***The 'Snowed' Inn ***

[Bêthberry]

Snow lay deep over all of Edoras, covering the ground like a deep white moss undulating over rocks, hanging off the roofs like overgrown, bumpy puffball mushrooms, absorbing all the usual noises of the city's voices and cries and labour. It caught the gleams of the morning sun and sparkled so brightly that the city shimmered as if in dream. The snowflakes had fallen languishly overnight like so many whispered sighs in a lover's ear, but now the stillness was taunt with anticipation and expectation, the town ready to plunge into tumultuous play.

Slowly, one by one, children of all ages tip-toed out with broad grins of playful delight. Snowball fight! Snow halls! Snow Ainur! The laughter was giddy and heady...

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

OOC This is temporary "Inn" thread, for a bit of spontaneous, improvisational fun. There are no rules other than a request to respect all other gamers and the general tenor of Barrow Downs decorum. (Note, this means playful fun, not wild abandon or absolute mayhem. The Barrow Wight would never forgive me for that and not even dear old Dad could save me then from his wrath.)

This thread is for all members of the Barrow Downs, Shire gamers as well as Gondorian gamers, and even those who do not normally write role playing posts here at the Downs. There is no length requirement for posts but please do use correct English and try not to fall into the habit of unfulfilling short posts.

So, build orc defenses or snowwraiths, have fun, and keep all the activities plausibly within a Middle-earth realm. Shield boarding I suppose *might* be allowed, but no weapons of modern mass destruction, please. Eventually some Innkeeper might show up with mugs of steaming hot chocolate or spiced apple cider, perhaps shortbread cookies, chocolate dainties, even gingerbread. Enjoy.

Happy Holidays Downers,
Bêthberry


http://burns.thefinaldimension.org/contrib/anym/snowman.gif

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 4:09 PM December 15, 2003: Message edited by: Bêthberry ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Baranîn followed her younger sister, Hamanullas, who shouted merrily as she ran out into the snow. All of Hamanullas's friends were already out and frolicking merrily amidst the large, fluffy flakes of snow that fell lightly in the streets.

"Put something on your head!" Baranîn called after her sister, who ignored the advice, merrily joining her friends. The seventeen-year old girl caught up with her eleven-year old sister, insisting that she cover her head. A struggle ensued as Hamanullas resisted her sister's attempt to cover her head. By the end, Hamanullas grouchily joined her friends, enduring the head covering Baranîn finally perched on her head.

Baranîn stood back with the other mothers and older siblings, watching the younger children play. As she stood, she put her own shawl up over her shoulder-length curly, chestnut hair. She looked at the snow a bit longingly, thinking that she may join in the fun a little later.

"Baranîn," her mother said from the door of their little house, "Come in and help. Hamanullas will be fine on her own. We need to make breakfast for your father. I have a feeling that, with this weather, your brother and his wife will be over soon, as your nephews will probably want to play in the snow."

Baranîn followed her mother into the kitchen and began to put breakfast on.

Hamanullas laughed as a snowball hit her. She rolled in the snow and looked up. Baranîn had gone back inside it appeared. Too bad, Hamanullas wanted her to join the fun. Baranîn never joined her fun anymore, though. Ever since she turned sixteen, she had stopped playing with her little sister. Hamanullas vowed she would never stop having fun. She received another snowball in the face. Hamanullas broke out of her thoughts, firing one back and hitting her former attacker squarely on the nose.

[mark12_30]

The slender, darkhaired, grey-eyed young man stood in the street, watching the little children. The laughter of the children was soft and distant as if he was in a dream. He wondered where he was. And he wondered why he was here. It did not seem familiar at all. He decided to ask someone. But first, he thought, he would join in the festivities.

He knelt down in the snow and scooped up two handfuls. Contrasting thoughts of forge-fires and bellows and dire heat made him laugh as he molded two snowballs, mushy and soft. He came into the circle of frolicking children, and tossed one of the soft snowballs near several of them but not hitting any.

"Get him, Hamanullas!" cried one of the children, and another child immediately plastered Mellondu in the nose with a very hard snowball. In moments, Mellondu was the target of every child's aim, and his green tunic became whiter and whiter. He fought back with snowballs that were very soft, and he was careful to always aim at their feet.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 2:21 AM December 15, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Imladris]

Fellwyne leaped from her window and landed with a muffled plop upon the soft snow. Of course she missed her feet and landed upon her bottom, but it didn't really matter after all.

The ten year old girl rubbed her bare hands briskly and plastered her black, loosely curled hair with snow. Without a parting glance at the house and with a malevolent laugh at her knitted mittens and scarf that were still left neglected in her room she dashed (more like stumbled through the white drifts) through the snow and neared a group of children who played with laughing vigour.

The children threw whistling snowballs through the air. One caught Fellwyne upon the ear. With a disdainful sneer, the girl wiped away the remnants of the ball.

A lone man stood by himself the target of every child. With a shrill shriek, Fellwyne skipped towards him and allied herself with him. He will not stand alone! she thought fiercely as she finely molded a snowball and hurled it into the midst of children. She noticed that he aimed at their feet, well, she would not be kind. Noses were the prime target.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Jolanna woke to the sound of creaking wooden boards and excited giggles. Jolanna rolled over in her bed and grumbled as she looked out of her window to see nothing but white. The mother groaned and cursed the snow that covered the ground; it was what woke her children up so early. But Jolanna knew the drill: her son Evrett and her daughter Aedre would come running into her room and jump on their mother’s bed screaming about the snow. This would wake their baby brother up from his crib next to Jolanna’s bed, and another snow day would begin like every other one before it.

Like clockwork, the sounds of footsteps loud as a heard of Oliphaunts coming down the stairs became like a roar in Jolanna’s ears. Counting the seconds, Jolanna closed her eyes at the exact moment when Aedre and Evrett came bursting into her room. And, like clockwork again, Aedre began jumping on her mother’s bed though she knew she was far too old for such a thing. Evrett began doing some sort of silly dance around the bed. The whoops and hollers of joy came at just the precise moment, and so did the cries of the six-month old baby next to Jolanna’s bed.

“Mama, mama, mama, mama!” Aedre sang out of tune as she stopped hopping on the bed. Jolanna sat up and smiled her sweetest smile to her children; after all, they wouldn’t stay children forever. Evrett stopped dancing as well, and both of Jolanna’s children enveloped her in a big hug. Jolanna smiled and kissed Aedre and Evrett on the cheek, and to Jolanna’s pleasant surprise the baby stopped wailing and proceeded to simply sniffle and gurgle happily in his crib.

“Now darlings,” Jolanna began, and Aedre put a sour look on her face and Evrett was obviously preparing himself for the lecture his mother was certainly about to give. “Aren’t you two a little old for this? Aedre, you’re fourteen, and even that scrawny little body of yours is getting too big for this old bed. Evrett, that energy you just spent dancing like a fool could have been better spent finding yourself a nice girl to bring home.”

It was clear that by the end of her speech Jolanna had lost the fourteen-year old girl and the almost seventeen-year-old boy to boredom. Jolanna sighed and smiled again, and decided not to bother since nothing she could say could change her children’s minds about the snow outside.

“Mama,” Aedre murmured, finally looking up at her mother and snapping out of her trance.

“Yes?”

“Your hair makes you look like a porky-pine,” Aedre pointed out, taking a strand of her mother’s gold-brown hair. Looking in the mirror stationed on the wall across from her bed, Jolanna laughed. Her usually neat and tidy hair was sticking strait up in the back and was tangled everywhere besides. Aedre was right, her mother looked just like a porcupine.

“You’re absolutely right,” Jolanna agreed as she stood from her bed and picked up her baby in her arms. She led Aedre and Evrett to the kitchen and cooked them a quick breakfast (it was supposed to keep them too stuffed to go outside, but as per usual this plan failed and they ate their food like machines) before going into the closet to help them get their snow clothes. As she helped her children, Jolanna sighed; they certainly took after their father. Aedre and Evrett both had his curly, dark brown hair and Aedre had his coal-black eyes while Evrett had inherited his stubborn chin. They were fine children; their father would have been proud.

Aedre protested to the scarf and hat made by her mother, but her brother insisted that he didn’t want his sister turning into a human icicle. Aedre gave in, and when both were covered from head to toe in warm jackets, mittens, scarves, hats, and special boots that were almost too small for Aedre’s growing feet, Jolanna deemed them ready for snow playing.

“Come back in if you get too cold, and come back in at noon time regardless!” Jolanna cried as her children ran out into the cold air. Neither of them acknowledged her words, and Jolanna put her hand on her hip. “Did you two hear me?”

“Ouch! Evrett, no throwing snowballs at the head!” Aedre shouted, and Jolanna rolled her eyes before closing the door and seeing to her baby boy.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 12:01 AM December 15, 2003: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[mark12_30]

The darkhaired young man looked down at the feisty, blackhaired girl. "Your aim is very good, " he said, wincing as a snowball hit him on the neck. "Thank you for joining me."

"Why are you aiming at their feet?" she challenged him.

"Because I'm the tallest. What's your name?" he said, trying to shake the snow out of his shirt.

"Fellwyne. What's yours?"

"I-- well-- call me Mellon."

"Friend? What kind of a name is that? Ooo! Got him!"

"Nice shot!"

"What's your real name?"

"Everybody calls me Mellon. Sort of."

"You're strange." She threw another snowball. "Missed! I'll get him this time!"

She did. "Impressive, " said Mellon. "I'm glad you decided to be on my side."

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 2:29 AM December 15, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Orual]

Tamurilo

"It snowed! It snowed! It snowed!"

Eruvalde bounced madly on the bed, jolting her father into consciousness. "It snowed," she added, calming down a little when she saw Tamurilo's eyes open. She waited for a moment, and, when he made no sign of moving, she started jumping again, and pulling his arm. "Come on, Daddy! Help me put my coat on! 'Cause it snowed!"

Tamurilo sighed and sat up as Eruvalde bounced her way to the floor, and danced over to the drawer that contained her clothing. She took out her winter dress and slipped it on. Then she brought out her coat, and noticed that her father wasn't out of bed yet. She put it on the top of the dresser and put her hands on her hips. "Daddy," she said in a patient voice, as one speaks to a small child, "if you're just going to sit there, tell me. Because it's snowing outside and I want to go play in it, but you know I have a hard time putting my coat on. But I'll get somebody else to help me if you aren't going to."

Tamurilo bit back his laughter, because his young daugher was very serious. She looked quite the little adult, standing there scolding him: five going on thirty-five. "Well, I certainly wouldn't want you to have to bother someone else with the difficult and laborious task of putting on your coat for you, so come over here and I'll see what I can do, little mistress." With a look of satisfaction she flounced over to him and handed him her coat, and stuck her arms through it as he held it up. She turned around to face him.

"Do I look pretty, Daddy?" she asked, spinning around. Tamurilo smiled fondly at his golden-haired daughter.

"You look lovely, Ru. Now you go on outside, and I'll follow you. I've got to get all..."

"Bundled up," Eruvalde finished simultaneously with her father. She walked up to him and, putting her hands behind her back, tilted her head expectantly. He obligingly kissed her on the nose and patted her back before she left.

As she skipped out of the room he shook his head. "She'll be the death of me yet," he muttered as he went to put on clothes appropriate for the weather.

***

Eruvalde

The crisp winter air immediately put a flush in Eruvalde's cheeks. She stomped in the snow for a minute, relishing the feeling of the stuff beneath her boots. The happy cries of children drew her to a snowball fight that was in progress. With a cry of delight she joined the fray.

Packing the snow with her gloved hands Eruvalde started throwing it at the other children, and at the young man who had joined the game. She felt a sting of snow against her cheek, and, with another cry, ran full into the crowd.

[mark12_30]

More children joined the fray, and soon the fight had four groups. Mellon was glad that the pressure had abated; he was cold and getting colder. Fellwyne continued on as an army of one while Mellon stepped back and shook the snow out from under his tunic.

He slapped his pockets. Good; he did have some coin. He would look for some hot food at an open Inn. He wondered if he had enough to buy a cloak.

[Nerindel]

Aëria hopped on one foot pulling on her boots, while making for the door, Her alburn curls bouncing about her shoulders as she hopped up and down. "Snow! Snow! I can't wait!" she cried, finally pushing her foot into the second boot and holding it up for her mother to lace.

Aëgrin laughed at the excitement on the freckled face of her nine year old daughter as she laced up the eager youths boots. "Patience! Aëria," she chuckled, "you will join your friends soon enough, but you must wrap up! least the cold bite at your ears and nip at your fingers!" she smiled affectionately, pulling a woollen hat over her daughters red curls and slipping a pair of leather gloves on her delicate hands.

"Can I go now! Can I! Can I!" Aëria cried jumping up and down excitedly, as her mother finished fastening her woollen cloak.

"Alright! alright! on you go." Aëgrin laughed, holding the door open for her only child. Aëria dashed out the door and almost ran into her father, as he brought logs for the fire.

"Whoa, now where are you off too in such a hurry?" he laughed, "I'm going down to find my friends." She smiled up at him, her brown eyes filled with a youthful exuberance that warmed his heart.

"And what mischief do you have planned I wonder?" he laughed, cocking his head to regard his daughter.

"Me, father?" she grinned impishly.

Laughing harder at his daughters feigned innocence, he kissed her freckled cheek and pressed a few coppers into her hands. "You mind be home in time for supper." he whispered.

Nodding she slipped the coppers safely into her pocket and ran as fast as she could in the deep snow to find her friends. A snow battle had already begun and she hurried to join in.

"Fellwyne!" she giggled running up to dark haired girl, stopping when a snowball hit the side of her face. "I'll get you for that Hamanullas!" she laughed, scooping up a handful of snow and forming a tightly packed ball, she threw it straight at her attackers chest. "Take that you foul creatures!" she giggled pretending that the children on the other side were orcs and that she, Fellwyne and any others who joined them were the mighty warriors of Rohan.

As she turned to see if Fellwyne was following her lead she noticed a young man, he was patting his pockets and looked like he was about to leave. "Oh! no you don't!" she laughed, grabbing his hand, "You can be our Gondorian ally and help us to build our mighty defences!" She laughed flashing him her brightest smile hoping that he would decide to stay and help.

"Come on Aëria!" Fellwyne cried as another snowball hit her in the chest.

"Pleeeeease!" Aëria pleaded forming another snowball and throwing it, this time at an older boy named Evrett and catching his ear as he chased his younger sister.

"Aedre, come be on our side, we're the warriors of Rohan an' we're fighting orcs!" she laughed.

"You can't be warriors! your girls!" Evrett frowned rubbing his stinging ear.

"Yes we can if we want too!" Aëria cried sticking her tongue out at the older boy and hitting him in the face with a fresh snowball.

"And we've even got us a Gondorian ally!, See!" she taunted playfully, pulling at the man's sleeve. Giving him no chance for escape.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 8:24 AM December 15, 2003: Message edited by: Nerindel ]

[mark12_30]

"You can't be warriors, you're girls!" Evrett said.

"You have more courage than wisdom if you dare mock armed shieldmaidens so, " said Mellon laughing as he dodged a snowball. "I rejoice in their allegiance with Gondor!"

Squeals of delight became battle-cries as the shieldmaidens doubled their efforts, and Evrett found himself the target of two indignant girls and a seventeen-year-old blacksmith intent on teaching Evrett manners.

Several other girls came to join the shieldmaidens. "Form ranks! " Mellon cried, and they lined up. Evrett's friends rallied to his side, and the battle between the shieldmaidens, the Gondorian, and the orcs (who bore a striking resemblance to Rohirric boys) raged on.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 9:26 AM December 15, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Bêthberry]

The grey-haired woman limped a bit more with winter stiffness, and pulling her little cart was harder in the loose, slippery snow, yet she too was caught up in the infectious spirit brought by the new-fallen snow.

She was too old to play, but she could make sure that everyone had warm, dry gloves, scarves, cloaks and sweaters. She had accumulated a largeish pile of handmedowns and second hand goods and often in the winter she found there was a need among those who had not foreseen cold times or troubles. Today, however, it was the little fingers of children that would benefit from spare mittens in her waggon.

And a strange young man who the children called by the unusual name of Mellon. He seemed to shiver as the play went on, his green tunic inundated with incoming volleys.

"Hey there, fellow. You have the look of a future snow wraith about you, so covered you are now. Would you welcome a spare cloak? I have some old ones here you might wish to try."

Ruthven wrapped her woollen scarf more tightly around her neck and pulled her toque down over her ears. Yet her honest gruff manner was accompanied by a genial look and the fellow warmed to her at once.
http://www.computerpannen.com/cwm/contrib/Bizkit/frosty.gif

[Amanaduial the archer]

Emris darted down the road towards the sound of the chaos around the Inn, his dark clothes already sprinkled with snow. The scrawny-looking rohirric teen peered eagerly as far as he could down the road over the wagon parked in front of him, jumping slightly as he did so to see what was happening. But courtesy always came first and as he approached the cart he slowed from his leggy run to a more sober walk, although his excitement was barely contained.

"'Morning, Miss Ruthven," he chimed dutifully, smiling at the old woman who had long been a friend of his mother, his nurse and indeed hers before. Turning her head carefully, Ruthven smiled at warmth that made Emris sure the shawl was unnecessary - when she smiled, Ruthven always gave the boy the feeling that the warmth from inside would be enough to heat her old body and the people around her.

"Good morning, master Chaddik, and what has you up so bright and early?" She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the side. Emris gestured wildly with one gloved hand towards the children playing.

"Snow!" He cried, his excitement belying his 15 years, then noticed a young man watching the exchange for the first time, but didn't flinch, although he blinked slightly - the man was wearing only a green tunic, and in this weather! Emris felt glad for his dark, snug leather coat, the result of his friendship with his father's stable master. Nodding courteously to the man, he greeted him politely.

"Good morning and fair greetings to you, sir."

The man looked surprised, the murmured, "Not sir. Mellon is fine....master Chaddik?"

"Emris is fine, Mellon," he replied, imitating the man's words from before but grinning so as to show he wasn't mocking him. Then, excusing himself, Emris threw all the training of a 'potential nobleman' to the wind and hurtled towards the two crowds of children, scooping up snow as he did so, working through tactics in his mind and scanning the other faces to see who had come to join in the snow battle...

[mark12_30]

Mellon opened his mouth to speak to Emris, but the lad was already gone; he wanted to smile, but his teeth chattered instead, and he turned to the kind woman.

"Yes, please, Miss Ruthven, and thank you. You are very kind. A cloak would be most welcome." She was already reaching out to him with the heaviest she had.

Relief shattered his defiance against the cold, and she tsk-tsked as she watched shivers convulse his slender frame. He cocoooned the cloak about him and clearly was not quite satisfied, wanting to burrow deeper into it. Ruthven tsk'ed again. "I'll not ask how you came here without a cloak, lad."

"Bless you, madam. And thank you again."

"Mulled wine can be had at the Inn, lad. And tea. And there'll be a fire going." She nodded in the direction of the Inn.

He could rejoin the children after a mug or two. Emdir had distracted the shieldmaidens, he noticed gratefully. He headed for the Inn, promising himself that he would return as soon as he was warm and dry.

[Imladris]

Fellwyne shivered violently and dived into the snow to avoid a hurtling, whistling snowball. Brushing her reddish, homespun dress, she glanced wistfully at her mittenless hands (now turning red and puffy) and would have glanced at her scarfless neck, but that was quite impossible.

The little orcs had redoubled their attack. Aëria looked at her and said, "You should have brought your armour, Felly."

Should have brought your armour, Felly Fellwyne mimicked to herself.

An old lady had approached Mellon, and another lad had joined her. "I shall return," she said and sprinted toward the woman, whom she now recognized as Ruthven.

Creeping towards the woman with the warm stuff, Fellwyne peered above the edge of the cart and snatched a pair of mittens from it.

Swiftly returning to the field of battle, she saw that another you had joined their fray. She wondered if he would join the shieldmaidens and their Rohirrim allies, or if he would join the mindless rabble of the orcs of scum.

[Meneltarmacil]

The combatants on both sides were suddenly shocked by the sound of a ground-shaking roar. They turned to look as a Balrog of Morgoth leaped from a nearby mountainside and started rushing toward them. It picked up a huge snowball and took aim...only to have the snowball melt within 2 seconds. In disgust, the mighty beast stomped off toward the mountains.

Later...

Thoronmir rode up to the gates of Edoras, hoping to find something to ease the depression he had been feeling since the death of his leader several months ago...and instantly wound up getting hit right in the face with a snowball. "Enough seriousness," he thought. "This was probably just the result of being stuck in too many serious RPGs."

So the Ranger got off his horse and picked up a snowball of his own. He hit one of the orcs right in the side of the head with a snowball, and allied himself with the Rohirrim.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 9:43 PM December 15, 2003: Message edited by: Meneltarmacil ]

[littlemanpoet]

Ædegard tried to open the front door. It did not budge! He pushed hard, and it gave a few inches. Snow spilled into the cottage. Snow! Four feet deep! Maybe it was a drift in front of their place. He pushed again, and had enough room to squeeze through. Walking would not work. It was either shovel it, or tunnel through. A big smile grew on his face. Ædegard loved making tunnels in the snow! The hard part was starting it, because he didn't want Mama to have to change the thresh before the door. So it would have to be throw the snow up and over, and maybe with luck he would give someone a surprise shower! Not likely.

He spent a half hour digging. He found that the snow was soft enough that he could take it from in front of him and plaster it to the walls of his tunnel, strengthening them. It was quite dark after a half hour, and time he dug upward. To his surprise, his head popped through before he had reached waist height.

"Hey look! Over there! It's Ædeward! Hit him!" Next thing, he saw nothing but white, then black and cold. Ouch! He ducked and wiped his face from the snowball. He knew that voice. It was Evrett! Ædeward worked furiously, making a pyramid of snowballs at his feet. Then he took one, and slowly, carefully rose, until his eyes were just over the lip of his makeshift fox hole.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 9:51 PM December 15, 2003: Message edited by: littlemanpoet ]

[mark12_30]

"Something hot, please, ma'am." He shivered as he headed for the fireplace.

"Anything in particul--" she said to his retreating back, and then shrugged. "Soup and toast, " she ordered, and set about making him some hot tea.

"Many thanks, " he said, hanging his cloak near the fire, and sitting as close to it as he could. The shivering did not slow down until Bethberry arrived with his tea. He turned frequently, and then shrugged, removed his drenched tunic and hung that before the fire as well.

The soup and toast arrived, and he set to with a will; his shivering finally stopped, and his shirt began to dry.

"You're new around these parts, " Bethberry said.

"Yes, ma'am, " he replied.

"What part of Gondor are you from?" she asked. She was somewhat dismayed by his blank stare.

"I'm a blacksmith, " he replied hesitantly. "People call me Mellon."

"Sounds like the cold has you in its grip." She refilled his tea. "Would you like more soup?"

He hesitantly nodded, squinting; she wondered at his lapse in manners, until he turned aside and a sneeze roared from him. Another followed. Bethberry called for more soup, and refilled the teakettle.

"Yes, please, mba'amb, " came the belated, stuffed-up mumble. He inched still closer to the fire. The children were expecting his promised return, he reflected; best not to get too comfortable here. Perhaps after some more soup...

Outside, he thought he heard a very, very loud roar made by a huge-- something... maybe a dragon? A troll? -- and then sudden screaming. He listened; the screaming continued, and then faded, and was replaced by laughter. He must have imagined it. He ran his hand through his long, wet, bedraggled dark hair. Perhaps the innkeeper was right; perhaps the snow and cold had addled his thoughts.

He turned his other side towards the fire, and drank some more tea.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 10:35 PM December 15, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[mark12_30]

It only took a half an hour for the cloak to dry, and another fifteen minutes for the tunic. He was warm after three bowls of soup and forgotten quantities of tea. And the children were waiting.

He stood, and brought a generous portion of his coin to the Innkeeper. . "Thag you, bi lady, for takig such good care ob be. "

"This is more than the food was worth, " she replied, frowning.

"I mbay be back, I exbect," he said.

"You're not going back out into the snow?" she said. "Have you remembered where you are from?"

"Goddor. I'm a blacksbith," he replied cheerfully, wrapping himself against the cold. At least, thought the Innkeeper, he was belting his cloak tightly against his body; he wasn't that addled.

"Well, here. Since you're coming back, have a scarf." She handed him a tattered scarf someone had forgotten, and that she had been holding for Miss Ruthven.

"Oh, thag you, bi lady. Thag you very buch."

Scarved and cloaked and sneezing, he happily returned into the glistening whiteness outside. Little had changed. Children abounded; the tall Rohirric lad was there too. He walked towards the melee.

"Hey! Watch where you're going! You wrecked my fort!"

"I'b bery sorry, " Mellon replied. Immediately he set about patching the broken walls, while the lad fought against his numerous attackers.

"You are bery well defedded, champiodd, " Mellon marveled at the tunnel and the walls. "What is your dabe?"

"Eh? What's that?"

"What is your ndabe? Mbide is Mbellodd."

"Oh. I'm Ædegard. Gah!" he dodged an incoming snowball, and it hit Mellon instead, who was immediately grateful for the scarf.

"Would you like sombe mbore allies?"

"Eh? Sure, ah, Mr. Bellod."

Mellon stood and cried aloud. "To mbe, shieldmbaidedds of Rohadd! To mbe! For Rohadd add for Goddor!"

Several shrill voices cried in response. But the orcs pelted him, and he sat back down in the fortress, appreciative of its solidity. "This is abazig, " he muttered. "What did you mbodel id after, Helmb's Deeb?"

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 8:09 AM December 16, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[mark12_30]

"By the way, Ædegard, did you hear a lot of wild roaring a little while ago? And screams?"

Ædegard snorted. "Yeah. See that trail of steam over there? Some addled kook brought a Balrog of Morgoth to the game."

"Oh, lighten up. It's all in how you handle it, " replied Mellon.

"Won't the Innkeeper get annoyed?"

"That's why we're discussing it in a separate post, so she can delete it if she wants to, " replied Mellon, reasonably. "But really, why would she get upset? It's a party thread, for heaven's sake. We're supposed to have fun." He stood, and yelled at the steamy trail. "YOU SHALL NOT PASS!" He heard an annoyed rumble in the distance, and saw a faraway spout of steam.

"It's gone already. You're wierd."

Mellon sneezed again, and sat back down. "Mbaybe, " he agreed. "Bud I'b havig fund."

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 8:39 AM December 16, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

Ducking slightly down so he was hidden behind a barrier of 'orcs', who assumed he was joining them, Emris scooped up several handfuls of snow, compacting them into a snowball, then his head came up high again, searching for a target. As he saw Aedre amidst the crowd, he grinned before, taking aim, he lobbed the snowball so it caught her on the shoulder, causing the girl to shriek in shock. Glaring around for her assaulter, she missed Emris as he ducked once more, laughing to himself - she wouldn't guess it was him. The prime target in this fight was noses and Emris rarely missed a target. Except when it was deliberate.

"To mbe, shieldmbaidedds of Rohadd! To mbe! For Rohadd add for Goddor!" The oddly distorted cry made Emris turn and he saw the stranger of before, Mellon, standing with Ædegard amid barricades. This was instantly greeted with squeals of delight and derision from the opposing sides before half rushed over to join the pair and, with a shrug, Emris followed. Aedre wouldn't suspect a thing...

Grinning, he ran low and fast towards them, followed by a the forces of evil..

[littlemanpoet]

Ædegard dodged another snowball. "What we need is a snow ball thrower. Something that works really fast. A sling shot for snowballs! Wait here!" Ædegard scurried on all fours back through a tunnel Mellon had almost noticed.

"Fide tibe to leave be all alode to face the hoard!" Mellon shouted. But that wasn't true. The young lasses were all running as fast as two foot deep snow allowed toward the protection of Ædegard's Deep as the orcs and other assorted evil ilk closed in behind. Mellon was glad of the pyramid of snowballs Ædegard had handy. Well, what was left of it anyway. He picked one up in one hand and flung one with the other, and emptied the reserves against the oncoming orcs as one after another of the young lasses jumped in behind him.

"We deed to bake this fort bigger! Sobe of you dig, ad sobe of you bake sdowballs while I hold the edeby at bay!"

Ædegard returned with a stick, forked on one end, with some kind of stretchy material tied between the forks.

"Try this out, Mellon!" Ædegard grinned.

[Meneltarmacil]

Thoronmir took the slingshot and launched a snowball at the orcs. The snowball hit one in the head, who toppled backward, along with the rest of the orcs, in somewhat of a domino effect. He cheered, seeing that this was better than that boring hunting conteset he would have gotten himself into at Evendim.

But the orcs had developed a weapon of their own as well. No sooner had all the warriors gotten their slingshots than one of the orcs wheeled up a large catapult to the front lines. They immediately started catapulting large blocks of snow at the defenders.

Meanwhile, yet another warrior rode up to the gates. After being hit in the belly with a large snowball, he immediately said "Hey! This isn't Osgiliath?!?!" and tried to turn around, but found himself trapped.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 10:28 PM December 16, 2003: Message edited by: Meneltarmacil ]

[Nerindel]

"To mbe, shieldmbaidedds of Rohadd! To mbe! For Rohadd add for Goddor!"

Looking round at the call Aëria saw the young man who she had begged to be their Gondorian ally in a makeshift snowfort, and she could just make out the head of another boy.

"Come on Felly!" she grinned grabbing her friends arm and dragging her towards the snow defences.

"Forth to the deep Eorlings!" she cried, dodging another well aimed snowball.

Laughing excitedly she jumped into the fort, lossing her hat as she did, "Cover me! I lost my helm" she cried as she dove to retrieve her hat. As she did an enemy volley assualted her, she turned her head just in time, the numerous snowballs covered her firey red curls. Slipping back into the fort she shook the snow out of her hair.

"What happened to my cover!" she laughed

"they broke the wall." Felly called pointing to the damaged defence.

Stuffing the saved hat into her pocket she lifted hand fulls of snow and started mending the breech, ducking to avoid the constant assault. Other children where busy making the fort bigger and she would rather be attacking than mending, so once the breech was mended she ran back to the battle.

"Aëria reporting for duty!" she grinned giving a short salute to Mellon and winking at Ædegard as she pulled a sling shot from the pocket of her skirt.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 7:16 AM December 17, 2003: Message edited by: Nerindel ]

[mark12_30]

The orcs catapulted one large block of snow after another at the defenders. But they were surprised to suddenly hear a large squish, squish, squish noise. Startled, they spun, and saw great puffs of steam rising one after the other.

"Eeeee!" "Oyoyoyoy!" "Waaaaugh!" "I-yi-yi-yi-yi!"

"Steal my thunder, will you," growled the Balrog of Morgoth. One puff of his balrog-breath not only sent all the orcs scurrying for fresh air, it also incinerated their catapult machine. "Newfangled gadgety junk. Nothing beats good old fire, " grumbled Roggie as he stomped off in disgust. The orcs were distressed to find that the melted snow from his footprints was flowing towards them. Luckily it was blocked by a huge snowdrift.

A leafy head came into view. "Release the Rivah!" the Ent roared, digging at the snowdrift, and Roggie snorted at him, igniting his hair. The Ent quenched it in the Rivah, and Roggie rumbled away.

[mark12_30]

Thoronmir capably wielded the slingshot, and Mellon took a brief moment and happily surveyed the battlefield. The orcs were in disarray, a trail of steam was once again disappearing into the distance, and there was a tree he hadn't noticed before waving in the wind. Mellon stood.

"Todd you! You would ndot, add could ndot bass!" he called after the retreating fog bank.

"What?" chorused the Shieldmaidens.

"Dothigg. Dhe orcs are reforbig ragks. Bore Sdowballs!" At that moment, a well-aimed, firm snowball caught Mellon in the right eyebrow, splattered evenly in all directions and drizzled down his nose and cheek. He sneezed six times in a row. While he was gasping and sneezing, several orcs took advantage of the moment and pelted him with snowballs.

"Mellon, sit down!" Aëria and Felly snatched one wrist each and yannked him earthward. He was still sneezing. Ædegard took charge. "No one has ever breached Ædegard 's Keep while Rohirrim defend it!" he cried, brandishing his slingshot. The Sheildmaidens took up the cry. "For Rohan! For Rohan!"

Mellon made some more snowballs, and took aim at the orcs once more.

There was a warrior at the gate yelling something about Osgiliath. Hmm, that name sounds familiar, Mellon thought.

[Imladris]

"For Rohan! For Rohan!" Felly cried shrilly as she hurled the last of her snowballs at the rabble of mindless orcs. She quickly set about to making more, helping Mellon.

Ædegard was their captian, and a very captian he was too. The walls of Ædegard's Keep were crumbling and, abandoning her post of making snowballs, Fellwyne anxiously began reinforcing the walls with packed snow.

Aëria helped her and, turning to her, Felly said, "These walls would be stronger if they were made with ice. If we could get a bucket of water, we could pour it upon the snow, thus the water would freeze, and we'd pack more snow upon it."

"Where would we get the water?" she asked.

"Well, I'd dash out, chop the layer of ice in some horse's trough, fill the bucket up, and scamper back here." She beamed broadly.

"Are you not afraid that the uruks will capture you?" asked Aëria with a shudder.


"I'll run faster than they," Felly answered with quiet confidence. Making her way to the farther end of the wall, she looked for the closest water trough. It was no small distance, but she was sure she could do it. Cradling some snowballs to her chest, she dashed from the protection of the wall and streaked towards the trough.

Her foot snagged upon the root of a tree and the children laughed, but instantly leaped to her feet again. Nearing the trough, she grabbed a hatchet that laid near by and, with a few heavy, wobbly blows, broke through the thin layer of ice. Dipping the bucket into the water, she ran back towards the fort.

Felly had to run slower than at first, for the water had a tendency to slosh and she wanted to save every drop for the fort. The orcs gathered around her, jeering and pummeling her back with water. With a shrill cry, Felly held the water bucket at arm's length from her and shouted, "For death and glory!" as she ran towards them, dodging around them. Unfortunately the water did slosh, but honestly, what could she do about it?

Handing the bucket to Aëria, she leaped over the wall with a parting snowball to the back and panted, "I did it!"

"Too bad no more water was saved," Aëria said mournfully as she poured the water along the wall. "Only about a third left."

Felly shrugged. She had done her duty and that was all. It wasn't her fault the water had decided to slosh out.

[Burzdol]

Hethor stood with his sword in the snow, watching his master build his twentieth snoworc in an unused street that had houses on either sides. The little old man perfected each snow statue time after time. The tall Hethor wiped off his tan shirt and brown pants and got ready to attack.

"Now keep your blade at ready, don't let your guard down!" the old man ran up to the soldier.

"Okay, here it goes," Hethor's black hair flew back as he flung himself at the first snoworc. He stabbed and spun quickly to cut off its head.

"Nice form, nice form. Watch out for that one behind you," the little old man moved into a better position. As he went he scooped up a snowball and prepared to throw. As soom as he released, Hethore stuck his sword up in a defencive postiton, cutting the snowball in two.

"Nice try Master Gunhen!" the man kept slashing and turinig to cut.

"Ready fire!" Hethor heard his master say. He looked to the little old man, to see not only his teacher, but on the roofs were at least seven men. The Rohannian man turned around to see seven more men on the other rooftops. At the teacher's command, they all threw. Hethor dodged and parried, ducked and weaved, but still kept up his attack on the snoworcs. Soon, the man had destroyed every snow statue and turned his attention back to the snowballs.

"You throw like Master Gunhen!" he yelled to the rooftop men.

"I heard that, you ruffian!" he said, nailing the guy in Hethor in the head with a snowball. The man sheathed his sword and began to throw snowballs in retaliation.

An old women with grey hair walked out of a nearby house with a tray of steaming mugs. As she walked into the street, a snowball wizzed past her head, "Thenden Gunhen! If you hit me, you'll be living somewhere else! Now all you boys, come get some apple cider. All of the men on the rooftops jumped down and toof a mug. Hethor grabbed his own mug and rested beside a nearby house. Boy, life is good, he closed his eyes and sat back for a good rest.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 9:48 PM December 17, 2003: Message edited by: Burzdol ]

[mark12_30]

In quick succession, six more sneezes erupted from Mellon. He was cold and wet again. The battle had raged on for quite some time. Ædegard had proven a capable leader, and the shieldmaidens had proven themselves doughty in battle.

It was time for him to prove that he ha the wits to come in out of the cold. How his sister would have laughed, he thought, as he excused himself from the children; they hardly noticed, having rallied behind Ædegard. Ædegard nodded, and said, "Before you get really badly sick, huh?"

With a sinking feeling that it was a bit late to prevent that, Mellon headed back to the Inn.

As he walked through the door, the innkeeper tsked at him, sounding just like Miss Ruthven had. "I've kept the teakettle hot. I assume you'd like some more soup?"

He nodded, and then regretted it, putting a hand to his head.

"Don't dally with that soup," the innkeeper admonished the staff, and muttered, "Young fool. Why do teenage males always think they are immortal and invinceable?"

[Witch_Queen]

She looked around. The white powder was a mystery to her. What is this? I've never seen it before. The sudden coldness was new to her. She was beginning to remember her childhood. Oh snow. Long has it been since I got the chance to feel the coldness within each flake.

She dismounted from her horse. "Poor Count your not use to the cold, I forgot." Well indeed it wasn't new to her. "Its been many years since I had a chance to play in snow. But that was so long ago." She looked around and noticed what appeared to be children playing in the snow. How she longed to be a child again.

She parted her cloak and unsheathed her sword. "Its best if you just stay here out of sight." She placed her sword in the pouch on her saddle. She walked towards the children but stopped as a ball of snow passed by her.

She noticed a boy beside a house. She walked up to him. "Excuse me," she said but just as she got the words out of her mouth she got struck with a snow ball. Children these days. Oh well. She picked up a snowball and flung it towards the children. "I take it that snow was aimed for you. My name is Aduthondiel." Aduthondiel reached to pull the hood away from her face. The snow that had just hit her fell to the ground.

Her black hair fell slowly to her face. She could feel the individual snow flakes as they landed into her hair.
Beautiful weather considering where I just came from. Snow can always calm a person down.

&lt;font size=1 color=339966&gt;[ 1:00 PM December 18, 2003: Message edited by: Witch_Queen ]&lt;/font&gt;

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 1:14 PM December 18, 2003: Message edited by: Witch_Queen ]

[Burzdol]

"Are you talking to me? If you are, I can't talk now, Aduthondiel is it? My master wants me to be a Rider of Rohan next year, and I'm practicing at the moment," Hethor said to the lady above him. The man was a head taller than her when he stood up, and he walked right past the woman. His master had created another twenty snoworcs and took up a snowball.

"This'll be a little different. Ready to fire at will boys?" he asked the men on the rooftops.

"Yeah, we're ready. C'mon Hethor, let's see what you got. If you want to join us next year, you're going to have to get better," one of them replied.

"Go then!" Hethor yelled as he hung himself at the firt snow orc. To his suprise, it moved.

"Hehehehe," the little old man chuckled, "I just love the presence of magic!"

Hethor dodged a stick sword from one of the snoworcs that was behind him. He spun around to cut it in half, then stabbed up to the hilt of his sword into another. Two more came on swiftly, and he ducked the one, but got hit by a snowball from above. Hethor heard laughter as he sliced through both snoworcs. More snowballs and snoworcs attacked him from all around. When the last three came onto him, Hethor sliced through one, and went for the next. As soon as the sword got halfway through the snoworc, it froze to ice. He tried and tried to get the blade free, but he had to let go due to a barrage of snowballs. As the last snoworc came ten feet from Hethor, he took threw his hidden knife into its head. Then with both hands, he launched his own assualt of snowballs.

"Brilliant! Just brilliant!" Master Gunhen yelled as he held up his hands to stop the snowball-launching men, "Now we're going to try a different thing. Leave your sword and come to the top of the hill with me and five men."

"Okay," Hethor said, following his teacher. Five of the rooftop men followed, the others stayed at the bottom, preparing some type of fort.

When they got to the top of the hillon the one end of the street, Master Gunhen explained what he was doing, "Okay, I'm going to teach you how to excecut a long distance battle. It's us against them with snowballs. If you get hit, you stop playing. The object is to win. Well, what are you waiting for? Get working on the forts. Hethor, you come with me to work on strategy. Draw what we should do for our battle plan. You lead this battle."

"Okay, they have nine men, we have seven. We have to get all of them without losing a single on of our own. We're going to have three men stay down behind the forts and launch snowballs as quick as you can. We want them to think that everyone is still behind there. Me and three other men will crawl straight back until we get to a place where we can stand and get onto the roof. We'll have two on each side go slowly down the sloping roofs to attack. It should be easy enough."

"Done!" One of the men yelled from where he was building. In turn everyone else on the battlefield yelled they were done, and Hethor's group discussed Hethor's strategy.

"We can do this. Launch the first volley of snowballs, use both hands," Hethor told the people that were going to stay.

Hethor motioned for his three men to move out. They slid on their stomachs until they reached the designated spot, they then climbed to the roofs. As they amde there way down, they watched the snow battle. Hethor was glad, his plan wsa working. When the four men reached their destination, the groups of two looked at each other and nodded. As one, they threw as quick as they could at the men below. Soon, the three from the top of the ill charged down into the fray. Hethor's plan was a success. Eveyone jumped down and got another mug of cider.

"That was fun, Master Gunhen. Really fun," Hethor said as he sipped his cider.

"Thanks. But that's not the end of your training today," he said with a wink, leaving Hethor with a mix of feelings welling inside of him.

[littlemanpoet]

As Roggie trounced away from Edoras back toward the Misty Mountains, something big and cold struck him from behind and doused his firemane. He felt the back of his head. It was a mound of snow. No child of the Rohirrim could make a snowball that big. Not twenty together could. Roggie slowly turned around. It could mean only one thing.

SMACK!

Roggie had closed his eyes in the nick of time. He peeled the snowball away from his eyes and wiped the clinging flakes from his firebeard. It was time to hightail it to the nearest mountain as fast as he could, right behind Helm's Deep. Roggie sprinted, taking a mile at a stride, and dove behind Helm's Deep just as another snow boulder whizzed by his left ear.

"You were lucky that time, Roggie!"

Roggie peered over the edge of Deep. He dug deep into the mountainside and picked up a mass of snow of his own, and shaped it into a mountain sized snowboulder.

"Chew on this, Tulkas!" Roggie tossed the snowboulder. It sailed for miles and miles over a half dozen mountain peaks, and caught Tulkas, god of Valinor, right between the eyes.

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

Ædegard looked up from his fort a moment, back over the White Mountains behind him. He was certain that he saw snow balls the size of Meduseld sailing from east to west, and from west to east through the mountains.

He was about to nudge Felli to point them out, but they stopped. He shrugged and turned around just in time to receive a not so soft snowball right in the kisser. He sneezed. Hard.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 8:26 PM December 18, 2003: Message edited by: littlemanpoet ]

[Meneltarmacil]

Thoronmir looked up just in time to see a huge block of snow come crashing down on his head. He tried to get out of the way, but there was no time.

*SPLAT*

"I'm gonna need a break," said Thoronmir, soaking wet from the snow. He tried to walk back to the inn, but the water from the Rivah had already frozen into a giant, slippery sheet of ice. He slipped and fell on his face several times trying to get back.

The inn's door opened, and Thoronmir staggered in, collapsing on the floor. He managed to get up and staggered over to the bar.
"Bartender," he gasped. "Could I have some hot chocolate?"
The bartender got him a mug of hot chocolate. Thoronmir took a big gulp of it and...

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!! !!!!

He spit it out and ran out the door, screaming bloody murder. Clouds of steam were still billowing out of his mouth.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 9:36 PM December 18, 2003: Message edited by: Meneltarmacil ]

[mark12_30]

Mellon watched Thoronmir run screaming out of the Inn, and mournfully shook his head. "Guess I'm not the only one here with addled brains, " he thought.

In the distance, he heard a steady, rumbling thunder, and it worried him a little. Had the Balrog returned? There were no screams in the town; the childrens' games continued unabated. If the Balrog was back, he wasn't too close. He would ask Ædegard first chance he got...

He sipped his tea again. The Innkeeper glanced over at him. "Did you know that fellow? He's new around here."

"No, ma'am."

"He never paid me for the hot chocolate."

Outside, the rumbling conntinued in the distance, with the squeals and laughter of children continuing nearby.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 1:01 PM December 22, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Witch_Queen]

Aduthondiel turned around at the sound of a voice. "No sorry wasn't talking to you. I was talking to him." Aduthondiel turned back to where she had thought she saw someone. "Well thats weird I could have sworn I saw someone here a second ago."

"Stupid eyes are playing games on me." She said under her breathe. She turned around a began to walk deeper into the town. At first glance of the Inn Aduthondiel didn't know what to think of it. "Oh well it beats being out here in the snow." She turned back to see if she should see her horse. "Well done Count." She came closer to the Inn and noticed someone running out of the Inn.

She came to the door and walked in. The sudden change in temperature was something she had forgot. She looked around. "Excuse me, is either one of you the innkeeper."

Aduthondiel had hoped that she might be able to find a room to stay for the night. "Count you'll just have to stay out there for the night. Unless I can find some warm place to put you." Aduthondiel began to slowly peel away her gloves. The soft material was no longer dry. When she threw the snow ball they had absorbed the wetness from the snow.

[Orual]

A little lost in all of the confusion, Eruvalde ran around wildly, throwing snowballs at whoever was available to be hit by them. She brushed her long golden hair away from her face impatiently, and rubbed at her nose frantically: it was starting to get a little numb, but if her father came out and felt it, he'd make her go back inside, and that was the last thing she wanted.

There looked to be a more organized snowball fight going on, so she jogged over to where the action was happening. An older girl, probably twice Eruvalde's age, seemed like she was one of the organizers, or at least a captain on her side of the fight, as Ru thought. She had black hair, as curly as Ru's own, and as Ru listened she heard the girl called Felly, among cries about the Shieldmaidens of Rohan. Straightening her back, making herself as tall as she could, the little girl walked up to Felly.

"I'm a shieldmaiden of Gondor," she said proudly. "I'll be your ally!"

[Nurumaiel]

Six horses cantered slowly to the inn, where the snow lay about in a beautiful, glittering whiteness. Six horses... it was quite a few to come riding up to a snowball fight, and a few paused to see if anything exciting was happening. If there were hoping for excitement, however, they were disappointed, for it was only a family. Five children of all different ages dismounted their horses and stared at the snowball fight. Two of them glanced at each other and winked with happy smiles. A younger child about four years of age was still atop a horse with his father, and a babe was nestled warmly in his mother's arms, his blue eyes staring about in wonder.

They were curious-looking for a family of Rohan, and it could be safely assumed that more recent ancestors of theirs were originally from Gondorian. There was not one strand of gold hair upon their heads, save two, but only when the sun or another source of great light shone upon their heads. Five out of the nine in the family had dark eyes, and only two of the nine had really blue eyes. It could perhaps be doubted that they even came from Rohan, but the way they handled the horses did not look as the manner of a family of Gondor.

The children seemed a bit shy to participate in the main fight, so instead their own little battle began when a boy who looked about ten or eleven years of age with brown eyes and hair, picked up a snowball and sent in flying at the eldest brother, who immediately threw one back. Seven was a fair amount for a snowball fight, but every so often they looked wistfully towards the other children, perhaps thinking of what fun it would be to join them. The four-year-old child was soon assisted off the bay horse he had been mounted upon and came limping across the snow towards the other children, laughing and every so often pausing to hurtle of clump of snow at a member of his family. He was a very handsome lad, with brown curls and very dark eyes, and he appeared to be quite enjoying himself. Several times he lost his balance and needed help getting up, but nothing daunted him and he continued to limp across the snow. Every so often he would utter some sentence that mightn't have made much sense if one wasn't use to his manner of speaking.

The babe pointed at the snow, the inn, and all the people, 'oo'ing to no end, his blue eyes wide and eager to join in, but to his great disappointment he wasn't allowed. It would have been best for him, however, for there was no doubt that he would not have enjoyed the snow after he was seated inside of it.

Various battle cries rang out from that group of children as they pelted snowballs at one another, heedless of who they hit or who was hitting them. There were no sides for them, just as much fun as they could muster.

[mark12_30]

Mellon nodded and smiled at Aduthondiel as the innkeeper greeted her. They discussed possible arrangements for the night, and Aduthondiel came to stand by the fire just as Mellon decided he had finally dried off and warmed up. "There is room, " he said, stepping aside. "Please, join me. Welcome. The tea is quite good here, and so is the soup."

"Perhaps I shall try the soup, " said Aduthondiel with a smile. "I am chilled. You are from this town?"

"No ma'am. I'm from Gondor. I am a blacksmith there. Or... I was..." his voice trailed off. He was looking out the window.

Aduthondiel waited.

Mellon smiled. "Look at that tiny little girl that just joined Ædegard and the Shieldmaidens, " he murmured, smiling. "She must be only five or six. Look at those long golden locks."

"There certainly are a lot of children outside, " said Aduthondiel, leaning forward to see outside, over his shoulder.

"Here come riders, " Mellon said. "Children; lots of them. They're starting a little fight of their own. And-- oh!" He fell silent as if spellbound.

Aduthondiel watched him for a while, and then grew impatient. The innkeeper asked her if she would like some tea, and she nodded, and then said to Mellon, "What do you see?"

Still spellbound, Mellon inched towards the window, so closely that his breath fogged the glass. He wiped it away, watching eagerly, and it fogged up again; he wiped it again, gazing outside, and it fogged up a third time.

"What do you see?" Aduthondiel repeated.

Mellon turned to her, startled, and said, "Excuse me." And he ran to the door.

"Your cloak?" warned the innkeeper.

He didn't hear her. Cloakless, he ran out the door, into the snow, over to the darkhaired family who had just arrived, sprinting between the flying snowballs, and stopped and stood in front of the little brownhaired, browneyed lad of four years. The boy turned, looked him full in the eyes, and took one or two limping, inquisitive steps in his direction.

The father was bemused to see a cloaked woman stalking sternly up behind the youth with a spare cloak, which she unceremoniously dropped onto his shoulders. "Thank you ma'am," he murmured.

"Mellon, I'll thank you not to take chill again, you addlepated young twit! At least you pay for your soup. I'll go make sure the teakettle's full!" And with that she smiled pleasantly at the father and mother, turned, and returned to the Inn.

Mellon stayed where he was, staring spellbound at the boy. The boy's parents watched carefully, the father wondering at the description "addlepated" and ready to intervene. But Mellon just stared, and the boy stared back and began to smile. Finally, Mellon knelt, and began to reach for the boy, who laughed and curiously watched him.

"I remember you, " Mellon whispered. "I know you. I know you from somewhere."

"And who might you be?" asked the father.

"Mellon, a blacksmith from Gondor." Mellon returned to his study of the boy.

The lad slowly walked towards Mellon, and his father stepped forward and took his hand. As the boy neared the blacksmith, the father was surprised to see Mellon lean forward, and carefully kiss the boy's forehead.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 12:25 PM December 20, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Nurumaiel]

The little boy seemed startled when the kiss touched his dark curls, and suddenly all the children fell strangely quiet, watching with the utmost attention what the stranger was doing. It was more than a little surprising that the child made no attempt to pull away during the first few moments, but it was soon remembered by his family that only the other day he had allowed one who was not in his family to actually hold him. But the stranger still intrigued them. It was unusual for a stranger to come up to their little brother and kiss his head. It had never happened before.

A young girl, in fact the only girl of the seven children, leaned over to the eldest of the family, whispering, "Hyrde, do you recognize that person there?" The reply was in the negative, and the children grew even more curious and quiet. They were all extremely protective of their two youngest brothers, and were careful to always make certain they were all right.

The little boy at last turned and limped towards his mother, a wide, beaming smile on his face, saying, "Tell Dadda, tell Dadda." Mellon got to his feet and smiled at the rest of the family. The father stepped forward and held out his hand, introducing himself as Ænlic Lytcyning and his wife as Hleo. One by one he gave the names of the children, from eldest to youngest, pausing every so often to remember. Hyrde was the eldest; then was Lythremm; the girl was Geryman; the one who had began their little snowball-fight was called Godglædhold; after that was Lytdeorcan; the little boy with the limp and dark curls was called Brond; and the baby Eorl. While their names were being spoken, some of them smiled, some of them bit their lip in embarrassment, and the baby ooed and pointed at the horses.

After introductions, a conversation was struck up and the children grew bored. Godglædhold, Lytdeorcan, and Brond began fighting with the snow again and began building castles while the three eldest in the family led the horses to the stable, then they too joined in the building of a castle. One of the children suggested building a large fort they could actually hide in if they were attacked by the other children (which clearly showed their eagerness to join in the fun), and they set to it with a will.

[Imladris]

Fellwyne leaned against the side of a tree and wiped her nose her sleeve. The battle still raged between the shieldmaidens and the orcs, but she thought about going back towards the Inn to get something warm, and the idea seemed most appealing. Maybe after that she could go back to her own home, retrieve her warm things from their varied neglected hiding places in her room, and return to the gloves to Ruthven.

With a nod, Felly decided that was the best course of action when she saw several children making a snow fort -- an extremely large snowfort. They were new, and did not look like folk from Rohan.

Circling around, she gathered up some snowballs and with a wild scream she hurled them at the children. Distantly, the thought came to her that she was alone, that they had a partially completed fort, and that they outnumbered her three to one.

[Burzdol]

Hethor was ready to battle again. This time Master Gunhen was creating very life-like snoworcs. Each on had its own weapon of snow, some even having shields. He also worked on their clothing, each one had chainmail and boots and such.

"Master Gunhen, what are you doing? You do know that no matter how much detail you put into them, the'll never come to life," Hethor said as the little old man finished his last one.

"Thatt's what you think," the little old man muttered under his breath. He kept dancing around, making touch-ups here and there.

"You keep making them, I have to go get another drink," Hethor said, walking away. The Rohannian man finished another mug of hot apple cider and returned to where his master was waiting. Hethor encountered a very odd suprise when he returned, for there were almost three dozen live orcs just milling around.

"That'll teach you that I am alot smarter than you think," then he said, turnng to the orcs, "ATTACK!"

[VanimaEdhel]

"Hamanullas! Come in!" Baranîn called from the outskirts of the snowball fight, "You will catch your death of the cold!"

"Not now!" Hamanullas called from behind a bank of snow, aiming a snowball at a boy nearby. She fired and hit the boy in the head. The girl ducked back down behind her snow fort. He looked around in confusion for a moment. Baranîn sighed and made her way back to the house.

"She won't come in, Mama," she said to her mother.

"Let her play," the older woman said, smiling from where she sat sewing.

"She has been out all morning, though," Baranîn said indignantly. "She did not even come in to greet Lothos and Narowyn when they came for breakfast."

"She's a child. Let her play," her mother said, "Remember what you were like?"

"Not like that," Baranîn said, disgruntled.

"Oh, yes you were. You were worse. It is only within that past year or two that you felt that it was your duty to stay at home."

"But, is that not how it should be?"

Her mother sighed, and looked up at her daughter, her eyes glittering a bit, "I do wish you would get out more, daughter. Go, meet someone. Maybe you will even find a friend. Your father and I are not old, you know. We can manage on our own."

"But Mama-" Baranîn began.

"Hush!" Mother said, going back to her sewing, "If you do not go out and enjoy yourself right now, I will spank you as though you were seven rather than seventeen."

Her mother's eyes continued to glitter with a youthful mirth. Baranîn stood for a second, then she went over to fetch her shawl. She put it up over her head, then went to the door. With one backward glance, she opened the door and went out. Mother smiled merrily as she continued to sew by the fire, humming a bit.

Once Baranîn was out in the streets, she looked around. She made her way, dodging the occasional snowball, to the White Horse Inn.

"You have not come to call me back in again?" came the incredulous voice behind her. She turned and saw little Hamanullas standing with her hands on her hips, looking absolutely mutinous.

"No," Baranîn said, "I-I figured I should get some air. And you really should go home soon. You will get ill."

The little girl laughed. She picked up a snowball and aimed it at Baranîn. Baranîn tried to warn her off, but before she could put up any adequate warnings or defenses, she felt the hard, cold, wet hit her on the cheek. She stood startled, her mouth hanging open in shock at her younger sister's audacity. Hamanullas looked at Baranîn with the same playful eyes that her mother showed just a few minutes ago. Finally, Baranîn could not keep her composure anymore. She burst out laughing, soon followed by Hamanullas.

"Come, little sister," she said, "I was going to go into the Inn. I will buy you something to drink. If I cannot convince you to leave the snow for the day, maybe I can convince you to spend an hour in the warmth with me."

She wiped the snow off of her face and dried herself with her shawl. Hamanullas came up to Baranîn eagerly and the older sister put her arm around the younger. Together they entered the Inn and sat at a table. They both ordered hot chocolate, but they waited for it to cool a bit before drinking it.

"Mama says that you were once as I now am," Hamanullas said over her hot chocolate.

"And how is that?" Baranîn asked, her voice muffled by her own mug.

"She said you used to have fun," Hamanullas said simply.

"And I do not do that now?" Baranîn asked, feigning offense.

"No."

Baranîn laughed. "I promise I will try to have more fun, in that case, all right?"

"Yes," Hamanullas said, with the innocent sincerity that younger children possess.

The two laughed and talking, sipping their hot chocolate and taking in the comfortable warmth of the Inn.

[Witch_Queen]

"Indeed children begin fighting at a young age now. Well I'm not one for speaking."Aduthondiel remembered when she was little and the times when she would practice shooting the bow and sword fighting with her father. "But that time is long pass."

Aduthondiel finally had enough of standing by the fire. She began to walk outside to see how her horse was holding up to the weather. "Count I hope your fine. It seems that we're going to be here for a little while." She walked out to meet her horse who hadn't moved from the tree.

She reached behind her and pulled the hood of her cloak over her hair. A few strands fell over her eyes. After pulling up her cloak she grasped the handle of her sword.

[mark12_30]

The conversation slowed. Mellon looked around.

Godglædhold, Lytdeorcan, and Brond had fortified themselves fairly well, and were defending themselves against the general onslaught. Mellon lingered, watching Brond; the little one's laugh was contagious, and the three laughed as much as they spoke or worked or fought. Mellon envied that, and was tempted to join them, but he looked further.

Ædegard and the Shieldmaidens were still valiantly defending Ædegard's Deep. Several new sheildmaidens had joined. He listened again.

"Good one, Eruvalde!"

"Felly! The wall needs repair again!"

"Aëria, I can't do two things at once! You fix it!"

"Emris! You scoundrel! What are you doing!"

And above it all, Ædegard's voice rang. "Stand fast! Give them a volley! The defense of Ædegard's Deep shall live in song!"

A shiver shook his entire body, and Mellon reluctantly decided to return to the Inn. He really did prefer the heat, he realized with a laugh. Good thing; life would be awkward for a blacksmith who preferred the cold.

As he returned reluctantly to the Inn, he passed Aduthondiel who was tending to her horse. He paused. "I am sorry to have ended our conversation so abruptly, lady. It was rather rude of me. Please forgive me. I meant no offence."

She nodded at him. "You never did tell me what you saw."

"A child, " he said dreamily. "I remembered one of the children."

With a raised eyebrow, she nodded.

"Perhaps you'll rejoin me inside?" he said.

"Perhaps, " she replied.

He returned to the inn. The Innkeeper motioned to the teakettle and said, "It's hot." He nodded, hung his cloak, and prepared a cup of tea. Looking around, he saw a young lady and a girl, sitting at a table, sipping hot chocolate and chatting. He watched them, wondering if they wanted company.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 9:45 AM December 22, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[littlemanpoet]

Ædegard dubbed one of the shieldmaidens as the new leader with a pile of snow on her head, and fled before he could be dubbed back again, and made for the inn.

He was cold and wet and needed something hot, and could stand to be dry. He could go home, but a good spiked hot cider seemed more to his liking. The others thought him a lad of perhaps fourteen years or a little less, perhaps, which was fine in the middle of a snow fight. That he still lived at home was his business, and that the fuzz on his face was still quite soft, the same. He was old enough for a stiff one.

He walked past a snow fort three children were building and defending against Felly and others, and somehow managed to escape their notice. He entered the inn and noticed the parents of the kids building the fort, and more of their children. And there was Mellon.

Ædegard waved to Mellon and went up to the barkeep, and orderd a hot spiked cider, and went to sit at Mellon's table.

[mark12_30]

Mellon peered into Ædegard's mug, and raised an eyebrow, and then leaned forward and gave a sniff. "The Inkeeper sold you that? You're older than you look."

Ædegard took a pull at his mug. "You're not from around here."

"True enough. I'm a blacksmith from Gondor, if you must know, " he said hoping Ædegard would be satisfied with that.

"You said that already. But you look lost."

"Well, " said Mellon, "I suppose I am rather confused."

Ædegard waited.

"I can't remember much, " Mellon said.

Ædegard raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I-- I can't remember anything. Except that I'm a blacksmith, and that I lived in the city."

"Minas Tirith?"

Mellon blinked. "Is-- is that its name?"

"Osgiliath?"

"I-- that sounds familiar, but--"

Ædegard sat back and contemplated Mellon. "It's a good thing you're among friendly folk, " he said. "The elders can send word to Gondor next time someone rides that way. Somebody must be looking for you."

"I suppose that would be wise. But, Ædegard, I'm not sure I want to go back to-- to Gondor. At least, not where I was from. But I don't know why. Do you know a place called Edhellond?"

Ædegard's eyes narrowed. A fugitive? he wondered. "No, I've never heard of Edhellond; where is it? What is it?"

Mellon shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. But I think it might be to the south or to the west; somewhere near the sea. I don't know why."

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 9:21 AM December 29, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Nurumaiel]

The children were startled when the girl came running towards them, hurtling snowballs as she did so. The first wall of their castle had been completed and they sheltered behind it, Lythremm and Geryman barking out orders to the others, who ran about to obey. Lytdeorcan built up a pile of snowballs to fight off the enemy whilst Hyrde and Godglædhold continued to work on the rest of the castle. Lythremm had been constructing a large tunnel that was to be the gate of the castle when they were attacked, and he quickly blocked off the entrance so the girl could not get in.

Geryman gazed at the pile of snowballs carefully, then nodded. "Good!" she cried. "I do believe that's enough. Keep making them, Deor, for the second round." The rest of the children were called to stand by the wall and all gathered a snowball in each hand. The cry was given to fire, and the got to their feet, throwing the snow with careful aim towards the girl. She ducked her head against the oncoming storm, and when the first attack was over Geryman cried out, "What business have you, stranger, attacking us in this unseemly fashion?"

"I and my friends back there are Shieldmaidens of Rohan," the girl replied. "And Gondor, too."

"That does not explain why you have attacked our castle," said Geryman. "We are also of Rohan, and our kin are of Gondor. We are friends of yours... I suppose."

"Oh, I am indeed sorry. I didn't realize that at first. I could not see you very well over your high walls." She came closer and, standing on the tips of her toes, was able to see them all over the wall. "There are many of you," she said, and then, turning her gaze to Geryman, "The Shieldmaidens have gathered together, and perhaps you might join us, if you were also one. Are you?"

"Nay!" Geryman laughed. "Nor would I wish to be. I have never seen or lived during a war, but should one occur I would take my place near my mother to tend the children and the wounded." She looked down at the snow. "I might have some regrets, for I would find it hard to see my brothers leave whilst I stayed behind, but they would be few. My task is not to fight." She laughed again. "But as long as it is not real, I shall fight with the rest. So I am afraid I cannot join you, for my place is by my brothers."

[Burzdol]

As the first orc swung at Hethor, the man was amazed. He moved to the side of the orc's club, then stabbed into its shoulder. As it screamed in pain, Hethor could smell its foul breath. He was still standing in awe when another ran in, swinging a double headed axe. Hethor parried the swing, then lunged and stabbed. Two down, he thought.

"You see, they are real in the fact of seeing and touching, but they don't think too much," Master Gunhen said through tears of laughter.

As Hethor ran through the other orcs, stabbing and slashing, he glanced oer at his laughin teacher. He really felt that the old man had out done himself, but must find a lot of humor in the fact the Hethor was almost being killed by his creations. Hethor ran straight into the very last orc, stabbing the unfortunate beast in the head.

"Well done!" exclaimed Master Gunhen, "Returnis!"

As he said the last word, each of the dead orcs raised a feww inches off the ground and burst into snow. Hethor just stood there, standing in amazement.

[Meneltarmacil]

As the snoworcs lunged toward the defenders, there was a loud ROAR. The snoworcs all melted away in a great fireblast as the Balrog of Morgoth returned. "STUPID MAGIC SNOW THINGS." it roared. "A LITTLE FIRE ALWAYS GETS THE JOB DONE FOR ME." The remaining snoworcs charged at the Balrog, but all of them melted whenever they got close to the fiery beast. The Balrog picked up Hethor, who was screaming and crying at this point, and tossed him across the plains where he landed in a snowbank several miles away.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 12:36 AM December 26, 2003: Message edited by: Meneltarmacil ]

[mark12_30]

A strange motion caught his eye, and Mellon looked out the window. "Uh-oh. The Balrog just moved Hethor several miles."

"Do you think Hethor's writer agreed to that?" asked Ædegard.

"Well, if not, that's called character hijacking. Not good."

"Trouble, " Ædegard nodded.

"If so, I hope the Balrog reconsiders his actions, " said Mellon.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 8:22 AM December 26, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Meneltarmacil]

"Okay, okay, I'm terribly sorry," said the Balrog, genuinely terrified of Mellon. "I'll just put you down right here, Hethor." He picked up Hethor and put him back down in the same spot where he was standing before, then continued to wreak havoc on both sides.

Thoronmir saw the orcs coming, and knew he had to do something. He suddenly noticed two orcish swords among the debris on the hillside where he was standing. That gave him an idea. He bent the swords slightly, then took some rope from his pack and tied them to his feet. Using his new "skis" as he called them, he slid down the hillside at incredible speed, firing arrows at the orcs below. He saw several of them collapse as he put away his bow and drew his sword. Crashing into them, he slew several more.

[Bêthberry]

A voice, hitherto unheard in the game, rang out, strong and clear.

Cold be hand and heart and bone
and cold be snow upon the stone.
Yet vanish now in bright sunsong:
Let orcs melted be
and balrogs quenched in that deluge.
Thus evil be its own defeat.
And now we gamers have a treat.

It was Bethberry, singing and laughing as nonsensically as ever did old Tom. When she was finished, she bent low over Ruthven's cart and picked up a volley of snowballs, releasing them faster than Fatty Bolger could run. And her aim was true.

Then Ruthven gasped in surprise as some of the children tumbled into the wall of their snow fort, tumbling it down and all over the old woman, who fell herself into the snow. She rolled over and over, then spread her arms in the snow, making snow Ainur. It was a theme which unfolded to reveal more, as the children joined in the harmony and created their own melodies.

For her part, Bethberry chuckled watching the old woman, who she had never seen look more spry.

"You will be wanting something to warm you now for sure," she said to her friend, offering a hand to lift her up.

"Mellon, Ædegard, children, everyone, come. There's eggnog and mince tarts, hot cider and chocolate, sweet, exotic oranges, gingerbread cookies and shortbread, waiting for all in the Horse. Warm your bodies a bit and then return to the play, for the snow is soft and light and will last for many a day."

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 1:04 PM December 26, 2003: Message edited by: Bêthberry ]

[Imladris]

Felly stared at the newcomers and shook her head. They were kind of strange, but strange is good! Was good. Fellyy frowned and stared at the sky, wishing she was weird.

A voice called out for refreshments, but Felly ignored her until the word "eggnog" graced her ear. Eggnog! Glorious drink. Think, creamy, soft. It just filled your mouth, bathing your tongue in an ambrosial elixer. Her mother never made eggnog, well, hardly ever.

Dropping her half formed snowball, Fellwyne turned as if in a daze and stumbled toward the inn, eggnog the primary thing on her mind. The war of orcs and shieldmaidens did not matter now. Other children left their play and streamed towards the woman and the warm room that awaited them as they sipped -- or ate -- their preferred treat.

With a burst of energy, Felly (determined to be the first to get to the Horse) burst into the fastest run she could muster in the deep snow (which wasn't very fast), and plunged into a hidden snowbank. Coughing and spluttering, she pulled herself out and dragged herself the rest of the way towards the kind woman.

She reached the Inn and, stomping the lingering snow from her feet and brushing off the clinging flakes from her clothing, she dashed in and and impatiently waited for the chance to get her eggnog, which did come, sooner or later.

Retreating to a nearby nook beside the fireplace, she cradled the wooden cup in her hand and admired the pallid drink that dipped and swirled as she fondled her cup. Closing her eyes, she brought it to her lips and drank deeply.

[Orual]

Eruvalde

Eruvalde perked up at the mention of eggnog. She dodged one last snowball and threw an answer at her assailant, then brushed her mittens off on her skirt. The cold was pinching red into her nose and cheeks, and there was a frosting of snow on top of her curly hair. She started off towards the Inn at a run, then stopped, looking back at the lovely blanket of snow that she was leaving behind. For a moment she was torn, half of her wishing to stay behind and make a few more snow Ainur, half of her realizing that she was catching a chill and wanting to go in for some egg nog and cookies. She looked at the snow, then at the Inn, and back. Finally she grabbed a handfull of snow, rolled it into a ball, and threw it at herself before she went inside.

She could feel her hair getting a little wet as the snow melted on it as soon as she stepped inside. She ran into her father, who was just fastening his cloak. She put her hands on her hips again. "I can't believe you missed it! I was in a snowball war and I made some snow Ainur and..." She tried to think of what else she had done. "And I actually hit somebody with a snowball. And you missed all of it!"

"Sorry, darling," he said, and attempted to pick her up, but she twisted out of his arms.

"Can I have some egg nog?" she asked, and all was forgiven. Tamurilo reached up and got her some egg nog and a ginger snap. She put both on a table, climbed up onto a chair, and ate happily.

[mark12_30]

Mellon hefted an orange, and juggled it in his hand; then he carefully sniffed it several times, and closed his eyes.

Ædegard watched him, as Mellon seemed to drift far, far away, leaning his forehead against the fruit.

"What is it?" said Ædegard.

Mellon started out of his reverie. "They name it orange. I remember how it tastes. Betimes Edhellond sent us crates of them, upriver, as a gift."

"At Minas Tirith?"

"Nay, in Lorien. One morning I brought one to Nimrodel." His voice faded to a whisper.

"What?"

"She laughed, and thanked me with her usual sweetness... far sweeter than this, " he mused, glancing at the orange. "And then I sang for her, and she danced by the stream, and then we shared it."

"So Nimrodel is a girl, not a stream?" puzzled Ædegard. "I thought it was a tributary to the Celebrant which flows to the Anduin. And I thought you said you came from Gondor, not Lorien."

Glassy-eyed and breathing hard, Mellon rose to his feet, took a few steps, and gazed at Ædegard. "I'm not.... I am not from Gondor."

"You're not seventeen, either. And it would also seem you're quite a liar," said Ædegard. His newfound friend was rapidly losing appeal.

"Wait, Ædegard, " said the Innkeeper, who had overheard. Ædegard sat back with one raised eyebrow and folded his arms across his chest.

"Sit, Mellon," Bethberry said.

Still breathing hard, and still glassy-eyed, Mellon said, "Lady, I am glad to befriend you, but I need not sit."

"You said 'Mellon' was a nickname. It will do for now. Please, sit down."

Standing straight and tall, he locked eyes with her for several moments. Slowly he turned, looked back at the chair Bethberry was gesturing towards, walked with rigid back and square shoulders to it, lowered himself into the chair, and met Bethberry's eyes.

She smiled reassuringly at him. "You said you sang for Nimrodel. How old are you?"

His eyes grew cold, one eyebrow went up, and his voice hardened. "Fifty centuries. Mortal, why do you mock me?"

She reached forward and laid her hand on his brow. "Fever." Ignoring the flash of anger in his eyes, she called for water. "Ædegard, he is not lying, he is delirious. Do not doubt your friend so."

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 8:55 AM December 29, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[mark12_30]

Felly and Eruvalde both approached with pitchers of water. "Mellon, what's wrong? Don't you feel well?"

Mellon, still straight and tall in the chair, turned slowly towards them, and his face softened. He smiled. "Hello, children. I welcome you and I thank you." Slightly bowing his head, he accepted each pitcher in turn, setting them each on the table. Bethberry paused, and watched him interact with the children.

"Mellon, don't you feel well?" said Felly, and drew close. Mellon stiffened again, and they studied each other.

Ædegard snorted. "He is not himself, to say the least," he warned the children. "Be careful."

The icy glare which Mellon turned on Ædegard made Bethberry more uneasy still, but when Mellon turned back to the children, his smile was warm and his voice was soft. "Such kindness at an early age bodes well, both for you and the world of men. I am pleased, and I thank you and your fathers for your gracious welcome."

Bethberry shot Ædegard a warning glare, and then took a full glass of water and stood before Mellon.

"Please, My Lord, of your courtesy I ask you to drink." Bowing her head, she offered him the water.

He nodded to her without a touch of disdain, took the glass and drank. "I give you thanks, Madam."

"My Lord, " she continued, "would it not please you to rest? Our furnishings are humble, but the rooms are quiet and you should sleep well."

"My weariness does indeed burden me. Madam, I will rest." With a nod, he drained the glass, set it on the table, rose, and waited for Bethberry to lead the way.

Ædegard shook his head in disbelief, Felly's eyes went wide, and Eruvalde reached towards Mellon with deep concern. "Don't you feel well, Mellon?"

"Little friend, " Mellon replied, with a gentle laugh. "I do feel surprisingly weak. But do you not know my name, little one? And yet, since you have so adamantly claimed my friendship--" his eyes sparkled, and he nodded at Felly too-- "I release you from the use of my title. You may call me Amroth. My friends you shall be, and remain."

Ædegard snorted again, and Bethberry turned fiercely on him. "You will treat the Lord of Lorien with honor and respect, " she hissed through chenched teeth. His jaw dropped. Bethberry turned back to Mellon and bowed. Motioning Felly and Eruvalde to take up the pitchers and the glass, she led the way. The feverish young blacksmith from Gondor followed, tall, regal, silent and serene. Felly and Eruvalde brought up the rear carrying their pitchers of water. They went up the stairs.

Ædegard sat back, waves of indignation, disbelief, and laughter washing across his features. He did not leave, but sat watching for Bethberry's return.

&lt;font size=1 color=339966&gt;[ 10:50 AM December 29, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]&lt;/font&gt;

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 11:03 AM December 29, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Imladris]

First it was Mellon, the elvish word for friend, and now he was Amroth, an elven king of old. "Dost thou miss thine elven love?" Felly asked as she pattered in Mellon's wake, the pitcher of water clenched in her little hands.

He turned, startled, and saw the little girl following; and then he smiled, but replied gravely: "Indeed, Little One, I do miss my lady Nimrodel."

Despite the smile sorrow haunted his eyes, yet nobility there was also, a mien that quite impressed Felly. Whoever would have thought that a blacksmith could look like an elf-lord of Lorien? Yet as the girl stared at him in awe, a sudden change came across his face: bitterness cast his shadow.

"Poor Nimrodel," Felly added, trying to remember the elven maid. "Her voice was like falling silver, a star was bound upon her brows," Felly's voice faltered and she racked her brain. "A light was on her hair," she whispered, "and her shoes were silver grey. Into the mountains she had strayed, and where now she wanders none can tell, for lost of yore was Nimrodel." Fellwyne's voice sank as she stopped. It was all she remembered, besides the fact that Amroth had leaped from the helm of the grey ship into the sea. She closed her eyes, felt the salt spray on her lips, the tug of the wind upon her hair. She was no longer a little girl of Rohan, but an elf upon the grey ships across the sea, watching the grief of Amroth, Lord of Lorien, from afar.

He looked at Fellwyne's sadness, and nodded. "I never should have left her, Little One. And now she is lost. I must find her and I will search ceaselessly until I do."

Fellwyne fell silent as snatches of a distant song whispered to her softly:

From helm to sea they saw him leap,
As arrow from the string,
And dive into water deep,
As mew upon the wing.

"Mellon no!" Felly whispered, dropping the pitcher that shattered before her very feet: an echo of what had been, an omen of what was to come.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 1:51 AM January 02, 2004: Message edited by: Imladris ]

[mark12_30]

Bethberry reached quickly for Mellon's hand and said soothingly, "Come, my Lord, and rest. " Hearing the pitcher crash, others came to sweep up its shards; Felly looked down at them, and then at the blacksmith as he turned and continued up the stairs.

She shook her head. He was darkhaired and young; he had the rough hands of a blacksmith. But he had changed.

She walked around the shattered pitcher, and followed them up the steps.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 5:35 PM January 01, 2004: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Meneltarmacil]

Thoronmir walked into the Inn and sat down at the bar. He had just singlehandedly defeated several orcs using his "skis", a variant on shieldboarding, and was going to take a well-earned break.

"Hello Bethberry," he said, "I'd like a pint of eggnog."

After he had gotten his eggnog, he kept up a conversation with the others until someone's pitcher fell on his foot.

"Ouch! Watch where you drop things!" he started to say, but then he caught the change in Mellon's face.

"Mellon? Are you OK? Was it the eggnog?"

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 3:32 PM December 29, 2003: Message edited by: Meneltarmacil ]

[mark12_30]

The blacksmith paused and turned, and looked down at Thoronmir, and then glanced back at Bethberry. "Is it the custom of your town to address all elves as 'Friend'?"

Then he looked back at Thoronmir. "I did not drink the eggnog. Nor is that what has weakened my body, but long travel from far to the south. I have come many miles with little rest."

"From the south, my Lord?" said Bethberry. "Not from Lorien?"

"I had departed Lorien, and went south to Edhellond to secure westward passage aboard a ship. My Lady Nimrodel was to journey south when the ship was ready. But alas, she came not. The ship was tossed seaward by a storm, and I swam from it. It seems strange to me that I do not remember finally making the shore, nor do I remember much of the journey here. But that matters little. I must journey to Lorien and find her, or news of where else I must find her."

Thoronmir's eyes grew wider and wider, but a sign from Bethberry silenced his incredulous queries. "Oh. Right. I see," was what he said instead.

Bethberry, having apparently decided enough was enough, regained Mellon's attention and led him upstairs. She showed him a room, and he surveyed it with a nod of approval, and a very slight bow of thanks. Without any indication of offering her any money or form of payment he turned towards the desk and chair, and Bethberry knew she had been dismissed.

He heard her leave, and breathed a soft sigh of relief. But the children were still there. Felly and Eruvalde waited quietly, gazing up at him with round eyes.

The little handmaidens would have pleased Nimrodel, he thought, with their sweet, gentle ways so like hers. Then he smiled, sensing that they could both be wild and wilful as a storm. Like Nimrodel again.

He took another moment, closing his eyes, thinking of Nimrodel, casting his mind northward to the stream she had loved so much; he could not feel her presence. Lorien was strangely quiet as well. He searched carefully but met no minds that he knew. Perhaps the innkeeper was right; perhaps he was more weary and in need of rest than he understood.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 9:21 PM January 02, 2004: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[littlemanpoet]

When Bëthberry returned from above, Ædegard looked up at her. "You call me his friend? I barely know him."

"He needs a friend."

Ædegard regarded Bëthberry ruefully. "I take your meaning, innkeeper. I'll stay a while."

Bëthberry smiled. "Heed his words, Ædegard. More is afoot here than simple fever, I deem."

Ædegard shook his head. "You mean that he is also Amroth? He is no elf, this Mellon, just a sick young man in a strange fever."

"No," Bëthberry answered, "there is a doom playing out in this. I feel it. Be his friend, Ædegard. He will need a sturdy friend where he is going."

Ædegard frowned. "Where he is going? I cannot leave my father all the wheelwrighting. He is lame."

"You are not the only wheelwright in Edoras, Ædegard."

He glowered at her. "I could use another spiked cider, madam innkeeper. I've some brooding to do."

[Imladris]

A waif of a smile played about Fellwyne’s lips as she watched the young blacksmith of Gondor, the one who fancied himself to be Amroth. She mused: what would an elvin king drink? Wine, perhaps? What was the closest thing to wine? Cider, naturally. With a flounce of her flaxen curls, she dashed off to the kitchen and begged the cook for a goblet of cider. The little girl received it only in a common wooden mug, but if Mellon could think himself a king, then he could imagine this simple cup to be a golden chalice.

There he was: lofty upon his simple throne of wood. Erect he sat: straight and tall, not suffering himself into the ease of a common laymen, nor the slouch of a wearied farmer. She heard his rebuke to the man who dared to Amroth a friend, and Felly could feel her cheeks grow warm with pride as she remembered the privilege he had granted her.

Dropping to one knee before him, she lifted the cider to him and said, “Milord -- Amroth, take this drink: it might aid in refreshing you from the journey south.” Kissing his hand, she rose to her feet and stood a little to his side, her hands clasped loosely behind her back.

“Tell me, Little One,” the blacksmith said, “how do you know of Nimrodel?”

“Forever she lives in song,” Felly replied softly. It was impossible to be noisy or boisterous in his presence, for his kingly aura forbade it: Fellwyne had felt it when the pitcher had crashed to the floor. “One day, a wanderer from distant lands came to us for shelter. In return he would sing for us and he sang to me the song of Nimrodel. I have never forgotten it.”

She glanced at the lord before her, and she breathed sharply. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Mellon could always be like this? It was like a game in a way: Mellon was Amroth, lord of Lorien, and Fellwyne was like his handmaiden for a time, she thought. But it was better than a game, for he thought truly was Lord Amroth. Yet it would indeed be a cruel fate for Mellon; ever searching for his elven love who was only a mere phantom.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 1:54 AM January 02, 2004: Message edited by: Imladris ]

[mark12_30]

Looking into Fellwyne's eyes, he found more comfort and acceptance than he could remember finding anywhere in... in a long time. His brow furrowed a little. All the rest of his memories were elven-clear, going back in time for five thousand years. Why couldn't he remember anything between his desperate swim to shore, and leaving the seven-tiered Gondorian city of Minas Tirith? The entire journey was hidden from him, as if by shadow that he could not penetrate. It was most disconcerting. But not as disconcerting as being unable to find Nimrodel.

A kiss on his hand startled him out of his thoughts. He looked into the cup he now held, and saw cider. With a smile, he raised the crude wooden mug to his lips, and drank it, savoring the friendship of the child as much as the drink.

They spoke of Nimrodel together; it pleased and satisfied Amroth that someone had been blessed enough by her beauty to sing of it even in the lands of men.

Eruvalde stood aside, listening, and Amroth smiled at her, and then at Fellwyne. "My little friends, leave me to my rest. I must regain my strength before I journey north. But come again ere I depart. You are a comfort to me, and a respite from grief."

The girls shared a delighted smile. "We will, " said Fellwyne. The girls departed, and he rose and shut the door behind them.

Only now that he was alone would he succumb to the exhaustion of his body. He leaned his forehead against the door, fighting the aching weakness with a sense of disbelief. Never before had he felt his body shudder from simple weariness, and he blamed it on the journey from Edhellond to Minas Tirith that he could not remember. He was grateful the Innkeeper had offered him a place to rest.

He turned the bedclothes back, and gladly removed the coarse Gondorian clothing and the heavy, awkward boots. The mannish clothes had served him adequately during his journey. He had wished more than once for the outer royal garb he had shed when the long swim became wearying. But no matter. Lothlorien would clothe him soon enough.

He cast his mind northward one more time, searching all along the banks of her stream. Where was she? Other strange minds touched his, a guard and a few border patrols, and he sensed surprise in some of them. He did not linger with them. Thrusting all else aside, he chose to sleep. His dreams were many and his rest was deep.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 6:20 PM December 30, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Imladris]

A woman plodded against the brisk wind that slithered between her warm garments. Her golden hair, graced with mists of silver, had slipped from its unwieldy bun and now rested on her shoulder. A burgundy shawl flapped from her shoulders while her mittened hands carried a bundle.

Her cheeks were rosy, and her brown eyes smiled as she neared the inn. Before she entered, however, her eyes wandered across the snow covered yard, as if she sought for a lost treasure hidden among the white dunes.

A little pucker of a frown marred her smooth forehead, and she turned from the door and began to circle the inn. After completing the circle, she found herself again at the front and, sighing, gently opened the door, and stepped in. Warm firelight greeted her, the laughter of children, and the clink of glasses as men drank their ale. Some children cradled steaming cups of cider in their hands, whilst others wiped away a trickling river of eggnog from their beaming faces.

The woman smiled and then she looked for the innkeeper. She knew Bethberry, but saw that she was busy. Well, maybe somebody else could help her, the woman thought. Her eyes rested upon a brooding man, who sipped a spiked cider.

Coming towards him, pulling off her mittens and wiping a stray hair from her eyes, she said pleasantly, “Excuse me, sir, my name is Silwen and I was wondering if I may trouble you for just a moment?"

The man glanced up at her and said simply, "I'm Ædegard. What may I do for you?"

Silwen smiled and said, "You haven't happened to see a little girl named Fellwyne about? She’s also known as Felly -- it’s an old nickname.”

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 2:10 AM January 02, 2004: Message edited by: Imladris ]

[littlemanpoet]

Ædegard nodded. "Felly? Yes, I've seen her. She has styles herself a serving maid for man upstairs who is sick with fever and seems to think he is Amroth of Lorien."

Ædegard noted the worried look on Silwen's face.

"I would not worry. Béthberry has been careful, I expect, to make sure Felly does not get sick herself. She can show you the room Felly is." He stopped and looked at Silwen conspiratorially. "Your Felly is quite the shot with a snowball, mind you! I'm glad she was on my side!"

[Imladris]

“Your Felly is quite the shot with a snowball, mind you! I'm glad she was on my side!" Ædegard said.

Silwen smiled and laughed softly. “Yes, she is. Her father and she have little duals every year. But she is upstairs with a sick man who fancies himself to be Amroth, lord of Lorien?”

“Yes.”

“She should like that,” Silwen said, her eyes straying to the bundle that she held in her hands. A dusty green mitten with the word “Fellwyne” was embroidered upon the cuff along with a soft blue scarf, a small maroon jacket, and an extra pair of black stockings. “She always did like the tale of Nimrodel and would often speculate about what had happened to the elven maid. I think that she secretly hopes they both survived and had found each other again. Thank you for your help, Ædegard,” she added, flashing a gentle smile at him as she turned away.

Running her fingers through her tangled hair, Silwen peered about the room and saw Bethberry serving drinks. Eyes twinkling, Silwen crossed to the bar. “Hello, Bethberry!”

“Silwen, it is so good to see you!” The innkeeper cried. “Your daughter has made a new friend,” Bethberry added, with a sideways glance up the stairs.

“I heard it was Amroth, lord of Lorien,” Silwen said with a wink. “Where is she? I brought her warm clothes,” she said, gesturing to the bundle. “She forgot them again but I wonder if it was a true case of forgetfulness,” she added, raising an eyebrow playfully.

“The strange ways of children. But come, and I’ll show you the way,” Bethberry said. The stairs creaked softly as the women climbed, and Silwen soon saw Felly standing before a closed door. Her head was tilted towards her shoulder, a dreamy, yet expectant smile lit her eyes and her face. “Fellwyne,” Silwen said brightly, kneeling down so that she was level with her daughter, “didn’t you forget something?” she asked playfully, holding the bundle of warm things towards her.

“Mama!” The girl whirled away from the door and threw herself into Silwen’s arms, and clasped her tightly as she whispered, “I’m so glad you came.” Unburying herself, she glanced up into her mother’s eyes and said, “Would you have some eggnog with me, please? You said you’d make some soon and that we’d drink it together, but you haven’t yet,” Felly said with mock reproach. Nevertheless, a smile twitched about her lips.

“Yes, I’ll have a drink of eggnog with you,” Silwen laughed as she took Fellwyne by the hand and hurried Fellwyne down the stairs.

“Oh, Mama, we had this glorious battle and I was a shield maiden of Rohan. And we had to defend Ædegard’s Deep from the attacking orcs and we had to reinforce the wall and everything! And I must say that I repaired the walls quite splendidly,” Fellwyne added with a smug smile.

Felly led the way to the bar and soon they held two cups of crown-creamed eggnog. They found a table beside a misty window and Felly, wiping away the fog with her sleeve, pointed and said, “There are the ruins of Ædegard’s Deep. Mellon was there, too…” the little girl’s voice trailed off and she said, “I don’t want to leave, Mama.”

[VanimaEdhel]

Baranîn tipped her mug and finished her mug of hot chocolate. She looked at Hamanullas and smiled at the girl. The seventeen-year old felt young once again. Hamanullas was looked at her with amusement glittering in her young eyes.

"Do you want another hot chocolate?" Baranîn asked Hamanullas, rising to get herself more. The girl nodded, continuing to sit.

Baranîn walked up to the bar and ordered two more hot chocolates. She looked back at Hamanullas. The girl was looking around the bar, animatedly swinging her legs, as they did not quite yet reach the floor when she sat in the chair.

Baranîn returned with the drinks and smiled at young Hamanullas, who tried to take a drink of the hot chocolate.

"Agh!" Hamanullas exclaimed, quickly putting the mug down as her hands as well as her mouth burned on the hot chocolate.

"Careful!" Baranîn said, laughing in spite of herself. Hamanullas pouted a bit, then joined in laughing with Baranîn.

"Who do you suppose they are?" Hamanullas asked, pointing around the room at the various people engaged in discussion and business.

"Don't point!" Baranîn said good-naturedly, pulling the girl's hand down. "And it is none of our business who they are."

Hamanullas looked at Baranîn mischievously, as though contemplating doing something to disturb the other people, but then thought better of it. She blew on her hot chocolate and took a tentative sip, smiling once she discovered that it cooled some.

[Fire-Galad]

A white horse galloped through the snow with ease. Silver thought to herself that she had to got Raven to some place warm. Raven tried hard to stay wake, but it was getting harder and harder for the small seven-year-old girl to do so. Silver felt Raven slipping and with a nudge, pushed the girl in place. Silver saw the one thing that could help them, Edoras. Silver ran through the gates, came to the first house and started whinning and stomping on the ground, trying to get someone's attention and she did. A voice called out.

"bethberry, who's horse is making all that noise?"

A women came out of the house just as Raven's blue eyes closed and she slid of Silver's back landing on the ground, her black hair stood out against the white snow. The woman, bethberry, ran to Raven and picked her up.

"There's a girl here and she's frozen. Quick get some blankets and some thing warm for her to drink. Don't forget to put her horse in the stables."

Silver was led to the stables where it was warm and dry with plenty of hey and water. In the house Raven was bundled up in about five thick blankets, laid by the fire, and there was hot chocolate ready for her when she woke up.

[mark12_30]

Between dreams, he rolled over and sat up for a moment. He still felt weak, but he had heard a horse enter the courtyard of the Inn. He reached out with his mind, but did not find anyone he knew.

The common room was busy with children happily drinking eggnog. There were shieldmaidens here and there. Hamanullas and Fellwyne and Eruvalde...

He frowned. He didn't remember ever being introduced to the small mannish girls. And why did he think of them as shieldmaidens? They were mere children. He raised one hand and rubbed his temple. He was weary still, and strangely warm in the chilly room.

Baranin's voice rang out in lilting laughter, and Ædegard was telling a funny story, and Silwen and Felly were laughing. Bethberry was giving orders that the horses' child-rider be taken care of.

Rest. Why could he not simply rest in his memories, as he always had? But his body was still very weak. He hesitantly lay back down, rolled over and was soon asleep. But now the voices form the common room wove themselves echoing in and out of his dreams.

[Fire-Galad]

Raven opened her eyes and let out a loud 'ACHOO!' A women came towards he, carrying a steaming mug.

"There you go," said the woman giving Raven the mug. "My name is Bethberry, whats yours?"
Raven took awhile to answer.

"Raven."

"That's a beautiful name."

"Thank you." Bethberry walked away and Raven started to drink her hot chocolate. It's warmth spread through her all the way to her fingers and toes. Raven, now getting uncomfortably hot, untangled herself from the nest of blankets and wandered over to the table where some other girls, all seemed taller and older than Raven, were listening to a funny story. Not wanting to be rude, Raven took a deep breath and said: "Can I listen too?"

[Witch_Queen]

Aduthondiel turned to take her last look on the fair country of Rohan and the Snowed Inn. "Count we're off to the Shire now. Let us hope we can get there unnoticed. I would hate for us to have to fight anyone or any thing."

Aduthondiel mounted her horse and left the Snowed Inn. "Good bye. May my eyes look upon you in the future years."

[littlemanpoet]

Ædegard noticed the westering sun outside, as well as the new snow laden clouds descending out of the north, racing toward the sun. He drained his drink and excused himself from the table.

He went to the bar and told Bethberry help, "I must be off home now. I ask that you send word when Mellon - or Amroth, if you like - wakens and moves about again. I would speak with him again."

With that, Ædegard put on hat and overcoat and bracing himself against the rising wind, left the Snowed Inn and tramped on home to make sure his parents were well.

[mark12_30]

Mellon/ Amroth slipped deep into dreams, and stayed there. Sometimes he struggled, fevered and frightened; and other times he lay serene and still, a ghost of a smile playing about his face. The days slipped by in dream after dream.

Bethberry often intended sending word to Gondor, but whenever a messenger was headed east, they left without her message. Sometimes she was silenced by a sense of foreboding; sometimes dreams of her own silenced her; sometimes trivial or everyday circumstances made the message falter.

Aside from Bethberry, Ædegard and the children, most people forgot the dreamer was there.

[rutslegolas]

Gorgoth Lampash cam riding down the wind on his white horse named Goth.He was from the North about the land of Argonoth,and he was one of the rangers.He had ridden far in search of orcs for he was a hunter and he hunted mostly orcs for his dear old mother was killed by them.He was a young man about 6 feet tall and broad shoulders ,clean shaven and having long blonde hair,he carried a two handed sword at his belt a knife and a shield on his back.

He had heard that there are orcs a plenty in Rohan and he had come to hunt them but now he wanted to rest somewhere and looking for someone to give him some directions in Rohan,and their before him he found that buried under the snow there was a Inn named "Snowed Inn".

He went inside and found that it was filled with men and women of Rohan and he wanted to dearly talk to someone for he had rided far in the evening so he stabled his horse at one of the stables and went inside.

There he went to the common room and sat silently beside a hefty man and he waited for the man to talk to him out of curiosity....