The Green Dragon Inn - Part 9

[Will Witfoot]

Fungrim looked at the sky and gave one of his rare smiles. It looked like the inn would be saved, after all. Most of the blaze outside had been extinquished by the rain and the bucket briggade. The inside, however, was still a burning inferno and black smoke gouted from cracks in the roof. Something would have to be done quickly.

He grabbed a second bucket from a hobbit too tired to care about the inn's fate. He took of his green cloak and soaked it with the water. He wrapped it around his head and over his mouth and nose to cut out the smoke. He scooped his other bucket full of sand and dove into the blazing inn.

It was like some peculiar dream that reflected the real world. Stools, tables, armchairs, the floor and the walls. All allight in fiery, flickering flowers that consumed the wood with a matchless hunger. They needed more people here.
Suddenly he heard the screams. A small, frightened girl's voice drifted from the kitchen, calling for help. He hurried to the thick door and found it latched from the outside, trapping the child in near to the source of the blaze.
"Don't worry, Im going to get you out of there!" He called through the door. On the otherside the child sounded like she was sobbing.

The dwarf tossed the contests of the two buckets at the door and managed to extinguish most of the fire consuming it. Most of it. The door was still burning and hot, but so thick it was that it would take some more minutes for it to burn down on its own accord. Making his decision in an instant, Fungrim drew his axe. The first blow sent chips of blackened wood and sparks flying. The second smashed the door from its hinges, allowing him to forge his way in using his shoulder.

The child lay on the floor, nearly unconcious from the heat and smoke. There was no time to waste. Quickly he grabbed her and wrapped his dripping cloak around her face. She would need it more than him.
Now, all he had to do was to get out.

[Witch_Queen]

Cree felt something cold and wet hit her face. "It's raining Grimm." She looked up to see that something was wrong with Hama's back. "I will be fine. There is no reason for me to see anyone about my spells. It will go away sometime but until then I need to be careful." The rain was coming down. This sheds some new hope on the situation.There is a renewed sense of faith that the fire will soon go out. Perhaps no one else will have to suffer the same fate as Hama.

Cree tried to move herself. But her side was hurting again. Though she felt the pain she tried her best to keep a smile. She wasn't going to let Grimm see that she was hurting. Cree began to set up. She didn't know what to think of the situation any more. Will everything be fine once the fire is out?

Avalon looked at Cree. She knew that Cree was still in pain. Cree you're still in pain. You shouldn't be alive after that spell. But you did live. Cree looked up at Avalon. "So it seems that you have something to say as well. Well go ahead old friend. What do you have to say?" The crow just twisted its head to the side. Avalon didn't know if Cree understood her.
"My father rock, do you forget the kingdom of the fire?
The aeons grind you into bread.
Into the soil that feeds the living and transforms the dead."
Cree looked up to the direction where she heard some one talking. She knew where she had heard it before. "Ravon." Cree had always listened when someone had something to say about earth and fire. But she never thought anything of it untill now. "My father rock, do you forget the kingdom of the fire? The aeons grind you into bread. Into the soil that feeds the living and transforms the dead. You never stop do you Ravon."

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The situation was beginning to get a bit out of control, but Snaveling had been in worse circumstances and was not really worried by the young Man’s accusations. Nor was he terribly frightened by the youth’s ready grip with his sword. Snaveling disliked the people of Gondor, feared the Elves and was contemptuous of the Halflings, but he knew that the people about him would never allow one Man to slay another, particularly when there was a fire to be fought. The rain had all but put out the fires that Snaveling had set amongst the trees, but at the Inn the innermost rooms were still ablaze. He watched with dismay as some of the more hardy folk – led by a very determined Dwarf – moved into the building to reclaim it from the fire. Snaveling gave up all hope of being able to pilfer anything more (but what have I got in my pocket?).

Snaveling had been stunned by the immediate action of the Ranger Woman in accusing the young Man – he had expected that she would require more convincing, and he was beginning to think that her stern expression masked more thought than met the eye. Dangerous folk these Dunedan he reminded himself. Not to be trusted. He was delighted when the stupid Halfling took up the cry against the young Man, but he was suspicious of this fat little creature – was not he one of the people Snaveling had seen entering the Inn without any water or sand with which to combat the blaze? He had spent his life thieving and could easily read the tale told by those odd shapes beneath the Halfling’s clothes…

An Elf maiden who was tending to the injured stood up and spoke to them roughly, ordering them back to the defense of the Inn. Snaveling stood his ground before the young Man and said, “The Lady is right. Now is not the time to listen to the complaints of a boy, caught playing at a game too dangerous for him.” The youth grew even angrier at these words and his eyes blazed as his hand tightened on the hilt of his weapon. Snaveling saw this and was inwardly delighted. Outwardly, however, he pretended shock and dismay. “An ‘honourable man’, he says. ‘Honourable’ indeed! And yet he threatens to draw his blade on a man twice his age, dressed in little more than rags and with only a hunting knife to defend his poor and miserable life.” Snaveling appealed to the Ranger Woman and the Halfling. “Is this fair? Is this justice? Let us forget this child for now, and save those who can be saved before the Inn is destroyed utterly.”

He turned his back upon the youth and walked toward the Inn.

[Roa_Aoife]

The rain poured on the blaze, aiding th eitred workers. Roa stopped and lifted her over heated face to the sky, letting the cool drops drench her. Her arm began to sting again as the water hit it. A little ways away, a commotion had started. Apparently a young man, perhaps only a year or two younger than Roa, had accused another of starting the fire in the bushes. Arson would explain how the fire got here, but how could he know who started it? Roa left her position and walked over. She recognized one of the women as her kin, though she could not place the name. As she listened to the boy and whatched the older man, Roa became convinced of the the bearded one's guilt. Still, the others were right- this was not the time nor the place to handle this.

"Perhaps," she spoke up, "we should have them both detianed by the sheriff untill a more suitable time. We can figure this out later. Or better yet, have them put to work under the eyes of a few guards." She didn't know if nay would listen to her, but she hoped that her kinwoman would trust her words. This was not a time for rash actions, Even though the rain was helping, therre was still a fire. And after the fire, they would need to begin repairs. All of this was better not dealt with now. Roa turned to the young man. "You must wait, young master, till this be settled fairly. We cannot have people taking such extreme measures of their own judgement. That would create chaos." She used the same voice when calming a wild horse. Roa hoped he could see that she believed his words and convictions. She didknow what else to do.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman stood staring at the fire, her eyes bleak, her hands holding her upper arms to wrap tightly around her chest, pinioning the cloak shut. She had been stopped from going in by the man, Grimm, and still he hovered behind her. 'No use going back in'...what does he mean, 'no use'? she raged inwardly, although she knew the Rohirrim soldier spoke sense. But she was barely aware of many around her, the general misery and the thought that this was her home going up in flames consuming her. And she was being stopped from going back in!

Behind her, Grimm turned to speak to another. And paused in her thoughts and slowly moved her eyes around, away from the flames, towards Grimm. His attention was taken up! Surreptitiously, the Innkeeper sidled away, sneaking sidewards until she was away...and a flash of conversation caught her ears.

"...Hope someone will have the sense to get the wine and barrels out..."

The familiarity of the voice barely struck Aman as her eyes suddenly widened. Of course! The drink; although she had grabbed the till, there was more wealth in the huge range of drinks available, mainly in the cellar - and it was far more dangerous than a metal box of coins. The flames may be dying, but the alcohol would cause it to go up like a shot if it was ignited, and there was a whole cellar of it!

Barely noticing the drops of rain, Aman darted straight past with a muffled cry, diving in through the side door and into the Common Room...before skidding to a halt and making herself turn."I need help! Someone who isn't tending to the wounded or...you, sir!" she pointed at a young, sallow looking man, who immediately whirled around with an expression of guilt which the Innkeeper, at the time, barely registered, then caught the eye of the woman beside him, attired like a ranger, the strangeness of which Aman didn't even have time to contemplate. "And you, please - it may seem foolish, but I must get the drink out. The wine, the ales, ciders, juices...oh, it will go up like a shot if even these small flames reach it!"

The woman nodded immediately. "My name is Roa, at your service."

Aman nodded gratefully before ducking back into the Common Room, which was steadily getting soggier as the bucket chain did it's work. Aman made a mental note to do something about all these helpers afterwards - what she wasn't sure, her thoughts jumbled as they were, but it would certainly be something. The ranger followed her as she darted through the room towards the cellar steps, and neither of them noticed the shifty man's eyes light up wickedly as he followed...

[Fool Of A Took]

Grimms hair was now wet and muddy. He didn't care that much but he didn't care. Avalon seemed to be trying to say something to Cree. What's going on?, he tought, but the crow just looked at Cree. Grimm rose up and helped Cree up as well. He looked at the Inn that seemed lost. It was terrible to see. Grimm thought that Inn always had been so beautiful and nice. He began to wonder what caused the fire. He looked around for Aman but couldn't see her. "Excuse me, Lady Cree, but I must find miss Aman. I'll be back." he said to Cree and began to look for Aman. "She's in the Common Room, or should I say 'former' Common Room..." a dwarf with a mean grin said to Grimm as he asked him. Grimm gave the dwarf a angry look and said "Watch your tounge, master dwarf, it might get cut off!" The dwarf backed off and shut his mouth instantly. Grimm turned away from the dwarf and began to run to the side door at the Inn that led straight into the Common Room. So she went in there anyway... I told here that it would foolish! As he entered Aman was just about to send two people to get the wine, ale, cider and juice out of the Inn so the fie wouldn't spread to it. Then the Inn would be lost for sure.

"Ah, there you are, miss Aman! I told you it would be foolish to go back in here, but you do what you believe are right, and I shouldn't blame you for that." he said and smiled as he said the last words. He coughed and looked around in the Common Room. 'Former Common Room'!? Stupid dwarves... He had actually never liked dwarves very much, and now he really thought he had a reason for disliking them. He drew a deep sigh, yet it was hard because of the smoke that had filled the Common Room. "Have all the children been brought to safety?" he asked Aman and his face changed to a more serious expression. "I've heard that it should be a Sheriff in this region that should be coming to aid at moments like this..?" he said, "But let's take that outside. You must get out now, miss Aman, the smoke is dangerous for your health." He dragged Aman out as she didn't want to leave the Inn. Grimm really felt terrible about it and tried to encourage Aman in all possible ways to keep her spirit up that the Inn still could be saved. It was piles of ashes everywhere outside and he could here a child cry somewhere, though he couldn't see it.

"Does anyone know what caused the fire?" he asked Aman when they got a litte bit away from the Inn. He could see the bucket chain working hard. The fire didn't look to be under control yet, but as it began to rain the hope came back to many that the Inn yet could be saved. His head felt like it weighd tons. He was dizzy of all the smoke he had breathed.

[Roa_Aoife]

Roa looked from the woman to the pair of men. They could wait. She looked to her kinswoman, and motioned for her to keep a watch on the boy. The Ranger woman nodded. She the looked at the Innkeeper and said, "My name is Roa, at your service." Roa turned to the man. "Well, let's get going. If you have never seen what happens when fire hits ale, you do not want to. Now move." Roa took one last look around, then took off at a run towards the Inn dragging the man behind her. If he had set the fires, she would need to keep a close eye on him. Again, she wished she had slept a littler longer instead of walking all night. But there was nothing for it, and she was here now. The sting in her arm was worsening.

She stopped for a moment, and pulled out her rag again. This time she tied it tightly around her mouth. She also wrapped her cape around her head. The man gave her an odd look. "Smoke allergy," she explained. He said nothing so she kept at it. Her hair was red enough as it was, she didn't need it catching fire. Thank you Ulmo for sending the rain. Wincing as she reached for the man again, Roa took off towards the building. She prayed to Eru that her lungs could hold out long enough. Roa took a deep breath of fresh air before plunging in to the building.

[Lumiel]

I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to die...is all she could think. The fire had miraculously avoided her prison up until now. Now its flames licked greedily at the closet, as if preparing for the feast of human flesh it would soon have. Desperate and sure of her own demise, the young child pounded still on the doors though she had no hope.

Suddenly, beyond her belief, she heard the heavy thud of boots as they entered the kitchen and she heard a deep, gruff voice say, "Don't worry, Im going to get you out of there!" . As he spoke, he poured a bucket of water and then a bucket of sand on the closet and the young girl put her small hands in front of her face. Not that it mattered, her eyes stung bitterly in the smoke as did her nose.

With only a weak grip on consciousness still, she hunkered down low. She twitched and let out a frightened cry when the dwarf let loose his axe on the storage closet. Small shafts of light broke through and cast a red light on her short blonde hair and dirty face. A second swing of Fungrim's axe broke the door and she cringed as a few sparks landed on her skin, doing no real harm.

Before she could summon the strength from what little remained to look at her rescuer, Fungrim wrapped his water-soaked cloak around her and snatched her up with ease. He looked around for a way out. Though she had been saved from death, the Inn was still a very dangerous place to be. Her eyelids fell heavily down, now that she could give in safely to the sleep her body wanted so desperately to fall into from the smoke. "Thank you..." she whispered just loud enough for Fungrim to hear before the darkness overtook her and body fell limp in his arms.

[Kransha]

Toby turned to see the fair elf from before speaking, followed by the accuser, and finally another woman commenting in the negative. He was obviously unprepared for anyone disagreeing with him, but, after all, this was his first attempt at public speaking. He glared at the elf out of the corner of his narrowed eyes as she knelt to continue her charitable work. Thankfully, he still had a ready retort.

“Rebuilding and reconstructing may make things better for now, but it will not solve this problem. It just shows those who would commit such heinous acts that they do not have to fear the consequences if their criminal activities. This ‘problem’ should be rooted out and stamped into the ground before it continues.”
He carefully avoided responding to the comment about him not knowing who the real culprit was, primarily because he didn’t. He had got himself into this oration, so he would have to be cunning about winning whatever debate aroused about the opinions he'd clearly stated.

He turned back to the crowd, seemingly awaiting and agreeable response. He’d already figured out that this man who stood before him had not perpetrated the arson. Being someone who lied all the time, Tobias Hornblower could tell when people where lying or not, to a certain extent. Though he didn’t like or respect any outsiders, he surmised that this particular man was as true as his word.

“We can rebuild, but we must take some action as well. Suggestions have been bandied about and I suggest we adhere to them swiftly. We should prove that we will not be trifled with by ruffians, and thieves!”
That was probably the worst time for a large silver fork to fall out of his vest pocket, which was what happened at that very instant. Tobias immediately took notice, but tried to ignore it. His oration halted as suddenly as it had started, his sharp eyes darting nervously every few seconds to look at the offending eating utensil that lay at his feet like a very large and disgusting insect.

[WarBringer]

What a strange turn of events i've gotten caught up in... thought Valthalion as he was lead away by the Ranger. Not too long ago, he had been valiantly leading the bucket brigade, a friend and leader of all despite his age. Now, he was accused of arson by the very man he himself thought was guilty. He pondered these circumstances as the Ranger lead him on. Finally, she spoke-"Valthalion, I do not truly believe it was you who started the fire. I can tell you are of a fair kindred from your face and from your proclaiming yourself as one from the North. Not all men are to be counted on, however, and I wanted to be sure of your merit before I let you go. The man of the south is perilous. Perhaps you should stay away from him. I bid you farewell and good fortune, but I implore you to continue to help us here."
Valthalion was grateful, and said "Thank You, fair lady. You are truly a person of honor. I will lend all my strength to this cause."
With that, the Ranger bowed and set off in the direction of the blaze.

Valthalion decided that he must take action. The fire was still burning in the middle of the Inn. There was need of manpower there. Perhaps he was needed. Valthalion picked up his gear and headed for the Inn.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling could not believe his luck. His only thought when he had joined those fighting the fires had been to see if there were any purses that he could take as his own. But the commanding Woman's orders to himself and Roa put all these thoughts far from his mind. The cellar! His mind reeled at the possibilities. . .

Roa dragged him toward the door of the Inn. Snaveling suspected that she did not relish his company, but that she was keeping him close in order to keep an eye on him, as her kinswoman was doing with the youth Snaveling had implicated in the fires. Snaveling did not mind this in the least, as it put distance between himself and the quick-handed young Man and gave him a chance to practice some mischief against this tall Woman. But beyond and above all these considerations was the thought of getting back into the Inn and having a second chance at the valuables it contained.

Roa paused at the door of the Inn to fasten a rag across her face. She said something about "allergies" but Snaveling was not listening -- his mind was racing, looking for a way to do some good for himself. She led the way into the blaze and through the Common Room. They soon found themselves in the cellar. The heat down here was intense but not intolerable, and the smoke was not as bad as Snaveling had feared. He noted with delight that the Woman was suffering from the conditions far more than he. Perhaps these Dunadan are not as doughty as they are reported.

They struggled with a large cask of wine and pulled it towards the cellar stairs. Snaveling let it drop to the floor. "I cannot bear such a load," he cried. "We need more help. Let me go back for that Woman who sent us in here." Roa urged him to resume his load, but Snaveling resisted. "I need a moment," he panted, "to rest."

Beside him was a stack of three large barrels of ale. Reaching up with one hand he made as though he were clinging to the top of the uppermost barrel to keep his balance. But with the strength of his lean form he was able to pull the barrels over. They crashed to the cellar floor, the bottom-most one splintering and spilling its contents onto the packed earth. The other two came to rest on top of the cask that they had been carrying. Roa was trapped behind the barrels and no longer able to reach the stairs.

"Oh dear," Snaveling leered with something approaching sincerity. "I am sorry. I shall go for help."

Before waiting for a response he ran up the stairs and into the Common Room. But rather than making for the door, he turned and went further into the Inn, looking for the stairs to the upper storey and the treasures that he imagined awaited him there.

[Roa_Aoife]

The smoke was starting to get to Roa. Thanks to her hard training she was easily able to grasp the large barrels, and in the cellar the smoke wasn't so bad. But down here she was beginning to fear a collapse. The structure of the first floor was fatally damaged and she didn't know how long the second floor was from falling. She would have turned down this task, but she also knew how damaging the ale would be if it caught fire. The man, Snaveling he said his name was, didn't seem nearly as affected from the smoke. Curse her allergy! well, she was managing. "We need help down here," he was saying. "Then carry that out on your way to get it," Roa replied hotly. It was after all, very warm down there. Instead he stopped, and sat down gasping. Roa narrowed her eyes dangerously. "Keep moving," she said quietly. He stood as though off balance, and ended up knocking down a pile of barrels. Roa was trapped.

"What are you doing?" she yelled, hating the tremor in her voice. "Oh dear. I am sorry. I shall go for help." With that he ran off. Roa had a sinking feeling he would not be back for her. How had gotten herself in this mess? She should have slept in. After a few moments of waiting, Roa hollared, "A curse upon you and all your kin if I die!" Then she set back to work. She had gotten herself in this mess- she would get hersself out. As she was searching for another exit, the smoke began to over take her. She stumbled and hit her head. Everything went black.

[WarBringer]

Valthalion arrived in the middle of the Inn and immediately began looking for a way to help. Smoke was thick throughout the area, and in some parts the fire was still raging. He moved toward the bucket line to help, but felt a hand on his shoulder. A man with a beard spoke to him urgently-"I believe that we can keep the fire subdued for now. You would be of more help if you went down to the cellar and tried to save some of the Inn's Store. If we want to revive the Dragon, we'll need food and drink. Now go, and send for help if you need it."

Valthalion nodded and headed down to the cellar. As he descended, a dark figure darted past him, but it was too dark to make out who it was. Shrugging, Val continued to the cellar. The smoke was thick throughout the room. There were small fires here and there. Finding a bucket, he was about to head up the stairs for water when he heard a moan coming from a pile of barrels. The color drained from his face, and he ran toward the voice. "WHO's THERE?!" he yelled at the top of his lungs.

From behind the barrels,a voice rang out. My name -cough- is -cough- Roa. Help me quickly!" Valthalion wasted no time, and, using all his might, he managed to move one of the fallen barrels and began to look for the woman. He found her huddled on the floor, coughing and choking on the smoke. He lifted her off the ground, and brought her up the stairs, praying that she was alright.

[Witch_Queen]

Cree watched as Grimm walked away to find Aman. Cree didn't know what to do now. She looked around to see what was going on now. She got tired of standing there waiting for something to do. So Cree ran over to Aman and Grimm. "Aman, we have lost the inn." Her words were harsh even if she meant them to be comforting. She looked down at the now muddy ground beneath her bare feet. The mudd was soft and comforting.

Cree felt bad for what she had said. "I'm sorry Aman. I didn't mean it that way." Cree could hear Avalon circling above. The crow suddenly swooped down and landed on her shoulder. The birds talons dug into her skin. Cree flinched with pain but suddenly forgot about it. Her clothers were already drenched with rain. She couldn't tell the difference now between the blood pouring out of her shoulder and the rain falling on her.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Roa's threats of vengeance meant little to Snaveling, whose life had already taken him far beyond the care and report of any kin. The sudden appearance of the strident youth alarmed him, but to his relief the young Man missed him in the dark and the smoke. The first floor of the Inn was now crowded with people battling the blaze, which was almost entirely under control. Fortunately, they were still too busy to notice his stealthy flight up the stairs to the second floor.

Snaveling was patient this time, moving through room after room, disdaining to take any of the small trinkets that came under his hand, waiting instead for the prize that he was sure was his due after enduring the dangers and hardships that he had this day. In the fifth room he entered, he found what he was looking for. Beneath the mattress of the bed, his creeping hand found a heavy purse. Before he had even opened it, his practiced fingers had already told him the precise amount and quality of the gold and silver contained therein. Still, when he did draw the mouth of the purse open and gaze within, his head spun -- here were riches enough to make all his dreams come true: and for the first time in many years, Snaveling felt something that could almost pass for joy.

Shoving his gold beneath his tunic, Snaveling fled the room. The only way out of the Inn from the top floor was through the windows -- which was sure to attract attention -- or back down the stairs. He hoped that in the commotion below he could slip out of the Inn and make for the woods unmarked and unnoticed. But Snaveling's luck, for today at least, had finally run out. No sooner had he put his foot upon the fire-weakened stairs then they collapsed beneath his weight. For a moment he was suspended in the air, but then amid a shower of splinters and dying sparks he was dashed to the wooden floor below, and as his conscious mind fled, it gave to his dreams a single parting thought -- save the gold!

[Galadel Vinorel]

Galadel had continued working with the wounded, while most everyone else had rushed off to save the inn. Only a few of the slightly injured people remained ot aid her in her task. Yet, bacndage were slowly running out, the fire was dying, and they needed more water. Moving with swiftness and determination the elf ordered two hobbits to gether wood, two others to gather as many blankets and other things hat could be made into wraps, and two others to find water. Off they went to do their tasks. Four other folks were left with Galadel, and, under her instuction, applied the wraps that she made as quickly as her tired hands could make them.

While handing a wrap to a young woman, Galadel suddenly found herself gasping for breath. The wrap in her hand fell to the ground and she collapsed to her knees, barely able to breathe. She could sense that a spell had just been made, and the power that it contained in it shook Galadel to bone. It was a spell of foreboding, the elf felt, and there was great anger in it as well. Terror filled her mind, which seem to come from whoever had just made the curse, and the smell of burning wood very near filled her nostrils. Then the smell and feelings were gone, and Galadel found herself kneeling on the soggy earth, her hands to her throat, and her hand titled up to the rain clouds gathered in the sky, from which poured a steady stream of rain.

"My lady," said the frightened young woman that stood before the elf, "Are you alright?"

Galadel stood up swiftly, not even seeming to notice the young woman, adn rushed off inthe direction of the inn. The feeling of peril was still with her. She must do something to aid her kin, who had to have been the one that made that spell, for only a Noldor elf could have made a curse with such power in it. On she hurried past the workers, and ran into the smouldering inn, not even heading the cries that followed her, telling her to stop. Her time to help was now, and nothing would stop her.

[piosenniel]

ROA_AOIFE

Go to ‘user cp’ and click on ‘Private Messages’.

To the upper right of your PM ‘inbox’ screen is a little 'jump' box that should say 'inbox' - click on the little triangle on it for the drop down menu. There are two other sections to your PM's - 'sent messages' and 'message tracking'.

Every time you send a PM, you need to look at the checked boxes below your white send-a-PM screen - uncheck the last 2 boxes:

Save a copy and Request Read Receipt

unless you really need to use them, of course.

You can only have a total of 10 messages in all of these sections together - so your 'inbox' might be empty, but these other 2 have a total of 10 messages.

[Feared Half-Elf]

Elkamia still helped the brigade as they threw sand and water, and noticed the people running into the building. "The ale!" She muttered. "It'll go up like one of Gandalf's fireworks!" She broke from the ranks of the brigade and ran towards the Inn door. The flames were still licking at the walls, but a she didn't worry too much. 'As long as I watch my step, I'll be fine.' She thought.

She headed down the cellar, following her instincts in order to find the door down there. It was dark and she pulled from a pouch on her belt a clear round crystal, blazing with light. She had been a good friend to Gandalf before he passed to Fair Valinor, and he had made the light for her as a lamp at night; she had always hated the dark. Over in a corner, a man helped a woman up, and a barrel of ale had been spilled. She cursed beneath her breath, in the language of her people. One tiny flame could set alight that puddle, and thus the whole place. She touched the arm of the man.

"You should both get out of here." She said. her voice was soft and calm, but loud enough to be heard above the flames. The man looked at her, the young man from the edge of the forest. She turned slightly, hoping that he would follow her advice once he was done, and lifted one of the large ale barrels that had trapped the woman, keeping her from her escape route. The ceiling creaked, and Elkamia realised that it would soon fall in. Strengthening her grip on the large barrel, she hurried from the cellar, hoping that the two of them would follow.

[Linnahiril Tinnufinwen]

Soaked to the bone, shivering, and exhausted, Asphodel attempted to to pull herself up off her blanket. Her body felt like lead, and she found she was still a little dizzy. After a few tries, however, she found she was able to stand tolerably well on her own feet.

Slowly but surely, she made her way towards the smoking ruins of the Green Dragon. She could hear voices, now, and watched as people ran to and fro with buckets of water to quench the last of the fire.

Asphodel wished that her family would come to get her. She didn't think she could make the hour's walk to her house on her wobbly legs. She knew she had to get help, but from who? Now facing the Inn, she rested herself on a large rock, and watched the people putting the fire out; some Men, some Elves, some Dwarves, but mostly Hobbits. She didn't recognize any of them. She searched in vain for Aman, the barkeeper. The Big Folk lady was not there. At least, not that she could see. Though she felt very sick, Asphodel was too shy to ask help of those she didn't know. There was but one thing to do, and that was to wait until Aman came back, or until her father came to pick her up.

She hoped that her father had heard of the Inn fire, otherwise he probably wouldn't come to get her right away. Espcially since it was raining so hard. Asphodel's legs felt stiff and sore from walking. She sunk down slowly and sat in the soft mud, her back up against the rock. Shivering, she gathered her knees in her arms and placed her head upon them, letting the heavy rain soak the top of her head, and run down her back.

[Roa_Aoife]

"Unh..." Roa mouned as she slowly came back to her senses. She was being supported by the young man from earlier. She groggily shook her aching head and coughed, trying to remember what happened. How did I get here? she wondered. The fire, the Inn, my arm, she winced, the fight, the ale, the... the... Roa couldn't remember how she'd been trapped. Vaguely she acknowledged the presence of an elf woman. She almost fell on the stairs, and the young man had to carry her the rest of the way. Some where within Roa groaned at her weakness, but that part was shrouded in pain. She shook her head again, trying to make the thoughts go back in place. Roa was losing that battle for consciousness. By sheer will, she stayed awake.

They made it to the outside, and she lay on the sweet smelling grass. The cool rain helped revive her. She sat up quickly, but collasped again from dizziness. "Easy," said the young man, "you've been hurt pretty badly." Roa managed to mumble something about having had worse, and sat up more slowly. "Who are you again?" "My name is Valthalion," the young manreplied. About that time, she heard a loud crash.

"What was that?" she asked. "I think the stairs to the second floor have fallen," the young man replied. Muttering a thousand curses, Roa climbed to her feet. Then she took off towards the crash zone, praying that no one had been there. "Wait!' Valthalion called. He easily caught up with her, but did not try to deter her from her goal. If I was not injured you wouldn't have caught me, she thought, more annoyed at herself than him. Again, she wished she knew what had happened in the cellar.

[Kransha]

Toby ran through the mayhem, scurrying strangely as he went. After his proclamation, all attention had turned to the ruin, which seemed to be brimming with those who’d moved in to quell the blaze. The elder was annoyed that the spotlight had left him, but it gave him a chance to consider how to continually promote his ideals among the people around him. He didn’t bother trying to continue his oration, knowing that no one would be stupid enough to listen to him when such important matters needed tending to. He decided to whatever he could to remain on the stage, still in the spotlight.

He saw Valthalion, the man he’d accused of starting the fire, with a woman heading towards the inn. He had nothing else to do, at least in his opinion, so he made a decision. The rodent-reminiscent hobbit clamored awkwardly towards the two of them as quickly as his stumpy legs could carry him. He was directly behind them in an instant, hoping fervently that their senses of hearing were not very acute. It wouldn’t be dire if they noticed him, but he preferred to be unnoticed when he was “working.” He walked behind them, flitting about as quietly as he could in the footsteps of his possible victims, still walking ahead.

He was nearly soaked to the bone at this point, grey-brown hair plastered to his face and his vision blurred from the downpour. He pulled his overcoat and cloak up, bundled around his shoulders, and skittered along, waiting for something to happen that would serve as an adequate distraction or point of interest.

[WarBringer]

Together, Valthalion and Roa took off toward the Inn to investigate the sound they had heard. The rain began to intensify, and both were soaked. Near the doorway, Roa slipped and fell. Valthalion stooped and lifted her up, and then they both continued their run. Breaking through the bucket brigade that was fighting the dauntless flames, they ran toward the stairway to the second floor.

They found only ruin. The stair had indeed collapsed, leaving a pile of rubble in its wake. Roa dropped to her knees in disbelief and exhaustion. Valthalion lowered his head, unbelievingly. Roa stood up then and said "We must check this rubble for people and items, lest they be lost forever." Valthalion nodded, and together they began to search the rubble. WHat happened next shocked them both. First, a groan came from amid the rubble. Digging quickly, Roa uncovered the man who had knocked over the barrels earlier! Valthalion looked on in disbelief at the motionless figure, when suddenly he heard footsteps from behind him. Turning around, he saw a hobbit sneaking behind them. Roa and Valthalion were back to back, wondering what to do with the situation.

[Kransha]

Toby proceeded to sneak inside the inn’s ruin, following Valthalion and the unknown female. They came to what remained of the staircase to the second level, now collapsed in a heap of wooden and mortar debris scattered across the singed floorboards. The woman dug courageously through the pile of rubble until she uncovered something which Tobias couldn’t see, since the man was in the way. He moved a little closer as the heat around him grew nearly unbearable. He was persistent enough to continue, despite the unpleasant conditions surrounding him and the heat that was beginning to pester him.

Unfortunately, that was when a series of painfully badly-timed events began occurring in sequence. First, Toby stepped on a splintered wooden plank on the floor which heaved a groaning creak as he raised his bare foot from it. The man, Valthalion, turned instantly after the noise was emitted and had obviously noticed the creeping hobbit. Toby backed up defensively, which wasn’t the best idea, considering what happened next. He felt something searing the rough flesh of his sore foot again and sprung further in the opposite direction.

The heat level shot up as something that Toby’s couldn’t see flew in front of him. He believed it to be a flaming rafter, though he didn’t know if the inn had rafters. The wooden beam slashed his bulging chest (which was only bulging because of everything he’d stuffed into it) and ignited it in a violent flash. The fire luckily didn’t have time to envelope his outfit, but it did send all the silverware and utensils stuffed into his breast pockets flying all over the room like shrapnel. The hobbit stumbled as his scorched vest disintegrated around him and clattered noisily onto the floor.

[WarBringer]

Valthalion stared at the panic striken hobbit, who was now also wounded. He frowned and knelt to the ground, picking up one of the fallen utensils. Then Valthalion spoke wrathfully "So this is what the fire has yielded?! A hobbit who steales when he should give all his energy to save this Inn?! You are truly a disgrace to all of your good folk. Stay where you are and keep silent. SHould you move, you will see a side of me that few have seen. Understood?!" The hobbit gulped and nodded, a guilty look on his face.

"That's not all Val. This is the man who accused you of starting the fire is this man." Shocked, Valthalion strode foward, kneeling over the man. Searching him quickly, he found more shocking items. The man had stolen a purse filled with gold. Rising quickly, he said, "Roa, we have caught a couple of criminals. What are we to do with them?"

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Through all the hard years and long leagues of his life, the one picture that had kept Snaveling going was that of the hunting lodge that he would build. It would have five rooms and a large porch out back, where he could sit of an evening and smoke his pipe. It would be in an out-of-the-way valley where the hunting and fishing were good, and far from the meddling interference of other folk. If he got lonely he could send to his people in the South for a woman, and she would cook for him and mend his clothes, and he would teach his children how to hunt game and protect themselves from the people who hated them. This lodge was more than his dream -- it was his reason for being. The thought of it had kept him warm in the nights spent outdoors in all weathers. It had given him courage in the wildest lands. And it had given him comfort when the least door in the meanest villages had been closed against him.

And now, it was almost his. As he moved through the hinterlands of consciousness, he walked the halls of this lodge and threw open the shutters to greet the dawn. The gold, the gold -- the precious gold he cried. Such a small thing, a simple thing, a pouch of gold -- and all that I have dreamed of is mine to enjoy forever. But the sunlight on his face was blotted out by sudden rainclouds. The songs of the birds in the valley became the cries of people fighting for their lives, and the warmth of the morning airs became the violent redness of naked flame.

Snaveling awoke practically in tears, knowing even before he opened his eyes that the gold was gone, and with it his dreams. He sat up, gasping in agony and looked at the merciless eyes of Roa and Valthalion staring down at him. He buried his head in his hands and wept as he had not since he was a small child.

[piosenniel]

Halfred, the Shiriff of Bywater is roused to action

Halfred had been roused from his warm, comfortable bed by the urgent pounding on his door. He peeked his head out from his quilt and felt his wife nudge him in his well padded ribs with her sharp elbow. ‘Get up, Halfred, and see to who it is. I can hear them yelling for the Shiriff.’ She glared at him from beneath her bed cap until he roused his aching bones from his little nest and placed his feet on the cold floor. He stood up slowly, hearing his protesting joints creak as he assumed the upright position.

‘I’m coming! I’m coming!’ he yelled to the insistent caller, as he plodded toward the door.

It was Ruby, from the Inn. She fell forward as he opened the door, and would have hit the floor had he not caught her. ‘The Inn!’ she gasped, as he sat her in a nearby chair. Aman had sent her to fetch the Shiriff, she told him. There had been a big fire; the Inn was nearly destroyed. It was under control now, only the smoky remains of the now put out flames, as everyone had pitched in with a bucket brigade. But people were injured, and things needed sorting out. Miz Aman was busy seeing to the needs of the people and saving what she could from the Inn. Could Halfred please come and help out.

‘Wait here,’ said Halfred, running to the bedroom and throwing on his clothes. He gave a quick explanation to the missus who said she would come soon to help out. Halfred put on his green cap with the white feather and drew his cloak about him as he hurried back down the hall to collect Ruby. He stopped at Tolman’s room, his oldest son, and woke the lad from his sleep.

‘Get Dumpling saddled, son,’ he told Tolman, explaining hurriedly what had happened. Go up on the hill above Bag End and rouse the Hobbiton Shiriff. Tell Fredgar what I’ve told you, and tell him we’ll be needing him and any of his men who can come.’

Ruby and Halfred sped off toward the Green Dragon in his small buggy. Tolman threw the saddle on the disgruntled Dumpling and made for the house of Fredgar Hornblower, the Shiriff of Hobbiton . . .

__________________________________

Please Note:

Fool of a Took is now going to handle the part of the Shiriff of Hobbiton. And will occasionally use the character of Halfred as needed.

He will introduce this new character soon.

~*~ Pio, Shire Moderator

[piosenniel]

Please note in my last post, I mentioned that for the most part, the fire is out in the Inn.

Now is time to take stock of what can be salvaged and what can't; who's hurt and who isn't, etc . . .

Perhaps some can remove the horses in the stable to one of the far fenced in pens on the Inn grounds, and the wounded can be cared for in there. It's a large stable with a big hayloft.

Thanks!

~*~ Pio, Shire Mod

[Feared Half-Elf]

Elkamia put down the ale barrel she carried, and realised that the woman and man had gone back inside the Inn. The stairs to the second floor had just collapsed as she had left, and now she hurried back into the ruined building.

The man and women stood near the stairs, along with the Hobbit she had seen theiving the night before and the man that she had seen a while earlier enter the Inn. The woman looked up at her, and spoke to the man next to him. She was coughing again, and Elkamia realised that she was allergic to smoke, or something like that. The wet cloth over her own nose and mouth protected her from the smoke, many years of experience told her that a wet cloth repelled most of the smoke.

[Fool Of A Took]

Fredgar woke up from his sleep by his wife, Rosalinda, that poked him on his shoulder. "Fredgar..." she whispered softly in his ear, "there are a young lad outside who wishes to see you right away." Fredgar mumbled something that she couldn't hear. He rose up slowly and yawned. He put his slippers on and his wife ran to the closet in the hall for his dressing gown. He went to the outer door where a young lad stood and seemed very upset. Fredgar had never seen him before around Hobbiton, so he said with a peevish voice "Can I help you?" He saw outside that the lad had came here by a pony. "Yes... you certainly can mister Fredgar!" he replied. "I am Tolman, son of Halfred Whitfoot, the Shiriff of Bywater. I come with word from him. Our local inn, The Green Dragon Inn, is on fire. The fire is under control now and we have gathered people to organize a bucket chain. But my father and the innkeeper would be glad if you could come to help with some of your men. The situation is almost chaotic, but the fire is now under control. Yet many people are wounded and need medical help." Rosalinda ran after a chair so Tolman could sit down. Fredgar got upset and surprised. He had been at the Green Dragon many times and the ale there was wonderful. "I will gather two good men and come to aid." he replied and ran after his clothes in the bedroom. "Hurry back and tell your father that I will come" he shouted as he dressed himself.

He kissed Rosalinda goodbye and grabbed his green hat and dagger by the door and ran to the stables. "Be careful now, Freddie!" she shouted as he ran. He sadled his own pony, Roman, and then ran to his first assistants house, Zackarias, and pounded on his door. A sleepy Zackarias opened the door slowly. "Get up Zack! Sadle your pony and go wake Angus up! We must ride to Bywater, the local inn is on fire and they need our help to organize!" Zackarias got paniced and ran inside again and dressed. He came back to the door fully dressed and said "Angus and I meet you at the start of the road to Bywater! Is there anything we should bring?" Fredgar hummed and said "Yes, bring bandage and plasters. Tolman, the Shiriff of Bywater's son, told me that many were wounded." Zackarias nodded and ran back into his hole. Fredgar ran to his pony and jumped up. He rode to the start of the road to Bywater and waited there for the arrival of Zackarias and Angus..

After a minute Zackarias and Angus showed up on their ponys. Both of them had backpacks and daggers in their belts. "We must hurry!" Fredgar said and spurred Roman. They rode the fastest as they could and didn't stop so they could rest. After a while they arrived to Bywater and they could see the smoke from the inn rose to the sky. Fredgar could hear people scream and shout. He rode down the road to the inn and could see Halfred at distance. The bucket chain was doing it's job well and the wounded seemed to get help. Yet many of them was paniced and some of them cried of sorrow. Fredgar thought it was terrible to see. He always got a little bit sad himself when he saw other people crying. They stopped quiet far away from the inn and jumped down from their horses. All three of them led their horses the last way to the inn. Fredgar couldn't see Aman, the innkeeper, anywhere. He asked many but no one knew where she was. He walked to Halfred and poked on his shoulder. Halfred turned around and his face looked concerned. "I have brought two good men with bandage and other medical equipment that can help the wounded. I will help you to organize things. But do you know where miss Aman is?"

The inn was nearly totally destroyed and Fredgar drew a deep sigh. It's so sad... Poor Aman...

[piosenniel]

IT IS NOW LATER MORNING IN THE SHIRE.

The Fire is out, though it is still very smoky; those at the Inn are taking stock of the situation. The wounded are being taken to the Inn stable, which has been cleared of the horses.

Buttercup and Ruby have started a small cooking fire, well away from the stable and remains of the Inn, and have put on a large, rescued soup pot filled with water. Members of the surrounding community have brought vegetables and a few soup bones for the making of a thick soup.

The stable’s pump is now the scene of people washing up bowls and spoons for the upcoming meal.

Some brave souls are still rescuing important items from the Inn

The Shiriff of Hobbiton, Fredgar Hornblower has arrived, and things are getting organized.

[piosenniel]

GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

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

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

Ongoing characters from outside the Inn:

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

Fredgar Hornblower – local Shiriff from Hobbiton – played by Fool of a Took
_____________________________________________

Please Note:



No 'SAVES' are allowed in the Inn.


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

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

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

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

IT IS NOW LATER MORNING IN THE SHIRE.

The Fire is out, though it is still very smoky; those at the Inn are taking stock of the situation. The wounded are being taken to the Inn stable, which has been cleared of the horses.

Buttercup and Ruby have started a small cooking fire, well away from the stable and remains of the Inn, and have put on a large, rescued soup pot filled with water. Members of the surrounding community have brought vegetables and a few soup bones for the making of a thick soup.

The stable’s pump is now the scene of people washing up bowls and spoons for the upcoming meal.

Some brave souls are still rescuing important items from the Inn

The Shiriff of Hobbiton, Fredgar Hornblower has arrived, and things are getting organized.

[SonOfBombadil]

After Lewis had made it out of the inn, not finding anyone in it, he had started right away with helping out in quenching the flames. As he passed buckets down the line, he looked around with smoke stung eyes te see if he could find Ravon. He found her helping out with the bucket brigade. Good, she's still safe.

-----

Rain had been coming down for a couple hours, and the fire was just smoking now. The inn was gutted, and that hurt Lewis. So many memories and good times gone like that. He was washing up by the well with Ravon. He had brought his horse over to a designated stable, and the wounded were being treated in the now empty stable. Lewis looked up at Ravon with a soot and mud covered face. He smiled. "Well, this has been an interesting few days." He said with a slow chuckle.

[Roa_Aoife]

Roa paused to take some deep breaths and stared hard at the man she was now tending. Something about him sparked a memory, something... distasteful. She remembered he had been involved in the dispute about the arson, but after that things got hazy. He seemed almost sad at something, like he had sustained a very heavy loss. This Roa could not understand. Perhaps he was attached to the Inn, which now lay in ruin. A meal was being prepared under the shelter of the trees, and mostly everyone was resting from the battle with the fire. She looked at the man again. He seemed nervous, as though he was expecting harm. Valthalion stood close by, in a protective stance, which greatly annoyed Roa. She didn't really need his assistance anymore. Then again, she thought, he did rescue me from the cellar. She still wasn't sure how she had gotten down there. All she could remember was rescueing the ale. Roa resisted the urge to laugh at the notion.

Roa looked from Valthalion to the strange man she was attending. Perhaps Val was the cause for the man's discomfort. "Valthalion," she called. Val looked up. "You have worked most courageously today. You deserve a rest. Go get something to eat." The young man looked reluctant to leave, and made it clear in his speech. But after many assurances from Roa that she would be quite alright, he headed towards the makeshift dining area. Roa turned back to the man.

"There now sir, everything will be quite all right. I shall not harm you, unless I am forced to defend myself. You are not nearly some injured as you could have been, and your wounds will heal quickly." Roa spoke soothingly, but the man looked confused. Perhaps he had been hit on the head harder than she realized. She tried again to reach him. "I am called Roa. What name do you go by?"

"Snaveling," he answered cautiously, "Do you not recall?" Roa thought very hard. So she had known him for an instant. Trying to remember made her dizzy though, so she only shook her head. "I fear my head was injured quite badly in the cellar, for I do not recall you at all, except for the disturbance earlier about possible arson. Even that is hazy, though I recall going in to rescue the ale," at this she shook her head in disbelief, "As near as I can discern, the ale must have tumbled and trapped me, and I fell and bumped my head. If I knew to any length, sir, I have forgotten." At this the man seemed most relieved, and this caused Roa some great ill-ease. However, a swell of dizziness surrounded her and she fell back onto her rear. When she fell, she tried to steady herself with her arm, and cried out as the burnt area was struck.

[WarBringer]

Valthalion walked the destroyed corridors of the Green Dragon Inn, moving toward the pump inside the Inn's stable. His head was swimming, as he went through all that had transpired throughout the day. He had been weary, looking for a place to stay the night. He arrived at the Inn, which was already in flames. He bravely fought the fire, and then watched as it spread to the surrounding trees. Suspecting foul play, he had thought that a southern man had been at fault, only to have the same man accuse him of starting the fire. He had met the Ranger Woman, and Roa, and was set free of all guilt by the Woman. Going into the cellar of the inn, he had saved Roa, a proud and pretty woman akin to the ranger. They had together caught the southern man and a hobbit in the act of stealing, and now here he was, sent away by the strong-willed Roa to rest.

He arrived at the pump, and started to help clean dishes in preparation of the meal. He recieved a mixed reaction from the nearby people. Some regarded the young man with awe, while others looked on scornfully. Valthalion hoped that they would realize that he had nothing to do with the fire, and, that they would commend him for his bravery in the fight, and rescue of the woman. Despite all his deeds that day, he still ached for the chance to prove himself to all, and especially to Roa, whom he now had a deep respect for.

[Kransha]

Tobias Hornblower cursed obscenely under his breath, reciting every foul word he knew. He wasn’t a having a very good day by any standards. His expensive vest had been destroyed, along with most of his pricy overcoat, he had lost every item that he’d pilfered during the day, much of it in an uncomfortable fiery explosion, and he’d almost been caught stealing by the prying eyes of that fellow, Valthalion.

The operative word of his problems was, of course, ‘almost.’ Toby was outside now, coughing loudly and keeping up his injured façade rather nicely, in his opinion. He wasn’t the best thespian on Middle-Earth, but he fancied himself a hobbit with a flair for the dramatic, especially after a night of good ale. The elder hobbit would have to avoid the man Valthalion and that other woman if he wanted to get away with what little he’d gotten away with, which, coincidentally, wasn’t very much. He’s managed to scurry sneakily away from the fray when that sniveling human had drawn Valthalion’s attention away from him. He tried to rest easy, but the steadying of the commotion worried him. Without mayhem, he wouldn’t be able to continue his habit.

About then, another very surprising sight found its way to Toby Hornblower.
“Fredgar…Fredgar Hornblower?” He spoke to no one in particular, just to himself.

On the lawn of Bywater Road, just outside the quelled fire of the Green Dragon, one of his cousins, Fredgar Hornblower, was supervising a number of hobbits and men in a directorial fashion. Toby wasn’t sure if it was a stroke of good fortune or a curse from above. He barely knew Fredgar, one of his many distant cousins in the Hornblower family branches. He knew that this particular Hornblower was an inhabitant of Hobbiton rather than Longbottom, and had actually attained the position of Shirriff there. It dawned on Tobias that this was definitely luck, finally something working out for the good instead of the bad.

[Fool Of A Took]

Fredgar asked Halfred where Aman could be but just Halfred shook his head and said "No, I haven't seen her since I arrived, but I believe she's inside the Inn and trying to get important things out of there." Fredgar nodded and looked around. He ordered Zackarias and Angus to help the wounded and himself would go to the stables and get the horses out. He passed a hobbit that looked familiar to him. He must be.... Wait... I know him... It's... Tobias Hornblower! He grinned to the hobbit, and the hobbit seemed to recognize him. "Toby!" he shouted and hugged him. "My old cousin. It have been to long since we last met." he said and grinned to Toby. "I must get the horses and ponies out of the stable. Would you help me?" Toby nodded. "Follow me." Fredgar said and began to run to the stable. Toby followed him. They entered by the side door of the stable. He could hear many of the horses and ponies neigh in fear and panic, since they've heard the screaming and the smell of smoke in there. Fredgar opened the big door at the front of the stable. It was quiet heavy but he and Toby managed to open it. "Help me take the horses first!" he shouted to Toby. The horses neighed so much that they could barely hear each other. It was a hard work, since the horses was frightened and paniced. They got them all outside and bound by tree's outside.

"Now the ponies!" he shouted to Toby. The ponies were much easier for them to handle as they were smaller than full grown horses that was in panic. They managed to get them all outside and bound beside the horses. "There! All out." he said to Toby and puffed. He leaned back to a tree. He was vey strong for a being a hobbit, but this was requiered more mental strength than muscles. I must see over the wounded together with Zack and Angus, he thougt and ran up. "I am so sorry Tobias, but I must run. We can talk later on when this is over. Duty calls!" he said and grinned to Toby. "Oh, and could you please take care of the horses and just look after them. It would be great if you could!" he said and turned and ran back to the Inn. At distance he could see Zackarias and Angus taking care of the wounded. "How is it going?" he asked and puffed. He wasn't in very good condition. "Well" Zackarias started, "Many of them have burn wounds. They are hard to heal and requiers much attention. This is harder than we thought!" Fredgar nodded and sat down beside them and helped a hobbit with his hands that he had burned when he threw water on the fire. He had been first in the bucket chain. The hobbit's eyes was looked like he was on the verge of tears.

"I must find Aman. Do you know where she is?" Fredgar asked and started to get annoyed that he couldn't find her. Angus hummed and said "No.. I haven't seen her anywhere." Fredgar sighed and stamped his foot in the ground. He coughed by all the dust that flew up when he stamped and then said "I go see where she is." Angus nodded and turned to the hobbit's hand. Fredgar looked around everywhere but Aman seemed like she was totally gone. He sighed and then started to run around and look for her. He could see Halfred and a few other hobbits, led by Halfred, that tried to organize a new bucket chain.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling was on his feet in an instant and reaching for Roa’s hand to steady her, even though his head was spinning from the revelations of his luck. It was as his grandmother had always counselled: Treasure your luck, not your gold, for your gold can be stolen. He had never much liked his grandmother – her quickness with the switch had been matched only by the meanness of her temper – but she had been a fount of such wisdom, and now he was glad for it as it gave him hope once more. Roa put a hand to her forehead, and let out an exhausted sigh. “Wait just one minute, my lady,” he said. Snaveling rushed off to the pump to fetch Roa some water. As he neared the pump, he made out the form of the young Man doing, of all things, the dishes. Snaveling had to fight hard to prevent a smile from creasing his face at that sight, and to resist taunting the boy.

After he had filled a cup with water, though, he had an idea. As he passed by the youth, he muttered -- just loud enough for Valthalion to hear -- “I’m glad to see you’ve found some work more suited to you…boy”. Valthalion bristled at that and rose up, his youthful wrath once more kindled. Snaveling pretended fear but inwardly rejoiced at the ease with which he could play on the child’s nature. “At least I am doing something to help these people” Valthalion snapped. “Unlike some, I am not using this tragedy to thieve.”

“Oh no?” Snaveling asked, still speaking low so that his voice would not carry. “Then where has my purse gone, eh? When I awoke, it was gone and only yourself and Roa were about me; I am willing to bet my life on her honour – but what of yours? Once today already you have threatened me, and were it not for Roa’s kinswoman, I daresay you would have spilled blood. Roa tells me that she was trapped in the cellar by some foul device, and were you not the first to find her? As to the fires amongst the trees, you know my beliefs about that already. Prove to me that you do not have my gold, and perhaps I will have a better opinion of you in future. But for now, I think it is best if you remain here with the washing.” He turned his back on the youth and moved toward Roa with the water.

This was too much for Valthalion, as Snaveling knew it would be. The youth threw his dripping washcloth to the earth and sprang at Snaveling, spinning him about. Snaveling cried out in mock-terror, “Ah me! Help! Help!” At the instant, there were a dozen pairs of ready hands restraining the youth. A sturdy hobbit with a feather in his cap approached, demanding to know what was going on. Snaveling was the first to speak, “I came to fetch water for one of the wounded, a noble Woman who has saved my life this day, and this boy attacked me!” Valthalion tried to speak, but the hobbit bid him hold his tongue. He narrowed his eyes at the both of them.

“I have been told that you two have been seen arguing and accusing one another while the Inn needed hands to save it. I have no time now to settle these petty disputes, but mark my words – as soon as we have restored some order, we are going to get to the bottom of this.” He turned to those holding Valthalion and ordered them to let him go. To Snaveling he said, “Take your water to the wounded, but do not stray far from the Inn until we have looked into this matter further.”

Snaveling had no intention of leaving the Inn, not until he had recovered his gold from Valthalion. He quickly returned to Roa, who had seen the altercation but not been able to hear a word of it. “What has happened between you and Valthalion?” she asked. Snaveling handed her the water and sat down beside her on the grass.

“I’m afraid I forgot myself with him my Lady. He hates me so – why I know not! – but to refuse to return my gold to me…” he shook his head sadly, like a man all too familiar with enduring the wickedness of the world.

“Your gold…?” Roa began.

“Yes, my Lady. A small purse holding all of my worldly treasures. I sold all of my belongings before leaving the South and I had hoped to use the small sum here to build a new life for myself. I had the gold when I went to the second floor to seek survivors, but when I awoke, it was gone. I know by looking at you that you did not take it – the air of lost Numenor is fair about you” (he remembered this from an ancient tale he’d heard at an Inn in Bree) “but that youth is impetuous and, as you saw, eager to do me harm.” Snaveling stopped suddenly, as though a thought had just occurred to him. “My Lady, something just occurs to me – I had not thought of it before but…when we went into the Inn to save the ale – yes, I was with you, but you bid me to the upper floors as we thought we heard cries for help. As I left you, though, I saw that youth running into the cellar. At the time, I thought nothing of it, but now…do you really have no memory of how you came to be trapped there?”

[Kransha]

"My old cousin, it has been to long since we last met." Said Fredgar, hugging him.

Of all the people on Middle-Earth, save Illuvitar himself, Fredgar Hornblower, Toby’s cousin, was the perfect person to show up outside the Green Dragon at that moment. After deciding whether having family around would be good or bad, Toby decided that it was a profitable fact that his cousin was now the Shirriff of Hobbiton. The only people that cynical old Tobias Hornblower was willing to help was family, since the Hornblowers back in the Southfarthing had a staunch loyalty to their lineage, and Toby, despite his immoral pursuits, was no different. He would never frown upon an offer or request from a Hornblower.

Fredgar asked him to help with the anarchic stable and evacuate all beasts of burden inside. Amazingly, Toby agreed without a second thought or word and set off to help. With a considerable amount of strength from Fredgar and some general assistance from Toby, the two hobbits had been able to do the job easily. Now Fredgar had run off, an action which Toby totally understood. His cousin had a position of some importance in this Farthing now and Tobias respected that. The elder hobbit was left with the horses, which were now reined in and bound carefully to one of the trees lining Bywater Road. He intended to do his best tending them, although he wasn’t really sure if the duty had any purpose. Either way, things had taken a turn for the better and that fact alone was pleasing enough for Tobias Hornblower. ‘My, my, he has grown a lot,’ thought the gentlehobbit as he saw the prominent figure of Fredgar Hornblower running off to do his duty to the community. He was, after all, Shirriff of Hobbiton (a fact which Toby kept tellin himself excitedly).

“Good horse,” he murmured, randomly stroking the side of one pony whose side he could actually reach, compared to the larger a more imposing musculature of the horses which stood taller than the gentlehobbit. Toby didn’t know anything about tending horses or ponies, but it didn’t look that hard. The beasts brayed and whinnied and even occasionally jostled about, pulling at the ropes that held them, but they seemed otherwise calm. Toby, who’d had a very long day, was content to do this job and be happy with it.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman shut the pen behind her as she led Rochfalmar in, murmuring soothingly to the horse. But she needn't have feared - Pio's old horse was as dauntless as the half-elf herself, and snickered reasurringly, nuzzling Aman's shoulder gently as the Innkeeper turned. Aman ran her hand down the horse's nose an neck, making small shushing noises as she did so and entwining her fingers in her hair. Around her, the other horses from the Inn were calming down, as if Rochfalmar's solid prescence was giving them some sort of calm as well - the silver mare was the last horse into the pen, although Aman had not had her out of the stables last. She would not have dreamed of letting her friend's horse get injured, despite the fact the flames were nowhere near the stables.

"We have lost the Inn, Aman." Cree's words came back to the Innkeeper and she frowned viciously - how dare she?! They had not lost the Inn, and for her to have pointed it out in a manner so unhelpful... her grip on Rochfalmar's hair tightened until the horse gave a small, gently reproachful whinny and she loosened her fingers from her hair with a start. Turning she looked back to the Inn, knowing she should get back quickly; the smoke was rising from the roof, but the flames were gone, and the damage was not as much as was feared; although the cellar had fallen in on itself at the top and one side of the Common Room had crumbled entirely, the rooms above had held, the solid wooden beams around the room scorched but holding firm. No one could ever criticise hobbit craftmanship. The smell of warm horse-flesh and the sounds of the horses and ponies moving gently around the Rohirrim Innkeeper calmed her and comforted her and her anger began to melt away. "We haven't lost it, have we, Rochfalmar?" she murmured gently to the horse who regarded her with an unnervingly intelligent gaze. The Innkeeper grinned cheekily as she added in a whisper. "At least, I bleedin' well hope not - can you think what Pio and Vinca would say to that?!"

The mare gave a layered whinny that sounded almost like a chuckle and tossed her head and Aman grinned, letting go. Rochfalmar was no ordinary horse, and she had made her feel better.

"Miss Aman, is that you?"

Aman turned, a slight frown coming back onto her face subconciously as she braced herself for all sorts of bad news, but instead she was greeted by the slightly anxious, plump face of the Shirrif of Hobbiton, who was twisting his hat in his hands. Although a smear of ash graced one cheekbone like a strange new make-up and her brown hair was awry, pulled out of its usual bun to fall a little messily over her shoulders, Aman's face lit up. "Shirrif Hornblower!" she exclaimed.

The hobbit grinned, replacing his hat on his head and beside him Tobias gave what sounded suspiciously like a sigh of relief. Aman knelt in front of them so as to be more on their level, shaking hands with Fredgar warmly. "Shirrif, thank you for coming, it is much appreciated."

Fredgar Hornblower nodded graciously, and a small frown crept onto his face. "I am sorry for the loss of your Inn, Miss Aman-"

"Loss?" Aman's tone was rathr sharp and sensed Tobias stiffening slightly. The hobbit was one of those who wasn't entirely at home with the Big Folk, and this one had a rather large mare looming behind her as well. "I don't think we have lost the Inn, Shirrif."

Fredgar looked a little uncomfortable and Aman held his gaze for a moment, then he smiled. Aman grinned back, straightening. "Nay, 'tisn't anything we can't deal with, I think!"

[Roa_Aoife]

Roa had watched the exchange between the two men with great discomfort. Her head was swimming, and the pain in her arm kept her from focusing. Snaveling returned and handed her some water, which did much to revive her. She still couldn't quite focus enough to answer Snaveling's question. When in doubt, her father had taught her, trust your instincts. Well, she knew what her instincts were saying, but it didn't quite make sense. When she paused, Snaveling quickly stated,"There is no need to answer now, my lady, wait until you've been tended." No that will not do at all, Roa thought. Questions had been asked, as much by Snaveling as her own mind, and they need to be answered. Giving in to her instincts, Roa stayed him from fetching a healer.

"What happened I know not. I truly am unable to remember. As for Valthalion, he is rash and quick to anger, but such is to be expected from a youth such as he. I do not doubt his heart." Roa did not stop, for tact was not her better qualities; indeed, she was known to be quite blunt. "It is you whom I find distasteful. I know not why, but I have been taught to trust my instincts," she added quickly, stemming the man's protest. Snaveling looked genuinely shocked, and wether it was due to her accusations or that they were correct, she could not, tell. She felt somewhat guilty at having potentially insulted him, especially if she was wrong. When mind and heart are at odds, doubt and confusion are sure visitors. "Though, even if I am correct, you do have redeeming qualities in you." Snaveling did not answer, and at that moment, Roa's stomach grumbled very loudly. She trhew back her head and laughed loudly. It was good to laugh; somehow it cleared away a few cobwebs and eased her pain. She laughed until she lay on the ground, shaking from the bubbling joy within her. She sat up and almost started laughing again at Poor Snavelings expression.

"I had forgotten that I have not eaten since yesterday. Come, let us see it they have finished the food." She held her hand out to Snaveling, and he pulled her to her feet. She was able to walk on her own, now, but used Snaveling for support anyway. It was better that he thought her still weak. She would see a healer after eating.

[Fool Of A Took]

Fredgar nodded slowly and looked at Aman. “Of course, the Inn can still be saved.” He looked around himself and saw Buttercup and Ruby preparing a meal for the tired and scared people around. Zackarias and Angus were doing their job well. He got reminded of Tobias that stood outside the stable and looked after the horses. “By the way, I have met my cousin here, Tobias Hornblower, and we brought the horses and ponies out of the stable.” Fredgar said and turned back to Aman. Aman nodded and Fredgar said “He is outside the stable and are looking after them.” Fredgar coughed by all the thick smoke in the air. “Just tell me if you need me for anything, I must go and check how Tobias is doing with the horses!”

He turned from Aman and ran to the stable where Toby was. He could see him sitting by a horse and clapping him. As Fredgar came running he stood up. Toby seemed to be happy sitting there and watch them, Fredgar smiled to him and waved. “Is everything alright here?” Fredgar asked Toby. Toby nodded and grinned. Fredgar began to think of what they should do with the horses, he had forgot to ask Aman that. The horses seemed worried about something. They were trying to get the ropes of and Fredgar and Toby tried to calm them down. I must hear what Aman thinks we should do with the horses. After all, she is from Rohan and probably do know more about horses than I do.

He told Toby to run to Aman and ask her what they would do with the horses. They intended to be really worried about the smell of fire. Fredgar was quiet used to ponies and their reactions but not horses. As Toby ran to find Aman, Fredgar tried to calm them down and stroke the most paniced horse over the neck. The rain seemed to never stop and Fredgar soon became wet. He pulled up his hood, but it didn’t help very much. He coughed and shrugged. It was getting cold too. He shrugged even more and jumped up and down meanwhile he tried to calm down the horses. One horse was almost free from its bound by the tree but Fredgar managed to get it fixed. “Don’t worry, it will be over.” He whispered softly in the horse ear. He knew that the horse didn’t understand him yet it calmed down a bit. The rain sprinkled down his face and he took up a handkerchief and dried his face.

His own pony, Roman, was standing there. He was the only pony that was almost calm. He didn’t neigh at all and just stood there and looked with sad eyes at Fredgar. Fredgar tried to smile, but the cold rain made it hard to smile. He sat down on a stump nearby the horses and pulled up his pipe from his pocket at the inside of his cloak. He lighted it and waited for Toby to come back with words from Aman.

[Kransha]

Toby, following the commanding word of his cousin, ran quickly from the stable area towards the location where the innkeeper and her imposing horse had headed. Luckily, the commotion was dying down and this whole endeavor was becoming manageable. The old hobbit knew (or at least thought) that he would be exonerated of all shortcomings if he made an honest attempt to help out. He was obviously uncomfortable being around all the prying eyes of big folk and outsiders, but he persisted, practically galloping around on Bywater Road and trying to find that young Rohirrim woman, Aman. After letting his keen eyes make several passes at the terrain and landscape, Toby caught sight of the large steed Roafrim, the woman's mount.

‘By the Shire, how did I get into this mess?’ he asked himself, almost chiding himself inwardly for forgetting himself and trying to pilfer everything from beneath the smoke-filled noses of everyone around him. The presence of his cousin had snapped that weak cord that held his greed in place. He was still eager to get some reward for his actions, just as materialistic as ever, but he actually hoped he could be of some assistance. By now, almost all of the escapees had left the area. Only members of the bucket brigade and valiant volunteers remained, busying themselves with whatever they could do to help out. Most had headed away from the inn to get some food. A meal was apparently being prepared and Tobias was starting to notice the rumbling and growling in his stomach.

“Excuse me! Hello! Miss Aman!” He yelled over the din of concerned voices and the clip-clopping of horse’s feet on the lawn of the Green Dragon. There was less noise to conceal Toby's gruff voice, but still enough to mask it's presence. He yelled louder, trying to get the mounted inkeeper's attention fixed on him.
“Fredgar wants to know what we should do with the horses. Many of them are restless and close to breaking free and running wild. The Shirrif wishes to know you solution to this problem and requests your wise counsel on such matters. I'm sure he also prays you will hurry with this adice, since the steeds will not remain under our control for much longer. The Shirriff thought you would be able to give counsel on the subject of horses, considering your...uhhm...your..." He trailed off, not quite sure if it was wise to bring up the fact that she was from Rohan. Since it was rather obvious that he didn't like foreigners, such a comment might not be appreciated and Toby couldn't afford to make an enemy out of the current inkeeper.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman watched Tobias carefully as he trailed off and suddenly became very interested in the rather scorched hairs on his feet. Although she personally had missed his little outburst on why all foreigners should be expugned from the Shire, his views of all non-hobbit folk were well known, and she was not in the mood to make this any easier for him if he had anything to imply. However, when he stopped, realising, she nodded, satisfied. "Indeed, I have some experience with horses, as I am indeed from Rohan," she smiled slightly and he looked bashful, before she went on, "and used to be a horse trainer. Where is the Shirrif?"

Tobias led her to the stables, with Rochfalmar following impatiently. They arrived apparently just in time, for as the Innkeeper appeared in the doorway, one of the horses, fretful about the smoke, gave a great whinny as it reared up, and the twine tying it to the stall side finally snapped. Perilously near it's flailing hooves stood a panic-stricken Fredgar. Hastily handing Rochfalmar's leadrein to Tobias with a gabbled disclaimer, Aman dived forward to knock him out of the way, closing the stable-door sharply behind her. She spent a few moments trying to calm the horse - it wasn't that large, only about 15 and a half hands, but to a hobbit it would certainly be rather daunting; certainly nothing the Rohirrim Innkeeper couldn't handle. Holding the horse firmly by the the frayed end of twine attached to it's head-collar, she turned to the Shirrif, who was dusting himself down, and inclined her head apologetically to him. "Apologies, Mister Hornblower."

Fredgar smiled quickly, slightly embarrased by gracious, an excellent quality in the hobbit. "Quite alright, Miz Aman, thankee kindly. Now...about all these horses...?" he trailed off, spreading his hands.

"You are used to horses, Mister Hornblower?"

Fredgar gave a sort of shrugging nod. "Well enough, well enough - well, ponies at any rate."

Aman nodded. "Then it is only the ponies I shall require you to deal with. There is a far pen, a paddock, some way beyond the Inn yard but owned by the Inn premises. I believe we will be able to put the horses and ponies there, at least for a while, which will take them away from the fire, the smoke from which is distressing them, and give the customers somewhere to shelter and rest out of the rain. Ruby and Buttercup were talking about setting up a soup fire as well, which is excellent - just so long as we can get all these steeds out and into the paddock. What say you?"

Fredgar nodded eagerly, straightening his jacket and looking purposefully at two of the ponies. "Aye, Miz Aman, indeed - Tobias will probably help as well, once he is brought around to it."

Just don't tell him it was the idea of a foreigner... Aman thought grimly, but smiled gratefully, thankful for the hobbit Shirrif's help. "Thank you kindly, Shirrif. I will take Rochfalmar and this here horse," she nodded towards the fretful grey horse whose headcollar she still had a firm grip on, but who was nonetheless attempting to gnaw at the Innkeeper's fingers, then continued, "out first. Select one pony, or two if you are alright with it, and follow when you are ready. Don't come too close behind, mind - I don't think this little one here will bear any aggravation from anyone or anything, hmm?" She smiled at the horse, almost addressing the last part to it - it was quite cute, in a mischievious sort of way, and she wondered who owned it. "Follow about 20 metres behind, say."

With that, she reopened the door and took Rochfalmar's halter from a relieved Tobias, who then got called in by his cousion. With the mischievous little mare in one hand and magnificent Rochfalmar in another, Aman set off across the yard. When she was about half way across, she caught sight of Hawthorne. The hobbit's expression was troubled, and when Aman smiled wearily at her, she looked positively as if she was about to cry. Aman's brow creased and she made a mental note to ask what was wrong once she had deposited the pair of horses in the field, before Hawthorne seemed to make up her mind and began hurrying towards her...

[Linnahiril Tinnufinwen]

After nearly nodding off again, Asphodel jerked her head up. The rain had nearly stopped, and the clouds were beginning to break and let in the warm, golden rays of sunshine. The air, despite the still heavy scent of smoke when approaching the Green Dragon, was fresh and invigorating.

Asphodel stood up slowly and peered down the dirt road leading out of Bywater. Still no sign of her father. She felt a little better, though she still had pain in her chest, so she decided that she would search for Aman.

Walking slowly and carefully, so as not to slip on the thick mud that now coated the ground, she began walking towards the ruins of the Inn.

Weaving her way in and out of different people, none of whom seemed to notice her, Asphodel eventually found herself standing at the threshold of the Green Dragon. She surveyed the damage. The roof was burnt completely, and a large gaping hole stood out in the center. The walls and floor had been scorched and blackened, and some of the table and chairs had been twisted into odd shapes.

My father is going to be angry thought Asphodel. She could just hear him now, "What have those Big Folks been up to?" he would vent. "How many times have I said it? But no one will listen to me. 'No good will come of it,' those were my exact words. And just look now! The Green Dragon, burnt to a crisp!"

Asphodel smiled. She knew she wouldn't hear the end of it for many weeks.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Hawthorne Brandybuck:

Hawthorne had spent the remainder of the morning wandering amid the charred piles of ashes in the common room trying to salvage what few trinkets and Inn furnishings that she could. The kitchen was a total mess. All the pots and pans and dishes would need to be replaced to say nothing of the walls and floorboards! Every step she took, her heart grew heavier. She was responsible for this horrible mess. How could she have been so stupid ?

Once or twice, she heard hobbits muttering under their breath about the 'foreigners' who had purposely done this wicked thing, then shooting nasty glances over at the Men and Elves. That made her feel even worse. Finally, she could stand it no longer. She resolved to go face the Innkeeper and tell her the awful truth. Hawthorne vowed to take whatever punishment Amanduial meted out to her. She imagined herself doing dishes for the next twenty years!

Her eyes brimming over with tears, Hawthorne looked up and saw the Innkeeper leading some horses out of the stable. Thank goodness none of the animals had been hurt. Hawthorne beckoned to Aman from across the courtyard and quickly ran over to her side. She intended to explain in a clear simple manner how she had been angry at Ruby and Buttercup for snubbing her when she had worked so hard the evening before. Because of that, she had stupidly decided to show them up, and came down to the kitchen to prove that she could cook breakfast without help from anyone. That's how the oil in the pan had caught on fire, and she was very sorry indeed.

Unfortunately, what Hawthorne thought she said to Aman and what Aman actually heard were two different things. There was a great deal of noise in the courtyard, with horses neighing, dogs barking, and a few folk groaning loudly over their injuries or the loss of their possessions. As a result, it was very difficult to make oneself clearly understood. Added to this was the fact that Hawthorne was very, very tired., and she may not have explained things too clearly. The hobbit had stayed up most of the night, crept down early to the kitchen, and was now overcome with noxious fumes and smoke. By the time she came over to talk with Aman, Hawthorne could barely stand upright on her feet.

The Innkeeper's eyes widened in shock as the Bucklander's apology registered in her head. Aman could scarcely believe the words she was hearing:

Mistress Aman, I'm so sorry. But I must tell you the truth. A foreigner didn't set fire to the Inn. I did. I was very stupid. I was angry at Ruby and Buttercup for being nasty to me after I worked all evening as hard as I could. So I decided I would show them a thing or two. I came down to the kitchen in the early morning to cook breakfast, poured the oil in the frying pan, and then used it to set the Inn on fire......

Hawthorne had no idea of just how tangled her story sounded. She looked up pleadingly into the Innkeeper's eyes hoping to see even a tiny glint of understanding or forgiveness, then straightened up her head and waited for the punishment to be handed down.

[Fool Of A Took]

Fredgar nodded and walked to the ponies. He saw one who was brown with a white spot on it's forehead. He smiled to it as it seemed most eager to get away. It scratched its hoof against the ground and snorted repeatedly, to show it's dislike of the smell of smoke. "Calm down, calm down." Fredgar said and stroke the pony over its forehead ont he little white spot. As the pony neighed he leaned closer the horse and hushed. The pony got quiet and Fredgar said "You will get away from here now, dont worry." The pony snorted again, but now it sounded mor thankful. He smiled to the pony and loosed the rope from the tree. He called for Tobias to take one or two ponies too. Tobias nodded and did as he said. Fredgar also took another pony that was quiet small. It seemed very restless and it's eyes looked frightened. He felt so sorry for him, so he loosed his rope too and began to lead him after Aman. Aman now was about half way from him, but had stopped. Fredgar tried to see why she stopped, she could see that she had stopped for a hobbit.

Tobias came up behind him with two ponies and asked what was going on. Fredgar just shrugged his shoulders and said "I don't really know, but we better wait here until she starts walking again" He sat down on the ground beside a pony and waited, and Toby accompanied him. Aman looked tired even from this distance. He saw Ruby and Buttercup too in distance preparing a meal. Many of the tired volunteer's sat at the Inn's lawn and the bucket brigade continued it's job. Fredgar could never imagine that something like this could happen. He could see many sad faces and a few of them cried of fear and sadness. Zackarias and Angus helped a hobbit child with his feets. He had stepped in hot ash and his worried mother stood beside and watched on the verge of tears. She began to walk in circles and looked totally restless.

He turned to Tobias again and saw that he looked at Aman. The hobbit she talked to looked very upset. Fredgar thought that something was wrong and suddenly rose up. "Wait here Tobias, I will just go see what's going on with Aman!" Toby noddded and Fredgar ran to Aman. He stopped beside them and jumped up and down a little and said "What's going on?" Just when he said that and came up behind them he could hear the hobbit say "and then used it to set the Inn on fire." Fredgar just got chocked and looked at the hobbit. She had caused the fire?! He looked at Aman and could see that her eyes looked empty and sad. "Errhm... Excuse me ladies..." Fredgar began and then paused as the hobbit noticed him. "You caused the fire?" Fredgar continued and sounded more harsh. The hobbit slowly nodded and blushed. She looked down at her feets. Fredgar then rememberd his duty and said "I am afraid I have to arrest you for causing the fire at the Green Dragon Inn!" Fredgar looked at her. And the hobbit looked up and he could see she cried.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The soup smelled delicious, but Snaveling’s stomach was still full with the stolen bread and meat of his breakfast. It had been many years since he had enjoyed more than one hearty meal in a day, so it was without any hardship that he passed his bowl of soup to Roa, saying “You should have this, my lady. From the sounds of it, you need it a good deal more than I.” At that Roa smiled, and thanked him with an expression that Snaveling recognised as kind. He regarded this Woman for a moment in a new light, kindled by this look and by the echo of the easy laugh that had filled her frame just moments before. Snaveling was capable of laughter, but only at the expense of others – her laugh had been different, and it had rekindled memories that he had thought long forgotten. Roa attacked this second bowl with vigour, giving Snaveling a moment to think in silence. He had been taken aback by Roa’s blunt assertion of her suspicions, and he could see that it was not going to be an easy thing to turn her against Valthalion. Not that this surprised him in the least: as far as he was concerned, these self-proclaimed Men of the West were all the same in their arrogant presumption to rule the lands they had taken from Snaveling’s ancestors in ages past. Still, it could not hurt to try and win Roa to him in whatever measure he could. “You appear to be enjoying your soup, my lady,” he said.

She looked at him over the rim of her bowl. “Yes, thank you. The Halflings are renowned for their cooking and I see now that this reputation is not undeserved.”

“Are you familiar with these people?”

“Only what I have heard of them from my lord.” She saw the searching expression in Snaveling’s eye. For a moment, Roa hesitated, but then she explained, “I serve the King Elessar.” Snaveling could barely control his reaction of distaste, and Roa could see this. She sat forward. Her eye became hard, but her voice was even as she said, “I know that many Men such as you feel you have cause against my lord and King, but he is wise and just. He will give you justice, should you seek it of him.”

Snaveling readied a spiteful retort, but something in the eye of this Woman stopped it in his throat. Perhaps he was afraid of what she might do should he insult her King. Perhaps, just perhaps, Snaveling really did, for a moment, feel the air of lost Numenor about them – he himself would have been hard pressed to explain his sudden mood. Roa’s words came back to him: You do have redeeming qualities in you, she had said. Long may you think so, to your detriment Snaveling chuckled inwardly…and yet, even as he did so, something that he had not felt in a long time began to squirm at the back of his mind. It was a nameless feeling, more an instinct of Men than an idea, an instinct that was not dissimilar to conscience.

But then his eye fell on Valthalion helping with the dishes and the food, and all such feelings were driven back. Keep your mind on your business, he warned himself. There was still the matter of his gold to see to, not to mention keeping out of the lockups and avoiding a nasty confrontation with either Valthalion or – Oromwe forbid – Roa herself, should her memory return. He returned his gaze to Roa and saw the searching look with which she was regarding him. He hid his thoughts.

[Roa_Aoife]

Roa ate the soup ferociously. She remembered a time, back before the War of the Ring, when she was here in the northern forests. She was eating, and one of her friends remarked that she had the appetite of a hobbit. King Ellesar, who was then known only as Aragorn, had walked by and chuckled at the comment. He kept walking. Her friends had ribbed her about making a slob of herself in front of the King, for even then he was recognized by the Dunedain. Roa had defended herself by asserting she had earned the meal with all of her hard labor that day. She had done well, indeed. Afterall, she was partially responsible for the food they ate that day.

With such a memory in mind, she was unapologetic as she finished off the second bowl. She had earned that today as well. The steady throbbing in her arm and head reminded her that she had also earned a trip to the healer. The soup was reviving her little by little. She felt certain that soon she would regain her memory. It was only a matter of time. She smiled over her bowl at the thought, in Snaveling's direction. He did not return the gesture. He seemed ill at ease, as though he feared something here. He glanced at Valthalion, and then away quickly. Is it Valthalion he fears? That would be understandable, roa mulled it over. Thinking she had found the reason of his discomfort, Roa spoke up.

"Sir, you have shown me kindness in your actions. Before, I told you that no harm would come to you through me, save in self defense. As much as you dislike my people, we are true to our word. If you are no danger from me, and as for Valthalion, I will not allow him to harm you either. You will have nothing to fear from either of us. I am a servant of King Elessar, a Dunedain of the North, and our word is binding till death." Snaveling gaped, as though he had never expected such a promise nor held such a notion as binding words. It was uncomfortable for her to meet a man who did not hold to his word. However, she had added the exception of self-defense, which relieved her somewhat. Rangers always spoke carefully for their word was indeed binding.

"You are very gracious, my lady, I thank you for your words." Snaveling replied after a long moment. He spoke as one choosing his words carefully. Roa could see the many thoughts grinding through his head, and wished she had the power of the great Elves to read them. Take care to know your emeny's movements, an instructor had once told her. Very well then, she would keep a very close eye on Snaveling, and Valthalion for that matter. He was too rash to be left with out guidance.

The pain was becoming more insistant, and even as he shifted, Snaveling visibly winced. Roa decided it was time for that healer. She rose carefully to her feet. "Come, you and I must be tended to, or we will fall apart!" she laughed. Joy was a natural part of her being, and stayed the sorrow with which so many of her people had lived with for so long. Now it aided her in lowering Snaveling's guard, and he rose with her with what passed for a smile. Together, they went to find a healer.

[Amanaduial the archer]

The Innkeeper's eyebrows shot up as she stared down at Hawthorne, her grip tightening on the reins of Rochfalmar and the black horse until her knuckles were completely white and her nails dug into the palms of her hands. But she barely noticed this, and neither did she notice Fredgar appear beside her.

The Shirrif cleared his throat and announced authoratatively, "I am afraid I have to arrest you for causing the fire at the Green Dragon Inn-!"

"You did what?!"

Aman's yell cut over the end of Fredgar's sentence and, even in the crowded and noisy yard, it caused several heads to turn to see the Innkeeper now a somewhat menacing figure, holding two huge horses (or so they seemed to the hobbits) who were shifting their hooves nervously, her hair wild, her face white and her jaw clenched with anger. Hawthorne cowered. Fredgar cowered. The black horse snickered then even it cowered as Aman glanced at it. In front of her, Hawthorne didn't speak, and at the back of her mind a small part of Aman was warning of just how tired the little hobbit lass looked, but to the Innkeeper's tired and angry brain it seemed like an acceptance of guilt. She could see, ever-present in her vision, the side of the Common Room where the kitchen would be, now smouldering ash and smoke, and here in front of her was the culprit who had caused it, one of her own servers if-you please. She was tired. She was frustrated. She was angry. It wasn't often that the Innkeeper got very angry, and in her time at the Inn it had only really happened once...

...and as Ruby, Buttercup and some of the more regular customers were now uneasily remembering, that episode had ended with the Innkeeper drawing a sword from beneath the bar and flinging it so hard that it embedded itself in the opposite wall only a few inches above the brawlers' heads.

"Let me get this straight," the Innkeeper said, her voice now controlled, but barely - she spoke softly but through gritted teeth. "You have the cheek to say you were angry because the two servers who have worked and lived at this Inn for longer than I have, were apparently being nasty to you," she glanced at Ruby and Buttercup here, who were now standing and watching, mouths open, "and so, because of this and in return for my giving you a job, you decided to set fire to my flamin' Inn! Is that it?!" She was almost yelling by the end of this.

Hawthorne looked horrified. "Oh, Miz Aman, no - no that isn't it at all! I wasn't trying to set fire to the Inn-!"

"You just said you did!" The ferocious Innkeeper looked to be in danger of imploding so hard was she trying not to yell. As a horse-trainer, she knew she couldn't do that when the beasts were already so fidgetty, but she wasn't quite so aware that the tension flowing from her was enough already.

Fredgar didn't seem comfortable with this angry human's anger either, but the Sherrif of Hobbiton knew the Green Dragon quite well, and he was flushed with anger as well, fumbling for a pair of handcuffs he kept but had never actually had occasion to use. "Miss, I am afraid I am going to have to arrest you on a charge of-"

"Not yet you aren't!" Aman interrupted once more, her voice hard and harsh. Her head snapped up and she caught Buttercup's eye. "Buttercup, please could you send a rider or a runner to Mr Meriadoc."

The glint of hope in Hawthorne's eyes vanished abruptly and a look of utter horror replaced it. Looking down once more at Hawthorne, Aman crossed her arms and closed her eyes for a second. When she opened them and spoke again, she seemed slightly calmer, but her voice was dangerously soft, which one might think would be hard to hear above all the racket in the yard, but somehow it cut through like steel through silk. "Alright then, Miss Brandybuck. Please explain why and how exactly you deigned to set fire to my Inn."

[WarBringer]

Valthalion looked on in disgust as he saw the smiling swarthy man sweet-talking Roa. He even managed to get a smile out of her. How can she not see through him? He is so obviously evil... The sight of the man and a person as admirable as Roa getting along almost made the excellent soup taste badly. I must talk to Roa about that man, thought Valthalion. Just as he got up to talk to her, the man and Roa began walking away.

Valthalion followed, but kept his distance. Perhaps I can catch this man when he shows his true colors.., thought Valthalion. Then another thought struck him. WHat if he had been wrong the whole time? Perhaps this man was innocent, and really was a good, kind soul. But no, he had stolen the gold. Unless perhaps the gold was his? After considering this, Valthalion's errand changed. He now wished to catch up to Roa and the man to apologize and offer his friendship.

[Linnahiril Tinnufinwen]

Asphodel, still standing at the entrance to the Green Dragon, heard a bit of comotion behind her. She turned around and saw that Aman finally come back, accompanied by Fredgar Hornblower, the Sheriff of Hobbiton. She was about to run to them, in the hope that they would be able to help her get home, when she saw a young Hobbit maid approach Aman.

The next few minutes, Asphodel, though trying hard not to listen to the conversation so as not to be rude, heard enough to realize that the Hobbit maid had started the Inn fire. The Sheriff tried to intervine, and eventually someone was dispatched to go fetch Master Meriadoc Brandybuck. I wonder why they are going to get him thought Asphodel. Though he was the master of Buckland, he didn't usually dapple in matters of the law.

Asphodel suddenly found herself sized by a bought of coughing. She sat down again, a little tired, at the entrance to the Inn. She did not think it wise to bother Aman at the moment, who had turned as red as a ripe tomato upon hearing the young Hobbit maid's speech. She decided she would wait until her father came to get her. She didn't know if she could make it all the way to her house on her own two feet, but at least his presence would be comforting.

A rumble from her stomach told Asphodel that it was breakfast time. She hoped her father would come soon.

[Kransha]

Toby Hornblower had had quite enough of tending restless animals.

“Stupid horses,” he murmured, casting an annoyed glance at one of the animals. His stomach seemed to be swelling and contorting wildly in its search for food. Surely he could abandon the creatures just long enough to get some sustenance. He desperately needed some good pipe-weed and a mug of ale or two. He got up, squirming between the closely bunched posse of horses and ponies, worming and scurrying along towards the makeshift camp of the Green Dragon “refugees.”

He walked briskly past his brother, who obviously had his hands full with the innkeeper and another hobbit, and to the area where everyone had gathered. He, rather rudely, scooped up a neglected tureen of fresh-smelling substance, which he suspected to be soup, and sat down vigorously, his eyes glinting gleefully as he prepared to dive head first into the meal without casting a second though at proper Shire table manners. Before doing so, he took one glance to both sides for good measure.

“Oh…umm..hello.” He said, laughing nervously as he realized where he was.

The hobbit, to his extreme displeasure, was sitting squarely between the woman from before, Roa, and the accusing man, Snaveling. Tobias’ mind quickly kicked itself very hard just because it was frustrated, though he tried to do no such thing physically. He decided it would be too suspicious to move away, so he reluctantly stayed put, his eyes darting swiftly from Roa to Snaveling, a maneuver continually followed by the disconcerting laughter, one of the gentlehobbit’s nervous defense mechanisms.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Please explain why and how exactly you deigned to set fire to my Inn?

At the sound of Aman's booming voice, Hawthorne took two steps back wishing that she was anywhere except standing here in front of the Innkeeper. Mistress Aman had even threatened to send a messanger back to Uncle Merry. Meriadoc's exploits as a teener and tweener were renowned throughout all of Buckland. He had done his share of mushroom filching, carousing with other young hobbits, and pulling silly tricks on all the Brandybuck clan. But, in all these tales, Hawthorne had never heard of Merry purposely setting fire to anything. If such an account reached her uncle's ear, Hawthorne thought she would die of shame.

Drawing herself up to her full three feet, Hawthorne began to explain things as clearly as she could. She thought it might help if she included all the details, "No, Mistress Aman. You don't understand. I didn't try to set the Inn on fire. It kind of happened all by itself."

"You see," Hawthorne noted, "I thought I'd make some bacon and eggs and some lovely biscuits. I wanted to show Ruby and Buttercup that I could whip up a fine breakfast even without them. The bacon and eggs were sizzling away, but someone forgot to start the peat fire in the oven so I couldn't bake my biscuits. And no self respecting hobbit would eat breakfast without a pile of nice, fluffy biscuits! I'd found a good recipe from the day before and I wanted to try it out. Actually there were two good recipes, but I looked them over and picked out the one that seemed to be most tasty. It seemed like a good idea at the time. So I started to fry up a batch of breakfast biscuits in a pot of hot oil. Then I turned my back for just a minute --- well, it may have been five minutes or so -- to step out to the gardens and pick some blossoms to decorate the breakfast tables. I had to decide whether the roses or pansies worked best. But, before I could decide, when I looked back at the kitchen, there were huge clouds of grey smoke swirling out the door. So please, Mistress Aman, protect me from the Shirriff. He wants to send me to jail."


Hawthorne gave a sharp glance over at Shirriff Fredgar, then stopped for a minute to catch her breath while Aman stared down incredulously at her. The young lass was about to be arrested and she was going on and on about biscuits and blossoms. Aman let out a terrible howl as Hawthorne opened her mouth to continue speaking, "Stop, stop! No more! You're saying this was all an accident, then? And that you only meant to cook breakfast? How do I know this is true?"

"That's right....," Hawthorne hung her head. "What I did was incredibly stupid and I deserve to be punished. If you really think I have to go to jail, I will. But I hope there's some other way I can serve my time. I know now I should never have tried to cook without someone showing me first. But I never intended to hurt the Inn. I only wanted Ruby and Buttercup to like me."

Aman snapped back, "Then why didn't you put the fire out, or get someone to help?"

"I tried to. I threw the water on the pan, but it only made the flames grow higher. I guess water wasn't the right thing to use...." Hawthorne made a long face. "And I did call for help. It was a dwarf, someone I'd never seen before. I told him to tell everyone."

Hawthorne quickly glanced around the courtyard and spied a dwarf standing in the food line. Hawthorne's face brightened, "There he is. That fellow. Talk to him. He knows I tried to get help and that the fire was a mistake......"

"Bring the dwarf over here," the Innkeeper commanded.

[Regin Hardhammer]

“Regin Hardhammer at your service, Mistress Aman,” said the dwarf politely.

Regin had been next in line for a steaming bowl of chicken soup and glass of water, when he was sharply pulled away by the Innkeeper. He was parched, half-starved, and extremely tired from combating the fire, so he was not at all pleased to wait longer for refreshment. How did I get myself into this mess? wondered Regin. I never worked so hard for a flagon in my life, and I haven’t even gotten it yet. I wonder if I ever will.

Although slightly miffed, Regin made sure to maintain civility with the Innkeeper, so as not to destroy the possibility of getting some ale.

“This Hobbit says that you can vouch for her that she did not purposely start the fire and that she called out for help,” the Innkeeper inquired.

“Yes, Mistress Aman. I swear on my Grandfather Balin’s grave that this innocent hobbit did not intentionally start the fire. I walked into the inn very early in the morn while the sun had not yet risen. The smell of burnt eggs permeated the air accompanied by large billows of puffy gray smoke. As I looked toward the kitchen I saw little Hawthorne here rush out to the common room with a frantic look on her face. I could tell that she was obviously shocked and extremely panicked. She seemed a tad dizzy headed and screamed, “Help! Help! The Inn’s on fire.” I valiantly alerted everyone to the fact that there was a fire and started the bucket brigade to put it out.”

“Now I won’t deny that Hawthorne needs to pull her head down from the clouds and plant her feet more firmly on the ground, but if that young lass was trying to burn down the inn then I’m Lord Aule. It just doesn’t make proper sense. Besides, it would be a shame to incarcerate such a bubblebrain. She could be much more useful working to clean up the awful mess she made, preferably in some place far away from the kitchen. The dainty rose couldn’t last one day in a cell!”

“Oh, there is one more thing I wanted to ask. Would you mind if I took a look at the stonework that abuts on the foundation? Some folk say that it is all right, but I have been working with masonry ever since I was a young lad and I have my doubts. My vast knowledge of metallurgy is much greater than my experience with stone, but I still know a thing or two. I thought I saw a few cracks and believe that a thorough inspection to assess the possible damage is in order.”

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling and Roa sat and waited their turn for the healers. When they had arrived at the small plot where the tall Elven woman was tending to the wounded, she had assessed them both with a glance, and deemed them only moderately wounded. She bid them seek shelter from the rain beneath a makeshift canopy that someone had constructed from a torn canvas tarpaulin, and Roa had been given a draught of something that the Elf woman had brewed in a small pot. Snaveling could see that Roa’s breathing became easier as she drank it down. As the Elf woman was moving away she paused and looked sharply at Snaveling, and he knew that she was recalling that he had been involved in the scene at which that bellowing Halfling – Tobias, he believed he was called, Tobias Trumpeter or something equally ridiculous – had taken up the accusing cry against Valthalion. For a moment it appeared as though the Elf was going to say something about this, but a man with a badly burned back moaned for her, and she moved off to give him care.

Roa turned to Snaveling, and began to ask if the Elf woman knew him, when there were two very sudden and, for Snaveling, very unwelcome arrivals. First, the very same rat-faced Halfling that he had been thinking about rushed over from the food line with a bowl of soup clutched in his hands. Without looking up, he dove beneath the shelter of their tent and sat down heavily right between them. So surprised were Roa and Snaveling that they did not know what to say or do, so they watched in amazed silence as the Halfling quickly gobbled down two huge mouthfuls of soup. It was only as he was coming up from the bowl for his third dive that he noticed them both staring at him. He looked back and forth between them, a tiny fragment of turnip clinging to his lower lip, and then let out a nervous laugh. Snaveling was on the point of speaking to him, when Valthalion suddenly appeared under the canvas. He pulled up short when he saw Tobias, but then – to the shock and amazement of everyone present – smiled at Snaveling and said, with something approximating good humour, “Hello. I’m glad to see that you are not too badly injured.”

Roa was struck speechless by all of this, so it was up to Snaveling to recover his wits first. Actually, it took a couple of tries, but he did manage to say, as civilly as he could, “Thank you for your concern, my lad, but I am not as feeble as some may think. I may look frail, but that is the result of the leagues I have travelled, not the years.” He paused for a fraction of time so small, that few would have noticed it before adding, “Sit down with us, my lad, your work today had earned you some rest.”

Snaveling’s response put Roa even further into shock, and set Valthalion back a step or two as well. The only person there who was not at a loss for what to do was Tobias, who had seized this opportunity to swallow the last of his soup. He belched loudly and settled backward onto the grass.

Valthalion greeted Roa, who was able to recover herself well enough to return it with one of the many overly-courteous phrases used by such people. The young man then sat down, somewhat closer to Roa than to Snaveling, but while he regarded the older man with caution, his gaze was more guarded and less overtly aggressive than he had used before. Snaveling looked about him at this odd group of folk and wondered what in this Middle Earth had conspired to bring him into it. It was as he was considering the odd quirks of fate that a thunderbolt clapped in his mind, and he realised what had happened. His vision swam and his heart pounded in his ears like a galloping horse: his luck had finally returned!

Forcing himself to remain calm, he turned to Valthalion and spoke in the measured tones of an experienced man of the world. “I understand, Val, that you I and have had our differences this day – I daresay you are as eager as I to put them to rest. Let us say that each of us has perhaps spoken too rashly of things that we only knew in pieces. For my part, I regret what I may have said about your role in setting the fires amongst the trees. Having seen how you sought to save people this day, including my lady Roa,” he nodded benevolently toward the Dunadan, “I have no doubt that only the noblest of intentions led you to run into that copse.”

Valthalion was wary in his response, but he thanked Snaveling for his words. Snaveling smiled and then continued. “The only other matter that stands between us is a slight purse of gold. I understand that having found such a thing on my person, given my general appearance and look of destitution, you would naturally assume that it was not mine. But as I have already told Roa, I came to this Shire seeking to buy some land of my own away beyond its southern borders: somewhere I could settle and live my own life. To that end, I sold all of my worldly possessions before I left the South, and that gold that you have taken from me,” here had to recover the use of his voice somewhat, “represents all that I have in the world.” Snaveling paused for a moment to gauge the effect of his words. Valthalion looked hostile, but wary. Roa was virtually unreadable, and he found her gaze unnerving, as though she could read his innermost thoughts. Tobias looked confused. Nobody spoke in response, and Snaveling let the moment stretch on for a time before springing his final trap. “As proof of what I say, I am glad to see that my business partner has come to join me,” and he looked directly at Tobias.

The surprise to all of them was, this time, like a physical slap, but Snaveling pressed ahead, eager now to see if he could make it clear to the Halfling what he was after. “I had arranged to meet this gentlehobbit here this morning. I was going to buy some kitchen utensils from him for the home that I will build on my new land – I believe you saw these being destroyed in the fire. Quite a pity! I assure you,” he said, giving Tobias a meaningful Look, “I intend to honour the terms of our contract; even though the items are lost, should I be able to convince this young Man to return my gold to me, I will happily pay you the sum we discussed.” Snaveling watched Tobias swallow once, then twice, and then nod slightly. He had agreed. Snaveling turned to Roa to make his final appeal. “This fine Halfling and I were then going to discuss the terms of my purchase and he was going to arrange for the sale of the land. In order to prove to him that I was serious, I showed him my purse yesterday, and he can vouch for that.”

Snaveling looked at Tobias hard. For a moment, the Halfling returned the gaze in silence, but there is no understanding like that which exists between thieves. Putting on his most honest face, Toby turned to Valthalion and Roa and said, “This is true. He did show me that purse. The gold is his.”

[Kransha]

At first, Toby was completely befuddled. The more sinister fellow was now talking about him, saying things that moved too fast for him. The hobbit just looked at the man as he spoke, his unclean lower jaw hanging open rudely and gawking at the man. It took him a few very long moments for him to figure out what was happening. The man was trying to reach out to him for some mutual benefit. He knew that this man, one Snaveling by name, was under suspicion from many others of falsely accusing Valthalion of arson and stealing gold for himself. Snaveling had witnessed Toby’s unfortunate incident with the singed utensils earlier. Spending years as a knave of sorts, Toby managed to recognize the “play along or we’re both dead men” look shooting from Snaveling’s narrowed eyes at him.

Collecting himself as ceremoniously as possible, the hobbit turned to the others.
“This is true. He did sell me that purse. The gold is his.” He said firmly.
After another long moment, without the slightest noise from anyone, he continued. He thought quickly, formulating all the fictional legal complications of such a deal.

“You see, this man has a small plot of land set aside for him in the Southfarthing of the Shire. I, owning a considerable amount of land around Longbottom, offered to sell him this land. I made sure to find out whether he had the funds required to back such an offer and, I assure you, the purse is his. I saw it and its contents yesterday afternoon.” He turned back towards Snaveling, returning the familiar look, “And sir, it would be far too rude of me to accept the entire amount promised without me fulfilling my end of the bargain. I plan to procure more of the accessories you requested for your home so that the deal will not be void of meaning. I can have them for you within a fortnight, before you’ve moved in at least.”

Tobias hid the mild rush of satisfaction that came from spinning lies and nodded. He turned briefly back to the other two, Roa and Valthalion, with a more pleasant grin. He looked at Valthalion then, changing his pleasantry to a look of false dissaproval.
“Oh yes, I believe that would also clear up the unfortunate incident earlier. Those items you saw in my posession are, in fact, mine, and not stolen. This man saw me with them yesterday when we met, as I was peddling my wares, so to speak. He can attest to my ownership of those and the bag of gold you 'found' on my person recently. That should clear up any confusion about that unfortunate happenstance."

[Roa_Aoife]

Roa looked from Snaveling to Tobias, incredulous. Of course, this did not show on her face- she could hide her own thoughts as easily as she read others. Snaveling was very good at hiding the truth. Even now, she barely detect the lie in his words. The hobbit was another story. Spinning lies may be something he did often, but Tobias was no match for the scrutiny with which Roa now regarded him. So, all was indeed a fraud. She cursed silently that she could not remember what had transpired in the cellar. Roa's head had cleared some since drinking the elven draught, but that time was still blank. She had barely enough for her suspicions, but she was sure of them now. Still, it would best to play along until she could fully recall everything.

"Well, then," Roa started sweetly, a gentle smile on her face, "it would appear all is settled." All is settled indeed, she thought, slowly forming her plan. Snaveling looked at her with carefully hidden leeriness, but Roa only grinned childish back. He smiled, or something to that effect, and said, "Just one thing remains unsettled my lady, and that is the matter of the purse." He nodded meaningfully at Valthalion, and the boy made to return the item with all speed. Before the purse was with in Snaveling's grasp, Roa placed her hand on Valthalion's out stretched arm, effectively stopping him with a light touch. You play the game well, she thought, but I am not finished with you. Not yet.

"You misunderstand me," Roa began, looking as innocent as a hobbit child, "While I fully intend to have the purse returned to you, we must first go to the shiriff to have everything cleared up. Of course, that can wait for a while yet," Snaveling's face registered a brief instant of shock and horror, and had Roa not been looking for it, she would have missed it all together. "I think Valthalion should hold on to it for now, until everything has been cleared, and then you can both go about your business." So her prey effectively caught, Roa had Valthalion hide the purse away again. Snaveling would not leave with out it, of this she was certain. He was a liar and a thief, but he was no coward, and he was very patient. She had spoke truly of his redeeming qualities, even if they were self-serving.

"As soon as we are all rested and revived, we can begin helping with the reconstruction of the Green Dragon." And I can find you out, she thought at Snaveling. Normally she would not have pursuedsuch a thing with such dedication, but something inside that part locked away told her this was about a personal insult.

[Galadel Vinorel]

Good, thought Galadel to herself, Keep him fooled for the moment, my kinswoman. The man is up to more than you have yet to even realize. The elf woman stood away from the small group taking caring of a man with a burned back, yet all the while she watched them out of the corner of her eye. As she did this she was probing each of their minds, as only the women of her family were able to do.

The man, Snaveling's, mind was filled with thoughts of gold, lies and deceit, yet beneath all of this she sensed a kind of longing and despair for something that he had lost long ago.

In the mind of the other hobbt, Galadel fond many confusing images and thoughts that were a mixture of good and evil. Lies were combined with thoughts of helping people. What a confusing life this hobbit must lead, Galadel thought.

The next mind that she probed was the young man's. Wthin his seh found courage, pride, adn many other good emotions. Yet, she found a lot of anger there as well, especially for one person in particular. Other than that the boy seemed to be allright.

Galadel then looked full at the woman sitting not far away. Her mind would be difficult to search without her knowing, yet Galadel had to know all to be able to judge the situation accordingly. Gathering her strength, Galadel genlty made her way inot the mind of her kinswoman. Partly through it, the elf met a hard, blank wall, which sent her reeling backwards. Sharply the ranger looked up into the Lothlorien elf's eyes. For a while they stared at one another.

"I apologize, my kinswoman, Galadel said to the other woman through her mind, "Yet, I must know what is in everyone's thoughts, so that I might judge what is truly going on here, for I do not trust these two hobbits at all."

Roa looked at the elf full on and then responded to her through her own mind, "I understand, my lady. I was just a bit taken back, for I was not expecting you ot search my mind. I would very much appreciate if you would discontinue your search, though i do not have anything to hide."

Galadel smiled at the ranger, and turned back to her work. In her mind she answered, "Yes, I truly understand, my lady, and I will stopping searching your mind, for I already know now that you do not lie about this matter. I will be with you all shortly."

After finishing treating the burn victim, the healer elf instructed one of her female aids to watch over the wounded for a few moments, while she would have some words with some "friends" of hers. Then Galadel walked calmly over to where Roa and the others were gathered. Bowing and smiling broadly to them all, she introduced herself, "Greetings, I am Galadel of Lothlorien, the Woodlen Realm. Would you all mind if I joined you all for a few minutes while I rest?"

Turning to the ranger woman as she stood above them all, Galadel said, "May I see your arm for a moment mam? I just need to see how it is healing." Bending down on the wet earth, the elf gently took the woman's arm in her hands. She then took a herb wrap that she was holding and placed it against the burned arm and began to wrap that up with some torn clothes. The ranger winced slightly as a stinging sensation shot through her arm, adn th eelf looked up at her quickly. "Does it sting?" she asked concered. Roa nodded, biting her tongue to keep back the tears. Gently Galadel rubbed the arm with the wrap on it, and the pain began to grow less. The elf started to sing a gentle song as she did this, one about the dawning of the world. The woman looked down at her, suprised, for she had heard that tune before.

"I know that tune," Roa said, startled, "I have heard King Elessar sing that before."

Galadel smiled up at her, "Yes," she said softly, barely pausing in her singing, "I taught him that song once, when he was a boy. It is good to hear that he still sings it." The ranger woman looked down at her in surprise, yet the elf's face was now hidden in shadow as she sang, remembering times when things were much different in Middle Earth, when evil still roamed the world, unhindered except for the Dunedain.

[Fool Of A Took]

Fredgar was really confused now. Hamthorne was innocent, was it really all an accident. Fredgar had hard to believe it, but it sounded true and the dwarf seemed trustworthy. He nodded and fumbled with his handcuffs and fasten them by his belt. All these explanaitions made him quiet confused. He took one step backwards and looked at Hawthorne. He could see that she was crying and could almost tell that she was afraid of getting into a cell.

"Well, if Aman agrees, I will not put you into a cell. But, you must get punnished anyway, thats the law." he sounded a little bit harsh and he turned his head to Aman.

Aman had crossed her arms over her chest and looked down at Hawthorne while she explained. What a mess, Fredgar thought. He took of his green hat and scratched himself in the head. Aman had sent a message to Mr Meriadoc. Fredgar was worried about his reaction, since he was Hamwthorne's uncle. He drew a deep sigh and looked down on his feets. This was the hardest case he had ever been involved in.

Thinking of a solution was hard. The dwarf didn't think that Hawthorne should be put into a cell, and actually Fredgar didn't want anyone to be in a cell. But sometimes he had to, it was his job. The dwarf squirmed and seemed very uncomfortable about the situation. Fredgar tried to avoid both Hawthornes and Amans gaze. He pulled himself together and looked up. "Well, we must reach a solution!" he said and tried to stand right up and not avoiding anyones gaze. "We can't just stand here! What do you think Aman? After all it's your Inn." Fredgar took another step backwards and looked up at Aman that still stood quiet and seemed to think of something. Hawthorne squirmed where she stood and Fredgar could tell it was of the reason that she was afraid of how her Uncle Meriadoc would react when he gets to know about this.

When Fredgar saw her fear in her eyes he just wished that he was someone else. Not the shirriff of Hobbiton, and most of all he didn't want to be here. He felt so sorry for the hobbit, yet he felt that she in some was guilty. He looked around himself and now noticed that Buttercup and Ruby, and a few other faces, had turned to them as Aman had starting yelling at Hawthorne. Fredgar thought this was a little bit embarrasing, but he tried to hide it. He blushed and stared at the ground.

[piosenniel]

~*~ NOTICE OF TIME CHANGE COMING SOON IN THE INN ~*~

This coming Thursday, late U.S. Pacific time, I will be moving the timeline in the Inn forward a week.

Most of the debris from the fire will be cleared away by then. Regin Hardhammer, the Dwarf, will be working on the stonework foundation. Master Meriadoc, having heard of Hawthorne’s unfortunate episode, will have sent a troop of builders from Brandy Hall along with two wagonloads of milled lumber for the rebuilding.

I’d like the posters, then, to spend about a week getting the Inn back into shape – and once done, a re-opening party can be organized.

Thanks!

~*~ Pio, Shire Moderator

[Witch_Queen]

Cree looked at the inn. What once was fire was now just smoke. We haven't lost it yet. She placed her hand on Grimm. Her shoulder was beginning to stop bleeding. The pain was leaving her. She had more to worry about. "Grimm.." To her it seemed as if he was off in the distance. Cree felt sorry for what she had said to Aman. If only she had thought before she had spoke.

"Grimm, now what? It seems that we have nothing left. Yet we still have hope. That is hope that the inn will be saved and what isn't will be rebuilt." Cree thought her words were lost to the wind. Avalon looked down at her friend. Cree had been good to her for a long time. But she felt it was time for her to leave the Shire and go back to Eryn Lasgalen. She had always wanted to see what became of the "cursed elf."

[Angel_Queen]

Ravon looked around. "Indeed this has been a very interesting few days Lewis. I just wish it wouldn't had delt with this fire. But atleast its still not lost to us. I have so few happy memories and that inn was one of them." She turned her gaze to that of the inn. "Miss Aman wouldn't be at peace without that inn of hers."

Ravon knew she had to stop remembering the past. All the past had for her was trouble and heartbreak. Now I have Lewis with me. Thats the only good thing about my past.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman couldn't help smiling slightly at the grounded nature of the dwarf, despite the seriousness of the situation. She nodded slowly. "I thank you for you offer of help, Mister Hardhammer. And...did you mention Balin as being your grandfather?"

Regin nodded proudly, confirming this. Aman nodded again, as if to herself and looked back at Hawthorne. "You are right, master dwarf - she would not last a night in the cells. And I see no reason to disbelieve you; I very much doubt Miss Brandybuck here started the fire." She nodded stiffly at Hawthorne, then that slight smile returned. "And what can we say - she's a Brandybuck!"

Hawthorne looked almightily relieved, but still slightly abashed. "Pardon me, Miz Aman, but as far as I know, Uncle Merry never set fire to an Inn." Her smiled faded slightly and her worried look intensified slightly. "He's going to be furious with me..."

Aman shook her head. "Don't worry, the blame won't rest entirely on you when it comes to the ears of the Master of Buckland. I didn't say anything to Buttercup about telling him - but I will need his help to reconstruct the Inn."

Hawthorne looked almightily relieved, but Fredgar and Regin standing by didn't. The Shirrif shuffled slightly, fiddling with his handcuffs. "Beggin' yer pardon, Miz Aman, but...she does need to be punished. It's the Shire law, 'see."

Aman regarded him wearily for a second, then uncrossed her arms, running one hand through her hair. "Oh, Shirrif...look, what say we discuss this over a nice bowl of soup and some coffee, hmm? You too, Mr Hardhammer - from this account, 'sounds like you have been in this from the beginning, something which I can only be thankful for. I would be delighted if you would join us. Oh, well, after the horses have been put out, anyway."

[Fool Of A Took]

When the proposal for a meal and some coffee Fredgar felt how hungry he was. He had never eaten any breakfast. His stomach was almost screaming for food. He made a face of the hurt in his stomach, then nodded to Aman and smiled. "Yes, let's get the horses in first!" he said. He ran back to the ponies and where Toby stood and looked after them. He looked quiet bored. Fredgar started to lead the two ponies after Aman. They brought the horses and ponies safely to the pen. "Now how about that meal and warm coffee?" Fredgar said with a grin to the others. He was starving. They sat down on the lawn and Fredgar leaned back and stretched out his tired legs. He thought that he might needed to stay here for a while, and he thought that he might had to tell his wife that he would be away. He just shrugged his shoulders and thought that he could take care of that later.

They all got served with a bowl of stew and it smelled wonderful. Fredgar smelled at it and closed his eyes of enjoyment. His thoughts fell back to his wife, Rosalinda, back home in Hobbiton. She used to cook a lovely stew to him at the weekends. In his daydream he could almost feel the taste. The dwarf pushed him with his shoulder and Fredgar opened his eyes and instantly came back to the reality. The dwarf grinned and said "Shouldn't you eat, eh?" Fredgar hummed and took up his spoon. The stew tasted wonderful. And he felt the hunger slowly slipp away as he ate more. He closed his eyes and made a humming sound of joy.

"About the punnishment..." Fredgar began slowly but then paused. "As I said, it's the law, and it would be wrong of me if I just would let this pass." Fredgar looked down at his stew that now was getting colder. Hawthorne seemed troubled of him bringing up that subject again. He really didn't like to talk about it. But he was afraid of getting into trouble if he would let this pass. And the accident was to big for anyone to miss it. "It's the law..." he slowly continued. The dwarf cleared his throat but didn't say anything. To not look bothered about the subject, Fredgar took a sip of his warm coffee. Hawthorne squirmed where she sat and looked worried around here self. He cheeks slightly turned into red in embarresment and Fredgar could feel how he blushed.

The dwarf finally broke the silence and said "Well, as I see it, this young lass is totally innocent." He crossed his arms with a resolute look. Fredgar squirmed and said "Yet it's the law!" He crossed his arms too and tried to look resolute. "Lets see what Aman has to say about this?" the dwarf replied and turned to Aman.

[WarBringer]

Valthalion was shocked by the turn of events. Snaveling, man of the south, and this Tobias, were both innocent. The forks, and the money purse, were all part of a business deal. Another lesson learned along the path of life, thought Valthalion. Too often throughout his young life he had doubted the trustworthy. He had been through too much hardship to have much faith in people. An attack by orcs four years before Sauron was defeated had scattered his family's band of dunedain, which is father lead. Abandoned in a forest in the realm of Arnor, Valthalion was left to fend for himslef at an early age. He had a dim outlook on the world, and trusts only one person, Roa. She had believed in him, and she made sound desicions. Suddenly, a shadow clouded his thoughts. Tobias is lying..., thought Valthalion. Snaveling seemed as though he was telling the truth, as Valthalion could detct no lie in his eyes. But Tobias' eyes gave him away. He was nervous, and a terrible liar. Still, he could not speak of his discovery yet. Best to wait and see how things unfold..., thought Valthalion.

Yet Valthalion believed that the thought of Tobias' lying had not come from his mind. He sensed a presense, reading his thoughts. Suddenly, a voice spoke to him. "I am Galadel, the elvish healer you have seen near the Inn. Do not despair over your shock. You are akin to Roa, and indeed distantly to myself, being of the Dunedain. Yet you have not come fully to manhood yet, and some time is before you when at last you will have the strength and will to read others. You are rash, perhaps to your detriment, but this will pass. You will be great among your folk, should you open yourself to others. You cannot forever shut out those who wish to be let in. Do not forget your past, but do not live in it." With that, the voice vanished, leaving Valthalion in a state of awe and shock. Shaking his head, he remembered what was happening, and decided to wait and think before acting. Roa must also have noticed the look on his face and guessed what had happened. She gave him a sharp look, and he turned to Snaveling and asked, "From Where do you come, Snaveling?"

[Linnahiril Tinnufinwen]

"Asphodel! Asphodel!" came a voice suddenly. Asphodel quickly stood up and looked around. She knew that voice.

"Asphodel?" it said again, and in another moment the owner of the voice came around the bend and towards the Dragon, only bothering to shed a fleeting glance at the ruined Inn before he took Asphodel in a tight embrace. For her part, Asphodel had never been so happy to see her father.

"I'm such a foolish Hobbit!" said Halfred Hamfast. "I should never have left you here. Imagine my horror when I heard from your aunt that the Inn had caught on fire! Your mother and sisters are worried sick. I have orders to bring you home immediately."

From his dry clothes and hair, Asphodel could tell that her father had only started his journey after the rain fall. He probably had not heard the news until then, which would explain why he had been late in fetching her.

Letting go of his daughter, Halfred said, "But Asphodel, you're soaking wet! Here," he took off his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders, "keep warm. It is a mighty cold and windy day today." After another moment, he took her hand again and said, "I'm glad you're safe." Asphodel was glad too, but she was too tired to say so.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Fury with the Halfling for his blundering, awestruck horror at Roa’s display of ruthless cunning, and a deep-seated terror – like a mouse in eagle’s talons – at the Elven woman’s presence, all fought for possession of Snaveling’s spirit. The purse of gold had been within a finger’s breadth of his hand. The young fool Valthalion had handed it over without hesitation, having failed entirely to see the lie in Snaveling’s mind…but Roa had prevented it. Snaveling knew, without even having to look her in the face, that she had seen through his performance. And now there was this Elvish woman, reaching into their minds – oh yes, he had felt her presence, but unlike Roa he had known better than to show it. He had never met one of the Elder race, but he was familiar enough with their tricks. Snaveling’s people had long told the stories of the Elves from over the Sea, and of the Men of the West who had allied with them in the Dark Years to combat Sauron – and to seize all the land East of the Sea from those who had held it from the dawn of time.

His experience of Elves was not wholly through story and song, though. Several years ago he had stumbled across a large party of the folk, heading through the wild toward the seacoast where, if the tales were true, they were bound for the ships that would take them from Middle Earth. He had tracked them for days – hoping to pilfer something of value from them before they departed forever – and even though they could sense his presence behind them, ever had he eluded their hunters. A lifetime spent tracking and hunting game had made him as crafty a woodsman as any among Men; only the Dunedain Rangers surpassed him in his ability to track and hide in the wooded places of the earth. But even they could not surpass his skill with trap and line.

His mind was whirling with dismay at the loss of his gold – again! – and anger at Tobias’ blundering attempt to lie, when of all the things that could have happened, the most surprising did. Valthalion addressed him in terms of kindness, asking him of his homeland. So shocked was Snaveling by the frankness of the request, that before he could think of anything else to say the truth slipped from his lips. “My land lies at the western end of the White Mountains, between them and the Sea. We are not of Gondor,” he said, seeing Roa’s look of surprise, “but are free Men who take their living from the land beyond the control of the King at Minas Tirith.”

Galadel said, “So you are one of the Dunlendings.”

“No,” Snaveling said. This time, the truth came out of him in a different manner, as though it were being drawn forth by the Elven woman herself. He struggled against it, but it was useless, and he continued, “We are not of the Dunlendings. Some amongst my people say that we are the final descendants of the Numenoreans who remained loyal to the King during the rebellion of Elendil and his heirs.”

Galadel and Roa both gasped and looked at him with horror. The pull of the Elven woman was snapped. Tobias and Valthalion looked at each other in ignorance, not knowing why this information should have caused such a reaction. Roa spoke first, “Then you are one of the Black Numenoreans!”

“My ancestors may have been,” Snaveling replied. That was the great danger of the truth, once it had been uttered, it could never be taken back, and he was left only to explain it away. “But it has been long years since then, and those Men have become mixed with the lesser folk who live amongst the bays and vales of that land.”

Roa and Galadel lapsed into silence but Snaveling could tell that the subject was not over, not for them. Once more he felt the pressure of Galadel’s mind upon his own, but he hid his thoughts where she could not see them. Instead, he focused on the image of the hunting lodge that he would build. It would have four rooms – no, wait, it was not four it was five – five rooms, and there would be a porch out the back where he could sit and…and do what? Ah yes, smoke – smoke his pipe of an evening. And there would be somebody else there as well…but who was she…and what was her purpose…?

Snaveling became frantic. What was happening? Why could he not remember? Why could he not see it anymore? For some reason his mind went back to the cellar, when he had abandoned Roa to the flames, and he recalled her words as he fled: “A curse upon you and all your kin…”

[Kransha]

After considering all his surroundings and everything he’d mustered up the courage to say, Toby felt like he had a strange but stable command of what was going on. He finally had some idea of what he’d gotten himself into and felt a surge of confidence about his foul doings. All these things could be engineered to his advantage, with the help of a certain roguish human. Though Toby didn’t consider himself a true thief, he had to admit it was a pursuit of his which he shared with this man. The two of them would be able to get out of this uncomfortable tight noose with ease.

Suddenly a rather disconcerting thought crossed his mind as he looked at the faces of the others around him. They looked very skeptical, to Tobias’ great dismay. Toby knew he wasn’t the best liar and the surprise of Snaveling’s sprung ploy had caught him too off guard to fib convincingly. ‘They know.’ he thought ruefully, 'No matter, though. Even if they’ve seen through my lie, they can’t prove a thing. Besides, I’ve got family to back up my word, while all they have are their own petty beliefs and accusations. They have nothing that can connect me to this, no matter what they think they know. If they take this to the Shirriff, they're just assuring they're loss of the argument.’

There was that elf again; another displeased look on Toby’s face received her. She was the fair maid who’s nearly captured Toby’s gaze before the fire. He pretended to ignore her, though his narrowed eyes kept casting stray glances in her direction. Then the others began a discourse which Toby Hornblower couldn’t follow. Something about Numenoreans and Dunlendings and talk of lineage that Toby didn’t care to hear. The two females seemed taken aback when Snaveling said something. Bewildered but unperturbed, Toby shot a glance at Valthalion, who looked befuddled by the statement as well. After more uneasy dialogue from those three, silence returned. Toby, talking to no one in particular, spoke up.

“Oh yes, that’s all fine.” Said the gentlehobbit with a sickening amount of polite conservativeness in his icy voice, trying to maintain his obvious trickery as truth, “I’m glad we got that settled. Anyway, Shirriff Hornblower is my cousin and I’m suppose he could find the time to oversee the conclusion of this weary endeavor eventually if any of you so wished. Whenever this madness ends, you can get this sorted out with him or some other authority.” He gave a semi-unconscious nod towards Snaveling but concealed it quickly, “Then I can go through with my business deal and this whole ordeal can be forgotten.”

[Roa_Aoife]

Roa's was so taken aback by Snaveling's confession, she could not even hide her surprise. A black Numenorean! That certainly explained the distaste she felt around him. The elven woman, Galadel, also showed her shock. This was indeed a strange turn of events. She stared at the man, and Roa knew she was searching his mind. Something withn stirred and she had a sudden memory of entering the cellar with Snaveling. She had pulled him along, as if he was unwilling. Roa remembered a desire to keep him close. Why? she wondered. Snaveling looked increasingly uncomfortable, and Galadel looked increasingly confused. Her head was beginning to ache again, and out of the back of her mind a voice that sounded like her own cried words she could not distingiush.

So distracted was she by her visions she could barely here the voice of the young hobbit as he explained something about the shirriff. Aparently annoyed at being ignored, he poked her in the arm. The burned arm.

Roa howled as she quickly climbed back to her feet, and dragged the hobbit to his. She fixed him with such a glare that he seemed to shrivel. Valthalion was instantly on his feet. Snaveling looked quite terrified, though Roa wondered if it was truly her or still the loss of his gold. Galadel was the calmest.

"Alright, that's enough," she declared. "Valthalion, sit down; Roa will be fine. Roa come here." Gingerly Roa held out her arm. "Hmmm... it is not a serious burn, but the skin is still quite tender. Allow me to prepare a salve." With in a few moments, the medicine was applied, and Roa's arm was greatly relieved. Tobias looked greatly contrite, and apologized profusely before Roa bade him sit down. Valthalion looked slightly worried, but said nothing, for which Roa was greatly relieved. Galadel sat down again, and began wrapping the bad arm. Snaveling had regained the calm look of before, but a strange glint akin to horror had filled his face. Roa knew it was not over her. He had had plenty of time to worry about that. She brushed it off as worry about the gold.

"Forgive, master hobbit, you startled me." Roa turned to Tobias, who jumped at the sound of her voice. Galadel's mind entered hers in question- it was rare that a Ranger was startled, and certainly never by a hobbit. But Roa had no answers. The vision had faded, and Roa felt much as Snaveling must have felt when Roa had Valthalion keep the gold. So close... Yet, she chose instead to use it as a sign of hope. Soon, very soon, her memory would return.

[Regin Hardhammer]

Suddenly, the dwarf was struck by a brilliant idea that would amend this dilemma. He cut off Aman in mid sentence, since what he had to say obviously was much more important.

“Although I maintain that Hawthorne is completely innocent, I believe that I may humbly offer a solution to this quandary. All of us can agree she did not intentionally burn down the Inn and that she is extremely remorseful for the damage that she caused. But, as you say Master Shirriff, shire law requires that she be punished for her actions. Putting her in prison is entirely out of the question, both because it seems too harsh a punishment and she could never survive a night in a cell, being the fragile young flighty thing that she is.”

“Therefore, I suggest that we employ an alternate means of reprimand, one that would be more appropriate for the situation. When one of our young dwarves steps out of line, we make them carry very heavy stones from the quarries to the builders’ workshops to pay off their debt. I propose a similar method of punishment for Hawthorne. Although she may not be able to lift heavy stones, she can help us work on the reconstruction of the Inn. I have surveyed the foundation of the Inn and found it to be irreparably damaged. We must demolish all of the inn that remains and rebuild from the ground up, starting with the foundation. Hawthorne can serve her punishment with mandatory service in the rebuilding effort. Perhaps she could use her pony and wagon to carry back stones that other stronger hands have gathered."

" What good would Hawthorne be to anyone sitting in prison? This way the lass can help clean up the mess she made and make herself useful. Besides, it will be a while before the Inn will be rebuilt and we can use all the help we can get, even that of bubble brained hobbits.”

With that the Dwarf chugged down his stew straight from the bowl, too hurried to use a spoon. He had not eaten for quite some time and felt as if he could consume an ox. The stew scalded the back of his mouth slightly, but it was exceptionally good. Aman and the Shirriff stared at him askance as the last drops of steaming broth went trickling down his throat.

“What are you staring at? I’m hungry! I haven’t had a proper meal in three days nor any strong ale. I don’t suppose you savaged any ale from the Inn, did you? Anyway what do either of you think of my brilliant idea?”

[piosenniel]

GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

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

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

Ongoing characters from outside the Inn:

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

Fredgar Hornblower – local Shiriff from Hobbiton – played by Fool of a Took
_____________________________________________

Please Note:



No 'SAVES' are allowed in the Inn.


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

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

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

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

IT IS NOW LATER MORNING MOVING ON INTO THE AFTERNOON IN THE SHIRE.

The Fire is out, though it is still very smoky; those at the Inn are taking stock of the situation. The wounded are being taken to the Inn stable, which has been cleared of the horses.

Buttercup and Ruby have started a small cooking fire, well away from the stable and remains of the Inn, and have put on a large, rescued soup pot filled with water. Members of the surrounding community have brought vegetables and a few soup bones for the making of a thick soup.

The stable’s pump is now the scene of people washing up bowls and spoons for the upcoming meal.

Some brave souls are still rescuing important items from the Inn

The Shiriff of Hobbiton, Fredgar Hornblower has arrived, and things are getting organized.

Some resourceful Inn patrons have poked about in the hayloft of the stable and found three large tents, usually used for the Midsummer fete, and have set them up to house the displaced.

[piosenniel]

Buttercup

Ruby had recruited several of the Hobbits from the village to help serve the soup, leaving Buttercup free to pass round the crowd with a pitcher of ale in one hand and one of cider in the other. Fighting fires was thirsty work, and after a few passes, Buttercup opted to set a small keg of cider and one of ale on a wooden handcart from the garden shed.

She had just made her way to the table where Miz Aman sat talking with the Shiriff and the Dwarf who had helped her and Ruby to escape from their room. Ever the one for a little eavesdropping, Buttercup sidled up behind three of the Big Folk who stood near the table, pouring them ale in a perfunctory manner while craning her neck toward the three at the table. Fragments of what the Dwarf, Regin if she remembered correctly, was saying floated toward her. Something about that snippet Hawthorne.

‘Innocent my foot!’ thought Buttercup, accidentally slopping a bit of ale on the fellow in front of her as he reached for his mug. ‘Shhh!’ she whispered, as he protested. She peered around him and ignored his further comments.

When one of our young dwarves steps out of line, we make them carry very heavy stones from the quarries to the builders’ workshops to pay off their debt.

‘Oh, now that is a rare image!’ thought Buttercup, and for added effect she imagined the Hobbit clapped in irons, or at least cuffed with Fredgar’s cuffs that hung from his belt.

Perhaps she could use her pony and wagon to carry back stones that other stronger hands have gathered.

Buttercup’s image of the suitably struggling Hawthorne crumbled at the Dwarf’s words. ‘Hmmmph! Pony and wagon! I’d like to see a few honest blisters on those lily white hands of hers.’

. . . make herself useful. Besides, it will be a while before the Inn will be rebuilt and we can use all the help we can get, even that of bubble brained hobbits.

Buttercup pushed forward a little with her cart, catching just the last of Regin’s sentence over the squeak of the cart’s wheels. ‘Bubble brained Hobbit!’ The words struck the tired young woman and rattled about in her mind. She could feel them rumbling about, deep in her chest, then welling up and pushing themselves out through her mouth. Tears started in her eyes as the convulsion of laughter tumbled from her lips. She bent over, holding her sides, and laughed and laughed and laughed.

When the fit subsided, she stood gasping for breath, leaning against the side of the wagon. Those around her stood looking at her with a mixture of curiosity and concern. She waved them off as they extended their offers of ‘help’. ‘I’m quite alright, really,’ she told them. ‘It’s been a very long day.’ She hiccupped a little, as a small laugh squeaked out.

Buttercup’s eyes twinkled as she poured a generous pint of ale and took it over to the Dwarf. He sat looking expectantly at the two sitting with him, but neither of them seemed forthcoming with an answer. Buttercup plunked the mug in front of him, a bit of its head streaming down the side of it. ‘Thanks for the laugh, Master Dwarf,’ she said, wiping the trail with her apron, ‘though if you asked me, I’d like to see her packing the rocks . . . and not the pony.’

The Hobbit meandered off to the next table, chuckling as she went along . . . the phrase, ‘Bubble brain!’, trailing after her . . .

[piosenniel]

~*~ NOTICE OF TIME CHANGE COMING SOON IN THE INN ~*~

This coming Thursday tomorrow), late U.S. Pacific time, I will be moving the timeline in the Inn forward a week.

Most of the debris from the fire will be cleared away by then. Regin Hardhammer, the Dwarf, will be working on the stonework foundation. Master Meriadoc, having heard of Hawthorne’s unfortunate episode, will have sent a troop of builders from Brandy Hall along with two wagonloads of milled lumber for the rebuilding.

I’d like the posters, then, to spend about a week or so, real time, getting the Inn back into shape – and once done, a re-opening party can be organized.

Thanks!

~*~ Pio, Shire Moderator

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Shirriff Hornblower is my cousin and I’m sure he can find the time to oversee the conclusion of this weary endeavor. Toby’s words hung over Snaveling’s head like an axe. He had been too preoccupied by the strange fading of his vision to pay much heed to what the rat-faced, dim-witted, tallow-sided halfling was going on about until it was too late. A shirriff! What could the hobbit possibly be thinking! Wrenching himself free from his brooding thoughts, Snaveling turned his most ferocious glare on the hobbit, hoping that this would be enough to stop that interminable mouth of his. But before he could say a word, the halfling jabbed Roa in the arm – Snaveling had no idea why – causing her to roar in pain.

Snaveling slumped back against a tree in defeat – what could he possibly do when surrounded with people like this? Galadel immediately took charge of the situation, of course, and began ordering everyone around. Snaveling’s eyes fell on Roa as she was receiving the Elf’s care and he could see that she was resolving something slowly in her mind’s eye. He also knew, the instant he looked at her, that she was somehow responsible for the loss of his vision. It’s a hunting lodge, he cried out to himself, with…five?…rooms…and a porch, and there will be a woman to cook for you…; but even as he tried to fix it in his memory once more, he could only see the words, not the things they stood for. The birdsong in the valley below the porch had faded, the sun had gone dark and the halls of his home were growing stale and dusty with disuse.

He sighed heavily and looked toward the Inn. All the colour drained from his face. For the first time he noticed that the Inn yard was veritably swarming with Shirrifs! The one in charge, whom he took to be Toby's cousin, was apparently trying to arrest a child over the objections of a beligerent dwarf. Snaveling's back crawled at the thought of what this fellow would do with someone such as himself, should the theft of the gold be discovered. But that was his one ray of hope at the moment -- had the theft been reported, the hue and cry would no doubt have been raised. So perhaps his luck would hold. For the time being, however, he had to find someway to settle this issue amongst themselves -- anything to avoid getting the shirriffs involved!

Snaveling turned to Galadel, and idea formulating itself in his mind. "My Lady," he began, mustering as much sincerity as he could. "You are clearly one of high birth, and this matter is new to you, perhaps we could rely on your judgement to settle it for us until such time as the Inn is repaired and we can think on it again." Galadel looked uncertain but exchaning a quick glance with Roa, she then assented. Assuming the superior air that belongs solely to Elven kind, she asked what, precisely, was the problem.

Snaveling opened his mouth to reply, but Roa cut him off with a look. “As you can undoubtedly tell,” she said softly, “there is some dispute over the ownership of that gold. It is a complicated matter that I daresay will take some time to resolve. This Man,” she indicated Snaveling, “claims that the gold is his, but Valthalion has his suspicions about that. I must admit, that I do too. I have, however, been thinking about a way to resolve this matter. For the time being, Valthalion will keep the gold in trust for the rightful owner. He is young and rash, but honest. I will act as his surety. As to Snaveling, he may be the rightful owner, or he may not. Whatever the case may be, I would suggest that for the time being he be kept in my custody.” Snaveling’s heart sank. He knew that Roa was proposing this for more reason that the gold – such a trivial matter was below the consideration of a Dunedain such as herself. She clearly was beginning to have her suspicions about how she came to be trapped in the cellar, and she wanted to keep him close by until she could work them out.

Galadel thought for a moment about this before speaking with each of them in turn. When it came to Snaveling to speak, he was as guarded as he could be, but he could tell that she was seeing more in his words than he wanted. Snaveling and Toby grudgingly agreed to Roa's solution as it kept the shirriffs out of the way -- for the time being. For Valthalion it was enough that Roa had suggested it to make him agree. It was soon resolved that until the matter of the gold were settled once and for all, it would remain in the keeping of Valthalion, while Snaveling remained in the keeping of Roa.

For the first time in a very long time, Snaveling could not think of anything to say.

[Will Witfoot]

Fungrim sat at the cooking fire staring moroselly into the flames, an empty soup bowl in front of him. In his hand was a full flagon of ale and in his mouth his long wooden pipe.
He wondered if the child was going ot be allright. He certainly hoped so, but she had obviously spent quite some time in the cramped kitchen cupboard, smoke obscurring her breath and the heat eating away at her strenght. Well, if anyone could heal her proper, it was those elf women that did most of the healing in the aftermath of the fire. He had left the girl into the care of one of them and hoped that she could save her.

He blew a great cloud of acrid blue smoke and took a sip of the beer. Why, he wondered, did he care so much for the child? Most of his emotions had been corroded by the time spent away in the wilds, burried somewhere deep like a collapsed mining shaft under tons of rock. Why would they choose to surface now?
He thought he knew the answer. He had spent the prime of his life alone, scrapping a living out of the forests of the world, slaughtering the beasts of darkness that still lingered in the world even after their dark master had been defeated. The child provided a point of focus and something that he could concentrate upon. The worry he held over her served to fill his life with some small purpose.

He looked at the smoking remainders of the inn. The locals would have their work cut for them in the rebuilding of the place. Perhaps he should stay and help too. He gave a small smile with some irony in it at that. What else did he have to do?

[Galadel Vinorel]

Time moved slowly by for Galadel, though probally faster for the others that she sat with, as they talked about what would probally have to be done about the inn. The elf barely heard them or contributed in the conversation, except for an occasional word or nod, for she was lost in her own thoughts. The pain of the wound on her side once again ached. She remembered how she had gained that injury only....two weeks ago! Could it really be that short of time since she had been attacked by the creatures that had waylayed her on the road? There were few thieves left on the roads of Middle Earth, yet the few that there were had somehow found the elven maiden while she was traveling. The memory of that attack echoed through her head, the dark despondent road filling her thoughts.

Suddenly, while lost in the memory of her journey to the Shire, she heard a voice saying to her, "My lady. Miss? Are you alright?" Galadel quickly looked up from where she had been sitting, completely absorbed in her thoughts. Next to her knelt Vathalion, and beside him was Roa. As the elf looked over into the face of the worried Ranger a sudden memory flashed through her mind. "a curse on you and your kin...," she heard a voice that was vaguely familiar say angrily. "It is far from over yet," Galadel thought to herself, "The curse must still run its course. It shall not be good for the one who had the curse put upon them. So much that they may soon wish that they were never born. I fear terribly for the one who it is layed upon. Poor man."

Then the memory was gone, and Galadel was in the real world again, where she was sitting on damp earth, the smell of charred wood filling her nostrils. Blinking her dazed eyes, she looked up once more at Vathalion and Roa, who were both beside her, gazing at her worriedly. "Are you feeling alright, my lady?" said Roa, her voice filled with concern.

The elven maiden smiled at her and nodded. "Yes, I am fine," Galadel responded, clearing her parched throat.

Roa returned the nod, and then stood up with the young man to join the others, who were also standing. "We were thinking of going to get some food and drink, which they are now serving for all in the garden. Would you like to join us, Lady Galadel?"

The elf nodded and stood up. "I would like to do so very much," she answered. Then the five "companions" set off together to where others were gathered to enjoy a good meal of warm stew with one another.

[piosenniel]

All Inn Players Please Note:

1.) Remember there is to be no violence in the Inn or on the Inn grounds. Do not draw and brandish weapons.

2.) Be careful of using other player’s characters without their permission and without checking to see what they are presently engaged in the Inn storyline.

3.) Use the ongoing characters who are not played by specific gamers gently – do not overly involve them extensively in your plotlines. They are primarily for the use of the moderators and Innkeeper as needed in the Inn storyline.

4.) When portraying elves – it is preferred that the mind-to-mind ability not be overused. Between Elves, a little osanwë is alright, but please don’t have your Elf using powers to pry into other characters, minds.

Any questions – please feel free to PM me.

~*~ Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[Linnahiril Tinnufinwen]

Asphodel sat on the ground, her back to a tree, and basked in the late morning sunshine. Its warm rays felt good on her tired body, and she was cheerful and happy, despite the melancholy of those around her. She reflected back on the strange night, and her close call in the Story Room fire. A question flited across her mind, one that she had not remembered until just then.

Who had saved her? Asphodel sat up and looked around. She tried to see if there was anyone who glanced at her, or who seemed to know her; who looked as if they had saved her from the monstrous blaze. But there didn’t seem to be anyone. Asphodel was not, however, at a loss for a source of employment or amusement. She observed the comings and goings of the people around her. There were several Hobbits eating soup at makeshift tables. There was an elf attending to the wounded. Several bold people, men and Hobbits alike, were dodging in and out of the ruins to collect items that had not been too harmed by the fire. A few of the bar maids were working with unfaltering enthusiasm; tending to the soup in the huge black pot over the fire, moving nimbly back and forth between the different tables. Just as they would have been doing, had the Green Dragon still stood. Asphodel marveled at them. They were honest, strong Hobbit maids, Ruby and Buttercup. Asphodel hoped that, in a similar situation, she would be able to come out as well and as cheerful as they seemed to be. She admired them exceedingly.

Asphodel rested her head against the tree once again. She felt its bark prickle the back of her scalp, but she didn’t care. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the fresh air. It always smelled so clean after a rain storm. When he had percieved how tired she was, and it was observed that Asphodel probably could not take the hour long walk to the Southfarthing without having some difficulties, her father had gone to Sigismond Proudfoot’s house, to ask permission to borrow Sigismond's cart so that he could take Asphodel home. Sigismond’s pony was a gray, cheerful little fellow named Merrylegs. He was called so, because he had a thick, chubby body and short stumpy legs that pranced too and fro in a very happy manner. He was probably one of the slowest ponies in all of the Shire, but he didn't seem to care. Merrylegs was happy to go at his own leisurely pace, and he was extremely popular with Hobbit-boys and girls. Asphodel smiled, as she thought of the gentle pony, his shaggy mane, resembling that of his master's, hanging over his big, friendly brown eyes. Asphodel liked him the best of all the ponies in the Shire.

The sensation of someone being near her, and the brush of a cloth on her lap, made Asphodel open her eyes. There, standing over her and smiling, was Aman the Big Folk barkeeper. Asphodel smiled up at her. Aman gently placed a green blanket in the little Hobbit's lap, bent her towering frame in half to kiss Asphodel on her curly auburn head, and was gone.

Not a word had been exchanged between them. But no words had been needed. Asphodel smiled again to herself and sighed a tired, but happy sigh. She knew who had saved her from the fire. Big Folks were not so bad after all.

A sound next aroused Asphodel. A large crunching sound, it seemed, was coming towards her. The sat up and peered to her right. There was Sigismond Proudfoot leading Merrylegs the pony down the road, a large wooden cart attached at his haunches. Halfred Hamfast sat in the back. In another minute, Sigismond's large frame was before her, and with a cheerful, "Good day, Miss Hamfast," he lifted her up and set her in the cart next to her father.

Getting on top of Merrylegs, Sigismond hollered, "Next stop, the Southfarthing! Hamfast Plantation!" and with a light kick of the side of the gray pony, they were off. The cart rattled and bumped as they entered the dirt road leading out of Bywater. Asphodel wrapped herself in her green blanket, layed down in the cart amongst the empty sacks, and put her head on her father's lap. She felt tired, but very happy that she was again with her family. Soon, warm and cheerful, Asphodel's eyelids dropped, and she began to nod off to sleep.

A few onlookers, still eating their meals and going about their business, watched as the large wooden, rickety cart made its way, slowly but surely, down the Bywater road. Soon, it came to a bend in the path. The warm, yellow beams of the afternoon sun illuminated the cart and its occupants for a fraction of a second; then, turning into the road and rolling slowly behind a large bend in the hill, it disappered from sight, and was gone.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman watched as the little pony and cart rattled away down the path with it's sleepy hobbit burden, and smiled; she didn't think Asphodel knew who had saved her from the fire, but no matter, the little hobbit apparently wasn't harmed. The Inn was always glad to recieve such folk.

Although she had been listening with one ear and subconciously taking in what Regin was saying, it was his last sentence that startled her and she looked back at him, half smiling. "Bubble brain?" she grinned. Apparently someone else felt the same way, as a sudden erruption of laughter made Aman, Fredgar and Regin turn to see Buttercup melting in laughter, one arm around her stomach, the other unsteadily holding a pitcher of cider as tears rolled down her eyes. Regin looked mildly concerned, but the hobbit waitress unsteadily wiped away her tears with a shaking hand and handed him a full glass of fine cider. "Thanks for the laugh, Master Dwarf,’ she chuckled as he took it. ‘though if you asked me, I’d like to see her packing the rocks . . . and not the pony.’

She errupted into a new fit of giggles and wandered off, murmuring 'bubble brain!' to herself and shaking her head merrily. Aman watched her go, smiling, then turned back to Regin and Fredgar; the down to earth dwarf looked quite worried about Buttercup's state. "Is she...?"

"Quite alright, Mister Hardhammer, quite alright," Aman replied dryly, then looked slightly worried. "Master dwarf, I am...I am not one for hard labour as a punishment. But..." she looked slightly troubled, then seemed to make up her mind. "Aye, fair enough - there will be others than Hawthorne working on the Inn, and some less to blame than she - even though I quite believe that she is innocent, Mister Hardhammer," she added, raising her voice a tad at the beginning as he opened his mouth to protest.

Looking back at the Inn, Aman sighed, crossing her arms again and nodded. "And as there will be so much work to do...aye, I reckon that's a fair punishment." Excusing herself silently from the dwarf and the Shirrif, Aman climbed onto one of the upright tables nearby which had been salvaged from the Inn and clapped her hands, speaking to all around her.

"Folk of the Shire, travellers, customers and passers-by," she started grandly, addressing all. "I cannot thank you enough for your help in this situation-!" She paused as someone cheered wearily and clapping ensued for a few moments, before continuing. "However-" there was a groan. Howevers rarely boded well, no matter which land you came from. Aman grinned then continued. "However, the work is not yet finished. This dwarf, Mister Regin Hardhammer, has informed me that the foundations of the Inn are maybe not quite a well put as they could be, and...well, you can all see the state of the rest of the Inn." There was a murmur of agreement, then curious silence once more. The Innkeeper raised her voice slightly so as to be more dramatic - a little drama never went amiss at times like this.

"So I must as you all - who here will help us to rebuild the Green Dragon Inn?"

[Witch_Queen]

"So I must as you all - who here will help us to rebuild the Green Dragon Inn?" Cree looked towards Aman. The inn meant so much to her now. Cree stepped forward, "Aman I will help you as best I can." Avalon let out a screech. "I take it Avalon wants to help you too. After all I owe alot to the inn and to all my friends I have made here." Cree looked back to Grimm. I hope I'm not the only one. But I'm certain others will help.

She felt a change in the weather. Everything was better now. She knew she had to help them so how. If she could do anything it was worth the try. "I might be an elf but I'm use to having to work to get what you want. Avalon knows that too." Cree was trying to keep a straight look on her face. She was serious about helping but she wasn't sure if it appeared that she was willing to help do something.

[Lumiel]

The small girl awoke in the stables, the one unharmed bit of the Inn remaining. She lay on soft hay with a warm blanket on her and she breathed in the pleasant smell. She coughed as her airways burned. The smoke had done no permanent damage, but she was still recovering. Wondering how long she had been asleep, she gazed out from the stables and at the sky. It was near afternoon, as best she could tell. Sitting up, she checked herself over. She had not been harmed seriously, but her skin was covered with dirt and soot, and an unpleasant lingering smell of smoke remained on her.

Her eyes widened as the wonderful aroma of warm, home-made soup made her way to her. The other wounded people around her seemed to notice it as well, and she saw a young hobbit girl making her way to each of them with a bowl of soup. When receiving her own bowl, she cradled it with care and looked up at the young hobbit with warm brown eyes, speaking volumes of gratitude. She quickly finished the delicious soup and lay back down again, curling the blanket around her.

Who had saved her? She vaguely remembered a black beard and a husky voice...and an axe! Yes, that's right, he had an axe! She remembered. He had not been tall, but he had been very strong and compact...she paused, thinking. Had she been rescued by a dwarf? She giggled to herself and smiled. She had never met a dwarf before! How wonderful! She would have to find him and thank him, it was only proper.

Almost near sleep once more, she suddenly heard a woman speak above the crowds. "So I must ask you all - who here will help us to rebuild the Green Dragon Inn?" She recognized the woman as the one who had owned the former Inn.

She needed a home. She needed a family. Most of all, she needed to stop running. Getting to her small feet, the young girl made her way through the crowd near Aman and stood behind her. Tugging at the hem of her dress, she waited until she had Aman's attention and spoke as seriously as she could in her child's voice. "I'll help you Miss Aman. My name's Hindolen, but you can call me Indy." she said. Her brown eyes glowed with a soft warmth and her blonde hair, dirty and mussed as it was, seemed to frame perfectly her tiny dirt-smudged face with its pouty smile and button nose.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

"So I must ask you all - who here will help us to rebuild the Green Dragon Inn?"

Snaveling sat with his bowl of stew in his hands, and his heart sank into his very toes as he heard this. He did not even need to look up to know that it was Roa who had risen to her feet, and he did not even need to listen to hear what she said. "I will help -- as will this Man." And he knew that she was pointing at him.

Valthalion, of course, leapt to his feet and swore that he would single-handedly rebuild the Inn. Snaveling buried his face further into the steam from his bowl and wished he were anywhere but here. . .

Snaveling hated manual labour.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Hawthorne flashed a quick smile at Regin for graciously coming to her aid and for pushing the idea that she serve out her punishment by working at the Inn rather than sitting inside a prison cell. If she was ever in a position to do the Dwarf a similar favor, she vowed to make every effort to do so.

Shirriff Fredgar still did not look completely at ease with this arrangement, but that was to be expected. Aman had given her word, and that should be enough. Hawthorne vowed to try and do the best job she could, not to show off to anyone but just to prove to herself she could do it. In the meantime, she pulled her cap down low over her ears to block out the derisive sound of Buttercup's laughter. She promised to ignore the two hobbits' pointed barbs, but it was not easy or pleasant.

If Aman wanted her to lift heavy boulders, so be it. Hawthorne had never been one for any kind of housework or cooking. She hated being stuck inside a burrow and preferred to be outside where she could hunt, fish, and work with the soil. She didn't know much about boulders but she was determined to learn. Her parents had disapproved of such activities on the part of a lady, but they were not here to tell her what to do. If it had not been for the awful devastation of the Inn, Hawthorne might actually have been relieved at being kicked out of the kitchen. Helping with the rebuilding was far more to her taste.

Wandering off by herself to the back courtyard of the Inn, she took out the one bag she had managed to salvage and began to write a letter. Deep in her pocket, she still had one silver coin. It was just enough to pay the shire post to Buckland. After that there were unlikely to be any more coins unless she went and begged some money off her servant. She was determined not to do that.

Before she sealed it, Hawthorne read over the contents:

Dearest Uncle Merry,

I am so sorry, but I have made an awful mistake. I went down to the kitchen this morning to try and make some breakfast to show folk I could be useful. Instead of making breakfast, I managed to catch fire to some oil and burn down the entire Inn. I know this is hard to believe but it is the awful truth.

Thank goodness no one was seriously hurt! I was so sure of myself and so very wrong in what I did!

I think the Innkeeper will be calling on you for supplies and workers. Would you do a favor for me? Next year, Great Aunt Opal is making me a gift of Birch Manor, that sits in the East Farthing. I want to do something to help repair this mess now. Could you extend me credit for a wagonload of fine timber and send it over with the supplies you are bringing. I will credit the receipts from Birch Manor for the first six months back to you.

Please don't tell anyone I'm doing this. They will only be more upset at me, I'm sure. I can not tell you how much I miss you. Needless to say, my blunders have not made me any friends. Daffodil is staying with Master Samwise so she is well out of all this. I am lonely and keep wondering if I did the right thing in coming here. Tomorrow I will start on hard labor hauling stones to help rebuild the foundation and repay a tiny bit of my debt. At this point I am looking forward to the work, since I won't have to think about other things and or listen to the others' gibes.

One last plea.....please don't tell my mother about this. She will only say "I told you so."

Your silly, sad niece,

Hawthorne


Hawthorne ate her stew in stony silence and found a blanket from the pile. She dragged herself into the stables and found a deserted spot up high in the hayloft. Then she buried her head under the hay and cried herself to sleep.

[piosenniel]

Please Note – TIME CHANGE FOR THE INN HAPPENING NOW

The timeline in the Inn has moved forward one week. The debris of the burnt Inn has been carried away from the site, and is in the process of being sorted for what might still be useful. Many hands will be needed to get things cleaned thoroughly . . . pots and pans and eating and cooking utensils . . . lamps and candle holders . . . mugs and plates . . . etc.

Regin Hardhammer has recruited a number of able fellows to assist with the rebuilding of the Inn’s rockwork foundations. He has also been asked to redo the great fireplace in the Common room and the smaller one for cooking in the kitchen. The mayor, Samwise Gamgee, hearing of the Dwarf’s expertise in metals, has broached the idea that perhaps the great doors to the Inn might bear some of Master Regin’s work. ‘A dragon, if you would think to do it,’ he asked. ‘Something distinctive.’ As yet, he has received no answer to his request, but remains hopefull.

A group of carpenters and builders sent by Master Meriadoc with 2 wagon loads of lumber are asking for help to begin framing the Inn structure. Some of those working on the project are unloading the wagon and sorting the beams into lengths, setting up sawhorses to cut what is needed, and rolling the barrels of different sized nails over where they will be most handy.

One of the neighboring Hobbits from Bywater has drug two large, long logs into the yard, and a number of Big and Little folk are astride them, paring off the bark. The logs are from two great cedar trees on his land, and they will need to be sawed into shingling for the roof.

Many jobs to get done . . . and many not yet listed here . . . such as tables and chairs and benches that will have to be cleaned off and many remade . . .

Pitch in . . . and let’s see the Dragon rebuilt . . .

~*~ Pio, Shire Moderator

[piosenniel]

~*~ TIME IN THE INN HAS MOVED AHEAD ONE WEEK ~*~

PLEASE SEE THE POST JUST PRIOR TO THIS ONE , AND KEEP YOUR CHARACTER CURRENT IN THE GAME.

~*~ Pio, Shire Moderator

[Amanaduial the archer]

In the field not far from the Inn, a figure clad in a simple dress fawn dress with it's sleeves rolled up in the bright warmth of the sun shut the gate and attached the first of the three hay nets she was holding to one side of the gate. The horses greeted her with small whinnies, approaching from wherever they had been grazing and nuzzling at her shoulders, chest and hair, which was lightened now from being outside so much. She petted them in return, smiling fondly at their recognition and attached the other two hay nets before she turned her attention to them, especially to the splendid mare, its dark and silver hair shining in the sunlight, the white coming through from underneath like the crest of a wave. It was the parts of the day like these that the Innkeeper had come to love - she was always the one to feed to horses in the morning, and often at night as well, and a makeshift shelter had been made for them in one corner by some kind-hearted individuals. Most were used to being outside often though, and were glad to be outside.

Aman ran her fingers over the especially silky fur of Rochfalmar's nose and lips, smiling lightly as she rested her forehead against hers, then she let the horse go back to its breakfast. Turning, she squinted against the bright early morning sun, shading her green eyes with a hand to look at the Inn, where the helpers were already coming in. She smiled, then looked wistfully back at the horses and ponies, wishing she could linger longer with them; she had forgotten how much she loved spending so much time with them. But no - the Inn workers had been so dedicated, and the Innkeeper intended to keep up her own work in leading them on, tiring though it was - Aman had decided right at the very start of the work that it simply wouldn't do for Cook and Derufin, and Zimzi, to get back and be greeted with a burnt down wreck of a building where their beloved Inn had been. And certainly, it did not resemble any sort of burnt down wreck any more; by mid morning every day for the past week, the strange scaffolding structure outlining the site had been a hive of activity as the hobbits, elves and men flocked back in, either from their own burrows and homes, even as far out as Brandy Hall, from the homes and burrows of kind gentlehobbits who had agreed to give some hospitality for a while in place of the Inn, or from where many of the others were camped out in the stables.

Hauling the tub of oats over the gate from where she had left them on the other side, safe from the prying, nibbling lips of the horses and ponies, she let them clatter satisfyingly into the trough to one side and stepped bach hastily as the horses rushed gleefully towards it. Slipping out of the gate again, she indulged in a few last, wistful pats, then returned back to the Inn yard.

"Good morning, Aman."
"G'mornin, Miss."
"'Morning, Miz Aman."
"Good day, Aman - glorious morning, isn't it?"

Aman replied to each of the greetings politely and warmly, nodding and smiling as she met and greeted each of the folk who had been so kind and helpful over the past few days, even those who had no reason to. As she passed the place where she Inn steps had been (and would be placed again), she saw Ruby already awake, lighting a few fires and humming to herself as she busied herself getting breakfasts ready. The hobbit lass looked up as the Innkeeper passed and smiled. "Morning, Aman - been with the horses?"

"Aye, as ever," came the reply. "Is Buttercup here yet?" She referred to the second hobbit waitress, who had been staying with her sister not far away so as to leave more space in the barn.

"Mmm hmm, 'saw her a few moments ago - she'll be out in a minute, don't you worry."

Aman smiled gratefully and continued on into the large, spacious ex-stables, where many people of all types were either sleeping or just waking up, each now settled in their own corner or space, their salvaged belongings either packed in bags near their pallets or mattresses, or spread around them. The Innkeeper's own bed was laid out in the loft above, along with a few others, including Ruby's and Hawthorne's, although the second hobbit had not been entirely keen at first on laying hers out there. Aman felt sorry for her, despite her initial frustration and disbelief that the Brandybuck lass had actually burnt down the Inn; Hawthorne had been shattered, and Aman had the feeling that she felt she had had one chance at a job and had messed up. But to give her her due, she had worked as hard as the best of the workers, and the Innkeeper had actually had to tell her to slow down a few times so she didn't damage herself. She was attempting to prove herself, and was certainly working at least hard enough.

However, early mornings apparently weren't her strong point.

"Good morning, Hawthorne," Aman said softly, smiling as she entered via the step ladder. The hobbit, who had been dozing, jerked awake and smiled sheepishly at the Innkeeper.

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal had seen the destruction that the fire had caused and had come back to help. Angry was off, trying to convince his parents to meet her. She decided to get out of the house that she had been sitting in and help this place that she was starting to call home.

She walked up to the hobbits that were clearing and starting to rebuild the Green Inn, she noticed their odd looks. She knew that she wasn't entirely wanted here yet and may never be wanted by any of the hobbits even if she did ever get to marry Angry Brandybuck. She walked over to Aman and taped her lightly on the shoulder.

"I would like to help rebuild the Inn. I have skills that could be useful." Crystal said softly to her as she looked around at the destruction that use to be the nice Inn.

[Will Witfoot]

Fungrim shifted through the ash and depriss that used to be the inn, searching for anything that might yet be of use. So far he had found a box of silverware that had propably been stored away in some corner cupboard and thus escaped destruction, some pots and pans in various states of utility and even a variety of wine bottles, most empty but some still holding inside the sweet re liquid.
He glanced over at the stables where folk was just starting to get up. Most of the hobbits and a few of the humans slept pretty late, by his standards. Some lonely souls on the other hand appeared to be early birds like him. Their number included most of the elves, and the innkeeper herself.

He himself had been awake for hours allready. Since he slept lightly like a beast of the forest he thought he might help the wee ones somewhat by seeing what could be salvaged from the remains of the inn. He had done so every morning, before breakfast and the begining of the more demanding work.
He had helped somewhat with the stonework, for even though his skills had greatly degenerated from their former level he was still a dwarf, and each and every dwarf had a natural gift for that sort of thing.
He picked up the treasures he had managed to find and made for the fire burning near the stables. A quick breakfast would be in order before work was begun.

He had mostly avoided the other dwarf, Regin. The shame of his banishing still burned him after all these years, and in all that time he had found few dwarfs indeed with whom he could speak about it.

He pushed these gloomy thoughts from his mind and hoisted the box of silverware onto his shoulder. They could wait, until he got some food under his belt.

[Roa_Aoife]

Roa stretched, soaking in the morning light. The day promised to be a beautiful one, with a cool breze stirring the warm air. She needed to get back to work. Taking a bite from an apple she walked back towards the stables to retrieve Snaveling. Her face lined with apprehension. His behavior had grown increasingly strange over the past week. More and more his steady mask was slipping to reveal fear and anger. More of her memory had returned, and she could now remember struggling with heavy barrels in the cellar. She could almost feel her lungs contract against the smoke.

Roa had also made a startling connection. As her memory returned, Snaveling's condition worsened. She was not certain if they were connected. His strange behavior might not be so strange to him. She had only known him a week. It could also be related to the hard labor to which he was daily induced. If he became too ill, Roa promised herself that she would ease his work load, and send for a healer. She had already consulted Galadel, but the elf had been evasive, as elfs often are. She knocked on the door to the stable, and a hobbit answered. "Here for Snaveling again, Miss Roa?"

"As always, master Otho," she smiled. He disappeared inside. She looked and saw that Valthalion was already at work. Soon the Inn would be finished. What would she do then?

[Kransha]

“Work, work, nothing but work, that’s all anybody does around here.” Toby said loudly to himself. He paced with a frustrated air around the building site, near the stable.

In truth, Tobias Hornblower had done very little work during the past week. He’d avoided everyone’s attempts at convincing him to help and stayed keenly away from both the innkeeper and the dwarf, Regin Hardhammer, though he had engaged in one or two trivial discourses with Fredgar in times of most extreme boredom. From the way he paced, complained, and pointed randomly at unfinished sections of the inn, one might think he was some kind of supervisor. One poor deluded group of young hobbits had actually persisted with this belief, a fact which Toby used to his advantage at the time. Of course, he long since lost track of these Halflings and felt at a bit of a loss without anyone to boss around.

He hadn’t spoken to Snaveling, his would-be partner, in several days. Actually, he hadn’t seen much of the shady man either. The two of them had never attempted dialogue since the nearly failed trickery a week ago. Toby had often thought of trying to strike up a conversation with the man, but never got around to it. Today, though, he was particularly bored. The work dragged along like molasses as hefty folk milled around the property, looming over the shifty hobbit. Toby found no solace in scurrying around like a rat, even though many thought him most fitted for that. He needed something to do besides pace and think. The aged gentlehobbit was denied the ability to go back to Longbottom, since he’d unofficially volunteered himself to help out in the reconstruction of the Dragon and could see nothing else to do except pursue that goal.

Toby flitted with surprising agility towards the frail stable frame and inside, darting past the woman who he now knew all too well. He headed through the structure, past many folk who’d taken up temporary residence there on makeshift beds with some aspects of crude furniture to seem homely around them. The hobbit quickly passed several sleeping and rising men and hobbits until he saw the familiar form and face of that figure, who was currently reclining on the stable floor, his chest heaving up and down in slow succession.

It was early, and a warm blue sky had peeked through cold night to initiate the comforting arrival of a fresh day. In Longbottom, Toby was used to waking up early to tend his pipe-weed crop, even if he was too lazy to actually deal with them. He always inspected his fields early enough in the day, when the dawn sky was still barely tinged red with morning’s light, and then headed to an early breakfast. It was his one admirable quality, at least that he knew of. He had, in truth, enjoyed looking out on a new day’s warmth enveloping the slopes, fields, and glades of the Southfarthing of the Shire. It was quite a sight to wake up to, that hazy sun seemingly rippling into darkness and spreading its dappled paint of color over that sunless cloak.

“Mister Snaveling?” he murmured, leaning down to the man’s level.
He wasn’t sure if Snaveling was awake. He inspected the heavily breathing form and didn’t hesitate to poke it rather roughly in the backside with his knobby index finger.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

It had been, without doubt, one of the worst weeks of Snaveling’s life, and this day promised to be no better. He had spent most of the night, as he had all of his nights since he took up residence in these wretched stables, tossing and turning in an agony of loss. Formerly, his dreams had been filled with something wonderful, a place that had given him joy and an ease of heart that he had never known in life. Where that place might be, and whether it was real or feigned, he could not now remember. Only fragments remained to him now: a cracked and weather-beaten flagstone, the memory of a valley wind, the echo of a footstep coming through a door. Every day he had been forced to carry away the debris from the ruined Inn, and every night he had forsaken sleep. . .for his dreams, when he could sleep, had become a torment and a terror to him.

The dream had come to him on the first night. The purse of gold was there before him, hanging in the dark, and all about him were the sounds of human voices, indistinguishable from the cries of beasts, and the sounds assailed him like blades. He reached for the purse, but as he took it, flames leapt up on all sides, and his skin was charred to ash in an instant. Letting out a cry of agony he released the purse, and it fell to the ground where it shattered like a glass vase. This dream had come to him each night since, and every time it was more terrifying to him than the night before. He awoke each time, clutching in his trembling hand the small, tarnished silver amulet that he wore about his neck. It was a simple device in the form of circle, inscribed with a tiered crown which was itself surrounded by seven stars, but he knew nothing of what it meant or where it had come from before his elder sister had given it to him the day he left home. The trinket was his last tie to his homeland, and he had worn it for many years beneath his clothes without ever thinking of it. But lately, he had found himself taking it out and stroking it even during the day, and deriving some strange comfort from this.

Torn by the exhausting work of the day and the terrifying dreams of the night, Snaveling had kept to himself as much as he could. Try as he might, though, he could never wholly elude the watchful eyes of Roa, Valthalion and Galadel. The only comfort he could find were in the few moments that he could slip into the trees or shrubs around the Inn, lay down upon the earth, and imagine that he was far away from this place.

Snaveling had taken to pretending to sleep late in the mornings, as he had found that the tender-hearted fools who surrounded him did not begrudge him the rest – his deteriorating condition had not escaped their notice. He heard and felt the presence of Toby long before the stupid little hobbit jabbed him in the ribs with his finger. He feigned sleep, but Toby jabbed him again, more insistently this time, and Snaveling was obliged to open his eyes. “Good morning,” the ridiculous creature said. “Well, as good a morning as is possible before you’ve had breakfast. Want to join me for some?”

Snaveling scowled at Toby but he bit his tongue. He had yet to forgive the hobbit for being such a fool about the gold before Roa and Galadel, but he knew better than to say anything about it now. And there was something about this little fellow that appealed to Snaveling. All week he had watched as Toby somehow managed to avoid all the heavy labour, all the while appearing to help. He had also noted his preternaturally high spirits, and his unflagging optimism. Once, Snaveling had even caught himself smiling at the fellow’s antics – a smile that he had quickly wiped from his face when Roa had caught sight of it.

Dragging himself to his feet, Snaveling looked out the stable door and squinted at the brightness of the sun. He was once again absent mindedly stroking the amulet as he spoke to Toby. “Well, I had a miserable night again, and as the day promises to be no better, I may as well have some food before offering myself up as Roa’s personal servant.” He tried to smile but it came out as a sickly grimace. He saw the look of concern that crossed Toby’s face, and in some odd way that touched him. It had been a long time since anyone had shown any real concern for him.

At that moment, Otho ran into the stable and told him that Roa was awaiting him outside. Snaveling clutched his amulet until his knuckles went white. It had been a very long time since he had answered to anybody, or been forced to keep any schedule but his own, and while Roa was a fair taskmaster, and a gentle one – and, if Snaveling had been capable of admitting it, a just one as well – having to pay her heed had been a sore trial for him. Last night he had got almost no sleep, and that little he had managed had been ravaged by his nightmare. And that after a day in which he had been forced to haul away stones from the wrecked foundation of the Inn under the merciless direction of an insane Dwarf. Something inside Snaveling snapped, and his usual reserve slipped. “Tell Roa,” he snarled at the terrified Otho, “that I do not jump at her beck; nor do I await her every whim. I wish to have breakfast first, and then a nice smoke out in the sun. In fact, I do not think that I shall do any work this day – let her carry the stones for once!”

With that, he stamped off toward the cooking fires.

[Kransha]

Toby, a little taken aback by Snaveling’s outburst, ran along behind him as he headed towards one of the cooking fires that had been set up. The man in front of him stormed forward angrily and the slower hobbit had to pick up his pace to catch him. For a moment more, they walked side by until they both stopped in front of the crackling open air fire and sat down promptly.

‘Serves her right,’ he thought scornfully, ‘Trying to push other folk around just because she thinks they’ve done something wrong.’ Toby knew perfectly well that Snaveling had done something wrong, but that didn’t ease his feelings towards Roa and Galadel. He didn’t like anyone who pried so much into the affairs of others, no matter how illicit those affairs might be. Toby snorted, gazing at the flames, and glanced out of the corners of his keen dark eyes at Snaveling.

“So…” Toby tried to begin a conversation, even though Snaveling didn’t look entirely interested, “I’ve been wondering,” Toby frantically searched the corners of mind to figure what he had been wondering, “What is a man such as yourself doing here in the Shire? I know it’s a rather blunt query, but I’ve really been dying to know. You see, ever since the war, non-hobbit folk have been coming to the Shire by the bucketload, and, for the life of me, I can’t figure out why. There weren’t half as many big folk around her before that business in the south. Is there some special reason that you would be willing to divulge…or is it some private matter?”

Toby felt like slapping himself. ‘Now that sounded stupid. I must remember to always know what I’m going to say before I say it or I’ll look like even more of a fool. But, I suppose, what’s done is done. Can’t take it back now.’ The hobbit turned slightly towards Snaveling, expecting either a response or a swift punch to the face for doing exactly what he’d just been complaining about. He decided that it would be best to simply wait for whatever Snaveling’s answer to his query would be. Perhaps he could learn something, either about big folk or about what not to say when trying to make petty conversation.

[Regin Hardhammer]

Regin was very pleased with the progress on the foundation of the Inn. They had all come a long way from the time of the fire. The foundation had been damaged beyond repair and all the Inn razed to the ground. Immediately after the demolition, the guests and volunteers had started to rebuild the Inn from the ground up. He had already written a letter back to Master Samwise, telling him he’d work on the gates shortly.

Now, only a short week later, the workers had made substantial progress on the foundation and completed the fireplace in the kitchen. The larger fireplace in the Common Room, which warmed the bones of tired incoming travelers, was in the beginning stages of restoration. Most of Regin’s waking hours, which were more than he cared for, were spent on the half finished foundation, since this task was more immediate than all others. Regin, determined not to sit idly when others worked, helped drag heavy rocks into place. The hours were long and the work arduous, but Regin’s resolution remained as firm as the stone with which he worked. “Harder lads, harder,” he would say even though he realized that they all were working as hard as they could.

Regin was proud of his crew, but none of them possessed much knowledge of masonry. Often times they would place a stone in the wrong spot or use the wrong type of stone. None of them knew how to carve and finish off the large stones for the foundation, a simple task for Regin. Regin did his best to keep his criticism constructive, although his patience was often stretched. His lack of sleep certainly did not help matters, and sometimes he let his frustration get the best of him. However, such events were few and far between, and he always made amends when things went awry. Yet inside he complained. I would shave my beard for a crew of dwarven stoneworkers, he thought.

There was one other dwarf whom Regin had seen him at work yesterday shaping stone to fit holes in the foundation. Regin wanted to talk with him and ask if he could do more, but was exceedingly busy himself and did not get the chance. Now the other dwarf was nowhere to be seen, and Regin was dismayed. He could certainly use a fellow Dwarf knowledgeable in the matters of stone.

Suddenly, Regin saw the dwarf again sitting alone in a corner devouring some stew. Determined not to miss his chance, Regin walked over to the Dwarf who drew back and looked a bit nervous.

“I will not bite,” said Regin, “I come to congratulate you on the fine work you did yesterday with the foundation. Your knowledge of masonry is impressive, and your hard work is greatly appreciated. I do not know who you are, but I implore you to hearken to what I ask. I spend most of my long day working to rebuild the foundation, and have little time for other tasks such as the fireplace in the Commons. Could you take control of that project? Regin sat back and waited to see if the Dwarf would respond.

[Roa_Aoife]

As Otho reported the message from Snaveling, Roa sighed a sigh. She did not like to have charge over others; she new what power did to people. Many of her kin were reluctant in that respect. The Fall of Numenor tainted even the Faithful. In taking charge of Snaveling, she sought to help him and keep him from trouble. For the most part he had been a begrudging participant, but Roa had known his patience would not last. Well, I will let him have his breakfast and his smoke, she smiled to herself.

As for escaping the labor, she would have a look at his condition first. Roa chuckled at his order to pick up the rocks herself. Truth be told, she had done as much work as he- infact she never allowed him to exceed her. A leader should not have his people do what he will not, her King had said once when she had questioned his assistance with the daily tasks. She took all the words of her teachers to heart.

She spotted Snaveling eating breakfast with Toby. That hobbit could be most cunning at avoiding labor. Roa had found his antics amusing, and occasionally, so had Snaveling. Critically, she appraised the man from the South. He did not look well at all. Perhaps he would do no labor today, after all. As she neared, she heard Toby ask, "“What is a man such as yourself doing here in the Shire?" Roa slowed her pace and then stopped, unnoticed by the two. Yes Snaveling, what is your business here?" Roa wondered if he would answer.

[Eorl of Rohan]

Pelleas urged his tired pony, intending to reach Green Dragon by the early dawn. His pony trod dejectedly over the stone-covered road mat his impatient tugging of the rein, nibbling at mouthfuls of grass along the slow way.

A few hours after Pelleas have given up urging his pony and walked, pulling at the weary pony, he reached Green Dragon. Pelleas raised his eyebrows in wonder, as his gaze met the smoking and charred Inn. Various people were going to and fro repairing it.

"Sir!" Pelleas tugged at the robe of a dwarf talking to another who was at hard work in reconstructing the wall. "What happened?" The dwarf irritably looked at him. "Lad, you didn't know? There was a fire last week in Green Dragon."

[piosenniel]

Buttercup

‘Well, I don’t know about you, Ruby Brown, but if I never see another grimy, sooty cooking spoon I’ll die a happy Hobbit.’

Buttercup rubbed the back of her hand on her cheek leaving a grimy smudge from nose to eyebrow. With a sigh, she returned to the task at hand. In her left hand she grasped a long metal spoon, silver it was supposed to be. But now it bore an ugly patina of sooty grime. Buttercup rubbed and rubbed, wiping the bowl of it clean then working her way up the curved handle. Up to the leaf and acorn embossing on the handle’s end. It was one of Cook’s serving spoons, one of her special, ‘good’ spoons she used for those special occasions when she was serving something at a party for friends. Her mother had given it to her, Cook had said.

‘Best get that clean as a new silver penny,’ Ruby said, working on the intricately etched, shell handled silver serving tray that had also belonged to Cook. She handled the tray fondly as she rubbed at the grime in the lines of etching. She had carried the fluted crystal goblets of sparkling wine on this very tray when Mistress Piosenniel and her Mister had had the twins’ naming day party. The two pieces were cleaned and stored safely away, and the Hobbits picked up another piece each and began the slow process of restoring it.

A shadow fell across Buttercup’s view as she bent to the cleaning of one of the big roasting pans. Shading her eyes against the sun, she looked up. It was Halfred. Not as the Shiriff, this time, but acting in his capacity as district postman. ‘A rider brought this in for you, Buttercup Brownlock. Come all the way from Forlond, he said. Said one of the Little Folk, older lady by his description, had given him a gold coin to ride straight away to Bywater as fast as he could.’ Halfred arched his eye brow at Buttercup, and waited expectantly for an explanation.

It was not forthcoming. Buttercup turned the letter round to see the writing on the front. A smile creased her face as she recognized the determined script that spelled out her name. ‘Thank you, Master Halfred,’ she said politely. ‘I’ll let you know if I have a reply for you to send out.’

‘Reply to what?’ asked Ruby, wiping her hands on her soot streaked apron as she drew near her friend. Buttercup broke the wax seal and opened the missive, letting Ruby read along with her.

‘You didn’t!’ Ruby said as she read down the page.

‘I did,’ replied Buttercup, ‘She told us to take care of the kitchen and we promised her we would.’ Ruby nodded her head, ‘We did, indeed,’ she murmured, looking about at the stacks of cookware and other utensils that needed to be cleaned.

‘Well, I wrote to her – told her all that’s gone on. She’d want to know.’ Ruby nodded again at the truth of Buttercup’s words.

They read quickly to the bottom of the page where the neatly written name was signed. And there, at the bottom was a hastily scrawled post script, a quick afterthought written just before the letter's writer had sent it off.

I’ve changed my mind, it read. Your news has put me quite on edge, though I’m sure Miz Aman has things well in hand. I’ll not be waiting another day to leave for the Shire. Expect me back in a fortnight, or sooner.

One last postscript ended the note. And you two, make sure my silver service is secured.

Buttercup folded the letter and stuffed it into her apron pocket. ‘Best we get busy, then,’ Ruby admonished her. ‘We’ve only found half the silver . . .’

‘. . . and cleaned less,’ returned Buttercup, sorting through one of the small piles near her for something recognizable.

The two of them worked with renewed determination. Cook was coming home . . .

[Will Witfoot]

Fugnrim placed the empty bowl of stew into the pile of dirty dishes waiting to be washed by the hobbit lasses. He dug out his pipe and was just about to fill it when the gruff voice wich could only belong to a fellow dwarf startled him. Feeling unreasonably nervous and almost droppin his pipe he turned to Regin.

"I will not bite." The newcomer said cheerily. Fungrim wasnt alltogether relieved. The company of his kin was a thing that made him nervous.
He was slightly relieved when Regin, instead of prying him about his past, congratulated him on his stoneworking and asked him to take the building of the common room fireplace under his supervision.

"Offcourse." There was a brief pause, before he added: "and thankyou for your compliment. I will see to it after a smoke and when more people are awake."

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling winced at Toby’s question. Had he wanted to cause the Man pain, the hobbit could have done nothing more pernicious than this. What am I doing here? What am I after? The purse of gold appeared before his waking eye and his skin was suddenly aflame as in his dream. It was only with a monumental effort of self-control that he did not drop his breakfast in pain. Even in the daylight is there no escape or ease for me? He pulled his mind’s eye from the gold but there was no comfort in that, for all he could see was a grey haze where a house – or was it a lodge? – had once stood. Whose lodge was it? And why could he not stop thinking about it?

Tormented by these visions of his shattered dreams, Snaveling took refuge in his past. Fingering the amulet about his neck, he began to speak, quietly and slowly, as though he were relating a story long forgotten, and which was only just now returning to his memory. “I’ve already told you that my people come from the land between the western end of the White Mountains and the Sea. We have lived there quietly, keeping to ourselves for an Age. Much like the folk around here we avoid contact with all other people. We are hunters and trackers, and we used to range unchecked through all the lands between the White Mountains and the River Angren. We used to travel as far as the Misty Mountains and sometimes even beyond them into the rich plains beyond, but when the horsemen of the North came, they harassed us and we have not gone that way for a long time.

“We lived this way for generations, but during the War, Saruman roused the Dunlendings who live to the North of us. They raided the lands south of the Angren and we were forced to abandon those lands. We decided to go south, into Gondor. For a while the hunting was good, but when the War was over and the Men of Gondor returned from Mordor they chased us out. They sent emissaries to us, suing for peace, but their terms were not to our liking – we were to swear never to attack the Men of Gondor or any of their allies, and to keep ourselves within the bounds of our land.” Snaveling spat in disgust. “They know nothing of the hunt. What do hart and hind, wolf and bear know of borders and the lands of Men? When we are in pursuit of our quarry, we do not stop to ask permission of the folk who claim to own the land over which our prey flees!

“My people are few and scattered, but we like our privacy and shun large groups. Even with all the land ‘generously’ allotted us by the noble Men of Rohan and Gondor,” Snaveling’s bitterness was unconcealed and venomous, “we are too many for the game of that land. So I, along with some companions, left, to seek a new land far from meddling folk. Over the years I have lost my companions: some to disease and hardship in the wild, some to the spear of the horsemen and the club of the Dunlendings. Some turned back in despair. But I kept on. Last year, word came to me of this land of Shire, where there were no Men, only a small people who did not like to become involved with the affairs and wars of Men and Elves and Wizards – and it sounded like a place where I could. . .” Snaveling faltered and stopped. Where I could what? he shouted into the darkness of his mind. What had he wanted in this land?

To distract himself from his torment, he turned to Toby. “But what do you make of my strange tale, Mister Hornblower? If you even believe it – for as you know, I am regarded in these parts as a thief and a liar. Is this land as pleasant as I have heard? Do you have a life here of ease and comfort, or do you chafe against it and wish to leave it for the wider world beyond your narrow borders? And you,” he said to a surprised Roa, without even moving his eyes to where she had stood throughout his tale, “what brings you to this land? Surely you seek more than a cup of ale and some weed for your pipe? Speaking of which,” he fumbled with his tobacco pouch and pipe, “I think it’s time for my smoke!”

[Kransha]

At first, Tobias Hornblower just nodded dumbly as Snaveling spoke. It was apparent for most of his oration that the man was not truly speaking to him, but contemplating the question and answering for himself. Finally, Snaveling turned, almost wistfully, back to the slack-jawed hobbit elder and responded with another question, immediately before taking note of the fact that Roa was standing surprisingly nearby. One of Toby’s eyes cast a disapproving glance back at the eavesdropper before returning to set his gaze upon the mysterious man who sat on the other side of him, smoking a pipe aimlessly.

“Well, Mister Snaveling, I suppose I should wish you some luck in your endeavors. In answer to your question; yes, life in the four farthings is most often peaceful. There are always hardships, but any intelligent hobbit can overcome those obstacles with ease. Things like this whole fiasco with the fire are very rare, but there have been other violent and undesirable incidents. Indeed, all Shire residents were very unprepared when the war came to us, including myself I must admit, but luckily that didn’t last too long.” He paused, reminiscing momentarily about those times not long ago, though the thought quickly passed. The hobbit turned away, looking out at the now weary grounds of the Green Dragon Inn and sighed, reaching into his vest pocket.

“Not many desire to leave the comfort of the Shire, Mister Snaveling. There are, of course, a few deluded souls who think their lives will be better beyond the borders of this tranquil land, but most, like me, know wishes such as these to be folly. They may get praise and glory heaped upon them, but I am certain that there exploits were not pleasant enough to balance it all out. You must understand; my family, the Hornblowers and their kin, are closer relations of the Baggins line. That line is now extinguished, all its members and kin gone from Middle-Earth, but those were the Halflings among us who sought far off lands. Perhaps you have heard the ballad of Frodo the Ringbearer, or Bilbo, who aided the slaying of a mighty dragon. Mad Baggins, we called the latter, brave Baggins was the former. To think how our views of them have changed since the war. The Hornblowers do not share this wanderlust held by Bagginses and their other kindred, no indeed. There is nothing a hobbit like myself would like more than to just sit back on a great pipe-weed plantation and smoke and drink while the days go on.”

Toby was surprised how much his own lecture had strayed from what he’d originally intended to say, but, it didn’t matter. He’d gotten the point across at least adequately. He whipped out his pipe with a familiar flourish and spun in his seat on the ground to the woman, Roa. She had come out slightly more into the open after Snaveling identified her hiding nearby

“Now then, ma’am, I believe the same was asked of you. What business have you in the four farthings?”

[Roa_Aoife]

Roa started as Snaveling addressed her. Warily she sat down, upwind and on the other side of Toby. She avoided people when they were smoking unless it was nescessary to approach them. And after his comment about Gondor and Rohan, she also thought to keep a wary distance. Roa did not know the state of Snaveling's mind, but the look on his face made her heedful. She looked to Toby who began speaking. Roa bit back a smile at that mention of Frodo and Bilbo. She had heard Mithrandir speak of the later fondly before he sialed west, and her own Lord had talked with warmth of Frodo, and Sam, and Merry, and Pippin. Prince Legolas and Gimli the dwarf she had met herself, and she was truly honored.

When Toby had finished, they looked at her expectantly. Roa thought a moment, then began her own tale. "As you know, I am a Dunedain, a Ranger of the North. For the most part, I lived in the wild, in the deep woods, not far from here. Long we defended theses lands from the evils in the East. In the final battle, our king called for us to aid him in Gondor. At that time our vigilance left these lands and went south, and for the hardship that aspired here, I am truly sorry." Toby just looked at her with a disaproving stare, which was returned by one of her own. "Believe me when I sasy things would have been far worse had we not gone.

"I was not allowed to go into the battle, on the excuse of my gender and age." Roa regretted this to no end. When she heard tale of Eowyn, the Lady of Rohan, and her exploits on the field, she felt great admiration for her. Indeed, she had sought to speak with her, but she was badly injured. Continuing she said, "I lost many kin in that battle. My brother was among them." Roa puased. After a moment of sadness, she shook herself and the usual underlying mirth returned.

"Afterward, we lived in the White City, our home by right." this was said with emphasis as she sent a dangerous look toward Snaveling. "After sometime there, I grew tired of the exposed life there. I sought the approval of my king to travel back North, for a time. I have traveled alone, keep to the routes known to my people, hiding when nescessary. I was given rest and aid at Rivendell, and then came here. I now want a peacceful existence until my King calls for me again."

Turning to Snaveling, she added,"If what you have said is true, then your people may have been wronged. When the time comes, you may travel with me to see King Elessar. He will listen to your case. My Lord is a fair man, not bound by the politics of court. You will be heard. After, we will return you to wherever you wish, with escort to save you from harm, or alone if you wish." That was her story. How they would react, and what they would think, she did not know, nor did she care.

"Snaveling, you do not look well. You will not work today, afterall. I hope you can find a good place to rest. The stables will be quiet all day while the workers are out." Snaveling looked unabashedly shocked. Roa finished her soup, and rose to join Valthalion in labor.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman paled at Buttercup's words, and her eyes widened. "Coming home...now?" she croaked incredulously, looking at the two industriously cleaning hobbits in turn. She had come down from waking up Hawthorne and tying her hair up into a more practical bun and had been greeted, as she passed, with Buttercup's news.

"In a fortnight or less, she says, Miz Aman," Buttercup replied, polishing a spoon fervently. Aman looked slightly more horrified, glancing at the space where the Inn had been and what there was of it now, gave a strangled cry and darted off towards the Inn. The two hobbit servers looked at each other questioningly before shrugging and continuing to their work.

Aman passed into the Common Room through the absence of wall on one side, ducking easily as a long wooden beam, accompanied by a panicked cry of warning, swung over her head, supported at both ends by metal chains which were attached to one of the other newly placed rafters ahead. The Innkeeper looked around the room, and her heart continued to beat fast - but not only in panic now. They've done so much in a week... she thought proudly. Beams all around the room and forming a net across the sky outlined where the burnt down Common Room would be rebuilt, and after that proper building work could be structured around that and the upper rooms could be re-built. One side of the room, however, had been almost undamaged, and the restoration on it and the magnificent fireplace was well under way, and Regin said he had plans for that, as well, as the doorway, which he was keeping under wraps. As she scanned the room, Aman spotted the dwarf, sternly overseeing a pair of hobbits who were manoevuring a pile of long oak boards through one window to each other, not without difficulty. As Aman came towards them, the dwarf called out a greeting to the Innkeeper. The two hobbits, mistaking it for an instruction, simultaneously began going in opposite directions with the beams, one confusedly backing out and the other, for some reason, swinging sidewards. Regin looked quickly backwards and gave a shout, jumping down from his platform, but Aman was already there, grabbing the beam...just before it smashed into the frame of the large window. She breathed a sigh of relief, whilst Regin started berating the 'bubble-brained fools' (a phrase which semed to have become something of a catch-phrase for the dwarf) of hobbits, who stood meekly looking suitably ashamed and even more suitably tired.

"How goes it, Regin?" Aman inquired when he was done, handing the surprisingly heavy would-be floorboards back to the hobbits who managed this time to get them through without incident.

[Arry]

Most of those who had been injured in the fire were now healed enough to either travel on or to stay and help with the reconstruction of the Inn. Alwin had put away his box of herbs and unguents, save for the now occasional use when they were needed for fingers bruised by errant hammer blows, or heads gone achy from bumping into sharp corners of the framing. He had rolled up his sleeves and helped out now in other ways.

His old back was not strong enough to carry rock for the Dwarf craftsman, nor were his arms used to carrying the heavy beams needed for the framing or flooring. He helped out where he saw the need. The garden first, cleared of ashy debris. The weeds plucked and the rows hoed; the thirsty plants watered. The two serving girls bobbed their heads to him early each morning as they came to gather what was needed for the day’s soup, oft times bringing him a griddle-cake or two and a mug of hot tea to drive away the morning chill.

Afternoons were spent in a shaded area by the stable. The Hobbit who had brought in the cedar logs had brought the two handled, draw-knives for removing bark. Astride a log, Alwin moved in a slow determined manner, scraping off the bark down to the fragrant wood below. One done, the Hobbit and his sons bucked the long log into bolts with their two-man bow saws – bolts being more manageable sections, their length determined by the length of the shingles needed. From there, the brawny young men split the bolts into wedges, stacking them to the side of the stable until they were ready to rive them into shingles.

Alwin watched them as he pulled the bark from the second log, fascinated by the rhythm of their movements. The bolt was turned on end, the froe, like a thin bladed ax, positioned to split a thin tapered plank of wood along the grain. The steady, sturdy thunks of their wooden mallets against the metal heads of the froes as they rived the wood. Then flip the bolt and begin again. A syncopated rhythm ran round his mind, punctuated by the voices of the workers as they spoke in short phrases to each other. His draw knife moved in time with them, and he began to hum the tune now forming, thinking how his fingers might pluck it out on his little harp. He smiled, the tune now coursing through his blood.

Soon, he knew the words would form; the scene be captured. Played and sung round the fire, it would be, for those who would listen and remember . . .

[Lumiel]

It had not taken long for Hindolen, or Indy as she was called, to heal from her ordeal. The next day she was up and about, as healthy and hearty as ever. Eager to help, for she saw the rebuilding of the Inn as an opportunity for her to find a home, she went about following whoever she could and asking questions. At first, she followed the hobbit girls who cooked. They taught her about the herbs and the pots and the pans, and she absorbed the knowledge at an astounding rate. Though she still had a long way to go, she had become a cook. She quickly tired of kitchen work, though she knew it was necessary. Then she followed the hobbit men. They weren't as patient with her, annoyed by her presence. But they warmed to her polite nature (which was quite amiable when she wasn't a hungry, starving orphan) and answered her many questions about the garden and woodwork that they were doing. She helped by holding their tools and quickly learned the name of each. They even taught her how to hammer, though she was too young to yet be skilled in such things. Though more interesting than the kitchen work, this too soon bored her.

She now sat by the makeshift kitchen, her skinny, tanned legs sprawled on the fresh green grass and her toes wiggling as the blades tickled her feet. She no longer wore a smudged pink dress, but had been given a sky blue dress which she kept immaculately clean (though her hands and knees always seemed to be dirty). Her short blonde hair had been neatly combed and a small, dark blue ribbon had been used to tie back a portion of her hair. It seemed almost golden now that it was clean. Her face was clean as well (the hobbit women simply would not put up with a filthy face, and scrubbed it each morning, even behind the ears despite her protests) and her pink pouty lips were turned up in a smile as the sun shone warmly on her. She wondered what she should do now. She could hear the chinks and groans as the men worked on the foundation and gazed languidly towards the sound. She wished she were bigger and stronger, so that she could help with it. She loved outdoor work, and she would probably never get the chance to work with stone after this. But she knew they would never let her join, she was simply too small.

Sighing, she turned her head around to see what the others were doing. Her eyes caught sight of a dwarf not far from her with a dark beard. Regin was speaking to him. She stared for a moment. Something about him....the dwarf! It was the dwarf who had saved her! It must be! Her brown eyes widened and she instantly leapt to her feet, a large grin on her tiny face. She waited until Regin left, and then bounded over to the dwarf, pulling to a halt right in front of him. The dwarf looked at her, giving a small smile as he puffed on his pipe. "Excuse me sir Dwarf..." she trailed off, now feeling suddenly shy.

"Yes, little miss, can I help you?" he asked warmly, his eyes shining, at least it seemed to her.

"Oh yes! I mean no, well, what I meant to say was..." she trailed off again, her thin dark eyebrows furrowed in frustration. She shook her head, as though she had shaken off the mood and smiled once more brightly. She threw her arms around him in as big of a hug as she could muster and cried out happily, "You saved me! Thank you! Thank you!" and laughed. The dwarf chuckled at the small girl's enthusiasm and patted her back. Indy pulled back and looked him in the eye, her head tilted to the side. "What's your name?" she asked.

"Who, me?" he asked as though he didn't know if Indy was talking to him or not. "My name's Fungrim. And what's yours, little lady?"

"I'm Hindolen, but you can just call me Indy. Are you going to help make the foundation?" she asked with curiosity.

"Yes, I am. But not yet, too many people are still asleep. Too bad they're not more like you in wakin' up!" he teased her.

"Really? I want to learn all about the stone and the foundation and everything!" she smiled as she said it and threw out her arms to emphasize her point. "I know I'm really small and just a girl...but do you think I could help? I can carry your tools for you, and I fit in little spaces really good and I can get you lunch and I can even shade you from the sun and...." Fungrim was giving her a strange look. "What?" she asked innocently.

[SneakyHobbit]

A small man walked along the road near the Green Dragon. He wore green cloak and brown boots. The man's hood was up, and he was all alone on the road. The man stared at the busy yard for a moment, then walked up to it.

He approached the remnant of the inn, and puzzled for a minute. It looked as if the inn had suffered a fire, and many people were busy working. The man called out half-heartedly. "Is there somwhere I can get a drink? I have traveled quite a distance to sample some of your fine ale. I would be glad to help you as well, but I wish to quench my thirst at the moment..."

[piosenniel]

Newcomers to the Inn

Please note the Inn Facts at the top of the page. They will clue you in to what is going on.

Before you post, please also read a number of the posts previous to yours so that you will get the flavor of what other characters are doing.
__________________________________

Brief Synopsis

About a week ago, game time, there was a devastating fire at the Inn. The structure was destroyed, and now the workers at the Inn and the villagers and patrons of the Green Dragon are lending their skills to rebuild it.

The foundation stonework is being redone, as is the framing for the main structure of the Inn.

Items are being salvaged as possible, new tables and chairs are being built, shingles for the roof are being fashioned. There is a cooking fire in the yard, and food is being made there for the workers. Tents have been set up, and some folk are staying in the stable.

Come in and lend a hand.

~*~ Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[Memory of Trees]

Flyte stared openmouthed at the smoke rising above the treeline, her blue eyes wide with wonder. "Granny!" She called into the tiny white cottage behind her. "I can see smoke! There must be have been a fire!" Her voice was high with excitement - it wasn't every day something of this sort happened.

"What did you say, Flyte? A briar? Come inside so I can hear you, dear." Flyte's granny was a sweet old lady, and half deaf, too. Flyte ran back into the house, her tiny boots sending up puffs of dust. It had been very dry that year.

"What I said, Granny," she said as sat on the arm of her grandmother's chair. "Is that there was a fire. I saw smoke, and I think it's coming from down the road. There isn't much now, so it must be over, right?" Her little brow was furrowed with concern.

The old woman smiled and patted Flyte's hand, her face wrinkled like ancient parchment paper. "I don't know, dearie. I'll go out and have a look, if you'll bring me my cane. Ah, thank you," she said, and pulled herself stiffly up from the old rocker. The colder weather didn't sit well with her.

"It's over here, Granny. See? I said I saw smoke!" Grandmother and granddaughter stood watching the thick grey clouds roll up from behind the trees where the ground that must be screaming in agony.

"Yes, I see it." Granny's voice was very somber, which frightened Flyte a bit. "Now, you have to listen to me carefully, child. I can't go and see what's going on myself - my old bones won't hear of it. I want you to go down there for me. Help out if you can, if not, run back here quick and tell me the news. You can take the loaf of bread I just baked, and give it to those who need it. Hurry now, Flyte! And be careful please, dear!"

Flyte, her face serious with the importance of the mission, ran inside to fetch the bread. It smelled delicious, making her stomach rumble dicontentedly. She had the fleeting thought that if they gave up this loaf, there would be nothing but thing broth for their own supper before she was tearing down the road as fast as her little legs could carry her.

Her grandmother watched her until she dissapeared around a bend in the path, then turned and went back into the cottage.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Hawthorne stretched and yawned over breakfast. The tables set up outside were half empty. Most of the others had already finished eating, heading out to whatever job they'd picked to help rebuild the Inn. She was indeed late getting up, but then she'd been up half the night roaming the woods and hills to work on something special. This time, she was very careful to pick a project that didn't involve the kitchen, or anything that could possibly lead to disaster. She stretched and yawned again, staring down intently at her hands. The palms were calloused from the heavy work of hauling stones; dirt lay underneath her nails. She wrinkled her nose and sniffed. She'd best wash her hands and arms again, since there was a definite smell of horse manure left over from the night before.

Hawthorne had begun her special project in the very back of the Inn's courtyard, in a secluded niche under the trees just behind some bushes. Few of the Inn guests normally ventured here, and she had fenced off the area with a series of stakes and ropes. She rushed through breakfast and hurried outside to get a second look. Things were progressing nicely. Setting her project immediately outside the kitchen window might have made more sense but Hawthorne could not bear to be anywhere near the kitchen. And she wanted it to be a surprise so she had chosen a more secluded location. She hoped Cook wouldn't mind the extra walk.

Ruby and Buttercup still weren't speaking to her. Whenever she walked past them, they put their heads together and scowled or giggled, pointing a finger in her direction. Hawthorne tried to avoid them, but it was hard when their bedrolls lay so close. If Aman had thought that putting the three of them together would soften their relations, she had definitely guessed wrong.

The news about Cook's return to the Inn had spread like wildfire among the Inn staff. Hawthorne inwardly groaned at the thought of that meeting. Everything she'd heard about Cook had led her to believe that it would not be a pleasant one. Cook was a formidable woman indeed, and would not take the news of Hawthorne's transgression lightly. Still she was trying to do her best now, and hoped that would count for something.

Glancing up, Hawthorne noticed a truckload of logs come rolling onto the Inn grounds. It was the second such wagon in as many days. She bounded over to meet the driver and shouted out a greeting.

"Grimbold Goodchild! It's so good to see someone from home. Daffordil's gone off on a sightseeing tour of the Shire, and left me all alone. And the folk here aren't exactly friendly, at least some of them." She gestured with her hand over to the makeshift kitchen where Ruby and Buttercup were cleaning up the last of the breakfast.

Grimbold grinned back, "I heard what happened. Look it's going to take a while. And these folk just aren't used to Brandybucks! But I have some news. When the Inn reopens and they have a party, your uncle plans to come down and visit." Then he lowered his voice, "Master Meriadoc wanted me to tell you that he did what you asked. About the timber, that is. He'll take the receipts out of the farmstead when it's gifted to you next year."

Hawthorne smiled, "I'm glad to hear that. I'd love to stay and catch up on gossip, but duty calls." Master Regin was calling to Hawthorne from across the courtyard, urging her to hurry and catch up with the crew that was going out to look for stones for the fireplace in the Common Room. She picked up her skirts and ran over to the group of workmen that was just setting out towards The Water.

[Regin Hardhammer]

Regin, still agitated from the incident with the two foolish Hobbits, had to compose himself before responding to Aman. “Bubble brained Hobbits,” he muttered under his breath, “Half-witted fools.”

Wearily, the Dwarf turned to the innkeeper and replied, “Mistress Aman, how good it is to see you. I have been exceedingly busy the last few days and have not met with you in quite some time. Please excuse me if I do not seem attentive, short have my hours been in bed as of late.”

The Dwarf shook his head and sighed, “As you can see from this little incident, the rebuilding process has not at all been a simple matter. Many of my workers seem to lack certain necessary items that would be particularly useful at a time like this, such as a brain. If I do not die from being smashed on the head by a dropped beam or falling stone, I shall consider it a miracle. I look upwards every so often to give myself warning before I have to leap out of the way."

"Otherwise, I would say that we have made substantial progress rebuilding the Inn, surpassing my expectations. The foundation is almost finished and the crews are beginning to build the walls and ceiling. They may not have the quickest wit, but the people here certainly have the bravest heart. Exquisite craftsmanship motivates the finest Dwarven smith, but the folk of the Green Dragon are driven by the Inn which they hold dear. Their devotion to her humbles me beyond words and I am honored to be part of this project."

After he finished saying this, to his astonishment, Regin noticed a tear trickle down his cheek. He felt as if his iron heart had been overcome by a wave of emotion. Not often did the practical and composed Regin Hardhammer openly show such strong feeling. He could scarcely believe that he cared deeply for these people whom he had not even known two weeks before. Wiping his ruddy face on his sleeve, he let out a sob before slowly continuing.

“Excuse me madam, I… I… I… just…,” he stammered and could go on no more, but forced himself to continue and gradually collected himself before speaking again.

“Yes, everything is going very well. By the way, I have just finished talking to someone who could help the project immensely--Fungrim. It is so nice to have another dwarf around; I really could use someone else knowledgeable in masonry. He seemed a bit secretive and apprehensive, as if he had a troubled past that he did not want to revisit. Do you know anything more about him? He will be assisting me and overseeing the construction of the fireplace in the Commons. I feel that he is more than competent and seems to be very discerning in matters of stone. I am sure that he will do a fine job and I hope that it will be up to your standards. His help leaves more time for me to oversee the construction of the Inn and work on the gates. I have a nice design that I think will look very stylish on the gates of the Inn. "

"I have taken a look at the silver goblets you gave me that were damaged from the fire, and I am afraid that I can not help you. The metal was severely charred and misshapen from the fire to the point where even if the goblets were made from the most pliable silver in Middle Earth I could not repair them. Even with my skills in metal tempering, perhaps the best among all dwarves, I can do nothing with them. You may have them back. Unless…"

Suddenly the dwarf was struck with a brilliant idea. He turned to face Aman, "Perhaps you might let me borrow these for a while. I can do no worse with them than the fire has already done."

[Primrose Bolger]

Kiera had withdrawn to the safety of the small copse of oak and beech that grew on the western edge of the Inn’s yard. There were too many people; their noise and smell pressed in on her. She felt safe here among the trees. From her vantage point among the leaves she could watch this strange mix of creatures in relative obscurity.

The old man who had spoken to her was sitting astride a log, scraping the tree’s skin away from the inner body. Three of the Little Folk were busy with a log he had already done. Cutting and chipping it into small flat pieces. She wondered if they understood at all the numbers of lives that had passed while that great tree had grown to such a size. Were they grateful that its spirit now passed into smaller forms for their use?

Like some great mountain pushed up from the earth, the Inn was re-emerging. The very bones of the earth were wrenched up and fitted, one upon the other . . . great stones on which the wooden sides would rest secure. She watched as Big and Little Folk climbed like ants upon the structure, driving home the nails that held the body of the Inn together.

She had been helpful in her own way. At night she would set the fish-traps she had woven from slender willow branches that grew along the river's banks, and in the early morning, before first light, she would leave her catch layered in wet ferns, in a tattered basket by the fire pit where the meals were cooked. Other mornings found her checking the small snares she had put out, and a brace or two of coneys would then appear for the day’s meal. The two serving girls had taken to leaving some covered bowls filled with the day’s food and a small loaf of bread out for their ‘helper’. They were always returned the next day, scrubbed clean.

Between times, when she was not sitting among the leaves of the great oak, she sat hidden in the brush by the river. Kiera had ventured into the stable late one night and found a small metal chisel and a stout wooden mallet with which to drive it. With her borrowed tools she was carving a fair sized, grey stone flecked with black. It was half her height, and tapered from top to its more rounded bottom. A sturdy presence that yielded but slowly under her patient hands.

It was to be a present for the new Inn. Something to safeguard it against future dangers.

[piosenniel]

Newcomers to the Inn

Please note the Inn Facts at the top of the page. They will clue you in to what is going on.

Before you post, please also read a number of the posts previous to yours so that you will get the flavor of what other characters are doing.
__________________________________

Brief Synopsis

About a week ago, game time, there was a devastating fire at the Inn. The structure was destroyed, and now the workers at the Inn and the villagers and patrons of the Green Dragon are lending their skills to rebuild it.

The foundation stonework is being redone, as is the framing for the main structure of the Inn.

Items are being salvaged as possible, new tables and chairs are being built, shingles for the roof are being fashioned. There is a cooking fire in the yard, and food is being made there for the workers. Tents have been set up, and some folk are staying in the stable.

Come in and lend a hand.

~*~ Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[piosenniel]

GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

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

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

Ongoing characters from outside the Inn:

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

Fredgar Hornblower – local Shiriff from Hobbiton – played by Fool of a Took
_____________________________________________

Please Note:



No 'SAVES' are allowed in the Inn.


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

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

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

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

IT IS NOW AFTERNOON IN THE SHIRE. THE WEATHER IS PLEASANT.

[piosenniel]

Newcomers to the Inn

Please note the Inn Facts at the top of the page. They will clue you in to what is going on.

Before you post, please also read a number of the posts previous to yours so that you will get the flavor of what other characters are doing.
__________________________________

Brief Synopsis

About a week ago, game time, there was a devastating fire at the Inn. The structure was destroyed, and now the workers at the Inn and the villagers and patrons of the Green Dragon are lending their skills to rebuild it.

The foundation stonework is being redone, as is the framing for the main structure of the Inn.

Items are being salvaged as possible, new tables and chairs are being built, shingles for the roof are being fashioned. There is a cooking fire in the yard, and food is being made there for the workers. Tents have been set up, and some folk are staying in the stable.

Come in and lend a hand.

~*~ Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman shrugged hopelessly, thinking of the twisted, charred metal, barely resembling the splendid goblets they had been, which she had given to Regin. "I don't see why not - I wish you luck in whatever you endevour to do with them." Cook is going to kill me... she added privately before rising and excusing herself to Regin so both could go about their work.

"Is there somewhere I can get a drink? I have travelled quite a distance to sample some of your fine ale. I would be glad to help you as well, but I wish to quench my thirst at the moment..." The unfamiliar voice outside alerted Aman and she popped her head out of a half-desicated window to see who the owner was.

"Good day, sir," she called, and the newcomer started, turning with surprise to see the Innkeeper's head from inside the charred building, before she swung through and, brushing herself down briefly, approached the green clad figure. "Thank you for your offer of help - most of the drinks were rescued from the fire, aye, but there is little time to sample most of them. But hospitality in the 'Dragon can remain somewhat - if you are quite sure of your offer of help, I would be glad to give you a free drink to quench your thirst."

[Will Witfoot]

Fungrim breathed a sigh of relief when Regin departed to oversee the work of his corps of hobbit assistants. It appeared that he need not worry about the other dwarf bothering him about his past, and as long as this was the case Fungrim would be happy to have a talk with a fellow kinsman. It had been long indeed since he had last engaged in any sort of disscusion, and he actually found himself wondering wether he would still be able to keep up anything even remotelly like a disscusion.

"Excuse me, sir dwarf." A small girls voice said. He turned to face the child he had saved from the burning inn, now even more startled than during his exchange with Regin. He wasnt used to being talked to. He did not even try to stop the little smile creeping onto his lips.
"Yes, little miss, can I help you?" he asked warmly.

The girl blushed and stammered something that he could not make out. Suddenly she threw herself at him and hugged him with all the strength of her little arms. Fungrim was absolutelly stunned at this point. "You saved me! Thank you! Thak you!". He patted her clumsilly on the back, an akward chuckling escaping his throat.
"Whats your name?". The girl asked, all smile.
"Who, me?". He asked, quite bewildered by all the social activity that seemed to come to him on this fair morning. He managed to gather a few of his scattered wits and spoke again. "I am Fungrim. What is your name, little lady?".
"I'm Hindolen, but you can just call me Indy. Are you going to help make the foundation?" she asked with curiosity.

"Yes, I am. But not yet, too many people are still asleep. Too bad they're not more like you in wakin' up!" his rather clumsy attempt at humouring the child sounded strange in his ears. It had been what, ten years, when he had last even talked to a child.

"Really? I want to learn all about the stone and the foundation and everything! I know I'm really small and just a girl...but do you think I could help? I can carry your tools for you, and I fit in little spaces really good and I can get you lunch and I can even shade you from the sun and...." His head was begining to swim from her quick, curious questions. He glanced at her, measurring her.

"What?" she asked sweetly.

"Slow down, lass, before ye talk yerself dumb!" He said and smiled, indicating that it was a joke. He turned serious once more.
"Yes, ye could help me. My ken on masonry is not as great as that of Regin," he nudged his head into the direction of the other dwarf. "..but I do know a thing or two about stone, if I say so meself. Tell you what, Indy. You can start to help me by carrying my tools, fetching water or taking messages to Regin as the need arises. I'll try to teach ye a few things as we work."

He took a big breath of leaf-smoke and blew a neat little smoke ring that dangled in the air above the girls head. "Well start as soon as Ive finished my smoke, allright?".

[Galadel Vinorel]

The Lady Galadel had not moved from the shadows of the stable where she had been standing for the past half hour or so. With her elvish hearing she hadbeen able to fully hear the conversation between Snaveling, Tobias, and Roa. She had smiled to herself as Roa went off to work, while Snaveling had been left to rest, a suprised look upon his face. "Ah, yes, Snaveling," Galadel thought to herself, "Roa and I are truly are not as mean and cruel as you and Tobia think that we are."

Removing herself from the shadows, the elf crossed the yard to where Tobias and Snaveling sat together, not yet speaking. "Good morning," Galadel said quitely as she stood behind them. Tobais turned quickly to look back at her, yet the man did not move at all, he did not need to, he knew who it was.

Sitting down quickly beside the troubled man, Galadel spoke to him, "How are you feeling this morning, Snaveling? Are your dreams still haunting you?"

Snaveling, amazed turned to face the elf. "How...but...how could you know of what I dream, elf?" the man said tiredly.

"I do not need sleep myself, so I often wander around the gardens and sometimes even around the stables of the Green Dragon. I heard you yell last night and the night before that in your sleep. Do you not remember me singing to you, trying toease your nightmares?" Galdadel replied, her gentle eyes staring not the man next to her.

Confused, the man tried to decipher the strange memories that had made up his last few nights. Singing...singing..., he thought...and then he remembered.

*Note to Game Owner and Moderators: I have recieved permission from Fordim Hedgethistle to use his character in this post.

[SneakyHobbit]

The man turned to the young woman who had bid him good day, and listened to what she told him. "Well, it is good news indeed that your drinks have been saved! Thank you for your welcome and generosity. My name is Aidan. I will take your kind offer, and give you all the help I can." Aidan was brought a mug of ale, and he took a deep draft of the drink, and smiled.

"This is surely some of the best ale I have tried in a long while!" Aidan said happily to innkeeper. He took another drink. "Aah! Very good. I shall keep this with my while I work. Now where can I be of most help? I am skilled at carving, but can do whatever you need me too." He waited readily for the woman's response. Aidan had traveled by himself for many moons, never staying in one place for long. He looked forward to finally having a sense of being part of a community.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman took Aidan's hand warmly. "Welcome indeed to the Shire, sir. Come, inside is a....n individual called Regin Hardhammer; he is in charge of the practical overseeing inside, so to speak."

As she led the man around to get in the easier way, she added. "Oh, and be careful of low-flying beams. More deadly than the nazgul when in the hands of hobbits!" she grinned. "You caught us at a rather bad time, Aidan - the Green Dragon recently suffered a fire, and we have had to start again in some ways - well, as you can see," she continued, gesturing around the Common Room as they passed through it towards Regin, who came down from his platform to see them.

"Regin," Aman greeted him once more, then indicated the man who had followed her. "Regin Hardhammer, this is Aidan; he has offered his help...."

[Memory of Trees]

Reign

Reign wiped the sweat from her face with one grimy hand, leaving a streak of dirt down her left cheek. She settled wearily down to the ground on the other side of the road and rested her back against a giant knotted oak. She closed her eyes, which were red and swollen from the heat and ash. Reign’s head hummed with the excitement of the events that had taken place recently, and she tried to sort them all out.

She had woken early the day of the fire, probably because she had gone to bed so early the previous night. For a long time Reign had lain still in the dark, peacefully listening to the moaning of the wind outside her window. But just as the sun was turning the sky to liquid gold, a shout came from the floor below. “Fire! Help!”

It took had taken moment for a drowsy Reign to realize what had been said, but then she leapt out of bed. The girl shivered as her bare feet hit the cold floor. Grabbing her robe off the floor, Reign pulled it on and raced from the room. Others were stirring now, blinking owlishly as they poked their heads out the door. Reign rushed down the stairs, and gasped at what she saw.

Angry red flames ravaged the kitchen and were beginning start on the common room floor. People rushed around with buckets of water and wet sacks, calling out for help. Of all the rotten luck… she thought, and then raced to help the others.

It had taken most of the morning, but the flames were finally expired. The inn was badly damaged, and most of her things were gone. It wasn’t like she had much anyway. Reign opened her eyes. It had been almost a week since the fire, and things were just now calming down enough for her to find the time to think.

Reign was surprised at her own sense of loss for the inn. After all, she had only been there barely one afternoon. But, although it was hard to see, she was a sensitive girl, and quick to recognize when something was good and precious. The inn had been a good thing, and deep inside of Reign she ached with the loss of it.

But she also knew that the Green Dragon could be rebuilt, if they all worked together and helped each other. And she had every intention of doing just that.

------------
Flyte

Flyte ran down path that led from their own little cottage to the woods behind the famous (at least in these parts) Green Dragon Inn. She was looking for the source of the whips of smoke that she had just spotted above the tree line. There weren’t that many houses between theirs and the inn, and everyone’s she passed were perfectly in tact. She ran on, her feet brushing the ground so lightly they seemed hardly to touch at all.

Far too soon for her liking, the little girl began to tire. Her face was set in a deep scowl as she stopped to rest on a dead tree stump. Flyte could normally out-run any boy for miles around, but, as Granny kept reminding her, she was still weak from being sick.

For the past two weeks, her body had raged with a fever that had kept her in bed the whole time. About three days ago the fever had broken, but she still had a great deal less energy than usual.

Flyte tucked the loaf of bread back under her arm and went on. As she rounded the next-to-last curve, her stomach sank with disappointment. It was nothing but a big bonfire! She stopped in the middle of the road, and blinked her big blue eyes. This was very frustrating.

Flyte walked slowly on down the path. She had decided to go see the inn before returning to her grandmother. The little girl liked to sit and stare at painting of the dragon on the inn sign, and make up stories about it. Flyte had a very vivid imagination.

She came round the last curve, and was perfectly horrified to find half the inn missing! “Oh, wow,” she breathed, her eyes going round as saucers. Here was a fire, if she ever wanted one! Of course, it was out now, but the damage left in its wake was almost as startling for Flyte.

Most of the lower floor was burned to the ground, leaving piles of rubble instead of bright kitchens and spotless floors. People were rushing around every which way, shouting to each other and carrying building materials. “They’re fixing it,” she mused out loud.

Flyte spotted a woman she knew to be the innkeeper Aman. She hurried over to her, and noticed how tired and worn she looked. “Miss Aman,” she said shyly, then, a bit louder, “Miss Aman?” The lady turned to look at her. She was a pretty little girl of about six years, with long blonde curls and starry blue eyes. “Granny told me this to give this to you, if you want it.” Flyte extended the loaf of bread. “What happened here? Was there a fire?” Her voice was a mixture of concern and excitement.

Aman smiled down at her and took the bread. “Yes, dear, there was - a very, very big one. Hadn’t you heard about it?”

Flyte shook her head. “I don’t think so. It must have happened while I was sick, and Granny hasn’t let me outside at all until today.”

“Oh, I’m sorry you were sick,” The innkeeper said absently. Her mind had already moved on to something else. “Well, tell your grandmother I said ‘thank you’ for the bread.” She moved off to speak to someone else.

Flyte stood to one side, watching a man mix mortar. She squinted against the bright sun, surprisingly warm for an October day. She stood and watched the rhythmic pumping of his arms, up and down, up and down…

[piosenniel]

Winterhart -

DO NOT POST IN THE INN AGAIN, WITHOUT FIRST SENDING ME BY PM YOUR POST TO REVIEW.

THERE IS TO BE NO VIOLENCE IN THE INN OR ON INN GROUNDS.

YOU ALSO NEED TO READ THE SHIRE'S POSTING RULES AND THE POSTS ON THIS PAGE TO GET A HINT FOR WHAT IS GOING ON AT THE INN.

ANY FURTHER POSTS BY YOU IN THE INN WILL BE DELETED.

~*~ Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[Regin Hardhammer]

“Hello Aidan, a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” said the Dwarf politely as he extended his short muscular arm. Aidan smiled and grasped the dwarf’s hand and shook firmly. Regin liked this man; he seemed friendly and genuine. “We greatly appreciate your help fine sir in rebuilding the Green Dragon. The folk here might not be the sharpest, but I think you will find them welcoming and kind hearted. Nevertheless, I would advise you to watch out for falling beams or stones, there seem to be a lot of them around here.”

“What would you like to like to do? You don’t happen to be skilled in masonry do you? That would be the most fortunate if you knew a thing or two about stone. We could use some assistance on finishing the foundation. Your services are also needed in the construction of the fireplace in the commons, constructing the gates, or fashioning beams for the building. Wherever you choose to help, we will be very grateful.”

“I would love to stay and show you around, but I simply do not have the time. I can not begin to tell you how much work it is being in charge of reconstructing this Inn. I now have a new found appreciation for sleeping. Now I if you excuse me I have some business to attend to.”

With that the Dwarf left Amman and Aidan standing by the entrance to the Inn now under construction. The building was beginning to take shape and Regin thought that it would not be a long way off until its completion. Now is the time for my project he thought. I best get started so that the task will be completed before the reopening party. Won’t they all be surprised when they see it, he chuckled to himself and went off to work on his plan in secret.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling and Toby enjoyed their pipes in something that was apparently rare for Toby – silence – for he was the first to break it. “Well, Mister Snaveling, this is quite a rare treat for you, I daresay: a day without labour! What are we to do?” Snaveling thought on this for a moment before speaking – a habit that he wished Toby would learn from him soon.

“Well master hobbit, if you are up to a brief walk I thought that we could check my traps for game. You needn’t worry,” he said quickly in response to the look of alarm on the gentlehobbit’s face, “we won’t be going far. Indeed, I have been forbidden by My Lady Roa from wandering beyond the grounds of the Inn.” He glowered darkly at her where she worked at the Inn. “Fortunately for us, there is plenty of good game right around here.” Together they got up and wandered around the edges of the yard, peering into the small copses and bushes together to see if Snaveling’s traps had caught anything. They soon had a number of pheasant and quail that had been captured in the springes and Toby was fair dancing with glee at the thought of roast squab for dinner.

Snaveling’s mind was taken up with more than collecting his prey, though. Even as he moved about the yard he could feel the eyes of Roa and Galadel following him, and the things they had said to him at breakfast rang unsettlingly in his ears. The threat of being taken to Minas Tirith – to the very seat of the King of Gondor himself! – had shaken him to the core. He had heard of the White City and of how it was a virtual mountain itself made by the Men of old who had taken the land from Snaveling’s ancestors, and he had little desire to go there. But if what Roa had said was true, and there were a way to address the wrongs done to his people by her King…but he shook that thought from his mind as impossible. What strange power does that Woman have over me that she can cause me even to consider travelling there? he asked himself. As for that Elven woman… his thoughts trailed off into troubled silence. Despite the lie he had told Galadle, he did recall the singing that had come to him, easing his terror. He looked toward the Elf slyly as he thought of her and, sure enough, her eyes were on him again. He knew that she had not been fooled by his denials, but he did not want to give her the satisfaction of seeing how she had effected him with her revelation. He scowled at her ferociously, and immediately felt foolish for doing so.

All the while that Snaveling was lost in his thoughts, Toby had been running on about the Shire and its ways. He had taken to pointing out all the hobbits about the yard to whom he was related – which was most of them – or with whom he was acquainted – which was the rest. At first Snaveling had been dismissive of the hobbit’s views of the world, but as the incessant chatter slowly penetrated his mind, he began to recognise something in Toby’s view of the world that reminded him of his own people. They too had known little of the outside world, and had sought to weather the storms of history by retreating further within their borders and hiding. It was beginning to dawn on Snaveling that perhaps, like Toby, his own view of the world was less than entirely reliable. Indeed, had Snaveling ever stopped fully to consider the source of his people’s information about the Men of Gondor, he would have found much reason to doubt it. The only people who travelled through their lands were those bound for the north or south of the White Mountains, but who – for whatever reason – wished to avoid Minas Tirith.

When they had checked, emptied and reset all of Snaveling’s springes they walked their catch to the cooking fires and handed them over to some very surprised and grateful hobbits. It pained Snaveling to do this without even thought of payment, but he knew that Roa would disapprove of him trying to profit from these people. As for Toby, all the payment he needed was granted in the form of the admiration that he garnered as he walked toward the cooking fires laden with game.

As they were turning from the cooking fires, an extremely small hobbit passed them coming from the stables. Snaveling had seen him about the Inn yard for the last week but not paid him much heed until now. He was middle aged and dressed in rich clothes that had seen better days. What attracted Snaveling now was the mournful look of loss that hung about the little fellow. The hobbit looked up and met Snaveling’s eyes.

Snaveling was in agony. The flames from his dreams assailed him with a ferocity beyond what he had experienced even in the worst nightmares, he cried out and clutched for Toby, but darkness overcame him and he tumbled to the ground.

[Witch_Queen]

Cree began looking around. The inn had made a great deal of progress since the previous weeks fire. "Where is Grimm?" Cree looked up to the white crow on her shoulder. "Avalon have you seen Grimm? It seems almost as if I hadn't seen him in a week. Oh how I miss him." Cree turned around at the sound of a familar voice. "Grimm!" Cree screamed as she saw her friend behind her talking to the elf from the night of her almost fatal spell.

Cree ran up to Grimm and hugged him tightly. "It does me good to see you." Cree was doing better the "cut" on her side had quit hurting her. Plus she had gotten in some much needed work. "The inn's looking better now." She wiped away the black ash that had gathered on her face. Cree was feeling better now that she had found her dearest friend. Without him I would have nothing. He means the world to me now.

[Roa_Aoife]

Roa had been working hard on the reconstruction of the Inn. With Snaveling resting, she tried to do nearly twice as much as before, in oreder to make up for the lost hands. She would allow none to help her- she was responsible for the work achieved by herself and Snaveling, no one else. From time to time she would check on her charge, but he was in the company of Toby, checking the traps. Her people generally did not use traps, so she was ot astonished that they worked better than her own.

Roa looked back to her labor. The wall was nearly finished here. She sat down a little ways away, to take a rest. There was more than one reason she had thrown herself into her work. Roa was angry. The hatred in Snaveling's eyes as she mentioned Minas Tirith, the disapproving, condenscending look from Toby as she spoke of the protection afforded by her kin, the memory of her brother-- she was in a foul mood indeed.

She closed her eyes and thought of her brother. "Bram!" called a small girl. She ran towards the young man, red-gold locks streaming behind her. "Bram!" Laughingly, the young man, with hair as red as her own, scooped her into the air and spun her around. The child giggled, the whole sound filling her body. "Laughter always conquers you, little sister," siad the boy as he set her down. It was safe and warm here, in the forest. But suddenly things became darker. Smoke and flame filled the air. "Bram!" cried a terrofied little girl. But the boy was gone and she was alone. The little girl cried in fear, but an older voice, strange yet familiar, called out. "A curse on you and your kin!"

Roa opened her eyes with a start. Someone cried in agony behind her. Jumping to her feet, she turned and saw Snaveling collapse. "Galadel, I need you!" The elf-woman was already coming. Together they ran to help Snaveling, who had fallen on a poor Tobias. An older hobbit was trying to free his Kin, and rouse the man at the same time. Roa reached them and rolled the unconsious man's body off Toby. She started at the look of agony on Snaveling's face.

Several other workers had come to help. They helped Roa lift him off the ground, and carried him to the stables. Galadel began to sing.

[Fool Of A Took]

Grimm felt tired. He had been helping a lot and carried stone boulders to the Inn. A dwarf, Regin some people said his name was, had taken the job to find good stones for the rebuild of the Inn. Many people were working and carrying stuff, but Grimm now sat down on the lawn in the middle of the Inn yard.

He leaned back in the grass, and suddenly Cree showed up. "I am glad to see you too" he said and smiled. He hugged her and thought about how good friends they were now. He didn't want anything in the world to happen her. He couldn't stand much more sorrow. He smiled to her and sat down again. "Here, sit by me" he said and she sat down.

Her curse seems to not affect her so much anymore, he thought and stroke back his long hair that irritated his eyes.

"How are things working out for you?" he suddenly asked and turned his head to Cree. For his part it had been alright. It had been worst in the beginning when the fire just started. All the chaos, sorrow, and most of all, fear.

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

Hama lay on the grass outside, his back was starting to heal, and the herbs given to him by the apothecary soothed the pain. He had his sword on, his armour was packed up on his horse, Hasufeld. He stood up and walked over to Cree and Grimm. He smiled at them both, "It is good news indeed to me that you survived ,son of Rohan." He looked to Cree, "And it is good to know you as well live.".

He winced slightly as his back twinged with pain again, but shunted it away into his subconcious. There was no time for pain. His hair was a mess, and he made a vain attepmt to sweep it out of his eyes, but it swayed back into place with the light breeze. He sighed, and turned to Grimm. " I have not seen Crystal yet...do you know if she survived?"

[Galadel Vinorel]

The scream that had erupted from Snaveling tore through Galadel's body. She could feel flames all around her, yet she knew that she was not burning, it was the man, and she was feeling what he was feeling at the exact same moment. Smoke burned her eyes as she hurried towards the fallen figure. Forcing herself to push the feelings aside, the elf knelt besides Roa, who had just turned the man onto his back. The pain on the poor man's face was terrible to see, yet she forced herself to endure it. "There is only one way to cure him," thought Galadel, "But he must take care of that later himself. For now, I must try to do what I can for him."

And then Galadel began to sing.

The song sung by the sweet voice softly filled the air. All who heard it stopped to listen, and turned towards it. Yet, Galadel did not notice anyone else; to her the only people that existed at the moment were Snaveling and her, and her only purpose in life a the moment was to stop his pain. So, she sang an elvish song in Sindarin, one that her mother had taught her as a child. It seemed to have no words in it at all, and those who heard it all interpreted it differently. Yet, here is what Snaveling heard.

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

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

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

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

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


The sweet echoed through the gardens and rubble of the Green Dragon Inn. Snaveling muttered, and sighed, his nightmare slowly fading away, until peace and calmness filled his soul, and then he knew no more.

[Memory of Trees]

Reign stood up, brushing the dirt and leaves from her thin wool dress. It was the only one she had managed to save, and regrettably, it was the ugliest thing she had owned. "It's practical," she thought to herself. "But I feel like I'm wearing a sack." She brushed her tangled blonde hair back out of her eyes, and walked over to where the innkeeper was standing. Aman was speaking with the dwarf Reign, who had been organizing the masonry effort. Reign waited until there was a pause in the conversation, and then cleared her throat loudly.

"Umm… Miss Aman? May I speak with you, please?” Reign’s heart was pounding in her ears, and it took all her effort to keep her voice steady. Come on, she scolded herself. This is silly. You don’t have to be nervous! She was anyway.

Aman turned to her. “Reign! It’s good to see you. What do you need, dear?”

Reign swallowed hard. “I know… I know you asked for people to help with the inn.” At first her voice was so soft that Aman could barely hear her, but as she spoke it grew in confidence. “To rebuild it, all together. Oh, it’s so horrible, and I know what it’s like to lose something you love…” She paused, and suddenly lifted her eyes to look into Aman’s. Twin emeralds stared up at the innkeeper, and Reign went on in a rush. “What I’m trying to say is – well, I want to help. I’m not very strong, but I’m a good worker and I don’t mind doing the dirty jobs. I just want to make this place right again!” She stopped and blinked, as if amazed by her own boldness. “Aman, what can I help you do?”

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman smiled at the curiously eager and nervous woman, slightly surprised by gratified at the sudden outburst, and the smile was warm and kind. "Reign, all help would be gladly recieved - thank you indeed," she replied, and stepped absently aside as a falling piece of stone threatened to brain her, accompanied by a panicked yell from above.

Glad to be able to get away from the ground area of this side of the Common Room, she led Reign out through what had been a window, and the nervous woman followed, twisting her hands and brushing down her thin, practical dress subconciously. She was not thickly set, and was instead quite slightly built, but the fierceness in those green eyes, as vivid as Aman's own, made the Innkeeper quite sure of her resolve that she would help in anyt and every way she could. "A dirty job I'm afraid it must be," she said grimly over her shoulder to the other. "You see, alot of the silver and other cutlery and utensils were lost in the fire, and not all have been recovered yet - and those that have need to be cleaned of the soot, ash and dirt that has accumulated on them." She sighed, halting near Ruby and Buttercup, who were chatting busily as they cleaned, and turned to face Reign. "So you see, it's either help us find the poor remainder, or clean what we have of the residue. What do you say? And firstly, have you had breakfast?" she added, eyeing the girl's skinny appearance.

[Kransha]

“That was….very….nice.” Toby murmured, his jaw hanging awkwardly.
He tucked the lower jaw back into place as the melodic tune settled delicately into his suddenly very tranquil mind. His ears quivered in a strange mixture of delight and confusion as the elf’s song resounded like intricate bells chiming, echoing off the hollowed walls of his psyche itself. His widened eyes shrunk back into their usual narrow and unfriendly slit and he glanced confusedly back and forth from Roa to Galadel to Snaveling, trying desperately to gain an inkling of what was going on.

“What in the Shire is wrong with him?...What did you do?...What’s going on?” a fountain of misplaced questions began flying from Toby’s lips. After a minute it became obvious that the words coming from his jabbering mouth had not be thought about in the least before they were uttered. For once, Toby Hornblower didn’t care for the spotlight, all he wanted was a simple, hobbit-friendly explanation of the happenings. He rubbed his sore side, where Snaveling’s flailing arm had practically bowled him over and onto the ground beneath the man's limp. He continued talking, his voice volume rising as the sense in him decreasing.

“Will some kind soul please explain to me what just happened?” He finally said, summing up all of the useless questions he’d been asking for the last three minutes. His mouth was unhinged by confusion and surprise, but his mind and body were strangely calm with the sweetness and refined quality of Galadel’s voice and song. Thinking and contemplating the cornucopia of bizarre happenings, he paused, biting his lip, and added a throat-clearing noise to make sure he was noticed.

[WarBringer]

Valthalion had been working hard on the reconstruction of the Green Dragon for a week now, with little rest. He had not even spoken with his newfound friends since the work began. He had developed a place in his heart for the Inn which he had risked life and limb to save. He had not been able to take part in the War of the Ring, which took place when he was struggling to survive in the forest of his Dunedain clan. He now had something to fight for, but in his heart he knew it was not enough. Something was missing from his life, and Valthalion knew in his heart that he would not fufill the void in the shire. Perhaps Roa, a fully fledged Ranger, will have the answers that I seek, and will tell me of a way in which I can achieve remembrance..., he thought. Also, Galadel the elf was obviously a very learned in life. He felt a bond with her, hundreds of years his senior, and he had respect for her, though they had never met. "I will seek my friends and kinsmen," he said aloud. Putting down his hammer, he went to find Roa, Galadel, and Snaveling.

As he left the rubble of the Inn, Valthalion heard a loud yell erupt from nearby. "That is Snaveling!" he said, and sprinted toward the direction of the yell. Then he saw Snaveling, lying in a swoon on the ground, with Toby, Roa, and Galadel next to him. He ran up to the scene, mumbled an apology to his friends about his lack of conversation with them, and then knealt beside Snaveling. "What could be wrong with him? Galadel, do you know? Galadel closed her eyes, and said "I can only Imagine..." Toby the hobbit rushed to explain-"He passed out as soon as a nicely dressed hobbit passed by. They made eye contact, and then Snaveling fell to the ground." Valthalion cursed thrice his lack of knowledge of Dunedain medicine. He looked quickly to Roa, saying "Have you any knowledge of the cure of such an occurance?" She did not answer, seemingly lost in thought. Shaking his head, Valthalion's mind returned to his troubles. He took a look at Snaveling, then at Roa, then stood up and walked toward her and Galadel. "I realize this is not the time or place for this, but I have questions and a need for advice that only kinsmen can give. When time allows, please come with me." After bowing, he returned to Snaveling's side.

[Memory of Trees]

Reign

“No, I haven’t, actually,” Reign said with a confidence completely contradictory to her usually withdrawn personality. “In fact, I don’t believe I’ve had a proper meal all week. But then, not many people have. I mean, there’s not even any silverware!” Why was she doing this? Reign couldn’t figure it out; she hadn’t voluntarily given any information to anyone in six years. Not since Jesse died, she realized. A spasm of pain flickered in her green eyes, then vanished back into the place deep inside where Reign kept all her emotions locked up.

Aman hadn’t seemed to notice. “Well,” she said briskly. “We shall have to fix that!”

[SneakyHobbit]

Aidan watched as Regin walked away. He had only seen a dwarf once before, and that was at an inn in Bree. He had'nt spoken to the Bree Dwarf, since he had no reason or desire. But after speaking to Regin, whom he saw as quite a friendly fellow, he looked on dwarves in a new light.

Now Aidan turned as a newcomer came to speak to Aman. She was a slender young girl with green eyes and blond hair. Aidan saw she was distressed, and watched as she spoke with Aman. Aman went off with Reign (he'd caught her name in the conversation), leaving Aidan by himself in the busy common room. Now what to do? he thought to himself.

Taking his half-empty mug with him, Aidan left the common room to fashion beams for the building. He wished to start out simple, and that seemed like the job requiring least skill. He found a pile of logs outside the remainder of the building, and some woodworking tools on the ground as well. Hoping they belonged to no one in particular, he began shaping and sanding down the logs. Aidan had no trouble, but began to feel lonely after a little bit. He hoped someone might come and join him, for he felt in need of a friend.

[Timothy Brandybuck]

Timothy Brandybuck,

Please check your private messages and paste your revised post here.

Cami Goodchild, Shire Moderator (Child of the 7th Age)

[piosenniel]

There are to be no SAVES on the Inn thread.

~*~ Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[Witch_Queen]

Cree
Cree layed back against the grass. "Its been well but I've missed you. It seems like your back is healed some since last week Hama. That is good." Avalon landed on the grass beside them. "Avalon has missed you too." She turned to Avalon, the bird began skipping towards Grimm. Cree let out a little laugh. "Oh how it feels good to finally be able to laugh at something. It almost reminds me of home."

The clouds were amazing to her. "I didn't leave after all. I'm glad I decided to stay. I don't know what I might have missed if I had left." The grass was soft under her neck. Cree sat up. She pulled out the slither of bone she had holding her hair up. Her black hair quickly fell down around her face. "Oh it feels good to know I still have it." She ran her fingers though her long hair, seperating each individual stran. "To think, I gained so much and almost lost it all."
------------
Aduthondiel
She sat back against the tree that held her horse. Aduthondiel looked up to see Hama talking to what looked like another man and an elf? She stood up and began approaching the three figuress. "Stay here Count. I'll be back." She pulled of her blackened cloak that was drenched with sweat. "Hama, and I don't believe I know you two." They looked up at her.

The other female elf greeted her. "I'm Cree of Eryn Lasgalen, and this is Grimm of Rohan. But this is my very good friend Avalon." Cree turned to Grimm and smiled. Eryn Lasgalen,huh? But she seems attached to this Grimm. Oh well she's still young.

"Well it is nice to meet you Cree and Grimm. Though I have never seen a crow with such white feathers, Avalon is truly remarkable. Hama I'm sorry about last week. I thought Crystal knew about you. It was stupid of me." She dropped her eyes to the ground She felt sorry for what she had done. Even though it had been a week she couldn't forgive herself. I will never forgive myself, but it was my job. It was my duty, one I shall always regret. "I never should be a bounty hunter even for a man like Crystal's father." A tear rolled down her cheek over the cut she had. "He took everything from me. Forgive me Hama."

She turned and walked back to the tree where her horse was located. She sat back down and began wiping away the tears that seemed to be trying to escape from her. "Stupid emotions."

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

Hama walked over to her and took her in his arms. She rested her head on his shoudler and the tears continued to trickle out. Hama nodded..."Do not worry...Crystal needed to know...It would have been wrong to not have told her at some point...I doubt that Dorian will realise that the necklace is a fake...I hope he won't anyhow..."

He released her and wiped away a tear with his finger. "Do not cry, it is not right for you to cry when you have done nothing wrong. Crystal is safe for now, and even if they find out she is here I will protect her." Aduthondiel nodded unconvinced, but Hama had turned to walk back to the inn. She watched his long hair sway on his burnt back, and realised that he meant that he would keep her safe...and tha tcomforted her somewhat...

[Galadel Vinorel]

"The singing seems to have calmed him," thought Galadel, "Good. Now he may rest for a little while."

After hearing the young man's speech to her, Galadel, with the help of Roa and Vathalion, lifted Snaveling from his awarkard position on the ground. They carried him to the stables. When they had laid him down on some hay, the elf sent Vathalion to find the hobbit that Snaveling had seen before he had fainted. "Tell him to come at once," said Galadel, "Stand outside these stables with him until I have sent Roa to you. Then you may allow him to enter here. I think that that is best, for we do not want to cause Snaveling any more harm than has already come to him."

Looking a little confused, Vathalion hurried off to the courtyard where the hobbit had last been seen. When he had left them, the elf asked Roa for a pot of water to soak some of her herbs in. Off Roa went to the storage house where she had seen some pots, and then she went to the pump on the side of the burned inn for some water

Once the ranger was gone, Galadel covered Snaveling with a blanket to keep him from going into chills. She then took some dark brown leaves from the pouch at her side and held them in her hand. She rubbed the leaves on his forehead that was creased in pain and the palms of his hands. Snaveling grumbled in his sleep and moved his head a little. Smiling, Galadel rubbed the sweat off of the man's forehead with the edge of her cloak and then let herself drop down ffom her knees to sit on the ground next to him.

Whispering into the man's ear, the maiden spoke, "Oh why do you have to keep this secret hidden within, Snaveling. If you wish to ever be well again, you must tell her. You must tell Roa soon, or you will soon not have enough strength to even speak at all. I can not fully heal you, only you can, Snaveling. For now, sleep, and I will try to make your rest a little more peaceful."

Resting against a wooden beam, Galadel laid her hand upon Snaveling's forehead and began to sing a gentle song in her language of Quenya. The day moved on as she sat in the stable singing, while outside the hustle and of the day caught everyone else in its quickly moving arms.

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


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

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


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

Man tiruva rácina cirya
ondolissë mornë
nu fanyarë rúcina,
anar púrëa tihta
axor ilcalannar
on bones gleaming
métim' auressë?
in the last morning?
Man cenuva métim' andúnë?

[Fool Of A Took]

"Im glad you stayed too" Grimm said with a smile to Cree. The soft grass was warm and he enjoyed just laying here on the lawn. He yawned and stretched out his tired body. He closed his eyes and the memories of Rohan came back to him.

His horse had been brought to safety and Grimm had been so worried about him when the fire started. He could remember when he was a little boy and he loved to be in the stable and look at the horses. His father had always told him that horses was a noble animal and should be well respected, and Grimm had always tried to live like his father wanted.

Yet sometimes it felt hard now when he was gone. He sighed as he thought about it. He shook his head and tried to think of something else. Thoughts of sorrow shouldn't ruin my joy and happiness right here and right now, he thought and pulled himself together.

"So you are going to stay for a while after all?" Grimm said and turned up to Cree again. Avalon now stood beside him and he stroke her feathers and smiled. He awaited Cree's answer.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The prow was carved in the form of a seabird and the sails were as wings, catching within them the eastern wind and hurrying him over the waves. A green country appeared and he could see upon it, hidden in a small vale, his hunting lodge exactly as he had imagined it all his life. He walked through each of the five rooms, and moved out onto the porch where a woman awaited him with his pipe. He smiled, and was happy. The singing that had brought him here filled the air like sunshine, and though he could not understand the language, he sang in unison.

The first thing Snaveling saw when he opened his eyes was the rat-faced gaze of Tobias Hornblower. The hobbit let out a yelp of surprise and called over to someone Snaveling could not see, “He’s awake!” It took an effort but he was able to turn his head toward Galadel where she was brewing some herbs in a small pot of steaming water. It was the scent that had recalled him to life. He had never smelt anything like it before, but somehow, it reminded him of home. No, not of home. . .of somewhere else. . .I was just there. . ., but the vision had faded once more and he could recall nothing of it. Instead there arose before his eye the image of a purse of gold…

Galadel turned about in alarm and met his eyes, and this seemed to quell the fires that had begun to burn beneath his skin. Snaveling winced, but was able to endure the pain, which quickly faded once more – but it did not go away. Galadel moved toward him, and for a moment it looked as though she were surrounded by a white light in the form of a veil. Before he could stop himself, Snaveling nodded his head in token of respect and muttered “My Lady!” Galadel smiled serenely at him as she knelt at his side.

“Do not be alarmed,” she said to Tobias. “He has found his way back – this time. But I do not know if he will be so lucky should this happen again.” She turned her eyes on Snaveling and her expression was one of stern pity.

“What,” Snaveling stammered, “what is happening to me? How can I make it stop?”

“You ask the wrong person the right question – it is a beginning.” The Man looked at her in bewilderment, but something in Galadel’s words stirred his mind toward Roa, and what he had done to her in the cellar. He pushed that memory from his mind. Galadel sighed and stood up. “I believe it is safe for me to leave you for a while. There are matters I need to discuss with Roa and Valthalion. For the time being I shall leave you in the capable hands of Master Hornblower.”

[piosenniel]

Patience . . . we have reached the end of our post allowance in a thread . . . A new incarnation of the Inn will be open in a few moments.

~*~ Pio