The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Dwaline sat opposite John and took a sip of his ale. It was good ale, and Dwaline loved it, but he little noticed it with everything that was on his mind.

"I'm sorry about that." said John seemingly awakening from a dream, "Sometimes I tend to drift off without even realizing it. 'Tis a bad habit that I have yet to break."

"Think nothing of it," replied Dwaline, "now, there is much I must tell you, so that you fully understand." John nodded, and then noticed that Dwaline had once again taken out his pipe. "You see," Dwaline began after taking a puff of pipe weed, "after a previous miss-adventure, I came to the wood king's halls and there found Fillil in a dungeon. How he got there, he would not say, but the Elves told me that they found him thieving treasures from the King's hall. This did not surprise me.

"Long I questioned him, but got very little but blubbers and spluttering. From what I managed to piece together, I believe that he was let out into the gardens of the Lonely Mountain for good behaviour. There he escaped, killing three Dwarves and evading many arrows, save one, which hit him in the right arm. He was bandaged there and often wept over it. That I thought was that, he could stay there for all I cared. He'd done murder and had never changed. However as I left him I thought I heard him saying,
'Thou fool, Dwaline, son of Balan, these walls shall not keep me. Verily I know one who will bring me to you and I shall find you! Yes, I shall find thee.' he laughed insanely as I plodded along. But his words lingered in my mind. I asked the Wood king to beware with him, for he was cunning and murderous." Dwaline took another gulp of Ale, before continuing.

"I knew of his escape from there some months ago," he said on, "Apparently he had dug a tunnel through his cell, coming into a river. He flooded the cellars, foolish creature, he fled though the forest. Going into Mirkwood, even now after the Necromancer has left and it is called Greenwood once again, still dangers lurk. He was considered dead the moment he left the path." Dwaline paused and took a deep breath, "Evidently not. I found that he had been a listener of Tales from a few elves, to see if he could find any way of escape. He must have heard of Cree from her friends who lived there. I knew them; they loved to tell tales, which is how he will have known the tale of Fáinu.

"Oh little they meant in there tales, but ill has come of it. He has many of his kindred in the Blue Mountains; he will have perverted them to his cause by now. If it was not he tat was with Fáinu and Cree, then it was one of them."

Dwaline looked out of the window and saw that Avalon was fluttering around, probably looking for mice. Dwaline turned back to John and sighed with a shake of his head.

"There," he said, "Now you know the tale, will you not tell me a little of yours?"

[Witch_Queen]

Jon... The truth behind the lie

My tale...... But it will not be my tale but instead it will be my destruction. Jon took a sip of his ale making sure his throat was not dry. "Dwaline, what I tell you leaves not this area. For few here know the truth I hide. I name is Jonathan Annatar and my journey to the Shire is like I said. I seek council with the innkeeper, Aman. You see she was a childhood friend. Anyways that does not affect my tale."

Jon took another sip of ale because for some reason his throat was suddenly dry and he dared not talk unless he wet the desert in his neck. "I'm running from a past and a future that I wish not to have. Some say I'm crazy for I see the white crow," Jon turned his head to where he could see Avalon, "I see Avalon every time I wake. I have rode along side Eomer, but only during the war. After the war was over I decided it was time for me to go back to the simple life. I didn't want anymore fighting. I even threatened to throw away my sword. As you can see I didn't. I was fixing to settle down with my childhood sweetheart when something happened changing the life I knew."

The dryness in his throat increased but Jon knew he was going to have to fight it. The truth must get out some how and now was the time to do that. "She went missing and no one has seen her since. Her parents blame me and I don't blame them. Her disappearance is my fault. Had I not of betrayed them then she would still be here." Jon's thoughts went back to his dream. The woman he had seen was the one who left him. Everytime he was around Avalon he felt her close to him. "I search for her. I don't know why but everytime I see Avalon I feel as if she's close to me. You see while in Gondor for a few months I accidently got in with the wrong group. They didn't like the fact that I changed. I didn't wish to hurt people any more. No matter how hard you try to get rid of your past, some home it always comes back to bite you on the butt."

Jon's tale wasn't sad anymore. He wished to forget the life he never had, and for once get rid of the ones who bound him to this world. "I dare not ask what Avalon's tale is. After all the last time I saw my Sarah was three years ago, now I have no one and nothing."

[Huan]

It was pleasant here in the Inn’s kitchen. And a welcome relief to rest for a bit before the task of the firewood was begun again. Mugs of sweet tea, strong tea. The crunch of cookies against the teeth, their sweetness pleasing the tongue. Derufin’s deep laugh and the merry glint in his eye as he listened to Cook.

Cook, for her part, seemed a wellspring of stories. The brandy had loosed her tongue. And once they had gotten passed their shocked amazement, both Ginger and Buttercup egged her on with questions and declarations of disbelief.

A chain of plain, flat gold links he thought would enclose this scene. Each stamped with the delicate flowers of the countryside, the tall grasses weaving from one to another. A simple necklace dipping down to grace the collar bone, winking out from beneath the collar of a tunic as the light catches it.

More cookies were brought out, along with a plate of fresh cut bread and cheese. Derufin poured Cook a cup of hot tea, laced with honey this time, as he had deftly put the brandy away on the sideboard.

Yes, it is pleasant here in the kitchen, thought Anyopâ. A bit of home . . .

[Primrose Bolger]

Ruby poked her head in through the door to the common room, catching Ginger’s attention with a small wave. ‘There are more customers come in,’ she whispered to Ginger once she’d got close enough to hear her. ‘Miz Aman is off somewhere and I’ve sent a number of the other servers up to freshen up the rooms. Can you come give me a hand?’

Ginger smoothed out the wrinkles on her apron and caught her curls back beneath her ribbon as she followed Ruby from the kitchen. Ruby returned to her place behind the bar and began to fill the empty mugs of thirsty customers with ale or cider as requested. Ginger put on her brightest smile and went from table to table, taking orders as she went along.

‘What were you all talking about?’ Ruby asked on one of Ginger’s trips to the bar for a tray of ale filled mugs. Ginger giggled and drawing her close so as not to be heard by others, filled her in on Cook and the stories and tea with brandy. Ruby laughed and nodded her head as she listened.

‘You know what this means, don’t you?’ Ruby said. Ginger shook her head. ‘Cook will have a flaming headache by late afternoon and we will be the ones getting the supper meal readied and served.’ She tsk’d and laughed again. ‘The brandy spirits always do this to her!’

‘Miss! Oh, Miss!!’ The shout rang out, cutting off their further conversation. ‘Coming, Sir!’ Ginger called out, her feet already in motion.

[Arry]

Woody watched as Daisy tried to catch hold of her brother. If the kid were anything like his brother she might as well give up. Hanson and Reggie looked to be about the same age, he thought. Might as well try to catch a flea with your hands than keep a five year old from doing what he wants to do. So was the judgment of his eleven year old self.

This wasn’t too bad, he thought to himself, surveying his slate. He peeked over at Neviel’s efforts, nudging him to take a look at the small sketch of the bear carving he’d done at the bottom of his lines of letters.

[Fairleaf]

Daisy, for her part, was tired of scratching her chalk on the slate. The first lines she’d done were fairly neat, but as she grew distracted, the letters wobbled. She wriggled on the bench, then looked about furtively hoping no one had noticed – she wanted Miz Bella and her classmates to think well of her.

But . . . oh, she was growing tired and fidgety. When was Miz Bella going to tell them a good long story? And would it be polite to ask for something to drink, she wondered. And a bite of something would be welcome, too. And who was that tall man who’d come into the classroom. He looked familiar. It was the fellow who’d sung last night, she thought. What was he doing here now? Would he be telling them stories?

[Envinyatar]

Derufin drew the conversation round to the subject of the Spring Faire. It was only a few weeks away. He’d been to one of them in the Shire, and truth be told, it was much like the small ones held yearly in his own small village. First lambs were shown off; pies from the last of the past year’s dried fruits; quilts and weavings done over the long winter months were brought out – all to be oohed and aahed over by friends and neighbors.

And the contests, of course. Out of doors, knife throwing, and archery, and slings. The great logs needed to be cut down to size and who could do it the most quickly. Inside, darts and the ever present ‘Shove Ha’penny’ game.

Last, and most fun, was the great tug-of-war game played over a fair-sized mudpuddle made especially for it on the Inn’s grounds. Derufin had been on the loosing side last year, and it was his desire to see his ‘foes’ streaked with mud this year.

‘You’ll stay, won’t you?’ he asked Anyopâ. ‘By the time we’re through with the wood that needs chopped and hauled and stacked, your muscles will be in grand shape. In fact, I’ll claim you for my team right now . . .’

[piosenniel]

‘Hmmph!’ declared Cook, looking at the two men. There sat Derufin all smug with his early choosing. ‘If you’re to have him, then our side is claiming Master Benat!’ She gave them an arch look, as if she had already won the victory.

Buttercup chimed in with a claim on Cullen, too. But Derufin protested, reminding her it was against the rules to bring in animals of any sort. ‘Falowik, then!’ she said firmly.

‘And what about the Elves?’ asked Cook. ‘I can’t recall any of them on our teams before.’

The others looked at her, considering her question. ‘Course we’d need to make sure they held to their brute strength . . .’ Cook offered. ‘No tricksy magics of any sort . . .’

[Undómë]

The trading had gone faster than he expected. His wares were gone, and his little wagon was filled with supplies needed back home. Hob’s purse, too was a little heavier with coin he had gotten for the finer objects. It had been a satisfying morning, and he planned to top it off with a mug of dark ale and a relaxing smoke by the Inn fire.

Strawberry plodded up the path to the Inn, turning right as she neared the front entryway to head for the stable. She, too, was ready to relax. Plodding along from shop to shop, stall to stall, was tiring in its own way, and she longed for the bridle and traces to be taken off and some sweet hay to plunge her nose into.

Hob left his pony to the stableboy, and secured his wagon beneath the stables eaves, lashing down the canvas covering over his goods. A few steps brought him back to the front door. And only a few more got him to a table near the fireplace. He settled in and caught the eye of a passing server. ‘Ale, please, he said. The dark.’ He watched her scurry away as he fetched his pouch of pipeweed from his vest pocket and began to fill his pipe.

[Lasbelinion]

Against the brightness of the sun Lithmîrë drew his travel stained cloak about him, and pulling the dark, ragged hood forward, let his face fall into shadow. The path from the main road to the Inn lay straight beneath the unimpeded light. No overarching trees to cast their welcome shadows on his approach.

His thoughts he cloaked as well, knowing those of his kind were near. He needed not their pity nor their questions nor their offers of aid. They had not come for him and the others in the long years of service and hardship beneath the cruel hand of the Deceiver. Now many he had known were dead at the hands of Gorthaur’s fouler servants and those few like himself who remained were left to find their own way.

He would not have stopped here, had he not run low on provisions. He was unfamiliar with this region; unfamiliar with the folk who lived here. The Inn he knew of by word of mouth from other travelers. His would be a brief stay. Rest, food, drink, and if he were able, the replenishing of the herbs that kept his pain at bay. Then, to the Havens, and the healing that lay beyond the poor remedies of this world.

Haven. Place of refuge. Of safety. Port against the storm.

A bitter laugh welled up inside as he fought back the long held fear that he would find no refuge. And how could he? The storm of despair which threatened at times to destroy what was left of him lay deep inside. He’d pushed it down, fettered it beneath the outward shell of his indifference. Kept the world at bay with his caustic tongue. And if he allowed himself any hope it was with a studied dispassion.

Lithmîrë stood for a moment at the Dragon’s entryway. Readjusting the worn leather pack slung over his right shoulder, he pushed against the heavy door and entered the dimmer interior within. Only a few heads turned to mark his passage, and those he ignored until he reached a table set in a darker corner of the room. From his vantage point he could survey the comings and goings to the common room.

He called a passing server to his table, asking for a mug of hot water. When it had come, he sent the server away, saying he would see to some food a little later. From his pack, he fetched a thin leather pouch, and took a small pinch of the dried herbs in it. Not wasting any, he scattered them on the hot water, licking from his fingers what few particles there were left on them. The heat from the mug warmed his thin, cold hands, driving the unrelenting chill away for a little while. And as he sipped on the pleasant smelling brew, its small powers drove back the pains that wracked his left arm from shoulder to hand and the left side of his face.

Lithmîrë drew back his hood as the warmth of the brew brought the welcome relief. His left hand, covered with the thick scars of a burn reached up to cradle those same red, ropy scars that twisted his face. Anger flared for a moment as he noted the stares of those sitting near him. Who were they to pity or judge him, he growled to himself. He turned an icy stare on them, forcing them to look away.

‘More water, girl!’ he called, holding his mug out to the server once again. From the pouch at his belt he drew forth a silver penny and pushed it to the edge of the table.

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik walked Kirsúl back into the stable, brushed him down, and made sure he had water and grain before he wandered back of the Inn to where Uien sat. She had not moved, still bent over her piece of wood that was slowly, slowly turning into a shape under her knife; a somewhat rounded shape, with three lumps coming out one side.

"What are those?" Falowik asked, pointing at the lumps.

"I do not know yet," Uien replied, looking up. Her grey eyes were large, her pupils shrinking under the sun's bright light. She was smiling at him. She seemed still at peace, at least in the peace that came with a making.

"Settles the mind, does it?"

"Aye." She nodded. "Come, sit by me." She patted the ground beside her.

"Thanks, but the sun is almost at noon and my stomach is growling. Join me for noon meal?"

She shook her head, her smile not fading. "I am not hungry. My work is my food; at least today."

"What will I say if Cook asks after you?"

She smirked, for both knew that Cook's ire would not go unspoken if Uien missed yet another meal. Light as a feather and she'll blow away if not for me!, Cook had been known to say. "Tell her I am still full from breaking my fast this morn."

"Well enough. Maybe I will bring out a morsel."

She smiled once and her head dropped, busy with her work; as if Falowik was not even there. He shrugged and made his way to the Common room.

It seemed dark within after the brightness of the noon sun, not a cloud in the sky. Falowik cast about for a place to sit.

"More water, girl!" cried a man in a grating, unfriendly voice. From the pouch at his belt he drew forth a silver penny and pushed it to the edge of the table. The hand that pushed the coin was scarred and mottled. The man seemed to want no company. Like me a year ago, Falowik thought. Leave him be. But much had happened to him in a year. Much good. Maybe it would not hurt to just sit at the same table. Why not?

Falowk made his way past many strangers, for he and Uien had spent more time outside the Common room than in, these last few days. He sat at right angles to the man.

"Good day!" he said, glancing at the man, unable to keep his eyes from widening at the scars that mottled the man's face as wells as hands. Like meat on a skewer! Falowik moderated his expression as quickly as he could, putting a smile on his lips. He looked right and left and said, "It gets busy fast here. I hope I may sit at this table to eat?"

"Suit yourself," the man said coolly.

"I am Falowik Stonewort of Bree. What are you called?"

[Child of the 7th Age]

For the next half hour, Miz Bella checked the work that was brought to her desk, offering words of encouragement to each of the children. Willy had been first in line. His work had been wildly creative with pictures splashed all over and lines of wobbly letters interspersed in the few bare spots left on the slate. Despite the craziness of his impromptu melange, Miz Bella could see that the lad actually had a good deal of talent when it came to seeing things and representing them with his chalk.

Closely inspecting the slate, she exclaimed, "Willy, I must tell you I like your drawings. In fact, I like them very much. You have a real knack for sketching. Usually, children who have such talent learn their letters very quickly because they can see how shapes and lines fit together. Next time, try putting the sketches on one side and the pictures on the other. That way, you'll have more room, and I can see both the pictures and letters more clearly."

Then Miz Bella checked over the slates from Reggie, Hanson, and Woody. She talked a bit about keeping letters like "B" taller than the rest, but for the most part praised the lads' efforts. "It'll get easier as you use the letters more. They are all very good for first tries!"

"As to how tall that bear was," Miz Bella directed her words at Woody, "you're going to have to figure that out on your own after lunch. You and everyone here. I'll give you some hints and some sticks for counting, and you can all have a guess at how tall the bear was. But for now I think it's time for lunch. I need one or two volunteers to go down and collect the soup and cheese in the kitchen from Cook and bring it back to class. Just come forward and volunteer and be on your way to the kitchen. The rest of you can go play in the garden while we're waiting for lunch to arrive. There's a nice enclosed area out there. Just try not to trample on the flower beds and stay inside the fence. And someone can fill our pitcher up with nice cold water from the well."

Miz Bella watched as several of the young hobbits scampered towards the door with a happy holler of relief. A few milled around the desk presumably waiting to volunteer. Miz Bella caught a glimpse of Camille and quickly interjected, "Oh, Camille, you were going back to the pond to bring your brother to school in the wheelbarrow. I've already spoken with Neviel and he says he'll be happy to help you..... And , by the way, I wanted to thank you and the other lasses for arranging those books. I've had a close look at them, and they are certainly unusual! There are many ways to arrange things and size and color are definitely one. Perhaps, sometime in the future, we'll talk about some other ways."

[Tevildo]

Miz Bella.... Camille walked over to where her teacher was seated and leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Please, Miz Bella, I can get my brother on my own. I don't need Neviel to help."

"But Camille. It will go easier with the two of you."

"No, I would rather do it on my own." Camillle stared stubbornly at her teacher as she planted her hands firmly on her hips. "I would just feel more comfortable," she stammered and headed for the door before Miz Bella could object or Neviel could trail along after her.

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

Camille headed out the door and cut across the courtyard, moving as quickly as she could. She did not like Neviel and felt relieved to be outside, walking towards the garden path that led to The Water. Hrumpf! What was an Elf doing in her school? Miz Bella should have told him he wasn't wanted. He was just too different.

Miz Bella had mentioned earlier that morning she planned to have the children run some races sometime today or tomorrow. Camille was an excellent runner and thought she might do very well. But how could she win against a gigantic eight year-old who was nearly twice her height? She had never felt comfortable around Elves, and, on the very rare occasions they had come across her path, she had tried to avoid them. Her brother's attitude was very different. Rory loved Elves with all his heart and would probably be enchanted by the prospect of having Neviel as a classmate and friend. Camille scowled to herself and pushed open the gate that led out of the courtyard and cut across the field to the spot where her mother's burrow lay.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Jon's tale wasn't sad anymore. He wished to forget the life he never had, and for once get rid of the ones who bound him to this world. "I dare not ask what Avalon's tale is. After all the last time I saw my Sarah was three years ago, now I have no one and nothing."

Dwaline puffed on his pipe as he pondered this tale. Avalon was now at the window and peered at John inquisitively. Dwaline nodded to her and she fluttered over and landed on his shoulder. The Dwarf gave a little Cram to her before turning back to John.

"Now that is a bundle of news and no mistake," he sighed, "the love you bare for this Sarah is obviously important to you. You shouldn’t let it die, even if you do. I was never a romantic; my wife and I had always been friends from childhood. But the bond cannot be severed even in bodily death.

If you're heart tells you that she lives, do not doubt it. Rejoice that she is alive. If Avalon holds some secret, I know not. But she is a bird full of more mysteries than even she knows."

[Lasbelinion]

‘What are you called?’

Lithmîrë turned cold grey eyes toward the speaker. The man asked a simple enough question. And how simply, too, had he announced himself. ‘Falowik Stonewort’ he said, the two words falling easily from his lips. A name that belonged to him and tied him to some greater line of descent. Or one at least that lay stretching behind him and perhaps before him, too.

And which one in his litany of names should he give to this man?

Maggot . . . muck-worm . . . cur . . . carrion . . . kindling . . . nasty bit of Elfspawn . . . foul Elf . . . filthy Elf . . . Elf dung . . .

Those last, at least, had paid some deference to his origins, his kindred. He swallowed the rising bile. Across the scarred map of his face flickered briefly a grim smile.

‘Lithmîrë,’ he rasped out, taking up his mug for a soothing drink, lest he begin to cough and choke with the effort of speaking. ‘Lithmîrë . . . late of Lithlad.’

[Amanaduial the archer]

"More water, girl!"

Aman bit back an immediate retort to the man's rude call after her. Turning slowly to face him, she was about to speak, then saw Falowik approaching the man's table, a friendly, amiable expression on his handsome features. He caught Aman's eye and gave her a small, enigmatic grin and shrugged. Aman raised an eyebrow but obligingly left Falowik to talk talk to the man and went to fulfill his request.

Bringing back a mug of hot water a few moments later (a strange requestm she had thought when she first arrived at the 'Dragon, but one that she found was quite common among travellers from afar), Aman placed it in front of the man, hearing him reply to Falowik's gently probing question.

"Lithmîrë. Lithmîrë . . . late of Lithlad." He began to cough, choking off the last of word of the sentence as his whole body was racked by a harsh cough, and, naturally concerned, Aman pushed the drink forward across the table to him. Without looking at her, he lifted it and drank deeply, his cough eventually residing. Aman pursed her lips but the man's violent coughing fit had softened her despite his rudeness and besides, it was such a beautiful day. Taking the coin and murmering something insignificant about the man needing to see a healer about that cough. "And my name is Aman, sir, not 'girl'; I am the Innkeeper of this establishment."

The man looked up, a sneer almost appearing on his scarred face, before he simply nodded mutely. Aman smiled, nodding back briskly. "Aye, well, a very good morning to you, Lithmîrë of Lithlad," she continued, then bustled away.

The day was fine and bright, all trace of the rainclouds that had hovered ominously over the Inn over the past few days having vanished now to leave the sky a clear, glorious shade of sapphire, the sun reflecting off the distant streams and rivers like gems. Looking up from a table she had bent over to clear of glasses and second breakfast dishes, Aman looked out of the window into the halflings' green and pleasant land, and smiled to herself as the sun beat warmly on her pale face: she looked tired from a night of thoughts and fitful dreams rather than sleep, but her smile was as energetic as ever, and her hair, unusually, was not pulled back from her face but instead hung in thick brown waves around her slim features. Sighing contentedly, Aman finished clearing the table and took them back to the bar, where Ruby was playing her favourite sport: poppling.

The sport of poppling is an ancient skill - a very art - that has been perfected unwittingly by those who were bored or simply in places of many people, over generations, in all the areas of Middle Earth. Ruby herself was a veteran, as was Buttercup, and the two hobbit waitresses often indulged themselves in a little light poppling - which was shortened, in some twisted way from 'people watching' - whenever they were able. Originally, the game had been called 'hobbling' - hobbit watching - but, as well as the rather strange connotations this word would have ("What are you doing, Ruby?" "Oh, just hobbling."), the Green Dragon's wide repetoire of customers meant that the term had had to be widely extended to a general 'people watching'. But enough on the history and finer details of Ruby's special brand of poppling, dear reader, for it is more in exactly who Ruby was watching, that sun-drenched morning, that brings us back to our story.

"May I ask who you're poppling upon this morning, Ruby?" Aman inquired in a murmur, her back still to the common room as she began to unload the tray of its glasses so they could be cleaned. Ruby looked sidelong at the Innkeeper then turned her attention back to the Common Room, never pausing in innocently wiping the beer glass in her hands. "I'm not sure I like the way you use that, Aman. 'Say it like it's peeking or somethin', rather than just poppling."

"Indeed, gods forbid that poppling be mistaken as peeking," Aman replied ironically, grinning slightly at the beer glasses as Ruby snorted derisively. "Anyway, excuse my misuse of the verb 'to popple', Ms. Brown," the woman continued, leaning on the counter. "I repeat, who are you watching?"

Now it was Ruby's turn to give the Innkeeper a sly grin as she turned her full attention back on her subjects, speaking with an air of studious authority. "Today's subjects, dear pupil, are a pair of men, thought, in my studied opinion, to be of Southern descent. One would appear to wear clothes of fine and splendid materials, and a medallion emblazoned with some odd and rather bizarre symbol - lord only knows what for, despite the finery this man wears, he is not exactly what one would call a gentleman: a strange and paradoxical being indeed, he does not actually appear to have shaved this morning - and nor has he actually paid for his own bleedin' tab, he's relying on that bard-y man who came in yesterday-"

"Who is Snaveling speaking to?" Aman suddenly became alert, interrupting what was turning into a muttered rant. Ruby grinned and stuck her tongue out a small way mischieviously. "Well now, that would be telling-"

"Ruby-!"

"Hey, hey, keep your hair on, just 'cos lover boy's talking to someone without your permission..." Ruby replied jokingly.

Aman raised an eyebrow. She could have laughed aloud at the hobbit girl's mockery - how surprised she would be to hear what had passed last night between Aman and Snaveling! No act of romantic love, that was certain, and there never would be either. Well, probably not anyway: it wasn't a regular occurence for granddaughters to sneak around mooning after their grandfathers...

The Innkeeper nearly laughed to herself at the image this conjured up in her mind, but simply contented herself with treating Ruby to an enigmatic smile without teeth. Sweeping away, Aman turned and quickly scanned the Common Room as she did so, focusing on Snaveling and his companion: a young man in the garb of one of the Southern Rangers, who weren't especially uncommon in the Green Dragon, considering their relative rarity. Deciding there was no time like the present, Aman braced herself and started over to them, notepad determinedly at the ready - she would have to talk to Snaveling this morning, she supposed, and there was no time like the present.

"...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."

The end of Snaveling's words were caught by Aman as she approached silentlyt from behind the Black Numenorean. Guessing who he was speaking about, she resisted the urge to roll her eyes and leant down behind Snaveling, her hair slipping from behind her ear to fall in a brown-blonde curtain beside his face as she whispered, "Show-off."

Snaveling turned with a smile to Aman, his eyebrows raised, apparently surprised at how she had crept up on him. She smiled and bid both gentlemen a good morning before inquiring if they would like anything for lunch, which was to start in about half an hour, or whether they would like anything else. The ranger replied brusquely, "Indeed, a pint of ale please, barkeep; I would not like anything to eat as yet - I appear to have lost my appetite." The last part was accompanied by a meaningful glower at Snaveling. The latter grinned and glanced up at Aman before gesturing towards his companion with one hand and introducing him. "Aman, this is Valthalion, a ranger I had the pleasure to meet in Minas Tirith. Val, this is Amanaduial...the formidable Innkeeper of the Green Dragon."

The pause before Aman's position was almost unnoticeable and indeed, Val seemed far too preoccupied to notice it. Before Snaveling could ask for anything, the incensed ranger burst out again. "A Black Numenorian? I cannot believe it, Snaveling, that you could... And to think, that King Elessar himself claimed you as kin!"

"Maybe the king has learnt to forgive the differences of the past and does not see me as a threat," Snaveling replied softly, reclining comfortably in his chair as he ran his finger absent-mindedly around the rim of his beer glass.

Valthalion almost laughed aloud. "A threat? Well, why would you be to the king of the United Kingdoms?" he scoffed. "Why, at least you are basically the only Black Numenorian left alive - and if you have no children, maybe that is where the line will end!"

Snaveling stiffened slightly by Aman's side, but the Innkeeper merely gave one of her small, secretive half smiles. Now...now was the perfect moment. Was she really ready to reveal her secret, and Snaveling's? It was nothing to be ashamed off, not now that she had a past and life of her own, a family even, back in Rohan; she was not a Black Numenorian in the sense that those who had forced Elessar's ancestors into hiding were, but nonetheless Valthalion was rather mistaken in his prediction. Taking a deep breath, she reached out a hand and laid it hesitantly on Snaveling's shoulder.

"Not...not the last, I think Valthalion."

[Envinyatar]

Taking lunch to the children . . .

Derufin turned his head toward the door to the kitchen as it squeaked slowly open. Two small faces, Hobbit faces, peeked in - their curious eyes looking about the room. ‘Who’s this?’ he asked Cook, getting up from his chair to open the door so that the two stood fully revealed.

An older boy stepped forward, and addressed Cook in a firm voice. ‘Miz Bella sent us, m’am,’ he said. ‘For the soup and such,’ the other boy spoke up.

Cook looked them both over, them motioned Derufin over to where she had gone to ladle soup into a smaller kettle. ‘Mayhap you and Master Anyopâ could take the hot soup and the bowls, and the boys could carry the baskets of bread and the plates of cheese.’

Derufin agreed, and set about loading one of the boys with two baskets of fresh sliced bread, and the other with a small platter of sliced cheese. He held the door open as the two carefully picked their way out of it and down the steps, turning left as they headed toward the schoolroom’s courtyard. Derufin followed, the kettle of hot soup held carefully in one fist by its handle. Anyopâ loaded his pockets with spoons and a few knives and took up a small armful of bowls.

A few short steps later and they had entered the noisy little courtyard, where the children were playing . . .

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling was moved by Aman’s gesture of allegiance with him and he reached up to place his hand over hers by token of appreciation. He felt her fingers tighten on his shoulder and with that gesture he knew that she was content to have the truth of her parentage be told. Once more, Snaveling had to quell the sudden petty joy he would have in once more triumphing over Valthalion with the extent of his sudden good fortune – not just a King, but one with a beautiful heir of his own who respected him, and was not ashamed of her lineage.

He smiled at the young Ranger and answered the look of surprise on his face. “Aman is gracious, my young friend, in allowing me to reveal to you that my line is not doomed to fade. As Aman and I have only just discovered, she is my grand-daughter, child of my son who was lost as a babe and raised by a noble man of Rohan to think he was of that land. You should be honoured! For you are only the second person to learn of this, and the first among Men; not even the King Elessar himself is yet aware that the noble line of Numenor shall be preserved. Perhaps your coming here at this time is more than the working of chance, for it seems to me appropriate that one of Elessar’s own house should arrive to do my grand-daughter the courtesies that are her due!”

Aman pulled slightly at Snaveling’s shoulder, pulling him back somewhat from his boasting. “Nay nay, sir, do not demand that of the young man! I am still but a maid of Rohan and the Innkeeper of the Green Dragon, these are honours enough. I would not have you make me a princess, or have you force others to acknowledge me as one!”

“But you are one, my girl, no matter how you may feel about it. You are the last heir of Vanished Numenor and when my time comes to join my ancestors that is a burden that you must take up.”

“Still,” she said, and her tone was more stern now, “I will not have this man or any other treat me like royalty. Sit Valthalion!” she said, seeing him rise to his feet as though in preparation for a bow or some other courtly nonsense. “Do not listen to…my grandfather. He is, I fear, having some fun with you in the excess of his own pleasure at our having found one another.” She looked at Snaveling and smiled, but there was a familiar glint of iron in her eye. Snaveling looked to Valthalion.

“Aman is right, sir, I am but lighthearted, perhaps even lightheaded, in my joy. You well remember how I was before: to find myself so utterly changed…! But come, tell me of your own travels. It has been long since we last took a drink together at the Inn. Where have you been and what sorts of trouble have you been getting into?”

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

With nothing to do with himself while the little ones were at their lessons Hearpwine wandered out of the classroom humming a tune beneath his breath. It was an old tune that he had been toying with of late, for he had never been entirely happy with it. When played slowly it was a melancholy and even dour, but when played quickly it became a odd jig-like piece that lumbered about without really giving life to the song. It was odd, for he enjoyed the tune but had yet found a way to use it in performance, so difficult was it to match with an appropriate song. He had decided, after much thought, to alter it as best he could so that he could sing it for others – but he was proceeding cautiously with the alterations, for one did not simply change a piece of music without great care!

As he paced about the yard his stomach growled slightly. He had breakfasted well, but he had been so long on the road that one good meal was not sufficient to satisfy him, apparently. He passed by a window to the Common Room and glanced inside and while there were a number of people about talking and drinking it did not appear as though luncheon was being served yet. His stomach gave another growl and he decided to raid the kitchen.

He stalked through the doorway and found several Halflings busily at work with a number of other folk milling about. Hearpwine addressed a stout Halfling woman who seemed to be in charge. “It is early yet for luncheon, I fear, but is there any crust of bread of rind of cheese for a hungry patron? I would be happy to lend a hand to any task you might like in return for a bite – or if you like, I could give you all some music to work by!” His hand moved to his harp, his fingers already twitching at the prospect of music.

[Lasbelinion]

Lithmîrë set down his empty mug considering if he should call for one more. He’d been rude. He could read it in her eyes. But upon reflection on that fact, he found he simply did not care. Little chit! There was no room for manners, in that place from where he’d come. One grabbed what one could, and if by some small piece of luck, there were those beneath you; then, their service was simply expected. Just as he had had to grovel and obey those who stood over him.

One gets by, as one can . . .

His cough had abated; the pain eased in his arm and face. The fleeting rictus that passed for his smile came with a nod to the man who now sat at the table. ‘A pleasure speaking with you,’ he said in a less gravelly voice, the tone of scorn laid lightly beneath his words. Gathering his cloak about him, he stood. A few quick steps marked his retreat from the increasingly busy room to the wider outdoors.

His heart was pounding. What a fool, he thought, to think he could stand to be in the press of so many people. He found his way to one of the great trees that grew behind the stable. In the welcoming shadow of its branches, he sat down on patch of grass that spread out from the tree’s roots. His back found support against the trunk. He leaned his pack against his outstretched legs, and let his head rest back against the smooth bark. The quiet and the fresh, clean scents borne on the breeze comforted him.

Weary from travel, the Elf was soon dozing.

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik

The Elf with the mottled features took his leave in a courteous enough manner, though the scorn with which his tone was laced was not lost on Falowik. It brought back memories he tried to keep buried, from Bree. The same scorn had condemned him a half-orc due to his lack of any lineage, his mother having died giving him life, his father unknown. Thinking on it raised the bile in his throat. He was glad Uien thought better of him than that, though he deserved it not.

Uien

Uien allowed the sun to soak into her gown, her long blonde hair her only shade. Little by little the carving was beginning to take shape. Three figures, two taller, one half height and between the tall ones, stood on grass. She imagined that she knew who these figures were, or at least who they represented.

She was distracted by movement, and saw from where she sat, a figure move behind the stable and settle not far from her by a tree. He did not seem to notice her, and she did not call attention to herself. But there was something about him that was strange; she did not know what it was, and looked carefully with her Elven eyes. He had already fallen asleep. But his face was mottled and scarred. What from? She could not hold her thought back, her curiosity was so roused, and she probed the edges of his thought; he was an Elf! So dark! Hot lancing pain. Cruel, dark laughter. Uien shivered, reminded of her captivity in the mountain of Caradhras. She shivered again and pulled her thought away, looking back at her carving.

Her knife had not ceased its cutting while her mind wandered, and she was horrified at what lay in her hand: an woman of the Eldar and a man of the Eldar, and between them a child of the Eldar, who held them each by the hand. Is this what I want?

[Lasbelinion]

GET OUT!

Lithmîrë’s dark grey eyes flew open at the soft touch of the inquisitive Elf.

Bad enough the body is beset by His foul minions. Yet worse the breach of mind and spirit by the Master. But worse than all is to be dishonored by one’s own.

Stay out, young one. I do not appreciate your curiosity or require your aid.

He paused for a moment, her unguarded thoughts spilling out.

And it seems you have problems of your own.

As quickly, he turned away from her thoughts. Getting up, he moved away from her, seeking a quiet place to rest.

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen returned to Inn and as she did so she reflected over the events of the morning. The village smith, Toby Flaxman, had looked surprised to see the elf again but not displeased and once she had tentatively explained the situation Mithalwen's day took a major turn for the better.

"Oh I know the lad, well enough, such a shame for the family - they haven't had a lot of luck what with one thing and another" he had said, " I would have tried to rig something myself if I had thought it would have helped - but I don't have so much practice with such complicated work - Shoeing horses and making ploughshares is more my line" he added. Mithalwen had looked at his round, good-natured face hopefully.

"Tell you what miss, I don't see why outsiders - begging your pardon - should have to do what we should do for our own, I reckon if you sort through my scrap pile you will find most of what you need and if I let you use the forge maybe you could give me a hand with some of my work - my lad strained his shoulder falling out of a tree at the wedding party and some tasks you need two for " . Privately, the hobbit had realised there was probably a lot he could learn from the elf.

They had set to work immediately. The smith's son Tim, though he was not up to wielding a hammer, was able to help Mithalwen find the appropriate materials from the pile of offcuts in the corner of the forge and then went to beg off cut leather from the cobbler for the straps.

In between paying customers, the two smiths worked at assembling the braces, Although onlookers found it a curious sight - the tall elf woman whos head nearly toched the forge ceiling, and the middle aged hobbit- but the pair worked well together. Mithalwen appreciated Toby's practical efficiency and he admired her skill at the finer tasks and was especially curious about some of the tools she used for them. The elf promise that they would make copies to suit his stature before she left "as a small recompense for your help" . From Toby, Mithalwen learnt more about how much Rory was likely to grow and was as a result able to simplify some of her designs.

All in all the elf's mood had improved as the morning went on. It looked like her stay would be shorter than she feared, her frustration at her failure with Aman and Snaveling dissipated with each hammer fall, replaced by the joy of working at her craft again. And it was a rare pleasure to work collaboratively in these days. The hobbits were merry company and she soon began to learn folk songs of the shire and exactly how the various Hobbit families were related.

The only blight on the morning had been Uien's unexpected visit. Mithalwen had been perplexed and a little irritated. Maybe they had been at cross-purposes last night and Mithalwen had certainly been distracted by other matters, but she had assumed that Uien's help would have been in treating the boy - using her skill in herblore and physiology to help Rory's limbs strengthen from within as they were supported from without by the braces. However she had seemed put out that Mithalwen had not needed her enchantments, that she had progreesed the work without her supervison and approval. Mithalwen had little vanity but she knew she was a good craftswoman and she was somewhat offended that Uien seemed to think that three thousand years practice of shaping wood and metal would not suffice for this relatively straight-forward task.

Mithalwen sighed - misunderstandings with mortals were one thing but now it seemed she was at odds with her own species. It seemed she had managed to upset everyone she had met at the inn so far - Uien, Aman, Falco.... Marigold she had not upset ... but she had concussed herself whilst in her care. Not auspicious.

She wished she had not had to return to the inn, so little did she want to see anyone, but to remain at the forge would be to impose on the Flaxman's hospitality as well as thier time.

She washed her hands at the pump by the inn door and then on impulsed soused her head under the cold water. THe forge had made her hotter than the sunshine. She wrung out her silver plait and entered the relatively cool and dark common room.

She saw Snaveling and Aman, presenting a show of unity to a man she had not seen before an dFalowik at a table. Both she avoided, and inconspicuously as possible gathered a plate of bread and cheese and some cool cider and retreated to the garden.

She saw another elf, but he evidentlyhad as little wish for company as herself so with barely a glance she found another shady spot a little way away.

[Nurumaiel]

Marigold blushed a little at Miz Bella's words, sensing that she had made some sort of mistake... though it seemed quite logical to arrange the books by how big they were. She said nothing, however, deciding that it wouldn't do any use. She had made some sort of mistake, and obviously Miz Bella didn't see how logical their manner of sorting really was. And that was that. She sighed, dropped her eyes to the ground, and continued her slow pace to the garden.

Haltred and Estella were already there. Estella had darted away in the manner of a frightened rabbit at the earliest opportunity, and Haltred had followed her. As Marigold approached them, having firmly decided to not leave them without friends, Estella clasped her hands shyly behind her back, dropping her head very low, and Haltred smiled in a friendly way.

Purples, pinks, reds, yellows... in fact, every colour of the rainbow surrounded them in the garden. The flowers had suffered a temporary ordeal during the hard rains, but as a result they blossomed out stronger and brighter than before. The blue sky, the yellow sun, and the fluffy white clouds that scurried here and there in a merry game of tag seemed to have bent down from their lofty heights to give colours to the wee things on the earth.

Marigold bent to pick one of her namesakes, and gazed for a moment into the rich, warm, golden glow before fastening it up in her hair. "I'm so grateful," she said, "that marigolds are rather orange, rather than yellowish. It's very hard to wear them in my hair even as it is, but they're a different enough colour that they look all right. Now, you know, my mother's hair was black, and her name was Lilac. She could wear lilacs in her hair and it looked beautiful."

She paused, and looked here and there, and smiled at a little forget-me-not, and beckoned to Estella, who advanced shyly when her brother prodded her on.

"Here, Estella," said Marigold. "These forget-me-nots will look beautiful in your hair. My papa always told them that when the sun was out and shining, a hobbit girl doesn't look proper if she doesn't have flowers in her hair. 'All the girls are little flowers,' he said. 'There are Marigolds and Lilacs and Buttercups, and they ought to look like it.'" She tucked the little forget-me-nots behind Estella's ear, and frowned a little. "I knew a girl who told a boy forget-me-nots were to give to your sweetheart when you were going away. And so that boy, because he was going to Michel Delving, gave me some forget-me-nots. I just looked at him scornfully. But I did tell him goodbye very nicely, because I don't think he wanted to go away. Forget-me-nots always remind me to think of and love my mother and father." She looked wistfully at the little flower, and then turned to Haltred with a bright smile.

"Are you enjoying school?" she asked.

"I am," he replied, and added with a rueful grin, "though I feel terribly stupid at times."

"Well, so do I," Marigold replied, with a little laugh. "I'm not very good at anything at all. I'm very glad my papa taught me a little of reading and writing. But soon we'll all know everything." She nodded her head, looking well-pleased with the prospect, and then snatched Estella's hand in a way that defied any protest. "Come on," she said. "Lunch is over there and I'm very hungry."

[littlemanpoet]

Is this what I want? She stared at the carving of a family of the Eldar. This Elf was not Falowik!

<GET OUT!>

The thought seared through Uien's mind like a hot dagger. She closed her eyes against the pain and put her hands to her head, dropping the carving and knife.

<GET OUT!>

The echo seared through the same path, burning its way into her thought. She fought for some sensation to sustain her, and reached out, her shaking hands touching grass. She pushed herself to her feet and staggered.

<GET OUT! Out out>

It echoed again, sending her falling to the ground, her face mirroring the pain of hot rejection. She crawled, fearing that she could not stand.

The echo came again and again. Though her eyes were closed, tears streamed down her face as she crawled she knew not where.

"Uien, what is-" <GET OUT! Out out>

Hands grasped her shoulders and started to lift her. Orcs! She cried out, fearing their evil touch, fearing their purpose, trying to get away. She needed to get out of there, to leave, if only she could find a way.

"Uien! It's Falowik! Look at-" <GET OUT! Out out>

She shook her head, weeping.

"Who has done this to you?" His voice was harsh.

<GET OUT! Out out>

"Falowik, <GET OUT!>-" His grip stalled on her shoulders, and he let go.

"Do you want me to leave?"

"No, Laurëatan! Please <GET OUT!>- stay with me. Please...." she whimpered. But there was no answer. "Falowik?"

<GET OUT! Out out>

[Fairleaf]

Fairleaf & Lithmîrë

What’s this? she said waking from a light slumber.

She felt the weight of him as he leaned back against her. Lightly at first and then the full burden as he twitched his back, settling in firmly against her. She could feel him ease himself into her ridges and hollows, settling into the angle of her roots and trunk.

The day’s breeze ruffled through her leaves, rustling them one against the other. She could hear him sigh and relax further, until she bore the full burden of him. His breathing slowed, deepened. He was asleep.

She shifted a little, trying to see his face. Some soft tunnel of light was channeled down on him as she moved her branches. It touched gently on the right side of his face picking out his features. One of the Quendi! Elf-child.

So tired he looked. Beneath his eyelid ran dreams . . . and not pleasant by the soft moans and grimaces as pain or the memory of it passed through him.

Reaching down a leafy branch she could smell the sweet liquid he’d drunk earlier. Faint ginger and licorice were there; chamomile with calendula; wort and vervain in heavier doses for pain and a disquiet spirit. Wood betony and lemon balm to wrap it in a light sweetness. She was wondering why he would be drinking such a mixture.

A leaf strayed close to his cheek, grazing it. A sharp intake of breath, his lids fluttering against the intrusion. She feared he would wake. But he settled back into his sleep, turning as he did so to find another position of comfort. Fairleaf gasped aloud as the light revealed the other side of his face.

Fire!

Old memories of her friends and companions burned and gone when the Deceiver had come to the land of their fair gardens near the great river.

Who has done this to you, little one?

[Child of the 7th Age]

"Ah, I see our lunch has arrived!" Miz Bella strode forward to help the young ones with their armloads of food. Cook had been very generous. "Here, let's set the things up underneath the trees, " she added. "I've spread some blankets on the ground, and you can place the soup over on the little table just beside it." The children had finished their playing and were now drifting over to where the food was. Camille, however, was not back with her brother, which caused Miz Bella some concern, and the two Gamgeee children had not arrived. Still, for the first day, things had gone reasonably well.

She looked curiously at the two helpers who had come along with the young hobbits to help carry the load. "Thanks for your help, and give my regards to Cook for her kind gift. But I'm afraid you have me at an advantage. I have seen you around the Inn but I don't know either of your names. And there was something else I wanted to ask. The other day I heard someone talking about a performance they were planning for the Inn. Would either of you know anything about that, or who I should talk to? I don't know if it's anything the children could help with, but I know they would be very excited. We've even found someone who's willing to teach us some songs."

[Envinyatar]

Derufin talks to Miz Bella

Derufin introduced both himself and Anyopâ, saying he was the Inn’s general handyman and Anyopâ was a guest at present. ‘Though he’s been drafted into working with me this morning,’ Derufin chuckled. ‘Cook had need of firewood for the coming months and my friend here was in the right place at the right time . . . at least as far as I’m concerned.’

‘As far as the puppets and the play,’ he nodded toward where Woody was dipping out soup for his little brother Hanson. ‘You need to speak with their uncle. Gil, the one that brought them to your class. He and his group of lads are planning on putting together some sort of performance. I’m building the stage for it.’

He paused and looked at Miz Bella with a questioning expression. ‘I know you’re new here. So, I expect you don’t know about the Spring Faire that will be held here in a few weeks. I’m thinking that Gil and his friends will want to put their performance on then.’

Derufin gave the woman a nod. ‘We should be going now. There are still a few armfuls of wood to be stacked for the Inn. Talk to Gil when he comes to pick up his nephews.’ He and Anyopâ started back toward the door. ‘Oh, and if you don’t mind, could you ask him to come round and see me. We can talk about how he wants the stage built.’

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik left the Common room and came around the side hard by the stables, to return to Uien and see how her carving fared. He stopped short, for she was crawling on all fours along the grass; maybe she was looking for something. But no, her hair was draggling around her hands in the grass, as if she was crawling in her sleep! Which made no sense. He went up to her.

"Uien, what is wrong?"

He grasped her shoulders and started to lift her. She cried out in fear, struggling against his hold. Her eyes were shut tight and tears stained her cheeks. Something was very wrong.

"Uien! It's Falowik! Look at me!"

"Get out! Out! Out!" she cried in a harsh tone of dimissal, shaking her head, tears streaming, shaking her head.

What have I done? Or is she reliving something evil? Perhaps someone else has caused this?

"Who has done this to you?" His voice was harsh.

"Falowik, get out!" So she did not want him near. His grip stalled on her shoulders, and he let go. Maybe she needed to be let alone.

"Do you want me to leave?"

"No, Laurëatan! Please get out!"

So confusing! No, don't leave. Yes, get out. Get out of what? Did she not want him in her memory? Did she not want him near her? Where were her carving and knife? They were not near her. Finding this a ready excuse to put some distance between himself and Uien as he had found her, he went looking, and found both knife and carving where she had been sitting for the last few hours. He picked up the carving and studied it. It was Uien holding the hand of a little Elf-child, who stood between her and an Elven man. It was obvious what this meant. She had discovered that she desired an Elven husband and child: not him. What else could she mean by "get out"? Get out of my life, that was what she meant. And now she was having such a strong reaction to what she had discovered, that it meant she must despise these last months with Falowik, finally having broken through the illusion that he was her heart's love. His legs became weak. He resisted the temptation to let go and fall to the ground.

He went back to her. "Get out! out! out!" she was still saying as if speaking the words of a spell. His heart went cold and the knife and carving fell from his hands, landing near her. He began to walk away. He felt for the necklace she had made for him, the one that would warm near his heart when she thought of him, and he grabbed it. He would rip it off his neck and cast it beside the knife and carving. But his hands loosened. Maybe he would keep it in memory. Maybe she would think of him, and maybe it would be a warm memory. If it was, he might return. If he could tell from the way the gem burned that she despised him, he would cast it away. It would mean that though she was his lodestone, she rejected him and his life was as dust to him and anyone else. One last stab of dismissal might be worth the chance that she would welcome him back. He took his hand away from the necklace, and walked away from the Green Dragon Inn, headed for the north wilds between the Shire and Annuminas.

[Esgallhugwen]

Atop the slope of a hill stood a black steed, but only for a moment as it continued its course casually walking along the path to the Green Dragon Inn. A lanky white wolf, no more then a year old, trotted neatly beside the rider.

The rider's hood was cast down and long waves of raven black hair wisped about in the fresh breeze. The horse stopped again at the sight of the Inn, had it changed somehow? There was a faint hint of smoke in the air, a fire long passed.

"A long time indeed, it is good to be back in the Shire among the simpler things", the voice spoke to both horse and wolf, smiling but the rider's eyes soon darkened.

<Get Out!>

The thought sent a shiver hot as flame down the rider's back, old scars felt raw and fresh, angry tears pricked Esgallhugwen's eyes. She wiped them hastily away and kicked hard into the sides of her horse, Morsereg, who sped down the hill like a north wind tearing up the dirt road and leaving high clouds of dust in his wake.

Something is wrong, terribly wrong, too familiar.

Her thought went out like a flash of light, searching. Uien. She found Uien! But why? How? Who had done this to her? She focused her thought on Uien and called to her, jumping from her horse.

<Uien!>

<Get Out! Get Out!> Was the only reply, she ran to the far end of the Inn by the stables and found her friend crawling in the grass trying to stand. Esgallhugwen knelt beside her and raised her hands, forcing Uien on her knees, she cried and writhed at this new person's touch trying to get free.

"Get out!", she cried and Esgallhugwen felt the heat of flames licking at her sides, she winced and tried to continue with her work.

<Uien, mellon, listen to my voice>

But still she twisted and cried, "get out, what have I done, get out", her grip on her friends wrists tightened holding her in place. <Listen to my voice, what is wrong?>.

"What have I done, Falowik, get out!", her cheeks were stained with tears and her lips trembled with fear. "Where is Falowik?", Esgallhugwen held her gaze, using what skill she had.

<It is I Esgallhugwen Elenglin, do not be taken by the shadows, come back to the light Uien Aduial, do not leave the twilight that you love so. Listen to me and come back to the light!>

Uien stopped struggling and looked at Esgallhugwen seeing her there for the first time, she whistled to the wolf, "go and fetch Falowik, mellon". "There are things I must teach you" Eswen said plainly letting go of the other's wrists. "But first I believe hearts are in need of mending", she reached out at the curious wooden object that lay in the grass and examined it with a frown. "Is this what you want, or is this what you had and lost long ago with your own mother and father? Often the past haunts our kind, mellon and this carved object may not be the future".

[Amanaduial the archer]

Having asked Ruby to fill out their order, Snaveling invited his new grand-daughter to join them at the table and, with a confused sort of half-pride, the Innkeeper did so. Valthalion, denied of his bow, immediately scrambled to his feet and pulled the chair out for her hurriedly, and Aman resisted the urge to swat him away in embarasment. However, she was saved joining the two men, for at that moment, she heard a voice outside, shouting loudly. Looking around, she craned her neck to look through the nearest window, but was unable to see the shouter. Deciding to ignore it, Aman began to sit - then realised the voice was female, and not only that, but that it sounded unmistakably like Uien. And following the elven woman's shouts came the voice of Falowik.

What the-

Alarmed, the Innkeeper rose and excused herself hastily, hurrying towards the Inn door. She had never once heard Falowik and Uien argue, beyond maybe a few reproachful words from one to the other - that would then, miraculously, be taken up. But to hear them shouting at each other in public...it was unthinkable. Throwing open the door, Aman rushed down the steps, looking around - and saw Uien lying writhing on the floor, an elven woman kneeling by her side. Rushing to her friend's side, Aman was about to reach for the other's face, then hesitated, unsure of whether she was allowed to touch the elf - what if she was indeed having some sort of fit? Where bipeds were involved, Aman's knowledge of first aid was sketchy at best. Panicked, she looked up at the woman on Uien's other side, her eyes wide and hopeless. "What is wrong with her?"

The elf shook her head, not looking at Aman, apparently concentrating on Uien's face, and Aman noted that one of her hands grasped the other elf's tightly. Feeling reassured, the woman hesitantly reached towards the prone elf's face.

"Get out! Get out, get out!"

Uien's sudden, terrified scream made Aman start backwards, falling backwards. But as Uien turned her head towards Aman, the Innkeeper saw the terror in the elf's eyes. Horrified and shocked, she stared uncomprendingly at Uien. "What on Middle Earth..." she whispered.

Practicality taking over, she looked around for the one person who had to know what was going on: Falowik. But her surprise was about to double as she saw the man, Uien's true love, walking away from the Inn - away from his beloved Uien. Scrambling to her feet, Aman ran after him, calling his name but to no response: he did not even turn, showing no recognition of his name. Reaching him, Aman grabbed his sleeve and he spun around to meet the breathless, bewildered Innkeeper. "Falowik, what...what on earth is going on, Falowik?"

[piosenniel]

Cook addresses Hearpwine

Cook’s gaze followed the tall man’s twitching fingers and cleared her throat just before they reached his harp. ‘Well now, actually we’re just beginning to serve lunch.’ She looked toward the sink, where a jumble of pots and pans used for preparing the day’s supper were waiting to be washed.

‘We could however use a hand with those,’ she said, nodding toward the stack. ‘Oh, and help yourself to the soup and bread and cheese. Best to fortify yourself . . . if you’re going to tackle the scrubbing, that is.’

She clasped her hand across her ample middle awaiting his decision. From the sideboard, where they were loading up their trays with tureens of soup and bowls and baskets of bread, two bright eyed servers paused to see what the man would do.

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik had only reached the road when he heard a female voice yelling something behind him. It could not have anything to do with me. He strode on. He heard running feet behind him, and then someone grabbed his arm and spun him around. It was Aman, breathless and anxious.

"Falowik, what...what on earth is going on, Falowik?"

"What mean you?"

She frowned. "With Uien! What is wrong with her? Why do you walk away from her, leaving her in such a frenzy?"

He pulled away from her grasp. "You would not understand." He turned away from her.

She ran around him and stopped, standing in front of him, hands on her hips. Hobbits here and there turned their heads in curiosity.

"Make me understand!"

"She-" He looked away, unwilling to say the words that would bring home to his heart words he did not wish to hear. He looked at her again; her face was fierce. "She has rejected me."

Aman looked stunned, her mouth dropping. "No. It cannot be." She pointed back to Uien. "She is in the throes of some evil. She could not-"

"Little you know what she could and could not do."

"And you know even less!"

Falowik threw up his hands. There was no arguing with this young Rohirric lass. He moved to walk around her, but she moved in his way again.

"Stay, Falowik! Do not leave! I am sure there must be some reason."

"Some reason she has rejected me? I can tell you, she wants an Elven mate with whom she can have an Elven child. Did you not see the carving she has made?"

[WarBringer]

Val was still reeling over the news of Snaveling's ancestry, when he learned that Aman was his granddaughter! Out of sheer courtesy, Valthalion rose to bow to her, but Aman stopped him. In truth, Val did not respect either of them in the least, and also did not appreciate the way Snaveling threw around the name of his king as if they were good friends. Snaveling had asked him what had happened to him since they had last met, and he answered...

"Snaveling, my friend, I am a simple ranger, and will not waste your valuable time with news of my toils in the wild. The lord Elessar sent my companions and I on many a perilious errand throughout the far reaches of the land upon my return. About six months ago, myself and a company of Rangers were caught in a fierce battle with wild men, who outnumbered us two to one. We attempted to escape, and a rear guard was assigned, consisting of myself and my close friend Elthonian. We fought for hours, running, climbing, and sneaking all the while, trying to escape to the nearest outpost. Eventually, my good friend was slain by a great chieftain, and though I wounded him with many wounds, I was overcome and captured. They brought me to their city, where I was tortured and starved, as the men hoped to learn of Elessar's movements. They meant to waylay him! Still, I would not give in. One day, during one of my meager meals, I seized an oppurtunity and slew my guard with his dagger. I was able to sneak away from the camp, and find the spot where Elthonian fell. I buried him and returned to Elessar, who praised me and presented me with my sword, Raukorist. He even offered to allow to retire to my home, to enjoy rest and reward for my valor. I would not do it, having been shamed by the death of my friend and my defeat by the hands of the chieftain. I gathered my belongings, few as they were, and have wandered since then in search of that chieftain, who bore a tattoo of the great Eye on his chest. I live, that I may slay him and avenge my sworn brother."

Val took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and clenched his fist. He looked up, and Snaveling was taken aback, speechless.

Val managed a small smile, and said "As you can see, I have been busy, so please excuse my ragged clothes. For now, Snaveling, in light of your wisdom and your closeness to Elessar's councils, I ask you to teach me what you may, so that I may become stronger and challenge the Warlord whom I long to destroy. Teach me of his lineage, if you can discern it, and anything else I would benefit from. Do this, and you will have my undying friendship, despite our differences."

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine laughed aloud and slung his harp back upon his shoulder. Pushing his sleeves up to the elbows he strode toward the pile of dirty pots and grabbing one in each hand brandished them above his head crying, “You are quite right, Mistress Cook, I should work for my food! Why, when I was a lad my mother would insist that I take the occasional turn in the kitchen – she felt that it would do me good to feel lather between my fingers. I don’t know if she was right about the good it did me or not, but many’s the time I was washing pots I would realise that there would be a good deal less sorrow and bloodshed in the world if everyone had to take the effort to clean their own mess!” And with that, he plunged the pots into the basin, sending a wave of sudsy water onto the floor. Cook rushed forward clucking her tongue and making to mop the water, but the Bard shooed her back with a wave of his hand. “Nay, mistress Cook! I will mop that up myself when I am done!”

He washed the pots as though he meant to scrub the black from their iron, and soon he was so deeply absorbed in his task that his aimless humming began to emerge as a full blown song that he was but dimly aware of singing.

Every person in the nation
Or of great or humble station
Holds in highest estimation
Piping Tim of Glanhir
Loudly he can play or low
He can move you fast or slow
Touch your hearts or stir your toe
Piping Tim of Glanhir

When the wedding bells are ringing
His the breath to lead the singing
Then in jigs the folks go swinging
What a splendid piper
He will blow from eve to mourn
Counting sleep a thing of scorn
Old is he but not outworn
Know you such a piper?

When he walks the highways pealing
`Round his head the birds come wheeling
Tim has carols worth the stealing
Piping Tim of Glanhir
Thrush and Linnet, finch and lark
To each other twitter “Hark"
Soon they sing from light to dark
Pipings learnt in Glanhir

With the final line he made such a vigorous dash at a frying pan that he sent another huge wave of water over the lip of the basin that soaked his feet. But he merely laughed at this and hung up the pan before he grabbed a towel and began mopping the floor with it. So lost was he in his work and music, however, the Bard of Rohan failed to notice that he was using one of Cook’s best hand towels to slop up the mucky water that he had spilled upon the floor.

[Witch_Queen]

Avalon

Avalon sat perched on the table looking at Jon. I can't help you. I know not who you are and I don't care what your dreams reveal. I can't help you even if you asked for it. Something tells me to stay away from you and I mean to try to keep distance between us. Avalon didn't know why but seeing Jon just made her wish to fly away and never come back to Middle Earth.

Avalon looked at Dwaline. "Dwaline I still don't like the look of him. Just something about him still doesn't seem right. The look in his eyes say he's lieing to make us feel sorry for him. I don't like it." Avalon had a feeling that something was going to happen and that Jon was going to be the one to blame for it.

I'm not letting him out of my vision if I can help it. I don't know what he's actually doing here but still something about the look of him...... He's up to something and I plan on finding out what.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Seeing that there was distress in the face of Avalon, Dwaline grew slightly suspicious of John. More so than he had done previously. Avalon looked worriedly at Dwaline, who nodded and looked back at John. He had spotted something in the eyes of this man and ever more it made him curious. Dwaline took another puff on his pipe before eating some more cram.

"Tell me," Dwaline said leaning forward, "What can Aman tell you about you're Sarah that you do not know. She has lived in the shire for many years. I know it well, and it is well known to be a place that takes in little news from the outside world." Dwaline did not hide the suspicion in his question, he wanted to see if John would react or become nervous at his plying further into his business.

"You see this inn?" he asked rhetorically, "Many travellers come and go here, they tell their stories, some are existing and filled with danger and mystery. But none become widespread tales about Hobbiton. My Friend, if Aman has heard the truth bout Sarah, there is no doubt that it has been mingled with lies. You may send you’re self on a wild goose chase. And believe me, Wild geese oft lead you to danger."

[piosenniel]

Cook staves off a further attack upon her domain . . .

Word had passed to the far reaches of the Common Room. Like a quickly retreating tide, they had rushed back through the aisles, their feet pattering against the wooden floor until they reached the door to the kitchen. Curious at their departure, a number of the long time patrons followed along in their wake. Until at last, there was a large crowd eddying about the door.

‘What’s going on?’ asked one of those in back, watching as two of the lasses cracked open the door a bit and peeked in.

‘It’s that tall fellow with the harp,’ began one. ‘Seems he’s been washing the pots and pans,’ added the other. They both giggled and turned round to face the eager group. ‘He’s managed to clean the pots, I think,’ one of them went on. ‘But, he’s also managed to get loads of water on Cook’s floor! And last I saw, he was bent over wiping some of it up with one of her best towels!’

There was a collective gasp, and thinking better of intruding on Cook in her plight, the swirl of lookers-on rushed out again into the far reaches of the Common Room. Distancing themselves from any fall out should Cook explode.

~*~

Cook, for her part, was actually doing quite well with the situation. It had confirmed for her that one of the main problems with Big Folk was that their brains being so far from their arms and legs, there was no feed back on the actions they attempted. Clumsy oafs! To be forgiven somewhat on account of their deficiency.

She snapped her fingers at the two horrified girls who were helping out in the kitchen. White faced, they drew near, wondering what she wanted them to do. The man loomed a giant in their eyes, but the fear of displeasing Cook steeled their backbones. They gave an audible sigh of relief as she instructed them to make a platter of ham and pickle sandwiches and fill a bowl with mushroom barley soup.

‘And a “Hark!” to you, Master Hearpwine!’ she said in a firm voice, planting one foot on the now wet and dirty hand towel. She handed him a dry towel and ‘tut-tut’-ed him as he made to use it for further wiping up. ‘Just dry your hands, dear,’ she said, speaking pleasantly as to one of her sons when they were younger. ‘Your work here is more than done by my reckoning. And an admirable job it was,’ she added. ‘These nice girls here have made you some lunch.’ She pointed to where Ginger and her companion stood at the now open kitchen door. ‘You just follow them out to one of the tables and sit yourself down and enjoy your food.’ She nodded at the girls to lead him on out. ‘And Ginger . . . you be sure to get him a mug of ale . . .’

She stood with a pleasant smile pasted on her face until the door had closed behind the trio . . .

[Mithalwen]

Even from her secluded corner of the gardens, Mithalwen was aware of some hubbub within and around the inn. She resolved to ignore it closing her ears and her mind to the sounds. If anyone wants me they will come and get me she thought. She did however take a second look at the strange elf resting a little way away, averting her eyes when she saw his scars, sure that even asleep she would not want to be stared out. She wondered what had happened to him - battle or mischance? She thought of her father and brother lost in Mordor long ago wondering if they would have borne such scars if they had survived.

Such thoughts were too painful for a fair day and she sought pleasanter ones. Her mind wandered back more than an age of the world and in the bittersweet paths of elvish dreams, Mithalwen's young self walked, with her brothers, the paths of a Lindon still ruled by Gil-galad.

[Arry]

Woody tries to get up a game of marbles after lunch

‘Hurry up and finish your soup!’ Woody nudged Hanson, causing him to slop a little of the mushroom barley broth on his tunic.

‘Hey! Watch out!’ Hanson rasped back. ‘I’m hungry. And besides, why are you wanting to get back to the schoolroom?’

‘Not the schoolroom! Let’s get our marbles out and play over there in the dirt.’ Woody scooted over to where Neviel was sitting. ‘Hey, want to learn to shoot marbles in the dirt?’ he asked. ‘Get Reggie and Willy. Me and Hanson will meet you over by the tall tree,’ he said, pointing.

Hanson came up a grin on his face, and eager to be off. Above his upper lip was a mustache of soup. He had abandoned his spoon altogether and slurped the remainder of the soup directly from his bowl.

[Kath]

Astilwen entered warily through the front door of the inn. She had heard a commotion as she approached and though it did not sound serious she didn't want to walk into the middle of a fight.

Though you would not guess it from her name Astilwen was a hobbit. Her parents had tended to look outside of the Shire for names for their children and she counted herself lucky that she had not ended up being called something a lot worse. Apart from her name she was as typical looking a hobbit lass as they come with curly brown hair falling down around her shoulders. She was quite a young hobbit, not yet come of age at 29, but she was free of spirit and with seven siblings at home she had not felt guilty when she left to explore the wider world.

Seeing that all seemed calm inside she walked up to the bar, unsure of what to do or who to talk to. She wanted news of "the outside" as her parents called the lands beyond the Shire and so chose to order a drink and wait in the hope that someone would take pity and welcome her.

[littlemanpoet]

Uien struggled against the tight grip of the orc; she knew what it wanted.

<It is I Esgallhugwen Elenglin, do not be taken by the shadows, come back to the light Uien Aduial, do not leave the twilight that you love so. Listen to me and come back to the light!>

Esgallhugwen? Uien stopped struggling and looked, seeing the Elven woman for the first time. Esgallhugwen whistled to her wolf, "Go and fetch Falowik, mellon". The wolf rushed away toward the front of the Inn.

Falowik? Where is he?

Esgallhugwen was saying something to her. "...I must teach you." Teach me what? Eswen let go of Uien's wrists. "But first I believe hearts are in need of mending." She reached out at the curious wooden object that lay in the grass and examined it with a frown. "Is this what you want, or is this what you had and lost long ago with your own mother and father? Often the past haunts our kind, mellon and this carved object may not be the future".

Uien shook her head. "I know not which it is, Eswen. I did not know what was in me that struggled so to show itself."

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

"Stay, Falowik!" said Aman. "Do not leave! I am sure there must be some reason."

"Some reason she has rejected me? I can tell you, she wants an Elven mate with whom she can have an Elven child. Did you not see the carving she has made?"

A white wolf came running up to them suddenly, and stopped between them, looking at Falowik. He jumped back, startled. The wolf lunged and grabbed for his wrist, pulling him painlessly back toward the Inn.

"Hey! What are you doing, wolf?"

The wolf paid no heed, but kept dragging him toward the Inn.

"'Twould seem," said Aman, walking behind, a grin in her voice, "that all Middle Earth conspires to bring you back to Uien, Falowik Stonewort."

"Wolf! Let go! I shall follow you! I promise." The wolf stopped, not letting go, and fixed Falowik with its eyes, suspiciously. "I give you my word, wolf." Falowik could not help chuckling a little, looking at himself in this fix from the back of his mind, caught by a willful wolf. It let him go and watched him closely. "Lead on, wolf."

The wolf led him to Uien and another woman. Slowly it dawned on Falowik that he knew this Elf woman. It was Eswen! And Uien was quiet, watching him as he approached. The white wolf came to Eswen, who scratched his head between the ears, thanking him for "bringing Falowik back". Falowik came to a stop just a little way from the two Elven women. He felt ill at ease, not knowing what to expect from the Elfwoman who had just told him to get out of her life; he watched her guardedly. Aman joined them, but all four seemed cast into a pall of silence.

[Witch_Queen]

Jon

Jon felt troubled by what Dwaline had to say. He didn't care anymore. Jon's life was already full of troubled times and now it didn't matter to him what either of the two thought. Jon wasn't sure what he suddenly sensed but something had changed in Dwaline's voice. "Dwaline I am here to talk to an old friend. Sarah and Aman didn't know each other at all. As far as Aman knowing about Sarah's death I don't even know if she has been informed. Like I said I came to the Shire seeking council with Aman. I believe even in the Shire there is no law prohibiting me from talking with an old friend."

Jon let out a smirk before picking up his mug of ale. Dwaline knows not what he's getting himself into. As for this wild goose chase... Even a wild goose is smart enough not to stand in the way of my path. Jon took a drink of his ale and turned his attention to the window. He didn't know why but he felt drawn to the outside at that time.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

"Indeed no," said Dwaline, "There is no law that I know of. But Hobbits are a strange folk, and their ways are queer." He gulped down the last of his ale and placed the mug flat on the table. Seeing discomfort in Avalon, Dwaline leant back on his chair and stared John straight in the eyes.

Ye fool, Thought Dwaline, thou hast many troubles on you're mind. Lies, thievery and murder. Turning his attention to the fireside, he began to think back to when his father was teaching him how to smelt ores and to fashion Gold. He shook his head and smiled.

"Something trouble you," said Dwaline, preserving some distress in John's face, "and I see that some great ting weighs heavily on you." John attempted to hide it, but he realised Dwaline was already beginning to delved deep.

[Lasbelinion]

His mind drifted to that odd space between waking and dreams. The herbal mixture he’d drunk down had eased the pain in his limb and face. But with the easing came also a haziness to his thoughts, bringing half dreams that lingered just on the edge of real.

Who has done this to you, little one?

Little one . . .

Was that the voice of his mother? He moaned, knowing that it could not be so. She was wrenched from him long ago.

Lithmîrë stifled another moan as he fought his way back to wakefulness. He sat up with a start, forcing his eyes to focus on the area about him. Ready to lash out at any who had drawn near him.

No one. At a distance was the odd tableau gathered about the nosy Elf who had pried into his thoughts. Some trouble had come upon her, it seemed, and an eddy of concern now swirled about her. He shuddered at the thought of all that emotion besieging him were he her.

But he was not.

He stood, dusting himself off as best he could, where a few fallen leaves clung to his cloak. Who had spoken to him? he wondered again. There was no one near he saw turning his gaze about the yard.

A ways away from his eyes caught the neatly laid out rows of a garden. No, two gardens, he could see, narrowing his eyes. One with the first push of spring vegetables; the other more of a jumble of varying plants laid out amid rocks and small paths. Herbs! Perhaps the one in whose garden they were would let him poke about in it and pay for what little he needed to get him to the Havens.

Lithmîrë pulled his cloak closer about him. A moment of light-headedness assailed him and he reached out a hand to steady himself against the trunk of the tree beneath which he’d been resting. The feeling passed as quickly as it had come. He withdrew his hand from the tree’s support; without thinking he murmured some small words of thanks.

[Fairleaf]

In a quandary over the Elf and his herbs

She watched him as he made his slow way toward the gardens that lay in the back of the Inn. Many of the herbs she had recognized from the hot drink he’d made and drank were in the Inn’s little plot. But some of them, the vervain and the betony, were not.

He favored his left arm, cradling it against his body, she noted as he walked. His fist clenched and unclenched periodically as if he sought to relieve some spasm that passed through it. So too his face, where the red ropy flesh twitched at times, pulling his face into a grimace.

There were other herbs he could use, she thought to herself. Ones she once grew in the gardens she had tended. In the little wooded hillsides to the north, she had seen them growing wild.

While the folk of this area slept, beneath the moonlight and the stars she could gather them. Along with the betony and the vervain he favored. Leave them for him as he lay sleeping.

But no, that would not do. She could not just leave them for him to try out on his own. There were two which were quite poisonous if not used in a proper manner. She would have to decide to speak with him should she gather them for his use.

The thought perplexed her. Perhaps he could get by with what he normally used. She watched as he rubbed his face, trying to ease the pain of the scarred flesh. Already the tincture he had drunk was wearing off.

No, she would bring him the herbs and she would teach him their use. And the One willing, he would keep her secret.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine knew he was being hustled out of the kitchen by Cook’s assistants, but he did not mind, for the sandwiches they were using as bait looked exceedingly good. He had heard about the Halfling’s love of food, and was pleased to see that their reputation for hearty fare – and plenty of it – was well deserved. Rather than going into the Common Room he stepped outside, hoping to get a breath of fresh air. He had been so long on the Road that to remain indoors was still unnatural. He stepped out into the sun and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He smiled, and opened his eyes again, casting about for a place to sit with his provender.

His attention was called to a small group of people beneath a tree, seemingly caught up in some drama and for a moment he thought of finding out what was wrong, but then the fair Innkeeper emerged from the Dragon and seemed to take charge. He allowed himself to watch her for a moment, for a pretty face always was pleasing to him, and it was particularly pleasant to see one of his countrywomen again. His mind wandered back to the previous night and to what he had heard his odd roommate saying in his sleep about the girl – he had not been able to make all of it out, but it seemed that they were related in some way. That this mere slip of a girl from Rohan was related to a Man of Gondor would bear some looking into…there might even be a song in it.

Turning about once more he saw an Elven woman sitting alone beneath another tree and without a moment’s hesitation the Bard moved toward her. “Elen sila lumen omentielvo” he greeted her, bowing low over his plate. The Elf looked at him with mild surprise at his facility with the greeting. Dipping her own head slightly she returned it, then adding in the Common Tongue, “Well met, sir, it is rare that a mortal should speak in the High tongue in so comely a fashion.”

Hearpwine smiled. “I speak little of it, so I try to make up for the limitations of my vocabulary with careful pronunciation.”

“And who has been your tutor?”

“I dwelt for a time in the land of Ithilien, where many of the Fair Folk came to heal its wounds after the War. There I would spend many hours with the Elves who cared for my company, desiring to learn of them whatever songs they might be willing to teach me. For I am a bard of Rohan, the Bard of Rohan now, and I am always looking for new songs with which to amuse my King. I am Hearpwine son of Æthelstan, and I would account it a great honour if you might allow me to take my meal with you so that we might speak of the lands and songs you know, which I do not.”

The Elf smiled and nodded her head, indicating that Hearpwine might sit by her. “I am called Mithalwen,” she explained as Hearpwine tucked into his meal. “I am an artisan myself, although I make objects of use and beauty not songs. Have you learned many songs of the Elves?”

Hearpwine grinned and set aside his plate, seizing upon even this slender excuse to perform. Drawing forth his harp he explained, “I cannot do it justice, Lady, but as it happens I have had one song upon my mind these last weeks and I would fain give it voice! It is like all the songs of the Eldar, both sad and joyful, and there was a time when I thought it fit only for high occasions, but experience has taught me that a fair song deserves to be sung whenever the spirit of it moves you, and seeing you here beneath this tree, so fair and alone…it reminded me of the one who taught me the tune.” He ended there, as though he were loath to speak more. This was his song:

Ai! laurië lantar lassi súrinen,
Yéni únótimë ve rámar aldaron!
yéni ve lintë yuldar avánier
mi oromardi lisse-miruvóreva,
Andúnë pella, Vardo tellumar
nu luini yassen tintilar i eleni
ómaryo airetári-lírinen.

Sí man i yulma nin enquantuva?

An sí Tintallë Varda Oiolossëo
ve fanyar máryat Elentári ortanë,
ar ilyë tier undulávë lumbulë;
ar sindanóriello caita mornië
i falmalinnar imbe met, ar hísië
untúpa Calaciryo míri oialë.
Sí vanwa ná, Rómello vanwa, Valimar!

Namárië! Nai hiruvalyë Valimar.
Nai elyë hiruva. Namárië!

As he finished he drooped his head upon his chest and fell into silence. His food remained untouched by his hand.

[Mithalwen]

Elen sila lumen omentielvo”

Both the words and their volume roused Mithalwen from her reverie. Now she knew why mortals slept with their eyes shut. A star shines on the hour of our meeting? she thought bewildered as the midday sun, filtering through the branches, dappled the ground with light. Nevertheless she managed to find a tactful response , in Westron to be on the safe side. Though she guessed that this man's self confidence would not be easily dented.

“I dwelt for a time in the land of Ithilien..,

Oh so you learnt your Quenya from silvan elves... that explains much... few of them have much love for any of the works of the Noldor...strange that the king of Rohan should spare his bard for such a long time Mithalwen was grateful that unlike Snaveling, she did not have to mask her thoughts with this man - he might have a musician's ear for the sounds of spoken language but she doubted he had a nature adept for the osanwe kenta. She would have to be sociable - hobbits took their luncheon seriously she had learnt and the Flaxmans would not open the forge again for a good hour. The tormented elf had slipped away she noticed ... she wished momentarily that she had his skill in repelling company. She introduced herself, careful not to mention her specialism as a maker of musical instruments and then made her first error. Have you learned many songs of the Elves?” He will sing at me she thought ... and now he lectures me on the music of my people! Me fair? pah! Valar valuvar She sighed inaudibly and settled herself for the performance, drinking deeply at her cider and breaking the neglected bread and cheese on her plate into fragments.

It was a little bizarre to hear a mortal sing of Valimar but she supposed that the themes of loss and separation were common to all. As he finished she realised that this seemingly insensitive man was deeply moved. She had two options and after her clumsy handling of Falco, and Aman only one was possible.

"If you like songs in the ancient tongue - perhaps you will care for this, if you know it not already?

Men cenuva fánë cirya
métima hrestallo círa,
i fairi nécë
ringa súmaryassë
ve maiwi yaimië?

Man tiruva fána cirya,
wilwarin wilwa,
ëar-celumessen
rámainen elvië
ëar falastala,
winga hlápula
,rámar sisílala,
cálë fifírula?

Man hlaruva rávëa súrë
ve tauri lillassië,
ninqui carcar yarra
isilmë ilcalassë,
isilmë pícalassë,
isilmë lantalassë
ve loicolícuma;
raumo nurrua,
undumë rúma?

Man cenuva lumbor ahosta
Menel acúna
ruxal' ambonnar,
ëar amortala,
undumë hácala,
enwina lúmë
elenillor pella
talta-taltala
atalantië mindonnar?

Man tiruva rácina cirya
ondolissë mornë
nu fanyarë rúcina,
anar púrëa tihta
axor ilcalannar
métim' auressë?
Man cenuva métim' andúnë?"


Mithalwen sang soft and her voice had a sweet melancholy that fitted the melody and also it seemed the words though of those Hearpwine could understand but little. The elf was aware that she had now his full attention and smiled to herself on how the tables had turned and the audience had become performer. She translated for him a little haltingly for the words brought back many memories for one who remembered the downfall.

"Who shall see a white ship leave the last shore, the pale phantoms in her cold bosom like gulls wailing?

Who shall heed a white ship, vague as a butterfly, in the flowing sea on wings like stars, the sea surging, the foam blowing, the wings shining, the light fading?

Who shall hear the wind roaring like leaves of forests; the white rocks snarling in the moon gleaming, in the moon waning, in the moon falling a corpse-candle; the storm mumbling, the abyss moving?

Who shall see the clouds gather, the heavens bending upon crumbling hills, the sea heaving, the abyss yawning, the old darkness beyond the stars falling upon fallen towers?

Who shall heed a broken ship on the black rocks under broken skies, a bleared sun blinking on bones gleaming in the last morning?
Who shall see the last evening?"

As she finished, Mithalwen realised that her irritation had faded Anar kaluva tielyanna she thought

[littlemanpoet]

Uien looked at Falowik, who watched her in agitation. What do I want? She did not want to probe anyone's thought. She would not allow her heart to be so flayed again. Never! She swallowed, blinking back tears she did not want seen, not even by Falowik. Maybe she wanted a child; maybe not. It seemed to have lost its import.

"Eswen," she said, her voice sounding cold in her own ears, "tell me what happened." Eswen explained what she knew: she had seen Uien crawling, in terror and agony; she had seen Falowik walking away, leaving Uien.

Uien looked at him. "Where were you going, Falowik?"

"I - I-" he stopped and swallowed, and stood striaighter, regarding her. "North. You carved an Elvish man and child with you. Is that your desire?"

Uien bowed her head and sighed. "I do not know." She looked up at him, saw that he was smitten by her words; his throat worked. He needed her to come to his rescue, to save him from the despair he might succumb to. I have given my heart to you, Falowik Laurëatan. But she did not speak the words, nor send them into his mind, for there was something within her that she had not noticed before, something hard, as if a bit of iron was merged within her, and she did not wish to be always the giver anymore. Let him stew.

"Leave me alone," she said. "All of you!"

"Forever?" Falowik asked. She looked at him again. His eyes were narrowed, as if he expected her to say yes.

"No, Falowik," her tone made his name seem to mean fool. "Give me the afternoon." She turned from them and walked away.

"Uien!" called Eswen. Uien ignored her and continued across the back of the Inn, away toward the pasture. She came within earshot of an Elven song.

"Who shall heed a broken ship on the black rocks under broken skies, a bleared sun blinking on bones gleaming in the last morning?
Who shall see the last evening?"

It was Mithalwen, singing to a human man Uien had not seen before. The song was a beautiful elegy. It reminded Uien that her family had gone over sea and that she had been left behind, forgotten. Unvalued. Uien pursed her lips and swept by the two of them, her mind closed against the Elven woman, this lady who had asked for aid but gave none. Heart's friend? Uien had much to think about, to reconsider.

[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.

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About Elves in Shire RPG's:

Please use this description from Tolkien when crafting an Elf:

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

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

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

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EVERYONE

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

Thanks!

Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[piosenniel]

It is noon now in the Shire. The sky is a glorious shade of blue; the sun is shining bright and warm on the Inn.

Lunch is ready for those that are hungry. Barleyed mushroom soup, platters of cheese. And baskets of fresh, crusty bread . . .

Drinks of all sorts, as usual are available.

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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

[SonOfBombadil]

Lewis walked down the dirt road with a happy bounce. He had been out all day and was looking forward to seeing Ravon for lunch at the Green Dragon. Nervously he played with a small package in his right hand coat pocket.

Reaching the inn, Lewis bounded up the step and walked through the doorway. He looked around and smiled as he saw that Ravon was already here. He quickly made his way over to where the beautiful elf maiden was sitting.

[Firefoot]

When Neviel came over to tell him about the game of marbles starting up, Willy jumped up happily from his seat, stuffing the remainder of his roll (that is, most of it) into his mouth and pocketing another. He wasn't too sorry to leave a few spoonfulls of soup left in his bowl.

He dug his pouch of marbles once more from his pocket and hurried over to join a couple other lads, Woody and Hanson, he was pretty sure their names were, where they had drawn a circle in the dirt and were setting up the marbles. They were shortly joined by Neviel and Reggie.

"Are we ready to start?" Willy asked. The others agreed that they were, and so the game began. He went second, after Hanson. On his turn he took out his shooter, his blue "lucky" marble. Sure enough, on his first turn he won two marbles before missing. "Too bad," he muttered, standing back to let the next lad go.

[Tevildo]

The small side door to the Inn swung open and Camille came racing out into the garden. Most of the children were finishing their lunch. A few of the lads had pulled over to one corner and were playing marbles in a small dirt clearing.

"Miz Bella, I'm so sorry to have taken so long." Camille interjected. "I had the hardest time getting Rory back to the Dragon. I always thought my brother was just a little puff of air, and I could whisk him along in the barrow. But it took me forever. It must have been all that food Master Falco fed him last night!" Camille did not mention how the barrow had tipped over and her brother had been left sprawling in the dirt.

"Where is your brother now?" the teacher questioned.

"Inside, in the school room. It would be hard for him to come into the yard with the steps and all. He'll wait there till we go back in. I'll just get some lunch and take it to him, if you don't mind." With that, Camille snatched up a soup bowl and several pieces of cheese and disappeared back inside.

[Saelind]

As Willy finished shooting marbles, Neviel stood up and tugged impatiently on Woody's sleeve. "Did you hear that? That hobbit lass over there.....talking to Miz Bella. She said her brother was inside because he couldn't manage the steps. You know, I wouldn't like sitting inside by myself." Then he added in a softer voice, "I think I could help him with those steps...even carry him outside." Although only eight years old, Neviel stood a good foot taller than the teacher. The lad was slim but wiry and strong; he was used to bearing large bundles from his time on the road when he had carried his own belongings on his back. "Woody, I'll be back in a minute."

Before Woody or the others could say anything to stop him, Neviel ran off towards the building to see if he could help Rory. All the while he wondered: what was wrong with the young lad's legs that they wouldn't do something so simple as carry him down the steps? He remembered one time in Rivendell when there had been a young Elf who had a problem like that. The Elf had been in an accident years before. It had been his father who had taken the time to work with the Elf's legs and somehow reteach him how to walk. Neviel wondered if his father could somehow help Rory. He would have to ask him.

Bounding up the steps, Neviel pushed the door open and rushed inside the schoolroom. The hobbit lass Camille was standing protectively over her brother. She turned around to face the Elf. "Excuse me!" Neviel blurted out. "I can carry your brother down those steps. It's no trouble really. I promise not to drop him. And I thought he'd like to be outside with the rest of us. Maybe he could play marbles with us?"

[Arry]

Willy and Hanson lit out after Neviel, their shorter legs pumping fast to stay up with the Elf. Their curiosity was peaked at some new boy come to school. And why couldn’t he walk , Hanson wondered aloud as they hurried along. ‘Might be like one of Gaffer Lambswort’s sheep – the ones from last season. There were two as was born lame. Remember?’ huffed Woody.

Neviel was already speaking with the older girl, Camille, when they burst in, and crowded up behind him. Hanson recognized the posture the big girl had taken. Same’s the one Woody had when older kids had picked on him or their littler sister.

‘Don’t get too close to her. She looks like she might smack you if you do,’ Hanson whispered to Neviel. He peeked around one side of the Elf and grinned at the boy. ‘Hey!’ he said. ‘My name’s Hanson. This here is Neviel and that’s Woody. My big brother.’ He nodded to the open door to the schoolroom. ‘We’re all outdoors. Come out and play some marbles with us before the teacher gets us all back inside.’

He felt Woody nudge him to be quiet. Hanson shrugged away from his brother’s reach and stepped closer to the boy. ‘Come on! Then we can break into teams. You can be on me and . . . Neviel’s if you want.’

Hanson turned and stuck out his tongue at Woody.

[Esgallhugwen]

Uien stood up abruptly and began to walk away, "Uien!" Esgallhugwen called but to no avail. Leave her be for now, she thought turning to the others.

"I have done what I can to free her from the thoughts that doomed to trap her, but now she must be left along to sort her feelings out. She loves you Falowik, but something darker haunts her heart and she knows not who to turn to"

The familiar heat of flame subsided and Eswen sighed with relief glad that it was gone, for now. The sun was bright in the clear blue sky, she could hear children playing and turned her attention towards them.

Scurrying about, careless, free. They were playing marbles or so it seemed, but something had caught their attention and soon they were back inside talking wildly with the vigor of youth.

"A school? My dear Aman, what have you been up to?"

She managed to convince Falowik to sit beside her in the shade of the Inn, "give Uien time Falowik, don't wander into the wilds alone again, the meaning of that carven object may not be what it seems".

I come I come to hearth and home but what displeases me the most is the sight of ash and bone.

Elvish riddles

[Fairleaf]

Daisy faces off the nosy boys

‘Don’t be a pest, Reggie!’ Daisy saw her little brother get up from the marble ring and called out to him.

Reggie, however, was not about to miss out on something new and exciting. He ignored her, not even giving her the courtesy of looking her way.

‘Little snot!’ she muttered under her breath. She got up from her seat in the shade and rushed after him. ‘You just wait til I tell Ma how you been acting!’

He had a good head start on her, much to her misfortune. And he made it through the door to the schoolroom with only the barest of yanks from her grasping fingers on the tail of his tunic. He slipped away easily and went up to stand by his new friend, Hanson.

‘What’s going on?’ he asked, then saw the new boy seated in the classroom. ‘Is he gonna play . . .?’ he began to ask, but was cut off by his sister’s entrance.

Daisy, of course, was mortified. Here was here new acquaintance, soon to be friend, she hoped. And there were the other boys and Reggie annoying her. At least that’s how it looked to her.

‘Oh, Camille!’ she said going to stand by the older girl. ‘I’m so sorry my brother’s bothering you . . . and this must be your brother, right.’ She glared at the gathered boys. ‘What are you all doing in here anyway? Leave my friend and her brother alone!’

[Firefoot]

Not one to be left out, Willy had trailed after the other lads towards the school room. He was as curious as the others about this other lad, who apparently couldn't walk. He thought of how boring life would be if he couldn't walk and run and play and felt a wave of sympathy for the lad he had never seen before.

He walked in almost immediately after Reggie's sister and caught the end of the conversation: "Is he gonna play...?" Reggie was saying.

"Oh, Camille! I’m so sorry my brother’s bothering you . . . and this must be your brother, right."

"We're not bothering," interrupted Willy. What was wrong with her? Didn't she realized how lonely the boy must be? "We thought maybe-" Willy realized he didn't know the boy's name. "-he would want to play marbles with us. We thought it'd be lonely, having to sit in here while everyone else is playing outside."

[piosenniel]

Cook muses on the two firewood stackers and encounters the Elf in her garden . . .

Cook had recovered, somewhat, from her erstwhile dishwasher. Ginger had come back into the kitchen with two of the other servers and they had cleaned away the messy area surrounding the sink. The wet and dirtied tea towel, Cook had taken herself to soak in some hot sudsy water with a half cup of lemon juice stirred in to ease out the stains.

While the others mopped up the kitchen’s floor, she went out the back door to catch a breath of fresh air. The lunch cooking was done and those of her staff had the serving of it well under control. Supper was all ready to be cooked a little later. She had a few precious moments to herself.

The warm spring breeze caught a stray curl, teasing the springy grey flecked strand from behind the Hobbit’s ear. It tickled her cheek. Unthinking she made to tuck it firmly under her head band. But looking out over the pleasant, sunny day made her feel quite young again. And she took the band from her hair, letting all her curls toss in the breeze.

The old kitchen tabby had braved the day and was curled up in a patch of sun. She raised her head as Cook stood on the porch and meowed a bit. A little protest, as Cook stood blocking the sun.

‘Well, begging your pardon, Gammer,’ Cook said, leaning down to give the feline a little scratch behind the ears. The Hobbit stepped down to the first step of the porch of the sun, gathering the back of her skirt neatly beneath her. She stretched her legs out and wriggled her toes, enjoying the feel of the sun’s heat on them.

There, to her right, near the Inn woodshed were Derufin and his helper. Anyopâ, she said, thinking on the man’s name for a moment. The wagon was halfway unloaded now. The two men had taken off their tunics as the day grew warmer. Their skin glistened as the light hit it. The muscles on their arms bulged as they carried the large armfuls of wood to the shed. Hot dirty work, she thought to herself. And thank goodness they had been willing to do it for her. ‘I must remember to cook up some sweet treat for master Derufin,’ she said, making a mental note of her decision. ‘And find out what the other fellow likes, too. Small payment for a big job.’ She took a closer look at Anyopâ. ‘Hmmmph! A little too stringy! Course maybe that’s how they grow ‘em where he comes from.’ She eyed him again. ‘Needs a bit of fattening up, I think. At least while he’s under my roof.’

A short way beyond those two were the Inn’s gardens. One for vegetables and a smaller one for herbs – cooking and medicinal. Cook shaded her eyes against the sun. Hmmm . . . now there was someone walking about in her herb garden. Tall fellow, she could see. And, Land Sakes! He had his cloak all pulled up around him and his hood up, too. Every once in a while she saw him stoop down to finger a flower or a leaf. Didn’t pick any though, as far as she could see.

With the pride of all Shire gardeners rising in her, she thought perhaps he might be admiring the layout of her little bed and the healthy, hardy plants she had nurtured from seed to leaf and flower. Mayhap he was a gardener in his own right.

Cook stood up and smoothed her skirt and apron with her hands. She took the hairband from her pocket and caught back her curls. Filling the oaken bucket from the pump, she went walking toward the tall fellow and her garden. His back was to her and he was bent over, his long fingers brushing across a low growing plant with softly bristled leaves that had spread over a nearby rock.

‘Woolly thyme,’ she said, coming up to stand beside him. ‘One of my pride and joys, that is. Had to trade a number of starts to my other herbs to get that. Comes up from the south . . . far south.’ She bent over and pinched the leaves of a similar plant near it, though these were smooth and shiny. ‘This one too’s from the more southern lands. Quite tasty on Shire brook trout. They call it lemon thyme. Here, smell it . . .’ she held the crushed sprig out to him.

[Huan]

‘Who’s that? Over there. With Cook.’ Anyopâ took the handkerchief from his breeches’ pocket and wiped the sweat from his face. He nodded toward the garden area where Cook stood speaking to some cloaked man.

It was an interesting scene, the compact, tiny Hobbit and her long, tall companion. He could see her bend to pluck some bit of plant, take a deep whiff of it, and then offer it up to the other person.

‘Odd, don’t you think,’ he went on, ‘that he seems to conceal himself. The day is far too warm for that.’ He grinned at Derufin, drawing the back of his arm across his already beaded brow. ‘Or so it seems to me.’

[Envinyatar]

Derufin squinted against the sun, trying to see who Cook was with. ‘Don’t know who that is,’ he said, throwing his armful of wood onto the pile. He moved into the shade of the woodshed, letting the small shadow of the eaves cut the glare of the bright light.

‘She looks as if she has it well in hand,’ he said, taking the dipper of water Anyopâ offered him. He took a long, slow drink of the cool liquid, enjoying the feel of the water against his parched throat.

‘Let’s keep her in sight, though . . .’ He sat down on the back of the wagon, motioning for Anyopâ to sit with him. Derufin fished about in his vest and pulled out his pouch of pipeweed. He filled his own pipe; then, offered the pouch to Anyopâ.

[Kath]

Hearing the noise of chattering children Astilwen was reminded of her siblings back in the Shire, with 5 brothers the sounds were familiar! Looking around she saw a bunch of younger hobbits gathered around two girls - neither of whom looked too happy.

She got up and walked over to them.
"Excuse me." she said to the girl who had been shouting at the boys. "But is there anything I can do to help?"

[Child of the 7th Age]

A ghastly apparition entered the Inn - well, it must have entered, since it was definitely inside, but no one had seen how. Strangely, the door had remained closed. It wafted over to one of the tables and dropped a parchment onto it. Then it disappeared again, leaving only a faint wisp of pink haze and a trace of light, flowery perfume in the air.

The guests who were seated at the table stirred from their temporary immobility, thankful that the possible danger had passed. The bravest of them lifted the parchment to the light and read:

The Barrow-Wight invites you to his barrow to celebrate the Barrow-Downs' fifth birthday!

Please come as the ghost of your real life identity - we won't see you completely, only as much or as little as you want to show us. You may describe the real life clothes you are wearing; if you wish, wear a name tag that shows part of your real name. (For safety reasons, please do not reveal your full name here!) Bring your favorite real life foods and drinks; describe the journey you made from your home (again, no full address, please); bring a present for the Wight; entertain us with your real life talent(s) of poetry, music, art, etc. - in short, imagine that this is a Barrow-Downs convention and you finally get to actually meet all of your online friends!

Location: the Wight’s Barrow, temporarily located on the Novices and Newcomers forum

Time: beginning Sunday, May 1, 2005, early in the morning

Food, drinks and entertainment to be provided by all who take part.

Five years is too short a time to post among such excellent and admirable members, but it’s a long life for an internet community! Let’s celebrate the occasion with much joy and merry-making – and with sincere gratitude to The Barrow-Wight, our esteemed founder!

There was a sudden buzz of conversation as the guests pondered the significance of this strange invitation. What was the meaning of "real life"? They could only hope that someone would know...
__________________

This note was dropped off by a ghost who looked suspiciously like Estelyn Telcontar.....

[Lasbelinion]

Lithmîrë had not heard her; either because she had come on such silent feet or because his senses were dulled from the infusion he had taken to allay his pain. He looked down at her, from the shadows of his hood, his eyes narrowing, and made to step away. But she ignored his movement and continued to talk to him.

Before he could push her away with some barbed remark, the scent of the thyme assailed him. It was sharp. And clean. Inviting a deeper exploration. He took another deep whiff of it, the refreshing smell seeming to clear his mind a bit. There were other sorts of the same plant planted near each other. She spoke of them in a knowing manner, a tinge of pride edging her voice as she spoke of the nurturing of each. Lavender thyme with its rich sweet-clean smell. Caraway thyme, its dark green leaves dotted with small black spots. Another heady inviting scent greeted him as he held a few crushed leaves to his nose. Wandering about the garden’s rockery there were many others she plucked and spoke of, handing a sample of each to him.

They paused at the end of the herb's plantings. The woman was watching him. Her bright brown eyes, her stance, telling him a response was expected. As if she had spoken to a fellow gardener. Memories of long years in the fields of Lithlad sent a tremor through him.

Gardener! And what had he grown save food for the Master’s creatures? And what had he planted save for the bodies of his ragged companions from which grew bitter memories in dark abundance.

Smaller memories crept in softly from the dark edges of his thoughts. Of plants he had hidden among the long rows of those the armies needed for their sustenance. Simple herbs for easing the hard days of captivity. Tinctures to quell the pain of the lash; unguents to douse the flames that licked along the furrowed flesh.

The words falling from his twisted lips were a surprise to him. Gently spoken and ending with an expectation of further conversation.

‘Where last I put trowel to earth, Mistress, we . . . I . . . had no knowledge of thyme. It seems a hardy plant. One that would be well suited to a land of sun and thin soil. A subtle plant, too. It adds to the flavor of one’s food, I expect. Making it savory and pleasing to the tongue . . . yes?’

In the shadow of his hood, he smiled as a rare, pleasant thought assailed him. Those sun wracked, rocky fields . . . how it would please him to see them covered in thyme. All signs of their foul crops and savage harvests cleansed. The land renewed.

[Anguirel]

A cold wind would caress the hair of the Shirelings at their drinks as the door opened again. A young fellow quite tall by Hobbit standards, wearing a woolen cloak, joined the gathering. No sooner had he shut the door behind him than he tumbled over, having apparently missed the step. To those that knew Artifondo Dwellover, known by his friends and family as "Fellover", this was no very great surprise; and it did not take Artifondo himself unawares either. He lifted himself to his feet with surprising dignity. Getting up was a skill he had learned to perfect over the years. Unfortunately, remembering things was not; and he almost immediately forgot why his father had sent him here at all.

Something about the artichoke crop, perhaps? It almost always was. Pellinco Dwellover of Bywater was captivated by the peculiar plants, and could bore for the Eastfarthing on the subject of their marketing prospects.

"Mark my words, Fellover m'lad. One day there'll be wagons full of artichokes travelling all over the Shire, I tell you; to Tuckborough, Hobbiton, Michel Delving; and I don't see, when it comes down to it, why we shouldn't sell 'em to the Big Folk too. They'd go down a storm in Bree, from all I've heard tell. And as for the lordly folk in Annum...Ammun...Annam...er...that city up north, why, they'd breakfast, lunch, and sup on them. And each and every wagon of artichokes will bear the name Dwellover on its canvas. Does your heart good, eh, lad?"

It didn't do Artifondo's heart any good at all. The thought of running Dwellover Artichokes Limited one day, as his father's firstborn son, made his blood run cold. For a start, he couldn't bear the sight of them. Not only were they ugly and bitter, but they had made his early childhood unbearable. "Artichoko!" his schoolfriends had teased. "Artichoko!"

But more importantly, Artifondo had ultimately rather more noble and romantic aspirations. He had scarcely been able to walk when the Travellers had returned, but the memory was deep and indelible; the excitement and glory in the air. It was associated in his mind with a kind of elvishness that he had only seen in the Party Tree; and to this end he had tried to learn a little Sindarin; but his mind always wandered; he loved the poetry only as much as he detested the grammar.

Ah yes, now he remembered why he was here. Ask the barmaid if her employers would consider stocking artichokes to go with the famous Green Dragon stews. Artifondo gave a derisive snort. Would he ever be free of these oppressive vegetables?

[Angel_Queen]

Ravon

Ravon couldn't believe that Lewis was actually going to meet her for lunch at the Green Dragon. She had wanted for a long time to go back to the place of their first meeting. Now she was actually going to find out what the surprise was. She had been waiting for months and thought that it was about time.


"Its about time you showed up. There for a moment I thought you was never going to show up." She had a smile across her face and this time she wasn't going to let this smile go away. She sat back down at the table just as two mugs of ale was placed in front of her. "Here this is yours. Our food should be here in a moment. Now when will I find out what this surprise is. You know its killing me not knowing what it is."

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger speaks to Artifondo

‘Arty – chokes?’ said Ginger, her brow furrowed. ‘You’re wanting The Dragon to take on some arty - chokes?’ She fetched the young man a mug of ale, wiping up the surface of the table where she’d bade him sit down. The thought of eating thistles, for that is what she’d found out from one of the other servers that artichokes are, well . . . it seemed quite awful.

Still he seemed quite hopeful that she or someone would be interested in taking a load off his hands. And she didn’t want to disappoint him . . . she’d seen him fall as he fell in through the door. ‘I don’t know about how much the Inn would take on, but if you can stay a while, perhaps I can see if Cook wants to order some.’

She pointed to the pegs by the door, asking if he’d like his cloak hung up there. ‘I’ll just get you something to eat,’ she went on, thinking he looked like he could stand a bite. ‘It’s mushroom barley soup today with fresh bread and sweet cream butter. And cheese, too, if you wish it.’

[Anguirel]

Artifondo smiled wryly at the pleasant maid's reaction to his offer. Utter bemusement. He might as well have offered to sell her a young dragon. A little consultation, and confusion had become distaste, with a touch of pity. Eating thistles, forsooth...and this was what his father fondly imagined would become the King of Arnor's favourite dish...

"Thankyou," he gasped gratefully, as, without having to be asked, she produced an ale; not too large, and beautifully cold to the lips. He had to control his desire to gulp and slurp like a hog; he succeeded in this, but managed to splash some of the cooling drink down his yellow waistcoat. He watched, disinterestedly, as the pale yellow satin became a strange combination of beige, peach, and umber, the stain extending down like a malevolent claw. His formidable elder sister, Ursula Dwellover, who had run the household since Mrs Dwellover's death, would not be pleased. Wishing to hide his latest piece of clumsiness from Ginger, he quickly drew his cloak across his front, which, since it was fairly hot, he found decidedly uncomfortable.

The lass suggested that he stay and wait for the Cook, and without waiting to hear his affirmative mumble offered to take his cloak. He blushed beetroot-scarlet. Had she seen his spillage? "Ah, urm, well, no, I mean...oh, nevermind, thankyou, yes." He took off his cloak, folded it badly, and passed it over with a faintly aggrieved air.

Her offer of lunch was tempting; Artifondo, an atypical Hobbit in some ways, had a perfectly usual appetite, especially for wild mushroom soup. He thought of Ursula, who would be bustling about preparing lunch; he thought of the bizarre pasties and salads Grizel, his younger sister, liked to create with artichokes; his eyes returned finally to the stain on his waistcoat, his mind to Ursula's temper. All guilt at missing lunch at home evaporated.

"That would be wonderful, miss, and I'll take the cheese too..."

[piosenniel]

She thought she saw the hint of a fleeting smile beneath his hood as she looked up at him. And how odd that he didn’t know thyme. From his few words she guessed that perhaps he farmed on some large concern. And whoever it was who enjoyed the fruits of his labor must have a very plain and limited palate.

‘Well, yes, the flavour is very nice. Subtle, you might say. Brings out the flavour already there and sort of lights it up. And it is quite hardy. Takes a lot to kill it, I tell you!’ She chuckled, pointing to the large patch of woolly thyme. ‘See that flattened out patch, there in the middle? The old kitchen tabby likes to lay there and soak up the sun.’

In a moment of spontaneity and the chance to prolong a conversation on herbs and their uses, Cook asked if he might like to try a little tea with her . . . mint, a bit of ginger, and a pinch of the lemon thyme. ‘In my kitchen, if you wish; or out of doors, perhaps. It’s a nice day for that.’ She leaned down to pluck a weed from between the plants. ‘Oh! And by the way,’ she said, flicking the weed into the waste-pile at the end of the garden, ‘my name is Vinca Bunce . . . or just Cook, as most round here call me.’

[Arry]

Hanson speaks to Astilwen

‘Now look what you’ve done!’ said Woody in his most disgusted voice. ‘Now there’s an adult poking into this. And I suppose she’ll be ratting us out to the teacher and the teacher will be telling Uncle Gil.’

Hanson’s face fell at the thought of riding home with a steamed Uncle Gil. And then of course, there’d be their Ma to face. And hadn’t they both told the two boys not to get into any trouble.

Putting on his sweetest smile, Hanson turned his five-year old face up to the Hobbit woman. ‘She always yells; that one does,’ he explained, pointing at Daisy. ‘We’re just trying to get our friend outside. So’s we can play some marbles. Before the teacher calls us back in.’

[Primrose Bolger]

‘Well, here you go!’ said Ginger, setting her tray down carefully on Artifondo's table. ‘Mushroom barley soup, piping hot from the kettle. A small wedge of cheddar. And here’s a basket of warm bread.’ She gave the Hobbit his tableware, wrapped in a clean napkin, and set down a small crock of butter and one of savory mustard. ‘Now I’ll just top off that mug for you.’

She picked up her tray and was about to leave. ‘Oh,’ she said, turning back for a moment. ‘Cook is busy in the garden at the moment. But as soon as she’s come in, I’ll let her know you’re here.’ Ginger gave him a quick smile and returned to the kitchen.

[littlemanpoet]

Eswen invited Falowik to sit with her in the shade of the Inn.

"Give Uien time Falowik. Don't wander into the wilds alone again. The meaning of that carven object may not be what it seems."

Falowik studied Esgallhugwen. Her face was pale, even for an Elf; with striking cold grey eyes. Unlike Uien, she wore the clothes of a male Elf, and they were weather stained now from her journey, no doubt back from Eryn Lasgalen. Her boots were dark knee-high boots over dark grey slacks. She wore a forest green tunic embroidered with silver knotwork. Her wrists and upper arms are bound with silver embossed leather gauntlets. She had cast her dark green cloak over her shoulders, so Falowik could see that her dark hair was flecked with silver.

It was how she had dressed on their quest into Evendim, and Falowik had gotten used to seeing her thus, but now it occurred to Falowik how different and odd was her garb compared to other Elven women he had seen; not many, of course, but Eswen was still an exception.

The meaning of the carven object may not be what it seems. Falowik huffed a sigh and frowned.

"But the Elf maiden is her," Falowik said. "See the face? The detail? What else could it mean?"

"Have you ever seen Uien's mother?" Falowik shook his head. "Is not the child much like the mother in face?"

Falowik frowned. "You are saying that Uien could be the child."

"Aye. It could be so."

"Maybe so, but what then has come over her to make her act so?"

[Melisil]

Edan

A cheerful young Hobbit walked happily into the noise of the Green Dragon. Ah, thought he, and said aloud. "Well, it be a fine day today sirs and ladies."

With a light skip he hopped over to the counter. "Gather me a hot cup of tea if you would, and a nice bit of bacon sandwich too, if you will." He said to the lady across the counter. Turning, for a second, he looked over the current members in the crowd at the ever lovely Green Dragon. With a light nod of approval, he turned back to the lady, who was sliding over his cup of tea.

"Having a good day too? I do hope you are." He smiled genuinely, open for conversation, "Yeh know, I hear there's a new bit of people moving into this area. Is that true? I wasn't sure if I was to believe my source or not, seeing as he was twice as drunk as a twice drunk young lad."

[Anguirel]

Artifondo could not think of words suitable to express the delight the smell of the soup gave him, and confined himself to a smile. He fell to with great enthusiasm, buttering a piece of bread and dunking it deep into the grey-brown, succulent goodness before him, adding a little seeded mustard contentedly. A morning wandering round Bywater repeatedly-since he had forgotten where he was supposed to be going three times-had left him ravenous, and though he did his best to maintain his decorum, he managed to scatter quite a few crumbs. He had entirely neglected to use the napkin provided. Such banalities rarely occurred to him.

He wondered, as he finished the soup, whether the mushrooms were Cotton's or Maggot's. In either case, his father would regard it as gross treachery. Pellinco Dwellover looked down tremendously on "mushroom-peddlers". Artifondo grinned, feeling the luscious fungal fronds slide into his gullet. Traitor or not, at least he was enjoying himself. The cheddar proved just as excellent; mature and subtle, and combining perfectly with the mustard. Artifondo thought about his cousin in Michel Delving, Gustulo Dwellover, who wrote columns about the relative excellence of the city's taverns and inns. What a job; to be paid to eat and sleep and judge...though Gustulo was quite unusually corpulent now. All such things had their price...

It was as he was delivering the killing blow to the cheese, humming a traditional Shire tune, "Starlings in the Field", that the boisterous young hobbit entered, so confident as to be almost obnoxious. He was obviously trying a instigate a bit of gossiping, and talked very cavalierly of drunkenness. Still, Artifondo knew an opportunity to tell a story he'd been saving for quite a while.

"I'll tell you something," he said casually, looking up. "Do you remember the tales of old Gandalf they told you as a child? Well, a week or so back, at twilight, I'd swear I saw an old man in a brown cloak, one of the Big Folk, who fitted all the descriptions exactly...in Bywater. Talking to sparrows, as far as I could see...just think...a Wizard! In Bywater! Of course my father didn't swallow a word of it..."

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling

Aman moved off to contend with one more of the Inn’s apparently never-ending crises leaving Snaveling alone with Valthalion and the young man’s difficult question. Snaveling looked at Val for a long time before speaking, turning over in his mind how he should respond. He could tell that the young Ranger had accepted his claims in form only, and that he had reserved judgement until later. Snaveling approved of this, for it reminded him of the King Elessar. These Dunadan never cease to surprise he thought to himself, and for a moment he felt a pang as his mind passed over the form of Roa.

Turning his mind back to the present he said, “You ask about a dangerous thing, my friend. Vengeance is not something that I would council any man to think about for it is more destructive of the avenger than of anyone else. There are tales enough of young men who lose their lives in quests such as the one you are on!”

“I shall not be dissuaded!” Valthalion burst forth, showing all the spirit and fire that Snaveling remembered from their first meeting. “The Warlord shall meet his doom at the edge of my sword.”

“I do not doubt it,” Snaveling replied quietly, “but I fear that you might also find your doom in that moment.” Valthalion looked displeased but Snaveling pressed ahead. “You have asked for my help, and though I do not think you will welcome it I will give it you. I have learned to value above all things the wisdom of your Lord Elessar. And while I account any enemy of his to be an enemy of mine, I would not assail your enemy alone and without the benefit of your King’s wisdom. I would bid you, then, return to Minas Tirith where you can report all that has befallen you, and seek the wisdom of the King!”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hearpwine

The Bard of Rohan sat in silence for a long time, his lips moving silently through the words of the song Mithalwen had just sung, his hands slowly miming the movement his fingers would make upon the harp in accompaniment. He had understood more of the song than the Elf obviously realised, but he had not interrupted her translation for it had given him a chance to see what she made of the song. For like all Elvish music, the meaning of the lay was not in the words that it spoke, but in the experience of the music in the heart of the listener.

Rousing himself from his reverie he returned her gaze and saw in her eyes a much more tender and welcoming expression than she had greeted him with. “Thank you, lady!” he cried, and sweeping to his feet he bowed to her with all the practised courtesy of a royal attendant. “You do me an honour beyond reckoning in teaching me such a song…and in the tongue of your people, no less! My hunger for the music of the Fair Folk is insatiable – much to the distress of my former master, who would rate at me for learning the songs of an alien and distant people when the lays of my own folk were, he felt, worthy enough for the halls of the King. But unlike my master, King Eomer has a fondness for the songs of Elves, and I shall delight him with that when I return.” He laughed once more. “But to think that I was sent here to learn the songs of the Halflings so that I might bring those simple tunes to the Golden Hall in honour of those who saved Rohan! The King will wonder that I have returned from the Shire with Elvish music!”

Seating himself upon the ground once more, Hearpwine asked Mithalwen about her trade. “You said that you are a craftsman, Lady. I had thought that all the Elves made things of beauty, but you speak as one with a specific trade? What manner of things do you create?”

[Melisil]

Edan listened rather intently as the other fellow spoke, nodding at the mention of Gandalf. As the other sir trailed to a stop, Edan leaned back in his chair happily. "Imagine that! A wizard, here! Come to think, I'm not knowing how suprised I am on it. Gandalf came, why couldn't another? Still.."

He trailed off for a moment, his eyes bright. "You talked to him did you? I tell you, that would certainly be an interestin' conversation."

As Edan's words were spoken, the server behind the counter placed his bacon sandwich on the table. "Ah!" Quickly pulling out the coins for his food and drink, he handed them to the lady and wiggled his fingers gingerly as his attention returned to focus on the sandwich.

Mm, delicious it was, and an excellent amount of butter had been given on it too. Absolutly heavenly! Remembering that he had been in the middle of a conversation though, Edan swallowed the hefty bite in his mouth and looked over to the sir with a smile, "Well, sorry 'bout my momentary distractions. Where were we?"

[Anguirel]

Artifondo was taken aback with how readily the young Hobbit believed and heeded his curious story. Ursula had threatened to box his ears "to knock out the nonsense", his father had shaken his head and muttered about Elvish twaddle, and Grizel, giggling, had died Artifondo's shoelaces together as he talked. But once out of the Dwellover house and into the welcoming atmosphere of the Dragon, he was truly listened to, it seemed.

He frowned as Edan talked of the natural element to the situation.

"Gandalf came, why couldn't another?"

"Another did," he muttered under his breath. The history of Saruman the White had always been terrifying to Artifondo. The Dark Lord and his armies were nothing but standard ogres to him; but Saruman had been different, by all accounts; a Wizard who had been changed, corrupted, by a thirst for knowledge. What was so wrong with a craving for discovery, a thirst to see new facets in life?

Yet it had destroyed Saruman, and almost taken the Shire with it. It was at Bywater his thugs had been beaten; his father Pellinco had fought beside Meriadoc the Magnificent in that famous battle (though he had not distinguished himself, and had much of the fight pretending to be dead, to the extent that he had almost been given a hero's burial.)

Surely the man in the brown cloak could not be another malevolent magician? And if he was, under the rule of King Elessar he would not dare to act?

Artifondo lost himself in these troubling notions as Edan munched; only the younger Hobbit's query brought him back to the present.

"Where were we?"

"Oh...ah...you asked me if I talked to the old man. Certainly not," Artifondo laughed nervously, "I didn't dare. You'd think I'd sprouted roots. I stood and stock still and watched. But the man wasn't silent. He was making these peculiar chirrups, and tiny little sparrows hopped on and off his wrist. At last it dawned on me; he was talking to them. And that lightened my heart slightly. Surely a fellow who idles about conversing with songbirds can't mean us any harm? But I wonder...I do wonder who he was. I shall see if I can find anyone like him in the records when I have the time."

[Melisil]

Nodding, Edan replied, "Aye, it does seem a strange thing, talking to birds that. But you're a reader?" he asked with interest at his companions mention of the records. "Strangely, I've never had much of it in me, patience I mean, for readin'. Sure, I can well enough, well enough to get by anyways. But it never much occured to me to read up on things that weren't forced to a head."

Yes, that was a very truthfull comment on his part. Much more than once had his mother threaten Edan for not readin' up on what she asked him to for studies. "Edan Chubb," she warn, "You pick up that book and start your readin or so help me you'll get a lickin when your father gets in." It almost always turned out to be rot she was speaking though, it seemed, apart from the days when he had been particularily rotten.

With a slight laugh, Edan took another bite of his sandwich. "No, I'm wrong. There was one other wizard who's not Gandalf who's come to these parts. I'm sure you know of who I'm saying. But aye, ye don't think this one that you've seen could mean any harm?" Unfortunately or fortunatly, however you care to look upon it, Edan hadn't picked up on it quite when Artifondo had made slight reference to Sauroman. He continued speaking.

"Aye, I was just telling my good friend the other day 'No Bog,' I told 'im, 'I don't think there could or should be any wizards of disfortunate dispositions left wandering the hills these days. Aye?'. And that was that quite clearly you see?" The talkative young Hobbit brought his tea to his lips momentarily, to wet his throat.

[Mithalwen]

"What manner of things do you create?" Hearpwine's question once more demanded Mithalwen's attention. She had been distracted by Uien's passage for although Mithalwen had been unaware of the disturbance centred on the other elf woman, she could not fail to be aware of Uien's displeasure though she guessed wrong at the cause. She is still displeased about the braces - well she will have to get over it, I am not changing them now. Having only seen Uien seeming blissfully happy with Falowik she could not imagine the trauma that had taken place and she would have been outraged at the accusation of being ungiving. Since her arrival three days before she had given away the only jewel in her possession, emptied her purse bailing out that wastrel Snaveling and now was giving her time and skill to a virtual stranger.

Momentarily she had thought of following her but Uien's demeanour had been forbidding and Hearpwine had started up again... the moment had passed. I create discord and misunderstanding mainly she thought wryly. I am skilled in the shaping of wood and metal but though I dwell at the havens I am not a shipwright - the stature of the neri is more suited to such undertakings. My aptitude is for smaller items and I make what is required - in times of war, weapons and at all times the necessaries of life - but my greatest delight, and I hope skill, is in the making of instruments of music.

[Lasbelinion]

He was taken aback. His prickly reserve pushed against by her ordinary offer of tea and the tender of her name. He mumbled something, trying to soften the bitterness that had long been the undercurrent of his speech.

She’s only offered tea, fool. And her garden has many of the herbs you need.

‘Tea . . . that would be good. And outside . . . yes.’ He looked about the yard, wondering where they might sit away from prying eyes.

‘Lithmîrë,’ he said, turning back to her. ‘My name, Miss Bunce.’

A spiteful breeze caught the edge of his hood as he spoke, riffling it back, exposing his face. His quick hands pulled the errant hood forward. With a sharp glance from the safety of the shadows, he thought to catch her in a look of pity or disgust.

[Esgallhugwen]

"Maybe so, but what then has come over her to make her act so?"

Esgallhugwen gazed off in the distance, lost in thought. Her own mother slain, her father did nothing, lost in the dark, alone, crushed.

She couldn't allow it to happen to another, especially Uien, because of what they had faced along with Lira and the others. The bond between them had become stronger with the Osanwe Kenta, and Esgallhugwen would not let another fall to oblivion.

"Past regression perhaps. To know for sure I must make a journey, and I will need your help Falowik, I will need your help in order to come back."

Falowik looked at her distraught, "What do you speak of?", she didn't look at him at first concentrating on the distance, on the horizon. Was she looking for something?

"A journey to the shadows, which my Kin rarely undertake due to the danger of descending far enough down that we are utterly diminished and only a shell remains, a shadow of our former self".

Eswen's eyes expressed strict determination as she turned her far reaching gaze on Falowik, "Will you help me Falowik, mellon?"

I come I come to barrow mounds, white flowers bloom, war horns sound.


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Please check your PM's.

~*~ Pio

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[littlemanpoet]

"A journey to the shadows," answered Eswen to Falowik's query, "which my Kin rarely undertake due to the danger of descending far enough down that we are utterly diminished and only a shell remains, a shadow of our former self." Her eyes expressed strict determination as she turned her far reaching gaze on Falowik. "Will you help me Falowik, mellon?"

Falowik's eyes widened. Her Kin. Elvish ways, dark and strange. Falowik's skin crawled. He had seen Uien in the midst of such a moment back at Deadman's Dike, when the stones had spoken to her of death; at least, that was how Uien had put it. Falowik could not imagine what they were talking about, only that it must be darksome, thoroughly Elvish, and therefore a thing that a mere human had better stay far from. Yet Eswen asked for his help.

"How can I help you, Eswen? I am no Elf."


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~*~ Pio

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[Anguirel]

Artifondo couldn't help but laugh at Edan's turn of phrase. Disfortunate dispositions, indeed...but the essence of Edan's theory was good sense. There were now no Wizards left with the power or will to disrupt the humdrum peace of the Shire, either for better or worse.

He smiled at Edan. "I'm the opposite of you. Reading is my escape. My father and sister are always dragging me out of some history or book of poems, sending me off to harvest artichokes, or buy some twine, or deliver a letter, or collect levies from our tenantry...I can tell you, there are times when I sorely wish we Hobbits wore shoes, for my soles feel like the hide of an Oliphaunt..."

He sat back in his share, his meal finished, his belly pleasantly full. This was all very agreeable, but when was the Cook planning on turning up? Though she'd probably turf him out on his ear...if she had any sense...still, he had to make the sale, unlikely as it seemed, or he wouldn't be able to justify spending Dwellover money on lunch at the Green Dragon...

[Kath]

"I may be older than you master hobbit but I am not deaf!" Astilwen replied, spearing Woody with a look that had him squirming where he stood.

Satisfied she had made her point she turned to Hanson and smiled back. "Maybe she has reason to yell, are you really so well-behaved that you never deserve to be told off?"

Leaving him trying to work out an answer she turned towards Daisy. "Is there no chance that their friend can join them? It is a beautiful day."

Looking past Daisy she saw another hobbit girl. She could not see much of the boy that was causing all the arguments, but she could see that the girl before him cared deeply for him.

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Check your PM's, please.

~*~ Pio

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[Arry]

‘Told you off proper, didn’t she?’ Hanson smirked a bit at Woody, noting his brother had begun to turn beet red from the woman’s comment.

Woody could feel the heat rising in his face. This was just the sort of confrontation he liked to avoid. His hand snaked out and he grabbed his brother firmly by the collar. In the manner of older boys and their younger brothers he dragged Hanson from the schoolroom and back out to the yard.

‘Sit here,’ he hissed, seating himself beside Hanson on one of the benches in the shade. ‘And don’t move ‘til Miz Bella calls us in.’ He kept his hand near his brother in case he attempted to run again.

Woody was a shy lad. He hadn’t really wanted to come to school in the first place. He liked staying at home, helping out his Da when he could. Drawing pictures as he sat against his favorite sunny rock in the field near his burrow. But his mother had insisted, saying she wanted him to learn his letters and numbers. Behind her words, though, he knew her main reason was to keep Hanson in line.

Now Hanson wasn’t a bad brother. It’s just that he was only five years old, and had the attention span of a gnat. He liked to be doing things; but unfortunately those things involved a lot of moving about, not sitting still and acting properly as was required in school. And, he was a curious child; liked to poke his nose into others’ business.

Tomorrow, Woody thought, he’d beg off school. Let Uncle Gil keep his thumb on Hanson. There were some birds nesting in the beech tree near his drawing place. He wanted to draw a picture of them, maybe climb up if he could and see how the eggs were coming along.

He felt Hanson move, as if to get up. ‘Sit still, I told you!’

Hanson sat down with a sigh and glared at his brother.

‘Will this day never end?!’ grumbled Woody to himself.

[Noinkling]

Benat came whistling up the dirt path to the Inn; his long strides eating up the distance from the main road to the Dragon’s door. Cullen loped along beside him; his pace picking up as he caught the scent of the lunch meal.

It had been an enjoyable morning for the both of them. Benat had been graciously taken in by Sam and his wife, Rosie and made to feel quite at home. He chuckled as he thought of it. They had taken care to set up a little party in their back yard. Food and drink and a rather large bench for Benat to sit on. Sam had told him he’d read Master Bilbo’s account of his stay with Beorn and thought perhaps it would be less cramped for Benat if he didn’t try to squeeze into Bag End.

Cullen had been delighted to meet the Gamgee children. And Rose commented, before she left the men to talk over old stories and books, that the dog would be welcome anytime to come up and nursemaid her wee ones a bit. For his part, Cullen was as patient as he could be as they pulled his ears and poked fingers in his mouth to see his great teeth and gave him mighty hugs with sloppy kisses when he licked them.

Now it was time for food, thought Cullen as they stepped onto the porch and through the door. He could hear Benat’s stomach grumbling as they walked toward a suitable table.

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger smiled to see the big man and his dog come into the Inn. She poured a pitcher of cold cider, and setting it on a tray with a large mug, went over to his table.

Cullen’s tail thumped as she approached. And she winked at him before setting the cider in front of Benat. ‘Well, did you get to see Master Samwise? And see old Mister Bilbo’s books?’ As she waited for his answer, a sudden thought struck her. Soon enough, if she kept up with her reading lessons with Miz Bella, she would be able to read the stories in those books, too.

With a little shake of her head, Ginger brought herself back to the present. ‘We’ve soup and bread and cheese, Master Benat,’ she said, ticking off the foods for lunch. She leaned down and gave Cullen a scratch between his ears. ‘And how about a nice bowl of it for Cullen, here. He looks famished!’ She laughed as the dog whined a bit at her and grinned at her suggestion.

[Fairleaf]

Reggie followed Hanson and Woody from the schoolroom. He hung back a bit, seeing Woody talking seriously to his brother. He knew all about older siblings and their serious talk – mostly it was threats about being good punctuated at times with a little pinch or two if his sister didn’t think he was paying proper attention.

He loved his sister and he was pretty sure Hanson felt the same about his brother. But boy-oh-boy, sometimes his sister sounded just like his Ma. Not that he didn’t love his Ma, either, It’s just that sometimes it felt like there were just too many rules to remember.

He sat near the two boys, on the ground, drawing little pictures in the dirt. He could see Hanson glancing his way, squirming a little. ‘Hey, Woody!’ he said quietly, in a hopeful voice. ‘You think Hanson and me could just play over there. In the corner. I promise we won’t go anywhere else.’

[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.

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Please Note:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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About Elves in Shire RPG's:

Please use this description from Tolkien when crafting an Elf:

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

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

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

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EVERYONE

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

Thanks!

Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[Amanaduial the archer]

Not wanting to intrude upon the solemn affairs that Esgalhugwen talked of to Falowik, Aman had murmured a few polite words and quietly excused herself from their company. After all, she did have an Inn to run, even if it did seem to be part-schoolroom, and even if it did manage to get along quite well enough without her help sometimes. Running a hand through her hair, the Innkeeper surveyed the Common Room thoughtfully, one hand on her hips; she had neglected it somewhat over the past few days, she supposed, and no doubt would need to make it up to Cook at some point. Goodness knows how the old hobbit woman matron deserved it, a break - but on the other hand, it wasn't like she would ever dream of taking one.

As if the very thought could conjure her up, the aforementioned Miz Bunce bustled past Aman as she spoke, heading for the kitchen purposefully. As she did so, she almost ran into a small hobbit lad, and Aman caught her elbow instinctively. Distangling herself from the younger Innkeeper, Vinca raised her eyebrows amusedly at Aman. "Now, now, Aman, I'm not a senile old bodger yet."

The Innkeeper blushed slightly. "Oh! Oh, no, sorry Cook, I didn't mean to cause any...any offence..." she trailed off as she saw that Vinca was laughing at her, and raised a sardonic eyebrow. "Ah. I'm just being mocked as usual. Well, very well, do carry on..." she replied sarcastically. Cook nudged her companionably, tutting good-naturedly. "Ah, hush now, Aman: you're as bad as some of these little'uns!"

As the hobbit woman bustled away, leaving the Innkeeper with this comment, Aman took a second then hurried after her. "What do you mean by that, hmm?" she challenged, pretending to take offence. Her half-moon glasses perched on her round nose - unusually, for Cook did not usually wear them unless she was doing the accounts - Vinca looked severely up at Aman, taking on the role of scolding school teacher. "Having a paddy indeed, Aman - as bad as any of these 'ere children! Not that I mind having the little ones about the place, of course - keeps you young, isn't that what they say, hmm?" Chuckling to herself, Vinca departed in her purposeful potter towards the kitchen, leaving Aman to muse on the hanging rhetorical question. Glancing about at the room, she eyed the hobbit children, who were now reluctantly allowing themselves to be gathered in by Miz Bella, and grinned to herself as she went about gathering the plates and cups already left over from the beginnings of lunch. By the fiercely good-natured determination on the young schoolteacher's face, she wasn't sure Miz Bella would agree with Cook's last statement.

Reading, 'Riting and 'Rithmatic - the three 'r's, taught since the beginning of time by schoolteachers everywhere, and no doubt to be taught to every groaning schoolchild until the end of the worlds came and the gods sailed from the West. Would Miz Bella inject any extras? After all, the Green Dragon was a very unusual Inn; it would be fitting that what was taught was a little different... And it wasn't as if there was any lack of teachers around here from any walk of life, who could teach the budding students any number of things - however irrelevant, it would certainly be an interesting education! Why, Snaveling, or Tar-Corondir as Mithalwen named him: his knowledge of Dunedain history was detailed and from several perspectives, especially the history tracking Gondor for the last century at least, being as he had lived through it; and his knowledge of the court of Gondor. And Miz Bunce? If she could be prised away from her beloved kitchen ad duties, she had a wealth of knowledge of cookery and gardening which Aman solemnly believed was sorely to be matched by any in the Shire, plus her rigid ideas of morals and etiquette, especially for young hobbit lasses. And for the boys? Well, Derufin was able to turn his hand to just about everything - include teaching and he could probably impart some of his useful skills to the children, while Zimzi, his darling new wife, had her own skills...

And why not? The musings carried Aman along in a daze as she patrolled the Common Room. The Three 'R's - add to them botany, cooking, etiquette, history, geography... Her gaze alighted on Hearpwine and Aman almost clicked her fingers as she realised a vital skill for any small hobbit: music-making! In her inquisitive and flowingly curious state of mind, Aman 'accidentally' caught the end of Mithalwen's reply to the Rohirrim Bard.

"...and at all times the necessaries of life - but my greatest delight, and I hope skill, is in the making of instruments of music."

"And who is to say those things are not one and the same?" Aman interjected, smiling warmly at Mithalwen. The elf looked surprised - after all, their interchanges yesterday had not been exactly warm - but picking up on the sincerity of Aman's expression, Mithalwen hesitantly returned the gesture. Hearpwine seemed unaware of the tension, his broad features breaking out into a proud smile as he nodded approvingly up at Aman. "Spoken like a true Rohirrim!"

Mithalwen seemed to wince slightly, and bearing in mind Aman's newly discovered ancestry, the irony of the statement did not escape Aman, but she managed to limit her reaction to a mere twitch of the eyebrow. Covering it up, she continued to clear the glasses on the couple's table onto her tray. "Aye, well, music is the food of life, Hearpwine, as well you know - and talking of which, would you too like lunch at all?"

Mithalwen politely declined but it didn't take much cajoling from the Innkeeper, who would not take no for an answer, for her to accept; Hearpwine was, as always, ready for the Green Dragon's hearty but homely feasts. ("All well and good, just so long as he stays out of the kitchen from now on," Vinca had muttered darkly.) But before she left, Hearpwine commented on Aman's thoughtfulness, and the way she kept glancing towards the school children. Seeing the perfect opening, Aman clicked her fingers and jumped in. "Strange you should mention that, Master Hearpwine. I was...well, I was just thinking about how we could maybe...erm...'extend' the class's curriculum."

"Oh yes?" Mithalwen replied, apparently interested as she leant forward, eyebrows raised. Aman perched on the edge of the seat for a moment, speaking excitedly as she outlined her proposal of all the Inn's denizens and staff had to offer. "I mean," she concluded. "Hearpwine has already attempted to entreat them with music, and were your songs not well recieved?"

"Indeed, indeed, Innkeeper," the bard secondly heartily, taking a quick pull at his fast-emptying pint. "But you yourself, do you not play an instrument?"

The Innkeeper shrugged. "I have not played a harp in many years, Hearpwine, but I remain a vocalist, I hope..." she shrugged again as she rose from her seat, not one used to blowing her own trumpet. "It's just an idea really."

"What does Miz Bella think?" Mithalwen asked.

Aman ran her tongue around her lips anxiously, wincing slightly. "I haven't exactly broached it with her yet," she replied carefully. "But...well...maybe I will..." she added thoughtfully. On that note, her head full of possibilities, the Innkeeper swept off to prepare food, drinks, and a proposal to Miz Bella...

[piosenniel]

Tea with Lithmîrë is finalized; the Artichoke merchant is sent for . . .

‘I’ve been stared at by Elves more bristly than you, Master Lithmîrë,’ said Cook staring back up at the tall fellow. She really didn’t like folk looking down on her, especially with the ‘look’. She was not that short for a Hobbit. Just right in fact, in her opinion. And being short did not mean she could be easily pushed about.

Cook chuckled to herself, recalling how Mistress Piosenniel had tried to ‘manage’ her as she gazed down from her height. ‘Just say what you need and I’ll accommodate as I can. No need to get your hackles up. Tea out of doors will be fine. Perhaps we can just step round in and hour or so to the little bower out near where the groundskeeper’s cottage is.’ She oriented herself and pointed in the direction she meant. ‘It’s a nice private place where two gardeners can talk without fear of turning the others about them to stone from the boring details of plant and dirt. I happen to know that the groundskeeper and his wife will both be gone for the afternoon.’

She led him over to the pump in the Inn’s back yard. ‘Now, if you will, just give the handle a few up-and-downs and I can get my hands washed.’ She did the same for him, worming out of him with her small chitchat what sort of sweets he might like with his tea.

Cook came round to the front door of the Inn, looking for one of the young fellows she’d set to tending the flowers in the front gardens. He wasn’t there, but he’d done a most excellent job so far with the weeding and the pinching back. His tools, she noted, were neatly lined up by where he’d left off. She nodded approvingly. ‘Gone into the Inn for a bite,’ she thought to herself.

Aman was there as she crossed the Common Room. The dear girl had maneuvered her aside to avoid one of the youngsters that was haring back toward the schoolroom. She tossed the young woman a few short comments, her eyes twinkling as she did so. As she hurried on to the kitchen, she could see the vaguely perplexed look on the Innkeeper’s face. ‘Keep her on her toes!’ she chuckled.

Ginger came up to her, just as Vinca was tying on her apron. The story of Artifondo and his artichokes was relayed. ‘Hmmm,’ said Cook, thinking how long it had been since she’d had a nice, plump artichoke to eat. All steamed up nicely; the leaves dipped in melted butter. ‘Have him come to the back door of the kitchen with a few of his ‘chokes. I’ll look them over and see if I want some, or not.’

She stepped into the pantry, looking for the dried plums she had stashed in the back. Out came the plums, sugar, flour, and the big crock of butter. ‘Plum tarts for dessert tonight,’ she announced to Buttercup, who was washing the dishes. ‘Can you mix up the icing to drizzle over them when they’ve cooled?’

[Noinkling]

Benat spies Derufin and Anyopa coming into the common room

As he waited for the arrival of soup, bread, and cheese, Benat looked curiously about the room. New people had arrived to swell the ranks of those he knew by name or at least sight. And he thought he’d seen, off to the side of the building, as he approached, a group of children eating together in a small courtyard and playing games. Now what was all that about, he wondered? He’d ask Ginger about it when she returned with his food.

He was just pouring himself another mug of cider, when he saw some fellows he’d met last night walk through the door, form the kitchen. Cullen thumped his tail at their approach. Benat stood, pulling out some chairs for them.

‘Come! Have something to eat and drink with me,’ he said in a hearty tone. ‘I’ve had the most amazing morning . . .’

[Envinyatar]

Derufin raised his chin toward Benat and grinned. ‘Look,’ he said, turning his head back toward Anyopâ. ‘Benat’s back.’ He raised the mug of ale he held in his left hand, signaling to Benat that they would join him.

‘So, here you are. How was your visit with the mayor?’ Derufin and Anyopâ pulled out chairs for themselves, helping themselves to the basket of bread and the cheese Ginger had brought out.

Benat was about to tell them about his morning, when Ginger sailed up with a tray with two large bowls of soup. She eyed the nearly empty basket of bread and the depleted plate of cheese. Derufin winked at her, and apologized. Then pointing at Anyopâ, he ordered another two baskets of bread, another plate of cheese, and two soups.

Just before she left their table, he called her back. ‘And do you think perhaps Cook has a few of her spice cookies hidden somewhere you could bring for us?’ He gave her his most ingratiating smile.

‘Now tell us about Sam and what you found out,’ he said, turning back toward Benat.

[Anguirel]

Artifondo's eyelids were drooping contentedly down when Ginger returned with the Cook's imperious summons. They produced quite some consternation in the dreamy Hobbit tween.

"Bring a few of my chokes? Ah...but..."

As far as he knew, he hadn't a single vegetable on him. His father had been sure that the fame of the Dwellover Artichokes alone would be enough.

"That name, Fellover, m'boy, will get you into a king's counting-house. You won't need to disturb a single one of my crops."

Ursula had thought differently. "Father, Vinca Bunce is hard as old boots. She'll be sure to demand some guarantee of quality. Artifondo's enough of a dolt even when he bears produce...if he comes in empty-handed, well..."

But Pellinco Dwellover had stuck firmly to his position. "I won't lessen my yield nor demean the Dwellover renown. Besides, Fellover's a good lad really, aren't you?"

Artifondo rolled his eyes. He hadn't known what to say to that; for compared to his rascally, irresponsible little brother Gandrio he was indeed a "good lad". Then at last a memory clicked into place. Grizel, cunning little Grizel, had handed him a bundle as he left. It had completely slipped his mind...now he hurried over to where his cloak hung, ransacked it, and eventually produced the heavily swathed lump, hurriedly unwrapping it.

It was a large, perfectly shaped artichoke, filling his fist. Superb...if you liked that sort of thing. It grew slightly paler at is ages, which lended it a look almost of refinement. Somehow it had escaped being damaged during his fall. He couldn't recall what Pellinco called this strain. Wholesome Carbuncle, or something similarly ridiculous.

"Right," he said to Ginger in relief. "I'm ready to come with you." And he smiled; for he had had an idea, and he intended to present this "thistle" in a way that would be positively impossible to resist.

[Primrose Bolger]

‘That’s it?’ asked Ginger, leading Artifondo round to the deliveryman’s entrance at the back of the kitchen. ‘I think she’s expecting you to bring your cart with you, with the artichokes in it.’ She looked at him in a questioning way. ‘We don’t often have merchants come to the Inn with nothing for us to buy.’

She hurried him along, hoping he wouldn’t fall over as he followed after. He seemed like some young pony whose legs weren’t all working the way they should.

Two steps and they were on the porch at the kitchen’s back door. Ginger waited as he mounted the steps and brushed himself off a little and straightened his vest. ‘Her name is Miz Bunce, by the way,’ she reminded him before they entered the kitchen proper.

‘Well, here he is Cook.’ Ginger took him by the elbow and moved him forward. ‘Master Artifondo Dwellover . . .’ She rolled her eyes and nodded toward the rather large thistle in his hands. ‘ . . . and his artichoke.’

[piosenniel]

Cook meets Master Dwellover

Cook turned from her rolling out of the plum tart pastry and wiped her hands on her apron. Her hands went round to untie her apron as she nodded at Ginger and Artifondo. Laying her apron on the back of a nearby chair, she motioned toward the kitchen’s old oak table, indicating Artifondo should have a seat.

Ginger she instructed to fill the tarts and set them to baking while she spoke with the merchant. Might young! she thought to herself. She watched as he neared the chair across the table from her. Tall lad. Don’t remember the other Dwellovers being of such a height. She shrugged mentally. Never did have much occasion to get to know them well.

Time was passing, and she wanted to get ready for tea with the Elven gardener she’d met. ‘Well, Master Dwellover . . . what sort of wares have you brought for me to look over . . .?’

[Child of the 7th Age]

After several trips back and forth between the courtyard and the schoolroom, Miz Bella had finally managed to sort out the worst of the misunderstandings. She had spoken with Camille and Neviel, and gotten the hobbit lass to agree that the young Elf would help her brother down the steps the next time the children went outside.

For now, it was time to return to class and begin the afternoon lessons. With this in mind, Miz Bella had gone out to the garden and diligently herded the remaining children back into the schoolroom. She counted noses to make sure no one had been left behind. She thought she'd accounted for everyone, although it was hard to tell since a child or two had dropped into the garden during lunch and, seeing the tasty meal provided by Cook, had impulsively decided to join the class on their own.

Once everyone had taken their seats and a special spot was made for Rory, Miz Bella stood up to address the class. But before she could say anything, there was a gentle rapping on the door, and Ruby came into the room, explaining, "Ah, Miz Bella, you're back. Mistress Aman was hunting for you while the class was outside. She has something to ask you."

Miz Bella quickly replied, "Ruby, on your way back, would you tell the Innkeeper that she's welcome to drop by our class anytime. She can see how we're doing and have a word with me whenever she'd like." Ruby nodded and disappeared down the hallway as Miz Bella turned back to the students.

"Master Hearpwine should be arriving shortly. And when he does, we'll shift over to singing. But for now, I have some riddles for you to answer. Whoever gets an answer correct will earn a prize." Miz Bella pointed to a number of small treasures lined up on her desk: a small bag filled with sweets, three chalk sticks, a leather ball, a bright green kerchief for a lass to tie back her curls, and, most glorious of all, a knife that could be used for carving small things out of wood. "Everyone who tries to answer the questions will get a peppermint stick. But whoever has a right answer will be allowed to pick one of these special prizes. If we're interrupted by visitors," Miz Bella noted, "we'll continue with our game later."

"Alright now, here's the first riddle. Listen carefully.

Thirty white horses upon a red hill,
Now they champ, now they clamp,
And now they stand still.

That's the easier one. And here's the second.....

In spring I am gay,
In handsome array;
In summer more clothing I wear;
When colder it grows,
I throw off my clothes;
And in winter quite naked appear.

Can anyone guess what either of those are?"

[Arry]

Hanson and the second riddle . . .

Hanson started giggling as he thought about the second riddle. He nudged his brother, Woody, beckoning him to bend down low so he could whisper something to him. Woody turned beet red as Hanson cupped his hand to his mouth and spoke softly to him.

‘Don’t you dare say that,’ he said in a low, threatening voice to Hanson. ‘Ma will have your hide for it.’

Still, Hanson could not get the funny picture out of his mind and began to giggle again. When Reggie, who was sitting near him, asked what the matter was, Hanson told him.

‘I think she’s made up a riddle about my Great-granda Boffin,’ Hanson whispered. I heard Gammer Boffin telling stories about him one night when I was supposed to be asleep. She said he went a little soft in the head near the end. Liked to poke flowers in his hair in the spring. And sometimes on the hottest days in the summer he’d bundle himself up like it was getting on to winter and the snows. And in the colder weather, he’d say it was too hot, and the family’d find him in thin breeches and barely a vest on. Worst thing though, was one winter he’d gotten into the apple brandy. Got so heated up, I heard Gammer Boffin say, that he danced down the lane in his birthday suit afore they caught up with him.’ Hanson nodded solemnly at the story. ‘It’s what did him in finally, she said, too.’

[Fairleaf]

Reggie was agog at the story. He found it quite fascinating and at the same time dangerously funny. He knew he shouldn’t laugh, but he couldn’t help himself.

‘You’ll win for sure with that answer,’ he confided to Hanson, finally getting hold of himself. He looked longingly at the little prizes.

‘Help me figure out that other riddle, won’t you?’ The two youngsters bent their heads together and puzzled over the horses. ‘Never saw a red hill where I live. Have you?’ Reggie screwed up his lips in concentration. ‘Well, maybe that big hill north of The Pool. In the Fall. The maples there turn red.’ He gave a heavy sigh. ‘But I never saw or heard of so many horses standing on it . . . and all of them white to boot!’

[Kath]

Astilwen had followed the children and their teacher into the schoolroom and was now standing at the back. She had been impressed with the wasy Miz Bella had handled the problems between the younger children and wanted to watch the way she taught in case it gave her any ideas for her siblings back home. Her youngest brother had always had problems with learning anything new - he wasn't stupid, he just didn't like the learning by rote style Astilwen had learnt by.

She listened to the riddles, getting the first one with ease but having to think a while about the second. She smiled as she watched the bemused looks on some of the childrens faces and decided to wait until the end of the lesson to see if Miz Bella would help her, and to offer her services as a helper whether she did or not.

[Child of the 7th Age]

"Woody, Reggie, Hanson.... Enough giggling in the corners! If you have something to say, out with it. Now do you lads or anyone else want to have a go at the answers? There's no penalty for getting them wrong."

Glancing up at the doorway, Miz Bella added, "But what's this? We have a visitor to the classroom. Perhaps you could help us out with one of these riddles, or is there something else I could do to help you?"

[Kath]

Astilwen started when Miz Bella noticed her and blushed as many of the children turned to look at her.

"Well, I, um, mostly I just wanted to ask if you'd like any help. I have siblings at home, younger ones so I've had practice with children and I've nothing else to do and I'd like to help if you need it."

Realising she was rambling Astilwen cut herself off and smiled apologetically. Regaining her composure slightly she finished,

"And I won't guess the riddles for a while if you don't mind ma'am, else you won't get rid of all these sweets!"

[Firefoot]

Willy chewed on his lower lip in concentration, his brow furrowed. He had his eye on the little knife and was bent on figuring out one of the riddles. In the first one, he could get naught but an image of thirty grand white horses champing at their bits, eager to draw their carriage down from the red hill. He wondered if red hills really existed. Willy finally gave up on this first one in confusion, slightly unsure even of what it was he was supposed to be figuring out. Where the red hill was, maybe, and why it was red.

The second riddle, then. This was befuddling as well - why ever would someone (something?) take off their clothes in winter? That would be awful chilly. He caught the words of Reggie, who was sitting nearby. "...Well, maybe that big hill north of The Pool. In the Fall. The maples there turn red." Yes, thought Willy, the leaves turn read and then they all fall off. Trees are so very bare in winter... He sat up with a start. Of course! Trees were pretty in summer, clothed in leaves per se, and bare in winter. He was certain that was the second riddle!

He waved his hand high, not waiting for Miz Bella to call on him. "I know! I've got the second one!"

[SonOfBombadil]

Lewis and Ravon ate their lunch and talked of many things. About buying the house, about how Lewis' brother had been staying with them for a while and about a good deal of other things. Most of all, Lewis was paying attention to Ravon's elfish beauty and grace, and he thought about how they had met and fallen in love in this same inn, several months prior.

After they had finished their soup, Lewis knew it was time. He looked around to make sure no one was watching as he was feeling rather timid. "Ravon," Lewis started, as he reached into his pocket and got down onto one knee. "I love you so much and I want to spend the rest of my life with you." He pulled out the case and opened it, inside was a perfectly crafted silver ring with a saphire set into it.

"Will you marry me Ravon?"

[Angel_Queen]

Ravon

She looked at Lewis. For once she was the happiest person in the world. "Lewis you know I will." She jumped out of her seat and hugged the man she was going to spend the rest of her life with. She knew now that nothing was going to take him away from her.

At about that time Lewis' brother walked in the Green Dragon. He had a big smile across his face. She looked at him. "Did you know about this?"

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine’s delight was apparent when he learned of Mithalwen’s craft, and in token of esteem to it he rose and bowed deeply to her. “My compliments once more to you Lady, for devoting your talents to such a lofty goal! I know but little of the instruments of Elves, but they are things of surpassing beauty in both form and function. There is a small harp in particular that I adore. It has many strings and is made of a fine, light wood from Lorién. Many’s the time have I been moved to tears simply by the sound of its chords.”

Mithalwen looked wary. “You would not ask of me to make you such an instrument would you, Master Bard?”

Hearpwine laughed. “Nay, Lady, I would not presume. My old master always thought me overbold – reckless even – but my impetuousness would never extend that far! Besides, in my land the Bard is expected to make his own instrument. Behold!” he pulled forth his harp once more, brandishing it in the air between them. “I fashioned this from the wood of an ancient tree that had been hewn by the foul creatures of Mordor when their kind befouled beautiful Ithilien. I sang a lament over the bole of the great beech before cutting it to the heart. The wood inside was clean and pure, and formed of straight lines, and from that I was able to make an instrument that is considered amongst the finest of my kind, although I am sure that to a maker such as yourself it must appear as the plaything of a child.”

He handed it to the Elf, eager to hear her opinion of his work but aware nonetheless that with the afternoon now underway he was expected in the schoolroom.

[Mithalwen]

"Well, there is no one right way to build a harp and I have had rather more time at my disposal, I started learning my craft when Elendil was founding his kingdom and some of my teachers had learnt theirs in Doriath and Gondolin. The wood I use, I have usually watched grow from a sapling and while to cut a tree is a sorrow, there are worse fates we deem. Each wood has it's own quality, the beech is beloved of elves and long lived so I use it seldom by design" She took the harp and examined it closely before drawing a range of scales and arpeggios from the instrument.

"I deem you have made it well to suit your purpose and needs. " She answered diplomatically - the harp had a robust but true tone, " were it used mainly for Elvish music, I would make certain adjustments to the voicing. Forgive me if I am too critical but in my own land, I am expected to make the instruments only for those with greater skill in performance ".

Nevertheless she picked out a tune she had learnt many years ago in Gondor, a tune of mortals she thought would suit the tones of this man made harp. For elves, music conjures visions or memories in the mind and she was transported across many centuries to the day when she had learnt that tune, the memory of the one who had taught it her brought back emotions still too painful to deal with in public and she stopped playing and returned the harp to its owner.

"I regret, I can not show you an instrument of my own making for I brought only the things which I expected to need on my journey. And no instrument has travelled to the south I think, unless perchance the lady Arwen took with her the lute I made for her long ago"... Mithalwen paused, lost again in memory and then stirred, wondering if it was time that she should return to the forge. But at that moment the vittles ordered by Aman arrived, hospitality she felt she could not refuse.

[Lasbelinion]

Lithmîrë’s brow wrinkled in puzzlement at what had just occurred. His hand still rested on the handle of the pump in the Inn’s back yard, a few driblets of its precious water splashing down onto the rocky bed below. He looked down, noting a few of the bees from the gardens had landed on the rounded rocks and were busy drinking. Precious water . . . he thought, watching a fat drop splatter on a rock and roll down, lost between the cracks where the stones butted up one against another. Where he had worked the fields, the water had flowed down narrow ditches to the thirsty plants. No drop wasted.

His gaze followed the track to the door through which the Hobbit had disappeared. He felt disarmed, in a way, by her conversation. He was not sure how she had done it. He ran their conversation back through his mind; not just the words exchanged, but the gestures and tones, the subtleties. Disarmed. And she without a lash or cudgel, and seemingly without design.

A strange, low sound surprised him. He felt it rumble through his chest, shaking his belly, until his throat gave voice to it. It was an odd sound, long unused by him. With a will of its own, the rusty laughter fell from his curved lips, following the track, too.

He found himself looking forward to the tea she had promised. It was a hesitant hope. And he hid it away quickly lest it disappear as the water had done among the hard stones of the drain field.

His head turned round to where she said she would meet him. His feet moved in the direction of the bower near the cottage at the edge of the yard.

[Anguirel]

Artifondo gulped slightly as he sat down. Miz Bunce, as his sister had described, was pretty formidable. Would the piece of sweet-talk he had planned succeed?

"Unfortunately, madam," he started, "my father...ah...was, um, unwilling to yield too many of his glistening fresh produce. I have brought only one, and not, perhaps, ah, the best..."

Now for the piece of theatrical dash. Holding out his left hand, he opened it slowly; but there was nothing in it. With a shy smile, in the face of the Cook's mounting impatience, he extended his right arm. Unlike his model, Beren Erchamion, he could not impress his viewer with a severed stump; but he could reveal the artichoke, its pale tips slightly luminescent in the darker kitchen.

"My father calls this strain of artichokes the Silmarils, madam, after the jewels in the old tales. As the gems are supposed to have coursed whoever ate them in holiness, so these bathe the body with a, ahm, a tremendous restorative quality as the heart is ingested. They will go perfectly beside your famous stews, or simply alone, ah, and, um, dowsed with butter."

Artifondo took a rather ragged breath.

"Sorry...didn't bring more...you know how it is..." He rolled his eyes. "Father...likes to keep them...for himself..."

[Child of the 7th Age]

Miz Bella finished talking with Astilwen and told her that she would be very happy to gain an assistant in the classroom, "Come any time you like, " she assured her. "You might want to start by working with Rory. He just joined us, and I know he has a special interest in learning to read. You can go over to the table in my private room and have him practice reading and writing. He does know a few letters, I believe, but will need some help in putting the letters together into words. Anything you can do would be a real help."

Then Miz Bella turned back to the class. Willy was raising his hand triumphantly in the air, a wide grin plastered over his face as he announced that he knew the answer to one of the riddles. "Go ahead, Master Willy, have a go. And if you're right, you can select a prize from the top of my desk."

[Firefoot]

"It's a tree!" Willy answered proudly. "They've got lots of leaves in summer, but they're bare in winter 'cause they lose their leaves."

Miz Bella smiled at him. "A tree, it is. Good job, Willy, and come pick out a prize." Willy hopped up out of his seat and tried to keep his pace slow as he went up to the desk. He took a look at the prizes for a moment, pretty sure he wanted the knife but not quite positive. The candies would be yummy, but they wouldn't last very long. And the leather ball looked fun, too; he had a ball but it had been used by all the lads and lasses in his family, his oldest brother being in his tweens now. But... he would have to share the ball. He had to share a lot of things with his siblings, six of them all told. A knife could be all his. Confidently, he selected the knife, glancing at Miz Bella from the corner of his eye.

"Good choice," she told him. "It's sharp - be careful with it."

"I will," he promised, grinning. He had started to walk back to his desk with his prize when he remembered his manners. "Thank you, Miz Bella."

"You're welcome."

Willy took his seat, fingering his new knife happily. And it was all his.

[piosenniel]

Artifondo rolled his eyes. "Father...likes to keep them...for himself..."

‘Well, he would, wouldn’t he, if the name holds true’ said Cook, looking at the thistly globe the merchant held in his hands. She shivered, remembering the stories Mistress Piosenniel had told them of Elvish history. ‘Silmaril, is it,’ Cook said, reaching for the choke. ‘A very unfortunate name, lad, for something you’re wanting to sell.’ She arched her brows at him, giving him a considering look. ‘Should I buy a crate or so, he won’t be coming to the Inn demanding them back from my customers’ bellies, will he?’

She turned it about, admiring the shape and heft of it. Separating the inner leaves a bit, she held it to her nose and inhaled. It was a rich, verdant odor. She laid the choke on the cutting board and whacked it neatly in two with her cleaver. ‘Nice heart to it. Very meaty. And look at the padding at the bases of the leaves – very plump.’

‘Let’s steam it a bit and see how it tastes.’

[Arry]

Hanson was green with envy. A tree! Who would have thought all that was about a tree? His eyes slid to where Willy was fingering his new knife. ‘I would have picked the candy,’ he thought to himself, his mouth watering at the thought of sweets.

He poked Reggie with his elbow. ‘You got the answer yet to that horse riddle?’ he whispered.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine accepted his harp back from the Elf, his eyes wide with wonderment at her skill with the instrument, and in awe of her craft. “I am familiar with your work, Lady, for I have often heard the Queen play and sing, and she does sometimes use the lute you speak of. It is a wondrous instrument that speaks with many voices, as though a choir were contained within its strings. One time, the Kings Elessar and Eomer, in a moment of brotherly play, engaged with one another in a contest of music, with each claiming that their realm had the mightiest singers. To prove their points they each appointed a champion to sing before the gathered court of the other. As the Bard of the Golden Hall I was sent to Minas Tirith where I sang the Dirge of Denethor before the White Tree, and though I say it myself the tears of those gathered flowed like wine. It was widely believed by all that there was none could match my performance. But when the following spring a mighty caravan arrived in Edoras from Gondor, and the Lady Arwen descended with her lute, I knew that I was doomed to lose the contest for my King! Ah, but if only every loss could come with so sweet a doom!” Hearpwine’s eyes drifted back into memory and he laid his head against the bole of the tree. “What music did she make that day! She sang in the High Tongue and though few there understood the words each one of them pierced us to our very hearts. We were all of us in love with her by the end of her performance, but then she honoured us with a song in our own tongue, telling of the Fall of Theoden. When she finished there was such a moment of silence that I imagined I could hear the fall of the sparrows outside the Hall. At last, the Lady Éowyn rose and approached the Queen and in silence bowed her head before her in token of thanks. What a sight that was! The most beautiful of their kind – mortal and immortal – side by side before the gathered people of Edoras, sombre yet glad! My heart feels like a child’s again at the mere memory.”

“Not immortal,” Mithalwen whispered. “Not anymore. She is lost to us.” And she trailed off into silence.

Hearpwine recalled himself to the waking world and addressed himself to the Elf in gentle tones. “Forgive me Mithalwen. In our own joy of the Queen, we mortals tend to forget the sadness of the Elder Race: how well I can imagine the grief of your kind, a grief that must be as great as our joy that she has decided to dwell with us!”

“Nay, Master Bard, your grief can never match ours, for yours will come to an end with the close of your life – whereas the grief of the Elves lives on until the breaking of the world. Long after Arwen Undomiel is buried and forgotten by all Men, she will be a living presence in our minds, a memory of our former glory and of all that we once had in these lands and can never have again…”

Laughter, bright and silvery, came to them from the open windows of the schoolroom, sharply reminding Hearpwine of his promise to Miz Bella. Surging to his feet the Bard explained to Mithalwen that he had said that he would spend the afternoon with the school children teaching them some songs of Rohan. Seeing that the Elf had not yet finished her meal, he apologised for having to leave her then and invited her to come join him with the children when she was done, “For,” he said, “I am sure that you would have a lay or two to teach the young ones of the Shire!” Mithalwen smiled slightly in response, and apologising again Hearpwine hurried off.

When he arrived in the classroom he found that the children were playing some kind of riddling game. Loath to interrupt, he stepped into the doorway as quietly as he could and waited for Miz Bella to acknowledge his presence.

[Fairleaf]

Just as Reggie was leaning over to whisper back to Hanson, Daisy pinched him. He gave a little yelp and glared at her. But her eyes were innocently forward, her hands now folded on the table top.

From the corner of her mouth came a low warning. ‘Pay attention, Reggie!’ She nodded imperceptibly toward the side of the class, where the door was. The big, tall man who’d sung that other night was there.

Reggie breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he was here to sing to them and they could get up and dance. He caught Hanson’s eye and cocked his head toward the figure in the doorway.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman cast a nervous glance over at the schoolroom and, bracing herself and straightening up, the Innkeeper headed purposefully over to Miz Bella. As she got near though, she faltered mid-step as she saw the hulking figure of Hearpwine leaning against the doorframe, apparently also waiting for the young schoolteacher's attention. Unwilling to stop now that she had been sighted by a few of the pupils, and not wanting merely to seem to be lurking, Aman slowed as she approached the schoolroom, hesitating by the other doorway. As Miz Bella straightened up, she saw Aman and smiled, an expression infused with warmth and purpose. "Good day, Aman, and how are you doing?"

"Very well, thank you, Bella," Aman replied, coming forward and smiling not a little nervously as she resisted the urge to prefix the teacher's first name with 'Miss'. She had to admit, despite all logic or reason, Miz Bella made her a little nervous. She was so different from everything Aman had ever assosiated with teachers or tutors: she had only ever been taught by men, first her own father, then a succesion of tutors in Gondor for a few years before she had moved on to her full time apprenticeship as a horse trainer and stablehand. Beyond her own father, a timeless, self-possessed man, her experience of teachers was dry, dusty old men with beards that curled wispily down their chests to be stroked pensively as they spoke, or the nervous, shrill-voiced young men with hairless chins and black, simple clothes who grew anxious around their rowdy classes. Miz Bella was in a whole new class of her own.

"Bella, I have a possible proposition to put to you, if you wish to hear it - not a criticism, far from it," she added hastily. "But a...a thought maybe. But sure, Hearpwine was waiting first; ask of him his purpose first, I shouldn't like to queue-jump." She grinned at the bard, her fellow Rohirrim, and stepped back a little, a signal for Bella to speak to him first, as was right. As the schoolteacher conversed with Hearpwine, Aman leant against the doorway and peered into the schoolroom, where the hobbit children sat cross-legged or knelt on the floor in rough rows, slates, paper and writing impliments scattered haphazardly in front of them as they chattered or bickered among themselves. A wave of what could maybe be described as inverted nostalgia washed over the Innkeeper: memories of her past brought back by this schoolroom, but so completely different from the schoolroom of her childhood.

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen knew she would not follow the bard to the class room but had neither the time nor inclination to explain that she had to complete a more practical service for one child and tidy up her involvement with the mortals of the Shire.

The work might require one more day but she felt she could not afford to stay in the inn any longer so having finished her meal she returned her tray to the common room and slipped up to the tiny chamber under the roof where she had spent the last few nights. Telling herself it was about time she got used to sleeping outside again as she would for the rest of her journey, she packed her few posessions into leather saddlebags. She folded carefully and last the aquamarine dress she had worn for Zimzi and Derufin's wedding and then having checked she had left nothing behind, she took a last look from the tiny window. Aeglos was grazing in the paddock with Kinsul, Uien's horse. Again she regretted the strange change in Uien's manner but was at a loss to understand.

Once downstairs, she checked her slate was clear and arranged to leave her bags in safekeeping til the evening. It was about time to go she thought.

[piosenniel]

Artifondo watched in silence as Cook hummed to herself in anticipation of the tasty thistle treat. She lingered over the pot of boiling water, nudging the artichoke halves gently with a slotted wooden spoon. At last she declared it done – it had turned a lovely, bright shade of green. Scooping each half up with the spoon she deposited each to a plate and invited Artifondo over to partake of the tasty treat.

‘I love that green, sort of grassy smell,’ she said, pulling off one of the more tender inner leaves and giving it a dip in the butter. Delicious! She tried one of the outer leaves, too, and to her delight, found it just as tender. With and expert hand, Cook then took her half and extricated the heart from the thistly leaves. ‘Now here’s the test of a really good choke,’ she said dipping the heart into the butter to give it a generous coating, then pooping it whole into her mouth. ‘Good as ever I tasted!’ she declared. ‘Sweet and tender!’

Cook gave a sigh of satisfaction and pushed the remainder of the artichoke away from her. ‘Well, Master Artifondo,’ she said, nodding her head. ‘if you can bring me . . . oh, say, three or four sacks of these fine vegetables every other month during the season I’d be happy to serve them at the Inn.’ She got up from her chair, saying she needed to get ready to visit a friend.

As she got down a small basket from the top of one of the cupboards, she turned back to the merchant for a moment. ‘I’d also be willing to stock any canned artichoke hearts your family might produce . . . they’re lovely in my chicken and mushroom pie. Is that something you have for sale?’

She waited for his answer as she started to fill her basket with some of the plum tarts she had baked earlier along with a couple of mugs, a small pot of honey, spoons, and napkins.

[Anguirel]

Artifondo, truth to tell, had been afflicted with nerves ever since the Cook's unexpectedly knowledgeable and canny remark about the Silmarils. She had a fine head on her shoulders, and it was somewhat alarming. He paced about a little awkwardly as Vinca Bunce boiled the artichoke. Had it, after all, been wise to change its image so drastically from that boring old Wholesome Carbuncle?

When Vinca seemed in raptures over the artichoke's smell, the pressure lifted, and Artifondo could not restrain a hefty sigh of relief. He took the morsel Vinca offered him, and ate it with as much mirth as he could muster. Perhaps he overdid it. The cooking, without doubt, had been excellent, and the Dragon's butter was the best anywhere, but it was still an artichoke. A small drop of melted butter joined the mushroom soup stain on Artifondo's waistcoat, though he did not notice.

"Good as I ever tasted!" Vinca cried, and Artifondo smiled. Victory was his. If he could pull off a really big sale, Ursula wouldn't tan him when he got home. The downside was that the optimistic Pellinco might send him out on one of these errands again...but the Dragon, he was learning brought its own compensations.

He could have embraced the Cook when she gave her answer. A chance to regularly visit the Inn, and a great catch for Dwellover Artichokes Limited.

"Absolutely, Miz B-Bunce," he answered, stammering in his excitement. "As for the hearts...well...I'll ask my f-father. He runs the business. I am merely a messenger."

He smiled. The only trouble now was the lingering taste of artichoke-and a little more ale would be sure to wash that out.

"Good day, Miz Bunce. Enjoy your tea."

[Primrose Bolger]

While Miz Bunce was speaking with the artichoke merchant, Ginger edged over to where the leftover thistle lay in the bowl. She gave it a thorough look-over. Despite Cook’s remarks on the subject, it simply did not look very edible.

Taking one of the leaves between thumb and finger she brought it slowly to her nose. Well, it did smell clean and a little sweet . . . Now just how did Cook do it? There . . . just dip it in the melted butter, using it like a little scoop. Well, now who wouldn’t like a taste of the Inn’s butter? She scraped her teeth over the end of the leaf as she’d seen Cook do.

‘Oh my! That’s delicious!’ she motioned for Buttercup to come over and try a bit. ‘Leaves a very pleasant aftertaste on the tongue, it does,’ Ginger went on, trying a little of the heart from the other half. Artifondo, she noted had left his choke almost untouched.

She and Buttercup finished up the rest of the artichoke halves, laughing as they wiped the trails of butter from their chins . . .

[piosenniel]

Zimziran

The day had advanced to a lovely mid afternoon. And had proved quite profitable to her labors, as well. In the back of the little cart she’d driven from the Inn were several large blocks of clay she’d taken from various places along the banks of The Water. They were wrapped well in wet canvas, now, as she headed back to the Inn.

On the seat beside her sat Granny Oldbuck, her gnarled hands resting on the knob of her yew-wood cane. Granny’s dark eyes flitted about at the passing scenery. Her face held a look of satisfaction as she nodded at the old familiar landmarks and at the new crops just springing up in the fields. ‘Just let me off here, dear,’ she said to Zimzi, as they neared the Inn’s front door. ‘I’ve got some business with Vinca. That, and a taste for a wee mug of the new stout.’

‘Oh, let me take you round to the kitchen door,’ said Zimzi, laughing as Granny finished speaking. ‘Cook’s bound to be in there at this time of day, thinking about the supper meal and all.’

Derufin and his companion were nowhere to be seen as they passed the woodshed. The door was propped open, revelaing the work that had been done. Zimzi arched her brows and shook her head knowingly. ‘I’m betting you’ll find him with a mug in his one hand and a sandwich in the other if you go into the common room.’

‘Oh, aye, and isn’t he a fine figure of a man you’ve got, dear. Needs his victuals to keep up his strength.’ She looked at the wood piled in the shed. ‘Been busy today, I see.’

Zimzi pulled the cart up near the back step and got down. She came round quickly to Granny’s side, lending the older Hobbit a hand to steady herself as she got down. ‘If you see Derufin in there, Granny, will you tell him I’ve come back early?’ She held the door open as Granny entered the kitchen, then stepped quickly back to the cart. She wanted to get to the cottage to store the clay in a cool place.

[Arry]

Ferdy

Along the sides of the little rolling hills round the burrow where Ferdy and his family lived, the late spring flowers were in full bloom. He’d stopped his cart along the side of the road just west of the Inn and picked a small bouquet. For Ginger. A fistful of lupine with some soft yellow switches of witch-hazel mixed in.

There were some heads turned as he entered the Common room, and stood blinking in the low light. He squinted looking about for the sight of her face.

‘In the kitchen,’ said Ruby, passing by him with a tray of mugs.

He grinned at her and saying thanks, made his way across the room. More than one of the patrons nodded as he went by. And Gaffer Mossyfoot cackled a bit, giving a toothless grin as Ferdy went past him. ‘Got hit bad, that ‘un’ Didn’t he just!’ He tapped his cane on the floor and looked into the distance with his rheumy eyes. ‘Lupine’ll do it, though. The gals like ‘em.’ He gave a whoop and took a swallow of ale from his mug. ‘That’s a kiss-getting’ bouquet, if ever I saw one,’ he declared.

Others at his table gave the bouquet a moment of consideration, then one of them laid a wager on the old gaffer’s statement.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Miz Bella was having trouble keeping up with all the visitors to her classroom. If every day proved to be this eventful, she would require not just one assistant but perhaps two or three!

Turning first to the Innkeeper, Miz Bella quickly explained, "I'm so glad you made it to our classroom to have a look. I'll be with you in just a moment. But let me speak first with the Bard so he can get started with the children."

Then Miz Bella turned and gave her attention to Hearpwine. "It was so kind of you to come. I am not sure what you had in mind for this afternoon, but earlier I spoke with Derufin. He mentioned that the Spring Faire would be starting in just a bit. Apparently, that's a time for singing and dancing and general merriment among all the hobbits in this part of the Shire. Master Gil has a puppet show planned, and I'll be speaking with him to see if we can help with that. But I was also wondering if the children might sing a song or two for the visitors to the Faire. Pehaps you might want to work with them on that. I know from their parents that a few of the children can already play instruments. You might eventually think about asking for volunteers and having them play while the others sing or dance. But I'll leave the details up to you, whatever you think best."

With Miz Bella's attention directed elsewhere, all the children had begun whispering and giggling among themselves. Turning to face the students, Miz Bella cleared her throat to attract attention, rapping sharply on the wooden desk with her knuckles, "Children, we have a visitor. Let's show him our best behavior. This is Master Hearpwine. He's come all the way from Rohan and has generously agreed to share his skills. We'll be able to hear him sing and perhaps learn a melody or two that we can perform at the Spring Faire. I want you all to pay attention and do everything he says. I'll be out in the next room speaking with the Innkeeper but will listen to what's happening here as well. This is our last thing to do before going home so let's give it our full attention."

With that, Miz Bella beckoned the Bard to come before the class, and gestured to Aman to go into her private chamber. "I just hope they behave," Miz Bella added to Aman as they left the room. "The class has been a bit rambuctious today, especially the lads. It's the first break I've had. We can talk here close to the door so I can keep one ear on the classroom. I did want to thank you for letting me use the Inn for our school. And how can I help you today?"

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine was stunned to have been left alone – and apparently in charge! – of the children. They all looked to him, their eyes growing wide as saucers as they took in his immense height. Even though the room they were in had been constructed with the Big Folk in mind, the rafters were still but a few inches above the Bard’s head, adding to the illusion of height. He had seen, once, a long time ago, an Ent striding toward his party across the fields of Rohan, and he imagined now that he must give something of the same impression: unnatural height!

He smiled at the comparison of himself to an Ent and distracted his mind from that an other musings by directing himself to the class. “Well, I do wish that Miz Bella had not told you all that I am all that stands between you and the close of the school day! I was never overly fond of my studies myself and would always wish to be outside than cramped beneath a desk. But still, perhaps we can make the time more lively with music!” And with that, he drew forth his harp and began a lively melody.

Woodman, spare that tree!
Touch not a single bough!
In youth it sheltered me,
And I'll protect it now.
'Twas my forefather's hand
That placed it near his cot:
There, woodman, let it stand,
Thy axe shall harm it not!

That old familiar tree,
Whose glory and renown
Are spread o'er land and sea,
And wouldst thou hew it down?
Woodman, forbear thy stroke!
Cut not its earth-bound ties;
Oh, spare that aged oak,
Now towering to the skies!

When but an idle boy
I sought its grateful shade;
In all their gushing joy
Here too my sisters played.
My mother kissed me here;
My father pressed my hand --
Forgive this foolish tear,
But let that old oak stand!

My heart-strings round thee cling,
Close as thy bark, old friend!
Here shall the wild-bird sing,
And still thy branches bend.
Old tree! the storm still brave!
And, woodman, leave the spot:
While I've a hand to save,
Thy axe shall harm it not.

When he was finished the children burst into applause and Hearpwine, never one to miss the chance of acknowledging his skill, bowed deeply to accept it. Straightening up he addressed the students once more. “Miz Bella has told me that there is to be a Faire soon, and that she would like you all to learn a song to sing at that. It seems to me that the lay I just gave would be apt for such an occasion. But first, tell me your names so that I might know you all better – and do any of you know how to play any sorts of musical instruments?”

[Arry]

Of Trees and axes and family loyalty . . .

Hanson, five years, and Woody, eleven, shifted uneasily in their seats at the finish of the song. Oh the big man had a lovely voice. ‘Rings true as a woodsman’s axe,’ their Granny would say.

And there was the trouble in it for them.

Their Da and uncles were all woodsmen. Every man jack of them. Some were fellers, their big axes biting into the trees like great sharp teeth. Their crosscut saws singing in a rhythm as they took the giants down. And some of them worked the little sawmill their Granda had passed down to them – making the rough lumber needed for outbuildings and pens and furniture and such.

And while Hanson and Woody knew their Da and Uncles loved the working with the trees and woods, they just couldn’t picture them wanting the boys to be singing such a . . . well, tree-gushy song, is all Woody could think of.

There would be woodsmen contests at the Spring Faire, Woody knew. Who could buck a log the quickest; which team could saw a round off first with the two-man saw; and others. His Da would be competing. He was one of the quickest with an axe in all of Bywater and Hobbition.

No, they simply could not be singing a song like this at the Spring Faire!

Lost in his thoughts on the matter, Woody did not see Hanson stand up from his chair and introduce himself.

‘I’m Hanson . . . Hanson Boffin, from Hobbiton. My Da’s carved me a little wooden whistle. And my Uncle Gil’s taught me to play along on a few tunes.’ Hanson squirmed a bit under the scrutiny of the giant, but spoke up quite clearly. ‘You sing real good, Master Hearp . . . ummm . . .’ ‘Hearpwine!’ his brother prompted him. ‘And that was a real pretty song you played on your harp.’ Hanson took a deep breath and went on.

‘But me and my brother can’t be singing a song like that at the Faire. Our Da will be there and he’d have our hides for it!’

[Fairleaf]

Reggie, also five years old, stood up next to his friend, Hanson. ‘It was a really pretty song, Mister.’ He grinned up at Hearpwine. ‘I’m Reggie Chubb. I don’t play any pipe or anything. And my Da raises sheep, so I don’t suppose he’d mind a song about a tree and all.’

He clapped his friend on the back. ‘Maybe we can think of something else for Hanson and Woody to do.’ Reggie cocked his head up toward the tall man. ‘You think so?’

[SonOfBombadil]

Lewis just about fell over from the pounce he had taken with Ravon's reply. All of his unneasiness had melted away and he was the happiest person in the world right now. He wrapped his arms around Ravon and kissed her with joy.

Lewis was lost in his beautiful, now-feyonce's eyes when Jonathan walked in. He could hardly take his eyes off of Ravon to greet his brother.

[Gird]

Luz walks along the path towards the Green Dragon in shadow. This looks like a pleasant inn , he thinks to himself, I'll have to do my best not to be revealed and spoil it for them. Pulling his hood further over his face, he quickly and quietly ascends the steps to the inn.

Looking around he sees many cheery faced hobbits, happy humans and a few smiling elves. It's popular, I'll have to take that seat in the corner there. He scuttles over to the seat and sits down, never taking his eyes too far off of the ground. Luz sits and ponders what he will have to drink today.

Luz also ponders ways of making a better looking fake beard then the one he has on now

[Undómë]

Hob noted the odd fellow as he entered the door. He had his hood pulled up, and his head tipped down, and with the sun behind him in the doorway, it was impossible to see the fellow’s face. As the door closed and the glare of the outside light receded, Hob thought he caught a glimpse of an odd looking growth on the man’s chin.

‘Well, I’ll be,’ he said to himself. ‘That is the strangest beard I’ve ever seen in my life.’

Hob was sitting in the corner of the room, his legs stretched out on the bench, his back up against the wall. The new fellow ambled to another table nearby and sat down, his face still in shadow.

‘Would you like a mug of ale?’ asked Hob, pointing his pipe stem at the pitcher on his table. ‘There’s an extra mug if you’re thirsty.’ ‘Name’s Hob Bridger, from Girdley Island, he said pulling out his pipeweed pouch and offering it to the stranger. ‘Smoke?’

[piosenniel]

Making plans for the Spring Faire . . .

‘Vinca Bunce! Where are you, you old trout?!’

There were two young women stuffing their mouths with artichoke as Granny Oldbuck entered the Inn kitchen. Buttercup Brownlock and Ginger Gamwich – both their chins shiny with butter. They dropped the leaves in their fingers and hurriedly wiped their faces.

‘Down there, Granny,’ said Buttercup coming round the table to point downstairs. ‘I’ll just go down and get her for you. Could I tell her what it is you want her for?’

Granny nodded and began to explain about the booth for herbs and medicinals. She and Granny Chubb and Granny Heathertoes were looking to manage it again this year. “But this year we want a better spot to put up our booth . . . and a bigger one . . .’

Ginger cleared away the last of the artichoke and wiped up the table top as she motioned for Granny Oldbuck to take a seat. She was just about to ask if Granny wanted a cup of tea, when the old woman’s yew wood cane pointed toward the door to the common room. Granny chuckled and waved for the Hobbit who’d been peeking in at the door to come in.

‘Ferdibrand Banks,’ she said as he entered, his eyes glued on Ginger. ‘And with a fistful of lupines.’ Granny Oldbuck motioned for Ginger to see to the visitor. ‘And mind you, get those flowers into some water afore they droop.’

[Saelind]

Before the Bard could respond to Reggie or answer Woody and Hanson's concerns, a slender Elf lad had leapt to his feet, nervously eyed his companions who sat near by, and blurted out a plea, "Please, Master Hearpwine, let the rest of us sing the song. I was born in Lórien and spent my earliest years there until it got so lonely and we had to leave. I have forgotten too many things, but what I remember best is the trees. Father has explained to me that other folk have other ways, but I could never put an axe to living wood. And your song says that so well. My father would weep with joy, for your voice is as sweet as any Elvish loremaster that I have heard."

"Perhaps," he added, "the lads who don't want to sing that tune could help get things ready for the puppets, the ones Miz Bella mentioned, and then join the rest of us for a second round of song. Indeed, could we make up our own song, one that's about something everyone likes? Perhaps about games or food or running across a field on a bright day, maybe even an anthem of praise to Cook who gave us such a fine lunch?"

"And I have a little harp of my own, not so great and grand as a true Bard, but still it plays sweet and true."

[Firefoot]

Willy had watched in silence thus far, scoffing of all the fuss over a tree. It was just a tree! He liked trees all right; they were fun to climb (if they weren't too tall), and their shade was nice on a hot summer day, but if one needed to be cut down, well, he really didn't care, so long as there weren't more than necessary cut down. There were always other trees.

Then Neviel stood up and said his piece about the song. I wonder if all Elves are this queer, thought Willy. He wondered if they would really have to learn many songs so high and fine as this. He saw absolutely nothing wrong with the good old Shire songs, easy to remember yet with wonderful beats for singing and dancing. They seemed much more appropriate to Willy for the Spring Faire. If they sang some fine songs, that would be okay, because new things could be fun, but he really would just prefer the types of songs he knew. He wasn't very musical, and disliked complicated songs.

As Neviel finished, Willy stood up since that seemed to be the thing to do. "I'm Willy, sir, Willy Burrows. I don't play any instruments or anything. I just thought I'd say, though, that your song was right nice, but I guess I don't see what the big deal about a tree is. And the song seems kinda hard. Not all of our songs will be so hard, will they? We'll get to sing some Shire songs, too, right?"

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The sudden chorus of small voices was a bit bewildering to the Bard, who was more used to hearing calls for another song than suggestions that he not sing again – or, worse, that his song had not been the right one for the occasion. He turned to the Boffin boys first. “I’m sure your Da would never punish you for simply singing a song, lads! He may make his living by harvesting the trees of the forest, but sure there are trees that he holds dear and would be loath to see felled. I have heard that there is one tree in the Shire of some magnificence, brought here by the Adventurers, and I am sure that none would dare lay their axe to it!”

Hanson’s eyes grew wide at the very idea. “Sure, there isn’t a hobbit anywhere who would cut down the Party Tree!”

Hearpwine grinned, believing he had scored a point. “Well, then, you see – your Da will understand the song.”

“Begging your pardon, sir,” Reggie said, “but your song wasn’t about the Party Tree, it was about an oak that you loved. I don’t think Mister Boffin and his brothers would care about that!”

Hearpwine opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by Willy. “Well who cares about any old tree! I still say as we should sing a song about food and drink. And hobbits!”

“Well,” Hearpwine began again, “as it happens, I don’t know any songs of the Shire. That is why I am here. You see, my King…” but once again he was interrupted, this time by all the boys at once. At first he tried calling for them to attend to him, but their excited voices drowned him out. He thought back rapidly to his own school days, trying to remember what his master would do when he did not attend to his lessons, but the memory of the switch was a painful one, and he could not imagine inflicting anything like that on a child – let alone a hobbit child, not one of whom was any higher than his knee. Not knowing what else to do, then, he played upon his harp: but it was no tune or melody that filled the room. Instead, it was a jarring and ugly sound that he drew from the strings, discordant and unordered. It pained him deeply to assault his instrument in such a fashion, but it worked for the children fell silent and gazed at him in awe of how terrible a sound he was making.

“Thank you,” he said when they had fallen silent once more. “I am sorry that some of you are not overly fond of the song, but I cannot think of a better!”

“Master Hearpwine, can I say something?” The Bard looked at the speaker and for the first time noticed that it was an Elven child. His face registered shock, for never had he beheld an Elf younger than himself. So surprised was he that he made no answer, so the little fellow continued on his own. “If it’s true that no-one in the Shire would object to a song telling the woodsman not to chop down the Party Tree, then maybe we could change your song a bit and make it about that. I know that I would be happy to sing such a song, for the new Party Tree is a mallyrn and much beloved of my people.”

Hearpwine smiled at the lad and then turned to the others. “Well, children? What do you think?” there was a general mood of assent in the room, with many bright hobbit faces nodding in agreement. “Very well then,” he continued, “let us work on altering the lyrics so that it is a song about the Party Tree!”

[Tevildo]

Camille glanced over at Neviel, her eyes glowing with surprise and approval. Elf or not, the lad had a good idea. Surely, none of the parents would complain about a ballad that spoke of protecting the marvellous mallorn tree. In the short time that she had been in the Shire, Camille had heard of the events that had led to the felling of the old tree and the planting of the new one. Still, she had questions still unanswered.

Raising her hand wildly in the air to get the Bard's attention, the hobbit lass blurted out, "Tis a good idea. But there's one thing I don't understand. Will you be writing the song for us? Or are you saying we should do it? And how could we ever write a song? None of us have ever done that before....or at least I don't think so."

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine smiled at the lass. "That's a good question, Mistress...?"

"Camille," the girl supplied.

"Camille," he echoed confused by the strange name. "I think it best if you all try to rewrite the words together, as the version I sang is the one I know and enjoy, but this Party Tree is wholly new to me! Who better to make a song of the Shire than yourselves! I will of course be here to help with my harp!" And with that he began playing a simple country tune to inspire them.

[WarBringer]

Valthalion lowered his head and sighed. How could he tell Snaveling the full truth? He had built his life around honor and bravery, and for anyone to think otherwise, especially Snaveling, would be horrible. He would do anything to avenge his friend, but would anything restore his honor? Valthalion gripped his sword and drew it, showing it to Snaveling.

"This is Raukorist, Demon Cleaver, a gift of the Lord Elessar. I have born it through many dangers, and it has cloven many foes. And yet, I feel unworthy to bear such a weapon, for I have shamed myself beyond all reckoning. You must understand, I cannot return to Gondor until I have avenged myself, until my deeds measure up to the majesty of my lord, I WILL NOT RETURN! Long i have thought of the War of the Ring and the valor of Aragorn, now known as Elessar. He faced his test and passed, to his great reward. I was faced with an easier test, and failed to measure up.", said Valthalion.

Snaveling placed his hand upon his chin, and spoke "Val, few can measure up to the one who restored the lordship of man. It is not up to you to accomplish this deed."

Val's eyes shone like the fiery sun, and he spoke "You have gained much wisdom, and yet still you do not know how to read the hearts of men! I will not simply act as one who is nothing, a mere ranger in a world of heroes. I will rise to meet them, nay, rise ABOVE them! I know not who this warlord is, nor what his origins, nor how he came to survive the hunts of Gondor. I tell you, a great power is within this man, and though I have seen it not (and do not wish to, for that matter), this man's eyes burn with the fury of the Great Eye. In all the tales I have heard I have never learned of such a man. Now my heart tells me I must meet this man in battle ere my end, and yet there is a shadow before me and behind me, for reasons that I cannot tell you. Let it suffice to say that I cannot return to Gondor before i do this, I will not, not until I can count myself among the heroes of the North. It may be beyond my power to defeat this man, I just a simple Ranger, and yet this will not stop me. Tell me what you know, o Black Numenorean, for I value your wisdom!

[Firefoot]

Willy sighed in resignation, still unsure of how well he would be able to learn such a song. Master Hearpwine's song, between the beautiful harp and the rich melodies, had played a song far fairer than any he had heard before. Maybe it would be easier if it were about the Party Tree, though.

"...I think it best if you all try to rewrite the words together, as the version I sang is the one I know and enjoy, but this Party Tree is wholly new to me! Who better to make a song of the Shire than yourselves! I will of course be here to help with my harp!" Willy glanced around and saw some discomfort on some other's faces. Of course Master Hearpwine wouldn't know that they had only barely learned their first four letters this morning.

He raised his hand, "Um, Master Hearpwine?"

Hearpwine looked up from his music. "Yes, Master... Willy, correct?"

"Uh-huh. But what you said about writing the words, we only just started learning our letters this morning. We know four: B, E, A, and, um..."

"R," someone prompted.

"Yes, R," Willy repeated. "So you see, if there are a few here who know their letters, that's fine, but those four letters are the only ones most of us know so far. We can't write the words 'cause we don't know how."

[Kath]

Astilwen had remained at the back of the classroom, enchanted by the music and the vioce of Master Hearpwine. Now seeing the discomfitted looks on the faces of the younger hobbits she felt moved to offer a solution.

"Willy, maybe you children could think of the words you want to put in the song and I can help you write them down. Then, if it is agreeable to Master Hearpwine, he could sing them so you can learn them that way."

Turning to the bard in question she aksed.
"Is that acceptable?"

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine bowed to the hobbit lass loudly proclaiming his assent to the plan. He did not feel it necessary to say how relieved he was that she had come forward with her offer -- the Bard was himself unable to read and was full of wonderment that these mere babes would know some letters already! "We shall rely upon the powers of your quill my lady! But if I might know your name?"

"Astilwen," she said, rising and then dropping a very pretty little curtsey. "And it would be my pleasure."

"Very well then, it is agreed is it not children? I shall play upon my harp while you rewrite the lyrics to the song, with our fair lady Astilwen here to keep notes of the changes. Now to it, my pretty little Shirelings, let us soon hear The Party Tree!!"

[Vardalainion]

Valin Stormfist had been roaming the lands for years. He stopped only for rest, as his explorers heart leapt at the chance to see distant lands. His explorations of the vast world he inhabited had brought him to joyous place. It seemed that there was some indeed a place known as the Green Dragon Inn.

He was in much need of some rest and a good drink, so he then decided to go to the inn even though it spoke against his life of solitude. As he opened the door he saw that there was much dancing and mirth. The sight actually made a grin come across his face, something that indeed did not happen often anymore.

He strode through the door, his long brown hair flowing down as he removed his helmet. It did not take too long for him to find the drink he so longed for, and with all the dancing a seat was easier to find. He sat down and stretched out his tired legs. As he drank he watched them dance and his heart did not seem as heavy as before.

The Shire it seemed, was not an unhappy place. It was good to see that not everything was as bleak as it sometimes seemed. Maybe there was something to being around others. Maybe solitude was not his answer. His thoughts soon left him as he finished his drink and closed his eyes. Relaxation was quick to call.

[Arry]

Woody’s features lightened at the suggestion that the class could rewrite the words to the song. He was sure his Da would not mind something that had to do with taking care of the Party Tree. As he thought, his chalk moved quickly over his slate, drawing the mallorn tree as it would be all flowered out at the Spring Faire. Drawing, he found, always helped him to concentrate.

http://www.lotrfanart.net/gonzai-gallery/art/lotr/thumbnails/lotr42.jpg

He stood up once he was done and cleared his throat a bit. Before he could lose his nerve, he recited his reworking of the first verse:

Ruffian, spare our Party Tree!
Touch not a single bough!
In youth it sheltered me,
And I'll protect it now.
'Twas Samwise Gamgee’s able hand
That placed it near his cot:
There, ruffian, let it stand,
Thy axe shall harm it not!

He sat down quickly, the tips of his ears burning, hoping no one would laugh at his try.

[Kath]

As Woody began to recite his version of the poem, Astilwen grabbed a pencil and a piece of paper from the back of the classroom and scribbled down the words as he spoke them. Once he had finished she read over the words and was impressed at the young hobbits ability with the difficult words of the song.

"That was really good Woody!" she called out. "Do you have any more ideas? Or would someone else like to take a turn?"

[Azaelia of Willowbottom]

Suddenly, the door to the Inn opened again. A youngish hobbit girl stood in the entryway, and looked around. Her green eyes took in the crowded room, and looked with shy curiosity at the traveler with long brown hair who was seated with a drink at a table near the door.

Absentmindedly, she brushed a flyaway blond curl behind her ear. Her hair had never been particularly neat, so she had become so used to simple gestures such as that particular one, that she now did them without thinking.

[Fairleaf]

Daisy had a good memory for song and rhyme. She loved to listen to her mother singing as she spun the wool from their sheep.

She raised her hand tentatively, then stood at her table when Master Hearpwine and Astilwen glanced her way. In a clear, piping voice she sang out her idea for the second verse:

That graceful mallorn tree
Whose glory and renown
Are spread o’er land and sea,
And wouldst thou hew it down?
Ruffian, forbear thy stroke!
Cut not its earth-bound ties;
Oh spare it for us Hobbit folk
Heed our warning cries!

‘I wasn’t sure about that land and sea stuff, but I figured if Mister Frodo and Mister Bilbo had gone over the sea to visit the Elves, then they surely must have told them all about the Party Tree. Especially since it was right near Mister Bilbo’s place.’ She blushed as the string of words came to and end. ‘And I’ll bet they told them about both of the trees – the one that used to be here. Before I was born. And the pretty one Mayor Sam planted.’

[Tevildo]

"Ah, that's so wonderful, Woody and Daisy!" Camille blurted out, interrupting Astilwen before she could even answer. "I'm nowhere near as good with rhymes. But, if we're going to talk about the Party Tree, shouldn't we say something about the Party?" At the first mention of the Spring Faire and the Party Tree, Camille's mind had immediately conjured up an image of the vast spread of food she would likely find sitting on the tables directly underneath the tree. She wondered if the words were too commonplace for such a fine song.

"Would something like this do?" she tentatively queried.

Join me then dear friend,
Underneath its silvery bark.
Golden hours we shall spend
Till morn gives way to dark,
Sampling platters sure to delight
The hungriest in the Shire.
As hobbits marvel at the sight
Of a fat pig o'er an open fire.

[Arry]

Hanson’s eyes shone with delight at Camille’s verse to the song. He hadn’t had much to eat at lunch, being too concerned with playing a game of marbles with his friends.

His stomach grumbled at it’s nearly empty state, and his mouth watered at the mention of roasted pig. ‘Oh, my gosh!’ he said aloud, without thinking. ‘I hope there will be corn on the cob with that. And some of my ma’s nice, big biscuits, with butter and blackberry jam.’

He looked about, realizing he had spoken out loud . . .

[Atarah]

Some may have heard of an elf from Eryn Lasgalen, though her long golden hair tells that she was born in Lorien. She was an adventurer by nature and had once travelled to Cirith Ungol (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/showthread.php?t=5729), but was more likely to have been known for her hunt for the dragon (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/showthread.php?t=5733) Glawr. But now there was little in the ways of adventuring in Middle Earth. The Dark Lord had been vanquished by the brave hobbit Frodo and his loyal companion Sam, whom Elentari had once seen gardening in Hobbiton. A garden anyone would be craving to call their own.

Elentari had stayed in the Green Dragon once before, but as her grey eyes searched the building that had once been familiar to her, she realised much had changed in the time she had spent away. She wondered if Aman and Pio where still here. In fact, Pio had justed announced she was pregnant last time Elentari was here. She hoped she might get to see what Pio's little ones were like, but from the conversations she could hear Elentari guessed Pio may not be here at the moment.

The door felt warm from the sunlight as Elentari pushed it open. She stepped quietly inside and walked to the counter where some other people sat. She ordered a mug of ale and sat down to drink. A strange thing for an elf to do she was sure, but the dwarves who had accompanied her to slay Glawr dared her to drink some, and she'd grown quite accustomed to it. She wondered if she'd met anyone here before.

[Fairleaf]

Reggie reached under table and fished blindly about with his hand. Somewhere near his feet he had put the little lunchpail his Ma had sent to school with him. 'Ah,there you are,' he said to it, bending his head down for a look. He pulled it out and gave a quick tug to the hem of Hanson's tunic.

'Hey,' he whispered, scooting closer to his friend. 'I still have the honeyed corn fritters my Ma sent. You want one? I'm kind of hungry after all that talk about the Party Tree and food.'

[Amanaduial the archer]

As a chorus of juvenile voices broke into song, Aman nearly leapt out of her skin. Feeling a little foolish, Aman smiled sheepishly at Bella. "You are a braver woman than I, Bella," she said with a wink. "And of course it is a pleasure to let you use the Inn - why, I can't think of a better use for the room than as a schoolroom; 's not like the Dragon is a particularly unsuitable environment." Although the irony of an Inn doubling as a schoolroom for young children has not escaped me, she added mentally, but deemed that maybe the teacher would not appreciate this comment.

She continued, "It is more about the subjects that are being taught than the place in which they are taught. I'm not criticising, Bella, and I don't mean to interfere, you're doing a cracking job," she added hastily. "It's more about a possible...expansion of subjects."

Bella cocked her head to one side, her eyes bright as she folded her arms, apparently interested. "Go ahead, Aman?"

Relieved that she hadn't managed to offend the schoolteacher (yet), Aman continued, outlining the general idea. "Bella, it seems to me that the Inn is a perfect environment for learning not just because of the location or the general atmosphere, but...well, because of the very customers themselves!" Warming to her subject, Aman became more animated. "Think, Bella; where else in Middle Earth will you find met together and with free time on their hands such characters as are here? Consider the wealth of knowledge and the skills that they possess: Uien, a talented sculptor and herbalist; Mithalwen, a musician and maker of all manner of things, I understand, including instruments; Vinca Bunce, the very gem of the Green Dragon with her cooking, if I may say so; Snaveling, a first-hand witness of the history of the Dunedain and a member of Elessar's court... the list goes on! Artists, musicians, craftsmen, historians, speakers of a whole range of different languages...!"

Catching herself in her enthusiasm, Aman tried to bring together the strings of her plan. "My idea, Bella, is that maybe, if you approve, you could bring these things into the schoolroom. Why, the onset has already begun: Hearpwine the Bard has already shown himself to be a useful, if unusual, addition to the classroom. The basic necessaries would, of course, remain, as they have done and no doubt will do until the kingdom falls; but to add to Reading, Writing and Arithmatic the likes of history, geography, languages, crafts, cookery, even etiquette for the lasses... why, such a school, with such a wealth of teachers, would be unmatched in all of Middle Earth!"

Caught once more of anticipation in a whirl, her green eyes glinting with excitement, Aman took a breath, her eyes searching Bella's face. "What do you think, Bella? Hearpwine, I hope, has shown you that it would not be a complete waste of energy, and to give the children such a range of skills... The Shire remains unchanged as the years roll by, no matter how many young bucks follow the ways of 'mad baggins', but outside it the world is always changing. What do you say, Bella? Worth a try, or should this Innkeeper just stick with pulling pints?" She grinned, almost shyly despite her excitement, hoping the teacher might give her a go.

[piosenniel]

Tea with the Elf

The problems with the booth for the Spring Faire had been sorted out to Granny Oldbuck’s satisfaction. A nice large spot, beneath one of the large oak trees would be roped off for the herbs and medicinals tables. And not too far from the path up to the Inn. They’d be better seen there, Cook had told her. And it would be a shorter walk to the Common Room if they wanted to rest up a bit and have a smoke by the fire. She’d left Granny to supervise the two ‘lovebirds’ as she termed them who were sitting at the smaller table in the kitchen talking quietly. Granny’s attention, though, she noted as she picked up her basket and headed for the door was focused more on the warm plum tarts and mug of sweetspice tea in front of her than on Ginger and Ferdy.

Cook stopped at the door and put her basket down for a moment. She grabbed her cloak from the peg and fastened it round her shoulders with an economy of motion. Her bonnet she clasped on her head, tucking a few stray curls beneath it. ‘Just going out to have tea with a friend,’ she called out to no one in particular as she opened the door. ‘Help yourself to a few more tarts is you will, Miz Oldbuck. And Ginger, you make sure she has plenty of hot tea if she wants it.’

The sun was bright as she stepped out from the kitchen. Shading her eyes against it, Cook took stock of the back yard. All seemed in order. She stepped off the porch and headed toward the edge of the Inn yard, toward the bower of trees near the groundskeeper’s cottage.

‘Are you there, Master Lithmîrë?’ she called out. ‘It’s just me, Vinca Bunce. I’ve brought some refreshments.’

[Lasbelinion]

In hiding . . .

The sound of wheels coming along the gravelly path that ran by the bower startled him. Surely Mistress Bunce would not be coming such a short distance in a cart. He stepped back behind the cover of the trees and leaves, watching warily. In a short time, a cart did pass by, pulled by a single pony. It went on up the path toward the cottage, coming to stop at the steps up to the small verandah.

A tall, slender woman, dark haired, stepped down from the cart and began unloading cloth covered buckets from the back of it. The contents of the buckets was covered by cloth. Lithmîrë frowned, wondering what she was doing.

As he stood there, a familiar voice called out. Mistress Bunce! He hesitated in reply, not wanting to draw the attention of the other woman.

[Noinkling]

The visit to Sam and Rose’s place recounted

Benat sopped up the last of his soup and sat back satisfied in his chair. He’d told Derufin and Anyopa a little of his visit as they sat eating, too. But mostly just the details of the Gamgee hospitality. Mistress Rose had set up a place beneath the big Elm tree in their back yard, with a table that held a large pitcher of cider and a number of platters of tempting sweets.

The children had been all agog at the big man who’d come striding up the path to their burrow. And despite the chiding of their father, one of the younger ones had managed to ask if he were indeed a giant. Rose had diverted their attentions be giving them each a mug of cider and a sweet and sent them off to play. Benat in like manner, and much to the delight of the children, sent Cullen off to play with them.

It was then, he told the two men, that Master Sam had brought out a large book, bound in Red Leather. Accompanying it had been some other slender volumes, three of them to be exact, also in red leather.

Dipping into The Red Book had been a wonder, he told Derufin and Anyopa. In it had been the story of Master Bilbo’s travels with Gandalf and the Dwarves. Benat wiped his hands clean on the legs of his breeches and turned eagerly to the story of the journey. Sure enough, there was the visit to his Granda’s house and after that the travels east under the dark eaves of Mirkwood and then to The Lonely Mountain. There were wolves and goblins and great eagles and the creature in the cave.

And the dragon! What a foe that would have been to face. Benat chuckled, ‘Imagine facing such a fierce being with only one’s wits as a weapon! That Master Bilbo must have had quite a large spirit to have done so.’ A little sparrow, he told them, in the end brought the bowman’s arrow to bear on the one chink in the dragon’s armor. ‘A little sparrow, mind you!’ he said again. ‘The small creatures are something one should not dismiss. My father taught me this as did his father before him. By such oversight are the mighty brought low.’

After that had come the great battle over the rights to the dragon’s treasure. Wood Elves and Men of the Lake on the one side. The Dwarves of Thorin and Dain on the other. Then had come, too, the Orc armies of Bolg. ‘My Granda came then to the battle, slashing the Orcs with his great paws, crushing Bolg in his mighty grasp. And the eagles, too had come to lend aid.

After this had come the return home for Master Bilbo and then in a second section of the Red Book was how he had traveled to Rivendell to live with the Elves. ‘But, oh what a story his nephew, young Master Frodo, had!’ Benat went on. ‘Sam promised that before I left I could look through that part also.’ Benat shook his head, remembering the short telling of it Sam had given him. ‘Went all the way to Mordor, that one did. And Sam by his side. Seems it was he, and not the new King and his armies, that brought down the foul shadow that dwelt there. Though I’m not saying the High King didn’t lend a hand as needed.’

On impulse, Benat called one of the servers over, and fishing in his pouch for some silver coin, said he was buying a round for the house. Questioning looks were cast at the servers as ale was poured all around followed by looks and nods of thanks to Benat. He raised his mug to those in the room saying in a great voice, ‘To the Shire Folk!’

[Arry]

Gil and friends

Along with Tomlin, Gil had come in early to the Inn. His reason being to pick up Woody and Hanson from class; Tomlin’s to flirt a bit with Buttercup. ‘Chat her up some,’ he’d told Gil. ‘Make sure we’re on for the Faire.’ Gil had laughed at his friend, chiding Tomlin for being tied to her apron-strings.

Tomlin grinned and gave Gil a knowing look. ‘Can’t wait til some lass snares you, Master Play-the-field.’ He laughed aloud at Gil’s raised brows and his snort of disbelief. ‘Twil be a quick hard fall for you. And we’ll be there to clap as you hit the ground!’

Fallon and Ferrin had joined them just as Tomlin nodded their way. ‘What are we clapping for?’ Ferrin asked, sliding into his chair. ‘Ah,’ he said as Tomlin explained.

‘We should put a wager on it,’ Fallon interrupted, before his brother could say more. ‘I’ll say a week would do it, once he’s met the right one.’ ‘Oh, a month at least,’ offered Ferrin. ‘Our Gil’s a cool one, he is.’ ‘What do you say, Tomlin?’ Fallon asked. ‘Being the one who brought this all up and such.’

‘Can’t say about the actual time it’ll take. But I know the sort it’ll be. None of the lasses we know . . . they’re too easily taken in by his quick smiles and silvered tongue. She’ll be the sort to ward off his charm. Pierce him with her bright, sharp eyes . . . straight to the heart of him.’

Gil laughed and was about to respond when a server came round with a pitcher of ale to fill up their mugs. ‘From the big fellow, over there,’ the server had said, pointing toward Benat.

Benat’s toast had rung out loud and clear through the Common Room. Gil and his fellows raised their mugs to him. Fallon, a grin on his face for the free drink, shouted back. ‘May the hair on your toes grow long, good Sir!’

They took a long drink and raised their mugs again in acknowledgement. Then Gil turned back to his companions, a twinkle in his eye. ‘And would any of you grand wizards watching over my poor life care to put a few coins in the pot to back up your predictions?’

[Undómë]

Hob noticed his companions from the previous evening were seated at a table not far from his. Benat, the tall fellow, was quite animated and appeared to be telling them a story. Picking his mug up, Hob made it to the table for the last of the story and joined in on the toast.

He settled back in his chair and waited for the hubbub of thanks and return toasts to settle down, then asked Benat to recount some of his story. It was a condensed version, but still exciting, nonetheless.

Talk came round to Hob and had he had a successful morning. ‘One of my best,’ he said, setting his mug down on the table. ‘Seemed as if whatever I had to sell was exactly what the merchants were needing. Can’t say as things have ever gone so smoothly before. I only wished I’d had more stock with me.’ He shook his head ruefully. ‘Ah well! Next time.’

He looked at Derufin and Anyopâ. ‘And how about you two? You look as if you’d put in a hard day’s work already.’

[Fairleaf]

The song continues

'Me and Hanson have worked up a verse, too!' said Reggie, nudging his friend to stand up with him.

Hanson reluctantly put down the last of the corn fritters he'd taked from Reggie's lunch pail and licked the honey from his fingers. 'Maybe we should just say it,' he whispered to Reggie. 'Cause I can't remember the tune that goes to it.'

The words came out hesitantly, and with much prompting of each other:

And when we’ve said good-bye
And when the party’s done
Then to our little beds we’ll go
To dream of all the fun
The friends we saw, the games we played
The food and dance and song
Oh, Party Tree, we love you so,
We’ll see you soon ‘for long!

'Well that's it for us.' Reggie looked hopefully at Master Hearpwine. 'Is that enough for the song. Can we go home now?'

[Huan]

‘A hard day’s work, and not yet done!’ laughed Anyopâ, rubbing the muscles on his arms as if to emphasize the point. ‘In my family’s metalwork shop I had not put these to such strenuous work and for so long.’ He gave Hob a considering look, as well as Benat.

‘You know,’ he said, looking toward Derufin with a smile. ‘We could cut what work remains us were we to recruit these two.’

[Witch_Queen]

Jonathan

Jonthan walked inside the inn. "Baby brother I'm proud of you. Take good care of him Ravon." He took his eyes off the happy couple. "Lewis I've got to get back home. Seems like my wife's father isn't doing to good. Sorry but I'm afraid I may not be here for the wedding. I'm leaving in a few days."

Jonathan was so happy that his brother had actually found someone that made him happy. "Hey did you hear that everyone, my little brother's going to get married to this fine female." The inn suddenly went silent. "Sorry little brother had to do that."

[Vardalainion]

Valin was completely relaxed here. The shire was more wondeful than even the stories had said. Many tales had been spun about the place but Valin was not one to believe anything he heard unless from friend or family. He stayed altogether to himself and was quite content.

After some time he opened his eyes and drained his mug. he was just about to fetch another when he noticed a hobbit girl looking at him. He would guess she was young but so child like the hobbits seemd to Valin, that determining age seemed quite difficult to him. He approached her slowly not quite sure of any customs of the Shire.

"Care for a drink, lass? The table's plenty big for two."

[Noinkling]

Benat’s laugh startled those about him and Cullen, who had been drowsing beneath the table, raised his head and looked about. ‘Well, I’m game for it if Master Hob is,’ the big man said.

‘What say you, Hob? Shall we show these two puny specimens of Men what a Hobbit and Beorning can accomplish?’

Cullen, drawn into the spirit of the statement by the tenor of his master’s voice, gave voice to his own opinion with a loud Woof!

[Undómë]

‘I’m for it, my good sir,’ Hob replied, rolling up his sleeves. ‘One question, though. What exactly are we supposed to best them at?’

Derufin explained that they had cut up some downed logs at the edge of the Inn property and had split most of them for the Inn’s woodshed. There still some to be split and then those and what was left in the wagon out back of the Inn needed to be stacked away.

Hob had plenty of experience splitting firewood. Being the oldest son of the family that job had fallen to him. He sized up Benat and grinned. ‘You split ‘em. I’ll stack ‘em.’ He grinned at Derufin and Anyopa. Losers buy us a round of Dwarven spirits after supper. Agreed?!’

[piosenniel]

Cook called out to Lithmîrë. She didn’t see him, but she supposed he could be in the bower already and hidden from view. She was going to call out again, but to her right a familiar face popped up from the opening to the root cellar at the side of the groundskeeper’s cottage.

‘Is that you Miz Bunce?’ said Zimzi climbing the last of the steps. She stepped out and pushed a stray hair behind her ear with the back of her hand. ‘I’m just bringing the last of my clay down to the cellar to stay cool and damp.’ She looked curiously at Cook, noting her bonnet was on her head and a laden basket in her hands. ‘Is there something I might do for you?’ She dipped her hands in a bucket of water she’d been using to wet the cloths to go over the buckets of clay. Wiping her hands on her homespun apron she came walking toward the Hobbit with a smile of welcome on her face.

‘Well, dear Zimzi, I’m very glad to see you’ve had a successful day,’ Cook said nodding to the last two buckets of clay waiting to be stored below. ‘I’m just going to meet a new friend . . . an Elvish gardener who’s come to the Inn.’ She nodded toward the bower. ‘We were going to have tea and talk plants and such. Have you seen him by chance?’

Zimzi shook her head ‘no’, saying she had been so intent on getting her clay below that she’d really not paid any attention. ‘And you know Elves,’ the woman chuckled. ‘A troop of them might have traipsed past the cellar as I busied myself, and been so quiet I’d not hear a single footfall.’

‘I’ll just go in and check then,’ said Cook, laughing also. She paused before turning toward the entrance to the leafy bower. ‘There’s plenty to eat and drink here,’ she went on, holding up the basket. ‘Would you like to join us?’

‘Oh, another time I think,’ said Zimzi, brushing at a smear of dirt on her skirt. ‘I’m not really dressed for meeting company and I’ve got supper to get on before Derufin returns from his task you’ve set him to.’ She held up a hand before Cook could invite the couple to a meal at the Inn proper. ‘No, don’t tempt me! I’ve made up my mind to fix a meal here and hopefully he’ll bring his friends, too.’ She turned to pick up the last of the buckets and head for the cellar steps. Calling out over her shoulder she told Cook to feel free to walk about the lovely plantings round the cottage.

[Lasbelinion]

With a sudden exhalation, Lithmîrë let go his breath. He’d been holding it in, keeping quiet as possible as Mistress Bunce spoke with the dark haired woman. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Watching the woman pick up the last two buckets of clay, he forced himself to see beyond his remembrances of encounters with females of the Man races who served the Dark Lord, and who could be as cruel as their male counterparts. There was nothing about this woman that spoke of the myriad of cold and calculated ways that pain could be inflicted. Her voice held no mean, sadistic undertones nor did the way she held her body show the savage ferocity that had often lurked behind a fair face.

But reasoning could only go so far. There had been that definite visceral reaction to the sight of her, and deep within his gut it still lay, a small hard kernel of fear and hatred and paralyzing despair.

‘Will I never be free?’ he asked in a whisper, his voice ragged with weary hopelessness.

Perhaps it is folly for me to stay here any longer, he thought to himself, beginning to feel the panic still eddying about within himself. Perhaps I should just go; gather the herbs I need as I can. The sooner I reach the Havens, the sooner I will be on my way to safety and to healing.

He was still considering his options when Mistress Bunce peeked her head through the entry way to the bower and smiled at him.

[SonOfBombadil]

Lewis looked at Jonathan, "I understand, you should go." Looking at Ravon he continued, "I'm not sure that we'll marry here as neither of us have family nearby. Although the shire has become our home in the last few months." He paused, thinking and, looking at nothing in particular.

Snapping out of his momentary trance, Lewis looked at his brother once again. "Well, while you're here, let me buy you a drink!" Ravon, Lewis and Jonathan all sat back down and ordered some drinks.

[bilbo_baggins]

Ponto Smallburrow came bumbling over the hearth into the warm and cozy Inn, basking in the presence of other people and relishing the thought of getting drunk in the next few hours. Boy had it been a while since he had been in here.

He sat down and saw familiar faces smiling at new faces never seen before. And all around him were merry-makers and laughing people, grunts of contentment, and sighs of pleasure. Ah, but living in the Shire was the life, was it not? How carefree, how joyously relaxing it was!

Getting a cup of mead, he started lacing his mind with fanciful thoughts and daydreams of feasts without end. How incomparable was the feeling of being back home!

[Azaelia of Willowbottom]

"Care for a drink, lass? The table's plenty big for two."
The young hobbit was startled to hear the traveler speaking to her. In fact, she visibly jumped. Torn between her curiosity and her in-born fear of things new and strange, she wavered.

Eventually her curious side won out. She slid into a seat and looked half-warily, half-interestedly at the stranger. "As for the drink," she said softly, in an accent that might have been unfamiliar to the person across from her, "I wouldn't dare! My mum would kill me if she knew I was drinking: she says I'm too young. But I wouldn't say no to a plate of mushrooms..."

Suddenly, she seemed to come to herself. "Well! That was rather rude of me! I...well, I don't know who you are! What is your name?"

[Vardalainion]

Valin was shocked to hear that the hobbit he had approached was too young to drink. But he was not about to argue the importance of beginning young to someone who was simply following the rules.

"My name is Valin Stormfist. And as for the mushrooms, I could go for some as well. Eh, what's your name lass? And what's a young hobbit doing her by herself?"

The mushrooms came quickly to the table and Valin wasted no time in helping himself. He made sure to leave what he considered a good amount for the hobbit.

[Atarah]

Elentari sighed as she leaned her head on her clenched fist. Had people really forgotten who she was. She guessed mortal's didn't have as good a memory for remembering faces as elves did. Oh well, she thought. I'm sure someone will talk to me eventually.

She sighed again as she moved from the bar to a table tucked away in a fairly dark corner. She pulled her hood over her eyes, something she had heard King Elessar used to do at the Prancing Pony when he was a ranger of the northern lands. She wondered if any of the people in the Green Dragon would rise to be a great hero. She smiled as she remembered why she was here - there was little left in the way of adventures in Middle Earth.

[Azaelia of Willowbottom]

"My name is Valin Stormfist. And as for the mushrooms, I could go for some as well. Eh, what's your name lass? And what's a young hobbit doing her by herself?"

The girl hesitantly said, "I am Peony Underhill...And as for what I'm doing here, well, I live here in Bywater, so it is not far to walk. The Green Dragon has some of the best food in all of the Shire! It's also a great place to watch people, there's always so many different people here!"

As she was talking, the mushrooms had arrived. She watched Valin take a few, but decided she was not going to let him get away with eating the whole plate, so she dug in, remembering to eat somewhat politely in front of the stranger.

[Larien Telemnar]

A Hobbit walks quietly into the inn, her dark blue cloak covering her body, which was short for even her race.

She surveryed the roomed quickly, and after a moment, settled at a table in a dark corner. She lit a pipe, then quietly watched the patrons of the Green Dragon. She absently fingered the hem of her cloak as she watched the merrymaking taking place around her. Secretly, she felt jealous, wishing to join in. No, I can't. I know nothing of the people here. What if I offend them.... She thought.

Unbeknownst to her she had withdrawn further into the corner.

[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.

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About Elves in Shire RPG's:

Please use this description from Tolkien when crafting an Elf:

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

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

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

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EVERYONE

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

Thanks!

Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[piosenniel]

It is mid-noon now in the Shire. The sky is a glorious shade of blue; the sun is shining bright and warm on the Inn.

Lunch is done. Most of those in the Common Room are relaxing with a mug of their favorite brew and a good smoke.

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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 and Lithmîrë


‘Well, there you are! My stars! I had forgotten how quiet you folk can be.’ Cook trundled into the shady little bower and put her basket on one of the chairs set by the little table in the center of the grass. The bright mid-afternoon sun filtered through the leaves if the trees, dappling the area.

She swept the few leaves that had fallen on the table top off and directed Lithmîrë to get out the little tablecloth and put it on the table. Once done, the cups and little plates were put on along with some fireweed honey and the tray of tarts she had packed in the basket. Indicating that he should go ahead and be seated, she poured them both a cup of lemon thyme with ginger tea and passed him the honey.

Nice lady, Mistress Zimzi is,’ she said in a light, conversational tone as she passed the tarts to him. ‘Wedded our stablemaster, Derufin, just a bit ago. And now they’ve settled down in the groundskeeper’s cottage there. She’s from Lindon, that one. An artist . . . with clay. Master Derufin’s our all around handy man. Fine man. Happy now and I’m glad of it.’ She shook her head gently as a sad thought crept in. ‘Fought in the war there in the east. Had a wife and two little babies back then. Found they were killed by Orcs when he was away.’ She shivered a little and took a deep breath. ‘Goodness, I didn’t mean to be so gloomy. We’ve all got our problems don’t we. And luckily most can find a way to the other side of them.’ She took a generous dollop of honey and stirred it into her steaming tea.

‘Enough of that, anyway.’ She settled back comfortably in her chair and munched on a tart. ‘Tell me about the places you gardened. What sorts of plants did you grow there? And how did you find the soil?’

[Envinyatar]

The bargain was sealed with a last mug of ale before the four men went out to the back yard outside the Inn’s kitchen door. Derufin grinned at Anyopa as Benat and Hob began to split and stack wood. ‘They’ll have it done in a trice,’ he whispered as he passed by with an armload of wood for the woodshed. ‘A round of Dwarven spirits is small price to pay for a little rest for ourselves this afternoon.’

He called out a word of challenge to the Hobbit and the Beorning, saying what laggards they were, and how two mere men were going to beat them at this contest . . .

[Primrose Bolger]

Ferdy had only a moment to stay before he had to go back to work. He’d given her the bouquet of lupine and witch-hazel and they’d had a cup of cider together . . . all under the watchful eye of Granny Oldbuck. Ginger could tell he was wanting to ask her something but he hemmed and hawed until the very last moment as he got up to leave.

‘Well, of course, I’ll go to the Spring Fair with you,’ she said laughing as he mumbled the request quickly toward her. Before he was even out the door she was planning the new skirt and blouse she would make to wear.

Tucking one of the small sprigs of witch-hazel in her coppery hair, she poured a last cup of hot tea for Granny Oldbuck and went out to the common room to see if there were anything she might do. Preparations for supper were all done, and she had some time on her hands.

There were several new faces as she made her way between the tables. A Dwarf and a young Hobbit lass were engaged in conversation and the sharing of a generous platter of mushrooms.

And there in the corner sat another lass. ‘Not from around here,’ Ginger noted to herself, taking in the unfamiliar face. Bright sun from one of the Inn windows poured in, lighting up a section of the room. The Hobbit, though, she noted had settled herself in a gloomy corner of the Inn. She was smoking a pipe, her eyes darting about at the rest of those in the room, and all the while, she seemed to be nervously fingering the hem of her dark blue cloak.

‘What’s got the wind up her?’ Ginger wondered. She picked up a pitcher of cider and a mug and made her way back to the corner table, stopping every now and then along the way to top off other customers’ drinks.

‘Hello, there, Miss,’ Ginger said, placing the empty mug in front of the Hobbit. ‘Welcome to the Green Dragon. May I offer you some cider?’

[Larien Telemnar]

The Hobbit jumped at a voice next to her. She looked at the other Hobbitlass and smiled faintly.

"I'm so sorry, I did not see you. Yes please, and thank you." She looked down at her hands for a moment. Say something anything. She's being friendly. You can't be shy forever. You're not at home anymore. She thought, swinging her feet back and forth uncomfortably. She finally resolved to say something.

"I am Larien, who might you be?" She asked, thinking how boring a conversation starter that must be.

[Lasbelinion]

One’s own thoughts seemed to flee in the presence of Cook. It’s as if she wove magics with her words. Though not the sort as his kindred could, but of a simpler, more mundane variety. It was an earthy sort of discernment that took one out of consideration as a central point, a solitary point and instead placed one firmly within the fabric of the Shire. And here he was. In the Shire.

We’ve all got our problems don’t we? And luckily most can find a way to the other side of them.

Where would that leave me, he wondered to himself.

He watched her as she smoothed out the tablecloth and brought out the sweets and the tea. With a few light words she directed his help. He rolled her requests about in his mind. He did not find that they rankled. Not orders from master to slave. An underlying assumption of being on the same footing, of camaraderie smoothed the edges.

Does she chide me with her talk of the woman and the man? Should I have been more forthcoming, less given to judgment without all the facts?

Lithmîrë covered his quandaries with sips of the refreshing tea. The warmth of it and the closeness of the bower as the trees blocked the breezes made him raise his hand, unthinking to push back his hood.

‘Tell me about the places you gardened. What sorts of plants did you grow there? And how did you find the soil?’ he heard her say. Before answering he looked closely at her, gauging her reaction to his scars.

[Primrose Bolger]

Talking to Larien

‘Larien. That’s a lovely name. I’ve not heard it before.’ Ginger poured a small mug of cider for herself and sat down. ‘My name’s Ginger Gamwich. From Hobbiton, not too far across the road. Mostly I work in the kitchen, helping Cook. But right now everything’s ready for supper, so I’ve got a break for a while. You don’t mind if I sit with you, do you?’

One of the other servers, Buttercup, came by and left a plate of little plum tarts for the two lasses. Ginger took one and passed the plate to Larien. ‘You planning on staying for a little while,’ Ginger asked as she munched on the sweet. ‘There’s going to be the Spring Faire in less than a week. Right here at the Inn. Or are you just passing through?’

Gosh, Ginger Gamwich you needn’t be so nosy right off! She sighed and took a sip of her cider, hoping she hadn’t sounded too nosy.

[Larien Telemnar]

‘Larien. That’s a lovely name. I’ve not heard it before.’

"Thank you." Larien murmered as Ginger poured a mug of cider. "Yours is very nice, too." Another Hobbitlass placed a plate on their table. Ginger passed it to Larien after taking one for herself. Larien smiled shyly and took one as well.

She listened quietly as Ginger asked her a few questions.

"I- I do no know if I will be staying. I though to visit The Shire before returning to...." Her voice trailed off and she smiled ruely. "Yes, I believe I will be staying. The Shire is a pleasant place, I belive I shall enjoy living among my own people for a while. What is this "Spring Faire" You talk about? Is it some kind of contest, perhaps for archery?"

Larien smiled and felt the tension she was feeling begin to fade as she relaxed and decided that Ginger was a fine young Hobbitlass. Perhaps I have made my first friend here. She thought.

[piosenniel]

Lithmîrë and the pot of salve

Cook dipped down for a moment and fished about in the basket she’d set at her feet. Somewhere, near the bottom she supposed, was something she had been waiting for the opportune moment to bring out. ‘Oh, I know it’s in here somewhere,’ came the muffled and slightly exasperated voice beneath the edge of the table.

Her hand made purchase on the rim of the pot (it had slipped under the two towels she’d wrapped the flask of tea in). ‘There we go,’ she said shoving her bonnet back into place as she straightened up. With a small nod and an encouraging smile, she scooted the pot across the narrow distance that separated them.

‘Now, please don’t think me too forward, Master Lithmîrë,’ she said, gesturing that he should open the pot. ‘I couldn’t help but notice earlier that your hand looked like it had been burnt. And a while ago, from the scarring. My late husband was a soapmaker. When we were first married there was an accident. He was boiling down the mixture and he slipped from the stool he was standing on at the kettle’s edge. My stars! What a burn he got on his arm; the one that slipped in. Anyways, to make a long story shorter, I had to cobble up a number of salves and lotions to help him out along the way. Couldn’t heal it up, of course. The lye water and hot grease had burnt too deeply. But it did ease up the pain of it and kept the scars from making the limb so stiff.’

Cook gave resigned sigh as she surveyed the scars on the Elf’s face and arm. ‘Wish you’d come through Bywater sooner; that it hadn’t gotten so bad as it must be by now.’ She cocked her head at him and hesitated, wondering how he would take her next question. ‘Are you using tincture of poppy in your tea?’

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger noticed the Hobbit hesitated about where she’d come from. She’d learned, though, even in her short time working at the Inn, that it was better to let those hesitations lie. Perhaps Larien might offer more of an explanation at a later date, but for now, Ginger decided it would be best if she were left to her secrets. Best stick to safer subjects.

Taking a sip of cider, Ginger launched enthusiastically into an explanation of the Spring Faire. The Inn and its yard would be all decorated up with ribbons and streamers. And little lanterns would be hung in all the trees. There’d be lots of booths set up with all sorts of interesting things to see and buy or trade for. Lots of tables, too, with all sorts of cakes and cookies and pies to eat. And vote on . . . ribbons were given out and many of the ladies in Bywater and Hobbiton would be competing for them.

‘There are other contests, too,’ she went on. ‘Archery is one of them. Do you know how to use a bow? I never learned.’ Without waiting for Larien to answer, Ginger continued. ‘There’s axe throwing, too, and other woodsmen skills. And there’s a big tug-of-war. Foot races . . . Gosh, it all goes on for a couple of days. Oh, and at night, there’s music and dancing.’ Ginger grinned thinking about how Ferdy would be escorting her this year and she’d have someone to dance to all the music with.

‘So what do you say? You can walk around with me and my Ferdy. It’ll be fun!’

[Larien Telemnar]

Larien listened as Ginger explained the Spring Faire, thinking how exciting it all must be. Perhaps I shhould go. I need to get to know my kinspeople. She thought, smiling at Ginger's last question.

"I would love to accompany you, Ginger. I do know how to use a bow, but not as well as some people I know. Who is Ferdy?"

[littlemanpoet]

Uien had been wandering over the hummocks and turves of the pastures behind the Green Dragon for hours. Her Elvish step was light, but her heart was not. Her mind was dark with images she did not know from her own memory, nor that of her family, nor from any long lost friends from Lorien. Nor from Falowik. The trees and stream might as well not have been there, for she did not see them though her body knew to pass them by without injury.

The images flowed in and out, melding with horrors from her own past, then breaking away again. Beside a red bonfire a fair woman sneering, spitting at her would turn into a slant eyed, sallow faced orc padding at her with their filthy hands. She had survived imprisonment in the darkness of Caradhras, but these new memories overwhelmed her. Now she was walking over a dark, blasted land, dead and cold, fleeing from a dread that assailed her heart. She could not leave it behind. A man came at her with a firebrand as others held her down. The firebrand scalded her face and she screamed, fighting to back away. Only to find that she was standing in front of a tree, a limb waving in the breeze; someone was whimpering. She stopped to listen, and realized it was her own voice.

She closed her hands into fists and furrowed her brow. It was that burned elf. He had shouted her away from his mind, and in doing so, had cast his own violent memories into her mind. Had he done it on purpose? How could an Elf be so evil? Maybe he had not intended it. Still, why had he been so violent?

She was walking again, not seeing the land and trees.

After all, she had done no more than had always been the way of the osanwë in Lorien. One touched the edge of the mind of another Elf to discern whether the other was open or closed. It was like saying "would you like to talk?" If the other's mind remained closed, you pulled away, no harm done to either. But this burned elf had behaved as if the way of Lorien was, what? Akin to torture! Ridiculous. He had something to answer for, that was certain. No more probing the edge of his mind. She was going to confront him face to face and be answered.

She strode back toward the Inn with a purpose.

[Lasbelinion]

He bristled as Mistress Bunce pushed the pot of salve toward him. The urge to push her away rose like bile in his throat, immediate and burning and bitter. Her words touched him before the cool side of the pot brushed lightly against his finger tips. He forced down the words that were already forming on his lips. Dipping his head down as if to inspect the salve, he swallowed them one by one.

She bears a certain light, he thought. Should I speak without thinking, the tenuous line between us will snap.

Lithmîrë drew his thoughts inward, considering that connection. It was not a familiar one. And being unfamiliar it did not call up the bristling defenses he had so long cultivated. Still, it was troubling in its unexpectedness. He turned his attention fully to that little link, probing and pushing at it as one might a sore tooth with the tongue . . . looking for any darker motives he might discern.

Her words seemed to be winding down now. They held a tone of regret. She had asked a question, and looked to him to see if she had been too forward with it. With an effort he recalled what she had said. Poppy, she had asked about poppy.

‘Yes, I have used that at times,’ he heard himself answering her, His voice level. ‘But not often. It dulls the pain, but clouds my mind, too. It leaves me too . . .’ defenseless he was going to say . . . ‘too tired and feeling weak.’

He dipped his fingers into the salve and brought a small smear to his nose. It had a light, clean smell. and as he rubbed it on a small portion of the scarring on his arm, he could feel a certain cool comfort spread out in the ropy, tight tissue.

'This will be good, I think,' he said, the curve of a quick smile fleeting on the right side of his face. 'It will go well with the tea I've put together.' He put the cover on the pot, saying he would use it more fully later. 'And I was wondering, my store of herbs for that tea is nearly depleted. Would it be possible for me to replenish them from your garden?'

[piosenniel]

Heading back to the kitchen

Cook was more than happy to let the Elf see to the herbs he mentioned. ‘I’ve many of them,’ she told him. ‘I use them myself for treating the ailments that happen at the Inn. ‘But some of those I think you’ll have to look for in the wooded areas south of here. I could speak to Granny Oldbuck about them. The woods border on her little parcel of land. We often trade herbs. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. Might even pry the recipe out of you for your tea.’

The flask was unstoppered and more of the tea Cook had brought with her was poured into their cups. And the talk turned in earnest to gardening. Though, Cook noted it was her that did most of the talking with Lithmîrë making a few responses when prompted. From what she could gather, he’d spent most of his life cultivating fields and growing plants and in places that seemed none too hospitable for such pursuits. Or so she gleaned from the few brief descriptions he let fall. Still, he was a good listener and he didn’t seem to mind as she bragged a bit about her own accomplishments.

She wondered how he had gotten his injuries, but he seemed the sort that was best left to come round to the telling of that sort of tale by himself. ‘Bit like a hedgehog, he is. Curl up in a tight little ball to protect his soft underbelly; spiky bristles coming to his defense if he’s poked at too much.’

The sun had moved a few finger lengths west as their conversation wound down to a close. Cook excused herself, saying she needed to get back to the kitchen. the last touches on the supper meal would need to be done. He helped her load her basket back up and saw her to the entrance to the bower.

‘Come by the kitchen later for your evening meal, if you will. Be glad to have you. I should know from Granny Oldbuck by then if those herbs you need are near her.’

Cook trotted off, stopping once to wave at him as he stood watching her go.

[littlemanpoet]

As Uien came toward the Inn she saw out of the corner of her eye Eswen and Falowik sitting with their backs to the Inn, deep in discussion. They would have to wait. She passed them without a glance, and ignored Falowik's belated call.

There was Cook hurrying back to the kitchen from a little enclosure of trees and well tended brush. Cook turned one last time and waved briefly to someone who was within. Then it could not be the burned elf, for he could not possibly be on friendly terms with anyone, though Cook was not an ordinary hobbit. Out of curiosity Uien turned toward the enclosure and glanced inside....

...and almost walked headlong into the burned elf. She stopped, recoiling at the suddenness of meeting her new bane. What was not burned of the elf's expression, changed from thoughtfulness to sudden ire. They stared at each other wordlessly for a long moment. The burned elf opened his mouth as if to speak harsh words, but he closed his mouth into a bitter line.

Uien's hands met in tight fists over her abdomen, her arms straight and tense. She found her voice.

"You-" Her voice trembled. "You have-" She faltered, suddenly unable to finish her accusation. This burned elf looked as if her words could rend him to ashes. She drew breath. "What new darkness is this, in my mind, elf?"

[Lasbelinion]

Uien is ill received

What tenuous feelings of safety and shelter he had felt just short moments ago now fled at the entrance of the other. Anger rode her voice and features. Her fists were clenched as if to punctuate what her words would name. It mattered not the offense, he had learned. Better to stand still and get it over.

In long learned reflex his muscles tightened as he awaited the sure to come blow; his mind shut hard against the expected pain, severing his receipt of it from consciousness. For a space of time there were two beings which stood in his place . . . waiting . . .

The air thickened with her unmouthed accusations. And still the blow did not fall. Taking a quick short breath, Lithmîrë stepped back from her trembling form. A fragment of a question she threw at him settled precariously in his consciousness.

‘What new darkness is this?’ he heard.

Harsh voices rose at the edges of his memory. ‘Thinks his kin will come looking for him.’ The voices of dark men and Orc grated against his ears; their rude laughter assailing him as sharply as the stick with which they beat him. ‘Dark and ugly as we are now to them . . . that’s how you are to your foul kin in their precious forests.’ They’d laughed again as they sent him running back to his fellows in the fields; the lashes of the overseer biting at his back . . .

He struggled up against the ghosts, to see that she was still standing there, unmoving. A small glance to his right showed a break in the bushes between the trees. He registered she had no weapon on her . . . save her mind. It was she that had tried to force her way into his thoughts. Like the others with their sullied ways . . . she was small . . .

From some hidden corner of his awareness rose a stench of revulsion at his thought that he could choose to kill her. And with it some understanding that such an act would indeed be dark and ugly. What faint hope he held for himself would be quenched in such overwhelming shadow.

Lithmîrë shut his mind hard against her. ‘Stay back,’ he warned her in even tones. ‘Look to yourself,’ he rasped, taking another step back, lengthening the distance between them. With a sudden gathering of his cloak about him, he turned quickly to his right and ran; the brutish jeers and laughter of summoned ghosts biting at his back.

[Primrose Bolger]

An invitation to Larien

Ginger colored at the question. ‘Ferdy. Well, he’s my fellow. Lives with his family in Hobbiton.’ The thought of him caused her to blush even more deeply. Wanted as it was, this new tie between her and Ferdy was new. And she found it hard to name it. Giving herself a breather from further consideration, she took a gulp of cider. ‘Anyways, we’d be happy to have you walk about with us.’

From the corner of her eye she caught the door to the kitchen opening. Buttercup’s voice called to her, saying they needed to set the conies and vegetables stewing for supper. ‘Oh! I’ll need to get the flour and such measured out for the biscuits,’ Ginger said, half to herself. She looked up at Larien as an unexpected thought came to her.

‘Say, if you’re not busy, would you like to help us out in the kitchen. I’m sure there are more carrots and taters to be chopped for the stew. And you can help roll and cut the biscuits with me later when it’s nearer to supper. And there’s the rest of the tarts, too, to drizzle with icing. Buttercup and Ruby will be there. they’re older than me, but real nice. You’ll like them, I think.’ She got up from her chair as she waited for her new friend’s answer.

[piosenniel]

The butcher is brought to mind

‘Now what is all that about?’ Cook wondered as she turned back toward the bower. There had been the sound of little branches snapping and the squawk of a hen dislodged from her perch among the branches. And there was Lithmîrë, his cloak pulled round him, running away from the bower. ‘What now?’ she thought, her brows raising. ‘Must be a snake or something as scared him from going out like regular folk would do. Course he is an Elf, and they have their ways about them. Though I can’t recall Mistress Piosenniel leaping out of the side of a room when the door would work just as easily . . . snake or no . . .’

Cook was a good distance away from the commotion, her thoughts centering on how many pans of biscuits she should have the girls get ready for baking. ‘And I think I’ll just have them pick some of the early green beans to steam up with a little butter and some cracked pepper from the trader that came through from Buckland. And maybe a few crispy bacon bits, too, might be tasty.’

She was just thinking how Master Lithmîrë could use a few helpings of stew and biscuits and beans and butter to round his stringy frame out a bit more as she pushed open the back door to the kitchen and stepped in. With an economy of motion, she hung her bonnet and cloak on the peg by the door and tied on her apron.

Pushing back a stray curl behind her ear, she surveyed her little domain. ‘Well, ladies, let’s set the conies to stewing. There’s a bigger crowd expected tonight, some traveling players up from Pincup. We’ll need an extra pan of stew and two more of biscuits, I think. And a couple of you need to go out to the garden and pick us some beans. I’ve a taste for them tonight.’

She went down the stairs, to the part of the basement where the hams and bacon were stored in a cool room. The kitchen helpers could just hear her muttering as she inventoried the supply. ‘Two more breakfasts and we’ll be out of bacon.’ Cook stomped up the stairs thinking how a nice lamb roast would be tasty . . . be a nice change from chicken and rabbit and mutton stews. The Spring Faire was coming up, too. Best to be thinking ahead to that.

‘Buttercup,’ she called out as she got to the top landing. ‘Remind me to have you go to the butcher. We’ll be needing a few things from him. See if he can come round and see me, soon.’

Cook stepped to the pans of stew ready to be set over the cook fire. Snapping off some herbs from where they were hung to dry from the rafters, she rubbed the leaves between her fingers and sprinkled them generously into the soon to be savory broth. She hummed to herself as she stirred them in, followed by pinches of salt and several grinds of pepper.

[Vardalainion]

Valin watched the young hobbit for some time, and was surprised that such a small person could show him that there was a place in the world where happiness could still thrive. He himeself had always led a hard life, and yet here was achild living a quite joyous one. Soon he found himself laughing out loud, and the young hobbit staring at him.

"Oh, the ale must be getting to my head, excuse me."

Valin quickly left the table feeling a little embarressed and ordered more ale.

[Larien Telemnar]

Larien smiled and stood, rubbing her right arm, which had fallen asleep. "I would be happy to help in the kitchen, although I do not know much about how you prepare food here in the Shire."

She looked over at the girl Buttercup and smiled shyly, then turned back to Ginger. "Would you like me to bring my mug? That way the table will be cleared off for someone else."

[littlemanpoet]

‘Stay back,’ warned the burned elf. ‘Look to yourself!’ He took a step back, and gathering of his cloak about him quickly, he ran away.

Look to myself? Uien stood confounded. She had purposely closed her mind, and so had no notion of what the other had thought or felt, save by his actions. And they made no sense. Then his earlier, unspoken words, came to mind: 'get out'. This burned elf acted as if he feared her, little Uien. A little smile came to her face as she laughed inwardly at the ridiculous thought. Whom had she ever caused to fear? The smile quickly disappeared as she discovered pleasure within at being feared. She was horrified.

But he had not answered her question. Or had he? Reluctantly, she thought back to her own dark time in the deeps of Caradhras. Orcs leered at her, taunting her with what they intended for her. She shuddered. It had taken Falowik's love to dispel that darkness, and that had taken time. This burned elf had been grievously used.

She felt the gem of her necklace, warming. Falowik was thinking of her. Should she go back to him, and leave the burned elf be? No. There was a new hardness within that held her to this new path. Maybe Falowik would understand, maybe give chase. She chose to let that be as it would. She followed the faint elvish shimmer of his fleeing footprints. She did not hurry. Look to yourself? What was that supposed to mean?

[Azaelia of Willowbottom]

Peony watched, horrified, as Valin made a hasty exit from their table. Had she done something wrong? Maybe she had been too greedy with the mushrooms. after all...Though she really had tried to be polite!

Miserably, she picked at her mushrooms without any of her usual enthusiasm, watching after him as he went and ordered more ale. Her first encounter with someone from the wide world outside the Shire and he'd gotten up and left.

"Whatever it is, I'm sorry!" she called quietly after him, but it was probably too soft to be heard in the noisy hubbub of the tavern. She sat back down and went back to her food, gradually becoming cheerful again: Peony was not someone who could stay sad for very long. She began looking around with interest at the other occupants of the Green Dragon.

[Firefoot]

Willy fidgeted in his seat. His thoughts had drifted during the composition of the song, mostly towards the outdoors. Through the schoolroom window he could see a beautiful blue sky, and warm sunlight streamed through the windows. The lunch break had been nice, but he really was not used to sitting in one place for such long periods of time, and his attention span had been long outlived.

It wasn't that he particularly wanted to go home (after all, what waited him there but chores?), but simply to be out of the confining schoolroom. Whether that meant playing marbles with his new friends or finding some mischief with his brother or something else, he wasn't sure.

So he echoed Reggie's thus far unanswered question. "We are done, right? We can go?"

[Child of the 7th Age]

Miz Bella glanced over at the Innkeeper and nodded, "Your point is well taken. I'd wecome any help I could get at teaching these young ones. I'm afraid I'm not as young as I used to be! In any case, I can only be in one place at a time. If I'm working with the new readers, it's hard to give the proper attention to some of the older ones. Nor would I object if you or one of the others wanted to take a smaller group of children and perhaps help them with something special away from this classroom: having Cook teach them how to whip up a mushroom pie, or perhaps, Innkeeper, you might even want to work with a few of the more adventurous in the courtyard showing them how to ride and care for a pony. I know the lads would welcome that! Let's try and talk more on that tonight or tomorrow. Meanwhile, I want to check out the preparations for the faire. Perhaps we can all figure out ways for the children to participate and help make the event a success."

With that, the two women shook hands and agreed to speak more about these matters later. Miz Bella made her way back into the classroom and stopped to thak the Bard for all his help. "It looks as if we've made a good start on that song. Hopefully, we'll have it finished and ready to practice in time for the faire. I hope to see you again soon."

Miz Bella waved as the school door closed and the Bard disappeared down the hallway. Turning her eyes back to the class, and seeing how the little ones (especially Willy!) fidgeted in their seats, Ms. Bella hastily announced, "That's plenty for our first day! You're free to go home now. Those of you who need to wait for parents can play in the garden until your Ma or Da come to pick you up. Oh, yes, and please take your slates home to practice your letters."

With that there was a scuffling of feet and general jubilation as the children gathered up their belongings and, like a mighty herd of cattle, went tramping towards the outer door. Miz Bella instantly plopped down in her chair and silently wondered what she had gotten herself into. Her feet hurt so much she thought that they were in danger of dropping off.

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger and Larien begin the biscuits

Ginger couldn’t help but ask. ‘What’s so different about food where you come from?’ She frowned, trying to imagine Hobbits eating anything other than, well, regular Hobbit food. ‘Shire food’s just ordinary stuff,’ she went on. ‘Chicken and taters and carrots and conies. Ham and bacon in the morning with eggs and toast. Thick soups. And lots of mushrooms. Then of course there’s the sweets . . . just enough to tuck in around the empty spaces left after a meal.’

The kitchen was soon reached, and Ginger pushed open the door, ushering Larien and her mug in the door. Cook was there, as was Ruby. Buttercup trailed in behind them, taking a tray of dirty plates and mugs to the sink.

‘This is Larien,’ Ginger said, introducing her friend all around. ‘We’ll get the biscuits going.’

Cook nodded and pointed to the pegs by the kitchen door where extra aprons hung, indicating Larien should put one on. Ginger showed her the way to the pantry and the two picked up the flour and salt and shortening and baking powder to make the dough.

They returned to one of the tables in the center of the kitchen and began measuring ingredients. ‘See those baking sheets over there, hanging on the wall,’ said Ginger. ‘Can you bring them over here and grease ‘em up and dust ‘em a little with flour so’s the biscuits won’t stick . . .’

[Arry]

Woody and Hanson head home

Gil was waiting at one of the tables in the common room, just as he’d promised. Willy and Hanson came tearing out of the schoolroom, their slates in hand. Hanson climbed up onto a chair near Gill and surveyed what his Uncle had been snacking on. Fresh, crusty bread and slices of good Shire cheddar. Along with a mug of ale.

‘The cheese and bread, you can help yourself to,’ Gil said, ruffling his nephews curls. ‘But your Ma would skin me if you come home smelling of ale.’ He motioned for a server and asked for two mugs of cider.

Woody sat opposite Hanson and took a slice of bread and some cheese for himself. He laid his slate in front of Gil, showing him the picture of the party tree he’d drawn. Both the boys chattered on about what they had learned that day, ending with the recitation of what they could remember of the new song the class was writing for the Spring Faire.

‘Master Hearpwine is helping us with it,’ Hanson said in a muffled voice, his words coming round a large mouthful of cheese. ‘What are you doing for the Faire?’ he asked, swallowing it down with a gulp of cider.

‘The lads and I are putting on a puppet show for one thing. Complete with music and all. We haven’t quite figured out a story yet, though.’ Gil brushed away a smear of bread and butter crumbs from Hanson’s cheek.

‘Hey, what about the story of Mister Bilbo and the Dragon?’ offered Woody. ‘That would be exciting, don’t you think?’ Hanson clapped his hands, eyes shining, and agreed with his older brother.

‘Not a bad idea,’ said Gil, smiling at the enthusiastic two. ‘Maybe your class could help make some of the props for it. Bright shiny stones for jewels, and a few little boxes painted up to look like treasure chests . . .’

Hanson’s eyes went wide at the thought of helping. ‘And what about skellytons?’ he asked. Woody nodded his head and grinned at the idea. ‘There must have been some in the cave from people the dragon killed. I’ll bet I could draw up some good ones.’

Gil and the boys finished their snack, all the while making plans for the play. He promised to let them know tomorrow what Tomlin and Fallon and Ferrin thought of the idea. Once done, the boys gathered up their cloaks and slates and followed Gil to the cart tied in the shade of the Inn’s oak tree. They were quiet for the most part on the short trip home. It had been a long day and what with the food and cider, they were soon drowsing on the seat of the cart, their little heads resting heavily on Gil’s thighs.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine sought the Common Room and the comfort of a large tankard of ale to recover from his first experience of teaching. He had never thought of how exhausting it would be. Somehow, he had imagined that it would be so much easier to be the master than the student, but he was beginning to realise that the reverse was the truth. The constant questions and points being raised, the need to maintain some semblance of order, and – most of all – the youthful energy of his charges had drained him mightily. To restore himself he quickly downed the ale, and then bid the barmaid bring him another. He cast his eye about wonderingly for the pretty Innkeeper, for he had always been attracted to lovely maidens, but she was nowhere in sight. He longed to speak with her of home.

To pass the time he pulled forth his harp and played the melody upon it that went with the song the children had prepared. This quickly refreshed his spirit and before he even made the conscious decision to do so, he was singing the words they had composed:

Ruffian, spare our Party Tree!
Touch not a single bough!
In youth it sheltered me,
And I'll protect it now.
'Twas Samwise Gamgee’s able hand
That placed it near his cot:
There, ruffian, let it stand,
Thy axe shall harm it not!

That graceful mallorn tree
Whose glory and renown
Are spread o’er land and sea,
And wouldst thou hew it down?
Ruffian, forbear thy stroke!
Cut not its earth-bound ties;
Oh spare it for us Hobbit folk
Heed our warning cries!

Join me then dear friend,
Underneath its silvery bark.
Golden hours we shall spend
Till morn gives way to dark,
Sampling platters sure to delight
The hungriest in the Shire.
As hobbits marvel at the sight
Of a fat pig o'er an open fire.

And when we’ve said good-bye
And when the party’s done
Then to our little beds we’ll go
To dream of all the fun
The friends we saw, the games we played
The food and dance and song
Oh, Party Tree, we love you so,
We’ll see you soon ‘for long!

It was a good song, if a bit uneven in style. And there was the matter of the sudden break in the middle as the song shifted from cries against the ruffians to a party. Perhaps he could compose a new stanza commemorating the defeat of the ruffians and the beginning of the Shire’s renewal…?

He took another pull at his ale and thought about it.

[Larien Telemnar]

Larien listened as Ginger explained food from the Shire, which didn't sound all that hard to make.

‘Chicken and taters and carrots and conies. Ham and bacon in the morning with eggs and toast. Thick soups. And lots of mushrooms. Then of course there’s the sweets . . . just enough to tuck in around the empty spaces left after a meal.’ Ginger went on. It doesn't sound too hard to prepare, I suppose. I'll just have to wait and see. Larien thought.

Ginger introduced Larien to the people in the kitchen, Cook and Ruby. She nodded and quickly set her mug down out of the way and tied an apron around her wait, then headed over with Ginger to make the biscuits. They fetched the ingredients and began to work. Ginger asked Larien if she could grease a pan, so Larien set to work at that.

Larien thought about Ginger's earlier question about food where she came from and bit her lip, contemplating if she should tell her. She is my friend now, I suppose I should give her the benefit of knowing a little about me. She thought.

'You asked me about the food where I come from, it's a little different there. I've lived in a few different places, but mostly in Rivendell. It's much different there. I like it here, though....." Her voice trailed off and she set to greasing the pan with a vengance.

[Firefoot]

Willy hurried out of the schoolroom and across the Common Room probably a little faster than would be considered polite. Frankly, though, he didn't care, being more concerned about getting away. He was not watching where he was going, however, and as he raced through the door he nearly ran straight into an elderly hobbit lady coming through the door. He did trip on her cane, landing on the path with an "Oof," his chalk and slate landing a little ways away. His marbles, too, had somehow come free of his pocket and were lying scattered about the grass.

Unharmed, he stood up and noticed the hobbit glaring at him. "S-sorry, ma'am," he said, and knelt to pick up his things. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that she did not go in immediately but stood watching him in irritation. Willy tried to pay her no mind as he went about trying to find his marbles. He had found most of them when he realized that he had knocked the cane from its owner's hand. He picked that up, too, and handed it to her. "Here you go, ma'am." With that, he fled, not bothering with the few remaining marbles. He wondered why all old gammers couldn't be like his - this lady sure wasn't. He hadn't intended on going home just yet, but head home he did. Maybe he could find Nick and be off again before his ma noticed.

~*~*~*~

"Hmph," muttered Thistle as she continued into the inn. "Lads these days have no manners whatsoever. No doubt he just came fresh from that... school here. I'd like to know what they're teaching 'em these days - obviously not manners."

With her current irritation at the inconsiderateness of hobbit lads, her eye was drawn to a fairly young hobbit lass sitting alone at a table. Thistle thumped her way across the room to Peony.

"You look lonely. Hmph. A lass as pretty as you shouldn't have any troubles finding company, excepting the thoughtlessness of the lads around here. I tell you, when I was a girl the lads were so much nicer. Would you like some company, lass? Or I could find you some. Some of them folk around here could use a talking to."

[Azaelia of Willowbottom]

"You look lonely. Hmph. A lass as pretty as you shouldn't have any troubles finding company, excepting the thoughtlessness of the lads around here. I tell you, when I was a girl the lads were so much nicer. Would you like some company, lass? Or I could find you some. Some of them folk around here could use a talking to," said Thistle.

Peony was happy that someone had come over to her. Most of the worry that she had felt at Valin leaving dried up. "Oh, thank you for coming over!" she exclaimed. "It wasn't really a lad that upset me...It was an Outsider. I went over here to talk to him because I love meeting new people, and he seemed nice enough, though quiet...But then he left so fast. I think I made him sad or something."

After a pause, she added, "I would like some company, though." She smiled, then her smile slipped. "Oh dear, I'm sorry! I should have introduced myself! I'm Peony Underhill..."

[Firefoot]

Thistle was slightly surprised by Peony's friendly response. Perhaps the lasses these days were better brought up than the lads. Thistle sat down at the table, leaning her cane against the chair.

"My name is Thistle Bracegirdle," she answered, immediately intrigued by her own introduction. It had been years since anyone had called her Thistle; anymore it was always Miz Bracegirdle. Perhaps it was the Peony's introduction; she had seemed ever so thrilled for company, even her own. Perhaps Thistle could associate with the lass more than she ever would have thought.

"Don't worry yourself over an Outsider," Thistle advised. "More trouble than they're worth, usually; don't recognize decent folk when they see them. Don't understand us Shirefolk. And those who them folk do understand tend to be a bit queer in the head. At any rate, I'm sure 'twas nothing you did, lass."

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger looked at Larien in surprise. ‘Rivendell? I heard of that place. Master Samwise, the mayor was there for a while with Mister Frodo. One of the Fair Folk places, isn’t it?’ She took the dough she’d mixed up and began to knead it lightly. ‘Lot of the Fair Folk have passed through the Shire, heading off to the sea. Some of them even stay here at the Inn for a while.’ She flattened the dough out onto the floured top of the table and flattened it out with her hand, preparing to use the big rolling pin on it. ‘Seems like there wouldn’t be too many left where you came from.’ She rubbed the tip of her nose with the back of her arm as it had begun to itch. Her efforts left a fine dusting of flour on her nose and left cheek. ‘What were you doing there, living in Rivendell, and all?’ she said looking up from her work. ‘That is if you don’t mind telling me.’

She noticed that Larien was attacking the pans with some vigor; plying them with grease and a heavy hand. Laughing, Ginger urged her to be more gentle. ‘Rub a hole in that poor old pan, if you keep at it like that!’

[Vardalainion]

Valin stood next to the bar so he could continue his drinking and forget the strange thoughts he had previously had racing through his mind. What was it about this merry place that made him feel uneasy? Could it be that through hardship he had closed himself off from everyone? Had he become what he did not want to be? Had he become lost in his own sorrow?

These thoughts seemed to him to be more disturbing than the thoughts before so he ordered another round and began to look about the room to try and clear his head. He was soon lost in a thousand voices and soon his own thoughts began to seem like another distant murmur drifting in a sea of tongues.

[Strider]

It was a glorious day in the Shire - the heavens were a resplendent cerulean shot through with the needle-like rays of the magnificent sun, who seemed to be in a particularly blithe mood this afternoon for she embraced the hills with her fair golden arms. The clouds overhead were bright as starlight, thus affirming that the near future would remain warm and dry.

The great beast approached the inn like a fierce wind--a mottled grey blur penetrating the sweet country air like a dogged apparition--with all the speed, grace, and uncanny subtlety commonly associated with Elven-bred steeds. The horse was saddleless, bridleless, without any restraint; this was apparent not only in the naked gleam of his muzzle and flank, but in the way he flew freely along the cobbled path.

Despite the stallion’s lack of confinement he was not altogether without “burden”, for atop his bear back rested a tall and proud ellon, though the way horse and rider moved in tandem alluded to the fact that they were but one figure. When the Green Dragon’s stables were within clear eyesight, the elf placed a long-fingered hand on his companion’s muscled shoulder before exclaiming, “Tampa, Su’Tal. En!” Stop, Su’Tal. Look!

The creature tossed his magnificent head, silver mane flickering as if shot with jewels in the yellow afternoon lighting, and whinnied in acknowledgement of his master’s command. Slowing to a speedy halt before the humble grouping of wooden stalls, Su’Tal snorted satisfyingly and awaited the ellon’s next order. Dismounting in one swift and passively powerful motion, the firstborn raised a finely etched brow amusedly at the quaint hostelry and patted his companion on the neck, pointing towards the stables, “Yallume. Eh, Su’Tal? Esta sinome.” At last. Eh, Su’Tal? Rest here.

Nodding his proud head twice, the stallion made his way, with dignity, towards the wooden arch to which he was directed, where he at once glimpsed master Meriadoc. The elf watched his sporting steed disappear with a slight bend to his lips before following the small path before him and mounting the short and broad stairs of the Green Dragon’s front porch.

Reaching for the latch with supple fingers, he pulled back the heavy wooden door to receive a torrent of a melting pot of scents--spiced ale, a thick stew, and a vague trace of lavender. Raising his brows in that same expression of amusement, he entered with a catlike liquidity that masked his movements from all but the quickest of eyes. His presence, however, was one of luminescent authority, incandescent certainty, if such a thing is possible.

He claimed an empty seat and shrewdly surveyed his surroundings with keen grey eyes.

[piosenniel]

Ruby takes the Firstborn's order

Ruby was clearing up the empty mugs and plates from the late afternoon crowd. Her eyes flicked up for a moment as the door to the Inn opened. ‘Now who is that?’ she wondered, as one of the Fair Folk slid into the Common Room and took a seat. ‘Bright and quick as a firefly on a dark summer night.’

She stowed her tray of dirty mugs and plates in the kitchen and wiped her hands on the towel by the sink. ‘Another Elf is passing through,’ she said to the others hard at work on the evening meal. ‘I’ll just go see what he needs.’ She turned back for a moment asking, ‘Do we have a room for him?’ Cook nodded ‘yes’, and waved Ruby out the door.

The Hobbit paused at numerous tables as customers called out orders to her or simply waved their empty mugs in the air. At long last she approached the man at the table and waited to catch his eye before asking if he’d like to order something.

'Welcome to The Green Dragon,' she said smiling, as he looked her way. 'I'm Ruby Brown, one of the servers here. May I help you?'

[Fairleaf]

Daisy and Reggie

Daisy walked sedately from the classroom. She was very impressed by the older girls and wanted to act like them. They didn’t go running all helter-skelter out the door like her little brother and the other boys. Although, she noticed how Woody looked good as he ran after his little brother. She was quite impressed by his drawings. And his shy ways were endearing, too. Not all pushy and loud like many of the boys she knew.

Reggie, on the other hand, whooped as he ran past his sister. His little bottom was tired of sitting on the school bench and he wanted to run all the stored up energy out of them.

‘There’s Ma, over there,’ called Daisy after him as he streaked past her. She sighed and shrugged her shoulders as he paid no attention to what she’d said. Daisy waved at her Ma and went over to her. Soon they had their heads together looking over what Daisy had done on her slate.

Hanson stopped by the fireplace, his cheeks pinked after the hard run. Climbing up on the hearth, he surveyed the people in the Inn. There was and interesting fellow that Ruby was talking to. An Elf, like Neviel and his Da. Oh, and over there was the Gammer he and Daisy had seen at the Inn last night. He grinned and waved at Miz Thistle, but she was talking to some lass Reggie didn’t know and probably wouldn’t see him.

[Fairleaf]

Fairleaf

Fairleaf encounters Uien

Fairleaf was near the bower when Lithmire was speaking with the Hobbit. The Inn’s Cook. She had seen her at the hand-fasting party. She gave a sigh of relief, hearing that Cook would help the Elf with getting the herbs he needed to ease his pain. It would save her the problem of trying to show him where they were without letting him know who she was.

The sun was pleasantly warm this afternoon. Fairleaf stretched her branches out and turned her leaves toward the welcomed rays. The wildflowers about the edges of the bower were still thick with bees, taking their fill of nectar before hiding away for the night. The conversation between the Elf and Hobbit had wound down. She watched as Cook left the bower, hurrying toward the Inn and her duties there. Lithmire lingered within.

Another of the Fair Folk approached the entrance to the bower with a determined step. A female. There were angry words from her and words of caution from Lithmire. He ran from the bower, crashing through the low lying bushes near Fairleaf. The other Elf pursued him, with a resolute look on her face, despite his request to leave him be. The female Elf’s pace was slower. She, too, passed by Fairleaf.

As she did so, Fairleaf inched out one of her thick roots and tripped her, sending her sprawling . . .

[piosenniel]

NOTICE OF TIME MOVING FORWARD IN THE INN

Please try to wrap up any of your late after scenarios by 24 hours from now. I'd like to move the time in the Inn to suppertime at that time.

Thanks!

~*~ Pio

[Envinyatar]

The bet is won

Derufin grinned at Anyopa behind Hob and Benat’s backs. The Beorning and the Hobbit had worked at a furious pace and most of the firewood had been split and stacked in the Inn’s woodshed. A far greater amount than he and Anyopa had done since making their bet.

Once the last of the wood was done, the four went to the well for a drink of cool water and to wash the sweat from their brows. ‘Excellent job,’ said Derufin, barely able to conceal his smile as he clapped Hob on the back. ‘Just let me run home and get a few coins and we’ll stand you to the drinks you have so justly won.

Behind him he could hear Anyopa choking down a laugh . . .

[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.

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About Elves in Shire RPG's:

Please use this description from Tolkien when crafting an Elf:

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

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

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

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EVERYONE

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

Thanks!

Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[piosenniel]

It is late afternoon now in the Shire. The sky is a glorious shade of blue; the sun is shining bright and warm on the Inn., though the shadows are lengthening.

Lunch is done. Most of those in the Common Room are relaxing with a mug of their favorite brew and a good smoke. Snacks are available.

Supper is being prepared and will be available later.

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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]

NOTICE OF TIME MOVING FORWARD IN THE INN

Please try to wrap up any of your late after scenarios by 24 hours from now. I'd like to move the time in the Inn to suppertime at that time.

Thanks!

~*~ Pio

[Noinkling]

Benat cast a knowing glance at Hob. ‘We’ve been had, you know.’ Cullen raised his head as his master gave out a deep rumbling laugh.

Pushing his damp hair back from his face, Benat shook a finger at the two men. ‘Best you bring a large stack of coin! I’m feeling might thirsty!’ Cullen punctuated the declaration with a loud Woof!.

'I'll meet you three later in the common room,' he called out as he started round the side of the Inn toward the front door. 'Need to wash up a bit and find a fresh shirt.' He waved at the three as he disappeared around the corner.

[Azaelia of Willowbottom]

"Don't worry yourself over an Outsider," Thistle advised. "More trouble than they're worth, usually; don't recognize decent folk when they see them. Don't understand us Shirefolk. And those who them folk do understand tend to be a bit queer in the head. At any rate, I'm sure 'twas nothing you did, lass."

Peony smiled at that. "I'm glad you think so! I just couldn't think of anything that I'd done to upset him so." Now that someone was talking with her, she didn't feel at all sad and out-of-place. She tried to convince herself that the Outsider was the last thing on her mind, and succeeded in pushing her worry about him to the very back of her mind.

She looked at the half-finished order of mushrooms, then nudged the plate towards Thistle. "There's plenty left if you want some," Peony offered. "Though I'm afraid they've gone rather cold..."

[Larien Telemnar]

Larien listened as Ginger spokeof the Elves, those who she once thought of as her people. She pondered how she was going to answer the question she knew would escape her friend's lips next. If I tell her, what would she think of me, an orphan, an outcast and a disgrace? She thought, rubbing even harder at the pan.

‘What were you doing there, living in Rivendell, and all?’ Larien almost jumped as the question she feared most passed Ginger's lips. Ginger saw her rubbing hard at the pan and laughed. ‘Rub a hole in that poor old pan, if you keep at it like that!’

'Sorry.' Larien muttered, laying the pan down and swatting away a wisp of hair that had fallen in front of her eyes. She looked guiltily at Ginger, knowing she could not hide from herself forever.

'I lived in Rivendell my whole life, with the exception of a few months or years in Mirkwood or Lothlorien.' She fingered her apron and bit her lip. 'My parents were travelers, while alive. I was only a few months old when my parents were killed. We were traveling through the misty mountains, when they were attacked by Orcs. My mother had the presence of mind to hide me before they killed her. A passing Elf found me, and brought me to Imladris, where I was nursed by Lord Elrond. He raised me as his own daughter, which is why I grew up there. It's really an amazing place.' She smiled wistfully and handed her pan to Ginger.


You didn't tell her the whole story, A little voice in her whispered. She hung her head in shame.

'I have no memory of my parents.' She whispered.

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik stood. "Uien!" he called. She ignored him. He touched the gem hanging on his necklace; it was cold: Uien's mind was elsewhere, though he thought of her. Falowik looked to Eswen nervously.

The Elf's brow was furrowed. "She is following the Elf. Come!" Eswen led Falowik into the bower, stopped, and glanced around. "There has been a brief exchange of words here," Eswen said absently, still sensing in whatever way Elves sensed. "She is giving chase! This is worse than I thought, Falowik. We must stop her!"

"What is going on with her?" Falowik asked as he trailed Eswen through a narrow gap in the brush.

"Something in the other Elf has invaded her mind and cast her into darkness deeper than she has ever withstood. It is as if she is under a spell. She is not herself."

As dark as it sounded to Falowik, that was hopeful. If Uien was not herself in ignoring him, speaking harshly, acting in ways that he had never seen from her, then perhaps she could be cured. He stayed close on Eswen's heels.

They did not have to go far. Uien lay senseless on the ground. Falowik thought it odd, for Uien was ever light of foot and had little need for care where here feet landed. He looked down and saw that she had tripped on a root of a nearby tree. He raised a brow, looking at the tree once, and shrugged. It must be the effect of the spell she was under, he thought.

"Uien!" Falowik cried, rushing to her. He touched her shoulder. She raised her head with a look of sudden fury and shook him off, and rose to her feet.

"Uien Inglorion!" came a voice from behind them, ringing with eldritch power. It was Eswen, suddenly grown tall and dark. Her eyes glinted with a strange light. Uien turned. "Come to me, Uien!" Uien watched Eswen as if in a trance, and slowly walked toward Eswen.

Falowik frowned. Was this any better? What strange figure was this? Was it Eswen at all? He followed Uien. As they approached, Eswen diminished, and Uien laid a hand in hers.

"Come, Uien," she said, "you have been through great turmoil. 'Tis time to return home to Falowik and the life you have chosen with him."

[Undómë]

Hob got up from where he was sitting and rubbed his back. 'That Benat can sure split firewood fast,' he said, trying the ease the muscles he could feel tightening in the small of his back and across his shoulders. His had been the job to pick up the pieces of wood and stacking them in his arms, carry them to the woodshed to be laid there neatly.

He pulled a handkerchief from his breeches' pocket and wiped his still damp brow. 'think I'll go to my room, too. A nice soak in a tub of steamy water will do me good. I'll meet you two for supper . . . and if you don't mind, a mug or two of the Inn's stout will stand me as well as some of those Dwarvish spirits.' He also gave them a wave and disappeared into the Inn.

[Huan]

‘Perhaps I should go and clean up, also,’ Anyopâ commented, watching as the Hobbit disappeared from view. ‘Although,’ he went on, lifting his head to where the faint breeze ruffled his hair, ‘it feels nice just sitting out here.’

He grinned at Derufin. ‘What say we get a pitcher of ale and sit there beneath the oak tree by the stable.’ He picked up his vest from the ground beside him and fished through the pocket. I’ve got my pouch of pipeweed here. We can sit and talk and smoke and relax.’

[Envinyatar]

‘Better yet,’ offered Derufin, ‘let’s get a pitcher and take it to my cottage. There’s a nice wide porch with comfortable chairs. We can put our heels up on the porch railing and enjoy ourselves. Mayhap we can also entice Zimzi out for a cup of ale.’

This latter plan was agreed upon. And Derufin was appointed to fetch the ale, while Anyopâ started for the groundskeeper’s cottage. ‘Tell Zimzi I’ll be there shortly. And please, make yourself comfortable until I return.'

[Firefoot]

Thistle hesitated, then reached out for some mushrooms. Mushrooms were good almost no matter their state: cold, hot, fresh, cooked, or otherwise. "Don't mind if I do."

As if by chance she looked around the room and happened to see a young lad waving - at her? He was standing atop the hearth (climbing all over the furniture. Hmph.) and flushed as from exertion (lads these days have far too much energy). She squinted, trying to remember if she knew him. Ah, yes, that was right! He was one of the young lads last night so intent on going to that school. Hmph. He hadn't paid her any attention last night, either, not like that nice Willi chap. She gave Reggie a withering glance and turned back around.

She noticed that Peony was watching curiously. Thistle, misinterpreting the look, said, "Don't mind 'im. 'E's just one of them rambunctious lads, too full of 'imself to be polite. And a student at that school, at that."

[Strider]

“Enchanted,” the newcomer replied to Miss Brown’s cordial welcome, “It would please me greatly if you would bring me a bit of hot water.” He was soft-spoken, his voice low, melodious, and laden with a faint lilt which suggested that Westron was not his first spoken tongue. His eyes were bright, almost excited as they scrutinized the hobbit lass, for it had been some time since the ellon had rested his gaze upon one of her kind for long years had passed since he had ridden this far north or indeed so far from home.

Smiling earnestly at Ruby, he paused before turning his attention towards pulling his cloak over a lithe shoulder and loosening the laces of his tall leather boots. Fingers worked deftly and languidly, gray gaze wandering across the colorful medley of the inn’s guests. When he happened upon a pair of curious eyes, he offered an urbane smile. To those of his kind he nodded in silent greeting, a truer, less reserved grin raising the corners of his mouth.

[piosenniel]

It is now early evening at the Inn.

Supper is being served: Conies stewed with taters and carrots. Fresh peas from the garden, glistening with butter. Big, fluffy biscuits with jam and honey and sweet cream butter.

Ales, wines, teas, cider, and other beverages are available at your request.

[piosenniel]

‘Does the new fellow want some supper,’ asked Buttercup dishing up big bowls of stew and littler ones of peas for the servers trays. Larien and Ginger had been set to loading up small baskets for the tables with their biscuits and the pots of jam, honey, and butter.

Cook had been quite pleased with the efforts of the two younger girls at the baking. ‘Nicely done, ladies,’ she told them. ‘Light, flaky, melts in the mouth. Worthy to be served at the Dragon!’

Ruby poured a potful of hot water and set it and a cup on a small tray. ‘Can’t say as he’s hungry, the new Elf. He ordered hot water, that’s all.’ She hurried out the kitchen door, saying she’d be right back to help with the serving.

Buttercup picked up her tray of stew and peas and hoisting it up on her shoulder made for the door. ‘Larien, Ginger! You follow after me and leave a basket with biscuits and the pots of toppings for them on the tables after I’ve served them.’

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger hefted a tray of biscuit baskets to her shoulder, in imitation of Buttercup, and went through the kitchen door. She held it open as she did so for Larien to follow after.

‘Soon’s were done helping out here, we can get us some bowls of stew and such and find a little table for our own supper,’ Ginger said as Larien came through. ‘I really want to hear the rest of your story.’ she spoke in a lower voice. ‘Never saw too many of the Fair Folk before I started working here. They seem so grand and beautiful. I’d love to hear what that Rivendell place is like.’

She bit her lip, wondering if it would be taken well if she asked about Larien’s parents. ‘Sorry to hear about your Ma and Da,’ she blurted out. ‘I can’t imagine what it would be like not to have mine. Much less not to remember them at all.’ Ginger blushed at her little outburst and hurried after Buttercup.

[Envinyatar]

Anyopa had left a short while ago, saying he would meet them in the Common Room. Zimzi heated some water and set Derufin to washing up. He raised his brows at her and laughed, saying didn’t she enjoy the smell of a hard-working man?

Her emphatic answer was ‘no’. And would he please be sure he scrubbed the pitchy spots off his arms and hands. ‘I’d like to take your arm as we walk over to the Inn. And I’d like not to find myself glued to you by the time we get there.’

He pulled his sad, hound face at her, saying how quickly the romance had fled. Her only reply was to snap his bare midriff with a towel she had fetched him. Thereon ensued a friendly scuffle, and the transfer of a small smudge of pitch from his cheek to hers as he attempted to steal a kiss.

In the end, they were both cleaned up, walking arm in arm into the Inn. Zimzi was the first to spot Benat and the others already gathered at a table in the center of the room. Derufin steered her toward them, and once they were seated, the companions fell to talking.

[Larien Telemnar]

Larien followed Ginger and Buttercup into the larger room with her load. She nodded her thanks as Ginger held the door open for her.

She smiled as Ginger chattered happily about the Fair Folk, and noticed one such person in the room sitting at a table. She wondered what he was doing so far away from... Wherever it was he came from.

Perhaps he is going across the sea soon. She thought. 'Or he may be here for a reason similar to my own.' She jumped at her own voice and realized she had muttered that last thought aloud. She looked around sheepishly and hoped Ginger hadn't hear her. If anyone finds me talking to myself they're liable to think I've cracked.

[Kath]

Astilwen had been sitting quietly in a corner of the inn since the school had ended and the children had left. She had been reading over the new version of the song that had come about and had heard a voice singing the words. She had turned to find that it was Master Hearpwine. She considered going to join him as he was sitting alone, but he looked deep in thought so she stayed put.

Instead she reached into her pocket and pulled out the little bag her mother had given her when she left home. Being with the children in the schoolroom had reminded her of her own siblings, and it had made her a little homesick. She took a quill, ink and paper from the bag and set about writing home, in the hope it would help her feel better. She did not notice that she was crying as she wrote until teardrops hit the paper. She quickly wiped them away and continued.

As she finished she saw that a hobbit girl had stopped next to her table carrying a tray of food. The smell of the stew made her stomach rumble and she blushed in embarrassment.

[littlemanpoet]

In the time between Uien's confrontation with the burned elf (whose name according to Falowik was Lithmirë) and supper, Eswen had with Falowik's assistance sat with Uien and "gone into her darkness". So Eswen had called it. Falowik had many questions about what had happened, but they could wait. He had become very hungry and suggested food to the two Elven women. Neither had eaten in many hours, so the three went into the common room.

Uien sipped at tea, her favorite, nibbling on jam covered biscuits. Falowik helped himself to a full serving of stewed cony, and meant to offer his compliments to the cook at first opportunity. He had skipped lunch, and everything tasted that much the better. Eswen helped herself to the peas, taters, and carrots, supplemented with strong tea.

"Are you sure you won't have some coney?" Falowik asked Eswen.

"Maybe later."

"There may not be any left, later. It is quite good!" Eswen smiled.

Uien looked at Falowik. "You say I tripped over a root of a tree?" He nodded. She shook her head. "That cannot be. What can have been wrong with me?"

"You were overwhelmed by the painful memories of another," Eswen reminded her.

Uien smiled. "You have my thanks, dear Eswen, for coming to my aid, but even so, I cannot imagine that I merely tripped over a root! I must see this tree."

"At least finish your tiny supper," Falowik said. "How do you stay alive on mere biscuits and tea?"

They finished their suppers with much talk about the day. Then Uien rose from her table which Falowik went to pay for their meals, intending to go have a look at this tree root.

[Azaelia of Willowbottom]

"Don't mind 'im. 'E's just one of them rambunctious lads, too full of 'imself to be polite. And a student at that school, at that."

Peony smiled. Hobbit lads would be hobbit lads. Rambunctions, annoying, but funny and endearing despite that. "Well, I'm sure that he'll learn better manners someday..." she looked over at the lad who hadn't moved from his position on top of the hearth. " Maybe... " she she muttered quietly.

Suddenly peony's stomach rumbled, and she laughed, slightly embarrassed. She looked over her shoulder and made a small signal to the waitress. "I think I'll order some supper. Care to join me for the evening meal?" she asked Thistle.

[Fairleaf]

Fairleaf had watched as the man and the other of the Elves took the pursuing Elf away. Uien, she’d heard them call her. A small shudder ran through her, as if some breeze had trembled her leaves. The dark shadow that had crept over her own beloved lands had also scarred Lithmire and Uien. Though, Lithmire bore his scars in body and spirit; while Uien, as fair as a new leaf catching the Spring sun, bore hers within. The scars run deep, regardless of where they are, she thought to herself. As deep as those memories of death and cuttings and burnings in those gardens of long ago. A single drop of evening dew slipped from her leafy fingers, falling on the ground below. Through the tangle of her branches a long, sad sigh soughed.

She shook off her sorrow, focusing on where Lithmire had gone. He was out of sight now, too far away for her to follow after. She could not follow him in this light without causing undue attention to herself. She would see to him later . . . that is, if he came back at all . . .

Looking about the patch of dirt where she stood, Fairleaf saw no one about. Behind her grew the small stand of hawthorn and beech that bordered on the groundskeeper’s cottage. She edged her way back among them, throwing her fair limbs upwards as did they. She would wait here until nightfall, then make her way to the Inn.

[littlemanpoet]

Uien and Falowik left Eswen at table, and left the common room, returning to the bower. Falowik pointed out where the tree root .....

"Well, I am quite sure that was where it was. I guess I was wrong."

Uien tipped her head to Falowik, eyeing him sidewise. "You are ever quick to claim yourself in the wrong, my love."

He shrugged. "It's not like tree roots move."

Uien knelt. "Show me the very place where the root was. Or, where you supposed it to be."

Falowik knelt beside her and tried to show her, but his faith in his memory was wavering, since the root was quite obviously not where he had thought he had seen it. He rose back to his feet, waiting while Uien bent over the earth.

Uien studied the ground in the the shadowy light of the bower, for the sun was fast approaching the horizon. She did not speak her thought to Falowik, but the earth was churned and scuffed, as if a root had been there and was no longer. The same mark could have been made by a garter snake or any number of crawling beasts, but she wondered. She rose.

"Show me the tree to which this root belonged, Lauréatan."

Falowik looked around. "Um, I think that's it there."

Uien followed his pointing finger and led him to the tree, whole limbs rose high into the air. "I am going to sit before this tree and watch it for a while," she said, and sat on the ground before it.

"Why?"

She shrugged. "It's an Elvish thing, I suppose.

He sighed and shook his head. "I am no Elf, and confess that I will grow easily bored with this game. If you don't mind, I will go back inside and have an ale or two."

"I will be here."

With that, Falowik left her. She gazed at the tree for a long while, keeping her thoughts to herself, but a small smile was on her face. At length, when the sun was almost set, she sang an Elvish twilight song. It seemed to her that the tree's leaves turned to her attentively, with help from no wind.

When she had finished, she said, "I wonder, tree, if you understood my song? Are you listening to me now? It is said that the Elves of long ago taught speech to the trees. Are you such a one, I wonder?" Uien lapsed into silence and gazed at the tree, admiring all its fair leaves.

[Envinyatar]

Derufin excused himself from the table and making his way back to the kitchen peeked in through the door. ‘Cook?’ he called, waiting to hear her familiar voice. She was in the pantry, emptying a sack of flour into the bin, a white cloud floating round her for her efforts.

‘I thought I’d just save the lasses some trouble,’ he said as she looked up at him. ‘Benat and Hob and Anyopa and Zimzi and I are here for a meal and a round of drinks. If you don’t mind I’ll just load up a tray with bowls of stew and biscuits and such and take it on out to our table.’

[piosenniel]

Cook stepped out from the pantry and wiped off her face with a clean towel. Once Derufin had gone, she would step outside and give her self a more thorough brushing off.

She helped him load up his tray, making sure there was plenty of food for the crew who had filled the Inn’s woodshed. She piled up a sizable plate of tarts, knowing the groundskeeper had a mighty sweet tooth. ‘Oh, and here’s a little pot of vegetable stew I’d set aside for Master Benat, seeing as how he would probably not be wanting to eat the conies. Delicious as they are,’ she said as an aside. ‘And take this bowl of stew out for the nice doggie.’ She glanced up at Derufin as he gave a laugh at this expression of her acceptance of Cullen as a suitable canine. ‘Well, he’s left my old tabby alone. And the little ones like him, I’ve noticed. Can’t be all that bad, can he?’ And that was about as much praise as she had ever heaped on the head of a canine.

Her last favor was to trundle downstairs to retrieve a bottle of Dwarven spirits. She came back with a dust, dark brown bottle with some unreadable runes on it, not to mention a few trailing wisps of cobweb. ‘Don’t get much call for this,’ she said putting it on the heavily laden tray. ‘Most people just don’t have a taste for it. Quite a kick to it, if I do say so myself.’ Derufin raised a brow at her. ‘Tried to use it in a cake I was making . . . had to give it a taste, see if it was alright, now didn’t I?’

Cook held the door open for him and ushered him out before he could make a suitable reply.

[Noinkling]

Benat’s eyes gleamed as Derufin approached, the tray of food balanced on his hands and one shoulder. Cullen stood, too, his nose sniffing the air appreciatively. Rumbly sounds came from one or the other’s stomach, or perhaps both.

Derufin passed out the bowls of stew, telling Benat that Cook had made his without meat. ‘Bless her!’ cried the man, his nose taking in the savory aroma. ‘She is a sure treasure you’ve got here, Master Derufin. A kind heart for all her gruff at times exterior.’ Cullen echoed the sentiment with an anticipatory Woof! as his bowl was placed on the floor.

Taking the bottle of Dwarven spirits, Benat eased the cork from it and poured each of them a small tot of it in the little silvered glasses Cook had sent with it. He held his up with a grin on his face, saying, ‘Here’s to the Shire and here’s to The Green Dragon! Long may they prosper!’

[Undómë]

Hob raised his little glass with the others. Truth be told, he’d never had Dwarven spirits, his preference being for good ale. ‘May our gardens bloom with flowers and vegetables and our burrows with little ones!’ he said, adding his own toast.

He brought the little cup tentatively to his nose and sniffed it. A strong scent, though not unpleasant. It spoke of solidness and fire’s heat and brightness he thought, though he could not tell why. Tipping the glass back as he touched it to his lips, he let a small amount seep onto his tongue. Fiery, indeed! It brought tears to his eyes and a bout of coughing as it ran down his throat.

‘Good!’ he rasped, wiping his eyes with the cuff of his tunic. ‘Surprisingly good.’

[Fairleaf]

Long had it been since one of Firstborn had sung to her. Often the fair folk of Lorien would cross over from Parth Celebrant and into the once green fields where Fairleaf and her sisters and friends had nurtured their gardens. Or in turn, the Entwives and maidens would cross into the Naith to admire the gardens there. The Elves had sung to them and walked with them talking of plants and growing and other things.

There was more light then and Fairleaf’s lands were green. Then the darkness had come and the lands turned sere and brown was their color. She and her kin that remained had fled east, seeking refuge.

Fairleaf rustled her leaves, a song in return for that of the Elf. A turning song as listing trees make whispering in the wind. She loosed some of the pink and white hawthorn flowers that graced her branches a t this time of year. They fell, fluttering in the air, to dot the bright gold of Uien’s hair.

But she would speak no words. Long had she kept her secret and even now, despite the fair song and fairer face, caution urged her to be silent. She was patient; she could wait until the Elf grew tired of her vigil. Neither was she sorry she had tripped Uien in her pursuit of Lithmire.

Poor, sad creatures. she thought to herself. Curse the Dark One for bringing this upon them and my kin!

She chastened herself for this last harsh remark. Better the cursing be done by those who can assure the bane be carried through.

[littlemanpoet]

In the windless, growing twilight, the pink and white flowers of the hawthorn tree fell fluttering onto Uien’s hair. Her smile grew. She could not be completely sure, but the signs were there. A root tripping a fleet footed Elf maiden, leaves whispering in no breeze, a very bouquet of flowers falling all at once.

Uien loved all trees above all growing things, for they graced the land with beauty and were for the Elves a remembrance of Fair Yavanna. Uien had never been to Valinor, and now would never go, but she had received the fair memory of that holy one from Lady Galadriel, and could not forget, nor would she. Above all trees, even the mallorns of Cerin Amroth, the Elves loved the shepherds of trees, who from them had learned speech and much lore.

So Uien was not sure, but she guessed, and so she smiled as she had not done in many a day or year. She could feel and smell this tree's way, and it was that of gardens rather than woods, and it - no - she, was a Lady tree. Uien chose not to even think the name that this one's fair kind went by, for she felt the secretiveness of this one.

"I shall not betray your secret, fair hawthorn maiden," she said, and smiled. "Twilight is above all times most precious to me, and I will remain here to share it with you. Then I shall dream sleeplessly through the night, as is the way of Elves. I shall not be watchful. If you are not here in the morning, I will not give chase, and will carry your secret in my heart for all time that is given to me in Arda, and tell no one unless you say otherwise."

Uien touched the bark of the hawthorn, feeling the slow rhythm of the life within, and she was glad. Even if her guess was wrong.

[Strider]

The golden afternoon had quickly faded into the kind of night eternalized in poems and ballads--the air was warm and sweeter smelling that it had been earlier, and the indigo sky seemed to chime with the twinkling timbre of hundreds of thousands of stars. Inside the Green Dragon, the ellon sat upright and poised upon his rather uncomfortable wooden stool, lithe fingers splayed over the severe drop of his knees.

Grey gaze lay quiescent, yet not altogether heedless or unobservant, upon a freshly doled out bowl of Cook’s stew currently being emptied at an ungodly rate by a random regular. His first thought was disgust, regrettably as is with all the conscious living, for the ways that were not his own. The wisdom he happened to acquire over the better part of the Third Age and then some, however, allowed him to set aside such feelings of revulsion and replace them with an almost childlike fascination for the quaint mannerisms of the Shirefolk.

After watching the same inn guest wash down his supper with a healthy swig from his pint, the elf began to wonder what was keeping his own order from arriving. Lifting an imperial brow in an expression of query, he allowed his eyes to drift across the common room in search of the barmaid who had so warmly welcomed him. It was at this time that he briefly met the gaze of the elf-maiden Larien, awkwardly trailing behind a stout company of kitchen volunteers with a serving dish hanging loosely between her sinuous fingers.

She intrigued, baffled, and disheartened him all at once. The elves were known for the way their pride shone through their every movement, their very presence. The autumn years had induced a certain bittersweet air about their existence, but always was their dignity preserved. Yet this elleth moved without said bearing, though there was some remnant of grace that whispered dark riddles about the past, about what had once been. His curiosity piqued, the elf reallocated his eyes to remove the impression that he was staring (for he was), and made a note to speak to Larien after his hot water came.

[Arry]

It was Tomlin on the porch of the Inn, waving to him, that Gil had seen as he turned into the little dirt lane leading up to the Dragon. ‘Come down and help me with the cart and pony,’ Gil cried as his friend grinned down at him. ‘I’ve got Ferrin and Fallon with me. We could use a hand unloading the instruments.’

‘And we’re here, too, with Uncle Gil!’ piped a small voice from the recesses of the back of the cart. Willy and Hanson poked out their faces over the top of the seat and waved at Tomlin.

‘They heard in their class that the players from Pincup were passing through.’ Gil nodded at the two boys, giving them a raised brow and then a smile. ‘Pestered me something awful and their Ma until she let them go.’ The two little brothers grinned wickedly at each other, then shrugged their shoulders as if it really wasn’t any of their doing.

‘I’m hungry!’ Hanson called up to his uncle who now stood on the top step of the Inn. Gil looked down at them and sighed. ‘And didn’t you just eat before we left?’ he asked, shaking his head. Willy spoke up in defense of his littler brother. ‘But that was a while ago. And really we were too excited to eat . . . well as much as we usually do . . . and besides it was stewed eel with onions, our Da’s favorite . . . and well, we just don’t like it all that much.’ ‘Too bouncy on our teeth,’ Hanson confirmed. ‘And those onions always get so slimy!’ He shuddered, as if to emphasize his distaste.

‘Right then,’ Gil said, motioning for the two to come on up the stairs. He held the door open for them, telling them to go on in and find a good table for the six of them. ‘And don’t be flirting with Buttercup,’ he called after them as they disappeared into the common room. ‘Or you’ll have to square it with Tomlin, here.’

[Esgallhugwen]

It grew utterly dark before her, the fading blue of the sky pulled back to reveal a void adorned with the silver of stars, who in their cold silent vigil were witness to the history of Middle Earth throughout its ages. She looked across the expanse of sky naming constellations and seeing some whose names she could not recall, for they seemed foreign to her.

The celestial beings glowed with unnatural light, brighter and brighter, blinding Esgallhugwen until the lights extinguished leaving her in a starless abyss. She dare not call out into the darkness, thus she searched with her mind.

A faint whispering came to her sharp Elven hearing. Dare she take a step?

She reached out farther with her mind, groping in the dark for a sign of the sound.

Silence.

"Tread softly Dark One, you may wake the light", Esgallhugwen's breathing stopped, her heart slowing to that deadly rythm she knew too well, pounding hard and ready.

"What do you speak of? I am no Dark One"

A penetrating gaze seared through her and the voice scoffed, she could feel it's hot breath on her face. "What is it then that is inside of you Firstborn? Or do you know yourself?".

Esgallhugwen stepped back unnerved by the voice's knowledge, she quickly set up a barricade for her mind. None shall enter.

"I am not here for me, I come searching for a friend, an unearned evil has been wrought upon her, I seek to right it"

"Very well. Perhaps another time you will care to be enlightened, and perhaps then it will be too late, you have yet to see your full purpose".

Walls of razor ice began to descend from above, hitting the floor only to leap up as flame. Eswen's pale face glowed red against the fire's light. She heard crying.

The flames were climbing fast and on the other side of the blazing wall she could make out the trembling form of Uien.

So hot yet it freezes.

"Uien!", Esgallhugwen called, "come to me, leave this darkness that another has cast upon you", Uien looked to her with livid fury burning in her bright eyes, she seemed to shake something off continueing along the black path.

"Uien Inglorion", Esgallhugwen seemed to grow in height, shadows clinging to her form, drawn to her by something within. Uien turned to face her the fire diminishing, "come to me, Uien".

Eswen heard the familiar foot fall of Falowik walking back into the Common Room with an ale in hand. "Where is Uien?", Eswen asked sipping on a small glass of miruvor to recover her strength.

Falowik sat across from her and smiled, "sitting by that hawthorn tree, waiting for it to do something I reckon", Eswen nodded. "You're not suprised by this?", Falowik inquired taking a healthy sip of ale.

The Elf shook her head with a faint smile, "that tree is more than a tree, mellon, speak no word of this to another. Her secret must remain as such".

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen's swift long steps soon brought her back to the inn. Her hours at the forge had been well spent and her tasks had been accomplished. Now it was time to go. She wondered whether she would b e able to slip away without fuss. She shrank from another encounter with Uien after her strange behaviour and she did not wish to tarry to hear Hearpwine laud his own prowess as a musician. Her decision had been made during the afternoon. She would not continue her journey immediately but go home ot the havens. Some instinct called her and besides there was another reason.... a possibility she had not made up her mind about, something that Toby Flaxman the had suggested, but it would do no harm to delay her journey to Rivendell a little.

She slipped round the back of the building to the stables and the paddock where her grey horse Aeglos grazed she summoned him with her mind. He was dusty and grass stained but Meriadoc the stableman appeared and offered to groom him. and so Mithalwen passed in to the shadows of the common room for what she expected to be the last time. Getting paper & pen and ink from her luggage and scraping together enough pennies for a tankard of cider, she found a private corner and started to write.

[Noinkling]

Benat clapped Hob on the back, nearly sending the Hobbit flying from his seat. ‘Dwarven spirits get that same reaction from every first time drinker,’ he laughed. ‘And, sorry for nearly knocking you down. Just wanted to get you breathing again, Master Hob.’ The big man smiled so ingratiatingly that it was impossible not to forgive him his hasty actions.

Another tot of the fiery drink was poured, then Benat stoppered the bottle and set it to one side. His gaze was caught by Gil and his friends as they came in the door, their instruments in hand. ‘Music!’ he cried with delight, nodding to where the fellows were just making their way to a large table guarded by two young children. He drank down his drink and grinned as he placed the small glass carefully on the table. ‘You know, I am feeling so good this evening, having had such a wonderful day and now finding myself in the company of good friends, that I might just stir my bones a bit this evening and show you how some real dancing is done.’

He looked about the ring of his companions, many of whose brows were raised as the image of Benat and most likely Cullen, too, rose dancing in their minds. ‘Bears are often seen dancing in the moonlight in my lands,’ he said putting on a serious face. ‘And in a very tasteful manner, I might add. Light on their feet, too.’ He glanced about the room his eyes coming to rest at the rather small dance area. ‘Though I hope my exuberance does not cause much damage to the nearby chairs and tables.’

His companions sat in a somewhat uncomfortable silence, not know ing exactly what to say. He laughed aloud, breaking the tension. ‘Only joking, my friends!’ he said, slapping his thigh to emphasise the point.

[Tevildo]

Padding forward on dainty velvet pads, Tifil (Bridhon) Miaugion, otherwise known as Tevildo (Vaardo) Meoita, slipped underneath two of the long-leggeds and gently squeezed inside the door. The place did not look much different than it had before. He could smell the enticing odors that were coming from the kitchen, and a hound or two was hanging around the Common Room along with the tabby that belonged to Cook.

Having no wish to tangle with Cook, Tevildo cut a wide path around the dozing cat that was curled up contentedly before the hearth. Another dog was halfway through a bowl of stew. The cat flung the canine a contemptuous look, but was careful not to interfere or cause any further trouble. He could not see his friend Mushroom anywhere. The grey tabby was undoubtedly home at Bag-end. And the offending table, which he was still certain had once spoken to him, had been unceremoniously removed from the entry hall and placed in an unknown location.

His own circumstances had altered. As he had done a dozen times before, Tevildo had elected to shift "owners". He had dumped Allie and Heather Brandybuck, two hobbits from Buckland with whom he had lived for some time, and instead exchanged them for an Elf, a road wanderer and scout from Lindon who went by the name of Turon. Tevildo had hurried ahead of his master, but he expected that the latter should be coming along the road and arriving at the Inn sometime before the next morning. Both he and the Elf had encountered a run of bad luck in the depths of the great forest far to the east.

His own reason for rushing ahead on the road was the stable of the Dragon. Cook and the Innkeeper kept the inside of the Inn immaculate, free of all mice and other vermin. Outside, however, was different. Tevildo had found many a fat mouse sneaking inside the stable through the chinks in the boards. These would be his for the taking later tonight.

Meanwhile, perhaps he would try to panhandle a bowl of milk. If that hound had managed to beg a bowl of stew off of Cook, surely he could turn up a bit of milk either from the Inn staff or one of the patrons sitting and having their dinner. Tevildo began to make the rounds of the Common Room, going from table to table while looking as appealing as he could. In view of his silky long white coat and soft little purr, this was not too difficult. For all his normal fierceness, he now looked exactly like a puffy furball who was used to spending his afternoons on the lap of a fine lady.

[littlemanpoet]

As twilight slowly gave way to dusk, to dark of night, Uien sat before the Hawthorn tree, allowing herself to dream, and the tree to be free from her observance. Eyes unclosed, she dreamed from memory.

She was one of Galadriel's maidens, sewing the cloaks the eight remaining members of the Fellowship would wear. Lorien was home, Caras Galadon her beloved city in those many years leading to the War of the Ring. She had been stricken with grief at the news that the grey pilgrim had fallen in Moria.

As they sewed, she looked to the Lady of Lorien. She was herself a young elf lass of a mere two hundred or so years, the last babe of Lorien. To sit with She who had been in Valimar, who had crossed wills with Féanor, sat at the feet of Melian of Doriath, had known Luthien the fair, and had seen the dimming of the Light across three Ages, was like a being a seedling beside the eldest mallorn, a puddle beside an ancient fountain. And these thoughts did little to express the greatness of the Lady.

Galadriel looked at her maidens with eyes that knew all their thought with but a glance, for she could read the hearts of anyone, and her maidens had no secrets from her. Yet this was no troubling thought, for the Lady's wisdom taught her maidens much, and never betrayed their thought to others. It was like sitting at the feet of the very gods of Valimar.

Uien had been amongst those in the house of Lord Celeborn when the Fellowship had first come to them. She remembered the Ringbearer, whose grief at the loss of the Grey Pilgrim was plain for all to see. She remembered how the Lady had looked into the hearts of each of the Fellowship, and how the servant of the Ringbearer had blushed so quickly. She and many others had smiled, for he had been thus revealed as true to his master. She had been struck with wonder at the words of the Dwarf, who had become famous already in the brief span of years that had passed since the end of the War, for his wealth and unselfishness; the Lady's word had proved true, as well it might. Then there was the man of Minas Tirith, whose hard eyes quickly looked away from the Lady. Many in that chamber frowned and boded it ill. Then there was their kin...

Someone tapped her shoulder. She withdrew from her memory and looked up and behind. It was Falowik. She smiled. The memories would always be there.

"Yes, my love?"

"It is getting late. Is this where you wish to spend the night?"

"Aye, Lauréatan. Come rest your head upon my lap and sleep well this night."

He knelt beside her, his eyes shining with unshed tears. His voice was gruff. "It has been a long, hard day, my fair one. It is good to see you whole again." She smiled. He lay down in the bower, resting his head on her lap. She caressed his brow, and soon he was asleep.

Then there was their kin, Legolas from the court of Thranduil....

[Lasbelinion]

The lights from the kitchen windows shone like beacons in the falling dark. On silent feet Lithmîrë made his way toward them from his hiding place. Wary of any that might see him, he crept from pooling shadow to shadow, stopping often to sense any who might be near.

His head ached with a fierce, sharp pain, made more insistent by the burning torment of his face and arm. They throbbed increasingly, the damaged nerves raw. His little supply of herbs to quell the agony was depleted, and the dose he’d had in his morning tea had been too long ago. He focused on Mistress Bunce’s promise of helping him to replenish his stock as he made his way back to the Inn.

Lithmîrë’s breath caught in his throat as he noted the two figures near the hawthorn tree. The Elf who had chased him and someone who lay sleeping on her lap. He pulled up his hood and gave the two a wide berth, closing his mind hard against any intrusion from her.

Long it seemed until his steps brought him to the kitchen door. He hesitated as his hand reached for the knob, thinking perhaps he should not barge in. Raising his fist, he gave three soft knocks, then stepped to the side of the little stoop to wait in the darkness for someone to answer.

[Gwydion]

The door to the inn opened and the dark of the night was briefly peirced by the light inside the Green Dragon. A tall rugged-looking man strode in through the door and quietly closed it. The stranger had dark, wild looking hair that reached to his shoulders and bloodshot, indigo eyes. His clothes were worn from use and the wear and tear of life outdoors.

His leather boots silently padded across the floor. "Innkeeper", he asked in a surprisingly gentle voice, " may I have a pint of ale and some supper?" The innkeeper nodded approval and gave the stranger supper,a stewed brace of conies, peas and two large biscuits which he covered in a generous heap of butter. As soon as the man finished buttering his bread and readying himself to eat he dove into his food like a man who has not eaten in a few days. The innkeeper gave a small chuckle and slowly walked away. During the course of the meal a man asked the stranger some questions, was he passing through, and other such things. These questions he answered with one or two words. Eventually the stranger revealed his name.

" I am Alastair son of Aronwÿ, a ranger from the north if you must know." As he spoke he had been slowly raising his voice and by the time he had finished evryone in the inn was staring at him, but they quickly looked away. "Forgive me for my actions," he asked of the innkeeper and said nothing else for the remainder of his meal.

After he had finished his meal he pulled out a simple pipe of willow and began to smoke. He began to look around the room, scanning each person before flicking his eyes to the next person. Alastair noted that the inn was very diverse and how the occupants got a long. Alastair leaned back against the counter and as he did he winced and gasped as the floor began to sway in front of him. He knew he should have waited longer before journeying again. Silently he cursed hiomself before sliding into darkness.

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger and the stricken man

‘My stars!’ thought Ginger, setting her tray down at a nearby table. ‘What’s wrong with that poor man?’

The Innkeeper had asked her to go about with a pitcher of ale and refresh the mugs of those sitting at the tables. Just as she’d finished pouring a round for Gil and his companions, she noted the dark haired man at the next table looking rather ill. His eyes looked unfocused, his face blanched, and of a sudden, he gasped aloud and toppled from his chair.

‘Need some help here!’ she called running quickly to where he lay crumpled on the floor.’ She laid his hand on his chest to see if he were still breathing, and let out her own breath when she found he was.

‘Someone bring me a cold wet cloth!’ she yelled.

[Arry]

Moving Alistair to the kitchen

Gil came running after Ginger, motioning for his friends to follow. They knelt down by the man and looked him over. ‘Doesn’t look too good, does he?’ said Tomlin, as they rolled him over slightly looking for blood.

‘Name’s Alastair’ the Innkeeper said. ‘Says he’s a Ranger from up north.’ The Innkeeper had brought over a clean, wet bar rag and handed it to Ginger, who’d begun wiping the man’s face with it.

‘Let’s take him to the kitchen,’ said Gil, indicating his friends should each take a limb and help hoist the fellow. ‘Cook’s got some medicines I’m sure can bring him round.’

[Envinyatar]

Lending a hand

Derufin saw the flurry of activity as he made his way to the bar to get another pitcher of ale. Calling out to the Hobbits, he told them to take the Ranger's legs while he carried the man's upper body. Zimzi held the kitchen door open for the little band and their burden, then followed them through.

She went to the cupboard where Cook stored her medicines and got out the vial of smelling salts. Directing them to lay the Ranger on the long table, she uncorked the bottle and held it beneath his nose, waving it back and forth.

'Alistair!' she spoke softly to him. 'Wake up!'