The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[piosenniel]

~*~ GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS ~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

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

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

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

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

Meriadoc - Stablemaster

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Ongoing characters from outside the Inn:

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

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Please Note:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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About Elves in Shire RPG's:

Please use this description from Tolkien when crafting an Elf:

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

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

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

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EVERYONE

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

Thanks!

Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[Noinkling]

Tevildo within his sights . . .

Cullen raised his head from his plate of stew and looked closely at the white haired cat who was ambling among the table legs. There was something about the creature that raised this great hound's hackles. His eyes widened, and he growled low in his throat. He bared his teeth, curling back his lips as he took the cat's measure.

Benat reached down and put a restraining hand on the dog. 'Now you leave the nice little kitty alone,' he said gruffly to Cullen.

'Nice little kitty, my hind leg!' growled Cullen. He laid down, resting his head on his paws - the picture of obedience. But his gaze tracked the offensive furball as he pussyfooted about, begging scraps.

[Huan]

The Players arrive

‘There she is!’ cried a clear voice from the road that passed by the inn. Talan stood up from the cart seat and pointed toward the Green Dragon. Her dark hair was cropped short; the breezes ruffled them slightly as she threw back her hood.

‘Whoa up, there, Flint.’ ‘And turn in there, Jasper!’ came a deeper voice as the pair of geldings pulled at their traces and turned the wagon onto the dirt lane leading to the inn. Gwynn pulled at the reins, slowing the horses’ pace. He was twin to his sister, dark hair cropped as hers. His eyes though were hazel with glints of gold in the light where hers were grey as granite.

The two were of similar size. Gwynn was a hair taller; his frame a little larger. Talan was as fit as he but more slender. Their mouths were wide and generous with smiles. And both were lissome, moving with an assured gracefulness. Both wore breeches and soft leather boots and thin tunics of fine spun wool from the looms of Lindon. In their bulky dark blue cloaks, hoods pulled up to overshadow their faces they looked the same.

‘The Dragon!’ chirped another who stepped fleet footed by the wagon’s side. He was dressed in a motley of greens and browns and his fair Elven hair fell down his back in a long plait woven with ribbons of various colors. From his belt he drew a silver pipe, and putting his lips to it blew an intricate melody, an enchanting weave of notes that rose and fell beneath the bright stars. ‘There! She is made tame within my little net of song,’ Emlin laughed, putting his flute back into its case.

Behind this trio came another wagon, smaller in size and pulled by two sturdy ponies, Cobby and Hal. ‘Think they’d never seen a proper inn before,’ Rowan Foxburr said to her brother Tolly. ‘Well, think of it,’ he returned, urging the ponies on with a light flick of the reins. ‘The inns of Lindon are those of Elves or Men. Too melancholy on the one side, too rough and churlish on the other. And our travels through the southern parts of the Shire have shown them only the small establishments. Pincup’s been the largest town we’ve been to and its Flowering Beech is hardly more than a little watering hole for the locals.’ He turned to her and grinned. We’re here in Bywater and Hobbiton, Rowan. Heart of the Shire! Home of the Dragon and her tasty ales!’

Rowan grinned back at her older brother. She pushed back the hood of her brown cloak and smoothed back the stray chestnut curls from before her ears. Her brown eyes caught the moonlight and glinted with pleasure at the thought of a nice hot bath and a soft bed with a feather quilt. Not that their little cart was uncomfortable. It was built like the Big Folks’ cart, a little house on wheels, and had a little door at the back with a set of steps that folded down from it when they were camped. It was a snug little thing, holding all their belongings. But hot baths and food other than cooked by her own hand were a rarity as they traveled, and she relished the idea of indulging in some luxury.

Tolly was two years older than his sister. They were Hobbits from the Tower Hills, from a little holding where their parents raised sheep and goats and grew a good sized garden. His eyes, too, were brown. His hair, also, though a lighter shade than Rowan’s. They had been traveling with Gwynn, Talan, and Emlin for a year now, providing the music and sound effects for the puppet shows they played for crowds along the way. Gwynn and Talan were the puppeteers; Emlin the singer and story teller for the plays. It had been an interesting journey so far. Much had been learned and much laughed over.

The Big Folk and Emlin had been together for a number of years. They had welcomed the addition Rowan and Tolly and had been gracious in their instruction. At the moment, the two Hobbits could not imagine themselves doing anything else.

The two carts were brought round to the stable; the little lamps that hung from the corners of their roofs’ eaves were blown out. Master Meriadoc took the horses and ponies in hands with a promise of warm dry stalls and a nosebag of oats for each.

It was Emlin who opened the door for the others, holding it wide as they all passed through. They stood blinking in the bright light of the lamps and the fire until their eyes adjusted. Then Gwynn spied a table big enough to hold them all and led his troupe toward it.

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik stirred in Uien's lap and looked up, a question in his eyes. She hushed him. "Many hours must pass before dawn, Lauréatan," she whispered, caressing his brow. He sighed, smiling, and passed back into sleep.

Her Elven awareness heightened by his wakefulness, Uien sensed another Elf not far away, coming near. It was the burned one, he whom Falowik had named Lithmirë. He stopped suddenly, drawing a harsh breath, and labored away from them, his mind tightly shut. Uien sighed. There was much she could do for that suffering one, even though his hurt was worse than Falowik's had ever been. She let it pass. That one was not ready to be aided. She was not sure she could heal him, though that was her art, but she knew that she could assuage his pain. But only if he wished it.

Her awareness of that Elf, approaching the Inn, brought yet another Elf within her perception. Mithalwen was in a corner of the Common Room, writing. She also seemed closed. Uien sighed. A day ago Uien had called her "heart's friend", but this day that had just passed Uien had given her what was commonly known in the world of humans as 'the brush off'. 'I must go and make it right.' As she was about to lift Falowik's head from her lap, she sensed that Mithalwen was hiding from her! Then she would stay away. A tear slipped from her eye and she let it fall.

She looked up and saw that the hawthorn tree was still there. 'Do you see all the darkness that has not faded with the passing of the Dark Lord, hawthorn?' She did not speak her thought. Then she looked down at the Man who loved her. His face was peaceful. She thought it beautiful, though other Elves would think her daft or fallen to quaintness, but they did not know this one whom she knew. He had opened his heart to her, and had accepted all the difficult darknesses that were in her own heart. She smiled and bowed her head over his face, her long golden hair catching the gleaming stars as it fell around his face, and she kissed his brow. He stirred briefly, and the faintest echo of a smile passed his lips.

She was on the Swan ship with the Lady of Lórien as it floated down the Silverlode to meet the three small boats of the Company of the Ring. She held in her hand one of the cloaks, the one made for the youngest of the Halflings. She had worked hard at the brooch that would clasp it at his neck, and had wondered what the fate of this cloak and brooch would be.....

[Firefoot]

After a hearty supper, Thistle sat back in her chair. She and Peony had maintained light conversation throughout the meal, and while the lass's enduring cheerfulness was slightly irritating, it was also contagious. The combination of good food and conversation had improved her mood considerably so that she had almost forgotten about the two insolent lads who had run into her and waved to her from atop the furniture respectively.

Noticing the darkened sky through the windows, Thistle realized the day was drawing to a close and that she had best be getting home. "It was nice chatting with you, Peony, and thank you for your company. However, I'd best be getting on home, as it's getting rather late. You're from around here, you said? Perhaps I'll be seeing you around."

"Yes, perhaps," Peony answered with a smile. "Good night, then."

"Good night, lass." With that Thistle levered herself to her feet and, picking up her cane, thumped her way towards the door. On her way she passed some people carrying a tall man into the kitchen, and she hmph'ed. "Too much ale, no doubt," she muttered to herself. Men who drank more ale than they could take were another one of the many things she could not stand.

She pushed through the door, leaving the Inn behind for the night. "A tad too chilly," she murmured absently. Never happy without something to complain about, that was her way. "And not even the moon shines to light the way..."

[Gwydion]

"Wha... Where am I?" Alastair moaned. His vision was fuzzy, but clearing quickly. His forehead felt wet and there was a strange smell hanging in the air. Alastair tried to move his arm, but his wound twinged painfully when he did. Slowly he moved his arm to it's former position and waited until the pain subsided. He looked around and realized he was laying on a long table.

"Thank you for your help. I have an old wound from an orc, but I think I can clean it on my own." Alastair moved his arm to try and see his wound and gasped in pain and fought nausea. "Nevermind, I think I will need your help after all. But first may I have some sleep?" Someone agreed and helped him walk to his room. He layed down and pulled a thin blanket over his body and slipped into a fitful sleep.

[Arry]

Gil greets the players . . .

As they’d aided the stricken Ranger to his room, Gil noted a group of newcomers had just entered the Common Room. Two of the Big Folk, who looked to be brothers, a fair haired Elf dressed all in greens and browns, and a pair of Hobbits. The male Hobbit appeared to be about his age, he thoughts and the female just a little younger. Her brown eyes had regarded his face for a moment then passed on. But in that moment he managed to blunder into Buttercup, sending them both crashing to the floor.

‘Off me, you oaf!’ cried Buttercup, pushing him from atop her legs and standing up. ‘Now look what you’ve done! Cider all over my blouse and skirt!’

Gil scrambled to his feet, hearing the none too subtle laughter of his friends. He apologized profusely and promised Buttercup he would take her place in serving the cider and ale until she could clean herself up. She gave a miffed hmmmph! as she twitched her skirts and stomped off to the kitchen.

‘Take a seat lads,’ Gil told his friends. ‘I’ll bring round some ale for you all and some cider for the little lads.’

He was as good as his word, hurrying to the bar for a fresh pitcher of ale and one of cider, along with a stack of mugs. He made his way round the room filling mugs and taking orders and suffering the good-natured ribbing of the Green Dragon patrons.

And all the while, his eyes flicked often to the group of strangers he’d seen come in.

Soon, he came to their table, handing out ales all around as requested. And taking their orders for something to eat and plenty of it, if he pleased. He smiled, nodding his head yes to their directions and questions. When the chatter of their orders had died down he paused for a moment, before turning away. ‘My name is Gil Tussock,’ he said. ‘And those,’ he indicated with a pointing of his finger toward where Tomlin and the others sat, ‘are my band members and my two young nephews. We’ll be playing in a little while. I hope you will stay for a tune or two.’ He looked at the oddly mixed group and grinned. ‘And perhaps you will join us if you’re in the mood. You are the players up from Pincup aren’t you?’

[piosenniel]

Cook remembers to answer the door

‘Never rains but it pours,’ muttered Cook as she served up bowls of stewed coney and taters for the servers to take out to the guests in the Common Room. There’d been a faint knock at the kitchen door and then the rather dramatic entry of Gil and friends along with Derufin carrying in the limp body of a man. Ranger, it had turned out to be. And none too clean by the looks of the table where his clothes had left dirty marks on the freshly scrubbed surface.

Well, he’d left . . . before she could clean and dress his wound; his rescuers trailing out the door behind him. Leaving her to clean the table after him. And now there was Buttercup fretting and fuming over her cider soaked apron and clothes. She was sponging away at them, quite ineffectively when Cook ordered her up to her room to change into clean, dry ones. ‘Be faster,’ she called after the grumbling Hobbit. ‘And change that look on your face while you’re up there, Miss! I’m sure Master Gil apologized. He’s a well mannered lad at heart. I don’t want you scaring the customers off with a soured frown.’

She’d almost forgotten that someone had knocked at the door earlier. Balancing the stirring spoon on the stew pot, she wiped her hands on her apron and reached up to tuck her errant grey curls behind her ears. ‘Goodness gracious! I hope the poor dear left standing there has not gone off in a huff.’ As quick as her legs could carry her she came to the door and opened it.

There was no one there. The step was empty. She was just about to shut the door, when she heard the faint rustle of someone’s cloak. And then a tall figure stepped up onto the little porch, looming over her.

Cook stifled a gasp and put her hand to her heart to keep it from leaping out her chest. ‘Land sakes, Master Lithmirë. You scared me half to death! Come in! Come in! You’ve not missed supper. And I’ve put together some of your tea herbs for you.’ She motioned him to follow her to the table the Ranger had recently vacated and bade him sit down. ‘Just let me brew some up in a little pot, then we’ll have a bite to eat together.’

She poured the hot water in the pot and set it in front of him, along with a cup. ‘I’ve spoken with Granny Oldbuck,’ she said, keeping a steady patter of conversation going. The Elf was a quiet one, and rather skittish. Best to keep a stream of calm words going. ‘She says it’s fine if you come up to her place and poke about in the woods round her house. I told her we might come up tomorrow . . . that is if you’d like to . . .’

[Esgallhugwen]

Falowik and Eswen talked for a brief while before Falowik ventured back outside to check on Uien. They cannot be parted for long can they? she thought, wondering what a love like that would feel like if she could be so lucky.

She had long finished her miruvor, her strength was no longer stretched and thin. Eswen looked about her, not wishing to become involved with the other patrons she watched them passively.

A larger group of newcomers were being served dinner, Lithmirë was no where to be found. Hobbits scurrying about and an assortment of men and those of her Kin were sitting down to dinner as well.

She sighed and took up her saddle bags to her room, moving lightly and swift before anyone could tell who or what had passed.

Eswen sat on the bed gazing into the small crackling fire, you should have told him how you felt, now it is too late and he is gone, she moved to the window and opening the latch she cunningly crept onto the roof of the Green Dragon.

Thinking back on her dark journey, she held a dagger in her hand the ebony twin of the ivory set she had given to Lira.

What is my purpose?

But there were only stars and silence to answer her.

[Kath]

After finishing her meal and her letter Astilwen headed out of the Inn to escape the commotion within. She walked around the grounds admiring the beautiful plants and flowers as she breathed in the refreshing night air. She gave a wide berth to the elf woman and the man who were lying together under a large tree as they looked peaceful and she had no wish to disturb them. She did give the tree a closer look however, as she had seen it on the way in and it now appeared to her to be in a slightly different place. Dismissing the thought with a shake of her head she continued walking.

Coming to a hobbit sized bench on the far side of the Inn she sat down and tilted her head back to look up at the stars. They were exceptionally beautiful as the night was so clear and every separate star could be seen. As she tried to find some of the constellations her father had shown her as a child her attention was diverted by the sudden flash of starlight reflected by something on the roof if the Inn. Standing up on the bench Astilwen saw another elf woman sitting on the roof, with a dagger in her hands. She looked pained and deep in thought, twirling the dagger as she stared up into the sky.

Before she was really aware of her actions, Astilwen called up to the elf
"Hello? Are you alright ma'am?"

For a moment she was unsure if she had been heard, as the elf gave no sign that the words had reached her. Then, as if coming out of a trance, she lowered her eyes a little towards Astilwen.

[Huan]

Gwynn and the others introduce themselves to Gil

‘Up . . . from Pincup . . .’ Emlin smiled as he drew out the words. ‘Surely we have a poet in our midst! And one who serves ale,’ he went on, ‘a delicious duo of occupations.’

The others laughed at the poor joke, then chided the Elf for putting Gil on the spot. ‘We are those players. And tired and hungry ones to boot.’ Gwynn started the introductions by giving his name and looking expectantly toward his sister to be next.

‘We’d be happy to play. Or rather I should say, Gwynn and I, Talan, can keep time with our clapping if you wish. We handle the puppets, and have no skills really for the music.’ She pointed toward the Elf. ‘Now Emlin, there, is a singer and plays the flute, too. And truth be told, it doesn’t take much to encourage him to show off his skill.’ She nodded down to where the Hobbits sat. ‘Rowan and Tolly Foxburr. Now they are our musicians. Rowan plays the pipes, all sorts I should qualify, and Tolly the hand drum and bells. And both are a fair hand at the dulcimer.’

‘Let us have our supper first,’ chimed in Tolly. ‘And a few rounds of the Dragon’s ale under our belts. We’d be glad to join in the evening’s festivities.’ He looked toward Rowan and amended his offer. ‘That is, I would be willing to play. I should let my sister speak for herself.’

Rowan looked toward the table Gil had pointed out where his friends and little nephews sat. The littlest one stood on the bench waving over to her and the other players. ‘Can’t disappoint our fervent fans,’ she laughed, waving back at the youngster. ‘And I suppose we might do one short tale, too, for the boys.’ She cocked her head and looked appraisingly at the lads. ‘I’m thinking something with a dragon in it would do, eh?’ Her brown eyes turned back to Gil. ‘But let us fill our grumbling bellies first with the Inn’s good food and drink,’ she added, holding her mug out to him.

[Fairleaf]

From her vantage point, Fairleaf watched the tableaux of the Uien and the fair haired man who rested against her. The man seemed to be sleeping. His face was peaceful, a smile gracing it for one brief moment as the Elf bent to kiss his brow. The Elf, however, did not sleep. Her eyes were open in the starlight and memories, the Ent-maid supposed, ran deep beneath them.

In the distance, she saw the scarred Elf knock on the Inn’s back door, then slide into the shadows to wait for an answer. It was some time before the rectangle of bright light that shown from the kitchen flooded out onto the little porch and the sturdy figure of the cook stepped into it.

Good, good! She is taking him in. thought Fairleaf. Root and Stem! He needs a little nourishment for both. If only he’ll take what’s offered.’

Fairleaf stirred her leaves, catching the scents on the night breezes. She inched her roots deeper. Elves can revel in their waking dreams for a long time she recalled. She would have to be patient and wait for them to leave.

[Lasbelinion]

Dinner with Mistress Bunce

Lithmîrë sipped at his tea, watching Mistress Bunce move about the kitchen tending to this task and that. The stew was stirred, and portions of it served up in bowls for the diners in the Common Room. One of the servers, Buttercup, he heard her called, came down from her room, and putting on a fresh apron, picked up the tray of food to take it out. He wondered as Mistress Bunce stopped her, hand on hip, her foot tapping expectantly. There must have been some problem earlier, he thought, because the lass flushed guiltily, then put a smile on her face before leaving the kitchen.

He took another sip, the brew easing the pain that shot through his scarred cheek and arm. Whatever the Hobbit had put in it was doing its job and quickly. He found himself giving a half smile as Mistress Bunce chattered on to him. Her back was to him; she was slicing some bread to fill the baskets for the tables. The flow of words was light, requiring no answer on his part. Soothing, almost. And he wondered if perhaps they held some Shire magic that infused the pain relieving tea with greater power.

‘I should like to do that,’ he said, startling the Hobbit for a moment, so that she grew quiet and turned to see if it were he who had indeed answered. ‘Granny Oldbuck’s woods,’ he went on, referencing his remarks. ‘If you can take the time to show me, that is.’

Before answering him she plunked a generous serving of stewed coney with vegetables in front of him, along with a basket of fresh sliced bread and the pot of butter and another of honey. He nodded at her, waiting to pick up his spoon until she had seated herself.

[Gwydion]

Alastair awoke later in the evening, drenched in sweat. Alastair ruffled his hair and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and thought about his dream. He had been dreaming of his encounter with the band of orcs in the Misty Mountains and of how he recieved his wound. Thinking of his wound Alastair got up, lit a candle and walked over to his belongings. "Now where did I put it.."he murmered to himself. "Aha!"he annonced to the air as he pulled a pouch from his knapsack.

Opening it, Alastair rummaged around for a moment and pulled out athelas leaves and strip of leather. Humming a tune to himself he silently chewed the leaves. After a few moments he spit the leaves onto the leather and applied it to the wound under his arm. Alastair checked the poultice, pulled on his jerkin and walked to the door with his pipe in hand. Yawning, he opened the door and nodded to the innkeeper and walked outside.

Alastair noticed an elf laying on the ground with a man beneath a tree. Alastair leaned up against the wall and lit his pipe. As he smoke he slipped deep into thought.

[Esgallhugwen]

Esgallhugwen thought she heard the resonance of a small voice direct it's attention to her. She looked down slowly from the stars her eyes re-adjusting to the darker shadows.

A small form was standing upon a bench looking up at her, Eswen was not mistaken when she realized it was a Hobbit. " I'm quite alright, thank you young Hobbit, I'm simple reminiscing of things long past", she looked up to the stars again for a brief moment, then looked back down to the Hobbit lass.

"Not that theres any danger but what are you doing out here alone?"

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik slept on.

"Hello? Are you alright ma'am?"

Uien heard the words and cast her thought toward the speaker. No, the words were not directed toward Uien. A hobbit lass spoke them; she was standing by the Inn, looking up on the roof. Who was there? Eswen! Uien sped her thought to her friend.

What is my purpose? echoed back to Uien.

" I'm quite alright, thank you young Hobbit, I'm simple reminiscing of things long past." Eswen paused moment. "Not that theres any danger but what are you doing out here alone?"

Uien smiled. Let the lass and the Elf woman converse. Still, she sent a thought. 'Of what purpose do you think, my friend?'

[piosenniel]

‘Please, go ahead and eat, Lithmîrë,’ Cook said, putting her napkin on her lap. ‘Don’t let it get cold!’ She picked up her own spoon and took a generous mouthful of the savory broth and vegetables. With her buttered bread, she scooped a bit of coney onto the spoon and ate it next. ‘This was my mother’in-law’s recipe. The women knew how to cook coneys, I’ll give her that. That and she raised her boy to be a fine man.’ She took another bite and chewed thoughtfully. ‘Of course, I couldn’t help but improve on both of them a little bit . . . the coney and her son.’ Cook laughed at her own joke, and was gratified to see what might pass for a grin perch fleetingly on her dinner guest’s face.

‘We can go up and see Granny Oldbuck sometime after breakfast tomorrow. The girls can see to the serving of it and the clearing up.’ She drizzled some honey on her bread and took a bite, using the crust of bread to emphasize her points as she went on to talk about their trip tomorrow. ‘Now Granny Oldbuck’s an odd duck, some would say. But I find her company quite enjoyable. No *****-footing around and being polite for her. She says what she thinks outright, and let the chips fall where they may. You won’t find her judging you by your looks . . .’ Cook glanced Lithmîrë’s way, hoping he hadn’t taken offense. ‘But she’ll surely judge you be your actions. Wise old woman. As true a friend as you can have if she takes a liking to you.’

The Elf had worked his way through half of his serving. Cook, not asking if he would like a bit more, simply brought the small pot over and dished him up a fresh helping. She refrained from poking him in his ribs since they were only just getting to know each other. But, she did mention to him that he could stand to put a little more meat on his bones to her way of thinking.

[Kath]

The Elf answered Astilwen and then looked back up to the stars for a moment, before returning her attention to the hobbit and asking,
"Not that theres any danger but what are you doing out here alone?"

"I just came out for a breath of fresh air, it got pretty stuffy inside the Inn there with all those people and their love of smoking. Plus there was some kind of a commotion. A man fell unconscious though I think he's alright now and as they were taking him into the kitchens things were getting knocked over. I didn't fancy getting squashed by a table!"

Again Astilwen was unsure if the Elf had heard, as she looked as though she was hearing something else, her eyes a little unfocused and her head cocked to one side. Nevertheless she waited patiently for her to come back again from her memories.

[Gwydion]

Alastair jolted out of his thoughts. He stared up at the stars and stretched. Then he remembered the cook who had allowed him to be layed on the table in the kitchen. Alastair dumped out the contents of his pipe and walked around to the kitchen and knocked on the door. The cook answered the door with a rather annoyed look and recoiled when she saw that it was Alastair.

"I just wanted to thank you for letting me use that table until I woke up." The cook mumbled a welcome. Alastair gave a slight bow and then he notced the elf. He stared at him for a moment and then bid the cook farewell and walked out of the kitchen. Once he had exited the kitchen he walked back inside the inn and ordered an ale. Then he relit his pipe and began to puff away.

[Arry]

Gil filled Rowan’s mug to the brim, then did the same for her brother, Tolly. ‘Good, good!’ he said on hearing they would bring out their instruments a little later and join Gil and his friends. ‘Ah! I see Buttercup coming out to take my place. She’ll see to your meals and any further drinks.’ He pointed to a small raised platform to the left of the bar. ‘We’ll play there. Come join us when you’re ready.’

He grinned at Buttercup as he handed off the tray to her, and mumbled another apology. She scowled at first, then laughed as he told her she looked even better in this new outfit.

His companions had finished their drinks and were watching as he approached. ‘Let’s set up,’ he told them. ‘Once done with their meal, the players there will come join us for a song or so.’ He noted Woody and Hanson looking up hopefully at him. ‘You two can tag along. Ferrin, loan them a set each of your rhythm sticks; they can keep the beat with you.’ He winked at the two boys. ‘Oh, and the Big Folk . . . they thought they might tell a story tonight . . . one with great, fierce dragons, and no doubt swords and treasure and such . . .’

Woody and Hanson’s faces were wreathed in smiles. With a whoop of delight they went running off toward the little stage.

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger set her tray down wearily on the counter in the kitchen. ‘I think everyone’s been served, Miz Bunce. All are happily tucking into their suppers or at least busy drinking their ales. She blushed a little realizing she’d interrupted the meal Cook and her guest were having. ‘Oh, sorry, m’am,’ she said, nodding to Cook and Lithmire. ‘I’ll just leave you two to finish your own meal.’

She took off her apron, hung it up on the peg by the door, and started back out to the common room. Ferdy had saved a seat for her at his table with Gil and the others.

‘Oh,’ she said, turning back to Cook and her guest just before she exited. ‘Gil and his band are setting up to play some music. And I heard him ask that troupe of players we were expecting to join in. Should be fun! Come out and join us!’ Ginger dropped a small curtsy and hurried on out to join her friends.

[Arry]

‘Now here’s a song that many a man here can understand. All you with your mugs filled with the Inn’s foaming brew or a deep cup of Old Winyards, lift them up and salute the one that wrote these verses.’ Behind him, Gil’s companions solemnly raised their mugs and glasses; then, set them down at their feet and picked up their fiddles and drum with a grin.

Gil started the music with his concertina, joined by the others after the first verse. Then with a wink to one of the serving lasses, he sang out in a clear voice.

The Women all tell me I'm false to my lass,
That I quit my poor Rosie and stick to my glass;
But to you men of reason, my reasons I'll own,
And if you don't like them, why let them alone.

Although I have left her, there truth I'll declare;
I believe she was good, and I'm sure she was fair;
but goodness and charms in a bumper I see,
That make it as good and as charming as she.

My Rosie had dimples and smiles I must own;
But, though, she could smile, yet in truth she could frown,
But tell me, ye lovers of liquor divine,
Did you e'er see a frown in a bumper of wine?

Her lilies and roses were just in their prime;
Yet lilies and roses are conquer'd by time;
but in wine, from its age, such a benefit flows,
That we like it the better the older it grows.

They tell me, my love would in time have been cloy'd;
And that beauty's insipid when once 'ts enjoy'd;
But in wine I both time and enjoyment defy;
For the longer I drink the more thirsty I am.

Let murders, and battles, and history prove
The mischiefs that wait upon rivals in love;
But in drinking, that Heaven, no rival contends,
For the more we love liquor, the more we are friends.

She, too, might have poison'd the joy of my life,
With nurses, and babies, and squalling and strife:
But my wine neither nurses nor babies can bring;
And a big-bellied bottle is a mighty good thing.

We shorten our days when with love we engage,
It brings on diseases and hastens old age;
But wine from grim death can its votaries save,
And keep out t'other leg, when there's one in the grave.

Perhaps, like her sex, ever false to their word,
She had left me, to get an estate or a lord;
But my bumper (regarding nor title or pelf)
Will stand by me when I can't stand by myself.

Then let my dear Rosie no longer complain;
she's rid of her lover, and I of my pain:
For in wine, mighty wine, many comforts I spy;
Should you doubt what I say, take a bumper and try.

Near the end of the song, many of the men had emptied their cups or mugs of drink and were banging them on the tabletops in rhythm with the song. And some of the braver ones, whose wives had not raised brows at them, were singing along with Gil.

[Gwydion]

Alastair was drinking his ale when the song began. He listened intently and found that by the niddle of the song his foot was tapping along with the song on its own and before the song had ende he was humming to it in a deep throbbing baritone.

After the song finished Alastair was reminded of a poem he had heard among the dunadain. When the singer had finished his song Alastair drained his glass and stood up. "If I may young masters, I would like to recite a poem." No one said anything and he took that as a consent.

Sadly you walked far from home,
Isildur's bane heavy on your mind
The weight was heavy, the burden great,
and despair was on your mind.
An evil fate, the crack of doom
and forth the world was saved.

With that Alastair sat back down and ordered another ale with the poem ringing in his mind.

[Arry]

Little Hanson stood up while the Ranger was reciting his verse and slipped away from the table. His brother, Woody, was listening closely to the man and did not see him leave. With quick steps, the Hobbit made his way to the table where the Players sat.

They, too, were intent on the music and the verse and paid no attention to the Hobbit lad as he came near their table. He looked about the legs of their chairs and even dared a quick peek beneath the table. His face, as he stood back up, registered grave disappointment. With a frown on his brow he went quietly up behind the Elf, dressed very colorfully , he thought, all in browns and greens and ribbons in his braid.

‘Sir!’ he said, hoping this Elf was as nice as his new friend Neviel. He tugged lightly on the fellow’s sleeve. ‘Sir, did you bring the puppets in? I don’t see them anywhere. And . . .’ The Elf turned his merry grey eyes on Hanson. ‘And is there a dragon?’

[Larien Telemnar]

Larien lingered near a corner of the room, tapping her toe with the music of Gil's song. She sat down quietly in a corner and smiled as the patrons sang along.

She listened with rapt attention as the Ranger recited his verse, and found her mind rifting to tales of old, those which had been long told, and those which had not yet been revealed. She watched wistfully, hoping that perhaps she might find the courage to recite even the smallest verse, to dare to murmur the slightest tune. She thought back to the days when Elrond would lift her into his lap, and begin to tell her fantastic tales of far away places, brave soldiers, valorous maidens and desperate villians.

She suddenly found herself gaining courage that she never knew she had. Clearing her throat, the stood up on the table.

'If I may,' She said, loud enough for everyone to hear, 'I would like to sing a song. It's one of my own composistions. It may not be as skilled as many songs are, but it has a dear place in my heart. I usually recite it in Elvish, but shall try to translate it.'

She slipped the hood of her cloak back over her head and bowed her head. Slowly, she started to sing, faltering with the the first few notes. Gradually her voice sounded more sure, and surprisingly pleasing to hear. The tune she sang was mournfull, and full of pain.

Travelers cold and weary,
On a lonely mountainside.
Through passes dark and dreary,
Trying to make it through the night.

Unaware of the danger,
That the shadows did conceal.
Think of the words of this stranger,
Remember what they can reveal.

Foes and enemies aboud,
When the summer sky grows dark.
Death and tragedy surround,
Memories that scar my heart.

They tried to fight but couldn't.
Their numbers were too few.
For travel, you shouldn't,
When there are only two.

But wait! A babe is hidden,
Behind a smaller rock.
A life for hers is given,
Her mother paid the cost.

A man upon the trail,
Finds their bodies on the ground.
Tears of sorrow falling,
As he utters mournful sounds.

He hears the baby whimper,
He searches and he finds.
Life among the sorrow,
And a child a home shall find.

Larien curtsied and stepped from the table, a tear slipping down her cheek as she sat down.

'I know it doesn't flow as well as it should, but I don't have the heart to change it.' She whispered.

[Huan]

Emlin and Hanson try to spy out the dragon

Emlin steepled his fingers in front of his mouth and looked down to where Hanson was standing. ‘The dragon . . . you say you’re looking for a dragon?’ Hanson’s eyes went wide as the Elf got down on his hands and knees and began looking under the table. ‘I was sure I had one here. Brought the beastie in myself.’ He poked and prodded between chair legs, then sat back on his knees, a rather scared look on his face.

With a crook of his finger, he urged the Hobbit nearer. ‘Must have escaped!’ he whispered. ‘’Bout time for his dinner, too. Oh my! Best we keep a watch on those sitting in chairs in this room,’ he went one, shifting his gaze carefully about the common room. ‘If we see one of them suddenly disappear beneath the table, we’ll know we’ve found him.’

Hanson nodded his head solemnly his eyes as big as saucers at the possibility of a dragon on the loose.

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger sat next to Ferdie at the table, listening to the songs. Gil and his band had done a funny one, she thought. Though it seemed a bit odd that the fellow in the song would rather have a flagon of wine than his lady by his side. Then, she remembered Uncle Otho on her Da’s side. He had a liking for Old Winyards that many a lass could not compete with, or so she’d heard her Da speak to her Ma about it.

Of course, Azalea had put and end to that infatuation as she called it. And now she was Aunt Azalea and Otho was rationed to cup of ale on week days . . . two on the weekend . . . ‘Anyways,’ Ginger thought, ‘it was a funny song as long as you weren’t having to worry about your own sweetheart throwing you over for a drink or two or three.’ She stole a glance at Ferdy. ‘No, he’d never do something like that, I’m sure.’

As if reading her thoughts, he looked at her and grinned affectionately. She blushed and grinned back, snuggling into the arc of his arm about her shoulders.

One of the Big Folk got up next and recited a short verse, A good one, too, she thought. She was sure it was about Mister Frodo and his adventure and she wondered how a Ranger would be knowing a poem about a Hobbit from the Shire.

She had just taken a drink of her cider when she saw Larien stand up to sing. Her new friend was full of surprises! Ginger was much too shy to ever get up in front of a crowd to perform, but there was Larien going to sing. And she’d made up the song herself!

As Ginger listened to the words a certain sense of sadness stole over her. Someone’s mother dead. And the father, too, she thought. A poor baby left all alone and found by some kind man. Ginger hoped the story had a happy ending. Did the man find the baby a new home? Did he take the baby in himself? Ginger found herself nearly crying as she listened to the song and thought about it.

‘I wouldn’t change a word of it, Larien,’ she said, going over to where her friend was sitting after she’d sang. ‘It was beautiful!’ Ginger smiled and wiped her own eyes. ‘But what happened to the baby? I have to know it was alright.’

[Arry]

Hanson put his finger to his lips as Woody came trotting over to see what his brother was up to. ‘Sshhh!’ he warned his older sibling. ‘The dragon they brought in for the play has got loose. I’m helping to look for it.’

Woody’s brow furrowed as he gazed about the room. ‘Are you daft?’ he asked, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. ‘There’s no dragon hiding in here.’

Suddenly, there was a loud commotion behind the two boys, and a collective gasp from the players at the table. Woody and Hanson turned around just in time to see the trailing hand of Emlin, the Elf, sliding down from the seat of his chair and into the dark beneath the table.

Curious and horrified at the same time, they crept closer to the table and bent down to peer into the shadows . . .

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine was shaken from his long reverie by the sound of music. The hours had passed swiftly as he contemplated the new song, and even the meal that he had taken at supper had passed his lips almost without his notice. The front part of the room had been taken over by the same party of Halflings who had sung last night and it was their music which had reawakened his spirit. There was applause from the crowd and he joined in heartily, crying out his approval of the tune.

A Ranger whom he’d not noticed sang next, and he was followed by a tiny Halfling maid. She sang quietly at first, but as the music took hold she gained in confidence and strength and soon Hearpwine was transported by the power of the simple tune, which sprang from somewhere near to her heart. He was surprised that it had been composed in Elvish and its origin in the tongue of the Fair Folk was clear in the ringing tones of the composition. When she had finished, the maiden quickly moved away from the stage and sought her own chair once more, pulling her blue cloak about her face. Intrigued, the bard moved to her table.

He loomed above her, his head seemingly a few scant inches from the rafters, and he introduced himself. “Well sung, mistress, and well met! It is odd indeed to meet one who composes songs in the language of the Eldar. I myself know but a few songs of the Elves, and have not yet discovered the facility to create music of my own in that language.”

The hobbit blushed slightly and thanked the bard for his kind words. She introduced herself: “I am Larien, Mister…?”

“Hearpwine!” he cried. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance Mistress Larien. I would ask you to tell me the tale of how you came by the ability to write Elvish music, but I am loathe to ask you for something without granting something in return. I am a bard and I have sat most of this long day without singing. Might I pay your for your tale and warm up my throat with a short song of my own?” The Halfling nodded, and without any more encouragement, Hearpwine was singing.

“As I was a walking down in Stokes Bay
I met a drowned sailor on the beach as he lay
And as I drew nigh him, it put me to a stand,
When I knew it was my own true Love
By the marks on his hand.

“As he was a sailing from his own dear shore
Where the waves and the billows so loudly do roar,
I said to my true Love, I shall see you no more
So farewell, my dearest, you're the lad I adore.”

She put her arms around him, saying “O! My dear!”
She wept and she kiss'd him ten thousand times o'er.
“O I am contented to lie by thy side.”
And in a few moments, this lover she died.

And all in the churchyard these two were laid,
Anda stone for remembrance was laid on her grave,
“My joys are all ended, my pleasures are fled,
This grave that I lie in is my new married bed.”

As he finished a hush fell on those in the immediate vicinity for it was a sad song, and the bard had sung it movingly. Bowing to the scattered applause which came up from the silence, he seated himself next to Larien, and awaited her story.

[Esgallhugwen]

'Of what purpose do you think, my friend?'

Of my purpose here, for all my foresight it is still unclear to me. And yet I cannot leave for I am still drawn to this place, there is something that I must accomplish yet.

Eswen's eyes refocused coming back from her hidden thought. She turned her attentions once more to the Hobbit lass.

"I just came out for a breath of fresh air, it got pretty stuffy inside the Inn there with all those people and their love of smoking. Plus there was some kind of a commotion. A man fell unconscious though I think he's alright now and as they were taking him into the kitchens things were getting knocked over. I didn't fancy getting squashed by a table!"

"No I don't suppose any of us would fancy getting squashed by anything including a table", a white glimmer was approaching the lass from behind. "Don't be frightened".

"Frightened of what?", something wet met her hand and she jumped forward, farther then Eswen had ever seen a Hobbit jump, with a shriek. She spun around and two gold eyes, the left flecked with ice blue, met her wide eyed stare.

"His name is Nimrómen, a wolf cub barely a year old"

[Huan]

Rowan and the dragon hunters

Rowan crouched down between the two boys, her brown eyes glinting with merriment. ‘Well, which of you brave lads is going in after him?’ she asked, her voice pitched low. ‘He’s our singer, you know. And we’ll be needing him soon.’ She nodded her head to the little stage across the room. ‘The fellow over there. Gil, isn’t it? I can see him waving to us.’

She reached into one of the pockets in her vest and handed each of them a small silver bell. They tinkled merrily as she laid one in each boy’s hand. ‘A traveling tinker from the Blue Mountains gave them to me. He said the Dwarves there make them to scare off the little dragons that still haunt the deeper tunnels. Just hold them out before you and jingle them as you hunt for Emlin.’

‘Go on now,’ she urged them, pointing to the shadows beneath the long table. ‘Bring him back to us!’

[Lasbelinion]

Lithmîrë could feel himself begin to relax as the meal progressed. In part, he knew, because Mistress Bunce had given him the herbal tea concoction. But also, he thought, it was the company. They’d talked more of gardens and the herbs she’d used to flavor the stew.

The conversation had drifted into family and where she’d come from. She hadn’t pressed him for any details on his own, and he was glad of it. For what could he tell her that wouldn’t send her screaming from the room? He could barely recall the early days, before the long years of captivity and labor in the ashy plains of Mordor. And those long years were not something one could share lightly. He wouldn’t know how, anyway. Not now and possibly never.

Mistresses Bunce’s voice flowed over him, including him in her little stories, filling him in as if he were a long lost friend who needed catching up. For his part he’d managed a few sociable comments and found himself surprised at times in his interest at the details of her ordinary life.

His attention was caught by a long pause in her talking, preceded, he thought, by a rise in the tone of her voice. She had asked a question. Scrambling wildly to recall the words, he heard the music and singing come in through the partially opened kitchen door. Mistress Bunce was looking at him expectantly.

‘You’d like to go out and listen to the music?’ he asked tentatively, fishing for the source of her question.

[Kath]

"No I don't suppose any of us would fancy getting squashed by anything including a table" replied the Elf, smiling gently. Suddenly her eyes seemed to fix on a point just behind Astilwen who had just time enough to ponder the quiet command not to be frightened before she felt something wet behind her. Leaping off the bench in fright she screamed and whirled around, coming face to face with something she had only ever heard described in fireside tales, meant to scare hobbit children off to bed.

"His name is Nimrómen, a wolf cub barely a year old"

She heard the Elf speaking to her and tried to concentrate, finding it a little difficult with the wolf looking right at her with his oddly coloured eyes. But as she calmed a little from her fright she began to take in the beauty of the creature before her, the wolf's fur really was the purest of whites and his stare seemed to contain curiosity rather than malice. Shakily she moved to sit down on the bench, hoping her legs would keep stable til she got there. Having sat she took a few deep breaths and called up again to the Elf.

"He's only a year old? He's big! Is he yours?"

[piosenniel]

Cook looked at Lithmire a little perplexed. Sometimes he just seemed to drift off, lost in some old memories or thoughts. He’d missed her question, which had nothing to do with the music from the common room. Rather she’d wanted to know if he’d like to have tea and some of her plum tarts now or a little later. But since he’d given her opportunity, she ran with it.

‘Yes,’ she answered him, nodding her head enthusiastically. ‘Gil and his band have set up and are playing. And there are some Players who’ve brought their puppets and things and might be persuaded to give us a little show later.’

Not waiting for him to decline the invitation to go out to the Common Room, she got up from her chair and bustled over to the counter where the tarts lay ready to be served. She piled a number of them on a small plate and poured a fresh pot of tea for the both of them. Motioning for him to bring the cups along, she led the way to the outer room and found them and out of the way table with a good view of the little stage area.

‘There we go!’ she declared setting the tarts and the teapot between them. ‘Now we’ll hear us some good Shire tunes. And look there! It’s Master Hearpwine just finishing up a song. He’s from Rohan, you know. Just like our Aman. The Innkeeper. Though I swear the girl’s got a better head on her shoulders than he does. It must be all that being a bard for the King and all there. Makes him a bit featherheaded and loud. Got a good heart, though, helping with the little ones in the school and all . . .’

She kept up her patter, commenting on this one and that until she saw him relax and settle into his chair. ‘Always looks like some little hare . . . eyes darting all about and ready to run at the slightest hint of danger,’ she thought to herself as she poured him a mug of steaming sweetspice tea and edged the plate of tarts near his hand.

[Arry]

Gil nodded toward where Larien sat talking to the Bard. ‘Perhaps later we can entice her out again to sing for us,’ he said to those gathered in the room. ‘A fair voice she has. And a fair face, too. Easy on the ears and easy on the eyes, that lass!’ He turned back to his fellows and spoke quietly with them for a moment.

‘Well, here’s one for all you merchant men,’ he said, as Ferrin and Fallon played the opening notes for the next song. ‘’All of you who have to leave your sweetheart at home while you’re off to take care of business.’

I'm lonesome since I crossed the hill,
And o'er the moorland sedgy
Such heavy thoughts my heart do fill,
Since parting with my Rosie
I seek for one as fair and gay,
But find none to remind me
How sweet the hours I passed away,
With the lass I left behind me.

O ne'er shall I forget the night,
the stars were bright above me
And gently lent their silv'ry light
when first she vowed to love me
But now I'm bound to Bree and beyond
kind heaven then pray guide me
And send me safely back again,
to the lass I left behind me

Her golden hair in ringlets fair,
her eyes like diamonds shining
Her slender waist, her pretty face,
that leaves my heart still pining
Stars above oh hear my plea
to my beauteous fair to find me
And send me safely back again,
to the lass I left behind me

The bee shall honey taste no more,
the dove become a ranger
The falling waters cease to roar,
ere I shall seek to change her
Vows we made to the heavens above
shall ever cheer and bind me
In constancy to her I love,
the lass I left behind me.

[Undómë]

Hob puffed quietly on his pipe. He’d passed on the last offer of Dwarven spirits, preferring instead to stick to his mug of stout. The song the young lads were singing brought a bit of a mist to his eyes. And he wiped it away quickly with his cuff. The song had set him to thinking about his dear Marigold. Back on Girdley Island. Looking after their two small sons and their wee house while he was away.

He glanced at the big man, Benat, and wondered if he had someone he’d left behind when he’d gone on his travels.

[Arry]

Tinkle, tinkle . . . tinkle, tinkle . . .

The little silver bells chorused softly beneath the table. ‘Must be working,’ whispered Hanson, his grip tight on the thin leather thong that looped through the ring at the top of the bell.

The area beneath the large table was surrounded by a forest of chair legs, table legs, and Hobbit and Man legs. Try as they might, the two brothers could see no sign of the Elf or the dragon. ‘Good thing is,’ whispered Woody, sitting back on his haunches, ‘is that there doesn’t seem to be any blood or extra . . . ummm, parts lying about. So I don’t think the dragon ate him.’

‘Yet, you mean,’ added Hanson ringing his bell at the sight of something he thought moved beneath the chair legs to the left of him.

As they sat talking to one another, there cam a sound on the table top above them as if something were scratching on it. Something with large, sharp claws. Woody caught sight of the long green scarf Emlin wore round his waist as a sash. It was far to his right, at the end of the table, and trailing upward over the seat of one of the empty chairs. He nudged his brother and they scrambled after the scarf, catching it just as it was about to disappear above the table’s top.

With all their might, the two clasped onto it and gave it a mighty tug. A loud thump was heard above their two heads and a loud sigh. Climbing up over the empty chair where they’d seen the scarf end, Hanson and Woody peeked over the edge of the table, expecting to find the dragon lying in wait with the Elf clasped firmly in his claws.

[Huan]

Instead, they came face to face with Emlin, lying limply on the table top, his head turned toward them. ‘Thank you!’ he croaked at them, as if his throat were raw from wanting to scream. ‘You’ve saved this poor Elf from a fate worse than death!’

He placed one arm over his eyes and sighed heavily. With his other arm he pointed to the window near the table. It was open and the breeze fluttered the curtains as it blew into the room. ‘Your bells drove the creature away. And he would have dragged me with him had you not held onto my sash.’ He sighed once more.

Now the younger lad’s eyes were wide with wonder, but the older brother, Woody, was not as easily taken in. Before he could speak, Emlin raised himself to a sitting position on the table, and looking down at a patch of the wooden surface near where his head had lain, he gasped. Pointing a trembling finger at the table top he drew their attention to a set of three long gashes, as if claws had dug into the table.

‘It’s true lads. You’ve bested the dragon and driven him off. Come up, come up and sit with us. We’ll toast you with cider and cakes!’

The others round the Players’ table smiled and clapped quietly as the two brothers hoisted themselves up onto the chair. Rowan got up and closed the window tightly, winking at hanson and Woody as she did so. ‘Wouldn’t want him sticking his toothy snout back in here, now, would we,’ she asked them. When they handed their bells to her, she shook her head, saying they should keep them; they’d earned them. Gwynn called for one of the servers to bring them a pitcher of cider and two extra mugs for the brave young lads who’d just joined them.

When it came, Talan filled everyone’s mugs, and Tolly called for a toast. It was Emlin, who raised high his cup and spoke. ‘Here’s to the brave brothers who set fear in the heart of the scaly beast. Long may they keep the Shire free of dragons!’

Woody and Hanson beamed as the group downed drinks in their honor and clapped them on the backs.

[Envinyatar]

Zimzi nestled herself comfortably against Derufin’s shoulder. She enjoyed listening to Gil and his friends. And the addition of offerings from Hearpwine and the young lady Hobbit had made the evening even more pleasant.

Like Hob, she had given up on the Dwarven spirits. One taste was enough for her to declare they were too strong to her liking. She’d ordered tea for herself. The night was a little chilly despite the cheery blaze in the fireplace. Someone had opened a window, letting the cool night breezes in.

She glanced around, looking for the source of the chill. A ways away from her was a large table near one of the outside walls, someone was jus standing up to close the wide open window. Zimzi blinked her eyes, noting that on top of the table lay and Elf. And now he sat up and was talking to two Hobbit lads whose faces had popped up above the table top from beneath the table itself.

Zimzi sat up straighter in her chair. Now there was clapping and a round of drinks was poured, including those for the little lads. And then a toast was made, apparently in the boys’ honor. ‘What on earth is going on over there?’ she whispered to Derufin, pointing to the strange tableaux.

[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

[Esgallhugwen]

"Yes, he is mine you could say. I rescued him from the Hills of Evendim, and so he has bonded to me", Eswen half smiled as she called down to the Hobbit lass, her voice lyrical and soft on the chill breeze. Such an innocent little being, like all of her kin, only guilty in taking their delight in food and drink.

"And I suppose being close to an Elf has made him grow past a normal size for his age, I have no doubts you've heard of our so called magic which is quite absurd really, perhaps that has helped him". Nimrómen sat on his haunches next to the lass swishing his plush tail to and fro.

"Does he know any tricks?"

Esgallhugwen laughed softly, "none which he cares to learn, he is from the wild, bothering little with the ways of domestication, he is quite the slob when it comes to eating", the wolf cocked his head to the side and barked in protest.

"now, now don't lie to the young lass, maybe if you would eat slower more food would be in your stomach instead of on the floor" she shook her finger playfully tsking him.

"We havn't even been properly introduced, what is your name young Hobbit lass?"

[Larien Telemnar]

Larien sat quietly and listened to the Bard's song. She found herself transported by the very utterances of the song. She closed her eyes and tilted her head toward the ceiling, her hood falling off in the process. When the song ended, she slowly returned to reality to find that Hearpwine had seated himself once more and was looking at her expectantly.

She blushed, ashamed at having been caught in her reverie. She cleared her throat slightly and sat upright, self consciously rubbing the hem of her cloak in her fingers.

'That was beautiful, Lord Hearpwine. I hope you will grace us with another song before the evening ends.' She smiled and looked down at her hands. 'I suppose you wish to hear my story, as well as the story of the song?' She turned to Ginger. 'You've already heard it, I believe. The child in the song was so young, she should not have remembered that fateful night, but she did. The man who found the babe was an Elf of Imladris, Lord Elrond, to be exact. The child he named Larien, who grew up as his adopted daughter, sometimes living in Imladris, sometimes in Lorien. She now sits before you.' Larien closed her eyes breifly, remember sadly that night of her parents death.

'So you see, Lord Hearpwine, this is how I know of such things. I came to the Shire to discover how my kinspeople live. I have but the dimmest hope that I might discover the names of my birth parents, and perhaps the name given me as a babe.' She opened her eyes and smiled. 'It is how I had hoped. I am welcome here, for which I am thankfull.'

[Kath]

Astilwen laughed at the interaction between the Elf and her wolf cub. It reminded her a little of her youngest brother, whose food rarely even got as far as his mouth most days.

"We havn't even been properly introduced, what is your name young Hobbit lass?" asked the Elf.

"My name is Astilwen. It's a bit of a mouthful for a Hobbit I know but that's what you get when you have parents who are friends with Mayor Gamgee and his companions, they liked the foreign sounding names from the tales you see. What is your name?"

[Arry]

‘Uncle Gil! Look what we’ve got!’

Woody and Hanson came running toward Gil as he and his companions were talking about the next tune to play. Gil was leaning toward just a jig or reel. His throat was dry and a bit raspy, and he wanted to rest it for a bit.

The band’s eyes all turned to Gil’s two nephews as they came tinkling up merrily to the little stage. Words came tumbling from the boy’s lips helter-skelter. An Elf nearly taken off and eaten; a dragon in the dark beneath the table; magic bells; the open window; the escape and the rescue. A few moments of gentle redirection and questioning and the whole story came through in a more sensible way. That is, as sensible as a dragon in the Inn could get.

Behind Hanson and Woody stood Emlin, his face drawn into a serious pose, eyes twinkling. He was nodding his head at the story the two lads told. ‘Saved me, they did,’ he declared, putting hand to heart in a dramatic gesture.

And behind him stood Rowan, a tin whistle held lightly in her hand, her brown eyes gleaming merrily.

[Huan]

‘I’ve brought my little pipe,’ Rowan said. ‘And Tolly’s brought his drum. We thought perhaps the brave young lads could join in with their bells.’ She laughed merrily as she lifted her pipe to her lips.

‘Something for the ladies, this time,’ Tolly went on. ‘A little jig, we thought, to set them dancing.

Rowan turned to the room and swept the crowd with her eyes. ‘Push back the tables a bit, won’t you now. We’ve a jig to set your toes tapping. Cherish the Ladies, it is. Come ladies! Choose your partners for the dance.’ She blew a note on her whistle, to let the others know the key she’d play in. She started first and the others joined in the sprightly melody ( http://www.contemplator.com/tunebook/midimusic/cherish.mid).

When the last note was played the dancers crowded about the little stage and called for another. Emlin joined the others on stage and took out his own whistle, nearly a twin to Rowan's but pitched a little higher, like the song of a wee bird.

Rowan played the opening bars with the others, then held her whistle in her hand as she harmonized with her brother on another danceable tune (http://www.contemplator.com/tunebook/midimusic/kerry.mid).

♪ --- ♫ --- ♪

Oh, the days of the Shire dancing
Oh, the ring of the piper's tune
Oh, for one of those hours of gladness
Gone, alas, like our youth, too soon!

When the boys began to gather
In the glen of a summer's night
And the Shire piper's tuning
Made us long with wild delight!
Oh, to think of it
Oh, to dream of it
Fills my heart with tears!

Oh, the days of the Shire dancing
Oh, the ring of the piper's tune
Oh, for one of those hours of gladness
Gone, alas, like our youth, too soon!

Was there ever a sweeter lass
In the dance than Blossom Appledore
Or a prouder lad than Minto
As he boldly took the floor.

Lads and lasses to your places
Up the middle and down again
Ah, the merry hearted laughter
Ringing through the happy glen!
Oh, to think of it
Oh, to dream of it
Fills my heart with tears!

Oh, the days of the Shire dancing
Oh, the ring of the piper's tune
Oh, for one of those hours of gladness
Gone, alas, like our youth, too soon!

Time goes on, and the happy years are dead
And one by one the merry hearts are fled
Silent now is the wild and lonely glen
Where the bright glad laugh will echo ne'er again
Only dreaming of days gone by in my heart I hear.

Loving voices of old companions
Stealing out of the past once more
And the sound of the dear old music
Soft and sweet as in days of yore.

When the boys began to gather
In the glen of a summer's night
And the Shire piper's tuning
Made us long with wild delight!
Oh, to think of it
Oh, to dream of it
Fills my heart with tears!

Oh, the days of the Shire dancing
Oh, the ring of the piper's tune
Oh, for one of those hours of gladness
Gone, alas, like our youth, too soon!

♪ --- ♫ --- ♪

They played the chorus twice at the end. The dancers stopped as the repeat began and sang the words along with the band.

[Lasbelinion]

Look how they move together, and apart. Each following the other’s steps.

Lithmîrë set his mug on the table. He leaned forward a little, pressing against the edge of the table as he watched the dancers and the musicians. Sometimes, in his travels, he had heard the notes of some distant piper through the trees. But he never thought to pause and listen to the whole of the tune; instead, he’d scurried away to put further distance between himself and the chance meeting with another. And dancing . . . he could not recall it; though, he knew that in his early days there must have been music and dancing.

Some unclear song hovered on the edges of his memory . . . but no images came to flesh it out.

He looked closely at the odd assortment of players. Halfling, Elf, Man. None seemed bent on being one up on the other. Sometimes one led, sometimes another. There was a certain grace to the way they bowed to one another, inviting each to take a turn. They were as much dancers with their instruments as were those who moved about on the floor in front of their little stage.

It was comforting, this music and movements that they made. He found it put him at ease, in a way. Mistress Bunce was enjoying it, he thought. Her foot was tapping lightly on the floor to the rhythms and she had a smile on her face as she watched the dancers.

‘You don’t have to stay here with me,’ he said in a low voice to her. ‘I’ll be happy to mind the teapot and the plate of tarts . . . if you want to dance, that is.’

[Esgallhugwen]

"My name is Esgallhugwen, my friends call me Eswen, it's much shorter you see and they don't run out of breath trying to pronounce it", she smiled down upon the young Hobbit Astilwen.

"Your name holds much beauty in it, Astilwen of the Shire, you are lucky to have parents with such cultured friends, many names of the Elves can suit the mirth of your kin, but many others like my own would have your poor tongues stumbling for days"

She laughed, not at Astilwen, but at her own foolishness, she cared to forget the hurtful things of her own life, but as soon as she left the Shire she would have to come back to reality. She looked for Uien and Falowik, they lay under the Hawthorn still.

Esgallhugwen wondered if she had awoken Falowik with her rioutous laughter. however fluid and lyrical it may have been. And all the while she had heard the singing from within, both happy and sad.

[Mithalwen]

Gilthalion

A horse and rider enter the yard. The horse's dark coat and the dark raiment of it's rider blend into the night. The rider slipped soundlessly from his mount and approached the grey horse standing there. To some the figure might have brought back evil memories of some years ago when the Black Riders had come searching for Baggins but this was no evil servant.

"Well met at last, Aeglos my friend, where is your mistress?" . The voice marked the horseman as one of the eldar. And he did not need an answer for he saw what he sought through the tavern's window. An elf maid in the corner hunched over some papers lit by a guttering candle. He smiled a brief smile and made for the door.

Mithalwen had nearly finished her missives - to Camille, Marigold, and even the hardest one to Uien and was debating whether to leave a note for Snaveling when she felt again the strange sensation that she had been ignoring all day. She had assumed it was merely an awareness that some of her kindred were travelling through the Shire - certainly there were several even here at the inn - and she had had no clear impression that one was trying to reach her mind. But she also knew she had closed her mind when she had caught the edge of Uien's private storm. So again she ignored it and concentrated on her script " I will be at Wood Hall soon enough" she thought. She had a clear hand and for the child recipients she had decorated her letters with drawings of flowers and animals. She had nearly finished a very lifelike sketch of Aeglos on the corner of Marigold's letter when a familiar voice spoke quietly at her shoulder: "How much longer will you let that poor beast wait while you draw his picture?" .

She could not mistake the voice but neither could she believe she was hearing it in waking life, "Gilthalion! What are you doing here? "

"Looking for you". He sat down opposite her and cast back his hood. Although his hair was raven and hers silver their features mirrored each other; they had the same aquiline nose and high cheekbones, though the maid's were finer drawn than the man's, and the same grey eyes stared at each other, one set with amazement the other with amusement.

"But you don't travel - surely the last time you left Imladris was Third Age 1975?" Mithalwen teased.. Gilthalion narrowed his eyes - it had taken about a minute for the childhood pattern of sibling behaviour to reestablish itself despite their childhood being an age of the world away.

"I do not travel often by choice that is true - but it is not so long... I went to Minas Tirith for the wedding of the Lady Arwen - and you do not seem to pleased to see your brother". He watched her carefully - even after so long the word Gondor had the same effect on her as Mordor had on him. She elided the reference but he knew something had closed up inside her at the mention.

"Of course - I am delighted - I was coming to see you, but to meet you here is so strange... there is much to explain it seems" she answered.

"Indeed but first a drink - and food if they are serving still... have you eaten?"

Mithalwen shook her head ruefully " I spent all my money trying to help people.."

" Oh Mithalwen - you too have explanations - but first we will eat and I will pay". Gilthalion rose and went to the kitchen to see if there was anything left but before he did so, his sister rose and embraced him. For although these twain had their differences and been even sundered for a time, Gilthalion and his family were the only close kin Mithalwen had in Middle Earth and the bond between them was strong.

[Tevildo]

Slinking out of the Common Room, Tevildo traced his path to the stairwell that led to the upstairs bedrooms. Daintily, he mounted the steps one by one, hiding in the shadows so that few paid him any heed. Once or twice, he directly encountered guests walking downstairs intent on joining the evening's festivities. The cat skillfully eluded the eager, extended hands of two children who came chasing after him, turning around to hiss at them, and then bounding up the the remaining steps two at a time. Finally, Tevildo came to the first landing and ran down the hall to its very end where there was a closed and locked door, only large enough for a hobbit to go through without bending over. Seemingly, the steps disappeared.

The Green Dragon Inn was the only building in Hobbiton or Bywater that could boast three floors and an attic. Although a number of hobbits now built their dwellings above ground, it was still uncommon for any structure to have stairs or an upper floor. On the rare occasions when a farmer wanted extra sleeping quarters for kin, he might build a straw loft and prop up a ladder for the children to scamper to bed. The Dragon, however, was different. It stood proud and tall, three stories high, situated on a hillside that commanded a sweeping view of the surrounding landscape. There had been times in the past when Innkeepers Piosenniel and Aman had made their way up to the very top floor and crawled into the attic just so they could get a fine view of things and a little breathing space of their own.

Tevildo knew none of these things as he ran down the hall and stood outside the small door putting up a terrible ruckus. He was frankly going on instinct. He wanted to look again at that fine carved table, which had been set outside at the wedding, and had somehow disappeared. A small voice inside his head whispered that the two-leggeds, being somewhat dense and not recognizing the value of the table, had stupidly moved the piece of furniture up the steps to store in the attic. Tevildo was intent on finding it again.

The top floor of the Inn was presently shut down. The number of guests staying on the lower floors did not warrant opening up extra rooms. When the Faire came later in the month that situation would change, and all the chambers would be filled to overflowing. For the moment, however, the only residents on the top floor were two serving hobbits who often forgot to lock their doors behind them. Tevildo heard light footsteps approaching, coming down the steps behind the locked door. The minute the door opened, he skittering underneath the young hobbit's legs as she deftly made her way into the hallway, anxious to run downstairs to help in the kitchen as she was supposed to do. The young lass did not even notice the small cat that slipped through the door unnoticed and bounded up the narrow steps.

[piosenniel]

‘Land sakes! Why thank you for excusing me. My feet are twitching to be up and dancing.’ Cook rose from her chair and giving a quick nod of her head and a smile to Lithmire, she hurried off to the little dance area that had been cleared in front of the small stage. For a moment, she almost turned back to ask him if he’d care to join her. Nay! Let him be, Vinca Bunce. He’s comfortable there as guardian of the teacups. Don’t prod him; he’ll bolt.

Reaching the dance floor, she lifted her skirts a bit and stepped lively to the jig the band was playing. Her knees flashed in the lamplight at times as she high-stepped. And a number of travelers from beyond Hobbiton, merchant men come to trade, looked on in approval. She did not encourage them, though she enjoyed the attention. It made her feel quite young and spry.

One poor fellow thought he might sidle in close to her, to join in. But she raised her brows and gave him a withering look. His fantasies deflated, he sat meekly back down and buried his embarrassment in a mug of ale.

[Huan]

‘Now who is that?’ asked Rowan, leaning in close to Gil as Cook kicked up her heels. His explanation was short and spoken with a sense of affection. ‘Why that’s Cook,’ he told her, as if the one word should be more than enough explanation.

‘Interesting!’ thought Rowan to herself. ‘I think I will have to make sure to meet her.’

Tolly came up to her, from where he’d been talking to the other musicians. ‘I think we’ve worked out the tune. It’s a new one to Gil’s fellows.’ He nodded at Gil. ‘But the tune’s simple enough, and if we play it once through, I think you’ll have it. The sung versus are without accompaniment, and there are just short, quick bars of the chorus tune done between.’

He and Gil stepped back to where Gil’s companions were standing and did a soft run through. Then they turned back to the crowd in the room and did a longer version of the verse and chorus without the singing.

It was Rowan who stepped to the front of the stage, with Emlin singing a bass harmony. Her voice rang out clear and strong in the crowded room.


When I first came to town,
They called me the roving jewel;
Now they've changed their tune,
They call me Katy Cruel,
Oh, diddle, lully day,
Oh, de little lioday.

Oh that I was where I would be,
Then I would be where I am not,
Here I am where I must be,
Go where I would, I can not,
Oh, diddle, lully day,
Oh, de little lioday.

When I first came to town,
They brought me the bottles plenty;
Now they've changed their tune,
They bring me the bottles empty,
Oh, diddle, lully day,
Oh, de little lioday.

Oh that I was where I would be,
Then I would be where I am not,
Here I am where I must be,
Go where I would, I can not,
Oh, diddle, lully day,
Oh, de little lioday.

I know who I love,
And I know who does love me;
I know where I'm going,
And I know whose going with me,
Oh, diddle, lully day,
Oh, de little lioday.

Oh that I was where I would be,
Then I would be where I am not,
Here I am where I must be,
Go where I would, I can not,
Oh, diddle, lully day,
Oh, de little lioday.

Through the woods I go,
And through the bogs and mire,
Straightway down the road,
And to my heart's desire,
Oh, diddle, lully day,
Oh, de little lioday.

Oh that I was where I would be,
Then I would be where I am not,
Here I am where I must be,
Go where I would, I can not,
Oh, diddle, lully day,
Oh, de little lioday.

Eyes as bright as coal,
Lips as bright as cherry,
and 'tis her delight
To make the young girls merry,
Oh, diddle, lully day,
Oh, de little lioday.

Oh that I was where I would be,
Then I would be where I am not,
Here I am where I must be,
Go where I would, I can not,
Oh, diddle, lully day,
Oh, de little lioday.

When I first came to town
They called me the roving jewel
Now they've changed their tune
They call me Katy Cruel
Oh, diddle, lully day,
Oh, de little lioday.

For the very last chorus all joined in. Their voices swelled strongly about the room, overpowering the the small clusters of conversation, then stopped abruptly leaving silence.

Oh that I was where I would be,
Then I would be where I am not,
Here I am where I must be,
Go where I would, I can not,
Oh, diddle, lully day,
Oh, de little lioday.

Rowan, her eyes bright and cheeks flushed from singing, smiled impishly at those in the room and took a small bow.

[Mithalwen]

Gilthalion

The elf paid little heed to the music as he made his way deftly through the crowded common room focused in his task and his mind full of his own thoughts - long years of working metal, had made him broader and more strongly built than usual for an elf but still he moved with the easy grace of his people and most of those he passed did not notice him. He noticed one of them though. An elf sitting in the shadows near the kitchen door.

The elf was horribly maimed but it was the expression in his eyes that struck a chord in Gilthalion's mind. For though it was too evident that the other's suffering had been greater, Gilthalion in his own lesser way had felt the horror of Mordor. He had gone to war with his father and brother but had returned alone, burdened with anger, bitterness and guilt. Unable to cope he had withdrawn from the family that had remained to him, finding peace only in the hard physical labour of the forge. It was Amilya who had saved him, whose light had been strong enough to cast out the shadows from his soul if not his memory. A light passed into his eyes as he thought of his beloved wife distant for a while in body but ever close in spirit. So when his gaze met Lithmire's briefly it was filled not with pity but recognition. He knew better than to intrude unasked but acknowledged the other with a brief but solemn nod and passed on to ask at the kitchen as fine a meal as could be mustered from what remained.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine’s eyes opened in wonderment at Larien’s tale. There were stories a-plenty of foundlings taken in by Elves, but he had never thought to meet with one such mortal in the flesh. And a Halfling at that! He had seen a great many wondrous peoples in his days, but this was certainly a rarity.

Standing, he bowed low. “Anyone who has had their rearing in Imladris bears with them the nobility of that land. I myself laid eyes upon the Lord Elrond but once before he left these shores, but I have many times gazed with love upon the beauty of Queen Arwen. In your own voice I hear the echoes of the piny woods that she often speaks of.” Sitting once more he began to speak of the Shire, about which – apparently – he knew more than this strange Hobbit. “I am myself but newly arrived to this realm, but my King has spoken of it often. The bonds of friendship between the Lord Eomer and Meriadoc Brandybuck are deep and abiding. Indeed, it is for the sake of that friendship that I am here, for King Eomer has sent me into this land to learn its songs so that I might amuse the lords of Rohan with them after the day’s work is done.”

Ginger smiled at Hearpwine quite prettily asking if he had learned any songs of the Shire yet. Hearpwine’s smile grew even wider and his voice boomed out happily. “All those that have been sung this night are engraved upon my heart, and there is another, truly unique song, that has this day been composed by the children of the Shire, which I will bring forth soon…but it requires still some meditation.”

“Do they sing the songs of the Shire away in the South, then?” Larien inquired.

“That we do, but only those few which were taught to us by the Great Hearts of the Shire at the end of the War. They are not much like the songs of the Rohirrim, but they are lovely nonetheless:

“The violet and the primrose too
Beneath a sheltering thorny bough
In bright and lively colours blow
And cast sweet fragrance round.
Where beds of thyme in clusters lay
The heath rose opens its eyes in May
And cowslips, too, their sweets display
Upon the heathy ground.

“Here shepherds meet at close of day
To chant their merry roundelay
And chase unhappy thought away
No discord here is found.
Harmonious notes make mountains ring
When minstrels strike the trembling string
And merry shepherds dance and sing
Upon the heathy ground.”

He sang unaccompanied by his harp, but the bard’s rich voice was a strong baritone and it did the simple tune ample justice. It was a familiar song to many there and some of the Halflings who heard it looked up in surprise that it was being sung – so loudly – by this tall Man. At its conclusion, the bard threw back his head and laughed infectiously. “It has always been a great favourite of mine! It was first brought to the Golden Hall by Peregrin Took, son of Paladin, when he sang it at the coronation of King Eomer!”

“You seem to know much of the Shire, Lord Hearpwine,” Larien said.

“Nay nay, call me not ‘Lord’! I am the son of a small house in the far west of Rohan, and heir to little more than a small green valley, which – beautiful as it may be – houses only a few dozen farmsteads. Whatever glory I may claim comes from my role as Bard to the King. If you must use a title, use that – but I would be much happier if you were simply to call me your new friend, Hearpwine!”

[brim]

Avoiding the eyes of others brim entered the inn. She did not want to bother anyone with her blind eyes. The journey had been long and tough from Eryn Lasgalen she had come in hope of finding someone to train her better in the art of seeing without eyes. Her blonde hair cropped to about her waist flowing behind her. She lightly traced her feet as she walked. She attempted futilely to brush mud from her white robes. She cursed her choice as she took a seat in a darker corner of the inn.

Brim unfolded a miniature book with strange bumps for letters her mother had gotten her from her robes and began to read it. Her grey eyes like deep pools of silver flicking up ever so often as if watching all that was going on before her.

[Larien Telemnar]

Larien listened, fascinated with the Bard's voice. It was as if Ulmo himself had blessed this man with the sound of the sea, the words flowing over his tongue and gracing the ears of all who would hear.

She blushed as he complimented her on her voice, once again rubbing the hem of her cloak. When he sang his song, one the Shire-folk knew well, she found herself smiling and humming the tune.

She was taken aback when he told her not to call him 'Lord', but rather 'friend'.

'I would be honored to call you friend, Hearpwine.' Standing, she curtseyed. As she drew herself up again, she noticed another enter the tavern.

The other seemed to float, as if carried by the very air she breathed. Her flowing blonde hair streamed around her as she gracefully strod to the back of the room. Larien noticed her try to brush some mud from her robes as she sat down. After a moment, she brought out a small book.

Larien knew it would not be polite to interupt the lady, as she seemed to want her privacy, yet she couldn't help herself. This other lady reminded Larien of her Grandmother Galadriel, who had traveled across the sea. She missed her so much, and wished to meet this golden lady. She smiled at Hearpwine, excused herself for a moment, and slowly made her way to where the other sat. She stood there a moment, then cleared her throat.

'Excuse me, M'Lady, but I could not help but notice when you walked in. I am Larien, may I sit with you. For a while, anyway.'

Larien you fool. What could such a small and insignificant one such as yourself offer one so truely graceful and stately as her? Mentally, she sighed to herself. Long have I wished to be a true Elf. Now I wish to be truely a Hobbit, yet I belong in neither world. Why am I hear, bothering this lady?

Without knowing it, she started to back away, hoping, by some chance, the lady had not heard her.

[piosenniel]

Cook took a few more turns round the floor, then as the song ended she walked back over to the table where Lithmire sat and plopped herself down in a chair. ‘Goodness, that was fun!’

She noticed he was looking a little uncomfortable and asked if perhaps he would like to go back to the kitchen. She was going to set out the supplies for making bread for the next morning.

‘I hate to be a wet blanket on our pleasant evening,’ she said to him. ‘But I have to get up quite early, and so must be off to bed.’

[Envinyatar]

‘We should go, Derufin.’ Zimzi stifled a yawn and pulled her shawl up more securely round her shoulders. ‘We told my brothers we would meet them just southwest of Greenholm. And I still have a little packing to do.’

Derufin fetched her cloak from the pegs by the front door to the Inn and said their good-byes to friends about the room. He settled her cape on her shoulders and shrugged his own on.

Bending down to pat Cullen on the head, Derufin gave the hound a scratch between the ears and the last bit of a tart Zimzi had left on her plate. ‘I hope we’ll see you when we get back,’ he said to Benat. ‘You are staying for the Faire, aren’t you?’

[Lasbelinion]

Lithmîrë followed along behind Cook, holding the door open for her as she trundled along with the tray holding the teapot and the now empty plate of cookies. He left her to her measuring bowls and stirring spoons and flour and leavenings saying that he thought he might go off to his own rest now and then tomorrow be off to see that old Hobbit woman about laying in a stock of medicinal herbs.

He waited while Cook went to her room to fetch a stack of squares of material to bring to the old granny. And nodded as she instructed him on what purposes he was to tell the older lady the material was for. Quickly, too, Cook wrapped up a number of jam tarts in a clean linen napkin and told him to take them along with him.

With a nod to her, he left through the back kitchen door and disappeared into the night.

[Arry]

After a few more songs, Gil and his friends invited the traveling musicians to sit down and have a drink with them. The rather large group pushed three of the tables together and rounded up enough chairs for themselves.

Buttercup came round and brought them all mugs and several pitchers of cold cider. She was also persuaded by a pleading smile from Gil to fetch a basket of bread and a plate of ham and cheese. Playing music and singing was thirsty work. And being Hobbits, there was always room for a little something to fill in the empty corners.

[Folwren]

“No, it wouldn’t be right! An inn’s not for kids like us. We can’t go in there.”

“Look, Wren, we don’t have much choice. You’re always worrying about being proper, but I say that tonight, it doesn’t matter. Besides, the folks’ll be nice. Chances are we won’t even be noticed and we can sneak away to a corner by the fire. It’s going to get too cold tonight to sleep out again.”

Wren clutched her shawl closer about her shoulders and shivered as she looked up at the sky. She didn’t like the idea of going into an inn at night. But perhaps he was right. She always was shy of people, big or little, and right now, she should forget about being shy. Still...

He extended his hand to the latch again and she caught his wrist.

“Please, Tim, not tonight.” He merely shook his head, opened the door, and walked in, pulling her gently in after him.

“Just don’t say anything,” he muttered in her ear. “I’m tall enough to pass off as a grown hobbit, and if you keep your mouth shut, they might think you’re older than you are, too.”

Wren didn’t answer, but her heart sank. So much for coming in unnoticed. There weren’t as many people in the room as they had hoped, and there was no singing or dancing. It might have just ended. A large group sat almost directly in front of them a few turned their heads as they entered.

Tim halted sharply just inside the door to avoid colliding with two people leaving. He stepped aside quickly and pulled Wren over with him, muttering an apology. Then, as quickly as he could, he led his little sister towards the fire.

[Arry]

Hanson tries to strike up a conversation with Wren and Tim

Hanson had his fill of cider. The grown-ups were talking and he had grown tired of listening to them. His little five year old mind was drifting away from the conversations at the table and toward finding something fun to do. His gaze flicked to his older brother, Woody, who at the age of eleven was trying desperately to be thought of as more grown up than he was.

Woody was following his Uncle Gil’s lead and he laughed when Gil did and every so often threw in a comment when he could. He was rewarded for this by smiles from Rowan and claps on the back from her brother.

Hanson took the opportunity to slip off his chair while everyone was talking about something the Elf had done and walk quietly away from the table. He waved to those he knew in the common room as he passed and made his way to the fireplace. He liked to sit on the raised hearth and swing his legs with the heat from the fire keeping his back toasty.

A girl and a boy, bigger than she was, were also making their way toward the fire. Hanson climbed up on the hearth and looked about the room. Their Ma and Da must be outside taking care of their cart and pony. He wondered where they came from. They weren’t Elves – they didn’t look like his friend Neviel. And they certainly weren’t Hobbits. They must be Big Folk . . . like Derufin and Zimzi. But not all grown up like them.

He looked at them curiously for a moment, then hopped down from the hearth to the floor. Never one to be shy, Hanson walked up to where they were sitting by the fire.

‘Hello!’ he said, smiling at the both of them. ‘My name is Hanson. Hanson Boffin. What’s yours?’ He sidled onto one of the empty chairs as he waitied for their answer.

[Sauron The Great]

Halsmir Longleaf came from Eryn Lasgalen, the former Forests of Mirkwood and had travelled across many lands , and now that the threat of Sauron was destroyed he could travel across countries that he had only dreamed of and at last after many months of travelling he had come to the distant land of Shire.

He was surprised to see the little Shire-folk , such people he had not seen in any of his travels,short but courteous in speech only in tales had he heard of such people and now he was glad to meet them.

And now as evening came up behind he stood at the door of an Inn called "The Green Dragon" with his white horse Halrod. As he looked for someone a stableboy came up to him and asked in a funny tone " Please go inside Master , have some food while stable your fine horse , Ah! how white he is " and then he hurried off with his horse before Halsmir could ask him anything.

But nonetheless taking th boy's advise he went inside .

And inside he pleasently surprised not to see only hobbits but also men,dwarfs and elves, whatever maybe he had not expected to see elves in an local Inn.
He went and sat the bar all by himself as he had no one to talk with , but within a few minutes a hobbit girl came up to him and asked " Are you new to this place forI have not seen you before ? "

And Hasmir replied " Yes my Lady , it's my first visit to your little country and I am very pleased to see you folk living in such blessedness ." and then he bowed.

The girl blushed a little and the replied " Ah so very nice of you , but I am forgetting my manners , what would you wish to have , you look hungry "

And Hasmir said " Ah a ale of beer and some soup would go down preety well , and now I am forgetting my manners I forgot to ask What would be your kind name?, I am called Hasmir Longleaf from the distant realm of Eryn Lasgalen."

The girl said " My name is Buttercup , and now I will go and get you your order , please make yourself at home . "

As Buttercup hurried off to get his order , he looked around the placed and thought " A nice little Inn these Shire people have , very pleasent I wonder what kind of people come here ...... " .

[Kath]

"My name is Esgallhugwen, my friends call me Eswen, it's much shorter you see and they don't run out of breath trying to pronounce it." she said.

Astilwen blushed and smiled as the Elf complimented her on her name and grinned along with Eswen as she laughed, though not sure as to the reason for her mirth it was such a joyous sound that she could not help but join in.

Suddenly Eswen's face closed off again as she looked towards the couple that Astilwen had earlier avoided so that she did not disturb them. It seemed as though the Elf was worried that she had herself disturbed them but Astilwen thought that the music coming from inside was much louder than Eswen's laughter had been and was more likely to bother them than the pretty laughter of the Elf.

Still, she wondered why Eswen was so concerned about them, maybe she knew them? She didn't realise that she had asked this out loud until the Elf replied in the affirmative.

[Folwren]

The two children reached the fireside and Tim sat Wren gently down on a chair by the corner of the hearth, near the bright, leaping flame. He took his place beside her and lifted his legs to clasp his arms about his knees and take in the scene about him and actually get his bearings.

His eyes scanned the dark, fire and lamp lit room, noticed a newcomer enter, and a couple half hidden figures in remote corners of the place, and then his eyes fell on a small hobbit lad walking towards them. He moved his head and looked directly at the little fellow, who was also looking straight at him and his sister with dark, bright eyes.

“Hello!” the lad said, stopping before them and addressing them both with his greeting and a huge smile. “My name is Hanson. Hanson Boffin. What’s yours?” And then, without bothering for an invitation, he took advantage of an empty seat beside Tim, and made himself comfortable while waiting for their answer.

Tim couldn’t help but smile at the warm, unabashed welcome.

“I’m Tim Woodlock, and this is my little sister, Wren.” He motioned towards and turned to look at her. She was sitting stiffly in her chair with a look that made it appear that she was puzzled, but also with another that Tim knew well and that meant she was uncomfortable. “She’s really shy,” he added turning back to Hanson. “I guess you are here with somebody?”

[Arry]

‘He’s here with me and our Uncle Gil,’ said Woody, coming up beside Hanson and laying his hand on his brother’s shoulder. Woody pointed over to where Gil and his band were sitting with the troupe of traveling players. Someone had just told a joke at the table and all were laughing.

‘This is Tim,’ offered Hanson, shrugging off his brother’s hand. ‘And that’s his sister, Wren.’

The sound of music starting up came from the large table, and Hanson glanced over to see what was happening. Gil had picked up his concertina from beneath his chair and was letting the air stream into its bellows, playing a few soft notes as he did so.

‘What about this one?’ they heard him say, as he struck up a tune and began to sing.

The water is wide, I cannot get o'er
And neither have I wings to fly.
O go and get me some little boat,
To carry o'er my true love and I.

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

‘Ah we know that one,’ laughed Rowan, setting her pipe to her lips and nodding at the Elf, Emlin, to go ahead and sing.

I put my hand into one soft bush,
Thinking the sweetest flow'r to find.
I prick'd my finger to the bone
And left the sweetest flow'r alone.

I lean'd my back up against some oak,
Thinking it was a trusty tree.
But first she bended then she broke,
So did my love prove false to me.

Rowan sang, then, her clear, sweet voice sailing above the small crowd sitting near them.

Where love is planted, O there it grows,
It buds and blossoms like some rose;
It has a sweet and pleasant smell,
No flow'r on earth can it excel.

Must I be bound, O and he go free!
Must I love one thing that does not love me!
Why should I act such a childish part,
And love a lad that will break my heart.

Gil and Emlin finished the song, their voices twining in harmony.

There is a ship sailing on the sea,
She's loaded deep as deep can be,
But not so deep as in love I am;
I care not if I sink or swim.

O love is handsome and love is fine,
And love is charming when it is true;
As it grows older it groweth colder
And fades away like the morning dew.

There was a scattering of applause when the song was finished and the group at the table fell back to talking and to laughter.

‘Another love song!’ snorted Hanson, giving his little five year old opinion on the choice of subjects. ‘Say, I’m kind of hungry. Are you?’ He hopped down from his chair, and motioned for the other three to follow him. ‘I’ll bet Buttercup will give us a little basket of sandwiches and cookies if we ask her nice. Would you like to see the kittens that got born a few days ago? They’re in the barn, in a nice little hay nest.’ He smiled hopefully at Woody, Tim, and Wren. ‘We could eat out there and pet the kittens. I’ll show you the grey one with the pink nose that I like.’

[Fairleaf]

Fairleaf watched as the Elf left the Inn and walked across the dirt yard toward the stable. She thought he might go in, that perhaps he was sleeping in the loft. But he passed on by the double doors and was lost in the darkness on the far side of the building.

She longed to see where he was going. The man near her feet was asleep. The Elf’s attention was engaged elsewhere. Drawing her rooty toes up from the soft ground, Fairleaf inched back ward, away from the Elf and Man. Into the dark shadows of a small coppice of trees near the stable.

Moving carefully, she brushed her limbs and leaves along those of the trees and shrubs, greeting them as she passed.

[Alcarillo]

A new figure stepped into the Green Dragon, a tall, fair elf, wrapped in a deep grey hooded cloak. He was not quite as tall as other elves, but was tall nonetheless. His name was Alcarillo Nession, and he had ridden for many miles from Harlindon.

He had come to see the world, and had passed this way to see the land of the Halflings. After giving his chestnut horse to a stable-hand, he stepped into the warm glow of the inn. There were a surprising amount of elves, he thought. There was one reading a book, and another sitting at the bar. As Alcarillo stepped forward he hoped he didn't stand out too much. He was wearing armor underneath his cloak, and he hoped that the chain-mail would silence. But eyes were elsewhere as far as he could tell; towards a group of musicians who had stolen most chairs, and there were some children standing near the fireplace, which turned the walls a lovely creamy color.

Alcarillo sat in a corner at a table to himself, eyeing the other occupants of the inn, especially the elves. Perhaps there were more elves traveling the roads in these safer times? Whatever the reasons everybody was here, he settled down, took a small, red, leather-bound book from his cloak and began to read a tale from his childhood, one of the tales he heard from his mother about Numenor and that he had written down in his old notebook, and he began muse about where to travel to in the morning.

[Annalaliath]

Having spent many days pondering and thinking and not really interacting with anyone at all in the inn Anna looked up to the door to find new patrons had flooded in. She sat in her corner watching these newcomers with interest as she drank her mead.

Munching on the good Halfling cooking that she had placed before her she watched the people stream through the early evening. Sometimes she almost forgot that she wasn't one of them but an elf wondering the land.

Anna sighed thinking on past events, her father, her mother, and basically everything that lead her being here, was it fate? She shook her head.

Taking a pull at her sweet honey mead she stared off into space. Wishing for this wonderful moment in the world of the Halflings to never end.

[Amanaduial the archer]

As the tune finished to the sound of applause, Aman gave her hands to the clapping also, then continued her rounds about the Common Room, whistling the remainder of the tune jauntily to herself. The night had put her in high spirits, the same as the rest of the Inn's denizens, for it had been surprisingly succesful: usually when such crowds gathered in the Inn for such a night of songs and when the ale flowed quite so freely, a sharp eye was required of Aman and her staff for any trouble or rowdiness. But tonight, nothing of the like had raised its head, and although the wind had picked up outside, blowing a chill breeze through the Common Room door whenever it opened, inside there was no sign of any such chill atmosphere inside the Green Dragon.

The door opened and as Aman chanced to look up she saw two newcomers scurry in looking windswept and rather harried. The boy, evidently the older of the two, hustled a younger girl along in front of him, and although he looked calm enough, his tight lips and anxious, flitting eyes told Aman that this lad was anything from calm. Hungry eyes as well… Aman narrowed her own eyes, looking around at those who may have been eligible relations for these two newcomers, but all the Big Folk, it seemed, had already been here for some time and many were already known by Aman. And small though the children were, they were certainly no hobbits. The Innkeeper raised an eyebrow and made a note to herself to keep an eye on that pair – the night was drawing on already, and the dark was no place for children.

Heading towards them, she accidentally nudged the elbow of a customer seated nearby. The woman gave a stifled, surprised cry and Aman turned quickly, surprised at such a reaction – after all, all she had done was jolt the woman’s arm a little. But apparently the woman had been so deep in her book that she had not noticed the Innkeeper’s approach – she much have been more startled than Aman had bargained for. Yet now that her book had fallen to the floor, the woman did not move to get it, and when the Innkeeper turned towards her, she remained unmoving, her eyes fixed pointedly on the wall, a sheet of long golden hair covering her face. Murmuring effusive apologies, the Innkeeper set down the glasses she had been carrying on a nearby table and knelt down to retrieve the book. But as she picked it up, she noticed something odd: the cover was entirely blank, totally unmarked apart from a few dusty smears now across the cover. Hastily brushing these away, Aman glanced up at the book’s owner to see that her face was still turned away and, curious, she turned the book over, frowning when she saw that the back was also unmarked. But on the spine…Aman’s frown deepened as she looked closer at the book’s spine, for dotted onto it, apparently randomly, were a series of dots and indents, a neat yet indecipherable code. But although she did not understand it, it was a code that was vaguely familiar to Aman, from a customer many months ago who had also had a series of books that bore these indentures…

She felt a hand brush her shoulder and turned as she woman drew away: she had not realised Aman was still there and so had bent to get her book. Apparently embarrassed, the woman looked away again, but this time Aman saw her face more clearly and her suspicion sparked by the unmarked book was confirmed by her pale, silvery eyes: the woman was blind. Straightening up, Aman wiped the book once more with her sleeve and then handed it back to the woman. “I do apologise, ma’am, I didn’t…sorry, I was a little distracted,” Aman amended her sentence just in time. She added, “You are new to this Inn, are you not? Can I get you anything?”

[Folwren]

Tim and Wren’s eyes left Gil and the group of musicians half reluctantly and they looked back at Hanson. Wren’s eyes lit up at the mention of the kittens in the barn and she immediately cast a hopeful glance towards Tim. Her brother smiled gently at her and answered Hanson for her.

“Wren would very much like to see the kittens. She loves baby animals.”

A slightly troubled shadow crossed his face as he made his reply, however, and he made no mention of the food Hanson had spoken of. He had no money to pay for anything, and perhaps it was his pride that kept him from saying so. He stood up and pushed the thought from his mind as his face became clear again. He was eye to eye with the older hobbit that had just come up and he stuck out his hand in greeting.

“Tim Woodlock,” he said. “You are Hanson’s older brother, I assume, but I don’t know your name.”

“I’m Woody,” he answered, shaking hands. “Nice to meet you.”

“Your uncle is very good,” Tim went on, glancing past Woody to the musicians. “I liked that song, though it was kind of sad.” Wren got up and stepped to his side, giving him a look of silent appeal to go out and visit the kittens. “Lead is out to your kittens, Hanson,” Tim said, turning again to the younger hobbit, “in their nice nest of hay. Wren's impatient to see them.”

[Larien Telemnar]

Larien had crept to the side of the room when another song started. After the singers were finishes, she headed back to her table with Ginger and Hearpwine.

She smiled vaguely as she sat down, sneaking a glance in the direction of the newcomer she had tried to welcome.

'So, Hearpwine, has your stay in the Shire been stisfactory?' She asked.

[piosenniel]

Cook and Hanson

Cook was humming along with the music from the common room. Gil and his boys were in good form, though she noted a number of the songs had to do with love, finding love, true love and such. Not the usual songs of drinking and good times she was used to hearing from them at the Inn. ‘I should just see what’s got young master Gil in such a mood,’ she thought to herself. ‘Not like him to be going on so.’

She gave the four big bowls of bread dough a punch down and covered each with a clean towel. One by one she carried them to the cool part of the pantry to rise slowly overnight.

The door to the kitchen banged open just as she was washing up from the bread making. Little Hanson strode in, grinning from ear to ear, a twinkle in his eye. The little scamp wanted something! And there with him was his brother Woody, looking rather exasperated. Behind him stood two of the Big Folk children, skinny little things by her reckoning. Why the young girl looked like she’d blow away in a soft breeze!

She put on her sternest face and drawing her short frame up as tall as she might, she looked down at Hanson. ‘Yes, young Master Boffin? And what are you wanting this time?’ Try as she might, she could not keep the glint of amusement from her eyes, nor the twitch of a barely suppressed laugh from the corner of her lips.

[Arry]

Hanson and Cook . . .

Hanson was not above batting his eyes at Cook. He found it often worked on his Gammer, though not on his Ma, much to his dismay. He put on his serious face after, mirroring hers, and took a deep breath. ‘We’re going to see the new kittens in the barn,’ he said. ‘And of course, we’ll be very careful with them,’ he piped up, forestalling a word of caution from her. ‘Master Meri showed me just how to touch them. And we won’t bother the Mama Kitty.’ He shook his head solemnly to emphasize his words.

He looked about the kitchen hopefully, his eyes lighting on the cookie jar up on the counter, and at the plate of ham and cheese sandwiches on thick slices of bread near it. He could see the golden crust of a few of the sandwiches peeking out from under a napkin laid over them. His stomach grumbled loudly at the thought of setting his teeth into one of them, followed by a fat cookie . . . or two. He knew better than to ask outright for the sandwiches and cookies. Cook would more than likely call him cheeky and send him and the others scurrying off.

Cook was glancing at his two new friends standing behind Woody. ‘Say, you haven’t met my new friends, have you? This is Tim Woodlock and his sister, Wren. They want to see the kittens, too.’

[Seth Cotton]

Seth walked along side the road. His feet were aching, as well as his head, and he was starving. The cold breeze was the worst on top of all and the old, green coat he was wearing didn't offer much protection against it. He gazed up at the stars. He had always been really fascinated by their beauty and the peaceful light they offered to a wanderer on a lonesome road. He sighed and sat down for a moment and looked down at his feet. He grunted as he massaged them slowly. It had been a long walk, at least for him, seeing as he, nor his poor feet, was used to these kind of walks.

After his short pause he rose and started walking again. Now a bit faster after recovering some strength and spirit to keep on. He thought about the warm tea, the scent of soup with delicious spices and some bread. Soon he heard a dull murmur, and not too far away, he could even see lights from the houses.

This must be The Green Dragon Inn, he thought for himself and walked faster, totally forgetting about his ache. Driven only by his hunger and longing for warmth.

He got closer and could see the guests inside the Common Room; drinking tea, chatting. Yet he saw a few that were dropping off, saying good night to each other and leaving for their respective rooms. He entered and felt the pleasant heat just pour over him. Seth was rather tired and decided to get a room right away so he could go straight to bed after having a meal. He was a very practical hobbit, always planning what to and how to do it. Simply to be sure that it was to be done right, the way he wanted. This might make it sound as if he was a little egocentric, but in fact he wasn't at all.

He went over to the counter and cleared his throat a little. 'Eh, ahem... Hello?' He started, a little bit modest.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Seeing the newcomer humming and hawing, Aman excused herself from Brim and returned to the bar. "Good evening, sir, how may I help you?"

The hobbit jumped slightly as Aman greeted him from behind, and turned around, smiling a little bashfully. The Innkeeper gave him a wide smile, making her way towards where he stood, weaving between tables with her hands full of glasses. As she did so, she spied a convoy of children scurrying out of the door with a certain air of purpose - both endearing and slightly worrying to the eye that knew of the mischief that children can get themselves into. Dispelling it from her mind, the young Innkeeper turned back to the task in hand. Gesturing for the potential new customer to hang on for a moment, she opened the hinged wooden flap to the bar with her elbow - a rare skill possessed of those who often find themselves with hands entirely full of glasses - and ducked into it, setting them down. Turning back to the hobbit, her hands now free and ready to get to business, she sighed and smiled again. "Sorry - can I help you, sir?"

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine smiled broadly at Larien's question. "It has indeed! Not only have I learned a number of pleasing tunes -- and even helped in the writing of a new one -- but I have made the acquaintance of a number of new folk. This is indeed a remarkable place for the variety of peoples who come here. There's only one other Inn I've been to like it, but that was many years ago away in my home land of Rohan..."

A quiet voice from behind made Hearpwine turn in surprise. "You speak, no doubt, of the White Horse," the voice was saying. The occupants of the table and saw emerging from the shadows of outside the tall form of Snaveling.

"Aye, that I do my friend. Do you know the place?"

"I have been there," he replied quietly. "But that was many years ago, and in a different life."

Hearpwine bid Snaveling sit and then, clapping his hand to his forehead, cried out, "My old Master would have my hide for not introducing you right away to my new friends. Ginger and Larien, this is my dear companion...I'm not sure which name to use when introducing him, is it Snaveling or Tar-Corondir, for I have heard you called both?"

The dark man put out his hand to Larien, saying easily, "My name in the Shire is Snaveling, for all that it's not so fair as how I am called elsewhere. Ginger I know well," and he avoided her eye as he said this, for her look was not the most kind, "but I am pleased to make your acquaintance Mistress Larien. I must say, that if my name is odd, yours is equally out of place -- if I might be so bold. Larien is not a Halfling name."

Before she could answer Hearpwine burst out, "It is a name that she was given by the Lord Elrond himself in Imladris where the Lady Larian Telemnar was raised as foster child by the Elves! She was the close companion and friend of the Lady Arwen and knows much of Elvish magic and lore. She has returned to her homeland to seek her fortune!" Snaveling, who was quickly becmong accustomed to Hearpwine's enthusiasm, knew better than to take this recitation at face value. The Bard, he knew would rather lose his voice than to use it for a lie, but exagerations were common with the Man of Rohan. Snaveling turned to Larien, "I myself have just come from my new home in the south, where I spent time in the court of the King and Queen. If you were fostered in Imladris and the handmaiden to Arwen, perhaps you knew the Lord Elessar as well?'

[Seth Cotton]

Seth stood baffled, seeing how skillful the Innkeeper was as she made her way over to him by the counter. Seth stood on his toes, having both his arms up on the counter. He thought that it might appear rude to her seeing as he was leaning so arrogantly over the counter, but frankly his feet hurted so much he just had to ease the pain a little by leaning onto something.

'Can I help you, Sir?' she said again and got up to him, stroking her hair back a little with a finger.

'Ah, yes!' Seth said, now sounding more confident as he felt a sort of warm and welcoming aura . . . Or what it was, he could not explain to himself. He continued 'A room for the night, please.'

He gazed up at her again, she nodded back at him. He grinned a little, leaning back from the counter a little as he saw how she looked at him. He could not tell if she thought he was rude or if she founded it funny, but he chuckled a little and tried to ease the situation a little.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman wrinkled her nose, grinning at the hobbit as he chuckled somewhat nervously. A curious little fellow indeed… The hobbit appeared to be somewhat ill at ease, shifting backwards and forwards on his toes, twiddling his thumbs and fiddling anxiously with his hair, but he didn’t seem at all objectionable. Indeed, the Innkeeper was immediately intrigued by the newcomer – he was a hobbit, yet appeared tired, as if having travelled from afar, which is unusual to say the least for any of the Little Folk. The hobbit smiled bashfully then looked away, his eyes darting around the Common Room – goodness, he was a rather jumpy little fellow. Aman found herself smiling again before answering.

“A room? Of course, sir…” the woman rummaged about a little before producing the Green Dragon log book. Fishing a pen out of an apron pocket, she slid both items across the table towards the hobbit. “If you could put your name here and sign here, please? And may I ask how many nights you wish to stay for Mr…” Aman left the end of the sentence open for the hobbit to easily enter his name.

[littlemanpoet]

She watched the Fellowship paddle down the Anduin in the elven boats they had given them, and listened to the song the Lady Galadriel sang. It was then that the sea-longing had come over her, and she knew that she must pass over sea.

Uien passed out of dream and looked down at Falowik, whose head rested on her lap in the small bower not far from the Green Dragon Inn's kitchen door. She would not be passing over sea after all. She had tied her fate to this Man, her Laurëatan; golden man.

She looked up. The hawthorn tree no longer stood before her. Uien smiled a private smile. Blessings, fair one. May your leaves ever find the sun and your roots the good drink of Ulmo; and may your gardens bloom bright always.

She bent down and kissed Falowik's brow. "Wake up, my love. 'Tis time to go."

He stirred and frowned. "Go? It is still night."

"Then let us walk in the night."

"What of Kírsul?"

"Let him walk with us."

Falowik sat up and stretched, then looked around. "This place looks a little different than it did before," he mumbled.

"The starlight is different." ...because a tree that stood here no longer casts its kindly shadow here.

Falowik rose to his feet. "Let me get my feet properly under me, then we can be off."

"While you are busy with your balance I will go to Kírsul," Uien replied.

"Very well. What of Eswen?"

Uien stopped and turned. "She shall know of our parting, and will follow us if she chooses, or follow her own road. She shall know that we go to Annúminas." Falowik nodded and shrugged, bemused as always by the ways of Elves, sure that what she said would be so.

Not long after, their fares having been paid already for board and stabling, they passed out of the village of Bywater, following the Great Road until they had passed the last outlying house, then off into the countryside to north and east. The sun was still a long way from dawn's rising, and they expected to be far away by then, with only the stars for companions.

[Alcarillo]

Alcarillo closed his small book, setting it on the table. He wondered where to travel to in the morning, or even if he would stay at this inn or not, perhaps instead riding through the night. His mind thought of Rivendell, where he could visit some of his kin, or he could turn south-east, and see the majestic ruins of Ost-in-Edhil and Khazad-Dûm. Perhaps he should strike up a conversation with another guest, find out their plans for travel, and maybe even find a companion for the road?

But at the moment Alcarillo realized his hunger, and so gazed across the room, looking for the server. Where was she? He could've sure used some nice wine at that time, with some fresh bread alongside. Alcarillo took off his hood, letting long, dark golden locks fall about his shoulders. He spotted the server, a halfling maiden, and made eye contact and a sort of nodding gesture. He thought she had noticed.

[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]

TIME HAS CHANGED -- SEE NOTE BELOW IN BOLD

It is now late night in the Shire. The stars are peering out from veils of wispy clouds. The breeze has picked up and is chilly.

It is a New Moon in late Spring.

Supper is done. Though those stragglers who wander in can still get drinks and some bread and cheese.

There are a small number of customers still in the Common Room -- drinking ale, wine, cider, tea; smoking their pipes, and enjoying the last of the music. As they finish their pipes they are say goodnight and heading for home or for their rooms.

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IT IS NOW EARLY MORNING IN THE INN.

Early risers are up and in the Common Room. The first of the breakfasts is being cooked and served. Various travelers have stopped at the Inn for a meal before going about their day's business.

~*~ Pio

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger awaits Alcarillo's order . . .

Ginger excused herself from the table where Larien and Master Hearpwine sat. Another had come to join their company and she could see from Buttercup’s tired face that help was needed with the last of the serving and cleaning up.

She rushed into the kitchen and put on her apron, just in time to see Cook sending four children out the back door with what looked like a picnic basket. Ginger picked up a small tray from the counter, intending to help bring in the dirtied mugs and plates from the common room.

Buttercup nodded gratefully at her as she went through the door. Ginger paused for a moment deciding where she might begin. She picked up a clean wet rag from the bar counter, intending to clean the tables as she went. She was just starting off toward some empty places in the far corner of the room, when one of the Fair Folk glanced her way.

‘Ah! He’ll be wanting something,’ she said to herself and laid her tray and rag on an empty table. Though the room was warm, the tall fair Elf still wore his grey cloak. The hood was thrown back and his dark golden hair glinted in the lamplight. Beneath the cloak, as he shifted she could see the gleam of metal.

He had put the red book he was looking through down on the table. As she neared him she put on her best smile and nodded as she stopped before him. ‘I’m Ginger, sir,’ she said. ‘One of the servers here at The Dragon. Would you like something to drink? And if you’re hungry I think I can still bring you a basket of bread and a plate of good Shire cheese. And Cook’s good mustard to go with it.’

She waited as he gave thought to her offer.

[piosenniel]

Cook sends Hanson, Woody, Tim, and Wren off with a basket of food . . .

Cook looked kindly at Tim and his sister, Wren. ‘Since it’s so late, I’m thinking you two will be wanting to spend the night here.’ She pursed her lips for a moment, thinking. ‘I don’t think we have any rooms left open. But, there’s nice clean hay up in the stable loft, and plenty of clean quilts in the storeroom that we use on cold nights for the horses. Why don’t you and your sister spend the night there?’

She was wrapping a number of buttered rolls in a clean napkin as she spoke and putting them into a small basket with a lid she’d got down from a shelf. A wedge of cheese came next with a small wooden plank to cut it on, and a sharp knife. ‘Now Tim, or Woody, you two take charge of using the knife. Don’t let the younger ones cut themselves with it,’ she said firmly. Another clean napkin filled with fat currant and nut cookies was soon done up, and a small flask of cider with four tin cups was put into the basket, too.

‘Hanson and Woody, don’t you take too long out there with the kittens. The music sounds like it’s winding down and your Uncle Gil will be wanting to take you home.’ She handed the heavy basket to Tim. ‘There’s a pump between the kitchen door and the stable. You can use it if you want to wash up. Be careful on the ladder to the loft. It’s sturdy enough though . . . just tall.’

Cook wiped her hands on her apron and opened the door for the quartet. ‘Say, if you’re up early tomorrow morning, Master Woodlock, perhaps you and your sister can gather the eggs in the henhouse for me. Use this basket, just put a little hay in it to cushion the eggs. I’ll pay you for it with a big breakfast, if you will.’ She waved as they passed through the circlet of light from the kitchen door.

‘Poor wee ones!’ she muttered to herself as she straightened up the kitchen a bit. ‘Wonder what they’re doing out by themselves?’

[Folwren]

Tim and Wren stared up with wonder as Cook began packing food into the basket. They were speechless as she offered them a place to sleep and gave them food...more food than they had seen in a fortnight. She gently warned Tim and Woody not to let Wren and Hanson cut themselves and Tim didn't even have enough wits about him to say 'Yes, ma'am.'

Her hands moved so quickly and her talk went on so easily and kindly that before they knew it, without even thanking her, she had bundled them off to the barn. Woody had the full basket of vituals on his arm, and Hanson was running on ahead to show the way to his kittens.

Wren pulled at Tim's sleeve and he bent down to hear her whisper to him. "Can we stay the night?"

"Oh, of course! Would I give up an offer like that?"

"Can we gather the eggs tomorrow?"

"Of course! I wouldn't...Yes, we're staying, at least past breakfast." He smiled and put an arm around her shoulders. "After that...I'm not sure what we'll do. But I'll figure it out. Come on, then. Let's catch up with Hanson."

[Alcarillo]

The server had noticed Alcarillo, and dropping her cleaning rag on an unoccupied table approached. Alcarillo hoped that he had not interrupted her task of cleaning the tables. She suggested some bread and Shire cheese to him. Alcarillo paused for a moment to consider the choices the smiling server had suggested. Ginger, as the server had introduced herself, had specifically named Shire cheese. Alcarillo was never very fond of cheese, but while abroad he should take every opportunity he had to taste the foods of other peoples, even foods he normally disliked at home.

" I am Alcarillo Nession, from Harlindon." he introduced himself, "As for my drink, I was hoping that you might have some wine in stock. I prefer white wine, but at the moment any sort of wine will quench my thirst. I am rather hungry, so I will try some of that cheese you speak of, with Cook's mustard. Bread, too, please." He paused again to reconsider his order, "That's all, thank you." He drew his cloak about himself a bit tighter, not for warmth, but to conceal a bit of his armor. At least I did not wear my helm, he thought. He did not like to attract too much attention.

[Arry]

‘She’s always like that,’ said Woody as they hurried after Hanson. ‘Cook, I mean. Sometimes she reminds me of my Gammer. Kind of tough acting on the outside and soft like woolly fluff on the inside. And always watching out for us . . . well not just ‘us’ but anybody she takes a shine to. And she likes to see everybody well fed . . . but then that’s how us Hobbits tend to be. And especially Cook.’

Hanson was waving wildly at the three other children from the stable door. He dashed inside, disappearing from view.

Woody took hold of one side of the basket’s handle, giving Tim a hand with the unwieldy thing. ‘Maybe you two can stick around for bit. I’ll bet Cook’d trade you some chores for meals and such. That is, if you want to . . .’

[Seth Cotton]

Seth nodded, anxious to get to a seat somewhere, he quickly took the pen and wrote his name on the line. Aman looked a little baffled by his quick movement, but she did no reply to this. Seth felt even more embarrased. I must appear really stupid, he thought and looked down for a moment.

'Seth Cotton it is' he said after signing in the book. She seemed really nice to him, friendly and even appearing slightly amused by his behaviour. Even though he thought he was just making a fool out of himself.

He gazed back over his shoulder, trying to see if there was any table available. 'Alright. Thank you Mr. Cotton' Aman said and Seth that was still looking over his shoulder swiftly turned back to her, chuckling a little, fiddleing with his hazel brown curly hair.

'Ah, yes, I am so sorry' he said, feeling pretty stupid 'I've never been in these areas before, and I am not really used to the environment here yet. . .' He stood silent for a moment but then continued. 'So many people even though it's in such a late hour!'

He tilted his head and nodded over at the Common Room.

[Primrose Bolger]

A bottle of white wine is found

There were no bottles of white wine tucked into the holders behind the bar. Red there was, aplenty. Most of it Old Winyards; though there was a sweet red wine, quite tasty, from Dorwinion.

Ginger made her way into the kitchen and fixed up a small basket of crusty bread, a small platter with a wedge of sharp Shire cheese, and a few slices of ham she’d found in the cooler. A small crock of sweet cream butter and one of aromatic mustard rounded out the offering as she placed them all on a carrying tray along with a sharp knife for the cheese and a butter knife for the spreads..

After conferring with Cook, she tromped down stairs with a little lantern to the cool part of the cellar and found the dusty bottles Cook had mentioned. She plucked the cobwebs from the label of one of the bottles and rubbed it clean with her apron. There was a pretty picture of two intertwined trees, one silver, one gold. And some writing she couldn’t make out, though Cook had told her the name of the wine was Great Jewel and had come from Ithilien. ‘Well this ought to do,’ she thought to herself. The light from the lantern glinted through the clear glass of the bottle, sparkling prettily through the wine within.

Once upstairs she cleaned the bottle of its grime as best she could and placed it on the serving tray along with a pretty blue pottery goblet. She took the corkscrew along with her, hoping the Elf, Alcarillo Nession, would know how to use it, as she did not.

‘There you go, Master Nession,’ she said, putting the tray on his table. She arranged the food and drink before him and laid the knives on the folded napkin she’d brought. ‘Now will there be anything else I can get for you?’

[Folwren]

“Maybe you two can stick around for a bit,” Woody said, “I’ll bet Cook’d trade you some chores for meals and such. That is, if you want to...”

“She offered to let us at least stay for breakfast,” Tim replied. “Tomorrow’s breakfast. I don’t think...well, we can’t stay here for ever. Wren and I...” but then he stopped and he looked ahead and shut his mouth. No reason to go shoveling his troubles on some Hobbit boy who was friendly.

Wren didn’t think of it like that. “Mama and Papa died last month,” she said, picking up where Tim had effectually left off. “We’ve been pretty much out walking ever since.”

“Don’t, Wren,” Tim said, glancing quickly at her. She looked up inquisitively at him and he shook his head.

They had reached the barn and Tim reached forward to swing the door open more so that they could fit through with the food. Woody took the lead to take them to wherever Hanson had gone to the kittens. Tim bent a little ways towards his sister and whispered quietly in her ear.

“We don’t need to go about making it a public fact that we’re orphans,” he said. “People around here probably don’t care to hear about all our problems. We’ll stay as long as we’re welcome and as long we’re no burden and are actually working for our keep, but I can’t promise that we’ll stick around any longer than that. I’ve got to find work that can keep me and you alive.”

“But, Tim, she said that we could stay-”

“For tomorrow morning,” he said quickly. They were drawing close to the two hobbits again. “Don’t worry about it.”

[Arry]

Woody was disquieted at what Wren had said. Where were their aunts and uncles, he wondered; their cousins or second cousins who would take them in? If Ma and Da were to die, he thought, there were any number of kin who would take Woody and Hanson and their brothers and sisters under their wing.

Tramping about alone! Woody couldn’t fathom doing that. He looked at Hanson, bent over the kittens a smile on his little face. ‘How scared I would feel,’ thought Woody, ‘if Hanson had only me to rely on.’ He glanced toward Tim wondering if the other boy ever felt that way. Woody’s brow puckered as he thought more about Tim and Wren. ‘I’ll talk to Uncle Gil about it,’ he said to himself. ‘He’ll know what to do.’ His problem resolved for the moment he made his way to Hanson and the kittens.

By the gracious leave of the patient mama cat, the four were soon holding the drowsy, milk-filled kittens and chatting. The basket was opened and food and drink shared about.

-----

An hour later or so, Hanson’s ears pricked up as a familiar voice called out both his and Woody’s names. ‘It’s Uncle Gil,’ he said by way of explanation to Wren and her brother. ‘I think it’s time for us to be heading home . . .’

[piosenniel]

Please note:

Tomorrow, real-time, I'll be moving time ahead for the Inn to early morning.

Please wrap up any night time interactions your characters have going.

Thanks!

~*~ Pio, Shire Moderator

[Alcarillo]

"No, thank you, this is plenty; a meal fit for a king," Alcarillo told Ginger. She had brought his dinner, and asked if he might want anything else.

Alcarillo immediately took a look at the bottle of wine, turning it slowly in his hands. It was white wine, with an image of the Two Trees on its label. Its name was in the Tengwar, and Alcarillo noted that it must be Elvish wine. Alcarillo uncorked it with the corkscrew and poured about a glassful it into an elegant blue goblet. It tasted sweet, cool, and refreshing, and reminded Alcarillo of Harlindon. The bread was a bit too crusty, maybe a little stale, but the butter helped its taste and texture. The cheese and the mustard were delicious together. Alcarillo was surprised by being served ham, and he decided that the halflings must be a rather generous people.

While dining, Alcarillo had decided upon his travel plans: he would rest here for the night and travel to Rivendell in the morning. He knew that he had kin there, family who had escaped from the destruction of Ost-in-Edhil. He had only met his family there once before, thousands of years ago at the end of the Second Age, when he joined the Last Alliance and visited Rivendell on the way to Dagorlad. He remembered finding his cousin again in the midst of battle, and fighting orcs together.

Alcarillo finished his dinner and reminiscing with a satisfied sigh. He was the fullest he had ever been in many, many years. He needed a room for the night. He tucked his red book into his cloak and abandoned his finished dinner and half-empty bottle of wine on the table. Alcarillo wandered out of the warm common room and into the hallway in search of the innkeeper. He hoped that he or she accepted Elvish coins, for those were all he had. He found the counter of the innkeeper near the inn's entrance, and leaned against the wall to patiently wait for another weary traveler to finish booking his room.

[Folwren]

They climbed the ladder to the loft, tall, as Cook had said, but sturdy, where Hanson was already waiting with one of the kittens in his hands and Wren hurried forward with sudden excitement. She dropped to her knees beside Hanson and for a minute just looked with positive ecstasy at the tiny bundles of fur curled beside their mother. A smile flickered around her face and her eyes shone as she reached out and gently took up one of the kittens. Tim came more slowly up behind and with a silent sigh sat down beside her. For a few minutes, he had forgotten his trouble. Cook’s offer had almost put them completely out of mind. But Wren’s questions had more often than once reminded him that in the future days something would have to be done.

‘Forget them for now. She’s happy and you can be, too. You have dinner right in front of you and a breakfast has been offered.’ He didn’t have to convince himself any further. He was a child, and though he was growing up faster than most children did, he still had the ability to forget his problems for a short time when things were agreeable. He pulled the basket Woody had put down towards himself and opened it, took out the knife, and began to cut the cheese.

He handed the others starters and then took a bit of bread and cheese in either hand and ate himself. He watched his sister share her attention between the food and the kitten. When he had satisfied himself for the time being, he turned his attention to the kittens Wren showed him and finally picked one up for himself.

About an hour passed of merry, childish talk, eating, and holding and petting the kittens and cat before someone called for Hanson and Woody from the inn. Hanson looked up and put the kitten he had in his hand back down.

“It’s Uncle Gil,” he said, looking at Tim and Wren. “I think it’s time for us to be heading home.” The other three stood up and after rather familiar goodbyes, the two hobbits left the barn and headed in.

“Come over this way from the cats, Wren,” Tim said, drawing his sister away softly. “We don’t want to hurt them while we’re sleeping.”

They curled down in the hay a few feet from the cat’s nest and many feet from the edge of the loft. Wren dropped off to sleep almost at once and Tim lay looking fondly at her in the dim light. He finally shut his eyes and put a protective arm over her and he quickly dropped into a deep and dreamless sleep.

[piosenniel]

NOTICE OF TIME CHANGE IN THE INN

It is now early morning in the Inn.

Early risers are up and in the Common Room. The first of the breakfasts is being cooked and served. Various travelers have stopped at the Inn for a meal before going about their day's business.

~*~ Pio, Shire Moderator

[Folwren]

A cock crowed somewhere in the yard. Tim rolled over onto his back in the hay and instantly put an arm up to block the sudden ray of sunlight coming through a crack in the barn wall that fell on his face. He screwed up his face at the waking and then sat up and looked around him.

Wren still slept by his side, contentedly bedded in the hay. It had been a good night for both of them and Tim felt ready to get up. He left his sister still sleeping and crawled to where he had left the egg basket given him by Cook. He placed a few handfuls of hay into the bottom of it and hooked it over his arm before going to the ladder and quickly descending.

Tim left the barn by the door he had come by the evening before and looked around for the hen house. He spotted it at the corner of the barn - a small structure built right up to its side. The chickens were already out and scratching about in the dirt. A tall, handsome rooster stood in the middle of the yard preparing himself for another crow. His neck arched and the feathers stood out as he greeted the rising sun. Tim smiled at him and then went on to the hen house.

There were two nests, and one was occupied by a stingy hen who would have kept Tim away if she could. But he wasn’t afraid of the bird and gathered all of the eggs in the nest. She growled angrily at him as he left the hen house and he laughed in return.

He went towards the kitchen door and was pleased to see it already open to allow the cool morning air to flow in freely. He walked in a little hesitantly and placed the basket on the counter.

“Here are the eggs, ma’am,” he said to Cook, who turned towards him when she heard him enter. “Is there anything else I can do to help?”

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger speaks to Tim

Before Cook could respond to the boy who’d walked in, Ginger spoke up. Clouds of flour were swirling up from the bowl in which she was stirring the dry ingredients for the spice cakes to be served at supper. Her brows were hoary from the finely sifted flour and her copper curls were taking on a premature tint of white.

‘Oh, goodness! You’re just in time!’ she said to Tim. With a dusted hand she motioned for him to bring over the basket of eggs. ‘Can you just get that blue bowl over there, the one on the counter? And crack nine eggs into it, if you would. Mind you, no shells, please. I’ve got three sheet cakes to make and the wet ingredients to beat together next.’

Ginger looked over to where Cook was frying up potatoes and onions in two large skillets, and turning the bacon on the long griddle. ‘You’ve sent Buttercup to the butcher’s, and Ruby is busy with serving breakfast. I’ll be tied up for a good bit with the cakes. Do you think this lad could be gotten to work the vegetable garden today?’ She grinned at Tim, a hopeful look on her face.

‘Can’t go calling you lad all day, can I?’ she said with a sneeze. Ginger wiped the back of her arm beneath her nose, managing to smear a trail of white across her cheek. ‘My name’s Ginger. I’m one of the girls from nearby. What do you call yourself, Master Egg-bringer?’

[Alcarillo]

Alcarillo came down the stairs, still in his dark grey cloak. It was morning and he had woken up minutes ago. He could smell breakfast being made in the kitchen and he thought of how hungry he was. His dinner last night now seemed as though it had happened many years ago.

He stepped outside for a moment in the innyard to take in the morning air. It was a cool and refreshing day, and all about him the land seemed to be waking from a deep slumber. Birds sang far off, and Alcarillo considered visiting the horse he had borrowed from a friend in Harlond, Gaerroch, but he decided to get breakfast now. He stretched his limbs for a moment and reentered the inn, heading towards the common room.

Alcarillo took a seat at an empty table and began to read his little red book again. He flipped through the pages half-amusedly and looked up every so often to look for the server. There were other guests in the common room, too; most of them were eating breakfast. From the looks of it, it appeared that eggs were a popular meal in the Shire. Alcarillo continued flipping through the pages of his book and keeping an eye out for the server simultaneously.

[Undómë]

She turned off the packed dirt road, taking the path that led up to the Inn’s door. Following close behind her was her older brother, Tindomion. He was astride his silver dapple, and leading her small grey palfrey along by the reins.

To either side of the track were grasses and low growing clover, their crimson heads bright in the early morning light. Patches of tiny white daisies mingled in among the plantings of cultivated flowers some one had scattered along the walk.

Teluyaviel stepped off the dirt path and onto the carpet of clover and grass. She paused for a moment a smile creasing the corners of her lips and slipped off her shoes. With a sigh, she wriggled her toes in the soft leaves and blossoms. Holding her shoes in one hand, she picked up the skirt of her dress with the other and made her way to the porch steps.

The light from the lanterns within showed that already a number of people had gathered in the front room and were busy breaking their fast. She hurried up the steps, pausing before the great wooden door. Her rust-brown skirt was a bit crumpled where she had held it in her hand and she smoothed it down, shaking the dirt from its hem. She combed the tangles of her long dark hair with a quick, practiced motion of her fingers, pinning it back with a tarnished silver clasp retrieved from the small leather pouch that hung at her belt. Her feet she slid back into her shoes, stamping them on the mat before the door to knock the dust from them.

‘Put this on, Telu!’ Her brother had already handed the horses to a sleepy-eyed stable boy and come softly up behind her. He slipped her grey cloak over her shoulders as he ushered her into the Inn.

The two stood blinking in the entry way, their eyes adjusting to the lower level of light. ‘There’s a table,’ her brother said, gesturing to one near the window. With a laugh, she shook her head, pointing to one nearer the fire. ‘Come, Tindo,’ she said taking his arm. ‘No need to sit at an out of the way table. Let’s sit with the others near the hearth.’

[Folwren]

Tim started slightly when Ginger addressed him, noticing her for the first time. She smiled over her shoulder at him whilst she bid him bring the eggs across and begin cracking them. He came immediately with the basket.

“I’m Tim Woodlock,” he said when she asked his name. “It’s very nice to meet you. Shouldn’t I wash my hands before I help?”

She agreed in her merry fashion and nodded with her head where the pump was with a bucket of water beneath it. He washed his hands quickly and dried them on a towel hung nearby and then returned to his place beside Ginger and began to crack the nine eggs.

When he had finished, he stepped back and took the basket out of her way again.

“I need to go out and get my sister up,” he said, coming back and leaning against the counter as he spoke. “We’ll be back in a moment and then we’ll both be able to help.” He left the kitchen and ran out to the barn, hurried up the ladder, and called her name as his head came over the top. She sat up immediately, having been lying awake there and smiled at him.

“Good morning, Tim!” she said.

“Good morning and come along!” Tim replied, smiling in return. “I’ve got the eggs and we’re going to help in the kitchen.” He paused and studied her while she got up and walked towards him. “Well, we’ll stop in the yard first and let you clean yourself up a bit at the pump.”

They did just this and by the time they arrived again in the kitchen after less than five minutes, both Wren and Tim were looking fresh and clean. The girl’s hair, unable to be combed, was wetted and pushed as nicely best as can be expected when her only way of knowing how she looks is through what her brother thinks. They went into the kitchen and Tim again offered their assistance.

[piosenniel]

Ruby takes Alcarillo’s order and greets the two new Elves who’ve come into the Inn

Ruby moved through the hungry crowd with a practiced step. Tray balanced on her shoulder, her bare feet avoiding packs, and walking sticks, boots and other bare feet that lay in her way.

She’d just settled the town butcher and his lad in at a table and plopped two large platters filled with crispy fried taters, bacon, scrambled eggs, and a basket of fresh baked bread down on the table before them. She poured them each a mug of steaming hot tea and told them to take their time . . . Cook would be busy with cooking breakfast for a while, and then she would see them.

An Elf in a dark grey cloak sat thumbing through a little red book at a table across the room. Every so often he looked up and glanced about the room. Seeing he had no food or drink before him, she made her way to his table. On her way, she passed two other of the Fair Folk on their way to a table near the fire it seemed.

‘Just signal me with your hand when you get settled,’ she told the woman. ‘I’ll come take your order for breakfast.’ The woman Elf nodded at her, her lovely face made even more so by a quick smile of thanks.

Ruby stopped at the book-reading Elf’s table and introduced herself. ‘Ruby Brown at your service, sir,’ she said leaning her serving tray against her leg. ‘Would you care for something to break your fast? We have our regular fare – eggs, taters, bacon, and bread. A hearty Shire breakfast. And we also have fruits or a light oat gruel with honey for those whose appetites are not as big as us Hobbits. Not saying of course you Fair Folk can’t pack the food away as well as we can. But sometimes I’ve noted you like something less heavy.’

Good grief, Ruby Brown! she admonished herself. Shut your mouth before you manage to insult his Elven tastes in eating before he’s even ordered.

[Alcarillo]

Alcarillo put away his book to focus his attention upon Ruby the server, who stood awaiting his order. Alcarillo considered for a moment what to have. Ruby's comment comparing the stomachs of Hobbits and Elves had caught him off guard, but Alcarillo remembered her suggestions for breakfast. He thought that eggs and bacon sounded very appetizing, but maybe he should try some fruit instead. He soon made up his mind and ordered.

"It is true that we Eldar, Fair Folk as you call us, prefer lighter food sometimes," Alcarillo said, smiling at her knowledge of Elven eating habits, "But at the moment I think I'll have a hearty Shire breakfast, as this is my first time traveling through this land. I would like some of those eggs you mentioned, and bacon and bread, please. Just eggs, bacon, and bread. And I'll have some tea if you serve it here." He remembered to introduce himself, "By the way, my name is Alcarillo Nession. I'm from Harlindon." He extended his hand to her.

[Primrose Bolger]

‘Breakfast first, don’t you think Cook?’ asked Ginger. She’d set the big bowl of batter aside for a moment and was wiping her newly washed hands on a dishtowel near the sink. ‘I’ll join you two, if you don’t mind. All I had was a slice of toast with jam and a cup of hot tea when I got up.’

Ginger gave Tim three plates she’d got down from the cupboard and handed Wren some knives, forks, spoons and three mugs. ‘Just put them on the table in the middle of the kitchen and set yourselves down. I’ll fetch us a platter of eggs, bacon, and taters. And a basket of nice warm bread.’

‘Wren, if you will, just get a little crock of butter from that table by the door. And Tim, can you get a pot of honey and one of jam.’

She brought a teapot to the table and asked if Tim would do the honor. Then she heaped a platter with hot, tasty food and set it down in the middle of the table, a serving spoon at its side.

‘Help yourselves! There’s plenty more – don’t be shy! Once the meal is done and the table cleared I can tell you what we need done in the vegetable garden.’ Ginger helped herself to a large dollop of honey and stirred it slowly into her tea. ‘So, where are you two from?’ she asked as casually as she could, not wanting to scare them off. Nibbling at a piece of bread spread thick with blackberry jam she waited to hear their answer.

[piosenniel]

Ruby wiped her hand on her apron and offered her hand to the Elf. ‘Alcarillo Nession. Pleased to meet you. Nice name by the way. Rolls right off the tongue. Harlindon, you say. Our handyman’s wife is from Lindon. They just left here this morning bound for there to visit her family.’

Her small hand was lost in his larger one, and she felt somewhat self conscious at the smoothness of his skin. Hers, she was sure, was rough from all the washing up and such she did about the Inn. Nothing to be ashamed of! she reminded herself. She gave him a smile and pumped his arm once as firmly as she could.

‘Right then,’ she said disengaging her hand from his. ‘I’ll be back directly with your food and a pot of tea.’

Ruby paused to take a few more orders, then retreated to the kitchen. Loading her tray up, she made her way back to the common room. Eggs, bacon, and a basket of warm bread soon found their way to Alcarillo’s table. Along with a small pot of sweet cream butter, one of blackberry jam, and one of honey, in case he required it for his tea or bread. ‘Enjoy!’ she said as she placed the pot of hot steaming tea down next to the mug she’d brought him. ‘Just call if you need anything else!’

She hurried away, leaving meals for other hungry patrons, and picking up orders as she returned to the kitchen.

[Folwren]

Tim and Wren took the dishes and flatware to the table and set it. They did not mind being invited to breakfast before doing more work, though Tim promised himself that he’d be sure to complete anything they needed done in return for it. He wouldn’t be treated as a beggar...but, then, he couldn’t be letting his pride get in the way of what might be best for his sister.

The two of them gathered what things Ginger asked them to fetch and once they were all sitting down and the tea was poured and the food served out, Ginger opened conversation.

“So, where are you two from?”

Wren glanced at Tim and Tim looked at the tea pot, noticing for the first time the pretty design of leaves and strawberries. The fork that had traveled half way to his mouth went back down to the plate and he dropped his eyes.

“We come from somewhere near a little town called Bree, a way East of here, I guess.” He glanced up quickly. “We’ve just been...walking a lot lately, ‘s all.”

“Walking a lot,” Wren said with something of a disgusted tone in her voice and she sent her brother a surprisingly fierce look from her large brown eyes. “I’ll say,” she muttered.

‘Why won’t he tell them?’ she wondered to herself, turning her eyes to her food. She had told Woody the evening before of their misfortune but had not really thought about it. Now Tim’s keeping it back and she knowing that he didn’t want it mention made her think of it. There was nothing to catch her attention like the kittens had the night before and stop her thinking. Her appetite suddenly fled and her hand went to her mouth in a futile attempt to keep a sudden sob back. More followed, and in a moment, she was in tears.

“I’m sorry...I’m so sorry,” Tim said, springing up from the table. “I didn’t mean to ruin your breakfast.” He couldn’t look Ginger in the eye. He couldn’t have looked anyone in the eye just now. He bit his lip in a violent attempt to either not say anything sharp to his sister, or not to start crying himself. It was not a very sufficient solution to his problems, however, and he couldn’t help the tears that started suddenly to his own eyes.

He sat back down, put his elbows on the table, and covered his face with his hands, at least until he had gotten a hold on himself and had thought of something to say.

[Primrose Bolger]

The words and tears that her simple question had brought on surprised Ginger. She put down her bread and jam and got up quickly from her chair. Tim sat with his head in his hands looking as if he might bolt all together or burst into tears himself if she touched him or tried any words of comfort on him. Picking up her clean napkin, she went to Wren’s side.

Ginger put her hand round the girl’s heaving shoulders in a sympathetic manner. ‘Bree! Such a long way to have walked! No wonder you’re so worn out from it.’ She dipped the corner of the napkin in the small pitcher of cool water that sat on the table. Cradling Wren’s head against her shoulder, Ginger dabbed at the girl’s red cheeks where the tears ran. ‘Goodness, I’m in not yet in my tweens yet being just eighteen. And I’ve been hardly farther than the western edges of Hobbiton and the eastern edges of Bywater.’

She handed Wren the dry part of the napkin and told her to go ahead and blow her snuffy nose on it. The obvious question had been brewing in her mind since she’d first laid eyes on the two children. Big Folk or no, what were they doing wandering down the Great Road all alone it seemed.

‘Are you on your way to your folks, little one?’ Ginger asked gently. Then thinking that perhaps someone from the Inn could give the two a lift she inquired further. ‘Are they near?’

[Undómë]

Once they’d seated themselves, Teluyaviel shrugged off her cloak, letting it fall haphazardly over the back of her chair. Her eyes were bright with unfeigned interest as she looked about the room. ‘What an interesting place!’ she exclaimed, leaning forward to touch her brother on the arm.

Tindomion shook his head in agreement, knowing that if he were to give his real opinion it would elicit an argument until she felt he’d been brought to see her view. His eyes were on the other of the Elves who’d come to be at the Inn. ‘What brings them here to this rude place?’ he wondered to himself. ‘Where are they bound?’ his musings were brought to a halt as Telu patted him on the arm to gain his attention.

‘I’m quite hungry,’ she declared, looking to where the server who’d spoken to them had gone. ‘See if you can get her attention, Tindo,’ she went on, lifting her chin to where Ruby was hurrying back toward the kitchen. ‘Let’s see what they have to offer.’

Not one to resist a request from his sister, Tindo got up from the table and made his way toward the retreating Hobbit. His own stomach was wondering if the food would be edible.

‘Little Mistress!’ he called out, just a few steps behind her.

[piosenniel]

Ruby's poor impression on Tindomion

Ruby’s hand was on the door to the kitchen; her mind ticking off which table wanted what for breakfast. The voice behind surprised her; she had not heard the Elf’s light footfalls coming near her.

With a gasp she halted quickly and turned to see who spoke. The tray of dirty dishes wobbled precariously on her palm and tipped, sending plates, cups, utensils, and scraps of uneaten food careening toward the floor.

The latter unfortunately splashing on the toes of the Elf’s boots . . .

[Alcarillo]

Alcarillo ate his breakfast in silence, watching the visitors to the inn eat and talk. He spread some jam on his bread and munched on it thoughtfully, then moved on to the eggs and then the bacon. He sipped his tea, watching two other Elves find their seats near the fireplace. Alcarillo spread some honey on another slice of bread and thought of the quaint rustic-ness of the hobbits. Quite interesting creatures, he thought, and very kind and generous. I should visit this land again one day.

A clatter rang across the common room, and heads turned from their breakfast and towards the kitchen door, where someone had dropped a tray full of dirty dishes. Alcarillo saw an embarrassed Ruby standing with the mess spread about in front of her and extending to the feet of one of the two Elves who sat near the fireplace, now standing before her. Oh dear, he must’ve caught her unaware, Alcarillo thought, and she does seem a bit uncomfortable among Elves. Alcarillo recalled her ashamed expression when he introduced himself. Alcarillo took another bite of his bread and considered helping her clean the mess, if nobody else does, I will. For now he remained in his seat, feeling a bit of pity and compassion for the poor hobbit maiden.

[Larien Telemnar]

Larien slowly descended the star and peeked around the corner, feeling sheepish. She was usually awake and moving about much earlier than this, but the previous nights singing and talking kept her up late.

She cautiosly entered the common room and looked around, hoping for a glimpse of one of her newfound friends.

[Folwren]

“Are you on your way to your folks, little one?” Ginger asked gently. Then thinking that perhaps someone from the Inn could give the two a lift she inquired further. “Are they near?”

Wren could not answer. She just shook her head mutely and clutched the napkin that Ginger had handed her to her eyes. Tim hardly moved as he lifted his head slightly to speak.

“No,” he said, his voice dry and raspy, “No. They died, a while back. I’ve got to find work, but no one could take me at Bree and there was no place closer than The Shire. We couldn’t stay there with nothing for me to do to help survive. I’ve got to take care of her, you understand.” He looked up at Ginger, hoping that she did. “I’ll work to stay anyplace where it’s dry and warm and there’s enough to eat, but I won’t be given anything when I can do something for our stay and keep. I can work.”

He stopped, unable to go on for a minute both for lack of words and not wanting to overburden the kind hobbit lass. But after a moment, he went on. “If you knew of any place or anywhere we could go...I’d - I’d thank you a lot for it. We’ve been walking for a long time and Wren...we’re getting tired and I don’t think she could take much more.”

[Seth Cotton]

Seth was deep asleep in his feather bed and he snored lightly. He turned in the bed as the sun shone right at his face. A bird sang on the tin-plate of his window and he began to slowly awake. He was not sure what the time was, but it did not really bother him. He sat up, and the his sudden movement frightened the bird and it flew away.

He stretched and stood up, the wooden floor was still cold and felt really uncomfortable. He kneeled and fumbled with his hands udner the bed and pulled out his warm slippers. Seth went over to the window and gazed over the garden. The morning dew was still in the grass and as well on the leaves of the plants in the flower bed below his window.

It was a beautiful morning and he slowly went down the stairs and into the dining room where breakfast was being served. By the amount of people eating breakfast, Seth guessed that it was still pretty early. He got a hot bowl of some porridge, a piece of bread with some marmalade and a cup of tea.

He sat down by a table and began his meal. He sat in deep thought and enjoyed his meal and did not take much notice of what happened around him. He spilled some marmalade on his shirt, but was not really caring much about it. His thoughts went to the beautiful garden of Master Hornblower in Greenfields; he would truly miss all his duties there, but it was little he could do about it. . .

[Undómë]

Teluyaviel’s look of anticipation turned to one of horror as she saw the server turn toward Tindo and drop her tray of dishes. With quick steps she left her chair and hurried to the scene of misfortune.

‘So sorry!’ Telu said, crouching down, her skirts tucked out of the way. ‘Please, let me help you!’ Her slender fingers picked up the larger pieces of crockery and spilled spoons and such and piled them on the Hobbit’s tray. ‘Tindo! Get a broom, if you will. And the dustpan.’ She called out to her brother.

His brows raised at the suggestion, he looked about the room, wondering just where she expected him to find such things.

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger was feeling a bit out of her depth. Wren’s eyes were swollen from tears; her voice choked. Her little hands twisted the napkin Ginger had given her in a hopeless manner. And Tim, here he was on the verge of tears himself, his voice all raspy. And him trying to be the big, brave man about it, trying to take care of his sister, himself, and his sense of pride.

The Hobbit sniffed back her own tears at their predicament and took a deep breath. ‘Well, Master Woodlock,’ she began, mastering her own quavery voice. ‘I had a good bit of work I thought you might help with today, at least. Mostly in the garden this morning. After that, I’m not sure . . .’

She heard Cook clumping up the wooden stairs from the cellar where she’d gone to fetch another ham to slice. Ginger’s face brightened as the knob to the fir door turned and the older Hobbit’s form stepped through, a fine smoked ham wrapped in a canvas carrying sling hanging from her right hand.

‘Cook’ll know what to do!’ she said with an assuring smile . . .

[Kath]

Astilwen walked slowly through the door of the Inn, stretching as she tried to work out some of the kinks in her neck and back. Though she did not recall doing so she had evidently fallen asleep on the bench outside while Eswen was talking. Feeling rather embarrassed about her rudeness she made up her mind to find the Elf and apologise, just as soon as she'd had a bath and put on some clean clothes at any rate.

She was on her way to do just that when she heard a clatter. Whirling around she saw that the woman who had been serving meals the day before had dropped a large amount of crockey. She was about to hurry over and offer help when an Elf maiden took charge of the situation. Glad for the respite Astilwen continued on through the Inn in search of the Innkeeper. As she had never booked a room she did not know whether there was a bath available or whether she would have to book first.

She headed over to the counter with the roster book and leaned against the wall to wait.

[Esgallhugwen]

Esgallhugwen paced the roof top before swinging herself back into her room, she hadn't slept all night, but it hadn't phased her at all. Too many thoughts were brooding in her mind to allow her to have a light rest.

Falowik and Uien had left in the night to Annúminas, in a few days perhaps she would follow them along that path. She couldn't linger here forever.

Her thoughts were interrupted for a time when her sharp hearing picked up the sound of clattering and shattering below. Eswen headed down the stairs, walking up to the flustered Ruby and the Elven lass who was helping her clean up the mess.

Another Elf stood by looking around helplessly, Eswen presumed that he was the lasses brother. "The broom is in the kitchen", she pointed to the wooden door hoping that the brother would take her advice.

[piosenniel]

‘Cook’ll know what to do!’

‘Now what’s happened,’ wheezed Cook. The ham she’d brought up from the cellar storeroom was a rather large and weighty one. And somehow the stairs to the kitchen seemed to have grown steeper and more numerous on the ascent.

Setting her burden down on the nearest counter, she wiped her hands on a hand towel and turned to face the trio at the table. ‘Oh my, what’s this?’ she said seeing the teary and distraught faces of the two Big Folk children.

Ginger blurted out the problem in a rush of words, mixing the facts all together in a mad jumble. Pulling out a chair for herself, Cook sat down and began to sort them out.

‘Well, first off,’ she began, ‘you’re still little’uns in my way of thinking . . . not safe for you to be wandering about out on the road.’ She looked toward Tim and nodded her head at him. ‘Not to say you haven’t done a good job of taking care of your little sister. You’re a credit in my book as a big brother. Stepped right up and took responsibility.’

She poured herself a cup of tea and sat considering the problem as she sipped it.

‘Do you have any folk anywhere we can help you get to?’ she asked. ‘If not, then we’ll figure something else out . . . taking into account, of course, that you’re willing to do your share of work for your keep.’

‘Ginger – fetch me a small plate of eggs and bacon, if you will. Planning’s always done best with a full stomach! my Gran always said. Now, come on you two, ply your forks to that good breakfast I made. And here . . .’ she went on, pushing the pot of honey toward Wren as she poured her a little more hot tea. ‘Try a spoonful or two of Gammer Oldbuck’s fireweed honey in it – very tasty . . . sweets for the sweet,’ she added, tucking into her own plate.

[Folwren]

Tim and Wren did their best to obey Cook and dried their eyes and picked up their forks to eat their breakfast. Little was said while the food lasted and Tim and Wren ate until they were full, taking the seconds that were freely offered. Ginger and Cook seemed anxious that they have whatever they needed and Tim felt awfully aware of it, though he was thankful.

When he was coming closer to being finished, Tim began to speak. He knew that Cook didn’t have all day to sit around and talk, so he would try to be as brief as possible, considering the circumstances.

“I don’t want to overburden you or anything,” he said, starting out and looking across the table at the hobbit. “And I wish I could answer more hopefully, but we really don’t have anybody we can go to. When - when Mama and Papa died, I had to make up my mind as to what to do quickly. I couldn’t stay, the last rent on the house was due and there was hardly enough money left to pay it. The landlord was kind enough to let us keep it, but it wasn’t enough, and I don’t have any of it left, though goodness knows I didn’t waste it.

“There was no work to be had in Bree...more and more people are coming in from the outside and no one needed a boy as small as me - begging your pardon as a hobbit, but I am rather little compared to the men there. We came here to the Shire because it’s the closest civilized place hoping to find something to do. We don’t have any relatives close by, Papa brought Mama from far out East. If you’re willing to take me, I can work and do a lot...I know how to handle horses pretty well, and I can work in the garden (Ginger mentioned that) and I can do other odd jobs about the place. Wren can learn how to cook - she’s smart - or she could clean or do whatever.” Shut up, Tim, before you sound as desperate as you are. “I’d have to ask,” he added, dropping his eyes quickly, and then looked back up at her, “that you didn’t send her out into the Common Room. A lot of people, you know, and she’s shy, and I wouldn’t like it, I don’t think.”

He came to a halt and stopped with his mouth open in surprise at what he had said. His words sounded as though he assumed that Cook would hire them then and there and he knew she had no obligation and no real reason to. He clapped his jaw shut and turned his eyes away as he scowled in furious anger at his presumptuous speech, and picked at the little food remaining on his plate with his fork.

[Amanaduial the archer]

"Horses? A rare enough talent in the Shire - but then, nowadays young gentlemen such as yourself are rare enough as well."

Aman had entered through the side door through from the garden, pretty much unseen and unheard thanks to Derufin's well-oiled locks, and had been quietly listening from the doorway. Startled, Ginger jumped slightly, then smiled in relief at the Innkeeper; whereas Cook span around with her eyes narrowed accusingly as she realised that the Innkeeper had been listening, unseen. Aman held her hands up as if in surrender. "I apologise, I could not help but overhear."

"You were eavesdropping, Missy," Cook growled. Aman looked about to protest, then closed her mouth and shrugged, nodding and giving a slightly rueful grin. She saw Tim staring at her in amazement and winked at him, shrugging again. "Well, maybe a little bit..." she murmured. "But now I'm here..." she stepped further into the kitchen, off-loading an apron-full of freshly picked vegetables onto Ginger; the Green Dragon vegetable patch was a modest but well-kept plot which sprawled neatly around the side of the Inn, beside the kitchen, and the Innkeeper had happened to be picking from there this morning - it allowed her to be useful enough so as not to be berated by Cook, whilst avoiding the rush of all-too-perky customers early in the morning. The Innkeeper was not a morning person.

However, this morning was already looking to be a beautiful one, and despite the early hour, Aman was feeling the sun inside as the external one warmed her outside. Eyeing the two children, Aman realised that they were indeed the pair who had come in last night: on the right, with Ginger's comforting hand on one skinny shoulder, was the little girl; and on the left, having apparently developed a sudden and intense interest in the tea-pot, was her brother, the wary-looking boy, Tim. The woman sighed: she had suspected these two weren't looking for their parents, and apparently this had been confirmed. That was the problem with niggling suspicions: sometimes it was so much easier, for once, if one could just be proved wrong about them.

Turning to Cook, she clicked her fingers, suddenly remembering something. "Oh, Vinca - Goody Longhole was asking after you this morning. Something about you agreeing to swap a few of the Dragon's recipes with hers..."

Cook snorted in a most unlady-like fashion. "Swap? With her? That old trout, if she values her darned apple pie as highly as any of the Dragon's finest fodder and thinks I'll trade secrets for that, she is sorely mistaken! Been pestering me about it for weeks..."

The Innkeeper clandestinely raised an eyebrow at Ginger, wiping her earthy hands on her now muddy apron. "Well, you know, she has been working hard for the festivals this coming summer, that apple pie of hers isn't to be lightly valued anymore..."

"You consider her deserts to be finer than mine?" The old hobbit-wife was almost quivering with indignation. Aman hastily tried to remedy her words. "No, nonono, I didn't mean...I just meant that maybe a little extra help is maybe just what you need to show her exactly why the 'Dragon is famed for it's victuals." Cook settled down and Aman almost sagged in relief - the wrath of the homely looking hobbit matron was to be feared by the fiercest of battle-scarred warriors. But Cook had picked up on her drift by now, and at this point turned to Wren. Her face softened and, to Aman's surprise, her features took on an almost conspiratorial edge as she nudged the little girl carefully, winking. "What do you say? Reckon we could give that Goody Longhole a run for her money, eh?"

The little girl giggled between sniffs and returned the smile bashfully. Aman wordlessly offered her a clean handkerchief as she eyed her brother. He had looked up in surprise at the Innkeeper when Cook had given this apparent consent to them staying, but when he saw the Rohirrim woman returning his inquisitive gaze he reddened slightly but, not altogether to the young woman's surprise, he raised his chin and returned it - not insolently, but with a quiet pride. A stray he may have been, but this boy was not a beggar: a determination glinted in his grey eyes that Aman wasn't sure she did not recognise. She nodded slightly, more to herself than anyone else, and looked away, her eyes turning to her hands as she resumed wiping the dirt away, as she measured up the boy. The 'Dragon had always been a quietly charitable residence, certainly since Aman had got here: the Innkeeper had picked up a fair old reputation for 'picking up strays' as some of the older, disapproving goodwifes put it. But then, maybe it was a reputation which she deserved, and did not exactly resent: when those in hiding or without a friend were swept to the Dragon, the kind-hearted Innkeeper simply couldn't just turn them away, even when it would perhaps have been better to do so. Crystal, a girl on the run from her vicious father; Uien, an elven girl of such melancholy beauty who Derufin had adopted as his protege; and Snaveling, of course, always Snaveling - if there had ever been a fouler rogue who the Innkeeper would have been in her rights to turn away or, better still, have arrested, the Black Numenorian was it - yet her charity to him even when he spat it back in her face had been rewarded, had it not? She had found a key to a past she had never know to have had... Aman smiled slightly to herself. Yes, Tar-Corondir was an exception to every rule in the book, and more. But he was just more living proof that scorn of the hand she extended to wanderers was, if only sometimes, a scorn unstudied.

She looked up sidelong at the boy again, and nodded slightly once more. Looking in his eyes, eyes that had lost both parents and yet were still determined to keep their pride and make what they could of life, Aman was not sure that she did not see a little of herself in him. But to have been subjected to such loss so young… “Tim, isn’t it?” The boy looked slightly surprised, but nodded. “Your mother was an Easterling, you say? It isn’t an accusation,” she added hastily as the boy’s eyes flashed defensively. “It was merely a question. I have a fondness for the Eastern horses – indeed one of my three horses, Taydoch, is from the the region of Rhun – far East, I suppose, especially from the viewpoint of where I originate from.”

Tim frowned questioningly, and Aman answered, “Rohan. I am from the land of the Horse-lords.”

“Psh, not just from – Aman herself is a so-called ‘horse-lord’ – never seen a woman so fond of wearing riding leathers…” Cook interjected huffily, but with a touch of a smile in her expression nonetheless. Tim, his head whipping from one speaker to the other as if watching a tennis match, his eyes saucer-like, seemed speechless. “…you’re one of the Rohirrim?”

Aman smiled simply, then held out a hand to the boy. “If you truly have an aptitude for working with horses, we’ll get on just famously,” she replied warmly. “Come on, let me show you the stables – no point in hanging around…”

[Folwren]

Tim paused for half a second and then sprang to his feet. This was a chance being offered to him by a lady from his parent’s homeland. His father had not often spoke of Rohan, but when he had, there had always been a strange light in his eye that Tim had never fully understood, but did enough to know that it was a beloved land and that his father missed it. He came forward and took Aman’s hand and then looked back at Wren.

“Can you stay here for a bit?” he asked. She only nodded, and he and the Rohannian lady went out.

They crossed the bright yard and entered the dim barn again. Aman led him forward to the stalls and then stopped by one. She smiled down at him slightly as she undid the latch and then swung the door open and ushered him in.

A large mass moved in the corner across from them and Tim saw the horse’s head turn towards them. Its jet black, shining eyes caught the light from the open doorway and reflected it as it stared at Tim. Then he moved and shifted, pivoting on his hind legs to face the two visitors and took two steps forward to them.

“This is Taydoch,” Aman said softly from behind Tim. A smile came to the boy’s face and he extended his hand upwards to touch the horse. He felt the warm breath from his wide nostrils flow over his fingers and he gently stroked him.

Taydoch was a gentle horse, but seemed positively massive next to Tim’s slight figure. The lad didn’t mind and he wasn’t at all shy to walk forward to his shoulders and pass his hands along beneath his stomach and girth and feel the muscles of his legs and the delicately shaped bones of his fetlock and hoof.

“He’s beautiful,” Tim said, walking back to Aman with his hand trailing the handsome curve of Taydoch’s neck. The lady smiled.

“Come see the others,” she said, turning to go. “There are several here belonging to the guests.”

The two of them visited most of the occupied stalls as briefly as they could and then headed back towards the inn’s kitchen to see what could be resolved upon.

[piosenniel]

~*~ GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS ~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

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

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

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

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

Meriadoc - Stablemaster

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

Ongoing characters from outside the Inn:

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

_____________________________________________

Please Note:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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About Elves in Shire RPG's:

Please use this description from Tolkien when crafting an Elf:

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

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

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

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EVERYONE

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

Thanks!

Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[piosenniel]

Time of Day

It's morning in the Shire. Breakfast is being served.

The weather is pleasant - sunny with a clear sky.

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger and Wren cleared the table, scraping what scraps there were into the bucket for the garden’s compost pile. The dishes and tableware were then piled neatly into the sink to be washed a little later.

‘Come help me ladle the cake batter into the pans, will you Wren?’ she said, handing the girl one of the aprons from the pegs by the door. ‘We’re making sheetcakes for after supper. Nice yellow cake. Four of them I think. We’ll serve them up with strawberries and whipped cream.’

Handing Wren a cup, Ginger showed her how to go from pan to pan, pouring a cupful of batter into each until all the batter was gone and the pans equally filled.

‘Now let’s just open the oven . . . make sure there’s enough wood in the fire box. Then we’ll pop the pans in.’ Ginger pulled on the thick quilted mittens and pulled out the racks, placing each carefully carried pan Wren brought her on them.’ ‘You know, once we’re done here,’ she said, turning the small half-hour glass on the stove shelf over. ‘I could brush and braid your hair if you’d like. I have some pretty ribbons to tie them off. Blue, yellow, or pink. What do you say?’

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman watched the boy from a few steps off, close enough to jump forward to prevent him coming from harm should he step too close or press to hard. But he seemed strangely at ease with the giant stallion - though dwarfed beside Taydoch's muscular eighteen hand figure, the boy's hand moved with gentleness and ease over the soft black coat. And, incredibly, the horse also seemed not to mind, nuzzling the boy's hand gently with his oddly angular face: as she had said, Taydoch was one of her three horses, but he was the youngest and most exciteable, barely a colt, and from wild stock - he was the product of a a Rohirrim stallion and an Easterling mare, and so was almost unique, beautiful yet serviceable, streamlined for running yet muscly and strong enough for combat, and with the fire from both his parents' stocks. The Innkeeper was fairly impressed, then, when she noted how calm both horse and boy were; he hadn't been exaggerating when he said he knew how to handle horses - even Merimac, the stablehand, wasn't particularly fond of dealing with Taydoch, simply because of the horse's size and the fact that, Merrimac claimed accusingly, 'it watched him'.

Aman gave the stallion a quick pat on the nose, then showed Tim around the stables, finishing with her own other two horses: a dappled grey mare whose very coat seemed to shiver into different tones like a cresting wave whenever she moved. She went by the name of Rochfalmar, and had been a gift, or maybe just a loan, from a good friend of Aman's - an elf by the name of Pio, the previous Innkeeper at the 'Dragon. And lastly, the most recent addition to her little team: Felarof, another black stallion but this time descended from the line of the meeras, and as such one of the finest horses in the South - a present from Aman's good friend and grandfather (as strange a wording as that may seem), Tar-Corondir.

As they left the stables, Aman felt it may have been safe to ask a few more questions about the boy - maybe he did not trust her yet, but he was more at ease. "How old are you, Tim? And your sister?"

[Folwren]

Wren, in the kitchen, stepped back away from the stove, wiping her hands on her apron as Ginger offered to do her hair. She smiled shyly and nodded.

“I’d like that,” she said quietly. “Should we take off the aprons first?”

Ginger agreed with one of her many smiles and they took off the aprons and hung them up. Ginger fetched the brush, comb, and ribbons and sat Wren down in one of the kitchen chairs and commenced to brush out her hair.

There were many tangles and for some time, the Hobbit worked in silence. Wren sat as still as she could, swaying back when the brush caught on a particularly hard knot, and going forward again when her hair was released. She showed no sign of any pain, for she felt little - Ginger was gentle.

“I like you,” the little girl said after many minutes of silence. “You’re nice. I hope Tim says we can stay. We haven’t met anyone like you on the road. Most people didn’t like people from outside the Shire, you know. One person let us sleep in their barn once and in the morning when some eggs were missing, he accused Tim of stealing them and didn’t let us stay for breakfast even. But it wasn’t Tim,” she said with a slight sigh. Her hand picked absently at a thread in her dress as she stared out the kitchen door and continued talking. “It was one of their dogs. I saw him get into the nests. But the fellow was very mean to Tim and I think Tim would have gotten mad back if he had any chance of convincing him that he hadn’t done it.” Gingner was braiding her hair now and Wren turned her head slightly and changed the subject abruptly. “Can you use the blue ribbon? That’s my favorite color.”

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Walking across the yard again, Aman asked Tim how old he and his sister was. “I’m almost eleven,” Tim said, looking up at her briefly. “And she’s eight and a half.” He stopped and gnawed on his lip thoughtfully for a brief moment and went on. “I know we’re kinda little and we may not look like we can do much, but we’re not weak, and neither of us are dull.”

Aman smiled kindly, and shook her head. “No, I’m sure you’re not,” she half murmured.

[Larien Telemnar]

Larien sat at a table, enjoying her breakfast in silence. She watched the other patrons, her saphire eyes roving about, searching for something of interest. She had a slight hangover from a little too much ale the night before, but she chose to ignore it.

She noticed that a young lad and lass were there, although they seemed to have no father or mother with them. She wondered curiously what they were doing out alone. She noticed how quiet the boy was with the great stallion, and how much help the girl was in the kitchen.

'I wonder who they are.' She pondered aloud.

[Primrose Bolger]

‘The blue ones it is, then,’ said Ginger. She finished one of the braids and bound it with a short piece of kitchen string. Her hands flew quickly through the other braid, and soon it too was done and bound. The length of one of the blue ribbons, the one the color of a bluebird’s feathers, was cut in two and twin bows soon found themselves perched securely on each of Wren’s braid ends.

Ginger glanced at the half-hour glass. The sand had almost run through. She peeked into the oven, noting the tops of the cakes were still wet looking. Closing the oven door once again, she turned the timer over.

‘Well, I suppose we could get these washed up and chopped,’ she said pointing to the carrots and taters and onions Aman had brought in from the garden. Cook does want to have some nice thick chicken soup for supper, but . . .’ She pursed her lips, then grinned at Wren.

‘If we’re quick about it, there’s a wardrobe of clothes that travelers have left in their rooms and never come back to collect or sent for. I’m certain there are skirts and blouses and dresses that would fit you. In fact, I know there are – I’ve looked at them myself.’ She held Wren at arm’s length and twirled her about. ‘You’re a Big Folk child, but still we’re about the same height. I’ve got maybe an inch or so on you.’ She took Wren by the hand and pulled her quickly up the back stairs of the kitchen toward the attic rooms above her own and the other server girls. ‘Step lively. We wouldn’t want the cakes to burn,’ she said, hurrying the girl along.

Ginger flung open the door and sneezed a bit in the stirred up dust. ‘There’s the wardrobe over there,’ she said pointing to a corner near one of the attic’s small windows. ‘Help me get the doors open, won’t you. They’re a bit sticky.’

[Pivli]

She paused at the top of the steps and leaned on her cane for a bit to catch her breath and rest her legs. ‘Not as spry as we once were, are we dears,’ she said flexing her creaky knees in anticipation of the short trek to the door.

Miz Violet Greengage brushed the dust from her dark green skirt and straightened the hem of her weskit. A familiar little whinny caused her to turn and she could see one of the stableboys leading her Nobby off toward the barn, her little green cart rolling along behind.

She walked to the large oaken door and putting her gnarled hand on it pushed it open. It was easier done than she thought it might be. ‘Kept in good order,’ she noted, nodding her head with approval.

Violet hadn’t been to the Inn in ages, it seemed. Though she lived not that far from it in a snug burrow up by The Pool. What with her children she’d raised, and their children and her garden and her few chickens and the goat, she’d kept herself busy enough paddling about in her own pond, as she’d say.

Now Mister Greengage, long since passed and buried in the small graveyard on the little hill that stood north of The Water, had enjoyed his weekly trips into Bywater to trade at the little market in the square, and had often spoken fondly of meeting with his friends in The Dragon, and a pint or two shared.

One of the ladies who lived near her had recently told Violet about the Faire that was to happen in a few weeks. There were to be booths of all sorts and she was planning on showing off her jams and jellies along with some of her neighbors. ‘And what about you, Miz Greengage?’ her neighbor had asked. ‘You going to show off your pretty quilts this year?’

Violet’s eyes were still sharp and she could still ply a needle with great skill. Her neighbor lady had gotten her to thinking about the many quilts she’d made that were stowed away in her great cedar chest. Perhaps she could show them off, she thought.

She made her way into the common room and looked about. ‘Now where was the Innkeeper,’ she said to herself. ‘And for that matter, who was the Innkeeper now.' One of the Big Folk she thought she'd heard from out east.

With her yew-wood cane tapping along on the wooden floor, she approached one of the tables. My, my it was one of the Fair Folk sitting there. Big as life and eating a proper Shire breakfast!

‘Pardon me for interrupting your meal,’ she said, standing near the Elf. ‘But have you seen the Innkeeper?’

[Seth Cotton]

Éothen was leading his horse along the road. The horse was tired, a long night of idle riding without a smallest pause. Éothen kept calming it, stroking it over the mane slowly with his hand and saying something silently to it that was almost unhearable for ears of Men.

The road led to The Green Dragon, an old Inn he had visited so many times before. Its renowned ale was the best he had ever tasted. The horse became more and more uncomfortable and pulled the reins and snorted constantly. Not even the calming words of his Master now helped and the situation became more serious.

Éothen really suffered and felt the pain as his noble stallion did. It was a bond he had never had with another horse before, and because of it, the horse had become really precious to him.

Finally he reached the Inn, he feared before that he wouldn't make it, and just seeing the small, narrow road leading down the Inn house made him sigh in relief. A great burden from his chest was gone as if it had never been there.

He came closer to the stables and met the Stablemaster, Meriadoc. He rushed up from the stool he was sitting on, leaning against the stable wall behind him smoking some pipeweed. 'G'day Sir! Is your horse in need of rest?' He glanced at the horse, and had obviously noticed the quite radiating exhaustion.

'Aye, it is my Friend.' Éothen responded, smiling faintly at Meriadoc. 'And so am I.' He chuckled and Meriadoc did as well. Éothen handed the reins to Meriadoc and made sure his horse did get plenty of food and water. He took farewell of Meriadoc and went over to the Main Building of the Inns grounds.

He went inside, and noticed, of course as it was early morning still, that breakfast was being served. Many was already up, sitting in the Common Room talking, eating or preparing to set off. Éothen was rather hungry by now after a long night of travelling. He did actually enjoy travelling in the night, he couldn't explain why.

He got himself some tea and bread then gazed around looking for a place to sit down. He heard a womans voice talking loud just behind him, probably talking to herself, but it was loud enough to drag Éothens attention just to see who it was.

He smiled and looked at her, seeing she sat alone eating her breakfast. He cleared his throat and asked 'Would you mind if I joined you, my Lady? It would be an honour'. He smiled again and half-bowed at her. He awaited her reply, looking at her with still a warm smile.

[Larien Telemnar]

Larien looked up in surprise to see a man standing before her.
'Would you mind if I joined you, my Lady? It would be an honour'. He bowed, smiled, and waited for her answer. For a moment Larien was speachless. Aparently this stranger wished to sit with her. What was it about the Shire that people were so friendly to her, an Elven-raised Halfling who was running from her past? Why weren't people more suspiscious, even travelers like this man.

She realized that she couldn't leave this man standing before her all day, so she rose and curtseyed.

She smiled up at him. 'Yes please join me, Sir. I would be happy to share my table.' She indicated the chair oposite her and sat down once more.

She could tell from his attire that he was a traveller, and a man of Rohan. Curiosity drowned out her own cautious nature, so she decided to make conversation.

'From whence do you come, Sir, if you don't mind my asking. You are man of Rohan, if I am not mistaken, and that is a place far off from this.'

[Seth Cotton]

Éothen nodded and sat down in the opposite chair with his tea and bread. He started to eat a little of his bread, and he noticed the woman was looking at him. He looked up at her, smiling friendly, then she asked 'From whence do you come, Sir, if you don't mind my asking. You are man of Rohan, if I am not mistaken, and that is a place far off from this.'.

‘True.’ Éothen said shortly and cleaned his hands with the napkin. ‘Far indeed; it was a long journey here.’ He smiled and sipped some of his tea, the aroma was delightful and the heat from the tea sparkled and warmed hup his whole body. He had a recovering feeling that he got from the tea, he looked down in the cup, but as it appeared just normal he shrugged.

‘Oh, and yes, maybe I should introduce myself closer.’ He chuckled and put his plate of bread and napkin away. ‘I am Éothen, Captain of Rohan. I serve King Éomer.’ He paused, but then added. ‘I am not on duty now, of course, this is a small private journey off-duty made for pleasure and exploring.’

The woman appeared troubled to him, sort of uncomfortable. He glanced around from side to side, trying to see if there was something nearby that made her feel uncomfortable. ‘My Lady...’ He started again, but stopped. He didn’t want to question her right away, it wouldn’t be polite. Especially as they barely knew each other.

‘And what is your name, my Lady? Are you from around here?’ He forced a smile, just to ease up the situation a little and took another sip off his tea.

[Alcarillo]

Alcarillo swallowed his mouthful of bacon, dabbed at his mouth with a napkin, cleared his throat, and when the elderly hobbit woman seemed to be losing patience, spoke.

"I have not seen the innkeeper all morning, madam, but I'm sure that one of the servers could direct you to her," he answered. Remembering to be courteous, he said "Please, have a seat." Alcarillo gestured to an empty chair at his table. "My name is Alcarillo Nession, and I'm from Harlindon. Are you hungry?"

Alcarillo was finishing his breakfast, but still felt it was rude to be eating in front of her while she ate nothing. Alcarillo pushed his half-eaten plate of bread across the table towards her. "Here, have some bread."

[Nerindel]

Lúrëaelda's return

A low sun shone bright in the clear blue morning sky, as Lúrëaelda rounded a the hill that led to the Green Dragon inn. The road was dry and small dust clouds rose in his wake, leaving a thin covering on the deerskin boots that covered his feet and half way up his calf. As the familiar sounds and smells of the inn reached this ears and eyes he looked up, his unusual piercing yellow eyes glistening in silent recognition at the familiar sight of the green dragon hanging almost welcomingly over the door.

A single voice coming from the rear of the inn caused the Silvan Hunter to freeze, his dark grey skin paling as he recalled the admonishments of the inns Cook the last time he had arrived at the inn. As he remembered it he had been innocent in the whole incident, but still Ms Vinca Bunce was not one to upset especially when it came to food and the payment thereof.

“No, surely she will not remember,” he swallowed shaking his head and turning away from the busy kitchen sounds and facing again the welcoming entrance of the inn. It had been sometime since he had left and as well as being a little taller than before he was now more sure of himself. A lot had happened since his last visit some good and some not so, but in all that time one image had burned in his memory.

A wry grin reached his lips as he ran a nervous hand through his dark cropped hair, disturbing the thin silvery braid from his shoulder so it fell down his back over the dusty hide jacket that covered the garb of an elf of Eryn Lasgalen, would she even remember me he wondered fleetingly. Then adjusting the bow and pack on his shoulders he pushed open the green door and stepped inside, his eyes hopingly searching for the friendly warm smile of the Dragon’s innkeeper.

[Larien Telemnar]

Larien smiled when Eothen mentioned being one of the rohirrim. She recalled an adventure she had had a few years ago in Rohan. She had the privilage to meet the King and many of the soldiers and captains. She wondered if she had met this man before.

Her smile faded quickly when she remembered the consequences of that adventure, though. One of the very events that had led to her sitting at that table with this stranger in the Shire.

‘My Lady...’ She looked up quickly, remembering her manners, hoping he had not noticed her attentions wandering off. The Stranger's voice trailed off, a look of uncertainty crossing his face. I hope I haven't offended him in some way. She worried to herself.


‘And what is your name, my Lady? Are you from around here?’

Larien's face flushed with embarresment when she realized she had forgotten her manners and failed to introduce herself.

'Forgive me sir!' She cried. 'I am Larien Telemnar. I am a traveller, going from one place to another- but there was a time that I lived in Rivendell, as the adopted daughter of Lord Elrond.'

[Pivli]

Violet sat down on the offered chair; perched, that is, like some small green bird, on the seat’s edge. ‘The fellow is nice enough,’ she thought to herself, ‘but Violet you don’t really know him now, do you?’

His offer to share his bread with her, however, melted her reserve somewhat, and she smiled at him. ‘Well, now that would be quite nice,’ she said, scooting herself back in the chair.’

The elder hobbit loosened the ties on her black and beflowered bonnet (http://www.greenlightwrite.com/bonnet%20three.JPG) and set it carefully to one side of the table. She patted her graying curls, hoping they had not got all wild and flyaway when she removed the hat.

‘My name is Miz Greengage. Violet Greengage. Live up by The Pool,’ she said, introducing herself. ‘Very nice to make your acquaintance Master Nession.’ Violet glanced about the room, hoping to see someone who looked as if they were in charge.

‘I wonder - might I have the pot of jam, there, too, if you don’t mind?’ she said as he pushed the basket of bread toward her. ‘And one other, small request, if you don’t mind. I haven’t been into town in a great number of years. Who is the Innkeeper these days?’

[Seth Cotton]

Éothen smiled back to her, being in a pretty good mood. He fiddled some with his hair, spun the hair around his fingers as they went on talking. It was a habit he had as long as he could remember. The woman then exclaimed as Éothen had asked for her name.

'Forgive me sir!' She cried. 'I am Larien Telemnar. I am a traveller, going from one place to another- but there was a time that I lived in Rivendell, as the adopted daughter of Lord Elrond.'

For a moment he thought she looked sad, into deep thoughts of sorrow. And that she after this statement returned into them. Éothen nodded slowly at her. He didn't know what to say.

'Lady Telemnar.' He said, nodding again, 'I guess you have great experience in travelling to distant places?' He grinned slightly, but only felt stupid as she saw she was unhappy. Her expression spoke of a sorrow long forgotten that had returned as they spoke. He was curious, wondering what once happened to her.

'Lady Telemnar..? Is something wrong?' he asked, sounding worried. He leaned closer and glanced at her. She did not smile, Éothen was growing nervous and afraid of maybe have insulted or brought up something he shouldn't have.

[Folwren]

Wren reached up and took the handle of the wardrobe. Ginger smiled down at her and then they both pulled at the doors. It came open with a reluctant squeak and they swung the doors back to the wall behind it. Wren searched the dim insides with bright, expectant eyes as Ginger reached forward and opened drawers and pulled out different dresses and aprons to go with them. Wren’s eyes got brighter and brighter as Ginger pulled out more. Finally, the hobbit stopped what a triumphal ‘Aha!’ and held out a dress that looked like it might possibly fit the small form of the girl.

Ginger helped Wren take off her first dress, worn from the constant travel and use and with the dirt of the road clinging to it’s folds, and put her into the new outfit. She did up the buttons in the back and then put an apron about her and tied it in the back around her waste to bring the dress in (it was, of course, to wide for her there).

“Does it look pretty?” Wren asked, looking down at herself as well as she could and turning about to make the skirt swirl. Ginger smiled and led her with gentle hands to the mirror at the other side of the room. Wren nearly squealed for joy when she saw her reflection. She had not looked so nice for weeks, she knew. The dress was almost fit perfectly, and her hair was done up admirably. She turned to Ginger and took her hand with excitement and began pulling her back towards the door. “Can we go down to the kitchen and show Tim? He’ll like the new dress and he likes blue, too, so he’ll like the ribbons...”

She didn’t wait for an answer and hurried out with the hobbit in tow. In a minute, they were back in the kitchen. Tim and Aman were just walking back in through the door and Wren let go of Ginger’s hand and ran to him.

“Look, Tim! Ginger did up my hair all nice and found me a dress, and see, look, she even let me have blue ribbons for my hair and she’s real nice, Tim. Can we stay? Please, can we stay?”

Tim surveyed his little sister carefully with a small smile on his lips and a fond light in his eyes. Her last question brought a little stronger smile and he looked up at the others in the kitchen briefly. Then, turning his look back to his sister, he answered. “I don’t know yet, Wren. It’s not up to me. We’ll see what comes.”

[Larien Telemnar]

'Lady Telemnar..? Is something wrong?'

Larien looked up suddenly, bringing her mind out of the memories of the past and tried to conentrate on the future. She gave a half-hearted smile.

'Forgive me sir. It seems as if I have returned to the road leading to the past, a place I often find myself these days.' She looked down at her hands uncomfortably, her fingers rubbing against the cloth of her skirt, as they always seemed to do when she was anxious. Perhaps I should tell tell this stranger my troubles. She thought. Perhaps he will not think ill of me.

She glanced at him to see a look of concern on his face, his eyes sincere and kind. After a short moment of deliberation, she resolved to tell her tale at last.

'I have only told the fair people at this inn about the early events of my life, bu only one other knows of my guilt, and the events that happened only within the last few years. I am the daughter of two Hobbits who wer travellers. One night while travelling through the misty mountains they were ambushed by Orcs. I was just an infant, so it was an easy task for my mother to hide me. Lord Elrond of Rivendell was travelling through the mountains and found me, took me home and raised me as his own daughter.' Here she paused to take a sip of her tea.

'I lived there for many years, untill the War of the Ring. I was lurking in the shadows during a council that was held, concerning Isildur's Bane. I thought to aid Middle-Earth in some way, so I ran away, against my father's wishes. A friend went with me, a young Elf by the name of Tyaro, as well as a few others. We had travelled to Rohan ten years before that, and decided that we would travel there first. After travelling to Rohan, we wandered about, fighting small bands of Orcs. One night Tyaro and I were seperated from our group, and were attacked by Wargs.' Here a small tear trailed down her cheek. 'We tried to fight them, but there were too many. Tyaro knew there was no hope of defeating them; he had already been mortally wounded, so he hid me in a rock clef- against my wishes- and drew them away. I can still hear his screams at night.'

Her voice trailed off as the tears streamed down her cheeks. 'I could not fight after that, so I sent the rest of our band away, back to Imladris.'

She gave a weak smile through her tears. 'Forgive me, sir. I should not be troubling you with this tale.'

[Seth Cotton]

Éothen sat speechless and baffled by her story. He wasn’t sure of what to say, if it would sound stupid, heartless or even mean? He decided to remain silent for another moment, maybe she would say something. She cried, not a sound, but he saw the tears roll and he felt a bit uncomfortable with the situation and he looked down in the table.

‘I am s-sorry...’ He started, thinking it must sound really stupid. His way of saying it, his words of choice. The tone in his voice that sounded more like someone who has nothing better to say than that. He felt guilt and rubbed his head a little innocent.

‘I am really sorry to hear about your dear friend, my Lady...’ He continued and sounded more comfortable as the tensed situation began to ease and he felt more confident. She had almost stopped crying, yet she was still sad, no doubt of it. ‘Still it seems to me you are afraid of something?’

Maybe it was stupid of him to ask further more about it. Perhaps it would just make it worse, he would probably just bring up more darkness and sorrow. Even though it wasn’t his intention it seemed inevitable to him. He knew how it was to lose a friend, he had lost many. He thought of her as a brave person to actually talk about it; talk about the sorrow she felt. That was a braver thing than fighting a hundred orcs.

Éothen, for one, would never speak of such things. They were still strangers to each other but she must have built up a lot of confidence for Éothen which made him feel a little bit better and he even smiled, but stopped abruptly as he realised how dumb he must look. He sighed deeply; not even the sun outside helped. The shadow was lying over them as a covering of sorrow. No sun would take it away.

‘Maybe we should speak of something else...’ Éothen said a bit melancholy. He glanced at her and then made a quick glance outside at the fine weather. ‘Would you join me for a walk in the garden instead? Maybe it will make things better?’

[Lord Burzdol]

As the young man reached the stables of the Green Dragon Inn, he smelled the scent of freshly baked bread wafting from the kitchen. He was not tall by human standards, but he was finely built in musle and had a firm jaw. His black traveling cloak covered a leather breastplate with a horse embroidered upon it, common to the Riders of the Rohirrm. A shortsword was strapped to his side, as well as a long dirk. On his back he wore a quiver and shortbow, and his leather greaves were stained with mud. The famed inn was bustling as he walked in, people moved about waking and shaking sleep from their eyes. He moved carefully, ducking passing serving maids and dodging groggy adventurers.

"Sir, would you like a room?" a man asked.

"Yes, but I do not know how long I will be staying."

"Alright, may I ask your name?"

"My name is Palin, Palin Viccus. And m'am," Palin asked as the woman turned to leave, "may I get some food as well?"

"Certainly," the innkeeper said as she shuffled off to check on other guests. So, this is where I will start my adventures he thought. He was passed a plate of bacon, bread and a cool ale. He downed the meal in moments and pulled the cowl of his black cloak over his eyes, and slowly he drifted off to sleep.

[Dragon Elf odin Ragnorock]

It was a bright and sunny morning when a man in a dark cloak rode up to the green dragon inn.When he gets there he ties his horse up and walks in the bar. Then he askes the bartender if he could get a cold ale, some food, and a room because he had been riding all night and wanted to get some rest. Then he told the bartender to bring the food and drink to the back table in the corner. while he was waiting he pulled out his pipe and sat down in the chair dowsing off every once in a while. why didn' I stop at the last inn I came to he thought to himself.

"Here is your food" said the waitress

"Thanks" said the man

"is my room ready" asked the man

"I dont know" said the waitress "let me ask the barkeep"

"ok"

Then he ate his meal and had two more drinks. Then derifted off to sleep in his chair, but was suddenly sturred by the sound of darts on a dart board.

"Can I join your game?" asked the man

"sure"said one of the players"but what is your name?"

"it is Menecar"

[Gelmir]

It was morning. Gelmir (http://i15.photobucket.com/albums/a396/JonnyBrotherJr/BDGelmir.jpg) had just woken up when he found himself leaning on a brick wall. He looked up he saw the bottom of a sign. He stumbled and looked at it again in a different angle, "Gr-green, Drain- No, Dragon... Ann. The green Dragon Ann." A hobbit walked passed,
"It's the green dragon inn" He said.
"Ugh, Hobbits. Have no respect for wood elves" Gelmir murmured. This particular hobbit was drunk.

Gelmir walked in, he went to the barkeep, "Could I have four of your breakfasts and six of your Ales, please. I'd like a room when I'm done." He said, "Oh and if you have any purple soup, I'd like that, here's a tip any how." Gelmir skipped along to a table. Gelmir got out a small ball and rolled it around to and fro, until the waiter came.

The waiter came with five trays. "Is this the party of Gelmir?" Asked the waiter
"Yes." Replied Gelmir
"Well, here's what you ordered, you sure you have enough?" chuckled the hobbit waiter,
"Yes. Could you ask if my room is ready," Gelmir asked.
"Certainly, sir. Anything else?" Asked the waiter.
"Where's my purple soup?" Gelmir ranted in his way, which wasn't much of a rant rather a wine.
"We don't serve 'purple soup'," He replied softly.
"When will you?" Asked Gelmir.
"Long after your dead." He replied again.
"I don't die, I dye you.... re hair green if you like..." laughed Gelmir
"Oh yes please" Answered the waiter sarcastically.
"Well, I just want to know if my room is done, thank you." Replied Gelmir,
"Will do right away, Sir." He said.
"Good day," Waved Gelmir.
Gelmir tucked into his food. When he had almost finished the waiter came again.
"Your room is ready, Sir." He stated.
"Thank you." He said as he clutched the keys in his hands and finished his lunch.
He went up stairs into his room and went to sleep very early................

Gelmir will wake up the next morning.

~Gelmir~

[Kath]

Astilwen had eventually found the Innkeeper after wandering through the kitchens. She was pretty busy with a pair of Big People children so she waited until she had finished with the girl child and just slipped in for a moment to ask for a room. The woman gladly gave her one and gave her directions. Astilwen hurried up the stairs to the room and gratefully sank into a warm bath. Once she was clean and had worked all the nasty kinks out her muscles she dressed again and went downstairs.

Her stomach had been rumbling in the bath and she realised that she must have missed dinner the night before and though the morning was getting late she would prefer to have a breakfast rather than a lunch. She moved to sit down at a table, not realising that there was already someone sitting there as he was so wrapped up in a black cowl. Startled she jumped up but caught her foot on the table leg. She fell, landing on the man's foot and taking the table with her with a large crash. Mortified she leapt up and began to try and put the table back to rights and apologised over and over to the poor man she had fallen on.

"I am so sorry sir I didn't realise you were there. I'll clean this up and pay for you to have another meal as I have ruined this one if you will just accept my apologies."

The man looked up as if in a daze and Astilwen realised that she had awoken him from a deep sleep. Now feeling even worse she carefully placed the broken crockery on another table and tried to right the one she had knocked over but found it too heavy. Straining with the weight she suddenly felt it lighten, and looked up to see the man setting it straight with a rather bemused smile on his face.

[Larien Telemnar]

Larien felt guilty that she had brought her years of sorrow and shadow into this kind man's life. She felt the cloud of her greif hovering over them, overshadowing the beautiful morning.

Why, oh why did I tell him my tale? She though. It would have been best had I died that day. I am dead inside already.

'I am s-sorry...’ Said Eothen haltingly. Larien could tell she had made him uncomfortable. Still, the man tried another effort at lightening the shadow.

‘I am really sorry to hear about your dear friend, my Lady...’ He stopped, as if unsure of himself, then continued. ‘Still it seems to me you are afraid of something?’

Larien looked down at her hands and sighed. How could she burden him with all of her fears and sorrows? It seemed to her that he had seen much grief already.

‘Maybe we should speak of something else...’ Éothen said, sounding not at all cheery. Larien thought that might be a fine change, but didn't know what to talk about. ‘Would you join me for a walk in the garden instead? Maybe it will make things better?’

Perhaps he will start a new topic of discussion. She thought. Smiling, she stood.

'I think that would be wonderful.'

[Nurumaiel]

Falco Headstrong stumbled wearily into the Common Room, and found that Marigold had already come down. She was perched on top of one of the tables, and when she saw him she waved frantically. Grumbling, he staggered over to her and sat down heavily in one of the chairs. She lightly sprang from the table to the floor, and likewise sat down.

"I had to sit on the table until you came," she said. "I wanted you to know where I was and I was afraid you might not see me if I were in one of the chairs. There are so many tall folk about. I was very afraid that someone would see me and say I wasn't allowed to sit on the table, and then what would I do? I'd have to give you up for lost, Mr. Headstrong."

He said nothing, but groaned loudly.

"Am I annoying you?" she cried, her face filling with distress. She clasped her hands together and looked earnestly into his face. "Do you dislike it when I talk?"

"At the present moment," he said, "anyone's talk, whether yours or the man in the moon's, will bother me. I have an awful headache that has been going on for most of the night."

"Oh, I'm quite sorry," she said. "But, you know, it just goes to show that names, like appearances, can be deceiving. Anyone who was just introduced to you might think that you had a very strong head. But your head is just as likely to ache as anyone's."

He groaned again, and quickly she closed her mouth and remained considerately silent... for a time. Her eyes darted about the Common Room quickly, as if she were searching for something, and then she took it upon herself to explain.

"I'm so excited for school to start," she said. "I find it so much easier when you're past the first day. The first day, you know, I was very quiet. I was so afraid I would make a fool of myself but saying something ridiculous. But I'm beginning to feel more like talking. After all, many of the children don't know anything, and I know something at least, even if it's not very much. Maybe if I studied all the day, and not only when the school is going on, I would become so wise that I could help teach. And then all through the day the children would come to me asking questions about this and that, and that and this. I'd feel quite important then. Not that I don't usually feel important. I felt important the time I fell off the horse and all the Elves were so worried about me. I suppose you're awfully important when Elves worry about you. But I was hurting all over, so it wasn't as exciting as it might have been. It will be something I can look back upon in my old age, though. Do you think they'll teach us about Elves in school? There are so many Elves here in the Inn we could talk about... and they could come and teach about themselves! Wouldn't that be funny? Imagine if I were to go to a school to teach everyone about Marigold Baker. Don't you think that would be odd?"

She turned bright eyes to Falco, and saw from the expression on his face that he wasn't in the mood to think about anything. Her eyes grew wide and she wondered how long she had been prattling on. She closed her mouth again, this time much more firmly, and this time it stayed closed for a little while longer.

[Lithui07]

Eadwyn paused her whistling for a moment to wince at the pains of hunger that were currently gripping her stomach. She had been riding since before the sun was up without a meal, and the long hours on the road admiring the beautiful scenery had distracted her from taking a break. The inviting sign of an inn just up ahead made a smile creep onto her young face. Eadwyn slowed her horse to a stop and climbed slowly off the dapple gray mare. She took a much-needed stretch and looked up. Her pale blue eyes took in the sign out front.

"The Green Dragon." Eadwyn whispered with a smirk. "Sounds friendly enough."

Eadwyn took the reins of her horse in her hands and gave the mare a pat on the nuzzle. She pulled the hood back off her head to reveal a mass of golden blond hair neatly tied back behind her head.

Eadwyn located the stable hand, Meriadoc, and after making sure her travel companion was in good hands she entered the inn. Things seemed pretty calm; Eadwyn looked around and found an empty table. She maneuvered quickly across the floor and slid into a seat at the table.

Eadwyn hailed from Rohan and she realized for the first time in many days how truly far away from home and all familiar things she was. Her mother, a lady of the court, had detested much of Eadwyn's decision to go out and explore the world she lived in. Her father, a celebrated member of the Rohirrim, found it amusing that his spirited daughter wanted to expand her horizons. Eadwyn had spent much of her childhood causing mischief and getting in to trouble by playing with the boys. She had always wanted to be a rider like her brother, but the rules of the world would always put a damper on her dreams.

However, today her dreams brought her to this cozy little place filled with interesting faces. Eadwyn was eager to meet new people, but her boisterous personality was masked as usual by her shyness. She settled for ordering some breakfast from someone named Ruby who seemed to be the kitchen help.

Eadwyn wished to take her time eating. She needed to take a long, long rest for the road that still lay out ahead of her.

[brim]

Brim skuffed her toes on the door of the inn. Ouch I didn't see that one coming she thought herself shaking her golden elven locks. "Of corse I did't see it though I'm blind" she reminded herself. she could hear the busy inn inside. she was on her own now while Hender saddled the horses. The only thing that really comfrorted her ,as she walked carefully to her seat, was the lump of throwing knives in her boot. all she would have to do is wait for footsteps from an enemy and he/or she would be dead in their tracks.

Sitting down in the quietest corner she could find she waited. her elven features were unmissable. Brim had grown up in what once was mirkwood. It had never really felt like home, especially with all her traveling with Hender.

[Saelind]

"Please, Father, please," the younger Elf intoned. "Last night at supper, you said we might stay for a bit. I do like it here. I can go to Miz Bella's class, and the lads about the Inn were kind to me. Everyone's beginning to talk about the Fair: the fine foods and the games and the singing. I should like to see all that. Then, when we are finished, we can go sail to mother."

Thalion regarded his son with a shake of the head, uncertain how to respond to him. His intention had been to continue to the Havens and then set sail for the West. His own wife had already made the journey, and all of his companions from Lorien had also departed across the Sea. Elves were supposed to be above mundane sentiments like loneliness, but sometimes there was an emptiness in Thalion's heart that felt suspiciously like an empty room.

Yet what about his visions from the evening before? His dear Anoriel had urged him to remain in Middle-earth for the sake of their much beloved son. In the second dream his mother had accused him of being obstinate and pig-headed for not acceding to his wife's wishes. Perhaps the two were right. He had not experienced the true Sea-longing that drove so many to the Western shores with no hope or possibility of return. He still had a choice. There would be all the time in the world to reunite with his kin in the Blessed Isle. But for his own son to understand the ways of the other free folk, there would be only this one chance.

Neviel looked up at his father with pleading eyes, towsled black curls falling back onto his shoulders and a look of trust etched on his face. Thalion felt his own resistence waver as he steadily regarded the lad. "Perhaps, you are right," he began, enunciating his words very slowly. "Perhaps it would do no harm to linger at this Inn for a bit. I might be able to do something to help that young hobbit Rory. In Rivendell, I have seen others with a palsy worse than his regain the use of their limbs. The fields about here are green and inviting, just the sort of thing for a short trek. And it is possible that some of these travellers or other hobbits who live in the region might require the services of a healer."

"We stay then?" queried Neviel, a broad smile spreading quickly over his face.

"Yes, for now. You may attend Miz Bella's class, but I will need your help in planting a small herb garden. Perhaps, Cook or the Innkeeper could secure me the use of a small plot. There seems to be plenty of land to spare, and, if I am to be of any help to the local folk, I must replenish my herbs."

Neviel's head bobbed up and down as he promised his father to help work in the garden. The young Elf hurriedly finished his breakfast and then ran off to see if he could find one of the other children whom he had met at the school. His father still sat at the table as he watched Neviel speed off, seemingly so comfortable with the folk and his surroundings .

[Morsul the Dark]

Morsul sat listening to the gaffer's tale it was certainly very long. It seemed to strech farther then morsul's own mustache. I pardened himself and looked around to see where the inn-keeper was he saw, a lovely woman bustling about pouring drink here laughing there morsul was about to approach her for lodging but decided to instead move back outside he lay beneath the trees and searched the woods lovely almost elvish trees they seemed although Morsul had never seen elves.

As the thought came and went a troupe of dwarves were bumbling up the road towards the in Morsul bade them sit with them and talk awhile being kind hearted they refused claiming their weariness too strong when Morsul offered to pay their beer tab and buy them breakfast they were more apt to talk.

Morsul was becomiong quite known for his generousity with money the strange bit was he was almost out of it he would have to be off soon and find a way to get some spare gold

[Alcarillo]

"The innkeeper here is Aman, a woman from Rohan," Alcarillo told Miz Greengage, "a land to the south." He wondered if the hobbits knew of different lands, if they had even heard of them. Surely they aren't cut off from the outside world , Alcarillo thought, At least not since the War of the Ring. They must've learned all about Gondor and Mordor then. He munched on his last piece of bread thoughtfully. What a different people, these hobbits. They live peacefully without any fear. They may not be a very mighty people but they must be counted among the happiest.

"Now I have a question for you, Miz Greengage," Alcarillo announced, "You must be very familiar with the Shire. Can you tell me where the nearest inn that lies eastwards is? I'm traveling that way, you see, and I am somewhat unused to sleeping at the side of the road." He smiled pleasantly at her.

[StrongBad]

Pulling the door to the Dragon open, a hobbit scurried in quickly. He was so used to duck around the Large Folk in Bree that it had just become second nature to move a bit faster than he would normally like. The pudgy halfling out of the way of the door took in a big breath of air as he gave the tavern a once over. The road from Bree to the Dragon had been tiring on his dusty feet and he leaned against the dark tavern wall to relieve them. If it hadn't been at the insisting of his mother, he would still be at home, lifting pints at the Pony. He rolled his brown eyes as his mother's crow like voice filled his head again.


"You 'aven't been to see your Aunt and Uncle in ages. They deserve more than one visit a season, you good for nothing." The grey haired woman had her moments of kindness, though those were as rare as elves.


"Well, why don' you go an' see 'em then?" The hobbit had countered.


"They asked to see you not me, Milo. Now go on, before you miss the Trader's cart!" She had said, ending further chance for argument. Well, he had missed the Trader's Cart and now he had a jolly walk to The Green Dragon where his Uncle would soon be meeting him.


The hobbit was altogether unremarkable. He had light brown hair accompanied with his ruddy skin and dark brown eyes. His hair hung on is head in a mess of curls, unable to be tamed. Wearing a bright yellow shirt with a dark green traveling cloak thrown hastily about his shoulders, Milo also wore a pair of brown breeches that now had several unfortunate tears from his walking excursion. They were held about his frame by a pair of brown suspenders. He was a bit thinner than most hobbits, something his mother was forever commenting on. The Dragon looked nearly the same as the last time he had come. It was still smaller and easier to navigate than the Pony at home. He smiled, even though he was miles away from home, a tavern was a tavern. Loosening the clasp on his cloak, Milo brushed a bit of the road dust that had accumulated on his shoulders that day. His brown feet walked toward the bar in a tired ambling sort of way. Milo opened the small pouch on his belt, fumbling for a minute, seeing if he had brought enough for an ale. He smiled broadly as he found several coins and his walk quickened a bit.


He took an open seat at the bar, not having to hoist himself up like at home. Milo scratched as his head as he patiently waited. He pulled a twig from his hair and chuckled, tossing the small bit of foliage away. Milo absentmindedly pulled out his coins and began to fiddle with them on the bar.

[Dunwen]

A short, sturdy woman mounted on a small sturdy gray pony entered the stableyard. She patted the animal's neck and murmured, "It's been a pleasant jaunt this morning, hasn't it, Cinders? Let's get you unloaded and watered and see what's what in this place." The pony's ears flicked back at the sound of her mistress' voice and she snorted as if in agreement. She had enjoyed ambling along in the clear morning too, but it was time for a drink of water.

Pony and rider paused and looked at the bustling stableyard with interest. Horses, Humans, Elves and Hobbits were engaged in their daily business, and there was delicious scent of new-baked bread and and bacon wafting from somewhere. Seeing a fair-haired young woman and a lad coming from the stables, the woman dismounted and led Cinders over to them.

"Good morning," she said. "I need a stable and fodder for my pony, and a room for me, for the next day or two. Do you have room for us?"

Aman looked down at the Green Dragon's latest arrival. She saw a slightly stout, brown-haired woman about five feet tall leading a rough-haired gray pony by a worn bridle. The newcomer appeared to be in her early middle age, with a stern face somewhat softened by a pair bright hazel eyes surrounded by laugh lines. She was dressed simply, in a linen blouse and a pair of dark homespun breeches tucked into well-worn leather boots. Her only ornamentation was a pattern of gaily-colored flowers stitched at the neck of her shirt.

"We have room, indeed," Aman said. "We'll see to your beast at once. If you are hungry, we're serving breakfast in the common room."

To Aman's surprise, the woman smiled and shook her head. "Thank you, dear, but if you'll just show me the stall, I'll get Cinders here settled myself. Barliman speaks well of the Green Dragon, but I know what she likes."

The innkeeper was torn between approval of this woman's concern for her pony and chagrin at her implication that the Green Dragon might be lacking any necessities for man or beast. Approval won out -- mostly.

"As you wish, madam," she replied ruefully. After showing the new arrival a clean stall, Aman returned to the yard to greet the next arrival.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Several minutes later, the inn's newest guest entered the common room, carrying her saddlebags and looking pleased. If the condition of the stables was any indication, this would be a very pleasant place to stay. Looking around for an empty table, she noticed several hobbits, at least one Man, two other Women, an Elf and what appeared to be the remains of two dropped trays on the floor. Used to the constant pandemonium at the Prancing Pony, she calmly located an empty table and sat down, carefully arranging her saddlebags under her feet.

Catching the attention of a tray-laden hobbit-lass, she said courteously, "Little mistress, when you have a moment, I would be thankful for some hot tea, eggs, and buttered toast." In no time a warm plate containing a generous breakfast was placed in front her, along with a steaming mug of tea. "Thank-you, dear," she smiled. Handing the girl a copper penny, she continued, "I'm Widow Rosebank, from Bree. Would you mind asking the innkeeper if she might have a few minutes to talk to me?"

[Child of the 7th Age]

With a broad smile, Miz Bella glanced towards the woman who was called Widow Rosebank from Bree. She felt an instant liking for the sturdy figure, so practically dressed in breeches and boots. It was a guise she had often adopted on her own journeys to the furthest corners of Middle-earth. And Bree seemed like such a sensible, good natured place....a place where Big and Little Folk rubbed shoulders and had actually managed to be neighbors. Since returning home, Miz Bella had come to appreciate hobbit common sense, but occasionally found herself questioning the too prevelent attitude that there was nothing to be gained by poking one's nose outside the Shire boundaries. Widow Rosebank did not seem the type to put up with such nonsense.

Turning to the next table, Miz Bella issued an invitation for the stranger to come and join her. "I'll be leaving for the classroom in a bit but you are welcome to share a spot of tea and a bit of conversation before I go. I would be curious to hear how you made your way here. Once you finish your conversation with the Innkeeper, or even before, you are welcome to share my table."

With that Miz Bella gave an encouraging nod of her head, and slipped back into her chair. She was still thinking about a conversation she'd overheard between Woody and Gil that had centered on the possibility of making the story of Master Bilbo and the Dragon part of the puppet show for the Spring Faire. This seemed like a wonderful idea to Miz Bella, who was eager to have the children work on the props they would need. As Gil had suggested, they would require painted stones to serve as jewels, boxes transformed into treasure chests, and perhaps a 'skellyton' or two that the young lads would appreciate. When she noticed Ruby hurrying by laden with a tray of breakfast goodies, Miz Bella asked if she could leave a message for Gil to come see her if he should wander into the Inn.

Then she turned her attention to the one other guest in the room whose face was familiar to her: the Elf Thalion, father of her new student Neviel. As Miz Bella glanced at the Elf, she could see that he was staring solemnly into the inner pouches of his healer's kit; he seemed to be examining the small vials and packets of herbs to see what was there and what was missing. Once again, she made a welcoming gesture with her hand. Thalion came over to sit down.

"I wanted to thank you," Miz Bella noted, "for letting your son attend class. He is a bright and kind hearted boy, and is getting along well with the others. He was especially kind to the youngster Rory, the hobbit lad who has trouble walking. They got along well." She leaned forward and lowered her voice to ask, "Have you seen Rory? Please tell me. You are a healer. Do you think he could be helped to walk again?" Mi\z Bella had never been afraid to poke her own nose into another's business if she felt that some good could come out of it.

[Saelind]

Thalion


Thalion stared down at the table, carefully avoiding Miz Bella's probing eyes. He had seen the hobbit lad at dinner the night before and had listened to Neviel's earnest tale about how much trouble Rory had encountered trying to navigate the steps of the Inn. It had crossed Thalion's mind that something might be done, but whether he would be the right person for the task he wasn't sure.

Thalion glanced over at Miz Bella and then looked distractedly out the window before clearing his throat and beginning to speak, "Yes, I have seen the lad. Last night in the common room. But whether he can be helped or not, I could not say. Once, on a trip beyond Mirkwood, right after the great war, I worked with one man from Dale, who had lost the use of his limbs due to illness. It took many weeks of work and a fine pair of braces made by one of the Dwarven cratsmen, but he did regain his ability to walk."

"There was an Elf here a short while ago," continued Thalion. "He was a fellow named Mithalwen, whom Neviel said had some interest in devising a pair of braces for the lad. My own skill with such things is limited. I would be glad to work with the boy in teaching him to walk again. The harder part would be the brace. I have never fashioned such a device."

"You would do it then? You would at least try?" Miz Bella pressed, with a trace of excitement in her tone.

"I would certainly be willing to speak with Rory's mother, and see if she would agree to have me look at the lad. And perhaps I can check if Mithalwen is still about or if someone else has the skill to devise a brace. More than that I cannot promise."

Miz Bella reached out a hand to thank the Elf, and voiced her thanks, "It is more than I could have hoped for. As a word of warning, you might want to speak with Camille as well as her mother. She's very protective of her brother. It might go better if you put her mind at ease." Miz Bella remembered how uncomfortable Camille had been to hear that Neviel was joining the class, but she thought it best to keep that point to herself at the present moment.

"I shall keep that in mind," Thalion replied. Then the Elf stood up and went back to his job of sorting out packets and vials of herbs.

[Dunwen]

Widow Rosebank had scarcely had time to tuck into her tasty breakfast when a hobbit woman at the next table asked if she would like to join her. The widow wasn't surprised. Hobbits were generally gregarious, and never more so than at mealtimes. This hobbit looked like she might be a bit younger than the widow, and had an open, friendly air about her. She looked like she would be good company, and perhaps might be willing to talk about the Shire.

Unfortunately, the widow had just taken a large bite of egg and was unable to respond immediately. By the time she chewed and swallowed, her neighbor was speaking to one of the servers. The Bree-woman continued to eat as the little hobbit invited a somber-looking Elf to join her. She would have liked to go over then, just to get a closer look at him. She had dealt with Men of all sorts, and Hobbits and Dwarves often enough, but Elves traveling on the Great Road tended to go around the thickly populated Bree-land. She had once spoken briefly to an Elf she had met by chance a few years ago while walking through her daughter and son-in-law's fields, but that was the only contact she had had with the Fair Folk. However, he and the hobbit woman appeared to be having a private conversation, speaking quietly with their heads together.

As the Elf got up from the hobbit's table, Widow Rosebank thought she'd better get over there before the sociable stranger had to leave. She got up and slung her saddlebags over her shoulder. Picking up her mug and plate, she walked over and greeted the hobbit woman.

"Thank you kindly for asking me to join you. I do apologize for not answering you right away. I only travelled from Frogmorton this morning, but the fresh air does give you an appetite. If you don't have to leave right away, I could do with some company, not having been to the Shire before." Carefully setting her food and drink down, she shrugged the saddlebags off her shoulder and set them on the floor. "How d'you do," she said politely, once she had a hand free to offer the stranger. "I'm Ebba Rosebank, pleased to meet you."

The two shook hands. "I'm Miz Bella," replied the hobbit. "Pleased to meet you, too. Tell me how it is a Breelander finds her way to the Shire."

Ebba considered her answer for a moment. "Well, I do business with some of the farmers here who have sheep. I have a nice little store in Bree -- Rosebank's Drygoods and Notions," she said proudly, "and I sell wool for yarns and stitchery as well as cloth of all sorts, and a few things from Dale and the South, too. While I'm all for selling Bree-goods as much as I can, the wool from the Shire is as nice as I've seen, and there are more sheep here -- there would be, of course, the Shire is bigger than the Bree-lands -- and more wool. So I've dealt with some of your farmers for years through traders and such. Seeing as how my girls are old enough to mind the store for me, and as how I've never been out of the Bree-lands before, I thought I'd come myself this year. I've had customers traveling from the Shire for years talking about this tree of Mayor Gamgee's up at Bag End, and I've always wanted to see it. All gold it's supposed to be."

She stopped to take a sip of hot tea. "And then they're talking all the way to Bree about this fair you've got coming up, and I don't mind telling you that I'm mighty interested in that." She nodded significantly to Miz Bella. "I have a little business proposition for whoever is running it."

"Here now, I've run on about myself long enough. Are from you Bywater yourself?" Ebba settled back in her chair to give Miz Bella her turn to talk.

[Nurumaiel]

Marigold opened her mouth to say something, but caught herself just in time. Perhaps the threatening widening of Falco Headstrong's eyes helped her to remember. But, for goodness' sake, if his head hurt so much, why didn't he go back to his room? He said he didn't want breakfast, so there was really no reason to stay in the Common Room. Unless he liked the talking of all the people, which he couldn't, because it would make his headache worse. Why didn't he go? She liked his company when he was good company, but he was just a trial now. Sitting there, moaning, groaning, keeping her from speaking...

She turned discontented eyes away from him and they fell on an Elf that seemed to be looking at her. Immediately she blushed and dropped her eyes. Was that Elf looking at her? She had never expected that an Elf would notice her. She didn't seem interesting enough for an Elf, and aside from that she was so small that she was easily overlooked. What if the Elf was looking at her? What if the Elf tried to talk to her? How does one talk to an Elf? Would one try to speak very intelligently and very mysteriously?

She glanced up again quickly, and recognised the Elf as young Neviel. He had been at school. She smiled in great relief. It wouldn't be so bad to talk to Neviel. She wouldn't have to try to be Elvish.

He had caught her smile and had begun moving towards her. She recalled that Falco Headstrong was sitting at the table, and deciding it would be better to hold conversation away from him, she sprang up and hurried over to Neviel.

"Hello, Mr. Neviel," she said, slightly shy. "I'm so glad you came over. I've been wanting to talk all morning but Mr. Headstrong has a headache."

[Child of the 7th Age]

Mis Bella listened quietly as Widow Rosebank explained how and why she'd come to the Shire and about her business back in Bree. When the Widow had come to the end of her explanation, Miz Bella threw back her head and laughed, "I'm definitely not the one to see about transactions at the Faire. I am a newcomer myself to these parts and a teacher of young children. Business dealings were always beyond me. Maybe that's because I am a Took, born and raised outside these lands, one of the very few hobbits whose father went roaming far from the Shire. You see, father was never much for practical things either," added Miz Bella with a sigh.

"But that's enough about me. I do admire gumption in a hobbit, and you seem to have plenty of it. I know there are folk here who could help you. Cook, now, knows everyone in these parts and can put you in touch with someone with a good business head on their shoulders."

"But there is one thing you said that I am definitely interested in," Mix Bella stared fixedly at the Widow. "I love good yarns and such. You wouldn't happen to have any of those finished yarns for stitchery along with you? I'm looking to buy some for the little ones who come to my class. They'll be working on the props for one of the plays that's to be put on at the Faire. A bit of brightly colored yarn would do well both for decoration and even for sewing some of the puppet costumes and such."

"If you've got such along with you, I'd be mighty obliged to have a look...."

[Dunwen]

Ebba smiled broadly when Miz Bella asked her about her yarns. She had an entire saddlebag full of those of her wares which could easily be packed and carried, including skeins of yarn and spools of cotton thread. One of her great pleasures was creating designs on cloth with jewel-colored threads, yarns, and when she could get them, beads. For that purely selfish reason, she always had a supply of good quality yarns, cloth and thread at hand.

When she had been left a young widow with two small daughters, she had turned to peddling as a way to provide for them all. Her hard work had paid off and she now owned a respectable business in Bree, patronized by Big Folk and Little Folk alike. Like most of the other Big Folk in Bree, Ebba had grown up with hobbits and was familiar with their preferences, so she thought Miz Bella might find something she liked.

Now she opened a saddlebag and pulled out skein after skein of yarn: rich blue, golden yellow, buttercup, moss green and emerald, red, orange, violet and cream. A rainbow appeared to have settled on the table in front of Miz Bella, who exclaimed in delight.

Most of the yarns were ordinary knitting yarns, but there were some that were thinner for fine work, and some that had an odd loosely-twisted appearance. There were even spools of cotton thread suitable for embroidery in the colorful mass, as brightly colored as the woolen yarns.

"There we are," Ebba said. "Take your pick!"

[Saelind]

Neviel listened intently to Marigold's description of Falco Headstrong. The young Elf thought a moment and then he spoke. "Don't feel bad, Marigold....about Mr. Headstrong, I mean. Whenever big people have problems they don't want to talk about, the just tell everyone they have a headache. My father is the same way. When he is feeling blue and missing mother, he just says he has a headache. Elves aren't even supposed to get headaches, but he still says it anyway! If Mr. Heastrong told you that, it probably means he wants to be alone to think through something."

"Look over there," said Neviel excitedly, pulling determinedly on Marigold's sleeve. "Look and see what Miz Bella is doing." Their teacher was seated in front of a large display of yarn and threads and was picking them up one at a time. It looked as if every colour in the world had been splashed across the table. Some of the yarns were bright reds and yellows and green, simple colors that hobbits love. Others were soft, muted shades of blue and grey that reminded Neviel of the Sea. He thought that his father would especially like those. Still others seemed to glitter with silver and gold. Intrigued by the sight of so many colors, Neviel snatched again at Marigold's sleeve and began guiding her over to the table where Miz Bella was seated.

[brim]

Newalme led Brim by the hand into the crowded inn. He Carefully avoided the occupants and sat down in a realatively empty corner. He smiled as his friend's empty pool like eyes met his. It was almost like she could actually see his sandy blonde hair.

Brim took her seat gingerly. She had gotten quite used to her seat being pulled from under her by now. Brim's muscles ached from the long Journey she had taken a break from. As she felt for her book ,with various bumps and spaces instead of words, she brushed against the handle of one of her infamous thowing knives.

Newalme had always wondered how I could hit my target. brim thought to herself smiling. It was simple really her hearing and judgment was better so all she would have to do is wait for her enemy to advance on her. She sighed and pulled out the book begining to read.

[piosenniel]

~*~ GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS ~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

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

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

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

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

Meriadoc - Stablemaster

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

Ongoing characters from outside the Inn:

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

_____________________________________________

Please Note:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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About Elves in Shire RPG's:

Please use this description from Tolkien when crafting an Elf:

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

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

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

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EVERYONE

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

Thanks!

Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[piosenniel]

Time of Day

It's mid-morning in the Shire. Breakfast is still being served.

The weather is pleasant - sunny with a clear sky.

[Koobdooga]

Ibun Lodestone shifted the large, dark leather pack to his other shoulder as he turned up the dirt path to the Inn. The Dwarf paused for a moment, letting the morning’s breezes riffle through his long russet beard. He pushed back the hood of his yellow cape, letting the full heat of the sun warm his face. He grinned, his mustache curving up in a definite bow above his generous lips. Borne on the trails of those same morning breezes was the creak, creak of the Inn’s sign as it swayed on its iron chains.

‘Be needing a little oil, they do,’ he murmured to himself, hearing the protest of metal against metal.’

The Green Dragon was famous in the tales of his fathers, being the local watering hole nearest the hilly home of Master Bilbo Baggins, renowned thief. He chuckled to himself, delighted that he would at last see it.

A few steps brought him to the door, where he paused to knock the mud from his boots and shake the dust from his cloak. Leaving the bright morning light, he entered the darker interior of the common room, blinking a little as his eyes adjusted to the dimness. He felt at ease within the Inn’s walls – its cool, dark interior reminding him of the caves and mines of his home to the far east . Smells of food and drink assailed his nostrils, and he felt his stomach grumble in anticipation.

Taking a table near the wall, where his back would be protected and his view of those coming and going unobstructed, Ibun eased his pack off his shoulders. His cloak he laid neatly over the back of his chair. With a sigh of relief he sat down in the oaken chair. It had been a long morning’s walk and his feet had begun to protest it several miles back.

Servers were hurrying this way and that with platters of food and flagons of spirits. ‘I say, Miss!’ he called out to one who was passing on her way back toward the kitchen. ‘Do you think you might bring a hungry Dwarf some eggs and ham?’ His mouth watered at the thought of it. ‘And perhaps a pint of your fine ale to wet my whistle. My tongue’s fair parched from the dust kicked up from your farmers’ wagons!’

[brim]

Brim followed the dwarf's voice to where he sat. He seemed rater intruging. smiling to herself Brim set her book away. Even though the story was riveting she had enough fiction for on day. "Newalme, could you get me something to eat perferably warm?" she asked quickly.
The young man quickly got up from the table for a visit to one of the waitresses. he nodded to the lady and motioned over the nearest waitress to come.

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger and the Dwarf

Ginger had her empty serving tray tucked under one arm and was hurrying back to the kitchen, when she heard a low voice call out, ‘I say, Miss!’ She paused for a moment and turned toward the source. A newcomer to the Inn, she could see. And he was a Dwarf! She’d only been working at The Green Dragon for a short while and she couldn’t recall meeting one of the Dwarven people.

He seemed a nice enough fellow, she thought, drawing near him. His eyes twinkled in his face and beneath the generous beard and mustache she thought she could see him smiling.

‘Do you think you might bring a hungry Dwarf some eggs and ham?’ he went on as she stopped at his table. ‘And perhaps a pint of your fine ale to wet my whistle. My tongue’s fair parched from the dust kicked up from your farmers’ wagons!’

‘Yes, sir! Master Dwarf!’ she said, nodding her head to his requests. ‘I’ll just fetch your drink first and hurry back with your breakfast after.’ She turned to go, then as quickly turned back. ‘My name’s Ginger, by the way,’ she said introducing herself. ‘And, well, what is it they call you when you’re at home. If you don’t mind that is?’


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


Buttercup speaks with Newalme

To her left, Buttercup could see Ginger speaking to one of the newcomers. A russet haired Dwarf with a yellow cloak draped over his chair. He seemed friendly enough, and Ginger seemed at ease with him. Ginger was a new, young helper at the Inn, and Buttercup kept an eye on her in case she needed help with the tougher customers. This fellow appeared well mannered, however, so Buttercup passed on by.

She had only taken a few steps when a tall Elf hailed her. He had just gotten up from where a golden haired lady Elf sat. Brim she thought she remembered was the lady’s name. And this must be her traveling companion.

‘What can I do for you?’ she asked as she stepped up to where Newalme stood. ‘Would you and the lady like something to eat and drink?’

[Pivli]

"Now I have a question for you, Miz Greengage," Alcarillo announced, "You must be very familiar with the Shire. Can you tell me where the nearest inn that lies eastwards is? I'm traveling that way, you see, and I am somewhat unused to sleeping at the side of the road." He smiled pleasantly at her.

Violet’s attention had wandered for a moment – to the strange fellow who’d come in the door. Taller than a Hobbit, but not so tall as one of the Big Folk. And built very sturdy, he was. She dug down deep, in the stories she’d heard about Mister Bilbo and his adventures. Something niggled at the edges of her memory as she looked at the fellow’s beard and yellow cloak. A Dwarf! Yes, that’s the name she remembered from the old stories. My, my! Who’d have thought she would actually clap eyes on one.

The sound of the Elf’s voice drew her back. She heard the rising tone at the end of his words and knew he’d asked a question of her. Gather your wits back, Violet! she chided herself, piecing together what words of his she’d heard.

‘Well now, Master Nession – an Inn eastways down the road, you say. Mind you I haven’t traveled all that much. But I have gone as far as Frogmorton. ‘Bout twenty miles or so as the crow flies down the road. My mister took me there once when he was delivering some barrels he’d made to the inn there. The Floating Log, it’s called. Nice place; not quite as big as the Dragon. But very pleasant.’ She paused for a moment, thinking about some others of the Inns her husband had brought his barrels to. ‘Another day’s ride will bring you to the bridge that crosses the Brandywine. There’s a comfortable place there – The Bridge Inn, run by one of the Brandybuck families I heard tell.’

Violet took a sip of her tea; the steaming liquid warming her insides. ‘Oh, I’ve just thought of another, though it’s a bit off the Great Road. It was one of Mister Greengages favorites in the Eastfarthing.’ She furrowed her brow, recall where he said it was located. ‘Just before you get to the Brandywine River, there’s a small road that turns off toward the south, toward Stock. Less than an hour I should think, brings you to The Golden Perch. Finest beer in the Eastfarthing they say. And a fine place to put up if you like to fish at all. My husband did, bless him. “You had your choice,” he would say. “The Stockbrook or the Brandywine or both. Always come home with your creel full!” Many’s the fat smoked perch caught in those waters we’d have to tide us through the winters when meat was scarce.’

She looked over at Alcarillo, wondering if Elves fished and such. ‘Do you fish, Master Nession?’ she asked, the words bubbling up from her curious mind.

[Dunwen]

As she waited for Miz Bella to make up her mind, Ebba noticed two nearby children gazing at the colorful pile on the table. She kept an eye on them. Youngsters invariably wanted to touch the brightly colored goods. While sympathetic, Ebba’s familiarity with the frequently grubby state of childish hands made her protective of her wares.

These two made a strange pair indeed. The merchant had to smile at the small chattering hobbit girl and her friend, who towered over her. Why, the lad was nearly as tall as Ebba herself – not that it was hard for a boy child to top her. As handsome a young fellow as she ever remembered seeing, too! And well-mannered, she noted with approval. As he took the girl's arm and headed toward her table, Ebba was startled to see he had a resemblance to the dark-haired Elf who had been chatting with Miz Bella earlier. Could this boy be his son?

Seeing their determined approach, she stepped aside so they could see. “Come and look if you want, but don’t you touch unless your hands are clean,” she said firmly.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Miz Bella looked up from the pile of yarns that she had just finished sorting. There was a considerable heap of bright woolen thread sprawled out on one side of the table. Miz Bella had picked out the colors that she thought would work best to decorate the costumes and props they would make for the Faire. There was the short skit that the children would do as well as the puppet show that she had learned about just the day before. They would need yarn to embroider a bright curtain for the front of the stage, to make wigs for each of the characters, to weave cloth that could be turned into costumes, and a hundred other uses that she could not precisely recall at the moment.

Glancing up to see Neviel and Marigold inching towards the table, Miz Bella gestured for the two to come closer. She inspected their hands to make sure that they were clean. "That's good. Come have a look then. But do be careful, just as Miz Ebba says. Margold, help me find some fine colors that we can use to embroider a curtain for the stage. And Neviel, your father told me you've had some experience weaving cloth. Pick out some colors that would work for puppet costumes ..... dwarves and men and a hobbit or two, plus a large and very frightful dragon who has an evil glint in his eye."

[Saelind]

Neviel turned towards his teacher with a smile. It was the part about the dragon that had caught his ear. He found a long skein of brown thread and another of green and set these to one side. Then he sorted out a smaller pile of red and orange yarn, thinking that these would do for the flames that must surely come spewing out of the dragon's mouth.

Yet, even as he did this, there was one thing that was still bothering him. The young Elf turned toward the hobbit who apparently owned the goods and had set them out on the table. "Begging your pardon, ma'am. I don't think we've met. These yarns are very pretty, and I think they would do well for our skit and puppet show at the Spring Faire. I should like to buy them, but my pockets are empty, and I haven't even a penny to pay for all this." He looked up quizzically first at Miz Bella and then at the hobbit lady whose name he did not know.

[Dunwen]

"I should like to buy them, but my pockets are empty, and I haven't even a penny to pay for all this."

Ebba was hard put not to chuckle at the Elf-boy's earnest words. She managed to keep a straight face as she replied, "You're a proper honest lad and no mistake. As it happens, Miz Bella here asked about my yarns and threads and was deciding on them before you came over." With a wink at the young elf and his hobbit companion she added in a loud whisper, "I think she wanted some help making up her mind."

Neviel, reassured, returned to looking over the yarns with Marigold's assistance. Across the table, Miz Bella had had to resort to hiding her laughter in her napkin at the widow's last sentence, which of course she had heard quite clearly.

Ebba decided it was time to conclude the deal. Quickly sorting through Miz Bella's choice of yarn, she placed the largest share of the pile to one side. "These I could let you go ahead and have without charge," she said briskly. Gesturing toward the remaining few skeins, she said, "These are harder for me to come by, and I would need to charge you for them."

Miz Bella, expecting to indulge in a bit of friendly haggling over all the goods she had selected, was surprised into a protest. "Surely you can't afford to give all this away," she said, laying a hand on the large pile of yarns.

"Mmmmm," Ebba shrugged enigmatically. "Happens I have a soft spot for anybody who can teach reading and writing. I didn't learn myself till I was grown, and it's a good thing I did then. I wouldn't have been able to take care of my family if I hadn't known my letters and ciphering and all. Now you can have this", pointing to the large pile, "if you'll pay me for these," indicating the smaller pile of threads. She named a price for the smaller pile which would scarcely make a dent in Miz Bella's purse.

Pleased at this bit of unexpected good fortune, Miz Bella agreed after only a little bit of haggling (for politeness' sake).

[Bêthberry]

A dark shadow crossed over the sunlight streaming through the window of the Green Dragon. Patrons rose in shocked surprise only to see a brown falcon swoop low through the door and drop a large scroll from one clawed leg onto a large wooden table.

"Why, that's Wyrd, Bethberry's falcon," one voice cried as several arms contested to catch the bird.

Evading them, however, Wyrd flew out again, leaving patrons to read the missive which bore a return address (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/showthread.php?p=409574#post409574)

"Well, now," said one. "It's not such a hike to Rohan, is it?"

"Naw, it t'ain't. And anybody's allowed to be a squatter, not just them Rohan types."

[The Perky Ent]

"For many a year I've walked this Earth, and I have but one thing to show for it." Barnaby grabbed a flask from his green tunic, and drank its contents. "Ale". Looking over a hill, Barnaby spied the Bywater. He took a vial of ink, a long purple quill, and a tearing peace of parchment from out of his jacket. As he looked over the list, he made several markings. Looking finally to a small blank space on the parchment, he smirked and tucked the supplies back into his jacket. Grabbing his walking stick, he strode down the hill to the Green Dragon.

Barnaby was an average hobbit; he loved the Shire, and its bounty. Ever since he was a lad, Barnaby showed a true passion for drinking. He was not an alcoholic, but a connoisseur. For over sixty years, Barnaby had gone from one end of the Shire to the other, in search of the perfect ale. He had not found the ideal drink yet, but he had vowed to keep searching until he had found it.

Walking down the road, he stopped at last to a crowded establishment. “Ah! The Green Dragon. I think I shall start here. “ Barnaby said, as he walked into the Inn. Inside, he found a multitude of yelling, cheering, and of course, drinking. He struggled for a second, dodging a rather drunk hobbit who promptly fell at Barnaby’s feet. “This will prove interesting.” He said, as he walked on down to a table. He caught the eye of a woman carrying drinks. She walked on over to Barnaby. “And what can I get you today?” she said. “Oh, I think an ale will be fine for now” Barnaby said, as she walked away.

Several minutes later, she came back with the drink. “Thank you, Milady “ Barnaby said, as she walked away. Barnaby took out his parchment and quill, and then started to sip the drink. At once, a surge of please and excitement ripped across his entire body. He went down on the ale like a worg ravaging a dead carcass. “That…that was…more!” he said, as he scribbled down the drinks taste on his parchment. “I think I shall be here a while” he thought, as he got up, and walked over to the woman who gave him the drink. “Excuse me Ma’am, but can you direct me to the innkeeper? “

[Alcarillo]

Alcarillo took careful note of the inns along the road. He did not want to sleep by the roadside and let unexpected weather soak his belongings, or find that the horse he had borrowed from a friend was stolen. Alcarillo would find it very awkward to tell Nárello back in Harlond that his horse was now gone, with a new rider or wandering the wild.

"Do you fish, Master Nession?" Miz Greengage asked.

Alcarillo's mind returned to the conversation at hand. "No, I'm afraid I don't," he answered, "I was never very fond of eating fish. My sister's husband, however, is a fisherman. He eats nothing but fish every day." Alcarillo nibbled on the last slice of bread. "He's taken me out on his boat numerous times. One time we ran out of food, and had to fish over the side of the boat. That was one of the few times I have eaten fish willingly." Alcarillo smiled at the fond memories of sailing the great sea. "Those were the days before the Shire was founded, before your folk came over the mountains, if I recall the words of the books in my study correctly." He finished the last of his tea.

It must still be mid-morning, he judged by the light through the windows. Alcarillo felt that he should leave soon if he wanted to reach the next inn by sunset, but Miz Greengage was an interesting character, and he was enjoying their conversation.

[Angel_Queen]

Ravon walked through the front doors of the Green Dragon. She had been absent for a while. Ravon and Lewis had finally returned from their trip to Rohan. She still wasn't sure if getting married in Rohan was the best idea. After all none of her family was there. But her mother had sailed from Middle Earth many years ago leaving Ravon to take care of herself.

Just before the doors closed Ravon heard a thud and turned to see that her husband had been hit by the massive doors. Attempting to hold back a laugh Ravon opened the door the rest of the way. "I'm sorry dear I forgot that you was even back there. My mind wondered off for just a second." Amongst all the shouts inside the inn Ravon still couldn't help but tend to her other half. "Lewis are you ok?" Despite all the years Lewis had spent fighting, Ravon knew that the force behind the door must have caused some sort of injury. A glimmer of crimson red liquid told Ravon all she needed.... Lewis' nose was bleeding.

[Aira Niquë]

Aicanara walked into the Green Dragon, hood still drawn up over her. Shaking back her hood, she let her dark, long hair fall carelessly down her back. He grey eyes scanned the room. She stood tall, with pale skin, the trademark complexion of an elf. She tucked her hair behind pointed ears and walked over to the innkeeper.

"I need a place to stay for a while. Would you be so kind?" Taking her key from the innkeeper, she gathered up what little stuff that she had brought with her and made the journey to her room.

Setting down her things, she took of her cloak completely, hanging it up on one of the convienient hooks on the wall. She turned down the bed, and assured that her steed would be safe in the stables, fell on to the bed and fell into a deep, much needed and much deserved sleep.

[Hiriel]

Crouched over slightly to avoid detection in the dusty pall of mid-morning , Lara Stonetoe trotted towards the Green Dragon Inn. She was in a state of half-elation and half-terror as she approached the window of the building from the back, not daring the door. After all, Fred’s bet had said nothing about actually going in, both of them not even near their tweens yet. She’d be in such trouble. And as bored as her mother had been lately, she did not relish the prospect of getting caught as she might have done otherwise, just to see the jumpy old busybody blast off, like the tales of Wizard Fireworks her gammer sometimes told.

Licking her lips which had somehow withered, whether from the heat or the nerves she couldn’t tell, Lara had to jump up several times, bobbing like fish bait in the Brandywine, to get a firm hold of the dusty window ledge. But even though her limbs were shaking like mad, the view inside was worth it. Oh, Fred was going to be so jealous when she told him about it! There was an elf accepting keys to a room, great gaffers alive, a real elf! Standing calm yet proud, her great ears pointed skyward, her eyes full of, well, it was something Lara couldn’t quite put words too. Starlight, but more brilliant, and more delicate. She even forgot to think how horribly jealous Fred would be, and how chicken he would feel for brushing off the bet when she got home and told him all about it.

Forgetting her earlier fear and squinting till her eyes were almost a line of wrinkles, she peered deeper into the tavern to find several hobbits taking their ease and, bless the Thain, another elf, in light conversation with a hobbit her mother knew, Miz Greenbow or Greenfen or Greengage or somersuch. Was it possible for some creature so high as an elf to be talking pleasantly to normal hobbit gentlefolk? Lara’s mouth opened slightly, struck with the wonder of it. But by now her limbs were tired and her neck wheezed, whining in complaint of the angle she was using to look. “Well, it wouldn’t be such a risk to take a peek through the door, she thought, licking her dry lips again. “ My legs are sore, and it’d put Fred right in his place, too! This seemed to be far more convincing than her still nervous feelings on peering into a place meant for hobbits twice her age, and so she crouched below the sightline of the window, and feeling increasing foolish at her care, crept towards the front door.

Her worry was for naught, however, for as she slunk towards the door, two other big folk (she wasn’t sure if they were men or elves, having never seen so many tall people together in one place before) made to enter it. Lara, gasping, clubbed, ripped her body backwards, clutching to the corner of the wall, but lost her balance in the bargain. The slighter of the two made it in the door fine, but she tripped into the big wooden frame just as the second made to enter it, knocking him flat.

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger sees to Barnaby and notes the accident in the doorway

Ginger turned away from the Hobbit’s table to get him another half pint of ale. Barnaby, as he had told her his name was quite the drinker it seemed. And the writer, to boot. She wondered how fast his quill could get if fueled by enough ale. ‘I’ll look round for Aman,’ she called back to him as she hurried off. ‘And send her to you when I’ve found her.’

On her way there, she saw Buttercup hurrying up the main aisle toward the door. Ginger paused for a moment to see what made her friend go at such a pace. Well, there it was – a dark haired Elf bent over one of the big folk males who lay sprawled on the Inn’s porch. And as the Elf shifted position for a moment, Ginger could see the man’s nose was bleeding.

Ruby ran past her, on her was to help also. ‘That’s Ravon, the Elvish lady there,’ Ruby told her quickly. ‘And the big man is Lewis, from Rohan.’ Ruby hurried on as Ginger made her way to the bar.

‘What a thoroughly odd morning,’ Ginger mumbled to herself. Seeing no sign of the Innkeeper behind the bar, she quickly pulled a couple of half pints for Barnaby. ‘May as well keep him occupied for a bit,’ she reasoned, taking both the foaming mugs back to his table.

[Pivli]

Violet gave her table companion a rather disbelieving look as he told her he didn’t fish. Lad or lassie alike in Bywater, all had a bit of fishing line stuffed in one pocket or another, just in case the opportunity presented itself. And not eat fish! Why no wonder the Fair folk were so skinny! Passing up crispy fried trout served up with taters and onions. Violet simply could not fathom it.

She was about to make some remark, when her sharp old eyes caught sight of a familiar face peeking in at a window. The Stonetoe girl! Violet chuckled to herself. ‘Up to some mischief, I suspect, with that Fred.’ The face disappeared as quickly as it had risen and Violet’s brows raised wondering what the girl thought she was doing.

‘Would you excuse me, Mister Nession,’ she said quickly, leaning on her cane as she leveraged herself up from the chair. ‘I see one of my dear friend’s children out on the porch. Needing some attention, no doubt.’ She bowed her back a bit, working out one of the many kinks that came and went on her aging body. Her knees creaked a little and protested the call to movement.

‘Lara! Lara Stonetoe! Is that you, girl?’ she called out as she started toward the door. Two of the serving lasses from the Inn went running by her nearly knocking her down. ‘Sorry, Miz Greengage. Big Folk accident,’ one of them hurriedly explained. And sure enough two large figures loomed in the doorway, one with a bloody nose. ‘Must be those big old boots they wear. Makes them trip,’ she thought looking at the tableaux.

‘Lara! Is that you lass? Come in and have a little bite to eat, won’t you?’

[Koobdooga]

A server has taken his order. Ibun Lodestone leaned back in his chair anticipating the first fine stream of Dragon ale as it cascaded down his throat. The Dwarf’s hopes for a quick delivery of victuals and drink dried up as he noted his server, Buttercup, go sprinting up toward the Inn door. Turning slightly in his chair, he noted the source of her rush. An Elven lady and some man with a bloody nose. Ibun’s eyes glittered with amusement, wondering if the man had made some ill remark to her and she’d clouted the oaf. His brother’s wife, he chuckled to himself, was just as likely to do that to her husband and sons if they acted out of line with her. But then he noted the lady bent toward the man in a concerned way, fussing over him and such.

Ibun turned his attention away from the scene and glanced about the Inn. The bar, he noted, was untended. And no server passed near where he sat. Hefting himself up from the oaken chair, he stumped purposefully toward the ale barrel behind the bar. No one seemed to be tending it or hurrying over to see what he might need. There were clean mugs on the shelves beneath the bar top and he grabbed one of them. As large a one as he could find; then, filled it from the barrel.

Aaah! The foamy brew coursed over his parched tongue and down his throat to hit his belly with a satisfying splash. ‘’B’lieve I’ll just have another!’ he said to no one in particular. ‘Save me a return trip.’ He sucked the foam from his mustache, not wanting to waste a single drop of the blessed refreshment. Pulling the handle on the barrel once again, he filled the tankard to the brim then carefully picked his way back to his table. ‘Twill tide me over till the food arrives, at least!’

With a sigh of pleasure he resumed his seat.

[piosenniel]

Food at last for the hungry Dwarf

Cook looked out through the swinging kitchen doors wondering what the source of all the commotion was. Buttercup and Ruby had disappeared and none of the other servers had returned for the orders she’d dished up. Peering toward the Dragon’s door, she noted a knot of people gathered about two of the Big Folk. No – make that one of the Big Folk, the man, and one of the Fair Folk, the lady . . . and wasn’t that Ravon!

Whatever had happened, it seemed to be taken well in hand by those who’d responded. Cook turned back to the kitchen and loading up a tray of platters she shouldered it and made her way back out to the Common Room. She called out the orders as she went along, and delivered them to whomever had held up a hand.

The last was to a Dwarf sitting back near the wall. She could just see his dark eyes peering over the rim of his mug as he waved to her with some enthusiasm. ‘There you go, Master Dwarf,’ she said putting the platter of eggs and ham before him, along with a basket of thick sliced bread.’ Enjoy yourself!’ she added, putting a small crock of butter and a pot of blackberry jam down next to the basket.

‘Staying long in the Shire?’ she inquired as she did so.’

[Aira Niquë]

Waking up from her comatose sleep, she changed out of her traveling clothes and put some on afresh. Venturing downstairs, she wondered if anyone would ask what her business was here. Still, it didn't matter, she cross that bridge when she got there. If she got there, that is.

In dire need of something to eat and something to drink. She scrounged her self up some somewhat cold eggs, toast and bacon and some water. Munching contemplatively on her breakfast, she looked around the room at the people and the surroundings. Some girl child was having a bit of food, over in the corner with and adult woman, looking around the room nervously. Lara Stonetoe was what the lady had called her perhaps? She caught the childs eyes and smiled kindly.

Going back to her food, she chewed slowly, not any any real or particlular hurry to make haste anywhere. She came here to be... well she wasnt sure... But whatever it was, that's exactly what she intended to do. So there.

Pushing her now empty plate away and gluping down the last of her water, she mulled over what she could do with the rest of her day.

"Hmmmmm..." She wondered aloud. "I could take Vorima Sule (Often just reffered to as Vorima or Sule) out of the stable and for a ride. Lords know that she's bored to death already... You know... I think I'll do just that."

Happy and very pleased to be doing something with and for a purpose, she rose form her chair, smiled once again at Lara Stonetoe and strode out the door to fetch her horse.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

As the mid morning sun shone down on the path leading to By-water and The Green Dragon, many Hobbit folk wandered too and fro on business of their own. with the patter of feet and the noise of every-day Shire life, no one even gave the strange man a second glance. Hobbits had become used to big folk visiting the Dragon over the last years and it was of no surprise to them. That's not to say they were all entirely happy about it, but they merely fixed some with a stern look, or just plain ignored them.

Quietly and semi-casually, a short and yet broad man walked down the dusty road and saw the swinging sigh of The Green Dragon as it squeaked and rattled. A Bird fluttered over-head carrying something in his beak, it was a crow and it had an ill-favoured look about it.

The Man's name was Seleven, and he was a Gondorian. Or at least, so he claimed. He was not particularly magnificent at fighting or at anything really. He had shoulder length hair that was dark and filthy, he also had a small stubble that seemed to have things stuck in it. He was dressed in a green tunic with a dark blue hooded cloak under which was his pack. He had a short sword and a pair of knives that were strapped about his waist. He also had immense black boots and a long white scarf that came down to his belt.

The Crow fluttered down and placed the paper on the floor in front of the Green Dragon Door with a squawk. It eyes him with a frustration in its eye as well as a look of having better things to do with his time. With a sigh, Seleven took some bread from his pack and fed the bird before taking the paper. The bird then flew off into the distance, all the time Seleven watch it until only his eyes, or elven eyes, could see. Then it passed from his sight and he opened the door to the Dragon.

The first thing that hit him, almost literally, was the odd smell that burst out of the door upon opening. A mixture of cooked breakfasts, pipe weed and ale all mixed into one fell blast of air trying desperately to escape the small Inn. The Hobbits, elves, men and even Dwarves that were all inside the small place were all laughing and making a joyful noise.

Seleven coughed and moved to the bar to get a drink. He spoke in his Gondorian accent, rich with elements of Elvish and even the husky speak of Dwarves could be detected by the keen eared. He quietly sat himself down on a chair after receiving his drink and inspected the piece of paper.

[piosenniel]

Godren threw back the edges of his black cloak, letting them fall behind his shoulders and smoothed down his sable tunic. The silver star set with an onyx horse’s head that marked him as an errand-rider of Gondor gleamed brightly where it hung from the fine linked chain about his neck. He drew off his leather gloves, tucking them in his belt as he stepped into The Green Dragon.

For a moment, he stood blinking in the dimmer lit interior. When his eyes had accommodated themselves to the lower level of light, he glanced about, looking for the board where notices and messages were put.

Aah! There it was between the bar and the dartboard. With a few quick strides he pulled the rolled up parchment from the pouch at his belt and affixed it to the board.

~*~ NOTICE ~*~

Let it be known that

Fordim Hedgethistle

known to those in the Shire as Master Hearpwine, and etc . . .
has now had his name engraved on the iron plaque that bears the list of the story-tellers of Gondor.

Huzzah!

Let all come to The Inn of the Seventh Star (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/showthread.php?p=413867#post413867) in Minas Tirith and raise a glass of cheer to Fordim.

** And for those wondering, drink and food are free on this occasion. And all are most welcome **

~*~ http://forum.barrowdowns.com/ubb/icons/icon13.gif ~*~


'Most generous, errand-rider! Most generous, indeed!' Cook drew up a pint for the thirsty horseman and mugs of good brown ale for all those in the Inn. 'Master Hearpwine,' she chuckled handing out the foaming brew. 'None better to deserve it!'

She raised her own mug in the general direction of the High King's city and drank it down without a breath intervening . . .

[Witch_Queen]

Cariâthwen's return


The Green Dragon loomed on the horizon. Cariâthwen had returned to the inn hoping that she might find company for the long ride ahead of her. She sat on her horse staring down at the marvles of The Shire. The beast beneath her began to move from side to side, left to right. "So your ready then?" The animal moved it large white head up and down given his approval. "Well then shall we."

Before she could finish her sentence the horse began a dead run towards the Green Dragon Inn. Cariâthwen did her best to keep from falling of the back of her large white horse that she call Thorn. Out of the corner of her eye Cariâthwen thought she saw what was a bird of some sort but wasn't sure.

The outside of the inn hadn't changed a bit since she had last seen it. Cariâthwen saw a passing hobbit lad. "Excuse me...Yes you... If you would be so kind as to escort Thorn here to the stables I'll treat you to a pint or two." The face of the hobbit seemed to lighten up at the sound of a pint. "Thanks I'll be waiting inside by the bar." Cariâthwen stood up straight pulling the hood of her cloak over her head to try to hide her face. Now lets see what is going on inside the Inn. Hope its nothing to drastic.

Cariâthwen opened the door to the Inn and noticed that nothing about the place had changed. She walked over to the bar to wait for the hobbit so she could keep her promise. Cariâthwen seemed lost in thought when suddenly she was brought back to reality at the feel of a tug on her cloak. She looked down noticing a smiling hobbit standing beside her. "Oh yes I almost thought you wasn't going to join me." She turned to the maiden behind the bar. "Can I have two pints of the strongest ale for my friend here." The maiden smiled and went about getting the two pints of ale. Cariâthwen turned placing her back against the wooden bar. Her gray eyes scanned the inn not knowing what to be looking for.

The sound of the pints being sat on the dark wood of the bar caught her attention. Turning around Cariâthwen paid for the pints and handed them to the hobbit that helped her a few moments ago. "Here you go as I promised two pints for your service." Noticing an empty table in the darkest part of the inn Cariâthwen though it best to find herself a seat. Empty was no understatement. The lonely table in the corner was lacky chairs. Noticing a table that was surrounded by chairs Cariâthwen decided the obtain an empty chair so she was not having to stand up all day. "Excuse me...." Cariâthwen couldn't tell if the figure that sat at the table was friendly or not. "I'm sorry to bother you...Would you care if I took a chair.. All the others are currently occupied." The words seemed to spill out of her mouth despite her failed attempt of concealing her elven accent. Taking a closer look at the figure Cariâthwen noticed the figure was a he and he appeared to be looking at a piece of paper.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Seleven examined the paper. It was defiantly the hand of Smilog who had written this, the evil looking bird had been enough of a clue, but the black ink and the jagged letters clinched it. Before he read any of it, he could guess what it said; he took a sip of ale. As he did so, a small shape appeared at the other end of the table.

"I'm sorry to bother you" it said with a pause, "Would you care if I took a chair. All the others are currently occupied." Seleven nodded and returned to his reading. The figure had not moved, Seleven raised an eyebrow and said, "Good morning," hoping that the figure would perhaps give him some privacy. But yet it moved not.

Seleven placed the paper on the table, it clunked as the wax seal hit the wood and fell to rest. The figure stood still, looking at him while he drank his ale. Eventually, Seleven felt he should break the silence; "I see curiosity in your face," he said, "you would pry into my business?" he laughed and opened his arm out to a chair as if to say 'do sit down'. He folded the paper up and placed it in his pack before continuing, "to whom do I have the pleasure?"

[Kitanna]

Kitanna came up the road and saw a familiar sight. Only once before had she been to The Green Dragon, but here she was again. She led her horse up the path and to the stables. When she was sure the animal was going to be taken care of properly, she undid her long black hair from it's braid and entered.

People bustled around the inn, chatting, eating, generally making merry. A soft smile passed over her lips. She decided to take a seat in a back corner and eat her breakfast alone.

Though food was the last thing on the young woman's mind. What Kitanna really wanted to do was rest her weary feet. She had slept on the roadside the night before and her body was aching. Then she had risen before dawn to gert an early start. It felt good to just sit. Kitanna stretched her long legs out under the table and sighed with relief.

[Lithui07]

Eadwyn came down from her room still groggy with sleep. Her aching stomach had awaken her, or else she would have slept the day away. She examined the main room with slow preciseness, making sure that there was no one who would know here before she would decide to committ to a seat.
Eadwyn noticed a person seated in the back all alone, stretched out. The woman had long black hair and was dressed in riding garb. She thought the figure looked familiar, and so a shot of fear ran up her spine. The hairs on her neck stood up as she frantically searched her mind, wondering if that person would know her. After a minute she was quite sure it was just a patron, and no one interested in who she was. Eadwyn made her way over to the patron anyway and stood next to her.

"Pardon me, but do you mind if I join you for breakfast? I have been here some time and have not yet met anyone to talk to. I should like to catch up on what's going on in the world."

[Kitanna]

"Pardon me, but do you mind if I join you for breakfast? I have been here some time and have not yet met anyone to talk to. I should like to catch up on what's going on in the world."

Kitanna looked up at a young woman with long blond hair who now stood before her. She pushed out the chair across from her with her foot before briniging her legs back in. "Please, have a seat."

The woman sat down across from Kitanna and gave her a friendly smile. Kitanna returned the smile, but she was rather annoyed at losing her leg room, but she wasn't usually one to turn down company. For the last few weeks her only companionship had been her horse and there wasn't much conversation to be had there.

"I am Kitanna," She said shaking the woman's hand. "And if I might have the pleasure of knowing your name?" Kitanna waited patiently for an answer.

[Koobdooga]

‘Well, Mistress . . .’ the Dwarf said trailing off. Ibun had not caught her name, if indeed she had given it. He thought not. He was not that old that little things had begun to slip quickly from his memory. Giving her a critical eye, he thought she looked more than a server. A certain air of command glinted from her eyes as she regarded him. And not an unfriendly look it was in her gaze, but one of expectation – that what she asked would soon be answered . . . and in full.

‘Beg pardon,’ he said standing up from his chair. ‘Beg pardon for my lapse in manners. My name is Ibun Lodestone. Traveling to the Blue Mountains, I am. And if The Dragon here in Bywater will have me for a while, I’ll rest my bones and fill up on ale and fine food until it’s time to travel on.’ He gave a courteous little bow to the Hobbit who had brought his food. ‘And you?’ he asked, straightening back up. ‘Do I have the pleasure of addressing the Innkeeper of this grand establishment?’

[piosenniel]

Cook’s eyes twinkled at the sudden show of manners from the Dwarf. ‘Mama must have raised him up right!’ she chuckled to herself. She motioned for him to have a seat, and sat down in a chair herself.

‘No, no, Master Lodestone! I’m not the Innkeeper. That title falls to Miz Aman who . . .’ Cook swiveled her head about, looking for the woman. ‘Well she doesn’t seem to be here at the moment. Gone riding probably, on one of her big beasties. From Rohan, you know. She is, that is . . . Well, here I am nattering on. My name is Vinca Bunce; I run the kitchen here.’

Buttercup peeked out from the kitchen’s doors and called out to her. ‘And it looks as if I’m needed.’ Cook stood up, motioning Ibun to stay seated. ‘You enjoy your breakfast now, Master Dwarf. Tuck into it before it gets cold. And just let one of the servers know if you’ll be needing anything else. Glad the Dragon could serve your needs. Stay as long as you like.’

Cook hustled back to the kitchen wondering what the crisis was . . .

[Arry]

Gil stepped into the Inn and took a quick look round. His face fell a little, seeing that the troupe of Players who'd come to the Inn last night were nowhere in the Common Room. He'd hoped to breakfast with them . . . and in doing so see the fair Rowan again. He smiled then chided himself for a moonspun fool.

'They've probably been up, eaten, and gone down the road a long time ago,' he said in a resigned manner. With an uncharacteristic sigh, he plunked himself down in a chair near the fireplace and waved over one of the servers.

'Mug of dark,' he ordered. The server hesitated. It was not Gil's usual drink at this time of day.

'Dark drink to drown my dark thoughts,' he said, his brows raised in challenge. 'Just fetch it, if you please, and leave off any comments, spoken or otherwise.'

[Primrose Bolger]

Wren and Ginger picking berries

The sheet cakes were cooling on racks set along the kitchen counters. Ginger and Wren were out of doors, a basket each on the ground beside them, as they crouched down among the plants in the strawberry bed. Here and there a bright red jewel peeked through the green leaves, drawing their fingers on to find more of the tasty berries.

Ginger’s deft fingers worked their way down the rows, taking only the sweet, ripe fruit. ‘’Bout time for second breakfast, Wren, once we’ve finished here. We can set the berries in the cool pantry and wash and slice them later.’ Ginger rubbed the tip of her nose with the back of her hand. ‘We should check on what cream we have, too. Now as I think on it. We’ll want to whip up a big bowl of it to plop on the strawberries and cake for supper’s dessert.’

[Folwren]

Wren paused in her berry picking only long enough to glance into Ginger’s basket. She quickly resumed - the hobbit had twice as much as her at least, though it could hardly be because her fingers were any faster. More likely the reason lay with Wren having eaten at least half of what she had picked.

‘Second breakfast? We never eat that. What do you eat? Eggs and bacon again? I don’t think I could have that much a second time today...’ she trailed off as she flicked an ant off of the large, plump berry in her hand and stuck it in her mouth. Ginger glanced her from the corner of her twinkling eye and laughed, but made no answer as Wren appeared to have forgotten of having asked the questions at all. The girl was working with both hands now in a futile attempt to try to catch up.

When Ginger filled her basket, they headed in. Wren’s was only half full, but neither of them seemed to care very much. They laughed and talked merrily as they crossed the yard toward the kitchen door, Ginger swinging Wren’s hand.

In the open doorway, Ginger, having entered first, stopped in her tracks and her laughter stopped and her smile began to fade from her face. Wren pushed herself forward and little and peered about her skirts to see within.

A middle-aged looking hobbit sat at the table with his foot propped up on a stool. Wren winced and drew back an inch before coming forward to look again. The foot had blood on it, though it was no longer bleeding a great amount. She could not see what sort of wound caused it, but it didn’t look pretty.

Ginger, having recovered her countenance and bravery, walked forward again to the counter to put her basket of berries down. ‘What’d you do to yourself, Meriadoc?’ she asked as she passed him.

‘Trying to dodge some horse’s foot...dropped the pitchfork,’ the stable master said with a wince.

Wren stood in the doorway, frozen in her spot and staring. A moment later, her attention left the wounded hobbit and turned towards the door as Cook burst in, followed by one of her helpers.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

A large pair of muddy boots with a small hobbit poking out the top of them stomped down the road toward the Green Dragon Inn. To say that the halfling who inhabited those boots was small would inflate his size, for he was extremely small. Smaller, indeed, than many a halfling child. Even in his boots his head was no more than two feet above the road that he tramped, but he held that head high as though he were a giant among hobbits, and whistled a common folk tune gaily as he tromped. He seemed to take great pleasure in tromping, making a great show of bringing his feet down with finality upon each step. He wore an expensive waistcoat of green and blue, and his trousers and shirt were immaculately well tailored. Thrown over his shoulders was a travelling cloak that, while in good repair, had clearly seen good service. His hands were clean but strong and finely chiselled with callous: clearly a prosperous hobbit, but one who had prospered by dint of his own hard labour.

He crossed the yard of the Inn and stopped at the door to remove his boots, which he left carefully by the side of the stoop. Lifting his knees high to climb the steps he moved through the door and entered the Green Dragon. He stopped for a long moment to gaze about at the crowd of folk gathered there and his wide eyes drank deep. He had clearly never seen such a crowd of non-Hobbitish people before and was taking the time to enjoy his first opportunity to do so now. The smell of bacon frying woke him from his amazement and he scampered toward the bar. Even at the hobbit-sized end of the bar, his head only just poked above the counter, and he had to pull himself up onto it somewhat to speak with the pretty barmaid who came to take his order. “What can I get you sir?” she asked.

“Well, for starters, some of that bacon that I smell a-frying would be more than welcome, for sure, as well as some nice eggs if that could be managed. And do you have any good bread about? Nice rye or wheat-cake, I mean, none of that foreign stuff.” He was unsure if the bread in this part of the Shire was what he was used to, for he had never been on so far an adventure. The barmaid assured him that their bread was only of the finest Shire quality. “Very good, lass, very good indeed. And could I have some beer with that, for I’ve been tramping for days and I’m that parched.” The lass nodded brightly and skipped away to fetch his order.

[Rune Son of Bjarne]

Frór a dwarf of the Iron Hills steped in to the Green Dragon paying no heed to the other persons in the room.

Althoug he was young he was grim to look upon, he's face was full of scares and a pice of he's left ear was missing. He's long black beard was filterd and full of mud.

He was pasing throug the contry, tying to get to the Blue Mountains were his cusin on his father's side dweled.

He had traveld for a long time and an ill fortune had followed him. He had but reached the Mistey Mountains when he ran in to serius trouble, trouble he was now trying to forget. (at least for a while) When he had finaly escaped the Mistey Mountains he had gotten of track and instead of using the old East-West Road witch would have lead him to Bree, he had passed through the contryside some miles north of the road.

Becourse of this misfortune The Green Dragon was the first Inn he had found.

The only thing he wanted was a warm bed and too get some sleep for a change.

"Say, is it possibel to get a room in this inn." He spoke out loudly.

[piosenniel]

Cook and the problem of the wounded Stablemaster

‘In there, Miz Bunce,’ said Ruby, holding the door open for Cook and ushering her through with a pointing finger. Meriadoc sat with his right foot propped on a stool. Ginger stood near him dabbing at some bloody wound with a towel, but had only managed to make it bleed all the more.

‘Stars and garters, Master Meri! What have you done?’ Cook took the towel from Ginger and bade her go into the pantry and fetch out her medicine chest. Pressing the towel against the freshly oozing wound, Cook looked about the kitchen for another assistant.

Wren stood rooted to the spot she’d been standing on, her eyes agog at the wounded foot. It was now turning purplish and starting to swell. ‘Fetch me a bucket of warm water, dear,’ Cook said to her, jutting her chin toward the tea kettle on the hearth. ‘Make sure it’s not too hot. You can use that bucket by the sink, the one we use for soaking the dried root vegetables in. Oh, and a few more clean dusting rags from the basket over there will be needed, too.’

Cook turned her attention to Meri, dragging his explanation from him about the pitchfork. He felt foolish at his carelessness; the tips of his ears crimsoned as he spoke. ‘Nasty, dirty things, pitchforks,’ Cook said. ‘Lucky for you the tines didn’t go deeper.’ She clucked at the two ragged holes on the Hobbit’s foot, near his toes. ‘Going to swell quite a bit. You won’t be able to walk on it for a fortnight or so. Have to soak it every day, open the wound to let it drain. Otherwise the poison’ll work its way up your leg.’

She drew up a chair and sat down on it as she waited for the water and supplies. Meri had begun to protest how impossible it was that he take such a length of time off. Many new guests had come to the Inn; their horses and ponies needed caring for. ‘Can’t you just patch me up and let me get back to seeing to my patrons?’ he pleaded. Cook shook her head firmly, ‘no’. ‘Though who we’re going to find to help out on such a moment’s notice is beyond me . . .’

She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, casting about in her mind for someone she could call on to take over the stable duties . . .

[Primrose Bolger]

Buttercup attends to Frór

‘Another Dwarf!’ said Buttercup, hurrying over to where the newcomer stood. ‘That’s two in one day!’ She pushed the curls back from her face and put on her most welcoming smile.

‘I’m Buttercup,’ she said, introducing herself. ‘One of the servers at The Dragon. How can I help you?’

[Rune Son of Bjarne]

Frór looked at the hobbit while scratching he's beard. Funny folks these hobbits, he thougt. As he stood there he allmost forgot too answer the hobbit.

Finaly he spoke : Frór of the Iron Hills i am. I am on my way through this contry of yours and i am looking of a place to get a room miss Buttercup. If you could help me in this matter i would be most greatfull.

Frór looked down on he's cothes it was all torn and you could easely see the old ringmail he was wearing underneath. He was in desperate need of new clothes and supplies.

[Folwren]

Wren, bringing the water to Cook, stopped by the Hobbit’s side, placed the bucket on he ground careful so as not to splash a drop on her, and then stood to listen to the last of the two hobbit’s exchange. When she heard their dilemma, her eyes brightened, just as Cook’s darkened with consideration.

‘Why, Tim is real good with horses!’ she said, turning to Cook with a smile on her face. ‘He could help...until Mr. Meriadoc is better.’ The hobbit woman looked dubious. ‘He used to handle horses a lot where we lived, there were farms around and he helped the farmers some with their horses. Then one chap nearby had some youner horses and Tim would go and mess with them some. Ride them around a little bit. But they weren’t broke, really.’ She suddenly blushed and clapped her hand over her mouth. Then she giggled. ‘But Tim didn’t want anybody to know about that. He wasn’t supposed to when he did it,’ she added.

‘How much does your brother know about them?’ Meriadoc asked, gruffly from the pain, likely. Cook was wringing out a rag and he watched her with a wary eye.

‘Oh, lots, I’m sure,’ Wren said very confidently. ‘I can go out and get him if you want me to. Should I fetch him? He’s in the garden weeding, I think...’

[Primrose Bolger]

Buttercup’s eyes widened at the mention of the Iron Hills. ‘Why those hills be by The Lonely Mountain, don’t they?’ she asked, clapping her hands in delight. ‘Our own Mister Bilbo Baggins traveled there with some Dwarves and old Gandalf. My Gammer told me the story of that when I was younger.’

‘Oh, but here I stand talking on when you’re wanting a room.’ She looked him up and down, noting the state of his clothes. ‘And what about something to eat, too? And drink? You can walk into town then and visit the shops.’ She blushed a little, thinking she might have been too forward. ‘That is I couldn’t help but notice your clothes. Must have been a long hard trip from those hills of yours.’ She eyed him once again. You’re only a bit bigger than our grown Hobbit men, I’m sure the tailor could make some things for you.’

‘But here I am going on again! Let me get you some breakfast. You can eat while I make up your room for you.’ She smiled widely at him, waiting. ‘Now what would you like to have, Master Frór?’

[piosenniel]

~*~ GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS ~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

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

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

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

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

Meriadoc - Stablemaster

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

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

Ongoing characters from outside the Inn:

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

_____________________________________________

Please Note:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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About Elves in Shire RPG's:

Please use this description from Tolkien when crafting an Elf:

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

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

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

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EVERYONE

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

Thanks!

Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[piosenniel]

Time of Day

It's nearing noon in the Shire.

Second breakfast is being served. Lunch is being cooked.

The weather is pleasant - sunny with a clear sky.

[Witch_Queen]

Cariâthwen looked at the man with what might be seen as deep regret. "I am Cariâthwen of what is left of Lothlorien. I mean not to pry into your business. 'Tis your business and as curious as I may seem I don't want to know any part of your business." Her words didn't come out as smooth as she wanted them. But she had to do her best to keep herself calm cause she wished not for anyone to pry into her business.

"Well I have told you my name but you have yet to tell me yours." Cariâthwen had told the strange man only part of who she was. She didn't need to let anyone know of her escape from her home. The secret of who her grandmother was would have to remain a secret until she could trust the company she was in. It would be weird for anyone to hear that I, Cariâthwen, am the granddaughter of Galadriel. My secrets are my own and this is my own business that I must tend to.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Seleven leant back in his chair and drunk a little port. He took a pipe from his pack and placed its mouthpiece towards the table. He did not light it, but merely held it, as if it held memories of its own. The grey eyes and fair face told him immediately that this was an Elf, and one of high order.

He coughed and cleared his throat, "I am Seleven," he said, "Son of Daynú of Gondor." when no reaction came across Cariâthwen's face, he knew she did not know him of his father, that, in his mind, was a good thing. Many years lay heavily on him, added to them were the years his fathers treachery had laid upon him. Blood was on his hands, kindred blood. But now, here in the unspoken north west of Middle Earth, he was speaking with one who regarded him with spite, not at all.

"My business is nothing terribly private," he said at last, "and I do tend to create the curiosity in those around me. Pray, forget I said such harsh words." he raised his glass as a sigh of a toast.

Looking into the eyes of Cariâthwen, Seleven saw some wisdom that perhaps could help him. He fished out the paper once again from his pack and showed it to her. It was very high quality paper, found only in Gondor and especially Minas Tirith. It was paper designed for historical records and not for ideal letters between friends or foes. "Can you read this?" he asked as he held it up.

Cariâthwen looked and saw that the letters were a mixture of different elvish scripts, as well as some Gondorian and even Dwarvish runes. The End was signed in the plain common tong, 'May you bitterly lie in wait, Smilog.' Seleven watched as Cariâthwen nodded with a look of puzzlement upon her face.

"Worry not," he said, "many of these have I received recently. But it is good to know others are widely learned in other tongs beside their own." Cariâthwen seemed troubled, so Seleven leant forth and spoke softly, "Now, my good Elf, what troubles ye? I see a grief in thine eyes that I have not seen for many years. Perhaps I can lend some aid?"

[Huan]

‘Best you get up!’ called Rowan from the little hallway in the upper part of the Inn. She knocked loudly at her brother’s door then tried the handle. There he was, still curled up in bed, the quilts thrown over his head.

‘I know you can hear me, Tolly! It’s already nearing noon. Don’t you want to practice our little play before tonight?’ A few muffled imprecations issued from beneath the thick quilt, and Rowan ducked back quickly as an arm snaked quickly from beneath, pillow in hand.

‘Missed me!’ she cried hearing the pillow thump against the now closed door.

She took the scarlet ribbon from her vest pocket and tied back her chestnut curls as she walked to the landing. Once down the stairs, she looked about the Common Room, seeking the others of her troupe. No sign of Gwyn or Talan. And none of Emlin, either. ‘Probably all out and about already,’ she thought to herself.

Oh! But there by the fireplace, his back turned to her was that fellow she’d met just last night. The singer. Now what was his name? Rowan walked quietly toward where Gil sat hunched over his mug of ale. She drew up quietly behind him and cleared her throat to get his attention.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

For all that he was a small fellow, he could eat prodigious amounts of bacon and eggs. Even the other hobbits began to wonder at it as the tiny newcomer tucked away the last fragments of his second plate of second breakfast. With a contented sigh he sat back in his chair and took a long, final pull at the mug of ale that the barmaid had given him. With his eating done he took out a long stemmed pipe and began energetically puffing away upon it, until soon he was lost to sight in a large cloud of fragrant smoke. He emerged again sometime later as the cloud drifted away on the currents of the room, looking contented simply to sit and watch.

And there was much to see. So many strange and adventuresome folk moved about that he hardly knew what to say or where to step. He sought in earnest to catch the eye of the hobbits who moved about, but they seemed so used to the presence of the Big Folk, Elves, Dwarves and other sorts that they went about their business as though it were entirely usual and normal in the Shire to have such a gathering.

He saw the pretty barmaid come skipping past upon some errand and called out to her. She came over to him, asking if he wanted more ale. "Nay, lass, just someone to speak with for a bit. I have some questions as need answering."

She looked about, saying, "I'm afraid that we're very busy at the moment. There's been an injury to the stablemaster, and all these new people have arrived...but I suppose I can spare a moment. What would you like to know?"

"Well, first off, your name would be nice. I am Fordogrim Chubb, of the Gamwich Chubbs."

The girl shook his hand and said that her name was Ruby Brown. A brief conversation of a very hobbitish type followed as they quickly ran through their ancestry and found that they were fifth cousins, twice removed. Having established this they became more comfortable with one another immediately -- as one always does with family. "And what brings you to Bywater Mister Chubb?" she asked.

"Nay Nay, call me not 'Mister', lass. Any great-grandneice of my father's cousin's half-sister is going to call me Fordogrim or naught. But to answer the question, I am here to see if there's a market for my new ale. I'm a brewer you see -- but I'm sure you know that -- all the Chubbs in Gamwich are brewers! -- and I've done quite well for myself. Most of the Inns of the West Farthing serve my brew, and I'm looking to see if there's folk in these here parts who'd be willing to try some."

"Well, Fordogrim, I can assure you that the people hereabouts do enjoy their ale, but most of them are most particular about what they'll drink. It would have to be a mighty fine mug of beer to get most of them to change. Not that they will refuse to try it!"

Fordogrim grinned and leapt from his chair. Looking up at Ruby, who towered over him by at least a foot, he cried out, "Now that's the best news I've heard in a while! As it happens, they'll have a chance to try it and right soon, for I've arranged for a small sample of my ales to be sent to this very Inn later today. Why, I've walked through the night just to get here in time to meet them!"

[Rune Son of Bjarne]

Had it not been for his hunger, Frór might have reacted differently to the hobbits mentioning of the tailor, but he was tired, hungry and actualy he did need some new clothes.

with a sense of importans in his voice the dwarf replied Buttercup : A hard jurney it has been, from my home far over the Misty Mountains grim and cold.
Far away from Erebor it is not.

But first bring me a pork-pie and salat, with some ale.

When i have eaten we can talk of Mr. Baggins and the Iron Hills

For indeed Frór had heart the tales of Thorin and he's companions.

[Koobdooga]

Frór is greeted by a fellow Dwarf

Ibun Lodestone tucked the napkin Cook had delivered along with his tray into the collar of his tunic. His long beard was parted at the chin and done into two thick braids that hung down his chest. Now normally, he was not a messy eater, but he feared that the scrambled eggs and the thick sliced bread loaded with butter and jam might just decide to plant parts of themselves on the front of his shirt. And this tunic was his only clean one at the moment.

He paused for a moment, giving thanks to Mahal for the finding of this most excellent Inn. The smells from his plate made his mouth water in anticipation. Picking up his fork and knife, he tucked into the generously piled platter with gusto. Thick sliced ham and eggs as light as clouds soon found their way to his mouth.

As he chewed, he could not help but notice that nearby was one of the Hobbit serving girls speaking to another Dwarf he hadn’t noticed before. Ibun put down his utensils and wiping his mouth, he went over to where the other Dwarf sat.

‘Well met, Master Frór,’ he said, smiling at the dwarf. He had heard the server say his name as she left to fetch Frór’s food. ‘My name is Ibun. Ibun Lodestone. From Khazad-dum.’ He paused for a moment. ‘I was wondering,’ he went on, ‘if you’d like to join me at my table.’ He pointed to where he’d been sitting. ‘I’d like the company, if you don’t mind mine. What do you say?’

[Witch_Queen]

What Cariâthwen had read on the paper scared her out of what sign of life she might of had still in her face. Cariâthwen was lost in thought until she heard Seleven talking. "Now, my good Elf, what troubles ye? I see a grief in thine eyes that I have not seen for many years. Perhaps I can lend some aid?" With all color out of her face Cariâthwen turned to meet Seleven's gaze. She didn't know what to tell the man setting across from her. She didn't know whether to tell him the truth or dig deep into her imagination and come up with a far fetch story. The look she was receiving from Seleven told Cariâthwen that he wanted the truth.

"I am not use to being on my own. I always had my mother around me and up until my grandmother left I had her too. Everyone knows that the elves are leaving Middle Earth. My family is gone and I now have no one well except for my horse. Thorn would never abandon me like the others did." Cariâthwen didn't know what she was saying, there was no others, there was never any others. All her life she was alone and now she realized it even more.

"Normally I talk to Thorn about all the problems I face in this endless life yet Thorn could never answer."I feel hollow inside almost as if someone reached through my skin only to take out part of my heart and soul. I show no scars for the abomination that has hurt me is neither alive nor dead. After all how can one kill life when she only renews herself with the dawning of every new day.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Seleven placed the pipe in his mouth and still left it unlit, the words that came from Cariâthwen were filled with deep pain and some longing. Seleven felt he could sympathise, "being alone can oft' leave one scared," he said, "especially is one has been with company for so long. Believe me, I know the feeling well, and it haunts me even today." His eyes became filled with memory as he stared seemingly through the very walls of the Green Dragon.

He shook his head and smiled, "Ah, do not listen to me," he said, "I am a foolish old man. But this Thorn you speak of, that name sounds Dwarvish, is it not? I knew a dwarf of good measure once, a delightful fellow, but too many ideas beyond his years and height" he chuckled to himself at the memory, "He once thought he could build a raft from stone. Terribly silly idea, I thought, and I was right, but that didn't stop the little fellow from trying it anyway." He shook his head and saw that Cariâthwen was at least a little amused; she obviously knew the nature of Dwarves and how they can be.

[Arry]

Gil gives the intruder the cold shoulder

‘I told you I didn’t want to be bothered! No, I don’t want any eggs and ham to go along with my ale! Just leave me be . . .’

Gil hunched down closer over his mug. He was in the midst of some rather melancholic thoughts, having a ‘pity-party’ as his sister would say. He wasn’t used to things not going the way he’d planned. And especially when it involved a lass he’d had his eye on.

He twitched his shoulders in irritation, hoping whoever was behind him would take the hint and go away.

[Witch_Queen]

At the mention of dwarves Cariâthwen suddenly began to remember the time that she had snuck away from home to spend some time with a family of dwarves. One time her mother saw her sneeking out and followed her. To this day she still remembered her mothers words, "Cariâthwen! You know I don't like you sneeking out... And DWARVES!! Why can't you be like everyone else and go play with your cousin." But Cariâthwen knew she wasn't like her cousin, and she wasn't like her kind. Cariâthwen had a smile across her face. "You know Seleven, I actually got Thorn from a dwarf. He was the first dwarf I met. Even then he believed he could do anything. Quite rare in a dwarf, especially to become such a close friend of mine. But that was many years ago and despite all feelings that we are talking about the same dwarf we couldn't be.Plus I believe Koibur went into hiding some years ago."

Cariâthwen always felt safe around dwarves. Her mother never understood her like the short bearded people from the mountains did. Koibur was the only true friend besides Thorn that Cariâthwen ever had. She never talked about Koibu much for she knew not the company she was in. But she had a feeling that Seleven was going to be good company.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Seleven nodded and smiled, "Dwarves are strange folk," he said, "but no doubt the ways of men or elves are strange to them. My father hated them, he once said of Dwarves, 'they hide away, aiding the world not at all. If I had my way, they'd be cast to the sea.' old fool." Seleven stopped himself before he said something harsh. Although he had not liked his father, he still had to respect him, even if he was a tyrant.

"Seldome is it heard," he continued, "that in these days, Sindarin Elves make friendship with Dwarves. Unless they were Legolas of the woodland realm and Gimli, Gloin's son. But they are rare cases. Magnificent folk, really, a little crazy about Gold, but they have good hearts deep down."

An old Hobbit dashed behind Cariâthwen, he was shouting and making a noise about something to a friend of his across the room. Seleven smiled and placed the pipe in his mouth once again, looking towards Cariâthwen with a sense of familiarity. The Green Dragon had gained a reputation of being a place where you can meet unusual folk, a reputation the Hobbits were not at all happy with, but the Inn enjoyed the extra business.

"I say," said Seleven as he leant forwards, "you're an elf of Lorien, perhaps you know, or heard tell of the Haradrim leader Smilog. I see from your face that you have not, perhaps that is good." He fished in his pack for another piece of paper, he drew it and read aloud.

"From the Lord high King of all in South Gondor to the self proclaimed watchman of the tower upon Anruin, Greetings.

"I Smilog, Lord and master of all Lands south of your post declare that you are trespassing on land that belongs solely to Sauron and to me. I give you till noon upon the fourth day since midyear to leave your post and return to Minas Tirith. Else we shall take your hold by force.

"May your fear by unbound,
"Smilog, King and Emperor."

Seleven shook his head and placed the paper back in his pack, "A sad tale really," he explained, "Smilog was once called Túlan, and was a good friend of mine, before the War of the Ring when he joined the haradrim. He thinks himself mighty and calls himself Lord of lands he hath not conquered. His strength was not in arms, but in fear he struck to hearts. He had, it was said, met a Nazgul, and was therefore untouchable by fear of death." Seleven snorted, "That was later proven false. Ah, but look at me, rambling on like an old tale weaver. Do tell me some of your history, I do love tales and adventures told in tales." he leant back with his pipe in his mouth and a glass of port in the left hand.

[piosenniel]

Cook gives some firm instructions to the Stablemaster

‘Should I fetch him? He’s in the garden weeding, I think . . .’ Wren’s bright voice trailed off as she waited for Cook to answer.

‘Let me just finish this here, child,’ said Cook, dipping into her chest of medicines. Ginger had placed it on the table and was standing at the ready with a roll of linen bandage.

Meriadoc winced as she poured a little cleansing concoction of some clear alcohol with herbs in it over the wound, and might have withdrawn his foot from Cook’s grasp save for the fact she had a good grip on it. He relaxed a bit as she deftly applied a soothing unguent over all. A wad of moss wrapped in a small clean cloth came next, then Cook took the bandage from Ginger’s hand and wrapped it securely about the Hobbit’s foot. ‘Ginger, go down to the basement, if you will, and fetch up a couple of those crutches hung on the south wall.’ She turned her gaze back to the Stablemaster. ‘You stay off that foot now and better yet, just sit or lay down for the next few days where you can keep it propped up.’

Cook tut-tutted the frowning Hobbit, knowing he was going to tell her how much work there was needed to be done. ‘Tie you to a chair myself, if you don’t follow my instructions, Master Meriadoc!’ she said in a firm, unmovable tone. ‘And besides . . .’ she turned to look at Wren with a nod. ‘Didn’t she just say her brother was an able hand with horses? And any lad his age knows his way around a shovel and pitchfork.’ She raised her brows as she regarded Meri. ‘Let him be your legs for the while. You can set yourself up like the King himself on a chair in the center of things and direct him as you like. Just keep the leg propped up on something.’

The Stablemaster grumbled and glowered a bit. But Cook sat looking at him; her presence like a thick stone wall. No way over, under or around her, he decided. Meri turned to Wren and let out a long breath with a hmmph at the end. ‘You say he’s an able lad with horses, do you Miss?’ The girl nodded her head. ‘Well, I suppose we can give him a try out. Mind you,’ he said, looking at Cook, ‘if it doesn’t work out, we’ll have to be finding someone else. Can’t have the Inn’s stables done up shoddy or the horses not attended to.’ He crossed his arms over his chest resolutely. ‘The Dragon has a reputation to uphold. Won’t have it tarnished on my watch.’

‘Well, of course not, Master Stablemaster! No one’s asking you to. Just give the lad a try like you said.’ Cook got up from her chair and tidied the contents of her medicine chest before it would be put away. ‘Wren, dear,’ she said, as she counted the number of bandage rolls left in chest then closed its lid securely, ‘why don’t you just go out and fetch your brother. Tell him Master Meriadoc would like to speak with him.’

[Rune Son of Bjarne]

When Frór heard the voice of Ibun Lodestone a small smile appeard on he's face. This was truly a plesant suprise, to meet a fellow dwarf such a longway from his home.

He turned to greet him in a proper way when he heard the word Khazad-dum, it made him speach less. For his inner eyes Frór saw the great halls of Durin, how he longed to set eyes on the marwels of the dwarven town.

Then he spoke : Frór of the Iron Hills at your service Master Lodestone. It would be a great honor for me too sit down with a dwarf of Khazad-dum.

[Huan]

Rowan blinked in surprise, her brow furrowing at the curt way in which she’d been addressed. She’d not done anything, she thought, that he could be so upset. She drew one step closer and poked him firmly in one hunched up shoulder.

‘And what’s got into you, my fair tongued singer of yester eve? Did you roll out of bed on the wrong side?’ Quite put off by now, she stamped her foot impatiently as she waited for him to turn.

[Witch_Queen]

Cariâthwen looked at Seleven with amusement and she couldn't help but smile at the tale of adventures. "In my many years of life I have not had many adventures. I have so much life still ahead of me and I will probably spend the rest of my time wondering what would have happened if I would've left with my family." Cariâthwen went on telling Seleven about how she would spend days away from home listening to Koibur tell of his many adventures. The talk of gold and treasures amused her. "I would fall asleep beneath the star filled sky every time he would tell his stories." Cariâthwen didn't like to say that Koibur wasn't a good story teller but he would get off on a tangent about any and everything.

"When my mother decided to leave Middle Earth I was not given the pleasure of journeying with her. I was sent away, told that I must find some way to atone for my past cirmes against the elves. To my mother being friends with Koibur was a crime against her people. Plus I would never had been at home with the other elves." Cariâthwen paused looking down at her soft white hands. Her voice now seemed hollow.

Still with her vision on her hands Cariâthwen proceeded with her tale of adventure. Once her mother had left Middle Earth, Cariâthwen returned to the place she thought of as her home. Koibur had taught Cariâthwen everything about reading and speaking the other languages she might encounter on her journey. She fell asleep one night only to wake up the next morning alone. Koibur had left her a message in dwarvish runes telling her why he had left. Exploring more of the "camp" she saw that Koibur had left his favorite horse which was due to have a colt in a few more months. "I was left alone to take care of Thistle. Thistle didn't last long after she gave birth to a healthy colt."

Cariâthwen told of how she raised Thorn from a colt into the magestic creature he was now. Koibur had always said that if Thistle's colt was a male he would name it Thorn. But had the colt been female her name would had been Cari after Cariâthwen. "I have rode all over the place in search for someone to talk to. I spent the past few years on my way from Gondor where I spent time with my dear cousin." Cariâthwen finally looked up from her hands to see that Seleven's eyes were still open. "Agh! My tales must be boring you. All I know is loss and suffering. Nothing more nothing less."

[Hookbill the Goomba]

"I have rode all over the place in search for someone to talk to. I spent the past few years on my way from Gondor where I spent time with my dear cousin." Cariâthwen finally looked up from her hands to see that Seleven's eyes were still open. "Agh! My tales must be boring you. All I know is loss and suffering. Nothing more nothing less."

"Oh, not at all," said Seleven with a smile, "you've had a rough time, that is clear, but as you said, there is still so much of life left for you to live." He placed the pipe on the table and cleared his throat. "So Thorn is a horse, but with a Dwarvish name, is he? A Nice name, I like it, much better than Linú, my horse, he seems to think I'm some kind of extra baggage the way he throws me around. Good grief!" He laughed at the memories.

Cariâthwen smiled at him as he told her of these things, but Selven continued, "So, you have been to Gondor? I lived there for most of my life. Delightful country since the fall of Sauron, still a little unrest with what remain of the Haradrim, but that is so small, very few tales are told of it. I used to be a captain of a watch tower on the south of the Anduin, good solid job, very little trouble till that wretch Smilog came along." he grumbled and picked up his pipe again.

The smell of hobbit food was drifting through the air, soon, even those who were not hungry felt the need to buy some of the Green Dragon's fine food. Even Seleven felt that he should at least try it, if it tasted half as good as it smelled, then it would be fantastic. "Would you like some food?" he asked Cariâthwen with a smirk.

[Koobdooga]

The two Dwarves made their way to Ibun’s table. Ibun motioned for one of the servers to approach. ‘A pitcher of ale, if you please miss!’ he said as he gestured for Frór to take a seat. ‘We’ve got a lot of chin-wagging to do and our throats will get dry as dust.’

Buttercup came out of the kitchen with Frór’s order and looking about for him, finally spied him with Ibun. She placed his pork pie and salad before him along with a foaming mug of ale. The other server had by this time returned with their pitcher of ale and set it on the table between them.

Ibun picked up his fork and tucking his napkin into the neck of his tunic began eating again. Between mouthfuls he asked where Frór was bound; what brought him through the Shire. ‘As for me, Master Frór, I am bound for the Blue Mountains, just beyond the western boundaries of the Shire. It is said that a number of our kin have forges there. We have not heard from them in a score of years or more. It is hoped they are still alright.’

[Rune Son of Bjarne]

As soon as the pork-pie and sallad was set on the table, Frór started too shouffel down the food in a most disgusting way. But Frór could not care less, seldome had he been this hungry.

With a mouth half full of food, he replyed Ibun : Well it seems like fortune finally looks my way, for up until this very moment my jurney has been most unpleasant. You see master Ibun, I my self is heading for the Blue Mountains and quit right you are, some of our kin does have dwelings there. My cousin Náin is amongst them, but to our great greef we have not heard from him in years, but if you do not mind me asking. What do you seek ther witch you do not have allready in the glories halls of Durin?

[Folwren]

‘Wren, dear,’ Cook said, as she counted the number of bandage rolls left in chest then closed its lid securely, ‘why don’t you just go out and fetch your brother. Tell him Master Meriadoc would like to speak with him.’

‘Yes, ma’am!’ Wren said over her shoulder as she turned to go out the door. She ran as swiftly as her feet could carry her to the garden behind the inn. Tim sat among the tomatoes, one arm wrapped around his knees and his other hand working faithfully away at the stubborn weeds. Wren trotted up the path and stood beside her brother, her face beaming, and her hands clasped behind her back. He knew the stance and without looking up, spoke.

‘What?’ he asked with hardly any interest in his voice. ‘You look about ready to burst.’

‘Cook says - that is, we get - I mean, Meriadoc the stablemaster wants to talk to you!’ She turned and ran off, stopping several paces away to add over her shoulder, ‘He’s in the kitchen waiting.’ Tim sat up and stared after his sister, wondering what in the world had gotten into her. With a puzzled expression on his face, he rose and followed her to where she’d disappeared inside the Inn kitchen again. He paused outside the door and brushed his hands off as best he could and then, drawing a deep breath, entered.

‘You wanted me, sir?’ he asked , approaching the hobbit who still sat by the table.

‘Are you Tim?’ Meriadoc asked, casting a critical eye over the lad. Tim, aware that he was being sized up, lifted his head a little bit and stepped towards him.

‘Yes, sir. Tim Woodlock. Wren’s older brother. She said you wanted me.’

‘Yes. Well. I’ve had something of an accident, lad,’ the hobbit said, softened somewhat by Tim’s polite address. Tim glanced at the propped foot and back at Meriadoc’s face and the stablemaster continued. ‘Cook has pressed me to get help until I am better. Your sister here says that you know a bit about horses. Rode a lot when you were at home and helped with the farmers around. What would you think of running the stables, under my watch, until I am up on my feet again?’

Tim was speechless for a moment. He searched the hobbit’s brown eyes carefully, hardly believing his ears. ‘You mean...stay here and help?’

‘Well, you’d be doing most of the work. Cook doesn’t think I can even stand up on the blasted foot!’ Tim blinked. ‘Mind you,’ Meriadoc went on before Tim could make a proper answer, ‘it’s no easy work. There are horses coming in and out of that stable constantly.’

‘Oh, yes, sir, I understand!’ Tim said, suddenly coming to himself and finding his tongue free again. His face flushed with sudden excitement and his eyes shone. ‘I would love to! If you really need me, I think I could do it. I mean, I know a lot about horses...I can brush them and saddle them, and I know how to feed them and - and clean their stalls and all that. There was a-’ but he stopped himself and started off on another track, one more fitting, he figured. ‘Thank you very much, sir. I’ll do it for you. I’m sure I can manage it. I’ll work real hard.’

Meriadoc’s face softened to something close to a smile. ‘I’m sure you will, lad. Well, Ginger’s come up with these crutches,’ he went on, looking at the unwieldy things that were propped up next to his chair. ‘Guess I’ll get used to them while I show you the rounds.’ With a bit of Tim’s help, the stablemaster got to his feet and they went out to the stables together. Wren remained in the kitchen, for the first time since her parent’s death completely excited and happy.

[Arry]

Gil choked on his mouthful of ale, spluttering as he attempted to swallow it. He blanched at the sound of the familiar voice then red stained his cheekbones as he turned to face its source.

And there she stood, the original reason his mood had fallen so far into a funk. There she stood, unaware of the discomfort she had . . . was . . . causing him.

Wiping the foam and dribbles from his lips and chin with the sleeve of his tunic, he grinned sheepishly at her. He stood up hastily, knocking his chair over, and croaked out her name. ‘Rowan!’ The effort of talking brought on a round of coughing.

[Alcarillo]

Alcarillo had now sat for many minutes alone. Miz Greengage had run off, and so Alcarillo amused himself by watching the many visitors to the inn come and go. He was amused by great diversity of people: halflings (or as he learnt that they called themselves, hobbits), dwarves, men, and even other elves like himself. Now that the many dangers of the wild had passed with Sauron, many more travelers were on the roads, seeking adventure.

Alcarillo's mind drifted through thought after thought. I would like to visit this place again, he thought, it really is pleasant here. After a few more minutes of sitting and thinking, Alcarillo stood, and decided to bring his pen down from his room upstairs. He moved through the guests, and towards the creaky stairs. The voices faded and soon he was in the small rented room, where his belongings sat on the bed. His arm dove into a knapsack, and he retrieved a slender wooden box. He slipped this into a hidden pocket of his cloak and went back to the common room.

Alcarillo resumed his place at the empty table, where he produced the wooden box and the red notebook from their hiding places. Inside the box was an elegant pen, which he removed and laid before him. He returned the box to his cloak, and opened the notebook. He would draw the common room. Alcarillo was a fair hand at sketching people, and considered himself to be a better than average artist. And so Alcarillo flipped his small book to a blank page and began.

With each stroke of his pen the picture became more and more complete. He added in the sillhouettes of visitors and shaded in the walls. Soon it was completed. With nothing else to do, Alcarillo made up his mind that it was time to leave. He crept up to his room and gathered his belongings. He came back downstars, and placed a handful of golden coins on the table he frequented. Then, with one last look at the faces in the common room, he walked into the sunshine outside.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Fordogrim wandered about the grounds of the Inn impatiently, wondering when his cart would arrive. He took an apple out of his pocket and began munching at it pensively. When it was gone he produced another, and then another, until three apple-cores were neatly piled beneath one of the many trees of the yard. Automatically his hand went back to his pocket but his disappointed fingers encountered only his trusty pocketknife. Now thoroughly dejected, the little fellow slumped to the ground beside the pile of apple-cores and waited.

He did not have to wait long, although it was not a cart full of his beer that relieved him of the burden, but a small hobbit lad who lounged by on the road looking as though he had little to do other than lounge. “Hoy there!” Fordogrim called. “What’s yer name then, lad?”

The boy perked out at him, “Pimple, sir! Pimple Boffin!”

“Well then, PimplesirPimple Boffin,” he replied playfully, “there’s a copper or two for you if you run down the road toward Hobbiton and give me word of a cart.”

“What cart, sir?”

“Well not just any cart, that’s for sure. My cart is what I mean. It’s a large blue cart with great green wheels and my two woolly-headed cousins Fatty and Gerdy Chubb will be a-driving it. Now run along now and let me know.”

“No need to run along, sir. I’ve just seen that cart not two minutes ago coming up the hill.” Fordogrim leapt to his feet and rushed to the boy, taking him by the hand and shaking it energetically.

“That’s fine news, my lad Pimple, fine news indeed. Here, have a shilling!” The boy looked at the coin in his hand in awe and ran away singing about the pies he would buy. At that very moment there hove into view the very same cart that Fordogrim had described driven by the very same cousins. The two large ponies, which he had neglected to describe, were tired after their journey but at the sight and smell of the Inn they lifted their legs with new energy. Fatty was the first to dismount from the cart, for despite his name he was a narrow and nimble fellow. “Fordo!” he cried, clasping his cousin by the shoulders. “I’m sure you had given up on us, but I told you we would be here this day.”

“Ay, and that you did my dear, that you did! And how was the journey?” They talked quickly about the trip from the Westfarthing and of the many trials of the road (including one broken axle and two missed meals). The three hobbits moved quickly about the cart unloading three of the casks that it bore and quickly setting out a trestle table in the middle of the yard. They put the casks upon it and with three quick knocks soon had taps in them. From under the seat Gerdy produced two whole racks of pewter mugs that clattered happily on the tabletop. When all was in order Fordogrim tilted his head to one side and appraised it. At his insistence the table had been set up at a height comfortable for himself leaving the beer only a foot’s breadth above the ground but he pronounced it capital. Grinning from ear to ear he turned toward the Inn.

The arrival of the cousins (and the ponies, who were looking at Fordogrim quite disheartened, wondering when they would be remembered and given some oats), along with the subsequent clatter had brought a fair crowd of curious faces to the windows of the Inn. Fordogrim bowed low to them all before speaking in his best tones. “Welcome and greetings to the people of Bywater!” he began formally. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Fordogrim Chubb of Gamwich and these are my cousins Fatty and Gerdy Chubb. We are brewers of the finest ales and beers, stouts and bitters in all the Westfarthing and we have come to these parts to demonstrate that our brews are worthy of your patronage. So for Today Only” he wanted this point to be particularly clear, “three of our best beers, Old Stout, Mellow Ale and – my particular favourite – Gamwich Gold will be yours absolutely free of charge! And when you find that these are the best beers as you’ve ever had, I hope that you’ll feel like telling your friends of Fordogrim Chubb, Brewer!”

[Dasol]

Feren had intended to be drunk. The young man might have achieved his purpose, if he hadn't drawn up a stool by the windowsill as nicely inconspicuous (or so he thought) - and be disturbed by a commotion outside and curious drinkers gathering around him. As if he hadn’t enough to deal with. Feren raised his eyes above the rim of the still-foaming mug, reluctantly, to the ridiculous sight of two ponies and a hobbit shouting about something or other. A round of hearty applause and cheers met the announcement of the pompous hobbit, presumably the owner of Fordogrimm-Chubb Inc. The dozers by the bar roused long enough to clang their mugs and show their approval. How perfectly nice. As he looked out, the hobbit - do they all have such unrememberable names? - busied himself setting out the kegs of ale on the makeshift table. That being finished, he scuttled about offering his hands to anyone who would shake, and many who'd rather not.

The muscles in the face of Feren twisted for a moment, as if he wanted to smile and thought better of it at the last instant. Then he tore his gaze away from the window. Folks around him were thinning, most heading for the gate to get their free drinks. Soon enough, he was the only one left in the vicinity.

It suited him just as well. Feren retreated into a corner of the inn, which had its odd spots of dirty corners despite the brightly-lit and cheerful surroundings that grated upon his nerves. He found his niche, settled limply into it and let his weary body sink into the coarse padding of the chair. His gray eyes restlessly encompassed the whole tavern before flickering back to his yet untasted mug of beer. Then, when he was sure that no one but the barmaid and a small number of hobbits were able to see him like this, the young man buried his head in his arms and let out a long-suppressed sigh, letting the tickling laughter of the hobbits outside wash over him.

If he was crying, it would have been quite admissible for him - he had nowhere to go anymore. Nowhere, but Gondor, or back to.... Back to...

[Folwren]

‘There’s a bit of a stir outside,’ Tim said as he and the stablemaster finished their rounds and came towards the wide open doors of the stable. They stopped in the opening, blinking in the sunlight after the dimness of the barn, and looked out.

‘Why that’s Fordogrim Chub with his ale!’ Meriadoc cried. ‘Almost better than that at the Dragon! Let’s go see what’s up, Tim.’ Tim trailed behind the stablemaster as the hobbit limped, crutches and all, towards the group of people standing around the extraordinarily short Fordogrim and his table and ale casks.

Meriadoc pushed his way into the middle and there finding what the cause of all the merriment was, forgot all his troubles and joined in, getting himself a pint of the Gamwich Gold. Tim, on the other hand, remained on the outskirts of the all the people. He glanced around and caught sight of the two tired ponies, still harnessed to the cart. One stretched it’s neck and tugged at the reins, getting no where in the process - the driver had tied them to the seat. The other stood with his head down on the level of its knees, one back foot resting, and blinking wearily.

Tim sighed with pity and walked towards them. He laid his hand gently on the nearest pony's forelock and stroked him while he glanced around for someone to ask if he could do anything for them. He quickly caught sight of a hobbit leaning on the wheel, and with the way that he stood back so nonchalantly with no mug in his hand, and no cares on his face, he assumed he would probably be a good person to ask.

‘Excuse me,’ Tim said, approaching him. The hobbit (it was Gerdy Chub, though Tim didn’t know it) turned and looked at him. ‘Are these your ponies? Should I unharness them and take them to water?’

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Gerdy roused himself about as much as he could do something other than lounge and addressed himself to the serious matter of the tall Man’s question about the ponies. “Well now,” he began, “the ponies you say? Hmmmm…..that’s a good question. They have been a-working very hard to get this here ale to the Inn, and that’s a fact, and it’s also just as true as they’ve not had a rest or a bite to eat or a sip of water nigh on….oh….well, let’s see, there was that well just outside of town where we stopped to get some water, but it was a bit dry and we didn’t feel it was right to take the last drops from a stranger’s lips. But there was that creek about an hour before then that they had a good drink from, but it was a bit muddy and I’m not sure as they had their fill…” It was Fatty who came to Tim’s rescue at this point.

“Ah, Gerdy” he said. “What’s this, eh? Chewing on the fat with people when there’s work to be done?”

“Ah, brother Fatty, I was just a-telling this here Man about the last time our ponies had some water. It was in that creek, but if you remember, it was right muddy…”

Fatty, who apparently had great experience with his brother’s manner, interrupted him before he could get started. “That’s right it was, brother Gerdy, that it was. But I believe I overheard the young master as asking if the ponies need some attention, and you were saying just as we came up as they were looking that tired, so why don’t you unharness them so as we can get them into some comfortable stalls.”

As Gerdy began unhitching the animals, Fatty quietly took Tim to one side and whispered in his ear, “You’ll have to excuse Gerdy, master. It’s not that he’s foolish or woolly between the ears – not a bit of it! He’ll stare his way through a brick wall in time, but it will take him a good amount of time. He’s rather methodical in the way he thinks and that can be a bit trying to those as don’t know him.” Tim politely assured the hobbit that he had found it no trial. “Well that’s quite capital of you, master. Capital indeed. Allow me to introduce myself: I am Fredegar Chubb, but you shall call me Fatty as does everyone else. I may not be much to look at yet, but I plan on becoming quite robust some day! My brother and I are in the employ of our cousin – our third cousin, once removed, to be precise – our cousin Fordogrim. And I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, young master and would be greatly pleased to know your name.”

[Thinlómien]

Unnoticed for a while, a young woman called Brith stood diffidently in the doorway of the inn. She was dark-haired, dark-eyed and clothed in a blue and brown traveler's garb. Brith's appearance and clothing showed clearly that she was from Gondor.

Brith watched the hobbits a bit confused. She wondered if there were such a mess and babbling every day. For a brief moment, she thought about entering, but her courage failed. These little people. They make me so confused, she thought. Then she just stood a while in the doorway watching the little people with a tiny smile.

While standing in the doorway Brith watched the people in the inn. Soon she noticed that not all of the people there were halflings. She saw two dwarves sitting in one table talking with each other. Then a tall woman - who had to be an elf - talking with a gondorian man caught her eye. When I first see an elf, of all places it happens to be in here, in this countryside land of halflings. Not in Minas Tirith or in Dol Amroth, but here in this little countryside inn in a little farmer country in the middle of wilderness..., she thought shooking her head. Also noticing the companion of the elf, she shooked her head again wondering if this was such a small, quiet and peaceful place she had thought this to be.

[Kath]

Having filled herself up with the wonderful food from the Inn's kitchens, Astilwen had made her way back outside, enjoying the fresh air of the morning. The gardens looked different than they had the night before and as there was no one outside aside from those arriving, she took her time perusing the various flowers and herbs.

She had been watching the new arrivals with some interest, as she had never seen so many people from so many different races all congregate in one place before. She liked to make up a history for each person she saw as they entered. Sometimes it was easy, she could tell if they had been travelling long by the state of their clothes, or if they were hungry by the speed at which they entered the Inn! She could also distinguish the animal lovers, as they tended to their horses before themselves. But now there was a new arrival, one that she had trouble making a history for.

A big people woman had arrived but had not gone further than the doorway. She was smiling, and seemed to be mostly at ease, but she was not entering the Inn. Confused, Astilwen watched her for a while but still the woman just stood at looked at something inside, and her innate curioisty got the better of her. She approached the stranger.

"Excuse me miss, but is something wrong? You'll be quite welcome inside you know."

[Huan]

‘Well, clap him hard on the back, Mistress Foxburr!’ came the amused voice of Emlin from behind Rowan’s back. He had stepped up so quietly, she had not heard him. And now, bent over slightly, he peered around her back.

She followed his direction and stepping near the distressed Hobbit, gave the still coughing Gil a good hard whack mid back. The air whoofed from him in a sudden exhalation, then came back in as he straightened up . . . without coughing.

His face was pale as he turned round to her. His cheeks flaming like a robin’s breast against the last snows of winter. A little ways aprt stood Emlin, looking closely at the pair, his brows raised.

[Koobdooga]

‘What do you seek there which you do not have already in the glorious halls of Durin?’ asked Frór. Ibun considered the question carefully before answering.

‘The halls are glorious. You have the right of that. Though, we are still in the process of repairing and restoring the great damage that Durin’s Bane made when he was loosed. And the last of the Orcs have been driven out of the cavern . . . they, too, I am sad to say caused much mischief.’ He shook his head, his eyes hard with anger at all that had been done to mar the great halls beneath the mountains. ‘Sorrier, though, are we that after all the wars against us, our number are much fewer than before.’ He took a pull at his ale. ‘King Durin VII has sent out messengers, such as myself, to the north and to the west, seeking those families of the Longbeards who once dwelt in Khazad-dum . . . inviting them back to dwell there in their ancient halls and rebuild it once more.’

Ibun pushed his half empty plate away from him. Fishing in his vest pocket he drew out his pouch of pipeweed. ‘I say, Frór. When you’re done with your meal there, might I offer you a pipeful?’

[Undómë]

Esgallhugwen is thanked for her assistance

Teluyaviel’s cheeks had crimsoned as the older Elven lady came over to help. What must she think of Tindomion and her and the mess they had managed to make?

Tindo, for his part, gave an exasperated sigh and went tromping off toward the kitchen in search of a broom. Oh, thank the stars he did not make some rude remark about clumsy Halflings in front of the Lady! Telu thought.

It had not been his wish to travel from Lindon to Ithilien, nor even to set foot in the Shire again. Had he his way they would be on the next ship West. But . . . he’d promised his mother he would watch out for his younger sister, Telu. His dear mother who was now most likely awaiting their father’s departure from Mandos’ Halls in the fair West. His sister had declined to go, saying she did not hear the sea call as yet, and so he had made that binding promise thinking that soon her thoughts would turn to their family and she would surely want to go.

But Telu’s heart was set on the new Ithilien, having heard that a number of their kin from the Woodland Realm had gone there to settle. And to his vexation, she remained firm in her desire to continue their eastward journey.

In good time he was back with the broom, having braved the fierce, grey haired matron who commanded the kitchen. He’d had to make a full report to her why her broom was needed. And she had clucked her tongue at him, indicating she thought the whole incident most likely his fault. At any rate, the mess was cleaned up and the Halfling had graciously taken their orders, saying that perhaps it would be best if they just waited for her at their table.

Telu gathered her wits about her and drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly to calm herself. ‘My thanks to you for your help,’ she told the Elven lady. ‘My name is Teluyaviel and this is my brother, Tindomion. Telu and Tindo, if you will. We are traveling through the Shire, from Lindon. May I ask who it is I have the pleasure of greeting?’

[Amanaduial the archer]

Hearing the clattering from upstairs where she had been doing the books, Aman looked up, irritated by the distraction, but not overly so: doing the accounts and paperwork of the Green Dragon was a task she had been avoiding for the past month, and of course this had only served to make it even larger and more arduous then it already was. And dull. Don't forget dull. There are some minds in the world of Middle Earth, as there are in any world, to which the sight of numbers lining up perfectly, fitting in and slotting together by some magic that is called numerical logic, would be almost exciting. Mind to whom accounts could even be considered, well...satisfying.

The Innkeeper was certainly not possessed of such a mind.

Aman's desk was positioned by the window, allowing her the beautiful rural views across the Shire that her room afforded, and the healthy country breeze that stopped her from going entirely mad when locked in a room with only paperwork for company - after all, such a roommate did make for a rather dubious companion - but because of the shape of the Inn's sloping roof, she could not quite see the path that ran in front of the Inn while she was seated. So when she heard the disturbance growing outside, and the sound of people flocking together at the slightest hint of excitement, as they are apt to do on a sleepy day in such rural setting when there is nothing else immediately pressing on their time - after all, in such a setting, when is there ever really such a press on one's time? - she rose from her seat, curious. Pushing open the window and leaning out of it so as to have a clear view of the path, Aman was just in time to see the diminuitive figure of a really quite exceptionally diminuitive figure leap onto the back of a cart and begin his bold annoucement.

"Allow me to introduce myself," the little hobbit began, with so pompous and authorative an air that Aman found herself smiling but attentive. "I am Fordogrim Chubb of Gamwich and these are my cousins Fatty and Gerdy Chubb. We are brewers of the finest ales and beers, stouts and bitters in all the Westfarthing and we have come to these parts to demonstrate that our brews are worthy of your patronage. So for Today Only" - the capitals on the words were so clearly audible that Aman knew that what was about to follow would be very good or... "Three of our best beers, Old Stout, Mellow Ale and – my particular favourite – Gamwich Gold will be yours absolutely free of charge! And when you find that these are the best beers as you’ve ever had, I hope that you’ll feel like telling your friends of Fordogrim Chubb, Brewer!"

...or not so very good. Aman's eyebrows shot up and she almost fell out of the window. Free ale? Outside her Inn? Now Aman was not by nature a mean-spirited woman, far from it, and often she disagreed with Cook on her kind-heartedness of giving free meals to half the waifs and strays in Bywater...but there was a line, and when such a fellow decided to give free beers out to every potential customer in Bywater...well, frankly, the line was so far that the line was now a dot.

"What the..." she breathed. "Excuse me, you sir, Mister Chubb!"

The little hobbit spun around to face the Innkeeper with the unflappable finesse and showmanship of a ringmaster. "Yes, ma'am, the lady on the roof?" - a fair enough judgement, Aman supposed, bearing in mind that she was almost hanging onto the roof at this point. Raising one eyebrow sardonically, she replied, "Sir, this is my Inn - would you not have cared to mention such an offer to me first?"

For the first time, Fordogrim Chubb looked slightly sheepish - and it was only ever-so-slightly, enough maybe to be mistaken for a passing sneeze of a change of the wind, but nevertheless - before he replied. "Ah," he said, grinning ruefully. "I was wondering whether we would come to that." Building himself up again, the hobbit's diminuitive frame seemed to once more swell visibly. "But dear lady, you would surely not deny your thirsty customers the chance of some free - and, if I may say so, quite splendid - refreshments?"

The little hobbit's cockiness drew a few laughs from the watching audience, and even Aman smiled a little. "Mister Chubb, there is a line for these things, a line beyond which things may become quite tricky." She paused for effect - showmanship, after all, is rather contagious at time - before adding, "Mister Chubb, the line...the line is a dot."

The comment, however enigmatic, drew another laugh from the audience, and even Mr. Chubb smiled a little, a small acknowledgement of the Innkeeper's point. Aman rolled her eyes and made a show of giving a great sigh before she retreated from the window and headed for the Common Room, where she and Mr. Chubb could talk more easily. She had, really, no strong feelings about his giving away free ale - so long as it was as good as he professed, for the 'Dragon had a reputation to live up to - but it was generally agreed, or so she had been led to believe, that doing business from a rooftop was not quite conventional, and to be frowned upon in many circles of society.

Not, of course, that the Innkeeper cared much for circles of society, of that they even particularly crossed her mind at this stage. But, as it has previously said, a month's worth of accumulated paperwork really can be very dull.

[The riders of Rohaan]

Name: Grimy
Age:24
Race: Hobbit
Gender:male
Weapons: A sword given to him by his grandfather and a coat of mythril with his name engraved on it. and a helmet.
Personality:
Just a normal little hobbit happy playing his flute and has a peaceful nature and a hunger for adventure. Good at sword fighting skills just enough to defend himself and he loves fighting with Goblins. He hates orcs as they are too poerwful for him but can take down quite a few.
Appearance
Hat on the head no shoes just a cloak and clothes same like frodo.

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Please check your PM's

~*~ Piosenniel, Shire Moderator http://forum.barrowdowns.com/ubb/icons/icon9.gif

[Rune Son of Bjarne]

‘I say, Frór. When you’re done with your meal there, might I offer you a pipeful?’

Frór promptly replyed : I must say that you are a most generus dwarf Master Ibun ! !
This is a offer a cannot refuse. Many days have gone since i last smelld the superb smell of pipe weed.

As he finished his meal Frór was thinking of the great wounds a creature like "Durins Bane" could give, even the greatest of halls. Then a darknest gatherd in Frór's mind, he did not know why, but it became clear to him that his fate was bound to the misty mountains that he feard so much. "a dwarf scared of mountains it is unheard of! he thought to him self".

His thought returned to Ibun and his jurney. Frór could not belive that the dwarves of Khazad-dum was in such dire need, that they were searching in every dwarf colony for Longbeards. This was i deed bad news, but then again it might be his fortune!

Frór then looked at Ibun and spoke:
Tell me Master Ibun. witch way are you planing on taking out of this funny land, to the Blue Mountains. As i sayed, i my self are heading towards the dwarf dwellings there, so it would be most usefull information if you cared to share it.

[Folwren]

"Allow me to introduce myself: I am Fredegar Chubb, but you shall call me Fatty as does everyone else. I may not be much to look at yet, but I plan on becoming quite robust some day! My brother and I are in the employ of our cousin – our third cousin, once removed, to be precise – our cousin Fordogrim. And I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, young master and would be greatly pleased to know your name.”

Tim gaped slightly as he took Fredagar's offered hand. Then he shut his mouth and nodded. "I'm Tim. Tim Woodlock, sir. And..." he paused. Perhaps it wouldn't be polite to tell the hobbit not to call him 'master'. But it was awfully uncomfortable. Especially if everyone called him that. He'd leave it alone. "I can take one of the ponies," he said instead. "Your brother doesn't have to get them both." Fatty nodded and Tim turned around and silently took one of the ponies bridle. He and Gerdy led them to the water trough beside the inn wall and let them drink their fill.

"How long are you going to be here?" Tim asked, as he watched them drink. "Should I put them up in a stall, or just hitch them over there?" He indicated to the hitching posts and, forgetting momentarilly how Gerdy might go on forever, waited for the hobbit's reply.

[Thinlómien]

Brith was so carried away with her thoughts, that it took a while for her to realise that someone had spoken to her. She saw a halfling looking up at her curiously. "Oh, yes, I'm fine, miss", she said a bit embarassed. "Thank you", she added a bit more warmly and even managed to smile.

Brith entered the inn and sat to an empty table nearby. She was happy to give her body some rest for the day's riding. She let her eyes wander around the room. She didn't see any waiters or such, but decided to stay at the table. Probably someone will come, at least if not soon, then later. It's not so important, actually, she thought, Probably this is all because of the thing of serving free beer outside. Well, I'd prefer warm food and some wine, if they have, to a pint of beer.

[Dunwen]

Widow Rosebank rinsed her face and hands, taking pleasure in the feel of the clean warm water on her skin. The roads in the Shire were not nearly as dusty as the Great Road from Bree to the Brandywine Bridge, and she had traveled only a short distance that morning, but she had discovered that she did like to freshen up after traveling. Normally she would have cleaned up right after breakfast, but she had been sidetracked by the friendly hobbit, Miz Bella. Drying her face and hands, the widow thought of her ‘sale’ of threads to Miz Bella and shook her head. She had certainly done her purse no favor!

‘Ah well,’ she thought, ‘there’s other profit besides gold and silver.’ The teacher seemed to be a person of some importance at the Green Dragon; besides, Ebba Rosebank had a high regard for teachers. Ebba hoped Miz Bella might put in a good word for her if she could fine someone to talk to about selling her goods at this fair she’d heard about.

Having finally cornered one of the serving girls and paid for a room at the Green Dragon for a few days, Ebba needed to unpack her things. The two large leather saddlebags had been tossed on the wooden chair near the large bed (at least large by hobbit standards; even though she was a small Woman, Ebba would have been cramped in hobbit-sized furniture). Placing them on the bed, Ebba took out a change of clothes and neatly arranged her personal belongings in the clothes press cleverly built into one corner of the room. Her remaining merchandise was a bit of a problem, though. There wasn’t a lot, as she had had to fit it into one of her bags, but Ebba didn’t care to have her goods out for the taking. The Green Dragon was clearly a decent respectable house, but thieves could visit even the nicest places. After changing, she looked around the small room to see if there was a secure place for her merchandise.

The door opened to show a small washstand with a pitcher and bowl along the right-hand wall, with a mirror above it. Directly opposite the door was a window with a chair in front of it, inviting a guest to sit down and enjoy the bright midday sun shining in. The bed, covered with a pretty blue and green quilt, was next to the chair and window, with a night stand beyond it in the corner. The clothes press was a medium-sized cupboard at the angle of the walls closest to the foot of the bed. Between the clothes press and the doorway, opposite the foot of the bed, a row of pegs held Widow Rosebank’s now-empty saddlebags, the breeches and the blouse she’d traveled in, and the woolen cloak she’d brought in case of bad weather.

Ebba shut the door and pondered the small, plain room. “I don’t think you could hide a mouse’s whisker in here,” she said to herself. Suddenly a thought struck her. “Aha,” she exclaimed. After rearranging a few things, she stood by door and looked around the room once more. It wasn’t perfectly safe, but at least now there was no sign of the things she’d brought with her to sell.

As long as the whereabouts of the innkeeper continued to be a mystery, Ebba would see if she could coax some information out of the cook. The hobbit that had shown her up to the room (Ruby, was it?) Had shown a lively fear of the ruler of the Green Dragons kitchen, but had stammered out a name: Vinca Bunce.

[Arry]

‘Thanks . . . I think . . . I mean yes, thanks.’ Gil stammered, the red from his cheeks flaming up to his ears.

Good gravy! What was the matter with him? He felt hot and cold and quite unable to speak. And there was Rowan staring at him in a curious manner. And beyond her, the Elf . . . whose brows were raised so high they nearly met his hairline.

‘Look,’ he said, taking a deep breath and trying to stand casually. ‘We . . . I seem to have gotten off to a bad start. Let’s try again.’

Gil pulled out the chair to his right and nodded at Rowan. ‘Would you like to break your fast with me, Miss Foxburr?’ he asked gaining back a little of his composure. He managed a little grin. ‘Or if you’ve already eaten . . . then a little second breakfast perhaps?’

Emlin nodded at the little scene. He seemed to smile a bit, then waved good-bye as he headed toward the Inn door . . .

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger and Wren encounter the Widow Rosebank

‘One of the lasses had to go home to be with her sick Da,’ Buttercup said, motioning for Ginger and Wren to draw closer to the linen cupboard. ‘The guests will be needing fresh towels and washcloths for the day. So, take these two stacks upstairs,’ instructed Buttercup, ‘and put fresh ones by the wash stand. Make sure you knock first so’s you don’t disturb anybody. Just leave the used towels and such in the hall, the laundry girl will go through after you and pick them up in her basket.’ She loaded up Ginger’s arms with a tall stack of fluffy towels topped with an equal number of wash cloths. ‘Take Wren, too. She can take this basket of fresh cut flowers up and put them in the vases.’

Ginger couldn’t see over the stack of towels as she and Wren made their way down the first hall, where many of the Big Folk were staying in the larger sized rooms. Wren followed along behind, her view blacked by ginger and her load.

‘Oh, my goodness!’ yelped Ginger as she bounced off something in front of her. The towels spilled from her arms and landed at the woman’s feet. ‘My gosh! Are you alright? Did I hurt you?’ Ginger flushed a deep pink, setting off the sprinkle of sandy freckles that played across her nose. She hurriedly picked up the fallen towels trying to put them in some semblance of order.

In an effort to regain her composure, she curtsied to the woman and nodded toward the room the woman had apparently just left. ‘We’re bringing round fresh towels and face cloths . . . and flowers, too. Could we leave some for you, ma’am?’

[piosenniel]

~*~ GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS ~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

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

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

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

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

Meri - Stablemaster

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

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Ongoing characters from outside the Inn:

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

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Please Note:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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About Elves in Shire RPG's:

Please use this description from Tolkien when crafting an Elf:

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

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

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

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EVERYONE

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

Thanks!

Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[piosenniel]

Time of Day

It's nearing noon in the Shire.

Second breakfast is being served. Lunch is being cooked - savory mutton stew with vegetables, taters, and barley; warm rolls straight from the oven with sweet cream butter, jams, honey, cheeses; and baskets of big, nut & spice cookies to fill in any of the hollow spaces. Drinks of all sorts are of course available.

The weather is pleasant - sunny with a clear sky.

[Koobdooga]

-- Ibun and Frór enjoy a smoke --

‘Oh, I’d thought to take the East-West Road to the Tower Hills,’ said Ibun tamping down the pipeweed in his long clay pipe. He passed the pouch to Frór, nodding at him to fill his own pipe. Ibun plucked a length of straw from the sheaf kept near the fireplace and lit the dried stalk, transferring it quickly to the bowl of his pipe. A few good sucks, and the pipeweed lit with a merry little crackle, the smoke from it sending a fragrant streamer up toward the rafters.

‘Not sure after that,’ he said, leaning back comfortably in his chair. He extended his legs, crossing one booted foot over the other. ‘I think I’ll go on to Mithlond, to the harbor and ask about. Depending on what I find out I’ll go either to the northern or southern arm of the Blue Mountains. Hope there’ll be some sign of my kin there I can pick up easily.’

‘Ibun waved over one of the passing servers and asked for a refill of ale. ‘What about you, Frór. Have you heard any news of where the Dwarves dwell in the western mountains?’ He took a sip from his mug. ‘Perhaps we might travel together if you’re bound the same way as I.’

[Noinkling]

'Notch' in his hidey-hole


‘Notch’ the others in the stable called him now, after an unfortunate encounter with the kitchen cat. Ghastly old tabby had managed to heave her bulk at him, pinning his tail with one clawed paw and nipping unmercifully at his poor ear. Bled all over, now, didn’t it just! Cat got what was coming to her, he remembered with glee. He’d flipped around, tearing his ear from her teeth in the process, and bit the foul feline hard on the nose.

He was a mouse . . . a brown, rather ordinary mouse who lived in a snug little burrow at the base of the common room’s raised hearth. He too had started out as a mouse among many in the stable-loft straw. Helping himself to the leavings from the horses’ feed – a bit of oats here, some stray kernels of corn, the odd old apple fallen from the covered bins. At night, though, he’d huddle under a skiff of straw and gaze out the bale-door toward the Inn.

He’d heard stories about the wonders and delights of that brightly lit place. It was warm, and cozy, and there was plenty of food for the taking from the floors where the two-foots dropped enough crumbs and, best of all, he'd come to learn, there was ale.

Notch had developed a fondness for the foamy brew and it was after an evening of indulging himself in spills and half-filled mugs left on the tables that he had had his first and last encounter with the kitchen cat. He’d learned after that to pace himself -- keep a sharp eye, ear, and nose out for nosy tabbies. He chuckled quietly to himself. Since he’d bit the Inn cat on the nose, though, the old, flea-bitten thing hadn’t ventured out of the kitchen much at nights any more.

He crossed his little front legs in front of him and laid his head down on his paws. It was a busy day in the Inn. A great number of visitors stomped in and out, ordering food and drink. All about the floor were scattered bits of bacon and toast and biscuits and eggs soon to be followed he knew by whatever delicious repast the Cook and her helpers would offer for lunch. And then of course there were the afternoon snacks and the hearty dinners that were the hallmark of The Dragon – at least in his opinion.

For now he was content to lie in the shadows of his burrow and gaze out at the big feet of those who passed by, thinking fondly of the feast the night would bring.

[Huan]

‘Elves!’ said Rowan, shrugging her shoulders as Emlin sauntered toward the door. She sat down in the chair Gil had offered, giving him a small smile and a raised brow as if to ask, ‘Aren’t you going to sit, too?’

‘I didn’t think I had slept in so late,’ she said looking about as people in the Common Room were ordering just a little something to tide them over ‘til lunch was done. A server came to the table and she placed her order – a hot mug of tea, some of those sweet rolls she spied at a nearby table, and a plate of sharp Shire cheese. Oh and butter, of course.

As the server left the table, Rowan glanced toward the nearby fireplace. A quick movement at the base of the hearth surprised her and it seemed as if some small brown, whiskery face disappeared completely within the hole she’d spied. ‘The Dragon serves more than Hobbits, Elves, Dwarves, and Men, I see,’ she murmured to herself, chuckling at the little face she’d seen.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Gerdy Chubb

"How long will we be staying.... Well, herm. That's a hard one to answer Master Tim, and that's for sure. We won't be leaving before we've made ourselves a few customers, but we can't stay so long that we neglect our regulars back home. So it's a balance we need to strike."

"Well," Tim ventured again, "can you guess?"

"Guess?" Gerdy's eyes grew wide at the thought of such a daring move. "I daresay I could guess, but how right would it be, that's the question! But if it's a guess you want, then it's a guess I should give you. Let me see," he fell to pondering for a while. "Well," he said at last, "we can't leave and go back home today so the earliest we'll be going is tomorrow, as we can't travel at night neither. As to the longest time we could stay, well, we could -- I suppose -- stay here and run the business by letter with the occasaional visit back home, but then our families would miss us by and by... I guess the longest we could stay would be a month or two. So that's my guess: we'll be leaving sometime between tomorrow morning and the end of two months from now!" And he beamed at Tim with the conclusiveness of his statement.

Fordogrim Chubb

"Ahh, the Innkeeper!" Fordogrim said, bowing low (which brought his head dangerously close to Aman's foot). "I was wanting to make your acquaintance. And let me say that I understand your position entirely, I do that indeed! I'm a businesshobbit myself and wouldn't like if someone else starting giving away their wares on my front stoop, not a bit of it! So have no fear, Mistress Aman, have no fear. If my ales do well here then you shall have the profit by it too!" He stuck his hands into his pockets and lowered his voice, obliging the tall woman to stoop to the ground to hear him. He assumed a conspiratorial air. "If folk hereabout like my ales and as want to drink them, I am a-willing to give you the sole right to serve them up, and" he added hurriedly, seeing that this did not move Aman to immediate glee, "for the first six months" he looked at her face once more and then spoke again "for the first year, I shall be happy to offer you the ale at my special family rate! Now how can you say anything other than fair to that, eh?" And he stuck out his hand by way of making a bargain.

[Esgallhugwen]

"My name is Esgallhugwen", she replied with a faint smile noticing the young Elf lass blush. "And I am most happy to help, the Shire can be quite intimidating for us Fair Folk who are unused to the more humble Hobbit ways".

She herself never willingly going into public until recently could relate, but while she stayed tucked in a corner on that fateful rainy day, they desired a more direct approach. Who could blame them?

Eswen's eyes glimmered, "So tell me what brings two young Elves to the Shire?"

[Undómë]

Two voices spoke in tandem. Like two refrains that played against each other - the one as light and merry as the other was darker and less genial.

‘Why I don’t find the Shire intimidating in the least!’ said Telu, just as her brother sighed, and muttered more to himself than in answer to the observation by Esgallhugwen. ‘Would not have chosen to come, to be truthful, save I promised my mother I would look after her.’

The two looked at each other - Tindo, frowning, his face set in a disapproving manner. Telu, on the other hand, simply bit her lip, hoping to quash the smile that threatened to grow there. It was the smile, however, that won the day; it blossomed into a wide grin and erupted further into a tinkling silvered laughter that rang in the air. Telu grabbed her brother’s hands and darted forward quickly to plant a kiss on his cheek.

‘Don’t be cross, Tindo!’ she said, taking his hand as the three Elves walked back to the table.

‘We’re on our way to Ithilien,’ Telu said, pulling her chair out and sitting down. ‘That is, I want to go there. I’ve heard from some of the Elves who’ve come to Lindon that a number of our kin from the Woodland Realm have been welcomed there by the new Prince of Ithilien – one Faramir, or so I’ve heard him called. They say it is a lovely land and that often the new King among men and his Lady visit.’ Her face had a faraway look on it, one of longing. ‘It would be grand to know that there is a place yet where our people prosper. And the Lady, Arwen Undómiel, I should very much like to meet her. Well, perhaps, even just see her.’

Telu had waited until Esgallhugwen was seated before he took his chair. Now he sat back in it, a look of resigned fondness on his face. ‘She is such a dreamer,’ he murmured. ‘A starry-eyed deamer. And far too trusting. Now you see how full my hands are with the keeping safe of her!’

The server had come with their food and drink as they spoke. A large pot of tea and three cups, a pot of appleblossom honey. Fresh bread in a napkin lined basket, sweet cream butter, and peach jam. ‘Please, help yourself, Lady Esgallhugwen,’ Tindo said, remembering his manners. ‘Telu, you pour the tea please.’ As his sister did so, he took the first mug and offered it to Esgallhugwen. ‘We’ve talked so much about ourselves, we’ve hardly given you the chance to say anything.’ He passed her the bread and the jam. ‘Where are you from” that is, if you don’t mind saying,’ he added. He took a small sip of the hot tea with honey, enjoying to his surprise the taste of it. ‘And where are you bound, that you find yourself in the Shire?’

[Noinkling]

Notch takes a peek at Rowan

‘Well she looks kind enough,’ Notch said, twitching his long pink tail nervously. ‘At least she didn’t scream when she saw me!’ The little mouse’s opinion of two-legged females was not a high one, having encountered a number who upon sighting him would commence an earsplitting scream, nearly deafening him. The only saving grace of those situations was that often the females would also jump up on a chair or a table top and do a jig all higgledy-piggledy. ‘As if I would even consider going after one of the odd creatures! Probably catch something as would be the death of me.’

He wriggled his whiskers as he considered the one smiling at him. ‘Perhaps she’ll be kind enough to leave a bit of bread and cheese,’ he thought. His pink nose twitched in anticipation. He poked out his head just a little and turned it to look up, regarding her with one bright black eye. He gave her a wink as she stared back, then quickly withdrew again into his little burrow.

[The Blood Mage]

Illidan Longleaf had come from the Eryn Lasgalen , Tall and Fair with dark shoulder length hair . He had at last set out to explore Middle-Earth now that the Dark Lord od East was overthrown he had no need to protect his province anymore.

It was nearing afternoon and he had arrived in an unknown place called “The Shire” by its inhabitants who were called “Hobbits”.Illidan was very tired and he wished to have food and a cool drink , so he went inside a roadside Inn called “The Green Dragon”.

He was surprised to see such various people gathered in one place, there were Hobbits,Men,Dwarves and even a few Elves . Being very tired he went to the bar and ordered some wine and a loaf of bread to go with it . After finishing his meal he saw that there were three elves on an table chatting merrily , he decided to introduce himself.

Moving to the table he said “ Excuse me , I am Illidan Longleaf from the Eryn Lasgalen , I am new to this place and do not know anybody could I join you ?"