuse me," he spoke up, "Could I have a room for two?"

"Two?," she queried. "Is your friend outside?"

"No, right here." Gently, Thalion held out the bundle in his arms, pushing back the blanket to reveal the fine features of a young Elf, sound asleep and curled up in a ball. "This is my son Neviel." The boy looked to be no more than nine years in human terms, though what that might be in Elvish years was not clear to the hobbit.

"A room, please, just for tonight. We'll be leaving for the Havens tomorrow." Thalion's voice sounded old and defeated.

The hobbit nodded and said nothing but led him over to the register. The Elf wrote out his name in neat, tidy runes and then leafed haphazardly through the guestbook. His eyes lit up in surprize at the number of Elves he recognized, some boarding for a night or two, others staying much longer. Finally, he glimpsed a familiar name on the first page of the book, one that was emblazoned in a bright, bold script: Piosenniel .

Piosenniel? Memories flooded back over time. That rascal of a young woman who strode about with sword on hip, yet the old stories whispered that she was beloved of Idril. He could recall a time or two before his marriage when she had cleverly bested him in games of chance. Always the restless one, Piosenniel had gone her own way, and Thalion had often wondered what had happened to her.

He looked questioningly over at the hobbit, "You wouldn't know anything of this Piosenniel....how long she was here or when she sailed to the Havens? But 'tis late. Perhaps you'd prefer to speak tomorrow?"

[piosenniel]

Cook encounters the Elf and his son . . .

‘Land sakes! Who’s this?’ the heart shaped faced of the Elven child peeked out from his blanket, asleep still despite the voices and the lights in the Common Room. Cook had come out from the kitchen to announce ‘Last Round!’ and send the stragglers off to burrow and bed.

‘It’s Neviel, Miz Bunce,’ returned Ruby. ‘He’s Master Thalion’s son, here. They’re here to spend the night and then it’s over the Tower Hills and to the Havens.’ Ruby took the key off the hook-board and laid it on the counter for Thalion.

‘Go on and take them up,’ Cook said to Ruby. ‘I’ll watch the bar and pour the last drinks.’ She looked fondly at the child, thinking about the little faces her old friend had drawn for her of her own wee ones. ‘The little one is fair done in, and if you don’t mind my saying so, you look dead on your feet yourself.’ She looked him up and down. Elves always looked a bit underfed, she had always thought. ‘We’ll send up some stew for you and a plate of bread and cheese and apples. Some cider, too, I think. Sleep better, you know, with a nice full belly.’

‘He was asking about Mistress Piosenniel, Cook,’ said Ruby, as she went round the bar in preparation to take the Elf and his son upstairs. ‘Knew her a while ago it seems and was asking after her. Wanted to know when she had left for the Havens.’ Ruby smiled, biting her lip to keep from laughing.

‘The Havens! My stars!’ Cook laughed, now there’s a thought. ‘She did travel to the Havens while she was here . . . but that was only to bring back her friend Miz Zimzi from Lindon. Mistress Pio was the Innkeeper here for near a year. Came to help out another old friend.’ Cook chuckled at the memory of the Elf as Innkeeper, then her face softened. ‘Nay, she’s not gone to the Havens to sail West . . . though she sails on her own ship I’ve heard with her Mister and their three wee ones.’

Neviel stirred in his father’s arms. ‘Ah, but that’s enough of old times and old stories for now. Take your little one up to his rest. I’ll be here in the kitchen tomorrow as same as ever. Come and see me then. We can share our stories, if you wish.’

Ruby had moved to the staircase and was beckoning to Thalion to follow. ‘I’ve put you in one of our top rooms, a nice big one with two beds. Has a window with a fair view across The Road of the fields and trees. And if you lean out and look to your left you can see the little stream . . . The Water. Mistress Pio liked to walk there and feed the ducks . . .’ Ruby chattered on in a friendly manner as she showed the Elf up to his room . . .

[Noinkling]

‘Come, Cullen,’ called Benat as he stepped outside the stable’s doors. Cullen drew himself up from the straw in the empty stall and stretched, yawning widely. Several of the equine residents, looked over the side of the stall at him and nickered a bit, then turned away when they realized his presence did not mean that the breakfast bag of oats was near. With a snort at the dust from the hay, Cullen trotted toward the doors and took his place at Benat’s side.

Benat had spent his night on a pallet of soft, sweet smelling hay in the loft. The small window beneath the eaves had been left open and he woke up as soon as the first light of morning poked through it. He had lain for a short while propped on his right side as he stared out the window. There were a couple of things he wanted to accomplish this morning. He’d promised Derufin he would help finish the task of splitting the wood they’d sawn into workable rounds yesterday. And then Cook had promised him in return she would see to it that he got to see Master Samwise about Bilbo’s old book.

But first, something substantial to break his fast.

From the Inn’s kitchen came the savory scent of toasting bread and frying bacon. As he came closer he could pick out the potatoes and onions and the eggs. Cullen ran round about Benat’s legs and yipped at the savoury smells.

‘Ah!’ smiled Benat as he sat at one of the tables. ‘Tea, yes and a sweet roll or two to start out with,’ he told the sleepy eyed server who’d come up to take his order. ‘And if it’s all ready, a plate full of everything I can smell cooking behind those doors. No bacon though, if you please.'

Cullen leaned against his master’s knees and whined just a bit. ‘And a plate for my companion here. But no onions . . . they make his presence quite unbearable.’

Across the room, just coming down the stairs, Benat spied the man who’d come to listen to his story last night. He nodded at him, catching his attention, and pointed to an empty chair. ‘You’re welcome to join us,’ he mouthed to Anyopâ.

[Witch_Queen]

Jon looked out of the window in his room. The sun was already coming up and he was now wide awake. He didn't get any sleep last night for he was tossing and turning, constantly having nightmares about his childhood. Jon walked over to pack sitting in the corner. He knew he had some different clothes for the ones he was wearing was in dire need of a cleaning. After changing Jon decided to place his dreams in the back of his mind and try to forget even having them. Jon walked to the common room only to see that Dwaline had yet to return. "Hmmmmmmmmm!" Jon shrugged his shoulders and walked to the door of the inn. He decided that his horse needed to be checked. The horse had come along way from Rohan to the Shire. Many times he had thought that taking his brother's horse wasn't a good idea.

He walked to the stables only to see that his horse was doing good. Laying beside the animal was its breakfast. "Eat up my friend, I don't know how long we'll be here. After all, I'm here to talk with Aman." With the mentioning of her name the horse nudged Jon's shoulder. "Yes I know you remember her." Jon turned to go back towards the inn only to see a bird perched on one of the many beams supporting the roof of the building.

The bird looked familar to Jon but for some reason it was as if Jon knew that deep down inside he had a connection with Avalon and now was the time to find out. "Good morning Avalon." Jon's voice had no sound of excitement or merriment. He was tired of having no sleep and Avalon had something to do with that. Jon stared into the bird's eyes only to see nothing. "I guess I was hoping that if I saw you some of my problems and questions will be solved. But I was wrong. Perhaps some day I will understand why you have haunted my dreams and made my father think me mad." Jon knew he was rambling on and on. "But of course you know what I'm talking about. Yet what does it matter what I people think."

Jon was tired of the one sided conversation. He left the stables and went back to the inn for a mug of something. He didn't care as long as it woke him up.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Dwaline did not notice John outside the inn, attending to his horse. His head was hung and his eyes transfixed in deep thought. His pack was laden with many things and he had a small piece of paper in his hand. He pushed open the door to the inn and stepped inside. Silently he stepped over to the bar and asked for the strongest drink they had, yet again.

"This early?" asked the barmaid, "Surly sir, it cannot be good you.
"Still, I wish for the strongest stuff you can give Me." he replied placing a small bag of monies on the table, the barmaid shrugged and pored him the drink.
"Then would you care for some breakfast?" asked the barmaid.
"No, thank you" replied the dwarf solemnly, "I do not think I could keep it down."

With that, he trotted off towards the parlour, walking right past john and sat next to the fireside and placed his hands over his face. Avalon flew in though an open window and perched besides Dwaline, but kept an eye on John. Dwaline took his hands from his face and sniffed deeply. He took a large gulp of the ale and then collected his pipe. But he then placed it back on his lap and placed a hand over his eyes.

[Saelind]

Neviel waited in silence, watching the rainy night give way to a clear morning. From his window, he saw the clouds disappear and the darkly shadowed sky slowly change to a bright bluish hue as the first rays of sunshine spilled over the hills. The land was green, fair and well formed: not the wild forest vistas he loved so much but a softer landscape shaped and tended by loving hands.

Despite the comfortable room and the cool breeze that blew through the open window, Thalion had not slept. There was too much weighing on his mind. Should he stay or leave? He had no clear answers. The boy should be with his mother, and surely she had left the Halls of Mandos and now awaited them on the shores of Aman. Still, he hesitated. She had been so insistent on that final night, so certain that if anything came between them that the other should remain in Middle-earth for a considerable spell. Let the boy have his time on Arda. Let him grow up there and understand the ways of Men, or he will regret it all the days of his life. For somehow, at the end, the fates of our two races will be bound together. Meanwhile, we two have eternity over the sea. There is no great rush to get there.

He had agreed with her, but it was not meant to turn out this way. It was he who was marching off to Dol Guldur, with the threat of injury or death hanging over his head. His wife would remain safely behind with their son. That was what was supposed to happen. Only this time "supposed to " never came about. Even before he could answer the summons of Galadriel and Celeborn and join the others in their fight against Sauron, Anoriel had met an early death at the hands of a band of roving orcs. Left alone with the boy, prostrate with grief, he was unable to rouse and join the battle.

Thalion walked over to Neviel's bed. The boy was sleeping, his head resting lightly on the the pillow as his chest rhythmically rose and fell. Thalion put his hand on Neviel's shoulder and gently squeezed, but the lad only burrowed deeper in the covers. He decided not to wake his son and gave up his earlier resolve to get an early start. He still wanted to speak with Cook and find out what had happened to Piosenniel.

Suddenly, he felt immensely tired. He slipped back under the blanket and instantly fell asleep.

[Huan]

Anyopâ padded his way across the wooden floor. He yawned his thanks to Benat and gratefully accepted the mug of hot tea the server brought round.

‘And I suppose you’ll be wanting the same as Master Benat here,’ she said, ticking off the items the big man had ordered. ‘And Master Cullen, too,’ she laughed as the dog mad a friendly growl from beneath the table.

‘Ah! I would burst at the seams were I to attempt that,’ Anyopâ said grinning at the server. ‘Something more my size,’ he continued. ‘A plate of toast with your good Shire berry jam and a helping of eggs.’

The server clucked at the both of them. ‘Master Harfoot will be quite put off to hear that you have shunned his sugar cured bacon. No accounting for the Big Folks’ taste he’ll say.’ Anyopâ relented at this chiding, saying he would be happy to have a rasher of the crisp offering, but Benat was firm in his order.

‘Pardon my asking,’ said Anyopâ once the server had gone, ‘but do you not eat meats?’ He had noticed last night that the big man had avoided ordering any. ‘And please, if I am prying, just tell me so.’ He picked up his mug, clasping it with both hands, enjoying the warmth that seeped from the sides against his chilly fingers.

[Tevildo]

Camille sat quietly in the corner wolfing down her second bowl of porridge. She had already been up and about several hours, helping her mother clean and air out the burrow and wash the clothes that Master Headstrong had sent. She had pinned up the pants and breeches on a laundry line that was strung between two trees in their yard. There was a nice, crisp breeze and the clothes should be dry by lunch so that she could deliver them back in the afternoon.

Rory had cried piteously at breakfast begging to come with Camille to the Inn. Although usually placid and uncomplaining, he had carried on so that Camille had almost felt guilty to leave. She promised to try and borrow a wheelbarrow from the Inn and bring it back at lunchtime. That way, she could pop both the laundrybag and her brother in the barrow and wheel it up the path to the Inn. It was an uphill trek and would not be easy to do by herself, but Camille was strong and determined. She would certainly not leave her brother behind.

Finishing the last of the porridge and putting down the spoon, she gathered up her dishes and went to check with Cook. Cook urged her to go over and begin helping Miz Bella get the classroom in order. Her services in the kitchen wouldn't be needed till late that afternoon when preparations for dinner began. She could take the barrow to fetch her brother as long as she had it back quickly, since the gardeners would be needing it for their work on the side flower beds.

With this assurance, Camille set off for Miz Bella's chambers. Her heart pounded furiously against her chest. Let this be alright, she whispered to herself. Don't disappoint Miz Bella or Cook. Still, she was nervous. Camille pounded on the door and waited for Miz Bella to answer.

[Undómë]

The door to the Inn swung open just a little ways as the Hobbit entered. He stomped his feet on the rushy strewn entry way, knocking off the mud he couldn’t avoid on his early morning trek. Hob had been out at first light to the stable to see to Strawberry. She liked her mash a certain way on chilly mornings and he wanted her in a good mood. Soon as the sun was up a bit more he’d be harnessing her to the cart and going into the market place to see what goods he could get sold.

Hob shrugged his cape from is shoulders and hung it on one of the low pegs on the wall near the entry. Not many were up he saw, glancing about the room. A disgruntled looking Dwarf sat near the fire, nursing an ale. A white crow perched near him. And there was one of the Inn workers closing a window against the early day chill. The bird kept a beady eye on one of the other men in the room.

At another table were two of the Big Folk he recognized. Master Benat and the fellow who had joined their table last night to hear Benat’s story. Hob reminded himself he must be back in time for supper as Benat would be telling his story then.

Catching the eye of one of the roving servers, Hob motioned her over to the table he’d taken near the fireplace. He’d have a warmed cider and a sweetroll, and a plate of eggs and potatoes and bacon he told her. ‘Got to stave off the hunger for a long time this morning,’ he said. ‘Long day seeing merchants and setting up in the marketplace.’ She asked what he was in to sell, her face falling when she learned he had no pretties for her to buy. ‘Nay! No ribbons, lass.’ But he smiled kindly at her as he asked her name. ‘But next time, I’ll be sure to have some. And you’ll get the first pick.’

He watched her go smiling to the kitchen; then, he settled back, his feet on the raised hearth, enjoying the warmth.

[Mithalwen]

Morning came but it's light did not waken Mithalwen for she had sat up most of the night, by candlelight in the tiny chamber planning the work she needed to do. She had thought long and hard about the braces Rory would require and had decided they would have to be made adjustible, For the child would grow - maybe very quickly and it would be cruel to provide support that would have been of short term use.

She sighed - the business with Aman and Snaveling had distracted her and alhtoughshe had obtained measurements she had not had the opportunity to fully discuss the situation with Uien. Falco's open hostility had not been conducive to helpful discussion. She needed to know howm much Rory was likely to grow and how swiftly.

However no matter how much range was needed, making adjustible calipers would be much more time consuming than fixed. Simple welds would have to be replaced by screws and thejoins would have to be strong even though the hobbit child was light. Time... and therefore money. She did not dare hope that Falco would help ... so she must also make things to sell to fund her unexpectedly long stay, nothing too complex and therefore expensive simple trinkets as she used to make to amuse the elflings, swift to make but which might earn enough pennies to keep her as long as the main work would take. She hoped the village smith would be as helpful as he had been about Aeglos's shoe two days before. She washed, dressed and slipped down to the stable to see her beloved grey horse.

She whispered to him ... we will be staying a while longer, so I will take you out for a ride now, and if the weather holds I will see if you can be turned out in a paddock. She did not bother with her saddle and slipped on to his back as soon as they were out of hte stable. As they passed the noble Felarof, she thought momentarily of the chain of events that the horse had catalysed, before dismissing it from her mind. Time enough for that later. she would enjoy this hour of freedom from the cares of others and the near silent companionship of her horse.

She trotted along the deserted lanes until she came some open, uncultivated land where she gave Aeglos his head, her silver hair flowing in the wind of their speed. It was good to be outside again and away from all the concerns and strangeness of the past few days she started to think more clearly. She stopped thinking of the task as a inconvenient duty and started to relish the challenge. Seldom did the chance come to make something completely new.

At last she slowed the pace and headed for the inn. Both horse and rider were mud spattered but Mithalwen was happy and sang for joy in her sweet elvish voice as they walked the last mile home. Once back in the yard, she started to tend to Aeglos herself but the stable-man took over and promised to let Aeglos out to graze as soon as he had been rubbed down and fed. " You will need a tidy up yourself miss"
- and catching sight of her reflection in a full pail of water the Elf was forced to agree. She removed her muddied boots and cloak, and carried them up to her room. She washed her face and hands and plaited her hair for loose hair and smithying don't mix. Then the Noldo picked up her notebook and descended for breakfast, choosing a window seat where she had good light to study her designs.

[piosenniel]

~*~ GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS ~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

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

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

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

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.

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

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.

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

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]

It is now early morning, just after first light. The sun is peeking over the horizon and into a cloudless sky. Rain was heavy last night, but it has now cleared up. Paths and byways are still quite muddy.

Cook and the kitchen crew have been up for quite a while. The fire in the common room has been relit and is crackling merrily to drive away the dawn chill. The smell of freshly baked bread and sweet rolls wafts out from the cooling racks in the kitchen, as does the heavier scents of potatoes fried up with onions, thick slices of bacon, and scrambled eggs. Pots of thick oat porridge mingle their homey fragrance into the welcoming scents.

Early risers in the Inn are nursing cups of strong, sweet tea as are those farmers up early about their business . . .

[Child of the 7th Age]

Hearing the knock on the door, Miz Bella hurried over and invited Camille inside, "I am so glad to see you. There's much to be done. Have you eaten breakfast?" she added.

Camille said yes and explained that she'd eaten twice, bread and butter at home as well as two bowls of porridge in the Common Room.

"Good! You'll need your strength. I just finished breakfast myself. Let's have a look at the classroom.."

The classroom was in a state of chaos. Chairs were overturned, tables flung everywhere, and old papers thrown down; the entire room was littered with rolling dustballs. There were even some old household items scattered here and there. "I've no idea what they used this room for before. It almost looks as if someone had a jumble sale here." Miz Bella pushed a chair out of the way so they could enter the room. "Here's a broom and dustpan as well as some rags and a mop. You can put the trash in the cloth bag over there. I want to work on some plans for my lessons but when you need to move the furniture you can give me a holler. I expect we'll want to put some of the tables out in the courtyard and have them moved to a storage shed."

Bella was relieved to see that Camille looked happier than she had last night. The lass picked up the broom and enthusiastically began to sweep until Miz Bella interrupted.

"Ah, I almost forgot. Do you see the two crates over by the door? The Mayor sent those over this morning. Lots and lots of books from the Bag-end library. And Master Samwise plans to send two of his little ones to the school. I was so pleased."

"What shall I do with them, Miz Bella?"

"See the shelves over there" Miz Bella pointed to a series of shelves lining the wall. "Set the books on the shelves and then put them in alphabetical order according to the titles. That may take a while, but it will help me to find them later on."

Camille looked stonily ahead and said nothing but Miz Bella had already whizzed back through the door and returned to her own work.

[Noinkling]

‘No offense taken by your question . . . Anyopâ is it?’ Benat shifted in his chair, making himself more comfortable. ‘We Beornings consider our animals as part of our family, so to speak. Or at least consider them friends. And so it is not our custom to kill and eat them.’ He gave his tablemate a toothy grin. ‘The killing we do is left for our foes. For ages of my people those have been the foul Orcs that infest the Misty Mountains and some of the wolves and other creatures that were corrupted by their master. And thankfully those grow less of late.’

The server came out with a large tray, loaded with three platters of hot food and a basket of toast with pots of butter, jam, and honey. Cullen stood up, greeting the arrival with a grin and a wag if his tail. He set to with purpose, not waiting for an invitation or permission.

‘Plenty to eat here without meat, eh?’ said Benat, buttering a piece of toast, then loading it up with jam.

[Huan]

‘Indeed!’ replied Anyopâ, casting an eager glance at his own platter of savory food. He paused before he picked up his own fork and began to eat. Turning his gaze toward the west, he observed a brief moment of silence.

Noting his companion’s gaze, he smiled as he took up his knife and buttered a piece of toast. ‘We, too, have our own customs,’ explained Anyopâ. ‘It’s interesting, isn’t it how we men wed ourselves to custom to remind us of our better selves lest we lose those selves altogether or they become so thinned out in the passage of our daily lives that we cannot recall them when they are most needed.’

He laughed taking up a forkful of his food. ‘Woolgathering mixed with eggs and potatoes! I hope I have not put you off your breakfast with such thoughts so early in the day.’

[Undómë]

Hob sipped the warm cider. Combined with the heat from the fire he was feeling quite toasty. Breakfast had been quite satisfying; the eggs and potatoes and toast running with honey had filled up every hollow. He sat back satisfied in his chair and pulled out his worn leather pouch of pipeweed. ‘One pipe-full,’ he promised himself, ‘just time enough to let everything settle in nicely, then old Strawberry and I will be off to make our rounds.’

Near him, enjoying their own platters of the Shire’s morning offerings, Benat and Anyopâ sat enjoying each other’s company. The room was not that noisy, many were still abed, and he could not help but hear their little discussion. He puffed quietly on his stained clay pipe, wondering where their thoughts would take them next.

[Saelind]

Slowly, the sun inched higher in the heavens and the cool breezes of the Shire crept through the half open window under which both Thalion and Neviel continued to sleep. The young Elf slept peacefully, his body curled up in a lazy little ball, his head buried deep in the soft goose-down pillow that Ruby had given to him. His father, however, was not so fortunate. Thrashing and turning from side to side, Thalion found his sleep interrupted by eerie images and whispered words that echoed uncomfortably through his head.

The visions he saw were lifelike and disturbing. Thalion struggled to wake but found he could not. He could not even tell whether he was still sleeping soundly in the Shire and had simply fallen into a troubled dream, or if the master of visions had whisked his body and fea off to Aman without his consent. He had never been to the isle, but the misty gardens, silver willows and soft beauty of the place lookedly exactly like Lorien, the resting place of the Valar and Eldar. Thalion gazed across a small lake and spied a willowly figure approaching. For a moment, his heart pounded furiously. Surely, this was his wife. But coming more closely, he could see that the woman, although familiar to him, was not Anoriel.

Mother, mother? Is that you? Thalion recognized the woman and ran forward joyfully for it had been many years since his mother and father had left for the West.

Yes, it is me, Thalion. Your mother. But do not step closer. You do not belong here.....at least not yet.

But, why not? I am an Elf. I have a right to sail West, just as you have done. Neviel and I are on our way to the Havens and soon we will join you on the shores of Aman.

Why do you do this thing, Thalion? You were ever a headstrong child, and I see that you have not changed. Did you not listen to your beloved wife and the words she shared with you the night before she lay down her life.

Anoriel, have you seen her? Has she come to the Blessed Shore, and does she fare well?

Well enough, my son. But she would fare better if you would heed the wise advice she gave you. There are few children here, Thalion. Aman is not a place for the getting of families. There would be no one with whom Neviel could romp or play. Give your son that chance to be young. For he will have many years to live till the end of Arda comes about.

His voice full of sadness, Thalion objected. But here too we have few young Elves. Everywhere I journey in Middle-earth, I see only tattered remnents of what used to be. There is so much loneliness....so many Elves have left. Should I not bring Neviel to Aman so he can be with his people?

In time, Thalion, all in due time. But are there not children in Middle-earth? Are you so proud that your son can not play with a hobbit or a human or a dwarf. Would you deny him the chance to laugh?

But I am an Elf. It has always been our way to hold to the side.

Always? That is a strong word. Have you not heard of Legolas Greenleaf who is close friend with Gimli the Dwarf and King Elessar? Are you so proud that you and your son can not do what he has done......to learn something of the ways of the other free folk of Middle-earth?

I don't know, mother. I have heard of this Legolas but I had never thought in terms quite like that.

Then, think again, and remember the words of your wife. The sea-longing has not yet come upon you or Neviel. Someday, it will come, and you will find your way west in Cirdan's vessel or in a ship made with your own hands. But for now, look about and open your eyes. There are beautful things to see and learn. Share these with your son.

The words trailed off, and the images receded. Thalion awoke with a start, leapt from his bed, and ran to the window. Outside he saw a fine green land, hills and fields tended with loving hands. It was as if he had never truly seen them before....

[Noinkling]

Benat chewed thoughtfully on his mouthful of toast, then waggled his fork slightly in the air as if a thought had just formed and was trying to make its way out. ‘I think you’ve hit on something, my friend,’ he said to Anyopâ, perching his fork on the edge of the plate. ‘And no I’ve not been put off my food. It would take more than a bit of speculation to do that.’ He took a mouthful of now lukewarm tea and washed the toast down.

‘I’ve not traveled to many places, mostly just those about my own home. But those men who have traveled through have seemed to have their particular customs they cling to; little supports that gird their lives. I’ve seen the Rangers that pass through the northern vales use that same custom as did you just before a meal. And there are others that I’ve noted and of course those of my own people. And I assume your people have many others of their own, too.’ Benat was thoughtful for a moment. ‘Things as you say that keep us on a right track . . . or a better track . . .’

He leaned forward, a considering look on his face. ‘I’ve often wondered about the Halflings. They are Men, too, or so I’ve come to think. Smaller in stature, but not in spirit. At any rate that’s the way the stories go, even from my own Granda. I’ve seen them now from Breeland to Bywater. They’ve a lovely way about them, a solid sort of way, though sometimes guarded with us bigger folk.’ Benat furrowed his brow and pushed about a bit of egg with his toast. ‘I wonder what customs strengthen them?’

[Tevildo]

It did not take long for Camille to set the room in order. She had soon deposited the trash into a bag, swept and mopped the floor, and used her rags to polish the shelves and furniture. Since most of the items in the room were light and easy to move, she had even managed to arrange everything without having to disturb Miz Bella. Most of the tables and chairs were set up in cozy clusters so that several students could sit at a single table and help each other, just as Miz Bella had suggested she do. She had dragged a few pieces of furniture out the door and left these things to be carried off and stored in one of the small wooden sheds that sat out at the back of the yard.

Fresh from these small victories and feeling more confident than she expected, Camille went over to open the two larger crates. The boxes were overflowing with an assortment of books. Camille couldn't read most of the titles, but even by looking at the pictures she could see that they covered a variety of topics. There were beautiful books showing birds and animals in the Shire, thin books with a page for each of the alphabet letters, fat books with pictures of dragons and heroes, and still other books with lots of words but no nice pictures to tell her what was happening. Camille dumped the latter to the side and began rummaging through the others, looking over the pictures and maps. She was especially intrigued by one that showed pictures of Elves, even some that had drawings of Elven children playing games.

To tell the truth, until Camille had come to the Dragon, she had never met an Elf in her life. The ones she had met in Bywater seemed quite nice, but they still frightened her. They seemed to know everything, and Camille could not understand why they would even want to bother with a hobbit. Still, the Elf Mithalwen had smiled at her and had been especially kind to her brother, something that counted a lot with Camille.

Although she was enjoying looking at the pictures in the books, Camille reminded herself that she should starting doing what Miz Bella had told her. She quickly unpacked all the volumes and set them on the shelves so she could see the titles and then started trying to put things in order. She remembered the letters "A, B, C" but beyond that the letters disappeared into a hazy mist and things got a little jumbled. After working for about thirty minutes, she had arranged just six books, and she wasn't sure about the order of the last two. She sat in frustration, wondering what to do next, when there was a slight rapping on the door.

[littlemanpoet]

With the rising sun, Falowik awoke, lying on the ground near a tree behind the Green Dragon Inn, to find Uien standing near him, her arms outstretched, facing the rising orb; its blinding light made his head hurt.

"Good morning," he said.

She turned. "Good morning to you as well. How do you feel?"

Falowik put his hands to his head. "Horrible. I really must spend less time in the hospitality of hobbitish inns."

"Or any, for that matter."

"Heal me, O Queen of the Dawn."

She laughed. "I must save my strength for a more demanding labor today. Besides, it would do you no harm to suffer the pains of your own overdrinking.

"You are cruel, my love."

"There is a new Elf at the Inn, whose thought came to me last night. I would see who he is. And Mithalwen will be making braces for the hobbit boy Rory. I must speak with her; it seems that she is not so used to the osanwë."

"Then she and I have something in common," Falowik drawled.

"Up with you, Lauréatan! There is breakfast to be had and aid to be given to Mithalwen, who seems to think that she must do this in a more difficult fashion than need be."

Falowik laboriously sat up. "The wise Elf Lady of the evening stars knows best what must needs be done." He half smiled, watching her through squinted eyes.

She stamped her foot and put her hands on her hips. "Are you sure you have not been listening to my thought? I do not know best, and must be careful not to needlessly tread underfoot the best thought of others. All the more reason to seek out Mithalwen."

Falowik got his feet under him and grunted himself to his feet. "I need a bath."

"There is a stream you know of well," Uien replied, "where I learned that your hair was not dark but golden."

"Oh, I remember," Falowik grinned. "I suppose that was all you learned?"

"Shush! I am a proper Elf Lady, you human lout."

"Human lout that you have sworn undying devotion to."

Uien tilted her head and regarded him measuringly. "That ale is both on your breath and coming off your tongue. I've never heard you speak so brassily."

"Maybe I should drink more often and copiously."

They continued their banter hand in hand as they walked toward the inn, Falowik detouring to the stream where the water ran deep; Uien went in search of Mithalwen.

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger tries to “help” Camille . . .

Ginger balanced the tray against her hip as she rapped on the door. In the once empty area outside the room were now stacked some odds and ends of furniture. Cook had sent her with a pitcher of cider, several mugs, and a plate of flaky currant scones to Miz Bella’s classroom. There was plenty of work to be done, long dusty, thirsty work. Camille and Miz Bella would have need of a little sustenance.

She thought she heard a muffled voice, or at least some sort of sound, through the door. Not wanting to wait any longer, she took it for a ‘Come in!’ and opened the door. Her mouth dropped open in an ‘O’ of surprise. Cook had made her believe this room was a shambles. But here was Camille with everything clean looking and in order. Save for the books, that is. Camille was sitting down a look of frustration on her face. There were piles of books on the floor, and a few arranged on one shelf . . . a very few.

‘My stars, Miss!’ Ginger exclaimed. ‘Look what you’ve done with this place!’ She put the tray down on one of the nearer tables, and bent over to pick up one of the books. ‘Oh, look at this! I think I’ve seen just this very coney in one of my hedgerows. And this bird – one just like this nests in one of the apple trees near my sister’s burrow.’ Ginger put the book back down and picked up one of the thick ones. She frowned as she turned through several pages of printing, then her face brightened at one of the pictures. ‘It will take me forever,’ she muttered, ‘to be able to read what this is all about.’ She leafed through a few more pages. ‘Just look at all these letters! Stare at ‘em long enough and they pull tricks on your eyes it seems.’

Ginger poured a cup of cider for Camille and handed it to her. ‘I’ve got a little time. Want some help getting these books on the shelves?’ She bent down and started separating the piles into other smaller piles. ‘Don’t know how you were doing it, but how about putting all the picture books together and arrange them by height. The others we could separate into fat and thin and arrange them by height.’ Ginger looked around at the shelves. ‘They’d be nice and neat that way, like the rest of the room.’

[Nurumaiel]

The door to the new schoolroom opened and Marigold crept in, rubbing her eyes and gazing about her in a dazed fashion. When she saw Camille, she burst into a radiant smile, more confident now that she saw she knew someone in the room.

"Goodness, but I'm aching!" she said, bending down and rubbing her legs. "I have bruises all over me from falling off that horse. But I'm so glad to be out of bed." She turned her eyes to Miz Bella, who had re-entered the room to make sure Camille was doing all right, and, after an uncertain pause, dropped a little curtsy. "Good morning, ma'am," she said. "I've come to attend the school, and to help you fix everything up. Mr Headstrong will be coming soon to help, as well. Oh, and my name is Marigold."

Miz Bella's smile was warm and inviting. "Good morning, Marigold," she replied. "It's good of you to come help us."

Perhaps she would have said more, but Marigold interrupted, more confident before as result of the kind words. "Yes, isn't it good of me?" she said, beaming. "I'm so excited about the school. I know a little bit of my letters, because my papa taught me. But I want to learn more. It takes me a long time to spell out words, and I once saw a hobbit who could read it just like it was all coming out of his head, he was going so fast and easy!" Her eyes widened at the memory, and she nodded firmly. "I want to be able to read like that."

[Undómë]

I wonder what customs strengthen them?

A fit of coughing assailed him as the smoke from his pipe crept down his throat too deeply. The discussion of the men at the next table had intrigued him and at the same time made him feel quite rustic. Various thoughts assailed him and he’d quite forgotten he was puffing on his pipe. Eyes watering from the cloud of smoke he’d coughed out, he gulped a little of his cooled tea to ease the raw feeling in his chest, and laid his pipe aside for the moment.

Hob waved away one of the servers who’d come up, a look of concern on her face. ‘Down the wrong pipe,’ he rasped out at her. ‘That’s all. No need for concern.’ Nonetheless, she poured him a bit more hot tea and left a wedge of lemon, saying the lemon would easy the throat.

Customs? The word still echoed in his mind.

He thought of the folk on Girdley Island; his family, his neighbors. Ordinary folk, he thought. Kind folk and brave as needed, he nodded, thinking on how Rowan Chubb’s goat had got stuck on one of the outlaying feet of the island when the river rose and old Taffy had gone out in his ramshackle boat, his sons holding on to the line he’d tied to it and nearly got himself drowned getting Rowan’s nanny back to her.

Generous, too he added recalling how those around old Gammer Rushybanks place helped the old girl plant her garden and harvest it and put it up. And how Gammer always made sure that those whose gardens hadn’t quite seen them through the wet winter had a few jars of her soups to get them through a day or so.

Thrifty . . . he smiled at the much laughed at but fond tradition of the Spring Faire Fisherman’s Cup and the Pie-makers’ Pie Pan. One of the Big Folk from Bree, a merchant who stayed at the Inn when he passed through, was so enamoured of the Cook’s eel pie and fish chowder that on one of his trips through he had presented her with a gift. A large, gaudy tureen in river blue with fish in bright and unusual colors swimming all over it and a pie pan from the same maker with fat eels swimming about its exterior. They had quickly become mathoms and were given to the Faire committee who put them to good use. Hob chuckled, remembering his turn with the tureen sitting on the hearth. His wife had laughed at him as he placed it proudly there, and said, ‘Thank the stars we’ve only to look at it for a year!’

Merry folk and most without a mean bone in their bodies. Little victories were celebrated with food and drink and a shared pouch of pipewood. Many of them at The Cottonwood Inn he remembered fondly. A good day of fishing; the first of the spring onions coming up heralding a healthy garden crop for the year; Gaffer Reedly’s ewe giving birth to healthy twins.

There were many other customs he could name he thought. None so lofty as those of the Big Folk. But good and sturdy ones, nonetheless, that had and would see them through. Yes, he and his folk were rooted in custom, their toes dug deep in its nurturing soil.

With a laugh aloud, he turned toward the table where Benat and Anyopâ sat finishing the last of their breakfast. ‘Begging your pardon, sirs,’ he said, drawing their attention. ‘I couldn’t help but hear your conversation.’ He introduced himself, saying he had sat at their table last night while Master Benat worked up to his story. ‘We Hobbits do have customs . . . though small ones and quite ordinary seen in the light of yours, I’m sure.’ He held out his pouch of Longbottom Leaf. ‘And here’s a fine example of one,’ he said grinning. ‘If you gentlemen are done with your meals, there’s nothing like the Shire’s finest to round out the satisfaction.’

[Tevildo]

After warmly greeting Marigold and lauding her determination to learn to read, Miz Bella excused herself and returned to her desk in the adjoining chamber in order to put the finishing touches on the first day's lessons. She left Camille and Marigold with instructions to continue setting up the classroom and the books from Mayor Samwise. She was pleased to note that Ginger, one of the servers at the Inn, had come in to help them.

As the door between the chambers closed, Camille beckoned to Marigold with an inviting hand, "Come here and see what Ginger and I are doing." There were a great many piles of books strewn all over the floor in one corner of the room. Ginger was studiously working but gave a brief nod of welcome to Marigold. The books seemed to be sorted according to size, height, and color. Ginger would separate the volumes into piles and have Camille set them neatly on the shelves.

Turning to Marigold, Camille explained, "Miz Bella asked me to put the books in order. She had said we might do it by title. But Ginger thought of a much better scheme: to arrange the books by size and height. She's so smart. And I had another idea, too. I suggested we sort the piles by color. Very pretty, don't you think? I did try it by title but the big and little books were all mixed up in a jumble. I'm sure Miz Bella will like this better." Camille did not bother mentioning that she had only succeeded in alphabetizing three of the volumes, which were at the very beginning of the alphabet.

The young hobbit lass pointed triumphantly to a long shelf on the wall where there were a series of red books all in a row: fat ones on one end, skinny ones on the other, and the very tallest in the middle. A few picture books sat on the lower shelf. Camille beamed proudly at her handiwork, observing, "I've seen Cook store her bowls in the kitchen just like this: big ones in one cupboard, another for smaller ones, and the third for those that are middle-sized. So it should work well with books. I hope Miz Bella will be pleased."

With that, the young hobbit set back to work, mentioning to Marigold, "If you'd like, you can help us to sort the rest...."

[Amanaduial the archer]

The Previous Night - Revelations from Reminisces...

"Tar-Corondir has noticed a ressemblance between you and his late wife, he believes you may be his lost son's child. ... There is a connection between you I deem ... I know little of your history but is it possible that it is true - or is it only that his wish sees a likeness ?"

Aman’s mouth dropped open as she looked, openly stunned, at Mithalwen. The elf’s grey eyes remained steadily on her own, and the Innkeeper realised with a shock that there was no jest in the woman’s expression – none at all. She seemed quite as solemn as the grave. Looking across at Snaveling, Aman searched his face, her forehead creasing and her eyes questioning. “Snaveling, what..” she murmured softly. But the man did not hold her gaze for more than a second before he dropped his eyes away from hers, taking a gulp of ale from his glass. Aman gave a snort of laughter, as if testing, as if trying to see the amusement in what must obviously have been a joke – for what sort of claim was it for a man to make on a woman he barely knew anything of?

As if he had expected the gesture, Snaveling looked away, his eyes bitter as he closed his mouth resolutely; as if he had expected her to scoff and sneer, yet was still hurt at her doing so. Looking closely at his face, Aman saw disappointment in his features. Confused, she looked back to Mithalwen, but the elf remained unchanging, compassion and solemnity showing on her fair, serious face – the face of a mother revealing some terrible truth to her child.

I am no child of yours, elf. And my business is none of yours.

Aman’s expression changed subtly and she pursed her lips together. The elf seemed to start slightly, as if she had heard Aman’s very thoughts (and maybe she had, Aman thought, for did not elves possess the gift of Osanwe? But only one elf had the permission to do so, and that was Pio – a half elf now far, far away from this Inn…), but her hand remained over Aman’s, tightening slightly as if she was trying to comfort her. Coldly but deliberately and wordlessly, the Innkeeper slowly removed her hand from beneath Mithalwen’s, settling it on her lap without a word. Mithalwen started forward, looking shaken as if Aman had outwardly flared in her anger. “Aman, please, Tar-Corondir did not-”

“Let him speak for himself if it is so important,” Aman replied icily. Looking across at Snaveling, she crossed her arms and took a deep breath and tried not to show her anger. “Well, Master Snaveling? What is it you have to say exactly? Let me hear the words from your own lips – for of all the scandal and confusion and hurt and lies that you have brought into this Inn, this….” She trailed away, the lamplight glittering off her brilliant green eyes. Her words at last seemed to motivate Snaveling into action: moving as if just awaking from an age-long slumber, the man frowned and shook his head slowly. “Lies?” he replied, quietly, incredulously. “I have never lied to you, Aman. And I am not lying now, I promise you that.”

Aman felt a lump rise in her throat as if she was about to start crying and, to her shame, felt tears well up in her eyes. Looking away from Snaveling, she took another deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to find the words to reply before she simply shook her head and got up from the table, walking calmly and wordlessly away. Ignoring Mithalwen’s words as she called after the Innkeeper, Aman strode briskly across the Common Room – and walked out of the door. Making her way across the courtyard, the Innkeeper did not see the newcomer to the Inn make his musical entrance to the Common Room, simply going to the stables and wrenching the door open. With every step that she took, the urgency of her movements seemed to increase, as if the need to get away grew stronger by the second. Half running down the central aisle of the stables, Aman’s fingers stumbled for the first time in years on the catch of a stable door. Getting a grip of the lock, she flung open ‘Falmar’s door and stepped inside, pulling the stables from the door and turning abruptly towards her horse. The mare looked at her curiously, shifting her feet uneasily on the stone floor; Falmar had been elven trained by Piosenniel, the half elf by whom she had been given to Aman as a gift, and maybe this was what had made her so finely attuned to her mistress’s feelings. From the next stable, Felarof whinnied softly, rubbing she side of his huge, beautiful black head on the side of the stable doorway as he looked inquisitively at Aman, disquieted by her anger and unease. The Rohirrim woman glared at the young stallion and even he, last of the mearas, the finest horse on this side of middle earth, backed away from the anger that radiated from her gaze.

Flinging the saddle onto Falmar’s back, Aman started doing the straps up under the horse’s belly, regardless of her steed’s unease. “I’ll be taking you out for a ride instead of him, my dear,” she muttered angrily, only half talking to the horse. “Why, how could I ride Felarof when…when he was merely a gift from…from…” She pursed her lips together tightly, and tugged at the last strap vehemently to check that it was correctly tightened. Her actions were by now clumsy and rushed and as she unbolted the stable door again, she tried to lead Falmar just as hurriedly out of it. The mare did not budge, glaring resolutely at Aman as she dug her hooves into the straw. Aman angrily tried again, desperation now setting in as she muttered to the horse. “Falmar, come – come on, let’s go; we need to…” she stopped, trailing off as she realised what she could only have finished that sentence with.

She was running away.

Loosening her grip on the horse’s lead rein, she released her fingers. Looking up wearily at Falmar, she brought her hand slowly up to the mare’s cheek, and she did not shy away, allowing the Rohirrim woman to stroke her gently. An apology. Stepping forward, Aman buried her face in the horse’s mane, sighing deeply, no longer wanting to cry, merely to work this whole situation out. For in the back of her mind, other thoughts had been nagging all the while behind her anger.

Why had she reacted as she had? If the thought was so preposterous, why had she not simply laughed in Snaveling’s face? Why, instead, had it affected her so deeply?

Of course it is preposterous. If affects me because…well, because it is Snaveling. He will always affect me… Aman’s lip twisted bitterly but Falmar’s whinny and gently nudge caused her to realise her sudden stiffening, and she tried to relax once more. No, that couldn’t just be it – would she have reacted as vehemently to anyone else if they had made such a claim?

The simple fact was that Aman now could not be sure.

The Innkeeper came, as was well known, from Rohan, the land of the horse-lords, and her father had been one of them: a Rohirrim lord, respected and well-liked by those he knew and fair to those who served under him, as his father had been before him. Aman had never met her grandfather, or in fact any of her grandparents, but her father had told her that her grandmother – his mother – had passed away many years before her birth, dying in childbirth with him. But although her grandmother had paid with her lifeblood for her father’s life, she was well rewarded in her son’s good looks; for it must have been she who Aman’s father took after, there being remarkably little resemblance between him and his father – quite different from Aman, who took strongly after her father with her darker hair and fine bone structure, a contrast to her mother’s typically Rohirrim blonde hair, although she took after her mother with her sparkling green eyes.

Not that she could remember him well: her father had passed away twelve years ago, when Aman herself was but a girl. He had died fighting for King Elessar, falling at the gates of Minas Tirith – a noble and good death, if such a thing exists. She had not often been at home for the years before the War of the Ring, however, having started an apprenticeship as a horse-trainer when she was only fourteen. What with that and the fact that her father was often away on business, the relationship the couple had had been more distant over the last few years of his life, unlike when she was younger. Sighing with a mixture of regret and happiness for times past, Aman thought back to when she had been very young, when her father had taught her of the history of the people of middle earth.

“The oldest of the Mannish people of Middle Earth are the Dunedain, those who remain from the Numenorians,” he had begun one lesson. “They are like to other men in some aspects, but in others they are much different.” He had sat back, taking a sip of wine as he reclined in the thick armchair and looked down at his young daughter as he addressed her by his personal nickname. “Tell me, ‘Ana, why would the Dunedain or Numenorians be different from the Rohirrim?”

Aman screwed up her face, wrinkling her nose as she twisted her hands in her lap. “They…they live for longer!” she announced, suddenly remembering and beaming widely as she did so. Reaching up to the horseshoe necklace around her neck, she began to twist it uncertainly as she tried to gain time by continuing vaguely, “They live for years and years longer than us…”

“Aye, like your father apparently.” Aman’s mother’s voice interrupted their lesson and she entered the room with a tray of tea and toast which she put down on the rug in front of the young Aman. Looking across slyly at her husband, she feigned irritation as she tsked at him, hands on hips. “The Bold Untold will live forever and never seem a day older than he is now, ‘til I’m old and grey!” The Bold Untold: that had been her mother’s name for her father, although exactly why Aman had never found out – something to do with her father’s mysterious nature and his habit of engrossing himself in work for hours on end, so unlike the rest of the Rohirrim.

Her father laughed, reaching out to take his wife’s hand and kissing it tenderly, his dark eyes glittering darkly in the firelight although he kept a solemn expression on his always serious face. “’Til you’re old and grey, my sweet? Why, too late!”

His wife gasped in shock and took a pillow from the chair, clouting the man across the shoulder with it. His face breaking into a grin, Aman’s father threw back his head and laughed, grabbing her and pulling her across onto his lap, tickling her mischieviously as she yelled for him to stop, laughing all the while, her golden hair stark against his dark mane and complexion. As he stopped tickling her, the man started to sing softly, his voice low and deep as he began to little ditty, his smile growing. “One day to pastures of Rohan rode, a beautiful maid on the back of a mare, fair of face and spun of gold, the maid to the Rohirrim did declare –”

“Darned Rohirrim songster getting in my way…”

Aman almost jumped as she tensed and looked around to where Snaveling stood at the other end of the barn, spooked by how his words seemed to eerily follow her own thoughts. He looked surprised at her shock, taking a few steps forward as he added, “Got in my way when I was coming out of…of the Inn…” the man trailed off uneasily, halting in his speech and his steps. Looking anxiously at Aman, he regarded her wordlessly. Aman sniffed and turned back to Falmar.

“How long have you been watching me for, Snaveling?” she said quietly.

“Only since you started doing that…braiding thing with Falmar’s hair,” he replied without hesitation. “Although I can’t say I think she’ll suit plaits as well as you…” he grinned, then, unable to see Aman’s expression, he became more serious. “How are you, Aman?”

“That sounds like the start of a conversation, Master Snaveling,” she replied curtly. “I thought I established that I did not feel like conversing.”

Snaveling made a deliberating sound, seeming for once to be lost for words. “Hrm. Indeed. Well. I…” Aman smiled secretively to herself but did not turn around. Sighing deeply, she continued to fiddle with Falmar’s mane, her eyes fixed intently on the growing braid. “Snaveling…may I ask what prompted this most recent outburst of identity?” she asked, somewhat scathingly. Her voice softening, she added, “Why are you pulling me into this?”

The pause this time was much longer. “Because I believe it is true, Aman. I told you about my history but…but I did not tell you all of it.” The Numenorian hesitated again, and Aman heard him take another hesitant step forward. “Aman, please, I must as you one question – what…what was your father’s name?”

Aman frowned, closing her eyes. Once more the dark, laughing eyes and handsome face of her father danced into her mind’s eye, and she turned her head to look at Snaveling, her chin held high and a little pride in her voice. “My father, Snaveling? My father was the son of Lord Taraphir of Rohan, and his name…his name was Lord Arad of Rohan.”

[Saelind]

Retreating from the window and standing beside the bed on the far side of the room, Thalion was not surprised to see that Neviel had already dressed and left. He had slept longer than he intended; the lad was undoubtedly hungry as well as tired of being cooped up in a single chamber. Throwing on his own shirt and breeches, Thalion bent down to retrieve his boots. Then he checked to make sure his healer's kit was safely stored at the foot of the bed. Since he saw no need for a bow or dagger, he left these items inside the chamber, lying on top of the chest where blankets and pillows were stored.

Briskly striding out the door into the corridor, Thalion headed for the Common Room where he hoped breakfast was still being served, and he would find Neviel. He had no trouble finding the serving area, but was surprised and a bit alarmed that his son was nowhere in sight. Where had the boy gone off to? Neviel was a sensible Elf; it was not like him to disappear without a word to his father. Glancing around at all the tables to make sure he hadn't overlooked the boy, Thalion couldn't help but be surprised by the wide assortment of folk sitting in the Dragon and eating breakfast. The place seemed to be a hodgepodge of every race and people in Middle-earth: a preponderence of hobbits, but also Men of Gondor and Rohan, traders from Bree and Dale, as well as a sprinkling of Elves and even a dwarf or two. Thalion was especially surprised to notice how many Elves, both male and female, were apparently staying at the Inn or living in the neighborhood. There seemed to be more Elves here than he had seen since leaving Rivendell.

Questioning a pair of men at an adjoining table, Thalion discovered that a young Elf had come in about half an hour before and wolfed down a bowl of porridge but had then heard some hobbits discussing a new school in the neighborhood. Some of the hobbits were very much in favor of the school, while others argued against it, saying that there was no need to put nonsensical ideas into young empty heads. The Elf lad had listened intently, asked where the school would be meeting, and had then disappeared.

"And where exactly might this new school be?" Thalion echoed the words of the men.

But the two only shrugged their shoulders, noting that such matters did not concern them. Seeing Thalion's bewilderment, a hobbit lass serving the meals came over and spoke up, "I'm Ruby. Remember me from last night? Maybe I can help. The school will be on the first floor along the rear of the Inn. There's an outside door that overlooks the back courtyard and garden. You can enter from there, if you'd like." Ruby pointed him in the right direction. All thoughts of his own breakfast pushed aside and eager to track down Neviel, Thalion stood up and thanked her, trotting off in the direction that she had pointed, before Ruby could say anything else.

[Fairleaf]

Daisy and Reggie come to sign up and help out; Reggie puts a question to Neviel

Wilfrid Chubb pulled up his cart to the front porch of the Inn. ‘Whoa up, there, Larkspur!’ he called to the pony, pulling back on the reins. ‘Now, Mari,’ he said to his wife as she got down and helped the children off. ‘I’ll just wait to the side of the path while you get the two signed up. You find out about when we should pick them up. Remember, we got to move some of the ewes into the lambing barns; the late bloomers.’

Mari nodded at his request saying she’d be right back. She reached in beneath her seat and pulled out two little lidded pails and handed one each to Daisy and to Reggie. ‘Now you’ve both got an apple and some honeyed corn fritters if you get hungry. I’m sure Miz Bella will have some water for you to drink if you get thirsty.’ She brushed back Daisy’s curls with her hand and wiped a smudge off Reggie’s cheek. ‘Let’s go and find Miz Bella and get you settled in.’

Directions were gotten and the three Hobbits made their way to the classroom. Daisy and Reggie went into the classroom itself, while their mother went to Miz Bella's little office.

There were a number of Hobbits already milling about in the classroom. And to Daisy, it looked as if the order for the day was to get the classroom all put together. There were still a few books to be sorted and Daisy pitched in after asking one of the older girls what they were doing. She admired the shelf of red books saying they looked kind of like a little range of hills all lined up like they were with the tallest in the center.

Reggie was not quite so interested in the tidying up that was going on. Neatness had never been one of his stronger points. But over in one corner he had found a small box filled with pieces of nice fat chalk that just fit his chubby little fingers. No one was paying any attention as he squatted down and drew a good sized circle on the wooden floor. From his pocket he took a small worn leather, drawstring pouch. Inside it were his marbles. He looked about for someone who might want to play. The girls were all talking and sorting and putting stuff on shelves. But there just at the doorway peeking in was a boy . . . one of the Big Folk, and kind of skinny. He looked about the same age as his sister. Maybe he would want to play.

‘Hey, you want to play?’ the five year old asked, going over to where the boy stood. ‘My name is Reggie.’ He looked up hopefully at the boy. ‘I’ve got enough marbles. We could share.’

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen had ordered a hearty breakfast by elf standards for she had not eaten the previous night what with one thing and another, but by the time the meal arrived she found she had lost her appetite. Back in the common room she could not avoid the memories of last night as she had when absorbed in her designs or during her morning ride..

Aman's anger was understandable, and she had expected it... but she did not expect it to have pained her so much. I must learn not to get involved, ever, with anyone, especially mortals, she thought. She had not seen either the inn-keeper or Snaveling since they had left the common room the previous evening and perhaps that was a good thing. The woman's ire had been impressive. She would get these braces made for the crippled child and leave as soon as possible. All her best efforts were misunderstood.

She ate her meal for it was paid for with her room, and it was substantial enough that she need not bear the expense of further meals that day, but the fare gave her no pleasure. The fresh, wholesome dishes might have been dry crusts for all the joy the elf took in them; her spirits had not been so low for a long time. Lost in her own thoughts she barely noticed the other customers.

As soon as she had finished she collected her tool bag and left the inn. The village smith, Toby Flaxman, had been helpful and courteous two mornings ago when she had taken her horse to be shod but she did not know how he would react now that she was asking for help.

[Arry]

Gil speaks with Miz Bella

Woody and Hanson make friends

Gil leaned casually against the door frame, his cap in his hands. His older sister Laura had sent him in early to the Inn to see about getting her two younger sons into the new school. Gil was groaning at the early hour and chiding himself for telling her about Miz Bella at all. ‘Never mind that you had a bit too much of the Dragon’s ale last night. Call it a bit of payment for letting you stay here, Gil Tussock, until your own place is done,’ Laura had had told him. ‘You can explain to Mister Banks what made you a bit late.’

Woodruff (or Woody as he was mostly called), eleven, and Hanson, five, were not as unenergetic as their uncle. They had promised him they would be good, but could they please, please go in and have a look around. ‘G’wan, then,’ he’d told them both, taking a quick look in at the schoolroom. ‘I’ll just wait here ‘til Miz Bella is done talking to that other woman; then, I’ll get the both of you signed up.’ As an afterthought, and because he thought he should do it since he was after all their uncle, Gil called after them as they ran into the room. ‘Woody and Hanson Boffin, you be good now.’

---

‘Hey, look, Woody!’ Hanson pointed to the back part of the room where someone had drawn a circle on the floor. There were two boys there, one a Hobbit who looked to be about Hanson’s age. And another, taller, boy. One of the Big Folk, he thought. The younger boy held a bag of marbles and had taken one out to show the other boy.

‘They’re gonna play marbles,’ Hanson said, tugging on his brother’s shirt. ‘Let’s see if we can join in.’

[littlemanpoet]

As Uien was walking around the side the Green Dragon, a stray thought came to her.

<I must learn not to get involved, ever, with anyone, especially mortals.>

Uien frowned, and tried to calm her mind, sensing the textures of relation running from Mithalwen to others. I really have no business probing her thought. She resolved to stop, but it was much harder to sever the link than not to begin them in the first place. So she sensed the braided and chafed linkage between Mithalwen and the man, Snaveling, and between Mithlawen and Aman. Uien's brow rose. Fair Aman? What trouble could be brewing there? Had not Snaveling had a sudden revelation? Uien shook her head. So much could be read, but very little could be learned from it. And most of it is none of your business.

When Uien entered the Common Room, she looked around to find that Mithalwen had already left. Uien wondered if she should go speak with Aman, but thought better of it, turned, and left the Inn in search of Mithalwen.

[Nurumaiel]

Marigold nodded and dropped to her knees next to Camille, and began to pick up the books one by one, sorting them as she had been instructed. Occasionally she would stop and study the title, and then open the book and turn the pages. She looked at the pictures, silently mouthed a few words, and then, with a shake of her head, closed the book and set it up on the shelf.

The door opened and Marigold looked up with a bright smile, expecting to see Falco Headstrong, but her smile fell not upon him, but upon a young hobbit lad with a little girl at his side. He appeared to be in his teens, and she about eleven or twelve. They were obviously of the same family, and looked so much alike that it was comical. Friendly but rather shy brown eyes; rather ruffled brown hair; skin a little browner than Marigold's own. The boy's hair was a little bit lighter than the girl's, and of course hers was longer, but it was the only real difference in their features.

Camille and Marigold stared at the boy and girl, and the boy and girl stared back, and then, after a few moments of silence, the boy tipped the cap that was on his head and said: "Good morning. Is this the new school?"

His manner was very courteous, but very 'manly' (though, of course, he was a hobbit). Camille and Marigold were perhaps too young to see it, but an older hobbit who was accustomed to children, such as Falco Headstrong, would have made a reasonable guess that this young boy had been instructed in manners by a good father who upheld the practice of gallant behaviour to the ladies. This boy had none of the feminine touches in his manner that might have been a result of a ladylike mother's instructions.

"Yes," said Marigold, getting up from her knees. "Miz Bella is over in that room, if you want to go talk to her. But, if you like, you could just stay here and help us, and talk to her when she comes out again."

"Let's do that," said the little girl quickly, and looking urgently up at her brother.

"Very well!" he said, with a laugh. "But you needn't be so very frightened... Miz Bella is going to teach you, not eat you."

"Do you know any of your letters?" Camille asked.

"No," he replied. "That's why my sister is so afraid of Miz Bella. We don't know anything about learning, and we're not quite sure what to expect. I don't even know how to spell my own name. And, of names, mine is Haltred Hedgeworth, and this is my sister Estella."

"Marigold Baker is my name, and this is Camille," said Marigold, giving a little courtesy. "And we can't forget to mention Ginger, who works here." She wondered if it was relevant to mention in the introductions that one of those boys Mr. Headstrong was always hanging about with was really very fond of Ginger, and decided against it. They had work to do. She gestured to the pile of books. "We're organising these books by size," she said. "Come and help us."

With shyness, but pleasure at being invited, Haltred and Estella Hedgeworth joined the little group.

[Saelind]

Neviel glanced uneasily at Reggie who had asked him to play as well as Woody and Hanson who had wandered over with the obvious intention of being let in on the fun. The Elf picked up one of the marbles that Reggie had taken out of his small leather pouch and examined it more closely. He had seen mannish boys playing marbles in Rivendell, but only from a distance. The shape and appearance of the little balls intrigued him. Some were a simple brown or gray, evidently made from smooth clay. A few of Reggie's were true beauties fashioned of glass and sparkling with color. It was these that caught Neviel's eye. Tentatively, as if handling a very special treasure, he fingered the smooth texture of one of the glass balls.

"Oh, how lovely!" the young Elf noted with approval. "Such bright colors all swirled together!" Neviel glanced down nervously at the circle that had been drawn on the ground and gazed over at the hobbit who had first addressed him. "I'd love to play marbles with you. But I have no idea what to do. My father and I have been on the road, and I don't get to do such things." What he did not mention was that with so few Elven children about, having a playmate was a rare treat. "Sorry, Reggie, I've never played marbles. But if you can show me I'll try to learn."

Neviel shifted uneasily from one foot to the other wondering what the hobbit lad would say. Bending down to get a closer look at the circle that had been chalked on the floor, the young Elf thought he saw the two brothers dart a surprised look between them.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling woke to the sound of the Blasted Bard’s full-throated singing. He stifled the curse that came to his lips as he remembered that his bed was at the courtesy of the Rohirric man, but this only befouled his mood further. He had lain awake far into the night, well into the morning, really, turning over and over in his mind the words that had passed between he and Aman – his grand-daughter. He was as yet unsure of how she would take to the idea of their being related…he was not sure of that himself yet either. But that he was indeed her grandsire was becoming eminently clear to both of them. The name and description of her father so closely matched that of his own son, as they had been reported to Snaveling, that there was little room for doubt. They had talked for some time, comparing what each knew about Arad and bit by bit they had pieced together a total picture of the man -- a picture in which the pieces fit together so well and so easily, that there was little room left for doubt. Beyond that, though, was the very rightness of the relationship: Snaveling had long known, deep in his bones, that he and Aman were connected by more than friendship, and that their relationship could never be the romantic one imagined by the girl. This certainty, this knowing sense, was certainly a part of his Numenorean heritage – he came to that and to full wakefulness with a start. That heritage was also Aman’s, he realised. It had not even occurred to him that in revealing the truth of her parentage, he was perhaps staining her with his own dark past. How would she feel about being descended of the Black Numenoreans? He was sure that she would want to keep that interesting piece of information to herself, and he thanked those who dwelt in the West that as yet none knew the truth but he, Aman and Mithalwen.

But then Hearpwine’s song re-emerged, louder this time and even more insistent. The foolish man was twanging away on his harp and singing at full volume out the window of the Inn.

You take the high road,
And I’ll take the low road,
And I’ll be in Gondor, before you!
Me and my true love, will ever meet again,
On the bonny bonny banks of the Snowbourne!

He laughed and turned to see Snaveling awake. “An old tune, and a happy one to begin the day with!” he cried.

“I know it,” Snaveling mumbled as he got out of bed. “But I thought it went, ‘Me and my true love will never meet again.’”

“Pah!” the bard said good-naturedly. “A sad song is not fitting for the morning. I have changed the words to suit my mood.”

“Are you always this…” Snaveling searched for a word, “boisterous in the morning?”

“Aha! You are angry that I woke you up. But the sun is well in the sky and the people of the Inn are about. School children have come, strangely enough, and even they are at work. It is time to get up even though you may have been tossing from pillar to post this long night.”

“How did…?” But Snaveling’s question was cut off with another laugh from the younger man. “You were not so quiet as you supposed,” Hearpwine explained, “nor so circumspect. Do you know that you talk to yourself when you are in distress? Have no fear, my friend, for I shall not reveal your secrets to any – particularly not to the pretty Innkeeper of the Green Dragon!” With that he clapped his arm around Snaveling’s shoulders and led him from their room leaving Snaveling with no chance to respond. As the night before when they had met, Hearpwine’s loud and happy manner, and high spirits, oppressed the more dour Snaveling, but the bard had been so good as to offer Snaveling his room’s other bed when he had seen that Snaveling had nowhere to sleep. After his conversation with Aman the night before, she had seemed to desire the company of her horses more than his, so Snaveling had left the stables to her and returned to the Inn hoping that he would be allowed to sleep one a bench in the Common Room. Cook had seen him settling in, however, and put paid to that idea, and it had only been the quick intervention of Hearpwine that had saved Snaveling from a night in the bushes.

They ate breakfast together. As Hearpwine talked of his journey and of Rohan and (somewhat oddly for a man of Rohan) of Ithilien, occasionally breaking into song, Snaveling looked about for either Aman or Mithalwen but could see neither. At the conclusion of their meal they sat, neither of them certain what to do, when into the Common Room there came a very small hobbit lass, asking the way to the new school. One of the barmaids pointed the lass in the right direction. As she left Hearpwine stood and said, “A schoolroom! Wonderful! I am sure that the students there would be interested in hearing songs of other lands, or even a lay or two about the War. And who knows, perhaps some of them know songs of this land that I might learn.”

Snaveling doubted that there was little more on Hearpwine’s mind than the prospect of performing for an audience, albeit one composed almost entirely of children, but he said nothing for he wished to be left to himself. “You go ahead,” he said. “I have matters of my own to attend to.”

Hearpwine smiled knowingly. “Very well, my friend. I shall see to the children while you go in search of your ‘matters’ – be sure to tell her when you see her that I have a special song or two about the fair maids of Rohan that I’m sure she would like to hear!” And with another laugh he left the Common Room, already humming the tune he intended to sing for the educational benefit of the schoolchildren. Snaveling went in search of Aman.

[Arry]

Introductions are made; the game begins

‘On the road a lot,’ murmured Hanson. ‘Phooey! Everybody gets to go somewhere ‘cept me!’

‘Don’t start up,’ hissed Woody to his younger brother. ‘Our Da isn’t the traveling sort and never will be.’

Hanson giggled despite his brother’s stern look and whispered. ‘Does know the road to the Dragon, same as Uncle Gil!’

Hanson had big dreams of traveling about one day as had Mister Bilbo. His Gammer Boffin had told him tales of the odd Hobbit, as she called him, though with affection, which fueled his imagination and his longing. Much to his disappointment no one in his family ever went anywhere exciting nor did they wish to. His Uncle Gil, however, had been as far as the western bounds and to Buckland. He and his mates liked to visit the little Inns and trade music for drinks. But Hanson wanted to see what lay beyond the Shire someday.

And here was a boy who had done such!

‘Pardon me,’ he said moving up to stand near Neviel. ‘My name is Hanson. Hanson Boffin.’ He gave the tall fellow a grin as Neviel gave his name to Hanson in return. ‘Me and my brother there, Woody, live here in Bywater.’ He crooked a thumb at Woody who’d hung back a bit. ‘We’d like to shoot marbles with you two.’ Hanson hauled out his sack of marbles from his breeches pocket. ‘It’s not too hard . . .’

‘And you’re lucky!’ broke in Woody, less shy now that Hanson had made the introductions. ‘Since you’re a first-timer you get to shoot a little closer in than us others.’ Woody pulled out his marble pouch, too. ‘Here, hold out your hands. You can borrow some of mine to play.’ He poured a half dozen marbles into Neviel’s hands and gave him one just a little larger. A ‘shooter’ he called it of multi-colored glass in greens.

‘Come on! Kneel down here like this,’ prompted Hanson. ‘And roll a couple of your marbles into the circle. Make sure you remember which ones are yours now,’ he continued rolling three of his into the confines of the chalked circle.

Woody and Reggie had done the same. ‘G’wan, Reggie,’ said Woody, who had managed to introduce himself and his brother to the other Hobbit lad. ‘You start the game and show him how to shoot.’

[Fairleaf]

Reggie got down next to Neviel and showed him how to rest his shooter-marble on his index finger and give it a shove with his thumb. Neviel, he said, and the other boys agreed, could shoot very near the edge of the circle since this was his first time. Hanson and Reggie would shoot from a little further out because they were ‘sperienced’ players. And Woody would have to take the furthest out because he was pretty sharp at this game. ‘See how big his pouch of marbles is?’ said Reggie. ‘That’s ‘cause he won ‘em off other players.’

‘Now you try to shoot at the other fellows’ marbles and push them out of the ring. You get to keep those marbles, then. The tricky part is, you have to try to get your shooter out of the ring, too. Or else it’s fair game for others to shoot at.’ Reggie hunched down with his knuckle placed firmly on the floor and took aim. ‘And oh,’ he said before making his shot, ‘no calling “knuckles” in this game.’ He turned to Neviel. ‘That’s where you can put your shooting knuckle on top of one or more of your other hand’s knuckles to lift it up.’ Reggie shook his head. ‘It’s really not a very fair way to play.’

He hunched down a bit and made a good shot at one of Hanson’s marbles. The clear little ball rolled near the edge of the circle, but did not go out. Reggie’s shooter inched its way slowly to the edge of the circle and barely cleared it. ‘Shoot! That was a close one!’ he said snatching up his shooter.

‘Go ahead, Neviel,’ he said scooting back from the ring. ‘Take a couple of practice shots. And oh, you can move wherever you like around the ring to do them.’

[Firefoot]

Willy Burrows was not so happy this time around at approaching the Green Dragon as he had been that day of the party. This time, his Ma had dragged him here upon hearing about the new school and was even now holding the door impatiently for him to enter. Reading, 'riting, and 'rithmatic. Don't need to know those. He knew naught of the Elven lore and and history the sign had promised, else he may have been more excited.

"I say, Willy, you go everywhere else fast enough. Hurry up; you're going to be late," his Ma said, ushering him through the door. Willy wished his brother Nick might have had to go along as well, but Ma said he was too young. Willy thought he knew the real reason, though: Ma just wanted to keep him out of trouble, but Nick never made trouble unprovoked.

"Look, that seems to be the classroom. Why don't you head in there while I go talk to Miz Bella about getting you signed up." It wasn't a suggestion; it was an order. Willy dragged his feet some more to get there, and glanced around to see if his Ma was watching. Shoot. She was; she knew him too well. So much for making a break for it.

So he stepped into the room and looked around. He wasn't late, that was for sure. First he saw the lasses organizing the books on the bookshelf. Willy wrinkled his nose. Great, a bunch of girls. Then he saw the lads at the back of the room and his face lit up. Marbles! He liked marbles, and was quite a fair hand at it. And... was that an Elf? It was! The other lads seemed to be pretty nonchalant about it, though, so Willy decided not to say anything about it. He went over to the other lads, walking faster than he had all day, and realized with delight that they were just starting.

"Hi... I'm Willy," he said. He fished around in his pocket for his marble bag - currently about half full. "Mind if I join in?"

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine hummed a tune to himself as he went off in search of the school room, running over in his mind the odd character he had befriended the night before. Snaveling was an odd name for a man such as him – a man in whose veins there clearly flowed the blood of Numenor. The bard had spent too long a time in Ithilien with the lord Faramir not to recognize the sight and feel of the far off air of the vanished land. There was something else about Snaveling that was familiar, something in him that he had seen before, but exactly what it was he could not remember. He suddenly realized that the tune he was humming had been brought to mind by the dark man of the South. It was odd indeed, for the song he had running through his mind was the last he would think to associate with this dour stranger…

His meditations were abruptly cut off by his arrival at the schoolroom. Children’s voices came to him through the windows and he smiled at it, for it had been a long time since he had last heard such sounds. He paused for a moment, debating whether or not to talk, but the door came open of its own accord as a young hobbit lad flew out of it in pursuit of a small glass marble. Hearpwine stopped it with his foot and retrieved it. He stood up again, towering over the lad, for he was a tall Man of Rohan, over six feet in height, while the Halfling boy was but an inch or two past one foot himself. Hearpwine smiled down at the boy and was pleased to see that he was not afraid. “Thank you sir,” the boy said. “I was afraid as I’d lose that!” Hearpwine had to kneel all the way down to return the marble, and the boy immediately rushed back into the room. Hearpwine followed him in.

He looked about for the teacher but could not see anyone obviously in charge. He suddenly realized how hard it might be to identify the hobbit adult from the children, for they all looked so alike to him. There were some lasses hard at work arranging books upon a shelf so he directed himself toward them. They paused in their motions as he approached and looked up at him. “Good morning,” he said in his pleasantest tones. “Do any of you know where your teacher is?”

[Child of the 7th Age]

A cluster of adult hobbits crowded into Miz Bella's office, all of them kinfolk of the young ones who were planning on attending school. Miz Bella had extended a warm welcome to Mari and to Woody and Hanson's Uncle Gil. Then she explained about the school and how the families could pay their fees in kind: a chicken or basket of eggs, or perhaps the provision of some needed service. Willy's mother Miz Burrows had been the last to arrive. After talking about her son, Miz Bella had the definite feeling that, unlike several of the other lads and lasses, Willy Burrows had certain misgivings about attending school and learning to read.

Miz Bella couldn't help smiling. She had taught her fair share of little ones over the years. They had not been hobbits but sons and daughters of the big folk, both those in the New Lands and in every corner of Middle-earth where she had travelled. But children were children; she didn't expect to find things too different in a hobbit classroom than she had found them in the villages and households of the big folk. She would need to keep a firm but kindly eye on Willy to make sure that he did not act up and try to interest him in the material she was teaching. Perhaps Willy and Camille could be paired together since both seemed hesitent about their studies. Possibly, they could help and encourage each other. It all depended if Willy could mind his manners or had his heart set on being disruptive in class. She would proobably find that out very quickly.

After Miz Bella tied up all the practical details of who would pay what and when, she spoke a little about what they would be doing in the class. "I know you need the lads and lasses to help out at home as well, so we'll meet in the morning and finish off about two hours after lunch. That should give them plenty of time to get home and do their chores. I'll understand if you ever want them to stay home to help in the fields or gardens, especially during the harvest; just try to tell me in advance so I can send work home. Today, because it's the first day of school, we have a special treat. Cook has promised cornbread and soup at lunchtime, and some fine sugar cookies. Normally, though, you'll want to send a lunch pail or make your own arrangements with Cook to send up a meal from the kitchen, which I'll be doing for myself. We can also get water from the pump out back."

"As far as the work goes, we'll start with some basic things: numbers and letters and short words plus a few stories about dragons or Elves or perhaps some discussion of the places I've been over the years. That should whet their appetite." By starting off simply, I can get a good idea of what each child knows and can tailor things accordingly. The class will have recess every morning, and I hope to have each child choose a special project." Miz Bella actually had a few projects in mind, one involving the side garden, the other the horse barn, and the third making recipes in the kitchen. She wondered if she could persuade Cook to lend her kitchen space, perhaps one day near the end of school after the lunch guests had left when things had slackened off .

"One other thing," she added. "Each of your little ones will be given a slate and chalk to take home. Please try to keep these in good shape. The children are welcome to practice what they learned. And for those who can already read, Master Samwise has graciously sent over some books that the children can borrow. "

"Now, do you have questions about anything? How we'll arrange payment or what the children will be learning? Otherwise, you're welcome to go about your business, and come back and collect the young 'uns in the mid-afternoon."

[Primrose Bolger]

Hearpwine is given directions

‘Good morning,’ the very tall man said in a pleasant tone. ‘Do any of you know where your teacher is?’

Ginger looked up to see Hearpwine towering over them like some straw-headed giant. She took a step back so that she would not have a view up the fellow’s nose and gave him a smile back. The other girls had moved back in chorus with her and stood close behind her.

‘Well, sir,’ Ginger began, handing off the tall, thin, green book to Daisy. ‘Miz Bella is right through there, in her office.’ She pointed toward the door into the side room. ‘She’s seeing to the parents who want their children at her school. Going over the schedule and such with them.’ She glanced about the schoolroom, not seeing a chair she thought would accommodate the man. ‘You’re more than welcome to stand here and wait for her to get done. Shouldn’t take long.’

From outside the door, Ginger heard Buttercup calling her. She turned round to say good-bye to Daisy and Camille. ‘Got to run and get those dishes done up now that breakfast is done.’ She gave them each a hug. ‘I’ll come back a little later and try to get in on the lesson going on. You two pay close attention and let me know what Miz Bella is teaching first. Catch me up, alright?’

She ran quickly out the door toward the kitchen.

[Arry]

Gil pulled his cap from his belt and settled it back on his head as he walked through the classroom and back into the common room proper. Woody and Hanson had been seen to, and he’d made the offer of him and his mates doing some cabinetry work or fix-up jobs as needed for Miz Bella in exchange for her taking on his nephews. Resources were stretched a little thin at his sister’s house, though he bet that Gammer Boffin would send along a jar or two of her plum conserve or gooseberry jam as she could spare it.

He stopped briefly to let the boys know when he’d come back to fetch them. To their amusement, he admonished them once again to be good. They fidgeted under his instruction, eager to get back to their game of marbles. A look of surprise passed over his features as he looked about at their fellow gamers. There was an Elf child with them! He bent down down and whispered to them, ‘Who is your Elven friend?’ The boys looked up confused. He nodded toward Neviel.

‘He’s our new friend, Neviel’ piped up Hanson. ‘We’re teaching him marbles.’

Gil said goodbye once again and hurried out. His eye caught cloaks and pails and whatever else the children had brough, piled all higgledy-piggledy in a corner. ‘Tell Miz Bella the lads and I will come round when classes are over and put up some pegs for cloaks and bags.’ He surveyed the room once more. ‘And we’ll throw up some cubbyhole shelves to put your pails and marble bags in, and whatever else you have in those pockets of yours that you don’t need while you’re learning.’ He grinned down at them, as they looked innocently up at him, their hands in their pockets, fingering the slings and rocks or pea shooters and little pebbles that were thrust in there.

Woody and Hanson gave a relieved sigh as he left. It was hard to put one over on Uncle Gil . They returned to their game. It was Woody's turn to shoot. Hanson stood near Neviel and reaching up his little hand, tugged at the boy's sleeve. 'Say, are you really an Elf?' he asked, trying to accomodate such a novel idea.

[Noinkling]

The men had a pleasant smoke and agreed to meet later at supper. Hob and Anyopâ were eager to hear about the battle at last, but there were tasks to be done before they could take their leisure. Hob was soon bidding them a good-day as he was off to the market place to see merchants about taking on his wares.

Benat bid a good-day then to Anyopâ, saying he was going to finish up some wood chopping and stacking for Cook, along with Envinyatar. Later, he would be going to see the mayor, Master Samwise, to inquire about a mutual friend. He was just putting on his cloak when the thought struck him that perhaps Anyopâ might enjoy coming with him.

‘What say you,’ he asked the man, calling Cullen to come along. ‘Would you care to meet Master Samwise with me? It should prove interesting?’

Cullen trotted toward the door and whined. He was eager to be out and about.

[Fairleaf]

Mari hurried out to the wagon where Wilfrid sat waiting. ‘They’re all taken care of, dear,’ she said as he gave her a hand up to the seat. She adjusted her thick wool shawl about her and smiled fondly at him. ‘I told Miz Bella we would bring her a pair of little banty laying hens and a rooster. And I spoke with Gil Tussock, asking if he could make her a little coop outside the classroom. We have some of that wire mesh fencing to put up for a little pen I said he could use.’

Wilfrid flicked the reins lightly against Larkspur’s flanks and urged the pony forward. ‘Best get to the lambing pens now, Mari. I’m worried about that black ewe.’ He rubbed his jaw as he thought on it.

‘Well, if she still hasn’t dropped, Wilfrid, by the time the children need to be picked up, old Larkspur and I can come to the Inn and fetch them.’

‘You’re a right treasure,’ he said, giving a relieved sigh, and looking at her with a fond grin. He flicked the reins once again and clucked to the pony to pick up her pace.

[Huan]

It was only after a second thought that Anyopâ took Benat up on his offer. There was only so much one could do in an Inn, and he did not relish the idea of spending a day inside. The view from the window in his room when he’d first gotten up was that of a cloudless day in the making. It would be good, he thought, to stretch his muscles with a bit of hard work.

‘Go on over to . . . the cottage, is it? I’ll just change into some clothes more suitable for hard work and join you there.’ Anyopâ rose from the table and headed for the staircase.

‘And we’ll see you later, won’t we?’ he called out to Hob, who was heading to the door just after Benat. ‘Good luck on selling your wares!’

[Undómë]

Hob nodded at Anyopâ, then hurried out the door after Benat. He made his way to the stable and checked all his merchandise in the wagon stored under the stable’s eaves. One of the stable hands helped him pull the wagon into the open and brought Strawberry out of her stall. Hob noted she’d been well groomed and gave the lad an extra penny for the effort. The pony was hitched to the wagon and the two moved down the lane toward The Great Road.

With any luck, Hob thought, he’d have most of his business done by mid-afternoon. He’d be back in plenty of time to have a late lunch and relax before supper.

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik sat at the trunk of an aged tree by the road, just outside the Green Dragon. Morning was getting on toward noon, and Uien had not been back yet. The tree he sat by was the one he had sat beneath those months and months ago, the day he had first met Uien. He thought back fondly to that night and the following days. She had changed him. He had been a cold hearted exile from Bree, wandering the roofless wild just north of the Shire, from the Blue Mountains to the Trollshaws. For twelve years he had roamed and lived off the land, until he had chanced upon the capture of the man of Rohan named Eodwine, and reported it to folk in the Shire, the closest habitations to where the crime had been committed. It had been a strange adventure, and Uien had chosen to be a part of it with him, rescuing Eodwine from the villains.

Falowik's necklace lay warm and bright against his chest: Uien was thinking of him. He looked up to see her walking toward him from beyond the Inn. He stood.

"What news?" he asked.

"I found Mithalwen busy at work with the smith of Bywater, one Toby Flaxman. She is making braces for Rory, the lad with the weak legs."

Despite her simple report, Uien's face gave away her disquiet. "What is wrong, fair one?"

She came a step closer. "Maybe-" She was looking at her hands, aimlessly working the folds of her skirt. She looked up at his eyes. "Maybe I have no business poking my nose in the business of Rory."

"Why not? Did not Mithalwen invite your aid?"

"Aye, but she does not need my aid. All she needed was help with Master Falco Headstrong, and so I spoke with him, and all was well enough thereafter." Her hands worked frettingly with her skirt, her eyes downcast again.

Falowik took her hands in his and stilled them. She looked up into his eyes again. "What more would you do if you felt it was good to do?"

She looked away, frowning. "Only to make the braces supple enough to grow with his legs as they change."

"That is a great thing!"

She shook her head vigorously. "But unneeded! Mithalwen is making the braces adjustable; they will be enough without my aid."

"Fair enough," Falowik said, "but something lies deeper than that. Does it not?"

Her eyes were large and haunted, looking back at him. Falowik wished that he knew what lay on her heart, but he did not feel that he could force it from her. She must speak what she could when she was ready to.

"I - I do not know. I know not what is wrong with me!" She broke from him and grabbing her skirt, fled across the courtyard to the stables. Falowik's jaw bunched. He did not know what to make of this. She had just fled from him. Maybe being in the presence of other Elves reminded her of what he was not, being a mere Man. Falowik heaved a sigh and chose to leave Uien to her own thoughts for now. If she needed him, the necklace lying against his chest would tell him that she thought of him. He hoped it would not be long before she did. He walked along the side of the Inn, to the horse pasture, and walked a circuit around the fence, hoping to calm his own unruly thoughts by lunch time.

[Envinyatar]

The day advanced toward a warm midday. Anyopâ and Derufin had removed their tunics as they worked with the splitting mauls. Cook had come to fetch Benat earlier to see the Mayor, leaving the two men to work their way through the large log pile.

‘Ah! You’re a sweet sight for a thirsty man!’ Derufin grinned at the approaching figure of his wife. He wiped his face and hands on his tunic and took the flagon of cold, sweet cider from her hands along with the cups. Her arm came up toward him as she lightly thrust against him with her splayed hand. His intended hug fended off successfully, she turned her cheek up toward him for a kiss.

‘A wash-up first, I think, before you have me smelling like a woodsman, sir!’ Zimzi laughed as she stepped back. Handing one of the cups to Anyopâ, she took the flagon and poured each a cup and then another. On her arm was a small basket, filled with thick cheese and ham sandwiches and some cookies from the Inn kitchen. ‘These should hold you over for a while, don’t you think?’ she asked as the two crowded about the basket, dipping their hands in for the sandwiches. ‘Cook will send Meri over in a bit with the big wagon. We’re to keep as much wood as we think we’ll need, she said. And the rest pile in the woodshed.’

Derufin nodded his head and mumbled something through his mouthful of food. Zimzi took his cheesy mumble as an agreement. Bidding Anyopâ a farewell for the moment, she left, telling them she would leave some towels out for them on kitchen table. And could they meet her later at the Inn for supper, she was taking the cart to The Water to dig some clay. Tomorrow she said she would make some pots and use some of their sweat hewn wood to fire them. Derufin waved his sandwich at her as she turned to go and nodded his head, yes.

[Saelind]

Where was that schoolroom anyway?

Thalion was having little luck in finding the small door at the back of the Inn that led to Miz Bella's school, the place where his son had probably gone. After mistakenly burgling his way into a locked storage shed and then nearly twisting the knob off the kitchen door in his impatience to locate his missing boy, he had issued an embarassed apology to Cook and made his way around to the small green door on the left where he could hear children laughing and playing, their voices wafting through the open windows into the courtyard.

He thrust his head through one of the openings and saw Neviel down on his hands and knees surrounded by other lads about half his height, doing something with a pocketful of little clay and glass balls.

Neviel leapt up with a broad grin as he saw Thalion come inside, "Oh, father. I am sorry but you were asleep. I know I should have waited, but I didn't want to sit in the room all day. And then I found Miz Bella's class. These good lads are teaching me to play marbles. They say I am doing alright." The last words were spoken with considerable pride.

Thalion fixed a stern eye on his son and was about to reprimand him when he noticed the happiness and cheerful anticipation shining in Neviel's face and eyes. It was something he had seen far too infrequently. "Please, father," the young Elf implored. " I didn't mean to run off. But I like it here. Can't we stay a while and I can go to school? You always said it would be good for me to learn to read and write Westron. I only know the runes now. Maybe you could talk with Miz Bella and see if I could stay." The boy looked up expectently at his father. Just then there was a slight rustling sound, the kind of sound made by the swirl of hobbit skirts. The noise was coming from across the room. Miz Bella had slipped in unnoticed while they were talking and was now standing just inside the doorway deep in thought.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Miz Bella stood beside the open door, carefully listening to the conversation that was going on between Neviel and his father. At first, she could scarcely believe her ears. A young Elf wanted to come and join her little school! In all her years travelling about Middle-earth, she had never heard of an Elf attending a classroom with hobbit or mannish children. In fact, she had never even encountered an Elvish child before in all the places she had journeyed. Fewer Elves were having families, and, of that small group, most had already trekked to the Havens and sailed away across the seas. Miz Bella wondered how many young Elves still remained in Middle-earth, and whether this lad might possibly be a little lonely, since he would have had few playmates of his own. She was proud, however, of the way the other hobbit lads had gently taken him under their wing and taught him to play their game.

For one moment, Miz Bella considered the problems of having an Elvish lad in the classroom. She simply did not feel qualified to teach such a youngster. For all she knew, the lad had probably heard a thousand ballads and poems about the early history of Arda and would be bored by the few little stories she could bring to the class. And how could she teach the alphabet to someone who already knew how to read and write runes, a skill that she did not even possess? And what about his father? The older Elf had a distant and slightly disdainful look on his face that suggested he was less than pleased with the idea of having his offspring in a classroom full of young rough and tumble hobbit lads.

For a moment Miz Bella hesitated and then, just as quickly, she decided. No matter who this was or what he already knew, she could not turn away a child who was eager to learn. The only problem would be persuading his father of that important fact!

Turning to face Neviel's father, she bobbed a curtsey in front of the Elf and addressed him politely, "We should be honored to have Neviel join us. I am sure we will be able to learn as much from him as he will from us."

Thalion shook his head and seemed to be going to say 'no' when Miz Bella sidled up to him and spoke in a whispered voice, "Please, give us a chance. Leave him here for the first day and see how things go. Then you can come back this afternoon to fetch him, and we can talk. I promise to take good care of him." With that final assurance, Thalion nodded, glancing back at Neviel who was beaming with excitement, and then headed reluctantly for the door.

Miz Bella turned to the other newcomer, an adult who was seated near the girls on the far side of the room. He evidently had something to say to her. "You wanted to speak with me?" she politely asked him. Miz Bella walked over to where the gentleman was seated, and was about to start a conversation, when she caught a glimpse of the way the school books were arranged on the shelf. Despite all her efforts to suppress a chuckle, she found herself giggling. With an effort she put on a straight face, cleared her throat , and looked kindly at Camille and Marigold, "Well, girls, this is most unusual. Either before or after our visitor speaks with me, you must tell me how you have arranged these books. It looks quite ingenious. The rest of you...., " Miz Bella added, "Please go ahead, take one of the slates, and sit down. We'll be starting our lessons shortly." Miz Bella looked at the stranger and the young hobbit lasses, waiting for one of them to reply.

[littlemanpoet]

The stables were dark after the sunlight Uien had run from. They were warm, too, with the heat and pleasant fleshy odor of horses, including their own Kírsul; he sensed her coming and nickered, scuffing his hooves against the haystrewn dirt of his stall.

"Good morn to you too, my sweet," she murmured, and stroked his sides.

The horse's warm hide beneath her long fingers soothed her a little. He peered back at her, blowing his haybreath against her, his nose rummaging against her skirt, looking for treats that were not there. Finally he gazed her as if he had much on his mind.

"I know we promised that we would be gone yesterday, my sweet, and I am sorry. But a lad with weak legs..." her words died. ...needs no help from me. She let out a shaky sigh.

"Something lies deeper than that. Does it not?"

"I -I do not know!" She left off stroking Kírsul's sides and cast her glance about the floor and walls until she spied a rough piece of wood that had been cast off as useless by someone unknown. Derufin has been distracted with his new wife, she thought, or he would have made sure this had an orderly place. Her mouth formed a small smile. She took out her knife and began to shave bits of wood away, seeking the form that lay beneath the husk of the wood. Her feet guided themselves, taking her out of the stables, around behind the Inn. She sat upon the grass, not far from Cook's garden, and tied back the long blonde tresses descending to her waist. Her mind stilled, busy with the wood.

Many minutes later, an unknown shape beginning to reveal itself from within the block of wood, Uien looked up and noticed a little green door, closed, that she had not remembered from before. Had it been painted while they had been gone? She could not remember. She heard childish laughter come from it once, and smiled, thinking of little Marigold and Rory. The thought of the boy no longer brought sorrow, for Falowik, her beloved Lauréatan, had been right. Something lay beneath that momentary sadness. Maybe the shape her knife carved from beneath this piece of wood, could help her understand.

[WarBringer]

A young man trudged down the road, rain-stained cloak draped over his body. At his side, he gripped his long Ranger sword, Raukorist. It had been a long time since Valthalion had ventured into the Green Dragon, almost a year. It was simply not in his nature to linger in one place for too long, but when he saw the Inn afire on that night long ago, he had been compelled to help. Now, after almost a year of hunting and fighting in the North alongside King Elessar's elite rangers, the youth desired a rest at one of his favorite places.

As he strode into the Inn, Valthalion bumped into a man. He wore rich, dark clothes and was well groomed and clean shaven. Valthalion was about to apologize, when he recognized the man. He could not believe his eyes! It was Snaveling, the very man whom he had ran into at the Inn fire, and with whom he had feuded with for weeks. But something was different...He looked noble, strong even. When the two had last met, Snaveling had been a sneaking crook who was simply looking for loot while others battled the blaze. Now he was dressed as Valthalion had dressed for ceremony in Elessar's realm.

"Hail, Snaveling! It's been a long time", said Valthalion. Despite his best efforts, his teeth clenched.

"Indeed Valthalion, I had wondered where you had gotten to", he replied.

"Forgive me, Snaveling, but how is it that you came by such rich raiment. When we last met, you looked different. What has happened?"

Snaveling stared at him, and began to tell what had happened to him...

[piosenniel]

~*~ GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS ~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

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

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

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

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.

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

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.

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

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]

It is mid-morning now in the Shire. The sky is a glorious shade of blue; the sun is shining bright and warm on the Inn. The folk in the Shire are up and about their business, and there are many visitors to the Inn.

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

Just a reminder:

The storyline at the Inn must stay within the Inn or on the Inn grounds. Characters can tell others in the Inn about their adventures, but they cannot go outside the boundaries of the Inn and participate in adventures.

--- The Red Book of Westmarch/Rules for posting in the Shire

[piosenniel]

Cook stood on the little porch that led into the kitchen, one hand shading her eyes against the sun. Derufin and Anyopâ were just bringing the big wagon round, backing it up as near as they could to the Inn’s woodshed. She waved her hand at the two men as they climbed down from the seat and bustled over to speak with them.

‘Mind you put the greener wood in back and the dry to the front,’ she said, casting a critical eye at the load. Derufin smiled and nodded his head at her instruction. ‘And I hope you’re not working our guests to death,’ she went on craning her head round to where Anyopâ had begun unloading the split wood. Her admonition was met with an ‘Of course not’ from Derufin and a firm denial from his companion.

‘Well, then, just get on with it and then come on in. I’ve made some sugar cookies.’ She grinned at Derufin. ‘I’ve put a plateful away just for you.’

Cook turned round to go back into the kitchen. ‘Oh, and once you’re done there, do you think you could fix the door knob here?’ Derufin frowned as she showed him how loose it had gotten. ‘Hasty Elf,’ was all she said in explanation as she tromped back into the kitchen.

[Huan]

Anyopâ watched the Hobbit make her way back into the kitchen. He gathered up an armful of wood and made for the woodshed.

‘She belies the name Halfling, don’t you think?’ he asked Derufin. ‘In stature she’s quite diminutive, but in spirit she stands quite tall.’ He smiled, recalling her ticking off of orders for the day to Derufin. ‘I can’t imagine anyone crossing her with success.’

A whiff of cooling cookies wended its way out through the kitchen’s window, making the man’s mouth water. ‘You are going to share your plate of sugar cookies with your fellow worker, aren’t you?’ he asked Derufin as he stacked the wood.

[Fairleaf]

Reggie stood up and reluctantly put his marbles back into his pouch and from there into his pocket. Neviel held out his hand with the marbles Reggie had loaned him for the game. ‘Not all of them, Neviel,’ Reggie said, picking out only the ones he’d first loaned his new friend. ‘You get to keep the marbles you won fair and square.’ He pushed Neviel’s hand shut round the small number of marbles left there. ‘Maybe your Da can make a little pouch for you to keep them in.’

Daisy waved at Reggie, trying to get his attention. ‘You want to sit with me? And the other fellows?’ he asked Neviel, making his way to where his sister held out a slate for him. He patted a seat on the bench near him, and laid his slate carefully on the table. ‘I hope she tells us a story first,’ he whispered, pointing toward where Miz Bella stood. ‘She knows ones about dragons.’

A ‘Sssst!’ from his sister made him forego any other comments on what Miz Bella might or might not do. He turned his head toward the teacher, watching her as she spoke with the man and the older girl near the bookshelves.

[Witch_Queen]

She rode up to the inn on a cold black horse. She didn't know why she had chosen to come this way but Zingilpâhloth, her horse, choose the way they went. She lent down to the horses large ear and began to whisper to the creature. "Zingilpâhloth why did you choose this way. We could've gone anywhere." The horse whinned telling Cariâthwen that coming to the Green Dragon was good for her. "Ok.. ok.. Just let me find some where to put you." At about that time the horse took Cariâthwen what appeared to be the stables. "Well I guess this will do for now." Cariâthwen dismounted from her horse being careful not to tear her green cloak. Leading the beast into an empty stable Cariâthwen was surprised that Zingilpâhloth didn't try to fight her.
Typical...... Cariâthwen looked at the horse. "You'll be ok. Give me a minute to see what I can find out and I'll be right back." The look in the horse's eye told Cariâthwen that it was ok if she decided to talk to someone and actually make some friends.

Pulling the hood on her cloak over her head Cariâthwen began walking towards the inn door. I don't know what I'll see that will make me stay. But if the stories I've heard is right then perhaps I'll find this place as charming as the travelers have told me. Her grey eyes let everyone around her know that she was an elf. For once it didn't take her pointy ears or her voice to announce her race. She opened the door of the inn and looked around the place to see if she saw anyone familar. Just glancing at the people she couldn't tell if there was a single elf that came from her home of Lorien.

Alone again. It had been so long since Cariâthwen was around her own kind. Always she found herself surrounded by hobbits, men and sometimes dwarves. Cariâthwen longed for company of an elf that had actually lived in Lorien before it was abandoned. Cariâthwen found an empty table and sat down in the very empty chair. She looked around for some unknown reason. She didn't know why she was even inside the inn. Cariâthwen heard a door open and looked towards the noise. She noticed an elf entering the common room.

The face looked familar to her but she didn't know from where. Thalion! Cariâthwen had only heard about his works of healing but she hadn't seen him in a long time. Cariâthwen stood up and decided to talk to the elf. "Thalion?????"

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Dwaline had been weeping for some time now. He finally looked up and saw that Avalon was gone. He drank the last of his ale and got up. He made his way over to an unoccupied table. He saw John across the room and beckoned him to approach. He did so. Dwaline was obviously troubled, and before John could inquire, Dwaline handed him a piece of parchment. It was tattered, bunt and crumpled, but still readable. The wax seal of Rivendel was on it.

This is what he read on it;

Dwaline, faithful friend,

It is I, Fáinu. I fear my news is fell. My company came to Rivendel in high spirits some days ago. Our horses had been galloping double pace through the nights. Cree has a rather swift horse, and is the envy of many Elves in the valley. At Rivendel, Ellodan and Elrohir met with me to discuss our means.

It had been decided that we would ride out the next night and make for the high pass to come to Wilderland. After that, we would use the Wood elves favour to guide us to the grey mountains. We were joined by you're son, Dwarrow. He was a valiant fellow, the image of his father, in body and mind. He had mastered the horses of Rivendel and could ride as fast as we.

At Dawn after setting out, we were already high in the Mountains. We had avoided the Stone giants narrowly and came upon a small band of Goblins. We disposed of them swiftly. However, an ill fate was on us that day, for a fell creature flew from the skies and attacked us. Like onto an Eagle, but evil and black. Almost Dragon like.

I used my whole Quiver on that beast and still it did not fall. It swooped one last time upon out company, taking with him three. Including, you're son. Foolishly, Theldar, an Elf of Rivendel, threw a spear at the fell beast and it was pierced in the heart. I cried him to stay his hand, but it was too late. The Beast plummeted down though the clouds and took our companions with him.

Upon investigation, we found the beast gone, but the bodies of our companions still there, but badly burned. Dwarrow was the least burned and we were able to carry his body to Rivendel. His grave is deep under stone and you would be proud to see him hack at the beast's foot in his dieing moments.

We have delayed the continuing of our journey for now. And hope to see you soon. Cree sends her regrets to you and asks that you do not fall into disperse.

Yours in sorrow,

ifáinufalokin.

John sat and looked at the dishevelled Dwarf who stared out of the window solemnly. He seemed to sing a little song to himself, but John could not hear it.

[Saelind]

Thalion had wandered down to the Common Room to finish his breakfast, his mind still riveted on his son and how Miz Bella had assured him the boy would be welcome at the school. One day, surely one day won't hurt. Perhaps Neviel will find that the class doesn't suit him, and we can be on our way. Yet Thalion still had no idea where he should go next. Memories of his dream from the night before hung heavily over his head. He could not simply run off to the Havens and pretend the dream had never happened. Yet he had no idea where to go or what to do if he decided to stay in Middle-earth.

His reflections were suddenly interrupted by the sound of a half-familiar voice calling him from across the room. Thalion looked up in surprise as he heard his name spoken by an Elven woman with serious gray eyes who had just come in from off the road. Leaping to his feet, Thalion rushed forward to the table where the Elf was sitting, "Cariâthwen, is that you?" Thalion did not know the woman well, but he did recognize her as someone he knew from Lorien. It had been long years since their paths had crossed. "Someone from home.....I can scarcely believe it. I thought all the rest had sailed West. Would you mind if I joined you?"

Cariâthwen eagerly nodded her head, and Thalion pulled up a chair next to hers and began to talk. He was hungry for conversation with someone he knew from his past, even so slightly. Thalion explained that he was in the Shire with his son. The two of them had been living in Rivendell. He had worked as a healer, but there were too many books and buildings, and the place was crowded with many visitors. "Not that I don't appreciate such things," Thalion hastily assured her, "but I prefer to live someplace where I can spend my days outside in the sunshine and fresh air, and feel the earth underneath my feet. I guess I've never really settled down since my wife's death," he added with a sigh. "We were cutting through the Shire on our road to the Havens intending to sail West, but now I do not know. Last night, I had a strange dream---more like a vision than a dream. My mother reminded me that, before my wife died, she had requested Neviel should remain some time in Middle-earth and learn the ways of Men and Dwarves before he sailed to Aman. And now my son has some fool notion to stay in Hobbiton and go to school with some young hobbit lads who have befriended him."

"I do not know what to think. Elves and hobbits in one classroom! It seems very odd. And yet.....I can not shake off that dream and wonder if it is a true message from Aman. Would that there were powerful seeing stones left I could speak with my family. But, alas, those have sailed away."

"What think you of this, Cariâthwen? Should I stay or leave, and should my son sit and learn with hobbits? And, while you are at it, tell me what you have been up to all these years."

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling fought down the sudden rush of glee that threatened to mar his features with a look of triumphant malice. Valthalion! The young Ranger who, alone among those whom he had met on his first stay at the Inn, had remained steadfastly against him. While the others had shown him grace and mercy, Val had withheld from Snaveling all but the harshest tones. And now he was back from the wilderness, clearly unaware of Snaveling’s new status, and the Black Numenorean took pleasure in how news of this would discomfit the young man. He wore a mask of indulgent friendliness as he took the younger man by the hand, noting its dirtiness and the weariness that hung about the Ranger like the rags that had been his clothes. “To tell all that has happened to me these months would be a long story, my young friend, long indeed, and I shall not bore you with an overlong recitation. Let us sit and obtain you some refreshment and I shall fill you in on what I can before the day is too far advanced!”

They found a small table and Snaveling beckoned to Ruby, who brought Valthalion a small tankard of ale and some simple food leftover from breakfast. Thanks to the generosity of Hearpwine, Snaveling had finally acquired credit at the Inn and was able to exclaim quite grandly that he would pay for the Ranger’s meal. As Val tucked into his food, Snaveling explained to him how Galadel Vinorel and Roa had uncovered Snaveling’s true heritage. He told how they had recognised his amulet as the work of vanished Numenor and the device that it bore as the sign of the King. As he proceeded in his tale Val’s eyes grew wider and wider with surprise until the young man interrupted him with a cry. “You? The heir of the last King? Impossible? The Lord Elessar is the true King!” His eyes flashed with a familiar passion. Snaveling put out his hand to quell the boy’s ire.

“I did not say that I am heir to the throne of Gondor. That belongs to the line of Elendil from which high descent I do not come. My ancestor was the nephew of the last King of Numenor, and it is from him that I claim royalty. My land is now a vanished realm, buried beneath the sea, and my throne has become the plaything of fishes of the deep. I am, however, kinsman to the Lord Elessar, and he has done me the honour of embracing me and calling me cousin. He has acknowledged my ancestry and in token of that granted me lordship of a rich vale upon the southern flanks of the White Mountains.”

“But then,” Valthalion gasped, as though he had not been listening to what Snaveling had just said, “You are a Black Numenorean! You are the King of the Black Numenoreans! You are the mortal enemy of my Lord…and you say that he has met with you and called you his kinsman? How is this possible?”

“Roa stood by me when I met with Elessar the first time, and she avouched for my claim. None of the good that has been done for me would have been possible were it not for her.” Snaveling could see the young man’s face as he spoke of Roa, and he knew that the young man remembered her well.

“Roa,” Val replied slowly, “what has happened to her? I would like to see her again, if for no other reason than to hear her account of this…transformation of a man I took for a rogue into a vanished King!”

Snaveling let Val’s less-than-flattering description of him pass without comment, saying only, “I do not know where Roa is. I had hoped that perhaps you might have news of her, for I have come North once more with the particular desire to see her again. But come, if you cannot tell me of her, perhaps you can tell me of yourself. I well remember that you and I were never on the best of terms, but perhaps we can change that now that we are both the sworn friend of the King.” Snaveling could not resist one last boast to the lad about his kinship with the King: “He and I spoke of you once or twice when I was in Minas Tirith, and he asked that if I heard word of you or your companions that I would tell you from him that your efforts are noted by him with appreciation and love.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hearpwine bowed as low as he could to the Halfling who presented herself to him as the teacher. She nodded her head in return. “Greetings my lady Hobbit,” he began in his politest terms. Uncertain yet of how to behave in the Shire he had decided to adopt the manners he had developed for the court of Edoras, confident that such courtesy would not be unwelcome, if a bit out of place. The advice of his master, Eorcyn, flashed through his mind ’Tis always better, lad, to be more courteous than less when speaking with new folk in a new place. It’s always easier to become more comfortable and easy with them as acquaintance grows than to try and make up lost ground once you’ve affronted them.

“I am Hearpwine, son of Aethelstan and bard to King Eomer of the Golden Hall and I would like to offer you my services in the education of these children. I know ballads and tales from all the lands between the mountains and the Sea and I would gladly teach them to the little ones in return for hearing from them, or yourself, or their parents, whatever songs might be known in this land but nowhere else! But before we discuss the details of my proposal, might I ask your name Lady Teacher, for I am but newly arrived at the Inn and woefully ignorant of its denizens!”

[littlemanpoet]

Uien had been busy at her cutting, sitting near the garden, when the green door opened. She looked up absently, but her glance stayed. Out walked an Elf. He looked familiar. Was he also from Lorien? He seemed occupied with his thoughts, and they were closed; Uien forced herself not to probe his mind, not until and unless they made acquaintance. He walked around the Inn and out of sight.

Uien looked to her carving; nothing as yet could be seen clearly from the shape slowly forming beneath her knife. It was small and without sharp edges, whatever it was.

She heard footsteps come from the fields behind the Inn, and stop to her side, casting a short shadow toward the undying lands, where she had chosen never to go. She looked up. It was Falowik, of course.

"How was your walk?" she asked in a calmed voice.

Falowik smiled, showing his relief at the peace he saw in her face. "Good. I needed it. How is Kírsul?"

"He is well, and would be off and away. He needs to run in the open. Not just in this fenced pasture of the Inn."

"I know," Falowik said, and crouched on the balls of his feet by her. "What are you carving?"

Uien looked down at her work. "I do not know .... yet. She pointed at the green door with her knife. "I saw an Elven man come out of that green door. He may be from Lorien. He looked familiar."

Falowik's face was unreadable. Uien chose not to probe his thought. He said, "So many Elves in the Shire. I wonder what the Hobbits think."

Uien smiled. "I do not know. Most likely they think it too out of the ordinary, and wish us gone."

Falowik smirked, then looked carefully into her grey eyes. "Do you know what was ailing you?"

"No, but I think that maybe this carving may reveal that which lies within my heart."

"I am eager to see what it is."

"While I carve, maybe you could ride Kírsul in the pasture."

"I shall do that." He smiled for her once more, rose, and walked toward the stables.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Chuckling softly, Miz Bella turned to face the Bard, extending her hand in welcome and trying to speak in the same formal manner as he had done, "Master Hearpwine, your words are fair and your offer fairer still. Perhaps you will be interested to learn that I am as much a stranger in these parts as you are. I too am new to the Shire, for I have lived most of my life in a distant place over the sea, far west of here, that some have called the New Lands."

"As to my own name," she continued, "I am Miz Bella Tûk, daughter of Hildifons, whose name appears in the genealogies of the Red Book. And I warmly welcome you to our class. I would be most grateful to have you give some instruction to the children. Only I fear I could pay you little in return. We are only now getting started and I must use the rest of the morning to teach the children a few letters and numbers. Later this afternoon, or tomorrow if you would like, we hope you will agree to return and share some of your fine songs with us, and perhaps a tale or two about life in Rohan."

"Does that sound to your liking? Perhaps you might teach the children to sing a song or two? We might even work on preparing a public performance at the Inn, unless you think that would be too difficult for such little ones."

[Arry]

‘Hey, Woody,’ asked Hanson in a low voice. ‘Just what are we supposed to do with these things?’ Hanson tapped his brother on the arm with his slate, turning it back and forth with a puzzled look on his face.

‘You use your chalk on it,’ Woody whispered back, watching one of the girls making marks on her slate. ‘Or . . . .,’ he went on, grinning at his little brother. ‘You can use it as a head-smacker!’ He cuffed Hanson lightly on the back of his head and stuck out his tongue.

‘Cut it out, Woody!’ growled Hanson loudly, taking a swipe at his brother. ‘I’m gonna tell Uncle Gil if you don’t quit.’ Hanson glared at Woody and scooted to the far edge of the bench. He picked up his piece of chalk and marked a line on the wood between himself and his brother. ‘There! You stay on your own side!’

[Envinyatar]

Derufin chuckled as Cook made her way back to the kitchen. ‘You’ve the right of that, Anyopâ,’ he said, his eyes glinting with agreement as he turned back to the other man. ‘I can’t envision anyone getting the best of her!’ He cast a stealthy glance toward the now closed door. ‘Soft heart, though . . . when it comes down to it.’ He looked quickly back again to the door, half expecting a denial from within.

He piled a load of wood in his arms and made his way to the woodshed. As he passed Anyopâ he nodded his head back at the wagon. ‘What say we get half unloaded; then, see about those cookies Cook’s put away for me.’ He let the wood fall on the dirt floor of the shed and went back for another load. ‘And a big mug of strong, hot tea to go with them . . .’

Another load found its way into his arms and was soon among its fellows in the woodshed.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine’s eyes grew wide with wonder at the Halfling’s words. Could it be true that this small person had travelled so far and seen so much? Forgetting his courtly manners in his surprise Hearpwine said, “I have never even heard of these ‘New Lands’! The only realms west of the Sea recorded in the songs I know are vanished Numenor and the Blessed Realm, both of which are unreachable to those of mortal kind. If you were to but teach me how to sing of these new worlds I would accept that in payment for all that I can do here and still feel myself your debtor! How did you reach these lands, and what was the manner of your return?”

Miz Bella merely smiled quietly and put the man’s questions gently to one side, hinting that the answers to his questions would be too long in the telling. “But what,” she continued, “do you make of my proposal Master Hearpwine? Do you think it possible to teach the children a song that they can perform this evening at the Inn?”

Hearpwine forced himself to quell his insatiable curiosity (not without promising to pursue Miz Bella for the answers to his questions later) and looked about the room at the children, not a single one of who reached above his knees. “Well,” he said through a broad smile, “they will certainly be the smallest choir I have ever led! But I have been in the Shire long enough to note with joy that your kind are all possessed of exceptionally clear voices. I suspect that with the right song these children could bring tears to the eyes of the most crabbed gammer and gaffer, or lift the hearts of the most dour and sullen youths! I will gladly accept your offer!”

[Witch_Queen]

Cariâthwen

Cariâthwen looked up at Thalion. Her thoughts on the matter coming to an end. "You know there is more in this world than what we have seen. It would not be wise to take your son away from this place yet. We elves still play a role in the making of the new Middle Earth. Even though we may loose those close to us. It is not yet time for us to depart from this world. So as far as listening to your dream... To me this was more than a dream but instead a message from your beloved wife. Hobbits are joyful creatures and perhaps they can help your son grow to be a joyous elf instead of a cold hearted elf." Cariâthwen remembered on her journey how she had met some elves except they showed no joy. She didn't doubt that they had suffered since the war of the ring.

Don't be too eager to throw away the world. Her mother had always told her this while she was still in Lorien. Now she was finally realizing what her mother had meant by this statement. "All these years I've been in between Rivendell and Lorien. Mother and Father sailed away many years ago only after the death of my brother. Sometimes I think of what might have happened if he would've stayed in Lorien instead of going to Helm's Deep. Deep down inside I know I'm just running from the mere truth.... There is very little beauty left in the world of men." A smile came across Cariâthwen's face.

"But for the past three or four years I've been in Eryn Lasgalen. I don't know why I still choose to stay in these lands. Perhaps for the chance of finding someone to spend the rest of my days with or not. But no one should go through life alone and only a horse to remind them of the life they use to live." Cariâthwen's thougts went back to her life in Lorien and how she loved walking in the woods. But now the times had changed and she feared going even outside her own home.

Home???? Where is home? Cariâthwen's long golden hair fell out from beneath her hood. "Always gets in the way..." She couldn't help but smile at the fact that she had finally found someone that was from her place of birth. "Thalion how is your son? I had never seen him. I actually think I was away in Rivendell when you was gifted with...Neviel? Thalion any child is a gift no matter how many curves life has thrown your way. Take this time you have with Neviel and cherish it."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~

Jon

Jon didn't know what to say. He knew that deep down inside Dwaline was suffering. No one should ever have to bury their own children. He wasn't even there to be with his son in the time that he was needed the most. "Dwaline I know not how much you are suffering cause I have never had children so I've never lost that part of my life yet. I want to tell you that everything will be okay. But I can't. This part of your pain I can not even begin to try to sympathize. But I can only give you this piece of advice. Go to where your friends are. This will give both you and Avalon, if she decides to accompany you, a chance to see those that are so dear to you."

Jon took a look out the window to where he saw Avalon. "Dwaline you know you should go, even if you weren't there with your son in his death you can atleast show some respect to him and visit the place where he will lay for all eternity." Jon didn't mean to sound mean, he just knew that Dwaline needed time to heal. After all this wound was one deeper than loosing the life one use to have. "I can't tell you want you wish to hear. So I am of no use right now." Jon stood up and was about to leave the table when he felt something grab his arm.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Dwaline grabbed Johns arm and looked him deep in the eyes. John saw something odd in his face, no longer the solemn distressed but full of fear.

"John there is something you do not realise," he said, "I do not have a son."

At this John sat, rather too quickly. He tilted his head as Dwaline told him this. He asked him what to make of this note. Dwaline took the parchment and read over it again.

"I can only assume," he said, "That this is an impostor. And I think I know who it was. Although, I cannot know for certain until I enquire with Fáinu. I believe it was the Dwarf who murdered my wife."

John was getting interested and now realised why Dwaline had been emotional, it had brought back all the memories of his wife. Dwaline took out his pipe and lit it. He coughed, more to clear his thought than anything else. Still with a stern look on his face, Dwaline decided he'd better explain the whole story.

"You were right, John. My nosing in other business cost me more than my life was worth." he began, "Many years ago, I discovered that a young Dwarf named Killil was plotting against Dwalin, who reclaimed the lonely mountain on the journey with Bilbo, and was a high power at the lonely mountain. When I reported this, I received much praise, but Killil was executed. I objected to this, but the Dwarf lords are stubborn. Killil's son, Fillil, swore revenge on those who had put his father to death. First, the hangman himself was found in the river, a rope about his neck.

"A few days later, the judge at the trial was found hung in his own room. All of his Gold and treasure had been stolen. After this pattern continued, I took action, seeking Fillil, for I suspected him. I came up with nothing, but upon returning to my home, found Fillil stooping over the body of my wife. He was laughing, and held in his hand my own Axe.

"'Ye fool!' he said to me, 'I now have the chance to avenge my father. You, Dwaline are the last name on my list. If you're wife had not found me here, she might be alive, but, plans must change.' enraged I wrestled with the young dwarf until I threw him down and pointed my sword hilt at him;

"'See here,' I said onto him, 'I will spare you're life, though you deserve it not. I prey that you rot in the deepest caverns.' I then took him to the jails and locked him away, after I had taken his right hand, with which he made the blow to my wife."

John was slightly confused by this. How could he have been in Rivendel if locked away in the jails of the lonely mountain? Dwaline got up and took his mug.

"I shall get us both a refill of ale," he said, "Then I will tell you the rest of this tale. And perhaps, you can tell me yours." With that, he went to the bar.

[Primrose Bolger]

Cook had gone into the Common Room to see to something, leaving Buttercup and Ginger to finish the mushroom soup. One of the local lads had brought in a large basket of fine, fat mushrooms from the wooded area near his home early this morning and bucket of wriggling eels in river water he’d caught, too. Cook had been delighted at his arrival, and breakfast and a few pennies had been given over for his effort.

The mushrooms had been cleaned and cut into pig pieces and now floated in a savory broth. A touch of thyme, a little salt and pepper, some onion, and a cup of barley to thicken it up put on the finishing touches. Buttercup diced a bunch of carrots and threw them into the pot, too. ‘I always like a little color,’ she explained as Ginger looked on.

The eels were left for later. Ginger had gotten out ten pie pans and lined them up on the counter. She would make the pastry for the eel pie as Buttercup had agreed to prepare the eels themselves. They both began to slice up the fresh, crusty bread for the bread baskets, leaving them lined up on another counter, clean napkins covering them.

‘So . . .,’ began Buttercup, smiling at Ginger. ‘You and Freddy going walking this evening? After supper, of course . . .’ She nudged the other girl. ‘I’ll even do the dishes for you.’

Ginger flushed, neck to cheek, then laughed aloud. ‘Well, I might just take you up on that. Don’t know that he’ll be here this evening though,’ she said, her face a bit wistful.

‘Oh, no doubt he’ll be here,’ assured Buttercup. ‘Gil and the others are coming in to play for a bit. At least, that’s what Tomlin said last night.’

‘Tomlin, is it?’ teased Ginger, arching her brow at her friend. Now it was Buttercup’s turn to color a little. She took up one of the kitchen towels and snapped it at the other’s bare legs. Ginger took up her own defense with another towel.

[Saelind]

Neviel's eyes grew large as saucers as he heard his teacher and the visitor referring to the lands that lay to the west, the place where Miz Bella had once lived. Neviel's jaw fell open in astonishment. His father had always taught him that only Elves were permitted to sail to the Blessed Lands. With one or two rare exceptions, men and hobbits and even dwarves were not allowed to set foot in Aman and then sail back across the waters. Yet here was Miz Bella claiming that she had done precisely that and saying she had lived a long time in a land across the sea.

"Hey, Woody," Neviel leaned closer to his friend, gripping him forcibly by the shoulder. "Did you hear that? Miz Bella is an Elf."

Woody turned and looked at him. He said nothing but there was a look of surprise on his face.

"You don't believe me, do you? I know she doesn't look like an Elf. But that's the only possible explanation. No one can sail to the West and live on an island over the Seas unless they are an Elf. Just ask my dad. He knows everything." Neviel stared intently at Miz Bella. She was the shortest Elf that he had ever seen.

[Firefoot]

Willy stared at his slate and chalk sullenly. The children's various parents and guardians had not kept the teacher busy nearly long enough. Loath he had been to put away his marbles and pick up a slate instead. And it seemed they would be starting soon; the teacher seemed about finished talking with the tall man. Letters and numbers for this morning, he had heard the teacher say. Boring. Well, perhaps he might make it interesting. Perhaps. He eyed the teacher carefully. She didn't look very tough... how much might he get away with? He would have to see.

For the moment he sat down near the other boys with whom he had been playing marbles. They were friendly enough, he supposed, but they all seemed to know each other. Willy felt very much the outsider. He listened to what the other boys were saying, hoping he might join the conversation. "...Miz Bella is an Elf. You don't believe me, do you? I know she doesn't look like an Elf. But that's the only possible explanation. No one can sail to the West and live on an island over the Seas unless they are an Elf. Just ask my dad. He knows everything."

Willy tried to keep an incredulous look off his face. This elf, Neviel, sure didn't seem very smart. He hadn't even played marbles before! You're right cracked, Neviel, he thought. She's no more an elf than you are a hobbit. He could not of course say that, so he gave up on this conversation.

With a sigh, he turned back to his slate. Hm... maybe it had more use than one. Sometimes, if he got bored, he drew pictures in the dirt. Maybe the chalk could be used the same way? He tested out the chalk in his hand. It was uncomfortable to hold, but it drew easily on the slate. Gripping it tightly (his lower arm muscles hurt a little), he began to doodle aimlessly. There was a hobbit... it looked kind of like his brother Nick, if he squinted. And there was a dragon... a great big one, with fire coming out its nostrils. And there was the tall man across the room... Willy didn't know anything about him, so he gave him a sword and a horse. Then he didn't have any more space. Was there supposed to be some kind of eraser? He had tried smudging it with his hand, but it turned his fingers white. Dirt was much easier... and more fun. He looked out the window mournfully. It was a beautiful day, but here he was, stuck inside of a school. Boring.

[Arry]

Elves and dragons are . . . discussed

‘Don’t be daft, Neviel,’ whispered Woody. He bent down to look under the table and bade his friend do so, too. ‘See those feet, there?’ he asked motioning toward Miz Bella’s. ‘Those are Hobbit feet to be sure.’

Hanson, seeing the other two boys peering at something, bent his head down too for a look. ‘She could be an Elf,’ he joined in as they straightened back up on the bench. 'Hobbit feet, or no.' Face quite serious, he nodded his head at Neviel.

‘Now you’ve gone all queer in the head!’ snorted Woody, rolling his eyes at his little brother. ‘She’s just an old gammer that doesn’t have a family to belong to. Making up stories and such.’

‘Nuh-uh! Remember the tales Gammer Boffin tells about the Fallohides and how a lot of people were sure there was an Elf somewhere way back in their family?’ He nodded toward Miz Bella. ‘She could be one of them . . . whatta you think.’ He chewed his lip in consideration. ‘I’ll bet she is . . . how could she know about dragons and the West and all that? She’s been there all right. And I bet she even sneaked up on a dragon and stole some of its treasure . . . or even better . . . what if she killed one somehow . . .’

The three boys fixed their attention on Miz Bella, looks of wonder in their eyes.

[piosenniel]

Cook joins the battle

‘Ladies!’ Cook’s voice cut through the shrieks and laughter. Ginger and Buttercup hastily turned to face her, their towels quickly hidden behind their backs.

‘Yes, m’am?’ asked Buttercup, one hand coming up to push some errant curls behind her ear. ‘The barley-mushroom soup is simmering and we were just getting the bread cut up for the baskets. Is there anything else you’d like us to be doing?’ Ginger coughed, ducking her chin down to hide the giggles she was trying hard to stifle.

Cook set down the two bottles of brandied wine on the table (there was to be a peach cobbler from last summer’s canned peaches topped with a brandied custard sauce). She picked up a dishtowel from the pile near the sink and began talking about how in her day young ladies knew the proper conduct of things. The two young women watched her as she wet the towel and began to wring it out. There was a fair amount of crumbs from the bread they had sliced and they were thinking she meant to wipe them all up. The two were a bit chagrined also at being caught in their horseplay.

‘Now, this is how we did it in my day,’ she instructed them wringing out the thoroughly wet towel. In a trice she had wound the damp towel in a twirling motion and snapped it expertly at the back of a chair. With a wicked smile she advanced toward Ginger and Buttercup, who for a moment only stood staring at her with open mouths . . .

[Fairleaf]

Miz Bella, the dragon-slayer . . .

Reggie nudged his sister with his elbow trying desperately to get her attention. He leaned toward her and hurriedly mumbled something in a low voice.

‘What are you going on about?’ hissed Daisy as quietly as she could. ‘You know ma said we were to be good and do what Miz Bella told us.’ She gave a little snort of disgust and tried to move out of range of her brother’s insistent elbow. ‘Sit still and be quiet,’ she instructed him. She folded her hands on the table in front of her, trying to set a proper example for him.

‘But Daisy,’ he whispered again, scooting right up next to her. ‘I just heard the fellas talking. It’s about Miz Bella.’ He gave her a pleading look, squirming on the bench in anticipation of sharing the news he’d just learned.

‘Hush!’ she said to him, speaking a little louder than before.

‘But Daisy,’ he returned again, speaking now in a loud voice to her, his hand on her forearm. ‘Did you know she fought a dragon once? Killed it, too . . .’

Daisy’s mouth dropped open at her brother’s words and she turned beet red as the heads of others in the room swiveled round to look at them.

[Primrose Bolger]

The fray continues . . .

The battle of the kitchen was engaged! Both she and Buttercup had managed to wet their towels. It was two to one, but Cook, for all the years she had on them, seemed quite adept at keeping out of reach of their snapping towels. Ginger’s legs were stinging where Miz Bunce’s towel had connected, and she was sure there would be welts should she have the chance to look.

All three of them were laughing and shrieking as the skirmish progressed. Butterup had just fallen into a chair she hadn’t seen as she backed up, while Ginger tried to drive off the advancing Miz Bunce.

Then, the back door opened, casting a tunnel of light into the kitchen. And into the light stepped a backlit figure throwing a long shadow across the kitchen’s floor . . .

[Child of the 7th Age]

"That will be enough! There's too much chatterwalling going on here. We have a lot to do today." Miz Bella spoke calmly but sternly as her eyes swept over the faces in the classroom.

"Put the chalk down, Willie," she commanded. "You're not to start your work until I say so. And, as to the other," she added. "You have incorrect information. 'Twas not a dragon. I have never seen a dragon in my life, other than those in the pages of a book. But 'twas a very large and ferocious black bear back in the New Lands."

"A bear? Miz Bella, you saw a bear?" one of the voices piped up from the back of the classroom.

"'Saw' a bear? I did more than see it. I stood some twenty feet away and killed him with my bow. Or," she added modestly, "at least I brought him down with an arrow, and the others rushed in for the final attack. He was up on his hind legs about to maul my friend. So, of course, I had to do something. You see, this bear had been bothering the families in camp for some time so they sent out a party to track him down. I was a sturdy tweener at the time. Of couse, I wasn't supposed to go along but I followed them in secret. They discovered me after a day's march, when they were too far out to send me home."

"Funny, isn't it," Miz Bella mused. "The worst part of that day wasn't killing the bear. It was slogging on to find him. There were hugh expanses of open bog with no cover surrounded by large tracks of impenetrable tuck. That meant we had to push through endless miles of bog hoping to find the animal in the open. At one point the bog was six feet deep, way over my head. But we kept going and finally chanced on him where he had stopped to pull fish out of a muddy pond."

An anonymous voice was heard from the back of the room, "You're too little. You couldn't have killed a bear."

"Believe it or not, but that is a true story." Miz Bella opened the drawer of her desk and took out a wooden box. She removed the box lid and unwrapped the object, which was tucked inside a cloth, and then held it up for the class to see. It was a carving of a ferocious black bear, fashioned out of sandstone. "My friend gave me this to thank me. And he taught me to make carvings like these because I love to work with my hands. But enough of that. It's time for letters."

Miz Bella walked over to a large slate and wrote the following letters in chalk:

b e a r

And then she wrote this:

bear

She drew a picture of a large bear on the wall slate and sounded out each of the letters separately. She even showed how certain letters could be put in different comninations to make another word like "bare" or "bar".

"Alright now. Copy these letters onto your slate. I want everyone to do this ten times. When you have finished, you may come to my desk and bring your slate for checking. Camille and Marigold, I still need you to explain about those books. The rest of you get busy."

[Firefoot]

Willy frowned at Miz Bella's back. He definitely didn't like her. At all. He had been a little intrigued despite himself at the bear story, but not enough to overcome his irritation for being here at all in the first place, having to put away the marbles, and finally having been reprimanded for drawing on his slate. She had never said that he couldn't, after all.

And now he had no room to write the letters. He started to erase the slate with his fingers, then stopped. Why should he have to erase the drawings? He even had a perfect excuse: he would get chalk dust on his hands. A surreptitious glance around showed that there had actually been little cloths with which to erase the board, but he could say he hadn't noticed them before. Which he hadn't. Smiling to himself, he started to write the letters in the little space which he had erased.

b. b. b b b. Now wasn't this easy? Just a little line with a bubble at the bottom. Granted, his letters were hardly as neat as the ones Miz Bella had printed on the board... but they were legible, anyway. And it was boring, writing the same letter so many times over again. How many different ways could he write the letter b? In one stroke. Starting with the little circle. Drawing the line from the bottom up instead of vice versa. This made the letter sloppier, but it was more fun that way.

e. Now this was a little harder. Sometimes the little loop was far to big, sometimes the tail too long. Plus, after about six e's he ran out of space in the previously empty corner. So he started placing the e's creatively all over the slate. One on the dragon's belly. Another on the man's shirt. So there were six e's in a neat little line and four e's all over the slate. Yes, maybe this could be fun.

a. None of his a's were in a straight little line. All of them were scattered, but at least they were easier and neater than the e's (but still not very neat). He looked at them curiously. They sort of looked like b's, except the bubble was on the other side and the stem was shorter. Or not so much shorter, in some cases.

Then the r's. By this time there wasn't a whole lot of space left on the slate, so it was a good thing that r's were such a skinny little letter. They were much harder than they looked, though, especially since his hand was starting to hurt from gripping the chalk. The little curvy line just did not look right. Sometimes it was too short, other times too long. Finally, he produced a reasonable looking r on his last try though. Done, he leaned back for scrutiny of his work. He decided he rather liked it: it was chaotic, almost. Much more interesting than the neat letters Miz Bella had printed on the board. And certainly, his letters were not nearly so neat as those. Willy decided to ignore that particular fact, though; it wasn't like he really cared anyway.

Satisfied, he got up from his seat and walked over to Miz Bella's desk. He noted the boringly plain slates of the other students working around him. Just rows of letters. His was much more interesting. Proudly, he displayed his work to Miz Bella. "I'm done."

[Envinyatar]

Ambushed & wounded by Halflings

‘Ouch!’ A cry of pain issued from the shadowy figure as it stepped through the back door and into the kitchen. The tips of both Buttercup’s and Ginger’s towels snapped soundly against the man’s lower breeches causing him to yelp in pain.

Derufin hobbled across the floor to a chair and sat down rubbing his knees, both of which he could feel stinging and welting up through his breeches. ‘By the One!’ he growled at the trio of armed women. ‘What are you trying to do? Bring me down like some hunted beast!’

The two younger Hobbits were mortified, their faces white as they looked on at the injured man. But leaning against the counter, holding herself up by its edge was Cook. And she was laughing! At him!

He heard the door creak open behind him and he turned about to warn Anyopâ to be wary of attack. Derufin began to chuckle then as he saw the man’s hand extend round the edge of the door, waving a white handkerchief.

[Arry]

‘Well, a bear is pretty close to a dragon,’ whispered Woody, keeping a straight face on. 'And did you hear? they were living rough . . . in a camp!'

He paused to look at his lines of ‘b’s and ‘e’s. Not too bad, he decided. Though glancing up at Miz Bella’s letters on the board he could tell his ‘e’s were far too tall – they were the same height in fact as the ‘b’s. Now how to fix that . . . he extended the leg of each ‘b’ upward until he was satisfied. He cocked his head and looked at the next letter. Hmmm . . . about the same size as the ‘e’, but round with a short stem.

Hanson looked over as his brother began the row of ‘a’s. He sighed at the ease with which Woody’s chalk flew along the slate. He knew Woody would have an easy time of it . . . he was forever drawing clever little pictures on the hearth with a stick charred in the fireplace, or scrawling little scenes in the dirt with his fingers. Hanson gave a critical look at his own slate. The ‘b’s looked tired, he thought, they were leaning every which way. The ‘e’s were odd, seeming like big-headed snakes that sometimes danced on their tails and sometimes ate them altogether. Now the ‘a’s were not too bad, though he found it difficult to make all the little circles round – some of them were rather eggy looking and some of them he hadn’t quite gotten the little leg close enough to the circle. He decided he had better stick to ‘r’s. They looked like his Gammer’s little cane she used for hobbling about in her garden – a straight line with a little bent piece on top.

Woody was still working on his neat row of ‘r’s when Hanson hopped off the bench, slate in hand. Hanson figured he had practiced enough and was now trundling up to the desk to show his efforts to Miz Bella. The little boy grinned widely as he laid the slate in front of the teacher. ‘Well, I did each one ten times; same’s my fingers like Woody told me.’ He leaned in against her desk as she picked up his slate and began to look at it. His curious fingers found their way to the carving of the black bear, and he traced the lines of it. Hanson looked closely at the grey curled lady who sat perusing his letters. ‘Say, Miz Bella . . . ‘zactly how tall was this old bear that you shot?’

[Fairleaf]

Reggie scooted off his seat as soon as he saw Hanson making for the teacher’s desk. He ducked his shoulder quickly away from his sister as he caught the movement of her hand snaking out to grab his tunic. He heard her hiss at him to get back on his seat. But he ignored her, knowing she would not want to make a big fuss of it and draw attention to herself. He’d remembered to grab his slate, copying Hanson’s example, and walked quickly up to stand beside his new friend.

Hanson’s letters looked good to him from what he could see; nearly as good as his. He proudly slid his slate onto the desktop and crowded against Hanson to get a good look at the bear carving. He was just as curious as his friend about the incident with the bear and eager for more details.

[Huan]

Anyopâ peeked his head round the edge of the door, his gaze falling finally on Derufin as he sat at the kitchen table. The three women were standing near, no weapons in sight save the dishtowels that hung innocently from their hands.

‘If you don’t mind,’ he said sidling over to another of the chairs, his eyes keeping the three Hobbits in view. ‘I’ve just come in for a cookie or two.’ He nodded toward Derufin. ‘As Derufin said he would share from his plate. And perhaps a cup of tea,’ he said hopefully.

[piosenniel]

Cook unwound her towel and put it into the dirty linens basket, motioning for Ginger and Buttercup to do the same. ‘See to a pot of tea, girls,’ she directed the two servers. From the sideboard she took a blue plate covered with a yellow napkin.

‘Here’s the cookies, as I promised,’ she said, putting them down on the table and removing the covering.

‘Sorry about hitting you,’ said Buttercup, setting a mug in front of Derufin and pouring him some steaming tea. She gave him a little smile and nodded toward Ginger. ‘It was fun, though! And you should have seen Cook! She’s a right terror with a tea towel in her hands.’

Cook grinned, herself, acknowledging that she had learned from her older brothers how to defend herself in a towel fight. ‘Took me back a fair number of years! The old gal can still handle herself even against a pair of nimble youngsters!’

Chairs were pulled up round the table, enough for the two men and the three ladies. Cook directed Ginger to bring an additional plate of cookies for them all. Anyopâ and Derufin were treated to the full tale of the fight and who had struck the most blows and who the most accurate.

The kettle was kept on the hob and the teapot refilled as needed. For the most part Ginger and Buttercup were quiet, taking it all in. Cook, with the gentle prodding of Derufin and the downing of a number of cups of tea laced with brandy, told several stories from her earlier years that left them quite agog.

[Witch_Queen]

Jon

Jon sat there amazed at the tale Dwaline had just told him. He knew not what to think of the entire twist that now entered Dwaline's life. If indeed this is an imposter then what about Cree and the rest, would they be ok? How would this dwarf know about Dwaline's friends? Something just doesn't seem right. Jon didn't even notice when the dwarf returned with two full mugs of ale.

They would probably be alright. No I won't think of that now. Death wouldn't claim this elf and Cree. They will be ok, just wait, everything will be fine. Realizing that Dwaline was staring at him Jon quickly snapped back to reality. "I'm sorry about that. Sometimes I tend to drift off without even realizing it. 'Tis a bad habit that I have yet to break." Jon forced himself to smile knowing that soon Dwaline's tale would have been told and it would be his turn.

I must tell him the truth cause I have lied to everyone.... Even myself. This must stop here, if ever I wish to end the sad tale I'm living then I must get everything off my chest.