The Golden Perch Inn

[Forest Elf]

Gable nodded, though she had meant an elf healer that she had heard some of the folk talking about, who wasn't staying that far away. She went to the stables and quickly put a bridle and saddle upon a pony. It would be easier for the hobbit to ride rather than walk. She swung into the saddle with one easy movement and set the pony into a gallop.

She soon came to the doctor's door. She quickly got down from the horse and walked to the door. She knocked on it loudly. Then even louder she said, "Sir, there is an injured elf at the Inn and we need your help right away."

"I'll be right there!" the doctor said from inside. There was a slight clatter of dishes, then hurried footsteps before the door swung open. "Have you become the one to come and get me every time some one gets hurt?" he asked teasingly. "No matter, ah, good. You brought the pony this time, very good indeed."

Gable helped him onto the pony and he rode off to the Inn without a second thought. Gable stood there, staring after him. Then she figured that he was in a hurry to get to the Inn, and it would be faster for him to ride alone than with her. Of course, she thought to herself, he could be getting her back for not bringing the pony the last time she was here.

[Tevildo]

For a short time, Daisy considered getting angry at her brother. Why had he suggested they hide in the cellar if he already knew there were a series of mazelike tunnels where they could get lost? But the real uncertainty and concern she heard in her brother's voice prevented her from responding sharply. Instead, she reached out, took his hand. and confided, "Don't worry. We're in luck. This morning, I was helping Granny make beeswax candles. She gave me two to carry home to mother along with a brand new flint. Once we get some light in here, I'm sure we'll find our way out."

Tom breathed a long sigh of relief as Daisy prepared to dig into the small pouch where she always hid her treasures. For several minutes, she fumbled at her belt, her fingers searching frantically. It took a while for her to realize that her pouch was not in its accustomed place. Instead, there was only a long string, torn and dangling, with no pouch attached.

Realization flooded over Daisy as she remembered the earlier episode when she had been helping to tug open the door. She blurted out her fears to her brother, "Tom, I don't think I have it. The candles, I mean. We were at the door and the side of my skirt caught on a nail. I heard my skirt rip. At least I thought it was my skirt. Only it must have been my pouch. It's gone....my pouch and everything in it, including the candles and the flint. Everything must be lying back there on the ground beside the trap door...."

"We're lost then. We're really lost," her brother moaned.

"Yes, I am afraid we are."

[Elfchick7]

"So, where do you hail from?" Vehil had asked. For a moment, Luriniel sat in silence. In her mind, she was weighing how safe it would be to tell him truth. Undoubtedly, more questions would come. Surely, he is only trying to bring about conversation. Or does he know me? I do not recall having seen this elf before, but that means little. Having our past rediscovered could prove disastrous, especially while Nienna is in this condition.

Before Luriniel could decide how to answer, Nienna did it for her. "We hail from Mirkwood, good sir, but that was many years ago. We have long since wandered the earth."

Luriniel, desperate to avoid further questions added, "Even this vast land may have failed to quench our restless hearts' thirst for adventure." She cringed inside at how silly it made her sound. What ladies travel across Arda for no higher purpose than adventure? Hopefully, though, that will be enough to satisfy his curiosity as to why we left.

[Newsman]

Mirkwood Elves? Well that was interesting, but so was the delay in the answer. Vehil shook his head to banish the thought, it wasn't important. He took another look at the wound. This is really going to need more help than I can give.

"I had a few friends that lived near Mirkwood" he mumbled. Vehil didn't know what he was mumbling about. He wasn't nervous, but something about this kept him on guard. "Luriniel, can you go outside and watch for the doctor, that is if you trust me with Nienna."

[Newsman]

“Fain, I’m going for a quick ride. But I’ll be back before tomorrow.” That was the last thing that Maikaalph had ever said to Fain. That quick ride had never ended. Maikaalph had never returned. Fain couldn't help but think of his old friend's whereabouts as he trudged up the path to The Golden Perch. What he needed now was a place to rest, and to drown himself in the ale.

Fain entered the inn, and sat at the nearest empty table. Some of the patrons looked at the Dwarf suspiciously, like they were expecting some kind of mischief. Fain couldn't figure out what the cause was, he had never been here before. In fact he had been gone from the Shire since two days after Maikaalph never returned.

He ordered an ale and remembered the past as he waited for it. He had been all over, from Rivendell to Mirkwood, and even Lothlorien, Rohan, and Gondor searching for his old friend. Yet any leads turned up dead. Now he was back where it all began, hoping that maybe there would be some trace of the elf.

His ale arrived, and Fain spent a moment staring into its confines. He shook his head, which ruffled the neat brown beard of his. After another moment, he threw his head back and took a long swallow. Maybe something will happen to help me...

[Elfchick7]

"I do not trust you." Luriniel said flatly. Nienna's eyes opened wide with surprise as she stared at her older sister. Luriniel continued, "It has been a long while since...that is to say...forgive me." she rushed out of the room.

"Vehil, please forgive my sister." Nienna looked up at him apologetically, "The events of this day and recent days past have greatly troubled her. I am the only family she has and she fears that my wound will prove to be more grave than can be healed."

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

Luriniel hurried into the commons and was about to go outdoors when she noticed a new dwarf. She stared at him without regard to propriety.

Another! Will this never end! Without a word, she turned and walked through the door. There, she waited and watched for the whoever might be the doctor. What were you thinking, Luriniel? That was foolish. In all your years surely you have learned to act with more caution. That outburst of emotion was rash. Luriniel mentally scolded herself, This elf, Vehil, seems in every way to be a friend. Nienna, please be safe. Please be well.

[Firefoot]

Cela had been hovering around anxiously, knife still in hand, hoping dearly that the fighting would not come to blows. Thankfully, it had not, although that mad Dwarf Kuric had come storming back inside with a fresh set of accusations for one of the Elves, Cela couldn't remember his name at the moment - so many Elves arriving in the Inn! But most of the Inn's current visitors had scattered to take care of other business, and Dick had run off to see that the injured Elf was properly taken care of, leaving Cela alone with the irate Dwarf looking thoroughly piqued that his case was being paid little attention at the moment.

"Why don't you have a seat, Master Kuric," suggested Cela, although there was a hard edge to her voice that brooked little argument. "I'll go and get you some pie and once we've all calmed down a bit, perhaps we can think rationally about what might have happened to your ring." With a short nod to accentuate her words, Cela spun on her heel and strode back to the kitchen, not waiting to find out if Kuric had listened to her. A flame without fuel soon burns out, and she figured it would be so with Kuric's anger as long as he was given no one to rant to. She was just cutting up a piece of pie for Kuric, already humming a cheerful tune again, when Dick showed up.

"Do you need anything else?" Cela asked. "A couple of fresh plates of food for the newcomers, perhaps? Or a cup of tea for your own frazzled self?"

[mormegil]

Kuric stood there stunned momentarily as the serving hobbit walked away. He couldn’t believe the impertinence and insolence demonstrated by her. Kuric thought her nerve at thinking simple pie would resolve this issue rather absurd.

“PIE!” He yelled. “What are ya thinkun? Pie?” With that the intensity of his anger rose again, not the illogical fury that he had experienced just before, but true anger and fury, however he was able to think a bit, then an idea came to him. Despite being able to rationalize a bit more Kuric still had a childish attitude and demonstrated it by pushing the table over knocking the freshly baked pie to the ground. Stomping off through the commons he went back to his room to see if there were any clues he happened to miss. He took no notice of the objections and scorn that came his way he had other things on his mind.

[Tevildo]

Tollers slumped against the wall and shook his head disapprovingly as he watched the dwarf explode at Cela and stamp out of the room. He totally understood and sympathized with what Cela had been trying to do. When things were going sour, sometimes the best course was to sit down and take a breather. Any self respecting hobbit knows that a good piece of pie and a little break goes far to clear the head. And a clear head would definitely be needed to solve the problem of the missing Ring. Kuric, apparently, did not understand that.

Tollers went back to his work, trotting from table to table while collecting dishes and mopping up the mess. A familiar figure come in and sat down in the back of the room. She was clutching a small baby; two little ones played near her feet.

"Ah, Goodwife Hedgethistle, so happy to see you," Tollers went over and greeted the newcomer with a broad smile. "What have you been up to? I haven't seen you or the little ones all day."

The woman turned a worried face to Tollers and began to explain, "No? I was hoping you'd seen my Tom or Daisy. You see, I've been in my room sewing. There's work I must get done so the pieces can go back to the Brandybucks when the servant brings the wagon up tomorrow. Earlier, I told Daisy to go out with the older children and make sure no one got into any mischief. But it's been hours now and they haven't returned. You know children.... They're probably off lollygagging somewhere, but it's been so long. I was starting to get worried. You're sure you haven't seen them."

Tollers shook his head, "No, very sure. I've been here in the common room and out in the stables. But I haven't seen Daisy or Tom or any of the younger ones."

"It's hard for me, you know. With Master Hedgethistle gone now over a year....it all falls on my head."

Tollers immediately picked up on the cue. "Would you like my help? I'm due for a break, and I'd be glad to go out looking for them. They can't have gotten very far with the younger ones along. I'll just pop my head in some of the rooms and check with the guests to see if anyone's seen them."

"Would you do that? I'd be much obliged. I hate to be a nuisance. They're probably just off playing somewhere, but I'd be much relieved if you could do that."

"Don't worry now. I'll take a look and perhaps ask some others to help me."

Tollers went to the kitchen and brought back a cup of tea for the Mistress and two glasses of milk for the little ones. Then he began wandering through the Inn, carefully searching each floor and asking the guests if they'd noticed a troop of five children sometime that day. The children were usually quite noisy so Tollers figured it wouldn't be long till someone remembered seeing them. Surprisingly, however, all he got were blank stares. Finally, he came to the last room, the one that had been assigned to the Dwarf Kuric. He considered skipping the room and giving up. He would rather not speak with an angry Dwarf. But that didn't seem like the right thing to do.

The hobbit timidly approached the door and softly wrapped on it. He heard a gruff voice inside telling him to enter. He pushed the door open a single inch and whispered through the crack. "Master Dwarf, so sorry to bother you, but something else has gone missing. Five children....the ones who live just across from you....their mother says they've been gone all day, and I'm trying to help find them. I've been up and down every floor with no luck. You wouldn't have seen them by any chance?" he queried. A strange thought suddenly struck Tollers. "You know," he added, "maybe the same person who stole your Ring has also made off with these children...."

[Elfchick7]

Nienna sat quietly in her chair and studied Vehil's face. He bears a striking resemblance to the elf, Maikaalph. I wonder if they are related.

Seeing that Vehil was aware of her gaze, Nienna spoke, "Tell me, Vehil, do you have a brother? Once, I met an elf to whom you bear a striking resemblance. He aided my sister and I when it was discovered that..." she stopped, "Perhaps it is better to say no more in such times as these."

[Newsman]

The words stung like wasps in Vehil's ears, and the elf shuddered. He looked at Nienna for a moment as she trailed off, before turning away from her. A silence passed between them, punctuated only by the occasional noise emenating from the common room.

"Yes...I do. That is why I have come to the Shire, looking for any trace of him. This was one of the last places that he was seen, and so my search begins." He stopped here, and pulled up a chair. Vehil took a breath and began his story.

"I should likely begin with my origins. I come from Lothlorien, yet Maikaalph and I made our home in Minas Tirith. It was in the walls of the White City that we met an elf named Sindahir. My brother and Sindahir became quick rivals, yet a terrible thing happened that ended it all..." Here Vehil trailed off for a moment. "Maikaalph told me that he had to leave somewhere, and we traveled together to Imladris. It was there that he left me, and I have been searching ever since. That is all I will say now." Vehil then turned on Nienna. "You say you met him, where? Also, I have told my story, what is yours?"

[Elfchick7]

Nienna spoke slowly, wondering how much she dare tell, "Not long ago, there was," she paused, "a conflict between myself and some villagers. Maikaalph gave us aid when all others would not. My family, we are not trusted in most communities. I dare not say more. In these times, when dark powers are rising in the black land, I must be cautious lest someone remembers."

She stopped and looked up at Vehil, "I pray you, do not try to learn more of my sister and I. Please trust that we are not of the enemy."

Thinking to herself, I will not tell him more of Maikaalph. If he does know of our father, it would best to have some means of safe departure. My knowledge of his brother may be the deciding force in the end.

[Finduilas]

Elorn was glad that other elves went to help of the new arrival and her wounded sister. The poor elf looked tired and as if her shoulder was hurting her greatly.

He returned to Alasse, who had taken a seat, and sat down. He sat silent for a short while thinking, again, of home. Remembering Alasse he shook himself, and started talking, he didn’t really care about what.

“How often do you come to the Shire?” He asked, hoping it wasn’t to personal a question, “This is my first time seeing these parts, and I probably wont be staying long.”

[Forest Elf]

Gable sighed and began her walk back to the Inn. Her thoughts swirled around her mind like leaves in and autumn wind. Now that the doctor is probably there by now… I don’t mind. Now that I don’t have to take him to the Inn I can look around for any sign of the pony’s owner…I wonder if the owner is still alive or not…What were those wolves thinking anyways? Attacking a pony and the pony’s rider, then coming back into the stables and attacking… I haven’t ever heard of something like this happening before…what’s making them come to the Shire? Gable shook her head to clear her thoughts of the questions. Too many questions that can’t be answered…yet. I should probably get some help if I’m going to look for the pony’s owner…and, if no one wants to help…then it seems I’m going off on my own little adventure for awhile.

Her footsteps were light upon the ground, and she quickened her pace from excitement. She always loved the thought of adventure, even if it was a small thought, but a thought, nonetheless. Gable looked up at the sky, the sun was behind one of the fat, lazy clouds up there just gently going forwards. Then she looked forward and had to keep herself from crying out. There, in the bushes, something was huddled up under there. She couldn’t see what it was, but she didn’t know if it was a threat or not. Slowly, carefully, she lowered herself into a crouch. Then she bit her tongue to keep from crying out. Right there, under the bush is a sleeping wolf. Gable fought to keep the panic down and then calmed herself. Her thoughts of finding the owner vanished and now the only thoughts in her mind was to find the nearest tree until after the wolf had gone away…She stood and slowly began making her way to the nearest tree, a little ways off of the road, but not too far.

She slowly put her feet on the ground, in slow, quiet steps. She was a few feet away from the tree when she stepped on an old twig. It let out a loud snap as she stepped on it and the wolf’s head went up. His ears were raised as he listened for any more sounds. Gable held her breath when his eyes turned upon her. The wolf stood and stared at Gable. Something about this wolf was very familiar…too familiar. The wolf let out a howl and then jumped over to Gable. He sat down in front of her then jumped up on her, like a large dog in greeting.

Somewhat nervous, Gable petted the wolf. Then she knew why this wolf looked so familiar. It was the wolf pup she had saved long ago…only now it was much older. “I’m glad that it’s you and not some-” Gable began to say when she heard a wolf growl to her right, and another one to her left, and one behind her, blocking her off from the tree.

[MaskedNicci]

Alassë had not been sitting long, when Elorn returned to seat himself nearby her in a quiet thoughtfulness, as though he was trying to find something to say. This idea struck Alassë as very comforting, as that would mean she was not the only one with difficulty coming up with this foolish small-talk that humans seemed to enjoy so much. Turning her attention from the girl at the window, she watched Elorn with cold intensity, and regarded him with quiet question; when something strange happened. As they sat there in silence together, her suspicious and mistrusting gaze altered to a queer, almost child-like curiosity to his thoughts. In wonder, she asked herself what she knew about this man. What was his past? What was his future, as he saw it? What was he thinking? She enjoyed this nearly companionable silence, seeing it as a rare moment of pleasant social behavior on her part.

Unfortunately, the silence did not - and could not - last, and Elorn added verbal topic between them, to her inner dismay. "How often do you come to the Shire?” He asked, and if Alassë wasn't mistaken, there was a strange tone to his voice. It wasn't a terrible bad voice, nothing compared to her own kind, to be sure. But it did carry a certain quality she couldn't place. It reminded her of something - someone. “This is my first time seeing these parts, and I probably wont be staying long.”

Putting forth a front of indifference, she gave the smallest of shrugs, turning her gaze back to the girl near the window. "My second time. Before was brief, and long ago. I plan on staying as long as I stay." She took a small sip, then contemplated a moment, before asking, "I come here for reasons unknown even to myself. What is your purpose, if I may intrude so?"

Alassë felt strange - had she just given out free information to this stranger? Unthinkable! She hadn't given undeserved facts about herself since she was a youngster! Granted, she was still quite young either way, but it had been a great deal of time since she had stated her purpose without due cause to.

[Finduilas]

Luckily the Alasse didn’t seem too insulted by his question, and she even returned with a question.

“Oh, I was just picked up for a messenger. Some random person wanted some random message delivered to a random hobbit name Maggot,” he replied.

Elorn again lapsed into silence. What were you supposed to say to someone you don’t know, in a country you don’t know enough to talk about, when you business wasn’t even your business?

Apparently the dwarf was still causing some sort of trouble, but Elorn felt like ignoring him, so ignore him he did. After all, the dwarf had been getting plenty of attention.

[Newsman]

Vehil looked away in an effort to veil his frustration. This was far from the response he had hoped for, it almost seemed like Nienna was tormenting him with this. Yet he turned and acted like nothing had happened, a faint smile on his lips as he reached into his pouch. "You needn't worry, I respect your secrecy." He pulled out a plant and tore off a small portion which he offered to Nienna. "Eat this, it will help."

Shortly after Nienna took it, Vehil could see the effects, her eyes were heavy with sleep. Just what he needed, it would make the job easier for the healer, it was always easier if the patient were sleeping. He thumbed one of his knives absent-mindedly. How easy it would be to simply cut her throat, he thought. Yet he quickly banished it, he had nothing that pointed to her as having anything to do with Maikaalph's disappearance. Besides, finding a dead elf and himself gone would make his search all the more difficult.

Once Nienna's eyes slid shut, Vehil quietly shut the door and moved toward the common room. He noticed someone go by toward the room who he assumed was the healer. The faint din of the common room grew louder as he entered. Luriniel shot him a suspicious stare, which he gave a look of ease in response to. She had nothing to fear from him.

Vehil headed toward the door to get some fresh air and try to figure out what his next plan of action would be. Yet a booming voice stopped him in his tracks. "Vehil! There's an elf I'm glad to see." Vehil recognized the voice and turned to respond. "Master Fain," he began as he headed toward the tables to the dwarf. "It is a great pleasure to see you. What brings you here?" Vehil asked.

"The same reason that you are here I'll wager, looking for your brother." Vehil sat down slowly, "So where should we begin?"

[MaskedNicci]

She pondered the mental image of Elorn muttering and giving a message to a small hobbit. Maggot...an interesting name...but then again, hobbits did have a way of naming themselves strange things.

Alasse felt the silence between them this time was different, it was more tense and awkward. It was, in a strange way, one of the worst feelings Alasse had experienced in quite some time. She shrugged again, secretly wishing the gesture would tip off the strange, overbearing weight on her shoulders, as though she could just let go of the strange silence.

"Well.." She mumbled for a moment, "I suppose, since odd introductions are out of the way, and we've discussed our business, the proper thing to do would be to converse in some nonsensical talk of our interests?" It was more thinking out loud than an actual question, but she turned askance to him either way. "I don't understand art, I'm no good at cooking, and I'm no good at talking without a purpose." She allowed a crooked smile to adorn her features momentarily, "I suppose I'm exactly what humans would call, 'unromantic'. But then, these aren't times to be romantic, in all honesty. Too much opportunity for foolishness already."

[Elfchick7]

Luriniel hurried into the room where Nienna was. When she arrived, she found Nienna fast asleep and the healer cleaning the wound.

"How long has this girl carried the wound?" the healer asked.

"I am not sure. It was not until four days ago that I learned of it and by that time it was very infected as you see now. My sister does not like to trouble me and so she kept the injury a secret."

"Do you know what caused the wound?"

"Yes. The injury was caused by an orc arrow."

"Then it probably was touched by poison. I will mix a poultice that will draw the poison out." as he began putting different ingredients in a mortar and mixed them with a pestle, he continued, "Apply this every three hours. When the wound starts to look less green and more pink, take the ordinary healing herbs and make a compress for it. If the wound does not begin to clear in three days, send for me again."

"Thank you." she said, removing some gold pieces and holding them out to him, "Take this for your trouble."

"Pay me when she is healed. I will be by as soon as I can to assure that she is healing properly. She needs a good bit of rest. I'll move her to the be before I go. Do not let her move about if it can be avoided."

The healer lifted Nienna and set her on the bed. Luriniel, who had turned down the blankets, was now tucking her sister comfortably in them. She walked the healer out of the Inn and turned to rejoin her sister. Just as she was about to leave the room she heard the new dwarf mention Vehil's brother.

Remembering how much Vehil had originally struck her as resembling Maikaalph, she walked over to them.

"Pardon me for interrupting, but I couldn't help but overhear that you were in search of someone. It leads me to wonder, Vehil, if you are perhaps related to the elf Maikaalp and if he might be the one you are seeking."

[Forest Elf]

Gable took a deep breath to calm herself as fear made her heart beat quickly. Slowly she pushed the wolf off of her and turned around. There were five wolves, the one that she had rescued long ago and the four others with barred fangs and blood lust gleaming in their eyes. Finally calming herself, she prepared herself to run if they decided to come much closer.

Gable took a step back and looked around to see if anyone was coming down the road. She couldn’t see anyone, yet. Then she looked around for something to use to protect herself from them, the only thing that she could see was a limb that was too big and too heavy for anyone to lift, unless there were two or three men doing it.

One of the wolves howled and they began to circle around Gable. Gable took a step back, desperate not to be surrounded. The wolf that had jumped up on Gable snarled at the other wolves, the looked at Gable hesitantly. With a quick growl from a wolf that just stepped out of the bushes, they began to form a circle around Gable again.

[mormegil]

Kuric paced the room furiously kicking any object in his way. He had already torn the bed apart and tipped over the night stand in search of his precious ring. With constant stream of mutters curses he searched on, hoping beyond all hope that his ring would be found in his room or that some clue would point to where it had gone. "Naw, it could be missing," Kuric spoke to himself, "The necklace is still here." He thought perhaps he had left it in the wash room and he made a quick dash in that direction but on his way he vividly remembered removing it and placing it next to the necklace.

This recollection sent a fresh wave of fury through him and he charged off to his room, so infuriated he was, that he punched the nearest wall with his spiked glove driving the spikes deep into the timber.

"It's okay lad," he told himself "ye'll figure it out, stop and think for a moment." He promptly cooled himself every so slightly and afforded him a moment of clear thought.

Upon hearing somebody at his door he barked "Come in!" Hoping that somebody was coming to tell him his ring had been found. The door slowly opened and a very nervous and reticent Tollers appeared. Kuric could hear the tenseness on his voice when he asked, Master Dwarf, so sorry to bother you, but something else has gone missing. Five children....the ones who live just across from you....their mother says they've been gone all day, and I'm trying to help find them. I've been up and down every floor with no luck. You wouldn't have seen them by any chance?" Before Kuric had a chance to explain that right now he didn't care that a couple hobbit children were missing, Tollers spoke again, “You know maybe the same person who stole your Ring has also made off with these children...."

Kuric instantly made the connection and his heart was somewhat softened at the thought. While he had a gruff exterior he truly cared for the welfare of kids. He thought of the poor hobbit children in the clutches of some ruffians and became even more determine. "Lad, this may be worse than we thought." He said caringly. "We had best sound the alarm and search for them."

[Tevildo]

The lost children....

The children sat cross legged on the ground. Their shoulders touched as they huddled in a tight circle and tried not to notice the heavy black shadows that played around their heads. For the past half hour, Tom had told stories to keep the little ones from becoming too frightened. But even he had reached the end of his patience and fortitude.

"I'm tired, Daisy. I'm so tired. Tired and scared. I wish I'd never seen that ring or torque or taken the key from the bar. I wouldn't even mind running into the Dwarf. Just as long as we make it out of here."

Daisy leaned over and took her brother's hand in an unusual show of affection, "It's alright. We'll get out. I know it. Rest now. Just for a minute. The others have fallen asleep." Lilly's head hung heavy against her shoulder, as her own eyelids fluttered up and down. A moment more and she could not keep them open. There was silence in the twisted halls as all the children slept.

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

Tollers

"Good! Good!" Tollers nodded his head approvingly in response to what the Dwarf said. "Let's go outside and ring the alarm bell in the yard. I've already told Master Dick what's happening, so he'll be able to direct the search inside the Inn. Then you and I can concentrate on the outside."

Tollers grabbed the Dwarf's sleeve and indicated to Kuric that he should follow him out the front door. For the next hour, the two of them scoured the surrounding yard and garden as well as the stable and the shed where tools and old furniture were kept. Despite their best effort, they came up with nothing. Nor was their any indication that the Innkeeper was having any luck inside the Perch. The sun was dipping down in the sky. In just a little while, the moon would rise and darkness would descend on the Shire. If the children were going to be found, they would need to do it very soon.

Tired and frustrated, Tollers stopped for a moment and threw his body down on the ground just outside the chute that led down to the Inn's cellar. He mumbled something to Kuric about needing to rest. That was when he saw it. It was still light enough that he could make out a small leather pouch caught on a nail on the door that led to the cellar. He yanked the bag down and looked inside and then waved it in the air. "Look here. This was stuck on a nail. Right there at the entrance to the cellar. And look what's here....all sorts of things a lass might want!" There was a green ball, a skirt for a doll, and two small candles, along with an assortment of marbles and rings and other children's treasures. Tollers stood up but Kuric had already beaten him over to the door and was trying to pull the trap up.

[Dunwen]

Riding through Stock, the young hobbit gawked openly at the village's houses, turning her gaze from one side to the other. Of course Periwinkle knew that hobbits in the Marish often lived in houses, Man-style. And many hobbits had barns -- her own family did, in fact. But an entire town of houses was a strange and exotic sight. Some rose to amazing heights! Fascinated, she craned her neck to look up at windows that must be at least 12 feet off the ground. Despite being a well-bred young hobbit lady, she bounced, just a tiny bit, in her saddle (making her pony, a sturdy little bay, toss its head in annoyance).

What a good idea it had been to come to Stock! She had never been away from the Tookland before, but she'd heard her Dad mention the Golden Perch Inn and its famous ale often enough. Now that she had reached Stock, however, she had to find the Inn. The one drawback to being on the road, Periwinkle had discovered, was that one missed regular meals. Why, she had eaten only one breakfast and her lunch all day! Granted, she had stopped for a snack at eleven that morning, but a large apple and a muffin washed down only by water from her bottle hardly constituted elevenses. She'd thought to get directions through the town from a kindly-looking farmer working a field on its outskirts, so she chirupped to the pony and continued on her way, eager to get to some hot tea and a warm meal.

Periwinkle Greenhand had missed very few meals in her brief and comfortable life. For one thing, her father had a prosperous farm near Tuckborogh, raising enough most years to feed his family with extra to sell at that town's market. For another, her mother canned, preserved, pickled and dried as much of the farm's harvests as possible, with the help of Periwinkle and her two younger sisters, as if they had to prepare for the Fell Winter every year.

And for a third thing, her mother was a Took by birth. She wasn't a member of the Old Took's immediate family, but the former Agatha Took had gained a small share of the Took fortune and a full share of her own pride. Which was why Peri had risen much earlier than usual to do her chores, then made up a small (by hobbit standards) bundle of food, saddled her pony and headed out of the farmyard down the Stock Road. She wasn't quite running away, having left a letter telling her plans where her Dad would find it. But she was sick to death of Mum's constant attempts to marry her off. Mum had always had an eye on the local lads to see who might be the most advantageous match, but since Peri had come of age last year, it had gotten much worse.

The feisty hobbit normally drove off unwanted suitors with relatively little effort, but Mum's latest favorite, Mungo Sackville, refused to be deterred. Even when Peri purposely cooked him a 'dinner' of tough, over-salted mutton, doughy bread, burnt vegetables and rock-hard cake, he had not stopped his frequent visits. If the stubborn fellow had expressed tender sentiments toward Peri herself, she might have tolerated his company. However, young Mr. Sackville's greatest interest appeared to be the the size of her eventual share of the farm and the fine furnishings in the Greenhand burrow. He also had an irritating habit of complaining about the amount of time Peri spent wandering in the woods and fields near the farm. She herself thought it was a miracle that she hadn't brained him with one of the well-made iron pots in the Greenhand kitchen. The last straw had been when Mistress Greenhand had started pointing out, on a daily basis, that Mungo's holding bordered their own, and that he had a large burrow perfect for raising large family.

"Ha!" said Peri to herself. Mungo and Mum would have a hard time pressuring her to marry when she wasn't there. 'And it's not just that I don't want Mungo,' she thought to herself. 'I don't even know what I do want, and I can't ever get a chance to think about with those two pestering me, and the garden and the chores and everything.' She hoped she'd be able to clear her mind while she visited Stock.

Before her in the fine spring evening was a large building whose sign displayed a large golden fish. She'd found the Inn, and now it was time to find a late tea, followed by an early dinner! Peri turned the pony into the yard, where she could hear several voices. Dismounting, she looked around for someone who could stable the animal.

[mormegil]

With one great heave, Kuric threw the doors open. It was obvious that they had been opened recently as not nearly as much dust flew about as should have. "They're down here, that's fer sure lad."

Kuric began running into the cellar and looked back at Tollers who was waiting hesitatingly at the entrance. He could tell that Tollers was indeed frightened of entering the cellar without a search party.

"No sense in waiting lad, there in trouble down there and we can help them. I don't suppose ye have a weapon, best get one quick, whatever will work, it may be helpful in a pinch"

[Folwren]

The five children sat huddled in a dark corridor not far from the cellar door. It had been impossible for them to see, though, how near they actually were to the opening. But when the door was thrown back, it echoed with a strange, muffled sort of thump down through the earth and Lil lifted her sleepy head and blinked her heavy eyelids.

“Daisy,” Lil whispered. She reached out with her hands, but with the muddled mass of curls and bent over bodies, she could not tell which was her oldest sister. “Tom? Daisy?”

Finally, one of the sleeping hobbits moved and Lil saw the faintest outline of a shadow sit up. “What is it, Lil?” Daisy asked without whispering.

“I thought I heard something.”

There was a tense silence while Daisy and Lil and whoever else happened to be awake sat still and listened until their ears popped. “It was nothing. You’re imagining something. Or you dreamt it.”

But just as she finished saying this, there was another noise, made by someone other than one of the five children. There were voices down the way, muffled a bit, but the words were clear enough. The children did not recognize either voice.

“Come quietly, lad,” said a deep, rough voice, probably not belonging to a hobbit.

“What about a light?” replied the first voice’s companion.

“No time. We’ve got to find them.”

“They’re looking for us!” Lil cried, leaping to her feet. “We’re here, we’re here!” she yelled, cupping her hands in their direction. “Come find us!”

[Tevildo]

"Down here!" Tollers barked back at Kuric as the two rescuers hurried down the dark corridor and pushed their way into the small room where the children were huddled together. Tom and Daisy were the first ones to leap to their feet and come barrelling over to where Tollers was standing.

"Are you alright? No one hurt or anything?" the anxious hobbit queried the children as his eyes flitted across the group. The server at the Inn was a familiar figure to them. Daisy nodded and quickly replied, assuring Tollers that, except for a bump or two, none of the children had been hurt.

All faces turned towards the entry where Kuric was just emerging inside the small room. This face was not so familiar, but they could all see that their other rescuer was a dwarf. There was an awkward silence. The hobbit could not clearly see the children's faces, but he was beginning to have some suspicions as to what had happened in the Inn. "Come on now," he tried to reassure them. "We're not so far from the cellar entrance. Just take hands and follow me. With Tollers at the front, the five little ones in the middle, and Kuric at the rear, the hobbit led the wat back to the cellar door and helped them back up into the Inn courtyard.

[mormegil]

Relief spread over Kuric upon discovering that the children were okay. "I'm glad yer all right," Kuric muttered. Kuric was surprised that Tollers was taking charge at this moment. Apparently he didn't feel that there was any sort of abduction. Kuric, who was more used to the wild and its ways, was somewhat skeptical that everything was truly okay but decided to trust Tollers on this.

While walking through the cellar, his curiosity couldn't take it anymore and not considering the mental state of the children he blurted out, "So how did you lot get down here? Were ya kidnapped? I would suspect as much considering we've got some thieving ruffians about."

[Forest Elf]

Gable looked around. She closed her eyes for a quick second and then leapt over one of the wolves. She quickly ran down the road, knowing that she wouldn’t have much chance out running them. She quickly turned off to the side of the road. She climbed one of the trees and just managed to get on a tree branch barely above the wolves snapping jaws.

She sighed in relief, but knew that she wouldn’t be able to get down for awhile. She looked up at the sky, wondering what would happen next. Then she leaned against the tree looking down at the wolves. They had the tree circled. They were just waiting to see what Gable would do next. She wasn’t too far from the Inn either, but she was too far to be heard unless she screamed loudly, but it would still sound distant. She sighed, there wasn’t much she could do here but sit and wait.

Then she got an idea. She took a branch from off of the tree and threw it into the tall grass several feet away from the tree. Three of the four wolves went off to investigate. Gable quickly balanced herself on the branch, walked to the end of it and jumped. She began to run, being chased by only one of the wolves. The other three took a moment to catch onto what had just happened, but then joined in the chase.

Gable knew that in seconds she would be at the Inn…maybe a little over a minute or two, and knew that she was in hearing range. She looked behind her. The wolves were still chasing after her. She smiled knowing that she’d be able to get help now. She put her arms up into the air and turned a little off of the side of the road. Her hands grabbed onto a tree branch and she swung herself up onto it. Then she caught her breath again and shouted, “Somebody! Help! The wolves are back!” Then she threw small, dead branches down at them until she ran out of things to throw down.

[sallkid]

Hop Deepdelver carefully negotiated the street, constantly on the lookout for pursuers. He shifted his weight under the sack of purloined game birds he was carrying, and silently cursed all gameskeepers everywhere.
He had long been considered an odd hobbit amongst his family and aquaintances, who had always found him a bit tookish, holding council with strange sorts and conversing openly with Rangers and the few Dwarves that passed through the villiage. Occassionally he would come home spewing wildly exagerrated stories involving life and death encounters with wild wolves or bandit chiefs. In fact his long sojourns tended to have a different objective, poaching.

He had learned well from the strange Ranger folk he associated with, learned the ways of woodlore and put them to his own purposes. Until tonight he had remained uncaught, untill tonight when he had been forced to make his escape through gorse bushes and mud.

He came finally to an inn, the Golden Perch, knowing no-one in this town would recognise him he determined to sell his game and make reservations for the night.

[TheGreatElvenWarrior]

Lily and Ruby came up the lane in their little two hobbit cart, their baskets sitting beside them, eating a loaf of bread that their mother made for the journey to Buckland. Ruby said to her older sister Lily, 'Why do we have to stop tonight?' (Since she wanted to see her cousins promptly, and was looking forward to see her family, of which their Mother, Estella had ten brothers and sisters.) and Lily promptly replied 'Because it is getting late'. Lily went to the Inn often since she started going to her Relatives holes to deliver some of her Father and Mothers fine food and gifts which she had been doing since her family moved(with her older sisters of course), which her Mother is and was a Brandybuck so they lived in Buckland until their Father 'Tom' Tunneldweller got a hole of their own that was big enough for the family.

This would be the first time Ruby went with her, Ruby was excited, and she said that her doll 'Esmeralda' was excited too, Ruby looked at her ribboned hair through her looking glass and smiled. Ruby always wore ribbons in her hair and very fancy and colorful dresses. She was excited to go to their relatives holes especially because her cousins were there.

Daisy neighed almost as a sign of relief when they pulled up at The Golden Perch for they had been going for quite a long time. Lily got off the cart and said to Ruby 'Stay here', and went around to the stables, to find someone to house the lasses, the cart, and Daisy their pony.

[sallkid]

Approaching the Inn, Hop had a good viewpoint on the scenario. He watched the two hobbit children pull up thier cart with mild disinterest, he was more worried by the shouting coming from up the lane, Hop had been forced to hide from dogs on his forays, covering his tracks with stinking mud, but wolves (and he was fairly sure the shouting had said something about wolves) he knew little about, other than the stories he had made up himself to exagerate his adventures.

If Hop knew anything about hiding it was that if one did not want to be seen, one should avoid going toward a disturbance. Nevertheless even his heart couldn't stand the sound of someone in trouble, for he was not a heartless hobbit despite his meaness and greed. With a sigh of regret at his own bravery, he unslung his sling, deposited the game in a cranny under a bush and started up the road toward the shouting, running and screaming trying to make himself as big as possible.

[TheGreatElvenWarrior]

Lily went around back to see if she could find the stable hand, but what she found was not a stable hand but another hobbit lass that looked a bit older than Lily with her pony. Lily shrugged and went back to her cart to see what her younger sister was doing (since she was very mischievous). Lily came back to the cart only to find that her younger sister, Ruby was missing...

Ruby in the meantime decided that since Lily was gone she could just leave the cart and pony to sit there since after all she said 'What do you have to worry about in the Shire, eh' and left the cart. She went inside the inn and since she was a little sneaky with herself she decided to go behind the rather disheveled counter to get 'The best beer in the East Farthing' as her Father said, and so she did.

[Dunwen]

In the Golden Perch’s yard, Peri waited for several minutes, but no one appeared to take her pony. She thought she heard voices coming from somewhere, as if people were shouting somewhere outside the building. They were too faint for her to hear what was being said. It struck her as rather odd.

Absent-mindedly stroking the pony’s neck, she considered her choices. Although she was quite capable of caring for Brightheart herself, she wasn’t sure if she should do so here. She knew her Dad wouldn’t care for a stranger in his barn without permission. Still, she’d pushed Brightheart hard today and didn’t want him to stand indefinitely. She noticed a small pony-cart with two hobbits pull into the yard. They would need to find stabling for their animal, too.

Looking about once more, she saw the main door into the Golden Perch. Peri decided that Brightheart shouldn’t have to stand any longer. She tied the patient animal to a sturdy bush by one of the walls and entered the common room hoping to find someone who could help her. Looking about, she was amazed to find several people who were clearly not hobbits sitting at the tables. She even thought some might be elves.

Her heart leaped with excitement at the prospect of actually meeting someone of another race, but she remembered her poor pony and found a friendly hostler to take care of Brightheart. She also told him about the other pony pulling the newcomers’ cart so that he could see to that one as well.

[TheGreatElvenWarrior]

Lily ran into the Inn and found her little sister at a table with a smirk on her face. Ruby then said 'What took you so long?' Lily began to get hot in the face and then dragged her sister out of the door. Lily replied very sternly 'I told you to stay in the cart.' and also said 'What were you up to?' Ruby then decided it was best if she told her, so on she went about taking the ale from behind the counter, and drinking almost a whole mug of it. Lily then said "Next time you will be coming with me' and 'You are not getting any supper tonight.' Ruby was not pleased.

Lily then went and found someone to stable Daisy, and the stable she was in was right next to another pony that belonged to another hobbit lass. Lily found the hobbit lass that had told the person that helped stable their pony and thanked her (she actually was the lass that Ruby had seen in the stable yard, and her name turned out to be Periwinkle and she was from Tuckbourogh). They went inside Lily made Ruby apologize to the innkeeper and pay for the ale. Then they promptly got a room and Ruby stayed in it the rest of the night.

[sallkid]

Hop's senses began to catch up with him just as the first wolf turned. Leaping into a nearby tree he swiftly reached the first branch. "Well this is a to-do" he though to himself, "here we are stuck up these two trees, we shall be very lucky to get eaten swiftly."
He unshouldered his sling and picked a stone out of his pocket, Loading the sling he lobbed the missile at the nearest wolf, it bounced harmlessly off the creatures flank, Hop gave up and let his shouting join that of the other distressed individual.

[Dunwen]

Once Brightheart was settled into one of the inn’s comfortable stalls with water and a full manger, Peri picked up her saddlebags and headed back across the yard to the common room. The sound of her pony contentedly munching oats reminded her that it was time for her to eat, too. On the way, the driver of the cart, a harassed-looking lass named Lily, stopped and thanked her for finding an ostler. They chatted briefly before Lily had to hurry off in search of her younger sister, Ruby, who sounded like a rare handful of trouble.

Opening the round door, she stepped inside. The golden evening light coming in through the windows washed the entire room in a warm glow. At the long counter to the right, several patrons were waiting to order. Peri considered joining them, but chose instead to sit down at a nearby empty table. She saw hobbits moving about the room taking orders and it would be more comfortable to sit and put her bags down. Her discerning nose inhaled several delicious aromas, including apple pie.

To take her mind off her increasing hunger, Peri started to catalogue the large room’s other occupants. There were indeed elves – tall, slender individuals with musical voices. Looking at their beautiful faces, she understood why they were called the ‘Fair Folk’. Others in the room were near as tall as the elves, but not so willowy or handsome. Peri thought they might be Men, but was not sure, never having seen anyone but hobbits in her entire life. It was easy to overlook her own people in her excitement at seeing races she had only heard about in stories before, but she soon noticed some broad, friendly (mostly) hobbit faces seated at some of the tables. It looked like there were a couple of gammers gossiping near the great fireplace opposite the door, and a distressed-looking hobbit woman appeared to have lost track of at least some of her children.

All the while, Peri kept an eye out for any staff that might come within hearing distance.

[TheGreatElvenWarrior]

Lily put Ruby into the room that they acquired and then went out into the common room to have a mug of ale. She sat down at a table had a bite and some beer. Since her and her sister had not had anything to eat since lunch Lily ate a large meal. Lily of course had to pay for what her sister had stolen and had to explain to the staff that Ruby was a trouble maker and if she did it again that they could do whatever they thought was necessary. Since Ruby only had a few snacks along the way to the Inn Lily brought her a meal but not very large because she had stolen food and drink earlier.

Ruby was very mad that Lily had left her in the room so that she could have a bite to eat but Ruby could not. Ruby had a bit of time so she decided to think of ways to get her sister back for making her stay in the room while Lily went out to eat. Ruby decided that the best way was to take Lily's walking stick that their grandpa made for her, and Lily's favourate dress that their Grandma made for her and hide them someplace that Lily couldn't find them like the stables, or the kitchen, or the attic, or the Periwinkle lass that Lily spoke to before they got inside of the Inn. Ruby thought that by the end she could just get the dress and walking stick back and put them back where they were to begin with and Lily would never know it was her.

After Lily had come back in with food for Ruby. Ruby scarfed it down with a glass of water (she wasn't very happy with water), and went to bed thinking about her plan and humming a little song that her mother used to sing to her at bedtime.

[Folwren]

The day had been long - far too long. Dick was wearing out, and still customer’s were arriving. Well, of course they were. It was evening, after all, and evening was always the busiest time of day - it was supposed to be, because that’s when people were coming to the end of their day’s journeying.

There were some new arrivals with ponies that needed taking care of. Dick saw Will going out to tend to the animals and he nodded in approval. His mind went on immediately, though, and five minutes later, he was confronted by two hobbits who owned one of the carts and ponies.

“Hullo,” Dick said, blinking with a little surprise as two hobbit lasses faced him.

“Are you the innkeeper?” asked the older one. She looked rather fierce.

“I am that. How can I help you?”

The older one gave the younger a prod and the girl stepped forward. “I snuck behind your counter and stole some ale,” she mumbled. “I am sorry.”

“Oh. O h dear me,” Dick said. He didn’t know what to think. The thing was unheard of, almost.

“I’m sorry, too,” said the older one in a clearer voice. “Here’s pay for it, also for supper and a room. Ruby here’s something of a trouble maker, sir, and I hope you’ll forgive us both, but if she causes any other trouble and you find anything else missing, you can do whatever you think necessary.”

“Well...yes, well...I hope it doesn’t come to that.” Dick took the offered coins and directed them to a room. “I hope this is comfortable for you. When you’re ready for dinner come back on out to the common room and you’ll be served immediately.”

He padded back up the hall and plunged once more into other business. Before much longer, another hobbit entered. She found a seat and sat back to consider the people around her. Dick meant to go to her immediately and see how he could serve her, but as he crossed the room, his sleeve was caught by someone to his left. He turned at once, and found himself face to face with a much distressed Mrs. Hedgethistle.

“Oh, Mr. Boffin! Have my children been found yet?”

“I don’t know, Mrs. Hedgethistle,” replied Dick, patting the distraught hobbit’s hand gently. “I haven’t heard from the dwarf Kurik or Tollers in quite some time.” She let out a wail of despair and Dick tried to comfort her. “I’m sure they’ll be fine when they find them! Tollers is a sensible lad, and the dwarf is big and strong so nothing will be very dangerous for them. Here, sit down, and I’ll make sure you get something to eat and get a drink.”

Mrs. Hedgethistle collapsed into her chair and Dick hurried on to the newest customer. “Good evening, ma’am, can I get you anything to eat or drink?”

[Folwren]

The Hedgethistle children were found after all, and they were now busy trooping up the cellar stairway, listening to Kuric ask them what had happened and how. “So how did you lot get down here? Were ya kidnapped? I would suspect as much considering we’ve got some thieving ruffians about.”

“Oh,” Daisy began slowly, but Lil, impetuous and recently frightened out of her head, interrupted and blurted out, “No, we weren’t kidnapped, unless you count being taken and lost by your own siblings as being kidnapped. We went down to hide from you! . . . I think. Anyway, we were running away from a dwarf. And I’d rather meet him than be down there any longer!”

Tom uttered a tardy hiss, ordering her fiercely to be quiet, and Daisy hit her arm, but it was too late, and the words were out. Lil stopped short, realizing her error.

“Th-thieving ruffians, did you say?” she squeaked, trying to sound interested.

[TheGreatElvenWarrior]

Lily and Ruby went inside of their room after they had talked to the innkeeper, Dick. After that Ruby plotted some more about her brilliant plan to get back after her sister for locking her into her room because she had some ale, she thought that this was unjust because it was just some beer and they had lots of it. So she decided to sneak out of the room that night after Lily had gone to sleep and look to it after...

Lily went inside of the room after her and Ruby had explained about the incident with the beer behind the counter, and Lily had told him that he could do whatever he needed to if Ruby had ever did something like that again, he then replied that, that would not be necessary. So Lily and Ruby went back to their room for the night (or so she thought) and went to bed...

Lily fell fast asleep quickly since she had been traveling all day long, but Ruby had other plans. Ruby got a small bag then put the dress and Walking stick inside of the bag and thus decided that she'd hide them in Periwinkle's room since Periwinkle didn't know that they belonged to Ruby's big sister. Ruby sneaked out of their room out into the common room and found some things to get into the room. She was nervous because she had never done anything so bad before, Ruby looked around and saw Periwinkle sitting at one of the tables and let out a sigh. Ruby had listened in on the innkeepers and Peri's conversation, thus she found out where the room was, then she went down the hall. She picked the lock until she got in, then Ruby went to the dresser and put the dress into it then proceeded to put the stick on the bed. Ruby went to the door and was about to go out when she heard footsteps in the hallway by the door, she halted...

[Dunwen]

Seated in the cheery common room, Peri’s attention wandered to some elves relaxing around a nearby table. Several minutes passed as she observed them while trying to remain unnoticed herself. She was fascinated by their long, lean appearance, which was accentuated by their flowing cloaks and robes. The muted colors and luxurious-looking cloth looked strange to the hobbit girl, used to the bright colors loved by Shire-folk.

She herself wore a sensible brown serge skirt and a white blouse covered by a dark green bodice covered in embroidery. Her thick brown curls were pulled back and held in place at the nape of her neck with a wide amber ribbon that had started the day tied in a ladylike bow, but which now hung limply down on either side of her ponytail.

So absorbed was she in watching her elven neighbors that she squeaked in startlement when a middle-aged hobbit asked if she wished for something to eat or drink. Peri flushed a little at being caught staring at strangers, but any embarrassment quickly dissipated in the pleasure of ordering her meal.

“Oh yes, please, I would like some supper, sir,” she told the man politely. “I’d like some tea, to be sure, and if you have any bread or biscuits and jam to go with it I’d be most grateful. I’ll also take a helping of whatever your cook prepared for tonight’s meal – something smells wonderful! And,” she finished, looking at him hopefully, “perhaps a piece of apple pie for dessert?” As the busy hobbit began to turn toward another customer, Peri remembered an important question. Quickly she touched his arm, reclaiming his attention. “I’m so sorry, I nearly forgot to ask! I’ll need a room for five days. Who should I talk to about getting one?”

[Folwren]

The young hobbit lass clearly had been on the road for some while. Her order was long and she looked like she meant every word of it. “And,” she said in finishing, “perhaps a piece of apple pie for dessert?”

“Yes, yes,” Dick muttered, repeating her entire order in his head. “Yes, we have pie. She makes it fresh every day. He turned to go on, but she quickly touched his sleeve and he turned towards her again at once.

“I’m so sorry, I nearly forgot to ask! I’ll need a room for five days. Who should I talk to about getting one?”

“That’ll be me, Miss,” Dick said with a smile. “As soon as you’ve eaten dinner, catch my attention again, and I’ll show you to a room.” He nodded and passed onto meet other customer’s needs. . .

[Elfchick7]

After having told Vehil and Fain all that she could remember, Luriniel wished them good fortune in their search. There was nothing more that she could say, so she excused herself and left to check in on her sister.

Seeing that Nienna was still asleep, Luriniel took the chair opposite the bed and reflectively thought on the events of the day. How many things have happened today. Nienna's injury, out meeting Maikaalph's brother...many things. It has been so long since our familiy was stained with the crimes of our father. When shall we find peace? As her mind dwelt on these thoughts, the exhausted Luriniel slowly drifted off to sleep.

[Gwathagor]

As the sun burnt low in the west and was finally extinguished in the sea, the habitual activities of a tired village occupied the inhabitants of Stock. Doors were shut, fires were put out, shutters were closed. The forest dwellers sensed it too, the slowing down of the day, the gentle weariness that follows a long summer day. Nobody saw the elf.

He stood atop the hill that overlooked Stock in the north. Tall, dark, and lonely he stood, surveying the land before him, taking in the village through every sense and faculty.

So this is where we are, he thought.

[Gwathagor]

His cloak was long, and though it was now tattered and stained, it had probably been of a deep royal blue. Blood soaked the hem of his garment and had dried down the side of his right boot. He stood very still, with his sword unsheathed. The only movement in the stillness was the warm wind, which gently blew his long dark hair about his face. He was tense and alert, but as the wind began to blow, he let down his guard. He took a deep breath of the clean Shire air, sighed, and began to sheath his sword.

I am very tired.

The sword was long and scarred, attesting to the ferocity of its bearer and to the many battles it had seen. It was an old weapon, outdated by many standards, but clean and well-cared for despite its nicks and battle-wounds. Though simple, the symmetry of the craftsmanship, the quality of the metal, and the natural curve and balance of the blade spoke of many long hours in the forge. It was kingly, but in no way pretentious or ceremonial, clearly designed for one purpose alone: to kill, swiftly and well. The sword was unadorned save for a thick strand of pure silver that traced its way through the working of the hilt, and about the leather-bound handle of the ancient longsword. The elf carefully and lovingly returned it to its simple leather scabbard, which bore upon it a device of a single white rose, set amidst a field of fiery stars.

Then he knew that he was watched. The slightest breath, the brief minor note in a birdsong, a change in the wind; nothing escaped his trained, wild-wary senses. His instincts told him that there was something behind him in the trees. He turned, swiftly and calmly to face his watcher. The royal sword leapt from its scabbard. At the same moment the moon rolled from behind a cloud, casting silver-blue beams upon the green sward. The sword caught the light of the full moon as a large wolf emerged from the pine grove. Its fangs and its glittering eyes also reflected the moonlight and its black mane rippled in the wind.

"Begone, creature of the cold north! This is not your realm, you may not trouble these little people." There was menace in the elf's voice, menace which the wolf returned with an almost imperceptibly deep growl.

Suddenly, in a single natural, quick motion, the wolf sprang forward, as a mighty howl tore from its throat. The elf's blade flashed up and forward in a similar a movement; an arc: calm, natural, and sure. Cold hate was in his eyes. Time seemed to slow, nearly to a standstill, as the clash of the two wild creatures loomed, and as the quiet moonlit village slept. The two killers from the wild stood locked in a deep and terrible combat upon the brink of humanity and civilization, where neither was accustomed to tred.

Then the clouds drifted back across the moon and the elf's longsword finished its arc, its blade coming to rest buried deep in the grass and soil of the hilltop. The wolf-creature had vanished, and the elf was alone, head down, bent double, both hands upon the grip of his sword. The monster's cry reverberated over all, then abruptly drifted away on the gentle summer wind.

The elf collapsed unconscious upon the green turf beside his sword. He was very tired.

[Dunwen]

In the Golden Perch’s common room, Peri’s order had arrived. After taking a moment to inhale the assorted scents from the meal in front of her, Peri added some sugar to the warm tea. Lifting it to her lips, she sipped blissfully and savored the feel of the liquid heat flowing down her throat. After a few more mouthfuls, she turned her attention to her food.

She had seldom enjoyed a meal more. After a long day traveling from the Tookland, everything tasted delicious. First, she steadily devoured a small plate of fresh-baked biscuits slathered with butter and strawberry jam. She inhaled the accompanying portion of stew. Turning at last to the piquantly spiced slice of apple pie, she happily ate every crumb from tip to flaky crust.

Full for the first time all day, she pushed back from the table, and as Dick had instructed her, found him and paid her dinner and a room for the next few days. An unexpected wave of tiredness overcame her. The idea of curling up in a soft bed sounded extremely attractive, so she picked up her saddlebags and made her way out of the common room. Clutching the key she’d been given, she found her room and unlocked the door.

And found that pesky younger sister of Lily’s inside. Annoyed, Peri snapped, “And just what do you think you’re doing here, miss?” She fixed the younger hobbit with a glare that would have stopped an Orc in its tracks.

[Gwathagor]

The door to the Golden Perch swung open with a bang. A tall, dark elf staggered through the door, stooping low to avoid the low lintel.

"Ale! Quick!", he said, as he stumbled into a chair which was a bit too small for him.

He had regained consciousness only moments before, as the first rays of dawn had crept over the mountains. His battle with the wolf-fiend the night before had left him weak. Indeed, he could not even pull his sword from where he had found it, embedded hilt deep in the ground beside him. Exhausted, he had just enough strength to make his way as quickly as he could down the hill to the inn.

There was something very dark working in the East Farthing.

The warrior elf had followed the trail of the wolves from far in the northern wastelands, traveling with all speed he could muster. And all along the way, he had been hindered by nearly every monster native to those lands, and some that were not. He was returning from a fruitless journey to find the nomadic Lossoth people, whence had come rumors of extraordinary numbers of marauding wolves, when he had come upon the south-bound wolf-trail. These were not ordinary wolves. These were draugring, relatives of the fierce wargs. They dwelt in the north, seldom passing the southern borders of ancient Angmar, and of old their king had been Tugaurath, a maia spirit.

While tracking the wolves, he had guessed that the forces of darkness were being gathered by some evil spirit because of the resistance to his approach. Now his worst fears were confirmed. Surely Tugaurath, the last of the great werewolves had come forth once more at the behest of the Power of the East. All across Middle-earth, monsters and dark creatures were crawling forth from their exiles in deep caverns or distant lands, perceiving that Sauron's power waxed strong.

He leaned heavily upon the thick table-top as a hobbit brought him a beaker of ale. He drained it in a single, long gulp, set it down hard upon the table. Immediately, he felt his strength and clarity of mind returning. The tall elf with the bloodstained cloak looked upon the obliging hobbit who had supplied the ale.

"Blessed hobbit, I am in your debt", he sighed and paused a moment before continuing. "In all Middle-earth, there is nothing quite like the ale brewed by the Shire-folk. Would that I had come on any other errand than that which now drives me; perhaps when this terrible day is done, I will sit and enjoy your ale at my leisure and to my heart's content. But now there is need of haste: your land is in grave danger. Tell me, as quickly as you can, all that you know about the wolves..."

[Forest Elf]

Gable was amazed that she hadn't fallen out of the tree at all that night. And the hobbit seemed to be in a possition that would make it hard to fall out of the tree, considering the way the branches were about him. She looked down, the wolves were still there. She sighed and wondered why no one had come yesternight. She sighed and closed her eyes, the sun had just barely come up. The wolves had to rest sooner or later, or even give up. She was surprised that they were still there and that they were still awake. How can they not rest? Perhaps they were sleeping while I was too.. come to think of it, I don't even remember falling asleep.

Gable carefully stood up on her branch, using the branches above her to keep her balance. The wolves stood also, their tails wagging behind them. They looked up at her with large eyes and they seemed to be smiling. One of the growled deeply in it's throat, just waiting for Gable to slip and land upon the ground. But Gable knew better than to let that happen, despite what the wolves did.

She sat back down after a few minutes and waited until the sun was higher up in the sky, a time when the Inn would surely have some folk awake. She threw back her head and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath of cool morning air and shouted, "Help!" in a single, long, cry. After that the wolves tried leaping up at her, to no use. Then they backed up and ran and then leapt up into the air. They flew higher and were only inches away from the branch, almost catching her feet in their jaws. She screamed and started shouting, "Help!" loud enough to be heard, but also fast enough to get the message along.

She grabbed a branch; still shouting; and began to swing it down at the wolves. She hit a couple of the beasts, but it did nothing to stop then, it only slowed them down a little. She just hoped the hobbit didn't make any sudden movements out of his place in his tree. If he moved down just a few inches, the wolves would get him for sure. She sent up a silent prayer for help while her shouts rang out across the land to the Inn.

[Folwren]

Now this was a strange customer, indeed. He talked like a book, he did, and he looked like one, too, almost. Dick cast his eyes over the dishelved character, caked and stained as he was with mud and who knows what else. All the same, he was an elf, and no elf can look very bad even in the worst circumstances and he had the clear, keen eyes of his race, the strong, clean face and a fair voice.

“Now why would the Shire be in any great danger, sir?” Dick asked. He eyed the elf with doubt. But then he sighed and sat down opposite him. “Since there aren’t many customers yet and since it’s so early, I may as well tell you. . .”

And Dick began, in hobbit fashion, going on whatever rabbit trails presented themselves, to tell the elf warrior what had passed the previous two days. How the wolves were found in his own stable and driven out again by the hobbits there and some of the guests of the inn. And again yesterday, how some were discovered. And although it was not a great deal to tell, Dick took his time about it. At the end, he wound down the story as though it had been a long, epic tale.

“And so, good sir, there you have it. We have been attacked by these wild beasts. Perhaps you are right – perhaps we are in grave danger. Is there any way you can help us? We are not fighting folk, we hobbits, you know.”

[Gwathagor]

The solemn elf nodded slowly as his host, who was evidently the proprietor of the establishment, explained how the wolves had appeared in the East Farthing several days prior. It coincided far too well with the appearance of the wolf trail in the north to be mere coincidence. The hunt was finished, and now the battle would begin; likely today, or perhaps the day after. He only regretted that it had to happen here, in this peaceful country. The wounds will heal quickly, he thought, as he looked away from the hobbit, and out the window across the rolling hills and fields. There is a quiet, merry strength here; it is not obvious, but it is deep. The hobbit had just finished speaking.

"We are not fighting folk, we hobbits, you know.”

The elf stiffened. He became alert, his head high, his eyes unseeing as he concentrated, listening. There it was again. Somebody crying for-.

Before the astonished hobbit, he leapt up, knocking his chair over. "Do you hear it?", he asked, in a voice that was tense and dreadfully in earnest. "A cry for help - that way - north!", facing back towards the door of the inn. "They have come again."

His hand went instinctively to his sword belt, where it found the sheath empty. "My sword!", he cried. The light of battle was in his eyes. He paused and looked back at the hobbit; then in a swift motion he seized the jug of ale from which the hobbit had filled his tankard, emptied it in a long draft, and cast it back upon the table. "Advance payment," he explained. "Come friend, there are enemies to be met!" And he sprang out of the door, his cloak rippling behind him as he rushed like a mad wind for the hill where his sword still quivered hilt deep in the turf, eagerly awaiting its master's hands. This was not a blithe summer breeze. The wrath of this wind carried the foreboding of blood: before it and behind it and with it.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Gentle sound of clacking hooves echoed in the silent air above the Stock Road. Oak and elm trees lining the road quietly whispered in the morning breeze. The early rays of sunlight were shining through the roof of leaves and through tiny holes in Rory's straw hat. The hobbit carter was sitting cross-legged on the rack of his old wooden waggon, while the sorrel pony slowly pulled them towards their destination. It was the first time for the animal to ride through this road, but his owner has been many times through this part of the Shire; either to visit his relatives in Buckland or to deliver a package to some of the hobbits who lived near Brandywine.

Rory Brandybuck was a carter. Carrying goods, news, letters or even hobbit passengers from one part of the South- or Eastfarthing to another was his job. He liked travelling, he liked the smell of fresh air and fresh news in each of the places he visited. Arny Sandburrow, one of the Shiriffs in South Farthing used to say that Rory is more of a Shiriff than him, for he knows about everything that happens between the River and the Downs. Maybe Arny was exaggerating a little bit here, but in the end, he always was. In one thing he was correct, though: Rory Brandybuck of Pincup was the kind of hobbit who sought, listened to and remembered every rumour that he could stumble upon during his journeys. And in turn, whoever appeared in his vicinity had the possibility to hear what the vocal carter experienced, saw, or heard of; for if there was anything from what Rory could not be prevented, it was recounting his rumours to everyone who was around, even if they did not care about his stories at all. And if he had no person to listen to him, the carter spoke at least to his pony, Buttercup. Like now.

"We have a nice day, Buttercup," he said to his companion, who obediently pulled the waggon and obediently listened to his master's voice. "Keep going. This is good weather and a good road." The pony noddled, as if he agreed with the words. The carter did not seem to care. "You know what the Tooks did?" he continued in his semi-monologue. "They paved the road from Tookbank to Waymoot. Well yes, the Thain himself gave quite a lot of money for that. The next time we go to Whitwell, we don't need to worry about getting stuck somewhere in the fields as the last time. But it took them long. This road is better. Even when it gets wet, the water may drain away to the fields. All roads in this part of the Shire are built like that. Well, most of them."

Rory stopped for a moment and listened. It seemed to him as if he heard something far, far away, a sound that did not belong to this place. But maybe he was mistaken.

"It's nothing, Buttercup," he said to the pony, who did not care at all and pulled the waggon. "Well, what was I saying. Never mind. We must be near the Stock now. Andy said one of his cousins will be moving there. That's the one who was supposed to marry that Took who was, wait, the Thain's... hmm... second cousin? Yes, that must be him. Paladin was his name. Well, he is marrying someone else, you see. One of the Banks. Ah, here we are."

The waggon slowly steered into the village. The Stock was still half asleep, though several figures could be recognised moving among and around the low houses. Rory looked around, not willing to drive right through the village. There he saw it - the familiar sign. As if he knew the intentions of his master, the pony turned towards the inn, slowing down; and finally he stopped near the entrance. Rory jumped down from the rack, raising dust as his large hairy feet hit the ground. Not caring about mote embedding on the front of his white shirt, he turned and started unharnessing the pony. He shot a lothing look towards the stables. "There's no need to bother the ostler, Buttercup," he spoke towards the pony. "Go and find your own graze while I have mine. Just don't eat any farmer's cabbage like the last time." With these words, he left the pony and the ladden waggon alone and walked to the door.

"Good morning!" he sang out upon entering. He turned to face the bar and smiled at the innkeeper. "I come a long way," he said. "But I thought that a dip of the best beer in the Eastfarthing could refresh me a little." A coin clinked against the bar. "Belive it or not, but in Deephallow, they once served the Master of Buckland water instead of beer. He was there on a visit, you see. But it was late in the evening and the Master was so tired after the journey that he did not even notice!" Rory smiled once again, showing his pearl-white teeth. "But don't count on that with me. I have a long journey ahead still, and I can tell beer from water." He turned to overlook the room. "How's the business going? I heard that in Woodhall, they had to close their Inn for awhile, because the locals did not have time to visit it for a month! Imagine that! But I hope this is not your case," he said, turning back to the host.

[Forest Elf]

Gable swung the branch down just as a little too early. The wolf’s jaws opened and came around the branch, ripping it out of her grip. She kicked the wolf down to the ground, nearly loosing her balance as she did so. She pulled her foot back up before the other wolves would be able to reach it. She stood on the branch and, in grabbing the branches above her, pulled her feet up off of the branch, and shouted for help a little louder.

She closed her eyes and began praying for help. She knew that the wolves would start leaping once she put her feet back onto the branch. The bark dug into her hands and she knew that she couldn’t keep her grip forever. Even with closed eyes she could still feel the tears in them. She opened them and saw an elf she’d never met before rushing over. She just hoped that he would hurry when she looked down and saw the wolves leaping up at the branch as she placed her foot back on it, to help keep all of the weight off of her hands.

[Gwathagor]

He halted atop the hill. His sword was still there, stuck in the grass. As his hands grasped the hilt of the ancient sword, he breathed deep and relaxed; but only for a moment. Then he turned west, towards the cries for help. There, about a hundred yards away, on the lower slopes of the hill, a pack of four or five wolves circled and leapt about a lone walnut tree. Among the lower branches of the tree, he could distinguish a pair of feet which kicked and swung about, trying to avoid the wolves' snapping jaws. Just then, the figure slipped down, abruptly, nearly falling out of the tree. As it did so, the warrior elf got a better look at the wolves' quarry, which barely managed to pull itself up out of reach of the predators.

An elf! In the Shire, too, he thought in surprise. I have been gone a very long time.

Slowly he pulled the sword out of the dirt. It was still bright and shone with the light of the morning sun. Then, quickly as he had stopped, he began to run again, raising the sword high as he closed in upon the wolves.

The other elf's cries grew increasingly frequent and desperate, as the wolves leapt higher and closer, driven into a frenzy by their lust for blood. They were lean and their fur was matted, but their eyes burned blue with an unnatural fury.

And then, with a great cry in some unknown tongue, he was upon them. The warrior elf and his sword tore through their midst in a whirlwind of fury that surpassed even that of the starving wolves. His first blow severed the head a wolf which had seized in its jaws the branch upon which their prey stood, and hung upon it, pulling it lower. His second blow opened a gaping wound in the side of the largest creature, and a third wolf, which wheeled to face this new foe found itself impaled upon the long, cold, unforgiving steel. Without pausing or losing his momentum, the tall elf with the sword spun, pulled his weapon free, and flattened a fourth wolf to the ground with a high arc that landed between the beast's shoulder blades. The fifth and last wolf sprang at him, and he turned back again, pulling the last reserves of his strength into a mighty blow that caught the monster in mid-air and hurled it into the trunk of the walnut tree, ten feet away. The lifeless corpse fell solidly to the ground, as its blood seeped out over the crushed walnut shells and stained the green grass. The tall elf sheathed his sword and fell to one knee amid the settling dust, breathing heavily.

[Folwren]

Dick responded to the hobbit’s request for beer immediately. He nodded his head quietly as the hobbit went on telling him about ... what? The innkeeper looked up. Who gave the Master of Buckland water instead of beer? An amused grin spread across his face as he turned back to the tap and finished off the mug.

“How’s the business going?” the newcomer asked, turning to look about the empty common room. “I heard that in Woodhall, they had to close their Inn for a while, because the locals did not have time to visit it for a month! Imagine that! But I hope this is not your case.” He turned again to face Dick just as the innkeeper was setting the mug on the counter and picking up the coin.

“Business has been good,” Dick replied. “Lot’s of people passing through Stock nowadays. We have staying in the inn a Dwarf, even! And a couple elves. We have daily customers, too, from Stock. I’m not about to close the ol’ Perch anytime soon.

“Where’re you from, Mr....?”

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

"Brandybuck, Rory," the customer replied, picking up the mug. "I come from Pincup. I suppose you know where that is. A great place. My parents moved there after their marriage, when my mother's grand-uncle died, leaving them that wonderful smial. Yes, my grand-uncle, that must have been a hobbit! Rorimac Banks was his name. I was named after him, you see. My mother was his favourite grand-niece. She always visited him in that big, empty smial when all the relatives moved away... so, he left it to her."

Rory interrupted the recital of his family's history to take a drop from the mug. The cold beer for a moment choked off the stream of his words and sudden silence fell upon the common room.

"Well," the guest said after a while, wiping his lips, "this must be indeed the best beer in the Easfarthing. I have to stop here more often. I am a carter, you see - but usually my business does not lead me to these parts of the Shire." He looked about. "It's good to see that business is going well for you. You said, there is a dwarf and elves in here? Even? Unbelievable, I have to tell that in Willowbottom - they once had a Big Man there, wandering around, but elves! Are they not a little bit... hmm... strange? And where are they, anyway?" Rory suddenly turned and walking through the room to the door on its other end, before the innkeeper could react, he opened them and glanced over the hallway leading deeper into the hill. "Nice," he commented, turning back without closing the door. "In Tuckborough, they have some very beautiful smials. I once visited the Thain himself, had to deliver something to him from the Hornblowers. You won't believe how big, big hallway he has in the smial where he stays during summer. This whole room could fit into it, really."

"But you know," he continued quickly, "maybe you could make this place a little bit more... cosy. Look at that wall, for example," he pointed at the wall opposite to the bar. "It could be decorated with something... and that hallway over there," he pointed towards the opened door, "could be painted yellow and lilac. It would be nice. I could get you someone to do that if you don't have anyone. I know plenty of people." He handed the empty mug to the innkeeper to get it refilled.

[Forest Elf]

Gable watched, dumbfounded. She could still hardly believe that the person she had seen running was an elf. At first she didn't think much about it, but now that he was here, fighting them off, the thought finally went through her head. She put her feet back onto the branch and watched as he fought them off. Then falling to his knee. She blinked and jumped down from in the tree, landing lightly on her feet.

"Thank you sir. If you hadn't of come... then that would've been it for me," Gable said. "Are you alright?" She walked closer until she was a few inches away from him to his right. She knelt down next to him, hoping that he was alright. She could hear his heavy breathing and wondered how much trouble it was for him to of helped her.

[Gwathagor]

He pulled himself to his feet, and then bowed low.

"Lady, I beg your pardon."

The ground about them was strewn with wolf corpses, and the edge of his cloak was stained with their blood, as with the blood of countless other fallen enemies from other days and battles. The elf was still tired, but he stood tall and straight, his hand resting upon the hilt of his sword. If anything, he appeared somewhat stiff, slightly ill at ease in the presence of another person, particularly a young elf maiden. He was not used to society; he was used to defending it. His glance shifted away north momentarily, past the elf girl and towards the forest. He put out a cautionary hand.

"You should not tarry here. I fear that there may be more wolves close by and that these were only the advance guard of a much larger pack. These are not ordinary wolves and their leader is...very dangerous. It is not yet safe"

He paused for a moment, trying to recall all he could of the conventions and pleasantries of society. It had been a very long time.

"You are not hurt, are you? May I assist you in any way?"

[Forest Elf]

Gable blinked with surprise. She noticed that even though he didn't show it, he was tired. She stood and said, "I'm fine, thanks for asking." She looked around, wondering what had happened to the wolf pup she had saved several years ago.

After a little while she asked, "May I ask who, or what the wolves leader is?" She looked at him, waiting for an answer. She was clueless as to what could control wolves.

[Gwathagor]

A shadow passed over the warrior elf's face. He hesitated.

"First," he said, "Let us return to yon house of food and drink, and as we go, you must recount to me your own tale, and how you came to be thus sore beset by wolves. Tell me all," and here he became, were it possible, even more grave and solemn, "And spare no words in the telling, for I have patience enough, and in the thoroughness of your account may lie the unraveling of this riddle. When I have been satisfied regarding my own worries, whether they are true or false, then I shall gladly unfold my own story to you and any others who find pleasure in it...if the length of it does not turn them to stone with boredom."

He laughed, or rather chuckled to himself, and his fair, grave face briefly took on a new aspect as he did so. Less proud and careworn he seemed, but more fierce, as if the smoldering coal within him had leapt up into flame for an instant, dancing and laughing, but hotter than ever; and more volatile. (He laughed as often in battle as he did in feasting.) Then the mask of care and studied gravity fell across his countenance once again; the fire fell back to a coal, burning safe and slow, but inextinguishable.

They were walking back towards the inn, and the elf-maid had just begun to tell what she knew of the curious wolf invasion as the tall elf listened attentively. Suddenly he smote his brow with his right hand, as the left was resting ready upon his scabbard.

"Again, your pardon! My manners are not what they were," he exclaimed, turning to the other. "Once, I did know how to behave in good company; but that was long ago and far away. I am called Gwathagor by most who know me. I have gone by that name long enough, and it will continue to serve. What is your name? And pray carry on your tale."

Perhaps these were only ordinary packs of hungry wolves, forced to move south in search of better hunting. That in itself would be bad enough. But, in truth, he had little hope that when all was told this would prove to be any other than the forays of the Draugring, the Cold-Wolves. He could track them easy enough; more difficult would be the actual battle. He would fight them alone, without hesitation, because he knew that the Shire-folk were not warriors. They were cooks and farmers and brewers. They did not deserve this plague. Nonetheless, the aid of another warrior such as himself would be warmly welcomed. This, in part, was his purpose: to return to the inn and gather one or two others who had enough experienced with weapons to not be a liability. They could then return to the tree and from there follow the wolf-tracks back into the hills, whence they had come, and then...he was not sure. But that would come soon enough. He gave the other elf his full attention.

[Forest Elf]

Gable looked up at him. For some reason she liked his new face better than his first one. His laugh sounded rather nice too, it had been quite some time since she heard another elf's laugh.

She laughed slightly and said, "It is fine. Actually, to be honest, most people around here find me strange. Who wouldn't, most girls don't wear boys' clothes from time to time like I do. And my name is Gable. It's nice to meet you."

She looked up at the sky, remembering previous times. She couldn't help but to remember the rounds of laughter she had with everyone here. She found herself sad when the thought of this all ending soon came to mind. With all the wolves about, she wondered how much longer the Inn would last. Then she shook her head to clear her mind of thought.

She had already told him about the pony. "Where was I?" she asked herself, absent-mindedly. "Ah, yes. I remember I’d just got done telling you about the pony…well; the owner of the pony is still unknown. We’re not even sure if the owner’s alive…” a shadow came over her eyes as the questions filled her mind again. She blinked, interrupting herself.

She sighed softly, inwardly, remembering the past events, “The wolves attacked the barn the next morning. For some odd reason, it seems that they were after the pony…it puzzles me though. Most wolves don’t go around chasing after one certain prey, their options vary…” Her mind trailed off into thought for a few seconds before she shook the questions out of her mind. “Then there was the attack last night with the same wolves you just slain, I still find it hard to believe that I actually slept in that tree… the hobbit!” she said, suddenly hitting her hand with her forehead. “I can’t believe I forgot him there! He’s in the tree next to the one I was in. I should head back and wait for him to wake. It would be awful if he woke suddenly and there was no one there…”

She turned and stopped, suddenly remembering something. She looked over her shoulder at the elven warrior, “You can head over to the Inn, I’m sure that you must be tired. But, now that I think of it, there was also a silver locket; I don’t know if the owner has claimed it yet or not. I found it in the pony’s stable. I don’t know if that’s of any importance to you or not, and those of us at the Inn are unable to open it. It has a small lock on the side of it, which a small key is needed to open.”

[Groin Redbeard]

Groin strode down the streets with a merry expression lighting up his face. It wasn't often he came to these here parts. He was just returning from visiting his good friend Grioger, who lived west near the roots of the Blue Mountains.

He had walked all day, he was not tired, but he was in need of refreshment. As soon as he came into town he made a point of visiting the nearest inn to bed down for the night and have a nice ale, or two.

The Hobbit's spoke of an inn called 'The Golden Perch'; so he thought that he'd stay there tonight.He could see the smoke rising from the chimney, probably had breakfast on the stove, he could use a good meal. A few Hobbits sat outside smoking on their pips and exchanging some friendly gossip. Groin loved the “little folks” company, almost like Dwarves, in a way.

The Hobbits stopped their talking just long enough to pass glance at this new comer. Groin walked right pass them, he had too much focus on his that was waiting for him inside.

He had his hand on the door knob, when he looked back to ask the two Hobbits what the inn was serving for dinner, when he noticed to figures coming down the road. They were not men, for their garbs were not like that of man’s: they were richer more bright. Elves! He snarled as they drew closer; yes, they were coming towards him. He opened the door and entered the inn.
“I guess tonight isn’t going to be as jolly as I’d hoped.” He said, muttering under his breath.

[Dunwen]

Ruby clutched her doll and pouted. It was a lovely morning to be riding in their cart, but Lily was so mean to drag her out of bed first thing. Scowling, she thought about what had happened the night before:


Ruby's heart raced when she heard the footsteps down the hall. She stopped and tried to hide, but it was no use. Periwinkle walked into her room and Ruby had cheeks as red as her name. Ruby wanted to cry.

“You’re Lily’s little sister, aren’t you?” Peri’s voice betrayed her irritation. “Very well, where is your room?” When Ruby refused to answer, even after she repeated the question, the older girl became downright angry.

“Right, you’re coming with me. I’m sure Mr. Boffin can tell me which room you and your sister are in.” Taking her small hand while Ruby was still frozen in place, Peri marched her back into the common room. Ruby didn’t try to escape.

The young lady easily found the innkeeper. Dick kindly told her which room Ruby and her sister were in. Still holding her firmly by the hand, Peri found it and knocked loudly.

Lily opened to door, much to her displeasure Peri was standing at the door with her little sister Ruby. She proptly asked what she had done this time. Since she had nothing to lose now, Ruby confessed and gave back the items she had taken. Lily just about blew up, but controlled her temper. Lily and Ruby would be leaving to their Brandybuck relations, and they would send a letter back to Bywater asking their parents to come and take Ruby back home, no stops on the way... and so the next day at the crack of dawn, they left.

[Groin Redbeard]

Groin opened the door and stepped quietly into the in, the place was ablaze with commotion. Breakfast was being served to all the Inn’s occupants. Hobbit’s dashed in and out of the kitchen door, carrying platters staked with drinks and food.

Groin looked around the room searching for an empty table. There it was, he started making his way around the various tables when a when he was stopped.

“Um... excuse me, sir.” Groin looked around. A female Hobbit was tapping him on the shoulder.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m afraid you’ll have to leave your axe at the door.” She pointed to a stack of weapons all neatly assorted against the wall. Groin nodded his head and made his way back towards the door. He withdrew the huge axe from his back and gently placed it by the door, but instead of making his way an open table he folded his arms and leaned against the wall. The door opened again and the Elves, that he saw coming down the road entered the room. He stared at them for a few seconds until one of them, a girl, met his gaze. Groin bobbed his head in a short sort of a bow, and managed a smile.

He never did like Elves, but he wouldn’t his disgust show it out in public like most of his kind did. ‘Be courteous to all, but intimate with few’: that was his motto.
He watched as the Hobbit’s moved in and out of the kitchen, finally someone noticed him.
“Hello there, my name is Toller. What can I get you?”
“How’ bout a glass of your finest brew?” Groin said, glancing bar.
“I’ll get it right away.” The Hobbit sped off towards the kitchen.
Groin took his helmet off, still holding it in his left hand, and brushed his thick red hair with his hand. A fine establishment, yes this would suit me just fine for the next couple of days. Just then the boy appeared again holding a foaming glass in one hand.
“Ahh, thank you boy.” Groin outstretched his arms, ready to grab the glass.
“Cheers!” he said, placing a coin in the boys hand and holding the beer in the other.

“Boy, we sure are getting a lot of your folk around here.” Toller said, while he pulled up a chair and sat down. Groin sighed satisfied with the incredible taste of the ale.
“And what might you be meaning by that?” Groin said, in a matter that was by no ways threatening.
“Well we had a Dwarf in here a couple days ago by the name of Kuric. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”
“Can’t say that I have, I know very few people.” He took another sip of his ale.
“Well anyways, this Dwarf called Kuric came into the Inn one evening, and he says: ‘Bring three of your finest ales!’ and so Mr. Dicks orders me to get them for him. I bring them over to him and he starts asking me about Mr. Bilbo Baggins……”
In no time at all Groin was lost in deep conversation with the Hobbit: Troller, who was recounting the story of Kuric.

[Gwathagor]

The tall elf with the dark hair and the blood-stained cloak stepped into the Golden Perch, quietly closing the door behind him. He paused, lost in thought for a moment, then strode to a corner table and sat down with his back against the wall. There he leaned, staring at the middle of the ceiling and turning the matter over in his mind. Things were swiftly becoming more and more complicated...though clearer? Perhaps. He was afraid to draw conclusions yet.

Why should the wolves go out of their way to oppress a lone pony with no rider? Unless the secret lay in the silver locket...that locket that could not be opened.

It struck a note, somewhere, deep in the past, deep in his memory. Something sad...

The thought began to pass, but he pursued it. Deeper and deeper into his mind he delved, turning over layers of memories laid down over many ages of the earth, catching glimpses, as he sank down through the past, of the sensation that had sparked his curiosity.

What was it? What does this have to do with me?

Snatches of old tunes and songs and ancient poems drifted up to him through the mist and the sea-waves. Memories and images flew to him across the fields of his mind: images of majestic forests and graven halls, of torch-lit banquets and glittering harps, skillfully played, all calling to him, reminding him of something that he had long since forgotten...or buried.

Then the mists cleared and he was no longer at the Inn, or in the village of Stock. He was not even in the Shire.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Rorimac turned when he heard the sound of door opening. What he saw indeed stunned him. A big bearded dwarf stood in the door. Rory opened his mouth wide but immediately reminded himself to close it. A dwarf! When the innkeeper told him about strange customers visiting the Inn, he could not imagine fully how actually seeing such a... thing... would affect him.

Speechless, he observed the bearded stranger as he put away his large axe and then walked to the bar. Now, there is something worth examining deeper, flashed through the carter's head. But before he could react, soft footsteps were heard outside the door and in the next moment, an elf stepped into the room. The thoughts of lilac painted smials in Tuckborough and newly paved roads to Waymoot vanished from Rory's mind at once. Something unspeakable was happening here and he was at it! Amazed, he could not think of anything but the moment. He was so tall! He was dark-haired and he did not look very pleasant, yet in something he was fascinating to the curious hobbit. Rory did not know what was happening around him, not even he noticed how the red-bearded mountain marched around, speaking with the server. He just gazed at the elf.

Suddenly, the newcomer moved and something broke. Rory's mind was back at his normal self. He looked over his shoulder to see the dwarf and the server speaking about something. He was torn: surely the two were not speaking about anything usual. He could easily slip in and listen to their dialogue. But this far, it seemed to him that the server was speaking more and the dwarf was only listening. The carter hesitated. He turned his attention to the elf, who moved to the corner and sat down. Rory noticed that his cloak is bloodstained, and he noticed also the sword the elf was carrying. Chills ran down his spine. Now the elf did not seem as fascinating to him as he seemed a moment ago: the hobbit's only wish was to stay away from him, and as far as possible. He looked over his shoulder once more, and then he decided.

"Excuse me," he said, taking his newly refilled mug, and leaving the innkeeper alone he sprung to the discussing couple. Being all ears, he listened to talk of the dwarf and the hobbit, storing everything he heard in his memory so that later, he could bring that up in some other inn.

However interesting what he heard could have been, Rory was aware of the fact that time is moving and that he cannot spend whole day at the Golden Perch. And yet, he would rather hear something more from the dwarf himself. When there was a pause in the dialogue, Rory immediately became aware that it is his opportunity to intervene.

"Pardon me, mister Dwarf," he said, looking upwards to the red-bearded stranger, "I see you have come from afar." Actually, there was nothing to tell Rory that this assumption of his was true, but that much was clear to the hobbit that no dwarves lived in the Shire. "I am Brandybuck, Rorimac Brandybuck, from Pincup, you surely heard of that place, haven't you? It is really impressive to meet someone that... erm... I mean, someone from outside... and you have to know, is anything interesting happening out there?" As most of the hobbits, Rory divided the world into two parts: the Shire and "outside". It was clear, of course, that the world "outside" is unbelievably dull and alien as much as it was dangerous, but there was still a good chance that something interesting - like strange news from Bree or another, to hobbits unknown part of the world - could make a good topic to speak about with artless and sedate hobbits. Breathless, the carter watched the dwarf, awaiting eagerly whether his question is going to meet with success.

[Groin Redbeard]

Groin still stood against the wall listening to Toller. He was just taking the last sip of ale when another hobbit entered the conversation.
"Pardon me, mister dwarf, I see you have come from afar." Groin looked at him a bit startled.
"I am Brandybuck, Rorimac Brandybuck, from Pincup, you surely heard of that place, haven't you? It is really impressive to meet someone that... erm... I mean, someone from outside... and you have to know, is anything interesting happening out there?" Groin laughed as he put his empty ale glass down.
“Well,” he said still laughing, “good morning to you too. My name’s Groin." He grabbed the hobbit's hand and shook it.
“Excuse me sir,” Toller said chiming in, “I’ve been neglecting my duties; if you’re still here tonight I can finish the story.”
“I’ll be here Toller, I’ll see tonight.” Toller quickly backed away to another table and started cleaning the mess of dirty plates.

“I’m sorry mister hobbit, what did you say your name was?”
“Rorimac Brandybuck.”
“Well mister Brandybuck, in answer to your question, there seems to be quite an uproar down south in a place called Gondor. Have you heard of the place?” the hobbit paused and scratched his head trying to remember.
“Nope can’t say that I have.”
“Well anyway, I heard it from a Ranger that some kind of dark lord, or something, has got the elves ‘round that parts pretty jumpy.” The Hobbit’s eyes gleamed as Groin continued talking.
“Now I can’t say that I agree with that kind of talk. elves are always trying to make a big deal out of nothing.” Groin stroked his chin trying to think of something that a Hobbit would like to hear.
"As a matter of fact something did happen to me a couple of days ago right on the edge of the Old Forest."
the hobbit's ears perked up, and began to pull up a seat.

“Now I’m not one to stay around in a place for to long a time,” said Groin, while pulling up a chair and sitting next to the hobbit, “I’ve spend most of my time wondering the wilderness of Arnor.”
“One day I was cooking my evening dinner. Nothing much just a couple rabbits that I was able to catch with my snare. Anyways, I was starting the fire when I heard a wolf’s howl in the distance. Well I didn’t pay any heed to it at the time; wolves may be uncommon in these here parts, but nothing unusual. The sun has gone down a long time ago, so I build the fire up real good to keep all of them nocturnal creatures away. I got out my bedroll and was unfolding it when I heard rustling in the bushes to my right; I grab my axe that was lying next to me. No sooner then when I got to my feet, a wolf sprang from the bushes letting loose with a snarl. I charged the beast, my axe raised over my head; the wolf dodged my first strike, and would have been on me in another second, but it stopped. It sat there as if waiting for something; immediately I knew I was being played with, to my back another wolf leapt from the shadows, but I dealt him a blow that knocked him dead at my feet. I turned to meet the other and drove my axe through his skull.” The hobbit eyes were wide with excitement.

“I saw more shadows in the distance: more of the pack was coming. I knew I couldn’t hold them off were I was positioned, and so I ran to the biggest tree I could find, and started climbing as quickly as I could. Before I could even get up the first branch, wolf…” Groin paused remembering the sight of the creature, “No, it was a warg. Yes, I’m sure it was a warg; out of nowhere it leapt upon me, its giant paw scarring my right shoulder!” Groin was almost on the verge of shouting, acting out every move. Groin looked about at the hobbits; some of who were giving him annoyed glares. Groin cleared his throat proceeded with his story, in a quieter tone.

“Now luckily, when the warg had jumped on me, he landed on my axe. I rolled the warg off myself, leaving my axe imbedded in his chest. I leapt for the nearest branch, and caught it with my left arm, and pulled myself up.
I stayed on that branch for the duration of the night, until the rest of the wolves left.”

Groin reached into his pouch and pulled out a short hand carved pipe.
“Absolutely fascination!” Rorimac said with a wide grin on his face, “What do you think this means having wolves this far south.”
“I don’t rightly know,” Groin said, stuffing his pipe with some sort of weed and lighting it, “But something’s driving them from the north. Probably not enough game for them to hunt, of course that’s just my personal opinion.” He puffed on his pipe, a trail of smoke protruding from his mouth.
“But you can be assured of this mister Brandybuck: everything I’ve told you is the truth.” Groin reached with his left arm and lifted the leather armor, covering his right shoulder, revealing a freshly dealt scar.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

During the dwarf's speech, Rory observed him with interest. The bearded customer kept making funny movements, sometimes the hobbit was even afraid that he is going to break something. Not that the tale about the wolves would make the carter excited: if anything, it sounded dangerous. But still it was something new, something interesting enough to mention to casual travelmates. At least it was better than the nonsenses the dwarf was saying about the elves. At first, Rory was afraid that he starts to recount some dull events that happened in some far-away land. Fortunately, he chose not to. The wolves on the edge of the Old Forest were surely a far more exciting topic.

Quite unsettling, too, however. The carter scratched his back. He was not that stupid: his father recounted him about the Fell Winter when the wolves entered the Shire, three years before Rory was born. Rory's father and his uncle Sigismond were among the young hobbits who helped Mr. Puddifoot and Mr. Maggot to drive the wolves off the frozen fields of the Marish. And it was around that time when uncle Sigismond died... Rory shuddered. The journey towards the eastern borders of the Shire did not seem as pleasant as before. Who knows what can happen? The dwarves surely have a tendency to exaggerate, but still, if there are wolves... Rory never saw a wolf, except for a moth-destroyed tail that belonged to his mother; a trophy from his father's one and only adventure. But could it be possible that a wolf would slip into the Shire, right in front of the watchful hobbit guards of the Hay Gate? No, that was not probable. Maybe the outside lands were getting a little bit more dangerous now, but the Shire was perfectly safe. As always.

Rorimac placed the empty mug away on the table. With disgust, he looked at the dwarf's revealed scar. Nevertheless, he thought, I would not like to stay outside at night. If possible, he would rather spend the night under cover of his cousins' house in Bucklebury. And the sooner he returns home to Poppy, the better.

"You should put some way-bread on that," he advised matter-of-factly to the dwarf, pointing at the scar. "Old widow Brownlock does that and it helps. My Buttercup once cut his leg on some sharp stone, and she helped us; she poured some water with the way-bread on it and it ceased to bleed. And later, my Buttercup could walk without any problems and it disappeared after a few days, really."

He picked up the empty mug. "It was pleasant to talk to you, Mister Dwarf, but I really have to go now. Hopefully Buttercup did not make a mess in front of the inn. He's capable to do that, you know. Once, during our stay at Mr. Madoc Hornblower, he ate whole patch of cabbage and broke a hoe that was lying there. Don't ask me how he did that. Well, of course he did not eat all the cabbage... he only started every head and then threw it away. But he had calmed down since then, you see. After that he did it only... once. But since I peppered his tongue after he did that, I believe he's not going to try that again. Still, who knows what might be going on in his head, eh? Well, have a nice day, sir, and... goodbye."

[Groin Redbeard]

"Farwell master Brandybuck." Said Groin continuing to puff on his pipe after the carter had left the table. He stared at the elf who was sitting alone at the other end of the Inn. Groin noticed the blood that stained the elf's cloak. Probably got into trouble with them wolves last night.

Groin began to feel restless, he tapped his pipe on the table extinguishing it, and placed it pack into his pouch. He reached over for his axe and began to strap it on his back. A long walk in the woods would subdue the restlessness that he was feeling. Groin reached for the door handle and stepped outside, breathing deeply. He set off down the road at a leisurely pace and noticed a group of hobbits making their way to the Inn.
"Ahh!" he said aloud in frustration. Too many people around here for his liking, and set off down the path at an even faster rate, but he planned on coming back to lodge at the Inn for the night. After all, Toller hadn't finished his story.

[Groin Redbeard]

After Groin had walked for awhile he decided to take a rest beside an old tree stump. He breathed a sigh of content; it was a lovely country he was walking through. Perhaps one day he would settle down here in his old age, but for know he had too many places to go and adventures to be had. He leaned back and closed his eyes, making himself comfortable for a midday nap.

His moment of peace was soon interrupted by group of children running up from behind him. Surprised Groin tried to jump to his feet, but his jump was more of a roll. He tumbled down landing on his back; the children stopped running and laughing and stared down at the dwarf in amazement.

Groin slowly rose to his feet, and walked over to the small children. The youngest was clutching a rag doll and looked as if she was going to burst into tears any second.
"Now, now there. I'm not going to harm’ya." Groin said, kneeling down to the hobbit's level.
"You just startled me that's all." Groin smiled trying to look friendlier. One of the five hobbit children stepped forward timidly.
"We're sorry to have bothered you mister dwarf." he said rather nervously.

Groin stood and moved over to the stump to sit down.
"No bother at all. What be your names?"
"My name is Seredic, sir, and these are my brother's and sister's: Fred, Maple, Dorlind, and Daisy Boffin." Groin whistled in amazement.
"Five siblings, and my mom and dad thought one child was a handful." Groin chuckled to himself.

"Hello." Groin looked down at the small hobbit girl, who was tugging at his pants.

"Well hello there," Groin reached down and picked up the girl, placing her on his knee.

"And what is your name little one?"

"Maple Boffin." she said, blushing a little.

"Well hello Maple. My name's Groin Redbeard, and what might you be doing on a fine day such as this?"

"Picking daisies for momma’s windowsill."

"Now is that so," Groin said, making it sound as if she said something magnificent.

"I'm glad you youngsters came along," Groin stood up placed the girl down, while beginning to dig into his pouch. "You see I've been traveling around these here parts for a long time, and my pack is getting too heavy for me to carry. And I was wondering if you kids could take some of the weight of my back." Groin extracted his hand from his pouch revealing a handful of sweets.
"I'd be mighty obliged if you'd take these off my hands." Groin said stepping closer, offering it to them.

The kids shyly reached out and grabbed three, or so, each.
"Thank you mister!" said Seredic who was smiling from ear to ear.
"Not at all youngster, now don't let me keep you from your daisy hunting, go on now." and with that Groin shooed them off smiling and laughing to himself all the while.

After the hobbits had left, Groin settled down again. He leaned back against the stump and closed his eyes once again, and drifted to sleep.

[Sephiroth]

Ethelgar strolled, hoping to leave his past behind his feet. Living with the woodsmen was nice, safe and peaceful; but once again his heart wanted the freedom only the road could give. Deeply, he feared leaving with dreams of triumph and returning with nightmares of defeat; nevertheless, he left, his sword sheathed, his soul crushed by the need for glory.

Countless days he walked, the sun blinding his eyes, the rain freezing his body. And Ethelgar thought about his friends and family he didn’t see in a decade, about the thieves he fought, and felt lonely. Day after day he expected Death behind the bushes, as a wild beast, a bandit, a hole in the ground. He didn’t fear it, though: the thought of being killed in the middle of nowhere was, in a way, soothing. After all, Death would be a relief from the goals he set for himself – but obviously he wouldn’t give up without a good fight. However, a long distance he roamed, and Falconbeak, the sword he got from his grandparent, did not drink any hostile blood.

And now he was near the village the little people he encountered called The Shire. Ethelgar was not too interested in that kind of place: evidently it was not somewhere good to look for an adventure. Despite that, he paced through the region admiring its beauty, looking for a good place to rest his bones. As he walked, memories came to his mind, thoughts of insignificance and of greatness. If I were a hobbit… and if I were as tall as I am now… I would definitely be a king among them. I have to discover something great in myself… maybe… so I can show everyone how I can be significant. I need to be significant. Everything was distant, blurred, and the man became lost in his thoughts, wandering mindlessly.

But reality came back to him, as he finally perceived an Inn’s door just across the road. He crossed the street and entered without a second thought; his mind once again detached from his body.

“Sir, the sword, please”, said a hobbit, probably the innkeeper. A standard procedure, thought the man. Maybe every city should ask for the weapons before anyone could enter. Maybe anyone shouldn’t carry any weapons at all. But… where could we find glory, fame and…

“Sir… the sword”, recurred the innkeeper, and his voice was a ticket back to the inn.

“Falconbeak you have, sir. I’m sure you’ll keep an eye on it”, Ethelgar nodded, gently giving him the sword.

The man then sat down, his thoughts deep into his memories. It was undeniably a hideous scene: the brown coat was covered in mud; the boots torn; a small scar stained the left side of his face. Despite that, one who could look deep would glance something singular, maybe great about him.

Ethelgar lastly ordered ale and waited, perceiving no one but himself.

[Gwathagor]

In the recesses of his mind, the warrior-elf wandered again under beneath the leafy boughs of ancient Doriath. Motes of dust swam in the shafts of waning sunlight that shot down through the forest canopy, and silent song-birds flitted to and fro among the trees. Elven songs floated through the air, reaching him as if from a great distance, and he knew that they were sad songs, though he could not catch the words. And then he saw the singers, riding slowly and purposefully through the silent trees, and, as he wondered that he had not seen them earlier, he realized that the whole forest was full of a great host of mounted elves, armed with spears and with bows. A few sang softly, and some looked back, but none wavered.

Then he stood beneath a mighty, spreading oak, and he saw that he was clad in armor and a rich cloak of a forgotten hue of deep azure. At his side he wore a royal sword, and on his back was slung a great battle-axe. With him, beneath the oak, stood a fair elf-maiden, whose blue garments matched the shade of his cloak, the corner of which she held in her hand, turning it over and over, examining its hem.

Then she spoke, and, though he knew he dreamed, he heard the voice as clear and as musical as the day he had first heard it by the Mouths of Sirion.

"I know that you must leave." She looked up at him. Her shining eyes took his breath away. He had forgotten how clear they were.

"I must, though it kills me. We have been summoned; the Day of Wrath has come, and we must do our part."

"I know, and I will learn to bear your absence. I must, though it kills me." She smiled softly, and looked away west at something unseen, tears forming in her eyes and voice. She let the corner of his cloak fall.

The warrior-elf, who stood a head taller than her, gazed down at her tenderly. She braced herself and turned to him again, looking him up and down. "You look splendid; the finest of Doriath's warriors. You will return to me?"

"As soon as I may. As soon as we have driven out the Darkness, then I will return; and no sooner." His look was stern and sad, but his eyes were gentle. "I swear. I will not forget you."

"No, you won't. I have seen to that." Here she produced an intricately carved silver locket, which hung upon a fine silver chain. "This locket has my name and my emblem carved inside it. My blessing and spirit will be with you until you return. Until then, we will still have our memories...and you will have this."

He took the locket from her outstretched hand. She stepped beside him and leaned against his shoulder. He put his left arm around her, as she continued. "It will not open to any key, but only to the speaking of my name. Try it."

Then (and he knew that still he dreamed) he held up the locket in his right hand and then spoke aloud the name, her name, the name of the one he had lost so long ago.

"Elloth."

The locket opened, and the vision vanished.

A new vision took its place, and it was as barren as the former had been idyllic. The singing of the elves gave way to the sounds of clashing arms and the smell of blood. The mists of memory cleared, and he found himself on a wide plain. All around him was a great elven-host, with spears and swords in their bloody hands, their hair ragged and their eyes blazing. Looking down, he found that great mounds of slain orcs lay about his feet, and that in his left hand he held a longsword, and in his right a battle-axe. Both were stained black. Suddenly, a great cry went up from the elven host. It was answered by harsh yells and jeers, and another wave of orcs drove into their ranks. As the elves surged forward to meet the enemy, he found himself caught up in the center of the battle. He began instinctively to slash and hack, left and right, now whirling, now ducking, now leaping forward, following the rhythm of battle. Blood spattered his face and hands, but he gritted his teeth, narrowed his eyes, and continued to face each new threat as it came at him. Ever he cut his way forward, leaving in his wake a broad swath of fallen enemies. Even the other elves began to give way before his fury. Soon, he had left them all behind; he stood alone in a sea of orcs, with a growing circle of dead and dying spreading out about him. He fought on, careless and alone, possessed by the wrath of battle.

Great drums rolled, the earth trembled, and, in increasing numbers, the orcs began to flee from the field of battle. Only when he discovered that there were no more orcs, did he look up and realize that the elven-host had taken up his name, cheering him on. "Gilthalion! Gilthalion!", they cried. Then the earth quivered again, and they found themselves in the presence of gods. Silence swept over the host, and Gilthalion Gwathagor awoke in a wooden chair in the Shire, 6000 years later.

[Groin Redbeard]

Groin awoke from his slumber sometime around noon. He got up, rubbed the slumber from his eyes, and began to shake the dead leaves that were clinging to his beard.

The Hobbit children had long past left him, and were probably back at there house showing their new found daisies to their parents. He sighed and began to pick up his pack and battle axe. He still had much to see of the countryside before night fell, and he wanted to see as much as possible. So off he went, down a path leading into an open plain.

In the distance he could see a cart drawn by a small pony. Groin saw a hobbit walking besides it and wondered if it was Rory Brandybuck, the Hobbit he had talked to in the Inn. Well, even if it was Groin had decided not to bother him, besides he was probably going home to Misses Brandybuck and wouldn't like to be stopped or slowed down.

Groin walked several yards behind the cart for a few minutes until he became tired of traveling on road. 'Time to go trailblazing' he thought to himself, and did a short sprint off the road and into the bushes. Groin stopped and looked back up the road at the cart. 'What a enviously simple life that man must leed.' he thought, but it wasn't the life for him. Groin waved a silent farwell to the unknowing Hobbit, and sprinted onward into the brush.

[Dunwen]

Peri sat near a window in the Perch's Common Room enjoying the last of her meal. While it was late to having second breakfast, she'd slept later than usual, thanks to Ruby's intrusion and the confusion the little hobbit seemed to cause wherever she went. She'd heard the two sisters had left before dawn, and admitted to a shameful sense of relief at a Ruby-less inn. It was a pity in a way, because she'd rather liked the older sister, Lily.

She watched the activity of the other diners and the hobbits who waited on them as she finished her tea and a lovely seed-cake. That morning she'd dressed in a white blouse, a black bodice and a vivid amethyst-colored skirt. A purple ribbon matching the skirt completed her outfit. Having made sure Brightheart was comfortable in his stall, she'd finished unpacking and walked around the grounds of the inn. Now she was planning her afternoon.

Part of the reason she'd chosen to visit Stock was that a dear friend of hers had married a young farmer from the area. Although a sporadic correspondent, the former Chalcedony Delver had once written directions to her new husband's farm just outside Stock. Peri nodded to herself. She could visit Cece this very day.

Decision made, Peri got up from the table and turned to slip from behind it. With the noon sun shining into her eyes through the window, she failed to notice an unmoving form sitting in the shadows nearby. The hobbit girl tripped heavily over the long legs of an Elf that appeared to be sleeping in a chair and fell plump onto the floor. She thought she'd heard him referred to as "Gwathgor" or some such name.

Horrified at her clumsiness, she scrambled to her feet. "I'm so sorry sir! Please forgive me for not looking where I was going." The elf still looked asleep, but she did not want to be rude and hurry off without waiting for a reply.

[Arien]

Alenia pulled the small knife from her bag and brushed it across the leaves of what seemed to be a stubborn weed entwined amongst the flowers. She crouched closer, examined it for a few seconds, breaking off a leaf and sniffing it, and then stood up.

“Just a weed…” she muttered.

She wiped her hands on her trousers and placing the knife carefully back into her bag she continued on her way towards Stock, her horse Fawn trotting dutifully beside her. She would be glad to spend some time here as it had been over a month now since she had stayed for more than one night anywhere. As much as she loved to travel on her own and experience what the earth could give she couldn’t help but feel disconnected and isolated from others. She had no real friends now, they were all left behind, all of them came second to her pursuit of knowledge. She knew she was truly alone now. And on top of that, she reminded herself again, she could not protect herself at all. Fair enough if she perhaps had time to poison or put her attackers to sleep but in reality this would never happen. So far she counted herself lucky.

Alenia now drew up outside The Golden Perch, she thought she had heard it mentioned a couple of day ago but she couldn’t remember. Either way it had stables and looked friendly enough plus she was tired so here was good enough. She lead Fawn to the stables and removed her pack from the horses back and with a quick kiss and smile she headed towards the front door.

Alenia brushed her hair out of her face as she pushed open the door to the inn. Ducking slightly as she entered she let the door shut slowly behind her stopping momentarily to take a deep breath. She continued to move towards a free table near a window a female hobbit had just left empty. A she sat down she saw the hobbit stumble over an inconspicuous elf in the shadows. Alenia raised an eyebrow as the hobbit apologised quickly and scamper off. She watched the elf curiously for a moment and then finally dropped into her seat.

[Iras Sabir]

Ira walked along beside her horse. Both rider and animal looked tired, the horse a little moreso than its rider.

"Easy, Issa..." She murmmured gently. The horse nuzzled her arm affectionately. Ira smiled and kept walking. She was wearing a long traveling cloak, its hem torn and covered in dust and mudd. On her feet she wore a pair of thick leather boots, they looked like a good quality of boot. Her legs were covered in a pair of dark brown trousers underneath a long dark green tunic. Her hair was back in a braid, out of her eyes. Her eyes were quiet remarkable. Grey-blue ringed a light green with golden-brown towards the pupil.

Ira was walking beside her horse because they had ridden many miles that day. She was now in a place called the Shire. She had never heard of such a place, but it seemed to be inhabitated by children. The whole place made her nervous. She wasn't used to being much taller than anyone, in fact her friends teased her about being short. Not here. She saw a group of what really was children and her eyes widened. Twice as small as their parents. They all stopped their play to wave at her. She waved hesitantly back, not quite sure what was expected of her. They all giggled and ran off.

Ira continued on, her head up more now. The little people were at work everywhere...And all the children! She shook her head in amazement. There seemed to be hundreds of their children everywhere! She finally caught sight of the inn sign. Finally! She thought, quickening her pace. She looked forward to being able to wash the dust and grime of the road from her skin. She walked Issa around the back to the stables and pulled her gear off. After she had spent some time tending to her mount, she left Issa alone to eat and rest.

Ira walked inside the inn, pushing her cloak back a bit.
"Scuse me! You'll need to leave your sword at the door!" one of the little people from the back hollered. Ira froze and stared at the little man.
"Why?" She asked, her voice betraying her upset at the request. The man smiled at her
"Just Inn policy miss..." He said. Ira reluctantly pulled her sword from its sheath. Its blade shone dully in the firelight.
"Take good care of this..." She whispered, not really at him, just at anyone in general. She set her sword down gently against the wall then walked up to the bar to order some wine. After she had the bottle and glass she went and sat down at a table to relax for a while.

[Groin Redbeard]

Groin walked through the thickets and over the hills for quite some time now. He enjoyed the beautiful countryside that he was walking in, and was, by now, whistling a happy tune.

After walking for a while he came to a small stream that winded its way through the forest. Groin knelt down, scooping up a small amount of water in the palm of his hand. He repeated that same technique over and over, until he had drunk his fill.

He was just about to move on, when noticed something moving in the bushes. It sounded like a deer, so Groin paid no attention to it, until refused to leave him alone. He walked for a little ways, and the rustling noise followed him. Groin was becoming a little anxious, he sprinted ahead trying to lose the creature, but it still kept up with him. Finally Groin halted he raised his battle axe above his head and sprang at the creature.

“Baruk Khazad!”

The creature fled from him before Groin could reach it. Groin continued to yell and scream until he was sure that the creature was gone. He inspected the ground searching for some kind of clue as to what it was. Wolf tracks! Groin’s brow reddened as he remembered the night that he was attacked by an entire pack of Wolves; needless to say he didn’t like the thought of roaming around in their woods.

Groin ran as fast as he could to get out of the woods. He ran until he came to another road that cut its way through the forest. He sat down breathing hard trying to catch his breath. He looked up and down the road; he saw a dismounted rider coming his way. He watched as the girl passed by him; she seemed to be fiddling around with something inside her sack that he had slung around her shoulders.

Soon after the girl had passed him by, another dismounted rider walked passed him, this one also a girl. Groin made an effort this time to be civil; he smiled and gave a short bow as the lady passed by. Groin had almost mistaken her for a Ranger, except he knew Rangers didn’t ride horses. She waved and moved on past him. Groin watched her for a moment transfixed by her beauty. Suddenly becoming conscience of his staring, he snapped himself out of it, and protruded down the road in the opposite direction.

[Iras Sabir]

Ira finished her wine at her seat and streached. She had been her long enough.
"Sir? Is it safe for me to stable my horse here for a while?" She asked, braved with the wine in her. The inn keep nodded and she left a heavy coin on the table and walked out. She still had her cloak on and now had her sword back. She started back down the road out of town, wandering and staring at everything. She had never been in a town this small before.

Ira wandered the town, staring at the people. All of them small. Only one bigger...Was that a dwarf? Her eyes widened. Her brothers had told her tales when she was younger about the dwarves that they had stayed with. She smiled and then almost tripped over a small man. He glared at her and she jumped back, her hand dropping her her sword. She was too highstrung. Ira stammered out an apology and the man continued on. She hated when she got highstrung like that.

Ira sighed and turned back to the inn. It wasn't good for her to be about in that kind of mood. She wandered back down the road, head low this time, trying not to make eye contact.

As she walked the began to think. About her past. About her future. About everything. She wondered about Kale, her only brother left, and what he was doing at the moment. How are the Elves? She wondered.

She found herself no longer walking, but rather sitting at the base of a tree. Her oldest brother had often told her it was far better to stop and smell the roses than to get anywhere exactly on time. You'd see more and learn more that way. Her brother wasn't the best philosipher, but he had a good basic idea. She smiled slightly and stared off at the hills.

[Iras Sabir]

Ira allowed herself to rest, for once, and smiled. It really had been too long since she had just sat down and relaxed. She thought about her recent travels. She had been down in the Mordor area, exploring and trying to find out about the land there. It seemed posioned and the people near there were not the kindest. She had avoided them each time they were near.

Ira streached and stood up. She wanted to see more of this tiny city. She walked off down the path to continue her exploration.

[Gwathagor]

Gwathagor rose from his corner chair and moved towards the innkeeper's counter, stepping carefully between the tables of the merry folk who were lunching at the inn. At the counter, he hailed Seredic, who he had met earlier that day.

"Master Innkeeper, I beg your pardon for my rather graceless exit during our earlier conversation. The one I heard crying for help it seems was an elf-maid; one Gable. I found her seeking refuge in a tree, surrounded by hungry wolves. I slew her attackers, and Gable is safe. Has she returned to the inn yet?"

Dick responded in the negative.

"Hm. I had meant to ask her to elaborate further concerning a certain silver locket that was found with a certain pony. I...may know something about it. Do you have it near at hand, or do you know where I might find it?"

The elf's face was solemn and dispassionate as usual, but his hands trembled slightly. It was the lingering effect of the vision which he had just experienced, which had not yet faded from his mind. The images still blazed before his eyes, burning his mind with sorrow and cutting his soul like icicles of regret and longing. Part of him wished that the memories had remained where he had carefully buried them during his years of wandering. But now they were free; he knew he could not go back. And this locket: what could it mean? What did it signify? Particularly if it was the same that his fair lady had given him...could it be? If it HAD been found, what other dearly beloved things might also come to light? It had been thousands of years since he had lost that locket, during the fateful war. It had all begun then: the sorrow, the regret, the wandering. The hardening of his soul.

Even as Seredic was responding, Gwathagor drifted off again, slipping back into the past. Leaning on the counter, his head bowed, he tried to steel himself against the mist that swept over him, pulling him down, but he knew he was powerless. He must endure the full gauntlet of these visions, this reawakening, hurt him though it might. The past was dangerous, but wise; who knew where it might lead? And this was only the beginning...

[Groin Redbeard]

He had been walking for quite awhile. The forest that he was walking through was long gone, and gave way to a beautiful hilly meadow. There was not a hobbit in sight.

Groin noticed that storm clouds were rolling in from the south. Even as he stood watching them the winds began to increase and the Sun’s bright rays faded. Groin didn’t like it one bit. He had walked a good distance away from the comforts of the Inn.

He was contemplating on whether to head back or just wait for the storm to pass. A jolt of lightning in the distance made the dissension for him. As fast as his short stubby legs could carry him, he began to run back to the village of Stock and the Golden Perch Inn.

[Folwren]

“Oh, yes, sir,” Dick said to the tall elf. “I’ve got it right...in the kitchen...” his voice trailed off and he tilted his head to look at his customer more straight in the face. “I swear he doesn’t even see me anymore,” Dick muttered to himself. But all the same, he turned and pattered at an admirable pace to the kitchen where he retrieved the locket and brought it back out for Gwathagor’s inspection.

“Now, it’s a very fine piece,” Dick said as he returned. The elf seemed to have come back to the present and his eyes focused on Dick. “I don’t think you’d ruin or anything, but just mind that it’s not. I’d like to be able to give it back to whoever found it, that is all. Our Gable found it, you know.”

Before he could find something more to say, a deafening crack of thunder split through the air. “Good gracious me!” Dick cried, when the rumbling ceased. He ran to the window, leaving the locket in Gwathagor’s hands, and peered out, leaning on the deep window sill. “It looks like we’re going to have some rain,” he observed, taking in the dark, rolling clouds. “Tollers! Tollers!” He turned and trotted to the kitchen, making arrangements the entire way. “We’ll have to light the lamps and candles early, no doubt, what with those storm clouds comin’ in. Tollers! Make up the fire, will you? There’s the door, better go see if it’s a new customer.” And accordingly, Dick turned right around and went back to the common room.

But it was just Groin the dwarf again, come back from wandering about, apparently. As he shut the door behind himself, the rain began to fall in torrents.

[Groin Redbeard]

Groin came panting up to the Golden Perch Inn, just as the rain really began to come down. He pounded on the door in a furry. Looking behind him he saw all the locals scrambling for shelter as the rain began to pour.

He pounded on the door once more, but the door opened before he could finish. It was Toller; Groin entered and nodded thanks. The room was lit by a dozen candles; all the guests were talking amongst themselves, he even saw a couple new faces that weren’t here when he left. He noticed the elf he had seen in the corner booth leaning against the counter grasping something in his hand. The elf looked up and caught the dwarf’s stare, Groin quickly looked away.

“Excuse me, Toller.” The dwarf said, grabbing the hobbit by the shoulder.
“I wonder if you would be kind enough to get me a good ol’ mug of hot Cider.” He placed a coin in the surprised hobbit’s hand, and then grabbed a chair at the nearest table.

He chuckled to himself as he watched the stunned Toller head into the back room. Not too many dwarves would turn down ale for any other drink. But this dwarf had weakness for Cider, and on a cold rainy day there’s nothing better than a hot mug of Cider. Toller came back with the mug and placed it in front of Groin. Groin then picked up the mug and decided to move to a corner booth.

As he made his way between the tables, clumsily bumping the other patrons, he noticed the beautiful lady that he saw out on the road. He stared at her as he scooted into a booth next to one of the inn’s windows. He then diverted his gaze to the window and watched as the rain come down in torrents.

“I surely wouldn’t want to be caught in the middle of this.” He muttered to himself as he slowly sipped his drink

[Eönwë]

It was still raining when Songo came into the Inn. He had come all this way from the outskirts of Bree to visit his uncle Carnale in Hobbiton to celebrate Carnale's 70th birthday. He was hurrying back to Bree, but needed a place to stay for the night. Besides, he couldn't stay outside in that infernal rain! The storm had just come out of nowhere, and Songo's hat had been blown away. He had been particularly attached to his hat, as it had been passed down to him form his Great-Uncle, who had been quite the traveller.

As he opened the door, the warm air came out to greet him and he decided that he would probably stay a week here. People were talking festively, and drinking Ale and Cider, and Songo could have sworn that he saw a dwarf tripping on a table, but re-balancing before anyone could see. He felt at home. It reminded him of the Prancing Pony, except that most of the residents here were Hobbits. But then he was a Hobbit, so he couldn't really complain. He looked around again and could see that strange dwarf gazing out of the window, with a forlorn expression on his face, Songo thought, sipping what he hoped was warm cider

Just then Songo realized how cold he was and warmed himself up by the large fire. Then he went over to the Barman and asked him for a pint of his finest ale.

[Folwren]

Dick pattered in and out of the kitchen and behind the bar, filling new orders and often returning half the time simply because he had forgotten something before. Finally, he found a moment to stand still, briefly. Nothing seemed out of place. The guests were standing and sitting, some singling, others in small groups, all looking just a tad bit gloomy. But who wouldn’t, with the outside dark as evening and thunder rolling and thundering.

“Excuse me, sir,” a hobbit said, approaching the bar. “I’d like a pint of your finest ale.”

Dick smiled immediately. “Of course! Right away!” He bent and whipped out a mug as quick as a blink of an eye and began to fill it from the ale-butt just behind him. He was setting it on the bar top when the door blew open violently and in staggered a tiny creature, barely recognizable for a hobbit with a hat pulled low over his eyes and his little coat soaked and streaming with rain water.

“Shut the door, Fred!” Dick shouted to be heard over the great noise and thunder of the rain outside. “Shut the door and quit letting the wet in!”

“Sorry, Pops!” the hobbit child said. He lifted the brim of the hat to grin at his father before turning and using both hands to shut the door.

[shaggydog]

As the first drops of rain spattered in the dust of the road leading from the river, Jims dug his heels into the small horse’s sides to urge it to greater speed. A useless waste of energy on his part, Jims knew, as the horse had only one discernible gait, and that being something between a slow shuffle and a fast amble. The journey from Bree had taken quite a bit longer than Jims had hoped, although they had all been aware of why this particular beast had been abandoned in his father’s stable several months ago. In lieu of a cash payment for its previous owner’s room and board at their inn, the beast made a poor bargain of the affair. But Jakes, Jims’ older brother, had been convinced that with a few days worth of oats and rest, the superior quality of this animal would shine forth. Of course he had to believe that, as it was Jakes that had “struck the bargain with” the seedy looking tinker who had half pulled, half pushed the poor thing into the tiny stable yard of their inn. Repressing a sigh, Jims peered through the growing darkness of the rain, which had turned mid-day into evening, and was happy to at least see his intended destination coming into view. The Golden Perch!

A clap of thunder boomed in Jims’ ear just as he reached the inn. The rain began to fall in earnest as he dismounted, looking about for a stable lad. Seeing none, and no wonder as the rain was coming in sheets now, Jims tugged at the reins and the horse, for once as eager to move as its master, stepped quickly enough across the yard and into the relative shelter of the shedrow. Without hesitation, Jims turned the horse into the nearest empty stall, hurriedly removing the saddle and bridle. Having grown up as an innkeeper’s son and having spent every day of his life seeing to customers, Jims knew his best course was to look inside the inn for the lad or the owner and settle with them then as to where best to house the beast. There was already an ample supply of hay in the rick and a wooden bucket of water hanging from a peg in the wall. Satisfied, Jims bolted the stall door shut behind him, making a dash across the yard to the round door of the inn, which at that very moment was just on the point of closing.

He was surprised to feel no small resistance to his push as he attempted to make his way inside. Who or what was on the other side of the door he didn’t know but with the rain now pouring down his collar he was determined to gain access. With one last good shove, the door gave way and Jims half stumbled into the common room, almost tripping over the body of a very small hobbit child who lay sprawled across the threshold. Stepping over the wee one at the last moment, Jims barely managed to keep himself up right, hanging on to the door for balance. A great gust of wind and several buckets of water followed Jims in as well, and his first thought was to close the door or risk the possible drowning of the small child at his feet. This being accomplished, the man then turned his attention back to the room and its inhabitants. Kneeling, he offered a hand to the child, saying, “My apologies young master. I’m afraid I mistook you for a door stop.”

Jims wondered how his weak attempt at humor would sit with the trespassed against hobbit child.
.

[Eönwë]

Songo was happy. He had just finished that nice mug of beer, and was about to get a warm cider, to finallly relinquish the cold clinging to him.

But then, in the middle of nowhere, he saw his hat floating around. Having never consumed alcohol, he thought that maybe this was what hapeed when you "got drunk", or the more polite phrase "made merry". He thought it was just his mind playing tricks on him. But as he focused on it ("Wow, this beer must really be getting to my head" he thought) through the blur of his alcphol-induced-stupor he realised that it was on the head of a small child. It vaguely reminded him of his younger brother when he had been younger. But then, everyone looked the same now.

He was going to go over to the child and get his hat back, but being quite shy, he would have normally held back. But tonight was different. Just as he plucked up, the courage to go over there and talk the boy into giving him back his property, a tall, strong looking man barged open the door and knocked over the poor child. He might have been slightly angry at the boy before, but hobbit-children are hobbit-children, and you can't blame them, not really. But anything he did have against the boy melted away instantly, as he saw him fall, and the expresssion on the child's face almost wanted to make him burst into tears.

He thought that perhaps he would go over there later, and ask him when he had recovered.

But just as he was pondering this, the hat dropped, and he darted forward to take it. But just as he grasped it, he saw the boy reach for it too, but it was too late, he already had it. And then he saw the little one's face, and his large eyes, brimmming with tears, staring sorrowfully at him. He decided that he would give him the hat as a gift, and that it didn't really matter, not if you really thought about it. And the child's face broke into a smile as he handed him the item of clothing.

The boy wore it truimphantly, even though it fell over his eyes, and he had to lift it up every so often, Even so, it made Songo smile to see someone so happy with his gift.

He decided that now it was high time for that cider he had been wanting for the last half hour.

[RunItsANazgul]

The rain was deafening. Haves walked hurriedly, hunched and arms wrapped about him, clinging to his soaked traveller's cloak as teeth-clenched, he shot glances around the soppy neighbourhood for any sign of an inn or pub where he could take shelter. He grumbled miscontently as his boots sunk deeper into the increasing mass of mud. Just as a discouragingly large amount of water cascaded off his hood and down his back causing him to shiver distastefully, he was finally able to lock on to a sign indicating a "Golden Perch Inn" through the mucky weather. Relieved that the battle with the biting cold and the reluctant mud was soon to be over, he trenched over to the door and pushed it open hastily.

A rush of warm air greeted him. The sight of merry customers, glowing candles and dry surfaces increased his mood exponentially. He had not realized how parched he was. His eyes met with a jolly looking hobbit holding an amber liquid that could only be cider. The hobbit was at that moment in the midst of trying to impress a slender hat-stand with an increasingly slurred adventure he had supposedly been on. As Haves' eyes continued to allow the contents of the inn to absorb, he noticed the same drink in a dwarf's strong hand. After realizing he was still shivering and in dire need of warming up, he approached the bar and asked if he could have some of whatever those two inn personalities were having.

[Folwren]

Rain – torrents of rain – Dick was convinced it was his good luck. Just look – two new customers in as many minutes, if not less, and not only that, but it brought his son for a visit as well. It wasn’t Fred’s lucky day, though, poor lad. The man barging through the door and tumbling Fred over like a bowling pin had nearly given Dick a heart attack, but everything was soon set right, including Fred, as the door shut again and the warmth from the fire spread over the common room.

“My apologies, young master,” the man said to the bewildered hobbit child. “I’m afraid I mistook you for a door stop.”

Fred cast him a doubtful glance and wiped his dripping sleeve over his nose. He concentrated hard on the man’s words before a slow grin passed over his face. “Did you, really?” he asked. “Door stops must be awful large and soft in your town.”

“Haha,” the man chuckled. He reached out to rumple the lad’s head and the hat was knocked to the floor. Fred smiled a little broader and ducked to retrieve it, but his hand bounced off of another hobbit’s hand and when he looked up, he saw it was an older one, reaching for the same hat. A look of dismay flooded the boys face.

“That’s your hat?” Fred asked, trying not to be disappointed. He didn’t know why, but the large, floppy brim had made him fall in love with it, he thought. The hobbit guest didn’t have to answer, Fred knew by instinct, and tears were already gathering in his eyes.

“Here, don’t cry,” Songo said, “you can have it – as a gift. Go on, take it.”

Fred looked up, a bright light leaped back into his naturally merry face, and he received the hat gladly. Songo went off to fetch a mug of cider, but in a moment, he was back, and he captured little Fred and led him off a couple paces and launched into an outlandish adventure of his youth.

Dick’s attention and eyes were drawn away from the hobbit and his child as a new character entered the inn. Another man, by all the glories, and one just as wet and muddy and bedraggled as something that cat would drag in. Dick smiled, a little half heartedly this time (someone was going to have to clean all this water and mud up) and leaned his elbows on the bar, waiting and just knowing that the newcomer would want something to warm him.

“A bit of hot cider, if you’ve got it.”

“By all means, sir,” Dick replied. He filled it and returned it to the bar. “You’ve come far today?”

[shaggydog]

Relieved to see that hobbit children seemed as bouncy and resilient as human children, and that the one he had almost squashed was no worse for the wear, Jims proceeded in to the warmth of the common room, swinging his sopping cloak from his shoulders. Spying a row of wooden pegs in the wall next the fireplace on the far wall, the young man strode over and hung the dripping garment up, pitying whichever of the staff would be responsible for mopping up all the mess. He had noticed another traveler, well wet and smattered with mud, entering the inn right on his heels. The Golden Perch was beginning to look more like a Muddy Toad by this point.

Turning his back to the heat of the crackling fire, Jims turned an appraising eye on the large, comfortable room. A long bar ran along the wall to his left, behind which were stacked - to the ceiling - casks! This looked very promising for a start to Jims' commission from his father. Hopefully whoever tended this inn would be able to put Jims onto the hows and wherefores of how he could best arrange the purchase and shipment of some of Stock's fine ale to their somewhat down-at-heel inn in Bree. A middle age hobbit was at that moment behind the bar serving up a mug of drink to another human, the one who had entered the inn just behind Jims, in fact.

Walking over to the clean and well polished bar, Jims' naturally taciturn nature prompted him to take a seat a few spaces down from the other newcomer. The barkeep was just asking the stranger a polite question about his travels, and Jims smiled to himself. How many times had he asked just the same type of question, engaged in the same small talk to make a customer feel at home and welcomed? And in return, how many tales, tall or small, had he been regaled with? The blessing and bane of an innkeeper's life, that - often being the first to hear the latest news of far off places, or even the breaking village gossip, but also having to feign interest in and smile at some of the most boring ramblings, recollections and out and out lies of those travelers who thought they knew how to spin a yarn. Well, with the steady loss of business his father's inn had seen over the past year or more, they could ill afford not to count even such as those a blessing, bringing as they did their few small coins in exchange for the sparse lodgings and simple fare their inn offered.

This particular barman was quick and observant, Jims noted with approval, and as Jims took his seat, the hobbit nodded to him, a questioning look on his face.

"A cup of ale, if you please, master hobbit. When you have a moment" Jims thought he had best sample what was on offer first before deciding on the next step in his quest.

[Eönwë]

Songo was in the process of telling one of his fantastic (he thought) tales, which involved a dragon and lots of fighting, to anyone who was listening (which turned out not to be very many). He had been told it by the same great-uncle who had given him the hat.

But then he saw the barman, who he now knew was the lanord who was called Dick looking at him, and misinterpreting his glance, went up to him and said, pointing to his mug, "Thish ish exshellent shider, good mashter hobbit," his most polite voice, not realising how preposterous this seemed. But out of the corner of his eye he saw a familiar face. It was the Man.

He turned to look at the dark-clothed, slightly shabby man sitting next to him, who was relating his tales of how he had chanced upon the Inn to Dick. He leaned over and said "Hey, I know you. I saw you before the way here when you were-" he stopped suddenly, blushing, and turned away for a moment.

[RunItsANazgul]

The generous serving of apple cider reached his nose as the barkeeper graciously slid it across the counter. It smelt absolutely delectable, and it wasn't unappealing to watch it refract the already dancing lights from the numerous candles that Dick had lit for the duration of the storm.

Haves maintained a conservative level of politeness to the barkeepers inquisitions.

"Been travelling whenever the daylight would let me then, 'aven't I?" He said pleasantly. "Been almost a week now since I've left the homestead, and surely I can only benefit from getting away from all tha' seclusion that's for true."

Without notice, he was unconventionally addressed by the intoxicated hobbit he had noticed flattering the coatstand earlier. It may have been the angle from the bar, or perhaps the way the light was hitting his face, but the cheerful hobbit looked redder and more unbalanced than ever. Hardly able to understand the slurred words of the halfling, Haves responded in the only logical way any man would when faced with a drunken inquisitor.

"Oh yer, indeed. You got that right, don't ye'."

With the faintest hint of an eyeroll, his eyes caught the other man sitting at the bar a few seats away from him. He cocked his head towards the hobbit and gave a soft chuckle.

[Groin Redbeard]

Groin had been staring out the window of the Inn for quite some time now. His head began to sag, a side affect from long hours of travel and the empty mug of cider. However, he awoke with a start as a roar of thunder filled the sky.

He looked around the room and noticed a few new faces that he hadn't seen before, an elderly man who was talking to a slightly drunk hobbit at the end of the bar, and a younger man a few bar stools down.

Groin began to feel a bit groggy; the rain always had this effect on him. He shook his head vigorously, waking himself again. He noticed the elf at the end of the bar grasping something in his hand, and wearing a kind of dazed look.

Groin got up and walked towards the bar to return his mug, and to reward the innkeeper for his wonderful services. However as he placed his mug on the counter, along with one of his gold coins, he noticed that the elf was staring at him. The elf's eyes were wide open and his body didn't make one move, it was like he was in some sort of daze. This annoyed Groin.

"Hey! You got a problem elf?" Groin roared pointing his finger menacingly, but the elf didn't move.

Groin stormed over to the other end of the bar, but just as he was about to let loose with his tirade, he noticed that the elf didn't seem to be noticing him at all; the elf just stared right past him. Groin grabbed the elf by the arms and began to shake him vigorously.

"Hey, wake up elf! Wake up!"

[Folwren]

Dick nodded and bobbed his head in agreement with the customer. As he expected, the man had been traveling a long way. Before he could ask where he had come from, or how far the week of walking had actually brought him, he was asked for another drink.

‘Just as well,’ Dick realized, seeing, as he turned, that Haves had been addressed by Songo. ‘What was it he wanted? Ale, right...ale...’ He filled it from the tap and turned to deliver it.

“There you are, sir. Finest light brew in the house.”

“Hey! You got a problem, elf?” The voice was loud and jarring in the generally quiet, laid back, and tired atmosphere spread through the rest of the common room. Dick jerked upright, his eyes and face suddenly more alert and attentive than ever.

“What is it about dwarves?” he mumbled to himself. “Master Dwarf!” he said more loudly, trying to move about the counter and catching the dwarf’s eye.

Groin apparently did not hear him. “Hey, wake up, elf, wake up!”

“Sir!” Dick cried again, hoping that he could get the dwarf away from the elf before the later had woken. But the hope was false, for the elf stirred and turned his head to look at Groin before Dick had arrived.

[shaggydog]

The barkeep, listening to the other’s reply, acknowledged Jims’ request with a nod. The man’s brief narrative was interrupted, however, when a middle aged hobbit, staggering slightly, walked up to the bar and complimented the barkeep on the good quality of his cider. Thus interrupted, the barkeep turned to fill Jims’ order. “There you are sir. Finest light brew in the house”

The tipsy hobbit had turned his eye on the other customer. "Hey, I know you. I saw you before the way here when you were-"

The hobbit stammered to a halt, having apparently realized just in time what he had been about to say.

“Oh yer indeed. You got that right don’t ye’.” The man at the end of the bar replied nonchalantly, unoffended by the hobbit’s potential indiscretion.

Jims dropped one eyelid in the slightest of winks in response to the other young man’s nod and quiet chuckle at the funny little fellow. The hobbit was by no means the first inebriated patron of a bar that Jims had seen. But his experienced eye led him to believe this one, as with most of the Halflings, was a merry drunk and not a mean or volatile one. In fact, it was actually rare for hobbits to frequent their inn in Bree, but Jims had seen enough of them there and in the other inns in town to know that most hobbits held their ale very well indeed. This one then must either be really celebrating, or perhaps wasn’t used to drink.

Jims’ cursory examination of the hobbit broke off suddenly as a loud voice sounded at the other end of the bar. There seemed to be some altercation brewing between an irate looking dwarf and a strangely quiescent elf. The barkeep hurried over and took the matter in hand with a smooth professionalism Jims could rightly appreciate. For once, it’s not my problem, Jims thought with some satisfaction. He turned his attention back to the two on the other side of him, regarding the somewhat bedraggled state of the man’s clothes and recalling his words to the barkeep.

“You’ve been on the road a week? Where do you hale from then?” Jims asked conversationally, wondering if the ale here was good enough to bring travelers that far just for a taste. With a wry grin, he thought also that wherever the other lad was from, it couldn’t be much closer than Bree. His own travels had proceeded at about the same pace as if he had been walking. And he had not seen this other lad in or about the stable, so he assumed he was afoot himself. Jims made a mental note to talk to the barkeep first thing the situation with the dwarf was sorted in order to make sure the stabling of his own horse was acceptable. Finally, with great satisfaction, Jims took a long sip of the pale ale, savoring its flavor and congratulating himself in this early success for his errand.

[Eönwë]

Songo felt quite embarassed. He had just been laughed at by that man. And all he had done was try to refer to the Incident on the road, before realising that maybe now wasn't the right time.

He looked around the bar, absent-mindedly sipping at his cider, before suddenly realising that he was sipping at nothing! It was his first taste of alcohol, and he already finished two mugs! He looked around for the barman, but he was nowhere in sight, so thought he would help himself to some ale. But just at that moment, he noticed a cask of somethig else, something that looked especially inviting, as he had never held with these sorts of intoxicating drinks until today. It had, marked on it, in big black letters, the word "mead". Now, Songo had heard of this delightful beverage, but it was hard to come by where he lived, and all hat spoke of it named it as some sort of distant luxury. As far as he knew, it was made out of honey, and Songo was particularly fond of honey. In fact, Songo had planned that when he got back, he would make a bee-farm so that he could enjoy sugary liquid every day. He had heard of honey's healing properties, and hoped that mead shared them. Anyway, it was worth a try. So he poured a small amount of Mead into his mug.

Immediately, it looked to Songo as if Dick's head snapped arond the moment he started, but he could not tell through te haze. He sat down again where he had before and savoured the taste of his drink.

But as he stretched his arm to the right, he hit something soft, and when he looked to his left, he realised that he had not gone back to his original seat, and had instead sat next to the other man, the quiet firstcomer. He gazed inntently at him, trying to pick out his features, and then realised that he recognised that face, he knew not from where.
"Sorry, er... Jams, is it?" said Songo hopefully, proud with himself for remembering himself.
The man said something undiscernable, but it sounded to Songo like he was saying "Jim's actually."
"Sorry," said Songo, "My minds not working right today."

[shaggydog]

Sipping his ale and waiting amicably to see how much of the other lad’s ventures that individual cared to share, Jims watched the drunken hobbit with a mixture of amusement and appraisal as the little fellow helped himself to a cup of the barman’s mead. In Jims’ assessment, the hobbit was very close to being about as drunk as one can be and still be standing. Jims already felt sorry for the Halfling, knowing how ill he would be feeling come the morning. Cup in hand, the hobbit staggered a few steps and sat down heavily in the seat next to Jims.

Gazing at Jims as through a fog, the hobbit slurred out “Sorry, er . . . Jams is it?”

Jims eyebrows rose in surprise. Was it possible that he knew this little drunkard? One hobbit looked much like all the others to Jims, especially from his height from where he rarely saw much more of them than the tops of their curly heads. Bending forward and down a little to look more closely at the fellow’s face, Jims replied bemusedly, “It’s Jims actually, and do I know you?”

The hobbit eyes glanced off to the side in a glassy way, as he said somewhat indistinctly, “Sozzle m . . .mymy snotworlin today”, which Jims thought might have been meant as, “Sorry . . . my minds not working right today.” Not working indeed! And no wonder.

With an inward sigh, Jims realized that the barman in him would not rest peacefully even when it was not his place to interfere. But he had witnessed the little hobbit’s generous act of gifting his hat to the small hobbit child Jims had almost run over, and he felt more than a little sympathy and concern for the hobbit as he sat swaying gently in his seat beside Jims. He placed a steadying hand on his neighbor’s arm, saying in a friendly way, “Perhaps we are acquainted. Hobbits don’t frequent my father’s inn so often as they do Barleyman’s, but we’ve had more than a few pass through our doors. It’s the Rose & Thistle. Have you ever been to Bree?” As he spoke, Jims other hand moved slowly towards the hobbit’s cup, wondering if he could simply make it ‘disappear’ without causing a ruckus. Depending on their state of intoxication, it was a maneuver that sometimes worked with the more passive drunks. He kept his gaze on the hobbits face, hoping to keep his attention, and, of a sudden, it dawned on him that he did know this particular small one.

“Hairfoot? Hairfoot Doggins?” Jims’ eyebrows went even higher in surprise at this recognition.

Jims was acquainted ever so slightly with the Doggins clan and Songo, more commonly known as ‘Hairfoot’, was generally known as an exceptionally quiet, almost shy member thereof. There had been rumors of his “almost” doing in an orc, but no-one who knew Songo believed a word of it. Songo was not one who had a reputation for being a frequent patron of the various inns of Bree, and Jims’ knowledge of this particular hobbit was limited to no more than two or three times when the hobbit, along with other family members, had been to the Rose to deliver hay for the stable. Why was he then in Stock and how had he come to be so intoxicated?

[RunItsANazgul]

Ceaselessly inhaling the warm apple cider that had become such a popular beverage during what seemed like an age of stormy weather, Haves allowed himself to make short conversation with those around him. The conversation with the friendly barkeeper was short and generally consisted of well-rehearsed questions from Dick with short, quick responses by himself. Moments away from verbally interrelating with some of the other stranded travellers who had escaped from the storm, he was suddenly addressed by the man who he had signalled to earlier about the comical behaviour of the curly haired hobbit.

“You’ve been on the road a week? Where do you hale from then?” Was what he had said. Obviously such a bland question must have been frequented very often when starting up discussions in a tavern such as the Golden Perch, an establishment that by the looks of its current occupants had more foreigners than locals. Haves decided to grace the other, also young man with a response.

"Aye, a week. Just been travellin' north mostly. I live on a farm y'see, near the quaint hamlet of Norton. It's not common others 'ave 'eard of it, but yer asked where I came from and that's my reply."

Haves exchanged a few brief words with Dick once more, his tongue loosening more and more with each word that escaped from his mouth. After asking the barkeeper if a warm cup of soup was available, he reflected more in depth on the current residents of the dimly lit room. Immediately he observed a stout being, who could not look more well-travelled. Haves had never seen a dwarf, but he had certainly heard of them, and to avoid looking too interested, he refrained from staring and mentally set a reminder to converse with him afterwards, for he looked most likely to be able to broaden Haves' mind with news from outside the borders. His eyes crossed briefly on an elf, and what appeared to be a huddled mass on the floor. It was a wonder he had not trodden over him when he had stormed into the tavern seeking much-needed warmth.

Realizing the conversation had become scarce and that he had been lost in his thoughts and observations, Haves furthered the conversation with the young man a few stools away from him.

"The names Haves, by the by. Pleased to meet yeh. Do ya frequent this tavern often? I'm rather surpised I 'aven't heard of it, it's truly the epitomy of comfort. 'Owever it could just be the contrast between inside 'ere and that hellish storm out there."

He flicked his eyes quickly towards the bar to see how the barkeeper had taken this comment on his workplace.

[shaggydog]

Jims’ questions for the Songo hung in the air between them, the young man wondering if the hobbit had either heard or understood him. The lad on the other side of the hobbit had continued to drink his own cider happily enough and replied to Jims’ earlier conversational gambit with:

"Aye, a week. Just been travellin' north mostly. I live on a farm y'see, near the quaint hamlet of Norton. It's not common others 'ave 'eard of it, but yer asked where I came from and that's my reply."

Jims pondered the possible whereabouts of the previously unheard of Norton, while the other ordered soup. Presently, the lad spoke up again, apparently not averse to exchanging the usual pleasantries of strangers finding themselves billeting at the same inn as they passed in their travels.

"The names Haves, by the by. Pleased to meet yeh. Do ya frequent this tavern often? I'm rather surpised I 'aven't heard of it, it's truly the epitomy of comfort. 'Owever it could just be the contrast between inside 'ere and that hellish storm out there."

“Pleased to make your acquaintance. I’m Jims Barleycorn.” Jims felt it safe enough to let go of Songo’s arm and extended his hand in front of the hobbit’s chest towards Haves. “I haven’t had the pleasure of visiting the Golden Perch before. This is my first time. First time in Stock actually.” Beyond that, Jims was a tad reluctant to discuss his errand in public, as a clearly stated desire for whatever ale might be available here might easily drive up the requested price. “I’ve come from Bree myself. My family owns an inn there.”

Although Jims was very much inclined to agree with his fellow traveler that the Perch was indeed a comfortable haven, far more so than the run down Rose, he felt at least enough loyalty to the family honor that he would not admit it openly. So he contented himself with, “I see you got caught in the downpour too. Upon my oath, I believe I could have outrun the rain on foot better than with that sorry excuse for a horse I brought. I wonder if the residents of Stock have a taste for horsemeat.” He grinned broadly and took a last swallow of Dick’s admirable ale.

[RunItsANazgul]

Haves gave a nervous chuckle upon hearing Jims' remark on his horse. Coming from a poor farming family, he knew only too well the frustration of an inefficient beast of burden and their knack of hindering the simplest of tasks.

"Aye, I fully understand your unease of travelling with stubborn or old animals. Even a short as trip from Bree can feel like you're naviga'in the Misty Mountains."

An obscure thought struck his mind at that moment, and his eagerness to start conversation with the nearby dwarf had laid to rest omnipresently in the back of his mind. His obliviousness to the dwarf's keenness to pick a fight with a nearby elf remained persistent as he turned his attention to the stout being.

"I can't see dwarves even bein' all too fond of horses at their peak health eh?" Haves said as pleasantly as he could, directing the conversation to the well-travelled dwarf. "Do yer use em' at all for manual labour maybe, or 'praps poneys?"

He shrugged hopelessly at Jims, hoping that his curiosity wouldn't be too offensive.

[Eönwë]

Songo just sat there, staring at nothing, realised that he had been talked to.
"sss. s'my name, it is, Erfoot D'genss" he replied. Ah, it was Jims', was it? That pesky son of a pub-owner who was losing business. Why was he here?
Just as he was about to ask him he realised that something was going on between a dwarf and and elf some way along the bar. He tried to look but his eyes were too blurry at such a distance. So he went up to them, to see, but before he knew what had happened, he was lying flat on his back, head facing the ceiling, and unable to move. Everything went black.

He woke up what seemed like few hours later (he didn't know precisely how long) with a splitting headache. He vowed never to drink alcohol again. As he stood up, looking around, he realised that the elf and dwarf had moved, but the two men were still conversing. He went over to them, and heard the murmur of their conversation. He waited for a suitable moment, and, as soon as there was a pause, he asked Jims "What brings you here?"

[shaggydog]

Jims too shared Haves' lack of knowledge of the ways of dwarves. To his recollection there had never been one staying at their inn at Bree. He wasn't even sure he had heard tell of any frequenting Bree itself these past many years. The times were strange and growing more disquieting by the month. Many an unusual tale was being told of unexpected travelers crossing through the land. But these most put down to mere fancy, or too much ale. Jims himself had paid them little mind, as the business of keeping body and soul together was becoming more difficult with each passing season. It was with great interest then that Jims pricked up his own ears to catch the dwarf's reply to Haves' question.

Hairfoot Droggins never did reply to Jim's own inquiry, but after a moment of silence, the hobbit had slipped off the seat next to Jims, wandered away, and then without warning crumpled to the floor. Jims had been on the point of getting up to assist the little fellow, but Songo had very quickly come to and regained his own, albeit wobbly, feet. Jims kept an eye on him as he negotiated a somewhat erratic path back to the bar, coming to rest near Jims' elbow. "Whasbringsyoushere?" tumbled from Songo's lips, and Jims took it to be a question meant for him.

With a mix of slight concern and more amusement, Jims replied evasively, "Oh, just getting out and about, you know. It never hurts to see what others in the business are up to. Perhaps pick up an idea or two." Jims' errand wasn't exactly secret. He only wished to pick his own time and place for discussing business matters with the barkeep, or the inn's owner. That thought once again brought to mind Jims' stabling needs, and, hoping the barkeep had had time to sort things between the dwarf and the elf, he called out down to that end of the bar,

"Oh, by the way, I turned my horse into the first empty stall in your stable. I hope that's alright. I didn't see the stable boy about. With this downpour, I think I'll be staying the night over, if you have accomodations."

Awaiting the barman's reply, Jims said casually to Haves, "Are you stopping here, or do you think you'll press on once the weather clears?"

[Groin Redbeard]

The scuffle between the dwarf and the elf had been brief, Dick had intervened before things could get heated. The elf had not said a word during all of the commotion, and when it was all over he had just gone back into his transe, but what he was really doing Groin could not tell.

He had contented himself to sitting alone in a chair by the window. It was still raining outside, but it had greatly decreased. Groin couldn't stand it any longer, he got up from his chair, walked over to the bar, gave Dick another gold coin for his good services, and thanked him again. He then grabbed his battle axe and hoiseted it over his shoulder.

When he was outside he withdrew a cloak and threw it about himself. He left Stock by the West road, and in due time made it to the Blue Mountains and met his cousin Grioger. Groin dwells there to this day.

[shaggydog]

After further desultory conversation with Haves, Jims attention was caught by the exit of several of the taproom’s patrons, including the dwarf who had been involved in some minor dispute with the elf at the far end of the bar. Listening more closely, he realized the rain had subsided, or perhaps stopped altogether. At least, the storm had abated to the point where travelers felt they could resume their journeys, or locals could make their way home for the afternoon tasks. Jims thought again of his horse, and hailed Dick, who opined that any of the empty stalls would do as well as another, but that Jims might want to make whatever instructions he had for the beast’s care known to Will, the stable boy.

To that end, Jims hoisted his long frame from the comfortable seat at the bar and, foregoing his cape, ambled out the small circle of door into the inn yard. The sun was now shining, albeit fitfully, from behind clouds which still scudded quickly across a pale blue sky. Jims crossed the yard to the stable and stepped inside.

At the third stall, the one into which Jims had somewhat hurriedly shoved the animal earlier, he stopped, perplexed. The half door to the stall stood open, no horse within. Thinking perhaps he had used the one beyond and mistaken himself, Jims pushed the open half door to, and peered into the stall beyond. This one held a small grey donkey though. Now totally flummoxed, Jims quickly made a search of all the stalls in the small stable. But his mount was nowhere to be seen. Could it be that the stable lad had found the beast during the storm and, having some reason to do so, removed it and stabled it elsewhere? This seemed entirely unlikely, however, the alternative was not one he liked to contemplate. As worthless a beast as the old screw was, if Jims, through his own negligence had failed to secure the stall door, and the horse was now off wandering the roads, it might mean hours spent searching for the wretched thing.

With a groan, Jims turned to go back in the inn to at least inquire where he could find Will, having seen no sight of him in the yard or stable. A flutter of something caught his eye though, and Jims stooped lower, crouching down beside the stall door to see what it was.

The grizzled grey tuft had caught in a splinter of wood. It moved lightly with the breeze which puffed through the stable door, and as Jims reached to pluck it, he overbalanced and struck out a hand to keep from falling. Pulling his hand back from the spot in which he had thrust it, Jims looked with curiosity at the muddy print which lay beneath. It was the size of his own hand, even a bit bigger perhaps. With a growing realization, Jims inspected the strands of hair he now held more closely. He hoped he was wrong, dead wrong, and that someone, even the inn keeper perhaps, kept a huge dog, for protection and giving alarm when needed most likely. Clutching this hope as tightly to his heart as he clutched the hair to his chest, Jims hurried back to the common room.

Approaching the bar, Jims said, rather breathlessly, “I say, Dick, my horse seems to have gone missing during that downpour. Do you think Will could have moved it, do you have another stable?” At the look of surprise on the barkeep’s face, Jims concluded that no such thing had happened. So he went on, trying to keep the growing dismay out of his voice. “I’ve found this stuck in the stall door.” He stretched out his hand, displaying the fur. “Do you have a dog, perhaps, a really big dog? I thought . . . well, I thought perhaps a dog might have, well, you know, been sniffing around and perhaps the horse got excited, and, well . . . ran off.” Jims’ voice trailed off, knowing that in order to get his old nag excited it would have taken something quite out of the ordinary.

[Gwathagor]

Far away from the little wooden inn, the tall warrior elf wandered through visions of the past, oblivious to his surroundings.

In the aftermath of the War of Wrath, he had returned to Doriath in search of the only maiden to whom he had ever given his love. As he dreamed, he relived the sheer, bleak desperation that he felt when he found the forest deserted and the caverns largely empty. The Queen had gone, and all her court with him. Only squatters and beasts had he found dwelling in those hallowed halls beneath the forest floor, and they knew nothing of the whereabouts of Melian, Elloth, or any of the great people that had once inhabited Menegroth. Sick with sorrow, he had wandered thence into the wilds of Beleriand. His heart was broken; he had failed Elloth.

He would have died witless in the hills, but a band of wandering warriors found him sick and unconscious and brought him east, away over the Blue Mountains. There, while Numenor rose out of the sea and Beleriand foundered, he regained his strength of body and mind. However, his memory was forever lost, and though he became a great hunter and warrior again, he knew nothing of his past save that it was dark and sad.

He recalled these days, which, though hard, were fulfilling. In Eriador and Rhovanion they hunted the creatures of Darkness, meeting Elves and woodsmen and tall mariners as they traveled from place to place. He also recalled the brief visions which he began to have - visions of an slender fair-haired elf-maiden clad in blue. Though they troubled him, he treasured the visions, for he knew they came from his past. Over time, he grew again to love this vision again, though he never learned her name. And as they journeyed across the lands of Middle-earth, he inquired after an elf-maiden of her description. But no one had seen or heard of her.

Eventually the men died, one by one, of wounds or of age, but the elf lived on, growing canny, stern, and hard. He had been sad when the last old warrior had died with an arrow through his heart and buried him where he fell. Alone then he began to travel, battle-axe and longsword in hand, ever hunting creatures which prowled in the darkness. And ever he grew more estranged from those he sought to protect, burying his love for Illuvatar's Children beneath his hate for the Creatures of Morgoth and Sauron, until he even forgot the lovely elf-maid who haunted his empty past. But now and then he would ponder the strange device upon his scabbard: a rose amidst a field of fiery stars.

"Gwathagor" people began to call him, Shadowblade, for he came out of the shadow of Beleriand, and in the darkness he dwelt, and was like a shadow himself, so silent and swift was he. He took the name.

Of these things and many others he dreamed, drawing strength from these memories which he had so long buried. Hours passed; people came and went at the inn.

There was a crack of thunder and he awoke with a start, head down on the broad wooden counter in the Golden Perch. He caught the end of the new fellow's sentence.

"Do you have a dog, perhaps, a really big dog?"


It took a moment for the elf to realize the implications of this, and for the man to finish speaking.

"They are wolves," he said to the man. "Great wolves from the cold north, and they hunt in packs. I killed several this afternoon and fought one last night, which may have been their leader."

He was torn now between two roads. The first was the trail of the Draugring, the Cold Wolves, which had led him to this provincial village. He could not leave these hobbits defenseless against a terror which they knew not. The second was the path which had just risen before him, like a horizon of land before a lonely mariner: to find Elloth, who surely lived...surely. The locket left little doubt in his mind, and he found himself yearning above all else to find her again.

With an effort, he forced the urge down, subjecting it to his duty, as he had done for so many ages before.

"Call me Gwathagor," he said to the man, standing before him and extending his hand. "Can you wield a sword?"

[shaggydog]

Jims eyebrows rose into his hairline at the elf’s statement and then question. Great wolves from the cold north! And this fellow had already killed several? Jims had little knowledge of wolves of any kind. The tales he had heard at the Rose of the Fell Winter of 2911 seemed to his ears stories meant to scare little children. That such creatures might yet again be prowling this far south was practically unbelievable. That such creatures might have something to do with his missing horse was fantastical! And the thought that Jims might know anything about how to wield a sword, well, that was the most laughable part of the whole situation.

Extending his own hand and not even registering the fact that he was shaking hands with an elf, Jims replied, “Sword? No. I’m no fighter. Used to do a bit of wrestling at the market day fairs now and again.” Jims realized how idiotic that must have sounded to the elf, who was no doubt an experienced warrior, if the rumors of their great age could be credited. “Neither am I a tracker or hunter,” Jims continued, “and it may well be that this fur and the paw print I saw in the stable just now were from earlier. Perhaps we should take another look and see what other signs there may or may not be.”

Jims hoped the elf’s inquiry as to his swordsmanship was an indication of the fellow’s intent to once more take up this ongoing battle with the wolves. If he could get Gwathagor to take the lead, Jims felt he might then be able to adopt a much more minor role in the search for the missing horse. Glancing over to the fireplace, where he had rested his staff against the wall next to his now dry cloak, Jims gulped nervously. Remembering his manners at the last moment, he said, “And I’m Jims, by the way. Jims Barleycorn, of Bree. My family runs the Rose and Thistle there.”

Feeling he was beginning to gabble, Jims shut his mouth with an almost audible snap, and awaited Gwathagor’s reaction.

[Eönwë]

Songo sat bolt upright. How long he had been asleep he did not know. He lifted up his blurry eyes but everything just blended into one. He had probably drunk too much alcohol. He'd never tried it before, and he didn't know it would be like this. He thought it would taste much nicer, and the way the old men and hardened travellers talked about ale glorified it far beyond what it was. But he liked mead. No wonder, since it was made out of honey.

He blinked furiously until the outlines of things slowly started to take shape again. Jims wasn't near him, but that was only to be expected. He would have moved away from a sleeping drunkard, and he had snored no doubt.

Before he knew what was happening, he was telling a crowd one of his tales, and they were listening intently. And it wasn't just children, which he expected, but also adults. In fact, there were only three children in the whole group. Time flew past, and soon he was immersed in a game of riddles with two other men. After answering a particularly hard one, he realised that his mind had gone blank, and he couldn't think of one. He knew it was bad form, but he used one of the lesser-known old Rohirric ones:

"Swings by his thigh / a thing most magical!
Below the belt / beneath the folds
Of his clothes it hangs / a hole in its front end,
stiff-set and stout / it swivels about.

Levelling the head / of this hanging tool,
its wielder hoists his hem / above his knee;
it is his will to fill / a well-known hole
that it fits fully / when at full length

He's oft filled it before. / Now he fills it again."

As he finished, the two men cracked and laughed for a bit, and then asked him to repeat it. This he did, but they could not puzzle it out. In the end they gave up, so he had to tell them an answer.
"A key," he said. And their faces filled with understanding, and they marvelled at the cleverness of it.

But then he saw Jims come through the door with a worried look on his face. He tried to go up to him, but Jims was already talking in a hurried conversation with Dick. Then in wonder he saw the elf that had been motionless for hours suddenly stir. He and Jims exchanged a few words, and then they were off. Songo quickly followed, he knew they were up to something, and he did not want to miss this adventure.

He caught up with them just outside the door.

"So where are you going?" asked Songo.

[Folwren]

Dick stared after the elf and man with an open mouth. He remembered himself suddenly and shut it again a moment later, but it nearly popped back open when the elderly hobbit, Songo, went running after them.

“A horse missing...and Will missing, by all accounts...this does not sound good, Dick,” the innkeeper said to himself. He cast an experienced eye over the common room. Everyone was content, drinks were filled, and the fire was burning merrily. Someone had opened the window to allow the damp, cool air in, along with some light.

Satisfied that everything was well in hand, Dick took the chance to hurry outside and check on matters himself.

[shaggydog]

Jims flung a somewhat hurried reply to Songo’s inquiry over his shoulder as he followed after the elf. “We’re going to find my horse.” Hopefully, Jims added silently to himself.

Elf, man and hobbit entered the stable in quick succession, Gwathagor kneeling briefly to examine the paw print. Jims stood aside, casting a brief glance at Songo. The little hobbit’s eyes were the size of saucers as he too looked at the huge print.

Just as Gwathagor stood, the innkeeper poked his head around the table door. His face looked a mix of curiosity and concern. In an attempt to break the tension of the moment, Jims quipped “Perhaps your stable lad has tired of the fine ale here and borrowed my horse to try his luck at some other tavern. I’m surprised he didn’t invite you to join him, Songo. You’ve acquired a taste for it, I’ve noticed.” He winked at the hobbit whose gaze swiveled uncertainly up to his own.

Noting the somber look on the elf’s face, Jims asked lightly, “Well, Gwathagor. What do you make of this? Have your wolves return and asked my nag out to supper? Shall we follow and join the party?”

Jims unconsciously fiddled with the strap to his staff as he awaited Gwathagor’s response.

[Gwathagor]

The tall elf with the blue cloak straightened and stood.

"There was only one wolf here and it was small - compared to its fellows, and so probably a scout. The others are near by."

He walked to the door of the stable and stood looking out into the dwindling light.

"Very near," he said. He stood for a moment scanning the road and the woods and hills beyond before turning back to the man and the hobbit. He looked from one to the other. "Find something sharp."

Then he stepped out, back into the evening twilight, where the air was still cool from the earlier rainstorm. He strode through the courtyard to the lawn beyond, dotted with fruit and nut trees. Beyond this was a fence, and then the road, from which a lane led through the lawn to the courtyard.

"We will meet them here, among these trees, when they attack. We could track them, but it would be foolhardy to try to fight them on their own ground in the dark."

He drew his slowly drew his sword. The blade shone uncannily bright in the falling dark as he hefted it several times, recalling its balance and its weight. He swung it in several lightening-fast arcs about him, then returned it to its sheath.

"Jims!" he called out. "Are you ready? We do not have much time."

[Folwren]

Dick stood in the shadow of the stable door and looked out at the elf. What it just his fancy, or did the elf seem to glimmer in the falling shadows? It was a trick of the light, surely. All the same, he looked frightening, fierce, but strangely beautiful and certainly mysterious, standing there in the courtyard of the beloved Perch, with his long, bright sword. Songo and Jims pushed past the landlord, each having found some sort of weapon, and went to join the elf.

“I...I’ve got to find Will,” Dick called after them. “Good - good luck!”

He retreated into the relative safety of the stable. He suddenly felt small and cowardly. “Good luck?” he questioned himself. “You wish them good luck and then run back into safety yourself?”

“The wolves aren’t my concern,” he said. “I wasn’t made for fighting or adventures. Besides, Will is missing. I have to find Will. Will!” he raised his voice to call for the ostler. He stood and listened for a moment. No reply. Not even an answering movement.

Dick began to search in earnest. He looked in every stall, opening the doors and peering into the gloom. The horse inhabitants turned their great, bright eyes on him. Some knickered, expecting dinner. No Will in any of the stalls.

He searched in the grain room, the tack room, the hay loft, the storage room, everywhere, and Will was nowhere to be found.

“He’s probably gone off to find Jims’ lost horse. I hope. But he should have told me if he were going off to do that.”

“Dick, you fool,” he answered himself. “Will would have told you if he were leaving.”

[Forest Elf]

Gable had searched for hours, for a sign of the hobbit, but she couldn't find him anywhere. She was beginning to wonder if she had merely dreamt of him coming and climbing the tree. But the footsteps on the ground prove otherwise. She figured he must've gotten away and was taking refuged elsewhere, or was already back at the Inn. She looked up in the tree again and could see where he used to be, but no hobbit.

She sighed and stood. She began walking back towards the Inn, tired and sore. She looked off to her right and heard rustling branches. She stopped and then looked into the bushes. She could have sworn she heard something, but found the bushes empty. Blinking slightly and stepping away from the bush she though, 'I guess these wolves are confusing me and causing me to loose my mind in some sense.' With a sigh she began walking down the road. As she felt the wind in her hair she got the sudden urge to run. With slight smirk she began to run, faster and faster until she let out a laugh. To her it sounded half crazed-half childish. She finally slowed down once to the yard of the Inn. She smiled and went inside the Inn.

She looked around at the Inn, then she walked quickly inside, there was more commotion going on than usual. She looked around, hoping to catch a slight glimpse of the going ons.

[Girl in the Grass]

Mirabell shivered, pulling her shawl tightly around her body with one hand and guiding her pony Calla along the Stock Road with the other. Something about the Shire just didn't feel right tonight. Having been on the road the entire day, Mira chalked it up to fatigue. The Golden Perch Inn was in sight, and that meant a hot drink and a soft bed. She squeezed Calla's sides, but the pony plodded along at a steady pace. Calla had been Mira's pony for years, and she loved her dearly. It was her old aunt Leila who had given Calla as a gift, and Mira was on her way to visit her. Aunt Leila was getting on in her years, and her family was whispering behind closed doors that her mind wasn't as sharp as it used to be. Mira hadn't really noticed; Aunt Leila had seemed the same --

Calla suddenly quickened her pace, snorting nervously. Mira spoke in a soothing voice, wondering why the animal was acting differently. She heard rustles in the bushes alongside the road, but dismissed it as a deer, or rabbit. Tuning out the clop of Calla's hooves, Mira listened more closely. She realized that the sound of branches breaking and underbrush moving was caused by something much bigger than a deer. Her heart beat faster and she urged Calla on, the pony acknowledging her legs and speeding up to a trot. The Golden Perch was so close; the rustling in the brush became louder. Calla burst into a skittish gallop, whinnying frightenedly. The two sped the rest of the way to the stables, passing a group of folks in the courtyard.

Once inside, Mira chastised herself. The darkness combined with her fatigue had played tricks on her mind, making her afraid of nothing. Calla had innately picked up on it, and they had scared the dickens out of each other for no reason. As she led her to an empty stall, Mira stroked Calla's neck The pony whickered softly as Mira removed her saddle and bridle and threw a blanket on her back. With nothing on her mind but a warm, soft bed, Mira turned to leave the stable and almost bumped smack into a hobbit.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. Realizing that he must have also witnessed her frantic dash to the stable, Mira's face became a bright crimson. "Ah, do you -- are you -- working here at the Inn? I need -- er, would like a room. If you have one. Please."

[shaggydog]

"Jims! Are you ready? We do not have much time."

Jims seemed to have been frozen to the spot at the elf’s words. He swallowed hard but his mouth was bone dry of a sudden. A knot had formed in his stomach and he half wished he had said nothing and pinned the loss of his horse on the apparently equally missing stable lad. Then, amazingly, Songo grabbed up a pitch fork from the corner of the stable where he stood and marched out into the yard to stand beside Gwathagor. Taking a deep breath, which seemed to stick in his throat, Jims grasped his staff tightly and pushed past Dick, striding in as confident a manner as he could manage to stand next Songo.

Dick, showing eminent sense, departed quickly, saying, ““I...I’ve got to find Will. Good - good luck!”

Resisting the urge to follow the innkeeper back into the stable, Jims asked instead, “Alright, Gwathagor. Where do we make our stand?” Jims hoped the nervous timbre of his voice wasn’t as readily noticeable to his companions in arms as it was to his own ears. He tried as best he could to push the elf’s words to the back of his mind. "There was only one wolf here and it was small - compared to its fellows . . . “

Before the elf could answer, though, there was a clatter of hoofbeats on cobbles as a small pony turned into the yard at a reckless pace. The rider, a hobbit, did not draw rein but practically galloped right into the stable. Unsure of the import of such haste, the elf, the man and the hobbit exchanged puzzled glances. But Gwathagor was not to be deflected from his chosen course. “Come. Let’s choose our positions.” He said in a steady voice. With a last glance to where the rider had disappeared into the stable, he added, “They may be closer than we think.”

Praying mightily that Gwathagor’s sword would be enough to deal with however many ‘fellows’ might return with the scout, Jims followed as the elf and the hobbit made their way to the clump of trees not a stone’s throw from the stable. Obeying Gwathagor’s silent signal to take up his position behind a large oak, Jims knelt down, leaning against his staff. It was stout ash, two inches thick. But crafted for walking, not fighting off large, hungry wolves. His eyes as big as saucers in the growing twilight, Jims glanced over to see Songo resting comfortably against the pitch fork, his face calm and fully alert now. The little fellow certainly had some hidden aplomb, Jims realized. Trying to configure his own features in a similarly relaxed mien, he peered into the road and wondered how long they would have to wait.

[Gwathagor]

Why here?

The storm had passed southward, leaving the evening air warm and clean Occasional rolls of thunder could still be heard in the distance as the sun went down in Stock and the shadows of the three companions grew long: elf, man, and hobbit.

Why here?

This question had troubled him ever since he arrived in Stock. Why had the wolves chosen this particular village of this particular land to invade? Certainly the Shire was a prosperous land, but the wolves had passed many settlements and villages during their long trek down out of the cold north, so they were certainly not hunting for food. What was it that drew them here, far from their accustomed territory?

One by one, the sun's rays were extinguished behind the distant horizon of hills in the west. Darkness fell in Stock, and a chill wind blew down from the north. The elf wrapped his cloak around him tighter and looked over at Songo, who held his pitchfork tightly in both hands, staring grimly out over the fence and past the lane into the woodlands beyond. A few paces away, Jims crouched low behind a tree, waiting with a rather disconsolate look on his face. The elf smiled. Unlikely warriors, these two. This would be the strangest battle he had fought - in a long time, at any rate.

"Jims, Songo. When they come, there will be many of them - more than thirty. They will strike together, as a massed force, and will try to overwhelm us. Fortunately, we do not need to kill them all, only enough of them to make the attack not worthwhile for them."

He didn't know this for sure. Indeed, until he knew why they had come, he could not know how to stop them. What were they hunting? What prey did they seek this far south? The question reverberated through his mind, striking deep subconscious chords; the answer felt familiar and close, something he had overlooked. And yet, it evaded him.

"Look! To the east," said Songo, pointing. They looked.

The moon was rising.

A great silver-blue circle it swung up over the trees. A howl floated up into the night sky. Then a score of others, startlingly close, took up the call. They rose swiftly to a frenzied, chilling cacophony, and then fell silent just as quickly. The elf looked at both of his friends and nodded.

"Do not risk yourselves unnecessarily."

Jims nodded emphatically. He appeared visibly shaken by the wolves battle cry, but he rose to his feet and gritted his teeth nonetheless. Songo muttered angrily to himself.

Then they came, bounding silently across the road. Over the fence and the gate and into the orchard of the Golden Perch loped the Draugring, sleek silver beasts with blue light in their eyes.

Out flashed the elven sword of Doriath, its single blue gem glittering as fiercely as the eyes of the wolves. The first wolf sped straight towards the bearer of the sword, and found itself suddenly swept aside, slashed wide open. It hit the ground with a whimper and chaos broke loose all around. Snarling, whirling tails, and flashing eyes swirled about the trees and about the three companions. With a surprisingly ferocious yell, Songo killed his first wolf as it, leaping towards him, found itself impaled upon his pitchfork. He jerked the farm implement out of the wolf's corpse and turned to face his next foe. Stab, jerk, stab, jerk. Had the elf been watching, he would have seen the hobbit repeat the process many times that evening, as dead and wounded wolves began to accumulate about him. But he was not watching. He was caught up in the fight, oblivious to his surroundings, slashing left, whirling right, hacking down, lunging, dodging, and stabbing, he flew about like a whirlwind of cold steel and fury. Wolves dropped dead about him, piling up like leaves in a forest, and still they came on. 20 wolves had met that length of steel before he began to slow down and reckon with the situation.

Jims had watched as Songo stabbed a wolf with the pitchfork and turned away to face another. He had watched as the first wolf pulled itself to its feet and prepared to tear Songo from behind. He had then found himself charging forward, staff raised high, half-surprised at what he was doing. The wolf turned too late, but just in time to see Jims's staff crack down between his eyes. After he recovered from the initial shock, he began to run about, finishing wounded wolves with swift blows to the head - and more than once saving Songo's life.

One by one, thought the elf. They are attacking Songo one at a time. He is not their prey, which means that...

He looked and suddenly realized that the wolves were attacking him, surrounding him. They didn't care about Songo and Jims, or The Golden Perch or the Shire at all. They wanted him. Or something he carried.

The locket. The realization seared through his brain. But why?

Ignoring the question, he renewed his attack, hurtling forward into the ranks of wolves, striking down the beasts left and right. The circle broke and reformed, and was devastated again and again by the indomitable elf-warrior, whose spirit burnt cold and fierce like his long, bright sword.

Then, suddenly, the wolves drew back, away from the three, who found themselves side by side. The ranks parted, and forward stepped an enormous black beast of a wolf. Around its massive neck was a silver collar, and in its eyes was a deep, burning hatred. Slowly it moved forward and began to circle.

The elf spoke slowly and steadily to Songo and Jims, never taking his eyes off the great wolf chieftain.

"I think you both ought to leave now...it doesn't want you. They're after me, they'll leave you alone...if you RUN!!"

He shouted the last word in command and simultaneously leapt forward towards the monster.

It was the last word Jims and Songo heard him speak, and they obeyed. Only when they reached the door of the inn did they stop to look back. In the moonlight they saw the elf's sword flashing down in a great arc, and then the ring of wolves breaking and rushing upon him. He disappeared for a moment under the wave of fur and claws, but soon rose out of the tangle, sword-first. There he stood for a brief moment, outlined in the silvery light, fighting on madly and elegantly as the number of wolves dwindled. Then, suddenly, he broke free, and the last they saw of him was his ragged blue cloak blowing in the wind as he vanished into the forest, running. North. The wolves followed him.

He was running again, as he had for so long. In his hand he clutched the locket which was the center of all the questions which haunted the dark corners of his soul, which were now simultaneously pursuing him and being pursued by him. Ahead, he thought perhaps to find the answers he sought...and perhaps a certain elf-maiden who had once given him the locket. Behind, he left a village stirred by a cold breeze, and a dead wolf wearing a silver collar.

[Folwren]

Dick was puzzled and very worried. Will was no where to be found and it was getting dark. The horses were hungry, the water buckets were almost empty, and the stable hand was no where near. He slowly walked back up the stable aisle, thinking.

Hey! There was a noise in the stall up ahead! Perhaps Will had come back in after all! Dick hurried forward, opening his mouth to say something, when all of a sudden -

“Oh!” the hobbit lass exclaimed, jumping backwards after they almost collided. Dick blinked. This wasn’t Will. “Ah, do you – are you - working here at the Inn? I need – er, would like a room. If you have one. Please.”

“Oh,” Dick said, nearly just as confused as she. “Yes. Yes, of course there is room. Come. Let’s go in. I am Dick Boffin, landlord.” He gave his best welcoming smile. “Pleaes come in.” He led the way out of the stable and across the yard to the inn. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Songo and Jims coming back from their wolf hunt. The elf was not with them. Dick and the hobbit lass stepped inside.

“Rowan! We have another guest.” Rowan threaded her way across the common room. “Please take her to a room suitable for her. She needs a place to sleep. One you’re settled in, miss,” he said, turning to Mirabell, “you can come back into the common room here and have some warm supper to eat.”

[Undómë]

Rowan hurriedly put down the tray of mugs she’d brought from the kitchen, sighing as she did so. She’d hoped to have a leisurely sit-down as she wiped the last of the rinse water from the just washed cups; some time to look about the common room and see who was about.

Ah well...best laid plans... she heard her old Gran’s voice whisper at the edge of her thoughts.

She wiped her damp hands on the dishtowel she’d slung over her shoulder and laid the cloth wadded on the stack. Best see to the new guest, she thought, get her settled in...then, perhaps there would be time for a more leisurely task.

Perched precariously on the edge of the table just outside the kitchen’s door, the mugs gave a dull clink-clunk as the Hobbit’s foot knocked against the near table-leg. No, you don’t! she muttered. Pausing midstep, Rowan reached out her right hand toward the teetering pile. She slid the tray deftly toward the middle of the table top, turning slightly to steady the stack with her left hand.

Taking note that the mugs were no longer in danger of toppling, Rowan hurried over to where Master Boffin stood with the gold-haired lass. She gave the new guest her best smile, motioning for her to follow along.

‘I’m Rowan,’ she said, glancing back as she opened the door to the hallway which led into the hallway that wound into the hill. She picked up a fat candle from the wooden box just inside the entryway and lit it from the lantern near the door. ‘I think this room might suit,’ she said, smiling as she opened the door to the fourth room down the hall and gestured for the lass to enter.

There was a cot against the far wall with a colorful, thick quilt covering it and a fat, soft looking pillow resting against the plain headboard. A woven rag rug ran alongside the bed. On the left wall was an oaken chest of drawers with a pitcher and washbasin sitting atop it, and next to them a clean white towel and wash cloth. A little clay jam-pot perched on the edge of the chest nearest the bed, its riot of flowers from the Inn’s garden making a final welcoming statement.

Rowan lit the lantern on the bedside table. ‘There’s a bath room just at the end of the hall...shared. Let me know if you want a bath. Otherwise,’ she went on, picking up the pitcher from the chest, ‘I’ll just fetch you some nice hot water and you can have a quick wash up here in your room.’ She swept her glance about the neat little room. ‘Is there anything else you need? I’d be happy to get it for you...Miss...??? Sorry, I don’t think I caught your name.’

[Arry]

Had anyone been listening they would have thought a pair of Hobbits were arguing with each other. As it was, it was only Will discussing out loud with himself the post he’d received that day. His mother, the redoubtable Pearl Longholes Hayward, had decided to come to Stock in two weeks time with two of her daughters-in-law, Sapphire and Lily, to buy a bolt or two or so of sprigged cotton and some yards of lace. Never mind that there was a perfectly adequate cloth shop in Crickhollow that had served her family well over the years.

He puffed on his pipe; clouds of smoke hung thickly above his head. He worried the mouthpiece and stabbed the air with it as he read the letter again and then once more. Read between the lines, that is. It wasn’t cloth she’d come to inspect is what he expected, is what he knew. She’d come to see what her youngest son was ‘doing’ with his life. Translation: had he found a suitable lass yet? And when would he be tying the knot? She’d seen through the letters he’d sent of how well he was doing at the inn; had enough of his fending off questions of settling down like his brothers had done. His mother would be coming to set him on the ‘right’ track.

It was drawing toward dark when he roused himself from his brown study. The big oak beneath which he’d sat, and paced, and leaned against in his bemusement cast a deeper shadow now and from a ways beyond it, the restless sounds of the horses and ponies broke in upon his thoughts. Will folded his mother’s letter into a small square and jammed it deep into one of his vest pockets.

Back in his familiar routine he pushed away his irritation and fell to taking care of the animals and their needs. Fresh hay, some oats, clean water . . . and the occasional apple for those whose insistent noses nudged him as he tended to them. They listened to his troubles with tail-twitching patience, seemingly swishing away problems with an easy flick of ear and tail.

Having set the stable in order, Will made his way toward the Inn. A plate of nice, fat mushrooms would put him in a better frame of mind, he thought. Fried crispy, in butter. And a pint of dark, strong stout to further smooth away the edges. Yes, that would do nicely!

And maybe he could talk to Master Boffin, too. Perhaps he could be gone when his mother came on her shopping expedition. Buying trip for the Inn? Something that would take him away for a great deal of the time she’d be here. Or a building project – new roof for the stable, maybe. Something to keep him occupied long into the evening and away from his family . . .

[Girl in the Grass]

Delighted with the cosiness of the room, Mirabell gave a tired smile as she spoke to Rowan. "Mirabell Took, but for the most part people call me Mira. The room looks lovely; I don't think I'll be needing anything but that hot water you mentioned." Rowan smiled and said, "Alright then, Miss Mira, I'll be back in a few minutes after you've settled in."

As the other hobbit closed the door behind her, Mira took another look around the room. Stepping over to the bed, she ran her hand over the quilt, admiring the different colours of fabric and the thick quality. The flowers gave the room a lovely scent, and as she sat down on the bed Mira inhaled deeply, enjoying the sweet odor. Just as she flopped back onto the bed with a sigh of contentment, there was a knock at the door and she heard Rowan's voice: "Miss Mirabell? I've got that hot water you wanted."

Mira went to the door and opened it, thanking Rowan for the water, and shut it again. She quickly washed and combed her hair, her stomach starting to rumble with hunger. When she was satisfied with her appearance, Mira left her room and proceeded downstairs to the common room, wanting nothing more than a hot cup of tea with a sufficiently large meal. As she entered it from the hallway, she glanced around for Rowan. Seems as though she's not here, Mira thought to herself, and her stomach grumbled in protest. She sat down at an empty table to wait for Rowan to reappear, hoping it wouldn't be too long.

[Tiffany Aching]

The sandy-haired pony gave a decided toss of his mane as his mistress tugged on the reins. From this short distance Cookie caught the scent of fresh hay – and oats! His nostrils widened taking in the heady promise of food. He was a stout little fellow given to as little exertion as he might manage and as much feed as he might appropriate. He looked back over his shoulder at Miz Miribelle with as encouraging an expression as he could muster.

‘Yes, yes, I know my little dear. I’m hungry, too.’ Miribelle Rushybanks sat fully upright on the little cart’s padded seat and looked about the darkening yard. At a distance, she saw a familiar figure just heading up the few steps to the Inn.

‘Will?’ she called out in a firm voice. ‘Is that you?’ She thought she saw him turn toward her and she waved. ‘Come help me won’t you with Cookie.’ She set the brake and stepped down from the cart, wrapping the reins about the brake’s handle once she’d set both feet firmly on the ground.

[Undómë]

Well, they’ll just to to airdry now... she thought, shrugging her shoulders at the stack of mugs still sitting out where she’d left them.

No sooner had Rowan come back from seeing Mirabell to her room than she’d been called into the kitchen by Primrose. Cook, it seemed, was in somewhat of a tear; her day upset with tales of wolves marauding the countryside. Why some of the Inn patrons had whispered it about that they might have to bolt the doors to prevent being got at by the savage beasts. The stories of previous encounters grew as the day had worn on. And along with them had grown the size of the wolves and their number.

There were bangings about in the kitchen; skillets slapped hard on the stove top; cleavers clapped down hard on the cutting board as chickens were cut into pieces. Hmmmph! thought Rowan taking in the scene. No wolf or pack of wolves would dare step paw in Cook’s kitchen!

‘Here,’ she said picking up a basket into which she scooped a plentiful heap of flaky biscuits. ‘Let me just take these out to the Common Room.’ She placed the basket on a tray along with several pots of jam, butter, and honey. From the back of the stove, Rowan retrieved the kettle and set about making several large pots of tea. These she placed on another tray with a bowl of sugar, a pitcher of cream, and some tableware – small plates, knives, spoons.

Primrose gave her a grateful look as Rowan balanced the trays on her hands and back through the kitchen door. A few quick steps brought her to a large table in the center of the Common Room. She set down her burdens and arranged the biscuits, tea, and accompaniments about the table’s top. The mugs were retrieved from their smaller table and set near the tea pots.

Clearing her throat loudly, she clinked a spoon against one of the empty mugs. ‘Supper’s coming in a bit,’ she said, not elaborating on the reason for its delay. ‘Here’s some tea and biscuits and jams and such to tide you over ‘til the chicken and taters and peas are done.’ She glanced toward the kitchen hoping to see Prim’s face giving her an encouraging nod. No such luck.

‘Come on ‘round,’ she encouraged the waiting diners, motioning for them join her.

[Arry]

‘Will? Is that you?’

Thoughts of food, drink, and not least, escape were put aside as he heard his named called. Turning about, he saw Miz Rushybanks motioning for him to come over. He trotted toward her, a grin on his face.

‘Bet you’re here for chicken and biscuits, aren’t you?’ he said with a smile. As he recalled the old gal enjoyed Cook’s chicken and despite her slender build could put away a good sized helping of it, along with plenty of well buttered biscuits.

He helped her retrieve her carpet bag from beneath the cart seat and unwrapped the reins from the brake lever. ‘You just go along now,’ he said, nodding his head toward the door. ‘Cookie and I are old friends. I’ll see him to the stable.’ He reached up toward the pony’s ear and gave it a scratch. ‘Some sweet hay for you, eh, fellow? And a nosebag of oats, yes?’

‘Oh, and Miz Rushybanks,’ he went on, recalling her fondness for that foreign drink – coffee. ‘Might have to make do with tea tonight. I don’t think the shipment of those beans you like brewed have come in.’ He gave a little shiver, recalling the one taste of coffee he’d tried at her urging.

[Tam Lin]

‘Been too long here among the Little Folk!’

Tavaro laughed quietly to himself at the thought. The enticing scent of that hillock of biscuits drew his attention away from the poem he’d been writing. Warm, inviting, mixed with the promise of blackberry jam. And wasn’t that the fireweed honey he’d tried earlier that morning? He remembered that scent, redolent of a grassy clearing in the forest just to the west where the plants had sprung up in the Spring just after sweeping fire.

‘You’re getting rather Hobbitish, indeed,’ he went on, putting his quill down carefully and snapping the lid tight on his little inkwell. His stomach grumbled in anticipation of a plate of biscuits and a mug of steaming tea. Leaving the bit of parchment he’d been writing on to air dry, Tavaro stood up and made his way to where Rowan stood pouring tea.

‘One of those large mugs, if you please, Mistress Rowan,’ he said with a smile. His eyes twinkled as he surveyed the table. Picking up a small plate, he placed one of the larger biscuits upon it, split the flaky delight open quickly, and slathered it with butter. Both halves, of course. And atop the glistening cover he spooned out a generous portion of jam on one half and an unsparing puddle of honey on the other. Taking his mug of tea from the table, he turned, intending to head back to his table. His Elven grace did not sustain him; eyes on his tasty prize, he bumped against someone, spilling a bit of his drink.

‘Oh, please, excuse me!’ he said. ‘I haven’t got hot tea on you, have I?’ he went on, his grey eyes growing wide with alarm.

[Tiffany Aching]

Miribelle was taken a bit back. Not just because she’d had hot tea spilled on her but because one of the Fair Folk had addressed her. And not just addressed her, but made a very nice apology. To be sure it was his fault and it was only proper that he offer an apology, but still . . . one of the Fair Folk . . . talking to her!

Pull yourself together, Miribelle! she chided herself. She smoothed her skirt, and gave a little pull on her vest to straighten it. Looking up at the Elf, who was still quite tall despite the fact he had graciously bent down to speak with her, she smiled encouragingly. ‘It’s only a few drops that splashed on my skirt,’ she demurred. ‘It should dry just fine. Mostly, I think, it sloshed onto the floor here.’ She tapped her foot near a small sized puddle on the floor between them. ‘No need for alarm. I’m sure these old boards have seen their share of spills and splashes.’

‘My don’t these look good,’ Miribelle went on, changing the subject to something more pleasant. ‘Cook has a very light hand with the biscuits, don’t you think?’ She picked up a mug of tea and picked out a tasty looking biscuit from the basket. ‘Don’t you just love this blackberry jam!’ she said helping herself to a fair dollop.

She glanced back up at the Elf. ‘Gracious! Here I am nattering away at you and haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Miribelle . . . Miribelle Rushybanks from Stock.’

[Arry]

With a well practiced toss, Will let sail his cap (http://millerhats.com/productimages/209.jpg) back toward the pegs by the kitchen door just after he’d entered. He glanced back, and there it was hanging precariously from the edge of a peg. He held his breath as it teetered, threatening to fall. And grinned widely when at last it settled into place.

‘Well, that champion toss should earn me a second pint tonight,’ he announced to no one in particular as he ambled toward the kitchen’s table intending to sit down and have something to eat and drink.

His intentions were cut short in their accomplishment as a much harried Prim approached him with a pile of scrubbed taters in a small basket and plopped them down on the table’s top. These were quickly followed by a largish pot, a paring knife, and the instructions to “deal with them”. Will looked toward Cook, hoping for some sort of rescue. But she was doing battle with a number of chickens, her cleaver flying up and down in a determined manner as she chopped them.

Recognizing the inevitable Will picked up the knife and began his assigned task. He smiled at Prim, who nodded hurriedly as she began ministering to a pot of peas.

‘I don’t suppose a thirsty fellow could get a mug of ale, could he?’ His words fell upon deaf ears. Well, not all deaf – one of the ladies had given a snort at his suggestion.

‘Right, then,’ he sighed. Picking up a tater, he attacked it with the paring knife at a quick pace. The faster these were done, he thought, the faster he’d have his mug.

What on earth’s got into these two? he wondered. Supper was going to be late. An unusual state of affairs for Miz Cela’s kitchen, he pondered further. With another sigh he settled fully into his assignment. His stomach grumbled in protest at being put off. Sooner as these are done, sooner you get fed, my pushy friend...

[Tam Lin]

‘Tavaro,’ the Elf replied, nodding his head at the Hobbit. ‘Tavrobelion, originally. But if you please, Tavaro, to you.’ He waved Miribelle ahead of him, pointing her toward his table.

‘I’d be happy to have you dine with me, Mistress Marshybanks. It’s always nice to talk while you eat, don’t you think?’ Tavaro pulled out a chair for his companion. ‘Here, let me just clear these papers out of your way.’

Tavaro sat his own cup of tea and plate of biscuits on the seat of his chair. He gathered up the songs and poems he’d been working on earlier and rolled them up hastily, stuffing them into his worn leather satchel on the floor by his chair.

‘There, now we have room for mugs and plates!’ He sat down opposite her and smiled. ‘Tell me a little about yourself, Mistress Rushybanks. Do you live about here? In Stock?’ He took a sip of his tea. ‘Or are you traveling though, like me?’

[Undómë]

Now isn’t that an interesting pair! Rowan smiled, watching the exchange between the tall Tavaro and Miz Rushybanks. Physical differences aside, she thought they were well matched for a certain air of elegance and propriety.

‘Excuse me . . .’ A voice from the other side of the table called her attention away from the Elf and Hobbit. ‘Will there be something more coming soon?’ On of the Inn’s regulars had just come in and stood looking perplexed at the offering of biscuits and tea.

‘Here, Toby,’ Rowan offered with a wink. ‘Have a mug of tea to tide you over ‘til Supper’s done. Just a bit behind times this evening. But rest assured – chicken, taters, and . . .’ she pursed her lips trying to recall what the vegetable was. ‘And, oh yes, peas . . . with plenty of butter. Just like you like it.’ She tilted her chin up toward a small table near the fireplace. ‘And look, there’s your favorite spot for supper. You just go on and have a seat. Soon’s the food is dished up, I’ll bring a plate right out to you.’ She held up her hand as Toby opened his mouth to speak. ‘I know, I know – there’ll be extra butter for your taters, too.’

Rowan picked up the nearly empty basket of biscuits and made her way quickly back to the kitchen. ‘The crowd is still hungry,’ she called out as she entered the room, waving the basket for emphasis. ‘Any chance the chicken’s near done yet?’

[Tiffany Aching]

‘No, not traveling through,’ Miribelle laughed. ‘Indeed, I live here in Stock.’ She took a sip of her tea. ‘I’m a weaver – these past years at least. And I run a small fabric shop in town.’ Miribelle reached down and hauled her carpet bag up to her lap.

‘I’ve just been down Marish way to see one of the goodwives there who spins yarn. Lovely, soft wool she gets from her little flock of sheep. Much prized for ladies’ shawls and baby’s blankets.’ She reached into her bag and pulled out several skeins of fine spun yarn – a soft green, a nut brown with flecks of black, and sunflower yellow. ‘Lovely colors, aren’t they? She has a deft hand with her dyes. And closed mouthed about how she makes them, too.’

Miribelle placed the skeins carefully back in her bag, snapping it shut firmly. ‘Truth is, Master Tavaro. I live by myself. And though my cooking’s quite passable, I like to treat myself once a week to Cook’s chicken and taters.’

‘What about you? What brings you here to our little village?’ She munched happily on a bite of her biscuit and blackberry jam as she waited for his answer.

[Arry]

Will said nothing in response to Rowan’s query. Instead, he held up his little knife, a half-pared potato skewered on the end of it. He cocked his head toward Cook, who seemed to be muttering over her frying pan.

Come sit by me he mouthed at Rowan, sliding a chair out from under the table with his foot. ‘Something’s put a wasp under the old gal’s petticoats today,’ he whispered, leaning in close. ‘You have any idea what?’

[Tam Lin]

Tavaro considered the elder Hobbit’s question carefully, choosing the words he would use. He did not wish to lie to her, but a little misdirection would work as well he thought. No need for all the details of his journeying to be told. He waved his hand toward his leather satchel.

‘I’m gathering stories, Mistress Rushybanks. From all over. Songs, too.’ He paused for a moment to eat a bite of biscuit and drink some tea. ‘We Elves love to gather such things in, keep these tales pressed between the pages to be read and sung and wondered at through the ages,’ he went on. Tavaro fetched out the leather-bound chapbook that perched just within the confines of the leather satchel. ‘See here,’ he said, opening to one of the ink filled pages. There were small sketches of all sorts of people. And between the sketches were lines written in a fine Elven script. ‘These were a trio of Dwarves I met. Here, actually, a while ago. They had some fine stories and fine songs, too.’ He tapped his foot in time to one of the tunes and hummed it in a deep voice. ‘I’ve never been in one of the mines, but you can almost hear the song resounding down the long deep tunnels, can’t you?’

[Undómë]

Rowan scooted the chair close toward Will. She picked up a small knife from the table and fell to paring taters with a deft hand. ‘Well, Prim told me Cook’s upset about the wolves and all that as went on earlier,’ she said in a low voice, leaning in closer toward Will. She flipped her now jacketless tater into the pot and put down her knife. ‘And I think that’s probably part of the problem, but....’

Rose motioned for Prim that the pot was full enough it could be set to boiling. She helped Prim to set the pot on the stove, and they both worked at stoking the fire to a hot pitch. ‘I’ll watch the pot and help Will peel another batch, Prim’ Rowan went on. ‘Why don’t you take those other biscuits and more tea out to the common room? There’s a lot of hungry folk out there. Let Master Boffin know what’s going on here in the kitchen, Maybe he can offer a few rounds of ale to take the edge off.’

She watched as Prim gathered up the food and drink and went sailing through the door. She hurried over to sit with Will again. ‘The thing is . . . about that problem we were discussing,’ she whispered. ‘I saw Cook get a fat letter from Hugh, the postman earlier in the day. Right after breakfast was cooked and served, in fact. Now I don’t know what it said, but she turned white as a ghost when she read it.’

There was a growling sort of noise from where Cook stood. A mound of crispy fried chicken was now arranged on a large china platter next to her frying pan. She was just flouring another batch and dropping it piece by piece into her big skillet as she looked up at Will & Rowan. ‘Taters won’t get peeled with jibber-jabber,’ she directed toward Will. And you, Miz Rowan, see to the peas, please before they completely turn to mush.’

[Elfchick7]

When Luriniel finally awoke, she could not believe how late it had become. Never had she allowed herself to waste so much time in sleep. She looked over to Nienna and found that she still slept soundly. Was it just exhaustion that held her sister in such a deep sleep her was it something more? Luriniel stood and found that it took a great deal of effort. Her body ached all over. Nienna slept peacefully. It had been many days since Nienna had looked so rested. What was it that Vehil had given her to make her sleep so long? Luriniel wondered, Why did I sleep this day away? She felt Nienna's head for fever, but there was none. Seeing that her sister was breathing normally and that the wound was healing nicely, Luriniel sighed with relief.

What next Luriniel? Can you afford to risk staying here a few days longer? Is Nienna well enough to travel? Is Melinor still searching for you? Does he care, or no longer? Too many questions. She paced the room anxiously as she weighed her options. Still feeling weak, she took her chair once more. She let her mind wander back to the days before her father betrayed them. Her mother was still living and Melinor, her betrothed from childhood, was still with her. When doubt was cast upon their family and they were treated with undue suspicion, Melinor stayed faithful. He did all in his power to console her when her mother passed and her Father fled. Why mother? You abandoned your will to live. Could you not see how much we needed you? It wasn't long after that the sisters fled from their home. Luriniel knew that Melinor would try to follow, so she drugged him in order to give herself a better lead. For several months, she was a aware of his attempts to track them. Somehow she could sense him. Then his presence grew more and more faint. It became very rare for her to sense him at all. Finally, it became to Luriniel as if his presence was no more. She felt as if her last hope died that day, the day when she lost Melinor. Yet, how could she grieve when things had been so much worse for Nienna.

Nienna had been so close to their father, then suddenly found him becoming distant from her. Loving him too much, she pushed aside warnings that he had allied himself with evil. When he was finally exposed as a traitor, suspicion fell heavily on Nienna. She too was intended for marriage, but her betrothed met her in the Hall of Thranduil and publicly denounced her. Luriniel hated him for that. She saw the shame slowly crush Nienna under its weight and knew that they had to leave. In all there travels, Nienna never blamed those who sought to betray her. Luriniel marveled at her sister's goodness. She knew that if she lost her sister, she could not go on. Eru, if you have not wholly rejected these poor sisters of Mirkwood, you daughters, please save my sister. Do not let this wound take her. Looking worriedly over at her sleeping sister, Luriniel wept bitterly. Nienna stirred and Luriniel rushed to her side only to find that her sister continued to sleep soundly. Luriniel rose from the bedside and left to room to seek food before the Inn closed up for the night.

[Envinyatar]

In the distance the lights from the inn glinted softly in the falling dusk. It was a welcoming sight against the growing dusk. Hithadan stopped for a moment beneath the cottonwoods which grew along this little stretch of the brook. With a oomph of tiredness he leaned against the slender beech branch he’d fashioned into a walking stick, balancing on it and his right leg to take a bit of pressure from his left. He chided himself both for the injury to his leg and the careless actions that had promoted it.

‘That’s what comes of too much drink, you knot-head!’ he said aloud to a small bird peeping down at him from the branches of a tree. The bird, startled by his voice and the large presence of the man beneath him, twittered and flew off. The Ranger’s laughter followed after the bird’s seeming protest. And he called a bit louder, as if to apologize. ‘Not you little one! It’s this clumsy two-foot here who is the knot-head!’ There had been a number of rounds of drinks several days ago at the Pony in Bree; some bought by him, some by others. Tongues had loosened amidst the ale-driven camaraderie and some very interesting pieces of news had been boasted about. Doings especially from the south and east were valuable bits, no matter how small. To be passed on and sifted through with other news from other places by those whose task it was to keep the larger picture in mind.

At any rate, he’d drunk a drink, or two even, beyond his normal and had not been as nimble footed as he’d needed when he left the inn. A scattering of loose rock and pebbles had caught him off guard; and to be short, he'd fallen. Rather ungracefully so; twisting his left ankle and putting a rather nasty gash in his lower leg. He’d managed it this far, but now his leg and ankle were swollen fat as a Bree summer-sausage, and just as darkish red as one, too.

Hithadan hobbled the last distance to the inn and a little further round to the side door to the kitchen. He had a delivery for Cook. One of the merchants traveling in Bree had asked him to deliver a small sack of some beans, coffee beans he’d said. And he’d be mightily thankful should Hithadan be able to take them along with him to The Perch.

Stopping briefly at the pump in the kitchen yard, Hithadan washed off the grime from his travels as best he might. He shook off what leaves and dirt he could from his cloak and brushed off his pants; at last straightening his tunic into some semblance of order.

‘Delivery for Mistress Brandybuck!’ he called out, holding out the rough cotton sack as he entered.

The kitchen seemed in a frantically busy state. Without so much as a welcome, one of the Hobbits quickly took the offered bag from him and shoved a large potato masher into his just emptied grasp. A steaming pot of just drained potatoes was pointed out to him.

‘Bit of a tizzy here, Master H. Use those Big Folk muscles of yours and whip these taters into shape, won’t you?’ he heard the Hobbit’s voice say. Not waiting for an answer, the Hobbit headed to the common room with a basket of biscuits and a pot of jam. Hithadan leaned against the counter where the pot stood and fell to with the masher.

[Tiffany Aching]

Miribelle was a bit distracted. There were wonderful smells coming from the kitchen, especially as the servers went in and out the kitchen’s door. Her mouth watered at the thought of the main meal to come. And it was with a struggle of will that she refrained from getting up to have another helping of biscuits and jam.

The question in Tavaro’s voice drew her attention back to what he had been saying. ‘I have to admit the only tunnels I’m familiar with are those we Hobbits have made for our homes.’ She echoed a part of the Dwarvish refrain he’d just hummed. ‘It’s a very big song those Dwarves have made,’ she went on. ‘Lovely, really, but I should think their voices would rumble through our little tunnels like a winter’s storm through the willows along the river. Too big for our walls.’ She hummed a little more, a spark coming into her eyes at the deep beauty of the song. ‘But you’re right . . . wouldn’t it just be grand to hear this echoing in the great cavern beneath the mountains!’ Spots of color bloomed on the Hobbit’s cheeks at the daring idea she’d briefly entertained of such an adventure as that might be.

‘I really do like those little pictures that you’ve drawn, Master Tavaro,’ she continued, reining back her imaginings. ‘Tell me, what has struck your fancy here in the Shire? Have you ever been to one of the mid-summer parties here in Stock? Plenty of songs and storytelling at those.’ She eyed his tall, lean figure. ‘Why you might even like to join in a springle-ring!’ Miribelle tapped her toes in a lively rhythm as she smiled at him. ‘Keeps you young, you know!’

[Undómë]

‘Well I can see your mother raised you up right, Master Hithadan!’

Rowan had just sailed back in through the door from the common room after having made the announcement that dinner was imminent. Though, she didn’t exactly use that word. ‘Loosen your belts, Good Folk! Supper is on its way!’ she’d called out as she arranged several baskets of hot biscuits on one end of a long line of tables she’d had put together. A number of the lads she’d drafted into helping her in this table moving task grinned at her and one or two winked and some rubbed their hands together in anticipation of the long awaited meal.

Hithadan had whipped the taters into a mountain of light and smooth delight. She dipped a clean finger into the inviting mound and savored the taste. ‘Ooh! And didn’t she use a lot of butter, and cream, too,’ she went on, holding up the empty jug that stood near the pot. ‘Why, I’ll bet she’s a Hobbit at heart if not by birth!’

She fetched down three huge serving bowls and divided the mashed potatoes among them. These went on to a large serving tray along with three carefully mounded platters of chicken. On another tray went several big bowls of buttery glistened peas and four large gravy boats.

‘Will, you get the one with the chicken and taters. Prim you take in the cutlery and more tea and mugs. I’ll grab up the peas and gravy.’

She cast a glance at the Ranger as he began to limp toward the door to the common room. ‘Best you stay here, Master Masher. I can see you’re hobbling now that you’re moving about. Go on, sit down at the table and put that leg up on a chair. I’ll dish you up a plate of food and bring you a pint of ale.’

Rowan hefted the tray of peas and gravy boats to her shoulder and made for the door. ‘Right then, my hungry friends. Get yourselves a plate and some cutlery and start the line – one on each side of the tables, if you please. Serve yourself. No pushing, please. There's plenty! Eat up; eat up. A little something sweet will follow.’

Though what that will be is anyone’s guess! she thought to herself as she dished up a generous helping of chicken, taters, gravy and peas for the ranger. Grabbing a large mug of ale from the bar, she made her way quickly back to the kitchen.

‘Cook!’ she called as she sat the plate in front of Hithadan along with the mug. ‘What have we got for dessert?’

[Tam Lin]

He’d just begun to inquire about the “springle-ring” Mistress Rushybanks had spoken of when the servers came through the door, food and drink balanced carefully on their hands. He could see his Hobbit companion’s face light up at the sight of the repast now being spread on the tables, and indeed his own stomach seemed to be rumbling a decidedly non-Elvenlike response to the savory scents.

‘After you,’ he said getting up from his seat and offering his arm to Miribelle. They made an odd couple as they wound their way toward the tables.

Plate mounded with the inviting offerings from the tables, Tavaro walked carefully back to his table. He put his plate and mug down on the table’s top and pulled out the chair for his tablemate. ‘Let’s dig in,’ he said, sitting down himself. ‘We’ll talk about springle-rings over dessert, eh?’

[Elfchick7]

After eating her fill, Luriniel returned to her sister's room and found, in the closet, several heavy blankets, which she used to make a place to sleep on the floor next to Nienna's bed. Then, she went over to her pack and pulled out a leather bound book, a quill, and a bottle of ink. After marking the date, she wrote:

Second day at the Golden Perch Inn. Nienna still sleeps, but her wounds seem to be healing. We are both receiving long needed rest. It has been many years since we could go a full day without constantly glancing about to guard against trouble. Still, no sign of Melinor. Wherever he is, I wish him well. I will rest again, while I may.

She closed the book and returned it to her belongings. Having checked Nienna once again for fever and finding her temperature to be a bit low, Luriniel took a couple of the blankets and tucked them warmly around her sister. She worried that Nienna was sleeping so deeply, but she could not think on it for much longer as her eyes were growing heavy with sleepiness. She laid down on her makeshift bed and gave in to the weariness that was overwhelming her travel worn body. As she drifted out of consciousness she whispered in her heart a soft prayer that the dream might not come to her on this night.

[Arry]

Will followed in Rowan’s wake. Behind him he could hear the happy chatter of those now digging into their meals; before him, he caught Rowan’s question about dessert. He saw Cook wave vaguely in the direction of the pantry. ‘I’ll see to it,’ he called out to Rowan who was seeing to a cup of tea for the Ranger, in addition to the mug of ale she’d already brought him.

‘Let’s see,’ he said, pulling back the pantry door. He walked quickly past the bins of flour and sugar, past the tins of tea, and boxes of peppercorns and paprika. Though it was dim in the pantry and he hadn’t brought a candle in with him, he knew just where to look, not because he helped out with the cooking, but because he had a sweet tooth. And since he’d been taken on at the Inn he’d manage to ferret out the various hiding places Cook had for her pastries and other baked goods.

As he recollected, there had been spice cookies left over from day before yesterday’s lunch. And they would only have improved with a few days’ aging. Now where had the old gal put them?

He checked all the usual places and found nothing save for a half a treacle tart left from yesterday. ‘Ah hah!’ he said aloud, reaching his hand behind the crockery jar filled with raisins. There was the large wooden chest Cook often stored away her extra cookies. He hauled it off the deep pantry shelf and brought it out to the kitchen.

‘Well, that’s taken care of, then,’ he said as he sat the chest down near the kitchen table. He fetched himself a plate piled high with chicken and all the trimmings and sat down opposite Hithadan. If you’re not going to drink that ale, man, maybe I could take care of it for you, eh?’ He glanced at the Ranger’s leg as it rested on the kitchen chair. ‘What ever happened to you?’

[Envinyatar]

Hithadan shifted his weight a little on the chair and eased his left leg into a more comfortable position. ‘Go ahead, my thirsty friend, and take the ale. I think I’ll stick with good, strong tea for the while.’

‘What ever happened to you?’ Will asked, reaching for the mug.

Between the chicken and the taters and the gravy and the peas, Hithadan wove his story, embroidering on it a little here and there to draw away his listener’s attention from his real business in Bree.....

‘.....and that’s what happened to my leg. Not all that exciting or thrilling really. Mostly a tale of overindulgence and sheer clumsiness on my part.’

As he finished his story, he found he’d also managed to finish his meal. With a satisfied sigh, Hithadan pushed the plate away from him and took out his pipe and pouch of pipeweed. ‘I think I’ll pass on the cookies. Just another mug of tea, I think.’

He rose carefully from his chair and limped over to the hearth. Snatching a straw from the broom by the stove, he lit it in the fire and then let his now filled pipe from it.’ A stream of fragrant white smoke curled up from the bowl as he made his way back to the table. ‘Care to fill your pipe, Master Will?’ he asked offering the pouch.

It was a one pipe evening for the Ranger. He was tired from his travels, and made more so by his painful leg. With a nod to Cook and a thank-you to Rowan, Prim, and Will for a tasty meal and good company, he made his way to his usual room for the night.

[Tiffany Aching]

Dessert was spice cookies. Two, in fact, washed down with one last cup of tea. By the time she’d taken her last swallow of the sweet liquid she was beginning to feel the tiredness from the long day begin to set in. She stifled a yawn behind her hand and begged the Elf’s pardon.

‘My goodness!’ she said. ‘It seems my day is catching up with me. Sorry to be yawning, Master Tavaro. It’s certainly not your good company and conversation that’s making me do so.’ She crumpled her napkin and put it alongside her now empty mug. ‘And gracious, it’s grown quite dark out,’ she went on, reaching down to get her bag. ‘I think I’d better get my cart and see about getting home.’

Miribelle stood up, looking around to see if Will were somewhere about. She called Prim over and asked her to let Will know that she needed her cart.

‘How kind of you,’ she said as Tavaro offered to walk her out to the stable. She declined to take his arm, but walked close by him as they crossed the yard. It was a bright moon above which lit their way.

Will had harnessed Cookie to the cart and brought it out to meet her just as she reached the stable doors. He held the reins as she climbed up to her seat. She gave him her thanks and waved good-bye to Tavaro, saying in parting that she hoped he would not be leaving soon and that they’d meet again before he did. ‘We still have springle-rings to talk about. And I’d very much like to have you come to my little shop to see what I do.’

Miribelle waved once more to Tavaro and Will. She flicked the reins lightly against Cookie’s back and set out for home and her snug little bed.

[Arry]

Will stood in the dark inn yard as Miz Rushybanks drove off. He looked longingly back toward the stable and his rooms there. He’d left the door open and the soft light from the lantern he’d hung from the post as he’d got out Cookie beckoned. His generous side got the better of him, though, and he returned to the kitchen.

Cook was busy stowing away the few leftovers from supper; Rowan and Prim were up to their elbows in soapy water as they attacked the piles of mugs and plates and cutlery. The door to the common room was open and beyond it he could hear Master Boffin sweeping the floor as he tidied up for another day yet to come.

Prim cleared her throat, drawing his attention back to the happenings in the kitchen. And with a meaningful look at the pegs where the dishtowels hung urged him to pick one up.

By the time they’d finished and Cook had swept the floor all of the Hobbits were yawning. Will waved off an offer of a last mug of tea and made his good-byes. ‘See you all in the morning,’ he called to them as he made for the door. ‘Crispy bacon, is it, tomorrow?’ he asked as he passed Cook.

‘Might be just that,’ she said, a more than tired look on her face. And he thought he heard her mumble after, ‘If there’s any breakfast at all . . .’

He shook his head, thinking in his own weariness, he had misheard.

[Undómë]

Rowan pulled the quilt up over her face, groaning at the bright, sharp light that flooded against her closed eye lids. ‘Prim!’ she growled from beneath her dark warm cave of covers. ‘Turn down that lantern! You want to blind me?!’

‘Oh, Rowan! ‘S’not me! Quick get up! Something’s happened!’ Prim’s voice had a disconcerted, nearly frightened tone to it.

With a groan, Rowan threw back her blankets and sat up in bed. What’s this? she thought, taking a quick look about her room. The sun was well up and the full morning’s light shown through her thin, cotton curtains. ‘Goblins take me!’ she muttered clambering quickly to her feet. ‘And they might as well as Cook’ll have my hide for laying abed so long.’

The late Spring air was still a bit brisk she thought as she reached for her robe to pull over her nightgown. She hurried toward the door intending to make her way to the kitchen when the strangeness of the whole situation made her pause. She listened carefully, cocking her ear toward where the kitchen was. No pots banging about, no chop-chop as knife struck cutting board, no scrape of spatula against iron skillet as potatoes or eggs or pancakes were turned. She raised her nose, sniffing the air. No bacon frying!!

‘What’s happened?’ she called out, running down the hall. Prim, she could see, had just gone into the kitchen a few steps ahead of her.

‘She’s just not here!’ Prim cried. ‘I’ve looked in the garden, the common room, and even her bedroom . . . just in case . . . you know, something “happened”.’

Rowan shook her head, trying to take in what Prim had said. ‘How about the pantry, or the root cellar,’ Rowan offered, grasping for some answer to this disturbing event.

‘No,’ Prim said shaking her head for emphasis. ‘Not there either.’ Her face had gone pale. ‘Cook’s gone . . . missing . . . maybe even . . . kidnapped . . .’ And with that pronouncement, Prim sank to the floor in a dead faint.

[Arry]

Will pushed open the outside door to the kitchen just as Prim fell to the floor. He pushed back his cap and scratched his head as he took in the scene. His early morning chores were just done; the stalls had all been mucked out, the horses fed and watered and new straw forked in on their stall floors. There were two of them he’d brushed and combed in anticipation of their owners leaving early. And as a last task, he’d turned all of them out to the great corral near the stable.

‘What’s this about “kidnapped”?’ he asked, fetching a glass of cold water to bring over to the prostrate lass. It was one of his mother’s cure-alls for a faint. And the one who’d gone limp could either sit up and sip at it as they came round, or, more drastically, they were drenched with it so that the chill of the water might shock them back to their surroundings.

Prim lay limp as an old bunch of lettuce as Will knelt down beside her. No amount of patting her hand or calling her name seemed to be bringing her round. Will looked from her to Rowan and shrugged his shoulders as if to apologize in advance. With a quick flick of his wrist, he splashed the glass of water full in her face.

[Rose]

Penstemon, Granny Greenhill, that is, to most folks around, had started out quite early that morning, her little cart (http://www.dkimages.com/discover/previews/1004/50242924.JPG) packed with a crate of honey jars and a large willow basket filled with dried white lavender (http://www.penncoveranch.com/images/products/bouquet3.jpg) bouquets. She’d promised Rowan the lavender for the linen closet at The Perch. And the honey was for the kitchen – four nice sized jars of it; all of the apple blossom variety. Miz Cela had told her she was making honey cakes this week; someone’s birthday Penstemon thought as she loaded the clay jars in carefully.

Bumble, her dear little donkey, had been in one of his agreeable moods to day and so the harnessing and the trip itself had been accomplished with a minimum of bribes and cajolings. He halted, as she pulled back on the reins, stamping his hooves a bit and twitching his raggedy ears.

‘Yes,’ she assured him as she climbed down from the cart, She got out her yew wood walking stick from beneath the seat and walked forward to scratch his head. ‘There’s a treat for you, my dear Bumble,’ as he nosed her pinafore pocket and stamped again. She fetched out a large lump of sugar, wrapped up in a bit a thin parchment, and offered the sweet to her eager companion.

‘Now where’s that Will?’ she wondered, looking toward the stable. He was always so good about hearing the carts and wagons roll in and was usually jonny-on-the-spot about running out to help.

Granny stumped up to the little porch just outside the kitchen door and though it was not quite closed, she gave it a firm rap with her stick. Her old ears were still quite sharp and she could hear an odd assortment of voices from within, though no one answered her knock.

She pushed the door open with her stick and poked her head in. ‘It’s Granny Greenhill,’ she called out. ‘I’ve come to see Rowan and Miz Cela,’ she went on, stepping into the kitchen.

‘Oh, my!’ she cried at the sight before her. Her hand fluttered to her chest. ‘What on earth has happened?’

[Undómë]

Prim had come awake with the dowsing. Fully awake . . . and was loudly protesting Will’s extreme measures at bringing her round. She spluttered to her feet, smoothing down her nightgown, and glared at him.

‘Oh, Granny!’ Rowan waved at the elder Hobbit to come on in. ‘So sorry you had to come at such a time!’ She led Granny to the table and pulled out a chair for her to sit down. ‘We’re all in a big pickle this morning, as you can see.’ She pointed round to the cold stove, the fireless grate, the skillets empty of eggs, bacon, sausage, ham. No thick slices of bread toasting on forks by the coals. No kettle singing on the hob by the fire.

‘Cook’s gone missing.’ She stated it as a plain fact, trying to keep the rising panic she was feeling from her voice. ‘We don’t know what happened.’ Rowan put her hand on Granny’s arm. ‘You wouldn’t know where she’s gone, do you Granny?’

A face peeked through the door from the Common Room just as Rowan finished speaking. ‘Begging your pardon, Miz Rowan, but will there be breakfast coming . . . or second breakfast . . . or elevenses . . .?

[Arry]

Will could see that his attempts at apology were fruitless. Mad as a wet hen was the phrase which came to the fore of his thoughts. Best to let Prim's feathers unruffle in their own good time, he decided.

His own belly was beginning to grumble hungrily. And certainly, he reasoned to himself, the problem of Cook’s disappearance would be neither helped or hindered by a little breakfast. On second thought, he decided, it might really be helpful to eat . . . easier to make a plan and carry it out on a full belly.

‘Begging your pardon, Miz Rowan, but will there be breakfast coming . . . or second breakfast . . . or elevenses . . .?’ The voice from the doorway drew his attention.

‘Just a bit of a problem here,’ Will answered back. ‘Settle yourself in out there; we’ll bring you out a nice cuppa directly. And after that . . . well, we’ll just see, won’t we?’

[Rose]

‘My stars, no, child!’ Granny Greenhill exclaimed to Rowan. ‘I don’t have the foggiest idea ‘bout where she’s gone off to. I was expecting to meet Miz Cela here. I brought the honey she wanted for the honey cakes she told me she was planning on baking this week.’

Will's suggestions to the hungry Hobbit's questions caught her attention. 'Well, now, I can get the tea brewing if someone will get the stove lit, she said standing up from her seat. 'You girls can whip up some eggs and such can't you?'

'But first,' she said rapping her stick several times on the floor, ‘someone ought go for Shiriff Smallburrow, don’t you think. Will, how about you? And Master Boffin, has anyone let him know what’s happened?’

[Envinyatar]

By the time the Ranger had pried himself from beneath his warm quilts and limped his way into the common room, the place was abuzz with wild rumor. Clusters of small folk whispered with fierce intensity within their own little knots and exclaimed aloud to others as bits and pieces of other tales claimed their attention.

Hithadan’s eyes widened as his ears caught the excited gabble from a group near him. ‘Kidnapped! So’s I heard,’ one of the young bucks said in a rushed voice, his head bobbing up and down for emphasis. ‘Or maybe worse,’ he went on, his voice pitched lower to underscore the gravity of the happening. ‘Murdered, even, the poor old gal.’

‘’What about them wolves?’ one of the gaffers at the table near the fireplace asked, his voice rising to the fore. ‘Didn’t drag her off, did they?’ He pointed his pipe stem at one of his confederates. ‘You know she always was out in her garden first thing of a morning – picking the veg and herbs for the day.’ His friend nodded his head at the truth of the gaffer’s words. ‘Likely she was caught up in squashing those snails as had attacked her cabbage plants’ leaves. Didn’t hear ‘em ‘til they’d come right up on her.’ The elder Hobbits nodded knowingly as if this indeed had been what happened.

‘Who?’ quizzed the now uneasy Ranger. ‘Who’s gone missing?’

Before one of the old fellows could answer, the door to the Perch flew open. Backed by the bright morning light, a stout looking figure stood black in the entryway, his shadow thrown long across the wood floor.

‘Now what’s all this about Mistress Cela and her disappearance?’ the dark figure barked. ‘Not your pipe dreams and such,’ he went on, giving a meaningful look about the room. ‘Who’s really seen something, or heard such. He stepped further into the room, where the light from the morning fire picked out his features. Shiriff Rusty Smallburrow (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/showpost.php?p=492617&postcount=235) motioned for Will to come in alongside him. ‘Let’s all calm down and get this sorted, shall we. Will here’ll help me get this organized.’ He clapped his companion on the shoulder and smiled reassuringly. ‘I’m sure it’s all just a misunderstanding of some sort.’ He hooked his thumbs authoritatively in his braces. ‘Be cleared up soon and we’ll all be back to enjoying one of Mistress Cela’s fine feeds.’

[Undómë]

Under the direction of Granny Greenhill, Prim and Rowan had managed several large skillets of eggs scrambled with bits of ham along with stacks of toast from what day old loaves they’d found in the pantry. Dishes of butter, pots of jams and honey were quickly assembled onto serving trays.

Under the weight of the loaded trays, the two servers made their slow way from the kitchen into the common room, just as the Shiriff concluded his little speech. ‘Begging your pardon Master Smallburrow, but maybe a nice, solid bit of breakfast might make us all think a bit clearer.’

Will and another of the lads were put to work pushing several tables together in the middle of the room. Rowan and Prim laid out the still hot skillets on thick pads, and positioned the baskets of toast near the butter, honey and jams. Pots of hot, steaming tea soon appeared, as well as towers of plates and cups and fistfuls of cutlery.

‘Help yourselves, good folks!’ Rowan cried out, though the words had scarce passed her lips as the first of the hungry patrons had started jostling along the laden table. Prim dished out generous scoops of fluffy eggs as Rowan poured out the tea.

As the Shiriff drew near her, reaching out for a cup of the hot brew, Rowan leaned in near and spoke quietly to him. ‘I think something strange happened yesterday,’ she confided, offering him the mug. ‘Miz Cela had some sort of unexpected news, bad news, I think – a letter that Hugh brought her early in the day. Now, she didn’t say a thing about it, but her face was white as a sheet as she read through it.’ She handed him a piece of toast she’d slathered with butter and a generous spoonful of blackberry jam, ‘And it was after that she seemed to go all to pieces. Not like her at all.’ She nodded her head slowly as she went on, emphasizing how “off” things had gotten. ‘Supper was late last evening . . . why, it nearly didn’t get served at all.’

[Rose]

‘What’s that you two are talking ‘bout?’ Having just come from the kitchen, Granny Greenhill looked from Rowan to Rusty and back again. She placed the basket of toast held in her gnarled hands on the table and pushed it toward the center. ‘Something about a letter . . . for Miz Cela?’ Her bright brown eyes glinted as she considered the snippet of conversation she’d heard.

‘Will, is that you . . . there behind Rusty?’ Granny poked Rowan in the side with her elbow and whispered a few instructions. ‘Here now, Will, you take this nice slice of toast and pile some of those eggs on it. And there,’ she went on, pointing at the basket of toasted bread. ‘Grab yourself another piece and settle it on top.’ She nodded toward Rowan who was making her way toward the kitchen. ‘She’ll just fetch you a nice little flask of tea . . . you like it sweet, dontcha?’

Granny didn’t wait for Will to answer, but instead turned her attention to Rusty. ‘Now I don’t mean to step on your toes, lad,’ she said to the shiriff. ‘I could just see you were thinking of doing this very thing, um hmmm. Bright lad.’

She smiled meaningfully at Will.

‘The sooner we send someone to fetch Hugh, the sooner we might know where the letter came from.’ Her voice trailed off as she offered this conclusion.

[Arry]

Will studied his toes and the worn wooden floor of the inn; studied them in a most painstaking manner. Pretending, he hoped, that it was perhaps some other ‘Will’ whom old Granny had pegged for this new task. He sighed quietly in the extending silence, then looked up grudgingly at that small excuse for a proper breakfast she’d shoved into his hand.

‘Right, then,’ he mumbled, stuffing the sandwich halfway into his mouth as he reached out to make another one. This second he wrapped in a napkin and stowed it away in his vest pocket.

‘Be off, then,’ he grumbled, taking the first sandwich from out his mouth and securing the flask Rowan now offered him in another pocket. As he turned to make his way to the door, the shiriff called out after him.

‘Might try Miz Gardenia Boffin’s place, up The Yale. She’s not got many neighbors close by, you know, and loves to have old Hugh in for a chin wag. He’s known to time his route to just about elevenses to her place. And he swears his feet hardly touch the ground as he’s drawn up by the aroma of fresh seedcake and hot sweetspice tea on the way to her door.’

His provender secured, Will made his way to the stable and fetched out Thistle, one of the inn’s quicker and more amenable ponies. Soon they were on their way west in search of the postman.

[Lilly]

Away From the Inn – Delivering the Post


‘Hold steady, Jolly! There’s a good lad.’ Hugh secured the leather satchel, still bulging with letters and packages, to the pommel of his pony’s saddle. He heaved his leg up over Jolly’s back next and settled himself in for the ride.

With a resolved sigh he gave a little kick to the pony’s flanks and hung on tightly. Jolly was a fine little companion, a stolid trouper on the post route. And Hugh appreciated him no end. But to be honest, Hugh preferred to walk with Jolly ambling alongside - the pony did not have the smoothest of gaits.

‘I hope we’re not too late for a hot mug of tea at Miz Boffin’s.’ He smiled and nodded at the thought of it. ‘And a large slice of her seedcake. Yes, indeedy do. Mayhap, two.’ He laughed aloud at the chance rhyme, startling a sparrow on a nearby alder branch. ‘Got plenty of news to share with the old gal, don’t I?

Jolly trotted along at a steady, if jolting pace. He flicked his ears now and then and made the occasional snort as if trying to participate in Hugh’s solitary converse. He was rather fond of Miz Boffin, himself. She always had a nice nosebag of oats waiting for him. He increased his pace a bit, noting, without comment, the subsequent groan from his rider.

[Undómë]

Rowan and Prim brought out two more large skillets of eggs and ham and several more baskets of toast. Then, seeing that most of those gathered in the common room had filled their plates and gotten their mugs of tea or ale, they fetched themselves their own generous helpings of food and cups of sweet, hot tea with cream. They sat down at a table near the door from the common room to the kitchen and tucked into their meal with gusto.

The Shiriff had climbed up on one of the smaller tables mid room and was entertaining questions and suggestions from the gathered crowd. ‘Now that’s a good idea,’ he said pointing his half piece of well buttered toast at Gaffer Longhole. ‘I do recall when Andwise went missing, back up in the hills. Got a nice big search party together. Broke ‘em up into smaller groups and sent ‘em out.’ He took a bite out of his toast and munched it for a bit. ‘Problem is, back then we knew in a general way where Andwise had gone off to.’ A number of fellows sitting with the gaffer nodded their heads at the Shiriff’s point. ‘Of course, we haven’t yet asked if anyone’s seen anything that could point us in the right direction,’ Rusty continued. ‘There were some reports of late of a couple of suspicious looking fellows down south along the river. Big folk, they were. Making their way in a northerly direction according to my sources.’ The Shiriff’s glance fell for a moment on the Ranger, his brow raising slightly before moving on. ‘Course I don’t know why Big Folk would be in the least concerned about Miz Cela.’

‘Well, maybe she caught them at something, or knew something about them they didn’t want spread about,’ offered one of younger Hobbits. Hamfast, it was, a lad known for his vivid imagination and ability to spin large tales from small happenings. ‘Maybe it was them that kidnapped her.’ In his mind, Hamfast was already sorting through the dire conclusions of this storyline. Master Smallburrow reined in Hamfast’s imaginings a bit saying it was best not to start tales before there was some real evidence.

‘Is there anyone here,’ the Shiriff went on, ‘who saw anything earlier this morning as they made their way to the Inn? Any little thing out of the ordinary on the road?’ He glanced round the room. ‘Or any odd noises or goings-on heard in the night here round about? It was a mild night last night . . . any of you who slept with your windows open hear something that might help us. Think hard.’ He looked at some of the younger folk who were staying at the inn. ‘Were any of you sneaking about last night, hungry or thirsty, and looking for a bit of food or something to drink. Did you see or hear Miz Cela or anyone else?’

As the Shiriff waited for someone to come forward, Rowan leaned in toward Prim. 'Let's go back to Cook's room and poke around a bit.' Prim's eyes widened at the suggestion. Rowan nudged her on the arm. 'Come on, Prim. We can't just do nothing. I'm sure if we look hard enough we can turn up some sort of clue; don't you think?'

[Rose]

‘Thick as thieves!’ Granny Greenhill pursed her lips at the sight of Rowan and Prim leaning near each other, talking quietly, their dark heads almost touching. She couldn’t make out what either was saying, but she caught the hesitation evident in Prim’s face at something Rowan had said, and then the reassuring hand Rowan laid on Prim’s arm.

That gesture seemed to bring some resolve to Prim’s tentativeness. Granny watched as the two eased themselves from their seats and made their way from the common room in as inconspicuous a manner as they could manage.

‘Now just where are those two off to, I wonder?’ Granny murmured to herself. Curious, she followed after them.

[Tiffany Aching]

‘Now where’s Will?’ Miribelle flicked the reins lightly against Cookie’s back, urging the pony nearer to the stable. Drawing up to the open stable doors, she peered in. She didn’t see Will about his morning tasks. Her ears brought no sound of him working in one of the stalls.

Stepping down from her cart, Miribelle led Cookie into the stable; unharnessed him, and secured him in one of the stalls. ‘Sorry,’ she said, as she latched the door. ‘You’ll have to make do with the hay for now, my dear. When I see Will I’ll have him fix you a small bag of oats.’ Cookie twitched his tail in a seemingly irritated manner. ‘You’ll survive,’ she said in a firm voice as she turned away. Miribelle heard Cookie snort as she made her way out of the stable.

Shiriff Smallburrow was in mid sentence as she pushed open the door and entered the inn. ‘.....who saw anything earlier this morning as they made their way to the Inn? Any little thing out of the ordinary on the road? Or any odd noises or goings-on heard in the night here round about? It was a mild night last night . . . any of you who slept with your windows open hear something that might help us. Think hard.’

‘What’s going on?’ she whispered to one of the local lads who stood against the wall just inside the entryway. The common room seemed all ajumble this morning. Over there, some tables had been drawn together with skillets of scrambled eggs and baskets of toast offered buffet style – how odd! And there was the Shiriff standing on one of the tables, asking questions – odder still.

The lad whispered back that Miz Cela had disappeared sometime during the night or early morning. No one knew when, really, or even why. Now that the Shiriff was here they were trying to figure out what to do.

Miribelle frowned and shook her head. What were things coming to, to have something of this sort happen? she wondered. She thanked the lad as she let her gaze drift round the room, looking for a familiar face she might invite herself to sit down with.

[Tam Lin]

Tavaro leaned back against the wall at the rear of the room, his shoulders resting lightly against the wood. He sipped slowly at his mug of sweet tea, savoring the warm liquid. Last night he’d been hard put to sleep; too many remembrances had ridden in through his opened window, sorrows borne on the cool night wind.

He’d left the inn and walked the better part of the night, sliding through the darkness beneath the trees as silent and as swiftly as an owl. Clouds scudded across the dark sky parting now and then to bring him brief glimpses of the stars. Their silvered light gave him no comfort. Now, in the day’s light, in the warmth of this small, close room, he was glad to be in the presence of the gathered periain, taking comfort in the ebb and flow of the small ordinary moments of their lives. Even in the midst of their present predicament they were so full of vitality.

The Elf’s glance fell on a familiar face; Miribelle Rushybanks, there at the door. He stepped forward and raised his hand in greeting, motioning for her to join him at one of the tables. He sat his mug on the table top and stood waiting for her to cross the room.

[Envinyatar]

Despite the ongoing promptings from the Shiriff, no one had come forward with any tangible information as yet. It seemed the majority of those gathered in the common room this morning had proved too sound sleepers for the passed night.

Hithadan, too, had passed the night wrapped tight in slumber, aided by a cup of warmed wine infused with willow-bark powder. His leg now felt somewhat better; he was able to put weight on it without the aid of his crudely fashioned walking stick. His ankle, too, seemed less swollen. He wished now, though, that he’d foregone the remedy. Perhaps, then..... He shook his head, chiding himself for letting his thoughts drift in that manner.

He made his way to a small table at the edge of the room, positioning the chair so that he could survey the room. At the corner of his eye he caught a furtive movement inching along the back wall. Someone was making his way toward the entry way to the kitchen. The figure looked familiar – brown tattered cloak, dark green checked cap pulled low on his brow. And that slight limp, that hitch in his step as he moved his right leg forward. Mungo . . . Mungo Brandybuck. Not one of the more celebrated members of the Brandybuck family. A smalltime thief – hen stealer, egg robber, mushroom poacher. One who helped himself to the prizes found in other folks’ traps. A partial list only of his mean accomplishments.

And one of those who would most likely not have been at home, asleep, last night.....

A few more steps and Mungo would be at the door and out of the inn once he’d made his way through the kitchen. Had the Shiriff’s call for someone to step forward with anything out of the ordinary they’d seen last night spooked him? Had he seen or heard something and not wanted any questions as to why he’d been where he’d been.

Hithadan stood and called out in a loud voice. ‘Mungo Brandybuck! Stop right where you are!’

Mungo paused for the briefest of moments and then only to glare at the Ranger. He dove toward the door.

‘Someone stop him!’ Hithadan yelled, pointing his stick at the fleeing Hobbit.....

[Rose]

The ranger’s voice rang out above the general hubbub in the common room, just catching the attention of the elder Hobbit as she made her way to the kitchen entryway. Rose and Prim had already gone past the door and ducked into the hallway leading to their rooms and that of the missing cook.

Granny Greenhill stopped dead in her tracks at the man’s command, and just in time, it seemed, as the object of the ranger’s attention came hurtling toward her. Mungo had thrown his hands and arms in front of him, intending to push her out of the way. Her old limbs responded to the urgency of the situation and she managed to sidestep his headlong onslaught.

Mungo plunged willy-nilly past her. And as he did so, she raised her stout yew wood walking stick in a firm two handed grip and smacked him soundly on the backs of his knees. He stumbled with a loud oomph and went skidding a short distance on his belly.

He tried to scramble up to his feet, but Granny hobbled up to him at a rather remarkable pace for one her age and gave him a sharp thump between his shoulder blades. She stood over him, glaring as he sneaked a look up at her.

‘Wished I’d a’caught you in my henhouse, you scalliwag, that time my prize hen went missing! I know it was you, Mungo Brandybuck, so don’t you go looking all guiltless at me. And I’m betting that it was you, too, as stole those combs of honey from my bee shed.’ She shook her stick at him for emphasis.

Several of the nearby lads ran up to secure Mungo - and just in time to his calculations as it looked as if she meant to whack him once more for good measure.

‘You just march him over to the Shiriff and that ranger,’ she instructed them. ‘Wouldn’t be one whit surprised if he didn’t have a hand somehow in Miz Cela’s going missing!’

‘My stars!’ she said as they marched Mungo off. The surge of action and excitement hit her all of a sudden and she felt a bit weak in the knees. She made her way to a nearby table and sat down on one of the chairs. ‘Land’s sake! That was a bit of a hullaballoo now wasn’t it?!’ She held her right hand to her chest, catching her breath.

‘Thirsty work,’ she went on, nodding her head to a Hobbit standing next to her. ‘Fetch old Gran a half pint, won’t you dear? A little something to steady the nerves.’

Her investigation of what Rowan and Prim were doing, and just exactly where they’d gone off to could wait, she decided . . . until she’d caught her breath fully and fortified herself with a bit of ale.

[Lilly]

Away from the Inn – Gardenia Boffin’s place northwest of Stock

‘Well now, Jolly, looks like we're just in time!’ Hugh raised his nose appreciatively and took in the scent of fresh baked seed cake – honey sweetness, yeasty, vanilla, with a hint of lemon, he thought, in the thin icing she drizzled over it. He turned up the narrow dirt path to Gardenia’s place, a snug little dwelling tucked into the side of one of the many low-lying hills which dotted the area.

Jolly stopped just short of the raised porch at the foot of the round, bright yellow door. The door was just starting to swing open and the familiar face of Miz Gardenia peeked out, smiling broadly at both the pony and his rider.

Hugh heaved himself off the back of his little steed and eased himself down to the ground. ‘Morning, m’am!’ he called out, untying his satchel from the saddle. He fetched out a packet of letters from the satchel and thumbed through them for the two he knew were addressed to Gardenia.

As he did so, Gardenia stepped down from the porch and lead Jolly to the old oak tree which grew in her front yard. She had a little shed there, a small place where her own little donkey sheltered when the days grew cooler. For now, the donkey spent time in a fenced pen, chomping the hay Gardenia left for him each morning and drowsing beneath the oak boughs’ shade. Gardenia fetched them both several handfuls of oats and two apples each. When she’d seen to their comfort, she turned her attention to Hugh who’d hauled his satchel up on the porch and sat on the step waiting for her.

‘Go on in!’ she said to him, waving him toward the doorway. ‘I’ve got the water just off the boil. I’ll make us some tea and we’ll have a nice piece of seedcake.’ She took the letters he offered as she stepped up to the porch.

Hugh took his usual place at the old pine table and watched as Gardenia bustled about her little kitchen. ‘Sit yourself on down, Miz Boffin!’ he urged, pushing her chair out for her. ‘Let the tea brew away for a bit while I tell you what I heard from Pearl Tunnelly about Rowly Sandheaver’s wife’s brother.’

Gardenia put the cozy on the old brown teapot and set it nearby on the counter. She sat down, making herself comfortable, and leaned in toward Hugh, awaiting what news he’d gleaned along his route.

[Tiffany Aching]

‘My goodness!’ Miribelle’s face was a study in dismay and distaste as she edged herself around the commotion and over to her friend’s table. ‘What’s going on this morning, Master Tavaro?’ she inquired, taking the seat he offered. ‘I did hear something as I entered about Cook gone missing.’ She leaned over and scooted her carpetbag well beneath the chair. ‘Here I’ve only been gone the night and had hoped for a bite of second breakfast and a hot mug of tea . . . and oh my, what do I find!’ The inn in a commotion, the Shiriff asking questions, and that scoundrel Mungo laid low by dear old Penstemon Greenhill!!’

She sniffed a little as she watched him being escorted toward the Shiriff. ‘A pity, that Mungo! Shame of the Brandybucks. It’s a wonder he hasn’t been outlawed from these parts.’ She turned back toward the Elf. ‘What’s he done now?’ She frowned as a sudden thought assailed her. ‘Oh, no! Don’t tell me he’s the one who’s got something to do with Miz Cela’s disappearance!?’

As Miribelle waited for the Elf’s answer her eyes darted about the room looking for one of the servers. There were none in sight. ‘Ah well, looks like there’s no hope of that tea and breakfast now,’ she thought to herself seeing the table piled with near empty skillets and teapots scattered here and there in disarray.

[Noinkling]

Mungo stopped abruptly and yanked his left arm from his guard’s grip. ‘You got me well enough looked after, dontcha, you two?’ He snaked his right arm from the other guard’s grip and bent over a bit to rub at the backs of his legs. ‘Stupid old sow!’ he growled turning to glower at Granny Greenhill. He stood up hunching his shoulders this way and that to ease the sting of the whack she’d given him after he’d fallen.

‘Shoulda followed the first of my druthers and passed the Perch on by. Always too many busybodies here. Shoulda kept on hoofin’ it downriver; that’s what I shoulda done.’ He looked from one to the other of his guards, but neither of them appeared to be paying much attention to his ‘shouldas’.

Mungo’s cap, askew from his recent fall, slipped off his head and thumped to the floor. He picked it up and slapped it soundly against his leg, as if to knock off what dirt it might have gotten from the dusty boards. It was a vain attempt since there were layers of grime already embedded in the cap and what dirt there was dislodged was really the dust that flew up from his breeches. He smoothed back his greasy curls and shoved the cap firmly back on his head.

He glanced slyly from one to the other of his escorts, sizing up whether he might be able to escape. No chance! Both pairs of eyes were fixed firmly on him. With a resigned sigh he smoothed down his raggedy tunic and limped on toward the Shiriff and that loudmouthed Ranger.

‘Din’t do nothin’!’ he said, coming to a halt in front of Rusty Smallburrow. Mungo hitched his thumbs in the waistband of his breeches and puffed out his chest like a feisty little banty rooster.

‘Didn’t say you did, Mungo,’ the Shiriff replied. ‘Though I’m sure if I looked close enough there’d be something you’d not want the light of day shone on.’

Mungo narrowed his eyes and dropped his gaze to the floor. ‘Whatcha want, then?’ he mumbled.

‘Miz Cela Brandybuck’s gone missing, disappeared,’ Rusty continued. He shook his head as Mungo started to protest his innocence. ‘Now I’m not saying you had anything to do with it. But . . . . I’m supposing you were out last night, like most nights. On business, of course.’ Rusty cleared his throat meaningfully and went on. ‘What we want to know is if you heard anything or saw anything as you were out and about. Anything that could help us find Miz Cela.’

Mungo scraped his foot on the floor and pursed his lips. ‘Mighta,’ he answered. ‘Now I’m not saying I was doing anything but passing by, but I did find myself coming up the west bank of the river last night . . . .’

Before he could continue, the Shiriff asked, ‘The river? You mean the Brandywine, yes? You were coming north up the Brandywine?’

‘Yeah, sure, the big river it was. And north. Anyways, like I was saying I was stepping along at a fair pace when I heard some voices drift over the water. I stopped, and peeked careful like out through the bushes. Was a little cloudy, you know; moon’s light was weak through ‘em. There was a boat with three fellows in it. Leastways it looked like three fellows; they all had cloaks on and the hoods pulled up. Their faces were all in the dark. One was rowing; the other two were talking, arguing some. Couldn’t hear what exactly.’ He paused for a moment, nodding his head at the memory. ‘Coulda been a female voice I heard from one of them. Hard to tell. Didn’t that Cela have kind of a low voice? Anyway, the boat and whoever was in it passed by pretty quickly – what with the current and the hard pulling of the fellow doing the rowing.’

Mungo shrugged his shoulders at the end of his story. ‘Yep, that’s about all there was to it. Like I said, they was moving like a hot knife through butter now wasn’t they?’ No need to elaborate further he cautioned himself. They only want to know about Miz Cela. No need for them to know what he’d been about at the time.

[Envinyatar]

Mungo seemed to have finished with his brief tale of what he’d seen last night. Too brief for the Ranger’s liking.....there were some details that needed to be ferreted out, he thought.

‘Now you said you were coming up the west bank of the river last night,’ Hithadan began, stepping forward toward the Hobbit. ‘Where were you exactly when you saw this boat and its passengers?’ He fixed Mungo with an expectant look, his brow raised in emphasis. A knowing little smile flitted briefly at the corners of his lips. ‘It would be most helpful, you can see can’t you? For us to know how far this party is ahead of us.’

Hithadan sat down in a chair quite near the Hobbit, his grey eyes steady on Mungo’s face.

[Noinkling]

The Hobbit pulled the cap from his head and ran a grubby hand through his hair. Followed close on by him twisting the poor old cap in his hands in a rather nervous manner.

‘Come on, now, Hitch!’ Shiriff Rusty urged. He tapped his foot expectantly on the hardwood floor. ‘You wouldn’t want us to have to be looking to hard at where you might have been and what happenings were going on ‘bout then, would you? Wouldn’t go well, if you were thought to be guilty of holding back our investigation and then found to have had a hand in something on the shady side, too.’

Mungo felt as if he were trapped twixt two snakes. Poisonous snakes. Their eyes fixing him with a hungry look. And it was no help that the ranger had tweaked a smile. He squirmed, feeling much like a coney about to be pounced on.

‘Well, right, then,’ he managed to mumble. He sucked in the corner of his lower lip considering the events of the past night. ‘You see, I was down near Hays End, now, wasn’t I . . . . and that’s when I seen what I did. The boat and those three. It was ‘round midnight, I reckon. And it was a brief look I had at them. I was high-tailing it . . . . er, that is, hurrying, you know, cuz it was going to be a long trip on foot back to Stock. Had some business here that needed to be got to.’

Mungo stopped abruptly, realizing he was heading toward them knowing some unnecessary details. What ‘business’ he’d had hoped to finish at the Inn had most likely been scared off by all this morning’s hubbub anyway.

‘So, there you have it. Don’t know much more than that.’ He settled his cap back on his head and gave a quick look about the room. Nope . . . . no hope of seeing who he needed to be seeing here.

[Rose]

Granny watched the exchange between the ranger, the shiriff, and that bad piece of work, Mungo Brandybuck. ‘Hitch, hmmmmph!’ she murmured into her mug as she raised it to her lips. ‘Oughta be “hitched” – to a wagon and drove outta these here parts.’ She took a swallow of ale and sat the mug down. ‘Though,’ she thought, shaking her head what she’d said. ‘Wouldn’t seem charitable to wish him on anybody, anywhere.’

Penstemon stood up from her chair and drew herself up as straight as her old spine and the aid of her walking stick would allow. ‘Say,’ she said aloud, emphasizing her words with a thump on the floor with her stick. ‘May be we ought to get some of the lads together, and you Master Shiriff, and go after Miz Cela. From all accounts from that fellow,’ she went on, ‘it doesn’t look as if Miz Cela were struggling against these other two. That is, if it really was her and not just some chance sighting. Be nice, though, to know where she’s got off to, wouldn’t it. And why, though that might be poming noses into places they don’t need to be. Just be good to know she’s alright.’

She looked toward the innkeeper. ‘I’m sure Master Boffin here would let out his ponies to you.’

[Mithalwen]

A waggonette drawn by a liver chestnut cob approached the inn from the direction of Woody End. Not a remarkable event in intself save that the passengers the Laicirith twins and the driver their aunt, Mithalwen, returning them to what she had drily referred to as the "scene of their crime". It had been useless to point out that if their aunt had let them explain that they had an arrangement with the inkeeper when she had recaptured the truants, they would not now have needed to have to come and apologise for breaking it. But they had grown used to apologising. Until this morning Mithalwen had silenced with a glance just about any utterances that did not start with "sorry" yet it had seemed to have done little to placate the group of pilgrims they had been travelling with until they had slipped off and made their way to the Golden Perch.

Only as their aunt had prepared to take her leave of the pilgrims, who would remain a little longer at the Woodhall, Carantilion had tentatively explained that they had been meant to be earning their keep at the inn by providing music and that they might have been missed. A tart comment about "letting more people down" was followed by the turn east to Perch rather than westwards towards Lindon. It was not the happiest party. Both twins could still sense their Aunt's wrath and it did not help that they still had not made up their differences.

The elfwoman had found her nephew Carantilion first and his attempts to warn his sister had been foiled by fact that she had ignored his attempts at osanwe kenta thinking he was merely trying to apologise. Since then the twins had been kept under close supervision and had had little opportunity to converse even if they had had the inclination. Carantilion, already haunted by the memory of their father's damning opinion that his children were good-for-nothing wastrels, and the knowledge that their escapade had only confirmed this in the eyes of his aunt and the company they had journeyed with had taken the harshest wound from the righteous anger of his twin. He wasn't used to her being cross with him and had found refuge from his misery only in sleep during their time at Woodhall. Curled up in his cloak he could wander the paths of memory where his sister was a genial companion and usually the leader of the mischief.

He sighed and gazed at Enpauriel who sat beside their aunt on the box seat. Her back gave no indication that her fury had abated and he tried to settle himself more comfortably amongst the many boxes and packages that filled the back of the waggonette. He poked into a couple of them and found various items clearly of his aunt's manufacture - all kinds of stuff made from metal or wood - household items and trinkets. His curiosity got the better of his caution.

"I have all this "stuff" with me because I was on my way to Bree to meet a trader and sell it when I got a message that my beloved nephew and niece had gone missing and would I please come directly and deal with it ... so I turned back and found you and consequently the merchant is unmet and my goods are unsold...and the reason I am selling it was that I needed to clear our space for my visitors - It is amazing how much clutter one accumulates over the yeni... These are oddments and experiments. " Mithalwen was a maker of musical instruments by preference but crafted also whatever of life's more mundane necessaries were required and was particularly skilled in delicate work. "I am not sure what I shall do with them now" . She continued as they reached the inn yard.

Mithalwen handed the girl some coins. "Enpauriel, go and find Mr Boffin and apologise, pay him for the room if he held it and arrange for rooms for us all for tonight and stabling for Bracken - and storage for the trap. Oh but offer him his pick from this lot by way of an apology too" she added inspired by the idea that there were some wooden plates that might make fine serving platters for halflings.

"Carantilion, take Bracken round to the stables but first help me down with this" - she indicated a long but suprisingly light trunk .

"We're staying here?" asked the twins united in thought and voice again at last.

"Why yes, I don't think I am quite ready to go home yet but I couldn't pretend to be shocked, disappointed and outraged a moment longer so I really had to get out of Woodhall".

"So you aren't angry?" The Cirs responded amazed.

"Well I can't say I am pleased exactly ...and while some of your party are very old friends of mine, they do seem to have forgotten what it is to be young. Compared to what your uncle Cirion and I used to get up to it all seems quite harmless - though quite inconsiderate. Besides I want to hear you play" She said having replaced the stern expression fixed since their meeting with a wide grin.

The twins exchanged glances forgetting their quarrel for a moment as they realised that there was some truth in the tales of Mithalwen's wayward past.

"But I will tell you about that some other time - Oh it is so lovely to see you again! When did you get so tall?" she added , embracing her nephew and niece - " Go and do what I have asked and I will order some food and you can tell me why you aren't talking to each other - I can understand why you didn't talk to me but that is harder to fathom."

The twins glanced at each other again and went about their separate errands leaving Mithalwen to enter the inn alone.

It had been near deserted when she had gathered up the Cirs but now there was a whole host of folk- including a ranger and one of her own kindred as well as several hobbits. Something was clearly going on and she drew less attention than she might . She put her trunk down softly by the wall and lingered by the door wary of interrupting something she didn't yet understand.

[Tam Lin]

‘Please, allow me to fetch us some tea, Miz Rushybanks.’ Tavaro made his way to the tables where the food and drink had been set out and scavenged about for a pot that was still warm. Luck was with him as he managed to find a small pot with a cozy on it and the contents still fairly hot. There were no eggs left, but he managed a plate of toast and a pot of butter and one of strawberry jam.

‘Here we go,’ he said, returning to the table with his treasures. ‘I didn’t see sugar or honey or any cream for that matter, so we’ll have to make do with just plain tea.’ He poured a mug for the Hobbit and refreshed his own. ‘I thought you might be hungry, and hoped this might just take the edge off it.’ He pushed the toast toward her followed by the butter and jam.

‘I take it you know this fellow they are talking to, this Mungo. He does look a bit on the rough side. But he’s been quite cooperative from what I could see and hear. A little plain in his facts, though.’ He took a sip of his tea. ‘From what I understand, he’s not got anything to do with Mistress Cela’s disappearance, but it does seem he was out and about much of last night and did happen to see and hear something which might have some bearing on where she’s gone.’

Tavaro watched as Miribelle nibbled at a piece of toast and sipped at her own mug of tea. ‘I heard you say it was a wonder he hadn’t been outlawed from these parts. And I was wondering, what exactly you meant by that.’

A movement in blues and greys at the entryway caught his attention as he waited for the Hobbit to explain. Someone new had come in, an Elven lady. She hesitated for the moment at the door, her attention on the commotion in the common room. Tavaro wondered what had brought her to this little inn. She had brought in her own trunk, he noted; she seemed to be traveling alone. How unusual.

He turned his attention back to his tablemate. She had finished her bit of toast and had leaned in a little toward him, speaking in a low voice about the Hobbit in question. Mungo, it seemed, was a very interesting character and a notorious one it seemed in these parts. Tavaro topped off Miribelle’s mug of tea and encouraged her to go on.

[Arry]

Granny Greenhill’s remark about the availability of the Inn’s ponies proved true. Will, of course, was not available to make them ready for the search party, and so it was the Innkeeper himself who helped outfit the group. Four of the local Hobbit lads had offered to go as well as several of the Big Folk. By just a little past mid-day the stout-hearted group was on their way, heading down river as they sought for clues to the cook’s disappearance.

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

(Away from the Inn – Gardenia Boffin’s place)

It was early afternoon by the time Gardenia Boffin’s little place hove into view. Will breathed a sigh of relief at the nearing end of his little journey. He pulled up on the rise of a lowlying hill and leaned forward along his pony’s neck.

‘Good lad, Thistle!’ he said, giving the pony’s neck a pat. ‘We’re almost there, boy.’ With a slight kick to his mount’s flanks he urged Thistle onward.

[Envinyatar]

Hithadan watched as the small party headed southward from the Inn. He itched to go, but even on horse his painful leg would have slowed them down on what was most likely to be a long journey.

Instead, he borrowed one of the horses from the stable and rode off at a quick pace east, across the river. One of his fellow rangers was in that area, he knew, and he hoped he might persuade him to go south down the river and seek out what information there might be. A ranger might pick up clues the search party could miss. And contacts along the way might prove useful in broadening what scanty knowledge they had now.

[Lilly]

(Away from the Inn – Gardenia Boffin’s place)

‘Well now, who’s this come riding lickety-split up my path?’ Gardenia twitched the curtains away from the window and narrowed her eyes. ‘My, my,’ she went on, leaning as close in as she could, her nose touching against the window’s pane. ‘I’d swear it was that Will from the Perch.’ ‘You know, the lad who works in the stable,’ she went on, turning her head toward Hugh. Hugh rose from his chair and peered out the window. ‘Indeed!’

Gardenia waved him toward the door as she went to fill the teapot with more hot water. She cut a few more generous slices of seedcake and had set out another plate and mug just as Hugh was welcoming Will at the door. ‘Come on in lad and set yourself down,’ she said pointing toward his new laid place at the table. ‘You must be tired. I saw you coming at right quick pace.’ Before he could answer, she had poured him a cup of steaming tea and set a slice of seedcake on his plate. ‘What brings you up here, Will?’

Hugh sat himself back at his place at the table and helped himself to more tea and cake. Before he could take one bite or drink, his mouth dropped open at what Will was saying.

Celandine Brandybuck had gone missing! Sometime in the night, he gathered. And there was some question Will said about a letter she’d gotten just yesterday and whether it had something to do with her disappearance.

‘Now I don’t know what the letter said,’ Hugh began, putting on a very official postman look. ‘Never look into others private matters!’ he declared. Then, with a half abashed look did amend that he might just take a little peek inside if the address were smudged . . . . ‘But only enough to see who it’s going to, you know! And this one was clear as day, in a nice bold hand, too.’

He sat back in his chair, a considering look on his face. ‘It was a great, fat letter,’ he went on. ‘And there was a note on it too, on the back where it was sealed. Where it was come from, I think. And not one of your usual places, neither!’ He frowned, trying to remember.

At Will’s urging, Hugh had agreed to come to the inn and talk to the sheriff. ‘Well, maybe I’ll think of it on our way back,’ he said as he and Will prepared to mount up and head to the Perch.

Gardenia, not one to let guests go without a little something to tide them over, had quickly fixed up two napkins tied up securely with slices of seedcake within. These she handed to the two fellows once they’d mounted their ponies along with a small flask each of sweet tea.

‘Now you bring those back,’ she instructed Hugh, handing up the flasks and napkin wrapped bundles. She stood back and waved them off as they turned and trotted down the path. It was all Gardenia could do not to do a sprightly dance as she watched them disappear round a turn in the hill. Her neighbors would be green with envy at her news from the inn. She ran back in to the house to fetch her little cloak and was soon making her way to old Granny Whitfoot’s place.

[Elfchick7]

Nienna sat up in her bed and finished off her light breakfast. She felt so much better after her long sleep. Luriniel had eaten all of her food and was packing up their belongings. They both felt that Eru has truly blessed them and granted them the peace which they had been longing for since they began their long journey. Perhaps closure was not too distant for the sisters. After all, they had each spoken with another elf who had not treated them as enemies and had even sought their help.

The Shire had been a pleasant enough stop, but it was time to press on. They knew not to what, but Nienna had almost completely healed and there seemed to be some sort of trouble at the Inn. The sisters decided that they could help best by getting out of the way and being two less guests for the flustered staff to worry about. They stood and left their room to pay their room and board for the past few days. As they waited for their horses, Luriniel surveyed the beautiful Shire landscape. It seemed so quiet and simple. Eru, I beg you to grant my sister and I a quiet peaceful life, like that in this small corner of Arda. Bless us and do not let us continue to bear punishment for the wrongs of our father. Their horses were brought out and the sister finally left the Golden Perch Inn.

[Kath]

Cir had been so utterly gobsmacked by the events of the last few minutes that she almost obeyed her aunt without question. She was already heading inside after Mithalwen when her thoughts caught up with her and she remembered that she had unfinished business before she could settle back into this inn.

"Cir!" She called, turning to find her brother moving away from her. He stopped and faced her automatically and she found herself cringing at the look on his face. During the ride with their aunt Cir had had ample time to think over what had happened between them and had found herself feeling ashamed of her behaviour. They had been on the move and in trouble and trying their hardest to think only of behaving recently and though what had happened had been in her mind Cir hadn't found the time, or more accurately hadn't desired to find the time, to really think about how her brother must be feeling. She had shut herself off from him deliberately, knowing how much that would hurt him, but it was only now that she truly felt the guilt of that action.

"Well?" Came a voice, and she realised that Cir had been speaking to her. He now looked more irritated than hurt and she thought she'd better get her apology in quickly before his annoyance grew to such a level that he couldn't accept it.

"I'm sorry." She blurted out. "I'm sorry I was so horrible to you. I think you were entirely wrong not to tell me what our father said about us, we don't keep secrets from each other and especially not when it affects both of us. I know that you were upset about it and that you probably didn't want me to feel as bad as you did but you should still have said something. But when you did tell me I shouldn't have reacted like I did so I'm sorry."

The speech was hardly eloquent but the feelings in it were clear as day and Cir knew that her brother would appreciate the fact that she wasn't shutting him out anymore. She knew that she was right about this by the smile that spread across his face.

"You were being an idiot." He said, his voice slightly uncertain as he wasn't sure they were quite back to joking with each other yet.

"Coming from you." Cir replied, gently hitting her brother's arm to indicate that yes, they were alright again. She understood why Cir had acted the way he had and knew that he now understood why she had been so angry with him. She also knew her brother and knew that she would get an apology from him for his behaviour in just the way that she had apologised for hers - they were too similar for their own good sometimes. In this case though it allowed her to accept the apology and forgive him before he even gave it.

"I'm sorry too." Her brother spoke softly.

"I know." Cir replied, smiling.

[Mithalwen]

" I was an idiot too.... " the boy added the as they led the pony round to the stables, "but you are right it was too horrible to say at the time and then .... It was very wrong of me to blurt it out to a stranger".

Carantilion grimaced at the memory then perked up a little, "But Aunt Mithalwen doesn't seem to think we are so bad .. at least not yet" he amended cautiously, "she actually seems pleased to see us... so maybe Cir, we should try... not to annoy her too much and by the time we go back they might think they had imagined that we were awful... probably not Erestor though.. I don't think he will ever forgive us. " He grinned, some mischief could not be regretted.

"Mithalwen - well she is as old as the hills of course ... nearly as old as Ada, but at least she has a sense of humour... it might not be so bad, especially now you are speaking to me again. I reckon that if we don't give her too much trouble she will give us a lot more freedom. What do you think - it might even be fun?"

He paused and looked around the stable yard .... "That's odd, there doesn't seem to be anyone around. Must be all inside".

[Ilya]

Not everyone was inside.

Widlast wasn't sure exactly why he headed for the stables first, for he'd no horse. Force of habit, perhaps. The slantways walk over tufted, lumpy ground led him to the inn at an odd bent, voices whipping past him as he drew close. Tucking himself into the warm joint created by the door flung wide, he tried to find the wrinkles of his boots interesting as a piece of straw stuck in the wood grazed his eyebrow. Three weeks ago he would've been annoyed that deference had caught his heels over what turned out to be a reconciliation between two bairns, but then, wasn't that just the pommel of the whole journey? He made to run a hand through his hair before realizing that in its shorn state he would get no good of the motion, and plunged his hand into a pocket instead.

He noticed the stable was open at both ends, and figured the two little ones would forget to close the one at the farther end, as he himself would've been kicked for at their age. Without a word, Widlast ambled over to the further side, enjoying the sensation of his boots falling on stray bits of straw in the yard. He gave the door a firm, slow push and it swung as though it too were enjoying the pleasure of moving through the air. He did not look back, but heard the clack of the lock as he moved into the yard proper and towards the lighted windows that signaled an easy chair on which to place his weight.

[Folwren]

“Dear me,” Dick said, his hands on his hips as he watched the group of hobbits canter down the road. He shook his head. Bad as it was for business to have half of his customers go riding off, Dick didn’t mind in the least. He dearly hoped that Cook could be found, for no cook would mean no good food, and that would be worse business still.

He turned and re-entered the inn. A quick glance showed him a mostly empty common room. Primrose and Rowan stood on either side of the kitchen door, looking as though the shocking events of the morning had left them rooted in their places for good. Granny Greenhill, who’s sharp wits had guided them most of the way through the chaotic morning, sat near the fire, looking as though she were ready to nod off to sleep after all the exertion she had put out so far that day.

A few odd, tall figures of random elves and men uninterested apparently with the disappearances of innocent hobbit folk occupied the other corners of the room.

“Come, Prim and Rowenna,” Dick said gently. “Let’s get this mess cleared away and this room set back in order.”

The two girls sprang immediately into action and the dishes were cleared away in a twinkling of an eye. Dick took the table cloth to the door to shake out. It was only then that he noticed the tall elf who had been standing in the shadow by the door way for goodness knows how long.

“Oh, excuse me!” Dick cried in greeting. “May I help you?”

[Undómë]

Rowan nudged Prim as the Innkeeper turned away to deal with one of the guests, one of the Fair Folk. 'Psst!' she whispered drawing Prim's attention now fully. 'Help me pile up the rest of these dishes and I'll cart them into the kitchen.' Rowan glanced at Master Boffin, noting his attention was still on his business the Elf. 'I'll set them to soaking in some nice sudsy water and see about going to Cook's room like we talked about. Maybe I can find something to tell us where she's gone.'

Prim stacked the dishes nose high in Rowan's hands and followed her into the kitchen with a precarious piling of cups and cutlery in her own hands. stacking them in the big sink alongside Rowan's heap of dirt dishes, she made her way to the stove and grabbed the steaming kettle. Tucking a packet of tea into her apron pocket she walked carefully back toward the door into the common room. 'You go on, then,' she said to her friend, stopping just before she made her exit. Prim jutted her chin toward the door into Cook's room. 'I'll pass about some fresh tea and make myself look busy tidying up with broom and rag. If anyone asks, I'll tell them you're busy washing up.' Good luck! she mouthed backing carefully through the door.

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

Where to start? Where to start? Rowan mused as she closed the door to Cook's room behind her. The room was neat and tidy, the bed made, the hand towel by the pitcher and basin stand folded just so. There were some things missing, she noted. That small picture of trees round a a swimming hole in the bend of some lazy looking river; the sunlight slanting through the trees, dappling the surface of the water. Cook had kept it on the little table by her bed.

Rowan opened the large oaken wardrobe that stood along the wall to her right. A number of blouses and skirts were gone, along with Cook's hooded cloak. All packed, no doubt, into the large carpetbag Cook had kept stored under her bed and was now missing. Small clothes were gone too from the drawers at the bottom of the wardrobe. Grabbed out in a hurry, it seemed, as other contents of the drawers were pushed around and left in disarray.

The curious hobbit poked about in the wardrobe, finding nothing of any significance as far as she was concerned. As a last thought she carried the little chair from desk in the corner and set it close in front of the wardrobe. Rowan climbed up on it and ran her hands along the deep shelf. Nothing of any note, she thought. Some bandanas, a couple of hats, a single glove, missing its mate, a woolen scarf.

Wait! What’s this? Her fingers pushed up against something hard and bumpy in the back corner. Rowan eased the object out until she could get a firm grip on it. ‘Interesting,’ she murmured aloud as she turned the little shell-covered box over in her hands, admiring the pretty shells affixed to it.

Rowan clambered down from the chair, taking care not to drop the little treasure. Once firmly planted on the floor she lifted the lid and peeked inside . . .

[Mithalwen]

“May I help you?”

Mithalwen deemed that the hobbit who addressed her was probably the Landlord and addressed him as such:

"Mr Boffin, I presume? " Mithalwen paused and read confirmation and perhaps surprise in his face and continued. "First I must offer you an apology, My niece and nephew trespassed on your hospitality recently and left without warning. That was my fault. They had played truant from those entrusted with their care and my anger when I found them meant that I did not listen to their story. Consequnetly I learned only this morning that I had force them to welch on an arrangement with you. For this I am sorry and wish to make amends. "

Mithalwen took her purse from her belt. I hope that you will be able to accomodate us all tonight and perhaps for a little longer and I will pay you also for the room they left unoccupied without notice. I need stabling for one horse and if possible safe storage of a waggonette and it contents - though perhaps my niece has already spoken to you about this?" Mithalwen made a mental note to retrieve the money she had given the girl if this were the case.

"It contains examples of my craft I was taking for sale but if there is anything there you should like I hope you will accept it as recompense for the inconvenience the twins and I have caused you" .
The tall elf looked earnestly at the Landlord hoping that she had expressed her regret in a language she used seldom.

[Rose]

Granny was only cat-napping. Her sharp old ears listened to the hum of conversation in the room, much as she did to the the hums of her dear bees as they went about their daily business. Her eyes, too, though giving all appearances of being closed in sleep, peeped out from beneath those grey tipped lashes.

'Where's Miz Rowan?' she spoke softly as Prim reached out to tidy Granny's table and pour a little hot tea in her mug. Prim's vague and hazy references to 'washing up' and such, accompanied by a quickening crimson tinge to the young woman's cheeks made Granny wary of her answer.

'That so?!' the elder Hobbit said, leveraging herself up from the chair, her walking stick planted firmly on the floorboards for support. 'B'lieve I'll just go give her a hand, then.' Ignoring a few splutters of protest from Prim, Granny made her way into the kitchen.

Not finding Rowan anywhere about and the dishes piled in the sink still dirty, she proceeded toward the sounds of scuffling and ruffling about she heard from just beyond an opened door at one end of the room.

'Miz Rowan?' she called out, her yew wood stick tap-tapping her progress across the floor. 'That you, dear?'

It was indeed the Hobbit lass, who turned with a look of surprise on her face and a pair of objects held firmly in her hands. 'Why what's that?' the old woman ask drawing closer. 'A little shell covered keepsake box, yes? And that....some little carved trinket isn't it. How clever it is!' She took the wooden ship, meticulously carved, sails and oars, and smelling of some fragrant wood. Turning it this way and that she smiled admiring the workmanship.

'Oh look!' she chuckled, holding the vessel a little closer to her eyes. 'Now isn't that something!' She held it out for Rose to see. There on the deck was a small figure, unshod.....with a definite patch of hair gracing each foot.

[Tiffany Aching]

Miribelle felt as if she were eating more than her share of toast and jam that the Elf had brought to the table. Just because you’re a bit hungry is no reason to be like a pig at the trough! she chastened herself. She pushed the little plate of toasted bread toward Tavaro, encouraging him with a small wave of her hand to take a piece. ‘Oh and just let me top up your tea, Master Elf. It’s nice and hot, what with Mistress Prim having brought round the kettle.’

She looked round the room, wondering where Mungo had gone off to. Most likely slinking like a weasel toward the door! she sniffed.

‘Do you see that Mungo anywhere?’ she asked turning back toward Tavaro. ‘Off to finish whatever mischief brought him here in the first place. Mark my words on that.’

[Arry]

Away from the Inn - but slowly on the way back

It was slow going despite the urgings to pick up the pace from Will. Hugh’s mount, Jolly, wanted to stop often and crop the grass along the roadside. And to be honest Hugh seemed quite willing to stop for a bit here and there, too - to dip into the bundle of seedcake slices and sip at the flask of sweet tea from Miz Gardenia.

At one of the halts along the way, Will got down from Thistle and walked about a bit to stretch his legs. He paused in his steps and hands on hips looked up at the postman expectantly. ‘You had any thoughts, yet, on that letter, Hugh?’

[Ilya]

As Widlast approached the door, snatches of conversation whipped by him.
"Dear me! Oh! Excuse me"
"Mr. Boffin, I presume?...welch on an arrangement with you...for the inconvenience the twins... "

Civil. Far too civil for men, anyway, which meant he'd reached holbytlan country. Pivoting to take a look around, he squinted hard at the branches suspended in the still air. He scratched at his ear, picking at the thought, silly though it seemed, that he'd expected the trees somehow to be smaller. The elf was still in the doorway, traces of toast and blurred chatter pushing past her. Widlast tucked his thumb inside his belt and leaned against a post near the door. In the tales, what elves purposed or misliked they did in ways beyond mens' understanding, moving in their own time. Most like, it already knew he was behind it, toying with a stone under his boot. Best he give it room to be. The way would be neither the longer or the dustier for him having to stand and wait for the elf to move on. He caught a pair of brown eyes at the elf's elbow, belonging he supposed to the innman, who carried himself well for looking all of ten. Pushing his weight into the worn wooden post, he settled himself on waiting until the innkeeper approached him.

[Folwren]

Dick assured Mithalwen in the most animated language that there had been no inconvenience, that no apology was necessary, and she really did not need to offer him any of her handy work. “Really, ma’am, it’s perfectly alright,” he said, for the tenth time in the space of thirty seconds, “they were not of any real trouble, and keeping the rooms did not cause a bit of inconvenience, really. It is alright.

“And we have room in the stables for your pony. Indeed, all the ponies have just now been taken out! Good gracious me, what a morning this had been!” He pressed his hand against his forehead briefly with the thought and a distracted look entered and left his face quickly. “Yes, yes, the rooms are still unoccupied and Rowan can open them for you. Prim!” he said, seeing the serving-hobbit heading towards the kitchen again. “Have Rowan open the rooms for the elves here.” Prim nodded and disappeared.

“So, that is taken care of,” said Dick. “Please, enter - and welcome!” He stepped aside and gave Mithalwen a clearer entrance to the common room. The elf nodded her head gracefully and swept past him. Dick, having been aware of another customer standing on the doorstep all this while, turned to meet him.

“Good day to you, sir. Enter and welcome!”

[Ilya]

Widlast nodded, then realized he was acknowledging at the carvings in the woodwork instead of the innkeeper, and so nodded again, stooping slightly to get through the door. Inside, there was the usual yawning fireplace and scrubbed bar, these two markedly airier than the most he'd seen. A very easy place. But as he fixed on those who filled the room, it gave him such pause that he ran a hand through his hair again, which only mussed it further.

One elf in strange country was all well enough, but seated in the common room were at least two others of the fair folk, eating with a chil- no, he could see that one was another holbytla. "The doings here," he murmured."The doings here. Strange. Anyroad, your health and good horses," he spoke what he hoped would be a suitable greeting down to the innman, his eyes lingering on the embroidery of the holbytla's surcoat. He said no more, for then he spotted a table next to the fire, on which waited a steaming cup seemingly conjured out his thoughts. As he moved to the table, though, he realized it was a little table. Very likely he would crush the chair. Yet on the other side of the fireplace was a man-sized stool, so unslinging his haversack and resting his head on the warm stone, he nearly fell down upon it.

[Undómë]

‘Here, Gran!’ Rowan placed the little carved ship back into the shell-covered box and placed it in the older Hobbit’s hands. ‘You keep this safe and we’ll look it over more when I’m done.’ She watched as Granny Greenhill placed the box into one of the large pockets on her apron.

‘Coming!’ she called out to Prim who’d already started back toward the Common Room. ‘Now who did you say we’re freshening up the rooms for?’ Rose asked, catching up to her friend. ‘Ah, three of the Fair Folk is it?’ She stopped at the linen closet and opened the doors wide. ‘Give us a hand, then, Prim,’ she went on, piling three sets of sheets on her friend’s outstretched arms.

‘Yes, I know,’ she said answering Prim’s arched eyebrows. ‘I made sure I pulled out the long sheets. ‘Can’t have those Elvish toes poking out from the bottom of the covers, now can we?’

The two made their way quickly to the rooms reserved for the Big Folk and began to make up the beds, hang fresh towels, set out small bunches of flowers in earthenware vases and leave each a pitcher for water and a mug for drinking.

They were just smoothing out the green-hued quilt in the last room, their work almost done when Rowan leaned toward Prim and whispered across the bed. ‘You’ll never believe what I found in Cook’s room. Way back of the top shelf of that old wardrobe.’

‘Well?’ Prim whispered back, her brow furrowing. ‘What? What?!’ Spill it, Ro!’

Rowan put her finger to her lips, lifting her chin toward the door in a quick movement. ‘Someone’s coming, Prim. I’ll tell you later.....’

[Rose]

Granny's walking stick meets Widlast's foot....

Penstemon walked slowly back toward the common room, her gnarled yew stick tap-tapping along the well worn floor boards. Curious sort of a day she mused to herself, the knobbly fingers of her left hand patting the little case in her apron pocket. And curiouser still she thought on, peering about the room as she stepped through the entryway. ‘My, my,’ Granny reaching her hand up to pat against her heart. It was as if the disappearance of Miz Celandine had never occurred.....and just this morn, too. Business at the Inn seemingly flowed on as usual.

Someone had tidied away her mug along with her plate of toast and jam, Granny noted. ‘All to the better, really,’ she thought, looking about for a place to sit down. There, on the far side of the fireplace, was a nice little table. Woolgathering as she ambled toward the inviting chair, she didn’t notice the boot sticking out in her pathway, the rather large boot. Her stick thumped down squarely on the top of it.

‘Begging your pardon, good sir!” she said, looking up in surprise at the man attached to the boot. ‘Didn’t mean to mash your foot so!!’

[Lilly]

Away from the Inn....but getting nearer

‘You had any thoughts, yet, on that letter, Hugh?’ Hands on hips, Will looked expectantly up at the postman.
Hugh lowered his flask of tea mid-swig and swiped his lips with the back of his hand. ‘What’s that you said, Will?’ he asked, pushing the cork securely into the neck of the flask. His mind had been on how his hindside was beginning to ache a bit, to chafe in the saddle, what with all this hurrying along back to the Inn.

He rubbed the back of his neck and let out a considering sigh. ‘Well, let’s see. Hmmmm....it was a big thick letter. Much handled. You know....a number of dirty fingerprints and some water stains, too. Crumpled, probably from being stuffed into sacks, and pouches, and such.’ Hugh pursed his lips and nodded his head as something jogged his memory.’You know, I think the hunter fellow who passed it on to me said he’d come up from the south and....and the west. And he’d got it from another man.....Oh good gravy, I know something was said about that fellow, too, but I just can’t seem to remember.

[Ilya]

The warmth snug in the fireplace's stones rubbed against his temple and lulled Widlast into feeling lead-limbed and content, a sensation he knew would vanish in a moment as the aches of the road remembered themselves to his mind. He stuck out his boot and cracked his toes and sighed. Probing a bruise on his wrist, Widlast was sifting for what would've occasioned it when he felt something push on his boot. That one I'll be able to account for, he thought, and looking down in a saw a sturdy walking stick withdrawing quickly from the toe.

He followed the stick up to...quite a sight. Like the innkeeper, she looked no more than a child, but was snowy-haired, withered and weathered, and in a boisterous, venerable tone was making him an apology. "Didn’t mean to mash your foot so!!" she said. A blink was all the surprise he betrayed, though studying bright brown eyes age had not robbed of their quickness, Widlast wouldn't have been surprised if she'd caught it. He laughed a cracked, unseasoned laugh that scratched his throat coming up. "No worries, old mother," he said, "no worries at all."

Bending down to rub his toe, he felt the soreness more in his neck and shoulders than in his foot. "All's where it ought to be," Widlast said but too soon, for just as he spoke the bodkin tucked in his bracer came loose. He caught it ere it hit the ground, but these holbytlan seemed unalarmable folk until they were alarmed. The last thing he wanted was to be chased out of Stock for supposed thuggery on account of a hidden dagger. As though backing away from a spooked horse, he lowered his eyes and rummaged through his haversack and, graces be, found a bruised apple within. He made sure to cut it in a slow, measured way, and offered the first piece to the holbytla woman, hoping the creases made by his smile would cloak those of his nerves.

[Undómë]

Rowan made her way back to the Common Room once she’d given a last look about to the Elves’ rooms. ‘Good enough for my Great-aunt Tansy,’ she said to herself in a satisfied manner. ‘And my stars! She’s as picky as picky can be!!’

The Innkeeper looked busy, so she waited for a break in the hubbub about him and then approached. ‘Master Boffin,’ she said, catching his attention. ‘The rooms you wanted are done and ready for their occupants.’ She gave him a quick smile and hurried away to help Prim with the customers.

‘Here, let me help clear up those tables, Prim. Perhaps you can go into the kitchen and take a look-see in the pantry. I’ll come in soon.’ Rowan chewed thoughtfully at the corner of her lip. ‘We’ll have to be thinking something up for lunch, now, won’t we?’

As she piled up an armful of plates and mugs, Rowan caught sight of an interesting pair near the fireplace. Granny! And some rough looking Big Folk fellow! Now isn’t that interesting....

[Rose]

‘No worries, old mother,’ he said, ‘no worries at all.’

My, my! Polite enough for one of the Big Folk, isn’t he? Granny nodded as the fellow turned aside her apology with a soft counter. She watched then as he deftly retrieved his escaping knife.

Bit nervous, though... Penstemon thought to herself as he pulled out a well-travelled apple from his sack and carefully cut it. And careful as well to avoid looking at her; though for what reason she could not fathom. Taking the piece offered she waited as he cut one for himself.

Looks a bit rough around the edges. Granny glanced from the man back to the apple wedge, thinking the same could be said of either. She took a bite, savoring the surprising sweetness of the weathered fruit. ‘My stars! That’s tasty!’ She beamed up at the fellow. ‘Not from the trees round these parts, is it?’

Granny nodded her approval and finished off the slice.

‘Now where’s my manners!? Name’s Penstemon Greenhill....from roundabout here. And who might you be, young man?’

[Undómë]

‘Hmmmm....perhaps if I work my way nearer to those two I can find out what they’re talking about.’ Rowan fetched a pot of hot, sweetspice tea, mugs, a basket of toast, and small jar of honey and one of blackberry jam. Fixing a cheerful smile on her face, she made her way toward where Granny and the Man were sharing an apple.

‘Thought you two might like something to fill in around your slices,’ she said brightly, putting the tray she carried down on the table.

[Ilya]

Widlast had paused with his tongue pressed against his teeth when the serving lass came over. "Nothing for me, mistress, thank you kindly," he said, shaking his head more from bewilderment than anything else. What he'd heard of these parts was an insular folk, creatures who could vanish into the ground. And there was trouble here too, he sensed that, for all the easy stillness of the inn. Yet these two were civil, chatty, even. He fingered the serving tray, and then looked back up, at the old woman still relishing her apple-slice, and the younger girl, a easy smile trying to hold back the sheer weight of her curiosity. No, he could not conjure these holbytlan in a hole in the ground.

"Penstemon...Campanulatus, the bell-flower," he mused and then answered her. "I am Widlast," shrugging and running a hand through his hair, he leaned back against the wall. Hopefully, a foreign-sounding word or two would do for the pair. The elder seemed sharp, and as he picked at the dirt under his thumb, he knew the more she asked the more likely it would be that he'd have to lie.

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen found herself a free table by a window and having stowed her case under the bench installed herself on its padded seat - even old Elvish bones appreciate some comfort - the stools would be fine for the twins when they came in. Besides it meant she could see what was going on outside as well as in the common room - and there was definitely something going on though she had not the chance to ask Mr Boffin about it .

Perhaps the children would have found out she thought, they were certainly taking their time with the pony she mused as she folded her grey cloak and placed it neatly next to her. But here they were,slipping in to the room as subtly as cats, seemingly on better terms that when they had left her. That was something.

She spoke to them softly, in their own tongue "Here you are - what kept you? I have spoken to Mr Boffin myself so it can't be that? - the rooms are arranged but if one of you could arrange some tea that would be lovely. I think we may be too late for breakfast and too early for lunch - but I get the impression that today isn't quite a normal day"

Her niece slid off in the direction of the kitchen while her nephew replied:

"There was no one about in the yard so we sorted Bracken out ourselves - found him an empty stall and hay and water and left his harness on a rack in the tack-room. If it is wrong it'll have to be put right later. The trap we have just left for now - I think it will be alright but I don't know about the things in it. Should we bring them in?"

Mithalwen thought of the hobbit she had seen when she first arrived - he had looked decidedly shify, and while it was unfair to judge on first sight, they had seemed to have been interrogating him. However it seemed she couldn't even give her craft away now so maybe a thief would be doing her a favour.

"Don't worry - I have the most important things here with me - and I am sure Mr Boffin will arrange things with his stableman. You have made your peace with your sister have you not? "

Cir nodded. Clearly it was going to be hard to keep much from their aunt.

"And you aren't going to tell me about it?"

The boy looked uncomfortable and lowerered his gaze -"It doesn't matter anymore..." his voice trailed, reluctant to speak in his sister's absence but aware that his aunt seemed to know regardless of whether he spoke or not.

"hmm, well maybe I can guess, but we'll leave it for now at least. Now when Enpauriel returns with that tea, I think you may have your presents - not that I am quite sure you deserve them". Mithalwen added with a grin.

[Strongbow]

He had passed many miles, from Imladris to the Shire. He had chosen, on a whim, to avoid The Prancing Pony, and instead he had wound around the Weather Hills, taking his time. The Dúnedain had told him that the Men of Bree would look down on him, and told him that the rumors of haunting of Fornost, which Men called "Deadman's Dike", where just that: rumors. So, Tarden son of Taros has traveled over the lonely country with only his trusted companion, Meglis.

Just west of Fornost Erain, Tarden turned sharply south to meet the Road as it entered the Shire. The Baranduin was too wide and deep to ford, and even though he would keep south more than was necessary, he was forced to take the Bucklebury Ferry into the Eastfarthing. The Ferry itself had given him no trouble, although the ferry-hobbits were a bit afraid of his dog. His dog was bigger than he was. The people of the Eastfarthing were very open towards him, particularly in Buckland, and many a time was he directed to his destination: the Golden Perch, where there was, reputedly, the best beer in the Eastfarthing. As a matter of fact, he had heard that particular phrase several times that day.

Very odd, he thought it, that there were that many riders on the Road, just inside the borders of the Shire. His eyes could descry, in the far distance, the Perch, set in the side of a hill, and many posts for horses outside. Uneventfully, he came to the place, the golden sun hammering home the Golden name of the Inn. He had already heard that a many of his size would have to stoop to enter into the place, and the round door was not wide enough for him and Meglis to go through at the same time.

His eyes squinted in the difference of the lighted as he bent himself near double, and stood up finally, his eyes darting about, spying the fireplace, and the counter. He smiled at the Common Room, and turned to the counter, to the hobbit behind the counter.

"Sir," he inquired politely. "Would it be alright for my dog to follow? I assure you, he's quite well-behaved, and will follow any word I tell him." As if to demonstrate his good behavior, the black, bear-like beast sat, trying to look as sweet as he can.

[Folwren]

Dick stared with huge eyes at the dog. It was more terrifying than even the legends of Farmer Maggots dogs, which were by all accounts as fierce and large as any dragon! But this! This dog was as big as two dragons. Dick continued to stare.

He didn’t look very harmful, sitting upon his haunches (which were as big as a pony’s), with the tip of his tongue protruding just slightly. He met Dick’s eye squarely and then shut his mouth all the way and tilted his head slightly to the left, looking questioningly at the hobbit.

Dick suddenly came to his senses and jerked his eyes away. ‘Never look a dog in the eye!’ his mum had told him, whenever the topic came up. ‘It makes them mad and they’ll eat you!’ To a hobbit next to a dog this size, that was a very real threat.

“So long as he doesn’t disturb the other customer’s, I guess he will be alright,” he said.

[Rose]

‘You’ve the right of that, Master Widlast,’ Granny returned. ‘Named after the Bellflower by my mother. I was her only girl, you see, and she called me after her favorite flower.’ Granny closed her eyes for a moment recalling her mother’s meandering flower garden and the riot of colorful penstemons planted there.

The elder Hobbit took a swig of the sweetspice tea Rowan had brought round for them. And once done, helped herself to a thick slice of toast and a generous helping of blackberry jam. ‘You sure you won’t have a mug along with me and something a little more substantial than an apple slice?’ She pushed a mug toward him, followed by the basket of toast. ‘Have two, why don’t you,’ she went on. ‘The blackberry jam’s some of the best around. And the honey, I do believe, is some from my own hives. Very tasty, if I do say so myself.’ She munched thoughtfully on her piece of toast.

‘You know,’ Granny said, turning her attention back on Widlast. ‘That’s an interesting coat you’ve got on there. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen one like it before. Where’d you get it, if you don’t mind my asking?’

[Ilya]

Full of questions, Widlast mused, looking from the elder to the lass. They were interested, sure, but it seemed innocent enough to be curious of a stranger. Fingering a hole in the lining of his coat, he allowed himself a wry smile. He had not done so well in going unnoticed as he thought, and not for the reasons he thought, either. Yet they were not mistrustful of him. A puzzling people, these holbytlan.

"You ask a great many questions, Mother Pestemon," he said slowly. Off her look, he added, "Cry your pardon, but there's not many folk of the road who do. But I shall answer all as best I can. The apple is not from this region, but was picked outside of the mannish town to the north. Bree, I think." She nodded, and he flicked his eyes down to the mug and the warm liquid quivering at the surface. "I thank you for the offer, but I've no coin for the jam or the tay or the toast. And my coat?" He patted the old leather resting against his thigh and a little dust rose off it. "I found in the lands to the south, beyond the mountains and near to the sea."

Stripped it off a dead pirate is the tale's mark, he thought, hooking his thumb back into the hole, but that tale would not keep in the company of such woman. "There are some fine hive-masters there, too, if I remember aright, though I never much cared for the fare that they honeyed. And your name, mistress?" Widlast turned to the girl. He'd done his part, let them now talk together for a while.

[Undómë]

‘It’s Rowan, Master Widlast,’ the serving lass replied. ‘Sometimes I forget that not every one knows me,’ she laughed. ‘It seems like everyone has passed through the Perch at one time or another.’ She shrugged. ‘Anyways, sorry, I was bad-mannered! I wouldn’t want you to think me rude.’ She grimaced at the thought. Good grief, what would my old Gammer think of me!

‘Ah, well, now that we’ve got that straightened away....’ Rowan topped off Granny’s tea. ‘There’s no coin to be worrying about for the tea and toast and such this morning. You see, our cook’s gone missing, and we’re putting out this little make-do nibble until we can figure out what we can throw....errr, that is put together, for lunch.’ She nodded toward the food and drink. ‘So, help yourself, else whatever bread is leftover goes out to feed the hens....and goodness knows they’re plenty well fed as it is!’

‘I hope you don’t mind me stealing Miz Penstemon away for a while,’ she went on. ‘Prim and I could sure use your help putting some sandwiches together for lunch, Granny.’ She smiled at Widlast as she helped the older Hobbit up and handed her cane to her. ‘I’ll bring your mug and plate, Gran. After you....’

As they neared the door to the kitchen, Rowan bent close to Granny and whispered. ‘Did you hear what he said about his coat, Gran? He said it found it somewhere near to the sea. That’s where the big ships would be, wouldn’t they?’ She gave a quick glance back at the dusty man. ‘Maybe he would know about the little carved ship we found.’

[Strongbow]

Tarden nodded his head once cordially, and rapped on his thigh twice. Meglis got of his haunches, panting slightly, and he sidled up to his master. He nuzzled his master's thigh where he had tapped, and sat down again, waiting on the Man's word. Tarden bent down, and patted the dog affectionately. Meglis had been his companion for a good four or so years (Tarden didn't really know), having been sired in Rivendell from his last dog, Frodda. Frodda was interesting; he never learned to speak Westron, so Tarden was forced to speak the language of Rohan around him. But Meglis was ever more valiant than Frodda, and more loving towards Tarden.

He looked up at the hobbit. Not young anymore, but not old. Certainly middle-aged. He stood nearly three feet above him, and even Meglis was taller than he, but from what Tarden had seen of hobbits, he was about average, and by the cut of his coat, he looked a bit more well off than another hobbit. He set his bulky pack down, stood up, and spoke.

"Well," Tarden stated. "I suppose I should like a Man-sized room. Would you be Mister Boffin?"

[Folwren]

“I am that - Seredic Boffin, at your service,” he bowed slightly - as far as the counter permitted without looking ridiculous. “We do have a room you can take. Prim...that is Rowan...” he looked around, but no one was in sight. “I mean, I’ll show you there myself, sir!”

He bobbed around the counter and came nose to nose with the dog who had walked just beside his master, as he had been commanded. Dick stepped back with surprise before regaining his composure and leading the way.

At the end of the hall, he opened the door and showed the man into one of the man sized rooms. It had three beds in it and a large window at the far end of the room.

“No one else is yet here for the night, so you may have the place to yourself! I hope you find it comfortable. As soon as you’re settled in, you are welcome to come out and find a seat and something to eat. Is there anything further I can do for you?”

[Strongbow]

"Ah," Tarden replied. "Only two things more: first, forgive me for my lack of manners! I am Tarden, son of Taros of Gondor, at your service and your family's!" he said with a bit of pomp, placing his left hand on his breast and bowing low to the hobbit. "And with me is Meglis, son of Frodda, of the Mark. Meglis, speak!" His command was obeyed in earnest, with the dog letting out a bark that boomed through the room and the halls.

"And second, Mister Boffin, I ask that you let me settle in. I shall return to the common room shortly," he said, motioning to Meglis and closing the door behind him. He strode through the room, admiring the craftsmanship and choosing his bed. He set his pack down, and also set to unstringing his bow. The unstrung bow he leaned in the corner, with his sword in its sheath.

Next, he redressed himself, making himself more presentable. His mail coat came off, the rings jingling slightly as he folded it and set it in the bottom of his pack. Without thinking, Tarden's fingers went to his back, and he rubbed one of the purple whip marks that he still bore from his days with the Corsairs. His muscles tensed, and he drew his hand away, replacing a shirt on his person. It was at this moment that Tarden realized that he hadn't truly rested, that is in a bed, in a room, in a house, for at least a fortnight. He sat on the edge of the bed, taking of his boots and rubbing his feet a bit. Meglis sidled up beside the bed and Tarden stroked his massive head.

He laid back on the comfortable pillows, and sleep came over him in the afternoon.

His dreams, the ones he could remember, were queer. He could see a golden light in the distance, and he could remember that the light was calling to him. "Tarden...Tarden..." it called quietly, but clearly. The voice was that of a female. He did not recognize it. The world around him was a dim grey, not very defined by shapes, but it looked as if he were looking above a fire, with the waves of heat and the smoke distorting all he saw. But it wasn't on the environment that his attention was on. It was the light. It was getting closer. And closer. And closer. So much so that he could nearly grab it. It was so bright, so lovely. He reached out a hand and...

Falling.

Tarden woke up with a start, blinking with wild, animal-like suspicion around the room.

[Lilly]

Away from the Inn....but getting nearer

Hugh hummed to himself at times as Jolly plodded along behind Will’s pony, and often, too, quite loudly. He found that it helped him to think if he engaged in some mindless activity. And at the moment, he was humming one the tunes his dear old mum used to sing as she did the family clothes washing.

‘Why that’s it!’ he cried out all of a sudden yanking back sharply on his pony’s reins. ‘You, there, lad!’ he called out to Will, motioning for him to draw near.

‘That letter,’ he said wagging his finger at Will. ‘Now this is going to sound quite mad to you, I’m sure. But it’s the honest truth. That place where it was from....I remember the fellow who gave it to me said the fellow as gave it to him had come up from somewhere as sounded like.....let’s see now – "wash", "washing". No, now that’s not it.’ Hugh scrunched up his face and thought hard. ‘ "Launder"....that’s what he said, or at least something real close to it. “Launder”....’

‘That and he said the fellow told him he’d come up from the end of the river.....’

[Nessa Telrunya]

Nessa's hand fell upon something wooden. She felt around, checking the shape. Apparently it was a fence. There came the sounds of people and horses, but of all the voices, the elf could not make out the one of her travel companion, Rithri. What on Arda could have happened to seperate them? She closed her blind eyes, not wanting to alarm the owners of the surrounding voices, walking down the fence yet not letting go.

Now her hands fell on the wood of walls, and she continued, hoping to find a door. Perhaps the people inside would kindly help her to find Rithri. And if the older elf were not here, hopefully her brother Amras would come looking for her.

Nessa found a door and, taking a deep breath, knocked upon it thrice. She did not know that, instead of a private residence, she had found the Golden Perch Inn.

[Loslote]

Idhreniel walked softly into the Inn. She slipped past an elf making her way in and sat down at the back. She hoped not to stay long, for she still needed to deliver her message to Cirdan. It had grown too dark to travel, however, and she needed a place to stay. This inn would do nicely. She only wished it weren't so crowded.

Idhreniel gathered her courage and walked up to the counter. "Please, sir," she whispered, but she couldn't hear herself over the noise of the inn. She spoke louder. "Sir," she tried again, "could you tell me whether any elves from Rivendell are here?" Idhreniel wondered what was happening at home, and hoped to gather news.

[Folwren]

Dick heard the timid elf’s ‘Sir?’ but when he turned to face her, he could hear little else above the hubbub and noise of the inn. “Laud, miss, you’ll ‘ave to speak louder in these parts,” Dick said, craning his ear upwards. “Try again.”

The poor, self-conscious elf did so, bending down a little towards his ear. “Could you tell me, please, if any elves from Rivendell are here?”

Dick stood down from tip-toes and scratched his head. He looked around the common room. There were elves enough, but were they from Rivendell?

“Mithalwen there is, I think,” Dick said, nodding towards the matronly elf in the corner. “And her niece and Nephew, Cir, are, too. They’re outside still.” He stopped, hearing a rap on the door. “Who would be a-knocking on an inn door, I wonder?” he asked, beginning to walk away to answer it. “Forgive me, I’ll be just a second!”

He came to the door and opened it. When he did, he found himself looking at someone’s belt. He looked up into the face of another elf. Her eyes were shut and one hand held a carved staff.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” he asked.

[Nessa Telrunya]

Nessa was startled by how far down the voice was coming from. She turned her head in the direction, politely attempting to compose her face.

"Yes, sir, I-er, I am looking for a travel companion of mine, do you happen to know if an elf named Rithri is in the community? And-"

The clamour of voices and eating utensils clinking was a loud music from in front of her, and she knitted brows together.

"And is this a private home? If you do not mind me asking. I do not know what I will do if my companion isn't to be found."

[Loslote]

Idhreniel looked in surprise at the other Rivendell elf. She did not recognize her, which was in itself odd. Also, the name was unfamiliar. What was the point in seeking out a familiar face if it was as strange to you as the others'? Idhreniel thought, and quietly returned to the back of the room.

As she passed the door, she overheard what the innkeeper and the elf were saying. She contemplated offering her assistance to the elf, but decided against it. Instead, she paused and waited a few paces away. If the elf wanted her help, she could ask, and Idhreniel would be happy to help...but she refused to risk asking without need.

[Folwren]

“Why no. This is the Golden Perch, finest inn and ale establishment in the entire Southfarthing! Come in and welcome.” He stood aside and opened the door wider. “Watch your head, there. You elves are little too large for our humble hobbit doors.” He looked up into her face intently. He could tell she was blind, not only from the way she moved, but also from the fact that she kept her eyes shut.

“What was your companion’s name again?”

“Rithri,” she said, turning her face in his direction again.

“Well, I haven’t heard anyone give that name yet, but not everyone tells me their name, neither. Here’s another elf, just come in! She says she’s looking for an elf from Rivendell. Maybe you two could hit it off!

“Hey, Miss!” he said, addressing Loslate who stood near, unsure of what to do with herself. “I’m sure your not this Rithri chap that this lady is looking for, and I doubt she’s quite the elf from Rivendell that you were seeking out, but perhaps you can aid each other in finding who you need.”

[Nessa Telrunya]

Nessa stepped in, stooping to avoid the door, and, sure enough, the presence of a foreign obeject passed unnervingly close to her crown.

She unsteadily spoke, not sure where to direct her voice.

"A fellow elf, is it? Have you recently left Rivendell?"

She strained her ears to be sure the reply would be heard, unknowing of where the reply would come from or what direction she should turn her face.

[Loslote]

"Yes, I have," Idhreniel answered. "I am traveling to Mithlond. My name is Idhreniel. And you?"

She was glad to have a purpose - idling was so uncomfortable - but then, so was meeting new people. Still, the other elf looked nice. "Who are you looking for?" Idhreniel asked. "I may have seen him on my journey here."

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen had not taken any notice at first of the new arrivals - her niece had brought the promised tea and news from the kitchen of the cook's disappearance and subsequent investigations had absorbed her attention. However when she heard her name mentioned she looked up and saw two elfwomen - both were strangers to her, dark haired and of medium height, and clad in green but of diffent hues.

Blessed with the keen ears of all her kindred she could not but help hearing their speech. She heard them name Rivendell - if that was their home it explained why she did not recognise them. Mithalwen knew all who dwellt in her native Mithlond and nearly all of the older inhabitants of Rivendell, either becasue they like her brother had gone there from Lindon after Gilgalad's death or from her visits there. However these visits had been less frequent and shorter in latter days as the world seemed to darken again and she did not know some of the younger folk even by sight. These two were young, in her eyes at least , one perhaps no older than her nephew and niece. The bond between the twins was so strong that they seldom needed other company but the community of Rivendell was not so big that they would be quite ignorant of each other she supposed. And she thought ruefully that the twins bent for mischief had made them quite notorious.

So one was travelling to Mithlond? She was sure that she was not one of the Pilgrims who had escorted the Cirs to Woodhall. And that was another puzzle. She had chosen to stay at the Perch to avoidenduring further discussion of the twins errant behaviour from thier erstwhile travelling companions but it was a little strange for her kindred to choose to stay among mortals when elf halls were but a few miles away. No doubt they had their reasons and she might learn them in time. Her nephew's hopeful voice interrupted her thoughts...

"Aunt Mithalwen, didn't you say something about presents?"

"I did but that can wait a moment or two more - do you know either of the elves who have just come in?".

With a total lack of subtlety the twins turned so that they could see the newcomers.

[Loslote]

Idhreniel noticed a couple of young elves that had joined the older elf. She vaguely recognized them, but could not remember where she had seen them. Touching the other elf's elbow lightly, she walked over to them.

"Hello," Idhreniel said. "I seem to recall seeing you before, but I can't place you...who are you?"

If she did know the two, she would be glad to have the opportunity to discuss business of Rivendell. She missed the easy friendship of home. The loneliness got to her on trips like this one, and she always wished she wasn't so uncomfortable around strangers.

[Mithalwen]

Carantilion

Cir had recognised the speaker but was no more sure of her name than she was of theirs. An elf of rivendell indeed but sufficiently older than the twins for their paths not to have crossed.

Determined to prove to his aunt that he could behave properly, the boy rose to his feet and greeted Idhreniel formally in the manner of their folk before introducing himself.

"I think you know us from Rivendell, my name is Carantilion Laicirith and this is my sister Enpauriel Laicirith but we both get called Cir. Our father Gilthalion is a smith there. This is our aunt, Mithalwen - we are on our way to Mithlond, to stay for a while." Carantilion decided not to explain further for now... if by some miracle their misdeeds were not known to all at Rivendell (which was the impression he had from his father's reproaches) there was no need to mention them.

"Will you join us? - I'm sorry I don't know your name " he enquired, while his aunt and sister smiled in welcome and made room at their little table.

[Loslote]

"Greetings, I am Idhreniel," she said. "I also am traveling to Mithlond - I have a message from Elrond. I would be glad to join you."

She smiled tentatively at the two elven ladies and sat quietly near them. "I have heard of your father, though we've never actually met. My father has spoken with him before. Why are you going to Mithlond?" she asked to make conversation.

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen

"My brother is not a great conversationalist" said Mithalwen reflecting that Gilthalion was capable of making laconicism as much of an art form as he did his smith work . "His wife Enhiriel, you might know she is a bookbinder so is often to be found in the Library - also a great deal more sociable. We are going to Mithlond because I live there - Gilthalion removed to Rivendell after the Last Alliance but I could not live happily long away from the sea. These two are coming to live with me for a while. They journeyed with a group of Pilgrims who are now at the Woodhall where I came to meet them" .

Mithalwen looked carefully at the younger elf woman, to travel alone in these darkening days was noteworthy, especially as a messenger between the great lords of their people. She had travelled widely herself in her youth but that had been in days of peace and hope at the beginning of the age. She deemed that there might be more to this girl than immediately met the eye.

"I will restrain my curiosity as regards your mission, but I am glad your errand is not so urgent that you cannot tarry a while. There has been some problem in the kitchen - the cook has disappeared but I am sure we will be able to find something to eat presently. And my nephew tells me the ale is very fine should you prefer it to tea!"

[Loslote]

"That's odd," Idhreniel murmured. "Where can the cook have gone? Ah, well."

She reached into her bag and pulled out some traveler's bread. "This shall suffice," she said. "Do you need any?" Idhreniel smiled at the twins. "Mithlond is a lovely place. I have been there many times before. I'm sure you'll love it there, though I would not like it there - being near the sea unsettles me." Idhreniel's voice faded as she recalled the reason why. She missed her mother and sister dreadfully. Mithlond brought that grief back vividly, which was one reason why she was in no hurry to arrive.

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen

"Oh no! Put that away, there will be food and I am sure that you are as tired of waybread as these two are after long on the road - I will ask the landlord if we might have a cold collation if a hot meal is out of the question - even bread and cheese will serve with a good bottle of wine.", Mithalwen looked across to see if she could catch the inn keeper's eye . No, she would have to go over in a moment but the younger elf woman's comment had struck a chord.


"I understand I think that you feel like that about Mithlond. I love it and it has been my home for most of my life but .... it is a place many come to only to leave Middle Earth forever. I get restless whenever a ship is to sail. I am not ready to go but now so few remain. At such times I am wont to travel which I have little inclination for in these latter days otherwise. Only these two and their father remain of my near kin in Middle Earth. My father and other brother died in the service of Gilgalad and my mother sailed soon after. Since then many friends have followed". Mithalwen sighed softly then smiled. "Well I shall go and see what food can be had ..I shan't be long" she rose and slipped across to the bar.

The twins waited till they could see their aunt was out of earshot and grinned at Idhreniel. " I am glad you joined us" said the boy. " looks like we might find out some of the family history Ada is so mysterious about".

[Loslote]

Idhreniel smiled vaguely at the twins as she slid the bread back into her pack. Her thoughts drifted into memories of old friends...

She pulled her mind back to her surroundings and smiled, more sincerely this time, and laughed quietly. "Indeed, my Ada rarely speaks of important matters, though we share the same sources." She laughed again. She still had a difficult time focusing on the conversation, as the grief of parting still clung to her heart.

[Folwren]

Dick was moving restlessly by his casks of ale, nervously running a cloth up and down them in the motions of cleaning. His mind was far away, though, trotting after the ponies bearing their riders to search for Cook. What had happened to her? Why had she gone missing? Did she leave by herself, or was she taken by force? If she'd left by herself, why didn't she let anyone know where she was going? Since she didn't let anyone know where she was going, she must've been taken by force! The questions and implications were too numerous for his head, and he had to stop thinking and just rub away at an old scar in the seasoned wood.

"Excuse me, master Innkeeper," said a voice behind him. Dick jumped and turned about. It was just Mithalwen. He smiled, a genuine, relieved smile, instead of his bright, cheerful, new-customer smile that he always had to smile.

"At your service, ma'am," Dick said, whisking the rag out of sight and placing his hands on the bar.

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen

"I beg your pardon, I did not mean to startle you", the elf smiled at the hobbit. "I was wondering if it would be possible to order some food - just some bread and cheese maybe or cold meats and wine for the four of us - I have heard of your trouble - I realise now that that was the reason for the commotion when we arrived - and would not wish put you to difficulty. And when we have eaten perhaps we might be able to help look? I heard a search party has been sent out already but if there is anything we might do ...?" Mithalwen trailed off wondering if there really was... she could spread the word among the travelling companies but would they have anything suspicious in the behaviour of hobbits when so many of them already regarded them as strange folk. But the Innkeeper seemed so agitated she felt she couldn't stand idly by. Sharp senses and swift feet might be of some service.

Carantilion

"What is taking her so long?" wondered the elf boy as he watched his aunt's silver head lowered in conversation with Dick. "Gossiping no doubt ... Mithalwen always wants to know stuff"

"So do you!" countered his twin.

Carantilion grinned "Family trait then! So Idhreniel ...did you travel here all alone?" He was quite impressed by the thought having spent virtually every hour of his life with his twin the idea of being alone so long was almost unimaginable.

[Loslote]

"Yes, I did," Idhreniel said. "I used to travel with my sister, but she has left for Valinor now, and I never asked for another partner." She laughed softly. "Perhaps not the wisest move. But I imagine you two will never face that choice."

Idhreniel looked to the front of the room, where Mithalwen was talking seriously to the bartender. "I hope nothing's wrong," she said. "Why do they look so grim?"

[Folwren]

Dick looked hopeless. "If you think you can find anyway to help, then by all means do so," he said, spreading his hands wide. He sighed, slumping visibly.

"Food," he said then, bringing himself to attention slowly. "Food! Of course!" He was the lively innkeeper again suddenly. "I'm [i]so]/i] sorry. I should have thought of that myself. Rowan! Rowan, by heaven, where do the girls get to when you need them? Ro - oh, there you are. Is there something hot in the kitchen?"

"Yes, we've got some bread just fresh out of the oven along with a new baked pie, and we've got steaks we can put on the grill as soon as -"

"There, you see," Dick said, turning to Mithalwen. "Make your order and they'll fix you up admireably. After a good lunch, I'm sure you all will be able to think of a way to help us find our cook."

[Mithalwen]

But I imagine you two will never face that choice

Carantilion shivered and glanced at his twin. They might argue and he might at times resent the authority she assumed by virtue of her few minutes longer of life but he could not imagine of a life long separated from his sister. They had seldom been separated by more than a few miles or hours so to be divided by the sundering sea forever was inconceivable.

"I hope not. Or not for ages. My father says he will not think of going while Elrond remains and my mother would not go without him. Besides he reckons Aman is not ready for us" he added remembering ruefully how his father had laughed long but somewhat mirthlessly at the idea of his children in Eressea.

He looked then across to where his aunt was now speaking to Rowan and then to the inkeeper who was opening a bottle of wine which he placed on a tray with four goblets which he passed to the elfwoman once she had finished ordering the meal.

" They do look serious - but look she is on her way back now. We will soon find out ".

[Loslote]

Idhreniel stood to help Mithalwen with the tray. "What news?" she asked. "You both seemed quite serious. I hope nothing bad has happened? It is, unfortunately, likely - the days have been dark recently."

She set the tray on the table and turned back to the elf. "The trouble will not hinder us from enjoying a meal, will it? If the problem is not pressing, let us eat."

[Mithalwen]

"Not exactly ..the innkeeper is most agitated about the disappearance of the cook but the other staff have managed to rustle up a few things, so food will be with us shortly" Mithalwen explained pouring wine for them all. "I don't quite know if it will help but I offered what help we could in finding her ... the searchers seem to have rushed off on wild goose chases without thinking it all through. I thought fresh minds might help the situation. But we can enjoy our meal first. I think. This wine is "Old Winyards" . From what I hear it should rival Dorwinion - if you have ever tasted that".

She passed the filled goblets to Idhreniel and the twins and took a sip from her own. Not quite as potent as the wines of Dorwinion but that was perhaps just as well - they had thinking to do - but its rich berry flavours spoke of good soil and a gentle climate. Unsophisticated perhaps but honest and open - maybe the wine or an area reflected the character of its people, the elf mused.

[Loslote]

Idhreniel smiled. "I have, but not for a long time, so I expect to be pleasantly surprised. My message isn't terribly important. I can spare time to help search. What do you know about the disappearance? And what have the earlier searchers done so far?"

Idhreniel sat again and took a goblet of wine. It was, of course, good. Idhreniel smiled. As she normally avoided company on the road, it had been some time since she had last enjoyed the pleasure of company and warm food. Coming here had been a good choice, despite her earlier qualms.

[Mithalwen]

"No, nor have I for many years - it is seldom to be obtained this side of the mountains,even at Rivendell. Rumour claims that Thranduil of Mirkwood is so fond of it that he buys much of each Dorwinion vintage leaving little for the rest of us - a scurrilous story no doubt but I am sure many would do likewise had they the purse and the influence! Anyway I digress." said the older elf.

Mithalwen, took another sip of wine then stood and moved away from the table slightly so she could get at the long case she had stowed under the bench earlier and unlocked it with a small key from her purse. She did not open it far enough to give the ever curious twins (who had not forgotten her earlier mention of presents) a sight of its contents other than the battered leather bag she extracted. The case was closed and tucked away and returning to her place. Mithalwen took out a slender softbound notebook bulked out with larger sheets of paper folded and tucked between it's pages. One of these she took and unfolded giving the others a glimpse of an abandoned design for an inlay before it was spread on the table. Mithalwen intended to be as methodical in this as she was with her craft.

"Well" she said, taking a pencil from her pocket and tapping it's end against her chin thoughtfully " it seems that the Cook received a letter yesterday and they think that might have something to do with it - in which case she left the Inn of her own will - though the letter may have been some trap or trick of course. And I don't think anyone heard a disturbance last night which would confirm that. The stableman has gone after the postman to see if he knows anything more. It might be a red herring though. She might have just gone for a morning walk and fallen in a ditch. A lot of the land near here is marshy or overgrown. Not many roads she could have taken- really only the track to the Woody End or the Causeway up to the East Road and bridge or down to the Ferry" . She stopped - uttering the words bridge and ferry spurred her memory and she thought back to the scene that had met her eyes when she had arrived at the inn. A ranger had been questioning a rather disreputable looking hobbit and she was sure that there had been mention of a boat.

"The river - someone saw a boat out on the Brandywine ..that is where the search party has gone I think - but I don't know exactly where".

[Loslote]

Idhreniel stood and moved to look over Mithalwen's shoulder as she searched through a notebook. When she heard that the Cook may have gone over the River, however, Idhreniel could not control the shudder that ran down her spine. She hoped they would not have to travel on the river. Water always unnerved her, and crossing the Rivers was one of the only parts of her job she disliked.

"Have the searchers checked locally?" she asked. "Maybe she has just fallen, or is stuck. And have they checked her quarters? She may have left a clue there. Although, any searchers have probably been there already."

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen who had been at the point of putting pen to paper paused. "You're right Idhreniel! Of course! That would be the obvious place to start but I got the impression that once they had wind of the letter they followed that lead and then the sighting. If her belongings are missing it might show if she planned to leave and for how long. If nothing is missing then it is more likely some accident has befallen her. I don't know if she was in the habit of taking an early morning walk but it seems unlikely if they are looking first further afield" . She paused, deep in thought again.

"There aren't many places to walk near here though" Mithalwen continued, sketching a simple but fairly accurate map. Stock is really an island in a marsh. The cross country track to the Southfarthing goes through Woody End and there is a lane back of it to the hamlet of Wood Hall but otherwise there isn't much on that for many miles. We came from Woodhall and didn't see anything odd - not that there is much odd about seeing a hobbitwoman walking the paths of the Shire. " She added wryly.

"Then there is the Causeway." The elf added the north south route to her plan and marked where its course joined that of the river at Bucklebury Ferry. " The bridge is much nearer than the Ferry if she wanted to cross the river and much easier. I wonder if she was really in that boat - I thought most hobbits hated them and water in general. I am beginning to think therereally is more to this than some simple mishap else I think she would have been found already, but if we can find out about her room then we might be a little further on". She paused and idly doodled a garland of leaves along the edge of the paper. "We can ask maybe whoever brings us our food maybe or try to catch Mr Boffin". With that Mithalwen laid down her pencil and picked up her wine.

[Loslote]

Idhreniel sat down again to wait for the server. She was happy to help find the Cook, of course, but she dearly hoped they would have a place to start. She just couldn't justify a mindless search when she already had an obligation to deliver the message. Still, perhaps they would pass near Mithlond, and she could deliver the message anyway. The other elves were going there, too. Perhaps Mithalwen would want to leave the twins there, in safety. That would certainly ease her guilt.

Idhreniel looked over the heads of the other people in the Inn, searching for the server. Hopefully, he could show them to the Cook's chambers so they could begin this search.

[Kath]

Cir started as Mithalwen put her pencil down with a clunk and flushed guiltily. Her brother sent her a sideways glance that was at once amused and knowing. Mithalwen might not have noticed Cir sliding sideways in her seat, sending a sly foot under the table toward the mysterious case on the far side to try and lift the lid, but her nosy brother had.

"See anything?" He mouthed at her, and she shook her head in frustration. She had barely managed to get a toe under the rim before her aunt and their companion finished speaking. It was fortunate for her that the long years spent learning to take in enough of whatever she was supposed to be listening to whilst actually doing something else entirely had paid off, as it meant she had something to fall back on when Mithalwen turned to her with a question.

"Did you learn anything about the situation while you were in the kitchen? Is there anyone we could ask about the state of the cook's room?"

"I'm not sure." Cir replied, not missing a beat. "There were a couple of girls in there earlier, but they seemed run off their feet and didn't look to have any more of an idea where their cook had gone than anyone else. Still it might be worth checking with one of them. Should I go?"

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen thought "I don't suppose it would do any harm - but they may be busy about our meal. At least we would know something definite . It may all be a storm in a teacup - and I hope it is so... we may be at leisure but Idhreniel has a message to deliver and well I must think of something to do with all the goods I didn't get to sell at Bree. Don't really want to take them back to Mithlond. Maybe there will be a market or something locally. I meant to ask Mr Boffin but this business is clearly occupying all his mind. " The older elf sighed and sipped again at her wine.

"It may be all we can do in the end is to alert the travelling companies to be on the look out but we will see. I can't believe a hobbit can disappear without a trace...." they were too solid for that she thought to herself. "

[Loslote]

Idhreniel watched Cir hurry into the kitchen. She hid a smile under her hand. The younger elf was good at fooling her aunt, but Idhreniel knew all the tricks. She'd learned them from her sister, Merkawen. Her smile faded, and she lowered her hand. Cir reminded her of the sister she'd lost. Idhreniel mentally shook herself. She had more important things to do than wallow in self-pity.

"Cir," she called after the elf, " if you can find someone there who looks like they know what they're doing, ask if we can look in the Cook's rooms." Idhreniel doubted that Cir had been paying enough attention to know what to do, but she also doubted that Cir would admit as much to her aunt. If they could get away with not paying attention, after all, most young elves wouldn't. Idhreniel herself had rarely heeded her elders when she was young. She felt a growing fondness for the elf, but turned back to Mithalwen. The Cook was more important right now.

[Mithalwen]

It was not that Carantilion did not care about the Cook's disappearance - he was quite happy to go looking for her - though he did not fancy the chances of he and his sister being allowed to do so unsupervised at the moment - exploration was always interesting. It was all this theorising and waiting for information he couldn't be bothered with, especially when it seemed to be getting in the way of a meal.

Breakfast seemed long distant - and a rather subdued affair - the atmosphere of displeasure expressed by their erstwhile travel companions had killed his appetite but now with his Aunt having forgiven, and seemingly forgotten their truancy he felt very hungry indeed. His sister's attempt to open Mithalwen's trunk while it was unlocked had piqued his curiousity about the promised presents. He really hoped his aunt would remember before she dragged them off around the countryside. He stared at the box speculatively. As he lifted
his gaze he noticed the smile leave Idhreniel's face and wondered what was the cause of her sorrow.

[SmallOne]

Amadi ambled down a quiet back street of Stock, whistling a nameless tune as his bare feet kicked up the dust of the road. He was almost out of the Shire now, and very sorry to be leaving it so soon--this little detour was his last hurrah before finding the bridge over the Brandywine and into the great unknown of the Northern world. He'd enjoyed this odd, quiet little country with its equally odd little residents. It was all dusty roads and soft rolling hills with their cozy underground cottages. The local folk were pleasant and unhurried, polite even to one of the "Big Folk", as they called him, odd as he was. The very air gave him a sense of profound peace, as if he could go to sleep any moment and not worry for tomorrow, never mind he'd spent his last copper that morning.

He broke off whistling and ran a callused hand through his dark cropped hair, gazing up at the unbroken blue sky. It wasn't a real problem, not yet, anyway. He was a decent hunter and a better forager, so as long as there were woodlands, he wouldn't starve. But sooner or later he would need boots--even his deck-hardened feet couldn't take the rocks of the mountain passes--and warmer clothes. What he needed was a job. But the chances of finding something temporary in such a small town were slim.

He shrugged, and started whistling again. It would work itself out somehow; it always did. At the moment he was more interested in the "finest beer in Eastfarthing", which he was determined to sample, by any means possible. He amused himself for a few minutes thinking of ways to sneak into a hobbit cellar--it was hard in this country for one of his stature to sneak anywhere, and the mild-mannered hobbits were surprisingly protective of their foodstuffs. Take that fellow back in Bywater. No sense of humor whatsoever, that one.

Amadi stopped as he saw the inn. To his surprise, it looked to be a fair-sized establishment, complete with a stable and vegetable garden. A large part of the building stood outside of the hill, and judging from the round windows peeping out of the verge, there was even more space inside. He grinned, hopes rising. If it was this big of a place, perhaps they would need some help, after all.

Amadi bypassed the front door altogether and stepped neatly over the garden's fence, careful not to crush the herbs and vegetables growing there. He stuck his head in the half-open kitchen door, rapping on the door frame and putting on his most winning smile.

"Hello! Could anyone here use a cook?"

[Folwren]

Dick was helping Rowan and Prim get a lunch together that would not permanantly embarrass the Golden Perch. It took a little while, for none of them were quite as familiar with cooking as Cook herself, but when Cook was not there, their attempts would have to serve.

They were almost finished cooking when Cir entered the kitchen. "Excuse me," she said, before Dick interrupted her.

"The food will be ready in just a minute. I'm sorry it's taken so long."

"No, that's not what-"

"Rowan, turn the steaks over, will you?"

"I was wondering about Cook."

"She's not here, I explained to your aunt."

"I know, I was wanting to see if anyone had looked in Cook's room yet, and if they knew anything?"

"We looked," Rowan said, turning from the sizzling stove top.

Before Dick could express surprise, Cir could ask any questions, or Rowan explain a thing, a stranger appeared in the doorway. The four inhabitants of the kitchen looked up in surprise. The stranger didn't wait for any of them to break the silence.

"Hello! Could anyone use a cook?"

Dick, Rowan, and Prim glanced at each other. Dick stepped forward. "I am Seredic Boffin, I run this place. We...could use a cook...but I don't know anything about you, or if you can even cook half decently!"

[SmallOne]

Whoops, Amadi thought. Mind following mouth, as usual. He smiled apologetically as he stepped into the kitchen, where three hobbits and an elf stood over a nearly-finished meal. The room was large, warm, and clean, with a ceiling that was (thankfully) at a comfortable height overhead. Tantalizing smells rose from the simple yet generous fare already set out on plates on the kitchen table.

"Let me introduce meself, then." He extended his hand for the innkeeper to shake. "Nice to meet you, Master Boffin, ladies," he sketched a half-bow to the others. "Amadi's the name, and I'm just a simple traveler headed for Bree." Amadi had long since given up trying to explain to most hobbits that no, he wasn't looking for "Dull ham broth", and yes, he knew there was a perfectly good Big Folk settlement just across the River.

"I'm more than a half decent cook, if I do say so meself.I've cooked with every meat and vegetable you can imagine, and even some you can't, and never got a complaint that I'd believe." He conveniently avoided mentioning it was mostly in a ship's galley. For some reason any association with the ocean tended to make hobbits nervous, and sailing on it for a living was downright disreputable. "I can manage good old steak and potatoes just fine. I don't want anythin' permanent, just a couple of days, till I can earn me enough for some traveling money--and maybe some of that famous beer I've heard of."

[Folwren]

Rowan and Prim glanced at each other and exchanged hopeful, girlish grins. Dick stared at Amadi with his mouth half open. “A couple days, you say?” Dick finally stammered. Amadi nodded his head. “Nothing permanent? I dare say you cook very well indeed, sir, very well indeed!” A genuine smile broke out across Dick’s face, wiping away the troubled, harried look that had settled itself for so long on the naturally merry face. “Come in, and welcome!

“You find us in something of a pickle today, you see,” he said as Amadi entered. “Finish up those plates there, girls and take them out to the elves, I’ll show Amadi around.” Prim and Rowan turned away, laughing and whispering together while they completed serving up the dishes.

“Our cook’s gone missing,” Dick said, continuing his explanation to the young man. “She’s been gone since this morning, and a great troublesome bother it is, too. No one knows where she’s gone or if she’ll ever come back!” He shook his head. “It doesn’t seem right. Cook’s always kept her nose out of other people’s business, there’s no rightful reason why something should ‘ave happened to her. What I always says is, them as keep out of trouble, stay out of trouble. But it aint so this time.”

A glance showed him that Amadi was not listening to Dick’s rambling. “Ah, forgive me. Here, let me show you the kitchen.”

[SmallOne]

Amadi didn't need to be asked twice. Setting his pack behind the door and draping his leather coat over it, he shut the door behind him. The kitchen boasted a beautiful array of cookware, with wide open spaces and an oven big enough to broil steaks from a mûmak. And it was very well stocked, Amadi thought, mouth watering as he peered into the pantry. The wealth of goods dried and fresh sent his mind racing through all of the recipes that could be made. And if the rest of the Shire was any indication, this was only a small portion of the inn's food store. He brought himself back to Master Boffin's words with an effort.

"There's no rightful reason why something should 'ave happened to her," the inkeeper was saying. "What I always says is, them as keep out of trouble, stay out of trouble. But it ain't so this time."

Amadi shook his head. "If you pardon me sayin' so, everyone's got troubles. For your cook's sake, I hope it's the kind that she's found to remedy, and not one that's found her."

He looked at the many plates on the table. Even with the loss of their cook, they seemed to have managed well on their own. "Nevermind the tour," he said. "I'll find my way round in here fair enough, and you can show me the rest before I start on supper. Let's get these plates out first. I assume since it's all the same thing no one's special ordered, then?"

Amadi picked up three plates, deftly balancing two on one arm, and pushed through the inner door which he guessed would lead him to to the main area of the inn. He was correct, finding himself in a pleasant, open room with a huge hearth and many smaller tables and chairs. The door swinging to behind him got the attention of several guests, who (especially the hobbits) seemed relieved that food was finally on its way. It wasn't terribly crowded, but there were enough guests to give the room a constant murmur of noise.

He moved toward the nearest occupied table--a booth with three elves seated together. The silver-haired one had turned away from the door to say something to the one across from her, but as she turned and Amadi caught sight of her face, he stopped in his tracks.

Amadi muttered some less than savory Haradric under his breath. "That one? Here?" He couldn't believe his horrible luck. One of the other elves had caught sight of him; he couldn't turn to another table without drawing even more attention, and if he backed into the kitchen, what would he tell Master Boffin? He could put his newfound job in jeopardy. But if she recognized him, and was one of the ones who held a grudge, it might be even worse. It was a terrible dilemma.

Maybe she wouldn't recognize him, he tried to calm himself as he slowly resumed his walk to the table. His arm protectors were covered temporarily by the plates in his hands; if he just dropped off the food and nipped right back into that kitchen for a very long tour maybe she wouldn't remember him. Yes, and perhaps while he was at it he could wish himself a pretty little sailing ship with wings and fly all the way to Gondor.

Stars, had he been born under a luckless sky?

[Loslote]

Idhreniel glanced up as a young man walked towards their table. I thought they had only hobbits as staff here, she thought. She was about to shrug the thought off, however, when she saw the man stop, staring as though seeing a vision of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. His eyes darted from Mithalwen down to the plates in his hands and back again. Far tenser than before, the man started walking again.

Idhreniel raised her eyebrow. There was history there, she was sure of it. Her lips tugged upward in a hint of a smile. She was sure this would be a great amusement to liven up an otherwise altogether too serious trip. She covered her smile with a hand as she thought of ways to draw out any possible shred of entertainment. Glancing at the twins, she thought to herself, I'm sure they would help me with this. They look like the sort who would love this kind of thing. I can help with plotting, and they can take care of the actual interactions. The man was far too new for her to talk to, and far to intimidating. Yes, the twins would be a huge help in this plot.

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen turned just inclined to get a glimpse of the young man's face as he turned away. She recognized it immediately as being of the lad who had passed the winter at Mithlond and had left there shortly before her own departure.

Her momentary suprise at seeing him was soon rationalised - few roads led out of Mithlond and the Shire was one of the few populated areas on the way to - well anywhere really. She had a fair guess at why he had feigned not to recognise her for she had no doubt that he had done so - their ways had not crossed much but Mithlond was a small enough place these days. It suggested that suspicions had been correct, that the adan had been a little lightfingered as well as charming; that it wasn't just coincidence that more things than usual had gone missing during his time with them.

Nothing particularly valuable had disappeared and circumstances were usually such that the bereft owner could not be certain that there was no other explanation for the disappearance. She herself had mislaid a pair of leather arm guards. Not precious but new from the leatherworkers. She was sure that she had hung them in her forge but she had done so much clearing out and moving around in preparation for the twin's visit that she couldn't be sure she hadn't just misplaced them. So not something she could make a fuss about but it was a little galling since the Elves had been welcoming to the vagbond and she doubted he would have been denied anything he had truly needed. Maybe it was just the way of a different world - that anything not locked up was up for grabs and few in Mithlond would think of locking their doors against neigbour or guest.

If his behaviour was the mark of a guilty conscience well then maybe he deserved to suffer a little. Her face was as deadpan as when she had chastised her nephew and niece as she spoke:

"Master Amadi! What ill have I done you that you refuse to acknowledge our aquaintanceship?"

[SmallOne]

Amadi nearly dropped his plates in response. “Na, If it’s Mithalwen, I didn’t never see y’ther,” he stammered. The Northern accent he’d worked on for nearly a year flew out the window. He tried to hide his fluster as surprise. “Welcome t’ the inn, if ye haven’t been yet.”

It wasn’t as hard to smile as he thought it would be; Amadi really had liked the woodworker. She was kind and seemed more down-to-earth than most of the fae folk. Mithalwen was the only one he’d felt sorry for “borrowing” from, but he could never have let them know why he needed to cover his arms before rejoining the world of men. The marks had meant nothing to them.

Besides, it was only after he’d been escorted out of the Havens that any elf had said anything to him. How was he to know that such little things would matter?

[Mithalwen]

Despite her resolve, Mithalwen found it impossible not to return Amadi's smile. She had a high tolerance for the follies of the young and there was something about the boy that made it easier overlook his misdoing even though his placing the plates on the table revealed the evidence. Should she say something? If she did it would not be now in public. She doubted there was any malice in his scavenging though it seemed a strange thing to take - there was no real value in the arm guards, and there was things in her workshop of much greater value that he might have taken and did not. So there must be a reason but without knowing it she must be a little cautious, hoping above all that nothing would be "mislaid" at the inn or she would be hard pressed to explain why she had kept silent. . To know all is to forgive all she thought but for a moment she half thought she had spoken aloud and this roused her to answer, realising that her companions had started to stare.

"Mr Boffin has not be remiss in his hospitality but another welcome is still...welcome. I must thank you for bringing our meal - I understand they are a bit short staffed - which reminds me ... is there anymore news on the cook?"

[Loslote]

Idhreniel's eyes flitted between Mithalwen and Amadi. She faked a yawn so she could discretely cover her growing smile with a hand. She knew her eyes were crinkling, but hoped the others would be too entertained or involved in the almost confrontation taking place before them. Carefully smoothing her face into something that she hoped showed no sign of mischievious intent, Idhreniel leaned forward to address Mithalwen.

"Do you know this man, Amadi?" she asked, even though it was extraordinarly obvious. She didn't pause for an answer. "Mithalwen, you did not mention you had friends at this Inn. Perhaps he can be of use to the search for the Cook."

She could not quite bring herself to look into his eyes - he was still a stranger. Under normal circumstances she would have let Mithalwen do all the talking, and tried to fade into the background. A chance for amusment, however, could drive her to almost any lengths. Almost. Actually making eye contact and talking to a stranger she would not do.

[Mithalwen]

Know... now that was a loaded word. Yes she knew him in the superficial way that elves knew the few mortals that tarried briefly in their lands, but Mithalwen had been a tiny child when Elendil and his sons reached Lindon from lost Westernesse and a season in mortal lands was such a brief spell for an old elf - could an ancient yew know a spring crocus that brightened the wood for a few weeks before disappearing for ever? It seemed too much effort now to try.

She had known some mortals well, one too well perhaps - but that was at the dawn of the age when she was young and the blood of Numenor strong, and she had seen the White Tree new planted in the court of the King in Minas Anor. Now she had such dealings with mortals as was necessary for trade. Always civil, sometimes affable but did she know them. No. But she must reply more simply.

"We are acquainted. Master Amadi spent the Winter in Mithlond but I did not know he was here til this minute. He must answer for himself if he knows anything of Miss Brandybuck's disappearance". It was a somewhat terse response but it had been a slightly impertinent question.

[Loslote]

"Of course," Idhreniel said, tipping her head and flashing a vague smile. "What a coincidence, then, to meet here. Perhaps even good fortune, if he would be kind enough to help us in our search."

Gathering every scrap of courage she had, Idhreniel turned to mostly face the young man in front of them. "Well, Master Amadi?" she asked, staring at a point a few inches to the left of his actual face. Her voice was higher pitched than normal, and she spoke faster in her nervousness. "What do you say? Will you help us?"

She dropped her eyes to her food to compose herself for a moment, then turned back to Mithalwen. "The hospitality here is indeed welcome. I am glad of the Inns along the Road to the Grey Havens; they have often proved most helpful indeed during journeys. The Golden Perch especially is very comforting after travel." Idhreniel knew she was still speaking too rapidly, but it matched her pulse. She should not have spoken to the young man, it was far too stressful. She prated on about wonderful Inns for a few moments before hushing awkwardly.

[Eorl of Rohan]

Ferethor entered quietly, and limped toward the most inconspicuous table by the far wall. He was not the type of person that warranted anything more than a cursory glance as he passed by. The days being what they were, evil and dangerous, surely the sight of travellers armed to the teeth must be a common occurrence in this inn. And he was hardly of the build that inspired fear in others. Slender and willowy, almost to the point of boyhood, he looked more like a serious lad in his late teens than an experienced swordsman and mercenary who has seen close on thirty winters.

He was clad in a chain-mail of tarnished silver, black woollen breeches, and mudstained leather boots that bespoke of a long and weary journey; his cloak boasted bloodstains as well as mud. His own blood, if his occasional winces and heavy limp could be trusted. Nevertheless it seemed as if he was not too keen on drawing notice to himself. That faithless cur, to betray him like this...

"Miss?" He called to the elven woman nearby, perhaps mistaking her for the serving staff. "Do you have any of those sickeningly sweet dwarven ale available, and if so, could you bring me a tankard? And some fresh bandages to dress my wounds, if you have any? It's nothing serious, I..."

He began coughing blood.

[Mithalwen]

Conversation between the elves had faded after the slight awkwardness of their interaction with Amadi and each gave their attention to their meal. Mithalwen had let her thoughts wander the path of her long memory until the new voice brought her back to the present - she wasn't sure he addressed her, but one glance was enough to tell her that he needed help and urgently.

In a moment she was at his side, later she might wonder at a mailshirt worn in the peaceable Shire but for now the blood that flecked his pale face held her attention fully. She rued that she had little leechcraft - there were those in Mithlond that did though there was not much call for it save for the odd accident or the succour of mortals in the area. Mithalwen thought bitterly that she could repair wood or metal but faced with an injury more serious than a scrape or minor burn she was at a loss.

She guided the warrior to a seat and called to her companions to seek help.

[Eorl of Rohan]

.
Ferethor had not meant to make a spectacle of himself like this. He hastily covered his mouth with his palm, a flush that might be half shame and half fever creeping up his hot cheeks, the crimson blood running down the length of his wrist to the bent elbow where it pooled onto the floor. 'It’s not… Not serious…' He managed to gasp out, half-strangled, as he let the elven woman support him to the nearby armchair where he promptly collapsed.

Exactly what wasn’t serious? He wondered feverishly in a lightheaded daze caused by the loss of blood. The broken piece of steel lodged between his ribs, the betrayal, or his own life? He was the typical rank-and-file, one that will do to swell a progress, perhaps, or start a scene or two; no doubt, an easy tool. When the war ended, the nameless soldiers who risked their all on the battlefield were discharged with a few silver pennies and a word of thanks. Ever since, he had tried to scratch and claw his way through life as best as he could, asking nothing else of his country. Now he was dying in a backwater inn because the new laws set down by King Elessar has decreed that all outlaws and their associates be hunted down and killed. Did Gondorian patrol even know that the brigands around here were former Gondorian soldiers who had nowhere to return to? Did they even care? The accursed officer with his 'Halt, and go no further!'...

'Besides, without me to smooth matters out, my former colleagues would have had no scruples about slaying the merchants instead of striking a deal. I probably *saved* their lives, not… not…' Ferethor muttered thickly, then stopped, chagrined that the elf woman might have heard.

It was unfortunate that he encountered the Gondorian patrol officer in such a backwater place as the Shire. If it was a city, he could lose himself among the crowd and the numerous buildings, but this… they’d come for him here, sooner or later. He had to leave. Now. But his sinews were paralyzed with pain and wouldn’t move. Perhaps it was better this way, to die in a place where no one knew his countenance or name, a quiet and nameless end that befit a nameless former soldier of Gondor. With luck, if he left his wounds untreated, then he'd be dead before the guards rushed into the inn to arrest him.

Ferethor wiped his bloody chin with his sleeves, took a deep breath, managed a weak smile, and tried his best to maintain a clear and steady voice as he lied,

'I thank you for your courtesy, fair miss, but it's nothing serious. If I sleep it off, I'd be fine.'

He nervously fumbled in his pocket, wondering whether he had the currency to repay the inn for the trouble that he would incur should he die here. A handful of bronze coins, not enough, and... Ah, the silver. He had not spent the pouch of silver pennies that he received as he was discharged from the military services, bought as it was with his blood. It would be only fitting to pay for the blood that he was spilling now with the Gondorian silver. He took out the black leather pouch with the silver tree of Gondor stitched onto it, and quietly slid it onto the table. There. At least he would be beholden to no one in death or life.
.

[Loslote]

Idhreniel blanched when she looked at the man. He was covered in blood, and was beginning to cough it up. "Oh Eru," she whispered, starting to spring to her feet and tripping over her chair in the process.

Glancing repeatedly over her shoulder at the bleeding man, Idhreniel ran to the kitchens, skirting around the edges of the room. "Sir!" she said, breathless, when she got to the innkeeper. "There's a man. I don't know who he is. He's hurt, and bleeding, and sir, he needs help. Send for a healer, or something. He's bleeding badly!" Idhreniel shut her mouth forcefully - she was starting to babble on. She turned and hurried back to Mithalwen and the man.

"The innkeeper, or one of the staff, have gone for help," she said. "What can we do until then, Mithalwen? Do you know any healing?"

All she could do was bandage small wounds, and she was poor enough at that. Half the time she forgot to bathe the wound first and - oh. Right. Bathe the wound.

"Do we have water? To wash the wound?" she asked, voice growing higher every time she spoke as she grew more and more upset. "Then again, maybe we should just wait until the healer gets here. But can we? How badly is he hurt?"

[Ghanberryghan]

Aeridor had finally reached the Golden Perch Inn. He was a lanky man of about 31 with brown hair down to his shoulders and a rather large black cloak covering him with the hood up. In his right hand he grasped an oak staff, and in his left he held a map of Eriador splayed out.

It was evident he had been traveling many a mile, and that the elements had not been so kind to him, but the look of relief on the man's face when he saw the round door to the Inn-built-in-to-the-hill defied his struggles. He was from the north east, from Forodwaith, but he had lost his family and was forced to leave after the rise of Angmar. He had an immensely strong will and could be quite persuasive if his will was strong enough, but he was also very greedy and stubborn.

"Built like an elf, but with the mind of a dwarf" his family used to say to him, and he chuckled at the thought of it, but a frown quickly came across his face as he remembered their passing. After fleeing Forodwaith he had made it to as far as Bree, where he started up an organisation known as MESS: Middle Earth Supremacy Sanction, which believed in the mortal's superiority, and bore a strong dislike for Angmar - as it was ruled by the immortal Witch-King - and inevitably the elves. He had been advised to come to this inn specifically by one of few recruits, so he set off on a journey to get here - mainly because he wanted to explore.

Aeridor's brown eyes gleamed with excitement and ambition as he walked up to the Golden Perch Inn eager to recruit members, and hopefully bring about his intent of mortal supremacy. MESS was hardly known, but Aeridor saw this as an advantage, and would keep his true ideas to himself until he had members.

He entered the Inn and found himself in the common room, where there was a man lying on the floor bleeding. A few people were gathered around him so Aeridor quickly took off his cloak and leaned his staff against the door. He rushed up to the man and examined him. "What's happened here? Do you need any assistance?" They were waiting for a healer, which luckily Aeridor had obtained skills of during his road life. He looked at who the people were; they were elves - members of a race he fiercely stood against and hated, yet helping a man possibly bleeding to death.

[Folwren]

Seredic Boffin wiped the next mug only half enthusiastically with his rag. He set it by all the others underneath the counter and cast his eye over the empty common room. Almost empty, anyway. The only customer sat by the fire, and even he probably wouldn’t be there very long. He was old Mr. Burrower, an old customer who came in at least once a week, and even the absence of Cela, the old cook, hadn’t caused Mr. Burrower to change his habits. He was a dear old fellow to continue coming so faithfully.

Dick sighed as he picked up another mug, and he looked out the window. The leaves on the trees outside were rattling in the dry, cold November wind, and the door was shut fast to keep nipping air out.

Rowan came in from the kitchen and stopped by him with a clean stack of towels. “Naught much happening today,” she said, glancing about the room just as Dick had. Dick just shook his head. “Poor old cook. I wonder whatever happened to her,” Rowan murmured. She bent to put the towels away.

“I wish you wouldn’t talk as though she were dead, Rowan,” Dick said. His tone was a little sharp, and Rowan straightened abruptly. “Prim’s getting right along with the cooking. Pretty soon our common room will be as full as ever. And, besides, the beer’s still alright, which is what brings the most business from neighboring towns.” Rowan didn’t answer. She just nodded and turned about and went back to the kitchen.

Dick sighed. Things hadn’t been the same since cook left. The food had been good, but not as good as it used to be. Moods had been darker, tempers shorter, and although he knew it, he couldn’t always change even his own. The cold, overcast days that continued to roll in one after another with no rain and no warmth didn’t help.

[piosenniel]

Penny

Penny stood fidgeting, dancing a bit from foot to foot, as her aunt gave instruction to the stable-hand. A nice looking fellow, she thought. What with his honey colored curls and all. Smart, too. That is he took in Aunty’s instructions about the pony with a serious look on his face, no smirking, nodding his head as she ticked off the shaggy rascal’s little quirks and habits.

‘Now, mind you,’ she heard Iris say with a shake of her finger to emphasize the point. ‘Don’t go trying to brush him out before you feed him. I don’t want to hear that he’s nipped your arm ‘cause you wanted to do it your way!’

Seeing that Iris was about to begin instructing just how Velvet liked his oats done up, Penny excused herself with a quick smile at her aunt and a nod to the stabler. Picking up her own small satchel and Iris’ much larger carpet bag she made her way from the stable toward the Inn.

The dry, cold November wind chafed at her cheeks as she skirted round the building to the front entrance. Her feet hurried through the scattering of leaves along the way, making small crunching sounds as she passed.

A singular gust of wind gave some small assist as she pushed on the tight closed front door. A few leaves blew in with her entrance, skittering along the wooden floor before coming to rest beneath some old gaffer’s chair.

‘Sorry ‘bout that!’ she called out to the mostly empty room. Leaning her sturdy little body against the door, she shoved it shut tightly once again. ‘Didn’t mean to bring the chill in with me,’ she continued, coming to stand by the gaffer’s table. He was sitting near the fire enjoying a mug of something, something that smelled quite good . . . and warm, too. She could see the steam rising from the mug as he cupped it in his hands.